• Pages

  • About Cathy Aten
  • Cathy’s Video
  • View Cathy’s Current Work

Power Chair….!?

I have a new member of the family and she is black.

Smallish in stature but with the guts of a champ.

She makes her presence known sitting quietly there in my living room (read: VERY visible in my small retreat).

She was a gift from my friend James, who hankered after a younger model.

She rolled off the truck and, surprisingly, I liked her immediately.

A little worn around the edges but so am I.

A good, good friend; call him tribal member, introduced the two of us yesterday.

It matters who makes the introduction, believe me.

Take me seriously here because a wrong move might kill you..

You want someone who is entrusted with keeping the highest and largest part of you present and alive during this important introduction.

Carlos lovingly cleaned her up and put some make-up on her. Washed her clean and brought her over.

Olivia and I took her for a spin around my patio and I found myself laughing at the tummy-turning feeling of spinning on a dime and the ultra -sensitivity of her gears.

She’s tightly tuned and I like her.

I don’t love her.

I’m proud of myself for the work I’ve done to prepare myself for her arrival.

I left an open space in my heart for an adventure instead of the dreaded ‘life-in-a-wheelchair’ thing.

Don’t get me wrong here… I just caught myself looking over at her with my eyes scrunched and scrutinizing at half-mast with the question: “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOME?????????????”

Take a lemon and make lemonade?

Gimme a stiff margarita.. please.

***IMPORTANT note: DO NOT get a haircut on the same day you get a wheelchair.

‘Nuff said…

Under the Bridge

“PYLON”, 2008, 7′ x 20″ x 4″, ceramic, earth, wood
__________________________

The inspiration for this piece was my fascination with all the stuff that ends up congregated in a group growing beneath the water line under a dock or bridge.

The life that sends it’s tentacles out and grabs hold of the solid and sure thing of the wooden pylon.

Such a big mish-mash of things.

And yet- they all end up together in this one place making a home for themselves.

Related,  in that the ocean or lake keeps on washing up against them and they stay put mostly, I think.

The whole thing reminds me of my own life; peopled with characters shiny and not..

I get the nicest feeling when I think of all of us: “Cathy’s clan (including critters, unmet souls, intimate strangers, inner circle people and favorite rocks..) all of us doing this thing called LIFE.

For the past two years I have pulled in to recalibrate.

My brand of healing needs silence and empty space.

If I’m not attached to myself as a ‘sick’ person, which I am not, there must be room and an invitation to let the ocean wash over me in all it’s saltiness and take the buffet of the waves intent on claiming me for their own.

The solace comes from those around me doing the same thing..

Just barely holding our ground waiting for the still waters on the other side of the storm.

There, we can relax into the ease of ‘no fight’, put up our feet and have a margarita or two.

Enjoy the press of each other’s company.

‘Till the waves start pickin’ up again.

Thrive

_______________________

The installation pictured above is one of my favorites.

Of course, the home it is installed in ain’t too shabby but that aside..

I like it.

I like it because it is so very edited down to nothing extraneous happening there.

I also have a deep connection to the piece because it feels like a self-portrait.

The forms wouldn’t be of interest without the shadows.

The piece is alive as the sun moves through out the day and changes the mood of the work.

There’s that one renegade element insistent on not remaining in formation.

It tells a story from left to right as it begins with the meditation of slow and careful consideration; one foot in front of the other. Not drawing too much attention to ones’ self.

THEN.. it hits the abyss (the doorway) and all hell breaks loose..

Elements scatter and find their own way to spots that feel comfortable to attach to.

They are never really alone but always in relationship to one another though the tension between elements tightens and relaxes as the journey continues.

There is a sense of freedom but also chaos.

They seem to be drawn to the light and make their way in that direction, following the draw of the heat of day.

And this whole journey is a pretty accurate record of my own.

Order and chaos…

We go into both of those places almost moment by moment, don’t we?

I always get stuck when I like one state better than the other..

Or I am SURE the spot on the line is where I’ll stay the rest of my life.

How is it that reality feels so damned carved in stone?

I hate it that I can’t seem to remember in the midst of my body collapsing or my heart breaking that REALITY IS CHANGE…. ONLY CHANGE.

I find such peace in that.

Whenever I can remember to remember.

Dog Love

I woke up this morning with this creature stretched out to gargantuan lengths two inches from my eyes and snoring loudly.

This is new behavior as she has never been so ‘in -my-face’ as she sleeps.

I am pretty sure she knew I had dreams of bad men and complicated journeys in the night and was standing guard with extra attention to her human.

I love my dog.

I love my dog.

My extremely sensitive nervous system is still not too great at discriminating what is my ‘stuff’ and what of the collective muck and mire I register as mine but really is not.

Olivia returns me to baseline in an instant by her eyes at half mast when she feel my love.

Or, if my psyche is out far away battling whatever foe.. with a touch, I return..

..Washed clean and ready to pile up the armor in a distant corner and just sit with this even-breathing soul.

I say.. there is absolutely NOTHING better than watching her smile in her sleep.

Absolutely nothing.

Disappointment

______________________

I had made plans to go riding this morning after the long winter’s whack.

My body just isn’t cooperating.

If I counted the times I have said I’d be somewhere and, in the end, could not,

I’d crawl back into bed.

Which is what I may do anyway.

Not out of anything other than general physical weariness..

Who am I kidding?

It is downright depressing at times to deal with this condition that won’t let me do what I WANT TO DO!

Little deaths every day don’t really do it for me.

I really do such a great job of staying on top of the emotional quagmire of this thing.

I do give myself that.

But the grief.. the grief of sitting with the knowledge that my diet MUST be this way or my money goes to THIS thing or my body WON’T do what I want or my hand is no longer the one to make art…

Well.. It’s a post-graduate path to be sure.

But the only advisors I can check in with that I trust have my best interest in mind are myself and God.

It really is one of those 3-dimensional chess boards that provide the playing field for those dealing with a chronic illness.

Interesting when you make a good move,

And psyche-flattening when you CAN’T.

Reveal

__________________________

Yesterday I withdrew from facilitating our local MS group.

I had taken this job on 3 months back as I was called to fill the vacancy when the facilitator-du-jour went on to do other things.

I like this group.

No victims there.

Only brave and health challenged folks like myself.

It its odd because I have always had some leadership skills but never felt comfortable in my skin enough to test them in the world.

(The fact that I was wearing somebody ELSE’S skin needs to be noted here…)

Now I am more real and feel comfortable in the world; enough to stand up and expose myself (so to speak) which I did in this group.

I had previously shunned support groups because I felt the presence of wheelchairs and progressed disease and people who had lost themselves inside the label of MS would not be great for me to be around.

As I progressed, I found I needed to be seen clearly and without pity or advice-giving.. just seen.

It has proven valuable to do this twice a month.

I realized that my nervous system was REALLY challenged as I sat there and introduced structure to a structureless group.

When I arrived it pretty much was a free-for-all chat time with no beginning or end and one had to fight to be heard.

The ones with the biggest voices won.

I asked if instilling a 10 minute time for each to speak would work for them.

I actually said: “I am not able to be present in the group as it stands now. Too much static.”

So everyone was on board and away we went.

As the weeks went on, I watched myself policing the group more than participating.

They had agreed to no ‘cross-talk’ but could not resist.

I felt resentful as I saw most of my energy moving toward taking care that others had the opportunity to speak instead of just a few.

I finally realized that I cared deeply about this group of people and no one was being served by my facilitatorship; ESPECIALLY ME!

I need support as well.

I need to be seen and heard and not given advice when I speak.

I need 10 minutes of sacred time to tell my story.

I need a soft place to fall.

And so.. I took steps to get that, yesterday.

Everyone was supportive and acknowledging of the job I had done.

I have had a full-life history of ‘holding space’ for others.

Now is Cathy’s time.

I will watch for opportunities to use any leadership qualities I may have and practice using them only when it feels like a MUTUALLY BENEFICIAL RELATIONSHIP.

ie:  I am more not less from the experience.

Truth be told…. Truth be told…. that is my current mantra.

Renegade

_____________________________

All you need is one…

One new thought, or belief or action

To change your point-of-view

And have the possibility of healing.

The MS road is arduously packed with vague promises and suppositions.

It feels so good to believe.

Like a religion, almost.

Believing gives us a place to belong.

To be seen in the ‘context-familiar.’

And belief is a powerfully transformative tool.

A community acting together can jive in a way that scoots evolution along in a quantum way.

Remember the 100th monkey phenomenon.

But it takes just one..

One lone cowboy

Comin’ into town

Dirty and wrinkled from the loneliness and stigma of riding fast and free.

Just one thought outside-the-box

And poof!

We got ourselves light years down this rocky road in an instant.

You gotta BELIEVE in healing to heal.

It feels like a warm fuzzy at times to belong to the walking wounded.

You belong! There’s ALWAYS a shared interest at parties as EVERY BODY knows suffering. Who’s your Doctor? Where’s your pain? What pill? What sorrow? What fear?

YUK..

Boring, boring.

I’m tending toward hitching a ride with that cowboy.

Destination unknown.

But the possibilities are endless.

Instead of securely carved in stone.

Where the Sun Don’t Shine

_______________________________

‘Round these parts in Santa Fe where the sun shines 300 days out of the year, we get a little skittish when it doesn’t.

We blame our dour moods on the barometric pressure.

But really, we’re quite addicted to the light.

The huge population of ‘Santa Fe ‘seekers’ tend always toward the light.

The darkness holds no elan.

The shadows are full of stuff it takes too much energy to see.

Nothing looks as pretty or resolved or ordered there.

In between the parts of me I have scanned and tended to and ‘fixed’,

Are pockets of yet unexplored territory.

I shun them.

Push them to the back of the room.

Relegate them to the back 40…

Sometimes, like this morning, they scratch persistently at the edge of a dream.

Their face oddly familiar but I don’t want to answer the door.

They seem messy.

Unkept. Hollow.

Needy of my attention.

I say: “NO.”

“You may not have me.”

I fiercely protect the good life I’ve achieved.  The sunny Spring day.

But tucked under their arm, I see the glint of a golden thing..

Stained by perspiration and smelling a bit foul.

And still… there it is: SOMETHING I WANT IS THERE!

And I must invite them in if I’m to have any chance at all

Of a life of freedom to act and react and MOVE and create

From an untainted place

Of undefended life.

So…

Come on in.. you burly, revolting creature

I’ve built a nice looking cage for.

Come on in and have your way.

I’m a pretty good wrestler so be prepared to drop your gold

And scoot out the door

After I rip off your masks and take a strong bar of soap to your pernicious scent.

We’ll both be the better for it.

Christ and Us

_______________________________

Here, in Santa Fe, this is a holy time of year.

The time of Good Friday, when the Bible tells us Christ was crucified and Easter Sunday; the day the rock was moved and it was found empty of Jesus’ corpse.. resurrected it is said.

Many, many people make long pilgrimages from miles away carrying heavy crosses on their backs or crawling on their knees to a place called The Santuario in Chimayo.

I go there often myself during off-season just to sit and meditate in the old adobe walls,

It is a sacred healing place somewhat like Lourdes in France.

The earth there is said to carry healing power and people come with bags large and small to dig from a little hole and take some earth home with them.

I am intrigued by the space of time between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.

Some major stuff is said to have happened following Christ’s crucifixion and his revival, so the story goes.

We, humans spend most all our time in that very space between, it seems to me.

No one gets a pass in the suffering department.

And that very suffering is the key to the emperors new clothes.

By that, I mean we can have no possible idea or experience what NOT suffering feels like until we have done some of it ourselves.

It seems to me that this epic outpouring of inviting suffering which all the pilgrims walking in the snow and sleet and windy weather outside my door are yearning for, may be the accelerated version of:
.

1. Take me and my masked ways of being.   Kill the false self I cannot kill on my own.

2. Grace me with time to sink humbly into my nakedness.  The me I have known is no more.

3. Wake me dressed in authentic and true clothes fit for a radiant being such as myself.

4. Call me to a higher order than my self-centric past.

5. Hear me as I give thanks for the right just to BE.

.
For me, that right there is the gist of Easter.

Illness can get you there right quick.

With that in mind, God: give me the strength and Grace to bear this burden and try to control my involuntary salivating waiting and hoping for the rock to be moved and the light.. the light let in…

Grit and Grace

My brother Scott is a pilot for Southwest Airlines.

When I spoke the other day about living in a ‘whole-hearted’ way, his name comes to mind.

He has the gift of a true and count-on-able balance between his rational mind and his heart intelligence.

These qualities make for a great pilot.

You may wonder,and wonder often, I suppose, why in the world I have a blog with the words MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS in it and insist on holding forth about anything BUT most of the time.

For me, the fastest and most sure healing track involves NOT TAKING ON THE IDENTITY of ‘a woman with MS’,

But rather watching and listening for what it is that BRINGS ME ALIVE.

What / who do I have true affection for?

And it is THAT path I choose to take.

Using my precious and faltering-of-late attention and life energy and moving toward healing of ALL OF ME..

Not just my body.

So, yesterday was my brother’s birthday.

The first time I flew with him was into and through the Grand Canyon inside a tin can of a plane with two Germans.

He said: “Cath..don’t tell them I’m your brother.”

Well, that promise lasted about a nanosecond as the pride I had in my brother swelled to a dangerous level and I could contain myself no longer..

Against all odds, he followed his call.

He carved his way through the ranks of those others bowing and scraping toward a secure position with a respectable airline.

He held his ground and persevered until those who mattered couldn’t help but notice he was born to wear a uniform and they gave it to him.

He’s a guy who can stand there just owning the piece of ground he walks on and you just want to hand over your trust.

That’s the guy you want to be standing in the cockpit greeting you as you enter the airplane on a thundery, windy flight through black clouds.

Actually, I’d want him seated in his proper place in the cockpit doing the stuff he needs to do to keep me safe..

But no matter.. you get the drift.

The point here is pride.

I feel my boundaries swell when I think of what he has overcome to become who he is.

This feels whole-hearted to me…

For me, who gets to witness him..

And hopefully for my brother, who carved this life for himself.

I have learned a lot about persistence from him.

Never say die.

‘Cause on the other side of the muck and mire is often the gold we seek.

« Previous Page — Next Page »