Tag Archives: feelings

O HOLY NIGHT

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I feel guilty sitting here, tap tap tapping on this 24th day of December – Christmas Eve. By all accounts aren’t I suppose to be busy cooking up a storm, celebrating and partying? At the same time, aren’t we supposed to observe the reverence of Jesus’ birth? To confuse the issue more for myself, I am Chinese. I was not born a Christian but to a culture of ancestor worship. Sometime and somewhere in my life, I saw Jesus on the cross. I followed that vision and was baptised in the Catholic Church. But I heard Buddha calling me also. I listened and liked what I heard.

I am confused but I don’t feel too bad about it. I’ve been listening to too many voices. I heard all their sayings and beliefs. Now, I know the best voice is my own. I’ve bathed in too many’s experiences and feelings. They are not my own. It’s time to shed them. Time to step into my own waters, my experiences and feelings. It is time to don my fineries and see how they fit. Will they wear well?

O Holy Night has been my favourite Christmas Carol since I was a little immigrant girl in Maidstone. It was before I was Catholic. I heard it sung by Susan, an older neighbour girl. She lived in the railroad station house across the highway from us. I thought her voice was heavenly. It was so pure and clear like that night. It is still my favourite. I love the beauty of the music and the lyrics. Whether or not I believe, it does not matter. How I celebrate or not does not matter as long as I am true to myself, as long as I am enjoying what I am doing and not hurting another.

 

BEING BRAVE – BAH HUMBUG!

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I am myself again, ruminating and ranting. I find myself still dwelling over things I’ve said or shouldn’t have said. I see myself wringing and twisting my hands in my mind. Oh, I’m rude! I’ve hurt their feelings! Why couldn’t I have kept my mouth shut? But I’m talking back to this voice in my head. It doesn’t really matter! It’s only my obsessive over-inflated ego thinking what I say have any importance to anyone, especially to three learned professors. Just stop it!

I stopped the voice in my head. The thoughts echo and ricochet off  the edges of my mind. I sat back in my chair and sipped my decaf. It tasted pretty good with coconut milk. I travelled back to yesterday. The room was noisy with music and people chatter, the sounds of what Christmas luncheons are made of. Our salads arrived, then the pork tenderloin. They are making draws for door prizes. My name is called. I won 2 tickets to Persephone Theatre. Someone said that the play Treasure Island is very good. It is being held over.

I’m trying to drown out life’s miseries. They tend to come out and multiply with weddings, funerals and Christmases. I’m feeling very bah humbug this year. This feeling has been increasing each year. Now I’ve reached that crescendo – BAH HUMBUG! I’m exhausted listening to all the complaints of consumerism, blah, blah, blah. Complaints! Complaints! Complaints! And yet with all these complaint the practices are continued year after year. This year I’m stopping all that. I’ve stopped going to church because of all the bad stuff about religion. Now I’ve gone all the way. Now I’m truly brave.

Not that I’m feeling totally comfortable with my new bravery. I see certain looks on people’s faces after I’ve come out – those shifty eyes and uncertain careful voices. People betray alot with body language and facial expressions. I imagine I do, too. I can’t see myself but sometimes I catch my own reflection in others’ reaction. I could be happier if I was dumb and dumber. Ah, you can’t have everything in this world.

If you’ve caught a whisper of sarcasm and bitterness in my words, you got it. I am feeling that. It is my own sarcasm and bitterness, not directed at anyone else. There’s no harm in acknowledging my own feelings. The harm comes from holding them in and squishing them in my own body. There is nothing wrong with not celebrating Christmas. It is not a Chinese tradition though we’ve adopted it over the years. It’s truly a Charlie Brown kind of Christmas and not authenitically ours. I’ve felt like an imposter all these years.

If Christmas is about peace, goodwill and love towards all, I’m all for it. It should be celebrated every day. But do we need all the trappings? If you love ‘all that is Christmas’, it is okay with me, too. I have no objections to how others’ celebrate. I respect that. But the controversies and arguments about Christmas have killed some of that joy for me. That is not to say that I am a total joyless heathen. There is a tiny spark of hope for joy in me. I will bring out my own Bodhi tree. Sheba and I found it in the park last year. I had to fight her for it. There’s history here. It was already dead and no chopping down necessary. We didn’t pay any money for it either. Measuring up is not in our vocabulary.

 

 

LIVE WISE

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Sheba was right on the money this morning. 6:05 am was when I felt her cold wet nose, followed by her little snort. It was still pitch black. But I love that part of the day when Preston Avenue was still asleep. No continuous ribbon of cars and only a few foot traffic.

I’m learning to leave my electronics asleep for awhile, indulging myself turning a few pages of written words. Once I start scrolling, one thing would lead to another. The minutes and then the hours would go by. My head and mind stirred and messed up with bad and/or useless information. Instead,  these mornings I am reading Stephen Jenkinson’s Die Wise, a Manifesto for Sanity and Soul. It is not an easy read. I can only do a few pages at a time. Now I might have to leave it for a few days.

He didn’t tell me anything that I did not know before. What it did was to take me right back to the workplace I have left 4 years ago. The scenes and talks were so familiar. I know he is coming from an authentic place. He has given a voice to those things and feelings that I’ve experienced and breathed for years but couldn’t articulate. I am grateful for that identification. It will help me ‘get over’ and heal from my ‘anxiety’ or ‘trauma’. The book is aptly named. It is a manifesto for sanity and soul. I believe that my anxiety was from the denial of all the feelings I’ve witnessed and experienced in the hallowed halls of the Hospital. But how else could I have carried on working without the denial?

These things were never talked about that I could remember. Yes, there was a Health Office but that was mostly where you report to after you’ve been off sick. It was like the Prinicpal’s Office. Most of the time I felt like a truant child, not deserving but abusing. Health care was for patients only. But then this was my experience. I don’t know about others. We don’t talk about it much. It was the same way with after retirement. I don’t hear about how others fare. I just hear about the travelling. That’s what I hear the most. Are you going to travel? I felt obligated to travel just because I am retired.

What happened to me was I fell apart. Or that’s what it felt like. Oh, I did some travelling. I was busy most if not all the time. I wasn’t just sitting around having a nervous breakdown.  I always took pride in being very functional, no matter what. No one probably knew I was having difficulties except maybe the person living with me. Sheba probably did. She had her own anxiety attacks. They were probably from me. She cushioned me by absorbing some of it. She is my best friend.

I am so lucky to have arrive in this space and time. I can now sit and stay with my feelings without jumping out of my skin. I can acknowledge the good, bad and the ugly. I can sit and read Die Wise – if only a few pages at a time.

THESE LITTLE STARS OF MINE

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It’s one thing to talk about getting real but another to do it. I was readily led off into cyberspace first thing this morning. I was off again chasing others’ lives rather than my own. But it’s out of the way now (I hope). I’ll work on getting back into my own now.

The morning is as gloomy as can be. I’ll try to rise above my inertia and shine this little light of mine. I can’t sit and count others to do it for me. It has never happened. Why would it now? I better sit up and polish up my stars so they can twinkle and light up my world. I’ve folded up some laundry and a load is in the washer. Some ripe tomatoes are sorted, washed, bagged and in the freezer. The heavy traffic floors are vacuumed. I’m sipping my second cup of tea here, tapping out my thoughts and progress.

What I know for sure is it is difficult to be in the here and now. Seems like my natural inclination to drift anywhere but here. It feels uncomfortable to deal with whatever it is in front of me. I can’t quite understand it but that’s the thing. I don’t know about you, but I push it (whatever it is) aside, behind me – in avoidance. Not that it helps. I still have that uncomfortable, nagging, dreading feeling all the while.

I’m beginning to think all these feelings of avoidance and dread come from the habit of avoidance. It’s a well worn groove now and I need some muscle power to boost myself out. I’ve been spinning and spinning, tap and tapping about it all this time. I fall back in time after time. I need to tell a new story. I need new and better habits. I just have to start with one – now.

 

 

THE DAY AFTER MY YEAR

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IMG_8234The day after my year of doing different I am feeling quite crossed and unpleasant. I feel ugly meanness and not niceness oozing out of me. I decide that I would try to go into quietness and sit with it for awhile. Maybe I can befriend the feeling and see where it goes. I will try the newness of not fixing. It will be difficult, for I’m the fix-myself queen.

The tap tap on the keyboard has a soothing rhythm. I’m feeling and listening to the sound. It reminds me of Rhythm of the Falling Rain.

 

I hear the opening bar of thunder, then the cascading falling of the rain, the melody and simple lyrics. It’s pretty, it’s lovely. My body moves to the rhythm. My lips mouth the words. I am not stirring up more uglies in me.

The wrinkles in my mind are ironed out, the uglies and meanness recede. Only I had felt them. They are not my outerwear. They are not broadcast over loudspeaker system. I am not what I feel. I do not have to repent and do 50 hours of community work. I am saved from myself by myself. Hallelujah!

What I know for sure is the earth is round. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. It will do so every day unless we screw up and self destruct. What goes up must come down. I am not unique. Therefore I am not alone in my feelings. There are good habits and then there are bad habits. What I know for sure is I’ve strengthened my good ones during the 365 days of doing different. No matter how I feel, I get up, dress up and show up. It is a very good motto. Work it!

 

 

 

 

 

PAINTING MY WORLD – Day 175 in a year of…

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Day 175, January 17, 2017 @1:23 pm

img_9005My Tinker Bell and her fairy dust is still out. Now she is on her lunch break. I’m flying solo without a net. My only magic is my keyboard, a loyal and dependable friend. I might as well tap and breathe, tap and breathe while I wait for Tink to return. The going is slow but it’s better than at a standstill. My great, great ancestor did say that a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. I am stepping, finishing my White Snake/Tiger/Dragon maiden. She looks like she’s flying on a magic carpet. Maybe that is enough magic to keep me going.

img_9007I take comfort in making some progress with the beginnings of a little cherub. I can wait for elation to come later. Now the important thing is not to let feelings of inertia and despondency to weigh me down. Perhaps it is not good to dwell on this but it is necessary to know and acknowledge oneself. I am soothing and nurturing this part of me. I might as well use this energy for words and pictures. I like to paint my world with both these brushes – words and pictures.

A DIFFERENT STORY – Day 74 in a year of…

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Day 74, October 4, 2016 @10:00 am

img_7918Mornings are still dark at 7 am.  I’m slow at rising.  I’m slow at putting on my morning face and coming to the keyboard.  I diddle and daddle.  Finally I put on makeup, earrings.  I put on a pink sweater I haven’t worn in a coon’s age and some reasonable pants. Why do I wear the same ratty old clothes day in and day out when my closet is brimming with stuff?  Why don’t I wear a smile more often?  The answers could be as simple as habit and laziness.  It takes more energy to make choices than to go on auto pilot.  My habit has been to grab and don.

Habits and feelings have a habit of seeping back.  This morning I am quite aware of it.  I’m squirming with the discomfort of it all.  I pace, picking up a Kleenex and a napkin left here and there.  I gather some laundry to take downstairs to do. Remembering I haven’t checked the clutter in the basement for a few day, I cleared and discarded a few items.  When I can’t do big, I do little has become my mantra.

img_1628I’m finally here though, tapping on my keyboard.  The click, click beneath my fingertips are rhythmic and soothing.  Thoughts come and feelings come.  I’m pushing through the gloom and the mundane of this morning.  I see my glass/day full instead of empty.  I’m romancing myself with each tap, tap of the keyboard. I’m creating new thoughts, new habits and new views.  I’m telling a different story. What stories are you telling?

HOT SUMMER DAYS

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It’s not even 7 am yet.  The sun is out and it is already hot and humid.  I have already been awake since 4:30.  Too early to get out of bed.  Sheba is stretched out on the cool wooden floor at the foot of the bed.  She is stretching her boundaries.

At 6:00 I decided it was a waste of time staying in bed.  It would have been fine had I been content.  But I was not.  Such is life now and again.  Everything changes and this, too, shall pass.  So for now, I will stay and embrace it.  I can still tap out my words and feelings.  Perhaps I can free myself.

I padded out to the kitchen.  I hear Sheba retching and soon out came her breakfast, eaten in too big of a haste.  What a mess!   But she is lapping it all up again.  I turn my back and let her do her thing.  Sometimes you just have to.  Life can get like that.  I wipe the floor with damp paper towels.

I am tapping out my words on the deck.  The birds are chirping.  A crow cawed.  Sheba is at my feet listening.  The words are coming from my   fingertips.  What a blessing!  What a relief!  I can still make life work.  I try not to think too much.  I just try to move.

Yesterday we went for a long bike ride.  I pedaled with my heart in my mouth.  I pedaled with heart and metal.  I pedaled with success.  We celebrated with coffee at the Broadway Roastery.

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There was not enough tables with umbrellas.  We would sizzle under the hot sun.  So we moved Rod’s cargo bike under the shade of the trees and used it as a bench.  It was a lovely way of enjoying our coffee and watching the people come and go.  But I do think he need to add some pop up trays for our coffee.

So you can see that even not so great days are in reality great days.  It is in our minds and hearts to decide what they can be.  I try my best and that is all that I can do.  It is enough.

SUMMER TIME

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IMG_5235It is summer time and I am looking out the window at the greenest green.  It is ironic that I am feeling my bluest blue.  Beneath the blue I can feel my red anger bubbling through at the Power that made me this way.  But I suppose that HE has a reason.  That is what Caroline Myss says.  There are no accidents.  There is a plan, a story, a drama to be played out.  I will wait and see.

I will sit and stay with my feelings and not run away.  If I expect Sheba to listen to me, I have to listen to myself first.  Sit and stay.  Nothing will hurt me…. even when the clouds cast a shadow over me,  I feel my skin crawl and someone is walking over my grave.  Sit and stay.  Everything is copacetic…A okay!

I sit and count my blessings.  I sit and feel my discomfort, my pain.  I sit and do my breath counts. I sit and plan my projects, the books I will write…on my life and times as a child in China, as an immigrant in a small town, as a nurse, as a…… I breathe in and out, counting the cross stitches on my Jesus picture.  I see the loaves of bread and the potato biscuits I made yesterday.  I sit and see the joy running in Sheba and I know that there is a higher power and purpose and know that this, too, shall pass.

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And now, it is time to get up and MOVE…and do all those ordinary little things that add up to a life.