PROFILES IN DIS-COURAGE

I am quickly discovering that one of the greatest challenges associated with blogging is the level of commitment to the blog and to probity.  At least from where I sit in my studio behind my paint-splattered Macbook surrounded by images of saints, angels, friends and family members all staring out at me like some sort of celluloid panel of judges in the Human Ethics version of American Idol.

The other day I could not bring myself to write.  Oh, I tried and words did materialize on the screen before me, but they were hollow and began to bore and frustrate me inside of a few minutes.

However,  I know that the writing itself is not the issue because I live, love and process the world through words and language.

Writing subjectively about myself, my thoughts and my slice of the macrocosm is not the issue because that is how I process the world; and having the opportunity to do so in a forum that forces my scattered mind to adhere to a contained structure only benefits the operation of writing and the process of processing.

Writing while suffering through difficult or challenging times is not the problem because; as I said, writing is how I parse the garbled, visceral language of being human that we all engage in every waking moment of every day, and I untangle it with serious reflection one word at a time on the page.

I've been experiencing a fairly moderate wave of difficult lessons over the past decade or so, and within the past four years they have escalated in intensity.  As with most life lessons, they almost invariably involve other people even in the case of a natural disaster or house fire; which, fortunately, I have never yet suffered through.  We don't live alone here no matter how much we may some days wish it so, and our responsibility to honor and respect the privacy and feelings of the people placed in our lives seldom waivers.

And so, my dilemma has become one of candor.  How much is too much, and if I choose to remain vague, pithy and loose;  at what point do I then become disingenuous?   At what point in my attempts to circumnavigate and reframe the bold truth to both protect myself and others do I begin sounding like a used car salesman or a  script writer for shows on The Hallmark Channel?

I had to ask myself these questions the other day because I still really wanted to write, yet I felt stymied by propriety and convention and terrified at what the next step would have to be if I really wanted a solution to the problem.

My reserve of and interest in writing generalized, fluffy, anecdotal vignettes is neither deep nor compelling and for as many humorously disturbing childhood traumas, over-wrought poems or encounters with myself in the shower, there simply isn't enough drive in this mid-twentieth century-born female model to spend endless hours tooling down a road of lame dead ends and 'One-way-only' signs.

Face it.  My life is more than half over.  Why would I want to spend the latter parcel of the earthbound experience channeling earlier versions of myself?  It sort of gives a whole other layering to the "been there and done that" frame of reference.  Time, illusion though it may be according to all the best scientific and spiritual minds in the world, is moving on and running out.  Meanwhile, I am just getting warmed up.

This results in an odd paradox:  Here you have a woman with a significant amount of life experience behind her, lots of energy, a boatload of curiosity, an ocean of observations, ideas and opinions; and someone who has arrived at a point in life where she has neither the time nor the desire to beat around the mulberry bush on this cold and frosty, midlife morning!

That leaves me right here on the literary precipice of deep-soul space knowing that what is required of me if I am to remain loyal to my heart and the prodding of my spirit, is to be unabashedly honest as I probe, purge and parse the gritty, grainy edges of the experiences I encounter and the people I engage.

Being a Libra sun and a person seemingly inscribed with a DNA that compels me to please everyone and maintain a healthy balance in all my interpersonal relationships, as well as a flawless complexion; it comes as no surprise that I find this next level of commitment to be a daunting and terrifying one.

It is not that I am afraid I won't be able to adequately articulate and express those deeper layers of honesty.  It is that I will.

At this point I've had enough experiences to know that often when you step into yourself with full authenticity and speak what you know from the bottom of your soul to be the truth as you observe and interpret it, you stand a better than ninety percent chance of pissing somebody off.

Being the Libran version of a human doormat - which is basically a clean, well-groomed, artistically-inclined person who sports a perpetual smile even as the boot soles are lathering her with mud and who will then, still smiling, make excuses for having been so violated yet be totally shocked when the same mud-scraping repeatedly occurs - it took me an unnaturally long time to grow a backbone and both stand up for and defend myself.  In fact, it has been only as recent as within the past five years, so you could say I'm still a novice.  But the good news is that my backbone is new and strong and eager for exercise, which ought to be right now supplying my heart with courage.



Ummmm......well, I'm still waiting, so it could be that there is some form of blockage or perhaps I haven't had enough glasses of water today.  I think I slept alright, so that couldn't be it.

Oh well, while I'm waiting for that courage to inform my heart that we are hooked in, online and ready to roll, I guess I'll just post this blog and give it another twenty-four hours.  I am older now, you know.  My brain and body don't seem to be quite as quick on the uptake as they once were.  Gimme a break......

A SHOWER OF WISDOM

Lately it seems that I get some of my best ideas in the shower.

Perhaps it is an unconscious response to avoid addressing the naked version of myself.   My mind will travel anywhere other than having to remain present and forced to take in the reality of my own body.

Often I have been so deep in thought that when I emerge I cannot honestly recall whether or not I actually washed anything at all, and I am forced to smell my hair to detect the scent of shampoo and restore my peace of mind.

I look upon this with gratitude, however, and consider it a gift from my mind to my ego.  They've got each other's backs even as I struggle to remember if I've washed mine.

But this morning I hit the soap-laden jackpot and was able to put yet another of the all too many incompletions in my life to rest.  I finalized a poem eighteen months in the making, and it has given my spirit a sense of progress and my mind the guilt-free option of spending some time today in non-thought.

Unlike being brain-dead, the state of non-thought is temporary and can actually promote intellectual rejuvenation if experienced sans any alcohol or narcotics, in case you didn't know.

Ironically, the poem itself is about our propensity as humans to go to great lengths to avoid suffering, sacrifice and struggle; often to our detriment.  It has nothing to do with cleanliness and hair conditioner.

And while suffering is obviously not something any sane human being should seek, it is also not something we should fear.  In fact, it is when we are most challenged that we are also given the greatest opportunity; the opportunity to become wise.

As King Solomon knew when he prevailed upon God to give him a wise and understanding heart, wisdom is the best navigational tool a person could hope to possess to successfully negotiate the trials of our earthly existence.

Wisdom is not a frivolous gift.  It is weighted with importance and gilded in humility and is our best reward for accepting the brutal turns of fate courageously and without complaint.

Perhaps it is because wisdom is such a noble and vital gift that it is offered as the choice fruit of suffering?  We tend to remember the lessons of loss with more reverence and clarity than we do those brought to us on fluid ribbons of joy.  It is a point of honor.  We've earned our deepened insights and are not likely to let them just fade away.

So, now that I have fulfilled my blogging obligation for today, I am going to indulge in a little non-thought.  Between my over-thinking in the shower and serious reflection on the correlation between wisdom and suffering, the remainder of this day is begging to be made into one of repose and restoration, both of which I am in need of. 

Tomorrow I can resume my quest to shower the world with love and joy. 

Right now I think I'll make a sandwich.

Self Indulgence

Some things are never meant to be

Those brittle limbs of misspent dreams

Where consequence is always freed

From knowing all that sorrow means

The sweet allures of self  and choice

Obliterate the Sacred Mind

Denying access to The Voice 

That speaks of fair and truth and kind

Instead we cultivate our plans

To counterbalance discontent

With lies that fashion and demand

More recompense than we have spent

We stake our pride in vapid ground

To circumnavigate our trials

And when no solace can be found

We counteract by swift denials

For every choice a price is paid

A judgement, fair, for every hand

But when the soul has been betrayed

There is no truth on which to stand

Yet, if we knew the somber cost

Of trying to outwit our pain

We'd gamely suffer any loss

To earn the wisdom it contained

MEN, A PAUSE

Why can't men be like girlfriends?

 This was the thought that inserted itself into my vapid mind when I opened my email this morning and read one from my good friend, Mary. It was a complimentary and poetic note of encouragement inspired by the fact that she had recently read my blog.

She wrote: "My Dear, beautiful Susan, I love your blog. You are not Half-Past. You are in the throes of womanhood, fully realized. No young, wrinkleless face could ever be as beautiful as your serene and wise visage. Your face, with your mermaid hair would make an incredible icon for all women."

Wow.  And while it is an extreme exaggeration of the truth, for the few seconds it took me to read it through the first time (Oh yeah. I read it several times, and with each reading it was like counting another favorable ballot in the voting for Prom Queen Of The Universe!), I almost believed it, and I felt like a rare butterfly.

Naturally, all this took place within the space of two or three minutes and well before I actually looked in the mirror or began my morning chores,- which do include picking up the dog poop in the backyard - and was catapulted back into the moody stasis of menopausal reality.

 But it was enough to ignite microscopic nodes of gratitude in my heart and make me feel recognized and valued, albeit in an earthy, sensual way; and enough of a boost to repair my lagging self-esteem and get me once more seated at this computer blogging away.

The reality is that we all need to feel and believe we are visible and valued for our presence, and while it is supremely true that we are more beautiful for what we hold on the inside, it is unfortunately also true that we are mammals and that as such, we tend to play off the instantaneous responses to sights and smells and base, magnetic appeal.

 But if a man noticed me and addressed me the way my friend Mary did, I'd be more apt to give serious consideration to the idea of offering him permanent residency in my heart, which, by default, includes infinite forgiveness and a wide birth of understanding.  Not to mention a host of other perks not suitable to write about in a G-rated, public blog.

 How much more difficult would it be for my husband, for instance, to go from his version of romantic verbal foreplay: "You look hot. Great tits. Let's go upstairs and knock one off." to a softer, poetic and sensual phraseology more in keeping with the sort of thing that Mary wrote to me?

While the odds of this happening are significantly closer to none than even slight, I still think it might be a worthy goal.  Praise is always appreciated, especially in the form of poetry.

Then again, too much praise implies that a certain amount of attention must be given, and I'm not sure I'm prepared to fall under that much scrutiny.  Being overlooked does have it's benefits, and over the years I have readily adapted to my autonomy.

I am like the Invisible Man with two exceptions.  In the movie the Invisible Man had to remove his clothes in order to disappear.  Around my husband, I employ the opposite tactic.  Oh, and I'm not a man.

In the course of my marriage (I think we are approaching our 128th anniversary this year, or maybe thats 200th.) I've learned to relish and appreciate the glorious freedom and autonomy found during those seemingly endless hours my husband may spend watching the game or playing tennis, or working or exercising or running errands or doing whatever it is that he does other than the thirty or so minutes a day he spends actually dealing with me in a receptive, listening capacity......clothed.

 That delicious freedom I currently experience wouldn't be possible were I being doted on and micro-viewed and it would soon become suffocating and redundant.

Honestly, if I think my contentions through,  I wouldn't want my husband or any man to behave any differently than they do. There is something very empowering about being a woman able to capitalize on the perpetual distraction of the opposite sex.

Besides, it makes those very few times when they might actually get it  become extremely poignant and genuine.

We live for those times in relationships and because they happen so rarely, we spend a lot of our time waiting. Of course, being women, in that down-time/waiting period we raise families, start companies,  psychoanalyze small children as well as heads of state, build corporations, write novels, drive race cars, lead nations and do the wash.

 When you really think about it, men actually do women a favor by being themselves.

Sadly, what this means for me at the moment is that I just spent the better part of an hour being wrong. Fortunately, I'm so flexible I don't mind.

To Facebook/Blog or Not...Is That Really The Question?

A couple of months ago I was exchanging pleasantries with a friend, and we got on the subject of facebook and blogging.

 Being relatively new to both I hadn't formed any hard and fast opinions about either, although obviously, I don't have many objections.

 However, my friend did believing that both of these were basically superficial, narcissistic forums and that blogging, particularly, was time-consuming to read and offered no more than self-indulgent, stream-of- consciousness meanderings that are of little or no valure.

After my ego regained some stability (feeling backhandedly offended now that I am a contributor to both), I realized that in order to fully recover my confidence and reenter the blogging world, I needed to step back and objectively consider my experience of both.

To they provide a canopy of connectivity; a canopy under which a myriad of miracles await their bloom.

And connectivity, in part, inspires dialogue, unites hearts, cultivates tolerance, extends empathy, expands ideas and nurtures genius..  It makes the world accessible and approachable, yet expansive beyond mortal reason.  It increases the odds for miracles exponentially.

 An minor example of that occurred the other day when I was trying to recall an exact quote I had heard the space/time physicist, David Lewis Anderson, make on the Coast to Coast radio show some weeks earlier. Mr. Anderson has a facebook page and after that show I sent him a message applauding his work and we became facebook friends.

 But on this day as I sat at my laptop attempting to recall the specific wording, I glanced at the open ichat window, and who should be online and available but David Lewis Anderson!  On the spot I was able to inquire about his quote, and he graciously answered me. Within two minutes, my dilemma was solved.

 To me that is a small miracle, and as the world gets further connected with such technologies, the odds are increased for such little miracles.

 What could be wrong with that?

I see nothing narcissistic or indulgent in taking advantage of every opportunity we can to participate in changing and bettering our world by remaining more easily connected to those we know, those we love;  and even to those we don't yet know but with whom share commonalities.

What difference does it make how?

It is all too easy to feel alienated, pessimistic and alone in a world that is not at all collectively clear on what it is doing or where it is going.

Why not take advantage of a tool that allows you to wish someone who is far away a happy birthday or good luck on a new job or lend a supportive word when they are struggling or a hit of praise when they have accomplished a good?

 You never know the impact such recognition could have.

Of course, there are down sides. What doesn't have a down side? There will be vain and vapid and exploitive people abusing the venue, but those people exist everywhere; yet that doesn't stop us from leaving our homes.

As for blogging,  I've come to realize that it takes a fair amount of courage and blind faith to distribute your thoughts to an unseen and largely unknown audience; one that could number anywhere from zero to thousands.

 With each day that I sit at this computer struggling to shut out the niggling voice in my head as it whispers derogatory asides about my incompetence while I try to release the thick knot in my stomach reminding me that I could at any moment be buried alive by my literary insolence; the greater my respect and admiration becomes for the millions of others who reach out into the dark, pixel-laden void of cyber space to make their mark.

Each time we write, we may be feeding the potential for a miracle.

Here is another example:  It was from Julie Powell's efforts to blog about and cook her way through Julia Child's cookbook that a movie was born.

That movie inspired friend of mine to emerge from a deep funk and subsequently discover a passionate interest in cooking.

As a result of her new culinary passion, it has brought she and her husband closer together than they have been able to be since her husband's prostate cancer changed the physical nature of their relationship many years ago.

They now laugh and feast together with the same deliberate, delicate and tactile intimacy of the lovemaking they can no longer enjoy.
As her husband recently proclaimed, "That movie was the best thing that has happened to me in ten years!"

And that movie was born from an inconsequential blog.

 I also have faith that there is a higher power at work here and that what I am seeing and experiencing is only a tiny portion of what is truly unfolding.

But for whatever reason, I am compelled to write. I don't know why.  What I do know is that I am not going to stop, and if the opportunity to connect with other people is increased by hammering out my thoughts in a blog or by checking in on friends via facebook, then I'm all in.

If other people find cyber communications to be vapid and feeble, so be it.

At this stage of the communication game, I don't really give a damn.