Of Weeds and Wilderness

Living in a national park for three years has changed the way that I think about a lot of things, but this morning as I was pulling weeds, I realized that even my concept of "weed" has been changed.

In a national park, there are no "weeds," only wilderness land populated by "native" and "non-native" species of plants. And there are very particular ways that non-native plants are dealt with, as the using of pesticides is only used as an intervention of absolute last resort, and only after all pros and cons are assessed by the National Park Service--not an easy decision to be made, one way or the other.

So this morning as I was pulling weedlings up and out of the ground, I was all too keenly aware of what a powerful act that was. Before living at the Grand Canyon I never thought twice about yanking out those pesky weeds that infiltrated my sacred garden. But this morning I knew that each plant yanked out was an unnatural act. . . .an act of violence against nature, as each and every plant that I pulled this morning had a right to life in its natural habitat. . . .its home. . .and I yanked that life right out of the ground because it was labeled and identified as an "invasive" plant species.

But that's the human way. . . .or at least the "civilized" human way. We "tame" and "control" the natural world as we carve away landscapes and reshape them to fit our personal whims and desires. We live so far out of balance with the natural world that it's amazing how anything survives at all. And the creation of national parks is a wonderful thing, but it's not enough to protect the natural world. . . .it's just not enough.

Yet even so, even with the changed awareness, I still pulled those weeds this morning. . . .those native plants that were invading the space I want to create. . . .but the guilt lingers on. . . .yes. the guilt most definitely lingers on. . . .

[Photo credit: My friend Jennifer Tenney's personal garden]

The In-Between

I think I was a truck driver in a previous life. . . .lol. . . . .because I love the way my mind processes when I drive. . . .it's a relaxed state of mind that I don't experience in any other way. . . .not sure why. . . .but I had a lovely drive to Prescott this morning in the wee hours of the day.

I was thinking about how peaceful this move has been, and wondering what made the difference. One of the biggest differences was the built-in "in-between" spaces. . . .that time that was scheduled in-between the long list of things to do. . . .that time where nothing else was scheduled. . . . that time where I was able to sit down, catch my breath, refocus, and then move on the next major event.

My last day of work was Wednesday, and instead of running to Prescott to pick up the trailer to get the move done on Thursday afternnon, I scheduled the pick up day for Saturday. For a person whose list of strengths does not readily include patience, this was a new way for me. So I rested, as much as possible, from Thursday through Saturday. . . .and felt both rejeuvenated and refreshed by the time Saturday afternoon rolled around.

I also deferred the cleaning of the apartment until after my job interview on Monday. I could have scrubbed and rubbed from Thursday through Saturday, but that was my "in-between" rest time, so the apartment cleaning was going to just have to wait one more day.

I think there is an important lesson that I've somehow learned, about the importance of sitting on the edge of whatever I am moving on from before I leap on to the next ledge of opportunity. Maybe it's another lesson that the canyon has invisibly taught my spirit, because there is no quick leaping from edge to edge here at the canyon. . . .you sort of have to stop and regroup before you move on to where ever you're going. . . . .it's just what you do.

But there is such a wonderful gift that's overlooked and missed by just leaping from one thing to another. . . .the gift of reflecting on the blessings. . . .the gift of expressing the appreciation and gratitude. . . .and the gift of feeling fully the truth of what it means to be sitting on the edge of what was in anticipation of the inevitable leap to what will be . . .a leap that will change a person's life forever.

I'm going to miss the canyon so very much, but I need to remember that my relocation to Prescott is far from good-bye, because my spirit is bonded to that place in a way that I could never move on from anyway.

And so it is. . . .in the writing of this blog. . . . as I sip my ice cold tea. . . .I am once again embracing this in-between moment and allowing it to help me to catch my breath and refocus before I start unpacking the seemingle endless pile of boxes into this new life upon which I have taken this amazing leap of faith. . . .

. . . .oh, waitress. . . .another glass of tea, please.

Knock, Knock

I found this image of Matisse's painting Open Window today. . . .I just love the way the artist sees the world. And I've been thinking a lot about the windows that have started to open up my world, after nearly two years of nothing but closed doors.

I had a conversation with a friend last week, and part of what we talked about was the tenacious way that I fight for what I want. I may move on quickly (once that choice is finally made), but I don't make that choice easily. . . .because I keep trying to figure out how to make something work. . . .when it's something that I really want to work. . . .and so I stay when I should leave. . . . and I fight when I should yield. . . . and I continue to knock when I should simply walk away. . . .

I don't look for open windows. . . .I keep knocking on doors that keep closing on my face. . . .

It's a funny thing. . . .the way we knock on closed doors. It's the way the world works, actually. We want something on the other side of a closed door, and so we knock. . . .nicely, at first. . . .knock on the closed door hoping that we will be let in on the other side. Some times we are, and that can be a lovely thing. But there are always conditions asked of the door to let us in, of course. . . .always conditions that require pieces of who we are to be tucked away. . . .or worse, surrendered completely before entry is granted.

Why do I keep knocking on the doors that keep closing on me?

Some doors should never be knocked upon. . . . and, yet I knock, over and over I knock upon the doors that serve no earthly good for the betterment of my spirit. I am the worst offender of this, because I don't give up. . . I keep on fighting for what I want. . . .even with open windows blowing clean fresh air all around me, I will stand at that door and knock until my spirit is bloody and raw if there is any hope at all that I might get what I want on the other side of that door.

Tenacity is a good thing. . . .but there is a thin line between tenacity and insanity. . . doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results?

These past few weeks have been about the windows of opportunity that have opened up for me. . . . .and my willingness to find out what's on the other side of the open windows, rather than continuing to knock on the doors that keep closing on me. They're not arbitrary windows, of course. . . .they are windows that offer what I need on the other side of a leap of faith that appears to be landing me softly and quickly, and for that I am most grateful.

And so it begins. . . .a new round of knocking on doors that offer something that I want on the other side. . . .with a new opportunity to see what I have learned about walking away from the doors that remain closed.

Life on My Terms

Maybe it's because of how I grew up. . . .maybe it's because of the way other people's stories have been imposed upon my own. . . .or maybe it's just the way God made me. . . .I may never know. But what I do know is that from this point forward, I am only capable of living life on my terms.

I don't want to work for someone else. . . . .I don't want to spend my life energy supporting a persoal agenda that I can never get on board with. . . . .and I don't want to tuck my values underneath my trench coat just to fit in to whatever corporate micro-climate happens to be funding my pay check.

I want to live my life on my terms, and my terms only.

This means that I may be unemployed for a while, and that's going to have to be ok. It also means that some people may not ever like me, and that's ok, too. It may also mean that friends or family members who think I live my life irresponsibily may no longer make time for me or the relationship we once shared, and that, too, is just going to have to be ok, because I am going to create the life that's meaningful for me and live my life on my terms. . . .no matter what I may have to give up along the way.

The funny thing is that what I want hasn't changed. . . .I've always been clear on what I want and how I want to create my life. . . .I've just had some trouble translating that vision into my daily life. So I'm about to find out how much I have learned about myself and what I need to create the life of my dreams, and this is an exciting adventure I am about to dive myself into, because even with the paralegal piece added to the mix, I still envision life as an independent contractor, rather than working in a hard-core fast-pace corporate environment. . . .I want to work for myself. . . .I want to structure my time in a way that best suits my biorhythms. . . .and I want to take time off for travel on my schedule, rather than what is demanded by case load or seasonal needs.

I am less than an hour away from working my last shift here at the canyon, so on this particular day I all too well understand that there are trade-offs for this kind of flexibility and freedom. But it's absolutely what I want. . . .because if I want purple flowers, I can't use brown paint. . . .and the only way I will ever create it is if every single decision that I make aligns with and supports the way of life I want to create. . . .so that's exactly what I'm going to do. . . .even if it kills me. . . .lol

IFR

I have continued to process this world-view changing information revealed at the biofeedback session earlier this week. . . .still trying to wrap my mind around the scientific fact that my body was in a state of physiological relaxation as I sat there feeling like I couldn't catch my breath. . . .feeling like I was choking. . . .feeling like I couldn't swallow. . . .feeling like I was on the verge of a full-on panic attack.

How do I trust what I'm feeling when it's been irrefutably proven to be wrong?

Back when I was in junior high I helped my step-dad prepare for his IFR license. Pilots first learn to fly using VFR (visual flight rule), which licenses a pilot to fly only in conditions where an ongoing visual is maintained with the terrain so that the pilot can see where he/she is flying. But the IFR (instrument flight rule) certification allows a pilot to fly during conditions that prohibit access to visual information about the environment (such as fog or storm clouds).

Denny told me that the most difficult part of the training is learning to trust the instruments, rather than what the body is feeling. The body is constantly trying to orient itself in three-dimensional space, but when the visual field is eliminated, the body doesn't always orient itself appropriately. So the body feels like the plane is flying level, but in reality the plane could actually be in a spiral nose dive. So the pilot has to disengage from every single feeling he or she has about what feels level. . . .and place that trust in the instruments. He said it's very funny to fly with a pilot who is training in a hood, because the pilot's anxiously telling the unhooded pilot, "There's no way that I'm flying level!" Yet when he's instructed to remove the hood, the plane is very clearly flying as it should, even though every internal sense or perception tells the brain something else.

That's what this feels like right now. . . so I don't know what to trust because my body is clearly relaxed, but my mind is telling me that I am anything but relaxed. . . .

So I'm still in progress with this, researching relaxation and what it means to be relaxed. I'm also very clear that this move to Prescott is exactly what I need right now, because all of the pieces of my next moves are going to be found down in Prescott (or nearby lying healing-centered communities). I may not know what to trust about the relaxation stuff (just yet). . . .but I absolutely trust my instincts that are motivating this move.

Relaxation Response

I am now obsessed with understanding the relaxation response, because I don't understand how my body can achieve a physiological state that correlates with relaxation at the same time that my mind is panicking out of control. It's as if I have a nuclear reactor sitting in the middle of a landscape of serenity. . . .but how can they coexist?

And all I can say right now, is what the hell is wrong with this picture?!!

What I am learning is that somatic measures of "relaxation" include things like pulse, blood pressure, heart rate, and slow rhythmic breathing associated with meditation and deep breathing exercises. All of these pieces of data can be measured by a machine (like the biofeedback program I experienced this morning), but the conclusion drawn by the machine that I have achieved a desired state of relaxation could not be further from the truth!

So I found another definition of relaxation on Wikipedia. . . .only this one is defined through the lens of psychology, which defines relaxation as "The emotional state of low tension, in which there is an absence of arousal that could come from sources such as anger, anxiety, or fear." So what's happening is that my body is able to achieve a state of physiological relaxation (as measured by the parameters of somatic vitals), but my mind is not experiencing a state of emotional relaxation, because I am constantly aroused by varying degrees of anger, anxiety, and fear (panic)!

It seems impossible to me that my body can be relaxed, yet my mind is in a state of emotional chaos at the same time, but that is precisely what that biofeedback session proved to be true this morning. Now I just need to figure out what to do with these bizarre facts.

Another piece of the Wiki definition further states that "[r]elaxation is a form of mild ecstasy coming from the frontal lobe of the brain in which the backward cortex sends signals to the frontal cortex via a mild sedative." So it seems absolutely clear that the key to total relaxation for ME is grounded in my neurochemistry. That doesn't mean that I am ready to jump onto the medication bandwagon, but it's absolutely clear evidence of where the problem lies, so at least now I know where to begin looking for solutions!

A Brave New World

This is why I'm a scientist. I was proven wrong today. . . .proven wrong with irrefutable, undeniable, scientific proof that what I believe to be true and real is, in fact, not true or real at all.

I love when my whole world gets turned upside down.

I had my first biofeedback session this morning. He hooked me up to the Heart Math program (gotta love that name :) and I watched it measure my pulse and heart rate as I sat in the chair doing nothing more than the rhythmic breathing I was instructed to do. And I watched as the coherence value slowly increased up to 97% which kept the squiggly blue line steadily increasing just below the max line in "the zone" (the target area where the coherence value was supposed to be).

The problem (for me) was that during the session, I kept feeling like I couldn't breathe, feeling like I was choking and having a difficult time swallowing. I would rub my throat and rub my sternum the way I always do to help myself feel like I can breathe better. I felt lightheaded and on the verge of panic the whole time I sat there breathing rhythmically watching the coherence value plateau out at 97%.

After twenty minutes of this biofeedback exercise, I learned that most people on their first try are barely able to get their squiggly blue line anywhere near "the zone," let alone have it ride along the maximum zone. I also learned that this man (who uses the program every day) doesn't even maintain a 97% coherence rate, so he was beyond amazed by how steady I was able to maintain my breathing and heart rate, especially given that it was my first time out. Yes, I am an over achiever. . . .but these aren't the pieces that turn my world upside down.

According to that machine, not only was I relaxed, but I was able to maintain a physiological state of relaxation that most people are unable to achieve. . . .ever! Yet I sat there feeling like I couldn't breathe and was going to choke! And when I made a statement about how my body doesn't relax when I do meditation and breathing exercises, he very clearly pointed out that the data from the biofeedback proves otherwise!

My body was relaxed, but that is not what I was experiencing!

So either the machine is incorrect, or my brain is somehow misinterpretting information about what's happening in my body, and I have absolutely no doubt that the machine was perfectly correct in what it was measuring! What a break through! My physiological reality is not congruent with the perception of reality in my brain! I don't really know what this all means just yet, but it changes everything about how I think about my body and relaxation. . . .

So I'm not even sure what my next step is going to be, but let the research begin!

Modular Life

I feel like I can't breathe. . . .I'm breaking down the life I've worked so hard to create here at the canyon. . . .packing up the pieces into arbitrary boxes. . . .and I feel like I can't breathe. I know I can't stay here, and I am moving into a new and possibility-filled chapter of my own choosing, but I still feel like I can't breathe.

I'm sad and grieving. . . .I want my forever home, but I haven't found it yet. And this new home is a nice home, but it's not even really my home. . . .it's just a room within the home of someone else. . . .even if she's not living there right now. . . .and I'm just so aware of how all of this packing up of my modular life exhausts me. . . .even when it is a move of my own choosing. . . .

. . . .so I feel like I can't breathe. . . .and I'm waiting for the grief to pass. . . .

My Forever Home

My friend Melinda is a wonderful advocate for animals, and she recently became a foster home for strays in waiting for adoption into their "forever home." I just love that idea. . . .the idea of having a forever home. . . . and I can't help but wonder if I will ever find mine.

I found this castle loft one night at work. THIS would have been the kind of bed I wished for when I was a little girl. Although we moved around so much, even if I had been fortunate enough to have a home where a bed like this was possible, it would have been short lived. My mom did the best she could, but stability was never her strong point. . . .but I sure fell in love with this princess loft :)

I've had a few forever homes in my life time. My first forever home died with my mom, because "going home" (for me) always meant going to wherever my mom was. I thought the life I created with my husband was going to be a forever home, but it turned out to be something far less than what was offered by the fairy tale gone awry. And my boat was supposed to be the forever home I created for myself, but that home has been long sunk by circumstances past.

So I'm not sure if a forever home is destined for my future. For the past three years I've been living in a national park, a place whose rules by their very nature would never even allow me to have a forever home. And I find myself once again packing and moving for yet another long-term temporary move while I complete this program down in Prescott, but I don't really know where I will end up once that journey has completed itself, so this move feels anything but moving into my forever home.

My friend once dated a man who had no home at all. He was a photographer who traveled the world, staying with friends and family wherever he journeyed, but he didn't maintain any type of "base camp" to call home. I don't think I could live quite that footloose and forever home free. I think the ideal life for me would be to have the freedom to travel around, but also to have a home base to return to, although a storage unit could create that, so who knows. . . .lol. And I have been fantasizing about buying a little place in Williams, but that's just a pipe dream (right now), because actually buying something entails either being indepedently wealthy or having a job that supports the process. . . .and right now, I have neither.

But I think that's what this next stage of my journey is about, because my master's degree is so desperately limiting with employment options, and the options it does present I no longer want. So I am opening doors of new possibilities. . . .new possibilities for a more marketable education. . . new possibilities for friends to share and enjoy the journey with. . . . new possibilities for finding or creating the forever home of my dreams, and that is an encouraging thought.

So, I'm not sure how I feel about resonating so deeply with abandoned stray animals who are waiting for their forever homes to adopt them, but I do. And in the meantime, I will enjoy this home and its surrounding beauty for however long I am blessed by its offer of sanctuary. . . .while I continue on in search of my own forever home. . . . .

The Illusion of Time

I've been thinking a lot about time. . . .mostly because I've been creating artificial boundaries of time for that psychological reassurance that I still have time left. . . .because the idea of just living with the ever present unknown feels like too much anxiety to bear. . . .when the threat of the next round with cancer lurks ever present and just around the bend.

The funny thing is that when we ask the question, What time is it? we are really referencing something either in the past or something in the future. Because when we ask about the time, we are really trying to find out how long we have been doing something, how much time we have left doing what we're doing, or how much time we have before we need to be doing something else.

Questions about time are about something in the past or in the future. . . .but never about what actually is.

Time (of course) does not really exist, because "time" is nothing more than a reference point in the now. . . and when we ask the question What time is it? we are really asking the question What time is it now?. . . .so time becomes nothing more than a reference point of where the now fits in to the totality of moments making up both future nows and past nows. But to ask the question What time is it now? without having some question of reference to a past or future event becomes an exercise in random pieces of irrelevant information. . . . .a meaningless factoid. . . a question whose answer becomes, "Who cares?" or "What's the point?"

I want the answer to this question to be more than just an exercise in philosophical existentialism.

Cancer has shaped the way my mind focuses on the illusion of time, which has resulted in me living within micro modules of arbitrarily assigned time. But I have also been able to retrain my mind by asking one simple question: What time is it right now? And once I ask this simple question, only then am I able to let go of my fear about an uncontrollable future and refocus my thoughts on what's happening in the "right now" moment of time where I am alive and well, breathing in and out, with no impending gloom and doom about to pull my life out from underneath me.

So, yeah. . . .I'm living my life in a right now plan.

Grey's Anatomy is such a great source of life truth, and I'm thinking right now about Mark Sloan's "evil" approach to his run for chief of surgery when he stole Mirana Bailey's concept of a "right now" plan (rather than getting caught up in the ten year plan triggered off by the invading cardio god). It's not easy to have a right now plan, but right now it's the only plan that's worthy of my energy and focus, because any other life plan is wrought with too many unknowns and uncontrollable pieces.

And the living of my life with this right now plan is transforming my inner clock into an hourglass. . . .a reality I can live within where that moment that we call "time" becomes nothing more than a stricture point between the unchangeable past and the uncontrollable future. . . .that "right now" moment where past and future has no meaning. . . .no power. . . .that point of time where the right now moment just is what it is. . . .and that is enough. . .

Balance

Living in Balance is the key to life, right? At least, that's what we're led to believe, especially when we're told by all of the "experts" that if we want to live a "healthy" and "normal" life we're supposed to have balance between all of the important parts of our lives. . . . or eat a balanced variety of foods. . . . or whatever the mainstream ideal du jour might be about balancing out the pieces of our life.

I, for one, do not believe in the concept of balance.

I'm not a person who lives my life in balance. I'm an artist (from my spirit up), and so I immerse myself in whatever project (or personal passion) I am in love with at the time. I become obsessed.. . . .like the artist who can't put down the paint brush. . . .or the writer who writes through all hours of the night because there is something that needs to be said and there is no sleep to be found until its peace has been spoken.

Passion throws the whole idea of balace right out the window.

It's the things that we feel passionate about that force us to choose something (or someone) when all sense of logic and reason says to slow down. . . . or plan things out better. . . .or do it in a safer more financially secure way. It's also the things that we feel passionate about that bring the greatest joy (and pain, unfortunately).

But there is absolutely nothing balanced about living a life based on passion. . . .and falling in love is absolutely the key to passion.

I am not good with long-term plans. I have no patience for long term plans, because I immerse myself from head to toe in what I fall in love with. . . .and there is no patience to be found when the need to be immerse can not be silenced. And so I reorder my whole life around what I have fallen in love with. Like I did when I went into the Army. Or when I got married. Or when I bought my boat. Or when I fell in love with the idea of living in Nova Scotia. Or when I fell in love with the Grand Canyon. What I fall in love with, I become obsessed with, and reorder my whole life around in order to dance completely with it. And when I can't dance completely with it, I fight against whatever keeps me at a distance. . . .until I drop with exhaustion. . . .or until I fall in love with something else that infuses me again with the passion and purpose I have lost.

My way of living is not for everyone. . . .but other people's way of life is also not for me.

The wonderful part of flying solo is that I can live my passion without having to coordinate that dance with another person. . . .and so I am free to reorder my whole life again to pursue this next passion that I am about to immerse myself into and become obsessed with. I don't know why I am the way that I am. . . .I only know that I am. . . and that falling in love with a whole new possibility and potential for my life is absolutely enough for me.

Follow your bliss.

I remember one of my professors from when I was in grad school who tried to show me the error of my ways by relating my life to an onion. The way that he perceived the way I live my life was to live only in the outer layers, because to him I wasn't committing to anything long enough to understand its depth, or deeper layers. But what he didn't understand is that I am committed. . . .I'm just committed to the internal passions of my soul, rather than to the purpose assigned to more external worldly pursuits. So when I fall in love with something (and allow myself to follow my passion), I am absolutely making a commitment to the depth of my spirit. . . .and making a commitment to the purpose infused within the gift of God that creates me.

And what I find most incredibly curious about the world at large that surrounds me, is that the people who are inspired when they are reminded of the words carpe diem, are very often the exact same people who become harshly judgmental and obtrusive with their dream squashing negativity when they actually see someone seizing their own day. So the way I live my life may seem curious and strange to others who look upon my choices. . . .and I may actually be making the worst mistake of my life by quitting this minimum wage job without having another job already lined up. . . .but if I can live with these choices that I make, then that is enough for me. . .