Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Will I Find Happiness in a Shiny New Car?

Two weekends ago, I laid in bed feeling as though I were dying. The experience was similar to depression, but not quite the same. I was in a place of resignation—all hopes dashed. I managed to get out of bed to sip a cup of tea in the morning, and then tried to lose myself to sleep once more. I forced myself out of bed again at about 3 each day to take a shower so that at least I’d be clean as I died. And when the boredom got to be too much, I ventured out, mid-evening, to watch several back-to-back reruns of Sex and the City before trying once again to sleep through the night; only to wake up and live this dying routine another day.

My dying was triggered by a visit to the couple’s therapist—mine and my husband’s fifth or so visit with this particular guy. He suggested we meet with a second therapist who could then consult to us and to him, because he was “stuck.” Now, I understand that consultations can be quite helpful to long-term therapies and that this can work well in a variety of ways. However, in five weeks this guy hadn’t shown us that he knew how to be helpful at all, and he was suggesting that we pay to enlist help?! Why wouldn’t we just see this other guy, rather than pay him to help someone else help us? Why would we wish to continue trying when he joked that “maybe it’s my fantasy that someone else can help you?” Anyway, at the time I wasn’t angry. Just despondent.

This was my hope: I thought that if I fought, and that if we did the work, someone could give us hope. Hope that it would be better than it is now. Hope that I might discover the passion I’m looking for in the relationship I already have. Hope that I would discover the secret to living a life well-lived.

And this was my belief: If I fight hard enough I can have anything I want. If I were determined enough, passionate enough, and willing to work on myself honestly and psychologically, I would always find what I was looking for. If a person goes to years of therapy, works everyday to be self-aware, and does her best to be kind and real, then she will eventually create a good life.

The therapist told me that I was looking for a shiny new car and the only thing he could do was sell me an old one. In other words, I would have to settle for something other than what I really want; and because I was having a hard time dealing with this, he was stuck and couldn’t be helpful. There was no way to turn led to gold, to use a metaphor higher in resonance for me; even though I always believed I could do so. He was telling me that those hopes and beliefs mentioned above were false. Life is about settling.

This is when the hopeless and long days in bed with only a slight reprieve from Sex and the City—which, if you’ve seen episodes or the movie, you know just worked to reinforce my fantasy life rather than cure it with the dose of reality (or pessimism, depending upon how you look at it) my therapist was suggesting—began. I managed to pull myself out of it, with my fighting spirit I might add, and turn that despondency into anger. Anger is always helpful to me. Then I realized that the therapist was correct in some ways, even if not very skilled at delivering his observations. Fighting what is does not work. Accepting right where we are is always the first and necessary step to healing. I wish he could have stayed with us to create space to do this accepting, but then again maybe he helped me in a less costly way. His admitted stuckness brought me face to face with the tons of resistance I’ve been carrying around. He helped me to see this more clearly, and quickly. For that I am grateful.

I happen to be working with a Shaman who commented that this—meaning my life right now—is my dying. I am dying to the ego that wishes things to be a particular way and that is addicted to the fight that I believe will achieve such things. Dying in this way is difficult. Mostly, I feel disappointed… Disappointed that what I thought life could be is not. Disappointed as I look around and realize that this really is all there is. Some— my Shaman included—hold out the hope through their own experiences that although this is all there is, when we really accept that—fully surrender to it—we find a beauty in it that is better than anything we could have imagined. Full surrender can bring contentment. Contentment sounds a lot less appealing that the passionate life I was hoping for, but this feeling actually helps me because it allows me to move further into the surrender—which is always the opposite direction from the kind of hope I’ve described.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Feelings I Cannot Understand...

I could spend all day dreaming about his biceps, the way he seems so grounded and comfortable in the solitude of his own skin, how he might taste, and what it is that he really craves.

What would he confess if it felt safe enough? And what might he desire if freedom to do so were granted from within? What is he looking for, really, when he surveys the bar in search of a woman to go home with?

I can't stop wondering about his psychic aches and pains, and how well he knows his own pain...? I wish to feel what he does, to understand at that depth, and offer that up to him, and for him, so that he might receive something, though I know not what.

I dream about his biceps and tears fall and I believe that I would die if it would save him.

Gifts

Since I love giving gifts so much, I thought I'd capture them here. Here are my favorites for this year:

US Open (golf) tickets for my brother

A tarot card reading for my mom

Make your own book for one of my nieces-- you actually send the book in and they send it back "published," bound-and-all

A beautiful. very tasteful photo of a nude women (close up of her torso) in an equally beautiful custom frame for my husband

Fresh flowers for many of my favorite people in this world

And I'm contemplating inking my husband's name onto my upper, inner thigh-- which is not something I want, but the very idea that it would be a sacrafice is what is enticing about it-- I would truly be doing it for his pleasure and that's the kind of gift I love giving.

What was your favorite gift-- to give or receive this year?

Thank God for Snow!

Thank God for snow! I'm hpoing to be snowed-in here in the northeast tomorrow, which will finally give me not only the time to get back to my writing, but the space to reflect. My desire to write comes from either: (1) Deep and passionate longing or(2) A poetic way of experiencing the world-- a sort of sensibility that I can access only when I stop long enough to notice what's around me. I'm not sure what has me so busy these days but that space has been missing. And I'm feeling it; it's lack, that is. I'm tired, run-down, cranky, and haven't been feeling much of anything. I need my space back...

I need to write about how I felt as though I were dying last weekend. My body was shut down, my psyche was soooo shut down. And I did everything I could, from that shut down state, to bring the sort of awareness that might turn this crazy experience into an ego death--- intentionally letting those parts of me I no longer need fall away.

I need to write about all the pain in the world that I see close up and whether we can find meaning in that, or not.

I need to write about how my couple's therapist told my husband and me (though I think it was really me) how he couldn't help us... he didn't know what to do or where to lead us. He didn't know how to work with my resentment. What kind of psychotherapist-- and one who works with couples-- doesn't know how to work with f--king resentment?!

I need to write about how I spend too much money at Christmas time because of how much I love buying great gifts.

In sum, I need to process the tension, stress, pain, disappointment, grief, and even the numbness I've been feeling and I do this best by writing about it.

I hope to be back to this regularly, and soon. Tomorrow, I'll start with a visit to our neighborhood Shaman, who has been helping me in ways similar to how writing does... which is yet another topic for future posts.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Grounded Exuberance

The big astrological news this month is Pluto’s ingress into Capricorn, marking a new generation—a new time in history—which will take us through 2024.

Outer planets such as Pluto move very slowly, in comparison to the sun, for example. Whereas the sun changes signs every month, Pluto changes every 12-20+ years. I was born just as Pluto was getting ready to exit Virgo, where it found its home from 1956- 1971. The Pluto in Virgo generation is a health conscious one. It is a generation that began to cultivate a respectful relationship with the environment. We take our work seriously, and can be prone to anxiety about the changes around us and what such changes mean for our sense of self and independence—thanks in part to Pluto’s proximity to Uranus during these years. Pluto is currently, and (for the most part) has been, in Sagittarius since 1995. We can reflect on the nature of the collective ethos beginning in about 1995 in order to capture an experiential sense of Pluto in Sag. Among other things, it is a sense of expansiveness, shooting for the heavens, optimism, and wishing to live “big.” Pluto in Sag marks a generation of visionaries, those that reflect on the big picture, and are concerned with cultivating a philosophy of life and ongoing learning, expanding their horizons in addition to super-sizing their homes and food products. The shadow side of such expansiveness has been made known to us as banks, homeowners, and businesses all face the crash of structures that were built upon unsupported grandiosity.

Speaking of Sag more generally, it is represented by an archer shooting toward the sky and is ruled by the planet Jupiter, the largest planet in the Earth’s solar system. It is the sign of vision, physical and psychological/ imaginary travel, athleticism, reaching beyond where we find ourselves in the moment. The Olympics are a good example of a Sag-infused event. Likewise, Sagittarian-influenced individuals can be exuberant in their ability to dream. John F. Kennedy, Jr.; Tina Turner; Bette Midler; and Winston Churchill are among some well-known Sun-sign Sagittarians. These are big personalities with a meaning or purpose behind their greatness. It is as though the desire for expanded horizons and philosophical thinking tempers the potential for narcissism.

So, as the Sun makes its way across Sag this month, Pluto makes its way out—and into Capricorn. Adjacent signs tend to compensate for one another. Capricorn, ruled by Saturn, tends to correct for Sagittarius’ exuberance. And just as Saturn and Jupiter represent somewhat opposite energies, so too do the signs they rule. Whereas Sagittarius (and Jupiter) are about expansion, Capricorn (and Saturn) have something to do with containment. Capricorn is about structure; it’s an energy that cares about foundations—solid foundations that can ground our optimism & dreams and support our goals. For a culture that was too caught up in a grandiose energy without attending to its shadow side, Pluto’s trip into Capricorn will likely be experienced as a rude awakening. Again, most of us have already felt this shock as we’ve watched our retirement accounts, homes, and jobs slip away from us. The universe has an interesting way of assisting us in our evolution, in our learning about how to balance and respect various energies and take accountability for all of our choices.

Over time, I’ve learned something about balancing these energies. The rulers of Sag and Cap sit exactly opposite from one another in significant positions within my natal chart. With Jupiter and Saturn exactly opposite one another, I and others born in and around 1970, are likely to experience the profound tension between expansion and contraction, letting go and holding on, philosophizing and practicality; dreaming and realism. What I’m learning is that the Saturn side of the equation—the structure, containment, crucible, reality-checks, and accountability—makes possible the dreams and learning (Jupiter). I think this lesson is one we will all be challenged to learn, collectively, through 2024 as Pluto traverses Capricorn. And the sooner we learn it, the sooner we will be able to experience the benefit of structures and policies that have legs to stand on; grounded exuberance; and dreams becoming reality.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

The Art of Gift Giving and of Relationships

‘Tis the season of gift giving, and whether you are giving in honor of Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanza, or a Sagittarian birthday, there is an art to gift giving that mimics the secrets of healthy relationships. Understanding the art of gifting helps one to develop the art of relationships. The Merriam-Webster online dictionary tells us that the word gift comes from a Middle English word meaning “something given, talent;” and its modern day definition does not deviate much from its source. According to MW, its three definitions are as follows: (1) a notable capacity, talent, or endowment, (2) something voluntarily transferred by one person to another without compensation, and (3) the act, right, or power of giving. Musical talent is considered a gift, usually one that a person is born with; and a guitar bought for this person is a related, yet different kind of gift.

I love giving gifts, and my favorite kind to give are those that are “voluntarily transferred” (definition 2) with an appreciation for a person’s notable talent or endowment (definition 1), and maybe particularly those talents or capacities that are most treasured by the recipient, either consciously or otherwise. In other words, I love to give gifts that appreciate a person’s uniqueness. Gifts that say “I see you; I appreciate who you are.” The wonderful thing is that we all have the capacity or power to give in this way (definition 3) if we so choose, and doing so does not necessarily cost much at all. Still, we tend to do so less frequently than we all may care to admit. I found the following distinction mentioned in a post on overachievercoach.blogspot.com. It is one I’ve heard described many times before: A present is something that you want the recipient to have. A gift is something that the recipient would want. Many of us tend to give presents over gifts. Why might this be so?

First, gifting comes with the prerequisite of empathy. In order to give something the recipient would want, we must step into their shoes, even if momentarily. This requires thought, time, and an opening of one’s heart. Second, opening one’s heart can be hard to do in certain relationships. Especially during the December holidays, we tend to give gifts, or presents, to those we might not choose to otherwise. A sibling with whom you’ve had a falling-out or an ongoing rivalry; a coworker who is likely not to return the favor of a present; a boss, parent, or spouse you’ve grown to resent; or a grab bag recipient whom you barely know. In such cases, empathy is challenging, to say the least. Relatedly, in relationships that contain a history of some hurt, giving a gift can feel a lot like forgiveness and can bring up many of the same challenges. We may feel as though giving (or for-giving) from a place of open-heartedness means that everything else is okay, and it may be too painful to risk sending out this message. I don’t believe that it does mean this; but I know it feels that way to most of us much of the time. Still, to the extent that it is tolerable, I believe in gifting over present-ing. Having said this, I should also say that the number one strategy to giving is, as is always the case from my perspective, AWARENESS. It doesn’t matter whether you give a gift or present or nothing; just that you know what you are doing and why.

The art of gift giving lies in having an open heart. Herein, also, lays the art of relationship; though here we need to take things a step further. The art of relating is rooted in an open heart, even though it can be painfully difficult to get there. As with gift giving, it can feel as though we are granting the other a kind of absolution that we do not wish to. The problem is that if we do not open our hearts, we are likely to have an effect on the other of closing, or keeping closed, his or her own heart. This presents each of us with a dilemma that is difficult to step out of. Again, the answer is AWARENESS, and articulating that awareness to the other. I can express to my husband, for example, that the way things are going really are not okay with me. I would like to see things change a bit—for us to stretch and grow. Coming from this place of an open heart will get me, and us, a lot further than doing so from a place of resentment. This is a real life example, and one that I have had to work hard to bring into awareness and to accept responsibility for. I believe it is my task to be honest and open. My husband knows that the way things are between us is not entirely satisfactory to me. And, he will be getting a gift, not a present, from me this holiday season.

There is one last issue that impacts our choice of gifts and our relationships. It is something like faith in ourselves. I have observed that many of us undermine our own capacity for empathy. We may believe that we really don’t have much to offer; that we are not important enough or capable of empathizing with another and giving a great gift. I think it was two years ago that I bought my UPS man a gift. I made the mistake of telling others I did this and was ridiculed. “You don’t buy the UPS man a gift! Just give him a monetary tip or gift certificate.” It was my intention to give him something that said “I acknowledge who you are,” but I was talked out of it by others. I felt incredibly embarrassed, actually, that I would have purchased a gift in the first place. I guess I believed that I wasn’t worthy of giving. It’s crazy to think about this; yet the gift is sitting in my attic as I type. And as anxiety provoking as it might have been, it would have warmed my heart to give him the gift. This is the thing about gift giving: When we can get there, it usually warms our souls as much as it touches those to which we give.

Maybe I’ll retrieve that gift for Mr. UPS from my attic this December….

Lessons of the Whispering Winter Wind

Winter is upon us. The taste of it is delivered by the tips of the wind as the purity of the colder air brings memories of Christmas time, football playoffs, and snow angels past. I can hear its sound mingle with the rhythm of computer keys being struck as I type, making music that captures the season. It’s the sound of flames escaping up the chimney with the wind created therein, alongside the occasional pop of the wood, which, no matter how often I hear it, always startles me to the degree to which I sit in closeness to the warm hearth.

I love the word “hearth” and the world it seems to gather in its utterance: A picture of home as warmth, comfort, and resting place. For me, winter is a time of welcome hibernation; an excuse to not be so busy; and a time to enjoy the creature comforts of familiarity. A soft sweater, cup of tea, blazing fire, and my dog curled up nearby create the equivalent contentment of a summer night on the town—maybe even better.

I know that I have safely made the transition from summer to winter (in my own subjective reality, there are really only two seasons) when I can appreciate all that winter has to offer. Summer is, admittedly, my favorite season and just the thought if it—or of a late winter visit to Miami—keeps my skin desperately clinging to its ever-fading tan and the glow of the sun held within it. Still, there is something about looking out my window into the quickly darkening sky through barren tree branches that gifts me with a capacity for a deeper appreciation of both summer and winter and the transitioning seasons between the two. Each winter I learn something about the impermanence of life and its corollary, letting-go.

It’s not an intellectual understanding, though. Rather, it’s something I feel in my bones and know intuitively. It’s the security that comes from the cyclical nature of change. I see the leafless trees and know that they will once again birth the life of foliage, sometime in the future. This knowing, in turn, creates an appreciation for where they are now: Naked and cold. In appreciating how things are in this moment, I accept change. And through the act of acknowledging change, I can be in gratitude for and with the present—which is not usually an easy task for me. I prefer to fight what is, always wanting something more, or different. I have “tried” to surrender, in the midst of such internal battles; I’ve tried hard, to no avail. For me, it is not nor has it ever been an act of will. The letting go, that is. It is more like a gift that is granted, perhaps by the power of Mother Nature. It may be her fierce authority that wakes me up to my own smallness. I realize that no matter how hard I try or how willful and stubborn I get, I can’t force the trees to grow back leaves any sooner than they just will, completely regardless of me. There is relief in this. And when I stop the fight my energy is freed up to appreciate the popping fire and the gorgeous power of the universe.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

A LOVE STORY

How She Could Sing the Wildwood Flower. This is my new favorite song, by Emmylou Harris. It’s a love story, and no matter how often I say I don’t believe in love, I continue to notice those moments when I’m swept away by a love story. This story shares its themes with almost every other. A man falls for a woman, they live happily together for a while, but he is the driven type and doesn’t pay her enough attention. She gets lonely and leaves. He regrets. The love lives on in his memory, and in her song.

My favorite line in the song: “He’d bring her there to be his bride/ Where they would live and work together side by side.” The idea of being with a man with whom I could stand side-by-side, and a man who wants the same, evokes my every romantic fantasy. Of course, I fall for the part of the story where happily-ever-after seems possible, probable, given even. And the song might not rank among my favorites of the day if it weren’t about the eventual loss of this ideal. There is, admittedly, something romantic for me in the difficulty of the stories of love that awaken my soul.

I’m searching for a real life love story. One in which the love lasts. Transforms, for sure, but remains. I have yet to find one, and this leaves me wondering why it is so rare. Why so difficult? We get in our own way over and over again and love leaves us there. Even as a part of us always yearns for love of the lasting kind.

I once wrote about how love only exists in moments. And “lasting love” is only a series of those moments strung together. I continue to think this might be accurate. Lasting, romantic love is a fantasy. The truth of love can only exist if we renew our commitment to be open again and again and again; moment after moment after moment; which may be close to impossible for all human beings who are not the Dalai Lama. So, for now, I am trying to appreciate the sporadic moments, even as I desperately wish they were strung together more closely and with an individual whom I might live and work side-by-side.

This past week I experienced love when I went to pick up an order at a print shop. It was a large, warehouse type of place. There were about five guys working there, together, side-by-side, each looking like they had just rolled out of bed. And in some strange way, each looking like they loved the others. In response, I instantly “fell” for each and every one of them. I’m not sure why. Nor does it matter. The feeling I had was unmistakably love. So, whereas I will not stop searching for the unattainable love stories sung by the likes of Emmylou Harris, I will also search for these more isolated moments, which in themselves tell a love story of sorts.

Choosing the Cage of Fear

“…did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?” – Pink Floyd

I think most people choose the cage. On the conscious level, I would absolutely say that I’d prefer a walk on role in something meaningful than a lead role in a prison. Still, I choose the cage-- the prison. For the most part, I know why I do. It comes from a more unconscious place, one which I haven’t been able to will myself out of. I can’t, or won’t, turn the compassion I have for others toward myself. I know that this is the way out of the cage, but I fear that I will melt into mediocrity if I do. That others will take advantage of me— swallow me up, find pleasure in my mistakes, or simply use me for their own benefit. I fear, maybe, that I will disappear. The times I’ve tried to open myself and let my guard down and be more visible have backfired. They have not been liberating. So I choose the cage. And ironically, it is there that I disappear and melt into mediocity and disappoint myself. Still, I have more compassion for others who choose the same. And I think I will continue to try to escape, even if I'm not sure how to do so.

When the Fire Dies

Shut down long ago. Ever since embodying the form of a ghost.

Only a ghost.

Often invisible. Always shadowy. She travels through the forest unknowingly searching for the substance lost lifetimes prior. Until the day she gambled on believing it would all be okay. There was one tree, just a bit off her usual path, splintered by lightening. Belief that this wood could become a fire warmed her phantom soul. And dreams of the lost substance paved a new path. The fire lit the way. Color began to fill the shadows.

But fire can burn and splinters cut deeply. The same love she dared to imagine robbed her of the substance once more. And the pain is deeper this time. She played. And lost the bet. Only to find the heat of the pain and the splinter of rejection. The failed courage couldn’t win her the body, color, or dreams she spent eternity searching for.

Suspended between body and spirit. Unable to haunt or to walk the earth. The search for substance abandoned. To be only a ghost. To fall into the shadows and black holes that hide the pain—her desperate wish. But it’s too late. She gambled and lost. Feeling herself dying, now. Choosing death. The only way out of the nothing.

Shut down once again. The dreams have lost; and the fire, died.

Only darkness lives.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

North Node Inspiration

There is a beautiful, sweetly glowing and sensual full moon out tonight. I love that I have become more attuned to the cycles of the moon. I actually know now, ahead of time, when I'll get my period. I was never very good at keeping track of that. Now it's easy. I also know when a month has passed and how I am doing with regard to following up with the intentions I set at each new moon. Anyway, the moon is gorgeous tonight. Enjoy it.

I'm suggesting a link to the blog of an astrologer who is smart, compassionate, and writes about things that are useful to people-- whether or not you know about or believe in astrology. She recently posted a list of the placement of a person's north node given their birth date. If you know your birthday, click here to find your north node placement, then search her archives for an article on your north node in it's respective sign. It's easy and you'll see what I mean once you're there. Assuming it resonates for you, it can help you live out your true calling:
http://www.northnodeastrology.blogspot.com/.

Monday, November 10, 2008

SACRED SACRIFICE

She needs what he has
He wants what she can offer
Healing, really.
She sells her body and sacrifices her soul.

Can the healing redeem her?
Is she a medicine woman?
Or a prostitute?
And is there a difference?

She needs what he has
And he wants to heal her,
Making sense of his own path.
She sells her soul and sacrifices her life.

Does the healing redeem him?
Or her?
Is she a wife or a prostitute?
Is there a difference?

The sacrificial lamb, and scapegoat;
The husband, and wife, and prostitute
Sacred healing or profanity?
Do we know the difference?

And does it matter?

Friday, November 7, 2008

What is Love?

"I don't believe in love." This, I spoke matter-of-factly to my couple's therapist recently. Love is an overused word. It refers to so many different states and most people seem to have no idea what they actually mean when they use it. Affection, concern, care, wanting the best for someone, sex, wanting someone to be around, obsession, wanting to take care of someone.... And the list goes on. A word that refers to almost everything has no meaning for me. The phrase, I love you, is just emptiness.

I'm mostly talking about Love with a capital L-- the romantic version. This "love," when we are “falling” into it, always describes one person projecting something onto another: I love you because you offer the promise of making me happy, or justifying my existence, or offering a spark of excitement in my life. I love you because: You complete me; you fill in my gaps; you enable me to remain in denial. I love you because: As a risk-taker you hold the part of me that wants to go for it, but is afraid to do so myself; or as the picture of stability, you represent my potential to achieve the same if I could only love myself enough. You get the picture. … and we call this love.

It is, in fact, what attracts us to one another to begin with. I'm attracted to the one who is unavailable so as to avoid my own fears around intimacy, but then when the relationship remains distant or is thwarted in some way, I wonder why I have such bad luck and I come to resent my partner. I choose to remain unconscious of the reasons I was drawn to this person in the first place. The problem is not so much the fact that we fall for our own distorted image of someone or choose someone who helps us to maintain a certain image of our selves, the problem is that we remain unaware of this. Thus, we don’t take accountability for it. We hide behind this thing called “love,” which is, when we really come down to it, pathology and neurosis. Now, coming on to a potential mate with a phrase like "I think I have a neurosis for you," or “my pathology is leading me to you,” is not going to get any of us very far. But it is a more truthful pick-up line, the large majority of the time. And recognizing something of this for yourself, early on in the relationship, will prevent much misery down the road.

Let’s take an example. I met my husband when I was 15. At the time, it was painful for me to see the distress and suffering and financial “inferiority” of my own family; and it would have been intolerable to invite others to see this. So, I chose someone who didn’t, and wouldn’t, look beneath the surface. Someone who was literal and concrete and uninterested in the depths of human experience. Twenty years later, I realized that things had changed. I had come to accept more and more of what I used to feel shame about. And now I was ready—in fact, I was deeply craving—someone who might wish to know all that lives within me. Someone I could share my inner world with. My husband is not this guy. For his part, he chose me because he enjoyed being needed, and without a family I could really count on, I needed him. He is also unconsciously drawn to exploring—from a distance—the f—ked-up-ness of life. He found, in me, a person he could do this with vicariously, without ever getting his hands or heart or soul dirty. I do that for him. The perfect couple. He calls it love. I call it synchronized neurosis.

The good news is this: I’m a psychologist who recognizes these patterns and strives to shed light on that which is unconscious. And my husband listens. We can both own our parts in the original “fall” and take back the material that we projected onto the other. He can see that being a caretaker is his need, more than it is about me and my needs. And I can see that I chose him for the exact dynamic that I now find so unsatisfying, which means that I don’t blame him for this. It doesn’t make our problems go away, but it does allow each of us to develop further as individuals. I cannot think of anything less romantic than grappling to own one’s shadow material, but for now, that is what we do.

In closing, here is my advice. If you are in love, stay there and enjoy it. Try to preserve, in the recesses of your mind, the idea that it won’t always be this way and that the very reasons you’re falling for him or her now will be the same reasons you have difficulties later on. Try to remember that loves turns into opportunities for self-development, if you work toward illumination. But for now, enjoy that thing most call love.

If you are at that stage where you are having difficulties in a current relationship, ask yourself the following: When I complain about x, what does that say about me? How am I participating in this dynamic? What image of myself am I needing to uphold? What is the most frightening thing I could imagine facing in a relationship? And then go find a therapist to help you sort this out. You will be better for it; and it will allow your relationship to either evolve into something more authentic or to dissolve in a compassionate way, allowing both partners to move forward knowing more about themselves.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Saturn- Uranus Opposition

I just have a few moments to share some thoughts about the current Saturn- Uranus opposition, which is a big deal in the astrological community. Planets are symbolic of energies that are present within human nature. Saturn, to me, represents the call to individuation. It is associated with key words such as father, authority, discipline, contstraint, limitation, etc. It is one of the more feared energies, and it brings us the consequences of that which we sow. It reminds us that we are ultimately responsible for our own lives. For this reason, I think of it as the crucible within which growth can occur-- a container of sorts. Uranus is associated with quickness, rebellion, sudden changes and insights, and individuality. I think of Uranus as the catalyst of a reaction-- that thing that sparks something into being.

So, today, the crucible meets the catalyst. We may be feeling held back at the very same time that we are jonesing for change. Sudden insights may come along with a feeling that we must maintain the status quo. Following the brilliant insights of Jung, we know that holding the tension of these opposite energies-- that is, allowing space for both, and all, of our feelings-- is what allows a third possibility to emerge. It is what allows something to result from the catalyst within the crucible.

This energy is personal to me, given significant transits to my natal planet placements. What I noticed within my own experience is this: Awareness of the potential for life-affirming energy calling me toward individuation. Knowing that it is time for me to choose from a place of Self-resonance, rather than fear or popular custom. Questions about whether I am up for it. Can I meet the challenge? Regret that I have “wasted time,” and may waste more. Sadness for so much suffering in the world. And doubt around whether I can access the courage I need now.

The crucible and the catalyst are available to all of us; this seems clear... what will we make of this?

Monday, November 3, 2008

Even tho we ain't got money...

Anxiety around the state of the economy seems to be swirling about everywhere these days, much like the leaves that now carpet the ground here in the Northeast. I sense it in people: More caution, close to the surface terror, knots in stomachs, and a resulting irritability which poorly disguises the fearful survival instinct that responds to all hints of threat.

I have noticed a differnt response within myself. Sadly, perhaps, I actually began to feel excited. "A challenge!," I thought. I grew up without a lot of money and watched my family struggle, often. For that reason, and others, I know now that I can survive just about anything. Whereas I love to spend money, I could just as easily be without it. What matters to me in life has no monetary value. Still, being excited is a strange reaction. I have to wonder about why those survival instincts are wanting to express themselves in this way, now...?

There is something else as well. News of the economy tanking evoked for me those fantasies of being in a romantic relationship with the starving-artist type of guy. Or being the starving artist type of gal. And leading a life in which passion mattered more than security. With security nowhere to be found, maybe passion would be more readily available. Stripped of material possessions, I would live closer to the depths and breadth of life, living in that nebulous realm where meaning and intensity each find their home.

I could live in the woods, I began to imagine, with Kenny Loggins' "Even though we ain't got money..." serving as the theme song of this fantasy. My husband's flesh would keep me warm; our conversation would provide all the nutrients I need; his semen, quench my thirst. Rather than sleepwalking through life, we would be faced with survival, and therefore in touch with death. And when any of us who are walking around this earth truly sit with our own impending death, we cannot help but move into the realm of meaning and passion and intensity.

When I snapped out of this fantasy, I was left with two thoughts. One, I would need a different husband entirely to participate in this fantasy with me. And two, I don't need to lose whatever money and security I have in order to sit with my own death. I can choose, now, to meditate on death and dying and my own eventual non-existence and follow the path of wherever this leads me.

I think I have more to say about the survival instinct and the various ways in which this manifests, but I'll leave that for another time, except to say that we are in the realm of astrology's 8th house and its affiliates, Scorpio and Pluto.

Sacred Fire

Two and half years ago, I had my first astrology reading. "Your task is to do home. What happens when you're home is more significant for you than what happens at work," my astrologer said. His words landed in the center of my solar plexus and crept up into my heart, where they evoked tears of recognition and a sense of something I couldn't put my finger on at the time. I now know it was the belief deep within that I had no idea how to "do home."

Sure, I watched the home and garden channel and had begun to experiement with cooking and interior design. Bur first and foremost I was a business woman, about to open my own small business, where I would manage things. This-- managing things-- I knew how to do. Work, I knew how to do. Winning awards and recognition for these skills, I knew how to do. But home? What did that mean?

I think I'm coming closer to knowing something about this. Vesta is the goddess of home. The goddess of the hearth of the home-- the place where the fire burns consistently, and necessarily, and only because of acts of devotion. Imagine the task of starting a fire from scratch, and then keeping that fire going-- day-in and day-out-- for days and weeks and months on end. It is a sacred task. My interest in astrology, and life, is about devotion to passion, to the fire that lives within each one of us.

A planetary body, an asteroid discovered in 1807, Vesta sits at the top of my natal chart, on the 9th house side of my midheaven, in Leo, alone. I have many, many planets, including my North Node, in the 4th house of home. And my sun is in the house ruled by Leo, the fifth. Taken together, and after two plus years of reflection and feeling into these planetary energies, I am coming to understand that home for me has much to do with the home within each one of us & within me. The home that is the body, the one that allows for creation in its most raw forms, and the wisdom contained therein. With the goddess of home at the top of my chart in the 9th, my connection to home can be shared with others, professionally, philosophically, and as part of a greater journey toward the kind of truth this blog is named for.

I am beginning to see my sacred purpose in life as that of holding space for others to come home to their bodies and creativity and homes(a Vestal activity), to discover that which they hold sacred, to know themselves intimately. I am meant to notice those sparks within and to tend those flames until they have the strength to burn on their own. To this, I am devoted. When devotion is called-for, sacrifice is chosen, and a strength of endurance and love of humanity ever-presnt, we are in the realm of Vesta, the Roman goddess of hearth. This is sacred, Vestal-energy.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

The Pain of Growth

I'm not sure if I've written about this before-- it's a topic that fascinates me, and so I tend to keep coming back to it. The idea comes out of astrology and it's this: We are born into this world with a certain set of skills, abilities, or a way of being-in-the-world, really, that we just know how to do. It's that "something" in our lives that just comes easy and naturally. The thing we barely notice because it is so much a part of who we are that we take it for granted. It's our second nature, as they say; though really it’s our first nature—our default mode. The character of this something is described by the placement of the South Node in a person's natal chart.

Directly opposite the South Node of the moon sits its North Node, which is symbolic of our path of growth. This “something” shows what it is that we are here on this earth to learn to do. Taken together, what these two points in the sky tell us is that what we are good at is not necessarily what is good for us, at least as far as evolutionary growth is concerned. Our path of growth involves a fundamental, internal shift, represented by these two polarities.

We need to understand this as a shift in our orientation to life. In other words, it is less about content than it is about process. I can take care of my health in a Virgo-inspired way, using discrimination, analysis, structure and attention to detail (my South Node way) or, I can do the same in a Piscean way, attending to my intuition, spiritual truths, and a go-with-the-flow sort of mentality (my North Node). The shift might manifest as a the difference between planning what I will eat for the day in advance, ensuring that I get the proper nutrition, versus asking myself in the moment, what does my body need now? The intuitive way is what my particular north node is calling for. For someone else, the task might be to move from that spontaneous and intuitive way of relating to the world to a more structured and discriminating way. Or one of many other different possibilities depending upon the placement of the nodes in your natal chart.

What fascinates me about this idea is (1) it resonates deeply with me when I consider my own life and (2) there is a way in which it is counterintuitive, at least in our culture. We are taught to value, to highly praise those things we excel at. Yet, those very things—or that way of being-in-the-world—can land us in a place of meaninglessness. A colleague of mine whom I deeply admire and respect asked me to consider taking on the position of president of the board of directors of a non-profit she started, which I know is near and dear to her heart. I’m good at this sort of thing. It brings me a certain kind of recognition, good networking, valuable experience. Another, larger board also asked me to consider a run for prez, which could bring me more status, stature, and authority. The problem is, none of it is near and dear to my heart. There is no meaning to it, other than I know I could do a good job of organizing and leading and making sure the details are tended to. To admit this to myself, though, is risky. I risk losing what I know I can do well to discover meaning in something that I won’t do so well. We’re usually not so good at our North Node way of being in the world because it is new to us. Stated another way, the orientation to which we are called to take on is usually one we fumble with, at least a bit. We make mistakes. Face embarrassment, even shame. I’ve had these experiences too often since deciding to try to follow my path of growth, and it has not been fun. As I struggle to be more spontaneous (my Piscean North Node), I mess up. I say the wrong thing, or show too much vulnerability, or misperceive what a situation might call for, all in an effort to stretch myself so that I might eventually reconnect with something meaningful. And I have a ton of other planets in Pisces helping me along the way… and it’s still totally hard. And I don’t even know if it will happen—finding the meaning, that is. It’s a big risk. I often wonder if I should have remained safe, never venturing out and leaving behind how I know to do things well in order to seek some deeper sense of meaning and purpose. May be I should take on those board positions. It’s tempting, but for me there is no turning back. I’m too stubborn. I love a challenge. And I’m a gambler at heart.

Fantasy for a Friend

I have a rich fantasy life, though what I fantasize about is not that out of the oridinary. I imagine the everyday conversations I'd like to have. And the things I would like to be different in my life-- sharing Thanksgiving Dinner with close friends rather the obligatory family visits, for example. I have these same fantasies for others, imagining what I might want for them: For my artist friend to show his work in a Soho gallery; for my sister to go to hairdressing school; for my husband to break out of his need for so much security in his life. It's a strange thing-- to create fantasies for others, since they are, after all, my fantasies. My husband likes his security, for example; it's me who would like to see him loosen up. So, I try to own these invented stories as my own, even as I dream them for and share them with others. Below is the fantasy I had for a friend. I offer this, for what it's worth, to all the guys and gals out there searching for and chasing after that thing we call love.

One day, when you are not expecting it, you meet a woman who intrigues you. You like the person she is. You laugh together. You have fun sharing time, and ideas, and even some hobbies. In fact, things go pretty well. She's not quite your usual type, though. And you miss the high of the chase that is ordinarily a part of your romatic relationships. But something about her keeps you interested. She has a way of tapping into the best there is within you, and at some level you feel this. It scares you, and there an edge of excitement within the fear, though it's different than the edge of excitement in the chase you are used to.

As things grow more serious, you want to pull away, but that something-about-her-that-keeps-you-interested is stronger. And so you stay, despite some doubts. You settle in together-- start living under one roof-- and over time the doubts start to fade, though they are there to some degree and you still miss the chase. The sex is sometimes good, sometimes mediocre. You wonder what else is out there. What you might be missing. On some level, the relationship feels too easy— there is nothing to conquer— and this leaves you uneasy, but you stay.

She grants you absolute freedom. No strings attached. She wants you to be you and to have those experiences that leave you feeling fulfilled. She can take care of herself, psychologically, which means that you can claim your own freedom. The potential for projection is taken out of the equation. If you feel limited, confined, uneasy, then you know it is coming from within and not from her. She is holding space for you... to be.

And over time, you begin to relax into her. And the sex gets better. And one night you make love to her and all boundaries dissolve. You find that you are totally open to her, in a way never experienced before now: Exposed, vulnerable, known within your depths. She sees right into you, clearly, and she still loves you… loves you more… and you feel it, deep deep within, in your bones and blood and soul. Her love for you is visceral and penetrating and warm all at the same time. You feel death as the merging evokes the eventual separation; and it's worth it. At this moment something unrecognizable is running through your veins— a kind of power unknown in your life before now. The power that comes from abject surrender. And you taste God, in yourself, in her, in the air that you breathe. Death and God and sex and love are part of the very same moment, ... a moment which eventually ends. And life resumes, and for the first time in your life, something of the high you just experienced stays with you in a way that you cannot quite explain. But you don’t need to explain. Because you feel it. And in that moment all doubt ceases. And you know you’ll be with her forever.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Seduction in the Self-Help Section

I stopped by the book store on my way to work today, looking for inspiration in the music and self-help & spirituality sections of the store. I’m always searching for something— usually some secret that will break open the skies above allowing me to glimpse heaven and the path which leads there. I didn’t find heaven or the path, but did discover some new music. Unfortunately, none of the self-help titles appealed to me; I think I’ve read them all, or some version thereof. So, with a bit of disappointment, I made my way toward the cashier to pay for my new CD when I found myself in the erotica section and picked up Seductions, by Lonnie Barbach. Both the book’s title and its beautiful cover grabbed my attention, and the fact that the author had the letters phd after her name made a book from the erotica section more appealing. Letters after one’s name is not something to which I usually pay attention, but somehow, I guess I needed some perceived legitimacy for my porn purchase. One of these days (soon, I think) I won’t need this anymore.

Seduction is a gateway to passion…” says the book’s author. She also describes erotic moments as invitations “…to be more vulnerable and hence more intimate.” I realized as I read this that this was exactly the self-help book I was looking for. In truth, the secret that might reveal heaven to me is encoded in passion, vulnerability, and intimacy. This, I know. If I were to read through my writing from the past year, I’m certain I would find these themes peppered throughout my blog. When I’m radically honest with myself I know that being comfortable in my vulnerability is the cure to all that ails me at this time in my life.

Vulnerability. What does this mean? And what does it look like? Merriam-Webster defines it as: (1) Capable of being physically or emotionally wounded and (2) Open to attack or damage (www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/vulnerability; 10/28/08). Now why would anyone wish for this? The answer to this question is easier to understand if we think about the issue in reverse: What is it that we do to protect ourselves from being wounded? To close ourselves off from attack or damage? Vulnerability, we begin to understand, is our natural state. A child is born absolutely open to wounding and damage; she is dependent on her caregivers for protection. Wanting and needing such protection is also our natural state. And herein lies the dilemma: At any given moment there may be competing internal interests to be open and closed at the same time. Open to connection & intimacy and closed to the wounding which inevitably comes with this. Wounding hurts; it’s natural to want to protect oneself in the face of this. Vulnerability looks something like moving in the direction of connection, intimacy, and anything else we desire in the face of potential disappointment and hurt.

Astrology has helped me to understand how this has manifested in my own life. I was born with A LOT of Pisces energy, which translates into much sensitivity, compassion, and openness— indeed, almost a lack of boundary between my self and the world. I think this put me at risk for more intense wounding; and this, combined with parenting that couldn’t support my sensitivity, led to my attempts to become invulnerable, or so I believed. In my adult life I literally developed hard skin (scleroderma). There is not a more clearly literal translation of this dynamic than one’s skin acting as a shield for the potential wounding from the world. It’s sad to me to think that I was that scared— that I, or my body, believed that I needed such dramatic protection from the world I live in. I share this example because it seems to me to illustrate what many people struggle with, each in their unique ways. Perhaps the balance of vulnerability and protection is different for each person. I am learning that pretty extreme vulnerability is what I need to move toward if I wish to discover some semblance of heaven here on earth. I’m learning how to protect myself when I, in fact, need to, and how to let go and risk for the sake of passion and intimacy in all other instances. And this brings me back to my self help book. What comes to mind when you combine passion, intimacy, and vulnerability? What better way to practice these states than through Seduction—“the gateway to passion”—and all that that entails?

Saturday, October 25, 2008

From a Pisces

How do you live on the earth
after journeying to the depths of the soulful ocean?

Can you find happiness at the post office
once you've paid a visit to paradise?

Or appreciate the clouds
when you've already seen beyond them?

Can life be anything other than medicore
after tasting heaven and making love to God?

Practical advise is welcome...

FOR NOW

Destruction
Rage
Withholding
Suffocating the air that love needs to breathe

Fed by horrific screams from within
The shadows burst into black.

Fear
Protest
Aggression
Fighting the threat always just around the corner

As real as anything ever felt,
The feelings are lost in their own truth.

Shame
Humiliation
Confusion
Wanting to breathe more peacefully

Made possible by the witness within
The sadness overtakes me.

Song
Dance
He
Yearning to love with abandon

Released by the smallest ray of hope,
I will not die today.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

A SEXY AND FERTILE NEW MOON

A new moon takes place on October 28th. Approximately once per month the universe wraps us up in moonlight that carries potential, opportunity, and fertility as the Sun and Moon share space within the same degree of a shared sign of the zodiac. On October 28th, both the Sun and Moon will be at approximately 6 degrees Scorpio, filling the sky with a sexual, mysterious, psychically penetrating, intense, passionate, dark, & deeply contemplative energy. It is my favorite day of the year.

In astrology, the Sun represents the core personality, the light that shines forth from us when unencumbered by our hang-ups, the ball of fire that lights up the sky. The Sun’s energy radiates outward, penetrating that which surrounds it; and in this way it is a more masculine form of energy. The Moon, in contrast, speaks to a more murky and feminine part of ourselves: Our instinctual responses and needs; the ways in which we seek comfort, experience raw feeling, and feel cared for; our inner tides and ties—to our roots and rootedness, including the body. It is a receptive energy, focused inward.

During a new moon, the fire and light of the sun meet the tides of our instinctual life. The masculine meets the feminine. And if we can bring awareness to these complementary energies, then something will grow from the murky and fertile ground. The image of a lotus basking in the sun carries this well. On and around October 28th, we have the opportunity to birth something into being that is both rooted in our instinctual nature and can shine forth into the world. The atmosphere is fertile with this mingling of masculine and feminine, penetration and receptivity, shining forth and looking in. It is a call to generate something from the most intimate awareness of our bodies, allowing it to radiate toward the sky.

In the world of astrology, new moons are believed to be a good time to set intentions for that which you wish to grow in your life. If you can hold this in mind and take action that honors these intentions, the full moon two weeks later will begin to offer the fruits of your integrity and desire.

The sign of Scorpio brings a particularly sexy and sensual energy to this October new moon, and with it, to our intentions and creations. To me, Scorpio is the personification of the conjunction of the sun and moon with its gorgeous merging of masculine and feminine energies. The sign itself seems to have an affinity for the lunar cycle, and for new moons in particular. Those individuals with a strong Scorpio vibe tend to carry themselves with a subtle, yet very strong, quality of confident-shining-forth. This masculine shining-forth is as compelling as it is precisely because it radiates (Sun) from the depths of the instinctual body (Moon), which is exquisitely feminine. It is this marriage of penetrating strength and compassionate receptivity that lends Scorpio its je ne sais qua—that mysterious and nebulous sexuality and sensuality the sign is known for.

In addition to the profound marriage of masculine and feminine, Scorpio has a natural fondness for the cycles of the moon given its affinity for regeneration and transformation. Any discussion of Scorpio is incomplete without at least a mention of its potentially transformative nature. At its best, this is the energy of the courage to let go so that something new can be born. It is the energy of great power and brave surrender merging to create a life well-lived. The energy of a tantric way of life. And of knowing when it’s time to destroy and build anew. With a Scorpio new moon, it is likely that something will, in fact, need to die for the new to be born. This is also the energy of deeply fulfilling and potentially transformative sex, with the letting go or dying required (remember that the French word for orgasm translates as "little death").

Don’t let the day and night of the new moon pass by without opening yourself up to the opportunity for an inner merging, deep dreams, regeneration, or a profound sexual encounter. And if you choose the latter and don’t wish to get pregnant, use birth control. Remember that the air itself will be wet, passionate, penetrating, and fertile. Enjoy it.

Isn't That Crazy???

"In a sky full of people, only some want to fly. Isn't that crazy?" -- SEAL

Listening to Seal's Crazy this morning, I was aware of how crazy it really is that only some of us wish to fly. It must be my own midlife awareness of mortality that has me thinking about regrets, and life, and what it is we’re all doing here. I believe that most of us, if we were to thoughtfully reflect on this idea, would want to live the best possible life we could during our short stay on this planet. Yet, how many people actually take the time to reflect on what this best-possible-life would look like for them? And how many fewer people take the courageous, and admittedly risky, steps to get there? My experience is that only a very small segment of the population is currently journeying to actualize such a life, let alone actually flying.

I consider myself one of the inhabitants of the sky who, in fact, wishes to fly. I don’t want to get stuck tethered to the ground for the rest of my life. Images of spreading my wings to fly, with the freedom to visit the clouds and the moon, fill my soul. And I know that if I do this I will make the world a better place and help others on their journeys to flight as well. Yet, with all of this knowledge, and with a passionate desire, something keeps me stuck. This something, I am sadly learning, is a lack of faith: A lack of a belief that this is attainable for me. The realization is particularly sad given my Piscean nature. I have a shit-load of planets and asteroids in Pisces in my natal chart, including the Sun, Moon, North Node, and Venus. The fishes motto is “I believe,” and I do believe in others. I see the potential in others quite easily and I have faith in their capacity to fly. As a therapist, I hold that vision for the individuals I work with when they can’t see it themselves, and I give it over to them when they are ready to open their eyes to this potential. And then I watch them fly.

When it comes to my own life, though, faith in the capacity to rise above is no where to be found. There is a refrain that repeats, now just on the border of consciousness, singing a reminder that I cannot create the life I wish to lead. Less conscious, most of the time, are the reasons: It’s selfish, others need you to be there for them, flying is a threat to those who don’t, your not beautiful enough, etc. It’s one of the few songs that I strongly dislike. Yet for some reason, I listen.

I recently described these limiting beliefs to a friend as my internal glass ceiling. I can see the sky through it, and I even envision myself getting there, but keep bumping up against the glass as soon as I try.

I believe all of us have our own version of a glass ceiling. There are always words that go along with it, expressing the beliefs that form the ceiling: “You can’t --- because ----.” It’s worth reflecting on what your personal glass ceiling is saying to you and working to make this as conscious as possible. Once these beliefs are conscious—that is, once we’re aware of it—we can evaluate how accurate these beliefs are. We can actually set up experiments in our life to test these beliefs. I encourage folks to start small. Open your heart just a bit wider with a trusted friend and see what happens. Get that massage you’ve been wanting and see if the world in fact tells you that you are selfish. Ask a friend to watch your kids and see if the sky really does fall. It is with such baby steps that we can begin to question those long-held, but often false, beliefs and start to break-up the glass that keeps us down. It is risky. And it takes courage. And it’s the only way toward that flight you’ve been wanting to take.

Friday, October 17, 2008

REGRETS?

What regrets would you have if this thing called life were to be over for you tomorrow?

What is one thing you don't wish to live without?

And the one thing you can't live without-- the feeling, experience, sensation, or other something that you seem to need more than the air you breathe?

What would you do if you were more courageous than you were fearful? And if you weren't concerned with what anyone else might think?

How would you write the ending to your life if it were a Hollywood screen play?

What would you do tomorrow if you didn't live with an internal glass ceiling?

And if you could travel back through time and visit yourself as a five year old, what you tell him or her?

Meditation

I have worked with quite a few spiritual mentors over the past several years, each of whom has appeared in my life in his or her own unique form: Therapist, astrologer, friend, or internet-based-guru. Many, if not all of these individuals, have suggested the discipline of meditation for me. I have always cringed in response. The mere suggestion taps into a certain resistance that lives within me. And this is true even though intellectually and in general I think it is a good idea. So why do I cringe when the idea is presented as something I might do within my own life?

When I listen to and read some of the descriptions of meditation and its goal of detaching from (or not attaching to) the ego, what I hear is: Give up your feelings; give up your passion; live a more even-keeled (i.e., mediocre) life. My feelings are what guide me in life. They offer me some proof that I am in fact alive. I experience intimacy with myself through such feelings. They help me to know what it is I am passionate about. And I learn something about the bigger picture by going more deeply into them. As I said to one of my mentors recently, “I would rather experience painful feelings than to feel nothing at all.” “The people who propose this enlightened way of living are likely not water signs. They’re more likely to be born under a Libra or Aquarian sun… ,” my resistant self muses, unfairly.

So, even as I clearly see how I am attaching to my identity as a feeling person in the resistant statement above, and even though I know that those meditative practitionners are not really suggesting I live without passion or detach from feeling, I still choose not to meditate in any formal way.

But here’s the thing: I received an email from a family member today asking for my “detached” perspective. I ‘m quite sure that detached was used here to indicate the belief that I do not have feelings about the given situation. I was enraged: Of course I have feelings about the suffering of someone whom I love dearly! But I have been through years and years and years of good psychotherapy and I know how to own my feelings and not impose them on others, to not behave from a reactive place, and to go deeper into my experiences without getting lost or tangled up there (although sometimes I do get lost and tangled up there). This is the point of meditative practices, I think. And I think I’ve achieved much of this through a commitment to psychotherapy and other forms of healing work.

I’m still sorting much of this out. What I’ve discovered thus far is that what offends me most about my perceived understanding of some new-agey suggestions is the exact opposite of what they are in fact suggesting. Whereas I perceive some mandate that I should not be fully present in my experience, being fully present is exactly the point. When we are attached to some end goal, some way of perceiving ourselves, or some hidden agenda, then we are more likely to miss what is going on in the now. This, I get.

I know that to be a witness to our feelings and experiences is a mark of health only if we are also living them fully. Otherwise, being a witness is purely dissociative—and this is a big difference; it is the difference between psychological health/maturity and psychological illness. Furthermore, there is a big difference between what we experience in the moment, our raw sensations and feelings for example, and what we tell ourselves about these experiences—i.e., our stories. Human beings are meaning-making and story-telling beings. It is our nature to do so. The important thing here is to acknowledge this. To acknowledge that “I feel sad” is different from “I feel sad because I’m not leading the life I wish to.” The latter is a way of making sense of the primary feeling of sadness. If I can acknowledge that what I am doing is trying to make sense of something that will always be more than I can capture, and to be present to this effort to make sense, then I can also leave room for the mystery that is the sadness. For the mystery of the tears which seem to form somewhere behind my eyes and the release of energy that accompanies the flow of those tears and the years of hurt that are somehow present in this one and the suffering of the world that also speaks through this moment. To remain open to the mystery of life even as we try to make sense of it seems to me to be what most of life is about. Art, dance, therapy, friendships, bodywork, healing arts of all kinds, and yes, even meditation, can help us to be there.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

No resolution

We met on February 14th, 1986. I was 15. We've been together ever since. I come from a messed up family and he was a reprieve from this. He would drive me to work and I’d hang out at his house, and he was there for me in these day-to-day ways. When we spent time together, it would take me away from having to know how much my family members were suffering and how my needs couldn’t get met in that atmosphere. Upon graduating highschool, we maintained a long-distance relationship, each with our own lives outside of the relationship, but staying closely connected. I "cheated" a bit, though in my mind we had agreed to allow each other freedom while away at our respective colleges. We got married almost ten years after meeting one another; we had always been together and it was just the next thing to do, although I had to push for it. "Shit or get off the pot" was my attitude. If we weren't going to be together "forever," then I wanted to get on with my life. That was when I beleived in forever. Not forever, but for a long time, life sort of went along like this –just being together in a stable way. No great passion and no great conflicts; just walking along side one another with various degress of closeness for about another ten years, all along being perceived as the perfect couple by many. Then, something happened, and I haven’t been the same since. It was as though something in me that had been turned off my entire life lit up, and life now pales in comparison to that, including life with my husband. The light is off again and I don't know how to turn it back on....

The most difficult aspect of this saga for me now is that I used to believe that there was something to be learned and integrated from this. I want to believe this, but I haven’t been able to get there— despite a lot of trying. I have wanted this experience to make me a better person. To help me to love better, to accept me.

This is what I plan to tell the new therapist that I'm going to meet with my husband. It is my last ditch effort at bringing this painful experience to a resolution.

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

National Find-Your-Direction Day

Such is the way of the world
You can never know
Just where to put all your faith
And how will it grow…
Gonna rise up
Find my direction magnetically

- Eddie Vedder


In the days when I have lost my footing and am unable to find even a semblance of hope it is difficult to write anything at all. I’m not sure if I’ve always had such days, if they are increasing in number and/or intensity, or if they are entirely new. I do know that I’m glad when a sparkle of inspiration catches my eye and I recall some piece of wisdom that I seemed to completely annihilate in the hours and days prior. After noticing a sparkle or two today, I remembered these songs lyrics by Eddie Vedder, which resonated with my soul the first time I heard them: “Gonna rise up, find my direction magnetically.” Yes, I reminded myself, I know something about how to do this. This is always how I’ve found my way. Not by listening to some guru or another—whether in the form of a person, book, or social doctrine—but by listening to my heart, following my soul, trusting my intuition. I find my direction magnetically, by the push or the pull of an energy current.

On the road, I’m the kind of person that thinks she has a better sense of direction than she actually does, and so I feel the need to be cautious about what I’m writing here. But the truth is, we can never know where exactly to put our faith and we certainly can’t know what it will grow into. But we can trust. We can trust that if we literally rise— stand tall with shoulders back and awareness centered in our guts—a sense of direction will call to us. It may be the round about route, as it often is for me when I’m driving, but maybe we we’re meant to see that field of poppies or to pass by the road kill for which we can then offer a prayer. Maybe there is a purpose to the hours or days of despair, when hints of behind-the-scenes sadness and anger emerge, before the stars of hope sparkle once more.

If I could create a national holiday it would be this: Find Your Direction Magnetically Day. Actually, I would create two such holidays, one in the spring and one in the fall. The task on such days would be to follow one’s inner sense of direction. To get out of bed and make every choice for the remainder of the day based on what one feels in one’s energy body or body-soul as long as it would not inflict injury on another. We’d have to loosen up some other rules, laws, and social norms, but I think it would be worth it. I don’t have the power, of course, to create a national holiday, but I think I’ll do this for myself next week. I will post about how it goes….

Saturday, October 4, 2008

The War Within

By Guest Writer, Dan Buteau

Sleep is my only escape
My war torn body wont let me wake
But when the shots begin to sound
I pray the lord my soul to take

For I don’t wish to be here no more
As the children scream the planes they soar
There is no light on this forsaken country
Only darkness from the dead and poor

As new recruits arrive on jet
No sports, no family, no housewarming pet
I look up at the clouds as my knees hit the floor
I realize god is here no more

Death is my only escape

Monday, September 29, 2008

INSOMNIA

Drip, drip, drip, drip.
The noise of the rain gathers in puddles
as a backdrop for the
annoying thoughts and images and fantasies that dance, badly,
behind closed eyes.

And I know that dreams of the nocturnal kind
would be a far more productive way
of working through the internal drips
than is this uninspired dreaming
that is more correctly a resistance of all that is.

So I pray to the goddesses of the moon
to those who watch over the night
to intercede,
taking care to work on the conflicts
that now keep me from finding the peace of the darkness they create.

Instead, and unable to submit,
I create annoying poetry
dancing, badly, with words
in an attempt to quell their dripping within
and to empty myself of those forces that keep me from peace.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

To Be Touched By He...

To be touched by he who wishes to ravish me
Challenged by another who dreams
Cherished for a wisdom deeply known
And reflected in the values I hold dear.

To soothe his deepest wounds
And explore his greatest fears
I sense that which makes his body flinch
And respond with what he craves most.

I nurture his erotic fantasies
With courage to move toward my own
We warm the world through our contact
Even as there is space to discover ourselves.

To love with the intensity of fire
And see the world’s beauty through his eyes
Devouring his juicy flesh, bones, and being,
Even as I suffer the letting go.

To build a home. Or a life. Or a project together.
Becoming a team that could take on the world
But instead we work with it,
And leave it better, through our support of one another.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

CREATING A LIFE

There are many ways to think about creativity, the most common, perhaps, being the processes associated with the traditional arts: That which inspires a painting, brings about a piece of music, or inspires the building of a skyscraper. More essentially, creativity is the generation of something new- an ushering into being of that which was not there before. Most artists speak of this process as being greater than themselves. They emphasize an attitude of receptivity and being present to that which wishes to be born through them. The form is in the wood already and the sculptor carves away the unnecessary pieces in order to liberate the figure. The music is sung and the musician "just" records what he hears from within. The words “come through” the poet from a place that is “not her.”

Creativity is not limited to those realms we consider traditional art. Life itself is a work of art, and what many of us fail to realize is that we are all artists of our own lives. Each day, with the brush strokes of every thought, feeling, desire, intention, and choice, we find ourselves painting the lives we are leading.

I realize that it is easy for this idea to sound like a platitude- something which on the surface conveys hope but is in actuality empty of real meaning. I do not mean it in this way. The idea that we create our own lives is an immensely powerful one. It is one that inspires and empowers, but also unearths a deep sense of responsibility as well as our most profound fears. If we accept this idea, then we are left to own every thought, desire, belief, and action we put forth into the world. No more blaming others, circumstances, or our upbringing. It is how we choose to respond that matters, and seeing ourselves as victims of the world around us itself creates a specific kind of life—one that is likely to keep us disempowered.

Having said all of this, it is also important to acknowledge that taking responsibility for our lives is far from an easy or simple thing to do. Again, it means confronting those core fears that take up residence in our psyches at a very early age and remain there until we escort them out. It requires taking the risk of discovering whether those fears are, in fact, valid. In this way, the devil that rears its head in most of our lives is that of avoidance. I use the term devil to indicate that which tempts us to turn away from life: We tend to avoid those situations that put us in contact with our fears, which in turn, keeps us from living more vibrantly. If we fear dependency on others, for example, out of fear of being “swallowed up” by the other, then we may avoid those very situations that would allow us to discover this is not true, and we do so even as we say we are lonely. This is a very real example of how many of us create lives of loneliness. For others of us, the fear of being alone keeps us in relationships that drag down our energy, even as we complain of continuing to come upon negative relationships. Avoiding being alone at all costs for fear that we cannot survive there leads us to jump into not-so-good relationships, and with this choice we create certain realtionships, and lives, for ourselves.

Individuals who create the lives that they truly want to lead are those who choose to face core fears. There is something else, though, and it is related to what has been described thus far. That something else is ambivalence. It is not just that we’re afraid to confront our fears and therefore avoidant of situations that would help us to do so (and to thereby discover whether the fear is, in fact, warranted), but some of these fears are so deeply hidden within our psyches that we experience very real ambivalence about what we actually want in the first place. As an example, if I am really, really hot one steamy summer day and want to go in the water and am aware that I am afraid to do so, then I can talk to my friend about this dilemma and she can say: Just try it. You want to be cool. It will be okay, and you’ll be glad you did so. .. However, if I am so scared of the water that what I experience is “I really don’t want to go in, and I do want to be cool..”, then I am much further away from that conversation with my friend as well as from facing the fear of the water. I experience the fear in a covered-over way. I experience ambivalence-- I want two things at once. I want to move toward life and to move away from fear. In the moment, though, I don’t know I’m afraid, I just know that I feel trapped.

Feeling trapped is often a red flag that some deeply covered-over fear is operating within. Ambivalence is often a sign of the same. When you are feeling trapped or ambivalent, a very useful question is: What fear is at the core of this dilemma? Like the artists we are, we should not try to figure out the answer but rather make time for silence and stillness and see what we hear, feel, and sense. Like the artist, it is our task to be present, to receive that which arises within. And as with art, this is often a process that unfolds over time. There is likely to be a back-and-forth movement between confronting ambivalence, and the fear which underlies it, and becoming clear about what we really want for our lives. Like carving away the wood—little by little—to reveal the figure hiding within, we carve away our ambivalence as we confront our fears. In doing so, we gain clarity about how we really want to live our lives, and we can then manifest this way of being.

As artists of our own lives, each and every one of us can experience the frustration of the process, the challenge of the self-discipline required, the feeling of being alone in our creating, the excitement of birthing something into life, and the exhilaration of witnessing the creation once it is born. And c’est la vie. This is really all there is.

The Harvest

Fall is upon us and the astrology for the season, both individual and collective, is rich, powerful, and full of potential. Throughout the month of October, the majority of personal, or inner, planets are in Libra and Scorpio. The Sun ingressed Libra on the 22nd of September followed by Venus’ (ruler of Libra) ingress into Scorpio two days later. While Venus rules Libra—bringing lightness, beauty, harmony, and balance, Pluto rules Scorpio—painting a picture of depth, darkness, destruction, and transformation. Libra speaks to relationships with others; Scorpio to relationship with oneself. Within the cycle of the zodiac, Scorpio follows Libra. They are adjacent signs. And now, the ruler of one is in the sign of the other.

I’ve seen the relationship between adjacent signs described in various ways in the astrological literature. The latter sign incorporates the former. It deepens the lessons of the sign before it at the same time as it acts as a “correction” to it. A sign also learns something from the one which precedes it, as well as from the one which follows it. Scorpio, then, takes the lessons of relationship (of Other), honed by the energy of Libra, and is called to deepen them; to apply those lessons to oneself; to correct for the emphasis on other, harmony, and balance through its emphasis on self, destruction, and rebirth, for example. From Scorpio, Libra can learn to deepen and to touch those taboo areas of life, just as Scorp can learn something about balance, diplomacy, and the beauty in all things from the Libra influences around him.

In my own life, I experience tension due to the influences of these two energies as reflected in my natal chart. There is an exact opposition between Pluto (ruled by Scorpio) and Venus (ruled by Libra and Taurus) in my chart, as well as a second exact opposition between Jupiter (in Pluto-ruled Scorp) and Saturn (in Venus-ruled Taurus), adding to the tension I experience between these two energies. I tend to favor the deep, dark energies of Scorpio. As I look out my window today and notice the dark sky and at times heavy rain, I am less aware of the necessity of rain for the beauty of colorful, fall leaves; drinking water to purify our bodies; and budding plants next spring (expressions of Libra); and am more aware of diving into myself where I might indulge those feelings evoked by the rain—melancholy, anger, and self-absorption (expression of Scorpio). Truth is, I could use more Libra energy in life, and probably a little less Scorpio. What my chart suggests, though, is a need to learn better integration of these energies, rather than favoring one over another, and to do so from an evolved perspective.

Oppositions in the natal chart ask this of us: To learn to balance or integrate the opposing energies. Squares, too, require this. Regardless of whether Libra and Scorpio are related through squares or oppositions in your chart, they are present in some form, and during the fall months, the vibe of these two energies are intermingled in the surrounding atmosphere. One aspect of the shadow-side of Libra is the denial of those depths that its neighbor, Scorp, is so known for. Likewise, a shadow element of Scorpio energy is the tendency to get lost in those depths to the exclusion of noticing the beauty of that which surrounds one right now.

Remember, Libra and Scorpio can teach each other. The zodiac is represented by a wheel—by a circle and cycles. The energies are meant to work together; to find their own unique ways of coming together. This is why all astrology is full of potential, this fall’s astrology included. The potential that exists this fall is manifold, and includes the opportunity to reflect on the relationship between beauty (Libra) and transformation (Scorpio). It is a good time to deepen your experiences—to pursue them into their core—not for the purposes of getting lost there, but rather for the possibility of creating the beauty that comes from knowing what motivates us and appreciating what we have thus far created in life. It is a time to appreciate the lightness of life, maybe particularly the lightness that comes with letting go. The opportunity to harmonize energies after we’ve let them “cook” within us is also present this fall, as is the juice of life that comes from stepping inside of oneself with full disclosure and emerging from a place of greater authenticity, from which we then share ourselves with the others. This is the gift of those intermingled Scorpio and Libra energies, the fruits of sticking with their tension, and the harvest of knowing oneself in all of one’s beauty.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Tonight's Phantasies

My husband left for a business trip several days ago. I've been looking forward to a few days alone. At this time last year, I had just begun what ended up being my too-short, though much appreciated, sabbatical from marriage, during which I lived on my own. Several days home alone isn't quite the same thing, but I'll take it.

So, here, tonight, alone, I have time for my phantasies. The first: I have a husband who reads my writings-- A guy who, in wanting to stay connected to me while away, would think to check out my blog to see what was on my mind and in my heart. It's not that my husband doesn't think of me or miss me when away from home, he just isn't all that interested in what's going on beneath the surface. Tonight he called to tell me about the people he met in the new office that will now be reporting in to him- he started rattling off who looked like whom. Someone there looked like our handyman, another like our brother-in-law, etc. etc. "Do you have anything of substance to say, 'cuz I'm watching House?" was all I could say in return. I was wishing for the guy who wanted to know what I might be writing about these days. Perhaps as a coping mechanism for not having such a guy, I turned my attention to phantasies about someone else.

Phatasy #2: That someone else calls me up because he's lonely and wants to talk-- to run something by me. We talk for awhile and say good night. But I cannot get him off my mind and so I get into my car and drive over to his place, nervous but possessed--I have to see him, to have him, really. I walk up to his door and knock. He answers immediately, as though he's been waiting. And when he opens the door and sees me, he doesn't seem surprised. I take his hand and without saying a word I hold it, and caress it, with fingers, then lips. My hands make their way, slowly, up his arms, lovingly devouring his biceps and triceps, while my lips find his and we both catch fire...

I think I'll leave the rest of that phantasy for me, at least for now, and move on to phantasy #3: It's a silly one-- I make sacred, chocolate covered nuts with various healing properties; and I can read people for what kind of healing they need. I'm a healer in a different way than a therapist (my position now) is a healer and I find this discipline to be nurturing to me in a way that practicing therapy no longer is. As I write this, I'm aware of Chocolate, the movie with this very similar theme of healing-chocolate used by an intuitive sort of woman. Though I loved the movie, I hadn't made this conscious connection until now. No doubt it was influencing phantasy #3 subconsciously.

I'll have to make a point of watching this movie again soon. I'm also remembering that when I was living on my own just a short year ago, I worked with my intuition a lot more. I was practicing tarot card readings and other forms of intuitive play. And I enjoyed it. I think it's time for me to connect with my phantasies more often and bring some of them-- yes, just some of them-- to life.

Family Ties... that bind

I come from a pretty f—ked up family, myself included. By f—ked up, I mean that we all struggle with life, often in the midst of lots of drama and chaos, and seem to spend much time in unhappiness. There are seven of us, counting my mom and dad. Of those seven, three are full-blown alcoholics and three enjoy their booze to a point where it can, let’s say, get in the way. And then there’s me. I’m messed up in a different way—in a way that doesn’t interfere with anything or anyone other than me. In a way that lacks drama and chaos. In contrast, I’m calm, responsible, and lead a mature life. I own a home and a car and a business, and I run my business well and help others while doing so. My craziness is of a different brand than that of other members of my family, and I cope with the craziness differently as well. For example, I rarely drink; though when I do, two glasses of wine are two too many.

I had one and half (too many) on Saturday night. I was out with two of my sisters and my five year old niece, M, celebrating the five years of life M has had to date. When I ordered a glass of wine, I thought: Why not? I have nothing planned tomorrow. I know I’ll feel lousy and lazy and sleepy, but that’ll be okay for tomorrow. I love the feeling of being slightly inebriated. I love the freedom, easy laughter, and relaxation which overcome me. Like most members of my family, I’m a good drunk—the kind who can bring more life to a party. It’s like I’m a better version of myself—or at least that’s what I’m tempted to believe. It is tempting to believe this other version of myself is better than the mature, responsible, and sometimes rigid one. It’s tempting to think that if I just let go, I’ll be more fun to be around as well as happier myself.

Being the odd one out in my family, I was always teased for being responsible, even as I was held to that standard. An unintentional trap is what it was: Take care of your younger siblings, but when you show maturity elsewhere know that you’ll be teased for it. It’s now etched into my being that responsibility and maturity are not traits to be proud of. Still, it is me…

It is excruciatingly painful to hold deep, negative judgments about one’s core self. You would think those negative judgments would cause me to be less responsible-- to give some of that up, but it is almost as though I cannot help it. If something isn’t being done that I think needs to be, I step up to do it—even when I tell myself not to. I can’t seem to shake it—unless, of course, I’m drinking.

So what happened on Saturday? I have a modest amount of wine. In the moment, I have more fun than I would have if I drank tea. Later on, and the next morning, I believe I’m a terrible person. I wasn’t responsible, for others is the significant modifier here.

As usual, the conversation at Saturday night dinner turned to my sister’s f—ked up relationship with her on again off again mobster boyfriend. This, at my niece’s birthday dinner. Had I been drinking tea, I would have done everything possible—and I imagine would have succeeded, and diplomatically so— to make sure the focus remained on M. But I had wine instead, and indulged my sister, and because I didn’t drink too much I remained aware that M, and my other sister— M’s mom, were not having as much fun as they should have had celebrating the anniversary of M’s birth five years prior. This is what I later regretted. And this is the problem, the trap: I dislike myself both ways. Had I chosen not to drink and had I been the one to essentially shut-down my sister-with-the-mobster-boyfriend, bringing the focus back to M, I would have regretted that as well, judging myself as someone who cannot have fun. Of course, I realize that it is me and my internal judgments that set up the trap.

I have so many more examples of how this dilemma plays out without a sense of how to step out of it. If I were working with myself as a client, I would try to facilitate self-acceptance: Acceptance of self with both the responsible traits and the less responsible ones. I guess I should try to begin with that…

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

A Knock at the Door

Several major financial institutions are crashing around me- including one that paid my bills for a while as my husband's employer- and I remain self-focused, wondering if I will ever be happy again. I hate this about myself: The self-absorption. Yet I can't seem to shake it. Writing-- here, now-- is an attempt at this. Maybe if I get it out I'll be able to widen my now myopic lens. (May be not.)

As far as the banking crisis goes, I'm reminded that I also have a perspective which is the opposite of myopic, even wider than broadminded actually. It is more like I can remove myself from earth and float above, witnessing centuries of happenings all at the same time. From this perspective I am very calm. It has to happen this way. We cannot see it if we’re in it, but this is part of a much larger progression. And progress sometimes requires knocking things down in order to begin anew, hopefully learning something along the way. We've gotten way too carried away and this is the correction. Not just a market correction; a way-of-being correction. We haven't been living consciously for a very long time. We might even say that we should have woken-up many, many times already. But we’ve ignored these calls. And as is the case with individual lives, worlds collapse as well when the tapping and then knocking and then pounding is ignored. The door has been knocked down completely at this point, along with crumbling walls, and torn-up floors, and crashing ceilings. And it's okay because we need this in order to move forward more thoughtfully, with more awareness, more responsibly, and with an eye to what we truly value and how to nurture such. Hopefully, we’ll listen this time around.

In the meantime, I’m trying to hear the knocks on my individual door. I truly want to be open to changing in whatever ways I need to, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes, including being alone for the rest of my life. I’m just not convinced that this is where I supposed to be. So I’ll keep listening, trying to bring awareness to the impending crash in order to minimize it. And if things have to crash, I will try to imagine the broadminded, floating-above-earth perspective that is so much easier for me to achieve on the collective level.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

"I wanna perfect soul..."

“I wanna have control
I wanna perfect body
I wanna perfect soul..." Radiohead

What if life were meaningless? What if our desires for the perfect soul didn't matter? What if we really didn't belong here, if we were just here for a meaningless ride? There are of course people who believe this, and some theories of enlightenment seem to me to extend into this when taken to their natural conclusion. I'm referring to a sort of meaninglessness that is more bland than the kind of nihilism studied in Philosophy 101.

Personally, I don't get it; though when I imagine this as a possibility it's somewhat freeing, even if boring. It doesn't matter if I sit home and sharpen pencils or try to facilitate healing for individuals in counseling. Why not sharpen pencils, or fold towels, or shuffle cards? I could listen to music all day while doing so and could give up the quest for whatever it is I'm doing here on this earth. There is something appealing about this.

Would I be happy within meaninglessness? I'll have to answer this question at a later time-- I'm about to try it for awhile.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

A September Memory

It is just about 1 PM on September 11th, 2008, seven years after the Setember 11th we all remember well. It was on that day, at a little after 1 PM, that I discovered my dad was alive. I was in session with a psychotherapy client. My friend and colleague, Dee, knocked softly on the door to let me know. It is the only time I've ever asked to be interrupted while in session. Even after the faint knock at the door, the client I was meeting with didn't know about the intimate connection I had with the disaster of that morning. I remained calm both before and after the news that someone had finally heard from my dad, however tenuous that calm was.

I went to work that day because I needed to be around people. It was perhaps the only time in my life that I have ever felt this need. I remember the thought clearly: "I need to be with people." I may have even said it to myself out loud.

As I went about my usual routine that morning, with the television buzzing in the background, I caught sight of the devastation that was unfolding and just then the phone rang. It was one of my sisters; the one who had happened to move many, many states away not long before all of this happened. "Daddy's there... daddy's there," she kept repeating, barely able to breathe. My parents had been out to Minnesota that weekend and my father must have mentioned that he had a meeting in the towers on Tuesday. My nephew was young at the time, and I imagine my father shared this detail in order to connect with him in some way-- a kid who would have been impressed by his pop working at the Trade Center. I quickly snapped back to the phone call: "Where are the kids?" I asked, knowing they would be worked up and worried all day at school if they saw their mom like this. My nephew, especially, was very very close to my father. I talked my sister into a calmer state and helped her to send her kids off to school; then I let her break down. She was all the way out in Minnesota and almost all of the rest of my family was in NY, surrounded by the disaster. My dad in the towers, we beleived, in one of his usual meetings with the Port.

My sister described to me her conversation with my dad that previous weekend; she knew he was there that morning instead of in the Long Island office he usually worked out of. Much of the rest of those ensuing five hours are a blur to me now. Another one of our sisters, our mom, and brother were all in Long Island and it was very difficult to get through to them by phone. The phone calls that we did manage to have offered conflicting reports from my dad's office about whether anyone had actually heard from him. I was at my office, with psychologists and staff and clients alike all huddled around a tv set sharing our shock and concern, when another sister called me to say that my dad's office had not in fact heard from him all morning; previous reports that they had spoken to him were mistaken. This was the moment when my own calm began to break down. But I forced myself to "be strong." And I stayed strong up until I heard he was okay and, of course, until all my clients were gone. My dad finally got through to his office, and they to my mom, her to my sister, and my sister to me at about 1 PM.

The rest of the story goes like this: My father was early for his 9 o'clock meeting and so he took the next subway stop up, past the Trade Center, to get his shoes shined. He then walked back that one block toward the towers only to see the fire, and then the second plane, and then the collapse and clouds and horror that followed. After some sense of what was actually happening registered, he walked uptown to the office of a friend and some four to five hours after the initial blow finally got a phone signal, which allowed him to let us all know he was okay. It was then, upon hearng "he's okay," that I felt everything that had been buidling up since that first call with my sister crying, "Oh my god, daddy's there..."

In the following weeks I was made to feel a similar pain all over again as I watched television clips of the rescue effort, looking into the television set for my brother, who was working there as an iron worker. It was harder than usual for me to just trust he would be okay after having been through the uncertainty of my father's fate only days prior.

I am grateful that my father is alive and saddened, today especially, to think of the many, many people who have been left to grieve. My father lost many colleagues that day and one in particular for whom he still holds tremendous grief; and survivor guilt, I'm sure. He is not the same since that day seven years ago. Most people, my own family included, don't understand the profound impact that something like this has on a person. My family doesn't quite get how it has changed my father. I know; and it helps me to feel closer to him. Today, I am sending prayers and healing energy out to all of those who witnessed the destruction of the day, to all of those who lost someone in the midst of that destruction, and to all of those who helped others get through it. I am grateful, also, to and for the guy who shined my father's shoes that day-- a guy whom my dad returned to thank soon after 9/11.