Days like this I just want to stay under the covers and hide. It's gray and gloomy, not cold or snowy or raining, just flat gray. No obligations call so that's good, but maybe bad too. I need some purpose, some way of letting go of my self. I'm not at peace with myself today, not really. On days like this all of the self doubts come around like little yapping dogs. I think of the boys going back to school tomorrow, all the laundry that needs to be done, my work tomorrow, oh God! It's ridiculous how magnified and ominous simple things seem to be on days like this. Just last month I was coping with surgery and my son's illness and I handled it smoothly and with purpose.
   Okay, I'll just give myself a break and let go of all this self-imposed grayness. I'll put the yapping dogs outside and see what can be done now with my time.

   Go the Terri Schindler-Shiavo Foundation at www.terrisfight.org  and learn how to contact your local representatives and how to help Terri Schindler-Shiavo and her family. Her feeding tube was removed again she will be allowed to die of dehydration if it's not replaced. This poor woman has become a political pawn but hopefully level heads will prevail and she and her parents will be left in peace.

    Today is the eighth anniversary of my Mom's death. It also happens to be the date of her birth.
She was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1994 and passed away on her 66th birthday, March 17, 1997.
      This time of year is still poignant and sad for me. The daffodils in our front yard have bloomed and in their golden, vibrant beauty I see her. Not just because they were her favorite flower but because she was a very vibrant and beautiful person. There was a glow about my Mom that attracted people, she could make anyone feel special.  Yet, to be honest, my family knew that there was a dark, angry side to her, a side that could lash out and hurt for no apparent reason and that I could never quite understand.
    Dedications to people are usually eloquent and laced with attributes of the person that are magnified with each passing year. That may sound a little cynical, yet I guess it's part of the healing process of grief, to let go of the bad and hold on to the good. Then to polish the good until it becomes a precious gem. But in some ways I still hold on to the bad. I argue with her at times and want to shake her, ask her why, why? I realize there will never be an answer to this one word question, but the child inside will always be searching for the comfort and acceptance that often wasn't there.
     So on this anniversary I'll remember her as honestly as I can now, for her and for myself. She had a bright, easy smile and beautiful green eyes. She could be charming and flirty, quiet and moody. She had a weakness for cotton candy and is one of the few people I know who liked liver and onions. She was a talented cook and seamstress, could make any place we lived look comfortable and classy. She enjoyed watching football and horse racing, was a whiz at math and was good at home repairs and do-it-yourself home projects. She was tender and cruel, sentimental and remote, opinionated and funny. She could give warm hugs and hard backhand slaps. She could make you feel like the most loved person in the world one moment and kill you off with silence the next. She loved life but so often wanted to die. As time has passed I've realized more and more the many hardships she went through in her childhood and how they shaped her sensitive psyche. I understand and yet ...I don't. 
     She was a person who very much wanted to be loved and accepted, as we all do. So on this day of her birth and death I can only wish healing.
     The daffodils are blooming again Mama and I wish you peace and joy. I will always love you.

  I'm about to run out the door soon and the boys will be coming home from school within the half hour.
I cherish these still times of day, these times when I feel comfortable with myself. These times when I'm not filled with an anxiety of what work needs to be taken care of, or when my mind isn't filled with an inner monolog of past hurts and self-critisizm. It's as near perfect as my stillness can be.
   But though my mind is still, I'm aware of the evolving of life around me. I can watch it unfold in one of my favorite places, my spot by the window where I can see the Blue Spruce's on the lawn and hear the busy voices of chickadees in the furry branches.  The trees do a slow hula-like sway as a long gust of wind travels through, an occasional car passes by on the street, their sound muffled by the storm window. The furnace rumbles to life and sends a slight vibration through the carpeted floor.
   During my times of meditation I try so hard to capture the stillness, the awareness that is meant to be strived for. I know that my mistake is to 'try so hard', for the stillness slips away like a wet bar of soap when anxiety creeps in. So I'll just remind myself to be grateful for these brief moments when everything falls together peacefully, when a moment of life, mundane as it might be, becomes bright and alive with the clarity of full awareness. I hold on to the gentle, muted colors of this blustery day, the bright sounds of chickadees and give a silent thank-you before I let it go.
   My oldest son has just arrived, I can hear the sound of his glass-pack mufflered car. Ah, a different energy is emerging! Time to go on to the next part of this day.

    I just finished reading the book "The Spiral Staircase" by Karen Armstrong. It is her account of the years after she left a Catholic convent and her subsequent journey through spiritual conflict, academic achievments and physical problems. I liked her honesty and humor, the easy way that she communicates with the reader. Her spirituality emerged in a different form by the end of the book, personally I wish she had dwelt on this a little longer. It was an enjoyable and thought provoking read.
   The book reminded me a little of my own personal spiritual path. I was raised Catholic, but not strict by any means. I did believe in many of the Church's teachings though they often left me feeling drained and confused. I figured that's what faith was all about though, a constant, uphill struggle.
But as the years passed I not only questioned many of the teachings, I began to branch out and learn about the teachings of other churches. In a sense, I found myself shopping for "the" right religion for me. Through all the sifting and sorting I came to realize that there was no ideal as far as my spiritual path was concerned. I argued with myself and felt enormously guilty at times, feeling that I had abandoned my faith by not attending Mass anymore. My not going to Mass was in no way a personal boycott of the Church. I still pray the rosary and make the sign of the cross before and after prayers.I still say Novena's and pray to St. Anthony when I lose something important (he's helped me quite a bit). But I also read from the Koran, I practice Buddhist meditation, I honor the spirits of Mother Earth whenever I'm outside and practice a candle magik now and then. During this time, I've slowly found my niche, my place and that place is everywhere.
    In an ideal world we would all learn about eachother's beliefs and break through all the prejudiced notions and ignorance, but I don't know if that will ever happen. So I go along on my own path, rocky and imperfect as it may be. I try to keep stepping forward; I guess that's all I can do.
   

         "Do not attach yourself to any particular creed exclusively, so that you may disbelieve all the rest; otherwise you will lose much good, nay, you will fail to recognize the real truth of the matter. God, the omnipresent and omnipotent, is not confined to any one creed, for, he says, "Wheresoever ye turn, there is the face of Allah." Everyone praises what he believes; his god is his own creature, and in praising it he praises himself. Consequently he blames the beliefs of others, which he would not do if he were just, but his dislike is based on ignorance."
 
Ibn al-Arabi    12th century Muslim mystic and philosopher