Of Earth and Stars

It feels like it's been several months (or maybe longer) since I've felt like, well, me. Despite the fact that I am actually a pretty positive/optimistic person and despite the fact that I'm mostly happy with my life (still want a house of my own, and maybe a change in job scenery, but not nearly motivated enough to do either of those things) - I often feel like I'm drowning under the anxiety and the negative voices. It's not so much that I feel depressed (although during particularly stressful times, or my favorite hormonal times, I sometimes do), but it's just that I don't always know who I am (or who I'm trying to be) anymore.

There are little things that add to it - the weight I seemed to have not-so-mysteriously put on, the terrible haircut that, even having grown out a bit, just does not feel like me, continuously losing the crap fight against my skin - I don't feel very attractive. And at other times, it's that I don't feel interesting - I've always suffered from the idea that I'm just not a creative, naturally talented and/or artistic person. I haven't picked up my guitar in ages. I worry that sometimes my ideas are just a mimicry of other opinions. Then there's the health crap - my stupid hip, which has been bothering me for almost two months and which I am sick of complaining about but which has pretty much taken one of my few releases from me; my inability to sleep through a night without interruption. Everything feels very mediocre, very not-good-enough.

I imagine that many people feel this way, and have to deal with a sort of clawing self-doubt that eats away at their happiness. I think what bothers me is that these feelings have been lingering a while. They often let up for a bit, as I find new things to amuse me and focus on those and the priorities. But I also worry that I've sort of accepted these self-criticisms and seem to be procrastinating on doing things that might make me feel better about myself. It's not that I don't practice self-care - I do, but it's mostly of the "have to have to get by" variety. I don't spoil myself in ways that count, but rather I make excuses of why a certain item/action will help lift my mood in a rather chaotic way. I keep thinking that there are things I could do to address my feeling unattractive; there are things I can do to exercise to gain some sanity (like cycling, if I can overcome the bike seat issues); there are things I can practice to try to challenge myself creatively.

But I'm just... exhausted. Not in a physical way. I have plenty of energy and am grateful for my health. It's more that ... I'm stuck in a sort of mental limbo of being where I don't know what comes next. So I'm just swimming. Just keep swimming swimming swimming. Which is okay, because sometimes when life is unpredictable or tumultuous, you need a good period of downtime and stability. But everything feels stale and kind of crummy, and I don't know what to do with that. I want to feel alive and passionate and interesting and sexy and fun and loveable and exciting. (And I know that I have people in my life that will tell me I am all of those things, which I am grateful for, but there's also the need to feel it on my own.) I don't know how to get myself to the point where I feel those things, where I have that confidence in myself again.

Maybe I need to set some goals, to find time to play, or just to sit and think about what it is I want to be doing with my time. I know I'm okay where I am, I just can't help but think that somewhere a better world is lurking.

To recap - back in 2008, I began the tradition of "The Word". It's easier than attempting to define a rambling list of resolutions, and it gives me something to hold on to throughout the year and a simple way to focus on developing personal qualities that I value. Seven years later, I still find it valuable.

In 2008, I was still healing from my divorce, and the word I chose was "clarity", hoping to find a new path in my life.

In 2009, I found myself feeling more whole, but less focused than I wanted to be. I settled on "deliberate" to guide my thinking and actions.

In 2010, I was feeling more loved than at any other point in my life (because Lucas was so good to me!), and I wanted to share that. So I went with "generous".

In 2011, I was learning to deal with my anxiety, as I was preparing for our wedding and struggling with my son's diagnosis. I chose the word "yielding" to remind me that I don't need to obsess over having constant control of my life.

In 2012, I settled on "strength" to remind myself to hold fast even when everything was falling apart around me - it seemed to a lot, that year. I still don't know if I have that one conquered, but then again... I am blessed by having a partner who gives me strength, and a supporting and loving family that buoys me when times are tough.

In 2013, I wanted to recognize that I am blessed in a multitude of ways, even when I don't feel it. I chose the phrase "desperately seeking joy", and tried to hang onto it during the most difficult parts of the year (and believe me, this year has been one of my most difficult). Having my depression come back to the degree that it did made this one seem unreachable. But, I'm still here, I'm still hanging on, still clawing around for joy in the corners where no one else has looked.

This fall, I have been moving towards a focus on the interconnectedness of our lives on this Earth, and reflecting on the suffering of life and the beauty of compassion and kindness. And I would like to live in a way that recognizes these connections between us. I want to connect deeply with others, to reflect more on my interactions with the world, and to live in a way that creates peace and diminishes violence. I've been thinking a bit on the practice of metta, or loving-kindness meditation. I think the words of the Metta Sutta capture the feeling:

So with a boundless heart should one cherish all living beings,
Radiating kindness over the entire world,
Spreading upwards to the skies, and downwards to the depths,
Outwards and unbounded, freed from hatred and ill-will.

I like to think of it as radical compassion and love, in which you work not only to extend compassion and kindness and love towards yourself, but to those closest to you, to those not so close to you, to those that you wish weren't so close to you, and to those who you do not personally know, but with which this universe has you inexplicably twined. I believe that peace comes through love - selfless love - and through practice of this selfless love towards others. I know that it is needed in my heart, and it is needed in my household, and it is needed in this world. And so I think for 2014, I will focus on cultivating and bringing loving-kindness to my life.

There is not enough silence in the world. Maybe it's because I live with four other people, three of whom lack the maturity to consistently apply effective volume control and/or to appreciate those pauses in time where a natural silence falls.

I remember back in grade school, these occasional silent moments would fall over the classroom - a period of complete nothingness, where all tapping pencils, shuffling feet, fake coughs, and unrepressed giggles fell away. We called it the 20-second rule, because we would always look at the clock and tell each other that these moments fell right at 20 seconds after or 20 seconds till the minute. Of course, these moments happened all the time, but we were convinced that this was the way the world worked.

Now the 20-second rule has fallen away to nothingness. All public outings, from restaurants to department stores, are entrenched in the noise of people carrying through their days, and are usually overlaid with the sounds of radio, televisions, advertisements. I remember back in 2005, when I was able to attend a silent meditation retreat in Asheville, the stark transformation of the world as my car slowly climbed a twisting, one-lane mountain trail. There was never complete silence... there was the birdsong, the sound of small animals scampering through underbrush, the occasional gong, even the shuffling of limbs and the quiet movement of breath as a room full of people fell into meditation. The sound of my own pulse, steady, persistent. There, the noise of the world and its chaos fell away. The 20-second rule had come to live at the top of a mountain.

~o~

Today, I wandered outdoors, overstimulated by the ongoings in my own house, unwilling to raise my voice this time to try to overcome the din. There was the quiet brush of a breeze through the pine by our house. Birds were carrying on their secret lives. In the distance, I could hear the highway, ever present, ever buzzing with the thrum of engines. The plants on my porch fluttered in the breeze, reaching for the sun. I gave a moment to reflect on the fact that here, in this moment of solitude and silence, I was a part of everything. The sun-heated concrete burning my bare feet, I felt the hum of life.

The feeling was magnified this evening, when my husband and I walked in silence, the sky burning away from flamingo pink to deep indigo as our conversation ebbed away. The waxing crescent moon made its passage to the east, accompanied by Venus. And there we were, two humans perched on a sphere, neatly aligned for viewing two other spherical worlds. Both cloaked in mysteries, yet both touched by manmade materials. From this distance they appear flawless. We are so very big, and so very small, all at once.

Such vastness is found in moments of silence, for me. If there is ever a spiritual moment, it is out in nature, when I tune out the ups and downs of my daily life. When I befriend silence, and let the gentleness of nature - the buzzing of bees, the floating gnats, the splash of a frog in the ditch - remind me that I am just one more creature in a vast universe.

~o~

My father lost the bulk of his hearing in his mid-thirties, after years of working in the air national guard and repairing airplanes in Vietnam. My sister, who teaches art in a public school, began to do the same a few years ago. I'm sure there is a small decline in my own hearing, given my inability to unwind words spoken at certain frequencies these days - but then again, I do live with those four people. Sometimes I fear having my hearing tested, afraid it will be my time to be fitted for the hearing aid.

Before I lose it all, I want to be able to crawl away from the noise of society. I think, at times, that I should get back to meditation, to following the sound of my breath, that I should lose myself in the forest and the smell of the great green earth and the trill of squirrels. I think that would make me less afraid.

I only want to be able to hear, for a little more time, the sound of the universe. I want to feel its vibrations in my skin, to remember, with certainty, my place in the order of things.