I'll Be Your Mirror

I've worked really hard over the years to heal, to come back into my body, to learn to tune in to what I'm feeling, to open my heart... And I'm happy to say it feels like it is finally paying off. Because in the midst of some not awesome external factors over which I have no control, I was able, during the time my love was visiting, to get out of my head and feel. And when I did that, I realized I felt great in his presence. More grounded, more comfortable in the world, more at peace, more loved. So that's what I'm paying attention to -- how it feels to be together -- not whether it fits my master plan.

I came across this quote which perfectly sums up the feeling I'm affirming here:

"More valuable than the treasures of the storehouse are the treasures of the body, and the treasures of the heart are the most valuable of all." Nichiren, 13th Century Japan.

Here we are soaking up some spring sun, Wisco-style

I love that this is something that has always been true, and I love that I finally understand and am capable of availing myself of the treasures of the heart with a man. I've had it down with the kids from day 1, but with a man, it has taken considerably longer.

Shortly before his visit, I read the modern love column about this Lou Reed song:

I'll be your mirror, reflect what you are
In case you don't know, I'll be the wind
The rain and the sunset
The light on your door to show that you're home

I'd never heard the song before, but it so beautifully expresses much of what is so great about being in love. I chose this song to mark this day because we got to experience just what Lou is crooning about here during his visit, from me helping him see and feel his goodness:

When you think the night has seen your mind
That inside you're twisted and unkind
Let me stand to show that you are blind
Please put down your hands 'cause I see you

...to him helping me see and feel my beauty:

I find it hard to believe
You don't know the beauty that you are
But if you don't let me be your eyes
A hand in your darkness, so you won't be afraid

When you think the night has seen your mind
That inside you're twisted and unkind
Let me stand to show that you are blind
Please put down your hands 'cause I see you

I'll be your mirror

Yes, this visit affirmed that I want him to be my mirror. I love what he allows me to see...

Pompeii

This morning I kept having the experience where a few lines of a song kept playing over and over again in my head without me knowing what song it was. But it wasn't long before, through the wonders of the internet, I found it:

Eh-eh-o eh-o [6x]

I was left to my own devices
Many days fell away with nothing to show

And the walls kept tumbling down
In the city that we love
Great clouds roll over the hills
Bringing darkness from above

But if you close your eyes,
Does it almost feel like
Nothing changed at all?
And if you close your eyes,
Does it almost feel like
You've been here before?

And I think I know why this song's on repeat in my head. Today is the first full day of my reunion with my New Englander, and in most respects, it really, truly feels like nothing changed at all: Having him stand in my kitchen and sleep in my bed feel like the most natural thing in the world. But in other respects of course, things have changed. He no longer lives here. We haven't seen each other in nine months and we don't have a definite timetable for when we'll live in the same place again, though being together has made us both feel increasingly certain that that's the way it's going to go.

I also feel like we're both trying to find a way to put the best possible spin on what is in some ways a difficult situation:

How am I gonna be an optimist about this?
How am I gonna be an optimist about this?

For him, too, there's an element of dealing with the guilt and the financial fallout and all the other yucky stuff we had to go through, and really, still have to go through before we get to the place where we're ready to live in the same place again:

Oh where do we begin?
The rubble or our sins?
Oh oh where do we begin?
The rubble or our sins?

Happy

I heard on the radio that this morning that not only is it the first day of Spring (yay!) but it's also World Happiness Day, so it seems only fitting that I mark the day with one of my daughter's current favorite songs, all about happiness:

It might seem crazy what I’m about to say
Sunshine she’s here, you can take a break
I’m a hot air balloon that could go to space
With the air, like I don’t care baby by the way

Because I’m happy
Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof
Because I’m happy
Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth
Because I’m happy
Clap along if you know what happiness is to you
Because I’m happy
Clap along if you feel like that’s what you wanna do

Here come bad news talking this and that, yeah,
Well, give me all you got, and don’t hold back, yeah,
Well, I should probably warn you I’ll be just fine, yeah,
No offense to you, don’t waste your time
Here’s why

Hey, come on

(happy)
Bring me down
Can't nothing bring me down
My level's too high
Bring me down
Can't nothing bring me down
I said (let me tell you now)
Bring me down
Can't nothing bring me down
My level's too high
Bring me down
Can't nothing bring me down
I said

Hey, come on

(happy)
Bring me down… can’t nothing…
Bring me down… my level's too high…
Bring me down… can’t nothing…
Bring me down, I said (let me tell you now)

And I must admit, few things make me happier than seeing my daughter happy...

Anthem

As I contemplate this second go-around with my love from New England, there are still a lot of questions, but there's also a lot that feels settled. We both know now, in a way we didn't before, why our love is working for us in ways that our previous loves didn't. And that's helpful. It's huge, even.

I really enjoyed the Modern Love column this week, which was about embracing love again with the same man too, only in their case, they fell out of love and then back in (in our case, we never fell out). She makes reference in the column to this incredible Leonard Cohen song:

The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
Ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

We asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed
the marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
of every government --
signs for all to see.

I can't run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
But they've summoned, they've summoned up
a thundercloud
and they're going to hear from me.

Ring the bells that still can ring ...

You can add up the parts
but you won't have the sum
You can strike up the march,
there is no drum
Every heart, every heart
to love will come
but like a refugee.

Leonard Cohen is such an incredible songwriter, and this song is such a great example of his lyrical prowess, not to mention really great advice:

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

It's not about everything being perfect, or everything being just like you planned. It's about embracing the love while we still can -- even with, or maybe especially with, all of its cracks. Because in our case at least, all of those cracks have taught us something, something that allows our love to be more lighted now than it ever was before:

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.

Change is Gonna Come

Tina Turner was a significant presence in my life when I was a party girl back in the day, and I was reflecting on how far we've both come when my Reiki practitioner put on a CD of her chanting at our last session. Tina has done interviews where she talks about what a huge difference becoming a Buddhist made in her life.

She talks in the interview about changing your life, which is powerful, but not nearly as powerful, in my opinion, as listening to her cover of this amazing Sam Cooke song:

I was born by the river in a little tent
And just like that river I've been running ever since
It's been a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come, oh yes it will

It's been too hard living, but I'm afraid to die
Cos I don't know what's out there beyond the sky
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come, oh yes it will

I go to the movie
And I go downtown
somebody keep telling me don't hang around
It's been along time coming
But I know a change is gonna come, oh yes it will

Then I go to my brother
And I say brother help me please
But he winds up knockin' me
Back down on my knees

There were times when I thought I couldn't last for long
But now I think I'm able to carry on
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gone come, oh yes it will

Yep, changing is H-A-R-D. But love helps. It's an incentive, it's a support, it's a resting place, it's the payoff that makes all the hard work worthwhile.

Turns out, this song has been covered by a gazillion people, and each cover is at least as beautiful as the last, from Al Green to Aretha Franklin (looking super young and super cute!) to Otis Redding to Beyonce to Billy Preston to Seal (this one might just be my favorite although it is super hard to choose) to Lauryn Hill.

Salty Dog

I have some pretty crazy memories of St. Paddy's Days past that are fun to reminisce about when this holiday rolls around, but I'm not nearly as crazy these days. I did, however, insist on ingesting some corned beef and cabbage, and a Guinness, at the local Irish pub at lunchtime, and it was both delicious and a nice break from the usual lunch-at-my-desk routine.

While we were at the pub, I heard this very Irish song, and it made me happy in the way that Irish songs always seem to, even when their subjects are pretty dang depressing:

I'll wait for you till I turn blue
There's nothin' more a man can do
Don't get your bollocks in a twist
Settle down, don't take a fit
Ya drank with demons straight form Hell
They almost nearly won as well
Ya wiped the floor with victory
Then puked until you fell asleep

Blackened was the banshee's wail
These boot will never fill her jail
So you crawled into an empty boat
For the Gulf of Mexico
Till Cortez came an' when so did you
From the ashes charred and blue
Smellin' like a Salty Dog
Back from Hell where you belong

Anarchy, the scourge of every sea
The Antichrist aboard a rig
With us your cutthroat thieves
The ship went down we all near drowned
Ya stood there on the deck
Till the Spanish came and flogged yer arse
And dragged you from the wreck

They threw a rope around yer neck
To watch you dance the jig of death
Then left ya for the starvin' crows
Hoverin' like hungry whores
One flew down plucked out yer eye
The other he had in his sights
Ya snarled at him, said leave me be
I need the bugger so I can see

Church (Part of Someone)

Mentally and physically exhausted at the end of the day today -- having run 7.5 miles, practiced some yoga, taught an Ashtanga class, and spent 5 hours working on a consulting project -- I settled in for a little Hulu plus viewing on my laptop.

I ended up watching a particularly moving episode of Parenthood, dealing as it did with tough issues like separation and divorce, questions of faith, babies, promises, and family.

Especially poignant for me was this song, circa 1970 (when my mother was pregnant with me), which played close to the end of the episode:

You see, it's my thing
To be part of someone
As a true friend is part of me
You know that there's so much
Oh, little girl, we've got to tell each other
About the whole world
And most especially one another, oh yeah, all right
And you know, and you know?

And it's hard, yes it is
It's hard, yes it is
And I wonder
I wonder could it be a dream?
And you know that the self made man, babe
Is truly shallow
He knows he's no one
But who he wants to be
So while you still sing, baby
You got to tell me, baby
Is it your thing to be part of anyone?
Anyone, anyone

Often when I was a kid, I didn't feel part of anyone. I wanted to -- I think we all at least start out in this world craving that feeling -- but most of the time I didn't. Over time, I stopped believing that it was possible for me, and instead, lived life from the relative safety of staying in my head. If it's not my thing to truly be part of anyone, my subconscious seemed to reason, I can't be hurt if I'm not.

And it worked pretty well for a lot of years, but then my son was born, and my world was blown wide open: If this is what it feels like to be part of someone, this is exactly what I want for myself!

Yes, the love I felt (and still feel) for that baby (and the one that followed three years later) have been the catalysts I needed to do the very difficult work of coming back into my body, of healing, of reuniting my head and my heart, and of saying yes to being part of someone.

Children are such an incredible gift. It's true that parenting them isn't always easy:

And it's hard, yes it is
It's hard, yes it is

But I've never doubted for a second that it's worth it. Without my kids, I can't imagine that I'd have made as much progress with reconciling all the various parts of myself. And that might've meant missing out on the feeling I have today, that I'm part of someone, and creating a home where I believe my children feel they are part of someone too. I can't ask for anything more than that, except maybe a partner to share it with...

This is the Time

Yesterday I experienced two moments, with two different couples, where I marveled at their devotion to each other, to their family, and to the promise they either made or were about to make about living their lives together. My marriage didn't work out that way. In fact, I would go as far as to say it didn't even really start out that way, not to lay blame on anyone in particular, but just by way of noting that this is something I want in my next marriage, and I understand that to have it, I'll also have to bring it. And I feel capable of that now -- I didn't, for a number of reasons, the last time around.

On the car ride home from Milwaukee to Madison today, I heard this Billy Joel classic, which pretty much nails the sentiment I'm talking about here:

We walked on the beach beside that old hotel
They're tearing it down now
But it's just as well
I haven't shown you everything a man can do
So stay with me baby
I've got plans for you

This is the time to remember
Cause it will not last forever
These are the days
To hold on to
Cause we won't
Although we'll want to
This is the time
But time is gonna change
You've given me the best of you
And now I need the rest of you

Did you know that before you came into my life
It was some kind of miracle that I survived
Some day we will both look back
And have to laugh
We lived through a lifetime
And the aftermath

This is the time to remember
Cause it will not last forever
These are the days
To hold on to
Cause we won't
Although we want to
This is the time
But time is gonna change
I know we've got to move somehow
But I don't want to lose you now

I feel confident that I'm going to know when I have the kind of love, desire to prioritize family, and live life together this time around. And I'm not going to settle for anything less...

Lady

When I was driving in my car today, I was scanning the stations for a good sing-a-long song (singing is also helpful in finding one's voice), and I stumbled on this one:

Look around you, look up here
Take time to make time
Make time to be there
Look around, be a part
Feel for the winter
But don't have a cold heart

(Not an easy one for those of us living in Wisco and dealing with the coldest winter in 30 plus years!)

And I love you best
You're not like the rest
You're there when I need you
You're there when I need
I'm gonna need you

A long time ago
I had a lady to love
She made me think of things
I never thought of
Now she's gone and I'm on my own
A love song has come into my mind
A love song
It was there all the time

So lady
Let me take a look at you now
You're there on the dance floor
Making me want you somehow
Oh lady
I think it's only fair
I should say to you
Don't be thinkin' that I don't want you
'Cause maybe I do

Those last couple lines are my favorite in the song, and when I belted them out today, I chose to both hear them and sing them as an affirmation that though being in the world has not felt comfortable lately, there is a place for me here somewhere, a place where I'll be not only comfortable but thriving:

Don't be thinkin' that I don't want you
Lady I do

Thanks Universe!

Express Yourself

The discomfort I blogged about yesterday has a number of ways of manifesting itself, two of which I've decided are related to what I'm going to call finding my voice. And when I use the phrase finding my voice, I mean being able to speak clearly, kindly and honestly to both express my needs and what I have to offer to meet the needs of others and the world.

Turns out, not being able to do this, for me anyway, sometimes comes in the form of yelling, as it did last night with my kids, and sometimes in the form of being inarticulate, as it did yesterday during a phone call. And while neither one of them felt good, or comfortable, it helps me to think that the way to avoid that particular brand of discomfort in the future is to continue to work on grounding within myself.

To that end, when I woke up this morning, I had the sense that my yoga practice needed to deviate from the usual -- Ashtanga -- and focus on the fifth chakra, or the throat area. I got some ideas from this blog post that I stumbled onto, and was able to find a few videos that were helpful too, including this one demonstrating lion pose, and this one with a series of poses intended to balance the fifth chakra.

Sure enough, I felt a whole lot better when I was done practicing. Enough better, as a matter of fact, that one of the songs that the blog post I linked above referenced as being about the fifth chakra started to play inside my head:

Come on girls
Do you believe in love?
'Cause I got something to say about it
And it goes something like this

Don't go for second best baby
Put your love to the test
You know, you know, you've got to
Make him express how he feels
And maybe then you'll know your love is real

You don't need diamond rings
Or eighteen karat gold
Fancy cars that go very fast
You know they never last, no, no
What you need is a big strong hand
To lift you to your higher ground
Make you feel like a queen on a throne
Make him love you till you can't come down
(You'll never come down)

Long stem roses are the way to your heart
But he needs to start with your head
Satin sheets are very romantic
What happens when you're not in bed
You deserve the best in life
So if the time isn't right then move on
Second best is never enough
You'll do much better baby on your own
(Baby on your own)

Express yourself
(You've got to make him)
Express himself
Hey, hey, hey, hey
So if you want it right now, make him show you how
Express what he's got, oh baby ready or not

Now I love a good Madonna song, and there are few things I love more than when my man's expressing his love love for me, but I'm a little disappointed that there isn't a little more in here about expressing what I've got. Because baby ready or not, that's what I'm focusing on today...

Breakaway

I've been feeling really uncomfortable lately -- that special kind of uncomfortable that comes from identifying that you no longer want to be where you are combined with the discomfort you feel when you start to push yourself to leave your (not so comfortable but familiar) comfort zone:

Trying hard to reach out
But when I tried to speak out
Felt like no one could hear me
Wanted to belong here
But something felt so wrong here
So I prayed I could break away

That's right. Leave it to Kelly Clarkson to get stuck on repeat in my mind, singing her cheesy version of my truth today:

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly
I'll do what it takes til' I touch the sky
And I'll make a wish
Take a chance
Make a change
And breakaway
Out of the darkness and into the sun
But I won't forget all the ones that I love
I'll take a risk
Take a chance
Make a change
And breakaway

I'm trying, I really am...

Lost in My Mind

Seeing and talking with my Dad's stepbrother really got me thinking. I asked him about his parents' deaths, and he said they were really hard on him. Says he still misses them both. We talked about my Dad, and the fact that he seemed not to care when their Father died. I don't think he would have even gone to the funeral if it hadn't been for my Mom, and he definitely didn't shed any tears.

I remember wondering about that at the funeral. How could my Dad be so heartless? At the time I didn't understand it. Now I think the answer is that he went through trauma as a child and basically that part of him, the part that could feel love for his father, froze, and he didn't seem interested in thawing it out. My father once said that the reason he didn't go to therapy was that once he unraveled he didn't think there'd be any putting himself back together.

Now I find myself in a similar position -- with a part of me frozen -- the part that would feel tenderness toward my parents. There are some differences, mind you. I want my parents in my life because I want them in my kids lives, but that's different than wanting them in mine for my own sake - wanting to have a separate relationship with either of them. That I'm a lot less interested in, but unlike my Dad, I feel up for the challenge of thawing this part of me out. I'd like to feel more tenderness toward my parents, but it's not something I can should my way into feeling. I've already unraveled in therapy at least once, and I've knit myself back together (with a bunch of help), but still I feel cut off from a part of myself and I don't know how to get her back.

I thought of this song as I pondered this because my Dad's side of the family is always so lost in their minds:

Put your dreams away for now
I won't see you for some time
I am lost in my mind
I get lost in my mind

Momma once told me
You're already home where you feel loved
I am lost in my mind
I get lost in my mind

I'm the fourth generation PhD or MD (and the first generation not named Herb), and I think the men on my Dad's side of the family stayed in their minds because being in their bodies felt difficult or elusive -- and to the extent that they were in their bodies, they were often taking a substance to make them feel less -- booze for my Dad and drugs for my Grandfather.

I don't know what to do to make the situation better. I only know what's not going to help:

I get lost in my mind
Lost in my mind
Yes I get lost in my mind,
Lost, I get lost
I get lost

So back to my body I go, in the form of practicing yoga. Even though my body is tired from my 6 mile run today, I promised myself at least 4 hours of yoga every week and I've kept that promise since September 1. I made that promise largely because I have a feeling yoga is something that will help with the thawing -- and indeed, it already has...

Dude (Looks Like A Lady)

Today was a long day at work, the kind that'll try the patience of any yogi, especially one who only managed to get her butt out of bed early enough for sun salutes today, not her whole practice.

During the course of the day, someone said something that made me think. Apparently the quote is attributable to Margaret Thatcher, not the most feminine of women if you ask me, but here's what she said:

"Being in power is like being a lady if you have to say you are, you're not."

I like it. It sorta seems similar to the actions speak louder than words mantra I had going a week or two ago.

It also fired up this classic on the inner jukebox, which provided some relief to yours truly during her labors today:

Dude, dude, dude, dude looks like a lady
Dude, dude, dude, dude looks like a lady
Dude, dude, dude, dude looks like a lady
Dude, dude, dude, dude looks like a lady

Never judge a book by it's cover
or who you gonna love by your lover
Sayin' love put me wise to her love in disguise
She had the body of a Venus, Lord imagine my surprise.

So baby let me follow you down (let me take a peek dear)
Baby let me follow you down (do me, do me, do me all night)
Baby let me follow you down (turn the other cheek dear)
Baby let me follow you down (do me, do me, do me, do me)

Oo, what a funky lady
Oo, she like it, like it, like it, like that.
Oo he was a lady!

Perhaps Love

Another gift of my time in LA was a visit to an Ashtanga mysore class at this incredible yoga studio. When the founder of Ashtanga, Pattabhi Jois, came to the US, he lived in LA, so I went out there excited about the opportunity to take an Ashtanga class with the real deal (or someone directly trained by the real deal). I wasn't disappointed. The teacher, Jorgen, was lovely, and attracted quite a following. There were 40 people all doing the primary series at their own pace on Sunday morning, and the energy generated was really incredible.

I had heard this quote a number of times before going to this class:

“Practice, practice, practice… and all is coming.”  — Sri K. Pattabhi Jois

But I never really felt it, bought it, or internalized it the way I did during that class. My body is not the most flexible, and sometimes I get frustrated about that. I often fixate on whether or not my hip is going to open up more. In other words, there's more of a forcing energy than an allowing one. But not on Sunday, and not yesterday when I practiced in the airport either. I'm hoping I can keep it going in this direction. There's something potent about the combination of discipline and ease that I think can only lead to good things.

Speaking of good things, this song is a good one about the power of love, and if there's one thing I've learned over the last six months it's that maintaining discipline while inviting ease is a direct expression of self love:

Perhaps love is like a resting place
A shelter from the storm
It exists to give you comfort
It is there to keep you warm
And in those times of trouble
When you are most alone
The memory of love will bring you home

We so often think (and I so often blog) about the kind of love we both get and give to other people. And that's hugely important but it's not possible, especially not in its truest expression, without self-love:

Perhaps love is like a window
Perhaps an open door
It invites you to come closer
It wants to show you more
And even if you lose yourself
And don't know what to do
The memory of love will see you through

Oh, Love to some is like a cloud
To some as strong as steel

For some a way of living
For some a way to feel

And some say love is holding on
And some say letting go
And some say love is everything
And some say they don't know

Perhaps love is like the ocean
Full of conflict, full of pain
Like a fire when it's cold outside
Thunder when it rains
If I should live forever
And all my dreams come true
My memories of love will be of you

I've got plenty of memories of being loved by others that I draw upon as needed, but I'm going to add to that list the memory of me fully accepting my body as it is and committing not to the perfection of it but to the practice. 'Cause that's love. No perhaps about it...

Hotel California

Dinner with my Dad's stepbrother

After a long night of travel -- I took the red eye home from LA last night and my plane from Chicago to Madison was delayed three hours -- I was just pulling into my garage when the DJ aptly selected this number from the Eagles:

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway;
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself,
"This could be Heaven or this could be Hell"
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say...

Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel California
Any time of year (Any time of year)
You can find it here

My Cal gal pal & me in Venice

Yes, find it there I did. A break from the severe cold we've had to endure this winter. An inspiring visit to a charter school network doing great things for kids. Time to reconnect with one of my oldest and dearest friends. Time to rediscover familial connections. Time to run on the beach in the sunshine. Time to run in the rain.

I'm grateful to be home, but there is also a part of me that is just fine with the fact that there is a part of me for whom home will always be California, no matter where I live:

Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
"Relax, " said the night man,
"We are programmed to receive.
You can check-out any time you like,
But you can never leave!"