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Showing posts from March, 2010

I AM...

Photo by J.Scott Bovitz Feels funny to be sitting down to blog--like it has become a bit of a foreign world to me after a week with my kids home for spring break--like the part of me who writes, the part of me who finds it exhilarating to collect and share moments of my experience here, (who hopes to find a nugget of clarity or insight thrown into the mix), has been on vacation too, perhaps when she was most needed. Nevertheless, as always, there has been much learning--more awareness of deeper beliefs to unravel. Spring break began with an air of excitement and a little dread. Not used to having full days with one another, the girls became territorial. I began to crave silence, a pause in the noise for long enough that I might regroup. Eventually, however, I found myself only adding to the noise: commanding, demanding, reprimanding. I didn't get my silence, but I did become invisible, as the girls, tightly raveled in their stories about one another, continued to draw battle lines.

Brother, There Art Thou

Photo Credit Unknown I want to write about the other night, when a guy at a local coffee shop, stepped up the service. When he took my order, he praised each choice I made, as though I was a wise and gifted connoisseur of sandwiches and tea--my first hint that this experience was out of the ordinary. I watched him from my table arrange my plate with as much artistry as you can muster for a French dip sandwich and a side salad. When he hand-delivered the plate to my table, I knew this experience was extraordinary. I want tell you how his smile and his little extra effort to connect made something in me perk up and pay attention. Abundance. Perhaps this sounds silly--of course you have encountered nice people. He was a nice guy, don't make such a big deal about it, you say. Here is what made this different: firstly, that I noticed, secondly, that I was open to receive the abundance--that I was free enough in my own mind to pay attention , and to see his gift in my world. No befuddl

A New Pedagogy

The ease of creating comes from being able to move. However, most of ourselves find instead, paralysis. Would you buy that the teachers that we have venerated have mostly gotten in our way--have denied our own unique learning processes, have left us frustrated and feeling inadequate, but often diving in anyway, in much pain and with much fear of failure? Unless we have naturally excelled at something, most of us have eventually left our attempts behind, all thrown to the wayside--if I had a dollar as a piano teacher for every time someone told me that they wished they'd kept on playing, but that they were no good--that it was their one regret... I would dare to say that even those of us who excel at something feel mediocre and at odds with what we do, but we struggle through it and give the appearance that all is well. Of course, there are exceptions, (at least the appearance of them). I once read a book dedicated to the experience of several concert pianists, and I was so suprised

From Behind Closed Doors

Photo by J. Scott Bovitz This blog is inspired by a dear anonymous reader's comment, which spurred me to write a little about why I decided to put my writings 'out there' in a blog form. (I love hearing from you and welcome any comments or questions that I might respond to in a blog). About five years ago I found myself trudging through my life, having achieved most of the should's I'd set out to accomplish. I had a master's degree, a successful husband, two beautiful children, the beautiful big house I thought I would spend the rest of my days--(even imagining my daughters getting ready for proms in that house). If you haven't been reading my blog, I'll tell you that I am since divorced, in a much smaller (and easier to clean!) house, and until just recently, my master's degree was just a useless piece of paper in a frame, boxed up and out of sight. As all mothers with young children, I was very wrapped up in the details of my life, trying to do i

Happy Birthday, Little Love!

Dear little one, I will never forget the day you were born. We were living abroad at the time, and everything felt a little foreign, except when they handed you to me, and I held you in my arms. I don't think I've ever really put you down since. I remember those dark nights in the hospital leaving the little bed intended for you empty and preferring to have you softly next to me. I remember the nurses being up in arms about it. I remember how I had to reassure them that you were my second baby and how my precious other had managed to survive in my care. I remember those moments together feeling as if I was holding part of me, part of my soul come to give me an new experience, a new kind of peace. Five years later I hold you in my heart. I feel your big heart everyday. When I think of you, I think of rainbows. You have a sweetness, an ease of loving and an openness that you came in with, and I overflow with joy as I see you growing up and experiencing the world. I know that havi

Out of Prison

A road you've known all of your life--you know every pothole, every turn--you can walk down it with your eyes closed. But it has changed, little by little you've begun to deconstruct it, dismantle parts of it, mostly the familiar parts you've tread upon all your life. You throw them to the wayside, piece after piece until you notice that the heavy parts of your road are gone. The dirt is soft underfoot, and you feel joy! After all, you've unearthed a path to peace. You plant a daisy in the earth, that you grumble should have never been covered by blacktop in the first place. You feel a deep parental love as you watch your daisy grow and bloom. You rest there blissed out with it until its beauty begins to fade, until it begins to die. Suddenly, you awaken (again), and find yourself sitting on a decimated path. You look for order in it, but all you see is the fact that you've destroyed it! You tell yourself that no order is good, to accept the choas, but you can only

La la la la la la, la la la la la (To Smurf's Tune)

There is always release. There is always contraction. There is always contraction. There is always release. I believe this is all I need to say. Anything more is just a story--but I like story. What I know is that EVERY time I think I am riding pretty, it ends! Whenever I say that I really understand something or that I've found the way , the rug is swept out from under me. It is as if some force is actually intent on setting me free from ANY attachments, so, that I might truly be free--so that I might actually lighten it up--so that I might actually have the experience of really seeing the beauty of what is right in front of me--like my little girls. Oh how lovely it is when I can see them and laugh with them. They look different, and honestly, I wonder how I could have moments when I actually do not see how enchanting they are--moments when all I can see are the threat of legions of toys strewn around the house, and dirty sinks and toilets--and how many times a day can a little