So here I am again, in this space of in between…waiting.  The roast is in the oven.  The skies are dark, the sound of thunder in the distance….rain waiting to fall.  I must admit that these last weeks have been very, very hard.  I can’t describe in what way except that I feel very, very bad….but not sad.  Sometimes I blame the weather.  Other times I think I’m being possessed by some bad energy.  Whatever the cause, I feel very, very bad.  That I know.  I do try to keep it to mys.lf and not rain upon others’ parades, but sometimes it does come out.  So I do apologize to those whom I have showered upon.

Last night was one of the most bad nights in a long time.  I felt the storm in me and it was a great relief to hear the thunder and see the flashes of lightning through my sleep.  I wasn’t being just a b.&#@*! after all.  When I woke up this morning, I wondered how long will I be like this.  I stayed in bed for awhile, thinking….maybe feeling somewhat sorry for myself.  It didn’t really do much for me so I decided that I must make some effort to snap out of it, as they say.  I thought movement was the answer.  I must move and get in the flow.

So I got up, dressed up and showed up for breakfast.  Then I was stuck, not feeling like doing anything.  Why don’t I just go out and weed part of the garden until I feel like doing something? came the thought into my mind.  That’s the way it got started, doing one thing at a time.  My tomato and potato patch looked so nice after I got it weeded and hoed that it led to more weeding and hoeing.  Then it was time to take Sheba for her walk.  We stopped at Mom’s for a visit and to get some vegetables.   She complained that she wasn’t feeling so good because of the weather.  So I got my weirdness honestly.  Phew, what a relief!  Nevertheless, I gave it an extra effort not to be feeling so when I got home.  I reminded myself not to be hung up on being perfect, to treat myself with kindness….whatever I could do is better than no action.

I cut some peonies to put on the deck.  They’re drooping onto the walk anyways, obstructing Sheba getting through.  I search for a nice container but an old fertilizer container was the best I could come up with.  But what the heck…it’s perfect in its own way.  The rain is really coming down now…. lightning flashed and thunder roared. The roast is smelling delicious.  Soon, it will be time to eat.

Two young men, dressed in black rang my doorbell on this rainy Sunday.  One was tall and rain dripped from his blonde hair.  He looked tired, the other man…  very short.  Rain dripped from the brim of his big black hat.  He was smiling broadly, with energy enough to carry his partner.  He said they were from the church of Jesus Christ of  Latter Day Saints.  I commended them for their efforts but passed up on their message and brochure.  He asked if I knew anyone that could use a message from Jesus.  My neighbours….all my neighbours, I said.  He repeated what I said, smiled and they left.  I watched.  They did not go to my neighbours on either side of me.

Lucky for them, for all parties concerned!  In that moment, I felt a pang of anger.  Funny how feelings can linger, especially anger.  They hang on…like a mad dog on one’s trouser leg.  They gnaw at you, from the inside out, eating you alive if you don’t pay attention.  I could feel the mad dog’s teeth as the young men were walking away.  I am grateful for this moment of recognition…this gift from Jesus.  It is time for me to let go of this grip, let go and forgive, though not necessarily to forget….all the negativity and angst from my neighbours, for they knew no better…and for my own health and well being.

In that moment of deciding to let go and move on, I recognized how much energy and time I’ve wasted on things not of my own.  I’ve always felt responsible for the happiness of others.  And in one session, my counselor told me that I was not that powerful.  So true!  But a lifetime feeling cannot be cast out overnight.  I needed repeated moments of recognition and practice to develop new ways of feeling and behaving.  Regret is of no use, but being human, I do regret….all that time I could have spent on myself…..I could have, I should have, if only, what if….There!  I’ve said it.  NOW,  I can move on.

So, on a very rainy Sunday, I am moving as never before!  Cloudy, rainy days are great for taking photographs.  The colours are so deep and bright.  The blues and purples of my irises warmed and settled my heart.  On this Sunday, I did not notice the greys of the universe…only the colours of Eden in my garden.  Rainy Sundays are great for digging in the garden.  The soil is moist and soft, easy to sink a pitchfork in.  Weeds are easier to pull out, perennials easier to divide.

Rainy Sundays make great days for baking.  I am getting better and better at it.  My breads taste much better than the bought ones.  It makes a huge difference if you put your own heart and hands into the matter.  Measuring, mixing, kneading…so grounding, so therapeutic.  Baking your own bread is better than Zoloft and Ativan together.  I might get a big tummy, but not a rash.  I will not break out in a sweat or fall off my deck stairs….more side effects that I have suffered.  Baking and breaking bread are good for body and soul.

Rainy Sundays are also good for walks with Sheba….in between raindrops.  It’s cooler and we do not doddle so much.  You never know when the next big drops will come.  The skies are grey and it is Monday.  The rain will come again soon.  There is a pork roast in the oven.  I can smell the goodness cooking….the garlic, rosemary, sage and thyme.

There are so many forces at work.  I’m waiting for them to align up so that I can have a good life, my perfect life.  I’m waiting for all the stars in heaven to be in perfect alignment.  God, how long will that take?  Could you give me an answer, how about just a hint so that I need not waste my time waiting?  No one is answering, not even some voice telling me option one, press this, option two, press that.

So while I’m on hold, I must as well get on with something.  I’ve been wanting to clear up this one corner in the bedroom.  I’ve been wanting and waiting for when I have more time, more energy, more….Today I finally cleared my mind of all things.  Into the bedroom I marched.  I picked up, discarded and found a home for the things I kept.  I resisted the urge to do other things, like dusting everything in the room, hauling everything out of the closet and rearranging everything.  My mission was to clear this one corner.  It was painful.  Everything in me resisted, but my intentions won.  I’ve whopped the inertia of habits….of letting things fall where they may!

The breakfast dishes are done, one load of laundry is on the line while the second one is on the go.  In between,  last week’s ironing is done.  It is not bad for a morning, after having slept in.  But still, I would like to be more, do more.. to be stronger and have more energy.  Perhaps I could pump some iron while I’m still down here in the basement.  I can see my dumb bells in the corner. I could do one set each time I come down….I can hear my mind running away on me.  If I do this.  If I do that. What if I ….I am a dumb bell indeed!

I have quieted my mind and am sitting here.  While I’m waiting to write my perfect words, while I’m waiting for those one thousand words to come into my mind, I thought I would just start.  I think God is busy and I could be on hold for a long, long time.

The wind is really blowing my mind today.  It’s been going on and on since yesterday and all through the night.  It would have been a good excuse to loll and doddle, sigh and yawn and complain about how it  grinds and gnaws at me.  How can anyone do anything?  And yet, how can one not?  And so, I do my sighing and yawning, drawing some comfort and momentum….and rose above my inertia.  Somehow all the bedding plants finally got planted.  The garden looks wonderful.  When you make a decision to move, things happen.

And this is a new day, a new morning.  The wind is gone.  The sun is out.  It is beautiful.  Yet, I am not feeling it.  I feel the pain in the bones of my nose, in my swollen knuckles, throbbing, contracting and expanding, reminding me of its ever presence.  I’m here!  I’m here!  Feel me.  I am familiar with its voice over all these years.  It no longer frightens me or pulls me down to dark depths.  I have lived in its  shadow, afraid to let the shoe drop.  But one day I took the plunge and let go of my grip.  The shoe dropped…..Nothing happened.  I did not shatter.  The world did not end.

I hold on to the memory of that moment…the glorious realization that feelings and fears need not be my enemies.  They are what they are and I can accept them as part of who I am and move on.  I am drinking my tea with sweetened condense milk, a treat for myself.  I am stirring my porridge on the stove top and writing on my IPhone.  I’m feeling the flow, so I must keep it going.  I’m thankful for technology for allowing me to do this.  Sometimes I wonder at all the bashing gadgets and FaceBook get.  I like both.  They are tools that enable me.  They serve my purposes, not other people’s. They do as I direct them.

I eat my porridge with yogurt, a change from my usual eggs and toast.  I am feeling less pain.  I am feeling more pep.  It is true when you change the way you look at things, the way things look change.  It’s like the glass half empty, or half full.  Sometimes things work, and sometimes they don’t.  But you have to move…however slowly, or you will be stuck in your hole of pain, despair or whatever.

I’ve learned to move, even if it’s just getting out of bed, or my comfy chair.  I wash my face, brush my teeth, put my eyebrows on, and face the day.  Sometimes bending down to pick one item off the floor or pulling that one weed can start something.  You never know what will happen.  Look at what happened when I decided to get a dog…not even knowing anything about dogs or being a dog person at all.  Six years,  many adventures and misadventures later, we’re still together.

Somehow I can’t seem to get beyond 500 words, but a picture of Sheba is worth at least 1000 words by itself.  And tomorrow is another day. And I’ve practised patience and proofread my writing.  And that is something!

 

Well, so much for goals and intentions.  It’s a week since I’ve vowed to write a thousand words at a sitting.  I dare not say a thousand words daily. That would be inviting definite failure.  What I have learned is that it is not good to trash oneself over failed goals and intentions but to treat oneself with kindness and love and to start again.  So here I am, typing away, starting again.

I came home this morning from my 12-hour night shift, thoughts and feelings swirling aimlessly and meaninglessly in this head of mine.  Words came flying out of my mouth like a thousand bullets.  So much for my intention of not bringing work home with me!  There really is no relief nor satisfaction in sharing with someone who is not in the same profession.  I just felt more angst.  But I did remembered my light-bulb moment…of recognizing how I tend not to cut myself any slack on my own shortcomings.  I inhaled and exhaled, made myself a cup of tea with hot water that someone else had kindly boiled for me and took my Ramipril.  Ahhhh…some relief.  I’ve been up for 24 hours so how can I possibly have a right perspective on anything?  It’s really not normal nor healthy for anyone to spend 30+ years in such a work environment.

I drank my tea and hugged myself with kindness and love.  I brushed my teeth and soaked myself in a warm bath of a thousand bubbles.  There is no use in flinging oneself into bed when one feels like a porcupine of a thousand needles.  I am sure I would toss and turn a thousand times and still be sleepless.  This way, I could spit out my words in silent bullets.  I would not hurt anyone’s ears.  The tap, tap, tapping of my fingers brings calmness and some clarity to my mind.  I feel some sense that I am accomplishing something…working towards my thousand words project.

I am hungry and I would really like to eat the handle off the fridge door.  But I held myself back and settled for a poached egg on one slice of toast and ham.  Funny how nurses/shift-workers talk.  You can recognize us by our lingo.  So, did you sleep?  When do you have days off?  Are you in on overtime?  Etc. etc.  How mundane!  I think my next goal is to work on a different conversation.  It is true what they say…that you are or you become what you say.  I have tried to watch my words, to be impeccable.  But alas!  Sometimes my mouth does run away on me.  How can it not, when my workday of 12 hours, is involved in talking to so many people?  So it takes some effort not to beat myself up or judging myself for not performing up to par.  But now, at least, I am aware.  I have a sense of direction.  And that’s a definite step.  I’ve found a path in the forest.  I am not lost.

Well not quite a thousand words but isn’t a picture worth at least another five hundred words ?