Bloomers and Braids

Gonna buy me some fabric at the store by the coastal mystery, the one with no roof

and no walls ‘cept for rows and rows of fabric rolled up waiting for newness and creative wonder

and a woman whose hair is white, her hands full of keys, so many keys as she laughs at me, but not mocking.

She’s on the shoreline in the white sand at the counter and the cash register is awaiting her usual purchase. As we laugh and talk, her man is hiding amongst all those reams of fabric, spying out at me, knowing.

His dark highlights contrast against all the pale sand and call to a sea just within reach.
He trusts implicitly the woman with all those keys.

Gonna make me some bloomers from the fabric or, maybe no, I’ll do what the beautiful woman told me to do, “Order it from a catalog” ’cause…

I’ll be too busy having fun, too much going on to bother with patterns and eyelet fabric. Or sewing machines.

But fabric, I’ll abide. It hides all the best secrets and covers the future in white refusal of shame.

Gonna go find those hair bands and all the jewel-toned loose ends plaited neatly into silver sync.

And I will laugh.

And laugh. As the man behind the bolts of fabric, standing there in his safe fear-filled haven hides
and waits for the bloomers to reveal his best days: Unafraid.

One day, I’ll see his face.

j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved

Embracing the Unfathomable…

I falter, from time to time (to time), tripping up on the “why” of things that happen to me and to my loved ones. The arrogance, ultimately, of this venture tells on me. There are so very many factors and variables and layers of realities we cannot fathom that come into play or intersect with our lives. The most we can do is accept any evidence of our own contribution to anything destructive, or our own patterns of self/other sabotage or any number of wicked twists of the internal landscape. And then? We grow, become more aware. And then?

j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved

 

 

We let go. Not all events in our lives, not all phases or past hardships can even withstand or succumb to reason…even after we have noted our contributions (even if we weren’t necessarily the cause!). Our value is so much more than any reasoning could ultimately affirm. Moving on and embracing just how much is truly unfathomable … this is key. We can still make a handiwork of our challenges. We can artfully embody love within and through all the unreasonable, unfathomable goings on. I find all of this affirmed by the brilliant and wise Caroline Myss. Her Facebook page is in my newsfeed and this hit me today with a tremendous gifting of grace…

“Giving up the need to know why something has happened to you will definitely count among the most rigorous personal challenges of your life. Everything about human nature craves an explanation for why events occur as they do. Our sense of reason is more than just an attribute of the mind; it is an archetypal power that governs our capacity to ground our lives and balance the forces of chaos in the world. The power of reason connects us to the rule of law and justice, directing human behavior on that tenuous path of right and wrong. Surrendering the need to know “why” represents the release of an entire inner archetypal map, one that the ego relies on for its strategies of survival in a world we perceive as heavenly influenced by the polarities of right and wrong, good and evil. To surrender runs counter to all your instincts of protection, grounded as they are in your need for personal safety. Your unconscious fear is that to surrender is to release the force of evil in your life without the rule of good to counteract it. We tend to believe, even unconsciously, that if we do good, bad things won`t happen to us. We do not only believe that principle, but also honor and live by it. Yet healing requires you to relinquish your need for an explanation- why, for instance, you experienced a brutal betrayal, or why you must take on the arduous challenge of healing an illness or assisting a loved one who is ill. Understandably, everyone asks, ‘How am I supposed to let go of this need for reasonable explanations?'” – Caroline Myss

Embrace the unfathomable, trust yourself and unfold into life…

Once Buried

what shines out of darkness
and unfolds from the earth,
what wellspring once was buried
now reveals, murmuring miracles
with every rising sun
whispering renewal in the face of stars

as you pass by, unmoved, unseeing…
little miracles everywhere seeing you regardless
singing your own potential
beyond all the noise
noise
noise

go to silence
and see.
go to stillness
and be.

remove the chains claiming “progress”
and know, live the ancient song…

j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved

Do You Hear the Question?

What is life saying to you? Do you hear the melody beneath all the noise? Some melodies are a little more comical than others. I awoke yesterday with a song floating through my head, one I wouldn’t click to listen to or go around the corner or into a next room to bother to hear. I don’t like the musician’s style, etc. But in spite of that and in spite of not having heard the song in what…? Decades? There it was. “I love a rainy night…” by Eddie…Rabbit. Maybe it’s the rabbits hopping through my yard almost every day now, sometimes sprawled out in the grass, with their back legs spread out behind them, big floppy ears down, eyes brown and wide. Does Eddie Rabbit have brown eyes? Is he still alive? No, I just Googled him. He’s not alive. Ok, he’s faded into or burst vibrantly onto/into the next expression of love. But we don’t know him as alive. But I digress and chase rabbits.

What’s the point in the brain hurling up a song I haven’t heard and wasn’t crazy about…? I do like the one line: I love a rainy night.  Oh and “And I love you too…” but the tune? It’s definitely sweet. Just not my cup of tea.

Much later that day, it rained, torrential, before the sun set, before the afternoon had even succumbed to the inevitable fade… and then into the night and the song came drifting back in. I couldn’t help but laugh. Was it just a coincidence? Probably. Maybe. Maybe not. It depends on where you stand and what you believe. Lately, I believe more and more in the purpose of “things” … “things” like stubbed toes, a car almost stolen and all the resulting collisions with other people and events, events we try to fathom as indicating something “good” or “bad” about us or others but… when we let go of having to judge the “goodness” of a situation, we find something deeper, especially if we have open hearts. What is life saying to me?

the rainy nights

the blooming colors

the crisis of meaning a boy has when he’s 12

the endless “coincidental” goings on in a 24 hour period

What do I hear? I hear a universe inviting us to dance. Roll with the ridiculous… shrug off the meanies… and go ahead and love the rainy night.

Something deep is at work. Something bigger than us (love) orchestrates opportunity for proving how precious are our lives… and I suppose the one question I hear every morning when I awaken, whether a song of obscure past experiences heralds the day or not, is this: “How will you make love come alive today?”

Bloom, people… bloom.

j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved

Peony’s Paean

if not for dying,
for seed’s song undone and gone
if not for shining
if not for flooding
pounding me into darkness
birthing colors new
if not for the loss
our song unsung would be all
lost, encased refuse
but life breaking me
open, spilling all my knowing
into ground spreading
lil tendril roots’ reach
as all I knew died to be
all these songs released

J. Ruth Kelly, 2014, All Rights Reserved
J. Ruth Kelly, 2014, All Rights Reserved

BirthGiver

Mother’s Day conjures up the many names by which we address our mothers…

Mama (my favorite)
Mom
Mother
Ma
Mommy

to name a few.

My youngest son took to referring to me as “birthgiver.” I can’t read or say the word without chuckling. He has a flair for the dramatic and while he doesn’t literally call me that very often, it’s memorialized on his iPod. He receives texts from “birthgiver.” And then there’s “momnoms…” one of the often-used nicknames my middle son loves. I can’t decide which I like better. It’s a spin off from “nom nom” and appropriate, I’m thinking.

We mamas give birth, are consumed – some of us literally giving sustenance from our own bodies – and then our schedules, our energy, the old identity all of it consumed as we watch our children grow from adoring little creatures to sometimes scornful boundary-bucking beauties. And it is, all of it, beautiful. Ok, most of it.

For obvious reasons, the phrase “birthgiver” hit me today as I looked over pictures from way back before my own mama gave birth to me, to my life…

Happy Mother's Day
My beautiful Mama…

And as I reflect on mamas and life and birth and giving and consuming it strikes me how we are, all of us, capable of becoming birthgivers. I think of at least one man when that word hits my brain. So many give birth to offspring of the soul, nurturing, conjuring and calling forth dormant aspects of our personalities, our potential. It’s a beautiful truth.

My own children have birthed me in ways no others in this world, in this lifetime, can ever lay claim to… My own Mama has gifted me with a bounty of love-awareness no hiccup in our relationship can ever destroy. She is a beauty, inside and out.

j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2014, all rights reserved

And then there is the sense of a dance eternal, of a weaving and woven tapestry reaching back into fields and lifetimes centuries back…so often I have thanked my children for finding me, for choosing me to be their birthgiver. For that is what we are here for, all of us. We’re here to give birth to each other by our love and support, our encouragement and courage in truth with each other. We can choose what we allow and what we refuse to birth. Such a beautiful handiwork we can, each one of us, make of our lives and of our interactions with each other in love.

It’s an especially wonderful gift to be able to receive from those we are supposedly “in charge” of, to receive on levels that nurtures their awareness that they, too, give birth and especially that they give birth to vital parts of our own souls … just. by. being. And especially by being encouraged to question everything.

So here’s to all of the birthgivers out there and the momnom yummy folk who have nurtured soul, encouraged confidence and facilitated independence… we are all grateful for the dance.

What Do You Love?

Most of us can compile a long list of what/who we love, going on and on including how much we love the feeling of scratching an itch…

but the one love most needful, is also most elusive…

I LOVE this expression and the wisdom rolling from this beautiful person.

Between Myth and Reality

“Where the myth fails, human love begins. Then we love a human being, not our dream, but a human being with flaws.” Anaïs Nin

Somewhere between the myth and reality, we shape our ideals of what we want out of life and love, family, friends, lover. Career. And then those images collide with the grit of daily life, the smells and feltness, the bits and pieces of all we can’t predict, flaws, quirks, unforeseen strengths and mystery. And predictability, non-mystery weaves a plain strand or two of sometimes boredom into a tapestry more rich than anything we could have idealized. The task of sinking roots deeply into a love affair with the real, with the presence of dirt and sweat, clutter and challenge shapes a commitment to being in life, being in love with what is and with what we can shape of ourselves in love without compromising the most vital layers of our uniqueness.

I’ve been happily drowning in the real, sometimes treading water as the holidays and work, family and wellness focus swirl a bit of chaos all around me – yet somehow forming a tangible shape and pattern, evidence of an intended life. The most precious, stellar, memorable points of time along the path etch their significance through the preparations, in the chores and the whispers, the spontaneous and relentless hugs, the laughter, the raised voices and moments of conflict, frustration and struggle. These are the treasures: the real, the dance with delight and disappointment. Without the adventure of flaws, of living beyond our dreams, outside the mythical gates and airy fairy hopes, without these we become flat, laid out on some whiteboard, waiting for “fulfillment.”

But we cherish our myths and dreams. They shape for us a cauldron, brewing elixirs of possibility, made especially from that seminal strain of individuality and mixed with the valid distinctions of what we all long for, and especially what our souls require. Somewhere between the myth and reality, in the lands of making-real, we shape our appetites to love each other because of, in spite of and in full light of our sometimes frail humanity. And we carve out our capacity for joy, for gratitude and for love-sense by how artfully we accept what is and what is not.

Here’s to the beauty of this life…

j. ruth kelly, all rights reserved, 2014
j. ruth kelly, all rights reserved, 2014

 

 

Wonder Sense

“Is the exploration of the natural world just a pleasant way to pass the golden hours of childhood or is there something deeper?

I am sure there is something much deeper, something lasting and significant. Those who dwell, as scientists or laymen, among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life. Whatever the vexation or concerns of their personal lives, their thoughts can find paths that lead to inner contentment and to renewed excitement in living. Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of the birds, the ebb and flow of the tides, the folded bud ready for the spring. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature — the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter.” (Rachel Carson, from The Sense of Wonder)

I reflect on 2013 with surprise, amazement and gratitude. The landscape behind me unfolds many growthful moments sustaining but not without the visitation of potent losses and some ridiculous scuffles with bullies in grown-up pose. Yet, an underpinning of daily love-wealth and a sense of wonder grows in the midst of it all, somehow not diminished by all that could potentially block the light of such a beautiful sun shining down on our fleeting lives. The blossoming of new ventures and friendships, the growth of my children and their ability to nurture the creative within, feltness of soul and the wisdom of authenticity, these realities settle all the questions posed by events impossible to control. The punctuation of some fractured bonds and tides of change suggesting something I should have done differently or might have foreseen if only I hadn’t trusted, loved, kept my heart open…had a pulse, passion, and vision…these moments whisper at me too. “If only” takes me nowhere. So I try not to go there. The alternative is to close off, shut down, refuse risk, assume it’s all caused by some fatal internal flaw. Those “laws of attraction” can pose some ugly possibilities and ignores how ironic it is when the narcissists presumably thrive while the givers receive loss and those who never had a chance take the blame. I’ve concluded popular beliefs are not validated by their popularity any more than when most preferred the flat earth theory. While it’s critical we stay aware of the wicked unconscious within, doing what we can to transform, or corral or oust the more destructive layers of self, I find myself nauseated by the assurances of so many platitudes and easy answers. There are times I want to barricade myself against the world, humanity’s confusion left to boil itself out.

But the sky.

But the hugs and sounds of three birthing the soul of the world in their own unique ways.

j. ruth kelly, 2013
j. ruth kelly, 2013

But love.

But the call of birds.

But the feel of softness against skin.

Rain on face.

Sun pouring vibrations vibrant.

So much wonder.

Here’s to letting go, leaping into the unknown and trusting love…

Mistaken for Love and …

I’m re-immersing myself in Fromm’s The Art of Loving for many reasons. The following quote has particular meaning for me because it identifies how easily we can settle when truly decent realities exist in our bonds. We can settle for something that feels good enough ‘though perhaps not soulful, not emanating from a personal center alive. And this particular section of Fromm’s chapter on the disintegration of love in western society strips away what we mistake for love and intimacy. A mistake I can live without especially if accepting what is “good enough” means I miss out on the deeper experiences of love…

“The world is one great object for our appetite, a big apple, a big bottle, a big breast; we are the sucklers, the eternally expectant ones, the hopeful ones—and the eternally disappointed ones. Our character is geared to exchange and to receive, to barter and to consume; everything, spiritual as well as material objects, becomes an object of exchange and of consumption.

The situation as far as love is concerned corresponds, as it has to by necessity, to this social character of modern man. Automatons cannot love; they can exchange their ‘personality packages’ and hope for a fair bargain. One of the most significant expressions of love, and especially of marriage with this alienated structure, is the idea of the ‘team.’ In any number of articles on happy marriage, the ideal described is that of the smoothly functioning team. This description is not too different from the idea of a smoothly functioning employee; he should be ‘reasonably independent,’ co-operative, tolerant, and at the same time ambitious and aggressive. Thus, the marriage counselor tells us, the husband should ‘understand’ his wife and be helpful. He should comment favorably on her new dress, and on a tasty dish. She, in turn, should understand when he comes home tired and disgruntled, she should listen attentively when he talks about his business troubles, should not be angry but understanding when he forgets her birthday. All this kind of relationship amounts to is the well-oiled relationship between two persons who remain strangers all their lives, who never arrive at a ‘central relationship,’ but who treat each other with courtesy and who attempt to make each other feel better.

In this concept of love and marriage the main emphasis is on finding a refuge from an otherwise unbearable sense of aloneness. In ‘love’ one has found, at last, a haven from aloneness. One forms an alliance of two against the world, and this egoism à deux is mistaken for love and intimacy.”

And what of love that is not, as Fromm calls it, pathology? Even the socially accepted one detailed above.

“Love is possible only if two persons communicate with each other from the center of their existence, hence if each one of them experiences himself from the center of his existence. Only in this ‘central experience’ is human reality, only here is aliveness, only here is the basis for love. Love, experienced thus, is a constant challenge; it is not a resting place, but a moving, growing, working together; even whether there is harmony or conflict, joy or sadness, is secondary to the fundamental fact that two people experience themselves from the essence of their existence, that they are one with each other by being one with themselves, rather than by fleeing from themselves. There is only one proof for the presence of love: the depth of the relationship, and the aliveness and strength in each person concerned; this is the fruit by which love is recognized.” Erich Fromm – The Art of Loving

Such fruit is grown over decades of being with ourselves, not fleeing from all we are, standing in love and insisting on strengthening every area of our existence as best we can.

j. ruth kelly, 2013, all rights reserved
j. ruth kelly, 2013, all rights reserved