She Said Goodbye to All That

What exactly is all that?

It is the worries and ramblings of her mind, the fear that she won't accomplish what's needed within its time, that people are somehow less of themselves because of her own decline in communication and validation, showing up to give them what they think they need of her.

It is the weight of New Year's Eves passed--that one driving through the country to Alan's house in particular. It came of the heels of Christmas 2011, a celebration all shot through with pain and wonder, a miracle nightmare of grace. Thinking of this makes her realize just how much the years blur together. Their passing feels like one long storm--all at once familiar, steady, destructive and fruitful, a dynamic act of nature uprooting as it nourishes, fragmenting the light into rainbows, reshaping the land.

The way to say goodbye to all that is to hold it gently until it lets itself go.

She drinks peppermint tea from the mug she bought at the Labor Day reunion event two years ago, and she reads from a new magazine, Taproot, which she will soon gift to her friend, Echo, a woman who asks for nothing other than to be met with kindness when their paths cross--if after years, or lifetimes. On the morning she bought the mug, Echo was breaking down camp in the forest. Men and children asleep, the sunshine rose with the women who sat together for a moment, sharing stories, seeing themselves in each other.

More of this would be nice, she thinks, as she says goodbye to all that. 


A Note: This post is the last installment in the She is Three series, a years long writing project which its founders have decided has served its purpose, at least for now. It has been a pleasure to participate, & I make this post with wishes of a happy new year for everyone involved with SheIsThree.com. While this is my last She is Three post, it also doubles as my first post in a NEW series called My Mighty Month. For each month of 2017, the online wellness community The Mighty will invite its members to participate in a daily challenge. January 2017's challenge is to write something every day. I am thankful for so much, including this interesting twist of fate.

She Looked in the Mirror

She looked in the mirror and saw a map.

In the past, it was marked sometimes with blood, scabs and scars from harsh skin treatments and poorly managed acne. These days it is clear and often unadorned. In each case, it has held answers and provided direction. Its appearance responds to my thoughts, and I read this as some would tarot cards or tea leaves.

As a child, I usually made a ceremony of my deep conversations with my reflection. I dimmed the lights, lit incense, and poured myself a tall glass of iced lemonade. Then I spoke to myself aloud. These days, I usually just look for the signs:

Do my eyes grow bright or dim? Does an idea make me looked suddenly old or suddenly young?
 
I continue to examine my thoughts through my expressions.

I also do the reverse, pondering questions like:

Why do I feel better when my hair is red instead of brown?

I delight in abstract answers and direct revelations. In each case, the mirror becomes an oracle through which my body speaks, a map to the next steps of my journey.

This post is my contribution to SheIsThree.com's November 2016 prompt “She Looked in the Mirror.” To learn more and participate yourself, read more here.

She is Wild . . . in Her Faith & Commitment

I am wild in my faith and commitment.

No. Not to God.

It's been some time now since I've had the desire for religion's stories, not because I feel failed by them or because I lack a sense hope—as my childhood self naively believed of agnostics and atheists. Rather, I no longer want to place my faith in stories crafted by ancient men. It feels inauthentic to me.

My faith is instead in the process—by which I mean nature and its cycles, containing all humanity, the Earth, the universe and all that exists undiscovered beyond that. The process encompasses man's ideas of God and places them within the context of the development of civilizations. Then the process whittles away at the concept of civilization, slowly, in a way which requires an ocean of patience—withstanding a thousand shades of abuse, addiction, war, loss, triumph and joy.

I have faith that the process makes things all right in the end. That its purpose is to heal. And that people will never really understand how this works but shouldn't stop trying. Our quest to understand is a key element of the process itself.

To that end, I am wildly committed to myself. More specifically, I'm committed to moving with the process in the ways my intuition tells me are right and true, given the role I feel myself to play within each moment I'm alive. I'm wild for doing this with as much grace, dignity, passion and joy as I'm able—despite the adversity I sometimes face, much of which is due to the contradictions inherent in the way personal fidelity sometimes manifests itself through my endorsement of certain acts of infidelity and rebellion. I've always loved a good paradox.

With this post, I'm including a picture of me with my new (and first) tattoo. I intend to write more about this independent of my “She is Three” contribution. However, I feel it fits here too. For me, my tattoo, a semi-colon-inspired arrow, is an emblem of my personal faith and commitment:

• I believe in my aim.
• I believe in moving forward.
• I believe in timing--especially in pauses, which connect as much as separate.
• I believe my words will reach their target eventually.

I am so wildly committed to these beliefs that I welcome a reminder inked beneath my skin. #sheisthree, #sheiswild

She Walked Along the Street to Realize her Destination

I often don't know exactly where I'm going until I'm there. I start with a general idea and then progress, one step at a time. This applies to my broad, sweeping life path. This also applies to my daily strolls--through the parks, in the woods, around the cities and towns where my children learn and play.

I took this month's photograph after a walk through Candler Park in Atlanta, Georgia. Candler Park holds a lot of personal energy for me. I once fought for permission to drive there and was denied until years later when, clad in a purple wig, I finally made my first solo venture into the city. Candler Park was the location of my company's first artistic showcase. My daughter went missing for the only time ever in Candler Park. I have never experienced relief as great as what came when I spotted her on the playground. My heart began to question my relationships there in Candler Park. . . in ways which have had far-reaching, hurtful, enlivening and also deeply healing effects.

This week I entered the park the usual way from McLendon Avenue. I was walking between rain showers, talking on the phone and feeling rather light after a week of sickness. I went down past the aforementioned playground, up over a hillside and came out on a different road than I'd expected. I felt equal hints of fear and courage. Taking comfort in the fact that it was still daylight and that people were out walking with dogs and children all around me, I decided to navigate this new territory with a blend of memory and intuition. This took me in a rectangle, right past and back around to a house with a striking red door. Then I looked closer and noticed: When I exited the park, McLendon Avenue was directly to my left. 

With the realization that the path I'd been seeking was so close all along, I no longer felt the intense drive to go anywhere. That's when I spied it, a green bench situated snugly beneath a vibrant tree, overlooking all of Candler Park. I decided to take a selfie. Then I remembered the She is Three prompt for September and felt a sense of resolution.

When I stood up, I noticed a plaque on the bench. It reads: Best Magic Base.

I think magic is a process through which people experience seemingly sudden profound changes due to subtle shifts of perspective, often linked to creative expression.When I walked along the street to Candler Park, I realized my destination is a place for creating my own magic. #sheisthree

She Worshipped the Sun from the Shadows

I have a strange relationship with sun worship. It begins with my grandmother who would spend days at a time basted in tanning oil, draped with a terrycloth towel, sweating out her frustration and (I now believe) treating her depression with Vitamin D. Today, cancer courses through her body. It spread from her skin.

I avoid the direct light most of the time. I like the way it makes the henna shine red in my hair and the way the warmth sinks down deep, giving me the comfort of a blanket wrapped over my shoulders on a cool starry night, reminding me of the bright days when I would stand in line at water fountains, feeling parched until the total satisfaction of fresh fluid renewed my young soul.

Nonetheless, I prefer the shadows. With them, sunlight can dance through trees and illuminate a path. #sheisthree

She Found Freedom in the Wreckage

I took this photo for #sheisthree w/ my car pre-wreck.

She found freedom in the wreckage. A moment at the stop light contemplating . . . gratitude and debt, and then she made the decision to turn and found herself flying down her lane and spinning counterclockwise up over the median into two lanes of oncoming traffic. She heard crashes, snaps, crunches, saw herself dying, thought of her children, thought of the lives potentially taken by her own moment of unforeseen recklessness. Someone, rushing to a job interview in a borrowed truck, had hit her from behind. The confession came later. So did handcuffs for the outstanding speeding ticket which had been sitting neglected in her dash when the crash picked her up and tossed her outside herself. "I am grateful to be alive," she repeated over and over when she was inside the jail, the whole time looking at a sign which read HOLDING, thinking on some level she really had died, gone to a purgatory colored bright white, orange and blue. Part of her is still there. Part of her is still by the road. But part of her, more dynamic and evolved than any self she's known yet, is filling that space in her soul, picking her up, moving her forward, setting her free. #sheisthree

She Trusted Her Love.

I trust my love is enough. The other day I was doodling during a meeting. I drew several spirals and underneath them the questions: When? How? 

Later, after a night of reflection, music and sharing old stories with my daughter, the simple message inscribed on the tag of a tea bag provided some insight.

When?—When I can act with complete compassion.

How?—With kindness and grace.

There is no one specific situation to which these questions apply, but rather many, folded back on each other like waves racing up to the shore, or like the gossamer strands of a spider's web intertwined. In all cases, I trust my love is enough to get me there, to my when, and my how. I trust my love for self, for others, for the sanctity of this life and for the opportunities (personal and professional) to which my love beckons. I trust that, whatever my genuine love offers, that will be enough for whomever and whatever is there to receive it. I will naturally find myself in balance with opportunities just beyond my window and the images of the memories which color my dreams. #sheisthree

She Set the Intention

She set the intention to trust the process, as one would a shamanic journey, or the flourishing of a seed. This requires awareness, mostly, and the ability to move within the moments as they come, beholden not to any set outcome other than the authentic unfolding of the self. The process is a distinct passage and the trust focused on her own intuition. There is no higher power here, no preset destiny nor guiding light. There is no pronoiac universe conspiring to shower her with blessings. And, yet, there is evidence of some symbiosis between her and . . . . all the rest of it. It makes her think of doors. Those moments of trusting the process are the ones which pass when the thoughts set within have just yet to make it without and she stands on the precipice of moving through. #sheisthree