link to a couple of songs i shared

http://soundcloud.com/tinkasing

i started an account on soundcloud to share some of my singing.
have a great day!

difficult childhood makes being a new parent emotionally confusing

rather than thinking i was healed before i had kids like she experienced, i had this very young idea that parenting them would heal my inner child. as she shares, this is kinda true, actually, but....ouch!

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/teresa-strasser/dear-mom-and-dad-now-that_b_1084602.html?ref=parents

dreams from the past

Dreams from the past (ancient, cracking walls) writhe through my psyche (the child sobs in its sleep) bubbling thick in the mire of memory (animal hair…narrowed male eyes stare…and stare).

You’re not pretty enough to be expensive he says (but you’re pretty. that looks…good….on you). When the women notice how you look (nasty bitches) then you’re really Something (something you’re supposed to be?).

Organ notes float through waves of incense (if you catch their eyes they look away), grating, aching, throbbing, a hungry echo (the high notes sound desperate) of old, old sorrows bandaged under words of faith (the stone of the walls is thick and cold).

Like mist the floor dissolves (melts like plastic) when she thought it was firm. Reaching for the warm hand it claws her (her face, her beauty!). I’m sinking and I’m deformed.

what will remain (a warm, solid thing) when the dreams end?...

happy

My little daughter glances up at me and her eyes are like melting stars wrapped in a softening sky. Why should her eyes be so lovely? Why should I be the one blessed to have them look at me?

My husband's hands touch me with grace, giving, and appreciation. Why should my body be the one to be held? Why should I be the one blessed with this good man to care for me?

The sun touches my face, a caressing benediction of nurturing life. Why should my skin be well enough to absorb it with joy? Why should my body be fed and strong and whole in this moment?

Coming from emptiness, it is hard to understand being filled. Knowing lack from childhood, for me there has always been a deep guilt associated with having. That others deserve as much as I do, that others sit bereft while I walk in fullness pulls at my heart imperatively. But if I listen to the guilt, it steals life from others around me who need me to be happy. It robs me of what I have in this moment and benefits no one.

The only appropriate response to this precious beauty is to connect with it and nurture it. It is worth everything I can give to it. It won't last for me or for anyone else. That it is at all, for anyone, is miraculous and wonderful. That I am willing to give my all to it may be one reason it isn't gone right now. From this season of fullness, I can be filled to give when the time comes. And it will come. As surely as night follows day.

I can't tell the future

   You never really know how things may turn out. I didn’t.

   When I was growing up, I was hungry and tired all the time. I had asthma, muscle cramps and headaches. While some of this was a result of stress and anxiety, the food we were given wasn’t sufficient, was fairly poor quality, and it was only well into adulthood that I realized I was also allergic to much of it. I remember one thing we often had was hamburger gravy, which was basically ground beef fried hard, then mixed with flour, water or milk, and some seasonings. It made me nauseous every time, but I didn’t know it because I was so used to feeling unwell after eating that I assumed it was normal.  All I knew was that the meat by itself was much more appealing to me. So I would sneak as much of the fried meat as I could before the flour was added, then eat as little as I could of the finished meal. The only food I remember really enjoying was fish, although it caused shooting pains through my entire body along with piercing headaches. I knew perfectly well this wasn’t normal, but it was the meal that I liked the most, so I suffered in silence.

   My health problems continued into adulthood. I didn’t have the ability to tell when I was hungry. Instead, I knew I needed to eat when I would feel mild cramps in my upper abdomen, dizziness, and have trouble regulating my body temperature or thinking clearly. I couldn’t tell that I was always exhausted because I had never felt really rested, so I would abuse my body to the point of collapse without realizing it. Things worsened steadily until a long car ride would mean debilitating pain, and I would spend whole nights sick and in pain, lying on the bathroom floor.

  About four years ago, I had the opportunity to take my son on a trip to California. At the end of the week, I was very sick. I spent the last night of the trip awake, drove two hours to the airport, two more hours home after the flight, and was incapacitated for almost two weeks. I realized that this couldn’t be normal and that I needed to figure out what was causing it. I began to experiment with my diet and have discovered that I need to avoid lactose and gluten, eat more meats and good fats, and that I was experiencing the after-effects of childhood traumas.

      It has been an amazing journey into greater health, both physical and mental, especially when I had not known that I was ill. When living the way I did, I didn’t see myself as sicker than other people. I thought that everyone else was better at dealing with things than I was. My body had always felt the way it did. Food had never been enjoyable and all activities were a struggle. I just assumed things were that hard and I needed to figure out how to deal with it. Mostly, the journey of realization has been gradual, but there are moments of almost spiritual epiphany, where the newness of sensation and ability is almost revelatory.

  I had taken my daughter out for a girls’ day about a year ago. We had been busy and active and I knew I would need to eat soon. While we waited for our table at the restaurant I began to feel nervous, knowing that it had been longer between meals than is good for me and that I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. I was expecting pain. But then it came over me that I wasn’t feeling any. I paused for a moment and “listened” to my body. There was no pain, no stabbing cramping. Instead, there was a warmth, a softness, and a desire for food, an ache that was almost a pleasure, knowing the food would come. I realized I was simply hungry. And I realized I never had been before. Tears of joy and relief sprang to my eyes, and I felt gratitude as I enjoyed waiting for my food.

   No one could have explained to me what that would have been like. No one could have told me what healthy hunger felt like or what it would mean to me to feel it. And I never would have thought that I would feel that way about it or that I would be able to experience the kind of health I have in my body. There are natural, reasonable assumptions we make based on our previous experience of reality. We make assumptions about our place in society, about the state of our relationships, about what we know about the universe, about our own bodies and personalities. But they can all be wrong. As we change and grow, as new opportunities and struggles come, we will see things we have never seen before, and see things as we have never seen them before.

   Today, I felt lonely again. I looked at the situation I am in and the patterns of experience that have repeatedly kept me in the situation. My heart was weary in the face of so much past. And then I felt a strength in my middle that had never been there before, I felt tired without being in pain, and I saw myself be patient through stresses that would have toppled me in the past. And I realized I can’t tell the future. I am always striving, always growing, always learning. And I have no idea what is coming. And I felt hopeful.

to eat or not to eat

On my plate lay sprawled, the remains.
From the open-mouthed, flat-eyed head curved the backbone in a snaky "s". It was an odd moment i was having. I had cooked this one fish for myself and wasn't dividing it with the rest of the family...

...so it was just Me and the Fish...





  There was a direct awareness of transferrence of life. On the one hand, I felt the sadness of the reality of the loss of a life, and on the other, the inevitability of the reality of interdependance. A part of me recoiled from the taking of the life of the fish for myself. Another felt gratitude and humility.
  As I looked at the Fish that gave its whole self just for me, I saw also the many pairs of hands that cooperated to bring it to my table. And I saw also the hands of my husband working at his desk, and the hands of a doctor holding the infant I was when I came from the pains and energies of my mother. I saw myself as the receiver of the life and energy of so many, as a person totally dependant on sacrifice from the moment of my first breath.

And now, on the sacrifice of this Fish.


  I considered that, if I followed the feelings that mourned my part in the taking of life and chose not to eat even the meat of a fish, I might be making a noble choice. But I wondered if it could also be, in some ways, a dishonest one. It could be a nice feeling to be uninvolved in this cycle of feeding off of death, but perhaps that would be an imaginary comfort. Every opportunity, advantage and joy I have depends on the giving of others through no virtue or desire of my own. Recognizing the reality of that dependancy reveals my life as an extension of the efforts of many others, and my efforts to live it well as an affirmation of their sacrifices. It is equally an encouraging and obligating realization, a humbling and ennobling interconnection.



  What is the best way, then, to express this gratitude?
I could refuse to take any more, and remove myself from the cycle as much as possible.
Or I can accept things as they are and seek my own ways to give as it has been given to me.
Maybe one way could be to put aside meat or to seek the most humane options, but whatever my response to the sightless gaze of the one I have now fed on, it should be a recognition of what has been given rather than a rejection of it.

realistic optimism, from huff post

i always appreciate finding things that i have learned well-said.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/heidi-grant-halvorson-phd/optimism-realism_b_858825.html

for "easter"

a song by the hubby of a special friend. i believe this is what the story of jesus' resurrection is about. not a religious victory with a loaded threat to unbelievers, but as the angel announced at jesus' birth, good news to All men. gorgeous lyrics in this ♥


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzPd7SF5NqQ&feature=player_embedded

self-esteem or self-compassion?

an article that put into words something i have found important.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kristin-neff/self-compassion_b_843721.html

love wins

i haven't read this book, but i really appreciate this nicely done little video questioning some assumptions of current popular religion.

http://vimeo.com/20272585

an epiphany

Deep browns of wood grain and warm gold of brass enfolded me in a humming quiet as the elevator doors slid shut. I had brought my eight-year-old daughter to a hotel for one night to have some time together away from the rest of the family. She was waiting in our room while I went to the car for one of our bags. As I felt the pulsing vibrations of the mechanisms lowering me lobbyward, the sense of my aloneness in the space washed through me. It was deep, warm and rich. I was myself, being carried, in a space that had been beautified for the enjoyment of any who entered it.

And, out of that sense of shared beauty, there rose a thought that had never occurred to me before:

“You have as much right to this as anyone else.

You have an equal right to be on the earth, to enjoy it, to love and to have pleasure.

You deserve equally the health you desire for everyone else.”

Whether the elevator tilted or I felt my universe shift, for a moment my head swam.

When the doors slid open, I was glad no one was waiting. I would have been a strange sight - the glow of euphoria on my face, wiping away tears.

    

Images of Christ’s self-sacrifice as our example and ideal always held meaning for me. I wanted to be a servant to all and to give love that would be transformative in other’s lives. But I didn’t ponder the fact that Jesus’ giving didn’t only come from seeing the value of others and serving the Truth, but grew also from a certainty of His own perfect right as the Son of God to all heavenly bliss. He taught and gave and served because He desired all people to share bliss with him, without exclusion. He loved others as he loved himself.

It is impossible to separate love for one’s self from love for others. When we are honest, yet gentle, about our own weaknesses, we give greater grace to the shortcomings of other people. The desire to see my neighbor tenderly warmed and fed grows when I have myself known what care is.

Neglecting one’s self makes love a heavy burden. Before I was concerned for myself, I was still concerned for others, but I could frequently be harsh or resentful. When I demanded too much from myself, my love became demanding. I would give another person the best I knew how, but if they didn’t respond as I had hoped, I could easily feel frustrated and taken advantage of. Because I thought I needed to always be available to give, if I had to say “no”, I would often feel that the other person had forced me to be selfish. Without caring for myself, I had no self to share.

So love yourself with honesty and kindness. Receive the beauties in your life as fully as you can. It isn’t selfishness. It’s selfhood. It is caring for a person who is as valuable, fallible, tender and complex as every other person you will ever meet. And it is an essential part of loving wisely.

 

“Each of us inevitable; Each of us limitless - each of us with his or her right upon the earth; Each of us allowed the eternal purports of the earth; Each of us here as divinely as any is here.”

~ Walt Whitman

hiding

We hide from each other in so many ways. We hide behind weapons, harsh words, a blank face, the latest styles or even behind “being nice”. We hide from ourselves just as much. We over-identify with our bodies and physical appearance, with particular societal or relational roles, or by immersing ourselves in distractions or in our own emotions.

On the most fundamental level, animals or people hide because they are afraid or feel threatened. With such a variety of ways of hiding, we must be afraid of a multitude of things, including apparently our own selves. And we appear to believe ourselves incapable of directly facing whatever we feel threatened by.

Life can certainly be overwhelming and defeating, and death overcomes the strongest of us in the end. But it isn’t only those who are oppressed by the heaviness of life that hide. It is just as frequently the powerful and privileged who do so, maybe even more often. It is as if, finding themselves behind heavy, seemingly impenetrable defenses, they settle in and look no further. The larger reality can seem inconsequential when we are ensconced within an effective illusion.

On one level, this is actually healthy. The world is too complex for any mind to fully process, too threatening for any body to survive and too cruel for any heart to contain. The healthy individual at some point draws lines in their life, and faces the challenges within those personal boundaries, creating a personally manageable world. What separates health from hiding is denial. When we do not realize the fragility and actual falseness of our forms of self-protection, we are deluded about the state of reality. We are then unable to judge the effects of our actions. We do real damage to ourselves and those around us, even when our intentions are good. Often we destroy our own defenses from within.

The tragedy of our hiding is how good at it we can become. We fool even ourselves and often rush to meet the very dangers we were originally avoiding. Facing reality is difficult and frightening, but avoiding it is no better. Shaking off our disguises and stepping out of our strongholds is a key part of learning to love wisely.