You know what my problem is? I’m a problem solver. I look for problems. That habit, which might be genetic, is the antithesis of being present. And I seem to prefer problems that are unsolvable.
But something magical, or at least mystical, happened last night while I was sleeping. Because I woke with absolutely no desire for coffee. I woke completely content. I’m not even mad at the cat for waking me. Maybe it’s just that the humidity has let up. Whatever it is, I’ll take it.
“I do not understand the mystery of grace – only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.” – Anne Lamott
The results of last week’s CT scan and bloodwork came back. Good news and bad news: everything looks normal. The recommendation is to call or go to the ER should the symptoms return. Excuse me?! I’ve been sick for a month. Fever, vomiting, pain. Was I imagining that I was sick as a dog? I don’t ever want the symptoms to return! As the Resident Alien would say, “this is some bullshit.”
We all know the medical industry (let’s call it what it is) is broken. The insurance corporations are in charge now. We are pretty much on our own here. That is certainly how I feel today. We have to be our own advocates – and that means detectives. But I don’t think that is necessarily a bad thing. We have to start taking more responsibility for our own health and not being so dependent on doctors to fix us. By the time we are too ill to handle it ourselves, our bodies (and our psyches) have been trying to get our attention for a long time. I know mine has. I wasn’t listening; it would have meant change, less cake and more arugula. Blech.
That said, I insisted on a referral to a gastroenterologist. I’m not waiting to see what happens. I am feeling much better, fortunately. Of course, I’m eating a lot less – and no carbs or sugar, no spices, no fats, no taste of any kind. Having missed a few days of taking my prescription antidepressant when I couldn’t keep anything down, I went ahead and weaned myself off of that. I want to baby my liver, not tax it. I’ll revisit that decision in the middle of the dark winter, but we’ll see. My metabolism certainly seems to be improving.
Now if I could just change that old habit of looking for problems to solve…and all of us here know what that means, right? It means keeping ourselves creating. Living creatively. Allowing for grace. Looking for what might be right with us. That’s where the healing lives.
“When I’m an old lady I want to be one of those women that has a house full of plants, weird rocks and crystals. That just looks after her animals, paints and minds her own business with her crazy hair.” – unk
Well I don’t know who said that, but I am that woman now! It’s the second week of July already. I’m getting around to spring cleaning. Better late than never I suppose. For starters, it’s been a little-shop-of-horrors-like around here for a couple of years now. I seem to have a green thumb (I am an old witch, after all.) I take home little forlorn plants from the grocery store clearance for $3. and two years later there is nowhere to sit in the same room. One small monstera I brought home (it had tipped over and lost half it’s dirt) is now eight feet wide and ten feet high. Seven years ago I bought a foot-high Norfolk Island Pine (indoor only in my climate) to use as a tiny Christmas tree and it’s almost hitting the ceiling now. My son helped me move the plants out to the back deck the other day. They aren’t coming back in. I need to find homes for them. Removing them has opened up every room and it feels so spacious in here I could dance. No really – I could actually dance in here.
This is a small house. Originally built as a summer cottage by a University of Michigan professor, the idiot I bought it from tore out most of it’s original features and knocked out walls to create an open floor plan. If you don’t know how I feel about that you might read some of my older posts. Suffice it to say that open floor plans are an abomination of the human spirit. They suck the dignity out of relationships by unnaturally forcing everyone in the household to share the same noises and smells. It feels like living inside a shoe box. Open floors plans are for worms…just sayin’…
But I live in an open floor plan, because, well, it was the right house in the right place. The plants apparently like this arrangement. They have taken over, spreading from the studio to the kitchen and the living area to the dining area. And down the stairs and across the ceiling. This ends now. I’m taking back my home! I love nature, and I will always have a few plants. But this has become ridiculous. I’m ducking and penguin-ing myself around them.
For my next trick, I’m deep cleaning all those creepy corners I haven’t been able to reach or crawl into. Getting all the spider webs and tumbleweeds of cat hair out. Eeeeewwwwww…and I have taken down the curtains and washed them. Everything has sticky dust. And I wonder why I’m so sick all the time?! Twelve loads of laundry later and the place is looking like new.
So here’s the thing. I’ve read a bazillion books on decluttering and feng shui-ing your space back into order. Psychology journals about how decluttering helps your mental health. And I’ve always done it throughout the years…in little increments. It has never felt like this. Maybe because I’ve been ill? It’s true that I’ve never let my home get this dirty and cluttered before. But something about this is coinciding with a huge shift in awareness.
A few months ago I participated in a Beta test group for a program designed to help older women traversing life changes. I’ve mentioned it here briefly, and I will provide a link for you at the bottom of this post. It’s called the Wayfinding Road. I don’t know what any of us were expecting, but this process with this group of remarkable women has been beyond helpful. The small group I was working with included a recent widow, a woman retiring and moving across the country, a woman whose husband was ill, one who had left the country and relocated to Europe, one who is a political refugee in exile. All manner of circumstances – one uncompromising commitment: a life of continued growth. We quickly realized we had much in common despite a wide variety of life experiences. Soon after the 6 week program began I started having dreams with these women in them. And my dreams were fantastic, adventurous and profoundly healing. I was wealthy beyond measure. Something supernatural was happening. We discovered we were all having experiences we could not explain. We started calling it “magic” for lack of a better explanation.
I have never met any one of these women in person. I have interacted with them only online and via email. If one of them called tomorrow and said “I need your help,” I’d be on a plane. They taught me how to love myself. I’m done with depression and shame and guilt. They taught me how to stop performing my life and begin to live it, deeply. They are well educated, articulate. Some of them speak more than one or two languages. They are all extraordinary. The 2nd time we met I confessed to feeling unworthy of their friendship – but I knew I had 2 choices: drop out or show up. I showed up and they lifted me higher.
I hear them talking to me in meditation, telling me precisely what action to take to heal myself. This morning’s meditation told me that my chronic pain and illness serves only to remind me that I took on the responsibility for my family, and that it is long past time to let them go. Not only can I not be responsible for them, but this addiction to saving them is not helping anyone. I gave it up today and got out of bed pain free.
My life has begun to change now in the last few months. Not in any way I had planned. It’s still going on; it’s a process. I don’t know what this means or where it will lead me. Watch this space. But wow…change is afoot.
Lynnelle Wilson is the creator of Wayfinding Road. Contact her through YouTube or Substack:
For decades I’ve been told that I am hard on myself. I’m not convinced. I am unequivocally uninterested in lowering my standards. For anyone. Including myself. If anything, I think that I let myself off the hook too easily.
But perhaps they are referring to my self talk. It isn’t nice. I once had a telephone conversation with my sister about my other sister. She said, “I’d much rather talk to you. At least you don’t start your sentences with ‘you know what your problem is?” I replied, “No. But I do often end them with, ‘what were you thinking, you stupid idiot??!!!!!” We laughed.
How do you talk to yourself? Do you know? Do you catch yourself saying things you wouldn’t say to anyone else? I often start my self talk with, “well, if you’re so smart…” followed by whatever the current mess happens to be.
I will say this changed a great deal when I was so sick a few years ago. I was hospitalized with Lyme disease, and I was in the worst pain I had ever experienced. Intravenous Dilaudid (morphine) was not helping and I could do nothing but lay as still as possible, tears flowing down my cheeks, barely breathing. I remember thinking that I had never been in that much pain. Now mind you, I gave birth to a 9.6 pound baby completely naturally. I’ve had laparoscopic surgery with no anesthesia, and extensive dental work without novocaine. None of those things touched the pain from the Lyme infection.
The nurses who were caring for me that week were so enormously kind. It was dramatic and astonishing to me how different it felt. I felt like a little child being nurtured by a kind and loving caretaker – and I had to admit to myself that I had no conscious memory of ever feeling that way before. I left the hospital days later just wanting to learn how to live more softly. Wanting a softer life. Not an easier life, but softer in all the ways possible. I wanted to eat softer – more fresh fruits and green veggies. And lay in softer, warmer, sheets and blankets. I wanted to move slowly through the world; quietly. I wanted to speak in whispers. Kindnesses…just kindnesses…
I was changed. Sickness does that. Grief does that. I lost a lot of weight that summer; I shed a lot of grief. I have to admit today that I have fallen back into a lifelong habit of being rather unforgiving with myself, let alone others. And I am not happy about that. But today I am reminded that I want to live softly. I need to learn to live softly. I want to find my magic again. Magic is soft. Magic is kind. Magic is a sweet child skipping through the world in awe of life.
I love my life. What do you need to love your life today? Do you have any idea how magical you are?! You are. And I appreciate you.
Living with chronic illness is exhausting, but by far the worst illness I deal with on a daily basis is the OPD. OPD (Obnoxious Personality Disorder) and it’s symptoms are debilitating. When I am miserable, feel like life is not treating me fairly and God has abandoned me, I know where to go for help. I go to church. Right here, today, with Carolyn Myss. She is my spirit animal, and lucky for me, she’s got clues to spare.
And then I channel my inner Elizabeth Bigelow and remind myself what a privilege it is to be alive in the here and now, even if I don’t know how the technology works…
A funny little moth flew in my living room window yesterday. At first I stared at it, wondering how it could be real. I cut a stick and some greens from the garden and let the ephemeral wisp sit in their shade before attempting to coax it gently outside again. It disappeared (doesn’t like sweet peas, perhaps?) but showed up later in the evening perched on the back of the sofa, staring at me. Softly as possible, I placed the stick in front of it to crawl upon. And slowly walked it to the door. It flew back in past me and I lost track of it. It’s stubbornly hanging around…and I apologize for being so slow to count my blessings; so reticent to pay attention. It struck me how it’s papery wings looked just like the pencil shavings I had created only seconds ago. I’m drawing again after a very long hiatus…could this be coincidence?
Then it surprised my son this morning and he caught it on a slip of paper, walked it out front to the planter box. He filled a tiny saucer with water and set it nearby – and it climbed up and drank! He is the one who looked it up: Haploa climene, the blessing moth.
Years before GPS existed I drove from my home in Traverse City, Michigan to stay with friends in San Fransisco. You know, I went to the AAA office and picked up my maps and itinerary. As I was getting close, I called for directions through the maze of suburbs to their home. They instructed me to meet them at a restaurant at the highway exit. It would be easier to follow them back. We came from 3 different directions and met for dinner. As we were leaving the restaurant one friend said, “oh, I have to stop at the hardware. I need an adapter to plug 2 phones into the same phone jack.” I reached into my purse and pulled one out. “Like this? Will this work?” After the laughter died down, they said, “who are you – Mary Poppins?!”
Yes. I am the real Mary Poppins. I’m magic. When you live just a tiny bit more curious than scared, life works like that. Synchronicities abound. Daily. I have more stories like that than you have time for. Thousands. In many ways it seems I have lived a charmed life. Not an easy life, but a natural life, in accordance with the laws of nature. When I can stay out of my own way, that is…
So while we are on this subject of enlightenment (…wait. what?) let’s listen to another hour long video. I promise not to make a habit of it, but these 2 are important. Because honestly, last Sunday’s video with Liz Gilbert and this one with Kyle Cease will get us free. I WANT FREE.
When I was in high school my Mom taught me to spell guru: G-U-R-U, saying that I would never need one. But I do love these two teachers. They are readily available any hour of the day if you have access to a streaming device and internet service. Here Kyle Cease describes the life experience of our culture, across generations to today. Listen all the way through to get all the gifts – to find why youare my Mom.
Because being free now sure would feel good. That’s a joke…now and free are the same thing. Do you think I’m funny? Well, jump in, let’s get on the road to enlightenment. And we will stay in our lane, I promise. We’re taking the local…
Kyle’s 12 Principles: 1) You are loved; 2) God hears you; 3) You are love; 4) You are free now; 5) You are safe; 6) You are worthy; 7) You are abundant; 8) You are magic; 9) Others forget they are loved; 10) It’s always passing; 11) Everything is perfect; 12) You are light.
For church this week I’ve invited Angi Sullens to speak to us. She’s been inspiring me for years. She doesn’t pull any punches, and I appreciate that in a person. Wonder Hunter, filmmaker, Muse Juice travel guide, founder of Duirwaigh Studios, publisher of books and decks. I’m betting she doesn’t need to look for thin places; they emanate from her. So when imagination knocks…
Everyone has a soundtrack, maybe more than one. You think of the soundtrack of your life as the music you grew up to, your favorite artists and songs, the songs that played during the events and times that later became fond memories. I have one of those, but I’ve also got a different kind of soundtrack. I call it “God’s soundtrack.” I say God for short: it’s consciousness, maybe spirit. Maybe it’s my ancestors. Sometimes I know who it is. Sometimes it’s a deceased loved one, usually my Mother or my brother. It’s from “beyond…”
It happens when I’m praying, or talking to someone invisible, or to spirit. And it comes out of nowhere, unexpectedly. And I know it isn’t my invention because it addresses a specific question or subject – and because it is often a song or artist that I would never listen to to. I’m not a fan.
It happened yesterday morning. I was in a snit, to put it mildly. I had logged into my bank account to balance it after being away and…what the heck?! I had a huge ($200.) charge I wasn’t expecting and hadn’t authorized. So I got to the bottom of that, but it wasn’t easy or quick. It was theft, and I was not guaranteed that it would be returned; an investigation is pending. I was mad. I threw what I call a “spiritual temper tantrum.” God got a piece of my mind. And when I prayed, (let’s just say, in a spirited manner,) I specifically said: “You tell me you heard this and that you are on this! You hear me?! I want to know I’ve been heard!”
It wasn’t long as I went about my house cleaning routine that a song began to play in my head. I didn’t know the words, but I recognized some of them, and the tune. I didn’t know who the artist was. It had been grocery store background music at some time in my life. As I said, not a fan. It took a bit of investigation to find it. I found a couple of similar songs with similar words, one by a country singer and one by a heavy metal band. And then I tried a different sequence of words and found it. I hope you comprehend…
Okay you – yes, you. Here’s a bandwagon I can jump on! Wendy Knox is on a campaign to re-brand aging. She’s turning muck into magic. Let’s support her any way we can. For starters, let’s subscribe to her YouTube channel and like her videos and let her know we are listening:
It’s been nine months since my Dad passed away. As time is a fickle and irreverent companion, nine months took but one beat of my heart…and some days take an eternity. I sure do miss him. If you’ve read past writings here about my Dad you know that he was a larger than life character…I love the movie Big Fish with Albert Finney and Ewan McGregor because it reminds me of him, of us. He was also not prone to express his emotions. I suspect much of his generation had no language for it. So in many ways it seems I am getting to know him better in his absence than I did in his presence.
After he died I found pictures of him as a child that we never even knew existed. What a cute kid! Do you ever look at childhood photographs of yourself or your loved ones and see the utter sweetness in our faces? And I don’t know about you, but often at night, in the vast dark silence, I still FEEL myself AS that little kid…I AM still her…perhaps that is always true for us all.
People sometimes ask me why I put up with so much from my family. Did they not see those photos of THEIR family? We are all innocent here. In the end we must give up our beliefs about what the past meant. We must forgive them…we must forgive ourselves. We must. I’m not saying it is easy, or that it means we allow any further abuse. We draw a line; we turn to face the dragon, we pound our staff and declare to our pain, “YOU SHALL NOT PASS.”
A Painterly Home 