Blessed by Risk...

...a response to yesterday's post.

“It is not so much our friends’ help that helps us as the confident knowledge that they will help us.” --Epicurus

Words like Thank You, Yes, and Sally Fields’ academy award speech from years ago, “You really do like me,” ring through my head. I am wrapped in the warm words of others. We mirror each other and I hear myself in both the encouragement and the resistance. Your words are mine - “I read, but don’t always comment.” The overflowing sentiment (from you and for you) - I am here when you need me.

It has taken me a long time to learn to ask for what I want or need. For me, it can be a paradoxical situation. If I have to ASK, does it lessen the gift when I receive? The challenging thing is that when I get scared or lonely or angry, I can get pretty prickly AND by that point, I don't know how to ask - so I push. Thus, the initial response is for others to back away when what I really need is for someone to move in closer. I need a cocoon to hold me. I need to cry and weep and wail.

The other day I was so beside myself, it was pretty ugly and instead of backing away – my dear sweet husband leaned in. He wrapped me in a giant bear hug and held on. I cried – we cried – wracking, gut-wrenching, snot-slinging, unabashed tears. I pushed away ...surrendered ...and then cried some more. Somewhere inside my little soul, I was confident he was there to help me. And you know what? When I finally came up for air – I laughed. Yes, laughed! I felt lighter, better, more complete and real.

A similar thing happened yesterday as soon as I wrote the words “Would it make a difference if you knew I was sad”? Something deep inside me KNEW you would show up. And you came – lots of you – some I had no idea ever visited here! You offered much and it didn’t even matter what you said (although I loved every word). My heart lifted when the first comment showed up in my inbox… Really, I think my heart began to shift when I took the risk to ask. It was the sheer act (yes, sheer, as in transparent) of risking the ASK – risking to be real – even though I couldn’t definitively predict what might happen.

My heart overflows with gratitude and I want to sit here for hours basking in your wisdom. It’s hard – very hard, but I am going to push away the desire to spend the day at the computer responding to everyone's wonderful posts. I need to move and stretch and maybe go dance in the rain. Perhaps it’s a risk and you will see me as selfish – I certainly hope not. I have been, and continue to be, blessed by your words and presence. SO...I offer this in return:

May your day be blessed with risk,
May your fears be answered with companions,
May you know that you are loved, and
Experience the inseparable wonder of both grief and joy.

Peace to you, my friends.

"fashion risks" - dublin 2009 © lucy

If you knew I was sad, would it make a difference?

Life upon return from Ireland hit hard and fast. I find myself rising and falling like the rhythms of the ocean. Sometimes the waves are gentle and I float as though on a blowup mattress in the middle of a still Oklahoma lake. Other times, I feel as though I have been slammed by a giant Tsunami – shaking myself off and gasping for air from the force of the hit.

I have been lonely here at Diamonds. Not sure if my readership is down, if my topics are not engaging or if people are just plain busy – or maybe I sound so content you don't realize I crave your company and comments. So, I ponder the question in the post title… If you knew I was sad, would it make a difference? Would you make a little more effort to comment if you knew I needed it? Would you stop and speak to a co-worker or a child or a stranger if you thought your comfort would make a difference? I wonder how often I settle for the pat answer when someone responds with a standard, “I’m fine?”

I wonder about people’s interior journeys (those who confide in me and others I pass on the streets), realizing I can only know a fraction of their stories – if that much. We are complex beings and have a capacity to present many faces to the world. Does showing joy when grief lurks inside (or vice versa) discount either emotion? I ask, because, the waves that follow me these days are somewhat confusing. I feel both the gentle rocking of comfort as well as the motion sickness of constant movement. I find it near impossible to answer the question, “How are you?” for the water that washes my spirit clean and gently holds the raft upon which I float is the same element that threatens to drown me and take away my breath. The two cannot be separated for they flow in and out of each other like waves moving against the shore – both gentle and wild. Hmmmm.Anybody else ever feel confused by two seemingly contradictory emotions that flow in and out simultaneously? Reminds me of the old lyric “hurts so good”…or maybe not. I’d love to hear your thoughts (but a simple hello works, too).

ireland brook ©2009
dublin river ©2009

A Pilgrim's Day - October 21, 2009

Rain. Rain. Rain. The other pilgrims off to Dublin – a handful stay behind in ancient Glendalough. I am snug and cozy in a room beside the flowing stream. The monastic gates rest just beyond. Today’s gift: to follow the breeze of my own heart. Listening to the i-pod – a poem and thoughts form through the stream of music. God leading. Me following. Listening. Writing. Companioning.

A walk to Laragh. Braving the elements. Skipping. Dancing. Singing in the rain. Two ancestral maidens hold my hands and we are one – alive and at peace. A momentary pause to soak in the wonder of St. Kevin’s Well, we are washed clean.

Further down the path, I am drawn to the ruined church of St. Saviour. Mesmerized by this holy site. Two gates to enter. Stone steps downward. Crossing back and forth between worlds. The rain begins to pour once more. Mother Earth sprinkles me with her holy, heavenly waters.

I continue down the trail. Rain comes and goes. I dry, and just as quickly I am soaked again. Another pause – this time a rock. I almost pass it by, but Mother Earth – Goddess – calls out to me. “Stop!” I return to the spot and witness the sienna stone with one white vein splitting the middle. I pick it up and turn it over in my hand to see two identical veins on the opposite side. The babes – the maidens - have greeted me again. My heart and throat burst into laughter. Goddess is greeting me every step of the way. We are three. Maiden. Mother. Crone. My knapsack fills with treasures.

Material things hold no value for me today. The linen shop is warm and dry, but it cannot hold my attention. I return to the elements. Rain pouring – the sound from the heavens matching the rush of the stream. I retrace my footsteps and then turn upward along the marked hikers’ trail. It takes me higher than I imagine. Up. Up. Up. Until the valley spreads below me.

I walk and walk – an hour, maybe two – the Monastic City a mere speck in my viewfinder. I follow the trail and loop back out by the upper lake of St. Kevin’s Desert. Waterfalls sing to me along the way and I join them with my joy-filled chorus. Whistling while I walk.

Tired and hungry, I return to the hotel. Wet, but warm from the exertion. I satisfy my hunger with Guinness and chips. Returning to the room, my roommate gently naps. Quietly, I run a hot bath, soak my body and shampoo my hair. Clean. Tired. Sated.

I have tended much today. I have laughed and played. Danced and whistled in the rain. Greeted the elements and made time for my heart. Listening. My anam cara with me every step of the way. Blessed be and amen.

view from glendolough hotel window ©
st. kevin's well ©
st. saviour church window ©
monastic city from orange trail ©
st. kevin's desert waterfall ©

Simple Day

FOR TODAY November 16, 2009
prompted by The Simple Woman's Daybook

Outside my window the rain continues to steadily fall. Night time is upon us even though it's only mid-afternoon.

I am thinking how I would love to get in my pajamas right now and curl up with a good book.

I am thankful for the graciousness in the world around me.

From the kitchen - fresh chicken soup and cornbread muffins to warm the damp, wet bones of my family.

I am wearing BROWN - head to toe (except for some crazy-colored stripes on my socks.)

I am creating an activity for my spirituality class at the Recovery Cafe and gathering images for my SoulCollage® workshop this Friday night.

I am going to my memoir writing group tonight. My piece, "Ordinary Life," is up for review.

I am reading Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer (vampires and werewolves for a dark fall night!)

I am hoping there is minimal traffic on the way to Bellevue.

I am hearing rain, rain, rain.

Around the house all is quiet.

One of my favorite things is snuggling with my curious cat who keeps me warm and cozy in the midst of darkness.

A few plans for the rest of the week: a schedule full of clients, yoga, therapy, group facilitation, and a new workshop.

My picture thought is Aslan - Lucy's faithful friend.

Sacred Sunday

Still. Numb. Quiet.
I absorb the light.
Shadow of hand upon paper,
Music of monks drifting through air,
greeting me from centuries past.
Am I alone, or surrounded by saints –
a cloud of witnesses to guide and protect?

Am I alone – or is every hurt of every generation
wrapped inside my body?
Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow.

The pen is heavy, but I cannot release it –
Running out of ink, I pause and pick up another –
Another sorrow? Another pen?
Trading – sorrows & shame.
Am I allowed? Are they welcomed?
Does the Cross exist?

Created in the image of Creator,
Can I write a new story – or
will it always be a continuation of the old?
There is no escaping –
the sorrows run deep,
but what of the joy?

Am I alone – or is the joy of every generation
wrapped inside my body?
Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow.

It is a massive excavation for the
spark lies deep within –
Covered with graves of sorrow and pain –
still the seed is there.
It is Eden before shame
before the covering layered on,
Layer upon heavy layer.

The mustard seed of hope is eternally there –
Waiting to take root.
Waiting for me, alone, to release it.
No one else can write this story –
Or live it –
Or tell it –
Or feel it.

Am I alone – or is every feeling of every generation
wrapped inside my body?
Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow.

glendolough celtic cross ©lucy
remembrance of soil ceremony ©lucy