distraction from mending…

Yesterday I went to Target., usually is a fun way to distract myself, especially after months of sheltering-in-place with no shopping—except for groceries, gas, booze, and take out. I was quite enthusiastic as I set out. I even put on lipstick…and then my mask.

I didn’t need anything, just some good ole’ aimless browsing, a coffee from Starbucks, drive home, put things away, recycle the boxes, packaging, or tags. Whew, an hour or so that I didn’t have to think about the state of the world, our nation, my family, or myself.

Thank you Target for the distraction, although upon returning home, I realized just as B. B. King sang, The Thrill Was Gone, at least yesterday anyway.

Q. Why did shopping feel so empty to me? This became my thesis for the afternoon.

I sat outside in the yard with my eyes closed for a few minutes—not meditating, just quiet without distraction.

At first, nothing specific came to me…I sat in the heat a few more minutes. I hate being hot, so that was pretty distracting…and bugs were nibbling at my ankles.

Then something Glennon Doyle wrote about in Love Warrior hit me.

“You are not supposed to be happy all the time. Life hurts and it’s hard. Not because you’re doing it wrong, but because it hurts for everybody. Don’t avoid the pain. You need it. It’s meant for you. Be still with it, let it come, let it go, let it leave you with the fuel you’ll burn to get your work done on this earth.”
Glennon Doyle Melton, Love Warrior

Glennon also wrote about going to Hot Yoga, her only goal was to stay on her mat and not run out of the room. I think I need to sit more often with my uncomfortableness (and others as well) and stop seeking so much avoidance and so many distractions.

Wait, I love my distractions…let me count the ways…avoidance always serves me so well…

TV, food, my studio, scrolling through my phone, podcasts, a nap, a beer, Netflix, Amazon Prime, news, HGTV, books, magazines, ice cream, potato chips, cleaning anything, driving anywhere…my list of distractions goes on and on.

Come on distractions, work your magic. These feelings are so damn uncomfortable. Make them go away.

At least every once in a while, I think I have to say to hell with my much-loved distractions. Welcome in all of the uncertain, uncomfortable feelings, and let them teach me something about my own heart and how to best mend it.

Then after that exhausting heart-mending work—I’ll reward myself, grab some potato chips, a beer, and watch The Gilmore Girls.

othering/a transitive verb

by Lisa Lillibridge

to treat or consider 
(a person or a group of people) 
as alien to oneself
 
Merriam Webster

I want to blame
I need to blame
someone else
something else 
anywhere else
for my inner tornado

alienate
vilify
repeat

easy breezy
automatic, unconscious

our world’s challenges
far too complex
and exhausting
to metabolize 
entirely on my own

quell my fears 
confirm my programming
please just tell me who, what, and where
I should other today

my team’s constant drumbeat
deliberate, unyeielding
laboring 24/7 
to justify
their clouding of my inner knowing 

click, forward, like, share, and tweet
fair and balanced
the daily diary of the American dream
all the news that’s fit to print

immutable 
and distracting
like a howling airplane baby

poor mum
damn baby

damn mum
poor baby

othering

seductive 
like an ice cold beer
hot, salty french fries
or another slice of chocolate cake

how did I other today?

those people are not my people
that problem is not my problem
that place is not my place

alienate
vilify
repeat

conformity is obedient and compliant
far easier
than looking in the mirror
and down into my own heart

I know I should not utter a word
until I’ve walked at least 
ten steps in someone else’s
work-boots
sneakers
high heels
wing tips
flip flops
or bare feet

but I do
we all do 
and it’s destroying us

karmic shadows…

No one can entirely escape their inherited genetics, the often told family stories, or emotional baggage of our ancestors.

Often, the burden of our family karma, or ancestral grief can feel far more like a cumbersome steamer trunk than a convenient carry-on bag. Thankfully, we actually don’t have to drag the damn steamer trunk around for the rest of our lives. Sometimes these are simply stories told through generations, held too closely and past their expiration date of relevance.

Recognizing that I actually had a choice took a very long time. This has provided a certain emotional liberation that I don’t yet entirely understand. However, I do know that I feel much lighter and have freed up some emotional bandwidth for matters in the here and now requiring my heart and energy.

what is a broken arrow?

BROKEN ARROW is the code word used for an unexpected event involving nuclear weapons in the accidental launching, firing, detonating, theft or loss of weapon.  When I heard this term on the radio yesterday, I linked BROKEN ARROW to the accidental emotional launches that happen in my nuclear family life.

nu·cle·ar/adjective
1.  relating to the nucleus of an atom
2.  BIOLOGY; relating to the nucleus of a cell

Print

As a 51-year-old woman, married since I was 25, and raising twin 17-year-old girls, a BROKEN ARROW can easily be disarming—hopefully not devastating.

There have been thirty-two BROKEN ARROW incidents since 1950.  I’ve had many more. However, maybe with more awareness I can launch less frequently.  I’m quite certain my nuclear family would appreciate the diplomacy.

BROKEN ARROW: an accidental emotional launch

reference link: ATOMIC ARCHIVE 

The Inspiration of Dorthea Lange

Last week I had the pleasure of watching the American Masters documentary on PBS about one of my heroes, Great Depression photographer Dorthea Lange.  Her work has greatly influenced my abandoned farmhouse hunting and photography whenever I visit my family in South Dakota.  Dorthea’s compassion and unyielding desire to tell the tragic and heroic stories of our nation’s poor, interned and displaced through photography woke our nation up.  Dorthea’s images prompted more action than print alone could possibly ever have conveyed.

I’ve always found great beauty among the ruins in all forms.  Things that are new just don’t give me much creative juice.  I like to see everything worn out, faded, distressed and destroyed.  To me there’s always a lot more stories among the ruins.

“It is not enough to photograph the obviously picturesque.”

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“Pick a theme and work it to exhaustion… the subject must be something you truly love or truly hate.”

—Dorthea Lange

You can watch the American Masters documentary online or look on demand from your local listings.

http://www.pbs.org/wnet/americanmasters/dorothea-lange-full-episode/3260/

These images I shot with my niece south of Burke, South Dakota in January.  I’m guessing someone will recognize the house, my sincere apologies for trespassing.  The pull to see what was inside was just too much for us to resist.

There are links to Dorthea’s biography and images if you scroll down.

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Dorthea Lange’s biography

Dorthea Lange’s photographs

Thank you, Leonard Cohen.

grand-trunk-lillibridge-leonard-cohen

Anthem

by Leonard Cohen

The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don’t dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
Ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.We asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed
the marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
of every government —
signs for all to see.

I can’t run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
But they’ve summoned, they’ve summoned up
a thundercloud
and they’re going to hear from me.

Ring the bells that still can ring …

You can add up the parts
but you won’t have the sum
You can strike up the march,
there is no drum
Every heart, every heart
to love will come
but like a refugee.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in.
That’s how the light gets in.

LOVE & picking up sharp things on the road

Last Thursday morning I embarked on a trip to South Dakota to spend some time with my family because of some health challenges.  I hired a driver to get me the to the airport in plenty of time.  I hate to be late and I was afraid the bus ride and long TSA lines might’ve put unnecessary stress on my travels.

My driver, Phil and I had such a compassionate conversation about our struggles that after crying in the car together we needed a hug for closure at Boston Logan Airport.  I was so boosted by the support of this complete stranger.  It was the tonic I needed to step into my childhood home with open arms and very light baggage (in both the literal & figurative senses) and ready to be of service to my clan.

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By the time I landed in Chicago, where I was waiting to meet my 20-year-old son for the last leg of our journey, I had a very simple realization.

If I could connect with my driver so easily and we could be of some comfort to each other—why don’t I just try to LOVE the whole world?

Our culture sees so many US & THEM distinctions, these come from fear, hardwired messages we aren’t even conscious of—or believing in a perceived superiority over others. I’m often guilty myself.  I’m no saint.  I’m just trying this BIG LOVE concept on for size.

love lillibridge

So far, I have to say I think it’s a pretty cool way to view the world.  It’s exhausting to constantly be assessing our appropriate reactions and responses in every situation.  LOVE actually gives you more free time.  I’m a big fan of FREE TIME.  Aren’t you?

I walked through the airport feeling like I had cracked the code on an ancient secret that had been waiting for me.  What if I moved through the world not just being “polite” but offering LOVE to everyone on some level?  Now, this doesn’t mean LOVING THE WHOLE WORLD the way I love my family and friends, but it does mean broadening how I define LOVE.

This morning as I walked to the post office I found all of these sharp, potentially tire destroying objects on the road.  I thought about what a simple act it is to pick up sharp objects.  It wasn’t hard for me at all.  I’m always drawn to shiny objects on the road.

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I like thinking this really simple action might’ve spared some real heartache—a popped car or bike tire…an appointment missed, someone’s pay docked or an unplanned expense for the repair.  By removing the possibility of some  heartache, I guess that’s LOVE on some level, right?

 

The world is a complicated place…

thankfully we have a choice every day.

lisa lillibridge love and hate