Grace

grace

*simple elegance or refinement of movement

:she moved through the air with effortless grace

*an attractive polite manner of behaving

:she has all the social graces

As a child and young adult I was far from physically graceful. Too skinny, too clumsy and even though I asked to be allowed, ballet (or any form of dance) was forbidden in my extremely religious home. My shy, stutter filled speech was always proper but not graceful in the way that some women teach their daughters to speak. I knew my manners inside, outside, backwards and upside down but they were only required actions, rules to follow but never with grace.

I tried so hard to be the graceful girl, then young woman. I read constantly and tried to incorporate the characteristics I imagined into my own behavior, but it didn’t seem to stick. I watched others and tried to emulate the physical grace (oh, to be Audrey Hepburn) that I visually witnessed but that only compounded my perceived inadequacies all of which pushed me further into my safe little shell.

At some point in my early 20’s I learned that I had a gift for public speaking, that people liked my voice and actually enjoyed listening to me. Unfortunately I still felt like that clumsy, stuttering girl and believed that all I had mastered was creating a really great façade. I felt like a fake, like I was the last person that should be standing before others, especially other women and pretending that I had it all together and even though I always thoroughly knew my topic and content, I still felt as if I was making it all up. This feeling ruled my inner self and I still fight the voices that tell me, I’m not good enough and surely not graceful enough.

There have been moments of genuine grace, fragments of time where I fully embodied my grace, where I felt and showed the graceful me hidden underneath the pain and expectation, but those moments were fleeting and ultimately only added to my frustration of “where I was” at that time.

This past October, I realized that I had my very own wings (I’ve shared more on this in a previous post) and within that realization I became abundantly aware that I had never flown, I had never stretched my wings and let myself soar to the dreams of my soul.

This awakening caused an instant obsession with wings, the wings of a bird, the wings of an angel, even the wings of a plane – but that one didn’t last long – and wings began popping up everywhere, filling my eyes and my heart with the magic of flight. In seeing those wings, I also saw the grace – the graceful beauty of a resting wing and the grace-filled majesty of an outstretched wing in flight. Oh, the grace, the beautiful, simple grace of wings.

It’s this grace, the grace in the magnificence of a wing, or better still a glorious pair of wings, that I am now realizing belongs to me as well. As the carrier of those graceful wings and because I have willingly opened myself to the unknown and am honestly living my truth, I am finally embracing my grace along with my wings.

I am still ocassionally clumsy and I tend to have words “catch” behind my tongue causing an occasional stuttering of my speech but I’ve grown into my grace and as I continue to age, I see that genuine grace as truly mine. Audrey Hepburn I will never be but I’m learning that the grace that I embody is just as beautiful.

Out like a lion ... not quite

What a difference 24 hours can make - literally 24 hours!

Only in Colorado and almost always in March.

Ah, spring...

Speaking My Truth

I was taught, like many a “good girl”, to keep my tongue – to only share that which is positive, uplifting and of an edifying nature; to speak kindly at all times, without anger or malice – AT ALL TIMES! Hummm…

My anger has surely bested me on more than one occasion and speaking before truly thinking has been a fairly constant companion throughout my life. So this post is not in any way intended to imply that I have anything but continued patience to learn in the verbal control of my emotions.

However, the past few years have granted me a deeper understanding of the power of emotion especially when expressed verbally, not that that means I have better control, but I have a better understanding. I now realize that my emotions rule most of my expression, positive and negative, and very often the passion I express can be overwhelming to others. I confidently use the word passion and know that I have had a passionate nature – about anything of personal value – for my entire life. My passion has always been a factor in how others have perceived me – sometimes good, sometimes not but always part of who I am.

Learning to identify the things that trigger the expression of my passion/emotion is a lesson I feel I will never truly master. Being able to identify the push-point after the fact seems a skill I have down, but am still working on being able to see it before the emotion presses its way on out into open space.

I have found that when I speak my heart, from my heart, with as much kindness as I can muster, I am left with a feeling of contentment even if my words cause no affect to my advantage, I’m contented with my willingness to take the risk of bearing part of my soul, no matter how minor. And even when my words are tinged with anger, I am glad I have spoken them for in doing so, I have taken another step towards releasing the bonds that keep me from flying.

So, I will no longer turn away but will speak, hopefully out of love and in kindness, and I will speak from my heart and share my soul through my words and hope that those that hear my voice are able to see my Truth.

Youth to Age

Pure joy – that is what she is, pure, unadulterated joy and I am abundantly blessed to have her in my life.

My daughter is all that she appears to be, she’s beautiful, funny, extremely intelligent, compassionate and kind to a fault and the wisest soul I have ever met. How I have been chosen to mother her in this lifetime is beyond me but I am eternally grateful that she has given me the opportunity to watch her grow into the beauty she is.

Seeing her grow and become the amazing woman that she is supposed to be makes me proud but also causes me to look deeply at my own walk. Am I continuing to present as a woman that she’ll be proud of in return?

Age is an interesting thing – obvious understatement – and beyond the physical changes there are mental and emotional changes the combination of which creates challenges unexpected, at least by me.

I find my struggles with the aging parts of my physical self often in direct conflict with the slow-to-admit emotional changes. I don’t mentally feel as if I am on the verge of completing my first half-century of life, my body continues to remind me of the milestone but my heart and my mind just don’t feel that “old”.

Perhaps this is the nature of aging in this society, we fight it at every turn and as a single woman at this stage in my life, I think I feel the pull to not “look” or “act” old even stronger. I believe that most women have at least one “difficult” birthday … mine appears to be the nearing 5-0.

At 30 and 40, I was where I had expected to be. I was in committed relationships, I felt secure in my everyday and in the future that was to come. I did not feel the same pressures or fears that I seem to be facing at this time in my life and I know, without doubt, that is because I am alone.

As a woman of a certain age, and one raised in a very traditionally religious manner, I believed that I would only find happiness and security when married. That belief crossed over from the heterosexual life I was forced to live into the lesbian life that I was born to live and when that marriage ended as well, my fears and insecurities surfaced with a vengeance.

My biggest struggle over the past few years has been to acknowledge the strength that has always been mine but hidden behind the “submissive should’s” that ruled my life. And in seeing and accepting that strength, I am finally becoming the woman that I’ve always had the potential to be.

That is the woman that I want my daughter to see, the strong, independent, capably singular woman that knows how to take care of herself and live her life as she chooses not as others expect. So every day, I consciously see myself as that woman, the one that can and is!

Things

I have found that I love taking photos of people. I love capturing the voice they use through visual expression and the beauty within each one. But here’s the catch … people are not always available for me to photograph and I haven’t quite built up the courage necessary to start asking people I see if I may indeed capture them with my lens, so my options are limited.

Ana gave me a special attachment for my lens that will allow me to take photos of people without them actually knowing it. It’s a bit voyeuristic but pretty cool and I would never take anything that might be deemed offensive or inappropriate – basically nothing that I wouldn’t be fine having the subject see. I haven’t had the courage to take it out on my own but Ana and I are hoping to do a full shoot of her this coming Saturday and I might bring it along to play a little. It’ll be a great day regardless – just getting to take photos of my beautiful daughter makes my heart sing!

But I live alone and I don't have people that I can photograph during my days. I’m finding it difficult to feel the same pull to taking photos of “things” that I have towards taking photos of faces. But I love taking photos and I want to improve my skills and in order to do that I need to practice and learn from what I see regardless of what that may be. Smith Kaich Jones wrote the following within a poem on her blog, emma tree, today:

My photographic vision is changing

I feel it when I hold the camera to my eye

and see a painting

She speaks my desire and while I am far from being able to say that my photographic vision has changed, her words give me something to aim for and a way to change the "thing" that I see into the art that it is through my lens. I am not much of a painter but I am an artist and the camera is my brush and canvas and by using my tools to interpret the world around me, I am actively changing my vision and that is good - very good.

Remembering?

I used to have dreams that would come true on a very regular basis until I dreamt that someone was going to die. Thankfully, that did not happen and I did all I could to ensure that measures were taken so that it wouldn’t even resemble my dream. But because of the gravity of the situation, I purposefully, consciously shut off my dreams and refused to remember any ever again – I was scared beyond belief and I obviously have no idea if the incident mentioned would have occurred but as an already confused 20 year old, it was too much for me to be responsible for.

Many, many years later here I am, no longer adverse to the possibility of once again remembering my dreams but still not really doing so. Most mornings I wake without any feeling or memory of what may have played through my mind during my sleeping hours. Until recently …

Starting about 3-4 weeks ago I began having this “thing” happen in my dreams and while the bits that may float in my head tend to be full of random stuff this one element has occurred, as of last night four times, in four separate random dreams, on four completely unrelated nights. No alcohol or drugs have been a factor in my day and no notable incident has occurred at any time during my waking hours, at least anything that I have been able to recall. So, I’m hoping that maybe by putting it out there the Universe will grace me with some clarity and answers.

This is what happens: I’m in my dream doing whatever (I seriously don’t remember any specifics of the dream prior to the event*) and I need to be able to see something – with my eyes, see something – but I can’t open them. I get more and more frantic as I try again and again to open my eyes but just can’t. This anxiousness leads to total body reaction where not only can’t I see but now I can’t breathe either and I feel like I am going to suffocate – blind.

The end always results in the same frenzied waking, sitting up, gasping for air, my eyes searching for any indication as to what just happened, and while I can’t find any reason, I am filled with a sense of relief that I can still see and I am still breathing! But then the anxiousness returns and the feelings of fear and dread don’t leave me. Even the rest of the night’s sleep does not remove the feelings and they remain still in the back of my heart.

In my logical brain, it appears that I am not seeing some deep dark secret within myself and my subconscious is fighting to do just that. I’ve tried to think of every possible option as to what that secret may be including – this is funny – maybe I’m not really a lesbian. That is how desperate my mind is to find out what this “thing” is so that I will no longer be tortured by these dreams. (I’m NOT straight by the way – that is a 100%certainty – so no worries, or hopes. I am as gay as I was the day I was born – and f-ing proud of it!) The fact that I even for a moment (and that’s about all it got) considered that I might be straight speaks volume’s to the anxiety I am feeling inside over this and that’s not a good thing for me – not a good thing at all.

*While writing this I have remembered something from last night’s dream and while I won’t put the details on “paper” here, I can say that it has to do with the abuse that I experienced as a child at least I think it’s about me. But this only leads to more questions as I have honestly come to a place of peace about that time in my life and have no need to relive or revisit it and frankly I can’t see any reason whatsoever to even think about it, especially now. I also don’t have the feelings of fear and dread associated with this part of the dream it’s more a “matter-of-fact” feeling.

In this dream I am a little boy, not my son and not my younger brother, just a boy and that confuses me even more. Why a little boy? Also with last night’s dream, I could see “me” as the boy but I was myself again (yet he was there?) when I couldn’t open my eyes and again couldn’t breathe and I alone woke with all of the fear and panic as with the other dreams. I was also able to properly “interpret” some misconceptions by the little boy of what was happening to him (me), so I was fully him for awhile but fully me at the end.

I don’t know what this all means and it’s really starting to freak me out – what the hell am I supposed to be “seeing” or remembering and why now, why me?

Connections

A new friend has recently reminded of the connections we make in this life, those conscious and those on levels beyond human comprehension but all important and critical to the journey we are currently on.

I am blessed with a very special connection with my daughter, Ana – one that defies all rational thinking and sits in the deepest recesses of our souls. She is me and I am her and what we share is unimaginable to most. I am unbelievably blessed that she chose me to be her mother and am honored beyond words that I have been allowed the opportunity to be in this wise, beautiful soul’s world – she is my joy and along with her brother, Luke, my greatest and most undeserving gift. I am equally honored to see this same type of connection between Luke and his fiancee, Ashleigh - must run in the family.

I’m also reminded of a bond I shared and still share with a soul that is no longer in this lifetime. She came to me when I needed her, sacrificed deeply when was necessary and has never left my heart. I still feel her presence beside me, I still randomly see her face, sometimes in that of another, sometimes in my dreams but wherever and whenever, I know she is always with me. I am again so blessed to have been given the chance to share some of this lifetime with her and so grateful that she has chosen to remain with me even after her physical exit from this life.

Connections are important, very important but sometimes they can cause pain. I have had to recreate connections, breaking them and sometimes thankfully rebuilding them, but always feeling them deeply. I’ve had ties that caused too much pain and are virtually no longer and some that will never be anything like they once were. I’ve had those that I thought I would not survive their destruction but have rebuilt and my strength revealed in the process, bonds that are still present but have taken an entirely different form, one that I know will remain.

There are surface connections with acquaintances, coworkers, friends of friends, connections that are real but rarely grow beyond the mundane and everyday part of life. Connections with my family of origin are much like that and while I wish that they would have been different, I’m at peace with where they are now.

Then there are the new connections, like the one I am building now, connections that are there just because we’ve shared similar journey’s and walked very similar paths. I feel abundantly blessed to have this new “virtual” bond and even though great distance separates us physically, there is one of those “other level” connections taking place, that of knowing without actually having been given the opportunity to know. It’s new for me but I'm learning to be open to the unknown!

Finally, there are the connections that have not yet been made – at least in the physical, comprehending world – and those are the ones that I hope for, long for and somewhere deep inside hold onto the belief in. For it’s those that keep me looking to the next day, dreaming of what may be and hoping my heart will find peace and love within.

For now, at this time, in this place, I deeply appreciate the connections that I do have – old and new – for they sustain me and encourage me to keep hoping for more.

March

The sun is shining brightly today, bouncing off the surfaces of the Capital’s dome, the gold glinting and sparkling in the light – it’s beautiful out. And warm – 55 degrees and maybe even warmer in the sunshine. The first hints of spring, teasing and making one believe that it is perhaps just around the corner but the reality is that it’s only March and in Colorado, March usually means snow and lots of it!

Around here, March is a month full of contradictions and wishes for what’s just eluding our grasp. The month has buried us in snow and also blessed us with the beauty of flowers beginning to blossom and trees starting to leaf, generally in the reverse order … signs of spring first, mountains of snow second (ah, Colorado). But always the promise of new life – the assurance of longer days and warmer nights - of budding trees and blooming crocus’ - of wet snow followed by green grass - of new and fresh.

I find myself identifying with the spring of March (even though I am technically in the autumn of my life) needing the new and wanting the promise of a fresh beginning. I too am full of contradiction and wishes for what’s just beyond my reach; and so in this month, this glorious, unpredictable, lovely month I hope to find that seedling of hope, the one that will help me blossom into the life that still lies before me – confident and able to withstand any last-of-the-season snowfalls – strong, resilient and beautiful … me and March.