All things melancholy · Musings · Strong Woman · Uncategorized · weak woman

Pain

there are days when everything hurts, this, fibromyalgia, but I refuse to take pain medications.

i walked alot on Saturday, i mean not alot compared to what i walked five years ago, but alot for now.  just two short miles.  this week has been horrible.  my knees, my right outside edge of my foot, my lower back, my trapezium and my neck.  last night i woke myself many times crying out in pain.

words no longer have the power over me they once did.  but words, damn they can be hurtful and mean spirited and cruel.  words like, lazy.  words like, you are just like ______ (fill in the blank) for a person you strive to not be like, you aren’t __________(fill in the blank) for things that you are, words thrown as weapons, when wit cannot pull up things that are thoughtful and reflective, words that show a person that they have not seen your growth, only bringing up the past to smash you.

and i find myself not floundering and wretched but instead empowered to continue being who i am.

lazy ____ no i do not do as i once did as i sit here recalling scraping and painting the house all summer, mowing the lawn, raking leaves, putting sealant on the driveway, gardening, cooking, doing dishes, taking care of the animals utterly by myself, cleaning, laundry, taking out the trash, taking the trash to the road, literally everything that needed done the house i did or i left a short list for my daughter to do as well.  my grandparents called me lazy when i was about 8.  i wasn’t lazy, i was just being 8, but it stuck, it was used again and again, and still to this day people like to use it on me.  did i mention i am in pain? always?  i still vacuum, sweep, clean the bathroom, cook, do dishes, hose detritus off the deck, garden, shop for the household, which for me as a single person was literally one quick trip a week, but now is a two hour ordeal.  am i a stay at home mom who works two hours a day outside the home and carrying the weight of the whole household in chores?  no, and i have never been.  instead i work 7 hours a day, babysit 10 hours a week, and work on my art which i sell probably another 20 hours a week.  lazy.  that’s me.

when i am angry i tell people.  i don’t sulk and seethe quietly, i don’t pretend like nothing is wrong, i don’t throw out hurtful words, i am smart, i am creative, i am self aware, i try hard to be kind though i fall short at times, i acknowledge my mistakes, i am not ashamed of who i am, i don’t feel inadequate, under appreciated and psychologically and emotionally lonely yes, but not inadequate, not ever.

this blog is a great example of my growth, i try to move beyond my blockages, i try to learn, and grow emotionally, and when i am angry, i don’t try to push my old hurts onto others as labels, and name callings.

pain. inside.

pain. outside.

pain swirls.

the more i hurt from external resources the further i withdraw.  that is what i guess i should be my newest area of growth.

or i could just become reclusive.

i am already halfway there.

 

 

Humor · Musings · Poetry · Rants · Strong Woman · Uncategorized · weak woman

Falling Apart at the Seams

The decision is made and the work is in progress.

I will be more organized.

I begin the research, purchase the app

Organized for All Time

This is finally it.

I have won.

I get up, as usual a half hour after I should.  Not because I have not awakened but because I am thinking about a story or a poem or a painting.

Productive!  Yes!

It is usually the time of leaving that my ends become loose and frayed.

I leave, and realize a mile down the road that I have forgotten my phone.

It is only upon a full house search that I realize it is on the passenger seat.

In the car.

I drive along and just as I have passed the last little drive thru

I reach for my coffee, already twisting my hand for that askew opening

hard and fast rule in place:

light colored clothing is forever banned from my wardrobe

I am signaling for the on ramp, in fact am ON the on ramp

just moments before my faultless car

will surely patronize to remind me that I have forgotten to get gas

again.

which even when I was NOT endeavoring to be more organized

I never did.

yes that delicious sip of hot super power

is sitting on the counter at home,

I saw it while searching for my phone.

didn’t I?

Yes, you did.

And here I look at the clock.

And feel

the pallor of death, the sick, clammy sweaty feeling

that my guts are spilling out and they are too slippery to hold.

Arrived guts stuffed back in

and at the gateway to the LIFESKILL of organized.

said with a sneer.

as the second epic battle in the search for keys begins.

I am gathering dandelion fluff and milkweed seeds

on a blustery day.

I fight my very nature.

Only to get inside and realize

my phone is not in my purse.

But on my passenger seat.

No it is in my hand.

Now where exactly did I put my glasses?

Buddhism · Energy work · Musings · Strong Woman · Uncategorized · weak woman · Zen Buddhism · Zen Center of Syracuse

Questions

How do you return to one, if we are already one?  Return to one.  If everything is connected, and if we are all part of one living organism, how can we return to something we are already part of?

Also I have this question.  If Buddhism is about acceptance, and the Buddha is not a god, then why does one have to be mindful of such things as not wearing knee length shorts when meditating, or not stretching in front of the Buddha statue.  STATUE.

Also why if we are all one and all equals must one bow to the Osho, not turn your back to the Osho as though they are a high king?  Why do people serve the Osho, and why is the Osho kept apart from the others?

Can one be an enlightened bodhisattva and still be just an ordinary person.  Must one be ordained to be enlightened?

And why is discomfort and pain part of Zen meditative practice?  ie you sit in a painful position for seven days at a time, not scratching, moving or brushing off a mosquito, until your bones ache and your body screams in pain.  Is this what finding enlightenment is really about?  And how can you find enlightenment, if you are already exactly where you are supposed to be?

These are my questions.

Artists · Magic · weak woman

Mending that Old Wound

 

 

Before
Before

 

 

photo 3
Throw Pillow After
Throw Pillow After
Throw Pillow After

 

When my daughter moved into her own place, I gave her my old furniture.  When I moved into my new place, I bought a small inexpensive sectional, I won’t spend too much on furniture that dogs vomit on.  Because dogs do like to puke on the furniture sometimes.  I like to be able to wash whatever is covering the cushions, for now I have two old throw quilts covering the seats, and the horrendous, ugly throw pillows that came with it have been sitting in my studio since I put in the couch.  Each time I have moved in these last two years, I have weeded out some possessions that I just had been holding onto for no real reason.  I had these pieces though that I kept during both moves, and when my mom came to visit this week, I showed them to her.

I had been experimenting with a quilting technique that to me seemed like painting with fabric.  These two panels were my only attempts.  I was looking at them after I had pulled them out of the dryer, and my then husband came in the room and looked at them too.  He told me that they were not very good, he did not like the technique and I should not be making these any more.  I thought they were awesome but was devastated by his critique.

I am always devastated by critique.

I folded them up and put them away.  But I held on to them, I guess in some way I knew he was wrong.

I showed them to my mom, should I throw these out or?  But she loved them, and today we spent the day making them into pillow covers for the two ugly cushions.

I absolutely love them.  They are gorgeous.  Tomorrow we are going to use an old piece of crazy quilt to do the seat cushions.  I love this, this house, what I am doing here.  It is like I am new and fresh and whole, where I was always before, but now I am just putting the last pieces of the puzzle together.

It feels good to heal old wounds.

Buddhism · weak woman

Prostration

 

i do a prostration, here on my way into the bathroom,out of the bathroom, on the floor of the doctor’s office, out on the sun porch as the dogs frolic in the snow.

knees hands belly.  and up again.

intimately acquainted with the floor, i find a dog canine.

intimately acquainted with what it feels like to sob uncontrollably in public.

please, please hurry

intimately acquainted with the back seat of my car as i lay on my back hoping no one will reach inside the open car door and rob me.

intimately acquainted with ordering what i want.  you WILL drive me to the doctor tomorrow.  you WILL wait for me.  you WILL take me to the drug store.  ok .ok.ok.

my angel, comes to get her facial creams, rubbing my back as I lean my head on the cash register.  i called ahead i tell her, they said it would be ready.  sorry says the cashier. sorry. i am crying, the pharmacist says, who is crying, then, we are almost done.

sorry i say, i am in so much pain.

i feel like a monk prostrating before the buddha.  i am surrendering to this suffering.  this excruciating pain,

my body says, it is time to release all of this negative karma.

i prostrate my body to the floor,

the dog licks the back of my hand and then stands over me.

sentinel he says, i will watch out for you when you cannot defend yourself

she plays quietly nearby, stopping to look at me eye to eye, you okay down there?  yes?  okay, i go play now.  you okay still?  okay i go play now.  throwing her body against me and promptly snoring when she has tired,

it is elegant, this

so very elegant.

to know so intimately

the pain of suffering.

this awareness.

this understanding.

so very elegant.