Belonging

It is Sisterhood’s hope that through our Women’s column, you can find a sense of belonging, a place of empathy, of mutual compassion, a home for the Jewish woman’s voice. Life is filled with Light and Shadow, up and downs, faith and disbelief. We hope these words can be a ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds lifting your soul.

The feeling of belonging comes at us like the Viennese Waltz: the glamour of a new place, the graceful couples who seamlessly hold time in their hands and maneuver about each other sweeping from one action to the next without flaw, keeping rhyme and measure in constant balance of the often rapid steps and movements. Anyone can dance, you think. So, it’s your turn. You take a partner’s hand, but realize the timing is too fast, you cannot keep up, so you stumble and fall. Maybe belonging isn’t so easy.

In praising friends who are converting and meeting new members who are exploring their options in the community, I am reminded of the anxiety of “Belonging.” I spoke with a new member whose voice was guarded and who appeared uncomfortable in the space swarming with new faces. We shared mutual anxieties over the language barrier, confusion on the length of the service, fear of the word “Oneg” and what that even meant. We laughed over my initial angst regarding my tattoos that screamed, “Hi. I am NOT a Jew!” Then I was asked, “How did you do it? Find a way to belong?”

The answer came in the form of taking a risk; by getting involved in the community. I found my home in Sisterhood - A woman’s organization at TBI that is united in friendship, compassion, philanthropy, and awareness. In Sisterhood, I discovered an outlet for my inner baker, a home for my philanthropic ideas, a time to explore my spirituality and a tolerant space for my feminist beliefs. I found a piece of myself in my Sisters.

“You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely or isolated from anyone. You belong.” –F. Scott Fitzgerald

© 2014 DNKG Belonging; Originally printed in Kehillah April 2014

Dying, Death, and Being Present

I received message Monday morning that my grandmother's oldest sister just passed away. She was a gentle woman, a woman filled with laughter, and compassion. She very much reminds me of my grandmother: she was a warm soul, gentle but boy was she a spit fire if need be.When I received the news it hit me slow. It was like a slow moving fog that just creeps into your life and suddenly your surrounded by it, just you and the fog.

Death is all to common an event in my family: Witnessing my Aunt take her last breath at 15 years old, pacing in a room waiting for the news of my first love's beloved grandfather to a stroke,  witnessing my uncle literally wither away, being 2500 miles away when I heard that another uncle had suddenly and unexpectedly passed, and being too close to relatives that are on the edge of Po.

With the passing of my grand aunt, it became a powerful visual reminder of the very real presence  Death has in my life. It seems as though Death has always been lurking around every corner or waiting outside our family's doorposts over the last 15 years. It used to leave me asking the question, "Why does it have to be us?" and now I have come to the point of surrender; of acceptance.

I spoke with a close friend when I was knee deep in archaic sea smoke and relayed to her how I felt. She couldn't quite understand because the closest person to have had died for her was a neighbor. Again, my mind wandered with questions about what made this family line so much different than others I knew, that lives were taken in much more rapid succession. I began to relive the moments and memories in which I shared with my late relatives:

First with my aunt, who was a second mother to me, took her last gasping breath in my childhood home. She had fought a very long hard battle with a rare cancer that played peek-a-boo from within her delicate body. It was relentless, despite my aunt's fervor in fighting it. When we knew she wasn't going to get better, my mother opted to become her hospice nurse, a job I know must have been excruciatingly painful. I vividly recall the last two days of my aunt's life: running errands, cleaning bed linens, frequently hugging and kissing her even though she slept a lot, and bursting into tears when she no longer recognized me. The 5:30am text message from my mom reading, "Come downstairs, it won't be much longer now." I jumped out of bed, creeped down the stairs as if somehow that would prevent Death from coming to collect her, and opened up my mother's bedroom door: the lights were dimly lit and the TV was on. My mother was holding her sister's left hand and stroking her head, saying, "Go to Jesus now. Go to Jesus." And as I held my mother's hand, I watched my beautiful aunt who took her last living breaths on this earthen plane. Shallow inhale. Exhale. Pause. Pause. Pause. Pause. Pause. Shallow inhale. Hold. Light exhale. Gone. Forever burned in my memory. I miss her long golden hair, the sound of her laugh, how she read her books for hours on end, and how she loved me. I had just turned 16 when she died.

Next, I remembered the life of a hilarious old man, who constantly blabbered on about the vultures above his house who were just waiting for him to die so they could pick his bones clean. He loved his fish in' pontoon and his talking' fish at his door post. Originally form Kentucky, this true blue southern gentleman was a one of a kind. I never will forget his kindness and openness to me. Nor how he always seemed to watch to have a boxing match against me. My first love's grandfather was his best friend; they were two peas in the same pod. When we got word that he had suffered a stroke, we drove from Southern California out to Henderson, Nevada to see him in the hospital. We stayed a few days until he was released and saw him to his home. That next weekend we came back to visit. He looked great, said he felt fine and was going fishing very soon. Some time had passed and we had heard that he was back in the hospital having suffered another stroke. The entire family had gathered together for him, more than 25 of us in the waiting room. We each saw him individually. Hugged him and kissed him. He managed a smile. A few days later we got the call that he had passed away. My first love was torn to bits, angry, and devastated. He had lost his mother tragically, his father was a deadbeat alcoholic who he had never known, and now his best friend had just died. The greatest heartache for me was at the funeral burial when, after the moving service, my First love's brother revealed the headstone of their mother's grave; something he had never seen. As he collapsed into my frail arms, my heart was only further broken. We lie on the ground in tears, crying for what seemed like hours, just utterly exasperated from all the emotional wreckage that had been unearthed in a single moment.

It was three years later when I knew Death had become a permanent relative. It's gaze was fixed upon the only true father figure I'd ever known as a child, my uncle Michael. I was much more removed emotionally from my uncle's passing since I was still grieving over my aunt's. Yet, his passing hit me the hardest. My grades fell terribly in school, I could not function at work, and my relationships fell apart. His cancers seemed like a much more silent killer. Or maybe he was just the silent type who quietly fought his pain behind closed doors. He never let me know he was in pain. I remember his withering away; a man of pure muscle, with lots of hair, very defined facial features, and jet black eyes now sat wobbly, shirts 4 sizes too big, and every single bone of his body visual. Yet it was his eyes that spoke with such sadness. I could see all his hopes and dreams leaving him, his loving light, his enigmatic nature. He would stare empty as though he had already greeted Death. On a particularly cold winter night, our family had made its way over to my uncle's home for our traditional weekly dinners. I had recently purchased a new car and I had told him about the car prior to purchase. He was excited to see it that evening and I was excited to share it with him. It was my first car that I actually would own. I came inside hugged and kissed him and sat down next to him. He didn't look at me, just watched the commercial on the TV. He touched my leg and turned to me and, "my niece just bought one those exact cars. I'm so proud of her." It was with those stinging words that I knew history was about to repeat itself. I just said, "Uncle Mike, that was me. I bought that car." He couldn't remember who I was. I left the house in tears.

My uncle passed in the arms of my aunt Margaret in their home in December. I was the only niece who was able to attend his viewing before the funeral. As I waited for my aunt and cousins to finish their own individual time with him, I walked into the dark room and saw his cold, pale body lying next the red walls dimly lit. It was my first experience seeing a corpse. At 21, I had thought that I would be able to handle it. I had read every book on grief and loss in my psychology courses in college and felt prepared. I walked towards him and saw his lifeless body and it became a reality that I would never feel his warmth again. That his hugs or kisses were forever gone. That his smell of cigarettes and booming voice would be silenced. I would soon forget the sound of his voice and way that he walked. I lost control and lay against his ice cold body. I remember apologizing to him and spilling my heart's pain and love for him. It was as though he was still there and I kept wishing, imagining he would just sit up and wrap his arms around me just once more. I brushed his hair back and touch his mustache. I held his hand and kissed his cheek. I walked towards the doors and glanced back, fully aware that would be the last time I would see his physical body.

Our family, between 2005 and 2012 had a number of scares that left us cleaving to the Breath of Life as we hung over Death's abysmal precipice: Breast tumors, colon cancer, pneumonias, broken bones in the elderly and heart attacks. We were thankful that each person came back from the edge and was given more time. That is, until we all were rocked to our core in such a sudden and unexpected way. It left me in such a state of shock that sometimes I still find this next loss hard to believe.

In April of 2012, my husband and I had decided to make a nice weekend at the New Jersey shore. After a late Friday evening in Atlantic City, we woke up late. I had 5 missed calls from my mom. I immediately called her back and when I reached her, she was panicked and incomprehensible. It was loud and she was muttering so quickly that I couldn't catch anything she was saying. She was crying and sobbing so loudly that nothing made sense. After she finally calmed down enough to tell me she was at the airport, I asked what had happened. She said, "AJ died!" and I was in shock. I didn't believe her. I told her that it wasn't funny to say that and she said she was being serious, that he was found early this morning. She explained that she was coming home for the funeral that was happening this coming week. I hung up the phone and was in shock. I looked over at my husband and just said, "My uncle AJ passed away last night."

I can't explain what he meant to me. He was such a special guy. He did anything and everything for anyone. It didn't matter who you were. He was a steward of the Catholic Church and was very proud to be Catholic. He was a great man. With this uncle, there wasn't anything that he wouldn't have done for me. I was like his child. I remember walking on his back and calling him a bear when I was a child. He rescued me from a train bathroom. He attended nearly every volleyball game, track event or soccer match I ever had. He was the first person, outside my mother, I talked to when I was discussing my conversion to Judaism. I remember the way he selflessly offered himself every minute for my grandmother. He gave his own freedom, he denied himself a life of his own because he so loved her.

Going to the viewing was the toughest thing I had ever done. I was 2500 miles away when I got the news but my immediate family thought it would be good for my grieving process. My mother and sister were going to the funeral home to identify his body for legal purposes as well as finalize his arrangements. I was suckered into go. I did not want to go because I remember what my aunt looked like after her death and did not want to relive the trauma associated with my uncle who died in 2005. I went anyways to support them and before I knew it, I was walking towards the viewing room. My mom and sister nobly walk up to the body first as I stand behind the door, my mom says, "awww. he looks good. Danielle come in" and I stepped into the room but 5 feet, and I was on the floor gasping for air. I was holding myself and sobbing intensely knowing that he was really gone. That my big bear, my Garfield loving uncle was really gone. I found myself wondering if I was ok with the shitty, half-assed text message I sent to him 2 weeks prior wishing him a Happy Birthday and saying how much I loved him. Why didn't I call? I found myself wondering why I declined so many dinner dates with him. I felt awful. For a year after his passing I kept his text messages, played his voicemails, and read his cards. I still peruse his Facebook.

Death in and of itself is so powerful. It has the power to make a grown woman. at the slightest memory of her loved one , to break out into tears. What it does most for me is brings to light that as more and more of my loved ones die, it brings me one generation closer to embracing the chilly hand of Death. I begin to wonder if I am living my life I want, with the people I want, or doing the things I want.

Death and dying has made realize how much I took for granted the time I thought I had with my loved ones. Never in my life would i have expected losing 3 of the greatest aunts and uncles I had in their 40s. I expected to bury them when they were in their 80s or 90s. Its the same with grandparents. I look at my beautiful grandparents who are in their late 80s, who are closer to greeting Death than I maybe comfortable with accepting. The time that is lost with them as we ourselves age. I grew up at their house, eating their food, swimming in their pool, and sleeping on their floors. I grew up watching my grandmother put her makeup on in a certain way and watching my New England grandfather organize and put his shoes on with a shoehorn. I like his Boston accent that he swears doesn't exist. It makes me realize that as I've grown up, so too have they. I fear for the day when the link between myself and the days of old are gone. There will be no one who can tell her story anymore, who will know her mother's story. Its times like this, as an adult, that I wish i would have listened more. Written down their stories earlier on. Just been present more.

There is one truth that I hold, if I could spend just one more day with those I have lost, I would do it in a heartbeat. What I wouldn't give to speed off to Ireland with my Uncle AJ who always dreamed of seeing the "Motherland" and kissing the Blarney Stone; to take my Aunt Maureen to New Orleans during Mardi Gras just see the festivities and get wild; and to watch my Uncle Mike single ski down Lake Mead for miles just because it was so easy for him.

Don't do it later. Make the time now. Nothing is more important than your family and loved ones.

An Empty life that's technologically advanced

Yesterday afternoon in a suburb of Los Angeles, it was a rather nice day. It was a mild day, no higher than 75 with a clear blue sky and a soft breeze dancing through the trees. I had spent the better half of my morning listening to the incessant puppetry of Sesame Street and my son's innocent voice repeating "Melmo." Needless to say, I was in need of some other sort of connections.

The largest park in my small down has a large tree at its center, planted in 1910, which remains a central point of the community. Children gather and frolic atop its branches, jump down from its top, and couples gather beneath its grand shade to find the blissful quiet of each others arms; even if its just for a few moments. The tree to me is a symbol of welcome and of community: at any given time a family and their infant child of no more than 6 months could share the same space as a couple in their 90's . It holds the secret to longevity and long life. I have such respect for trees and their essence.

But this blog is not about the praise of the trees or nature, no. I am a people watcher. I took my 18 month old son to the park near this old tree. He is a huge fan of slides and swings. But, at 18 months, who isn't?! The first to approach us was a young girl, about 3, who had some difficulty speaking but once redirected could ask questions clearly. She told her name and asked what my son's name was. She was very interested in playing with him. She did not understand that he was still a baby even though he was about the same height as her. She seemed to wander about the playground and this 2.5 acre park without any parents. I was mildly concerned since this era is not the same as when I grew up: you can no longer let your kids stay out past dark, riding their bikes alone is dangerous, and even taking your eyes off your children for one second can be the difference between kidnapping or not. Predators lurk everywhere and a parent must be on their guard.

She was called by a pair of individuals lying on the grass together not paying her much attention: the woman was lying next to the man and was brushing his head while the man was curled up next to her. She soon found her way back to me as I sat on the park bench and was cheering my son on as he struggled up the stairs that made him look like a munchkin. She sat in silence next to me, just swaying her feet. I didn't feel the need to say anything, sensing that she just wanted a person to be next to her for a little while. She asked me my name and I responded. I asked her if she was with her mom and she said no. She said "my grandma yells at me a lot." And my heart sunk. I always wonder how these kids, the emotionally scarred ones, manage to find their way to the therapist at the park? I joke about having a sign that reads, "Therapist: Tell me your problems" on my forehead. But now I am wondering if G-d doesn't send out some sort of beacon signal for these people.

As I felt my heart sink, I repeated the phrase to her and she just said, "yes, she does it a lot. I don't think she likes me." I got the immediate sense that this little girl was emotionally neglected at home by both mom and dad and obviously by grandma. It broke my heart. She followed me as Ben fell off the slide and wanted to go onto the swing as a temporary distraction from his pain. As he got in, she too got in. The people who were with her got up and pushed her for a minute or two but she kept her eyes locked on me or my son. Her eyes held such pain. She very soon after left the park kicking and screaming after crying while reaching out to say goodbye to me and my son. I told her that maybe we'd see each other again, knowing that it was a white lie, hoping it would help her calm down.

I kept swinging and not soon after a handful of boys no older than 8 years old came to the park and all with their dads: 2 with one father, 1 with another, and 1 with another.

The oldest boy called him Joseph and he tried so desperately to have fun and make friends with the other kids on the playground, but he was rejected by them. He was a smart, imaginative boy who was not the typical goofball of the class, making him the "loser" of the group. His father was tucked into the back of the picnic area playing a video game on his cell phone. Each time his son tried to garner his attention, he received nothing. Even the velcro ball game they had brought was left unused. He began talking to me from a distance about how he wanted to ride the Tiger and wanted to know if it was okay if he could do that? I said of course and wondered what he was going to riding for and we began imaging together. He told me about a big trophy he'd win so his dad would be proud of him. I watched him ride an immovable tiger for about 1 minute and saw the glow of his face. As I commentated in my best "Chick Hearn" voice about the race and his win, he claimed his prize (which was invisible) and ran to his dad to show him. Sadly, dad didn't even look up. I told him he was the best tiger rider I'd ever seen.

The set of 2 boys were the rowdiest of the bunch: They called themselves Dylan and Ethan. They were the kids that caused trouble by breaking parts of the old tree off, kicking signs, kicking dirt, going up slides as people were coming down, etc. The sort of kids you purposefully avoid when you take your kids to the park and the kind you specifically bring mace for. While the kid were unruly, they did mind my small son which I appreciated. Their father, like the first one, was also tucked into the back of the picnic area. He was talking in the phone about his party plans for the night after his "bitch baby momma comes to pick up the boys." The boys were playing catch and wildly threw the ball into the playground and into the general sitting area. Dad didn't say much. When it was time for them to leave, he asked them to put the stuff away and gave them each 1 throw each. The kids were defiant and kept throwing until dad walked away out of the park and got into the car. The kids finally came and asked why they had to leave to which dad said, "Blame it on your mom."

The only father I was moderately impressed with was the last one. He and his son had a great bond. They played chase and had a friendly relationship. Of course, I wonder when "friendly parenting" goes too far and your children no longer see you as a disciplinarian. The son was having a good time,  he seemed to have the least amount of concern for my son who was moving about a 4 foot area of the 30 foot playing area. He would climb up and around all swing his legs wherever he pleased, as his father encouraged him. It was then that I took my son off the play set and went to explore the tree and dogs nearby. It was not soon after that this father as well, sat down and took out his cell phone and was texting or doing something similar.

I am by no means perfect when it comes to the cell phone. Today at the zoo, I received 15 messages and 4 emails in the 3 hours I was there. I did look at them. The technological era, while great in so many ways, has also destroyed the relational parts of our lives. I remember when cell phones didn't exist, when cell phones were for emergencies only. I remember when the only phone that was answered during dinner was the home phone which had a chord attached to it and texting a friend during "family time" was unheard of. I remember when conversations were about the day, school, hopes and dreams, future travel plans, and desires were what life focused on. Now we publish every single piece of our life on the internet via Facebook, Pintrest, Twitter, Instagram, or other social media sources that it leaves very little to the imagination for our significant others. We live stream everything that we do, so what would we really have a conversation about anyways? Cell phones have killed the romance industry because of mobile access to porn and live streaming videos all over the internet. Men and women no longer care about the art of love or seduction, its about fuck and be done. It is a sad thought to know that a generation will grow up knowing nothing about how song, dance, music, culture, and fine dining is sensual without being sexual.

Technology has really destroyed the here and now of life. We're a society sad about the past and anxious about the future and too stupid to realize how amazing the present is because our faces our stuck in our cell phones or iPads, or whatever. If I had brought my cell phone that day, I would have missed my son's excitement at going down the slide and his fear at going down a new slide. I would have missed his feelings of accomplishment when he did go down the new slide and his joy when he repeatedly wanted to go down. I would have missed his ability to communicate by saying "Swing" or "Slide" or "Down." I would have missed the nervousness he displayed when greeting a new dog and also his boredom with a giant tree. I would have missed the sad little girl who was looking for a moment of loving attention. I would have failed to notice the already unnoticed little boy with the creative mind who just wanted to be know he mattered. And I am not sure I am willing to miss those kinds of things...

What are you willing to miss?

Moving Through

Dotting across the earthen floor, as rain scattered from the heavens

across the painted backgrounds of blues, greens, and whites

playfully floating between limb and line

gracefully from one to the other without haste, slowly slowing 

the Inner drums rage, pulsating, ringing, screaming, yet steady is it

red clay and willowing tree bark are hiding grounds insufficient to its purpose

inch by inch, effortlessly beside the roots twisted, Devil's Beard scarred

resting but for a moment to ponder where is Now

though tousled by the breath of life, it remains steadfast

not fighting, but rather, accepting its movement

accepting the moment of weightlessness as a gift 

rather than a challenge to be challenged

moving as it moves, a harmonious dance between Lovers

quietly reminding that Change is the constant

Existentialism: A look into the terror of one's Agency.

Here.
I sit amongst the sounds of nature: perverse, immature, doomed.
Here.
I sit listening to the wispy breaths and gentle taps of the clarinet.
Here.
I sit drowning the thoughts of incompetence and meaninglessness.
Here.

Swollen by innate "virtues" of egos. Swollen by the thoughts of a meaning of something more
Devastated by the hypocrisy of It, of it all.
Distracted by the feelings that, maybe one day, someday, It'll all matter.
Overwhelmed by the reality that It never will.
Tears.

Work. Car. Office. Degree. Marriage. Babies. Friends. Handbags. Shoes. Houses. Work. Work. Work
Definitions of meaning in life: without ever asking why this defines Life? "The Dream" of a perfect house, perfect spouse, perfect job, perfect Life.



Life (n): _________________________________



The stark naked cold realism of the existential world,
Surrounded by people. But yet never really there. Somehow always alone.
"This is my life's greatest calling" they say,
yet when the Great Equalizer comes, what was it for?
That desk in the big office, with windows overlooking the skyline? Words on that business card?

Words. Simple markings that somehow have developed into a system of Greater Meaning. Words.

Silly words that fill the page that fill the mind, that fill the heart
what do THEY even matter?
Determination to fill, to read, to think, to pursue, to motivate, to repeat, to use and feel those words, those indiscriminate markings
Its a masochistic endeavor,
tethered by the mere thought of "Yes" and "No"
For even that, after I have seen my last light
and breathed my last breath, what were THEY for?

Freedom begets a structure within which to confine, that begets isolation and the alarming truth of being Pervasively and utterly Alone, within which one can only see IT all was and is meaningless.

"I think, therefore I am" solidifying the perpetual state of the Great Equalizer
of Freedom, of Isolation, of Meaninglessness
In fact, why have any words
s
 p
  i
   l
    l
         onto
                    this
                               page?

Complacent: (Adj.) Self-satisfied and unconcerned

Complacent: (Adj.) Self-satisfied and unconcerned. 

This word has been used in and out of my vocabulary for many years now, without really dwelling on how "complacent" I truly am with my life. Is it the proper word to describe myself at this current juncture or would another fit more appropriately. 

Upon closer examination I find that I am 'complacent' with my life: I accept that I have made poor decisions in the past but realize that I can learn from them, use them as tools, and pass on knowledge on to other people. I am complacent with my current life success. I am complacent with my relationship: I have learned that he and I will never fully see eye to eye, but we have a deeper more conducive relationship due to openness. As a unit we fail and succeed and I couldn't ask for more. Life isn't perfect, so why should I expect us to be. 

What does it mean to be complacent... 

Reflection upon our country, nay our world's current state allows me to truly ponder the complacency of each individual, each family unit, or conglomerate.
Why does a parent devote so much time into ensuring a child picks up every single piece of trash in the bedroom, but fails to notice that their child is lonely, has no friends, and is on the brink of suicide? Why do families attack each other in times of tribulations, breaking down REAL support systems that should last a lifetime, instead of offering a shoulder to cry on or donning support? 

After observing and living throughout various relationships, and pseudo-friendships, here is what I have deduced: They support you when available, love you when it's convenient, and decide when to be loyal. Okay. I admit its a cynical outlook, but again, I question why anyone would want to be complacent with this type of situations. 

Relationships and friendships, or lack of, have made me aware that becoming vulnerable and open to someone doesn't guarantee their love, support, or lifetime loyalty. The people that you think you know best are the ones that surprise the hell out of you when they turn around and contradict everything they ever preached to you. Maybe I should be a little less complacent about my relationships… 

Friendships, love, families, loyalty, etc are all commodities that I as a human being have grown accustomed to and have taken advantage of. I have learned to see people in different lights, have learned to see the beauty of internal struggle, the courage to fight despite being outnumbered, and have most importantly learned to see life in a subjective lens. Nothing is ever black or white, not even life. We pretend to normalize ourselves by voting one party or another, being vegan or not, being rich or poor, being loved by one or none. 

I guess the real question is can we ever really be complacent? Constant fighting, making up, loving, hating, laughing crying...what makes something in life complacent? 

Am I complacent with myself? For the paradox is, if I were truly complacent with things, why would I be analyzing my thoughts, making little sense of my scatter brained ideas… Do my thoughts even matter? Why should I be concerned with how "unconcerned" I am about life? 

Complacent: (Adj.) Self-satisfied and unconcerned

Attunement

Breathing...

Fumbling for the right song on the iPhone that now functions as an iPod

Balancing the erratic dance I'm forced into by a four-legged partner

Clicking...Searching...Song...Blaring...

Arrogantly I trot around, meandering south towards the Forest floor

ignoring Life that surrounds me

She beckons, "Let go"

I laugh aloud and retort, "I have"

She asks, "Can you please listen to what..."

I raise the volume..."I love this John Mayer song!"

Guitar riffs and cymbals clash

Head bobbing, singing

Dog sniffing every branch, rock, bush, and stump

as if he would be filled with regret if one inch of Forest were missed

"Its so nice to get away and be alone!"

The music of Modernity attempts to drown out, block, numb me to the reality I avoid seeing myself in

I pass the ghostly hollows of the old oak

the lifeless limbs that hang overhead, eerily reaching towards me

as if trying to pluck me up out of the monotony

I stop dead, rigid on the path,

dust consuming me

...Pause Button...

Eyes open, ears open, heart open

Crows Caa, Bees Buzz, Hawks Screech, Squirrels Bark

I suddenly realize, I'm not alone. 

I pause myself. I look around. Present.

The dangers of the green and red leaves scattered along the water's shoulder

are hypnotic in their dance with the wind

Dry branches are devoured by the silky green foliage of the twisted vines

A canopy above me, filled with life in the changing season

Foot prints

Animal Tracks

Bicycle Wheels

hidden, beneath the dirt encrusted around my shoes

KNOCKING. TRICKLE. CHIRPING.

I hear the brook and see that it twists and turns throughout the floor, 

as though begging not to be swallowed up by the Forest herself.

The maze of Oaks, elaborate and dense, cause me to ponder the similarities

between its weaving patterns

and the intricacies of Life, the complexity of being Human, and

one's constant struggle to push towards Acceptance. 

Amidst my quiet solitude and intense reflection

a Doe

symbol of gentleness, listening, grace, balance, freshness, new awakenings

crosses my path.

I acknowledge aloud her presence and feel grateful for the messenger of Light.

I reflect on how many times this day, this week, this month, this year

how easily I took advantage of life's simple pleasures

rather than admiring, respecting, and thanking.

I began to see my life, unfold in front of me, in this natural wonder

The dirt continues to flail around my face

Dog panting as I take in the spiritual awakenings being given

I stop in my track...

Pulled towards the towering Eucalyptus Tree 

that stands naked, vulnerable before me.

I ponder on its current state, as though I were in an art gallery.

I smell its fragrance...intoxicating.

Shards of bark lie twisted, broken, and shattered all around its stong stump

I notice the pale white skin under the warped and weathered rind

I remark, "You're being reborn. Stronger. More beautiful"

Imaging that somehow, hearing my voice

would allow him to gather the strength necessary

to suffer through the Winter

Two steps forward...then two back.

I face my comrade and realize that he and I are on the same path

Compelled that I too must prepare for a rebirth, reawakening, rediscovery

Fear

"I can't do this alone"

Arrogance

"You are not that special. Change is the only constant"

Realization

"The trees change, its leaves change, the brooks course changes, winds change, life changes"

Acceptance

I feel roused by the accutely loud lullaby of the crickets hidden beneath the brush

Their song is comforting in that moment.

I press forward...

The sound seems to follow me. Maybe I'm following the sound. 

The symphony of thought is created by the rise and fall of my chest, the pounding of my heart, the shuffle of my feet, the cling of dog tags, and natures orchestra accompanying me.

Stirred

"Be the woman you've imagined yourself being"

Open

"Be humble, be kinder, ask for forgiveness, give forgiveness, be kind to yourself, love deeper"

Acceptance

"I can do this. I choose to do this"

Attunement

The seasons are changing, the first rain is approaching, cool air, winter's frigid snow

Life is changing, Life's healing rain will fall, broken, wounded, choosing to stand in the downpour

We are at one with each other

Together we change, Together we struggle, Unison

I ignored

But the Forest reminded me

That WE are one

...Press Play...