Doing everything I can to procrastinate. The Queen of Procrastination. A recurring, even dominant theme throughout my life. It's a form of self-sabotage. I don't understand why but suspect, when all is said and done, it is fear which underlies this weird action resulting in non-action.
I know a man, an extremely creative man. He paints and his paintings sell, he composes and his compositions are played in the public arena, he writes and his books are published. Obviously he is naturally, one could say preternaturally talented, but he is also disciplined. He allocates time to each of his creative talents. He says it's because it's because he has a mortgage to pay but I suspect it's more than that. Being fearful and procrastinating is kind of shitting on the gift one was given. I'm no genius but I was always one of those kids that could draw - not as well as others in class but enough to get asked occasionally to draw something. (Colleen Moore, wherever you are, you were the one that could draw - what did you end up doing? I heard you took your drawing and your flute playing and went to Africa). At any rate, I admire this man and his discipline. I also find him a bit scary. He's as gentle and nice a man as can be but the will which underlies that discipline is iron. And he's courageous. Not afraid of failure, not afraid of having a go - or not afraid in any way that matters.
Joined a new yoga class this morning after a few tryout classes. This studio has mirrors. Oh the brutal truth of wall to wall mirrors. Looking out from behind these eyes, catching my image in the odd window or from the waist up in the bathroom (avoiding the mirrored doors of the closet) I thought, eh 62? not bad for my age. Oh, the lies I tell myself. The mirror on the yoga studio wall...the first class, after the initial shock, I managed to pretty much avoid seeing myself focusing instead on the floor or the ceiling, the instructor or some vague indeterminate point in the middle distance.
But the truth will not be avoided. In the scheme of things with war and famine and global warming my body image matters not one whit. And yet, and yet. It is everything too for it reflects the person I am - a bit lazy, a bit lacking in will power, a bit sloppy, a lot overindulgent.
So I decided today to look squarely at myself in the mirror. I was next to a floor lamp so couldn't really avoid it as I was well lit.
In my long life I have made many resolutions, some of which stuck, most of which have fallen by the wayside like so many banana peels. One thing I haven't done however is give up. So I try again, to not be afraid of what might be beneath this fear, this comforting layer of fat which I use to protect myself from life's hard knocks, and to - what a horrible phrase - be all I can be...or better, be all that I already am.
Oh scary!!
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
Thursday, October 22, 2015
The Dentist and a Lesson in Spirit
Went back to the dentist because of pain. What a pain! Knew being scared before the visit was in fact enduring it twice but the mind has a mind of its own (so back to meditating with a vengeance to try and tame it!). Then, Oh Joy Oh Happiness, the dentist, after reading the write-up of previous visit, thought it might be better to try non-invasive techniques first. Swelling has gone, as if in answer to reprieve and I can live with the nerve pinging with hot or cold (have had that in other teeth for a long time but this one is somewhat acute).
Part of me stood back and was amazed at the transformation experienced physically, emotionally and mentally with that news. Like someone flicked a switch. Where before I was small and sad and frightened, I was large and light and bright with joy.
When I am frightened the world becomes very small because it is all centered on me and my fear. A pinprick of fear, a pinprick of awareness. What an illustration. What a testament to trying to live big, like an ever expanding balloon of gaiety.
Many years ago I fainted in a theatre during the movie, The Other Side of Midnight, some trashy soap opera whose memorable scene, the attempted (successful? I don't know I was unconscious) abortion in a bathtub with a wire hanger. When I came to I had the profound sensation of being squeezed back into my body. The I that had temporarily vacated the physical was limitless and bore as much relation to my person as a seed is to a sequoia.
Despite returning to this episode repeatedly I forget the significance of it. We are more than our bodies, more than our minds, more than our sensations, more than our pedestrian awareness. I don't know how much more. Not even sure I am equipped to grasp it, nevertheless it should never be forgotten.
Sometimes it takes a trip to the dentist to be reminded.
Part of me stood back and was amazed at the transformation experienced physically, emotionally and mentally with that news. Like someone flicked a switch. Where before I was small and sad and frightened, I was large and light and bright with joy.
When I am frightened the world becomes very small because it is all centered on me and my fear. A pinprick of fear, a pinprick of awareness. What an illustration. What a testament to trying to live big, like an ever expanding balloon of gaiety.
Many years ago I fainted in a theatre during the movie, The Other Side of Midnight, some trashy soap opera whose memorable scene, the attempted (successful? I don't know I was unconscious) abortion in a bathtub with a wire hanger. When I came to I had the profound sensation of being squeezed back into my body. The I that had temporarily vacated the physical was limitless and bore as much relation to my person as a seed is to a sequoia.
Despite returning to this episode repeatedly I forget the significance of it. We are more than our bodies, more than our minds, more than our sensations, more than our pedestrian awareness. I don't know how much more. Not even sure I am equipped to grasp it, nevertheless it should never be forgotten.
Sometimes it takes a trip to the dentist to be reminded.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Constant Vigilance until Death
Constant vigilance. That's how life seems to be lived at times, as though I am standing sentinel at the gates of my experience. Does this thing I'm about to do or think pass muster? Is it good enough, does it align with the rules I've set for myself and if not what price in guilt will I pay? A momentary 'bugger' and move on or will I think about it the next day and the next? How much guilt is enough guilt? And if my thoughts are not always generous and kind, unselfish and loving, how much self disgust is enough? Even if I don't act on those thoughts, the very fact that I've had them proves how bad a person I am.
I often feel trapped now. I won't leave Richard, I'll see it through but what I envisioned for myself and what I've got, especially in the future, is not the same. Sometimes I feel as though I can't breathe. I long for positions with long vistas and height. I want big sky and lots of air around me. I know why this is and why I am so anxious to move. Then I feel guilty for thinking these things, for feeling these things when I have so much and most of the world has so little. How dare I complain? How dare I even feel these things? Hence the vigilance. Gratitude is a constant mantra. Mostly it works, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes joy, under a blue sky with infinity beyond, imbues my very being with song. But joy isn't summoned, it just arrives, unannounced.
And I'm alone. No parents for advice, no best friend that I can burden with the 'badness' of my honest feelings. I know Richard senses my restlessness. He is more loving, more vocal about his love for me than ever before - and he has always been a loving man. If he loves me enough I won't leave him to face the future alone. He's scared too and God knows what he's going through. I think he's still of the belief that Parkinsons isn't progressive. That how he is now is how he'll always be.
But I know it ain't so. And that looming oppressive cloud colours much. My vigilance includes him. I listen for him. Has he made a noise in the shed, is that a gate closing, did I just hear him speak to one of the dogs? After he fainted last year, I listen. What if he collapses and I don't know? His health is good other than Parky but still, he did faint and no one discovered why. So I remain vigilant. Always vigilant.
And frankly, I'm sick of it. I want to relax into my life, into myself. So I'm not perfect, I think bad selfish thoughts, I allow myself to get scared, I eat too much sometimes or have too much wine occasionally, so what? This life is over so quickly. Hell, I'm nearly 60 now (and how the hell did that happen?!?) and before I know it I'll be breathing my last. I don't want to regret the past and think, well crap, why did I waste so much time worrying about everything? THIS dying, now this is something to worry about except this is my last breath so it's too late. Oh cra....
I often feel trapped now. I won't leave Richard, I'll see it through but what I envisioned for myself and what I've got, especially in the future, is not the same. Sometimes I feel as though I can't breathe. I long for positions with long vistas and height. I want big sky and lots of air around me. I know why this is and why I am so anxious to move. Then I feel guilty for thinking these things, for feeling these things when I have so much and most of the world has so little. How dare I complain? How dare I even feel these things? Hence the vigilance. Gratitude is a constant mantra. Mostly it works, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes joy, under a blue sky with infinity beyond, imbues my very being with song. But joy isn't summoned, it just arrives, unannounced.
And I'm alone. No parents for advice, no best friend that I can burden with the 'badness' of my honest feelings. I know Richard senses my restlessness. He is more loving, more vocal about his love for me than ever before - and he has always been a loving man. If he loves me enough I won't leave him to face the future alone. He's scared too and God knows what he's going through. I think he's still of the belief that Parkinsons isn't progressive. That how he is now is how he'll always be.
But I know it ain't so. And that looming oppressive cloud colours much. My vigilance includes him. I listen for him. Has he made a noise in the shed, is that a gate closing, did I just hear him speak to one of the dogs? After he fainted last year, I listen. What if he collapses and I don't know? His health is good other than Parky but still, he did faint and no one discovered why. So I remain vigilant. Always vigilant.
And frankly, I'm sick of it. I want to relax into my life, into myself. So I'm not perfect, I think bad selfish thoughts, I allow myself to get scared, I eat too much sometimes or have too much wine occasionally, so what? This life is over so quickly. Hell, I'm nearly 60 now (and how the hell did that happen?!?) and before I know it I'll be breathing my last. I don't want to regret the past and think, well crap, why did I waste so much time worrying about everything? THIS dying, now this is something to worry about except this is my last breath so it's too late. Oh cra....
Monday, August 26, 2013
Every day I think of things I want to write and every day I do not write. Today I write.
Just looked up the quarry, the one we are going to move away from. It's for sale for $9.5 million. We have entertained the fantasy that if we won the lotto we'd buy it, thinking it'd be worth just a couple of million. Now know we'd have to win the big $20 million which is offered occasionally to even come close.
Thinking about moving house is frightening. I used to be so brave. I can prove it as I'm writing this on an island continent in the southern hemisphere, tens of thousands of miles away from my birthplace. I made the move in my twenties. I had a large soft bag of clothes, a tackle box full of pastels and bucket loads of courage. Now I have much more 'stuff'; a husband, animals and a crushing sense of responsibility and anxiety. We wouldn't be moving except that I have made such a stink about living next to a quarry. If it doesn't work it will be my fault. Part of me knows it will be fine; tiring, stressful, scary but fine. Another part of me screams failure, regret, disaster. I try not to listen to it.
One step at a time. The birds are off the verandah. The verandah has been thoroughly cleaned and is ready for undercoat. When the final coat is dry and the windows have been washed, we ring the realtors. Can't believe we'll do it. Was watching tv last night and there was a shot of people sitting on a queensland beach. That could be us I said. And it could. We can't afford to live on the beach but we can afford to live within easy driving distance.
I do believe that it is time to embark on the next chapter in our lives. We need other places to explore, other people to meet. Being closer to the the populations centres does have disadvantages - more people, traffic, crime, etc. but it is also ripe with opportunity.
Just looked up the quarry, the one we are going to move away from. It's for sale for $9.5 million. We have entertained the fantasy that if we won the lotto we'd buy it, thinking it'd be worth just a couple of million. Now know we'd have to win the big $20 million which is offered occasionally to even come close.
Thinking about moving house is frightening. I used to be so brave. I can prove it as I'm writing this on an island continent in the southern hemisphere, tens of thousands of miles away from my birthplace. I made the move in my twenties. I had a large soft bag of clothes, a tackle box full of pastels and bucket loads of courage. Now I have much more 'stuff'; a husband, animals and a crushing sense of responsibility and anxiety. We wouldn't be moving except that I have made such a stink about living next to a quarry. If it doesn't work it will be my fault. Part of me knows it will be fine; tiring, stressful, scary but fine. Another part of me screams failure, regret, disaster. I try not to listen to it.
One step at a time. The birds are off the verandah. The verandah has been thoroughly cleaned and is ready for undercoat. When the final coat is dry and the windows have been washed, we ring the realtors. Can't believe we'll do it. Was watching tv last night and there was a shot of people sitting on a queensland beach. That could be us I said. And it could. We can't afford to live on the beach but we can afford to live within easy driving distance.
I do believe that it is time to embark on the next chapter in our lives. We need other places to explore, other people to meet. Being closer to the the populations centres does have disadvantages - more people, traffic, crime, etc. but it is also ripe with opportunity.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Love and Fear, Kiwi and Yankee Style
A letter to my sister.
Hi Tam:
Today New Zealand voted for love, 77 to 44 in favour of same sex marriage. Today America voted for violence, 54 to 46, against background checks for those wishing to buy guns. In New Zealand the gallery spontaneously erupted into a traditional Maori love song. In the US Senate gallery there were calls of 'Shame on you!' as the vote was counted. To me that about sums it up. The US has lost its mind. Some American said something about how the rest of the world looked at the US with bewilderment - how it seemed quite crazy, this fascination with guns and gun culture. He or she was right. Can't speak for the rest of the world but here in Australia, the US appears as though it's gone collectively off its rocker. Madness twinned with paranoia fueled by testosterone and steroids. Hate fueled by fear. Why so frightened? What is everyone afraid of? Retribution?
When Martin Bryant shot and killed 35 people and injured 21 others at Port Arthur in Tasmania the then conservative government was galvanized into action. In order to own a gun you had to have a license. Hundreds of thousands of guns were surrendered (there was a recent amnesty of unlicensed firearms in which even more guns were surrendered). The keeping of guns in strictly regulated. Richard has (licensed) guns which he keeps in a secure padlocked cabinet. Ammunition is kept separately. The police have been out to check that he adheres to the regulations. Richard is very much in favour of gun ownership but accepts with not too much grumbling the way things are in Oz.
And then of course you get the homegrown loonies like the Boston bomber. I suspect you are right, Tam and he or she is insane. There's a grown man up the road. He's in his 40's and lives with his quiet and unassuming parents. His dad is a friend of ours. When this 'boy' gets agitated he gets scary if he's not on his medication. The neighbour brought Richard his guns for safekeeping when the son was having an episode (over an aged cat that desperately needed, for humane reasons, to be euth'd). That's all it takes. The parents are rightfully frightened of this big burly 'kid' but can't/won't have him committed. Is the bomber such a person? There are so many 'mad' people out there. Mad people that are afraid and therefore find reasons to hate. Hate comes from fear, don't you think? You can't hate unless you're afraid.
It's all so sad.
One of my favourite movies is Love Actually. I'm sure you've seen it. During the opening monologue Hugh Grant talks about how when the planes were going down during 9/11, the passengers, knowing they were going to die, rang their loved ones to tell them they loved them. They didn't ring their enemies to tell them they hated them. Love is our natural state. Despite all the madness in the world, I still believe that.
And I love you,
Holly
Hi Tam:
Today New Zealand voted for love, 77 to 44 in favour of same sex marriage. Today America voted for violence, 54 to 46, against background checks for those wishing to buy guns. In New Zealand the gallery spontaneously erupted into a traditional Maori love song. In the US Senate gallery there were calls of 'Shame on you!' as the vote was counted. To me that about sums it up. The US has lost its mind. Some American said something about how the rest of the world looked at the US with bewilderment - how it seemed quite crazy, this fascination with guns and gun culture. He or she was right. Can't speak for the rest of the world but here in Australia, the US appears as though it's gone collectively off its rocker. Madness twinned with paranoia fueled by testosterone and steroids. Hate fueled by fear. Why so frightened? What is everyone afraid of? Retribution?
When Martin Bryant shot and killed 35 people and injured 21 others at Port Arthur in Tasmania the then conservative government was galvanized into action. In order to own a gun you had to have a license. Hundreds of thousands of guns were surrendered (there was a recent amnesty of unlicensed firearms in which even more guns were surrendered). The keeping of guns in strictly regulated. Richard has (licensed) guns which he keeps in a secure padlocked cabinet. Ammunition is kept separately. The police have been out to check that he adheres to the regulations. Richard is very much in favour of gun ownership but accepts with not too much grumbling the way things are in Oz.
And then of course you get the homegrown loonies like the Boston bomber. I suspect you are right, Tam and he or she is insane. There's a grown man up the road. He's in his 40's and lives with his quiet and unassuming parents. His dad is a friend of ours. When this 'boy' gets agitated he gets scary if he's not on his medication. The neighbour brought Richard his guns for safekeeping when the son was having an episode (over an aged cat that desperately needed, for humane reasons, to be euth'd). That's all it takes. The parents are rightfully frightened of this big burly 'kid' but can't/won't have him committed. Is the bomber such a person? There are so many 'mad' people out there. Mad people that are afraid and therefore find reasons to hate. Hate comes from fear, don't you think? You can't hate unless you're afraid.
It's all so sad.
One of my favourite movies is Love Actually. I'm sure you've seen it. During the opening monologue Hugh Grant talks about how when the planes were going down during 9/11, the passengers, knowing they were going to die, rang their loved ones to tell them they loved them. They didn't ring their enemies to tell them they hated them. Love is our natural state. Despite all the madness in the world, I still believe that.
And I love you,
Holly
Saturday, March 23, 2013
.
A few days ago I noticed, when walking the dogs, a particular feeling in my groin, an irritation, as though a pubic hair had worked its way inside me and was digging in. Didn't think too much about it until having a wee upon my return and noticing frank blood. Haven't had a period for 15 years so this was abnormal. Did nothing, said nothing, thought alot.
Richard left the following day for an errand in town. I was ready. The irritation was now accompanied by a feeling of 'fullness'. Can't describe it any better than that. It was as though I'd put on a few pounds 'there'. Once he'd left I got the hand mirror and the standing lamp with the flexicord. Put the lamp on the floor, got the mirror, dropped my drawers and had a good look.
The problem was, of course, I'm not familiar with that terrain. What was I looking for? There was no errant pubic hair. There was nothing that I could see save for a slight bluish darkness at the furthest reaches. Was that supposed to be there? Or was it the visible manifestation of something far more sinister? None the wiser, I pulled my pants up and got the yoga mat out.
The mind is a wonderful thing. My mind, when frightened, is a wild banshee howling incoherently in the wind. Even yoga was difficult. Kept forgetting where I was in the sequence because of fear. Fear of cancer. All that sex, all those partners. It was bound to catch up with me. All those years of smoking. All those times I wasn't nice, thought bad thoughts, did bad things, I was going to pay for my sins now. My mind had got the bit in its teeth and was off. Every lurid horrible detail; doctors, hospitals, needles, fear fear fear. In downward dog I thought about putting my feet in stirrups while some entity in a lab coat tut tutted at the most intimate and vulnerable part of my body.
I started to cry.
So I stopped it. Lay back on those reins and pulled my mind up short. This has to stop. I have always believed that you create what you fear. If I was going to fear this, by god, I was going to make it true.
In a kind of breathless panic which masqueraded as meditation I tried to fill my body with light. Between Half Moon pose and Trikonasama I created a whirling ball of white light and pushed it into my pelvis. Throw everything at it, positive think it right into oblivion, crush that mother with the weight of nonbelief.
But that was just fear with makeup on.
When I finally sat to meditate, when I finally pulled the over-caffeinated hamster off the wheel and breathed, the words, 'Stay Calm, It's All Right' came into my mind. I seized them like the rope thrown to a drowning man. And hung on. And breathed. And made them my mantra. After a while, I was calm.
I made my mind up about a couple of things. My health was/is my responsibility. No doctors. The revulsion, total revulsion of my being, against doctors and their offices, would cause more harm than any illness. Doctors are best avoided if possible. The next thing was, I can change this, whatever it is. I'm made of energy, energy is malleable. This creation, while loved and accepted, (yes, my thinking changed that much!) had to go, had to be recycled elsewhere. So every time I sat down for a pee, I visualized peeing this thing away. Not with hatred but with love. I'm not ready to go yet. I'm never ready for a long drawn out illness. I will die peacefully in my sleep when my responsibilities are met. Right now, Richard needs me, the animals need me, and I need me.
Today, no funny feeling, no blood, no fear but alot of gratitude. And love. It came to teach.
A few days ago I noticed, when walking the dogs, a particular feeling in my groin, an irritation, as though a pubic hair had worked its way inside me and was digging in. Didn't think too much about it until having a wee upon my return and noticing frank blood. Haven't had a period for 15 years so this was abnormal. Did nothing, said nothing, thought alot.
Richard left the following day for an errand in town. I was ready. The irritation was now accompanied by a feeling of 'fullness'. Can't describe it any better than that. It was as though I'd put on a few pounds 'there'. Once he'd left I got the hand mirror and the standing lamp with the flexicord. Put the lamp on the floor, got the mirror, dropped my drawers and had a good look.
The problem was, of course, I'm not familiar with that terrain. What was I looking for? There was no errant pubic hair. There was nothing that I could see save for a slight bluish darkness at the furthest reaches. Was that supposed to be there? Or was it the visible manifestation of something far more sinister? None the wiser, I pulled my pants up and got the yoga mat out.
The mind is a wonderful thing. My mind, when frightened, is a wild banshee howling incoherently in the wind. Even yoga was difficult. Kept forgetting where I was in the sequence because of fear. Fear of cancer. All that sex, all those partners. It was bound to catch up with me. All those years of smoking. All those times I wasn't nice, thought bad thoughts, did bad things, I was going to pay for my sins now. My mind had got the bit in its teeth and was off. Every lurid horrible detail; doctors, hospitals, needles, fear fear fear. In downward dog I thought about putting my feet in stirrups while some entity in a lab coat tut tutted at the most intimate and vulnerable part of my body.
I started to cry.
So I stopped it. Lay back on those reins and pulled my mind up short. This has to stop. I have always believed that you create what you fear. If I was going to fear this, by god, I was going to make it true.
In a kind of breathless panic which masqueraded as meditation I tried to fill my body with light. Between Half Moon pose and Trikonasama I created a whirling ball of white light and pushed it into my pelvis. Throw everything at it, positive think it right into oblivion, crush that mother with the weight of nonbelief.
But that was just fear with makeup on.
When I finally sat to meditate, when I finally pulled the over-caffeinated hamster off the wheel and breathed, the words, 'Stay Calm, It's All Right' came into my mind. I seized them like the rope thrown to a drowning man. And hung on. And breathed. And made them my mantra. After a while, I was calm.
I made my mind up about a couple of things. My health was/is my responsibility. No doctors. The revulsion, total revulsion of my being, against doctors and their offices, would cause more harm than any illness. Doctors are best avoided if possible. The next thing was, I can change this, whatever it is. I'm made of energy, energy is malleable. This creation, while loved and accepted, (yes, my thinking changed that much!) had to go, had to be recycled elsewhere. So every time I sat down for a pee, I visualized peeing this thing away. Not with hatred but with love. I'm not ready to go yet. I'm never ready for a long drawn out illness. I will die peacefully in my sleep when my responsibilities are met. Right now, Richard needs me, the animals need me, and I need me.
Today, no funny feeling, no blood, no fear but alot of gratitude. And love. It came to teach.
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