up. up and away…

“Work is love made visible.” Kahlil Gibran

Recently we had the dead wood cut out of our two oak trees. We hired the company my husband liked the best because there were no bucket machines, just a climber.  The Stump Guy, Rod, works with a tree climber named Tim. They were pretty casual in their proposal so  I wasn’t so sure but it turned out they were good.  And, I got to feel the impact of one who loves their work.

DSC03072It was mesmerizing to watch Tim….not just because he hauled himself up a rope for 25 ft, nor because he could fling a rope from the ground over a high limb in one try, or balance on a tree limb with a chain saw in his hand…no, it was because he loved DSC03068what he did. The ground guy Dave was impressive, hauling out 90 lb. limbs over his head. But it was Tim I watched.

He moved around the tree talking: to himself, to the tree, to God…you could feel the energy. He loved doing what he did. He loved how he did it. He loved trees.
We felt it.

“Do what you love
It radiates
Touching hearts
Reminding us
why we are here.

besliter 8/2016

Mothers (grieving and processing continues)

MOTHERSMothers Day Clip Art 2015, Acrostic Poem Template For Kids |

birth mothers,
earth mothers
stepmothers

awkward roles assigned
archetypes embodied
stereotypes enacted

primal roots
patriarchy
tribal law

we carry bits & pieces
cluttering the present
with long forgotten fears

Maybe three years ago, Kelly decided she wanted to call me Mom. We agreed, but I had no idea what that would mean to me as time went on.  That simple word turned out to make demands, stir fears I didn’t know I had, and trigger roles I didn’t know I would take on…

Nurturing Mother: As her disease progressed there were times she needed a nurturing mother, not a stepmother, not a friend. She wanted the “just hold me and make it all better” mother.  The mother she needed when she was 3, 10 or 13 years old, but never had because of her birth mother’s illness. And worse, I couldn’t be that for her. I’m not a cuddler. I just learned how not to duck when a friend goes to kiss me. I can hug. But what I am wasn’t enough. I felt lacking in the deepest way. I’ve been working through my own sense of shame (I just  figured out it is shame)  that I wasn’t more in those times. It’s getting better.

Responsible/socializing Mother: And then there were those times I responded to “mom” by trying to socialize her (a little late in the game). She felt criticized, and she was. The unconditional love she needed was absent. On reflection what surfaced were primal fears of distant times when daughters who violated the tribal norms were stoned.  Free spirits were not rewarded. It was dangerous.  Mothers who failed were shamed.
Where did this deep compulsion, this tribal consciousness for conformity come from?  My Mother’s version was “What will the neighbors think?”.  How many generations has this fear been passed along, unconscious, under the guise of being a good mother? How did I not know?
Once seen I could shift and that surprised me as well. Awareness again brings freedom.

Mom: And then there were all the times when she was just my daughter, my heart open. heart energyIt was clean, without old tapes. It was love.  For these times, nothing much needs to be said. Actually, nothing much can be said. Those times just were. Love just is.

Life’s gifts: My time with Kelly was, and is, humbling. I saw how much I could give, but also how much I couldn’t. I was a doer. My caring could have a sharp edge. I’ve had to remind myself over and over, we’re all full of paradoxes and imperfections, and to not discount what I had to offer because of the things I couldn’t. I’ve had to learn to stop trying to fix me, so I could stop trying to fix everyone else. Self-Acceptance! Sounds so simple. I’m closer as a result of my time with Kelly: greater awareness and greater acceptance, even of what is unfinished….not bad.

Give me liberty or….

Gaius Sallustius Crispus (86-34 B.C.) observed, “Few men desire liberty; most … wish only for a just master.”

LIBERTY: the quality or state of being free (From Merriam-Webster)

Choosing Freedom (or, there is no savior coming)

Free to choose, I learnSoaring-Eagle-1-300x182
the consequences
of my choices.

Coerced into goodness
I learn resentment,
or worse, nothing at all.

“Yes” means nothing if I
can’t say “no”;  Courage
is the soulmate of freedom.

“Don’t tread on me,”
I will strive to love you.
I choose to be free

not just in action
but in thought
and in what I feel.

What I come to believe,
how I live or die,
what I give or withhold,

all serve my soul’s purpose
growing awareness
as my heart unfolds.

besliter, March, 2016

Epilogue:tREE
Freedom is not without risks. But trading freedom for perceived safety, for someone to blame, or even someone else to make me happy, well, then I’m doomed to disappointment.  Love, joy, peace are inside jobs. Love is always freely given.

Can a chandelier do that?

We recently had the inside of our house painted.  In the process we decided to take down the chandelier in the kitchen. It was left over from before our kitchen remodel that added an center island/eating counter. The chandelier really had no function any more. It hung where once there was a table. Now it was in the pathway of those who walked through, occasionally bonking folks on the head if they came too close.
We replace it with a recessed light. It looks great. We both love it.

For the next several days my husband kept saying how much he had disliked that old chandelier; DRAIN_2_by_musky306_463480_disappearing_waterhow much he was glad to have it gone. After several days it hit me, on some level the chandelier had drained his energy every time he looked at it. He tolerated it but it bothered him. And what’s more, he had no longer noticed that it bothered him. Toleration numbs you out. The contrast when he talk about the new light was stark. He was vibrant.

I asked him where else he might be tolerating something? Areas where he’s pushed aside his desire for something because it was impractical or the wrong time.  Areas where he’s “making do.”  Often tolerations aren’t big things, e.g., a lighting fixture, but they are slow leaks in terms of our vitality.

What are you tolerating?
Either we love something or not; either we care about something or not. If you don’t love or care about it, why do you have it? Why spend your precious time on it?  What are you tolerating? It’s may be time to let go.

tol er ate (Merriam-Webster)
: to allow (something that is bad, unpleasant, etc.) to exist, happen, or be done
: to experience (something harmful or unpleasant) without being harmed
: to put up with

Luck or ?

Saturday afternoon I was driving with my husband, just knocking around, seeing what we could see. We decided to take back roads and drive north as much as possible. A GPS is a great tool for this sort of meandering road trip. We Lucky Dicewere enjoying the 60 degree day and the sun which had been absent far too many days this winter. So we drove, feeling the sun’s warmth, looking at houses, trees, small towns. I was happy and thought to myself, “How lucky I am!”

As soon as the thought registered I noticed a certain unease. “I’m lucky now but this could go away. Lucky could become unlucky.” It was subtle but luck suggested that what I do doesn’t matter. That a roll of the dice determines outcomes. It was “just luck.” Really?

I decided to shift to “I’m grateful: grateful for my husband, the warm sun, the car with a sun roof, the ability to take off and drive for the sheer fun of it.”  This felt totally different. Appreciating what I had in the moment made it richer. I felt richer. I was richer.

How we think matters. To think of ourselves as “just lucky,” is to discount the power Soaring-Eagle-1-300x182of our own imaginings, our thoughts, intellect and choices. These are the tools we’re born with to co-create our lives on earth. How we think about something actually changes our experience of it. Words matter. Would you rather be lucky or grateful?

We are co-creators, learning to live more skillfully.

The .04 difference

In .04 seconds, what can happen?

A  smile;
A knife cut;
A bee sting;
A “thank you” said;
You’re on or off  the podium.

Last night in the Women’s Olympic Skeletal event, Katie Uhlaender, United States, lost the Bronze medal to Elena Nikitina, Russia, by 0.04 seconds; that’s 4/100 of a second.

Elena Nikitina, Bronze

In what seemed like an eye blink, Katie, a great athlete, was off the podium.

World class athletes are used to winning or losing by seconds. Competing at that level, they know everything counts. They train and give their all knowing some small movement, a sudden wind, a distraction, rough spot, or something else they can’t control could make the .04 difference. Yesterday it did and Elena, another great athlete, won.

It made me wonder, where in my life could there be a “.04 difference”?  And more importantly, how would I go forward when it happened? Uhlaender vowed to rebound.

Katie UhlaenderKatie Uhlaender

Here’s to great athletes everywhere! Who keep doing what they love. Sochi Olympics, February, 2014

 

 

Am I my books?

It started when my husband needed to replace an electrical outlet behind one of my two crammed bookcases. I emptied all the books into the middle of my office floor so the bookcase would be light enough to move away from the wall. IMG_0668

When it was time to move the books back, I decided I should go through them and pare down.  As for criteria, I would consider: Do I refer to them? Will I re-read them?  Sounded simple enough.

But when I turned to the pile I froze. Some of these books influenced me greatly.  I was sentimental about them. “Molecules of Emotions” by Candice Pert, “The Mind of the Strategist” by Kenichi Ohmae,  Marvin Weisbord’s “Organizational Diagnosis,” “Everyday Miracles” by David Spangler,  “Focusing” by Eugene Gendlin, M.Scott Myers’ “Every Employee a Manager,  “How to make Meetings Work” by Doyle and Straus. There were Enneagram books, coaching books, self-help books, Spiritual books.

My fondness for these physical books made me wonder what magical powers I’d attributed to their printed pages. In a sense, these books defined me. Sitting on shelves, they were visible signposts of my journey through life.  I appreciated their gifts. They seemed like faithful friends.

But going through them, I realized that over the years I’ve incorporated their ideas into my own understanding and way of working. I didn’t need them any more as testimony to my own learning, nor as talismans against my own deficiencies.DSC02945 I began to appreciate what I now knew; the knowledge I carried within me. It was not only OK to let the books go, it was time. So I sorted and got sacks ready to take to Half Priced Books.

May someone else find them as helpful as I did.

I almost gave up

I was excited about creating  a new fireplace mantle.

After my epiphany in February, I started calling masons, stone workers, even outside garden designers. I stopped in any place that remotely stained mantle-Version-2looked like they could do stone work.  But I found that no one was interested in tackling this sadly stained fireplace.   I explored fireplace facings, but none were designed to cover the length of the wall as our mantle did. I began to see my hopes of a mantle I really liked fade. I was running out of options.

Finally Tom, a brick works chimney guy, responded to my queries. He was a burly guy sporting a substantial beard and wearing overalls. He seemed a “no frills” but reliable type.  He said, “For two hundred I can replace the middle limestone piece.” I thought, “Well, I haven’t had much luck finding any other approach. It would be cheap and get rid of the stain.” I said, “Put me on the schedule.” He said he would.  Then, I never heard from him again.

Dismayed, there was more searching, calling and asking around.  Gary was a construction-type handyman. He asked me to send him some pictures. Excited, I sent my best iPhone shots. He emailed back and said for $600 he’d replace all three 4.5 ft top sections. “It was a better way to go,” he said, “since new stone wouldn’t necessarily match.”  OK, this would at least get me back to how the mantle originally looked, better than nothing.  “Put me on your schedule.”  I never heard from him again.

By now 6 months had passed and I was discouraged. “It will never get fixed!” I thought as I sullenly stared at the stained mantle. I never liked the mantle. It wasn’t particularly attractive and the top was too narrow to easily put things on. I sighed! Should I just leave it? If we ever sell the house the new owner could tear it out.

It was then I realized I’d drifted from creating a fireplace mantle I’d like, to desperately trying to find someone, anyone,  who could make the stain go away.  I was no longer creating.  My frustration pushed me into reacting against; getting rid of the stain. I refocused. I didn’t know how to make it happen but I wasn’t going to give up on a beautiful mantle. I could feel my energy shift. I was feeling lighter and more adventurous.

Once again I spent time Googling everyone from masons to decorative rock folks. But this time I was open to alternatives. A friend’s brother had just redone his flagstone fireplace and recommended Don Weiss, the guy he used.

I looked up Don’s website. He did creative tile art. His work was beautiful so I called. From the start his energy was different. He really looked at the mantle. He looked at the damage and the whole wall. He recommended a limestone facing.  I was almost disappointed it wasn’t tile but thought, “Well, give this a chance.” He sent me drawings of the pieces he’d need and a price tag of $900.

Looking at the drawings I couldn’t figure out how it would come together. I made a cardboard mock up that looked bulky and stuck out way too far.  I emailed him with my concerns. He came back to the house and explained that there would be a curve in the front piece that would mirror the cove ceiling. He assured me it wouldn’t stick out too far. He had an artistic touch no one else had and I trusted him. We agreed to go ahead.

He fit me into his schedule and arrived with one of his workman. DSC02939 Two days later it was finished. It was beautiful!  Not only did I like it, I loved it!

DSC02942I was reminded again of the power of creating something you want vs. reacting to what you don’t like: the importance of holding your vision even when you don’t know how it’s going to happen; of not giving up!

Creating works!

I killed two butterflies and a Cardinal

butterflyDriving home through the country, a butterfly flew too close to the car. Sucked in by the car’s momentum, it hit the car and died. Miles down the road it happened again. I hated that I was a part of these fragilenorthern_cardinal_1, beautiful creatures’ demise.

Then, a few days later coming home from a meeting, a Cardinal flew into my windshield. The loud crack let me know it couldn’t have survived.

Stunned, I wondered if these events were connected;  a message from the Universe that I was supposed to understand. That to be alive means that at times we inadvertently kill things? That life is fragile? That I can’t ultimately protect the people and things I care about?

Or, maybe it’s that things just happen; what is, is? The Universe gently letting me know that I’m not always in control of what happens, but I can always choose how I respond to it?

At the end of the day I settle for compassion and a sense of awe at the beauty and fragility of life.   Tomorrow? Who knows.

Surrounded by time, what effect does it have?

Growing up, we had one clock in the kitchen. Adults had wrist watches.

This past Sunday, it was Spring Forward, or daylight savings time here in Ohio.time I checked our radio controlled clocks. Then, as I manually started to change the others, it hit me: I’m surrounded by clocks. A wall clock in the kitchen, a clock in the living room, a clock in each of our offices, two alarm clocks (his and hers) in our bedroom, clocks in each bathroom, then of course the ones built-in to the microwave, stove, computer, iPhone, car dashboard…

What does being surrounded by reminders of time do to us?…time passing; time lost (hurry! going to be late); time to be utilized (guess I can squeeze in one more thing before the next appointment).

time2Does the constant reminder create a subtle urgency; a need to “get on with it already!” What ever it is?

There’s evidence that losing the hour with daylight savings time negatively affects our health, disrupts our sleep and results in more accidents. But I’m beginning to feel that the whole emphasis on time is even more insidious. It pulls us away from our direct, sensuous, enjoyment and experience of life. Our attention instead is constantly pulled outward to the next thing to be done.

So I ask myself, “What clocks could I live without?” Maybe I’ll start small. Today, the bathroom clock is going to the basement.