On Silence

There was this day last summer--the sky a perfect shade of blue, making all the colors of earthly objects more vivid and lush. Bunnies and birds and bugs teeming with their own purpose. The wind brought just the right amount of comfort to skin. It was in this air that the kids and I went down to the trail. Fisher drove Phoenix in his powerwheel while I was lead by the leash of our dog Neko. Our only purpose was to wander around. There was an older gentleman walking an old dog who was headed towards the same trail as us, but when he saw us he scowled, cursed, and let out a huff, turning around. Minutes later we ran into him again (he had accessed the trail at a different spot with the intent of avoiding us) and he was truly pissed. I guess he expected us to be heading in a different direction but as I said we were just wandering without aim. His eyes snapped at me and he yelled, angry that we were there, saying something about how he couldn't pass us because his dog didn't do well around others. It pissed me off; it seemed absurd that he would bring his dog to a public trail and expect there to be no one else. But instead of snapping back I bit back equally angry words. After some silence I said excuse us sir and led the kids away so that he could continue on his walk without having to come near us. A week went by and I saw him again on the trail but this time he came up to me and said he was sorry, that his dog was the only thing he had left in the world--his best friend--and it was dying, which is why he didn't want it to get riled up as was sure to happen when he met our dog. His eyes were so sad. It hit me then that if I had responded to him with equal bitter curses he would not be so warm and apologetic. It was my silence that brought his contrition. Isn't that the way of the world--if we are faced with negatives and just dish out the same negativity all it does is build and build and provide each side with more fuel and more righteousness. But my return of silence was like a mirror, which made him own his anger and he obviously spent that week feeling doubt and remorse about his actions. And then with clear words and understanding, all was forgiven. It's a powerful thing, silence. I practiced silence yesterday by not posting anything on the blog. I'm sure that silence left some readers doubting and wondering--some thinking the worst. But the truth is I had a late night with a good friend who was visiting from out of town so all morning my brain felt like scrambled eggs and I just wanted to be lazy. And then in the afternoon I received sad news. Later on my daughter slammed her toes in a door, which meant a lot of consoling and a trip to urgent care to confirm if it was broken. I'm all for communication--for making our hearts known, but there is a great benefit to sometimes not saying a word--and that is when faced with anger. As Kenny Rogers so succinctly sings, "you got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em."

On Trust

Yesterday the kids and I played at a park. We found long sticks and used them to etch pictures in the gravel of a baseball field. We drew suns and Fisher said that our suns would bring out the sun in the sky and keep the rain away and it didn't rain the rest of the day. At one point Phoenix, my 2 year old, said look mom, I drew a horse. She's never drawn a horse or anything but random scribbles, and though I'm sure it was by pure accident her scribbles did look like an ancient petroglyph of a horse:

I love watching kids at play at the park. All it takes for them to make friends is finding one thing in common with another kid--whether it's wearing the same color of shirt, or discovering a similar affinity for dinosaurs or the teeter-totter. They make up their mind in that moment to be friends for the next hour. They assume the best. I always wonder what it is about aging that takes away that simple magic. I think it must be trust--the more we see of the world, the more news we watch, the less faith we have in humanity. Though being hardened to the tragedies can keep you safe, it can also prevent the magic of optimism. There must be a balance of realism and daydreams. I strive to keep my kids safe so that they can live in the world of dreams for as long as possible, to nurture their passions no matter how small or strange. Fisher is currently obsessed with Bigfoot. He watches Harry and the Hendersons, stands at the end of our driveway yelling out his Bigfoot call, spends hours gathering leaves and preparing a bed for when the big man comes to visit, he leaves carrots in the woods and wonders all day long if Bigfoot has found them yet. I could go on. So I found this Bigfoot doll online, which came in the mail yesterday and which Fisher claimed was his new most prized possession that he would keep forever and ever:

My hope is that by encouraging their passion they will trust themselves. Phoenix likes to dress herself (sometimes 20 times a day). I don't discourage her when she puts on her brother's underwear inside out and backward. I don't discourage Fisher when he paints his toenails with my nail polish. I let them be so that they can be. Hopefully by the time the world starts to rear all of its colors in their direction they will have anchored enough trust in themselves to not let it keep them from believing in magic.

The Dirty Word

My post yesterday got me thinking about all the great students I've had the privilege of teaching. I recall one student, an older gentleman who taught mechanics, who said once that he had a professor who was a liberal and refused to acknowledge the merit of anyone who didn't agree with his politics. My response--he wasn't very liberal then. I am as liberal as they come, which I know is like a dirty word to some. And though it would make for less complicated politics, I absolutely do not deject those with opposing views (unless we're talking about the Westboro Baptists). I am a liberal in the defining sense, which means "open-minded or tolerant, especially free of or not bound by traditional or conventional ideas, values, etc." There are benefits and flaws in every political stance and it just so happens that I identify most with what I see as the benefits of the Democratic party. It seems so much time is wasted by people trying to talk over one another, refusing to see anything but their own mind, trying to convince the other side of their own rightness. Of course everyone wants to be right, but lets at least acknowledge that what is right for you isn't always right for others. Isn't that what we teach kids--that diversity is a good thing? Yet when it comes to our political views we seem to deny the merit of diversity. Maybe instead of waving our rightness above our heads until we are blue in the face we should perfect the art of listening.

A Poem for a Monday

I've never taken too well to authority. I'm not the patriotic type that waves a flag. You won't hear me saying God bless the USA. It's not that I don't respect this country or the people that do flaunt their patriotism, it's just not my way. I could never join the military and never understood why someone would want to (I knew of very few people who did). But now I understand. When I taught at a community college in Eastern Iowa my classes were so diverse in age and background--students ranged from 18 to 50 years of age. It made for such a rich and textured environment as the discussions and opinions shared were never homogeneous. And my favorite students were those who were in the military. In my experience, every one of them brought with them a certain confidence. They were respectful of everyone in the class whether or not they shared the same opinions, they were comfortable in their skin--always involved in the class and engaged, they brought a certain wisdom having seen and experienced things no one else could have imagined, and they were dedicated to their studies. So even if that life choice is not for me, now I see the benefit for those who choose it and I'm truly thankful that they do. On this Memorial Day, I say thank you to all the fine men and women who have or currently serve.

And in honor of those who have made the sacrifice for our country, here's a poem I wrote some years ago while in grad school. I had a crappy part time job at a furniture store while I was in school and I'll never forget the day a man came in looking for a new bed. He sat down on one and said "the ground in Vietnam was softer than this." Those words shot to my gut and I knew I had to write about it, so here it is:

What He Meant When He Said Ground

He entered the room like he

had forgotten himself years

ago, turned his back, that map

of distance. Sitting in a folding

chair, he said the ground in

Vietnam was softer, more

giving than where he sat now,

as if he had waited years to use

that line. And it was like

this each day in his life, spitting

images of a time his body is

bound to forever now. No one

understood the connection

between the chair and war,

fragments of all they’d seen

suspended above their heads,

the bodies, the vegetation, the

sound of expelled ammo set

to music, their memory in

a television. But when he said

ground, he meant ground, the

wet of it under his bones,

the metal smell of blood blended

with mud, the sound of silence

after spent rounds. He meant

the way the ground stuck to his

back long after he lay down in it.

Randoms

I'm a little late posting today because I stayed up to an indecent hour talking on the phone (which I normally don't like to do) to a good friend. We talked for hours over a great distance. It is a strange and beautiful thing, isn't it, the people we meet in our lives and the timing of it all. I truly believe people come into our lives at the moment we need what they offer--and everyone offers something. Good or bad there is always something meaningful to take away from all of our encounters. We just have to be open.

And though I was slow to move this morning I still woke up to the quiet of the dark and the kids sleeping. I took my coffee to the backyard and listened to an owl hooting--8 hoots in succession, then more quiet, and then 8 more. The stars were there as always though I couldn't see them through the clouds.

The best cup of coffee I ever had was on a patio in Antwerp, Belgium. In fact, it is one of my favorite cities I have visited.

And the best stars I've seen was the time I sat on a cliff overlooking Pecos Valley, New Mexico--unthinking of distance or the steep drop or scorpions under rocks. The bright immeasurable stars burning holes in the dark veneer overhead, my pockets utterly empty. It was the closest I have been to free.

Once I was feeling down and out in Chicago, walking the streets with a friend. A man passed, paused to look at me, and then held up his hand saying "high 5?" I love that there are people in the world that go around giving random high 5s to strangers. I vote for more of this.

One of my favorite few lines from a poem is "the signals we give - yes or no, or maybe - / should be clear: the darkness around us is deep" from A Ritual to Read to Each Other by William Stafford. He's also my favorite poet.

And here's my favorite picture of me and the kids...taken last summer on a beach along Lake Superior.

To Simplicity

The kids and I started off memorial day weekend with a fire and s'mores. I can't think of anything that excites them more than a good fire. It's true that children embrace simplicity. No matter how many toys litter the floor they still prefer to run barefoot in the grass, to dig for worms and collect rocks, to stomp through puddles, to feel the wind blast their faces, to sit by a fire. Earth, wind, water, fire--are these not the same elements that incite joy at any age? Though I don't enjoy these elements in the same way as my kids, I still enjoy them in a different degree--building a fire, watching the rain, lying in the grass, the wind in my hair. Nothing has changed though everything changes. The root of joy is simple--we are elemental.

Give Away What You Need Most

Einstein once said that "the single most important decision any of us will ever make is whether or not to believe that the universe is friendly." Sometimes this is a hard truth to live by as invariably people will disappoint you or hurt you or lie. But the only tragedy in those hurtful times is if they change you--if you become the one shooting sad arrows. If we are to give away what we most desire than we should only give love. I like to practice this theory. Some mornings I wake up and decide to send love to every person I meet. All day each person I pass I will look at them and say "I love you" with my mind and it amazes me how the world then seems to take on a different texture, as if there's more air in the sky. Sometimes people will look up and smile. And without even trying I see the best qualities of everyone I meet--their beauty, their presence, their nuances. The world truly becomes a friendlier place.

Words

One thing I love about writing is the fact that every word has been read or thought or said--the challenge is putting these words together in a way that no one else has done before. To bring new meaning to these words by stringing them together musically and purposely. Every day we speak new sentences! When I read a book I'm always looking for sentences that give me pause and make me think and fall in love. I write these down on scraps of paper and keep them forever, thinking they might feed a poem. You'll find them scattered in my desk drawer, squashed at the bottom of my purse, little moths on book shelves. So here are a few of my favorites I have tucked away:

"The solitude became a habit, the habit became a man." Karen Desai, The Inheritance of Loss

"There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the faults of his feet....We always find something, eh Didi, to give us the impression we exist? Yes yes, we're magicians. But let us persevere in what we have resolved, before we forget." Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

"The motherly breath of suburbs -- smelled like lawn sprinklers and station wagons and tennis rackets and dogs and babies." Cormac McCarthy (I can't remember which book I pulled this from)

"...like a night, or like all nights stirred together." Patrick DeWitt, The Sisters Brothers

"The source of wisdom is whatever is happening to us right now. Whatever our current mood, that's the path. Aspire to be kind right in the moment." Pema Chodron, Start Where You Are

And here's a few from my favorite author, Louise Erdrich. She has a way with words like no other:

"some people meet the way the sky meets the earth, inevitably, and there is no stopping or holding back their love. It exists in a finished world, beyond the reach of common sense." Tales of Burning Love

"Recycle the mail, don't read it, don't read anything / except what destroys / the insulation between yourself and your experience / or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters / this ruse you call necessity." Original Fire

"You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could." The Painted Drum

To practice patience

My son Fisher has a secret hideout at the creek near our home. He's always asking to go there to pick up trash, fish with his bug catcher (though I've never seen a fish down there), throw rocks, and generally stomp around. And so we do. Yesterday we were there skipping rocks and splashing around. We found some large leaves and made boats of them, adding flowers and small pebbles and sending them downstream. Like me, he isn't patient. He kept jabbing at the boats with a long stick to send them along faster until I told him to just let them be and watch the water run its course. I love that I can teach my kids life lessons in these small moments. And it is a lesson--let things go. Stop trying to control the way the world unfolds because we can't--this world will lie to us, toy with us, test us. It is full of pretenders. We can only control how we face it. Let it be but don't let it keep you from being.

This year I've gone from a size 6 to a size 0. I have a 6 pack for the first time ever. I didn't intend to, I just liked how it felt to work my body into a sweat every morning--liked how it cleared my mind. It happened because I became patient with every day and didn't become frustrated with the little by little results that were required to bring me here. When I have a knot in my shoe lace the old me would have made it worse by pulling harder at the strings, but now I slow the tugging of my fingers because I know that eventually it will come loose. And it does. What matters is that we are moving.

On Empathy

Yesterday while driving along a busy road I passed a school playground and saw a flock of boys in the throws of a fight. On the very next block I spotted a sun-yellow home skirted with flowers, adorned with metal butterflies and a large front porch where a woman was sitting, admiring the view from her speck on the planet. In just those few seconds I had witnessed the sum of things. Fear, hate, sadness, peace, gratitude, love--everything exists at the same time. What a poignant image I witnessed on my drive, yesterday of all days when the news of the Oklahoma City tornado hit the airwaves. What sad, unfathomable devastation. Of course while that tornado bared down, on another stretch of land a baby was born, somewhere a person received good news, birds were hatching from eggs, someone smiled for no reason at all. So how do we reconcile this duality--the good and the bad. How do we stop ourselves from thinking I'm glad that wasn't me, or who am I to think that couldn't happen to me. Because those thoughts sink our sense of hope. They prevent us from feeling any joy wholly (or maybe that's just me and I'm too damned sensitive). I've always struggled to truly embrace the good things in my life because part of me thinks that the moment I name that happiness the floor will drop. But it isn't really fair to my heart. I should be able to ride the waves with a mind that is wholly open and present to whatever gift those waves offer without trepidation. For me, I think the answer is to just be open and accepting to every moment and to choose to learn and progress with each encounter. Simply, to be grateful for the air in my lungs. This idea is encapsulated perfectly in a poem by Jack Gilbert that I wish I had written. It has become one of my favorites and one of my dearest friends sent it to me. Enjoy.
www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-brief-for-the-defense/

A Poem for a Monday

I spent a lot of time in doctor offices this past year. As a result I had a lot of innocent and probing hands on me--checking my pulse, sliding a stethoscope across my back, feeling my throat. Always I was struck with a feeling of comfort. There is something about a touch from a stranger (I guess I should add the right kind of stranger) that feels good. Like when someone unknown to you bumps into you on the street and they pat your shoulder and say sorry. It feels like something akin to recognition. This got me thinking how all our lives we seem to seek this recognition (whether it comes from our work or friends or family). We all just want to be wanted. Even as kids we sought this kind of comfort--wanting to be picked first in a game of red rover, wanting the adults in our life to be proud. We are always wanting to be known in some way. I wonder if there is a way to quench that thirst ourselves. Perhaps the answer for this too is confidence. Anyway, here is a poem I wrote that stems from this notion:

Wanted

A cold chair awakens the skin of my back

not unlike those porch lights

that will surprise the dark at 4 a.m.

I can’t see but I can hear cars on the freeway –

all that chance in those bobbing heads.

All that coming and going.

The wind draws mouths on bushes,

a song for leaving. At our root –

the single wish to be understood and

still wanted. Such reassurance blooms

in a warm gesture, a touch from a stranger,

as if we’ve been picked.

Follow your map back to childhood.

Nothing has changed though everything

changes. This big world and each of us.

It is not that our light has altered

but that our words have grown more

complicated. We are all travelers here,

seeking comfort. Go in now.

Want this.

This Year

Some of you have read bits of this in a different communication, but not here and not all of it, so here goes. One of my fondest memories happened years ago. I was sitting on a tree-hemmed hill on a summer afternoon, alone and writing. A movement caught my eye and I looked up to see a fox a few feet away standing still and looking at me as if to see what I might mean. I stared back, just as quiet and curious. Several minutes passed like this—just me and this wild animal transfixed in that stillness. Nothing else in the world occurred. I remember the thin bones of his ankles and his rust-colored eyes. What passed between us—do no harm. It’d make for a sexier story if it had been a cougar or bear, but it was moving nonetheless. There have been times since then that I felt that stillness and that pure connection with a present moment. I felt it when I gave birth to my kids. I feel it when I look into a fire, when I see live music, or stand by a body of water. But it doesn’t happen often enough, does it? Our thoughts are always swimming between our past and future, scattered. It’s been a strange year. I’ve suffered from chronic headaches, brain fog, and a month long bout of vertigo and thus have been consumed with anxiety and worry that I was dying. I saw doctors, had tests (CAT scan, MRI, ENG balance test), blood work, tried massage, chiropractor, acupuncture, and lots of different drugs. Nothing worked and nothing was discovered. I’ve never been so scared and so frustrated. Things like time got away. I don’t relate any of this for sympathy or concern; it’s just that this has been my year. However, I am getting better. And remembering that fox now makes me think there is a lesson in all of this—be still, be present, be connected. I am actually thankful for the intrusion this brought to my life because after the fear and loneliness I have come to find a greater peace and strength in myself. I've always been a quiet observer. I have friends whom I cherish but find it difficult to make new friends because I am not fond of the surface conversations that are required of talking to new people and thus find myself alone with my thoughts quite often. Thoughts can take on a life of their own, but in this crappy year I have learned to focus these thoughts on the present and not be consumed with worry over things that might never happen. My mantra has become: for now. I started writing and reading more, started an intense work out regiment, and became a student of the world again--lit up with passion for possibilities. And with all of this I have gained confidence to live and speak from my heart. I've learned that confidence equals happiness. I've decided I need to put myself out there more, so here I am. 

Here's the start

This morning I was struck with the thought: perhaps the greatest mystery of life is ourselves. Life is a shared experience and what one does affects the rest in some way so it stands to reason that our self is not only something inside of us but the affect we have on the world. Everyone we meet takes away a certain impression of who we are - accurate or not, it doesn't matter - we become their perception and they become ours. All these pieces of us scattered like crumbs on a counter top. How could one ever put them all together to see the whole? And we can't control the ego and experience that have led others into their way of thinking. It is enchanting to think of the picture we must create from afar - like our grasp on life is just one square inch of a much larger canvas. We are like a pointillist painting - so many dots, but when seen from far back the picture is clear. We are a mystery to ourselves. The only thing we can do is to speak our truth and keep our hearts soft amid every encounter.