hey, Monet

Who knew? It's the season of the water lily around here.


It's also the season of butterflies-- not the pretty kind you can photograph, but the kind that make you forget to eat breakfast- yes, Squam season is upon me and damn, you'd think I would have this figured out by now. Kaitlyn is a flipping rock star and beyond supportive, but there's only so much she can do. The stuff I have to do always seems so daunting and I don't know why that is.

Is it all about attitude?

Probably.

But I also think there's a big gap between plans and visions and the um, actual execution of said dreams. *sigh*


No doubt you're all bobbing about in the water thinking-- there she goes, right on schedule-- pre-Squam angst-- woman, quit your whining and bring us our rice krispie treats already.

I know, I hear you-- it helps to vent it a bit. And what'a a blog for if not to vent, n'est-ce pas?

Speaking of French-- I have totally failed to tell you about the trip to Paris! How is that possible?



It was honestly one of the best trips of my life.  Tara and I had never traveled together before so all bets were off whether it was gonna be a good fit or not-- and man, it was awesome.  Two days in and she was already planning a whole series of adventures and I was all, hey, be here now-- and let me say, we were there.

one of the most favorite instagram photos I've ever taken

Had a fabulous apartment that turned out to be just down the street from my one of my darling cousins* so got to see a good bit of her-- plus we walked our butts off -- ate dessert at every meal-- drank our fair share of some really great wine and even had a bit of wild outings replete with dancing and motorcycle rides around the city of lights--- tres Amelie.

In a word-- perfect.

Tara even did some re-enactments of how I used to get back into my room at night after they had locked the doors and I'd been out til the wee hours . .


Girl's got game-- that's for sure.


Mostly?  I laughed.  I haven't laughed so much, so hard in such a long time.  We'd be walking down the sidewalk and I would be doubled over.  Couldn't walk I was laughing so hard.  Turns out you can be friends for 26 years and still have stories to share that had never surfaced before.  And, best of all-- our friendship went to new levels of connection.  I think there's just no substitute for time.  Lots of time to hang out-- slow conversations-- she and I talk on the phone and text like most people do-- but it just isn't the same as full out days to really get a sense of what is going on with each of us, you know?  It was awesome.

Anyway-- the highlight was the Chagall exhibit.  It went straight into my bloodstream and I'm gonna be thinking about it all summer for sure.

The only thing that wasn't so great was the air.  Seriously, bad air.  It kind of killed any fantasy I had about living in Paris for a couple of years-- the pollution is pretty bad.  I had a tickly thing in the back of my throat the whole time I was there-- Tara got blasted with allergies (she never gets allergies) and people said it was that the trees were dropping more pollen than usual to combat the air pollution.  Whatever the case-- it felt great to get home and breathe good air. . . . I would still go back anytime for a visit-- but no way I'd live there.

Plus, the puppers?  Not such a great place for dogs, oddly.  You can't go on the grass-- the hell?


bisous, e

*total bummer!  She is getting married in September-- gorgeous family wedding in the south of France and I can't go because ..  wait for it, it is the exact weekend as September Squam . .. any other date and I would totally be there--  seriously-- what are the odds?  You will be proud to know I plied her and her beloved with wine and did my utmost to get them drunk enough to reschedule it . . but, helas--- I was not successful.

I'm thinking Jimi might've had some blue heron energy

daisy, plum island

A few weeks ago, I picked up a book that was in the sale bin at the Brown Bookstore:  Our World.  It's pretty much a love letter from Mary Oliver to her partner Molly Malone Cook who died in 2005.  The book is mostly photos by Molly with bits of essay and thoughts -- some poems -- by Mary.

There are all different bits that I liked, but I especially enjoyed the contrast between them -- Mary was all about the animals, the woods, the marsh-- when she would come in from her walk each morning Molly wanted news.  News of the town, of people, or as she wrote in her journal,

"What I mean is news of humans. 
Mary comes home with fox news, bird news,
and her loving friends the geese Merlin and Dreamer . .. 
they come running to her.  That is Mary's news."

Hmmm, is there a problem with this?  Surely you don't mind if I come running in here with my news of the animal spirit who has made his presence known?  It only took me like three (okay four) sightings with the last one where he flew right over my damn head this afternoon to say-- okay, dude I get it.  You are my spirit companion for the next leg of the journey.

Blue heron. 

Maybe I was ignoring him because his spirit speaks to me of solitude and oh my dear lord, have I not kept the solitude karma bowl full?  Why yes, as you all are witness --- I believe my solitude dues have their very own Swiss bank account.  So I looked it up a bit to see what other properties or teachings that skinny bird might have for me.

Here is just another take on why we feel the peacefulness of this beautiful blue icon. In the pagan or ancient Celtic faiths the Great Blue Heron was the embodiment of the Goddess Rhiannon. The Great Blue has been called what Rhiannon would be called, “The Lady of the Lake”.  The Lady of the Lake guides all those who are lost and provides for those that are in need but mostly the Lady of the Lake guards the shimmering, wonderful lakes so they will be here for our kids tomorrow.

There is a sense of security in the Heron energy. They have the ability to evolve and become more adept at their talents so they may always be taken care of. If one chooses to accept the Heron as a spirit animal they will learn to walk into the deep waters with no fear and they will stand on their own two feet keeping themselves balanced at all times. Self determination, self reliance and guidance are the trademarks of the ever popular “lady” of the lake and spiritual guardian of the nature lover’s soul, the Great Blue Heron. 

from Mind Body & Spirit 

  

Well, hey now.  That's not so bad.  

But the one that really set me back on my heels and made me think, damn-- maybe there IS something to all this animal spirit mojo -- was the essay that focused on Blue Heron's gift of self-confidence.   

Great Blue Heron has an innate quiet dignity. A tall thin Bird, Great Blue Heron has much to teach people on how to move gracefully with purpose. Watch the Great Blue Heron to learn about self-confidence. (Animal Teachers)

Heron medicine is the power of knowing the self by discovering its gifts and forcing its challenges. It is the ability to accept all feeling and opinions without denying any emotion or thought. (Medicine Cards)

This is truly wild because if you asked me what I have been focused on these past few months it is exactly this.  

So, scuse me now while I kiss the sky!

 

 bisous, e

infinite beauty

There's a scene early in the novel Their Eyes Were Watching God (Zora Neale Hurston) when the girl is completely absorbed in the branches of a pear tree, intoxicated by the bees and the blossoms. This image always comes up for me at this time in Spring when the blooms hit. And that's what they do-- it's an explosion.

One day. Boom.

Here on the street where I live, it happened Thursday morning.

I came out about 6 am to let the dogs down the front steps and sha-ZAM. The pale, pale yellow-green of baby tree leaves were in masses of small clusters like so many balls of popcorn. Ditto for the fruit trees except they were swarms of pink and white.

Heaven.


It overwhelms me, frankly. Just more of my Spring emotional disorder, I guess-- how to take it all in?

I know most people are in danger of crashing their car because their heads are down on their i-phone texting. Me? I'm an inch away from driving up sidewalks because my head is craning out the window looking up trying to take it all in. But I can't.  Of course I can't. And I can't even remotely, not even slightly, capture one tiny bit of what I see in the course of a day unless all I did was walk the streets with a camera in my hand from morning to night -- and even then, not even a tiny bit could be caught.

Infinite beauty.

I don't like the feeling of being overwhelmed which probably explains a lot about my life choices.  However, something I have come to realize lately is that it doesn't much matter whether you spiral out and expand your consciousness to see all of what's going on in the world, read all the news, spend hours in social media, etc  OR, spiral in, sit under a tree and watch squirrels run back and forth--- there's no end in either direction.  Micro / Macro.

I am still re-reading this book --- one part I liked particularly: 

Life itself is my career, and my interaction with life is my most meaningful relationship.  Everything else I'm doing is just focusing on a tiny subset of life in the attempt to give life some meaning.  What actually gives life meaning is the willingness to live it.  It isn't any particular event;  it's the willingness to experience life's events.

I know, way too much philosophy for a day I should be barefoot in the grass playing badminton.

Want some more play?  Check this out:  “When we grow older, we can lose our open mind to the world and it becomes so much more difficult to live in the moment,” she writes. “Playing and laughing can bring us back to the here and now. [It's] so vital for our well-being.”

I hope your weekend gave you just what you needed most--

bisous, e

out the rear view mirror

Providence, April 19, 2012

Yes, I am totally cheating by reaching back in the archives for photos since I have not carried my camera in weeks.   Well, that's not entirely true as I have carried it from the living room (where it sat patiently-- hopefully?-- for weeks) back to the studio to shelve it when I finally stopped torturing myself with its baleful glances.

What did I whisper in its ear as I set it back between the box of ephemera and pile of unused sketchbooks?  Hang tight, old friend, another couple of weeks and you will be in Paris.  Whole days to capture the city of lights in Spring!

There was no response, but I'm pretty sure she heard me.

It was a good reminder for me, too-- as damn!  I am going to Paris?  For a week?  With one of my oldest friends?  How did I lose sight of that?  

Not sure-- but I think it's because it got planned back in December and then I totally forgot about it. You know how I am-- out of sight, out of mind.  But it is on the horizon and I think by the time I am walking those familiar streets and getting my first whiff of diesel exhaust-- I'll be feeling excited. 

Right now I am in a much, much quieter state.  It feels so good.  

Providence, April 19, 2012

Yesterday, I bought a car.

It was the end of an era and I'm still reflecting on how it all went down.  

At one point on Tuesday night I was texting with Dave* as I sat in the icky chair that they have at car dealerships.  

me:  looking at numbers now.  so weird.  definitely triggers my nerves. but it's time.

dave:  awww.  Sylvia was a good girl . . .

me:  The BEST.  It hurts.  End of an era.

dave:  I think it's time

me:  I'm very attached to her emotionally but she's at 148,000 and things are just not sounding great.  I could begin the fixes.  But something about buying a 2013 feels in alignment but oh talk about sad.  I must be the weirdest to be so sentimental about a car.

dave:  No don't start fixing it'll never end.  This is the time.  A new car. a new warranty. security.  Not weird at all dear.  Like you said, end of an era.  That just means there's a NEW era beginning.  Embrace it.

me:  oh WHAT a fabulous approach dude you are wise my friend hang out a shingle and help folks already

dave:  oh you're sweet feel free to call if you need more bolstering.  You go girl!

at the beach,  April 17, 2012 

So, yeah.  The car that I bought in 2004 specifically because we were building our dream house at the end of a class 6 road and I needed an SUV.  Sylvia (yes, I name my cars--- blame it on Allison) carried me through the journey of building Soliden, experiencing ArtFest, leaving my corporate job, taking art classes, selling paintings, starting Squam, ending a marriage, living on an 1800 acre farm, moving to a new city.

She was there for all of it with the dogs in the back making sure she always smelled like dog.

She was a great car who had been through SO much with me-- oh my god, the 168 inches of snow we survived together (not an exaggeration, 168 inches in winter 2009 it was insane) -- and I felt like I was abandoning her (that's a freebie for all you psychoanalysts out there).  But Dave's perspective was just the fresh attitude I needed and boom.

Here I am with a 2013 rig.  She is the most gorgeous shade of red so I named her Georgia-- and it does feel like my exterior now reflects my interior.  It's a whole new world.

*And for those of you who have a tough time understanding my relationship with Dave, my ex-husband, I think this gives you a glimpse of how we continue to support each other.  (Yes, sometimes I am the one helping him re-frame a situation that is stressful).  What can I say?

If there is one thing that I am most proud of in this world, it is my relationship with Dave.  I am inordinately proud of both of us.  People have said to each of us at different times, "the hell?"  and then launch into the most vitriolic stream of experiences with the person they were once married to.

Somehow, that was more normal.  You loved someone, married them, divorced them and then hated their guts.  I don't know-- that just doesn't make sense to me.

I love Dave.  I will always love Dave.  It was our marriage that ended.  How can you go from loving someone to hating them?  I don't think I will ever understand that.  I will always care that he is well, that he is happy.  I will always be a friend to him should he need a friend.  I honestly cannot imagine it any other way.  And the fact that he knows me better than anyone walking this planet and loves me to my core keeps me standing on days when I am being hit by relationship storms that are not grounded in the same kind of honesty and unconditional love.

We left the marriage but carried out the friendship-- it's a beautiful thing.  I have thought to write our story for the Modern Love column that The New York Times runs.  (I'm not saying they would take it, I'm just saying I've thought to write it).

The first line would be "three months after our divorce my husband registered for Match.com and I created a vision board . ." or something like that.

Man.  How the hell did I get here?  Relationships.  Cars.  Is this just an American thing-- the role our cars play in our lives?  Or is this just me?  Did you ever get sentimental about a vehicle?

bisous, e

P.S.  right now it smells SOooooo good.  I am taking bets on how long that's gonna last.

time for some new boots

Kat came down for a visit last Friday.  Not only did she help me spontaneously rearrange the furniture in my living room so that presto-change-o! the sweetest little art space you ever did see was suddenly at the front and the most cozy sitting area was created where before there was nothing but my chair and, you know, you can sit wherever.

She also brought Riley cat to help christen* the guest room.

For the record, Henry adores cats.  Adores.  All Riley had to do was sit in the doorway and Henry was entranced. 


But mostly?  Things are falling into place.

I know it is a total illusion to think we can ever dial our daily life into a rhythm and pattern that makes our heart sing, but damn if I am not gonna keep walking that yellow brick road til my shoes fall off.


And by shoes, I mean boots as I have two pair sitting in a brown paper grocery bag in the backseat of my car -- the idea is that one of these days I will actually remember to stop at the cobblers to see if he can repair the back seam (one pair has already been resoled) as I love them and can't get them replaced (trust me I've tried).

I think it's time I simply let them go and move on.

Hard for a yankee girl.  Hell, I bought a new pair of Sorel scuffs the other day and when they arrived it actually took 24 hours for me to throw the old pair away because they still had good wear left in them . . . I kid you not.  Three year old slippers that should be tossed posthaste and I'm hesitating as I think of ways I could continue to use them "they'd be good for when I want to go out and take the trash to the curb . . ."

I know.  It even yeeks me out.  But on the flip side, I get totally ill at the over consumption I witness as such a normal part of our culture.  So, finding the balance.  Always the balance.  You know what?  just writing this all out-- those damn boots are getting tossed into the bin as soon as I finish this post.  Done and dusted.

Hey!  Thanks for hanging around while I worked that out.


Working stuff out seems to be my focus right now.  I've slowed my pace down to such a point that each time I hit a snag, a problem, an upset --- the process of untangling, resolving, or creating a solution comes about in the strangest way.  Strange for me, anyway.  Instead of spiraling out at a million miles an hour I just sit with it.  Half the time I don't even try to fix it, I simply give it some air, some time and then -- whaddya know.  At some random moment when I am totally not even thinking about it like snapping open the refrigerator door or winding a cap back onto the tube of toothpaste and ping! -- the solution drops into view.

Is this what being old is all about?  Cause I am seriously loving on the emotional freedom it's rolling out for me here.

Some kind of magic carpet ride for octogenarians.


A couple of weeks ago there was a song I could not get out of my head.  I'm sure I had heard it many times before, but for some reason it stuck and stuck hard -- I could not shake it.

Over the years I have been so lucky that people send me mix cds because I am so utterly lame about music and if I didn't have these infusions god knows what I would listen to -- Benedictine lutes, probably.  Anyway, the song was on one of these random cds and so I had no idea who it was but I tracked it down:

Natalie Walker, Quicksand

I’ll rise from all my sorrow Let the sun shine on my face.

It got into my blood stream and made me dig out the paints.   More reason why I was so grateful to Kat for shifting the energies so I could actually paint instead of walking holes into my boots with that song running through my head on endless repeat.

spring song, detail 

spring song, April 2013 

spring song, detail 

spring song, detail

bisous, e

*um, perhaps not the best word choice as Riley had a proper litter box and was a most perfect guest

why you gotta be that way?

It turns out that not only do I know how to slow down, I can actually drop into hibernation at the end of winter.  I know!  What can I say-- I'll have to add it to my list of things I can do really well.  I'm thinking it should come right after 'ability to execute a pirouette while switching leashes behind my back when two dogs decide abruptly to go in opposite directions as we cross a busy street.'


Daisy:  is she making fun of us?

Henry: I feel so misunderstood . . .


Hiber. Nation.  I'm thinking that's a country I could move to.  Deep long days of rest and short-lived attempts at actually accomplishing anything.  Heaven.

It turns out that I was super tired or, as my kind house guest gently commented one evening in an effort to get me to acknowledge a truth that was glaringly obvious, "Elizabeth, you are exhausted.  Go to bed."

Isn't it funny how when someone else tells you something that you can hear it, but if you say the same thing to yourself it doesn't sound the same?  All I know is that it was some kind of much needed permission slip and I lumbered off into the bear cave without so much as a backward glance.

Doing nothing is honestly one of my most favorite things ever-- and I had forgotten how good I am at this much maligned skill.  I think part of the fear, for me anyway-- not sure if it is true for anyone else-- is that if you give over to the fatigue you'll be tired for ever more-- like somehow it will consume you.  Maybe this is why kids fight going to sleep so much each night?

Who knows-- all I know is that the only way I will get back into the happy, creative groove that I love is to keep on resting because recently some utterly fabulous things have been popping up and I know it is a direct result of all I am not doing--- go figure.

And, one of the things I want very much to find a way to do is being present here in a way that I used to.  This post reminds me of how once upon a time I captured bits of my experience that would be lost to me otherwise.  I can promise you that if I had not sat down and scribbled to you that day I would never remember that girl in class and her love of Kurt Vonnegut.  I simply wouldn't remember--- life moves too fast, I connect with many, many people in the course of a day, a month-- I walk tens of miles a week through all sorts of beautiful places that capture my imagination and taking the time to share pieces of it here operates as my little treasure box.

The key is time.  Instagram has stepped in and spirited me away from my camera.  The photos are so different, they are quick, easy -- and there's a real loveliness to the way they capture moments, but it's not the same thing at all for me.

Making the choice to carry my camera (read: lug) means that I am going to slow down and then, when I get home, there's the time it takes to upload images and choose a few -- slurp a bit more coffee that is rather chilly at this point and let the scribbling roll out.  It will only work if I am in the moment and have carved out the time to experience the moment.  See what comes up-- follow the thread -- it always leads me home.  Always.

Two issues that face me now that fatigue is no longer the chief obstacle are the cold and navigation.  The cold just is and it sucks.  Nothing outside inspires me in New England at this time of the year-- nothing.  Dead branches, brown, gray, raw -- not my season.  Plus my fingers get cold, my nose is red and chapped.  My head is always at a downward tilt against the wind.

In a word?  Blah.

So I have been taking a zillion photos of my living room which, given its dimensions is quickly reaching its limit of interest -- perhaps this is that cabin fever of which they speak?

The second issue is navigation.  I want to be able to speak my truth and share what is going on and yet, because I no longer have the luxury of the anonymity I had at bluepoppy -- I have to wend my way through without sharing anyone else's story but my own.  Not such an easy task, but one I need to pursue if I am going to get current here and once again be able to sit down and let the scribbles roll with no need for edits or diplomatic deletions.

Anyway, that's a little of my lately.  I'll shift into semi-hibernation in the next few weeks no doubt, but then I think I'm gonna stay in that mode until August.

2013 is all about the yes, all about the slow, all about returning to where I started and knowing it for the first time*.

bisous, e


*thanks Tommy

itty bitty boom

I know how it goes. These soft gray days. Mud and the sense that those bits of buds starting to appear couldn't possibly ever come to anything much.   And then?  itty bitty BOOM.  Spring is on.

Sure, I've seen my first robin, the tips of daffodills and the fragile patches of white snowdrops and violet crocuses -- there's even a flame of forsythia banking the side of the driveway into this building.

And still, I'm not convinced.  It's bleak.  Kinda chill.  The overall feel is like looking into a sink where a white bowl with traces of the morning's gray oatmeal sits waiting to be washed.

Yeah, you can thank me later for that little vision of loveliness.


The fact is, there is so much to enjoy and I do love to saturate myself in tactile pleasures-- but I am also rather enjoying being a pissant and reveling in some seasonal moodiness.

Sometimes-- it just feels good to be moody. (Not for anyone around me, obvs, but I rather like a bout of deep nothingness at the center of my reflections. Does the heart good)

The dogs-- ever my mirrors -- are also in a unusually quiet energy. They got all their shots yesterday and I think they are feeling a bit peaked. When I took them to the farm this morning they jumped down from the back with less of a hop and frolic and more of a schlump and meander.

Gray.  Soft.  Misty.

I rather like it for the very reason I know it can't stay like this. No doubt sunshine and pink blossoms are in my near future-- high energy and late night bike rides through a city balmy with Spring.

But for now?

Oatmeal and hot coffee. Sticky buns with pecans.  Gathering up an armful of books and crawling into bed and pretending to be surprised when you set the books onto the floor so that you can sink into a late afternoon nap.

bisous, e

moufette

Yesterday, I took the dogs to the beach.  Because it was a blue sky sunny day?  Because we hadn't been in months?  Because a bit of salty sea air does the soul so much good?

Um, no.  Because Daisy got spritzed by a skunk on Sunday (at 6 am <--!!) and I thought it could be an additional cleanse to throw her in the ocean.


Yeah, not so much.  Turns out, even if you have deep cleaned your dog and the groomers have done the holy grail of de-skunking treatment on your dog, the simple fact is the best litmus test to know if you have truly rid your dog of skunk smell is to get her wet at which point you will find out, nope.

It's still there.

What in gods name is the chemical compound in that liquid evil -- anyone?  Because that kind of staying power should be used for good, right?

The saddest thing is I am getting used to the random whiffs of skunk I get from my wrist or opening the car door (yes -- I had it cleaned.  no-- it is not free of eau de moufette).  Oh dear lord, I fear for houseguests, friends and neighbors---- and Meri is arriving tonight for a visit and I can only hope (for her sake) she has a really really bad head cold and can't breathe through her nose.  (You remember Meri, she is the one who had the i-phone that got us in and out of Rome and basically saved our lives-- yes, my total angel in Italy!! I am so psyched she put Providence on her itinerary for her jaunt across the states this month).

Do they even have skunks in Japan?

But, more from the beach-- off to the right the dogs romped and played.  Off to the left, I saw a speck in the distance.


Yep.  As I went closer-- there she was.  My sweet swan.

I felt like she was there to say good-bye.  The season of the swan is behind me now.  What new creatures will be ahead of me?  (and no, the answer is NOT skunk!  un grand merci)

And now, you must hear me when I thank you ALL for the comments on the last post and for those of you who took the time to write me such heartfelt, gorgeous, caring, nurturing emails-- god, you just cannot know how far your words traveled.  They traveled all the way to the heart of my soul and made me feel such love, such relief, such warmth.

Thank you.  Although it's true, as anonymous pointed out in the comments-- the journey never ends -- but it does change and I am ready for fun, laughter and  lightness.  And I welcome the grace of wisdom that shines so much light into our days.

And the stink of skunk.  The fact is-- even the stink of skunk cannot get me down.  It can't keep me from loving on my sweet girl.  It can't do anything but make me appreciate the lack of skunk more.


bisous, e

P.S.  moufette!!!  MOUFETTE.  that is the word for skunk in French.  Now you cannot tell me everything doesn't sound better in French . .. moufette!  that is downright adorable.

brave heart

Oh you know the drill-- first day of a new month and I show up like that missing sock you gave up on ever seeing again.

Yes.  I love beginnings, fresh starts -- tabula rasa.  yes.  there can be no dishes in the sink when I go to bed at night-- gotta walk into the kitchen in the morning and feel a sense of ahhh, all is right in the world and it starts with a clean sink.  What can I say?  We all have our linchpins.

And, linchpins are especially handy when heading into a month known for its high winds and a season that has been known to cause my emotions to run for the woods.


okay-- fair enough, I am always high tailing it for the woods . . .  even more so now that Spring is arriving.  Sunlight, patches of green, warmer temps -- even the mud makes me happy because people, it's. not. snow.

Gudrun might always want more snow but that's because she never lived through the first day of March when it looks (and feels) like this -- do that for a few years or like, you know, twenty and you will be smiling at the mud, too.

Below are two shots from this morning's walk.  Sure-- there's snow but, you know, snow like ground cover.  Not snow like an embalming.


Mostly though, I've got dreams of a farmhouse on my mind. sigh  Gotta shake it though, cause there is no farmhouse living in my future for some time to come, but oh,
there will be  . . .   someday.


But why brave heart?  Where was I going with that?

I think when I sat down, I was going to share something totally else with you and then the phone rang and emails pinged and I lost the thread.  I know that I wish I had something truly good to share with you, but my life looks a lot like that field in the photograph above. 

Half-finished.  Molting.  In a state of becoming something new but in the meantime, kind of brown, gray and muddy.

The past five years can be seen as an entire phase of my life.  They really are one whole chunk that has its own beginning, middle and end.  It's kind of trippy when you can look back at things like that.  When you are in them, you have no perspective at all --- well, maybe you do because you are so much smarter than me -- but I certainly didn't.

It's only now that I can see the full scope of that phase of my journey and it almost makes me dizzy -- like how in god's name did I ever navigate that?  But it also makes me proud and ZING!  there it is! ---> I found the thread:  I am proud of my brave heart.  That's what I was going to share with you when I sat down here. 

You see, one of the core ways in which I have been transformed is that I no longer fear getting hurt.  It used to be I avoided humans (as I like to call them though it makes Sissy want to punch me) and did all I could to have as few relationships as possible because they were just too damn painful.  It was always a splendid irony that a splenetic misanthrope such as myself would end up hosting heart-centered art retreats for, um, thousands of people -- people that she would have to engage with in a very real, dynamic, personal way.  And yet, that is the very thing that has set me free.

The relationships I have experienced throughout these five years of creating Squam brought me to the top of the highest mountains and dropped me to the darkest valleys.  As they were meant to.  I had boatloads to learn, mostly about myself.

What finally got illuminated for me New Year's eve when I had that wild ass breakthough (and yes, it is weird that it happened on New Yea's eve when the Mayans said we were all gonna die, but whatever, that's exactly when and how it went down) was that I understood the core issue.  It was something I had never seen or understood before and then, once I did, everything made sense.

One of the coolest things about Squam is that people write me letters.  Long letters.  Pages and pages of communication where they want me to understand that something happened for them during the weekend -- something they didn't ever expect and now, that they are home (sometimes these letters arrive many months after the weekend is long past) they see it and want me to know they are changed.  They are awake in a new way.  They are excited about new things opening up to them and they thank me, personally and tell me how it was that I touched them.

And here's the thing-- I cherished these letters, I never doubted that these people had had a big experience, it's just that I never really acknowledged that it had anything to do with me, personally.  I always brushed it off as -- 'oh, hey - I'm just the stage manager-- making sure you have paper towels and rice krispie treats, etc'.  But what happened for me NYs eve was that I was processing a heart that had been broken again by a friendship that had ended in a very not good way and I saw that I was the cause of the problem in the first place.

I saw what it is that I do.  (okay, so if you were wondering why there are no photos here and all this long ass LONG ass endless copy that seemed to be going nowhere it's because I knew I was going to get here and only a few of you would make it this far which is perfect because what I'm about to share will sound even more weird than my normal wackadoo)

When I meet someone, I see their best self (or their spirit, or their soul, or whatever you want to call it).  I see their best self.  It is shining.  It is magnificent.  So, that's good right?  That's why I have boxes of letters, right?  Because when I see it, it helps that person to SEE it, too -- to reconnect with their true self-- maybe for the first time in a long time-- maybe, I don't know.  What I know is that I never saw that there is a down side to this, for me. 

This gift of mine can blind me to the person who is standing in front of me.  I am not seeing them in this world, in this lifetime as they are-- with the habits, behaviors, karma-- in short, their actual 3D personality.  And that is where I had been falling down (again and again and again) with regard to relationships. 

And I am old enough now (god, so old) to know that this new found knowledge will be tested a few times to see if I have really learned the lesson which means there will be new relationships in my life soon enough and instead of running for the hills (or the woods) or otherwise packing it in for a life in a buddhist monastery -- I'm standing in the field -- open-hearted -- because I know this is the last stage of the journey.

And then?  When the journey's over? 
Damn, how about some chilled prosecco on the terrace, hmm?

bisous, e