"TURN SORROW INTO CREATIVITY, BEAUTY AND LOVE"

Bittersweet is a best-selling book by Susan Cain.  Her themes are speaking to me and may to you too. Perhaps you cry in movies, are moved by Shakespearean tragedies, cozy up on rainy days or enjoy melancholy music from Country to classic, Roy Orbison to Mahler (his Symphony No.6 in A minor is called dark and terrifying).   Barber's Adagio for Strings takes the movies The Elephant Man (1980), Platoon (1986) and Lorenzo's Oil (1992) to another level.  I'm listening to Albinoni's Adagio in G Minor as I write. 

In this blog we've discussed the "andness" of life.  Never is it one thing or another.  Always both.  We have survival fears even as we enjoy this greening spring.  We worry for our children even as we admire their growing independence. As threats grow, so does importance.  The shorter one's life, the more precious each day.  The dichotomies are many. 

Cain defines bittersweet as "a tendency to states of longing, poignancy and sorrow, an acute awareness of passing time and a curiously piercing joy at the beauty of the world...and the recognition that light and dark, birth and death--bitter and sweet--are forever paired."   

Many of us respond to sad music.  In "Annie's Song" by John Denver are the words "Let me die in your arms."  Because of something my young son said to his wife during his last weeks as a cancer patient, these are the most poignant words I know.  Sometimes I want to hear the song, sometimes I can't bear it.  

Even tragedy can be bittersweet.  It means that we have been blessed by something immeasurable that is now lost.  We loved and were loved, when the loss is greatest. We are not, as a character of Henry James discovers to his heartbreak in "The Beast in the Jungle," a person to whom nothing was destined to happen.  

No one avoids sorrow. In accepting it we learn that the place in which we suffer is the same place from which we care.  As we suffer our compassion grows and we do not dismiss the sorrow of others.  We scorn no one's tears, not least our own. Sorrow is a useful antidote to the oft-overdone advice to be tough, optimistic, and assertive.  And while we can't rid ourselves of pain, we can turn it into something else. We can take whatever it is that we do--write, act, study, dance, compose, innovate, teach, parent, design, plant, help, listen, give--and make it a creative offering.  The next time sorrow is my lot, I'm going to try.  

                                         In peace, Nina Naomi

SING FOR YOUR HEALTH

Hydrangeas through the Looking Glass

Well, not just sing.  Dance, paint, draw, color, journal.  Play the instrument lying unused somewhere.  Pick up the craft you used to love.  We don't even have to do these things well.  Mediocre is fine.  Beginner is great.  Failure doesn't exist.  Like Einstein said, "You only fail if you quit trying."  And that from a genius.  

Or spend time in a museum or at a concert or play.  For me, there is nothing like a play to help me understand myself and others.  The acting brings another dimension that goes beyond reading.  And of course, appreciating the majesty of fine musicians, artists and actors takes us out of ourselves.  The world seems a better place.  Last evening the wind ensemble at our local School of the Arts made our community seem a better place. 

Immersing in the arts is an excellent way to elevate our mood.  There are now Centers for the Arts in Medicine.  Duke University Medical Center has an Arts & Health program that includes performances, rotating visual arts and journalling kits for patients as well as coloring kits with detailed images of the stained-glass windows that adorn Duke Chapel.  During radiation therapy patients choose their music; my mother picked a little swing with Frank Sinatra.  

Struggling with depression, one medical student exercised, tried therapy and medication and had a strong faith, as many of us have.  But his head was still full of noise that he didn't need to hear.  He took his thoughts and turned them into poems, the missing piece, he said, of his wellness puzzle.  I try that too.  I fall in the beginner category.  And as the chatter gives rise to verse, the thoughts themselves change.  I revise the words to follow my uplifting spirit.  It's a cycle that works.  

The same cycle infuses my prayers.  As God hears me, the prayers reflect the change in my mood. By the time I'm finished I feel blessed.  Worship services themselves are an art form with chanting, soaring organ, instrument and song.  The psalms are poetic, the readings confessional, lamenting, epistolary or narrative. The paraments textile artistry in green, white, red or purple.  Visit any cathedral in the world. At its best, church should, like the hymn, "raise you up on eagles' wings."  

Writing works too.  Many of us take our endless thoughts to our journal.  I had a Bonfire Day on March 22, 2022 where I took four years of painful writing and decided the keeping and rereading was at a cost.  But, wow, did the writing help when I needed it.  

While we may intuit that art is soothing to our souls, in our busyness or sadness we may forget.  We may not have the money to book a concert or the time to go to a poetry reading.  But surely, we can sing and dance around the house.  Singing reduces cortisol, the stress hormone.  Don't know if there's research on this, but I bet the louder the better.  

In these difficult days we don't want to miss any healing power we have.  Our voices, movement, our creative brains, the gentle ways we move from focus to flow, the ways to be contemplative, the ways to reach our subconscious.  How wonderful when what we enjoy is good for us too.  

Alexa, play my music.  I'm going to finish this post and collage-journal.  

                                     In gratitude, Nina Naomi  

OLDER BY A DAY WITH A CURIOUS MIND

Renoir, Misia Sert, 1904

Today I am older than I've ever been,

With hair still long and curious mind,

A peaceful home and love forever by my side.  

At night we coil and kiss and he says, "I adore you."

I wake to birdsong, legs entwined and back just shy of pain.

Yes, older than I've ever been, but feeling almost young.

Sometimes when memory interferes, I scold and back it stays.

" Not wanted," my heart beats and chastised it retreats. 

Thoughts of that never-time when from great fear I persevered. 

That never-time I wanted not. 

That blot that fades as we grow older than we've ever been,  

That cannot change the truth and--now I know--that never could. 

I am not plagued by worry or perfection, not of body nor of soul.

I've layered doubt with intuition and asked my God to comfort me. 

My ears are full of silent sounds, my eyes the trees, the meadow grass, 

My heart the shaggy hickory bark, the bugle weed and ash. 

To find faith everywhere is such an easy ending, 

And yet an ending to embrace when--you know--we grow old.   

LET'S CREATE OUR OWN CONTENTMENT.

Let's create our own contentment.  I need that today. 

Bookstores.  Afghans.  firepits.  window seats.  warm sweaters.  the smell of rain.  white T-shirts.  polka dots.  honeysuckle.  bible verses.  inspiring quotes.  Photographs.  Front porches.  rocking chairs.  boyfriend jeans.  cuddling.  soft shell crabs.  scented candles.  wildflowers.  tree houses.  hot baths.  brick walkways.  favorite chair.  gingham and toile.  tall candles.  homemade pizza with arugula.  shuttered doors and windows.  tall ceilings.  cozy blankets.  movie marathons.  fresh flowers.  wooden beams.  collage art.  flea markets.  crafting supplies.  colored glass.  newly mown grass.  bookshelves.  eating outdoors.  farmers' markets.  wild swimming.  water views.  twinkle lights.  tents.  shiny buffed nails.  doggy love.  messing about.  clean sheets.  cool pillows.  new yarn.  grilled cheese sandwiches.  bike paths.  having no plans.  a nap.  road trips.  giving a gift.  clean, damp hair.  sprouting perennials.  sunset over the ocean.  lightning storms.  A deer out the window.  the smell of a wood fire.  red leaves in fall. a good pen.  ice-cream in a sugar cone.  violins.  baby birds peeping.  shadows.  your journal.  a neat drawer.  a neighborhood walk.  a large ice-tea with mint or lemon.  breakfast for dinner.  bone China.  just picked berries.  wearing jewelry you usually save.  seashells--augers, olives, lady slippers, red calico scallops, sand dollars.  Art museums.  yoga.  cats to stroke.  PEACE AND SERENITY.    

  

  

OUR MOTHERS, OURSELVES--

This weekend is Mother's Day and we're bound to be thinking about the person who mothered us.  You know about my mother; she's the Nina Naomi I dedicate this blog to. Her memory is alive in me, and I talk to her often.  Since her death in 2005 I've had to provide her responses too.  It's not a fraught relationship.  Before she died, I told her, "Mom, we have no issues."  

And of course, many of us are mothering someone ourselves.  Before my son died too young, he said, "Mom, no son ever loved a mother more than I love you."  My most precious gift.  And I had issues aplenty with that headstrong boy.  But from boyhood he was quick to give and forgive.  I think my daughter's sons are the same with her. 

A writer in the New York Times (Jancee Dunn) asked readers to share moments when their moms were right. This response resonates:

After my first child was born, my mother put her hand on my arm and said, "Honey, you have breathed your last free breath."  And she laughed--in a kind, not a bitter, way.  Her words meant that I was now to know love so consuming that every second of the rest of my life would be spent in fear of loss.  I feel connected to her knowing that we have shared this deep and meaningful terror.  Shannon Kilgore

I don't know how young we are when we learn the fear of loss.  Some younger than others.  The children of Ukraine are learning too soon.  For the mothers of all those murdered in America the terror comes true.  Such is life, so far, in this 21st century.  

But what else is important in this mother's advice?  She said it "in a kind, not a bitter, way."  That's what mothers do.  They let us know about the world, how it will be for us.  They don't do it harshly.  They want us to be kind and not bitter too.  They know that only great love gives rise to great fear, and they want great love for their children. 

Another reader response brings solace: 

I once asked my mom, "What am I ever going to do when you are gone?"  She said, "Exactly what you're doing now."  I was startled by the simplicity.  In a few words, she let me know that life would go on and I would be fine.  Mary Ellen Collins

When I feared losing my own mother, she said to me, "I had the best mom in the world, your grandma, and I've done just fine."  I knew she was right, on both counts. 

This graduation/Mother's Day weekend I hope your heart is where it needs to be.  That whatever our history we have found love and peace.  And if we need to give or forgive, we can do that too.  In love, 

Nina Naomi 

   

"WHEN YOU ARGUE WITH REALITY YOU LOSE, BUT ONLY 100% OF THE TIME," Byron Katie

"When you argue with reality you lose,

But only 100% of the time."

. . .

"In my experience, we don't make thoughts appear,

They just appear.

One day I noticed that their appearance just wasn't personal."

. . .

"The world is your perception of it.

Inside and outside always match.

They're reflections of each other.

The world is a mirror image of your mind. "

. . .

"No one will ever understand you.

Realizing this is freedom.

No one will ever understand you--not once, not ever. . .

There's no understanding here except your own."

. . .

"Serenity is an open door."

. . .

"And when people die,

It's so wonderful that they never come back to tell you."

quotes by Byron Katie

. . .

"From your first breath to your last,

The only constant mortal in your life is you."

quote by Nina Naomi