poetry. thoughts and more than make-believe.

Monday, November 29, 2010

project Believe

I will be the first to admit, I am a crier.  I cry for the happy.  I cry for the sad.  I cry because I feel one with life and when that life is nothing I've prepared for--I really cry.

I say all of this because reading Claire Montogomery's post at Car Dancing, I am reminded of my first visit to that hospital with her.  Even if you don't finish reading my blog--read hers.  Believe.  It is true. 

We walked into Mary's room and I immediately could see the difference in Mary.  I felt the difference all around. But then again,  maybe it was the hospital smells. The kids outside her room.  The staff.  The actual fact that Mary had been hospitalized behind locked doors.  All these little moments, that I brought into the room with me--watching Claire with her daughter...simply brought me to tears.  Not unheard of--even when Mary was discharged--tears again. 

But tears for a different reason...not that she was being discharged--which of course is a reason to cry, but because I saw in the time Mary was hospitalized she was the exception to every rule--whether that was Claire's parenting...... practically losing her very white-collar, corporate America job because of needing to take care and ACTUALLY VISIT her mentally ill daughter an hour away (because the mentally ill/challenged truly do not have centrally located facilities), a few times a week... 


Claire fighting for Mary's rights when other parents either have given up the fight or simply do not have the tools to bring to the table.  I will never forget the time I sat beside my friend with a room full of hospitalites, listening to Claire speak.  I had a moment of this is why she does her corporate job--so she can be THIS to these people...not just THIS mom who is fighting for her daughters human rights, but THIS woman who is standing up to what society says we can throw away...mentally ill people.

When Mary left the hospital, the staff and kids on her floor had a going away party for her..and of course--more tears fell from everyone's heart.  She had opened up more loving light, giving depth to why these people do what they do everyday.  She had made more friends, not only with her floor--but with adults simply working in this space.  We all sat in a large circle, watching Mary open her gifts and I recall a boy with a boombox- listening to music.  Adding more life to this surreal moment...

What you don't see about the kids in this space, at least for some--is that they have no one.  Most of their families are not available, whether it's poor parenting or being mentally ill themselves--these kids KIDS--CHILDREN--PEOPLE--LIVING LIFE...have no one to love on them the way Claire loves on her Mary.

So--thank goodness, again--because Claire happens to be herself--she has made it her intention to love on these kids in the way we all want to loved on at Christmas...with a gift to remind us we are acknowledged beings.  Isn't that why gifts make us feel good?  Ultimately, it reminds us we are being thought of and loved.

So love on Claire.
Love on Mary.

Monday, November 08, 2010

In My Voice

For a few weeks I've been thinking about my voice.
I don't know how many people think about this, but I do know I haven't
ever actually had a conversation about my voice...until tonight.
And I'm someone people share EVERYTHING with and since the topic of voice
hasn't come up, I don't think many people consider what their voice means.

I've been thinking about it more deeply lately, because I'm in the final
weeks of yoga teacher training and I've had to pay more attention to the way
my voice sounds in different rooms. The way it projects.  The way I use my words.  My tone. 

With this intense weekend of asana's, also came a decent amount of meditation
time...which has actively allowed me think about my teaching comments
in a loving space.  I appreciate that.

So--last night when I got home and BD called, I was telling him about
my classes and meditating.  His words: "So really--I don't get it.  What can you
accomplish by meditation?"  I am sure this morning that him asking me was
a continuation of my discovery.

First I explained to him how difficult it is for most people to sit for more than 5 minutes.
We are going to do this together this week.  I'll be interested in how that goes...but then
I told him about my voice "discoveries."

I explained that my first voice memory was when I was about 4 or 5.  I barely recall this, but have heard the story many times in my life--I was at church, singing with my sunday school class...and when I say singing I mean really LOUD.  You know the image..the one little kid singing in their own space, not worrying about anyone else--just being in it.  Sweet thought--I know I enjoy those kid moments as a parent, but as a child I know that people were laughing--kindly, but I didn't understand that.   Voice issue 1.

Time continues.  I live in an all-boy neighborhood.  Nothing says finding your voice and losing your voice with boys/brothers.  I'm sure the same can be said with girls, but I have my memory with boys.

Then cheerleading.
Yes--oh sigh, I've come to terms with my cheerleading years--but if you knew me you just wouldn't see me as one...anyhow--my first year of cheering we went to a cheer camp with hundreds of girls at a local college.  I was in 7th grade. I hadn't planned on being a cheerleader at all--I just tried out on a fluke and here I was.  The cheer coaches were going around teaching us a cheer and it was making me nervous.  I couldn't remember the movements with the words as quickly as I wanted.  The coach came up to me and told me she couldn't hear me.
Cheer louder.
Still she couldn't hear me.
So what does she do but demand that the hundreds of other girls do not cheer and I am
to do the cheer alone.
My voice only.
I did it.
I don't have fond memories of that moment though.

Time continues.
See Bad Relationship post.
Voice issue 4.

Then it hit me in the shower last night that as my marriage started to
dissolve, I lost my voice in that too.  Not in the beginning--but by the end
I was too tired to speak up.
To work.
To fight.
To cry.
I was being who I was--but without my voice.
Without being heard.

Now--I am finding the thoughts behind my voice.
Behind the strength.
Realizing when I am teaching, working, laughing...that when my voice
is clear and strong is when I am the most confident.
I feel my voice in my heart.
And when it is soft, I am either insecure or truly exhausted.
Sometimes I just am too tired to speak.
But finding the truth behind those moments.

In my voice.

Tuesday, November 02, 2010

Once upon many

little bit
outside box
one night
once upon many
so wonderful to love
with friends
"Happiness is only real when shared".....from Into the Wild

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