I saw the Moon and the Moon saw me......

Recently on one hot night in Cuba, I was walking in Havana down a cobblestone street that led to the ocean. On that night the Super Moon was hovering what seemed like only inches above the water. I felt small in such a backdrop, the tiniest of creations on the planet. Feeling small and unimportant gave me a sense of freedom. I felt safe, but knew that the water could rise and take me away in a second, that I would be powerless against a rising tide. I got an earworm, too- the song from the musical "Carousel"- you know the one, that Billy Bigelow sang to Julie- "we're two little people, you and I, and we don't count at all." I heard that song first when I was small, and now, in Havana, small again, it came to me under the Super Moon that night. And maybe the song didn't really mean what I thought about next, but....nevertheless.... Accepting what "is"- when we're small it's easier. There is only so much we can affect. What I cannot change, what I cannot influence, what I have no control over, should not be on my mind at all. Worrying about what I cannot control or change is an earworm of another kind, a thief in the dark night, carving pathways in my brain that are driving to defeat me daily. If the waters rise, if the sun bears down, I'd better just get out of the way.

Powering Through Fear

A group of my friends and I watched a DVD doc called "Finding Joe" about the hero's journey by Joseph Campbell.  I bought the DVD and Carl and I watched it last week.  It really inspired us both to get off ours duffs this week, but…anyway, enough about that!   I know I am inspired to go on my own journey finally doing some things I really  want to do.  I know I often resist doing the one thing I most want to do.  So here's what I read today…..

If you resist the call, you are right on course. Resisting the call to the adventure is part of the journey.

It's natural to resist that which not only fills a deep need, but can also reveal where you might have fear or self doubt.

When I went to the vertigo doctor this week, he kept using the terms "empower" and "power through".  I believe spiritually my vertigo is a symptom of an imbalance in my real life versus my creative life.  He diagnosed me with the most common kind of vertigo and he treated it with physical therapy right there on the spot.  It was so scary because he placed my head and neck and body in positions that cause great fear and distress to me- he could see how scared I was to be placed in those positions which HAVE ALWAYS caused me to have extreme vertigo, but he held me down and "empowered" me to "power through".    He gave me exercises to power through a four day vertigo episode that may come in the future in only four minutes. 

I can't help but think that powering through our fears might be empowering after all.

George and Scheherazade, sad, sad, sad

Helen had a fascination for Audrey Hepburn. Helen, at fifty years old and past her prime, dressed in pearls, a turban and dark sunglasses, dressed this way just to sit on her patio chair, drink her beer, eat her twinkies and Doritos, and smoke endless cigarettes- the ashes dangling precariously from a black cigarette holder.

Her husband George would come home from work every night, sit on the patio with her, and hope for the best. Why did he bother? She was fragile, yes, but despicable.

There had to be a moment when he would decide to leave her.

They were so Albee. It had to go badly.

Who knew (not me) that when I wrote a play about my George and Helen I really believed deep down that all men leave- that there was no way George would stay (and I fought for him to stay in the play, I really, really, really fought for him).

And that one of the actors who played George in this play would be the man in my life who never left me.

Not a sad, sad, sad ending at all.