Seasonal Reflections

Seasonal iconic movies. In the summer it's Breakfast At Tiffany's. Winter is LoveActually. A scary movie or When Harry Met Sally fills my autumn spot...but for spring it's definately City of Angels. And it has everything to do with when I saw it, what senses are also tied to the movie. Today, waking up with spring breezes floating through my window and the promise of one f the first spring rains on the horizon the craving to watch this movie was on my mind.

It's noon and the day still holds limitless possibilities. Personal life leaves me little to complain about: well rested, with a mug of coffee in one hand, a clean living room around me. I planted chammomile and sweet basil last week. Nurtured with sunlight and water, my little windowsill plants are peaking their heads through the dirt. There's something about new life growing so near me that restores some balance, some inner-life giving well has been turned on. Even when things have seemed hopeless the past few days (which, for an emotional streamroller such as myself, happens every few days or so) looking at these little buds restores some inner pendulum. If such sweet little plants can grow, how can the world seem as bad as all of that?

It is really and truly (and finally) spring outside. Seasons of change are my favorite. The imperceptable shift towards summer (and in the autum, towards winter) is beautiful. New life, new growth, new habits. All things that I feel mirrored in my own life. New and healthier practices and habits, new growth in relationships, the regeneration of hope and light as we slowly begin peeking our heads out of our dens of hibernation. We become attuned to the life and growth that was continuing around us...greatful that as we have been unaware, changes within and without us have comintued to happen.

And today I am clinging to this beauty and peace of this immediate life. The world at large, the cares and troubles of this world bring enough of their own baggage that turmoil in my own life is either engligable or mitigated...perhaps it is through the little beauty of herbs growing, of minor life celebrations that we can continue to survive.

Migrant Blogger

I found my blog at the bottom of her favorite links bar. I felt the craving in the pit of my stomach almost immediately. I was craving a small bit of anonymity. While, it can be argued that I could achieve the same thing by merely taking this off of the internet (public domain at large) but somehow this life of a renegade, of migrant blogging appeals. The ability to share something, anything. And, truth be told...if I know that she is reading my voice changes. I censor myself, draw things in. It's a semblance of control thing. So I migrated again. Verda was my grandmother, the matriarch of storytelling. As I was home two months ago, I remembered how I used to enjoy writing...and realized how I had lost my voice in the hustle and bustle of life. Throwing the gift passed on to me by the wayside. So here I am. Crossroads. Unsure of what is to come, unsure of where this is going. Relishing the excitement that comes with that -- will it be a critique? Will it be commentary? Will it be dreams? Will it be dreamy? Will is be something claimed, something realized? Only time will bear that fruit.

18 April 2007

This is not how it is supposed to be.
That was the first line of the letter written to youth workers.
Tell your students that -- this is not how it is supposed to be.
Tell them that. Tell yourself that. Tell it until you believe.
This is not how it supposed to be.

posted by Kate @ 10:28 PM 0 Comments

16 April 2007

I wrote this five years ago. It's amazing what has changed (and what hasn't).

This rabbi, Shem Tov, wrote the following: "Alas the world is full of enormous lights and mysteries but man shuts them from himself with one small hand."

Some days I feel like a battering ram. Strong, resilient. Able to withstand. But lately -- I've been feeling like the door. Unable to concentrate compounded with little sleep it seems like the only way to keep from caving in is to recoil. Like somone after being punched in the stomach. Just wanting to do nothing except sleep and smell good. But I am hollow. A shell of a person being presented with such awe inspiring things that I try to fill up with them. And then this dull bittersweetness fills my core. I'm jealous -- of these men who lived so very long ago who were able to put words down that long after make me want to cry. I become so overwhelmed with these "lights and mysteries" that I block them all, still jealous and recoil. But to where. I berate myself about not being able to do anything. And eventually I feel like a slight shadow with a ragin fire contained within it's wispy edges threatening to make itself known but in no way knowing how -- still blocked, still cut off. The shadow cracks after a night eventually and I get up at the first ring of an alarm.
I'm ready, I think. I'm going to begin slowly putting down my hand. I'm going to let the awe swirling outside begin to sink in. I think I'm ready. I'm still too small to take it all in, but I'm going to try. I am the battering ram again.

posted by Kate @ 11:53 PM 0 Comments

10 April 2007

Does it ever get any easier? Time and time over I am taken aback when I come face to face with my shadow self. The one that hides in the corners. Who is secretly terrified of responsibility, lest they fall short by even a hair. The one who is vividly conscious of the body it is stuck in, dragging it's heals at signs of vulnerability, of opportunities that could provide anything but a glowing exterior. The one that lies to me about my worth, that values the arbitrary values the world places on a certain day over the value that loved ones place, that I even allow myself to place. The one that just wants to fit in, but be the best in that similaritude.

It is interesting how food and value are so intricately tied in this society...at least for women. That what you eat or don't eat on a given day can affect how you perceive your relationships or even yourself. That our views are so short sighted, so selfish, so skewed confounds me. As I navigate my way through healthier eating and living at the hands of this diet I am on, for the shadow self the stakes are even higher. It is no longer about just perceived image, but the ability to restrict, to refrain, to say no vs. saying yes. A suddenly saying yes to something becomes a danger zone. Only in the West does the ability to restrict food, to cut things out become a place to find power. Where in the inital moment it is fine and permissible...but in discussing it later, the shadow extrapolates greater intrinsic worth over a quarter cup of grapes. In a weak moment the shadow rages to the surface, spewing questions of the value and worth that another is finding in you, preying on your insecurities cultivated over years and years of culture saturation. In that moment you turn from being proud of what you said "no" to being shamed for the small things you said "yes" to. It sneaks up, you don't realize it, you barely realize that you are viewing life differently, that you are looking at your choices through a different lens.

In that moment, near tears...fearful that one that I love would lose respect for me over a peanut butter cup or a handful of grapes..that somehow these still healthy decisions, just ones that didn't match with his personal choices for the day, had these irradicable implications...in that moment my redeemed self, my enlightened self, broke through. I was able to listen to it, able to address the real fears (the ones of value and of power) that were being whispered so quietly into my ears. Hesitantly realizing that such things are of little consequence, really. That he loves me for more than a handful of grapes. That there are bigger things in this life, that my value is found in more than this. That I have greater worth than that decision would suggest (or even hold).

Does it ever get any easier? I still don't know. There would have been days where my enlightened self wouldn't have been able to break through. That I heard it and listened to it are signs of some greater thing. Some days I am more broken than I realize...it is amazing to realize that I am also stronger and better than I give myself credit for. We all have tales of brokenness, of lies that our shadow selves whispher in our ears.