Rumi-nations

Momma said there would be days like these... Then she said to get over it! So I learned, not well, to operate on top of whatever I was feeling, or escape in a Dervish dance, spinning like a tornado, my vision blurred.

The sky is bright blue, the breeze chills me awake to all possibilities. The freesias shake their stalks and open a weepy eye towards the adamant sun. The robins and finches, do their do-see-do dance amongst the sulfur oxalic dotting my crab-grassed and dandelion-strewn lawn. The worms doing the Cha Cha underneath the trampoline upon which my kids are doing the Funky Chicken. Breakfast is wholesome, organic and ample. My girl pulls me to her and nuzzles in my ear. The weekend is almost upon us.

So what's the problem?

I live in the land of anxiety. Sometimes I lose my passport and have a hard time escaping. That land is my homeland, though I know, in my more lucid thoughts, that, being a practiced wandering Jew, I could relocate. I have moved so often in my dramatic life that maybe stability is uncomfortable in its unfamiliarity. Maybe neutrality is scary. Where's the juice? Most of my life I have lived amped up. I was described as "very passionate", "full of piss and vinegar", an Israeli with her cactus pricks extended, but her insides, if you could get in there, oh so sweet. Being neutral was in insult to my birthright.

But now, well, it's a bit different. Whatever caused the change: menopausal changes; not using my drugs of choice: the great uppers and downers - sugar and carbs; an intimate relationship based on mutual support for growth and closeness; or a new way of interacting and living with humans and a less elusive avenue to the Divine, is now in my face all the time. Making me deal, deal, deal with life, love, loss, Now. There is no more "get over it." If It isn't ready to be "gotten over with," I GET to stay with It. And sometimes I feel like there is no good reason to feel like this. It feels as if my reasons aren't enough to feel crappy. Being scared that all this goodness will collapse or being unsure if I am doing "enough" to create a better world, or a better me, well, sometimes it feels like a privilege to complain, or as Simon Cowell of American Idol would say,"It sounds indulgent." Another Middle Class angst-filled melody.

So I turn to Buddhism and grasp for compassion. And I turn to Eckart Tolle and try to embrace the NOW. And I try to connect to nature and see that the trees are almost blooming, and they stand there in their raw nakedness in the blustery wind, even when the sun is bright or it's hailing or when claws strike their bark. And I write. I write my heart out and my head out. I write so that I don't run to the fridge for answers. They aren't there. I write so I don't scream at my kids, doing the opposite of what I'd like to do, which is have more time playing with them. I write until the next chapter of life arrives - a walk in nature with my girl, or a cup of coffee with a friend or attending to my sick child.

And then I turn to you, my boat mate in this vast sea and ask for an oar, or some sunscreen, or a song. Got anything?