Wednesday, December 24, 2008

The Nativity

by John O'Donohue

No man reaches where the moon touches a woman.
Even the moon leaves her when she opens
Deeper into the ripple in her womb
That encircles dark, to become flesh and bone.

Someone is coming ashore inside her,
A face deciphers itself from water,
And she curves around the gathering wave,
Opening to offer the life it craves.

In a corner stall of pilgrim strangers,
She falls and heaves, holding a tide of tears.
A red wire of pain feeds through every vein,
Until night unweaves and the child reaches dawn.

Outside each other now, she sees him first,
Flesh of her flesh, her dreamt son safe on earth.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Anger Is a Lump of Coal

I believe there are two kinds of anger we experience. There is the pebble anger and the coal anger. The pebble anger is just that-- annoying little rocks that turn up in your day. Your husband didn't clean last night's dishes. Your child left her dirty clothes on the floor again. The traffic is ten times worse than usual and you are going to be late for work for the second day in a row. These are pebbles. They have no history attached to them. They are pure in the moment anger that is felt, is annoying and, in time, we get over it.

Then there is the lump of coal anger. This is anger that has hardened over time. It has settled deep in your gut and the molecules of it have changed and become more complex over time. This anger goes WAY back and it is much heavier than a pebble. You feel it with you all throughout your day. The other day a girlfriend told me she was having dreams about her rage. This is a perfect example of the weight of anger becoming so heavy and full, it begins to manifest in other areas of our lives. This anger that has become so full it can no longer be ignored.

I believe that, although coal has its good purposes, we would all prefer a nice shiny diamond. Here is where my coal analogy gets a bit more complicated. That anger became heavy coal under the pressure of years and suppression. That anger was pushed into a deep recess of subconsciousness for life-saving reasons. We do not consciously choose what gets repressed and what doesn't! If your mind has suppressed anger, then it did so with the loving intention of saving you-- and perhaps the moments when this happened were precious life-saving moments. Over time that repressed pebble grew under the mounting pressure of day-to-day. Other pebbles and layers of living piled on top of the anger until it grew and grew. Once that anger solidifies into hard coal, there are only two options.

Option one is that the hard coal remains hard coal. This seems to be what most of us do because... well, it's the easier option! This anger coal is a great source of energy and we draw from it to clean, create, cuss people out when needed, and generally work ourselves into the ground. When we do this, the energy drawn from that coal is the best you will ever get from it. The coal anger will remain as a heavy lump in your spirit providing an eternal source of rage and heat. And, rest assured, that lump of coal will grow heavier over the years so that your rage will always have a source of energy from which to draw.

The second option is to provide pressure to that lump of coal and wait patiently for your diamond. When you honor that anger by examining it and feeling it, the anger begins to transform very slowly. Look deep into that lump of coal and when you think you know where it came from, look deeper. Go deeper and deeper and deeper into that anger until you go to its very center, its very origin. This process can take moments or days or months. Be patient. This may mean that for a significant period you are a very angry person. That's ok. Keep going deeper. For some people, you may trace that anger all the way to its very core and find the father that abandoned you when you were only 4. Keep going and you may find in the center is the mother whose addiction destroyed your family.

When you get to the core of your lump of coal, you will know. It will sear through you and what you believed to be anger, you will find is really immense grief or shame. Whatever is there in the center of that giant lump of anger, hold it. Let the pain of it come, the pressure of it mount. This will not kill you. There is no scientific evidence to show that anyone ever died from feelings, though my clients argue this point with me often. You will grieve. You will cry. You will know yourself at a deeper level and then an amazing thing happens. One morning you will wake up and feel lighter. You will sense something missing from your very core, a large weight lifted. You will reach down inside yourself for that heavy coal you have carried for years and find-- it is gone. There, in its place, hanging about your neck in a spot of prominence-- a new brilliant diamond, sparkling and glorious in the morning light.

This Is What Letting Go Sounds Like

A tsunami wave gathering its punch
as a first curl of water within itself, the
early sounds of a disaster begin
as a soft rush. The
flap of a flock of birds’ wings gathering
for southward flight, this
is what letting go sounds like—the loud crack of
a shot gun resounding against mountains
a wind caught inside a wooded glen
the lonely howl of one
in the night.
The snap of twigs against the foot
fall, a jet arriving and gone, rain against
my roof, soft
sobbing in the other room, this
is what letting go sounds like.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Nashville's First Snow

Well, it finally came, the first snow of the year... and in December no less! It seems we rarely get snow in middle Tennessee anymore, so this was a beautiful surprise.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008


Let me preface this article by asking all my male readers to bear with me here. I absolutely believe this read will be well worth your time and encourage you to continue despite the title! I will, however, give you the upfront warning that I disclose a small bit of personal information in this article so please stop here if you feel this is too much for you to hear. Ok, let us commence this exciting topic...

I have been reading a new book, Women Who Run with the Wolves by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes. For those of you who know me, you are probably shocked that I have never read this book before, but it is true, I have not. I'll be honest, at times it feels a little hokey to me, and sometimes I have to go back and re-read something and re-analyze, process. The stories from the book are grounded in Eastern philosophies, archetypal tales, and Native American religion. Being a recovering Baptist, I am very wary of this and I think that is part of what is slowing me down. I have tons of rigid dogmatic remnants from my Baptist years-- no offense to any of you wonderful Baptist people out there (including much of my own family). I am fully grounded, however, in Jesus Christ. He has just done too much for me and proven Himself a Higher Power in my life. For me, Jesus is not relegated to just another wise prophet or a man with some helpful stories to guide me through the day. No, for me, He is the one and only true Son of God, no less. All other spiritual teaching that comes through my mind has to first go through this and what remains after the filtration can be kept. So, the reading of this book has been a bit arduous as there is so much to filter.

Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked. The connection between our personal psychology and our personal spirituality is so delicately intertwined in this complicated webbing, that I want to closely examine my psychology because of how it affects my spirituality. One of the wonderful things I have taken away from this book is her discussion about menstrual cycles. She points out that the veil between the unconscious and the conscious mind thins while a woman is menstruating. During this part of her cycle, all those unconscious feelings and beliefs bob closely to the surface of the conscious mind. This can be overwhelming and a very emotional time for us ladies. I really find this to be true and have sensed this happening with me for awhile now.

I was particularly aware of this process this month as I am just coming off my period. Experiencing those emotional 7-10 days was much different for me this month, much more bearable. I found myself with a new reverence for my own sadness and anger this month. Those feelings are not just random by-products of hormone explosions in my body. They are true parts of my very own subconscious mind. They are real and valuable, most importantly, these feelings are not random-- they are meaningful. So, this month I let them come rather than try to fight or suppress as I would normally do. I connected them to their true sources as best as possible. I listened to my anger which quickly dissolved into an intense sadness and fragility. I cried a lot this past week and it felt good. I grieved a lot and it really hurt and it really felt good.

My "PMS" was actually productive for a change. Now that I have experienced this, it makes me angry that I have been denied this wonderful experience of my own monthly cycle for years. I have been told by my culture to shut up, get over it, take a pill, you just have PMS. When in reality I am having my very own valid and honest emotions that MUST be felt and heard, not shushed. It is no wonder to me now that women in the Western culture report more intense premenstrual symptoms than most any other culture in the world. We are shamed for a part of our cycle that we cannot stop and that in reality is a monthly gift rather than "the curse."

I have to believe that as I experience this once a month emotional cleansing that a lot of junk is going to be tossed out from my piled up unconscious mind. The hope is that, in time, these feelings may become less intense, as I allow myself this cyclical gift. I believe it is possible we Western women can begin to experience our menstrual cycles more similarly to women of Eastern cultures. This is exciting to me. As painful as some of the emotions were that I have had to feel this past week, it is no less painful than the harmful repercussions I face from my own behavior when I act out these invalid and repressed feelings. Hooray for me and hooray for my period! :-)

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

The Serenity Prayer: Courage

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change

courage to change the things I can

and wisdom to know the difference.

It's a prayer many of us have heard and one that some of us cling to as a sacrament just as effective in reaching a Higher Power as communion. When I pray the serenity prayer, well, things happen. Serenity, courage, and wisdom happen-- not always in that order.

Most recently I have been thinking a lot about the whole courage part. Sometimes recovery comes in thick layers like eras of time that can be excavated by archaeologists. If someone were to try to do an archaeological dig on my life, they would find a thick layer and say, "Hey, here's the acceptance era!" This is, of course, is not true for everyone, and will change through the course of my own life as well. I believe I am presently in the era of courage and it is very scary, thus, the era of COURAGE.

I have often prayed this prayer and thought, "Why would you need courage to change something that is already fully within your power to change?" The prayer does say, God grant me the courage to change the things I can. Why is that scary? Well, now I know. Once you have reached full acceptance of the truths in your life, whether that be I am in debt, I am very sick, or My boss is impossible and there is nothing I can do about it, the next logical step becomes action.

When I am no longer obsessed about about all the things I cannot change, then I am absent of anxiety! I am at a place of peace. In this peace I have the clarity to see all the things in my own life that have become overgrown or dying, and am faced with the daunting task of cleaning it. This may require me to throw out the very things I once thought were essential to living. This is very scary because one may think, "What if I throw this out and then I need it later? What if this really was keeping me alive and then it's gone! I will die without it!" or him, or her, you just fill in the blank. Looking in your own yard means cutting back things and that will probably hurt. It means acknowledging your own negligence and taking responsibility for it. It means jumping into the unknown, leaning completely on the belief that my own human mind cannot heal my own human mind and I just might have to depend on someone else to help me with this. Looking at my own yard means I can never blame other people again for its overgrowth and shambles. Deciding to do this takes immense courage, really deep, gut-wrenching courage. God, GRANT me the courage to CHANGE the things I can.

I know for me it won't actually be archaeological digs that uncover these eras but journals and blogs that trail for miles after I am gone. And when friends, loved ones, and generations behind me dig through the writings, I pray they find thick, healthy layers of acceptance upon courage upon wisdom and that they know-- words bring healing, whether it's a journal entry or a prayer.

Sunday, November 30, 2008

The Growing

Already I see the both of you
trying to leave me
leaping upward with the flight of
all living things. You
are always growing away from me.
Some days I cannot wait
cannot bear the counting of the countless breaths
that stand between my worn out bones today and
the free ringing bell promised when you are gone.
You are my children
first unleashed with a thick cord heavily
woven in my long hair and stout
mother muscles. Though you are only
eight and four
already the cord is wide-brimmed silk strands
against which you dance and pull.
I know you are growing away from me.
I prepare at nights
when you sleep
soaking in your closed eyelids the
lashes spread like soft fern against the forest floor
your cheeks full and smooth with
youth, I imprint your tiny faces inside me--
inside me a swell of something
sweet and large
maybe joy
watching you grow older
second by second the sadness
so impossibly intertwined with this thing
that loves you and knows
I will clap the loud clap of our
Creator when He created
the heavens and the earth and said
This is good.

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Happy Thanksgiving

Hello all and Happy Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday. Sometimes it seems like we try to rush past the giving of thanks straight to Christmas. This last Thursday of November is the perfect day to pause and take inventory of all the good that came our way in the past year.

It's been a beautiful day here in Nashville, 63 degrees today. I am stuffed and enjoying Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving with the kids, so what more could I ask for?

Saturday, November 22, 2008

My First Ride

The summer I turned 14 was a time of intense angst and turmoil, and I'm meaning BEYOND that which you would expect of a typical 14 year-old girl, as I was a girl with a budding addiction-- to love. Being a child given to restraint and fear of pretty much everything, fate handed me a best friend, the ying to my yang, Amy. Amy was one year older than me and my polar opposite. She was loud, rambunctious, rebellious, and prone to risk-taking behaviors-- I was drawn to her instantly. That summer in 1989 Amy and I were inseparable in our bubble of teenage drama and hormones. Our days consisted of tanning, phone calls, talking about boys, and talking about boys. We were convinced and firmly decided, we were getting us some men this summer.

Amy was always on the make when it came to boys, and she was usually successful. She was peroxide blond (literally) and wore it well. She was buxom for a 15 year old and not afraid to pursue any male brave enough to cross her path. Once she snagged herself a boy, she always thought of her timid friend and found one for me too. Now THAT is a best friend. That summer Amy became intensely interested in 15 year-old, Tony, whose cousin, Bill, was visiting for the summer. I had never met Bill, knew nothing about him, but was already in love with my fantasy of him, when Amy told me we would be meeting Bill and Tony at the movies for a double date.
Amy and I spent the entire day preparing for our "date" that evening. The day commenced with playing Prince and George Michael alternately throughout the day as loudly as my mother would allow. We put on our cutest shorts, applied the green and yellow eye make-up with glitter, and blue mascara. We feathered and teased our hair, and piled on the bangles and large hoop earrings. "We are so sexy, " Amy would say, while we stood posing and googling at ourselves in the mirror of my bedroom dresser. Even at 14, I had no breasts and long skinny legs, but to Amy, I was always gorgeous. Her own C-cup boobs were bursting out of one of my small summer tops she borrowed. "Any guy who doesn't want us is just OBNOXIOUS," she would say. Obnoxious was THE word of the summer and also happened to aptly fit any person or situation we needed to discuss, especially little brothers, ugh.

My Mom dropped us off at the movies and would be coming back later to pick us up. We stood outside the movie theater waiting gleefully on our dates, touching up hot pink lipstick and popping our gum. We were both knocked breathless when Bill drove up in his jeep with Tony in the passenger seat. "Oh my GOD," was all I could manage, watching this tanned, slender, dreamy boy drive into my life. Amy and I gave each other a side glance and smiled.

I don't remember much about that movie. I really don't even remember what the movie was. I remained so horribly faint and self-conscious throughout the entire picture, I can't even promise I was breathing for much of it. It only made matters worse that Bill and I never spoke and the only time we made eye contact was after recognizing that Amy and Tony were making out in the seats next to us. Our eyes met, we were terribly embarrassed, giggled, and looked away.
Later that night Bill called my house and we talked for an hour. I'm certain now it was one of those teenage phone calls punctuated by long awkward silences, nervous laughter, and the occasional, "Are you asleep?" "No, I thought you were." Giggle, giggle. He told me a little about where he was from, his family and school, and my heart thumped, flopped, and pounded. I told Amy afterward that I was really in love, that Bill was the one for me. "He's just so cute! And sweet! Did you see the way he was smiling at me when they drove away tonight?! Oh, God, I could just die!"

"I know! He likes you, Girl, and Tony says they want to see us tomorrow at the pool!"

"But wait," my world was careening, "my Mom said I can't go anymore this week! We won't get to see them!"

With complete confidence and with all the casualty of a thoughtless thank you to a store clerk, Amy flopped back on her pillow and said, "Whatever, we're seeing them tomorrow."

I never defied my Mom's rules and had no idea how to break a rule even if I wanted to, so I was all too ready to lean on Amy for guidance. Amy had spent the night with me the evening before. After we rolled ourselves out of bed the next morning at 11am, she began telling me how this pool foray was going to go down. "Ok, let's shave our legs and pack a bag for the pool. Ooohh, can I borrow your black bikini? That looks so-o-o-o-o good on me! We'll just take one bag so one of us can carry a lawnge chair." Amy always called them lawnge chairs. I guess, in her mind, this was the natural combination of a lounge and a lawn chair. I didn't question her genius, just listened intensely. Anybody who is anybody at the pool brings their own lawnge chair and poses seductively in it while tanning and slathered with baby oil. It was essential we take at least one chair.

"But how are we going to get there?" I asked, naturally editing this plan for barriers.

"We're going to walk, Stupid."

"We can't walk. The pool is miles from here!" I was right actually. The pool was about 4 miles from my home and required a trek across train tracks and a major highway.

"Sure we can walk! It's not that far."

I was envisioning the two of us stumbling down the road with a swim tote and a lawnge chair, two scraggly teenage girls. Anybody would be able to just grab us and snatch us into their car! We could be hit by a careless driver or flattened by the train! There was no way I was walking to that pool, but Amy was in full gear on the manhunt and what she said the night before, "whatever, we're seeing them tomorrow," was going to be fulfilled.

We got ready and set out on our journey, walking to the pool. We had arranged to walk back by 3:30pm so that we would be home before my Mom, who would be none the wiser. There was a fear and excitement about what we were doing in addition to the thrill of seeing my future husband at the pool. I remember we had walked about halfway there and I realized I had never walked this far from my home before and began to feel afraid. "Amy, are you sure we're doing the right thing?"

"Stop being such a scaredy pants and come on!" she snapped at me. "You have Bill waiting for you and you know he's wanting your hot body," Amy meant this to be a motivating force for me but it only proved to scare me even further.

"What? How do you know? Did he say that to Tony? What's he going to do to me?" I panicked.

"Just shut up, Missy, and come on." She grabbed my wrist and dragged me the rest of the way to the public municipal pool.

When we finally arrived at the pool, after about a 45 minute hike, I felt as if I were watching myself in a movie. Although I had been to this pool hundreds of times before, it had always been with my Mom's knowledge... and a ride. This time felt, well, weird, and... wrong. The moment was surreal and Amy was not to be deterred. Truth be told, neither was I. I had done little else but think of seeing Bill today. Once I saw him I knew everything would be ok. Amy and I went inside and found a nice spot to plant our things and our chair. We both looked around anxiously, hoping to spot our boys. Amy noticed him first and could only say, "Oh, God, no."

I snapped my gaze in the direction she was looking and saw for myself. There was Bill standing very close to Robin Greeley, talking to her, VERY CLOSE. They were laughing and she was twirling her long brown hair around her pointer finger, looking up at him sweetly. Robin was a lifeguard and way cuter in my mind than I could imagine being. She was about 5 ft. tall and probably weighed 90 lbs. after emerging from the pool, having saved a toddler. She was a Senior. This was it, officially, the end of my life. Tears sprang to my eyes.

"Oh, screw him, " Amy said. "He is so obnoxious, just forget him!"

We stripped down to our swimsuits and purposefully strode by Bill and Robin while they were talking. As we passed by them, Bill looked at me casually and gave a friendly smile, then quickly returned to his conversation with Robin. Amy and I watched in horror for about the next 30 minutes as Bill followed Robin around the pool like a lost puppy. We also noted that Bill was not there with his cousin, Tony, but with another guy we knew from school, George. Everybody knew George. He was a Senior also and "trouble with a capital T" Amy would say. When Amy says this about someone, you should take note. She and I both were filled with a sinking feeling of what I can finally recognize today as SHAME.

"That's it. I can't take this anymore. We're getting out of here." I began drying off and putting on my clothes.

Amy could see I was very upset and didn't argue. She gathered her things and, like any true friend, stood close by me, walking with our heads held high, gathering all the dignity we could. We strode angrily past Bill, the lawnge chair banging against my thigh as I huffed by him. Amy shot him a dirty glare as we passed. "Hey, hold on, " he called to me, but we just kept on walking.
Once Amy and I were safely outside the pool area and steady in our march home, the tears were finally unleashed. I sobbed and walked, sobbed and walked.

"I can't believe that jerk," Amy said. "Robin has nothing on you, Missy. NOTHING. I could stomp that little skinny sleaze and I will! You just wait till school starts back!"

I continued on in silence with my broken heart. Nothing hurts quite as intensely as the broken heart of a 14 year old. Once we had walked about halfway, with the tension of the day mounting, we approached the railroad crossing. As Amy and I were standing, watching and listening for trains, we heard a car approaching behind us. We turned to see George pull up in his beat up '84 tan Datsun. "Hey," he called out to us. "Bill told me to come by here and give you girls a ride."

With all the anger and rage that could be garnered in my tiny, timid little self, I threw down the chair I was carrying and stomped over to George's driver side. I shot him my best bird finger and shouted, "You tell Bill he can ride this!!!" I then walked back to Amy, picked up my chair, and pulled her arm to cross the tracks with me. Once George's car had faded in the distance, Amy and I looked at one another, and through tears I began to laugh. I laughed so hard, I could no longer tell whether the tears were from sadness or joy. My side ached from laughing and walking, and Amy and I stumbled the remainder of the way home with Amy cheering me on, "Did you see the look on his face!"

This was not the last time I made a fool of myself chasing a boy nor the last time that I broke rules to fulfill the craving of a crush. What I recognize today with irony is that day without a ride was actually my first ride-- to nowhere. Yes, even love can be an addiction.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Coming Out

In light of today's cheery encouragement from me to FEEL your pain... smile, it won't be so bad. :-)

When you are running--
a shadow of yourself running from
and to yourself
frightened by a ghost self
in brambles the ache scratches
your body when you try to escape--
when you are running.
Just stay on your feet.
Know the darkness in its fullest
reach into the deep of the black
pour the anointing of the pain over
your head.
Keep running.
This is not night that comes and
goes in cycles with day, this
is suffering. This is
your very self at
its cellular level expanding and
constricting in its own rhythm.
If you can hear me there,
know that light will come when
darkness inks away
a self will emerge cracked
still running. It
will be blinding just as
the darkness is blinding.
Behind your forest wall
steady follow this scent
thick with heavy evergreen.

Addiction: A Train Ride to Nowhere

What is addiction? How exactly do people get addicted? How can they get un-addicted? Can they ever really be free from addictions? Good morning and welcome to my mind at 8am. I work with people everyday with various addictions and am fascinated with a horror-stricken fascination with addictions.

A common feature I am beginning to see emerge is the self-induced trance of an addict. This trance seems to come on once the craving for the addictive substance or activity reaches a threshold. This threshold can be different for each person dependent upon his/her stage of addiction. Once the craving reaches a threshold, the person seems to go into a trance-like state where the only goal in life is achieving the high. Once you have entered this state it is very difficult to come out of it until the trance runs its course and the individual "uses." This self-induced trance can last for days while the person fantasizes about the substance and creates plan for attaining the substance/activity of choice. While in this trance, I have seen mothers neglect and abandon children, individuals place their lives at risk, maxing out credit cards, losing sleep and interest in essential everyday activities.

Most interventions seem to focus on strategies that would prevent one from entering this phase of intense craving and plans to fulfill the craving. What I am wondering is this-- is it possible for someone to come out of the trance without using and what would this require? Someone under hypnosis would be brought out of the hypnotic state with a word or sound initiated by the hypnotist. Could we do a similar thing for ourselves? Can someone else do this for us? I certainly believe this is possible-- that there are things we can do to bring us back to the here and now, getting us off the track of addiction that leads nowhere.

In fact, that is exactly what addictions and addictive behavior is like-- a train ride to nowhere. Imagine you enjoy the feel of riding a train, yet the only train available is one that drives straight into hell and drops you off. Nonetheless, your enjoyment of the train ride is intense enough to compel you into countless rides on the train to hell. After numerous trips on this train, you know once the ride ends, you will be sweating it out in the blasting inferno of post-trip exultation. The train ride, as wonderful as it is, seems to only last an hour or so (if you're lucky), but the work required to get yourself out of hell afterwards can sometimes take days or weeks. After many repetitions of the ride-then suffer cycle, you may even begin to say to yourself, "Why am I getting on this train again? I know it's only going to leave me in the middle of nowhere!" Yet, because of the trance-like state, you enter like sheep led to the slaughter.

Now imagine you are mid-train ride and begin to realize the absurdity of the situation. What I hope and am beginning to believe, is we can stand up from our seats and make our way to the conductor. We can insist that this train to be stopped so that we can get off, and the initiating force that snaps us out of the trance is our own pain. The pain of knowing where this addiction is going to lead you is intense enough to break the spell and propel you from your cushy seat on the train. The pain of knowing you are going to hell and may one day never return is just as intense, if not more intense, than the craving that put you on this train to begin with. That is why it works, a necessary evil of nature I suppose. Pain is our friend and some of us need it in order to recover. So, here is my hope for the day-- we do not have to suffer on this crazy cycle any longer. The way I can help someone today is to allow their own pain to do its work. Realizing I cannot stop your train is the very action that gets me out of my own seat today, "Conductor, I need you to stop here. I'll not be going all the way this time."

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Hello Guilt, Good-bye Shame

I was thinking today about that horrible feeling-- guilt. For some of us, we avoid guilt at all costs because tied to it is the even worse-- shame. Guilt tells me, You've made a mistake. Let's see what we can do to fix this. Shame tells me, YOU ARE A MISTAKE. FORGET IT. It's kind of like a family member coming to visit (in this case, guilt) and she wants to bring her wild and dirty dog inside with her (shame).

I realize now that I can let guilt come inside for a visit. In fact, it's good that I let guilt in for a cup of tea. When I shut it out, guilt begins to sulk, blocks the doorway, and prohibits all my other friends from entering, including joy and creativity. I can allow guilt to come inside and listen to what he has to say, AND I can let guilt know at the threshold of the door, You can come in, but you've got to leave your mangy pet outside.

Today I happily invited guilt to come sit a spell with me. He told me about some things I've done, some rational, some not. I smiled, thanked him for his insightful input and said good-bye. Immediately upon ushering guilt to the door with a thank you and open invitation for another visit, I noticed a long lost friend coming down the road-- serenity.

It is about 40 degrees this morning here in Nashville, our coldest day of the season and gorgeous outside. After my morning coffee I decided to grab my camera and head to a local park, where I swear I've spotted misty-bodied muses. This place is beautiful, especially at morning. I have a picture to share of the creek nearby.

I crouch against a crashing wave waiting
for your body to vaporize a mist
forming against sunlight particles-- here
where I can capture you
inside a lens.
It is worth the wait
to find you
a secret speckle of light.

Get to the inside?

Good morning World. I have finally taken the plunge into the blogosphere. I fill countless journals every year and recently began thinking, "I could publish this stuff!" I started thinking about what I would most like to accomplish with a blog and the phrase that keeps coming back to me is going inside... get to the inside. I believe we spend much of our lives living on the surface, looking at the surface, when there is more to be found down beneath. Behind every person, every moment, every breath, there is the unseen layer. If we can just get to the inside, there is another level of living there for us! I hope this thought evolves along with my blog, as I'm sure right now I just sound like a total quack. Actually, that's not too far from the truth, nonetheless, I'm a well-educated and introspective quack, which makes for good entertainment. So, stick around.