This Summer kicked my butt.
This Fall I've been licking my wounds.
Now I get back up, step outside and show myself.
What was written in my last post has been, quite literally,
transcended and included (thanks Ken Wilber) into the new version of "me".
This Summer I reached the end of the rope that I have been stabilizing myself with for the last 10 years.
This Fall I have been gathering the materials to make a new rope that I will fling into the mysterious future.
Now I hope to hook onto the next most nourishing location, feed myself, and return home inside.
This Summer my sweet daughter was emancipated from a first experience of "rigid education institution", at the ripe age of 6, and kicks up her heels with the celebration of free creative expression again.
I laugh writing this: the irony of having this experience at age 6, and that my daughter can actually discern what is oppressive to her at such a young age.
This Fall my son, just turning 10, plunges into uncovering himself as an emerging boy-to-tween who is being exposed to yet another new school, with a new culture of rules, behaviors and preferences. His general modicum of expression is "What the @#$!! is "the norm'?"
I can sympathize with his question.
Now I write to bring deep roots and broader wings to the emerging "norm" inside myself.
It is a messy norm. It is an entangled norm.
It is a norm that yearns to be entered into and embraced from many doorways,
not a single narrow path.
It is a norm continuing to be nourished by living close to Self, living vulnerably, and honoring the space needed to live vulnerably close in.
Today, again, I write making a tribute three women I call my Sister Holy Trinity, who feed this Beloved Food Lovolution.
Tallulah Bleu, Gigi Wickwire, and Shannon Thompson are women who are - for me - "courage" in the truest sense of the word.
They live from the "coeur" - the heart - pulsing - contracting and expanding, constantly re-oxygenating their lives, and the lives of those they touch.
They have knocked the wind out of me, AND resuscitated me more times then I can count.
They are women who have been stripped down by grief and loss that could have easily made them recoil from living deeply.
Instead their passion for goodness and pleasure has them becoming ambassadoresses for Fierce Tenderness - role models for me and countless others.
It is almost impossible to put into words the love and respect I have for these women.
Last week these sister helped me hit a bedrock I've been digging for, for months.
Last week I got close enough to myself to acknowledge that I have had a resurgence of sugar-addiction, born out of imbalance, an insatiable need for sweetness in all areas of my life, and - quite physically - candida.
I spoke with each of them about it, and they midwifed the most intimate stuff I've written in a looooong time.
What follows is truly the gift of being received in the Invisible and Visible by these amazing friends.
It is a serious writing.
It is shared in hopes of bringing balance to the lives of everyone who reads it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have finally awoken to a body knowing that I am courting myself, in relationship with myself, and everyone else is a mere expression of it.
Of course I have known this cognitively, but its never descended into my body until the floor of my willforce - my will to be 'saved' by something external - finally crumbled.
So, I am officially dating myself.
If I am dating myself, then I am also feeding myself.
If I am feeding myself for all the rest of the days here.....
then I'd better make sure i'm well.
The truth is i have systemic candida that is born out of an insatiable need for sweetness, and it won't go away until i crowd it out with sustainable sweetness.
Sustainable sweetness means radical self-care.
Radical self-care isn't fasting, cleansing and then feasting to 100% fullness.
It is allowing myself to be empty of external sweetness, a lot, and being with the fear it brings.
My body outside is a matter of my body inside.
If i am dating myself, i choose to be equally turned on by the life inside as i am by the life outside.
So, this turn on, this specialness, can never be satisfied by anything solely external, ongoingly.
It is satisfied by choosing to love everything - inside and outside - everyday.
My life, thus far, has been supported by imbalance: push to work hard all day, and then consume hard at night.
This has literally bred a fear of being gentle with myself, to be soft with myself, to allow for the Feminine to take me.
since i am a woman and a mother, i am Feminine, and need to claim this fully.
In my view to be Feminine is to open oneself and absorb it all.
That is why I am here, to absorb all of it, include it, and transcend it: to claim It and then be served by It - served with beloved food and pleasure.
Everyday I have a "plan" and everyday the plan has to be tossed to show up for what life is sending me. Every single day is like this.
Every single day is a joust with my control issues.
As I sit here writing this in a cafe, thrilled to have 2 whole hours to myself without pressing work, I am instantly drawn to an outdated 'reward' = coffee and a scone.
It is so simple yet so treacherous: treacherous because i love feeling good, and these foods will make me feel bad, instantly.
Coffee instantly throws off my thyroid, and gluten and sugar instantly give me headaches and mood swings.
It's a proven and reproven experience. Darnit.
So, I sit with this inside: this voice who says "feed me. I need you to feed me sweetness," and there is no reaching out.
There is only reaching in, and feeling the longing.
And damn it can be painful.
So I sit here and wait until this whole story passes.
I sit here until I can begin anew as someone who is listened to well, and listens well.
I sit here until I am someone who has a new story - a story of a girl who was always allowed to trust what good food was for me, was able to eat it, and was allowed to stop when I wanted to.
I sit here until I am someone who was encouraged to just "be", without feeling I needed to do anything to be loved.
That is not my past, but my past is now....past
Today I desire to live close in to vibrant pleasure, inside and out.
I am physically hungry and want to eat something, but am completely afraid at the same time: Afraid I cannot trust myself with my insatiability.
Insatiability is not pleasurable for me.
Sustainability is pleasureful, and has deep roots in being with Life in context - a context of the bigger picture - the bigger picture of the all living beings and how we affect each other's balance.
Can I trust the expanded part of me, beyond my stress-responding self, to provide the world with Ease and Grace through me?
Can I trust that to be "taken" by Sustainable Sweetness, and taken by Living Close In to Myself won't kill me?
And what does this mean about my roles in motherhood, marriage, work, and life beyond these circumscribing definitions?
The fear is that to live in Intimacy with the beloved food of "Divine", "Spirit", "God/Goddess"...all names that lead to living with Innocence, Curiousity, and unapologetic Enthusiasm about Life....
..to live with true Intimacy, the fear is that I would be incapable of performing my roles.
Yet performing my roles becomes an ironic "easy wrong choice" when an inner need calls out deeply.
And leaving my roles is an "easy wrong choice" when passion for Service calls to me deeply.
What becomes the beloved food today is, for me, the feminine face of God - the return to sweet Surrender that happens in the expansion and contraction, communion, sharing, laughing, crying, holding and carrying that is unique to women giving it up for what is greater then us - so that the world can be better for all living beings, for many generations to come.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Perhaps this continuous exile I seek - like so many women I know - is the sweet, humble exit from fearing our Longing,
and knowing that there are many pathways to enter our Divinity.
I have picked innumerable pearls in mining the friendships with my Sister Holy Trinity.
Here are a few most precious gems. I hope they feed you well:
~there is only one direction to turn, toward Love.
~"sin" is an archery term, which means "missing the mark". If you miss, just try again.
~If you live by any unconscious idea of "sin" - enjoy the archery. Enjoy your bow, your arrow, cresting, caring for bow and arrow, aiming, seeing the target. In essence enjoy the ride.
and when in doubt
~Just love Harder.
Thank you Gigi, Tallulah, and Shannon for carrying me, diving with me, and flying with me. I am blessed beyond words to have you in my life.
Monday, October 18, 2010
I "brake" for Perfectionism...and Musings on a Mother's Day past
Days before Mother's Day, May 2010, is when I started writing this.
It's been in my "draft" box, due to embarrassing perfectionism - "not-quite-right-ism."
On Mother's Day 2010, I re-tore a ligament in my left knee and was confined to walking on crutches for a few weeks.
I'd had the same injury 3 times in two years.
I prided myself on being the queen of mindfulness, until this point.
I knew that knees represented "Integrity" in Chinese Medicine
I plunged into questioning the integrity of my whole nourishment.
The plunge took on many forms - one of them was an implosion in my marriage, this Summer.
From what I know, most every person I love dearly got a dose of big medicine this Summer, so here is the first of 2 windows into mine:
Here is what I wrote in the Spring:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Mother's Day"...it really makes me laugh.
Everyday should be Mothers day.
Why wouldn't every day, for every conscious life-loving human being, be Mother's day?
Why doesn't everyday contain a moment where each of us bow to Mother (in every form that manifests),
like Muslims bow to Mecca on the hour, as the mosques call out to Allah.
Why not? Is there ANY more brilliantly designed form that keeps life going on this planet?
I believe we are so afraid to honor Mother energy that we reduce it to the most miniscule experience of a day that offers special spa packages.
Don't get me wrong, I love spa packages.
However,
I think they should be discounted and celebrated for mothers every day of the year.
What I want is a moment everyday, in every house, where Mama-energy gets bowed to and appreciated for its
Unconditional Love,
Fierce Protectiveness,
Astute Observation and Proactivity,
Staggering Endurance,
and Delicious Ironic Humor.
And I want to add to this list.
I believe we are afraid to honor this because it is SO HUGE and SO LOVING, there would be nothing left to "do" but be in that energy, if we embraced it.
I think there is a right and collective fear that we would all "die" if we just started shoring up the greatest version of the grandest vision we have ever held of
Mother.
I don't know, just a humble opinion.
I know it scares the crud out of me to imagine....to give up all fight to get it "right".
That said, I now offer my Lovolution Food tribute:
my husband.
Yes, it is true.
He is Mama....and a man...very human,
and able to love unconditionally.
The Food? My husband's big hearted honesty.
I fell in love with his heart and mind.
As I write in the early hours of the morning, wearing his fleece jacket, clicking away at a computer he convinced me I would be happy we got - that he put together - and he was right about - I can hear the first stirrings of my son.
I know that if my son awakes and needs anything
I will jostle my husband
say "I'm writing a blog about you, could you please help out?"
and he will get up without the blink of an eye.
There are 2 truths here.
-the first truth: I wouldn't have even considered marrying a man who would stay in bed in the morning if I needed help, regardless of what life had going on the night before....because there is a knowing we are both mothering AND fathering our kids
-the second truth: he could care less that I am writing a blog tribute to him.
I chuckle thinking about it.
We had our first "date" in months the other night.
It was essentially a Summer planning meeting over hot wings and whiskey.
We then shared a labyrinthian fellow-Gemini jawing about our versions of
"life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness"
and what was revealed through it is what has me typing away about him right now.
That night I said to him "I want to write a tribute to you, in my blog, because this is more Food - more beloved nourishment - the places you and I can go in conversation."
He stared at me blankly.
I think his Physicist brain was trying to translate my words.
He could have easily said "what the hell did you just say?"
But he didn't, and I applaud him for that.
Instead I got
"Hey, listen. I am all for artistic license. You can write whatever you want. It's cool with me.".
We've been together for over 13 years, married for almost 12, and parents for almost 10.
I have more gray hairs and wrinkles and sags from this experience than my ego can ponder.
The the point -however- is to acknowlege the deep rite-of-passage that marriage and parenthood are.
They are rites of passage that will either exhault a person,
make one go insane,
or both.
It is why I honor my husband today.
He has been a doula to the birth of this Beloved Food baby,
this month: a birth that is messy and ecstatic.
Being truly well fed is not about being full all the time.
It is about knowing how to reach for the best nourishment at the best time,
and how to enjoy feeding yourself.
I get an "itch" every year.
It is an itch to "get out and live a free life" beyond the confines of the limited female-male monogamy.
Every year, my husband meets my cries and calls to go deeper.
So, this is why I honor him on Mother's Day, helping me to be born into the maturity of more Compassion and Patience, and helping to mother our 2 children.
In my view, this is definitely worth honoring everyday,
for myself, my marriage, my family, and my community.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
May 2010 seems like a light year in the past now.
So much has transpired in my home.
Layers of comfort have stripped away,
and I post this as a another course in the feast of Beloved Food.
It was been a Summer of digesting,
and Fall harvest has born the nourishment of sweet and bitter fruit.
All said, I look to my marriage today as my journey to the wild divine.
It's been in my "draft" box, due to embarrassing perfectionism - "not-quite-right-ism."
On Mother's Day 2010, I re-tore a ligament in my left knee and was confined to walking on crutches for a few weeks.
I'd had the same injury 3 times in two years.
I prided myself on being the queen of mindfulness, until this point.
I knew that knees represented "Integrity" in Chinese Medicine
I plunged into questioning the integrity of my whole nourishment.
The plunge took on many forms - one of them was an implosion in my marriage, this Summer.
From what I know, most every person I love dearly got a dose of big medicine this Summer, so here is the first of 2 windows into mine:
Here is what I wrote in the Spring:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Mother's Day"...it really makes me laugh.
Everyday should be Mothers day.
Why wouldn't every day, for every conscious life-loving human being, be Mother's day?
Why doesn't everyday contain a moment where each of us bow to Mother (in every form that manifests),
like Muslims bow to Mecca on the hour, as the mosques call out to Allah.
Why not? Is there ANY more brilliantly designed form that keeps life going on this planet?
I believe we are so afraid to honor Mother energy that we reduce it to the most miniscule experience of a day that offers special spa packages.
Don't get me wrong, I love spa packages.
However,
I think they should be discounted and celebrated for mothers every day of the year.
What I want is a moment everyday, in every house, where Mama-energy gets bowed to and appreciated for its
Unconditional Love,
Fierce Protectiveness,
Astute Observation and Proactivity,
Staggering Endurance,
and Delicious Ironic Humor.
And I want to add to this list.
I believe we are afraid to honor this because it is SO HUGE and SO LOVING, there would be nothing left to "do" but be in that energy, if we embraced it.
I think there is a right and collective fear that we would all "die" if we just started shoring up the greatest version of the grandest vision we have ever held of
Mother.
I don't know, just a humble opinion.
I know it scares the crud out of me to imagine....to give up all fight to get it "right".
That said, I now offer my Lovolution Food tribute:
my husband.
Yes, it is true.
He is Mama....and a man...very human,
and able to love unconditionally.
The Food? My husband's big hearted honesty.
I fell in love with his heart and mind.
As I write in the early hours of the morning, wearing his fleece jacket, clicking away at a computer he convinced me I would be happy we got - that he put together - and he was right about - I can hear the first stirrings of my son.
I know that if my son awakes and needs anything
I will jostle my husband
say "I'm writing a blog about you, could you please help out?"
and he will get up without the blink of an eye.
There are 2 truths here.
-the first truth: I wouldn't have even considered marrying a man who would stay in bed in the morning if I needed help, regardless of what life had going on the night before....because there is a knowing we are both mothering AND fathering our kids
-the second truth: he could care less that I am writing a blog tribute to him.
I chuckle thinking about it.
We had our first "date" in months the other night.
It was essentially a Summer planning meeting over hot wings and whiskey.
We then shared a labyrinthian fellow-Gemini jawing about our versions of
"life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness"
and what was revealed through it is what has me typing away about him right now.
That night I said to him "I want to write a tribute to you, in my blog, because this is more Food - more beloved nourishment - the places you and I can go in conversation."
He stared at me blankly.
I think his Physicist brain was trying to translate my words.
He could have easily said "what the hell did you just say?"
But he didn't, and I applaud him for that.
Instead I got
"Hey, listen. I am all for artistic license. You can write whatever you want. It's cool with me.".
We've been together for over 13 years, married for almost 12, and parents for almost 10.
I have more gray hairs and wrinkles and sags from this experience than my ego can ponder.
The the point -however- is to acknowlege the deep rite-of-passage that marriage and parenthood are.
They are rites of passage that will either exhault a person,
make one go insane,
or both.
It is why I honor my husband today.
He has been a doula to the birth of this Beloved Food baby,
this month: a birth that is messy and ecstatic.
Being truly well fed is not about being full all the time.
It is about knowing how to reach for the best nourishment at the best time,
and how to enjoy feeding yourself.
I get an "itch" every year.
It is an itch to "get out and live a free life" beyond the confines of the limited female-male monogamy.
Every year, my husband meets my cries and calls to go deeper.
So, this is why I honor him on Mother's Day, helping me to be born into the maturity of more Compassion and Patience, and helping to mother our 2 children.
In my view, this is definitely worth honoring everyday,
for myself, my marriage, my family, and my community.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
May 2010 seems like a light year in the past now.
So much has transpired in my home.
Layers of comfort have stripped away,
and I post this as a another course in the feast of Beloved Food.
It was been a Summer of digesting,
and Fall harvest has born the nourishment of sweet and bitter fruit.
All said, I look to my marriage today as my journey to the wild divine.
Friday, May 7, 2010
A shout out to 2nd Graders
This was sent to me by my Other Mother (mom-in-law)
I'm still laughing, and hope you enjoy this Food as well.
Q. Why did God make mothers?
1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2. Mostly to clean the house.
3. To help us out of there when we were getting born.
Q. How did God make mothers?
1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
3. God made my Mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.
Q. What ingredients are mothers made of?
1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly us string, I think.
Q. Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom?
1. We're related.
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me.
Q.What kind of little girl was your mom?
1. My mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.
2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.
Q. What did mom need to know about dad before she married him?
1. His last name.
2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?
3. Does he make at least $800. a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?
Q. Why did your mom marry your dad?
1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my mom eats a lot.
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that Mom didn't have her thinking cap on.
Q. Who's the boss at your house?
1. Mom doesn't want to be the boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball.
2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad.
Q. What's the difference between moms & dads?
1. Moms work at work and work at home and dads just go to work at work.
2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
3. Dads are taller and stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's.
4. Moms have magic, they make you feel better without medicine.
Q. What does your mom do in her spare time?
1. Mothers don't do spare time.
2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.
Q. What would it take to make your mom perfect?
1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2. Diet. You know, her hair. I'd diet, maybe blue.
Q. If you could change one thing about your mom, what would it be?
1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that.
2. I'd make my mom smarter, Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.
3. I would like for her to get rid of thos invisible eyes on the back of her head.
I'm still laughing, and hope you enjoy this Food as well.
Q. Why did God make mothers?
1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2. Mostly to clean the house.
3. To help us out of there when we were getting born.
Q. How did God make mothers?
1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
3. God made my Mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.
Q. What ingredients are mothers made of?
1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly us string, I think.
Q. Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom?
1. We're related.
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me.
Q.What kind of little girl was your mom?
1. My mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.
2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.
Q. What did mom need to know about dad before she married him?
1. His last name.
2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?
3. Does he make at least $800. a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?
Q. Why did your mom marry your dad?
1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my mom eats a lot.
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that Mom didn't have her thinking cap on.
Q. Who's the boss at your house?
1. Mom doesn't want to be the boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball.
2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad.
Q. What's the difference between moms & dads?
1. Moms work at work and work at home and dads just go to work at work.
2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
3. Dads are taller and stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's.
4. Moms have magic, they make you feel better without medicine.
Q. What does your mom do in her spare time?
1. Mothers don't do spare time.
2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.
Q. What would it take to make your mom perfect?
1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2. Diet. You know, her hair. I'd diet, maybe blue.
Q. If you could change one thing about your mom, what would it be?
1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that.
2. I'd make my mom smarter, Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.
3. I would like for her to get rid of thos invisible eyes on the back of her head.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Roadrunner's tiny mohawk and Tribute 2
I love the female people in my life more than the Gemini brain that spins on these shoulders of mine can put into words.
It is a beautiful thing.
I also love food, my children, and all things related to "pleasure" - which- for today - will stay in the arena of sister-friends, food, and my daughter.
For this beloved Food Lovolution Fortress being laid brick by brick (word by word), I ask this question -
How do I possibly move with ease and grace through everyday motherhood, work, and every meal I put in my mouth? Anyone? Anyone?
MY Answer - the females in my life move me through.
Today is a tribute to Food of the last 20 years in being seen through belly laughs and belly cries, and my college roommate Janice.
She commented on my last blog....and I just laughed reading it.
Here's the turn on story:
I began collaborating today with a delicious woman on what started as a " health workshop", and became a potential grief ritual for a house of people living amidst many big stories of old suffering and loss. Today I listened to the words of my teacher Sobonfu Some, on the importance of honoring our loss and everyday deaths, as women, together.
Today I finally broke down and called a "nurses' hotline" for a 2 year long roving pain that travels from the top of my head to the base of my spine, and culminated in a momentary flash of "am I dying?"
Today I was told by the "hotline" nurse that, 'no', I probably don't have a tumor or degenerative Lyme disease, but probably do want to get a x-ray, because it "sounds like" my "lifestyle choices" (old-fashioned-neck-cracking-chiropractic-visits-from-the-'90s + 15 years of African and ecstatic-spasomatic-dance) might have "compromised the integrity of my vertebral cartiledge."
Do you hear the humor amidst seriousness?
Today, my day ended with the re-membering of my friendship with Janice - a perfectly imperfect first-time-knitted scarf:
you love it, you wear it, it's lopsided, and too ventilated,
and it's oh so complete.
My friendship with Janice is a complete woven masterpiece of exquisite foibles and victories.
We became women together.
We had our hearts broken for the first-time by men, as women, together.
We competed silently with each other, together.
We won and lost big "games" in Life side by side, together.
And
we have become spouses and mothers apart, and then together.
Blogging about it almost seems trite,
and, at the same time
I am humbly aware of the privilege to do so,
and the importance of it.
I have no biological sister,
and my childhood was full of moving from place to place.
Janices' is a friendship that spans 20+ years chosen sisterhood.
She met me with huge permed hair, a perma-unitard of deep irredescent blue - which I wore religiously - because I did aerobics in this outfit.... religiously....
and she watched me fight hard, many times, to "get it right"....whatever "it" was at the time.
And, in between and underneath all our loss and gain and loss and gain of 20+ years,
runs a current of unbelievable Holy Sacred Sister Foolishness.
Today, I was double-whammied with this gift,
via her friendship
and of course
mothering my daughter.
Today I was reminded of
a few years ago when Janice was a new mom, working outside the home like crazy,
working to find her husband's "perfection" amidst new parenthood,
and trying to get pregnant again,
and her sister died. It sucked. It sucked bigtime. No words can describe how much it sucked.
I drove to her and we did a grief ritual.
The healing from the grieving was good good.
Yet, what I remember most was afterward.
I had selected uplifting music to "clear the space".
I had seleced a 70's R&B remix, complete with a groovy beat and happy happy lyrics. The moment I put it on had only been 15 minutes from closing the grief circle.
Out of the depths of our past Janice busted out her finest Foxy Brown- James Brown lovechild voice
and shouted
"I remember this song from your dance class. You were 8 month pregnant and wearing some psychedelic leotard.
You looked just like the Partridge Family bus!"
This is my Holy Fool Food which I cannot live without:
The sustenance of knowing that none of Life is ever too serious
to forget that laughter is the closest bedfellow of suffering.
Amidst her suffering she made me laugh.... so hard.
Janice has been a cornerstone of my re-membering this, as she fiercely commits to making the richness of the Soul accessible to everyone - through her work and how she lives her life.
That's just what she does.
After a day of serious woman business and serious mom business today, it was great to be reminded of this.
And then, it was topped off tonight, when my wisest butt-kicking Buddha-teacher told me she had brushed her teeth and was ready for her bedtime story.
As I slipped into my daughter's room quietly, she sat waiting in her Cindy Lou Who red footy pajamas, and Bread and Jam for Francis in her lap.
I had completed another full day of modern-mom juggling,
found out from the nurses' hotline that I wasn't going to die,
and my prize waited for me with big eyes, red fleece and a bedtime book.
So, what's this super-sensitive mom to do?
Cry.
And in return my daughter looked at me, rolled her eyes, giggled, and said
"Mama, not again. I'm going to make you laugh"
( I smiled through tears, and reminded her they were happy tears)
And she said
"You need to watch Bugs Bunny mama. It's so funny.
Road Runner has a tiny mohawk,
Yosemite Sam has cute tiny green underwear...."
(she smiles to me, and I smile back, bigger)
and she adds
"and I have a tiny butt." (she laughs loud)
"I don't know what to tell ya, but it's all pretty funny."
Today I bless the Holy Fool Food.
Another brick is laid.
It is a beautiful thing.
I also love food, my children, and all things related to "pleasure" - which- for today - will stay in the arena of sister-friends, food, and my daughter.
For this beloved Food Lovolution Fortress being laid brick by brick (word by word), I ask this question -
How do I possibly move with ease and grace through everyday motherhood, work, and every meal I put in my mouth? Anyone? Anyone?
MY Answer - the females in my life move me through.
Today is a tribute to Food of the last 20 years in being seen through belly laughs and belly cries, and my college roommate Janice.
She commented on my last blog....and I just laughed reading it.
Here's the turn on story:
I began collaborating today with a delicious woman on what started as a " health workshop", and became a potential grief ritual for a house of people living amidst many big stories of old suffering and loss. Today I listened to the words of my teacher Sobonfu Some, on the importance of honoring our loss and everyday deaths, as women, together.
Today I finally broke down and called a "nurses' hotline" for a 2 year long roving pain that travels from the top of my head to the base of my spine, and culminated in a momentary flash of "am I dying?"
Today I was told by the "hotline" nurse that, 'no', I probably don't have a tumor or degenerative Lyme disease, but probably do want to get a x-ray, because it "sounds like" my "lifestyle choices" (old-fashioned-neck-cracking-chiropractic-visits-from-the-'90s + 15 years of African and ecstatic-spasomatic-dance) might have "compromised the integrity of my vertebral cartiledge."
Do you hear the humor amidst seriousness?
Today, my day ended with the re-membering of my friendship with Janice - a perfectly imperfect first-time-knitted scarf:
you love it, you wear it, it's lopsided, and too ventilated,
and it's oh so complete.
My friendship with Janice is a complete woven masterpiece of exquisite foibles and victories.
We became women together.
We had our hearts broken for the first-time by men, as women, together.
We competed silently with each other, together.
We won and lost big "games" in Life side by side, together.
And
we have become spouses and mothers apart, and then together.
Blogging about it almost seems trite,
and, at the same time
I am humbly aware of the privilege to do so,
and the importance of it.
I have no biological sister,
and my childhood was full of moving from place to place.
Janices' is a friendship that spans 20+ years chosen sisterhood.
She met me with huge permed hair, a perma-unitard of deep irredescent blue - which I wore religiously - because I did aerobics in this outfit.... religiously....
and she watched me fight hard, many times, to "get it right"....whatever "it" was at the time.
And, in between and underneath all our loss and gain and loss and gain of 20+ years,
runs a current of unbelievable Holy Sacred Sister Foolishness.
Today, I was double-whammied with this gift,
via her friendship
and of course
mothering my daughter.
Today I was reminded of
a few years ago when Janice was a new mom, working outside the home like crazy,
working to find her husband's "perfection" amidst new parenthood,
and trying to get pregnant again,
and her sister died. It sucked. It sucked bigtime. No words can describe how much it sucked.
I drove to her and we did a grief ritual.
The healing from the grieving was good good.
Yet, what I remember most was afterward.
I had selected uplifting music to "clear the space".
I had seleced a 70's R&B remix, complete with a groovy beat and happy happy lyrics. The moment I put it on had only been 15 minutes from closing the grief circle.
Out of the depths of our past Janice busted out her finest Foxy Brown- James Brown lovechild voice
and shouted
"I remember this song from your dance class. You were 8 month pregnant and wearing some psychedelic leotard.
You looked just like the Partridge Family bus!"
This is my Holy Fool Food which I cannot live without:
The sustenance of knowing that none of Life is ever too serious
to forget that laughter is the closest bedfellow of suffering.
Amidst her suffering she made me laugh.... so hard.
Janice has been a cornerstone of my re-membering this, as she fiercely commits to making the richness of the Soul accessible to everyone - through her work and how she lives her life.
That's just what she does.
After a day of serious woman business and serious mom business today, it was great to be reminded of this.
And then, it was topped off tonight, when my wisest butt-kicking Buddha-teacher told me she had brushed her teeth and was ready for her bedtime story.
As I slipped into my daughter's room quietly, she sat waiting in her Cindy Lou Who red footy pajamas, and Bread and Jam for Francis in her lap.
I had completed another full day of modern-mom juggling,
found out from the nurses' hotline that I wasn't going to die,
and my prize waited for me with big eyes, red fleece and a bedtime book.
So, what's this super-sensitive mom to do?
Cry.
And in return my daughter looked at me, rolled her eyes, giggled, and said
"Mama, not again. I'm going to make you laugh"
( I smiled through tears, and reminded her they were happy tears)
And she said
"You need to watch Bugs Bunny mama. It's so funny.
Road Runner has a tiny mohawk,
Yosemite Sam has cute tiny green underwear...."
(she smiles to me, and I smile back, bigger)
and she adds
"and I have a tiny butt." (she laughs loud)
"I don't know what to tell ya, but it's all pretty funny."
Today I bless the Holy Fool Food.
Another brick is laid.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Magical Manna Mystery - Tribute 1
Brick by brick, we lay the foundation and walls of a Food Lovolution Fortress, with every reach inside ourselves, and every reach out to one another.
The root of the word "food" is "foda"; to tend, keep, pasture, to protect, to guard, to feed.
For awhile, I will dedicate each new blog as a tribute to 1 "midwife" or "doula" in my life, who helps feed this newborn blog-vision: the dynamic relationship that lives among all things that nourish us: what we put in our mouth to eat, how we "relate" to the food we put in our mouth, how we relate the food in our mouth to everything else that nourishes us, and if we let the whole Magical Manna Mystery turn us on, and light us up.
So, to each of you, one at a time, here goes.
She's the daughter that would have lasted 1 day in my childhood home, before learning to "shut up"
I, however, am the modern self-helped mother, who will twist myself into a pretzel to avoid telling my sassy, saucy, brassy, bratty daughter to "shut up", even when it would be the absolute MOST authentic self-loving thing I could do.
These occasions arise when the ensnarement of her long morning bedhead dreads, beckoning to be groomed, mix with my general mom-fatigue.
She meets the "torturous" grooming with coyote howls - 7:30am - directed toward the ceiling/our neighbor's floor: housing a woman writing her dissertation, who goes to sleep at about, oh, 3am.
How child protective services have not come to our door, I do not know.
Out of sheer revenge for the sleep deprivation experiment we have implemented in our upstairs neighbor's life, I wouldn't fault her for making the phone call.
Most times my son stands dumbfounded at the force of the "girl voice", so virulent so early in the morning.
My husband hides.
I, being the modern self-helped mother, in my head run through the chapter headings of every "raising children with self-esteem" book I'd read, tear them out (in my head) peruse them quickly (in my head), try out the bullet points (with my mouth), and viscerally yearn to yank my daughters hairs from their follicles.
The result?
My daughter knows I'm faking the 'chilled out mom' act, gets even angrier, and her screams escalate, vibrating eardrums and traumatizing the whole family's nervous system.
Darnit.
How is this a tribute you ask? And to who?
No, it's not a tribute to my daughters' lungs, nor my neighbor's extreme benevolence.
It is not a tribute to the beautiful Torok male inertia.
It is a tribute to my dear friend Jenny Proctor: mother of 3 happy, creative, very cool adults who not only still like being around her, but consider being with their mom a really fun AND enriching experience.
I want that when my kids are grown.
Thank God I met Jenny P when my daughter was young.
She has most certainly saved my family hefty mental-health bills.
So, the nourishment came when I felt frazzled, fraudulent, frail and completely fed up as a mom.
With tears and snot I call Jenny P: "I'm such a nutcase. I can't even comb my daughters' hair. I'm fantasizing cutting it off in her sleep, right after I eat a pint of ice cream"
Jenny P: (laughing) "Oh sweetie, I remember when my daughters were little.....".(she proceeds to tell a story that makes my house look like the Waltons.) "....and you know what? You get through it, and all you need to focus on is TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF. I remember another time......" (another story that makes me realize I'm not a real danger to my children) "....and you just have to focus on TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF"
Within minutes, the tears of self-absorbed, super-mom isolation are streams of pure delight, laughing hysterically at our shared "hysteria": just women striving with heart and soul to live in fullness.
Finally, a pause: a catching of the breath....
and Jenny P says, "Are you perfect? Noooo. Do you want to be perfect? Nooo."
And I get this nourishment thing on deeper level.
There can be no Pleasure or Satisfaction from our nourishment without Hunger.
And, to live without Hunger is too fail to thrive.
And, to fail to thrive is to deceive ourselves of the need to hold our own hand.
If I couldn't go out on one limb after another, trying to "do it myself" and then realize I couldn't, and then reach out to a friend with tears and vulnerability to say "I can't do it myself"....
if I couldn't do this over and over....
...AND
I couldn't do this over and over without my loved ones...
Then I wouldn't have the strength to feed myself, to feed my children, to wraps my she-bear arms around them.
The nourishment is the Striving and it is the Hunger.
The Pleasure is the Passion for gaining Satisfaction.
That day, I did not need to chew my anger down with food, and sooth my heartbreak of "imperfection" with creamy sweetness in a pint.
I laughed and loved another exquisite wise woman I have been blessed to know,
and I was fed.
The next day was a different story.
But the next day is for another day.
One more brick had been laid.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
What is Beloved Food?
What is Beloved Food?
Beloved Food is one woman's humble research into the dynamic relationship that lives among all things that nourish us: what we put in our mouth to eat, how we "relate" to the food we put in our mouth, how we relate the food in our mouth to everything else that nourishes us, and if we let the whole Magical Manna Mystery turn us on, and light us up.
Beloved Food is the words, songs, images, services, and efforts of our desire finding their messy entangled way into the exquisite order of how we relate to one another: how we receive and how we give.
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