Week Fifty-One - Words won’t do...

The grief is unbearable and collective.    It’s etched on the face of our nation.   Inescapable.  You don’t even have to pick up the newspaper, turn on the television, or hook up with social media.  It’s present in the shell-shocked pain etched faces; at the gym, Christmas parties, at the grocery store, in our workplaces. Conversation is strained because “words won’t do”. I remember a special coworker wrote that in a sympathy card years ago,  when my husband passed away.  He said, “My heart is with you, because words won’t do.” That’s stuck with me all these years. 

 This vibration of the worst kind of suffering and loss is so profound, it seems to permeate any moments of creativity, my sleep, and unexpected tears well, easily.  It’s especially overwhelming as I touch my lips to the foreheads of my three precious grand-daughters and the thought passes, there are grandmothers who will never get to do that again in this earthly life.  I see it again, as my daughter hears three voices of angels, singing along in Christmas song, and turns her face to hide the sorrow.  I see it when my son-in-law holds his girls for an extra few minutes when he walks through the door, and they greet him with squeals of “Daddy!”  I feel myself slipping into  it when I  look at the Christmas tree and my eyes get lost in imagining the incomprehensible.  Along with it there is immense gratitude for those kisses, voices, and squeals, but some survivor’s guilt kicks in at the loss of these other young children, beautiful blessings, that have been so unfairly torn from this world and their loved ones. 

Any massacre is horror... An unimaginable nightmare come true, but when it involves the purest, most vulnerable members of a society,  it is especially evil.  It robs the place in your soul reserved for hope, joy, tenderness, and innocence.   This is the kind of burglary that often  things are never found again.  Lost forever.  Trust, security, faith, innocence.  How do these mothers and fathers, brothers, sisters, grandparents, relatives, and friends ever rediscover joy again when they are suffering so?  Where will healing come from?  Gun control, mental health reform, living in a bubble with armed security everywhere?  When will compassion, empathy, unselfishness, ethics and love, be put into the curriculum of studies?  These skills can be taught and mirrored too.   And, the media needs to be in the front row when these lessons begin. 

Perhaps through this darkness of the soul... maybe this  is where everyone will find their way back to a place of light again, inside the heart of other’s immense pain. Joining hands and hearts, and leading one another out, into the Light of Love and understanding. And change.  Badly needed change. We are connected.... When will we get that?  Nowhere was it more apparent than in the memorial service for the victims of Sandy Hook. One God, Allah, Higher Power, Source, Holy Name, Om, Supreme Being..... drawing us together to grieve and comfort one another in the loss of His greatest glory. 

In the words of Henry Beecher Stowe, “Children are the hands by which we take hold of heaven.”  It is through the personalities and abundant gifts these beautiful little angels brought into this world, 6-7 years ago, we will find our God’s healing and be able to feel heaven again.   

My heart is with you. 

Week Fifty- WooHoo to Opening up the Guest House....

I’ve been trying to recapture my zen.  Some bad things have happened recently, and I was shocked to see how quickly it all slipped away.  I labeled myself the wicked witch of the East because I sure melted into a puddle of yuck these past few weeks.  Ugliness didn’t simply inch its way back into my life again.  It came roaring in, leaving me gasping for breath with an intensity I hadn’t known before.  Rage...... is a new emotion for me.  Apparently, I’ve managed to bury that one deep under layers of other emotion or maybe even an addiction or two.  The end result was just an overall feeling of unwellness, mentally for sure, but surprisingly physical as well.   Anger, revenge, judgement, and then old tapes that said it was wrong to feel this.  The feelings of guilt that arrived were just an attempt to douse the out of control flames burning brightly.  Those were getting fueled by every abandonment, rejection, loss, and tragedy suffered in my lifetime.  Where did it all come from?  Good grief. 

Then, I  labeled myself as defective, once again.  A phony claiming to have a few good qualities that somehow had left the building, or were they ever even really there?    Character defects glaring back at me and taunting me with, “See... we ARE still here. You haven’t changed one bit.”  The voices in my head were cruel and out of control.  It didn’t help that I was virtually on my own in my anger.  People get frightened when you express that much emotion, and tend to back off in fear, get snitty back, or worse yet, try to minimize what you are feeling for you. Compassion was sorely absent, but then again, I wasn’t acting like the person they had come to know.   Perhaps they were afraid it was contagious too, and some of the venom would land on them.  I really felt abandoned (again) and zapped... powerless.  On some level though, I not only knew the anger was justified, and although it didn’t FEEL healthy in my body, I knew it was actually spiritually healthy for me to experience the emotion of it, fully.  It owned me for awhile.  I wouldn’t have ever welcomed it, but into about the second or third week of this process, I did recognize, it was teaching me something.  It was showing me, as frightening and negative as it was, I needed to own it. Once we own something, its power diminishes and we begin to get ours back.  My power came back just enough to be able to turn it over although my trust level with my Source was at an all time low.   I knew that I had to do that. The difference in turning it over this time was I did it for me.  No generosity of spirit, no attempts for folks to like me again because I was happy and fun... it was a case of pure selfishness.   I just didn’t like feeling and living in it.  Most of all I intuitively knew, in turning it over to my Source, that would be the only way I would be able to ever see rightly because  my Source is only capable of love. In love, my Higher Power guided me to this:   

The Guest House

by Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Woo-Hoo to feelings! My guest house is fully open to them now.  Because I know there is a permanent Tenant here Who is better in tune than I am with what I need for my spirit to learn and grow.   And, wow... how timely for this to happen at the end of my year of woohoo. I thought so much of my year would be comprised of woo-hoo’s that reflected fun times, adventures, new endeavors.... It’s looking more like woo-hoo to the unexpected visitors, who have lit my path and changed me  this year.  I think I will dedicate the last two weeks to acknowledging them and expressing my gratitude for the role they have all played in my life.  WooHoo! 

Week Forty-Nine- Powerlessness and no woo-hoo in sight....

I ended last week’s entry with an Elizabeth Kubler Ross quote,“Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself, and know that everything in life has purpose.  There are no mistakes, no coincidences, all events are blessings given to us to learn from.”  This profession of belief came back and bit me in the patootie as well as challenged me in a bigger way than I have been challenged in many years.   Something said, “Hey hot shot, let’s see if you can walk like you talk.”  I know I haven’t.  I’ve failed the test horribly.  The “F” word has seared my lips so often this week, I’m thinking I am ready to make a  rap video that could cause U-tube to scream EXPLICIT in flashing red letters all over the screen. My heart feels like it’s ready to explode most of the time: I bounce between sleepless nights and 14 hours of sleep.   My body is exhausted from the tremendous amount of energy it takes to feel so much rage and hatred.... and I don’t like it.  Generally making a choice to choose to see something positive, or  the lesson, works for me.  Not this time.  I can't justify it, turn the other cheek, minimize the damage, or fake it until I make it.  It's not working.  I've been brought to my knees again and  I can’t recall feeling this angry about anything in a very, very, long time.  Perhaps decades.  I know the meaning of non-forgiveness is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die, because I am becoming sicker by the day as the venom permeates every cell in my body. Can I describe the rage I feel?  Every fiber of my being is on high alert, just coiled to attack.  An elephant is sitting on my chest, and I have to make a concerted effort to breath.  Focusing is non-existent as the thoughts bouncing around in my head aren’t even rational and the reel to reel keeps repeating.  I imagine the act and violation, and it just fuels the fires. 

My little family was a victim of a robbery the previous weekend.  They discovered it when they came home from what was a happy, joyful, overnighter with friends.  A window in an office pried open; every drawer, closet, cupboard rifled and lifted as the invaders picked and choose, anything they perceived to be of any value.  Children’s piggy banks, treasured heirloom jewelry, childrens’ religious pieces, technology games, tools, fundraiser money.   Those are just a few of things that have been taken;  like someone felt entitled to go on a drunken shopping spree in a private residence.    I cannot wrap my mind around the profile of  individuals that could do such a thing.  Were they born without a morality button?  They certainly can’t care about the devastation this had on the children.  Or,  the years of work and sacrifice of the victims as well as the generations before them, that went into the accumulation of those material possessions.  Nope, I can’t even come close to understanding the mind of these monsters that  trash their way into others lives wrecking havoc...destructive forces of nature, except this has nothing to do with nature.  When I think of nature, I think of my God and how His presence is intertwined in all that I see in the natural world.  I just can't believe He was present in this horrific act. 

Every day is the day I think we will all move on.  And, then the clouds move in and another item comes up MIA, lighting the fire again.   I think this can’t have had a permanent impact on the little ones, yet, I know I am only kidding myself.  They have witnessed firsthand the dirty little underbelly of the bit of a world and its evil, selfishness, and entitlement.  They no longer feel safe in their own home, and most of all, they all, my whole family, feel horribly violated.  I know enough about grief processes and I am sitting back in my own little hell and torment, witnessing  each of them each traveling through very personal and familiar phases.   The oldest grandchild  is stuck in depression and has taken to sleeping every single moment she isn’t in school.  The middle one has started to chew on and suck her thumb, something she hasn’t done since she was a baby,  and the youngest will not even go into an adjacent room by herself. I know they are young, and, they will move through the process in their time and acceptance will set in leaving some breathing space for their childlike joy again. It's much more painful to watch than to experience it yourself.   

But, how can I move on?  This hurts so much worse than if it had happened to me... And, it actually has.  Not once, but twice in my lifetime.  Maybe that’s what makes it so wrenching.  I know the fear, the violation, and the disappointment in discovering, it isn’t always about what kind of person you are.  Bad shit happens to awesome, giving,  loving people.  And, bad people sometimes seem to win and come out on top.   I don’t know if the things it taught me, are the things I ever wanted my little family to learn, at least not so up close and personal.  I would have rather they learned it on the sidelines,  from the periphery of  my experiences.   

Yet, I’ve lived through enough crisis and wallowed long enough in it this entire week or more,  to intuitively know, there is only one thing I can do, for myself, just myself...  to begin to move forward.  I feel like the power of choice to control my thoughts and my attitude has been stripped away, stolen too.   There is but one choice left.  Today is the day I am making that choice,  because I will not allow such evil and poison, to have another day inside my heart and head and control my life.  

Today, is the day I am begging, “Higher Power, I am powerless over this rage and my attitude and thoughts about these individuals.  I hand them and my life over to You to do with what You will.  I trust Your plan and know with You all things are possible.  Even  forgiveness.  Help me back to a place of serenity, love,  and to discover the WooHoo in life again."   

(This post was written cathartically... if it offends someone, I'm sorry.   I need my joy back...and I am powerless to recapture it on my own)