...and invite them in.

The Guest House 

by Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Thou Art

Thou Art

12:40am, 14 December 2012, upon watching the Geminid meteor shower

Shivering

Gazing up

Searching

I see that

Thou art

Thou art

Oh, Thou very art!

Thou art that Thou art.

And why not?

What other reason should there be?

Splendor, glory, beauty, grandeur, light, mercy...

What other why need be fulfilled?

Shivering

Gazing in

Searching

I see that

I am

I am

Oh, would that I am!

I am that I am.

And why not?

What other reason should there be?

Noble, imperishable, hidden, treasured, rebellious, awe-struck...

What other why need be fulfilled?

Special

I have this weird idea that "not unique" means "not challenging."

I shared this thing in my therapy group today that to me feels very big and bad and I have shame around. And someone said (totally from a good place, my reaction is all me) that it didn't seem that different than an activity that a lot of normal people do very regularly and is not at all seen as unusual.

What I heard was "this is just your slightly different way of expressing this common human trait." Which is probably fairly close to what he was trying to say. But then I continued to extrapolate to "therefore, shut up and get over it, everyone deals with this. You wuss."

I've just come from group, and I'm still processing. A lot. A lot of processing. About a lot of stuff. But I wanted to get this thought written before I lose it.

I am both more and less special than I think I am.

Renaissance Constellations

In my head, Renaissance Festivals are like constantly morphing constellations.

Take this idea as a base, but don't get too stuck on it:

In my head, the artists and performers and vendors and musicians and street cast and administrators... all the people that make up a Faire, are little dots of light, that are constantly swarming around the country in ways that look random until you watch a specific light for a while, and then you see a pattern.

Within the thousands of patterns, sometimes many dots will converge in one place, and stay there making a very bright energetic shining light together for a weekend, or several weeks, or even a month or two. And then suddenly the individual dots burst apart from their convergence, like fireworks, until they converge somewhere else; some of the same dots meet again in convergence after convergence, some a few times, and some only once or twice.

I like to think of the of Renaissance Faires as a constant fireworks display of creative energy.

Naked

My therapist commented today on how much more I am opening up, how much more I am allowing myself to be vulnerable.

She said even my body language and facial expressions were so much more open and flexible.

I felt embarrassed and naked.

Regret Nothing

“Antilamentation” 
Dorianne Laux

Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook.
Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication.
Not the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punchline, the door, or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don't regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the livingroom couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You've walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You've traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don't bother remembering
any of it. Let's stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.

Super Powers and Kryptonite

This shame group thing is intense, man.

Tonight we touched on the idea that most shame in most people comes from either their super powers (their gifts and talents) or their kryptonite (their struggles or vulnerabilities).

I don't enjoy airing my vulnerabilities, but I don't find it overwhelming, either. Or at least, not for the most part; there are a few that make me nauseated to even think about talking about.

The thing that pretty universally shames me is naming my gifts. I find it unbearable to say "I am creative, I am intelligent, I am..." Wow, I had to stop there because even writing that first made me tear up and then brought me to absolute freeze when I attempted to add a third item.

In the group tonight, as a closing exercise, the therapist asked us each to speak out loud an affirmation about ourselves. I couldn't do it in front of the group but I said that I would say one out loud to myself once I was alone at home. Haven't done it yet.

What is so darn intolerable about admitting there is greatness in myself?