A teenager attempted suicide at a football game. She had taken sleeping pills that caused her to have a seizure which then brought her to the attention of the EMTs among others. It seems to me that when a person attempt suicide, but does not succeed, there is a commentary that states they were crying for help, which is somehow shameful, and that more credence is given to those who actually succeed. This idea is absurd to me. Why should a person feel shamed for asking for help, for needing help, for feeling enough pain inside that they can no longer speak for themselves so they ask for help in the only way they can see how? Would we really be happier to grieve a loss than to acknowledge the pain of others?
Asking for help is such a taboo in American culture. It is a sign of weakness. And God forbid we show any sign of weakness. But this notion is ridiculous. I have struggled with asking for help my whole life, so I can speak to that from a personal place. I pride myself on figuring things out on my own or with only the help of a manual and a You Tube video. Working together requires a level of flexibility and likely sacrifice. Asking for help often means that you are no longer an active participant, but a passive bystander.
With the issue of emotions, I feel we are even more encouraged to "suck it up" and deal. But the thing is, we are not doing it very well. Many women I know, myself included, take some kind of medicine for stress, anxiety or depression or a combination of all three. We go, go, go to take care of everyone and rarely take care of ourselves. We stifle our loneliness and just push on. Teenagers aren't as good or experienced with stifling and can find themselves overwhelmed that life is not the happy place we all pretend it to be. By high school, they find themselves in this mad dash to success without really knowing why they should do this thing or if they even really want to.
Sunday, December 11, 2016
Unusual friendship
I met a woman who has been a friend to me for some time, but it was the first day I ever saw her. I suppose with the advent of on-line dating, this is probably not such an unusual thing, but for me it was. I have never participated in on-line dating, so I can only presume that the anxiety I felt from the moment we made our date until today was something like what daters feel. It wasn't awful and I didn't have to drink first, but I arrived way too early and killed some time at a nearby antique mall that settled my nerves a bit.
I don't tend to make friends easily. I hold my cards close to my chest and then when I feel ready, I play them all at once. Love me or leave me, here I am, naked to my soul. So when a friendship works, I am loyal to it. I won't say that I am quite at that place with this person, but I liked her, very much. And she is honest, almost stream of consciousness honest, like one of my sisters, which intrigues me and scares me a bit too. For all my wanting to be seen, it unnerves me a bit when people do.
There has been an article floating around social media on high functioning anxiety. One of the bullet points was the fear that people will not like those with high functioning anxiety if they get to know us. Actually, it is weird, like we are all pretending to be a certain (normal) way, but we are afraid people will find out that we are actually oddballs or that we aren't as interesting as we make ourselves out to be. I am not certain which it is. I am a little different that other people, and that has been cause of some anxiety for me, though I generally like who I am. It is not like I have huge secrets, though a bit of drama would be accurate I suppose. I tend to keep my anxiety and depression a secret as that may be burdensome to others. But the truth is the secret itself becomes burdensome because it becomes the gorilla in the room.
Sometimes I wish I could sit myself down and yell, "You are 48 years old! Stop worrying about what other people think of you! They either will or they won't like you. Just be yourself." Because I met this woman over social media, I was more open and honest with her than I might have otherwise been and she liked me there and I liked her.
There is so much power in allowing a certain amount of vulnerability. I had really very little to risk, though it seemed like I had a lot at the moment. So smile to your eyes, say hello with genuine feeling. So it is not reciprocated. Okay. It happens. It hurts. But it also adds to the volume of potential goodness in the world. It is more likely to be reflected back positively and then expand from that person onward.
I don't think that I hit it off with this woman was a rare event. I think so much is possible when love guides rather than fear. Fear is easy, love takes effort and risk, recognizing fear and setting it aside.
I don't tend to make friends easily. I hold my cards close to my chest and then when I feel ready, I play them all at once. Love me or leave me, here I am, naked to my soul. So when a friendship works, I am loyal to it. I won't say that I am quite at that place with this person, but I liked her, very much. And she is honest, almost stream of consciousness honest, like one of my sisters, which intrigues me and scares me a bit too. For all my wanting to be seen, it unnerves me a bit when people do.
There has been an article floating around social media on high functioning anxiety. One of the bullet points was the fear that people will not like those with high functioning anxiety if they get to know us. Actually, it is weird, like we are all pretending to be a certain (normal) way, but we are afraid people will find out that we are actually oddballs or that we aren't as interesting as we make ourselves out to be. I am not certain which it is. I am a little different that other people, and that has been cause of some anxiety for me, though I generally like who I am. It is not like I have huge secrets, though a bit of drama would be accurate I suppose. I tend to keep my anxiety and depression a secret as that may be burdensome to others. But the truth is the secret itself becomes burdensome because it becomes the gorilla in the room.
Sometimes I wish I could sit myself down and yell, "You are 48 years old! Stop worrying about what other people think of you! They either will or they won't like you. Just be yourself." Because I met this woman over social media, I was more open and honest with her than I might have otherwise been and she liked me there and I liked her.
There is so much power in allowing a certain amount of vulnerability. I had really very little to risk, though it seemed like I had a lot at the moment. So smile to your eyes, say hello with genuine feeling. So it is not reciprocated. Okay. It happens. It hurts. But it also adds to the volume of potential goodness in the world. It is more likely to be reflected back positively and then expand from that person onward.
I don't think that I hit it off with this woman was a rare event. I think so much is possible when love guides rather than fear. Fear is easy, love takes effort and risk, recognizing fear and setting it aside.
Christmas time
Though all the songs seem to wax poetic about how wonderful Christmas time is, I find the reality very different. My anxiety is through the roof, I don't sleep, eat or exercise in ways that are best suited to living well.
But there is something that helps me if I can keep my mind to it, reflection on Advent and Solstice. Advent is the time of preparation, Solstice is the celebration of coming out of darkness. Both are reflective rather than active which is in antithesis to our modern Christmas agenda.
So how do I do this? Even as I write this, my mind wants to focus on that which bothers, irritates, angers me.
I think I must start with meditation to quiet some of the bombardment of thought about what I must do. I am not skilled at meditation, but the nice thing is, we can always get better with practice and meditation done poorly is better than no meditation at all.
I take time for me, by walking in bad weather in the dark, so short walks, just to breathe deeply, listen to the sounds of the darkness. Dress warmly yet feel the cold on my face.
I give up alcohol for a while. It is not helping my anxiety or my sleep or my food choices.
Eat seasonally. The foods that were harvested in the fall and stored for winter are the best for me now.
Avoid that which spins me up, like television and radio.
Honor my introvert.
But there is something that helps me if I can keep my mind to it, reflection on Advent and Solstice. Advent is the time of preparation, Solstice is the celebration of coming out of darkness. Both are reflective rather than active which is in antithesis to our modern Christmas agenda.
So how do I do this? Even as I write this, my mind wants to focus on that which bothers, irritates, angers me.
I think I must start with meditation to quiet some of the bombardment of thought about what I must do. I am not skilled at meditation, but the nice thing is, we can always get better with practice and meditation done poorly is better than no meditation at all.
I take time for me, by walking in bad weather in the dark, so short walks, just to breathe deeply, listen to the sounds of the darkness. Dress warmly yet feel the cold on my face.
I give up alcohol for a while. It is not helping my anxiety or my sleep or my food choices.
Eat seasonally. The foods that were harvested in the fall and stored for winter are the best for me now.
Avoid that which spins me up, like television and radio.
Honor my introvert.
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
Love or Fear
The other evening I was out walking on a well used trail with a friend. We passed a good sized group of young people and said hello as we walked by. One of the boys said, "Why do people always say 'Hi' out here?" (I may be mistaken on the exact words, but that was the gist of it.) My friend hollers back "Because we are being friendly!"
It got me thinking. Are we being friendly or is it like a dog wagging its tail in greeting another dog to test the weather as it were? If we approach in a threatening way, we are more likely to be treated in kind. So being friendly is a preemptive strike to avoid hostilities. It was growing dark on the trail. It was a group of teenagers. My first instinct was not one of instant love, but one of fear by the way of apprehension. But I chose instead to act in love to stave off fear.
I don't recall who first brought the idea to my attention that there are only two primary emotions, love or fear and all other secondary emotions stem from either of those. And that we have a choice about which to use. I can always switch from one to the other, but by choosing love at the start, I have laid the groundwork for possibility, opened the door to interaction and relationship. If I choose fear, that possibility no longer exists.
In my retail job, I welcome each person as they enter the store. And often they are surprised. "What?" "Welcome." "Oh. Thanks." It gives us an opportunity to see one another as humans, not just as shopper and sales person. They have been acknowledged. They have been seen. They have value, not just as a source of potential income, but as a person. We are so often rushed and isolated in our lives, it is easy to not see the people around us. I have spoken with some customers about this, why they choose to shop at a small business, why they speak with me when they come in. The people who shop in my store often desire that sense of community. They don't go to the self checkout, but take the time to see and interact with the human behind the cash register.
Last night, I took a call while checking out at the grocery store. I thought it was the doctor's office. I was so embarrassed that I was so rude to the person checking me out. I dismissed them in order to take a call by someone more important. I apologized profusely after. I hope I never do that again.
I live in a world, a nation, a community, a home that is divided on many issues. It is easy to embrace to fear and let it guide me. It feels safer there with my armor of fear to protect me. But it closes me off from dialogue, from potential unity, from any kind of peace.
It got me thinking. Are we being friendly or is it like a dog wagging its tail in greeting another dog to test the weather as it were? If we approach in a threatening way, we are more likely to be treated in kind. So being friendly is a preemptive strike to avoid hostilities. It was growing dark on the trail. It was a group of teenagers. My first instinct was not one of instant love, but one of fear by the way of apprehension. But I chose instead to act in love to stave off fear.
I don't recall who first brought the idea to my attention that there are only two primary emotions, love or fear and all other secondary emotions stem from either of those. And that we have a choice about which to use. I can always switch from one to the other, but by choosing love at the start, I have laid the groundwork for possibility, opened the door to interaction and relationship. If I choose fear, that possibility no longer exists.
In my retail job, I welcome each person as they enter the store. And often they are surprised. "What?" "Welcome." "Oh. Thanks." It gives us an opportunity to see one another as humans, not just as shopper and sales person. They have been acknowledged. They have been seen. They have value, not just as a source of potential income, but as a person. We are so often rushed and isolated in our lives, it is easy to not see the people around us. I have spoken with some customers about this, why they choose to shop at a small business, why they speak with me when they come in. The people who shop in my store often desire that sense of community. They don't go to the self checkout, but take the time to see and interact with the human behind the cash register.
Last night, I took a call while checking out at the grocery store. I thought it was the doctor's office. I was so embarrassed that I was so rude to the person checking me out. I dismissed them in order to take a call by someone more important. I apologized profusely after. I hope I never do that again.
I live in a world, a nation, a community, a home that is divided on many issues. It is easy to embrace to fear and let it guide me. It feels safer there with my armor of fear to protect me. But it closes me off from dialogue, from potential unity, from any kind of peace.
Friday, November 18, 2016
Self Righteous Anger
It is an addictive thing, self righteous anger. It feeds upon itself and it relatively easy to keep burning because, by its very nature, is right. It is courage and valor, martyrdom and vindication. Personally, I love it. I wrap myself in it like a blanket and sneer at those outside of it. It comforts me when I am hurt. I can stomp all around and wave signs and yell until my voice is gone. It is moral. Sort of. Because it is also fear based. It is also mob rule.
So I see this path before me that is well trod and comfortable to walk upon. I am happy here. I am safe here. I have right on my side, I know what is likely before me. Onward Christian Soldiers and all that. I am outfitted with the armor of righteousness. It is the path to beating my enemy into submission. I am right damn it!
But this is not the path to peace. A few weeks ago, I rewrote the Lord's Prayer because the phrase "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us" keeps whispering in my mind. It is still whispering. Because what changes the landscape is the repeated drop of water. Yes, of course the earthquake changes things, volcanoes change things, but the water, the gentle water, makes it way, carves its path, causes the rock to open and alter. My path to peace is the one less traveled, the hard and narrow path off into the darkness where I do not know what I will find. I have no armor, no weaponry. I am small and alone. It is a different kind of right. It is a surrender of a kind. I surrender, not to the other, but to the all. I go beyond the need to be right, the need to belong, the need. I step and I breathe. I step and I breathe. I step and I breathe. This is the way I must go. Into the darkness to find the light I seek.
Thursday, November 17, 2016
Waiting and watching
It has been a little while since my last post. In a way I feel like I have boarded a train filled with people I do not know and have no idea where I am headed. I am bumped and stepped on and people keep giving me things to see and shouting in my ears. It is unsettling. It is easy, I think, to just go along for the ride, moving along with the crowd and not think for myself. But that is not my way. I observe and reflect and analyze and then act impulsively. I know that is contradictory, but it is like I put things in the pot to stew and let my subconscious mull it over and just go with what my guts tell me is right. I sometimes end up with indigestion.
I have been hearing stories about people living in fear. People, children, living in fear that I can do nothing to assuage other than to offer comfort and compassion. What good are my words in the face of such fear? I have heard people call protesters names. They don't seem to care what the protests are about. Poor sports they say. Not that they are protesting the intended policy changes our soon to be president has promised to implement, those same policy changes that have children feeling hopelessness and fear. But the winners are not hearing the children, nor do they seem to care. What did they win? I guess that is what we are waiting to see.
I have been told that the president is essentially powerless, merely a figurehead, like the Queen of England. How powerless is she? How powerless was all of our presidents up to now? I have seen the physical changes on our last few presidents. The come in looking fresh and leave looking worse for wear. They are not simply paraded about to smile and wave.
For the first time in my life have I seriously considered being a gun owner to use in defend of the liberties of my fellow Americans who are now being threatened. Me, a militia-woman. Unthinkable. But yet, I am thinking of it. I want to practice how to diffuse situation of conflict in order to lend assistance to my fellow Americans who are now being threatened. I want to learn self defense to protect myself and my fellow Americans who are now being threatened. What the hell happened and how did it happen so fast? Every day stories of violence and harassment are being reported. There are people in this country, also my fellow Americans, who are giddy with the opportunity they feel they have been given to act upon those impulses that up until now they have suppressed. It is like a portal to hell has been opened and all of the imps have come pouring out and they look like our neighbors and friends. It is indeed unsettling.
I have been hearing stories about people living in fear. People, children, living in fear that I can do nothing to assuage other than to offer comfort and compassion. What good are my words in the face of such fear? I have heard people call protesters names. They don't seem to care what the protests are about. Poor sports they say. Not that they are protesting the intended policy changes our soon to be president has promised to implement, those same policy changes that have children feeling hopelessness and fear. But the winners are not hearing the children, nor do they seem to care. What did they win? I guess that is what we are waiting to see.
I have been told that the president is essentially powerless, merely a figurehead, like the Queen of England. How powerless is she? How powerless was all of our presidents up to now? I have seen the physical changes on our last few presidents. The come in looking fresh and leave looking worse for wear. They are not simply paraded about to smile and wave.
For the first time in my life have I seriously considered being a gun owner to use in defend of the liberties of my fellow Americans who are now being threatened. Me, a militia-woman. Unthinkable. But yet, I am thinking of it. I want to practice how to diffuse situation of conflict in order to lend assistance to my fellow Americans who are now being threatened. I want to learn self defense to protect myself and my fellow Americans who are now being threatened. What the hell happened and how did it happen so fast? Every day stories of violence and harassment are being reported. There are people in this country, also my fellow Americans, who are giddy with the opportunity they feel they have been given to act upon those impulses that up until now they have suppressed. It is like a portal to hell has been opened and all of the imps have come pouring out and they look like our neighbors and friends. It is indeed unsettling.
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
Autumn sunrise
The sun seems to be rising slowly today. It is a beautiful autumn morning with the promise of blue sky. As I stood on my back porch with my warm coffee cup in my hands and the scent of something herbal in my nose, I watched the dogs romp around the yard and looked at the trees I planted a week or so ago and thought "I love my life."
I don't often think that particular thought. It is not unheard of for me to think precisely the opposite. So the thought stopped me in my mental tracks and I was grateful for it. It does not mean that I will always love my life, but in that moment, I did. I felt tranquil. I still do. My monkey brain is currently calm and quiet. It is hard to keep from gripping tightly to this feeling. Like having a butterfly land on my hand, I must be still and observe and allow it to be. Breathe, be.
I don't often think that particular thought. It is not unheard of for me to think precisely the opposite. So the thought stopped me in my mental tracks and I was grateful for it. It does not mean that I will always love my life, but in that moment, I did. I felt tranquil. I still do. My monkey brain is currently calm and quiet. It is hard to keep from gripping tightly to this feeling. Like having a butterfly land on my hand, I must be still and observe and allow it to be. Breathe, be.
Monday, November 7, 2016
The Lord's Prayer Revisited
Our Father who art in Heaven
Divine Creator who dwells in the spaces between matter
Hallowed by thy name
You are sacred to me
Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven
May I embody your love in all that I do and all that I say
Give us this day our daily bread
Thank you for all that I have, that I know no wants on this day or any other
Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us
Forgive me and help me to forgive both myself and others
Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil
Help me to make the choices that best reflect love for myself and others in all that I do or say
For Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory for ever and ever
Help me to hear your wisdom and guidance as I make my way through this day and every day
Amen
Amen
Divine Creator who dwells in the spaces between matter
Hallowed by thy name
You are sacred to me
Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven
May I embody your love in all that I do and all that I say
Give us this day our daily bread
Thank you for all that I have, that I know no wants on this day or any other
Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us
Forgive me and help me to forgive both myself and others
Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil
Help me to make the choices that best reflect love for myself and others in all that I do or say
For Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory for ever and ever
Help me to hear your wisdom and guidance as I make my way through this day and every day
Amen
Amen
Monday, October 31, 2016
Reflection on reflection
I live a rainy part of the world and now that it is fall, it is hard to see much of the time when it is rainy and dark. I was driving my kid to school this morning and had to break hard at a crosswalk where two ladies in light colored coats and light colored umbrellas were still very difficult to see as they crossed the road. It was not their fault I had to stop quickly for them, I simply did not see them with visibility as poor as it was.
But it got me to talking with my child about the need for a soft reflective tape that is added to umbrellas and rain coats. Currently there is some reflectors on some running shoes and backpacks, but they don't get folded, so it would need to be soft, water resistant to handle both rain and washing, have a strong adhesive (velcro maybe), but it would be best if it didn't look like reflector tape, so kids would not be embarrassed about wearing it. There is a reason very few folks wear those orange vests with the reflector tape in big stripes across them. It makes sense when you are working on the road, but we need to be able to see the kids waiting for the school bus or the ladies in the crosswalk. Street signs are reflective without the big tape, so maybe there is technology that already exists and just needs to be modified.
It would be nice on the cuffs of the rain jacket, the brim of the hood and maybe at the waist, so movement would help capture it. I was also thinking about LED lights, but no kid is going to want to walk to the bus stop lit up like a Christmas tree. So it has to be subtle, like they don't even know it is there. I have seen the stiff stuff on dog collars and leashes (great idea by the way as I have a black dog), but again, it looks like reflector tape. Why it isn't already on every umbrella ever made I have no idea. Perhaps it is heavy and that does make a difference when carrying it around. Also, umbrellas get left behind, they blow inside out, they break rather easily. So, the product would have to be inexpensive enough to be added to an item with a short life span.
To recap, I want a reflector tape that doesn't look like reflector tape that doesn't cost too much or weigh too much that can be added aftermarket to rain coats and umbrellas. That is not too much to ask for, is it?
But it got me to talking with my child about the need for a soft reflective tape that is added to umbrellas and rain coats. Currently there is some reflectors on some running shoes and backpacks, but they don't get folded, so it would need to be soft, water resistant to handle both rain and washing, have a strong adhesive (velcro maybe), but it would be best if it didn't look like reflector tape, so kids would not be embarrassed about wearing it. There is a reason very few folks wear those orange vests with the reflector tape in big stripes across them. It makes sense when you are working on the road, but we need to be able to see the kids waiting for the school bus or the ladies in the crosswalk. Street signs are reflective without the big tape, so maybe there is technology that already exists and just needs to be modified.
It would be nice on the cuffs of the rain jacket, the brim of the hood and maybe at the waist, so movement would help capture it. I was also thinking about LED lights, but no kid is going to want to walk to the bus stop lit up like a Christmas tree. So it has to be subtle, like they don't even know it is there. I have seen the stiff stuff on dog collars and leashes (great idea by the way as I have a black dog), but again, it looks like reflector tape. Why it isn't already on every umbrella ever made I have no idea. Perhaps it is heavy and that does make a difference when carrying it around. Also, umbrellas get left behind, they blow inside out, they break rather easily. So, the product would have to be inexpensive enough to be added to an item with a short life span.
To recap, I want a reflector tape that doesn't look like reflector tape that doesn't cost too much or weigh too much that can be added aftermarket to rain coats and umbrellas. That is not too much to ask for, is it?
Sunday, October 23, 2016
Sisters tattoo
I am the luckiest woman in the world when it comes to sisters. My parents were divorced when I was quite young and they both remarried at least once to people who has also been previously married. So my family of two sisters became 6 sisters and 4 brothers when all were counted. I presume that number will remain as my folks are in their 70s.
Some of these siblings I lived with a significant amount of childhood days, others I did not as they either lived in other parts of the country or they were older and had launched already. But in both cases, these people have still shaped me and given me a bedrock of those I know I can count on if I ever need to. I could show up at their doorstep and they would at least feed me and let me sleep on their couch. Considering how I loathe asking for help, it is good to know it is available to me should I need it.
But out of the 10 siblings, I am closest to 3 of my sisters. I adore my younger brother, but his life rarely contacts mine and that makes me sad. Perhaps when we are old old, rather than middle aged, we can find the time to be together. However, my sisters spend a bit of time with me each year and I am so enriched by their presence. They are funny and smart and beautiful and strong and wise. I rest in them. It is profound.
We got together recently and decided to get a sisters tattoo. Some wanted to include homage to their mother or father, and though I love my parents, the bond I have with my sisters is different. At times, my sisters have parented me, for certain, but they have also been my friend and confidant and enemy to some degree. I have felt jealousy toward them, but never toward my parents. It is a different sort of bond.
At this point, the tattoo consists of an arrow with circles around it and the word "sisters" is written in the circles in Morse code. It is simple and strong like my bond with my sisters. I thought about using a different color for each letter, but that turns into a rainbow which, though a powerful statement, it is not the one I am going for here.
I have thoughts for tattoos for my children, but I have not settled on anything yet. I think perhaps because they are still forming at this point in their lives. I can easily say who they are today, but when they fully bloom, they may be a bit different, so I am waiting for that I think. Though when I told my oldest daughter about the sisters tattoo, she mentioned maybe getting a mother/daughter tattoo. I was touched and I would absolutely love that. I could be covered head to toe with marks of those I love. Right now I am, but not in ink. The only word that fits is blessed. The love I have for my family supersedes my doubt and gives me faith in a divine. I am humbled by their love. It is God manifest. I don't need more religion than that.
Some of these siblings I lived with a significant amount of childhood days, others I did not as they either lived in other parts of the country or they were older and had launched already. But in both cases, these people have still shaped me and given me a bedrock of those I know I can count on if I ever need to. I could show up at their doorstep and they would at least feed me and let me sleep on their couch. Considering how I loathe asking for help, it is good to know it is available to me should I need it.
But out of the 10 siblings, I am closest to 3 of my sisters. I adore my younger brother, but his life rarely contacts mine and that makes me sad. Perhaps when we are old old, rather than middle aged, we can find the time to be together. However, my sisters spend a bit of time with me each year and I am so enriched by their presence. They are funny and smart and beautiful and strong and wise. I rest in them. It is profound.
We got together recently and decided to get a sisters tattoo. Some wanted to include homage to their mother or father, and though I love my parents, the bond I have with my sisters is different. At times, my sisters have parented me, for certain, but they have also been my friend and confidant and enemy to some degree. I have felt jealousy toward them, but never toward my parents. It is a different sort of bond.
At this point, the tattoo consists of an arrow with circles around it and the word "sisters" is written in the circles in Morse code. It is simple and strong like my bond with my sisters. I thought about using a different color for each letter, but that turns into a rainbow which, though a powerful statement, it is not the one I am going for here.
I have thoughts for tattoos for my children, but I have not settled on anything yet. I think perhaps because they are still forming at this point in their lives. I can easily say who they are today, but when they fully bloom, they may be a bit different, so I am waiting for that I think. Though when I told my oldest daughter about the sisters tattoo, she mentioned maybe getting a mother/daughter tattoo. I was touched and I would absolutely love that. I could be covered head to toe with marks of those I love. Right now I am, but not in ink. The only word that fits is blessed. The love I have for my family supersedes my doubt and gives me faith in a divine. I am humbled by their love. It is God manifest. I don't need more religion than that.
Saturday, October 22, 2016
Political Noise
I am a "Highly Sensitive Person" and and empath to some degree. It is so nice to have a label that means really nothing helpful. I don't notice it as much as I did when I was a child. My skin is still just as thin, I am simply better at avoiding things that hurt me. But it is an election year and election years are not kind to folks like me, perhaps they are not kind to anyone, I can really only speak for myself.
The election is weeks away, so the pressure is mounting. I can no longer watch television, listen to NPR or spend much time on Facebook because it is getting ugly. Everyday but Sunday, mailers arrive telling this or that about this candidate or that candidate, mostly how awful and self serving they are. On my drive around town, I am assaulted with visuals to vote for this guy. Do it. DO IT NOW! They are signs, I realize, but to me it is like someone screaming at me. Don't bother thoughtful consideration of the candidate, do what your neighbors are doing, do what others tell you to do. It is socially acceptable bullying and I hate it.
A few months ago, I received a call from a kindly voiced woman insisting she was not selling me anything, but is taking a poll and would I be willing to answer some questions. It won't take but a minute or two. Sure, I said. She did ask me questions, but what she was really doing, as it soon became apparent, was telling me about her candidate. She was canvasing, but she lied about how she was doing it. She lied. Now, if I am considering voting for someone, I think outright lying should be avoided by my supporters. I am sure he was a great guy, but his campaign was based on a simple lie. No, it was not a poll, nor did the call only last a minute or two. Simple. Semantics. Lies.
I have voted for people who seemed like real, thoughtful, reflective individuals that really wanted to make a difference. And now they have been in for a number of terms and they have been altered into politicians. It is probably inevitable. In order to accomplish anything, absolutely everything is up for negotiation. I do not think they recognize that their souls have been eroded and everything they do is to win the next election. Their ambition to represent the people has been lost. I try to not vote for the incumbent hoping they can retrieve their souls before they die in office.
When things happen mid session, it is often heard "Remember this come election time!" I bet politicians snicker to themselves every time. Because we don't remember. We are lured by visits to VA Hospitals and mining towns and factories. We are blinded by the spin. We vote based on what we learned yesterday, not last year or two years ago. We are sheep who believe we are wolves.
The election is weeks away, so the pressure is mounting. I can no longer watch television, listen to NPR or spend much time on Facebook because it is getting ugly. Everyday but Sunday, mailers arrive telling this or that about this candidate or that candidate, mostly how awful and self serving they are. On my drive around town, I am assaulted with visuals to vote for this guy. Do it. DO IT NOW! They are signs, I realize, but to me it is like someone screaming at me. Don't bother thoughtful consideration of the candidate, do what your neighbors are doing, do what others tell you to do. It is socially acceptable bullying and I hate it.
A few months ago, I received a call from a kindly voiced woman insisting she was not selling me anything, but is taking a poll and would I be willing to answer some questions. It won't take but a minute or two. Sure, I said. She did ask me questions, but what she was really doing, as it soon became apparent, was telling me about her candidate. She was canvasing, but she lied about how she was doing it. She lied. Now, if I am considering voting for someone, I think outright lying should be avoided by my supporters. I am sure he was a great guy, but his campaign was based on a simple lie. No, it was not a poll, nor did the call only last a minute or two. Simple. Semantics. Lies.
I have voted for people who seemed like real, thoughtful, reflective individuals that really wanted to make a difference. And now they have been in for a number of terms and they have been altered into politicians. It is probably inevitable. In order to accomplish anything, absolutely everything is up for negotiation. I do not think they recognize that their souls have been eroded and everything they do is to win the next election. Their ambition to represent the people has been lost. I try to not vote for the incumbent hoping they can retrieve their souls before they die in office.
When things happen mid session, it is often heard "Remember this come election time!" I bet politicians snicker to themselves every time. Because we don't remember. We are lured by visits to VA Hospitals and mining towns and factories. We are blinded by the spin. We vote based on what we learned yesterday, not last year or two years ago. We are sheep who believe we are wolves.
Friday, October 21, 2016
Dilemma
I am facing a dilemma that is troubling me. I can often push such dilemmas aside, ignore it until it fades away like a puddle evaporating. But for whatever reason, this puddle either remains full or gets filled over and over again.
I have been thinking about how values change over time, especially over great periods of time. I am no historian, let me be very clear on that. My eyes glaze over as specific dates are mentioned or ruling parties, etc. My mind is a sieve that allows all that detail to slip right through. But I hold on to bits of flotsam and that is what I mull over. And then I compare what I am all about now to what folks were like historically. And then my mind begins to jump. And jump. And jump. It is exhausting and exhilarating at the same time because I know my mind is working in way most other minds do not seem to. Or they don't talk about it.
One of the topics I have been thinking about is racism. Currently, Black Lives Matter is a campaign that is influencing people around this nation. There are advocates and opponents, though the opponents are often only partially in opposition. "Yes, black lives matter, but so do all other lives as well." And the BLM campaign seems to be saying "Yes, that is true, but you are missing the point." It both contains and does not contain police violence and racial profiling. It is about poverty, but not exactly about poverty. As a white woman, it is confusing, so I, in my own life, try to treat people with decorum and respect. I try to pay attention. Because I am so confused, I have been looking at historical evidence of racism both within the United States and outside of it. At times, racism is blatant, other times it is subtle. It seems we as a society wish the past to remain in the past or we take lengths to eradicate it from our historical record. Should we retain the physical remains of the horrors that have been committed yet at one time were wholly accepted by society. Where do we begin? Where do we end?
Do we tear down the mental institutions where people were strapped to their beds or were otherwise tortured in order to break down that which made them insane? If one looks at the reasons for insanity, it is a vastly different definition than one we would use today. What about the prisons? Americans strongly disagree about whether or not the death penalty should be implemented. Will we look back in time and say what barbarians we were to execute our criminals. Or the reservations that still exist where the native people of this land are able to govern themselves honoring their culture, but not exactly because the roots of their culture were violated when they were moved to reservations in the first place.
I was looking at my front yard this morning and thinking, what if in a few decades, we discover that cultivated landscape is the leading cause of global warming. Not only the pesticides we use to keep our lawns lovely, but the mower and the trimmed shrubs or the non native flowers. The future will judge us for our stupidity. How could they not know? How could they not see? Do we not look back at institutionalized racism the same way? How could these people who were members of their community, went to town meetings and church on Sunday justify the brutal treatment of the people they "owned" and the level of poverty and general suppression they subjected them to? How could they on one hand, refer to the slaves they held as sub human, more animal than human, yet breed with them, often through rape, though I would bet not always was it rape. Was it fear of their innate power that reinforced this system of control? I have heard that said of the Hitler regime, that he feared the power of the Jewish community where much money was held. Not so much the religion as the livelihood and financial success of these people. And all the people that agreed that killing them off was the right thing to do? How could these town meeting attending, church going folks justify their brutality. America rounded up all of those of Japanese descent and moved them out into the wastelands behind barbed wire fences. No, we did not kill them, but we painted them all with the same broad brush and we stole all their property.
And now, in 2016, we look back and safely judge the actions of our ancestors. I see the appeal of burning it all down, erasing it from the historical register, wiping the slate clean and starting again. But we did not get to this point in our collective journey without being at those other points in time. Most likely it was not in our own lifetime, but sometimes it was. I am thinking of Guantanamo Bay and Iraq. Mostly likely it was not by our own hand, but sometimes it was, that moment we sneered or judged or looked away. I have not actively tortured another person, but I have not always gone out of my way to feed the poor or comfort the needy or love another person. I have felt judgement and fear and apprehension toward my fellow human being. I used a gas lawn mower and drove cars that failed the emissions test. If we burn it down, are we not at risk of pretending it never existed or that we are not still impacted by it? We cannot fix it. We cannot fix anything, really. All we can do is try and be better today. Not even our best selves, just our better selves.
I have been thinking about how values change over time, especially over great periods of time. I am no historian, let me be very clear on that. My eyes glaze over as specific dates are mentioned or ruling parties, etc. My mind is a sieve that allows all that detail to slip right through. But I hold on to bits of flotsam and that is what I mull over. And then I compare what I am all about now to what folks were like historically. And then my mind begins to jump. And jump. And jump. It is exhausting and exhilarating at the same time because I know my mind is working in way most other minds do not seem to. Or they don't talk about it.
One of the topics I have been thinking about is racism. Currently, Black Lives Matter is a campaign that is influencing people around this nation. There are advocates and opponents, though the opponents are often only partially in opposition. "Yes, black lives matter, but so do all other lives as well." And the BLM campaign seems to be saying "Yes, that is true, but you are missing the point." It both contains and does not contain police violence and racial profiling. It is about poverty, but not exactly about poverty. As a white woman, it is confusing, so I, in my own life, try to treat people with decorum and respect. I try to pay attention. Because I am so confused, I have been looking at historical evidence of racism both within the United States and outside of it. At times, racism is blatant, other times it is subtle. It seems we as a society wish the past to remain in the past or we take lengths to eradicate it from our historical record. Should we retain the physical remains of the horrors that have been committed yet at one time were wholly accepted by society. Where do we begin? Where do we end?
Do we tear down the mental institutions where people were strapped to their beds or were otherwise tortured in order to break down that which made them insane? If one looks at the reasons for insanity, it is a vastly different definition than one we would use today. What about the prisons? Americans strongly disagree about whether or not the death penalty should be implemented. Will we look back in time and say what barbarians we were to execute our criminals. Or the reservations that still exist where the native people of this land are able to govern themselves honoring their culture, but not exactly because the roots of their culture were violated when they were moved to reservations in the first place.
I was looking at my front yard this morning and thinking, what if in a few decades, we discover that cultivated landscape is the leading cause of global warming. Not only the pesticides we use to keep our lawns lovely, but the mower and the trimmed shrubs or the non native flowers. The future will judge us for our stupidity. How could they not know? How could they not see? Do we not look back at institutionalized racism the same way? How could these people who were members of their community, went to town meetings and church on Sunday justify the brutal treatment of the people they "owned" and the level of poverty and general suppression they subjected them to? How could they on one hand, refer to the slaves they held as sub human, more animal than human, yet breed with them, often through rape, though I would bet not always was it rape. Was it fear of their innate power that reinforced this system of control? I have heard that said of the Hitler regime, that he feared the power of the Jewish community where much money was held. Not so much the religion as the livelihood and financial success of these people. And all the people that agreed that killing them off was the right thing to do? How could these town meeting attending, church going folks justify their brutality. America rounded up all of those of Japanese descent and moved them out into the wastelands behind barbed wire fences. No, we did not kill them, but we painted them all with the same broad brush and we stole all their property.
And now, in 2016, we look back and safely judge the actions of our ancestors. I see the appeal of burning it all down, erasing it from the historical register, wiping the slate clean and starting again. But we did not get to this point in our collective journey without being at those other points in time. Most likely it was not in our own lifetime, but sometimes it was. I am thinking of Guantanamo Bay and Iraq. Mostly likely it was not by our own hand, but sometimes it was, that moment we sneered or judged or looked away. I have not actively tortured another person, but I have not always gone out of my way to feed the poor or comfort the needy or love another person. I have felt judgement and fear and apprehension toward my fellow human being. I used a gas lawn mower and drove cars that failed the emissions test. If we burn it down, are we not at risk of pretending it never existed or that we are not still impacted by it? We cannot fix it. We cannot fix anything, really. All we can do is try and be better today. Not even our best selves, just our better selves.
Wednesday, October 5, 2016
Night Music, the coffee house
I dream of businesses I would like to own someday if failure were not something I had to worry about. As it is, failure paralyzes me from taking most leaps of faith. But I can and do daydream about things. Night Music is not my first such fantasy business, but it is my latest.
There is a strange piece of property not far from my home that has been for sale for some time. It has not been snatched up by a real estate developer probably because it sits primarily on a wet land that likely has serious restrictions upon it. There is a parking space that is only slightly larger than the driveway of my own home, so the only business I could imagine there is my own, Night Music Coffee House. If I lived in a city instead of a town, it would be okay to have a business without parking spaces, but that just isn't done in suburbia, so my lot would be a parking lot for Vespa Scooters and the like.
Night Music Coffee House would be built elevated above the wetlands with screened in porches jutting further into the forest swamp with the sound of the swamp coming through the screens, though not the creatures. Each porch would have its own theme. Acoustic music in one, poetry readings in another. Maybe way out in the distance could be a room for smokers. They like coffee too, but to be within the law, it would have to be 30' away from the main building and probably could not be screened, but I am not certain of that.
The coffee would be made by some brass and copper monstrosity from Italy with baristas who knew their trade and were proud of what they brewed. There would be no "To-Go" cups. One could bring their own ceramic cup from home or buy one at the premises. Delicious desserts would be served on plates with actual metal forks. I had not thought about linen napkins, but that would make sense and be in keeping with the lack of disposable merchandise. The linen napkins could be made from odd Goodwill garments.
The desserts would be spectacular confections. No spinning pie case, but a glass case to showcase the delights within. My oldest daughter would be the main baker as she has talent in this arena and I would love to offer her work she has passion for. I have some skill here too, so maybe we could work together.
The place would smell of coffee and spices. And in the evenings when the sun goes down, the sounds would be of the quiet night music for those with ears to listen.
There is a strange piece of property not far from my home that has been for sale for some time. It has not been snatched up by a real estate developer probably because it sits primarily on a wet land that likely has serious restrictions upon it. There is a parking space that is only slightly larger than the driveway of my own home, so the only business I could imagine there is my own, Night Music Coffee House. If I lived in a city instead of a town, it would be okay to have a business without parking spaces, but that just isn't done in suburbia, so my lot would be a parking lot for Vespa Scooters and the like.
Night Music Coffee House would be built elevated above the wetlands with screened in porches jutting further into the forest swamp with the sound of the swamp coming through the screens, though not the creatures. Each porch would have its own theme. Acoustic music in one, poetry readings in another. Maybe way out in the distance could be a room for smokers. They like coffee too, but to be within the law, it would have to be 30' away from the main building and probably could not be screened, but I am not certain of that.
The coffee would be made by some brass and copper monstrosity from Italy with baristas who knew their trade and were proud of what they brewed. There would be no "To-Go" cups. One could bring their own ceramic cup from home or buy one at the premises. Delicious desserts would be served on plates with actual metal forks. I had not thought about linen napkins, but that would make sense and be in keeping with the lack of disposable merchandise. The linen napkins could be made from odd Goodwill garments.
The desserts would be spectacular confections. No spinning pie case, but a glass case to showcase the delights within. My oldest daughter would be the main baker as she has talent in this arena and I would love to offer her work she has passion for. I have some skill here too, so maybe we could work together.
The place would smell of coffee and spices. And in the evenings when the sun goes down, the sounds would be of the quiet night music for those with ears to listen.
Saturday, October 1, 2016
Loss
A few hours ago, I learned that my husband's father passed away. The man had lived a long life, though in the 20 years I knew him, his health was poor as he suffered from a variety of ailments that made his world ever smaller as it appeared to me. My children had only met him a few times and have no real memories of him. So the loss is not mine.
But it is my husband's loss, so it is mine and it is my children's as well. We are tied through our love for one another and we grieve because he grieves. I wish we could see, if only for a moment, how we are tied to one another through our love. We are woven together through smiles and heart aches. It is not just to those closest to us, but to friends, acquaintances, folks in our community, our region, our state, our country. If we open our hearts with compassion, we feel for those who hurt across the world, perhaps we even cry for them. Most recently, there has been a photo of a young refugee sitting on a plastic chair covered in what looks like ash that has gotten our collective attention, but there are countless other photos of those who are suffering that I believe make us want to have an impact on easing the suffering of others.
And there is a feeling a futility that we cannot ease the suffering of others. Not my husbands, not my neighbors, not the child across the world. Perhaps we cannot. But if we can glimpse the threads that twine us all together, perhaps we will not feel so alone in our grief.
So farewell sweet father in law. I do hope that you feel no pain now that you have left your body behind you. May your energy fly fast and strong into the universe to join all other energy in becoming something altogether new, altogether wonderful. You will be missed. You are loved. You are part of us all.
But it is my husband's loss, so it is mine and it is my children's as well. We are tied through our love for one another and we grieve because he grieves. I wish we could see, if only for a moment, how we are tied to one another through our love. We are woven together through smiles and heart aches. It is not just to those closest to us, but to friends, acquaintances, folks in our community, our region, our state, our country. If we open our hearts with compassion, we feel for those who hurt across the world, perhaps we even cry for them. Most recently, there has been a photo of a young refugee sitting on a plastic chair covered in what looks like ash that has gotten our collective attention, but there are countless other photos of those who are suffering that I believe make us want to have an impact on easing the suffering of others.
And there is a feeling a futility that we cannot ease the suffering of others. Not my husbands, not my neighbors, not the child across the world. Perhaps we cannot. But if we can glimpse the threads that twine us all together, perhaps we will not feel so alone in our grief.
So farewell sweet father in law. I do hope that you feel no pain now that you have left your body behind you. May your energy fly fast and strong into the universe to join all other energy in becoming something altogether new, altogether wonderful. You will be missed. You are loved. You are part of us all.
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
Yesterday, I was walking in this adorable little park near my home. It has both open fields and wooded areas and both have wide, well maintained paths that are relatively flat. It is a peaceful place to get lost in one's thoughts or to clear one's mind when the thoughts become heavy and burdensome. I wondered if it would be possible to recreate such a park in my own suburban landscape.
This morning, I pulled on my rubber boots and meandered around my yard in an illogical way. As my yard is not all that large, I didn't know if it could work without too much crossing of pathways or having the path turn into a tidy little figure eight. There would be no place to play frisbee with the dog, so that is an important consideration.
I find it curious that our urban and suburban landscapes are crafted into such regimented structures. Nature, where there is a peaceful flow to things doesn't do regimented so it seems. Everything is in a constant state of birth and death and there is an acceptance of both as normal and natural. In our manicured landscapes, we don't make space for that at all. The lines between grass and not grass are usually clearly defined unless the yard work has not been done in some time. It is a place of work, not necessarily renewal. Rarely is a dead thing allowed to stay and feed the soil where it once grew. A line is drawn between what is allowed and what must be removed, killed if necessary. Plants often must be shaped to work around hardscapes like driveways and sidewalks and houses even. In places where the landscape has not been maintained, it does not appear to return to the natural way of things, but becomes rough and ragged, not a place of peace, but a sign of grief and despair. Even if I decided to grow a small forest in my yard, it would have to be planned and maintained to some degree because the soil has been altered from its original state. Perhaps the wild landscapes have been lost forever in our urban environments. I hope not, but for now I will go meander in my neighborhood park and dream of a different time and place.
This morning, I pulled on my rubber boots and meandered around my yard in an illogical way. As my yard is not all that large, I didn't know if it could work without too much crossing of pathways or having the path turn into a tidy little figure eight. There would be no place to play frisbee with the dog, so that is an important consideration.
I find it curious that our urban and suburban landscapes are crafted into such regimented structures. Nature, where there is a peaceful flow to things doesn't do regimented so it seems. Everything is in a constant state of birth and death and there is an acceptance of both as normal and natural. In our manicured landscapes, we don't make space for that at all. The lines between grass and not grass are usually clearly defined unless the yard work has not been done in some time. It is a place of work, not necessarily renewal. Rarely is a dead thing allowed to stay and feed the soil where it once grew. A line is drawn between what is allowed and what must be removed, killed if necessary. Plants often must be shaped to work around hardscapes like driveways and sidewalks and houses even. In places where the landscape has not been maintained, it does not appear to return to the natural way of things, but becomes rough and ragged, not a place of peace, but a sign of grief and despair. Even if I decided to grow a small forest in my yard, it would have to be planned and maintained to some degree because the soil has been altered from its original state. Perhaps the wild landscapes have been lost forever in our urban environments. I hope not, but for now I will go meander in my neighborhood park and dream of a different time and place.
Saturday, September 24, 2016
Reflections of self
It is early, though not as early as yesterday. The sun has yet to make an appearance. But as it is now Autumn, mornings of darkness will be the truth of things for some time to come.
I did something a bit different this morning. I liked how it felt, so I may try to make a habit of it. My morning routine looked very much like any other morning, I made coffee, fed the animals, sat down to read what was new on Facebook, took a closer look at a news story about a shooting nearby and pondered why someone could post an offensive, hate filled message and also post about God being the savior of mankind. Delete is easier than trying to make sense of it. About this time each morning, my dog begins to behave badly. She leaps from couch to couch, steals items she thinks are of value to me in order to go outside with her. It is an effective tactic. She is afraid of the dark, so her goal to get me outside worked well for me, but not so much for her.
I took my coffee cup, pulled on my rain boots as there is no way to see what awaits me in the grass and headed out of doors. Then I walked. I thought it might entice her to join me. It almost did, but mostly she just watched me from the comfort of the family room. I walked around the perimeter of my back yard again and again. I wished for a bigger yard, a woods to wander in in my night clothes and rain boots. But this is what I have and it suited my needs adequately.
My yard reflects me. Part is clean and presentable. Part is a mess. Both are visible to anyone who cares to look. I have ambition tempered by laziness. Yes, I am busy, but I truly am lazy too. I have pulled the weeds and overgrown zucchini plants from the garden and left them in the yard to die completely rather than to chuck them into the compost bin. Started. but rarely finished. I tire of things, get bored of things and just leave them be. I admire the tidy, the organized, but that is not the truth of who I am.
As I walked, I did not judge the intermingling of the orderly with the chaotic, I just observed it. I paid attention to how my body moved and seemed to appreciate the gentle contracting and stretching of my muscles after a nights rest. I felt the warmth of my coffee cup in my hands and I enjoyed how it warmed my throat when I sipped from the cup. It was a walking meditation around and around my suburban landscape. I feel peaceful and more ready to face the day.
The sun is coming up now and I have been presented with a toy. I am being called to play.
I did something a bit different this morning. I liked how it felt, so I may try to make a habit of it. My morning routine looked very much like any other morning, I made coffee, fed the animals, sat down to read what was new on Facebook, took a closer look at a news story about a shooting nearby and pondered why someone could post an offensive, hate filled message and also post about God being the savior of mankind. Delete is easier than trying to make sense of it. About this time each morning, my dog begins to behave badly. She leaps from couch to couch, steals items she thinks are of value to me in order to go outside with her. It is an effective tactic. She is afraid of the dark, so her goal to get me outside worked well for me, but not so much for her.
I took my coffee cup, pulled on my rain boots as there is no way to see what awaits me in the grass and headed out of doors. Then I walked. I thought it might entice her to join me. It almost did, but mostly she just watched me from the comfort of the family room. I walked around the perimeter of my back yard again and again. I wished for a bigger yard, a woods to wander in in my night clothes and rain boots. But this is what I have and it suited my needs adequately.
My yard reflects me. Part is clean and presentable. Part is a mess. Both are visible to anyone who cares to look. I have ambition tempered by laziness. Yes, I am busy, but I truly am lazy too. I have pulled the weeds and overgrown zucchini plants from the garden and left them in the yard to die completely rather than to chuck them into the compost bin. Started. but rarely finished. I tire of things, get bored of things and just leave them be. I admire the tidy, the organized, but that is not the truth of who I am.
As I walked, I did not judge the intermingling of the orderly with the chaotic, I just observed it. I paid attention to how my body moved and seemed to appreciate the gentle contracting and stretching of my muscles after a nights rest. I felt the warmth of my coffee cup in my hands and I enjoyed how it warmed my throat when I sipped from the cup. It was a walking meditation around and around my suburban landscape. I feel peaceful and more ready to face the day.
The sun is coming up now and I have been presented with a toy. I am being called to play.
Friday, September 23, 2016
Night Music
I chose the name Night Music for a couple of reasons. I have a dream of one day owning a coffee shop of this name, but more importantly for this blog, I am troubled with insomnia with some frequency. When I find myself awake in the wee hours, my mind tends to trip along contemplating the most interesting (at least to me) things. So I have chosen this blog to record those musings.
I came across a blog some time ago called Shower Thoughts if I am not mistaken and I laughed out loud. I have those too. The most profound insights can come at those times. I sing, I invent, I ponder, only to return to the mundane once the water is shut off. I wonder why the mind is open to such marvels at times only to cram itself back into the constraints of skull, or reality, just a few moments later. Perhaps it is permission given at those moments to wonder like a child. Perhaps the worries of the day are there ready to be picked up again like burrs on a sock. In any case, I have chosen this format to record my thoughts, be they creative or political or personal. I intend to post photos of that which moves me, though I hope to write most of all because writing frees to me ponder the possibilities and brings me peace.
I came across a blog some time ago called Shower Thoughts if I am not mistaken and I laughed out loud. I have those too. The most profound insights can come at those times. I sing, I invent, I ponder, only to return to the mundane once the water is shut off. I wonder why the mind is open to such marvels at times only to cram itself back into the constraints of skull, or reality, just a few moments later. Perhaps it is permission given at those moments to wonder like a child. Perhaps the worries of the day are there ready to be picked up again like burrs on a sock. In any case, I have chosen this format to record my thoughts, be they creative or political or personal. I intend to post photos of that which moves me, though I hope to write most of all because writing frees to me ponder the possibilities and brings me peace.
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