Tag: heart

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Sacred

Today has me thinking about the “sacred” in our relationships.

Sacred describes something that is dedicated or set apart and considered worthy of respect or devotion; or inspires awe or reverence among people.

There are beautiful little things we know about the people in our life. The silly things, the deep soul wrenching things. The space that holds a memory or remembers in memoriam.

The irony is not lost on me that the thought of sacredness comes to me on Maundy Thursday, the day in which Christian believers honor the Last Supper. Additionally, tomorrow, Good Friday holds the same space as the 25th anniversary of my dad’s death.

Where many people hold sacred the tenets of the Last Supper, my soul lands in the Garden. The place where Jesus cried in anguish over the fact that the Duh-ciples couldn’t stay awake to watch for the end with him. The place where dissapointment was more prevalent than just Judas. I will circle back to Judas later…

There are so many wonderful nuggets-of-knowing that I have with people in my life. Some nuggets I hold safe for others, while others are the keepers of my sacred.

I have a longtime friend that LOVES the first baby leaves of Spring. Not the tightly wrapped buds of “soon” but the bursting forth of the arrival of new beginnings. The Promise of brighter skies ahead. Each time I see that Promise, I think of her.

I know that there are one, maybe two people on the planet that know why I weep like a willow when I hear the song “Rainbow Connection”. They know the deeper tether to my sacred better than anyone. They know the cries of my heart.

I delight in the memory of my dad and his deliciously impish way of putting his birthday on other people’s calendars. If he was in your home or office long enough, and you had a wall calendar, his birthday mysteriously ended up on it. I’m pretty sure that is where my notion of taking a whole month for my birthday stems. Birthdays are a big deal.

I hold some stories and events safe and sacred, locked up tight until the owner is ready to bring it to light.

I hold the memories of sweet childhood just as tightly as the trauma in the same hourglass.

I know the heartache of betrayal and I have also been the betrayer.

And it is ALL sacred.

Back to the Garden…. While many people make Judas a villain, I think of him as misunderstood and misinterpreted. We’ve all been there, feeling as though we are doing the right thing and then have it go so horribly wrong.

Jesus knew what was coming. He knew it in every wrinkle of his garment, in every stone where his foot fell. He knew he would die. He prepared a place, arranged a meal, probably even wrote a sermonette to explain the coming days, but he would not bring about the end on his own. There was protocol in place and the proper authorities needed to be made aware. I think that Judas was chosen by Jesus, not because he was voted to be the Dickhead Disciple but because he was a devoted friend. He heard the rumblings in the square, he knew (he thought) that the authorities would be reasonable…

Yeah, we think we know the motives of others, but you can not hold motive in higher esteem than the sacred.

The officials ALL had their own agenda, and “by hook or by crook” they were going to get their way. Judas loved his friend Jesus and didn’t want to see him harmed. He was duped by the authorities into thinking Jesus would have a fair trial and life and lessons with The Boys would go on.

Judas held on to the sacred; the love of Jesus, the times at his feet learning, the pure heart of a man who loved God and all people. Why else would he have “betrayed him with a kiss” when he could have easily told the authorities, “yo, the dude with the prayer mantle/shawl is Jesus.”

When the dust had settled after the events in the garden, Judas held the kiss he gave Jesus as sacred. The sacred that played in his mind over and over and quite honestly, Judas just couldn’t deal. He couldn’t bear what had happened. That he’s been deceived by the authorities. That he was now the most hated human in the land. So he did what he did. He exchanged the sacred for surrender.

Even with nearly eight BILLION people on this planet, YOU are sacred. You alone. You hold the sacred of others and others hold yours. It is in this beautiful transfer of trust, love and belief that we are all so connected even if we are one thousand miles away or our paths only crossed once.

While I implore and beg each of you to not look to an exchange to surrender, I ask that you explore your sacred. To listen to the quiet and find the moments of awe and beauty in remembering who’s sacred you are holding and who holds your sacred.

Look at those baby leaves, Hermana, just look ❤️

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May 9

A seemingly random ordinary day, however this solitary day holds a whirlwind of symbolism for me, my MayDay.

I will hold this day sacred, thus the details are held sacred as well. Even without sharing this sacredness, I can share the sentiments.

At 52, there are miles and miles of memories; some good, some quite honestly, fucking suck. MayDay holds them both.

Many of my childhood memories are fragmented and splintered. Childhood trauma that swims into adult trauma with a paddle board of PTSD, and the Soul learns to protect itself by shutting down certain memories. While frustrating, I consider it a gift.

There are amazing gifts that the soul provides, even if the logical mind retailiates against them.

While on a work trip to NY, I was told, in an delightfully yet incredibly crude delivery, that I was an “emotional tampon”. Any energy that flows past me, I absorb. My friend and colleague, tossed their head back and cackled, exclaiming “I have never heard a more accurate description of her”. WTF Dude, seriously!? As put-off as I was in that moment, I whole-heartedly agree.

Decades after that NY Revelation, I have made the investment to the explore the depth of this truth. I AM an emotional tampon, aka an Empath. I can feel the anguish of another soul, merely by sharing space with them. Good or bad. It goes beyond a sixth sense, it takes up residency in me. I am still a work in progress as to the shaking off or shedding of their energy, but it is a gift I don’t want to be wholly rid of.

I hurt with you. I rejoice with you. I feel that shady-ass-sideways-glance of the super creep, deep within me. Like physically, bone weary depth. I trust that. Now. A childhood of trust and broken boundaries still haunts me, but I now lean in to that vibration in my gut. Trust it.

Circling back to The MayDay, the cacophony of vibrations that fill a single day.

On any single day…

You might be in a desert place of emotion, please trust there will always be a refuge on the horizon.

Conversely, while on the mountaintop, you can assuredly see the valley that awaits your descent.

While in a circle of people, you can almost count on a Judas in your midst. Take heart, the greatest story in Christianity hinges on Judas.

While betrayal cuts deep, it is necessary to bring about new birth.

I’ve been the Judas, I’ve also been the BirthMother.

My MayDay honors all the facets of my Soul. It’s where my story sings the loudest, it’s where my heart hurts the deepest.

It’s the MayDay of my childhood with a handmade newspaper cone of handpicked violets on my doorstep – it’s the adult MayDay distress call made to anyone listening.

MayDay. MayDay.

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Birthday

Dear Big Brother,

Today, you would have been 58 and in a few short weeks, I’ll be 50… You could see 50 so closely the day you left this world, were you excited about it?

This is such a weird journey on my own. Yes, I have lots of people in my circle, many of the names and faces you would remember. Our family-circle has shifted and changed and it still isn’t right without you here. Even though we not super involved in each others day-to-day life; I always had the promise of you. I always knew you were at the other end of an email or phone call. And now, now I can’t help but feel a little lost.

So in true Little Sister fashion, Big Brother, I have a few questions…

Is there Bingo in heaven, if not, I bet Mom is super pissed

Has Dad made peace with God yet?

Is Grandma Hedges still gloating over all the times she gave me the wrong ingredients to a recipe, so I’d fail and she would be needed to make it right?

Is Uncle Stan still playing the piano and telling bad jokes?

Did DiAnn make in the gate ok? She probably gave Saint Peter a rough time

I don’t remember Grandma Blanchard, does she remember me?

Does Jesus still do the water into wine trick? Golly, I hope so

Uncle Hink still has a harem, doesn’t he?

Will you save a seat for me, next to you? I’ve got a lot of shit yet to do here and lots of people to annoy.

Miss you much.

XOXOXO,

Me ❤️

p.s. I still haven’t forgiven you for locking me in the dryer, but we’ll hash that out when I get there

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A Five Second Prayer

I recently attended the (2nd) book launch for my pal, Tom Zuba. It was so horribly out of my comfort zone, to walk into an event by myself, but I did. I didn’t know a soul (besides Tom) and sent up the smallest of pop-up prayers and text my hubby that ‘I won’t be long, I don’t know anyone’.

A kind man, with a delightful British accent, approached and introduced himself and began to ask about how I knew Tom. I explained, a mutual friend connected us to help mentor me and be the kick-in-the-pants I needed during my book writing process. Accordingly, the conversation shifted to my book. I have forgotten my “elevator pitch” about Faith, Fat and Other F-Words. I hadn’t forgotten “f-words” but I have neglected it and it’s purpose. I thanked the chap as Tom approached and led me to a table of ”cool people”.

A table with a couple of chicks that were cool indeed. The conversation came easy. The connection made. Smiles aplenty. The conversation again came around to my book. Starting to remember the “baby” I birthed and speak with a bit more passion. A couple of photos with the cool chicks later, I thanked them and set off towards towards the one other human I recognize.

As I’m walking the 15 steps toward my friend, the Kind Brit’s wife approaches me and introduces herself. She’s stunning and articulate and I feel a little small. AGAIN, the conversation shifts to my book and the prospect of a second book. She cheered, “brilliant”! We spoke more and more about being a 50 year old, the life of a mom, and being a chick in general. I’m breathing deep and with a bit more confidence.

I eventually make my way to my friend and hug her ferociously. We chat briefly and walk out of the event together. As we are walking, a kind faced woman approached and asked if I was Annisa. I have a familiarity while looking at her, but cannot discern from where. As she hugs me, she whispers her name in my ear. She was my counselor during some really dark times. Her face shone bright and I am instantly at ease. I had such trauma and darkness in the season I spent with her, I had zero recall of her face. She spoke beautiful things over me and filled my soul.

As I’m walking out to the car, with my friend, I could practically skip I’m so filled with peace and joy. I hug her goodbye and promise to be in touch. It’s only when I get in my car do I realize what has just happened…

That little pop-up prayer was answered, but in His way. It may have been really easy to miss since it wasn’t the solution I asked for, not in the slightest. Many times when we ask Him for a solution, He sends people.

People who will feed your soul.

People who will speak kindness.

People who will cheer for you.

People who will remind you how far you’ve come.

Look around you, realize that the people around you are there for a reason.

They may be only there for a season.

They may be the solution.

They may be the lesson. (Ugh)

They may be the hand that leads you to your next step.

They just may remind you of your purpose.

Thank you God for not giving me what I asked for, but for giving me what I needed.