In Search of Self

I sit here on my balcony. It's 82 degrees and the breeze flaps the awning. I listen to Sarah Brightman on the iPod as she sings "Nella Fantasia" in her high, clear voice that lingers on those lilting Italian words. In front of me the Majella Mountains are dimmed by the heat haze to a blue outline jutting into the sky. The clouds, too, are indistinct, a white gauze against the lightened sky. The Adriatic has lost its two toned aqua/turquoise summer coloring and is a single shade of blue more intense than today's sky. Next to me, new stalks of lavender shoot up in defiance of September's date and sweeten the air with their characteristic scent. I feel a vague restless yearning that I want to put into words to better understand it. And so I write.

I retired two years ago. At that time I thought I would provide some kind of grand service to humanity, then undefined but important none-the-less. I presumed it would appear, this new vocation, and I would grab hold of it, dig in and never look back. Only it didn't and I haven't. Instead, I sometimes feel uneasy that I don't do enough or don't do that thing that I'm meant to do at this life stage.

These days, I read and study Italian daily, write most days, run three times a week, travel with my husband to explore Europe, talk with him and foster our relationship in new ways, currently by exploring some different ways to enjoy sex at our age. I stay in touch with my daughter, my grandchildren and close friends and plan for the yearly gathering of the young women in our family with me and my sister-in-law. I used to write poetry but the inspiration for poems that I had years ago seems gone. It leaves me bereft.

Well, that popped up unexpectedly! Like my hand knew something my mind didn't. Bereft at losing poetry? Hmmm. But wait, I read "A Year With Rilke" every day. I'm eager for new poems by Ruth at "Synch-ro-ni-zng" and read them again and again to feel her words in my mouth and hear them as she (online) or I read them out loud and they sing around the room while I melt in admiration. I haven't told her that. I'm so envious. I haven't told myself that. Writing poetry is so elusive now. I feel inadequate to the task of crafting such exact descriptions that I say: "Yes, yes, that's how it is; that's what I want to say."

Poetry, where are you? I miss you. You make my heart beat faster. I invite you back. I will listen.

"You Were Made for This"

My daughter sent me a wonderful quote from Clarissa Pinkola Estes that made me think and be heartened. It is good to feel heartened so I share it with you.

Reflections - You Were Made for This

My friends, do not lose heart. We were made for these times. I have heard from so many recently who are deeply and properly bewildered. They are concerned about the state of affairs in our world now. Ours is a time of almost daily astonishment and often righteous rage over the latest degradations of what matters most to civilized, visionary people.

You are right in your assessments. The lustre and hubris some have aspired to while endorsing acts so heinous against children, elders, everyday people, the poor, the unguarded, the helpless, is breathtaking. Yet I urge you, ask you, gentle you, to please not spend your spirit dry by bewailing these difficult times. Especially do not lose hope. Most particularly because, the fact is that we were made for these times. Yes. For years, we have been learning, practicing, been in training for and just waiting to meet on this exact plain of engagement.

I grew up on the Great Lakes and recognize a seaworthy vessel when I see one. Regarding awakened souls, there have never been more able vessels in the waters than there are right now across the world. And they are fully provisioned and able to signal one another as never before in the history of humankind. Look out over the prow; there are millions of boats of righteous souls on the waters with you. Even though your veneers may shiver from every wave in this stormy roil, I assure you that the long timbers composing your prow and rudder come from a greater forest. That long-grained lumber is known to withstand storms, to hold together, to hold its own, and to advance, regardless.

In any dark time, there is a tendency to veer toward fainting over how much is wrong or unmended in the world. Do not focus on that. There is a tendency, too, to fall into being weakened by dwelling on what is outside your reach, by what cannot yet be. Do not focus there. That is spending the wind without raising the sails.
We are needed, that is all we can know. And though we meet resistance, we more so will meet great souls who will hail us, love us and guide us, and we will know them when they appear. Didn't you say you were a believer? Didn't you say you pledged to listen to a voice greater? Didn't you ask for grace? Don't you remember that to be in grace means to submit to the voice greater?

Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach. Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world, will help immensely. It is not given to us to know which acts or by whom, will cause the critical mass to tip toward an enduring good.

What is needed for dramatic change is an accumulation of acts, adding, adding to, adding more, continuing. We know that it does not take everyone on Earth to bring justice and peace, but only a small, determined group who will not give up during the first, second, or hundredth gale.

One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul. Soul on deck shines like gold in dark times. The light of the soul throws sparks, can send up flares, builds signal fires, causes proper matters to catch fire. To display the lantern of soul in shadowy times like these-to be fierce and to show mercy toward others; both are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity.
Struggling souls catch light from other souls who are fully lit and willing to show it. If you would help to calm the tumult, this is one of the strongest things you can do.

There will always be times when you feel discouraged. I too have felt despair many times in my life, but I do not keep a chair for it. I will not entertain it. It is not allowed to eat from my plate.
The reason is this: In my uttermost bones I know something, as do you. It is that there can be no despair when you remember why you came to Earth, who you serve, and who sent you here. The good words we say and the good deeds we do are not ours. They are the words and deeds of the One who brought us here. In that spirit, I hope you will write this on your wall: When a great ship is in harbor and moored, it is safe, there can be no doubt. But that is not what great ships are built for.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D, author of the best-seller Women Who Run with the Wolves


Mary's favorite points: 1. "We are needed. That is all we can know." (All of us.)

2. "One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to show up and show your soul." (Isn't that what we do in our blogs?)

3. "...to be fierce and to show mercy toward others; both are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity." (Fierceness and mercy- let's do it!)

What are your favorites?

What's It All About?

I've not posted in a while and I've been thinking about what I really want to post. This started as a blog about my journey into elderhood, keeping as aware of the process as I am able. My move to Italy happened at the same time and that's been amazing in and of itself for me. So, sometimes my posts are travelogues and sometimes more about the journey. Which brings up the question of what to focus on.

After 1 year in Italy (this month) John wrote a newsletter for family and friends that summarized the biggest lessons we've learned in our first year: 1. The people are amazing! 2. Developing a network of friends is critical (corollary of #1). 3. Everything in Italy takes longer than expected. 4. Learning a new language in our 60's takes longer than we imagined (corollary of #3). 5. It is wonderful to be surrounded by such scenic beauty and rich history. He sat down and whipped those out in a short time. He's like that.

Just the writing with him of lessons learned made me wonder- "What's it all about, Alfie?" for me? Where am I on this journey 1 year down the line? What makes me the happiest? In my writing? In my life these days? What gets my juices flowing? Have I developed the focus I wanted when I first retired 1 year ago? Good questions but not many answers, though I wish there were. Meanwhile, I spent the entire day in Rome yesterday and saw such achingly beautiful paintings (Carvaggio), such beautiful places (Trevi Fountain, St. Peters, Piazza Navona), and such ancient history (the Apian Way, the original walls of Rome) that I wanted to weep, laugh and sit quietly to take it all in- all at once! Which keeps on happening this year and makes me want to write about it and makes me wonder if I've lost focus and....

So here I am, feeling awed, grateful and a little lost. I thought I would have more of a sense of what my next step should be by now. I love my life and I sense there's more expected of me, more to give. Is that left over catholic guilt or premonition? I don't know. I don't like not knowing so I'm more tempted to fill up the pages with adventures in Italy, but it's not just about adventures, is it? Isn't there something more important than adventures? Or should this be in praise of adventures? And isn't it unseemly to be this unsure at my age?

I'm doing the things that are in front of me to do: 1. growing with, loving and traveling with my husband, 2. becoming a full resident of this new and lovely country, 3. becoming closer to and cheering on my amazing daughter and nieces, 4. being an unconditional grandchild lover, 4. reading and writing on topics I find inspiring. Meanwhile, I'm cultivating presence to uncertainty and ambiguity these days and paying attention to what else comes my way. I hope I'm paying close enough attention so I find the way for me to serve, to find what else is to be born from me. I want to leave behind a too little self and allow full emergence into my self.

Is it just me that thinks this way? What do you think?

What Would Your Cape Look Like?

I love my friend, Annee! I'm reading her email to me and all of a sudden she says that's she doing a "sketchbook project" in which the books will travel in 2010 and then be archived. Annee is an artist and she's randomly chosen the subject of superheroes in superclothes. Her question: "What would your cape look like?" She's serious!
That's why I love her. What a great question. No one else I know asks that kind of question. So I'm thinking... what would my cape look like? And, while I'm thinking, I thought I would post it as a question for my readers as well: What would your cape look like? Post it here and we'll share!
Some examples Anne gave: Mother Teresa's is white with two blue stripes bordering it. Coco Chanel's is black and white with pearls. Her friend who has an alter ego named Pinky Vinyl is...well, pink vinyl.
I'm all about entering elderhood these days so I need to have a purple and red thing going on but I'm still searching for the detail to go on it. I'll keep you posted.

Differences

Things I'm getting used to:
1. No clothes driers (they use too much electricity): Clothes get hung out to dry. It poses a little problem when living in an apartment since the (small) balcony is the only place to put the clothes rack. But, that's what I do. Of course, everyone else does too so it's just understood that's it okay to have your personals flapping in the breeze for all the world to see. In apartments with no balconies clothes are hung out the window. It's a common sight and a good use of all the sunshine we have.
2. Small refrigerators: food shopping is done daily or every other day in order to have what's freshest and in season. Fresh produce drives the menu. No need for gigantic fridges (they use too much electricity) and freezers. Open markets abound making local food readily available.
3. Bread boxes: bread is also bought fresh daily. Even the local chain supermarket bakes bread every day and puts it, fresh and crisp, in about 25 bins to be chosen by shoppers and cut to order by the woman who holds up large loaves like a hawker. It's always the longest line in the market.
4. Stores close daily at 12 or 1 until 4pm: it calls for an entirely different time management system to juggle this fact. I'm still figuring this one out and it catches me short more times than not.
5. Ditto eating dinner so much later and trying to get 8 hours of sleep and still be able to run early since it's so hot during the summer. Don't know how people who work do it either!
6. Making time each day to study Italian and still feel like such a novice in its use. It's just odd (and frustrating and sometimes isolating) to have a primary language and not be able to use it with most people.
7. Deciding what to do each day when work is not the organizing factor. The search for meaning in this new life phase is ongoing.
8. Distance from loved ones: I'm trying new things to keep in touch- regular emails to the grandkids as well as my daughter, facebook presence, blogs and blog reading, SKYPE, longer vacations when we get together. Any other suggestions?
9. The sheer beauty of where we live. It takes me by surprise on a regular basis.

Are we out of our minds?

"So do you think we're out of our minds making this move?" I ask my husband today. "Yes, I do. We're out of our minds and into our hearts." He says sweet, insightful things like that. I love him for that. It made me laugh which made me relax. We're in it together. We're saying "yes". we're taking the next step. All is well.
It's the "I don't knows" that get me. I also talked with my dear friend, Annee, today. She said "I don't know is the closest we come to God." She says wise things like that that I really don't quite understand and even make me mad but help at some subterranean level. She reminded me the last time I was in this fearful place a decade ago a great gift emerged- the gift of poetry. Of course, it's in the furnace that new things are forged.
So, the revelation of today was how important my incredible friends are to be able to walk this journey.