Okay, I have about twenty minutes to write this. And it will go live, unedited. Which feels akin to anything else I do these days. I sort of like it. The feeling of wild. Of being raw in the jumble of things coming together. Coming undone, and crossing over. Simultaneously.
I'm much more okay with not having shit figured out. I have much more figured out than I did before but I think it equates to less in the end of the day tally. For what I thought I may have known before or imagined I'd come to some aspect of handle or mastery at this stage in life, I've lost all track of. Rather, I'm overwhelmed in the fog of unknowingness.
I have found one of the worst trouble making culprits to be when we feel we don't know ourselves. All of a sudden this is how I find myself feeling.
This blog was originally intended for me to have an outlet and to share the transition into family life with someone. Anyone who cared. A place for my agitated energy as a result of my freshly birthed self and family to land. I quickly became overwhelmed by it not unlike much else in my life. Who was I writing to? There is something about sharing on the web that is just plain wild. It's a great example of energy. The energy of thought or action for example.
I make a statement in my mind. That thought has an effect in my biology, future inner dialogue and actions. Subsequently my relations in the world. The ripple of the thought continues into realms unseen and the originator will more than likely never know the extent of what ultimately gets created by the mix of conscious and subconscious thought, subsequent flow and manifestation of the energetics of that one particular morsel. For where does it begin or end?
In fact the connectedness of the whole process is virtually unseen. Yet it's true. And I feel or sense the vastness of the "abyss" more tangibly whenever I put something onto the WWW. It's like the truth of "how things work" glares in my face and I start to feel an overwhelming issue with control.
I plunked myself down on the sofa after you went down for nap today. I felt overwhelmed. You and daddy took Eldridge to the vet where he's been now the third time in the past six months. That is about $600 worth all things said and done. He has flees. We realize we've had flees in our house for a past good six months or so. We thought they were fruit flies living in the plants?
We just discovered he had a pile of black "dirt" on the back of his neck, a week ago. He's been scratching and biting his fur off for over a month. Peeing and pooping wherever he pleases. We live on the "put out fires" mode.
We've gone through herbs, many phones calls with our vet, moving his box around, getting a whole new set up for him knowing he is aging and ailing and likely cannot make it to the basement due to arthritis. In fact I took a picture of it the night we got him all settled in before I went up to bed. My inner thought was, "This is love. It may look like captivity, but this is the result of love."
"What makes you say that, mom?"
Because in the time I've had you in my life, I feel like I've been turned inside out, upside down, and raked over. The same has gone for your father although his experience has been unique to him and he would be the one to best describe it. Our marriage hangs by threads, yet "the water runs deep".( Okee Dokee Bros.) We see everything differently than we did before we had your snuggles to wake to and easy laughter reverberating purity and joy. A welcomed rattling to the decades worth of encrustation lining our cellular walls.
And it's all because of love.
I'm not sure who I am right now. I'm not sure where I've arrived on the path I've taken thus far or which direction I'll take from here. I'm currently overwhelmed with care taking tasks that seem to grow invasive in our household rather than become progressively situated ever so neatly into brightly colored boxes for us to choose when, where and how. As ye grows older and wiser, your mother dear remains steadfastly liable to fall prey into thinking there is a should* kind of natural outcome after the passing of a number of consecutive years' crack.
The dog has been walking the owner, I'm afraid. It may be good for learning purposes. Temporary. But it is not the life to be lived for the long haul. The motivating force that allows the temporary, enables us to endure, strive to overcome and move into masterful ownership, walking in command of our own counsel, at the pace that suits us, stopping to rest and take note when appropriate….this miraculous, knows no limitations, centrifugal force---is love.
Love allows the flees to grace its presence, run their course, and expose the next layer of shit to be cleared. Love raises us to the task and offers the energy to move through when all other reserves seem to have been exhausted. There is always a reservoir of love.
For me, it's the question, how am I going to be with it? My experience has taught me, it's always there for me. Showing its beautiful face wherever I choose to look and quite often at the adjustment of my lens. It waits in the least expected (expectation will always do ya in sister) nooks and crannies for your pleasant discovery and warm embrace.
It's the choice. From what angle to look, perceive, how to receive, transmit, and best of all, transmute the crusty, crooked throes. The choice to go deep within the well from which we all hail and the one resource we all have equal access. The choice to draw from that well and choose courage to go beyond the minutia of ourselves and our circumstances even if mustering just enough to take a look from the outside in. From this place a perspective on the continuum of the journey of a soul soothes like a balm and guides like a navigation app. It's like going up to the clouds for a breath of fresh air and shazam…there it is, the whole kit and caboodle right there in your view all at once. A glimpse you may choose to refer back to when the fog rolls in.
Soon thereafter every Tom, Dick and Harry, flee, pee, and haggle (many a day for example even with you my dear four year old chil') feel like some version of a gift. And the lightness of being exhales itself through the knotty mundane, bringing us back to our feet, brushing off to have at it once again. Hopefully this time, a little bit wiser. A little more thoughtful, compassionate, clear and kind.
And so the spiral goes.
It's a beautiful freedom. The blessing bestowed of our unique, personal will. The enrichment course of human life to refine and develop its potential.
I write this because writing is therapy for me. It is the crossing over, coming undone, and together impression of my being in a given moment. It is my channel to personal worth and sanity. It is for me, a choice to stay small and closed in a steeping wad of muddle thereby leading to a reliably unpredictable explosion. At other rare times, a slow steady rot in which case a miserable stench trails behind my every move. Or, it is a means to open, exhale, and allow my self to exist in this world I find so befuddling.
Love. Is it simply choice?
Choice, consistently bestowing empowerment in my experience.
Self love becomes love for all.
Into the abyss it goes.
It's now time for dance class with Teacher Talulah to begin…one of my favorite times of day!
Here's the deal. Life as we know it on planet Earth right now is moving fast. "Hold onto your hats", fast. Insert motherhood and a rapidly growing child into that and we're talking whirlwind.
Talulah, every day I look at you and wonder how you got to be so "big" and where all of those special moments we've had together have gone. I was present but they feel like a distant memory. I admit to a little grief that they are gone forever. You have always been such a joy.
We talk a lot about how big you are now. And with getting "big" comes more responsibility, like some of the things we have to do to take good care of our self. You have been dressing yourself for some time. I'd say since well before you turned three. Your teachers at school and now this grandmother who brings her three year old grandson to swimming lessons always comment on how impressed they are at you getting your clothes and outer gear on all by yourself. Coat trick!
While you are so much fun to spend time with you also put forth some challenging behavior to contend with. Let's say we're still learning how to contend. You have virtually boycotted naps again and it just never does any good. It wreaks havoc on the rest of the day for all of us from then on out. But you are three and you are of your own mind and much greater independence now. My old tricks no longer work and I've quickly got to come up with new ones. And so, we are addressing it from the angle of how you feel when you do or don't nap. And as a result what we do or don't get to do. What a mommy's job is and how it makes her feel she is not taking good care to her little one if they don't get what they need for good self care. And together you and I listed out ten things we need to do to take good care of ourselves. 1) go potty right away then flush and wash
2) clothes on and clothes in drawers
4) brush teeth
5) eat breaktast
6) brush hair
7) eat veggies and fruits
8) drink lots of water
Next step: reward chart for whole family…we've all got things we've got to work on in this house.
You have gotten into wearing the satin disney princess dress you inherited from Adele. You have been exposed to and taken an interest in ballet due to the gift of "Tallulah's Ballet Box and books" you received from Lori Rocklein for your birthday. Today in fact, I re-discovered a pair of ballet shoes I had bought second hand a while ago and they went on your feet instantly once you got your hands on them. Dancing followed.
Today: messing round the house. post office. costco. picnic at the park or lakeside rather as you were really wanting to feed the ducks today. we pulled up and saw white herons. so pretty.
eventually, after much anguish for both of us, you took a nap. oh, and before hand you read to me, " …"
We watched "My neighbor, Totoro" before you went to bed tonight.
I love you sweet, "Tudah"!
You are my heart, soul, my everything. You are the universe in a little but ever evolving and blooming Talulah bundle.
i just read the news about mr. philip seymour hoffman, and against the advise of others; i had to write this open letter. i can’t stay quiet anymore about this…
i am an alcoholic and a drug addict.
and yesterday i celebrated five months of sobriety. i’m relatively new to being sober, considering the scope of time that i’ve been an addict. but within that scope, this is also the longest i’ve been sober; since i began using. i’m not sure what to approach first, with regard to this letter — my head is still spinning from the news. i even question whether or not i should publish this, as i type out these words. but if these words can encourage someone to hold on to their life… to keep from ever using, or to find the strength to stop; then it’s more important that these words are shared. i’ve considered what’s at stake, for myself, by sharing this - but i find myself without regard for that. i won’t allow my selfish needs to get in the way of potentially reaching another human being’s life.
when news reaches us of a public figure, like mr. hoffman, passing away from such a terrible affliction; we tend to get the feeling of great loss. it is a great loss. i feel grief when i hear of such a talented human being leaving this earth… but every life is important. there are just some that hold the public forum. the loss of their life is no more, or no less, of a loss than anyone else’s. and anytime a person uses drugs, they are taking the chance that their life will be taken from them. whether they steal your breath, or rob one last beat from your heart - that is left to fate. but they will steal your life from you. whether you are the occasional user, or someone that uses every day. every moment spent using drugs (alcohol included) is a moment stolen from your life. a memory you will only recall with vague reflection - through fogged glass. leaving an imprint in your memory, like a stamp without it’s ink. that is, of course, my own realization.
some people could argue that drugs have provided some of the most memorable, creative artists this planet has ever experienced. jimi hendrix, kurt cobain…the list goes on. but drugs also took their lives away. it’s tough to say if their creativity would have flowered, in the same way, if it weren’t for the seed of their struggles. we could debate and extrapolate all day on the topic of drugs and their effect on creativity. but i don’t write this to debate. only to share. even i could say, for myself, that if it weren’t for the struggles and experience of my addictions; i would not have created the things that i have. i can argue that with all certainty, in fact. but i would have much rather lived the moments that i lost; and seen what would have come, creatively, as a result of that. that is one thing that is undebatable. but i digress. i am writing this for anyone who reads it…
i want to express that i chose to share this about myself because i could not hear of another person being robbed of their life, due to addiction; knowing that i stayed quiet about mine. knowing that if, by sharing my story, i could potentially save a life - and didn’t; that i would no longer be able to look myself in the mirror with the same pride i’ve allowed myself to have, for overcoming the thing that almost took my life.
for several years, i lived for drugs. i lived for other things as well. but drugs dictated the other things i lived for. i thought more about using, than i thought about any other “pleasures”. i put myself in places i never would have ended up, otherwise, for the sake of getting high. there are countless nights of blacking out, and making poor decisions as a result of my overusing. i wasted the time of valuable people, who worked so hard to pull my career to a higher place, by allowing my addictions to tug me out of their grip. i worried the people that care about me. my friends. my parents. my siblings. all for the sake of something that i believed i had control over. i didn’t even realize how low drugs and alcohol had pulled me. but i stand now from a higher place. not higher than anyone else, or anyone that is using. just a higher place, than i was before. my thoughts are clear. my body is energized. and the creativity now flows out of me, easier than it ever had when i was using. i wake up looking forward to my days, rather than looking for a way to get through them. i feel the life inside of me now. the life that i deprived myself of for so long.
i made a promise to myself that i would never stand as a preacher of sobriety - speaking from a podium that could be interpreted as arrogant or judgmental. and i wish to clarify that this letter is not my way of trying to indoctrinate. this is not my dogma. this is my truth. only mine. i have no judgements for the way anyone chooses to live their life. and i only have compassion for those who currently struggle with their addictions. i am fortunate enough to no longer struggle with mine. i can say with all honesty, that i have no desire to ever use again. but it took a long time, and a lot of struggle, to finally reach that place. we sometimes have to learn through our own experiences - as i had to with mine. i was too strong-minded and wrapped up in my own addictions to listen to anyone. it was even obnoxious to hear someone speak about addiction, to me. i wasn’t “a part of that club”, i thought. i shut myself off to good advise. i thought an addict was someone that i wasn’t. i thought i had control. ithought… but now i know.
i am an addict. and i’ve never been more proud, saying it. because when i think about where i’ve been, and where i am now… i am proud of the man who has addressed and admitted to himself, what was once a clouded denial. self-pride and love are two things i’ve never had for myself, until recently. i hold them closely, now, by my own humbled awareness. and i wouldn’t trade that in for any pill, line, or drink - on any day. i could go on, but i’ll leave it here, for now…
if you’re reading this letter, i hope it comes to you with only encouragement. i hope it provides you strength, in the way that i’ve intended it. whether you are currently battling an addiction, or have never even sipped a drink. i hope it gives you strength to consider the potential it has to take everything, that is dear, from you. you may be one of the lucky ones that leaves unscathed from it all. with all sincerity; good for you. but i leave it to you to decide if it’s worth risking; finding yourself on the unfortunate end of things. just know that either way, i’m pulling for you. with only love…
i hope you can save your life.
I am working on my "pewter" on my Great Grandmother's chair. And I cannot really work. You are at your whiteboard, attached to the basement door to my right, wearing your sparkly white butterfly wings, your "tutu" (a ruffly skirt that you say is also a tutu), and drawing with your new whiteboard markers. "T, I'm going to write a 't'". After several blue t's you move over to your bookshelf, singing, "I have sumping to show you…I have sumping to show you". And now you've brought over your wooden numbered snail puzzle to me…"look at this mama, look at this". You are on the rug at play with it now.
Talulah Temple, you are such a joy, emanating just that from your pores wherever you are.
We so adore and appreciate you. You have grown up so much in the past month, certainly in the three years you've been in our life. You have transformed us by your presence. You are a gift of an experience of heaven on Earth.
"Ten, I did it" "Ten I did it, I did it…stand up, twirl, bow and hands to heart center, head nod (still with white sparkly butterfly wings on)."
After slaying critics in defense of her daughter Willow, outspoken actress and activist Jada Pinkett-Smith took to Facebook today to drop some knowledge on how the degradation of women has resulted in problems for both sexes.
As we look at societies where the women are lost, struggling for education and otherwise disregarded, versus those who consider women the center of their communities, Jada‘s words ring all the more truer. Read what she has to say below:
How is man to recognize his full self, his full power through the eye’s of an incomplete woman? The woman who has been stripped of Goddess recognition and diminished to a big ass and full breast for physical comfort only.
The woman who has been silenced so she may forget her spiritual essence because her words stir too much thought outside of the pleasure space. The woman who has been diminished to covering all that rots inside of her with weaves and red bottom shoes.
I am sure the men, who restructured our societies from cultures that honored woman, had no idea of the outcome. They had no idea that eventually, even men would render themselves empty and longing for meaning, depth and connection.
There is a deep sadness when I witness a man that can’t recognize the emptiness he feels when he objectifies himself as a bank and truly believes he can buy love with things and status. It is painful to witness the betrayal when a woman takes him up on that offer.
He doesn’t recognize that the [creation] of a half woman has contributed to his repressed anger and frustration of feeling he is not enough. He then may love no woman or keep many half women as his prize.
He doesn’t recognize that it’s his submersion in the imbalanced warrior culture, where violence is the means of getting respect and power, as the reason he can break the face of the woman who bore him four children.
When woman is lost, so is man. The truth is, woman is the window to a man’s heart and a man’s heart is the gateway to his soul.
"This subject is old but I have never answered it in its entirety. And even with this post it will remain incomplete. The question why I would LET Willow cut her hair. First the LET must be challenged. This is a world where women, girls are constantly reminded that they don't belong to themselves; that their bodies are not their own, nor their power, or self determination. I made a promise to endow my little girl with the power to always know that her body, spirit, and her mind are HER domain. Willow cut her hair because her beauty, her value, her worth is not measured by the length of her hair. It's also a statement that claims that even little girls have the RIGHT to own themselves and should not be a slave to even their mother's deepest insecurities, hopes, and desires. Even little girls should not be a slave to the preconceived ideas of what a culture believes a little girl should be. More to come. Another day."