Can you dawdle with your caudel

doodle with your noodle?

Dawdle with your poodle?

Can you sketch a doodle

Or doodle a sketch?

Or etch a sketch

That's a game isn't it?

You could etch a doodle

But you can't sketch a dawdle

Or could you?

You could etch or sketch a caudel

Or a noodle or a poodle.

Rather than dawdling with your doodling

Try lingering with your fingering on the keyboard

Soon they may start singering* and swingering*

Instead of lingering…suspended

Try words tended, blended, mended and amended until

they say something splendid.

This dawdling doodle is now ended!

*made up words

Hug rhymes with shrug. Can you hug a shrug? Or shrug a hug? You can shrug off a hug. Which would make sense if the hugger is using the hug to humiliate or agitate or dominate the huggee.

Delight is something I pay attention to. It's what I find when I speak to my grandchildren or I hear stories from their mom's about their latest escapades. These are what inspire me, make me laugh and wake me up to the wonder and beauty of life.

Creating Children's Picture Books with Elizabeth O. Dulemba opened these naïve eyes to what it takes to write for children. This rich and potent weekend program was offered at the John C. Campbell Folk School. Being one of those ignorant and arrogant people who suffers from the delusion that it would be a piece of cake, it was a major awakening. It feels like opening the door on a vast, subterranean complex where nothing is as it appears on the surface. Those happy, funny, appealing pages that sing to me in the children's book section arrived there due to immense skill, endless determination and raw courage, not to mention amazing talent. These eyes now see them with the impressed and respectful gaze they deserve.

Coming constantly closer

without regard for health or wealth

color or creed, age or wage.

Step by step it closes the gap
Between you and what's to be –

Total darkness without reprieve,
Heavens choirs and dancing angels or
Floating in an invisible cloud
As cellular material.

It doesn't matter because its still coming
Closer and closer for you and your loved ones.
No one—
No one
Escapes.

Some are there already, some are fast asleep
Some run away like silly nillies, some stand steadfast listening.
Some party, some knit, some ride wild horses or hot cars

none of it matters to the one who comes…

none of it!

Its still coming.

You can cry for what is lost or let the rain do it for you
It won't bring it back, it can't bring it back.

Poems on discs long abandoned or disposed of…gone
Dreams of riding wild horses or dancing on stage…gone
Hugs and kisses for children, paying attention to them…gone
Hot, wild passionate lovemaking with athletic movements…gone.

Now is what I have and now is what I use for the steps are approaching and I can hear them.

Do they scare me? Yes!, Into being committed to what I leave behind into LIVING here and now, in this place at this time.

Love is who I worship now. There is no other god. It is not love of lust and sex but love that remains when the sparkle is gone,

love that remembers what was and could have been, love that hopes itself into existence, love is the warm smile, the open arms,

the forgiving and forgetting of petty differences and unkind happenings. Love focuses on beauty, turns its back on hatred, attends to discord and never gives up.

Love remains when you're unable to care for yourself. Your deep apologies for being a burden go unheard. The hands that help you, the arms that carry you--love is their name.

Love is what reminds you who you are when you've forgotten. It is who won't let you sacrifice yourself for your fears. It is who listens when you talk nonsense and cries for you when you wail.

It is the one who watches as you choose unwisely and yet remains at your side. Love stands horrified at your rude behavior yet rejoices when your true self returns. It sees your true self behind the rough façade that you have built to hide behind.

Love is what calls you and keeps calling until you answer even if you don't know what to say or do. Love won't leave you when you choose to be alone even though it grieves your distance and your separation.

Yes, love is what I worship now…in all its intricate glory.

Back in July of this year, I made what for me is a large, life decision. Rather than continue on my convoluted path to a degree, I decided to focus my energy on writing. I signed up for a creative writing class, scheduled writing time into my calendar and began a novel which for me was a huge step! I actually came up with an idea for a plot—something entirely new and very exciting. I know there are people out there who are blessed with many stories clamoring in their heads to get out. That has not been my experience. I'm more of a serious thinker—something that lends itself to philosophical discussions and, I'm sad to say, lectures.

Listening to the instructor and reading numerous books and articles on how to write a bestselling novel has been extremely helpful. It has also been somewhat intimidating. You see, for me, the act of getting up and actually putting those words on paper was heady stuff. The way I was able to do that was to tell myself it didn't matter if what I wrote was good; just write. Just get the words on paper and worry about making it pretty later. That was working for me until the second session of the writing class and here's where my tension begins. The instructor's goal is for each of us to have three chapters written and ready to be presented to an agent or publisher. I went into the first class feeling excited and optimistic about having over 60 pages written. I know, I know. For those of you who are "real" writers, this doesn't sound like much but for me, it is huge. However, I came away from that class feeling disheartened. "Grab the reader". Carry the reader forward by "creative tension" within the narrative. Don't write in the first person unless you really know what you're doing. Don't write in the present tense unless you really know what you're doing. Don't put in too much detail as it will turn the reader off. The list of "rules" becomes pretty stifling.

I'm at a place in my novel where I need to create some dramatic tension, some breathtaking conflict. I'm finding myself a bit stymied by the challenge of it and as a result, I'm finding myself falling into a familiar pattern of avoidance. This week I spent two days organizing what I've written into chapters and scenes in this wonderful new program I found called StoryBook. I wrote a few sentences and decided I need to have lunch at a local restaurant portrayed in the story so I can provide just the right amount of details. Another day was spent exploring what's out there to help inform my main characters life as an FBI agent and today I'm writing this blog. You can see what's happening and so can I.

I am to have the first ten pages written for the next class and some working title ideas. I've got both of these ready. Where I'm stuck is how this story is going to proceed. I'm caught between believing in myself and having the patience to wait out the action and the desire to shuck it all and start something new. THAT is a well worn pattern of mine. This isn't working so let's go do something else. That dear friends seems to be the story of my life. So here I am contemplating my predicament and trying to determine what the next step should be. Stay tuned.

Most of us are familiar with the idea that thoughts carry energy which, when given enough "weight" acquire "mass" and impact the physical world. Dan Brown's new book revolves around this very subject.

Let's just say, I'm pretty amazed at the timing of this particular question. I just finished writing the following in my personal journal:

I need help but I don't feel like I can turn to god anymore since I no longer believe in god as I did before. But I do believe there is some sort of power or energy or resource available that will help me move out of this tunnel vision I'm in and find a more enjoyable way of being on this earth. Whoever and whatever that is, I call to it now … I call to it to please help me find my way out of this funk and into the light of gratitude and cheerfulness.

I then went to my email where this blog entry from Confident Writing by Joanna Young sat waiting for me. It contained what I consider to be a direct response to my rather pathetic and pitiful plea! She was writing it in response to a post from Ken Allan, the blogger in middle-earth who is asking on behalf of the Green Pen Society*.

Five years ago, when I turned 50, I decided to obtain my bachelor's degree. It's been on my list of unfinished projects my whole life and I figured it was now or never. I've been stacking up classes and credits ever since. However, just when I thought I knew what direction I was going, something would happen to make me shift my course. The last time this happened, I decided to put the degree on hold and concentrate on writing. I signed up for a creative writing course nearby and actually started a novel. I scheduled my writing first thing after my coffee in the morning and so far that has worked very well. I actually have 50 pages and almost 10,000 words down! Whenever I feel ill equipped to begin, I tell myself I don't need to make it pretty, I can always go back and do that. For now, I just need to write something down. It seems clinical to me at this point but that's ok. It's words on the paper.

However, yesterday I attended the first session of the second six week series of classes and came away feeling disheartened. I know the instructor is trying to get us to write something that will sell and I completely understand that. Of course, I want to see something I've written on a best seller list. However, I am asking myself what my true motivation is. Ms. Young's blog entry provided me with one answer to that question. One I hadn't necessarily identified yet. What I write in my journal consistently is that I want my words to inspire the reader. I want them to come away from what I write feeling better about themselves and the world around them. I want my words to cultivate and plant seeds that will grow crops useful to this universe. I want them to open new windows of possibility and to raise provocative questions.

Ms. Young's post and the quote from E.M. Forester** have done just that for me today. They have replenished my flagging resolve and given me renewed energy to keep at it. For that, I extend my deepest gratitude.

* The Green Pen Society is a group of writers/bloggers who are developing their voice in writing about the world around them.

**“Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer” ~ E.M. Forster

Yesterday was difficult for much of the day with the same old familiar feeling of unrest and itchiness that accosts me quite a lot. It leads to a sense of failure and a long list of judgments about how below standards my life is and how old I'm getting and how time is running out and I still haven't done anything worthwhile. It's quite a wretched scenario and I get very weary of it.

Last night, after a couple hours of this, I poured a glass of red wine, put Leonard Cohen music on and sat on the porch swing watching the fire I'd lit earlier as it spent itself. In other words, I entered a state of just being. Something I've known about and toyed at practicing my whole life. There was a time I called it prayer. Then I called it meditation but both of those "activities" carry a tone of discipline with them that I have come to avoid. What it really is, for me anyway, is a sense of entering my own body without judgment or criticism and experiencing the moment. There is a ceasing of the reaching for something else and it is breathtaking in its simplicity. The muscles in my gut relax, my jaw softens, my shoulders lower and I am who I am rather than all the things I could be or should be doing. Being in the now would be another way to put it. It occurred to me after some moments that I was exactly where I chose to be. While there was an element of loneliness and an element of longing, I recognized that there was no other place I'd prefer to be except here, on this deck outside this home swinging on this swing listening to these tree frogs, with these firefly stars sparkling across the darkness, surrounded by these particular trees. The night entered the edge of the forest first…the darkness crept up the face of the trees slowly. The light left bringing the world closer in toward me. Eventually, not a whole lot later, I was in complete darkness with the dying embers of the fire and the soft strain of music and I was home.

Sometimes as a writer, I feel rather like a waste. You see, I tend to be more of a receiver than a transmitter. A member of the audience rather than the performer on stage. A reader rather than an author. I worry about that. Feel as though I should be contributing rather than receiving. But then I think about all the voices out there clamoring to be heard. And I realize that without a receiver the transmitter is useless and a book unread, while it may give the author satisfaction and new understanding of him or herself, isn't truly a conversation. So, I look with new eyes and new appreciation at all those fragments and weavings I receive with gratitude to those who extend them outward into the invisible, invincible ether.

Discovered a wonderful poet, Merrit Malloy this morning and just had to pass one of her poems along. Her website is worth a visit in my opinion.

Epitaph

When I die
Give what's left of me away
To children
And old men that wait to die.
And if you need to cry,
Cry for your brother
Walking the street beside you.
And when you need me,
Put your arms
Around anyone
And give them
What you need to give to me.

I want to leave you something,
Something better
Than words
Or sounds.

Look for me
In the people I've known
Or loved,
And if you cannot give me away,
At least let me live on your eyes
And not on your mind.

You can love me most
By letting
Hands touch hands,
By letting
Bodies touch bodies,
And by letting go
Of children
That need to be free.

Love doesn't die,
People do.
So, when all that's left of me
Is love,
Give me away.

“Silent” and “listen” have the same letters.  Why didn't I notice that earlier?  

As a former spiritual director, listening was my brush and silence was the canvas.  It was at the heart of what I did.  Some of the most inspiring moments of my life happened within that context.  I can say now, in retrospect that what I witnessed were moments when the person encountered a new way of seeing themselves and their situation; an expansion of their personal awareness into unexplored territory.  It was a beautiful thing to see.   It was seeing a moment when they suddenly considered a possibility never before imagined.

When we moved to the mountains, I was going to have a retreat center where individuals could come and spend time in nature pondering their life and themselves.  I was going to offer my services as a spiritual director to the local churches and conduct programs and workshops on various aspects of spirituality such as the Aramaic lord’s prayer and Women in the Bible.  If there is a God, s/he has other plans. 

There are many factors at work in my rejection of most things related to God, religion and church.  Current events, language, social science and brain neuroscience all play a role.  Spiritual direction implies a hierarchy which I reject even though I know there are many fine spiritual directors who play their role from a place of deep humility and deep respect for the other person’s experience.  They understand that the role they play has to do with relationship and authentic compassion.

So, what does one do when they are trained and gifted as a spiritual companion but they no longer believe in god and strongly suspect anything related to religion?  In my case, I’ve found other ways to serve as well as concentrating on being kind to myself as I live in a world dominated by those who have no understanding of where I’m coming from and little tolerance for it.

Mediation and conflict resolution are where I’ve focused my attention and my skills.  Since I’m not a lawyer or a therapist, this is done in the sphere of community mediation on a volunteer basis.  My hopes of providing a source of income through my “work” has not materialized.  Thank goodness, I have a husband who can provide for us on that level.  I can’t begin to express my gratitude for that important point.

Gardening and education are two other ways I cope with the change in my life’s plans.  Both of these activities have provided me with a tonic for the loss of something which played such a giant role in the first half of my life.  Oh, to have discovered all this 30 years ago!  Try as I might to vanquish regret, it accompanies me often. 

Recently, someone mentioned a loved one of theirs who is terrified to die because she knows she’s going to hell.  It broke my heart to hear this.  It made me want to gather that individual into my arms and reassure her that she has nothing to fear.  I wanted to wipe away the awful knowledge that has led her to such a place.  Erase all those lessons she was taught as a child and then as an adult convincing her that such a thing could happen.  How many of them are out there?  Decent human beings burdened by the belief that they have to be perfect in some arbitrary and unattainable manner?  It sickens and saddens me.  I want to loosen them from all those cords and help them to see that they all ready are perfect…that they’ve been perfect from their first breath. 

Yes, mistakes and misguided choices are made, BY EVERYONE who is a human being.  And yes, there are some actions that cannot be tolerated within a group.  I understand that.  However, in general, human beings are unique and wonderful creatures with an amazing capacity for kindness, compassion, and justice.  To subject them to the fear of hell and damnation for a lifetime is the sickest sin of all!  

Can mothers and daughters really be friends? I've been asking myself that question recently and wondering about the answer.

My mother and I have what I would call a close relationship even though we do not live close to each other. We talk on the phone frequently and visit when we can. I censor some of what I say to her but not a lot. In fact, I often share things with her that I don't share with anyone else other than, possibly, my husband. But, I don't see myself going out with her for a fun night on the town if you know what I mean. She has two girlfriends who she cuts up with and gets silly. I prefer not to be present when my mom gets silly. I guess that says more about me than it does about her.  If I was truly her friend, I would rejoice in her silliness.  

It makes me wonder about how my daughters view their relationship with me. My mom is 82 and I'm 50 something. I think age and a semblance of maturity has deepened the bond we have. I know when I was a young mother, I did not value our relationship the way I do now. I took her for granted. I don't do that anymore. I'm exquisitely aware that there will come a day when she won't be here to talk with. It gives me a lump in my throat just to think of it.

The fact that I don't like being around when my mom gets silly is what I'm talking about when I ask the question as to whether we can really be friends. I have certain expectations of my mother. I want her to act like a mother whatever in the world that means. And I know she has expectations of me as a daughter just like she does for all my siblings. There is an element of duty in it no matter what. When there are expectations, justified or not, it affects a relationship, doesn't it?

For example, I have a handful of good friends who I do not keep in touch with regularly. I do not "actively tend" these friendships. However, when we do have a chance to get together, it's as if no interruption has occurred in the way we connect with each other. We essentially pick up where we left off and reach that level of intimacy I treasure. I also have a handful of friends who I do keep in touch with regularly and I cherish them as well. What is the difference?  Do these constant friendships live under a different unspoken agreement?  Probably not.  We are more than likely at a point of synchronicity in our lives that provide us with the elements that contribute to a more "hands on" relationship.  Our lives and our styles and our tastes fit together well.  

We watched Bill Maher's Friday night show 3/6.  Cory Booker was one of his guests.  You can take a look here if you didn't catch it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aeLcwGAqhPk

I want to try and define what is going on with me on a spiritual level. I have been placing myself in the middle of the atheist belief system for some time now and its been a liberating and unsettling experience. It's been similar to living in a completely foreign land and finding that it's not the demonic place I'd been led to believe it was!  Imagine that??   Reading The Hidden Face of God, by Gerald Schroeder, has been key to putting a new angle on this whole issue and I am grateful!  At this point, I choose to name my belief, the Unknown. The Mystery. All metaphors for God or Allah or Jahweh or Money or Fame or Success or Winning or Truth or Certainty…we each choose what/who we worship or give reverence to or we choose what/who NOT to worship or revere. The main point is, it's a choice whether conscious or unconscious. Often that choice, as I see it, is based on what we were taught as children. Little, vulnerable, fragile blank sponges soaking up the air and the environment around us without any ability to discern. Seeds are planted in the verdant soil of our tiny psyches and those seeds put down roots which bear fruit for years and years to come. How many of us belong to the political party and the religion of our parents? How many of us rebel against them?

Sometimes what we worship is not conscious. I have observed some devoutly religious folks who have tremendous passion for their football team. If I were to guess, the wild, juicy and most alive side of them comes out when they're rooting for that team, perhaps, dare I say, more so than when they're at church services or saying their prayers. I can hear the chorus of objections now! I stand by my observation.

As for me, my passion is ignited by my family, in particular those tiny, carefree, brutally honest grandchildren. (The adults are wonderful, too, but the children, ahhhhh, the children!) They make me want to sing and play!

I feel alive and passionate about flowers blooming, about planting seeds in the ground and having them produce tiny little fragile tendrils that with time become substantial plants with giant blooms and massive root systems. I feel passionate about the fact that right now, in the thick of the winter season, there is all kinds of unseen forces at work to bring back plants that are currently completely invisible to my eyes.

I also feel enlivened by witnessing resolution and new understanding between people in conflict. To see a family who arrived with tight, expressionless faces and rigid postures loosen up and express their feelings and begin to listen to each other and realize they agree on some important points and, once in awhile, to actually put their arms around each other in forgiveness is awesome to behold. It doesn't always happen but when it does, its magnificent!


Interestingly enough, it was science that shook my steadfast faith and science that has begun to give it back! That is enough to bring tears to my eyes; a clutch to my belly and a lump to my throat.

20.September 18, 2008 7:36 am
Link

What I discovered when I experienced my version of "empty nest" was a great emotional upheaval. A deep well of grief opened up as I searched for a way to focus the energy of love that was poured into the "dailies" of life with my children at home--the things I took for granted. Love is a powerful force, sometimes exhilarating, sometimes excruciating, and everything in between and when that force loses its focus, it is very painful.

Surprisingly, the emptiness created new possibilities for growth. It created a deeper connection with my husband, a chance to fulfill some dreams that were on hold such as writing a book, taking some classes, discovering new skills, returning to college and creating a garden from scratch. Eventually, it also opened up a whole new world of grandchildren!

I still mourn the loss of those years with my sweet ones under our roof, and I always will, but, as in all things, change expands things and love grows stronger with time. Maybe we should think of it as "making room" rather than the "empty nest".

— kaslisten354, Western NC

Recommend Recommended by 45 Readers

You see, I want a lot.
Perhaps I want everything:
the darkness that comes with every infinite fall
and the shivering blaze of every step up.
So many live on and want nothing,
And are raised to the rank of prince
by the slippery ease of their light judgments.

But what you love to see are faces
that do work and feel thirst.

You love most of all those who need you
As they need a crowbar or a hoe.

You have not grown old, and it is not too late
To dive into your increasing depths
where life calmly gives out its own secret.

Rainer Maria Rilke, from Das Studenbuch, translated by Robert Bly

It's been interesting upon introspection to observe how very little I've had to say over the past months. There are some in my world who might disagree, particularly my mother who has listened to some pretty noisy ranting these past few weeks but, that aside, I have felt a noticeable absence of verbiage on the inner landscape.

In a way, in some instances, I feel others are saying what I want to say ever so much better than I can--case in point--the section from Obama's acceptance speech and the article from Tammy Lenski's blog Conflict Zen which are linked to the right.

For now, that is all I have to say.

Just drew the shades and closed the blinds against a thick curtain of rainy fog in the valley. The dark trees stand out in such hard contrast its impossible not to notice them. Silent trees…standing there alive and pulsing, naked and completely open to the world. Well, not completely open…they have root systems that are mainly invisible and amazingly complex. Trees are miraculous creatures. So much below the surface. And never the slightest bit of ego.

Finding answers to this question continues to occupy a major portion of my life. The one thing I have discovered is that I am the only one who has them. They are not living out there somewhere, they are residing deep within me.

I've also discovered that they do not always present themselves readily. They won't be rushed or forced or faked. Believe me on this one. They appear in their own time and speak in their own language. More often than not, they come as a surprise and elicit a response of, "Duh! How did I miss this? It's been right here all along!"

It is a worthwhile undertaking. What makes your life meaningful?

I’ve been giving this subject a great deal of thought. At this point, I don’t think it really matters. To say one doesn’t believe in God or religion erects yet one more barrier to that place where we are all together in the search for meaning. So, I’m going to let it go for now. It just doesn’t matter. If someone finds meaning in the absence of a supernatural being, so be it. If they find meaning in the presence of a supernatural being, so be it.

Perhaps the most important aspect of this is to decide for yourself what matters.

The question that raises is, what if what matters to one person means harm to another? That is a question of perspective isn’t it? Someone who is devoted to a certain belief system insists on teaching that system to his or her children. What if that belief system causes harm? Let’s face it, that’s the primary method for passing along prejudice isn’t it? Children learn behavior from their parents or significant care takers. Nothing happens in a vacuum. We’re all in this together.

The next question I have has to do with learning. How do we evolve from one level of humanity to another? A short walk down history will reveal some pretty awful human behavior on a grand and barbaric scale. Witch hunts, the inquisition, genocide, slavery, interment camps, waterboarding, terrorism, racism—you get my point.

Sadly, what mattered most to the KKK was ridding the world of those who they saw as their enemies. When you get right down to it, isn’t that at the heart of all type of human conflict? We see someone as different and threatening so we do away with them by whatever means are necessary. How do we learn another way? How do we overcome our tendency to obliterate, oppress and oppose those who frighten us?

You can go to this link for more information about me. http://graceworks.typepad.com/

This is something I have difficulty even voicing because it feels blasphemous to suggest it. However, for me, there is a huge question:

What if "god" really doesn't exist?

There, I've asked the question and I didn't go up in a poof of smoke. Of course, as is usually the case, the next question is, "what do you mean by "god"? And there in lies the conundrum. The way I see it, every single one of us has a different definition. There might be some similarities but at the end of the day in the deepest part of our heart it is for our eyes only that this entity we refer to as "god" exists. Think about it. What is your definition?

This blog is going to be where I share the questions that are burning in my heart. Stay tuned.