It's Personal but No Longer Private

Something has come over me.  Something I didn't see coming. 

Congress is talking about defunding Planned Parenthood.  I've never been inside a Planned Parenthood office or clinic and yet I am a staunch supporter of PP in large measure because of something I have rarely discussed.  I've had an abortion, and for the first time in my life I feel compelled to say so out loud and in public.

I'm almost 70 years old so it is within my lifetime that abortion and the pill became legal realities, miracles for women everywhere.  I never dreamed that, once achieved, anyone would want those miracles to disappear as though those gains had never happened. 

I am tempted to explain the circumstances in which I found myself to justify my decision to terminate a confirmed pregnancy, but to do so would merely feed the notion that my reasons are better than her reasons.  The truth is that the circumstances are none of your business; they are my business. I have had an abortion, and I have never once regretted it.  It was very likely one of the most pro-life decisions I've ever made.

I am not speaking up because I believe by doing so I can change minds.  I do suspect, however,  that if more of us who have had abortions, if thousands of us, millions of us, simply said so it might change the conversation.  The gay rights movement gained acceptance more rapidly than anyone foresaw once normal, healthy intelligent people decided to come out of hiding in droves.  They are our neighbors, our relatives, our co-workers, our co-worshipers, as are women who have chosen abortion.  All of you know women who have had an abortion whether you are aware of it or not.

For those of us who made the decision to terminate a pregnancy this is not a hypothetical or theoretical discussion.  It is personal and real.  When I was confronted with the responsibility of deciding what I should do, the last thing I needed was for a senator, congressman, or presidential contender to advise me.  

I cannot express adequately how grateful I was and still am that I could discuss my options with my personal physician, choose a course of action, walk into a reputable hospital with no one picketing or yelling at me, end a pregnancy and resume my life.

In all the swirling debate folks are talking about me, and women like me. It's personal, not political.

Going Forward

When it dawns on me that you are other
That you do not see what I see nor hear what I hear
That in fact you see where I opt to be blind
And are comforted by sounds I find discordant
I pause and inwardly flinch
Hoping you do not discern my retreat.

If I could change our national discourse
The only ingredient I would add, perhaps, is respect.
I could then more easily recognize that 
In order to move forward
I must allow for some portion, but not all, of your reality 
Into my future so that you might relax.

The last thing I want is for you to live each day
Afraid of me, afraid of my worldview, 
Afraid that I will force you, drag you kicking and screaming
To live with what you cannot accept
So that you arm yourself the next time you see me coming.

Throw Back Thursday

Oh lordy lordy.  Cleaning out my closet, opened a box, opened a spiral notebook and read this.  I wrote this in January, 1994.  Glad I found it--saves me the time it would take to write it today. My comments today are in  red.

"It seems I am plagued by deep seated self-doubt.  Constantly asking what am I doing wrong.  I see this morning what a useless question that is once one has accepted and invited the reality of God into one's conscious awareness."  This makes it obvious that some revelations can be easily forgotten.

"It is not that I or any student of God can do no wrong, but that that is the 'wrong' place to look.  Following that train of thought leads to despair, anger, and frustration."  Yesterday in a crying frenzy I pleaded with John, 'what am I doing wrong?' You could say I was in despair.

"One need be willing to see and acknowledge one's mistakes, but not go looking for them.  With Spirit as our guide, our mistakes will be revealed to us clearly.  We are relieved of the constant questioning of 'is it this?' or 'is it that?'.  My experience is those questions go unanswered.  Wish I had thought of that.

"It comes back, always, to trust.  Even when our lives seem to be out of balance or disharmonious, looking for where and how we are screwing up is non-productive.  Being willing to be shown is another matter."  Huh.

"It is the difference between the agony of proclaiming I can't find the way--I'm lost--and the assurance of no matter the circumstance avowing that I can not be lost because once I have been found I am found forever."  How in God's name could I have been wiser 20 years ago than I am today?!

Knitting 2014

I knit
Hours and hours I sit knitting
Almost compelled to sit, and knit.

I drive far and wide seeking yarns,
Colors and textures, wools and silks and cottons,
Thin yarn, fat yarn and all in between.
I stash the yarn, hoard the yarns
In my grandmother's cedar chest.

I take pride in the finished piece, briefly
Before moving on to the next, starting anew
Casting on with new yarn, a new color, a new pattern.
The finished project matters little compared to a 
New beginning.

My need is not to pile up knitted pieces, but
To knit with the deep and secret desire that
I too am being knitted,
With the prayer that if I diligently sit and knit
It will knit me, fashion me, adding colors and textures.

My longing is not to become a finished piece,
Rather I fervently hope that my, our, Knitter 
Will not give up on me, as I have often done, 
Leaving me half knitted, still on the needles 
In a basket gathering dust.


An aside:
I have never knitted anything that did not contain flaws, mistakes, imperfections.  I have yet to knit a perfect piece.  Sometimes the flaw is so glaring that to continue on without going back and repairing it  would be too disheartening, and so the tedious task of backtracking and reworking becomes the work.  Other times the mistake, in context of the entire piece, is minimal and not worth ripping out and starting over...I continue on, leaving the flaw in place, or patched.  

Likewise, the Knitter has on occasion taking me apart and started over, but usually She says learn from this mistake and carry on.

An 80th birthday poem

Not long ago I was asked to write a poem for a woman's 80th birthday.  I like it.

What have I done?

Where have I been?

Who have I known?

Who did I become?

You likely don’t remember your beginning, and

If you do you can assume your memory is not accurate.

None of it.  Your memory of the events in your life

Leaves gaping holes and embellishes with manufactured experiences

That never took place.  Memory is the most fallible aspect of life.

Without trusting memory how can you possibly embrace these questions

As if they matter, which is questionable in and of itself.

Tuning into your innermost heartsong is far more trustworthy

Than scanning the pages of a scrapbook.

Today, who do you know yourself to be?

You know, not by listing your many accomplishments for

You are wise enough to accept that for every accomplishment

Is a stone unturned, someone neglected, a lie told, a grudge held.

You will only truly know who you are today by listening

To your inner song, its resonance, its harmony, its honesty.

On this, your 80^th birthday, you will be celebrated, feted, honored and extolled,

But you, and only you, can hear the inner chords from Life’s Heart,

The resonant hum that whispers Lillian, Lillian, Lillian.

That song will remain with you until the end.

It will continue to uplift and reassure, console you and release you,

Draw others to you, frighten some away.

It is your song, your composition, your unique melody

That you have been orchestrating your entire life,

Your indestructible song, your signature symphony,

Now 80 years in the making.

Nothing, no one is more reliable, more dependable than

The unique, magnificent and now ancient song in your heart.

Born to Perform

I was born to perform

An audience completes me, yet

All these years I felt ashamed of that need.

In order to know myself,

In order to recognize you,

I must express and observe your response.

Without your feedback I live in a vacuum,

A cave where I lose myself and lose sight of you.

I marveled at people who could unabashedly admit

They felt most authentic “on stage.”  

I could not say that out loud.

I set it aside, put performing behind me,

Fifty years ago.

I moved to a small town

Where no one knows me and found

A small community theater.

What the hell?

Each night I show up for rehearsal where

I am becoming a clown.

One of the young children in the cast

Approached me and asked, “are you a clown?”

“Yes,” I replied, and she asked

“With gray hair?”

The oldest member of the cast by at least 30 years

I am showing up, 

Remembering how to be a clown,

Bowing to the cliche “it is never too late,”

I memorize my few lines,

Finding myself, and hopefully, rediscovering you.

Elections

Disengaging from this or that, right or wrong, smart or stupid,

Informed or ignorant, progressive or backward.

Losing interest.

I hear the stakes are high and yet remain unmoved,

Doubting.

Voting Democratic in today’s world is, for me, a no-brainer,

Yet the will to persuade another is lacking.

Passivity? Apathy? Laziness?

Perhaps.

I see people passionately persuading,

Passionately defending

Passionately accusing

I cringe, and envy their passion.

What is more troubling to me is

Why do I not have one black friend?

Why won’t I offer our rental property in Section 8?

Why do I check out the drivel on Facebook multiple times a day?

I find myself more concerned with

Extending or withholding, engaging or ignoring, expressing or containing,

Seeking or hiding.

That’s what I feel like saying.

World Events

Pondering why Anne Lamott can say what I'm thinking better than I can think it
As I sit here safely in the heart of 4 tranquil acres.
Willing myself to not succumb to despair or futility or cynicism.
We spiritual types eschew cynicism like the plague, even when a plague is plaguing Africa.
Drawn to and repelled by Facebook, Jon Stewart, Diane Rehm, The Huffington Post,
Resistant to daily practice or reading yet another spiritual picker upper
While exploring Robin Williams's eyes in all the photos of his precious life.

Here I sit in Paris, Tx half-heartedly registering folks to vote in the November elections
Thinking to myself this is not the playing field where real change can happen.

Remembering the refrain of the hippie-dippie Harmonic Convergence of yesteryear,
It's gonna get worse before it gets better.  

Overwhelmed by peering and staring at world events, out there,
I can only, reluctantly, turn within even while that voice whispers cop-out.

From within I type these words, eyes closed
Seeking that harmonious touchstone, landing one foot on home base,
Where baptism without water stands a chance of refreshing me
So that I can meet you eye to eye with gratitude and compassion.

Hobby Lobby etc

I am disturbed by the recent SCOTUS "Hobby Lobby" decision, but I will not be boycotting Hobby Lobby.  Though I think HL's beliefs on contraception and abortion are very misguided and erroneous, I respect their right to hold those beliefs.  I know that every one of us acts based upon our beliefs.  That HL took their beliefs to court, awaited a decision, and got what they wanted does not upset me.  They, and I and you, have every right to do that very thing.

What profoundly disturbs me is the direction the current Supreme Court is taking us as a nation. What profoundly disturbs me is the growing popular opinion of what "Christianity" means, of what "Christians" believe.  I am not angry at Hobby Lobby; I am disheartened that so many Americans celebrate the "Hobby Lobby" worldview.  I am chagrined that so many of our elected public servants pander to this worldview.

Boycotting Hobby Lobby hurts their employees even more than their refusal to pay for morning after pills and IUD's.  If you need to boycott, and I do, boycott today's Republican party...vote Democratic this fall.  VOTE!

I long to reinvent my life,

Not so much start over, God forbid, but

Transition from this to that.

She is weary and ready to let go,

Not so much from fatigue, but

From a sense of completion.

Truth is, she no longer sees the point.

It’s a good thing, really.

The challenge is that

She who is emerging is

Hovering in a cloud, a phantom.

I’ve seen her do this before, but

She seems to have forgotten how it goes.

The caterpillar is dissolving, and the

Butterfly is not as yet fully formed.

She is squirming.

The way it is...for today

There is a thin boundary
Where once there was a thick wall
Between She who knows and
She who questions.
I love them both.

She who questions is skeptical of
She who knows.
She who knows
Embraces she who questions.

Anew

Everyday something or someone changes, and yet
So many days feel just like yesterday.
The sun rises, the sun sets, and truthfully
Nothing is the same today as it was yesterday,
Especially me, especially you.

Did I miss something?
Do I take for granted the evolution of consciousness?
Is it true that some people are really, truly stuck?
Not likely.

If you arose this morning
You are different today than you were yesterday.
Can't help it, but
You can bury it, forget it, deny it, ignore it.

Life is always "anewing."
Even mine, even yours.

Within

Let me live from within
Rather than taking cues from without.
Now that I know Within is...
Without a Within
The only landmarks are without.
Once Within reveals itself,
Once we learn to pick up the signals,
Once we find the patience to listen
The cues from without no longer seem so very trustworthy,
While the nudges from Within ring so very true.

I can't disown you...

I breathe in, I breathe out
You breathe in, you breathe out
Until it stops, once and for all.
I breathe in thoughts; I breathe out thoughts,
I express; I am impacted by your expression.
The air I breathe out, you breathe in,
Giving and receiving, offering and taking.
We cannot walk into a cafe without taking with us
The essence of those who sat at tables near us.
You are not only not different from me
You are part of me.  
True, no matter your race, religion, politics or nationality.
You breathe me; I breathe you...
To pretend otherwise is ludicrous.

Life

Popped a strawberry into my mouth that was still on the plant 10 minutes ago.
Walked 2 miles with an aching foot
Kissed my husband this morning because yesterday I didn't like him so much
Applied Rogaine to the top of my head
Gazed at our new goldfish, swimming, swimming
Plucked the latest dead goldfish from the pond
Had dinner with folks who run really deep
Weighed myself this morning
Reminded myself of my (our) God connection
Got a fun text from my daughter
Watched my son look for hidden strawberries

All this since 5:00 yesterday afternoon.

Life is like that.

Hello

I've been away for a while...not so much physically, more mentally.  I've also been away physically, which is unusual.  I've had much to ponder and little to say.  Recovering from my latest and perhaps last foray into "church" has been tougher than I anticipated.  Maybe I'm beginning to snap out of it; maybe not.

Here are some random thoughts, as yet undeveloped.

I was raised on propriety.  We drank and ate propriety in my home.  I adapted pretty easily to proper dress, proper table manners, proper language, etc.  The real struggle has been and continues to be proper diplomacy.  I tend to say the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong people, making my mother (yes, even from the grave) cringe.  Not much improvement over the years.

I am so very weary of the Bible.  Not so much what it says but how it is used.  I just do not understand why every profound thought, every revelation, every inspiration some folks have must be authenticated with a Bible verse.  These thoughts, revelations and inspirations are gifts, freely given and authentic for the person who receives them.  They stand on their own, and when shared other folks can take them or leave them.

Life is simply amazing, confounding, and awesome.  I want more.  I'm not asking for added years, though that would be nice, but additional depth, breadth and wisdom.

Choices

When a long cherished belief proves through our own personal experience to be false we have two options:

1.  Cling desperately to the belief despite all evidence to the contrary, or

2.  Let go of the belief with immense gratitude that we have been proven wrong once again.

Option 1 is not only heartbreaking and deadly for the one clinging, but incredibly frustrating for the people who love the clinger.

Option 2 can be initially quite painful, but oh so freeing and life expanding in the end.  Each time we opt for Option 2, we pave the way for a larger and larger world with much more reliable vision.

It's me

You wake up one morning and nothing is the same.
You know nothing can stay the same.
The time has come.

In days past I'd look around trying to decide
Who or what needed changing.
Those days are long gone.
It's me.

A new hairdo won't do it,
Nor a new wardrobe,
Nor a trip or vacation.
Probably don't even need to read a new book, or
Find a new teacher.
Just accept that it's me.

Something is rearranging within,
Beyond my sight, in the background, and
I am unsettled, disturbed, lost.
I feel it shifting, whatever "it" is,
I so want to orchestrate this.

To those watching
It looks like anger perhaps, or
Depression or lethargy or even self-loathing.
More likely it is my awkward attempts at
Remaining present, not flinching,
Eschewing distractions.
Hard work.

Space

A member of my book club challenged each of us to write a "This I Believe" essay for our December meeting, and several of us actually did it!  We had wonderful essays on the value of traveling to open the mind, of diversity in small towns, public education, and even the value of book club friends.  And, I wrote about my faith in space...

I believe in space…not so much in outer space as in space closer to home.  I believe in room, enough room to move around, stretch out, growing room. Adherents of space are both anti-clutter and anti-confinement. 

I believe every home should have a few empty cabinets, an empty drawer or two standing ready for whatever may come.  Closets stuffed to the gill bring on depression that is alleviated only by a purge.  Goodwill exists for the likes of me.

My deep faith in space makes it difficult to tolerate crowds, crawl through tunnels, work in a cubicle, share a double bed, or submit to an MRI.  Whenever possible, I will always choose the most spacious stall in any public restroom.  My worst nightmare involves anything hinting at being trapped.

I believe not only in physical space but also mental space.  Who doesn’t find delight in a spacious mind?  How does anyone function effectively in this confusing and confounding world without access to open spaces in their mind? I must fairly consistently step out of my beliefs, opinions, attitudes and perspectives in order to breathe, not to mention learn anything new and refreshing.

I believe in spiritual space, wide-open spiritual space.  Perhaps my space craving is rooted in an intense desire for expansion.  I like to wake up each day knowing there is room for more…not more stuff, god forbid, but for more awareness, consciousness, acceptance and yes, even love.

Confinement and clutter shut me down.  Nothing feels better than breaking free of a cocoon, an outdated restrictive belief, a prison of my own making, a dogma that has kept me in chains.  I run from orthodoxy as if it were the pox.

The older I get, the more space I crave.  Space, being tantamount to freedom, leaves Life’s door wide open.  No boundaries.

Cocooning

Scores of churches have embarked upon Advent in preparation for Christmas.  Celebration is in the air.  Lights and music and glitter pop up everywhere.  I, on the other hand, hunker down.

What calls to me this time every year is solitude and contemplation in preparation for New Year’s Day.  Every year, following Thanksgiving, I find myself drawing within, shutting down, and spinning a protective cocoon.  Winter weather is a great facilitator for curling up and hibernating. I have work to do, deep inner work.

Introspection, reflection, observing and watching, waiting and standing back all seem the most appropriate and helpful response to year’s end.  Speaking for myself, Christmas is more a distraction that must be endured.  I do as little for Christmas as I can get away with.   The week between Christmas and New Years is both deliciously somber and sacred. 

I never go out on New Years’ Eve.  It is the night before everything starts over, new chapters are begun, fresh calendars fill with blank pages; everything is wide open.  It has little to do with religion, and everything to do with spaciousness, hope and faith.  I want to be ready.