The "Examined Life" has just been reinvented.
In the interests of more dailiness of writing, and a stronger focus on writing practice - and spirituality - I have created "Penofthemagpie" ... The "magpie" (me) has taken up her metaphorical (or should I say virtual) pen and is committing herself to writing regularly - hopefully three or more times a week in shorter, more zen-like spurts! This not only supports my writing practice, but hopefully can stimulate a larger readership.
I am also making a concerted effort to cultivate a "following" and invite dialogue with my fellow writer/readers... So, please, if you like what you see, and believe in offering some moral support to my new effort, become a "follower." I'll be most grateful!
Hope to hear from you all soon. It appears that the directions in the blog are clear (address of blog: http://www.penofthemagpie.wordpress.com), so come on over and join in the conversation...
with love and appreciation,
Mag
My Elephant Friends
Amboseli elephants
Monday, July 11, 2016
Friday, July 8, 2016
Offering your words in the darkness...
Every time I thought about beginning again, it occurred to me to apologize for disappearing, but since I'm not quite sure just WHO I should apologize to, that all seems rather silly. So, now almost 3 months since my last iteration, I continue on ... To consider the delights of: feeling like myself again thanks to kicking the Zoloft habit, the exhilaration of reacquainting myself with my manuscript and feeling proud, the comfort of family, and the heart wrenching challenges of accepting our darkly violent society. Somewhere there is connection here, somewhere ... I want to find it.
When I looked at a video this morning that showed a black man shot dead in his car while his girlfriend watched with her camera on the policeman's gun, I cried tears and felt that it was close to impossible to feel happy in this time, despite all my advantages and comforts. The idea of feeling happy when police are gunning down our black population and then cops are executed in revenge seems incongruous. How do those things fit together? When my heart seems to be crumbling, can I find a way into the light? Yes, I can.
I can tell my daughter how much I adore her, hug my grandchild tight, and give that adorable grandson a big fat kiss on the cheek. I can scoop up my small dog Peaches and squeeze her and remind her I adore her as she licks my face with her gentle pink tongue. I can choose the language of love; it won't make the horrors of cruelly murdered young men less grave, less urgent, but it WILL help me hold it in my heart.
Another thing I can do is re-enter the story of my life, read and feel the words I've painfully inscribed there, and sculpt and build and keep telling the story. Why is telling my story so important? Because it reminds me that I'm a living, breathing, feeling human who even at the age of 71 is envisioning a lot more life to live ... A lot more love to be had... It also puts my words, my own sensibility, OUT THERE in the universe. And the more I can do that, the less alienated and sorrowful I will feel. You cannot make peace in the world until you make peace in yourself, the Dalai Lama said, and as I put my precious story out there, I help change the world in my own small, but entirely unique, way. So, I may be invisible to the publishing world and barely worthy of publishing, but I'm not to myself, and I am driven by a wish to spread my words around, and so I will. I will hold the faith that someday they may show up in a book.
And interestingly, and here is where I feel able to tie this all together, my pulling myself out of a drug induced existence and returning to my authentic "self" was the catalyst for all of the above! When you are not yourself, you don't feel, don't think clearly, don't respond with passion -- you can't. The juice is not there. So, you think you're o.k., sort of, and you go on. But you're not. Because you can't cry, don't feel like laughing at a friend's story, and even the beauty of your 16 year old Maine Coon cat doesn't melt your heart. So, you decide you're not really depressed, and you discard the pills. And your sleep is good and gradually you return to who you are. And you see that who you are is really quite engaging, sweet, and good.
We're living in a very dark and chaotic and scary time. Sociopath running for president, hatred manifest almost everywhere, especially in urban communities where the economic/social divide is way too strong, and still we must get up, make our tea, walk our dog, and smile at those we meet on the street. We must smile, because it is in our nature to be kindly. We must pay attention, as harrowing as that is, to what is really going on in the culture, which means watching the news and reflecting as best we can. Ignorance is not an option. As I feel repelled by watching tonight's NPR's account of this week of killing, I will do it anyway, holdng my dog close to me, and trying to breathe into my heart and feel my own loving nature. And I'll be grateful that I'm alive to speak my peace ... Now and until I die.
When I looked at a video this morning that showed a black man shot dead in his car while his girlfriend watched with her camera on the policeman's gun, I cried tears and felt that it was close to impossible to feel happy in this time, despite all my advantages and comforts. The idea of feeling happy when police are gunning down our black population and then cops are executed in revenge seems incongruous. How do those things fit together? When my heart seems to be crumbling, can I find a way into the light? Yes, I can.
I can tell my daughter how much I adore her, hug my grandchild tight, and give that adorable grandson a big fat kiss on the cheek. I can scoop up my small dog Peaches and squeeze her and remind her I adore her as she licks my face with her gentle pink tongue. I can choose the language of love; it won't make the horrors of cruelly murdered young men less grave, less urgent, but it WILL help me hold it in my heart.
Another thing I can do is re-enter the story of my life, read and feel the words I've painfully inscribed there, and sculpt and build and keep telling the story. Why is telling my story so important? Because it reminds me that I'm a living, breathing, feeling human who even at the age of 71 is envisioning a lot more life to live ... A lot more love to be had... It also puts my words, my own sensibility, OUT THERE in the universe. And the more I can do that, the less alienated and sorrowful I will feel. You cannot make peace in the world until you make peace in yourself, the Dalai Lama said, and as I put my precious story out there, I help change the world in my own small, but entirely unique, way. So, I may be invisible to the publishing world and barely worthy of publishing, but I'm not to myself, and I am driven by a wish to spread my words around, and so I will. I will hold the faith that someday they may show up in a book.
And interestingly, and here is where I feel able to tie this all together, my pulling myself out of a drug induced existence and returning to my authentic "self" was the catalyst for all of the above! When you are not yourself, you don't feel, don't think clearly, don't respond with passion -- you can't. The juice is not there. So, you think you're o.k., sort of, and you go on. But you're not. Because you can't cry, don't feel like laughing at a friend's story, and even the beauty of your 16 year old Maine Coon cat doesn't melt your heart. So, you decide you're not really depressed, and you discard the pills. And your sleep is good and gradually you return to who you are. And you see that who you are is really quite engaging, sweet, and good.
We're living in a very dark and chaotic and scary time. Sociopath running for president, hatred manifest almost everywhere, especially in urban communities where the economic/social divide is way too strong, and still we must get up, make our tea, walk our dog, and smile at those we meet on the street. We must smile, because it is in our nature to be kindly. We must pay attention, as harrowing as that is, to what is really going on in the culture, which means watching the news and reflecting as best we can. Ignorance is not an option. As I feel repelled by watching tonight's NPR's account of this week of killing, I will do it anyway, holdng my dog close to me, and trying to breathe into my heart and feel my own loving nature. And I'll be grateful that I'm alive to speak my peace ... Now and until I die.
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