zena musings

"I sit there thinking about how much courage it takes to live an ordinary life." ―Colum McCann

I've always been big into ceremony, ritual, celebrations, the marking of meaningful dates. I got married on June 21st—twice—to the same man. Once for the legality, once for the show. Today, six years after my divorce, somewhat suprisingly I didn't even remember this used to be my wedding anniversary until I looked at someone else's wedding photo on Facebook. Even then it took a couple minutes before it dawned on me. "Summer Solstice. Wedding. Oh yeah . . ."

Last year I wrote this. This year? No reaction. No emotion. No melancholy. Simply a historical fact.

Pretty darn cool.

What's also different is that I decided not to make a big deal out of today.

Usually my thinking goes something like this:

Hooray, it's the Summer Solstice! I should dance! Rise to the occasion! What am I going to wear? I have to dress up! I have to take extra special photos and write extra special wisdom and read + share lots of extra special writings and generally make a Very Big Deal out of this extra special day!

Jeezus. With a brain like that is it any wonder I'm exhausted? This is why I ask (beg) God to please direct my thinking, every day, repeatedly. Had I been invited to a Solstice gathering I might have attended and quietly participated. But I don't have it in me to whip up extra special. And anyway, the Divine isn't manufactured. No grand effort is required. It's simply allowed in.

So instead of getting it up spiritually, I let the Divine put me to use. I saw, heard and read things I'd rather not see, hear or read, thankyouverymuch. A K-9 officer killed in the line of duty. Driving on the highway next to a truck hauling pigs, probably to slaughter, praying as one stuffed her pink nose out an air hole. "I'm sorry, pigs. I'm sending you love." Heart fucking breaking. Sitting across the table from a veteran haunted by fears I can't begin to fathom. Locked eyes, unflinching, bearing witness. Because faith was present. Fear or faith—no other choices.

Pretty cool deal. Instead of reflecting on the past, I got to be present for today. Not today as the Summer Solstice, but today as this day.

A day, apparently, that wanted someone to pray for pigs. To pray for the struggling veteran who found God in the rooms of AA many years ago and, as he said, "She never left me." To offer hope and a hug to a woman new(ish) to the rooms of AA. We see you. We know you. We're with you. To pray for a fallen K-9's handler. To read poetry, which I cannot get enough of. To eat crappy Teriyaki chicken and terrific steamed broccoli. To play with Silas. To reach out and offer free photography services to several local organizations with K-9s. To pack + ship candle orders. To read more of Zoli by Colum McCann, a magical and haunting story about a Gypsy woman in Czechoslovakia. To say thank you. To breathe. To wish my jeans weren't so tight. To not eat sugar after yesterday's binge. To offer encouragement. To soak in wisdom. To accept. To change. To choose. To allow.

A day like any other. Not a former anniversary. Not a seasonal turning point. Just what this day asked. Simple as that.

P.S. I do wish you a Happy Solstice. I mean it.

"When I arrived in Carlotta, I thought of the words Marlowe had said to me over fifteen years ago: Dead men don't wear plaid. Huh. Dead men don't wear plaid. I still don't know what it means."

It was like this, but different.

Sometimes at another age, in another time, you fall in love through a single picture and countless words, across continents and oceans, through languages and logic. Sometimes you sense the magic long before you meet. You conjure past lives and fated futures. More often than not one of you is batshit delusional. But sometimes there is the one chance, the one place—you’re both right.

And when at last you meet, the reality is more intense and exciting than your wildest dreams. Nothing ever since comes close. And you discover it's true—love never dies.

Oh, it hibernates. And you’re well aware of the sleeping bear in the cave. You become as familiar with the shapes, shadows and sounds of his slumber as your own breath. The constant lull of his slow, methodical heartbeat pulsing your blood. You recall the memory of his medicine at a moment’s notice.

Maybe you carry the cave with you down the aisle. Plant flowers at its door. Maybe you forget to water them. Maybe vines overtake the mountainside, entwining your heart with overgrown tangles of thick deadwood and strangled greenery, encircling your wrists like handcuffs, stuffing your mouth with leaves. Maybe you forget what freedom feels like. Maybe you don’t.

Then one day, out of the blue, you hear soft grunts and rumbles. What’s happening? Shhh... Don’t interrupt. Just experience the miracle of how in one single big bang of an instant the bear opens his eyes. How the impossible happens: a shift in perception that you did not invite, engineer or plan. How time collapses, vines disappear, leaves dissolve. No past, no future, no in between. Only—

This.

Right.

Now.

That night you dream like you’ve dreamed once before, of a love so urgent and a connection so strong that upon awakening you’re shaky and weeping. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Take me back,” you whisper-plead, as if it’s possible to will yourself anywhere but awake. As if you’d even want to deprive yourself of this first fleeting taste of sweet water after a drought lasting one-third of your life. You’re too old and—let’s face it—too tired to be greedy.

You know what enough is.

What you feel is the vulnerability of hope. The cool welcoming air of an empty moonlit cave, walls decorated with hieroglyphs—love letters written by the bear. You plant flowers at the door. You water them. You bring a candle inside the cave. You smile. You wait. Your feet have never known where the path leads, but the undeniable siren song of your journey grooves on the unknown.

You know there’s no other way but to let go, explore and love more deeply.

Maybe the bear goes with you. Maybe not.

Maybe that's not the point of this story.

21 things that spontaneously flew out of my heart + fingers this morning

1. It’s easier than you think.
2. Whoever you are, whatever your desire, wherever your path — OWN it. Unapologetically.
3. Be real. Be YOU. Playing it cool is dull. (Thank you, Danielle LaPorte, for nailing it.) Enthusiasm is hot. Awkward spontaneity smashes the flimsy weak veneer of hip every fucking time.
4. If right now you’re mimicking someone you admire, keep going. Stay curious. Keep writing, keep moving, keep taking pictures, keep reading, keep exploring and for God’s sake keep obsessively listening to your deepest innermost guts. You will stumble upon your unique way of stringing together words, composing images or moving through life.
5. Within you are undiscovered talents, strengths and treasures you don’t even know exist. They may be different from what you expected. Don’t shrink away. Claim them. Trust them. Follow their breadcrumbs.
6. Keep moving forward. But please please please know it’s OK to rest whenever you need to for as long as you need to. Rest is necessary. Just pay attention to your intuition because timeouts can masquerade as secret ways to coddle your fears.
7. Share your journeys and discoveries with us, honestly and openly. We want to hear your stories. We need the wisdom of your learnings. We long to witness and support the unvarnished truth of you.
8. At times you may feel different than. That’s OK. Different doesn’t mean separate from. You belong and you always will.
9. Change is not an option. Change is the essence of Life. You can’t hide from change so don’t even try. Embrace your lifelong evolution and the personal evolution of every single person you know. 
10. Make letting go a daily spiritual practice. 
11. Those stories you tell yourself in your head? You’re making them up. Stop falling for fiction. Don’t make assumptions. Be willing to change your perception.
12. Practice, practice, practice. There is no mastery. Do your best and eventually your best will get better. Screw perfection. Adopt the attitude that sucking actually ROCKS! Toddlers don’t berate themselves when their legs buckle and they fall on their rumps. They get up and try again.
13. Life is short and unpredictable. ENJOY. Choose wisely. Be good to yourself.
14. Love with unfettered abandon whoever and whatever lights you up! No need to justify, rationalize or explain.
15. That said, being on the other end of someone's obsession feels creepy and gross. If someone you’re attracted to doesn’t share the attraction, let them go. Stat.
16.  Prayer works. Prayer works best when we let go of what we think the outcome should be.
17. Your comfort zone can turn into a Venus Flytrap. Being uncomfortable is often an incredibly good sign. 
18. Remember you’re not in charge. You’re not the Head Coach. You’re simply one important yet temporary player on a really, really big team. Everyone contributes in her or his own specialized way. No one is expected to play the game alone and you won’t carry the ball 100% of the time. Sometimes we’re on the court, sometimes we’re on the bench. We all contribute no matter what. We’re always part of the team. 
19. God has bigger plans for you than you could ever possibly dream of. Get out of your own way. Leave the Big Game Plan to God (S/He holds it anyway). Leave room in your hours and days and weeks and months and years for Life to guide you, dazzle you and use you in magical + unexpected ways.
20. You know less than you think you do. You love less than you’re capable of. Isn’t this marvelous? Keep your beautiful heart + mind open!
21. Love always wins.

The Art of Asking by Amanda Palmer

This TED talk by Amanda Palmer has kicked open a door I've been eyeballing with curiosity. It's a dialog I intend to wholeheartedly be part of. Because the old ways, and many of the current ways, do not resonate with my heart. This does.

“I trust you this much. Should I? Show me.”

Subverting Fear

Smack dab in my busiest time of year. If I were a CPA, today would be April 12th. The work phone is ringing. Orders need packing + shipping. Candles need pouring. Repairmen need calling. Dobies need walking. My upstairs is a hot mess. There are a hundred practical things I should be doing and writing isn't one of them. Nor is sitting in my pajamas at noon, checking FB, reading spiritual stuff or listening to Marianne Williamson. But this is precisely what my soul needs today.

Breathing room. Nourishment. Reassurance.

It is becoming less and less possible to override my spiritual needs.

For large and small business owners there's a frenzied, competitive greed at the holidays that I'm certainly not immune to. The unspoken yet tangible pressure to jump onto the spinning carousel of consumer spending and grab for all the golden rings your hands can hold. BUY MY STUFF! Wallets are open, dollars are begging to be spent and from a business point of view I should be capitalizing the living shit out of this season. I have done so in the past. I have earned a fair amount of money and I have suffered the consequences: year-end mental breakdowns, illnesses, not enjoying my own holidays.

This year I can't. I can't and I won't. This year I'm saying fuck that noise. For me, sometimes living life + owning a business is like being in a packed auditorium with nearly every person in attendance clamoring for attention. It's loud, it's overwhelming, it hurts my soul and I need (frequently) to escape.

I've struggled sending newsletters for two years. Do I need the money? Absolutely. This year has yielded my lowest earnings since I started zena moon in 2000. I don't blame the economy; it's all me -- I love my candles and my company but I'm simply tapped out and ready to move on. I truly cannot wait to hand over the reins to a new owner who will lavish her with the time, love and attention she deserves.

Meanwhile I get to practice accepting that I can't function at the higher levels I used to.

Accepting that I desperately need a break from marketing. Wanting to learn new ways to share my work in the world, which may include hiring someone else to do it for me.

Trusting that I can still earn a healthy living. Not knowing exactly how but knowing I've got skills and am worth it. Being open. Asking for + receiving help from smart, generous souls.

Believing Liz Lamoreux's reminder that "it really is okay to move at your own pace."

Reading this by Anne Lamott, which nails my experience lately:

I pray all the time, but without a deep sense of union or connection. It's like taking a survey by phone. I do it, but I mostly just want to be done. Still, you know what? I think it's okay. Some patches of time are going to be rich in communion with God, Goodness, Good Orderly Direction, even the Gift of Desperation. Other times? Not so much. As always, though, it is the right time to be exquisitely, crazily friendly to myself.

I'm going to keep doing my sort-of-faking-it prayers; my phoning it in prayers. We take the action, and the insight will follow. The insight will be how crazy and isolated I feel when my electrical cord is not plugged into the vast supply of gorgeous, hilarious, heartbreakingly profound and sweet divine supply. This lackluster phase will pass. Then, the joyously plugged in phase will, too.

Knowing (or at least suspecting pretty strongly) that my Higher Power doesn't want me to spend any more of my precious life striving/worrying/pressuring/judging/berating myself to the point of actually looking forward to death because at least then all of the striving/worrying/pressuring/judging/berating will be over and done with.

Saying that I trust my Higher Power even when I'm not sure I do.

Telling the truth, again and again and again. Laying it all on the table, every single day, with at least one other human being. Because God works in my life through other human beings and like Anne Lamott also wrote:

...which was about letting God into your worst drawers and closets, and how healing could not happen if you let God into a living room that had just been cleaned for the occasion. If you wanted healing, you had to show God the mess.

Being honest.

Being open.

Being willing.

Being grateful. Because I am, more than words could ever convey. Thank you for reading this. Thank you for your support and encouragement. Thank you for buying my candles. Thank you for being here.

Flashback 15 years: Marriage, divorce and healing

Fifteen years ago I was laying on a rose-strewn massage table. It's my wedding day. I never expected to get married. Never wanted to. But I'd fallen in the kind of love that feels permanent. For the first time I'd found someone I wanted to commit to.

Like us, our ceremony and vows were unconventional. Drums beat, sage burned. My gay boyfriends walked me down the makeshift aisle in our backyard. Our dogs carried our rings. A dear friend, an ordained Catholic nun, officiated. We promised to be together as long as it served each of our highest good. And for 10 years we were.

Our marriage ended five years ago. As separations go, it was amicable. He helped move me to Spokane. We vacationed together that summer and even spent Christmas together. Bittersweet. Even though I'm now grateful a hundred times over, letting go was an excruciating process. Everything about my life changed. My home, my community, how often I saw my dogs (we shared custody for years), my comfort zone. I was lost and fragile.

For months I couldn't even say the word divorce out loud. When the Marriage Dissolution papers arrived in the mail, I realized how insignificant -- like signatures on a marriage license -- paperwork is. That's neither where our relationship came together nor fell apart. I remember pulling them out for a friend who was spinning out over her own separation saying, "This little 1/2-inch stack of paper? That's all a divorce is. Your relationship still exists, just in a new form. Stop scaring yourself with words." Ha! Exactly what I needed to hear myself.

For a good long while I was angry, hurt and resentful, but that shit's toxic and I stayed committed to my spiritual path. No matter how I felt, I went through the motions of right action. Naturally I licked my wounds raw time and again but mostly I acted as if this was God's will for me. I practiced trust, sometimes well, sometimes crappily. Lots of f-bombs in my prayers those days. Slowly a new life unfolded. New friends. New community. New activities. New everything. Better everything.

My ex and I were estranged for a while. A tough yet absolutely necessary gift. Fire purifies. Today we're building a new friendship. Our lives are progressing exactly as they're meant to. I absolutely love the woman he now shares his life with, and their nutty Dobie.

Healing takes time and dedication. It takes willingness to be really uncomfortable (not my strong suit!) and do awkward stuff like gratitude lists, socializing and being in this moment on a continuous basis. Fortunately I'm surrounded by lots of wise women (and men) I'm willing to listen to and accept direction from. They've never steered me wrong.

Recently I was clearing out old paperwork and stumbled across my divorce papers. I don't need these, I thought. I inhaled with a new awareness and freedom. I don't need these. So I shredded them. Not with animosity or vengeance, simply with release.

The past is over.

Today I'm alive and free in ways I never dreamed possible. I absolutely LOVE my present and I'm excited beyond measure for the future.

But I went through hell to get here. The secret? I kept going.

New years and new beginnings needn't be flamboyant — just let the light in

 
even if it's not possible
to start completely over,
there is still this:
the day, opening into itself
and you, parting the curtains,
seeing all that light come in.

– Maya Stein

I snapped this photo from my bedroom window a few minutes ago, on this frigid 10° first day of 2011. It's a quiet, pressure-free morning at Chez Blažková, just how I like it. Snuggles and kisses with Silas. Belly full of warm food and freshly squeezed orange juice. Prayers prayed. Favorite morning mix CD, courtesy of Lisa Evans, playing. New calendars hung. A few tears shed, missing Lucy. Some poetry. Gratitude.

I don't know what 2011 will hold. I'm not going to proclaim its sensationalism, predict its kick-assedness, or pronounce my wishes for you. They are your own to nurture and claim.

What I am going to do is greet each day and live each day to the best of my ability. Some days I'll touch thousands, some days I'll be still and simply receive. Most days will vary in between. It's all good enough. My job, every day, is simply an ongoing prayer and listening for God's will for me, and the power to carry it out.

Rather than resolutions or even intentions, which feel flimsy and thus easily abandoned, I have a list of To-Do's for 2011. Some are private, but here are a few:

• Join the Y
• Paint my bedroom (eggplant)
• Shoot new candle photos for zenamoon.com
• Talk to back neighbor about replacing fence
• Talk to Ron H & Julie Z about photography
• Send fan mail to Rebekka Guðleifsdóttir
• Setup shop on myshopify or etsy to sell prints
• Do the Valley Girl Triathlon and run a 5K
• Eat more veggies

I need gentle structure and parameters to help move me forward, to continue growing and opening and becoming the woman God intends me to be. My Ego isn't running the show; in fact, it often cuts the lights and sends the audience home. For me, it's about getting out of the way, letting God do God's job, and doing what's in front of me. No grandstanding, or Great Big Plans, just cultivating my gifts, enjoying my life, and as John O'Donohue wrote, living "like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding." For me, it's about allowing, being kind, serving others, living frugally and simply, and stepping into that Light.

In the Mind of God, there is a fully created image of you at your most creative, abundant and joyful. And there is a divine blueprint by which this image would take form in your life. It is not something you can MAKE happen, but it is something you can ALLOW to happen, by making the softening of your heart your primary goal. This is the meaning of spiritual surrender.

– Marianne Williamson

Allow is my word for 2011. Yes, allow it is and allow it shall be.