Guilt, Comfort, Ego, Light Anger, Love, Day and Night

In her twenties, back when Jen thought she knew everything, she had scribbled on a page, “Explore what is worth photographing. Create what is worthy of paint. Live what is worth writing about.” She would fall asleep every night with her arms crossed over her heart, in prayer. God, please lead me to Your will. What Jen could not have realized was that if she prayed that prayer every night, she might actually find it.

On chicken scratch lay before her random notes from the week.

Met with Paster Ali. I should plan to the movies with them, get some sacred heart kids to join them?

Sunday morn picked up “the evangelist” catholic newsletter - to be reminded of the reading of 10 bridesmaids, 5 ready, 5 foolish...

...was reminded of the time when linda and I prepared for class at the last minute. at walmart at 11pm the night before class. came back with a BROKEN oil lamp. next morning went back at 6am before class started for a replacement. thought I was ready for class… but hadn't tested the lamp… one of the kids was alarmed with the size of the flame and the amount of smoke. lived the gospel…once again. BE PREPARED.

ego is thinking I can wing it versus the comfort that comes with being prepared.

bob’s memorial mass is this coming saturday.

CHAPTER 6

Mid-flight to Portland, Oregon, Jen felt a twinge in her stomach from the turbulence and probably, too, from her task at hand. Note-pages scattered in her small space, index cards of outlines with little drawings and an open laptop were her traveling companions.

An elementary student of writing, she considered herself, as Jen stared at the title chapter. Guilt? She swirled big circles on a page. Comfort? The circles curved around to the corner. Ego? What did she know about ego… and why did she feel like she was being asked to write about this? She didn't feel worthy. What could she possibly share?

Months earlier, "Chapter Two" spilled out a poem. Since, each verse from the poem became a new chapter title. Her task now was to fill in the actual chapter.This title perplexed her though. What Jen knew she had to write about, instead, was the trip with her mom home from her sister’s place by the ocean, just days earlier.

Seated beside the window on the airplane, Jen let her mind wander. Ironically, after over 30 years, she and mother were talking about the divorce. Jen thought about how strong a woman her mom had become through it all.

Jen lifted her watered-down drink to her lips, and wondered if the airplane would land before she would have to delve further into her memories. Her head back on the seat, with eyes closed, she wished the plane would just land already. Without warning or permission, their car ride and conversations flooded back.

THE TRIP WITH MOM

“I don't remember. What happened first, Mom, the divorce or the new management at your office?” Jen asked as she drove them home from the shore in the late night darkness.

Her mother was quiet for a minute then answered, “I remember sitting my co-workers and friends down in the conference room telling them, ‘Before you hear from someone else, I need to tell you something.’"

Her mother continued, "Sunlight was shining into the room. I remember looking at the sun's long rays laying across the huge table. And, I remember feeling like I would have rather been anywhere else in the world than there.”

Jen took in the image of her mother being put in that position, where she had to tell others about this intimate pain. It was not her choice. It was thrown at her, making her feel as though she was lost at sea. Betrayed, she was left to face her life without a partner. And, she was told by her church that divorce was a sin and that she wasn’t welcomed to the alter anymore.

All these many years later, both Jen and her mother remembered the anger. “Your sister has you to be thankful for,” Mother said to Jen. “You told her to carry such pain would change her and would hurt her. She learned to forgive for her own health, you know.” Jen didn’t remember it that way. She actually remembered those sentiments coming from her brother to her, not as her mother recalled it.

Somehow, over time, they all stopped being so angry, though, especially when they saw their mother emerge stronger and more full of life, love and laughter.

This all got brought up when Jen blurted out minutes earlier that she knew she needed to forgive her priest for the Peace Path situation… but didn’t know how. The loss of the Peace Path was as hurtful to her as the loss to her family was, all those years ago. The two travelers considered how to forgive. Neither had an answer.

Jen asked her mother if there was anything she was thankful for by living through it. The list of what her mom had accomplished and how fearless she had become, how active and social she was, how she grasped at newness, rather than recoiling from it… how she learned to use a GPS(!) all were clear signs that her path was guided, that she was who she was supposed to be, now.

“Thankful for that part of my life?” Jen heard her ask out loud as the car continued down the road.

Then, out of the classic tale of “you can’t make this stuff up,” an ugly intruder, a huge, black moth, as big as the palm of her hand, fluttered to the car's front windshield, in plain view of the unsuspecting travelers.

“Is that outside... or inside?” Jen stuttered, fearfully knowing the answer already.

“Kill it!” was Mother's knee-jerk answer.

As the car continued down the highway in the darkest of nights, they watched the moth slowly move across the front windshield. Mother was absolutely petrified of bugs. Irrational fears are nothing to take lightly. And this particular one had just taken control of their night.

“I think we’re writing another chapter,” Jen said as she laughed at the irony, attempting to stay calm.

It was surreal as the women absorbed the problem that had just landed in their previously safe space. Then, without warning, a second, smaller moth fluttered right between them, between driver and passenger. A shriek, and another shout to “Kill it!” as the two weighed their options. No highway exit in sight, pulling over was dangerous; a car could drive into them in the dark night. But, fluttering wings going swirling in their midst was probably more dangerous!

“Kill it!” was heard a third time as the car made its way down the dark road.

Jen's own scream was next as she felt the moth's wings tickle her bare skin between her knees. The sundress she had chosen that a morning left her hopelessly exposed, vulnerable.

Surprised at her daughter’s scream, she gushed, “Now you know how I feel!”

“But it was... between my legs, Mom!” Screams turned to laughter as the obvious question lingered, should they just pull over?

It was Mother’s turn to shriek next as something hit her ear. At that point, Jen turned on the car dome light. And the dynamic duo could see the huge moth sitting on the windshield again. At least with the light on, they could see where their problem was and be ready for it. All four car windows were lowered, in hopes the winds would take wings and all back outside. Feelings of self defense also took control and the two armed themselves with tissues.

"It must have been the mums that we bought, that carried them in,” Jen realized out loud.

“GOT IT,” exclaimed Mother with complete satisfaction, as she wiped the wing dust from her shirt. There was no hope for a peaceful escort of the intruders back to their side of the world.

Then, on impulse, with a slam to the steering wheel, Jen said with a wince, “I got the little one..."

The car continued down the highway as screams poured out the windows, then out poured the laughter. Finally quiet, a mile later, Mother asked if they could turn off the car's dome light yet.

“Nope! Not until we’re in Albany will I be sure there aren’t more,"Jen replied with a chuckle.

Their journey became a glaring and bizarre late-night, travel-weary kind of symbolism! The light on meant the two could see then solve their problems, squash their fears, find comfort. In the dark was the unknown. And in the unknown, bugs could be anywhere.

The plane touched down in Portland after midnight, as Jen finished tapping out her tale.

THE AUNTIES’ WEDDING

With a steaming, hot cup of coffee in hand, Jen sat at the kitchen counter of her sister-in-law's home the next morning. The first to rise, she appreciated the early light and the quiet stillness to reflect. The kitchen was efficient with goodness of raw ingredients in neatly organized mason jars. And, through the side glass door, the kitchen was open to lush, gorgeous gardens, overflowing with flowers in bloom, ripe fruits and vegetables. She had found a juicy, Anjou pear from a backyard tree and some home-made sunflower-honey butter in a cupboard which looked oddly different than hers back in New York. Actually, the whole kitchen was very different. There were no packages from the center aisle. Not a box of crackers, no bag of chips, not a carton of pasta, not a bag of flour. There wasn't a container of juice in the refrigerator. Everything, instead, was fresh. At first glance, the kitchen seemed like there wasn't anything to eat. At second look, it was clear that the world was full to the brim of delicious and nutritious treats. A small carbon footprint wasn't just a concept for them in which to reach. It was their life. Jen found herself immersed in the Portland Way.

Reading the notes Jen had tapped out on the plane the night before, she smiled at the irony, recalling her first visit to Portland, where she was witness to Chica's affection for all creatures great and small. When a small spider crossed the table between them, Chica gently guided it off the table away from their card game. When Jen's jaw visibly dropped in surprise, she laughed gently and said, "Oh, he's not a problem around here...." Chica, her soon-to-be sister-in-law was a profound lover of nature.

Jen’s eyes wandered her surroundings. The huge stock pot on the burner in front of her hadn’t been put away yet from the day before. In a drying rack sat two colanders, four empty ice cube trays, a cleaned cutting board, a couple dozen little glasses and assorted other washed utensils. Jen considered the hub-bub of activity that had taken place before her arrival. They were always making, cooking, building, re-using, re-imagining, re-purposing…. Her mind swirled with what she continued to take in, and from what she toured when she had gotten in at midnight.

The Aunties were getting married. It was an amazing journey that got them to this special weekend, over many years, with twists and turns. Their easy partnership, going through life together, with such beautiful support for each other was evident at hello. The two woman not only understood each other’s strengths and weaknesses, they complimented each other beautifully. Jen thought back to her arrival the night before, immediately comfortable in their world. She was quickly assured that this was a warm and welcoming place, without judgment, without pretense. And, as they all talked into the night, Jen watched and understood how much Chica and Hanu allowed the other to be stronger, more lively, more lovely, more ready for life… and funnier.

Jen thought to her own parents’ relationship and realized they didn’t have any of this. She didn't remember an easy friendship. She didn't remember one supporting the other. Neither was a better person as part of the couple than they were apart.

Knowing all this did not erase the pain in their family's past nor truly enable all of its members to recover fully. But, on they went, in their need for days to keep passing. With living through a divorce, somehow, looking back at what was believed to be true - now seemed to be a lie.

To rectify looking back at what was and wonder if none of it really happened that way is betrayal, a cruel beast. And how to believe it won't all happen again? How does anyone recover? Do some just change for the worse? And what about the betrayer?

An amicable divorce was possible, Jen understood. Her family's was not. From every perspective, with every family member the feelings were more and more complicated and ugly. Guilt of course, how did I help get it to this place? Child asks if it was it her fault? And child is caught in the middle, desperately trying to reconcile each parent's polar opposite take on... everything, even the weather. "If only she can understand me... I didn't want this. If only he handled things differently. I didn't want this."

Then there's the fury over it, the outrageously beat-fists-into-blood-anger that can not be denied. Tiring and sickening, fury takes hold and controls the rest. And, sadness with loss and a desperate plea to just go backwards - nothing seems to work.

So, why this topic, Jen stopped herself and wished she had her Peace Path to go back to. Did her place of comfort ever address this topic of betrayal? Did Jen lose the Peace Path because she did not take care of it well enough? Why did one betrayal bring up another? And why were the two weddings now on her tablet: her own parents and the new, upcoming one so filled with love surrounding and between the Aunties?

Jen looked around the Portland kitchen again and realized they fed the good wolf. With care given to each other, to their community and to the earth, it was apparent that a pureness and beauty was embraced, and that pureness and beauty left its mark on how each day was lived. Jen wanted to bottle all this as an integral ingredient to take back to her own life. She pulled a separate page and started a list of things she’d change when she got back. Mason jars were on the top of the list. Quality raw ingredients were so important, and without seeing them, though clear glass jars, there was no telling what was hidden underneath. Jen turned to a "paleo lifestyle" that day. She was already eating from a paleo diet, but something changed more deeply as she sat on the kitchen stool. A light was turned on to edit out what wasn’t pure and good, and to fill those mason jars of life with only Heaven on Earth goodness. "They Kingdom Come." It was there for the taking. Why should she fill her life with anything less than that? "Forgiveness" was a word that had to become more than just a word for her. She put her fingertips to her forehead for a prayer with thanks, but, alas, in came the Aunties.

"Good morning,” they greeted each other with warmth. A new day was upon them and getting the grounds ready for the wedding was in order. Jen knew the invitation to join them five days before the ceremony was for good reason; what she could do would be called upon. Jen accepted the list of options for her to tackle and smiled as she was reminded of giving lists to her Peace Path visitors, much in the same way.

“This is our list.. but feel free to work the grounds as you need," the Aunties suggested. It was a new Peace Path being built at their request.

After coffee was finished, tools of the trade were introduced: a shed full of rakes, shovels, another shed of amendments. The timing of it all couldn’t have been scripted any better. Jen's summer had passed without gardening at all, a first for her, since before she had memories. And, here she was, being asked to work the earth again. Her table was set. Without a thought of her old mending wing, a rake was in her hands, guiding twigs and branches from the backyard retreat walkways. Chica was a certified and award winning organic gardener, and nothing felt more natural to Jen than to step into this amazing new world.

The other half of "the Aunties" was her husband's sister, Hanu, a genuine builder, a creative mind, well-equipped with know-how and energy to figure out what she did not yet know. Setting a wedding stage on the grounds before Jen got there, Hanu built a wedding dance floor, an outdoor bar and even a dish station, for guests to use to wash their own china. And, in sending her own very special type of invitation to all of the wedding guests, Hanu hand-etched wooden signs with family names and distances traveled, from each home to theirs. Jen's family's sign was hanging amongst the trees beside a little ladder. (The ladders, scattered amongst the grounds, symbolized that Chica and Hanu were so lucky, they were able to do more than merely walk under a ladder, they would marry under one.)

Jen found herself lost in this world. She cleaned and cleared way for new sprouts to shoot up. She moved the earth in new direction and outlined existing shapes. She planted little plantings that had been sitting in pots awaiting a new home. Jen delighted in the subtle surprises that filled her. A six-pack of pansies that had been brought home from a nearby nursery, had a little tag calling the variety, "Penny Lane." Out came her camera to record the moment when one of her favorite tunes started playing from inside the house.

Little surprises continued like when Jen stood to stretch after a long battle with a stubborn, unwanted root that had taken hold of the earth. She looked up to see a little wooden plaque with her own daughter's name on it, hung from a branch. Jen's mother was brought into this special place, too. A call from home was a welcome break. Jen described the wonderful work that was so therapeutic. And, Jen found peace. Amongst the lush greens of her surroundings, in the late morning hours, in her labor of love, Jen found true peace, again. She was happily creating a new Peace Path, the walk that the Aunties would take on the way to their vows.

Later that night, another friend arrived on the scene from Denver. The warmest of spirit spread amongst the small group, until others joined in, too. Friends and neighbors steadily dropped by, all adding their own element to the work-party. Preparing the grounds was contagious, as this was living in a place so full of friendship and sharing and caring, simple tasks of restocking the refrigerator and ironing tablecloth linens were joyful. Then, dining together in the warm, fall, night air was celebration for a good day's work. As the night grew darker, the lights became another character on the scene. They glimmered along awnings, glowed from underneath canopies of branches, beamed through the walkways. Candlelight bounced off of its surroundings on the table before them. Even a warm glow of kitchen light gently poured out to them, from inside the glass door.

The Portland Way made a profound impact on Jen and again she wished she could bottle it. It needed to be shared.

The days passed, and Jen found herself playful, happy and stronger physically too. Out of habit, she arose first and found herself in downward dog poses amidst the garden greens. The early sunlight and natural goodness of eating cherry tomatoes off the vine were a stunning way to start her day. How would she be able to ever leave? The mending wing was completely out of her mind… anything she wished to do, she was able to do, without hesitation. Parts of her broken old self were quietly mending and she felt happiness and freedom.

After midnight, tucking herself into the cozy bedroom the Aunties had made for her, Jen took in the loving touches. An essential oil of lavender that had been misting relaxed her gently into the soft linens. She fell into an old habit which she, until then, was unable to do because of the mending wing. Teacher-Turned-Student crossed her left hand over her chest onto her right shoulder, then wrapped her mending right wing on top to her left shoulder. For the first time in many months, her wing finally flexible enough, she fell asleep in a prayer wrapping her heart.

How would she ever be able to leave?

More guests started to arrive as the days continued on. Jen’s own daughter, son and husband arriving were the best gift on top of her week she could have imagined. The world was good and reunions with more family members were all a result of the Aunties beckoning them.

The culmination of the week’s planning was the ceremony. One poem was read, so perfectly posed, Jen asked for a copy. It came with a story of how her sister-in-laws fell in love. The book called, The Invitation, by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, seemed to be on so many of the guests lips after hearing its poem read at their backyard alter…

The Invitation by Oriah

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dream for the adventure of being alive. It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon... I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful to be realistic to remember the limitations of being human. It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes.” It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

By Oriah © Mountain Dreaming, from the book The Invitation published by HarperONE, San Francisco, 1999 All rights reserved

When it was time to say their goodbyes, so many of the guests may have felt changed by their experience in the Portland Backyard Wedding Retreat of Hanu and Chica. This Teacher-Turned-Student surely was.

ps.. I promise to get permission to re-print Oriah's poem with credit to her publisher! Oriah's words were the bow to the package that was the wedding at the Chica-Hanu Wedding Retreat.

Also want to thank the Aunties for loving me and accepting my gifts and for always sharing theirs. Chica and Hanu are both an inspiration to others and a constant source of love to one another, which is perfectly contagious. God Bless you both now and forever...

And, I want to thank my mother for being my role model and for giving me anything worth getting: love, friendship, guidance and car rides... support, prayer and so much laughter!

Lastly, Chel... I stole all of these prints from your website and added them to my words, as they needed to accompany these humble ramblings.To tell the story needed your stunning photography. Your ability to capture beauty is a treasure to behold! Please give permission to publish!

pps..

Jen awoke, back in her bed in New York and wondered...

Is being the child of a divorce impossible?

The child cannot hear both sides and be expected to make peace with it.

But, how can the parent, being a mere mortal, not share the conflicting message with them?

Peace of divorce.

Good luck.

No such thing.

But, maybe there is a way where everyone just agrees that it’s the only goal and every action going forward, every prayer going forward, every thought going forward has to lead to that goal, feed that one wolf. Like a mediation, brain washing the direction.

Peace of divorce.

Start acting like it next.

Start telling yourself it’s the only way to survive.

Anything short of that is failure and devastation to the kids.

Breathe in love, His Love, and breathe it back out to the world.

No one need care who it was to blame, why they were there.

No one need to know the doubts, fears, regrets nor remember what they bare.

Relationships are monumentally messy. Humans aren’t perfect or pure, we're left fetally curled.

Only need to seek peace, with every breathe.

And if a conflicting message comes in, which it will, breathe in His Love and breathe it back to all.

All.

Even the ones on the other side.

Especially the ones on the other side.

All the crazies get love too.

It’s the only way.

She went back to sleep with her arms crossed over her chest in prayer, knowing she was giving herself up to her Lord..

In the name of the father and of the son…

They will be done…

I am here - I will do whatever you want me to do.

Just please, God, let the children get to peace faster than I did. As only You know, I’m clearly not there yet.

She breathed in His Love and

breathed it back out… to her father.

Deep breathe... in... His Love again.

Next, back out, she sent Love… to her priest.

In more… this time, love, she decided to keep. She needed it.