Stepping Into 2014: What Can I Offer You?

Well, hello! Happy New Year! 
At a time when I'm conscious of being in transition, and also in a state of fragility and parlousness, my thoughts are all over the traditional questions--What should my intentions be? --What is truly my passion? --If I can ask the right questions, won't all the intentions finally stick? and finally, When push comes to shove, what do I really have to offer? --because of course I want to give.

I'm half a lifetime away from the sparky straight-A student who could generally assume her resume would fit her for any opportunity she might be interested in. And having maintained such diversified interests (read: not having settled down to any one thing) I find it too easy nowadays to assume that I can't do whatever occurs to my interest--because I lack relevant experience or skills, or because there's a flip side to whatever it is that I wouldn't want to deal with, or because I assume no one would give me a reference.

But one afternoon this week, a series of events and reflections showed me what I needed to know as a theme for this year.
Back in England, I bought a beautiful little inlayed box, miniature mosaic, the beautiful geometrics of Islamic art--from a thrift shop, for the equivalent of about three and a half dollars. I wanted it as a box for writerly inspiration, and just for its beauty. My mom's friend, who owns several such boxes, told me to be sure and varnish it; otherwise, the tiny mosaic tiles would start to fall out. 

So, I came back to AK, I settled in, it sat there. Phil loaned me two cans of varnish, one of them better than the other but he didn't know which, together with a few brushes. The box sat with my semi-unpacked luggage; the cans of varnish and the brushes sat in the back of my station wagon.

After a few days of this, on a day just above freezing with no snow in the air, I took the box, the brushes, and the cans of varnish, and slip-slid up the road to where a bench overlooks the bluff and the bay.

I could only get one of the cans open. 

Well, guess what? The can I could get open was better than the one I couldn't open.

 

I varnished the bottom of the box to make sure it wasn't some weird color, then started on the top. As I worked, I realized it wasn't shiny clean--that I was varnishing over some grime. How beautiful it might have been if I'd buffed it up pristine!

But I was varnishing it at all, rather than procrastinating the job--good enough.

It's not perfect. But now I have a beautiful box, whose tiles will not fall out, in which to store writing prompts, or pens, or love letters from the beyond, or whatever! And I returned the varnish and brushes to Phil right away, rather than driving them around for weeks without having used them.
Most of all, I had the lived experience that taking care of something then and there can be more perfect--and more empowering--than waiting to do that thing perfectly, and the exhilaration of seeing something through without inertia. 

And so, since then my email inbox has been emptied immediately rather than allowed to brim. Books and magazines are being read and returned/recycled steadily. 
And so, here's this post, still with my two blog urls, even though I don't yet have my website set up as I want it to be after an embarrassingly long time like that. Here's this story, even though the box is still drying and not yet brimming with great writing prompts or love letters from my favorite literary magazines.

As I embrace imperfection, I also feel a deeper assurance that I do have much to offer. Why would I write a blog at all if I didn't have anything to give? I certainly don't intend it as a narcissistic navel-gazing exercise. So, please keep me honest! Don't let me go there. 
Since my interests are various, "what I have to give" might be multifarious also. Which is against all marketing advice--I don't have a "brand" or any such thing. But for now, please let me give to you, and please let me know what I can give you.

Acceptance of imperfection, asking of myself what I have to give and where my true passion lies--realizing that these two things are one and the same--and creating an environment in motion where material does not accumulate or get stuck--these are the watchwords I bring to the new year. Hopefully this will also mean a more united and logical website situation. I'm looking for help. I'm looking to help.

Contrarian New Year; Captchas are Back

A herd of four moose was inside the fence made of fishing net Phil had built to keep them out. They were chowing down on our birches and rowans we'd wished to protect. 
And there I was with my new iPhone in the 3.30pm dusk, trying to figure out how to take pictures.

New iPhone and its camera for easy transfer to the blog. 
At a time when I'm seriously considering moving the blog to a no-photo format. Blog evolution is coming--I've been mentioning it for so long, soon must be when.

One of the biggest moose I've ever seen--running up and hollering was just stupidity.
But I scared off both her and the rest of the herd by banging metal on metal.

Everything's contrary.
You all know I think New Year's is arbitrary.
And yet I take advantage of the collective renewal energy to set some intentions.
But this year, I haven't in any clear way. Murky waters between my own recent brain chemistry roller-coaster and huger uncertainty over who/where/what/how I am.

I, who work and am in school, frequently at the mercy of time, tide, and inclination of incredibly spontaneous and outward-looking person whose utter freedom means "When are we leaving for town?" can receive only a provisional answer.
I, who have never been late in my life, suddenly the one who's never quite ready on time (but have still never been late to my own appointments, let it be noted).
Moving apart, deliberately and mutually; finding myself object of increased desire; pushing away, pulled back like on a dance floor to a song whose rhythm I can't parse. 
Who have never thought myself desirable; who sometimes wonders whether all the craziness and restriction are protections from desirability.

Who is doing a cleanse and "apples-sparingly" diet now, along with most of the rest of the country, probably, but contrary to implicit and explicit direction. 
And feeling better for it, in the aftermath of some scary stuff with fluid fluctuations, apparently around an ovarian cyst. 
(Don't worry, this is a short term thing. I have the Lithium tether to discourage losing weight.)

One Final Thing:
At some point last spring, I turned off the Captchas for my comments, after someone complained of how hard they are, and having had the experience myself commenting on others' blogs.
As of today, the Captchas are back on again. I am receiving so many spam comments--probably ten times as many as genuine comments. (Since my blog is tiny, those numbers are not awful, but it's become a major  time issue deleting all of them.) Lately, in my experience, the Captchas haven't been so bad. I hope this won't discourage you from leaving your thoughts, which I always love to hear.

Just as I'm reactivating the Captchas on the blog, so I endeavor to reactivate them psychically. I tend to let everything in and get knocked around from one idea to the next so that I'm in constant Brownian motion and never settled in a space.
Wish me luck.

Post-Epiphany; There but for the grace of...myself

This Epiphany day is only my third back home. Each day, both in its physical attributes and in the experiences it's offered, has been so different from the other that it feels like I've been back longer.

What is Epiphany/epiphaneia? It means epi-appearance -- an appearance/apparition/manifestation with something extra riding on top of it. That extra part could be how intense the thing is, like a really bright light, or it could be how intensely the thing strikes you, like a really bright light that brings you to your knees in prayer. 

A very ordinary object or fact could trigger an epiphany if it strikes you in a certain way. When days go by clothed in such diversity, they offer a backdrop for multiple Epiphanies far beyond the sixth of January.

Today, it came up several times, applying to different people, that working out while sick or insisting on working when exhausted or not paying attention to warning signs around one's mental health all are subconscious messages to oneself and one's body that "getting the work" done is more important than health, the body's needs, and even life. 

That's an epiphany. Leading to a further epiphany: I know I am a fire that can burn out and also a volcano that can overflow. I must also, then, be a firekeeper. 

Containing my fire is/would be a mark of respect: I am connected to everyone and yet I am contained. I acknowledge the breathtaking support I receive from so many loving individuals and from the universe, but on top of that, it appears to me that I need to shoulder myself.

When I consider some of the more unhappy people in the Place of No Shoelaces (and forgive me, I'm just beginning to conceive of writing about this), I saw no separation. 
No, I'm not the woman so unwashed that even her turning over in the night wakens her roommate with the odor. But I have neglected my own hygiene to a harmful extent only partially excusable by our lack of plumbing.
No, I'm not the woman who hides in her room, comes out occasionally with a vague smile, shuffling, can't say more than a short sentence to anyone. But I have been withdrawn into myself so far that other people seem sealed out hermetically with that slightly bubbling plexiglass, like on the windows here.
No, I'm not the man pacing the halls through the evening and night holding a murmured conversation with himself, his pajama bottoms periodically descending as he steps on them. But I have paced the halls day and night, with loud conversations inside my head.
I'm not the girl who banged her head against the door, fought the staff who tried to stop her, and had to be tackled. But I did bang my head against the door.

There but for the grace of...myself...  There, through grace of myself, went I.

I'm not the men and women who had no support system and nowhere to go that reduced the likelihood they'd be back inside soon. 
I feel so much gratitude for a great support system and that, at least for now, I have health insurance.
But at the end of it all, I am my own firekeeper. 
And the diversity of days reminds me of the "50 First Weeks" theme I had going last year. This acknowledgment of responsibility as firekeeper to my inner dragon is a resolution or intention, but no way am I going to make all my resolutions in the first few days of the year! 
Any of these diverse days is good for resolution-making and intention-setting. Return to the fire.

Looking up, Belated Epiphanies

Happy New Year!
What a late start to the blogging year. Past the First, almost to Epiphany!
I'm about ready for an epiphany myself--are you too?--after the world failed to end with the Mayan sunset and we all have to find something productive to do.

In excuse for this tardy New Year's post, let me say this last short while has been an onslaught of missed or belated epiphanies. Are things looking up?
I look up from my preoccupation with holiday goodie-making, and the weather is terrible and we must be on the road now to get to Anchorage to pick up Phil's granddaughter.
I look up from trying to get work done amid holiday stuff, and realize I haven't been managing my self-care, and whoops--my moods and physiology are all over the place.
I look away from angsting at the scale going up for no reason at all, check in with this feeling in my middle that I've been ignoring, and lo, I have a bladder infection I've been ignoring, inflammation, water retention, and it actually really hurts.
I look up from talking with my mom on the phone, and there are four moose in our yard--the most I've ever seen--on the wrong side of the fence, eating on all the trees and shrubs we've been trying to keep them out of. Since I only got my iPhone yesterday, I could barely figure out how to take photos of them while failing to chase them out. (Banging some pans together finally sort of worked, the photos didn't.)

The once happiest man I ever met backs away, saying he's spent. Did I spend him? Or did I waste him?

I've put in time at various institutions where the items you're allowed to keep are about like what you're allowed in the cabin of an aircraft.
I spent most of the holidays in a place where even shoes with laces and journals with ties were out; even toothbrushes and toothpaste were verboten: see the disposable toothbrush below with a blob of gel you squeeze up. My own hairbrush had a hollow handle and was out; my own socks were mid-calf, and only ankle-length were allowed. There was no monitoring of lavatories, but all other doors were locked.

How much more to tell of that story is a dilemma with which I'm wrestling, the writer in me desperate to explore (not "exploit") the experience artistically; the person in me just. so. very. ashamed and embarrassed.
If nothing else, this was obviously a great opportunity to reflect, and to set some intentions, and I may share some of those when I'm more together. What are you guys intending for this year?

Is it light at the bottom of the well or water at the end of the tunnel?
And yet, there is love. Always, love.

The Day After Solstice, and All the Days to Come

Solstice was yesterday. I have less than an hour until that is no longer true here. Thus flew time since I returned to Homer yesterday--two parties, goodies-making underway, and a lot of intense and important conversation. Otherwise, I would have written sooner, and would have gone to bed already tonight!

On the road yesterday, I got to see the Solstice sun rise--this picture taken around 11am... 

 The whole of Turnagain Arm frozen with that rumor of sun.

So cold, the water was boiling off the ocean as it came into the inlet.

A long, cold drive for me. The heater had been working some, but quit completely, and the outside temps were somewhere from five to fifteen below, plus windchill. A small amount of water I'd left in a cup froze inside the car between Cooper Landing and Soldotna (less than 60 miles). The hand warmers I had on my gloves and in my shoes felt like they weren't working, but they were just up against so much opposition. Lesson learned from last time, I stopped pretty much at every opportunity and sought out warmth!

But I thought it was important to register that the world did not end yesterday, as confirmed by "The Moose is Loose" bakery in Soldotna.

The stretch before Soldotna was a problem last time, so safe arrival in Soldotna seemed a good indication that the world was still here.

As it turned out, the final 72 miles home from Soldotna were the hardest. The sun had been making its long slow descent--in the south at this time of year, directly into my eyes--and finally finished the job around 3 or 3.30. The roads in this stretch were icier than anywhere else that day. So we went from driving with a bright light directly in your eyes (so that you can't see the road, or anything, at times) to driving in the dark on ice. Which is why there isn't a photo of the sunset.
Home safe and straight to a party.

Freezing my tail off aside, I'm grateful to have been able to reinscribe that rather stressful journey as something accomplishable. It's similar to what I hope for this 2012 Solstice. Many people were sincerely expecting some grand cataclysm or epiphany or ending. Many others, probably a greater number, thought it was a load of twaddle. My hope is that all the energy toward positive change and clearer intentions generated in preparation for this moment can be used to clear the psychic air around us, allow us all to become more conscious of how what we do affects the air, the space, each other, ourselves, and from that consciousness to make our choices. "No good or bad but thinking makes it so?" Well, I do think so; and, notwithstanding, simply these words, with no "think," no "believe," no "feel" attached to them: 
Peace.     Love.     Kindness.     Attention.     Intention.   Happiness.     Awareness.      Acceptance.

Happy Solstice, and all the days to come.