Dawna Markova's book I will not die an unlived life really touched me in so many ways. She made me think. Made me see. I always know that I am not the only one feeling a certain way. I am not the only one going through certain things. But I am the only me doing so. Each person's experience of things is unique--even though shared by millions. I can only feel and see my own life. I may be able to see that another is in the "same place" but I can't feel what she feels, or even see what she sees.
Occasionally there will be a writer who has the ability to put down on paper what she sees and feels strongly enough that it resonates with many. I felt that way about Markova.
. . . For if we have been caught up in a really compelling story, the loss of an old identity will bring us into the trough of the wave, where all we can hear are rumblings of our sacred hungers--the need to be loved, to have someone be present with us, to be acknowledged as making a difference, to know, to feel peace and satisfaction.
THAT is what I have felt this year. For I was caught up in a really compelling story--the illness, hospitalization, and death of my mother. And my loss of identity when that ended. Not only the end of that particular short story but the ending of my life as someone's child. Odd things will come to mind. Because my parents and older brother are all dead, there is no one who remembers with me many things. What I have longed for, hungered for, was to be loved, to have someone present with me, to know I made a difference.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
I will not die an unlived life
by Dawna Markova. I read this book in January. I was drawn by the title. Who wants to die having never lived? The subtitle is Reclaiming Purpose and Passion.
I sometimes wonder "what now? what next?" This stage of life has not been what I had imagined it would be. The need to be busy is constant. There is always laundry. Always yard. Always. Always. Some days are so full as to be totally exhausting--but without a core, without a reason. What am I focusing on? Too often, nothing. I do what has to be done because it has to be done for life to keep going smoothly along. Shouldn't there be a joy, a sense of accomplishment, a sense of meaning?
Markova wrote:
. . .By passion I don't mean sex or desire. . . I mean the natural life energy that exists inside each of us, urging growth. A deep and natural pulse that tells us to live from the inside out, to reach in and reach out for all that is possible to know, to contribute, and to receive. I may have lost the feeling of it right now, but I am beginning to think passion exists in the relationship between things, between the self and the rest of life, between forces in opposition to each other, between polarities and paradoxes, between and beyond the river of either/or that seems to divide so much of our world.
. . . I'm sure there are fierce yearnings of heart and soul under the smooth, flat surface of the frenetic life I was living. But for now, all I feel is empty. Under a vast and constantly changing sky, I'm surrounded by a natural dormancy where passion's spark is buried and has to be searched for.
I've found my way into this dormancy by asking questions that probably only God can answer, impossible questions that flap in my mind like sheets in the wind: How do we reclaim our lost fire? How do we remember that our love really does matter? How do we retrieve our leaking souls?
Anything capable of decay is also capable of regeneration. Passion is a given when we are young. As children we burn with it, unless it gets smothered or beaten out of us. But as adults, it becomes so elusive, as if there were thin ribbony veils of music playing someplace just beyond our everyday hearing, pale and near-transparent. How do we evoke the untamable in ourselves, that part that dreams and imagines beyond what is known? How do we open fully to what life brings us, letting it lift us and carry us?
I stumble forward in a dim light, finding my way to the vitality that is passion one step at a time. I come to four doors, closed at my heart: rage, denial, inertia, and loss. I believe most of us were taught to slam these shut, turn our backs, and lean up against them in fear. But I also believe that on the other side of these doors are passageways to our brightest fire, the choice to live fully awake and alive. (emphasis mine)
I think she is onto something. Something we know but fail to practice. We've always heard that if we do not feel great sorrow, we will not be able to feel great joy. We know there are times in life that are desperately unhappy. But how many of us feel exceptional joy at other times? Do we not, at those times, hold back a little? Afraid to feel that joy fully and completely? Various reasons, I think, superstition--if I am that joyful won't it invite catastrophe? Guilt--I don't deserve this kind of joy--I have done this or that or NOT done this or that. Fear--if I allow myself to feel so much joy, how horrible will be the aftermath. And more, as people are so varied.
I read. I read. Sometimes I think. But feeling. Well, that is not something I am comfortable with.
I sometimes wonder "what now? what next?" This stage of life has not been what I had imagined it would be. The need to be busy is constant. There is always laundry. Always yard. Always. Always. Some days are so full as to be totally exhausting--but without a core, without a reason. What am I focusing on? Too often, nothing. I do what has to be done because it has to be done for life to keep going smoothly along. Shouldn't there be a joy, a sense of accomplishment, a sense of meaning?
Markova wrote:
. . .By passion I don't mean sex or desire. . . I mean the natural life energy that exists inside each of us, urging growth. A deep and natural pulse that tells us to live from the inside out, to reach in and reach out for all that is possible to know, to contribute, and to receive. I may have lost the feeling of it right now, but I am beginning to think passion exists in the relationship between things, between the self and the rest of life, between forces in opposition to each other, between polarities and paradoxes, between and beyond the river of either/or that seems to divide so much of our world.
. . . I'm sure there are fierce yearnings of heart and soul under the smooth, flat surface of the frenetic life I was living. But for now, all I feel is empty. Under a vast and constantly changing sky, I'm surrounded by a natural dormancy where passion's spark is buried and has to be searched for.
I've found my way into this dormancy by asking questions that probably only God can answer, impossible questions that flap in my mind like sheets in the wind: How do we reclaim our lost fire? How do we remember that our love really does matter? How do we retrieve our leaking souls?
Anything capable of decay is also capable of regeneration. Passion is a given when we are young. As children we burn with it, unless it gets smothered or beaten out of us. But as adults, it becomes so elusive, as if there were thin ribbony veils of music playing someplace just beyond our everyday hearing, pale and near-transparent. How do we evoke the untamable in ourselves, that part that dreams and imagines beyond what is known? How do we open fully to what life brings us, letting it lift us and carry us?
I stumble forward in a dim light, finding my way to the vitality that is passion one step at a time. I come to four doors, closed at my heart: rage, denial, inertia, and loss. I believe most of us were taught to slam these shut, turn our backs, and lean up against them in fear. But I also believe that on the other side of these doors are passageways to our brightest fire, the choice to live fully awake and alive. (emphasis mine)
I think she is onto something. Something we know but fail to practice. We've always heard that if we do not feel great sorrow, we will not be able to feel great joy. We know there are times in life that are desperately unhappy. But how many of us feel exceptional joy at other times? Do we not, at those times, hold back a little? Afraid to feel that joy fully and completely? Various reasons, I think, superstition--if I am that joyful won't it invite catastrophe? Guilt--I don't deserve this kind of joy--I have done this or that or NOT done this or that. Fear--if I allow myself to feel so much joy, how horrible will be the aftermath. And more, as people are so varied.
I read. I read. Sometimes I think. But feeling. Well, that is not something I am comfortable with.
Very funny
Lest you think I am not having a good time ever. . .
Once a month my Daddy's family gathers for a potluck at one of his siblings' homes. Several of the cousins are also gathering with the siblings--for years it was our parents' thing. We always have a wonderful time--there are LOTS of stories to relive and things to laugh about. Several of us had quite exciting times as children--our own children lived highly restricted lives because WE knew too much!!
This past weekend--it is always the first Saturday of the month--one cousin asked if I remembered "smoking monkeys". I had totally forgotten them! They were toys. Came with little paper "cigarettes" which you lit with a match (yes, we had matches and most of us carried pocket knives too), then blew out the flame and the cigarette would smolder away. Very, very funny. I loved those crazy toys.
That particular cousin's husband came over and sat down and we asked, do you remember "smoking monkeys"?? And he said he didn't ever have one but he saw one. And we said which kind, how big was it?? He looked funny and said it was normal-sized!!
He had actually seen a REAL LIVE monkey that smoked real cigarettes!!! Cracked us up.
Someday we're going to hurt ourselves laughing.
Smoking monkey at eBay--a completed auction.
Once a month my Daddy's family gathers for a potluck at one of his siblings' homes. Several of the cousins are also gathering with the siblings--for years it was our parents' thing. We always have a wonderful time--there are LOTS of stories to relive and things to laugh about. Several of us had quite exciting times as children--our own children lived highly restricted lives because WE knew too much!!
This past weekend--it is always the first Saturday of the month--one cousin asked if I remembered "smoking monkeys". I had totally forgotten them! They were toys. Came with little paper "cigarettes" which you lit with a match (yes, we had matches and most of us carried pocket knives too), then blew out the flame and the cigarette would smolder away. Very, very funny. I loved those crazy toys.
That particular cousin's husband came over and sat down and we asked, do you remember "smoking monkeys"?? And he said he didn't ever have one but he saw one. And we said which kind, how big was it?? He looked funny and said it was normal-sized!!
He had actually seen a REAL LIVE monkey that smoked real cigarettes!!! Cracked us up.
Someday we're going to hurt ourselves laughing.
Smoking monkey at eBay--a completed auction.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Books read so far in 2010
My reading has tended toward "light". I find it difficult to concentrate for very long periods. And there has just been a "heaviness" that makes "light" reading more inviting.
In January:
1. Anecdotes of Destiny and Ehrengard by Isak Dinesen. I enjoyed her stories. I had not read anything by her for years and years.
2. Elizabeth and Her German Garden by Elizabeth von Arnim. Very good, I thought. My favorite of hers is still Enchanted April.
Then February was a busier reading month:
Several re-reads by Rosamunde Pilcher. I love her books, actually, I love her characters!
3. The Empty House
4. Another View
5. The Shell Seekers
6. September.
7.Then I will not die an unlived life by Dawna Markova. You'll be seeing more posts about this one.
March was even a heavier reading month, which is good as April is very light so far!
8. Old Books in the Old World by Rostenberg and Stern. These are fun. These women took trips to England and/or Europe every year for book-buying trips for their NY store. It is very interesting to read their accounts of how Europe and GB were doing after WWII and also of the various bookdealers they dealt with.
Two more Pilcher--
9. End of Summer and
10. Under Gemini
11. Peripheral Visions by Phyllis Theroux. A collection of essays/columns. She has a great way of looking at things. Reminds me some of Phyllis McGinley.
12. No! I don't want to join a book club. by Virginia Ironsides. Hilarious. Written as the diary of a woman turning 60. Bits I could have easily done without but overall, so many things I could identify with. The character is engaging. The author knows what she is writing about!
13. The Red Hat Club by Haywood Smith. Another funny, older-woman book. But this is about a group of women who have been friends for MANY YEARS. I will likely do a post on their "traditions" and how they have managed to stay friends and support one another through so many changes. Again, bits I could have done without but a light, funny read with that underlying "friendship is important" theme.
In January:
1. Anecdotes of Destiny and Ehrengard by Isak Dinesen. I enjoyed her stories. I had not read anything by her for years and years.
2. Elizabeth and Her German Garden by Elizabeth von Arnim. Very good, I thought. My favorite of hers is still Enchanted April.
Then February was a busier reading month:
Several re-reads by Rosamunde Pilcher. I love her books, actually, I love her characters!
3. The Empty House
4. Another View
5. The Shell Seekers
6. September.
7.Then I will not die an unlived life by Dawna Markova. You'll be seeing more posts about this one.
March was even a heavier reading month, which is good as April is very light so far!
8. Old Books in the Old World by Rostenberg and Stern. These are fun. These women took trips to England and/or Europe every year for book-buying trips for their NY store. It is very interesting to read their accounts of how Europe and GB were doing after WWII and also of the various bookdealers they dealt with.
Two more Pilcher--
9. End of Summer and
10. Under Gemini
11. Peripheral Visions by Phyllis Theroux. A collection of essays/columns. She has a great way of looking at things. Reminds me some of Phyllis McGinley.
12. No! I don't want to join a book club. by Virginia Ironsides. Hilarious. Written as the diary of a woman turning 60. Bits I could have easily done without but overall, so many things I could identify with. The character is engaging. The author knows what she is writing about!
13. The Red Hat Club by Haywood Smith. Another funny, older-woman book. But this is about a group of women who have been friends for MANY YEARS. I will likely do a post on their "traditions" and how they have managed to stay friends and support one another through so many changes. Again, bits I could have done without but a light, funny read with that underlying "friendship is important" theme.
Swing wide
by Dawna Markova
Let us swing wide all the doors and windows
of our hearts on their rusty hinges
so we may learn how to open in love.
Let us see the light in the other and honor it
so we may lift one another on our shoulders
and carry each other along
Let holiness move in us
so we may pay attention to its small voice
and give ourselves fully with both hands.
Let us swing wide all the doors and windows
of our hearts on their rusty hinges
so we may learn how to open in love.
Let us see the light in the other and honor it
so we may lift one another on our shoulders
and carry each other along
Let holiness move in us
so we may pay attention to its small voice
and give ourselves fully with both hands.
Dawna Markova's poem
I will not die an unlived life.
I will not live in fear
of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living to open me,
to make me less afraid,
more accessible;
to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance,
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom,
and that which came to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit.
I will not live in fear
of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living to open me,
to make me less afraid,
more accessible;
to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance,
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom,
and that which came to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit.
One year later
We are into the final two months. One year ago, this week, my little Mama entered the hospital--never to go home again. Instead she went Home to be with God. It has been a hard year. And this has been a hard week. I find it difficult to reach out to others to share my pain and sorrow. I find it difficult to write anything--emails, notes, whatever.
We have friends who are now going through their own pre-losses--parents with Alzheimer's, broken hips, emphysema, so many things go wrong as we age. My dearest friend from high school (BF, doncha know?) is taking leave of one of her brothers. He is young, only 60, but with cancer. This friend has already lost both her parents. Life is so difficult at times. She is accepting of this loss but I know she is sad and will be sad for a long time to come.
I have given myself a year of mourning. A year when I would not expect too much of myself. What will it be like when the year is over? I don't know. I do hope I will be able to do more for others. To be able to take on new tasks. I overwhelm fairly easily right now. Like trying to swim but being unable to tow anything or anyone else. Perhaps my strength will return.
We have friends who are now going through their own pre-losses--parents with Alzheimer's, broken hips, emphysema, so many things go wrong as we age. My dearest friend from high school (BF, doncha know?) is taking leave of one of her brothers. He is young, only 60, but with cancer. This friend has already lost both her parents. Life is so difficult at times. She is accepting of this loss but I know she is sad and will be sad for a long time to come.
I have given myself a year of mourning. A year when I would not expect too much of myself. What will it be like when the year is over? I don't know. I do hope I will be able to do more for others. To be able to take on new tasks. I overwhelm fairly easily right now. Like trying to swim but being unable to tow anything or anyone else. Perhaps my strength will return.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)