As I said before, the challenge lies, at least with me anyway, in not only gunning up my rpms during this merry jingle-ball season but maintaining that darn momentum throughout the year amidst all the dirty socks and utility bills. Up until a decade ago, I was pretty much a person who erred on the side of depression. I was raised by a glass half-empty type of guy but evened it all out by marrying a glass half-full one. Don't get me wrong, my pappy was great and I love him dearly but let's just say he was, um...practical. A realist, shall we say? Or not? A stand up, hard working, honest type of guy for certain...who loved me with all his heart, spanked my rump when I needed it, but believed that the hand you got dealt in life was the hand you were stuck with. Make the best of it and no complaining. Which is good, I guess..you don't want to be an ostrich or a big ole schizo about it. But why not find your inner owl instead and see the manifestation as just that? A temporary reflection of who we are at this moment in time and one of our own creation..yep,that's the tricky part...but something we can always change for the better. We are 'Gumbi, dammit' and can twist and turn in whatever direction we choose. But going from 'why me?' to 'why not?' is easier said then done and it requires effort. A cranium shift, as it were, which wasn't so easy greasy for this girl. And it still continues to challenge me every day. But that's okay. We are all works in progress and I feel that our enlightenment is in the journey itself.
I think our answers lie within our humanity rather than outside of it. And I believe our potential for victory on every level is limitless. Yeah, I know, we all believe different things, but the commonalities of truth = love, divinity = compassion is something all of us can agree upon this sparkling holiday season, non? If we'd just keep an eagle-eye on that concept, maybe we'd stop killing each other. Oh, sure, we have our gurus and People magazine to aid us along but when it comes down to the nitty gritty- we're it. And the only way to do it is through some heavy duty cardio at the cosmic gym. We have to work toward our own joy, plain and simple. I wish someone could hand it to me like a bouquet of red roses, but Mama's gotta work off those cynical calories all by her lonesome. And underneath all the carcinogens, electro-smog and co-pays...it's in there. That lean transversal ab muscle underneath all the muffin-top fat. Somewhere. Down there. We just need to put on our mystic Magoo glasses to really see our individual Monets.
Whatever that joy may be for each of us, we really do have to put it first. And for someone who has a 17 year old leaky car, a VHS and a five tee-shirt wardrobe, it ain't easy sometimes. In fact, it can be pretty damn hard. But I keep trudging away, punching my clock in the 'daily prayer into action' department and soaking up some of the gift that keeps on giving- watching the world's beautiful jardin dans Giverny come into focus by looking beyond the dots. Its clarity is pure and timeless, its power- absolute. And it unfolds itself continually in the beauty of a frost, the smell after a good rain or in the laughter of a friend. The list is endless, and that, to me, is my heaven..in the here and now. Life itself is our truest fortune. I am beyond grateful to the man that struggles along with me at the World's Gym and has decided that finding the bliss for us Mags translates to me being at home with his children 24/7. Of course, my liver and nerves aren't so happy about it but ya can't please everybody.
Yeah, when it came to Common Sense 101, I pretty much made straight A's, but as far as the making changes for the better part, I wasn't so hot at. But then, mystically enough, the Oscar didn’t come and I ended up with two Icelandic buns in my oven and the jig was up. As I've said time and time again, my kids have taught me more about finding the magic and taking stock than anybody ever has. And I truly believe it was their angelic toe-head auras that led me to my Buddhist faith and filled up all my empty holes before I even had the little peanuts flipping around inside me! Life is all about rhythm and it's up to us to put on that gold lamé and shake what our mamas gave us. Some of us look pretty dorky doing it, but, hey, so be it. We can dance it like Baryshnikov or Ed Grimley. It doesn't matter as long as we are groovin'. I believe without a doubt, I was in the white girl overbite zone when it came to relocating five years ago to be with the aging parental units. I listened..I heeded and as difficult as it's been sometimes, it has been sooo worth it. Don't get me wrong. More often than not, that omnipresent whisper doesn't always work and the Universe has to take out its mallet and clonk us on the head a time or two. And sometimes, at its deepest revolution..it opens up a can of whoop-ass like nobodies business. Even then, though, there's always a way to the side of the ring... to stitch ourselves up, rinse out our mouths and find our Adrian.
Of course, kids aren't the answer for everyone although they are divine at deflating egos..which we really don't need that much of anyway, making us laugh our asses off and calling us out in every conceivable, wonderful way. And in my case, hopefully one day will be able to make Mama a mean martini. We all have our individual thang but what's essential is finding that peace of heart through all the chaos and doing everything in our power to water it and watch it grow. Not an easy task in today's world. And the beauty of the Universe is such that when our tanks are on empty....like when we just walked out of Wal-Mart after standing in line for 25 minutes waiting on a price check for a Polly Pocket, by a checker that looked like she just sucked on a lemon, realizing after we left that we forgot to get milk while walking behind some teenager who's yee-hawing into her blu-tooth, but not before stopping to park her cart up against your car door and then getting home to find that even after wildly tipping the wine box like a crazy person, there's not a single drop of the golden nectar in it. Yes, even then, if we do our crunchies and kettle-ball lunges, all it takes is a simple prayer for a portal and the Universe will reflect it back on ya with a glamorous klieg. Sometimes it can feel like a tiny flashlight but you get the idea.
Rhythm begets movement, movement begets change (kind of like fiber, good for ya whether we like it or not)....and in light of the holiday retail season- our life is in a sense, returnable! Well, sort of. We can't get our money back exactly but we can exchange it for something better. I mean why settle for that Chia Pet from Rite-Aid, when you can have those Tiffany studs! No need to re-gift it to some poor slob that's got one of his own but we can march right on up to that Customer Service window and say, "No thanks. This only has one speed and I want the de-lux version with all the attachments". Now sometimes we don't necessarily get exactly what we want or should I say what we think we want, but as Mr. Jagger so eloquently put it, we get what we need. That was and continues to be me..all over.
So here's wishing every one of you out there the happiest of happys and the deepest of joy this holiday season. Spend less time in the mall and more time on the meal. And keep shaking that damn bell until you hear the blasted thing ring. And if that still doesn't work for ya, then reach for the liquid bliss and your cockles will be all warmed up in no time. Like stripes on a candy cane..it just works. For myself, I can only hope that Santa has checked his list, twice over, and brings me that big red bag of estrogen I wrote to him about.
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1 comment:
God Bless You Pammy...that was brilliant.
Catherine
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