For months I’ve been screaming about order – where is it, who took it, and what can I do to get it back? I know I’ve had it because, once upon a time, I could think clearly, breathe freer, and walk through a room without stepping on a thingamajig randomly left here or a thingamabob haphazardly placed there.
I’ve been looking for order in my home, trying desperately to pare down what my baby and I have lived with for far too long. The stuff in my home – the clothes I’ve held onto hoping to wear again; the books I’ve read still on the bookshelves waiting for another reader to discover; the knick-knacks we’ve collected now collecting dust; and let’s not mention the random papers that come in and out of the house everyday – not only weighs my house down, but it weighs us down too. But, after a few moved bookcases, a shredding binge, and several trips – sometimes daily – to the recycling bin and donation sites, I found that the need to order is much bigger than cleaning and clearing my house.
Psychologists – or anybody with good sense for that matter – will tell you the stuff around you is an indication of the stuff inside you; if it’s messy outside, you’ve got to be a wreck inside. Many other mental health professionals would argue that chronic disorder is a sign of ADHD or depression, that behind such disorganization hide grave feelings of inadequacy and fears we’ve yet to address and conquer, and merely “straightening up” is simple window covering. There are many of us who gather stuff in order to keep the world from really seeing who we are or who we’re not, and there’re many others who live on top of the stuff because doing otherwise would upset our who applecart. So as I look around my house, even as close as the desk from which I type, I have to ask myself some serious questions about what’s really going on deep inside.
Excuse me while I attempt to organize some papers...
I’m not ADHD or clinically depressed, and I have very few feelings of lack. I’ve got some fears, but, like most people’s, those fears are manageable. But I am convinced that order is not about the stacks and piles of paper or unworn clothing hiding out in the closet. I believe it’s about being aligned mind, body, and soul.
So how do you get all of you aligned accordingly? How do you get your emotions, physical health and appearance, and your spiritual life in sync?
Of course you first have to realize that each realm is dependant upon the others, and that when one is out of whack, the other two will certainly suffer the same fate, and vice versa. And then you must realize that the process of becoming aligned is an on-going, life-long practice. One year you may be lined up very well and have all of your Self in great operating order. But the next year, you live so disharmoniously with yourself you hardly recognize the person in the mirror. Keeping your whole self in order is like the ebb and flow of the ocean or like going to the chiropractor – one time won’t keep you straight, you have to keep going back. You have to keep paying attention. You have to be intentional. You have to give yourself room to be human and a work in progress. You can’t beat yourself up because everything is in disarray and you don’t seem to have the sense God gave you to get it all lined up and in order.
Unless disorder drives you absolutely crazy in the first place, in which case means you don’t have this problem and this post is just confirmation of everything you’ve always said about those of us who can’t keep it together. Bless your heart. You should teach some classes.
Wherever order went, I invite it and the peace it brings back. I’m anxious to see what it looks like. Until then, let me get back to those papers.
Jun 16, 2009
Jun 11, 2009
I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple
I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.-- Alice Walker’s “Shug Avery” from The Color Purple
It rained really hard here today. Hail smacked the window, water eroded the soil around my sidewalk, and you could barely see through the sheaths of rain coming down. At one time, the winds were so high and fierce, the maple’s tree limbs were threatening to break and hit the house. The lights flickered and stopped this post for a few brief minutes, and it got so dark, I almost climbed back in bed.
I’m still tempted to do that...
But now the rain storm has passed. It’s lighter outside, they’re no swaying trees, and the sky has stopped all that loud clapping. Blake, my black lab, has settled down, and is actually napping. The birds have returned and I even see a couple of white butterflies. Everything outside looks well watered and refreshed. That’s the beauty of the rain storm after the storm.
But as I look out on the dripping trees and grass, I wonder what I missed in the moments of the storm. Did I fail to notice that as the wind was angrily blowing the tree’s limbs, the leaves seemed to cup the raindrops it caught? Did I miss the way the tree itself seemed to stand taller enjoying the bath it received after a hot and humid early morning?
And, why, when it was hot and muggy this morning, did I not pay attention to how it was effecting my body, that perhaps the humidity made my 2-mile walk longer and heavier and my mental capacity and mood sluggish and sulky? Perhaps that’s why I want to go back to bed.
Well, I know how I missed it. I was in a hurry to get it all over with – the rain, the walk, everything. I was also preoccupied with this on my mind and that thought over there. So, in my hurry and with my mind somewhere else, I know I missed many of the things God put here for us to see and appreciate.
I think God is not only disturbed that we don’t notice the flowers and the trees, God is probably also irritated when we don’t notice the beauty of and on the whole earth. We don’t hear the songs of the birds or the trickles of the water in the rain puddles. We miss the expressions on the faces we see each day; we miss being aware of our inner voice, and we especially miss taking notice of the real needs of those closest to us. We hear what’s on the surface and in the sound bites, living only on the surface and off the sound bites, leaving the sensing of the substance for the poets and the days when we’re forced to be still. If I were God I’d be pissed off. It can’t be easy making the daylilies’ blooms yellow, red, pink and purple. It’s certainly couldn’t have been simple to craft your personality and mine. And in no way is it an uncomplicated act to make a cold front meet a warm front and create a powerful storm and the sun still be shining through. Heck yeah, if I was God, I’d be so pissed I’d make everything dark so you couldn’t see anything.
But I’m not God and that ain’t God... Thank you, God.
Right now, the sun is out; I guess it’s really not a time for sleeping or missing what God’s got going on outside. I’m going out there to see what I can see. Don’t you miss it.
It rained really hard here today. Hail smacked the window, water eroded the soil around my sidewalk, and you could barely see through the sheaths of rain coming down. At one time, the winds were so high and fierce, the maple’s tree limbs were threatening to break and hit the house. The lights flickered and stopped this post for a few brief minutes, and it got so dark, I almost climbed back in bed.
I’m still tempted to do that...
But now the rain storm has passed. It’s lighter outside, they’re no swaying trees, and the sky has stopped all that loud clapping. Blake, my black lab, has settled down, and is actually napping. The birds have returned and I even see a couple of white butterflies. Everything outside looks well watered and refreshed. That’s the beauty of the rain storm after the storm.
But as I look out on the dripping trees and grass, I wonder what I missed in the moments of the storm. Did I fail to notice that as the wind was angrily blowing the tree’s limbs, the leaves seemed to cup the raindrops it caught? Did I miss the way the tree itself seemed to stand taller enjoying the bath it received after a hot and humid early morning?
And, why, when it was hot and muggy this morning, did I not pay attention to how it was effecting my body, that perhaps the humidity made my 2-mile walk longer and heavier and my mental capacity and mood sluggish and sulky? Perhaps that’s why I want to go back to bed.
Well, I know how I missed it. I was in a hurry to get it all over with – the rain, the walk, everything. I was also preoccupied with this on my mind and that thought over there. So, in my hurry and with my mind somewhere else, I know I missed many of the things God put here for us to see and appreciate.
I think God is not only disturbed that we don’t notice the flowers and the trees, God is probably also irritated when we don’t notice the beauty of and on the whole earth. We don’t hear the songs of the birds or the trickles of the water in the rain puddles. We miss the expressions on the faces we see each day; we miss being aware of our inner voice, and we especially miss taking notice of the real needs of those closest to us. We hear what’s on the surface and in the sound bites, living only on the surface and off the sound bites, leaving the sensing of the substance for the poets and the days when we’re forced to be still. If I were God I’d be pissed off. It can’t be easy making the daylilies’ blooms yellow, red, pink and purple. It’s certainly couldn’t have been simple to craft your personality and mine. And in no way is it an uncomplicated act to make a cold front meet a warm front and create a powerful storm and the sun still be shining through. Heck yeah, if I was God, I’d be so pissed I’d make everything dark so you couldn’t see anything.
But I’m not God and that ain’t God... Thank you, God.
Right now, the sun is out; I guess it’s really not a time for sleeping or missing what God’s got going on outside. I’m going out there to see what I can see. Don’t you miss it.
Jun 9, 2009
This morning, I sat in the beautiful and gracefully inviting garden
This morning, I sat in the beautiful and gracefully inviting garden of one of my dearest friends. I drank refreshing raspberry lemonade from a wine glass, got my locs eyeballed by a sneaking spider, had my ankle sized up by a seasoned bumblebee, and talked about life and the love of it in a way that can only be discussed in a garden over lemonade with the elements and a wise friend.
Much of our time was spent marveling at the way nature thrives when it’s loved and nurtured. Her petunias, the sedum, the cactus with fresh bulbs, and the orange hibiscus were luscious and breathtaking because of the care she’d taken in making their home serene and generous with just what they needed. Sitting among this life, I couldn’t help but think of how my friend’s garden so mimicked her life and the one many of us are trying to capture and create. My friend’s life is sheathed by simplicity, creativity, and contentment, traits that are all too fleeting if not totally vanished.
Lots of us spend our lives working on and toward the “ideal” life – one full of material wealth gained from working in this career or taking that job so we could acquire even more wealth. We’ve tucked away a bit here and there for our golden years so we’d have cushion to live on, travel the world if we like, and leave something to our children. It is, of course, important in this day and age to make a nest egg for ourselves and to have money and benefits enough to live on. We’re living longer lives so it’s imperative we have what we need when we enter the years after retirement from active work or whatever it is we did when we were younger.
But, we do all that at the expense of overwork, stress and its effects on our health, and the missed chance of watching daisies grow on the patio. Are we working too hard and too much to watch something as simple as the substance of a garden in bloom? Are we doing too much that we only demand our children be this because of that, and living with them in fear of this moment and a dubious and difficult tomorrow instead of encouraging them to bloom and be inspired by their innate abilities? Are you working so hard to keep your ends met that you’ve let wither that brainchild you’ve flowered for years, the one that could sprout and spread if you’d turn loose the safe yet predictable job you’ve held onto for years, the idea that haunts you and screams aloud that you should be doing it instead of working for someone else?
Of course I’m the last person who’d balk at comfort and predictability; I’m a teacher with a relatively dependable salary, benefits, and 2 months of down time. How much more predictable can you get?
But the point is, all the hard work, degrees, money saved, and things we’ve gathered aren’t getting us closer to simplicity or happiness. And there’s very little creativity attached to any of it.
When I left my friend’s, I ended up at a little pizzeria that lauded making your food fresh at the time of your order which gave me time to reflect on my visit in the garden. None of my thoughts really came together until I read a poster on the wall. Some of it read –
Today I’m choosing the simple. I’m paring it down and out. And, perhaps if more of us sought what was simple and uncomplicated, our collective creativity could soar and we may even find contentment, or at least something to genuinely smile and feel good about. Or, perhaps it’s not that clear-cut; maybe there’s a lot more to it than simplicity and happiness. After all, you still have the creepy spiders, the menacing bumblebees, the rocky economy, and all the other stuff that can make life unpleasant and scary. But does that mean you can’t enjoy the garden, even till your own special place to breathe in and create newness? I refuse to think so.
Much of our time was spent marveling at the way nature thrives when it’s loved and nurtured. Her petunias, the sedum, the cactus with fresh bulbs, and the orange hibiscus were luscious and breathtaking because of the care she’d taken in making their home serene and generous with just what they needed. Sitting among this life, I couldn’t help but think of how my friend’s garden so mimicked her life and the one many of us are trying to capture and create. My friend’s life is sheathed by simplicity, creativity, and contentment, traits that are all too fleeting if not totally vanished.
Lots of us spend our lives working on and toward the “ideal” life – one full of material wealth gained from working in this career or taking that job so we could acquire even more wealth. We’ve tucked away a bit here and there for our golden years so we’d have cushion to live on, travel the world if we like, and leave something to our children. It is, of course, important in this day and age to make a nest egg for ourselves and to have money and benefits enough to live on. We’re living longer lives so it’s imperative we have what we need when we enter the years after retirement from active work or whatever it is we did when we were younger.
But, we do all that at the expense of overwork, stress and its effects on our health, and the missed chance of watching daisies grow on the patio. Are we working too hard and too much to watch something as simple as the substance of a garden in bloom? Are we doing too much that we only demand our children be this because of that, and living with them in fear of this moment and a dubious and difficult tomorrow instead of encouraging them to bloom and be inspired by their innate abilities? Are you working so hard to keep your ends met that you’ve let wither that brainchild you’ve flowered for years, the one that could sprout and spread if you’d turn loose the safe yet predictable job you’ve held onto for years, the idea that haunts you and screams aloud that you should be doing it instead of working for someone else?
Of course I’m the last person who’d balk at comfort and predictability; I’m a teacher with a relatively dependable salary, benefits, and 2 months of down time. How much more predictable can you get?
But the point is, all the hard work, degrees, money saved, and things we’ve gathered aren’t getting us closer to simplicity or happiness. And there’s very little creativity attached to any of it.
When I left my friend’s, I ended up at a little pizzeria that lauded making your food fresh at the time of your order which gave me time to reflect on my visit in the garden. None of my thoughts really came together until I read a poster on the wall. Some of it read –
“The paradox of our time in history is that we ... spend more, but have less;
buy more, but enjoy it less; have more conveniences, but less time... We have
multiplied our possessions, but reduced our value. We talk too much, love too
seldom, and hate too often. We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life.
We’ve added years to life, not life to years... It is a time when there is much
in the show window and nothing in the stockroom. It is a time when we can choose
either to make a difference or languish in the paradox.”
Today I’m choosing the simple. I’m paring it down and out. And, perhaps if more of us sought what was simple and uncomplicated, our collective creativity could soar and we may even find contentment, or at least something to genuinely smile and feel good about. Or, perhaps it’s not that clear-cut; maybe there’s a lot more to it than simplicity and happiness. After all, you still have the creepy spiders, the menacing bumblebees, the rocky economy, and all the other stuff that can make life unpleasant and scary. But does that mean you can’t enjoy the garden, even till your own special place to breathe in and create newness? I refuse to think so.
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