Stream of Consciousness

Today my brain is divided—my head aches as though the connection between the two halves is stretched and tenuous.  I didn’t get enough sleep last night, and this is a normal reaction to that.  It is as though I can feel the lack of neuron (is there and adjective form of that?) firing.

I have a hard time remembering things lately.  I have to rwrite everything down, and even then, I have to remember to look at the calendar, or it doesn’t happen.  It seems like it didn’t used to be this way—I used to be able to hold things in my head, and calendars were a helpful organizational tool so I could see it (I’m a very visual learning) all at once.  But now. . . even seeing it doesn’t seem to make it stick in my brain.  I forget long-standing appointments (every Tuesday for the last 6 months—but today is Tuesday and it never occurred to my brain that something was going on.)  What is the deal with that?  Will I ever get it back, or is my brain permanently scarred?  Well, I’m pretty sure I’ll get it back in the resurrection. . .

I happened to read a blog presented by Mamapedia yesterday, and it was amazingly like a blog post I wrote a year and a half ago—both about trying to run away from the dragon/demon of depression, and finally realizing that simply turning to face it and acknowledge it was more than half the battle.  My blog is here: http://bravevibrations.blogspot.com/2010/07/no-man-is-island.html and the blog of the other woman is here: http://www.mommymanders.com/2012/02/19/my-dragon/#comment-453

I looked more into her blog and discovered that she is a family/parenting educator, too, and loves to write and suffers from depression and has two small kids and I thought it was so cool.  It was like discovering a “friend” who doesn’t know you.  I guess getting to know people on the internet has been a growing, more and more normal thing for many years, but it always seemed pretty sketchy to me.  How can you really know what a person is like if all you have is what they say in a chat room?  But maybe there is more to it.  Anyway, that was a random side note.

I submitted a hymn for the Church Music Submission this year.  It was a hymn that I’d originally written years ago—starting in 2005—and when Sam was called into the Stake Young Men’s presidency, I started thinking about it again for some reason, and decided it needed to be for the young men, so I made some changes/tweeks and asked a fabulously musical lady in our Stake (also Ethan and Dorothea’s piano teacher) to write some music for it, which she graciously did, and voila! a hymn to submit.  I like it.

Thinking about what to write during these DEW times is exciting.  Today my brain was too droopy to do any real, focused writing (hence the stream of consciousness), but yesterday I did update my personal and family blogs, and that was good.  (I was really tired yesterday, too.  I stayed up after midnight two nights in a row, working on a photo book for dad.)  When I get my brain back together again, though, I would like to download scrivener and start on Grandpa Charlie’s biography/children’s book.  I have a lot of good information (collected four years ago!!) but I need a really good way to organize it, and I think that program will be really helpful. 

In the meantime, I still have ten minutes of writing.  Let’s see—I have been thinking about things, but haven’t had any beautiful insights to share.  When Sam quit several weeks ago, I felt like I’d just walked over the edge of a cliff, but not in a frightening sort of way.  It was like I’d been learning and preparing a hang-glider for many years, and I’d tested it out a time or two, and was quite confident in it, but this was a chance to actually fly it, and to do that, you have to take a flying leap off a tall cliff.  I had been looking forward to it, and preparing for it, but the moment of being airborn before the lift of the glider caught me was . . . momentarily heart stopping.  Now, I feel like we are gliding along quite happily.  This has actually been an easier transition into having Sam home that it was last time, as I recall.  Then, I felt like our expectations of each other and ourselves were unclear, and we were constantly either stepping on each other’s toes or letting the other one down.  This time, I have simply continued doing what I was doing before (and been grateful for Sam’s help, when he can give it) but not tried to mesh our schedules or work or anything like that.  He does his thing, I do mine, we coordinate as needed, and help as needed, and it is working out pretty well.  I really enjoy having him around, and he really has helped, but with me still in charge of my stuff and him of his stuff. 

When we were still anticipating Sam’s resignation, I had a little window of poignancy (I finally got a chiropractic adjustment, and I think that helped open the window) in which I felt to mourn the ending of one chapter of our lives and the beginning of another (yet unknown) one.  Bentonville has been a wonderful place for me.  In fact, (now that I think about it) I started writing about it while we were on Spring Break, and then I never picked it back up again.  DEW will be a great opportunity for me to do that. 

I got to see my counselor, Dr. McKenna, the day Sam resigned, and I spoke with her about my feelings of poignancy, and how I wanted to explore them, but as soon as Sam resigned I girded up my loins wondered if I’d lost the chance to delve into the tenderness of my heart.  She reminded me to write—said that I could probably re-invoke those feelings and have a space to ponder them through writing.  So I will.  And maybe I’ll get another adjustment too (the place didn’t take insurance—which we don’t have at the moment—anyway) to help open the door to the poignancy of my soul.

Well, time’s up!  I’m going to go help Dorothea practice the piano, now.

Soul Sowing

I wrote this article for Inspirational Women's Magazine and thought I'd share it here:

Soul Sowing

Every hole Pain digs
in my soul
is a place for planting
whatever newness

I will.

-JB

When my third child was about a year old, I realized that somewhere along the path of my life, I’d lost myself.  With three small children needing my attention, lingering depression and a mind and body that seemed to have turned to mush, I didn’t know what else to do but sit in my closet, cry, and pray for help.  I cried and prayed a lot.   And then, through my tears, I began to see remnants of myself that I’d tucked away in that closet over the years.  I found boxes of old school papers and awards I’d won.  I found mementos of time spent traveling the world and pictures of people I’d taught and served in places far away.  I read my own writing and remembered joys and passions I’d given up long ago.  As if from a distance, I began to make myself out again.  I was a great person!  What had happened to me?!

I determined not to let my self-discovery be left there in the dim recesses of my life.  I wanted to be me again.  And yet, I was a new me, too.  The woman whose identity was scattered in the dusty boxes in my closet was young and capable but only beginning the journey of life.  Now, my roles and responsibilities gave me more experience but also challenged me.  I needed to put all the pieces together and reclaim my soul.  But how?

It has taken several identity crises to find an answer to that question.  Knowing my soul, as distinct from my roles or goals has required self-observation and work, but has yielded an invaluable sense of my self.  That most essential part of me—my soul—is what I take into the roles I play, the circumstances of my life and my relationships with others, but is separate from all of those. My soul is a living, growing entity—it is the essence of me.  I retain my “self” as roles come to an end, circumstances change, and relationships wax and wane. 

The beautiful thing about life, though, is that while it doesn’t define us, it offers countless opportunities for us to define and discover ourselves.  If the soul is a garden, life is a plow that loosens the soil.  It is also the wind that blows new seeds our way, and the changing seasons that bring sun and rain, warmth and cold. The soul-garden that I cultivated as a young woman was neat and orderly, with impressive blooms and well-trimmed paths.  As a young mother, I felt like I’d lost myself because the attractive flowers I’d tended once were now struggling stragglers and my soul was full of shoots and sprouts I didn’t recognize.  As I pondered what to do, I realized I couldn’t uproot all the new growth and return to the precisely cultivated garden of years gone by, but neither did I want to.  Instead of mourning what had been, I could embrace what was, by tending the old blooms and nurturing the new.  My soul-garden was changing, maturing, diversifying.  I could rejoice in the new elements of my character—patience, love, empathy, humility and tolerance—the seeds of which life had swept into my garden through my experiences as a mother.  I was expanding my soul and embarking on a journey of discovery and development.

Now, as life throws challenges, pleasures, relationships and roles my way, I appreciate them more fully as tools for cultivating the garden of my soul.  Pain and challenges cut deep and in the depths I can plant bulbs of gratitude, kindness, and patience that will return again and again, multiplying over the years.  Pleasures might be colorful annuals that only last for a season, but enrich that season and gladden my heart.  Relationships can be most lasting, and help me build paths through the garden to reach new spots previously unused.  Roles are opportunities to offer the flowers of my soul to others, and enjoy the pleasure they bring. 

Soul-sowing is a life-long process and opportunity.  As the master gardener of our soul, we get to decide what is planted, nurtured and developed.  By choosing our thoughts, actions and priorities, we can nurture seeds of joy or anger, patience or resentment, or a thousand other character traits.  There may be seasons of sorrow when nothing in our soul seems to be growing, followed by periods of peace with joy in the abundance of our soul-garden.  Winter is worthwhile, even if it isn’t as splendid as summer!  Receiving the many offerings of life with wisdom and perspective will allow us to put them to good use in the cultivation of our soul.  And there, in the development of our soul, is the great purpose and joy of life.  The garden of our soul is worth the work. 

When I finished my crying, all those years ago, I went to work in my soul-garden.  Now I am tending my talents again, pursuing my passions, and embracing the newness that comes with every season of life.

DEW

I am getting to be part of a writers group--just a few women in our community who get together a couple of times a month and share their writing and critique each others' writing.  I've only been twice, but it has been really wonderful.  Nurturing my talent feels so very, very good!  As part of the group, one of the members issued a challenge that we all "Drop Everything and Write" at 1:30pm every weekday.  Getting in the habit of writing everyday again has been great.  It is only 30 minutes, so I don't feel guilty, and it is at a quiet time of day (the other members are young moms, too.) Anyway, I am loving it.

Onset Offset

Well, I’ve been feeling the winter blues creep into my life these last couple of weeks.  I feel “off,” my brain function is diminished (thoughts feel sluggish and multi-tasking is difficult), and I find myself down and snappish.  It was discouraging for the first week, as I had hoped that the medication I’ve been taking faithfully for the last eight months would be enough to stave off these very winter blues.  Then, after about a week, the thought occurred to me “the medication is not the only trick up my sleeve!  I LEARNED wonderful new things.  I guess it is time to start using them again.”  And I did, and I’ve generally felt very much happier!

What I learned and am putting into practice is mindfulness, creating space and stillness for myself, accepting myself as I am, moving to the right in my brain (right hemisphere), and accepting this winter slowing of my brain as part of the natural (even healthy) rhythm of my life.  I don’t mind going a little slower and focusing on one thing at a time.  In fact, it is kind of nice.  Instead of expecting high productivity from myself and others, I am savoring moments and mindful of the beautiful people and things in my life.  I’m wanting to write reflectively again and focus on what is within a little more.  Instead of being impatient with myself and the children, I feel accepting, quiet, and happier.  It is a conscious choice I have to make (sometimes again and again) to get into that right-brained frame of mind, but once I am there, it feels great!  So, what I learned last year has allowed me to offset the onset of the winter blues.  Hurray!

Here are some moments I’ve enjoyed lately, being in this frame of mind:

-Helping Carol wash the pots without getting frustrated, and instead enjoying with her the patterns of the bubbles she was creating and gently and quietly suggesting effective ways for rinsing.

-Sitting with Ethan on the floor in a patch of sunlight and watching the dust move through the air, illuminated by the sun.  It was beautiful—like watching marine snow move through water or stars through the immensity of space.

-Holding hands with Dorothea and skipping back to the car after picking her up from school.

-Building train tracks with Isaac for his new electric Thomas.

-Just feeling like I don’t have to stress about things, because they will work out.

Zoloft

I think taking zoloft for me has been like taking tylenol.  Before, my brain/emotions were such that I was constantly in emotional pain.  Little things pained me, like not getting "everything" done, or being late to something (inconsequential) or having little aspects of my day not come together as I'd imagined.  It was hard because I knew cognitively that those things were not important, and there wasn't a cause for sorrow or anguish or major frustration, but I felt those things nonetheless.  It was like I couldn't get my feelings to correspond to my cognitive understandings.  My feelings were so very poignant (painfully so) about even the least little things.  It made it hard to function--being in almost constant emotional pain.  It was like trying to function with chronic physical pain--it was debilitating.

Zoloft has been like taking tylenol.  It eases the pain noticeably.  For the first time in as long as I can remember I feel like my feelings match my cognitive understandings.  Like tylenol, it dulls the pain without dulling my brain or my other senses.  Zoloft isn't like a heavy-duty narcotic pain-killer, for me at least.  I feel more myself, more able to function, happier, healthier, more normal.  I feel more like myself than ever, because my feelings and thoughts match.  It is wonderful and I am so very grateful for it!

Arranged

Just watched the movie "Arranged" on netflix and really enjoyed it.  I wished I could be friends with Rochel and Nasira and appreciated the beauty of culture and religion that provides a structure in which we are safe.  The devil has perverted our society in so many ways now that some of the most soul-killing things are mainstream and expected.  We are expected to hurt ourselves and be happy about it.  It is sad and wrong.  There is more and more tolerance for all the evil, but less and less tolerance for the commandments/structure/rules that would keep us safe.

I am so grateful for the commandments which have kept me safe.  Life is difficult and I'm afraid I'd have been blown away if not for the firm foundation on which I'm built.  It was hard to keep going even with the foundation.   Luckily, because of that foundation, I was able to see where the wind was blowing me hardest--where it was coming in at the chinks, buffeting the walls and roof, etc.  I could see where I needed reinforcement, and I got it. Now I feel better than I ever have before.  My testimony of the strength and importance of the foundation is deeper and stronger.  My house is sturdier and more comfortable.  My life is happy.

Fasting

Today
I hungered
and felt the strength
of weakness.

Empty, I actuated
the dichotomy
of my soul's duality,
and determined (divined)
dominion;
my body lay languid
while my spirit lept, liberated.

Here is the power
to transcend the temporal,
to divine the divine,
to find strength
at its source,
sweet and
solid (sound, satisfying).

In the quietude
of honored hunger
the gentle vibrations of spirit
sing freely!