Sunday, November 29, 2009

Sorrow as Celebration

Sorrow as celebration. I read that in a magazine this morning. The author recommended, or really insisted, that our ability to relish in polar opposite emotions was essential to well-being. Why not? There are moments of deep sorrow that I feel the most alive, that the right word or phrase alters my life. In sorrow I can see through illusions that I would not have otherwise seen. In sorrow, I remember the depths of my love for another, the expansive and overwhelming knowingness of emotional pull for someone I love so deeply that words spill out in ways that wouldn't have otherwise.

It takes sorrow for me to open the floodgates of emotion, as does the feeling of joy. So, what's the difference between the two? After massive digs into the caverns of my sorrow, I feel blessed, whole, and new, as happens with excessive overflowing of joy. The deepest sadness allows extraordinary avalanches of bliss. And the highs of my ecstasy brings forth the ability to sink into the underbelly of great sadness and excavate anew. becomes refreshing dynamite that breaks apart the unnecessary to make room for the magnificent.

So, I say celebrate sorrow. Thank you, Tammy Fischer, for bringing that to my attention this morning. I feel new again.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

magic in music

Last night was one of the most magical and beautiful nights of my life upstairs in my new studio I share with Karen Klassen, owner of Spoons and Spoons Garage.

Lights shining on my fabrics and beads.
My friend Sonja sitting in the orange wicker chair eating Rick's cheeseburger.
Piles of threads on the table.
Fabric scraps scattered along the floor like bread crumbs.
And Buzz Andrews singing in the background. With the window opened it was like having Buzz in the studio with me. My feet tapped on the hardwood while layering textures of fabric.

It was a Buzz Andrews night. Again.

And then tonight I got to hear him again, but this time I saw him. I talked with him. I hugged him. I laughed with him. Not only is he a great singer and musician, but he's an even more devoted husband. There's nothing sexier than a man talking so wonderfully about his wife. Thank you, Buzz, for being my driftwood. You make me believe there is a continent full of amazing men.

Friday, November 13, 2009

room for scootching

It's a cloudy day here on the square. I'm alone in the spa as all the practitioners are elsewhere on this Friday afternoon. I volunteered to stay behind and woman the fort. Curled leaves blow past the French doors, and I watch a pink-shirted woman eating lunch across the street at Cafe Malaga.

This is my life. I sip on chai tea from Coffee 'n Cream and receive texts on my new Sprint phone from my McKinney friends. With one, we're sending pictures back and forth on the latest tea mug designs and with another, we're expressing our mutual admiration.

A woman wearing sunglasses and long bleached hair hops into a monster SUV while cars scootch over in the other lane to allow her room for scootching. Room for scootching. We all need it. Last night I needed it. There was a full house here with cackling women, and I had to scootch to the back room away from loud. Loud was not my friend last night. Quiet and calm were twins that wanted to bunk down with me instead, and I was more than willing to make room for them. However, they didn't show up here last night, so I took a walk with the twins around the square instead.

It was lovely.

I didn't hear any loud music coming from Cadillac's last night. The only sounds I heard were those coming from Malaga's where a guitar was being strummed and a heavenly voice singing with it. I couldn't keep myself from joining friends inside and drinking a bottle of Roda red wine. There were dates wrapped in bacon on toothpicks, a mound of spinach in the middle of glazed shrimp, Pelligrino bottles, and a square plate of olives dressed in every shade of green. Gold painted walls with photos of the beautiful owner and her daughters. Tony at the ready with more plates topped with tapas. Annie with hugs and excitement about her new move around the corner -- Malaga's is going bigger. And the red wine enjoyed with two of the most amazing people on earth. I am so blessed.

It's a beautiful life. It's full. It's inspiring. It pushes me. It thrills me, and sometimes exhausts me, but I love it. I just love it, and thoroughly love all those involved.

So, right now all is quiet and peaceful as the police officer rides past the French doors on his bike. A grandpa holds his grandson while walking down the sidewalk, a mom pushes a stroller, and a shop owner sweeps the sidewalk in front of her door. A Jaguar in mint condition drives by, followed by a Ram truck covered in mud.

I'm able to write all this after leaving a Chamber meeting that RejuveNation LifeSpa sponsored at 7:30 this morning and before the spa fills back up with women at another nightly event tonight.

Right now I sit before my computer and breathe calmly. I know the quiet is short lived, and I am so grateful.

Monday, November 2, 2009

For Amelia....

"You did not come forth to face reality. You came forth to spring off of reality. You came forth to let the reality be the basis from which you take flight.

And that is really what we want you to hear. We want you to be in love with the contrast that produces the desire. And we want you to milk those new desires for everything they are worth.

When you get a new desire, if it is big or if it is small, we want you to fantasize around it and give your attention to it, and take every bit of pleasure you can from the power of your mind knowing that manifestation will follow.

But it is not your manifestation that we are here rooting for. It is your moment-to-moment thrill with the power of your flight."

The above quote is from Abraham-Hicks.

I have been obsessed with flight since September 2004 when I took my virgin flight over the mountains from Aspen to Gunnison, a place where I had held huge dreams for myself. That flight to the dream world of two 18 year olds was a huge awakening for me. My pilot was a former college friend who I hadn't seen in almost twenty years and to be able to fly back to a place where we thought we could do anything and be anyone was intoxicating. We sat in the W Cafe where we had back in 1975 and talked about what had happened between then and 2004. How did we end up being the people we were? How could that have happened?

We plotted and forged and reminisced, and it all felt so naughty and enticing. Could we possibly take a leap? Could we possibly make twists and turns in our present lives to become who we thought we were going to be?

He didn't. I did. He's still in Aspen with the same life. I'm nowhere near Aspen figuratively or literally. I leaped. I went home and set the wheels in motion for a single life far away from where I had buried myself in marriage.

And here it is 2009 and just a few days since I saw the movie about Amelia Earhart. I've ravaged every book I can find about her disappearance, and amazingly enough I find many missing puzzle pieces to my own life that have just created more questions and less answers.

It's flight that is foremost on my mind. I cannot listen to an engine overhead without looking up to check whether it's fixed landing gear, high wing or low wing, twin engine or single. I dream about my hand on the yoke, full throttle, and feel the thrill of the nose wheel lifting from the runway.

I don't know who Amelia was. I don't know myself half the time either, but I do know this: It's the moment of liftoff that is the most exhilarating. The possibilities are limitless. The insignificance of what's on the ground becomes minuscule until it all evaporates in the clouds. I bet Amelia felt it too.