Welcome to poetry day on the blog. This poem by Rumi explains love better than any technical explanation ever could. This is the beauty of poetry. It speaks of the “beyond”. Poetry uses words to go beyond words.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:
1953. What is your favorite type of casserole?
+ The sun’s light looks a little different on this wall than it does on that wall, and a lot different on this other one, but it’s still one light. We have borrowed these clothes, these time and place personalities, from a light, and when we praise, we’re pouring them back in.
– Rumi
This week, instead of looking for things to criticize and to critique, let’s look for what’s to praise. Let’s pour the light back in, this week. When we pour light into something, we illuminate it. And illumination helps us to truly see the full scope of everything, and to understand.
+ Speaking of “different”, a spotless baby giraffe was born at a Tennessee zoo recently. She’s spotless! She’s not albino, she’s all brown. This baby giraffe is believed to be the only spotless giraffe alive in the world today. The zoo is holding a naming contest for her:
“the naming contest list to four choices: Kipekee, which means unique; Firyali, which means unusual or extraordinary; Shakiri, which means “she is most beautiful”; and Jamella, which means “one of great beauty.”
Those aspects which each of us have, that make us unique to anyone else, is our own special brand of “kipekee/firyali/shakiri/jamella”. Show off your own “kfsj”. When you’re purely yourself, you’re spotless!
+ Do you remember when almost all writers had pen names? I decided this weekend that if I ever decide to use a pen name it’s going to be “Anole Dogsmile”. It came to me this weekend. It started when I had that uncomfortable feeling you get when someone is staring at you, and I finally noticed that what was staring at me was a tiny, little, newborn anole. He was sitting on the screen behind me, just holding his ground, and staring me down, and around that same time, I glanced at Ralphie, our Labrador retriever, and I had an epiphany that all three of our dogs’ lips naturally turn upwards. They are almost always smiling, and then I thought about it and I realized that most dogs have this same trait. Dogs not only smile with their tails, but they were born with natural perma-grins (much like dolphins). So if you ever pick up a book by “Anole Dogsmile”, that’s me.
+ I read an interesting expose by Donna Cunningham about the difference between two different kinds of “guilt.” One type of guilt is true guilt. This is the guilt that you were designed to feel when you have done something against your own moral code: such as steal, cheat, lie, etc. This type of guilt is used as a healthy course correction. You feel true guilt in order to get yourself back on track, and to perhaps even make amends to people you may have hurt. True guilt tends to dissipate quickly after you change your actions. The other kind of guilt, is more of an emotional manipulation/power play that is unfortunately a frequent transaction in our society. We use it, and others use it on us, to get people to do what we want them to do. This is not healthy, “true guilt.” This is an unhealthy, passive-aggressive/emotional power trip, which often leads to holding resentment. Resentment is as dangerous to our bodies as toxins and pollutants. Built up resentment makes you feel like your insides are being eaten up. When you are feeling the emotion of “guilt”, ask yourself, “What have I done wrong?” Disappointing someone for not doing what they want you to do, is not doing something wrong. Why are anybody else’s feelings/needs more important than yours? You should not do things out of FOG – fear/obligation/guilt (the unhealthy guilt) nor worry that if you don’t do what they want, you’ll be abandoned. You may sometimes choose to do things that you don’t necessarily want to do, with the awareness that you are making this choice, not out of FOG, but out of kindness and consideration. You haven’t given your power away when you make a conscious choice. What is the remedy to the unhealthy kind of guilt? (Cunningham defines unhealthy guilt like this: “Guilt is resentment turned inward . . . (it) is no more than secret resentment of unwanted obligation.) The remedy is essentially, to grow up. Own your own life and your own power. Be cognizant of your own needs and your responsibility to your own adult life, and for meeting your own needs. Learn to be comfortable with sometimes disappointing others, and be respectful of others’ right to say “no” to you (don’t just manipulatively “give to get”). Healthy, wholesome, true adult relationships are based on love and mutual respect for the other’s right to live their own lives as they see fit. A true relationship is not based on fear, obligation and guilt. A true, loving, healthy relationship is based on respect and autonomy and mutual affection and honesty. As Cunningham says, “Resentment alienates us from our fellow man. Guilt alienates us from ourselves.”
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Happy Mother’s Day!!! I know quite a few of my readers out there are mothers like me. There is no experience out there like mothering, is there? Mothering brings out your fiercest side, and yet also your most fearful side, all at the same time. Mothering shows you the depth and the power of your love, and yet also the fragile petals of your own vulnerability. You enter into mothering, willingly and enthusiastically signing on to the dotted line of a lifelong contract, agreeing to something that you really have no idea actually what to expect, and just when you think that you have it all figured out, the seasons change and who you are as a woman and who you are as a mother changes with those seasons, and this metamorphosis happens, again and again, throughout your entire life. It’s daunting and extraordinary. Mothering is the most amazing, overwhelming, vital adventure of my life and I couldn’t be more grateful to the four beautiful souls who call me their mother, for this incredible journey and experience of mothering them. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Much like Shel Silverstein’s book, The Giving Tree is supposed to be an allegory of parenting and unconditional love, I think that this beautiful poem by Rumi is the perfect allegory to the required selflessness that comes from being a mother:
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Good morning. Sundays are usually quiet and lovely and this one is no exception. I hope that this post finds you well and content. Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. On Sundays, I share a poem that I have written or a poem that someone else has written, which has moved me in some way. Write a poem today, even if it is something you choose to just share with yourself. Most of us write to ourselves anyway, even in published form. I started to write a poem, but I’m not strong enough to be vulnerable right now. My raw little mollusc self, feels more comfortable in her shell today. So here is a lovely poem from the great poet Rumi. You can never go wrong with Rumi:
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Fortune for the day – “Tend to your vital heart, and all you worry about will be solved.” – Rumi
I will not look at the news today.
I will not look at the news today.
I will not look at the news today.
I will not touch my face today.
I will not touch my face today. (You have no idea about how much you touch your face, until some entity tells you not to do it. I was literally resting my head in my hands, reading the warnings about not touching your face, due to this %$#^&**^ coronavirus.)
I will not touch my face today.
Today, I will do my best to heed Rumi’s above-mentioned advice. My two middle sons are home for their spring break from college. Due to studying needs and lack of money issues, home for spring break became their best option for this year. Staycation, home sweet home. Can I get a whoop, whoop?
“What can I do to make this break at home for you guys, “special?”, I asked them yesterday, as I took a brief pause from Twitter’s CoronavirusFlorida2020 and threw a frozen pizza into the oven.
“Oh don’t worry about it, Mom,” my second son said, earnestly. “I already knew that it was going to suck.”
Now, in all fairness, this son has spent this break, so far, taking practice MCATs, which are eight hour long tests, a pop. That does suck. This is the same child who once told me that he didn’t like to have get-togethers with his soccer team at our house, because I act too “homely.” He doesn’t mince words. In drawing that conversation out a little bit more, while trying not to get hysterical, it seems he meant that I behaved a bit too down-home friendly and welcoming to the soccer boys, not ugly. From then on, I knew to be much bitchier when his soccer mates came around. Ha!
I will end today’s ridiculous, pointless blog post (give me a break, I spent all day yesterday obsessing about the coronavirus and had little time to read or to watch anything actually more interesting and worthwhile, than every three minute coronavirus updates) with an idea my friend texted earlier. We middle-aged women should really be renamed, “Queenagers.” I love it! My Queenager-ness trumps all teenagers, living at the house and otherwise. Today I am a Queenager who will not watch the news nor touch my queenly (not homely) face.
“The wise do not attach themselves to the ups and downs of life, but stay above them.” – Rumi
I recently read an excellent book that came to me, at just the right time. As an avid reader and a dedicated over-thinker, I believe sincerely that this is how our book connections happen. It so happens that the president’s daughter recently quoted a poem by Rumi, the ancient poet and philosopher, which reminded me that I had purchased a book about Rumi’s writings earlier this year. So, I looked for it and I read it over the past weekend. The book is called Rumi: Tales of the Spirit – A Journey to Healing the Heart, by Kamla K. Kapur. It turns out that even though Rumi is often known for his poetry, he was also an ardent story teller. In this book, Kapur translates twelve of Rumi’s stories which read more like parables or even sophisticated fairy tales, and then she explains the deeper depth of meaning, that she believes that Rumi is trying to convey. It is one of those books that you think about long after you have read it. It is a book that you keep for later reflection. It is one of those books that will find you, again.
The parables of Rumi that struck me the most were the ones talking about our need to let go of attachments. When your children start leaving the nest at a clip pace, and you have reached middle age with an acute sense that everything in your physical world is aging along with you (your things, your relations, your body), it becomes painfully clear of all of the strings that need to be cut. Just how attached am I to my children and the futures that I envision for my children, and the beliefs and mannerisms and ideas that I think they should have, to match my narrow vision? Just how attached am I to my main identity that I have taken on as my children’s mother and caretaker? Just how attached am I to all of the physical things that we have accumulated along the way to support our family and the life of our family unit? ( You may recall that I recently blogged about, while sobbing, just how hard it was to sell a family car that long had been part of our family history.) Just how attached am I to the relationships that I formed to teachers and coaches and friends, because of the connection to my children and their activities? Just how attached am I to my fading youth, and the vitality and beauty that flows away and starts to just trickle, as I age? Just how attached am I to the way things were, when the focus of our lives was this budding, growing family? Just how attached am I to all of the ups and downs, the exciting roller coaster of feelings that raising a family inevitably brings with it?
In the book, Kapur describes attachment this way:
“Attachment is something or someone we grasp desperately for our own survival; something or someone we think belongs to us instead of the Power that made it. . . . .Attachment to our opinions, prejudices, judgments and beliefs also imprison us.”
Recently my husband and I attended a dinner party at the home of a very wealthy man. He had vast collections of everything you could imagine. He had several gorgeous antique cars (and another warehouse somewhere else, apparently, full of more of them), beautiful paintings everywhere, rare hood ornaments, a brown liquor collection, a wine collection, a cigar collection, several antique sculptures, and he had so many Persian rugs, that they even surrounded his large, indoor pool. Many of us party goers asked him fascinated questions about his many beautiful objects. We asked him if it made him nervous, having everyone milling around and touching his things.
He looked at us incredulously. “No, I love to be able to share what I have found joy in,” he said.
We asked him if he rolled up the antique Persian rugs when his grandchildren came over to swim.
“No! I like the rugs to keep their feet comfortable,” he said, earnestly.
When we asked him what his favorite thing was, out of all his vast collections, he answered, without missing a beat,
“My marriage,” he said with a sweet smile.
Rumi says that detachment is not saying that you should own nothing. It is saying that nothing should own you. This man, who hosted the party, was a testament to this wisdom that Rumi extols.
The author includes one of her favorite Aboriginal proverbs, in the chapter on detachment. I’ll end this post with it:
We are all just visitors to this time, this place. We are just passing through. We are here to observe, to learn, to grow, to love and then to return home.
(For more reading on detachment, I also highly recommend Karen Casey’s Let Go Now – Embracing Detachment)
