About Easter

The more I have come to live, the more I have come to realize that in waves of doubt or despair – literally equal in that moment – are hope and celebration.

The church has failed so many people and Easter really is simply undoubtedly a celebration of spring, light after darkness, new life and the mystery of creation… the joy you feel when the green of your hostas or ferns, the yellow of your tulips or lillies straight up usher in the first real day of winter being over.

These are undebatable truths. These can be communally celebrated, witnessed and experienced.

But about Easter.

I am an Easter person. And it’s not because I was raised on lyrics like “veiled in flesh the Godhead see” or “Christ the Lord has RISEN TODAY – ALLELUIA”. Which built an understanding of a savior and my need to be saved.

And though I am suspicious to believe I am Easter person because I have experienced ruach – spirit – pranayama in the humbly low brass tones of // crown him with many crowns – the lamb upon the throne // and how (even in this very moment) I am moved to tears thinking of how love is bigger than me, love requires faith, and so LOVE must be DIVINE. Holy. Recognition worthy. Eyes closed feel it worthy, divine. I know it’s not just that.

No. I think deep in my bones I am an Easter person because I know moments in my life where I have experienced a different, more peaceful or positive, emotion after a terribly anxious, fearful one have been moments where I have sacrificed, let the bad guys have their way while keeping my belief, or where I held the hand of a dying woman to then witness the peace of her dead body; her spirit obviously not there.

Maybe religious Easter coincided with seeing Christ energy in the sun, the green, the grass. Or feeling the open hearts of those experiencing beautify after thunder, darkness and silence. Maybe we should all scale it back out of headlined beliefs and generational religion and feel what we know to be true: the natural cycle of new life coming after death.

I am an Easter person. A finder and lover of the silver lining. A collector of rocks, an exchanger of peace, an encourager of hope.

A lover of green ferns.

A celebrator of the faithfulness of the rising sun and moon.

Thinking Positively about my Negative Thinking @ Desk in Family Room

I just took a delicious swig of the cool left over venti Pike Place I got yesterday morning after checking out of my hotel. What is it about the combination of a packed carry on tote and Starbucks that literally gives me life? I don’t know but I am a believer.

This is my writing warm up for the day. I woke up in room 1107 at a little boutique hotel yesterday and spent a full morning in a sunlit queen sized bed doing whatever I wanted in my notebooks and on the internet. A daughter turned 13 on Saturday and her and her best friend got some rare pandemic free time to just breathe, be social and be somewhere different.

The idea was generated out of excitement for them, they are great girls and deserve a little treat. However, as the day progressed and birthday morning prep and “party” execution and basketball games came and went; the excitement rolled over onto me. I have been missing the smell of my suitcase and long for the mental puzzle of a little bit of travel. And though the night was not necessary relaxing (though it is where I started to relax – as the eucalyptus soap washed the bonfire off) the morning for sure was.

I attempted to draw the curtains shut at the crack of dawn to learn that they actually did not shut. Grateful for the pretty morning after such a grey week, I woke as early as I normally would and began to peck through my heart and my thoughts to figure out: with no other stimuli – where I was in life, what I was wanting to do and spend time on and where I needed shifting.

My negative thinking is rarely negative thinking more than it is noticing the problems to be solved, the areas to transform. I told a friend this morning, when we caught up for a quick thirty, that I can tell when I am doing something wrong in my approach when my approach is causing me stress, worry, losing sleep or irritability. I have learned that means a belief I have isn’t helpful or it is a reminder that I am attempting to manage something outside of my own self (and to knock it off).

Because of this, I share my “negative thinking” openly. I am comfortable with it. And though I know that I have a MAJOR opportunity to change up *the way* I tell my stories so it doesn’t sound hyper critical of a specific kid or situation, I do trust the overall process I have learned to be true: you learn your words and your needs when you acknowledge the things that make you feel gross.

I decided to start up an anonymous blog on the internet to talk more candidly about some of the major themes in our house hold that this blog needs to keep private. I have my writing projects prioritized and moving along; with full access to my basement study. I have a new mental memo to self going on which is telling me what is not necessary in my writing and it feels helpful; like I have grown there.

Every single hard thing offers a way to make room for something better. The emotional labor of life is real and can create a trickling speed limit of how much you can take on, can sift through, can handle, at a time. I believe our lots in life are where our opportunities to demonstrate variations of loving lie. And, with that, I finish my writing warm up. Which I originally thought was going to be a fun little travel bit about Ojai.

Maybe next time.

Prayers and Personalities @ On a New Black Couch

It’s a Monday night and I am sitting in our newly finished rec room on our new Ikea couch. Outside of cleaning up the kitchen and a few loads of laundry (PS: I am an official Dropps subscriber…) I did nothing today before or after my Ikea run. My mind was kind of going through thing after thing – not really in an incessant or obsessive way. It was more of like I was just watching my life like a movie and taking notes on what I should do. In that way, it felt productive even though I was curled up in my bed with the cover over me pseudo napping for the duration of the cold, gray midwest afternoon.

I prayed for the first time last night in what feels like ages. A couple of years ago, I shifted from dedicated prayer journaling, dedicated prayer outpouring, dedicated prayer groups to this idea of constantly praying. I started to say “I have been praying for you” to friends who I had been thinking about; even though there was no “Dear God” about it. When something angsty would spike up, I would just “commit it”.

I learned this technique when my mom was in a coma. I remember thinking that I had to keep praying, keep praying, keep praying. One day, in the elevator to her floor of the rehab facility after she had resurrected from the dead, I caught myself daydreaming about something other than her recovery and felt ashamed.

I STOPPED PRAYING.

That’s when I got one of those divine mind spells served to me: an image of angels going up and down stairs that were built out of prayers. Repeated prayers were these thick sturdy staircases, carrying hundreds of angels up and down, but even prayers that were prayed just once had at least an angel or two traveling up and down from heaven to earth and back again.

Back to last night. I found myself with space slash patience and I thought to myself, “Huh, maybe I’ll pray”.

I don’t remember what I prayed for or for how long I prayed until I fell asleep. But I remember feeling the words in my brain and this sense of breadth and was reminded of a time I prayed so hard I suddenly started to see a different version of myself in my mind’s eye: standing on a cliff in the middle of a galaxy with green vines growing up the side of the cliff with each breath I continued to pray.

Even though my spirituality has changed in its form, whatever way of praying that delivered that night sky cliffside clearing broke some sort of veil to where I was just able to lay on a Sunday night, close my eyes, and go straight back to that same feeling of openness.


I am aware of mine and David’s marital milestones. Just like the dating type milestones where “I can’t believe you’re real” morphs into “I can’t believe you’re real even though – my God – you are super real”; marital milestones show up and say “Yeah – hey, so this is two people in a thing together, it’s not magic even though the love is other worldly”.

We were finishing our weekend as two foxes in a den when I said, “You know, it’s not like you get married to figure somebody out.” He nodded.

That is definitely not why you get married.

And it’s not like you get married for somebody to figure you out. Not at all.

I continued, “…and for those little things about you that are just like your things, it’s not like we are going to like get to the bottom of it and you’re going to stop being a certain way. That like is not the point. Same goes for me.”

David laughed, and we enjoyed what felt like a mutual acknowledged relief.

I think it is easy to get to the work of the union (the effort in the ease, some yogis may say…) and feel like you have to work to change, to fix, etc.

However, in dealing with my personal psyche (which has spent the majority of its decades attempting to 1) identify 2) analyze 3) plan 4) change), I have learned that the work is actually in allowing no work. The work is actually a deep breath in and full self acceptance. It doesn’t let you off the hook for shitty behavior or destructive tendencies but it does fall in line with the whole Thor theme of being who you are vs. who you are “supposed to be”.

Likewise, that same technique of offering space and seeing the other without the need to get all mechanical works well in love relationships. It takes the need to define and understand and replaces it with an opportunity to allow and support. My current findings is this creates a lot of laughter. It also starts to curb neurosis.

These milestones we get to that feel like a thick sheet of waxy bubble wrap that we need to push our heads through and breathe in a new leg of the journey; the breakthroughs that come feel a lot like that meditation space I got the key to that I can return to whenever I want.

The progress of openness instead of iteration dotted somewhere along the horizon of self acceptance. It’s absolutely fantastic in its realness.

These invisible things: beliefs and the ideas we carry – adhering to them or attempting to adhere to them – can make us suffer so much. And since this is true, the opposite must also be true: that freedom from things needing to be a certain way and liberation from definitions of the right way to handle something can bring us joy. For me? Allowing prayers and personalities to simply be whatever they are is a total game changer.

It allows space and it allows laying in bed for two hours after a hot shower to be productive.