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Ah hell. Who said life was supposed to resemble a perfectly pressed square of finely woven Japanese brocade made only of the finest spun silk? Certainly no intelligent philosopher I’ve read and yet I’ve pressed and ironed and added new threads, the best I had at the time, and kept the tension of the warp threads and the weft threads as even as possible. And I’ve stretched it and squished it and dyed it and boiled it and scrubbed it and, yes, I’ve even tried removing a few rows. You laugh because you know how true it is.

Now the shape of my fabric resembles nothing but me. How sweet is that? A lumpy here, smooth there, colorful, multi-textured, unusual piece of life, ironically just like all the other unique quilts of life, for which I thank God. Isn’t she brilliant?

It’s interesting how all of our beautifully unusual pieces of life come together in the big quilt–overlapping here, blending beautifully there, bunching up in places, sometimes stretching to meet, sometimes barely touching, sometimes shrinking away.

Why do we shrink away? William P. Young, in The Shack, writes: “Pain has a way of keeping us from feeling loved—and if left unresolved too long, can leave us forgetting that we were created to be loved in the first place.”*

More on that later…

Love you.

*This sentence is in the notes I took while reading the book, which I gave to a dear friend, and may not be exactly how Mr. Young wrote it. You can find it on page 97 in the 2007 version.

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If something “rings true” where did the knowing come from? 

From the awesome network of electricity, sound, light, or something else, constantly shimmying and sashaying from one body to another–intentionally and inadvertently–in and out, through and between, striking chords and pushing buttons, depositing ideas and turning on light bulbs?

Where ever knowing comes from, to me it is an elegant dance of souls. Souls simply communicating in accordance with the mystery of existence…

Which reminds me of a wonderful piece by Ray Lynch: What to remember to be happy.

Love you.

In a funk today. Not the wonderful groovy nature of funk music. That would delight my spirit. No. This is the in between here and there funk–a disconnection within and without.

When things pop up in front of me, for me to say yes or no to, and I say yes then later wonder about the rightness of my involvement, I question you because I trust your guidance and I think you will put in front of me those things that will “work” and flow smoothly, easily. And I remember being described as a hummingbird, here to taste all the flowers.

Bittersweetness causes pause.

A pause between here and there to digest the yeses. To reconnect heart and mind in a space impervious to the passion of others; supported to choose to stand authentically in the fire of your soul.

The bittersweet pause is soul’s nudge to remember your own fire.

Love you.

Thank God I’m home.

I finished reading a daring book, How it ends, by Laura Wiess, the night before watching the last bag of Fludurobine (chemo) drip into a vein in Mom’s right arm; last bag for three weeks when she gets to do it all over again. Sitting in the adult cancer outpatient room…watching…trying not to notice the other patients who appeared sicker…listening to the whirs and beeps of machines…wondering…I asked, “What’s next?”

Mom painted a picture I wasn’t anticipating. This isn’t a cure. There isn’t a cure. She’ll feel better for awhile (2-5 years) and will likely need to go through chemo again. This could go on for 10-20 years. In the meantime, she could “get” a secondary cancer (lung, liver, skin…) and fight that too. And/Or, she could “catch” infections, various strains of influenza, and general infectious illnesses that most of us don’t think twice about. 

As her words settled into my wanting-to-be-in-denial brain, I became acutely aware of how close to home “how it ends” is. Not the end. How it ends.

Breathe.

In the meantime…

Where is home?
Home is where the heart can laugh without shyness.
Home is where the heart’s tears can dry at their own pace.

–Vernon Baker quote, preceding the final page of How it ends

 Love you.

Wandering in Barnes & Noble today I picked up a book debunking positive thinking. Curious about the author’s point of view I thumbed through it…barely a scan, so I have limited understanding. What I noticed was a comment about the power of complainers…the ones who worry about the bottom line or the performance of a stock or who notice when something isn’t working. I thought that an odd idea. Another odd idea she posed was that positive thinking and “New Age” ideas lead people to ignore warning signs and problems. Hmmm…without balance…I can see that. Without balancing above and below (heart and mind) either can spiral out of healthy functioning.

Then I picked up a book on intuitive medicine and read a little about messages our bodies give us and knowing things without knowing where the knowledge comes from. And I remembered things I’ve known without knowing how I knew. And I wondered why I’ve ever questioned what I’ve “known.”

Later I read an astrology piece about energies this month that will nudge us to speak the truth, if we dare. I interpret this to mean those things we’re afraid to say to others or admit to ourselves. What truths am I avoiding or denying knowledge of? Feeling tension in my heart and belly, a few come to mind. Aren’t we curious creatures? You tell me and show me the beauty of walking clean: without deception. Yet the contractions of fear hold tight. I’m sure I know the truths wrapped tightly inside.

Give me strength and grace to release these and faith in my ability to live with the truth and to see the inherent beauty.

Love you.

November 2017
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