There seems to be a lot of death going on in my spiritual community right now. In a 2 week span we lost 3 people to suicide or drug overdose (arguably the same thing). Because of the nature of addiction, I can come across as cold hearted when I hear about an alcoholic or drug related death. I’ve seen too much of it to be shocked when it happens.
But Thursday, all my well placed defenses got ambushed when I heard that an old friend of mine had OD’d and died. I got nervous when I saw a post vaguely alluding to a “loss” on Facebook and so I reached out to my bestie and she confirmed that what I feared was true.
The name of my old friend was (is?) Claudio. We met in 2001, when he decided to try to kick his heroin habit and turn his life around. We started dating when he was newly clean, but after 10 months I broke it off pretty abruptly. That was in November 2002. About a month and a half later, on New Year’s Eve, Claudio attempted suicide via intentional heroin overdose.
That really shook up our community, and I certainly felt (imagined?) that some people felt I was at least partially to blame. Eventually I spoke with Claudio, and we cleared the air. After that, I didn’t worry what other people thought. He didn’t blame me and that was enough.
Recently, I saw Claudio had gotten engaged, then married, via mutual friends on social media. He really did deserve happiness and it genuinely warmed my heart to see him smiling with his bride.
Less than a month later, he’s gone. And that’s a shame. Claudio was a very sweet and sensitive man. He was always quick to share a laugh, and to forgive. The outpouring of love I am seeing for him is very touching, but it’s difficult to think of the loved ones that were closest to him – how much they must be hurting.
Whenever someone takes their own life, it brings up my own issues with depression, and the finality of suicide. It takes that option away from me. I don’t think I could ever do that to all the people around me that love me. It is such a shitty feeling to leave others with.
And of course, there’s still a part of me that wonders if things would have been different if I’d played by the “rules” and not dated Claudio because he was so new to recovery. Maybe he would have focused more on building a program and taking care of himself, his physical and mental health, and he wouldn’t have tried to kill himself so long ago. I seriously doubt I have anything to do with his recent and final decision to/mistake of overdose, but these are the things that go through my head when I grieve.
I don’t know what my main theme of this post is, except that alcoholism/addiction is a serious and deadly disease, that death is hard to deal with, and that if you want to commit suicide and you think no one will notice when you’re gone – you’re wrong. Those of us left behind suffer. I can only hope Claudio is in a better place now, and that his hurting has ended.
Hello again. It’s always mind blowing to me the way the universe conspires to direct my life in such beautiful and sustaining ways.
It seems every little thing is like a pebble in the stream of life, directing the flow in increments until I ride the tide to the source.
Ok, enough of the flowery stuff. I meant what I said but there’s no way I can sustain that kind of writing! I’m not a poet of any type.
It’s been something like 570 days since my last blog post, and so much has happened that there’s no way I can update you… So I’m just going to dive back in – I swear.
But first, this is my toe dip back to my blog before I find a topic and dig in deep. I missed you and I hope to help/move/inspire you very, very soon.
Once upon a time, I tried a radical experiment. It was inspired by a conversation I had with some one I don’t think I knew particularly well. I have no idea what I was saying but they cut me off mid-sentence to observe, in a very gentle way, that all I ever seemed to do was complain. Because I didn’t speak to this person very often, I had a moment of “you don’t know me!” but it quickly passed when I mentally ran our conversation back in my head. Yep. I had whined my way through the whole thing. I conceded their point and later solemnly vowed to myself to cease the negativity for a period of time. It wasn’t long, maybe a week or a month. You wouldn’t think that would be that big of a deal: just find positive, happy things to talk about… since I am an upbeat, optimistic type that should be a snap – right?
WRONG! Very quickly I found that I literally had nothing to say that wasn’t a grouse, lament or gripe. Entire conversations would happen in my presence without me uttering a peep. If you have ever met me, even for 5 minutes, you know that it’s impossible for me to keep my mouth shut. I can’t help it, I have a comment – witty or otherwise – for everything! But at that point I was totally stumped for what to say.
A few days in to my unexpected silence, I realized that I had been unintentionally putting a lot of negativity out in the world. This was a rude awakening as I’d started thinking of myself as a Pollyanna, with a tendency to look on the bright side and inject a can-do spirit into situations. Yet there was the evidence before me, as I could not even come up with neutral topics. A change was definitely in order. I took a solid month off from complaints, and took a good look at my conversational style.
Turns out, I was always looking to make people laugh. The easiest way to do that is to complain about a universal topic in a unique or witty way. (It’s true! Listen to your favorite comedian and you’ll see what I mean.) Making people laugh is an admirable pastime – but for me, the amount of gloom and doom I spread was not worth the chuckles I got for my running commentary of depressive thoughts. The subject of conversation didn’t have to change as much as the angle from which I approached it. I set an intention to be more positive in my speech patterns, to talk of things from a place of encouraged expectation as opposed to voicing doubt that anything could possibly go my way. More Tigger, less Eeyore.
Over the years I can tell I’ve picked up the bad habit of complaining again. I am going to set another intention to be mindful of my words. It’s not that I can’t speak of problems in my life, fears, insecurities or even worries I am having. I just have to come from a place of hope that it’s nowhere but up from here. I’m doing this for a few reasons:
1. I am dedicated to be a person that is a positive influence on the planet.
2. Words are powerful. What we say out loud is more powerful than even our thoughts, because they have an effect on other people as well as ourselves. Our words shape our reality, and I want my reality to be full of joy. And if we meet and I speak of hope and happiness, maybe it will give your reality some joy too, which increase my joy even more. Everybody wins!
3. Honestly, I care how I am perceived by others. I don’t want to be seen as a Debbie Downer! I have had such a blessed life, with far more peace than I ever thought possible. I want other people to see what miracles can occur in their lives if they put their faith in the (capital U) Universe and approach their fellows with love and compassion.
4. I am hoping you’ll join me! Let’s start a movement… What should we call it? Bliss Bunch? Serenity Society? Team Gratitude? I can’t wait to hear your name nominations! Go out and recruit others. Let’s make April a complaint free zone. Who’s with me?
I want to love and forgive as I imagine my higher power loves and forgives – in my belief that means everyone deserves both love and forgiveness in equal amounts. My biggest struggle in that goal is loving and forgiving the people in the world that have hateful or naive ideas about the safety, respect and freedom of others. I don’t have a lot of interest in politics or the religious debate. I avoid discussion on those topics, as I don’t believe most (myself included) have enough real information to form a cogent argument. Heartfelt and logical discussion? Possibly. Informed and educated exchange? Most likely no. When these topics come up I usually find something else to do, to avoid being drawn into negativity when I hear hatred or regurgitated dogma.
The point of this topic is that lately I have been finding myself concerned that I will run across hatred on my personal Facebook page. I have close to 500 FB friends, obviously I am not close to all of them and therefore do not necessarily know if their beliefs align in Universal love and forgiveness. I try to be truly open-minded and not dismiss out of hand anything that has a logical or heartfelt basis – I even understand the “my religion is the only right one” stance or the “my lifestyle is the only proper lifestyle” idea. It makes sense that one would choose the ideals that embody goodness in one’s mind. There are a lot of philosophies out there but rarely do I meet people embracing hypocrisy as a way of life.
There is a certain topic in particular that I have been fearful of seeing under fire on my personal FB feed, but I’d like to avoid moral, political or religious specifics here and just talk about my personal struggle with executing my own belief system in the light of other people’s hatred or naively formed opinion.
Let’s say that I have a personal affinity and an affection for men and women that, for vital nutritional reasons, must eat raw onions – we’ll them “Raw’rs”. If they don’t eat raw onions, they can become very ill to the point of hospitalization or perhaps death. I grew up around quite a few Raw’rs, and they weren’t seen as special or different – they were just people. They would eat raw onions right in front of my family without any apology or hesitation! In public they were more hesitant to eat their raw onions, because some people would get upset about it. I was taught that those upset people were special and different in a negative way, but that they weren’t necessarily bad people either.
The people that got upset about public raw onion eating thought that the Raw’rs were different, perhaps a lesser type of human since they had a different nutritional needs than “normal people.” Since “Normals” found the smell and sight of raw onion eating offensive and wrong, they expected Raw’rs to do it in private or utilize nutritional alternatives that science had found. The Normals thought the Raw’rs were making a choice, that they liked eating raw onions all the time and ignored the alternatives because they were morally or mentally ill. Soon there was political involvement regarding the rights of Raw’rs to be able to eat in public. Some states had to actually create a law allowing Raw’rs to eat in public!
When I was younger I hung with a Raw’r crowd. I even tried a raw onion diet for a while, but realized I didn’t have those nutritional needs and went back to Normal eating after a few years. During those few years I saw firsthand the treatment that Raw’rs received, the looks, the stigma – the embarrassment they felt for being themselves in public. Because of the hatred directed at them, most Raw’rs learned to be open-minded. I found that attractive. I also found that the Raw’rs from my childhood were some of the physically and emotionally safest people to be around. Normals in my life hurt me, but a Raw’r never did. Quite the opposite! Even with their differences in behavior, they were role models in how to live love and be family, because they had felt the hatred of strangers their whole lives and realized the vital importance of the acceptance of family and friends.
I think this is a good way to illustrate the weirdness surrounding bigotry and hatred. There’s an argument that the smell of raw onions can be a bit strong outside of a kitchen. The thought of someone biting into a raw onion like an apple literally nauseates me! Ugh! So couldn’t we make a point that Raw’rs should be treated differently in order to not offend the Normals? I think it’s ridiculous to put humans into pigeonholes that limit or expand their freedoms, but I invite you to use this example to explore your own ideas about race, religion, sexual orientation, politics, breastfeeding in public, vegans, hunters… sub yourself in as a Normal and ponder what you’d fill in for the Raw’rs. This has been a good exercise for me in exploring where my close-mindedness and fear manifest in relation to different cultures and lifestyles. I want to be 100% open-minded, even to those that don’t want to be – or can’t be.
I wish I always behaved like everyone is equal, deserving of love and respect in the same amounts as everyone else – in the same amounts I yearn for in my heart. I’m a work in progress, and I hope you are too.
In my experience, we humans tend to think we are extremely unique in our thoughts and feelings: “no one thinks these crazy thoughts like I do” or “no one has this much hurt/shame/guilt/fear in their hearts” or “it’s hard for others to understand me because I am so much more intelligent than almost everyone else ever” etc.
While I’ll agree that everyone has something to offer this world, and every person is a child of (enter deity here), worthy of love and respect… I’m convinced that we are having a collective experience that becomes meaningful only when it’s shared among us. What that has to mean then, is that we have to be having the same experiences or no one would be able to exercise their empathy and emotional understanding. In other words, no one could relate to anyone else.
There is a phrase I have heard tossed around called “terminal uniqueness” which refers to people that are in a place where they’d rather literally die than be willing to accept help or guidance. Having once suffered from this condition myself, I can definitively say two things: 1. it is absolutely the most awful feeling when you believe you’re experiencing stuff no one else has ever felt or done – anywhere you go, anything you do, no one can help you, understand you or even forgive you for your thoughts, feelings, actions. 2. THERE IS A CURE.
Because the illness exists solely in your head, as soon as you are ready to be cured – poof! – you are miraculously able to begin the healing, grow, and most importantly help other people do the same. My experience with overcoming terminal uniqueness is the same as everyone else’s experience. (See what I did there?!) I needed loving guidance toward the new idea that I while I may be very special in my own way like my momma told me I am – I am not, in fact, experiencing my life differently than any human that has ever existed on the planet. I’m not a new breed of human and therefore my limitations are within the realm of human experience. In other words I was basically told, “Sweetie, get over yourself” and then comforted as the shock of realization hit me. They were indeed correct in what only moments ago I had thought obnoxious, presumptuous and downright rude.
The most painful part in this epiphany for me was the torrential rush of hope I felt as this new reality sank in. If I am understandable, if I am one among many, if my thoughts, feelings and actions aren’t despicably inhuman or inexplicably disgusting then some one, somewhere can help me. If I can be helped, then life might not be so isolated and painful. If life isn’t so isolated, so painful – then, just maybe, I can be free. I didn’t dare hope too hard right away. I had had hope before, only to have it be crushed by people in just as much pain and ill circumstance… so I was still afraid that this relief was fleeting. Freedom seems impossible when our captor appears invincible. Realizing that what is holding you back are your old ideas and thoughts (either fed to you or made up by you to survive your environment) and not any outside force, can give you courage to fight for that freedom, for inner peace, for a chance for true happiness.
Since discovering I am just like everyone else, I have found other people walking around with that same horrible mix of grandiosity and utter shame of terminal uniqueness. I’ve seen people die from it. It’s a terrible tragedy to see life end for no other reason than we couldn’t help them see how ordinary their problems are. Sometimes people have had their hope crushed so many times they simply can’t allow themselves any hope at all.
I hope this post encourages you to either ask for help, or offer it, depending where you are on your journey. Here are some of the phrases that helped me to become one among many, though they may seem harsh they were all delivered in pure love:
“Get over yourself sweetie”
“You can’t tell me anything I haven’t heard before, but I encourage you to try.”
“You haven’t done anything we didn’t already do… Twice. While naked.”
“Sorry, you’re just not that special.”
“Of course you punched her/pooped your pants/cried for three days/etc. I would have done the same thing in your shoes.”
“We will love you til you can love yourself. Go ahead and act a fool. We’ll still be here when you wear yourself out.”
“Don’t leave before the miracle happens.”
What they didn’t tell me is that the miracle was me feeling like I belonged somewhere – right here, on Earth, with you. My spot was reserved at birth, and no actions I took or thoughts I had could remove it. The same is true for every single person. Sorry, you’re just not that special…
Finally, I hauled myself to a yoga class. I wasn’t expecting to be blown away since the class is given at my local gym, and I often feel that the yoga classes at gyms are only about physical fitness – the inner journey is bleached out in order to not offend or repel anyone. Which is fine, since it’s at a place where people aren’t necessarily looking for spiritual enlightenment, just a good workout! The class was a delight, however. A spirit of non-judgement and encouragement to “not look like your neighbor” pervaded.
During that class, I was rooted in my practice and in my body. Because of my concerns for my physical condition, I am careful to only hold poses when I can maintain alignment, and then release out of them when I start to tense or strain. I don’t get to practice asana with a mirror very often, so being able to check myself out was a treat too! I didn’t want to stare but one time, I just did. We were in a warrior variation and, looking to check my knees, hips, and shoulders, I saw the beauty of my body… Not the outside, curvy stuff but the internal workings. My muscles and bones holding me in the posture, my lungs taking in air, all my organs just quietly doing their business – secreting and excreting and filtering and distributing.
I thought “Wow that’s so beautiful!” I thought, “Wow I’m so freaking strong.” I thought “Thank you for this moment.” And then I didn’t need the mirror anymore. Shutting my eyes and following my breath, I cultivated that awe and wonder. After class I shared it with the gals I had taken the class with (including teacher herself, a good friend) and they knew exactly what I meant.
Many of us spend a lot of time wishing things were different with our physical condition, and very little time celebrating all the proper functions. Today is Valentine’s Day, and often the focus is on candies and hearts and flowers, high expectations and romantic pressures abound. I suggest a moment – maybe before you really get out there and start throwing cards at people – to send a little mental Valentine to your body’s functions that you ignore all other times, since they work so well and are so humble they never even draw your attention to the fact that they are, you know… keeping you alive.
Regardless of your shape (which typically you have some control over), your body is beautiful. It’s a vessel for your soul, your essence. It’s an intricate machine that totes your consciousness. Even if you’re not a fan of your size, or your poor eyesight, or your IBS, or your aching feet… it’s all a part of you and it helps to shape your reality. Even if it frequently disappoints you, until science can manage otherwise your body is the only one you’re going to have. Even if you feel betrayed by it, like I sometimes do (like we all sometimes do!), it is still the only thing keeping you rooted in this world. So give it some props today. Stop wishing it was some other, better body.
If we want to get even more advanced, let’s take a day to listen to it, to give it what it wants instead of wrestling it to the ground and making it our bitch all the time. Let’s let it be the boss for once. Who knows what could happen? If you try this and it works (or doesn’t), please let me know. I’d love to hear how you cultivated your practice of listening to your body, and what you discovered in that process.
True love encourages growth
In my post Eternal Student, or My Story Continued I spoke more on about my spiritual journey, and said I’d elaborate in a later post. Thankfully I didn’t say when, since that was positively ages ago, dahling. The good news is I’m ready to keep going!
The introduction of the eight limbs of yoga into my life is quite a blessing. It gave me a new approach to what was a stale, patchwork way of connecting to the “capital U” Universe that I had developed in the beginning of my spiritual journey. The yamas and niyamas (two of the eight limbs of yoga, concerned with ethical practice) were juicy spiritual bits of delicious goodness! Quickly, they are as follows:
YAMAS
Ahimsa ~ Nonviolence
Satya ~ Truthfulness
Asteya ~ Nonstealing
Brahmacharya ~ Nonexcess
Aparigraha ~ Nonpossessiveness
NIYAMAS
Saucha ~ Purity
Santosha ~ Contentment
Tapas ~ Self-discipline
Svadhyaya ~ Self-study
Ishvara Pranidhana ~ Surrender
Now, besides the sanskrit, none of this was new to me. I know those things make everybody better humans. But I hadn’t given all of them quite the amount of attention they deserved. No, I didn’t do violence, lying or stealing – in the common sense. Yet what of my words, towards myself? Towards others? Wasn’t my smack talk, even the playful, seemingly harmless joking type, a form of violence? Didn’t I lie to myself about what I really wanted so that I could content myself with procrastination and laziness? And don’t even get me started on stealing time or emotional balance!
In the context of Yoga Flirt, where all of this was introduced to me, there was an especially large amount of work to be done on these concepts. My sensuality and sexuality were repressed and depressing. Engaging my thoughts toward a more enlightened way of viewing my body and my desires (not just in sensual/sexual ways, but life in general) brought on a sense of power beyond anything I had perceived possible.
Always a fairly non-judgmental free thinker towards others, it was quite the surprise to realize how little I applied my “live and let live” philosophy to my own wants and ideas. Lack of self-esteem restricted my ability to accept my own “stuff” as okay. I believed I was weird, and kind of sick, I “should” be better, less needy, have a firmer physique – then I would achieve worthiness. I “should” all over myself. Should is a dirty, awful, demeaning, and violent word. It implies that one’s state is imperfect, which cannot be true if everything is exactly as it should be at all times, which I truly believe is the case. If you would allow me – ahem – some unsolicited advice, I would advise you to drop that word from your vocabulary completely when speaking of yourself or others. Yes, a clock “should” tell the time. No, I should NOT have to fit into what you have decided I “should” be like in any positive or negative way.
What all this did was bring me closer to the fundamental idea that there is a greater power out in that “capital U” and it’s got everything covered. My focus became doing behaviors that felt divinely right within my soul. It’s not easy, it takes practice and looking like a total idiot from time to time in the beginning. It’s worth it though, when other people’s opinions (yes, even your mother’s!) start mattering less than the internal gauge that we all have buried somewhere in our hearts and minds. Taking some time to study yoga aids in uncovering that gauge, the one that we all cover up with old ideas, fear, and the big noisy distracting world around us.
I admit, it’s easier to just float along on the surface of life or create an inflexible goal to fixate on. But if you want to be truly happy, joyous and free – it requires a whole other set of rules. I invite you to grab a spiritual mentor that you trust, that exhibits the kinds of behavior that you wish you could – and ask them how they found all that good stuff. Who do you know that is almost always smiling or putting a positive spin on a possible problem? Who would you let hold your briefcase with $1000 in it for a month? Who would you trust to tell your secret dreams to, that wouldn’t judge or laugh but encourage you to pursue them?
If you don’t know people like this, that might be step one. Just an idea.
As always, I love your feedback. Commentary or sharing your own experience is always welcome!
Namaste
I had no intention of abandoning Hope on Heels for so long, as all of the positive feedback (both internal and external) let me know I was doing something right. Something good for my soul, that connected me to the souls of others.
So what happened? I always found myself too busy, too tired, too pained, too hyper, too distracted to blog. Introspection is scary, especially when there’s a lot of “stuff” going on. When I have “stuff” going on, I tend to get very busy. It’s not all bad activity – quite the contrary! I work out and help people and chop veggies and read books and do puzzles and visit friends and get organized and… well, you get it. I’ll sleep, breathe and think about what’s really going on later. As in, not now… or now… or even now!
Taking time for a long, deep soul searching is not on the agenda for most folks, but I don’t have the luxury of not examining my resentments, fears, and faults. Svadhyaya, meaning self-study in Sanskrit, is my ticket to mental, emotional, and spiritual freedom. Without this self-study, I become obsessed with the idea that something external will fix my problem. Perhaps a pair of shoes or a phone upgrade will relieve me of my suffering? Nothing on the TV or interwebs remind me to practice prayer and meditation, for those particular solutions are kept in a dark, dusty corner of our societal tool shed – if they are in there at all!
So with no introspection, no blog. This isn’t an awesome recipe or crafting blog – it’s about my truth and connecting with others. No one wants to read my to-do lists, not even ME.
Also involved with not blogging is an element of punishment. I enjoy writing so denying myself the pleasure is a form of self-flagellation: “Bad girl, you’re suffering! That must mean you’re imperfect, a condition that needs immediate correction. No writing or true enjoyment for you until you return to an unattainably, unsustainably perfect way of being.” You can probably see where this line of thinking gets me. I’m not claiming to be rational – quite the opposite – but this is where I go when I am afraid.
And I’m only afraid like that when I forget that I am a woman of faith today, that I have tools to bring me back to center. Like practicing yoga through the “other” non- physical limbs of yoga, mostly the yamas and niyamas, with my primary focus on ahimsa (non-violence AKA not beating myself up) and santosha (contentment AKA accepting my self in my current, divine state). For a few reasons I am not engaging in asana (yoga “poses”) right now… but doing yoga off the mat is an entirely different post. A post that I hope you will see fairly soon.
Unlike many people I have a whole tool shed full of spiritual solutions that I have received through friends, mentors, students, therapists and good books. My gratitude for that can’t go unstated. No matter how far I’m willing to wade out into my pool of misery, I know that there’s always a warm and fuzzy answer waiting back on the shore. So here I am, all wrapped up and finally, finally back to connecting with you.
I want to say that I thank you for your support during this period of radio silence. I still felt you all there even while I was away and it gave me strength to do what needed to get done to find my way back here with truth and authenticity. And if I wasn’t going to be real, there was NO WAY I would be able to blog. I have no interest in transmitting my suffering to y’all, only to offer my personal experiences and the solutions to my challenges that I may help you with yours or simply assure you you’re not fumbling alone in the dark through this big Universe.
Namaste
Monday-itis, or the “Blue Mondays” is not something I have ever suffered from. Helpless excitement at the beginning of anything (yes, even a new week) is one of my optimism-induced afflictions that I don’t mind cultivating, not to mention Monday has been my Saturday for quite a while now, which just adds to my immunity to the Post-Weekend Depression that seems to hit most Americans. I feel this is important to the following post because my first inclination is to blame my total freaking meltdown on Monday to it just being Monday.
I am extremely talented at minimizing.
Briefly, here are the extenuating details to the collapse of civilized humanity that was me three days ago: about three weeks ago, one of my besties drove a long way to visit, and take me to and support me after a procedure that – for so many reasons- failed to occur on that day. (I could tell you that story but it just makes me mad. If you know what FUBAR means… the literal definition was revealed to me August 30. MOVING ON!)
September 9 was set as the new date for the procedure. This procedure is called an epidural, or cortisone shot, and is often helpful in relieving back and neck pain. It’s not surgery and it’s not a big deal. But I was also not allowed to drive for the rest of the day after having it done. SO! My mother drove an even longer way than my bestie did, to take me to and support me after the procedure. And this time it got done! September 9 was a Monday, and Tuesday I actually was cautiously optimistic about feeling pretty good. But then Thursday morning, three or four hours after falling asleep, I was woken up by a severe amount of pain. The same thing happened on Friday and Saturday mornings too. Saturday night I started sleeping in the guest room. Sunday and Monday I woke up in pain, but not because of it. Which is different, and better, but still enormously sucky.
This Monday, my mother texts to ask how my neck is feeling. It is feeling bad. As I respond I am having a strong negative reaction about being asked “the question” and the answer I’m giving pisses me off too. However, at this point any time any one asks me “the question” about “the neck” I have a strong negative reaction and an even stronger desire to scream, so I think nothing of it.
I go to Zumba class, have a great time, get in my car and start driving home. Suddenly I am overwhelmed by an urge to cry, so I do. I get home, get in the shower, and cry. Out of the shower, getting ready to go to a doc appointment, hubby and I have a conversation. During the conversation it is revealed to everyone present (me, my husband) that I am not in a good mood. Nothing productive comes of this conversation (though hindsight shows the lack of murder means progress on both our parts).
On my way home from the doc I realize that no human, I mean NO ONE, should have to deal with me in my current state. I text my husband that I am still not feeling well and would appreciate if he could just not talk to me at all when I come into the house. Then I wait to see if he’ll agree to my psycho conditions (which he does unquestioningly, since he is The Best Husband Ever), go straight into the guest room and shut the door. I lay down on the bed, totally shaking, stifling my dramatic sobs and weeping like an emo teen from hell.
Now, there’s a prayer that any human, having reached the end of their capacity to cope with their circumstances, will say in a generally upward direction (yes even athiests, in my experience, will direct their internal pleadings skyward, even though they don’t believe anything is there except space). The prayer goes something to the effect of “HELP ME.” It can be elaborated on but less is more in times of trouble. As I roll back and forth on the bed, clutching myself and pleading the Universe to please, please help me… an answer comes. And when the answer comes, I don’t question it. I know it is right, and that if I can just do this thing I will find relief and the strength to carry on.
What is this miraculous answer you ask? Well, I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you that it is not to call one of my spiritual sisters, or to read an inspirational book, or journal, or simply sit in silence and meditate on gratitude. Nope.
My Higher Power tells me to get out the iPad and look at the Humor page on Pinterest. (That’s right. You read it. Pinterest. You know this thing, this Pinterest? I have only recently been “pinning” things myself. It’s fun, cheaper than real shopping and also a total time suck ) I do as directed, no hesitation, no thought of how absurd it sounds that my deeply despairing self is going to use an app to heal her soul. I start scrolling through the Humor page, and lo and behold! I stop crying and cease feeling sorry for myself as I look at pictures of cats and dogs, silly e-cards and memes and the occasional clever cartoon or photo.
Ninety minutes later, I feel strong enough to text my husband and ask for some water and a hug, which he delivers with a smile and cheerful “hello.” I remember how much I really, really like my husband, outside of the undying and unconditional love I have for him. Which in turn reminds me of all the abundant joy and blessings of my life. Feeling fragile, I get out of bed and make myself continue reading “It Starts with Food” which was recommended by a friend. In regards to when one should start eating the anti-inflammatory food choices outlined within, the book has the words “Start right now.” and so I just do. I get up and make myself a meal that complies with a non-inflammatory diet. It tastes good.
(I’ve been eating that way every since. It’s only been 3 full days, and I’m not sure I feel any better or worse. But I can’t really say I’ve tried everything until I try to change how I fuel my body, and follow a plan that is supposed to relieve inflammation. Another plus is that it’s more healthy than my normal, see-food <I see food, I eat it!> diet. I had planned to start October 1st, but apparently the book caught me in a vulnerable moment. I’m not mad.)
I spent the rest of the day just taking it easy, and I lived to blog another day. Below I have included a sample of the kind of inanity the Pinterest Humor board offers as a spiritual healing tool. The Universe truly does work in mysterious ways, and for that I am grateful.
Hope on Heels 