The Earth Savers Blog

Best Friends.

 

Do we ever really forget about the first true best friend we ever had?  I know I won't.
My first real best friend was Marcie Blake, and I would have pretty much would have given her my right arm if she asked me to.  The power of friendship has gotten me through the very worst times in my life, and of course illuminated the very best times in my life as well. There is nothing like sharing an experience with someone and deepening a bond through thick and thin. My friends have taught me so much about myself, and about life, and about what it means to be a true friend. Sometimes you just connect with someone right away, and other times a friendship develops over time.

I watch my daughter now, almost seven as she deepens her relationships to her peers, and when she gravitates toward one particular friend I am always so intrigued. What makes that bond so tight and so strong even at such a young age? It's amazing to me. Today I simply marveled at their antics, giggling fits, fights, makeups, and sadness when it was time to part. They were as thick as thieves, and it truly made for a special day to simply be around them as they joyously played with each other and genuinely and deeply enjoyed each others company, and oh...an ice cream cone never hurts. 

When Things Fall Apart

"Embarking on the spiritual journey is like getting into a very small boat and setting out on the Oceans to search for unknown lands. With wholehearted practice comes inspiration, but sooner or later we will encounter fear. For all we know when we get out onto the horizon, we are going to drop off the edge of the world. Like all explorers we are drawn to discover what's waiting out there without knowing yet if we have the courage to face it."  - Pema Chondron

When I started my company I set out to inspire others on the journey of consciousness. I did this never really realizing how unconscious I was to my own life, to my own self. It's interesting to be consider the possibility that I can not be of much impact to anyone else or anything else until I start first by looking at  who I am, what my actions are, how they impact others, and most importantly accepting myself for who I am.

Introducing parents to a loving and caring attitude about the way we treat our environment so that we can demonstrate to our kids how to be good stewards of the planet is where I was headed... as a parents myself I have had to face myself in the mirror and realize that this can only happen collectively if we are first willing to make it happen individually, and if we are to really trust in our ability to make an impact and a difference, then we have to embrace who each of us is, and respect ourselves and each other as individuals.

When things started to fall apart I started feeling worse and worse. My business started to go under,  my marriage was suffering, and everywhere I turned I seemed to be overwhelmed and having no idea how or what I could do to make it better. When I payed attention to how I was being on the inside - I realized I was beating myself up for many events that were completely out of my control, and the thing that were in my control I was too afraid and weak to look at because I had chastised myself so completely.

When things are tough do I have a loving, respectful, caring, and compassionate attitude towards myself?  The answer is no. The question then begs, If I don't have compassion for myself - how can I really relate and have compassion for those around me?

The way that I treat the world is a reflection of how I feel about myself in many cases. Do I beat myself up? Do I criticize myself? Do I neglect myself? Do I punish myself? Do I have compassion for myself? Do I forgive myself? Do I respect myself?

The state of the environment is a reflection after all. In order to make any kind of a difference, any kind of an impact I must first look at myself and accept what I see, love what I see, and respect what I see. I explore who I am and all that I am and all that I am not, and try to embrace it with as much honesty and acceptance as I can muster. I do so because I am drawn I guess to "discover what's waiting out there" and I have to say it's the scariest thing I have ever done.  To look at another human being and point a finger is so much easier. To look at oneself and inside oneself is very humbling. I can only be responsible for me- and my actions, and my view of the world. How I treat others and the beautiful world I live in is an extension of how I treat myself. 

As I stand inside the mess around me and the dust settles I look at where I might not have been willing, accepting, compassionate, or loving. It has brought me great sadness and at times seemed like a scary and thankless adventure, but I find myself drawn non-the-less to the moments of pure joy, discovery, and insight it has brought as well.

A wonderful friend of mine brought me this book on the day I closed my flagship store in Newport.
I stood amidst the boxes of packing up and moving out and read the first passage- and it gave me great hope and solace. When things fall apart I have discovered that there is an opportunity for growth, and connection and love not only to others and to the world  but to the only thing that really matters....yourself.

NPR & AAA and Unlikely Pair.

Sometimes some of my best thinking is done while driving. Yesterday NPR triggered a series of memories and emotions I was not expecting. When I was a little girl I remember waiting up for my dad to come home from work as I tried to sit patiently - the hum of the dishwasher making me feel sleepy...my footed pajama's whispering on linoleum floors, shadows dancing on flowered walls.

I would wait for him to walk through the door from a long day of surgery, and eat up the attention that the Dr. would finally direct my way.  It's been almost 20 years since he passed of prostate cancer, and I remember that wink and his smile like it was yesterday.  There were things about him that were all his own including his sense of humor, unwavering faith, can do attitude, and his passion for literature and music. The thing I remember most about my Dad was his hunger for intellectually challenging conversation. He loved digging in the trenches of discussions, and challenged me to think and respond accordingly. He was into the "principal" of things and held a high moral standard for himself, and those around him.

He never really treated me like a child, and I think exposed me to issues and problems well before I was actually able to wrap my head around them- but it did make me feel extremely important and boosted my confidence. He certainly taught me never to "hide" out with thoughts unspoken. He told me once that "life was for living, " and so it is.

My Dad's family were Irish Immigrants- and his parents settled in Wakefield MA on Albion Street, and proceeded to have eight children. My Dad was born in 1923. His father was a butcher, and I really no nothing more except that both of his parents died of cancer before he turned twenty. His sisters put him through college and medical school, and he would tell me stories about how he had been a poor student, and failed many classes in math and science before finally "applying himself" and making the marks that finally allowed him to graduate and go on to Georgetown Medical University where he studied Vascular Surgery. He was a pioneer in his field and went on to become Chief Vascular Surgeon at one of the largest hospitals in Detriot Michigan, and held that position for 30 years (I was still in high school when he retired.)

He had been drafted, been through wars, cared for people in WWII, and worked with sick and wounded people from the onset of his career. He had been there through the Detriot Riots, and used to tell me about the many gunshot wounds, and terrible stories of families who's children had needed a surgeon and who could not afford the care, and how he would peform the surgery's anyways. We would always have visits from people who would bring gifts to our home on the weekends to come visit the "Doc" many who said he saved their lives.

In addition to the fact that NPR was always a favored station in his car I heard a poem yesterday entitled "Music" and It was simply beautiful and flooded me with memories I had not even known I still had. I remember how after he retired my dad would drive me to school and we would listen to the classical station and how he would orchestrate the music with his finger in the air, and intermittently pat my knee. He affectionately called me "Moniker" and I had a deep affection for my Dad- we were pretty great together.

I learned yesterday as I was listening to that poem called "Music" that grief can still reach out of the quiet peaceful places of your heart and wash over your memory as you sit remembering the life of someone who deeply touches your soul. I learned that it can still wrack you years later- even when you never see it coming. Life I think, is funny like that. It makes you FEEL when you least expect it, and forces you to have a moment that seems way to big for you to manage, and then will throw you something uneventful and mundane in it's wake - like a flat tire.

When I had finished wiping my tears and cursing the pothole I calmly called AAA and waited until someone came to my assistance. The roadside spot where I had wept so deeply as I recalled such a remarkable piece of my life easily let me move onward as the open road lay before me. AAA finished it's fix and I put the car into drive.

 

Solace in Poetry

I have found so much beauty and solace in poetry lately. I highly recommend the "Ten Poems" series by Roger Housden. He does a beautiful job of explaining how to interpret and appreciate poetry, and I find that his take on each of the ten poems he shares to give me an entirely different perception than If I had just read them on my own.  One of my most recent favorites is Self Portrait. I hope you enjoy.

Self Portrait

It doesn't interest me if there is one God
or many gods.
I want to know if you belong or feel
abandoned.
If you know despair or can see it in others.
I want to know
if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need
to change you. If you can look back
with firm eyes
saying this is where I stand. I want to know
if you know
how to melt into that fierce heat of living
falling toward
the center of your longing. I want to know
if you are willing
to live, day by day, with the consequence of love
and the bitter
unwanted passion of your sure defeat.

I have heard, in that fierce embrace, even
the gods speak of God.

  

-- David Whyte

Fear of Transformation

Sometimes I feel that my life is a series of trapeze swings. I'm either hanging on to a trapeze bar swinging along or, for a few moments of my life, I'm hurling across space in between trapeze bars.

Most of the time, I spend my life hanging on for dear life to my trapeze-bar-of-the-moment. It carries me along a certain steady rate of swing, and I have the feeling that I'm in control of my life. I know most of the right questions and even some of the right answers. But, once in a while, as I'm merrily (or not so merrily) swinging along. I look ahead of me into the distance, and what do I see? I see another trapeze bar swinging towards me and it's empty, and I know, in that place in me that knows, that this new trapeze bar has my name on it. It is my next step, my growth, my aliveness coming to get me. In my heart of hearts, I know that for me to grow, I must release the grip on the present, well-known bar to move to the new one.

Each time it happens to me, I hope (no, I pray) that I won't have to grab the new one. But in my knowing place, I know that I must totally release my grasp on my old bar, and for some moment in time I must hurdle across the space before I can grab on to the new bar. Each time I am filled with terror. It doesn't matter that in all my previous hurtles across the void of unknowing I have always made it. Each time I am afraid I will miss, that I will be crushed on unseen rocks in the bottomless chasm between the bars. But I do it anyway. Perhaps this is the essence of what the mystics call the faith experience. No guarantees, no net, no insurance policy, but you do it anyway because somehow to keep hanging onto that old bar is no longer on the list of alternatives. And so, for an eternity that can last a microsecond or a thousand lifetimes, I soar across the dark void of "the past is gone, the future is not yet here." It's called transition. I have come to believe that it is the only place that real change occurs. I mean real change, not the pseudo-change that only lasts until the next time my old buttons get punched.

I have noticed that, in our culture, this transition zone is looked upon as a "no-thing," a no-place between places. Sure the old trapeze bar was real, and that new one coming towards me, I hope it's real too. But the void in between? That's just a scary, confusing, disorienting, "nowhere" that must be gotten through as as fast and as unconsciously as possible. What a waste! I have a sneaking suspicion that the transition zone is the only real thing, and that the bars are illusions we dream up to avoid the void, where the real change, the real growth occurs for us. Weather or not my hunch is true, it remains that the transition zones in our lives are incredibly rich places. They should be honored, even savored. Yes, with all the pain and fear and feelings of being out of control that can (but not necessarily) accompany transitions, they are still the most alive, most growth-filled, passionate, expansive moments in our lives.

And so transformation of fear may have nothing to do with making fear go away but rather with giving ourselves permission to "hang out" in the transition between the trapeze bars. Transforming our need to grab a new bar, any bar and allowing ourselves to dwell in the only place where change really happens. It can be terrifying. It can also be enlightening in the true sense of the word. Hurtling through the void, we just may learn how to fly.

- From The Essene Book of Days

Basic Training

The Journey & Lemons

The journey of consciousness is not a comfortable one.

And so in my mind
I let go of the imagined way I'd like to travel my own
in a  luxuriously cushioned box car
with first class treatment
and glove tipped pleasantries
and the plate glass window zooming by the sights and places I might someday wish to visit.

I let go of believing that if I just keep my mouth shut and don't "stir up the mud" that everyone is happier
and that if you want something badly enough that you can make it happen.
I let go of my way of doing it, or the "right" way of doing it
I let go of looking like I "have it all handled" because it's exhausting
and I surrender to the comfort
of knowing
that something larger is at work
That each challenge, circumstance, or person in my life
is here to teach me to let go
of fear
and
attachment
and become
the best person I am meant to be.

I sip my fizzy water in the expensive glass with the lemon hanging off the side as I stare out the widow of the landscape of my life and think of how funny the expression is....

"When life hands you lemons....." 

Tomorrow

I was happy to come across this quote today, as I feel less than courageous this evening, and in fact rather defeated. Yes. Tomorrow is another day, and I will try to bring out my rainbow colors and make it beautiful. 

STAY!

Lately I have been learning to hold on tight and "let go" as my life continues to shift, hold on to my inner truth and my inner self, and let go of the things that are no longer serving me, out of my control, and no longer giving me peace. As the larger world continues to experience change that all of us have been grappling with. The economic situation, the change in thoughts, ideals, leadership. I think all of humanity is going through a major shift, an discovering "what's important."

I can't pretend to be "in control" of everything that happens in my life. I have to have faith that some things simply happen for bigger reasons I don't understand. I've been looking for ways to manage my anxiety, and my restlessness and although I have not quite managed to sit through yoga sessions and just "be" with all of it- I find that other things are helping me build peace and cultivate a compassion for myself. I've been loving acupuncture, and reading things that give me a new perspective.

This excerpt helped me this morning:

In meditation we discover our inherent restlessness. Sometimes we get up and leave. Sometimes we sit there but our bodies wiggle and squirm and our minds go far away. This can be so uncomfortable that we feel it's impossible to stay. Yet this feeling can teach us not just about ourselves but also about what it is to be human. All of us derive security and comfort from the imaginary world of memories and fantasies and plans. We really don't want to stay with the nakedness of our present experience. it goes against the grain to stay present. These are the times when only gentleness and a sense of humor can give us the strength to settle down.

The pith instruction is, Stay...stay...just stay. Learning to stay with ourselves in meditation is like training a dog. If we train a dog by beating it, we'll end up with an obedient but very inflexible and rather terrified dog. The dog may obey when we say, "Stay!" "Come!"  "Roll over!" and "Sit up!" but he will also be neurotic and confused. By contrast, training with kindness results in someone who is flexible and confident, who doesn't become upset when situations are unpredictable and insecure.

So whenever we wander off, we gently encourage ourselves to "stay" and settle down. are we experiencing restlessness? Stay!  Discursive mind? Stay! Aching knees and throbbing back? Stay!. What's for lunch? Stay! What am I doing here? Stay! I can't stand this another minute! Stay! That is how we cultivate steadfastness. [...]

When our emotions intensify, what we usually feel is fear. This fear is always lurking in our lives. In sitting meditation we practice dropping whatever story we are telling ourselves and leaning into the emotions and the fear, Thus we train in opening the fearful heart to the restlessness of our own energy. We learn to abide with the experience of our emotional distress. [...]

Coming back to the present moment takes some effort, but the effort is very light. The instruction is to "touch and go." we touch thoughts by acknowledging them as thinking and then we let them go. It's a way of relaxing our struggle, like touching a bubble with a feather. It's a nonaggressive approach to being here.

- Pema Chodron, from 'The Places That Scare You"