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course correction

tenderness

tonight, after a particular moment in which my constant frustration over our messy house was not at all concealed, s lay down in bed, and said to me in the very saddest three-year old voice: “Mama, I feel sad when you, when you, when you… when you are sad of me.”

needless to say, i scooped that sweet, vulnerable, tender boy up into my arms and looked him in the eye and told him that i was sorry – that i wasn’t sad of him, and that he always brings me happiness. i told him i always love him, no matter what is happening.

it was a lesson i hope to really internalize, though. of course we all have a whole range of emotions, and i believe that it’s ok to process most of those with the boys.the problem is, we just don’t know how they are interpreting our outbursts and expressions of feeling, and that right there is the caution. to speak more mildly, to react with more measure, to choose words carefully and express myself with kindness and patience, even of things that are happening not from them directly, but simply around them. because even though we hugged and laughed, and snuggled, i know that fear is there… and no one planted that doubt of love except me, and that is indeed really sad.

 

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Posted by on November 6, 2011 in balance, learning, parenting, relationship, spirit

 

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ennui

how i really feel

It was a pretty crappy day. I was alone, which I’d been anticipating, but then quickly became lost in this sea of sadness. When I feel low even normally, my thoughts turn on me, and those horrid inner voices paralyse. I have a list that would take me a year to complete circulating in my brain – thank you’s and heart communications to friends and strangers alike who wrote to us during the time Simon was in the hospital, things to do to support his girlfriend, ideas about what my parents and grandparents must need from me… not to mention all the multitude of things around the house that need attention and the ways I’d like to be better meeting the needs of my kids. When I am alone, every one of these things calls to me, insistently and unrelentingly. I ended up spending most of the day staring at photos on the computer, trying to sew a gift for my parents’ anniversary (then abandoning sewing and putting all the fabric away), then lying in bed. My dad used the word today to describe his own state, and it feels pretty on par.

It was a beautiful afternoon outside – the sun, my boys, my Ted – when I was finally pulled out of these surrounding walls and away from the merciless voices within, it actually felt good. We had dinner with friends, had a funny ride home with the kids, and a nice bedtime with my sister… but inside, that well is still there… cold, dark, and still.

 
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Posted by on November 3, 2011 in loss

 

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Passed

Simon died 9 days ago. My little brother, whom I admire(d) and adore(d), is somehow no longer here. I was there – with him for the long days of expectation and determined hope for healing, for the meetings with surgeons and neurologists, for the pronouncement that he would not survive. Along with many others, and as far as I was permitted, I accompanied him on the journey of last breaths, and watched as his body was left behind – as we were all left behind.

Here I am, though, ten days later, and I am lost. I get up, manage the morning with my boys and get them to school (thank god for school), come home and return to pajamas and bed. I knit, watch Netflix, and keep this ocean of sadness at bay with the repetitive motion of yarn around needle, up, down. Rote doing and mechanical being.

I didn’t take a picture of it, but in the hotel room we lived in for nearly three weeks as we kept vigil with simon, there was a lousy corporate “art” thing framed in the bedroom. I noticed it the first night: an enso, open at the top, its inner contents pouring out into the sloppily-rendered sky. I hated that painting, for it’s spirit-less, mass-produced essence, and for it’s symbolism of death, seemingly unseen by the slouch in whatever cubicle who decided it was appropriate for thousands of rooms around the world. I hated ending my days by looking death in the face.

Somehow this blog about certitude got wrapped up in my (so far failed) attempt at developing a daily practice, but really, I migrated here from my last blog because my orientation had shifted and I wanted a new place. So here I am, showing up as-is.

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Posted by on October 25, 2011 in daily enso, family, loss, relationship

 

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daily enso: two

black enso circle

protection

Day two. Learning the brush, feeling the beginning of the stroke the lower right, the lift of the brush to completion. I love this!

These days, one of my protections is my love, Ted, who steps into his recognition of himself as the bringer of love to the world hour after hour of the day. His presence helps me feel my borders more keenly, and recognize the stillness within. For him, then, this enso, and this poem.

 

It is love that brings happiness to people.
It is love that gives joy to happiness.
My mother didn’t give birth to me, that love did.
A hundred blessings and praises to that love.

~Rumi

 

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