Tag Archives: friend

The Friend I’ve Been Looking For

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Feeling grateful for where I am
while being clear on where I want to go;
training my mind to accept the possibilities
as they dance around the field of my awareness.
We all have greatness within us
and I’m searching for a way to bring mine forth
so that I can serve in a bigger way.
I always thought I wanted some shaman,
some medicine woman/man, a guru,
a saint, an angel, someone
who could tell me which way to go,
who could know me better than I know myself.
Then I realized
I need to choose my own direction.
I need to craft my path step by step.
There is no one way to do this,
and no one teacher who could steer me right.
Everyone in this world is my teacher,
and as I settle into a calm knowing
that it’s all unfolding perfectly,
I discover that I am the friend
I’ve been looking for.

Meant For Me

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He let me go
eight months ago.
At first I moaned in sadness
but eight months later
my heart is filled with gladness—
he was never that much
of a lover anyway.
Now I’ve been set free.
And somewhere there is someone 
somehow made just for me.
Do I actually believe
in this fantasy?
Well, the thought excites me,
so, yes, why not?
It all begins at the level of thought
anyway.
Could I not think it and be free
to step into the realm of possibility
and be open to receiving
the love that is meant for me?

Your Only Question

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This spiritual journey
is a path of tremendous
inner work.
It remains invisible
to everyone on the outside
except for those
who have the most discerning eye.
If you meet such a Friend,
hold fast to them.
The friend who can see your inner light
is the friend who will support
its outer expression in this world
that is so much in need of your brilliance.
And don’t try to tell me
But I’m not brilliant.
You are made of stardust,
therefore, YOU ARE BRILLIANT.
Your only question should be, then,
How can I express my brilliance
in a way that will bring the most
joy and healing to this world?
Spend your life answering that question,
and it will be a life very well spent indeed.

Not Today

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I was down again today.
Tired.
Had a spat with my sister,
was triggered, lost it.
I slammed and screamed
around my house
like a lunatic.
I took a bath seething
hotter than the steaming water.
Then, exhaustion.
I felt weary, alone,
and so completely low.
I wrote to God,
asking him to strike me down.
I asked What’s the point
of struggling like this?
I asked Why should I
keep suffering like this?
I told God I was so tired
of all of it. I told God
I was ready to die.
Then I cried
and cried and cried
some more.
I texted a friend.
No answer.
I spoke briefly with my mother.
She didn’t know what to say.
I hung up and cried more.
I tried texting my friend again.
No answer. Again.
More crying.
Crying in my kitchen.
Crying the laundry room.
Crying in the hall.
Crying in my bedroom.
Crying until I was blind.
Finally I tried another friend.
She said, “Wanna bring your kids over for pizza?”
Thank you God.
I guess today isn’t the day to die.

A Friend to Myself

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I keep looking for someone to see me,
to be excited about being with me,
a friend who mirrors my dreams
and celebrates them
who looks into my heart
and shares a sweet connectedness.
I think I find a friend
and I get excited.
I reach out, send texts expressing my thanks,
celebrating the synchronicity
that brought us here.
I wait, full of anticipation
looking forward to the experience
of full reciprocation.
And then…
And then, static on the other end of the line.
That vulnerable feeling
of thinking I divulged too much,
reached out too much,
suffocated a budding friendship
with my over-zealous enthusiasm.
Was I too much?
Was the connection I experienced
all a dream?
These dreams were mine.
And so were the lies I told myself
about needing someone else
to show me to myself.
Back at square one,
I realize I’ll never be done
looking for a friend
if I can’t first be one to myself.

Greatest Friend, Worst Enemy

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Look in the mirror
for the greatest friend
and the worst enemy–
we are both.
This potential lives in us
quivering
a delicate dance
a pendulum in perpetual motion
swaying this way and that.
Sit in stillness,
come to the center point
and decide.
Open to something greater
that what you thought you knew.
All paths lead back to the self
and the friend-enemy
enemy-friend
that lives eternally in all of us
as pure undifferentiated consciousness
Now, who do you want to be?

To Be a True Friend

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By all means meditate,
but don’t do it in order to feel good.
If you sit down thinking
you’re going to experience pure bliss,
you will be sorely disappointed
and maybe you’ll never try again.
But sit to be with what is,
to close your eyes to the outer world
so that you might look inside–
and you might get
an eensy weensy glimpse
of the joy the mystics have sung
through all the ages of human
existence.
You have a mind,
and it likes to think.
Sitting gives you a little more perspective,
a way to be friends with all that thinking.
But friendship takes time.
You have to get to know one another first,
and overlook each other’s foibles.
Cultivate genuine warmth
toward yourself.
As you learn how to be friendly
to yourself
and soothe your mind
with some genuine compassion,
and as you learn to open your heart
just a little more–
now you are ready
to be a true friend to others.

In the Presence of a Friend

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The starlight falls silently on my cushion
and the night breeze wanders in through my window.
A friend sits with me tonight,
a dear friend whose physical self is normally thousands of miles away
but whose spirit is always near.
Tonight she sits with me
and together we practice going inwards.
From time to time I hear the neighbors being noisy with each other,
the call of a child, a dog barking, the crickets’ night music,
and sometimes there is just silence.
In that place of stillness and silence, the awareness arises within me.
The awareness that I am not who I think I am,
I just am.
Why is it so much easier to come back home to myself
in the presence of a friend?

Why Am I Writing?

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Last night was rough. I was awakened multiple times by my husband, who is slowly recovering from the mother of all colds. The tossing, the turning, the need to get up and dig in the medicine cabinet for a Sucrets…poor guy. As I was awakened the third time that night, I was certainly feeling sorry for him, but now I was also feeling sorry for myself. There I was, awake at 2:41 am with no immediate hope of getting back to sleep, so I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and started catching up on emails. A dear friend had sent me a message with this post about starting a blog and becoming a writer.  The post came from  this website established in 2006,  called “Live Your Legend.” It offers tools to help people make positive changes in the world by discovering and doing meaningful work that they love. Sounds great, yes?

At 2:41 am, I was reading about how a blog can be a steppingstone to discovering what is really important and meaningful in one’s life, finding true clarity about one’s passions, and taking concrete steps to harness those passions and create something great. Blogs can help writers develop thinking and communication skills, and writing regularly, these writers can become adept at getting the point across clearly, concisely, efficiently.  When one gets one’s point across clearly, concisely, and efficiently, things change. Big things happen. So I was kind of becoming fired up, thinking, “Wow, my little yoga mom blog might actually be helping me discover what it is I want to do with the life energy I have, beyond what I’ve already been doing? I might uncover a passion I didn’t know existed?”

The author of the post, Scott Dinsmore, referred those readers who already have a blog to yet another post–all about creating a blog that matters, a blog that achieves some purpose. Read it here. So yes, there I was, now at 2:50am, asking myself if my blog matters, if it is achieving a purpose, if it is helping anyone.

Gosh. Gee. Ummm.

I originally began this blog as a project for myself, because I had been hiding from my writing for far too long. For some years now, I have been fervently wanting to write in a more serious (dare I say professional?) capacity, yet I never have been wholly successful at pushing through the resistance that inevitably arises whenever I sit down with a few thoughts. I wanted this blog to be a pressure free space to practice and explore and–even if other people might read it–I didn’t want to think too much about my potential audience, because I knew that this kind of thinking would send me into a spiral of too afraid to write/don’t bother/they won’t like what you write/what you think isn’t important.  A shut down, drab, bleak, claustrophobic place, a no room for creativity place. Yuck. No thanks.

Within a day or so of starting the blog, I actually had a follower. And then another. Gee, really? I’m surprised anybody is following this thing, it’s so full of my personal observations and details about my daily life. My aim was to link what I’ve learned from my yoga practice to these real life, moment to moment experiences so that I could use them as a means for personal growth and evolution. If this act of sharing my experiences helps just one person know that they are not alone in their challenges, not alone in their quest to find meaning in the little details of daily life, I’ll be thrilled; but beyond that I just want to validate my own experiences, let them take on the importance that I assign to them, and perhaps even lessen their importance as I practice some detachment from them. Because sometimes I’m a drama queen. Sometimes I blow things out of proportion. It has been known to happen.

The medium of the written word has always been a safe place (the only place?) for me to explore my thinking; I’ve kept a journal since I was in second grade, and became a serious journal writer in high school, following a dear English teacher’s six week assignment to write daily.  Decades later, I have amassed volumes upon volumes of my writing, which live ingloriously packed in boxes in the basement. These volumes rarely see the light of day. Poor little lonely forgotten journals. I think of them like abandoned children, and fear that they might morph into Golem-like creatures at some point. Precious.

I’ve been writing forever, taking solace in the freedom of the blank page, but have never had the courage to really share my writing, because, jeez–it’s just so personal! My journals have been a place to write out my ugliest of thoughts, to be depressed as hell, to be angry, petty, and resentful, to dream big, to celebrate, to fantasize and hope and remember, to be silly–and to be completely, utterly human. Completely utterly my self. No wonder I’ve hidden those journals in boxes. It’s frightening to show someone who you really are! It’s much more safe to hide. And now I’m asking myself–for whatever reason–to be daring, be courageous, be brave–and just share this writing, whatever it is, whatever it looks like, with whomever might want to read it? Yikes!

Writing in this public blog space has been a bit scary for me, for all the reasons I’ve been mentioning in my other posts about this project and my relationship to the creative process. Inner Critic. Perfectionist. Procrastinator. The fearful, vulnerable, lonely one. Note: The sceptic wishes to remind me that no one will read this anyway, and I’m fooling myself if I think otherwise. Thanks guys, real nice.

Scott Dinsmore, the fellow I mentioned above, the one whose website provides the tools for exploring and living out one’s unique purpose–he mentioned that deep down, many of us are afraid of success, and so we unconsciously do things to sabotage ourselves. His words jolted in me an awareness that coming to terms with this tendency for self-sabotage, and embracing a new definition of ourselves as visionaries who can make positive changes on this spaceship earth–this can unlock tremendous power and potential–so that ultimately we can move forward and realize our deepest dreams for ourselves and all beings.

Wow. Ok. Visionary? Deep dreams? Life’s purpose? Passion? Yes.

Why am I writing? Because, yes.