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Lost and Found

THINGS I”VE LOST:

muscle tone and balance
tolerance for many foods
some friendships
patience for complaining in myself and others
weight
desire to go to parties with more than 6 people
money spent on shoes and clothes that are too much trouble to button or tie now
the feeling of inherently trusting my body to do what I want
the need to do everything myself
my tolerance for heat and overexertion (no hot tubs)
a sense of the spontaneous
my body’s forgiveness for hedonistic excess
the pleasure of friends company when I have to cancel plans
the freedom to work with any art material I want to
the impetus to travel because I am so quick to fatigue
easy access to the wild, natural world I love
the empty place in my mind now taken up by having to know exactly where every
bathroom in town is at all times

THINGS I’VE FOUND:

humility as I walk with my walker
courage to begin again each day
peace in the knowledge I am becoming softer and less armored
very intimate connection with Spirit
knowledge of what is precious and essential for me to thrive
much more profound relationships with nature, animals and humans
wisdom to stop when I need to even when it’s inconvenient
comfort in the belief in divine order
more peace with the shadow side of life
pleasure in sharing my experience honestly with others and seeing how that allows
a place for them to open as well
gratitude and love for my precious and rich friendships
peace with imperfection
the thrill of creating from my authentic self
the solace of prayer
the gifts in the ordinary
the power in a smile
guidance and support from the wise ones in my life
courage to say no
courage to say yes
an internal GPS that helps me know where every bathroom w/in 5 miles is

Love Letter

LOVE LETTER TO SPRING

We thought it would never come.
That dripping, pungent, just-waking- up
Season of LIFE!
It hides, teases, burrows down
So far that we forget-
Forget the wild heartbeat that comes
With the lover at the door.
Old thoughts of circumstances long gone
Have no place here.
All is washed clean,
Naked to the promise
Of every thing spanking new.

And so, what shall I choose
To adorn myself for you?
Nothing secondhand, NO!
For me there will be butter yellow
Like the grasses by the roadside.
Perhaps a deep brown
With the scent of new rain
Behind my ear.
Of course, lest I forget
A shirt the shade of
The inside of that orchid
I saw on your desk.

The door will open
And there you’ll stand,
Crackling with the promise
Of a thunderstorm.
Wild, navy blue clouds
Demanding my attention.
“Come in”, I say, slightly unnerved.
Nothing seems familiar, everything new.
I leave the door open,
So all this blossoming, and greening and thundering and light
Has no question it is welcome
To change us, release us
From all we know to be true,
And leave us spent with awe
For all we thought we knew.

                                      -  Cathy Aten    Easter 2009

Choice

Joseph Campbell says: “The privilege of a lifetime is to be who you are.”   When I first read that I thought it sounded smart and I wanted to take it on as a belief.  In the ensuing years I realized the only way for me know who I am was to start from the place of NOT knowing.  I gave up the stand of ‘knowing what I know’ and softened into ‘I don’t know’.

I have really performed my way through life.  I honed people-pleasing skills and made sure you could take me anywhere. I practiced reading other people’s energy and could sense a good deal of the time what they might be missing and created an intricate and carefully crafted identity based on giving it to them.  I felt a seductive sense of power.  I could shift someone’s energy tone by making adjustments to my own.  Heady stuff but at the time it felt almost holy as I made myself indispensable (my take on it). I had created my own sense of belonging and skewed idea of service.  I felt I had purpose.

When I began experiencing a number of MS symptoms like extreme fatigue, stumbling as I walked and digestion problems, fear came calling…  I actually felt my heart stinging.  When I approached reaching one of many ‘bottoms’ and let myself sob it out, a softness always came.  I heaved sighs of relief at the lightness that came from letting go of some of my pretense.  I began to feel my body in a less armored way and realized that if I were to survive this challenge, my decisions would have to start coming from my own truth as it revealed itself and not the promise of an ‘if only’ connection I often tried to make with people to assuage the existential loneliness we all know well.  I realized I really liked my own company and would start my healing with the knowledge that I have a right to be; just as I am without working so hard at being charming or a ‘feel good experience’ for people.  I began to find myself utterly intriguing.

On this journey toward wholeness, I gather my tribe.  Since I am no longer out there trolling for those invested in complaints and shared wounding, I have alot more energy.  I am a beginner at this but each time I choose what or who I feel like I can have a mutually beneficial relationship with, my tank gets filled and occasionally I even have a little left over to spread around.  I am continually returning to the act of sorting through what works for me and what doesn’t.  This means food, relationships, supplements, clothes, ideas, art materials, aesthetics and scheduling my life.  As I change those around me have to as well.  I pray I continue to have the courage to be less attached to what I know and open into the mystery of it all.

Ordinary

I was brought up to strive toward excellence, The goal seemed to be to do anything it took to separate myself from the ordinary. Be more, do better, shine at all costs. As an adult I now recognize this as a tactic spurred by the cultural more’: If you can, do it bigger and better than your neighbor.

After a lifetime of stretching toward something better ‘out there’, I am tired, bone tired. The thrill of accomplishment has given over to the solace of yielding to the natural perfection inherent in any moment. From this vantage point there is space to choose rest or movement, to speak or be silent, make a mark or erase a line. The space between the two sentences or actions seems more intriguing than jumping from form to form.

I notice the set of my jaw or the kindness of an opened door or the arrival of an inspired thought or the hushed caution of Spirit. The highlight of a day becomes the slide of a clean sheet or the press of my dog into the small of my back. Each may have been missed in the quest for more and better. The odd thing is that when I move my awareness toward noticing the quiet substance on the other side of excess, life becomes rich indeed.

As I lean into the salve of the ordinary, the perfection of imperfection, I heal. The Japanese call it WABI SABI.

The Beginning

The most power is held at the edge of things; as day moves into evening, the seemingly instantaneous arrival of an idea, the moment of conception or the delivery of a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis. What was before can never be reclaimed and the road ahead is a mystery. There is the scent of dread as well as adventure. The territory is far from static and infused with the specter of grief and the anticipation of a miracle. How can one not be interested in this landscape?

Even as I write, the hairs on my arm quiver of their own accord. THIS IS LIFE!. Messy. Intriguing. Startling. Juicy. Sci-Fi. Wretched. Right. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not out here ‘Polly-Annaing’ my way around this rugged course called MS. I am, however choosing to heal. For me, that means refining my life by taking stock of what facilitates my healing and what does not. ‘Healing’, to me, means a myriad of things and not solely the absence of MS and my eventual return to ‘normal’. My diagnosis came in 2000. I would never wish this challenge on anyone however I am becoming a woman I really like and an artist creating closer to her authentic core. Thus, my interest in the power at the edge of things. Does this mean we, as humans never really get to play at full tilt until part of the gameboard is taken away? Is it our human nature not to even notice perfection until it isn’t? It doesn’t seem fair but then, with a little time on it, the complaint is moot as I settle into what is, just for the innate beauty and rightness of it all.

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