Month: May 2022

For much of my life I have felt like an outsider, like I didn’t belong to the human race. I remember when I was a teenager, I used to imagine myself floating in outer space, alone in the darkness, seeing stars and planets in the distance. There would be no denying the mystery of existence; I would know I existed because I would be alone, undeniably alone, and that would feel real. Whereas being with people did not feel real to me. I wasn’t sure I existed when I was around people, as if they couldn’t see me. And because I was afraid of other people, I found it easier just to imagine being alone with no one to contradict that reality. Unconsciously, I didn’t think I mattered, not to myself, not to others. I felt safe in my solitary confinement because no one could deny I didn’t belong; there was nothing to belong to. It was easier that way, to think I and other people didn’t exist.

Growing up, I related to the Twilight Zone episode where the little girl falls into the wall and gets lost and wanders around alone, separated from everyone. I hated that feeling, yet knew no way out of it, just like the little girl in the episode. But unlike her, no one came to rescue me and I stayed in that lonely place for decades. That belief that I was isolated and alone instructed my day-to-day interactions with people. I never felt as if I truly belonged anywhere. Everyone else was a member of this club to which I had no membership.

How wonderful to finally believe, in my late fifties, that that I wasn’t alone, that I did belong to the club of humanity, and that I wasn’t crazy. How wonderful to discover others like me who felt this way, also. I didn’t feel isolated anymore. I didn’t feel crazy. I felt normal, like I belonged. I was just fine.

Before I found my people with whom I could feel whole and sane, for about a year or two in my mid-fifties I couldn’t look anyone in the face. The terror of otherness floated to the surface. When I looked at someone it was as if I would look straight into that person’s soul and see their otherness and I and they would freak out. The person would return my paranoia with their eyes. It was as if I had violated them with my intimate stare. In-to-me-see, some people like to say about intimacy, but they don’t mean it. Well, at least not perfect strangers. A store clerk does not want you seeing her most intimate secrets, and yet, it felt to me as if that’s what I was doing, seeing inside people to their most vulnerable selves and it frightened me, because there was nothing between me and the other person — no privacy, no boundary.

I returned to see my therapist after several years absence.

 “I’ve developed this twitch” I said. “I can’t look at people.”

“You can look at me, can’t you?”

“Yes, but I know you. And you know me. You know all the ugly dark things about me. And you still like me.”

I was terrified that if strangers knew about me, about who I was inside, they would be horrified. I no longer felt like I could hide what was on the inside of me. Everyone could see it. I was ugly. A monster. I was frightening, and I ended up frightening everyone I spoke to. Even my adult kids. They terrified me most of all because I thought they didn’t know me, not really, and I had to hide all that I was from them and I couldn’t bear that separation between us. I wanted to be one with them again and I wasn’t. They had grown apart from me. They weren’t mine anymore and that frightened me.

But then someone I loved very much shared with me long-held secrets that shook me to the core. I couldn’t bear dealing with them alone, so I went to get help and met with people who experienced hearing similar secrets from their loved ones. We looked into each other’s eyes and said, this is who I am. And over years of sharing my own deepest, darkest secrets with these people, I gradually began to believe that I was not so different from them, and that perhaps even I belonged to the human race, very much so, in fact. I celebrated that belonging and celebrate it to this day.

I feel one with my brothers and sisters on this planet, no longer separate but able to think of them as beloved. My beloved sister, I hear you. My beloved brother, I see you. I am no longer the worst human being that ever lived. I realize now how grandiose and egotistical that thought was, but that’s how I saw myself. All my life I had felt like the placenta, not the fetus, a thing to be discarded, not fully functioning, not fully formed. What a revelation to find that so many people feel the same way. So many people shared the same experiences of being lost and alone.

That is what binds us together–not our perfection but our imperfections, our brokenness. They make us real to one another. They give us hope that despite our warts and blemishes we are beautiful in marred, imperfect ways. Like kintsugi pottery–the perfect vase broken apart and glued together with gold seams becomes more beautiful than the original perfection. I’m okay with my imperfections and I’m okay with yours. That’s how and why I know I belong now.

Today, I feel my brothers and sisters across the planet and know we belong to one another. The homeless belong even though they are the homeless. Their reality scares me, triggering my fear of being unanchored, of outwardly not belonging anywhere. Homeless people look separated from the rest of us, and they may feel like they don’t belong to the human family, but they do. They do. They are woven into the warp and weft of our human fabric, a part of the whole. We humans cover the earth like a blanket. We belong to this existence. None of us is separate from it. Even those in solitary confinement, we can reach them in our prayers, hold them in our hearts, pray for the suffering.

Nowadays, I like to help others who are in the place I once was, feeling isolated and unreal. I extend an outstretched hand saying, ‘I’ve been where you’ve been. You are not alone.’ I once thought I had to figure out me alone, figure out life alone, figure out God alone. But I don’t. None of us do. Belonging is like swimming in water we can’t see. It is all around us and keeps us alive even when we aren’t aware of it.

When I found others like myself who felt rattled and destroyed by secrets they had heard, I began to feel the water, know the water, love the water. I began to participate in this living dance of life and take the hands of dance partners all around me and say I love you. Not only do you belong, but we belong together. We have all belonged together and just didn’t know it, didn’t live like it.

I suffered for years, blind to the fact that I was surrounded by other suffering souls. A lot of what kept me separate was my pain and fear. I couldn’t contain it and believed it would contaminate all who came near me and repulse them. Not true. Just the opposite, in fact. As I shared, people listened. As they shared, I listened.  Our tears connected us as did our laughter, and it still does.

We belong to one another, that is what I have discovered. We belong to this human family. All of us.

 "On the level of consciousness, The World represents the happy experience of having possibly made the essential step to becoming one's self, and thereby feeling the deep joy of fulfilling our purpose in life. If we no longer consider our horoscope and the difficult constellations to be found there as the evil product of an arbitrary fate, but rather 'remember' what we wanted to contribute with our life to the reconciliation of the exhausting tensions within ourselves and the world, then we can understand the great significance of this card. It shows how with time a well-ordered and purified overall picture is created from the chaos of the difficulties and contradictions that existed from the start."

--XXI The World, from The Tarot Handbook by Hajo Banzhaf

When we are born, some of us arrive in situations where the people tending us don’t have the proper wherewithal to do so. Even if they have the money, they might not have the emotional intelligence it takes to properly care for little ones. It seems particularly cruel to these poor, defenseless little darlings. How does God let it happen?

Perhaps my thinking about God is all wrong. I’m sure it is, for the God I know is loving and kind. So, why then was I, and so many others of us, born to spectacularly inept parents? My mom and dad fed and clothed us and snuggled with us and read us stories, imbued me and my siblings with a love of culture – music, poetry, philosophy, but let us go wild, basically, with very little supervision. My brother, sister and I got into all sorts of trouble – heroin for my brother, dropping out of high school and running away for my sister, and then returning home at the age of 17 with a twenty-three-year-old boyfriend she was allowed to sleep with under our roof. And then there was me, getting into a relationship with a twenty-five-year-old at age 14, and my parents doing nothing to stop it even after they learned about it. And then, of course, there’s my leaving home at age 15, turning 16 on the road and getting my mom to send me a notarized letter saying, “My daughter, age 16, has my permission to travel unaccompanied.” With that letter I crossed the border into Canada with my own 23-year-old boyfriend. (I’d left the other one behind but would come back to him later.)

This mess took quite a bit of time to unravel. And with God’s help it stays unraveled, in a good way. It seems like God drops us into creation and says, “Swim! Because I won’t save you!” Only, She does save us. We learn the tools we need to survive, things like, “What you think of me is none of my business so I will not cater to your whims and desires.” We learn, finally, to take good care of ourselves, and in so doing, we start to have compassion for others. We learn to be kind and considerate, but without giving up our values and dignity.

Being an awakened, conscious soul is delicate work. It means walking a fine line that requires awareness, discipline and balance. I get a lot of help from my friends keeping my head on straight and my heart open and willing to accept life on life’s terms. This means asking for help when I need it, and accepting that I can’t change the world, only me. It means taking the good with the bad, the joy with the pain, the anger with the ecstasy, and not judging any of it. Just living it. Being it, and being grateful, stupendously grateful for all of it.

If life really is eternal, if we have all eternity to learn who or what God is, then what does it matter if we’re born to incompetent parents, even abusive ones? We have forever to figure this out. Isn’t that wonderful? I don’t know about you, but it gives me a sense of serenity and peace knowing that I’m always going to be okay no matter what.

If you want what visible reality
can give, you're an employee.

If you want the unseen world,
you're not living your truth.

Both wishes are foolish,
but you'll be forgiven for forgetting
that what you really want is
love's confusing joy.

Gamble everything for love,
if you're a true human being.

If not, leave
this gathering.

Half-heartedness doesn't reach 
into majesty. You set out
to find God, but then you keep
stopping for long periods
at mean-spirited roadhouses.

In a boat down a fast-running creek,
it feels like trees on a bank
are rushing by. What seems

to be changing around us
is rather the speed of our craft
leaving this world.

"Gamble Everything for Love" -- Rumi
from the 

What is your overall primary spiritual goal in life? Mine is to enjoy being me. To embrace my likes and dislikes, to express myself through words, deeds, and actions, to live with carefree abandon, but also with disciplined reserve. To enjoy being me means not worrying about what other people think of me because it’s none of my business. It means knowing where I stand with myself and God. It means loving myself and being kind to and having compassion for others.

            But in the moment, my primary spiritual goal changes. Let’s say I have just closed my book, turned out the light and snuggled into my pillow when a financial concern pops into my head. Instead of following that thought down the rabbit hole, I remind myself of my primary spiritual goal at that moment, which is resting and going to sleep.

Here’s another example of a present moment spiritual goal. I was looking for a receipt in the kitchen garbage. It was very messy, and I did not enjoy the task. Not finding it, I decided to change the garbage. At first, impatient with the chore, I reminded myself, this is my primary spiritual goal at this moment, changing the garbage. We are swimming in divine essence all of the time, so it doesn’t matter what we do as long as we do it mindfully.

And then I spent a very enjoyable day doing all the things I’ve been wanting to do for weeks — pulling weeds, digging up invasive plants, sweeping the patio, trimming the hedges, pruning the crab apple tree, followed by a shower and Zooming with my women friends from Chicago, my beloved women’s Moon Group with whom I’ve celebrated ritual with for the past thirty years. I enjoyed being me today. I enjoyed my Self. I enjoyed my Life and God’s creation of which I am a part. What more could I ask for?

It’s Mother’s Day. What does it mean to be a mother? I know the mother in my life still holds a gargantuan place in my heart. Even though she was far from a perfect mother, I like her. I always have, even when I hated her.

I recently found the trove of letters we wrote back and forth to each other over the decades once I left home, many handwritten, many typed on an old typewriter. E-mail has destroyed the richness of letter writing, but I make it a point to save all my mom’s emails so that I can go back and read them when she is gone.

            I’ve always wondered about my mom, wondering what she thought about at such and such an age, the age I am now, or was back then in any particular photo. There’s a picture of me and her eating lobster. I’m in my twenties. Her hair is white already, though she’s only in her late forties. I think about who I was at age 48-49. Did she think deep thoughts like I did about who she was and her place in this world? Did she love herself? Know herself? Did she struggle with her sense of purpose and meaning in the world? Her place as my mom?

            I think about my kids and what I mean to them but try not to think about it too much because who they think I am and who I truly am will always be separate. Or will it? It must be. Our kids don’t ever truly know us. They only know the fraction of us that is appropriate to know as our children.

When I pried into my mom’s past wanting to know all about her, know what she thought and felt, what her life was like as a teen, as a young woman living on her own in New York City, I wanted an insight into who raised me. I am perfectly willing to share that with my kids and have in many ways, and in some ways I have not. I still hold up a barrier. If they asked me though, would I tell them? Maybe I’d say, “What is it you want to know?” Yes, I want my kids to know me, if they want to know, if they are curious.

            Being a mother is so terribly complicated. I feel the responsibility of it weigh on me heavily, what I owe these glorious souls who have entered this life through my body. I don’t own them. I don’t own their souls. I released them into this life. They are God’s children now. But still, even as adults I worry about them, want them to be well, to feel fulfilled, to love themselves, to be loved and to love. They do all these things and for that I am happy, gratified, and yet still, I worry, as if I want to protect them from all hardships. But no, they deserve all of life just as I did. I only hope I equipped them with enough tools to get them started and make it on their own and to discover and build their own tools. I believe I have done that.

How can I continue to be a good mom to my adult kids? How can I be there for them now that they no longer need me? They love me freely, and I love them. I guess that is all that is needed at this point. But being a mother is not all that I am and not even who I am. I am a soul, just like everyone else in this world. I am me, and one of the things I have done has been a mother. How amazing is that? I have been a mother. And on this day, the world celebrates us women who have done that. I accept the celebration. I celebrate all of us women, mothers or not. We teach our children to be good stewards of themselves, to be responsible, loving citizens.

Would I still die for them?

In a heartbeat.

I wonder if the need for other people’s approval is a former survival coping mechanism. Maybe we needed approval from the group in pre-historic times because without it we might be kicked out and not be able to survive on our own. But today, if you’re an adolescent girl and don’t wear Uggs will you be ostracized? Yes! By some groups of girls, yes. It hurts like mad. Because it is mad, but you will survive. Or does a part of you die? I don’t know. The meanness of others can cause us to shrivel.

The need for approval is so ingrained in all of us. And if we rebel against the status quo, we find others to rebel with us, like I did as a teen. I found a group of adults that I could feel accepted by. But they were a lot older than me by more than ten years and yet I hung out with them. It was not healthy for me. It was damaging because I was too young. I didn’t have the support and guidance from my parents that I needed and so I floundered trying to find what I wanted, what was right for me.

Today I still struggle with wanting approval. Is what I say and do okay? It’s my impulse to want to be accepted and acceptable. I might not “heart” a Twitter feed if a lot of other people don’t like it, even if I like it. But rather than let other peoples’ opinion be my standard, I strive to seek approval of myself. Myself and my Higher Power. That’s who I really need approval from. All the rest is meaningless when you come right down to it. My soul doesn’t depend on your approval or my mother’s approval, but when I was little, it sure did. And that’s difficult to shake as we grow older. The habit of seeking approval of others.

So I will strive to be gentle with myself. To accept who I am today even if that means I engage in approval seeking. Maybe I will change over time. I already have in many ways.