I see that when I intake the correct (for me) ‘food’

I have more than enough energy to live well.

My goal is to nurture this precious gift of Life

With attitudes, activities and awareness;

Each acting as clean fuel

For my Self

As QUEEN!

Of my personal landscape.

I could easily regard the outward impression I may leave people with: that a severe narrowing is taking place as my body shifts into ‘needs-support-to-function’ mode, as a truth. The thing is- I am unsure of much of anything that fits into the ‘truth’ category anymore.

And I like it that way.

A lot.

Because the way is clear to discover treasures left in low places

The fully upright

Strutting and careening masses

Would all miss completely.

I fill my basket.

It is New Year’s Eve day and instead of a recap of my year, I feel like telling you about the most recent event that made me really happy..

Sort of a ‘talisman moment’ to guide my year as I see it.

Instead of making a list of resolutions, I will use the feeling of what I am about to tell you to move into a new year and know I want more of THIS:

My brother, sister-in-law and niece and nephew came to visit me. They drove from Denver in their motor home with the two dogs, jeep in tow and many tools to help me make my new and beloved home more accessible. The arrived and poured forth with wheelchair ramps! and gourmet food for my freezer! and a hand-held shower thing! and lightbulb replacements! Three-hour logs for the fireplace! and ICE MELT for my walkway!

They cleaned my kitchen, painted the ramps, helped me make a flower-covered back panel for my wheelchair, made me sit down, were conscious of my energy level, shoveled gravel, took me out for meals, were aware when I was getting tired, took Olivia on walks and tied up cardboard boxes into tidy packages.

One of the very best moments of this visit was this: We were pouring out of the car in downtown Santa Fe in the evening. It was cold and icy at the curb of our parking place. I opened the passenger door to get out, saw the ice below and hesitated. Would I be able to safely make the crossing between car and curb to grab my walker? After that little feat was successfully completed I said to my brother: “What would you do if I had slipped and slid under the car back there?”

“I’d call AAA” he said….

We all laughed that down-low belly laugh because…well, because it was SUCH GREAT DISABILITY HUMOR!!!!

Casual, easy, hysterical without the underpinnings of caution.

In 2012, my attention will be on feelings in my body rather than accomplishments or desires. I will be like a magnetic basket; going about my days gathering actual experiences of connection, fun, nurturance, worth, wonder, curiosity, communion, silliness, soft belly, unguarded heart, contentment………………
…………………..
……………..

I wonder what kind of year this particular Solstice will open into?

So much tentativeness and fear and dire predictions.

The energy we are entering this coming year with seems to have one hand saying come hither and the other at full STOP!

My body feels this confusion and works overtime to get it’s sea legs.

I want to pick an attitude to use as a kind of mantra for the year..

RECEIVING is what has come forward for me.

Part of me just recoils the word.

Aren’t we supposed to (as upstanding citizens) be GIVING?

The RECEIVING I am talking about could be re-named ‘DE-ARMORING.’

For me, it is the action of releasing out-dated self worth issues and truly being aware of what is available for me in the PRESENT MOMENT.

The future really has lost it’s sheen to me

And the past is just that.

I want to see what the present moment has for me..

Stand there strong and soft with my heart unguarded and my face turned toward the sky and my eyes open so I don’t miss a thing, no matter what.

But that’s future thinking AGAIN!!

It will be my practice.

I had cowboy boots.

They were blonde-colored with pointed toes.

The stitching was loose and they had age on them

But I loved them so.

In my lifetime of figuring out who I actually am

Aside from all the posing and dallying,

My gait has changed.

As a chubby and depressed schoolgirl

I walked with shame and anxiety.

As a lean and sinewy gymnast

I began to lift my head with pride

And my gait became solid and purposeful

But still a performance.

The girls’ school I attended

Taught us to lead with our chest as we entered a room.

My soul was left scrambling..

Far, far behind.

In college, I knew how to get an instant audience

Just by parading across the dining hall.

As a married woman,

Anxiety cut my stride in half.

Divorced, it returned.

These days

It takes me awhile

To strap on my assorted hardware;

Two braces with more velcro

Than any person should ever have to negotiate.

They are my support.

And I love them for that.

My boot-walkin’ days are quite over, now.

Strangely, since my limp and drag are real

I don’t hate them.

I am moving into my new home this weekend.

Walking over the threshold and out the door of my current little nest

And into this miracle of a safe and lovely place

Will likely silence me awhile.

I will need to stroll/roll around and pay homage

To the gift and nurturing

Of this circumstance.

I will let a new gait emerge.

Or not, as the case may be.

I will begin time in my new home with innocent eyes

And a curious heart

And let myself be led,

Even coddled a bit.

I will walk

Back to you, here…

Perhaps new.

I said a prayer.

It went like this:

Dear God,

“Please send me someone who has all the qualities I need to help me get back into my physical body and curtail this muscular/psychic atrophy visiting me at such an alarming rate. If You could please find someone I would actually listen to without thinking I know it all, that would be great. Also- if You could get right on it that would be good because time is scratching at my door.”

And so….

Only a few months later I am attending a Yoga/Qigong class filled w/ other folks like myself who would not be able to attend a regular class due to various constraints.

Into my life comes Daniel Villasenor; our teacher.

He has a history of extremely debilitating illness himself

And found his way forward to become a man in service to Life.

He stand there; moves with almost unbearable grace and measure.

He holds the knowledge of how to get from ‘here’ to ‘there’

And I need him.

I listen carefully because he has nothing to prove;

Only the impetus to show and tell us (pilgrims)

About the ART OF BEING ILL

And how to clean our brushes

And begin a new canvas

With colors that have no name.

He pushes me in class.

Because I respect him,

I let him.

Parts of my body

And mind

And heart

Are rubbing the sleep from their eyes

And waking up.

These are facets of me I only vaguely recall

As it became too dangerous to hanker after what was.

So I took it upon myself to execute the divorce papers.

I separated myself from certain kinds of hope and possibility

And settled for tidbits and crumbs of who I was.

I walked out of the lawyer’s (my pesky mind) office

With all the strain of remaining upright

Dragging my right leg behind me.

Having the structure of this class

And the true and present support of my fellow students

Is a weekly infusion of hope

And it feels like church to me.

We each enter the room and spread our mat which is our pew.

LIFE is what we bow to, there;

In all Her strength and frailty,

Tattered costumes, all.

I am settling into my new life

Of Social Security Disability assistance.

My new mantra: “What do I WANT? and what do I actually NEED?”

Sweeping away casual decisions regarding financing a life

Is sobering but fulfilling as well.

Now that I have accustomed myself a bit to the realities present for me,

I notice the high level of anxiety I’ve been negotiating

And have begun to soften my grip a bit.

I have found a perfect place to move to which is clean and safe and I adore it.

Nothing I need in life has EVER come to me through the inherent contraction involved

In the act of TRYING HARD TO WILL SOMETHING into existence.

Getting scared and scrunching my gaze down to slits

As I white- knuckle my mind into battle-mode

Gets nothing done, I’ve found.

This tactic is culturally generated because we are so in love with the mind.

We never learn the true power of INTENT, ACTION and SURRENDER.

In my own process of late, I practice being clear about what I need,

Take action toward that end,

Then take my hands off the wheel and let the thing happen.

This surrender part is essential, I’ve found.

And challenging to do.

My impetus is to ‘tough it out’

Or Keep fiddling with a situation (relationship. finding a home, getting published, getting healthy)

Until it falls apart from too much ‘handling’..

If it gets too hard something is off.

Time to step back from the scene and give it some room.

Then revisit.

Or not.

The assistance available in that very ‘SPACE’

Seems to be something potent and worthy of cultivation.

I had dinner with a very good friend last night.

I listened to myself tell him:

“One of the big reasons I love being with you is the fact I relax my innate state of anxiety. You are sort of like valium for me.”

That definitely came out all wrong so I backpedaled:

“Not valium in the sense of numbing or providing a buffer to Life.. more like with you, my whole Self relaxes because I feel safe, seen and perfect as I am.”

Hearing this, he relaxed himself and I continued:

“You had the blessing of true and reliable support and nurturing from your folks. That gift gave you the time and space to develop authentically without questioning your worth. I harbor the anxiety I do because of habit and not because I need to perform the endless check system I had in place with a mother who rejected me whose love I needed so badly.

I do NOT need to work so hard to prove my worth.

But the vestiges of the original question remain and amp up my nervous system even when I intellectually know I’m free.

The HABIT of contraction remains.

And when I am around you, I remember another way to be.”

My friend looked at me with a slightly veiled eye

Because he doesn’t really like ‘this kind of talk.’

He humors me because I know he thinks about what I’ve said later when he is alone.

And I’m pretty sure he counts his blessings that he is a foreigner to my battlefield.

I’ve surrendered a long, long time ago

But still find dirt in my fingernails on occasion

From the muscular grip

I need to muster

On this slippery slope.

I honor mySelf

For the woman I have become

With all her sheen and flaw

Because She is here.

And this passage as a lover-of-life

Is an EARNED state of being

And truly not a given.

This is one of my personal favorite pieces I created back in the mid-90′s.

I have always gravitated toward African art, culture, music and dance.

I think, in this case that the title: “SOME WOMEN ACTING KINDOF SASSY”

Just plain makes me happy.

I love people and their stories.

Everyone has one.

And they interest me tremendously.

You may think a lot of what I post here has nothing to do with either healing or MS

And that I have set you up

By titling this blog what I do.

For me, healing comes in many shapes and colors, thankfully.

I came across this website recently:

It is hosted by a fave fashion company: ANTHROPOLOGIE

Where I go to drool, on occasion.

The site I am drawing your attention to today

Is a virtual gallery of sorts

In which ‘common’ people are exposed for their very UNcommonness.

It makes me feel connected to what is innately good in us all

And helps me reframe my life and days

In search of a deeper ‘listening’

And watching

For our own extraordinariness

Inside what usually passes for ordinary.

Have a look.

And another.

Each offering is so satisfying in it’s own way.

I saw a photo of Barack Obama yesterday,

In which he looked so weary

And physically curled in on himself.

I am used to seeing him present himself with an uprightness and fortitude.

My politics are energetic.

Certainly not solely..

But significantly.

This used to embarrass me

As my handle on participating in an intellectual discussion regarding such

Is wobbly at best.

I trust my energetic read of a person place or thing

Over any other intelligence available.

This, certainly, does NOT mean I am never wrong.

Because I am.

I am just aware of humans creativity

When it comes to coercion.

When I saw Obama with his collapsed chest

And shoulders curling forward in a protective stance,

I recognized that posture too well.

It demands psychic gymnastics to move through the world

In a disabled body.

I choose to keep the FAITH

That there is purpose,

Hope,

Inherent trust (for me)

That my glorious physical Self

Contains all it needs

To remember it’s Self

In the fullest sense

NO MATTER WHAT THAT LOOKS LIKE.

With chronic illness

(And, indeed, with politics)

It is a herculean task

To keep the faith…

I was in a yoga class the other day

And someone came up to me

Saying: “You look so noble sitting there with your straight back.”

Aside from the fact I can physically approach

Few of the postures

The way one might see them laid out in an instruction book,

What she named ‘nobility’ in me

Was really FAITH.

I was choosing FAITH over COLLAPSE.

It would have been so very easy for me to curl into myself

In a slump.

It is not so easy to have faith.

And yet..

Each time I choose it

It seems to get recognized

In ways large and small.

But I keep choosing in this way

Not for the recognition of it.

I choose

Because my choices ARE my politics

And I know something about the sacred nature

Of ALL LIFE

And I can’t bear to let Her down.

And so I keep righting myself

Often in the smallest of ways.

And consider that

My prayer.

I have had a misconception

About what compassion really is.

We think about Mother Theresa and seriously wonder

Where she finds it in her physical smallness

To be so big?

I think it took us, as a country,

Ten full years to even approach

Climbing over the fence of horror and fear

To reach compassion where 9/11 is concerned.

It was just too big

And we are so very small.

We had to turn away

And wait until we had the capacity to bear it.

The problem with compassion

As I see it

Stems from the mistaken understanding

That in order for me to feel compassion for you

I MUST FEEL IN MY BODY

EXACTLY WHAT YOU FEEL;

I should be feeling so deeply that I cry with you,

Or at the least let my chest curl in on itself

As I let you know your angst over a divorce

Or death of a child

Has been registered over here

And is therefore real.

No. This is not compassion.

With understandings like these, is it any wonder that we turn away

In favor of lighter territory?

When you sit with me

Or see me out and about,

My heart’s desire is only to meet your clear and soft eyes

And be blessed with the ‘take away gift’

Of having been witnessed in some real way.

You see my limp. Yep.. There it is.

You notice my frequent disappearances from my historical ever-presence around town?

Uh huh.. that too.

Do you pity me? Yuk. Please don’t.

That pity may be your own very visceral reaction to what YOU might feel in my situation.

Really, that is probably a dream on your part

As we never can know who we will be in a situation

Until we are there.

Compassion is not ‘work’.

Compassion is the easiest thing you could imagine.

It demands nothing from us

Other than the capacity to WITNESS ANOTHER PERSON.

That’s it…

Just to be still and let someone tell you whatever they have to tell you.

If Mother Theresa were to ‘take on’

All the angst and sadness

Of those she tends,

She would have used herself up long ago.

She sits.

She listens.

She makes it known she has ‘seen’ the other

And that they are NOT ‘other’

But instead: not separate.

Compassion doesn’t even need a word or any sound what-so-ever.

Could be just a gentle and knowing look

Or a wave from a neighbor.

Compassion takes nothing from us.

But it has the capacity

To give us back our humanity.

No work involved.