Today, my daily prayer book focused on our "shadow" - the dark side of our lives and personalities. It was an uncomfortable read given how familiar I am with this side of myself at the moment.
Things in our shadow are not just our faults. Our shadow is bigger than that and includes all of our potential to be truly nasty. I believe this is an inherent trait in all humans. The question then is what to do about it.
My prayer book offered a suggestion - to accept my shadow - to love it unconditionally and to not run away from it. For it is only when we stand and face that which we do not like that we can finally overcome it.
I made a mental list of the things that I believe live in my shadow. For today, I will do everything I can to merely accept these things without wanting to change them, forget them or run away from them. They are just another part of me - a part that doesn't have to rule my world, but a part that needs to be acknowledged and loved for what it is.
I am human. I am woman. I am imperfect. I am many things both good and bad and I will knowingly love each part of myself fully and unconditionally.
Today, I simply am.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Sleep Returns
After what seems like weeks of sleepless nights, I'm back to sleeping soundly and that is a wonderful thing.
Lack of sleep is one thing my body just can't handle - I need my sleep and so do you - but sometimes the worries of life keep us up at night. When there is nothing I can do to fall asleep, I find that not fighting it works best. I simply submit to the insomnia and get up and do something. I've also found that getting caught up in something I love can certainly take my mind off my worries.
So I'm focusing on job hunting, cleaning, organizing, financial planning, cooking, my son and his studies and all the things I love in my life. And it's working.
For the past two nights I have fallen asleep shortly after hitting the pillow and have slept through the night to wake feeling refreshed. Anxiety still hangs out with me in the mornings, but even that is fading now.
Sleep is important. Make sure you get enough and when you can't, be kind to your Self and take it easy. Sleep will return once your mind can rest.
Lack of sleep is one thing my body just can't handle - I need my sleep and so do you - but sometimes the worries of life keep us up at night. When there is nothing I can do to fall asleep, I find that not fighting it works best. I simply submit to the insomnia and get up and do something. I've also found that getting caught up in something I love can certainly take my mind off my worries.
So I'm focusing on job hunting, cleaning, organizing, financial planning, cooking, my son and his studies and all the things I love in my life. And it's working.
For the past two nights I have fallen asleep shortly after hitting the pillow and have slept through the night to wake feeling refreshed. Anxiety still hangs out with me in the mornings, but even that is fading now.
Sleep is important. Make sure you get enough and when you can't, be kind to your Self and take it easy. Sleep will return once your mind can rest.
Monday, October 24, 2011
A Place for Music
For as long as I can remember, I have played an instrument. The piano was my first love. I was taught by our church's pianist, Gwynn, until the day came she could teach me nothing more. She explained to my mother, "she's learned everything I know to teach her," and so the search began for another. I'm not sure how my mother found my next teacher, Mrs. Clements, but she was never able to make lessons "fun" like Gwynn had and piano was never the same for me. I eventually quit taking lessons and our family's upright was sold.
Today I still play a little piano and often spend time alone at the piano in my church. I've taught myself to read the bass clef again and, slowly, the many years of practice rooted deep in my muscle memory are bringing back to my present the ability to play a simple tune.
But when it comes to instruments, there is only one that owns my heart and that is the flute.
I remember exactly the day my mother brought home my first flute. It was a Bundy student model and I loved how small the case was. It glimmered and shined and I was thrilled for it to be mine. I proudly carried it to band class in the seventh grade where Mr. Hankins would become my first beloved band director.
I was horrible when I first began to play. I could hardly blow a note, let alone make a nice tone. I sat at the end of the row with the others who also struggled and we watched in awe as the first and second chair players sweetly and with ease created the most beautiful sounds that one could imagine or at least could be imagined by a bunch of gangly twelve- year-olds.
Time passed and I kept at it, practicing alone in my bedroom, driving my family crazy with the repetition of scales and arpeggios coupled with endless fingering, tonguing and breathing exercises. The flute is a very loud instrument and we lived in a small house. Need I say more?
The day came when I entered high school, but not just any high school. I would attend Leto High School, which had one of the best marching bands and Symphonies in the state of Florida. It was also during high school that my parents found a way to give me an expensive, professional model flute. Finally with a quality instrument in my hands and under the loving and talented direction of Bobby Keen, my musical talent would unfold and blossom.
By the time I graduated from Leto, I had become first chair flute in the school's Symphony. I was also awarded the Most Outstanding Musician Award at the Senior Assembly, though the picture in the yearbook would go to another outstanding musician as Mr. Keen explained he had been unable to decide between the two of us who was best. The plaque I received that day at the assembly, though long lost, remains a treasure in my heart to this day.
I still have my professional flute from high school, though the Bundy is long gone. I also have the piccolo I marched with and another prototype flute I added to my collection a few years ago. I still play today and often accompany my church's choir or play solo as part of services. I played at my brother's wedding reception years ago and took one semester at Cabrillo College to play in their Symphony a couple years back. I've actually been contemplating returning to Cabrillo to once again play with them. We'll see.
For now, I'll simply remember to make a place for music in each day to remind me that there are still many songs in my life yet to be played.
Today I still play a little piano and often spend time alone at the piano in my church. I've taught myself to read the bass clef again and, slowly, the many years of practice rooted deep in my muscle memory are bringing back to my present the ability to play a simple tune.
But when it comes to instruments, there is only one that owns my heart and that is the flute.
I remember exactly the day my mother brought home my first flute. It was a Bundy student model and I loved how small the case was. It glimmered and shined and I was thrilled for it to be mine. I proudly carried it to band class in the seventh grade where Mr. Hankins would become my first beloved band director.
I was horrible when I first began to play. I could hardly blow a note, let alone make a nice tone. I sat at the end of the row with the others who also struggled and we watched in awe as the first and second chair players sweetly and with ease created the most beautiful sounds that one could imagine or at least could be imagined by a bunch of gangly twelve- year-olds.
Time passed and I kept at it, practicing alone in my bedroom, driving my family crazy with the repetition of scales and arpeggios coupled with endless fingering, tonguing and breathing exercises. The flute is a very loud instrument and we lived in a small house. Need I say more?
The day came when I entered high school, but not just any high school. I would attend Leto High School, which had one of the best marching bands and Symphonies in the state of Florida. It was also during high school that my parents found a way to give me an expensive, professional model flute. Finally with a quality instrument in my hands and under the loving and talented direction of Bobby Keen, my musical talent would unfold and blossom.
By the time I graduated from Leto, I had become first chair flute in the school's Symphony. I was also awarded the Most Outstanding Musician Award at the Senior Assembly, though the picture in the yearbook would go to another outstanding musician as Mr. Keen explained he had been unable to decide between the two of us who was best. The plaque I received that day at the assembly, though long lost, remains a treasure in my heart to this day.
I still have my professional flute from high school, though the Bundy is long gone. I also have the piccolo I marched with and another prototype flute I added to my collection a few years ago. I still play today and often accompany my church's choir or play solo as part of services. I played at my brother's wedding reception years ago and took one semester at Cabrillo College to play in their Symphony a couple years back. I've actually been contemplating returning to Cabrillo to once again play with them. We'll see.
For now, I'll simply remember to make a place for music in each day to remind me that there are still many songs in my life yet to be played.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Mornings With Anxiety
After more than a week of vicious arguments that started in Santa Barbara and after retreating to a hotel to spend three nights surrounded by peace during my outpatient surgery, I returned home to learn my husband had rented a residence for himself and was moving out. He packed a few things in his truck, took our two dogs and left. Couple this with the fact I am unemployed and living in a house in the final stages of foreclosure and you have the makings of Hell, within which I am now living.
The first and immediate reaction is shock. Sure, we've had our knock down, drag out fights in the past, but we always had an underlying love and at least one of us has always held on to that long enough for the other to come around. That is now gone, the marriage is over, and the time to move on has come, but moving on means setting aside nearly fifteen years of my life and that bitter pill just won't go down.
The mornings are hardest. I wake each day with anxiety wrapped snuggly around my gut, effectively squeezing all hope and trust out of reach. I try to calm myself with hot tea, journaling, blogging - anything! - but the hold is relentless and there is nothing I can do except submit to the pain.
Ultimately, the root of these feelings are within me and I own them. Understanding is now my goal along with deep introspection. I know I had a part in this and that I, too, acted badly, so my focus is on my own actions, expectations, disappointments and personal growth.
Nothing soothes my soul more than solitude and by spending my mornings alone and with anxiety, I'll take the time to do the needed work that will free me from this Hell. In the end, what is working best is to focus on the love that IS in my life and in my heart, all the while remembering that giving and receiving love is our ultimate purpose on this earth.
To honor this and the last fifteen years of my life, no matter how angry and hurt I am, I lift him up in prayer in the hopes that God will bless his new life with peace, happiness and prosperity. I pray also for my own life - to find all the pieces that have been scattered and lost through the years and bring them back together to create a whole person. It's a new and unfamiliar path, but one I will travel as each new day presents itself.
In the end, I know God is with me and will provide. Indeed, He has already been quick to answer several prayers and with each step I take, the anxiety loosens its grip and frees another small piece of my Self.
Ultimately, we are all alone. No one shares the space of our minds. No one will share the final act of our death. We came into this world alone and we will leave it alone and, for the time being, I will live alone.
And I will be happy.
The first and immediate reaction is shock. Sure, we've had our knock down, drag out fights in the past, but we always had an underlying love and at least one of us has always held on to that long enough for the other to come around. That is now gone, the marriage is over, and the time to move on has come, but moving on means setting aside nearly fifteen years of my life and that bitter pill just won't go down.
The mornings are hardest. I wake each day with anxiety wrapped snuggly around my gut, effectively squeezing all hope and trust out of reach. I try to calm myself with hot tea, journaling, blogging - anything! - but the hold is relentless and there is nothing I can do except submit to the pain.
Ultimately, the root of these feelings are within me and I own them. Understanding is now my goal along with deep introspection. I know I had a part in this and that I, too, acted badly, so my focus is on my own actions, expectations, disappointments and personal growth.
Nothing soothes my soul more than solitude and by spending my mornings alone and with anxiety, I'll take the time to do the needed work that will free me from this Hell. In the end, what is working best is to focus on the love that IS in my life and in my heart, all the while remembering that giving and receiving love is our ultimate purpose on this earth.
To honor this and the last fifteen years of my life, no matter how angry and hurt I am, I lift him up in prayer in the hopes that God will bless his new life with peace, happiness and prosperity. I pray also for my own life - to find all the pieces that have been scattered and lost through the years and bring them back together to create a whole person. It's a new and unfamiliar path, but one I will travel as each new day presents itself.
In the end, I know God is with me and will provide. Indeed, He has already been quick to answer several prayers and with each step I take, the anxiety loosens its grip and frees another small piece of my Self.
Ultimately, we are all alone. No one shares the space of our minds. No one will share the final act of our death. We came into this world alone and we will leave it alone and, for the time being, I will live alone.
And I will be happy.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Conversations With Self
Nothing can make you feel more crazy than suddenly realizing, while journaling, you are writing a conversation with two voices within your mind and these voices are very different and distinct; one with depths of wisdom, the other usually caught up in some earthly squabble.
It was only after reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love that I came to understand this happens frequently with those who journal. I decided to let this part of my journaling flow, but rather than flow, I focused and much like the "big" dreams when I was a little girl, the conversation didn't happen when I tried to make it. Only when my mind is focused on the writing is there the possibility the conversation will show up.
Understanding this has created a new type of journaling for me where I not only write, I also listen, honing in on any thoughts that arise from the caverns of my be-ing. It is a fascinating and most intriguing experience and one that all of us can have.
There was a time, though, when I was caught up in the thought that I can't write until I become a "writer" and with that burden, my journaling was hampered. My journal has also been violated on more than one occasion - being read without permission. This, too, can cause journaling to be difficult. I've let go of all that and, as a result, my journaling has blossomed into the flower it is today.
Through my blogs and also in my personal journals (I carry a small Moleskine with me everywhere and keep a spiral notebook at home) I capture whatever pops into my mind for attention. By making note and listening, I draw out a deep connection not only with my world, but also with myself.
A few years back I also discovered Watercolor Journaling and this, too, has greatly enhanced my ability to connect with what lies within, always discovering how that frames my view of what lies with-out.
Can you tell I'm a big fan of journaling? =)
If you journal, "keep writing." A dear friend once told me this and it was the best advise I've ever received in regards to my journaling efforts. If you don't journal, I would suggest giving it a try.
I'll end with this quote from Plato's Apology:
It was only after reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love that I came to understand this happens frequently with those who journal. I decided to let this part of my journaling flow, but rather than flow, I focused and much like the "big" dreams when I was a little girl, the conversation didn't happen when I tried to make it. Only when my mind is focused on the writing is there the possibility the conversation will show up.
Understanding this has created a new type of journaling for me where I not only write, I also listen, honing in on any thoughts that arise from the caverns of my be-ing. It is a fascinating and most intriguing experience and one that all of us can have.
There was a time, though, when I was caught up in the thought that I can't write until I become a "writer" and with that burden, my journaling was hampered. My journal has also been violated on more than one occasion - being read without permission. This, too, can cause journaling to be difficult. I've let go of all that and, as a result, my journaling has blossomed into the flower it is today.
Through my blogs and also in my personal journals (I carry a small Moleskine with me everywhere and keep a spiral notebook at home) I capture whatever pops into my mind for attention. By making note and listening, I draw out a deep connection not only with my world, but also with myself.
A few years back I also discovered Watercolor Journaling and this, too, has greatly enhanced my ability to connect with what lies within, always discovering how that frames my view of what lies with-out.
Can you tell I'm a big fan of journaling? =)
If you journal, "keep writing." A dear friend once told me this and it was the best advise I've ever received in regards to my journaling efforts. If you don't journal, I would suggest giving it a try.
I'll end with this quote from Plato's Apology:
I realized that it was not by wisdom that poets write their poetry, but by a kind of nature or inspiration, such as you find in seers and prophets; for these also say many beautiful things, but do not know anything of what they say. (Apology, 22c)
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Woman of Faith
From the time I was a young girl, "God" has been a part of my life.
At first, God was a Sunday morning routine that included Tom & Jerry, my prettiest dresses, and the unavoidable, most-boring-ever "time on the pew" where us kids were expected to sit still and be quiet. My two older brothers and I got into more trouble at church than anywhere else. Of course, getting into trouble at church meant a long, quiet ride home in the car in the hopes our earlier transgressions would be forgotten. In most cases, they were not, but in the few instances when they were or when we were at least "forgiven" without a round with the belt, I remember thanking God for sparing us.
It was also at this time in my childhood when the "big" dreams began. I shared a room with my younger brother and during that time whilst sleeping in the bunk beds, I would have dreamy sensations of something so big, it frightened me. At first I feared it, but nothing I did would make it stop coming to me as I fell asleep each night. After some time, though, the sensation became familiar and comforting. It was as if it would surround me and completely fill the void of the room, encompassing me within itself.
Once the sensation became familiar, it no longer came every night. I remember as a young child trying to make it come, but it just didn't work that way. It came only when it wanted, seeping into my mind and then outward with no end. As time passed, the occurrences happened less and less until they eventually stopped.
Finally, one day at church, something the preacher said caught my heart. To this day, I do not remember his words, but I clearly remember the feeling that unexpectedly sprang from my heart. I tried my best to hide it, but by the end of the service, I could hide no more. In our church, at the end of every service, the preacher would always call out for those wanting Christ to come into their lives to step forward and "come to Jesus." On that day, risking the wrath of my parents, I stepped from the pew and walked into the arms of my preacher and my God.
My preacher wasn't quite sure what to do with me and he handed me off to another elder in the church who knew me and my family. I remember he and I talked alone after services where he tried to explain what God was. What I recall of that conversation is his taking off his wedding ring and saying, "God is like this ring, He has no beginning and no end." He also explained that God loved me more than anything and wanted nothing more than for me to love Him back. Seemed easy enough to me and, frankly, a better deal than the one I had going, so I prayed with him for the forgiveness of my sins and for the living waters of Christ to enter my heart and give me everlasting life in Him. I walked away not knowing what all that meant, but it did feel good.
My family eventually left the church and Sundays became another day to play, but the memories of my time there coupled with the memories of my dreams created in me a curiosity about God, one that has stayed with me throughout my life. I must admit of all the things I've wondered about in this world, God takes the cake. Just when I'm about to write Him off as absolutely not possible, He shows up in a way that reminds me that not only is He there, He's tuned in and paying attention.
Since my childhood, many things have happened in my life that convince me God is real. I know there are many people who disagree and choose a different path and that's fine for them, but for me, I will spend my life seeking and watching for God. It's like the child playing hide and seek and this little girl will never grow tired of the game.
At first, God was a Sunday morning routine that included Tom & Jerry, my prettiest dresses, and the unavoidable, most-boring-ever "time on the pew" where us kids were expected to sit still and be quiet. My two older brothers and I got into more trouble at church than anywhere else. Of course, getting into trouble at church meant a long, quiet ride home in the car in the hopes our earlier transgressions would be forgotten. In most cases, they were not, but in the few instances when they were or when we were at least "forgiven" without a round with the belt, I remember thanking God for sparing us.
It was also at this time in my childhood when the "big" dreams began. I shared a room with my younger brother and during that time whilst sleeping in the bunk beds, I would have dreamy sensations of something so big, it frightened me. At first I feared it, but nothing I did would make it stop coming to me as I fell asleep each night. After some time, though, the sensation became familiar and comforting. It was as if it would surround me and completely fill the void of the room, encompassing me within itself.
Once the sensation became familiar, it no longer came every night. I remember as a young child trying to make it come, but it just didn't work that way. It came only when it wanted, seeping into my mind and then outward with no end. As time passed, the occurrences happened less and less until they eventually stopped.
Finally, one day at church, something the preacher said caught my heart. To this day, I do not remember his words, but I clearly remember the feeling that unexpectedly sprang from my heart. I tried my best to hide it, but by the end of the service, I could hide no more. In our church, at the end of every service, the preacher would always call out for those wanting Christ to come into their lives to step forward and "come to Jesus." On that day, risking the wrath of my parents, I stepped from the pew and walked into the arms of my preacher and my God.
My preacher wasn't quite sure what to do with me and he handed me off to another elder in the church who knew me and my family. I remember he and I talked alone after services where he tried to explain what God was. What I recall of that conversation is his taking off his wedding ring and saying, "God is like this ring, He has no beginning and no end." He also explained that God loved me more than anything and wanted nothing more than for me to love Him back. Seemed easy enough to me and, frankly, a better deal than the one I had going, so I prayed with him for the forgiveness of my sins and for the living waters of Christ to enter my heart and give me everlasting life in Him. I walked away not knowing what all that meant, but it did feel good.
My family eventually left the church and Sundays became another day to play, but the memories of my time there coupled with the memories of my dreams created in me a curiosity about God, one that has stayed with me throughout my life. I must admit of all the things I've wondered about in this world, God takes the cake. Just when I'm about to write Him off as absolutely not possible, He shows up in a way that reminds me that not only is He there, He's tuned in and paying attention.
Since my childhood, many things have happened in my life that convince me God is real. I know there are many people who disagree and choose a different path and that's fine for them, but for me, I will spend my life seeking and watching for God. It's like the child playing hide and seek and this little girl will never grow tired of the game.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Off Topic Returns
Revised November 14, 2011
The original Off Topic blog went live in December 2003 and continued through December 2009. I finally took it down as it had become a personal "platform" inappropriate for the circumstances at the time. January 2010 marked the beginning of Kreative Kristin, a blog dedicated to sharing my creative works and since May 2009, I've been blogging on Woman vs. Fat.
But neither Kreative Kristin or Woman vs. Fat give me a real personal forum where I can present whatever pops into my mind. With that thought, I've decided to bring back Off Topic and see where it goes.
We all see the world from our own unique perspective... welcome to mine.
I hope you'll join me.
K
The original Off Topic blog went live in December 2003 and continued through December 2009. I finally took it down as it had become a personal "platform" inappropriate for the circumstances at the time. January 2010 marked the beginning of Kreative Kristin, a blog dedicated to sharing my creative works and since May 2009, I've been blogging on Woman vs. Fat.
But neither Kreative Kristin or Woman vs. Fat give me a real personal forum where I can present whatever pops into my mind. With that thought, I've decided to bring back Off Topic and see where it goes.
We all see the world from our own unique perspective... welcome to mine.
I hope you'll join me.
K
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