A bite of my mother-daughter book:
~~~~~~~
Somehow, what gets stuck in human beings and keeps us from flourishing are the “bad” moments, the uncomfortable moments, the moments of conflict. These moments can keep us from being fully expressed in the future, because they were so uncomfortable when they happened in the first place. Like when I knocked a cartoon figure from my teacher’s desk in fifth grade—it went clattering to the floor and its little protest sign broke off…all because I was making a grand gesture with my arms. Do you think this made me want to be expressive?
What if it’s not an accident? What if you’re in a great mood so you randomly get up and sing a love song to your whole class, who respond by staring back, in stunned embarrassment that you were willing to be seen--do you think you’ll ever do it again? No, of course not. Wait--would you? Why or why not? How much does or should our past experience dictate our now? We learn from our mistakes, but how do we even know what’s a mistake and what’s just something that the world isn’t ready for yet?
And what if someone else sang to their class and it was taped, and put on YouTube, and had a million hits? All of a sudden it’s cool, to get up and serenade the class. And it would be cool to know this kid, who is now a YouTube sensation--but who is taking the risk to BE this kid? To be fully expressive? Didn’t that end before kindergarten? Maybe it didn't end, but it likely became more of a risk.
As we age, we are taught to pull our expression further and further inward (unless we’re a rock star) until we become mature adults. That’s what “Mature Adults” means, right? It means boring people who are in judgement of us; mature adults are the gatekeepers of the expression of pleasure and joy and anger and intensity. Mature adults define our borders and boundaries and “contain” us. And that’s what our society used to need, because of limiting belief systems that told us that if grownups didn’t contain their kids, they’d grow up to be criminals, outlaws. But slowly the world is coming to realize that the personal power and expression of individuals is not inherently dangerous, if we are connected to the highest part of ourselves.
~~~~~~~
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
'Tis the Season
Lily has been obsessed this week with “feel-good” movies. Coincidentally (surely!) I’ve been crabby, and looking for the route out.
“Mom, is this a feel-good movie?” she asked in the middle of Burlesque. That was the first time I'd ever heard her use the term. She was apparently born a feel-good person, so of course this term would catch her attention. Her personal dramas always have happy endings, but it seems suspicious to her that it’s a movie genre.
The afternoon after we saw Burlesque, because we’re homeschoolers and we can do whatever we want, she was watching Amelie, as a French assignment. Kind of. Later, I asked her how it was. “It was a feel-good movie,” she said.
“Seriously?” (I thought she was teasing me. But I do recall it had a happy ending.)
I too have a reaction to the label ‘feel-good.’ It smacks of marketing. How gratifying that my daughter is suspicious, because she’s otherwise fairly gullible. I imagine her questions, the ones she’d ask if I weren’t in such a crabby mood: “Mom, does anyone NOT feel good after a feel-good movie?” I imagine my crabby retort.
“If people don’t leave feeling good, is it still a feel-good movie?” This is the kind of question that makes me gaze at her speechless. I am going into a mini-trance just typing it. Wisely, she never asked either question, which gave me space to wonder why I’m so unreceptive to feel-good movies. I seem to assume that these movies cannot possibly be works of art and therefore must be works of marketers, because they know, they totally know, because they do focus groups, that people will PAY to feel good. Sure, people pay for other movies that aren’t feel-good movies…but I’m not suspicious of those movies. I only feel this wariness about feel-good movies. They write the endings after the results of the focus groups are analyzed. I’m so crabby.
Two of my facebook friends recommended The Blind Side; Lily has been avidly reading the comments to my status update query regarding feel-good movies. As she reads my comments she critiques my facebook comment-writing style, which makes me also-crabby. “That was confusing,” she points out, and indeed the next person who commented was, indeed, confused. (Somehow, her friends’ comments are not confusing at all…even though they don’t use vowels.) Anyway--Lily and I once tried to watch The Blind Side and couldn’t. We tried--I had thought she was enjoying it; I thought she’d object when I said I’d had enough, but she agreed.
“It’s lame,” she had said. I was relieved. I excused my facebook friends’ questionable taste with the fact that they are from Indiana, and Lily was curious.
“Really? Really, mom? People from Indiana have bad taste in movies?” She was asking in earnest. I was hoping she was not going to make this the thesis of her homeschooling term paper.
“I don’t know,” I said, “maybe just the ones from my hometown.” (I’m from Indiana too, so I can say whatever I want, right?) Ever so crabby.
Meanwhile, this week I was writing a eulogy--bummer--and coming face to face with who I even am as a human being and how much of my ancient ingrained human-ness I can transform into Light in order to come ever more into harmony with my partner. It was a long two days. I could see why people take pills. I have every skill and tool and awareness to not declare war on the world, on my partner, on my kid, on myself, so I didn’t, but I was still crabby as I drove to my hair appointment.
And I was trying to remember what had lifted Katrina last week, when she was in her own allergic reaction: all that is not love, within, reacting to the unremitting flow of Love, causing acute discomfort to the human self. Our shadows, we have seen, sometimes react against Love Itself. It's just an energy dynamic. We see how it works. We’ve got its numba. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make us pause, sometimes. I knew I had a choice, a route out of the darkness…but what was it again? I tried to resurrect Katrina's experience as I drove north on Sheffield to my hair appointment...what was it again?
And then I remembered what lifted her up, into a mini-epiphany: she had missed feeling good, she missed being close to me, and simply chose to change, for no reason, chose to reroute…immediately…yes! And that’s all I needed to do too; realign with love, JUST because it feels better. Right!
Just then, a white Honda pulled in front of me with the license plate: “LOVE WINS.”
Uncanny timing. Confirmation. So much better than a movie! Instant gratification. The Universe loves me, is invested in my happiness. Absolutely arresting—though in truth, there was a part of me that still wanted to stay crabby nevertheless.
Do I deserve to feel happy and be loved right now? On my crabby drive up Sheffield? Even though I am totally flawed as a human being? Apparently yes. Even though my issues aren’t totally, totally sorted out yet? Apparently yes. Yes! Love wins. Yes: love whatever’s in your way, love whatever is blocking the way of Love. LOVE WINS was a stunning moment delivered by the Universe and followed by a series of 11's in a more esoteric but still staggering communication to me that all is well.
Turning toward the Light, I repeatedly experience, is immediately rewarded, with good feelings and license plate communications and lucky numbers, and is worth accessing by almost any means necessary…even feel-good movies. Really, whatever it takes. It is absolutely essential--and I'd even venture to say, it's the meaning of life--to be present to LOVE, every moment that we are alive. Whatever it takes...dropping the ego story that thinks I'm right, dropping the ego story that resents that I'm wrong...whatever. Just find the love, the Divine Presence. Now.
In case I still didn’t get it, LOVE WINS proceeded to park right in front of me when I reached my destination.
PS. I must add that facebook friends from my hometown also recommended two of my favorite movies as well: Slumdog Millionaire and Little Miss Sunshine. So actually people from my hometown have GREAT taste in movies...when it agrees with mine.
(And hey, is Burlesque indeed a feel-good movie? And if so, aren’t all musicals, Corrie Lenn Borris? Because otherwise... wouldn’t they be operas?)
“Mom, is this a feel-good movie?” she asked in the middle of Burlesque. That was the first time I'd ever heard her use the term. She was apparently born a feel-good person, so of course this term would catch her attention. Her personal dramas always have happy endings, but it seems suspicious to her that it’s a movie genre.
The afternoon after we saw Burlesque, because we’re homeschoolers and we can do whatever we want, she was watching Amelie, as a French assignment. Kind of. Later, I asked her how it was. “It was a feel-good movie,” she said.
“Seriously?” (I thought she was teasing me. But I do recall it had a happy ending.)
I too have a reaction to the label ‘feel-good.’ It smacks of marketing. How gratifying that my daughter is suspicious, because she’s otherwise fairly gullible. I imagine her questions, the ones she’d ask if I weren’t in such a crabby mood: “Mom, does anyone NOT feel good after a feel-good movie?” I imagine my crabby retort.
“If people don’t leave feeling good, is it still a feel-good movie?” This is the kind of question that makes me gaze at her speechless. I am going into a mini-trance just typing it. Wisely, she never asked either question, which gave me space to wonder why I’m so unreceptive to feel-good movies. I seem to assume that these movies cannot possibly be works of art and therefore must be works of marketers, because they know, they totally know, because they do focus groups, that people will PAY to feel good. Sure, people pay for other movies that aren’t feel-good movies…but I’m not suspicious of those movies. I only feel this wariness about feel-good movies. They write the endings after the results of the focus groups are analyzed. I’m so crabby.
Two of my facebook friends recommended The Blind Side; Lily has been avidly reading the comments to my status update query regarding feel-good movies. As she reads my comments she critiques my facebook comment-writing style, which makes me also-crabby. “That was confusing,” she points out, and indeed the next person who commented was, indeed, confused. (Somehow, her friends’ comments are not confusing at all…even though they don’t use vowels.) Anyway--Lily and I once tried to watch The Blind Side and couldn’t. We tried--I had thought she was enjoying it; I thought she’d object when I said I’d had enough, but she agreed.
“It’s lame,” she had said. I was relieved. I excused my facebook friends’ questionable taste with the fact that they are from Indiana, and Lily was curious.
“Really? Really, mom? People from Indiana have bad taste in movies?” She was asking in earnest. I was hoping she was not going to make this the thesis of her homeschooling term paper.
“I don’t know,” I said, “maybe just the ones from my hometown.” (I’m from Indiana too, so I can say whatever I want, right?) Ever so crabby.
Meanwhile, this week I was writing a eulogy--bummer--and coming face to face with who I even am as a human being and how much of my ancient ingrained human-ness I can transform into Light in order to come ever more into harmony with my partner. It was a long two days. I could see why people take pills. I have every skill and tool and awareness to not declare war on the world, on my partner, on my kid, on myself, so I didn’t, but I was still crabby as I drove to my hair appointment.
And I was trying to remember what had lifted Katrina last week, when she was in her own allergic reaction: all that is not love, within, reacting to the unremitting flow of Love, causing acute discomfort to the human self. Our shadows, we have seen, sometimes react against Love Itself. It's just an energy dynamic. We see how it works. We’ve got its numba. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make us pause, sometimes. I knew I had a choice, a route out of the darkness…but what was it again? I tried to resurrect Katrina's experience as I drove north on Sheffield to my hair appointment...what was it again?
And then I remembered what lifted her up, into a mini-epiphany: she had missed feeling good, she missed being close to me, and simply chose to change, for no reason, chose to reroute…immediately…yes! And that’s all I needed to do too; realign with love, JUST because it feels better. Right!
Just then, a white Honda pulled in front of me with the license plate: “LOVE WINS.”
Uncanny timing. Confirmation. So much better than a movie! Instant gratification. The Universe loves me, is invested in my happiness. Absolutely arresting—though in truth, there was a part of me that still wanted to stay crabby nevertheless.
Do I deserve to feel happy and be loved right now? On my crabby drive up Sheffield? Even though I am totally flawed as a human being? Apparently yes. Even though my issues aren’t totally, totally sorted out yet? Apparently yes. Yes! Love wins. Yes: love whatever’s in your way, love whatever is blocking the way of Love. LOVE WINS was a stunning moment delivered by the Universe and followed by a series of 11's in a more esoteric but still staggering communication to me that all is well.
Turning toward the Light, I repeatedly experience, is immediately rewarded, with good feelings and license plate communications and lucky numbers, and is worth accessing by almost any means necessary…even feel-good movies. Really, whatever it takes. It is absolutely essential--and I'd even venture to say, it's the meaning of life--to be present to LOVE, every moment that we are alive. Whatever it takes...dropping the ego story that thinks I'm right, dropping the ego story that resents that I'm wrong...whatever. Just find the love, the Divine Presence. Now.
In case I still didn’t get it, LOVE WINS proceeded to park right in front of me when I reached my destination.
PS. I must add that facebook friends from my hometown also recommended two of my favorite movies as well: Slumdog Millionaire and Little Miss Sunshine. So actually people from my hometown have GREAT taste in movies...when it agrees with mine.
(And hey, is Burlesque indeed a feel-good movie? And if so, aren’t all musicals, Corrie Lenn Borris? Because otherwise... wouldn’t they be operas?)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
