Finished!!

Today I finished the 30 day hot yoga challenge. It was the hardest physical challenge I have done so far, but I can feel the flicker of my pep and silly self coming back after a long winter of change. This challenge helped me get my mental focus back. There were days when my body was very tired, but the routine of going and the support of friends helped. On the tough days, I would have to be present in the moment, instead of thinking about how would I get through the class or how many things I had to do in my life. I take things to the extreme and have always been very hard on myself (perfectionist). Letting go of that pressure and doing something because I enjoy doing it is a lesson I can definitely apply to my whole life. I had a very dear friend tell me that I avoid things that make me feel negative emotions, but the negative emotions I feel are from my own insanely unrealistic expectations for myself. So...it is definitely a mindset I want to shift, so here are three things I want to do whenever I feel myself going to the extreme or being too "all or nothing" perfectionistic, I will

1. be present...mindful
2. be gentle with myself...
3. be grateful, especially in being perfectly imperfect

Other lessons I learned:

1. The pose I used to dread became my favorite - Camel Pose
2. I am more flexible than I thought
3. I can sweat a LOT (when I trained for the marathon, I never sweat this much!)
4. I can look in the mirror at my body and be grateful for what it can do
5. Crying is ok (after one class, I cried in the final savasana - I was incredibly stressed in my life and the physical and mental focus of the class helped me release and let down my guard which is very hard for me to do)

Time

On the edge of time...one second, then the next...

From then, before, and what once was,

To now, and forever what will be.

Time can be divided more so by moments, memories, and feelings.

This divided time - a gasp and hungry ache - 

Can sometimes be stretched;

moments, like currents or low-weaving music, hums through our lives without ever leaving us.

A ghost and a promise.

I live in longing for what was and yet could be,

A maddening balance of nostalgia and hope.

Challenge

I am over halfway finished with a 30 Day Hot Yoga challenge that I first started to gain my mental strength and focus back after changing careers. It has ended up being an unexpected healing from the inside out. 

In a 105 degree room, following 26 postures, I started peeling off old feelings, thoughts, and emotions while stretching and balancing my body. Each day, my heart is more grounded and my inner well of peace is filling up again. I've never felt comfortable in my body, but I am grateful for the new strength I am discovering (Standing Bow Pose, I'm loving you). It has been difficult since the Redding fire in July and the stress of evacuating my parents and nieces, but the past four months especially have been a tumultuous time with changing careers, figuring out if I was meant to stay in Monterey, and wondering about my place in the world as a 33 year old single woman. This winter was my season of dark soil--would anything ever bloom? 

I am looking forward to finishing this challenge, and continuing hot yoga while getting back into outrigger canoeing again. My back and neck injury I got in September doesn't give me pain any more (finally!). When you can't do the things that make you feel like you, it is destabilizing. But the time away from my favorite sport allowed me to focus on painting, composing, and writing. 

It is easier to look back and see the purpose of different seasons; in the moments of weakness and waiting, it is hard to be patient and peaceful. 

It seems like life is like an ocean tide....receive and release and be. 

Release

Be gentle with yourself...

But what does this mean?

You are a naked soul, longing, for the unsaid, unseen.

You are worthy of richness, joy, peace, and light,

Straining to "be" with all of your might.

Release the porcupine prickles of battle and stress.

The more you hang on, the more you're a mess.

Find balance in moments like sea tossing waves.

The peace of belonging is a buoy that saves.

Of storms, loss, and sorrow, it all ebbs in time.

Be grounded in stillness, embrace the divine.

You only live one life-

You cannot rewind. 

Chiseling

The ties in my mind to memories

hold fast, a rigging that makes me

stand tall in who I am.

I recognize her--this past self.

But now, new memories burrow themselves and mark me, 

slowly chipping away at who I used to be.

Sometimes it scares me, becoming someone new;

or am I merely becoming more of who I am

A chiseling into reality.

Shoes

"Don't forget to wear your shoes!" was something I heard often when I was a kid. I would put on my shoes, run up to the barn, and then hide my shoes and socks in the tall grass by the blue, pasture gate. I'd then run with abandon, lighter than air, across the pasture. I remember the feeling of the cold, hard earth on my bare feet in March. I could feel spring coming. When the earth would start to soften and I could see my toe prints, I'd know the bright green shoots of wild onions would soon sprout, followed by the soft grass and then the tiny, blue wild flowers that looked like starburst fireworks. I think we are naturally very intuitive and connected with nature, and we forget this connection as we grow older and more distracted by things.

Poem during the storm

A world above,

A world below,

A shapeless fevered form - 

The wild growth up to the sky,

The wild void beneath unknown.

The light and spark of thought and life,

Clips the blooming dark.

The ripples spreading out now glow

With mirrored bands of hope. 

And such illuminates the soul,

And reflects, unto itself, each heart.

Blocks

This is a painting I did when I first moved to Monterey five years ago. I had been working on a landscape, but had leftover paint on my plate. I didn't want to waste paint, so I started painting this little duck (Jemima Puddle Duck from a Beatrix Potter story). In the original story by Beatrix Potter, Jemima was unwisely trusting and the story had a sad ending. I wanted Jemima to have a happy story and to go on an adventure. So she ended up on a trail in the woods to someplace wonderful. This is the part about painting that I love. I don't plan what will show up on the canvas. It kind of just happens. There is so much joy and playfulness in creating something....using the imagination and being flexible to the creative process. It is how I used to feel when I was a kid when I would spend hours drawing books and illustrating my little stories. I would use up crayons until they were nubbins. Anyway, this is one of my most favorite paintings, because it has hopeful energy in it. I gave it to some dear friends and they told me it is hanging in a nursery. It makes my heart so happy knowing that!! 

Right after this, I used up the last bit of paint on the plate to paint my sister's labradoodle, Sirius.

When I am painting, the most important part is the feeling or the expression of the eyes. When I create, the thing I focus on most is the energy and feeling that flows from the creation. I want people to look at my paintings and feel something good. 

Sometimes when I hit a block and have trouble painting, it is because I feel frustrated that nothing seems good enough. It seems flat, has no feeling, and doesn't feel meaningful. I know this is why I have sketchbooks packed full of children's book ideas and illustrations, but nothing ever seems good enough to send in. 

How do I get past that?

Paintings

Time's Tide

TIME’S TIDE
Time flows,
like the waves upon the shore,
teasing the toes of memories
as they try to leave their mark....
Time.
It rubs everything down until the sharp edges are gone.
Time,
ebbing,
has a salty sting.
Never stand still and lament
the nature of the tide.

Christmas Memory

25 years ago...it had snowed a lot the night before, and the world was a glittering palace - quiet and full of peace. My morning chores on the farm included feeding the cows. My boots crunched into the snow, leaving perfect prints on the way to the barn. Clyde, my tabby barn cat, sat on my shoulder as I walked past trees bowing over with the weight of the snow. Gentle moos greeted me as I snapped on the barn light. I filled the old Folgers coffee can with sweet, molasses grain to pour into the feed pans and then I filled the feeding troughs with alfalfa hay. As the cows ate, I thought of the Christmas breakfast waiting. There was the yummy Christmas pull-apart bread with candied fruits baked in, warming in the oven and buttery, and hot tea or hot apple cider with a whole cinnamon stick in each cup before we opened presents. Life has different chapters; this was a sweet and peaceful chapter. Merry Christmas, everyone.

Christmas in Connecticut movie and Emily Dickinson style poem inspiration

Hope is the thing of batter, That bubbles on the stove, And sticks to the ceiling without reserve, And never drops at all

The sea is dark and still - 

a longing in the deep 

for light to pierce within and heal 

the silenced heart. 

Inky shadows

spread

and make the sun so cold and distant.

There is more terror still

in the empty quiet, the buried longing

of dreams

Magic Popcorn

I was at a craft fair stall, lost in the beauty of painted scarves that looked like trapped rainbows. 

The man at the booth said, “You’re a painter, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. 

“How did you know?” I asked, surprised. 

"You have that unassuming look, but you are so intent at what you see.” Then he paused for a moment and said with great assurance, "You should keep painting. I have a feeling you are going to be very successful if you keep at it.” 

I felt like he really was a kindred spirit, like he could tell what this year has been and how lost I’ve felt the last few months. 

I confessed, “It has been hard lately. I feel stuck, but I will keep trying.” 

Then he gave me a big hug and poured some kettlecorn popcorn into my hand and said, “Take this magic popcorn. It will help. Hang in there. You will find your way. Keep painting!” He smiled at me like he really saw me....the inside me. 

I won’t forget that unexpected encouragement, or meeting a friend who is walking through life with gentleness and kindness, pouring out love and magic popcorn.

That is what I want to be to others.

What a journey life is. 

Tapestry

I am in a strange season of life. I feel like I am in the middle of a great ocean. I've lost sight of shore, and I have no idea which direction to go. I'm floating, paralyzed by fear of making the wrong decision, and the fog is coming in. I feel pressed in on all sides. 

"Courage, dear heart," my soul whispers, but it isn't enough. I look backwards to where I came from to find the Melissa I have seemed to have lost. 

Looking back on my life, I was always very quiet, introspective, and very emotional. Although I wasn't outwardly expressive, it was all deeply internal and came out in my art and writing. I spent my childhood exploring the woods and the pastures and the little creeks around our house, writing stories, drawing, daydreaming, sitting in trees reading books, and snuggling the animals on the farm. I had two favorite places, and both allowed me to be in the midst of life, but not visible: the hayloft in the barn and the treehouse on the wide, rolling lawn facing the pond. Nestled in the arms of the branches, all around me millions of shades of green, my place in the tree was perfect peace. 

When we sold the farm and moved to California, I was devastated. I couldn't say goodbye, so I shut everything out and focused on the future. I opened myself to new adventures and possibilities and did everything that was just scary enough to grow my courage muscles: I joined a swim team my first year in college and later won the California Female Pepsi Scholar Athlete of the Year Award (which only one female junior college athlete can win in California). I then finished my last two years of college at UCLA, where I joined the UCLA Outdoor Adventure Club as a way to stay connected to nature (backcountry kayaking Lake Powell/backpacking Death Valley). I applied for a highly competitive creative writing major emphasis track and was accepted; I loved the literature courses of my major (pirate literature, science fiction, Victorian, Gothic, especially). I worked my butt off, and graduated with highest honors. The world seemed to open up wider and wider: I studied abroad in Ireland, explored Scotland, England, and Wales, moved to Taiwan and taught English to children for one year, and later moved to Australia for graduate school for two years. 

After all of that traveling and school, I ended up in Monterey. I had my dream job writing and editing educational materials for National Geographic Learning. Then, I got laid off after two years, and spent the next three years cobbling together a working life that allowed me to barely scrape by financially. I was fighting so hard to stay in the area, but life kept pruning my roots until I questioned if I was actually meant to be in Monterey; feelings of failure and doubt were shadows I couldn't shake. 

The anchor that kept me in Monterey the past five years, throughout the National Geographic job saga, temp job saga, property management job saga, and high school Chemistry and English teacher saga, was the ocean...and the Ohana I found because of the ocean.

What was it about the ocean that a farm girl from Missouri connected to?

The same feeling I had as a kid, sitting in the tree while watching storm clouds pile up, running as fast as I could down pasture hills in the warm, spring rain, and watching life from the warmth of the barn -- that same peace of belonging and peace of my true nature -- I finally found again when I would paddle out on the ocean, sit on my SUP or watercraft, and just...be. 

There is a strange wildness in my heart that paddling on the ocean has brought out, or maybe that wildness and savage courage was always there, and was just too shy to come forth. I feel my Viking ancestors in my blood when I paddle down steep waves, chase the horizon, and feel the push and pull of the wind, tangling my hair into knots even as it untangles the knots in my soul.

I haven't been able to paddle for two months now due to an injury, and that time away has forced me to express my inward feelings in paintings, poetry, and piano compositions. I don't understand the intense drive to express feelings, but no painting, poem, or piano song ever can. It is almost a desperate attempt to reach self-awareness and crying out for someone else to see me, too, and to understand and draw close. 

So, I look back on the crazy weaving of the tapestry of my life, and I see a Melissa who has pushed herself every step of the way, to be brave, to let go of what is not meant to be, to find peace, belonging, and purpose. 

This season of life has brought a challenge that no external movement can cure. This season of my life is a deep journey into my soul. To find meaning, balance, identity, purpose, peace, and passion. What makes me "me"? Who am I supposed to be moving forward? How do I find and embrace this new bud of a Melissa? Should I continue to fight to stay in Monterey?