Tag Archives: connection

How To Avoid Suicide

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It feels too hard,
and I don’t want to try any more.
I want to quit, to give up,
to run away,
shut the world out,
shut down,
close my eyes
and never wake up.
********
Breathe.
BREATHE.
BREATHE NOW.
********
Call a friend.
Let them listen.
Cry.
Cry more.
Cry even more.
Thank your friend for listening.
Let your friend pray for you.
Cry while she prays.
Cry when she stops praying.
Thank your friend for her prayers.
*********
Now. Make lunch.
A picnic lunch.
Pack it up.
*********
Now take your kids and go outside.
Meet up with a young woman
who has gone through similar struggles.
Listen.
Hear her.
Listen more.
See that you struggled
so that you could understand her,
see her,
help her.
HELP HER.
*********
Get out of your head
and into your heart.
Think about someone else.
Realize your struggles weren’t in vain,
because you can help someone
move through theirs
with more grace and ease.
**********
Drive back home.
Take a shower.
Make dinner.
Read your kids a bedtime story.
Write in your gratitude journal.
Go to bed.
There, you did it.
You made it through another day.
**********
NOW,
REST.

Grace, Magic, Life

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Feeling grateful for unexpected grace,
the way the light shines just so
as the sun begins to set,
the way my son dances as he eats
and the way my daughter
sees everything as alive.
This evening I was filled
with the light and the kindness
of beloveds in a virtual meditation circle;
The miracle of technology unfolds,
and here we are instantly connected—
women from all over:
California, Canada,
New Mexico, New Jersey,
Colorado, Maryland, Australia…
Just like that we see one another’s faces,
we hear one another’s laughter,
we get to share this one vibrant moment
of existence on planet Earth.
When I get out of my head
and drop into my heart,
the problems set on the stage
of linear time and linear mind
just disappear,
and I’m left with the wonder and awe
and innocence of a child.
Thank you, Sweet Spirit,
for this moment of grace.
Thank you, Sweet Spirit,
for the magic of life.

Deep Loneliness is Our Offering

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There is a deep loneliness in me

and I can remember it being there since

fourth grade at least,

this feeling of being alone

no matter how many people are around,

of being invisible, unseen

even when others say my name,

address me.

This loneliness eats away at me…

something about being different, unworthy…

and I want to answer it.

I want to say,

But see? I have students who listen to me.

But my students always go home,

and eventually I find myself alone again.

For a few years marriage and motherhood

precluded the possibility of being truly alone,

but since he left me, I find myself

without my children half of the time,

and that’s when I feel most lonely.

Yes, yes, yes you self-helpers out there,

I know I need to be a friend to myself,

love myself, court myself,

make love to myself, welcome myself,

YES YES YES I know all this already.

No use reminding me.

The fact that I can know

and not implement this knowing

makes me even more lonely.

What will help me?

Even in the darkest moments

of loneliness and isolation

one thing I know…

I am not the only one

feeling this lonely.

Maybe we can share

in our loneliness, together.

All over this world,

hearts reaching out

with threads of longing for connection,

could we wrap this world

in our longing

and know the breadth and depth of our work?

Maybe our loneliness

is our offering…

 

 

 

Whole Regardless

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What is this yearning,
this longing for connection,
for closeness?
I can’t find what I seek outside of myself.
There is no one out there
who could fill the need within me.
There is a gaping hole in my heart
Left by the one
who said I do,
and then who retracted
his willingness
to explore our togetherness
eight years later,
saying
I don’t anymore.
But is this even true?
Was there ever a heart to break?
Or was there just an aching need
for wholeness?
Maybe he didn’t really leave a hole…
Maybe he left me to find out
that I am always whole,
regardless.

True Union

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Awake early after going to bed late
and I feel just fine.
My spirit calls me out of slumber
to commune in quiet
with the best part of my Self—
the precious treasure
at the center of my being.
This treasure is yours too,
the Universal Soul
that moves and expresses itself
through all of us.
Maybe one morning
you’ll rise too
and meet me
in the place
where past, present and future converge,
in the place
where true union is possible.

Feeling Grateful

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It was a good day today.
I found my pen,
I had time to write in
all the colors of the rainbow
and to behold the result.
Just looking at all those colors
made me feel happy and light.
I had time to be in quiet
in the sacred space of my heart.
I had time to go to the chiropractor,
time to go to the grocery store,
time to procure watercolor paper
and metallic calligraphy pens
from the art store.
I took the time to recognize
how incredibly blessed I am
just to be here.
In just a little while
I’ll leave to go to a dance class.
I’ll move my body
and feel the bliss of connection
with other dancers,
the energy we create
as we move and breathe together.
Ah, thank you.
Thank you Life.
Thank you.

Fellowship In The Trees

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Grace brought me serenity
in the woods today.
I was surprised to come upon
some paintings on the trees
with plaques freestanding
and words
about human strength
and hope…
words about
going through the twelve steps
of recovery,
finding light in the darkness,
coming together
as a group
to provide support
to one another.
I thought of my own fellowship,
a weekly meeting
of souls who gather
to share their experiences,
to listen without comment
to the experiences of others.
We left the grove of paintings
and walked our regular circuit
in the almost freezing dusk.
Periodically I’d hug a tree,
and as I leaned against its length,
I looked up at its branches
and told it a bit of my story.
The trees listened and stood tall
and radiated their silent strength.
Back at the car, fingers numb,
children hungry and ready for supper,
I found myself looking forward
to my CoDA meeting
at the church tonight,
being with adults
who listen and hold space.
Then my son cut his finger
and had to go to urgent care;
he hopped in the car with his dad,
who was just back from work.
I stayed home with my daughter
and remembered the paintings
and the words in the woods,
grateful for the
grace
provided me earlier,
grateful for the fellowship
in the trees.