You are currently browsing the monthly archive for December 2008.
So my Higher Self called me the other day. I caught Her on caller ID. I wasn’t going to answer… I knew what She was going to tell me. “Time for a serious talk,” HS says. ”Yup,” I reply. “I knew you were going to say that. OK, it has been a while. How about tomorrow morning?” We decide to meet in the shower. That’s where we usually meet. HS can come through so easily there because when I’m all suds up and preoccupied, POOF – She pops right in.
So the next morning after I work out, I hop into the shower and HS pops into my mind. HS says, “You know, it’s time you start thinking about getting back on to the court.” “Which court?” I ask. “The Love Court, of course. It’s been over a year and that’s a long time, for you anyway.” “Whatta ya mean, ‘for me anyway’?” I ask. “I mean you are Julie, the heart with legs! You love love!” HS reminds me. “Yeah, yeah, yeah… . Well, that was then — this is now,” I tell her. “I love love with my family, friends and felines. I love love for animals, nature and babies. But I’m not loving love in romantic relationships much anymore. Every time I fall in love with a human with Y chromosomes, I seem to get hurt. And not just a little hurt. I feel so deeply that I get slammed. Like with the 3 supposed Big loves, John, David and Tom, well… you know what happened. I’m still down for the count.”
HS pauses. She pauses for a long time. “Julie, you do remember the Higher perspectives on these 3 relationships, don’t you?” She asks me. “I know,” I answer. “I allowed it all. I was codependent, I was an over-giver and I denied what I knew to be true again and again and again. Just call me Jul of Denial! I humbly confess, I hereby suck at romantic relationships.”
HS sighs. I actually hear Her sigh. “OK,” I say. “I do listen to You. And I did learn a thing or two. I know that the Big 3 were teaching me and I was teaching them many a life lesson. I realize that we were playing out who knows what from who knows how many past lives. And I send them all love and forgiveness, and I even send it to me too. I get the big picture of it all. I grew my soul so mission accomplished, right? But the thing is, my heart is just so tired.”
“I know, Jul,” HS says. “And I’m all for going back into the cocoon of introspection now and then. But, Jul, ya gotta come out sometime. Your caterpillar days are coming to an end.” “No! I’m not ready!” I say in a panic. “Do you know something I don’t know? I like it in here. I may look like some gelatinous goo to you, but there’s nothing wrong with goo. Do you have a problem with goo?!”
OK, HS is smiling now. Why the hell is she smiling? Now she’s laughing. My Higher Self is laughing at me — what the….?! HS collects herSelf as she says with a smile, “Okey dokey, Goo Girl. You wanna stay in your gooey cocoon? You can stay there, for as long as you like. See ya.” “Whoa, whoa, wait!” I exclaim. “You’re just gonna leave me? No moral of the story? No lifelong lesson? I still love to learn. I always want to learn. What was I supposed to learn?”
And that’s when She says the one thing I hadn’t thought of before. HS looks deep into my eyes, clear down to my heart out through my soul and says, “Listen, oh Goddess of Goo, I know better than anyone just what you have lived through. I know all too well the depth of the pain and fatigue and confusion that lives in your heart. And I’m thrilled that you took this time to learn and grow and ultimately, to heal. But Jul, there are some things in life that can you can only heal by being in a love relationship.”
There I stand — all suds up and nothing to say. She’s right. I know HS is right. “You’ve got a point there,” I admit. “Is there someone coming? Is there someone waiting for me to get un-goo’d? What if I’m not ready? What if…” “What if you’re scared?” says HS, finishing my thought. “Feel-the-fear-and-do-it-anyway Julie is scared? You have never let fear stop you before.” “I know but, the thing is… you know how I am. I tend to lose myself in love. And then somehow, I lose control of my life. I just don’t want that to happen again.”
“Nor do I,” says HS. “But if I know you, and you know that I do, you will emerge from your gooey hideaway when you remember what you have forgotten to remember?” “Huh?” I ask. “What did I forget this time?” “Julie, Julie, Julie…” says HS, shaking her head. “What if the ball is in YOUR court now? What if the ball was always in your court! What if you align with your heart and your Power AND with Me? You may actually have the experience of a healthy love relationship?”
“Hmmmm…” I think to myself. “That HS of mine has got a point there.” HS nods, winks at me and says, “I know I do…. And I love you too,” She says, as she fades away with a “Namaste.”
I step out of the shower with my inner knowing and my outer glowing. Something has shifted. Something has changed. Something inside me has been re-arranged. I do believe my Goo is undergoing some sort of metamorphosis. So who knows what the future will bring? All I know is that my mind seems clearer, my heart beats stronger and my cocoon is starting to feel a little snug.
Your Serve
You lob them back to me
like tennis balls
yellow
bright
one
two
three.
The words I serve.
Never asking about the words behind my words,
the ones I hold in my back pocket.
Beg me to serve you something that
will give you a clear shot to my heart.
I, master of the words behind the words
watch you for double-entendres
that are not there.
Subtleties
you do not feel.
For all your serves are
quick
clean
direct
practical
necessary.
Still I wait
poised to serve
my errant tennis balls ~
ambiguity
mystery
labyrinth
kaleidoscope
mirage.
I Thought The Ball Was in His Court
Twenty-three years of living with
the pain, shame, and abuse of a bi-polar husband.
The next twenty-six years I held him
prisoner in my mind.
Twenty-six years of waiting for
him to say, “Sorry.”
Twenty-six years of intellectual,
righteous forgiveness
and distant kindness with each family encounter.
May 28, 1982, 11:30 pm EST, I escaped.
October 16, 2008, 7 am EST, I awoke.
I awoke with tears
the kind that fill your ears
and run onto the pillow.
The kind that you wipe with the
back of your hand and
they keep pouring out like
a slow, trickling, steady stream.
My heartgod told me,
“Set him free.
Call him now.”
I dialed his number
and felt each ring reverberate through my veins.
As I thanked him for being a good dad,
he thanked me for birthing our six,
beautiful children.
I heard the rusty cell door creek open
and the keys hit the floor.
and I
stepped out of the damp, dark cell.
Judy Safford 11/17/08
Alright Universe.
I’m pretty sure I’ve done everything on the checklist, everything in my power. I’ve visualized and intended; I’ve written U a formal yet heartfelt letter of request. I’ve done my best to trust and expect and feel worthy. I’ve meditated and sent out cosmic coils of manifestation from my solar plexus. I’ve spread the word; listened for signs; tried to follow feelings. I’m not sure what else there is, so I’m officially handing it over to U. The ball’s in yoUr court, Universe. There are a couple of weeks left until the deadline and I have faith U’ll pull through. Please oh please, Universe, give me the coming year off.
I won’t go into all the reasons as I know U know them all. But as a quick recap, for my own purposes as well as yoUrs, I will lay out, one last time, the fundamentals of why I need this year. In a nutshell, I want to cultivate and nurture my soul, become the best person I can be and the most able vehicle to do yoUr work, spread yoUr message, get more people to believe in U and in themselves (b/c really, we’re one in the same, are we not?).
With this time I will enrich myself with retreats and road trips, tons of time in nature, meditating, learning to cook and make jewelry, taking art classes, writing and reading, reading and writing, sitting in coffee shops, listening to music, traveling and becoming truly and once-and-for-all accustomed to following my heart. I will of course pour myself entirely into my coaching training, which was the initial reason I asked for this year but of course not the only reason I need it. I want to get healthy, Universe, according to yoUr and my standards—not those of this world.
I don’t want to tell U how to do yoUr job, Universe, but the way I see it, a humungo chunk of money would probably be the quickest and easiest way for this all to come about. To not have to think about how to pay for my home, my travel, my art, and the beauty I wish to bring into my world would be more than sufficient – I could seriously take it from there. However, I know that U are far more capable and powerful than I, so I trust that however this year is going to take shape, U’ll handle it. Again – ball’s in yoUr court.
Thank U Universe – thank U for everything U’ve already made possible for me. No matter what happens I know U’ll always be working on my behalf, making my wishes come true. All I need to do is be aware and recognize the miracles as they happen.
So it is with joy that I now turn it over to U, Universe. Here’s to a downright magical 2009. U rock.
EAT MY OWN WORDS
Who? Me? No way! Being a decent human being I mean what I SAY AND I SAY WHAT I MEAN. Therefore, I can never be tricked into a situation to humiliate myself by eating my own words.
This was my philosophy. I stood by my own words, of course. Nobody and nothing could challenge my pride in having strong moral principle. One day, as I was on my routine walk around our beautifully manicured neighborhood, I was startled by a loud voice: “Congratulations!”
This friend of mine, actually just an quittance, was standing in front of her house, adorned by six Grecian columns (I doubt they ever saw Greece.) In her colorful silk robe, with her hands resting on her hips, she waved her head as if it was screwed to her head, and screws got loose. Her mouth was wide open, smiling as if she had a walnut stuck in her throat.
I am always amused by her dramatic performances. Smiling back at her, without any special effects. I say:
“Congratulations? For what?”
“For becoming a grandmother. Isn’t that just wonderful?” She is crossing the street. I hope she is not going to hug me! Those women hug at any occasion
“Wonderful? What is so wonderful about it?”
“Oh, come on, every woman wishes to be a grandmother and love her grandchildren more than anything in the world.”
“Maybe you do. That is fine. Only do not put me in the same group of women who feel that life has passed them by. When their husbands die, often before wives do, the women are alone and lonely. Their social life is shrunk. They crave love and attention.”
“Of course we all do. If you spend most of your life with somebody, you are left alone and lonely.”
“Yes, I can understand that. What I do not understand is when their grandchild is born they fill that void with love for the child and are overwhelmed with happiness. They tell, with great pride to friends, mailman, newspaper boy, grocery clerk, to anybody they encounter: “I have just become a grandmother. I happen to have a picture of the baby, isn’t she beautiful?” If somebody comments how wonderful it is, she goes on saying how her son or daughter want her to come and stay with them as often as she can. Her life is good again. They need her and she just loves that baby.”
“Well, isn’t that just great?”
“Sure it is great. But for whom? What poor woman does not understand is that her children appoint her as a honorary babysitter, free, of course. Don’t think that I would be so gullible.”
“You cannot mean that!”
“Oh, yes I do! Believe me I have better things to do with my life.”
Three months later I am holding my little granddaughter, she just fell asleep in my arms. What a delicate and perfect little being she is. Totally dependant on others. Is this beautiful baby telling me that my life is coming to a full circle? A circle of joy and wonderful unselfish love.
I called my friend: “Guess what? I have the most precious, beautiful granddaughter. You cannot imagine how much joy and happiness she gives me. More than I could ever dream of.”
”Congratulations! I am glad you found time to enjoy her!” laughed my friend.
I have been eating my words ever since. There is no way to stop. I have two grandsons and two granddaughters. I am one of the world’s most gullible grandmothers, believe me. Miserable are the women who have no courage to accept and give love in their old age.
I am eating the words that sprang so freely forth from my lips and heart like geyser contents not very long ago at all. I’m eating them and drinking them and would probably be smoking them if that urge didn’t mysteriously disappear last year. The words of encouragement and it’s going to be okay, the words of you have so much to be thankful for and if only you could shift your perspective slightly to the left or further out so as to see everything for what it is and all that is possible. If only you could see yourself as the embodiment of joy and light and universal power. I spewed those words and I became the volcanic energy that led by example with light and heat and force. I decided upon and began the pursuit of a career that would allow me to do this for money and book deals eventual renown.
And suddenly, one day, without warning or apparent reason, the geyser sputtered out. Not only did it cease to explode the wisdom and energy and hope that it had been paying into the world and its people, driven by primal earth knowing … it actually seemed to reverse and start consuming the very landscape it was striving to transform. I’m eating my words and my pain and the pain of the planet and the hopelessness of everyone and the hopelessness of me.
I’m pulling in the woe and I’m pulling in food and alcohol and things things things and I’m devouring like a tapeworm to fill fill fill the hole that is infinitely deep and unfillable. I’m chomping through the contents of everything outside me for antidotes to the feelings that suddenly appeared — of being trapped, stifled, panicked, cornered, motionless. Feelings of having made every wrong decision across every year of my relative independence. Feelings of regret and guilt and outrage and fear. Of impossible emptiness. I would eat the words I had used to encourage everyone else but they’re not on the menu so I’m eating everything else instead. In the hope that one of the things things things will revive, calm, or expand me. Wake me up. Remind me of the truth I preached so effortlessly, so confidently, when I was full.
I’m eating, consuming, inhaling … and choking. Stifling sobs, not understanding. Seeking answers, crawling on hands and knees to the oases of Esther and Abraham, to Mike Dooley, to light beings, to messages I’ve heard and digested but need to hear and digest again. I’m supplementing their nutrition with empty calories and am bloated, cramped. Unable to stop and hang in the stillness, neither outputting or intaking, but only being. Being and receiving all that was good and that which I had to give in the first place. Remembering, becoming whole.
Must stop the futile gnawing and allow through osmosis, through dissolution, through silence. Must take in the air and the life force and nothing else. Regurgitate jagged bones of doubt. Let the rest settle and work its way out. Fast silently, subsist on patience and trust. Know, says wisdom, that you are not in a cage but on a precipice. Know that the well is filling, the earth is moving in around you to support your next big move. The geyser is poised to erupt once again and the stuff will be all the richer because of everything you’ve fed it, right or wrong.
Author’s note: I feel much better now. =)
Eat my words? I’ve eaten lots of things in my life. Actually I’ve eaten lots of things today (way too many things today if you need to know the truth.) But I’ve never eaten my words. There are times when I wish I could have. There are many times that I’ve tried. I say silly, thoughtless things sometimes: I have put my foot in my mouth more times than I’d like to remember (there was a time, not too long ago, when I was practicing yoga – a lot – when I could even put my foot way behind my head!) but try as I might, I’ve never been able to eat my words – Ever.
I don’t think it’s possible to “eat words.” Eating one’s words implies an ability to take them back. Words may be digested but they can never return from where they came. Words linger; they weigh on people’s minds and land heavy on their hearts. What mother does not know this in her core? For what mother has never uttered a damaging word to her child, forgotten her power and injured her charge? And who among us does not carry from childhood, a limiting self-belief, birthed from one careless statement from one careless caregiver?
I look at my children, and I see effects of my words. Sometimes I’m grateful. My 15 year old reminds me that one of the things that stand out in his mind about the night we learned of his father’s sudden death were my words “We’re going to be alright.” At other times I shudder. I will never forget how my son’s body shrunk, his chest caved, and his eyes welled up when I made a sarcastic remark about his low SAT scores. I will always remember, and most probably, so will he.
Life would be so much easier if we could eat our words when we’ve misspoken, or said something in anger or desperation; life would be kinder if others could too. Sometimes I wish it were possible to take back harsh words and swallow them quick, as one might swallow a teaspoon of castor oil. The nasty stuff slides down the throat and all is forgotten. But words, once spoken, are hard to let go of; they find their way in and their impact remains.
We learn early on that life is not about ease and people are not about perfection. We’re human, and humans make mistakes; we’re often careless and thoughtless and blind. We say mean things, and things we don’t mean and sometimes we hold necessary things inside. But even as we are imperfect beings, we are also capable of much goodness and healing; of courage and humor and love. We may not be able to eat our words but we can take responsibility for them; we are capable of being better. So as another year comes to a close, and I take stock of the days that have passed, making plans for the days to come, I have some resolutions that I’d like to share. I promise to begin practicing yoga again (I loved being able to put my foot behind my head) and I promise to think more often before I speak….Happy Holidays, Happy New Year and may this year be a year filled with peace and joy and well thought–out words for us all.
I said, over and over, my voice cracking with need, that you were unavailable.
I said that you never seemed to notice me, that you never spent any time with me.
I said that you never looked into my eyes, that your face never lit up when I walked into the room.
I said, “Why did you get married? You’re obviously very happy alone.”
I said I felt desperate. I said I couldn’t hold out much longer. I said that I was lonelier than I had ever been in my life.
I am eating my words. I am gulping them gladly, gratitude dripping down my chin as I swallow the sweet surprise of renewed tenderness between us.
Yes, you made changes. You planned dream trips where we were alone for weeks, we stayed in bed and ordered room service, we read aloud to each other, we held hands, we laughed.
And back at home, you opened up. You started sentences with, “I had a hard day,” and “I’d really like your help.” Your face softened. You began to smile at me again, the smile that spreads across your serious face like summer sunlight, the smile that makes you look like a little boy, the smile that catapults my heart.
But something happened to me, too.
I began to notice the quiet acts of love you offer to me each day.
The morning coffee you bring to me in bed. The call you make before you come home at night, to see if I need anything. The insurance card in my glove compartment that, mysteriously, is always up-to-date. The help you give to both of my sisters.
And I began to recognize the wounds my words have caused you. How my attempts to reach out so often sounded like harsh criticism in your ears. How words like “never” made you feel hopeless. How you too felt like giving up, since nothing you did seemed to be good enough.
So I am eating those words, too. I am chewing them carefully and swallowing them slowly, making sure to taste them so I will recognize their damaging flavor in the future.
But for now, I am happy at our table, savoring the servings of affection on our plates, slices of peace and pleasure on the side. And each time we mix up a nourishing batch of marital stew together, something fresh and comforting and yes, sometimes spicy, seasoned with 23 years of pledge and promise, I give thanks.
“No, Brian, I’m not overdoing it,” I exclaim while gasping for breath and looking for the muscle cream and Advil. Of all the things I’ve been told not to eat, no one warns me about having to eat your own words. Words are not listed in the Weight Watchers Dining Out pamphlet nor is it on Dotti’s Weight Loss Zone. No, words are the only things that travel out of your mouth and yet you internalize them.
It’s the third night this week I’ve been to the gym after working a nine hour day with the ninety minute commute before and after. My weight is like a suit of armor for a war I no longer need to fight. The token fat kid, the chubby one in the family, etc are all faint memories. My life has it all except a metabolism. To counter this I see trainers, health nuts, and athletic types for advice and opinions. Initially I didn’t like their answers: go to bed earlier, treat beer and soft ballpark pretzels like relatives you only want to see on rare occasions, and lost the directions to the steakhouse. As it gets harder and harder to lose the weight and harder and harder to lose relatives at decently young age I see what needs to happen. The weight came both as a love for food but also as a shield. Once you’re labeled “fat” you can’t be labeled anything else thereafter. People set their expectation of you and then you go about your business. Sometimes this means being on the periphery, other times it means being in the forefront as they associate the big guy of the group as being the Jackie Gleason or the Zero Mostel type.
Perhaps I was a court jester in a past life. Perhaps I descend from tinkers and tellers of tall tales. Perhaps I was a royal food tester who never got fed the cyanide. Well, in any event I’m here now. And in this here and now I’m, oddly enough, blending in as all of the cubicle-call center types like myself eat grains and, like veal in its pen, sit in a box all day and don’t do anything to burn off the calories. Well, I can no longer tolerate that. I can no longer tolerate carrying around this extra layer. We’re not cavemen so there’s no point in storing up for the long winter months. The thing to do is burn it all off. And, after I’ve forced myself to hit the treadmill and the elliptical machine enough times I’ve actually come to like it. I like the endorphins. I like sleeping better at night. I like needing less food and getting sick less.
However, that long work day sets in again. Did I mention that I’m also trying to get published on top of my fulltime job? I’ve come to learn that time – like gravity and inertia – is a law which cannot be bent. It’s me that has to adjust. It’s me that has to learn to stretch, to learn to make the five small meals and not the two massive ones. But how? When? When are the hours in the day? Hence my coming home from the gym after 9:00 p.m. and knowing that I need to be commuting again before 7:00 a.m. for my bill paying gig.
Brian is the one who worries about me most. For a while that meant at least one of us did. He sees me clutching the asthma inhaler; he hears my exhausted voicemail that leaving the office for the day and is now headed down to do an hour of cardio. I’ve lost my patience and want the gratification of losing every last excess ounce and never want to see the nurse in the doctor’s office have to move the medical balance weights up past the “200” lb. mark ever again. However, this means a lot more work than I wanted. Perhaps I’m so irrevocably American and just want the results right away. Well, I’m not large enough for the gastric bypass procedure. I’ve also been burned by every fad diet (from A to Z I’ve done them – Atkins to the Zone). So it’s me who is trying to look Brian in the eye and say, “No, I’m worn out from a rough day at the office and not from trying to do an hour of cardio non-stop.” It’s when both my trainer and my internist take me aside and say, “This is a marathon, not a sprint” that I feel the words that came out my mouth be ingested instead. Both, in separate conversations, have told me that just the hour of walking at a regular pace will bring me the results gradually. I know they are right. In my left brain sphere I have worked out the bits about daily caloric intake, drinking enough water, and taking vitamins. But the rest of my psyche wants to part company with it all now. If I have to forfeit the indulgences then I want to be able to forfeit the weight just as quickly. And then all three of these voices of reason: the trainer, the doctor of osteopathic medicine, and the man of my dreams all tell me that the whole country wouldn’t be overweight if exercise weren’t such a hassle to incorporate into everyday lives. So, here I am thinking my words would make for a good low calorie alternative to the beer and pretzels and ice cream.
