The Ugly Fish

Once again, I’ve come upon that lonely, murky pond where nothing seems to thrive but the delicate little herbs along its western shore. Their tiny dew soaked leaves glisten as the muddy roots whisper “grab me up and rub my soul over the wounds of yourself and all those you see!”

But, like a fish in a fitful, feverish dream, my fingers stick together, unable to reach for anything but themselves. I want to shout to the world “I’ve seen something new! I’ve realized something unique! I know it can help you AND me!” Silenced by every unanswered request, struck by each gust of wind in the lives that surround me, my intentions fail to manifest.

I feel life whispering something about the occasional uselessness of language, the meaninglessness of speaking that which can’t be understood. But I am not listening. I’m insisting on saying the things I need to say, confined by my need to release the pressure, hopelessly attached to the outcome of being heard from my core. In this sticky place, my phrases mean nothing to anyone but myself and my pride is the last to let go in its desperate attempt to exist and belong in the normal world.

Enraged, I scream and shake and lose my footing near the water’s edge. “No one can hear me. No one is listening. No one can see the theory behind my pain, merely the mechanics of my strain, ” I try to say. But the forest hears only a tiny whimper as I inhale before going under.

The icy water soothes burning nerves and collapses my tired lungs under the weight of my own unmet expectations. Finally, I exhale and the fighting is over. At last, my limp frame can drift down to the quiet place in the center of the pond, where all the ugly fish go.

“Ah, here you are!” the ugly fish say, catching me with their fins, filling my lungs with bubbles of fresh air.

“We’re so relieved you’ve come back! We’ve been yearning to hear your stories but the mud is so thick. It keeps us from understanding what you’re saying.”

“I didn’t think anyone could hear me!” I exclaim, astonished. “I didn’t think anyone was listening! I felt ashamed, angry and alone!” I cry and cry for hours and the water turns clear and warm. The ugly fish smile and suck at my face, drinking the tears. “I only got here because I lost myself.”

The ugly fish smile. They smile like only ugly fish can smile and tell me, “Isn’t that the only way we do get home most days?”

Because the truth is what’s most funny – I giggle and giggle until I can hardly see their faces through all my giggly bubbles. I giggle until I completely lose the need to take myself seriously. Until I can’t even remember what I thought was so important to say.

“Silly Stephie”, they say. “Silly me,” I agree. With this they scoop me up and set me upon a little rock covered in slippery green moss.

“Please tell us everything you have words to share. We really need to hear anything you really need to say.” I know what they’re saying is true and real because ugly fish don’t say things to please anybody. They don’t say anything they don’t need to say. And they always swim with ugly fish so everybody feels the same way.

I breathe in their bubbles and start from the beginning. And speak and breathe until both become easy for me. And when I’m relieved of the need to speak, I just breathe.

And when there’s nothing left, the ugly fish suck the last tears from my lashes, the last giggle from my lips and give me a gift only an ugly fish can give. They say, “You don’t need to be frightened of getting lost. It is a blessing, because it will always lead you home to us. Fall into the muck of life anytime you need to, Stephie. We will always be here, listening for your stories. We take these stories and weave them into the big Stories and tie them with the threads that unite all lives. We need your stories to keep weaving.”

And then they ask something from me, and I promise to do it. “Bring others’ stories from the world above whenever you come, too. Listen as we listen. Weave as we weave. Broaden the fabric that holds us all together. Live as a part of the whole… as you are a part of the whole.”

And I do and I will, ugly fish. Thank you. And I do and I will.

Gratitude for My Housemates

To PJ, Squaw, Cruiser, Maggie, Siva, Jenni, Jackie, Rob, Coda, Nick, Yellie, Rudy, Maizy, Brandon, Mona, Ryan, Matt, Jenn, Elyse, Mia, Kiya, Jason, the frogs and the fish.

Together you’ve seen me through divorce & several other major heartbreaks, deaths of friends & family, two cross-country moves and a couple local ones, job changes, body changes, lifestyle changes, spiritual changes, accomplishments, disappointments, sickness, wellness, dirty dishes, every possible emotion, and the birth of my child.

Never let it be said that living with others isn’t a supremely vulnerable experience. And that, my beloved housemates, represents the very best of love. And the very best of living.

Thank you for contributing to my life, my journey, and my sense of possibility.

My Beloved Sister, Susan ~

You squeezed me tight, in our last brief visit, and whispered you were beginning a new chapter in your life. Just weeks later, you found those pages opening with the giant force of lung cancer, a great wave that would soon carry you off from your children, partner, family, and countless friends into the Great Unknown. Behind the tide, near and far from your daily life, we stand grief stricken, unable to imagine truly, joyfully going on without you – your smile, your incredible presence and miraculous, inspiring light.
If I were to leave in such a way, I know you would find clarity and purpose in your grief, you would hold my loved ones in your prayers and mind, tell stories of my life that kept my heart’s vision alive; and you would laugh, cry and rage as needed until you became quiet and calm. You would feel until the feelings led you to peace and understanding. And then you would move forward, embracing your life again with me in your heart.
So, dear friend, I will do the same, in your name, trusting the guiding light of Love to lead me through this dark night. I will hold your loving wisdom as a candle for my walk and let the memories of our times together warm me when my body shakes in the cold, damp sorrow of my loneliness for you.
In rare moments now, I glimpse the indescribable brilliance of Infinity… and feel so guilty and selfish for wanting you here in this limited place. But, isn’t that just so human of me? I rest in the knowing that you and God understand my struggle. And, that I will see you again soon – in soul time – and we’ll reflect together on the vast mystery of these brief human lives with a spaciousness and graciousness my tender, wounded human heart can only now imagine.
All My Love, Stephanie~

My friend, Susan DesForges, passed away May21st at age 43 in the company of her loving husband, Christopher. May her children, Ella & Aaron, Chris, her parents, friends, colleagues, and every lucky soul to have crossed her path be nurtured and supported in this sad time of saying goodbye to Susan. I love her.

In Movement, Goodbye for Now Ojai

Saturday afternoon found me flying solo at the coffee shop. Among the reader, writers, and chatters I noticed a man in the corner, eyes closed, face peacefully upturned to received the kiss of the gentle winter sun. He captivated me with his longing look of hopeful serenity. And then I had to smile. He was holding Total Freedom by Krishnamurti! Oh Ojai, no matter where I go, there you are…

I recall the dry, dusty smell of your valley after many hot months when even the moss in the swimming holes has moved on. And when, at last, the rain arrives, I pray it lingers long enough to wash that seemingly eternal dust from deeply worn crevasses in flesh and stone.

The heat’s expression is rivaled only by the intense solitude of the Ojai people – even those ‘social butterflies’ who meet each sunset at one or another gathering in yurts, temples, cafes or pubs. Artists and healers standing shoulder to shoulder; I could not escape the quietly frenetic turning, churning of so many souls longing and searching for their Great True Expression.

I mourn your mystical myriad flora and fauna here in the city, cannot find a fraction of the stars, and never hear my coyote family singing in the darkness. Tiny tears fall that I will not see them walking by my house or see the streetlight reflecting in their eyes as I say “hello, goodnight, brother”. The owls and frogs don not sing us lullabies. There are no poison oak to sternly remind me when I’ve gone off the path.

I grieve my friends who continue on with walks and potlucks. Their waterland smiles and supple bodies hug like the sea on a kind day. Sometimes it’s as if I’ve died or was never born. It’s as if the wind took me away like the jasmine in the heat, its smell so deeply penetrating in its subtlety, then gone. Just the memory of a flower. Just a delicate vine without sound.

And then I wake again to the bright sunlight of Denver, and it doesn’t scare me. Because I know it won’t burn my skin for months on end. The wind will come and pull a cold rush down upon my day, maybe even bring heavy snow or rain. And my lungs will open with the possibilities that change brings. My shoulders will drop into place and I will breathe. And tomorrow – or later today – the sun will return her rays again to warm my face. And I see that this, above everything, is why I’ve returned to this Rocky Mountain place. I am a mountain bird. My wings need wind and my heart needs change.

Here, 4000 feet above the nest, I rest my feathers in a city decorated with people of every shape, size, color, and background. We walk the paths of sun-speckled parks, raising our children side-by-side in grocery lines and on buses. The intense stillness of your world has been replaced by a humming, musical, collage of sounds, signs and colors. Here I feel free to be seen or invisible, whisper or scream.

Even in the safety of this new expanse, I appreciate the ‘cradle’. For, my daughter was born on your silent shores, Ojai. The insistent, persistent slowness of the vortex finally settled my heart and body enough to give birth. For this, I thank the stillness.The cosmic, collective movement resulting in this creature, Kiya, drew it’s momentum from a long, quiet exhale I could only take in Ojai.

In silence, each day, I return to you. In movement, each day, I say goodbye. And so, in this way, it is with you, Ojai, that I live and die.

Kiya’s Teachings

It’s so easy to get lost in useless details, chasing the same dishes around the kitchen day after day, wondering when I’ll ever know how to live “right”. There’s no satisfaction in my perfectionism. Then Kiya comes along and re-minds me how to be present  by the everyday things she does.

Like licking brownie drippings on New Year’s Eve…

enjoying winter evening rays at the dog park…

testing the outer limits of fashion…

and embracing her  inner Artist.

Neither wind nor rain, stress or strain, the darkest night or brightest day keeps Kiya from being Kiya. This tops my list of reasons why Kiya is my greatest teacher and inspiration. Everyday, she learns and grows into more of who she already is. A bright and sensitive, complex spirit monkey. And then some.

Tonight

He & I stood together in the chilly winter night, steadily preparing for flight. Folding our tents. Plotting our family’s next step. Soon I was amazed to find a great, glorious Us had begun to fill the air. How strange and wonderful. Not just him. Not just me. More than that had become… We!

Then he  smiled and

shrugged his shoulders,

“I’ll never let you go,

just so you know”.

My heart flew open

and my Spirit shouted out

from a deep, sweet place inside!

“Will you marry me?”

And he said yes.

And I said yes.

Yes, yes, yes.

Arriving by His Own Clock

Caleb James Dalgas 825am November 29th, 2008

This dear soul, my first nephew, and his parents taught me much about the power of present moment living in the weeks we shared.

I was reminded that beginnings – and all that falls within time’s realm – are not within our control. Try as we may to manage circumstance, all things come in their own time. It is how we spend that time that matters. It is how we breathe into the unknown which determines our ‘fate’.

Watching a woman wade through pain and uncertainty, holding her core truth in the midst of exhaustion, and embracing the changes happening within her but beyond her control… I grew up a little more. I felt a little stronger in my own core. I wanted more for myself and felt just a bit more confident that I deserved those things my heart desires. Caleb and his mother gave me that. And his father showed me, once again, that Love will always be there to help me cover the distance between here and there.

Thank you, Geoff, Jennie, and Caleb James. I love you so.

Friends Make Change Easier

Sharing Kiya’s bloody lip ice pack

Kisses make booboos feel better

This last Halloween, Kiya’s friend Ruthie shared her extra fairy costume so they could both dress up for gym class. It’s a tiny tumblers for people 1.5 – 3 years old where little ones can run around and check out the gymnastic world. Ruthie loves it and sometimes Kiya does, too. They both really dig the trampoline!

These two photos remind me of how much each of them has changed in the last 10 months, and how much they’ve been through together: a dozen teeth, bumps, bruises, stolen toys and treats, endless disappointments from not getting what they want, missed naps, sun in the eyes on car rides, grumpy mommies, withheld breastfeeding moments, and so on. It’s hard being a small person, but it’s a lot easier and a lot more fun, too, with friends.

And that’s just one more gift Kiya and her friends have given me: community. We’re not alone on this human trip, even in our loneliest moments, and I’m so grateful for the loving wisdom and unexpected patience of friends.

When She’s Breathing

My sweet friend, Jennie, is resting now, breathing through contractions that come about 8-10 minutes apart. As her time to birth her child draws nearer, my own heart opens and softens to the Great Mystery that new life unfolds. Tears come, sorrow and joy fill my lungs, my nerves release excitement, fear, hope, expectation, all of these in waves of their own. Up and down. In and out. Over and over again in the part of life where there are no beginnings and nothing ever ends. It just keeps going.

We fear this open-endedness, most of us, but nowhere else is there found such abundant resolve, compassion, strength, love, and freedom. Such spaciousness. Because there’s no Where to go, no When to arrive, no How to do it correctly, and no Why to answer or explain. Everything just Is. It just is. We are just Here. Right now. Breathing. Being whatever, whomever, wherever we are. No one can solve or escape anything because nothing is wrong.

Jennie is so blessed to be in this realm, at home in the safe space she and her partner have created. She is so strong and so soft. It is Beauty beyond all that can be written. She is in the Wonder World where the midwives dwell. And I am so lucky to be here. Thank you, Jennie.

Our journeys are different, each woman and their child, and somehow, miraculously the same Universal trip. It brings my heart to gratitude for my own midwife and Midwives all. Below is a poem inspired by my own path with Kiya. I hope it gives a glimpse into the magic I’m blessed to witness now with this family.

“To My Midwife”

It’s just days away;
my baby’s first birthday.

To think, a year ago
we were on our way,
you and me and she and he,
to that magical Birthing Place

where caves of mothers-to-be
sing and laugh and cry and breathe.
And the Little Ones, pushing and turning,
make their brave way into Being.

And you and yours hold the space
for moms and dads and babes alike
as we find the rhythm and claim our place
among the Mothers, Fathers and Children of life.

Midwife, you nurture our wee ones
from belly and womb to the soft lit rooms
where you cradle their bodies with gentle hands,
bringing Ancient Mystery to our Everyday Lands.

But soon again, the Call becomes strong.
Then off you go from New Mother cove
following sounds of the next Birthing Song
and making your way down Midwifery Road.

So, now, as my Little One’s birthday arrives
I take a few moments while she sleeps
to feel again the magic of Birthing Time
still flowing through her and he and me.

I find myself grateful and a bit tearful, too.
For hello to my daughter meant goodbye to you.
But, I hold our journey in my heart – and try in my way -
to bring a little Midwifery Magic into her Everyday.

In the Waiting Time

We’re here in Corvallis with Jennie & Geoff awaiting the arrival of little bug Dalgas, their first child. Jennie’s belly looks full and beautiful, the rain comes and goes, trading places with snippets of sun and sheets of misty skies. It’s tranquil and lovely.

Meanwhile, Rock Band has established itself in the living room, leading Rob & Geoffrey on tour across Europe. Last night, Kiya finally realized she could join the guys and took up the bass. Here’s Jennie’s video clip of The Bibble Rockers on stage!