SO MUCH TO LOVE

Oh, how I love to be home.  At my computer.  On my couch.  Organizing my stuff.  In my kitchen.  In the family room.  In the bedroom.  Outside.  Pulling weeds.  Watering the garden.  By the fire pit. On my patio . . . 

Oh, how I love to be at the beach. In the waves.  On the sand.  In the sun.  In the shade.  In an outdoor shower.  On a deck.  On a bike.  On a boat ride. Eating clams . . . 

Oh, how I love to be on a trip.  In the car.  On a train. In the mountains. By a waterfall.  By a glacier.  In the wild.  In a city.  In a museum.  At a play.  In a cathedral.  On a square.  Seeing new sights.  Doing new things.  Eating new foods.  Meeting new people.  Visiting ruins.  Soaking up culture.  Learning history . . . 

Oh, how I love to be alone.  Cooking.  Shopping.  Sorting.  Driving.  Thinking.  Reading.  Writing.  Praying.  Dreaming.  Stretching.  Swimming.  Biking.  Napping . . .

Oh, how I love to be with others.  At a restaurant.  At church.  At book club.  In a class.  For a lunch.  On special occasions.  On no occasion.  At my house.  At their house.  Indoors.  Outdoors.  For a night out.  For cookouts.  On my birthday.  On their birthday.  Meeting new friends. Cherishing old friends . . .   

 County Courthouse

Oh, how I love[d] to be working.  Earning a living.  Using my brain.  Sharpening my skills.  Solving problems.  Winning cases.  Helping families.  Being productive. Feeling useful.  Being challenged . . . 

Oh, how I love to be with family.  Laughing.  Clowning.  Playing.  Loving.  Appreciating. Listening.  Caretaking.  Sharing traditions.  Sharing stories.  Sharing food.  Sharing heartbreaks.  Relying upon.  Being together. . .  

Oh, how I love to be with my spouse.  Talking.  Listening.  Laughing.  Planning.  Deciding.  Doing.  Remembering.  Anticipating. Worrying. Sharing. Loving. Sleeping.  Solving.  Watching movies. Eating.  Taking care of each other.  Being together . . . 

All of these things we do, alone or together, at home or away, often or seldom.  Each thing waiting its turn to give us pleasure or comfort or excitement, however each of us completes the sentence, "Oh, how I love . . .  Such fullness arrayed before us.       

                                                    Gratefully, Nina Naomi

DEEP PAIN, DEEP HEALING

 

Sometimes a pain is so deep that we have to repeatedly cleanse the wound.  This is what Letting go is about.  not denying a hurt or the reality of what caused it.  That doesn't work.  We can reframe a narrative but not without admitting, "Someone or something hurt me. Something I thought would never happen did happen. I can't change that fact."  

Letting go is a mental state where we no longer cause ourselves extra suffering.  A reminder, or trigger, is a stimulus that causes a painful memory to resurface. We don't bring them on ourselves.  They just happen. When they do, it can pull the past forward so that our body may react as it did then. If this has happened to you, you know how your breath changes, you lose focus, you may retreat.   

As time goes on, each reminder may reach deeper levels of sadness or trauma which we then let go by facing the mental weight of the former pain and letting it pass.  Miraculously all emotions do pass.  Such is how we are made.  We know that happiness and joy don't last forever, but sadness, fear, anger the same.  Yes, they may recur, but we let them dissipate again.  

This is not as bad as it seems.  It is not hopeless. Not at all. In fact, it can be transformative.  We note how the heavy weight of an event lessons.  Reminders that may have stalled us for days or weeks do not.  Our mental reserves replenish more quickly.  If we don't fight what is happening, we conserve energy; mental tension does not consume us.  We recognize how we feel but give it only the space it needs to move on.  we do not feed the flames.  We promise not to make ourselves feel worse.  It is a promise we can keep; we each have so many ways to cope.  (This writing is one.)

Letting go does not mean forgetting, not of what we wish we could forget nor of what we wish to hold dear.  For those of us who have lost someone, forgetting is what we most fear.  But letting go of grief is not letting go of those dearest to us.  For years I had a mantra I used with my despair over the death of our son whose name is Adam:  "More Adam, Less Grief."  Focus on him not my (and, Dear God, his) loss.  (Yes, writing this my breath has changed.) 

In a different scenario, if you have forgiven someone their hurt, let that thought come forward.  There is a reason you forgave (or were yourself forgiven).  It was a choice you made listening to your heart and to God.  That's where the transformation comes in.  That's where the narrative can be reframed, and honestly so.  "I was brave when I took the steps that led to forgiveness."  "I save what matters most to me."  "Dear God, thank you."

There may also be something to forgive yourself for and heal.  I would like to forgive myself for not sitting with my father the entire day that he died. His last months were hard on him but on me too.  the death of a Parent can be like that.  Sometimes neither of you is much good at comforting the other. When I returned to his side at 3 pm it was hard to tell death from life.  After an hour and a half of checking, the hospice nurse said he was gone.  

So, we have deep pain and need deep healing from many things in many ways.  We have wounds to cleanse and emotions to survive.  And we do.  We know that just a sigh can be a prayer that is answered.  We don't deny or avoid our feelings and we don't accept minimization from others.  In these ways we follow the nature God has given us.  

And we do so much more than survive.  We become role models.  We nurture others.  We take care of ourselves.  We take every gift we have been given and use it for good.  We count our blessings and at the end of the day live in joy.  

I think I will say, Thanks be to God.        Nina Naomi

 

IN TUNE WITH THIS WONDERFUL TIME OF YEAR

Winter Sunset, NC Beach

I am looking forward to the Winter Solstice, only about a month away, three nights before Christmas Eve.  As soon as the time changed, I began lighting candles against the darkness, eating supper earlier and enjoying an earlier bedtime.  As the days turn, I check Fairbanks, Alaska because we loved our time there.  Then it was the Summer Solstice with the dusk intermingling with the dawn.  No night at all.  This time of year, Fairbanks moves toward deep and long nights, ending with only 4 hours of daylight on the longest night of the year.  I would love to be there for the town fireworks and merriment. 

At the North Carolina Beach people are attuned to the waning day, on a clear winter afternoon heading over to the neighborhood sittum in hats and jackets to watch the sun drop behind the ocean. They stay for the show of colors across the horizon, leaving only when all is gray, the shore birds long gone.  If you live by the ocean, you share that pleasure, perhaps in a different season. 

Inland I am hardly aware of when the sun goes down.  Yesterday I noticed the pink beyond the trees while sweeping leaves from one place to another.  Our leaves aren't snow-covered like the Northeast and Midwest. Here, most afternoons the winter day is just all-of-a-sudden simply gone and the lights come on.  A good resolution for me is more mindfulness of the gifts of nature, more responsiveness to its rhythms.  

Saint Teresa of Calcutta says that God is the friend of silence.  "See how Nature--trees, flowers, grass--grows in silence," she says.  "The stars, the moon and the sun move in silence." That is what's so wonderful about being in our homes this time of year.  If we're lucky we can find a bit of silence.  Or at least only the sounds we want to hear. Right now, Mr. Wiggles is breathing softly and there is music in the background.  No one else is home.  The geese have not yet begun their ruckus as they decide where to roost.  The train won't pass for hours.  

No talk of busyness today.  I would like to stay in tune with what the world has to offer.  Perhaps we can all find some time for that.    

Happy Winter, Nina Naomi 

EVERY DAY WE BECOME BETTER

                                  

A Path to Follow

Have you noticed?  Every day we become better and better.  This doesn't mean that everything is perfect. Not at all. In fact, isn't it true that your life isn't really what you expected it to be?  No one's is. 

Maybe we haven't found the right partner.  Or the right job.  Maybe my best friend has breast cancer.  Or I do.  Maybe I never really knew my dad.  Or have a sibling who died.  Maybe someone we love is chronically depressed.  Or on parole, or in jail.  Wow!  These are the everyday problems of everyday people--you, me, us.  And I've only named a fraction.  We can all list life situations we weren't counting on.  Some good, too. I live in a house in the woods, which I never planned on.  I became a lawyer, which I didn't predict either.     

For the hard things, is there a silver lining?  Well, no.  Sometimes all we can do is wade through.  But this is also true.   That every day we become better and better.  You know the saying, "This too shall pass?"  Well, no, again.  Objective facts don't pass.  My friend may die of cancer. A person I love may remain imprisoned by mental illness.  It may be too late for this or that. Time for amends may have passed. Some things can't be changed, or at least not by us.

BUT. . . EVERYTHING CAN BE MADE BETTER.  Healing is as much a part of life as suffering. What does pass is our anxiety, our despair, our whatever-emotion-is-keeping-us-down.  Time, counseling, prayer, perhaps medication, or just new circumstances--all these and more make us better and better at being the person we need to be.  God is on our side, always.  Our friends are on our side.  We are on our side.  There is Good News, there are good people and there are good things everywhere.  We not only bloom where we are planted, we bloom in spite of almost every adverse condition we can imagine.

So, have you become someone you never thought you would be?  A single parent? Divorced? Never married? Fighting an illness? Well-to-do or struggling?  A person who has survived a loss beyond all contemplation. Or someone with a good marriage or remarriage, a successful career.  A grandparent?  And I bet you're doing well at being that person.  I bet you have done things that have made your life better, and the lives of others too:  gotten an education, helped raise a child, helped those less fortunate, crafted a job and a life, cherished those who love you, never given up, had fun, been awesome. . ..  Am I right?  Am I right?

WE ARE MIRACLES

Does your heart sometimes tangle with worry? Mine does.

There's politics. There's the Russian war in Ukraine. The winter uptick in Covid is upon us.  And there's our personal stuff:  jobs, kids, parents, family, health.  Not to mention that icebergs are melting.  

And death of course, highest on anyone's spectrum of worries:  from natural causes, accident, suicide and shootings. Every day, on average, 316 people in America are shot in murders, assaults, suicides, unintentional shootings, and police intervention; every day 106 of them die. One day this week three University of Virginia football players were killed by a fourth. 

We live in the "andness" of life.  There's this and that.  Example:  "I'm frustrated in my work and glad to be working." "I love my fill-in-the-blank and he/she/they drive me crazy."  We all have contradictory feelings, and not about trivial things. Sitting in a recliner with chemo flowing, we cherish each day.  Praying for a friend who is ill, we enjoy the sun on our back.  When my mother died, I was not at her side even though I knew the end was near. I went home for the night and my father went to his room.  "I want to be here and it's OK if I go," we each must have thought.  Two hours later we were back.

This should all be too much for us, but somehow, it isn't.  Somehow, we are made to cope with death and sadness and grief and life and joy and relief all at the same time.  This is the gift given to our humanity. 

Life is short and precious, the biggest contradiction of all.  Although we all walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we do not despair.  In fact, we thrive.  We face the death of those we love and continue on, the rest of our life and our own death lying just around the corner.  We are miracles.   

So yes, our hearts are tangled.  Today, I woke to a chilly morning with deer out the bedroom windows silhouetted against a light frost.  Younglings tussled with each other. One stood on hind legs reaching for new cedar, a food shunned in warmer seasons. 

Out the kitchen window dozens of robins swoop into the holly trees for tasty red berries.  I turn up the thermostat.  The kettle sings and announces warmth. I fill a cup with strong black tea.  Mr. Wiggles stands at the door waiting to come in for his breakfast.  He routed the deer.  

Right now, I have my usual worries, those I have lived with for some time. I am also praying for friends whose health is precarious and treatments brutal. It could be me.  This is our life, mine and yours.  There's much we can't change. Nevertheless, Covid is lessening; that's what pandemics do.  Political grievances wax and wane.  Jobs, family and health fluctuates, but much abides.   It's just as fair to be hopeful as discouraged. Probably more so.  

I want to admire the resilience that is part of our humanity.  Our ability to accept the andness of life.  If I were in church, I might make this a prayer.  In peace, Nina Naomi

 

 

 

WHEN WE WAKE . . .

When we wake in the morning at sixes and sevens this just might be existential dread.  After all, how many people awake with self-assurance and aplomb?  

Well, perhaps the truly narcissistic but thankfully that's not most of us.  Most of us do not talk about our innate superiority.  That phrase would not come to mind.  Most of us do not pass our names on billboards every day, as if we knew something others did not.  Most of us do not deceive ourselves and those around us.  We are not users.  We are not monetizers. 

Instead, we wake with a very normal anxiety about life. We are not looking for validation from anyone but God and those we love.  We savor small moments that bring us contentment.  We accept love, even if it is inconsistent with something that happened in the past.  We welcome apologies and we forgive.  We learn to pause and live in the adagio.  We trust our instincts.  

For most of us, God is our silent companion.  God illuminates our path.  We do not want to go it alone. We connect with friends and strangers and never for self-aggrandizement.  We have nothing to market.  

We go deep.  We learn to live in the present moment.  We accept each day as a gift.  In this season, as winter's darkness closes in, we find the light.  We look for rituals for our stressed souls.  We pray.  We journal.  We ponder.  We walk.  We write.  We create.  We enjoy the birds who find the berries on our holly. We watch for the moon and the stars.  

We can live a lifetime and know more about other people than we do about ourselves.  Alice Walker (b. 1944) says that the most foreign country is within; we are our own dark continent.  Yes, we've noticed:  the journey to find ourselves is the longest journey we ever take.  For myself, I find God easier than I find myself.  My trust in God is certain.  

The poet Anne Sexton (1928-1974) says that "Saints have no moderation, nor do poets.  Just exuberance."  I am not like that, but I would like to be.  Not like a saint, but like a poet.  Like someone who sees the hand of God everywhere and is grateful.  To be on a path of life where prayer is the mortar that holds us together.  

Yes, this could be a safe awakening.  This would be enough.    

                                                Nina Naomi

                                   

"this is just to say"

Degas

You might comfort me. You might, thinking not of yourself but of me.

You could say, "I'm sorry you were reminded this week.  I know how it makes you feel.  I don't want you to feel that way." 

That's something you might say.  

You could bear that, couldn't you? To touch me with hand or word? 

Some things stay with us a long time.  We think that deep healing has come and IT HAS NOT.  

This week shocks for the soul.  

The pearl whom I never dreamed remembered what you called your "friendship" -- says it so clearly.  

How much you must have talked about your "friend"."

Did you hear what I said just now?    

We live with this.  Much to let go.  

The mind moves so rapidly that sometimes how one felt in the past becomes how one feels in the present.  

Something that took my breath once takes it again (and then again).  

For good or ill some memories-thoughts-facts do not go away.  For good or ill.  

Ill as in sad, needing God.  

Heart-held, mind-felled, cat-belled warnings please, no more right now, so much to dodge.  

Each of us carries a lot, sometimes mired in sand.  

Letting go is not a one-time event. 

It doesn't erase anything; that is not its job. 

Letting go can only change our relationship to what is.  We do it over and over.  

I let go of something long past.  I admit the reminders are not your fault.   

I do not know anything you do not know; that is probably true.    

So much is a dance.  Not all of life, but some.  

The parts we might want to sidestep, to leap beyond, to twist away from. 

So much of life is a dance. 

Look at the leaves, they're dancing.  

I can dance with you.