The Qualm Before the Storm

I have developed a fascination with intuition.

This comes out of necessity. I used to blame this on being a Libra, but I have come to admit that I am a person who has such fear of doing the wrong thing, that I make decision-making miserable.

Intuition is defined as “the ability to understand something immediately, without the need for conscious reasoning. A thing that one knows or considers likely from instinctive feeling rather than conscious reasoning.”

Intuition. Also referred to as a hunch, instinct, clairvoyance, second sight, sixth sense…

I really like the idea of second sight. A way of seeing, not with the eyes, but with the body.

What?! How amazing is that to contemplate? The idea that my body can figure things out for me if I will but listen to her.

I have in the past called it the “uh oh” or the “red flag” feeling I can get in my gut. Usually around a person or entering into a space…an internal grab and/or a turning over of the stomach (similar to something I feel on a rollercoaster.)

That qualm in my stomach when something feels “off.” When I am about to do something or have just done something and I experience a seeping, creeping sense of dread around something having to do with it. A small wave of nausea followed by a feeling of dread…

At times I have honored these signals, and have been glad that I did. Other times, I ignored them, only to wish later that I had heeded their wisdom.

(Especially when I was dating. Turns out my body was always right about “reading” guys while my conscious brain worked hard to give them the benefit of the doubt, not wanting to “know” what my body was trying to tell me. Once I simply held my boyfriend’s little address book while moving it off a table in his apartment and I was flooded with fear and a sense of doom. I suddenly just “knew” that he was having an affair. I brushed this little feeling off, judging myself as paranoid. Turns out, I was right on the money. Months later and in a very horribly public way, the truth was exposed. )

That gut feeling, that little inner voice. The part of me that is wiser than my conscious mind.

Sometimes my intuition is very hard for me to sense or “hear.” I can struggle so much around certain decisions and am told to listen to my body for the answer. I sit and meditate, I journal, I ask, but at times, that inner sense, that “knowing” feeling, that little voice can feel so darned elusive.

Why is that? Am I blocking the signals by my looking for them so hard?

As an actress who has been trained extensively in the modern Method, I have learned to listen deeply to my body and not to discard any clues that she gives to me when approaching and working on a role.

Performers learn to follow their impulses and instincts for their craft, and while the intellect is certainly utilized, any one of us will tell you that it is crucial to “get out of your head” and into the body. We train in ways of strengthening our connection to our unconscious, to listening to our bodies’ responses to stimuli, to acting on the impulses our body generates.

Mental and physical tensions are the buzzkill to our creativity, our unconscious, or non-conscious. I have been addressing and exploring that for years.

These days I am on a mission to expand and deepen my relationship to my intuition. Not just for my work, but for every area of my life, especially decision-making. Practicing tuning in and developing it. Growing my trust in my own innate wisdom. Wow. I feel a qualm just writing that sentence…

I found a terrific resource in Jack Canfield regarding “cultivating intuition.” (I love that framing — I will cultivate my intuition!)

He says that “Just like memory, critical thinking, and intellect, your intuition is a mental muscle you can strengthen and use to create success and become the best possible version of yourself,” and suggests some ways to do that.

I am excited and nervous (in a good way) as I continue my journey with this. I can’t wait to see where I am led. I sense that it is gonna be good.

#intuition #JackCanfield #bodymind

 

 

 

 

 

A Turncoat Collaboration

“Traitorous cooperation with an enemy”

It’s what I entered into with you

But I didn’t know that at first.

At first, you were my soulmate, my joy, my everything

There was nothing that you could not make better

No feeling you did not temper, no event that you did not help me through.

After my first taste of you

I chose you, again and again.

Like a vampire needing the invitation to enter my doorway

You waited patiently for me to choose each time

Knowing that I would.

And one day, I found that

choice had become need; need, compulsion

I was a turncoat against my own life force.

In a battle with the dark side

I was sided with the enemy

inflicting sabotage against my own forces.

I surrendered and I survived, even thrive

Yet I see you there, ever waiting for an invite inside

That slight grin on your face, as if to say, you knew I’d be back.

I say no invitation today, old “friend.”

I am in cahoots with my life now.

 

Prompted by the Daily Word Prompt: collaboration

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like Joan

My mother had a special gift.

If you Google Mrs. Joan Fitzgerald Curry, you won’t find articles about her intelligence, her wit or accomplishments. While she had those, they didn’t capture the attention of the world beyond those who knew and loved her.

Yet she had a kind of talent, an innate gift, that is more true and essentially noteworthy than much of the behavior that millions of viewers tune in to reality shows to watch.

My mother could make a person visiting her home, or even just meeting her anywhere, feel deeply welcome.

I suppose you’d call it “hospitality.” She just found a way to make a person feel seen and attended to in a way that did not draw attention to either the giver or the receiver.

It was almost magical – seemed effortless and subtle, yet profound.

I remember my husband, visiting my mother with me, meeting her for the first time, remarking later that she just had this “way” about her that put him at ease. He couldn’t put his finger on what she did, just knew how he’d felt with her.

It is a lost art, I think. 

Towards the end of her life until her death, I began to observe and reflect upon this phenomenon in her personality.

What were the key elements that colored her hospitality?

She was warm. She was welcoming. She was genuinely interested in others’ lives. She was generous. She had an easy smile, a twinkle in her eyes, a melodic voice and laugh.

When she was with you, there was no sense of urgency to get on to the next thing. She was present with you, and her presence invited you to do the same. She brought a safe space wherever she was.

She left this earth as generously as she lived in it. Ever the gracious hostess, she left me a number of parting gifts. A spiritual swag bag.

One that I value above all else is the lesson contained within her hospitality. That she left behind circles of people who, when remembering her, would remember how comfortable they felt in her presence. How seen and heard. How good she made them feel.

I’d heard that before, that after you die, that’s all that is really left behind: how you made people feel.

Now I know this to be true. 

And since her death, I am continually inspired to develop and nurture whatever tiny nugget of her gift I can craft.

I aspire to live as she did. It doesn’t just mean hosting guests. It means how I treat strangers on the street. In the daily interactions I have with the other people on this planet.

How do I leave people after I cross paths with them? Do they feel uplifted for some undefinable reason, or do they feel drained?

I falter, I fail. But sometimes, I hope, I bring a good feeling to someone’s day. Sometimes, I am like Joan.

It is her legacy, and it is priceless to me.

#mothersday #hospitality #legacy

Prompted by The Daily Post daily word: hospitality

The Final Word

It’s just this:

You shattered my essence

I know they say that the human soul can never be destroyed

But it can be damaged

And you did that.

But I gathered up the slivers

And the shards of Who I Really Am –

The me I was meant to be Before –

And I put my self together again.

Whole.

I did that.

So, guess what?

I win.
Inspired by The Daily Post daily word prompt: final

Lifemaze

All I ever wanted

was someone to come along

to take my hand

and lead me through the maze.

Short of that, a map to guide my way would be nice.

I used to think everyone else got “the handbook.”

Now I know we are all in the same boat:

there is no handbook. We are winging it.

At the very least, I’d settle for a signpost now and then.

It seems that the whole point

is to find my own way,

and to help those I meet on the path.

Thanks, Universe.

#maze #life

 

Colorstruck

At a certain point in my long personal history of wearing makeup (my nickname in college was Maybelline,) I became obsessed with a certain shade of lipstick: fuchsia.

But this fuchsia was not your mother’s pink. This was an out-of-this-world blend of purple and red.

The color fuchsia was  named after the color of the flower of the fuchsia plant, which was named for the from the 16th century German botanist Leonhart Fuchs.

shutterstock_573599572

According to Wikipedia, “the color fuchsia was first introduced as the color of a new aniline dye called fuchsine, patented in 1859 by the French chemist François-Emmanuel Verguin. The dye was renamed magenta later in the same year, to celebrate a victory of the French army at the Battle of Magenta on June 4, 1859, near the Italian city of that name.”

I just loved that color. This might have corresponded with my pseudo-new wave period, in which I wore mesh gloves with the fingers cut out and had my hair in a geometrically angled wavy bob.

To me fuchsia was like pink on steroids, and I loved the vivid shock of color on my lips. There was, at the time, an incredible lipstick made by Chanel called Fuchsia. I’ve looked for it again over the years since, and it does not exist anymore, sadly.

It was bold and strong. It made a statement.

I do still wear fuchsia, but now it is on my feet. I think I run a bit faster wearing these:

#fuchsia #chanel #lipstick

Inspired by The Daily Post word prompt: pink

 

 

 

Free Fall

I’m in the middle of a massive shift.

The last time I felt such a massive shift in my life, there were all of these external changes happening.

In the space of three years, my mother died, I planned a wedding, my brother died, I got a mortgage, bought an apartment, my father died, I got married and moved from Manhattan to the Bronx.

By the time I was settled into our new apartment, I didn’t know which way was up. I literally did not recognize the outer landscape of my life.

With so much having changed on the outside, it made sense to me that my internal landscape would need to recalibrate. I was living in a new world. I needed to find a new true north.

This time though, there’ve been no circumstances creating the pressure that precipitates such movement. This time, the shift has come solely from within, a seismic shifting of the tectonic plates of my very soul.

It is terrifying and yet so right-feeling at the same time.

Everything in my life has come into question. A massive excavation. A massive exploration.

It’s as if I have been squeezed out of myself and am born anew, looking around. And the one thing I can see clearly is that my whole life I have been in pursuit of one thing or another. Popularity, academic excellence, talent, money, happiness, fame, career success, love, a thinner body, a better me, forgiveness, acceptance, self-love, a desire to live, a desire to stop wanting to die (they are different,) peace, direction…fame (I come back to that one because that is a huge one)…you name it.

I’ve been running around like a woman with my hair on fire for as long as I can remember, and I couldn’t stop even if I had ever wanted to, and I didn’t. There were times I wanted them to stop, for life to stop, for the pain to stop, for everything to stop, for me to stop being conscious. But I never wanted and could never imagine not being in pursuit.

Until now, that is. Now, I just want to…stop.

That is the seismic shift I am in right now. I am shifting from a life of pursuit to a life of, what? What is the opposite of pursuit? I don’t know.

Is it simply being? I don’t even know what the hell that is. Is that really OK? What will happen? What if I give up the pursuit of pursuit? What will I do with my life if I do not pursue something?

Who will I be? Will I fall I back into the chasm? Will I be falling into the obscurity I have so feared?

And if I fall into the chasm of my own soul, will it be a free fall that lasts forever, or will I land on soft ground at some point? This cannot be yet another pursuit. I have to let it be whatever it is. I cannot fall back wishing it to be one way or another at the other end.

I just have to fall back. And that is terrifying and yet so absolutely right-feeling at the same time.

I’ll either see you on the other side, or I won’t. Deep breath. Here I go.

 

 

Split Decisions

Rose spit into the dirt, disgusted with herself, so mad she could barely see straight.

What jerks. She hadn’t been doing anything. Why did they hate her so?

She picked herself up off the lawn, peeling away the blades of grass that were stuck to her knees one by one, fingering the long dent-canals they left behind on her skin.

The kids had already moved on down the block, their laughter taunting her as they looked back, turning the corner.

She felt the hot flush of shame rush down the back of her neck and through her body, her fingers tingling, tears flooding her eyes.

She choked it all down and thought about what she could do. There was no where to go. No one to tell.

“This is just temporary, honey. You’ll see. In time, they’ll get to know you, you’ll find friends.” Her Mom tried, but she had no idea of the way things really were.

She folded her pain and confusion back into the loneliness that she carried with her always, and with lips pressed together with determination, she walked back home to the numbing relief and friendship to be found in oreos and chips. 

At least she had that.

#bullying #therootoftheproblem #foodisnotlove

Inspired by The Daily Post word prompt: temporary

Ceasefire

I was clearing out papers and photos from my life –
An envelope my Dad had given me after my Mom died

She’d saved every note and card I’d ever written her

And the truth staring me in the face

As I read through them was this:

I have never been OK with myself

Always searching for answers – why me, why not, what if this, what if that

Working to improve my self – this dress, that diet, walk this way, talk that way

Every day a struggle, so hard to get through

The bitter pill of life I just could not swallow

It caught in my throat, choking my voice

And I grasped at the ever-dangling carrot of a better me

And wore myself down to nubbins and grace

Today I will Just breathe

I will live in the questions

Stop searching outside for the answers

I will wear life like a loose garment

Listen to the breezes blow

Seek comfort in my own heart

And choose to forget whatever it was I was fighting so hard to be

There are no more truths to swallow

It is time to simply be

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Essential Excavation

I pulled down the walls myself

I was the one who built ’em

They were mine to demolish

I removed each stone, thanking it for its work

I excavated my own soul

I dug until I discovered the me I was before.

Anemic and shivering

I performed CPR on my self

I pinked up, began howling

Raw and primal, hungry

My natural beauty exposed

No renovations necessary.

#soulexcavation