Summer Days

The windows are all open.  A warm sweet breeze is flowing in.  The birds are singing.  And my neighbors are playing salsa.  Quietly for a change.  LOL  As I sit here enjoying what is for the most part a rarity here in the City I have been looking back over some of my blogs since I started writing them in late 2009.  This is not something I do on a regular basis.  Usually I write them, publish them, post them on Facebook, and move on.  My wallowing was motivated in part by a conversation I had at lunch today with my friend James.  We were chatting about his impending move to Barcelona in a month and he was telling me that he had started a blog to chronicle his new adventure.  I told him I had been writing one since 2009 and he asked me to send him the link.  Anyways, that is the brief explanation of why I am wasting my time perusing my past postings.  That sounded a little too cliche.  Too many p's I think.  Sorry.
As I read back, especially the ones from 2009, all I can say is WOW.  That is in no way a narcissistic statement on my part.  Far from it.  I am reacting to the level of emotion, pain, and sometimes clarity that is laced through almost all of my posts.  Ones like from Phoenix Rising where my life is crumbling around me, not knowing that in just a few short days my precious baby girl would be taken from me.  And the posts following her death.  The ones I hope some day to craft into a short story; but not yet.  They are all a chronicling of my journey.  That amazing, challenging, and organic path towards true health and happiness I seem to be on.  I have to say I do miss my girl.  She was the embodiment of unconditional love.  And her zest for life was unmatched.  She was my touchstone and my how to guide for being present.  I even experienced what my therapist called a "State of Grace" with her; where I was hyper present in my body, where the only thing that existed was the eternal present.  Even 2 1/2 years after her death I still grieve deeply for her.  And I still blame myself for her death.  Most nights, after I have turned the lights out, pulled the covers up around my neck, and nestled into the warmth, I still lay my hand lovingly on the pillow next to me where she slept, saying "Good night baby girl".   I can feel my eyes tearing up as I write.  It is these summer days that remind me of what is at stake here, what my recovery is  really all about.  The symbolism of walking the path.   The feeling of my emotions.  And the maintaining of my heart centered connections with my community.   There are days when I feel like all the work I have done is worth it.
Then there are the nights.  Those darkened moments were the insanity abounds, taking over my senses and my body.  I had one of those 4 days ago.  Where everything becomes so convoluted that logic and reason become incomprehensible.  I tried to explain it to my therapist during my last session.  I said it was like taking the simple concept of how a faucet works, turning it inside out and flipping it on it's head.  Logic and reason don't come into it; but that is where I exist in those moments.   Unsettling you ask?  Hell yes.  In those moments I actually think I am going insane.  It's like a dementia patient who knows something is wrong with their in the moment reality but at the same time can't escape it.  The duality of it all is nerve racking for me.  Just as I imagine it is for them.  Actually I can imagine it.  My Mom, who is in mid dementia, has said as much to me in her more lucid moments.    Anyways, I seem to be straying a bit here.  And stop laughing.  This is not yet another sign of my, shall we say, less lucid moments.  I was talking about my blog posts.  And summer.  And breezes.  And emotions.  Ahhhh, that is why I have strayed.  Feeling my emotions.  Ok, I'm back!   Emotions, the one thing that is the most challenging for me yet the most fruitful.  Let me explain the challenge this way; I was in a room full of people yesterday when two of them, who were facing me, got up to leave.  Whatever it was, whether it was the way they moved, the color of their clothes, or something else unknown, it triggered a panic attack in me.  Some of the others in the room who were leaving were very supportive and I was able to eventually ground myself after a while in part because a good friend sat with me outside rubbing my back.  Did I say I have the most amazing friends?  Emotions, yep, they can be a challenge; but what a way to live!!!  Feeling the emotions of a beautiful summer day, of being present in my body, feeling the breeze brush against my skin, smelling the sweet aroma of the earth as I water the garden.  To taste the complexities of a great lunch shared with a friend.  Did I say my taste buds are becoming more sensitive.  Another fantastic side effect of my recovery.  Yes, summer days can be the best days ever.  Until I hear the crunch of newly fallen snow under my feet as I stroll, on a still winter's night, watching the flakes falling gently from the sky.  Yes, life is good!!

The Narrative of Life

I was watching Art21 this morning as I was having my coffee.  It is a program that interviews artists of note who are making a lasting contribution to their respective crafts in the 21st Ce.  The  program generally takes the viewer into the artist's studio, focusing on 2 or 3 pieces and how they came into existence.  This last episode of Art21 Series 6, focused in part on Sarah Sze's Still Life with Landscape, a temporary installation on The High Line in NYC.  As a gardener, I am intrigued by the nature and habitat of The High Line.  On how an abandoned place such as this, in the middle of an urban setting, has in it's neglect, reverted back to a place where habitat exists.  The High Line is near the top of my list of places I wish to experience, along side the Dupont Estates in the Brandywine Valley and Arley Hall in Chesire.
Sarah's Still Life in Landscape was conceived as sculpture but also one that would serve as a habitat for the wildlife on The HIgh Line.  As I watched her constructing the 1 to 1 scale model in her studio I was struck by how this piece was so much more than just sculpture and habitat.  Still Life, at it's core, became for me a representation of our existence on this earth.  A representation that in it's detail expresses a very potent narrative on the beauty and complicated nature of that very real yet ethereal force that exists within all of us, that force called Life.  Sarah freely admitted that Still Life is at its core a sculpture and that she approached the design of it from that point.  That she focused on using found materials such as metal and wire, materials she could find in local stores.  However, Sarah also said that her sculpture was designed to be a habitat, a place of sustenance and refuge for the wildlife of The High Line.  As she worked she talked of her purposefully constructing Still Life to exist amongst the plantings, to be one with them, yet stand separate mimicking their life force as it is nestled along the edge of the walkway.   In addition she said she wanted the sculpture to be close to where the visitors could experience it, where they would become in essence a part of the installation, just as the wildlife would be.
Before I get to philosophical let me describe the piece.  Still Life in Landscape originates from a single source of bundled wire at ground level that then rise upward separating into individual paths of polished thin steel bars that slope gently upward fanning out into space ending about 7 feet off the ground.  Balanced within those bands are aesthetically placed nesting boxes and feeding stations for the wildlife as well as horizontal pieces of steel bands for support.  In a effect the square nature of the nesting box is repeated in the horizontal and vertical elements overall.  Another section of the sculpture exists on the opposite side of the walkway, mirroring the theme so that the walkway effectively splits the piece in two.
However meaningful all of this is for her as art, Sarah's Still Life represents for me our experiences from birth unto death and beyond.  That like Still Life, our lives begin, originating from a single point of universal force, thereafter sweeping upwards, as we age,  separating into many distinct paths from which our life experiences are formed, paths that are created in relationship to the world around us.  That the nesting boxes and feeding platforms are spaces within and without us designed as places of sustenance and refuge.  Places that are shaped and defined in juxtaposition to what is the negative space.
Once the scale model was finished the program then switched to Sarah and her workers building Still Life on site.   Sarah talked as they worked about the idea of creating a sculpture where people could stop and observe the wildlife as it exists in space and time.  The idea she explained was the intention of getting people to stop and observe the work for 10 minutes.  That 10 minutes is actually an incredibly long time for someone to just observe.  She went on to say too that she was also concerned about whether the habitat would even be used by the wildlife of The High Line, that if they were not drawn to it, Still Life would still have to stand on its own as sculpture.  That placement for her was as equally important as design, where viewing the sculpture from a distance would then create the negative space in which the piece could exist, one that would be transformed the closer you get until you, the viewer, enters the work becoming one with it.
By the end of the segment I was just sitting in awe.  Watching Sarah create Still Life in Landscape on site for me was an experience of how complicated and fragile the nature of human existence can be.  That we are, at birth, unformed as individuals; yet we possess all the wisdom of the ages, wisdom that at it's source is rooted within the universal energy of Mother Earth.  That we begin to take form as a result of our experiences of our formable years separating into many different paths within and without that support and sustain us, making us as complicated and varied as we are unique.  That as we move into adulthood our structures, created in response to those earlier experiences, are solid but not set in stone.  That in reality they are in their basic nature just as fragile as life itself.  That as Still Life was conceived as a temporary installation, we too can dismantle, recycle, and rebuild, transforming ourselves  into something that is more closely aligned with that source of  energy we inherited at birth.  That in a very personal way there was the acknowledgement that at the end of my life I will be looking back in awe and reverence at my very complicated and varied experiences on this earth while at the same time I am looking forward with anticipation of what is to come next.

The Cult of Illusion

I just finished watching another fascinating Moyers and Co episode titled Big Money, Big Media, Big Trouble. It was an amazing journey through the minefield of what is called entertainment journalism today.  Bill interviewed Marty Kaplan for the better part of an hour.  The core of the show was focused on how journalism has become synonymous with entertainment, that what passes as journalism is really no different than reality tv.  That in politics as in tv there are the villians, the righteous ones, the sweet ones, all engaged in what could only be described as a never-ending food fight replete with commercial interrupts to push the branding of whatever product or products are meant to be hawked to the viewing audience that night.    I've heard it called the Commercialization of Politics.  Branding the product with a few good talking points that can be repeated over and over again.  The point though that struck me was the fact that the mesmerizing effect of presentation has all but put us on ignore about the actual content that makes the show.  Kaplan used the commercials for drugs that are ever present on tv, the ones that show all the warm and fuzzy pictures backed by soothing music while it describes an litany of horrifying side effects.   Yet it induces us to run to the doctor saying I want some of that!!!  Politics is no different.  We see the mini movies as Kaplan called it, those little 1 minute commercials made in the same way.  We are suckered into the dark music and ominous voices that brand some politician as the next evil incarnate.  Yet we miss the bit about whether the words being said have even a bit of truth to them at all.  It's the same with these that support this or that.  We are mesmerized by presentation.
While I was watching I had flashbacks to when I went to City.  There was one semester that my professor took the time to actually explain with detailed examples of how this worked.  At the time it was about how the Reagan administration has mesmerized the public into buying into the illusion of a Great America Reborn while they did all sorts of illegal activities behind the scenes.  My professor picked apart each step on how this branding was devised, created, produced, and marketed.  He took it a step further to show us just how branding can be an effective tool to pull our attention away from content and onto presentation in the form of sports, tv, and even religion.  What's better he used to say than a good old fashion smack down on WWE, or no hold bars football game that ends with a hail mary pass into the end zone to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, replete with instant reply.  It gets us out of our chairs.  What's better entertainment than a good old fashioned fire and brimstone preacher who can use the same technique, only the things being snatched for the jaws of defeat are our very souls.
Kaplan made the point that main stream journalism has for the most lost its ability to ferret out the truth in the same way as it had during the Watergate investigation.  That editors, newspaper owners, and news entities on TV would rather pull away to present stories on what we clicked like on the last time we logged onto Facebook or what is trending into the top 10 on Yahoo.
The cult of illusion is just that.  It's reality tv or politics or religion, where everything looks real in presentation, but in reality has little to do with anything real.  It reminds me of what I heard in a previous Moyers and Co show where someone was describing Prosperity Preaching.  Where the preacher comes out on stage and states that everyone listening deserves that big house up on the hill, the one with 5 bedrooms, 3 car garage, and an in-ground swimming pool.  I have to ask, where in the hell does it say that in the Bible!!  Yet people flock to these churches, giving money in droves, believing that God wants them to have it all.  Politicians are no different.  They tell us in their slick ads that they will provide us with that house up one the hill, a good job, a car in every garage and a chicken in every pot.   And we believe them!!!  We buy into the cult of illusion.  Make us feel good and we will follow you anywhere; until we get bored or hear someone touting something that sounds better.  We have for the most part become true Capitalists at heart and I do not mean that as a good thing.  Everything is branded to us.  From dish soap, to cars, to clothes, and our very politics.   Kaplan said it best, we have lost our ability to see truth beyond illusion.  I'm paraphrasing here.  He was much more eloquent in how he said it.
I have to say too that denial plays into this to in my opinion.  Denial, the next best thing.  What is better that dealing with reality when you can have the illusion instead.  What is better than watching the ongoing exploits of that Kardashian  or this Jersey boy instead of the reality that we may be being led yet again into war with another Middle Eastern country or down the primrose path of economic destruction by some cock-eyed politician who believes the business of government is business.  Didn't we try both of these before with disastrous results?  Yet the pied piper is playing and we are hearing his tune.

April in the City

Today is one of those quintessentially beautiful spring days in the City where jackets are not required, nor for that matter are shoes. This East Coast like weather; warm, sunny, a bit humid, with an ever so slight breeze, seems to put most everyone in a good mood. Equally, it is a great day for being in the park, or eating at a sidewalk cafe, or taking a luxurious nap with the windows wide open. Not that we can't have the windows open normally,, we can. It just means we'll have 4 blankets or a heavy comforter over us or we'll freeze.

It seems too that on these warm days everyone likes to drive with their windows open. Driving then becomes not only a point to point run, but a way to ease drop on everyones conversation in the cars around you. NOT that I do that. I do have to say though it is almost impossible not to when you are at a stop light and the car beside you has 4 Forty something rather gay looking bears in it, all carrying on a loud conversation over the din of dance music. But I digress. This post is not about stolen conversations over heard at stop lights. It is about me finally realizing that I am where I want to be, both figuratively and realistically. The aforementioned conversation only served as a catapult of sorts for my emotional journey on the way home this afternoon.

My immediate reaction to the car full of bears was one of loss, loss of not having a life where I am in a car full of friends going somewhere to do one thing or another. Sitting with that is not fun on any day let alone one where it is as beautiful as today. However, as fast as that reaction happened, a bunch of new ones came along for the ride. Ones of flashbacks where I am in a car full of friends going somewhere to do something. Of years worth of social events such as the one that I suspect the bears were on their way to have.

As much as wish not to admit it to myself, I am fast approaching 56 years old. This is not significant in an age way. Quite the contrary. This is about acknowledging all the years that have come before. Granted, I have struggled for a number of years regarding my childhood issues and these struggles have over shadowed the rest of my life a times. However, lately I have been finding my feet sort of speak. I have though this nagging voice in the back of my head, one that sounds very much like my therapist's voice, saying, you need to get out more, do more things, make new friends, get into a relationship, get a life! No, he didn't actually tell me to get a life. That was my own invention. He does though push me to do all of the other things. All of which are laudable endeavors in their own right, but are they what I need, right now. Sure, I tend to isolate at times, but I am always conscious of the fact that the flip side of isolation is solitude. And let me tell you, I NEED solitude. It is one of the most healthy activities that I can engage in, that and gardening, writing, and napping. Did I tell you I will be 56 in a few months? Anyways, that was the revelation I had in the car this afternoon. That I do not need all of those things. Why? Because I did them all before. I have done the insanely busy social schedule routine. I have been in a long term relationship. I have made new friends. so many at one time that I could not find the time to hang out with them. The overriding fact that I became aware in the car today was that I have always dreamed of having a casual life, one where I sleep in if I can, have a putter in the garden, have long and wonderful brunches with friends, or go to the symphony, a movie, or a play with them. All at a pace of ease and grace.

I was talking to my friend Guido a few days ago about just this very thing. I called it the Art of Doing Very Little Slowly. Ok, I did swipe that phrase from one of my Brit Coms. I do that and I'm not ashamed of it!! And, you can wipe that horrified look off your faces too. It's not a bad thing, doing very little slowly. In fact, it can be wonderful. As a matter of fact I have dreamed about this all my working life. Where I can get to a time when I can relax, take it easy, enjoy life with my established friends and my new friends. Where I can rebel against the dictates of time and schedule. Admittedly, I still have to work; but that doesn't mean that I can't still enjoy taking my time doing the things that spiritually feed me. Sometimes I think I have lived a previous life in Italy. Where life is lived as an art form. Where coffee with friends lasts an entire afternoon and where dinners are events, not an excuse to check our e mail while we eat a pre prepared microwaved dinner we bought at Safeway. I am learning the art of doing very little slowing. And not that it doesn't mean I will not be social, it just means that I will be, but with meaning. That I will cherish time spent socializing as much as I do time spent lazing around my apartment in my jammies on a warm afternoon after working in the garden. Life, I am realizing, is a gift. One that is to be cherished, sought after, and savored. It isn't about quantity, but quality! Quality in thought, word, and deed. This is why being present is so important for me in my recovery. For me, quality comes from connecting, and connecting comes from my ability to be present. I do still struggle with that and at times I get a bit overwhelmed with the lack of it; but, in the end those struggles just makes the times when I am more present all the more meaningful. Quality over quantity and learning the art of doing very little slowly. I think I'll take a nap now.

Getting Back

There are times in my life where I find myself asking, whose life is this anyways? Where I look around and I find that everything seems so unfamiliar. In these moments of profound clarity I have to ask, how did I get here?

Being lost is very unsettling. It evokes a myriad of emotions in me that are to say the least uncomfortable and at most times rather frightening. Living with these emotions though is not that uncommon for me. The fact of the matter is we are actually very old friends. I have to say too that I have learned a lot coexisting with my old friends. It has given me the opportunity to feel into them in an integral way giving them the ability to tell their stories. And as a result I have come to know them and own them. More importantly though they have shown me why I have become a lost soul and how. Becoming lost wasn't a conscious decision on my part. It just happened. It's not uncommon to lost oneself as a result of horrific abuse. In fact it is quite common. I became lost out of necessity. As a way to protect myself. As a way to stay sane. in the face of insanity. I still have days though where I am stunned to my core at the shear magnitude of my experiences. Where I ask myself, did that actually happen to me? Is it actually possible that people are that cruel that they would perpetrate such acts on innocent children? On unwilling adults? But then I pull back because I realize that to logically dwell on such patently illogical experiences is a futile act, that I would be better served if I put my focus on recovering from my experiences and not on the experiences themselves.

Finding myself in this place also begs the question, can I make a life for myself in this unfamiliar territory and can I find happiness? Is it possible to attain happiness? Happiness is such a subjective experience for most. If I were to ask 7 different people what is their definition of happiness is I could guarantee that I would get 7 different answers. And none of them would be wrong.

Looking back I have been happy. There was a time in 2008 when my precious baby girl was still alive that I was happy. When her and her brother where still together playfully doing what cats do. Where I was able to bear witness to their unconditional love for each other and for me. I loved that brief time of my life. It seemed like I had it all. I had finally found my grounding even though I was dealing with the ongoing issues of memory recovery and all that it entails. Still, I had begun to heal, to be vulnerable, and to be open again. But that short time was what it was. I still wish I could get back again though. To somehow recapture that time, those feelings, those moments of real joy. But I can't. And the knowledge of that is something I have to live with.

Getting back is not always an exercise in futility though. I hope to get back my true self as I continue my work in recovery. I also hope to finally break open that cocoon that my true self was put into for safekeeping during my insane childhood. And with it I hope to get back my sense of place so that the territory I inhabit will actually become my own.

Fragility

"Life for all it's agonies..... is exciting and beautiful, amusing and artless and endearing.... and whatever is to come after it--we shall not have this life again." This is among one of my favorite quotes from Rose Macaulay. In it she talks about a life that is lived and loved, about savoring every moment for what it is. About the fragility of life itself.

Early this morning I got word that Tak, one of my closest work companions, died suddenly in the night. He was not much older than me. Not even 60 yet.

Tak was one of a kind. If I were asked to describe my sweet friend I would do it this way. And it would come quite easily too. Tak was thoughtful, loving, intelligent, loyal, and giving to say the least. He was, to be completely honest, an amazing man.

Tak and I had been around for a long time in the company and had crossed paths in those years. It wasn't until 2004 that we came together in the same office and on the same shift. He had come to fill a vacancy on evenings, one that a former coworker had recently given up. We became fast friends and close confidants. Over the next 6 years we developed a relationship that was extraordinary. In every way we complimented each other. We worked closely and in many ways we knew what the other was thinking. We were a team. During the slow times we sat and talked about everything; practically nothing was taboo with us. Sure there were some boundaries but we never hesitated or questioned why they existed. We just respected them and went on.

Tak was there when I woke up to my abuse history and for the intense period afterwards, never flinching, never stepping back.. He listened intently, caring for me in the dark days of 2005 and 2006. He watched my back when I needed protection and I watched his. Ours was a deep and abiding connection. When we got word in late 2009 that we would both have to move to different offices we were resigned to the fact of it. We didn't like it but we accepted it. When our last day together came and we were leaving for home he grabbed me and hugged me. And I didn't want to let go; but I knew I had to. Since then we have crossed paths many times and had been lucky enough to work together a day here and a day there. And we both enjoyed it too. When I got word that I was going back onto evenings in a few weeks I was thrilled because it meant Tak and I would be able to work together again. That we could rekindle our relationship again albeit in a different setting. But now that is not going to happen and I am heartbroken.

A few weeks ago I spoke about my recovery. About how difficult it is for me to stay present in the best of times. I spoke about how someone had once told me that each moment we live is like a brilliant flash of energy from within and without coming together in a unique way and that these fascinating moments will never be repeated. That the whole of our lives are just a succession of these once in a lifetime flashes. An amazing spectacle of light. I spoke too about how life is fragile because we never know what will happen next. Life is like that. It could go on to its natural end whatever that means or stop abruptly in the middle of the night much like Tak's did.

For me that is the fragility of life as I see it.

In a world of instant gratification and mind numbing speed; am I willing to experience these brilliant moments in their entirety not knowing what will come next? That in a sense it doesn't matter really what is coming next. That the fragility of life too is not just about living. It's about dying as well. It's about how fragile the world around us really is; including our environment, and our families. It's about the fragility of all things.

I feel that despite what the tenets of any tradition tells us, we can never be sure of anything that comes in the next moment. And that is what I feel Rose Macaulay wrote about. And that is what Tak has given me among all the wonderful things over the years; the understanding that life is indeed a very fragile thing and that it is all about loving and living and cherishing all of the those unique moments; those brilliant flashes of energy as they happen. And knowing that; "...whatever is to come after it--we shall not have this life again."

Rest in peace my loving friend.

The Unexcusable Act

It has been nearly a year since my precious baby girl Sylvia passed and I am still consumed with grief and guilt. Every time I look into her brother's distant eyes, every time I look at her ashes, every time I think of her running through the house or laying, curled up, asleep on the perch, I become lost in the abyss that is my grief and guilt. She died at such a tender age. Just 6 1/2 years old, too young to even enjoy the long life that she was destined to have.

To take a human life, whether they are two or four legged, is an unexcusable act; and I blame myself for her death. And rightly so. She was in my care, my child of sorts, totally dependent on me to feed, nourish, and love her. And I missed all the signs. It wasn't because they were subtle. They weren't. Many were quite obvious even to the casual viewer. I missed the signs because it became all about me and not her. I missed the signs because I needed to detach my inner child from her's and her brother's for that matter. I missed the signs because I needed to respond differently to them when they became ill so I didn't get triggered around my own shit. And that is what I can not come to terms with. That, in effect, I caused her death because I took the focus off of her and put it on me.

It's a incredibly difficult thing to accept. That I caused the death of another human being.

I had lunch recently with a dear friend of mine. We were having a serious discussion about life, family, and baggage. I sat there listening to my friend telling her story, bearing witness to it and all of it's challenges. Then, when she had finished, I heard myself saying words of wisdom, ones that were being channelled from her Higher Power through me. They were introspective, questioning, challenging. But the words I heard were not only meant for her. They were meant for me too. It was my Higher Power speaking to me as well. On the long drove home from the Peninsula I heard those words over and over again, radiating out, bouncing back, echoing throughout my grief and guilt. Words that were meant to finally create a path through my deep and abiding emotions. Words that I had, up to this point, denied existed. I am still trying to deny their existence but it is much more difficult now. They're out there, roaming around my inner existence; reeking havoc; causing trouble. Challenging the very foundations that I have come to accept about myself and my role in Sylvia's demise.

So where do I go from here?

That is a very good question, one that at this point I have no answer for.