live it baby girl {soul mantra stories}

live it baby girl, a whispered soul mantra locket in the shop

People often ask me where the soul mantra phrases come from. Sometimes the phrases arrive almost "on the wind" when I am in my studio working with the letters and lockets, and they push me to pound them into metal. Sometimes the mantras are born from my experiences and from stories my friends share with me. Then there are the phrases that whisper in moments of quiet when I am in the midst of living. 

From time to time, I am going to share these stories, beginning today with the story of the "live it baby girl" soul mantra.

*****

The day was thick with missing and grief.

I walked along the water, my eyes turned toward the spaces between sand and rock, hoping to find the small tumbled glass, hoping it would connect me to her. With each step, the sadness grew as I was pulled back to the last time we walked on the beach years ago. Realizing I remembered so little from that last ocean visit, I wished I could go back, right back, and hear her laughter. As I found the first piece of small, rounded green glass, my chest hurt with the longing to look up and see her a few steps ahead of me. I would call out to her and say, "I found one!" and rush over...my 26-year-old self becoming my 5-year-old self in that moment as I would seek the approval and perhaps even the jealousy of my grandmother. Instead, my 33-year-old self walked alone inside the missing that day.

The tears tapped at the backs of my eyes as I searched between the grey, white, brown rocks, bending over even though my back ached. Tucking the sea glass into my pockets, the truth of grief my companion.

Finally, I unfolded, coming out of the searcher's stance and faced the neverending lapping, pushing, pulling water. I closed my eyes and tried to hear her voice inside the memories, but I kept getting caught up in my own words, "I miss you. I can't remember. I wish...I wish..." Taking a breath, I tried again to hear her. Giving up, I opened my eyes and looked at the mountains in the distance; my face softening with the truths that seemed to float inside me. Then it came:

Live it baby girl. 

Was it her voice? My voice? The voice of something greater than me? I brushed the wondering aside and made the choice to just be right there, breathing in the grief, the truth, the beauty, and all that she taught me.

the beauty and the stuckness

gearhart morning . june 15, 2011 (straight out of the camera)

so this is what i love about this living thing:

you can be in the midst of an almost perfect moment as you stand at the edge of the pacific ocean while the rain gently taps on your head and a sense of awe grows inside you as you are side by side with a kindred spirit who deeply sees you. this is an awe that starts in your belly as you find your breath and hear the waves and the laughter as you pick up sand dollars and tuck them away to be shared with people who are traveling across the miles to come together and dive into pieces of their stories. you can be almost resting inside this awe as you take another deep breath and feel the sand in between your fingers as you turn to head back to the car that represents this adventurous side of you that has begun to stretch again after a year of quiet and "oh so much." you can begin to talk about all that is to come as you roll the windows down to hear the ocean as you drive on the sand toward coffee and eggs and the perfect from scratch biscuit that await. you can be right in this moment, right in the noticing and the beauty of all of it, and suddenly something will shift and you are in the midst of a new experience that has you losing the grip on the beauty and bringing in a feeling of "how did this happen?" you can be literally stuck with your wheels spinning right there in the sand with no one to call to help you and thoughts of "how the hell did I get into this one?" tap tap tapping on your head. 

but then there will be laughter and an invitation to take a breath and possible solutions brainstormed. and a passerby will redirect his path to look you in the eye and say, "so it looks like you are stuck. maybe i can help." and the sun will slice through the grey just like that. and then two more will appear with their own tools for the journey and a plan will be hatched. and even as you sit behind the wheel of your own stuckness, you suddenly will hear the waves in the distance again and remember your breath because these people who just appeared will begin to pull you out. just like that. there will be a shift into neutral and reverse and back back back you will go in a do-over of sorts as you listen to the waves through the open window and giggle as you realize no one got angry and said, "how could you do that?" or made you feel silly, and a tiny thought of "you didn't even invite yourself to feel small" will float across your mind and you will know that truth, even if just for that second. 

and there will be gratitude and hugs and a suggestion to take a new path for the next step to avoid repeating this specific adventure. and for a change you will agree that a new direction feels just perfect even if it is 4.5 miles out of the way. and you will shift into drive with the windows rolled down and say aloud to the kindred spirit beside you, "well, if we were going to get stuck, that was certainly the way to do it." and you will both laugh and then listen to the waves as you roll on down the path ready to begin it all again.  

a wish

in this moment, how i wish i could sit down right next to you on that step on the front walk of the house on garland circle. i wish i could sit right next to you and ask you so many questions. what is your favorite color? i think blue, but perhaps it is pink on this day as you comb strawberry shortcake's hair. how do you feel about being a big sister? what does your baby brother's laugh sound like? do you ever notice your parents holding hands? what is your favorite thing in the whole world? when is the last time you told your mother that you love her? why are you afraid to learn to ride your bike? 

i would take notes just like a reporter as you paint pictures with your words. would you tell me a joke? would you laugh out loud? would you make up a story? would you sit there quietly inside shyness? would you really seem as old as you felt? would you seem more like a five year old? would you see the light that shines inside you?

i want to hear you sigh with contentment. i want to see you toss your head back as you giggle. i want to see you twirl. i want to listen as you play pretend. i want to soak up a minute or two or ten of just seeing you ready for all that awaits.

yes.

i wish i could sit right down next to you and learn all that you know before you begin to forget. 

and as i look at this moment captured almost thirty years ago, i sit inside this truth: together, we remember.

all you need...

what is real, september 2

when i walked up to my grandmother and stared at her, willing her to breathe, i felt my heart break. and in that moment, i thought "this is what it means to love." holding ellie tonight, watching her chest move up and down, knowing that a surgeon i have not yet met will more than likely be cracking that chest open in a few weeks, that phrase kept turning around in my mind. the idea of a piece of one's heart breaking off being what forces us to understand what love really is. i have been singing that last few lines of "all you need is love" over and over these last few weeks. you know that part when paul, or is it john, repeats "love is all you need. love is all you need." and someone sings, "she loves you, yeah yeah yeah..." and i think there is a yee-haw involved. i have always loved that last part as it feels so impromptu, like the boys were just having fun. yes. love is all you need. and i don't mean it in a simple rose-colored glasses way. no. i mean it in a standing in front of your grandmother in a funeral home and realizing she loved you and you loved her in an imperfect beautiful and i am going to miss you every day for the rest of my life sort of way. i mean it in a holding the space for a friend while she shares her story and then saying, "what do you need in this moment?" sort of way. i mean it in a reaching for your partner's hand in the middle of the night after you had such a horrible fight sort of way. i mean it in a watching your child breathe and knowing you don't want to be anywhere else sort of way. i mean it in a hearing your golden retriever sigh after a long good day of simple living sort of way. i mean it in a standing face to face with yourself and looking in the mirror and choosing a soft gaze of acceptance sort of way. yes. as you walk on your path and hope upon hope that you will find your way. as you stand in this moment and think about what you know to be true. i believe that the one thing we need to carry in the pocket of our heart is the trust and faith and grace that is love. the guts of life. yes. this is what love is. love for ourselves. for the ones who rest inside our hearts. for all of it.

*****

for the last few days, i have been trying out 750words.com. a space to write "morning pages" of sorts. i kind of love it. the above was a paragraph of freewriting i did tonight and i decided to just share it here. because it is how things are in this moment in my corner of it all...

in this moment.

the thoughts of this moment...

there is a foot firmly planted in my ribs yet again tonight. it feels like it is slowing prying them open. i am trying the exercise ball as my new chair to gently hold her like a hammock and invite her to turn turn turn to a better position. one month from today is her due date and more than likely we will be getting to her meet her (if not before then) around that date. i breathe through words like induce and instead focus on the image of dancing her down into my pelvis. this is something i learned about myself at our incredible birthing prep weekend workshop: i want my labor to be about the dancing. for some reason i was thinking i needed very calming music, but when we were invited to imagine dancing our babies down into our pelvises, i found my groove. i found my hips. yes. i have this image of early labor at home being about this dancing and moving and breathing. time for just me and jon to celebrate the journey we are on together and all that is to come. and of course, i know, oh how i know that i cannot know what things will be like when she decides or when someone else decides it is time for her to arrive. but, no one can stop me from the hoping and the positive energy i am pushing toward that moment when we first look at each other and know that yes, it is really happening. but right now this rib pain is breathtaking, literally, in its intensity. payback i suppose for my doing the same thing to my mother as she stood in front of students and taught thirty-four years ago. tonight, millie sleeps while jon grades and i write a bit and work a bit. it is nice. this little family all together. and even though i might be breathing through a little bit of pain, sighing at the idea of trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in when i head to bed soon, this little foot pushing into my ribs reminds me of this truth: i am so blessed