Laughing Through the Flames Together

Parenting is a lot of things. It’s an honor, it’s a blessing, it’s a privilege and it’s also a job. Parenthood can either be the most joyous time of your life or a living hell from which there is no escape. Honestly, even though we are encouraged and expected to “cherish every moment” the hard truth is that parenting is often both. Parenthood is the hardest job anyone will ever have...except for maybe that guy that gets his heart ripped out by Mola Ram and is lowered down into the firey pit on Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. They aren’t without their similarities, anyway: High pressure. Sacrifice. Rip your heart out. In a cage descending into fire. Very hot. It burns!  

Okay, it’s not all that bad but it helps at times to keep things as light as possible and to not take it too seriously...even though you need to because you are single-handedly making choices that are in part forming your beloved children’s personalities that they will then be at the mercy of forever...and even though they will go forth with these personalities into the world either to make it or break it. Kiiind of totally a huge deal. But don’t worry. No pressure. “Kali maa shakti de!!” 

What could be harder than parenting? Single-parenting, obviously, would take about a thousand cakes on that one. But actually sometimes, albeit to a much lesser degree, it can also be co-parenting. Parenting is hard in general to wrap your will around but meeting another person on the same page who has their own preconceived notions of what parenting is or should be and staying on the same page when it comes to your beliefs on raising children and consistently standing by said beliefs in the face of distraction and frustration…two different heads of the same snarling beast and they both chew your face off. My husband and I can agree that this is often really shitty. Call a spade a spade. We both can also agree, however, that it is the best thing to ever happen to us so where do we meet in the middle of this? That’s the million dollar question. That’s also where the continual relationship work resides. It’s no laughing matter...except for when it is. 

This past weekend my husband and I were jokingly talking about our day, and he had an errand to run. I had the baby on the boob and the other two were being their loud and annoying selves because yes, kids are often loud and annoying no matter how many times you post their pictures on social media decreeing them your angels and your everything. I said, “You guys should go with your father,” giving him an eye and a Cheshire Cat beam. We knew I was mostly joking. His face visibly sunk in an exaggeration of protest because everyone knows it takes twice as long to do any errand with kids in tow, and he said, in a wailing womanly voice: “You haate me!” We laughed. Humor is often your saving grace. It’s also wonderful when our daughter chalks up everything that goes over her head to “adult comedy” as she calls it. We’re not entirely proud but this is where we find ourselves. Parents make jokes because you either laugh or you’ll cry. 

Later that day, after earlier having discussed how his truck has gotten him over 100,000 miles, he said how he had to go out to work on it for awhile. I teasingly accuse him: 

“You know, you’re truck hasn’t needed anything big but you SURE do work on it a lot? What are you sabotaging shit just to get out there and get away from us? ‘OOoh NOOOOoOOO my BRAKE line broke, I better get out there and FIX that today for sure!!’ Is that how it is? ...’Cause that’s what I’d be doing.”

Again, we laughed. Humor through parenthood is like saying that the knife wound in your side kinda looks like a face. It’s simultaneously both denial and complete and total acceptance. We started doing impressions of him taking out his brake lines and other truck parts because they really did go out recently and it does seem he is perpetually working on his truck during his brief time at home. It’s seemingly never ending; duties and projects drag on into a balmy eternity. Everything moves like chilled molasses because there is never enough time in a weekend. It’s funny because the poor guy is actually out there as I write this working on it again. This weekend it’s universal joints. Lucky bastard. It’s funny because it’s not funny. At least we have humor. 

I think if you can laugh together you have a lot to work with. If you can’t make each other laugh, then it’s going to be a hard road for you because it can get a tad rocky and you’re going to feel every bump and stone. If you’re laughing you kinda just roll over the top of some of them and it doesn’t seem like such a bumpy ride even if your shocks are shot. Who you have as a co-pilot traveling with you as your partner in crime on the road of parenthood matters a lot. It helps if you get along with your celly. Your partner ultimately helps to determine how bumpy the ride will be and even when you have a good one the struggle is still real. Parenthood is where relationships go to train for the UFC; it will either make your marriage stronger or take it down blow by blow. 

That poor bastard in the basket on Indiana Jones didn't survive the destructive flames in the pit. He evaporated. Kali needed her sacrifice. It all seems so gruesome. We can just say he represents your egoic parts that need to surrender to the sacrifice. In Hinduism, Kali is the goddess of death and destruction. In her earlier depictions she is often a crone with red eyes, holding weapons and severed heads, with black skin and protruding tongue, a real bad bitch. Westerners generally view her as evil because of her form and requirements of destruction and human sacrifice. But in her complexity, she is a dualistic goddess, in her later Kali Ma form she is also a symbol of Mother Nature, nurturing and benevolent. Kali is like the transformative power of tough love, your darkness transmuted. When we are breaking apart from circumstance and heading into darkness that is Kali, but when we are fitting the pieces back together and finding our light, that is also Mother Kali. From my understanding, that is. Maybe you can see where I’m heading with this metaphor. 

Dealing with the stresses of parenthood together exposes you to each other’s deepest wounds. If there is anything ugly in your core kids will pull that dark shit right out of you and cover it in glitter and boogers before shoving it directly and repeatedly into your frame of view. “Look! LOOK! Do you see this?!” Kids are Mola Ram invoking the power of Kali to tear into your chest and hold your still-beating heart in front of your face before sacrificing your ego in a pit of flames. In short: kids’ll fuck you up. You need a strong resolve to survive the destruction of the goddess Kali. It requires a tight connection, a sturdy bond to hold your relationship together in the fire as the flesh of your old selves is seared away in sacrifice. Parenthood is some serious shit. It burns a good bit but as with much of life, it helps to laugh. 

“Forever Young Harry” and the True Self-Made Man

A couple of months ago, I took my friend to a doctor’s appointment to get her cast changed; she had recently broken her ankle and the cast she had was not going to make it through the healing. I agreed to drive her over to her appointment and just sit in the waiting room with my daughter and sister until she was done. During our brief time in that waiting room we had the most extraordinary encounter with a most extraordinary man; this man was a student of life, forever curious and exceptionally friendly. He wore a U.S. Navy ball cap and a calm, knowing grin. I now refer to this man in conversations as “Forever Young Harry” and he was a real breath of fresh air in the normally stale and stagnant waiting room of life.

As it is designed, everything we encounter in one way or another reflects our inner world at the time or soon to it or a little prior. “As within, so without.” Harry was a prime example of this, and of many other things for that matter. The man arrived to the office after us and had a seat diagonally across from my daughter and I. He was an older gentleman, 88, to be exact, as I would soon learn. He seemed to have a permanent semi smile on his face, as though his lips knew not what a frown should be. He had one of the most child-like positive vibes that I have witnessed for an older fellow. It was reminiscent of my Grandmother’s energy; in her devout old age she still retained a perpetual child-like curiosity for life in her heart. He immediately started eying up my daughter, an act that always makes a mother’s antenna come out and so I felt him out as I saw him watching her. He wasn’t a creepy old man, though, far from it, and as he started to speak to her directly, you could tell he was simply curious and delighted in her youthful presence.

He started speaking to me freely and openly like we were old friends, he wasn’t bashful at all, almost to a comedic degree. Watching him interact with others in the room made me realize how people mostly enjoy sitting together in mutual silence in public places, unaware of the intimacy that could be taking place. Harry seemed well aware of this opportunity. In fact, Harry seemed very aware, in general. I think he started the conversation by commenting on my face and hat, he was checking me out but not in an uncomfortable way, just as though everything was a work of art. I think the tattoo on my forearm had originally caught his attention. He mentioned that he “studied” things, he even used the word study, which delighted me. He said about studying the birds and the trees and how much he enjoys these simple pleasures. When he told me how much he loves trees, I could feel my heart grow into his a little. He said about being able to study things, like my face and then draw it perfectly later at home. Harry was an observing artist and it was evident by the way that he took in the world. I will never know if a sketch of my wire frames and wild mane are in the man’s sketchbook somewhere, or just floating around in his keen memory. He had a real zest for life, and he apparently lived a good one.

He eagerly began to tell me a good amount of his life’s story, at least the amount of any one life that can be reduced down to words that will fit in about 45 minutes worth of time. He was a veteran, having served in World War II in the Navy, he told me tales of his days in the service. He said about how much sign language he spoke on the ship and then spelled out his name, “H-A-R-R-Y! That’s my name!” Harry said that it was his job on the ship to assign everyone to the position that they would be best suited for. It was his job, essentially, to get to know you intimately in a short amount of time; I guess you could say, long enough to feel out what you are good at and send you there. Oh, the adventures aboard his ship! He delighted in sharing them. What he left out in words, he conveyed in emotion and energy; his eyes were an open door. I took his station, getting to know him intimately in a short amount of time. Once when they were stationed in Texas, everyone on the ship got the same tattoo from this woman tattoo artist, who he said had tattoos on the back of her eyelids! His tattoo, though faded and spread, held strong to its symbol even without the clear image; for being embedded in an 88 year old canvas, it wasn’t too bad, surprisingly.

He shared his memory of the day that it was announced over the speakers on the ship that WWII was over. His temporary life at sea, all that he had grown to know, had come to an end. After the war, he worked flying in planes plotting new roads, exciting work for Harry, who loved seeing things from a different perspective. This took him to different places and he shared about his years in Niagra Falls; though beautiful, he said they were the coldest of winters he had ever known. He was settled locally now. “If you’re ever out on Orchard Street drop by!” he invited, a couple of times, actually. He spoke of his wife, and family. He expressed his love of children and told how just the last week they had their grandchildren over and he had one on his back and a few in a wagon pulling them around. “I was just as excited as they were!” He said how his wife gets on him, worrying about his rough-housing still at 88 years old. “I could walk 5 miles home, right now!” he told me. I’d believe it! His wife was there that day to have an x-ray of her hand, and she was still back with the doctor when it was time for us to leave. We said our good-byes with smiles and warm wishes; as we were leaving I told the man “You stay forever young, Harry!” He smiled and chuckled back at me, “I’m trying!” I was never so sure of a promise in my life. “You certainly are!” I told him.

Much of life is Ego versus Soul. We fight against ourselves and sabotage our spirits as parts of us try to thwart our plans for personal growth, but it is only in vain if we honestly want to live a satisfying life. I think that the goal of life is to end up like Harry, to be driven and steered by your innately curious and compassionate True Self, not the imaginary, interjecting parts of Ego. Harry was a remarkable guy; he was the inner child Self-actuated. Harry was 88 years old and still thrilled by life daily, fascinated by it, drawn to study the wonder of its beauties. I pray that if I make it to 88 years old, I am able to retain that sense of wonderment and awe. I want to remain just as full and whole as Forever Young Harry. Nobody wants to end their days just sitting there, bitter, broken, and emptied out by their story. I think we can all learn a lesson from the man, I know that I have. People like Harry are important because they are a reminder that it is possible to be youthful at any age. Here’s to hoping that if I make it to 88 years young I am still kicking and grinning, still singing and living, still simply LIVING after all of those years, and, like Harry, doing my best to stay forever young.

Joe VS. The Driveway

Today we had a bit of Joe Vs. The Driveway. My husband and I are lucky in that in MOST cases, it's usually only one of us that freaks out about a situation, and the other can still freak out, but to a lesser degree and try to help the other remain calm...or tell them what an idiot they are being. Regardless of the chosen roles or tactics, one of us is usually calm-ish...and one feels irate. This musing has to do with getting stuck part way up the driveway, 3/4 of the way, to be exact...and THAT is a metaphor!

My husband was driving, and I was in the passenger seat. If this was a dream, I would say that is a significant note. I don't know about in real life. (No, really---I don't know about it.) During this particular incident, I was actually the calm one, which I love, because it honestly doesn't happen as often. I usually am the one dealing with the unstable mood or explosions of emotion, and will occasionally need to calm my husband down here and there when he does the same. So, needless to say, I feel awesome when I'm on the other end...like I'm a god damn Zen master or some shit. I revel in it...just a tad...because it's a good lesson. And, as synchronicity would allow, it usually has something to do with what I am personally working on in my inner world at the time. (Go figure!) And explaining or teaching, seeing something from the other seat, as it were, is one of the best ways to LEARN what it is you are teaching. So not only because I don't feel like the idiot, but because I get a chance to SEE how I should be reacting all of the time. I get a chance to see my reactions mirrored...and see how futile they are. How self-sabotaging, how pointless. Preach it, sister! Preach it! It's amusing to me, although, it is a humble sermon, because I am too often in the driver seat...literally. I am the one stuck in the driveway and not the one just watching the drama unfold. Sometimes you lose sight of that.

So my husband was getting angry as we were going up the driveway and backing down again and again trying to get past where we were. Meanwhile, the snow was just continuing to come down, not making it any better. But we had full bellies, we were in our own driveway and we were together. This is what I told my husband. No big deal. We'll get 'er! We were 3/4 of the way up the driveway...and a day later I would realize how odd it was that our driveway is shaped exactly like the arc my therapist made with her hand when she was describing how I was doing progress wise, and we got stuck in the exact spot she stopped her hand in the air and declared that I was at...3/4 of the way...riiiiiiiiight near the top of the LAST little hump before you're home free...where you keep sliding off track! Hmm...interesting. Where you are tested with what you have learned thus far. You can't make it up smoothly without knowing what you've learned. Do I digress? 

In all actuality, I just had the car stuck in our driveway a week prior on my way back home from my friend's house one night. (It was a BAD winter for our driveway!) Luckily, I had a little wine in me, so the cold wasn't bad at all and it turned into a beautiful moonlit walk, as Sam Cooke serenaded me via Pandora the entire length of my trek. "Darling, you send me...Honest, you do, honest, you do..." It was actually rather enjoyable, as I sneaked up to my snow covered abode like it was a hidden cabin in the woods. Which takes me back to us being stuck in the driveway. It's no big deal...it is what you make it. I had decided to walk and listened to Sam Cooke! It was enjoyable. It could have been made into an ordeal. I could have become so pissed that I tried to kick my tire, slipped, and fell on my ass! I could have broken my coccyx! It COULD have happened. But I CHOSE to enjoy the moment. This is what I was thinking about when we became stuck after our outing for breakfast that morning.

In my husband's defense, though, he was the one in charge of unstucking the car both times, so I am sure that is why he wasn't enjoying the moment as much as I was. I didn't see much amusement in his eyes when I replied to one of his outbursts with, "I"m having a really good time!" and a large grin. Maybe now wasn't the time? But if not Now, when? Now is exactly when you need to have a good time! Even when you are stuck 3/4 of the way up your driveway...because you're almost home. No matter how much you keep sliding into that deep drift, no matter how long it takes you to pull yourself out...no matter how many times you have to back down the drive and get a head start back up...you're gonna make it home...even if you have to walk. That's a metaphor...and a good life lesson.

Staring Into the Rising Sun

This picture has been my Facebook profile picture for over a year now.  I took this picture last June while on vacation with my family in Rodanthe, North Carolina.  I had never been to the Outer Banks before and I had also never seen a sunrise over the ocean.  I have kept this as my profile picture for so long because it just seems so fitting for this time in my life, for after all of the darkness, I am finally watching the sunrise. 

There's something about nature I have always loved;  I have always found God there.  Solitary moments in nature have always been when I receive my best advice.  They say God whispers.  Well, what better time to listen than when alone with the trees, the streams, or the critters that It has created.  I just happened upon this rising sun that morning at the beach, even though watching one was on my list of things for the week.  I had woken up to use the bathroom and afterward noted the time and realized that the sun would be coming up in less than a half an hour, so I left my husband and daughter sleeping in bed and slipped out onto the balcony outside our room to have an intimate moment with The Universe.

The sky had already started to turn a rosy pink at the horizon as the light of day prepared to peak over the Atlantic Ocean.  I sat in anticipation with my camera taking a handful of videos and pictures of the incredibly slow and unfolding process.  Isn't that what recovery could be called?  That sun was me.  I was that rising sun!  Slowly the sky grew in color, and every second you thought for sure that golden ball would pop up, but no...not yet.  Wait for it.  

Shade by shade the sky changed and there was such an expansive sense of Greatness...and persistence.  Everyday the Sun does this!  Every single day!  Regardless of what or who is watching, every single day the sun will rise and shine, like clockwork.  It gets the job done.  It sheds light on the shadows of Earth.  Every.single.day.  No days off for the sun.  On this day, I was watching.  I was listening, I was feeling.  I was believing.  I was in a different place.  I had just started therapy and meds at the beginning of that year.  I knew that I had a long journey ahead of me but still couldn't fathom the turns I would be making.

So there I was...waiting for it...on the balcony at the beach.  A million things flew through my mind as I waited eagerly.  Metaphorically speaking, in my mental progress I was waiting too...I was waiting for the sun, patiently watching for but unable yet to see solid proof of progress.  Tom Petty, musical guru that he is, was right when he said that this is the hardest part!  Phase one--The Waiting.  Waiting can seem like a delay of progress, but it is actually a quite necessary part of it.  My mind was full of thoughts until I was moved to mental silence by the first sliver of Light to break across the horizon.  

I was in awe as I watched the Sun cut into the pink sky it had been warming up this entire time.  There is something romantic about this moment in time, this fleeting moment of transition when the sun moves across the horizon and onto its vast palette of sky.  It goes so fast but also seems to be happening in slow motion.  Phase two--The Rising, had begun.  That's where I am now.  I was moved to tears in that intimate moment with the rising sun.  It was as if I was witnessing a birth as that shining head of Sun tore through the great Yoni of Life.  It slowly slipped out from behind the horizon and then was delivered into the Sky!  The birth of the day!!  It was a beautiful thing.

I am still experiencing the labor of my Light and feeling the pains of my awakening.  I'm doing my work.  I have been diligent and I finally have started to see positive results...but I have yet to shine.  After coming this far I fully understand now why some people choose to never do their work and move across the fire.  Some never face the sun, because it IS work.  If you do it right, it's uncomfortable for awhile.  It'll definitely make you squirm.  You leave your comfort zone of unconscious living in order to shine as bright as you can.  Well, I'm dying to shine.  Phase three is The Shining, and I'm on my way.  You Wait...You Rise...You Shine.