recycling

waiting or wasting? blocked or resting? dabbling or mastering? the words will not come. I am reminded of the Nike slogan, “just do it.” alas, I am dry as toast. scattered like confetti in the wind. wrung out and hung to dry. morose? no. delighted? no. extreme? perhaps. love me or hate me, but please don’t be indifferent.

the words will not come, so here is a “recycled” post for today…

the words will not come.
they do not flow like water.
they drip in my mind interrupting solace like a leaky faucet.
they come in ragged, jagged fits and bursts and then
they resist—stop—refuse to congeal and thus
leave me wanting—yearning—aching and unsure of what needs
or wants to be said or heard or read.

my words are insufficient.
cards held close to my vest.
“Thank you but your words are not right for us.”
“Have you tried this or that?”
words of advice slip through the air
and hang like graffiti on a wall.

needing words to communicate—to feel complete.
finding words get in the way.
interpretation.
collision.
mood and mystery.
is there meaning in this text?
mine or yours?

the inner (& sometimes outer) critic speaks.
softly.
loudly.
in fits and spurts.
in screams and sighs.
the words will not come.
And they will not stop.

photo by lucy. la cruz mexico

a little levity

it is raining today in seattle. my family is out of the house. my coffee date got canceled and it's too wet to go for the lunchtime walk i had planned with a friend. so what to do? blog things, of course! here are my results...play along if you like!

Your Personality at 35,000 Says...

Deep down, you prefer spending time alone to spending time with others. You enjoy thinking more than talking. You are not too sure what your place in the world is yet. You often feel invisible in a crowd. Your gift is relating to other people. You don't hide from your own emotions, and you are good at drawing other people out. You are inspired by almost anything. You don't have many mental blocks. You are happy as long as you are given some personal space. It's important for you to have your own private life.

The Personality Test at 35,000 Feet

God is Here

I walked into the deep dark night, the crescent moon lighting my way. Tilting my head back to fill my eyes with the night sky, the Big Dipper shone straight above me, full and clear. Laughter filled my soul. God is here.

In the morning light, I headed for the river rock trail and a still small voice said, ‘Turn.’ I turned away from the path, toward the sea, and there before me was a magnificent eagle soaring in the clear blue sky. God is here.

The persistent morning wind blew through the sunlit trees. Waving. Calling. Singing. I am here. Yahweh. Spirit. God.

She built an altar out of discarded metal—a ladder representing her fears. She built an altar to a God she said she did not know—a God whose name she could not speak. He wooed. He called. He said, “I am here.”

She waited. She listened. She struggled. She railed against the hope. She slept. Peace came and washed over her through a flood of tears. She wept. She knew. She spoke the name. “God is here!!”

the collective "they"

I looked at the young woman and I saw a hundred others; perhaps even a bit of myself. If we see it in someone else, we have it in ourselves. Fact or Fiction? What did I see in her? I saw the holding on. The struggle to maintain an appearance that she thought was pleasing. I saw her battling to stay in composure and keep others at a distance. And I saw her pleading for someone to come a little closer.

Is that not a struggle we all have? Come closer, but not too close. Searching for our true identity—one that we can call our own rather than one created to “please” everyone around us.

This week I have been helping facilitate a personal growth workshop for Soltura. With a little break in the action, I thought I would share the above ponderings along with the following words from Sue Monk Kidd. As always, I would love to know your thoughts.

“Change begins with the recognition that we’re not so much an “I” as a “they.” We may like to think that we’re individuals living out our own unique truth, but more often we’re scripts written collectively by society, family, church, job, friends, and traditions.

We need our outer roles and identities, of course, but we also need to live them authentically, in ways that are true to our unique and inner self. When we live exclusively out of the expectations thrust on us from without, rather than living from the truth emerging within, we become caught in the collective “they.”

So if all those roles were suddenly stripped away, what would be left? Who would you be then?”

--Sue Monk Kidd. When the Heart Waits

photo © h3images

holding tight

“We heap on the darkness, constructing a variety of false selves. We become adept at playing games, wearing masks as if life were a masquerade party.” --Sue Monk Kidd

The young woman sat before me dressed in her work clothes of tailored black pants and crisp white shirt. Her face clean of makeup. Her eyes tired from a cold—or was it more? Her long silky hair pulled away from her face in a ponytail that was a little messy, but still very ‘together.’ She held onto herself, grasping her stomach tightly, throughout our time together. Her face turning deeper shades of red as she tried to convince me that she ‘operates best under stress.’ It was almost as if I could hear her saying, “if I just hold on tight enough, all of the emotions I feel inside will not spill out and fill this room. If I can just convince you maybe I can convince myself that everything is alright and I don’t need help.” But she did not convince me.

I could see the terror on her young face. Terror and determination as she talked of breaking away from her “controlling parents.” Parents who were concerned that she wanted to work multiple jobs while going to school and playing sports and maintaining an active social life. From what was she running? If she were to slow down, I got the sense that the feelings would drown her. Did she have that same sense? Nowhere to turn. No one to trust. A ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

She hinted of betrayal. Friends she could not trust. A young love gone bad. The fighting in her house followed by the absence of family members. “They just leave,” she said with a shrug. The themes were all over the place, but still she tried to convince me that she did not need help. She could not fit in one more thing. She could only trust herself. But, here she sat betraying herself. Pushing her body. Exhausted and worn out. Driven. Holding tight. She saw herself as moving toward something. I saw it as running away. Her attempts at security were slowly eating away at her soul.