The Eventual Mess

I'm full of resentment but the enemy's not so clear. The culprit is watered down an emptied fluid drain because I have nothing but beautiful people and clear opportunities in my life.

And now, the resistance becomes harder to justify. The antagonist a faceless, nameless empty ghost--unseen, unheard, and eventually only a faint unnecessary thought in my over-emotional heart. Intensely feeling anything at all has become a memory from my less settled days, my more erratic self that is no longer needed in the life of this more established self.

Complacency has surfaced. On the phone with my dearest friends, I have nothing to report. Nothing good, nothing bad, nothing new. Same old nothing. Not the way my heart has buried itself underground. Not the boring routine of my week-to-week. Not the way I miss singing and dancing and crying and painting. And definitely not the secret that I haven't kept a journal since I got home from Italy five months ago.

But last night I gave in. With the precious evening to myself, I finally admitted the truth: my ego's in the way.

I don't want to admit how responsible I am for my own lack of adventure, lack of insightfullness, lack of excitement in my life. I've submitted to the drudgery of routine, too uncommitted to myself to do anything to change it. Too afraid that I'll fail myself if I try.

That's not very like me, though. I am a woman willing to face the messy with a smile, tears, and eventual laughter. I love my mess because it means that I am living, that there's something more to live for.

Ways to make my life messy again:
-Get your hands dirty with paint
-Don't wait for a partner or permission to live authentically
-Realize that the difference between resistance and boundaries is that boundaries can afford you the same exhilarating opportunities without the resentment or negativity of resistance
-Stop and ask yourself before running into the arms of comfort, "Is this discomfort important? Do I need to feel fearful, lonely, or lost right now?"
-Fear not the fear
-Seek out the spontaneous adventures and run with them when they come
-Say 'yes' to the voices of possibility
-Say 'no' to the voices of boredom, routine, empty & easy fills
-Make intentional decisions about the way you spend your time


How do you get your messy back, when life's gotten too clean?

Back when I was a kid...

I'd spend hours cutting and taping shoe boxes to make a cash register and silverware holders for the PB&J restaurant I was opening in my back yard. I'd write menus and keep the prices low so all the kids could afford a yummy meal with their friends.

I'd harbor inside my closet with a Sharpie and reveal all our dark family secrets on the back of the closet wall for the next inhabitant of our home to find, to hear the story of those who settled before.

I'd sing really loudly at the top of the stairs, listening for the reverberations of my off-tuned honesty, my bursting heart.

I'd wander upstairs as the family watched TV and I'd take over my father's typewriter. Bright papers of pinks and greens and yellows were the ones I chose, just in case the words weren't enough.

I'd sit on the couch as my parents tragically misunderstood each other. I'd cry and talk urgently of ways they could learn to love again.

I'd gather all my cousins together and play director and leading roll in our very own top-notch production of a musical delight.

I'd recite to myself in the mirror my acceptance speech for winning some famous award. I'd say "this goes out to all the fat kids! You can do and be anything you dream! You're beautiful and powerful and perfect just as is!" I'd cry.

I'd watch cartoons because everyone else did, and think to myself that they were stupid, not meaningful.

I'd hide in the bathroom when the math teacher collected homework. I'd pretend I was feeling sick and go to the healthroom because I hated being the stupidest kid in the "Gifted and Talented" class.

I'd imagine that my parents both died in some tragic accident, and hold myself responsible for achieving my fullest potential... for making them proud.

I'd get my dad to buy me magazines, claiming I would read them, then plaster my walls with all of the four-fold boy band posters.

I'd stand up for all the "dorky" kids and try to understand them.

I'd dream so deeply of falling in love, of feeling completely accepted and understood, of being appreciated, enough, forever.

Thoughts of Thankfulness

I can remember freshman year in college like it was yesterday. Feeling so uncomfortable with standing alone, fulfilling my dreams, having dreams at all. The forth autumn has graced me, and like each autumn that came before, I stand facing a completely new direction. Today, tears fill my eyes knowing how much support and love has guided me into a position of strength, clarity, and comfort with continuous questioning. These things I am so thankful for:

-Truly, meeting just the right mentors (mostly women) at just the right time, even if "answers" didn't always surface immediately.
-Participating in an extraordinary partnership with an incredible man who's willingness to explore scary unknown territory, to pave new paths for us to walk down together, free from unwanted impositions, guided by honesty... who's willingness to all these things always leaves me short of breath.
-Experiences that took me outside of my comfort zone, drew me closer to injustice, grew my sense of purpose. The places and histories so far from my own, their hospitality and welcoming of my ignorance, my curiosity.
-Baring witness to Fire. All the intensly passionate people who's desire to express override any inhibition. My heart has been scarred and sealed by so many deeply vulnerable songs, poems, histories--so many couragous people.
-The opportunity to be completely intentional about my academic career--to guide my learning and be guided by unbelivably intelligent teachers.
-Open doors to help me explore my passions.
-Love, the potential for love, and the desire for love everywhere I look.



Thank you.

Ready.

Last night I had a dream
That it was dark and the night was gentle
Friends were pacing the black paved road
Hands clammy with coolness from the breeze

Under the street lights
Walking shadows began to lose balance and fall—
Crickets overhearing bodies collapsing to the ground

“Everyone’s dying,” he said.
“We’ve got to find a way out of here!”
“But no where is safe,” she said. “We can’t escape it.”
“Let’s try!” and he ran leaving her behind.

Her shadow soon lie itself down disappearing.
Among her dead friends she hummed a soft tune,
Smiled, and closed her eyes --
Ready,
Like the night was for morning.

Full Circle.

I have been missing my camera that I took with me to London and all around during my European travels. But since I got to Portland and to the United States, I haven't been taking as many photos... I don't know what it is, something about how terribly familiar everything is makes the need to take photos feel a lot less. Not to say my sense of adventure is lost, but I have been relying more on my memory to store these local happenings. I have nonetheless been carrying my camera around Portland, and when moving into my new house, I realized I could not find it anywhere. I remembered feeling someone tugging on my backpack in a crowd downtown at a big event called the Flugtag, with 70,000 people in Portland just to see... and I thought maybe someone had reached into my bag? But I had no real evidence, and at the time i rationalized that "i am in portland" and people in crowds don't go around trying to steal things.

a couple of days ago i got a phone message from my brother trev saying that there was a camera with a picture of my uncle benito that was lost in sicily. i didn't respond right away, it seemed weird but i knew that i had my camera in the US so it must have been someone elses coincidence. The next morning trev called again, he said benito called him asking about my missing camera. i told him i lost my camera, but not in sicily, and trev said well... there is a number here and you should call it right now. i thought the number might be a number in italy, but it turns out it was a 503 number (portland's area code). Trev said "i don't know what the story is but call this number right away." so i called, very confused, and a nice man named Erik picked up the phone. I very vaguely referred to a missing camera asking if he knew anything about it, and he said he might know something about it. so i said my uncle in sicily called my brother and gave me your number to call about a camera i lost here in portland. and he asks, do you have brown hair? and i said yes, and he exclaims "i can't believe we found you!"

I have never been so shocked and so happy during my morning coffee before working at the spicy pickle! avery and max were there with me as i freaked out, listening to this amazing story about how this mans son works at the rose gardens... found my camera, and turned it into lost and found, after a month they returned the camera to him because no one had claimed it... and his family happened to have the same camera in their house so they charged it up and uploaded the pictures on the computer... then they decided to try to figure out who the camera belongs to! using my extensive pictures from sicily... none of them involving names or places, they pieced together all the information they could, from the time on a persons watch in the background of a photo to the placement of the sun and the sea which clued them into which part of sicily to start searching google earth for. i suddenly became so happy that my uncle had made me photograph things i wouldn't normally photograph, like the hilton hotel in porta rosa, or the giant mound of pummus stone in lipari.

i met with the family today at starbucks and they printed out a few of my pictures along with pictures they found online of certain places. it was impeccable. they guessed i was visiting my grandparents. they found the town montalbono and realized that my grandparents probably lived there, they gave me the name Silvi and were determined to return my camera to me. they wrote the city hall in montalbono, translated a letter into italian, and attached a picture of my uncle benito, asking if they could help find the person who this camera belonged to. luckily my uncle was a journalist for montalbono growing up and everyone in that town knows who he is. about 5 days after they sent the letter, I had called them up from portland coffee house... and now i have my camera back-- but more than that... i have such an inspired sense of the magic of kindness. i want to do kind things for strangers, i feel like i owe the universe something big, and i'd like the challenge of passing this wonderful gift along.

its amazing how someone found me by contacting my relatives in sicily. and how my story became part of their mystery. it's really beautiful what that incredible amount of kindness from complete strangers put back into my life. i can only hope to pass this kindness on in other forms, letting the magic continue when the right moment arises.

Conversations with Grace and a story about heavy hearts

Grace

She helps me realized in my lowest moments
that the things that make me feel heavy are actually gifts.

I wasn't meant to keep it all in. We're meant to talk through it all, and I'm meant to share love in its limitless forms. Here is a story about how heavy love can feel... and where it took me.



Everything is Too Heavy


i've spent a lot of time thinking of you, trying to be intentional in the ways i care for you... trying not to expose too much or be too involved, but you saw right through me, i think. i was starting to let myself love you. and i started to believe it could work. i could be patient, let you be where you are. and maybe one day you could thrive and love me all at once. my body was fluid to you, my emotions rocks, and the current became heavy with torment. how we managed i do not know. you kept your rocks far from me, but i knew you had them too.

i wanted to give you everything. you didn't want everything, everything is too heavy, so at night i floated on your bed in a place where as long as we were touching it was okay to feel. i loved you in those moments. it wasn't fair.

i began to examined the crack that formed in my heart. living there, a tiny bud pulled by threads of hope crept through the lining while i was sleeping, and pushed out against heart-ache fear and worry. This new seedling longed to tangle up with things alive in you. begging to love, to live, to exist and be cared for. i didn't mean for this to happen, but it went on happening. especially when we were close. instead of speaking, i kissed you. this was so much easier, i held the words in and let the truth skim the surface of your body. at least thats how i wished it was.

i don't know if i ever found a way to care for you, now i am too wrecked to try and it saddens me. i would have loved to lift you with my love but it always got so heavy. Because we didn't want the weight of it all, it is as though we gave nothing and got nothing in return. living on a wish, we are being pushed apart like seeds from a dandelion, unaware as we float in the sunbeams that the ground will keep us covered in our separate homes.

the action we used and what we avoided naming brought on the growth of so many emotions. i think i would have felt it all in a purer form without the complication of my pulsing veins and your rhythmic breath above me. but i have no way of knowing that truth. i was afraid that without us sharing our bodies we would have no reason to come together. there was an urgency to make love, to make it good, to stay up all night. i knew it was ending, we had to act fast. but i let it slow down, and you pursued another love with all of your rocks ready to unpack, with all of yourself intact. while i had to break myself off and away. now i'm left with anger, lack of needs, needing to protect myself. never wanting to come close again. you deceived me with your body and your gentle kisses on my neck, i was too afraid to know what was happening in me, you told me from the start it wasn't what you wanted. it was all i had to give.

because we exposed our bodies before our hearts everything is crumbling, and covered up with sadness. you apologized for having to cut the flower growing out of me. something that grew to admire you, now to be admired as freshly cut flowers are admired; in a vase, out of their element left to soak up what water they can without their roots.

i asked if we could put rocks there instead. but nothing seems to be alive anymore. your only choice is to move on. the story i provided for you will help you navigate in the future but i'll never exist to you as i am. those burdensome parts of me have been rightfully neglected, you let them sink below you. i carry them still, in my dark places, even though they are my brightest strengths, and similar to yours.

evidence of what we were can fit in an envelope, two tiny sheets of paper. relics from the war, a summer romance you wouldn't even call your own. i walk away with my most full heart and let it all deflate until nothing breathes there anymore. and i try to wake up again as if nothing had ever happened, as if everything hadn't lived for those moments. history, the dead story i write about now. the story i can only mourn for so long. because i've got to let go. because the story changes each day.


(afterthought--after speaking with my mother Grace)
i dont want to put life back in my dead flowers or re-write the pages over again, i want new growth, i want to stay connected to my roots and let my love flow out in new places. if nothing else, rejection leaves me with the desire to create more than i thought possible, if i can't have this there must be more out there. i will not let my heart die, i am inhaling new breath all the time. our bodies are powerful regenerators, and we will sprout new buds in the same vulnerable space where old growth has run through its life cycle. i'll use all the materials to be new, and to let myself share love with the world, because i was built for this and i am most happy when i give lovingly.

Rejection made me afraid i would have to learn to keep my love inside for ever, but i am built this way and that can never be put to shame in a closed off place in me; its got to reach the surface. I must share my love with the world, let it be kindness to strangers or encouragment to those who i love or speaking for those who get forgotten and taken advantage of. i have all of this in me and its so heavy it hurts, but its so light it could fly in a hundred directions. i am opening a cage of birds in me, because giving to others is how i give myself hope and how i realize the working order of a loving world, messy with dreams and scraps and hugs and gifts. filled up with the power to try again, all the time. we're working in this world, and i couldn't pick a better landscape for creating beauty with all we have inside.

oh, in love i need...

devra & johny at the end of our time in florence, holding every moment in love




Space for my own thoughts and reflections

Freedom to still have wild and adventurous dreams seperate from his

Talking out-loud and intentful listening

To Laugh, Laugh, Laugh until my stomach hurts

Equality, meaning to feel both Strong and Weak

Disagreements and the fearlessness to fight

Lots of committment to Growth

Painting each other's bodies and dancing in bed in the morning

Hand-written i <3 u's and feeling like a kid again

Feeding each other's passions and listening to new music

Patience- with myself, with him

Unabound Openness

The desire to say YES to wherever our love may take us