On the Dark Moon in Sagittarius and Cutting Through the Bullshit

Monday was the Dark Moon (or New Moon) in Sagittarius, the fire sign characterized a truth seeking wandering. It is also my natal moon (which I just found out I share with Trump which is probably the worst news I've ever, ever heard and which I'm going to ignore forever).

A little bit about Moons and Fire Signs.

The moon in the natal chart describes our inner life and emotions, and as the unguarded self its the part of us that is most instinctual, coming out strongly when we're either very relaxed or suddenly find ourselves in a moment of defense. Sagittarius' are firey, fighting, questing, and leaving. They are described as a sign to whom trust in the universe comes easy, who find answers in spirituality and religious pursuits, and act on those firey flashes of instincts and inspiration without much planning or thinking. This makes it directly opposite in many characteristics to my Sun in Taurus which explains a LOT about me. Like, a LOT.

Explore Explore

My favorite way to check in with what the planets are doing is to do a card reading, so I pulled out my deck and followed along to the spread created by @escapingstars over on instagram

The "arm" of the arrow is cards

1. "What part of the past holds me back?" Page of Wands
2. "What doubts and lies distract me and need to be addressed?" The Moon
3. "How can I learn from the past without getting lost?" 3 of Wands

The "arrow" of the arrow is
(the top two)
4. "What message does the universe have for me at this chaotic time?" King of Wands
5. "How can I best shed my self-consciousness and express my truth fully?" The World
(the bottom two)
6. "What will benefit from these new beginnings?" 5 of Cups
7. "What intentions should I set?" knight of Wands

And the point of the arrow is
8. "How can I harness this new moon's energy?" Ace of Swords/The Emperor

(Sometimes when I read I elevate the Ace, which is when anytime you draw an Ace you place it at the top and in this way it "hovers over" the whole spread, lending its energy to everything. So I elevated this Ace and drew The Emperor to take its place, but for some reason the Ace here just felt right, so they share that spot.)

The Wand suit is associated with the element of Fire, just like Sagittarius is a Fire sign, and here half the cards I've drawn are fire cards. Even the Emperor is a Fire card. I've even got the Moon card here. Basically, the cards showed UP for this reading.

Breaking it down(Disclaimer; I don't know who, if anyone, reads this. And this makes it very easy for me to turn it into a public journal of sorts. This is going to be kind of personal, trying to not be too personal, but anyways. Idk. It might be rambly)

1. "What holds me back?" Page of Wands.
The Court cards are sometimes used to symbolize people in our lives, and which court card it is will give you hints as to WHO it is, and Pages are typically someone younger. I often struggle when reading court cards. But here, I knew exactly who this was. A person in my life. Younger. And this is where we start attempting to vaguely discuss family strife without giving away any identifying details.

Why is it that we struggle so much when we are loving? Why is it that our family, our first community, the people we will know the longest, are the ones who wont return our calls?

There is one relationship in particular which has been keeping me up nights. I mean that really, I wake up three times a night thinking about it, and it keeps me awake, following each imagined thread of what their reasons could possibly be. I replay the times I asked for forgiveness, and I count up all the ways I know this forgiveness has not be given. Then I turn over my own pain in my head, the pain I was in when I caused this person hurt, and the pain I feel over their actions. I think about what its like to be held responsible for something I did ten years ago. And I'm exhausted. And its time to sort it out, and let it go.

2. "What doubts and lies distract me and need to be addressed?" The Moon.
The Moon is an anxiety card. It has positive meanings too, sure, but even those are brooding. It often is a card that shows up for me when I need to do some shadow work, when I've forgotten to keep my demons close and they've slipped out of sight. It is almost always a card of division, and here is the lie.
The lie is that we are separate. We are not.
These lies of separation withing my family, within myself, within my community and my world, even though they are lies, lead me to behave as if we were separate, behaving as if I was cut off from my self, my shadow, my family. So I guard myself. And I have imaginary arguments. And I weep as if my heart were broken, as if I'd lost everything. Because in a way, I have.
It is time to draw near, and to bind tight. It is time to stitch together and make a whole.

3. "How can I learn from the past without getting lost there?" 3 of Wands.
Her is a leaving card. The Sagittarius out, to quest and discover the truth. This is the journey. It is bright and well lit, skies are clear. The traveler stands tall, firmly grasping the staff. Instantly what came to my mind was a quote from a Dharma Talk I recently listened to given by Sallie Jiko Tisdale at the Dharma Rain Zen center here in Portland titled "Do Otherwise." This Dharma Talk was about the Buddhist confession ceremony, and how a Buddhist confesses, what to do when we stumble and hurt someone. The quote I thought of was this

"This is simply autobiography. I am here. I am this. I confess knowing I and only I have done this. And I confess knowing there is no I at all. It is said that confession is a non-dual act. It doesn't require another person. You don't confess TO another person. We just confess. But it doesn't require YOU either. It is life confessing to life. Emptiness confessing to emptiness. You know the phrase Buddha recognizes Buddha? Buddha confesses to Buddha. And repentance isn't to solve your problems. It is done for ALL beings. And in order to do it completely for all beings you have to completely do it for yourself. It requires acceptance and love for yourself, not leaving yourself out. And then we say "I now confess everything whole heartedly." We repent without asking for forgiveness. When you ask for forgiveness you give the power and the responsibility to somebody else. Buddhist repentance requires us to take completely responsibility for ourselves, not just for what happened, but for what's about to happen. So if you're waiting on someone else to forgive you so that you can feel better, you're not taking responsibility. Just stand up."
Just stand up. Stand in the truth. Yes I did that thing. I did it because I was hurting. No that's not an excuse. That page doesn't know my pain. That page may never acknowledge my pain. I take full responsibility for my confession and my forgiveness. I stand up.

4. "What message does the Universe hold at this chaotic time?" King of Wands.

Stay focused. Keep the fuse lit, stoke the fire. As The Mister so perfectly put it; Rise above the chaos.
The Wand suit has a very special element to it; the lizard. Lizards, much like snakes, live their lives with their bellies on the ground (or very near it, at least). In this manner they are creatures of connection to the earth, staying grounded, staying plugged into nature. The "lizard brain" is a term used to refer to the oldest part of the brain, the brain stem, the place responsible for all the primal instincts. This is the seat of emotion, addiction, and so forth. This is that shadow self I was saying I'm disconnected from. This is the wolf howling next to the domestic dog in the Moon card. This is the wild side. Keep it near and bind it tight. Stitch it together to make a whole. The King has his lizard close. So ought I to stay centered, grounded, tapped into that first part of me.

5. "How can I best shed my self-consciousness and express my truths fully?" The World.
The Mister had input for this one as well, saying "You're already in victory. Keep it up." I'll take it.

6. "What will benefit from these beginnings?" 5 of Cups.
One of the more dismal looking cards in the deck, it isn't a doomsayer, rather its a wake up call regarding our perspectives, our grief process. What good will come of this? By letting go, by taking responsibility for before, now, and later, I will experience a new perspective, fresh and positive. I'm ready.

7. "What intentions should I set for this cycle?" Knight of Wands.
It's the final stretch of school, the nights are long and the dreariness of the 5 of Cups bogs me down. Yesterday I told The Mister my brain feels like mud. Well now more than ever is time to manifest energy and motion. Time to kick it up to a rolling boil!

8. "How can I best harness this new moon energy?" The Ace of Swords/The Emperor.
I have a tumultuous relationship with the Emperor, but after all this fire and motion the Taurus in me was happy to see a staunch (s t a u n c h) card like this. It makes sense to me.

There's a story I read in a Thich Nhat Hanh book called "The Heart of the Buddha's Teaching" thought I think this story is pretty universal. A man on a galloping horse came charging into town. The towns people shouted "Hey! Where are you going?" The man, already past, shouted behind him "I don't know! Ask the horse!"

The energy of all those wands in such a wandering sign has the potential to be very much like that story. The best way to harness this energy is to keep both hands on the reigns, keep both eyes on the road, and have my GPS set to audio alerts so I have an idea of whats coming and what I need to do about it. The Emperor is dense, like rocks, and in control.

What does this look like in practicality? Making lists. Get a schedule going, start a few routines. And wake up that sleeping militant inside me. I've kept her sedated because I fear her. But now I see I need her. Its time we learn to work together, because is the only one who can help me stay on course, keep this schedule and routine.

The Ace or Swords is a tool that cuts right through bull shit. There can be no lies nearby. Now is not the time for mincing words, or for sparing feelings. (this doesn't mean being careless and hurtful; there is a palm of peace hanging from that crown after all.) This card says my job is not to coddle right now. My job is to stay firmly and un-apologetically plugged into the core truth at all times.

Hello, who ever you are, who is reading this. May you, too, remain plugged into the core truth of you. Of us. May you, too, have the confidence of The World to take responsibility, to love yourself fully, to accept yourself fully, and to just stand up. And as always, thank you, whoever you are, for reading.

-A.H.

November, your voice is a flute.

Its a new month. Its the best month.

Its odd that for me, a spring baby, the deep autumn-that-is-almost-winter is the most important time of year for me. Its full of unique energies, and I make good use of them. Its a time for getting down to brass tacks and into the heart of the matter. This is the shedding time in the cycle of regeneration and rebirth. Just like snakes shed their old skin and crabs crawl out of shells that no longer suit them, the trees shake loose their leaves and flowers trim themselves back to the root bulb. There is often talk of dormancy, but I don't think its dormancy that dominates this time of year. It is waiting yes, but a useful, productive waiting. There is ruminating, germinating, rehabilitating, and rest. This is when the roots and branches and birds really get to spend their time thinking. I imagine them holed up with good books and warm lamps glowing, keeping out the cold and finally free of the burden of making and raising young.

(Not to mention that now is the time of year that the crows move to my block. Hoards of them come in with the sunset and crowd together on roof tops and in the bare trees, silent and still as stones, standing watch. And the leaves on the hill have begun to smolder, and this is what I watch when I write to you, or when I do my homework.)

I've begun a new tarot challenge. Having hopped on board a few days late I'm playing catch up, and so today I'm doing the spread for the 3rd of November, who's prompt was simply "Shadow".

Sometimes I jump unceremoniously into readings. But there are some questions, and some journeys, which we know will go deeper and into darker places, and these require a bit more preparation. Descending down, gingerly over rocks and under earthly ceilings into the still air of musty roots, you will need smoke, you will need fire, and you will need mindful breath.

Lighting my candle, I bathed in lavender smoke for a few moments before I fanned out my cards. This prompt comes at an opportune time. My shadow self has been particularly active of late (I've written a bit about it already) and its been a real effort to keep myself afloat. The best response to a looming Shadow is to walk right up to it and ask "What do you need?"

But this is careful work. My Shadow Self comes in the shape of a small girl child, my inner child, shut away in the past by PTSD, phobias, eating disorders, and loneliness. So it doesn't do to go charging into the dark corners and demanding answers or obedience. I don't think Shadow Selves of any age or sort respond to that approach, but I could be wrong. A more tender approach, slower and deliberate, is required. Here's that smoke, here's that breath. So I fan out my cards and place my hand over my heart. And I inhale. And I exhale. And I ask, sweet and soft as Lavender smoke, "What do you need?"

The Sun, 2 of Wands, and the runes Nauthiz and Wunjo.

What does my Shadow self need? Attention, apparently.

This is an almost endearing response. Or it would be, if Shadows weren't known for fucking your shit up. While I talk often of this topic and use words like tenderness, mindfulness and understanding, its important that we understand the power involved here. I think of my eating disorder and my shadow self and my inner child as all the same thing. Merging them helps me manage them and maintain a sort of adult "inchargeness" over my compulsions. But even as an incharge adult, I have to admit I'm frightened by this girl child, however "merely conceptual" she is. There's a reason why scary child ghosts are put in horror movies for adults; they're deceptively small, but having lived for an untold number of decades, they're stronger and meaner than you'd think. A combination difficult to overcome. If you want a picture of what this interaction looks like when it goes wrong, picture Elastic Heart. A very small, very scary person who pops up and wrecks havoc.

Another very scary thing pops up and wrecks havoc is an eating disorder. Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of all mental illness. I once compared it to Gollum and the One Ring; its the thing that you love which kills you, and it cares not; it wants your life, and it will undo your connection to reality as well as your very humanity to get it.

When looking at The Sun in light of all this, it could be interpreted as an almost comical or maybe even a deceptive response. But I don't think so. When we follow this disorder to its deepest root, what we find more often than not is a child, wounded.

This is an image before the Sun was blotted out; her first and truest nature. Free, innocent, greeting the world with a gleeful warmth. She's bursting forth in rays of light and flowers in their fullest bloom while the 2 of Wands looks on.

So what does my Shadow self need? Attention. But lets pause, that needs some more thought; there's good attention, and bad attention, and children who aren't shown good attention will seek both without distinction. So how I can I give what is needed in a healthy, productive way?

I pulled Nauthiz from the pile of runes waiting in my lap. It is an image of two sticks rubbing together to make a fire. This rune has a lot to say about struggle, resistance, and constraint. It talks of hard effort and the force of growth. What it also says to me is "patience" and "understanding". In an tired voice its telling the tale of how the Shadow got here, and reminding me to be kind.

I then pulled Wunjo; Joy. A rune that has been showing up often for me, and a most welcome sight. Wunjo is Joy, Harmony, correct application of will, contentment, hope, family, bonding, trust. "It wards off woe and sorrow so that abundant gifts of the multiverse have no trouble bestowing themselves on you." "In Wunjo we find harmonious energies characteristic in functioning families." "Wunjo reduces alienation by broadcasting love into the human energy field."

This is what I can give her. As an adult I have access to all these things, because as an adult I can correctly apply my will and make these beautiful elements part of my reality. It is this that is being handed to that small baby on horseback.

This idea of multi-generational, multi-dimensional healing isn't a new concept. Its one that's been hard at work in Buddhist psychology for ages. Thich Nhat Hanh writes about it, saying "If we take one mindful step, we take it for our ancestors who have come before us, and those who will come after us. If we take one mindful breath, then they breathe with us." Another particularly pertinent passage comes from his book Touching Peace;

"When we touch our pain with mindfulness, we will begin to transform it. When a baby is crying in the livingroom, his mother goes in right away to hold the baby in her arms. Because mother is made of love and tenderness, when she does that, love and tenderness cover the baby and, in only a few minutes, the baby will probably stop crying. Mindfulness is the mother who cares for our pain every time it begins to cry. ... When pain is in the basement, you can enjoy many refreshing and healing elements of life by producing mindfulness. Then when the pain wants to come upstairs, you can turn off your walkman, close your book, open the livingroom door, and invite your pain to come up. You can smile to it and embrace it with mindfulness, which has become strong. If fear, for example, wishes to come up, don't ignore it. Greet it warmly with your mindfulness. "Fear, my old friend, I recognize you." If you are afraid of your fear, it may overwhelm you. But if you invite it up calmly and smile at it in mindfulness, it will loose some of its strength. After you have practiced watering the seeds of mindfulness for a few weeks, you will be strong enough to invite your fear to come up anytime, and you will be able to embrace it with your mindfulness. It may not be entirely pleasant, but with your mindfulness you are safe."-Thich Nhat Hanh, Touching Peace.

I appreciate the fact that he says "probably stop crying". Any of us who have cared for babies, even if for just a short time, know that this isn't always the case. Sometimes it takes hours and some pretty inventive measures to get babies to quiet down. Mostly it takes an intuitive listening to what is needed. But with patience, and love, and understanding, it happens.

I also appreciate the cautions Thay shares, saying that only once we've strengthened our mindfulness through meditating daily on joyful things can we bravely and skillfully invite our pain and fear to sit with us and be transformed. Its a wise piece of counsel.

I go back to the cards and take a loot at them, because I always wonder what I can do in actuality. These are nice concepts and ideas, but what can I do in a physical, material way to facilitate this healing? Wands are the suit of creative energy, creative fire. Practically speaking, maybe its time to explore and express myself in a creative way, beyond the cerebral sphere of words. Perhaps its time to paint a picture, create some happy trees for my wall.

Here's to hoping you find the sun, even in your November shadow.
-A.H.

The Mountain

My first exposure to the concept of walking meditation was reading Thich Nhat Hanh's book Being Peace. The idea is that you don't have to sit lotus and watch a flame (but you can) and you don't have to chant om's (but you can) and you don't have to have a bell or a special cushion or an extra room. Anything we do can be a meditation, even dishes (though I have yet to master this one). Walking meditation is probably the easiest way to work mindfulness into your daily life. Simply by being present, by knowing this moment of our foot on this spot of earth, by taking a step and knowing that we are taking a step, that is the key to mindfulness. Its ridiculously simple and actually pretty difficult sometimes, especially when we're running late and out of sorts. For me, the work is worth it. The mantra "I have arrived" is never far from me (i wrote it under the clock in my car, stitched it to my sneekers) and helps me to remember that this moment (now) is my home.

But as I said, some times are harder than others.

In life we have joy, and we suffer. Sometimes the suffering can feel like a slow degrading, or a gradual tightening.Sometimes we can point to the suffering as it approaches like a sand storm on the horizon, we can use its hue to guess its source, we can turn the cups and bowls upside down. But then sometimes the suffering comes all at once, like an avalanche. Its always from the mountain we weren't watching, leaving a familiar landscape altered. Trees groan under new and sudden weight.

What follows the furry is the white white sea of sudden silence, and in this silence is the unexpected gift. We are left with two choices; We can let our brokenness make us bitter, or we can let our brokenness make us soft. The sadness can drown or it can dig a well. Wells are useful. Wells give life.

Didn't Rumi say to train our eyes upon the broken place, as this is where the light enters? A broken heart will usher in a sudden and complete summer. Even after the first frost there are butterflies and singing birds. There's iced tea. I've become preoccupied with things that become better once their broken; the precious shells of seeds and eggs. I'm mending now with gold and bright thread. Green bursts through the cracks, moats of sparkling dust swirl in the empty space.

Choosing this lightness over bitterness is dynamic. And most of the time I am swimming somewhere between the two shores, seeking one, but being pulled by the tide to the other. Each emotion passes through my heart, like the night and the day. Like waves on the shore. Its okay, I tell myself. Let them come, and go. Take each moment one at a time, carefully lest I drown or become crystallized, like the salt birds in Lake Natron.

When we began our climb up Dog Mountain, I was still in a mostly grateful place of answered prayer, in awe of miracles witnessed. But after about half a mile, after two days without sleep or much food, my gratefulness faded into a kind of Super Anger, the kind that could tear a house down. Even as my heart pounded I could feel it harden. Crystalline corners took shape at the edge of my arteries. I counted their spires while the Avalanche traversed the mountain with a carefree ease. My Super Anger turned to a Rampant Envy, which is worse. Anger can be a driving force, a vital fuel, but Envy is just poison.

So what could I do? I sat down and gave in. I verbally acknowledged that there was nothing I could do. There is an undeniable freedom in knowing "its not you", but there is also a helplessness; when you can change nothing to make things better, you can do nothing to make things better. Suddenly everything is in the hands of the Avalanche. Trees groan, their limbs snap and echo across the mountain. Sudden silence under the weight (the wait).

So now get up. Train your eye upon the broken place. Watch the new light drift in and transform the patch of earth. It was barren and dark. Now rain drifts in and sun, now seeds sprout, bees and butterflies visit. Now life. This is why they say to count it all joy I guess.

Avalanches melt. They say nice things sometimes and you realize that maybe some avalanches didn't mean to be avalanches, they meant to be a pleasant drift of snow, and things just got away from them. They tell you to take your time and let you walk ahead. You will laugh and make jokes about an old tree stump that is a forest palace, and the Fallen Log Apartment Complex where the Forest Queen's subjects live.

The Dog Mountain trail is not a long hike. Its a little over six miles total, but it is a swift climb up to 2800 elevation, and that's what gets you. Its difficult, and its very beautiful. The trail begins with oaks and passes into predominantly conifer forest with a few stubborn maples waiting for their turn in the sun. In the early spring the mountain is lit ablaze with wildflowers; by now, late summer, there were only a few late bloomers left. It was so green and quiet. It doesn't take long for one to hike above the sound of traffic below, into the wind in the pines that sounds so much like the ocean. I took slow steps, even paces, maintaining the same speed whether I was on flat ground or uphill. With each step I said to myself "here." "now." I kept my eye on the crack. I let the ache in my lungs be the sorrow that would dig its well. And I climbed.

Traditionally humans go to certain places on this planet for certain reasons. We go to the river to pray. We go to the ocean to heal. We go to the desert to petition. And we climb tall mountains to receive.

I wasn't looking for anything in particular. I was simply cracked open. Listening to the ocean in my heart, like a cockle shell.

The wind was strong that day. It picked up every time I said I was hot. It was always at my back, like a gift of cool encouragement. High above my head the whole forest swayed together in a generous dance, maple leaves fanned and caught the light. While we rested I pressed my cheek against an old Doug Fir, so tired I didn't even wonder about spiders. I let my feet grow roots which made friends with Doug and the mycelium. Elijah was fed by the ravens, I by forest spores and sunlight.

It was here in this sun-lit land-ocean of the swaying forest that the word "Conspire" came to me, and kept coming to me. Like a song stuck in my head, almost audible.

Conspire comes from the Latin word "conspirare" meaning "to breathe together". Sunlight and wind. Ancient water in deep wells. Co-conspirators. Everything conspires together for my greatest good. Take a wild leap and trust that.

The summit was truly beautiful, burnt a white golden in the latent summer sun, now setting broadly over the Coastal ranges. The wind swept over us powerfully and we had to plant our feet to avoid being knocked over. The Avalanche and the Tree met in an embrace on the side of the mountain and let the warm sun wash over them. Melting, the avalanche learned he could feel, and the tree was watered. We ate a dinner of tamales and coconut water and felt the good ache of hard effort. Tiredness, earned.

The descent was a race against the setting sun, but a loosing one, and by the mid point of the mountain my knees had reduced me to a hobble and I settled on the realization that Oh wow I'm not getting younger and I should probably be taking care of my body in a way that means I can use it well for the rest of my life and lets start with these knees.

What would meet me at the base of the mountain? More swimming between shores, carrying dueling realities in my heart. A heart full of heavy questions. But a heart also full of the light, and the wind, and the melting, and the ability to trust my co-conspirators always at my side. This is how we go on, how we reach the top and go back down again, one moment at a time. Here. Now.

This was a more thank worth while hike, and one that I plan to do again and again. Should you endevour to go, and you should, assess your abilities and allow for time to take breaks. You probably want to start by 10 (we started at two, and hiking down in the dark wasn't the most awesome) and bring plenty of snacks and water. And make sure your camera batter is charged, or else the photo's you take at the summit will have to be with your cell phone.

Thank you, whoever you are, for reading.
-A.H.

Its all just happening.

[When last we spoke I shared about winding myself up to the tearing point over phrases like "good enough" and "less than" and "graaaades". I've been ruminating over these same threads for the last two weeks, taking each one and tenderly reweaving myself back together.]

Much of this work is happening on the banks of the Columbia River, surrounded by Cottonwood riparian forests and an Ospry crying in circles above the shore line. Giant boats and little boats come and then go, a surge of waves that deepen and fade.

I revisited my question with The Mister on a shore such as this, the sun deeply sunken behind the trees, their long shadows brushing our shoulders and dipping into the river, making ripples.

"How does one celebrate something without becoming attached to it?"

I began to repeat myself, as I often do when I am working through something. Because how do we get over something? A series of steps, that's how. No one has ever scaled the entire mountain in one bound. Baby steps get on the bus.

But this time, I was reaching a break through. A kind of bend in the road that would open suddenly upon a clearing with a shock of bright sun and deer in a meadow. A stretch of even road after a long uphill climb. A game changer.

Yes, for the little girl who cried over math and who treated it as her greatest shame, it was important to celebrate these good grades. But what was more important was to tell her that those grades don't matter. I realized I'd been indulging my inner child, and it was time instead to be the adult. And not just any adult, but an adult who's experienced healing. It was time to put my healing into practice; each mindful breath we take we take not only for ourselves, but for our ancestors, and for the ancestors to come. This practice is like time travel; this is how I heal that little girl and myself and those to come.

I wept as it slowly dawned on me, People floating on rafts and reaching into coolers politely averted their gaze. Not only is the end result not the goal, but it is a myth. There is only now. My only job is to show up and do the work. And in being careful not to judge the quality of that work. Anytime I find myself assigning "quality words" to an effort, I need to stop, breathe, and let it float away. In this way I can rid myself of the expectations of perfect. Step by step, practicing.

Because of this struggle I thought it would be a good idea to revisit Astrology for the Soul by Jan Spiller. This book is like therapy, like someone looked into my heart of hearts and told me everything about myself and didn't shy away from the harsh truths either. For me, as Pisces north node, a lot of what Spiller talks about is a pressure for perfection (surprise surprise). Reading this on the shoreline I found a phrase that would again move me to tears

It says "Nothing is wrong: everything is just 'happening'". The waves come and they go. Mistakes are made and we learn. Surrender and find freedom.

Thank you for reading.
-A.H.

Infinite enough.

I'm not certain when I learned this, how to cling to perfection with the iron grip of survival.

Maybe it was the first time the truancy officers knocked on our door and our parents had to explain what might happen if the "authorities" thought we were missing school (enter threat of lawsuits, legal action, foster care). Maybe it was the seventh time. Maybe it was all that hiding, shades drawn, calls screened, friends never invited overt, the incessant questioning of well meaning relatives. I don't know when, but at some point it became clear to me that my survival and safety became fused with my ability to impress adults with my smarts. Every moment was a performance. See how poised I am? See how well I can converse with adults? See how my education and socialization is in no way being neglected?

It was in this way that I survived.
I performed my way right through the years when my education did in fact begin to suffer. I watched the gap between what I knew and what my friends knew grow and deepen, and along with it my nerves and sense of inadequacy. But I was so good no one noticed. Having become a skilled pretender I took this skill and applied it to other areas of my life, tricking people out of their questions. See how I don't count calories? I don't have an eating disorder. See how I have a crush on some arbitrary boy? I'm not in love with my best friend. Watch me convince you why its okay that I can't leave my house.

No one noticed a thing.

This performance of perfection did keep me and my brother safe, out of foster care, and out of harms way. And to be honest, family in crisis probably would not have handled my eating disorder very well. And conservative christian community is not the nicest place to come out. But isn't this is how it often works; unhealthy patterns develop because they serve us in some way. The trouble comes when they no longer do, when you're left with an unhealthy pattern, deeper and more established then ever.

Coming to terms with my inability to be perfect has been a long practice.
It began with changing my language. I learned the phrase "I'm doing my best and I'm not attached to the outcome." Repeat without ceasing, like a prayer. It worked right away and I'm not exaggerating. A profound stillness entered my body. I found myself able to make mistakes without falling to pieces, and even when those around me didn't exactly support this (a boss falling to pieces, for example, over a mistake) I remained centered. Soon my performance at my job improved; rather than devoting all my energy and brain power to ~*being perfect*~ I just did my job.

"I'm doing my best and I'm not attached to the outcome".
It's a wonderful little mantra that isn't so little.

I'm doing my best and I'm not attached to the outcome.
Its an "easy" enough practice when one makes a mistake. To be truthful, you could just say "Oh I wasn't attached to that anyway" dust yourself off and be done. But as it turns out it's a far more difficult practice when one does well.

Bring us up to the present tense.

My straight A's have put me on the Presidents List for three terms now.
How does one celebrate an accomplishment without attachment? Turns out I hadn't figured it out as well as I thought I had.

It took me awhile to celebrate. It took me awhile to tell anyone.
But soon it became something I treasured in my heart like a gem. For the little girl who cried over math, for the woman who cried over math, now carrying A's in math, this was an important celebration. Tests pinned to the fridge with the best magnets. This was a mile stone.

So when did it become a millstone?
I'd become attached. Old threads were pulled. Survival. Panic.

Twice in a term, a team project went awry. Twice I met with my professor and twice was given second chances. Twice I wasn't perfect. The gem turned to stone in the pit of my stomach. Sleeplessness became the new norm. When I did finally sleep, stress dreams roused me every few minutes. I dreamt I was sending species lists to Seven of Nine on a Data stream that kept overloading. I dreamt that when it did finally reach her, she handed it back curtly; "Insufficient." I failed the presentation because I didn't truly care for the plants in the hydroponics bay (see the theme? I just finished Star Trek Voyager). Neelix shrugged and said, not unkindly, "I guess you just didn't get it."

I had wound myself too tight trying to bend into shapes no one asked me to get into.
I feared the loss of my "A", sure, but I feared being seen as "not perfect" more than anything else.

But there it was, right in my face, over and over; I was not perfect.
And I was angry at being found out.

I even had a twitter meltdown about it.
I hollered well under the 140 character limit that I was "Going for a walk!"

A long, hard walk. Fast with the wind in my face. I met my love in the park when his shift was over. He had been saving nickles and surprised me with tea. The neighborhood team was playing a game* on the diamond and we watched from under the Ash trees. The grass itched our ankles but we didn't even mention it because the sky was so blue.

I came back with some thoughts.
The first: I work hard. Life is short. I've got big things and I've got little things.
The second: Its okay if I get a "less than perfect" grade.
The third: what is perfection but an illusion, and what could possibly be "less than" in a universe of such infinite enough?
The conclusion: Experience, and do so without judgement or praise.
I'm doing my best and I'm not attached to the outcome. Good or Bad. Because what do those words even mean?

What a sentence to end on;-P

[Here's a picture we took in the park. How'd we get so cute?]

If you're there, thank you for reading.
-A.H.


* that game was basically baseball with a dodge ball and I can NOT remember the name of it!

Tea meditation; thinking about the simple things.

Today has been lovely.

Saturday morning crept in under clouds and fog, barely announcing her sunlight. We woke late and barely got a chance to say good morning before Marcos rushed off to work. In spite of this harried start, my morning was slow and luscious. While the coffee brewed I rolled out my mat and did a few rounds of sun salutes to ring in the new day. It felt good to move and stretch. It felt, in a way, like meeting my body for the first time. Joints creaked who used to be silent, muscles that used to move, didn't. I thought, that this is the goal, to great my body every day anew, acknowledging it as an ever changing, growing thing.

Taking my mug and a blanket round my shoulders, I meditated. That sounds so stilted, "I meditated." Id rather say "I breathed." Up till now I've been consciousness of the mindfulness principles, and my focus has been on being present in all things. I try to apply this when I'm doing dishes, cleaning the litter box, driving in rushour on the I-5. I have come to the conclusion, however, that to attempt to integrate this practice without first setting aside time to really JUST practice is hard. Its hard to be mindful while scooping a stinky cat box. Its hard to be mindful when someone cuts you off. I need to set aside a time where I can just meditate; I need to reset my baseline.

I've been reluctant to do this. Mainly because it, also, is difficult. It involves waking up earlier. Which will probably mean that I, instead of my husband, will be the one to have to run downstairs and pay for parking in the morning. I've been reluctant because I'm lazy. I'm think I should, probably, I guess, challenge that. Today was my first day challenging that. It was great.

After all this I met up with a friend and we walked in the mist and drizzle to the Lan Su Gardens. We meandered through various covered walks and mahogany alcoves and oohed and aahed at interesting rock formations and Japanese maples without their leaves. We pondered at mystery water plants and, as textile fanatics, swooned over the patterns made with rocks and moss in the different courtyards.  Almost bewildered, we kept commenting on how everything was beautiful and new from every angle. The gardens were not sparse, they were spacious. There was breathing room. Every plant and stone had its moment in the spotlight, without any need to compete.

This one ^^ was called "Plum Blossoms on Cracked Ice.

I couldn't find the title for this courtyard, but it made me
feel like church, or sanctuary. Without the baggage.

We ordered tea without ceremonies, which I somewhat
regret at this point. I sipped a green tea who's aroma is rather
floral, and it is said that is thanks to the cimbidium orchids
that grow round the trees in the spring time. I've never felt fancier.
April ordered Frozen Summit. It was either that, or fire dragon, she
said. A few nights ago she dreamt of the word "fortitude" and he tea
options were fitting of this word, that dream, I think.

The tea house was the tallest building in the gardens, full of windows
who's shutters were cut with elaborate twining vines and knots. It was not
quiet. It was rather full of people discussing their tea choices, of boisterous
children who, while being officially welcomed, had spent the whole morning
in a place not really organized for their little feet and big energies. But it
felt quiet. The room sounded well lit and like dark wood. It sounded slow.
Time got away from us, and halfway through tea April had to dash to work.
I finished her Oolong and ordered myself some cakes. I drank our tea slowly.
I breathed slowly. I chewed slowly. I was in the moment and no where else.

The walk home was brisk, in pace and temperature. My body felt good, lungs
and heart both capable. I felt space inside my body. That rarely happens.
This has been like the long stretch of blank highway, and suddenly coming
across the marker that you've been waiting for; you're on the right road, you didn't
take a wrong turn at the gas station.

Something touched me deeply here. Perhaps it was the simplicity and the ornateness, both occurring simultaneously without contradicting or overwhelming each other. Or maybe it was the spaciousness of the gardens, the luxury of breathing room afforded every tree and shrub and stone. Something felt familiar and distant. I am incoherent in explaining it, and yet there is no other way to explain it.

Walking home I repeated over and over "Peace is every step." I knew, without dwelling, that things had changed. I have too many things, and nothing can breathe, I knew. I've begun putting this in boxes. I've routed the way to shelters and worthy causes. I know I have been blessed beyond measure. I know I will always have what I need, so I don't need to hoard these blessings. I can let them come, then I can let them go. So I will let them go, like water into soil, like dandelion spores on the wind, with wild abandon.

-A.H.

(an aside, peace is every step is a reference to Thich Nhat Hanh's book with the same title.)