Today, it’s my $50 humidifier.  Not all that profound, I know, but it has made my day so far.

I love the reminders it has provided:

• to not give up – even when it looks like things are as bad as they can possibly get
• to hope for miracles
• to believe in the ability of the least among us to amaze us
• to never underestimate the opportunity to learn something new that can change everything

…like adding salt to the water and giving it another try.

Have a great day and have faith!

Peace

Just for today, I will not worry.

Just for today, I will not anger.

…

I will give thanks for all my blessings.

A couple of days removed from the armed robbery in front of my building and following yoga and meditation on this glorious morning, I am in a much better place.  There is something to be said for ritual and its ability to bring you right back to the heart of it all.

This morning, I realize that anger, fear and worry will not buy me one moment of peace or safety.  So, I let it go.  And I am thankful to this person for reminding me to be present and aware, even as I am walking from my car at night.  Sounds all mashed potatoes and Pollyanna, I know.  But it’s the choice I make today, for myself.  Am I 100% at peace? No.  But at least I can be present to what I am feeling and free to choose who I want to be in response to this.

Have a great day!  It’s a gorgeous one.

I will do my work honestly.

….so I can get out of the office as quickly as possible and enjoy the sunshine!

Love, loves.

I went to great lengths to find a place I could afford in neighborhood I felt safe coming into alone at night.  My rules for qualifying residences were simple: no rats, roaches or rapists.  I guess  I should have added robbers.  I have been robbed of my peace of mind and that pisses me the fuck off.  Seriously!  Can’t people just behave?  What the hell is wrong with folks?  Who the hell do you think you are, robber jackass, to steal the peace of mind a whole community for $42 fucking dollars?

I was happy here.  It’s my sanctuary.  I used to do a little happy dance when I turned the corner to come down the hill into my complex.  Tonight, I turned my high beams on and looked between every tree, looked at every car, between every car, pulled into my parking space then pulled out again, back up the hill and did a u-turn and made my approach again.  Why?  I don’t know but I thought it made me look suspicious enough to leave the fuck alone.  I still couldn’t get out of my car though.  I had to call the wife of the guy who was robbed last night to ask if she minded sticking her head out her door while I walked to mine.  She did willingly.  Thank God and her.  Before I got out of the car though, I blew my horn a few times.  Then I called out to my neighbor all loud as if to say, “Hey, robber jackass, we’re out here.  We are talking to each other and are on our P’s and Q’s tonight, jerk off.  Don’t try it again!”  When I got to the stairs and thanked her, my 2 next door neighbors were sitting on the stairs, cell phones in hand asking what was wrong.  I told them nothing but that I was freaked out so I blew my horn to draw the attention of the neighbors and, hopefully, discourage another assault.  They thought it was a good idea and planned to do the same.  We promised to come outside when we hear each other blow the horn to make sure everyone gets in safely.  A damn shame and pretty neat all at the same time.

It’s a damn shame we are all afraid to walk to our own front doors.  That’s some bullshit!  I’m pissed as hell about that.  Now, instead of relief when I approach home, I get fucking anxiety!  Fuck you, robber jackass.  Fuck you and I hope you get hit by a truck.

My convictions have been challenged a lot this week and this is just one more challenge.  I found out a couple of weeks ago that I’m allergic to well, just about everything: wheat, milk, eggs, yeast, peanuts, mushrooms, asparagus, air…  My naturopath and herbalist agreed on an elimination diet/detox/cleanse for 40 days.  So, essentially, that leaves fruit, vegetables, whole grains and beans.  I’m vegan!  Tah-dah!  Just like that.  I decided to embrace it wholeheartedly and try on the whole concept of not harming any living creature.  In my heart, I’m a pacifist.  In practice, it just doesn’t pan out that way all the time.

Like Saturday when the herbs growing in my kitchen seemed to become a nesting place for some little larvae looking things writhing around in webs between my sage leaves.  Well, conflicted though I was, harming no living thing went out the window as I feverishly searched for a non-toxic to ME remedy I could spray on those things to snuff them out before they hatched!  Whoa — this sounds like I’m setting up the abortion debate but I swear that’s not where I was headed.  Anyway, I extinguished the larvae.  The day before, I carried a stink bug outside on an envelope and shook it to freedom.  I felt like such a hypocrite.  But I am a complex being and I can live with my complexity.  Fear of pests living in my home won and I was a killer.

And, this morning, I started to consider buying a gun.  I live alone.  Someone was robbed at gunpoint 50 feet from my front door.  Would a gun in my home have helped me in the parking lot? No.  Would I actually use one if I had the chance and my life were at risk?  I have no idea.  But the sound of having one made me feel a little less fearful.  The fact that the neighbor I called to watch me come in does have one, helped me feel a lot less fearful. Then I realized, for as much as we hear about people getting shot during a robbery these days (at least in my neck of the woods) you never seem to hear about people getting shot because they were trying to rob someone.  So, what are all these guns for personal protection for?  It’s not like I can carry it around with me everyday.  Not legally at least.  Hmmmm…Texas…?

I know, in my heart, I’m not a gun person.  I despise violence.  But I hate fear pretty damn much too.

I read 3 pieces I wrote tonight at a poetry event for Sexual Assault Awareness Month.  Any kind of violation is horrifying and so unnecessary.  I’m so tired of being afraid or worried.  I work in Baltimore, for the love of god.  I deliberately chose not to live there so that I could come home to a place that felt safer than where I work.  And now this.

I’m rambling, I know.  I’ll figure it out.  I lay in my bed wide a wake in a tense ball all night last night – afraid to go to sleep.  Ridiculous? Maybe.  But I can’t just flip a switch and turn the fear off.  I wish I could.  And I wish I didn’t wish the robber jackass would get hit by a truck.  But I do.  Quick, simple and minimal expenditure of my tax dollars.

Sigh.  There’s more I want to say about the racial dynamics of the whole situation but that’s more for another day.

That’s it.

Peace, love, light to all.

I woke up in my own time without an alarm clock and eased into my day.  I eventually turned on the television and watched coverage of the Libya fiasco and, even in that, found inspiration for my week.  While watching State of the Union, I heard the following with regards to Libya:

“We know what we’re trying to prevent. That doesn’t mean we know what we’re trying to achieve”.

How true is that for so many things – even how we live our lives every day?  We wander, often aimlessly, through life relatively clear of the pitfalls we hope to avoid but negligent to be clear on our intention for being here and to create the life we want to experience.

So, instead of complaining about not having the time or the money or the energy to do this, or that or the other, I went about the business of finding and enjoying things that bring me joy.  If you expect something deep to follow immediately — sorry.

First, I went to the kitchen (because that’s the center of my joy!) and recreated the sweet fuji apple and Gorgonzola sandwich a friend of mine had at dinner last night.  Yes, food is joy.  I am not ashamed!  I had whole wheat artisan bread, fuji apples, cambozola  cheese and fig spread instead of the exact ingredients and the end product was…heavenly. Who knew raw apples would make a great sammy?!   I brought the sandwich back to bed and ate it while watching the first of 3 episodes of the House marathon.  Again, I determine my joy.

By the time I noticed the sun peaking in my window (an indication that the clouds where clearing), I felt a little motivated to get moving.  So off to the store I go to buy kale for the soup I’ve been wanting to make and a pot, some soil  and some herbs to start my herb garden.

The energy that began to build in me as got closer and closer to manifesting my herb garden dream was surprising.  I was so excited and somehow in tune with something bigger.  I feel a natural inclination towards earth-based systems of spirituality and planting herbs on this first day of spring became a compulsion and not just a whim.  I couldn’t wait to get my hands in the soil and give my babies their first drink of water.  It was a humbling realization to be choosing to be a tender of life.  It was more than just, “I wanna grow my own herbs ’cause it’s cheaper” and more of an honor to take care of plants that were in turn going to take care of me.

See, I’m having some health issues at the moment.  Doctors have proven themselves useless once again and said, well, “what’s going on is noteworthy but not treatment worthy so let’s just wait six months and test again and see where we are.” Well, hell no!  I’m not going to wait for damage to occur so that you have something to cut out or kill — all allopathic practitioners seem to know how to do.  I’m taking my health into my own hands and that means supporting my body’s ability to do what it’s meant to do anyway – heal itself.  I feel tremendously connected to the whole of creation by bringing these plants into my home, into my life, to support my life.  It’s kinda beautiful – I take care of you and give you what you need.  You, in turn, take care of me and give me what I need and neither of us is destroyed by the reciprocity.

Yep – it’s more than just free rosemary to me!

When I got to the organic  market they had huge bags of organic potting soil out front! This is my lucky day.  Everything is lining up perfectly and just inside the door – yup, awesome rosemary plants.  I grab one and my kale and head next door to pick my pot.  I get one and head off to another store because I want to grow more than just one herb.  I get to Trader Joe’s and they have an OK looking thyme plant.  I grab it.  And two sad looking, limp and wimpy plants – mint and Italian parsley.  I take them both.  Here’s my challenge.  Can I revive these babies?  Although I’ve never kept anything green alive for any respectable amount of time –  these babies are going home with me.  We need each other.  The clerk told me to keep my receipt in case the don’t “come back”.

I went to the pot store and bought another pot and back to the organic store for another bag of potting soil.

I came home and it was time to let spring into my apartment — all the windows open, blinds drawn.

I went to work potting my new babies and giving them their first drink of water.  I talked to the parsley and mint and told them I had great expectations of their potential.  I swear, not an hour later, I saw one sprig standing up.  Thinking it was my imagination, I waited.  A couple of hours later both plants had most of their little lifeless limbs erect or on the upswing.  They are on their way back.  Yay!

Then I started cooking for the week.  A good week for me means having wholesome meals already prepared or within a couple steps of being prepared when I come home from work — otherwise, it’s PBJ and hemp milk for dinner and lunch I have to buy out.  Today I made 2 dishes cannellini bean and kale soup and my version of thai red curry with chicken – homemade with lemongrass and coconut milk and this amazing roasted Sri Lankan curry powder I got at a specialty shop in Baltimore (where I also landed the delicious fig spread).  And brown jasmine rice. My house smells amazing!  I am so excited for the week.

I sit down to eat dinner and turn on the TV to hear that the Gaddafi compound has been bombed.  Why does it have to be this way?  Is violence the only answer we can come up with?  Have we even tried anything else?  Consider Japan – what a society?  Not one incident of looting.  Recognizing where the collective consciousness is and considering how to add to it in a way that brings harmony to our life and times — a joy of my day.

And now I am sitting to write about it all and to consider not what I hope to prevent this week, but what I shall achieve.

May your week be lived on purpose.  You are who you say you are.  Your life is what you say it is.

So let it be.

Peace,

Lexi

Hum, rock
Hum, rock, hum
Hum, walk, stir pot
Hum, sit
Hum, rock
Hum, rock, hum

What words vibrate against those pursed lips
and clenched teeth

Hum, rock

What pain unspoken have you carried to silver days
of great-grands and matriarch

Hum, rock

What stories untold are swallowed back down
trying in vain to push past those lips

Hum, rock

What life has had such little safe space that
stories are no longer words but have transformed
into sad vibrations that rock your body in familiar rhythm

Hum, rock

How many have failed you

Hum, rock

How many nights have you cried
yourself to sleep

Hum, rock

How many of your children have you seen
hurt and been unable to save them

Hum, rock

How many times have you chosen your children
above your own dignity

Hum, rock

What was that like for you
I ask
Too late

Hum, rock.

*The title of this poem derives from a line in “Aunt Sarah’s Tears” by Farah Lawal.

It’s the never dying haunting of “what would people think if they knew, if they knew all the details,” that shows up as much in the 5 minute 1 on 1′s in a dialogue circle as in long, unexpected conversations that you just can’t walk away from.  You are invited right to the edge of authenticity and façade and are left to choose.

The question for me, often, in those moments is “can this person “handle” my story?”.  But, what’s for them to handle?  The real question is where, in my story, are you and I the same?  I must look for that in others to build both my capacity to hear stories and to share mine.

Hi, y’all! Let’s see…what’s going on with me.

I have had 2 of the most amazing weekends ever back to back.  The first, I spent in New York with a group of beautiful women who have learned the magic of allowing their creativity to be the path of their own healing and liberation.  The second was in an experiment in co-creating a body of work that was performed Sunday as a staged reading.  I “know” the power of the creative process.  I guide others to their creativity as a means of healing the Self but, if I am honest, expressing myself creatively has terrified me for — probably my whole life.

I don’t know when I learned that art had to be good or right or perfect or better than someone else’s but I learned it.  I internalized it and nothing I ever did (sing, play an instrument, dance, draw, write) was ever good enough and certainly never good enough to share with anyone (says the blogger with 3 blogs and over 500 posts).  Blogging was a huge leap of faith for me that came more out of necessity than confidence.  I had all these things in me that I had to get out and I was sure my friends got sick of hearing me talk about it all.  Still, I never post anything I would consider “creative” writing here.  Hardly ever, probably never.  I just didn’t think I had anything good enough to share.

This month, though, I have entered spaces where all of me was acceptable and  even honored, where everyone’s voice mattered and where there was room enough for everyone’s story.  It has been absolutely amazing.  I wrote 3 pieces that were performed in a staged reading along with the work of 11 other beautiful, wonderful, inspiring women.  I know I have exorcised some demons, for sure.  But not only have I found some freedom from some shadows, I have also found freedom to keep it going.  I have found the freedom to accept that there is no “right” or “wrong”.  Art is.  Period.  And it speaks the truth like nothing else can.

I have learned a process or two for tapping into my creative self but, more than anything, I have learned that I can trust myself to develop my own process.

This morning, I woke up and turned on my favorite playlist and danced my ass off.  Was it pretty?  Who the hell knows and who cares!  It put me in such a great mood and boosted my energy level to the point that I didn’t event think about a morning cup of coffee.

Finding my voice was but the first leg of this journey.  Trusting it to express itself as it sees fit is the next.

If you stay tuned, you’ll see a lot more of my “work” instead of just my rambings as I build the confidence to share it with you guys.  I’m excited.

P.S. – I kinda love being on stage.  Like, love love it.

I’m going to blog this year.  I love it and I miss it and I don’t care who finds out what about me and my life because I write it here.  So, there’s that.

And, Oreo’s are brown!  That statement has inspired me to blog again.  My friend posted, on Facebook, a question to settle a debate between herself and her husband about Oreos.  Black or brown?  On her status, brown won.  On mine, black is winning.  It’s all about perception.  As completely 100%, unwaveringly convinced as I am that chocolate Oreo’s are brown (DUH!), there are those who are convinced that they are black.  Perception is your reality.  And that inspired me to write again.

I attended a panel discussion today with youth from Baltimore.  It was an interfaith discussion about peace in honor of MLK Day and an effort to gain understanding and identify common ground among youth from different religious communities in Baltimore.  On the panel sat 3 Jewish youth, 1 Jewish youth with a Catholic father,  3 Christians, 1 Buddhist, 1 Muslim from the Nation of Islam.  It was a fascinating discussion to behold among a generation, I can only hope, will do a better job of respecting differences among faith traditions than my generation has managed to do.

That discussion, accentuated by the Oreo discussion, has solidified my belief in the hokiness of anyone’s claim to have cornered the market on absolute truth.  My eyes were opened tremendously to the Jewish religious perspective.  I have learned, if nothing else, that I have been a fool to allow Christians to define Judaism for me.  I hadn’t realized that this had been the case until recently — sitting in a service, listening to a minister who claimed to be open to all faith traditions who, actually, painted Jews with the old, familiar, anti-Semetic brush of the Christianity I know so well.

Life is a journey of discovery.  It is a discovery of Self and a quest for the meaning behind all that is.

Peace and blessings to everyone along that journey.

Shalom.

Has me thinking about the fragility of mental health.  On one hand, I am watching a friend I love experience what I can only describe as full-blown hypochondria.  I have never witnessed this in my life.  Sure, I’ve joked about it and haphazardly labeled a person or two “hypochondriacs” for suddenly acquiring life-threatening diseases immediately after watching an episode of Dr. Oz.  But this is real, daily-life disturbing stuff my friend is dealing with and it’s painful to watch.  No amount of test results and assurance from physician after physician is able to convince him that he’s perfectly healthy.  Every single thing that happens in his body sends him off to a specialist for more tests, more hunting to find the inevitable doomsday diagnosis.  And it seems completely out of the blue to me.   I am definitely finished poking fun at folks and using that word lightly.  This is serious and is ruining my friend’s quality of life.

And then, a recent murder/suicide attempt (the murder was completed) that  is in the news involves people I know and dear friends of people I love.  I don’t know what to do with it.  What happens that drives someone to just snap one day and decide to take out a loved one (or two , or five) and then take one’s own life?  What’s that process?  It has to be more than depression because there are plenty of depressed people – plenty!  What drives someone over the edge?  Where is the edge?

My boss recently accused me of having a “strong constitution” in the face of some challenges she has learned about my path the last few years and  some particular struggles this summer.  Do I?  Is that it?  Some folks have “a strong constitution” and some don’t?  You might wonder why this worries me so much – if I’m sane, then relax.  Why fret?  Well, I worry and wonder because, in my view of the universe and such, I don’t see myself as all that different from any other human being.  I am capable of the same things any other human is capable of, for better or for worse.  There, but for grace, go I.

I worry because I don’t want to snap one day.  I can definitely remember a point, during the worst of the worst in my marriage, that I asked Ex to get rid of the gun.  I’m sure he thought (and told people) that I was suicidal or something but the truth was that I was experiencing rage and hatred for him like I had never felt in my life and quite honestly, I was afraid of what I was capable of.  The gun was gone the next day, I’m sure.  I don’t know exactly because I never opened the drawer where it used to be again.

So many ways this post could go if I were writing to pontificate about whether I believe in grace or, if  I do,what that means for me.  Or, if I wanted to talk about gun control and  whether I think that has any bearing on the rash of murder/suicides recently.  But this isn’t a political or philosophical post.  It’s just a girl worried about a friend and worried about friends who I know are wondering if there’s anything they could have done to have prevented this tragedy.

I don’t know that I expected to come to any conclusions by the end of this — but it has, at least, helped me to clarify my questions.

Be well and folks, please, take care of yourselves.  I mean that with everything in me.  Strong constitution or not, I am committed to self-care.  I believe in the power of love to heal mind, body and spirit. I believe that all can be healed when we are courageous enough to look our realities square in the face, name what needs to be named, feel the pain fully and completely, express it however it comes out and regard  and embrace all that is felt as part of our humanity.  Some people heal in therapy, others in walks along the shore, others in reiki treatments, through writing, or drawing, or dancing, or ritual, or prayer.  We all must find our own way.  But find it.  Hurt people hurt people.  Heal yourself.

Peace,

Lex

Oh how I miss you.  Your were my refuge,  my safe place.  The place where I threw caution to the wind and just let it rip. And then I cheated on you with Facebook and Twitter and, more than ever before, I am worried about who might find what I have to say.

I remember when I started you that that was precisely the point – to take the risk and find my voice and say whatever I needed to say, no matter who was reading.  I find it necessary to censor myself in status updates, but I don’t want to carry that energy over here too.  I love writing about whatever is on my mind, and boy is there a lot on my mind.

I also know that once again, what I really want to write about has the potential to hurt other people – some I should care about, some I shouldn’t.  Not that I shouldn’t care about hurting people, just that if not hurting them is at the expense of not being free to tell my story, I don’t care.  Ya dig?

I went to a storytelling workshop a few weeks ago.  It was very interesting and, for the first time, I found courage to play around with fiction.  I don’t read much fiction, so I’ve never really considered stories from the storyteller’s perspective.  I’ve never considered it such a spiritual process as I found it to be, storytelling.  The workshop was led by Nancy Mellon and I bought her most recent book Body Eloquence.  I’m hoping it will encourage me to tell the story my body holds in whatever way it chooses to come out.

The following weekend, I went to another workshop that connected the somatic experience with writing, rather that allowed the somatic experience to drive the writing.  Writing is a core component of my spiritual practice.  I never imagined it would go the way it’s headed.  But I’m gonna follow my muse where she leads me.

I’ll be back to you real soon.  I really miss you.

Peace,

Lex