I’ve reflected a lot on this quote, and today — the 26th birth/death anniversary of my stillborn son, Liam Andrew — seems the perfect time to share my personal conclusions.
Basically, I both agree and disagree with Rose Kennedy’s statement. Yes, the wounds remain — forever. Whether of the body, mind, or spirit, the injury doesn’t ever truly disappear. It will always be registered somewhere in your body and/or psyche. One doesn’t ever simply “forget” that it happened.
But…! The reality of time passing; scar tissue forming; and pain lessening IS — in fact — the healing! The experience of loving and losing Liam Andrew had a profound effect on me at every level of my being. And at the same time, I am healed and whole. Because time passed, scar tissue formed, and the pain lessened…then eventually went away.
So, I submit that the wound remains AND healing happens.
The sound of the surf and view of the waves at Carmel Beach.
Step 1 is the moment I first hear the roar of the surf in the distance. My breathing deepens and I feel like I’m coming home, at long last.
Step 2 is my first sight of the ocean. From whatever vantage point it occurs, I have to stop in my tracks and simply drink it in.
Step 3 is sitting back and completely blissing out on the sight, the sound, the feel of being at the ocean. Which I could do — and have often done — for hours on end.
Until I’m here (at pretty much any beach), I forget just how much I miss it…and rely on it. It had been more than two years since last time, so I’m really grateful that Ramesha took the initiative and planned this trip.
Tomorrow we head out into the big wide world for the first time since well before the pandemic hit. And I have to admit that it feels pretty darn strange.
It’s only for a few days and Lord knows we’re ready! And yet…there is a certain ambivalence.
Not to mention packing…! I’m hoping it all comes back to me, like riding a bicycle. 😂
Today I experienced the most enjoyable doctor’s appointment ever.
What made it such a wonderful experience? The fact that I have been doing things right (for once)!
In other words: 👉 My weight is down. 👉 My blood pressure readings are down. 👉 And my blood sugar levels are so far down that I get to discontinue one of my medications!
So, am I motivated to keep doing what I’ve been doing? You’d better believe it! 😊
I definitely resonate with this take on what it is to be a “true musician.”
To my way of thinking, it’s something independent of whether you’re “successful” or not; whether you make lots of money doing it or not; even whether you’re a professional or not!
The way it looked in my life is that I started playing music at age 8 and I mostly just kept doing it. Piano, flute, bari sax, alto sax, back to flute. School band, jazz bands, beginning orchestra, “serious” music major.
When I reached college age I didn’t have any clear goals — in fact, I didn’t even apply to any colleges, despite being on Honor Roll with a 3.9 GPA — so I just kept doing music. To be honest, I was a junior at SFSU and getting my Bachelor of Music in Flute Performance before I fully understood that it was possible make a real living as a musician!
But it was hard. And challenged me in lots and lots of ways. So, on numerous occasions I tried to quit. I even made it three years at one point. But my life never made sense without it and eventually I ended up freelancing throughout the SF Bay Area as a successful classical flutist.
During the years when I was teaching flute, I would occasionally have students who were more talented and accomplished than the average. Some of them would ask me whether they should major in music when they went to college. And I had to tell them: don’t do it unless you absolutely can’t NOT do it.
The way I would put it now is, don’t try to make music your life unless music already owns you, possessing you to the point that you don’t really have a choice — you’re going to have to do it anyway.
And even then, I would advise the questioner to keep in mind that lots of people have other jobs (their vocation) while remaining committed to music as their avocation. And they’re quite happy and fulfilled. If music will let you, it’s probably a healthier way to go.
Of course, I wouldn’t dream of giving up the joy, meaning, experiences, and life purpose that music has brought me in this lifetime. It “owns” me more now than ever, and I’m quite content to have it so.
Yep, my second 28-day challenge comes to a close tomorrow. I was feeling a little down about it, because I wasn’t as consistent with my walking as during the last challenge.
But then I had to give myself a mental shake and a reality check. I mean, for another 28 days I didn’t eat any sugar or starchy carbs. Period. And with no struggle. Which means it really is on the way to becoming automatic.
Now that’s progress!
I also upped the ante this time around, by committing inwardly to meet my personal meditation goal every day of the challenge. Which I did.
And that’s huge.
So, yeah. I decided that I actually feel pretty darn good. Yay, me!
Which means lots of emails, lots of downloads, lots of converting video to audio, and lots and lots of helping people navigate technology. Which is interesting for a not particularly technical person like me!
But it’s all for the best of causes — joining together in song despite being separated by time and space, this time in honor of Swami Kriyananda’s birthday. Yay! 😊
This one’s for my hubby, Ramesha. And me, too, of course. We’re both working on remembering that worrying and stressing about things never ever leads us to the superconscious solutions we seek.
So, time for some wisdom from Mary Oliver.
I Worried I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers flow in the right direction, will the earth turn as it was taught, and if not how shall I correct it? Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven, can I do better? Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows can do it and I am, well, hopeless. Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it, am I going to get rheumatism, lockjaw, dementia? Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing. And gave it up. And took my old body and went out into the morning, and sang. —by Mary Oliver
