Gravity Love

I'm pretty positive love and gravity are made out of the same stuff.

I've always wondered how gravity can pull so hard that planets stay aligned and even the lightest and heaviest objects fall into it. Yet here we are, able to stand and move and not be flattened by it. And no one can really truly tell you what it is. How it works. Of what it's made.

Kind of like love.

Maybe the best love is that which gently holds you in place. Supports you but lets you feel the freedom of movement. Lifted, while held into its form. Invisible but always right there. Large enough to flow outward into the farthest reaches of space, but so close it goes into your nostrils and fills your cells with what it is. It can be identified, but it can never seem to be properly explained. It can be experienced, but not duplicated.

Thinking about how my mom's gravity will always pull me in and push me out all at the same time. Holding near. Letting go.

Gravity Love.

Prosperity Has Been Here All Along

No secret. I've preached about how poverty stricken my childhood and my parents' adulthoods were. Often times at the end of the summer, I would find myself in a panic over whether or not I would have shoes for my summer-hardened, stained bare feet. I've spent a lot of energy focusing on the sense of what was missing or what was lacking or what was wrong.

Then comes along a "smack me in the face with a board" eureka moment. And suddenly I realize poverty is an attitude. Prosperity, too, is an attitude. But not only an attitude. It is a spiritual RITE or "RIGHT".

From the book "The Dynamic Laws of Prosperity" by Catherine Ponder:

"Obviously, you cannot be very happy if you are poor, and you need not be poor. It is a sin. Poverty is a form of hell caused by man's blindness to God's unlimited good for him. Poverty is a dirty, uncomfortable, degrading experience. Poverty is actually a form of disease and in its acute phases, it seems to be a form of insanity."

In my quest for healing the past or for mending conceptual "hurts", part of my journey has led me to a deeper understanding of the energy of "money". Or, a deeper understanding of what it is to have enough, to have PLENTY, to have an excess, to have around you what you feel inside you. Abundance. Wealth.

I've had monetary wealth and along with it the tortured restlessness, insatiable empty space in my soul, a never ending need for collecting more stuff to stuff down an ache. And I've had moments where I've been so hungry I felt faint, so challenged I couldn't afford necessities like toilet paper and laundry soap. And in THOSE moments, I've learned the beauty of being eternally grateful for the tiny, taken-for-granteds that surround us and swirl in and out every day.

I'm beginning to see what goes out and what comes in. How what the internal dialogue of negative energy does. It acts like the end of the magnet that repels. It invisibly draws into itself that which is being focused upon. Example: I've seen my granddaughter get all moody and grouchy because when in a group of three girls, once in awhile she gets "left out" (according to her internal observation). She fights back tears, crosses her arms, whines, pouts, stomps a foot when her other two buddies say, "no we want to go over here!". And the more she acts grumpy, the more they distance themselves. And so it is with the valuables. If we stay concentrated on the "wrongs", the "shoulds", the "lacks", the "impoverishment", there isn't room for anything else to enter in. It's as if an invisible force field is created to block the endless positives from flooding in.

So another story re-write. I am reminded through a friend's eyes of what we were surrounded by as kids. Trees. Pastures. Animals. Ponds. Endless skies. Butterflies. Friends. Connections. All of a sudden through his eyes, I realized the bigger picture. I "got it". I saw how prosperity had always been mine. Even during the dark times and the trials and the struggles. In the bigger picture, all those hardships created the perfect back drop for where I am today, for what I can offer into the world. And it has taught me how to do something so simple yet complex --- change how I THINK. And in response, limitless possibilities begin opening up and I see life through a much clearer lens.

"There is gold dust in the air for me...." ~an un-named salesman

Thank you, mom, for the things I didn't see that you were able to give, even when there was no money. Things that really made me rich -- prayers, laughter, hugs.

The Next Door Down

I've felt pretty helpless being so far away from mom. But she taught me something through her own actions. The power of prayer.

I know my mother has said prayers for me almost every day of my life.

Alzheimer's has gifted me with a nudging to be in continual prayer in return for her. It might not be words expressed out loud or internally. But each and every day I feel my heart wrapping itself around her somehow. I feel it creating words when I can't find any to whisper. And in much the same way as how she has nourished my life, I feel myself returning in kind.

The last time I visited my parents in their home, I heard stories about neighbors who caused some discomfort and nervous energy in my mom. Little kids unattended outside as they play and cross over boundaries into my mom's private spaces. Grown-ups who seem a bit threatening to someone who no longer has the same filtering systems and rationale. And that concern became a point of focus for my prayerful state.

So when I got a call from my stepdad telling me about their new next door neighbor, a lump grew in my throat as I listened to the details. And I recognized immediately how beautifully my prayers had been "answered". A woman close to my mom's age and height moved in next door. Small in stature, mighty in spirit, just like Flo. Someone who latched onto my mother's stories, someone who enjoys spending time and checking up on her newly found friend the next door down. Someone who can offer us all a sense of peace and joy that mom has someone nearby.

I never could have even imagined this would be in the "works". And it teaches me something very powerful. During our moments when we can't figure out what to do or when we feel like we can't come up with solutions or when we feel like we're groping for answers, learn to trust that there's a power in the universe that moves with massive force and can bring in more than what we could have ever hoped for. The outcome might not be anything like what we designed or thought of, but in the end, it's utterly perfect.

My boys used to go around the house singing, "Don't worry, be happy" with Bobby McFerrin's voice. And their childlike joy always erased any anxiety or temporary worry I might have been experiencing. I'm reminded that we have the power to "give it up". Step away from ourselves, step away from what we expect and anticipate, and create space for other, more appropriate answers to come flooding in from that abundant energy that always has our backs covered. Sometimes it's a matter of stepping out of the way and allowing it entrance in.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-diB65scQU

I'm Still Here

I thought when I first started “Dumpster Diving” that this would be easy. Just write. Write the process of dealing with, watching my mom, experiencing Alzheimer’s, again. Seeing the disease in my grandmothers, close up and personally, as I helped care for them as they transitioned out of this lifetime.

I’m miles away from my mother as she copes and lives her life, her stages.

I had no idea the words would be so difficult. They’ve always been easy for me to find. Words have always been a magic carpet that floats gently beside me and all I have to do is reach out and hold on and they flow through. I just ride the ride. But as time goes on, I realize my mother is ok. I know she has her moments of fear, moments of tears and confusion. But she’s ok.

I’m the one who is feeling the ravishes of this disease. The fear of not knowing what lies ahead, selfishly inside my own life. The stuffing down of emotions of feeling left alone when I wasn't ready to be left alone. Feeling small again. Childlike and weakened because the shadow of my mother's image seems just that ... a shadow.

I’ve spent years and years trying to heal myself from the inside out. Similarly to my mother’s journey. Chronic pain leads to answers in alternative therapies and crossing paths with healers who aid as a bridge into a pathway strewn with self-motivation, self-reflection, self-searching, self-discovery intertwined with Divinity reaching down to bless and to guide and to sustain.

But all it takes is a single “set back”, a minor car accident, that sets an intricately arranged pattern of dominoes into a falling down motion that leaves me feeling like I’m at the very bottom again, trying to pick up pieces. Line them back up one tiny blackened piece at a time. Set them up slightly differently this time. Rearrange. New design. But a task that once again seems like a “task”, a burdened job of picking up pieces and beginning again. And under it all, I feel once again the nagging sensation of complete and utter loss. A separation that seems it will swallow me up and go on forever.

I just want my mom.

I want her safety. Her comfort. Her arms wrapped around me, reassuring me everything is all right. Miles away. Neurons away.

So I search inside myself for that one thread still strong enough to bind me to my positive attitude. The thread attached to me from heaven that winds itself through me and into those around me who assist in fixing body, mind and soul.

My most recent visit into the healing realm invited me to journal after the experience. Again. The words have escaped me. Until today. I heard the swoosh of the magic carpet fluttering.

A Letter To Myself, From Myself and From My Mother's Voice Within

Mother: Once again, child, arise. And stay the course.

Me: I know what’s being said: trust, surrender, relax, feel safe. Supported. Loved. Guided and directed. My logical mind gets it. But my little child heart continues to be scared.

Mother: Let go. Completely let go. Walk through the valleys, head held high with confidence knowing “all is well” and “all is Divine”. Spend time each day working on YOU. Hands on heart. Work on One, and you work on ALL. Shed all that doesn’t serve the Inner Happiness, Inner Peace. TRUST.

This is all so temporary and is leading you to deep, rich understanding – a deeper empathic knowledge so others will be bridged into ME (the universal energy, God, Jesus consciousness). One step at a time.

Go the speed limit – for your own protection and safety. Go MY speed posted, NOT the speed of despair, desperation, sorrow, depression, heavy-heartedness, hurt and fear. Go the speed limit of LOVE. I’ll have the signs posted for you. Just see them.

Keep trying to raise your frequency into where FEAR is just fear, a lower level…. But LOVE is KING and resides higher than clouds.

Keep changing the dial until all your cells follow. It takes time, it takes healing of other sounds; the frequencies absorbed environmentally, past life noises, echoes and traces left behind or coming forward – all trying to drown out your natural order, your Divine Righteousness.

Me: Thank you for my path. For my journey. From poverty to abundance, from abundance to poverty back to abundance. Each time gaining. Each time growing and stretching me further and closer all at the same time. I’m trying to climb, but Mother, I need your help. I know it’s there, but I’m asking for specific help. I question whether I still hear your voice whispering. At times I have no doubt, I hear. But sometimes my compass needle gets caught spinning wildly in circles. And keeps spinning. I need you to pull with more clarity your magnetic field so the needle knows. So it stops twirling and shows the clear way to go.

I’ve once again had a reoccurring dream, one that terrified me as a child. Walls were falling down in huge chunks, people were screaming wildly and out of control, the ground was opening up and swallowing those who chose to frantically run. I heard you say “stay still, stay calm”. And in that moment all became quiet inside and everything around me was just motion waves. Peace kept me safe.

There’s a moral story that says once you aim for the target, you must pull back the arrow, then release it to find its mark. If you try to hold onto it, there’s no way it can fly and end up where it’s supposed to. I’m trying. Trying to let go of the arrow so it can go where it is sent. It's so hard for me to let go of that arrow and not try to force its direction, speed and force.

Mother: Talitha, Cumi. (Damsel, arise/stand.) And keep rising. Keep standing tall.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U8TsAh-zYFI

I LOVE ALZHEIMER'S!!!!

I’m not going all religious on you… But I am using a familiar story and sharing its current impact on me.

In the Christian faith many have prayed the mantra over and over known as “The Lord’s Prayer”.  I see this being similar to a monk who chants sacred words and sounds. Both containing layers of metaphysical powers many never unlock or fully recognize. But lately, another Jesus prayer has seemed extremely significant to me, and it’s one that isn’t mentioned that often unless it is during the time that pays homage to his death and afterlife.

“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

In my Lomi (traditional Hawaiian healing/massage) practice, part of what I’m discovering is the act of “ho-oponopono” or shortened in my interpretation “cleaning house”. Not just a physical house, a mental, emotional and spiritual home(s).

The Parable of a T-Shirt That Says : I <3 Alzheimer’s

Several years ago, my mother and my brother hurt one another deeply. She thought she was surprising him with a long over-due unannounced visit and he was busy trying to make a living for his family as a professional artist. Because of the distraction of my mother’s arrival, he suffered a monetary loss and reacted with blame and frustration and negative emotions unleashed upon my highly sensitive mother. Her journey brought her to my house afterwards where I spent the week hearing her cry, listening to her sorrow and pain. Later, another incident happened and my brother made the choice to disconnect from most of us in our immediate dysfunctional family unit. Years of processing and trying to understand and replaying words and images in my own head… all taking me on a journey that has ended in Hawaiian house cleaning.

“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

I look at us all, in all the situations that have occurred and I see people who have been reactionary, emotional, self-absorbed, unable to wear another’s shoes. The list goes on and on.  People unconscious. Going through motions without enlightenment being their guide. Spewing into the world instead of intentionally moving with love as the format. Wild animals caught in their own traps, prisoners bound by their own chains. All of us, including myself.

No words spoken for almost a decade. Mother broken. Son broken. Sister broken. Brother broken. Family broken. But all developing strength through the consequences of life playing itself out in one another’s lives.

And then suddenly an opportunity arises and son meets with mother again, only now, mother’s brain is being softened and re-shaped by Alzheimer’s. Her daughter miles away was worried about how things were playing themselves out, how mom was going to react; whether or not her body and mind could withstand the stress of facing what was and what had transpired.

“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

Speaking on the telephone with mom afterwards, I found not only reassurance that everything was good, healed;  I also discovered the ability to laugh at the ugly, to laugh at what once seemed so overwhelming and enormously IMPORTANT. I asked her if she had a good visit. She replied, “You should see how many apples are in our yard… I know something happened a long time ago, but I don’t remember what it was. I don’t remember anything bad anymore, honey. I just live today, kind of moment to moment. It was like laughing and talking and visiting with new people. YOU SHOULD SEE ALL THE APPLES IN OUR YARD!!!!!”

The power of forgiveness and the power of forgetfulness. What really matters in the end?

When we feel  “wronged” by someone, when someone reacts and then we react and then they react and a cycle becomes a whirlwind becomes a tornado becomes a hurricane – when it becomes difficult to forgive and let go and move forward – in the end maybe all that matters is a simple little statement concerning all of us, from both sides meeting in the center: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Clean your own house first. Forgive yourself first, for hurtful reactions, for allowing others to destroy your inner peace, for words said and unsaid, for deeds done to others out of fear, frustration, anger or hate, for not loving yourself enough, for not KNOWING. Forgive others, even when you aren’t able to see what they see or feel what they feel. Forgive circumstances, situations, events, frailties, imperfections.  “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” I'm not saying to not have a backbone. I'm also not saying that I think we should allow ourselves to be used or mistreated. I'm thinking we simply need to keep trying our best, in every situation, and maybe more especially during the heated moments.

I really really really want to make mom a t-shirt that says: “I <3 Alzheimer’s”….

 

“In the end we're all just chalk lines on the concrete

Drawn only to be washed away

For the time that I've been given

I am what I am.”

“If there was no Tomorrow

If there was just Today

Would you make different choices

Or would you stay the same.”

“I'm begging for forgiveness, everything I've done, If God is listening, He knows I'm not the only one.”

― quotes from Five Finger Death Punch

 

 

First Day of My Life

No secret that my mother instilled in me a love for the arts; creativity in all flavors whether music, art, nature. I adopted a lifestyle that includes seeing beauty everywhere, even in the darkness. It's also no secret that my son underwent brain surgery when he was 16 years old, something that drastically changes anyone going through anything similar. I've written several things about that time frame and won't revisit it now, but wanted to call it to the forefront because of my thoughts and gratitude today.

My grandmothers and aunts and even a grandfather or two gave me their favorite tunes. Songs that when I now hear I am immediately transported back in time.

My mother gave me the gift of her songs. And they've built up my life and kept me sustained during moments when I thought I wouldn't be able to put one foot in front of the other.

My children have given me the gift of their songs. Throughout their lives they have introduced me to the melodies they have found. The lyrics that have meant the same to them, words that provide an ability to appreciate, define, surf and move through this life.

And my granddaughter brings me hers. Usually wrapped inside the package of dancing or twirling or tumbling.

A common thread tying past to present, a thread bringing love when there is absence, and a thread of hope.

A couple of things happened this week. I was at a venue, listening to music with friends and had begun making my way out after the show. I was stopped in my tracks. No one EVER plays this song, but it came over the loud speakers there. "I love little baby ducks, old pick-up trucks, slow moving trains... and rain." An old Tom T. Hall country song that my dad used to sing all the time. Life wasn't easy as a kid in his household, but upon his passing, after years of seeking out and finding forgiveness and understanding with my adult eyes looking back, that song came to me as if announced over loud speakers at a circus, almost audible as I watched his soul leaving his body and I realized in that moment I would never hear his voice sing that song again. And there it was, crystal clear being played at a venue in downtown Des Moines, in the middle of nowhere accompanying me to my car and reminding me that after all the hurt, after all the pain and suffering spattered with more moments of joy and happiness, all that matters in the end is love; who we love, how we love, what we love. It flows before we arrive here, it carries us through and it takes us further once we are finished with our time here on earth.

And last night something happened that I know would embarrass my son by my sharing, but moms are born to embarrass sons, right? I've heard bits and pieces over the years of my son singing along to the radio or quietly humming something to himself. But I've never heard him sing a complete song, loud and proud with an audience. We were sharing time with friends (and luckily I was invited) and after dinner began "jamming" together. There are no words I can begin to describe hearing "First Day of My Life" sung with so much emotion and power --- coming from the voice of my son who spent his 16th year recovering and rehabbing from the removal of tumors from his brain. I will let the song say it all:

This is the first day of my life
Swear I was born right in the doorway
I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed
They're spreading blankets on the beach

Yours was the first face that I saw
I think I was blind before I met you
I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been
But I know where I want to go

So I thought I'd let you know
That these things take forever, I especially am slow
But I realized how I need you
And I wondered if I could come home

I remember the time you drove all night
Just to meet me in the morning
And I thought it was strange, you said everything changed
You felt as if you just woke up

And you said
"This is the first day of my life
Glad I didn't die before I met you
Now I don't care, I could go anywhere with you
And I'd probably be happy"

So if you want to be with me
With these things there's no telling
We'll just have to wait and see
But I'd rather be working for a paycheck
Than waiting to win the lottery  (Bright Eyes)


I truly believe LOVE is all that matters.
Let the songs carry you to heal your own past, to comfort your present, to enhance and guide you into where you need and want to be. Sometimes I think the greatest thing a mom can provide is an appreciation for music and for the gorgeous gems that lay buried waiting to be found by the one who can see through the dust and dirt.

Six Degrees of Seperation and Finding the Yin and Yang in Music

My mom had an old Gulbransen piano. In a dark room back in the farthest corner of the house. Tucked away with a hoarder's fair of other things in piles all around, items shoved in the closet, stacked in heaps; clutter and chaos seemingly organized and purposefully placed. I loved that piano from the earliest point of my life that I can remember. Not only did I love it, I felt like I was a part of it and it was a part of me somehow. Metal, wood and strings, golden letters, mahogany finish, ivory keys, some chipped, some a little crooked. Mom played hymns for weekly church services on Sundays and I would watch and listen any time I heard her practicing. I would sit beside her, watch as her hands moved, watched her looking at the notes out of an old hymnal that never left the piano. Eventually, she started showing me a few things; how to identify the notes on the page "Middle C, you can find every other note from Middle C if you just know where IT is." Middle C became my home base for everything else that layered thereafter. Center of the piano. Great place for both of your thumbs to lightly lay, ready at a moment's notice, either side left or right, to strike that familiar, comforting sound that only Middle C can vibrate. She didn't teach me a lot of things, because as was typical, the more she tried telling me what to do, the more I resisted her telling me what to do. Defiant to a fault. Independent. I wanted to let my own soul figure it out. I felt like somewhere deep inside I already KNEW. The piano had somehow told me about everything I needed to know about the language of music and its beautiful voice that speaks across waters, through the universe, from one culture to the next. I didn't need it "explained" to me.
She lovingly let it go. Let me just fumble and bumble and try to sort it out on my own. I kept watching my hands, watching how they could be efficient in their movements on the keys. One way leads to too much effort, another way seems easy.
Over the years, I received six months of lessons as a gift from my grandmother and aunt and learned to love a woman named Mrs. Wanda Derry. She gave me books. She gave me patience and understanding. She gave me a sense of calm and quiet peacefulness. And she challenged me to push myself to new levels and to keep going even past those points and plateaus. Six months wasn't long, but it was long enough to be a foundation that has never cracked, moved, or faltered.
I eventually came to where I am today. I no longer have my piano, but instead a guitar or two that has the same ability to take me into another world, away from pressures and worries and fears. During my last lesson, I figured out one of my missing pieces in my understanding of music. I know there are several missing pieces in music theory that I have totally missed that if I knew, I think I would have a new sense of empowerment and an ability to arrive at yet another peak. I'm getting there. I can feel it. During my last lesson, the teacher showed me major keys (the sounds that make "happy" noises) and the relationship to their relative minor keys (the sounds that make "sad" noises). He explained the way to find the relative key is six units (notes) away. Just like the theory with people... being separated by six degrees. We're all inter-connected in a web so close, just as musical notes are bound together. Within those two keys; a major and its relative minor, you can play the same notes within any chord combination and nothing you play is "wrong" or sounds as if it doesn't fit. I don't know if I am explaining it properly or effectively, but all of a sudden I saw something, FELT something I hadn't felt before. Yin and yang, beautifully portrayed in sound. Happy and sad are the same, they just begin and end in a different place, six degrees away from one another. Nothing is "wrong" inside either, it's simply part of the music, part of the sound of a song. We have this complex matrix of different options, different choices, different directions we can take, maybe... just maybe no matter what choice becomes the right one in accordance with our lives, with what has gone before and what is coming up next. It's beautiful. And it's grace, knowing that if you are doing your best, (and aren't we all?) whatever step you take next, whether up or down or sideways, as long as you're carried on a wave that is part of your authentic self, the choice is perfect.
I'm so thankful my mom didn't force her knowledge on me. I'm so thankful she simply opened up a door and then let me go and let me explore what is beyond, waiting for me to discover and uncover in my way and in my time. I don't think it would have been so hugely impacting being told to a young me who hadn't yet experienced what the older me has.
"Life is a song. Love is the music." ~ unknown

The Good Heart

Quietly and joyfully living each day

In a way

As it should be.

Free.

Unencumbered by abuse, misuse, trials and piles

Of things that maim the tenderness inside

The Kindest  Heart.

She walks in the valleys while soaring above the clouds

Proud.

Laughing loud.

Finding calm where others don’t see

Peace.

She projects an understanding that says

It’s all right to find the best.

Leave the rest.

A mess, time and time again.

The climb to better health only to be beaten back down again

By forces inside ravaging her cells

By forces outside.

Cowboy boots kicking, voice screaming, shoving, shouting, pushing anger of one she loved with all of her Sweet Heart.

Above and out, destroyed, rebuilt

Over and over again.

Nothing can touch the eternal light given.

She knows. She loves.  

She lives the secret of the Good Heart.

Erase and Replace; Everything Is Temporary, Even Me

Sometimes life takes you directions you had no idea you could ever go. I’m feeling really raw right now. The loss of a former student to suicide, the loss of a childhood/young adulthood friend, the loss of a musician friend who I’ll never be able to hear again on this side of the tracks. And the losses of dreams, of an expectation of how life will play itself out. And under it all is this silent constant – a mourning for the mother that I used to know and the realization that she can no longer surf facebook, that she is changing more and more and I’m having to learn painfully how to let go of the one person I never ever want to let go of.

It’s all causing a lot of self-reflection. Even more so than usual. And in the mix, sprinkled in, are other life circumstances that keep pulling me and trying to twist up my heart. I’ve thought how ultimately? Yes, we’re all individual, but mainly, we are REPLACABLE. We like to think we are special. That we are different or unique. And granted, I believe we are to some degree, but there’s this common thread of insignificance that also remains in play. Each of us is simply a number. Here for such a short period of time. In each other’s lives temporarily.

Mothers can become erased by time, disease, distance, miscommunication, misunderstanding. Another mother can walk in. A wife or husband can be disregarded, and another enter the picture. A child can go missing, either deliberately or not, and another can come in and melt one’s heart. A father can leave or be pushed away, another be introduced. A lover can be taken for granted or forgotten or mistreated, another walks in the door. Layer by layer, I feel life has forced me to LET GO. Let go of what isn’t really real. And one of those things is a fairy tale I’ve always held; that someday I would be the difference. I would be noticed as irreplaceable. I would be cherished as “one of a kind”. But I’ve had to put on my big girl panties as age and time and circumstances have played themselves out. And I’ve had to reach deep inside and find that nothing and no one remains intact and solid and concrete. We all cling to that notion. But in reality, we’re as fluid as the mist that creates the rainbows. We shine for awhile in each other’s eyes, but someday vanish into memories held. When this first hit me today so clearly, I literally cried. Then I searched further and found some kind of comfort in the fact that life is all about change and creating itself new. And the easier it is to let go of what we think we see and embrace that reality, the more complete is our own enlightenment and our own personal power. Only I have the ability to know every ounce of my own worth. And only I have the ability to recognize it in everyone else… even those who hurt, destroy or knowingly or unknowingly break me apart. And that is where I came face to face with the strength that is labelled “grace”. One by one we are a collective unit, held in place by gravity and time for maybe, if we’re lucky 85 years. Ever replacing and being replaced with the hope that during the process, we manage to make a slight difference in the life of another human being.

BaLANciNg AcT

I admit it.

I can’t call my mother. I’ve talked less and less often with her. And I’ve struggled with all kinds of guilt and all kinds of other emotions.

It’s painful.

It’s painful to be so far away from her. Painful to know she is trapped inside most of the time. Painful to know she might feel trapped inside her confusion and inside a brain that is drying out from the outside in. Painful to experience (for the third time) the knowing that the women in my family share the Alzheimer’s thread. Painful to feel the ominous understanding that someday my mother will be another huge loss. And selfishly, it’s too hard to deal with most days.

Painful to feel so helpless.

As is often the case, my work on another – my compassion for another - taught me something profound today. While in session, I had this sentence go through my mind, “For every healthy SAD, you need to counter balance with healthy JOY.”  And the bigger the sadness, the greater the need for heavy duty injections of joy. Sounds simple, right? But how many of us get swallowed by the things that are difficult? The things that make us mourn, sorrowful, sad? It dawned on me today, it’s so easy to know sadness. But it’s so crucial and so vitally important to find that same intensity of JOY. Intentionally find things, large and small, that even out the pressure your mind, body and heart feel when dealing with loss. And I haven’t proven it, but I’m pretty sure the AMOUNTS of joy, the number of occurrences that make you smile, laugh and feel warm fuzzies needs to be GREATER than the sad in order to bring about a homeostasis in the soul. All of a sudden riding on that thought, I realized we all need to give ourselves permission to find those reasons to giggle. Discover what things, from hobbies to warms baths to sky diving or whatever it may be, add to your well-being in order to stay healthy and balanced and “whole”.

Don’t just find joy. Seek it out. Live it. Become it and let it keep you upright and let it elevate you on purpose.