Cloudy With A Chance Of Hope

After a brutal, beyond infernal week of 110+ degrees in Phoenix, I awoke to partly sunny skies. Could it be...clouds? In this arid desert, clouds are a God send, nature's way of teasing us with the remote possibility of rain, of which we've only received an inch this entire year. These cumulus clouds signal the arrival of monsoon, our version of the rainy season. As I gazed up into the heavens and welcomed the sight of dark grey clouds, the simile did not escape me. Almost 5 months since Anne's death and the darkness that I was shoved to live in, slowly recedes giving way to a cloudy outlook. A change I embrace after such a long exile.

Grief is a stubborn unwelcome guest and fickle, too. Just as I think I'm in the clear, it whacks me on the forehead and almost unconscious. It must possess the gift of invisibility, as I NEVER see it coming. Grief has no manners either, or it would know how rude it is to enter uninvited via a closed front door. No noticing the none too subtle doormat stating "LEAVE". Grief took no hint from it, evidently it's illiterate or it would be reading my blog posts relating to its visit. Don't you think 5 months is way too long for a house guest?? One of its most annoying traits is insomnia. This killjoy will sneak into my bedroom in the dark of night, and invade my dreams until I wake up with a nightmare. It seems misery loves company, especially at 3AM. I can't even shower without grief skulking in, and really, that's just indecent. If happiness were poison, grief would be the antidote. Life too good? Don't worry, grief to the rescue. If grief were on match.com, its profile would read: Lookin' for a lousy time? Call me, my no. is 555-PAIN. I am done with this visitor, but nobody wants it. I placed an ad on Craigslist partly stating " Free house guest to a good or bad home. Doesn't eat, drink or speak. Can be depressing, rude, overbearing, and a general pest." Maybe I'm being too honest. Perhaps I'll change it to say the following " Feeling lonely? This roommate is the perfect companion, always around. Will not leave food in the fridge for months because it doesn't eat. Got rowdy neighbors? Send this roommate over. Guaranteed party pooper!" I think I'll repost it today.

Swim At Your Own Peril, The Ocean Of Grief is Uncharted

I am completely out of my favorite element, earth, and submerged in my least likeable one, water.  I say this just as my toes palpate a grainy sandbar, gripping on to terra firma. My short lived elation is washed away as a forceful, rogue wave shoves me back into the deep waters. My head bobs up and down like a cork, catching a glimpse now and then of land ahoy. Grief, it seems, comes in waves. Small, unassuming waves, and monster waves. I steady my sights on the refuge of dry land and begin to feverishly swim towards it. At times, the ocean coaxes me along easing my journey and grief begins to subside. At times, a riptide sucks me under and spits me out as if it swallowed a bad clam, throwing me off course. How did the ocean get so big and how did I get so small?  If I stop fighting the tide and give in to my sorrow, will the current eventually deliver me to safer ground? It's a game between grief and joy, a tug of war of sorts. I reach for joy, and grief sweeps me out to sea.  Ungrounded and disoriented, I find solace in knowing that I am not alone. The ocean of grief is vast and unmapped, even if you've been there before.  There is a lot to be said for feeling the ground beneath your feet. A solid foundation provides comfort and security in an unsteady world. I miss being centered and grounded. When I do eventually reach the shore, it will be an unfamiliar one. We can never go back once we've been swept out by the ocean of grief. But I will be a much stronger swimmer, already am.

When Earthquakes Strike

Ever been in an earthquake? It is a terrifying experience when the ground beneath you is not solid. Nothing to hold on to, at the mercy of outside forces. My heart goes out to the people of Japan, they have a long road to recovery.

When our foundation is shaken to its core, what do we hold on to? When the outside world is not safe, what centers us from within? A life-altering event can have the same effect as an earthquake. A death, divorce, financial crisis, marriage, a baby are all life changing events. Even though some are positive, they are still frightening and throw us off our axis. When tragedy struck my world last month, I felt I was shoved off a moving train. Bruised, screaming, shocked, amazed that such a powerful force didn't actually kill me, I'm in awe of the human spirit and how it can survive such a blow to the soul. What empowered me to get up after being thrown off a moving train, dust myself off and start walking? My answer was faith, trust in the unknown. Because I don't know what else to call it. It was not hope, I had none. Hope requires positive thinking about the future, as in "I hope for a better tomorrow" or "I hope we win the lottery". What is hope anchored to? Hope is light and airy, and needs to be weighted down for substance. I believe hope is anchored to faith. I had faith but not hope, so can we have hope without faith? I'm not sure. Faith and trust sustain us through the darkness, even when we don't understand how, even when we can't see. For some, faith means God and religion, to some of us it means trust in the all-knowing, that which is beyond mortal understanding.

I'm not telling you what you should believe, I am merely tossing a few thoughts out there for you to chew on. In Japanese, the word "shin" encompasses faith, belief and trust. In Sanskrit, that word is "shraddha". Beautiful aren't they?

I wish I could tell you a personal earthquake will never strike you, but that would be naive of me. All I wish is that when it does, you can find a little faith, hang on to it for dear life and wait for the quaking to stop.

My Begging Bowl

What to do when your bowl is filled with something you don't want? When I was little and my mother would feed me a food I disliked, it got secretly tossed behind the fridge next to my chair. That worked well until the cleaning lady moved the fridge one day and my secret was uncovered. My dinner chair got moved.
I was introduced to the concept of Buddhist begging bowls in a small but lovely book titled Everyday Sacred. The monks depended on the kindness of people to fill their empty bowls with either food or money, but some days they were never filled. Plus, no choice on what they were given. On a philosophical level, what are we supposed to do when our life bowl is forcibly ladled with foulness so vile you want to vomit? Not allowed to toss it out or exchange it for a better choice. When every cell in your body rejects what's been placed in your bowl, yet you are forced into accepting it. Such is the world I live in right now. I don't want to accept Annie's gone, yet I can't bring her back. I am wedged in this corner of rejecting something abhorrent and yet knowing it will stay in my life bowl forever. How do I make peace with this? Accepting yet despising every moment of it, swallowing the bad medicine, clutching onto my soul as it screams in pain from the gaping wound still raw, I will survive the suffering and eventually heal. Through meditation and yoga, acceptance will coat rejection with the nectar of higher goodness. My begging bowl still has room for sweetness, love and peace.
May your begging bowl always be filled with all that you need and is good in this world.           

Darkness Settles In For A Long Stay

Remember my past post from 5/2/09 about a dark, damp tunnel with bats? I'm in it. A few yards in from the entry of the tunnel, I am paralyzed with fear. I can't turn back, yet I am terrified of taking a step forward deeper into the darkness. Processing grief is an individual experience, and I know I must work through it not over it to move on in my life. For the first time, I'm afraid of the space I've been slammed into, a space I know nothing about. A space NOBODY should ever be in, who knew there were levels of death that were better than others? The last time I felt pain this raw was the suicide of a dear friend of mine from high school. It all flooded back with a vengeance after Annie's death. The darkness I must blindly tread through to reach the light on the other side is uncharted for me. No GPS to state the length of this tunnel, it's possible pitfalls or curves. A mind path I must endeavour alone, deep into the recesses of my soul and uncover whatever landmines I missed in the past. This time to reach the other side, there are no shortcuts and my soul will be stripped bare.
For now, I wake up every day, I meditate and give myself permission to be in whatever space I will be in that day. Not pushing for revealment, accepting the dark tunnel, the screaming bats that I can't see and taking comfort that I am loved by so many.

A Bright Light Extinguished, My Soul Is Dimmed

One of my dearest, oldest friends was violently murdered last week. Annie was larger than life, with a vibrant energy that was palpable. Her smile contagious, her laugh unforgettable and her eyes could pierce right into your soul. A fiery temper to match her beautiful red (now blonde) mane, a porcelain complexion most women would envy and a goddess in the kitchen. Annie would give you her last dollar, her kindness was infinite as was her love for animals, especially doggies. Her flare for decorating and hosting fabulous parties were just a few of her many talents. She taught me how to host a party and entertain, making it all seem effortless, a skill I never learned to master. How she could take a bath right before 50 people were to show up at her home amazed me. I'm always running around like a crazy person!

Annie was my touchstone, the one who could always talk me off the ledge and make me laugh at the same time. She was the older sister I never had, I am now left to navigate this life without her wisdom or colorful wit as a compass. When we joked about the gradual signs of age, I'd taunt her and scream " You first!". I was supposed to grow old with her as my friend, yet that is not to be.

My life's path is forever altered, in ways still unknown. Annie would say the best gift I could give her would be to live fearlessly and fully. A gift we can all give Annie to honor her memory. Live every day as if it were your last.