"Whomp Up Side the Head" or "Feast on Your Life"? That is the question

One person's junk is another person's treasure.

Love After Love

The time will come

when, with elation

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door, in your own mirror

and each will smile at the other's welcome,


and say, sit here. Eat.


You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you


all your life, whom you ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.


Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,


the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life. 

Derek Walcott

========

An acquaintance posted this poem on Facebook this morning. It was one of those things that came at an appropriate time for me. I don't know if it is the chest-expanding/heart-opening/posture-improving exercises I've been doing or what, but this morning as I went about running errands, I couldn't help but notice how many people were smiling at me. I did feel good, open and peaceful. I noticed I was standing up taller. Were people picking up on the openness?

It has been so apparent as I have "worked on myself" over the years that I can tend to view myself through my perceived opinion of what others think of me. Whoa, now that is one "big bowl of wrong!" as the guy on Larry David's show used to say. It's none of my business what other people think of me I've been told, and that is finally starting to sink in. When I look at how I look at others I can't help but think that I have no business judging because what do I know of the contents of another's heart (although I guess actions are pretty apparent)?

Last week I got up in the middle of the night to let my dog go outside (she insisted). It was 3AM or so. I grabbed a clementine and with the second bite something went terribly wrong. It went down the wrong way, my throat was closing, and I couldn't get air. As I tried to breathe in nothing got through and it made a horrible strangling noise. I began to panic, got sweaty and dizzy. This was it. In a flash I was angry as it suddenly became so clear what a wonderful life I have. I focused on my son and my husband. My son and my husband. I was actually happy thinking about them. My daughter-in-law, my grandchildren, my sister, those awesome stepsons, my friends… who could let such a wonderful reality go? Fractions of a second brought flashes of memories, and a warmth built up inside…as I started to pass out. I leaned over the counter and tried to calm myself on the warm thoughts of love. I realized that I couldn't breathe through my mouth so I relaxed my muscles and air was able to finally clear through my nose. Breathe. Ignore the throat. Breathe. Open. Open. Relax. 

This was the second such experience I've had in my life where it seemed quite evident that the end was right there - unexpected, but right there. In both cases my mind instantly went to love. The first time I didn't know my husband yet so I thought of my son. He knew,  really knew, he was loved. What better thing could one leave behind? 

I look around my studio now and think about the poem and how horrible I am to myself - do I know I'm loved…by me? The things I say to myself about myself are cruel. I look at other people who are cruel to themselves and I think, "Don't you see how wonderful you are?" I'm fat. Well, whatever. Listen to your constant laughter. Consider how you spent the entire day yesterday just being with your 11-month-old grandson -- 100% there. He had a blast and I did, too. You can do something about that and you will when you make up your mind -and quit beating yourself up. I fall behind in everything, I'm always late. Well, whatever. You have ADD to the max. But, it's funny. It's great to watch your mind work. You're so creative. I'm always tired. Hmmm, well, you probably wear yourself out beating yourself up side the head with a baseball bat every waking minute. Maybe if just 1/10 of your thoughts were kind and uplifting… or, I know, think about somebody else besides yourself. I'm selfish and self-centered, aren't I? You're wearing me out, no wonder we're always tired. See, I told you. What you argue for is yours, my dear. 

Years - decades - ago I remember pulling out a picture of a cute little me aged 2. As an exercise I looked it that little girl with love. I was so full of self-loathing at the time, but I could see that little Cindy was darling. So I let myself love her. It was a very helpful exercise as in time I was able to trick myself into being kind to me. I'll do it again, but it's really just a choice. 

Right now I'm looking around this messy, half-organized (ok, I do exaggerate to make a point - a quarter-organized) studio and smile. I see a little raccoon that I bought in the airport in Hong Kong hanging on my lamp (he has magnets in his feet). I see the picture of my husband and me at our wedding in front of one of Paige Harvey's paintings that I want to buy one day. I LOVE her work. 

There are little trinkets of my life and my dreams and my mind and my loves everywhere. An orange Pokey; books galore; a coffee mug that my grandson Hayden made for me; copies of my first two PlayRights magazines; a huge copper bell that I got at the retreat in Sonoma for the founding of the International Green School Ground Assn.; an old, old leather belt of my mother's that I am going to use to make a pocketbook with some old burlap coffee bags and stuff. I'm a mess, but there is so much love and meaning in everything around me. 

I just get to choose whether to take that big huge awesome book that I haven't read yet and clobber myself on the head with it….or open it and look at the pictures, read a paragraph, read a page, and glow at the beauty of it all.