"ignore the story. see the soul. remember to love. you will never regret it" --- Seane Corn

"ignore the story. see the soul. remember to love. you will never regret it" --- Seane Corn
it's a jungle out there

Saturday, March 26, 2011

awareness and a promise

So if a tree falls in the forest and there is no one present to hear it, does it make a sound?

And are things in the world extraordinarily astoundingly sucky?
Or are we just more aware thanks to Bill Gates and the cable guy.

And if my fat cat pukes and I don't know till I step in it and there's cat vomit between my toes goddammit,
was the puke there before I put my foot in it?

I don't know. Ask the fuckin tree that fell down.

Mia has been in a particularly torturous place of pain for a few months now.
Getting info out of her is like pulling teeth.
But Linda the Good Witch is really good with Mia's teeth. It's remarkable.
And damn, Sisters, those teeth are the huge stubborn deep rooted Nichols teeth we all have.

I/She/We sob when those damn teeth get pulled.
And the space left gives us more room and less ache.
I think.

This week, when Linda is able to coax a little or big bit out of Mia, and something about it just does not sit right with me,
I'm able to get down to the dirty bottom line of it all.

sometimes i wanna be dead

When my baby girl, who's been having such a hard time
no one understands me I'm invisible no one can see me somethings wrong with me
fesses up that she wants to die
wish i were dead think about hanging suicide
and in the aftermath I'm walking around with my heart in a steel vice unable to take a full breath,
is she in a worse place today than she was yesterday?

When a little girl is so sad she wants to die, and no one hears her, does she still want to die?

And when someone finally hears, and though it devastates a torpedo through my heart those who hear,
does it alleviate any of the little girl's pain and sadness?
At all?

Does my knowledge have any bearing on her pain?

Does my awareness have any bearing on her pain?

Does my pain have any bearing on her pain?

No. It does not.

She promised us she would tell me if when she has those thoughts again.
So I can help her.

That was Thursday night. She fell aleep on the way home. She is safe.
She woke up Friday morning and was ok. No different from recent mornings.
Maybe more quiet. Maybe more calm.

I walked around work all day yesterday with a huge deep wide hole in my chest
o honey if i could take away your pain if i could carry it for you i would.

She says it doesn't matter that we know. She doesn't feel any better.
But she won't hurt herself.
She promised.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Sunday Homily from the Beacon Satellite Chapel of the Church of the Batshit Crazy

So I was all about the blah blah blah of the meaning of life and reading the Bhagavad Gita and Conversations with God
and my experience last weekend of Revival at the Abyssinian Baptist Church on Friday and kirtan with Krishna Das on Saturday.

Then on Thursday, Yogini Shannon reminded me of Ruth Stout.

I first read about Ruth and her mulching ways in Mother Earth News a few years ago.
At that time in my life, her easy laborless form of gardening struck me as snake oil being peddled out of the back of a truck.
In and amongst reading about Rudolf Steiner and biodynamic gardening according to the moons phases
and Bill Mollison and permaculture I thought, like everything else in life,
if it's not torture and exhausting and complicated and completely unattainable
well, it just must not be worth it.

I think I know better now

it's totally worth the 20 minutes to watch her in action

I wanna be this lady when I grow up.
Or better yet, be her now.

Ruth Stout
How fuckin awesome is she?


Saturday, March 12, 2011

Thank you Laura

I've been in a weird place lately. A little fractured. A little lost.
A lot distracted.
Uncentered. Untethered.
A lot of wine. but not a lot of whine.
I got sick of feeling out of whack and told my self I was gonna write goddammit.
I was gonna write to figure out what the fuck is my problem?
To figure out where the fuck did I go?
What the fuck am I doing?

So I started writing this on my Crackberry Thursday during my 4 hour adventure in the Land of Orthopedics getting Jack's broken finger fixed.
Lucky for me I Am Who I Am i only pull strings and drop names in an emergency otherwise it would have taken 8 hours or 2 days.
OrthoLand was immediately followed by 2 hours in Mental Health Land with Mia's awesome therapist who's a goddam Glinda the Good Witch.
Then speeding back home through torrential downpours and high winds in the dark where the fuck are those Ruby Slippers
to catch the last 7 minutes of the kids' Open House.

There was a bit of red wine later in the evening.

See? This is all over the place. Just like me lately. I'm all over the place.


So. A few Christmases ago Sister Adrienne made t-shirts for everyone in our family.
We each received a black tee with our name in white block letters on the chest.
All 16 of us were a bit confused and made typical jokes about in case we get lost or in case we forget our names.
The shirts were for our Daddy. To help him remember.
He was at the stage where he remembered his children
some of the time
but not all his grandchildren most of the time.
We would all descend on the house with our kids and significant others and he'd be completely overwhelmed.
He kinda knew the older grandkids but was confused by all the little ones.
Sometimes he forgot our spouses. Sometimes he forgot us.
Our mom said that he lamented that we didn't visit regardless of the frequency of our get togethers.
She would pull out pictures and point us out.
And our Daddy's frustration at seeing the photos and not remembering the visits would leave him in tears.
So Sister Adrienne made us all tshirts so we could take pictures of our nuclear families, groups of grandkids, siblings etc.
Orientation pictures. To reorient him. So he could remember. And not feel lost without us.
I don't think we ever got around to taking all the pictures.
Maybe we did and I just don't remember.
It was a really good idea, though.

The anniversary of our Daddy's birth and the anniversary of his death passed this week.
I came across my black t with MICHELLE in white block letters and I've been wearing it.
Like I said, I've felt a little lost and untethered and uncentered lately.
I wore the t shirt to try and remember Who I Am.

But how can I remember something that maybe I didn't forget cause maybe I never knew it in the first place?
Did I ever know it?
I don't remember.

Ok. So it's not that bad. But you know how it is.
Our identity is attached to our roles.
Mother sister partner health care provider yogini blogger artist.
That's easy.
It's all real and important and defining but who am I without the labels?
Am I without the labels?

That's the part I can't remember.
I know blah blah blah we are not what we do.
What we do does not define us.
I know a lot of you all struggle with the same thing.
We all struggle with Who We Are... Who Are We?

So who am I if I'm not all that stuff that's listable in the About Me section of my sidebar?

Oh. Right. There IS no About Me section in my sidebar.

Without the roles am I just a bunch of wants and desires?
Am I a bunch of thoughts and beliefs?
Am I a bunch of degrading connective tissue and shifting hormones and weird body hair?

Am I just a bunch of memories?
For however long they remain intact in my swiss cheese brain?

So who am I when I'm not being my labels?
Don't worry.
I'm not questioning my inherent self worth or beating myself up or anything like that.
I'm just trying to figure it out.


That's where I got stuck writing.
You know when you just wanna tell yourself to shut the fuck up?
That's where I was on Thursday jaysus michelle shut the fuck up...
Then yesterday Laura wrote this. And she helped me remember....

It's not about what we do. It's about how we do it.
And by that I don't mean being perfect. Or being the best. Or being enviable.
I remembered Angel Gail saying to me a gazillion years ago
that's what you are michelle. you are love. that's what you bring to this world.

All the labels and all the roles are opportunities to bring love to this fucked up place.
If we can allow ourselves to see past the bullshit, our roles can give us the opportunity to be conduits of love.
A Sears Repair Man once said to me if you want to save the world, it's by one act of kindness at a time.
It's not important how it looks on the outside. It can't be compared or measured.
It can be quiet. It can be private.
It can be touching one person's heart and lifting their sadness or fear or loneliness.
Each moment we bring love, no matter how brief, is gigantic.
It's enormous.
It's miraculous and healing.

We can all do it.
Yes we can.

I did know. I just got sidetracked and forgot.
Thank you Laura, for helping me remember.

Friday, March 11, 2011

still here...

Still here. Not going dark. No way.

Life is just super busy with a lot of Unbloggable and a lot of... Life.

It's all ok. We're all ok.

But Life is taking all my time and if I were a writer I might say I'm having writer's block.

I guess I'm having blogger's block. I haven't even visited you all. I miss you.

I've always been terrible at sending Thank-You cards.
Like I just don't do it.

An enormous and embarrassingly belated Thank You to all you Fierce Warrior Women
who sent so much love and support after my last post.
And thank you for leaving Mia so much bloggy love as well. It filled some of her loneliness.

You are all miracles. You are all angels.
And I am so grateful for my connection to every single one of you.

I'll be back soon

Your fairy is called Columbine Icedancer
She is a bone chilling bringer of justice for the vulnerable.
She lives in mushroom fields and quiet meadows.
She is only seen when the bees swarm and the crickets chirrup.
She wears lilac and purple like columbine flowers. She has icy blue butterfly wings.