After 7 years, I moved. You're invited. (schmoments.blogspot.com)

building stairs @ deep ellum

Well, I guess this is goodbye.  And hello.

I began this blog in 2004 as a way to track my fitness.  You guys surprised the shit out of me by becoming, instead, one of the most important tools in my spiritual development.  We became for reals friends.  We rode out illnesses, marriages, divorces, babies, deaths and spiritual awakenings.  We became friends outside of the blogging world.  We sent each other real live mail.  Texts.  Calls.  Facebook messages.  I wrote for you sometimes.  And I know that sometimes, you wrote for me.

I was like a hungry caterpillar who didn't know she was hungry, and you spiritually fed me.  I ate.  I grew.  You fed me.  I grew.  I fully believed I was on my way to become the best caterpillar I could be.

In something like 2009, though if I really consider it, probably years earlier, a cocoon began to form around me.  Instead of comforting and safe, it felt terrifying and bleak.

I became very ill for about two years.  From lab work and MRI's, dr's could see some stuff was really wrong, but no one seemed to know why or how to make it better.  Most of the details so took over my existence that I never want to discuss them again; the worst of it was that for awhile, I I couldn't even take my students on field trips, drive or stay alone.   B was my rock.  He took care of me when I could not take care of myself, which was most of the time.  I was so dependent on him that I would have nightmares of something happening to him.

When I happened to be at my worst physically, his sweet mom called us to say she had non-Hodgkin's lymphoma.  And it was Stage 4.  It was time for B to take care of someone else.

When he went to KC to care for his mom during her first treatment, we flew my own mom in to help take care of me.  She complained of abdominal pains.

About six weeks later, she appears to be 7 months pregnant.  A cancerous tumor has rapidly grown on her ovary, they tell us.  Turns out, it is also non-Hodgkin's lymphoma.  Two moms in two months. They feel it is inoperable.

I email my truly amazing therapist of seven years to draw support.  So much of my life had been changed because of her, but like my relationship to B, I suspected I was probably overly dependent.  In fact, when I moved to Dallas, I panicked about my inability to leave her.  I begged her to continue our sessions via Skype, which we did. This time,  return correspondence includes that she has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and will no longer be seeing patients.  "I'm sorry that you are being hit with three cancers," she said.  "I want you to know that you're very special to me."  

I always thought there was something secretly spiritual lingering beneath the professional relationship between a therapist and client.  

She later died.

My caterpillar body, life as I knew it, seemed to be dissolving.

Desperate, I bought an 800 dollar juicer and began pretty religiously following Gerson Therapy.  I began to finally gain strength physically as I watched other parts of my life slip away.

Reaching for any access to inner strength, I paid what felt like a gazillion dollars to learn Transcendental Meditation.  B went as well.

Many amazing things happened after this.  Both of our moms went into remission.  I got better, physically, little by little.  I even lost about sixty pounds.  I seemed to find my body's recipe for happiness; most importantly, I learned that what she says goes, no questions.  Oddly, for Bruce and I, meditating was the beginning of the end.  Maybe the old us' didn't have the sense of infinity to let go of what needed to be released?

The relationship was easy to release at first; the unbearable parts came later, when I realized how long he had been miserable, waiting for me to push the Eject button.  B and I had been like two friends who picked one another from the Catalog Of Intellectually Defendable Decisions to be life partners.  We realized that as far as love goes, that catalog sucks.

Another version of me, shed.  Am I the same person, I wondered?  Am I who I planned to be at all?  Am I the same chick who had a soon-to-be doctor husband and a baby plan? 

broken open @ deep ellum

I have no plan.

I'm a chick who busted out of a cocoon. I don't know what's next, but I know it will be perfect for whatever it is.  I'll be here: schmoments.blogspot.com

Namaste,
Faye

in the dew of little things

grateful for this view.

From The Prophet.

On Friendship: Because I'm feeling very blessed.

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.
For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.

And let your best be for your friend.
If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.
For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.

this was acutally legal (promise)

I went to Cuba. I realized it is my first island. I saw lots of 50's American cars.

True to my travel nature, I mostly veered from the group and wondered on my own; this is how I like to travel. I find 99 percent of people a bit too needy to travel with, as I like to go off on my own with little notice, and it can piss others off. It's not you; it's me. On my adventures, I met a wonderful Cuban family. Here I am (I don't love this pic of me, but it's all I have with my friend!) with Inalvis. She is a nurse. 34. Master's degree. Fluent in English. Working on French. Of course, not allowed to leave the country to visit the places in which these languages are relevant. Oppression weighs heavy on my heart during the trip, as I spend time with my friend. I am certain we will meet again, when I return to Cuba; maybe somehow she will someday be able to visit here.

The tourists' view of Havana.

Beautiful, breath-taking "Old Havana."

I went tentative, but kind of thinking I'd gain a greater respect for Marx, Che...Instead, I am in a state of wondering...though an obvious ideal, can systems such as these exist realistically outside of a vacuum? As "lefties," it can be convenient and even hip to love Che; the irony of the commoditization of the famous print of him cannot escape us, of course! Do they have homelessness, abject poverty, a literacy problem?? No, and that is amazing for a developing nation; however, I am in dissonance, especially over who feels like my Cuban sister, for example. ... how we are both educated, professionals, about the same age...but do I believe that she has human rights? Can I place a value on dreams? Aspirations? Is it true what Jeffrey Sachs seems to hint at in his book, The End of Poverty, that there is something ingenious that is inherent in systems like capitalism (obviously not unbridled, multinational, monopolized versions...including corporate dictatorship)...that will lead to innovations which will lead to the end of poverty much more efficiently and realistically than systems of strict government control? I almost can't believe I am saying some of this. Instead of being overwhelmed, I am taking solace in the following quote by Howard Thurman, a mentor of MLK:

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”

-Howard Thurman

and when i see you, i really see you upside down

Lyrics from Dath Cab for Cutie's "A Lack of Color." It's what I'm currently listening to. Take that, Xanga.

You know, in yoga, they say we hold emotions in our hips. I have also read that tight hip muscles are the main underlying issue leading to knee pain. Now, isn't that interesting? As I have whined on here for, years actually, I have chondromalacia (fancy pants talk for arthritis before you are 30) in my knees. This keeps me from my old hobby of running, my lame excuse for getting fatter, yada, yada, whine, whine. Well, it was a hobby to me.

Interesting flakey fact number one is that I have a history of being totally unaware of negative feelings, and I've started wondering, "where did they goall those years?" Were they in my hips? (Yeah, I know it's weird.)

I was the "it's no big deal" girl, and I didn't even know it. I just thought I was accepting and forgiving. You know, I have this very spiritual, interesting friend who is an Episcopalian priest; one day he gave me a Buddhist book on anger, and I was totally surprised bc I never ever acted angry. Ever. I was a little offended; yet, when I read the book, it became clear to me that I was angry about a whole mess of crap. I just didn't really know it.

For me, I think it was a form of rugged individualism...you know, that I would not be invested deeply enough that anyone or anything could actually have an effect on me. And I'm not going to get all weepy here, but I'm talking about some super serious stuff that I never knew even bothered me.

I think that book helped me accept the duality of feelings: You can forgive someone, but still have the pain and even some anger, bc that part is outside of our scope of control. And if you turn your head to those emotions, they don't go away, they just change in form. Since I've been more awake to this, I'm continually surprised at what feelings feel like! Case in point, I have a friendship that sort of fell apart almost a year ago. No, I'm not in middle school; turns out, this happens with grownups, too. My point: I am actually shocked that sometimes I still feel sad/hurt. Okay, so on occassion, this initially comes out as Mean Girls-esque judgement; I'm straight up human. But still, I'm shocked by the lingering nature of the whole thing, and I don't think it had a lot to do with the details of the relationship. Rather, that is what it's actually like to be invested in another human and to then get hurt. A few years ago, I would have reacted with full indifference.

My point here is, look at me growing! I am so less repressed than I once was.

Excuse my stream of consciousnes, by the way. Day in the life of a random processor. Barbecue.

your name + ness

+light+impermanence+being present (the fountain from another angle)

Several weeks ago, I found myself browsing through old keepsakes and photos; I found something that I didn't expect. In the photos, letters, etc., from six or seven years ago I was a different person than I am today, in a way I couldn't identify....and I don't mean different in a better way, but lacking something somehow. I'm smarter now. I feel more spiritually developed now. My career is going better, my friendships are deeper, my romantic relationship is going better...but something is totally missing, and I haven't been able to figure out what it is...

My husband helped me put a name to my mystery. "You've lost your ness," he said. From You, Me & Dupree....you know, your name + ness...what makes you the essense of you.

"You're right. The heck. I've lost my ness."

So, like Peter Pan and his elusive shadow, I sat out to find my ness. Like 'shadow,' it's right here, I know it, but I can't quite seem to pin it down.

I talked to my journal about it. I talked to my dog. Then, I talked to my friend, L, who was a good enough friend to nervously say, "Do you think it could be the weight? That you're not as healthy, as fit as you were?" This may seem crazy, but I hadn't thought of that. Even my dog is more happy and energetic when he sheds extra pounds. I am careful to regard the spirit's effect on the body, I said to L...but I seldom think of the body's effect upon the spirit...My body is my spirit's medium in this lifetime. If I do not care for it, that is all the less it may express itself in the beauty of the human spirit. Chalk one up for L. She moved up a notch in my book for being real, for the quality of her heart, her intent. That is a piece of the puzzle, for sure. I think I still have some sleuthing to do, though.

Among the nostalgic evidence four paragraphs up were lots of pictures, of a thinner me, of course...about 40 lb thinner, but I was more vain too, and what a lot of people didn't know is that my fake nails and 8 different colors of highlights and fancy make up were adding up to credit card debt I wasn't prepared to pay for on a student income...So, yes, I was prettier (to the point that when people see my old id, they say, "that IS NOT you!" (Thanks), but inside I knew I was living a lie, sort of...

Also among my findings were the reminders of one of the strangest experiences I've had....a series of letters and a song/poem written to me by a man who fell in love with me, sort of from afar, when I was about 20. He was much older, probably between 30 and 35. I didn't know he was in love with me for a very long time, but I knew that for weeks roses and short poems were being anonymously left on my car, and once at work I received anonymous flowers with the message, "You are cared for." He did not act creepy, never pressured me in any way, and did not mention his romantic feelings for me except in a packet he once gave me with a letter and a song for me as well as a song he had written for his young daughter. Honestly, his feeling freaked me out, and I started avoiding him some. I just wasn't mature enough to handle it well.

Steve (that's his name) was in chemotherapy at the time. He had just gone through a divorce, and was working at Applebee's for some unknown reason, even though he had previously taught junior college music courses. His daughter had been recently whisked away to another state, and here he was alone, no more career, living with cancer...He felt like he had fallen off the top of the world, that he had lost his creativity, his life force, his essence, his smile. Among other things, you might say his "ness."

What so attracted him to me, he said, was all of the life I had in me. And I did. I shined with life back then. With hope for the future, great idealistic hope...with poetry and nature and health and vitality. I thrived.

The rest of the Steve story is almost unbelievable. Steve finished chemo, no evidence of cancer. Shortly after, he was driving home from visiting his little girl, and a semi-truck swirved into his lane.

Paralyzed, they said. But luck, or what you want to call it, had it's way with Steve again. He would be able to walk, but with pain and extensive rehabilitation. Standing would be like having a knife in his spine. Walking would be as a newly born foal.

In the mean time, he comes back to Applebee's to cook quesadillas and Tequila lime chicken as soon as he is barely able, although he can scarcely walk and should be considered disabled...something about red tape, beauracracy.

One day, Steve passes me a quesadilla or salad or something for my table, and he says he has good news, for once. "I won my law suit (from the trucking co). 4 million dollars (or something like it). I'm quitting."

Shortly after, I moved to finish my degree. I lost touch with Steve. Several months later a mutual friend of ours tracked me down to say that Steve had taken him and others to concerts all over the country, that he had shared his millions with compassion and lightness. That he was full of life. And that his cancer had come back fast and strong. He was gone.

I wonder what Steve would say about the irony; he had a unique life perception. I wonder if his daughter has a copy of the poem her dad wrote for her, which is sitting in my room. My dad, who is usually reserved, once wrote me a special poem, tucked away secretly behind a framed picture he had given me...I found it years later, a secret testament of his love for HIS daughter.

It's hard to get back to discussing "my ness" now that I've gone off into these trails of seriousness, but that is where I'm hopefully headed on my life's path. balance. creating. light. love. peace. compassion. ness.

This silly blog has helped some already, believe it or not. It's a place for me to create again, to muster a little bit of creativity that I might not otherwise take the time for, to synthesize the universe's lessons to me and put it out there for few people who are my blogging world, adding that spice of vulnerability that is medicine for my soul.

+balance+beauty+ (crane at creek, hunting for fish)

karma.

I used to cut friendships off left and right, dismissing current friends and looking for new, more perfect friends for me. I'm one of those people who took the "Toxic Relationships" episode of Oprah WAY too seriously. Let's just say that I think karma may have found me....My picture album includes a lot of people who I thought of as a near best friend at once, who I eventually cut off, at least to some degree....The book could be titled, "My half-a## Attempts." More on that later.

Page one: The Needy-A## Takers

Everyone has met a needy-a## taker. Maybe you are on. Historically, I am a needy-a##-taker magnet. Now, if you think that says something about me, you're probably right. Needy-a## takers are frequently photographed next to "I-need-to-help-others-to-feel-worthy-ers." Needy-a##-takers, be aware, I will no longer enable yo' needy a##. Anyways, what usually happened here is that I ended up in some therapist-esque role in which things weren't at all reciprocal. A lot of talk about them and their ruminations, and very little talk about me and mine. Enter late night phone calls. Enter a new crisis. Enter another new crisis. And another...and I gave...and gave...and gave..and then I was absolutely exausted, and I mean beat, and I would disappear.

Page two: "No connection." (Translation: usually morally or politically inferior in some way)

I ran into a lot of "no connection" friends after I started avoiding needy-a##-takers like the plague. I have a lot of pictures with these friends, because it often seemed like we did have a connection, sometimes even for a long time. Soon, it was easy to find others morally and politically unsatisifying. I didn't see myself as judgemental; I just saw myself as not wanting to be around people who did not have similar values. I remember sharing 300 sq foot with a person and two animals, buying all my clothes at thrift stores...judging my friends for their weaknesses (the ones I didn't share), for their materialism, for their microderm abrasion when I knew they couldn't afford it, for caring too much about makeup, for not being into buying thrift store clothes, not recycling, not voting. I thought of myself as all-supporting, all-loving because of my minimalism and my politics, but I was hiding behind some sort of self-righteousness, I think. Why?

I believe that we are ALL connected, and that we need to see these connections, even in those who seem different. Do I still know needy-a##-takers? Yes. But, now I know boundaries, too, and there are people who I have rewarding friendships with now that I could not have managed being friends with before. Not that I would spend lots of time with people who I don't have fun with or who don't want to talk about what I want to talk about. And, I'm sure there are times when cutting off truly is necessary.

So, I'd like to ceremoniously shut the cover of my photo album of "Half A## Attempts," and start a new book, the book of "Namaste," maybe..."The divine in me acknowledges the divine that is in you."

a day for good news.

(photo taken by me in Costa Rica. It is a hot spring, heated by the Arenal volcano. Most. Soothing. Place. Ever.)

Kahlil Gibran: (from the Prophet)

...When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
For that which you love most in him may be clearer
in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is
clearer from the plain.

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the
deepening of the spirit.
For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its
own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and
only the unprofitable is caught.

...And in the sweetness of friendship let there be
laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds its
morning and is refreshed.

summer in the city

Good morning to day two of my official summer haitus from the world of working people. This thing lasts until late August. August, people (or person, as the case may be!). The heck? It just almost seems crazy, long! The silliEST thing is that over the year, I've come to almost feel that it is owed to me. I think this year, I almost needed it, so I don't hate myself too much....but, it's not like most jobs come with a 3 month break worked into it....and, in some states you can say that teachers are paid so poorly that they deserve a break, but let's be real. In TX, if you are starting out in social services, this is as good as it gets. AND you get the summer off. I agree that teaching is hard, but perspective is the secret key to success (as with anything, it seems), and b/c of perspective I was able to evolve to see my job as an amazing opportunity, every day. And, it was. I will never be the same...just thinking about my gratitude brings tears to my eyes every time, like a big blubbery loser. Holding out for the summer, for the weekends, now seems silly. There were gifts in every moment, but I had to adjust the lighting to see them. Have you heard the quote, "Treat your friends like your art work, and view them in their best light?" I guess that's what this year has taught me to think about life in general. It is what it is. The various challenges, etc., will be what they will be; I have a tiny amount to no control over that. I can control the way I look at it, though. The beauty or lack of beauty seem limitless in either direction, all depending on the lighting. May I illuminate.

This school year was quite the emotional challenge, but more than anything, it was an opportunity. Here is the quotation that the teacher who had my classroom prior to me left stuffed in her sub folder (maybe I should have taken this as an omen early on!):

"We are all faced with a series of great opportunities brilliantly disguised as unsolvable problems." - John W. Gardner

You have no idea how many times I repeated this to myself over the past nine months. It was on my computer, and I read it at least a few times a day. And, it did not say DIFFICULT problem, but UNSOLVABLE. I love that, b/c you have no idea how many times I almost turned the car around on my way to work early on. The first time I thought I would actually THROW UP from anxiety. I had never hated anything more, ever. It was intolerable. How I thought things like, "How long will it take to recover from breaking a contract?" And, in the end, I loved it. Loved it! The news here is that my situation didn't change at all; I did. That's why I love it now. My husband was shocked by my change of heart, b/c it was overnight, like an epiphany. As someone who steers clear of drama, fights, etc, it was unbelievably draining at first to deal with the adolescent persona, much less in a high needs school. Without being too divulgent, let me just say, imagine the prototype adolescent who has no one at home that cares what he does anyways (or, more likely, has 3 jobs and doesn't have the time)...Imagine quite a few of those to start out your morning every day, wanting to fight. Ready to THROW DOWN over anything. It was a major ego schock to me, b/c this was not like what I had seen on tv, where they would love me and all their lives would instantly change and then I'd get to play an extra in the movie.

It took me a long time to even see, "Freedom Writers," b/c it kind of angered me...I didn't know what to do with these kids, and people kept saying stuff like, "but did you hear about that teacher in that movie." I wanted to punch those people, and tell them to live in my shoes for one day. I came home and went to bed. Every night. On the way to work, I actually talked to myself the whole time just so I could keep myself distracted enough not to think about the students I was dreading seeing.

Eventually, this became intolerable. And I mean, intolerable, so something had to change. I had tried to change them, but I didn't know how. The only person I could really change was me. I began to focus on seeing the beautiful inner nature of each of my students and dealing with them with compassion (firm compassion!). When I enjoyed them, when my eyes began to light up when they walked in, they decided to love me back...It really opened up a beautiful world to me. I went to my first Quinceanera, which brought tears to my eyes. I let them teach me Spanish sometimes, to teach me about their culture, and they loved that. I even began to wonder if they had some things figured out that I didn't...Each young adult, each "unsolvable problem," was simply brilliantly disguised as a great opportunity...A sheep in wolf's clothing.

The greatest "problem" of all turned out to be in letting them go. I held it together like a trooper after school, even when my 8th graders hugged me, crying, going out fearfully into a whole different world. I had to be strong for them, though I know the statistics are against them...But, they go out into the world, in a world that was much easier for me, in small town USA, than it will most likely be for them.

I went back to my room after school, my poor empty room that lives off of learning, off of students, as it's life line. I thought about many of my students individually. Will I ever hear from them again? I mourned all the times I didn't appreciate the opportunities I had been given, the times that I didn't engage in their lives the way I expected them to engage in learning...the times I reacted in anger, the times I didn't want to be there...the times I was indifferent to this most amazing gift I had been given. I thought about the achievement gap, I thought about the ones without strong families, about the ones in gangs...As their writing teacher, I got to read something of their dreams, from each and every one of them...and, believe me, they all have dreams, beautiful ones. Did you know that the teenagers you see on the street, with sagging pants and bling and enough anger inside for all our lifetimes have dreams? Dreams of helping people, of being successful, of buying houses for their families, so that they aren't evicted anymore, so they no longer have to suffer...

Travel safely, my friends.

In other news, I'm focusing on getting this #*@#*& 5 pg. essay finished for this MSW program I'm starting soon (probably fall, if something falls through, then Spring- no big deal.). After this is all behind me, I'll hopefully jump back on the volunteerism bandwagon. I always used to volunteer somewhere, but this year I just haven't had the energy. I'm between hospice and a community kitchen downtown. I might also volunteer in the children's hospital; I've done that before and really loved it.

My husband just got into med school, so we are definitely NOT going on a trip we've already been putting off since last year, with Global Exchange...A "Reality Tour" to Nicaragua. I guess they can keep our deposit, now. There are worse places for our money to go... Instead, we will procure an efficient little car. We're basically looking for our old car reincarnate: little, pretty only to us, gas efficient, never dies. We'll still travel a little, though not internationally. I'll go visit my friend C in New Jersey. And B and I are having a big tour d' Kansas right before he starts school. I have to admit that I miss Kansas, specificaly Manhattan. Manhattan is so simple, yet alive. It was hard for us to live there, b/c it mostly has families and then 20 year olds...not much in the middle. But, I miss the nature & more. The largest untouched tall grass prairie in the world...political activism that definitely rivals that of the giant city we now live in...More respect and gratitude for the environment...long conversations about life in coffee shops, the kind of situations you want to go back and recreate, even though you know such thoughts are futile.

I guess the key is to keep the lighting well adjusted in my new life, having faith that new opportunities are always around me, if I should choose to see them.

squeaky voices and ungodly smells

i was just thinking...we (or at least i) make all these assumptions...or not really assumptions...but, in the same way that i read a book & imagine the main character in my mind, I develop voices and body language that I imagine you blogger friends encompass---

...and, I have to wonder--what if we all met at a big party? Would we be surprised and destracted at how different each other is compared to what we imagined...in the way like when a movie is made from a book & you're just soo suprised at who they picked to play your favorite character?

for example, i think of Mia as having sort of a deep voice--you know, with, er, "phone operater" potential...but, what if she is quiet and squeaky? what if?

and, Margaret, do you gesture wildly and knock passers by down in the process...i don't imagine that you do, but who knows?

where oh where could my blogger friends be

where oh where did they go?





i am the scum of the earth...i am that which drips from my dog's nose...no, i am my dog's pumba heinous farts...forgive me, oh blogger friends for ever abandoning you. i will never sleep again ever if you do not forgive me. leave me a comment, or i will die from my GRIEF.