So- when are you going to start standing up for yourself and saying no? Every time I promise myself I will take care of myself, and then I don't, I betray myself. I do this every day. Everyday I experience betrayal. What is that doing to my self esteem? Why would I let myself down? How do I elevate my personhood to the status of people that I love and to whom I would try very hard to honor... certainly not betray. Right?

life as it is...

 Alrighty then… Sitting in the sun trying to get a sense of peace. Quiet down. Slip into a mindset of “retreat”. Have the house to myself until late Sunday afternoon. Awesome. Breathe. Feel the warmth of the sun. Cat on my lap. Fishermen in the stream below. A little boy in the mix. He catches a small fish. Joy!

Anyhow, its almost June. I’m still overweight, and I still feel stressed and as though I have too much to do. I’m still addicted to distraction, emotional angst, ice cream, cookies, cake w/ butter cream frosting and of course, marijuana.

Sigh.

There are good things too. I feel good w/ PT these days. Mostly. Mostly I feel tolerant and to be fair, I experience him as being intentionally more present. I appreciate it. Still, lets not ignore the truth. Its hard emotionally. Really. Listen, I feel compelled to make a point to you my readers, you, my muse. I’m not being a baby about this! I’m choosing to be here for now, and most days are tolerable because I’m making peace with life as it is, not as I desire it. Equanimity, perspective taking, love and peace etc. I get it and still the truth is: PT’s a difficult man to live with and for whatever reason, I am still ill-at-ease. I know I’m compromising my values. I’m compromising my desires. For what? So I won’t be alone? Its also true that I love these people. I think they love me too. But what to do? I could go on. Get a gypsy van and hit the road. Waitress. Find a job. Talk to people. Maybe make love with a sweet man yet again before I die. I think I really want to be back in the desert with the sky and the sun and the mountains. Or at least more accessible to serenity, and nature and quiet people who eat little and drink less. I would like to be able to meditate more. What about downstairs? Would PT accommodate me? I feel as though I have little control over my environment and its stressful.

 

So, the deal is this – the game is up. Brain science now confirms the merits of meditation, not because it brings us to a holier place, but because for real, it is the ticket out of addiction and depression and into a general calm state of contentment and happiness. That’s good news. The trick now is to cultivate, create, manifest the life I want to be in. I’m not sure its compatible with living w/ PT. That’s the conundrum. So… yeah. Like can he move down stairs? Computer and ping pong? Me and meditation and painting? Probably easier for me. Plus I can also come up to use the treadmill, right? Right? So… I don’t know. It appeals to me. Little patio garden, etc…. A hot plate for coffee. Meditation cushion. Quiet.

Or do I just move out. Isn’t that a better option? Maybe his children will move in with him. I can get in my gypsy van and be on my way. Find a community. Get a little work, some food and be on my way. Learn to barter. Stop eating. Stop smoking weed? Yikes. Every time I say that I panic. I’m really hooked on weed. Why? It only makes me sleepy. I like to smoke. I like the smell of the herb. I like to get high. I don’t like to get tired. I like the way it makes me take time out. Maybe if I took time out, as a matter of course, like say… during meditation, I wouldn’t need the herb?

So, I dunno. I guess I’m having an existential crisis about my self identity if I’m not holy. I mean, “spiritual”. I think lately too, a bout death and dying. I’d like to go to Italy. I’d like to live in a Mediterranean place. Where? I look forward to having a pension and living in my gypsy van.

What would I do if this was my place and I wanted to travel? I’d make it an attractive place to stay. I’d fix up what I could. I’d rent out space so I had an income and then I could zip off to be a nomad. A spiritual-nomad. I’d go back to the southwest. I’d go to Cerrillos. Or maybe Urique in the Barranca del Cobre. The beaches in Baja too. Is it safe? I just feel the pull of the wanderer. Go pick up dad and wander. He’s got a pension. I can make money. We can drift around. I wonder if PT would want to wander? I doubt it. Could I go and come back? What kind of relationship do we have? How much does he need to live here? Just calculated. He can do it for $1400, especially if the kids come home and chip in. They can all make it here. It’s an interesting proposition to propose to PT.

Joy is as joy does

"Perhaps surprisingly, another important aspect of equanimity is joy. Recognizing the joy of equanimity goes across the common view that equanimity is dry, unemotional, and somewhat aloof. For the Buddha, however, mature equanimity is linked with a deep and sometimes subtle joy and happiness, characteristic of a (relative) freedom of mind and heart. Joy naturally arises, the Buddha tells us, when we no longer are hooked by what is agreeable or disagreeable in experience. As we work through our attachments and aversions, we become more and more "purified and bright, malleable, wieldy, and radiant," "peaceful" and "sublime."

Recognition

Mary Mary, quite contrary, how DOES that garden grow?
Look, look and you will see
all the little posies, sitting in a row.
Sitting, sitting in a row. Little posies, sitting in a row.
Waiting.
Waiting while they sit. All the little posies, sitting in a row.
Quietly.
Not contrarily.

My world is set up and waiting.  Watching. I am what they call hyper-vigilant. I have to be. I live in the shadows of a chaotic world. Confusion, noise, clutter, activity. Random rants, random tirades. I never know when I'll be summoned to silence a noisy dog or find a missing something. Called to account for a misplaced piece of trash, a random leftover, a fork not properly washed. Blasted out of contemplation by a  clip from some movie or lecture. A blast of symphony or electric guitar, accompanied by a flame of well enunciated profanity.

I look around and always there is something waiting for me to get to it. A dream, a wish, but nothing going forward. My easel sits in the corner that is invitingly arranged, but never actually used. Begay's horses hang there in their frames, but are never actually viewed. The books line up but are seldom opened, the loom is dressed, but has no where to go. I am waiting to be noticed, appreciated, remarked upon, loved. Deep depression wraps her heavy shawl around my heart and moves me from one activity to another barely pausing long enough to regroup replan, refresh, restore.

Humans need it. I need it. I need to feel like I have a place where I can go and be alone. A place where I can rest deeply and restore my vision, my will, my self esteem, my connection with self, my connection with god.

Recently, I have noted that I am lost. Truly. I have been observing myself behaving in a confused manner. My thinking is not crisp, I do not have a vision or even the ability to imagine. I am tired. I want to hibernate. I feel as though the winter has slid right by me and I never got to take a nap.

And then I begin to imagine fleeing.  Fantasy's of flight take over and I can no longer see myself here. This past week I applied for a job in New Mexico. I dream of open skies, wide spaces and the sound of silence. Of peace. I have also been reading classifieds for rentals and basically looking for the out.

I find myself dreaming of an rv on a piece of land.
And then, as the universe will often do, a van, an old hippy van appears to me on a drive to Augusta recently. Its a fantastic funky old hippy van... a 1974 ford set up as an rv - a camper. Hello, Baby! Only she's missing her roof. Caved in during a big snowstorm. Ouch. The Van Man says he wants to get a grand. Not bad... really. Though I wonder how much the roof will cost to repair? I wonder who could pop a salvage on top? Maybe a fiberglass repair? I need more input, help with information in order to make a decision.

Ironically, after a long talk yesterday morning I feel that PT and I are in synch again. I've been here before. I have. It is always nice and gives me hope that we can find a joyful partnership in our union. But I'm hot on this van too. I want her. My gypsy spirit is screaming to me!!! YES! YES! YES! My heart beats more quickly, I feel less burdened, less trapped. Experiencing that sense of relief, sense of happiness, sense of excitement  -I am inclined to believe that I need to pay attention!

 So, my thinking right now is to just be with this decision. I can advocate for myself that I need to have my own room and also I need to feel like I'm not trapped. That I have somewhere to go and if I have to leave this home, that I have some security about being able to provide myself and my animals with shelter and mobility. So, I'm going to get this old hippy mobile.... Wheee!!

Recreating family of origin dynamics

Is it preservation of sanity or is it insanity?
I'm in a high state of anxiety. Functioning, but distracted regularly and easily.
I'm afraid to face the truth. I'm afraid to be wrong.

I'm wrangling with my thoughts about my beloved PT. Sometimes I like him very much. I enjoy his attentiveness, his sensibilities, his whimsy, his friendship. However, more typically I find him disagreeable. I find him self-centered and irritable. Harsh, intolerant. Long winded. This is mostly when he's drunk, though, sadly, not exclusively. He is easily triggered, and the events are not always predictable. Its hard to tell what will set him off,  -a look, a sense of exasperation, a perception, an irritation. These behaviors are really hard to live with. Its painful knowing there is no rational resolution. Nothing to ease the situation except to ignore it, wait it out. Wait for morning when all is forgotten.  I hate pretending everything is ok when it is not. I hate to be silenced as a self-protection strategy.

I don't want to make anyone wrong. Not really. I just want to know what to do. I want to be truthful. I want to make things right. I want to understand. I want to feel loved. I want to be love. I want to feel peace.  I am taking a sober look at the idea that I'm not a good fit for this lifestyle. I keep coming back to this idea that I need to be somewhere more in line with my core values, somewhere that feels more comfortable and less anxiety provoking.

I also worry that its me who is living out some sort of neurosis and just projecting it onto PT. OMG..! What if that is the case? What if its my own mental health issues that are keeping me in such a high state of anxiety? I don't want to abandon love if its just me who is playing out some sort of relationship sabotage due to trauma or fear.  I dunno. There's stuff in my court, for sure. But, damn. PT has some deep issues. He's so freaky sometimes. The aspergers issue is huge. I'm sure he's on that spectrum. He is so normal in so many realms. But this area of connecting, or acting kindly... he just seems so out of touch with reality on a regular basis.  When he is in a certain brain space, what I've come to think of as the aspergers spectrum, he acts as if he is incapable of connecting. Its as though his brain wires misfire. He's an alien lashing out. I've got to stop kidding myself. Wishing. I've got to stop this wishful, magical thinking. He is not going to change. Its not just me. He treats everyone the same way. Its maddening to those who love him. Its maddening to me. I know I have to decide. The indecision is creating so much anxiety for me. I have choices, but which one is the best one?

Choice # 1: Stay and know that it will be a lonely existence in terms of not receiving affection, attention, care, nurturing, interest -those things that make us feel seen and valued in the eyes of our fellow community members. These are the gifts of humanity that feed us, keep us emotionally healthy. It's part of our healthy nuero-biological wiring. I know this. I see it.

Choice # 2: Move on.  Scary! But, today, like many days I feel weary of the constant hostility, and/or neglect. I don't feel motivated to stick it out because there is no reciprocity. My mind constantly tells me that I'm not thought of as family, so why should I stay?  I'm mindful of what I just wrote... "my mind tells me". What I mean is that I'm aware that I'm listening to myself and that myself, my brain is influenced by damaged interpretations; left over wounds from a childhood of feeling emotionally abandoned. I'm aware that its wise not to believe everything I think. And yet, I also feel confident that I'm trying to be objective; trying to observe what happens between us; trying to understand my own role. In my objectivity I can identify my triggers, my emotional reactions, my listening, my trying to understand, and my irrationality. I feel like most of the time I can see what's going on and it shows a frightened, protective man who activates a fiery fighting defense intended, however subconsciously, to frighten others into backing off. And so, I think I have to go.

And thus, choice # 3 emerges. As I stand in my place trying to make sense of the events that fall out around me, everything I know about human dynamics and spiritual wisdom blazes in front of me. In the course of being called to be present, alert, honest PT falls apart. He seems incapable of standing in his warrior strength, in his place of compassion, of kindness. In my observations I see a man who struggles to understand what the hell I'm talking about. I see a man who is habitually cruel and takes pleasure in hurling painful emotional spears. I see a man completely detached from what is really going on in the moment. I see a man who when presented with truth in the moment dissociates and hides his head under blankets and cowers like the abused man that he is. He comes across as a frightened child and its as though his mind is being beaten into hiding. I see all of these things and my deeper, wiser soul says that I should stay and protect him. Offer him the detached love that he needs, manage the household selflessly and move into the solitude that awaits me, someday, anyhow. The wiser soul says stay and forgive. Dwell in the beauty of the home, of the land, of the non-attachment that comes from being a room- mate rather than someone who is maturely loved.  I think of all of these things and remind myself that even the aspies can love. "Take the higher road," I say to myself. Hold this truth in your heart and feel the truth about PT and others on the aspergers spectrum: They love and they feel loss, but they cannot connect.

So, - is it a necessary polar opposite... i.e. -"Bad" for me to leave?  No. Of course not. At least I think its not. The fence rail I'm on though is this nagging question that suggests that if I leave I am leaving the very love that I've always wanted. If I leave is it because I'm the one who is fucked up?  What if the great truth is that, "by staying, the relationship will get better as most things do, -like a fine old wine, will we learn to tolerate one another and will I then find that we have a solid, loving bond that is more powerful than I ever imagined." What if???  If I leave I would miss out on this.  What if I'm missing the point and I'm just running because of the age old truth of fleeing from having to look at myself? What if the great mystery, the great breakthrough to nivana was to be had simply by relaxing into my life as it is and letting him do what he wants? But what do I do with the idea that this higher path really means that I have to sidestep the tirades, dodge the drunken evenings and just go with my life?  This is the path to enlightenment, to living a life that is balanced and equanimous! My god! I am so weary of the rage and neglect. What does it mean if I'm afraid to stay with it? Am I a looser? The looser?

What if its my destiny to live with the aloofness, the cursing? My destiny to live without support, without being noticed, without tenderness, without sexual tenderness. Am I crazy to want this in my life?


In a flash, it crosses my mind that he is just like my mother. My family. He's more familiar than I want to admit. But I don't choose to live in this type of world. I did not choose to live in a shallow, harsh, emotionally cold world. I fled. I always flee.  I'm always searching for adequate sustenance; searching for anything to ease the wanting, the hunger for authentic connection. Is that what the idea of god fulfills? Will meditation really create a sense of having enough? I hear my mind saying over and over again that I want a world that is more loving, more peaceful, more meditative. And yet, I choose PT. I choose a man who is bright, engaging, funny, lively, hip etc... but also, someone who outwardly reminded me of my father. But now, here I am having to face the obvious truth. Have I, in choosing PT as my mate, recreated my fundamental family origins? Is this my predicament? Am I just recreating the pain of my aloof, absent, angry mother, the anchor of my family of origin?  Fuck.

So, what do I do with this information? How do I reconcile this insight? What does it mean? Can I heal these original wounds? Can I rewire the brain so that it doesn't feel such emotional pain?  Can I tame the triggers? Will the pain subside? Will I find peace if the reaction goes away?

I am spending a lot of time weighing and measuring these thoughts, trying to understand. Like the classical conversation between the velveteen rabbit and the Skin Horse, wherein the rabbit asks, "What is real?" I am on a the fence.  Should I go? Should I stay and accept this life with all its failings and all its beauties? What should I do?

Stay or go?

Watching the stories of the mind...
I love the analogy of watching a train passing through your mind, each car a thought. Can you see the thoughts? Can you catch the story? PT has been absent this past week. His mind otherwise preoccupied. I end up slipping away into obscurity and aside from occasional small polite passing remarks, I go unnoticed and he happily chugs along in his mind oblivious as to whether I am there or not.  It wears on me, like always, and after yet another night of not sleeping w/ me and brushing off my attempts to connect w/ a hug or a kiss when I arrive home or awaken I snapped at him yesterday morning. The usual tired excuses and accusations fly between us. I go off to work weary. Looked at various housing options yesterday. The houses I'm interested are in the $1000 / month range. Need something in the $700 range with land and pets allowed. Still too unsure yet, and so I hesitate to really get serious about house searching. I hesitate before actually picking up the phone and calling realtor friends, or an advertised landlord.

It was a long, sad day. Came home pushed onward w/him. Same old conversations. He wants me to find peace. He doesn't feel like he has to make an effort. He wants to be left alone. I have to face the bitter truth that he doesn't want to be in a relationship with me. Well he does, but he is incapable of being intimate. H doesn't get it. It hurts deeply.

I see too that my own fear is at work and contributes to the disharmony. I see that when I don't say anything about him not kissing me or not coming to bed I am afraid that I am giving him implicit permission to slip away into his isolated little world and that one day will turn into two will turn into a week will turn into a lifetime together of not being touched.. -a lifetime of cold, polite interaction and my fear of this feels so overwhelming. It feels so unbearable.

And yet, all things are bearable.

And, he does eventually come around to telling me he loves me and he doesn't want me to go. And he comes to bed and holds me sweetly. And sometimes, its enough.

Reconciliation with self and others.

The Canadian Geese arrived this morning. Two pair. They bring a certain perspective, a compliment to an easy Saturday morning. They prompt laughter with their sudden flapping of wings and loud honks. Its a welcome relief after 4 days of strife.

Pema Chodron, the Buddhist nun who resides in Nova Scotia, arrives in my email box weekly. Her foundation sends out weekly quotes from her numerous books and lectures. I like them. They arrive offering a whisper of advise. They provide a moment to give pause, to stop the chatter, stop the urgency, stop the god-almighty  "to-do" lists. Reading the passages, I am reminded to just breathe, and for the time it takes to read the passage and reflect upon it, I am invited to rearrange my thought patterns, rearrange the chaos, rearrange the angst, the unbalance. Return to calm.

This week: "When you’re like a keg of dynamite about to go off, patience means just slowing down at that point—just pausing—instead of immediately acting on your usual, habitual response. You refrain from acting, you stop talking to yourself, and then you connect with the soft spot. But at the same time you are completely and totally honest with yourself about what you are feeling. You’re not suppressing anything; patience has nothing to do with suppression. In fact, it has everything to do with a gentle, honest relationship with yourself."



Timing is perfect, naturally. How is it that energetic patterns set up like this? How is it that we create our own realities? Tuesday night, out of nowhere, an argument spiraled out of reason. Rage flowed out of me, relentless, driving. I was triggered by his cluelessness, his endless distraction, aversion to intimacy, aversion to connection. He was impatient. Highly irritated that I was demanding that he engage in conversation. I grew super impatient by his impatience. We were two kegs of dynamite smoldering, edgy. Wednesday night the fuse ignites again, but this time explodes. Triggered, at wits end, intolerant and desperate to pierce the armor I beat him with a wicker basket, luckily it was the thing closest at hand, the container for the gold fish food. In a blinding light of rage the basket shattered, wicker flew everywhere, the dogs were aroused and the bonehead was barking and pulling at PT's shirtsleeve. He griped my wrists. Restrained, contained. Some clarity returned and I could see the destruction strewn across the floor. I was still seething, but able to stop shouting. A cold disdain, a fierce declaration of my perspective and demands.


Thursday I'm shaken. Can't reconcile my rage with my public persona - "ms. restorative justice." I'm anxious. I'm ashamed. I tell my colleague, "ms. delightful." She is compassionate. Doesn't condone my violence, but acknowledges my feelings. It helps to share it. In the evening, I want to talk with PT but I'm afraid. What can I say? I am a hypocrite. I espouse Buddhist ideology. I am paid to help others to repair their harm. I need to repair my harm. Is it repairable? Am I potentially dangerous? Will I escalate more next time? Will he? What if he harbors resentment (why wouldn't he?). What if he is triggered while drunk? It could be very dangerous. 


Breathing. Reminded that there is no way out. Only through. It's hard to get him to agree to talk with me. He's wary. Suspect. We have sparks, outbursts. I retreat promising to return when calm. I try again. Ask permission to talk. Impatience. The message is, "get on with it!"  I speak of my wrong doing, my pain, my shame. Conversation goes on for a couple of hours. Difficult, tense. Push to be heard, work to hear. We move through. Glimmers of love, of hope. We sleep, peacefully. Friday in the morning there is residue, unfinished hostility. He takes in out on my little dog, the punk. I intervene, "do not abuse the dog!" "do not take your anger toward me out on the dog!" "Patience," I command!


Break through. It finally comes. We return to knowing one another. Peaceful, open, connected. Full circle to this morning. The geese have arrived. We are honest. Gentle. At home. We start again. We start again.

I Feel Joyful!

"Perhaps surprisingly, another important aspect of equanimity is joy. Recognizing the joy of equanimity goes against the common view that equanimity is dry, unemotional, and somewhat aloof. For the Buddha, however, mature, equanimity is linked with a deep and sometimes subtle joy and happiness, characteristic of a (relative) freedom of mind and heart. Joy naturally arises, the Buddha tells us, when we no longer are hooked by what is agreeable or disagreeable in experience. As we work through our attachments and aversions, we become more and more "purified and bright, malleable, wieldy, and radiant," "peaceful" and "sublime". (pg.173, The Engaged Spiritual Life, Donald Rothberg

My journey is starting to reflect this wisdom. I resonate with it so. I've been on fire with life recently. Bringing order; speaking out -strong and from my heart. Standing down fear. Practicing compassion and patience as consciousness allows. 

PT and I have been lingering longer is present moment together. Practicing intentional kindness, or rather, intentionally reflecting what is real for each of us. It seems that loving-kindness is more evident. There are still drunken, confused evenings. I still notice alienation and fear of abandonment. I still notice "flight" thinking. I'm starting to think that its more of a drill, a practice session, a recognition that things can change, and that I may need to be nimble, familiar with the nod to get going at some future time. But, more and more, I see myself engaged in my work now -alive, creative and not needing PT's affection as a primer for my life to flow. I am flowing. And, its because I'm practicing letting go. I'm actively practicing equanimity. "When we are no longer hooked by what is agreeable or disagreeable in experience, we experience joy." I feel joyful! 

 And with that - I'm off to hike on the island with my joyful, loving canines!!