musings of an aquarian age counterculturist


Shut Up and Hold My Hand

This weekend has been all about “spring” cleaning.  De-cluttering.  Unloading.  Refreshing.

Packing up “stuff” that had existed in purgatory awaiting tomorrow to begin.  Sifting through memorabilia undeserving of remembrance.  Sorting through representations of dreams that will never be realized.  Grieving the death of a future pre-empted of an opportunity to unfold in its full potential.

In this moment, I am reminded of the time I spent helping my mother decide what to keep and what to give away after my father died in a car accident.  Then and now, there is no escaping the painful reality of separation and loss, particularly when an ending is bomb-dropped in a brutal and unexpected way.  I had to be strong then.  I am determined to be strong now.

So here I am.  Spring cleaning a life that I never for one moment thought would need a “clean sweep”.  Isn’t that always the way?

There are a million things that could be said.  So much wisdom available.  I appreciate the kindness and support more than I can fully articulate here.

But please.  Just for today:  shut up and hold my hand.


Safe? Screw that.

“Safety” defined:  free from hurt, injury, danger or risk.

In my own experience this translates to:  free from discomfort, uncertainty, fear.

Probably not coincidentally, here I am moving through emotional pain, overall discomfort, general uncertainty, paralyzing fear.

Yet unexpected moments of pure pleasure showed up today.  I laughed.  I felt optimistic.  I experienced hope.

The beauty of overcoming fear long enough to recognize the abundance of magic right here and now is the miracle of being fully present in the moment.

Does that mean I feel any “safer” as a result of this newly evolving consciousness?  Nope.   Safe?  Screw that!

In this moment I am hopeful and I am grateful.  That, all on its own, is an incredible gift.

Safe Screw That

Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

Here’s the thing.  My  heart is a little (okay, a lot) broken.  In this moment I am lost.  And I miss you.  I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if you were still here right now.  If not to talk to, then to sense the protective silent superpowers of Dad Strength nearby during a challenging time.

On March 29 you would have been celebrating 70 years of life; but at 51, you were called away.

If you were here now, what would you say? Would you be proud? Or would you simply be silent and strong, willing the same in me?

I”ll never know for certain.  I wonder all the same.


Photo credit: eleventhbeatnik

Pain and Presence

It occurs to me how easy it is to fall out of touch with what it means to live in the present moment.  So many of us get caught up reviewing events of the past, or planning for the future, that we tune out of what is happening in the world around us now.  Wherever we are at this time.

It also occurs to me how difficult it is to pull ourselves back into the present moment when we are focusing on the past or anticipating the future.  With thoughts constantly weaving aimlessly between worlds beyond the here and now, the present becomes nothing more than a holding pattern.  A place to bide time while we are remembering what has gone before and dreaming about what is yet to come. We stop noticing what is happening directly before our eyes.  We stop receiving subtle messages. Intuition goes to sleep. Quieter joys and softer sorrows become irrelevant when they come knocking at the door. We are simply not at home to answer and so we miss the sweetness of opportunity to breathe in their lessons. In essence, our body mechanics are working, but we are not experiencing the grace of feeling truly alive with every part of our being.

What then does it take to bring us back into the present — that place we are meant to live, but struggle to stay?

In a word:  pain.  Nothing delivers us back to the present like pain, whether that pain be emotional or physical.

Illness.  Receiving grief-inducing news.  Loss.  Shock.  Betrayal.  A broken heart.

The emotions bubble to the surface and force us to face everything we are feeling in a horrible, wretched burst of overwhelming pain.  We can no longer ignore what is right before us.

And then, something beautiful happens, if we allow it.  After acknowledging pain, we begin to be present in the moment because the future is too far away and the past is too close behind.

Friends that we always had, forgot we had, or are meeting for the first time start showing up in our lives to stand right there beside us.

We ask for guidance and it arrives.

Love surrounds us.  We breathe it in.  We heal.

Love surrounds me.  I breathe it in.  I heal.

Pain brings presence.