Stories

Some moments, even some entire days,  I can catch myself in the judgements and lies that keep me from the truth.  There’s such grace in that kind of clarity, that kind of peace. That is, when  I can catch the lies.

And then there are the other days.  The days I actually believe that “they’re” at fault.  By “they” I mean anybody (or anything) out there that I can judge or blame.  Like my dog for barking too much, my husband for not shutting the door, the weather for not being warmer or drier.  Not to mention the theme songs I play in my own brain.  Number one right now is There’s something wrong, and it’s because I’m not enough or there’s not enough.

These are the days I need a truth serum. Or some loving but stern Zen master to rap me up the side of the head.  One question can usually do that: really? Is it true? When I’m aware enough of that feeling of shrinking inside, the way I’m living from a small self, that’s usually enough to bring me back.

Sometimes Truth shows up in harsher ways: the illness or death of a loved one can take me right there.  To an opening of the heart big enough to embrace and allow the beauty around me to teach me to heal.  What a shame that this is what it would take.

I’ve decided I’d rather not wait. So I’m watching for the ways I shut down, the feeling in the chest, the judgement in the mind. When I get ahold of that, I can actually see whatever’s in front of me.   A blue jay bobbles past.  A funky painted jalopy is parked by the side of the road. A torment of wind whips the weather into yet another storm. I allow these things  to enlarge my heart. That’s how I know the truth serum took.

What about you?  How do you know you’re living in a lie that shrinks your heart?

Where is it in your body? Who or what is your truth serum?

I’m still looking and asking to find mine…again and again.

Be the first to comment

Every year at this time I ask myself the question.  “Now where was I?” It’s as if I left “my life” for somebody else’s.  Which just might be true, at one level. Always the holidays are full to overflowing with the unexpected.  This year my daughter brought home puppies from a rescue mission that had gone awry and we set up an emergency vet clinic here, where we nursed and held half-pound infants, trying desperately to save them from the ravages of Parvo.  Only one of 15 made it, and it was happily delivered on Christmas eve. In the middle of all this sadness, carols, games with friends, and the Beatles on Wii were islands of laughter.

Which brings up the big savior: dark humor. I’ve lived long enough to keep in mind the story in family history WHILE going through the tough stuff.  This will be the Christmas of the Dead Puppies, and we will laugh.  Soon.

But right now, I’m brought back to my life as it was before.  It usually takes me at least a week to remember where I was, and sometimes it’s a depressing or confusing time.  Breadcrumbs lead me back about a month to where I was before, to what was calling me when I wasn’t reacting.  Back to the subtle glimmer in the eye of possibility, the whisper of what is to come.

I’m listening again, and luckily it’s still there.  The longing to hear what my body wants, to write more regularly, to return to learning Spanish.  To learn by heart some poems.  There it is.  My “new year’s list.”  Sometimes it takes some humor, some recovery time, and some deep listening.  And when my life is led by longing, resolutions seem beside the point.

Where were you?  What is your longing?  What’s on THAT list?

Be the first to comment

Who Would We Be Without Our Stories? (or How I Found Inquiry)

April 15, 2008Aging with Grace
Thumbnail image for Who Would We Be Without Our Stories?  (or How I Found Inquiry)

I love stories. I was an English teacher for twenty-five years; I taught mythology, where my first lecture always defined human as meaning-making animals. How did they make meaning? Through the stories they told each other about themselves and their world. Throughout my career I encouraged teens to read stories to each other, to themselves [...]

Click for Full Article