Posts Tagged ‘Love’
Watching Over Everything
Wednesday, June 28th, 2017
The birds – they see everything. They fly overhead seeing everything. The birds have a different view.
View. The view of the heart. Does that not watch over everything too? How do we watch over? With love? With judgment? With peace? With an open heart?
Is there a being of love watching over everything? Perhaps this is my faith calling me back. Maybe I am ready, listening, and remembering to return.
Returning to light and darkness. Day and night. Doesn’t that watch over us too?
The night sky – looking up – watching over everything through the stars. The lights blinking, glowing, soaring through the sky. What do the stars see through their lens of light?
The light passes. The darkness opens me up to more light. Here I am shining. Here we are shining.
I have learned how much is watching over me. In the end, it is love, always love, watching over me. Here I AM: SKY, SPIRIT, STARS, LOVE watching….
Watching over everything.
This essay was inspired from the Prompt a Day Program with Cynthia Morris.
May I Have This Dance?
Wednesday, June 15th, 2016
“You didn’t come all this way to sit on a couch, did you?” That was my pick up line at a dance in 1994. It was awkward and funny and eventually I danced with the woman who became my spouse.
It was almost 22 years ago that I went to a dance by myself to be part of the L.G.B.T. community, to meet new friends, and to dance. I remember feeling scared to go. It took every ounce of courage to get on the subway from the Bronx and travel to Webster Hall in Manhattan for a big dancing night. I didn’t know a soul there. I walked into the room wide-eyed and curious and anxious. I was searching for something I didn’t even know I was seeking – my inner freedom. The freedom to be myself, fully. The freedom to be with a woman. The freedom to love – all of me. The freedom to release worry of what “others” might think.
That night in Webster Hall gave me more than a life partner. It gave me my life back. A life that was no longer ashamed to be who I am in the world. A life where I was no longer inhibited by internal or external homophobia. A life where I was no longer inhibited by my body image.
Dance halls and clubs are where so many in the L.G.B.T. community gather for a sense of belonging, connection, and hope. Dance floors are places of refuge. In Buddhist terms, clubs and dance floors are often our sangha. It’s our community. It’s a place we can express ourselves, release inhibition, and be completely free – arms in the air (like we just don’t care).
The tragedy in Orlando was an attack on more than the L.G.B.T. community. It was an attack on expression and freedom. It opened up old shame wounds of our society about integration, diversity, sexuality, and our beliefs on how we define love. In many ways, it was an attack on love itself.
The mass shooting could have targeted any community and many have experienced this trauma before in other places and with other victims: movie theaters, schools, politicians, children, churches, and L.G.B.T. communities.
Our L.G.B.T. community has been vulnerable to hate, to slurs, to violence, to whispers, to looks, to shame, and more. Anyone who has ever come out knows these experiences deep in their cells. It’s the one where someone in our life feels disappointed, scared, angry and ashamed about who we are and who we love. At times, it triggers our own questioning of our identity and we begin to question — is this the life I want?
Then, on a random Saturday night, you ask someone to dance. And you dance and dance and dance.
And then you know, this sangha, this dance hall/club refuge is the very freedom that lives inside of you waiting to be expressed in the world.
Please remember – you are not alone. We are in this together.
Cry. Hug. Hold Hands. Sing. Be Seen. Be Heard. Love More. Dance. Keep Dancing.
Allow grief to surface. Reach out. And when you are ready, please keep dancing.
We Are Orlando.
Conversation with a Seven Year Old
Tuesday, June 8th, 2010
I love speaking with my nephew as he can always make me smile – even without realizing it. He is just so open, real, and pure and he reminds me I can still be like a seven year old in the world. About two weeks ago we spoke on the phone and the conversation went something like this:
Me: Hi George.
George: Hi Aunt Mary Anne (said with glee).
Me: What are you doing?
George: Playing my Nintendo DS.
Me: Which game?
George: Mario Brothers.
Me: How was school today?
George: Great!
Me: What was the best part of your day?
George: Well…I think it was when I was in the lunch room and saw Mrs. Henderson (the lunchroom lady).
Me: Why was that the best part of your day?
George: Well, I like Mrs. Henderson because she is nice.
Me: That’s great George. Have you ever told her that you think she is nice?
George: No, but I do give her a hug.
Me: I am sure she likes that.
George: Yea.
Me: George?
George: What?
Me: Are you distracted?
George: Yes, I am distracted.
Me: What’s distracting you?
George: Well, I am talking to you.
Me: Thanks for that. I love you.
George: I love you too, lots and lots.
Note to self: play more, thank people more, remember the best part of my day, give more hugs, and focus on love.
Thanks George.
Mary Anne
“I Need to Know”
Friday, March 19th, 2010
One of my greatest teachers is my seven year old nephew, George. As soon as we see each other, we give each other big hugs. His face lights up when I walk in the room and my heart lights up when he walks in the room. My last visit with him was no exception. It had been a good few weeks since my past visit with George. When I walked in the door, there was an excited shout, “Aunt Mary Anne, you’re here!” I gave him a tight hug and said, “I’ve missed you.” George responded, “I haven’t seen you in three months.” It was his way of saying that it felt like a really long time.
We decided to go out for lunch. Upon returning to my sister’s house, George and I went for a walk. There is a wonderful small pond near his house and George took my hand and off we went. We spoke about school, his trip to Ireland, his birthday, and other random things. Upon returning back to the house, he said he wanted to stay outside. Although most of their lawn still had a lot of snow, the day was bright and not that cold, so we decided to play in the driveway. Our first game was “Mario Brothers goes to the Winter Olympics.” George would name a Mario character and an Olympic event, act out the event, and give a score. The highlight was watching him pretend to ice skate and do curling – as entertaining as the live Olympics.
We decided we would play hide and go seek in the backyard. I hid first and George could not find me despite giving hints with making noises. I came out of my spot and George asked, “Where were you?” I told him I would hide there again on my next turn. He said, “But where were you?” I told him that he can look again on the next round. “But Aunt Mary Anne, I need to know.” It was at that point I smiled and asked, “You need to know?” I think he wanted to know and it was hard for him to look again. He took his turn hiding and then I took mine, returning to the same spot. I peeked out and George found me.
All day I couldn’t get his little voice and expression out of my head – I need to know. How many times had I wanted to know something that I convinced myself I needed to know it? Is there anything I really need to know?
The day was full of big hugs, long walks, being lost and being found – I have everything I need to know.
Mary Anne
This is dedicated to my nephew George who I love this, this, this, this much!
From Grief to Grace
Thursday, March 4th, 2010
Two years ago I wrote an article about grief that was published on-line. I was feeling the emotions of grief that revisited my heart. I wrote that when grief inhabits my heart it hits like the wave at the ocean. For a long-time I had an annual grief “visit” and the whole world would become silent and motionless.
I wrote in the article, “For some time, I push away the grief like a fly in my ear. But the grief begins to fill my entire body, each cell becoming morphed with endless emptiness. I search my mind for a cause. I look for the basic needs of the season; I need more sun! There is more than sunshine needed to replenish the parts of me lost and forgotten. I dig deeper and find that I have become disconnected to the necessary life cycles. I am distracted by what’s around me and not connected with who is around me. When there is deep grief, I believe there is often great loneliness. I am a sojourner on the grief path.
It’s the annual visit by grief that consumes my heart and opens the void. I know allowing grief to come and go freely, without judging or blaming, is the key. For me, grief reminds me of how many things I no longer remember and how I long to connect with loved ones that have crossed. I long to pick up the phone and tell my mom about my day, my new project, or a class I am teaching. But my mom passed away, and all I have is the belief that she will hear my voice when I tell her out loud.
There is a crossover between beginnings and endings. I am overwhelmed by the notions of life and death. I wonder if the word “breath” is really just a combination of birth and death.”
It’s been almost ten years since my mom’s passing and I am reminded again of grief as I watch a loved one learn about the return of malignant tumors. I am reminded of how precious each moment of life is. The gift of grief is that you are completely present to it.
Whether we know how much time we have with a loved one or not, it’s the lesson of “showing up”, even when it’s not easy. We show up with love and that is all grief needs to flow into grace. We show up with love because in the end that’s all we really need.
Mary Anne
This is dedicated to Lorene and her mom.