Change

"It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power." ~Alan Cohen  

There's this quirky indie movie I have an affinity for called "Cherish." It stars Robin Tunney (you may know her from "The Craft," "Empire Records" and more recently, "The Mentalist"). The plot revolves around Robin's character, Zoe, who is this socially awkward, love-crazed woman in her 20s who lives in this kind of fantasy-like world where she romanticizes everything and constantly calls into a radio station called KXCH Cherish radio requesting cheesy 70s and 80s pop love songs. She also can never sit still at home by herself and is constantly out with different men. Without giving the storyline away, something tragic happens to her and she's on house arrest, restricted to a small apartment with an ankle bracelet. Essentially forced to sit still. Overtime, she grows and transforms, discovering who she really is and how strong and independent she can be.

This Noe Venable song is played during a scene depicting her evolution: Down Easy

I've always gravitated to Zoe since I first saw this movie several years ago, but it hasn't been until recently that I've quite grasped what it is I was drawn to. It's the fact that she had no choice but to face her greatest fears, to face that her life, as she knew it, had changed and there was nothing she could do about it except to learn and grow. It was her transformation.

I, too, am facing a few changes, now and ahead of me. And part of me is terrified, while the other part is elated. But, weird as it may sound, I think back on Zoe whenever I feel overwhelmed and, fictional character or not, she never fails to inspire me to flow with the transformation. I think so often we tend to fight change or anything risky or challenging in order to stay complacent with our familiar lives, never leaving our comfort zones. Sure, it's safe in that cocoon, but it's also quite drab and stagnant after time.

My heart races with anxiety some days, the blood rising to my cheeks as adrenaline takes hold. Other days, my heart grieves with anguish. However, instead of trying to avoid those feelings and the change that has caused them, I've begun to swim within them, feeling their pulse inside my veins -- feeling alive. I'm tired of standing on the precipice, afraid to take the leap. Isn't that jump what makes it all worth it? Because as daunting as change can be sometimes, I believe it may lead to outcomes beyond our expectations, to the pursuit of our dreams ... and ultimately, to a life fully lived.

After all, how will we ever know where we are capable of landing ...

Until we've actually leaped?

~ C ~ 

Love

Love must be as much a light, as it is a flame.  ~Henry David Thoreau

Thoreau conveys it so simply here, yet every word drips with much deeper meaning. I am only 27 years old. And what's more, I've only experienced love in a few ways in those 27 years. I've not experienced the love of a couple who's been married for 50 years, or the love of someone I've just married, nor can I fathom the love of a widow for her late husband. But, as I'd mentioned in a prior post about different kinds of soul mates, I also believe there are different kinds of love.


In the recent weeks, I've been reexamining this belief, turning it over in my mind, trying to figure out why it has been at the forefront of my thoughts as of late. Well, there are several reasons behind its prominence, but those are not what I'm choosing to write about here. The pull in me that brings my fingers to these keys wants to write about a way to look at love that is relatively novel to me. As I'm sure many people can relate, there is no logic in love. And honestly, in my opinion, that's the absolute beauty of the emotion. It has no bounds, no limits. It is not restrained by rationale.


There's no controlling it, there's no stopping it or derailing it. It just ... is.


While my inner wisdom has always told me there are different types of love, different levels of loving someone and being in love, what experience has shown me so far is that it's not necessarily what kind of love you feel or accept in your life, or whether or not it's "healthy" or "unhealthy," it's about how you treat that love from its birth that determines its long-term effects. 

It may be a cliche metaphor, but I can't help think about the image of a delicate crimson rose, thorns protruding from its stem. When handled gently, nurtured, watered and given air, it flourishes, its thorns gently prodding and pushing when needed. But when coddled, starved, selfishly possessed or suffocated, it slowly wilts, dwindling to its demise; its remaining thorns, piercing. Love can nourish, it can spur growth in us and it can ignite -- like Thoreau's image of a flame -- however, if that blaze is taken for granted, manipulated, coerced into being something it isn't meant to be, it will slowly be smothered to ash. It will no longer be a light to anything.


But if we step away from our own perspectives, our wants, our suffering, our innately selfish desire to tightly hold onto each petal and every thorn, to feel the heat of that flame ... if we pry ourselves away from that -- for even just a moment -- we might catch a glimpse of what love can really do and what it can become. Because, as I've realized in the people I've loved, it wasn't until I stepped aside, put out my hand and opened my palm to selflessly let the wind carry away that rose, that it was truly able to grow and take on the form it was meant to, whether it was simply to inspire growth in someone or help them reach their potential, whether it was meant to heal or reawaken them. I realize that is not for me to determine or control. That is not for me to force or attempt to mold. 

Because the truth is, it was never about me.

It was simply about ... love.

 ~ C ~

Staying With the Itch

The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I've always enjoyed a good Longfellow quote from time to time. This one felt as though he reached into the shadows of my heart, deciphered their complex code and penned it in a few simple words.

In the last few days, coming back down from the heights of my trip and attempting to plant my feet in the soil again, I've been thinking about many things, one of which has been memories. Clearly, we all have them. Some of them hurt, some of them cast wispy smiles on our faces, some, a flickering ghost of a tear. But we all have them. I've written poems and talked to friends about this phenomenon that tends to happen to me, and others I know, went the sun goes down and the skies darken around us. For me personally, I have this love/hate relationship with the night. As Scott Fitzgerald says: "In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day."

There's something about nighttime, especially the mid-hours of night, that seems to strip down all layers of armor, inhibitions and distractions, leaving me in a very raw and vulnerable place. But it's more than just that. It's as though whatever I'm feeling during that time -- whatever memory has decided to visit or emotion has overtaken -- is magnified to the point where every fine detail of it is exposed all around me. Obviously, this could be an amazing feeling, depending on the emotion or memory, but if fear or anxiety is involved, it can sometimes be crippling, causing a sleepless night.

Well, I've also been doing a lot more Yoga lately. One of the guidelines of the Yoga philosophy is embracing the concept that we own nothing. Everything tangible in our lives is something we are only borrowing for a certain amount of time ... our money, our cars, our houses, clothes, electronics. Sure, we "buy" these things, but they could be stolen tomorrow. The idea is that we decide what value we place on those things. If we realize they aren't truly our possessions, things to be attached to, but are gifts to enjoy for the time we have them, then when a time comes that they are gone -- whether stolen, discarded, destroyed or simply lost -- we can more easily let go, remembering they were never really ours to begin with.

But memories, those are different. Those are the intangible pieces of us that we'll always have. Those are the gifts or, in some cases, curses that we cannot discard, try as we might. Another aspect of Yoga is breathing, often through discomfort. So, when night falls and I find myself in that place of shadowy memories, I've decided to apply that physical discipline mentally and "breathe" through the discomfort, not to change the song that's playing or the channel on the TV or cast away whatever has triggered the memory. Instead, I'm learning to become intimate with it, embrace it despite the hurt or discomfort. Because, just like during Yoga exercise, if I avoid the hard poses, I'll never gain more flexibility or be ready for anything more. But if I breathe through the displeasure, eventually the ache ebbs, the muscles and tendons ease ...

And, just like that, I'm ready for what's next.

"Learning to stay is a description of meditation. Learning to stay is also a description of staying with the itch and not scratching." ~ Pema Chodron.

~ C ~