Category Archives: mental health

Jul20

let’s talk Lyme…

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It was two years ago this month when I was frightfully ill and diagnosed with Lyme disease. What an ordeal. My life would never be the same. I’m remembering it because I am under the weather. Again. And terribly discouraged. It’s the Lyme. Still. It has gotten better these past two years, but it has never gone away; the doctors tell me it likely never will. They tell me I will always test positive. I have recently been told that I will likely loose my teeth due to rapid bone loss. Related? Yes.

This busy summer week in the middle of July I have had to cancel plans with friends more than once. I have neglected housework, garden, my cat, grocery shopping and self care in lieu of survival mode, meaning bed or sofa time. Feet elevated. My joints are swollen and painful and I’m running a fever. I’m clumsy, tripping over my own feet. Have a headache. But the real issue keeping me from leaving the house is the Bell’s palsy. Specifically, my right eye. The right side of my face feels like your funny bone when you hit it – painfully tingly. I was accidentally clocked in the jaw once years ago and nearly passed out. It feels like that. The irritated facial nerve causes my eye to swell and be bloodshot. I could go out with a patch or dark glasses, but the sensitivity to light is stabbing.

I’ve been taken down (but not out, at least not yet) by a tiny insect. These things are not to be toyed with. This time two years ago I was definitely dying, and fast. The 4th of July was a Sunday. I remember it well, because I woke with a big dark welt on the back of my leg. Being 70, I thought it prudent to go to the ER and make sure it wasn’t a blood clot. They did an ultrasound and determined, no, not a clot. Maybe a spider bite, or some skin irritant from the garden. They sent me home with a script for an antibiotic. I wouldn’t fill it. By Monday morning I was too sick to drive to the pharmacy. I was overtaken by the worst “flu” I’d ever had.

By Wednesday or Thursday night I was in trouble. I couldn’t keep any food or liquid down, I was disoriented. I didn’t know what day it was. I had not slept because of pain; I paced the floor instead. I called my primary care physician who insisted (over the phone) that I had Covid, despite testing negative. Apparently the home tests were not to be trusted. Wait it out I was advised. Whatever you do, don’t come here, and don’t go to the ER. Take Tylenol. Clearly I had not described this pain accurately.

Sunday morning, eight days in, I woke with half of my face paralyzed. Afraid I had suffered a stroke during the night, I got my son to take me back to the ER. He would have to help me dress, carry me to the car and set me in, and get a wheelchair at the ER door to transport me inside. I couldn’t stand let alone walk.

In that week since I first visited the same ER with the same doctors I had lost 20 pounds. My ribs were showing. I could barely speak. Sure enough, I was severely dehydrated and my potassium levels were dangerously low (who knew this was a thing?) The brilliant ER physician admitted he didn’t have a clue what was going on, and called in another doctor for an opinion. Fifteen minutes later my (NEW beloved!) doctor walked in, asked me if I’d had a skin breakout in the past week, took a look at the records of my previous visit, looked at me and said, “You’ve got Lyme.”

He told me it would take a few days for test results to confirm that, and meanwhile they were admitting me. I burst into tears. I had a chance now. He literally saved my life. Later I would learn that I was his 3rd Lyme diagnosis that week. The first two were unrelated young children, rushed into the ER by panicked parents when they woke unable to move their legs. Now, you should know, this is a tiny hospital in a village of 1,000 people, with an inpatient capacity of 6 beds. Talk about lucky.

You probably know someone with Lyme. A good friend has a daughter-in-law who has been struggling with it more than fifteen of her 30+ years. My son was bitten a few months after I was and had the distinct bullseye rash. He suffered the same symptoms, albeit somewhat less severe, and still has chronic pain and fatigue. I don’t have to convince anyone that this is a serious problem of epidemic levels here in the midwest U.S.

But it is not – I repeat, not – being properly addressed. Most doctors will tell you that 10 days on Doxycycline and you are cured! Know anyone cured? Me neither. I will tell you that the most help I received was from acupuncture treatments. An opthalmologist recommended sewing my eye shut – permanently. No thank you. I still have perfect vision in that eye. It always feels like it has a wad of cotton in it, but I CAN SEE.

Believe me when I say that I am enormously grateful that I have fared as well as I have with this. Many people contract Lyme and never know what has caused their chronic illness. It steals your quality of life silently and invisibly, and you are just as likely as not to never be taken seriously by a physician. I was diagnosed early and treated aggressively with days of IV antibiotics and antivirals. Not to mention the anti-nausea and pain meds I received that allowed me to s l o w l y recover. Had it not transpired that way, I am certain I wouldn’t be here today.

There is ground breaking treatment available in some of the most progressive clinics in the world, but it is not covered by insurance. Most of the treatment is not – if you can convince a doctor that you need treatment at all. There are hundreds of videos available by people from all walks of life. Many famous and wealthy people have documented their own battles, and told of the years and millions they spent to get well. I don’t believe I’m an alarmist – but this is alarming. Please educate yourself and your loved ones, and push for help if you are suffering. Never settle for medical gaslighting. If you have Lyme, your life is at stake.

Jul16

Road Trip!

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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 you are 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.

Jul14

burn, baby, burn

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Freedom is our promised birthright. Freedom. What does that even mean? I can’t speak for you. For me it means enlightenment – a lofty, etherial sounding concept – which is exactly the same thing as mental health.

My entire 70+ years I have been in a personal battle for my mental well being. Against the insanity, the slavery, of trying to live up to so many expectations. Yours. My own. My father’s, my mother’s, my loved ones, my teachers, the adults I looked to for guidance. Religious leaders, spiritual counselors, co-workers, employers, the creditors and people I owe money (phew!)…the list goes on. And on.

When will I be enough? When will my debts be paid? Well, I’m here to tell you. This oppression stops today. Say it with me: “All my debts are paid, both seen and unseen.” ALL MY DEBTS ARE PAID. I have an eternal flame in my soul and from today forward, I am throwing anything on the fire that tugs at holding me back from absolute freedom and well-being. If you feel that I owe you anything at all, monetarily or physically or emotionally, write it off now. Stop looking for me to come through for you. It’s not going to happen. I’m spent. And I am forgiving myself TODAY.

Does this mean I won’t be paying my bills? Of course not. It isn’t a negation of any responsibility. If anything, it’s stepping up for it. Does this mean you can’t count on me to keep our agreements? Of course you can; our agreements are just that. But I will behave with integrity because I can, not because I should. No more shoulding on myself. As Liz Gilbert says here, she’s done being the orderly in her family’s mental institution. I am announcing my retirement. Consider this my two minute notice.

For church today, let’s listen to Liz Gilbert. She’s figured it out ahead of us, and it might save your life. It’s an hour long video and I highly recommend you find the time any way you can. Especially if you are tired, owe money, have a stack of paperwork or emails waiting in your inbox, feel the least bit obligated anywhere. I am telling you truly – you cannot afford to wait. You can thank me later, but you don’t owe me a thing. I free you to show up in my life any way you choose.

“In my defenselessness my safety lies.” – ACIM

Jul5

can you come out to play?

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Yesterday I confessed the sadness I am suffering through right now. I am grieving. And it doesn’t seem to ever completely leave me. I guess that is the truth of grief. It peels away in layers. It’s the onion of life. The brief visit with my former husband, less than 90 minutes over an awful breakfast at a greasy spoon, really triggered me. The triggers remind me that there is still hurt hiding deep in the bone and sinew, needing to be coaxed out and witnessed through the eyes of love until it flows out with the tears. With MERCY. Oh, mercy.

My adulthood has been rife with the grief of loss and dysfunction. I remember going to see a therapist after a breakup in my late twenties. The counselor told me not to come back until I had been to a few ACOA meetings (Adult Children Of Alcoholics.) So I found a meeting to attend in a local church. I remember the first time I went vividly. It changed my life. I walked in timidly and picked up the handout on the seat. And read the first line: Adult children of alcoholics guess at what normal behavior looks like. Well shit.

At that point in time I was already divorced from one alcoholic. Today at the age of 70 I am still dealing with the effects of alcoholism, despite the fact that I don’t drink – and I always will be. It’s affected every aspect of my families’ mental and physical health.

But yesterday was an especially difficult day for me because of the memories raised by Tuesday morning’s visit. I am acutely lonely. I say acutely because I am chronically lonely, and I suspect most of us are. We all feel like we are missing something much of our waking hours and throughout our dreams. Because we are missing something. We are missing the connection of truly being seen, of being witnessed within the nurturing boundary of acceptance, of mercy. So when I say acutely lonely, I just mean I am consciously remembering people and events and actively feeling the loss. As in crying my eyes out all day. If we’ve gotta feel it to heal it, bring it on.

I was actually missing a friend of 20 years who I went no contact with around the same time my marriage was ending. Both she and my husband were alcoholics who were unwilling to face their demons and I was sick (literally) and tired of cleaning up their messes. So it happens that I practiced going no contact decades before it was a thing. Before anybody talked about it. And I have been on the other side of that, of course. Had people I thought were the best of friends cancel me, block me, refuse to talk. I can be a mean, ornery mother. Usually it’s because I see that beloved putting up with abuse and I speak up, out of turn, in a state of rage. I was born with an internal Justice switch. I am ugly when it gets flipped. There is no weapon on earth that’s a match for my vocabulary or fortitude when my psyche declares war. And then I behave poorly, if it is with the best of intentions. You might like having me in your corner…if only I would wait to be asked…

I had a dear friend come to me in earnest seeking advise about whether or not to force their spouse into therapy. Exasperated when faced with her codependency yet again, and after decades of gentle coaching, I lost my shit. I told her that her husband did not need a therapist – he needed an exorcist. And I believe that to this day. But she dropped our friendship like a hot potato. That has happened more than once I must confess. It doesn’t mean I don’t grieve the loss. Codependency rears it’s ugly head in many ways on a daily basis. It’s a monster of an addiction to wrestle. Believe me, I get it. But I am not playing with it. I am serious when I say that it will kill you. It is a far more dangerous dis-ease than cancer will ever be.

In many ways, it seems the older I get the less I know. But what I do know, I know for sure. Denial would be futile. I’m not playing anymore. Life is not a game. No one is getting out of here alive. Your death may or may not be negotiable, in terms of the timing or the method – that is one of those things I do not know. The quality of your life experience is knowable. That is the ONLY THING you have any control over. And as I was told almost 50 years ago by my therapist Jo – the quality of your life experience is directly determined by YOUR ABILITY TO COMMUNICATE. And you can tell the truth or you can lie. There is no gray area in between. I am never going to lie to you because I’m afraid of losing you. It’s a compromise that inevitably injures us both. Codependency is straightforward. It’s an attempt at denial. It’s a self betrayal. AND IT IS A SET UP. It is a flagrant criminal act against the laws of nature and your soul will not tolerate it. Not for one minute.

Dear God how I would love to have a friend or friends nearby to do stuff with. How I miss going to the garden center early in the morning for our annuals, sitting in shallow water in our foldable beach chairs, laughing on the sofa with popcorn and a movie, meeting halfway for coffee. And decorating our homes together. You bring me a new picture you happened across at a garage sale and I’ll get out the hammer. I’ll come help you pack for that move and bring lunch. May the exchange ever even itself along as our mutual interests deepen.

I absolutely treasure the friends I have now. They are far more present mentally and emotionally, but they are not available physically. They are still working full time or no longer live nearby. This often happens with age, after retirement. The husband wants to move to a warmer climate; the adult children need us more than we imagined they would. Health concerns take precedent; finances are different. The balance of life has become trickier and harder to manage. No one is to blame for my current loneliness. I moved 2 hours south after the divorce to make a fresh start, and five years later moved back north to a resort town on the edge of nowhere. I missed my son. It’s beautiful here. And remote. That has it’s advantages (it’s not in the “drop by zone” for one thing) and disadvantages.

But today is a good day. I am far more curious than scared. There is a new paradigm coming into awareness, and it brings exciting energy. I am healing. You are healing. Our culture, our mutual reality, is healing. I am ever expanding and becoming more and more willing to live from my cracked-open heart. Can you come out to play?

Jul4

Happy Independence Day, Hero

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Any chance you might have an issue with authority? If so, I’m just sure we can be friends. To say I am resistant to suggestion would be an understatement, and yet I am constantly seeking advise, input, more input, ideas, opinions and help from any number of sources.

My dearest friends will attest that I directly – and regularly – say to them, “Tell me what to do.” They think I’m funny. They have known me long enough to know that telling me what to do is futile. Even when I ask, there’s maybe a 30% chance of follow through. Maybe.

Now let us not confuse my fierce independence with any remote understanding of healthy boundaries. Those close to me have also seen me make absolutely stupid decisions just for the sake of being contrary. What can I say? Growing up is hard to do…

Just this week I had a bit of a tete-a-tete with my past. My ex called and wanted to talk. This would generally send me into a tailspin of anxiety. What was he up to?

We met a few days later for breakfast. It was quite pleasant. He is 17 years older than me and has had some serious health challenges. So, he is face to face with his own mortality. That is humbling. But it was just a few hours later that he called again. Strange. This time he barked at me to pull up a website on my computer. He wanted me to look at a car for sale. He had asked about my Jeep at breakfast. The previous time we met for a “catch up” the Jeep had limped into the restaurant parking lot squealing and lurching. It’s the old car I had from our marriage, now 13 years dissolved. It’s on it’s last leg before the scrap heap and I’ve been trying to figure out how I will afford to replace it.

When he asked about it I had quipped, “It’s running well. It’s about time to think about looking for a car.” Ever-so nonchalant. Pardon me, but I’ve had more than 30 years with him to learn to generalize my answers. I give out very little information. It’s not so much a conversation as an interrogation, or a relationship as a transaction. He is never without an agenda.

Sure enough, several hours later and he’s found me a car. Mind you, we had not discussed anything about my looking for a car. No details were asked for or volunteered, no direct inquiries, no interest feigned. This was entirely based on his assumptions. He found me a car. Another Jeep (I had not been considering buying another Jeep. For one thing, I can barely climb in and out of this one anymore.)

This is how that second phone call went: “Hi. What’s up?” I was taken by surprise. “Get to your computer! Look at this website!” I had no idea what this was about until my laptop had booted up and I asked for the website name. It was a car dealership. “Look at this Jeep! If you’re interested I could go drive that for you tomorrow.” As if I don’t drive…or he has any mechanical prowess. But I do forget sometimes how utterly incompetent I am. He sounded like he was on speed (what is in those Manhattans?) He desperately needs a project, and he needs it to be me.

Wait. What? S L O W the heck down…why are you directing me to look at a car? Well…he could “help me” buy that. Sadly, I’ve also got 30+ years experience knowing that this is going to be a long, convoluted process that will somehow end up costing me sleep, peace of mind, money, and self respect. I graciously declined. I have learned a little over the decades. For better or worse, I have learned to be my own hero.

I thanked him for his concern and generosity. I don’t want to generate any animosity. I’m careful not to invite the repercussions of his wrath. I am struggling with my health also, but unlike my ex, I am also struggling financially. There was no room for partnership in that marriage, nor fairness in the divorce. I receive spousal support (the new word for alimony) which is a small fraction of his income and 90% of mine. Less than law would allow, but as much as I was willing to fight for. I wanted out intact. Okay, that’s not true – I wanted out alive. It was too late for intact.

My former husband is not a bad man. He is charming, highly intelligent and extremely like-able. There are many wonderful things about him, and I wish I knew how to have him in my life. He is what is known as a vulnerable narcissist. He would do anything to help. It’s just gonna have a few little almost invisible strings attached…kinda like walking into a spiderweb. Sticky.

Now with the hard-earned wisdom of distance, all of this simply makes me enormously sad. We are both alone in our old age. But I know my true value. Not only will he never know mine; he will never know his own. We are all so very fragile. As Maira is inclined to notice, we are all striving, and we are all heroic.

Jun28

we all have to find our way…

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In my efforts of late to get myself organized and live more simply, I’ve been cleaning out old notebooks. I came across a journal entry from years ago explaining polychronic time. I just this week discovered that many cultures around the world, especially indigenous cultures, still practice polychronic time. Here in our western society, and the (eh-hmmm) more advanced cultures, we live according to monochronic time.

Anthropologists tell us that cultures such as the Inuits of Alaska, that use polychronic time, tend to value relationships over schedules. They understand that time is unpredictable. For instance, they might go to work according to the tides, so their schedule changes regularly. The scientific term chronemics is used to describe how time is perceived; it’s considered a sub-genre in the study of nonverbal communication.

This is fascinating to me. Let’s just say that I have always had a loosey-goosey relationship with time. Oh – I mean fluid…yeah – that’s the word I’m looking for. Full disclosure, I often time travel while my body is sleeping, but I’ve had it happen during meditation, and even during bodywork sessions. I don’t know how it happens, don’t know why, don’t care. I visit other countries, even other planets, telepathically communicate with other species. Do we all do this as children and I’ve just never outgrown it? No idea. I do know, sure as I am sitting at the keyboard writing this today, that time and gravity are the same thing. Or intricately interdependent. Blur the limitations of one and you blur the limitations of both. Time and space are false concepts we were indoctrinated with here in this cult where we temporarily reside. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.

It was a psychologist I was seeing in my 30’s who taught me the difference between this phenomena and fantasy. Because I will close my eyes in one place and time and open them in another, fully present, all 5 senses fully intact. It took years of practice not to panic when this happened, so that I could stay with the experience and not jolt myself back. The first thing I learned was to look down at my hands and focus on my breath. This allowed for a few seconds at least to listen, smell, maybe look around if I felt it was safe to do so, and try to grasp the situation I was in. This was precluded, of course, by the belief that it must be happening for a reason. I had slipped into another time and space for a reason, somehow to be of service there, even if for a few seconds. Now I trust it. It might be something as seemingly innocuous as speaking the right sentence, something the stranger I was with may not have known to say. I never know.

Most of the time this experience is random and happens to me. Every once in awhile I can initiate it for my own intent, usually because I want to gather information when I know a loved one is in trouble. Or locate a lost pet. A few times I’ve had close friends ask me about some concern of theirs and I managed to make it work. I saw Elisabeth Smart in an underground bunker this way and assured my distraught friend that she was alive, and, that she would be recognized on the street by a passerby one day soon. I once located a missing man who had drowned, tangled in a pile of junk at the bottom of a lake, stuck in the torn webbing of an old lawn chair. He asked me not to disclose his location; he preferred not to be found. I’ve woken early after spending the night in a city during an earthquake. I knew I was in Asia by looking at the people around me, and so turned the news on the television to discover an earthquake had hit Kobe, Japan during the night. Apparently I’d volunteered as a rescue worker.

This shit happens to me all the time. If I say I’m tired, believe me; I worked all night. It used to freak me out. As a young child I’d run screaming to my parents, thinking I was dying. I must have been a fun kid. I remember the first time I saw the television show Quantum Leap, first feeling validated and relieved that other people were having these experiences also, and then thinking, no, they didn’t get that right. I certainly had no sidekick or homing device (other than my body.)

But I’ve gone off on a tangent here. The point, if there is one, is that time has never made sense to me. All through my working life I barely managed to keep to a schedule. I will probably never know if any of this serves any kind of useful purpose, but I am 100% certain that the reality we know through our five senses is but the tip of the iceberg. Our existence is so much larger and richer than what this obvious, or gross, reality would have us believe.

I’ve long revered the teacher Carolyn Myss, who says that “intuition is organic divinity – God in your blood and bones.” I know this is true. And decades ago, when she first published Anatomy of the Spirit, she inadvertently taught me an invaluable tool for protecting myself: “I command my spirit into my body in full at this time.” It’s all I’ve ever needed. Well, that and the Lord’s Prayer. I learned that in high school from reading the Gnostic Gospels. Christ predicates it in the Sermon on the Mount by telling us it’s the only prayer we will ever need, and I accepted that as truth with a capital T. It has served me in some some mighty scary encounters.

So where does this leave us today? It leaves me thinking about art, creativity, imagination, the intuitive workings of life. I’ve always joked, “all’s fair in love, war, and art.” That pretty much covers everything. Art is any thought, word, or action that is expansive or constructive. Art is alchemy.

Artists are natural alchemists, and time and space are their mediums. We think it’s paint or paper or metal or film, but those are merely convenient materials at hand. Artists instinctively know that we are eternal beings of light and vibrating energy. The wizard Maurice Sendak knew. By the way – he never wrote a children’s book in his life. He says he wouldn’t know how. That statement alone opens a continuous hallway of portals to explore…

Maurice Sendak, Where The Wild Things Are, from my Amazon affiliate link, which may result in a commission: https://amzn.to/45MCnle and Wild Things Are Happening, The Art of Maurice Sendak, https://amzn.to/3VHSuMe

Jun26

Fortune Sides With She Who Dares

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Decades ago I bought a cheap cuff at a sidewalk fair. I simply loved the inscription: Fortune Sides With She Who Dares. The inside of the bracelet also has an inscription: I Will Make My Optimism Come True.

This thing is made of some cheap alloy and is worn thin, tarnished and bent out of shape. I treasure it. I will make my optimism come true, it says. Long before the concept of “toxic positivity” came into being I was busy re-inventing myself for the umpteenth time. Turns out, it’s a way of life. As they say, it beats the alternative. But I’ve never been toxically positive. Those who know me will attest that I’m barely positive at all. I lean towards the cynical view of life, but really only in the short term. I am eternally optimistic. And only ever momentarily deterred.

My seventh decade is proving a daunting challenge. Perhaps most of my generation have this in common. We grew up with a lot of cultural expectations about what our old age would look like and those are all proving to be untrue. Health concerns aside, my retirement income doesn’t cut it any more. Retirement was great while it lasted; it’s no longer practical. For starters, the appliances are mocking me. The dishwasher’s heating element is burnt out (a metaphor?) and last night’s lightning turned the clothes dryer into R2D2. It’s blinking frenetically and won’t quit talking jibberish.

So I am having to learn new skills. The work I did to support myself in the past isn’t a viable option as I can no longer spend hours on my feet. I’m learning technical skills now and looking forward to expanding my earning potential, reinventing myself still and again. My lifelong curiosity serves me well. And I do have some wisdom to share, and hopefully a modicum of inspiration.

My Mother was the epitome of optimism and determination. On those days when I can barely get out of bed, or I’m really feeling down and defeated, I remember to “channel my inner Doris…” She never lost her sense of humor. Upon hearing us children complain she would often quip drolly, “other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?” She was a master of perspective.

I have lost small fortunes in my life. I have joked when people asked me what I do for a living, “I’m a career researcher…” while wishing I had stuck with something, anything, been more consistent and made wiser investments. Exercised my intellect more and emotions less, perhaps loved myself a little more. I suppose if I’m paying attention, I fall in and out of love with myself a dozen times a day. In truth, I’ve never understood the tenet “love yourself.” That sounds rather airy-fairy to me. But I do know how to love my life. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: you just have to be a fraction more curious than scared. Some days a fraction is all I can muster.

So by measure of risk taking, I can only say that I wish I’d done more of that – taken bigger risks on myself. Trusted myself more deeply, invested in my own creativity. I wish I’d learned earlier that boundaries are the property lines by which we proclaim ownership of ourselves and keep out the thieves who would steal our souls.

Georgia O’Keeffe said “I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life, and I never let it keep me from a single thing that I wanted to do.” She Who Dares. Turns out there are a lot of people in this boat with me. We will show up every day – making our optimism come true. How will YOU show up brave today?

Personalized Cuff Bracelet, affiliate link may result in paid commission; https://amzn.to/3xqOtUp

Jun14

‘Caol Ait…the thin place

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When I was house hunting several years ago I had become quite discouraged. The first house I made an offer on I was over-the-moon smitten with. It really was my dream house. I didn’t get it. I offered $5K over asking price within 24 hours of it being listed. I was the second offer, and not the highest. But I was devastated. It still feels like a loss. Some days when I’m on an errand nearby I cannot resist the urge to drive past. Add house stalker to the list of my guilty pleasures.

Once I had a purchase agreement on the home I actually bought, moving toward closing, the process stalled twice. The seller was not complying with terms of my lender, or not fixing the things the inspection tagged. Again I became discouraged, so twice I threatened to call off the deal. It did motivate the seller. Each time when I became frustrated I did what I always do – asked for guidance in meditation. Both times I clearly heard: “you are being placed.” Because I was grieving the loss of the first house, I frustratingly replied to God, “whatever…”

The first neighbors I had next door were psycho neighbors from hell. I have never dealt with anyone like them in my life. They were threatening me and I was afraid in my own home. I suspect drugs were involved, but come to find out they had caused trouble with the other neighbors for years. I learned that the man I bought the house from had sued them apparently. Their dog had attacked his fiance’. The first summer I was here their cat attacked me – as in ran across the yard and flew 5 feet through the air at my face. The arm I used to block the attack required stitches and I was given a course of antibiotics.

A year or so later I received a letter from the township informing me that they had applied for a zoning variance. They wanted to open a day care facility, and a public hearing would be held at the next township meeting to decide that. There were already 4 adults, 2 teenagers and a few children living there in the small house. They regularly parked on my lawn. There was constant traffic around the clock, along with regular all night parties. Their dogs, cats, and chickens ran all over my property, including inside my gated back fence. And they often left my gates open as my yard was a shortcut for them to the side street – where 15 or 20 of their party guests would park once my lawn was full. They walked by my bedroom window all night with flash lights yelling to one another.

My daily life was untenable this way, and I concluded that I would have to move. But now my other neighbors came knocking on my door imploring me to action; they had received the same letter from the township and were in a panic. Further away and not in site, they had no idea what I was dealing with. They had endured their own altercations. That day in my living room we prepared letters to protest the zoning variance and attended the meeting en force. We took an attorney along (a family member of mine) to show we meant business. The application was denied, but I feared repercussions.

Early one morning before dawn I opened the front door to out my elderly beagle Odie. I was face-to-face with the neighbor woman immediately outside my front door, carrying a milk jug with brown liquid in it. Startled, I asked her what she was doing and she said, “killing these dandelions for you.” I said no, thank you, and asked her to leave my property, to which she narrowed her eyes and grumbled, “we were here first.” I don’t even know what that meant, but I didn’t ask. Don’t try to reason with insanity.

During this process I was meditating (when I wasn’t shaking and crying) asking for guidance. And I distinctly heard, “They are being re-placed.” I had no idea what the heck that meant either, but soon a For Sale sign went up in their front yard. I actually fell to my knees and burst into tears. No one should ever have to live like this.

Their house sold within 24 hours and $5K over asking price. That house, and the one behind me, have since been sold as holiday retreats to young families from Detroit and Chicago. Not only do I rarely see or hear anyone around me, but they are so very pleasant when they are here on the occasional weekend. They know I am keeping an eye. I will gladly take their weekend trash to set out, and they will often mow my “back 40” as a gesture of appreciation. They leave baked treats outside my door. I couldn’t want for better neighbors.

My house still needs work. In the 7 years I have been here I have done some, but not all, of the finishing work. Built in 1955 it is solid. It needs to be; it is usually buffeted by high winds off Lake Michigan. About a quarter mile inland, with wintertime glints of sun off the water, I look out from treetop level across valleys in three directions. Southeast I see pine-forested hilltops miles in the distance. Hawthorn Cottage is now a quiet little sanctuary, my very own thin place. So as it turns out, I have been placed.

Author and designer Ted Watson Kennedy has a summer home also named Hawthorne Cottage:

Jun9

Now You Know That You Are Real

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This next week I wish to explore a new concept that I have just come across – yesterday, actually: the thin place. The thin place means a place in our environment where the veil between heaven and earth is thin. Decades ago I read a quote in an interior design book that profoundly impacted me: “Home is heaven for beginners.” I was a guest in someone else’s home at the time, long before cell phones existed. So, no camera or way to record it, I soon forgot who said it.

Around that same time I participated in a meditation retreat. Normally I hate guided meditations. My imagination needs little encouragement to take off, and by the time the person speaks I’m far off in my own world. They’ll start us down a path and seconds later suggest we are standing on a vast beach, when I’m already talking to a bird in a dense forest. Leave me alone.

But this time something remarkable happened. Tuning out the voice from across the room I continued walking further through that dense forest, and I came upon a castle. Tower and all. Big heavy door pushed aside I started up the circular stone stairway. It was lit with gemstones set in the outer wall, refracting rainbows of light to guide my way. When the meditation ended we were asked to describe what we saw. The woman nodded at me to go first, and when I described the castle, she said, “in dream or meditation work you were scouting heaven. That structure represented what you expect the afterlife to be like.” Ahhhh…yes. Yes, I do expect that. Beauty beyond my wildest imagination.

We’ve all experienced a thin place; we know how it feels, viscerally. Goosebumps and skin prickles and an otherworldly sense of wonder overwhelms us. To me, it speaks about the concept of environmental fit that contributes to self awareness. You have to be able to be present, to notice that something is happening. You have to be comfortable enough in your own skin to be just 10% more curious than scared.

Like Francois Halard, I, too was a shy and quiet child. My environment was anything but. It was constant chaos and noise and activity. I spent any and all available hours alone in my room, reading and thinking and drawing and painting and more reading and staring at things. I bonded with inanimate objects and the trees outside my window, my cat, and my own imaginings. Years later in high school when I first took LSD it would be as natural as breathing to walk through walls, to vibrate with the plants, to become the colors of the sky. I still believe it helped keep that portal open, the veil thin, and made for me a better life.

While I love the idea of heaven on earth, I’m taking it literally. I am entirely committed to living fully in my body. I’m not interested in spacing out, or fantasy, or in any way becoming less present. What if the thin place exists within us? Do we carry it always? Sometimes we happen into a place that reminds us to notice; sometimes we create that space. Any surreal experiences I’ve had (and there have been many) were solid. Not beyond my senses, but through them. They were not ethereal or “spiritual.” They did not take me to other worlds, they expanded my awareness of this one. That is The Hanged Man experience in the tarot. You know what you know, even if it is not shared. It cannot be described with the English language; we haven’t the framework.

I haven’t taken any recreational drugs since high school (and few prescribed medications if avoidable). The last time I drank too much I was 21 (I’m 70). I don’t want (or need) my state to be altered, unless it is the organic release from anxiety that allows a fuller experience of presence. Even if that means pain. I’m all in, having a look down life’s hallways…

May31

murder and mint chip

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As pearls of wisdom go, I have two words of invaluable advice for anything at all that troubles you: Maira Kalman. I ask myself daily: WWMD = what would Maira do? Now, I’m not saying she’s an enlightened being…but she’s got more wisdom in her pinky than any guru I’ve ever encountered. Spiritual, schmeer-it-ual, I’m sticking with her.

For me, Maira is a great example of how an artist overcomes personal hardship and adversity while offering the world a piggyback ride on her healing journey – without ever losing grace or humor. Oh, she’s had her share of bad days. Her beloved husband Tibor lost his long battle with cancer at the age of 49 and left her with two young children. She exemplifies someone who incorporates grief, both personal and collective, with tremendous empathy and turns it into beauty. Curiosity moves her slowly through the world and she reports back to we lucky observers.

Lately, coming to terms with t h i n g s – like finding out I have a genetic disease that should have killed me decades ago, and like old age being ever so different than I expected…among other issues (!) I have become acutely aware of how much I appreciate quirky individuals who persevere. I have regrets, people, (can we talk?) about settling and about making too many compromises and about not taking my art seriously enough. I actually do wish I’d worked harder – at the things that I love. Mostly my regrets boil down to one common denominator: I didn’t TRUST myself, my intuition. I didn’t follow my dreams. It certainly is not too late for me, or for any of us. And I am enjoying life more now than I ever have. I appreciate the ordinary and everyday idiosyncrasies. I gladly traded wrinkles for the need to know. I’m learning to live in the questions. I like it.

Like Maira, I love British murder mysteries. I, too, revel in my inconsistencies. I, too, value an acute sense of the absurd. I value observation skills over job performance. I value ordinary life over extraordinary accomplishment. I value rest over productivity; I value silence and solitude. I value imagination over knowledge. I value Maira Kalman, and I value YOU. I’m not a fan of mint, however. Make mine a double – one scoop coffee and one scoop chocolate.

Women Holding Things by Maira Kalman: https://amzn.to/3X9BssN