Take a breath

 

Where are you today? What are you thinking or feeling or looking at? 

Are you tired or rested? Is your mind blissfully wandering or skittering here and there?

I used to meditate. Ok, not very well, but I did it anyway. It helped slow down my mental gymnastics but it didn’t stop them. I thought that meant I’d failed and after a while I gave it up and moved on. I find yoga helps me more because focusing on the physical movement redirects my monkey mind. It gives it something ‘to do’. 

I’ve written many blogs about my war with ‘doing’ vs ‘being’. I know I’m not alone and that is a comfort. But I think what I really need to do is end the war. 

Waving my white flag. 

More than a year of covid is getting on all our nerves. Add scared parents and grandparents seeing their sweet little ones head off to school without vaccinations. It’s enough. No, it’s more than enough. Right?

We all need a break right now. And I don’t mean a vacation, which for some is helpful, but for me that would only add more to my mental and emotional stew. What I really need, and maybe you do too, is a rest. Waving a white flag in the face of fear. 

Surrender

Looking out at today’s beautiful, blue sky I picture a cozy, quiet hammock underneath a huge oak tree where I can lay back my head, look through the gently swaying leaves. Still green against a blue sky, I watch the leaf patterns change as the air moves. 

I breathe in the sweetness. 

I hear a caw.  

I feel supported. 

Safe. 

Although there is still so much swirling in the heads and minds of the world. Mine and yours. 

Right now, I am here. 

Doing the best I can. Maybe doing the only thing I can right now.  

Taking a breath.  

Perfectly Overwhelmed

 

I don’t  see blue sky outside my window. I see orange fog. Smoke. And gray particulates falling through the air. Just when I was getting used to wearing a face mask, cleansing everything with sanitizer and accepting a pandemic, my part of the world started burning. 

I am scared. I worry about all the people I know in danger and their children and animals and homes. I thank the brave firefighters and responders and want them to all come home, safe. And there is nothing I can really do to help stop any of this. What can any of us really do?

All I see on social media is pictures of the smoke, orange sky, flames outside everyone’s windows. I keep reacting to each and every one the same: shocked emoji. And I’ve taken my own pictures as well, but it just seems hard to post them. 

Sharing. 

Here’s a post I did see on social media this week and I found it very helpful.

 

This is from Lisa O’ Baire:

Dear West Coast friends, if you’re feeling anxious or unsettled by our orange, smoky skies, please remember that your animal body is responding *perfectly*. 

Your nervous system is so smart. 

You’re biologically wired to feel afraid.

Your body is prepping for threat that is not yet here.

What can you do to feel more settled in this moment?

1) Self-Touch

2) Self-Talk

3) Reach Out for Connection

4) Remember Impermanence

✨Self-Touch✨

Massage your body, even if it’s *just* squeezing your own arms. Take a shower with cool water. Ask a loved one to lay on top of you or use a weighted blanket. Sitting up with your feet on the floor, ask a friend to slowly press down on the top of your feet (it works!). Take a moment to smell something lovely. Connecting to our senses is one of the quickest ways to get “unstuck” when overwhelmed.

✨Self-Talk✨

Speak aloud what you most need to hear. Pretend you’re a loving parent and speak to your younger self: “Thank you, body, for reminding me that this is a scary moment. I am safe right now. I am resilient and prepared to act, if necessary. Until then, I am completely safe — even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

✨Reach Out for Connection✨

I appreciate every picture of an orange sky on FB right now. I see it as a bid for connection. You are not alone. Write to a family member or friend who lives in another area. Ask them to send you a photo of a beautiful blue sky. Call someone who delights you! Friends are our lifelines and can help us co-regulate. It’s likely your call will make their day too. 

✨Remember Impermanence✨

Our sweet brains need help remembering there is a different (better) future ahead. In times of strife, the body’s job is to keep us alive at all costs. Chemicals flood the body to “help”, but you may find yourself frozen — or desperate to flee or fight. 

Remind yourself that this WILL end. 

This WILL shift. 

Blue skies WILL come again. 

And finally, please remember that none of this anxiety mismatch is your fault. Nervous system regulation and resiliency was not taught in school.  Self-regulation and somatic awareness are the most important skills you can gift yourselves and your children. You’re worth it. 

Thank you, Lisa for helping me understand that feeling overwhelmed right now is perfectly all right. 

A Season of Change

Hours tick tock into a day. Days flip like cards into weeks. Weeks fall into months. I’m always amazed by the amount of time passing through my life. Time feels like it happens around me instead of through me.

Lost in minutiae, I don’t see the minutes marching by me. I have to admit, I like being lost in the flow most of the time. Throwing clay on the wheel. Rolling a slab for a vase. Mixing and painting a teacup or bird. Creating is my way to be lost and found in time. 

Summer is gone and it’s September?

It’s hard to believe. Covid has turned everything upside down worldwide causing so much pain, sorrow, anger and fear. Fall is coming but not with schools starting or harvest festivals or art shows or open studios.

I remember how excited my children were to go back to school. I think of how many will not even be able to go kindergarten. They won’t be able to run into a freshly decorated classroom with their names on cubbies, new paints on easels and sharpened pencils ready to use.

Bye Bye Birthday parties and hello Birthday drive byes. 

My grandson’s 1st birthday was in late August but with Covid restrictions, a traditional birthday party was out of the question. But my lovely daughter came up with a creative way to give her baby his first birthday anyway. 

With The Hungry Caterpillar theme, we went to work making clay ornaments. 

A caterpillar made of cupcakes. 

And a flying butterfly from clay. 

Luckily, it was a nice day for an outside, drive-by party. And everyone did a great job of staying safe, enjoying cupcakes and celebrating baby Cieran’s first year on our planet (in spite of Covid).

    

Lost time. 

Six months. I can’t believe that Covid has been here that long already. I spent many days, weeks and months between denial and fear. As a self-employed person, I clung to my routine. I threw and rolled and painted and fired and glazed and fired again.

Even as my shows were cancelled and galleries closed, I filled my studio shelves with bowls, birds, vases and teacups. I did social media promotions, online craft fairs and opened an Etsy shop. I worked and waited and hoped it would all end soon. 

 A season of change. 

Yes, Covid is still here. I’m still creating and working. But I’m still worried and wondering how and when will all this end? Will my granddaughter ever get to run happily into her classroom? How can we all change and recover together?

As I leaned on Mother Cedar this morning, I felt a sliver of warm sunshine and heard a message. “Take this small slice of light and let it into your soul. Let it warm you and lift you and heal you. And give it to everyone around you.”

Moving while Staying in Place

I’m the first to admit, these past five months created many new challenges, difficulties, sorrows and fears. As an artist, I saw my opportunities fall like bricks one by one and the bricks keep falling. As a mother, I worried for my sons, daughter and grandchildren’s health and safety. As a friend, I lost connections when I needed them most. 

There were many times, I felt my heart and soul cringe at the hard shell building around my city and country. Seeing violence and fear shatter so many lives, I found myself building a shell around myself, too. 

Creating from inside helped me out. 

With more inventory than opportunities, my head said it was time to stop making. Stop throwing. Stop building. Stop painting. But my heart cried out louder saying making, throwing, building and painting is your only hope right now. 

Creating is your only move toward light, even if everything you create has to stay home. 

It became a very slow process. I had no normal routine. I didn’t set a schedule and there was no deadline to meet. But I threw small bowls. I built new teapots and painted new birds. 

Moving closer. 

I know I’m lucky in many, many ways. I am healthy. My spouse and children and grandchildren are all fine. Even as they struggle to juggle home, work and babies. They are finding their way in this crazy covid world. 

And they are moving closer to home. This month, after 6 years away, I welcomed my daughter, son-in-law and grand-baby back to Oregon. And my son also moved closer to us. 

Now on Mondays, we have Meyer and Cieran and Colin and Caitlin and Kyle to see. Now we  get to walk with them to the park. Watch them swing. Slide down the slide. All at the same park where my now grown ‘children’ used to play. 

Learning a new pace in the same place. 

This difficult time forced me to break the shell of routine. Work away worry. Discover moving slowly is my new pace. And welcome my family home while staying in place. 

How about you? Is it possible to stand aside from the pain and fear, just a little? To look beyond these five months and see some light, movement, possibilities and maybe, some good?

A lesson in listening

Lots of words swirl around us all right now: scary headlines, angry quotes, rude social media comments and insults. It’s hitting all of us from all sides and while some of these words definitely need to be said, my question is are they being heard? Are the right people listening? 

I read a wonderful piece by Martha Beck on listening. And how the overwhelming amount of information right now can drive you to turn off, listen less when what’s needed is to listen more. Her idea of listening is something more than just using your ears. 

4 Levels of Listening. 

Martha Beck breaks down the seemingly simple act of listening into 4 levels that involve your whole

Level One is ear listening. You hear something, perhaps scary, and you leap into survival mode.  Conflicts jump to the surface instead of cooperation and compassion. 

Level Two is body listening. The scary words cause a reaction in your body. Noticing it, breathing into it, you can help your body stay calm. This helps you notice the truth of the situation and understand your feelings and the feelings of others. 

body. 

Level Three is heart listening. Once the body relaxes, discernment happens and you can use your heart to lean in or out of the situation. According to Beck, “check to see whether your heart wants to move forward or to back off. When you’re being lied to, you may feel an inexplicable desire to move away, even to literally run. When someone is telling the truth, even though the words may be hard to hear, you’ll feel a softening and opening in your chest, a desire to hear and understand more.”

Level Four is soul listening. Beck describes this type of listening as, “a  bolt of love flows through me and toward everyone around me. It’s two aspects of one consciousness connecting, hearing our shared experience in separate bodies.” And with this type of listening a connection is made. Even if you don’t agree with the words or person, soul listening allows you to see their confusion or pain. You don’t have to change your mind in the midst of fear or prejudice, you can listen with less fear, more awareness and compassion. 

In Martha’s words, “When I listen with my ears, body, and heart, my soul is available to hear the wise voices of millions who refuse to give in to fear and bitterness. Their aim is to create a world that is safe, just and happy for all of us.”

Now these are words, I need to not just hear but listen to and act on. 

With my whole body, heart and soul. 

Feeling the fear. Acting anyway.

There’s a lot to be fearful about these days. Traveling. Pandemics. Politics. Quarantines. Wacked out President. Even wackier Presidential primaries. Shortage of toilet paper, hand sanitizer and cleaning wipes. And lack of universal healthcare. 

Whew. How’s that for a list? But I’m sure I’ve left many things out. So what’s on your list? Feel free to write your own or in the comments. 

Why am I writing down all my fears, you might wonder. Isn’t there enough of that on every news feed, internet site and email out there? Yeah. Definitely. I see it every time I turn on my computer and it does make me want to close it down. Shut off the TV. Turn off my phone. 

But what I’ve learned the hard way is burying my head in an internet desert does not keep me from feeling the fear. It’s there anyway and sometimes, pushing it away just makes it push back at me harder. 

So what can I do? 

Ah, yes. Let’s do something. Anything, right? Busy work can and does keep a worried mind at bay. Weeding. Laundry. Cleaning. I did all that and but my mind buzzes along anyway. Nope, my usual escape coping mechanisms are not working. 

But what if I don’t need them. What if I just take a look around and let myself really see. What if I dare to let myself look at what is out there?

Outside my window, the sky is blue. The clouds are still white. And the fresh spring air is waving the tree limbs around. My dog, Darby is napping on his bed. There are daffodils and hyacinth, plum and forsythia blooming. 

Finding the flowers in the dirt. 

Our world is not perfect. Life is a cycle of up and down, good and bad, fear and safety. Facing these facts, I can act. I refuse to wallow or hide in fear. I search instead for signs of life.

Buds on a tree that looked dead. 

Viruses we have survived. Babies who have thrived. 

Air so polluted it was once gray is now clear. 

A blob of mud that becomes a vase filled with flowers.

When I feel fear, I need to act anyway and I can to see that through the dirt grows new life.