It is love.

Love is riding bikes to the grocery store in the dark while shouting comebacks and laughing in the warm summer air. Headlights and headlamps illuminated the route we'd ridden hundreds of times together. I had a crush on him, one that I finally admitted in my black flip flops while stopped at the corner of Kirkwood and Iowa St., blinking out a mosquito in my eye lashes. I loved him, I loved the dark summer night, I loved my black bike, and I loved opening up and being honest about the way I felt. 

It was love and was scary and it was perfect.

Love is pulling up to the house after Johnson died. The house I felt trapped in during the last months of our marriage. The house where his new wife and son live. We sat on the floor in the living room which was completely familiar and so very different.

I had painted this room.

I picked out those curtains.

The area rug was hers.

Johnson was gone.

We remembered our dog. We laughed about what a goon he was. We cried at his sudden loss. We had shared so much laughter. We had shed so many tears. And here we were again, together, laughing and crying at a loss, at a dog, at a love, that was uniquely ours. 

It was love and it was heart-wrenchingly raw and it was perfect.

Love is telling my mother, with a face fatigued from crying, the horrible news. The light shined into her kitchen through the sheer curtains anyway, and kids rode by in the street anyway, shouting at each other on their bikes. The news was so fresh and I was so horrible. She hugged me. She tucked my hair behind my ear. And she proceeded to tell me how very human, and therefore how very divine, I was. She told me she was proud of me. How could she possibly be proud of me? At a moment like this? The thought of her unconditional support when I felt so unworthy made the tears spill over all over again. Her annoying dog dropped his ball in my lap. She put a plate of kale in front of me and handed me a tissue. Everything was going to be okay.

It is love and it is grace and it is perfect.

Never Not Broken

2013 is nearing an end. I’ve been reflecting. It seems the theme of the year for me is “never-not-broken”. It's not an English word, or even a western concept (that I know of).  The idea and wisdom of it is represented by the Hindu goddess Akhilandeshwari. She’s pretty much my hero.

I did some reading about her over the summer and came to appreciate the concept in literature. Now, I’m appreciating the concept in life. I had plans, a life, a dream (and that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Simply a dream?). It came crashing down and rocked my core more than I thought it could. I almost can’t admit how broken and confused I feel. I mean, that was what I was doing and who I was! That was my life!

Except that it wasn’t.

As uncomfortable as it is, (oh, it’s horribly uncomfortable!) it’s amazing. I’m shattered. I’m broken. And the broken-ness allows the light to shine in. With all of my cracks, a light from the outside can peer in and I feel illuminated. When I show my broken pieces to my mother, to my father, to my brother, to my friends… I feel a vulnerability different than I’ve ever known. And I’m shown a love I could only hope to find. It’s more than a hope, it’s my life.

 I’m surprised and impressed they don’t reach for the super glue. Maybe that’s because my broken-ness allows the light to shine out. If I were glued up and whole I wouldn’t be expanding. Why am I here if not to continuously grow and expand? I thought I needed all of these outside things- a boss, a paycheck, a city amongst the mountains…

What I needed was to see my light bursting from the cracks (Having so many people hold mirrors up to me helped quite a bit, of course). From above, down, inside, out, shine my joy, my laughter, my generosity, my caring, myself, my life.

I’m not defined by my job. I’m not defined by where I live. I’m intimidated by the road ahead… opening an office on my own, the financial insecurity, the things I don’t even know I don’t know and the learning as I go. But I’m not defined by that either. I am my love and my life.

 

Look how she shines! It makes me grateful to be broken.

Good thing I'm full of cracks. 

I can only get bigger and brighter.

Broken Seed to Growing Tree

I'm not a dicot, I'm a chiropractor!

Another look at broken-ness... I love this clip. Because the seed has to break open in order to grow into a tree!

(Isn't it cool how the broken seed reaches up towards the sun and expands as it grows?)

Unless, of course, the seed just wants to be a better version of a seed. That's an option, too.

Slow down. (Take a breath.)

I was told I need to slow down. 

I don’t always listen to advice, but I was told I needed to slow down by someone so wise, someone who knows me so well, by someone I love and respect so much… and it struck a chord of truth in me… so I want to try to slow down. What does “slow down” even mean? It means stillness. Quiet. Reflection. Gratitude. Self-compassion. Slow down. Just be.

I don’t know how.

I have a lot I want to do. Right now, my future job and plans are very up in the air and uncertain. That’s scary for me, but things happen for a reason and I was given this time and opportunity for a reason. But that reason couldn’t be to slow down, could it?

But I want to read books and take classes and work an hourly job and visit offices and join Toastmasters and research articles and write and learn more technique and successful people don’t slow down or let up.

Do they? And what does it matter what “successful” people do? I’m me, not those people. And I love me, don’t I? Or is staying busy just another thing to avoid being with myself?

Hmmmm. So I’ve been keeping my eyes and ears open for ways to slow down. To be still. Quiet. Reflect. Be grateful. Self-compassionate. Slow down. And of course, the first thing I turn to is meditation. To be in the moment, to be in the now. And my heart’s racing because I ate a bunch of circus peanuts before I sat down.

(FYI- eating candy does not improve the meditative practice).

Since my heart’s racing anyway I run. I love to run. I can be outside with my iPod and one of the dogs. Exercise always helps. And I run so fast. Why am I running so fast? It’s so cold and I gasp for the freezing air until my lungs hurt. My legs hurt. My chapped lips hurt. But I keep running fast and push myself harder. Crap. This is the opposite of slowing down.

Once I’m home (and warmed up) I go bother my brother. No better distraction than sitting on the floor in my brother’s office while he’s working! Then we’re both distracted. But it’s fun because we talk about everything. He’s so serious and I try so hard to make him laugh until I succeed. Sweet, hilarious success!  I love my brother. I’m so grateful he’s my roommate. I’m so grateful he’s my bother. I’m so grateful we laugh so much together. But eventually I have to leave him alone so he can get some actual work done. Lame.

So I go on facebook. And as much as facebook is a great way to not be with myself, there are some gems. I follow some links and learn about maitri. Pema Chodron describes it as “unconditional friendship with oneself”. Self-compassion as the basis of compassion for others. Compassion is important because it’s the basis of connection and now I have another thing to work on to improve myself so I can be great!

Oh dear. Actually, I think I’ve missed the point.

Off to the library. I can ride my bike and browse the selves. The library is so interesting because it’s a public space full of quiet. The quiet is exactly what I need right now. I find The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success. Hurray! A guide to success! So I read through them… and it’s all about the path of least resistance and letting go of your attachment to the outcome and letting life flow. Oh. But I want things to turn out a certain way. So badly. And when you want something, you chase it down, you put sweat into it, you make it happen. Yes?

No?

Is slowing down a path to success?

But aren’t these ideas exactly why I love meditation? It’s a state of ease and openness. Always, I am attempting to listen to God and find meaning in the everyday occurrences. I strive to live from above, down, inside, out. So why the contradiction between making it happen and letting it flow? I agree that success is following your purpose. Dharma is following your purpose… my purpose is to serve through chiropractic. I’ve established that already. Right?!?

I’m pretty sure it’s not productive to yell at the universe.

(But maybe worth trying?)

Nope.

So I take a breath of stillness… (and another one)… I read on… in a moment of openness and ease I agree that your purpose can change from day to day and moment to moment. And for a moment I am still and quite. And I allow myself to be. (Isn’t that the very essence of self-compassion?) For one little second I have slowed down.

On the bike ride home I listen to the chain turn over the teeth of the gears. I try to make the chain turn more slowly. And I reflect.

Could my purpose be as simple as to keep learning? At every corner and every opportunity? Maybe not in a high pressure “should” or “must” kind of way, but in a state of ease? Could my purpose, just for today, be to be open? To write a little? To laugh with my brother? Why does it have to be so large and lofty? Maybe, quietly, these things little things are large and lofty. I mean, if I’m here, doing this, maybe it’s because it is my purpose.

Now.

Typing.

Sharing a bag of chips with my dogs.

Mornings.

I love the morning. I love the morning when it’s quite and dark and the world hasn’t woken up yet. It’s the best time to dream. The whole day is laid out in ahead of you, ready for love and laughter and living.

I love the morning. I love the morning when the first order of business is prayer. A prayer about anything. A thank you to God.  And I’m always a little stiff from the day before so  I roll out the yoga mat and the only sound is my breath and the slap of my feet doing a jump back.  Reach up towards Heaven, sweep back down to Earth. Push into the discomfort. (Repeat.)

And then it’s time to meditate. On gratitude, on compassion, on connection, on courage.  On all of the things already within me- within us all- it just takes a moment of stillness to be reminded.

I love the morning. I love pouring coffee over ice and adding the cream. The swirling of the black and white and the notes of the ice clinking in the glass. I love cracking eggs over dog food and looking down at brown eyes and wagging tails. I love cracking eggs for myself and sitting down with a book. Whatever book it is that I’m in the middle of. And I read what others have written in this book I brought home from the library on my orange bike.

I love the morning because it is ritual. And it is prayer. And it is hope. Not only hope, but a promise. It’s a promise of what is to come, how I will live this day. How I will laugh this day. How I will love this day.

Life is uncertainty. Life is not knowing. That can be really scary and overwhelming. To the point where my breath is shallow and my eyes overflow with tears. And it seems impossible to make plans or to hope because life will just happen how it happens anyway.

But then the morning comes. It always does.  And the ritual returns my breath. And the prayer returns my hope. So maybe that’s what life is. Getting up in the morning.  

Ready for love and laughter and living.

Just because I love the morning doesn't mean it isn't difficult to leave this little scenario <3