Neon Arrow Please

I’m avoiding writing. I’m avoiding thinking. Yet, in my avoidance of thinking I am going back and forth in half thoughts that never really get a chance to finish before being shoved to the side by other half thoughts. It’s really a time consuming state of being, leaving room only for the annoyance of power outages and frantic spurts of cleaning, which is closer to moving dirt from one place to another.

One might inquire as to why. Why these crazed half thoughts, why these elusive posts of vulnerability and then nothing. Simple: You open up the door to Intention and you don’t get to choose what comes in. You choose what you send out, what you intend, but the Cosmic Joker out there isn’t always following the same script that you wrote. Oh said Joker is working towards those same intentions, I do trust that, but they have to have their ‘fun’ with you along the way, making sure you learn those valuable lessons, have those epiphanies, those strokes of insight that come from cause and effect, thought upon thought (if you can allow them to complete themselves), from falling, from getting thrown off the train that you had booked months in advanced and forced to take the horse and pony cart.

So then you are left thinking, “Okay, what lessons AM I supposed to learn here, what directions AM I supposed to be taking? Jeez if you you’re going to high jack the train like a band of old west robbers at least you can leave a map to the nearest town.”

All I have to say is that I am manifesting a great big neon arrow flashing like a vacancy sign on a sleazy hotel, pointing in a defined direction. I intend to see a blinking flashing arrow. I intend to allow a thought to finish itself.

vul·ner·a·ble

Pronunciation:
\ˈvəl-n(ə-)rə-bəl, ˈvəl-nər-bəl\
Function: adjective
Etymology: Late Latin vulnerabilis, from Latin vulnerare to wound, from vulner-, vulnus wound; probably akin to Latin vellere to pluck, Greek oulē wound
Date: 1605

1 : capable of being physically or emotionally wounded 2 : open to attack or damage : assailable 3 : liable to increased penalties but entitled to increased bonuses after winning a game in contract bridge


4. A perfectly horrible state of being when you have torn down all your walls, dropped all your clothes, and presented yourself to the world. You frantically look around for your clothes, but somebody has already given them away. You then turn your attention to getting those walls back because with them you at least knew where your boundaries were or were able to pretend that you did. They are gone too. Then you take a breath, say to yourself, "um, this is what I wanted right? This is what the sign said to do if you Intended to Live with Intention, be happy, find your true path right? Can't I just have one wall? I must have been insane to do this, was I high? Those clouds over there look threatening, could storm, on the other hand it could clear up and the rainbow could come out. I don't remember hearing the weather forecast. Brrr. . . getting chilly. How long will I have to sit out here? It's getting late . . . Yup, those look like rain clouds . . .

Amazing Women

When I picked her up from the airport I hardly recognized her. The feeling was mutual as she hugged me and asked in disbelief, “who are you?” Funny, that’s just the question that I had been asking myself for the past 6 months, the past year. As we drove from the airport I had a sudden feeling that I was old. No longer was I the younger sister, no longer was I just starting out, but in her eyes I saw that I was old, that we had both grown and changed, that life had given each of us joys and pains, that I was no longer learning from her, but we were learning from each other. It was the beginning of three weeks with my oldest sister in a country far from the place we’d grown up. It would be the most time we have been together since we were both girls living in the same house. Three weeks together, sharing a room, a bed, meals, and life.

I was struck at the internal reactions that I experienced in the build up to seeing her and then in the first week of her being with me. She represented more then just herself, she represented my whole family, all that I had been working to forgive and let go of, all that I was trying to understand about myself, who I was and wanted to be. I had written down my intentions for the trip before I left: to have a peaceful and meaningful trip with my sister, to find balance, clarity, understanding, to find love for myself. I didn’t feel that she needed to know what I was working on. I recognized that it was mine to work on, not hers.

It seems funny. A sibling, or any family member for that matter, is the one person in your life that you are never really introduced to, yet you are a part of each other for your whole existence. There is no, ‘nice to meet you, tell me about yourself.’ Even if you have not lived near each other for ten years, you still pick up right where you left off. The time that has past, the little details, ups and downs not recognized, life journeys are overlooked and immediately you are 12 again and fighting over a shirt.

A sister is like a mirror, in which you scrutinize the image more then anyone else in the world for the simple fact that you are made from the same people and have had the exact experiences to a point. Making them become the closest glimpse into what your life would be like if you had taken a different path, and the closest glimpse into who you are now.

Within each other we see what we are and what we are not.

We compared, sometimes out loud, sometimes inwardly, bodies, clothes, wrinkles, choices, fears, accomplishments, failures, lives. Even the way we spoke. Mannerisms from our parents manifested within us in different ways – proving we were cut from the same cloth. And there is the competition. I’m not a competitor at heart, but with a sister it is there just slightly. She jumped off the cliff, so I had to. I went down to the ocean floor so she had to. Or perhaps we were just showing each other what we both were capable of.

The one thing that was still there immediately, the one thing that gave us a forgotten glimpse of the tie that binds us forever was always apparent at night time. Lying in bed we were once again school girls teasing each other, throwing out jokes and smart ass comments, giggling. An unspoken understanding that we were the same no matter what different choices we made. That we were in the same boat and would be for the rest of our lives.

When you have been gone a long time, it can be easy to not address the past. It is easier to forget on the exterior. But that water damage is still there. And I knew I had to fix those leaks if I was ever going to be the person I wanted to be. I started that work months ago, really a year ago. However, my sister was an important part in the mending process; she represented me in so many ways. In the first weeks I went from angry, to sad, to bitter. I fought tears in the showers of the spas where we pampered ourselves. And I started to close up again.

Then one day I wrote it out, I wrote and wrote and wrote and I gave it up. I had begun understanding a while ago what negative patterns I had and where they might have stemmed from, but I hadn’t been ready to let them go. There was a part of me that still clung to them. My sister’s presence helped me to say goodbye to those patterns, to separate myself from the bondage of the past. To no longer be defined by anything but the present.

It was freeing. It was freeing to finally be able to be a person, and not a family member, to see her as the beautiful person she was and not just my sister, not just the mirror to my mistakes. To recognize that we were both on different paths, we had different journeys in this life, but we were both beautiful amazing and wonderful people and I was glad to make her acquaintance. She helped me to find unconditional love for myself, and for my family. And for that I am forever grateful to her.

And the beautiful thing about it all is that unspoken binding. In the end, after three weeks together, those initial representations, those initial feelings were gone. And we were sisters. Through it all, no matter what has happened or will, we loved each other and knew that we would always be there for each other.

When we parted, I had tears in my eyes again. This time my tears were full of love and gratitude. I am thankful for this person who I am almost identical to yet completely different from, this person for whom I am bound to forever. This amazing woman who is on an amazing journey, doing the best she can, ever growing, ever learning, ever loving. This Friend.

One month, One lifetime, One breath.

It is my second day home, I think. Yesterday I awoke to a phone call and had no idea what country I was in nor who I was talking to. A bit more settled today. The house has been swept of cobwebs and dust. The dogs bathed and loved, the laundry done. I’ve had some sleep and am now able to better collect my thoughts and to contemplate where to start, or rather where I am at physically and mentally.

I wasn’t ready to come home. The time away seemed as if it was a lifetime, and yet as I sit here it seems as if it all happened within one breath. One breath and my world changed.

There are a million things that I learned about myself and the world on this trip. I’m finding that I am not yet ready to jump back into the routine and life of my little island. I haven’t left the mountain yet. Today I haven’t even spoken yet. And that is okay. My soul needs to rest, to process, to internalize, to be silent.

Just me.

So far I have been documenting the preparation. The getting through all the hoops so that I can start. Start to write, start to be unemployed, start to be on this unknown journey. Okay, okay I know I am already on the journey, but now I really am. I’m in that moment of free fall. And all those lessons of how to fly, all that mental prep, everything has to kick in soon or I’ll fall flat. Of course I know that even as I am writing this, that it is ridiculous. I’m already flying, I’m being redundant in every way.

School is over. I had a week. Then I became a hostess. Now I’m done helping others and I really have to help myself. This is it, there is no one else to do things for, no one else I have to take care of, no more responsibilities to the school. It’s just me.

It’s just me. How weird is that to have just me be my focus. Damn, just me. Really I am more comfortable with something or someone else to have to put my focus on, but it’s just me now.

I just had my last conversation with my other half for a month. No phones. I’m all packed. I’m headed to Indonesia for a month. The house is all closed up, save the dishes, I hate washing dishes – but it will get done before the next two hours are up and my ride to the airport is here. My ride is one of the first friends I made when I moved here. And now three years later, she is married and leaving. And it is just me.

It’s a bit scary to know that it is just me that I have to focus on. Just me.

Within the last month I have gotten a severe boiling grease burn on one leg, a severe dog bite on the other leg. A sign that I am not grounded?

I’m meeting others in Indo. My sister will join me in a week. But still, it is just me. It needs to be just me. Or else it can never be more then me.

From Product to Process

I learned in my child development courses and in my art therapy courses that you never ask a child what their painting or drawing is, never assume what it is either. Nor do you praise it with an "Oh what a wonderful grand picture! I’ll frame it on the fridge.”

The reason being children create not for products sake, but for the process. They 'do' because they have an inner guide telling them to 'do'. We as adults are the ones who turn their joyous efforts into something that is judged good or bad. As we force labels, give praise, or critique the child learns that there must be a product and end result, something to show for all the hard work. If they themselves were not happy with their work and an adult praises it, then the child understands that their effort was good enough. Why challenge themselves when the adults are happy with a few squiggly lines?

I’m trying to preprogram myself away from all those years of training when I learned to seek approval over personal satisfaction, over the journey, over the process.

It’s been 3 working days since ‘retirement.’ I did go to the school, did walk around in a few circles, then I left. Came again the next day, but fewer circles, less time there. And now I think I’m over the first hill. I sat down, I made my lists, I made my rough draft schedule, I organized my home, and I started following through. I'm getting to be okay with the fact that I might not be published, that I don't have to all of a sudden be producing results, that this path could lead to another. That its not about the product.

In my training they told us to instead comment on the shape of a line, the colors the child used, and ask them, ‘are you happy with your work? Then I am too.’

I’m continuing my journey, and with each step I’m working on enjoying the sound of my foot on the path, the breeze in my face, the sun on my shoulders, and the process of a person living with intention.

The Roller Coaster

You know that moment when you are slowly on the way up the hill of the roller coaster, inching your way along all the while knowing that there is a huge drop just beyond that last bit of track you see? And there is no turning back, you my friend are strapped in, it is inevitable you are going to drop, fast, and there are going to be twists and turns and more ups and more downs, and there is no getting off this ride, you are strapped in till the end. It's exciting, it's terrifying.

Well, it’s kinda like that. Here I am in the last week of school. Three more days left of children, then cleaning up the class. Still so involved that the thought of not being the teacher seems ludicrous, but yeah its reality. And why, why in the world would I be feeling annoyed and stressed when it is home stretch time? It’s that hill, oh God I always hated that hill. I wander if perhaps I am trying to hold onto that hill the closer I get to the drop. I think that means that I am doing the right thing. The right things are always the hard ones right, or so it seems. Just wow, I can’t believe how hard it is to let go of a 9-5 job for me, does not mesh with my vision.

My dear friend has so far presented me with two gifts in the last two days. Day 1 of ‘retirement’ preparation, and Day 2. Day 1 was a tin of cigars – learn how to relax and enjoy. Day 2 was an energizing mixture of aromatherapy oil to keep me energized in my new life. She’s getting me ready as if she knows that I am not capable of doing it myself, that at the rate I am going it is going to be so overwhelming that first day of no children will probably find me at the school wandering around in dismay. Thankfully the universe is putting people like that in my path.