Valley of Tears

I've been having fun exploring you tube videos lately. Here is a discovery this morning. Enjoy!

Abundance

"Like the rest of the natural world, human beings go through seasons. At one point, we are in the full bloom of summer, harvesting, committed, in abundance. Then, naturally, there is an autumnal time of falling away, disillusionment, stagnation, a shedding of what has been used up. Then must come the fallowness and dormancy of winter, death, rest. Eventually, there is a great melting into muck and mud, which, if one can persevere, opens naturally into an abundant yellow-green time, when everything is possible and horizons open. from "I will not lead an unlived life" by Dawna Markova

Madrid Statuary

A few things that caught our eye. Incense and Peppermint took most of the pictures. Didn't he do a great job?

Well, he did a good job looking inanimate....

Plaza Mayor

Plaza Mayor

A Spanish Colleague

A Word on Madrid

I have wanted to write a paragraph a day about our trip to Spain. There are so many images and moments in my brain (not to mention slowing down my laptop), I could fill a book. So, of course, I've had a hard time getting started.

Let's just say we arrived at Barajas Airport at 7:00 A.M. me stiff and sore from sleeping in some supremely awkward position and Incense and Peppermint in a cranky stupor from having gotten no sleep. Barajas met us with its modern architecture, slick chauffeurs wearing face hugging sunglasses looking like they'd stepped out of the movie Diva and overwhelmingly huge size. One of the guidebooks told us that Barajas is 'one of the largest airports in the world.' It makes JFK look like a small town bus station. We followed the visual signs for baggage and, when there seemed to be no more signs and no exist except for the doors to a fast moving train, we did what any good lemmings would do and boarded the train. Yes, folks, you ride a fast moving train a good five or ten minutes to the baggage claims area. Who knows how many miles we rode? When the doors opened (the one stop for this train), we poured out with the rest of the throng and retrieved our baggage with no problem.

While the three guards in the station were unimpressed with my Spanish and made no effort even to change their posture from long leaning against the walls as I inquired about the Madrid Express bus, the kind street cleaner (informal tour guides wearing yellow vests and ready to help for a simple 'por favor' and 'gracias') pointed out the bus, 'Amarillo' yes, yellow and a mere 2 Euros each to take us to Atocha Station.

The ride to Atocha gave us our first glimpse of Madrid. By then it was 8:00, full rush hour. The traffic was crazy though the bus driver handled it with ease as I strained to memorize the many amazing statues. The Cibeles fountain stood out; goddess harnessing two lions in the middle of towers of water with the grand Madrid City Hall behind and thousands of cars whizzing by. Whizzing by were the key words to summarize the experience of the ten minute walk from Atocha to the Agumar hotel. We were slightly overwhelmed but hopeful, how could we not be? With Ciebles and the triangle of museums to our back and the "Big Baby Heads" just outside of Atocha station, we knew we were in for a great Spanish adventure.

A close up of one and a little perspective. These were REALLY big baby heads!

Llamar a los Angeles

It's been two days since we returned from Spain. Such an ordinary, simple statement for a breathtaking, joy filled perfection of a vacation. I find myself smiling absent mindedly as images of our days in Madrid, Seville, Cordoba, Granada and Segovia come to mind. And best yet, (for us) is that New England put spring on hold for two weeks and my garden is in full bloom; lilacs, columbine, iris and peony in flower or full fat bud…

This vacation was ten years in the making. Cancelled once and nearly cancelled again as tragedy struck our family six weeks before the trip. However, the lesson in the tragedy seemed to be 'live while you are alive' and so we did. We boarded the plane to Madrid under the arc of a full rainbow. I swear that rainbow followed us through every step of the trip. I've vowed to write a paragraph or two about the trip until I've captured the images and moments that still make me teary when I think about them. The trip was such perfection that I found myself feeling as though an angel (or angels) were watching over us. Yes, we were in Spain. Yes, I was raised Catholic… but I have not held to those beliefs in some time.

In Segovia I discovered a pendant called 'Llamadores de Angeles.' They are round balls with small bells in them, perhaps of Celtic origin. (So they can co-exist nicely with the Sila Na Gigs discovered on our trip to Ireland ten years ago). The legend has it that if you ring the bell, you will call the angel you need at that moment. (If you are ever in Segovia, Kukul on Marques del Arco had a lovely selection.) I love the sound and the concept. A friend of mine who believes in angels much more than I do once said that an angel is any creature who comes to your aid when you need it most. So, here's to the angels of our trip to Spain; to the pilots and air attendants, to the hotel staff who helped with my Spanish and filled in with English when they could, to the lovely and surely restaurant staff; to the man who made the most divine deserts in honor of my birthday, to the honest taxi driver who reminded us not to leave our camera, the shop attendant who held my wallet when I left it behind, to Paco the Barber of Seville, and to Incense and Peppermint (otherwise known as my better half) for joining and enjoying the adventure. More to come….

Happy Birthday Morning Star

 

Everywhere I look, spring

Moisture beads into diamond droplets on

Lady's Mantle fuzzy leaves

Irrepressible robin chirps on chimney

Cherry tree recalls beloved loss and

The promise that each spring day brings

As I write a dear friend is probably coming out of surgery. She has made a choice for life, for movement, for light. She is a Morning Star in my life; hopeful, funny, curious and very alive. Today she has chosen to take a step toward more life, or, perhaps a life more full of light. I am proud of her and inspired, too. It is spring and though April has dealt us hard losses over the years, it still brings joy. So, while she undergoes her own transformation, I choose to move, write, sing and send my own light her way. Spring is here and with it, this part of the earth finds the courage and inspiration to blossom. Not because the winter wasn't hard, but because it WAS hard and life is still worth living. A tree may fall, illness may come but in the meantime, we can choose to move, to risk, to shine. Happy birthday friend. Happy spring.

A Week of Epiphyseal Dysplasia

"Practically and technically, whatever we are experiencing as "how we are" arises as the complex outcome of how we are moving, how we are breathing, and what sounds we are making. Or, as is more common for us who are practiced in repression and suppression, how we reduce breath, how we reduce movement, how we refuse sound." From Julie Henderson's essay Tulku in being bodies (Buddhist Women on the Paradox of Embodiment)

When I began this blog, I knew I would be a sporadic blogger. I knew because I have four decades of doing things I love in a sporadic way. I knew because my goal for posting was to shine light on the aspects of my life which I have actively tried to ignore. I was right of course, and I find myself coming here only when life moves me to move, change, let go.

Today I am thinking about how to let go of my body and to reclaim it at the same time. A few days ago, I finally made an appointment with a rheumatologist to find out how I could manage my body better. I'll have to wait until October to see him, but, really, I've been doing this on my own for a long time now so waiting until October was fine. I was over my most recent flair up caused by putting together a perfectly lovely patio gathering last weekend. I spent Friday night and Saturday harvesting herbs and chopping vegetables for an eclectic menu: Jerk Pork, Jicama Corn Salad, Savory Samosas with Cilantro Chutney, dusty Ciabattas with roasted eggplant spread. We played favorite music, Cessaria Evora, Muddy Waters, Erykah Badu… There was laughter, strangers making connections, plans for another gathering soon, to include more friends, make more connections.

Then came Sunday. I limped through a bit of clean up and spent the rest of the day in bed. Rose for a bit of dinner and more clean up then, sleep again. Monday I moved slowly through the day, a bit ore mobile but still aching and stiff. Tuesday, my body closer to the usual aches which can easily be ignored, my mood crashed. I called the rheumatologist, not sure exactly what I was looking for but sure that I should be taking better care of myself. Mood improved, I felt empowered and reengaged in the more important pieces of my life. Thursday the questionnaire from the rheumatologist came. The question asking me to rate my pain on an unnumbered Likert scale from "no pain" to "pain as bad as it could be" knocked me into a state I try to avoid at all costs. I raged. I didn't know why but I raged. Like the time my old therapist asked me to 'contract' to take ibuprophen regularly, I raged… Why?

Here is why I come to the page. It is not the pain that is bothering me. Or, not that I had until now been willing to look at. My pain did not start (or become much worse since it's usually lurking somewhere) on Sunday. It started Friday evening an hour after I started standing to cook. Standing is always worse than walking which can wear me out quite well also. I have become a junior expert at moving through pain when there is something to move toward. I say junior expert because I know that so many others experience much more challenging physical dilemmas. But ignoring my own body and its challenges makes it impossible for me to have compassion for my own or other's bodies. I started to push myself through pain before I even realized it would be a lifelong companion. At six I would bottom boost my way up the stairs to visit my upstairs neighbors to play with Chatty Cathy Dolls and dunk Oreos in milk. When finally there is nothing important to engage in, the pain comes through. One is literally, 'good for nothing.' That is not just a verbal abuse, it becomes a truth.

So, rating my pain is like a self betrayal. I can live with the pain, it's not a problem, it can't be…. How ridiculously complex and self absorbed. And how simply basic. Pain is a fact of being in this body which I need to manage better. I need to do a little yoga more often. I need to host small gatherings, welcome my garden angel friends and dig with them as best I can. (Three angels visited earlier this summer and helped me create a blight free zone for tomatoes. It was a glorious day and I was proud that I was able to chip in with the digging. Of course, I spent the next two days barely able to walk at all). And I need to sit or sleep for two days afterward. I don't know what else. Breath, sing, move, be still. Ignoring my body requires going dead in so many ways, making sporadic contact with myself and those precious to me.

I love to engage in the physicality of this world. Kneading bread, making music, tending the garden all require a physical involvement and immersion with the world. The lines between me and all the rest of creation become softer, more pliable. I feel whole, connected and worthwhile without the need for naming it. When the realities of this body finally catch up to me, it feels like a slap in the face. 'This club isn't for you' I think I hear some voice say. But it isn't true. Pain, decay, death are also natural parts of the cycle. I'm lucky. I'm not dying, at least not yet. I just need more rest. How can I allow that to be part of the whole that I embrace?