acting

i have been struggling so to get my act together
but maybe having my act together is simply that
acting
and not fully being

synchronicity / something being born

i'm seeing a lot of synchronicity at the moment.

like finding my little cd player that was missing for weeks.

my home is small and is pretty much an organized place, too small and orderly for a thing to be misplaced and not found easily. but for the life of me i had been unable to find that cd player anywhere. until yesterday in the early morning hours...i checked online to see if i had any email and while sitting for that one moment (there was no mail) i glanced up and saw the little cd player perched nearly out of site on a top shelf amongst my books. i had given up on finding it, thinking perhaps i had left it in the office gym or i had let a neighbor kid borrow it, a kid who had recently moved away. i no longer looked for the player, didn't give it any thought. and now here it was, plain as day, and on the one day i needed it to do my morning walk. normally i walk in silence or in the sounds of the birds and the awakening morning. but on this day my stress and my disorientation and my desire to stay safe in my own home would easily overtake the silence and prevent the strength for my walk. only favorite meaningful music could pull me from my morass of lethargy and make me feel safe enough to walk through a busy world full of people and noise. the music in my ears would provide something of a parapet against the noise that could overwhelm me and make me hide at home.

so i walked. four miles i walked. and all because the cd player showed up just when i needed it.

even better is finding anne lamott.

one month ago i met a woman on an airplane, a writer who mentioned to me a book on writing by one anne lamott. bird by bird she said. an excellent book. a couple of days later i found traveling mercies by anne lamott sitting in my office book basket. i picked it up and took it home, thinking i would try to read it, wondering why i did so when i already have so many books to read. i have an astonishing number of books i plan to read and long to read, but many of them simply remain on my elusive list. for three weeks that anne lamott book languished in my home, quickly becoming another unread book on my list.

now i found myself in a moment of crisis of faith. while i may find myself up and down about a lot of things, about my faith is not one of them. my faith has become an implicit part of my being. rich and full and constant. yet suddenly and unexpectedly i found myself in quite some despair saying aloud "perhaps there really is only me in here..." and as shocking as i found myself to feel it, i felt as if there is no higher Source, nothing Else.

i had been feeling lately that my life was all going wrong. my finances imploded. my work was uncertain. a job i would love to have can't offer the compensation i need. my relationships became tangled and seemed not to understand me despite my best attempts to express myself. i was falling apart. and it began to seem lamott's book was in my way everywhere i turned. i moved it from one table to another. i picked it up again. i said i need to return it. i moved it again. finally i began to read. and i found deep, rich treasure.

from one boon to the next i discovered huge nuggets of gold, true treasures. and i read this...

[a man who works for the dalai lama said]...they believe when a lot of things start going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born--and that this something needs for you to be distracted so that it can be born as perfectly as possible...

my greatest grief has been in the belief everything has gone wrong because of my mistakes, my misperceptions, my failures. but here, in these words, i discover perhaps everything is falling apart so something new, something big and lovely can be born.

and perhaps here in my ruins, i will give birth to my own treasure...


used by permission of the artist marc goldring

treasure

sometimes a single line, a single note, becomes a stronghold...

i read a rumi line that says where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure.

i know this. i have experienced this. i trust this.

even here, in the midst of my ruins, i will find treasure.

rumi expressed it exquisitely...

where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure.

wrestling in the dark (or, struggling with depression)

it is like struggling with the wind
i can't see it
i don't know where it begins or where it ends
it comes with little definition
or at best it shifts and moves how it's defined or how it's known
i mostly only know it by seeing what it leaves in its wake
sometimes i am aware of its presence only after it has knocked me down

i did not think i would be writing this post. first, i did not think i would be in this place again, and certainly not at this depth. and second, if i were to be here again, i would not expect to write about it in a public forum. after all, i spent much of a lifetime in silence and embarrassment, in determined work and struggle, with its recurring presence. i made peace with it, found ways to stave it off, developed tools to work with it and recover from its touch relatively quickly and easily. i thought of it mostly now as part of my past. but suddenly, actually quite unexpectedly, i find myself in the heart of depression. if life with depression is one of rising and falling waves, i can say i did not see this one coming.

i feel helpless to explain it to someone who has not its curse. at best i can say a layer of distortion has been placed between me and the rest of life. everything i experience is now through this distortion, everything i feel and everything i think. even recognition of my own self becomes blurred, deeply uncertain (its greatest pain is losing the ability to trust myself).

if i could i would opt out, use any distraction or absorption to lessen its pain. but i have come to live in a mostly pure physical state and the things i once could have used to ease the edges of this place are no longer part of my life. chocolates and caffeines to pick me up, sleep aids to give me slumber..not part of my life anymore (their effects are extremely temporary anyway and give no solution). alcohol never was a solace for me, for once i drink something, i find it impossible to want to drink again for months. an early allergic reaction to an attempt at medication propelled me into pursuing holistic means of addressing it and mostly i have been successful. knowing i have been here before and knowing as certain i will recover again is my greatest defense. while i would be happy just to sit and stare at the walls, i am now called upon to give this my greatest attention as well as devoted gentleness with myself. which i will do. and i will record this deep and personal work.

sometimes love means being there

sometimes love means being there.

i did not want to go out. as much as the world around me perceives me to be an extrovert, i am frequently reclusive, and far more so when i am troubled. and today of all days, my son was playing guitar and drums in a performance. i wanted to be there for him, be the face in the audience for him that was smiling at him, cheering him. and i wanted to see how he is coming along as he continues to develop his skills as a musician.

but i hated the idea of going out and being with people.

i remember when i was young and my father did not want to attend my performances. he worked hard and he was tired and i understand that now. but i found it painful for the people i loved not to be with me. as much as i wanted to stay home now and nurse my own struggles, i wanted even more to be there to share in my son's work and his presentation. i summoned everything within me, downloaded directions from mapquest, and drove to the church where he would perform.

gosh, he was beautiful, a handsome man amongst the other musicians. exquisitely beautiful. i loved him and my mother's heart was filled with pride to see him. i was proud to be part of him. with the band's first number he scanned the audience and saw me in the back of the room, caught my eye and smiled and nodded to me. that moment made every struggle worthwhile.

and i knew then, sometimes love just means being there.

emotions

at the beginning of stepping into silence from a busy, noisy world, i felt i was stepping into nothing, and it through me off balance. i then discovered its fullness and its depth.

stepping out of emotions seems to me to feel the same way. i am accustomed to emotions, those that feel good and those that frustrate, and stepping out of emotions feels as though i am stepping into nothing, and i find myself reaching for some kind of drama. but when i spend moments in the stillness of non-emotion and non-judgment, those moments incredibly re-shape the hours and days that follow.

silence...stillness...i am discovering a wonderful practice.

sanctuary

i grew up knowing the inside of a church as well as, or perhaps even better than, the inside of my home. over the years i have worshipped in and visited every possible kind of sanctuary, from humble wooden one-room churches on unpaved roads to grand cathedrals in europe, brand-new modern structures to temples that have served countless generations, churches where women were not allowed to speak and churches run only by women, churches with young stylish bands and churches with music only a cappella, churches that offer pomp and circumstance and churches whose congregations gather in silence, churches where women and men sit on opposite sides of the room and churches where families sit together. i have joined worshippers in christian, jewish, hindu, buddhist, and other faiths.

i love sanctuaries.

i live in a suburban neighborhood with an anglican church just a few doors away. as i travel 16th street to my office in the mornings, i pass 39 sanctuaries in my thirty-minute drive. the last street i pass before turning onto my street is church street. my office building is next door to washington, d.c.’s oldest baptist church.

i love sanctuaries.

as is my custom on many days, today i took time to leave my office and spend a few minutes in the sanctuary, a beautiful old church filled with stained glass windows and towering stone columns. i entered and stood in the softened light at the foyer and stood still, allowing my soul to embrace the spirit there. as my feet walked the stone floor that led to the front, i was awash in the beauty and riches of this spiritual place. i was alone, surrounded by the sound of organ music. i reached the front of the temple and by now my face was wet with tears. in this place i am open. i am cleansed. i am whole. i often weep (but not from sadness, from wholeness). here i am on holy ground.

i love sanctuaries and come here as often as i can.

what i am drawn to, what i love, is a message to my life. life is a mirror and our work is to see our reflections and discover our truth within. everything, absolutely everything, is a message.

i am drawn to sanctuaries not because i am in need of a sactuary, a place for God to reside. i am drawn to sanctuaries because i have a sanctuary, a place where God resides. this is my reflection. my time inside a sanctuary brings me in touch with my own Sanctuary.

i have a Sanctuary.

and if what i have is a reflection of what i am, what i have is what i am.

i have a Sanctuary...

i am a Sanctuary...

longing to be more

not long ago i walked into a restroom and surprised a cleaning lady working in the middle of the afternoon. she looked directly at me until i met her gaze, then quickly looked away. from that point on she kept her eyes focused on the floor. she apologized to me. she kept apologizing as if she were inconveniencing me and as if her presence were somehow improper.

i was the featured speaker in a conference being held in the building and this woman was not expecting me to be outside the meeting room or inside her ladies’ room. she was deferential and treated me as though my value exceeded hers. i could not speak her language but wished i could let her know the work she does, the service she provides, is just as important as that of my own. even if she knew my english, i was uncertain how i could have conveyed that same message. she just kept apologizing. it felt very strange for me.

i used to be the cleaning lady. while it has been quite some years back, in a lot of ways it feels to me it was not so long ago. i entered the business world with a broom. i cleaned executive offices and wondered what it would be like to wear a suit, to be the one behind the big desk and work on issues that make a contribution to the world. and i wondered what it would be like to have people need what i have to give. i longed to be more.

now i am wearing a linen suit; i have addressed audiences across this country and also another. people hire me for what i can teach them. but i struggle to be successful in my work. i am sometimes uncertain. i work hard and often stumble. i long to be more.

until i am reminded there are those who see who i am and dream of the gift in my hands. there are those who long for the position i hold. even when i held a broom, there were those who did not have a job and envied my gift. how careless of me to spend any time outside that of appreciation for who i am and for the work i do. my friend ehj2 once wrote to me of his own meditations, “to want to be further along my own path is a form of greed. it's placing a goal above the process of achieving the goal. if i do not love the Path, if i am not following my Bliss, i will never make the destination. to think i am not enough for this moment is a form of self-pity, a belief in insufficiency and want. to think that doing more is an answer turns spiritual practice into a form of athletics..."

my work, the cleaning lady's work, your work, we all have holy work in our hands. and we have a holy gift of who we are. any time spent longing for more is time wasting our gift. and precious time away from our own holiness.

let it rain

last night i fell asleep during a storm that knocked out power in much of my neighborhood. i slept without air conditioning with my windows open, and through the night the storm continued. the rain fell for hours. as the rain fell on the metal of the porch roof, the closeness of the sound made me feel the rain was upon me and around me and within me. i could hear, and feel, and taste the rain. i hardly could have felt it closer if i were lying on the open ground.

i awakened in the early morning hours to the sound of crickets and to rain dripping from the rooftops and from the trees. long before the rest of the neighborhood awakened, the world's silence intensified the sound of the crickets and the drip…drip…drip.

i knew i was on holy ground.

i got out of bed and did the only thing there was to do.

i found one more window to open.

the sound of silence

several weeks ago i wrote, “i am being called to greater stillness...and fewer things...and more quiet.”

while i was absent from writing i remembered those words and began to pursue a place of quiescence.

i turned off the television.

i turned off the surround-sound cd stereo.

i turned off the radio even in my car.

i turned time alone into time of silence. how very different from my customary world of constant commotion.

i began to limit the number of things around me. i created space around my events.

i stopped constant excitation--sugar and chocolates and coffees (even decaffeinated ones) and various stimulations.

at first it was unfamiliar and disconcerting. i felt noticeably alone. but as i allowed silence to settle around me, my world began to transform. i had no idea how noise and other stimulants had interrupted and altered my body's natural rhythm, confused my knowing when to sleep and how long and when to eat and how much.

initially i found it challenging when business obligations demanded long hours and i refused to use anything artificial to keep up my pace. no chocolates to stimulate and no coffees or colas. i didn't even use music to stir or alter my energy, and i struggled to manage a bloated calendar without artificial means. how do i pull an all-nighter without something to keep me going? but as i pursued my new practice my energy began to level out and i was further quieted by not having to "use" to compensate for having "used." too much stimulation leads to trouble sleeping, and using something to sleep (even non-prescription) leads to the need to stimulate. this becomes a very slippery slope and its acceptance makes the problem invisible.

i actually started this practice long before i wrote the words in my blog (writing them from the call to pursue deeper quiet than i was already experiencing). for several years i frequently used benadryl to help me sleep but you know, for the life of me, i cannot remember the last time i even had it in the house. my new practices have been making a difference.

constant food and drink stimulation had been one kind of noise but now i was called to greater silence around me, not only within me. i turned off music and television to discover more quietude. no more voices to fill the silence in my empty house. this felt different, strange and unnerving. in my home it was just me, fumbling around in the quiet. at first i thought the silence made me feel alone. but as i began to acclimate to the silence it seemed to me it was not the feeling of being alone that was so strange to me but it was the feeling of my own presence. i had thought the hugeness of silence made one feel small but i discovered it is noise that makes one small and even lost. silence affords one the opportunity to discover her own being. i began to hear my own voice. hearing my own voice is the most solid ground i have known. i love my own becoming.

as i felt called to "greater stillness...and fewer things...and more quiet” i began to find more than the awareness of my own being and the sound of my own voice. deeper still i found a Presence in the silence, something more than merely the absence of sound. silence became not emptiness but fullness, a wealth usually displaced by noise. this silence and its Presence became a place of healing for me, a place of refuge, a place of restoration. of course, one can be surrounded by silence and never notice (having noise inside)...for fully experiencing silence means actually stepping into it.

my tendency toward noise became my tool. every time i felt the urge to turn on the music (sometimes reaching for it almost unconsciously) i used that urge to take a moment to step into the silence, if only for a fraction of a minute. again and again and again during my day my habit to reach for the dial meant another conscious moment of stepping into the silence. my habit toward noise became my incredible awareness of the silence.

i live in a world filled with noise--tools and construction, advertising and branding, billboards and bumper stickers, conversations and confusion, foods and smells--but as often as i am able and in increasing amounts, i go to my place of refuge and find myself in the silence...