A few days ago my little skiff was bobbing wildly down a raging river. Anxiousness and worry spun the river (my mind) into frothy whitewater. A raging river is loud and distracting, and like a drunk monkey, it demands attention. It threatens to dash me on the rocks and tumble my raft in the rapids. I naturally rise to engage and fight the current, battle the waves and stare down the boulders in my path. I take on the identity of a person who needs to gain control of the situation. The terrible thing about this is that it's a no-sum game. I would be doing battle with my mind, the illusions of demons that don't exist outside the thoughts that bounce around in my skull; the lies I tell myself about how I'm not good enough. If I continue engaged like that, I will end up where my attention was set, dashed on the rocks. Instead, I remembered a lesson learned on the night you were born, Thor. And it calmed that river right down.
Hurricane Fran had pummeled us with over ten inches of rain in one day. The trees swayed in the wind and bent starkly under rain-soaked leaves. As the storm approached it did more than just knock out the power and flood the rivers; it triggered labor. Planning to have a home birth, I called the power company to see how long it would be before I could flick on the lights. The man advised me to evacuate to a hospital since the substation that supplied our area was under ten feet of water and that it would be at least three days before we could expect to have power restored. Oh, holy Lord! I was unwilling to consider a going to the emergency room to give birth to you. It didn't feel right; it was not our story. So, your dad and I decided to stay and make do with what we had along with heavy reliance on the advice of our midwife, Nana and Aunt La.
At one point Nana and our beloved midwife suggested I stop walking around and try to rest awhile. I laid down on the sofa, sweaty in the sweltering humidity of late summer in Virginia, and had a conversation with the Great Unknown. I thought about the countless numbers of women, my ancestral sisters and mothers, who had given birth under the stars, on the plains, in cabins, caves, yurts, teepees, and igloos. I thought about the countless mothers who breathed in and out to tap the power of the Earth so they could bring their babes safely to life. Mentally, I linked arms with this vast sisterhood and turned my attention inside. I would do this freestyle, without the carefully wrought plan we had created over the past months. And without running water, or power or anything else save the love, support and experience of those who attended this blessed event. (Your dad was a rock star, btw!) I breathed in and out, in and out, innnnn and ouuuut. Surrender it to God. Surrender it all. Accept no blame, nor praise. Just be here now and allow life to be lived through me. Breathe innnnn and ouuuuut….all the tension left my body rendering me edgeless and free. You and I were so connected at that moment, Thor. I felt you saying "we got this mama." And so I was resolved to a primitive homebirth with whatever resources we could garner at the moment. With a final exhale, I let it go.
In that very instant, the power came on! The ceiling fan started spinning, and the air conditioner sputtered to life. I laughed aloud and whooped! I don't know if surrendering allowed the power to come on or if it was coincidence, but I can tell you that taking a position of surrender was the best thing I could have done for me, and us. It's impossible to fall off the floor, right?
The lesson is one of surrender and faith. All rivers lead to the ocean. If I wish to be the master of my life not a refugee in it, I need to cultivate a state of being that allows for the continuous experience of love. Allow my stance to remain humble, vulnerable, kind and patient. This means being kind to myself, too. We are often our own worst enemies. My thoughts can cut like knives into the tender places in my heart, bleeding me dry of precious energy, disconnecting me from Peace and Love. The anxious thoughts and passing fancies are not real; they are fabrications made up of old tapes, old stories, old hurts. They are the ghosts of the past coming to haunt the present and seeking to derail the future with fear and doubt.
This week I grappled hard with the concept of resilience as I tried to pick myself up from that sad, angry, low place. In the months since your death, I've gained a measure of resilience as it related to me, individually. I can focus inside to tap in and find that calm, deep peace from which all creation springs. It's like cold, clear water in a desert. Nothing is better. The rub for me is when I get involved with the world and have to find this resilience when faced with all the various agendas, ideas, needs, struggles, pain, suffering and terrible beauty that surrounds me. In these interactions the connection to peace is tested. I'm out of control in these situations, and that makes me edgy, not edgeless. Other people's decisions, actions, and timeline can affect the daily life of my family, and this vulnerability spins up anxious thoughts and cues the frantic doingness that I just don't want anymore.
I went for several long walks along sun-dappled lanes and tree-lined rivers to spend some time in silence and prayer. I intentionally worked to reconcile the truth of the situation with the inner dialogue that was running amok. It took some doing, and I didn't get it right the first time out. I still struggle with this at times, because being vulnerable, open and bright is hard to do when one is looking for a job. Job-seeking seems to bring out the bullshit adjectives splashed across a resume and forces us to cover the soft places in our beings, to leverage interactions. It spawns a tendency toward fakeness that makes me physically ill. I want to do it differently. There is something attractive, like a magnet, in people who are authentically strong and vulnerable, humble and wise, silent and yet so clearly heard. I want to be like this in the world, melty and edgeless and also clear and focused. "From an authentic state of being with love and open hearts…" Right out of the Family Blessing, right? This is it. This is the next level of reconciliation work I'm doing, Thor. And it all stems out of the work I'm doing as I mourn and grieve you, my sweet boy. There is a heart opening that has let me glimpse the connectedness of all that is. To let that go unexplored and uncultivated would be to walk away from you and the spiritual call to expand, grow, learn and radiate light.
At one point Nana and our beloved midwife suggested I stop walking around and try to rest awhile. I laid down on the sofa, sweaty in the sweltering humidity of late summer in Virginia, and had a conversation with the Great Unknown. I thought about the countless numbers of women, my ancestral sisters and mothers, who had given birth under the stars, on the plains, in cabins, caves, yurts, teepees, and igloos. I thought about the countless mothers who breathed in and out to tap the power of the Earth so they could bring their babes safely to life. Mentally, I linked arms with this vast sisterhood and turned my attention inside. I would do this freestyle, without the carefully wrought plan we had created over the past months. And without running water, or power or anything else save the love, support and experience of those who attended this blessed event. (Your dad was a rock star, btw!) I breathed in and out, in and out, innnnn and ouuuut. Surrender it to God. Surrender it all. Accept no blame, nor praise. Just be here now and allow life to be lived through me. Breathe innnnn and ouuuuut….all the tension left my body rendering me edgeless and free. You and I were so connected at that moment, Thor. I felt you saying "we got this mama." And so I was resolved to a primitive homebirth with whatever resources we could garner at the moment. With a final exhale, I let it go.
In that very instant, the power came on! The ceiling fan started spinning, and the air conditioner sputtered to life. I laughed aloud and whooped! I don't know if surrendering allowed the power to come on or if it was coincidence, but I can tell you that taking a position of surrender was the best thing I could have done for me, and us. It's impossible to fall off the floor, right?
The lesson is one of surrender and faith. All rivers lead to the ocean. If I wish to be the master of my life not a refugee in it, I need to cultivate a state of being that allows for the continuous experience of love. Allow my stance to remain humble, vulnerable, kind and patient. This means being kind to myself, too. We are often our own worst enemies. My thoughts can cut like knives into the tender places in my heart, bleeding me dry of precious energy, disconnecting me from Peace and Love. The anxious thoughts and passing fancies are not real; they are fabrications made up of old tapes, old stories, old hurts. They are the ghosts of the past coming to haunt the present and seeking to derail the future with fear and doubt.
This week I grappled hard with the concept of resilience as I tried to pick myself up from that sad, angry, low place. In the months since your death, I've gained a measure of resilience as it related to me, individually. I can focus inside to tap in and find that calm, deep peace from which all creation springs. It's like cold, clear water in a desert. Nothing is better. The rub for me is when I get involved with the world and have to find this resilience when faced with all the various agendas, ideas, needs, struggles, pain, suffering and terrible beauty that surrounds me. In these interactions the connection to peace is tested. I'm out of control in these situations, and that makes me edgy, not edgeless. Other people's decisions, actions, and timeline can affect the daily life of my family, and this vulnerability spins up anxious thoughts and cues the frantic doingness that I just don't want anymore.
I went for several long walks along sun-dappled lanes and tree-lined rivers to spend some time in silence and prayer. I intentionally worked to reconcile the truth of the situation with the inner dialogue that was running amok. It took some doing, and I didn't get it right the first time out. I still struggle with this at times, because being vulnerable, open and bright is hard to do when one is looking for a job. Job-seeking seems to bring out the bullshit adjectives splashed across a resume and forces us to cover the soft places in our beings, to leverage interactions. It spawns a tendency toward fakeness that makes me physically ill. I want to do it differently. There is something attractive, like a magnet, in people who are authentically strong and vulnerable, humble and wise, silent and yet so clearly heard. I want to be like this in the world, melty and edgeless and also clear and focused. "From an authentic state of being with love and open hearts…" Right out of the Family Blessing, right? This is it. This is the next level of reconciliation work I'm doing, Thor. And it all stems out of the work I'm doing as I mourn and grieve you, my sweet boy. There is a heart opening that has let me glimpse the connectedness of all that is. To let that go unexplored and uncultivated would be to walk away from you and the spiritual call to expand, grow, learn and radiate light.
I played with some images to envision and empower this idea of having melty edgelessness in juxtaposition to being clear, focused and incisive. The best thing I could think of was spicy, hot nacho cheese! Delicious, memorable, goes with just about anything, totally useful. The idea had me tipping my head back to whoop with wild laughter, only the trees and the outline of the mountains bore witness to what might have looked like a mad woman in the wood. But I know you were laughing too, shaking your head and wiping tears from your eyes. I imagined you saying, "That's nacho mama, that's my mama!" Cue more giggles.
I'm no longer seeking a job. I put myself out there in a way that was as honest and clear as I could be. I stumbled and fell as I grappled with the insecurity and vulnerability of that position. But the risk paid off, a job offer rests in my email inbox along with several other rich possibilities for additional collaboration. There is always energy behind the right thing, and this is the right thing, with the right people and at the right moment. I am not sure if crying "Uncle" is required for the gift of grace to be bestowed, but as soon as I surrendered and smiled from the melty nacho-cheesy Love in my heart, the call came.
Why take a chance? Surrender it all now. Give it up, now. Accept no praise, nor blame. It all belongs to God. My only job is to keep showing up, with that empty cup, like the ocean that rests beneath all the waters. Let Life be lived through me.
Be the ocean. Be humble. Rest beneath everything in a position of infinite love and patience. Everything comes to you there.
I love you,
Mom
I'm no longer seeking a job. I put myself out there in a way that was as honest and clear as I could be. I stumbled and fell as I grappled with the insecurity and vulnerability of that position. But the risk paid off, a job offer rests in my email inbox along with several other rich possibilities for additional collaboration. There is always energy behind the right thing, and this is the right thing, with the right people and at the right moment. I am not sure if crying "Uncle" is required for the gift of grace to be bestowed, but as soon as I surrendered and smiled from the melty nacho-cheesy Love in my heart, the call came.
Why take a chance? Surrender it all now. Give it up, now. Accept no praise, nor blame. It all belongs to God. My only job is to keep showing up, with that empty cup, like the ocean that rests beneath all the waters. Let Life be lived through me.
Be the ocean. Be humble. Rest beneath everything in a position of infinite love and patience. Everything comes to you there.
I love you,
Mom
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