On the road to good enough, or possibly better

In my family we spoke of saving things "for good."  The long-term effect of that is, whether or not a situation is good enough, I sense that I am probably not.  It is startling, actually horrifying, to discover ways in which I've been holding myself hostage, even as I thought (with my mind, that Quisling) I was evolving, moving forward, leaving old beliefs and patterns behind.  Which I was, with a few searing exceptions.

As do most of my brethren, I have almost maniacal affection for journals and sketchbooks.  This is not new.  Before I began drawing with serious intent, I gathered the budget-priced, spiral-bound subject notebooks at the back-to-school sales and used them to keep track of most things.  Unlike my mixed-media fellows, I do not begin at once to fill those journals with backgrounds, quotes, collages, stenciling, confessions, fears and musings.  With what I now identify as a deep wariness, I put off filling those blank pages with anything for which I have no guarantee of good enough.  Realizing the magnitude of derangement in this belief makes me cringe.  I speak of it here, in the open, because I suspect I'm not the only one.  With me it is the pristine journal and other things which may or may not be explored later.  For you it may be that or something comparable which you deny yourself for no other reason than an underlying doubt of deservingness.  And that you've done it this way for so long, it feels, well, normal.

Browsing through Anne Lamott's illustrated quotes this morning brought me to tears.  In my unwritten (mostly) manifesto, one of the basic beliefs is that everything is process.  Everything takes as long as it takes and that is often very, very long.  It is the unfolding of an intricate origami piece to see how it was created.  All is patience, patience generously drizzled with the tangy-sweet lemon glaze of love.  Evolution is the teacher that causes us to fall in love with ourselves in spite of how unsuitable we think we are.  A self-identified usual suspect.

So once again I am in the midst of process.  As familiar as this terrain is, I hope I am not merely dragging myself around in a circle, covering the same ground again and again.   I trust it is the spiral path described by Ellen Bass and Laura Davis in their book,  The Courage to Heal.  Though the view seems the same, we have actually reached another level.

A few weeks back I wrote about a sense of change.  In a tribute to intuition and my willingness to pay it heed, it seems I was not mistaken.  The newest increment of self-acceptance, enhanced self-care, attempting to usher shame to the exit and not for the first time for it is a stubborn lodger, and intensifying compassion for self and all it/I have experienced, finds me considerably older than I once was, more weary yet more optimistic.  I have become better at quieting the fear-driven mind and linking arms with the love-centered heart and spirit.  I can, I do, show up.  Everything is process.  Here we are again.

(In case this might interest you, I'll share the link to a recent podcast by an energy healer whose work I admire and trust.  Her name is Jo Dunning.  A long-time friend studied with her and introduced me to her work.  In this program, she speaks of the difference between mind and intuition, of radical compassion, especially for self, and explains the way her energy is able to be transmitted even via electronic media, even replays.  And she talks of finding our own way through our greatest difficulties, of not coming to a teacher as anything but an equal.  I found it strengthening.  We each have our unique journey.  http://mywellnessrevolution.com/wow-joreplay/ The replay will, I believe, be available through this weekend.)

The arc of physical therapy begins

While reserving the right to change my mind, retract whatever I say here or at least amend it, I think physical therapy requires an awareness of self at a different level than I have known.  I see the lifelong me growing smaller in the rear view mirror.  This is not to disparage how I am or have been, but to notice how much more there can be, in ways never imagined.

I am moved and inspired by stories of triumph over adversity and don't feel comfortable calling my challenged mobility adversity.  I thought I knew, thought I was capable of comprehending the enormity of spirit demanded of those who push beyond comfort, beyond what might have been limits.  I had no idea.

Yesterday, noting the abundance of books that live with us, the therapist spoke of Dr. Oliver Sacks' work, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.  What was most meaningful to her was not only the way in which Dr. Sacks shared his stories, but THAT he shared them, that he saw in each human drama information and expansion that would benefit and teach us all.  I first read the book years ago.  Here is some information from the official Oliver Sacks site:

Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat
Here Dr. Sacks recounts the case histories of patients lost in the bizarre, apparently inescapable world of neurological disorders: people afflicted with fantastic perceptual and intellectual aberrations; patients who have lost their memories and with them the greater part of their pasts; who are no longer able to recognize people and common objects; who are stricken with violent tics and grimaces or who shout involuntary obscenities; whose limbs have become alien; who have been dismissed as retarded yet are gifted with uncanny artistic or mathematical talents.

If inconceivably strange, these brilliant tales remain, in Dr. Sacks’s splendid and sympathetic telling, deeply human. They are studies of life struggling against incredible adversity, and they enable us to enter the world of the neurologically impaired, to imagine with our hearts what it must be to live and feel as they do.

Dr. Sacks on Hat:

“Short narratives, essays, parables about patients with a great range of neurological and neuropsychiatric conditions, written in a lighter, more informal style than I had ever used before. To my intense surprise (my publisher’s too!) this book hit some nerve in the reading public, and became an instant best-seller.”

The lesson, everywhere in everything and that is not an exaggeration, is always love, is always compassion.  We are given the most flamboyantly disguised opportunities to become altered, altered being a desirable state.  I have written three words, among tips and directions to help me remember how a particular exercise is supposed to look and feel, at the top of my work sheet.  To keep me in my body, on task and out of my weasel mind, they are EXTENSION, ENDURANCE and OPPORTUNITIES.  I guess there will be additional reports from the road.  xo