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Sometimes when I pray, I wonder who or what is listening to my words whether said silently or aloud. Where do they go? These words. My words. Do the words arrive to the intended recipient or are they sometimes returned to sender in an empty envelope?
Garth Brooks sings that some of ‘life’s greatest gifts’ are Unanswered Prayers. Meaning, I suppose, that another entity, in Garth’s case, God, knows better than humans. I don’t know.
I do know that I pray regularly. Having turned my back on organized religion moons ago, I continue to pledge allegiance to a spirituality which runs deep in my core or soul some might say. I turn to this faith or trust in something bigger than myself frequently & consistently. The fact that there’s a chance my prayers go no where, are undelivered to the correct address or denied out of hand, does not seem to stop my returning to this well of faith that someone something is listening, receiving, hearing, considering my words my meaning.
Prayer is a cornerstone of my life. An anchor. A comfort. A strength. A connection. A touchstone. A conduit to the all-things-are-possible, if I believe.
So whether my words are, indeed, unanswered unheard denied out-of-hand or temporarily lost in translation sometimes makes no difference. At least in the overall scheme of life. Mine.
The benefits I receive daily the solace & needed anchor that keeps me from being continually adrift in a too large an ocean of too-much, is worth any angst or temporary lapses in faith.
Peace be in my heart on this most sunny morning, I pray.
I’ve been away, elsewhere and not here since 2015. Or the last time I was here, the calendar year was 2015.
And now I must re-familiarize myself on how to even post an entry. Learn all of the new fancy bells & whistles of the blogging world. Who am I kidding? The most I will probably do is figure out how to add an entry. At least for now, unless I re-commit to daily (or almost) posts.
While being not here for the past two years I have been a busy bee & much living & multiple adventures have washed under the proverbial bridge or down the river & multiple new moons have transitioned to full ones. The most significant changes & life events have been moving out of state & then back again within a 12-month cycle. Beginning a new job, accepting a promotion & then immediately resigning from said promotion within a month & returning to the ‘home’ state. Within that 12-month period, I also lived in three different rentals, committed to the last rental & began putting down roots. Literally. Succulents were purchased, repotted & ultimately re-homed. Furniture & home furnishings bought & assembled as needed & within three months, released.
Yes. The Big Purge of Material Possessions took place, AGAIN.
Another very long Road Trip happened, AGAIN.
My daughter’s medical emergency. She needed her mama. My daughter needed me. And so…
And seven months later, I remain a virtual stranger in familiar surroundings & homeless to boot. Not in the literal sense of the word I suppose as I have had a roof over my head & even my own bathroom as I have been existing (aka living) in my ex-partner’s whom I am still legally married to, condo. I have not worked or earned any money for the past seven+ months. My biggest accomplishment has been surviving the last seven+ months.
Huge. This accomplishment. Very large. Being still alive. Humongous. Weathering grief, winter’s frigid darkness.
Today I can believe spring has arrived or at the very least is well on its way. I can believe that Old Man Winter cannot & most importantly, will not, last forever. Today the return from a long long hibernation continues, fueled by renewed energy & long daylight hours. Ahhhh, yes. The light has returned to the Far North Land. Finally.
And I begin the preparations for or at the very least the hope of leaving ‘home’ once again. Yep. Yup. Affirmative. Yes. This tumbling tumbleweed is hoping to move, to blow this pop stand, to relocate, to begin anew, to head down the old highway. AGAIN.
A second job interview, this one in person, is scheduled in three weeks in a faraway place. I am on the path to a new adventure. AGAIN.
Oh my gosh, I have been absent for far too long from my beloved blog. My absence has not been due to laziness, lack of interest on my part, being in a pissed off mood at the blogging community or a churlish attitude in general. Here is the true unvarnished, un-spun, authentic deal ~ I have been ill, very ill, for a very long time. For over two years now. I have shared about my Unwanted and Un-invited Bastard Buddy Vertigo (BBV) who swooped in for an extended visit and decided not to depart, right? Well, nine months ago a new uninvited health hazard Bastard arrived on my doorstep and the BBV invited him into my home and my body.
All of this is to say, that I have been fighting, literally, for my ability to remain in my physical self on this Earth plane. However, when I finally hit the lowest of my low a couple of months ago, I chose to re-claim my healing and to stop looking outward to supposed “experts” such as Western medicine and naturopaths, etc., who were not helping, to say the very least. I also made the decision to place the focus of my energies on my spiritual practices and return to my creative writing and visual art, both of which spark my will to live and make the most meaning in my life. Throughout this entire journey, I have continued to work and provide psychotherapy services to adolescent youth and their families.
I have missed my little blog. I have missed being a part of the blogging community and the connections I have made here. I maintain a Facebook account using my legal name, however, due to the nature of my professional life, am not comfortable co-mingling the two worlds. What I am hoping is that now that I have taken this step of writing a post today that I will be more active once again with my little blog. Most likely not daily but more frequently than once every quarter.
I am thrilled to report that my creative writing is on fire and there is much movement in that area. There is goodness in this world and even though my faith and spirits come and go and I am a fickle creature, I do believe that my struggles are not in vain. Sending out love, compassionate caring and peaceful energy in these early morning hours this Saturday morning.
I was asked yesterday by a brand new acquaintance what my relationship status was. Meaning, I gathered, was I involved, taken, belonging to another, tied up, tied down, bogged down, in a rut, newly wedded, deliriously happy, passionately satieted, or barren, bereft, afloat, alone, blissfully single, between partners, or simply untethered from the demands of another human being in an ongoing relationship. Out of the multitude of responses at my disposal, here were the words which sprang from my lips ~ my heart is wide open.
For anyone who has been a follower of this blog for any length of time, you might get it like in, right away, that this was an atypical response for me given my life’s journey this past couple of years. But there it was. The words said, passed from and over my lips.
And what is more, as I have had time to ponder, which obviously I have taken the time to do, I realize that the words are a true reflection of said heart. The said heart ~ my heart ~ the one that is, indeed, open ~ much to my surprise and actual delight.
Hearts, spirits, beliefs, values ~ all have a funny little way of making changes, often times profound, sometimes in small ways, sometimes in big leaps and bounds ~ stealthily, silently, quietly, slowly, or just plain simply ~ and then our mind’s get a great big old WTF awakening. And then we adjust, metabolize the alterations and carry on.
that’s what Natalie Goldberg, my favorite of all time writer gurus says, just write. Just do it, man. or in my case, woman. Put pen to paper. Finger tips to keyboard. Pencil to cardboard. Fingers to the air. Just do it. Right now. Right here. No excuses. No stopping. No monkey mind. That’s what Goldberg calls that part of our brain that distracts us and pulls us right and left up and down and then all zig zaggy. When all the time, our original intention was to sit down and write out a page or two or ten or the poem of our life.
This Saturday evening, I am attending a Literary Salon. Sounds fancy, huh? At least it does to me. I joined a local writer’s group earlier this year, it could have been last year, it was in the dark months of winter that much I remember. I am not much of a joiner in the way of joining groups. I used to be. A joiner of political groups. I railed against all sorts of human injustices and fought hard for human and individual rights for a long long time. And then I grew weary.
Back to my current subject of the fancy sounding upcoming Literary Salon. I am excited. Nervous. But more excited. The event is being held at someone’s home whom I have never met. And here’s the really cool and brave part, I volunteered to read some of my writing. The organizers were looking for 10 volunteers to read 5 minutes of their work. Since most of my essays are more than two pages long, I quickly decided to read a few selections from my body of erotica poetry. That is, until I spoke with the main organizer who informed me that there will be children present. Good to know. So onto Plan B. or Actually C.
I have chosen four other poems to read and have been practicing the timing of the reading and introduction to the pieces to fit within the five minute allotment. Five minutes goes by really fast!
This will be good for me. Meeting other writers. Being inspired by their work in progress. Sharing a part of myself that has been dormant for far too long.
So I have returned to my roots and busted out my beloved guru’s books, Writing Down the Bones and Wild Mind. They have inspired me for many years and continue to remind me of my first love ~ words, writing and the telling of stories. Utter bliss. Just write. So right.
already here. the day that was yesterday that was meant to be the other day so that I could write a post on my blog today two days ago. but it, the day, or more aptly put, the days already have passed. so quickly. they are gone. history.
And so it is
that I am here in this moment writing that I am still here in the blogosphere. That my blog is always in my heart and never far from my conscious thoughts. Even when those thoughts and ideas and emotions and happenings and daily minutia and big deals and little ordeals don’t make it onto the screen ~ I am still here.
And so it is
that autumn has returned to the Land of Already Freezing Ground North Land. The past few days have gifted us with glorious sun. Golden sun rays that followed weeks of record rain fall, and record windstorms and flooding.
And so it is
that the sun is loved and beloved and cherished
Big news ~ that little diddy.
And so it is
that I am pleased to write some words on this first day of October. to write some words on any day actually. just glad.
My journey continues with me along for the ride. At times, I am a stroller ~ meandering along, taking little detours here and there, following my heart, listening for the mermaid’s whisper. Other days, I push my foot down on the pedal and blast down the highway, shouting obscenities at my slower moving travelers, giving them the middle finger while I weave in and out of traffic always seeking the fast lane.
Today, I am doing my laundry. Attending to the mundane. Sorting and sifting through bunches of stuff while searching for certain needed paperwork, an employment badge, two beloved pair of earrings that have somehow up and gotten themselves misplaced (damned cheeky of them if you ask me), researching Vitamixers, and upcoming schedules for a certain motivational speaker guru, and doing a bit of online shopping for Buddhist prayer bead necklaces and leather bracelets.
Life has been a journey this summer. Changes have been afoot. I am still me. But I am a changed and changing me. Meaning, life is unfolding as usual.
I have missed my blog. So I have returned.
My spirit and mood have been vacillating, wildly and erratically at times, between gratitude for life and wishing to be finally done with this journey. Folded in among this particular ping pong game of emotions there burbles nostalgia for what never was but wished for anyway, moments and times. Like say, the throb of deep connected love with the same person for a long period of time and the resulting imagined passionate lovemaking. And let me not forget to write of the fear, dread and anxiety brought on by considering medical procedures, tests and surgeries meant to return to me my health and maybe, may I hope, my sanity.
Where does one go when the well is dry. Bone dry. Yet the body still thirsty and the spirit weak. Prayer feels too hard. No, not hard, just not for me. Not now. I suppose I feel undeserving somehow of asking for help. Hard to do this earth journey; seemingly impossible to bridge the worlds or universe.
For now, I dwell in the land somewhere in between.
Somewhere and sometime along the way on this journey of mine on this particular circuitous path that I tread called my life, I let go of the hope of finding my first mother, my omma. In the beginning as a child, I barely dared even think of her even when I was sleeping ~ dreaming about this most precious woman in the whole wide world. And then in adulthood, I defied all that I had been taught and brainwashed to believe by my adoptive mother, and took the lid off the hole in my heart where this yearning for my birth mother lived. This hope was faint but thrumming with the rhythm of my heartbeat and sprang fully alive with urgings from my thoughts, dreams and fantasies of this mystery woman’s face, touch and fragrance.
So today the realization that the hope is reduced, once again, to barely a flutter now and again, is startling.
Hope and hunger, however, are two separate states of being. For I still long for this woman, my creator. Longing that aches to my very soul. Even with my dim hope that I will ever find her on this planet, in the form of my first omma, the yearning is still present. She is somewhere. Perhaps over the proverbial rainbow. Maybe existing on another plane in a different form. But, somewhere there exists is at least a remnant of this one whom I have gone without for ever so long.
Happy Mother’s Day Omma from your daughter aka Korean adoptee, junemoon.