DON’T FEAR THE THRESHOLD!

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God has opened a lot of doors for me in my life. But, not a single one of these opportunities looked like a door at the time. They looked like failure. They looked like defeat. They looked like unbearable conflict and loss, eventually driving me from that particular situation to find something more peaceful. They looked like sudden physical limitations, springing from nowhere, that forced me to limit and change my focus. They always looked like crisis and change. And pain.

With the wisdom of hindsight, I see that these events that I perceived as horrible at the time, were answers to my own prayers for direction, deliverance and other things. They were thresholds.

My entire writing career resulted from being fired from a job as a lawyer. I had been charging down the legal path for decades at full tilt with success, which blinded me to the unpleasant changes happening in my life and my personality. Law is a great venue for believing the fantasy of control: if I just work harder and longer… what I want or what my client wants will be mine.

I had two very young children at the time. My daughter was 4 and my son was 2, and I never saw them. They were in bed when I went to work in the morning and in bed when I got home. Their father had to take care of almost everything, while I worked sometimes until 4 am answering e-mails, worked on holidays, worked on weekends. I was in pursuit of “ success’, and was going to crack this code, if I just worked harder.

One day, I was at work, of course, and I got a call from our nanny, frantic because she was at the hospital ER with my son, and they would not let her check him in. He had fallen down a flight of stone stairs. He was ok after some emergency surgery to put his teeth back in his mouth, and fortunately I was able to be there with him through this ordeal he doesn’t even remember.

This was a huge signpost that I missed. But, my subconscious was working on me. I did not want to give up being a parent to be a professional anything. My love for the job never really returned after that, and it was just a matter of time before my employer saw it. It was humiliating and painful and horribly unjustified I thought at the time. After all, who worked harder for these people?

It was merely a threshold God was asking me to go through. I began writing in journals to get my myriad emotions out. The emotions erupted in the form of poetry. It took all of these events for me to remember that I had originally wanted to write. I finally remembered that I had started writing poems at age ten.

God had returned me to who I really was, and I had fought him every step of the way.

I started a poetry blog, which led to a book, which led to this blog. I may have been a lawyer by trade, but in my heart, I was always an artist, with the soul of a poet. God had returned me to myself by erecting a threshold, and creating circumstances that urged me to walk through.

In retrospect, he was removing obstacles from my path, which a large portion of the time was I. My ambition. My will. My hunger for approval.

What a God! …Every God direction is road- tested. Everyone who runs to him makes it…You cleared the ground under me so my footing was firm.

Psalm 18, Message Version.

 

We don’t suffer because of what happens to us. We suffer because we struggle against it. That struggle is based on what our thoughts tell us about where we are versus where we should be. But our thoughts lie to us. All the time. Our minds lie to us, because we want our will instead of God’s, and we tell ourselves stories justifying it.

 

A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.

Ralph Waldo Emerson.

 

When it seems that I have tried everything and am beating my head against a brick wall, I am. There is no door there anymore. It’s scary, but all I need do is pray, look for the prompts, and take the next step in faith. It isn’t the end. It isn’t a death. It is only a threshold. Don’t fear the threshold; fear the cage that forms around us when we refuse to go through, struggling and fighting what is, and therefore, what could be.

 

YOUR WINTER IS OVER!

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I spent the better part of Easter Weekend digging in the dirt with my kids. It was glorious! We made the spring pilgrimage to Home Depot and Lowes and bought a cart full of vibrant blooms. One child graduated college in December, and the other is a sophomore in nursing school, so it had probably been a decade since we enjoyed this family pastime. Long enough for the soil to go completely fallow, for all of our ” curb appeal” shrubs and potted plants to have gone to the Great Nursery In the Sky. We had all been so busy with our lives; we didn’t notice how dead things were. So we raked, hoed, dug and brought in healthy soil. It came back to us, as if no time had passed. We were really working our bodies hard— quite joyfully we discovered, together. It was, in its way, a very holy celebration. We were ridding ourselves of all remnants of winter, and death, and planting the seeds of spring and summer. The very act of planting the seeds and blooms was an expression of faith in the future. mountainlaurels

 

We are all seed planters in some way, aren’t we?

In an interview with Meet The Press, Cardinal Timothy Dolan said, “God is The God of Spring, renewal, birth, and growth– not winter and death.” While so much is complicated, that is a theological concept easy for me to focus upon.

So often, we don’t know what our next step should be. There is so much that is difficult, trying and confusing. But, we can help keep it simple.

All we can do is the next task that seems to present itself to our attention, having faith that it is, indeed, where we are supposed to be and what we are supposed to be doing.

Dig, plant, water, and grow. It’s your time to bloom! Winter is over!

 

5 EASY WAYS TO BE YOUNGER INSTANTLY

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Tina Turner of aging: It’s’ just a number. Bring it on!

 

1) Don’t associate with people who insist on knowing your age. It is an artificial limit and there is no need to even acknowledge it in any way. It may be their limitation, but it isn’t yours. You can do anything at any time, period.

 

2) Realize that the reason you feel insulted when people say, you look great for your age is because it is an insult. Shake it or them off.  It is someone putting his or her own limitations on you, even if unintentionally. Beauty is ageless, timeless and radiates outward from the soul. Don’t let anyone else diminish it. You are beautiful without qualification.

3) Limit your mirror time. The amount of time we spend looking in the mirror is inversely proportional to contentment and confidence. The brain is programmed to find what it is searching for. If we search our mirrors for flaws we will find them, no matter our age.

4) Exercise for 30 minutes. It makes you feel powerful, capable and strong and radiant.  Of course, if you feel flush with endorphins, you will look fantastic. Exercise also rushes oxygenated blood to the connective tissue that supports your skin, and keeps it from sagging.

5) If you can’t view every image you see in magazines, videos or the Internet as a highly produced and edited work of art, stay away or limit your time consuming them. Almost no picture we see isn’t filtered, photo-shopped or edited. That isn’t a standard: it’s a fantasy. Be in your own beautiful skin here and now, own it, and maybe strut just a little! You were created to be a blessing and that is beautiful.

 

PEACE IS INTERSTELLAR

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Each moment has its life and its death; otherwise, existence is impossible.

The Tao.

 

I saw the movie, Interstellar, last night in IMAX and I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s a Sunday morning, and I should be in church, but I am still thinking about this movie instead. I keep thinking about how so many seemingly random and unrelated things in this movie turn out to be inextricably intertwined and, in fact, dependent each upon the other. I keep thinking about the vast number of spiritual parallels to this theme.

The film is almost indescribable in its artistry and overlapping themes, but David Brooks of The New York Times writes a stunningly beautiful review of the movie entitled, Love and Gravity, that is, I think, a work of art in and of itself. In his review Mr. Brooks points to the movie pointing to this interconnection of seemingly mutually exclusive things: science and faith, and science and our love for each other. In fact, they are intertwined, and faith and love become their own field and dimension.

And so it is, I think, with Peace. It can be a super- power, but it is dependent upon and intertwined with so many other things. Like the movie, it is dependent on our attraction to and seeking out of something or someone out there we cannot see, who spans time and space, generations, life and death—a God who is invisible but is still reaching across time and space to be with us. It is impossible to connect with him if we don’t extend ourselves to meet him. That is the cosmic, fun side.

There is also the mundane side of peace– muscle memory. Peace is a practice.

I suffered a brain injury as a result of a car accident about two years ago. I am now ok. Before the accident, I was a fairly accomplished pianist and was in a band singing and learning the guitar. I lost my memory of how to play these instruments. Because I lost the intellectual memory to process these things, I didn’t even try. Because I didn’t even try, I lost the muscle memory. When my intellectual memory of the chords and notes returned, my hands and my voice would not respond to the commands. Once I just started moving my fingers it was terrible at first, but within a couple of weeks, the music began to sound like something a human being would want to hear. I played a tape of a friend singing to teach myself to sing again. I thought that regaining command of my instruments was dependent on my mind but it was dependent on my love for them and their need to be played.

Peace is like this. If I wait for it to just happen to me, I won’t experience it. To have peace I have to surrender to the partnership with my unseen creator, and for that to happen, I have to practice being mindful that there is a partnership It is dependent on my love for my creator, his love for me and my ability to practice this, if only for a few moments a day. Peace, and the lack of it, is related to control, powerlessness and fear, but especially self worth and humility.

I can’t have peace if I am afraid of the future, regret the past, or don’t approve of myself. I can’t get rid of these afflictions unless I practice peace. I can’t cure my mind and it’s ridiculous thought patterns with my mind. Back to the partnership and the eternal dance.

SHOPPING MALLS. ENTRY HALL TO HELL?

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I found this little rhyme I did many years ago:

 

Hell’s Entry Hall

must be a shopping mall.

Vendors try to take from me

my most precious commodities!–

money and time,

while I wander

like a listless lab rat fed too much soda

in an IQ measuring labyrinth ,

the piped -in Christmas music-like sounds of singing slot machines of Vegas quickening my pulse,

urging me to hurry, hurry “ save 50%”

of nothing I would want to buy.

Is there an exit, not blocked with perfume-spraying trolls?

Kudos to those with mall- mastery.

It is above my pay grade, and brings only misery.

If I wake up after death, strolling in a mall,

it means God had no faith in my choices at all.

~~~~~~

I don’t feel this way because I’m virtuous, but because I am completely tasteless.

Right now, I am wearing super low- rise jeans that were in style two years ago. Because of weight loss, they fall in the wrong place and look like the SNL sketch about the repairman unknowingly displaying his butt crack. All that is missing is the tool belt. I don’t care.

I still have sweaters from my college days, which were an official eon ago. I once had an employee tell me I looked like a homeless person, and take me shopping, because to be seen with me embarrassed her. I don’t care.

I will probably always be a little out of date, or as I prefer to call it “ classic”, because the time I don’t spend looking for ways to spend money is time I can spend, writing, creating or making music or spending time with those who do.

Someone said that wealth is discretionary time. To me this is true .It is also freedom. It’s freedom to do what I love to do, measured in minutes hours or days. It’s not how much I can buy or even how much I can buy on sale. I save money in other ways: I tend not to spend it at all. Christmas is the exception and the Wild Card. It is fun shopping for other people, but I’m not going to take out another mortgage on my house on the 50 percent chance the gift I buy is what they really, really want.

For me, biology creates destiny: I am a woman born without the shopping gene. My mom and grandmother were born without it too. Childhood shopping trips usually resulted in tears all around.

Hey, Mall Mastery is an adventure and a challenge. I prefer walking a different type of tightrope– the life of the artist– gathering my creations, going through the painful process of self- editing, assimilating them in some semblance of order or perfect disorder, and standing there naked, daring someone to react. That means, if I do get paid, it is rarely and not much.

The less I buy, the more time I have to engage in this process, and the less pressure I have to put on myself to be a product instead of producing one. I still do, but not as much. So, if you see me on occasion wearing my clothes backwards, kindly tell me:)

 

WHAT ” AWESOME” REALLY MEANS

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When I looked up the definition of the word “awesome”, which I use any time I don’t know what else to say, I found this:

 

1) Inspiring an overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, or fear; causing or inducing awe: an awesome sight.2) showing or characterized by reverence, admiration, or fear; exhibiting or marked by awe.”

 

So, wouldn’t the real definition of awesome  be more like this?

 

“Greater love has no one  than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:13

 

Something that would inspire awe or reverence would be a person who voluntarily gives his life for a concept – like freedom, or for people he or she doesn’t even know. That person would be a hero. A person, who loves us, his country, so much that he forgets his fears, his own personal interests and lays down his life for us. This kind of love and sacrifice is almost beyond comprehension, like Jesus or Mother Teresa’s example.

 

But, some of you do this every day. You do this for us, despite the fear, awful conditions during combat, and often, when you get home. You do this despite the devastating financial hardships on your families.

Awesome is too small a word. So is Hero.

That is what awesome really is.

 

So, goodbye to my trivial and ridiculous use of the word “ awesome”. I’m retiring it and reserving it for those who truly deserve that moniker – those who are in the military service, now or then, alive or dead- The Greatest generation, the next generation, the gen X generation or this one. Your bravery and sacrifice and that of your loved ones are beyond my comprehension. My gratitude is beyond expression.

You are the true definition of awesome. You deserve so much more than my mere gratitude.

 

 

 

 

 

WHERE AND WHAT YOUR BLISS IS?

 

 

Find your bliss, bla…bla… bla… But why is it so freaking difficult to find this thing that we are supposed to be doing, that is going to make it all make sense, make us happy, give us purpose?

Perhaps because it is a simple thing of childhood. Grownups put “childish things” away and make things complicated.  Grownups go to seminars to figure out how to live.

Grownups make-work, stay busy and take Prozac.

sunflowersincageMaybe it is as simple as this: if it makes you happy to do it, it will make others happy too.

 

What was the first lesson of childhood, besides, “No!”?

The hope of every artist is that his or her work will live on some way outside of itself. To do that, we need each other. It’s hard facing rejection every day, not just of what we do, but who we are at the deepest level.

 

Facing a case of paralysis in starting my next writing project, I holed up at the coast with bottled water, 5 Lean Cousines and a big box of wine looking for my mojo and my inner Hemingway.

Know where I found the spark? Talking to another artist and getting inspired by his work, and feeling gratitude for my friends Joe McDermott and John Cates, fellow artists lending me their kind expertise to help me on a project that I am more excited about than anything in recent memory.

I’m excited about a whole new area and want to spread that excitement like wildfire!

Our gift and our obligation as artists is to infect others : with joy, inspiration, wonder, mystery, outrage… To infect the lives of others with artistry.

 

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Set free the imprisoned splendor.

Browning

CHILD’S POSE

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I have never been age- appropriate, and if and when I am, I will be spiritually dead. I call my conscious lack of concern Spiritual Anti- Aging, and it works.

Recently, I was sitting in a very brilliant beautician’s chair, receiving a subtly wrapped judgment on age- appropriateness and how it didn’t jive with what I wanted. I politely moved on to the next beautician. I do not accept this artificial limit, or any other. Misery is a thing of adulthood, and to a certain extent we create it ourselves. Living in the past or fearing the future is a construction of adulthood. Limiting ourselves according to whether others approve, is something that grown-ups take on, as their lives become something they no longer control or recognize. Rob Bell calls this a crisis of wonder.

A child can grow up in very dark and dangerous circumstances and still see those small shards of light and recognize them for what they are. Heaven and joy and spirit reside in the smallest of things.

Think about the last time you felt contentment, peace and joy; the last time you felt really young and free. Was it because you finally achieved every thing on your to do list? Were there a burning bush and a choir of angels or was it the rhythm of the waves hitting the shore, running or walking out in the beauty of nature, or just a really beautiful connection you shared with someone? These moments are where wonder lives.

A child is not looking for the meaning of life, she is freely living it. I forget this daily. Sometimes this amnesia lasts years.

Recently, I went through a prolonged health crisis. I have always avoided doctors like Ebola, but I found myself seeing a parade of specialists, taking a barrage of tests and not being able to summon my typical energy level to do much of anything. I could no longer run or lift weights and these things had defined me.

During this period, something supremely annoying happened: every time I got in the car, the first song on the radio was Sara Bareilles’ Brave. Every time. This happened somewhere between 70- 100 times in a row. In the song the singer is daring and begging someone to just let the plain, unvarnished truth finally bubble out~ like a kid. It’s far kinder in the long run. Sometimes kid- honesty is shocking or politically incorrect, but it is always like inhaling a burst of fresh air after spending a week locked in a cube- farm.

I realized that, in large part, what were missing from my routine were not vitamins, or hormones, but candor and courage. I am working on this. For me, courage is not adult armor that I put on; it’s stripping down to the trust and loving bluntness of a kid.

 

This Spiritual Exfoliation is the way to a beautiful soul.

Youthfulness is the result of living without chains.

Art, hope, candor, courage and rejoicing are ageless. When we engage in these things, so are we.

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TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE MEETS NORMAN ROCKWELL

 

photo 35 minutes

into a conversation to which I was only collateral damage,

weapons were drawn.

(Ghosts of mother figures at 10 paces!)

The most

sarcastic

controlling

                or guilt- ridden wins.

The Horror!

Ancient family underpinnings freed from

their moth-balled coffins and running the show, while the speakers merely rumbaed like marionettes

unaware the buttons being pushed

were installed decades before today

and came with a life-time factory warranty.

Witnesses turn away, run away or watch, either with the fascination reserved for the psychological profile of Lizzie Borden

or as if re- living their own drama trauma.

And the band plays on and on….

I guess our ancestors are never really gone. photo 5

 

THE PRODIGAL WRITER by L E Kinzie

 

 

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“I have held many things in my hands, and I have lost them all; but whatever I have placed in God’s hands, that I still possess.”

Martin Luther

 

In my twenties, I was a lawyer and proud of it. I was proud of being perceived as powerful and independent, but underneath that pride was a psyche composed of Jell-O and ruled by fear. I had no idea that at the root of most of what I did was greed. I had the first dime I ever made. I was saving for the future. How could that be greedy? I did not trust that there would always be enough and that it was not up to me alone to provide it.

Then, I got married, bought a house and had two kids in very short order. I began to have a mini midlife meltdown in my 30s that lasted for a decade. I had this feeling deep inside that I needed to run away and just escape, but I did not know how to extract myself from the Golden Handcuffs I had willingly put on. I was a horrible person, because everything I did was prompted by the fear of losing that paycheck. I was all bravado and no bravery, because I was trying to “ muscle through” a pervading fear of the future.

God was patiently waiting, while I ignored him and tried to rule and fix my world and myself. Eventually he answered my unspoken prayer for escape.

Someone finally did me the favor of firing me. I went into a tailspin and shook my fist at the heavens. How dare he free me by making me a failure! Who the heck did He want me to be?

Oprah had no answers. I threw myself into every new self- improvement trend that came along and grew progressively angry with God with every failed attempt to become Martha Stewart or Mother Theresa.

Having nowhere else to look, I looked within. I worked a 12 step program on myself and my need to control everything and begin to see that this fallow period was not about God stripping things away from me at all.

The only things he stripped away were my chains. He was actually returning the most precious things to me: the things of childhood. Trust. Hope. Willingness. Surrender. Dreams. Belief. Abandon. Living from the Heart. Knowing I am loved. Play. Play. Play.

 

Finally, I see God was never asking me to change myself, remove all my weaknesses or be strong. He was asking me to remember and return. He was asking me to remember the happy little 10-year-old girl who wrote poems to process her emotions and was closest to God and happiest when she did. I had completely eradicated her memory, but she was who I really was.

Words spewed out of me like a mal- functioning fountain and filled page after page. Eventually all of these words formed a non- fiction book about my long- overdue spiritual and artistic awakening. I started going to artists’ retreats. I started feeling…happy.

Like most writers, I have a non- writing job that pays the bills. Sometimes I get really tired of burning the candle at both ends. But, when that happens it’s because I’ve made a job out of my source of peace and joy, my means of connecting to God and sharing that connection with others. Life and writing become joyous again when I remember to give back to the original Creator all of my creations. Remember, return and repeat, as needed.