Models

We wear clothing and personalities that separate us like long distance, neither telephone nor email helping us to bridge the gap of differences. Sometimes even our ear drums deflect the words we choose not to hear in face to face conversation. Our models, our perfect selves are sculpted from artisan marble. We are too afraid to break, to lose ourselves.

Last night I broke my model. As pieces of my shattered ego lay scattered on the floor, my heart also spilled out, raw and messy like an unboiled egg. I feared my family members would laugh at it or step on it, and the only remnants of me would be the yellow streaks of a coward who did not fight for her cause.

To my surprise, no one died. i learned that seeing others and loving them requires a certain loss of self in order to open to a universal being. No color is brighter than another. The ones that highlight themselves are likely to be the first ones that burn out.

no name

the clouds shed
so many tears
as i cry
for the women denied
the woman loved now

an opening
in the gray
is it the sun
or my heart

pouring love
everywhere

Compassion for All

You cannot accept others if you cannot accept yourself.

Children are mirrors

A wise friend reminded me the other day that children are mirrors. They reflect our fear, anger, love, and many other intense emotions. We cannot always be perfect, but we can be mindful of our own emotions, and recall how our children have responded best to love.

Meditation

ashes on water
a bird mistakes me for bread
as I mistake my life for wholeness
ignoring the inevitability of ending

bits of truth i have now
contemplating death in life
breaking old patterns of thought
space for not knowing

and knowing that bird

Beginner's Mind

'Our minds are so full. We are constantly rushing to answer each question that arises. We seldom allow the mind to not know. We wish to answer the question and thereby stop asking, "Who am I?" Most answers that the mind comes up with are just excuses not to go deeper. It is the mind's answers that cause confusion. There is no confusion in "don't know" There is just the truth.'

-from Chapter 4 Heaven/Hell in Stephen and Ondrea's book Who Dies? An Investigation of Conscious Living and Conscious Dying

Tonight, I don't know. I've just ended a conversation with my partner on an unpleasant note. I have felt like he steps in to comfort our toddler when I initially have her first. What has this brought up for me? A questioning of models. Shouldn't the mother be the primary comforter? What will others think when they see our daughter asking for Papa over Mummy? What if she emulates him over me. Will my peace, my core stillness teach her to find her own?

I can feel my suffering - the hurt reverberating through me as waves carry my lost ego away to some distant shore. Will our daughter ask for Mummy over Papa? Will I let go? Will he let go? I do not know. i do not have a name.

i am part of Mummy and Papa and our daughter. i float and i sink and i drift in search of the truth.