Dealing with my shit

Lately I've been feeling this....tenderness, for lack of a better word, I guess? I haven't been able to explain the feeling very well until now, and suddenly this afternoon, after listening to this song, the words to describe my feelings are right here on my lap, calmly sitting, looking up at me expectantly, as if they've been here all along, just waiting for me to pick them up. So here they are...the words that match my feelings. And the song that helped me voice them is below my writing.

Last fall I said to myself and a few other people
That I was ready to "deal with my shit,"
As I put it then.
I expected the outcome would be my inner wounds being healed.
A season of "hospital,"
In which I would tend to old hurts
With clean bandages and gentle hands.
A time of playing nurse in a crisp uniform,
Tucking the hurt under soft white sheets with care.

That's not what I'm experiencing.
Instead, it feels more like
I'm being introduced to multiple war victims inside of me.
One by one, they present themselves.
I drop my neatly-rolled-up bandages
As my hands fly up to cover my eyes.
I'm no nurse; I'm horrified.
Sometimes their faces are only recognizable as faces
Because there are two eyes in the middle of
Broken, bleeding flesh.

Sometimes their bodies are so twisted
I think they must be dead.
I prepare to give one of them a good burial.
I rearrange the limbs piled unnaturally on one another,
Mourning as I do,
But draw back in horror
When hoarse breaths suddenly begin.
Oh God...it's not dead.
I can only stand and weep helplessly before these forms,
Too broken to fix,
Yet still alive.

I choke back the bile sometimes as I look into their faces.
I lean in to hear the whispered words
Coming from what used to be a mouth,
Expecting to hear a last word,
Or a plea to help it end its misery.
And I feel willing;
It would be merciful to assist them in this way.
But instead they whisper,
That they don't want death.
And oh God
They don't want to just be "fixed."
They want and need
Their woundedness to be accepted and loved.

I'm looking into these scarred faces
And instead of flinching and calling for a nurse
To cover up the bloody mess already
And get that goddamned surgeon over here and
FIX THIS MESS,
I'm seeing that these seemingly destroyed,
Nearly-unidentifiable piles of broken flesh
Want to be embraced.
Loved.
Now.
I want to run.

And it's then I realize that I've been here before
And I've run before.
And I'll be here again if I run now.
So I bend to pick one of these broken, bloody forms up,
The smell of it making me almost ill,
And pull it close against my chest,
And hold it like one of my own children.
I hum a little bit of "Adelweiss," soft and low,
As I did to my babies, swaying a bit,
And patting its little back.

I murmur words into its ear....
Precious...
Perfect...
Beautiful...
Never again...
Love...
Always...
Safe...

And I suddenly realize
These are the words I've been longing to hear
For my whole life.
So I say them again.
And again.
Until the little form in my arms finally relaxes
And sleeps.

Life is...YOU ARE...

Watching/listening to this incredible video from Akin Salawu over and over again.

As you watch it, pay attention to how your spirit responds to this.

It feels to me like a loving parent is looking into my eyes, fully seeing and knowing the REAL me, and loving me in such an extravagant way that I can hardly keep from laughing and crying all at once.

If you are like me you will feel courage, strength and intention to be 100% REAL YOU because you know that you MUST, and that if you don't, the world will be missing out on you as surely as the rainbow (or the earth for that matter) would be less than itself with the color blue missing...

Today

Feeling a lot of love for my sweet friends, several of whom are hurting today. Wish we could all just put our burdens, responsibilities and jobs aside for a day and hang out together somewhere peaceful, quiet and just-warm-enough. We'd eat pinic lunches, pick wildflowers, laugh our heads off, cry if we needed to and hug one another. We would lay on a blanket, watch the clouds and listen to the sounds around us. We'd find a little creek, take our shoes off and wade in. And then when the day faded and the stars came out, we'd have a delicious alfresco dinner under the stars with good wine and plenty of cheese and chocolate. And though we can't actually pull that off in real life, maybe we can feel some of the sweetness of that kind of day as we move through "real life." I hope you can imagine my hug, friends, know you are loved and breathe that love into your heart.

Find this pic here.

"...And I Know That My Heart Is My Home..."

My new favorite song. I really like the music video, too, but there's some scantily-clad-ed-ness in it, just to warn you. :)

Here's the beautiful but not modest version:



And a version without all the skin, if you prefer!

"These Are a Few of My Favorite Things..."

As a little girl, one of my favorite movies was The Sound of Music. I still love it. One of my favorite songs from the film is "Favorite Things."

So yesterday when I found this incredible cover of the song by a...wait for it...KOREAN JAZZ MUSICIAN named Youn Sun Nah, I was absolutely delighted. So I'm including a youtube video of her charming rendition of "Favorite Things."

This morning I've had this song, plus some other new ones I put on my ipod lately, playing on my itunes while I work. And I decided to make a photo collage about the song, which is below the video in this post.

Hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Photo credits:


1. Make Me Smile, 2. Apfelstrudel, 3. Cabled natural white handknit woolen mittens, 4. Brown paper and String..., 5. February 20 - Day 51, 6. Blue Ballerina, 7. Cream Colored Pony, 8. Vintage European Copper Tea Kettle, 9. Whiskers

How do I stop wanting to dance?

Understanding that foot binding was a deplorable practice
Doesn't mean the women whose feet were bound since childhood can dance.
A change of policy
Doesn't heal the tiny nubs for feet that women can only hobble on.
Not binding their own girls' feet is good,
But it doesn't mean they can run with their whole, big-footed daughters.
Understanding that they should have been allowed to dance on their big, lovely feet
Doesn't make the desire to dance disapear.
How do I stop wanting to dance?

Touching my heart today

I've had this song on my ipod's "sleep" playlist, as well as my "editing" playlist, for awhile now. It's hauntingly beautiful.

Today I found this video version of the song on youtube. I have no idea what the images the video-creator used mean to him or her. All I know is that they were incredibly significant to me. This is the sort of thing that makes me think about Jung's concept of there being a "collective unconscious." I'm wondering if these images are significant to anyone else.

Or perhaps it's as simple as this. Maybe the person who collected these images and created the video is simply in touch with the path his or her own heart and spirit have traveled and unusually gifted at being able to create a picture of that, in all its joys and its sadness, and with in all its longing and pain. And maybe it's just that this path is a HUMAN path. Maybe, like any artist, the creator of the video is just uniquely adept at combining images in a way that paints a picture of what it means to be human with such accuracy that it makes me feel "understood." That make me feel "seen."

I have no idea. All I know is I love it and I wonder if you will love it, too.