Marriage

People tend to talk about marriage failure in terms of statistics. Half of marriages, or thereabouts, fail. Yet, divorce, the failure of a union of two people, is a very personal thing.

It's not so bad, or so sad, when two people decide to go their separate ways, but when you add into the equation children, the sadness quotient escalates rapidly.

Sometimes, marriages fail very quickly. Within the year, it's determined it was a mistake; a moment of madness. That's more embarrassing than sad, I'd suggest. All that wedding planning seems so silly.

When a marriage has gone decades, when a couple have watched their children learn to walk and talk, to graduate college and begin careers, to get married themselves, there is an element of the union that seems unbreakable.

Family, neighbors, friends and acquaintances have become used to seeing them together in all types of settings, and who really thinks about what goes on behind their closed doors?

For some people there is a soul connection; a sort of stripping away of the skin and bones, the ego, such that one sees right to the core, and it's a good core; a kind-hearted soul.

Perhaps I am just being my empathetic self, demonstrating my tendency to see through the veneer and down into the body pain that can make people so demonic.

It is said that we make choices. We choose our behavior. There is nothing wrong with this statement until we consider the damage caused to individuals. Maybe they could be better, act better, be kinder, but something holds them back, something dark and deep; scarring that simply won't heal, can't heal.

What if a partner is sometimes rational, loving, kind and reasonable, but sometimes cruel, unreasonable, wilful, headstrong and committed to his own way, despite the hurt that is caused?

What then? What if all the possibilities for a better outcome - looking into oneself, committing to therapy - are simply beyond the individual, for the simple reason that he sees nothing wrong with himself - or does know there is something wrong with himself but would rather die than admit it?

Sometimes, at least in my generation, things have gone so far that one figures one might as well limp along to the finish line.

Sometimes, there is a single moment when one looks at the other raging and thinks, after all the millions of steps, he just went a step too far.

'Forgive them...'

I'm not exactly a history buff. I've done my fair share of history since it was a major in a undergraduate degree, but even then I focused on social history rather than battles and dates.

History repeats itself and no more so than in families where the sins of the father might continue to be felt through the generations. With every action there is a reaction. With every hurt there is a scar that may not entirely heal.

Violence breeds violence, unless there is a conscious determination to end it here, right now. One rejects the patterns of the past. One says, 'it stops here'.

Only those willing to investigate the mind, our own mind and those of other people, can develop the awareness to stop unacceptable behavior. Without awareness, you've got absolutely nothing to work with.

It's no sin to make mistakes. The sin is not exploring that mistake; not committing to strive to do better.

It's my definition of insanity to be so wrapped up with self-importance, with justification of one's own actions, to not explore one's own behavior. How is it possible not to be vaguely interested in what makes one's own mind tick?

How is it not possible to see that unless we make a determination to end one's family's failings with this generation, we create scars for the next?

Of course the mind is very clever. It tricks us into justifying and projecting and denying until we are blue in the face. Anything but admit we are at fault, that mistakes were made.

Utter and complete foolishness. The wise ones stand up and say, 'I did wrong. I knew no better at the time. I will try to do better in the future.'

'Forgive them for they know not what they do.'

Good heavens, Jesus has been dead for a very long time. Time to heed the warning offered so long ago.

Empathy

I was born with an extra dose of empathy for the plight of others. Of this, I am certain. My early life was lived out among the downtrodden. Whether they saw themselves as such I cannot know, but I felt their emotional pain. It was incredibly difficult to live with it, hour by hour and day by day, but I had no choice in the matter.

I suspect that I was seen quite simply as a shy child, an introvert. There's truth to that. Whenever I could I stayed in my room, surrounded by books. When I did venture out of my room, except of course to go to school, I went to ballet lessons and piano lessons. My body was more nimble than my fingers and it is dancing that became my true love.

If you think about it for a moment, these are fairly solitary activities. Of course, ballets have many participants but in your body it is just you dancing in sync with others. At the piano, or any instrument, you must delve into your inner life if you are to play well.

I know this not from experiencing it, since I was not a talented piano player. I know it because when my daughter was playing her flute, which she did very well, I sat in a few times as a musicologist took her through pieces of music in intricate detail, perhaps alerting her to a string of notes relating to a caged bird. It was then that I realized that music was so much more than the notes played well. Music comes from the soul and instruments must be played with the soul.

Back to the discomfort of living with those in emotional distress. Each night when I went to the kitchen for my dinner, a dinner not prepared by or eaten with my parents, I had to pass by people, men and women who were drowning their sorrows in beer. I felt that sorrow. I'd feel it like I was feeling sorrow myself and this was very difficult. Obviously, a child does only what one can do, and thus I built a defensive wall that would keep out the sorrow as much as possible. I tried not to look. I smiled and said hello in as disengaged a manner as possible.

The day came when my family was moving on. The establishment was closed. The door bell rang and I must have gone to the door to answer it. Standing there, tall, sad looking and carrying a satchel was a patron I recognized. I told him I would fetch my mother. I returned to the door with her and I heard him give her his best wishes. He wanted to thank her for her kindness over the years.He said that he would miss us and being able to frequent the business daily. I felt his pain. I felt his loss. I still do.

This capacity to feel other people's emotions can make crowds very difficult, going to school to volunteer very difficult. It can make making the right decisions in life very difficult. I have far too much empathy. It is my heart and not my head that wins. A psychologist would definitely identify this as a problem. The heart and head don't have to operate in a 50/50 way, but too far in either direction is a problem. I know this.

Every now and again, I find myself actually saying out loud to myself words like, 'This is a test. This must be a test.' I say this because my empathy fails me in the moment and I wonder if this is some sort of fault in the empathic system. If I have such a healthy dose of it, why can't I feel anything? Why has my empathic system, my heart, shut down?

Lately, I have been very very quiet. January in Australia is slow anyway but I have done little more than read and write, walk, yoga lessons, cook, meditate and breathe deeply. I water the garden and indoor pot plants. I sometimes nap. I do the laundry and such. But, it's the smallest of lives, deliberately small for now

It's like I am saving energy for listening and noting. It is like I am being observant to hear the beating heart, my beating heart. It's some sort of shift which I am not truly aware of in the mind space. I do wonder if this soul of mine, a timeless soul, dwelling within this particular body form, is insisting that I take this time to listen to my own heart; to tend to my own heart.

Thinking is so boring

For several years I've liked the image of the blue sky when thinking about the mind. Clouds come when they are ready and go when they are ready. No matter how many clouds are on the horizon, underneath is the blue sky. Blue sky, of course, is the still mind, the constant 'I am' that sits behind all emotional disturbances and turbulent thoughts of the mind.

Lately I have been enjoying the image of the water. No matter how many waves unsettle the water, underneath the water it is still.  To dive into the deep waters is to take a rest from the mind that wants to keep the ego always present.

To dive into the deep waters, into silence, is to stop for a time the incessant nature of the mind to think thoughts.

Without thought, stories running through the mind, there are so many gifts. The body calms as breathing deepens and slows.We have access to, for a few minutes at least, a higher form of ourselves.

Sharp noises soften. This has been my experience for the past several moments as a high-pitched drill can be heard close by.

The heart softens. Unconditional love can be felt, a connection to all beings, and self love too. There was a whisper of a settling thought that I noticed float across my mind. 'There, there, dear. You've woken unsettled. Just let the thoughts go. Thoughts are so boring.'

My mind becomes aware of what it hears. The drill has stopped. A plane is overhead. A bird sings.

Peace drapes over me like a black cloth.

The drill starts up again but it feels further away now. It is noisy outside illuminating the calm inside.

So lovely to know that with practice we have access to the still mind at a whim.

It could be said that a person seeks to reach a spiritual space. This implies a very long journey and a great deal of work with no guarantees. It is better I think, far more attainable, to simply settle into silence for a time. No need to call it meditation. Just give the mind a rest. That is all.

Close your eyes now. Breathe slowly and deeply. Let your body settle. Recognize that to not think is so delicious. In this moment, Now, there is nothing to fear and nothing to worry about.

Notice that in the peace, unconditional love makes an entrance. There is a sense of weightlessness. The heart opens. This happens very naturally in a still space. The ego realizes it has been relegated to the back seat. It sits quietly awaiting opportunities to take the driver's seat, that it knows will surely come later.

Restored, you can proceed with your day. With this little look into a peaceful mind, you will of course visit again, and again. The ego has a true competitor now.

Lessons of the past year

For many years, forever, there has been a fantasy running through my head; that there would be a man in my life who would instinctively and completely understand my need to fall under his wing in every way.

The roles in this fantasy have always been well defined and in order to hone down into that space the fantasies are often a little cruel, when in fact the role I play for him, and him for me, is anything but that; deeply loving, caring, sharing; adored and adoring. I think when we are young there is a sense of wide open space and infinite possibilities that allow for such a fantasy in a young girl's mind and for decades it refused to die. It not only survives, it thrives, even though I am in my sixties now.

It's no co-incidence that I took special note of the story of Jane Eyre as a child. Loving Mr Rochester and him loving her back was molded into the roles they played for one another. I remember feeling at great peace for Jane in the final scene, and deep peace within myself as she sat on the ground right by him, him on the seat patting her head (at least that is the way I remember the scene). It's romantic love that I attuned to even back then but also the themes of maturity versus youth, femininity versus masculinity, leader versus follower. Which is not to say that Jane didn't have a wisdom or an innate understanding of Mr Rochester that she brought to the table. I've always thought of Jane as instinctively attuned to Mr Rochester; his ways, his needs.

It's very hard to let go of such an enduring fantasy and for many years I tended to have a thought at the back of my mind -  if I can't have it all, then I'll do without. But, that thought broke down many times over as I came to see that I was attempting to annihilate out of my life my innate self. The kinky mind has been with me for longer than most of the people reading this has been alive. It's an enduring, soothing thought. It's an important part of my sexuality. It is my sexuality.

As a Caretaker type, meaning a person who can put others needs ahead of their own needs, self-care was a foreign thought.  I said recently to a small group of people - maybe 12 of us, a very safe small group - that it was only very recently, perhaps  the past twelve months or a little longer, that I have understood what self-love even meant. It's been a huge year of self discovery in that sense.

The most important lesson of the year has been that I can't wait for and shouldn't expect 'Mr Rochester' to save me; to tend to me; to lovingly dominate me. Wonderful when it comes along, but silly to wait; to pine for, to wish, to feel resentment and sorrow when there is that lack in my life.

It's a commitment to giving up the victim role, the persecutor role and the savior role. It's akin to saying 'It is what it is' and 'We are as we are'. It's looking at the situation and seeing if there is a new way to resolve the fact that we are in fact very different people; neither better or worse, good or bad; just people whose attention is drawn towards different areas of life. It's recognizing we are equals, with strengths and weaknesses, and seeing if we can accommodate that individuality within a more fun paradigm that includes both of us being fulfilled.

We are as we are, all of us, and there are measures I can take to soothe myself when his attention is steered in another direction; to feel whole; to connect in with my intrinsic self. It's not ideal; not really at all like the fantasy that has endured my whole life, but nonetheless it feels right to care for myself as best I can; to have no specific expectations. This leaves room, I anticipate, for experiences that will satisfy within certain scenarios.

Gratitude is so important in life and I have so much to be grateful for.  I think as we age we develop some wisdom about that. A new home, a new baby, a new dress are all wonderfully exciting things in life in the moment, but so too is a great cup of coffee, the moment when the rose blooms, a cool evening breeze after a hot day, the touch of lips meeting lips; the wagging tail of a dog. There are sweetnesses in life every day if we are attuned to them.

Someone I have come to know was having lunch with Ram Dass one day (what a fantasy that is!) many years ago when she said to him, 'Well, it looks like I won't be having children'. He more or less waved her off. 'Well, there's always something we want we don't get,' he said.  Or, words like that.

This stunned her a bit. It wasn't a small thing she wasn't getting, after all. And yet, she took the point. It's the human condition to have to suffer the loss, or never to have at all, that which we covet. Ask anyone and there will be something in this life desperately wanted but not got - a loving mother, the respect of a father, the admiration of a child, to be an actress or a painter, to work, to not work, to love, to be loved, to have a mentor, to be in print. We all have our thing.

I recently read a quote of Brene Brown. 'Joy, collected over time, fuels resilience.' Like a habit of mind, when we go in search for joy, we collect it in abundance, and this builds resilience for the disappointments and sorrows in life.

As this year comes to an end I feel proud of lessons learned: a willingness and ability to take care of myself, when and if I must; pockets full of joy; resilience; promise that tomorrow will take care of itself.

Altered states

He called me into his office in which there was a bed where he could do procedures. We talked  only a moment or two. We both knew what was going to happen, in general terms, and there was no need for elaboration. I never want to know the details. I certainly don't want to look. Perhaps he asked me if I had any questions. If he did, I must have said no.

He asked me to lie down on the bed. I relaxed as best I could. Thankfully, I was soon able to attune my senses to the jazz music that was now gently twinkling out from an unseen speaker. Clever man to distract me from my own mind! I had had this procedure done once some years ago by a woman with an indelicate sensibility and it had left scars on my mind such that I was very afraid. I had focused on my breathing all the way across town in the Christmas traffic, which helped, but didn't stop my nerves from being on edge.

Lying there on my back he put a blanket across my middle. It wasn't to keep me warm and nor was it to cover me. I was wearing a summer dress just to the knee in preparation of providing access to the area that required treatment. No, I think it was to hold me in a sense, the way when I have my legs up the wall at the end of a yoga class the teacher will put a folded blanket on my heels. Weight settles a person, holds them in place.

He was in control now. He adeptly took some sort of strap and tied it around my left thigh, tight. He then put one around the right thigh in exactly the same way. On reflection, it is perhaps remarkable that this steadied me. Heavens knows what I would feel, or say, or do in the hands of someone who I felt was incompetent but I happily handed over control to him, felt comfortable and in reliable hands.

This is what I think it must feel like to be controlled by a Dominant or Top who knows, or gives the impression that he knows, exactly what he is doing. It is a perfectly normal thing for me to do and to feel, to give that control of my body over to someone who emits confidence, that they know what they are doing.

At first, I barely felt the injections, not stingy at all. I felt them penetrate my skin definitely, but he was so gentle about it that I managed to relax, to the point of a false sense of security. As the needles filled with the solution went deeper I found that I had to either focus on the music such that I isolated an instrument, the trumpet usually, and focus specifically on each note played, or else I just followed my breath, noticing the deep inhalation and then the slow exhalation .

Only once did I emit a sort of grunt, just a tiny bit of noise, the smallest of complaints. Perhaps I was letting him know that I was close to the edge.

'Let me know if it stings,' he said.

I have a tendency, perhaps everyone has a tendency to try to predict the end of discomfort and there reached a point where I thought it might be over. Yet I noticed, even in the moment, that I wasn't invested in that ending. I wasn't preempting anything and I was correct not to do so. He had located somewhere else he wanted to inject and I was quietly pleased in fact that he wanted to be thorough. I knew he would decide when it was over and this was a settling thought.

When he had finished with an injected site he would pull a little on my skin, in the gentlest of ways, perhaps just as a Dominant or Top might apply pain, and then pleasure. I remember thinking that, or something like that. It wasn't a time for logical thought, just feelings.

When he was finished he undid the straps and then he wrapped my legs in bandages. Later that evening just before bed when I undid the bandages I found cotton balls with specks of blood attached with light tape, perhaps a dozen of them. I wondered when that had happened, when he smoothed over my skin after each injection or whether he had done it all at once at the end.

Silly, isn't it, that I was wide awake and yet I have no knowledge of that part of the procedure. But in times when someone has control over us, we go into another space. If there is a procedure being performed, or magic, a sadomasochistic experience, our chances of remembering everything are very low. We are in an altered state.

It's a quiet space, that space inside our heads when thoughts settle and sensations come to the fore; when we notice the beating of our hearts, the breeze on our skin, the delight of a string of notes of a musical instrument, or the sound of a voice steadying us.

For me, it will remain an eternally unanswered question; why on earth would somebody not want the experience of letting go.

This day

 I have less connection with the past. I don't see this as a bad thing. I sometimes have momentary glimpses of my former self, glimpses that come to me, seemingly out of nowhere. I'll remember wearing a bathing suit at a younger age, when the children were young, and how I felt in a particular moment. I'll remember being even younger in a bathing suit at a public pool and the feeling of being so incredibly hungry after a day of non-stop swimming. I'll remember biting into food  and thinking nothing ever tasted as good as that fabricated meat roll that they served at the kiosk.

I remember, just now, feeling that I was pregnant for the first time and going to the doctor in the early afternoon of a work day and being told, yes, I was indeed pregnant. I remember the surge of joy. I was 28 years old.

In some ways the connection between my younger self and my current self is my children. I remember a flight attendant asking me if I had children and I said that my eldest was eight. I remembering wondering at that moment where eight years of my life had gone.

When he was born it was the most wondrous thing that ever happened to me. In fact, he wasn't a beautiful baby for a few weeks, since he was delivered with forceps due to the emergency that ensued in the hospital. But, I'd sing to him and coo to him as if he was the most magnificent baby that there had ever been in the history of the world. My mother recognized immediately that he looked squashed but I saw no imperfection at all and she didn't let on for many months that I had been in a dream space.

Fast forward to today and he is getting close to 33 years old. It still stumps me, where time goes. It is so interesting that he doesn't seem to have caught on that I have aged with him. That's nice really, that he sees me as eternally young.

In a way, and an important way, I am neither young nor old. It is a part of the meditative practice, I suspect, and a lot of spiritual reading, that I connect more and more to that part of me that has no characteristic that can be defined by age, or a changing body, or even a changing mind. I can't always connect to that part of me that is love itself, unconditional love, but more and more, I can.

Perhaps another way to put it is that I feel closer to a world, a life, a state, that one might call Acceptance, the suchness of things.

Certainly, I associate less and less with my thoughts. They come and go, of course, but I'm more inclined to notice them, rather than feel that they are mine. 'Oh, that's interesting,' is a thought I have quite regularly as the thought enters and plays out before it finishes and is replaced with another thought.

The hardest part of the day, and it has been this way for a long time, is first thing in the morning. I realized something this morning, that I often forget that this difficult part of the day can relate to allergies, sneezing and stiffness that relates to the weather. Over and over I have to remind myself that hay fever and the like induces an  agitated feeling that is best medicated.

Yet, it is more than that, I think. My husband is a night owl and in order to have him get as much sleep as possible I'll put off preparing for the day, having a shower and dressing. This works against me. I have to keep reminding myself that it is best to get up and get ready for the day; create momentum. We've talked about that and he encourages me to day what I need to do.

I'm very aware that there are less days ahead than those that have gone. I've very aware that those who were my age now when I was young are gone to God. Time takes us all. I don't think of this as a troublesome thought but I had a thought earlier, and noticed it, that I want to see my grandchildren. I want to meet them. I am hungry to meet them.

This is a thought, a thought about the future, a fear. We all have our fears, not that they do us much good, unless it is for purposes like getting out of the way of a speeding car and that sort of thing. I'm troubling myself about the future which will most likely have no relevance to my fearful thought.

I think there are times of life when we struggle for awareness at all, such as when I was young, and times like now when I feel a strong need to absorb all the change that is going on inside of me. Meditation practice for children is probably an excellent idea, but it wasn't part of my childhood. I suspected there was more, more than I could see at the time, but maybe all young children suspect that in some way.

Now, for me, it's not unlike a pulling away of people at the end of their lives who develop a deeper understanding of this life. I'm not pulling away from life as I've seen people do who are ready for life to end but rather I'm so awed by life that I need time to simply observe it. To this end, I feel a bit alone. I can't talk to anyone about this, quite simply, no-one. Where would I even start?