Sorry and Glad Together

(extra points if you can name the band who sang the title song...)

So this weekend - the culmination of our Anusara Immersion 1 - ended with the doors of my mind being blown off. When Deb talked about being lit up w/ the radiance of Shakti, she wasn't kidding. While I fully expect every day life to creep back into my brain, I still feel moderately justified in warning you of long, introspective posts in the next few days.

This weekend was a strange one. Yesterday found many of us exhausted for various reasons and emotionally drained as, almost every one of us to a person, seemed to be standing at some personal crossroads or precipice. Some of us had looked and jumped, others were gathering up the courage to jump, still others had turned away - not yet, not now.

I understand these crossroads. I've walked through a couple of them. Some (divorce) for the better, some (Hiroshi) for the worse. These crossroads are often painful and difficult (witness all the tears yesterday) but they are always worthwhile. For, if nothing else, they teach us invaluable lessons about ourselves.

And, while practicing today, I came to realize that much of my difficulty these last few days/months/etc. has been because I historically don't like to remember myself before these crossroads. I tend to look forward and not look back.

We all know that cliche about history, right?

To wit: I have this odd memory of being a kid - 10, 12 maybe - and looking through my "baby book" - that scrapbook my mom kept in her drawer until it was overstuffed with useless things like play programs or certificates of achievement. There was a picture in there of summer camp. I liked summer camp. I cannot honestly remember a single thing that happened at summer camp that would have troubled me. But I do remember crying -- really really crying -- at the end of summer camp, when it came time to float our Memory Candles on the lake and sing "On My Honor." And then, I got home, and I never - NEVER - wanted to look at that picture of Camp Mosey Wood - all those girls, suntanned and grinning with missing teeth. Now, the writer in me wants there to be some hidden reason - a counselor who took criminal liberties with young bodies, or a traumatic turf fight with another camper resulting in self-esteem loss. But, the truth is, camp made me feel a lot - I missed mom and dad but also kinda liked not being home. I liked my new friends but wouldn't ever see them again. It was scary, exciting, adventurous, thrilling, joyous, and sad. And, it's a lot easier to deal with all those emotions by not looking at them - at the picture that captures them - than it is to, say, feel them.

It hit me like this. We were catching up as a group on Saturday a.m. And it was my turn. And I was explaining my new living situation and the difficulty it presents. "He's got four sisters and is close to his mom. And they're all into sharing their feelings. And I'm not so much with the sharing of the feelings."

Hell. I'm not so much with the feeling of the feelings.

Thus, today, while running us through the most exhausting 3 hours of asana I've ever lived through, Deb practically challenged me to start feeling.

Because it's only when we reveal our hearts - to ourselves and to the world - can we really become to embrace and embody the beings we're meant to be.

It's a pretty lofty goal. It's gonna take a whole lot of work. And it probably won't be pretty.

I wonder - am I up to the challenge?

Just When You Need It

I need to say that today, after whining for a week about my lack of friends who understand, I got the sweetest email. Another one of my friends sent me a note today basically saying that she was there for me if I needed it and that she loved me. I love her too. Because I really needed to hear that.

Hookey

Yes, that's hookEY and not hookER. Bad reader!

So, today I played hookey. Not really. I did have to go into the office at one point (because in addition to decorating our office like a B&B, the other way we'll sell software is to change a verb on our Web site to something more IMPACTFUL. Ugh.) And I did start doing email at nine a.m. like a good little keyboard monkey. But, I did manage to stay in my jammies until noon.

And this always throws me off. Those days where you don't really have any schedule or any time constraints. I always think I'm gonna get tons done. And yet, I still haven't cleaned my damn apartment (are we noticing a theme here? Please PLEASE let me one day be independently wealthy and hire a cleaning crew...)

It's making me wonder what I'm avoiding dealing with. Is there some thought or emotion I've been blockading that gads of quiet, non-BurgerTime-playing time will allow me to experience? Is this, perhaps, why I've felt the need to sob uncontrollably for days? (No, I haven't actually yet shed a tear. So beware. The tidal wave is coming).

It's probably a good thing that I scheduled an energy work session for next week. I do loves me some reiki.

And, thank Shakti, this weekend is a yoga weekend!

PS -- Speaking of which, I got cornered whilst at home working in my jammies, by some Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses folks today, inviting me to come to a meeting on the anniversary of Jesus' death (which apparently is April 2.) Do you think they'd really welcome a pagan, bisexual, yogini into their midst? Maybe I should go................

Empathy and the Art of Listening

It's been a rough couple of weeks. (When isn't it, you ask? High maintenance anyone?) In addition to the rough patches Mr. Zips and I have been going through, there's the hormonal imbalances of yours truly, Napolean's in town, I have to have surgery in a few weeks and, oh yea, I don't have an empathetic friend to speak of.

To recap: this week was much better for Mr. Zips and I. Probably because I finally got "My Dear Aunt Flo" this week. Only about three and a half weeks late. So, there were many tears but also some serious emotional sharing and heart opening. So, we're doing good.

Napolean is in town again and that means my mornings are in danger. He is a man who does not understand that you do NOT talk to me before I've had my coffee. And so, yesterday, he corners me and starts talking about DECORATING the FUCKING OFFICE before I've finished my coffee. So, I graduated phi beta kappa magna cum laude and have seven years industry experience (and the awards and merits to back it up) and I'm picking out dried flower arrangements. Because you know what will help us sell more enterprise software? An office that looks like a B&B.

I got a call today from my doc's office. Results from last week's procedures came back and we're not happy. So, on April 27th, I get to go under the knife. OK, technically laser, but it still hurts. A LOT. Plus, I won't be able to have sex or exercise! for two months. How horrible is my life. (The only thing that makes this feel better is that I told Mr. Zips and his response was to tell me, "I'm sorry I caused all that Cancer. NICE!)

So, the point of this whole honking post. I have a friend. (Are you shocked?) She's going through a rough time. And I've tried my best to help her, listen to her, support her. But these last two weeks, I've really -- REALLY -- needed a friend. Not only to listen to me, but to hear me. Not best me with a reaction of, "well, you're problems are bad, now let me tell you about mine." And that, in the long and short of it, is what I've gotten.

I shouldn't be surprised. Every person I've ever tried to talk to - friend, parent, lover - has "one-upped" me. I have a headache, they have a brain tumor. I had a bad day, they had a bad life.

But, for some reason, I'm really hurt by this recent turn of affairs. I've become passive-aggressive in my emails to her and that makes me dislike myself. But I can't bring myself to put myself out there for her again. Not after getting Jack in return. I know friendship isn't tit for tat, but I really -- really -- needed a friend to listen. Just once.

And, this, dear readers, is what you get when you have one overtired, overworked, hormonally imbalanced female who's had two rough weeks in a row. Sorry.

A Moment of Silence