When I think back to what I did yesterday or the day before there is little I can recall. My interpretation of what motions I went through; what I have accomplished I liken to a movie critic addressing a potential audience their construct of the criteria of a good production.

Was it a “successful” day? With the habit of the philosophical mind, I laugh at the possibilities of that word. What is a successful day? If I have kept my plants alive; if I have written a blog; if I have connected with a friend I feel stronger in myself and better about my life. The act of keeping promises to myself is encouraging and helps me to trust myself more implicitly.

Allow

And yet there are always those loose threads of imagining a future fabric that wave in the wind like my Tibetan prayer flags on my back deck. I have so many goals, projects, expectations of perfection flying loose in the air around me, that I can easily feel that I have failed on some level.

The deep discipline is to take myself back to my body. I do a scan of my body and see the areas that are crying out for more attention, for a more loving treatment. A life long pattern of living with pain is not living in wisdom. Something hurts. If this is true, then that is my focus today. The goal is to move through the day paying attention to the signals I am receiving. The body is always first in line. After that, I will attend to my business. Making beds, hanging laundry, cleaning objects, replacing objects can take up to eight hours a day seven days a week.

And then comes paying attention to my protective script. I listen in to see what kind of crops of frustration I am planting in my mind. I stand back and watch the habits of “not enough” ; “not perfect enough” ; “not good enough” being strengthened when I give in to them and let them take over the ground.
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speaking my truth

For me, I think the greatest achievement in my life has been understanding that life is a process. I am a process. My dreams are in production. My skills are building because I attend to them and practice them.

Understanding that I cannot always see what my investment actions are totally up to, helps immensely. Every action; every thought; every new lesson is a coin in the bank. And over time, I will see how it pays off. There is no way of knowing how “successful” I am becoming in the moment. But I do know that I trust myself and the universe more fully than I ever have before.

I am barefoot on the ground taking a breath.

I remember when I was finding sanctuary in books, my door firmly closed against the exploding rage in the hallway, I was reading a Victorian novel about a short sighted woman. She was in a stone house peering out the tower window but could not see.

the journey out of blindness

Although I had spent my life up to the age of 13 unable to see clearly, my mother had finally understood that I seeing impaired in my distance viewing. The optometrist called my vision bordering on blindness.  When I got glasses I was delighted by the detail in the distant landscape. So the passage in the Victorian novel created in me my first really deep understanding that circumstances can effect how well a person can see the world.

Born in another age, I would continue to be unable to recognize people as I walked toward them. It did not help my introversion that I dare not call out a name because I could not ascertain what the other coming at me was called. I made many mistakes and finally learned to not even attempt to connect. Perhaps some of the extra hot sauce on my introversion was created through the blurred vision circumstance.

visual clarity

In the novel, the townspeople down below in the street thought the woman to be witch like. She was reclusive and constantly staring down at people. They mistook her disability for some configuration of evil.

Although I was only 14, I instantly realized that being born in another era; mistaking other people because of short sightedness (mine or theirs) ; lacking compassion were all possibilities in the birth lottery.

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However,  I can only sit with this particular now.

My work at present is to be more gracious to myself. My harshness; my self-discipline; my complete near sighted focus has served me well. But I am starting to open up to a clearer vision of myself as simply a child born into a life on earth who spends the next 70 years trying to find the ground under my feet.

finding the ground

I have accepted that I cannot see clearly the particulars of this life.

What happened, happened. What will happen is unknown. I walk barefoot in my garden feeding my plants or I sit and cry with the chanting of Krishna Das. I am becoming me.

It is always now.

A water strider spreads its legs out and sits still on the surface of water. Its looks belie its capacity for quick, precise mobility. As a child, when I gazed at a water strider. I was taken by it. I became still and observant of our connection. I in my surface of time and shine rested watching it rest. There was a sense of completeness. We both were fully. But neither of us was agitated or in mid undertaking.

It was all riding the surface. The bug was free floating, resting, riding effortlessly the now of place. And I, a busy and electric child, was stilled.

stillness

I thought of that today as I hung laundry. I thought of the moments in life when the intense peacefulness of nowness had presented itself to me. I could not tell a story about it, because it is in a field of energy far more vast than narrative. The smallness of what I think exists, opens to something far more numinous. God is that still.

The waterbug is perfectly balanced with the water.

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It is like that. This sudden understanding of the arresting moment. I am in its thrall. And it is without drama, without shifting emotions, without intellectual engagement.

I breathe with the rose. I feel it breathe into me. The drops of water are impeccable perfection. Three silver globes of reflection curled into the heart of the orange rose.

The waterbug rests impossibly still on the argentate surfaced water.

And I forget myself. And I find myself. And I am destroyed.

I don’t know if it is arrogance or wisdom but when I am out socially, I always come away with lessons about my own behaviour. If a person is aggressive and not good at listening: I ask, “How am I like that? How can I be more open and compassionate?”

How to be a woman… seduction

I watched people “celebrate” last night in an expensive restaurant that was crowded and noisy. Some of the women were in full flirt ” I am available” mode. The groups gathered around tables were mirroring to one another what was “the way to be”. The code is held in rituals that go back for decades.

We learn what to eat; what to say; how to dress; how to wield our sexuality; how to show power or social power. We observe our parents and then our school mates. And as adults we go into a world that is chaotic and confusing. Immediately, we look for where we will “fit in”. We look for social behaviours that are familiar to us.

The young women were circled around tables wearing bodycon dresses, flipping their hair, drinking heavily and as the evening wore on talking more and more loudly and insistently about how someone had victimized them.

tell me how to appear.

I was once again brought up short by the contrast of ideas. The women were broadcasting (pun intended) their economic power by eating at an expensive and well reviewed restaurant. They were wearing clothing that only the securely upper middle class could afford. The shoes were high and demonstrated their commitment to the circus of sexual attraction. Their hair looked like they had just left the trailer to go onto a movie set.

They were ready for any kind of close up you can name.

And yet as the alcohol set in, they energetically “reinstalled” the victim stories. They told of the ex who had gutted them. They stridently took the center of attention to drag the past infliction of an old boss who disrespected them. They told of friends who were ghosting them. And it became louder and louder at all three of the tables.

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finding out your unique strength

Because I rarely go out where alcohol is working its black magic, I was a bit shocked. I wondered if men who are well lubricated need to take the floor to do the victim dance?

Somehow, I think not. And I rarely see upper middle class men going out in clothing that shows every mole on their bodies. So why is it that women hold themselves in such low self esteem that they believe that their sexuality is currency? And why is it that women allow other women to practice being defeated, rejected, victimized.

I would love to see a world where there was an instant interjection. Someone at the table just saying, “Mary. Stop living the martyr story. Stop talking about how you can’t get a break. Find your power woman!”

When I got home I was just exhausted by the energy in that space. I stood on the deck and listened to the wind saying nothing at all. And I thought, “What have I learned?”

My vigilance has increased for those times when I am shit talking to myself. I don’t want to be someone who only feels valuable if I have money; who dresses to fit in to some very skewed concept of feminine power; who gets into a biggest losers competition about how weak and damaged I am.

How women got to a place where they so clearly misunderstand the power of authenticity is absolutely clear to me. It has been a difficult and punishing journey through the generations to be a women. But enough is enough. It is time to understand what happened and to simply refuse to play into the “game”. Everyone who is alive has had to rise above challenges. It does not make you more interesting.

learn who you are

The way out is to be Pink or Serena Williams or Tina Fey or Adele but in your own way. Step into your own authenticity, and be “all that”, all that you are. It takes guts. It takes facing the fear and it takes facing a whole shit load of demons. And if for one minute you don’t think these giant spirited women haven’t gone through a process, you are falling for the myth trap of simply letting others tell you who you are.