And those who were seen dancing, were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.

~Nietzsche~

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Leesha's Angel

I have a theory on the meaning of life. Or more specifically, the unique experiences and moments each of us are blessed with. I am always amazed at how the events of my own life unfold. It is as if I am walking on a giant web of experiences and ideas. All interconnected in some way and each plays some part in supporting another. 

I believe that every experience we have is given to us at the exact moment we are ready to maximize the benefit. Now, I know that many people will think "there is no way _______ experience had any benefit to my life or anyone else's life for that matter". Well, I disagree. I believe that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. Now, what that student chooses to do with the moment is what some like to refer to as "free will". Now, this isn't to say that we consciously choose to ingnore the lessons or opportunities to grow, but possibly the experience is given to us for increased awareness alone.

I had an interesting moment this morning as I was cruising my ususal internet sites. Checking mail, checking Facebook, along with other routine glances. I noticed that a dear friend who used to be my roommate over 10 years ago in college, had accepted my friend request on Facebook. I have been looking for my old roommates on and off for months, but through another series of intertwined events, just now was able to find them.

Anyway, as I started looking over her profile and pictures my heart dropped to my stomach. There, on her Facebook page was a picture of the smallest baby I have ever seen in my life, next to mine. I felt like I had no breath and had to force myself to breath so as not to loose my breakfast. This baby of hers, born at 24 weeks gestation is now a healthy beautiful 11 month old baby boy with no medical problems whatsoever.

A rush of emotions flooded me as I was instantly time transported 5 years back to the day I gave birth to my beautiful son Dominic at 24 weeks gestational age. He, however was not meant to be an earth angel, like my old roommates baby, but instead went back to heaven to do angel work from another universal dimension.

Now, this is not an experience I have stuffed into the closet for 5 years refusing to deal with the reality. I actually have dealt with it openly for many years and have felt very peaceful about the outcome. That is why these emotions came as such a surprise to me this morning. Something inside of me fell apart and I began to feel sad and for a split second, almost resentful that her baby had been chosen to live and mine had not.

However, this thought left my mind as quickly as it had entered it. For I have given much practice over the years to my original declaration that every life experience has unique purpose and the true test is to find meaning in these experiences. In that moment, I remembered how blessed I am to have been given the experience of being the mother of an angel. I was very determined and inspired after that experience, but over the years I have let some of that determination fizzle out.

What an ironic and coincidental time for me to receive a surge of these feelings, right as I am moving forward with my passion and dream of reaching the masses through my blog. This was no accident and has given me another dose of inspiration to feed from. 

I do not know where this will lead just like all the other very strange things that seem to be falling into place as I set this plan in motion. However, one thing I have learned as I have practiced mindfulness over the years while extracting lessons to both receive and teach, is that life is. That's all. The less I analyze and criticize, the more I am given and peace becomes my companion.

I welcome this experience and am anxious to see where it leads me and who comes along this journey with me. Thank you Lesha for feeding me my dose of inspiration today. You are an amazing woman and I love you dearly.

Dating Sites

I will admit it. I have been on a dating site…..2 to be exact. Not extremely proud of it, nor is it my opening line at a social gathering but I am not ashamed either. I feel inclined to share my thoughts about this experience. It was immediately obvious to me that dating sites are not a part of my life for what they were intended for, dating. They have however, provided me with a wide variety of comic relief and occasional ego stroking. But more often these sites leave me feeling as if I need to take a shower after reading the disrespectful albeit sometimes humorous comments. Mostly they leave me feeling empty and irritated.  Now, don’t get me wrong. I am not completely against dating sites. In fact, I am quite for them. It is the people who frequent them that I find a problem with. Of the hundreds of messages I received in the relatively short time I was a member, I was offended by roughly 50 % of them. I was bored by the other half and fell asleep with my face down on the keyboard. In fact, I only had 1 single message in 6 years that even remotely peaked my interest. Unfortunately, as a novice dating site member, I was not aware that this was a classic line……..  ….. “I have already married and divorced you in my mind…..” although this appeared to be clever the first time I read it, the 20th message that declares I must return some “virtual belongings” to some creepy idiot that is filing an imaginary divorce decree is no longer clever or funny. In addition “hey girl, what’s up?!?” is not a good starter line. This gives me no information about you and leads me to no point intellectually where I even entertain the thought of attempting to have a conversation with you. We are not standing in line at McDonalds. I do not owe you a cordial response.  And lastly, if at any point in your um, “dating” career you think it might be a good idea to take a picture of yourself with your cell phone, standing in the mirror, wearing only your boxers and a rusty chain around your neck…… You are creepy, and I will teach my children to cross the street if they see you walking down the sidewalk!

Words


I had forgotten the reason that I always stop writing. Although the words flow with such ease and are so stimulating, their power always takes me by surprise. 
My pen is the knife I use to cut so the Words can bleed and I can have peace. They are my release. With a pen and paper, the universe is unlocked. Nothing is censored, and nothing can be monitored. It just is. Like the breath in my lungs. 
Usually, I don’t even know what has been written until I close my eyes, take a deep breath and look again. It is like one of those pictures where you have to step back and let your vision adjust before you are able to see what is on the paper.
Sometimes I laugh, sometimes I cry. Almost always I am terrified. The authority in my Words comes as a reality check every time. From time to time, my Words take the breath from me. A bucket of ice water being poured over my head as I sleep. Occasionally the jolt can be refreshing. 
At first, Words are empowering. They are my thoughts, my light and my soul. But when I want to sleep, Words keep dancing in my head and crawling through my bed. I beg them to stop. I have to have a break. Silence from the chaos. They never listen.
They wake me up in the night. Many nights I can recall just me and my pen. I write on receipts, old pay stubs, even my arm if there is no paper.
When the alarm clock rings I open my eyes. The first thing I see is Words sharing a pillow with me. Sometimes they smile and sing me songs of good morning. Most likely they scream at me like a child needing to be fed. 
They are in my cereal bowl and on my toast. I eat Words for breakfast every morning. I make my way down the hallway and into the bathroom. Dammit Words!!!! Can’t I have any privacy? They sit on the counter top waiting for me to record them, on toilet paper if I have to. They don’t care. 
What is so important that they sing to me in the shower? I try to wipe them off onto a towel. But they evaporate back into the air and cling to my naked body. Words are horribly persistent. They tell me what to wear, which pants make me look fat and how I should do my hair.
When I leave for work, I try to trick Words. Lock them in my notebook and hide them in my drawer. But the Words always beat me out the door. Driving is their favorite time of day. They call all of their friends to come along for the ride. At times the company can be nice, but usually they are all speaking at once. I have even had to stop the car to silence Words onto paper.
I speak to Words very sternly before I go into work. STAY! I command them, as I lock the car. But shortly after I clock in I hear snickering and whispering. I can’t do anything about the Words now because I am on someone else’s time. When Words are ignored they become toxic, like a slow carbon monoxide leak. They start to make me nauseous and weak. They make me grouchy and tired. The Words that are supposed to be helping me are interfering with my every day life. I can’t wait for my break so I can let some of the Words free. I hope they will loosen their death grip on my concentration.
Five o’clock comes. I dash for the car. At every stoplight I put some of the Words to rest on the notebook sitting dangerously in my lap. Often, I can’t wait for the stoplight. I write as I drive.
When I get home, I walk into the house and am greeted by a litter of Words born while I was away. I never thought caring for Words was going to be so much work. I dance and play with them. I feed them dinner and let them tell be stories before bedtime.
I tuck them in and kiss them goodnight. Then I retreat to the living room where I am free for a couple of hours before I too turn in for the night. Ironically, I pull a book from the bookshelf and begin to read. But these are someone else’s Words, so it is ok. 
It doesn’t take long before I hear my Words sneaking up on me interrupting the meeting with my other friends.
“WORDS-” I bawl, “Your time is over!!!”
But before long I put down the book and turn to the Words that I wished for in the first place. Now I am just plain irritated, served with a side of exhaustion. I am too fatigued to argue with Words anymore. So I brush my teeth (theirs too of course), wash my face and crawl into bed.
“Goodnight Words.”
The silence lasts all but two minutes before Words coerce me out of bed. Exhaustion means nothing when Words are so loud. I tiptoe to the rocking chair and begin to rock my Words back to sleep. At least this time they brought the pen and paper.