Friday, December 14, 2012

I love you

What if I just said, "I love you."

Plain and simple, yet elegant in its utter truth. Would you run? Would you hide? Would you begin to think thoughts questioning my motive?

Or would you, could you, simply allow yourself the joy, the sweetness, the warmth that is being offered with no strings attached? No ulterior motives, no askance in return. Just because you are you.

Every day Spirit offers us unlimited love - the stars, the moon, the sun, a child's smile, trees, a greeting, a bird song - and we so often pass by it unawares. We've become immune, numbed, blocked off and we've been taught that that is 'normal'.

Today, this holiday season, I offer you a moment to just stop, take a breath, and accept a second of pure unconditional love. Fill your heart, fill your belly, with this divine essence. Let it embrace you. Let it cuddle you.

And then, go forth and remember it all day; in moments rekindle the feeling.

And pass it on~

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Oh What a Night!


       
It wasn’t until we turned out the lights on our way to bed at 11:00 last night that I noticed the amazing light show going on across the bay. Relampago! (Lightning at night, as opposed to rayas -daytime lightning)

Even though we were tired we sat out on the porch overlooking the water, across to the Baja peninsula, the Sierra San Francisco and the amazing show that was happening. From a long dark cloud came flashes so frequent that it was as if someone had switched on a strobe light. Without exaggeration I would easily say that there were about 6-8 strikes per second and the longest amount of time between strikes was just under 1 second. The sky was ablaze in flashing lights – right, left, center, higher from the horizon, lower, it never let up. While few bolts were visible to the eye, it was spectacular, none the less. Add to it the phosphorescence in the breaking waves and the shooting stars from the Perseid Meteor Shower and needless to say, I was breath-taken. Only reluctantly did I go to bed. It fueled me in an interestingly energetic way. I fell asleep hearing some high vibrating sound that I could not place into any known category.

Around 1:30 a.m. I awoke to use the bathroom and as I passed the big picture window in the living room I saw that the storm had moved closer; the lightening was stronger and more frequent. In awe I awoke Robert to say that he might want to see this.

After watching from the comfort of the house something told me that the storm was coming here and that it would rain, but I dismissed it as there has been no cloud build up as of late and on a normal year our rainfall measures 3”. To add to that, we have been in a drought for some years now. I crawled back into bed with only a sheet to cover me. We always sleep with the door and windows wide open to both enjoy the fresh air and hear the ocean better.

Some 2 hours later I awoke to the sound of pounding rain on metal roof, which I admit amplifies the noise considerably. It was pouring!

Thought #1: I have to close the windows and door a.s.a.p.! I know it will flood inside if I’m not quick. Heaven knows how long it has been raining already!

Thought #2: My studio window is open and my beautiful handmade papers are right under the open window. This could be disastrous!

Thought #3: Oh thank heavens Robert sealed the new roof of the studio just the other day…..

Thought #4: Wow, this is really cool!

When it rains here, you can practically hear the Earth sing. It vibrates with a song that speaks of life and renewal. It is hard not to join in with her, humming your own grateful tune, as all is being quenched and cleaned.  It matters not how many puddles there might be to sweep up later.


My newly planted veggie garden
I know it rained for at least a couple of hours. It lulled me into a deep sleep and when we awoke later in the morning all the plants glowed green and vibrant. No more dust! The gray water system, which isn’t yet really up and going properly had collected an extra 11 gallons or so from just a small area of run off.  (Had it been completed, Robert says at that rate we could have amassed over 200 gallons!) The tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, basil, and all the ornamentals were practically singing they were so happy.

The neighborhood was up and moving, sweeping standing water from patios, fixing leaks, and generally feeling more lively than usual. Driving into town the distant buildings shone their true vibrant Mexican colors and could be seen from the top of the hill in La Beliza, some mile and a half away. I saw that the airstrip and the road leading in were both under about a foot of water.  Speaking to the cashier in the co-op it was clear that the beauty of the tormenta (storm) touched everyone. Even all the campers along the point seemed pretty amazed by the whole experience.

And now the humidity has risen considerably.  For a desert town, it feels very tropical. But the water has gotten warm and a swim is definitely in order for this afternoon, if not sooner.

Just when I think this place is magical, it does something that astounds me even more!

Mother Nature you rock!


Saturday, July 21, 2012

Morning Magic


It’s the sheen of the mirror-flat silver water flecked with soft pinks from the rising sun. In the calm water the dolphins’ daily march is recorded easily as they break the smooth expanse with their sensuous movement. They circle through the crescent bay each morning in search of breakfast.

It’s the glowing orange orb that crests the mountains across the water and colors the clouds vibrant breathtaking hues of orange, coral and pink. And the pelicans that glide effortlessly through the still air proving to be the true Masters of Flight.

It’s the 2000 terns that gather each summer to camp on the beach, their calls more incessant than any rooster, yet less shrill and somehow calming. It becomes a constant background noise the entire length of their month long stay.

It’s how when they are disturbed they rise as one through the air filling the sky so densely with small white bodies that the horizon monetarily disappears. Watching them there comes a moment that they synchronize in flight, moving and becoming as one. A change of direction, signaled only God knows how, and the mass of white becomes one of dark gray, only to reverse to white once again with yet another turn. How do they do that?!

It’s the calm of the morning air, filled with promise for a new day, bright and fresh. Looking down at the extreme low tide, the water’s edge filled with fisher-persons and a fisher-dog, who eagerly patrols the tide pools and often as not catches baby halibut or crabs himself.

It’s knowing that I have another day to celebrate Life, to share it with my beloved partner and our friends. And I thank the Earth and Sky, the Universe and all the Beings therein for all that has been and all the will be, but mostly – all that Is.

My gratitude is beyond measure~

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Pilot Whale


Helpless. We were totally helpless. Though we had great intentions, there was nothing we could do to lift the animal out of the receding tidal pool and back into deeper water. And even if the three of us could move the 1000 pound beast, Robert, who was closest to him, reported that he was gravely injured and certainly close to death….

The morning had begun as usual. I was off at sunrise on my walk with Rowdy and Miss Yeager when, not far from the house I spied something splashing in water. Thinking it was another curious sea lion, I stopped to watch. Suddenly I became aware that whatever it was was stranded and trying to escape the confines of the pool. Without investigating further, and thinking it was a dolphin, I ran home to wake Robert and see if maybe we could rescue the poor animal.

‘Is it large?’ he asked, and though I was pretty sure it was, I said I didn’t know. I was afraid that if I said yes, Robert would tell me it was hopeless and I really really wanted to try. So as he pelted me with questions – how far out? how big? where exactly? – I said 'Just come and look.' Robert donned his full wetsuit and I put on a bathing suit. Running next door to get our neighbor Bruce, I hoped that maybe 3 people could lift it. We gathered something for a makeshift sling and then we all met on the beach in short order. The tide was still going out and time was of the essence.

Wading out in the mid-50 degree water was bone chilling. I kept telling myself that I could do this, though I lagged behind, knee deep in the water as Robert approached the animal. At first he wasn’t sure exactly what it was, and when he mistakenly said it was a shark, I thought,’ Oh good I don’t have to get wet!’ but then I had to question myself. Why I would save one creature, but not another?

Bruce stood at the water’s edge as Robert sadly gave the news that it was a pilot whale and sure to die very shortly no matter what we did. He was close to tears as he reported that the surrounding water was filled with blood and he could see death in the big mammal’s eye. I waded no deeper and neither did Bruce.  We forlornly walked home wishing that it had been otherwise, but nature has her ways.

About an hour later, when the tide was at its lowest I walked out to the animal. Now in only ankle deep water I wanted to inspect him closely and hopefully offer some comfort, if he was still alive. Roughly 10 feet long and black in color, he was covered in blood. I saw that there was a huge gash across his head, as if he’d been struck by a propeller, along with numerous small cuts and lacerations. Several teeth were missing. So little movement led me to believe that he was very close to the end. 

I stood and thanked him aloud and told him how beautiful he was and that even now he was still an awesome creature to behold. Though I was sorry for his pain, I continued to tell him that I was deeply grateful for this opportunity to get so close to him and see his magnificence and how I was here to offer him some comfort and support in the only way I knew how.

I reached down and stroked his flank, and I noticed his eye turn to me and try to focus as if in gratitude. I gently stroked him some more and splashed water onto his parched and peeling skin. He responded by moving his tail back and forth. My apologies were offered for my inability to save him but I would stay in hopes of comforting him. I moved to his head and gently stroked his blow hole. Crouching down, my hand covered in blood I spoke softly to him and it seemed to calm him. As I caressed I was surprised to see him extend his sexual organ and ejaculate into the water, twice. I took it as a sign of pleasure however odd it might seem.

By this time others had begun to gather on the beach to see what was going on. My time with this beautiful creature was coming to an end and I said my goodbyes and wished him wondrous travels on his next adventure. Slowly I walked home deeply touched by the experience.

It was an honor to witness this death – though surely I would have liked to have been able to save him. But it was not to be so. He offered himself to me, so that I might know more of the sea and its inhabitants. He assisted me in facing death yet again. And as I cleaned the sand from my shoes on the patio, I was filled with an unbelievable knowing that this whale gave me a part of himself that will always be with me, no matter what.

And blessedly, I gave him a part of me, too.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Breaking at the Cracks


Tucked way up there inside, hidden deeply from view I was not conscious it was there. True I had heard, ‘Let go and allow it to heal you,’ and I had been forewarned that much emotion was stored away and would likely need to be released, but for some crazy reason I thought that they were telling me of Robert. I should know better by now; he is a reflection of my own inner self. So when the tears came, they were sudden and hot, coming from a buried space within that seemed to be cracking open and spilling out its content with little regard for the moment.

We were dancing in the living room to Colby Callet’s Breaking at the Cracks and the sobs bubbled up from some deep reservoir, rising to the surface as I imagine bubbles rising through hot tar.

I told myself all kinds of reasons not to cry- how I’d scare Robert, how I had to hold it together. In the end he just held me tightly and told me to let it out. In truth I wish I hadn’t contained them at all. I wish I had fully allowed them access to the deepest parts of me for all the moments that I have had to be strong over these last 9 months, for all the fears of the unknown, and all the times I looked at my beloved and felt shock at seeing someone I had never known, someone much older than his 57 years and much weaker than his inherently strong muscular body. I felt a ripple of fear at the awareness of having him brush so close to death and my being left what felt alone.

I wish I had sobbed until there were no more tears, for though I allowed a definite expression I reigned myself in half way through. I guess it was just too painful, too much for me to fully touch as yet. But truthfully that’s just an excuse. It’s time. In each moment, as it happens, it’s time. As the emotions arise – that’s the time to fully embrace life as we are creating it. Stuffing things down, putting them aside until later – if ever- is unhealthy. I know this, and yet old patterns surfaced again. And here in Baja in my cozy casita I am supported by such beauty, such freedom. It is Nature at her most tender and sacred.

Each time I come here I am surrounded by energies that teach me and leave me in awe for what they impart. There has always been a rawness here that has drawn me and, at times, even felt a little scary too. But this trip down I immediately noticed that it felt different, just quiet. No urgent need to walk the beach or search for shells. No buzzing tension of lessons about to be imparted. Just a quiet tenderness that has enveloped me and allowed me to move as I have felt right for me.

At first I wondered have I lost it? Yet now I understand the wisdom of the Universe and how It is gently cupping me in Its embrace, tenderly caressing me to release all the stored emotions. The past 9 months in San Diego were necessary– for both Robert and me- not just for his cancer treatment, but for so much else that I had to return to face and let go of. It was monumental and I still am grateful beyond words that all transpired as it has. I have learned so much….

And now that we are here in Punta Abreojos, the sun is shining, things are being unpacked daily, and I have reentered my precious studio space and begun to paint once again I can feel the Life coursing through my days again. It is exceptional and I am so very very grateful for it all. Just writing, putting thoughts onto paper assists me to bring it up and let it out. Ahhhhh~

Oh listen! I hear my canvas calling! Time to have some breakfast and get going!

xxxooo

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Update and Overview



Goodness but it has been a long visit to San Diego! We left Baja on Oct 6, 2011, and now, in a couple of weeks, we’re finally headed back. I could say, ‘What a long strange trip it’s been,’ and in a sense that would be true, yet it wouldn’t even begin to encompass the whole of it….. Many lessons have been clarifying themselves now that the cancer treatment has ended. Robert is doing so well and life is truly beginning again.

Just a couple of days ago Robert was interviewed for a book about people who have been through trauma. As I sat in the room and just listened, the depths of the questions astounded me, as did his answers. Beautiful thought provoking questions like “How did this journey affect your body, mind, emotions and spiritual perspective?” and “What did you let go of, accept or change?” I found myself silently answering the questions.  That’s when I began to realize how much I have gained through it all.

Our neighbor Charlie who has had a myriad of such journeys once said to me that he highly recommends to anyone that they go through a near death experience – provided they can do so without dying. (He has been a profound teacher and support through these last 8 months, not to mention that he keeps my spirits up.) You can’t travel this path without making significant changes – at least not from what I have experienced. As the primary care giver, I found that one of my most significant lessons was to face the fear. I was continuously reminding myself to turn around and walk right into it. That way I wouldn’t be hiding. And if it was going to bite me, it wasn’t going to be in the butt; I was going to see it. That didn’t mean I wasn’t scared, or lonely, or overwhelmed. No, at times I was all this and more, but it sure helped me to see more clearly and it allowed me to ask for help. Lesson #2.

Letting go of the idea that asking for help shows vulnerability, and instead embracing that vulnerability allowed me to continue putting one foot in front of the other and finish the walk. I wasn’t brave, but I did have courage. Courage, from the Latin co (meaning heart) was first defined in the English language as, ‘to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart’. I like that definition. The response was tremendous. Love poured in from avenues I didn’t even know existed.

Brene Brown gave a TED talk The Power of Vulnerablility in which she said that the world’s happiest people have the courage to be imperfect, that they embrace their vulnerability, and ‘what makes you vulnerable makes you beautiful’. The willingness to be open and heart-full is a great strength – exactly the opposite that you might think. There is suppleness to it, a flow; it is magnificent. And it opens up to gratitude. (But that’s another blog altogether!)

Our house - Punta Abreojos, BCS
I know more insights will show up. I look forward to each one. For now I revel in how we have grown, what I am still learning and what is yet to come.

We hope to be leaving for home in the next couple of weeks, as soon as some paperwork clears. I want to thank everyone once again for all your prayers, good wishes and all the life-giving support that you have offered! I promise to let you know what Baja has in store for us as soon as we get there.


With deep love and appreciation~








Friday, May 11, 2012

Is It Art?


Last month on 60 Minutes Morley Safer did a piece on contemporary art and how it has consistently outperformed stocks since 2003 thus becoming a billion dollar industry. He attended the largest most profitable show in the US Art Basel Miami Beach and reported on its seeming absurdities, idiosyncrasies, extremes and more.  Many of the art pieces, admittedly controversial, fetched millions of dollars and could even have been labeled ‘shock art’. As he roamed the show he continually questioned, ‘Yes, but is it art?’

It was a good piece of journalism, memorable and thought provoking, eliciting strong emotions. Isn’t that what reporters strive for – a piece that you can’t stop thinking about? What if you take those parameters and apply them to the art itself? What makes it ‘good’ art? It comes down to this- what are you willing to feel? It’s not just about feeling good – it’s about feeling.

The purpose of art is to evoke emotion. These pieces were the expressions of artists who use visual clues instead of words.  Some artists use sound (music), or movement (dance) to express and elicit responses, all valid forms of communication. The question is are you listening?

We have become an unfeeling society – encasing ourselves in so many layers of protection that often we cannot be touched, as if this makes us safer or invincible. Shock art attempts to rip away the layers and expose us to deeper spaces within, thus assisting us to feel. Regardless of what emotion it evokes, it has elicited a response – something we frequently numb ourselves to. It offers itself as a vehicle to feel, to express, to let it out.

How often do we run away when a feeling arises within our bodies that we think signals ‘something is wrong’? We assume it will lead to a problem and heaven forbid I don’t want that! So we shut it down, push it away and file it in the ‘no more’ category instead of opening to it with wonder, listening to what this energy has to tell us? What if instead we appreciated ourselves for communicating and thanked ourselves with love and reverence and then just listened? Imagine the magic that might ensue if we actually allowed it.

Shock art, contemporary art, abstract art and modern art, all these are voices of the artists who have chosen to search a little deeper than the norm. Regardless of whether the piece is one that you would hang in your living room, can you open yourself up to perhaps hear what is trying to be communicated? Are you willing to go that far?

You might hate it. You might love it. You might fall somewhere in between, but allow yourself, if you will, to imagine the challenge of expressing a verb, an adjective or an emotion visually. Not as easy as a noun. The challenges involved in doing so entice certain artists – like the climber to Mt Everest.

So the next time you see art that shocks you, I invite you to stop and listen for a moment. Think of what the artist might be trying to communicate. It could surprise you. And I assure you, you can only grow by opening.


To see the 60 Minute Segment: 60 Minutes

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Dancing With Nature


Sunrise 2, Baja Landscapes, artist & copyright Jill Mollenhauer
‘What is it about Baja that makes you want to go back?’ The question was posed to me last night at a lovely dinner party hosted by dear friends. Immediately I knew the answer, for just that day I had become aware of what is missing here.

Don’t get me wrong, I am eternally grateful for this stopping point, a place to heal from all that has been ongoing in our lives as of late. My partner’s cancer treatment has required us to be here and this rental house has been a God-send for its proximity to not only the doctors but also our storage garage. And because it is on the same block as the house we own and currently rent to someone else, our core support group and neighbors are with us. What a blessing! Nothing could make it easier than to just walk the 3 blocks to Trader Joes or Ralphs, Starbucks or even the hardware store. Such ease! This neighborhood hosts more restaurants than one could ever choose from in a lifetime along with other numerous outlets for enjoyment. I guess my friend simply could not fathom why I want to return to our beach house in Baja where we make our own electricity, truck in our water and at this point a hot shower involves heating the water on the stove first.

When the sun rises in Baja, it creeps up over the peninsula and crests the distant San Francisco Mountains to shine across the bay and into our front window. The crashing waves sing of its ascent into the color-filled sky. Birds begin their daily flight paths along the shoreline in search of breakfast. Nature simply calls to me to come and experience Her in Her morning glory. Even before tea I often put on my shoes and take a brisk walk to the point with Rowdy, our neighbor’s dog, because it is just too stunning to miss.

There are times that the moon and the sun are simultaneously coming and going – east sports vivid orange and yellows, while west is soft purple and gold. I tilt my head back and scan the entire sky wishing I could paint it all on one canvas or at least take a picture, but it’s so vast! I have no extra extra wide angle lens and I am left speechless in awe.


Baja Landscapes #4, artist & copyright Jill Mollenhauer
Other times if it’s a low tide, we’ll cycle along the 3 miles of uninterrupted beach, stopping only to pick up shells or watch the dolphins as they play in the surf beside us. On those days we ride with Rowdy and the dolphins. Yes, they swim parallel with us as we ride. It’s heaven to return home tired and exhilarated for breakfast and coffee.


As the day warms and after chores are completed, I walk over to my studio where I always have at least one project going. Rowdy usually accompanies me to lie on the cool floor while I paint and Ms. Yeager, the cat, often sprawls across my work table to snooze or occasionally swat at my brush. I can survey the neighborhood from my perch upstairs above Ed’s house. It is open to the water and sometimes I find myself just gazing out watching. I work until hunger or some other diversion calls me to come back to the house and clean up. The gift of being able to walk away from my canvases and not look at them until I return is so refreshing. It is easy to get desensitized to them otherwise.

It’s almost impossible to not tide pool in the afternoons. There are so many treasures and surprises that are waiting to be explored! I can practically hear the ocean calling me to come and play.

And in the evenings when the sun sets behind the house over the hill we either drag the chairs out to watch from our yard or walk up to Mo and Gerry’s house. From there we can watch it slide once again into the Pacific while setting the sky afire in beauty. After dinner it is ritual to sit on the porch, wrapped in blankets if necessary, and enjoy the stars. The only place I have ever seen their brilliance and number matched in in Kauai. When sleep overtakes us we still hear the ocean calling, the waves crashing, promising another sunrise soon to come.

This is what draws me to our beach house in Baja – Nature in all her raw beauty. I am fed by it; it fuels me. I feel closer to God, my Own Self, there than in any man-made structure. The quiet contemplation, the inner delving that accompanies it excites me. And as with anything, I know that I want breaks from that too. Change is a necessity.
But while there, I love to dance with Nature.


For more information about the artwork: Jill Mollenhauer

Monday, March 26, 2012

Who Told You?

Who told you that you weren’t beautiful, my love?

Who fed you their insecurities about life and love

       and all the possible things you can not accomplish?

Did you buy their fears as if they were your own

      and thus limit your expressions to the world?

Who taught you that you weren’t beautiful?



Shame on them, my love, for perpetuating age old fears

     that as a woman you are less than,

        that as a man you are all responsible.

For you are a child of God,

     meant to be free in your natural inherent divinity.

And those who would tell you otherwise

Lydia, artist and copyright: Jill Mollenhauer
     are looking to enslave you with mind control.



You and I are perfect Being

With nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide.

For in our openness

     we can divest ourselves of these age old ideas

        that we are anything less than God.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Naked

na·ked/ˈnākid/ - adjective

       1) Without clothes

We came home today to find the hedge that has offered privacy, perhaps even a semblance of protection, stripped to the bone. All that remained were tall bare trunks spaced 4 feet apart, completely naked of any foliage. We felt quite exposed!

I knew it was coming. Our property manager had mentioned that she wanted to clean out all the dead debris.  A few nights earlier in mediation something had told me that it would seem shocking at first, but that the openness it afforded would be welcomed. In less than 1 hour I felt the expansion of the view as a breath of fresh air. I love it.

      2) Without the usual covering or protection

What is fascinating is the reaction of everyone else. Four separate neighbors called our out-of-town landlord and complained that they could now see the house. One apologized to us as though we had been deeply defiled.  Another stopped by while I was lunching on the front deck and said, ‘Now you can’t hide and eat junk food anymore!’ (my salad?)  Still another offered to come and assist in putting up a 6 foot fence. And everyone walking by on the street has a strong opinion. When I tell them that I love it, many are surprised and shake their heads in disbelief. It is summed up in the comment shouted from a passing car, ‘I can see you!’

      3) Devoid of concealment or disguise

This need to hide, where did it come from? Why are we so afraid of being seen?

Deep down we all want to be loved, more than anything else.  Whatever we imagine that love will look like – acceptance, money, a partner, fame, whatever. We want love.

From an early age we are continuously and subconsciously told via the media, our churches, our teachers, our parents, our society, that we that what we are just as we are isn’t good enough. Oft times we imagine that in order to get love, we need to deserve it – we need to do something to get it. So we begin to layer ourselves with ‘clothing’ that fits the image we believe will make us worthy of love. Essentially, we cover our true beautiful nakedness with other’s ideas of what we should do or be. Is it a wonder that we lose touch with our own selves?

We clothe ourselves with layers of protection as if we have something to hide. Conversely we also begin to gird ourselves with layers of armor to protect ourselves when we find out that those clothes don’t work or don’t fit, or someone cuts down our hedge and we’re left naked.  The discomfort of being exposed can lead to a whole host of emotions the least of which are anger and fear.

A dear friend and mentor to me often talks about being spiritually naked. He has continuously invited me to look deeper into this and then to be so bold as to see if it doesn’t actually feel good.

And that is the key – to feel. For without feeling we go through life numb to the truth that is being offered us. I know. I was the queen of numbness for a better portion of my life. It was my way to protect myself, to survive as a child. But I am no longer a child and I can choose to listen to those voices, or not. It is up to me. No one is going to do it for me, it is my move. So for some time now I have been stepping forward to let go of all these old ‘clothes’ and stand naked, as my own true self. I am ever so grateful for all the guidance that I have been offered via all my teachers.

I find in feeling it all I have a freedom that I never expected. I can breathe and the view is so vast! But like the hedge, if I do not remove the old dead growth, I will never know what is possible. There’s an ancient wisdom I have seen quoted: My barn having burned to the ground, I can now see the sky.

With the greatest of appreciation and love to my mentor, I offer a definition:

Spiritually Naked:

1)    Absolutely open- mind, body and emotions

2)    Taking full responsibility for my own actions, not covering up or making excuses

3)    Leaving all distractions behind, not hiding behind anything

4)    Standing in full awareness of what is in balance for me, as my own true self

5)    Willing to be seen – all the way through. And be OK with it.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

A Work in Progress

The unfinished painting on my easel is a beautiful reflection.  It mirrors my attempts to piece the words together that will express the feelings flowing through me.  As I look deeper and deeper into my own self I see so many layers.

I sit before the keyboard and try to express the turmoil, the hurt, the secrets hidden not only from the world, but even my own self. Just when I think I have a train of thought to follow with which to weave a cohesive piece, I find that I have splintered off in 5 or 6 different directions.

I want to write about words, the energy behind them and how they have been used so destructively within my family for control, for abuse, for love. I want to express my outrage at the defiling of a child’s innocence and purity of love that began so many years ago by my parent and their parents, and probably their parents.

I want to write about the body, the physical body, and how it stores those memories and unexpressed emotions only to throw them up later in an act of self-love to either heal or self-destruct. I want to share the joys of getting in touch with my body – the temple of God - and learning to lovingly listen to it and all it has to share with me.

And how as I take back my own life and learn to appreciate Jill – not as mom and dad would have molded her to their desires – but Me, as I truly am. It is freeing, empowering and beautiful.

But awareness of the memories is still surfacing. It no longer shocks me, but still saddens me. It seems to be a family tradition this abuse of power and the ‘dirty little secrets’ held.  All this begs to be written and yet I am so tired of devoting energy to it – to them.

But like the painting of blown sand on my easel I will continue to work with it, listening to what is needed next, to keep stepping forward to the finished product – a stunning expression of beauty and truth.

I won’t give up on it. Or me.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Catching Up

 These past 5 months have been otherworldly. They have been so filled with doctors, medicines, and issues of survival that I have pushed aside most other things hoping to pick them up again later. Well, now is later.

Dream Board, artist and copyright, Jill Mollenhauer

I’ve missed writing, expressing the depths of my soul. (Gosh I’ve missed lots of things, eating out being one of them!) But now that Robert is on the ‘get healthy’ side of this experience and little by little he’s able to participate in life, I find myself with the opportunity to do these things once again. Only this time I choose to do them more consciously.

I have been using this space for updates on his condition, seemingly putting aside the whole reason for this blog – the journey. I was just so tired I couldn’t expend the energy to dive in deeper and write. However so much has opened up during all this that I haven’t even been able to process it all yet. There is so much to say that, try as I may, I can’t seem to put it all together cohesively. The words keep piling up upon one another and my writing is off in yet another direction before I know it! What has showed itself to me surprises me, and yet not at all. So many truths kept hidden from my own self…. Look for more on all this soon.
Until then, a last update on Robert:


His last treatment was Jan 30th, so it’s been over a month now and he’s looking much better. We’ve been informed by the doctors that the radiation continues to do its work for 3 months, so this would explain the ups and downs that he constantly feels. One day good, one day rotten. To say that he finds it disheartening would be an understatement. Those of you who know him and how physically active he likes to be can surely appreciate this.

We went to 2 doctors last week and each expressed joy at how well the treatment seems to have worked, but until the PET scan is done in April nothing can be said for sure. Of the 25 pounds lost, as of yesterday 10 had returned. Yeah! Although it is still challenging for him to swallow (it hurts tremendously) he is making himself intake food via mouth so that his system can recover faster. We’ve gotten masterful at smoothies and soups. The feed tube still gives him over ½ his daily calories and it can’t be removed until his weight has returned and he can swallow without difficulty. They say that could be anywhere between 3 months to 1 year. (Knowing him and his passion for surfing I would venture that he’ll be on the lower end of the scale if he has anything to do with it!)

His strength is returning and we go to the gym almost every other day. Sleep still plays a big part of the healing process and 10 -13 hours a day is not unusual. The toughest part of it all is keeping his spirits up. He gets frustrated so often, expecting more from his body, when it truth it seems to need more love.

We’re not really out and about yet as socializing can still be challenging for him. Each day brings some hurdles and some heights. It seems to be a matter of reminding ourselves to love and appreciate ourselves for exactly where we are right now, regardless of what the appearance is. We began the whole process saying we wanted to treat it with love. We might not have always been successful at that, but I know that it is still of paramount importance. Always.

For further more in-depth progress report on Robert may I suggest check in with his FaceBook page. He tries to update every now and then. In the meantime I have lots of catching up to do!

See you soon~

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Back to Base Camp

It’s 4 a.m. and I’ve been up 3 times now attending to various feeding tube issues with Robert. I might as well just stay up. Being awakened from a deep sleep by the machine’s alarm once is startling enough – 3 times is over the limit. But in truth I have had almost a week’s worth of relatively uninterrupted sleep, so I can’t complain. There were many weeks of just 2 hours at a time. Now I know what new mothers feel like. At least he is sound asleep now. Thank you, pain medication.

It’s been a week since treatment has been over. We reached the summit and now the return trip to ‘base camp’ has begun. The journey is not yet complete. (I find all these metaphors float through my brain, all these stories to help me along, encourage me and keep me going just that extra step further.) We can do this! The hard part is over, now it’s continuing on with awareness until we get to level ground.

There are times that I am so happy. He smiles, takes an extra-long walk, accepts a little more nutrition via the tube. This is how we get stronger! And then in a moment’s notice he is once again at rock bottom. Patience is a big part of this learning curve.

I am sure that one day we will leave this house for more than a couple of hours, maybe go to a movie, take a drive to the mountains, return home to Baja, but for now just getting through the day is still the top priority. Friends come and go, bringing cheer, flowers for the house, or food to keep me going (as Robert cannot eat yet). I always say an extra prayer of thanks each time someone extends that something extra. Even though I might not seem enthusiastic, I am deeply grateful, just tired.

The prognosis is good. Dr. Rice, the oncologist, say that she feels pretty certain all cancer has been removed via the treatment. If any remains, it would be removed surgically. No more chemo is in sight (or radiation according to her) but we’ll know for sure come April. That’s when the PET scan will be taken and all the doctors will have had their follow up exams completed. We see Dr. Smith, the radiologist, on Monday. Hopefully he’ll have wonderful news too. The biggest thing right now seems to be getting Robert’s throat well enough to allow him to eat again. By now his stomach is teeny tiny since he’s not eaten anything substantial in over 5 weeks. So the process of reintroducing food will begin, and I am sure that anything will taste heavenly! (The 25 pound weight loss on his light frame has taken him from thin-but-buff to painfully skinny.)

Slowly I begin the process of letting go, letting go of ‘mother mode’. It’s been a fine line that I have had to walk here, enough attention to assist him to survive, but not so much that he feels like a child. I have tried to live the mantra ‘suggest and support’, but I’m not sure how successful I have been.  Now it is essential if he is to regain his self-esteem and I my life too.

It’s funny how you can put your life aside for someone you love if needed. And yet, to be of true service to another it is necessary to be whole oneself. I have found limits to what I can offer, because if I don’t then I am depleted and of no service whatsoever. I also see that if I found this at all a burden, it would make me embittered and kill me in the process. It has to be from the heart, deeply genuine and truthful or resentment will fester. And that is not healing for anyone.

So I am looking to regain my life too.  You know that feeling when you’ve worked so hard, so hard that you haven’t stopped for way too long to rest? Then you get on vacation and you’re lost. What do you do with yourself? It can take some time to unwind. That’s kind of where I am. I’m not quite sure what to do with myself yet. I know I have a life; I just have to find it here someplace!

Painting has been sporadic at best. Everyone assures me that my art will change from this experience – and I know it will, but uninterrupted time has been at a premium.

I’ve found this whole journey to be one of deep introspection, amazing acts of love, and finding strength that I didn’t know I possessed. And it’s not over yet. Base camp is in sight, but still a ways off. At least I have hope; I can see an end. What I have learned is that life is too short and too precious to waste doing something that you just do not want to do! For God’s sake let us live out loud! Let us shout our dreams and live them to the fullest and let no one tell us we can’t! That is unacceptable behavior in my book now. I will no longer live with anyone else’s limitations. I am a lot more amazing than I ever realized.

I just summited the mountain. I’m headed back to camp a new and empowered woman. Wow, this is life changing…..






Sunday, January 29, 2012

Freedom Day

This update will be down and dirty folks. I want to keep you caught up on what’s happening and I find the time slips past me so quickly….

Tomorrow – Jan 30th- will be Robert’s last radiation treatment. He had his last chemo a week ago. That wraps up 7 weeks of treatment – 35 radiations and 3 chemos. Thank goodness that we’re finally at the end! Now the rebuilding will begin.

For those of you who have not seen him, or haven’t been in touch with me, the sum is that he is now about 24 lbs lighter – so you can imagine how thin that is. He is very weak, his strength has slipped away and a walk around the block takes every bit he has. He sleeps a lot, and is looking forward to eating again. His throat is very red and sore – inside and out, and we’re working on sloughing off the dead burned skin cells on the outside and rebuilding fresh pink ones.  

He has lost the hair around the base of his hair line in back and they said that he most likely will never be able to grow a beard (oh well! ) now. His voice is strained due to very sore throat, but that should be changing soon.

We’re told that it’ll be 2 weeks or so before he really feels a change in his strength or overall health, because the radiation continues to do its stuff for that long afterward, but that in 4 weeks “you’ll feel 100% better”( from the radiologist). Whatever the case, we’re going to be working on assisting him to eat. That has been the main issue as the product that he is fed through the feed tube in his stomach upsets him and he hates it. Swallowing is a challenge though he is doing a little every day.

Last we heard the tumors were 90% shrunk – and that was over a week ago. They said that he has responded very well – best they have ever seen in fact. I have high hopes that this will be the only round of treatments!

Life will begin again, headed toward some semblance of ‘normalcy’, officially on Tues – at least that is what we’re calling for. It’s Freedom Day! We are both thinking of how to symbolically celebrate it – that he can do – and yet make it a milestone. Still working on ideas there!

Many many thanks to everyone who has participated in this journey with us, for it has been a journey! The rides, the meals, the prayers and good thoughts, the phone calls to check in with me and see if I have been holding up have all been so deeply appreciated! I will let you know how the healing goes, and hope to renew my blogging before too long!!!

With deepest gratitude~

xo

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Connecting

We gird ourselves. Layers of protection are spread across our bodies in the hopes that we will remain untouched. And yet that is exactly what we want most – to touch and be touched, to feel our connection to one another, to the Earth, the stars, to Life. Witness Michelangelo’s ‘Creation of Adam’ celebrating God’s touch with humankind. Or ET’s reaching out and touching his young friend. How celebrated that visual of reaching out to connect has been!

We are beings of connection, on many levels, from deep within, to the surface expression of sexual joining. We love it, we adore it.

So why the multiple layers of protection? Why have we piled on all these layers of seeming protection from that which we so deeply desire? Where did we decide that to be connected was threatening?

As I explore my own self I am continuously amazed at where I have layered myself with these ideas of protection. Like a football player who dons his uniform of extensive padding, I have carried this armor unaware. I have approached things like a warrior, ready to strike out if I felt threatened. I learned and accepted that it was necessary for survival. Now if I look deeply and honestly I can feel the spaces in my body where I have clenched to protect and ultimately to separate.

‘Is this truly necessary, or even desired?’ I ask myself. Do I really want to go about life with all this extra heavy ‘equipment’ strapped upon my body, weighing me down, hiding me and ultimately tiring me out, only to leave my body aged and frail?

What if I just let go?

What if I stand naked, lighter, unashamed and free of all the trappings of protection? After all, the closest thing we share is breath. And I certainly can’t – nor want to – cut myself off there. It sustains my body! Every breath I take has been circulated around the globe to be shared by billions of people, animals, plants and the like. It is our connection to one another. It is a cycle that was formed to remind us of our oneness, to feed and clear one another, to connect us at the Source level.

I am finding the process of divestiture to be very liberating, very freeing and very sweet. Conscious breath is just the beginning, but it is so cleansing! My choice to express as Jill – not as any family member or societal dictum would have it – is crucial to my blossoming. So what if it has taken me 50-something years to do this, what an adventure it is! The weight is already lifting.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

A Quick Update on Robert

A quick update on Robert

This last weekend – the New Year weekend – was a really rough one. Robert had his 2nd of three chemos on Thurs the 29th and as anyone familiar with the process will tell you – it sneaks up on you. Nine pounds lighter by Tuesday, he was very weak and still had trouble keeping anything down. We’re doing all we can to assist him, but I sure feel helpless. While the 3 day weekend was a nice break from the every weekday radiation, it was on the other hand, more challenging as we could not get into hydration. (He goes in every weekday a.m. to get hydrated via infusion. )

So as of today we’re 2/3’s the way through chemo and a little over ½ through radiation. What a process! I feel for anyone who has to go through this alone. (And I have heard of many!) The target date is Jan 29th. There’s a big calendar on the wall and the days get crossed off nice and visibly each day.

The good news is that Dr. Smith, the radiologist, said yesterday that the tumor on the back of his tongue has shrunk 80% and the one in his neck has also almost disappeared! The news thrilled me and sent me on a high, only to be brought back to the here and now as Robert strains to have some sense of ‘normalcy’ in his life right now. Breaking the cycle of not being able to keep anything down has proved a challenge beyond imagining right now.

One day at a time, one moment at a time…….

Thanks to everyone who has so graciously offered transportation, fed me and just been there for support. Please know we both are eternally grateful!!