Dork Alert!

So, this is how life is...

There's something to be said about lupus fog...and the effects of multiple mind "affecting" medications. One of those somethings is that you can't remember anything. Or at least, anything you want to remember. So, here's a little story about my life.

About a year ago, during the height of my blogging, I was finding myself becoming involved with a number of what I would call, "professionals". People who have successfully written books and are now professional writers/bloggers. This is pretty much ego candy. Especially when you are housebound and no longer in the career world you loved so dearly. It feels good to be socializing with the bigwigs. I had found a new purpose in life.

During this ego frenzy I was having issue with one particular writer/blogger women. For whatever reason, I got the feeling like we were competing. And then the ultimate happened. She had written something that I felt very passionate and knowledgeable about. I spent a significant amount of time composing and re-composing a comment to this particular blog post. As I hit the "post" button I felt really "psyched" about what I had written. So much so that for the next couple of days I obsessively and compulsively checked her blog to see if she had reviewed my comment and written her response to it. In my head it went something like this,

"Dearest Theresa (of course, she would call me by name, unlike all the other anonymous, canned responses to other less educated responders).
Your comments have "resonated deeply within me" (this is a big one in the blog world) and I find myself changed forever by your words...." 

You get the picture.

Day one passed, no response. Day two, day three, and so on. And then I started to notice that people that had written days after me had been reviewed and made public for all the world to see. Yes, she had decided, for whatever obviously mistaken reason, to not "allow" my comment to be viewed.

Of course, I did not save a copy of my response to her (why, that would be extremely vain), so I went over and over in my mind what could have possibly disagreed with her. Had I been too cynical? Was I over emotional? Had I rambled on and appeared too self-edifying? I had I written too late at night and said something totally incomprehensible? Was my response so brilliant that she somehow felt threatened by me? Or was I so beneath her that it would have been too embarrassing for her to allow it to be seen? And on, and on, and on my brain went. Until my stories became so painful that I Unliked her professional page on facebook, Unfriended her personal page and took her blog off my Google Reader. So there!

I decided, out of sight, out of mind. And I moved on.

Until today. Months and months  and months later.

For some reason one of her posts showed up on my facebook feed. And it was really good. Before I read it (it was a link that directed me to her blog) I had an ever so brief quiver of "hey, I don't like this lady" but clicked anyway. And it was excellent. Just like before the separation (yes, I'm pretty sure that out of her 68K fan base she missed me terribly) I was completely moved by what she had to say. Poignant and beautiful. Straight to my heart....yes, it resonated deeply. I fell in love with her all over again.

And now for the kicker. I have no idea, no recollection, no memory whatsoever of any details other than I know I got my feelings hurt. None at all. Nada. Zip. Zero. I'm a blank slate.

So, I find this interesting (actually a little hilarious) on two levels. One, this is indeed one of the perks to having a severe case of lupus fog. I feel no pain. Two, what a great lesson to be learned here. Oh, how we create our own suffering! For all I know, she simply forgot to review mine. Or I somehow missed it. Or her computer crashed and she lost a few responses to the great black Internet void. Who knows?!?! Definitely NOT ME! Yet, look at all that I put myself through. Let me tell you, I went through ego hell for days on end. I practically felt like I had lost everything and was doomed to become a mush-mind, thrown into the depths of the forever unimportant and unproductive. It was harsh. And yet, here I am, back in love with this amazing writer, this beautiful women with whom I find I have a deep connection with on so many levels. Poof! Just like that.

The moral of the story is this: Don't let it take 365 days. We have the choice right in this very moment to wipe it from our slate. Poof! It's gone. Just like that. Because almost always, we don't know. And even if we do know, 100%, beyond the shadow of a doubt KNOW... we still have the choice to let it go and continue on loving.

It's our choice. Period.

Today, I choose love. How about you?

What Are YOU Holding On To?

Me, freezing in Florida this past week!

If I had to pick my favorite part of the day, it would almost always be morning. Even though I wake up with the usual myriad of aches and pains of someone with multiple autoimmune diseases, I still find this part of my day to be the best.

Of the the things I like most, like the feel of a fresh new start or the knowledge that in an hour or two I will be in the easiest part of my day physically, I would have to say that my morning coffee is the pinnacle of my a.m. routine. I love everything about it. I love the smell of a pot brewing as I lay tucked into my favorite soft blankets. I love the methodical movements as I reach for the cup, set it on the counter, lift the pot out from the maker and pour it into my carefully selected mug for the day (I have a collection of mugs made by an 80 year old potter I dearly love...the potter and the pot). I love the smell and the steam as I move the mug towards my mouth. I always let it linger there, just a moment, before I give it that first test sip of the morning. Slowly, always slowly, as to not burn my lips or the tip of my tongue, I tempt my senses, just for a moment. And then the full rich taste of coffee. Nothing tastes like the first sip. In fact, if left to "sip amok", I find that by the sixth or seventh cup the taste has progressively gotten less satisfying. Funny how one will continue to drink something that no longer tastes good merely out of habit. And then there is the warmth. The soothing warmth as it moves from mouth, to throat, to esophagus, to belly. Ummm...the warmth of coffee in my belly. Nothing like it.

The world moves slow as I sit at my counter and drink that first cup. It moves slow and easy and I cherish the stretched out tick of our old kitchen clock.

In the realm of letting go...

There are things I have had to let go of in this life. There are things I have chosen to let go of in this life. And then there is everything else in between. The stuff that lingers. I don't think I can say that one or the other is any more or less difficult, in fact, it's definitely relative. But the stuff that lingers can be particularly and chronically painful. For example, I know I shouldn't drink coffee. I've been told this by every doctor that I have. Yet, as I sit here typing these words, a cold cup-o-joe sits directly to my right on a silver dollar coaster brought back as a souvenir from a vacation out east over thirty years ago. Every day a little battle goes on in my brain. Every day the health conscientious, rational Theresa waves her little white flag of surrender as the caffeine addicted, habit mongering fly by the seat of her pants Theresa does the little Starbucks happy dance of victory. We'll, there's always tomorrow.

I heard a quote the other day by a guy I can't remember. Oh, I could go look it up, but today I am just typing freely. I'm not really working at it,  and going to my iPad and finding out the name of the guy who gave the last Dharma talk would definitely be considered "work" for me today. Getting up, walking to the living room, opening the iPad...need I say more? Anyway, the quote was this...

"We hold on to things that we think are gonna 'do it' for us."

You know, the stuff that we think makes us happy...finally. This is usually the stuff that makes us skinny, creates well adjusted kids, gives us the perfect job, makes us healthier, solves our financial woes, mends broken relationships, keeps us awake, answers all our spiritual questions, makes our parents finally understand us, numbs our senses and bestows on us a blessed cloak of eternal peace. You know the stuff. It's the stuff we obsess about in our minds. It's white noise. It's mindless....or mindFULL chatter. It's the story we tell ourselves day in and day out, without even realizing it. It just plays quietly on and on and on. These things we refuse to let go of because we think they're helping.

And maybe, like my coffee, it is...temporarily. My coffee does wake me up. It does put me in a good mood. It does make me happy - in my ever fleeting breath of a moment. But the bigger picture says differently. The bigger picture reflects a huge energy and emotional drop in about an hour, and then maybe some irregular heart beats, and then maybe some especially swollen joints, and then a headache....

Yet, we hold on. Why? What are you holding on to? And why are you holding on to it? Why am I?

For me it's about fear. It's about being uncomfortable. Feeling shaky and groundless. A little personal note here about myself. I can't sit still for very long. (yes, that might have something to do with eight cups of coffee) I'm working on it, believe me. Me and two very good therapists, along with the help of countless others who come to me by book, or CD, or ancient text, or podcast. I can't sit still for long and I feel the intense urge to fill space up. I fill it up with thought, or writing, or picking at hangnails, or eating, or cleaning, or reading, or whatever. I just fill it up. It's why meditation is still work for me. (I refuse to give up though! I believe the sages to be true...along with all the well founded scientific research!) It's painful, and not just because of my joints! I get uneasy in empty space.

So I fill myself up. I fill my space up. In a sense, I try to make myself FULL of what I think is "gonna do it for me". And this stuff can be pretty sneaky, disguising itself as spirituality or even mindfulness. In my effort to "let go" of self, I simply put on the cloak of the moment. Today I am blissfully mindful...so much so that I need to rush to my computer to write and tell you about it! Get it? Anything but just sit and experience it.

This is the thing...

A lovely picture taken by my husband of the gulf shore. 

Let go. Period. If we have to say it to ourselves a thousand times a day in order to let go of just one thing, then it's worth the work. Life is meant to be lived, not thought. Filling ourselves and our space might give us a sense of temporary safety, but in the end it just makes us a big solid mess. Thinking way too much and missing life in the meantime. When we allow ourselves to be open - to stop the chatter - we become translucent. We allow ourselves to be open and curious, trusting in the moment instead of hiding within our past experiences or in what we think the future holds for us to make us happy. Give up those old and frightened parts for something new and fearless. Loosen up a bit and see that this life is a vast ocean. And guess what. We float! Learn to trust and we will all find that it's a wonderful ride. I truly, truly believe this.


So you ask, how much do we "let go"? We can't very well walk around in life letting go of everything. There are things that need to be thought about and things that need to be done, bills that need to be paid. If you're anything like me, you try to pin down the details because the vague is...well, painful. We want to know the right mix. How much can we let go before we are considered down right irresponsible? It makes me think of this cute little story I heard one time about a question that was posed to a wise old monk. His student asked him one day, "How much of the self is needed?" to which the monk replied, "Enough to get out of the way of a bus." Believe me, when the time comes, you will know what to do! Making decisions based on the reality of the moment is the best way to care for your future.


We don't need to pin it down my friend. You and I are beautifully and wonderfully made, intelligent beyond our imagination. Letting go and revealing what really resides within you will only make you better. For within you and within me lies the Kingdom of Heaven. All we ever need. No need to fill or cover or boost anything up. In fact, we only need to let go.

Can you trust that you are good enough "as is"? Because you know what? "As is" is as good as it gets. Anything more is less.

I wish I could end this with some grand proclamation in regards to my future caffeine intake. I'm working on it. I'm working on a lot of things these days. What I can promise you is this - that every day I will let go of something - if you will too. It may be the same thing over and over and over again in the same day. And that's perfectly okay. It's not so much about the arriving as it is about the journey anyway.


Oh, to be transparent
I shall feel
unconcealed
and
vulnerable

Yet
in my nakedness
the
light
finds its way
through

Blessing
me
and
touching
you

I find
it is worth
the
chill

The
letting go
of
this
solid self
to join the
river
as she
moves freely
to
the
ocean

Holy, holy, holy
is
her
song.

Peace to you,

Bulbs and Blank Slates

"In the depth of winter I finally learned that there within me lay an invincible summer."    

~ Albert Camus

These bulbs were given to my husband in a small paper sack this Christmas by a co-worker. In the bag was also a small note giving instructions as to how to get the bulbs to grow. It simply said to place them in water, support with sand or stones, water and wait. In four to six weeks we should get a preview of Spring. So I did exactly that. I found some of my favorite rocks (I collect rocks) and placed them in a bowl, tucked the bulbs in, filled it with water and put it up on the window sill in our bathroom. 

Life amazes me. 

I've been a bit absent from the on-line world as of late. I apologize for those of you waiting to hear how Oliver is or how Anna is or even how I am, for that matter. I forget sometimes, that the words I write are actually read by others and not just some sort of therapy for me. You remind me with your comments, honest and real. Sometimes painfully so. I am always surprised and humbled by your truth. But the fact of this matter of this absence is that it's been quite deliberate. Per the instruction of my neuro-psychiatrist, I am to live life a bit more experiential and not so much "up in my head". As someone who thrives on knowledge and strives daily toward self awareness and enlightenment, I have to admit, I can get caught up in the "idea" of it all. The bookshelf full of unread books on philosophy and mindfulness, or "books in waiting" as I like to call them, is a reminder of this "issue" of mine! I have always felt a great desire to "know". But as I am learning, to know something is quite different than what it means to feel something. And in order for our bodies to have the ability to go somewhere, it must have in it somewhere the capacity to feel that place. To have memory of it. I can know what it means to be at peace. I can know what it means to be relaxed. I can know what it means to meditate. I can know what it means to let go. But actually moving from that knowing to the experience of feeling is something that takes time and effort - and stillness. 

The problem for me arises when my brain does not work. Which, with lupus, happens quite often. When I am unable to rely on coping mechanisms that have helped me in the past - thought process that help me when I am in pain, or sad, or depressed - I find it difficult to arrive at a place of comfort (peace, relaxation,calm) physically. So the idea here is to get there more often, without so much thought, so that when crisis arises it is not such a difficult place to find. As my wonderful neuro-psychiatrist Shep says, to find it in two breaths - this is my goal. SO....not so much reading and writing and a little bit more living. 

Bedside table with iPad and headphones. My sanctuary!

The first and most important thing I have been doing in my day is to listen to the most recent recording of my hypnosis session with Shep. This was a difficult thing for me to remember to do, until he actually put it in the recording for me to remember to listen to the recording! It's been a life changer for me. I am so very fortunate to have a skilled team at the U of M pain clinic on my side. I just don't know what I would do without them. I also have a wonderful collection of mindfulness based healing talks and music - all helpful with the every day of chronic illness. To experience what it means to feel relaxed. 

Homemade gluten-free pizza...YUM!

I have also been trying to eat more healthy, especially in light of the issues I have with gluten and other food ingredients that cause havoc in my system. Paying more attention to ingredients both when eating out as well as when in the grocery story creates not only a healthier diet, but a more pleasant eating experience. To experience what it means to feel comfortably full.  

A beautiful red infant cap in the making. 

Recently I had to co-create my treatment plan with my team. One of the goals I had for myself was to work on not defining myself as a sick person. I thought I was doing pretty good at this, but the more I looked at myself, my actions were speaking louder than my words. In fact, my oldest daughter recently called me on this when I was throwing out one of my, "Oh, I'm sick and old" comments and she said that no matter how many times I said that, I was not "sick and old". Ouch. But she's right. I am. Period. I simply am. And it's about time I start experiencing what I so often talk about on these very pages. Every time my doctor asks me  how my painting is going, I come back with some excuse about my hands not working and my eyes being bad and my mind not focusing. Who IS this person? Well, this person has now learned how to crochet infant caps and if I can get one or two done, I plan on donating them to charity. Do my fingers and eyes always work? Nope. Do I care? Nope. To experience what it means to feel creative.

Tabula rasa...

It's funny how things happen in life. The day that I created that treatment plan was a good day for me, in many regards. For starters, I was able to drive myself to my appointment. Not only does it take a good day for that to happen, it takes a number of consecutive good days for me to feel confident enough to venture behind the wheel of a car. This day I had the confidence and so I set out alone. The appointment went well. I knew we would be working on the plan so I had put some thought into it ahead of time. The effort paid off and I felt really good about where I was headed.

On my drive home I realized that I would be passing by my favorite art supply store. I can't remember the last time I went to this store alone. It's been a long time. Plus, moving off the beaten path meant possibly getting confused and losing my way. The exit approached and I took it. I just took it. I had no idea why, I had no plan for any projects and definitely nothing in the works, but it just felt right. I walked up to the door and read, "ALL CANVASES 50% OFF"!  I walked in, randomly selected seven canvases, paid for them, and walked back out to my car. As I drove home on that sunny day I had the most wonderful feeling of anticipation, of potential, of possibility. 

Oh, I would be remiss if I didn't end up in my head at some point in this note to you. I promise not to stay there long. But as I sat looking at the above photo, trying to think of how to caption it, I just kept hearing the words "blank slate". Drawing from the education recesses of my mind, I tried to remember the theory behind the words. "Blank slate" or "Tabula rasa" is one of those phrases you never forget. Now, almost thirty years later, I wonder a little deeper. Tabula rasa is the epistemological theory (theory about how we attain knowledge) that maintains that people are born without any mental "content" and that their knowledge comes from the perception of their experience. So, in essence, at birth our minds are a blank slate and our sensory experiences become our rules for processing data, or our knowledge. Hum....

I think that bulbs and canvases and I have a little bit in common. That's what I believe this part of the journey is about. Allowing myself permission to be that blank slate in order to experience that which I so long to know - the emptiness of letting go. The release of not holding on. The experience of peace on a sensory level that can only be known by having been there before, physically. And this can only happen by repeatedly putting myself in a place where this is possible. Not somewhere up in my head. Not in a book. Not in words on a computer screen, but in experience. 

I can't help but wonder what will end up on those canvases. Just like I wondered about those two small bulbs in that small brown paper bag. Just like I wonder about me. I think that Camus was right, as I find him in most cases to be.

"In the depth of winter I finally learned that there lay within me an invincible summer."   

Peace,

Oh, and Anna is doing fantastic! A few bumps in the road, a little more pain than any of us had anticipated, but she is recovering well and back at working her two jobs. She continues to wow us all. 

Oliver healed up just like new! After clearing him with the vet, we decided that it might be best if we find a home where Oliver could get a little more one on one. So we found a simply fantastic no-kill shelter called Caring for Cats and Oliver has officially been named Olivia and is awaiting adoption. We are very excited to think of the wonderful life this beautiful kitty will have. 

Life truly does amaze me. 

I Am Not Broken

Anna and me, moments before her surgery.

It's been seven years since I have been in church for Christmas.

I did not grow up in a religious family. In fact, my parents did not go to church. I was baptized Catholic and that was about as far as it went. Around the age of twelve, I began to feel what I later regarded as a "calling" to Christianity. My earliest memory was that of finding a leaflet in the dentist office that had a telephone number where children could call and listen to bible stories. And if you stayed on the line after the story was finished, you could talk to a Sister about any questions you have or concerns about your "life"...whatever those may be at the age of twelve. I had a lot of questions...and a lot of concerns. What those were is another story, but my life up to that point had already held it's share of loss and sadness - my innocence being one.

At twelve I was walking across the street by myself to attend the Lutheran church on the corner and by the age of 16 I had found my way to a country Church of Christ and sealed the deal with a second baptism. I also met the man I would eventually marry. A local Minnesota Bible College student who was preparing for a life of ministry. We dated until I graduated from High School and were married that very summer. We raised five daughters and ministered in Lutheran churches in Michigan, Nebraska, Southwest Minnesota and Wisconsin. The year before our divorce, after twenty-two years of marriage, was the last time I attended Christmas services. I can count on one hand the number of times I have step foot in a church, period.

The service my husband and I attended this past Saturday was good. It was a good service and it was good for me. It was in one of those mega-churches. The kind with gift kiosks and coffee shops. The 18,000 member kind. It's the second time I have been in one. The first time was for more of a production/show and I went there with my mother and a group of Red Hat Ladies. This time was for an actual Christmas church service, with offering, and hymns, and a sermon. Without going into a lot of detail, let it suffice to say that for this service I was at peace. Not that my struggles did not come to mind - but I was in a good place and that place was peace-filled. It's not a traditional place, it's not even what many may find as a conventional place, but it is a place of wholeness, a place of rest and a place of profound spirituality. A place of Creator and created.

At one point in the service, during one of the large screen presentations, a phrase went across the screen and it read, "We are all broken."

We are all broken.

I know where this comes from. I have lived my life of religious dogma. I know the ropes, from beginning to end. I've walked the walk, talked the talk and tried to intertwine black and white into a humanity of grey. I've been saved. Twice, I guess. So my background is deep. Full of good, don't get me wrong. But I do not come from a place of brokenness, nor do I hold the conviction that we are all broken.

This past week my daughter Anna had major jaw reconstruction surgery. We knew it would be a big deal, but seven hours in the OR and almost one blood transfusion later, we had no idea how big. Neither did the surgeon. Moments before they whisked her away he reassured us that after three mock surgeries on plaster molds of her face they were sure they knew the extent of what needed to be done. About four hours into the surgery he called me from the operating room, "I'm sorry Mrs. Johnson, but things are not going as we had planned and it looks like we are going to have to do the lower jaw as well. It will be another three to four hours of surgery. Do we have your permission to proceed?" I told him of course he did, hung up the phone and wept.

In the end, the surgery went well. She spent two days in ICU and was released to our home, where we will care for her over the next two months. The extent of the surgery is beyond what you could ever imagine possible on the human face. Because she is unable to tolerate narcotics she is managing through excruciating pain, swelling and numbness. She is unable to move or control most of her face. I was somewhat prepared for the issue of pain as I know her of her intolerance to pain medication. What I was not ready for was the devastating emotional toll this would take on my nineteen year old daughter. The comment from her upon looking in the bathroom mirror, "Look at me, I'm fucking disgusting!" mumbled through spit and blood, will haunt my mother's heart for as long as I live.

We are all broken.

Like I said before, I know where this comes from. No need to explain the theology to me. I was a bible college student and a pastor's wife for too many years to have missed this one. But if there is anything I could do over in my life it would be this - I would ingrain into the hearts of my children at every moment, at every bedtime prayer, at every bible study, at every meal, at every teen-age teary eyed night-time tucking in, at the end of every boyfriend, at the heart of every mistake and every tragedy - that they are NOT broken. They WERE NEVER broken. That the Creator, whoever and whatever that may be to you or me, is incapable of creating brokenness. We are what and who and how we are to be in this very moment in our life. Period. To fight or not accept this fact has only one end, and that is suffering. How can we be anything other than what we are? This is a fight against reality we will never win.  I would tell them that there is nothing about them that needs to be "saved". I would tell them that all that resides in creation and Creator resides within them. I would tell them that in the depths of their despair and fear that they are powerful, and whole and that all that they need in this life resides within the miracle that they are. That yes, we do need others in our lives. We need doctors and therapists and pastors and friends and family... but these people do not make us whole. They simply bring us back to what has always been there to begin with. They bring us back to ourselves. And this is anything but disgusting. This is anything but broken.

I spent a lifetime thinking that I was in need of being saved. I spent a lifetime looking in the mirror and believing that what stood before me was not good enough. I spent a lifetime correlating my pain with having "fallen away", believing that if I was more faithful, I was somehow a better human being, I was closer to whole, I would know peace. I would reserve my spot in the mansion.

These days, I don't live my life in the black and white. I live in the grey. I am totally okay with not knowing most things in this world. I believe in something bigger than me - Creator, Universe, God, Father...I don't have to put a name to it. Neither do I need to judge, justify or kill for my belief. And I simply don't get those who do. But this is the deal, we are not broken. I am not broken. You are not broken. In the midst of of your despair, you sorrow, your discouragement, your fear, your failure, your hopelessness, your desperation...

You are NOT broken.

You may have made a mistake, you may be depressed, you may be feeling angry, you may be lost, you may be mean and bitter, you may have lost your legs or fallen sick to a life threatening chronic illness...you may be a lot of things, but you are not broken. You are beautiful, and powerful, and a miracle of creation. Fully existing as all of the Universe would have you to exist. Just as you are. And if you can only learn to love, truly love who you see in the mirror and the moment you are in, you will find your way back to yourself. You will find peace. And in that peace you will find the true miracle of Christmas.

You will find love.

Peace,

   

 

When The Pain Is Yours

                                                                                                                                                                                       Oliver

I don't like going to the vet...I never have. Today was no different.

This is Oliver. Oliver showed up on our deck sometime in September, or maybe it was August, I'm not really sure. It was sometime near the end of the summer because we were already trying to come to some decision as to what to do with her if she was still "hanging around" when the weather turned cold. She never left.

Yes, Oliver is a she. We found this out a little over two weeks ago when we had to take her to the vet. We had somehow gracefully slid into the understanding that she was here to stay. And now she was sick. Or so it seemed. Excessive drinking and salivating led us to suspect she had some sort of kidney issue. Two hundred and fifty dollars later we were assured she was just a thirsty, salivating, perfectly healthy two year old female cat.  I had exceeded my pet budget for the month, so booster shots and spaying would come later.

I have to admit, this was not a real popular idea with myself nor my husband. Two dogs and a cat already seem overly sufficient. Adding another pet, that will most likely be with us for the next 13 years, was not the direction we wanted to be heading pet-wise. But it's a difficult spot to be in. You don't euthanize an animal that just seems sick. So you figure out the most inexpensive way to find out what might be wrong and go from there. Getting the "all okay" meant bringing the cat back home. I think it was at that point that I let Oliver into my heart.

Two weeks passed and mental adjustments had been made by all. Oliver was officially part of the Johnson/Buresh clan. Which truly was not much of an inconvenience to our daily activities because Oliver prefers to be outside. Out of 24 hours, I would guess that Oliver maybe spends 4 of those indoors. The rest are spent stalking and hunting the various mice and birds that frequent our bird feeders and surrounding woods. A real hunter, she's quite the antithesis to our Jeni, who prefers longs naps in the sun and full bowls of Indoor Formula Cat Chow.

The middle of last week, after spending a full day out and about, Oliver came in holding her front leg up. Unable to put any pressure on it, she hobbled to her usual spot in the spare bedroom and stayed in for the night. Three days later both legs on one side were not working properly. Four days later she walked in a completely arched back position and meowed in pain as she moved. This weekend she could barely crawl to her food. The progression, heart breaking to watch.

Our appointment was for 8:30, the first appointment of the day, the one you get when you call at 7:01 am.  If I could have figured out anything else to be doing on this beautiful morning I would have. Just getting her into the crate brought me to tears. I had already told the girls that we could not afford any more medical testing. That this is a stray cat and our budget only goes so far. That she might not come home with me... Tough talk last night, but now it's just me and Oliver and my heart is breaking. She has the absolute most beautiful green eyes you could ever imagine and at that moment they were pleading with me to leave her alone. Trusting me.

The vet was very good. The sign in the exam room where we sat read "Every pet deserves a good vet, and we HAVE good vets". Yes, they do. He lifted the top of the crate off so Oliver would not have to be moved.   Ever so carefully he examined her as I held her head in my hands, stroking her face and eyes. In my heart I hoped it comforted her, calmed her. I could feel her body quiver with fear, but she never moved. This once active, inquisitive cat now lay motionless looking directly into my eyes.

It was at that point that I lost it. Apologizing for my tears, I just kept saying, "I'm sorry, I'm really sick and I think for some reason this is especially difficult for me." He was a sweet man, a little unsure as to what to do with me, he simply nodded and said, "It's okay." It took everything in me not to fall to pieces in that exam room. As I sit here and type these words, I'm still not really sure of all that fills this painful space. If I could pick some words out of thin air they might be helplessness, frustration, sadness, anger, fear...a most intense longing for things to be different. Why can't some things just be different.  

In a few weeks my daughter Anna is going to have major surgery to repair a birth defect that only now, at the age of 19, has made itself evident. She will have her jaw broken in multiple locations, upper and lower, with extensive work on her temporomandibular joint and chin. We have been planning for this surgery, which was suppose to happen in August, for over a year now. I have the most intense longing for things to be different. Why can't some things just be different. 

My bedroom window

I sat down to write this piece instead of doing my usual Cyber Monday shopping because I had to. When I put my fingers to the keyboard I had absolutely no idea what I was going to write about. I just knew that the only way to find out was to begin. As I looked up out of my window two bald eagles flew between my window and the pines in my yard. Beautiful, crisp white heads, wings spread, one right in front of the other. Eagles have always been important in my life, representing balance, intuition and spirituality - their presence bringing assurance that the divine is present. A validation of the path I am on, the direction I am going.

A reminder of the Holy.   A reminder to let go.

Oliver came back home with me today. We are fairly certain that something is wrong with her spine. Neurologically, things look good, yet she is in a significant amount of pain and is unable to move because of it. Everything else checks out okay. As to what is wrong with her spine, we don't really know. I have enough pain and anti-inflammation medication to get us through three days. If she doesn't improve by then, well, I'm not sure what we can do next. I'm not really sure about a lot of things in this life. But this I do know - that it can be really painful at times. And that the biggest of lessons can come from the smallest of creatures. And that life is precious. All life. And we can talk big about things, like "not spending money on an animal" and "I know what I'd do" and "If it were my cat I'd take it out back and..." But when it's your life, or your heart, or your health, or your kids, or your pets...well, that big talk gets pretty small when the pain is yours.

I decided to go check on Oliver one last time in order to give you the most current update. I got down on all fours to crawl quietly to the spot between the table and the patio doors where she lay in order to take a picture. This is what I saw in that very moment. She lifted her head and gave me the most peaceful look, almost a smile if you look closely enough. As if to say, things will be okay...just as they are.

Peace,

Home...

"Home is where you hang your hat."

I love being home, no doubt about it. I always have. Even when I was a teenager, I would have much rather hunkered down with my family in front of a good “made for TV” movie than to be out with a group of friends. To me, home feels good. It feels safe. It feels comfortable when the world seems edgy and rough. It feels consistent when everything else rushes to change.

In this world of striving – striving to be richer, striving to be smarter, striving to be thinner, striving to be happier, striving to be healthier, striving to BE anyone other than who we are in this very moment - in all of our conditioned discontentment, we fail to see that we are exactly where and who we need to be– in this moment. Yet, how can it be anything different? But if we are in a constant state of striving, how will we ever know? How will we ever become aware of the beautiful fact that we are already there?

In mindfulness meditation you intentionally commit to being fully present in this moment, not trying to improve yourself or get anywhere else, but to simply realize you are already where you need to be. You aren't trying to attain anything - not even mindfulness itself. You just accept things as they are. In Wiktionary, the Wiki-based open content dictionary, they give this definition of the Old English proverb, “Home is where you hang your hat".

Rather than feeling nostalgic or sentimental, one should simply accept any place where one happens to reside as one's home.

If we truly come to a place of acceptance about ourselves, if we stop striving and realize that in this moment we are ALL that we need to be, then home becomes a place within ourselves. Home is wherever we are, and coming home means a returning to our true selves, a place we are destined for. As the poet Cavafy describes in his journey home to the island of Ithaca, finding “home” was not some external place to arrive at, but a place of awakening and enlightenment within.

Keep Ithaca always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you’re destined for.
But don’t hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so that you’re old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you've gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaca to make you rich.
Ithaca gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would have not set out.

I am very thankful for the physical place I call home. But I have also been in a mental state where no matter where I am at; I can’t seem to find my way there. In my days of striving to find a diagnosis, I was further from home than I have ever been. Fear is like the kindling of the past fueling the fire of the future we dread. It keeps us moving outward, farther and farther from home.

Letting go and accepting where and who we are is not some sort of passive resignation. It is your intentional invitation to the unlimited capabilities that reside within. When asked why people are afraid of this acceptance, Jon Kabat-Zinn writes,

Maybe the fear is that we are less than we think we are, when the actuality of it is that we are much, much more.

The hat in the above photo still hangs in my home. I bought it during a time of great transition in my life, long before I became sick. I've put it on and taken it off many times over the past seven or eight years, each time hanging it back up on the corner of my mirror or on a hook in the entryway. It's presence comforts me. Seeing it there tells me I’m home. 

Right where I’m supposed to be.

"Liberate Yourself From All Your Bullshit"

“Can you question who you are? And are you comfortable with not knowing?”

~ Jon Kabat Zinn

Being chronically ill can really play havoc on your emotions. In fact, research shows that chronic illness and depression almost always, at some point or another, go hand in hand. I fought this idea for a very long long time. In my mind, it was bad enough to be thrust into the category of "chronically ill people", I was NEVER going to add myself to the list of "depressed people". This I could control. 

Well, I can't even begin to tell you all that is wrong with the above way of thinking. I also cannot tell you how painful it has been to come to this realization. Yet, at the same time, it's been each painful step that has lead to the beginning of my freedom from this suffering. How so? Well I'll tell you two very important things that I have learned.

First of all, I had to get over myself. Labeling is wrong. Period. For more reasons than I can even mention in this post. We have this habit of experiencing life and then carefully putting those experiences in categories that we label as "good" and "bad".  Had a pleasant experience at the DMV...good. Had to wait for my prescriptions for over an hour...bad. Today I heard from an old friend...good. Today no one commented on my facebook status...bad. My children spent time with me after our evening meal....good. My husband had to work late...bad. And so it goes...every day, all day long, for our entire life. We experience things, we label them, we tuck them away in our minds as facts. Some of this labeling serves a very good purpose. It keeps me from making decisions that could be harmful to myself or others. But quite often, our labeling serves no purpose at all and actually lends itself to the harm of my self or others. 

Then, without even knowing it, we make decisions based on what our minds believe to be fact. For example... if I had a pleasant experience at the DMV I may choose to tell others how wonderful my counties DMV is. I may offer to go to the DMV for my husband next time the need arises. If I had to wait for my prescriptions for over an hour, I may tell my friends how horrible our Walmart pharmacy is. I may even change where I send my prescriptions to and ultimately have to drive extra miles just to pick them up. And let's say my husband has to work late...again. I may tell myself that he does not care about how difficult it is for me to put supper on the table without him. Worse yet, I may begin to tell myself that maybe he has had enough of my illness and is somehow falling out of love with me. Which leads to insecurity, which then leads to anger or maybe even resentment, which leads to me becoming short with him or verbally questioning his motivations. 

So, second of all, what we need to realize is that our thoughts are not facts. Our thoughts are our experiences, often times hijacked by our emotions, labeled as good and bad and tucked neatly into categories in our minds. Without having to go into a lot of detail, you can easily see how our experiences can be misinterpreted. And it goes without saying that illness, medication, depression can all have a significant impact on how we label our experiences. As Jon Kabat Zinn so eloquently puts, "Stop living My Story. Liberate yourself from all of your bullshit". I simply am not the sum of my experiences. 

So then, what am I? Who am I? This question never seemed so frightening as it did once I became sick. But it doesn't have to be sickness that brings this question to life. It could be the end of a marriage, it could be the loss of financial security, it could be death of a loved one, it could simply be old age. At some point in all of our lives, the identity we cling to lets go and all hell breaks loose. Who am I if I can't provide for my family? Who am I if I no longer have my health? Who am I if I loose my friends? Who am I if my spouse dies? 

We seem to get through these losses, as difficult as they are, as long as something else remains for us to cling on to. But sometimes life takes away everything. And then what? 

I have by no means lost everything. In reality, only death can do that, as far as the physical world is concerned. But I have lost enough to struggle with the question of Who am I. And it was not that I all of a sudden thought, "Oh my gosh, who am I?" It was much more subtle than that. The question came to me in the form of depression. And this depression made itself known to me in the form of anxiety. An anxiety that every so quietly entered into my life creating havoc with an already complicated illness. And what I found out is that the only way to get rid of that anxiety is to let go of  knowing.  

We hold onto knowing as if our lives depended on it. When in reality, it is the NOT knowing that brings true life. If we are preoccupied with who we “know” ourselves to be – I am this, or I am that – if we conclude that we are only the sum of our life experiences – then who we are becomes completely limited. When we end the sentence simply at “I am.”, then who we are becomes completely limit-LESS. Liberate yourself from self-identifying and you will find that life is so much greater than you could have ever imagined it to be. You will find that instead of being "let down" or continually disappointed by life, you presented with a never ending list of possibilities. 

For me, I am no longer defined by my illness...or by my ability to run marathons, or by the wonderful mother that I am, or by being the wife of an amazing man, or by my painting, or....

I simply am. And that makes me everything. 

Peace,