Merry Christmas!

Attack Dogs and an Arsenal of Good

Last night I asked my five year old daughter a question.  I asked her what she would do if one of her friends was mean to her repeatedly.

"I would ask them to please stop."

That was a great answer.  Logical.  Wise.  I pressed on...

"What if that doesn't work?"

"I would tell you, or my teacher."  Smartie, this one.  Looks like she actually pays attention to the anti-bullying message.  Good.  I pressed further...

"And what if THAT doesn't work?"  At this point she's looking at me like I'M the bully.

"Attack dogs."  God, I love five year logic.

This line of questioning occurred not because I thought she was being bullied.  It was because I was being bullied.  I have found that the pure logic of children can often be very honest and enlightening.  I had no idea how right she really was.

I have been my own biggest bully throughout my entire life.  Well, maybe not my entire life, but at least from adolescence on.  Having fully absorbed the message that I was lazy, worthless and stupid throughout childhood, my adolescent self tightly held onto that mantra.  It became a self-actualizing prophesy, and I was allowing it.

Every failed relationship, job, hobby, friendship, pursuit was my fault.  I was lazy.  I didn't deserve it.  I suck.

I need attack dogs.

Well-trained, highly optimistic, biggest champion of me dogs.  Just as any dog is completely loyal to its person, I need attack dogs that live in my mind, tearing apart every self-defeating thought that dares entry.

When I tell myself I am not allowed to have a dream - attack!  I can do whatever I set my mind to.

When I fear that I am destroying my child because of my own insecurities - attack!  I am a good mom and my child never, ever doubts my love for her, even when she doesn't understand me.

When I lose hope - attack!  I have the ability to create my own happiness, no matter what life throws at me.

When I think I'm not good enough - attack!  I am good enough.  In fact, I am great and getting better with every try.  Failure is just another opportunity to try again with more information.

These things seem simple enough.  In practice though...attack!  When all else fails, leave it to a five year old to give me the best advice I could have ever received.

Climb higher...

Hold on tight...

Throw your hands up and just let go!

Enlightenment and Fire

Happy Bodhi Day!

Today is my very first Bodhi Day.   It is the day that Buddhists celebrate the day that the historical Buddha, Siddhartha Guatauma (Shakyamuni) experienced enlightenment.*

It is a day to meditate and celebrate.  Study the Dharma, chant the Sutras and perform kind acts towards other beings.

In keeping with that, and really having no real idea what I'm doing, I thought I'd tell the story of how I became a Buddhist.  According to my husband, I always have been.  He said he knew it when we first met.  Everyone who knows me said they knew it too.  I was really the only one who seemed surprised.

I have been collecting Buddha statues for years, ever since an ex-boyfriend's father gave me one for Christmas 12 years ago.  I still have no idea why he gave it to me.  They are Catholic.  I was a Christian/Pagan/Wiccan/Confused.  I guess maybe he saw something too.

I don't kill bugs.  Never have.  Let me rephrase that...I never go out of my way to kill bugs.  I have been known to smack the occasional mosquito when it's biting me and my car has enough of the little six-legged carcasses to prove that I don't avoid them while driving - probably a good thing.  But I will happily escort out any spider, insect or other so-called pestilence if they lose their way and end up in my home and have been known to use my entire body as a shield against an unwarranted spider murder on many occasions.

I've spent years railing against the Christian right.  Those who claim to that God is love, but he only loves them.  If you're gay or Mormon or Jewish or Muslim or just a decent person bring to get through life by being nice and not causing any harm, but aren't quite sure about the whole Jesus/ Bible/ Adam and Eve thing, you're pretty much going to end up in the fires of Hell.  Have fun.

I did the whole born again thing, back in high school and college.  Of course my intentions were pure - I did it because that's what my boyfriend at the time was doing.  I stood on street corners asking complete strangers if they had asked Jesus to be their personal Savior. I spoke in tongues.  I was baptized, again...because the one when I was a baby apparently didn't take.  I was also made to feel like the whore of Babylon by one of the pastors at my church because I wore a dress to church that fit my body and forced men to commit the sin of fornication in their minds.  Oops.  My bad.  When the boyfriend and I were thinking of getting engaged, we had to attend pre-engagement counseling sessions to determine whether the church thought we were a good match.  Those I am actually grateful for, because as it turns out, we weren't.  But their reasons were that I would never be submissive enough to be a good Christian wife.  Well, at least they got something right.

After that, I flew in the opposite direction.  I studied Wicca and Paganism - also because of a boyfriend. I got tattoos and traveled and had lots and lots of sex.  It was fun, for a while.  But never really felt like me.  More than Christianity, but never perfect.  Flash forward several years and I found myself back in a church - Lutheran, standing next to a real live Christian, saying my vows before God and family.  My husband knew I had my doubts about the Bible, but he was strong enough in his own faith to not really care that I had my questions.  It also helped that we were pretty much Christmas and Easter Christians, so I didn't have to worry about it all that much.  All of the hullabaloo started two Christmases ago, when I refused to go to church on Christmas Eve.  I had decided that it was complete hypocrisy to attend church once a year and consider that good.  I informed my husband that if he wanted to go to Christmas Eve service, we would have to go to church at least twice a month all year long.  That worked out well for me.  Haven't been back in a church since then, except for last Easter at the behest of some new friends.  All of the  guitar and drum worship and hand waving brought out a severe case of PTSD for me and I left in tears.

I got home and cried.  I felt lost.  I knew I needed to pick a direction, to have something to believe in that was bigger than myself.  Then I looked around my room to see all of these fat, happy Buddhas staring at me.  It was if they seemed to say "This is where you belong."  A path of non-extremism, the middle way.  A non-violent, be kind to others, God is the energy that drives everything in the universe kind of way.  An anyone can achieve enlightenment no matter who you are kind of way.  Something clicked.

When I told my husband I thought I might be Buddhist, he said "Duh.  It's about time you figured that out."  I started reading about Buddha and meditation, being at peace wherever you are.  I devoured this hope like a starving child.  For the first time in my life, I had hope.  I realized what I think I knew all the time, that God is in me.  That God is in everything.

I am no where near enlightenment, though.  That may take several more lifetimes, but I am at peace with that.  I feel no need to defend my beliefs, or push them onto others.  I can just smile and be happy with the path that works for me.  Because really, when it comes down to it, aren't all faiths inherently the same?  Love God.  Be thankful.  Be nice.  It's really all the same path - just different signage.

*wikipedia - Bodhi Day

Why can't we do both?

I got sucked in by a tag line.  It happens to the best of us.

"Why I Do Not Support the Troops" on youtube.  I won't post the link because frankly, I think this girl just wants attention and I am sad that I gave it to her.  I listened to her speech, tried to keep an open mind, possibly see if I could understand things from her point of view.  I read the comments posted below the video, calling for her to be kicked out, sent to the Middle East, and worse.  I am fairly certain that these are the comments she hoped to get because hey, even an angry audience is still an audience.  That is really all you can hope for by posting a video claiming all members of our military are either dumb, they can't get a 'real' job or they are just plain evil and like killing people.

Now, before anyone gets all hot and bothered on either side of the fence because you think you might know where I'm going with this...stop, breathe, read.

I am a liberal democrat.  I am pro-choice.  I think we should have taxes.  I think anyone is allowed to believe in whichever faith they choose, or not believe in anything at all.  We live in America.  We have these and many more freedoms.  Why do we have those freedoms?  Well mostly because a group of guys got together about 250 years ago and decided to take a flyer on this dream of a concept we now know and love as The United States of America.  But by taking that stand, many fought and many died to get this republic started.

I am also a very proud military wife.  That doesn't mean I blindly agree with everything the military does or that our government does.  For that matter, neither does my very proud uniform wearing husband.  My husband is exceptionally intelligent - please don't tell him I said that, I still giggle when people salute him.  He could get any 'real' job he wanted, probably making a hell of a lot more money than he does now.  He doesn't like to kill.  As far as I know, he's never killed anyone, yet.  But he puts on his uniform every day and goes to work.  Granted most every day is safe for him, but you never know.  He's one of the lucky ones.  For now.  At some point he will have to leave us to put his part in on the effort for keeping this country safe.  He is okay with that.  And I am okay with that.

My point in all of this is why do we have to be one thing or the other?  After listening to this video and reading the angry comments, that was my first question.  Why can't I be a proud American AND a bleeding heart, anti-war liberal?  Why can't I understand this woman's position while admittedly wanting to strangle her?  And taking it a step further, why can't I love God and my country and the military AND be a Buddhist, non-bug killing, non-hating pacifist?  Some of you may say that it's not possible to be all of those things.  Well, here I am, saying it is.

Sure looks like a dumb, lazy war-mongerer to me...
Not a chance.

 

My Left Wrist

When I was fourteen I was in a very bad place.  I've been back and forth from that place more times than I'd like to share.  But fourteen and twenty-seven were the only times I've gotten too close and what I can only assume was divine intervention saved me.

New Years Day 2001 left no visible scars.  But that afternoon in 1988 left one.  A very tiny one, but a scar nonetheless.  No one really ever noticed it.  But I did.  Every day for the rest of my life the scene replayed itself every time I looked at my left wrist.  My left wrist proclaimed to me that I was unlovable.  It told me I was worthless.  It told me I should never have been born.  It told me I was too stupid to live.  It was a very mean wrist.

So today I drove eighty miles across the beautiful state of Virginia, to the tiny town of Strasburg.  It was idyllic, to say the least.  Old and beautiful, like stepping back in time.  There was even a parade going down Main Street upon my arrival, led by John Deere tractors pulling the waving Miss Shenandoah Valley.  I cut through the parade, because well, it was a parade and I didn't have all night. I crossed the street to a tattoo studio I had heard about from a friend of mine.

And there, I told my left wrist to shut the fuck up.

Mean left wrist

Buddha approves...proceed

you can't be mean to me, anymore

You may now only say words of peace

Healing begins with an in breath


Ohm

Stop

Do you ever just feel the need to slam on the brakes of your life?  The screaming inside your head gets so loud that you want to lash out at anyone, anything unfortunate enough to be standing nearby?

About a month ago, I woke up.  Not from a coma, or at least not a physical one.  Perhaps a self-induced metaphysical one, though.  I have been so angry.  So sad and frustrated.  Everything, I mean everything, hurts.  Exhausted and angry and in pain.  And I have no clue as to why.  I have an amazing husband who has and would do anything for me.  I have a gifted, talented, beautiful, amazing daughter.  I have a beautiful home, two actually- but we won't get into that right now.  I have an arc full of dogs and cats, fish and mice, that have all picked me to be their person.  I am lucky enough to not have to work outside the home and can focus on my education, my kid, me.  But here I sit, sad and angry.  I have everything I thought I ever wanted and I find myself not only not wanting it, but flat out rejecting it.  The world is spinning so fast inside my head and I just want it to stop.

I can't even say that I feel like I've gotten off track.  I don't think I was ever on any track to fall from.  I spent my entire life just looking for somebody, anybody, to love me.  By the time I finally found that person, I had already convinced myself that I was unworthy of love.  Married him, had a child with him, built a life with him, moved across the country with him, all the while living in a fog of depression, pain and confusion.

I've always had itchy feet.  Never stayed anywhere too long.  I am easily bored and easily distracted.  I dropped out of college when it got too hard and fell in love with a man who was shiny and fun.  That he was emotionally unavailable with no desire to commit to anything was just something I would have to fix about him.  I was determined to make him love me.  One day I decided to move to Boston from Chicago because that's where he was.  Left a man who wanted to love me for a man who couldn't.  And so is the story of my life.  After five years of wandering around the country in a corset and riding boots (another story for another day) trying to convince this man that he really did love me, I stopped.

I had found a new love.  Cocaine.  Chasing that high, ruining what little life I had.  It always made me feel better, even when it made me feel worse.  I can fit those years into just a few sentences, because that's all they are to me.  I don't remember much.  I remember a New Year's Eve spent with my head bowed over a pile as big as big as my fist, alone, determined to chase that high, or die.  I should have died.  There's absolutely no reason I didn't die.  I watched friends OD on significantly less amounts and there I was, giving it the old girl scout try, praying everything would just stop.

It didn't.  Everything kept going.  I kept going.  I moved from Boston back to the midwest because I thought that's where the husbands were. And that there were no drugs there.  I was right about one, eventually.  I was wrong about the other.  The drugs found me, kept finding me, right up until the day I met my husband.  In fact I was as high as a kite the night I met him.  We started dating a week later.  And I stopped.

No rehab, no DT's, no program.  Just quit.  I found someone who wanted to love me.  He was clean, so I was clean.  I really was as simple as that.  I have had no desire to go back there.  Sure, addiction is a part of my life and creeps in for a little while in small ways.  But I don't drink often, I don't abuse prescription meds, don't even smoke weed but once in a great while.  I smoke cigarettes.  I quit cocaine and Meth cold turkey, but damned if I can't stop smoking cigarettes.  I will.  When the time is right.  I will stop.

I found what I was looking for, or so I thought.  No matter what, he gave me my second chance.  He gave me my daughter.  He gave me my life back.  I will always, always, love him for that.  And how do I repay that kindness? By being sad and angry all the time.  Of course there's been so much laughter and fun.  But always this underlying anger.  I am also very lucky in that my husband is patient and blessed with the ability to communicate.  We don't fight.  We talk.  He knows everything on my mind.  I know most of what's on his, I think.  And yet I am not excited, or even happy to see him when he comes home from work.  There is no romance.  I'm not even talking the first love, movie style romance.  I'd just like the we've been married for six years and I still want you kind of romance.  Maybe it's that part of me that is still twenty one, looking to walk away from the good man who wants to love me towards something I only think I want because I can't have it.  I want to stop.

But now it's different.  I want to stop but I want to go.  I have no idea where or how but I have to do something.  If only I knew what that something was.  I'm starting to figure it out.  Not jumping into or out of anything.  Meditation, school, photographing life, writing are all getting me there.  And maybe when I finally get there, I'll stop.

        

Sick Chicken

feel better, bebe poulet

In honor of my snuggled on the couch, scratchy throat, snotty nose, feeling cruddy, nicely medicated, Phineas and Ferb watching Chicken - here she is... and as I cough, sniffle and ache, I think I may join her.

You want to be everything for your kids...take their pain away, heal them with your magical mommy powers.  Sometimes though, they will be sick.  So all you can do is snuggle with them and let them know that even though those magical mommy powers can't always take the hurt away, you are at least suffering right beside them, wiping away the snot.

Blogging Hangover

Good Morning.  I am now experiencing my first blogging hangover.  Up late last night meeting and chatting with new friends.  I fell in love.  I had to drag myself away from my computer, still checking posts on my evil iPhone until my phone rang at 12:15 just as I was crawling into bed.  It was an ex-boyfriend.  My husband rolled over and said to tell him "hi" but please go outside so he could get some sleep.  The ex was explaining to me the techniques of lighting a controlled ring of fire for my next endeavor into my photographical self-portrait. He knows this because he is a jouster...yes, I said jouster...and has vast experience in lighting theatrical fires.  One of my other exes, who is a pyro-juggler was unable to assist and merely told me to have a fire-extinguisher near by. Duh.

If I don't die and/ or severely disfigure myself, the images will be posted.  If I do die or disfigure myself, my husband has instructions to post them for me.  But I always figured I would die for my art, so...

As soon as I figure out how to post links to all of the pages I met last night, they will all get pimped.  I'm still a little fuzzy from last night...but much happier for it.

Today's image is that of my very tiny dog on 'his' bed, where he sometimes lets us sleep...

Big Dog On A Big Bed