How Do You Like Them Apples?

So here's what I've learned since my last blog post.... a lesson I will presumably relearn countless more times in my life.  I know this because I've already learned and relearned it countless times before, and it only ever occurs to me that I've previously passed this test after I complete it, yet again.  It is apparent; however, that I am accruing credits as I go, and the curriculum gets a little easier to comprehend each time.  That said, graduation eludes me and it looks like i'll be a career student after all.... we can only hope. :)
Okay, so really.... here's what I've learned: [[[ Surrender and be free! ]]]  I know.  It's such a complex idea, isn't it?   It's so complicated, it inevitably takes me days figure it out.  But here's what else I've learned:  When my universe is shifting toward a higher purpose, there is resistance.  There always will be.   For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.  It's called physics.  (or fear or stress or a broken ankle or the flu... however you decide to label it)  And because I understand  this, I've learned  to shift my perception to match.
 Resistance is a natural part of our lives here. For example,  if there was no resistance in the form of gravity we would all be able to fly around and do flips in the sky and float on a cloud, but so would our furniture and our clothes and the food on our dinner tables... and that would pretty much suck.   So not only is it perfectly natural, it's also undoubtedly necessary.   I've found that resistance in my own life is less about opposing forces (fear, stress, broken ankle, flu) and more about my unwillingness to cease fighting those things for whatever reason (i.e. i don't deserve it/I'm afraid to fail/etc).... and accept the gift that is my higher purpose.  The circumstances and situations are not the problem.  The problem is me.  When the pain of staying the same becomes greater than the pain of changing, I become willing to receive it.  That simple.  When I stop relying on my mind and all the crazy shit it tells me (and by "shit", i mean just that)  and start trusting the divine source within, it doesn't matter if I'm scared or sick or otherwise "inhibited" because those are temporary conditions.  Are they real?  I believe so.  They are real to me.  And I've concluded that it's okay for them to be real as long as I don't use them for self-pity or manipulative endeavors.  Ultimately, though,  I've come to rely on the permanent nature of love, and my faith has been my most reliable conduit.  As a matter of fact, each time I learn and relearn this lesson, my faith increases... making the subsequent journey increasingly more comfortable.
There are always going to be moments of self-doubt, but a little while ago, I implemented a policy in my own life that I would never pretend I'm not afraid if I am, in fact, afraid... because the surest and quickest way to get to the good stuff is in the opposite direction of the ego.  If I'm pretending to be something I'm not, my ego is in charge, and the ego eats terrified little girls for breakfast, literally.  If I continue to feed it, it grows bigger.  But if I simply pick up the phone and call a trusted friend and say, "I'm scared."  Or get out my journal and write.  Or meditate..... or create something... all of which are prayers manifested.  Well, then... poof!  My ego has lost it's greatest source of energy because I have consciously made a decision to move away from it.
 All my life i sought relief for my constant state of fear.  Today, I know that everything i ever needed, I had inside of me all along .  And quite possibly, the best news of all is that today... i know where i keep it.
SO... this week, I made some choices... and this week I overcame some challenges.  I am happy to report, I'm back on the side of love.  And as predicted, I am more grateful than ever.  My motivation has returned.  I am channeling my inspiration, and there is certainly no shortage of beauty in my world...  the very same world I was living in a few days ago, just a different point of view.
A friend sent me a quote today by Kurt Vonnegut, and it goes like this , "Go into the arts.  I'm not kidding.  The arts are not a way to make a living.  They are a very human way of making life more bearable.  Practicing an art., no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake.  Sing in the shower.  Dance to the radio.  Tell stories.  Write a poem.  Do it as well as you possibly can.  You will get an enormous reward.  You will have created something."  
Holy crap, this resonates so deeply with me.  Everyone is looking for salvation.  There is no safe haven more reliable than the space inside each of us where creativity lives. The divine space.  You don't have to search for your creative self.  You just have to give it permission to come out and play.  I am so grateful I know this.  I am even more grateful I recognize it as a gift. 
This week, my creativity came in the form of painting a kitchen wall, writing, cooking.... I haven't painted any pictures this week, but I am no longer concerned about that.  It will come when I have done enough singing in the shower and dancing to the radio.  It will come when it is entirely necessary for it to exist in this world.  It will come when it comes, and not a second sooner.
 I honestly couldn't tell you if it's true that the arts are a 'very human way of making life more bearable'.  In my case, it's more of a divine way to make life more purposeful, but I will admit at times, it's been both.  This week, the arts made my life more bearable.  This week I really proved to myself that art is in everything and everyone AND everything and everyone is art... as if I didn't know that already.  This week, I showed up for it like I would show up for an appointment with a therapist and I relied on it like an accountability partner when i didn't feel like showing up for anything at all.  I truly believe we are all artists.  Some would argue it's easy for me to make a statement like that considering i can paint pictures and make aesthetically pleasing things with my hands.... but here are some artforms i don't do (yet) which have moved me to tears more times than my own creativity... songwriting, dancing,  raising children, taking care of a friend with special needs,  helping out at the nursing home, building a house for a family in need.... it's art.  All of it.  Because art is something which stirs our soul  And those things stir mine.  So how do you like them apples? :)

The Big D and me.

I'm having a little trouble staying motivated lately.  It happens.  I'm not too awfully concerned, but this situation always leads to the brainstorming of new methods.... and new madness, frankly.  Currently,  I feel I've aquired plenty of inspiration, but since beginning this full-time gig as an artist, I've learned that inspiration and motivation are acutely separate in their applications.  At times, the inspiration is so overwhelming that it just springs forth without effort, but most days, there is much discipline required to channel it.... most days my inspiration swirls in fragments around itself, and if I am not motivated to help it adhere to something,  I'm screwed.  This is precisely where the trouble lies for me today. 
I suppose I'd say it's probably a human condition, in general.  I suppose I'd also say that my mind is not typically ensnared with the chaos of unbridled thoughts and/or preoccupied with the dramatic variety often anymore.  SO... when it occurs, I am easily overwhelmed.  Right now, I am simply writing it out.  It is the only possible way for me to find balance or clarity when all else fails.
In the last few days, there has been an ever-so-subtle game of tug o'war between myself and a little affliction most commonly known as depression.  I try to view it mostly as an 'opportunity' these days, but it wasn't always like that.  I've struggled with serotonin and dopamine deficiencies since I was in my teens.  For a lot of years, I just assumed it was normal.... that everyone had to go through it... that I was always going to have to fight for my life in one way or another. 
Depression almost claimed me more times than I'd like to admit, but when I got sober, I discovered some ways to manage it....without self-medication and without prescribed medication.  Though I am grateful to remain unmedicated, I am aware it is nothing short of a miracle and believe that medication can and should be sought under the care of a professional if needed.  So once I stopped self-medicating,  I eventually began to learn that EVERYTHING I put into my body counts for something.  EVERYTHING.  Ceasing to consume massive amounts depressants certainly cured a few of my ills, but long term, I have really learned to listen to my body, my soul... my divine source.  I quit smoking a year after I quit drinking.  In the last year or so, I have diligently monitored the foods I eat, and now the routine is pretty streamlined.  SO... when the depression comes knocking, I can usually narrow it down.
In the last few days, I have tried to work my way back to a healthy diet.  This process is never as easy as I want it to be.  Because depression is such a powerful foe, it takes some time to muster the bravery to go forth.  Even though I know that ALL things in this life are temporary, and NOTHING is outside the realm of possibility if I simply choose the perception which best serves my chances of staying healthy.... it is, each and every time, as terrifying as the last.  And there is a process, each time, through which I discover the power of faith and gratitude like I've never known it.  But first, I must face the fear.  The fear that "I will always wake up with a hopeless feeling in the depths of my gut".  The fear that "everything really is for nothing and what once felt like a life of great purpose was just a good story I told myself".  The fear that "love really is an illusion, and only the fittest will survive...  and I'm unfit... yada yada. ".   all the untruths.
Again, it may sound severe, but the truth is.....  it IS.  It is a very severe condition.  It is a, often times, fatal illness.  But it is also a part of my existence here on this planet, and I have learned to embrace it rather than conceal it.  I heard it described recently by David Letterman (of all people) as "you get on an elevator and the bottom drops out.  You can't stand looking at the sunlight.  You can't wait to get back in bed at night...... it's a sinkhole.  And people who have gone through it know exactly what I'm talking about."  When I heard him say these things, there was no question he'd been where I've been.... and so many others have been.  So what?  We deal with some plummeting chemical levels in our brains from time to time.  Is there really any shame in this?  Nope... not any more than we would be ashamed if we had a tumor the size of grapefruit in our heads. 
This is the often untold reality of depression. There is a terrible stigma attached to mental illness which all too often prevents us from talking about it enough to find solutions.   Depression does not discriminate, and it brings it's A-game EVERY. SINGLE. TIME., and though I think I know what to expect by now, it shakes me to my core without fail. If not only for a split second, there is inevitably the crippling fear that "it's here to stay this time, and I will always feel this way."   BUT, I possess much more knowledge than I once did.... spiritually speaking.  My intellect is no match, but the light inside of me is always on.  I just have to remove the blanket from the lampshade (which is sometimes way more complex than it sounds).  That blanket has many forms including the food I eat, the thoughts I allow, the people I surround myself with, the outlets I provide myself, the amount of time I spend in meditation each day.... one or the other... or all of them.  But the common denominator is whether I'm allowing myself to live in fear.... or whether I will snatch that blanket from atop my love light and give myself the opportunities I deserve.  Eventually, because I truly believe, at center of myself, that my life has purpose and love is real... that heavy quilt of fear will go up in flames anyway.
LOVE ONLY BURNS WITH THE UTMOST INTENSITY. 

Fear Take Flight So Love Can Land

Well, so much for my resolution to write more, but I assure you , my excuse is as valid as the next.  In the last few months, the great honor of becoming a real live, full-time, working artist has been bestowed upon me. … paycheck and all.  I am so grateful for the opportunity to be able to tap into this divine creative channel every day.  It affords me a spacious vessel for growth and a reliable vehicle for change. Not to mention, staying busy keeps a girl out of trouble.  BUT, I cried myself to sleep last night, and lately I’ve been grappling with some things I am finding difficult to accept.  When I awoke this morning… I knew I had offer it all up to the universe in its rawest form and sacrifice it on the alter of my electronic journal.   So here goes....

It all began when I was born.  Ha!  I’m kidding, but no… seriously.  That’s pretty much where it all began,  however, I am a constantly evolving creature and have learned many things about myself and the ones I love in this life…  last night,  my tears came to wash away the intense fear of losing one of those people. 

My dad has been sick for some years now.  He has a heart condition called cardiomyopathy.  When he was first diagnosed more than a decade ago, the doctors gave him less than a year to live.  When my mom received the news, I was in the throes of my addiction and unable to comprehend exactly what it all meant.  But the part of the story where he was not supposed to survive the year was withheld from me until not long ago.  When I asked my mom why they didn’t tell me the whole truth… she said it was because I was already slated to move to Florida and they feared I wouldn’t go if I knew.  AND they knew I needed to go.  It was clear I was drowning, and they wanted me to start swimming.  These are good parents… good humans.  But to find out years later what might have been was a jagged little pill and something I had to forgive myself for… over and over.  I don't blame them for not telling me.  I completely understand.  No regrets, but naturally, i  wish I'd been in a place where I could have been more supportive, trustworthy, etc.   Nonetheless,  Dad's still here, and that alone will tell you a little something about how our physical forms pale in comparison to the truly amazing spirit living within us. 

I'll never know if it was my self-centered denial or the fact that Dad rarely complains and always chooses to discuss the positives over the negatives… but it seems his quality of life has not been diminished much by his disease…. until recently.    That's not to say it hasn't been hard on him, but he always seems to find a way to make lemonade.  Until recently, it seemed there were actually aspects of his limitations he enjoyed to a certain extent.  For instance, my dad is one of the hardest working men I know.  Up with the sun and stay ‘til it’s done.  On average, he worked 12-16hr days for most of his life, and he preferred it this way.  But when he got sick, he was forced to slow down.  Though I know this was an adjustment for him, he seemed to settle into it, and enjoy the little things he’d been moving too swiftly to notice in awhile .   Until recently, he seemed to be excited about the future…. hopeful.  Until recently, he never mentioned his health or lack thereof.   But in the last year or so, he’s had some bumps in the road.  Some days I call him and he just sounds exhausted… mentally.  He says things like, "If I I'm still around when..."  or "if I don't kick the bucket first..."  This is far more painful to hear than any physical prognosis.   I get the feeling he is sick and tired of being sick and tired.  And who in the world could blame him???  My brother says he’s given his heart to so many people, and not many have returned the favor.  I think he believes this has contributed to the weakening of dad’s heart, and though he has indeed given more that he's received, I know dad doesn’t do nice things for folks because he expects something in return.  He does them because it’s who he is at the core of his being.  It hurts my brother to see people take advantage of him, but I truly believe dad doesn’t see it that way.  I believe his humanity is the reason he is still with us.  And his grandkids.  Probably, mostly his grandkids. J

 

So… I’ve spent some time in denial about many of these things.  I really don’t want to believe that my oldest and dearest friend is sick, and I sure as hell don’t want to believe he’s tired.  Sometime I guess it just feels easier to believe him when he says he’s “doing just fine”.  Truth is… he’s not really “fine”.  Physically, he’s been sick a long time… and even as I write this, I am breathless… as if I just heard the news for the first time.  Mentally and emotionally, he’s beginning to bend, but we were made to bend, right?  It’s just so difficult to watch someone you love so much struggle.   I just want him to be happy.  I want him to have the care he needs.  I want him to be able to accept his limitations, and embrace life with as much enthusiasm as he can muster.  And most of all, I don’t want him to suffer… not for a second.  I can see the discouragement on his face and hear the frustration in his voice when he finds he can’t do the things he once could although he masks it well with a , "Well, I'm not as young as I once was.."  Hell, some days, walking to the mailbox and back is a gauntlet of challenges for him. 
Maybe… if I am absolute in my truth, it’s just downright tough to watch my parents grow older…to find out my dad really isn’t a superhero.  That he just may be mortal after all, and that I’d better get in touch with this reality because I was made to bend, as well.  Now more than ever, I must be diligent about my own issues because dad needs my best energy, and love cannot exist in the same space as fear.  I have given myself permission to feel my feelings.  I allow myself the freedom to express it... to cry about it.  But when I spend time with Dad, either on the phone or in person, I do my best to encourage him to follow his heart…. No matter how ill-equipped he thinks it is.   To take care of himself.  To heal himself... if not physically... in every other way.

     I am so thankful for the awareness that every precious moment is a gift.   Today I will stay in this moment.  This one right here.  Today I will send love and light to my Dad, and know that it is reaching him with whatever intensity he needs now.  I will pick up the phone and encourage him.  I will not beat myself up for living 1000 miles away.  I will continue  to follow my own heart because it is the only way for me to be 100% available to the ones I love. 

I can’t say that the gravity of this pain is any less forceful having written a few paragraphs about it…. But I did not come to the pages of this journal for a bandaid and a pat on the head.  I simply want to open a door and walk through it…experience the journey…trust the process.  I want to put new bandages on the wound… or let it breathe if need be.  I want to honor myself and my loved ones by living authentically.  And sometimes, in order to do that, I have to realize my fears, cradle them in my hands, and give them permission to travel elsewhere... on the wings of words.

Fear take flight so love can land.