Waiting

Many of us spend the time of our lives waiting.  We wait to be born.  And from my experience in hospice care, I have seen many wait to die.  

How are you spending the time of your life?  I’ve asked this question before.  

I know that I have spent much of my time... 

Waiting.

Waiting for a love letter.

Waiting for a scholarship.

Waiting inside of a hospital deep in prayer.

Waiting for a doctor to call me back while I was silently, yet admittedly, truly frightened.

Waiting for a loved one.

Waiting while a loved one was dying and a labored breath was my only lifeline.

But what does it really mean to wait?

To remain in a state of repose until something unexpected happens.  To be available or in readiness.  To postpone or delay in expectation.  To attend upon or escort especially as a sign of respect.  In the theater, it is considered the time between two acts, scenes or the like.

Until something unexpected happens.  That something “unexpected” is usually something we are expecting, isn’t it?  To be available.  Yes.  The sign of the Yogin.  The act of love.  The devotional act.  To attend upon, the looking after and regarding of the other.  And the pause between.  The moment of dropping in.  

To wait.

I have spoken about the fact that I am waiting right now in a whole new way.  I am sitting inside of a long “pause.”  When you love a person deeply, it is important to begin to listen to his/her pauses.  To try to understand the meanings inside of each of them.  To be able to sit in the pauses with that person without needing or asking for something else.

In music, musicians must learn how to “play the pauses.”  Soulfully.  

It is like this with a dying person.  The silences are magical and packed with meaning.  If you can accompany them there.  They can change the trajectory of your life.  If you let them.  If you wait... to be ushered into this silence.

I am listening.

Sometimes I hear “hurry up!”  And I know for sure that is not “waiting.”  That is impetuousness.  Nothing can be learned from inside of that place.  

There are countless stories of great loves which have survived against incredible odds, through wars and illness and natural disasters and pain which seems insurmountable when it is recounted to me.  Yet, when my character is put to the test, I have seen what I am made of.  

I could speak about all of the personal ways in which I have waited.  How I have waited for years and decades because of love and faith and endurance.  But those references still need to go on living inside of me in quiet ways in order to be given the honor I owe them.  I cannot turn them into anecdotes for the sake of making a reference here or there.  What I can say is that as I look ahead, I know that I have a resilience inside of me which I have come to rely upon.  And if my Beloved and I had to be separated for a year or two due to circumstances unfathomable or unforeseen, that I wouldn’t fall apart because my history has given me an intimate window into who I am and what I am capable of.

So my perspective has changed regarding time.  Who am I to say that a year is a long time to be off the mat (or fill in the pertinent blank...)?  

If my time is up tomorrow, well, then, the time may have felt like a long time, perhaps. 

But I believe that my job now is to have faith in the unexpected.  To be ready for all of it.  With compassion.  With surrender.  With kindness.  With tenderness.  And with love.

That’s the state of repose I wish to find.

Even if it requires a bit of waiting.

Blessings.

12.13.11

Jill Bacharach

"Setback Shmetback!"

Another setback today.

Time to take whatever time it is going to take.  

To heal.  

To re-set.

What I noticed was that I felt the deepest constriction around my heart.  And as soon as that happened, a dear and beloved friend showed up with flowers and a hug.  I had just planted the seed (and wrote) about calling in “back-up,” and then my friend showed up.  She hadn’t even read the post.  

It was another sign to me that I am being held in this universe.  That I am not alone.  That there are whispers around me listening.  Speaking.  Even asking.

For me, it is great wisdom to listen to these whispers.

So setback, shmetback.  That’s a “Jewish” colloquialism for “nonsense!”

The thing is, she’s worried about me.  She thinks I’m slipping away.  

I know that we each see things through our own lenses.  And my friend’s nickname for me has always been “TIGER.”  She has always loved my push-back, my feistiness, my “fight.”  And most especially, my growl.  Seeing me barely able to walk and with so many new grey, no... SILVER hairs, so prominent, with tears in my eyes, without the TIGER’S GROWL, made for a presentation she’s become far too unaccustomed to seeing.  And so often, people need for us to be who they want us to be for them.  It’s not always “right” or “fair,” but it’s not our work to sort out the projection.  For example, if Julie Andrews can no longer sing, the stance I would take would be to love her wholly and completely and bow to the transition she has to make in her identity of no longer being able to use her voice in the same way.  

So back to my friend...

When she closes letters, emails or text messages to me, she simply uses the letter “T.”  “I love you, T.”  “Good night, T.”  etc.  It reminds me of my favorite tennis player and his coach: Rafa Nadal and his uncle Tony.  So I AM uncle Tony, the Coach.

The first time I ever TRULY felt support in my life from a friend was from my Chaverah... when she uttered the words, “let me be strong for you.”  

I feel like this is what being Uncle Tony endows me with... being strong for others.  And showing up with silver hairs and gripping in physical pain, was something “Rafa” became very unsure of.  So “he” asked me to do something very big for “him.”  Even though I thought I had nothing in me to give.  What I found out was that Uncle T always has a little growl left.

The universe listens and when it does, it bounces back and it provides.

As dramatic as it may sound, it’s like the critical moment when the heart shows up for the person who needs a heart transplant.  The heart is there to give life because it wants nothing more than to keep beating.  It needs to.  That is its sole purpose, its karma.

I may not WANT to give right now, but my soul may still need to do so as part of its karma or as part of the karma it needs to resolve with the souls of those it chooses to love.  

So setback shmetback.  While my body is doing what it is doing, my soul may be here to do something else.

But truth be told: my body needs rest.  Uncle Tony needs a big ole nap!

Not only a nap, but also to give up some of my inner “fight.”  It’s not depression.  It’s not a “slipping away.”  It’s a stripping away.  

There are places where I go within myself that unless you go there as well, you cannot be comfortable holding the space for me to go there, and you will see that turning in as something other than it truly is.  

These are challenging places to go into, but they are essential to my healing.  But I am listening to the most inherent whispers of my spirit.  And what I know now is that I have “back-up” if I need it, that my heart wants to keep beating strong and as the Indigo Girls sang in a recent song, “If I hold you to my ear, I can hear the whole world.”

I plan to keep listening closely because I think it’s where the good stuff is.

God bless.

12.12.11

Jill Bacharach

"Back Up"

A very dear friend of mine, someone who I feel I would stand in front of a bus for and WILL the bus to stop, keeps asking me to “let go.”  Each time she says it to me, I soak myself with tears.  I get soaked through layers of clothing.  Layers of skin.  Layers of history.

She is my friend.  My tribe.  We really would stop buses for each other.  And with her, I stop breathing before I can find ways to start.   With me, she too, crosses HUGE thresholds.  A level of trust she experiences with only a very select few.  “Let go” is her call to me.  It is her deepest offering.  Her prayer.  

We are TRIBE.  

I have lost my original tribe.  So this one is deeply cherished.  But as a result, I have become quite accustomed to fending for myself.  Yet, when I reach out to my friend, she SHOWS UP.  

I believe that to be the truest act of love we can offer each other.  SHOWING UP.  And doing so FULLY.

I have become accustomed to making decisions for myself.  Without anyone intervening.  It’s been the reality of my life for a VERY long time.  But I am realizing there are many down sides to this (which, for those of you who have ample “back up,” and god bless you for it, and them, may not quite experience).  

I have made many MAJOR LIFE decisions such as 3 hip surgeries and further medical testing for “other things,” purchasing real estate, executing and changing my WILL,... by myself.  

I realize now that my dearest friend was cautioning me about my home construction and putting it off until I was fully recovered.  Well, Wowzapalooza!  She was RIGHT!  SHE WAS.  Who knew?  She did.  Because she is a designer.  She KNOWS about this stuff.  And my contractor was so casual about it.  He said he’d take care of everything.  And then the day before the construction was to begin, he told me EVERYTHING I HAD TO DO!!!!... The rules changed, my friend, the designer was right, and I was up shit’s creek.    I made the decision alone without calling in “back-up” even though “back-up” had abundant input to share.

Now, guess what?  What I really want to do is BACK UP!  

But I need to step into this NOW no matter what this now presents.

I never thought I would agree to surgery.  But when I began to notice that I could barely walk or sleep, surgery was becoming essential to my well-being.  I see the process very differently now.  To walk through pain in order to heal pain.  To break myself apart in order to put myself back together, no matter how long the latter half would take.  Taking this action (surgery) would be an act of self-love.

And it would require some “back up.”  

Yet, I am not accustomed to having “back-up.”

I noticed and I am still noticing how hard it was and is for me to receive help from people.  But there were times and continue to be ongoing moments when I have to lean in and ask.  

I felt a little bit like I was in the dentist’s chair.  I am NOT a Yogin when I go to the dentist.  I don’t breathe, I “white knuckle” the arm rests, and I do not know how to surrender there.  Yet, a lovely Yogin came to check on me one day and she told me how amazingly well she thought I was doing allowing others to find things for me in my kitchen as I directed them through visual memory without getting annoyed or frustrated  and without trying to get up and do everything myself.  This was a helpful reflection back to me.  

But let me back up.

In the year 2000, to great success, Charles Busch’s play “The Tale of the Allergist’s Wife” opened on Broadway.  A play about a couple, Marjorie and Ira Taub.  Marjorie, who is having a mid-life crisis, Ira, a doctor, and Frieda, Marjorie’s meddling 80- something year-old mother.  Marjorie’s childhood friend, Lee, enters and disrupts their lives in every way possible.  At one point, Frieda, takes a stand and tells Marjorie’s friend, Lee to BACK OFF and get out!  And the family becomes an ARMY banning together as a united force in love and in action.  

Marjorie had BACK-UP.  An ARMY of “back-up.”  And it healed her mid-life crisis.  It healed her depression.  Because she felt loved.  Because her family SHOWED UP.  It was in their actions.

I thought back to this play today because it was a beautifully poignant scene.  It was a very funny play, but this scene slayed me.  People showing up when it counts.  An army of love.  

I have a few people who are trying so hard to be that ARMY for me and I think what I need to do is LET THEM.

Stop “white knuckling.”  

LET THEM.

Because love is what is going to heal me.

And an army of love?  An “army” from which I can call for “back-up?”

I think it’s time.


Maybe I'll go make that "call" now.  

In gratitude for these blessings.  

12.10.11

Jill Bacharach

From Suffering to Surrender

I heard my own words and when the tears came, I realized I was causing my own suffering.  The words were, “I wish I were going with you.”

I wish.  

I wish for so many things.  

Ram Dass said “suffering is the resistance to what is.”

I think he is right.

Because every moment I find myself truly suffering (and believe me, I have “danced” with the best of them), I see that I am not accepting the reality of what is happening in my world in the moment.  And also because I am attached to wanting that reality to be the way I wish it could be.  

Moments ago, I had to just break down and cry.  I cried out to god.  I cried out to the new angels in my life who have been sending me prayers and I actually worked every muscle I could to try to listen for them and hear their prayers.  

I cried out for some surrender.  Because I had none.  

I was suffering.  And so I ended up on the floor and I cried and cried until exhaustion.  But it was hard because I’m not in my home.  I was trying to be quiet (which is not very easy for me- as Madge can attest), and surrender wasn’t coming.  You can’t force surrender.  Surrender only comes when you let go.  When you STOP exerting.  And the pain in my body is fighting hard to let me know that it doesn’t wish to do that.  

I have WISHES.  I do.  “I wish I were going with you.”  

I wish for so many things.

All I need to do is say that and next thing I know is I hear myself whisper, “please, be kind and pass me the tissues.”

Suffering is the resistance to what is.

When I was twenty-two years of age, my father was dying of terminal cancer, and simultaneously, I was working in hospice care.  I was reminded of my father’s illness today and his temperament.  It was like what Dylan Thomas was writing about in one of his most renowned poems:  

“Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

My father did not raise me.  But I surely grew up with this temperament and embodied it every day.  I still embody it.  In fact, it caused a misunderstanding with a loved one last night.  Because when my survival instinct kicks in, I fight to the death before I am willing to surrender.  But wouldn’t it make sense that what I really NEED to do is to surrender right now?  And rest.  So I can do some healing.

Perhaps.  But I’m not accustomed to it. 

I’m accustomed to being in survival mode.  

And the thing about surrender is, it only happens RIGHT NOW.  Right?  I mean, I could say, “okay, I’ll try to surrender tomorrow.”  But then I would have to have a good laugh at myself.  

Last night as I was trying to go to sleep, I found myself thinking about the fact that I need to change my WILL again.  And I wondered if I would be able to fall off to sleep.  

I am staying in a beautiful home for the next two weeks while my home is being dismantled and I’m finding it very hard to surrender to all of the changes which are presently operating in my life.  What I realized last night was that what I “wished for” was to stay in a hotel, by myself, and to be left alone.  

What I realized last night was that the universe is giving me precisely what I need because had I been in a hotel, I would have the television on, whether I would watch it or not, and I would be pulled out of my experience and I would be further and further from the possibility of surrendering to it.  

I am in a home where I am forced to go inward and on top of that, I am being reminded, deeply, of my childhood.  I would much prefer to be in a hotel, with the TV on, tuning out all of these feelings.  But I am wise enough to know that as much as I may “wish” to resist this notion, the universe has given me precisely what I asked for.  Which is why I ended up on the floor crying until exhaustion.  Not because I wanted to, but because I need to get to the other side of this.  

I ran into an esteemed Yoga colleague just a few days before my second surgery and his words to me were a blessing.  “Jill,” he said, “it’s going to be hard.  And it’s going to suck.  And it’s going to take a long time.  But you’re going to get through it.”  

His words meant so much to me because he spoke a truth which I felt, and he didn’t gloss over the truth with “oh, you’ll be back on the mat in no time.”  And when he spoke those words, I could surrender.  Because it was the truth.  

I think that’s what I’m learning.  Every time I breathe into the truth, no matter how hard, no matter how ugly, no matter how uninvited, I can surrender a little more.  

Maybe that’s what I’m here to do.

Maybe that’s all there is to do now.

Stop resisting what is.  

Say hello to the ghosts of the past.  Love them each time they enter the room.  Now.  Each new now.  

Stop thinking about what there is to be done.  Because I’m already doing it.

Just breathe into the truth, and the rest will take care of itself.

Blessings.

12.8.11

Getting Clear

I have great admiration for how we see and experience the world through our own unique lenses.  My dear friend is a stylist and her lens is through color.  Her husband is a culinary aficionado and his palate is visual, sensual and aromatic.  One of their twins, sees through a spatial visual field.  

I see best when first, I close my eyes.  I can recall things easiest then.  And somehow, I find it easier and “safer” to come back to the world after I’ve taken it in this way FIRST.  Through visual memory.  

I like it there because it is quiet.

Mostly, I feel things.  In my heart.  And in my body.  Throw too many words at me and what I notice is I just want to retreat.  And it’s ironic, because I love language.  But I need connection and not too much excess.  

This is a time of challenge for me.

I am trying very hard to recover from my third surgery.  My leg is taking its time.  I just moved out of my condo for construction to begin.  I thought it was going to be a small job.  Two weeks after my last surgery, Hurricane Irene broke through my ceilings in a violent way.  

Those closest to me have been asking me to put the work off until I am all healed up.  

But this is a time of listening to instinct.  Deep listening.

I am a Yogin.  And Yogins go underneath things.  I know that underneath the pain in this body lies great healing.  

Underneath the cracks which came through my ceiling, is opportunity for deeper repair.  

This is what I want.  What I have always wanted.

To repair.

I saw a Master Rolfer a few weeks before my second surgery.  She asked me what I was willing to give up in order to not be not be in pain.  It was an excellent question and at the time she asked, in spite of how much pain I was in, quite honestly, I wasn’t completely clear how much I was willing to give up.

After two more surgeries from that point in time, I am much clearer.  I have given up all of my asana (albeit for only five months, but the truth is, it looks like it will be for far longer- at least double that time) and when the question was asked of me, I felt myself gripping and contracting around the idea of this very possibility.  Now it is not an issue for me at all.  All I want is to be out of pain.  What would I be willing to give up in order to not be in pain?  Would I be willing to give up my most beloved practice?  No question about it.  I can.  I would.  I have. 

It is an act of trust to be able to do so.  I am certain that it is.

And there are layers beneath which I have not yet repaired.  These are the pain layers.  The broken layers.  The fractures.  

Although I am aware of it, it is a very old pattern of mine to long for something which I no longer have.  It started with my father who left when I was only two years of age.  And that young child longed for connection in places where she would never be able to find it.  At this point, I know when I see the pattern emerge, I must feel through the muck in order to move through it.  

Something still needs to move through me around asana.  I watched a beautiful four minute video montage of a yoga practice just a few days ago and tears poured down my face the entire time.  It was so beautiful to watch, and yet, it was also painful for me.  

I’m not afraid of what lies on the other side of this long pause.  My body has great wisdom and its boundaries will need to be honored by the heart it embodies.  But the heart is still aching.  

And I think part of the reason is because am not healed.  My body is not healed.  But neither is my heart.  

I don’t have my asana practice.  I don’t have the use of my body in the ways I long for.  My home is being torn apart so that it can be put back together.  The metaphors are clear.  

Healing bone deep, is hard work.  But it cannot happen if the heart is not ready to heal.  

I want to repair my heart.  

I think one of the ways I can is through extending out towards others.  Continually.  Steadily.  Over a long period of time.  And with reverent devotion.  Sound familiar?  

How much am I willing to give up for this repair, in order to not be in pain?

I know my answer now:

Whatever it is going to take, for as long as it takes. Continually.  And with reverent devotion.

In love.

12.6.11

Jill Bacharach

Mitzvot

I used to think that Santa’s little helpers were like the truest expression of goodness, “mitzvot” personified.  The most colloquial meaning, of “mitzvot” rather than the religious meaning, would be to express acts of human kindness.  The word “mitzvah” originally derives from moral and religious commandments, acting according to law and divine “duty” or precepts.

We express mitzvot every day.

Yesterday I received true acts of mitzvot, and probably, gave mitzvot by stepping into the experience of receiving them.

I had some of Santa’s helpers in my home.  And it was fascinating to see how, as hard as it is for me to walk right now, I still placed myself in the role of “elf” and had to be told to sit down.  Not once, but many many times.

I was carrying heavy things, stepping up on ladders with my one good leg (thank god for   that good leg!), whizzing around to make the chaos more manageable, (so it wouldn’t seem as awful as it seemed for my friends as it did to me), as my elves were “choosing” to do acts of kindness for me.  What I saw was it was hard for me to let them.  What I realized was it wasn’t about control.

It was about identity.

If I stopped doing for myself, it meant I would have to admit how much help I truly needed.  How much pain I was actually feeling.  And sitting here, writing this now, even after accepting help on this day, all of it is beyond humbling.  It has changed me.  

FOREVER.

Even Alfie knows it.

He knows I’m moving out today for the repairs on my home to begin and he has elasticized himself to me like I haven’t seen him do in YEARS!  Alfie is my dog.

I had two sweet helpers in my home and me.  

Three of us... working and packing.  I packed all day, the day before, to the point of exhaustion.  Yesterday it was so much easier.  How about that!?? 

Those who are closest to me have been telling me to put this construction off until I am well and fully recovered.  Now I know why, after seeing how much preparation it took.  You basically have to prepare your home to move, to prepare it for your “high maintenance contractors!”  Lordy lord!

I thought back to when I helped a friend move twice last year.  I spent tireless hours packing up her home.  I’d never done that for anyone but myself.  And yesterday, having “elves” in my home, I was astonished at how hard it was for me to receive the help.

I still tried to do EVERYTHING!

And then there was a moment when my Beloved called and asked me to sit down, just as they had asked me to sit down.  And so I finally sat down.  It was PAINFUL to sit down.  PAINFUL to feel how much pain I was in.  But it was ASTOUNDING to feel how much love was coming my way.  SO MUCH LOVE was coming my way.  

And I sat for a few moments and felt it.

Often I feel it is deeply obnoxious and dishonoring when you are in the company of another and your friend takes a phone call.  This was different.  I took a pause.  I took in what was really happening.  I looked around.  And I knew I made the right decision to do this construction now, because it afforded me the opportunity to sit in something I am not accustomed to doing: receiving help.

And the help came in the form of love that was clean and without need.  So it showed me I am climbing up the ladder in terms of my own growth.

I could sit.  Receive love from my Beloved, witness love happening around me, experience ALL of what I am stating here, and hold my seat.  In the past, this have would caused me to fall apart.  

Yesterday, I witnessed myself doing everything by myself FIRST, finding it hard to receive, and then surrendering to the goodness that I had consciously called forth.  And to be able to do ALL OF THAT in one day, that too, may very well be, a mitzvah!

Who knows?

I’m grateful.  

I’m grateful to see changes in myself.  I used to be the person who would give to the point of utter exhaustion.  And I don’t think there is any merit in that.  My friends didn’t do that.  I don’t draw friends to me who will do that nor do I have any ambition to do so.  Because we know, we teach others precisely how we want to be treated.  So be sure to teach them skillfully.

Yesterday was a deep and beautiful reflection to me and I bow deeply to all of my elves.  

Love.  Gratitude.  And Reverence.  And when I have no trouble walking, I hope to extend some reciprocity.  

Because after all, isn’t that the yoga?

Blessings to ALL the elves out there doing mitzvot.

12.5.11

Jill Bacharach

THE FULL CATASTROPHE

“I don’t know if it is healthy for me to be her friend” was the thought I had many times over many years of friendship.

She was like a Tornado.

Early on, I became swept up by her wake.  

Not because I wanted to “fix” her problems, but because she kept insisting that I if I didn’t try, I was a truly selfish and ungenerous person.  So, twenty years ago, I was “hooked” into proving her wrong.

A few moments of illumination came when my father died.  Within two days of his passing, she asked for me to call the electric company to dispute her bill.  In the Jewish tradition, it is a deep sign of disrespect to speak about money during the “shiva” period (period of mourning), let alone ask the person who is grieving to “do” for you.  

The next thing which occurred also had to do with money.  My father’s estate had settled and I had received my inheritance.  My friend had to move because the house she was living in was a home she was renting, and it was being put up for sale.  She literally said to me, “you have money, you should put a down payment on a house for me so at least I’ll have a place to live.”

The thought I had was this: “because you’re in turmoil, I should throw my life into chaos?”  I knew my answer.  

It was a child’s answer.

It was an adult answer.

The answer was “NO.”

It’s astounding to look back as an adult and remember this.  What I feel now is compassion for myself.  For how I “replayed” aspects of my family system which were broken and unhealed.  My friend was aggressive and needy, all at once.  And for a period of time, we played out a relationship similar to that of my family relationship which still needed a tremendous amount of healing within my own psyche and within my heart.

I was only in my twenties at the time.  And I would repeat this pattern of drawing people towards me (with whom I would recapitulate familial relationships) several more times until I was ready to consciously and decidedly choose to heal the parts of myself which were ready to choose and claim healing.

There is a song by country singer Miranda Lambert called “The House That Built Me” with a lyric which will help illuminate what I am talking about here:

“I thought if I could touch this place or feel it

this brokenness inside me might start healing.  

Out here it’s like I’m someone else.  

I thought that maybe I could find myself.  

If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave, 

won’t take nothing but a memory

from the house that built me.”

Admittedly, I’ve spent many hours, days, years rejecting where I came from.  But without acknowledging the source, without feeling into the truth of ALL of my history and acknowledging “THE FULL CATASTROPHE,” I know I can never heal the broken pieces of my life.  And they can never be pieced back together.  Perhaps, these three surgeries are giving me a new start at piecing myself back together on a bone-deep level.

The truth is, I BELIEVE in things.  I believe in possibility.  I believe in change.  

When I was around eight years-old, I used to fight with my grandmother constantly because she said something which angered me terribly.  What she said was this:

“I can’t change.  It’s my conditioning.”

I was only eight.  But I knew that what she said was nonsense.  And by that time, I had already saved her life twice.  Once due to calling for help when she was on the floor nearly dying from anaphylaxis, and the other time, due to a more personal choice, which I cleverly found a way to pull her out of, because I refused to line up with what she was saying, unquestionably and fortunately, quite convincingly.  

When she threw her “conditioning” at me, I wouldn’t buy it.  Plus, I didn’t like the word “can’t.”  My mother had already been divorced twice by then and because I was a vigilant child, I could see “bullshit” from miles away. 

Subsequently, my grandmother and I fought with one another well.  With deep, grounded love.  It is one of the reasons I miss her so much.  She fought so DAMN HARD FOR ME.  For WHY she loved me.  What I realize now is that nothing mattered between us when we argued except for how much and WHY we loved each other.  

LOVE.

When you have it, when you KNOW IT, PROTECT IT.  

HOLD IT INSIDE YOUR HEART.

Carry it in your heart every day.

REMEMBER IT.

EVERY DAY.

FIGHT FOR IT.

EVERY DAY.

As long as you are alive.

Because life changes in an instant.  

REMEMBER AND HONOR what built you.  EVEN if you think it was ugly.

Because something beautiful may have come before it.  And if you have it in you, OWN and HONOR the UGLY.  THE FULL CATASTROPHE!

People tell me I am pretty.  I balk.  I have vitiligo.  I am losing my looks.  It is degenerative.  For the rest of my life, it will continue to get worse.  I joke and say “just call me the ‘spotted yogin.’”  

The body is fleeting and impermanent.  (I know mine is just a “rental!”)

But the source of love is ever-present.  

I can still feel my grandmother’s heart beating inside my own.  

Fighting with my own.  BUOYING my own...

And I know where I can, as an adult, continue healing, continue piecing myself back together.  And continue saying “YES.”

Full Catastrophe and all!

Godspeed.

God Bless.

12.4.11

Jill Bacharach