This month the challenges are frequent but only of the small, niggling sort
that, instead of stirring the usual agitated tantrums of frustration, seem to bring moments of surprising magic with them.
I sit here drunkenly enveloped in the rich, fragrant musk of night blooming jasmine. At dark, it begins wafting in through the window over my desk. It weaves into the already intoxicating blend of gardenia and rose scents from the blooms in my altar vases. Sometimes it seems that thinking is totally out of the question, so caught am I in the overwhelming sensuality of it all the delicious scent-magic!
Reveling these days in the equally overwhelming sensual abundance of sun warmed, tree-ripened apricots, Santa Rosa plums and white peaches from the orchard. A bounty of strawberries, heirloom cherry tomatoes and heirloom beefsteak tomatoes ready to pick every day from my own gardens. Fabulous fresh garden greens for chef salad dinners every night. Always something lushly juicy and delectable to tickle my palate at any moment! Such simple bliss! Every day seems such an extraordinary blessing here in the grove. No matter what else is happening.
After the intense journeys I’ve been taken on/through this spring with my fall in March, and my (ultimately not serious) breast lump in May, June has seemed relatively gentle and, for the most part, free from significant challenges. Resting, puttering about the cottage and my gardens. Tons of reading and lots of luscious napping. Receiving and assimilating friends’ responses to the tale of my journey with the breast lump. Their responses repeatedly leaving me in tears of gratitude. Leaving me feeling, yet again, so “seen,” accepted and loved by them as all of who I am.
There were also a series of minor garden variety mishaps/misadventures with which to deal: My old and no longer available 2-tape answering machine broke down. While I stopped in at the post office, someone’s parked car rolled into my (also parked) little PT Cruiser punching two hexagonal little holes into its rear bumper. The next day the car’s cassette player ate the last tape of a book-on-tape that I’d been listening to, refusing to play the last side or to release the tape. A couple of weeks later, one of my portable phones and its headphone took a “fatal” bath when I accidentally overturned a mug of water. All the sorts of everyday “bumps” that can sometimes send me over the edge into frustration and tears or tantrums.
Mostly, my upset, if it comes, centers on the having to be dealing with the craziness of the “outside world” in order to set any of these things “right.” The endless trips to Ventura or Santa Barbara. The dealing with insurance people. The wasteful ridiculousness of designing bumpers that are decorative rather than functional. The “throw away” culture in which it costs almost twice as much to repair something as to replace it. The “always new, improved” culture that remodels and changes everything endlessly and often in ways that don’t really seem to “improve” so much as complicate everything.
This month, though, despite the number of such “bumps,” and all the familiar thoughts and reflections they stirred, I seemed to be in a totally “oh, well” mode. None of it seemed distressing or overwhelming or even vaguely “beleaguering” in the ways any of it might have at some other time. Each thing just was what it was, something that simply needed handling.
No constricting, no aggravating, no “collecting grievances.” Just openness to the moment, to what “was,” to what needing doing. Instead of upsetness, there was an abundance of opportunities to notice what seemed like totally magical turns of events.
To wit, a month or so ago, while dropping off some things at the Ojai thrift shop I’d noticed an answering machine like my own on the sale shelf. For $5.00, I bought myself a somewhat battered but perfectly functional (if, at that moment, unnecessary) back-up for my long out-of-date, much depended upon Panasonic. So, when my dear old machine expired this month, I quite miraculously had something to use while I sent it off to be repaired! Though the repairs and the shipping back and forth to Los Angeles probably cost over twice as much as replacing the machine, it was entirely worth it. Everything available these days is digital (new and improved) and wouldn’t allow me the wonderful options I have with the old “dinosaur.” And, there’s the satisfying sense of not mindlessly adding to the landfill!
The fellow whose car rolled into mine, a charming guy who’s been a server at my favorite Ojai restaurant, was very dear and apologetic and responsible about the damage. So were both his (GEICO) and my own (Hartford) insurance companies. Mine sent an adjuster right to my driveway the next day and a check (minus the deductible) in less than a week. His called to accept full responsibility for the claim and also sent a check (for the deductible) in less than a week. All the people I spoke with at both companies were kind, caring, sympathetic women. All so upset for me that my new little Cruiser had been wounded! Again a sense of wonder at the magic in the middle of an “ick.”
Best of all, the two little holes weren’t at all distressing to me in the way I might have expected the first new car “injury” to be. They aren’t particularly noticeable or even in the least unaesthetic. I’m actually thinking of pasting two little glow-in-the-dark stars over them rather than having them filled. That way I wouldn’t have to have to replace the factory paint on the bumper with a body shop paint job.
After trying unsuccessfully to get the tape out of the cassette player, the folks at Chrysler concluded that the jam wasn’t caused a faulty tape (for which I’d have had to pay their $65 an hour rate to repair). Instead they determined that it was the result of some malfunction of the cassette player itself. That meant the repair would be covered under warranty! And, the sweet caring service guys put in an order for a loaner replacement for me so that, when they take my unit out to send in to the factory, I won’t be left without a radio/CD player/cassette. More sweet magic!
And finally, though one of my two portable phone handset/headphone combinations is now (as of yesterday) out of commission, the one set I do have will work on both of my two phone lines. (The advantage of having the same model phones on each line!) So, as long as I remember which line I’m using when, I’ve some time to research and sort out (yet again) the repair versus replace dilemma. More reason to feel magically looked after!
I watch the calm, unruffled ways I’ve been moving through all these potentially agitating glitches with both amazement and delight. What I understand from all of this is that there isn’t, at least just at this moment, any junk inside me looking for a way to get out, to get expressed. Many times when I’ve had exasperated, agitated, angry or tearful tantrum responses to everyday mishaps, I’ve been stunned and surprised by the intensity of my response. Over time, I’ve learned that my seemingly disproportionate reaction comes because some before-then-unexpressed frustration, anger or upset (recent or ancient and, more often than not, about something unrelated) is piggybacking on the current moment’s expressive outpouring.
Whatever there is in my experience that hasn’t before had permission or room or safety or consciousness to be expressed and vented is stored somewhere inside of me. In my psyche or in my body. When I get triggered to have a rant or dissolve in tears of sadness or despair in the current moment, all the unranted rantings and all the unshed tears take this opportunity to get some of themselves released, to pour some of themselves out of my being.
Seeing the intensity of my sometimes-surprising volatility through this lens allows me to appreciate rather than to judge my emotional outbursts/upheavals. By giving myself permission to be so “disproportionate” in my reactions, I’m giving myself permission to do some profound healing work. I’m always as careful as I can be to make safe space for venting these new and old feelings not “on” anyone else.
I understand that, for the moment, I’m really emptied out of old stuff. That I’m in a place, also for the moment, where I seem able embrace with incredible equanimity whatever the moment is bringing. Such a sweet and delicious place to find myself!
The sequel to last month’s breast lump tale: I’ve now lived for a few weeks with the recommendations from the breast specialist that I consulted last month. The intuitive response I had in the moment she first proposed them still feels like what’s right for me. Neither doing genetic testing nor laproscopically removing my atrophied remaining ovary as “preventive measures” makes much sense to my way of living in my body/being. Rather I’ll educate myself particularly about the usually misread early warnings for ovarian cancer. And, I’ll continue to do all I always do to take really good care of my body, my psyche and my being.
Originally published July 2004
