This Girl, She...

[The prompt for this poem, "This girl, she...", was provided by Liz Lamoreux.]

This Girl

This girl, she carries a bright light in her soul.

At times, she covers the radiance,

fearful of what it means to be seen.

Occasionally she shifts to high-beam,

boldly exposing herself.

Often she focuses the soft glow

on a person in need.

This girl, she struggles daily

with the light-stealing habits of ego;

mirrors used to deflect attention

from the truth.

The truth that she is okay.

This girl, she is beautiful.

She is complicated, compassionate,

and creative.

She is beyond words.

This girl, she must trust herself.

For everything she needs

is already inside of her.

Tenderness

During my walk home Monday evening, I took many dandelion pictures. In particular, I'm drawn to the delicate, soft state of dandelions when they go to seed. I want to curl up in them and take a long nap. Inside there's such tenderness--such a soft center. This softness is lovely compared to the harshness I sometimes encounter. Harshness of world realities, judgment, and overwork. Interesting to find such tenderness in dandelions--a weed with which I have a complicated relationship (some days I fully see its beauty and other days I see a group of ugly things in my yard). Perhaps it's appropriate to receive a lesson in softness from a weed. In fact, the complicated relationship I have with dandelions, I have with myself. Some days I see my beautiful soul; other days I judge myself with harshness. This dandelion photo reminds me to release the tight grasp of harshness and let go into tenderness; to embrace the soft spot in my own heart.

Peskiness of Ego

The cartoon below comes from the May issue of Shambhala Sun. 

In case you can't read the punch line, I'll repeat it: "Between yoga, pilates, therapy, massage, and meditation, I hardly have any time for myself." As someone who does all these things, the cartoon made me chuckle. Sometimes we make to-dos out of our spiritual practice. Or our creative practice. Or our workout practice. This is the peskiness of ego. (I use the word "ego." Others might call it gremlin voice, negative-pants voice, etc.)

For example, we might enter into a routine with very positive intentions. But at some point ego flips the intention to must-do-this-or-you-are-not-a-good-person anxiety. Meddling ego. This is the story of my life. Just when I think I know all the routes ego takes, it finds a new one. But when I notice, I try to smile and then simply ignore. (Note: This is difficult to do, but oh-so worth it.)

Recently, I've been doing a lot. It's been a great deal of creative fun (e.g., photography class, changes to my statistics course, poetry class, meeting with advisees, gardening). But it's too much doing and not enough being. Sometimes I just need to lay on the couch and check in with myself--and specifically ignore my monkey mind of new things to do. Sometimes, instead of creating (e.g. taking a photo or writing a poem), I really need to experience the moment; to watch the animals in the backyard; to simply listen to a thunderstorm; to just be with myself, no distractions needed.

Superhero

Long ago, I gave up the notion of "doing it all" and being superwoman. Yes, my ego still wants me to get everything done beautifully while maintaining a calm, happy exterior, but that's not the reality. Reality: some errands don't get done, some papers get handed back late, some birthday cards are belated, and some workouts are skipped. BUT, the things I do are done with my whole heart and from my authentic self--imperfect and precious as it is.

That said, it's still fun to pretend to be a superhero--to pretend I can fly. Photography teacher, Andrea Scher, encourages us to play with the self-timer on our camera; to let our inner child/superhero fly. (I showed a few of these types of photos in a previous blog post.) After work yesterday, while there was still some light, I took 40+ superman photos in my bedroom. The lighting in that room is terrible for photos, but who cares? I had an absolute blast. And for a moment I flew:

These self-timer action photos are a blast. Even if none of them turns out as I hope, the experience is so much FUN. I experiment, laugh, and try new things. I play. And sometimes, after a long day in the office, I need to take a joyful leaping break (just 'cause it brings a smile to my face):

Vulnerability

My wish for everyone: to be authentic and vulnerable; to take risks; and to always believe in your basic goodness--trust in yourself. This is increasingly difficult in our culture of busyness and fear-based incentives.

There's an oft-referenced quotation from Gandhi: "Be the change you want to see in the world." In that spirit, I share a poem I recently wrote:

My Deepest Fear
Here is my deepest fear:
I bare my genuine self,
and I am rejected.
(Will you judge this poem?)
The anticipated pain sears me.
Quickly, I move from heart to head:
How do I make sense of a delicate existence?
Ego rejoins:
Control the whole world.
Tighten muscles, micro-manage, overwork.
I am protected by this multi-layered
fiction of control.
Yet I am unhappy and tired.

How do I make sense of a delicate existence?
I don't.
People will reject and misunderstand me.
My heart will break open with sadness and grief.
It will also break open with happiness,
joy, and love.
This is the uncertain and ambiguous
path I walk.

Naked with vulnerability I'm free.
Burdened with layers of protection,
I'm heavy and inauthentic.
(Reconsideration.)
What if my deepest fear is actually
a bold act of courage?
I bare my genuine self and
who knows?

Joyful Leap (try it!)

Yesterday was another long, fulfilling gardening experience. From 2-6, I dug a new flower bed, transplanted hostas, talked to my neighbors, picked up sticks, mowed the lawn, and stared at the sky. It was just a lovely day.

Before coming inside, I remembered a suggestion from photographer Andrea Scher: use your camera self-timer and take pictures of yourself as a superhero. I've used my self-timer to get self-portraits, but never in such a playful way. Be a superhero--why not? So I decided to set the timer and jump around my backyard:

I took multiple photos and laughed the whole time. After a few shots, Mark looked inquisitively out the window. (Also, in one of the photos, my backyard neighbor can be seen in the sliding glass door in the house behind me. It really is fascinating: why is that person jumping and laughing? The secret: we can all jump and laugh; no reason necessary.) I coaxed Mark outside to join me:

This was SO much fun. Anyone with a self-timer on your camera: take a few snaps of yourself leaping and posing in the air; add your loved ones, too. I assure it will make you laugh and definitely put you in touch with a wonderful sense of play. 

Extraordinary Ordinary

I'm taking a great online photography class, Superhero Basics, from Andrea Scher. Her Monday lesson resonated deeply with me (and echoed my current experiences and insights). She wrote about elevating the ordinary. As motivation for this, it's helpful to think about gorgeous, mind-blowing visuals (e.g., incredible sunsets, delicate details of flowers, brilliant colors in a garden). These are often best experienced, as few photographs do them justice. If you see something extraordinary, then just see it; drink it in. 

But let's face it: most of life is not filled with extraordinary visuals and experiences. Most of life is filled with the ordinary. To bring out the extraordinary in the ordinary, we need a combination of play, mindfulness, creativity, and willingness to experiment. As Andrea puts it: "Take something that on the surface is not beautiful and see it into beauty" [emphasis hers]. I love the idea of seeing something into beauty. I love this idea not only for photography, but for life. How can we see a difficult interaction into beauty? Or see ourselves into beauty? Or see doing the laundry into beauty? Or see grief into beauty? These are thought-provoking and emotional questions.

After work on Monday, I toured my backyard and looked at my plants. (Oh they loved the rain we got Sunday.) As I walked up the steps to my house, I noticed all the tree droppings on the mat--a mat I just cleaned off the day before. My first thought: these tree droppings are so messy and never seem to end. My second thought: these tree droppings are beautiful.  I spent five minutes photographing the mat. And guess what? Afterward, I was in a much lighter mood.