Silence

In that space and moment when the noise stops, that's where you'll find yourself.

It's quiet...you're quiet. You can hear sounds coming from outside - laughter, a whistle, cars zipping by, a faraway plane.

You can see the curtains billowing as though they were breathing. And the leaves of plants moving to and fro due to a fan on the right that sits on a wooden cabinet.

Despite all of these sounds, it's quiet. There's no where to go, no where to be. It's all just right here...the world in its entirety. 

When aloneness borders on loneliness, that's when it hurts. Then it isn't quiet anymore. All you hear is the sound of a storm coming from deep within. All you can hear is the nonsense and chatter of a tired mind, and unrelenting. There's nothing pleasant about these sounds. 

Scroll

As I scroll down Facebook pages, coming across people's assorted values, I can't help but feel a disconnect, a sense of despair, an unfamiliarity with others and myself.

My life has unfolded into a story but not one that can be captured or told on social media. At least, not one that would ever ring true or hold real meaning for me.

We live in cliches and positives, in the platitudes we throw at ourselves and at each other. There is no life there. Just a veneer...a mask we've forgotten to take off...a mask we've mistaken for the real.

I feel that vastness and huge divide so greatly as I see people's smiles before the camera...as I see my smile captured in an intentional, though not purposeful, pose.

You'll never reach me there unless the veneer is all I am. But, it isn't. It can't be. I know I'm more...more than the pages of Facebook and Instagram. 

I miss the group of people I used to know...my brothers and sisters. We looked for the magic. We wanted our lives to have meaning like words on a scroll...

It was never about the house or talks of square feet, not about property taxes or rental fees, nor about our jobs or professions and vacation time. It wasn't endless conversations about someone's child, or how intelligent s/he was.

I was with people who felt like family though we didn't have the same blood coursing through our veins. There was an understanding, a familiarity that was undeniable...and it was home. 

What we showed the world was who we were. We left our masks at the door. There was no need to hide. Conversations ran deep. We saw our reflection in the other. We judged less harshly because of it...

I'll always remember those days, how the sun felt on my face, how beautiful life felt to me, how I let it move through me, knowing I was fine and where I was supposed to be.

I saw myself in a world I wanted to be a part of. I was a participant, not just an observer. Now, I watch, wait and see. Sometimes, seeing oneself in a moment is important to get to the very place we want to be. If you can't see or are unwilling to see, the veneer stays on for good. Some people hide and don't know they're hiding...How truly horrifying and tragic that is...

I pray I find home in the world again. I've carved a little place for myself right here. Here, there's no need to lie or embellish. Here, I think of Irish pastures, or sacred landscapes, of the desert, structures made of stone, flowers, vines, and trees. I smell the air...and whatever scent I choose to. I listen for the birds and the cicadas. I'm here, exactly where I want to be. Because here is the real. 

And then I hear those words again but somehow, they don't sting quite so deep as they once did, "More than this, you know there's nothing."

Redemption

My name is Rose. Rose is my name. I'm still here, standing on Irish soil by the Irish sea with my Irish bones...

The day of the pedestal is over. You're the only one I'll allow myself to look up...for. Even when I'm on higher ground.

Remember the days when you preached like a god? But behaved like a boy? Ah, the taste of disillusionment is bitter. There is no wizard behind the curtain...only man. No one warned me how a person's inner workings can bring pain to others.

I think of Christ...opher, standing at the top of the stairs outside of school, how he demanded certain things from me...like money and candy. What a bully for such a small person. Children can be cruel. Yet, all children are angels in their mother's eyes but I know better. I was always looking up and he was always looking down.

I wonder where he is now. I'm sure he has a family of his own...children he works hard to protect. Let's hope they were kind as children. Let's hope they weren't on the receiving end of someone else's cruel actions. Let's hope they weren't like their father.

Because Chris was mean and I was a coward. After all, I was only a girl. Oh, but wait...then there was the name I cannot recall, whom I later found out was the cousin of the student I met a few years later...And, if I thought Chris was mean, she was worse. Everything they depicted in the movies about snotty little princesses, was true...is true. It's the same girl just a different time...Her cousin was the same, too. I wondered where that kind of attitude came from in them. Their parents? They hadn't been on the planet long enough to feel strongly about anything! That kind of entitlement...felt temper tantrum-like in its delivery.

Bullies prey on the weak. I must have been weak. Wait a minute though...doesn't that imply that because I didn't appear strong, I deserved what I got? You may think that's not what you mean...but relying and focusing on negatives, puts emphasis on the character of the bullied (the receiver) when it ought to be placed directly on the bully - the one who is bully...ing. Regardless, I've got one on them. They were jealous! And, that pleases me. I was smarter than them and though kindness may not have gotten me very far, I'm glad I never wavered or became the spoiled brats they were. Today, I enjoy playing with my sword. And I can, because this place belongs to me. I do what I will.

I roll my eyes - sometimes - when I hear parents brag about how fantastic, gifted and special their children are. Because I remember how awful a young person can be. This generation is no different. Among them is the kid of a parent who thinks their child can do no wrong. Amazing children are the ones whose parents do not brag about! Let me say it again, so it pricks and stings real good. Amazing children are the ones whose parents do not brag about. Today, everyone is a winner. And we both know that isn't true. Today, a kid can't take any criticism. We both know that's true, too. Today, he has to win at all costs...otherwise, he's going to break down and apart into little pieces. He's got no backbone. We've seen that, you and me, though I don't have children of my own. I just have to remember to look back in time. I just have to remember what it was like for me, because like you, I was once a child, too. There will always be and "us and them", unfortunately. 

I fight for the ones who feel voiceless. I fight for the ones who feel they can't speak. I fight for the ones who get shoved into corners, who others push and pull, who others spew all of their projections on. 

You think me harsh? I do understand why the bully becomes the bully. I do understand how the bully becomes the bully. He's a victim, too. But, I don't speak for them. Someone else can do that.

Look at the stars in the sky that shine and burn bright and you want me to believe that there's something better or more worthy of my attention than that in this world? Here, beneath my feet? That I ought to look to the other for inner strength and fortitude? That I should take my cues from the small and the mindless? The ones who rely on acquiring things for their happiness?

I find a boulder nearby, sit down and look over the water. I see the waves come rushing in like thoughts competing for attention. 

I take my bones and play some music. I make friends with the clashing of sounds...the sounds from within and without.

I let myself come back home to this place that is neither here or there...a place that only I can reach...a place that can only reach me.

Oh, here comes a thought delivered by my heart, as a result of the healing music...

My name is Rose. I am sitting on Irish soil by the Irish sea with my Irish bones. My heart gently taps and whispers so as not to offend, "Time to forgive." And so I do...while also giving them thanks. Not for helping me become who I am - I will not and cannot give them credit for that - but for helping me see what I will never be!

The Yellow Brick Road

Have you ever felt unsupported by your own family? For being who you are? For walking your talk? Your aim is to live on purpose, to live your truth, to expose and make wrongs, right, but you're deemed irrational, eccentric or radical. What sets that person apart? What makes them so threatening? Because they must appear threatening to get the kind of response and backlash thrown at them. Why else would family and friends respond that way? They become threatening to those who don't understand and can't see beyond their own falseness and denial of truth.

I've thought about how Jesus wasn't accepted in his own home, in his own house. In fact, his family thought he was crazy. Not so much his mother Mary, from my understanding, because she accepted him for who he was...and supported his need to spread the word. And, what is this word? It's truth in a nutshell.

We see the workings of it everywhere. We aim to live our lives but do any of us ever question our motives, our intentions? Or, do we resign ourselves by saying, "This is life. This is the way of the world?" 

Jesus fought against the way of the world...because the way of humans is false...and leads away from all that is good and right.

That's why Jesus was not accepted as prophet by his own family or town. Because he brought to light all that had been in the dark...and people were not able to receive this light, this knocking of the truth. It brought into question everything they believed. They wanted to continue to live in denial, in falseness. Seeing the light was too unbearable...and required too much work...soul-work to overcome the lies.

We hear it all the time...how someone is ostracized for believing differently, for behaving differently. A brother will say about his brother, "He's nuts." Or, "What's gotten into him?" 

That's why Jesus said to leave your family and friends and follow Him...because a man who made it his mission to not only show the truth but to live by it, as well, would be deemed dangerous by those closest to him. It would be too painful for some family members to move in the same direction. We relish living in denial. Denial can be comfortable and easy. In this place is where we've set our roots. Can you imagine having to dig and pull at these roots, which are buried deep in the ground, and rebuild 'elsewhere'? Where is this place? What does it mean to rebuild anew? We're having to rebuild new temples, synonymous with new bodies, new vessels, from the ground up, that would be strong, resilient, sturdy and authentic enough to hear the truth and not be crushed by it. That is a feat and worth more than anything in this world. And again, it requires an over-haul. Who has the eyes to see and the ears to hear?

Sure, having someone tell you to leave your family sounds radical...But, let's put it in perspective. What's radical is being expected not to live your own truth...and quite tragic, too.

We see these examples of non-acceptance play out in other ways, too. A father takes the advice of his doctor though he has a son who is a doctor and has advised him to do the same thing. He'll listen to the doctor but not the doctor who happens to be his son. 

Or, how a parent can't see the talent in his own son and yet, strangers can and do.

Those are most likely examples for another post...I think of Gurdjieff now and something he said along the lines of, "If you want to lose your faith, become friends with a priest." Ha, definitely for another post...but, I'll keep this part here anyway. Why not? 

And maybe this is different, too...but it also brings to mind how some family members might not be happy for you should you find success (whatever that means to you). It wreaks of jealousy...or is it something else? I always thought, shouldn't you be able to share good news with those closest to you? Shouldn't being supportive come easy to them? I mean, we're family. No no...even in these instances, there's a need for pause.

There's no point in getting angry or making friends with disappointment. You see, not everyone stays the course. Some abandon ship. Some might not have the courage or resolve to keep on keeping on. I guess it's important to remember that we can't make others feel and see what we want them to feel and see. It's wise not to take it, personally. I think that's what Jesus meant - to continue on the path even if it means you leave family and friends behind. He's already paved the way...

Life & Death

 I think it's unfair...the lack of words to capture a specific feeling or sentiment. The words are not always there to reflect this difference.

Death feels finite and it implies an end. There's no arguing that. But, life...it feels long and wide...and falsely...mine.

Yet, there's no guarantee that life will be long and wide, is there? The word itself gives one a false sense of security. But death, no...death is clear, real and inescapable. 

When they say life is like death and death is like life...no, not really.

Death is a moment in time. Life can be, but, typically is not. We're given the impression that we have a lot of time to discover who we are, to do the things we want, to experience...life. Seems like I'm writing in contradictions. Maybe in that sense life is like death. But death is not like life. It can't be.

I can't begin to tell you the kind of sorrow that comes over me when I imagine life without...(fill in your own blanks). I consume the moment, whole, and the feeling becomes more intense. There's a tendency to want to escape the thought...Who wants to stay with such a thing? But, staying with it brings love to the surface, which in turn, permeates everything around me. The look of his back and hair when he's getting ready for bed, when he doesn't know I'm looking, wow, how bitter sweet.

I want to put him in my pocket and keep him safe. I want the moment to be drawn out, to be contained, to be forever in time. But time, of course, doesn't work that way. It's always the same and yet, it's constantly changing, moving and taking a bite into everything, even when it feels like we're not changing or moving. And then I recall the nights before...and I pray there are more days ahead.

I fall asleep again. Sleep can be so merciful at times, so forgiving, so understanding, so embracing. Being awake can be painful when our awareness is far bigger than ourselves and our restless and noisy minds.

I force my way back to good thoughts and then I realize, no, these painful thoughts have their place, too. There are no vices to drown them out, at least, not for me. The world of duality...is designed and set up to be this way in order to be able to value the other in its absence, to be able to appreciate what we've got and understand fully what we had, when...it's gone. How cruel...How compassionate...And that I should be grateful for such things knowing full well they will not last. That's the biggest adjustment of all.

Pen For Peace

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. 

Sure, if you're made of steel! But we're not, are we? A mantra can change our natural reaction to hurtful words, that's true. But, that doesn't mean you should say hurtful things...Because words can be like knives. They're intended to wound, debilitate, kill...

It's nice in theory. I imagine myself as a warrior, someone with a tough exterior, who allows the small stuff to just roll of my back. But, that still doesn't mean I shouldn't think before I speak, that still doesn't mean I'm justified saying hurtful things. And truth be told, I shouldn't have to wear all this heavy armor to protect myself from...you or you from me.

We all know that moment...when ugly words roll off our tongue. Ugly words though don't typically roll off the tongue, do they? They torpedo out with vitriol.

Sometimes, I feel justified in my feelings and hurt. Why shouldn't the other person get a 'piece of my mind', especially if I've been wounded emotionally by them. And that's just it...why should I give (away) them a piece of myself? Because truth is, my anger becomes my master and I, its slave. I no longer have any power. No one wants to hear the truth of that. People love to wallow in misery and anger. It makes us feel alive...but that isn't the kind of 'aliveness' we should be striving for. It's rooted in illusion and the false. It simply can't be trusted.

But who of us is like Jesus when he overthrew the temple? When we say someone is self-righteous, we see them as rigid and lacking in compassion. But, to be righteous..to act in righteousness, that's a different thing, there's another element at play. You can feel this truth and energy in your body. It rings true and it doesn't come from selfishness or ego. You make room for it because deep down inside you know you can be better, more authentic...if only you could overcome yourself.

Self-righteousness is what most of us are accustomed to. It's all about how I feel or what I think, what I believe, what I feel I'm owed, what I want and feel I deserve. It's never about the other, at least, not in the way it counts. We don't know how to put ourselves in other people's shoes. There is always reaction, never understanding.

Having said that, that still doesn't justify gossip or nasty words. If there are two statements that come to mind when I'm getting all hot and bothered (typically, over nothing though at the time, seemed like everything), it's these..

He who has not sinned, cast the first stone.

And

Treat others as you would have them treat you.

How humbling, right? Stops us right in our tracks. Beautiful, moving and direct. These are words that carry power, too, the kind of power we can practice on a daily basis, the kind of power that builds character.

I had a hard time in University when a professor said that someone he knew was going to counsel (serial rapist and killer) Paul Bernardo. It was around the time Bernardo got caught and was sentenced to prison. 

My professor said, "It's important to separate the behaviour from the person. He is not the behaviour. He is a person who committed horrible crimes."

I've had a hard time with those words. I've spoken about it in length in another post I wrote some years back.

And then I think of the two statements above, and it all makes sense...All that anger melts away. And the lack of anger doesn't mean I make it okay for anyone to behave badly or cruelly. It just means that there are things I don't and can't possibly understand and ultimately, are none of my business. The most important thing becomes that I keep myself in tact, that I don't lose or scatter pieces of myself in numerous places because it later becomes hard work to have to retrace, retrieve, regather...

I had always thought - if I'm not the sum of my acts, then who am I? When people speak of a loved one who's passed on, they refer to them as the person who was kind and generous, sweet, good to their family, etc. Were they not all the sums of their actions to be described in the way they were?

Still, it's not who we are. Surely they make up parts of us...but are they really us? I know I have a body, but this body is not me. I know I have thoughts, but this mind is not me. I know that I feel things, but my emotions are not me. I am so much more than all of that.

It's difficult peeling away the layers. Time can add them on in the form of protection and denial. The truth about ourselves can be hard to face. We're not always kind, are we? To ourselves, to others? We might play the part, but is that who we are? It must come down to intentions and motivations. We both know that many people do great things, outwardly, but then we find out about what's been happening behind closed doors and it's nothing short of, atrocious.

I heard someone the other day say, "Thanksgiving used to be about the giver...now it's about the receiver." The world is upside down, flipped on its side. We don't see the way we ought to.

I guess I'm rambling now and my point is lost. 

We don't know how lucky we are. As people talk about their next Botox session or bikini wax, or complaining about having to wear a mask, people in other parts of the world and right here in our own backyards are suffering from some serious shit.

So, let's stop gossiping about our family, friends and neighbours. Let's put things in perspective. In the end, none of it will MATTER  (materialize). But our actions today, if they're aligned with goodness, love, beauty and kindness, can create a more peaceful and loving world. 

Better to use the pen for peace than for war.