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Musings from the Laundromat: Putting things to Write edition
Yes. Intentional.
When I started this blog, I had hoped to have a place to process, purge, sort through such things as matters of the heart, my past and my unedited thoughts.
I started out telling only 2 or 3 trusted friends where to find it – then I went public online and after deciding I only have friends on Facebook that I trust and who know me, I then would share my links.
Mistake? Maybe, maybe not. But definitely I found myself editing.
I haven’t discussed Matters of the Heart – protecting the identity of people in my private life this past year. I haven’t gone deep into my past – protecting the identities of those involved. And I certainly have been editing my thoughts. As if I would feel I owed everyone an apology for having them.
I just can’t do ‘phoney’. I can’t. It eats at my gut and sticks in the forefront of my brain gnawing away at me.
Relatives and acquaintances have told me in so many words, that I think too much. I share too much.
It’s who I am. Who I have always been. Who I always will be.
I think those concerned with me sharing too much are the ones who have shared too much with me.
They needn’t worry. If my story line crosses over to someone else’s, I don’t feel it’s my story to tell.
But when it comes to me and me alone, I have to be authentic.
A friend posted this today and I laughed. So true.
I do love my life.
But find myself editing my statuses too.
I’ve had this self-imposed expectation of myself for a few years, that I can’t be ‘human’.
Always wanting (needing) to do the right thing – making living amends to myself and others for years of wrong choices.
Trying to be some perfect unobtainable example for my son.
I can’t do it anymore.
Not because I am incapable, but because it is not authentic and it is not healthy, spiritually, to deny a facet of me exists.
I am blunt and very forthcoming by nature. It is inherently who I am. If I edit myself, I’m not honoring that part of me. I’m telling myself in a round-about way, ‘that part of you is unacceptable’.
Unacceptable to whom? I’m fine with it. Why am I always worrying about what ‘they’ are going to think?
I seem to in constant battle with myself this past year or so. The care-giver and sensible me shaking her head at every personal desire. “That’s selfish” “That’s wrong” “That’s not putting others first”.
In a quest to be the best me I could possibly be, I left some of me behind.
I am not always happy. I have high-highs and painful lows – I feel to the nth degree and I love that about me!
And – shocking news: I want things. Not material things – but things that would serve to give me pleasure.
I want pleasure without guilt.
I want to be able to say “No.” I want to be able to say “Yes.” Purely based on how I feel about something and not how it effects the person posing the question.
But the battle wages on.
And it’s not a matter of ‘good’ vs ‘bad’ – it’s a matter of acknowledging that I deserve things sometimes too.
That being grateful for what I have and making good choices, doesn’t mean I should ignore the woman inside me who has needs that don’t sustain life.
And that they don’t make me bad.
They make me whole.
A Heretics prayer at Christmas
I pray.
I pray because it feels good and it feels right.
It feels right because I’m saying ‘thank you’ without a human audience, and that feels authentic.
It feels right because I’m taking a moment to reflect and ask for guidance – and not things.
It feels good because I pray for positive energy – I ask for blessings for others.
But, I am not a Christian.
I tried to be. I’ve asked ‘the’ question in the past – with an open mind and willing soul: “Jesus, please come into my heart.”
I tried because it felt like the right thing to do, but mostly because I didn’t want to go to hell.
Then I felt hypocritical asking out of fear.
I wanted so badly to believe – but not at any cost – not because I was afraid not to.
I even convinced myself to some degree that God might actually appreciate an honest heart that at least tried. Although, probably I am going to hell. If there is one.
I had to be honest with myself though. I don’t believe. I do not believe the stories in the bible happened.
And it’s not just Christianity, every religion to me, seems as if a game of ‘telephone’ (Or ‘Chinese Whispers’) has been played with it.
If there is any one and only ‘right’ religion, man has dipped his hands into it over time. As a result, I just don’t feel like what was original, authentic or intended is among the current selections.
I don’t trust man.
But I do have Faith.
I believe in a higher power. Something bigger than me. Something I’ll never understand and am not completely meant to … because wouldn’t that be counterproductive to the concept of ‘Faith’?
I do believe in the power of prayer.
I believe there is a source of good – and of love.
And for all intents and purposes, I call that God.
In two weeks it will be Christmas Day.
Although I’m not Christian, I can appreciate a day selected to celebrate the birth of a child that represented love and forgiveness. I can get behind that.
In fact, I usually adore this time of year. The extra love and kindness that the Season tends to bring from others.
The lights and the music – the joy and the hope that warms Winter.
I’m not feeling any of that this year.
I have knots in my stomach where excitement should be.
I’m looking away from lights and avoiding the holiday music.
I feel like a deadline is beating down on me that I can’t possibly meet.
I love giving.
I especially love being able to grant a wish – be able to witness a smile that reaches the eyes of someone I love.
It’s been a tough year financially.
I know I’m not the only one – but I can’t write about what other people are feeling.
I only know how I am feeling.
I know that presents aren’t ‘the reason for the season’, but I don’t want to let my son down.
I’ve always found a way.
Always.
Somehow managed to grant a material wish for the boy I would lay down and die for.
I am falling short this year.
And it hurts.
And it makes me wish Christmas wouldn’t come.
I need to pray on that.
Pray on why the need to give is so strong, that I feel ‘less than’ if I can’t do it.
Because that’s a lot different from needing to give and not wanting to do it.
I need to pray on why it upsets me so much to think I’m letting someone down when I can’t provide things they want.
Because that’s a lot different from not providing things they need.
I don’t ever want my motives to be driven by fear.
I will pray they are driven by love.
I’m quite certain they are.
It is Christmas after all, the one time of year when it’s traditional to show love by offering gifts. To indulge in a few material tokens of our affection.
Soul stretch
I caught myself off guard this afternoon.
It was lovely.
I stretched in my office chair and my mind emptied – I was suddenly only aware of my flesh and bones and the soul within me wanting to be fed.
In that single stretch – I was not thinking of worldly ‘things’ I had to do – thoughts I had to have, or needs yet to be met.
My body sung in my stretched position and I felt absolutely, deliciously, human.
Every inch of me exhaled in a glorious release of tension.
I was Amanda.
I found her.
I was wide awake spiritually and in that brief moment, so very aware.
Aware of my body – my heartbeat and breath, and urgently aware that time slips by too quickly.
As I returned from the stretch, I brought with me the short and important list of things my soul wants to experience.
Love.
Knowledge.
Truth.
And nothing, nothing at all was more important. And time is of the essence.
I was given this today.
All in one single stretch.
Bigger than this
I tossed and turned last night. I wanted to keep reading a book I was so close to finishing, but it was way past my bedtime. I begrudgingly shut off the lights and closed my eyes.
Deep in thought, couldn’t get comfortable – dog (of course) was staring at me. I flopped about like a fish on the deck of a boat.
Then from nowhere (in mid-flop), bigger than my irritation at not finding sleep, a sense of assurance. A voice. I was being given answers to questions I wasn’t asking. I was not being ‘still’ but I was knowing God.
“Yes, there is more than this” “Look for the bigger picture” “Find me”.
There were words and shame on me for paraphrasing whoever was speaking, but … how to explain? It was more of a feeling than a dialogue, although, there were words. I’m conveying here the gist of those words.
Almost felt like whatever was ‘talking’ to me was lovingly chuckling. The way we might as we watch a toddler try to accomplish something the hard way because they don’t know better. Or because the item is too big for them.
There were no other prerequisites other than ‘getting’ that there was ‘more’.
PHEW! Because I am of no particular religion, I consider myself ‘spiritual’. I believe in a power greater than me and I believe in love. That’s about all I can swear on my life that I believe to be true for me. I don’t want to fake a Faith in something so important just because I’m afraid to go to hell.
Now, whether that was God, or some internal, wise facet of myself speaking, (although, I don’t know what the heck she was doing up past our bedtime) it was very clear that I needed to hear that message.
This morning, I was peering into my pantry and my eyes took in the canned goods. I saw my pantry in a different light. A dimmer light that I knew not so very long ago. The thought of being jobless crossed my mind out of the blue and suddenly, the cans didn’t seem like enough. I was meting out meals in my head.
On the drive to work, I was taking in the buildings, the cars, an emergency vehicle approached, lights flashing and sirens screaming – another voice. “This is not what it’s all about’.
Another assurance there’s more. This time here – important and valuable, but a place we’re passing through to get to another destination none the less.
Why these thoughts??
Either I’m losing that final marble or …
I know I have an overactive imagination (or do I? ‘ Who’s to say?). I had a vision as I started my drive to work this morning of being very sick. Alone. Nic a young adult and I was dying. Going to work anyway.
I wasn’t in a somber mood – no idea why such a morbid thought would play itself out in my head.
The other night had my mind playing out my death-bed scene. Nic asks if I’m afraid to die. I tell him no. “I’m not afraid to die, I’m afraid I’m going to miss you!”
And that’s it in a nut shell for me. The good times here are SO good. I am SO glad I was born. I love the colours, the sounds, the creatures, the smells, the endless things to discover and I love dreaming and loving and laughing.
And there’s something bigger than THIS? I’m in.
Debauchery Soup 