the old man and the red sweatshirt woman

i keep playing it back in my mind in slow motion. in real-time, though, it happened so quickly. the roar of the crowd. the pounding of footsteps on pavement as racers held the finish line in their sights just fifty yards ahead. metal crowd separators stood between us and the runners in the lanes leading them just fifty yards ahead to the finish line. on the far side, separated by red ticker-tape were the marathoners in their own lane. on the near side, closest to me were the half-marathoners, so close to finishing, yet so far away. my eyes scanned for a single familiar face as i stood on my tippy toes and watched too many strangers to count run by.

a man in his late fifties or early sixties as he came into my sight, as if i was meant to see him. just as he passed my foothold in the crowd outside his running lane, i watched his body pause and head almost snap back. he dropped to the ground and i saw, heard, felt his head smack the asphalt. his body lay limp for a single second before he began to convulse. is anyone else watching this? i looked around as the women huddled next to me in search of their own family member or friend looked on in horror. several runners stopped and kneeled next to the man, unsure of what to do or how to help.

i gasped for air, feeling claustrophobic but unable to move or look away or close my eyes. someone yelled for a medic. the man seized again and i felt tears streaming down my face, and a rock in my throat, which must've risen from the pit of my stomach where it sat quietly just moments before. a medical team arrived and asked everyone to step away. people around the man scuffled and scattered. a woman kneeling next to the man did not get up, but continued whatever she was doing. a medic must've asked her to step away again, because she yelled, "i'm a nurse and a paramedic, i know what i'm doing!" more scuffling as the medic came in closer and allowed the nurse to continue working while he asked her questions to understand the man's situation.

i looked on and saw the man had stopped moving. complete stillness. a woman next to me said, "oh god, i think he's dead." i don't know what possessed me to look back over but when i did i saw the man lying limp, except for the movements from the nurse performing cpr on him. i turned away and didn't look back.

just as i turned away from the scene, erin returned from her search for our first friend to cross the finish line to report that she lost him in the chaos beyond the finish line. she asked if i'd seen our other friend and i said, "no," then explained that a man had passed out right in front of me, cracked his head on the pavement in seizures and now they were giving him cpr. tears had been on my cheeks, but now i couldn't contain my sobs and erin pulled me away from the crowd to console me.

i sobbed uncontrollably in her arms for what seemed like forever, thinking to myself, stop being so stupid, dian! you don't even know the guy. i paused for a moment, lifted my head and said, "i can't see that man die, we have to go now," then dropped my head again and wailed more sobs into erin's shoulder. she tried to honor my request and back me away, but my legs would not move.

once my emotions were somewhat under control, we walked forty feet closer to the finish line and stood back from the fence, where we could still see racers pass by, but where the crowd also blocked my view of the man and his cpr administration. i stood facing the race lane, near catatonic as visions of my father flooded my mind.

seizures in the hospital. seizures that started in the early afternoon and got progressively worse until 3am, but didn't subside completely until after 6am. seizures i documented from 10pm to 5am, cataloging length, intensity, and interval. seizures i witness alone while the rest of the family slept comfortably in their beds like i'd asked them to. seizures i thought i'd moved past, more than five years after his death. seizures i now knew i would never forget.

just to my right, a woman in a red sweatshirt slunk down to her butt and held on to the legs of a woman in a white sweatshirt standing next to her to keep her from falling completely to the ground. the white sweatshirt woman removed her sweatshirt, folded it up and put it under the red sweatshirt woman's head for comfort. a police officer walked past and asked the women if they were okay. he spoke into the speaker/microphone attached to his shoulder, an extension of the walkie talkie on his belt and calls for paramedics.

just after an ambulance pulled up to the scene, erin overheard someone say something about an iv. she looked over to the area the medics had been tending to the man to see the paramedics were preparing to load the man onto a stretcher. the red sweatshirt woman next to me seemed to be fine, although she would also be loaded onto a stretcher for further precautionary evaluation.

it was super bowl sunday, and we had plans to watch the game at a friend's house later in the day. the thought of laughing and cheering being anywhere other than on my couch with my girl and my dog made my stomach churn. erin canceled our plans on my behalf and held me tight. my heart pounded as i thought about the man getting on the stretcher and being taken away. i was relieved to think he'd survived. a wave of tears came and i let them. no sobs, no sounds, just tears, and the slight rise of another lump in my throat. both the tears and the lump subsided within sixty seconds and i focused on the race again, attempting to pause the loop of my father's seizures.

erin's face lit up and she screamed our friend's name. i followed her lead and found myself surprised to be hooting and hollering right along with her, "wooohoo! yeah, you did it!" in between whistles and clapping, the ring on my middle finger slapping up against the bones on the inside of my palm. erin grabbed my hand and asked if i was ready to go find them.

i was ready. ready to leave the man in his ambulance on his way to recovery. ready to leave the red sweatshirt woman in the care of the white sweatshirt woman and the paramedics. ready to leave my father's seizures and my heavy heart at the finish line and move on to whatever was next.

we found our friends, congratulated them on their half marathon finishes, and chatted for an hour before heading back to our respective homes. erin and i stopped for lunch on the way home and i continued to process the morning's events. i apologized for bringing up the man and the sound of his head hitting the pavement and his seizures again, but i needed to process it all, rather than let the tape of my father's seizures continue to loop in my head. she held my hand and let me talk, let me cry, let me be.

---

as i sit here this morning trying to put everything together and make sense of yesterday's events, i'm struck by just how random life really is. that man woke up yesterday morning to run a half marathon, and instead got within fifty yards of finishing to be taken away in an ambulance, barely clinging to life. a woman woke up yesterday morning, put on her red sweatshirt to cheer on a friend or family member, and passed out on the sidelines, missing whomever she'd been cheering on.

and me, i woke up thinking i'd do some cheering, some eating, some more cheering and more eating, surrounded by friends. instead i was reminded of just how fragile life is, how sacred the space on my couch is, and how my memory isn't about what's important, but what's impacted me the most, no matter how much i try to forget.

---

sometimes we're the old man who's so close to finishing, and life takes over with its own agenda. sometimes we're the woman in the red sweatshirt who pushes herself too hard for the sake of another, doing more damage to ourselves than good for another. and sometimes we're the innocent bystander who watches it all and tries to piece the learning together for the good of us all.

Detox Tea, Unknown Release, and Being a Better Person for No Apparent Reason at All

it's been windy most of the early afternoon. rainy most of last night, although just enough to send a few drops every other second maddeningly down the rain gutter from the top of the second floor to the base of the house, just outside the bedroom.

haven't been sleeping well lately. been drinking detox tea this past week and i believe it's working. slowly, but surely. i listened to a detox meditation track a couple of days ago while i focused on a single word: release. it worked.

i bawled uncontrollably for nearly twenty minutes. other than the tears and gut wrenching cries, i have no idea what i released. i was grateful to be at home alone. grateful to have a puppy to lick my tears when it was all over. and grateful that i didn't feel sad or weepy for a single second after the meditation was over.

detox. i almost don't know what i'm detoxing from. i know i have things to release, i can feel it in my bones. i just don't know what i need to release. i'm fine with not knowing. it's kind of like tossing a box in the garage after not opening it for two or twelve years.

i can sense i'm in the middle of a great shift. i'll look back on this period in my life and know that this was when things started to change for me. again. funny thing is, i thought things could only change for the better when everything was falling apart. it's almost odd that nothing is falling apart, and still i'm in deep need of release, in this deep bend into a shift.

i'm tired of spending time on things that don't matter. i'm tired of making up reasons to do things, as if they do matter. i'm tired of idolizing a minimalist life. i'm tired of walking along pretending i'm getting accustomed to all the changes in my life over the last few years. i'm accustomed. and it's time for more change, more growth.

in a space of clarity around what's important to me: family, friends-that-are-like-family, animals-that-are-family, my health, laughter, being myself, and growth, i see spaces of comfort, spaces of resistance, spaces of longing, and room for exploration.

this is no mid-life crisis. i am not leaving anyone, i'm not dissatisfied with my life or relationship, and i'm not in need of a brand new shiny car to prove to myself that i'm not getting any older.

i just want to be a better person today than i was yesterday. and a better person tomorrow than i am today.

it's not that i'm not good enough or that i'm trying to be perfect. i guess it's more that gravity is what it is, and i feel pulled. i am not a moth pulled toward a flame, drawn to my own demise by forces i don't understand. i am a person pulled toward the universe, drawn to my expansion by my own intuition.

i don't need to fall apart to understand that. at least, not today.

a mother's love reflected

it's amazing to me how fuzzy everything gets when i try to look back on the past. memory no longer has a bright eye but a faded smile, or is it a grimace, a wince, a sober silence locked away while i swallow the key and peer beyond a ship over a foggy ocean?

i'm writing stories of my childhood in working on my next book. stories of my mother's desperate tries to be a good parent, of my desperate tries to be a good daughter, and stories of failing miserably, both her and i. but we were only human, what else could we expect?

i look back and see a mother who was trying so hard to be liked, to be loved, and by people who didn't know how to like or love anything or anyone that wasn't money in the bank, a sly, stiff drink, or another man who knew how to handle his power. she wanted to be loved by people who tried to love, but were just no good at it, so i think they stopped trying, only my mother never seemed to notice. this is the problem with always seeing the good in people.

we hold these truths to be self-evident, but we shield our eyes from the light of that truth and look away when it's too hard to bear. so many times i see a mother who could have changed everything, and refused to try until it was too late, and that last attempt did, in fact, change everything.

but i can't imagine a life that was changed by an action that never happened, a life that never was. i used to dream of a place where my mother was still alive, where she cared more about me than she did about being loved by people who would never love her, where she cared more about herself than being wrong. but i know this place does not exist, and so i stay in the world i've created, here in the now, the present, the life of love and truth and what's real, and right here in front of me.

love never dies. only people do. i love my mother even more fiercely now than i ever have before. in part because i love my self more fiercely now than i ever have before. i recognize that her actions did not reflect her love for me, only her lack of love for her self. i don't pity her, i learn from her, and i love her. as i always have, as i always will.

And So We All Grow

the days go by slower and slower,

and still they seem to be gone in a swallow.

the sun rises, the sun sets,

the tides ebb, the tides flow,

the moon waxes, the moon wanes.

the same cycles over and over again,

and yet,

we are never the same person,

over and over again.

we say we haven't changed,

but we always are,

we always do.

we say we want things to remin the same.

we say we want stability.

what we want is change because what we want

is growth.

but remember when we were growing up

and our bones hurt

because they were growing

and changing?

that's the way of life.

it's not meant to feel good all the time,

it's meant to be lived.

we go through life standing up and sitting down

and building up and tearing down

and sitting still and standing tall

and raising fists and raising masks.

we are who we are each day and on and on,

and that person is never again

the same as we are right now.

we are like the glass of wine that is different with each sip,

as each moment the air changes the flavor of the grape.

the layers are exfoliated by oxygen and movement,

and oh so are we.

something is wrong when we want things to stay the same,

when the status quo is enough,

when it's all we strive for.

something is right when we're in search of something more,

something greater,

something different.

we are not unhappy with who we are or where we are,

we are simply curious beings, and want to know what else is out there.

we want to know how things work,

understand the meaning of the unknowns of the world.

this does not make us pessimists or unfaithful,

this makes us the curious children we were born as,

and maybe some of us

just forgot how to be curious.

maybe it felt good to know something

and so we got stuck in knowing

and being inside the box of understanding

what was happening.

and so we got comfortable and set up camp

and forgot it was camp,

and stayed forever.

we are living in our mud walls,

thinking they are concrete.

the walls of our minds are not concrete,

they are matter.

they are fluid.

they are ever changing and curious.

they are always seeking more.

they are always hungry for what's next.

and we are not dissatisfied when we are curious about what else is out there,

we are in fact so satisfied,

that we can't help but want more of that satisfaction

of finding out

what else will work

in our lives.

i believe this with every fiber of my being.

so this is the way of the world.

curiosity.

the river flowing, up and down and in and out.

the river dries up, the river overflows.

the river beholds an ancient truth of allowing what is to be, and seeing what else is up around the bend.

the river is all knowing and wise.

and it is fed by its mother,

the ocean,

and it feeds its mother,

the ocean.

and it all comes from the same place,

the wonderful vast universe of water and evaporation

and clouds and rain,

the cycle that began it all that we know almost nothing about,

it would seem.

and so we wonder,

what is next

and because we don't know,

we have fear

because we have forgotten what it's like to be

curious.

we have been taught to fear the unknown,

rather than embrace it.

we associate the unknown with dark alleys

and scary men with no boundaries.

we associate the unknown with lies and bitterness

and fake smiles to take something from us.

it's not that we ought to believe everything we hear,

or walk down every dark alley.

it's that we ought to trust ourselves,

our gut,

our intuition,

and still

move forward.

maybe it means choosing a different walkway or person to work with,

but it can't mean choosing the same old familiar things

day in and day out

simply because it's what we know.

when we set out to strand ourselves on an island of the unknown,

bring with us those things, those people that are familiar to us,

that give us comfort.

and so we still grow,

we still change,

and we grow

with those familiar people,

with those comforts of home,

and so they grow, too.

and so we all grow.

what's hers is hers

my girl's grandmother passed away this week. mum. i only met her a few times. she's the kind of woman you instantly fall in love with. proper in her manners, sweet in her demeanor, and fierce in her love and respect for her granddaughter.

the last time we saw mum was over skype. she was in aww at how the picture on the screen was really us all the way over here in california. she got to "meet" jackson and share a space of love and smiles over the mysterious waves of the internet. for that, i will always be grateful to skype.

it kills me to see my girl's heart so broken. i don't know what to do for her, i don't know what to say. i can go through my own pain, but how do i just sit here and let her go through hers?

i'm trying not to let my grief overshadow hers. this is her loss, and even though i feel an ounce of it, too, i have to remind myself of my role in her grief: support; love; kisses; space; shoulder; tissue giver; ear; head rest; and more love.

i can't speak to what she's going through because i know we all process grief differently. i can only marvel at how she's actually processing it. it's so different from my own family's way of getting through death. they cover it up with "being strong" and "sucking it up" and "moving on".

erin said, "i'm gonna call my mom now," after spending a few tears on my shoulder. a few years ago i might have been jealous that she has a mother to call. today i was grateful. grateful that she has a mother to call, grateful that i just adore that mother, and grateful that their relationship is one where they can process through their grief together. it's a special bond, and i'm grateful to be a witness to it all.

true strength shows up in feeling the pain and moving through it. true strength shows up in breaking down and letting it all out whenever that wave hits you. true strength is moving through it, whatever it may be, and not figuring out how to maneuver around it.

i'm eternally grateful for this gift of being able to see erin's true strength shine. and a little piece of me hopes i never have to see it again.

750 words write mind

this morning i did a little word-association exercise via 750words.com.

as i read through the 750 words, some combinations made sense while others seemed to come out of nowhere. i tried not to repeat any words, but even after reading through the list a couple of times, i began to see words melding together and my thoughts drifted to other words i could have used instead. the mind of a writer, indeed.

tired. weary. gray. hot. slummy. wild. heart. brilliant. being. ornery. flagrant. foul. chicken. bugawck. lenient. principal. order. way. stuff. turkey. thanks. many. lots. parking. beach. sand. ocean. waves. baseball. sports. announcers. costas. rica. quote. letter. blog. paragraph. seo. daily. new. keyword. adword. google. adhere. blunt. brief. point. boxers. hanes. shirts. bacon. wrapped. present. christmas. mom. dad. cancer. life. death. grandma. grandpa. old. new. baby. twins. boys. born. living. still. calm. peace. tranquil. serenity. movie. lines. ropes. carpet. red. pop. corn. blue. chips. stock. market. store. ralph. grocer. butcher. play. kids. playground. swings. summer. swimming. pool. lifeguard. station. hut. ramp. on. off. freeway. lion. cage. roar. anger. freeing. liberation. 2010. y2k. bozos. earthquake. water. shutoff. valve. gas. fire. burn. ash. smoke. cigarette. stink. lungs. rot. decay. cay. timoty. island. trees. palm. coconut. frond. pineapple. hawaii. vacation. surfing. honolulu. relax. chill. solitude. massage. warm. cozy. cove. rocks. salt. fish. shark. dolphin. anew. seek. ice. fall. pick. battles. wars. wage. economy. down. south. north. pole. arctic. bears. polar. iceberg. warming. global. earth. planet. green. cycle. bike. walk. carbon. footprint. reduce. around. high. crack. home. less. restrict. aware. awake. arrest. police. car. truck. suv. trip. drive. road. asphalt. concrete. jungle. monkey. chimp. words. sign. language. shift. thinking. believe. animal. nature. instinct. intuition. gut. wrench. plumber. pipes. clogged. twist. snake. swamp. aligator. crocodile. chocodile. junk. eat. ack. hack. vomit. sick. heal. meditate. mind. brain. activity. stagnant. bliss. achieve. excel. blow. corporate. exact. enough. never. much. always. depth. need. skill. cohesive. communicate. swear. passive. agressive. type. keyboard. click. tap. nudge. push. pull. ebb. flow. speed. meth. capital. washington. dc. comics. books. cartoons. daffy. duck. bugs. bunny. wabbit. elmer. glue. hold. together. smile. laugh. one. all. we. us. our. common. ground. electric. youth. elder. generation. x. y. chromosome. genetics. healthy. disease. decide. choice. pregnant. not. early. late. embryo. life. rights. taken. away. afar. women. man. stick. stone. break. bone. fix. necessary. no. leave. now. alone. free. bird. fly. plane. superman. superhero. out. crowd. afraid. allure. magazine. pages. rip. shred. tear. up. aloof. sacred. feminine. genuine. real. authentic. you. yourself. have. pink. nose. edge. inside. outside. fear. claw. scratch. door. foot. wedge. butt. pant. leg. naked. truth. elephant. room. lie. white. slave. driver. daisy. miss. pushing. under. six. feet. grave. digger. shallow. rain. feel. drink. one. more. grace. gone. camera. canyon. left. sunset. rise. occasion. falter. help. hand. finger. nail. head. own. responsible. child. latchkey. pots. pans. cook. self. alcoholic. mother. cows. moo. hill. pout. shit. lip. steal. thief. heart. whisker. thick. poke. through. me. jog. mile. eight. seven. countdown. celebrate. party. 1999. over. under. gamble. lose. nothing. back. shirt. shoes. flip. flop. waver. waiver. clause. contract. deal. card. cookie. crumble. behave. consequence. yawn. teeth. growl. bark. carve. name. love. knife. sword. daggar. cuts. deep. seated. set. broken. doctor. nurse. soccer. bask. glory. raise. arms. glee. sing. pop. culture. cult. classic. shining. jack. dull. boy. donor. marrow. plates. blood. family. ties. thicker. bleed. red. rant. rave. reviews. moral. judgment. ethic. vote. judge. save. constitution. civil. case. hook. sinker. comedy. show. tell. ask. don't. realize. blinders. horse. ass. tail. swat. flat. tummy. saggy. boob. tv. program. remote. control. authority. fought. law. won. johhny. cougar. melons. camp. tent. stake. mallet. mullet. lame. hair. trim. lesbian. landscape. brow. furrow. gag. spoon. shoplift. pootie. jerry. tom. couch. crazy. misfit. mishap. weave. web. charlotte. genius. bar. draught. beer. lite. miller. case. pillow. fight. cat. dog. jax. clean. floor. termite. gross. expensive. homeowner. overrated. adulthood. middle. school. junior. senior. college. exam. pass. fail. learn. succeed. grow. align. forage. plunder. blunder. mistake. con. pro. football. american. rugby. hairpiece. trying. false. sense. security. guard. shot. heard. round. gimme. putt. tee. fairway. chunk. shank. alley. dark. lit. bounce. baller. sorbet. champaign. mimosa. sunday. morning. ease. bed. enjoy. sleep. flail. try. cling. blanket. belong. curse. goat. bambino. little. tiny. teeny. weenie. button. penis. nah. fold. over. comb. iron. towel. toss. salad. dressing. showers. benches. hurdles. marks. slim. chance. go. 200. dollars. cash. cool. dirty. money. rich. wealth. health. self. esteem. colleague. boss. blink. tipping. jeans. tennis. billie. holiday. paid. month. year. sail. around. bay. idea. lab. science. major. english. minor. math. journal. accountant. log. irs. tax. honor. values. pilot. force. army. navy. marine. biology. bigger. aware. mindful. action. authentic. reality. dreamy. mac. book. author. wannabe. gogo. stage. cheer. friends. core. abundant. everything. willful. disaster. wonders. plight. mankind. neanderthal. study. discovery. national. international. worldly. trotter. basketball. dribble. wipe. moist. cake. chocolate. vanilla. creamery. cheese. house. indeed. ownership. wood. fence. glass. ceiling. feminist. movement. classy. broads. understand. seek. knowledge. accept.

751: want.

752: more.

A Year Ago on DRW: Lather, Rinse, Repeat

August 11, 2009:

I just finished the book. My emotions are all over the place. I cried this morning because Erin walked past me as she got ready for work. Which is what she does every morning, but this morning I wanted her to stop. To stop and look at me. Notice that tears were welling in my eyes. Notice that my emotions were too raw for her to get ready for work. I walked around the house. I fed the cats. I sat on the bed. And when she walked in to get dressed, I could barely get the words out, "I'm feeling a little emotional today." I cried in her arms and didn't know exactly why I was crying. Guess I didn't need to know.

This morning I printed a copy of the book and handed it to a friend to give me some feedback. I'm headed to Kinkos as soon as I'm finished with this blog and printing off six more copies. One for Texas, One for Orange County, two for Long Beach, one for Studio City, and one for Venice Beach. Some are giving me technical feedback of, "take this out, put that there, add more here," and some are giving me real life feedback of, "this really spoke to me, wish there was more on that."

My emotions seem to be bred from fear. Fear that it's all crap. Fear that I just spent three years putting my soul on paper and it's not going to amount to anything. Fear that I'll get ripped to shreds in the feedback that I've gone and asked for. I realize the fears are unfounded, even irrational. The important thing is that I'm processing through it. Feeling the fear, addressing the fear, and moving forward anyway. It's the only way to let the fear go. It will come up again, I'm sure of it. No life is sans fear. And when it does, lather, rinse, repeat.

The book has since taken on another series of rewrites and is hoping to be edited again soon. This is the kind of book I can't rush, and still I know it's dying to be ready by all of your eyes.

Through the Summer Breeze

the summer breeze has been an influence on my morning, and i can almost feel the crisp chill blowing through the hairs on my arm, neck, and the back of my ears.

for the last 56 days straight i've written my morning pages over at 750words.com. i love this process of brain drain and starting my day by sifting through the dust and mulch to see which is which. (i also kind of love all the charts and graphs and eye candy that come along with finishing my daily words).

usually i kick up the dust and get clear on what i'm going to work on for the day or work through an issue or what's going on throughout the week or weekend, or what i'm going to have for breakfast. today, though ... today ... today i fell in love. and i want to share some of it with you.

that up there is one of my favorite pieces of eye candy, the capturing of the most frequent words of each entry. what's captured above are the words of this morning's writing.

i won't share all the words with you, but will share some that seemed to come from the depths of my soulful wisdom—you know, the one our ego seems to block like a linebacker.

the summer breeze is cool and light. it refreshes the air and the mind and the body and the soul. the ocean air is cool and damp.

the fog lifts as the sun rises and sheds light on the day, the city, the street, the house. our house is filled with light and love and summer and breeze and ocean and air.

our beach is sandy and warm, that slight breeze kicking up the grains of sand that refuse to stay put. the grains of sand are wanderers among the earth of vagabonds. no grain willing stay put for too long, it has been through too much not to take its story to the next place willing to listen, to learn, to love to honor, to cherish, to feel, to flee, to be, free.

our lives are filled with these ocean breezes and this summer air. the fog rolls in, the fog rolls out. wise words and my kind soul permeate the soft skin made supple by the moisture in the air from living by the sea. if the air is cold, my heart is warm. if the air is warm, my heart follows suit.

we do not believe in "one or the other", we believe in coexisting in a life where anything, everything is possible. my brain is the genius it set out to be all those years ago when formulating a plan to be here, to love, to cherish, to honor, to bring forth the light in my being i've always known was here. and so i am, and so it is.

this is the life i have chosen for myself, but not as a human, as the tiny microorganism that lived and has lived for centuries and milleniums. this is the way of life and we all are much more than we can conceive of with our own two eyes and ears and arms and legs. our minds are supple just like our skin, although we see so much less with our minds than we dor our soul.

our mind blocks the soul from speaking, but not from seeing. the soul is patient and will wait its turn because the soul is not the ego and the ego has no place in the soul.

the ego knows this and takes its rightful place in our minds and begins to settle in for the long haul with the intent of protecting us. but the ego has a two-year old's mind and offers tantrums and punching as a way of resolving conflict and communicating fears. this is the way of the ego and it is what it is.

we all see things differently and the love in the air is more powerful than the ego in the mind. it's a matter of letting that love in, which the soul is kindly obliging.

the summer breeze brings us back around and the ocean air will lay its fog and lift its fog in its own good time. we all will lay our fog and lift our fog in our own good time. our ego will try to tell us otherwise, and sometimes our minds will believe, but the soul knows best.

we don't always listen to the soul because we're not always listening. but today i am. today i listen.

today, we—my soul and i—are one. we travel the ocean air and fly in the summer breeze. we compliment each other and say how nice our hair looks. we notice the sparkle in each other's eyes. we share the glitter of sea foam as a dolphin pushes up for a breath of fresh air and a playful jump. we sit in awe of each other and revel in our marvelousness. we take care of each other and nurture one another with kindness. with indulgent prosperity. with deep and loving compassion. we understand that our imperfections are just the opposite, and made for reasons that—at least, i—cannot comprehend.

but the soul has infinite wisdom and understands that i will learn in my own good time. i will understand and grow in my own good time, just like every redwood does. we grow in groves, not in solitude, but because we have others around us and are meant to thrive in a world where we see each other for our greatness and not for our weakness.

redwoods see greatness in other redwoods, and strive to grow taller, not to outshine, outlive, out-do the others, but so the other redwoods will do the same.

we grow and thrive because of our community and sharing and willingness to help others grow. we will rise to the top of our beings and continue to grow and thrive. and it's not so we will be taller, bigger, badder, better than anyone else, but so that others may see us grow, and do the same—have the courage to grow where once there was blind courage and no growth—see the inner wisdom that's been kept hidden in the depths of the soul, only to come out and play when the soul knew it was time.

we all have our time, we all have our wisdom, and our time is now and our wisdom is here.

this is what i have to say on this beautiful sunday morning.

turns out i did share almost all of it. i hardly recognize the words as my own, but that's how the universe works. through us all. and through the summer breeze.

words, dying to come out will not be kept at bay

words, dying to come out will not be kept at bay.
shared with you they hold water like salt,
kept from you they hold water like cracked dams
killing the dense population of my mind.

________

core burns hard within
singes paper mind
healing happens outside me

________

stumbles alone quietly
through the night dream air
i own reality

________

among brilliant cats drinking
everglades from gators
harp indigenous jowls kept.

labor mars naivete
offers prayers quick
resolves sore time, used venom

willful xenons yearning zeal.

________

the great thing about poetry is that it means something different to everyone. we see the words on the page, the screen differently. we share the experiences in our mind with what we see in front of us and we say, oh that makes sense, or i don't get it, or i just can't think about this right now. we hide under the covers, we blow them off, we creep tentatively into the daylight, wondering how we'll be affected, afflicted, inflicted, infected, reflected, rejected. we make up words, signs, wisdom in our heads so when something goes wrong we say, see i told you so, even if just to our inner child who tried to dream one last time.

and in the end, you're still the same you, and i'm still the same me, and time moves on as ever it does, as ever it will.

we will survive. it's all we know how to do.

Courage [Revisited]

I posted over at Authentic Realities today on the courage my father showed in sharing my mother's death with me, so I thought I'd re-share with you a related post.


Courage, from Sept 2008:

From 7 Days:

My father was the epitome of courage, although I didn't realize it until after he died. There was one single moment in my life where everything changed.

Everything.

My father pulled into the driveway of the placement home I lived in when I was sixteen and said six words.

Six.

"It’s your mother. She’s dead, Dian."

And thus began my new life.

When my father got sick two years ago, my first emotion was relief; many more would follow. Since my mother's death I’d spent the better part of fourteen years wondering when my father was going to take his turn. I did not dread his death, but felt relief in moving forward. Forward without the anticipation, the anxiety of wondering how my father was going to leave my life.

My mother left unexpectedly, abruptly; my father gave me time to adjust. Time to say good-bye. Time to say all the things I would need to say in order to bury him without regrets; in order to be buried without regrets.

I wondered for years who would break the news of my father's death to me. It never occurred to me that he would be the one. It never occurred to me that I would walk him through it. It never occurred to me that I would watch his last breath heave into his chest and be slowly released. It never occurred to me that I would feel the last beat of his heart with my own hand on his chest. It never occurred to me that I would cherish that moment; just as I’d learned to cherish those six words my father had spoken all those years ago.

My father was not a man of wealth in large bank accounts, but a man of wealth in the courage he held quietly in his heart. My father loved me, of this I am sure. Not because he told me, but because he showed me. His soul spoke six words to me as I held my hand on my father’s chest.

It’s your father. I’m dead, Dian.

heaven and earth

This post comes from a prompt by Julie Jordan Scott in her amazing Wild Wednesday Writing Camp this morning.

today i will tell about heaven and earth like this…

ooh baby do you know what that’s worth,
ooh heaven is a place on earth.

when i was young this was just a pop song by a girl i had a crush on
today, i live those words,
live that life
that knowing
being

my heaven is being curled up in her arms.
my earth is being tangled in around on with her being.

my heaven is watching him dance and play when he cannot see me.
my earth is throwing a ball back and forth for hours.

my heaven is them.
my earth is me.

i am

when i find myself in playful soul respite and relief, i write…

playfully, reality, rawly, really.
i write my truth.
i write my soul.
i allow my self to come out and play.
i cease from hiding and move into being.

i can relax and enjoy the writing without feeling like
i have to
need to
got to
get it
done.

i can let the words roll off the tips of my fingers and live on the page just as they like.
just as they are.
just as i am.

i am free.
i am alive.
i am.

Truth Speaks

my truth says…

my truth says,
you are not alone.
my truth says,
you are big enough,
you are just right.

my truth says,
you are powerful beyond words.
my truth says,
you are powerful with your words.
my truth says,
you are powerful when you
speak your words.

my truth says,
you are perfect.
my truth says,
you are brilliant.
my truth says,
you are already
something;
you are already
someone.

my truth says,
you are brave.
my truth says,
your courage is beautiful.
my truth says,
your tears wash away
what no longer is;
the feeling is bliss.

my truth says,
you are all that you need to be;
you are growing.
my truth says,
just be you.
my truth says,
you are worth it.

A Year Ago on DRW: June 6, 2009

Since readership has grown a little bit over the last year (hey new followers, hey!!) I thought I'd post something from this day last year. Here's a bit of "Learning Me" from June 6, 2009:

This morning I'm enjoying a bit of quiet time, while Erin and Jackson are sprawled on the bed sleeping the morning away, Killer is curled up on the futon enjoying her alone time, and Sly is curled up next to me on the couch (finally finished cleaning himself).

The past couple of months have been a blur. Between Balance and Process coach training; life coaching and being life coached; reading Anatomy of the Spirit, The Drama of the Gifted Child, and The Mastery of Love (and then Bringing Down the House just for a break from myself); attending marriage equality rallies in Long Beach and Fresno; putting down bricks over the dirt in the back yard to keep Jackson from digging (since he killed all the grass within 1 month of our arrival); continuing work on the book; putting a 2000 piece puzzle of Neuschwanstein together; softball and BBQ's, both local and on the road; and taking Jackson on his daily dog park trip so as to get him too tired to eat the furniture (or stacks of $20's we apparently keep lying around), I haven't made much time for blogging.

I hesitate to exclaim, "ALL THAT IS ABOUT TO CHANGE!!" because I'm in a place where I'm really trying to honor myself. I've once again run myself into a place where I'm unwilling to commit to anything more that what I already have on my plate. A friend of mine, whom I haven't seen in quite a while (and now lives right around the corner) invited me to a BBQ and I just couldn't commit. Part of it was that I have prior commitments that prevent me from accepting any further invitations, but that line of reasoning was only valid after I found out it was an evening BBQ. While I thought it was during the day, I simply couldn't commit to anything further than, "...well maybe I'll stop by for a few mintues..." and even that made my skin cringe at the guilt of now she's hoping to see me and I really should just stop by for a minute, it's right around the corner!

But the thing is, maybe I really don't have a few minutes to stop by. Maybe in order to honor myself I just need to take the day as it comes and do only what I have time for, only what I don't have to rush around for. With all that I've already committed myself to, I've left little time for recuperation, for relaxation, rejuvenation (I feel like the Cajun Man on SNL). I've been focusing so much on growth that I haven't given myself the chance to let it all sink in.

I've often referred to personal growth and learning as a sponge. If I'm the sponge and water is learning, then it takes a little bit for the water to stop flowing over the top of the sponge and for the sponge to really begin to absorb the water. But then when the sponge is full, the water continues to pour right through and the learning is missed. I have to turn the water off, allow myself to absorb what's already been passed through me to learn, and then let that sit for a while in order to really take it in. So to tell you where I am today, I've turned the water off and I'm letting myself sit for a while. In this space I'm finding time to appreciate the things I've learned.

Living a balanced life isn't something you achieve, it's something you constantly work towards-it's about making conscious choices about what I'm willing to say yes to and what I'm willing to say no to in each moment of decision. It's about knowing that I have the right to make decisions based on what's important to me right here and right now. And about realizing that I am not locked into anything that I do not choose to be locked into. I am human and things change. I must be flexible in coming to understand what is important to me, and then firm when honoring those values. And then I must be flexible again if the values I've held onto for years and years are no longer working for me. And I must be firm in my commitment to honor myself in addressing and evaluating my values and then flexible again in how best to proceed in honoring those values.

I've also learned the value of introspection, reflection, and being honest about what comes of both of these exercises. I've learned that the past is the past and while it's best to leave the past back there where it belongs, the only way to do so is to process the feelings--to really FEEL it all before moving forward. Otherwise I'm carrying around the baggage of the past. An example of this learning in my own life:

I once thought that I was over my mom's death. Until I realized that whenever someone close to me would bring up their mom I would victimize myself in that I didn't have a mom and how hard it was for me on Mother's Day or her birthday or a random Tuesday because you can call your mom just because you feel like it and I can't. I realized that I had processed my mom's death, but I never processed the anger I felt around it. And so I carried that anger along with me where ever I went. I carried my anger with me to lunches and meetings and relationships and road trips and intimate dinners for two and large parties and into the shower and the bath and on walks and hikes and bike rides and to the grocery store. The anger didn't show up in everything I did nor everyone I talked to, so I thought it was manageable. Until I went through some coaching last month.

Not only did I acknowledge the fact that I was angry with my mom for leaving, for being a bad mother, for teaching me the wrong way to love so had to figure it out on my own, but I also gave myself permission to feel that anger. To really let it out and sob and scream and be ANGRY! I found that expressing this anger didn't take away my love for her, but it let me move past myself so that I could see and be at peace with the wonderful mother I had. While she was terrible at some things, she always did her best to be the best mother she knew how to be. I am who I am largely because of my relationship with my mother, in all its flawed brilliance. And because I felt the anger, because I let it pass through me, because I was willing to feel it and let it go, leave it in the past, I can now move forward a lighter person, without the weight of this bag of anger I carried around for so many years.

I think I must stop with the learning for this morning, simply to honor my space of taking a break. I must let this learning sink in, I must sit in my silence with it to fully understand and then I'll be ready to move forward. More learning to come, although I can't promise expedience for right now...

I Wonder

i wonder…

i wonder what needs to be said. i wonder what needs to be heard. i wonder what fears lie beneath.

i wonder.

i wonder.

i wonder where i will go next. i wonder where my writing will take me. i wonder what questions are dying to be asked. i wonder what’s dying to come out.

i wonder what i know but don’t say. i wonder what i say but don’t know.

i wonder what’s next. i wonder what a-ha is lurking in the underground. i wonder what’s been left unsaid. i wonder what’s been silent. i wonder what silence will be heard.

i wonder what piece of me is dying inside. i wonder what piece of me is thriving. i wonder what piece of me is feeding off the fear that has hold of my heart.

i wonder when my heart will let go. i wonder when my heart has had enough. i wonder when my soul will step in.

i wonder when my writing will be my soul. i wonder what writing is my soul. i wonder what writing is at the center of my heart, the center of my soul.

i wonder what’s deep. i wonder what’s raw. i wonder what’s inside.

what do you wonder?

Loving Unconditionally

From 7 Days.

His eyes seemed grayer than the day before, and the stubble on his cheeks and chin had grown quite a bit. A sticky white residue from the tube in his throat being taped to his face for stability was left on his lips and stubble. The nurses and I wiped him down several times, but his face remained greasy from lack of a real bath or shower in more than four days. The flesh on his cheeks was rubbery and plastic. It felt as though it might stretch across the room just as it hung from his bones. I was having to work harder to recognize my father. My father, the man who always bailed me out. The man who always went to work. The man who showed up every time he said he would. The man who always believed in me. The man I could always count on to be there, wherever “there” was. He was always “there”. He took me in when my mother turned me out. He found BILY* and taught me how to communicate. He had all the goods on me, and he loved me anyway. As I stared at this man who had been a part of my last thirty years, I wondered: Who would be there to love me unconditionally as he always did?

The Place I'm Meant To Go [Updated with Video]

I wrote this yesterday in one of the camp fires over at Julie Jordan Scott's Writing Intensive Camp.

the place i’m meant to go with my writing and my words is….

deep. raw. inside. what i think people won’t love me for. what i think people will judge me for. what i think people will hate me for.

the place i fear the most. that fear guides me into the fears of others and calls out to come and play, what would stay underground and unheard for years.

where i have feared to go. where others have feared to go. where others have no idea.

the place no one else can get to. the place only i can see. the place only my intuition can shed light on. the place we all need to go.

the place i need to be. if i focus on nothing else, i ought to be focused on what’s dying to come out.

the place i’m meant to go in my writing is the heart. the soul. the center.

[Updated with video below, also as seen on Authentic Realities 6.1.10]

the brilliant peaceful gift

the day he left was a brilliant day. it was finally over. all the waiting. all the fuss. all the pain. there was no more what if. only what is.

of course i was left to sort through what is. what was. and figure out the difference between what was and what is.

the rain. the hospital. the tears. the cancer. the kleenex. the food in the cupboard. the clothes in the closet. the money in the bank. the memories in my mind.

what's real? what's fabricated? what's only my perception?

my perception is my reality.

one foot in front of the other. moving. shifting. changing. growing.

without having to wonder when it was finally going to happen, i could focus on what was next. but then, just what the hell was next?

the funeral.

but let me stay in this moment of brilliance for one more moment. one more moment of relief. one more moment of surrender. one more moment of knowing. one more moment of peace. one more moment of this gift my father has given to me in letting go of this world and giving it to me to do with as i choose.

the funeral can wait one more goddamn minute while i sit here in this peace.

Just To See Him Smile

I'm "supposed" to be doing something else right now. But I guess if that were really true, I'd be over *there* doing it, instead of *right here* doing this. And this is much more important. For now.

I'm a DIY kinda girl. Part of that comes from not wanting to ask people questions when I was a kid for fear of getting in trouble, and part of it is going with my father to job after job after job, and not only watching him build decks and fences and furniture, and repair plumbing and electrical and mechanical stuff. He was a carpenter, a plumber, an electrician, a jack-of-all-trades handyman.

My father wasn't much of a technical guy, though. When it came to computers, he relied on me to help him. My father was comfortable with tools in his hand, and I with a computer at my fingertips. I felt like it was a great payback system for all the handy stuff he showed me how to do for myself over the years. It gave me a great sense of pride to be able to teach my father how to do something because I'd learned so much from him over the years.

In the last stage of my father's cancer, he couldn't get up and move much. He was tired all the time from the blockage in his liver and the medication and the cancer. His mind couldn't stay focused on any single thing for too long, but he could stay focused on Freecell.

So I bought him a laptop. Just so he could play Freecell in his lap and not have to get up to it.

The laptop had a huge 17 "screen. He felt like the cards were coming right at him. His birthday had just passed in October, and December/Christmas wasn't quite there, but when it comes to doing something just to see someone smile, there doesn't have to be a special day to do it.

As I'm sitting here going through page after page of the book and looking back at those last 7 days with my dad, I'm drawn to think about not the 7 days, but all the days that led up to the last ones. I still have that ginormous laptop, and I'm pretty sure the only thing it does anymore is play Freecell.

When my father passed away in the January following this for-no-good-reason-other-than-I-love-you-and-want-to-see-you-smile gift to my father, I wondered if I'd wasted the $1,000 I'd spent on it, as I had nearly no use for it.

I can replace that $1,000. What I can't replace is the joy my father took in being able to play Freecell right in his lap. And as long as I remember him, I don't really have to.

Tommorrow's Sun

Day breaks and clouds part slowly as the rising sun fills the sky with light from the heavens. Most days, I feel good. Most days, I feel like the parting clouds disappear at just the right time, the rays of sunlight are just the right brightness and temperature to keep me moving fluidly throughout my day. But not today.

Today the dark clouds loiter and take me over. Today the dark clouds soak me into their gloomy existence. Today the dark clouds become me.

I don’t fight the clouds, I let the wispy molecules surround me and hold me to the ground. The wind pushes us around, the sky holds us down, the sun is nowhere in sight.

Today the clouds rule the earth, and I doubt the sun is anywhere behind them. Until she peeks out briefly, as if to taunt me.

I lay in bed and close my eyes again, unwilling to brave the darkness beyond my closed eyelids. Tomorrow’s sun will just have to do.