Just Try Not to Smile

Home, Only Sweeter

Whew. What a summer, folks. And what a fall, coming up. I keep starting this blog post and then, realizing that I don't have the mental capacity to write, deleting it. I haven't had much mental capacity lately. As you poor souls whose emails yet go unanswered know all too well.

My house is a mess. It's been a mess for about a month now. I'm slooooooooowly putting it back together, but the chaos of it is seeping into me. I'm not myself when my house is a mess.

A lot of people I love are hurting right now. There are divorce, terminal illness, abuse, dementia, poverty, and exhaustion plaguing people all around me. And this week, my body up and kaput on me, and here I lie, feverish and achy and wheezing, praying that I'm well enough to make the weekend trip I have planned, to visit one friend in prison and watch another friend in a play. How's that for whiplash?

I've taken the plunge, filled out the time-off-request form, made the announcement: late this fall, I'm headed home, to eastern Pennsylvania, to visit my family. And when I say "family," I mean my sister, my best friend from college, and a woman I like to pretend is my mom but isn't, not biologically anyway. When I say "family," I never mean the people to whom I'm related. For the record.

Christmastime in eastern Pennsylvania. Oh. Sweet. Lord. The baggage. Ohhhhhhh, the baggage. We'll be staying in downtown Philly for part of that time. Right in the middle of where soooooo much happened. And then in Easton, where soooooo much more happened. Just, so much. I fear the trip, the place, that it might swallow me. And I love the place too, and long for it with all my intensity, because I fled in such a frenzy, like leaving a play just before the denouement. I never found out how it ended, the life I was living there. The friendships cut off so abruptly that some people still have no idea what happened to me. Some people thought I was dead, can you believe it? I hope no one thinks that now.

I can't wait. I miss these people so much, people who are like extensions of my own soul. People I think about every single day and haven't seen in years. I've never taken a trip like this before, a trip when I only see people who love me. People who didn't abandon me. People to whom I my heart opens freely, to whom I don't wrench it open for obligation or guilt. People who want me. There aren't too many of those, where I come from.

I feel well now. Even when I meet the darkness that swims in my veins, I can still see the light. And still in me it is, that darkness. But it tastes different now, smells different, feels silky on my palate. Where there used to be old, tepid, cheap coffee, there is now dark chocolate. Still dark, but a welcome, worthy darkness. And now to learn what I am, who I am, with the sweetness and the softness. To do that, I'm going back to the place where I was, to feel it around me, to swim in it, and to feel myself in it. I know I must have something to offer to others, to the world, some way that I can reach out, give back, extend. But, Lord knows, I have no idea what or how.

And that's the

Achoo!

That's the

Achoo!

That's the news

Achoo!


Grrrrrr. That's the news from 'round here. I'm spent. I still promise pictures of my creations, when there's a bit more of me to go around. Off to

Achoo!

bed.

Every single one of us

could use some



Also

[Please ignore the picture and just listen to the song; Michael F. doesn't make many videos.]



Don't let it go.

The song on my mind today

is my favorite, and I finally understand why.

And every day, you gaze upon the sunset with such love and intensity. Why, it's almost as if you could only crack the code and you'd finally understand what this all means. But, if you could, do you think you would trade in all the pain and suffering? Ahh, but then you'd miss the beauty of the light upon this earth and the sweetness of the leaving. —Jane Siberry, "Calling All Angels"

The Grind

I know it's been a while. I've been drowning in stuff. This is just a quick-and-dirty update, for you dear souls who care about the mundane details of my life. I'll write some more in-depth thoughts about this stuff when I get some time. For now, I'll do what, I believe, is called "goin' Lori-style."

The hormones are working. Oh, friends. There are no words to describe how beautiful it feels to have gone through an entire cycle without a giant emotional breakdown and the days and days of recovery it entails. How good it feels to have gone an entire month without convincing myself that everyone whom I love is repulsed by me. An entire month of being gentle with myself, caring for myself. It's been so long. The metaphor I've always used to describe how that darkness feels is that I am a fly trapped in amber, straining to move my wings and getting nowhere, suspended, imprisoned, watching all my fellow flies flit about, crushed by my incapacity. It feels like the amber has shattered, and the breeze is brushing my back, and all the colors look like they should again. I do hope it lasts.

I still can't sleep. Three weeks now. It got a little better, but it's gotten worse again. Four hours a night, five, three, then seven, then back to three. Last night, it was two and a half. This has to stop, because

I'm working on an artistic commission. I'm making jewelry for a play that runs for two weeks in Indianapolis at the end of this month. There will be a whole post on that, with pictures, when my work is done. It is a Big Job, and it's most of the reason why I've been scarce.

I'm learning Acroyoga. Oh, man. Let me tell ya. Acroyoga is the most intensely communal thing I've ever experienced. The sharing of energy and emotion, the complete trust in and of another human being, the feeling of supporting and being supported psychologically, spiritually, and physically, the intimacy and safety and love. I wish I were a writer, so I could tell you what it's placed in my heart. Tamie dear, if you're reading, take note: try it. You won't be sorry. Then please write about it, so someone with a far-finer grasp of the language than I have can communicate it.

I sit on a balance ball at work now. So far, my back is very grateful.

Sometime before the end of the year, I'm taking a trip to the east coast to visit the people who love me, them and only them. No obligations, no guilt or trying to please others. No visiting my mother. Just a two-week (hopefully)-long bath in love.

I am doing well. I am feeling strong and peaceful.

Shalom, brachot, and namaste.

If They Can Do It, Why Can't We?

Also, my spirit animal is definitely the elephant. If you're into spirit animals.

Richard Rohr on Words

As a rule, most people are afraid of silence. That’s our major barrier to prayer and to depth. Silence and words are related. Words that don’t come out of silence probably don’t say much. They probably are more an unloading than a communicating.