My son, the Hero of the Blizzard

Yesterday we all got ready to attend church in the rain, and even though it was Brogurt's naptime, he and I managed to make it through the sacrament before he fell apart.  Muad'Dib and I had planned for this, so Brogurt and I hopped in the van and drove home in the hail storm, leaving Muad'Dib to follow with the other children after church.

Brogurt was ever so sleepy, and we fell asleep to the soft sound of hailstones on the windows and roof.  When I awoke 45 minutes later - Brogurt still sleeping peacefully - I came down the stairs and what should I see out the front windows but a good 3 inches of snow and flakes the size of my thumb falling from the sky!

I laughed out loud, marveled at the beauty for a moment and set to have lunch and watch Downton Abbey.

I went on about my afternoon, knowing that at 2 the rest of my family would come home.  With light heart I cleaned up a bit, checked my blog, read a little Atlas Shrugged, and cared for Brogurt when he woke up.  He just wanted to snuggle and watch an episode of Blue's Clues, so I left him to it, finally wondering where my family was.  It was 2:15.

I check my phone, which I had left on silent and there was a message from Muad'Dib:  the last hour of church had been cancelled due to the snow.  And he had not been able to make it up the hill to our home - even with 4 wheel drive! - so he was riding out the storm with Lemur and Rivuelt at Desertbound and The Rock's house. 

I was truly surprised!  Even more so when a lady from the ward called and told me all about the bus which had attempted the drive up the hill and slid so far - and backwards! - that it blocked the entire road of 450 E, and no one could get up at all!

Well, Brogurt and I went about our day.  He was an angel.  I curled and styled my hair most prettily (in the fashion of Importance of Being Earnest, which I am directing) as Brogurt played in a warm bath.

Then there was a knock at the door!  Tristan and Nicole had come for dinner after all!  It had not truly occured to me that they would be able to make it, but neither had I called to find out.  Honestly, I had been having such fun, such a peaceful Sabbath afternoon, that I'd not thought much about it....  But I was glad to see them for many reasons, the greatest which you will see shortly.

We began making a dinner of homemade pizza, and Tristan volunteered to clear the driveway.  I had called Stoffers and learned that Muad'Dib was on his way home....or rather he had left about 5 minutes ago.  The minutes ticked by.  The Rock showed up, said he had "followed" Muad'Dib up here.  But there was no Muad'Dib....  The Rock went home.  Tristan continued shoveling.

Then, who burst through the door but my Lemur, dressed in only his Sunday clothes, covered head to toe in snow.  His hair and shoulders were wet, he had snow up to his shins and although cold and tired I can safely say he looked absolutely marvelous.  I wish I had taken a picture, for although it will be forever branded on my mind - I wish I could show him how magnificent he was:  the picture of a boy having burst through a rite of passage into young man-hood who now stood aglow and dripping in my kitchen.  Here is the tale he brought me and shared with passionate urgency:

"Mom!  Dad and Rivulet are stuck a street down.  Dad says  he can't come up and can't leave Rivulet.  You need to bring salt and a shovel and come dig them out.  I ran all the way here to tell you that!"

Muad'Dib had apparently made it as far as the street just below us before finally getting stuck, and had tried to get momentum by rocking the car back and forth, but to no avail.  He told Lemur that he had to come get me, to bring the supplies and save them.  Lemur braved the blizzard in sunday shoes with nothing but the shirt on his back.  He says he knew he was cold, but felt warm.  He just kept thinking, "I'm going to get home." 

He was obviously confused by what happened next:  I went to him, with tears in my eyes and gobbled him up in my arms.  "Mom, I'm wet!" he shouted.  "You have to go save Rivulet and Dad!"

Tristan drove down in his magnificent all-wheel Kia and brought Muad'Dib and Rivulet home, and I thank him ever so much.  We were all so grateful that they had come despite the storm, as they offered the kind of help my little van would not have been capable of.  Yet I hope he will forgive me...

Because in my mind it will always be my very handsome, brave and strong Lemur who saved them. 

Awarded a Badge of Honor

Once upon a time, a girl and a guy were sitting outside of a theater during a rehearsal, just talking about the future - possibly together, young though they were.  As they talked, the moon rose over the mountains and the sun began to set.  He put her hair behind her ear and looking past her, saw something in the flower bed behind them.  In the fading light he bent to pick up the treasure: a sterling silver bracelet of dolphins strung nose to tail in a delicate round. 

Another young woman, a dear friend, came outside at just that moment and shared in the wonder of the find.  He attempted to fix the bracelet onto the wrist of his girl, but to the disappointment of all, it broke into two pieces. 

The 3 friends went back inside, he held the door for his them and whispered to his girl as she passed, "I'm glad it broke; I wanted you to have it."  He knew his girl was fond of fixing things and handed her the pieces, sure that the other girl had no further interest.  She could not see possibility of treasure in broken things, but his girl was known for it.

The girl sought every which way to fix the bracelet, broken into two strings of dolphins - a section of seven and a section of three - but to no avail.  The workmanship of the bangle had been delicate, with no extraneous links.  There were only those made into the shape of the dolphins - one at the snout and one at the tail - which held it all together.  And the link at the tail of the 3 was gone.  They had asked if the bracelet belonged to anyone at the theater, but no one claimed it. 

The guy inquired at the end of rehearsal, as he drove her home, just what she would do with the dolphins.  They had discussed how friendly and smart the creatures were, how lovely the bracelet was, how her most favorite number was 3 because of it's attachment to fairy tales and magic. And they had imaginatively wondered at how it had come to the flower bed of an abandoned bank near a theater.  She experienced no small thrill remembering the feel of his fingers on her wrist as he had tried to attach the bracelet before it broke.  He had joked, "And if this were a ring, it would be like we were getting engaged!"

So that night, she found a way to keep it.  She attached a stray link from another bit of broken jewelry to the snout of the three and turned it into a pendant.  She particularly loved that attached to the snout of the 3 was a silver heart.  All put together and hanging about her neck, it was a lovely bit, and seemed to her deeply romantic and sentimental.

For the next two years she wore that charm and she and the boy grew closer and closer.  He often commented on the dolphins she wore and after a short time they both understood the meaning of the charm. The day the girl and the guy broke apart was difficult for her....but she did not stop wearing the charm from time to time. They remained close friends, and she still imbued the 3 dolphins with a sense of romance, connection and memory, feeling every so often the need to recall the guy and what they had once meant to each other. 

But they day she severed her life-path from his, she put the dolphins away and determined to never wear them again; not ever.  There must have been something that whispered to her the depth of her bitterness, pride and shame remembering her dealings with a dear friend.  It was that shame that held on to the dolphins, for they no longer held feelings of warmth or friendship for her. 

Then one day - nearly 12 years later, she decided to sell some jewelry.  She had moved over the dolphins numerous times in the past, thinking to throw out or give away or sell, and though she had never been able to do it before, this time was different.  She took the charm down with all the others, and as the buyer went over the silver with a magnet, she was surprised at her relief when the link she had added set off the magnet, making it un-sell-able.  She returned it to her purse, and felt a small warmth in her heart.

That same month, she resolved - as you may recall - to make peace with and restitution to the guy.  She sought to never more have any cause to call herself in private thought a liar.

On New Year's Eve, she made a gift to the guy, her friend of so many years, and they talked for a while.  She had forgotten the ease with which they spoke, the basic respect for and enjoyment of each other.  No, she remembered, it was the respect that had been lacking back in the day - the days when it counted. That was why she had separated their life-paths and instead chosen the wonderful, beloved, amazing man that she had married.  She left her friend, feeling entirely that all was well.  That night, she was forgiven by him.  She prayed for the power of the Atonement and felt surely that it was there and ready for her to accept.  She felt cleaner. 

And then, a few days later as she was cleaning out her wallet, she found the dolphins.  She smiled largely.  The dolphins reminded her of a space in time, but held no power of romance or possibility. In fact they seemed to speak to her of her children, her three wildly intelligent, kind, playful children.  Ha!  Three had always been her lucky number after all!

No, indeed, she may not have felt romance, but neither did she feel shame.  She strung them on a silver chain and put them about her neck - admiring the loveliness that had made them a favorite with all her friends in years past - and she knew they were more now. She was more now.

She could now completely say that she was honest. She had repented, she had been forgiven.  She would wear the dolphins as a reminder that she was now worthy to do so, no longer sullied by her lie to the friend who had made them a gift. 

Of course you see by now, that this story is true.  So when you see me wearing a string of 3 dolphins on a silver chain, you may know as I do that they are a Badge of Honor proclaiming that I am honest. 

And congratulations to me for my 300th post!  Huzzah!

Changing my tune

These were the thoughts in my head this morning:

"No one ever cared if I should live or die.  Surely time will prove these bitter memories...
All the years of useless work have finally reached an end; loneliness and emptyness will be my
only friend..."

And, "Talking to myself and feeling old; sometimes I'd like to quit.  Nothing ever seems to fit. Nothin' is really wrong. Feelin' like I don't belong."

Of course it all sounded much nicer set to music, the music of The Carpenters, actually.  *the italicized words are those which had been twisted from the original lyrics, which I didn't know until I looked them up this morning...

But I've learned more, so I was able to see more.  First off: yikes.  I have been listening to this music literally my entire life.   Last summer a kid gave me - as a director's gift - a gift card to iTunes.  One of my major purchases with that card was all the Carpenters music I had loved as a kid and teenager.  Every song that stirred up slightly sepia images of family, Idaho, childhood friends and childhood love. 

I recently took all Carpenters songs off my ipod list simply because I felt "down" whenever they came on.

And now, over a month later I can see why.  I woke up with these words in my head: "No one ever cared if I should live or die," and "I'd like to quit; nothing ever seems to fit."

Oh how easy it must have been for negative spirits and enemies unseen to foster feelings of worthlessness, unloveable-ness, fear, depression and despair when I was pumping my head full of it all on my own?  I was literally SINGING THAT TUNE.  And then how easy it must have been for them to pull up those thoughts just - ya know - whenever; because they were not new to me.  I had them memorized. 

I had indoctrinated myself with self-depricating despair-speak.  With music.

Let's stop for a moment and take that in. 



I had a friend years ago who had been a child of golden heart.  He was amazing; kind, gentle, brave and open.  I loved him.  Granted, we were children, but I have a great capacity for love, and he had earned it time and time again with his sweetness.  He was abused.  His family split up; his father was the abuser.  Still for many years he remained with that open, pure quality which even as a child I found amazing given his circumstances.  And I continued to love him. 
Then one summer I went up to their house in Idaho.  He was drastically changed.  From the boy I knew at 12 to the teen I met at 17....  He was of course taller.  He was crazy attractive, muscular - no, ripped - from head to toe, with a man's voice and bearing.  But the largest difference was that he was so angry. 

Apparently, in therapy he had been advised to find music that expressed his feelings and then listen to it whenever he felt those feelings.  He would then work out or excersise to what he called his "Angry Music."  He would smoke pot to his "Alone Music" and fall asleep at night to his "Dying Music." 

I am in awe of this recognition.  We are stewards of our bodies.  We are stewards of our minds.  I don't care if you believe these things were given to you by a higher power or not, fact is you have them.  They are yours to do with as you see fit.  And this dear friend, whom a part of me still loves, chose to slowly destroy himself....to familiar tunes.

Just as I in so many solitary moments of my life sought to depress or "express" myself to music.  It makes sense now why my other friend would have been worried about me - at age 17 - when I started to listen to harder, more angry music. 

So here I am at the age of 31.5 FINALLY getting the picture that the prophets and apostles have been trying to impress upon us all for ever so many years.  I guess I just didn't have enough evidence; but I sure do now. 

I said this before:  "Music releases emotion and Silence releases thought."  Why is that?  Because music stirs emotion within us.  It is one of the reasons Hymns are a delightful addition to any church service; those selections of music stir our hearts, lift our souls and help us feel what heaven was like and will be like again. 

All music has that power.  And you know what, I don't even need to preach about the power of music.  Prophets, Apostles and smart people througout the ages have done that already - better than I. 

I'm just adding my experience to the chorus of evidence of the fact that we must protect our minds; be aware of what you are memorizing, what you encourage your chidren to memorize through song.  Because all those words, phrases and feelings are stored somewhere in your mind.  And will be forever. 

Better late than never mentioned

I have twenty minutes to share some thoughts regarding an experience that took place almost exactly a year ago. 

In November of 2011, I was singing at the piano with my Muad'Dib some songs that I didn't know very well.  And these songs also were special because every time I tried to sing them, I got emotional and couldn't sing through it.  Anyone who really knows me will understand how odd that is.  I might get emotional, but as a performer I can always sing through it. 

And then Muad'Dib says, "You should do this in the ward."  I ask the Relief Society if they'd be interested in me heading up a musical program that could be done for an activity.  They agree, shocked, really that anyone would be willing to take on such a task, and I set to work.

It has been my experience as a member of the LDS church that talented people tend to hide or disregard their talent in the name of "humility." 

So I sent around sign up sheets to gage interest in the ward: who would want to perform.  I need soloists.  When I mentioned the program to people, they all referred me to one person in the ward.  ONE singer.  ONE known soloist. 

I sent around those sign up sheets for four weeks.  I never had more names on it than in the first week and easily had half the willing participants I needed.  I prayed and prayed for opportunities to mention singing, music and sharing talents in any lesson or venue possible.  And finally came the day I had set aside for "auditions," where those who were interested in solos would come forward in a group and sing indiviually whereafter I would decide what song they would sing. 

I'm not going to lie, I was surprised by who came, and only slightly surprised at the level of their vocalization.  Every one of them declared clearly - though with self-deprecating humor - that they were not good singers.  And had I taken them at their word, we would have had no program at all. 

I am grateful that Heavenly Father gave me the opportunity to hear their voices beyond their words, that I might use my talents to bring theirs out. 

It took courage and trust for them to sing for me that first time.  I applaude each of them for coming.  And after hearing each of them sing, I was confident that the program was going to be beautiful.

Fast forward past a montage of Sunday afternoon and Friday morning rehearsals with a bunch of women - a group that finally swelled to over 20 - who were willing to try.  Yes, we reviewed the same songs and the same few measures per song OVER and OVER.  And we laughed.  We cried. 
I taught them some physical warm ups. 
There were a few of my expressions that made it into full-fledged sayings.  Such as, "If you're going to mess up, do it loudly so I can hear you!"  and "Everyone has a choir voice." 

In May, by the time we performed the program (and the encore, since men weren't invited to the first one, being as it was a Relief Society Program), I had 8 soloists and a well trained women's choir that sounded heavenly. 

Now, I have been party to choirs that had heavenly help at the end because they needed it, as in they would have sounded horrible without the heavenly help.  But this was not the case with this choir.  Any heavenly help afforded was a lifting of the talents they had already worked so hard to cultivate.  It was angels singing with them, not for them.  It was amazing.  Because these women who didn't think they had it in them....did. 

I cried every time.  The trust, the fun....  The result.  The sharing.  Every moment was worthwhile.  And I just wanted to say "thank you" to the women.  I don't know how; and writing is what I do.  So at least now it's finally out there.

And I would like to add to this record the incredible gratitude to Heavenly Father for my calling in my ward.  Since the Women at the Well program, the Ward Choir has grown even more.  And during the last two and a half years, I have been able to perform a job that serves others that makes me happy.  It is perfect.  And I am grateful, so, so, SO grateful.

Voices

I was finally able to listen to the "Building a Mind of Steel" CD set by Kirk Duncan.  

It basically talks about what I talked about in the previous post: identifying the endless stream of negative comments being made by a peanut gallery of unseen hecklers and how to keep myself safe from their constant onslaught of crap.

This was the CD set he had suggested to me a few posts ago when he advised "Fix mom first," when I was asking how to help my kids. 

Well, so I was listening to it as I drove the kids to school ("I don't want to lose my place," I told them), and they happened to hear a bit of it.  The bit about what Kirk calls the "Dot People."  As the CD went on, Lemur was listening....and then listening intently.  He would look at me every so often as if to ask, "Is this for real?" but never actually said the words. 

Then he got out to go to school.  I asked him what he thought about it when he came home.  He looked directly at me and said, "Fine." 

I have mentioned it in passing a bit over the last few days, but did not push further.  Mostly I talked of it with Fedaykin when he came to visit (YAY!!). 

On the way home from rehearsal I was listening to the CD again and was on step 1:  basically doing what I did in the previous post.  I was driving but instantly felt a very powerful push and heard, "Do it!  Do it now!" 
"I'm driving!" I answered out loud.
"It's important, do it NOW!"

Now don't turn me in, because obviously everything is fine, but I pulled out a sheet of paper, turned off the CD for a moment and wrote down the "Top 10 Negative Comments."   

I finished writing, set the paper down and rolled down the window to spit out my gum.  The paper blew away.  I didn't know if it had escaped out the window or what, because I couldn't find it anywhere, even when I searched the car at home.

So I wrote the previous post.  Then I found the original list.  And holy buckets.  I was utterly shocked to see these comments in my handwriting; because not only were they terrible lies, but I could honestly say I'd heard them before....many times.....and some I'd actually started to believe. 

Comments as terrible as "You've already lost Rivuleta."  "You've already ruined Lemur."  "You aren't what Muad'Dib needs." and so forth. 

But instead of feeling scared or beaten I felt cleaner.  THOSE THOUGHTS AREN'T MINE!!!!  They were being fed to me by a bunch of butt-heads, negative spirits ("Dot People") who have nothing better to do then be jerks. 

Anyway:  then last night I had a dream about Rivuleta.  The dream was that I had left Rivuleta somewhere and then saw a man carrying her.  She didn't seem to mind, but I knew something was wrong.  I cried out and ran after him.  My mother - in the dream - said, "Oh he's just like Uncle So&So;it's no big deal."  But I was still scared and angry.  I finally caught up to the man, took my daughter back and he laughed at me. 
"Why did you take her?" I demanded.
"I didn't take her.  No one was with her.  She came with me."

So then Rivuleta says she has to go to the bathroom.  I take her and then say, "Wait here just a minute; I"ll be right back." and take off to yell at the guy some more.  I find him in a huge room, people coming in and it felt like he was about to teach them. 
I yelled at him; told him he had no right to take my child; how dare he!  What was he teaching her?
"I was teaching her to lie," he answered, laughing. 
"Why?"
"It was easy; she's so afraid of you that all I had to do was show her she was safer if she just hid and didn't tell the truth."
"What else?!"
"I was teaching her that she is worthless.  She is easily forgotten and not beautiful.  That you are lying when you say she is and when you say you love her."
In the dream I remember being speechless for a moment before ranting again.... When my indignation was at it's peak - and he kept laughing all the time - I finally asked, "This isn't funny!  What are you laughing at?!"
"You're here yelling at me for showing attention to your daughter...but where is she now?"
I turned and ran from the room.  I realized I was angry and screamed in the annex - I didn't want Rivuleta to see me like that.  But I was still angry, so I screamed until I lost my voice in the hallway.   I felt better having gotten all of it out.  So I went to find her. 
After searching and searching, I saw a man who looked remarkably like Grandpa Lee sitting in a wooden chair, leaning back on two legs, "Looking for something?" he asked.
"My daughter.  Have you seen her?"
"Do you mean that beautiful, sprightly thing that prances when other people would walk?"
"That's her!"
"You haven't lost her, I've been keeping an eye out.  Turn around." 
And there she was.  Through the rest of the dream we held hands and I could feel her aging.  She aged to college right through the dream, always with her hand in mine.  Until she told me to let go. 

Wow, right? 

Well, then there's this:
Lemur comes to me tonight before bed and says, "I forgot to tell you my dream last night.  There were Dot People all around, screaming at me lots of horrible stuff that might be true but I knew wasn't true and then there was a guy.  His name was Confidence.  He got them all to back off.  He told me great things about myself and taught me how to shoot an arrow through the middle of another arrow.  He wasn't a Dot Person."
"Sounds like you've got yourself a Guardian, Lemur.  That's great!!  What's his name?"
"I told you his name.  It's Confidence.  It's the name he picked so I would know who he was."

To many of my readers, this particular post will mean next to nothing, and for that I apologize only that you don't know Kirk and therefore can't share in the relief I feel knowing how to better raise and protect my children - and myself.

But there are also a few of you who totally get what I'm talking about.  And that's why I shared it. 

La, la, la....I'm not listening!!!

Well, that didn't take long. 

How unfortunate that one day I can think great thoughts even long enough to write them - infused with joy and wonder and self-praise - and then not three days later feel utterly and completely like - ... wait.

Okay.  Thoughts  - -> Emotion.  Emotion --> Action.  Action = Results.

If I am feeling terrible and making terrible choices, then I must be thinking terrible thoughts.  What thoughts have accosted my mind and now hold it hostage?

Ah....they ALL relate to the new play I'm directing.  I seem to recall that each time I undertake direction of a play, I have a time of doubt. Now, this time is a little different because I have more evidence to base them on.... HEY!

Does that give the thoughts the right to take over?! 

NO!!

I'm going to build my mind of steel beginning with identifying the negative comments:

* You can't do this.        
* You aren't respected.
* You are too intense.
* You are alone.
*  No one will respect you because you are fat.
* You are abandoning your children.
* You don't keep a clean house.
* You are going to fail.
*  Everyone will remember your failure.
* You will ruin the theater.

And now, as Kirk suggests, I will combat them with the perfect opposite AND an extra positive, just to be sure my brain get's the picture:

1.  I CAN do this AND I have a good vision for the play.
2.  I can earn respect AND am worthy of respect.
3.  I am intense enough to lead AND I am a good leader.
4.  I have a solid support system AND I am well loved.
5.  I am awesome regardless of my size AND I sparkle.
6.  My children know I love them AND they love their Dad-time.
7.  I keep a clean house AND I make home a welcome place for my family.
8.  I will succeed with flying colors AND I will have fun.
9.  I will remember my stint as director of The Importance of Being Earnest as a time of personal strength and grace AND I will laugh a lot.
10.  I will add to the startup success of the theater AND set a good precedent for the future.

Now I just need to declare these declarations about 20 more times before rehearsal tonight. 

All my past evidence proves that I will direct actors; 80% will like me and the way I direct, 5% won't care and 15% will have a pretty strong aversion to me.

All my past evidence proves that I will direct to performance; The audience will respond positively.  The producers will appreciate my work and my view.

I can do this.  I have done it.  I've done it half a dozen times, all with great success.  So what am I going to do?
Remove flaxen chords.  Say my new directly-combative positive declarations.  And go do the work.

And if I hit a wall - I think that's happening right now - and it becomes impossible to go forward, I must go vertical. 

To quote: "Move forward....hit a wall....let go of emotion....Go Vertical....next level. OR Move forward....hit a wall....take steps backwards and stand there in the emotion that came up and let it take you over. You choose.

Hint: The emotion was already inside before you hit the wall. The obstacle is not the wall....it is the emotion that you don't want to let go of that keeps you heavy and hurting inside. Let it go....lighten your load."

Makes me cry every time I read it.  "Sayyadina, lighten your load....it feels better. :)"

I'm going to go do some jumping jacks.  I have a feeling it will help.

Open spaces

 

Remember 2 posts ago when I mentioned that I had cleared empty spaces in my mind and were afraid of those spaces?

Yesterday I took down and put away all vestiges of Christmas. It had been a good Christmas. Then I moved the furniture around a little bit to return the house to the way it had been before Thanksgiving.

Then I got tired and didn't bring the computer desk/office area upstairs. Muad'Dib found me sitting in the recliner and said, "I kind of like it like this. It's open..."

"Yeah, but what should we put here?" I asked.

He seemed puzzled, "Why do we have to put anything here?"

WHAT?! The idea never occured to me, let alone what he said next, "It could just be open space. Like play space."

WHHAAAT??!!

So it's been a day and a half and that space in my living room is still {I almost said empty} open.  It is open. 

It feels weird, just as the cleaner spaces in my mind, heart and soul feel weird.  And I am remembering how long it took me to get over a similar revelation over 11 years ago. 

See, I deeply believed I was unloveable.  I don't believe that now.  But there were those years - between the revelation that I was loveable and my accepting it, followed by the time it took me to believe it and then LIVE like I believed it - where I had to grapple for a feeling of security every lucid moment of the day.

Holy crap, I fear I may be about to go through that again.  Because I done cleared out a whole mess of space.  Already it is easier to tell the truth, and harder to eat garbage.  There are still habits that say, "Eat it before anyone catches you!" but the belief system of self punishment and shame is for all intents and purposes gone. 

So not only do I find myself in need of maintenence on one front, but also of retraining on another. 

Yet I smile to know that I'd rather be in this place than the place I was even three months ago. 

*sigh*  I do love to be productive.  I will now produce a comfortable feeling when looking at those newly opened spaces in my self.  And instead of filling them again, I will simply downsize.  I have much less to carry now; I don't need such a big container. 

 

2012 Recap!

Brogurt learned to crawl, then walk and then run.  He has been running ever since.  He loves cars, Cars, machines, cooking, stuffed animals, real animals, running, laughing, Blue's Clues, his daddy and books. 
Rivulet is flourishing in 1st grade, doing math in her head and reading more than she thinks she can.  She loves My Little Pony (Friendship is Magic), the Drowsy Chaperone, dancing, singing, learning the piano and playing games with me.  She was in Peter Pan this summer as a Lost Boy, 2nd Twin and the Shadow.  She was amazing.  Capable.  She held her own up next to her "twin" who was 9! 

Lemur is adjusting well to 4rth grade, though it is quite different from his experience last year.  He still reads like a fiend, gobbeling up whatever sparks his interest.  He loves Calvin and Hobbes, finished FableHaven, builds marvelous works in Minecraft and enjoys being outside.  He wishes there were more people to play "night games," as I had got him a book on the subject this spring.  He played John in Peter Pan and despite all his complaining, he was magnificent.  They both want to do another play.

Muad'Dib in 2012 completed co-authoring and published a book, The Philosophy of Freedom.  This is the culmination of 6 years of work, research and WORK.  He has also continued as a window clerk at the Post office and supported us in our theatrical endeavors this summer.  He and Brogan are great pals and he has pwned many "noobs," gaining many acheivements on the Xbox.  I love to watch him play!

I have been both Sayyadina and Coach.  I have supported my husband and raised my children, as well as continuing in that ever-worthy quest for wisdom and grace.  I have learned and grown.  I led many women in my ward in a presentation of Kenneth Cope's Women at the Well in February. It was a beautiful experience. I will never forget it!  I edited and adapted J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan and was the assistant director (hence the persona "Coach").  I read Muad'Dib and Minion's book - an acheivement for the cause of learning and education if there ever was one! - and have begun reading Atlas Shrugged.  It's a whole different book when I understand what's going on.  And I enjoyed IMMENSELY putting together, rehearsing for and presenting our Ward Christmas Program.  A creative labor of love if there ever was one, to be sure!

As a family we attended a Nelson Family Reunion at Posey Lake in Escalante, which was quite an emotional marker for my children as they each completed the 5.5 mile hike.  Then we went to the Michaelson Reunion in Afton, and shortly thereafter we went on a Family Adventure to Lake Tahoe.  There we visited Vikingsholm Castle, went to many beaches and played in the water, went swimming every single day, Lemur and I enjoyed Ping Pong, Brogurt "enjoyed" Roseolla, Muad'Dib enjoyed killing a wind scorpion that had accosted me in our room, Rivulet enjoyed her birthday present of 12 My Little Ponies, I enjoyed swimming all alone in the pool at night (though the bats resented my presense) and all together we enjoyed the Olympics, the water, and the time. 

We are a grateful, happy family and look forward with bright eyes to what adventures await us in 2013!!!

Let me relate a story to you, if I may:

 ~*~ My two oldest children, Lemur (9) and Rivulet (6), love to hear stories of my youth.  They call them “Family History Stories” and more often than not they take the place of music in the car or a Dr. Seuss at bedtime.  Recently they have been asking about my theatrical escapades.  I have told them many funny stories from the early days at TPP, but then felt I could use a refresher and so turned to my journals for inspiration.  On December 1, 2012, as I was laughing over a journal entry about Jared burning his mouth on hot chocolate, Lemur came down the stairs and asked what was so funny.  I gave them a brief rundown of who Jared was.  How we’d met when I was 14, and were in plays together for years.  I mentioned that we had dated and were such good friends we wrote the entire time he was on his mission! 

               “Do you still have any of the letters, Mom?” Rivulet asked excitedly.

               “Nope; because just before I married your dad I decided to get rid of everything that any other boy had ever given me.”

               “Even the bear?!” she asked in shock. (Referring to the bear Jared had given me for Christmas in 1996)

               “Even the bear,” I said. “I thought it was what I had to do to move on.”  Lemur nodded his head sagely and I continued, “You want to know the worst part, though?  He called not too long after and asked for the letters back.”

               Lemur's eyes grew wide with anticipation of a story and he asked, “What did he say when you told him, Mom?”

               “I didn’t tell him,” I admitted.  “I said, “Oh, well, we just moved and it may take me a while to find them. Then I never called him back.” I even told them about the Edelweiss, a gift he had sent me for Christmas one year.  As it turned out, it was the only one he'd ever found while on his mission in Austria.  He'd sent it to me for safe-keeping and I'd thrown it in the garbage.  I tried to tell the story with my usual comedic flair. 

                But my children didn’t find it one bit funny. In fact, they were outraged! “Mom! That was a lie!  You lied to your friend!”

               “But I was scared and ashamed,” I said.  “How could I tell him what I’d done?”

               Lemur looked at me sternly, “You need to make it right.  You need to tell him what you did and say you are sorry.” 

               “Oh please,” I countered, “It’s been 11 years.  I’m sure it doesn’t even matter anymore.” And with that I put the journal back into the cedar chest with all the others.  It is at this point that my husband pipes up; I didn’t even know he’d been listening.

“It still bothers you, Sayyadina.  Every time you talk about it you cry; the kids are right.”

               And almost immediately I got this idea: to compile what I have of Jared’s life and his influence on my life into one place and give it to him, so that I might ask for his forgiveness. ~*~

And so for the last two weeks I have rifled through my cedar chest, 14 journals, computer documents, files and scrapbooks to find every last entry of my first date, my first kiss, my first love.  And then I typed them all into one document - absent of my signature sappy-ness - and have been preparing to give this record to him.

A few years ago when it was cool to do so, people were doing that "If the world ended who would you be in your primitive village as you rebuilt the world" thing on facebook.  And I had answered that I would be the historian.  I have a knack for it.  I didn't realize how true that statement was.

I have since compiled over 60 pages of journal entries, stories, events and written memories about the times when this boy's life and mine intertwined.  I had encouraged him for YEARS to keep his own journal.  I have evidence of it, as I recorded that in Christmas of 1996 I had actually GIVEN him a journal of his own.  And yet....  Well, this isn't the point of the story.

I was ashamed.  I had carried for 11 years the guilt of throwing away literally hundreds of pages of this boy's history written in his own hand and then lying to him about it.  He was a better friend than that.  No matter anything else, he did not deserve to be lied to.  And I have been not only carrying that guilt, but I've been punishing myself for the action.

Well, not anymore pal!

While making this record, I have been able to see with complete clarity how important he was to me.  And the hand of God is blindingly evident in these events.  I can see how fear and self-hatred coupled with attention and genuine affection to become a bastard emotion: co-dependant "love."  Whatever I knew of myself before our romantic relationship was lost when that particular relationship ended.  But it was never his fault.  I gave myself up, because previous events he'd had no part in had taught me that what I was was "wrong," "too much" or otherwise "unloveavble."  I can see now that I was looking for a big brother to protect me and tell me that I was loved.  I was looking for that singular feeling of acceptence that comes from an older sibling and no one else.  I was looking for my brother, John. 

Again - not the point of the story.

Ahem.  Long story short (too late!) I took three days after finishing the compilation to work up the guts to call this guy and ask when he'd be in town next or if I could mail it to him.  We talked for a few minutes.  And he asked me the purpose of my curiosity.  Since we hadn't spoken in - oh - 6 years, it was a valid question.  I confessed to him my wrong.  I apologized.  I told him I was attempting to make what restitution I could with this record.  And he forgave me.  How could I have ever doubted that he would?  Above everything else, and before anything else, he had been a friend.  He proved it again.  In fact, he admitted he was "excited" to get to read the chronicle, as he could not remember much of anything from the years I had recorded. 

And so here is the point of the story:  Repentance.  Forgiveness.  Letting go.  Humility.  Faith.  And the worth of recording one's life. 

I am so grateful to have made such a large mistake.  Because now I get the privilege of going through a full repentance process.  I will be able to humbly make use of the gift Christ gave me when He gave his life for me.  I make myself more worthy to return to Him. 

I have been afraid of this mistake for so long.  I did feel free and happy for a day or two....and then - believe it or not - I felt naked.  I don't think I yet realize just HOW much I held onto and was formed by this guilt.  Because it's like I removed a bunch of junk from my house and then am somehow afraid of the empty spaces.  I guess it just means I have the chance to either downsize to a smaller house or fill it with other, more worthy thoughts. 

And heaven knows I think plenty of thoughts.  I'd better make sure they all have proper admission before just letting them in here, though.  Some might be entering to vandalize or set up squatting privileges in a darkened corner of my mind.  And fear of empty places only gives them a pile of fluff to build a nest. 

I can see that the beginning of repentance, the becoming clean, brings with it responsibilities.  And one might react like a child getting dressed for Sunday.  If they are prone to dirt, it seems out of character and uncomfortable for them to stay clean and they will as quickly as possbile find a way to mar the improvements.  Or, once one has been washed, one is more aware of one's cleanliness, feels loved and cared for and has a deep desire to stay clean as long as possible.  Currently I am one and want to be the other.  It really feels different. 

Perhaps it would be a good use of my time and talents to next identify the places where I get speckles of "dirt" on my clean outfit, in the hopes that I might find a cleaner route. 

And I acknowledge the great blessing and truth that even if/when I get dirty again, I may become clean again.  Because Father and Christ love me just that much. 

Did I ever tell you about the time I found out I was being a bad wife?

No? 

Well it's time to relate that story.

The year was 2009.  We had moved into our "Bookcase house" as Lemur called it.  I had done a hellish cleanse that disrupted the very core of my self.  Lemur was 5 and Rivulet was 2.5.  Muad'Dib was much the same as he always had been.  Our communication was a little off - or a lot off - and I was still in my hopeless "give up attitude."

I complained about just about anything.  My biggest complaint at that time was Muad'Dib leaving socks everywhere in the house.  It felt like he was wearing eight pairs of socks a day!  I felt I was constantly picking up socks!  I asked him to put them away himself.  When that didn't work, I asked him to leave them in a specific place so I could pick them up.  When that didn't work....well, I went and complained to everyone I could think of.  I thought it was in an attempt to attain some sort of understanding but evidence in hindsight suggests a different explaination.  It's really because I didn't believe I had anything more interesting to talk about and wanted to be a victim for the attention it garnered me. 

On one such an occasion, I'm going off on Muad'Dib and how miserable it feels when he leaves his socks everywhere and I was informed that no one could possibly be doing that on accident. " He must be doing it on purpose.  In fact, he must be passive agressive and he's really very angry at you for something.  I mean, they're socks!  Why wouldn't he pick them up when he knows how much it bothers you unless he's trying to hurt you!"

The fact that I took this explaination to heart and ran with it is a testimony to my gone-ness.  I am ashamed to admit that I believed this.  And even more ashamed that I took that accusation home and hurled it at my husband.

I was sitting on the piano bench in our living room and he sat on the couch holding our sleeping daughter.  The conversation went something like this:

"Well, I had a talk with So&So today," I began.  I sounded like a parent.

"How was it?" he asks warily. 

"Oh fine.  But uh.  I mentioned you not ever picking up your socks,"  here I put on my victim face, "and they told me that you were doing it to hurt me."

He says nothing.

"So why do you want to hurt me?" I ask, emotion rising, "What have I done that you feel you need to punish me by disobeying me and disrespecting me and setting a bad example of cleanliness for the children?"

He had begun looking down just as I hit the "punish me" part of the tirade.  He continued to say nothing.

"I know I've not been a picnic the past few months," (understatement of the decade, btw) "So tell me what I did so I can apologize and make it better."

He says nothing. 

"Muad'Dib?"  I say, angleing my head to try and catch his gaze, "Won't you please tell me why you choose to hurt me by leaving your socks everywhere?"

He says nothing.  I close my eyes and tilt my head back very much in a "Lord, give me strength" kind of way, tears seeping out.  Oh my pain is so dramatic.....

I look back to him and he is looking at me.  I will not ever forget the expression on his face.  I didn't understand it.  He looked.....wounded.

"Wow," he says. 

"What?" I ask.

"Do you really believe I am like that?" he waits for an answer for just a moment, but then continues, "Do you  know me at all?  They're just socks, Sayyadina."

The fact that they were just socks had - literally - never occured to me.

"Then why do you do it?" I counter.

"Because I don't think about it; I think hundreds of other things in a day, but not the socks.  I mean - do you think about the tire pressure?"

"No..."

"Do you think about the amount of dandylions we have in the yard or the number of stamps in the Post Office at night?"

"No....."

"What about whether or not the water is going to freeze in the pipes? Should I assume that you are trying to hurt me every time you don't think about something I think is important?!"

"Uh...."

"What if we both just, you know, take care of things.  If it bothers you, you do it.  And if it bothers me, I'll do it."

Well, by now I was basically speechless.  It couldn't be that simple.  He couldn't love me so completely that our marital duties were that simple.  If he wasn't trying to hurt me, why was I in so much pain?  Why was he so uncomfortable around me if there wasn't anything wrong?  It didn't make sense....

I called my Life Coach in tears, needing to talk this out and find a resolution. 

And in the course of that conversation he told me that the relationship most people are MOST familiar with is the Parent/Child relationship.  He asked if I was being Muad'Dib's mom, rather than his wife.  I had no answer.  He asked if I put Muad'Dib in situations where he had little recourse but to treat me like his child.   And then:

"Have you ever considered that - maybe - so far, you suck at being a WIFE?"

And my consiousness exploded!

OF COURSE!!!!  THAT WAS IT!!! That's why I was in so much pain!  I was chafing under false premises, ideas and performance.

Relieved to recognize the problem and the truth, I cried.  I was so sorrowful for the crappy months (or years) that I had spent not being my husband's WIFE.  Almost immediately I felt cleaned out.  Because as that truth was owned, I had a change of heart.  And it was nearly instantaneous.  The godly sorrow was replaced by hope as I shed my past beliefs and mistakes.

I was done being a bad wife.  I was going to be an awesome wife. 

And I can tell you that within just a few weeks - I had graduated to good wife. 

"How, Sayyadina?!  How did you become a good wife?  What did you do differenlty?" 

1.  I stopped being his mom.
2.  I listened to him.
3.  I stopped being his daughter.
4.  (and this was a big one) I began living the Creation Plan.  Let me 'splain:

It was not two days after the breakthrough that my Grandma sent me a copy of a book she wrote in 1981 called The Creation Plan - a 7 day approach to guilt-free homemaking.

It was the action my revelation needed!  I began to really create my home.  If it bothered me, I took care of it.  I chose to stop resenting video game time.  Instead I would sit at his feet, massage his feet and tried to enjoy the art, the action or the story.  It's a grand feeling to have a husband declare, "You are good luck!"
I stopped resenting socks in the bathroom by seeing them and thinking "I'm so glad he's alive and married to me!"  I changed my attitude for so many other things that today I don't even remember.  I became the wife I was capable of being. 

And I took responsibilty for myself.  I became a woman, a homemaker and a wife that he could trust and count on.

It's now - what - 3 years later.  Muad'Dib is constantly telling me that I am an awesome wife. 

Why tell you this story?

Because Thursday, November 8th I figured out that I have been a bad mom. 

Knock it off.  I know what you're going to comment, "Oh no you're a great mom!"  "Your kids are lucky to have you!'  "Look how well behaved they are!" 

My kids are great.  They are lucky to have me and they are behaved pretty well. 

But that is no indication of me being the mother I'm capable of being.  Because that mother - the mother that is the most pure representation of my ability to mother - would more gently and consiously facilitate them being the best humans they are capable of being. 

You  might recognize this name from my last post:  Kirk Duncan.  He didn't tell me I was a bad mom.  No blaming here.  I went to a Body Language Show on Thursday, hoping - again - that he would see me and fix me.  Well, he saw me alright. 

And what he picked up on - in all the micro movements of my body in the few moments he was attempting to teach me to shake hands - was my intensity. 

Over and over he encouraged me, "Be gentle.  Nooo....gentle." And when I couldn't get "gentle" he said, "Okay, try happy."  I had to shake off whatever madness I was exuding and try again.  Then he asked me to say something to the group, which I did by pointing my finger - apparently with truly frightening vigor, because he grabbed my hand and comically exclaimed, "Why are you trying to stab them?   They didn't do anything wrong!" Everyone laughed.

Then he turned to me and said, "You have little people at home."  It wasn't really a question.  I admitted yes, and could feel my heart trying to hide it's shame from Kirk's kind and perceptive gaze (which of course only further fed his informational bank about me).    He smiled, put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Well then I'm really glad you're here."  And later when I asked how to help my kids he quite plainly told me how, and then admonished, "Help Mom first......Fix Mom first, okay?  Will you do this?"  I cried, but I also nodded. 

Moments.  I was the focus of only a few moments in 3 and a half hours - well maybe a full minute if you count my question at the end. But in that total of 60 seconds,  Kirk could see it.  He could see the fear I held fast in my heart: that I was somehow hurting and holding back my children.  And he could see the body language that supported the validity of my concern.  Long story short:  It's true. I've been a bad mom. And that's okay. 

Because just like I'm done being foolish, just as I was done being a bad wife, I am done being a bad mom. 

I've just got to let it happen.  Just be awesome.  Just be a good mom.  It's in me anyway.  And when flaxen chords hold be back (I cut off 15 just this morning), I will shear them off with a sword of truth.  It's going to work out, because I'm awesome and my kids are awesome and as long as we let it happen, we will naturally have an awesome salad of awesomeness. 

That's it. 

Warrior - now with a Heart of Gold!

This last Thursday I imposed upon my father to watch my three children (two of them screaming as I left) to ride the Frontrunner to SLC with DreamPacker.  Why?  Because I with near desperation wanted something.

I wanted to see, hear and be fixed by Kirk Duncan. 

For those who don't know Kirk, he is the founder of the The 3 Key Elements.  Dreampacker lent me a bunch of his CD's about a year ago and I listened to five of the fifteen on and off since Brogurt was born. He said good things.  I felt good things when I listened.  I recognized what he said as truth and how he presented it as.... basically as an injection of truth.  Meaning I didn't have to sift much to find the message.  He is point blank.  I like that. 

In my recent turnaround (from foolish to wise), my heart has been awakened to it's closed off state.  And it feels very much like it sounds.  Imagine waking from a fitful sleep to find yourself wound up tightly - almost suffocating - in the blanket you had chosen to ensure your warmth, saftey and comfort.  What was once the obvious choice for your survival is now a different and immediate danger to your very life.

Scary doesn't really do it justice.  I have spent more than three days in the last week sobbing so forcefully that I had to get a chiropractic adjustment to correct the strain on my neck and shoulders. 

Long story short:  I was in pain.  And I felt led to Kirk's Heart of Gold thing in SLC. The closer I got to SLC, I noticed physical pain increasing like a dramatic pressure change.  I even mentioned how similar it felt to the times we went up or down 2,500 ft in 5 minutes at Lake Tahoe.  My neck hurt, all my muscles ached, I felt like I couldn't stretch enough. I kept popping my knuckles and my neck. The pressure!  I was being crushed....

And never once did I consider turning back home.  The physical pain had nothing on the aching in my heart. 

Let me be clear:  I fully intended to be "fixed."  To have Kirk look down in the crowd, see me and say, "Holy cow, woman, let's get you up here cause I can see you got a whole lotta something nasty happening inside!"  I was ready to explore, discover and heal myself in front of I didn't care how many people.  They could learn from my stupid baggage!  I was ready to be their horribly damaged instrument for learning.  The cadaver for medical science, if you will.  I was ready for that. I was open to it.  I was begging for it.

But that's not what happened. The place was packed.  Easily over 300 people in this huge room.  There was a center and two side sections.  I sat in the middle of the side section with my back up against this huge white cement pole.  I felt safe there and I hoped I would be seen there.

First a woman shared her experience reading her son's body language and using that insight to "save him 30 years of therapy in that very moment!"  She called herself a Ninja.  Everyone around me seemed to get the reference and chuckled knowingly.  I felt more alone and cut off.  But that's okay.  As soon as Kirk came out, he'd see me because I needed to be seen. 

Kirk did come out, walking up to the stage with humble confidence.  He began his....stuff....not a lecture, not really a seminar.  He started sharing stuff.  He talked about a goldfish named Larry.  He reminded us that he was "unplugged" and "after hours."  This was meant to be a spiritual discussion.  Well that worked for me, because I was spiritually messed up and my messed up spirit was just screaming to be fixed.  Bring it on.

Then he talked about Heaven, Earth and Creation vs. Creating.  It was during this part that it seemed to me (because it's all about me) that Kirk looked over at me and .... well.... and I'm pretty positive his spirit understood my spirit.  I felt so sure that it happened that I was able to relax a little and start taking notes.  Surely now that his spirit knew how much pain I was in, things were about to get better.  He was gonna fix me.

He taught us about chains and flaxen cords.  How they're real.  I think everyone should listen to the CD's for yourself.  I don't want to over-share.  So what you have here is what I learned, not necessarily what he said:

* Creating is much more important than the creation.
* My building material is everything on earth or that which makes up earth/reality.
* I will not always be able to jive my creation with what I planned in my head.  And that's okay.  Because - see point 1 above.
* Evil spirits/Satan want to stop me from creating.
* Negative thoughts/beliefs are literal chains and ropes that evil spirits use to keep me from creating.
* When I choose to dwell on/in negativity I am literally giving them permission to use me as a puppet.
* Truth cuts the cords.  (like a sword)
* Identifying the thought/belief/spirit will remove their influence, but not the cord itself until I choose to shed it.
* I can take them off.
* I can have a different number of cords/chains for different areas of my life.  (for soccer, I might only have "not fast enough,"  "too tired,"  "sore," "embarrassed," - a few flaxen cords that holds me back or wear me out after a half hour of play.  But for writing I might have layers of chains  like "tired," "no time," "no focus," - dozens of others - and still carry a freaking millstone of "but what do I have to write about" that crushes my heart, shoulders and neck.)
* This tactic destroys me starting mentally, then emotionally, then physically and finally spiritually. If they came at me spiritually straight off, as they have in the past, I would easily spot them.  But come at me mentally, where for years I've been told "Well, we're human, everyone thinks like that sometimes; cut yourself a break," and I blame myself.  Well, that was NON helpful in the long run, I'll tell you what.
* and MORE!

As he was going on, and as I was taking notes, he brought people up to help him demonstrate a few things.  I didn't get the chance to go up, but knew that my moment was coming.  Because he had seen me.  Even a few times since then, he looked back to the crying woman in the green sweater and I knew he knew that I was in need of help.  He was going to fix me. 

Then came questions. 

And everyone asked the exact same question, but differently.  "How can I help others?"

And inside I'm thinking, "To hell with others, how do I help ME??!!"  As I'm listening to the answer, which was the same for each question, because each question was the same, a string of thoughts began to pace in my mind.  "He has to tell me.  He has to fix me.  I need an answer.  How do I fix me when I'm so overwhelmed?"  I wondered if it had to be a spiritual truth to cut the cords/remove the chains.  Could it be anything?  What if I had a number that kept changing?  I felt so overwhelmed.  Over and over.  I raised my hand, I tried to get his attention.... and my emotions threatened to overwhelm me.

He looked over and saw me.  I felt that jolt of recognition again and thought, "This is it!" but instead he said he was going to cut off questions because he had two more things to had to share before we left.  I wanted to scream!  How could anything else be as helpful as everyone getting to SEE someone as tied up as I was get completely freed before their very eyes?!  The injustice and disappointment began to overwhelm my mind, my voice, my hands. 

He stood up on stage.  He looked over at me again and began to draw two cups with people inside.  As experiences in a day fill up, sometimes we see that someone else's cup still has some room in it and we go dump on them so we can breathe again.  But then that person is drowning because we dumped on them.  Then he said,  "It is never okay to dump on another person.  If you feel -" and he wrote the word on the board in huge letters, "OVERWHELMED, then go unload on a tree."

What the....

Then he drew a big cup with a big person and a little cup with a litte person - a child - inside.  He showed us how even if we have only a little to dump, that little can drown a child because their cup is so much smaller than ours.  A woman behind me joined the chorus of "awwww"s with a "who would ever do that to a child?"

I wanted to turn around and tearfully scream, "What the hell do you know, lady?!"  That reaction brought tears fresh to my eyes.  I wanted to defend my tendency to dump on my children?!  I looked at that little stick figure drowning in a cup full of a parent's red emotions and saw Rivuleta's face.  I saw Lemur's big eyes wet with surprise and emotion that he didn't know how to deal with. 

And I was suddenly so very sorry.  I always thought it was my right to share my feelings.  But it's not.  Feelings - like money - are a tool of trade, for the benefit of all.  And if the person I want to trade with doesn't like what I am selling, I have no right to force it on them. 

Woah!  WAIT!  It hit me.  He wrote my word on the board.  The word I was screaming inside.  He heard it.  He addressed it. 

Uh.... But why, was he teaching THIS instead of what I wanted to learn?  Why didn't he just take me up there and fix me?!

He taught some more.  By the end, we were to shout "Freedom."  I tried.... but very little in way of voice or conviction came out.

And then it was over.  Come and gone so fast.

Dreampacker and I walked back to Frontrunner.  By now I was nauseated, dizzy, the headache I had been fighting all along had blossomed  into a migraine, and by the time we were halfway home I felt like I was collapsing in on myself, physically.  Everything hurt. 

By 2 am I was convinced I had the flu, with a fever, shakes and all the aforementioned yuckiness.

And then I had three dreams.  In the first, Kirk taught me how to deal with Lemur.  In the second, he taught me how to deal with Rivulet.  And in the third, I was re-taught the entire Heart of Gold; just me and six other people. I woke up confused that I could remember that I had the dreams, but not the specifics of what each contained.  I had only the confidence that I would know it when it was time to know it.... I know that sounds weird.  Oh - and I was fine.  Not sick, just a little residual head and muscle ache that went away as the day went on.

On the first day I stood in my bathroom and tried something.  I said to myself, "2+2=4.  Anything less true than that: I command you to leave." It felt like a big fur coat slipped off my shoulders. I literally stood up straighter and felt substantially lighter.  My brain clicked along like the brain I remember from two years ago...

In the afternoon, after a crazy productive day, I gave each returning child complete undivided attention and used tactics I am positive I was taught in my sleep, because I don't remember learning them before.  My children responded amazingly.  Rivulet and I communicated, and I taught her about cords and the spirits who pull the strings we give them. I helped Lemur with his homework without fuss and he said with surprise, "Wow,  you're really listening..." 

On the second day Rivulet wanted a dollar.  So I gave her the easiest job I could find that would also be worth more than a dollar to me.  She starts on it, and I begin work in the yard with help from Brogito.  She comes down the stairs, "Mom, is this enough?"

She has done 25% of the job.  "Nope.  Keep going."

She returns a few minutes later, "How about now?"

I look up and see no change at all, "Nope.  Keep going."

She sits on the front steps in a heap and begins to wail, "I can't do it!  It's too hard!  You gave me the hardest job!  It's not fair!  I can't do it!"

I comedically yell, "FLAXEN CORDS!" run to her and comedically begin to remove them from her arms, feet and neck. 

She looks up at me with blatant confusion and a hint of "mom has lost it" in her eyes.  "What are you doing?" she asks.

"Making it easier for you to finish your job.  Doesn't it feel better not to have all those negative chains weighing you down?"  I nod my head as she continues to stare at me, then go back to my work.

She remains on the stairs, her eyes clear......then she darkens again, "But I can't do it.  It's too hard.  I'm not strong.  I'm not good at things."

I  repeat the previous odd behavior.  She giggles this time, but then says, "Mom, I really can't.  I can't do anything.  I'm not strong."

And I say, "Who says you're not strong?"

She looks away. "Everyone."

"Oh no, River-bottom.  Not Dad.  Not Mom.  Not Lemur or Brogito or...I could list two dozen people who would never  say that.  Jesus would never say that."  I softly take her hands in my own.  Then I list for her all the hard things she has ever done.  And they are many and awesome.  Then I ask her again, "Who says you can't?  Jesus or Satan?"

"Satan."

"So who are you going to listen to?  Jesus who says you can because you are strong, or Satan who says you can't because he doesn't want you to know you're strong?"

"I don't know!" she wails. 

I can feel it's time to step back.  So I pat her on the head and say, "You think about it."

I go back to my work and hear the door slam.  Great.  She's given up. Well, I guess that's it: Kirk is a butt and all he's said is a load of garbage.  But then....

Then I hear the door slam again....River comes down the stairs and in 15 minutes she finishes the job.   No more whining, moaning, or doubts. 

And she didn't complain once the rest of the day.  Not once.

WHAAAAT???!!! 

Sunday.... I'm talking to a friend who is using jerky movements as she talks about a  bad situation.  I didn't feel it was appropriate to yell "FLAXEN CORDS!" and attack her, but I did take her by the hand and gently remove them.  Then I took her other hand and did it again, never breaking eye contact with her.  She didn't even ask what I was doing....  But soon thereafter she sighed and changed the subject and was smiling and laughing not 5 minutes later. 

This morning Lemur wakes up grumpy and disobedient.  I ask him what the problem is.  He looks down and I wait.  He looks up and sees me still waiting for his answer and he began to cry, putting his head on my chest.  I removed a cord from his neck as we sat there.  Then he looked up at me, sighed and finished getting ready for school.

Rivulet didn't want me to comb her hair.  She fell apart in the bathroom and I tried to talk her out of it.  I did the "FLAXEN CORDS!" on her, but she resisted.  Nothing seemed to work.  Then I asked her for a hug.  And then I removed one from her neck and she purred.  Then I started removing them from/massaging her hands as we talked about something else.  But she caught on and started laughing, "What are you doing, Mom?"

"Nothing....what are you doing?"

"You're making me lighter again so I can laugh, huh?"

"Maybe..."  And then she got ready for school.  No further fuss or bother.

In the end I was right:  I was led to Heart of Gold.  Kirk did look into my eyes and recognize the pain there. Kirk could help. But I was also wrong. I didn't need him to free me.  I could do it.  I could do it with the Savior.  And I needed to know how to help others because my children are getting dumped on and they are being tied.  And if any woman has ever been a warrior, it is me.  I free myself, and I give my kids breathing room until they are old enough to understand what they have to do for themselves. 

I feel good about that.  Overwhelmed is just one of a hundred or more flaxen cords, chains or strings I give to an evil spirit to keep me from creating.  Well not any more pal. 

I would feel it a disservice to this experience to close it with a conclusion.  Because this learning is not yet over, all the applications are not yet found, and my journey is no where near complete.

Applying "The Philosophy of Freedom" - Chapter 1

The difference between foolish and wise is the application of knowledge.  In an effort to overcome my previous foolishness, I seek to gain and apply knowledge.  To that point:

I've been reading Muad'Dib and Fedaykin's book (which is wonderful - you all would benefit from reading it, I testify with full faith; go buy a copy ASAP).  My Grandma picked it up while she was staying at my parent's house and also began to read it.  At first she just opened it up and started reading.  It didn't put her to sleep (good sign), and so she decided to start at the beginning.

She struggled with the first chapter so I tried to talk her through. 

"Grandma, as long as you accept and acknowledge that this," I motion to the world around us, "is reality and we are really here, then basically, you've got the Chapter 1.  But you have to accept that before you can 'get' the rest of the book."

She looked at me like I was crazy, "What else would I think?" she asked.

"Well, there are some people who don't believe we're really here," I explain, "so they argue that there aren't true consequences, our choices don't really matter, there is no truth and no real right and wrong."

"Who would think that?" she questioned in sarcastic disbelief.

"More people than you'd think."

Grandma was incredulous, which I found fascinating, because I had met more and more of these people in recent years.  I knew they were real.  "People know this is reality," she said dismissively.

"Do they?"  I ask her, becoming giddy with the chance to debate a point.

"Yes, of course they do.  How could they think differently," she asked, laughing at their stupidity.  "Why would they want to?!" 

"They believe that way because they prefer it," I say, and then - without really thinking it through - "Take me for example - "

"You know this is reality," she interjects.

"Do I?  It sure looks like I think eating cake and cookies and candy and 3 servings per meal will make me thin and healthy," I say, motioning to my ample form,  "Or at least it shows that I believe such behavior will somehow emotionaly protect or endear me to others when in fact it is doing the exact opposite."

Her face  becomes thoughtful, though the smirk is still there behind her eyes.

"I have chosen to live in a world where I hope that the natural laws of the universe don't apply,"I confess.  "A place where I will in no way - not physically, emotionally, mentally or spiritually - be held accoutable for my actions,"

"And why would you do that?" she asks, almost all humor gone from her tone.

"Because it was what I wanted to do," I answer quietly.  I feel the pain of living contrary to natural laws of this very real existence.  "But there is right and wrong, isn't there Grandma?"

She nods.

"And how can I know that my fantasy world of sweets and consuming more than I burn isn't reality?"

Her eyes meet mine with that steely Michaelson power, "Because you're fat."

I smile.  "Yep.  The proof is in the pudding."  I realize I don't know exactly what that cliche means....but it seems apt nonetheless.  "If my ideas that I could eat like a bear and look like a dancer were true, it would be so."  She nodded.  "Chapter 1 is all about accepting observable, objective facts; identifying and then accepting the laws of nature.  Because if you don't, then even when you learn the truth, you won't apply it."

"Oh," she says softly.  She turns the book over in her hands, "This is a pretty good book then," she says.

"It has been for me," I say.

She turns her sage and penetrating gaze on me again, "So I see."  Then her tone lightens a little, "So if I accept that...." she struggles for the right words, which I offer to her:

"Existence exists, as they say."

"Yes, if I know that Existence exists....then I can go on to Chapter 2?"

I smile, "Sure Grandma."

There you have it:  if I, Sayyadina, accept that existence exists and that this world functions on natural laws (laws which, in my faith I recognize as being set in place and followed by my very loving Heavenly Father), then I can move on to the proverbial "Chapter 2."  And what is Chapter 2?

Well, in the book Chapter 2 is owning that "the number of people in your species does nothing to diminish the value of your life." and that "You exist to be happy."  Chapter 2 teaches me the formula for achieving my values, for  being happy.  It says that what I accepted in Chapter 1, gives me the freedom and thereby the responsibility to identify that which will make me happy and then do that. 

Emotionally, today I'm still on Chapter 1.  I get that this is real.  I know that my choices have led me here....and....wow.  That's all I can handle today. 

Shh, shh, shhh....Just let it happen.

Why hello there.  It has been a while. 

Too long have I relied on Facebook for my standard mode of wordy communication.  I gave up on the blog because I felt like no one was reading it.  And in the months that followed I have come to realize that I read it.  I go back over and over to re-live moments of "aha!" and "what the buckets?!"  I have been helped by myself.  So I will continue.  If anyone joins me, great.  But the point is that I join me.  As I quote at the top:  I am the meaning.

With that said, it may take a while for my brain to get going again.  I have left off my penchant for verbose-ness.  Seriously.  I went from one of those huge journals - filling at least a page a day - to a normal size journal....and not even completing a full HALF page.  I stopped Blogging. I have written a few things....and I will not downplay that accomplishment.  Still I can admit that the real problem with not writing is that it seems to testify that I am not really thinking. 

So.  What am I thinking?  I know that most of my thoughts are "baby," "children's happiness,"  "husband's book (which is awesome, btw)," "exersise," "don't eat so much," and "I wish it were rainy-er."  Ah....you see?  I have recently had a major epiphany and am not even thinking about it.  Truth to my claim! 

I will say it as best I can, though I know there are some who will dislike my word choices for being "harsh."  I say examine the evidence before you judge it. 

First:  I have fears.  They are valid and have proven to be substantial.  When compared with other people who have suffered "more" than I, they are small and one might be left to wonder, "Really?  That is what you are afraid of?!"  But still, they remain regardless of whether someone else judges them a meager offering.

Second: I have - over the course of many years, beginning in my senior year (I tend to call it "hell year") of High School - figuratively and in fact literally fed my fears.

It might be helpful to understanding to share these fears, as it SO directly relates to the overall breakthrough in understanding:

FEAR: I am afraid to be attractive; not because I think I will act on attention, but because I am afraid that other women will see me as a threat to their talents, their appearence, their self-image and to their husbands. I have tried.  Every time I felt like my attractiveness (awesomeness) was a threat in even the smallest way to a friend, I stepped up my eating.  I had to make it "safe" for them to be around me.  Because....

FEAR:  I am afraid of being un-needed, un-useful, abandoned, seen as "not worth it."   Being alone is not the issue:  being useless in the lives of those I love,  being an unsafe component in their lives - for me - is the issue. Because....

FEAR:  I am afraid of how great I will be if I can't temper all my goodness with , "but I'm fat."  Will anyone want to be my friend if I am a blazing standard of talent, intelligence, creativity, intuition, motherhood, wife-ish-ness, humor AND physical beauty?!  And I just realized how stupid that question is.  Which leads me to my largest fear, which is also the conclusion:

I have been stupid.  I have been acting stupid.  I have been RESISTING the truth:  I'm great.
I confused humility with fear and came up with....stupidity.  The stupidity putrified into stupid pride. 

I'm sorry for what my fears might say about my opinion of others.  Sincerely.  I didn't realize that I let my fears become judgement of others.  They began "harmless" enough.  I just wanted CeCe to relax and not see me as a threat to her relationship with my ex-boyfriend.  I just wanted Melanie and Jill and Stacy and Rachel to not be mad at me all the time.  I wanted Kirby to leave me alone and stop beating me down.  I wanted to be "safe" from rape in college. 

I wanted to protect myself. 

And have ended up doing the exact opposite. 

Fear does that. 

Fear makes one stupid/makes one act stupidly.  And by stupid I mean contrary to reality, natural laws (which are also eternal laws), and rational self-interest.  Rationally, eating 6-8 candy bars in a day, followed by 4 donuts and a 10pm snack of a stack of cookies doesn't help anyone.  But my fear said it would keep me relevant and unforgettable, it would make others safe to see themselves, it would - someday give me a badge of honor when I overcame it.

Wait.  That's the important one!

I wanted a "Badge of Honor."

Like when I'm directing a play and someone questions how I'm teaching them to enunciate and project and I can say, "Hey.  I've done theater for 21 years at *this and this theater*, I've been paid *this much* and toured with *this company* and learned from *this awesome theater professer*." and that is enough to convince them to listen to me long enough for them to see the proof of my direction.

I have a few more Badges, but don't need to go into them here.

I had "struggled" for so long, I became convinced that I must be fat for a good reason, and once I figured it out, then I could lose the weight.  Then I would have a valient badge of honor, some emotional hardship I overcame!  Look at me I overcame ChildHood Trauma!  Look at me I overcame a Thyroid Problem!  Look at me I overcame Abandonment Issues!

Unfortunately (see how twisted my mind had become) I didn't have any of those problems.  I had fears, and they were real and valid, but they weren't GOOD enough. Not one of them kept me fat on their own. I needed one that was good enough.  And "stupid" wasn't a "good" reason.  So I continued to resist losing weight. 

And there it is.  Did you know that resisting a thing gives it power?  I didn't.  Maybe I did, but couldn't see the application in my own life because I was still waiting for that one valient issue to rear it's head like a big slathering dragon so I could slay it and mount it's head on my wall. 

Turns out my Dragon was a multi-headed Hydra, with different poisons and dangers to each mouth.  Just like Hercules I tried cutting off each head to kill it.  But I never touched the heart. 

The heart wasn't a fear, it was the resistence to the fears.  I was fighting my own beauty so much that I was in fact FEEDING the fear to destroy it.  And that's stupid. 

In summation:  I have learned that all my fears are valid.  And I don't have a good, valient reason to stay fat. 

I guess I better let the fat go, then.  Just stop resisting losing weight.  Let it happen.  Stop resisting the magnitude of my Chelsea-ness, and let it happen.  Knowing that the people who have always found me attractive, will continue to see me as such; considering that my getting fat didn't stop them, getting thin won't make much difference either.  Because I attract great people.  My husband thinks the world of me, even when he sees me being stupid for reasons he can't even fathom.  My children think the world of me.   And I think the world of me.  Let's just let it happen.

It has been said that I don't know how to relax.  The rest of my life will be an exersise in relaxation and be-ing.  Because with all I have to give, I don't have the time to resist it anymore.  There is so much of me, and so much I can do with it. 

So as each fear - still valid - rears it's dangerous head to swallow me down, my new job is not to feed it, but to relax; I will soothe the heart of the beast.  The heart of the matter is that I am amazing and that's okay. 

"Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven."

Okay, Father.  I will.  :)