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Writing the Sly Silence Within

Working on a mindfulness certification, the one practice that pulls me forward is following the word.

That is, following the words that appear in my head as I’m meditating. I follow, realize I’m following, and return to breathing. I do the same thing when writing.

This practice developed by reading Julia Cameron and Natalie Goldberg years ago. Cameron talks about morning pages – three pages off the top of your head written by hand first thing in the morning, no interruption, no stopping to correct errors. Goldberg combined Zen meditation training with “stream of consciousness” writing and often wrote through a small notebook each month.

Both techniques help me find that sly silence within.

Being a Star Trek fan, I think that sly silence is the most interesting place ever. And you don’t have to get on a starship or airplane or cruise ship or any vehicle other than your own to get there. You just have to be quiet, really quiet, like this poem about writing a poem.

How to you reach that sly silence within?

Menopause and Loss

Some time ago, I likened the transition from having a period every month to not having a period as a process of moving an ocean from here to there via teaspoon. Inevidably, you lose some water.

I haven’t actually hit the officialy menopause mark, but I’ve been working my way there for fifteen years. Yes, I did say fifteen years.

Gushing

I distinctly remember when I knew my body was changing. I turned forty. I was married, living in Tennessee, working at a job I didn’t like. I was probably depressed, though it’s never been diagnosed (and I’ve had a few bouts of what I identify as depression. It’s been years though, so let’s not dwell on sadness.)

I was having a period. And then, gushing. It was as if I all of the blood in my body was bleeding out. I swear.

Anyone with medical knowledge will know that that’s not what happened but that’s what it seemed like to me. Thankful to be at home, I was nevertheless miserable.

It only lasted five to six hours, but it signaled that my body was ready to change. That change has proceeded on since then, for fifteen years.

Thankfully, I haven’t experienced another onset of heavy bleeding of that nature. But there have been plenty of other symptoms: hot flashes, weight gain and loss, dietary requirements adjusted, sleep interruption. Through all of it, I’ve trusted that my body knew exactly what it needed to do. It’s much smarter than me.

Body changes I could deal with. But I wasn’t prepared for the theme of loss.

An Emerging Theme

This theme of loss has only emerged clearly in the last six months, mostly during coaching sessions. That hour-long meeting gets me to talk about what’s going on in my life.

As I talk, things emerge that I’ve been thinking about. Those things are often just under the surface of conscious knowledge. That is, when you know you know, but can’t quite put the words to your knowledge.

And this theme of loss is pretty stunning. Here is a growing list of things that you might consider losses. Some of them apply to me, others not so much – at least not yet.

the death of my old self and old ways of doing things
the death of how I used to be able to eat anything
the end of the summer of life, and the beginning of the autumn of life
the end of following the unending “I should” or “am supposed to” do it this way, and the unfolding of new ways that are unique to me.
an empty nest
parents dying or having to caretake for your parents
loss of anticipated freedom – How you were dreaming of a carefree retirement, but now you have to take care of your parents or grandchildren or partner.
your youth: looks fade, skin, hair, the ability to adapt as fast as you used to
physical changes: not just menopause, but back pain, feet changes, physical mobility
the death of friends
the death of famous people you’ve followed for years either via a real death or their fall from grace
the death of a relationship
letting go of the old messages that were stuck – things like “this is how you’re supposed to be at this age.” These things just aren’t true, and they’re constantly changing
In the maiden/mother/crone trio, there’s the change from extended maiden to crone — and I skipped mother all together.

There Are Gains In Those Losses

Just like the cycle of seasons, and the abundance of crops at harvest time, menopause does bring significant gains.

But just for now, talk to me about loss.

What did you lose? How did it make you feel? What did you do to move forward?

More Money Than Sense

I’ve hit a point in my income earning where, every so often, I’m pretty sure I’ve got more money than sense.

I buy what I want, when I want, with one click. It’s delivered quickly – no waiting 7-14 days. I use it, read it, try it, and move on to the next thing. Practical money saving sense? It’s gone out the door.

But actually, that’s not true. With more money than sense I am saving more, but also spending more, accruing more debt and (especially for me) accruing a whole lot of stuff.

Kondo Kondo Kondo

No, not Quando Quando Quando

Writing blog posts leads me to the weirdest things.

Marie Kondo is onto something when she talks about items sparking joy. Much of my stuff does bring me pleasure as I smile remembering when and where I got the stuff. Anytime I wear the clothes-stuff that sparks joy, it seems like the whole day is just a little lighter.

(If you’ve been living under a rock and don’t know who Marie Kondo is, this video is a great introduction. It’s an average couple applying the Marie Kondo methods of decluttering to their belongings. )

Some folks crave a lot of stuff and are happy living with lots of stuff, but not me. I actually crave a Zen-like streamlined home. I’m a closet minimalist living in a home with hundreds of books, a tall stack of jeans, and I-don’t-know-how-many black turtlenecks — not to mention the other odds and ends of living, cooking, and (ahem) gardening.

This is not necessarily bad, I guess, but it weighs me down emotionally and eats time.

Having to keep those jeans neatly stacked is a pain. They topple and I refold. Then I think I want the pair on the bottom, but really want the pair in the middle, and the whole pile needs re-building again and again. The same is true with books and yes, they get re-organized, too.

Summer to Winter to Summer to Winter to Summer

Then there’s the whole ‘transitional’ switch from summer to winter and back again with clothes. Here in Michigan, the transition starts for me with cooler weather in September; I start pulling out slightly warmer sweaters and layering a little more.

This year, though, winter came on slowly. So even in December, I wasn’t wearing my warmest clothes. Finally, in January the truly cold weather hit and I pulled the last of my super warm things out of the ‘storage’ closet into the ‘actively wearing’ closet.

And the whole process reverses March-April-May when I start pulling out lightweight sweaters and jackets to accommodate for the slowly rising (and oft times falling) temperatures. It will probably end in June or whenever the first week of temperatures hits 80-90s.

That’s not efficient, it’s crazy.

To me, more money than sense means I go to the thrift store and spend $50 just because I can. It means an order arriving from Amazon once a week, and eating out whereever and whenever I please. It means yet another class about a really interesting subject that I will not apply to everyday life. (See This Voraciousness for a slightly different perspective.)

Simpler Times

More money than sense means I cater to my whims and (for goodness sake whodathunkit) think about ‘simpler times’ when I had less money. My desires were just as great, but my ability to attain those goals was much less.

I imagine we all have a point where we hit that “more money than sense” point. Not that we all recognize it once we’ve hit it…

For sure we know when we see it in others; but then again, fixing someone else’s life is always easier than fixing our own. My own. Do you know what I mean?

Observing patterns in my life and then changing those patterns is not an easy task; just look at the various ways you can spend hours looking at patterns. And yet, in the journey towards higher consciousness that is precisely what you have to strive to do. Find the pattern, change the pattern.

I’m vaguely Marie Kondo-ing, or at least sending heaps of things to the thrift store. I’m looking at goals and realizing I’ve moved towards them ever so slightly or not one damned step. I’m forgiving myself.

I’m as complicated and complicit as ever. Complicated because, in a society built around being ‘coupled’ being single and ‘doing it all’ is freaking hard – even for a super independent person like me. And complicit because there’s never anyone else but me to blame: it’s definitely my fault, no question about it.

Sigh.

More money than sense? I’ve hit that point and I’m stunned. I’m still not even sure what that means to me going forward. I’m OK with not knowing (which can lead to its own issues like analysis paralysis – a personal favorite. Still, there is forward movement, one bold baby step at a time.

Reading Soothes My Soul (February 2019)

Here we are in February and I’m still reading. Over the holidays, I saved a few books from my sister’s house. She was going to donate the books; instead, they came home with me and will visit my friends – and then probably be donated.

Full disclosure: I am an Amazon Affiliate. If you click on a link and buy something (even if it’s not the particular book,) I receive a little compensation. I think I’ve made $5-10 over the years of blogging, probably because I’ve clicked on my links – lol.

The Collector by Nora Roberts. You know, Nora Roberts who writes both mushy romances and thriller mysteries as J.D. Robb? The Collector combines those into one romantic thriller mystery thing that actually works. Fun vacation read with Fabrege eggs, too.

Where’d You Go Bernadette? by Maria Semple. Quirky Seattle family has a mother with a past. Mom melts down and runs away. Everybody loves everybody all the same, and Antartica sounds like a nice place for a family vacation.

Secrets of the Tsil Cafe by Thomas Fox Averill. One of my favorite foodie books, this is a coming-of-age story about a young boy. His father is the chef/owner of the only Southwestern/Native American restaurant in Kansas City; upstairs from the restaurant, his mother runs an eclectic catering business. Don’t think Upstairs Downstairs, think habanero, chipotle, jalapeno, and life. This is one of the first books I remember reading that included recipes; of course, I wouldn’t even dare try because – well – habanero, chipotle, and jalapeno.

The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott by Kelly O’Connor McNeeds. A friend gave this to me because she couldn’t finish it. I did finish it, but don’t think it was worth reading. The ending was particularly unsatisfying and impossible to believe. On the plus side it’s well researched and authentic to the time period, I just think it wavers too far into fantasy for me (and I like a good fantasy.)

Burning Glass by Kathryn Purdie. A superbly empathetic young girl is brought into the castle to serve as the emperor’s “Auraseer.” Unfortunately, her empathetic talents are untrained, and the dangers in the castle are about to skyrocket. P.S. There’s love in here, too, and it’s a series because something definitely happens after the revolution.

The Color of our Sky by Amita Trasi. This was also gifted to me from a friend, and it is magnificent, if a little unbelievable. Sometimes I’m OK with going along with the ‘unbelievability’ of a story so long as the story is worth it; this one is. Two friends are separated by years and distance; eleven years later they are reunited, and hoo boy, getting there is worth the read.

Feed by M.T. Anderson. This National Book Award Finalist from 2002 so exactly predicts our current reality it’s scary. There’s a trip to the moon, a whirlwind of advertisement, and a romance… and there’s this paragraph that sounds nothing at all like our current world, right?

“Everything we’ve grown up with — the stories on the feed, the games, all of that — it’s all streamlining our personalities so we’re easier to sell to. I mean, they do these demographic studies that divide everyone up into a few personality types, and then you get ads based on what you’re supposedly like. They try to figure out who you are, and to make you conform to one of their types for easy marketing. It’s like a spiral: They keep making everything more basic so it will appeal to everyone. And gradually, everyone gets used to everything being basic, so we get less and less varied as people, more simple. So the corps make everything even simpler. And it goes on and on.”
page 97, Feed by M.T. Anderson

Life Without Water by Nancy Peacock. This is a short, heart-wrenching novel about growing up in the craziness of the late 1960s and early 70s. Mom is a beautiful young thing who hooks up with a drug dealer and artist, daughter is a free spirit, and they live on a funky commune in rural North Carolina. Until they don’t, and then do again.

Kindred Spirits by Sarah Strohmeyer. Heartwarming and heartbreaking chick flick novel. Read this with your girlfriends, decide which one of the main characters you are. Celebrate with good food, margarita’s, and a spontaneous road trip.

I am trying to work my way through They F*** You Up by Oliver James, but it’s slow going. James argues that it is as much nurture (or lack of nurturing) that forms who you become as it is nature. And there are statistics, so. many. statistics. I’m thoroughly enjoying the book but boy, it’s a slog.

This Voraciousness

(A journal excerpt)

Woman taking a bit bite from a round piece of chocolate cake that is decorated to look like planet earth; woman eating earth.

This voraciousness is about the insatiable quest for knowledge, the need to know more to learn more to experience more.

Though not to experience – experience chews up time. Learn and move on to the next thing, learn more, read more, more, more.

This voraciousness is a stumbling block, a thing that keeps me moving forward in a circle, spiral, up, down, merry go round.

This voraciousness is a pattern that holds me back, gobbling up this and that. Not stopping, not focusing, not attaining.

This voraciousness is not progression, it is hunger, it is obsession, it is distraction. This voraciousness is fun and entertaining, too.

Hunger for whatever it happens to be. This week a couple of books, next week a new online class. Or learn to prepare a food I’ve never made, wear a piece of clothing in a new way. This voraciousness is never satisfied.

But wait.

Satisfaction is here if fleeting, a little more than the blink of an eye. This voraciousness keeps moving, fangs bared, eyes keen to find the next prey.

This voraciousness wants something new shortly after something old. This voraciousness forgets about what was just accomplished, dismisses achievement.

This voraciousness says there is always something more out there waiting to be learned, so rush headlong with no hesitation. This voraciousness fires the starting gun and off I go.

This voraciousness does not like quiet and yet, I am voracious about solitude and silence. At work I clamor for the end of the day, seek brief respite wherever and whenever I can. Work is a war zone of mines yet to be exploded and such disparate energies that this voraciousness screams silently unable to satisfy hunger.

In the calm of a slow Sunday morning, this voraciousness wants busy-ness. Voracious fidgets, drinks too much tea, commences internet scrolling, video watching, anything to keep distracted from the ever present now.

This voraciousness has big plans and no idea how to keep going once started. Voraciousness only wants the next thing and the next and the next.

Voraciousness knows these words fall where they should. She stands aside for a moment or two, talks with Ambition and Conscientiousness, then leaps into action.

Voraciousness loves a good sleep, craves a lover, husband, family, mighty home, but doesn’t know what that really means. Voraciousness doesn’t compromise or take turns.

This voraciousness extends to all things “spiritual” too, though at this point, everything is spiritual, fodder for dissection. Voraciousness and Analyze are compadres and seek to solve a mystery where there is none.

Definition

having a huge appetite: ravenous.
excessively eager: insatiable.

Etymology

1630s, formed as an adjectival form of voracity.
1520s, from Middle French voracité (14c.) or directly from Latin voracitatem (nominative voracitas) “greediness, ravenousness,” from vorax (genitive voracis) “greedy, ravenous, consuming,” from vorare “to devour,” from PIE *gwor-a-, from root *gwora– “food, devouring.”