Tag Archives: beginnings and endings

wishes like fishes…

WishUponAStar
(after seeing THIS site, I thought I’d put a prayer of sorts out there…)

that great thoughts, like butterflies, imaginally take flight
that hopes, like balloons, float up to great heights
that I shape the best year yet, one little step by one little step
that love will prevail, when all else fails
that discomfort be replaced by action, ache by joy
that prosperity be in numbers, abundant fruits from toil
to find my north star and follow it true
that good things come to all, and especially you

Happy New Year
Love, Me xo

20130304-214052.jpg

I’m tired tonight. Bone tired, despite resting for most of the weekend. Despite the appearance of the sun yesterday and today, and absorbing same like a sponge during forays outdoors over the weekend and at lunch time today.

This is a tiredness of the soul, I think. I sit this evening in semi-darkness, light filtering from the overhead stove light and the lamp at the kitchen entrance into the dining area where I sit at the table with my iPad propped up, the wireless keyboard submitting without complaint to the tapping of my fingertips as I type this. From the lamp’s switch hangs a tiny porcelain rabbit charm with a carnelian bead and faceted crystal strung on a red knotted string – a talisman that is supposed to bring luck and prosperity. I am not feeling very lucky. Or prosperous. Still, I hope that the tide will shift. Soon.

A dream that I had (last night? the night before?) resurfaces as I dig deeper into this sorrow that has bobbed to my surface: I dreamt of Steve and how he pulled out these haphazardly folded, crumpled up blue jeans from one of his travel bags and it is teeming with insects – worms, mealy and earth varieties, pill bugs, grubs of all shapes and sizes, and hands them to me to wash. My aversion to the bugs is outweighed by a sort of stoic resolve in knowing my responsibility, so I drop the pants into the washing machine and get the cycle going. I can’t remember much more than this. Perhaps more will come, but I think this is enough to work with, if I choose to dissect this message from my psyche.

I haven’t examined this dream too much yet. I’m sure it means many things, on several levels. Today I finally popped our marriage dissolution agreement into the mail; I’d signed it about a month ago but then it languished on my desk at work for another month. The signing of it took about a year for me to accomplish. Why this has been such a difficult process for me, I have no idea. It will be four years that we have moved apart (geographically) at the end of this June. By that point it had already been ten months that we had made the decision to part ways, on the basis that whatever love that may have been present at some point during our marriage was no longer there. This end of April would have marked the twentieth anniversary of our wedding. In many ways I am still mourning the end of something, or perhaps mourning the fact that the something that I had hoped would be our marriage never was, and now I am old. I’m not so old that I can’t function or take care of myself, but my youth is gone, and with it, it feels like, also my dreams, particularly those regarding a loving, nurturing, intimate relationship with a another.

All this talk about loving self first in order to be able to love another… on some level it makes sense, of course, but I think that growing to love self through loving another and receiving that other’s love makes more sense to me. I think we all like, maybe even love, things about ourselves. Wholly loving every aspect of ourselves is a more difficult task, and certainly doing so with another is perhaps as difficult. Yet I think it is possible, but it all hinges on how two people relate to each other.

How can we be accepting of our shadow parts when the person closest to us – the one we so desperately wish to entrust the secrets of our soul to – is unable to fully embrace the very parts we ourselves are appalled with, and mirrors back to us the same disgust and nonacceptance we perceive at our core? If the dark sides of ourselves aren’t acceptable to the person who is supposed to love us, then how can we function in the relationship, how can it thrive? How can we evolve and shift our view of our shadow parts if we are asked to disown them, to “fix” them, instead of integrating them in a more positive way and shifting them so that they serve us rather than stymie us?

So I put it to the Universe: let it bring me someone who can see these shadows within me and find them to be beautiful facets of who I am – tweaked a little, perhaps, but still wholly acceptable and loveable in spite of them (and that I may do the same in kind).

Presence… presents… on being present…

“Now or never!  You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment.” ~Henry David Thoreau

I remember the sweet fuzziness of life from when I was a child. Time was an abstract concept, something I had to learn to understand and to mind. While immersed in the throes of the moment, all of my moments flowed together like a river, and I was like a leaf, riding the waves. I remember wistfully noticing, soon after I had become cognizant of the passage of time, how I missed that sense of complete absorption and the utter freedom that it allowed.

In a practical sense, that sense of complete immersion into the moment is only possible in snippets, my time being framed by weeks, and the weeks by days, the days governed by routines that manage the hours that I have in them. The blissful sense of being lost (and free of care) in my moments are now broken down into smaller increments.

So much of our present time is spent thinking of the past or looking to the future. Each time I lose my sense of the now, I catch myself in the act of doing these things. I’ve made it my daily practice to engage in this mindfulness… to gently re-steer my focus back to the moment, simply because the future doesn’t matter, and in many respects, neither does the past.

We become characters in our own plays, remembering what we think is the script of who we are, performing by rote the roles we think have been set into place. Really, we are changing, moment-by-moment. This is good. All things change. All things shift and evolve. It is a natural cycle. Sometimes we come full circle, back to where we started, but the previous journey’s insights will have been incorporated into our make-up, and standing back in a place where we have already been, after the journey, brings about a new beginning. Though the journey follows along the same route we have previously trodden upon, the experience alters.

I have found that it is a challenge to balance being in the moment and quieting the mind when it begins to feel the need to project forward, or look backward at past experience. Logic would dictate that drawing upon past experience is a rational act, one that is wise to consult when making choices in the present moment. There are times when I feel compelled to scrutinize current situations and determine that they are very similar in “look and feel” to what I’ve experienced in the past, recall how they made me feel then, and subsequently move me to make a judgement about my current experience. The struggle is in surrendering to the moment, regardless of the outcome, and reveling in it as it is, without the weight of past experience or future expectation. This is a tall order for this human, who naturally desires something to cling to, some sort of stability, some sort of guarantee of outcome, despite also having a full understanding that very little of what unfolds in the future is controllable.

Yesterday I read a blog post by Osho, speaking about his awakening. He speaks of the “it doesn’t matter” moment, the one where he realizes the futility of seeking. I’ve skirted this experience many times recently, in many facets of my life, and though I’ve not come to achieve the sort of awakening that Osho did, I sense I am getting closer to it each time I take notice of my wandering mind, each time I take notice of the futility of seeking for something outside of –and separate from– myself.

Retrospectives… and looking forward

This has been a busy, though largely unproductive, time for me. Today is my last day off before I head back to work and I feel ambivalent about that. My work situation has been … bizarre … no other way to put it, and probably not worth going into in detail anyway.

This past year has been such a year of change for me. I’ve separated after 15+ years of marriage, lost a job, was unemployed for a time, got a job but feel oddly useless in it, moved over a thousand miles away from where I’ve been living and back to my country of origin. I miss the familiarity that I thought I didn’t have at the old place; I’m excited about the new place; I miss having sex (it’s been a while… a year and a half… okay, maybe a bit less, but it feels like an eternity); I miss having a lover (our marriage was on shaky ground for a while before it petered out completely~intimacy was part of the problem). I’ve not been feeling very creative this past year, and only managed to pump out a few pieces of art, wrote a bit of poetry and one short story. It feels like it’s all just festering inside of me, in a state of chaos but not substantiated into anything solid. I’m tired. I miss being loved (by someone other than my child).

I’ve been “the caretaker” and while I used to do a really bitchin’ job in the beginning, my lack of energy mirrors my caretaking these days. Sporadic laundry doing… dishes done so-very-not-daily… cooking sometimes more elaborate things but mostly stuff I don’t have to work too hard at… and the inner chaos I feel reflects my surroundings as well… still not enough furniture to store the boxes of “stuff” I have littering my walkways, piled high against walls. The two, obviously, correlate… I believe in feng shui… but the funds needed for new furniture purchases are slow in coming… something else that is more pressing always seems to take priority.

I always thought that I’d have it “together” by midlife. Funny that by the time I pulled my Self together, everything else around me has disintegrated. Ugh. I’d love to make a career change, but can’t figure how the numbers would add up, seeing that I am the sole supporter of myself and my child now (though his dad does help… it’s still expensive to live on the west coast, regardless of which side of the border you live on).

My ex has moved on, and then some. He’s been dating for months, meeting (and obviously bedding, because that is what he does) women. We’re on friendly terms and talk about these things, and so he’s recently shared news of his successful dates, and encouraged me to visit some dating sites. Oh my… mostly they are frightening, and the whole prospect of dating is frightening to me. I’m not skinny, or even “athletic”… I’m not horribly obese, but I suppose the first thing one notices about me are potentially my pendulous breasts and that my jawline isn’t exactly chiseled. I’m not a breathtaking beauty. But mostly, I’m concerned about meeting someone who will on a fundamental level understand who I am and who I will be able to do the same with. And… I still like having sex and don’t feel like dealing with a partner that I would have to draw a roadmap for… in fact, it would be so awfully nice to find someone who will explore the sacredness of sexuality with me.

All of this is probably TMI…

Looking forward… I’m planning a trip this year with a friend of mine from California. She asked where I’d like to go to, and said she would do the research necessary. I want to go to Italy… Tuscany, maybe, or other parts too, but definitely Tuscany. I want to bring my small Moleskine and watercolors with me and sketch and paint as I go along. I want to see for myself the beauty of that land. I have up to three weeks of vacation time to work with. Now that I have a valid passport, I plan on traveling a lot more. Screw the furniture. ;^P

I find that the start and end to things like calendar years, seasons, Celtic years, Chinese years, school years, birth years… are arbitrary and provide an opportunity to review, integrate and start afresh. I hope you have all had a good year, whichever span you choose to measure it by, and that the next one will be even better.

Blessings to you all…
Adriane

Home and heart…

April Chapbook Pages
Irvine, California
May 7, 2009

Always a bit slow on the uptake, I’m still working on April pages when the month of May has already begun.

I am again revisiting the “home” theme. I’m not sure why it is such a compelling one to me. I suppose it’s because I have occupied many houses but haven’t felt like I’ve been home in a long while, but rather unanchored, shiftless and somewhat discomfited. I have often wondered about that… what that was all about. Why did I never feel at ease enough to bond with my surroundings or the beings who peopled them?

I think it has much to do with the dynamic of the relationship I’ve been in, in which I’ve never truly felt at ease. It was mutual; or perhaps it was singular, and being sensitive to others’ emotional emanations, I picked up on that and was not able to ease into trust either, knowing that I could not rely on someone who could himself not withstand the vagaries of life. I used to tell my mother that I had married a coward.

Certainly, he has a sense of self-preservation, but he has no sense of community, and during my most difficult and trying times in these sixteen years that have come and gone, I have been left to my own devices to cope; been told to ‘fix’ myself where I was broken, and if I could not achieve this on my own, to go get the appropriate help. Never was there a sense that perhaps he was in need of some fixing himself, and that perhaps he might perceive that part of the problem that festered between us was of his own doing. Never was there a sense that, when the going got tough, that for the lack of knowing what else to do that he would do nothing more than simply listen and just be present. But… this doesn’t matter now, because it shall soon no longer be of consequence, and if I’ve grown as a result of this pairing of spirits, then it will have served its purpose, regardless of the outcome.

Perhaps this obsessive refocusing on the “home” theme is that I am returning, after so many years of being abroad, to a place that is equally strange to me now as my initial trek to California was almost two decades ago… home, indeed.

Home is where the heart is, they say. I am rediscovering my heart, a little bit of it each day. It tells me that it’s okay to feel again; to be wonder- and gratitude-filled; to hope, to love. It tells me that no matter where I am, or where I find myself, it will always be with me and that I will always be “home.”

So I embark on this next journey with an open heart… with a heart that will embrace all that it encounters with a sense of hope and wonder. Perhaps this time I will truly have found my way home.

Love, Adriane x

Non-visual journal entry… well, sort of…

Stargazing Tip for April 9

The Moon huddles quite close to the brightest star of Virgo tonight. Spica is a little to the upper left of the Moon as they rise in early evening.

Big Hand for a Little Star

Stardate: April 9, 2009

The tears are flowing this morning, a relentless stream following the inner crease of my eye, along my nose and down my cheeks to be deftly wiped away before they escape. I don’t know why today is any different than yesterday, or tomorrow. Since being let go from my job at the beginning of January, it’s all been like one long flowing day, punctuated with stress here and there, but otherwise rather dull and numbing.

How is it that every time change occurs in my life, it has to be everything all at once? Is it my sense of impatience in general that controls even the manifestations of my higher self? Are we both equally impatient? And yet, I must be patient, for I have been waiting for what seems like an eternity for something to happen that will push me into the place where I will flourish. Perhaps this is it. If only it wasn’t so gut-wrenchingly devastating at the same time. I wish I could muster up more enthusiasm in light of these developments.

Perkily, Steve went apartment hunting yesterday, online, and found a junior one bedroom apartment that he’s put dibs on in Costa Mesa. Funny how the very construct we met upon so many years ago has also facilitated our separation. It’s not as though it happened suddenly, and blind-sided us. It became a wedge, like a curtain drawn between hospital beds, and severed our connection. While there is a fondness between us, we’ve lost our soul connection. I wonder, sometimes, if it was ever really there.

I wonder what the point of our union was in the first place. If it was to get me here to California, it has seemingly failed in its purpose, since I will be leaving to go back to Canada shortly. Of course, that too is my choice. I could stay here, but I have no where to go. Doesn’t seem like much of a choice. I don’t feel safe here. And I’m not sure why I feel any differently about being in Canada, but some things reach me at gut-level and I’ve intuited this as being the best course of action.

I am afraid. I am afraid of being alone for the rest of my life. I am afraid that I will amble from one job to the next as a means of paying my bills without deriving any joy or satisfaction out of my daily work. I fear that I will not be able to support myself and Gabriel to a standard that will match what we are leaving behind. I fear that he will also someday abandon me in favor of living with his father. I fear that I will never figure out what it is that I am here to do on this earth, making it all a pointless exercise in futility, like pounding sand. I fear that I will start off this new segment of my life with so much less than I started with, and that I won’t have the strength, ambition or focus to make it back to good. Sometimes I fear I’ve made such a mess of things that it is too far gone to fix; that it’s irreparably damaged.

I have this sense of diminished worth that I carry like a mantle. Who gave this to me, I wonder? Was it intended to protect me during my meandering through life? Did I put it there to protect myself from undue interest; to not have to measure up to anything because I was running under the radar? How can it be that I have not been able to maintain an intimate relationship with another human being? Am I meant to be alone?

I get these inspirational quotes via email. Today’s is “Love is the master key that opens the gates of happiness” attributed to Oliver Wendell Holmes. Some days they inspire me; other days, like today, they merely sound insipid.

Chapbook pages… February

I’ve been working on my February Chapbook pages, deciding to use my visit (and photos) to Canada as creative fodder. I took this photo while sitting on one of the boulders edging Chilliwack Lake. I remember being asked by Alex, with an incredulous timbre in his voice… “You take pictures of rocks?” Yep…

The writing intended to accompany this photo:

On Going Home

It has been long. Not so long that all of the details are obscured, just long enough to be fuzzy, like a long-forgotten humbug pulled from the depths of a coat pocket.

I never imagined that I would ever return, especially to this new part, this lush foresty and mountainous richness so close to where the people live. They live differently here than in California.

There is a common sense woven through their spirits, and a prevalent kindness. Here the dirt from the streets and air is regularly ushered away by the rain. Sometimes it drizzles… sometimes it pelts. It leaves behind a fresh scent, like wind-whipped laundry pulled from the clothes line.

It felt good to be home. Different, but good. Cradled. Like slipping my feet into an old pair of long-forgotten slippers. It provided an odd sense of security, though I will be returning to it with only my belongings and my child. My valuables.

Daily I brush off the fear that starts to surface. The discomfort of change seeping out from my middle. But as the tree drops its leaves and reburgeons when the days grow longer and the nights shorter, and the spring grass pokes out from underbrush, so too does my life inevitably alter. It would serve me well to learn from Nature.

This has been yet another forest fire, leaving me charred. Dry and brittle. Pain-filled and longing.

With richer soul, I anticipate a time of gentle regrowth. Renewal. Hope.

On chapbooks and chapped souls…

Digitally altered photograph
printed on transparency and backed with aluminum tape

I’ve been working on my January chapbook pages the last couple of days. The 21st of January marked yet another anniversary of my birth. I chose to be inspired by Aerosmith’s lyrics for “Dream On”… and then composed a bit of my own schtuff for the journaling portion…

time… my own little stream of all that I am,

it flows throughout this waking dream

like stars clustered, spilling brilliant in the milky way–

things I remember and more I have yet to vision

equally nascent from this vantage point of now–

this moment, teetered on the was and yet to be

shapeless now, like quantum atoms

but for a glance in either direction,

solidifying, shifting to become something

more than nothing… more than nothing.

(c) Adriane Giberson 2009

I stand at a pivotal point in my life. Starting over… new beginnings, or endings… or perhaps both, really… in soul and work and heart and hearth. It seems everything is being bucked up into the air like dirt when the wild boar roots around for truffles. Maybe I’ll find some truffles. Maybe not. I’m ready for anything… everything and nothing. Certainly something. Whatever is in this wake of upheaval, I hope it is gentle with me. I could use a little tenderness.

Some days I am more hopeful than others. Some days just leave me bereft.