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[hellowallflowerfriend]

Crying Crying never did nobody no good, no how

That's why I don't cry That's why I don't cry ("Crying, Laughing, Loving, Lying," Siffre, The Holdovers)

We just recovered from an incredible amount of snowfall! I walked in the sparkling, whispering solitude the day it came down heavy and felt the joy of a child again. I had made a snow angel earlier in the day with friends, and I ended the evening walking through the snow with my partner to the only open restaurant near us, its lights glowing softly in the sifting, luxurious, unquiet silence.

As the snow days progressed, I found myself thinking and reflecting a lot. I thought of who I am, what I am, and why I am. I was happy to reconnect with a dear friend. He recommended a movie to me called, The Holdovers, stating that it was perfect for the snowy weather, a wholesome movie, and similar to, Dead Poets Society.

I knew it would help me to watch this movie that is inspiring about teaching; I had been previously able to be "re-inspired," in my path in life by watching Dead Poets Society and Freedom Writers.

Well, I just finished watching the movie, The Holdovers, and I am feeling a lot of emotions. The movie takes place at in the '70's at Barton, a fictional private boarding school for all boys. After watching, I am feeling sorrow, joy, inspiration, trepidation, and a sense of being seen.

I am realizing that I have felt stagnant, uninspired, "squished," controlled, and like a bird with clipped wings in my current path for a while now.

One protagonist of the movie, history teacher, Mr. Hunman, exhibits in the movie the sense of truth, morality, and perseverance that I think all of us who are, "called," or driven, to teach hope to exhibit. The movie has a motif of truth vs. untruth woven throughout, and it also does an incredible job of demonstrating the dichotomy of the privileged educator and the, "blue collar," educator, as well as the privileged vs. the unprivileged student. Mr. Hunman even says to his well-to-do student, '"You know, Mr. Kountze, for most people, life is like a henhouse ladder. Sh*tty and short. Maybe someday, you . . . will appreciate that. If you don't, I feel sorry for you. And we will have failed to do our jobs."

Mr. Hunman's friend, Mary Lamb, the (black) kitchen manager is quick to point out that having more doesn't always mean *having more.* This is especially admirable for her to point out, as she just lost her son in war as he attempted to serve his country in pursuit of his college degree. She also still points this out to Mr. Hunman as she is well aware that her son would never see her son attending the, (all-white) "prestigious," school of Barton.

From Angus Tully's perspective, (Mr. Hunman's student,) we are able to understand that having means does not always mean having, "it all." There is a brief scene where Angus' mother sends him a generic greeting card full of cash on Christmas rather than spending time with her son.

Paul Hunman: The world doesn't make sense anymore. I mean, it's on fire. The rich don't give a s**. Poor kids are cannon fodder. Integrity is a punch line. Trust is a name on a bank.

Miss Lydia Crane: Well, look, if that's all true, then now is when they most need someone like you.

I think watching this movie has helped me to reunite with the integrity of what I think a teacher is, and would ideally be. I have had my voice squashed, my creativity stifled, and I have been in an environment where I have felt controlled and small for a while now.

I know that my heart is called to teach with integrity, transparency, openness, and truth. I will not give up on this pursuit, as drained as a feel. I will continue to follow my heart on my path, to find where I am inspired, and to remember that integrity is not a punch line. I will keep showing up, and even if I made more as a waitress, I will give a few years more as a teacher. I will keep being inspired by the integrity in my heart.

I will not cry about this. I refuse to be cannon fodder.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

*"Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.

'Mom?' he whispered. 'Dad?'"

...

"The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness."

* * * *

I have been thinking about a lot these days. Everything on this earth seems to be waking up -- the flowers, the leaves, the birds, and me. I feel like I am gearing up for one more run, as tired as I am, and I will pace myself, and I will keep going.

I read aloud to my class the excerpt above maybe two weeks ago. As I read it, I felt -- unexpectedly -- the dreaded, "knot in your throat." I did best to skirt around the knot, knowing how many of us will grow to long to see this reflection around us at some point in our lives. I read around the knot knowing how hard this yearning is to feel, and for some of us, more early than others.

I read aloud the old Professor's voice I had only once imagined, and then one day, "heard," through cinema speakers. I had dreamt of his soft, patient voice, as a person I wished I could see in the mirror reflected back at me. I began to hold back tears: "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts."

I took a deep breath, understanding how I found in fantasy the things I so longed for. I realized as I read, were I to stand in front of the mirror, I may see those ghosts, but I would also be fully content to see in reflection the people I love standing around me.

I guess I'm not entirely sure what I am trying to say. Life can be quite unexpected sometimes. Even Dumbledore let us down in some ways. And, lets not even talk about JK Rowling. (But, we will, that's what the * is for.) * * * *

Sometimes in life, on Easter, your Aunt Annie gives you squishy plastic dinosaurs that you can, "shoot," at people. Sometimes you realize that your grandma is a hot sauce champion, and can eat, "Indian hot," paneer. Sometimes it is a gorgeous, sparkling day, and you read hate speech written with Sharpie on a wooden post. Sometimes you get a horrible phone call and you spend hours trying to show someone how much you love them. Sometimes you realize that your dreams are unfolding before your eyes, if you just manage to keep them open.

* * * *

Disclaimer: I am heartbroken, enraged by, and utterly dumbfounded by JK Rowling's hate speech against members of the LGBTQI + community, specifically, the transgender community. I quote her book as a beloved childhood classic, but with much chagrin, because the author is the way she is. I guess it's like they say: don't meet your heroes. I am surprised to say that she let us all down with her hate speech. But, also, I guess I am also in some ways, not surprised.

Don't meet your heroes, kids. Become your own.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

Well, it's been a while, hasn't it? I hope you are all doing okay these days.

I myself have been feeling so up and, (more often,) down lately. (Maybe some of you can relate?) It kind of reminds me of the bad time in college, and it keeps reminding me to try to not make the same mistakes. When it was so hard for me in college, I at that time also felt very alone, confused, and lost. But, this time around, I have a, “road map,” I did not have before.

I think the most frustrating thing is knowing what I should do, and feeling like I am, “watching,” myself not do it. I had developed the attitude of, “Well, at least you can help others that may be stuck somewhere,” but I can’t help but feel incapable all around. Right now, I often ignore even my own advice.

I think I have come to the position that the best thing I can do following my mistakes is to learn from them. I have been going to therapy again, (Go, therapy! I think nearly everyone can use some!,) and I have been trying to learn from my experiences. It’s been a slow thing, and not a straight road, but I think I’m starting to get back on my feet. I saw this great quote,

“You can’t change what’s going on around you until you change what is going on within you.” 

Maybe I shouldn’t think of it as what I, “should do,” and more as what I, “could do.” So, [reader,] what could I, [you,] do?

I could:

Make my bed

Light my candle

Open a window

Light some incense

Do some yoga

Do some breathwork

Go to therapy

Take a shower

Brush my teeth

Do a heart opener

Do legs up the wall

Do 10 minute abs

Go for a walk

Go for a run

Listen to music

Cook

Write

Create

I have done four of the items on my list, and I have a feeling I may do some more. Things on this list help change what's going on within me in a way that I enjoy. Even just this, what I am doing now: I have missed writing so much, but I haven’t really known what to say. I hope that, if any of you can relate to this feeling of being, “stuck,” that maybe we can share this idea -- the first one I've been inspired by for a while. Try not to think about what I [you,] “should do,” and think more of it as what I [you,] “could do.” 

What things can you do that make what's within you, a happy/joyful/peaceful "around you?"

Where I’m at lately, I just think this, “I can try, day by day, to learn from all that happens.” I think that is probably a big part of having a happy life. I have lost some of my naivety, but I still have some roses in my eyes, and I hope to always keep them there. I know that what I focus on becomes my reality. There is still a magic in this world, and I could go out in search of it . . . knowing that I could, perhaps, find it.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

The hardest part is showing up.

I think that we were all at least a little excited when we got word that everything was closing down for a little bit. At the time I thought that I had an entire week open.

I have to say that I was in a very novel place -- on my feet. I wasn’t subtracting from a number in my head when I bought groceries anymore. I wasn’t remembering, “You have thirty dollars until your paycheck; should you really buy the nicer coffee?” When I got news that everything was stopping for a while, who knew how long really, I was fortunate that I could still do some work from home. But, if you asked me, I had been given a great, great gift when things stopped. I knew I finally had the thing that I had longed for, for years: I had TIME.

At first I just celebrated. I swam at the pool, I drank champagne, I stayed up until God knows catching shooting stars on my Switch. I lived in two outfits: a bathing suit and shorts and PJ’s. I went for very long walks that felt like they lasted for hours. I slept the sleep that I felt I never got to sleep. It was awesome!... until it wasn’t. As the days began to slip and slide, I started to grow tired of the lack of... everything. 

I started to miss my friends and family back home. I knew that it would be selfish of me to not be careful, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to be selfish. I started to not really care what I did today because I knew it would blend into tomorrow and the next day and the next day. It scared me a little, because even my antidepressant wasn’t really picking me up. I was very lonely and often focused on the stressful things in my life to be honest. I didn’t like being stressed, so I started to ignore my body and the feedback it was giving me. I slept as much as possible and certainly had moments of not treating myself like a temple.

                                                         ***

Here we are just shy of a year later, and I think we can probably agree that this may have been one of the longest years of our lives. I think we have all shared this experience of feeling like we had time on our side, to feeling like we have been stuck in some sort of strange timeless place. We keep being told, more or less, “Keep waiting, keep waiting.”

This year, I’ve forgotten to appreciate my life at many moments. I have taken large quantities of time completely for granted. When I remember people who are sick, people who don’t have time, I feel so terrible. How can I have let all this time just slip and slide by? How can I let this treasure go with so little thought?

As I write, I am in a moment of feeling more alert, more appreciative, and more present. It did not come without some effort. I stopped for a moment, and I really looked at myself. I noticed certain habits and behaviors accompanied my depression, and they weren’t working for me. 

Namely, I noticed that I stopped looking around me. 

I stopped noticing much beyond what was directly in my face -- what I was sad about. I sought to dumb my loneliness, my boredom, my faltering grasp on hope. If I had a telescope, I was constantly mega-zoomed in the same family of thought patterns, looking in at the part of my brain that said, “joyless, alone, untethered.” I forgot that I had other options of things to “look at,” that I could, “zoom out.” I was so focused on what I didn’t have that I forgot to notice what I could have. I coped with my perspective by being mean to my body, and I ignored my body when it would let me know it was hurting. 

I realized, with so many people sick and wishing for more time around me, I needed to finally listen to what my body was telling me.

I had stopped showing up and choosing to be present.

I had tried to cover up the sadness out of my brain. That wasn’t working. So, I decided to do the opposite, and to let myself sit fully in my sadness for a few moments. I literally sat in silence for two minutes letting myself be sad. I turned off the music, the TV, stopped the scrolling on my phone... I looked at absolutely nothing but the pain inside myself for a moment. 

I did the, “Noting,” meditation technique where I said, “Yes, you feel this. You accept that you feel this. You are letting yourself feel this. Okay, give yourself a break. Zoom out a little now. What do you hear? Focus on your breath. Now just sit and let your brain go. Note what you think. Let yourself think what your brain wants to think. Okay, step back. Give yourself a break. What do you hear now? What is happening immediately around you? Are you safe in this present moment? What is good in this present moment?”

I realized as I finally gave myself space to listen to myself that I was almost completely absent in the present for days on end. I was ruminating on the good of the past or wistfully looking to, “after,” in the future. 

Guess what? 

We don’t know when, “after,” all of this will come. I know that is sad to say, but it is true. How many more days can I blur into the next day, the next day, the next day, if I stay mega-zoomed on what I wish were different? What else can I focus on? Sometimes the best I can do to jolt myself is to just think, “Take a deep breath. Take another. Take another.” 

Something about remembering that I can choose what I focus on helped me remember that I can choose what I do: I can choose to be present. 

I can choose to take my antidepressant and my D3 in the morning, make my bed, look up an inspirational quote, write it on my calendar, roll my shoulders back, keep my spine straight, and keep going. I’m not doing myself any favors looking down a bottle or not getting fresh air. I am usually happiest when I am sober, exercising, meditating, letting myself be creative. I am happiest when I live in the now and letting myself note what is happening in this very current moment.

I didn’t figure all this out on my own. I’m not sure anyone can figure this thing out all on their own. What worked for me was looking for ways I could engage in mindfulness, and realizing that I’m in control of what I give attention to. 

You may find a different thing that works for you. I usually watch Yoga With Adrienne on YouTube, (I like her current series on breath,) and I have started watching Headspace on Netflix. I have noticed that -- if I let myself notice what’s happening, if I remember I can choose what I look at -- I usually start to remember to pay attention. I start to choose what I begin to be present for.

I guess the whole point of this post is to say, I am not sure how long I will stay present when I am present. I don’t know how long I will continue to feel better, more alert, happier. I have noticed trends of what I am and what I’m not doing when I’m happy. I hope that this post helps you think about these things for yourself:

What do I keep thinking about? Have I let myself sit for two minutes, eyes closed, and simply think about this -- no distractions, no numbing, simply me and this recurring thought or worry?

Did I let myself note this, acknowledge it, and accept it? Can I take a step back now to at my physical body and notice what is physically around it instead of within it?

How can I do this, “zooming out,” to see the bigger picture? How can I still show up even in this waiting place we’re all in together?

The hardest part is showing up: Let’s let ourselves show up.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

Sometimes in my tears I drown But I never let it get me down So when negativity surrounds I know some day it'll all turn around

Because All my life I've been waiting for I've been praying for For the people to say That we don't want to fight no more There’ll be no more wars And our children will play One day (one day), One day (one day)

Today I went for a run and I heard children laughing. Their laughter made me smile; I actually got goosebumps thinking of the joy of a child. I thought, “My God, thank God for children. They are so resilient; they remind us how to triumph through chaos.”

I haven’t written for a long time. My mom told me, “Kara, write about how things are hard right now. You will make it positive at some point; you always do.” I had told her that I was afraid to write because I knew that I was sad, and I didn’t want to make other people sad with whatever I shared with them.

My childhood best friend said, “Write about not knowing what to write about.”

All I can say is that things are hard for a lot of us right now. We are in the middle of a pandemic, we are afraid, and we can’t be near each other. I didn’t realize how much this would affect me, to not be able to be in a crowd of bodies, our shared heat making the windows sweat, our faces pressing in, the separation between me and you almost indistinguishable. I didn’t realize how very much I treasured being able to hold someone’s hand, being able to give reassurance through a loving touch. I didn’t know how much I wanted to be able to hug my grandma and squeeze her shoulders, soothing her for a moment, knowing how much pain she feels every day. I didn’t know how much I wanted to be able to scoop my kids at work up in my arms and just say, “Hey, I love you, okay? Never forget that. I love you and I believe in you.”

Being afraid to touch people is so hard for me right now. I am sure we all have our pains in this pandemic. Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming up, and I am not sure I will feel that I am safe to visit anyone I love for the next few months. It really really sucks. That’s the best way I can describe it, as crude as it sounds. I want to hug my Aunt Annie, I want to be able to kiss my grandma Slicker on the cheek, and I want to hold my students’ hands when they feel lost. I feel incredibly sad every day about what we can no longer do right now.

I try to tell myself:

“One day.”

One day we will be able to gather again. One day we will be able to hold each other again; one day we will be able to clasp hands again.  

“One day this all will change.” 

It makes me think of the grand scheme of things. We, across the globe are all responding to this terror and uncertainty. Can’t we find the humanity in each other as we share these same experiences? I want to kiss my grandma’s cheek, I want to give a loving assist to my yoga students in a restorative yoga class, I want to be able to offer a bite of my food without fearing that I could be spreading a deathly illness.

I know this time will pass because all things pass eventually. I know we will have sufferings to attend to, wounds to heal, and fears to repair. I do hope that after all of that is done, we remember the things we so took for granted. Myself, I want to go to a grocery store and pick up each candle in my hand and smell it. I want to touch soft fabrics again and enjoy what they feel like. I want to be able to offer healing touch to people who are in pain. And you know what? I will:

One Day.

The last thing I guess I want to share is this: I listened to a podcast recently, and the guest spoke of being careful not to, “make mountains out of mole hills.” For anyone who isn’t familiar with this expression, it means, “Don’t let yourself be overcome by your daily pains; remember what there is to be grateful for.” The guest spoke of mountains to come. He said, (example -- not a direct quote) “I was so worried about these things with my friends, my work, my family. But those are mole hills. The mountains are things like terminal illness, death, life-altering pains. Things we will look back and say, ‘But everything was so great before. Why was I so distraught?’”

Right now I have a lot of mole hills. Maybe you do too. But you know what? Thank God they are not mountains. It is easy to focus on the pains of our life without remembering how much larger, how much more colossal they could be.

Things suck right now for a lot of us. But, let’s not make mountains out of mole hills. Let’s all keep a focus on that beautiful, hopeful, just out-of-reach, 

“One Day.” 

One day this will be so far beyond us that we may forget, as we sit and eat with our families at a restaurant, as we go to a concert, as we give our grandparents a kiss on the cheek, that there was a time that fear ruled us. I look forward to that day, but I sure hope that we don’t forget what we learned in this time.

No matter how different we are, no matter who we are, we generally want to be able to share some sort of closeness with our fellow humans. There was a time that fear was, “the norm.” If there is one thing we can learn during this time, please Lord, let it be this:

Humans love to love each other. 

One day, we will be able to again.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

“Have you ever seen a flower grow?

If you did, it would slow you down.

It would remind you that real things take time. And, it’s magic too, isn’t it?”

I recently watched the movie rendition of one of my favorite childhood novels. The cinematic version of, Stargirl, was not quite how I pictured it, but it was still true to its form. It still made me cry.

                                                       * * *

About four years prior I had bought and read the book again, felt my heart light on fire again, and cried as I had the first time I read it. I felt that same strange loyalty to the Stargirl I had read about as a young girl. It felt as if I were reaching into the heart of that childhood promise I had made during my first read.

I closed the book, wiping tears from my face, and remembered the promise I had made to myself back then -- that I would never, never forget what I read. As a child, shoulders curled forward, careful, and sweet -- I had promised myself that when I grew up, I would be just like her.

                                                      * * *

Stargirl has her own pet rat that sits on her shoulder as she plays the ukulele and sings. She wears long, sifting skirts, she goes for leisurely walks in the desert, saying hello to animals and plants around her. She represents to me an un-tethered, new soul. Stargirl is a work of fiction, but she has been real in my life.

                                                      * * *

“The next time you see a flower sticking up out of the ground or in a vase, just remember that part of what makes it beautiful is how long it took it to grow.”

I love that Jerry Spinelli wrote of this beautiful soul and chose to give her the name, “Stargirl.” I like to think about the fact that we are all made of the same material as stars, that we are made of stardust. From stardust we come, and from stardust we shall return. I like to think of people as glowing, and when we are at our most fulfilled, and when we are at our truest, we shine the brightest. I think that was what was so inspiring to me about this character from this childhood book. She really, really shined.

Now, when I see a beautiful flower or plant, I leave it in the ground. I high-five trees as I run, imagining their soft leaves as encouraging palms. I tweet at birds as I pass them, and I talk to my cat as if he can understand me. I still have so many other ways I could keep that promise to myself, When I grow up, I want to be Stargirl. I love how much this character, made of dreams, letters, and paper, has become a hero in my life.

                                                      * * *

For now, I will do my very best to slow down and watch the plants grow. I will remind myself that real things take time. I will do all I can to be awed by the world.

We can all learn from Stargirl. We can start with taking a slow, solitary walk in the dessert. We can continue by listening to the nothing and everything that surrounds us. We can become the stars, and the stars can become us. When we glow within ourselves, we can finally join the stellar beauty that surrounds us -- realizing that the magic has been within us all along.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

“The difference between being seen (noticed,) and being judged is the difference between conflict and peace within ourselves, each other, and our world”  - Dr. Becky Bailey

Today I woke up sad. Rajiv came in to visit me in bed, already up for several hours. He saw me trying to go back to sleep, and he encouraged me to get up and run. 

I continued to roll over, grabbing my pillow, protesting. “Get up and run!” he announced. He’s often told me that, “It may the only thing that works for you.”

                                                          ***

I took a lot of coaxing, but eventually I got up, put my socks and tennis shoes on, grabbed my cap, and went for a run, eyes still puffy and bleary even near noon.

                                                          ***

Rajiv is right. Sometimes running is nearly the only thing that works to make me jolt to life. When I feel damn hear empty, he sees me, he notices me, and as a result, I very often find peace rather than conflict in our relationship.

                                                         ***

The sun was warm as we ran. The air felt billowing, cooling, and yet -- warm. I noticed insects, wings glistening, as they floated in the air around me. “Look, Rajiv!” I astonished, and pointed out as I ran.  “We haven’t seen this insect flying yet. Do you think this is the day they all hatched?” My gait turned from one of reluctance to one of gratitude.

I felt my belly inflating with each breath. The jitteriness in my heart found a new, safe place to breathe. I wanted to touch each and every delicate bright green leaf, smoothing it with joy between my forefinger and thumb. I wanted to tweet back at each and every songbird. (Although, I do have to say -- I sang back to several as I ran! Some even replied in song back to me ... or so it seemed!)

I saw that the earth today was truly, truly, gorgeously -- waking up. I couldn’t get enough of it! I opened the window as we cooked brunch. We went on two more walks, glistening in the soft spring sun. I saw that bright, bright green, refusing to give up on opening again. I exchanged furtive, kind smiles with strangers I passed as I saw the day with Rajiv by my side.

The rest of the day involved a study of those darker times -- trauma. I was so grateful for -- and truly -- overwhelmed to see how much I had overcome in even a year of progression in my study.

It made me think of how these walks are different today versus a year ago. 

I shouldn’t and can’t ask a stranger to pet their dog; we are practicing isolation in these moments.

I am not allowed to go shadow my same, sweet teacher, and her reaching students, squeezing their shoulders, massaging away bits of pain that haven’t been spoken yet. 

I can’t hold a hurting person’s hand, squeeze their fingers, and look into their eyes.

A child can’t hold her grandfather’s hand.

A child can’t visit in the same room as her sick mother.

We are going through a new trauma together. We are a social species and thrive on gatherings and contact. How will we all respond to this new trauma of separa-tude -- as mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, caretakers, truck drivers, grocery store clerks, children, teachers, waitresses, and maintenance personnel?

My oh my, do I sure hope that we choose to continue to do our best to see each other. I have seen so much and so many people in this time of isolation. I hope we remember to continue to take that extra moment to reconsider our judgments. I hope we take a moment to choose peace when conflict arises -- taking breaks, looking into ourselves, setting boundaries -- whatever arises, responding kindly to ourselves.

I have to say -- By Golly, do I wish that we all take this moment to choose Peace!

Oh my, may my only prayer as we all come out of this strange time together be this:

May we all find peace within ourselves, each other, and our world.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

We are all broken; that’s how the light gets in. 

- Ernest Hemingway

I believe that every person has his or her own understanding of brokenness. I myself have spent a fair share of time examining this subject. I no longer am pulled by the brokenness of my past, but there was a time that this concept of “broken-ness” ruled me. I have to say from an empathetic stance: The thing about believing that something about you is, “broken,” is that shame almost always accompanies this self-doubt. The worst thing about feeling ripped apart is that you almost always feel unworthy as a result.

One of my favorite current philosophers of shame is Brené Brown. She speaks of shame as being a vehicle of vulnerability. It is so easy to misidentify vulnerability as shame -- especially for a person with any traumatic experiences in his/her past.  

I think that almost every person on this Earth feels shame about some thing or another in his or her life. Maybe it’s that feeling of, “I should be [doing something] more; why am I not?” It may be something like, “How could I amount to this thing?  I’m not worthy of such a thing!” It may be that we haven’t made peace with some part of ourselves.

I believe that, whatever our unexplored doubt may be: that is where the light longs to be.

Brené Brown says, “If you put shame in a petri dish, it needs three ingredients to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence, and judgment. If you put the same amount of shame in the petri dish and douse it with empathy, it can’t survive.”

I believe that shame is a call for love and acceptance. Some people along my own journey have heard my call before, and I am forever grateful for it. All I can hope is that I or someone else are able to hear others’ calls for the same.

Some things have been happening in my life where I have witnessed the shame of others I love. To those of you who who suffer with shame, my prayer, my hope for you, is to know the -- initially -- incomprehensible beauty of acceptance and vulnerability. We are all worthy of love and acceptance. You are wonderfully and beautifully made, and I bow to the Beauty within you.

It sounds strange, but when I walk among the cold Earth and see the delicate, careful curls of leaves unfolding from trees, when I see the light playing among the new bright green, when I see flowers delicately opening -- I think of the light and love that comes with vulnerability. It is so easy to go through life without knowing that greenness, that openness. I worship Light itself on my walks as I think of the journey I took to know it. As I worship this Light, I hope to convey it to others in whatever way possible.

I believe that vulnerability is such a gorgeous, powerful thing. To those who are learning their way into vulnerability alongside me -- please -- let’s all remember that we all have our brokenness, and that is where the light shines in. You are wonderfully and uniquely made, and your light is a powerful, beautiful beacon that deserves to be seen.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

What You Want Most

I have been assisting a yoga teacher at Blue Ridge yoga for three weeks now. I feel so lucky to be able to work with her because I think that my imagined vision of instructing yoga is (damn-near) her reality of instructing yoga. 

She starts each session off with a gentle, cleansing savasana, or reclined breathing pose. As yogis lie on their backs and breathe, I have had the honor and pleasure of walking around and giving essential oils to each student. She usually reads her thoughts/observations to her students as they breathe. These thoughts eventually are offered up as a sort of mantra or point of concentration for the yoga session. 

She began our recent shared practice with this quote:

“Discipline is choosing between what you want now, and what you want most.”

This concept really hit me. I have been feeling complacent and slightly stuck lately. I think that this whole thing of moving to another state and not knowing people here has really taken some sort of toll on me. I have been feeling tired and subdued without my family and friends-who-are-family here with me. Of course, I can travel to see them, but it can become a bit of a tired thing, not to mention that I am really hoping to find my own friends-who-are-family here in Knoxville.

When Casey said this quote, I thought about how often I have chosen to be shy or withdrawn around new faces instead of pushing myself into unfamiliar territory. I thought of how I have chosen what seems immediately comfortable in this winter season -- blankets and television -- over what I really want -- health and wellness. It can be so easy to choose what we want now over what we want most. 

The things I want most require action from me, and often that action is uncomfortable. Guess what? Uncomfortable action is ... discipline! I am repeating this phrase to myself often these days... “what I want most...”

In the final resting posture, lying on our backs, palms face-up to receive, Casey said, “Discipline is aligning your vision with your actions.” I felt a little silly in my own mind. I thought, “Kara, you have been hiding at home instead of coming to classes here. You have been choosing what is comfortable and easy over what pushes you and helps you grow as a person.”

I am going to do my best to remember, “what I want most.” What I want most is wellness and being able to heal others. How can I heal others if I am in some ways neglecting myself?

I hope that this post helps you all think of that barrier between what we want now and what we want most. If they are one and the same for you, I send my joy and a great big hug your way. If what you want now and what you want most are two different things, I hope to send you a shared commitment to discipline, as well as a great warm hug! 

We are all just students doing our best to learn our way through life.

May the divine in me honor the divine in you.

Namaste, friends.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

Treat those who are good with goodness, and also treat those who are not good with goodness. Thus goodness is attained. Be honest to those who are honest, and be also honest to those who are not honest. Thus honesty is attained.  - Lao Tzu

I have been the director of an after-school program for five months -- going on six -- now. It’s been a whirlwind of questions, stress, and growth. When I started, the program was in some ways chaotic and unguided. I stepped right into shoes that felt too big for me. “Me?!” I thought. “How can I lead 10 + staff, let alone 100 children?!”

I have been trying to stick to my roots: goodness, honesty, and grit. I am willing to pull more than my weight if I need to -- although I would like to cultivate an environment which encourages everyone to pull their own weight. I try my very best to lead by example when it comes to goodness and honesty. 

I spoke this week about, “Adverse Childhood Experiences,” or, “ACE’s.” I explained to the staff that Adverse Childhood Experiences are any traumatic experiences a child may come across that could potentially influence their view of the world / their way of interacting with it. Generally, children who have experiences, “ACE’s,” have a largely detrimental experience in their lives. Adverse Childhood Experiences include, but are not limited to:

1.  Unhealthy/Imbalanced physical and/or mental health 2. Physical, emotional, and/or sexual abuse 3. Emotional and/or physical neglect 4. Parent(s) with substance abuse disorders, mental health disorders, (attempts at suicide, etc,) 5. Parental separation/divorce 6. Parental incarceration  7. Household dysfunction, (common yelling, unusual events of trauma/violence) 8. Oppression and/or fear based on class, ethnicity, religion, nationality, etc., 9. Unstable income -- fear based on financial means 10. Hostility and/or bullying 

There is research that says that after XYZ number of Adverse Childhood Experiences, a person is At Risk. This may mean that he or she will underperform academically. He/she/they might act out in other ways. This person may turn to unhealthy means of finding a semblance of peace or happiness in their life.

Today, I taught a yoga class to some of the people who work with me at my after-school program.  To see them breathe deeply, to find heat in poses and to stretch and find grounding, I felt so happy. To see each of them leave, they looked happier and calmer than when they came in. That is all I can hope for, that any one person may find grounding, calm, and stillness, no matter what his/her experiences may be.

These women work with children who are At Risk -- whether they fully realize it -- every day. I am so happy to see that they lead primarily from Goodness and Honesty. Their example teaches me every day to do my best to reach toward the same.

I hope that as time goes on, we as a team continue to stretch toward Goodness, Honesty, and Grit. These are the antedotes for childhood trauma -- our own or others’. The world needs loving warriors, and I can’t tell you how proud I was today to be in a room full of them.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

Om Gam Ganapateya Namaha

One full translation of, ‘om gam ganapataye namaha,’ is more or less, “salutations to the remover of obstacles.”

This prayer, this Sanskrit chant, is derived from the idea that Ganesha, the avatar that takes the shape of an elephant, removes obstacles. As someone who is not Hindu, I sought to translate this wisdom into a more familiar language for me. As I went for a walk today, I faintly sang this song, “Om Gam Ganapataye Namaha.” I felt rejuvenated without understanding the meaning of the words, only feeling the energy of the song.

I believe that Christians see Jesus as the remover of obstacles. The life of Christ has often been described as, “the deliverance of sins,” and there have been verses of the Bible devoted to Jesus’ time meditating in the Garden. It was written that Jesus came across demons in the garden, and they tried to tempt him during his time of prayer. But, he turned away from chaos; he turned away from sin. He came out of the garden without eating or drinking for forty days.

I don’t know if it is ever going to be my duty to neither eat nor drink for forty days, and I definitely hope that is not the case. But, I like the idea that comes with both the Hindu prayer I studied today, and the scripture that talks about Jesus’ time moving past the obstacles in His path. I think there are a lot of people who would want to argue over which Deity is, “correct.” I personally think this all goes against the point. Generally, when it comes to religion and spirituality, I think of that song that says, “We have Different Names for the Same Thing.”

I can’t imagine an All-Knowing, Benevolent Creator caring about the syntax of Who we call What. I can only imagine that same persona caring if the Heart of what we believe is Kind, Loving, and True.

To be frank, I am not even sure I believe in a Benevolent Being creating all that there is. This concept is comforting; don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t take the time to argue that **There Is No** All-Knowing, Benevolent Being. I simply want to say, “Thank God I’m not God:

It isn’t my place to judge anyone, and it isn’t my place to, “Save,” anyone. I would like to think that it is no one’s place to Judge nor Save anyone. I am willing to share any Love and Kindness I have grown to know along the way in my life. All I can really pray, all I can really ask, is, “Dear Universe, may obstacles be removed from my path. May obstacles be removed from all Loving Paths. May I come to equally know and to equally share Your Love.”

People have often asked, “But, wait, are you a Christian?” “But, what do you believe?” “You have to believe in something!”

I believe in everything and nothing. I believe that life is full of purpose and chaos. I don’t believe in fate, and I don’t believe in signs. All I believe is that Love is the Greatest Power of Them All. If you believe in Love, then we Both believe in the Remover of Obstacles.

Today I meditated in a Catholic prayer garden. I bowed to each engraving on the designated memorial marker. “Herndandez. Shipp. Brown.” I read the names of deceased loved ones with carefulness and with respect. I stood in front of the divine statue (Catholicism), the murti (Hinduism) of The Virgin Mary. I prayed the memorized prayer from my childhood: “Hail Mary, full of Grace. The Lord is with Thee. Blessed are thou among women, and blessed is the Fruit of Thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of death. Amen.”

I felt that same idea of, “We have Different Names for the Same Thing.” I cannot imagine any all-knowing Deity becoming angry that we had different names for the same concepts. I looked with love at the sculpture of Mary, and I thought of the love that comes with sacrifice and with forgiveness.

I personally am not sure that there is any Singular Deity on this earth, but if there is, I pray, 

“Om Gam Ganapataye Namaha.” I hope that, Whoever, Whatever you Are, You remove all obstacles, and that you Open my Life up to the Fullness of Love.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

"If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration." — Nikola Tesla

I have been feeling like I need to bow unto the Earth for energy. My energy has felt slight and depleted overall. I have been looking to nature to restore my depletion. In some ways, She has been able to renew me. But, overall, I have been feeling like a glass half empty.

I have put a lot -- perhaps too much -- into things that ask for things from me rather than giving me restoration. The main relationship I think of does not necessarily be need to be called to name. The last couple of times I went to yoga teacher training, I spoke of this particular relationship. I spoke of it after a meditation training. My fellow students offered a prayer in honor of my absence, such a beautiful thing. But, prayers can only do so much without a lack of boundaries.

So many of my peers asked me, “Is she okay?” And I said, in some ways, yes, and in some ways, no. I always thanked them. “Thank you for remembering,” I said. “Thank you for thinking of her,” I rejoiced. But, I felt that weight. I felt the weight of loving someone who does not know how to love me in equal. The number of hours I have despaired for her, the number of hours I have supported her... and for her to say tonight: “I think you are speaking from ego and not from love.”

It is not a concern of mine to prove nor disprove whether or not my support is true, and to prove whether or not I have been leading from love. I think Love becomes obvious with time. If love is not withheld and not observed after time, I can only hope that Her Echo will be seen. I cannot spend all my life supporting something or someone who will not see it. Maybe in retrospect it will become clear. But, to live every day, feeling so much distraught, fear, and pain for another... I am a human too, and I have to draw a line somewhere.

The line is drawn today.

The line is drawn today.

I am on my own journey of health and love. I cannot move forward in it feeling so much pain and sadness in my own life. So, I must move forward, as hard as it is. I cannot be a teacher if I let someone drain me of life. I hope that one day she sees how much love I gave her and how much I supported her through hard times.

My energy, frequency, and vibration are low because I have been giving too much of them away. Today is the end of all of that. I will share my energy, frequency, and vibration with others -- but I will not become empty from it. If a person cannot see my love, my support, my kindness-- for what it is-- I cannot despair. I can only move forward knowing my limits, my boundaries, what it takes for my glass to become half-empty.

I hope that none of you know what it is like to love someone who takes your love for granted. If you do, I hope you have the strength to move beyond it. I hope you never give up on yourself, even in the face of denial from someone you have loved so much. 

We only have one life. We can only love and support a hurting person so much. May your love heal others and help them grow. If your love is not appreciated nor reciprocated, may you pursue other healthy paths. Protect your heart, and protect your love. You only have one life; you cannot live it to the fullest if you are empty.

May the Divine Light in me Honor the Divine Light in You. Namaste, friends.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

For it is in giving that we receive. -- Saint Francis of Assisi

During our last yoga teacher training, we talked a little bit about Christmas traditions. It made me think about my family and the things we have done to honor this special holiday which is so important to so many. 

At the end of our weekend training, we shared our different holiday traditions with each other. We sat criss-cross in a circle and told each other the things which make this day so special to us.

I remember a few memories with so much fondness. Kelsey, my twin sister, usually woke up before my younger sister, (Keaton,) and myself. She would climb into my mom’s bed and wait until my mom said it was time to wake up. One morning, Kelsey heard something -- who knows what -- maybe a plane flying overhead. My mom told her that it was the sound Rudolph’s nose makes, and that was more than enough to help Kelsey quiet down. As an adult, I think this is so sweet and precious, that my mother helped my twin sister ignite her imagination: “That is the sound Rudolph’s nose makes!” I imagine my mom whispering it, covers warm and safe, Kelsey lying next to her, just a little girl and full of wonder and hope.

The day after Thanksgiving, we always put the tree up. Some of my favorite ornaments included my mom’s antique ornaments, so fragile and light. I have always been afraid to touch her antique ornaments. They were so breakable, so beautiful, and so full of history. Some of the ornaments were even passed down from my great-grandmother!

We also put up a few ornaments my mom made as a little girl -- including a, “snow globe,” which was made inside one of those plastic containers which toys came inside of out of those quarter machines. There is a little tiny snowman and tiny, “snowflakes,” in it. I have spent several hours perhaps looking at this ornament, imagining my mom as a little girl, with her small hands and hopeful smile, creating a miniscule Christmas scene.

There is a sparkly, beautiful angel that I gave my little sister, made out of a clothespin, which I remember spending money on (from my Mom, of course,) at a school function. I love this ornament because of how happy it made Keaton when I gave it to her.

My mom also used to put skiing tickets on our tree. These are from when my mom and my dad were married. I remember watching her face, the sadness and loss that she seemed to try to hide as she placed these tickets on the tree. They are some of my favorite ornaments because they tell a story of love and recovery.

My great grandma was also quite a master at crocheting. She made some ornaments, the, “God’s eye,” ornament, as well as a miniature basket full of yarn which she crocheted. I love the family history that hangs on evergreen branches each year.

My mom created a tradition with us on Christmas Eve which is in some ways non-traditional. We went to Mass at the Catholic Church, and then we came home to eat appetizers for dinner. We ate summer sausage, cheddar cheese, crackers, midget pickles, and mozzarella sticks. We baked cookies for Santa and set out carrots for the reindeer. We even sprinkled the lawn with reindeer food. Afterward, we were allowed to unwrap one present, and we always pretended to not know what was inside. But, every year, my mom neatly wrapped matching pajamas for us Wylie sisters. We almost always took a picture in our pajamas together in front of the tree.

The next morning, we would wake up -- Kelsey first, then Keaton, then me. (I have always been a sleepy head!) We weren’t allowed to go downstairs until my mom played Christmas music. Then, we would run downstairs, and yell excitedly about what Santa brought.

The carrot always had a big bite out of it. The cookies were always left in crumbles. The milk glass was empty. My mom even admitted to going outside to pick up the reindeer, “food,” we put out, (straw and sparkles,) so that we would continue to believe in Santa.

Christmas morning, the first thing I would do is kneel by the tree and pray. I thanked God for giving us Jesus as I sat by the sparkly tree. (How many times had we played, “I Spy,” looking at that tree before?) I bowed my head and thanked God that He gave my family someone who loves us so much.

My mom and dad would sit by the fireplace and watch us unwrap our generous gifts. My dad had a way of laughing, almost sounding like Santa himself, that sounded something like, “Oh-Ho-Ho!” His eyes would sparkle as he watched our happiness unfold on Christmas morning.

As I grew older, I started to question things. I had always been such a believer, but I started to wonder how Santa could be anyone but my mom. Heck, even the labeling on the presents looked like they were in her handwriting, just shakier. My wish-lists to Santa began to mostly be letters of gratitude. In my letters to Santa, I told Kris Kringle how grateful I was for everything he did for us and how much I loved him, suspecting all along that it was my mother.

After my parents’ separation, it was all girls for the first time: it was me, my twin sister Kelsey, and my younger sister Keaton. We also had Molly (our dog,) there with us. My mom had already started a tradition that we could not go downstairs until we heard Christmas music resounding downstairs. Upon hearing those beautiful notes, we would run down the stairs and first look in our stockings. I usually trailed behind, looking deeply at my mother and knowing that she was probably Santa, knowing from our shared nights together the tears which it took to leave my father.

My mom let us eat a cookie and some Christmas candy for breakfast, and she usually prepared Stratta (one of the last vestiges of our German heritage, an egg casserole with cheese, sausage, and onions.) We opened our presents one-by-one, and usually had a, “fashion show,” after all the gifts were unwrapped.

Fast forward to this year:

It will be the second year that my mom has lived in her small, one-story home. My sisters and I have never lived in this home, but it still feels like Christmas. I think this is because, in our minds, wherever my mom is feels like home. Kelsey, Keaton, and I will spend the night with her on Christmas Eve, and we will eat appetizers for dinner. Eventually, my mom will invite us to open one present. We will pretend to not know what it is, but we will know that it is our matching pajamas. We will put them on, full of smiles, even as adults -- our matching pajamas, and we will line up for a picture in front of the tree.

I will search the Christmas trees for my heritage hanging on a hook. I will stare deeply at the flickering lights. I will not pray, but I will meditate on the beauty which surrounds me in my life. I will think of all the sacrifices, the love, and the beauty which my Mom has made to make my life so meaningful.

We will have a big sleepover, all girls. My mom will wake before us, and she will play Christmas music loudly enough to wake us. We will get up and walk into the living room to see the presents she snuck out overnight -- as if Santa was still real. We will take turns opening presents, one-by-one, savoring the beauty that comes with sharing love in the form of gift-giving.

We will eat cookies, candy, and stratta for breakfast. 

I believe still more than ever in the Love which surrounds this holiday. I still kneel by the tree and reflect on everything which I am grateful for. I hope that each and every one of you find Love more than anything else during this holiday season. I hope that the Good in me helps grow the Good in you. If any of you are having trouble finding meaning, love, or purpose during this time, please feel free to reach out to me -- your Wallflower Friend.

I also want to give a special dedication here to my mother, Joie Rathbun Wylie. Thank you, Mom, for making sure that the Magic always lives on with our little family of girls. I love you and am so grateful to have learned the Reason for the Season through your example.

Merry Christmas everyone, and Happy Holidays! Namaste, dear friends.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees. The greatest work that kindness does to others is that is makes them kind themselves. - Frederick William Faher

November 13th was World Kindness Day. I saw a lot of posts on my various social media accounts honoring several individuals, including (but not limited to -- a personal favorite of mine -- Mr. Rogers,) on this day. It made me think again of the tree -- perhaps my favorite creature on this Earth. I love that trees give so much and ask almost nothing in return. They simply throw their roots out in all directions, and give home to those who seek it.

I have been thinking of people who have not gotten to see kindness in their lives. At one point, I put myself in that category. Don’t get me wrong: there were people who were kind to me. But, I was not able to see kindness for a while. I, like some of you now, like some of you in the past... was unable to see kindness for what it was-- a simple sprawling of love, a simple openness without anything asked in return.

What I love about kindness is that it is equal parts teacher and student. A person who learns kindness teaches it. A person who teaches kindness learns it. Kindness becomes a safe space -- a tree, if you will -- that provides shelter, no questions asked. The tree shelters all kinds of creatures and gives them a space to grow.

To circle back: if you are a person who does not know Kindness, may I first implore you to see it within yourself. Those who suffer seem to seek, (or at least, from my experience,) Kindness above all else. If you are able to find kindness in yourself, you may be able to begin to ask for it in others. If you are unable to find Kindness in yourself, my prayer is that you may experience it in another.

When I was broken, when I was in shambles, the first redeemable trait I was able to Love about myself was Kindness. I thought to myself, “I am Dirty; I am unworthy; I am a Sinner; I am lowly... but I am Kind.”

At that point, I had gone through several years in a Faith that honored Purity. Unfortunately, I was not in a position, (through difficult life experiences,) to honor that Purity that was asked of me. But, I stopped, and I asked myself, “Can’t I still be Kind? Why can’t I still be kind?”

At the time, the best thing I could do to honor Kindness in myself was to take a step back. I stopped looking to the places I usually looked for answers. I did a lot of research. I read online: I looked up articles about parenting, about healthy Attachment, about healthy Communication. A book that changed my life was, Nonviolent Communication, (Rosenberg). One of the first things I read in this book was that Using nonviolent communication Teaches nonviolent communication.

I at first dealt with some backlash. People who I loved said, “Why are you talking like this?! You aren’t my therapist!” My own sister said several times over, “You aren’t my mother!” I did not want to be her mother; I did not think of myself as anyone’s mother. But, I did begin to align with the idea of the Tree as Mother. If you sprawl your roots out, full of love and sustenance, full of non-judgment and full of safety, you may begin to demonstrate Kindness.

Recently I spoke with some of my fellow students at yoga teacher training, and I admitted that I was afraid to use the word, “pray.” I was afraid to tell someone, “I will pray for you.” It is not that I fault anyone for prayer; it is simply that I do not believe that I pray. I hope for people; I hold space in my heart for them, and in some ways ask The Greater Beyond, (or God,) to help them. But, I do not close my eyes and say prayers anymore.

One of my friends at yoga teacher training said, “It’s okay if you say that you are praying for them if you are hoping for kindness for them. Just be kind.”

I at one point met a person that described herself as a, “believer,” and asked me if I was too. I didn’t know how to respond. I believe in So Much! I believe in Love. If what I believe in doesn’t have the same name as what she believes in, am I a non-believer?

When I asked my friends among me, “Can I say that I pray?” hearing them say -- more or less -- yes! Made me so happy. I could see that we were observing the same Kindness even if we called it different names.

It’s like that song, “We have different Names for the Same Thing.”

Friends, if you do not know Kindness today, may you find it within yourself. You are worthy of kindness. Everyone is worthy of kindness. I believe that Kindness is perhaps the best and strongest Thing there is: if you learn kindness, you inevitably teach it. If you teach kindness, you inevitably learn it. When the roots of kindness are thrown out in all directions, they make new Kindness trees. The most beautiful thing that learning Kindness does is that it increases it in all who seek it.

Namaste, friends. May the Light in me Honor the Light in you.

May you find Kindness today and every day, not only in others, but also -- especially -- within yourself.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

“A physical nausea, prompted by all of life, was born the moment I woke up. A horror at the prospect of having to live got up with me out of bed. Everything seemed hollow, and I had the chilling impression that there is no solution for whatever the problem may be. An extreme nervousness made my slightest gestures tremble. I was afraid I might go mad -- not from insanity, but from simply being there. My body was latent with shout. My heart pounded as if it were talking.” -- Fernando Pessoa from The Book of Disquiet, 1982.

Let’s talk about something which we all seem to agree to not talk about: depression.

The first time (in hindsight,) that I can say that I was depressed dated back to when I was a child. I was an insomniac at nine years of age, and the worst part of my night was lying on my back and watching the fan blades spinning overhead. My eyes got caught up in the swirling, impatient spinning overhead, and I often had cold sweats as I couldn’t find sleep.

At this point, I was having a hard time in school academically. My grades were suffering: I couldn’t sleep. I tried a lot of things as I couldn’t find rest: I would go to my mother, and she would sometimes make tea for me. I would pace the halls, clutching my teddy bear in a cold sweat, crying because I was so tired but couldn’t find rest. I would go to my twin sister’s room, and sometimes she would turn the radio on for me and tell me not to worry. I remember when the song, “I can see clearly now that the rain has gone,” played. For some reason, this song prompted me to take a deep breath, then another, then another, and slowly, without my realizing, I found a delirious, exhausted sleep.

Sometimes when I couldn’t sleep, I would walk down to the kitchen and find my mother crying. I can’t remember what exactly was said, but I remember encouraging her to leave my father. I told her to be happy. I remember thinking it was God’s hand that made me unable to sleep at exactly the time that my mother needed support.

When I went to my mother for help, she often made, “Sleepy Time Tea,” for me. I drank the hot, minty liquid with the hope that it was a magic potion. “Please help me sleep,” I begged that minty, warm mug of love.

I went to my mother one night and she told me to think of happy things, to think of butterflies, the beach, of playing outside. So I did. I was so tired. I closed my eyes and envisioned these things. Butterflies flitting among my mother’s beautiful garden. Waves crashing on the shore, again and again. Laughing with friends.

I lost myself.

So tired, so outside usual comprehension, I laughed.

I laughed and I laughed, as I felt some sort of surreal, gorgeous peace surrounding me. I felt like I was Good, and Good was me. I kept laughing until my mom opened the door and asked, “Kara, what are you doing?”

I said, “He’s playing with me.” I felt that God was making me laugh.

In my mind, God had found me at last. I was absorbed in a sense of bliss, as I, eyes closed, meditated on peace and love. In my mind, God had found me, and had surrounded me with insurmountable Love, as I, exhausted, had prayed for his refuge.

I fell asleep right after.

When people ask, “When did you first start meditating?” I want to say, “As soon as I began to feel anxiety.”

The tricky thing about anxiety is that its twin is depression. You cannot go through adrenaline-surged moments without feeling that lackluster, heavy, emptiness that follows. I always say, “I have anxiety, and as a result, I have depression.”

I began closing my eyes and trying to take deep breaths when I was about nine years old. I began thinking of physical objects, of things that I thought were beautiful. This gave me a small sense of peace.

It wasn’t until I was in college that I had the space and time to examine myself and ask, “Is this normal?” I was a shell of whoever I once was. I made an appointment to be screened at a mental health clinic on campus.

I went to therapy, and after a lot of talking, I “undigged,” some roots which were not giving me nutrition. With the help of a professional, I asked, “Why does this root try to grow when a rock is blocking it?” I spent a lot of time talking about those blocks.

After two years, my therapist suggested to me that I consider medication. At the time, I was still prideful. I thought, “People who are sick need medicine! I’m not sick!”

But, I was almost obsessed with those pains from my childhood. The more I understood, the more responsibility I felt to rid my sisters of that pain. I tried to force my journey on them, but they either were not ready for it or never needed it.

Eventually, I started taking an anti-depressant.

It has been five years since I first started taking and SSRI, and I am a healthier person as a result. My dose has ebbed and flowed: at one point I was taking almost the maximum dose, and now I am trying to wean myself off of it.

I told a family member that I take an anxiety/depression medication, and she said, “I would have never known!” 

Here I am to try to end a part of the stigma.

I have anxiety and depression. Sometimes, as soon as I open my eyes, I am awash with sadness. But, I know that this sadness isn’t, “real.”

For my friends who suffer with mental health disorders, I want to say: “It’s okay if you need medication to get you through a hard time. Your mind is a complicated organ, and to feel ashamed of needing medication for your mind is just like a diabetic being ashamed to need to take insulin. Sometimes our organs need things we cannot explain.”

The idea is to be able to wean myself off of medication. The more I look to meditation, yoga, mindfulness, healthy living, running... the less I need my medicine.

But, I am here to try to de-stigmatize it:: I take an anti-depressant, and that is okay.

As time goes on, I hope to get off my medication. Maybe I will; maybe I won’t. I will listen to my body.

But, for now, I find rest. I can sleep at night. I don’t spend my walks worrying about my sisters anymore. I am able to stop and smell the earth around me again. I am able to close my eyes and breathe deeply, to observe the earth around me again. I no longer feel that, “extreme nervousness.” If I were a knot, I would be loosening by the day.

Friends, please take care of yourself -- no matter the stigma. You have one life, and you may as well live it finding rest and peace.

If you feel like you cannot find peace after some extensive attempts to do so, please do not feel ashamed to look to other means of help. I am here to tell you that it has changed my life. I am who I am because I asked for help.

Namaste, friends. May the good in me honor the good in you. Please take care of yourselves today and every day. And, if you ever need a friend to help you along the way, please feel free to come to me, your Wallflower Friend.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. -- Martin Luther King, Jr.

Yesterday, Sunday, October 27th, was the Hindu holiday, Diwali.

I can’t say that I am a Hindu, as much as I feel that I cannot say that I particularly practice any one particular Faith. I like to do my best to honor the Love that can be found within Every Religion. I often come back to that verse from Death Cab for Cutie, “We have Different Names for the Same Thing.”

What I love about Diwali is that the root of the holiday comes from Good overcoming evil, of Light overcoming darkness. I think this concept is something anyone -- everyone -- can connect with.

When people celebrate Diwali, they create something called a, “rangoli,” (Ruhng-ohl-ee.) The rangoli is a beautiful, swirling design -- similar to the designs we see in mehndi -- in henna designs. A person usually creates their rangoli outside, on the ground outside their door, using vibrant, fine powder. They swirl it in patterns by hand, and they place tea candles throughout the design. The design is meant to honor the light, the vibrance, of Good overcoming evil. With time, the powder is whisked away by the wind. I like to think that the beauty, the brightness, continues to mix with all of its surroundings.

On Sunday, I was at my yoga teacher training at Blue Ridge Yoga. I always learn so much during these weekends. We learned how to do asanas (ah-sahn-ahs, Sanskrit), (or postures/poses,) which involve twisting the spine. My back got a lot of lovely cracks and pops this weekend! We also went over the anatomy of different muscles in the back, along the chest, and along the belly. I was also able to teach a mini-session with a friend from Blue Ridge Yoga. It was so exciting to be able to begin to share healing with people, even if it was for only about seven minutes!

But, my favorite part of my training this weekend was the meditation which a teacher named D’lene led.

First of all, if you heard D’lene talk, you would already feel soothed. She has a voice that is both gentle and soft, but also has the timbre of a soprano. A classmate from our teacher training described her voice as, “liquid gold,” and I honestly think this is a pretty apt description of her speaking voice.

We were all invited to lie on our backs in the position called, savasana (Shi-Vah-Sin-Ah, Sanskrit.) This word is translated as, “corpse pose.” When people lie in this position, they are on their backs, hands to their sides, palms up. I have heard some teachers describe savasana, as a time which yogis practice their own death. They breathe, they slow down, and they go from listening to the world around them, to feeling their bodies, to listening to their breaths, and then... perhaps, wonderfully, unbelievably, to nothingness.

I of course thought of a person I have recently lost, my Papa, as I lay in this pose. (I hope this doesn’t sound morbid; to me it had a certain beauty.) I got a little teary-eyed as I thought of how short life is, of how even human existence is just a blip in the continuum of everything. I thought of how I am just a blip in the blip...

I know that this is a thought which panics some people, but for some reason it has generally brought me a sense of perspective. Everything I know is short, so why shouldn’t it be sweet? Why shouldn’t I pursue Life, Love... why not make the very most of it?

As D’lene continued our winding down -- our meditation -- I was soothed by the sounds of sleep. Some of the people around me -- in fact, the person right beside me! -- had fallen asleep listening to D’lene’s sweet voice. I was hit with another wave of emotions; tears came to my eyes.

Here I was, lying within arm’s reach of someone I hadn’t even known for more than three weekends. And, she was sleeping beside me! D’lene was able to create an atmosphere which allowed weary, worn souls to rest -- including my own! What other place could people -- strangers really! -- have rested with such ease?

Strangely, as I heard the deep breathing of sleeping kindred spirits, I began to think of the world as a whole. I imagined the world spinning beneath my reclined, resting body. I thought of how finite everything is, and I thought of the bodies resting around me. I thought of how small my body was, lying on this planet as it spinned, and for some reason, it made me feel so big, so Great!

I began to think of the Light that is within each of us. I began to think of the different hues with which our lights shine, and how every single person we meet in life has his or her own unique vibrancy. I thought of how this day was Diwali, how Light always overcomes darkness, and I thought of my own darknesses I have found Light within.

Friends, if you are feeling hurt, if you are feeling pain, I hope you can find some solace. I have walked similar paths. I used to think of the Light as something distant, unfathomable, at the end of the tunnel.

Keep your eyes on the light, and do not give up. Light always overcomes darkness. Good always overcomes evil.

I am not certain that there is some reason for everything. I suppose it is something I cannot prove nor disprove. I used to shake my fist the world, I used to say, “Why me?” I used to ask, “If there is a reason for everything, why on Earth would anything that loves me have chosen for me to know these things?” I used to be so familiar with darkness, with pain.

I say this mostly to send a message of hope. The world still spins beneath our bodies. We keep breathing. We are blips, but we have a choice as the Earth spins beneath our feet. Will we continue to seek Light?

At last, I thought of that word, namaste. Interestingly enough, namaste, is usually used as a respectful greeting among people who speak Hindi. We may say, “Namaste, ji,” to an older person, the same way someone from the South might say, “Hello, ma’am,” (rather than, “Hey!”) But, I also like the yogic understanding of the word, namaste. To a yogi, this word means, “May the Divine Light in me Honor the Divine Light in you.” Or, “May the Good in me Honor/Increase the Good in you.”

If we keep our eyes on that Light, if we refuse to stop following it, no matter how far away it can see in the tunnel -- it gets bigger.

And, when that Light at the end of the tunnel gets bigger, we are able to do something so insanely, incredibly, ineffably beautiful.

We shine among others. Our light shines in a cosmic mosaic of Love. We become the Light, and the Light becomes us.

Happy Diwali, friends. May every aspect of your life become as luminous and exciting as the lights flickering on the lamps in the Festival of Lights. May our lights become bigger and brighter, as we Honor the biggest, greatest, longest thing we may ever know -- Love Itself.

[hellowallflowerfriend]

O, Lord, with your eyes set upon me, gently smiling, you have spoken my name; all I longed for I have found by the water, at your side, I will seek other shores.

My grandpa -- or, as I called him when I was a little girl -- my Papa -- was buried holding a rosary in his hands.

My sisters and I were the first people at his visitation, and we were surprised to see him lying there, looking as if he were peacefully sleeping. Seeing his closed eyes, his soft baby blue cardigan, his fine, dark hair carefully combed over, and his hands prayerfully clasping a rosary brought tears to my eyes. I thought of all of my special memories of him. He used to love lighthouses, and now I wish I had asked him why. Knowing my Papa, I think he maybe would have said simply that he liked them. But, I like to think that he enjoyed them because they are beacons of light. At least, this is the reason I think they suit him.

I spoke with my grandma and told her that I wish that I had been sure to explain to him how greatly I appreciated his kindness and love. He had (and to me, in Spirit still Has,) that type of kindness that requests no recognition. He was simple in his love: He spent most of his time listening at family gatherings, his eyes twinkling, constantly chuckling kindly as he interacted with our stories. He seemed content to spend most of his time listening, but when he spoke, he was always adding love into the room. He was so nice that it really never occurred to me to address it: the love he offered was so selfless and full that no one ever seemed to think to tell him how much we appreciated it.

My Grandpa Rathbun (biological relation,) passed before I was born. My Grandpa Slicker was the only Papa I knew for years and years. In fact, as a little girl, eyes twinkling, he told me that I inherited the notch in my right ear--my elf ear-- from him. He said, “You got that from me.” I had no idea that we had no genetic relation until I was much older. But, in all aspects that matter, he has always been my grandpa.

I remember truly believing with all of my heart that he had magic. He would do tricks for my sisters and I, involving a squishy blue plastic ball, disappearing it in his quick hands before our eyes! We asked him over and over, “Papa, do it again!” We would ask, “Papa, how did you do that?!” He always replied, “I used my magical powers!” Eventually, after at least twenty magic tricks, he told us, “I need to take a break; my magic powers are running out.” As we got older and wiser and requested his magic, my grandpa told us that his magic powers were running out. 

When I became an adult, I looked back on this interaction with a fond heart. It was true; we became aware as we got older that magic was increasingly impractical. But, he never once told us that it wasn’t real; he let us believe in it for as long as we could. And, because he quit his magic tricks before we stopped fully believing in them, in some ways, his magic powers lasted forever.

My grandpa worked for a company in Ohio called Wesco. Part of his job involved installing those old-fashioned coupon machines that printed out those smooth, colorful coupons of our childhood. Apparently he did this for 35 years, and every time he went to a new town, he looked for playgrounds.

This was a mystery to me from my childhood. Every time I went to stay with my Grandma and Papa, he took Kelsey, Keaton, and me to a new playground! This sweet man was sure to give us happy, safe, loving memories every time we were under his care. I always attributed it to his, “magical,” powers! But, little did I know, until a few days ago, he loved us so much that -- every time he was in a new place -- he made sure to share happiness in the form of a new playground with his granddaughters.

My Papa and my Grandma had little houses, like a tiny town, displayed on their shelves when I visited as a little girl. The houses were connected to an outlet, shining warm golden light out of each tiny window. I used to stare at these houses and admire them, transfixed by amber light shining without. My Papa said, “Kara, did you know that people live in these houses?” I was astounded, and I spent perhaps several hours over several visits staring into these tiny, golden windows, looking for movement within. Often my Papa would stand beside me and say, “Kara! Did you see that? There was a man just now in that window!” My Papa always helped me to believe in the unbelievable.

Now that I am grown, I look back on these memories with such appreciation. I have referenced it before, but to speak plainly, my father was often abusive in our home. I have to say that I am fortunate that he never hit me outside of the realms of discipline, although, if he did discipline me, I walked away in pain. The main pain, however, that I have from my childhood with him is the horrible, terrifying yelling when he was angry, and the abuse of unspeakable nature.

I look back now and realize the great importance that his love had (and still has,) in my life. I wish I had told my Papa in plain words: thank you for being my safe space. Thank you for allowing me to be a child with you. Thank you for teaching me to believe in magic, not only as a child, but for forever. My Papa taught me first and foremost the greatest lesson of all -- the lesson of love. Whenever I felt lost, I always thought of how my Papa treated me and of how he treated my Grandma. He is beautiful beyond words for this, although I wish I had taken the time to tell him this firsthand.

The best thing about my Papa is this -- I think in many ways he did not need this recognition. He was simply the kindest man I have ever known, seeking no recognition. I will be eternally grateful for the role that he played (and still plays) in my life.

For these things, my Papa Slicker will never be dead. No, Love -- Magic -- like this never dies -- although it does, eventually, seek other shores.

Rest in peace, James Slicker. Thank you for being the best man I have ever known.

If there is a heaven, James Slicker sure is living in it.

May 11, 1936 - October 10, 2019