Stepping Into the Unknown

My 48th year on this planet is winding down at an unprecedented rate of speed. I've watched it go by from the sidelines it seems, just as I have a good deal of my life. These last few months, however, I feel as though I've taken some quick and dirty dips in the stream of life, caught my breath, was amazed and inspired. I realize that when we walk forward into our fears, they fall away. Completely fall away! But knowing that doesn't make it any easier to face them.

I talked to my father last night about this very subject; my fears, looming decisions that petrify me and seeming burdens that disable me. He sat on the bed and listened while I talked. Sometimes I felt his arm around my shoulder or his hand on my forearm, punctuating those bolder, more freeing thoughts and ideas that needed reinforcing, or those feelings of hopelessness that required reassurance. He always seems to know when I need him. Whether it be in my dreams in or when I'm alone and missing our deep, morning conversations. He arrives out of nowhere, bringing with him the earthy smell of coffee and wood smoke, deep-boned warmth, and a comfort that knows no boundaries.

He reminds me that life is to be savored. That it is not a test, but a gift. That every deed is to be undertaken with gratitude, that every loss is a blessing in disguise and every achievement reassurance of our inherant divinity. Examine your life, he said. Hold it as you might a shimmering glass ball, look inside with curiosity and reverence, and above all, be joyful in all you do. These words he spoke during our last conversation on my kitchen floor (of all places) where we sat, backs against the wall, just before the light came in the window and I was forced to wake.

I am reminded, he wasn't quite so bearing of comfort in life. But by the time I really got to know him, which wasn't very much at all, I knew him as an extremely grumpy old goat who loved a good argument, and who's rudeness often sent me packing. But once in a great while, something else came through. An inspiring introspection and breadth of knowledge and mental openness that was nothing short of other-worldly. Somedays, I caught him at the right moment, and that's the person who held me spellbound. That was the man I knew I would miss the most when he died in 1989. I would miss our conversations, for surely, there was no one else with whom I could confer on such levels.

Shortly after his death, I began noticing little things. A warm hand laid on my shoulder, despite my being completely alone. Waking to someone's hand crossing my face and pushing back my hair. Weight plunging down at the foot of my bed. Then the dreams came. Usually when I was struggling with decisions or taking life too seriously. Here we found a common ground to meet and where our talks could continue ... freed now of his human cloak, the angry old goat who was filled with physical pain and mental demons, was now a sage and a mentor. He is with me now as I write this, hoping I will also include his sense of humor, which is as silly and irreverant now as it was then.

Several years back, before I truly understood what was happening, I received a flyer in the mail to take a two day course in mediumship with John Holland. I jumped at the chance, knowing that opportunity is fleeting. After our first day's class, we were to meet after dinner for a demonstration. In the hotel room, I said to my father, "If you come through, give me a sign, something no one else would know." Of course, the class was full of others hoping their own loved-ones would come through, I knew he wouldn't call on me.

The show was spectacular. The energy in the room was kinetic and for some reason I began to shake. Within minutes, Mr. Holland stood in front of me and said, "I have an older male, has your father passed? Eugene or Gene?" I nodded, my eyes teared up. He began speaking quickly about the leak in my roof in the upstairs closet, about my dogs who were with him, he told me my writing would be public, but in a different genre (I wasn't blogging then) ... to tell his son (my brother) he loved him, that the decision I was considering would free me, but I needed to act on it. As I shook in my chair, tears raced down my cheeks, John Holland said Gene was telling him to back off because he was upsetting me now, he moved on to someone else as another who'd transitioned stepped forward to make contact through the medium.

The reference to my writing stunned me, though. I'd just finished a novel and thought it was my mother who stood over my shoulders those many nights I pounded the keyboards, she being the family "writer". But ... she died when I was 13 and I truly hardly knew her. So, perhaps it had been my father all along. I'd stored the novel, unable to make further changes to the draft, I'd grown so sick of it, but still wasn't sure if it was good enough to submit. It still sits on the top shelf of my closet to this day. Where, by the way, I checked for a leak when I returned home from my weekend mediumship course. Sure enough, a water stain loomed. Strangely though, that stain never grew and we've never replaced the roof in all the years we've lived here.

The decision I was struggling with then, was one I struggle with now. I've always struggled with the big decisions in life. The little ones I turn on a dime, it's the big ones that get me. Cause me to faulter. I've finally come to the realization that I must move forward if I desire the kind of change that is monumental, otherwise, I might fluctuate back and forth until doomsday. Such a concept! Still, it's hard for one so adept at being unseen. Despite my age, my fears and the unknown. Perhaps, as my father said beyond his death, it will be freeing.

~L

good friends are angels made visible

I returned from my show Thursday morning, in fact, rose at dawn, packed up and headed home. I couldn't wait to get back to the dogs, birds, cat and humans who share my life. The problem is, since my return, I've been lingering over a difficult decision that continues to play itself out inside my head ... should I give 100% to making and selling jewelry, or give it up to a hobby only, in lieu of steady work, pay and benefits. Let me first say, I've lived a life of steady work, pay and benefits... this year was the first for me to throw in the towel and give art a chance. For sure, my husband assisted me in this endeavor by fronting a great deal of the expense money.

I've always been an artist of sorts,since I was a child, always drawing, painting, photographing and writing; always seeking new avenues to express that more subtle part of myself that if given half a chance, is in truth the more colorful part of me, certainly more capable of imparting just who it is I am. The other part, just as real but not necessarily as viable, is a survivor. Nothing more. A part of me that does not thrive, but merely ... does what is necessary to get by. I learned young how to survive.

My family were all strugglers, none of them understood what it meant to thrive. Life, in effect, required survival. And usually consisted of a bare knuckle approach, a sort of dangling, never fully on the ground, never safe, always worrying about the future. This required working hopeless jobs, my mother as a fry cook and my father as a rigger in the shipyard. Both provided some semblence of security, paid the bills, paid the mortgage, but fully neglected the longings of the heart. Neglecting longings is neglecting the roadmap of desire we were all born with. My parent's fear of abject poverty, sans any attempt at going for the gold, allowed a life to be lived without too much excitement and certainly without risks and mostly, without passion. So, the child who was born out of this failure to thrive, still exists within me and sometimes wakes me up at night to remind me of all the loose ends that I am incapable of fixing. I try to return to sleep with a smile on my face, hoping to impart the calmness of that smile's simple knowing upon my invisible soul, a Taoist wisdom. Sometimes it calms her. But her fears are evident in my life, despite my attempts to supress her. Mostly, she causes me undue anxst. I don't want to let her lead me. Therein lies a struggle.

When we are young, it seems, we are more likely to take risks to find our heart's desire. As we age, we lose site of our dreams, feel our energy wain, sometimes lose hope, our bodies decline and remind us of our mortality, we aren't so pretty as we once were, we lose the power to turn heads, we grow tired. But one thing we have obtained by this time in our life, hopefully, is a handful, or even one, soul friend. A kindred spirit who cheers us on despite appearances that seem to indicate our likelihod to fail miserably. Soulfriends are blessings to be cultivated and held forever dear. If you've found one, don't let go!

Last night, I met with two such girlfriends for dinner at the Yacht club in Silverdale, both of whom I have decided are soul friends. The three of us ordered the special; broiled halibut with red potatoes and sauteed vegetables ... which was beyond wonderful, should you decide to go yourself! Fabulous, in fact, but the best part of all, for me, was just being myself, not particularly elegant or funny or entertaining, among dear friends who know me and appreciate me for who I am anyway.

We talked, laughed, cried, revealed things, swore a pact of secrecy (complete with the linking of pinkies) ... and supported each other in our dreams and hopes and possible endeavors. Supported the dreamer, in effect, the risk taker, the artist in each of us. The survivor of course, needs no support, she gets plenty of it from the nay-sayers who abound in our lives. Reminded of this, I realize we are surrounded by nay-sayers, many who don't even realize they are trying their best to keep us down, to clip our wings, to keep us from trying for the brass ring. And how lucky to instead be among those who tell us we can climb mountains, fly even, and at least encourage us to give it our best shot. Good friends are angels made visible. My friends are certainly angelic.

My hope is that in reading this, you too will take a moment to look at your own life, gather up your true friends, and decide to surround yourself with them; with those who support the creator in you, rather than those who stoke the fires of your fears. I am so grateful to have in my life a handful of women friends who are honest and wise, strong and brave, creative, funny, positive and above all, true blue.

To my soulfriends: I honor you. In my eyes, you are perfect. I am so blessed to have you in my life. I only hope I can live up to your vision of me!

~L