IMPERFECT Lady

Emotional Watcher

I watched a person in the throes of anger, not a full- blown rage, but just anger and then the unsettledness that followed.

 

It comes into the room in a burst and gets added steam, runs a short while and then seems to disappear.  Where does anger go to and where did it come from?

 

When I was recanting the situation to my family, a few smirks fell out, an eye caught an eye in a knowing nod.

 

I knew then that they witnessed me in this same ‘fit’.  It was like an ism of me that they understood.  Like a bad irritating habit that they accepted of me. A twitch.

 

The definition of anger is a strong feeling of displeasure or hostility.  And resentment is, indignation or ill will felt as a result of a real or imagined grievance.

 

If we are feeling a strong feeling of displeasure, is that because we feel we should always be in pleasure? Is it possible to be in pleasure all the time, is that reasonable?  Are we angry at the person or ourselves for falling out of pleasure.

 

How is it possible that something outside can steal our inside feelings?  Don’t we own them?  If not, who does?

 

And resentment can be felt as a result of a real or imagined grievance, so it doesn’t even matter if it is real or not, we seem to respond the same.

 

I am very intrigued by all of this?  How feelings come in whether they are real or not, doesn’t seem to matter, we act the same!

How can we know if anger is justified, and is it ever justified or to who is it justified?

 

What triggers it? Is anger an emotion?

 

e·mo·tion

A mental state that arises spontaneously rather than through conscious effort and is often accompanied by physiological changes; a feeling: the emotions of joy, sorrow, reverence, hate, and love.

2. A state of mental agitation or disturbance: spoke unsteadily in a voice that betrayed his emotion

3. The part of the consciousness that involves feeling; sensibility

 

 

A mental state that arises spontaneously, so we don’t have to think emotions, they just seem to arise.

 

Our bodies bring these forth or is it the mind?

 

Are all emotions in each person the same?  If so, how can it be that some respond to them and others do not?

 

Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor, in her book “My Stroke of Insight” said, “I define responsibility (response ability) as the ability to choose how we respond to stimulation coming in through our sensory systems at any moment in time.  Although there are certain limbic system (emotional) programs that can be triggered, surge through our body, and then be completely flushed out of our blood stream. My anger response, for example, is a programmed response that can be set off automatically. Once triggered, the chemical released by my brain surges through my body and I have a physiological experience.  Within 90 seconds from the initial trigger, the chemical component of my anger is completely dissipated from my blood and my automatic response is over.  If, however, I remain angry after those 90 seconds have passed, then it is because I have chosen to let the circuit continue to run.  Moment by moment, I make the choice to either hook into my neurocircuitry or move back into the present moment, allowing that reaction to melt away as fleeting physiology.

 

So now it seems that some of us seem to tag on to the emotions and take the full ride, others see them come and go and not jump on!

 

I wonder why? 

 

“The left brain, according to Dr. Jill, is the story teller, and draws conclusions based upon minimal information.  For the longest time I found these antics of my story teller to be rather comical.  At least until I realized that my left mind full-heartedly expected the rest of my brain to believe the stories it was making up!  Throughout this resurrection of my left mind’s character and skills, it has been extremely important that I retain the understanding that my left brain is doing the best job it can with the information it has to work with.  I need to remember, however, that there are enormous gaps between what I know and what I think I know.  I learned that I need to be very wary of my storyteller’s potential for stirring up drama and trauma.”

 

So then is it possible to watch, be aware of our selves and decide when to hop on or not?

 

Who hops on, the left brain and its storyteller ways?

What if no storyteller lived inside, would we just have the emotion passing like water under the bridge?

 

Who needs anger, what is the use of it?

It seems mostly a defense mechanism.

 

If you had nothing to defend, would you then no longer jump on the anger train!

 

I am going to welcome anger in and see if I can become friends with it!  Maybe then it will not catch me unaware!

 

Emotions must come in and out like thoughts, and our breath.

 

Maybe like our breath they are meant to come and go, and not become ours personally!

 

Let them be the breath of the universe, let them come and go showing you different expressions of life.

 

To be alive is to have emotions!  I can’t imagine being emotionless, but maybe we can allow them to pass and not get so carried away and out of control.  To just stand face to face with an emotion, honoring it.  To welcome it in, and to greet it, but not to own it and place our sense of self on it’s back.

 

Bird watchers do not become birds, they just watch them, I will watch my emotions, be an emotional watcher!

 

 

Looking for my Self!

Hi Blog, 

 

I have been writing about Self, where it is, how to describe it, how we can lose it, improve it, and how our Self leads us on a chase of a lifetime.  What is self?

 

Do you know? Can you tell me?  Where is it located, is there a spot that the Self resides in?  Is it in the brain, the mind, our thoughts, our bodies, our past, our future, the here and the now, where is Self.

 

My Self it seems has disappeared, I have a body, I have a mind, I think thoughts, I move about, I have feelings, I experience both sadness and joy, I am a quilter girl, an artist, but I can’t find Self in those things.

 

What is self?

 

I can become a cooker girl, do wife things, mother things, happy things, move in yoga, but where is Self?

 

If we take Self and let it stand alone like a good piece of Art, what does it look like?  How can you define it, what guidelines does it adhere to, what is its nature?

 

For something that is so indescribable, we sure have spent lifetimes improving it, learning how to become a better Self.

 

What the hell is it?

 

Self, give me the definition you have?

Show me my Self.

Where am I?

Do you all remember the story of the little bird who was searching for her mother.  She had no idea what she was looking for, for she could not see her self.

 

Isn't this the same?

 

I used to say, "I was looking for my Self, I didn't know who I was, or even that I was missing."

 

I still am.

 

I am looking for my self!

One piece missing.

The blogger lady is still blogging, just not posting.  And she loves to post, for it makes it real.

The computers either shut down when I try to post, or just never connect to the internet.  Life is sure interesting.  It is like wanting to drive, having a destination, but no car.  Well there is a car, but no key, or maybe the wheels are missing.  Just one thing will stop the action.

So in blogger land, there is no posting.  Ironically I can type and type and type, just not post.  I am wondering about this all, and have no answer, just am learning patience.  Hopefully next week, the problem will be solved.  Until then, the blog is stuck, silent, but has info of the past.  Even the Photo Editor is stopped, she too doesn't have access.  We are hopeful though. 

I love how we all have information to share, but some just don't have the vehicle.  Some are missing one small vital piece.

When will I post, will this one go?  Who knows, we may see it on the Blog!

The bell rang.

Summer School has begun, classes I am taking and who are my teachers!

It seems that the first course is "Stuff attached to people."

The challege is to be patient and loving while finding places for all this stuff!  The college dorms are emptied and sitting in our truck trying to merge back in. Students are emptied of assignments also trying to merge back into our rules, our home, our world, while maintaining their independence! 

Time also seems to be a class.  Whose time is it, does it matter and to whom?

No wonder each summer I feel somewhat anxious, it is my lesson, my learning, my grade!  Will I pass or fail? 

The teachers will know, they get to judge, will they get what they required?  They get to decide if I am a loving mom, not me?  If our home is welcoming, not me? 

In a way it frees me to just be me, knowing that even though they get to see if I pass or fail, I ultimately decide.

I decide how I will be as they come home.  I decide to see stuff or them. I decide if they feel welcome or rejected.  I am the student  who is willing to learn, to do my best, to pass or die trying.

My lesson this summer, keep love at all costs.  Keep a Home, not a House. See a child not their stuff, see their lives instead of their lives through my eyes.

Lots to see and learn, many many places for me to get this right, again.

The bell has rung, it is time to get to class, happy that I heard the warning bell! 

Put in Place.

On Saturday morning, my Laptop died, and down went the Blog.

It is hard to believe that I have come to love this blog, and feel such a separation. 

I am now talking from our desktop, shaky at best, unreliable, slow, and it has a mind of it's own.  Sometimes  he let's me finish, mostly he doesn't.

I will now be less verbal, and it will be a surprise to both of us if I indeed publish.

Fighting what is, isn't an option.  For now the pace will be slow.  Perhaps I was going to fast.

I laughed out loud in a shocking sorta way, and it took me hours to realize that I still was connected, but I had to use the old friend in the corner.  I had so quickly become attached to a slim portable black new addition.

Graduation, our daughter's, also stepped in, Life has a way of correcting us. This may have overshadowed the way I participated in life itself.

For now, when I get on, when a new post appears, we will all know it was the message that had to be read, if not, it was just one for my head.

Thanks for your kindness, your attention and thoughts and answers, who knew a Blog could be your friend.  And how kind of this friend to remind me, that life, my life is going on, and to live it as well as write it.

Humbly and happily not in control, to Blog or not is not up to me. However it is up to me to remember my life is in real time, now.

This is not a dress rehearsal or a draft for a book,if I am not present, it will all pass me by.

Patience, unknowing, surprise, delight, all live along the pathway, along with many of life's friends, it is never up to us which one will be our guest.

Put in Place by life! 

Law of Reality

A point in time, simply a point!  However there seems to be points of high and low, of sad and joy, of learning and growing, of leaving and going, of undoing and doing.

 

So maybe there are opposite points in time?  Maybe we lull our selves into thinking only high points exists, which then puts us in a false sense of security.

 

Secure about what?  Secure where?  In our minds?  That seems to be the only place security lies?  How is that possible?  Points have homes in our minds and in reality?

 

When a call comes in or someone gives you information, where do you go to see if it is correct?  Mind?  Or do you begin to look backwards for evidence and then look around in this point of time for it to be true?

 

I know this too sounds confusing, but in my world, when I answered the phone and the voice said, “it was grandpa”, I knew that within me the words matched the fear that coursed through my body.

 

No disbelief arose.  It wasn’t like I had a choice.  It just came out of nowhere and landed securely in my knowing.  And immediately took a fast train backwards, making stops that connected images that fit the words. 

 

While speeding backwards gathering more and more evidence it seemed like you are crashing down trestles of long held beliefs, bridges of thoughts, built by emotions…. time seems to move in two directions or more at one time.  You are here and there and over there, all at the same time.

 

The dreams and hopes of futures collide with the fears of unknowing, shame, guilt, horror, sorrow, slammed into a land where past thoughts and beliefs feebly stand.

 

Imagine Feeble thoughts and beliefs, there is no such thing!  We build our lives, our marriages, our kids, our friends, and our days, all are based on feeble thoughts.  Now that seems mental.

 

I had a belief that my Birth family stood firmly behind me. Held me up.

 

As we live our lives, it is fluid, it comes and it goes like the waves on the ocean. Sometimes it comes in bringing treats, sometimes sorrows, sometimes pain, sometimes disbelief, sometimes corrections to long held beliefs. 

 

It seems almost impossible that one wave will come in and all who stand there will be affected differently.  How is that possible?  The wave is the same, the exact same ingredients, yet it will cover each of them differently, affect them differently.  Leaving them either standing taller, or may even take them further out to sea.

 

How does this work?  Is it their pasts, their firm beliefs, fear of unknowing, what makes some come through and what makes others sink.

 

I feel like a wave of Truth washed over me, literally leaving very little of me standing, yet some how once the feeble thoughts were taken out to sea, I stood stronger.

 

The point in time will be forever etched, and I will forever trust, not me, my thoughts, my beliefs, but the wave.

 

Unknowing what the next moment brings, I just immerse my self in the Present, feeling all, seeing all, hearing all.  This is all there is, until the next wave.

 

I meet people and understand, that for some, the ocean tosses them about, tearing up their thoughts and beliefs, and they struggle to control the ocean.

 

I fought it too, with no strength left, I surrendered.

I thought I was drowning, losing all my beliefs, nothing to hold on to.

All that was there was the ocean, the waves, and me.

 

With no fight let, I gave up.

I gave up my thoughts, all my beliefs, my future of old hopes and dreams. 

I thought I would die, instead I new me was born.

 

The Ocean and I, where will we go, what will we do, who can dream the bigger dream?

All I know it is simply impossible to fight reality and win, only but 100% of the time, just as a wise woman told me.

 

"I fought the Law and the Law won", that refrain just came to me.....I will take it as the Law of Reality.

Ride Naked

Who puts Perfect in us?  What makes us Perfect?  Who are the Perfect maker people, where do we find them and how does it work?

And how do we know we need Perfect, how do we know we are missing Perfect? 

 

It seems that all are seeking Perfect?  It seems that it is the prize and I want to know where is the Perfect store, the place where all Perfect is stored, I want to fill up on Perfect, for without it seems we are doomed for failure, failure without Perfect.

 

Perfect, boy for such a nice word, it sure causes a hell of a lot of grief, we lose ourselves for it, we cry for it, we die for it, we kill for it, we lie for it, we steal for it, my God, it seems to be a motive for a life of hell.

 

And I am not swearing just to be dramatic, I literally mean hell, if you are not Perfect you are in hell.  And if you let go of that word, Heaven!

That now seems mental, and upside down and backwards, for all our lives ever since were little, Perfect was what we wanted.

 

Perfect baby, Perfect girl, Perfect mom, Perfect wife, Perfect friend, million and one Perfects!  Until Perfect stands before us, always, and not just sometimes, like we can’t see us for the forest of Perfects.

 

How in the world have we gotten lost behind Perfects?  Lost behind Perfects, so we are there, just that Perfect is standing in the way?

Who put it there? How long has it been standing there?  And why do we want to hide behind Perfects?  Why?

 

We hide ourselves behind Perfect, so Perfect is a mask?

The mask is Perfect? That is the mask? We pretend to be Perfect?

That doesn’t seem right, but true.

 

WE hide behind the Mask of Perfect…so Perfect is not real?

Perfect is not real?  How in the world did we go seeking something that is not real?  Not real?

 

So what is real? If the mask is pretend, fake, untrue, and it’s name is Perfect, than what does that make us behind the mask of Perfect?

Just us.  Just us being ourselves, what is wrong with ourselves?

Who told us we could not be ourselves?

Who wanted us to be different and why?

Where did this all start, what is wrong with being you?

 

Somewhere along the way, we had to hide behind the mask of Perfect, somewhere we had to pretend.  Someone didn’t like us as we were, why?  What happened that they didn’t want to see?

 

It is shocking even as I write this to see that Perfection is a screen to hide behind!  I knew I was ok as an imperfect person, but now I am way way way ok!

 

For now I know that my mask is no longer needed, for I am ok without it.  I stand alone, mask-less and proud. 

 

Our El Camino has a window sticker “Ride Naked” and I loved that saying from the beginning and now I know what it truly means, ride without a mask!  And get this, my license plate says UBEEU, ride naked and you be you….

 

When my parent’s masks fell, so did my world, for I was in love with their perfections, not the person behind.  Imagine I was in love with a mask.  A mask, and I wanted this mask to change, to do this and do that and to love me back.  Oh my Goodness this is good.

 

No wonder I made sense when their mask fell, for I never fit the mask!  My mask. 

 

A mask of Perfection….that will stay with me awhile.

 

Standing here naked and imperfect!

 

 

 

Sisters

Three Sisters, three lives, three dreams, One Source.

Each life has it's own path, unknown to all and maybe even her.

Each life is filled with passions for things she wants to do.

Each life has sorrows, failures and growth.

Each life reaches towards dreams beyond her wildest hopes.

The Source can change from time to time, depending on her lesson.

Sometimes we love the things that hurt and hurt the things we love.

Sometimes we lead and at times we follow, all with a loving heart.

Sometimes we know, sometimes we don't  and times we need each other so.

Sisters come in all shapes and sizes, some related some just feel connected to.

Sisters, there isn't one perfect one, but one that fits our needs.

May us sisters always find each other in our own truth and honesty.

May we heal our wounds and celebrate all the pleasures on the way.

May we always have one right near by just in case of need.

I love the sisters of this world, all the broken, abused, happy, and sad, delighted, at peace, in trouble and at need.  I want you all to know there is no imperfect sister to be found.  A sister always fits with me.

Bucket

 

Hands.  Simple hands. They speak a language of their own.

What makes them tell their story, what makes them do what they do, what powers these hands, makes them move, or lay silently.

Hands.  It seems to me they mean more than a name. 

Hands lift you up when you are small and when tasks seem too big.

Hands can slap you down and away, when all you want is love.

Hands can teach you to survive, or keep you hopeless.

Hands….watch those hands…..feel those hands….listen.

They are speaking a message, what are they telling you.

I held a sleeping hand.  Now that sounds weird, but I did.  It was warm, it was caring, it was pure love.  It lay part curled in total peace, gentle and silent.  It lay there just for me.  I held it and was filled with peace, with gratitude.  I held the hand and tears slipped down knowing.

Knowing what?  What did I know?  It seemed I could read the message of this hand.  I could now read the true message of another.

I could read or could I feel?  What was I feeling?

Feeling? Hands can bring you feeling?  Hands deliver our feelings?

Now that seems weird. 

I always thought we had feelings, like it is a given, like it comes with our hair color and our eyes.  Isn’t it part of the package?  Don’t we all come with a nice assortment of feelings?  Where are they stored and how do they get there?   Are we responsible for our feelings?

Hands without feelings, what would that be like, lifeless, useless, hopeless?

Feelings where do they come from?  Who makes feelings?

Who teaches us feelings?  Is there a class on feelings when we are young?  Who decides our bucket of feelings?  Do we get all kinds?

Do babies come with their bucket full and little by little do they seep out?  Do they seep out or does one kind overflow the others.  Are little children responsible for what they carry in their bucket of feelings, or is it possible that is our job as parents?  Little hands with a big bucket full of feelings. 

Inside my bucket was overflowing with feelings, murky, dark, swirling, sad, scary, frightening, too little, heavy, to much out of control, vulnerable children, keeping safe too many, no one is watching, all alone, no one to tell, no one to listen, I am responsible for too many, not my children, can’t stop the flow, twisting and pulling, falling, I can’t keep holding this bucket, it is far to big for me….or is the bucket too small.

One day the bucket crashed to the ground and all my feelings fell out.

All. They lay on the ground, messy.  And I lay on the ground. Empty.

Sad. No love was in my bucket.  Loveless, hopeless, lost. I had carried that bucket for nothing. I had dragged it around for naught.

Me. A Bucket. Both Empty.

Empty, I reached for a hand. 

In it I felt something.

I held that hand. 

That hand carried me, accepted me, loved me, cared for me and waited.

With patience, It knew I would find my own way.  It knew I had it in me, long before I knew. 

I held the hand of God.

 

Reality

Names.  What does a name mean?  You call someone by their name, or even by their title.  What does that mean?  What does that really tell you about a person, and what does it cover up?

A name covers things up? That seems weird?  Can you hide behind a name?  Can you use it as a mask?  What does a Mask cover?  How do you know there is a mask, can you ask, can you peek, will they tell you? Do other adults warn you?

In the Native American way, they name people, such as Run Fast.

And you could pretty much know what that person was Know for.  They don’t have names like Slow Walker for someone who runs fast.  And I wonder if they ever name the baby wrong and have a new renaming ceremony.

When my son was little, he and his cousin seen a huge man trying to wiggle into a booth at Burger King….and they both were amazed and said “do you think he will fit?” of course in a voice that carried far and wide!  As a mom, my first instinct is to protect the Man and tell the boys, you don’t say that, and in fact I did. I also remember these big brown eyes look at me and say plainly, Why?  It seemed goofy to them?

Think of how we go around and label things correctly for them.

A tree.  The sun. A house.  The easy and plain things, but get us into an area we feel uncomfortable in….and we start to disguise, twist, sortakinda name it.  Hoping that they will not discover our lies.

Now bring this into abuse? 

What I would like to see is the opposite happening and teach all children to be ok with proper naming of actions….sorta like the Native Americans.  Or see all adults being true.

Maybe in one day a person gets many names.

In the past four years, I began noticing I no longer called or seen myself as just one role, mom.

I would say “cooker girl”…when cooking.

I called myself by what I was doing, not who I was.

It sounded almost childlike, but I couldn’t stop myself.

If you go to www.messyguru.typepad.com you can see what I mean.

However, I will warn you right now, this is a dialogue between an abused boy and what he calls his editor.

The editor is the one who refused to see what is, now and back then.

Maybe you could also call him, Mr. Denial.

It is with the greatest respect that I enter his site. 

He and I are very much the opposites. While he remembered everything, my mind forgot it all. 

I was literally blasted into reality with a mind full of wrong information.  It seemed a Mental Lady in reality for so much I had wrong.

Abuse lives in the mind.

The body holds the truth, but the mind controls our lives.

An abused mind is the hardest thing to make right.

I had said, “It is literally like being lost, trying to find yourself and you don’t even know your missing, or what in the Hell you look like. “   Where do you begin?

The courage it takes to willingly go into a mental mind and sort things out, is an adventure I wouldn’t wish on a soul. 

The greatest tool an abused person has is REALITY, Period.

Without reality we are lost forever.

We must go back to the seed of the abuse to see where we got it wrong and speak to denial to get it right, to argue to challenge to use our grownup big words this time.  For when the initial abuse happened, you can be sure we were left alone in our minds without adult supervision.

Reality what a Blessed place to be!

Reality or Denial, Pick one.