i was one of those people who went to so see "eat, pray, love" in the theatres, and cried through the whole thing. no, i didn't read the book. but, i probably will...it's on the list of books to buy during my next buying spree at half-price books. ryan and i talked about the movie, as did jackie and i, before i saw it. i knew parts of it were going to be smug. i knew parts of it were going to be trite. i knew parts of it were going to be sweet enough to give me a cavity. but i pluncked down my shekels, and watched it.
i watched it after i woke up from that weird dream i told you about, the one with the guy in the hare krisna robes. i'm serious when i tell you that i started crying during the credits. i am embarassed to admit that. i think the whole world is comfortable with me being a crier, except for me. i hate crying. HATE IT. i don't care that it's a normal response, or that crying actually releases endorphins and chemicals that make you feel better. i don't care that my eyes turn a totally different and kind of awesome color after i've cried. i don't even care that i usually feel better after a good cry. i also feel better after i throw up, when i'm sick. and i hate to throw up worse than i hate to cry. also, i almost always cry when i throw up. double hate.
so, there i was, sitting in a theatre, surrounded by other crying assholes, there with boyfriends (most of whom were probably there under protest, hoping that by going to such a femme movie, they would get a little something-something in return), husbands, sisters, mothers, significant others, etc. the overwhelming majority of the audience were female. and the sniffing noises started about five minutes into the picture.
let me be honest...this movie was pretty smug, on lots of levels. if i were being paid to write a book on self-discovery, i'd probably be pretty pleased with myself, as well. but you guys, there was something so familiar about the story, so reassuring about the questions this woman was asking herself and the universe, so encouraging to see her pray, even though she wasn't sure what to pray for, or to.
tangent:
i read a ton of my old blog posts last week. what a head trip...and some of the comments were hilarious. some of them really irritated me, too. i came across this one comment, on a post i wrote in 2005, from an anonymous poster. they asked me how it felt to be a martyr turned philosopher. that seriously pissed me off. and i'm not sure why. part of it felt true, at the time. part of it still feels true, today. but it hurt my feelings, too. a martyr is not something i've ever wanted or aspired to be, not for anything. and i was seriously offended that someone would imagine that what i was writing was anywhere on par with philosophy. this is just some dumb blog, written by a girl trying to figure out what this life looks like, how it feels, all the way out to the edges. and it's an honest expression of my angst, my excitement, my worldview, my theology and cosmology, my memories, my justifications, my experience. it seemed like a cheap shot. it still seems like a cheap shot. i don't like what that person said. and i certainly don't like how what they said effected me. in the final analysis, i don't consider myself a martyr, and i certainly don't pretend to be a philosopher. i'm a student of this life, nothing more.
back on track:
after the movie was over (talk about a totally predictable ending...wtf?), i cried some more in the car. there was a point in the movie, where the main character talks about words, what words describe things, people, etc. this discussion occurs around a dinner table, with beautiful people eating beautiful food, talking about which word most accurately describes themselves, the cities they know and love, etc. i thought and thought and thought about that. i love words. i love what you can do with words. i love the right words at the right times about the right things. there is nothing better than saying exactly what you want to say about something. nothing.
i spent the rest of the night trying to figure out what word describes me best. we each have a collection of words that would describe us down to the molecules in our bodies. some of the words are nice. no doubt, a few of them aren't too nice, though. but what word describes you, encapsulates the essence of who you are? can you really boil it down to one thing? i turned that over and over and over in my head. for days. weeks. months. last week, my word hit me.
distiller. i distill. that's what i do. all i had to do to find it was go back through and read my blogs, my journals, old letters, notes i make in the margins of books, reflect on conversations, write a couple of new songs, retune all the instruments in the house, clean out the cat-box, and get the hell over my own martyrdom/philosophic b.s. to do it. once i gave myself the right word, so many things made so much more sense. distilling takes a long time. distilling is about extracting the most potent and essential parts of something, so that the resulting substance can be shared and distributed and consumed. distilling is an art and a science. it can be deadly, too. it's a big responsibility, and you have to be fully invested in every step along the way, otherwise everything can be ruined, and no product is produced. there are no insignificant steps. nothing is wasted. i love that.
distiller.
mil besos,
rmg
10 November 2010
05 November 2010
just hear those sleigh bells...
Well, as the words to my favorite secular holiday song go, "And so this is Christmas…and what have you done?"
Are you ready? Are you freaking out? Are you whining?
When I go visit my brother and his family, the older nephew and I get to go out on our own, and do our thing. Our thing consists of going to the "train store", which to normal people is just a regular big-box toy store, with a scary giraffe as the mascot. I'm sure you know the one I'm talking about. Anyway, the five year old nephew could care less about the other toys in the store…he only has eyes for trains, especially blue ones that are named after certain doubting Disciples. He is obsessed. He's had to be escorted out of the store, several times, by his parents…literally kicking and screaming. This kid LOVES, LURVES, LUUUUHUUUUHUVES, trains. He is, hands down, the easiest person in my family for whom to buy gifts.
I remember the first time we went to the train store, on our own, to pick out a new train. My brother pulled me aside and told me to call him if things got ugly. I looked at him like he'd gone crazy…and just nodded my head, remembering that small children are highly volatile and toys to kids are like chum in the water to sharks. I started to feel like I might not want to do this thing, after all. But I had promised. And I refuse to break promises, especially not to small children who look like me.
The nephew actually gave me directions to the store, from his backseat. As I pulled in, parked, and turned off the car, I turned around to look at the blue-eyed cherub. "Bilbo, we are going to go shop for a new train, buddy. I want you to remember something. We are going to share at the play table. And when it's time to leave, we are not going to whine or freak out. Ok? Now, what are we going to remember? " "We are gonna sare at the pway table. And we ah NOT going to whine or fweak out." And so, we got out of the car, and ventured into the gaping maw of the toy store. I felt like I might throw up.
Thirty minutes later, we came out of the store, all smiles, with our new "twain", and no tears. I was amazed. I felt like I must be the kid-whisperer, or something. As the nephew exclaimed over his present in the back seat, telling the new twain about all the other twain fwiends back da the house, I realized something. I was not magic. No, the success of the trip had to do with factors that were beyond my child-charming (bribery). We prepared ourselves for the trip. We knew what we were going to get. We were realistic about what the trip might look like. We hoped for the best, and were willing to be surprised by success.
That's nothing like what Christmas and present buying is like for most of us. At all. We do a lot of freaking out. We do a lot of whining. We forget to be realistic about our expectations for giving and receiving. And sometimes, on our not-so-great days, we have to be lead kicking and screaming away from the experience that should be nothing short of awesome. We are not willing to be surprised, and failure is an excuse for another glass of egg-nog or a bloody Mary.
The nephew and I have made several subsequent visits back to the twain store. There have been no fweak outs, no whining, no kicking and scweaming. There have been good conversations in the car, many questions asked and answered, and the bond between us grows stronger and stronger. I wonder what it would look like if you and I applied the principles of the twain store to Christmas, to time with our families, to giving and receiving gifts? I bet Christmas would be less whiny and freaky for all of us.
My prayer is that you and your families and your friends share a marvelous Advent and Christmas season, without whining or freak –outs, without fights over the train table, and with the full and incredible knowledge that a very small person, born very long ago, loves you, saves you, is coming back for you, and thinks you are the most wonderful gift in the world.
Mistletoe Kisses, and Candy Cane Wishes...
mil besos,
rmg
27 October 2010
eureka...
i was driving to the old lady high rise, like i do every other wednesday, to take them the HoCo, thinking about the rant i posted this morning, and convincing myself not to pull it down. i self-edit a lot, publically and privately. the things i don't say about how i'm feeling or what i'm thinking might suprise you, sometimes. then again, when i think about the handful of people who actually read this mess, i realize that none of this really ever suprises you. in fact, there are one or two of you who probably know what i'm going to write about before i actually write it. scary, but true.
anyway, on my way to the HoCo, i realized that the antsy feeling, this feeling of not knowing what the deuce is happening, all the angst and the "what does it all mean" boils down to one thing. i've never been anywhere for this long, in my entire adult life. and it scares the shit out of me. four years...a whole presidential term...four years is substantive. four years is not accidental or incidental. four years is a chunk of serious time. i've never done this before. and while it's nice to feel settled...it's also scary to feel this way. there are so many things i still want to do and see and experience. there are days when i worry that being in one place too long will numb me, will lull me into submission and complacency, will quiet the fire inside my head and heart. and the biggest question of all...when will the bottom fall out, the wheels come off, the shit hit the fan? i'm not saying that the worst always happens, i'm just saying that the pattern in my life is such that i have a hard time with relaxing into the salad days, the days of grace...and i know that is something i will struggle with, trusting G-d in the midst of the good days, not holding so tightly to the good of the now that i squeeze the life right out of it.
it was hard to maintain composure in the car today, on my way to see the old gals. i really just wanted to go back to my office, shut the door, and cry. seriously you guys, i know some of this is stage of life stuff, but the other part of it is hormones. pure and simple. i used to think i was going crazy, and then i started charting my moods, crying jags, etc. it all equated to...you guessed it...the flight of the cardinal. it's hard to argue with the red ink on the calendar. and it's hard to deal with between ten and seven days a month of being pretty sure that the whole world hates you and is conspiring to undo everything in your entire life. and that's why i went on anti-depressants for six months two years ago. the meds did the trick. the sharp edges were gone, i didn't cry on the way home from work, or on the way to work, or at my desk, or in the shower, or at stupid commercials, or at cheesey movies, or over really cute little fat kids in chapel. but i didn't really laugh out loud at silly things, either. after about four months, the absence of the sharp edges started to bother me. so, with the agreement of my therapist, i stopped taking them. i knew that i would have to be careful about that segment of the month when things shift, for me. but the sharp edges were important for me to feel. and they feel pretty sharp, right now. i know this will pass, and in four or five days, i'll feel markedly better. i just hate when life things collide with body things, because sometimes, it's hard to know what's incidental and what needs to be addressed.
there are days when i feel like 32 is much older than i would like to be, right now. there are also days when 32 feels very young and inexperienced. there are days when it feels really heavy to be this age, and not have a family established. i can practically hear my eggs getting older. and it's all well and good for people to tell you not to worry, that G-d has a plan, that the more you think about something, the less you trust G-d to do the work, etc. and that's fine. but this is my life. this is my day to day. and sometimes, that sound of those eggs aging is the loudest sound in the universe. now, go ahead and judge me inside your head. i know, i know, i know. this is something i am dealing with in my prayer life and in my time with my therapist. and now, the whole world knows, or at least the interwebs do.
i was in love with a self-confessed trainwreck of a guy for five years. that's a long time, too. and no matter what i tried to be, or do, or sing, or say, i would never add up to what he wanted. and so, on a no-name day in the middle of the summer, i stopped trying. i stopped dead in my tracks, dug my heels in, and willed myself to just lay down on the floor of my deepest self, and just stopped. i realized, a month ago, when i was driving through falfurrias, on my 32nd birthday, that i didn't love him any more, at least not like i had done. i was finished with that part. i couldn't tell you, in the corresponding tears that fell for about twenty minutes, whether i was crying from relief or sadness. i supposed in the final analysis why we cry isn't nearly as important as what we cry over. it all amounts to the same thing, i suppose.
remember when you were losing your baby teeth, how you would feel around with your tongue to see if the new tooth was growing in yet, or how close it was to being at gum level? i keep doing that emotionally, checking that spot where he used to live, to see if anything is new there.i think i finally learned that you can't out-tomato ketchup. i thought getting out from under that feeling would be freeing, and it has been. but G-d, sometimes life comes knocking, and the absolute wrong song comes on, and i have to look into the void, and scream out that i'm not afraid of it.
mil besos,
rmg
anyway, on my way to the HoCo, i realized that the antsy feeling, this feeling of not knowing what the deuce is happening, all the angst and the "what does it all mean" boils down to one thing. i've never been anywhere for this long, in my entire adult life. and it scares the shit out of me. four years...a whole presidential term...four years is substantive. four years is not accidental or incidental. four years is a chunk of serious time. i've never done this before. and while it's nice to feel settled...it's also scary to feel this way. there are so many things i still want to do and see and experience. there are days when i worry that being in one place too long will numb me, will lull me into submission and complacency, will quiet the fire inside my head and heart. and the biggest question of all...when will the bottom fall out, the wheels come off, the shit hit the fan? i'm not saying that the worst always happens, i'm just saying that the pattern in my life is such that i have a hard time with relaxing into the salad days, the days of grace...and i know that is something i will struggle with, trusting G-d in the midst of the good days, not holding so tightly to the good of the now that i squeeze the life right out of it.
it was hard to maintain composure in the car today, on my way to see the old gals. i really just wanted to go back to my office, shut the door, and cry. seriously you guys, i know some of this is stage of life stuff, but the other part of it is hormones. pure and simple. i used to think i was going crazy, and then i started charting my moods, crying jags, etc. it all equated to...you guessed it...the flight of the cardinal. it's hard to argue with the red ink on the calendar. and it's hard to deal with between ten and seven days a month of being pretty sure that the whole world hates you and is conspiring to undo everything in your entire life. and that's why i went on anti-depressants for six months two years ago. the meds did the trick. the sharp edges were gone, i didn't cry on the way home from work, or on the way to work, or at my desk, or in the shower, or at stupid commercials, or at cheesey movies, or over really cute little fat kids in chapel. but i didn't really laugh out loud at silly things, either. after about four months, the absence of the sharp edges started to bother me. so, with the agreement of my therapist, i stopped taking them. i knew that i would have to be careful about that segment of the month when things shift, for me. but the sharp edges were important for me to feel. and they feel pretty sharp, right now. i know this will pass, and in four or five days, i'll feel markedly better. i just hate when life things collide with body things, because sometimes, it's hard to know what's incidental and what needs to be addressed.
there are days when i feel like 32 is much older than i would like to be, right now. there are also days when 32 feels very young and inexperienced. there are days when it feels really heavy to be this age, and not have a family established. i can practically hear my eggs getting older. and it's all well and good for people to tell you not to worry, that G-d has a plan, that the more you think about something, the less you trust G-d to do the work, etc. and that's fine. but this is my life. this is my day to day. and sometimes, that sound of those eggs aging is the loudest sound in the universe. now, go ahead and judge me inside your head. i know, i know, i know. this is something i am dealing with in my prayer life and in my time with my therapist. and now, the whole world knows, or at least the interwebs do.
i was in love with a self-confessed trainwreck of a guy for five years. that's a long time, too. and no matter what i tried to be, or do, or sing, or say, i would never add up to what he wanted. and so, on a no-name day in the middle of the summer, i stopped trying. i stopped dead in my tracks, dug my heels in, and willed myself to just lay down on the floor of my deepest self, and just stopped. i realized, a month ago, when i was driving through falfurrias, on my 32nd birthday, that i didn't love him any more, at least not like i had done. i was finished with that part. i couldn't tell you, in the corresponding tears that fell for about twenty minutes, whether i was crying from relief or sadness. i supposed in the final analysis why we cry isn't nearly as important as what we cry over. it all amounts to the same thing, i suppose.
remember when you were losing your baby teeth, how you would feel around with your tongue to see if the new tooth was growing in yet, or how close it was to being at gum level? i keep doing that emotionally, checking that spot where he used to live, to see if anything is new there.i think i finally learned that you can't out-tomato ketchup. i thought getting out from under that feeling would be freeing, and it has been. but G-d, sometimes life comes knocking, and the absolute wrong song comes on, and i have to look into the void, and scream out that i'm not afraid of it.
mil besos,
rmg
have mercy...
ragweed is making me a lunatic. between the ragweed and the hormone swing that comes once a month, this week is about to kill me. seriously. i've cried four times this week, twice over the same scene in a movie. and yesterday, i came home from work early to dose myself with benedryl and tried to sleep off this allergy attack. i think i was about 45% effective.
i feel like someone transfused a bag of molasses into my bloodstream...all slow and draggy. it's miserable. i know i need to be eating better and working out like i did over the summer. i gained back ten of the thirty five i had dropped...not happy, not happy about that at all. i feel stuck, guys. i mean, i hope that i'm not. but i feel that way. like i'm at a dead-end, and can't for the life of me figure out how to turn around, or back out, or climb over the wall. if i felt better, i'd probably make up some bullshit about how i really feel like this is a great moment in my life, in my development as a grown up, blah blah blah. really, what i really want, is just to be bailed out, swooped up, and rescued. i hate how absolutely true and naked that last statement feels and looks.
it's a really super whiney kind of wednesday. and i am wallowing in the whine, ya'll.
did you know that the average person needs between 10 and 12 personal interactions a day to feel connected to the world around them? it's true. now go give someone a hug.
mil besos,
rmg
i feel like someone transfused a bag of molasses into my bloodstream...all slow and draggy. it's miserable. i know i need to be eating better and working out like i did over the summer. i gained back ten of the thirty five i had dropped...not happy, not happy about that at all. i feel stuck, guys. i mean, i hope that i'm not. but i feel that way. like i'm at a dead-end, and can't for the life of me figure out how to turn around, or back out, or climb over the wall. if i felt better, i'd probably make up some bullshit about how i really feel like this is a great moment in my life, in my development as a grown up, blah blah blah. really, what i really want, is just to be bailed out, swooped up, and rescued. i hate how absolutely true and naked that last statement feels and looks.
it's a really super whiney kind of wednesday. and i am wallowing in the whine, ya'll.
did you know that the average person needs between 10 and 12 personal interactions a day to feel connected to the world around them? it's true. now go give someone a hug.
mil besos,
rmg
22 September 2010
several small items...
i was form-tackled by a chubby four-year old, intent on giving me a bear-hug, yesterday. it was awesome. however, my glasses were broken harry potter-style, and i can't find my wand to save my life. i do have to say that being bear-hugged by a chubby four-year old is probably one of the top five ways one can break one's glasses.
i broke my right baby toe, yesterday. i caught it on the edge of a file cabinet, as i was leaving the office for the day. it was this blinding white light of pain that ran up my leg, and back down, and settled in my metatarsals. y'all...it hurt to have a sheet on my foot. of course, this is around the 950th time i've broken this baby toe, so i'm sure this is normal.
i'm turning 32 in four days. i'm excited. and maybe 2% scared. i'm not sure of what i'm scared, but i am, just a little bit. i think being 31 has been so pivotal, that i've done so much work and learned so much this year...i just don't want to lose any ground. i want to do this life well, and to keep feeling the good feelings i've felt about myself in the last year.
i watched a movie about dylan thomas this weekend, once straight through, and once with the commentary track and subtitles on. if i could send him a lettter, back in time, i would tell him that every woman wants to believe that every poem is about her, and some women will be utterly convinced that all the poems are about her, even if none of them are. such is the nature of women. there is a set of fine lines between the maiden, the mother, and the crone...magical and sacramental, and if the poet looks and listens carefully, the poet will know when he has crossed any of those lines. poets love dichotomy...the lines between the whore and the madonna, the kite and the rock, the mountains and the sea. the lines are crooked, switchbacked, as long as the nile, and as volitile as the rubicon, and to the untrained eye, the poet will seem to be a shambling and drunken bufoon as he wends his way along the winding lines of his muses. because there is always more than one muse. or, if one believes bob dylan, there's only one muse, with a thousand faces.
how the poet walks those lines speaks volumes, and often writes them, as well. and sometimes, the walking ceases altogether, and the poet comes crawling on hands and knees, looking to the untrained eye like a mendicant with an empty bowl. the poet knows that whether he seeks suckle at the breast of his mother or his lover, a woman will always be the one to feed him, kindle a fire, wrap him up safe, and fill him with something good. at least, such is the case with the poets i know.
mil besos,
rmg
i broke my right baby toe, yesterday. i caught it on the edge of a file cabinet, as i was leaving the office for the day. it was this blinding white light of pain that ran up my leg, and back down, and settled in my metatarsals. y'all...it hurt to have a sheet on my foot. of course, this is around the 950th time i've broken this baby toe, so i'm sure this is normal.
i'm turning 32 in four days. i'm excited. and maybe 2% scared. i'm not sure of what i'm scared, but i am, just a little bit. i think being 31 has been so pivotal, that i've done so much work and learned so much this year...i just don't want to lose any ground. i want to do this life well, and to keep feeling the good feelings i've felt about myself in the last year.
i watched a movie about dylan thomas this weekend, once straight through, and once with the commentary track and subtitles on. if i could send him a lettter, back in time, i would tell him that every woman wants to believe that every poem is about her, and some women will be utterly convinced that all the poems are about her, even if none of them are. such is the nature of women. there is a set of fine lines between the maiden, the mother, and the crone...magical and sacramental, and if the poet looks and listens carefully, the poet will know when he has crossed any of those lines. poets love dichotomy...the lines between the whore and the madonna, the kite and the rock, the mountains and the sea. the lines are crooked, switchbacked, as long as the nile, and as volitile as the rubicon, and to the untrained eye, the poet will seem to be a shambling and drunken bufoon as he wends his way along the winding lines of his muses. because there is always more than one muse. or, if one believes bob dylan, there's only one muse, with a thousand faces.
how the poet walks those lines speaks volumes, and often writes them, as well. and sometimes, the walking ceases altogether, and the poet comes crawling on hands and knees, looking to the untrained eye like a mendicant with an empty bowl. the poet knows that whether he seeks suckle at the breast of his mother or his lover, a woman will always be the one to feed him, kindle a fire, wrap him up safe, and fill him with something good. at least, such is the case with the poets i know.
mil besos,
rmg
25 August 2010
lay off me, you guys...i was starving...
i had an epic nap on saturday, and i'm not overstating the point to refer to this nap as a game-changer. in fact, i'd be hard pressed to simply refer to this particular incident of day-time sleep as simply a nap. this little three hour jaunt was somewhere between a coma and a revelatory experience. waking up felt like i'd been hit inthe back of the head with a baseball bat by the sandman, who may or may not have been taking the same kind of performance enhancing drugs favored by the likes of barry bonds or mark maguire. all of which is to say that i woke up drenched in sweat, with my comforter in tangled disarray around my legs and feet, sprawled on my back with my mouth wide open, and trying like hell to figure out what was real and what was dream.
i had to lay there for a little while after i woke up, because what i dreamed was so bizarre and strange that i felt compelled to try and pick out what meaning might have been there. i know that sounds weird, because when i tell you what the contents of the dream were, you're really going to think i've finally just gone totally crackers. but something serious and big and looming and lovely and difficult seemed to be buried inside the folds of this dream. i sent a text out to some friends, playing the dream off like a joke. but it was real, it was serious. it was a gamechanger. and sure, it was also just a dream: one of those subconscious brain dumps that happen when the recycle bin in your brain gets too full to see one more four a.m. infomercial for a steamer/rotisserie/fat-reducing/spacesaving piece of shit you just can't live without.
so, here's the dream...
i go to have a mani/pedi, which is something i do in real life about once a quarter. the place i go is really nice, and has kind of an easter feel to it--lots of bamboo, little teak-wood figures, low tables, no chairs, and all the treatment rooms have wall-length transoms over the doors. lots of detail, right? i was blown away at how well decorated this joint was, considering that i also recognized it as a chinese food place i used to frequent in austin. in my dreamy way, i was all excited..."ooo, they turned "snow pea" into a nail place! i wonder if i can still get an egg roll?"... i meet with a receptionist, who looked shockingly like ben stiller's real-life mom, who informed me that the place had gone up on their prices, and i probably would want to look at their menu of services. so, i look at the menu, select my treatments, and am shown to a room.
in the room sits this little skinny dude, who i know as the older brother of kenny powers, from the hbo series "eastbound and down". as an aside: that show is freaking hilarious. i can't stop watching it, and it's only six episodes long. however, i don't immediately recognize that he's that dude. i was mostly just suprised that a skinny white guy was about to do my nails, and the skinny guys that usually do my nails are most frequently vietnamese, or aren't guys, at all. so, he leaves the room to change clothes, which doesn't strike me as odd, at all. and then, i realize that earl and the crab-man from "my name is earl" are in the corner of the room, on a tatami mat, with clip-boards in their hands.
now, i never really watched a whole lot of "my name is earl", but when i did, i thought the show was pretty funny. i think jason lee is hilarious, and have liked him since "mallrats". they come over and start asking me all these questions about my medical history, where i live, etc. i start spilling my information with no problem, at all. i remember thinking, "should i really be telling earl and the crabman all this information? isn't this how your identity gets stolen?" which was followed quickly by the thought that they seemed like nice guys, and i felt very very very safe, for some odd reason. i finished up with earl and the crabman, and they seemed very satisfied with whatever answers i gave them, and they retired back onto their mat, which they had pulled to within about two feet of where i'd been told to sit on the floor.
about this time, the skinny guy who is going to be doing my nails comes back into the room...dressed as a hare krishna. i'm just taking this in stride, y'all. it never even phased me. and he's telling me that we're going to do some yoga poses before he starts working on my feet and hands. so we do some yoga, and earl and the crabman are just hanging out, making notes on their clip-boards, and occasionally giving me corrections on poses. and then, something totally strange and mystical happens.
this skinny guy in his saffron colored robes scootches all the way across the floor, almost into my lap, and i start backing up because i came here to get my toes done, not to be molested by a monk in full drag. all of a sudden, this guy grabs my head very gently, and kisses me behind my right ear...for like fifteen minutes. not making out, not anything overtly sexy or anything. just lays this lovely, warm, intense smooch behind my ear, right on the bony protrustion that i rub when i am anxious or upset. and then, i got the biggest hug i've ever had in my life. i felt like i was being embraced from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet by this strange man, while earl and the crab man continued their notetaking. periodically, i would struggle or shift and think that we were done with this pose, because seriously...how long can you sit hugging some odd little man in saffron robes while he's kissing you behind your ear, and all you came in for was a mani-pedi and an egg roll? and every time i go to pull away, inside my head i can hear this voice just saying, "rachel...breathe...relax...be here." and i did. and i did. and i was there. it was real, and for the first time in ages, i didn't feel alone or lonely.
at some point, and i'm not sure when, i went from the hug with the monk to my car, which wasn't my real car, and i'm trying to figure out how to read the monk's business card, and trying to figure out if i paid my check, and if really had to pay for the services rendered because i realized that i still didn't have painted nails. and right about the time i was coming back to my house, which wasn't my house, and my dog, who isn't really a dog, and was trying to figure out how to send the monk a text message saying "thank you", i woke myself up.
i honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry upon waking, and i still don't. all i know is that i had a very strange dream. i think i learned a couple of things, though. give everyone you can a hug, even if you have to ask for permission. we forget the power and profundity of the human touch, and in our loneliest places, those little hugs, pats, kisses, whatever make those moments bearable. and i also learned that G-d comes to you in the strangest of ways, at the strangest of times, in the oddest of garbs to grab you and tell you that you are loved and loved and loved and loved, and it never runs out.
mil besos,
rmg
i had to lay there for a little while after i woke up, because what i dreamed was so bizarre and strange that i felt compelled to try and pick out what meaning might have been there. i know that sounds weird, because when i tell you what the contents of the dream were, you're really going to think i've finally just gone totally crackers. but something serious and big and looming and lovely and difficult seemed to be buried inside the folds of this dream. i sent a text out to some friends, playing the dream off like a joke. but it was real, it was serious. it was a gamechanger. and sure, it was also just a dream: one of those subconscious brain dumps that happen when the recycle bin in your brain gets too full to see one more four a.m. infomercial for a steamer/rotisserie/fat-reducing/spacesaving piece of shit you just can't live without.
so, here's the dream...
i go to have a mani/pedi, which is something i do in real life about once a quarter. the place i go is really nice, and has kind of an easter feel to it--lots of bamboo, little teak-wood figures, low tables, no chairs, and all the treatment rooms have wall-length transoms over the doors. lots of detail, right? i was blown away at how well decorated this joint was, considering that i also recognized it as a chinese food place i used to frequent in austin. in my dreamy way, i was all excited..."ooo, they turned "snow pea" into a nail place! i wonder if i can still get an egg roll?"... i meet with a receptionist, who looked shockingly like ben stiller's real-life mom, who informed me that the place had gone up on their prices, and i probably would want to look at their menu of services. so, i look at the menu, select my treatments, and am shown to a room.
in the room sits this little skinny dude, who i know as the older brother of kenny powers, from the hbo series "eastbound and down". as an aside: that show is freaking hilarious. i can't stop watching it, and it's only six episodes long. however, i don't immediately recognize that he's that dude. i was mostly just suprised that a skinny white guy was about to do my nails, and the skinny guys that usually do my nails are most frequently vietnamese, or aren't guys, at all. so, he leaves the room to change clothes, which doesn't strike me as odd, at all. and then, i realize that earl and the crab-man from "my name is earl" are in the corner of the room, on a tatami mat, with clip-boards in their hands.
now, i never really watched a whole lot of "my name is earl", but when i did, i thought the show was pretty funny. i think jason lee is hilarious, and have liked him since "mallrats". they come over and start asking me all these questions about my medical history, where i live, etc. i start spilling my information with no problem, at all. i remember thinking, "should i really be telling earl and the crabman all this information? isn't this how your identity gets stolen?" which was followed quickly by the thought that they seemed like nice guys, and i felt very very very safe, for some odd reason. i finished up with earl and the crabman, and they seemed very satisfied with whatever answers i gave them, and they retired back onto their mat, which they had pulled to within about two feet of where i'd been told to sit on the floor.
about this time, the skinny guy who is going to be doing my nails comes back into the room...dressed as a hare krishna. i'm just taking this in stride, y'all. it never even phased me. and he's telling me that we're going to do some yoga poses before he starts working on my feet and hands. so we do some yoga, and earl and the crabman are just hanging out, making notes on their clip-boards, and occasionally giving me corrections on poses. and then, something totally strange and mystical happens.
this skinny guy in his saffron colored robes scootches all the way across the floor, almost into my lap, and i start backing up because i came here to get my toes done, not to be molested by a monk in full drag. all of a sudden, this guy grabs my head very gently, and kisses me behind my right ear...for like fifteen minutes. not making out, not anything overtly sexy or anything. just lays this lovely, warm, intense smooch behind my ear, right on the bony protrustion that i rub when i am anxious or upset. and then, i got the biggest hug i've ever had in my life. i felt like i was being embraced from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet by this strange man, while earl and the crab man continued their notetaking. periodically, i would struggle or shift and think that we were done with this pose, because seriously...how long can you sit hugging some odd little man in saffron robes while he's kissing you behind your ear, and all you came in for was a mani-pedi and an egg roll? and every time i go to pull away, inside my head i can hear this voice just saying, "rachel...breathe...relax...be here." and i did. and i did. and i was there. it was real, and for the first time in ages, i didn't feel alone or lonely.
at some point, and i'm not sure when, i went from the hug with the monk to my car, which wasn't my real car, and i'm trying to figure out how to read the monk's business card, and trying to figure out if i paid my check, and if really had to pay for the services rendered because i realized that i still didn't have painted nails. and right about the time i was coming back to my house, which wasn't my house, and my dog, who isn't really a dog, and was trying to figure out how to send the monk a text message saying "thank you", i woke myself up.
i honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry upon waking, and i still don't. all i know is that i had a very strange dream. i think i learned a couple of things, though. give everyone you can a hug, even if you have to ask for permission. we forget the power and profundity of the human touch, and in our loneliest places, those little hugs, pats, kisses, whatever make those moments bearable. and i also learned that G-d comes to you in the strangest of ways, at the strangest of times, in the oddest of garbs to grab you and tell you that you are loved and loved and loved and loved, and it never runs out.
mil besos,
rmg
19 July 2010
an open letter to monday
dear monday,
some times, you suck, dude. i mean, seriously. you are sometimes a real buzzkill. especially when the weather is not what i want it to be like, or my hair flips out weird on one side and i don't have time to flat iron it because i hit the snooze bar two extra times, or when regis and kelly have a rerun, or i didn't get all the way to sleep good and proper until like three because it's so effing hot and my room is on the second story and has a wall full of west-facing sliding glass door that i'm too lazy to make drapes for, or because i know i have to eat my oatmeal because chikfila will make me a fatass and the oatmeal is already paid for, or because i think txdot has it in for everyone in my neighborhood because the road construction is ruining my morning commute and i think i'll never have a real exit unless i move, and npr is sometimes depressing as shit on mondays, and the top forty music station doesn't play music that i feel is relevant to my life and sometimes i think that's a good thing and sometimes i think it's totally terrible, and the fried avocado with shrimp was a real disappointment for lunch today, and i probably gave communion to a little old lady for the last time (again, shit man...i know, it's part of the job...but still, i mean, really...it shouldn't ever get easy), and got all hot and sweaty on my way to therapy. sometimes i think you exist on the calendar just to break me.
and sometimes, monday, you know, sometimes, you're also kind of great. because i had a great session, today and talked about all sorts of stuff i've seen and done and felt and thought over the last six weeks, and even though i didn't talk about everything i could have i still feel like i made progress and managed not to go crazy, and i ate fruit for dinner after i did yoga for two hours and held this really challenging pose for three minutes and i felt like a freaking rock star, and the whole time i was doing the second set of poses i was praying praying praying and just being thankful to this amazing G-d for creation and my place in it, and pretty soon i'm taking a long hot bath and reading my favorite book and going to bed. monday, i gotta say, you came through. sometimes i think you exist on the calendar just to break me...into something that can hold more than it did before it was broken.
mil besos,
rmg
some times, you suck, dude. i mean, seriously. you are sometimes a real buzzkill. especially when the weather is not what i want it to be like, or my hair flips out weird on one side and i don't have time to flat iron it because i hit the snooze bar two extra times, or when regis and kelly have a rerun, or i didn't get all the way to sleep good and proper until like three because it's so effing hot and my room is on the second story and has a wall full of west-facing sliding glass door that i'm too lazy to make drapes for, or because i know i have to eat my oatmeal because chikfila will make me a fatass and the oatmeal is already paid for, or because i think txdot has it in for everyone in my neighborhood because the road construction is ruining my morning commute and i think i'll never have a real exit unless i move, and npr is sometimes depressing as shit on mondays, and the top forty music station doesn't play music that i feel is relevant to my life and sometimes i think that's a good thing and sometimes i think it's totally terrible, and the fried avocado with shrimp was a real disappointment for lunch today, and i probably gave communion to a little old lady for the last time (again, shit man...i know, it's part of the job...but still, i mean, really...it shouldn't ever get easy), and got all hot and sweaty on my way to therapy. sometimes i think you exist on the calendar just to break me.
and sometimes, monday, you know, sometimes, you're also kind of great. because i had a great session, today and talked about all sorts of stuff i've seen and done and felt and thought over the last six weeks, and even though i didn't talk about everything i could have i still feel like i made progress and managed not to go crazy, and i ate fruit for dinner after i did yoga for two hours and held this really challenging pose for three minutes and i felt like a freaking rock star, and the whole time i was doing the second set of poses i was praying praying praying and just being thankful to this amazing G-d for creation and my place in it, and pretty soon i'm taking a long hot bath and reading my favorite book and going to bed. monday, i gotta say, you came through. sometimes i think you exist on the calendar just to break me...into something that can hold more than it did before it was broken.
mil besos,
rmg
30 June 2010
goodnight, moon
to take a quote from the apostle paul totally out of context, reverse the intent, and paraphrase, i will simply say that it is a holy experience to fall into the hands of a living G-d.
three hours ago, i was in a nicu room baptizing a baby born at 24 weeks, four days. her name is hope rose. three years ago, her mother had attended church in my parish, and i had given her a ride home one afternoon, after church. after she delivered her daughter at home, around 7am, and was taken to the hospital, stabilized, seen to, etc., she told the chaplain to call us. i got the call RIGHT, and i mean RIGHT as i was exiting onto my street, to come home and pack for my trip to alabama. i was within spitting distance of taking my shoes off, washing my face, doing some yoga, and packing. i had ten thousand things on my mental to do list. i'd had a very productive day at work, but nothing nuts. this, oh boy, man...this was NUTS.
i won't go into detail about specifics, because they aren't really important, and they aren't mine to share. but i can tell you that this little girl and her mother have a long road in front of them, seperately and together.
i'd never seen any person that small, in my life. my nephew addison is growing inside my sister-in-law right this second, and he's a whole week older than this little girl. she weighs 650 grams. my hand looked so giant on her chest. not even my hand, just my finger, inside a blue surgical glove, dripping sterile water on her chest, trying not to shake and making every effor to touch her as lightly as i could, so her skin wouldn't tear. she looked so small. so fragile. i don't even know what the whole top of her face looks like. G-d does. and G-d knows all the things about her that are important and worth knowing. i know tonight, i got to be the one, on behalf all G-d's children, to invite her into a new kind of life. i know G-d had already invited her, and i was just the one saying the words. but it was an experience, a pause, an already-not-yet, and holy moment. i seriously get a little wobbly just thinking about it, now.
i know that she, like all of the rest of us, will live just as long as she is supposed to, and not one minute longer. i keep wishing for this perfect life for her...something out of a novel or a lifetime, television for women drama, because this is TOTALLY THEIR STORY LINE, DUDE. and i'm writing it in my head...no long term health problems, no developmental delays, obscenely high i.q., well adjusted, prom queen, ivy league, faboulous at whatever she decides to do with her life, wife, mother, vestry member, grandmother, tomato grower... mostly, i think, at the bottom of it, i hope she gets to grow up and have a satisfying life, to meet the people of G-d, to see the world around her, to smell the rain, and skin her knees, to make friends, to have koolaide mustaches, to eat an oreo, to learn how to sing "Jesus Loves Me", to do all the things i think little kids and grown up should learn to do. she rests in the mercy of G-d, who knew and her and made her and has a plan for her that is more than even i could ask or imagine.
in your quiet time, whether it's in prayer or yoga or traffic, please remember hope rose, and ask G-d to bless her. mil gras.
mil besos,
rmg
three hours ago, i was in a nicu room baptizing a baby born at 24 weeks, four days. her name is hope rose. three years ago, her mother had attended church in my parish, and i had given her a ride home one afternoon, after church. after she delivered her daughter at home, around 7am, and was taken to the hospital, stabilized, seen to, etc., she told the chaplain to call us. i got the call RIGHT, and i mean RIGHT as i was exiting onto my street, to come home and pack for my trip to alabama. i was within spitting distance of taking my shoes off, washing my face, doing some yoga, and packing. i had ten thousand things on my mental to do list. i'd had a very productive day at work, but nothing nuts. this, oh boy, man...this was NUTS.
i won't go into detail about specifics, because they aren't really important, and they aren't mine to share. but i can tell you that this little girl and her mother have a long road in front of them, seperately and together.
i'd never seen any person that small, in my life. my nephew addison is growing inside my sister-in-law right this second, and he's a whole week older than this little girl. she weighs 650 grams. my hand looked so giant on her chest. not even my hand, just my finger, inside a blue surgical glove, dripping sterile water on her chest, trying not to shake and making every effor to touch her as lightly as i could, so her skin wouldn't tear. she looked so small. so fragile. i don't even know what the whole top of her face looks like. G-d does. and G-d knows all the things about her that are important and worth knowing. i know tonight, i got to be the one, on behalf all G-d's children, to invite her into a new kind of life. i know G-d had already invited her, and i was just the one saying the words. but it was an experience, a pause, an already-not-yet, and holy moment. i seriously get a little wobbly just thinking about it, now.
i know that she, like all of the rest of us, will live just as long as she is supposed to, and not one minute longer. i keep wishing for this perfect life for her...something out of a novel or a lifetime, television for women drama, because this is TOTALLY THEIR STORY LINE, DUDE. and i'm writing it in my head...no long term health problems, no developmental delays, obscenely high i.q., well adjusted, prom queen, ivy league, faboulous at whatever she decides to do with her life, wife, mother, vestry member, grandmother, tomato grower... mostly, i think, at the bottom of it, i hope she gets to grow up and have a satisfying life, to meet the people of G-d, to see the world around her, to smell the rain, and skin her knees, to make friends, to have koolaide mustaches, to eat an oreo, to learn how to sing "Jesus Loves Me", to do all the things i think little kids and grown up should learn to do. she rests in the mercy of G-d, who knew and her and made her and has a plan for her that is more than even i could ask or imagine.
in your quiet time, whether it's in prayer or yoga or traffic, please remember hope rose, and ask G-d to bless her. mil gras.
mil besos,
rmg
21 June 2010
yeah, so...
writing about my dad feels like a lot of different things, some of them are good, some of them are bad, and some of them are really hard. one thing i don't want, from anyone, any time i write about him, is sympathy. i hate that. never feel sorry for us, for me, for him, for the family. everyone gets dealt a rough hand in life, at some juncture, and no one gets to choose what their rough hand is. you just play your cards with grace and dignity. but no pity, please.
i missed him yesterday. i missed him all day long. i can hear him so clearly, on most days. sometimes, i can smell him. sometimes, he is so close, i feel like if i turned around fast enough, i could catch a glimpse of him. there is a part of me, a little girl part of me, that is sure he lives in the moon, and can hear me when i talk out loud to him. i know that's bizarre and ritualistic, and i should know better, blah blah blah, but i do it anyway. he wasn't a perfecet father. but he was mine. i have this list of questions i would just love to have answers to, but, as with so many questions i have for my father, for G-d, for the universe, those are not for this life.
i am proud to be his child, every single day. i hope i make him proud. i could care less about the big questions, any more. i really just crave the comfort, the little piddly things like "goodnight" and "good morning" and " call us when you get there". it's silly, and it's so self-indulgent to weep over them. but it happens, nonetheless.
mil besos,
rmg
i missed him yesterday. i missed him all day long. i can hear him so clearly, on most days. sometimes, i can smell him. sometimes, he is so close, i feel like if i turned around fast enough, i could catch a glimpse of him. there is a part of me, a little girl part of me, that is sure he lives in the moon, and can hear me when i talk out loud to him. i know that's bizarre and ritualistic, and i should know better, blah blah blah, but i do it anyway. he wasn't a perfecet father. but he was mine. i have this list of questions i would just love to have answers to, but, as with so many questions i have for my father, for G-d, for the universe, those are not for this life.
i am proud to be his child, every single day. i hope i make him proud. i could care less about the big questions, any more. i really just crave the comfort, the little piddly things like "goodnight" and "good morning" and " call us when you get there". it's silly, and it's so self-indulgent to weep over them. but it happens, nonetheless.
mil besos,
rmg
17 June 2010
song for sarah nan
she was my great-grandmother's last child, and the only one of those eight children to have been born in a hospital. she died yesterday. her name was sarah nan, but when i was little, i thought it was "sarah and anne". of course, i misheard a lot of things when i was little, and was usually too shy to ask for clarification, so i didn't realize her middle name was actually "nan" until i was in my late teens, and looking through photos. i ran across one with "nan" writeen across the back, but it looked just like aunt sarah. i was so confused that i took the photo to my grandmother, who said it was, in fact, aunt sarah, but they'd just written "nan" on the back, since it was her middle name. suddenly, "sarah and anne" made a lot more sense to me. crazy, right?
i wasn't particularly close to my great-aunt sarah, but not especially distant, either. she was a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a sister, an aunt, a daughter, and a friend. she saw elvis presley and jerry lee lewis in a louisiana hayride show at cherry springs dance hall, one night. when she was a teenager, she would ride my uncle's horse, old girl, between the house and the garage at breakneck speeds that apparently would scare the pants off my great-grandmother. by the time i knew her, my aunt sarah was much tamer. in fact, when i first heard that story, about five years ago, i remember looking at my aunt sue (her older sister), and saying "aunt sarah?? sarah sessom did that?" aunt sue got a kick of how suprised i was. time tamed sarah nan in several ways, and none of them were particularly kind, i don't think.
she married the boy that took her to see elvis and jerry lee. and he died in a car wreck not too long after that. she almost died in the same wreck. they didn't have any children. some years later, she married my uncle clayton, who was from a little town, too. they lived in texarkana for all of my life, and raised two girls. we saw them a couple of times a year, mostly at holidays. aunt sarah's birthday was july 4th, and that was one of the holidays we'd usually see them.
when i look at her through my child's eyes, i remember her laughing, or telling stories. i remember that she always had the most fantastically puffy hair. i didn't realize until i was much older that the puffy hair served to cover up scars from the carwreck. i remember the way her eyes would twinkle when she would tease, or tell a joke that was a little bit naughty. i remember the way she would make smoking a cigarette look like the most glamourous and fun thing you could ever do. i remember her hands, and the way that she favored the small, slim watches that my grandmother wore, too. she looked so much like my great-grandmother the last time i saw her. i can't remember a single conversation that we ever had just between the two of us, and i can't tell you what i thought we would have talked about, ever. but she was part of the fabric of my family, and her face is indeliblely marked on the history of who we all are, together.
when i look at sarah through my adult eyes, i see so many things that i wish could have been different for her, for all of us, really. but none of that matters, now. because yesterday, everything became different. sarah now knows as she is fully known, and the fears and percieved failures, the pain and the unanswerable questions were all lifted in a moment of grace that for her, will stretch out into eternity. and one day, we will all be together again, perfected and known and whole in houses made just for us by God and Jesus. that's amazing to me, and such a comfort to know. God bless Sarah Nan. God bless us all.
mil besos,
rmg
i wasn't particularly close to my great-aunt sarah, but not especially distant, either. she was a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a sister, an aunt, a daughter, and a friend. she saw elvis presley and jerry lee lewis in a louisiana hayride show at cherry springs dance hall, one night. when she was a teenager, she would ride my uncle's horse, old girl, between the house and the garage at breakneck speeds that apparently would scare the pants off my great-grandmother. by the time i knew her, my aunt sarah was much tamer. in fact, when i first heard that story, about five years ago, i remember looking at my aunt sue (her older sister), and saying "aunt sarah?? sarah sessom did that?" aunt sue got a kick of how suprised i was. time tamed sarah nan in several ways, and none of them were particularly kind, i don't think.
she married the boy that took her to see elvis and jerry lee. and he died in a car wreck not too long after that. she almost died in the same wreck. they didn't have any children. some years later, she married my uncle clayton, who was from a little town, too. they lived in texarkana for all of my life, and raised two girls. we saw them a couple of times a year, mostly at holidays. aunt sarah's birthday was july 4th, and that was one of the holidays we'd usually see them.
when i look at her through my child's eyes, i remember her laughing, or telling stories. i remember that she always had the most fantastically puffy hair. i didn't realize until i was much older that the puffy hair served to cover up scars from the carwreck. i remember the way her eyes would twinkle when she would tease, or tell a joke that was a little bit naughty. i remember the way she would make smoking a cigarette look like the most glamourous and fun thing you could ever do. i remember her hands, and the way that she favored the small, slim watches that my grandmother wore, too. she looked so much like my great-grandmother the last time i saw her. i can't remember a single conversation that we ever had just between the two of us, and i can't tell you what i thought we would have talked about, ever. but she was part of the fabric of my family, and her face is indeliblely marked on the history of who we all are, together.
when i look at sarah through my adult eyes, i see so many things that i wish could have been different for her, for all of us, really. but none of that matters, now. because yesterday, everything became different. sarah now knows as she is fully known, and the fears and percieved failures, the pain and the unanswerable questions were all lifted in a moment of grace that for her, will stretch out into eternity. and one day, we will all be together again, perfected and known and whole in houses made just for us by God and Jesus. that's amazing to me, and such a comfort to know. God bless Sarah Nan. God bless us all.
mil besos,
rmg
02 June 2010
perspective
this time last year, i was pretty strung out. i would wake up crying, i would go to sleep crying. dreams were all cobwebby and surreal, and i felt so trapped in my life, and so very alone. this june feels so very starkly different. i wake up ready for the day. i go to sleep tired, but fulfilled. my dreams...well, they seem to be variations on a theme, but they don't scare me, and usually don't make me cry. i feel like this life is something to be celebrated and fully lived, even on days when i don't quite know what that means. and while i am alone much of the time, the weight of the aloneness feels substantive, but not weighty.
i was doing yoga the other day, with my eyes closed, being aware of my breath, focusing my intentions, being present, and in my mind's eye, i could just see Jesus on a yoga mat, right across from me, in full lotus, with a wide grin on His face, telling me that this was the absolute right thing for me at that moment. last week, one of my little old ladies told me "honey, you are in your prime." i woke up in north carolina on monday morning, to the six-toothed grin of a gorgeous eight month old, with her arms held out to me, and in the picture that her momma snapped of us, i saw the woman i want to be, and am in the process of becoming. yes, i'll admit that i loved seeing a picture of myself with a baby in my arms. but in that shot, i looked just how i felt in that moment...enough, maybe even beautiful, happy and contented. it's a strange thing to wake up to the person you are, to stretch out into that, and feel where the corners and edges are, and to feel like it's a wonderful, familiar, and new place to be. i had no idea this is what this would feel like, and i want it to last. so i'm trying to approach it with open hands, and not hold it so tight i squeeze the life out of it. and at the bottom of all of this, i have this intense feeling of gratitude. "thank you" seems like it's too small to express my emotion. and so, i find myself praying at the oddest of times, just letting G-d know how this feels, how happy i am, how aware i've become, and that i am willing to do and go and be and see whatever is next, because that's what it's about.
to realize the unconditionality of love, and of Love is huge. it's so big that sometimes, i just have to weep. to lay down any and all hope, and to walk away from hope, and just love is huge. love without expectation or reservation or reciprocity, but love because you can't help but feel it, from head to toe, inside and outside, that's where i am, that's where i live. to create real and lasting relationships, to continue to carve family out of friends, and to make friends with my family, to open my arms and eyes and heart to the full expression of G-d's love and intent for me and the universe is no small thing. it's sometimes a little scary, but so are rollercoasters, and they almost always are thrilling and wonderful, and on this ride, i'm never worried about the operator falling asleep at the switch. it doesn't have to make sense to me, because it was never about me, anyway. i think that's pretty great.
mil besos,
rmg
i was doing yoga the other day, with my eyes closed, being aware of my breath, focusing my intentions, being present, and in my mind's eye, i could just see Jesus on a yoga mat, right across from me, in full lotus, with a wide grin on His face, telling me that this was the absolute right thing for me at that moment. last week, one of my little old ladies told me "honey, you are in your prime." i woke up in north carolina on monday morning, to the six-toothed grin of a gorgeous eight month old, with her arms held out to me, and in the picture that her momma snapped of us, i saw the woman i want to be, and am in the process of becoming. yes, i'll admit that i loved seeing a picture of myself with a baby in my arms. but in that shot, i looked just how i felt in that moment...enough, maybe even beautiful, happy and contented. it's a strange thing to wake up to the person you are, to stretch out into that, and feel where the corners and edges are, and to feel like it's a wonderful, familiar, and new place to be. i had no idea this is what this would feel like, and i want it to last. so i'm trying to approach it with open hands, and not hold it so tight i squeeze the life out of it. and at the bottom of all of this, i have this intense feeling of gratitude. "thank you" seems like it's too small to express my emotion. and so, i find myself praying at the oddest of times, just letting G-d know how this feels, how happy i am, how aware i've become, and that i am willing to do and go and be and see whatever is next, because that's what it's about.
to realize the unconditionality of love, and of Love is huge. it's so big that sometimes, i just have to weep. to lay down any and all hope, and to walk away from hope, and just love is huge. love without expectation or reservation or reciprocity, but love because you can't help but feel it, from head to toe, inside and outside, that's where i am, that's where i live. to create real and lasting relationships, to continue to carve family out of friends, and to make friends with my family, to open my arms and eyes and heart to the full expression of G-d's love and intent for me and the universe is no small thing. it's sometimes a little scary, but so are rollercoasters, and they almost always are thrilling and wonderful, and on this ride, i'm never worried about the operator falling asleep at the switch. it doesn't have to make sense to me, because it was never about me, anyway. i think that's pretty great.
mil besos,
rmg
27 May 2010
wild kingdom
there's a mockingbird that lives in one of the date palms in the front of my condo. i've watched this bird for weeks, and really fell in love the day it impersonated a frog, trying to throw one of the neighborhood cats off it's scent. smart bird, that one. i think about her, nested in the palm, and think about myself, and how it feels to be nested in the palm of someone's hand. i am profoundly grateful for that thought.
may is almost over. thanks be to God.
mil besos,
rmg
may is almost over. thanks be to God.
mil besos,
rmg
11 May 2010
ordinary time
the church nerds out there will point out that the season of ordinary time doesn't start until may 23rd. to the church nerds out there, i offer my deepest, most sincere apologies, and best wishes for you to get the hell over it.
ordinary...that word conjures up a lot of feelings inside of me, lately. it's a dangerous kind of word, a middle word, like "better" or phrases like "on the other hand". you have to be careful with words like "ordinary". we are all painfully ordinary in our extrordinary ways. each of us is a bright and shining thing, andare dulled by the lustre of the other. and while what i bring to the relationship table may seem like something rare and unexpected, i can assure you that it feels painfully normal and utterly ordinary to me.
case in point: i am never suprised. i am unflappable. it's damn near impossible to shock me. seriously, i'm not making this up. i say this without a single trace of pride. because, seriously, once people know that about you, it's kind of like open season. and that's ok, and i'm happy to turn this bizarre talent into something that's helpful to people. i mean, it's not like it's some parlor trick i've worked to perfection over the last decade. it's just how things are. i mean, the shocks i incurred as a teenager and young adult, the things i heard and saw, have made it virtually impossible to knock me off my stride. redemptive experiences find us in the oddest of moments. it's just this really totally ordinary thing in my life, not altogether different from the trick i can do where i fit 38 whole grapes in my mouth, at one time.
i've heard and seen some things. the echos and prints of terminal illness and drug addiction, of watching my family spin and struggle, and find it's footing, again...those echos make it almost easy to hear everything that has come after it. and those echos make it easier to carry the things people leave with me, when they tell me their stories. in this life, my lesson is to carry stories, to hold them, to remember them, to protect the sanctity of the stories i get to hear. i didn't understand that about myself until i was 27 or 28...but i understand it, now. and even though some of those stories find their way to me in the most unusual of ways, they are, at the bottom, ordinary stories of ordinary lives. people are just people, and shit happens.
i love stories, even the sad and hard ones. once i've heard someone's story, or part of it (because who ever really knows the whole story of someone, other than G-d?) my perceptions of them rarely change. people are who they are, the details notwithstanding. G-d put something special, unique, beautiful, magic, and world-changing in each and every single one of us, and that can never be taken away, reassigned, or given up. we are born so extraordinarily ordinary. and all the ancilliary things that happen to us along the way shape us, for sure, but for most of us (clearly exempting shit i don't understand at all, like serial killers...or televangelists...), the changes and chances and little lives and deaths inside our big life, they can't touch the absolute beauty that G-d puts inside each of us, nourishes with the milk of human kindness, and the strange and awesome forces of grace and mercy.
the native americans (total badasses...navajo rugs are my new favorite analogy...) used spirals in their sacred art. the entoptic shapes you see behind your eyes, when you close them, or press them tightly, are sometimes spirals, too (and hatchmarks, etc). this life, this ordinary life, sits on a spiral. we will learn the same lesson, over and over, because that's the lesson we have to learn, the lesson G-d asked us to learn as we were put together inside of our mothers' bodies, a lesson about our brokenness, our wholeness, how to tell stories, how to hear them, when to love more deeply, and when to walk away. it looks different for everyone, but it's all the same ordinary lesson. and that's pretty wonderful, i think.
mil besos,
rmg
ordinary...that word conjures up a lot of feelings inside of me, lately. it's a dangerous kind of word, a middle word, like "better" or phrases like "on the other hand". you have to be careful with words like "ordinary". we are all painfully ordinary in our extrordinary ways. each of us is a bright and shining thing, andare dulled by the lustre of the other. and while what i bring to the relationship table may seem like something rare and unexpected, i can assure you that it feels painfully normal and utterly ordinary to me.
case in point: i am never suprised. i am unflappable. it's damn near impossible to shock me. seriously, i'm not making this up. i say this without a single trace of pride. because, seriously, once people know that about you, it's kind of like open season. and that's ok, and i'm happy to turn this bizarre talent into something that's helpful to people. i mean, it's not like it's some parlor trick i've worked to perfection over the last decade. it's just how things are. i mean, the shocks i incurred as a teenager and young adult, the things i heard and saw, have made it virtually impossible to knock me off my stride. redemptive experiences find us in the oddest of moments. it's just this really totally ordinary thing in my life, not altogether different from the trick i can do where i fit 38 whole grapes in my mouth, at one time.
i've heard and seen some things. the echos and prints of terminal illness and drug addiction, of watching my family spin and struggle, and find it's footing, again...those echos make it almost easy to hear everything that has come after it. and those echos make it easier to carry the things people leave with me, when they tell me their stories. in this life, my lesson is to carry stories, to hold them, to remember them, to protect the sanctity of the stories i get to hear. i didn't understand that about myself until i was 27 or 28...but i understand it, now. and even though some of those stories find their way to me in the most unusual of ways, they are, at the bottom, ordinary stories of ordinary lives. people are just people, and shit happens.
i love stories, even the sad and hard ones. once i've heard someone's story, or part of it (because who ever really knows the whole story of someone, other than G-d?) my perceptions of them rarely change. people are who they are, the details notwithstanding. G-d put something special, unique, beautiful, magic, and world-changing in each and every single one of us, and that can never be taken away, reassigned, or given up. we are born so extraordinarily ordinary. and all the ancilliary things that happen to us along the way shape us, for sure, but for most of us (clearly exempting shit i don't understand at all, like serial killers...or televangelists...), the changes and chances and little lives and deaths inside our big life, they can't touch the absolute beauty that G-d puts inside each of us, nourishes with the milk of human kindness, and the strange and awesome forces of grace and mercy.
the native americans (total badasses...navajo rugs are my new favorite analogy...) used spirals in their sacred art. the entoptic shapes you see behind your eyes, when you close them, or press them tightly, are sometimes spirals, too (and hatchmarks, etc). this life, this ordinary life, sits on a spiral. we will learn the same lesson, over and over, because that's the lesson we have to learn, the lesson G-d asked us to learn as we were put together inside of our mothers' bodies, a lesson about our brokenness, our wholeness, how to tell stories, how to hear them, when to love more deeply, and when to walk away. it looks different for everyone, but it's all the same ordinary lesson. and that's pretty wonderful, i think.
mil besos,
rmg
22 April 2010
throw down your arms
so this seems to be a season of acceptance. the time in my life where i literally and figuratively issue my unconditional and absolute surrender to a Power larger than myself. for someone who has spent the bulk of her life fighting like the dickens for the next thing, capitulation is a hard concept to grasp. it's incredible to realize that i don't have to fight, all the time. in fact, sometimes fighting is the exact opposite of what i should be doing, because in the midst of the fighting, you sometimes miss the little pieces of wonderful that can come along and suprise you.
case in point: if i play my cards right, and don't get busted for soliticing or anything really scandalous, and don't screw up my model lesson, i'll be teaching three classes at the day school connected to my church. HOLY CRAP. that's right...someone is letting me mold and shape young and impressionable minds. theology (DOUBLE HOLY CRAP!), journalism, and public speaking. and my boss is totally fine with it, thinks it's a super idea, and isn't going to cut my salary. TRIPLE HOLY CRAP, Y'ALL. and all of this comes on the heels of me literally laying in the middle of my bedroom, crying and asking G-d to just DO SOMETHING, because the last six months have been pretty miserable, work-wise. and i have been fighting, fighting, fighting. and all i had to do was lay down, and be willing to be still. funny how G-d always manages to do just the right thing when i get the hell out of the way.
but it's not just work that needs me to lay down and take instruction, to be humbled, and to be disciplined in a real and profound way. i talk big. i think bigger. and my dreams are beyond belief, somedays. and fighting with God about what i should/shouldn't have, and when and how i should have it isn't really helpful, or fun. and i'm over crying in the car, and in the bathroom, and on the phone. and you've all been reading about that, too. and there's really nothing new to say about that. so i'll just leave your imaginations running wild. but not too wild, i mean, this is ME we're talking about. and trust that if there were/are any hot dates, i'd be sharing them with all the interwebs, in pg-13 detail. no, it's more like i'm just laying down on the floor of my heart, accepting that i still have a lot of feelings and thoughts to work through, some old scars to heal over, and i know that when it's time, it'll be time. and it'll be for all the marbles, and i won't even have to wonder what the hell is happening, because it'll be happening. and that's enough to get me to the end of the day, today.
ramble much?
mil besos,
rmg
case in point: if i play my cards right, and don't get busted for soliticing or anything really scandalous, and don't screw up my model lesson, i'll be teaching three classes at the day school connected to my church. HOLY CRAP. that's right...someone is letting me mold and shape young and impressionable minds. theology (DOUBLE HOLY CRAP!), journalism, and public speaking. and my boss is totally fine with it, thinks it's a super idea, and isn't going to cut my salary. TRIPLE HOLY CRAP, Y'ALL. and all of this comes on the heels of me literally laying in the middle of my bedroom, crying and asking G-d to just DO SOMETHING, because the last six months have been pretty miserable, work-wise. and i have been fighting, fighting, fighting. and all i had to do was lay down, and be willing to be still. funny how G-d always manages to do just the right thing when i get the hell out of the way.
but it's not just work that needs me to lay down and take instruction, to be humbled, and to be disciplined in a real and profound way. i talk big. i think bigger. and my dreams are beyond belief, somedays. and fighting with God about what i should/shouldn't have, and when and how i should have it isn't really helpful, or fun. and i'm over crying in the car, and in the bathroom, and on the phone. and you've all been reading about that, too. and there's really nothing new to say about that. so i'll just leave your imaginations running wild. but not too wild, i mean, this is ME we're talking about. and trust that if there were/are any hot dates, i'd be sharing them with all the interwebs, in pg-13 detail. no, it's more like i'm just laying down on the floor of my heart, accepting that i still have a lot of feelings and thoughts to work through, some old scars to heal over, and i know that when it's time, it'll be time. and it'll be for all the marbles, and i won't even have to wonder what the hell is happening, because it'll be happening. and that's enough to get me to the end of the day, today.
ramble much?
mil besos,
rmg
08 April 2010
how this be
i imagine that if we all compared our inner-monologues, we would all be at least half-crazy. for instance, while i was waiting in the drive-thru at subway, i went from shaving my legs, to buying new shoes, to aristotle and current american politics in about 15 seconds. seriously.
for the last year, much of my prayer life has been focused around a prayer i read several years ago, by a man named mychal judge, who was the chaplain to the nyfd, and was the first registered casualty of 9/11. father mychal's prayer, the way i say it, goes like this:
"lord Jesus, help me to see what you want me to see. help me to hear what you want me to hear. help me to meet who you want me to meet, and help me to stay out of your way."
it's the first thing i pray in the mornings. it's the last thing i pray at night. i know that to learn what God wants me to learn, i have got to practice radical and absolute surrender, and to be radically compassionate to everyone i encounter. and that scares the absolute crap out of me. to know the power behind what i am saying, to understand the underneath meaning of absolute and unconditional surrender to the God who made me. i mean, it's not like you can really fight city hall, anyway. but being willing to go along for the ride, to abdicate my silly right to kick and scream and protest seems to be the key, lately.
all of which is to say, i really want to get married and have kids. and it's profoundly difficult to understand and appreciate that even though i may want that, it may not be what's in store. and i have to decide, every single day, if i'm going to be sad about what i think i want, or be expectant and excited about what God is doing, at this present moment. some days, it's chicken salad. some days, it's chicken shit. the jury is still out on today.
mil besos,
rmg
for the last year, much of my prayer life has been focused around a prayer i read several years ago, by a man named mychal judge, who was the chaplain to the nyfd, and was the first registered casualty of 9/11. father mychal's prayer, the way i say it, goes like this:
"lord Jesus, help me to see what you want me to see. help me to hear what you want me to hear. help me to meet who you want me to meet, and help me to stay out of your way."
it's the first thing i pray in the mornings. it's the last thing i pray at night. i know that to learn what God wants me to learn, i have got to practice radical and absolute surrender, and to be radically compassionate to everyone i encounter. and that scares the absolute crap out of me. to know the power behind what i am saying, to understand the underneath meaning of absolute and unconditional surrender to the God who made me. i mean, it's not like you can really fight city hall, anyway. but being willing to go along for the ride, to abdicate my silly right to kick and scream and protest seems to be the key, lately.
all of which is to say, i really want to get married and have kids. and it's profoundly difficult to understand and appreciate that even though i may want that, it may not be what's in store. and i have to decide, every single day, if i'm going to be sad about what i think i want, or be expectant and excited about what God is doing, at this present moment. some days, it's chicken salad. some days, it's chicken shit. the jury is still out on today.
mil besos,
rmg
30 March 2010
spring...lightly
it's been a long time since i've gone two months without a post. it's not for lack of trying, either. i think about posting something to the blog almost every day. but the fact of the matter is that i've been dealing with a monumental case of writer's block, and i've actually been kind of busy. writing about my life has taken a back seat to living it, and i think that's probably how it should be. however, living an unexamined life has never been one of my goals, and being self-aware is something i work on daily.
i keep reminding myself to look at the big picture. in fact, the phrase "big picture" has become my new mantra, the way "it is what it is" was the mantra a couple of years ago. sometimes, just saying "big picture" to myself is enough to stave off a crying fit, or make me laugh, or feel incredibly grateful. sometimes, "big picture" actually makes me want to barf. nevertheless, it's the mantra, for the moment, for better or worse.
this life is in a state of constant change and readjustment...people being born, people dying, people marrying, people divorcing, people moving closer or farther away. relationships are profoundly important, but the context in which we have them is important as well. sometimes, we all seem to be in the midst of readjustments, and it's hard to know where the hand-holds are. at least, that's how it's felt for me in the last month. change, like the tides, seems to rush in and rush back out, and i'm left picking through the debris on the shoreline, reminding myself that this little life and the little place i have in the universe is still here, even if the geography looks different than it did at Christmas, or my birthday. and it will look different all over again, in a few short weeks or months. that is life. this is my life. it's not meant to be static. that's why people painted epic moments on cave walls, on canvases, and take pictures now with digital cameras. because the movement is constant, and you don't need stephen hawking to tell you that to go back in time, you have to go back in space, too. and that, friends and neighbors, is pretty well impossible at this juncture.
i was driving home a couple of days ago, and looking at the wildflowers on the side of the road. i love wildflowers, and they are one of the reasons i moved back to texas almost ten years ago. one spring away from them was almost more than my sanity could bear. springtime is my favorite season...but i say that about all the seasons. this year, though, the colors seem to be shouting...the greens are greener, the blues are bluer, and the colors of the cows and sheep seem to sing a beautiful harmony that's unlike anything i've seen before. it's almost like seeing something for the first time.
i wonder if the ground hurts when the flowers begin to burst forth, the way a mother hurts when she brings a baby into the world? a precious and needful ache, an ache of completion and surrender and acceptance...a growing ache that has nothing and everything to do with loss and gain, of zero balance? in this life, birth is always a part of brokeness, and coming to terms with our pain, radically surrendering to it, breathing with it, and out of it is the only way we can really gain the big picture, i think.
maybe it's the spectre of holy week that has put me in the mind of loss being gain, in the shadow of the cross, and the long walk up the last hill. we live in a world of powerful opposites, of attractions and repulsions. and the more things change, the more they stay the same. God is good, all the time. God's ways are not my ways. God has nothing to do with fairness, only mercy and grace and love. for that, i am profoundly grateful.
mil besos,
rmg
i keep reminding myself to look at the big picture. in fact, the phrase "big picture" has become my new mantra, the way "it is what it is" was the mantra a couple of years ago. sometimes, just saying "big picture" to myself is enough to stave off a crying fit, or make me laugh, or feel incredibly grateful. sometimes, "big picture" actually makes me want to barf. nevertheless, it's the mantra, for the moment, for better or worse.
this life is in a state of constant change and readjustment...people being born, people dying, people marrying, people divorcing, people moving closer or farther away. relationships are profoundly important, but the context in which we have them is important as well. sometimes, we all seem to be in the midst of readjustments, and it's hard to know where the hand-holds are. at least, that's how it's felt for me in the last month. change, like the tides, seems to rush in and rush back out, and i'm left picking through the debris on the shoreline, reminding myself that this little life and the little place i have in the universe is still here, even if the geography looks different than it did at Christmas, or my birthday. and it will look different all over again, in a few short weeks or months. that is life. this is my life. it's not meant to be static. that's why people painted epic moments on cave walls, on canvases, and take pictures now with digital cameras. because the movement is constant, and you don't need stephen hawking to tell you that to go back in time, you have to go back in space, too. and that, friends and neighbors, is pretty well impossible at this juncture.
i was driving home a couple of days ago, and looking at the wildflowers on the side of the road. i love wildflowers, and they are one of the reasons i moved back to texas almost ten years ago. one spring away from them was almost more than my sanity could bear. springtime is my favorite season...but i say that about all the seasons. this year, though, the colors seem to be shouting...the greens are greener, the blues are bluer, and the colors of the cows and sheep seem to sing a beautiful harmony that's unlike anything i've seen before. it's almost like seeing something for the first time.
i wonder if the ground hurts when the flowers begin to burst forth, the way a mother hurts when she brings a baby into the world? a precious and needful ache, an ache of completion and surrender and acceptance...a growing ache that has nothing and everything to do with loss and gain, of zero balance? in this life, birth is always a part of brokeness, and coming to terms with our pain, radically surrendering to it, breathing with it, and out of it is the only way we can really gain the big picture, i think.
maybe it's the spectre of holy week that has put me in the mind of loss being gain, in the shadow of the cross, and the long walk up the last hill. we live in a world of powerful opposites, of attractions and repulsions. and the more things change, the more they stay the same. God is good, all the time. God's ways are not my ways. God has nothing to do with fairness, only mercy and grace and love. for that, i am profoundly grateful.
mil besos,
rmg
04 February 2010
naked singularity
from wikipedia.org:
In general relativity, a naked singularity is a gravitational singularity without an event horizon. The singularities inside black holes are always surrounded by an area which does not allow light to escape, and therefore cannot be directly observed. A naked singularity, by contrast, is observable from the outside.
i went to see one of my old people today. i see him every thursday, usually in the afternoon. but i had some extra time this morning, and i was already out on visits, anyway, so i went. it was not a good time. but, i did find out later that he was having some trouble with his blood sugar, and nothing seriously bad wrong was happening. he's fine.
what i saw in his room, or more accurately, what i heard, threw me for a loop of epic proportions. he was having a hard time breathing, and because of (unknown to me) the drop in bloodsugar, was kind of loopy and confused. he sounded like he was breathing through a hundred pounds of wet sand, and struggling to get the job done. the last breaths i heard come out of my father sounded just like that. i gave him communion, prayed with him, and left as quickly as i could. i called the office, and relayed the info that john was having a tough morning, and that it might be nice if a clergy person ran by to check on him later.
mostly, i think i just needed to hear a familiar voice and know that the person on the other end of the line was hearing what i was saying. luckily, my favorite co-worker took the call, and said the right things. and then asked if i was ok. and then i started getting teary. before, i was just freaking out quietly in my head, willing myself to calm the eff down, and not spiral. after i hung up the phone, i pulled into a parking lot, parked the car, put my head down, and promptly and efficiently lost my shit. for fifteen minutes. and then, i put on my big sunglasses, blew my nose, and went back to my office.
there are days when the weight of losing a father is especially hard to carry, and there are days when you can almost forget that the load is there. loss is an innate part of this life. it is inevitable. and sometimes, it's impossible to ignore. and sometimes, the sounds are deafening, and come at you in full decibels, demanding that you remember and feel all those sharp edges, again. it's like dropping a straight pin into a bag, and forgetting about it, until the day you go rooting in the bottom of the bag, and get the bastard lodged right in your cuticle. at least, that's how i try to make sense of the fact that even after thirteen years, death can still seem so fresh and terrible, all over again. it's frustrating. it was kind of scary, too. it's been a long time since i cried that hard over all of that. a very long time, indeed...years, maybe. but in a matter of 15 minutes on this rainy morning, i was 18 again, and in a parking lot, in another white car, sobbing into the steering wheel because my father was dead.
i'm ok. just needed to get it out.
mil besos,
rmg
In general relativity, a naked singularity is a gravitational singularity without an event horizon. The singularities inside black holes are always surrounded by an area which does not allow light to escape, and therefore cannot be directly observed. A naked singularity, by contrast, is observable from the outside.
i went to see one of my old people today. i see him every thursday, usually in the afternoon. but i had some extra time this morning, and i was already out on visits, anyway, so i went. it was not a good time. but, i did find out later that he was having some trouble with his blood sugar, and nothing seriously bad wrong was happening. he's fine.
what i saw in his room, or more accurately, what i heard, threw me for a loop of epic proportions. he was having a hard time breathing, and because of (unknown to me) the drop in bloodsugar, was kind of loopy and confused. he sounded like he was breathing through a hundred pounds of wet sand, and struggling to get the job done. the last breaths i heard come out of my father sounded just like that. i gave him communion, prayed with him, and left as quickly as i could. i called the office, and relayed the info that john was having a tough morning, and that it might be nice if a clergy person ran by to check on him later.
mostly, i think i just needed to hear a familiar voice and know that the person on the other end of the line was hearing what i was saying. luckily, my favorite co-worker took the call, and said the right things. and then asked if i was ok. and then i started getting teary. before, i was just freaking out quietly in my head, willing myself to calm the eff down, and not spiral. after i hung up the phone, i pulled into a parking lot, parked the car, put my head down, and promptly and efficiently lost my shit. for fifteen minutes. and then, i put on my big sunglasses, blew my nose, and went back to my office.
there are days when the weight of losing a father is especially hard to carry, and there are days when you can almost forget that the load is there. loss is an innate part of this life. it is inevitable. and sometimes, it's impossible to ignore. and sometimes, the sounds are deafening, and come at you in full decibels, demanding that you remember and feel all those sharp edges, again. it's like dropping a straight pin into a bag, and forgetting about it, until the day you go rooting in the bottom of the bag, and get the bastard lodged right in your cuticle. at least, that's how i try to make sense of the fact that even after thirteen years, death can still seem so fresh and terrible, all over again. it's frustrating. it was kind of scary, too. it's been a long time since i cried that hard over all of that. a very long time, indeed...years, maybe. but in a matter of 15 minutes on this rainy morning, i was 18 again, and in a parking lot, in another white car, sobbing into the steering wheel because my father was dead.
i'm ok. just needed to get it out.
mil besos,
rmg
01 February 2010
sounds like home
i'm consistantly amazed at the wisdom i ignored as a teenager. occasionally, that old wisdom comes screaming back into my ears, and oddly enough, is carried in my own voice.
i remember laying across my brass bed, all of fifteen years old, wondering what it all meant. and i remember hearing neil young in my stereo speakers. the fact that his voice is not the best, that his lyrics sometimes are cryptic and bizarre, that no one i knew was listening to him, that made neil young that much cooler to me. i can see myself sprawled against my pink-striped sheets, agonizing over my journal, and feeling the "hurt-so-good"-ness of "harvest", and knowing that it didn't matter that i didn't have words to put with any of my feelings. it was enough to just feel them.
there was a time in my life when i pretended that i didn't have crushes, or unrequited loves, or ridiculous "cinderella"-esque fantasies. for most of high school, i pretended to be above that kind of thing, at least in my head. and for most of my 20's, i just worked myself into such a frenzy about...work, that it didn't seem like i would ever settle down, and figure out what my heart really, really wanted.
and so, here i sit, at 31, feeling all these gross and disjointed and angsty feelings that i should have felt fifteen years ago. you can only hit the snooze bar on parts of your life so many times, before they crawl into your bed and demand that you deal with them like a sane and rational adult. it's a hard reality to finally see. i always took getting married and having kids for granted, like i wouldn't have to try and be present for those things to happen. i'm realizing more and more that the more cerebral i made my ideas of love and loving, the less and less real those ideas became.
i know a few things, on this cold and rainy day. i want to marry a nice man who loves Jesus. i want to have lots and lots of babies, and live in a house full of music and good smells. what i have right now, is a head and heart full of a 15 year old who wants to listen to her records and figure out what all this means. even thought the pink striped sheets are long gone, and all that impossible hair is being shot through with gray, i think i'm going to let the 15 year old drive the heart bus for a while, because the 31 year old driving the head bus is making a pig's ear out of this whole "adult relationship" thing.
mil besos,
rmg
i remember laying across my brass bed, all of fifteen years old, wondering what it all meant. and i remember hearing neil young in my stereo speakers. the fact that his voice is not the best, that his lyrics sometimes are cryptic and bizarre, that no one i knew was listening to him, that made neil young that much cooler to me. i can see myself sprawled against my pink-striped sheets, agonizing over my journal, and feeling the "hurt-so-good"-ness of "harvest", and knowing that it didn't matter that i didn't have words to put with any of my feelings. it was enough to just feel them.
there was a time in my life when i pretended that i didn't have crushes, or unrequited loves, or ridiculous "cinderella"-esque fantasies. for most of high school, i pretended to be above that kind of thing, at least in my head. and for most of my 20's, i just worked myself into such a frenzy about...work, that it didn't seem like i would ever settle down, and figure out what my heart really, really wanted.
and so, here i sit, at 31, feeling all these gross and disjointed and angsty feelings that i should have felt fifteen years ago. you can only hit the snooze bar on parts of your life so many times, before they crawl into your bed and demand that you deal with them like a sane and rational adult. it's a hard reality to finally see. i always took getting married and having kids for granted, like i wouldn't have to try and be present for those things to happen. i'm realizing more and more that the more cerebral i made my ideas of love and loving, the less and less real those ideas became.
i know a few things, on this cold and rainy day. i want to marry a nice man who loves Jesus. i want to have lots and lots of babies, and live in a house full of music and good smells. what i have right now, is a head and heart full of a 15 year old who wants to listen to her records and figure out what all this means. even thought the pink striped sheets are long gone, and all that impossible hair is being shot through with gray, i think i'm going to let the 15 year old drive the heart bus for a while, because the 31 year old driving the head bus is making a pig's ear out of this whole "adult relationship" thing.
mil besos,
rmg
21 January 2010
...and i feel fine...
so in the span of less than two hours, two people i adore and who are totally unrelated to each other, asked me about 2012 and what i thought about it. crazy, huh? if i'm honest with myself, i really don't think it's crazy, at all, and is probably one of those little synchronicities that need to be dealt with, in some form or fashion.
it's no secret that the last year has been a real struggle for me, both personally and professionally. it's no secret that the world is changing, is getting exponentially smaller and larger at the same time. there are no secrets. and i don't think there are accidents, either. sure, there are things that defy explanation or reason, but that dosen't mean they don't have some greater good/deeper meaning attached to them. of all the things i've ever quit believing, waste has been the easiest one to cast aside. i don't believe in waste, and the belief in accidents allows for that. but i digress...
2012...possibly one of john cusak's worst movie choices...that hurt to type. i think that's the worst thing i can say about 2012, with any veracity. i mean, talking about what might or might happen when the Long Calendar runs out makes about as much sense as talking about what might or might not happen tomorrow. it's another day. and all the prognostication about the end of the world, cataclysms of epic proportions, and the ultimate doom of humanity seems a little ridiculous, if you ask me. it's not for me to know. and even if i did know it, what's to be done about it?
in the final analysis (and after all, isn't that what all the fuss with 2012 is focused on), everyone's world ends, sooner or later. for some people, it will be today, or was last week, or will be a hundred years from now. how we tell our stories, how we tell the Story of G-d, what words we use, how we find a way to hold Jesus's hand...those are the details that should interest us, should drive us forward, should compell us to love each other and our little lives a little bit more, every day. when we get bogged down in when the end of the world really happens, who gets rewarded or punished, we lose sight of the life we have to live TODAY, in the most ordinary and trascendent of ways.
i thought about what i would do differently if i knew i only had 24 months left on the game clock. things i've never seen, or done, or experienced that i thought were important went flashing through my head first. and then i thought about things i've done that i'd like to do, again. and then i realized that if i knew i only had 24 months left on the clock, i wouldn't do anything differently, not really. there is a lot left to learn in my little life, in my insane job, with my amazing family, and from my incredible hedge of friends. why would i leave that for a minute to go running off someplace else? so maybe i'd listen harder, ask better questions, be nicer than i absolutely had to be. i'd paint once a week. i'd write more letters. but that's about all. and those are things i've been working on doing, anyway.
the end of the world is not my perview. it's not something i think i should think about, or dwell on. my job is to live into the Gospel, and to sometimes use words; to praise God, love people, and use things well. i'm content to let G-d, who is doing far more than we could ask or imagine, handle the rest.
mil besos,
rmg
it's no secret that the last year has been a real struggle for me, both personally and professionally. it's no secret that the world is changing, is getting exponentially smaller and larger at the same time. there are no secrets. and i don't think there are accidents, either. sure, there are things that defy explanation or reason, but that dosen't mean they don't have some greater good/deeper meaning attached to them. of all the things i've ever quit believing, waste has been the easiest one to cast aside. i don't believe in waste, and the belief in accidents allows for that. but i digress...
2012...possibly one of john cusak's worst movie choices...that hurt to type. i think that's the worst thing i can say about 2012, with any veracity. i mean, talking about what might or might happen when the Long Calendar runs out makes about as much sense as talking about what might or might not happen tomorrow. it's another day. and all the prognostication about the end of the world, cataclysms of epic proportions, and the ultimate doom of humanity seems a little ridiculous, if you ask me. it's not for me to know. and even if i did know it, what's to be done about it?
in the final analysis (and after all, isn't that what all the fuss with 2012 is focused on), everyone's world ends, sooner or later. for some people, it will be today, or was last week, or will be a hundred years from now. how we tell our stories, how we tell the Story of G-d, what words we use, how we find a way to hold Jesus's hand...those are the details that should interest us, should drive us forward, should compell us to love each other and our little lives a little bit more, every day. when we get bogged down in when the end of the world really happens, who gets rewarded or punished, we lose sight of the life we have to live TODAY, in the most ordinary and trascendent of ways.
i thought about what i would do differently if i knew i only had 24 months left on the game clock. things i've never seen, or done, or experienced that i thought were important went flashing through my head first. and then i thought about things i've done that i'd like to do, again. and then i realized that if i knew i only had 24 months left on the clock, i wouldn't do anything differently, not really. there is a lot left to learn in my little life, in my insane job, with my amazing family, and from my incredible hedge of friends. why would i leave that for a minute to go running off someplace else? so maybe i'd listen harder, ask better questions, be nicer than i absolutely had to be. i'd paint once a week. i'd write more letters. but that's about all. and those are things i've been working on doing, anyway.
the end of the world is not my perview. it's not something i think i should think about, or dwell on. my job is to live into the Gospel, and to sometimes use words; to praise God, love people, and use things well. i'm content to let G-d, who is doing far more than we could ask or imagine, handle the rest.
mil besos,
rmg
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