My Childhood Friend

I read somewhere how the man who
"discovered" the benzene ring had a dream about a snake coiling around back on itself grabbing its tail, and when he awoke he at once knew the elusive structure was a ring. Einstein very frequently awoke from naps with some great insight for whatever he was working on at the time. E=m(sleep)2 ? I love how the mind remains in motion while the body is at rest. . . .

This morning I awaken with some understanding of why Math was my childhood friend :)

There is a lot going on in my life right now. I feel pushed and pulled from every direction, and each side cries foul when the other side makes a decision about the best course of action for this next part of the journey. Even my cat Sarra is having her say! So I found it very interesting how two hours of math last night before I went to bed calmed the mind and settled down the thoughts.

In the early years, when my neural pathways were developed, they did so within a highly chaotic context. Enough said. But math, math has perfect order. The boundaries are clearly defined by regimented rules and immutable laws of logic. It's perfectly predictable. So when a rule says, "If you do this, then this will happen." by gum that is exactly what happens. There is no deception, no subtle seducing beneath the surface. Math is what it is. . . .nothing more than. . . .nothing less than.

Math helped me to survive the unpredictability of the sliding rules and blurred boundaries. Math helped to teach my brain to how to focus with crazy making chaos all around me, to create order out of that chaos, to find solutions to difficult & challenging problems, and to feel good about myself in the face of life's bitter truths that overwhelmed and undermined my sense of self identity. I may have failed miserably at everything else expected of me as a young child, but I was good at math. So math became my childhood friend.

I have always known that math is character building. How we approach the study of mathematics mirrors how we approach every other insurmountable problem in our life. If we look at a complex integral fraction and say, "Oh my gosh! That's too hard! I can't do that!" then that is exactly how we approach anything else that makes us feel overwhelmed and uncertain about our abilities. Math is so much more than just adding and subtracting and multiplying and dividing. . . .math is the language that structures the skills of all problem solving. Math isn't just an abstract numbers game. . . .it develops the mind and changes the entire shape and form of a person's future!

So as a Math Teacher, I may not be able to change the circumstances of a child's family life at home (as I will leave that endeavor up to the blessed and over-worked social workers of the world), but I can make a difference that changes everything else for that child. . . .just as math has done for me.

Satan is Not the End All and Be All

I intentionally choose to not watch or listen to the news. Why? Because it breaks my heart to see what is happening in the world. . . .it just doesn't make any sense! It overwhelms me, causes my heart great anxiety, gives my mind dark dreams and sleepless nights. But the truth of Pastor Gary's message that Satan is the Ruler of this world settles deep down in my heart. God made the world, but Satan is the ruler of the world. . . .and it all makes sense.

It finally makes sense why this crazy world is so out of control. . . .why the toxic leaders are so corrupt. . . .why entire flocks of birds are falling out of the sky. . . .why the earth is relentlessly raped & pillaged. . . .and why Satan's dark laws take precedence over the laws of Love and Light. It finally makes sense. People can talk about change all they want, but if the change they offer doesn't change what's ultimately in charge of the direction of this world gone mad, then nothing has really changed at all!

To look out and see that this world ruled by Satan, the actions are finally congruent with the image. A pure heart, an enlightened heart, a heart that's in a personal and meaningful relationship with God's spirit simply can not DO what we humans are doing. . . .but a heart ruled by Satan's laws most certainly can.

So the hard and ugly truth has finally reached the surface. I live in a world created from earth and spirit, but it is an occupied world ruled by the dark lord, a world under seige and oppressed by hatred, fear, and self-interested greed. It is a dark time in the history of this world, indeed, but it is not the end. . . .there is a choice to be made by each person's free will. . . .but this is not the end.

Pandora's Box of Crazy Making

We all want to believe that we're "healthy" and "normal." And we all know that we're not supposed to air our dirty laundry in public. But the truth of the matter is, I am not  in a good place tonight. I know it. And I know why. But I still can't stop this frenetic force ripping through my world. And pretending that I feel "ok" isn't going to make this need for movement any less chaotic.

I know when it started. I know the exact moment when I woke up and "knew" that it was time to move on. It was that fateful Monday morning just after I had sorted through my medical records and organized the cancer so politely. Well, the records themselves may be neat and tidy, but outside of that vinyl black binder the rest of me is flying all over the place like pieces of trash on a dry windy day.

Everything I've always wanted to do (but shouldn't, wouldn't, couldn't) is spewing and oozing. . . . the lid of this pandora's box of roads not taken ripped open, and I can't stop the frenetic search for my exit strategy. . . .can't silence the obsession for something to be different right now. . . .not next year, or even next month. . . .what can I do right now to make this anxiety go away? Because I'm running out of time!

It's more than just the cancer. . . .it's also this year long stuffing of my passion down INTO the box. . . .the long slow silencing of my beautiful creative voice. Yes, I see very clearly how I must have a creative outlet or else I die inside. . . .not just a little, but like a hose under so much pressure it's uncontainable. . . uncontrollable. . . .undeniable.

Is this road to creative freedom destined to leave me jobless, homeless, and doomed to living scattered and tormented with the rest of the starving artists I find along the way? I feel damned if I do, and damned if I don't, because there is a price to be paid. . . .no matter which choice I make, there is a price to be paid. . . . .

The Art of Self Defense

My friend Stephanie did something totally awesome this week, something that was essentially about standing up for herself. But what I keep thinking about is how differently I would have handled the situation. . . .and I don't mean in a good way, because the hard truth is that I wouldn't have done a thing! I would have just let it happened, and then suffered with the endless angst about how pissed off I was about it!

This really bothers me. I am so great at advocating for other people, but when it comes to myself, I do NOT stand up for myself. If I am pushed hard enough (or backed up into a corner) I will come out fighting, but it's never a good outcome. . . .because I always end up saying things in a way that I regret before I even say it, but can't quite seem to stop the words as they are pushed over the edge.

When it was about the kids on my case load, I never had a problem standing my ground with overbearing social workers, psychiatrists, and lawyers. I once even defied a judge's court order, which could have sent me to jail had the judge not taken into consideration the reasons why I defied it. But when it's about me, especially when dealing with a bully tyrant, I avoid conflict at any cost!

What an ugly and uncomfortable truth this is. What am I so afraid of? I think it's about time I learn how to stand my ground like Steph. . . .Stephanie rocks!

Inspiration Point

Human beings are strange creatures, indeed. I have been noticing  some very interesting behaviors (on my part). There are certain people who are inspiring me right now to take some daring action in my life. But these people are not inspiring because of anything they have said or any advice given about how they think I should live my life. . . .I am inspired simply because of how they are living their life. . . .inspired by how they confront
their fear. . . .inspired by the way they embrace their bliss.

The reason why I am so fascinated by this observation of inspiration is because I am awakening to a new way of thinking about the work I do, and how the God of free will and unconditional love asks of me to fulfil my life purpose. My post-grad professional life has essentially been about work that centered around inspiration. . . .working to develop treatment plans and behavioral interventions all creatively designed to inspire foster kids to rise up into the full breath of their potential. . . .working to inspire foster parents to go the distance with very challenging behaviors. . . .working to inspire individual clients to grow and develop into their personal best. . . .all meaningful and worthy endeavors on the surface. But all of this "inspirational" work has left me mentally and physically and spiritually exhausted, completely burned out, and ironically about as uninspired as a person could possibly be!

No more! No more work in social services. I'm done with this business of inspiration. . . .

From now on, I am going to simply live my life. . . .on my own terms. . . . in my own spiritual rhythm. . . .following my own personal passion on this spirit guided path to my personal God of mystery. . .and if that inspires others, then that will be a wonderful blessing! But I am beginning to believe that the only inspiration asked or expected of me, is simply to become the change I want to see in the world, rather than trying to change the world to become the change I want to see.

This time

This is the part that I don't do well. . . .that liminal time in between the path that was and the path that calls me onto a new direction. . . .that time when one part of me grieves for the loss while another part chomps at the bit to move on. . . .the time when the sadness of grief unproductively comingles with the anxiety of change leaving my body and mind in a constant state of internal warring that even endless bags of cheetos and boxes of thin mints and all day napping can't quite seem to quell.

This is the time when all of the "what ifs" haunt me like ghosts of choices past. . . .that stage of grief when the bargaining kicks in.. . . .What if you change positions. . . .what if you continue working with Caren. . . ,what if you pray louder, hike more, meditate harder to change your focus. . . .then we can stay. . . .even if for just another year. . . . .we've worked so hard creating this amazing home. . . .we're not ready to leave! . . .and so the lament begins.

This is also the time when the critical part kicks in its own litany to make sure I know exactly what I am not, and just how irresponsible and personally dysfunctional I am. This part is the me who remembers every single mistake and bad choice like a roadmap through my personal hell, the part whose unrelenting razor sharp criticism makes me feel like crap about myself for not having the fortitude to follow through on my commitment to the life I have worked hard to created here.

Yes. . . .this is that oh so fun place where time waffles between two worlds created out of choice and circumstance. . . .and it gets harder each day to remember all of the wonderful reasons why I am moving into a new direction to begin with.

20 weeks and a weekend is a long time to hold this tension, a long time to wade through all of these "what ifs" and "what I am nots." Which is why when I'm done I like to move on as quickly as possible, because I really don't do this part very well. . . .and this time is no different.

Grand Canyon Bucket List

So these are the things I would like to do before I leave the canyon:

* Abyss Mule Ride: Done :) :)

* Hike to Phantom Ranch: Done :)

* Hike to Dripping Springs: Done :)

* Hike to Plateau Point:

* Hike the Bright Angel Trail: Done :)

* Hike the South Kaibab Trail : Done :)

* Hike the Grandview Trail:

* Hike the entire Rim Trail:

* Camp at Indian Garden Campground:

* Ride the Train: Done :)

* Take all of the Tours:

* Walk the Trail of Time: Done :)

The paradox of security

I have been thinking a lot about security. The funny thing is, what makes ME feel secure is not the same thing (apparently) that makes other people feel secure. . . .it's a unique venture, I'm afraid.

Because having a stable job is not what makes me feel secure (especially when I dread going to work every day). Having a home that I come home to each night is also not what makes me feel secure, as that home is dependent upon the having of the stable job. And being in a strong and committed relationship (as wonderful as that can be) is not what makes me feel secure, either. They are all wonderful ways to find security, and I honestly wish these were the ways that I could ground my spirit. . . .because it would have made my life a whole lot easier. . . .but they're not.

What makes me feel secure is knowing that I will be able to handle whatever life throws at me. . . .no matter what happens, no matter what changes, no matter where the winds of Zeus may blow my ship. It is this complete trust in my ability to adapt to change that makes me feel secure, as paradoxical as that may be.

So I'm not really afraid to change jobs at the drop of a dime when I have outgrown them. I'm also not afraid to up and relocate my whole life when I feel called by a different path. And I'm definitely not afraid to fly solo because I am able to fall in love over and over again with this amazing journey that I choose to live.

And so once again I prepare to hold my breath. . . .and leap without knowing how it will end. . .  in a blind faith that I don't always understand. . . .with a trust that somehow it will all work out just fine. . . .because my deepest self knows that I am never alone. . . . especially when I am leaping out onto the great void of ground beneath my spirit's feet.

The things I find myself agree to

The thoughts that occupy my mind on this random sleepless night are all of the reasons why I relocated my life to the canyon. I recall clearly the life that slipped out (pulled out?) from underfoot, but those aren't the reasons why I'm here. I didn't come here for a job; I came to the canyon for a "working vacation," to let the dust settle, to figure out what I was going to do next, and to spend time getting to know this amazing place of spirit.

But a subtle shift has taken place, and I suddenly find myself agreeing to circumstances that are deeply harmful to me. And my "agreeing to disagree" in the name of coexisting in peace with energies that are sucking the life right out of me is clearly starting to make me sick.

Yes, these are most uncertain times, and there are no guarantees that the Carolina grass will be any greener than here or elsewhere. But this dark promise of security is just so not worth the price being asked of me to pay.

Someone recently said something to the effect, "When you dance with the devil, you become him." I see now that I absolutely need to move on from here, because I have started to agree to this dance, and if I don't leave soon, I fear I will lose myself to the lulling of this thickly woven music playing ever so softly in the background of my soul.

The problem with sorting & purging

The problem with sorting & purging is that you have to look at and think about whatever is sorted and purged. Is it "coincidence" that on the monday morning after the very weekend I have so successfully sorted through and organized the last 16 years of cancer saturated medical history that I am once again feeling Zeus's winds of change blowing through my world?

Why did I have to open up Pandora's box? You couldn't just leave the pile alone, could you? It was all so nicely packed and just outside of my mind's awareness. . . .distracted by my amazing life here. . . . tucked away safe and sound. But now, the re-reading of this dark story forces me into action. . . .forces me to make a choice. . . . forces me into an inescapable forward momentum because I don't have the luxury of sitting around waiting for next month, or next year. Next year may never come! That's not hype and drama, that's my genetic reality!

This is what cancer does to me. . . .it rips through my complacent peace of mind like a friggin' thunder bolt. . . .wake up! It's time! Seize the friggin' day! It doesn't matter if you're tired, get your ass up! Find yourself! Figure out who you want to be, and just do it!   Do it NOW!

The me I once wanted to be

If someone would have told me on friday that I would wake up monday morning in this place, I would have thought them to be crazy. But here I am, exactly where I am supposed to be, yet feeling resolved and ready to move on from the canyon. Not today. . . .not tomorrow. . . .but easily by the end of this year.

I have been retracing my steps. . . .steps along this journey of Odysseus I live. . . .trying to find that single tiny point in time when I unknowingly diverged from my path. . . .that unremarkable cross roads where I made a choice. . . .a choice that changed everything.

My niece's journey is reminding me of how utterly dark and lonely my own journey has been. The days, weeks, months when all I could do was lie in the middle of my living room floor wishing for the unbearable pain to end. I want to say that I bravely endured this pain, but the truth is I didn't. . . .I gave up repeatedly, succombing to the endless torrent that crashed my exhasperated spirit against the ever craggy rocks with the hope that I would soon be sucked down into the dark depths of the watery abyss that awaited my battered soul. . . .

Yet somehow, mostly by the grace of God, I am here, fully alive, in love with my life, and called back to where it all began. . . .back to where I first diverged. . . .back to the place where the me I once wanted to be sits anxiously waiting and wondering if I am still in love with her and the path upon which she awaits my long overdue return.

Church of the Grand Canyon

I awoke this morning feeling called back to this place where I had asked of my self, "Why are you walking so fast?" And when I had slowed to a pace where the rest of me caught up, my body started crying and looked out through the forest scrub across to this visita where I found this bonsai tree looking back and watching me cry.

The funny thing is that all of the other trees that spoke to me (and invited me out on to their ledge) later along my spirit walk along the rim were trees just above this bonsai, the tree that teaches patience and how to allow the tree itself to inform her own growth and shape.

I am the bonsai tree, scruffy and unkempt, and badly in need of trimming. I am the tree where life and death coexist. I am the tree centered yet unbalanced, and the tree balanced even though it's uncentered. And I am also the tree unravelling the twisted layers. These trees are me, and I am one with them. . . .and now they are calling me home. . . .

This morning my body awakened itself into an undeniable longing to be among these trees, out upon this ledge doing yoga with the"rosy fingers of dawn" rising up across this canyon. . .  . . .

I think I may have finally found my church :)

God Knows Me by the Scars I Bear

In the very last chapter of The Odyssey, Odysseus is disguised when he approaches his father after being lost at war with the endless thwarted attempts to return home for nineteen very long years. His father is disconsolate, and when Odysseus breaks his disguise, his father wants "proof" that he is, in fact, his son. Hence, Odysseus is again identified by his scars.

Thinking more on this, I realize that "scar" implies an incontrovertible truth, because a scar is formed only when a wound has healed. In fact, the scar is the actual "evidence" that a wound has essentially completed its healing process! What a glorious piece of truth about wounds and scars and the miracle of healing.

This makes me then think that scars are actually evidence of a God blessed miracle, as many of the wounds received over the course of my life could have actually killed me many times over. It doesn't mean the scars aren't painful, or that they haven't changed the course of my life, but it does mean that the wound itself is healed. And what a wonderful gift, to know that my scars reveal that the grace of God's healing has already forgiven the wound's injury. . . and so must I.

But oh how the lingering pain can blind and cause us to lash out and slash through both flesh and spirit!

God knows every wound I have ever received. . . .and also every wound I have inflicted upon others in my own lashing out. . . .but what a most glorious God who not only knows me by the  scars I bear, but finds me beautiful and loves me in spite of them! I think that I will find the grace of God I seek within my own spirit when I am able to honestly and completely love my self (and others), hiddeous scars and all. . . .

Every Scar Has a Story

One of the things I love about stories (books or film) is that each time I read them, different things will "jump out" at me. I have just finished re-reading The Odyssey, and one of the interesting things about Odysseus is how he was recognized (even when disguised by the goddess Athene) because of the scar that he had above his knee, a wound received many years before from a white tusked boar.

This uniqueness has me wondering about the scars that define me, scars both visible and deep below the surface, scars that have most certainly carved my character as much (or more) than any joy I have experienced. Maybe they're not such a mar after all. . . .maybe they're just another facet of what makes me unique. . . .and, apparently, more easily identifiable :)

The belief is, though, that scars make us ugly. . . imperfect. . . .hiddeous. . . .and unwanted. So we cover, hide, remove, and deny the scars we fear will make us too different from the rest. But we only end up silencing the stories behind the scars and deny who we are in our perfect imperfection. . . .

Yet I can imagine a world where scars don't have to be hidden out of fear and shame. . . .because they're celebrated openly and honored equally with the unscarred. A world where "normal" and "healthy" are allowed to coexist with the painful and terrible. Perhaps even a world where scars are valued as rightly beautiful in their own right. Imagine how amazing and powerful the people of this world would be. . . .no fear. . . .no shame. . . .just subtle reminders of the battle found along the way. . . .

If You Love Something, Set It Free...

I never thought I would say this, but perhaps it is finally time to put away this childhood toy. . . .the choice was made all those years ago when cancer#1 invited me on to a different path. . . .and I accepted. . . .I didn't have to make that choice. . . .but I did. . . .and now, there are just some paths that can't be undone.

Spirit Walk Along the Rim





Why am I walking so fast?

patience for allowing the tree to inform how it wants to be shaped

Life and Death coexisting

centered, even when out of balalnce



Etched by grace and design

Balanced, even when uncentered

unraveling the twisted layers

some weather the storms better than others

Time

One of the things that creeps around inside my thoughts is the wondering of why time feels different as an adult from when I was a child. I remember feeling like the day would just NEVER end! My birthday, well that was never going to get here. And Christmas? You might as well just give up on that one!

Tonight as I sit here writing a letter, I am shocked to write a date that signals the end of January, and I realized what the difference is.

As an adult, I have stopped looking forward with anticipation. My days are filled with a never ending list of tasks and projects that leave me anxious and stressed. My birthday has become just another day that comes and goes. And the holidays are generally filled with dread because I never know which side of the emotional river my feelings will flow. So it's no wonder time seems to be flying by!

The solution is simple: I need to start looking forward to the events of my life! But herein lies the problem. . . .because the older I get, the more I mark time by what has already passed, and I am ever aware that my "days are numbered," which means there are fewer and fewer events to anticipate. And I'm sure that living with cancer has thrown its own little monkey wrenches into the time mix. So how can I look forward with excitement and anticipation when I feel like I am digging my heels into the sand to keep myself from being pulled out to sea by the rip tide of time that has wrapped itself around my life?

Doors close. Windows shut. Possibilities become unfulfilled dreams neatly tucked away into a hope chest that now serves as a sarcophagus of memories and regrets of a life already lived or passing me by. No wonder it feels like time goes by faster and faster every year, yet how can I slow it down? How can I seize each day with the same reckless abandon I did when I was young and invicible against the world when carpe diem feels dry and lifeless upon my tongue?

A Day Filled with Possibility!

Just like Odysseus, there were many wild winds and great forces in play that delivered me safely to this canyon. I remember how the Women of Faith conference served as a great conduit for my decision making, and how the conference cd--A Grand New Day--motivated both my passage and my first months here at the canyon, and how each day felt fresh and renewed with wonder and possibility.

But my recent struggle to let go of the angst that relentlessly grips my heart has made me all too aware of just how much I carry into my today from what happened yesterday. Perhaps it's part of that which helps us to survive. . . .the ability to remember what stings and which toxic things to avoid. However, regardless of what it is (or why), I want to find that tabula rasa within, because I need to wake up each day fresh and innocent and believing in the potential of all human beings again!

It's a lovely thought. . . .how even the nastiest spirit could awaken one unsuspecting day into their highest most glorious good! It is possible! It could happen! So why do I assume and anticipate that a person is going to be nasty today just because they were nasty yesterday, and the day before that, and even the day before that? What if today is the day when that nasty person's spirit decides all on its own that it's time to "wake up," and I lose out on the miracle because I've laid all of my spiritual money betting that they will be nasty again today?

One of the blessed gifts of quantum physics is the scientific proof that the universe responds and reshapes itself based on the expectations of the observer! What if I am helping to create the nasty behavior simply because I have come to expect it? And, what if I can help to bring about a change simply by changing my expectation?!

I really do need to wake up each day fresh and innocent and believing in the potential of all human beings again, so this morning I posted the words, "It's a Grand New Day!" up onto my bulletin board at work to remind me that each day is a grand day, a freshly renewed day filled with all of the possibility of change. . . .change that I will see only if I am looking for it !