11/11/11

11/11/11 – Seems impossible not to mark this day in some way.  How about Eleven things for which you are grateful, Eleven acts of kindness you can perform and Eleven luscious wishes just for you? Please post them here, if you feel so inclined, to share your inspiration.   Much love, Mirabai

Happy 4th of July

Happy 4th of July, everybody! I started today at the Jersey Shore where I had been invited to spend the weekend with some friends. I went out to run early this morning and chanced upon the startling sight of a large group of women of assorted sizes, ages spanning six decades, moving together in perfect harmony, filling the band-stand and spilling out on to the grass surrounding it.

At first glance, I thought I had stumbled upon Wildwood’s synchronized belly dance team, however, I soon surmised that this was in fact, an exercise class led by a contagiously enthusiastic blonde. After watching for scarcely a minute, I put down my water bottle and joined in the fun.

We bounced and gyrated, shook our booty and strutted our stuff sweatily under the morning sun. Our joie-de-vivre knew no bounds as we formed a can-can line and then twirled about, swinging each other around with such girlish innocence and playfulness. As I stretched up my arms into the blue sky above me, I was seized with emotion. I thought of the patients I had tended to in hospice last week and in particular, the one who had died and my heart surged with gratitude.

I was filled with a profound awareness of the blessings I was receiving. Such a simple yet sweet joy: strangers laughing and smiling as they danced together under a blue sky. How lucky I was, to be alive, to be healthy, to be free and above all, to be able to be conscious of this and to appreciate it all.

It is sunset now and as I look at the sky again, I am relieved to be brought back to this state of mind once again. The worries with which I have been preoccupied for the past couple of hours shrink back into their appropriately insignificant proportions, compared to all that I truly can rejoice in and give thanks for today.

If you enjoyed this post, please share it and if you would like to leave a comment, click on the title.

A Helluva Good Time

More and more, I find that I am receiving such inspiration about living from the people in my life who are dying. Many of the hospice patients I care for have end-stage Alzheimers and can no longer communicate directly, yet somehow, I am still blessed to receive the gift of their wisdom. Often, it is through talking to their loved ones. This week for example, I was met the husband of one of my patients on a visit to her at the nursing home. He was expressing how difficult it is, how much he misses his wife of over 50 years. The tragedy is how sad he is when he doesn’t see her and yet how hard it is to see her in her current condition, no longer able to recognize him.

It is hard for me to understand what it is like to slowly lose the partner with whom you have shared half a century of living. He tells me how happy they were, about how much fun they always had together throughout the years. He tells me how she would look for a chance to celebrate at every opportunity, even something small and is strikes me as such a powerfully inspiring message. This tiny bird like woman, with her beautifully braided hair, hands neatly folded into one another and eyes that see other worlds, is speaking to me today, showing me how to live in a better way.

You know what her saying was? Her husband tells me. She always used to say “Let’s go out and have a helluva good time!” Amen, sister.

Guest Post about staffing the Woman Within Weekend by Amanda Boardman

I am driving away from a Woman Within weekend of staffing feeling so deeply fulfilled and connected to the women I worked alongside, the women who participated on the course and to all women everywhere. I think about the women around the world who do this work and the courage it takes to step into the fire and find the parts of yourself that you lost or buried years, months, or weeks ago. The parts that had to be shut away when the loss, hurt, betrayal, anger and grief of life lived on life’s terms became too much for your soul to bear. I think about the women who never get the chance to step within themselves, either because they’re too afraid or because their lives are such a struggle for survival that there are no resources to spare on finding one’s personal meaning for existence. I think too, of the many women who live in cultures and countries where women dare not have any voice at all.

Watching the four facilitators from the United States and the UK work with women this weekend, was like seeing miracles take place in front of my eyes. These women are so powerful yet so in touch with their vulnerability.  I have been shown a new form of leadership. In fact, a new way of being in the world. These women have spent decades on their own journeys and in facilitating other women’s processes.  Their complete presence when helping a woman process an issue is awe-inspiring. At the same time, their humility is astounding. Witnessing divine compassion radiate from a woman’s face while deep in facilitation, I knew I was watching God’s work.

I drive across the mountains towards my home, knowing that this weekend I stopped all the busyness of everyday living and made space to touch my own soul. My soul is grateful. I sing the songs we sang on the weekend just so I can hear once more the joyous sounds of women supporting each other. When I reach my house, I turn off the car and feel the waves of grief rush up and pour down my face. I don’t know if I am crying for all my own old wounds  or for the individual women who laid forth their grief in all its rawness this weekend. They did this so that together we could nurture them back to the joy that I believe is our birthright. I cry with abandon for all the women who cannot cry. The women who dare not express their grief in case it consumes them. Until they are able to, I will cry for them. I sit in my car and I cry for lost love. I cry for the agony of betrayal.  I cry for the shockingly numerous stories of sexual and emotional abuse often at the hands of people supposed to protect us.

As I cry, my tears change to tears of gratitude that I am able to witness this type of transformation. I let it all out, knowing that this is just a release. I am OK. When I am done, I get out my suitcase and start singing softly as I make my way inside,

“We are women on a journey,

Shining like the sun.

Shining through the darkest night,

The healing has begun, begun, the healing has begun.”