Quiet...

I’ve always spent a lot of time at our Peninsula here on this Great Lake, and so going there to “blow the stink off,” as my Nana always said, is a natural reflex for me during this time of social isolation.

What’s surprising is the way we walk past each other with our guard up… swerving a bit as if to say, “there you go… there’s your six feet.”

We’re just generally… shyer with each other, aren’t we?

And because so many people are mainly staying at home, the other surprise is the QUIET. It’s that kind of quiet that you normally only hear on these paths during the winter months. Deep and thick with beauty and mystery. You hear your own breath and every sound that the trees and land around you have to offer, from subtle crackling of leaves to the bird calls beckoning from the summer that is still to come.

I don’t like why this gift has presented itself, but I will not turn this gift away.

When I’m walking along the lapping shore, I no longer bother with headphones and podcasts. When I’m walking, I’m no longer aiming to go faster and cover more ground.

When I’m walking, I’m just walking.

An Invocation for Sensitive Hearts Suffering

I wrote this for a workshop, and then recently it struck me that I should share it wider.

Here’s a caveat: We are ALL sensitive hearts. We are all suffering.

There is magic in knowing we are not alone, in realizing that our hearts are all the same. When we differentiate ourselves by saying we are or we are not “empathic,” we are missing the point that all humans are empathic; some humans just tap into it more, allow for it more, nurture those skills.

So take care of yourself…. take care of each other… and feel free to use and share this.

Dance, Incantational Speech, & the Making of Reality

I understand myself through dance.

I understand the world through words, both written and spoken.

I also create myself through dance. Following breath and energy to allow my body to express its instinctive and visceral stories reveals to me, through noticing and big mind witness, what sort of me needs to be embodied.

Talking and writing is the same. By following threads of thought and idea and imagination, the possibilities of worlds outside of me take shape. Some of these possible worlds beckon me to step into them, to take the actions necessary to make them concrete. A large number fall away, making space for new possibilities to arise and entrance me.

This can all sound so… vague and metaphorical until you see it in action in seemingly simple ways, and if you’re not someone who creates their worlds — their very lives — through words, it is easy to miss.

It took a while for my father, after his stroke, to start future speaking, and when he did, my mother and sister and I felt some space to breathe. His will to live was strengthening (because after a very bad stroke, one’s will is tested, to say the least).

His future speak got more confident as time passed. The “if” fell away and was replaced by “when.”

The other evening my husband and I were getting ready to leave my parents’ house after having dinner with them, and my father was talking about how it was good that my husband only works 4 days a week because the other three days, they would be golfing and fishing.

My husband, a painter who is more of a visual and concrete person, started to speak of other scheduling conflicts that might arise. I teased him out of that line of talking and got us back to my father’s ideas about golf and fishing.

Afterward it hit me that this was something my father and I share, along with his father, my papa. There is some DNA level need for us to speak out loud about what “could be,” and we need to do so in very definitive and “it will be this way” terms.

We are not exaggerating. We are not blowing smoke.

We are life making.

We are sending ideas and convictions and prayers and hopes and wishes and dreams out into the world in the form of words.

Some of those will come to fruition, for sure. They gain momentum when they meet up with something needed in either us or the world. They gain momentum the more we speak or write of them. They gain traction when our intentions get more weighted and clear.

Eventually I can’t tell if I am acting on the idea or the idea has become powerful enough to act on me.

Years ago, I was standing in my movement studio at the front windows. A big celebration was going on behind me and I was watching the lights of the cars passing on the busy streets below.

A friend walked up to me and said this, “You are the only person I have ever known who gets an idea… and then makes it happen. You make something out of nothing. Like this… this space and all these people… How do you do it?”

I just stared at her. Doesn’t everyone do that, I thought.

At the time, I hadn’t put together that I was raised by a grand wizard. My father… a human so full of dreams and even more filled with the capacity to see them through.

Not every single thing he dreamed of came to be, but everything that came to be was something he dreamed of, something he dared to speak out into the world.

And I am his daughter, here to make magic with words.

Introducing #YearofMagic2019, with thanks to Blisschick

I don’t know exactly the years because in a frenzy of cleaning out the old to make room for the new, I deleted old blogs, including the entirety of Blisschick ((UGH)), but approximately 12 years ago, I started to blog under that name for the first time and my life was changed in ways that are indescribable.

I started to blog simply to improve my writing habits, and it certainly did that, but so much more grew from that instinct to create. I made connections that are maintained to this day. My mind was sharper and clearer and eventually all of it led to the biggest change of all — dance, which led to a life that was not completely free of depression but was free of most of the debilitating symptoms, a life that was managed so well that it was comprised of the most joy I had known since I was about 4 years old.

Blisschick’s purpose was, quite simply, to track bliss — in small, daily ways and in those occasional big ways that come along so unexpectedly.

Fast forward to now…

I am doing work that I love. I have my family in my life and that is huge love. I am married to a man who is kind and strong, and with him, I got more family.

But lately, that old depression has taken over again. For many complex reasons, including a big one: I turned 50 just after my very healthy father had a horrible stroke (he’s recovering), and existential depression took over my heart.

With the work and all the love in my life, I still feel a lack of meaning and purpose. Life feels cruel.

My heart asserts otherwise, but this depression is the stuff of brain, and brain, as I like to say, can be a real asshole.

I have been managing this tendency toward depression for so long that I have practices in my life that have given me the capacity to still hear the higher, wiser voice of Witness Mind, and in that space, I can hear things like “Remember that depression is a LIAR. When depression says life is cruel, look for evidence to the contrary.”

Finally, after fighting this beast and sometimes feeling like I was truly losing again, on this second day of this new year, that Witness Mind showed me the path, and the path, no surprise, is writing.

Because good writing is all about noticing, and noticing is the antidote to existential depression.

And like Blisschick was all about noticing bits of bliss, this year I will be writing about noticing magic.

Magic is a word that encompasses everything that is important to me, everything that drives me in this world: beauty, awe, wonder, curiosity, playfulness, mystery, surprise (of the best kind), experimentation, freedom, wildness, sensuality, femininity, connection, and flow.

To give myself a start with this, I’m participating in this 40 days of magic challenge that has a low level of woo feeling to it (which can be important to me at this stage because this sort of depression brings out the cynic in me).

I’m also awaiting the arrival of this book on a recommendation from a dear, wise friend. The chapter headings were enough to convince me it was worth ordering.

Mostly, though, I’m opening my eyes and my heart. I’m listening to that inner four year old who thinks the stars are populated, that chocolate milkshakes cure everything, that dust motes in sun beams are actually fairy lights, and that when I dance, I am infinite joy.