There’s an innocence to topless sunbathing in the midst of a Pandemic. 

Something akin to an ancient and timeless malaise has shrouded our days, so one will do almost anything to feel hopeful and alive again. 

Unencumbered by clothing, I greet the Sun.  “Hello, Sweet Friend.  I’ve missed you.  Kiss me?”  And, He does, without hesitation or reservation. 

Hot breath on my neck, he presses his warmth into my chest and I surrender, promising…”I’ll never make you wait this long again.”

I sit so quietly I can hear my own heart beating.  A steady, rhythmic drum of undefined purpose.  A simple insistence on existence.  

I tell Her, “I’m finally ready to listen.”

I’m learning to love this liminal space and all it has uncovered. The quiet longings that still surface just beyond existential dread. 

It is there, in this presence of body and alertness of spirit that I now imbibe - knowing that my perception has always been my reality. 

Is it now that I begin to perceive differently?  More acutely? 

Isn’t it always in the throes of pleasure that we make our most flowery and embellished of promises? 

“From this moment forward….and always...always...”

So, I ask, “Will you, Sweet Sun, promise to forgive me when I forget to greet you?”

And, “Precious Heart, can you vow to keep speaking, even when I distractedly chide, ‘Not now’..”

Time and again, 

I promise to return to Openness, because of your Devotion. 

Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.

I have a whole host of doubts that like to sing choruses in my head.  They like to tell me things like, "You're wasting a perfectly good canvas."  And, "You'll be laughed at if you show anyone this."  

But, the defiant little girl inside of me screams at the top of her lungs and quiets them all - "Quiiiiiiieeeet!  I'm CrEaTiNg here - and I mustn't  be distracted by little ninnies, like you."  

I prefer to use the word "ninnie" to describe those horrid voices in my head, anyway.  Makes them sound as equally ridiculous as they really are.  Where in the world do those voices come from anyway - and where did they learn to HATE me so well?  I wish I were kinder to myself in most ways - but especially when I'm creating.  Painting.  Writing. Singing.  Attempting to play the guitar.  If I could just push mute on my brain when this is happening - well, that WOULD be heavenly.  As a matter of fact, I think it IS heavenly when you can - even if it is just for a few moments.  And, heaven can be practiced at little increments of time - here and there.  Oh, look, I just went two whole sentences - without ripping myself to shreds!  Here's to progress!  

This "heavenly" silence is something I'm cultivating through focused effort. Kinda like meditating - only the meditation is on self-love.  Self-Kindness.  Self-boasting instead of self-loathing.

And, I liken it to releasing myself from my own prision.  I liken it to the rubbing of a genie bottle.  With some coaxing, and some polishing - this beautiful, otherworldly creature will emerge.  She'll excite me with the newness of her vision - and with a wink of her eyes - she'll silence those inner critics, once and for all.  Ninnies that they are...

So, for the past couple of recesses - I've been painting this very image.  Bringing it forth from my mind - and onto that perfectly poised canvas.

It's a work in progress - but, it's been so fun to play with swirling colors - of my own choosing.  The smoothness of a freshly painted line - the transparency of watercolors.  It's been an experiment for the past three days - and it's been so rewarding.

Tuesday's recess was a full half hour of dancing. All over the house. In my striped athletic knee socks, and with Jack jumping along beside me. We danced in the living room, we danced in the kitchen, we break danced in the hallway, and moonwalked through the laundry room. We did the chicken dance, and we walked it out - and I laughed and laughed when I saw the UPS guy looking through the door at Jack and I - as we danced to MGMT. Dancing is one of the best ways that I know to lift my mood - in just a few seconds. It raises my heart rate, gets my mind thinking on other things entirely - (like the beat of the song) - and gets your blood flowing - which lifts my mood, so quickly. You don't have to dance for an entire half hour. It was kinda difficult to do that...honestly, I kept hearing the phone ring - or thinking of other things to do: but, when I was just letting go and dancing - I was having so much fun! I think that's part of the challenge with recesses, for me: Letting go and allowing myself to have fun. By allowing, I mean - actually giving myself permission to be silly for 30 minutes before I get back to the "serious" work at hand. Like emails, and expense reports, and budgeting. Etc, etc. To inspire you: here's one of my favorite dancers of the moment - in two of his performances from Ellen. You're gonna love this kid: Now, go-dance!

I love to read a handful of web-sites that help me to simplify and be more productive.  Wellll, guess what?  One of those web-sites (www.unclutterer.com) has selected my Home Office as their work-space of the week!  I am so thrilled about it!  

You can take a look at their site here:

http://unclutterer.com/2009/01/09/workspace-of-the-week-wall-writing/comment-page-1/#comment-26331

Those of you who know me, know that my office was a major project of mine in 2008 - and it has helped me to create a balanced (and more zen) work life.  

If you haven't, yet, you owe it to yourself to spruce up your work environment.  

The unclutterer.com FlickR photo pool has lots of ideas to motivate you, too!  And, the site offers great tips on how to simplify your entire life - not just your office.  Check it out!

i'm back in oklahoma, visiting family and seeing old friends.  and, while i am so glad that i am here, now - getting on the plane to come here was one of the more difficult things that i've done in a while.

i've been very resistant to come back to ok, because everything seems to remind me of something in my life that has been broken or someone who we've lost.  a surreal example of this is the car i'm driving while i'm here.  it was my grandmother's.  it still smells like her - and walking up on it, parked at the airport last night - my silly little heart decided to flutter the way it would if she were the one who was waiting inside to drive me home.  of course she wasn't.  and, of course, those hot tears were choked back, yet again.

last night i sat up with my longest running best friend forever, my sister, heather-and we just talked like we always do.  but, i guess i sometimes forget how good she is for me.  she's truly an angel, and it's so nice to see her pretty liitle face. 

she and i were talking about how much i've changed in the past few years.  the way she puts it, i'm now "just a shell" of the hillary she grew up knowing and loving.  apparantly, i no longer display that joie de vive that used to bubble up from the inside.  instead, she said it's like my skeleton is here - but, my emotions - my soul are absent.

truth is, i feel like a shell.  i feel pretty empty. 

actually, it's not that i feel totally "empty" - it's more like i'm jammed full of a mess of thoughts and memories that are all hollow now.  so there's this "junk" thats cluttering up my mind and my heart-and it's all empty-if that makes sense.  it's all just the remains of what i've held dear.

and, i do feel pretty far removed from my past persona.  laughing doesn't come as easy as it used to.  (except around a few people who seem to bring that out in me, like heather, thank goodness.) 

heather played this song for me by Sanctus Real called "Whatever You're Doing".  she cried as we listened to it, and i just lay my head on her shoulder and rubbed her back while we let the music wash over us.  my heart aches still, but the tears are drying up, now.  instead, i find myself often getting angry in the same situations that used to make my cry.  it's a strange journey through grief, but hearing something like that song - can help me find the part of my heart that is still tender, because that part starts to swell when it's touched.  i put the song on my profile - listen to it if you can.  it's beautiful.

so, i've decided that perhaps the prescription i need to follow is this:  to surround myself with people who make me smile.  i can't be a hermit forever...

i plan to see a few old friends while i'm here.  and i plan to soak up the exerience of being in their presence.  i know so many fantastic people in oklahoma.  so many who inspire me, just because of who they are-or how they think. 

i need to immerse myself in other people right now.  i need new experiences.  new memories.  something rich, something juicy - something to light me back up and to fill this hole in my chest.

it's good to be home.  it's good to be reminded who you are - and that there are actually people out there that care about you, personally - just because you are you.

over the next week, i hope i'm reminded.  i hope i'm re-fueled. 

i'm determined to be a listener this week, and not so much of a "talker".  i don't have much to say, anyway.  i'd rather just fully immerse myself in new thoughts and ideas - those of my familly and friends.

if you're in OK, i'm here until next thursday -  wanna go get coffee or something?  you know how to reach me...

hopeful and thankfully yours,

hillary

notoriously funny man george carlin checked out, yesterday. he was the first comedian i ever went to see, in person. that night, part of his routine was about being an athiest. i remember almost immediately feeling guilty for finding his brand of humor funny.

the truth was, though: a lot of what he said was so brutally truthful, it would make you laugh until your abs hurt.

personally, i hope he found his spiritual side in last years of his life. it helps me to sleep better to think that he did.

below, i've found an excerpt of one of his more tame stand up routines, about "stuff". seriously, with as much as i travel lately-this is my mindset, so often, in a nutshell: "what STUFF do i bring"

"Since every death diminishes us a little, we grieve - not so much for the death as for ourselves" - Lynn Caine

Every death does diminish us a little - taking away a portion of our heart, only to replace it with an aching void. It is this newly created space that seems to devour any happiness or joy I might encounter. Because as soon as I figure out that I'm partially enjoying myself, I am reminded that perhaps this moment could have been that much sweeter - if only "they" could be here with us.

Yesterday, at 3:55pm, my Grandma Ludie took her last and final breath.

And, I understand that to grieve is the most indulgent of self indulgent acts. It is the darkest pit of self-absorbed, self-pity. 

But, please-just indulge me. Let me be the first to admit: I am consumed with this loss.

I am so completely exhausted down in this pit of despair, that I can only offer you space to curl up next to me in this darkness. My arms hang limply at my sides, and the half-hearted smile I might have been able to muster earlier in the week, has crawled down my face-creating a frown...a grimace. The beat of my heart will assure you that, yes-I will continue to breathe. Though, my heart feels as if it is stuttering and stammering to keep pumping. 

Lately, it seems that every time I come home to visit, it is to bury someone I love. 

Last night, I cried out until I was sick. Even then, crouched on the ground and emptying my insides - I could not get rid of the sickening loneliness. The realization that death has severed another relationship. Instead, I just clawed at the ground - and shouted out to God.

"God, I know you hear me.

I know you can hear me....

Lord, you can hear me....

You hear me, right?"

*Stiffening Silence*

I know He never forsakes us, but is it possible that he turns his head, at times, just to allow us to learn something on our own? Because, I've never felt so alone or so misunderstood - as I have recently.

I can say I need help. I can say I'm afraid of where my mind is headed - and how it seems to be off the tracks and running - pulling me with it - but for some reason, people seem to shrug it off....

please, please don't shrug me off. 

When I was a little girl, and I'd become overwhelmed with whatever may have been on my mind - I'd go sit on the porch and sing. Usually, my dog Pokie would come and lay his head in my lap - and lick the tears from my face. He seemed to just KNOW that I needed him.

Even Pokie is gone, now.

I've been riding my Mom's bike every day since I've been here. I keep thinking that if I'll just keep moving, I can trick my body into feeling more alive. I still swing by Reed's house - even though I know he won't be there. Just seeing his "Probe Testarosa" in the driveway makes me smile. I love remembering him, always dressed to the nines, pulling into the driveway to whisk Heather away somewhere for the evening. I keep lifting my eyes, waiting for my own version of Reed to pull into the driveway. But, that hope dwindles day-by-day.

Sometimes, I get so exhausted from emotion-that I'll just go to sleep in the middle of the day. Last Saturday was one of those days, and I lay on the couch in my living room, and drifted to sleep. In my dream, Reed came through the back door of my house with a basketball under his arm. He sat down next to me on the ottoman near the couch, as I was still sleeping (in my dream). He pushed the hair away from my face, and he leaned over me and said, "Don't lose your hope, Hillary. Don't you lose your hope." 

"You are going to have everything you need."

Then, he pulled a moving photo out of his pocket, and he said, "I want to show you something." This photo had a small cottage / cabin in the woods, with a spring river running through the back side of the land. He said, "This is going to be your house." 

Then, he said, "You want to know something else? You're going to have your own little boy. You're going to name him 'Robin'-because he'll sing like a bird."

To that, I began to cry. Then, he got up, spinning the basketball on the end of his finger the way he used to do-and he looked over his shoulder outside at the basketball goal. 

On his way out the door, he stopped and he said, "Hillary, your spirit is not broken - it's just the grief you are dealing with." And, he walked on out the door.

When I woke up, the ottoman was still sitting beside me in the same way it was when Reed had sat on it. The sun was shining through the blinds at exactly the same angle, and I felt this warmth-this true belief that it was he who HAD come to visit me. 

How could he have known that I am losing my hope? How could he have known how much I long for a family of my own? How much I desire to belong to a man, and to have that man love me for me? For all the quirks, and strangeness that is bundled up into this mess that I call "me"? 

I think that sometimes God will send us angels so we won't completely lose our hope.

Last night, Heather found me outside crying - I haven't cried in front of any of the family. And, she just sat with me. She just sat and sat so I wouldn't be alone. When she finally broke the silence to ask me what was wrong, I confided in her that I am beginning to lose hope. That all those dreams that I've held in my heart of hearts since I was a little girl, playing with my Barbie and Ken - they are slowly slipping away. That I'm starting to believe that love isn't part of my plan. That perhaps God won't allow me to have a love relationship because it distracts me too much from Him.

And, you know what she said, "Reed used to tell me not to lose my hope, Hillary. He told me to claim this verse: Jeremiah 29:11 'For I know the plans I have for you. Plans to prosper you. To give you life and a HOPE.'"

I can't tell you how many times, recently, I've cried out to God to take me, now. To end the heartache and disappointment that I have with myself. In fact, recently, my prayer has changed to one of simply asking God for forgiveness for all the ways I've wrecked my chance at life...and, to just basically ask Him if he'd just ERASE me-as though I never existed. 

I'm searching: 
For the place I belong.
For the sun.
For a reason to keep believing.

In that frame of mind, this speaks the most to me:
"It is neccessary to have wished for death in order to know how good it is to live."
Alexandre Dumas Père

Go hug your mom. Call your grandma. Ask that old friend for forgiveness. If you Love someone... please tell them. They may need to hear that so desperately.
Release it all, because it is all so small in the grand scheme of things.

Until I can write something positive, I don't think I'll be writing again-
Until then, 
Hillary

it's been awhile since i've written, but i can explain. 

in the past, i've been too dark and twisty. my writings can take on a life of their own and begin to choke me. so, if i'm writing dark and twisty, i find myself as morose and convoluted as the subjects i expound upon. 

instead, i've been focusing on the brighter side of life.the parts that reverberate and zing. they zip zap through your eyes right into your heart, spreading a vibration that's good. 
that's warm. 
that's pleasing. 

good. 

warm. 

pleasing. 

all nice things to aspire to. 

i hope that some of the things i write bring warmth or pleasure to this world. this entry, however, will do no such thing. there is no amount of sugar that could coat the darkness i feel tonight. 

i am sick, to the core, for my home. i do not want to be here...and if i thought for a moment that it would bring me closer to feeling at ease, i'd swim out from the pier, until i finally found sylvia, and we lived at the bottom of the ocean together. telling stories, and laughing about that oven incident. 

she'd say, "this was how i was meant to be, all along. underwater: choked, yet weightless. we no longer have that bothersome burden of breathing" 

and, i'd agree, nodding, and saying, "yes...yes..." because i agree with nearly everything syvia plath has to say. she is, after all, a celebrated writer. 

and, i...i am a never was. and, from my never was stance, i can say to sylvia, in the most candid of conversations:"honestly, sylvia...was it that bad?" and, she'd reply simply, with a coy smile...and no words. 

can someone please tell me what it is that i'm meant to do? slyvia, will you? 

i'm ready to get started, and the truth of it is...i'm wandering and wondering. 

wandering and wondering. 

wandering... 

"not all that wander, are lost". my eyes found those words emblazened on the backlit billboard beacon, in its prepackaged, and cost efficient "Life is Good" store located in my terminal at the airport. from its flourescent light pedastal, perched above us, it preaches to the lost masses, en masse, waiting for their glorified greyhound buses to go airborne. 

can someone please take me airborne, and take me home.i don't want a round trip ticket.i want a one way. 

i want....i want. 

ridiculous, selfish, pathetic cries to a world that is endlessly giving to each of us. 

i want. 

that's just it. i don't want for anything. all of my needs are met. all of my hierarchies are clearly laid out, and i fall somewhere on maslow's pyramid between desolate despair and zen-like floatation. that grey area, in between bad and good. kinda like the grey area between my ears...between bad and good. 
between mad and sensible. 
somewhere, juxtaposed with triumph, located between apathy, and perpetual busy-ness. 

i feel a lot like a little girl on that big roller coaster on the pier. i've watched and waited patiently in line, as the carriages would glide across my field of vision, invigorating and exhilirating its passengers. as the line shortened, and my own seat became available, my pulse quickened, and the knots in my stomach began to grow. 

as the bar swung down, overhead, and clamped into place tightly across my lap, i began to feel as if it all were wrong. this was not the ride for me...and that realization came as the ride lurched forward into motion. so, as the once graceful carriages, now surge, rather than glide....i clinch my jaw tighter, and white knuckle that bar.

can't let them see me sweat.

at least, not until i vomit...or we finally break free from these tracks. 

see, sylvia? you're always right.