On Resistance…

You can resist what is, or shall I say you can try. 

With all of your might, fight that which exists in solid form.

It is there when you wake up, it is there when you sleep.

You can wrap it in brown paper and tuck it away in a trunk. 

You can give it away asking another to take it from you.

You can put a bow on it, so that it looks different.

Under the wrapping, under the bow, it is still what it is. 

You may even successfully put it away and “forget about it.” 

But sometimes when the wind blows, you are reminded of something, and you silently know it is that which you resist.

And it knows it is there. It is waiting there for you, ready for you to face it. 

And it seems the harder you try to resist it.

The more effort and strength you mount an attack against it, the stronger it seems to become. 

It becomes no stronger though, the strength of that which you resist is that thing plus your own resistance coming back at you.

Then, one day, you turn and face it. It hurts. 

It hurts so much deep within your soul, deep within your cells.

It dances and weaves it’s way through every part of your being.

You feel as if you might break into a million pieces.

This thing you now face is a part of you, and always has been.

The fear of acceptance flashes quickly. You sit with this fear, with this thing, with this resistance.

You realize if only you can understand this part of you, transforming that which you have resisted is possible.

You turn in the dark facing a mirror, and in the mirror it looks back at you and all the other pieces of yourself stare back from behind it, crying to be heard, to be seen again.

It is out of love for these other pieces, that you must love that which you fear the most.

Slowly with time you stop resisting.

But not like one who gives up hope.

You stop resisting with your heart and your mind open. 

You listen to this thing’s story. You feel what it is telling you. 

You sense within the fabric of your being that story for it comes in many ways. 

You draw it into your breath and for the first time in a very long time the pain subsides. 

I know my Clutter is there even when I try to pretend I don’t.



Memories? or just stuff…or both?

In what I would consider my “perfect” existence all of my things have a home, and I don’t have many of them. I live simply and the most important “things” to me consist of the moments shared with the ones I love. I cherish every memory, every smile, every hug. I keep them and hold them and make them part of me.

How can I remember ALL of these moments? How can I cherish them and not forget?

They say to look inward for answers. And I can say this is certainly a wise way to begin to find inner peace. However, what does our outer world say about our inner world?

This is a very interesting question for me to ponder this evening as I have spent the day cleaning, “sorting” and yes reliving memories. One box after another I questioned, “where did all this stuff come from?”

All kinds of emotions flowed through me today as I “cleaned” up my clutter. As I said, I like things to look nice. I love beautiful things and looking at home magazines to see how people decorate differently. No where in these magazines are piles of stuff. There are some that have more stuff than others, but there is a limit.

So, if I had to delve into the inner workings of myself after looking at my stuff, I would say many things. Here are a few.

1. I “hang on to things.” I do not part with things easily which might mean I have a problem letting go.

2. I feel bogged down by stuff and it makes me feel stuck sometimes. Yep, this is true. I do get overwhelmed easily. The more overwhelmed I get, the more I IGNORE the stuff. Then, the stuff becomes more stuff and I am swimming in a sea of stuff never to be found again. Do I do this with emotions too sometimes? Perhaps…

3. I cherish memories, and I think things are memories sometimes. Well, I can say, I LOVE finding something I haven’t see in years…I found an AIM chat I printed out from maybe 9th grade..HILARIOUS. I loved every second of it. If I didn’t save stuff, I would have forgotten how funny I was and how I am still having the same conversations I had years and years ago.

4. I like bath stuff…I think I went through a phase where I purchased beautiful smelling stuff to make myself feel better inside. WAIT, I bought STUFF in general to make myself feel better inside. oooo I am seeing a trend.

5. AVOIDANCE I have brought this up like 400 xs on this blog. Ya, that’s right it is a theme for me. I am doing it right now as I avoid typing a paper. Who doesn’t avoid stuff? I am trying more and more NOT to do this, because the stuff I avoid has a way of building and sneaking up on me in a not so pleasant way.

6. Guilt- I found myself feeling guilty that I had so much stuff and probably was wasting things I didn’t need. First of all I thought how beautiful nature is in and of itself, not piled high with stuff. Second of all, I wanted to make sure I donated anything I didn’t need. Third of all, why did I buy stuff I didn’t need in the first place? I am sure now, I could have used that money in much more meaningful way. It is hard for me to admit this on here. That’s interesting. I know I write about not feeling guilty and beating yourself up. However, instead of beating myself up, I would like to note that instead I can look at this as a learning lesson. I have really stopped buying excess things now, and I am working to simplify. So, in a way this is good. But, I still have a hard time letting go.

7. Sometimes I worry that if I get rid of something, it means getting rid of a person, or memory of someone. HOW DO YOU REMEMBER IF YOU DON’T HAVE PHOTOS/MOMENTOS etc.? I think maybe a good idea if to take a picture of the item and keep a scrapbook? I don’t know I am not an organizational specialist (BY ANY MEANS). I am really just throwing out ideas here.

8. I am of a creative mind. I see a use for almost anything. OOOOO maybe that string would go well in a mixed media painting? OR that key could make an interesting necklace… This, saving it in case I need it mentality has brought me to where I am now. I am sure if given all the time ever, I could find a use for every single thing.

9. I don’t like to be put into a box, or said another way, “I like to color outside the lines.” As much as I say I like simplicity and order, I am also uncomfortable with it. It makes me nervous in a way. Having to always keep things in their place is really hard for me because I can be a bit obsessive at times. So, I would rather go with the flow. Hmmmm interested change here. I really like things to be tidy and look good, and in theory I would like things to be organized, but having things in specific places feels daunting. I think I have just found the key to mind so to speak…but maybe more on this another day.

10. My purse usually has a few books in it, a pen, some paper. Maybe some other random things. Some perfume, or jewelry. What I sometimes lack is my credit card(because I left it in my coat pocket at home) or the check I owed so and so. BUT don’t worry I have the “Highly Sensitive Person’s Handbook” or “How to Heal from Surgery book” or some other light reading. So, my purse looks kinda like my room…filled with books and other musings…but maybe lacking any order? Well, what about chaos? There is an inherent order within is there not? Perhaps, I am going somewhere with all of this clutter and disorganization after all?

What I have learned about me and my clutter after typing this…

I like artwork. I like books. I like diving in and swimming in the ocean of life. I love my friends, I love my family. I cherish as my most prized possessions being, the times we have shared. I have a bit of a creative streak, that some would classify as disorganized. I light to get carried away by the moment. I doooo avoid things and then they become bigger, and then I get overwhelmed and then I avoid them more. ooops. I have to make a concerted effort not to do the above mentioned avoidance. I am both drawn to and dislike order. It scares me in some ways and entices me in others.

Sometimes, my clutter weighs me down…and I know it’s there calling my name to organize it. Even though, I am pretty sure it knows I will never be able to truly organize it. How do you organize, “random piece of paper, or this small momento that reminds me of 3rd grade?” But, at times, my clutter takes me on a trip. It reminds me of 3 hour long AIM conversations about the depths of teenage dating life, or the time I wrote a poem about lucky charms. It shows me how much my grandma loved me, or the pony I rode when I was 6. It shows me that my life has already been so deeply rich that although some days have been hard and painful, I have endless things and people to be deeply grateful for. So, you see clutter is not an easy fix. My clutter, my stuff has a story.




Trusting the River/the Path

I heard in the distance/deep within a whisper.
Calling to me, reminding me.
My path saved me.
When I could not see it/I felt it.
The path knew more than I knew, but it stayed present, because it was fixed.
I crawled on my knees in the dirt and I looked dirty.
I felt dirty. I felt weighted down, by the boulders and the bricks.
I wore them on my back, not just mine, but everyone else’s.
I would gladly take your boulders and your weight and put in on my back.
It was too hard for me to see you carry it.
But then, I took it, and you replaced it with a different brick, and I became heavier.
I sank into the mud. My mud and your mud swirled together and neither of us could breathe.
I still heard the whisper and i put my hand up out of the mud with all of my strength.
I grasped the path and I flopped myself onto it. No strength yet to do anything on it.
All I could do was lay on it/lay in it and let it guide me.
Like a river flowing I hung on to a raft any raft a long as it was mine.
It was hard because I had so many bricks and boulders with me.
I looked down in the river to see that there were other boulders and bricks lining the river bed.
These bricks seemed to be glistening, to be transformed somehow by the water.
What if I could let go of some of these bricks I thought?
My rocks, your rocks, what is the water needed them too?
Slowly, I began to let go of them. I placed them/or let them plop into the water.
I knew not how they would land, or if they would just be swept away.
But I let go of my need to know and control where they would go.
Knowing the river/my path would know what to do.
As time went on, the boulders and the river worked together to form an amazing waterfall.
Things were picking up speed now, and I felt lighter. I felt like things were falling into place.
Other people came to see their rocks in the water. To see the power of resiliency.
Suddenly, we all felt lighter. We didn’t know how much time had passed, just that at this moment we felt free.

Making my Aunt’s famous Pie and Enjoying every bite…


I visited with my Great Aunt the other day. She is one of my oldest living relatives connecting me to my ancestors of the past. I love her house and her land. It is the land my father played on as a child and I can just feel all the memories and happy times there. I wish in so many ways I could have experienced what it was like to grow up there. But, as I sat with my aunt and looked at all the photos, I had an idea of what this must have been like. In the days when my own father was a child, about 60 years ago, all the children would run and play outside. All of the houses of my relatives were all lined up down the street and everyone knew each other. They would spend hours swinging and rafting in the river, and just being outside playing in the dirt. They also gardened and grew their own food. They would pick fresh food from the garden and lovingly prepare family meals together.

This pie is a blueberry pie I made. It is my great aunt’s recipe, and it is de-licious. Today’s world feels disjointed, rushed and busy sometimes. So many times in my life, I have used food to fill a void inside of me that yearns for long sun-filled days in the garden and big family meals at night. I have craved community. It is not about the pie or the food really, but what it represents. It represents a coming together, a sharing in the harvest. This is something people have done forever. The meal was a ceremony. It was sacred in it’s own very special way. Have we lost that? I don’t think entirely, but I do think we have to work to preserve it. I think we have to preserve what it means to be present at family/friend meals, and I think we have to recognize that to share in a meal is so often to share a bit of ourselves with another.

The other side of this is that we can’t be afraid to enjoy that piece of homemade pie. Enjoy it, feel the love that was put into making it and feel grateful for every bite. I am honestly forever grateful that I now have this recipe to share with my family and friends. It will forever remind me of sun-filled days and precious memories of those I love.

Bon Appetite!!