Ego, Burritos & Holy Water

I have a friend who once explained that our mind, our Ego, can be deflated during moments of great physical strain and/or heavy emotional upset. And I know what he means. Take, for example, the birth of my second child. This kid had a head the size of a watermelon and I pushed like hell for a few hours before he decided he was finally ready to "come on down!"

When I got up to shower, a nurse warned me that I may be shocked when I looked in the mirror. What all that pushing did to my body was cause swelling. My eye lids were bruised, my eye balls were devil red, and my face was beyond puffy, I looked like a friggin' Teletubby!

But what it did to my psyche was leave me very quiet, very empty, very chill. And it was awesome. Now my son's birth wasn't the only time I've experienced the peace of Ego deflation, but it is the strongest example, and this week brought on another of these experiences. From Saturday through Tuesday, I was more psychotic than usual, freaking out and shaking and being more than your average nut job as I tried to prep myself for Dad's surgery.

What I was missing during this nutty state was the warning this same friend gave me, that the Ego is like a snake-in-the-grass, doing push ups while I'm sleeping. It's not something to fear, he assured, but a mental fact of which I needed to be aware. The Ego will return, he said, usually when I least expect it, and then once again, I'd be thrust into making everything about me. Fuck.

But my Auntie Kathleen was driving from Indiana to support Dad and when she picked me up Monday for our 4-hour road trip, she set the tone by asking, "So who's gonna be Thelma?" Sure I was uptight and in knots during surgery, but when he sailed through and Tuesday gave way to Wednesday, I started to feel a peace wrap around me. I'd been scooped up in a Big Dipper of support from my incredible Auntie Kathleen and we had a ball, not at Dad's expense mind you, just laughing and talking and being upbeat, which is exactly what Dad needed.

Yesterday, however, when Kathleen and I were shopping, it began to dawn on me that she was returning to Indiana via Iowa. And I would remain in Rochester without her. Thus began the rising of a Bad Moon. I could almost feel that friggin' Ego about to make everything about Jenny. And who wants to be around that? That kind of soul-suckin' jerkiness does nothing for healing! My dear Auntie left this morning and by lunch, I was sweatin' it, just Dad and I, and we're kinda runnin' outta things to chat about. Then Dad said discharge may be bumped from Monday to Wednesday! WHAT?! (Hear that? It's Jenny, making it all about her.) So by late afternoon, I was ready to cry.

Heading to my hotel's smoking patio, I sat and let it out, all the while, sucking down a cancer stick. "Boo hoo, what am I gonna do?" I knew I needed to find a phone and call someone to help me fight the self-pity. I also knew I needed some AA. But what I got was a spiritual experience. In that crying, I must've been communing with some spiritual force. WHAT?! Yup. I'd returned to my hotel room, phoned my husband and then prepared to hike it to a nearby meeting, when all of a sudden my cell phone rang and it was a couple of pals from college. Turns out they live in a nearby town and would be at my hotel in 5 minutes. JOY!!!

So Marty and Laura tossed me in the back of their car and we enjoyed giant burritos . . .

And we cruised a Sam's Club for 4 cases of Propel water . . .

Strolled through Linens & Things looking for stuff not needed. . .

And finished our outing at a Coldstone . . .

Back at Dad's bedside by 9:30, it dawned on me, "Holy shit! I think I just had me a miracle!" Not that this week and Dad's recovery hasn't been miraculous enough, but in my time of shallow need, self-centered and absorbed, a beam of love and laughter was sent.

So as I sit and sip from a water bottle found during yesterday's shopping with Auntie, I've decided I'm gonna keep trudging that spiritual path. And keep drinking the good stuff. . .

God of the eggs & ham

Got faith? My willingness to implement any type of prayer or meditation or centering or focus started waning a few years back, then dropped off SIGNIFICANTLY last spring and summer. And I don't know how to get it back. I've got loads of people telling me what they do to deepen their faith. Hell, I've even tried the b...b...bible. But am I really trying?

I hate to say this, but I think my efforts have been more focused on disproving religion (which hangs itself so why bother) rather than re-igniting my spiritual fire. I am so hung up on the words! My catholic indoctrination runs to the cellular level, I swear! And for thousands of people, they do totally great with it. But it has fucked me up! The word 'Lord' is feudalistic. The word 'God?' Come on, the baggage!!!

I have lost my ability to pray: the words to use, where to be, how to feel, what to do, eyes open, eyes closed, in a chair, on a hill.
I would not, could not in a box.

I would not, could not with a fox . . .

I would not, could not, in the rain.

Not in the dark. Not on a train.

Not in a car. Not in a tree.

Oh God! Please Vishnu, come to me!

Since the grammas kicked it last summer I have RUN from the silence. And isn't that where we supposedly find wholeness? Away from the racket and the noise and the bustle? But I'm not willing to do this on my own. I need someone to hold my hand and tell me what to do. Those I do reach out to for guidance are Christian-based in their faith, and the polarity between our belief systems is too wide, too gaping. I cannot make the leap. My parched, cracked ideas on faith are more Hindu, Buddhist, even Humanist. So when we talk, they tend to think I'm hung up on some new wave thing and in self-protection, I batten my hatches against anything Christian. Do the eggs and ham have to be Christian eggs and ham?

I need a teacher, a guru who can stomach me and guide me, offer understanding of my weird, weak faith. And help me find God . . . oh shit, a bird just crashed into my window. The bells! The bells!

A pause on the road

I can't help it. This cartoon makes too much sense . . .

Matt 13: Get off the cow path

Having abandoned this study for some time, a friend recently urged me to not give up. And I hadn't, I simply lost focus. But please don't assume said focus is regained, today I just felt like reading.

And what a chapter with which to resume. Ugh!!! Loads of good v. bad, which I find quite unpalatable. Why? Because I am human. I will never be good without my bad. Isn't that the human condition? The life-long battle with self? The struggle between recognizing what I should be doing and understanding that I'd rather just loaf and procrastinate and eat chocolate and rot in front of the television?

I have come to believe in a life-giving, all-loving Force, which NEVER abandons because it is a part of my biological make-up. (Biological? Yes, remember, the weight of the human body immediately after death is 21.3 grams LESS?) For my own sanity, I have to take this study with the proverbial grain of salt and attempt to see the underlying guidance within.

So Mark's 13th Chapter . . . not my fav. What the hell is meant by the 12th verse? "Taken away"? This simply speaks to my religious indoctrination that if I do "good," I'll be rewarded, but if I do "bad," I'll be punished. That's a load of crap!

What I understand to be true FOR ME is that every action I make comes with a consequence. Some consequences I enjoy. Others? Not so much. Could this be what the 16th verse is pointing toward?

And what about the 15th? Is this an encouragement for individual interpretation? Individual understanding? (Gasp!) If so, that's pretty major stuff for this recovering catholic taught to follow the masses. Hell, that's pretty crazy stuff for our American culture (got your iPhone, yet?).

So I think I'll wander off the cow path a little further and continue to make this reading mine.