We interrupt this interruption to bring you what should be happening

Hey there, folks. I’m still in Momland over here, having an a typically surreal time, picking through everything she owns, in preparation for the big move to assisted living. It’s been quite a ride so far, the kind of ride where something really challenging happens and nothing seems to be coming together, then heaven and earth shift themselves to deliver what you need, just when you need it most. But it’s still hard, and you’re still sleep deprived and eating weird food. Voraciously.

Just when you’re nearly ready to hang your head and give up all the tears you thought you’d avoided crying, ever. Just when you cannot possibly wrap your emotionally charged brain around one more logistic. Just when your dear ol’ mom is asking for the fifth time that minute to explain what is happening, why, where and when. And why. And what. And when, exactly. And…

I drew great comfort from a blog post that my partner forwarded to me, by one of my absolute favorite sensitive soul warriors, Sonia Choquette. What I love about this post is Sonia’s vulnerability in describing a dark time in her life. I’ve come to realize as a writer and as a person that that’s where the juice is. Even bitter, crappy juice is juice, is aliveness, and something is always waiting to be born, provided you don’t turn away before it reveals itself.

I’m making progress in my recovery. I have stopped viewing this challenging life event as something that is preventing me from getting on with the real life I had planned, the one that’s supposed to be happening over there somewhere. I’m just here, throwing my trust and faith into this giant unknown Universal Agitator that wants to churn on despite what I say I want, but also wants to make sure I am taken care of. It honestly didn’t occur to me that something else should be happening now. Which is amazing. Because, as anyone who’s been there knows, when your life is run by your addiction, you literally believe that Life should cater to your demands.

In recovery I have a more realistic idea: Life is challenging. (Even when good stuff is happening, right?) I am meant to show up and do the best I can, and when I do, with an attitude of openness at least, it tends to work out okay, even when it doesn’t seem to be okay. And what I mean by that is, even when it works out lousy and crappy and sad and shocking, it can still be okay, because all of those are a human experience, part of what happens sometimes. Before, I was at odds with what is, and I believed in a Universal Force that was whimsically uncaring. (Actually, cruel.) As long as I believed that, I could excuse myself from jumping into a life where shit could actually happen. Good shit, bad shit. Shit shit.

A long time before I learned to live an active faith in Something Good, I understood I needed to, and it was possible.  I wrote a song about it, during a really dark time when I forced myself to belief that all that pain would yield to renewal if I just stuck it out. The reason I knew somewhere I had faith was that I planted date pits in a flower pot one Christmas, the first Christmas alone ever, knowing full well they would never sprout, but hope, hope, hoping somehow they magically would. They are seeds, after all. The word “pits” was so fitting for that time. (“Pits Into Seeds” might even be an ill-fated band name, or a failed Kickstarter campaign.)

The song is called Water, Sun and Time.  I hope to post the mp3 of this song someday, but for now, here are the lyrics.

Last night I planted date pits, all that’s left of Christmas
Pressed them into little pots, then gave the soil a soaking.
Next week I might have little sprouts, or maybe little pots of doubt,
Don’t know if it’s luck I’ve got but there’s comfort in the hoping

That if you have an empty pot, and if you sow the seeds,
And if you get your hands dirty, then you’re going to have new leaves,
And if you cut back the dead wood, then the rest can stay alive,
And maybe even blossom, given water, sun and time.

I threw away a big old box of papers, heavy as a rock,
Carted out a ton of unfulfilled expectations.
And I don’t miss a single scrap of maybe this and someday that.
But I don’t have half enough of faith in life and patience

That if you have an empty pot, and if you sow the seeds,
And if you get your hands dirty, then you’re going to have new leaves,
And if you cut back the dead wood, then the rest can stay alive,
And maybe even blossom, given water, sun and time.

Tonight I’m living with the ghosts of parts of me that hurt the most,
Pushing love away for fear that love would leave me thirsting.
I’d like to be a plant with roots, living in my dirty truth,
And maybe have a few new leaves and a blossom close to bursting.

But you got to have an empty pot, before you sow the seeds,
And you got to get your hands dirty, if you want to have new leaves,
And you got to cut back the dead wood, for the rest to stay alive,
And maybe have a blossom, given water, sun and time.

Till I grab another 30 minutes, thanks for reading. It really helps to know you’re out there.

PhyllisSig

by Phyllis Capanna © 2014 joyreport

All content is the sole property of Phyllis Capanna and joyreport. If you are reading this content on another site, it has been reposted without the author’s permission and is in violation of the DMCA.  © 2014 joyreport

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