In The Beginning There Was Dancing

“There are two mistakes one can make along the road to truth . . .  not going all the way, and not starting.” ~ Buddha

I remember a friend’s words to me when I felt broken and just wanted to give up, “You have an inner strength that is holding you up even if you can’t see it right now.” I didn’t believe him then.  I never thought I was strong or brave and certainly didn’t think enough of myself to know that I would endure it all. Reflecting on this past year, I believe him now.

It wasn’t easy. I spent a long time reclaiming my body and have just begun to reclaim my spirit. The latter part has been a beautiful awakening. As frustrated as I became, as much as I pleaded for the pain and burden to be taken away – it remained. I endured; I always do - and I am better for it. If there was ever a doubt in my mind that I was breakable, it no longer exists.

I look at the end result from all of this: Those that truly cared stayed and those that needed to move in a different direction are gone. There were times I felt isolated, alone and misunderstood.  Sometimes I thought the pain and numbing would take over and an empty shell would remain. I trudged on by myself because it was necessary; life doesn’t hold us by the hand. I called on the strength of those who have gone before me and the memories of them encouraged me to move forward when nothing else would. I find comfort in the thought that a part of them is still with me.

I have been told so often that what happened was nothing personal and only had to do with power. Even if that’s the case, it doesn’t make me feel any better. I still can’t talk about it because all I want to do is cry and I usually feel as if I'm going to throw up. Those two feelings are unpleasant. Instead of looking behind me, I can look forward and rejoice for the present moment and my hope for things to come.

I was emotionally dead for so long. I wanted to separate myself from the only world I knew - it felt harsh and frightening at times. I can see now that it was only a small few that didn't deserve that place in my life to begin with. I now find myself blissfully aware of every current moment – I can only describe it as a dreamlike state in which I hope to remain. Perhaps this is what life should have been all along.

With the coming new year, all I can say is that I am ready. I am watching, waiting and dancing. My heart is as open as the sky.

“Dance when you’re broken open. Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you’re perfectly free.”  ~ Rumi

I'm Dreaming

“You know that place between sleep and awake, the place where you can still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting”  - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

More than once over the last few days I’ve thought I must be dreaming.  I’m breathless. I’m speechless. I can’t find the words to describe how much he means to me. Apparently I’m also without balance because I nearly keeled over  thinking I would die from joy the last time I was with him. Since then, it has become apparent to me why my then boyfriend was so pissed off when I spent time with him. I just didn’t see it then . . .  but I do now. How could I have missed it?

The surreal state I’m in continues. I am overjoyed and I recently realized I’m scared as hell. I have what can only be described as just plain ugly whenever I experience a relapse. These states leave me anxious, fearful and angry. I finally came out of the last one after nearly two years. Why so long? Because I crossed paths with some asshole and his actions managed to undo nearly three years of progressive therapy.  I wish I could just dump the memories and leave the emotions behind, but it doesn’t work that way. I have to trudge through them sometimes and I don’t want him exposed to that. Ever. I want to shield him from it.

I’m already worried that I’ll somehow manage to screw things up and then he’d be gone forever. I hesitated before I kissed him, I hesitated before I laid my soul bare before him because I’d rather have him in my life than not.  I also hesitated because I feared rejection. At least I can say I conquered the fear of the unknown.

Still, I proceed with caution. I’m sure we’ve all experienced this at some point. I’ve been wondering if I’m doing this right.  I wonder if I should call or text . . . am I coming on too strong? Am I not doing enough? Is my mascara running? Does this dress make my butt look big? For the record, I’ve never asked a male that last question because it’s cruel and unnecessary.

He is without a doubt one of the best things that has ever entered my life and if I had known several years ago that our paths would cross again, no one else on earth would have ever existed to me.  Whatever the outcome may be, I know this chapter in my life will be one of the most treasured. 

A Tale of Two Men

“Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony” ~ Mahatma Gandhi

I met someone through a series of events not so long ago. He lives in New Jersey. I was in the middle of personal turmoil from which I thought I’d never escape. He listened and he understood. We talked on a daily basis and he supported me through things I never thought I’d get over.  

I’ve discovered I have a threshold when it comes to chaotic, sad or dramatic events. While this may not seem like a lot to you, reader, I assure you that it felt like the weight of a thousand basset hounds while I trudged through it. Within about the span of a month, I broke up with my best friend, I was told that the position I had temporarily filled would be given to someone else, I learned that this guy that had been consistently flirting with me was actually married, my car broken down and needed major repairs, and then October hit – and I freaking hate October.

In my mind, this is what October looks like.

I’ll break these down a little for the sake of insight. My former best friend and I had been super close for most of our lives. Despite how much it hurt, I still miss her sometimes. The position I wanted was something that I was thrilled to be a part of, even for a short time. I wasn’t disappointed about being let go, only how they went about it. I was working through a temp agency and officially applied for the position. I was then told that they had narrowed it down to five applicants; I was included and was given the date and time for an interview. When I went upstairs at the allotted time, there was no interview, only my supervisor there to tell me that they wouldn’t be keeping me. Ouch.

The attractive fellow flirting with me hit a little close to home because I found out he was married and had to practically pull his teeth out to get him to admit it. This emotional affair was initiated by him. It stung a bit deeper because I was unknowingly someone’s mistress once before and I still struggle to comprehend why human beings continue to treat one another like garbage.

The new term started and I was wrapping up my time with the employer that was letting me go. Despite their unsavory actions, I made an extra effort to get everything up to speed for the person filling my position. I updated the manual. The one that existed when I arrived was outdated by about five years. In a company of this size, policies and procedures are constantly changing.I even made a nicely organized file with all of the forms, signatures and templates that would be needed at some point. When I stepped in, I had to hunt those down myself. 

I felt like doing this more often than not. 

Just as all of this was ending, Mr. New Jersey made plans to fly out to meet me in person. I can say with full honesty that he is perhaps one of the nicest, patient, and generous people I’ve ever known. Despite his nature, I was tense during his visit. Little trivial things he did really got under my skin. The way he talked to me at times irritated me – it was as if he were speaking to a 4 year old child.

We went for a hike with my dogs. He wanted to hold my hand and stop every five minutes to kiss me. Again, this irritated me. 

Please. Stop. Touching. Me.

I chalked it up to the series of events that coincided with New Jersey’s visit. However, it’s been a little over a month since that visit and I’ve done nothing but try to pinpoint how I really felt towards him. Soon after his return home he began plans for a December visit and there was a constant feeling of anxiety every time we talked about his next journey to the west coast.

He sent me anywhere between five and ten text or facebook messages a day. For every one I responded to, three more were sent to me. I turned this over in my mind and thought that if it were me behaving in this way I would be told that my actions weren’t healthy and borderline obsessive.

While school genuinely had me busy (who has that kind of time to respond to that amount of texts?!), I distanced myself from him to sort out what was really going on in my mind.

Finding a place of emotional solitude is quite difficult when social media is constantly nagging at you.

My conclusion came to this: we’re just not right for each other. I don’t mind PDA. In fact, I rather like locking lips with someone I deeply care for in a public display that says, Yeah, ladies. Isn’t he fabulous?! I love him so much that I couldn't resist him for a moment longer.”  

What I originally chalked up to a chaotic series of events was my psyche telling me, "STOP!" He's serious and he's intense. I wish I could care for him. I truly do. He is a good person. However,  there are other good people in this world, and these things can't be forced. When I finally made the much dreaded phone call, I told him as much. It all feels superficial and fake to me; and that's the truth.

I kept waiting for the perfect time to tell him. Mr. New Jersey was effected by Hurricane Sandy. I felt like I was a horrible human being for not being supportive of him while he was sorting things out. I didn't want to have this conversation at the end of one of my exhaustive days; I didn't want to interrupt his life dealing with his hurricane torn house, his work, his family . . .  Most of all, I didn't want to hurt him. I have learned that there is no 'perfect time' for anything.

True to his nature, he understood and thanked me for my honesty.

I’ve apologized profusely because I don’t think this was very fair to Mr. New Jersey. Everything was falling apart when I met him. I was vulnerable, sad, lonely and confused and said things that I shouldn’t have. For that, I’m sorry. I'm the type of person that really needs time and space to consider something before I know how I feel about it - and sometimes that takes a while. For that, Mr. New Jersey, I am sorry. 

If you’re still reading I will now tell you about my latest epiphany. There’s a story behind this one as well.

Several years ago I met someone in my voice lessons class. Over time I became quite fond of him and didn’t realize how deep that fondness ran until he completely disappeared. I was crushed; I really was. I was also confused and self blaming because I felt as if the events in my life drove him away.

We reconnected and met up last week. I cried when he hugged me. True story. You've been missed, Old Friend.

My heart jumped for joy at the sight of him. 

He spent Thanksgiving with my family. He’s not a Portland native and has no family here. I can’t remember the last time I felt so unequivocally happy; I was afraid I had forgotten the emotion. I was happy because he was back in my life and being with him is the most natural thing in the world. Then it hit me: This is it. What exists between him and me - this is what I’m looking for.

His embrace is the most reassuring thing I’ve felt in some time and I am comfortable enough to be myself instead of some self absorbed neurotic mess.When he held me, the chaos in my mind subsided long enough for me to feel a calming peace. I confess it was hard for me to let go.

Is there anything beyond friendship for us? I really don’t know. Regardless, I am grateful. Even if he disappears tomorrow - I'll have had that experience that granted me clarity, peace, warmth and the inner glow that I thought was long gone. For these things, I am grateful.

Thank you, Old Friend. Thank you for showing me that I can be myself. Thank you for pointing me in the right direction because I was lost for a while.

“Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.”  ~ Marcel Proust

The Void

“Pain is a pesky part of being human. I’ve learned it feels like a stab wound to the heart, something I wish we could all do without, in our lives here. Pain is a sudden hurt that can’t be escaped; but then I have also learned that because of pain, I can feel the beauty, tenderness, and freedom of healing. Pain feels like a stab wound to the heart. But then healing feels like the wind against your face when you are spreading your wings and flying through the air.” ~ C. Noybell

I’ve promised myself that I’d allow more time for creative expression. I’m not very good at keeping self made promises. Note to self: work on this.

I recently had a bad experience with one of my guided meditation albums. At first it was lovely: I was in a field and the night sky was faintly hued with purple and blue that swirled about. I could nearly touch it. Then I was back in a nightmare I had as a teenager that has stuck with me. I was in a field near where I lived and it was pitch black. There was a sinister presence near me and I felt it would pounce at any moment.

I opened my eyes and thought to myself, That was unpleasant. I closed my eyes and tried again. I was in a coffin with my father’s bones, then I was back in the pleasant field and my father was standing next to me. Suddenly everything went black and he was gone. I kept crying out to him, “Come back.”  

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well that night. I cried until exhaustion. I woke up and started crying again. The lonely imagery even followed me to class the next evening. I had to leave in the middle of the lecture because I couldn’t hold back my tears and I couldn’t keep from shaking.

I miss him. I’ve almost forgotten what he looks like and I’m afraid of losing that. The experience leaves me wondering how the loss of one person could leave such a void. His early departure from this world left a hole in the hearts of many and I've witnessed its effects on others. 

I recently thought that I’d love to have all of those memories erased from my mind. However, a friend in neuroscience has proved that what I previously thought was just a cop out that we say to each other when there’s nothing else to say is indeed true: Our experiences make us who we are. There’s a very interesting scientific explanation behind this, but I wouldn’t dream of beginning to describe it because I’m easily confused and not very science minded.

If that’s the case, I’d settle for something to take the pain away. One of the hardest experiences I’ve had in life is dealing with the stigma and stereotypes that are tagged to things like depression and PTSD. Not all wounds are visible and just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean that it’s not real.

The harshest of critics are my family, particularly my adoptive mother. She seems to think the best way for me to deal with this is suppress it and pretend like it doesn’t affect me . . .   I’ve been doing that for years and this is where it got me. Whether it be a personality or generational difference, it is substantial and what comes across as callousness causes more harm than good to me. This is why I don't talk about such things with her. Instead, I admire her other qualities and herein we find our common ground.

 A little understanding goes a long way.

No one would chose to be sad, afraid or drowning in emotional turmoil. No one. I guess my point is to be patient with people like me. We all heal in our own time. Sometimes it resurfaces and the cycle repeats itself. Be kind. Be understanding and know that we are working through it as best we know how.

I have to stand and face the pain sometimes. I don’t like it. I used to think that someone would fill the void for me. I’ve finally realized that there’s no one and nothing that can achieve this aside from me.

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” ~ Rumi

Howl

Ever feel like walking off into the wilderness and howling? I do. The wolf howl is perhaps one of the most beautiful and mournful sounds I’ve ever heard. It speaks to me. I want to howl and let my sorrow drift into the air with it’s mournful sound . . . . then someone can wake me up when October ends.

This October marks the 23^rd anniversary of my father’s death. I remember it as the day that my perfect little world was shattered and nothing in life has ever been the same for me since. In the wake of his death, my grandmother, Patricia, selfless as always, went out of her way to maintain a sense of normalcy for me. She was ill with advanced and undiagnosed pancreatic cancer, had just lost her son, and had another son that was in an assisted living center being treated for schizophrenia. In spite of all of this, she fought to preserve my childhood and happiness.

I went trick or treating that year. I remember my costume: a black plastic trash bag and pharmacy store bought witch’s hat. In the aftermath of my father’s death, this was some much needed fun for five-year-old me. It wasn’t long after this that my crazy mother took me to Georgia and left me there with complete strangers. To this day, I still can’t decide if she was crazy, cruel or some insidious mixture of the two.

It’s not like it was all unhappy, I was just frightened and feeling very alone. I spent about a year in Georgia before I made a miraculous return home. I was with a woman named Myrna. According to my birth mother, this was my grandmother on her side. Myrna, knowing the deceitfulness and destruction that most often followed in my mother’s footsteps, played close attention to my chatter about home, losing my father and my longing to be with my grandmother Patricia.

I remember Myrna going through one phonebook after another, making phone call after phone call until she located my grandparents. She bought two plane tickets and accompanied me home. I wish I knew her better. Myrna is gone now, but I remember her as being the one constant and solid thing in my life when I was surrounded by turmoil and doubt.

A year after returning home to the west coast, my grandmother was in the hospital dying of cancer. I lived with whoever would take me in over the next year until cancer got the better of her. I remember the day she died as vividly as the day my father died. The air felt heavy and suffocating and I simply wanted to melt into the earth beneath my feet and disappear into the essence of the universe.

I look at the approach of this month with dread. I keep my birthday hidden on my online profile because all of the wishes for happiness only serve as a reminder of what’s been taken away and the looming sadness that I know will take over even though I try to keep it at bay. My father’s death marked the beginning of an immense amount of sadness that entered my life that I am still trying to process and come to terms with.

I’d like to think that someday all of this won’t make me so sad. In the meantime, I’ll try to create some happy memories for myself. At least I know I’ll survive it; I always do. 

"And can it be that in a world so full and busy the loss of one creature makes a void so wide and deep that nothing but the width and depth of eternity can fill it" ~ Charles Dickens

Touch Wood. Touch Gold.

“Selflessness is humility . . . humility and freedom go hand in hand. Only a humble person can be free.” ~ Jeff Wilson

Of the many things I admire and respect about Pavarthi and Vijay is their humility. They have accomplished and overcome so many things in their lives, yet one wouldn’t ever know it because they simply don’t talk about it . . . unless they’re talking about one another. It is obvious they admire one another a great deal. I challenge anyone to watch them and not smile. I think this task is impossible.

Vijay worked for NASA and was a pioneer in the development of vehicle airbags and solar energy panels. Pavarthi has done extensive research on DNA repair (among many other things) and is at long last organizing her data for submission. Her research was put on hold for some time when she was ill and on the brink of death. She survived and believes she is a better person for it. Vijay also nearly faced death once; I don’t know much about his experience.

In the face of such adversity, Vijay and Pavarthi have not only survived, but radiate a loving kindness to anyone who may cross their path.

After dinner – when I was stuffed to the brim and hardly able to walk – I drove them home and we chatted over a glass of wine. Pavarthi immediately presented a plate of cookies and Vijay chided her. My immediate reaction was to laugh at the entire scenario: here we are from two very different cultures. Out of custom and stellar hostess skills, Pavarthi continued to present me with food. Not wanting to be rude, I accepted until I could no longer consume one more morsel. Now I was convinced that she was attempting to lure me into a food comma from which I would never wake.

Can't . . . Move.

I attended a Buddhist church once many years ago. One of the sermons stood out to me in a very profound way: the speaker compared humanity to a vine of pumpkins – we are individual, yet connected – therefore when one suffers, we all do and when one rejoices, we all share in that as well. I’ve always thought this is a beautiful concept. Vijay gave me yet another viewpoint of this concept. He spoke of an invisible line that connects us all and when I think of another and smile, this is how we are connected and this is the friendship we share.

Pavarthi and Vijay showed me breathing exercises to help me circulate more oxygen and endorphins into my brain. I always feel rejuvenated when I do them and am finding they fit in nicely when I light one of my candles at night.

I have struggled a good deal lately with my sense of self worth and there are many reasons and events tied into this. Pavarthi and Vijay made a point of telling me how impressive and wonderful I am. They told me of a teacher in India whom they worked with for many years and his message was this, “Love ever and hurt never.” First, never hurt yourself; then learn not to hurt others. I am working on loving myself. I find it very difficult at times when I feel so alone, but then I think of the pumpkins on the vine and invisible line and smile to myself.

I think Universe and the Divine work in ways I could never possibly understand. I had been hurting for such a long time and then I met Pavarthi and Vijay who have emitted such a comforting and radiant light into my life. My only regret is that I hadn’t met them sooner. They will be heading off for a road trip soon before they return to India. They have declared themselves my godparents. Yay! I’ve never had godparents.  

I was recently gifted a very large container of Mocha Rocha and instructed to consume every calorie and not share with anyone. Of course, the givers of such a delicacy were Vijay and Pavarthi with a very touching note attached that says, ‘Sweet Mocha Rocha for Sweet Ava’.

Pavarthi tells me that one of her prayers for me is to get married and have children. I smiled as she revealed this; I’ve secretly always wanted to be a soccer mom. On our last encounter, Pavarthi wagged her finger at me and said, “You will come to Bangalor!’ Yes, Love, I will. Touch wood. Touch Gold. May it be so. Namaste. 

My godparents and me. I miss you already. 

“Your task is not to seek for Love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” 
~ Rumi

Roly-Poly

Over the weekend I picked out small gifts for Pavarthi and Vijay. It was a bit difficult because at this point I had not yet met Vijay and I also didn’t want to give anything too big because they are traveling soon and shouldn’t have to lug anything cumbersome with them. As I looked through items at my favorite store, I went back in my mind to a conversation Pavarthi and I had about god, or the unmanifest, or whatever it may be.

We both believe in a higher power, and we both like to think of said higher power as female. Perhaps for Pavarthi this is not such a big thing. For me to admit this is nearly blasphemy to many. Growing up in a Western culture in which God is white and male, I struggled to perceive how such an entity could possibly understand me. For me think of a supreme being as female allows me to feel more at one with the divine.

She works in mysterious ways . . .. 

In the end, I chose a few things that I hoped would find meaning with them. They were small items, but one would have thought by their constant expression of gratitude that I had bestowed them with a mountain of gold. 

The day of their anniversary, Pavarthi came to my desk and told me she got their anniversary and Vijay’s birthday mixed up (they are only a week apart, after all). We laughed at this mishap and I wrote a note on the outside of my handmade envelope for their handmade card, which I had already sealed.

Vijay was every bit as charming as his wife. I think of them both as the friendliest, sweetest people to have ever graced the earth. We talked on the drive to the restaurant. Pavarthi asked me if I had heard from my grandfather lately. I explained that while I most certainly don’t want to go through the rest of my life this way, I can’t communicate with him because he is associated with far too many bad things in my life. Cutting any form of stress out of my life has been necessary for my survival. I don’t want to live cut off from the rest of the world, but for now it is necessary. Much to my surprise, Vijay and Pavarthi understood. I’ve grown ftoo used to others calling me a negative person because I am hurt by the actions of someone and because it is necessary for me to cut off communication for now, I am labeled as cold hearted and unforgiving.

Sometimes we have to let things go before we can be whole again. 

Over dinner I was once again enamored with Pavarthi’s essence. Her expressions and act of reverence for everyone and everything in her life is refreshing and eye opening at the same time. I lost count of how many times she would say, “Touch wood; touch gold.” She would then bring her hands to Namaste. I confess I was amused by this variation of the idiom, as I had never heard it before.

My time with them afforded me the privilege of a glimpse into their lives and that of Indian culture. As she promptly piled an immense amount of food onto my plate, Pavarthi explained that it is customary to serve guests before you eat yourself. I also learned that to refuse food is seen as being polite . . . . for the love of all that is holy, my dress was ripping at the seams because she insisted that I continue to eat more food.  Every time my plate was nearly empty, Pavarthi quickly served me more. She told me that when a guest becomes angry you know they’ve truly had enough. * Note to self, work on anger when eating with Indians.

Please! I can't take any more!

After feeding me to near and certain death, Pavarthi said, "Now you know why we wear saris because we are such roly-polies." No sooner had she made this statement than she ordered me an Indian delicacy with extra sauce . . .  

 . . .  and this is how I felt when they were done with me . . . .

The interactions between Pavarthi and Vijay displayed the affections of a couple that love each other deeply and are the best of friends. In fact, I was shocked to learn that their marriage was arranged. It wasn’t until later in the evening that I understood. When my face reflected my surprise at the news that their marriage was arranged, Vijay said he could understand, because any good relationship is based on love. He didn’t say it, but it was obvious that their way of life is love.