I am grateful I can run.

The blinking cursor.  I haven't tried to write anything in ages.  Now I have a baby monitor of white noise humming in front of me.  Someone is moving.  Are they waking up?...no.  Babies are sleeping.

Here's the thing.  I love running trail.  And it makes me want to write.    Where it's like, this run, right now, under these trees, with this stifling humidity will be completely forgotten and only experienced now.  Of course, this is how almost all of the entire universe functions, but, still.  It makes me want to write to try and capture it for a few more moments. 

At the end of the street where ...No, I take that back.  It's not how the universe functions.  Those stars we see - they are the light rippling out from their original source, to be experienced again by us.  And anyone else who may be out there.  So, maybe writing about a run is like that.  If we can remember the stars, maybe it's okay to remember my runs.

At the end of the street where I live there are 72 acres of vacant land with a few miles of trail cut in that at least one of my neighbors mows regularly.  This is lovely.  Before he moved in someone less dedicated mowed them less frequently and all the shrubbery was really hard on the shins.  There's one stretch of trail that reminds me of Mike n Don's trail at Farmdale Reservoir in the Illinois River Valley.  (My heart still yearns for that Brigadoon-ish bit of God's country.  Such a special place.)  With pine trees all around and a blanket of pine needles on the ground, it feels sacred.  Not nearly as spectacular as Mike n Don's, but it has the same spirit, and no commute.  And on a hill where there has been some erosion and the red soil is so plain to see - I pretend it's not the red earth of South Carolina, but the red rock of Moab.  It makes me run faster.  Of course, in the summer, the creepy kudzu takes over a good bit of the trails down the hill.  They don't remind me of anything accept a horror film I would never watch, their long viney arms reaching, always trying to trip me up!  On the days I dare, that's when I practice my high stepping. 

chapter or song

People don't like to live on railroad tracks.

a new book:an autobiography of a massage therapist?

So my friend J had been telling me about a book he was reading about writing being a physical activity. We often think of it as being a mental thing, but really it is a physical thing. And like you should go out for your run even when you're not quite feeling like it, you should write when you're not quite feeling like it. Something about creating the physical habit of it. Perhaps the motor nerve memories of it. I'm not sure I understand, but... It's interesting. Because I have no Zen/Zone experience with writing. Whereas with TALKING. Goodness. I can talk for ever when I'm talking about something interesting to me. And I think sometimes if I could take my talking and edit it down, take out all my redundancies and misspeaks...I could really have something there worth listening too.

Maybe I need a recorder (oh, wait!! I've had that idea before and I do, in fact, have such a device) but then I may also need a semi-pretend audience... Hmm. My A.P. Bio teacher in high school always encouraged us to teach the Krebs cycle to our dogs. Maybe I'll begin discussing my meandering musings with my kittens.

Massage therapists have a unique perspective on people. And are uniquely credentialed because we, or at least I, spend a great deal of time in reflection. Contemplation. Or meditation. Meditation on particular people, their bodies, their minds, the interaction of the two. Teasing out, in my own mind, how do I best interact with this person to assist them in attaining their highest state of wellness. What do they need from me? Who do they need me to be?

Maybe I'll write more later.

Oh, but wait,

In a nutshell: an autobiography of a massage therapist. co-authored by two massage therapists. it's not about me on a soapbox about myself, but a dialog on or about the perspective of the human experience by (two) massage therapists. we have unique roles in peoples' lives. sometimes the first try against pain, sometimes a last resort. sometimes we see people in an intensely personal way, behind the mask they wear for their loved ones. we bridge gaps. between medical models and energy work. between the physical and the mental/spiritual/emotional. We work with tissue, but feel the heat of people, the energy of people. Sometimes people are open emotionally, sometimes they are draining to the therapist, sometimes there is a wall around someone. Intangible, yet distinctive. We speculate on the health or lack thereof of our culture at large as we witness individuals and answer peoples' questions about how they are living their lives. We are not experts in diet or spirituality or psychotherapy or medicine, yet all of these things influence the health of a person's body-mind and we assist people on their mind-body-spirit journeys of healing and self-awareness and self-development and so we understand or speculate on all these things, to varying degrees. We contemplate life and death and healing and bear witness to people's suffering and sometimes their release from suffering. What we have to offer, as potential authors, is an intimate and often ignored perspective on the body-mind organism. Our intended audience? Not other massage therapists. But average everyday people. Those people who say, oh, you're a massage therapist? That's so cool. But they don't know what it really means to be a massage therapist. There is an intrigue to people who touch people for a living, who relax people, ease their pain. Who can say, no the pain is not in your head, you have trigger points, stagnation in your tissue. That stress or anger or whatever strong emotion you experience, yes, I can feel that in your body. Yes, you are all one. We are all one.

Some specifics to possibly explore further:

-Unconditional positive regard. Three words that, upon reflection, changed my life forever. How massage school changes you. Evolves you.

-Why do people seek out massage? What need in our society/culture does massage therapy serve?

-What we learn from our clients? Those people who swear by massage and glow with health into their 60s and 70s and 80s. What else do they swear by? What are their secrets? I hear a lot of them.

-Why do I love my job? I'll answer because it's always so present to me. Because rare is the day I don't feel better after working than before. What I take from my clients is what I give them. Because I benefit from setting my ego-identity aside and focusing all my attention on the interaction between my body and theirs, where my intention is to create space for whatever healing that may occur for them, may occur.

(And Jenny is licking in between my toes...this is a little weird. Jenny is a dog.)

-And what is the mind-body-spirit relationship that we witness. How does one nurture oneself? Care for oneself? Why is this important?

---I used to think, when I was justifying the ethics of becoming a massage therapist, that if I can ease someone's pain or emotional suffering or burden, they will be more apt to be kinder to their children/spouse/anyone they interact with. And though this occurs one incident at a time, this may be the way to peace in the world. One little moment and incident at a time. The difference between eating consciously and liposuction.

---I think, perhaps, that as we become more aware of the true nature of our own existence, as we develop more our spiritual awareness, as we...explore our mind-body connection ...through being touched. When we are touched, we become more aware of ourselves. Both in the ego-sense, the boundary of, this is my skin, this is where I exist, and there the rest of the world exists. This is perhaps the first level or layer of awareness. But as we investigate and explore this further, we come to understand (perhaps?) that we aren't, in fact, defined by the border of our skin. The electromagnetic radiation of bodies, the almost annoying interplay between our subconscious minds and muscular tension, the realization that the food and air we consume influence the state of affairs of our minds and bodies, that sleep and exercise influence our mind-body health... All this may suggest that we aren't lumps of clay built by god. But that we grow from god, that we are god. That we are all one. That we all, collectively, are on a journey. You can put God in or take God out, if the word God doesn't work for you, the equation reads the same. (Btw, it's midnight madness at my house. The kittens are on a rampage.) I speculate that certain truths become evident, that some behaviors will become more natural, that one will naturally seek out a higher (not standard or quality..I see why people use the term) vibration. The ego always struggles to maintain its existence, its prevalence. Question: how does the ego exist in a kitten?

Okay, time to sleep.

A blog?

Oh, hey, woah! I have a blog! I forgot.

Yea, so we did the marathon in Rome. And it was awesome. I should write something about that. And post some pictures.

And we did sprints for the first time last weekend. (I'm such a slow poke--but not for long!) I should write something that too.

And I have CSA (Angelic Organics) produce boxes coming this summer and I want to get into jarring, I have to do some research on that! And write about that. And I want to read more about keeping bees.

And I want to read more in general.

And I have...crap...what was it. Oh, yes, I decided my writing goal for this summer is to write, edit, re-edit, and submit a short story or first chapter to a writing contest this summer. By, let's say, the end of September. That seems like a totally reasonable and reachable goal.

And Eric and I have both decided to do the Steelhead Half Ironman Triathlon in August, I think mostly because we can't let either of us get one up on the other. (Or he not anymore than me, he's 3 marathons ahead of me--I have to catch up!) So there'll be plenty to write about that.

Also on the athletic agenda: Batavia Sprint Triathlon in June, Proud to Run in June, 56 mile training ride in July, Chicago Marathon in October

And also I'm thinking about doing Aikido and/or Taiji and there'll be things to say about that.

And I want to make a Vegan Lemon Cheesecake, and that's definitely important enough to talk about.

:)

Planning a Life - Thoughts

I leave for Europe a week from this evening. I'll be there 3 weeks. What do I want my life to look like when I get back? It'll be spring, or almost spring. A good time for growings and beginnings.

We're expanding into two more rooms at work which means there will be an increase in flexiblity of hours. I could change my schedule dramatically, if I so choose. Do I? I like working on Sundays, I like that my week ends early--on Thursday, I like that I only work one evening a week, and I think I like that it is Monday. I like that on Tues-Thursday, I usually get there after rush hour in the AM and get home before rush hour in the afternoon. So...? The only change I really consider would be working Tuesday-Saturday instead of Sunday-Thursday. But...given the choice, I think I really do choose my work schedule as it is. What a nice fuzzy feeling that is.

I'm wanting to start West African dance (WAD) classes again, but the next session won't start until April 29th. This is Tuesday nights. I can start going to the Friday drop-in classes sooner than that.

I would like to do Tai Chi. I'm looking at this school.

I'm considering trying this class

Writing Workshop – Ages: 18 & Over
Berger Park & Cultural Center6205 N. Sheridan Rd.60660 (Map It)Phone: 773.761.0376Th,7:00 pm - 9:00 pm 3/31/2008 - 6/8/2008

again, because ultimately I want to be writing more, and need a kick in the pants. It's inexpensive. It's nearby. It cuts to the heart of how to write productively. It was scary enough that I quit it last time I tried it--which somehow makes it appealing.

But I really want to guard against overbooking myself. It is the thing I know how to do best but that causes me the most grief, because I also want to maintain my relationships, have time to myself to do nothing, and have time that is unstructured to allow for random fun things to happen.

There is also the possibility of going to Iowa for Easter, Hands Free Thai Bodywork the following weekend, Meditation retreat the weekend after that. BUT. I think I'm not going to do any of these things. I really dislike rushing from one thing to the next. I started saying to myself at one point, "if I had to rush to get there, it's not worth going to," and I still agree with this.

Marathon training week: 4
Marathon plan: 3 miles

Time of departure: About 7:30pm

Sunrise: 7:03pm

Sunset: 4:20pm

Phase of the moon: Waxing cresent (6% full)

Temperature: 22F

Wind Chill: 12F

Dew Point: 19F

Humidity: 89%

Lake Temp: 34-40F

Route: Lakefront

Approx Distance: 3 miles

Running buddy: Amelia Peabody and the Crocodile on the Sandbank story

Clothing: I am finding it unbelievably easier to dress this winter. Is this an implicit wisdom gained from last year's experiences?

Shoes, socks, ARMY pants, long sleeve, short sleeve, wind breaker, gator, hat, gloves. Mittens in my pockets, but I didn't put them on. After yesterday's run, when my feet were wet, cold, and frozen, I decided I have to do something about my shoe/sock situation. Today I called the running store an old friend used to work at. They advised me to not buy a new pair of shoes if this one seemed to work (Brooks Adrenaline), but to try either duct taping the mesh parts of my shoes and/or to buy some synthetic fancy socks (cheaper than a new pair of shoes). A wonderful idea! They advised that trail shoes would be clunkier than I'd need unless I was to do a lot of running at Palos. (Palos is apparently a good place for trail running SW of the city.) So I spent fifteen minutes or so fashioning some tape to neatly cover the mesh of my shoes. And about fifteen paces into my run it already was peeling off. Eventaully, all the tape came off both shoes. Perhaps I'll find it next time I run in the morning. And I'll have to use more tape next time, I suppose.

The Drive Activity: eh. There were some cars. Why is this here? I forget why we found thi interesting.
People tally: There was one woman walking on the bike path. She had a funky black and white stiped coat on and seemed rather out of her element. Probably because no one else was around and it was snowing, dark, and cold. Where could she be coming from, where could she be going?

What did I eat pre-run? I think I had eaten something at work before I left.

How did I feel? Pretty good. I have to make myself run faster now. I know I can, but I'm lazy when I'm by myself and find I'm always slowing down unless I think about it.

What do I like about running? Oh, golly. How many things can I come up with?
______________________________________

There's a lot of talk of writing in my family. And how discipline is every bit as important as natural ability or skill. And how, if you want to accomplish anything in life, discipline is a necessity.

Beginning to talk

I want to write about my relationship with my father. He was significant in my life from the beginning. He played a critical role in the development of my ideas about the world, how I process life, and what I value. When he became sick, it affected me more than I realized at the time. In some ways it deadened me. Life lost its vibrancy. I misplaced my spark.

And when he died, well, to this I was very present. His death, and perhaps his life, became a challenge to overcome. My mission became finding the value, meaning, and understanding I was never quite sure that he had found. Embracing life and trusting in a way I do not think he allowed for himself. It has been 6 years since he died, 12 since he was diagnosed. I accept this. I understand this. It is no longer painful for me.

But his sickness had stolen my sense of hope as well as my creative voice. Pain can be a catalyst to creative genius, but it an also stifle your sound. I want to unplug that stopper in my throat. When I think about writing anything creative, doing anything creative, it always comes back to this. This. My father. This ghost with my father.

And so this is where I need to begin. With him.

________________________________________

I have a box of journals I have kept over the years with varying degrees of details, insight, and sanity. They will be useful as I try to reconstruct and express whatever it is that about my relationship with him that needs to come out.

I wrote an entry on a notepad, sized two inches by three, the day after my parents told my siblings and me of my father's illness. This was a notepad I carried with me everywhere, mostly it consisted of random philosophical observations about life and people. If I recall correctly, I was sitting in my car, a 1977 Brown Ford Grenada, waiting for an orchestra rehearsal...

7-20-95
Yesterday, we had a "family meeting" after lunch. Dad officially announced to the family (Mom already knew, of course) that he had been diagnosed with Leukemia (CLL).

"Does this mean you're gonna die, Daddy?"
"We all die sometime."
"But I don't want my Dad to die." -Anne, age 9 1/2

I let my own tears fall--there are times when they are appropriate. But I didn't let myself get all choked up, it wouldn't help anything. Matt kept asking questions, but he remained remarkably calm - the brave knight - he's growing up. Anne took it the hardest which I think would have been expected since she's the youngest and has had the least time with him.

Mom...this was why she didn't want to discuss whether or not she believed in God. (At Hardee's coming home from Quincy). Dad had said he didn't really think so but would like to think there was one. Dad is expected to live twenty years, at least. Because it is chronic and was detected very early. There is not a cure for CLL, but in 15-20 years, who knows?

Anyhow, everyone has to die of sometime, sooner or later, and 73 or 74 isn't all that young. Young enough to be reasonably independent. Old enough to have lived a full life. What it did point out was how precious life is, and how quickly it can be pulled out of you. Life is like a clock put together by an eternally shaking box. And like all things, the material that life is made out of wants to return to a state of chaos. That the life "force" is stronger than the other, it made ways for itself to continue on in the form of offspring. While each house of the life force must return [to chaos] the house will make another so it can continue.

Dad's leukemia is very slight. He has not one symptom. He only found out through a blood test for a safety training thing that his white blood cell count was just slightly too high. There is still a slight chance it is not cancer, until the final tests come back. But I kind of hope it is leukemia, if it's not, it might be something much worse.

Why do I write this first? After all, this is not the beginning of the story chronologically. But it is the point around which everything changed. It has the strongest gravitational pull for me.

In reading what I had written, I see who I was then, and who I am now. I know now I was intellectualizing my pain. It is one method of dealing with grief. Something I learned to do quite well to avoid having to really feel anything. Sort of like being the atheist I was; if you know there is nothing, you don't have to trust that there might be.

And the final word on his prognosis was 6 years, not 20. He was 59.

________________________________


I can't find much in the way of journal entries from the summer of 1995 until the summer of 1996.

Excerpts from an email to my dearest friends, almost two years later...

Mon, 28 Apr 1997

...i think i am shallow.
what should i do about this?
that's why i want out of the sciences. i feel that they are making me shallow.
but i know it is not them--it is me.
i can't write anymore. this is frustrating.
i got an a on my bio exam.
and an a on my last rhet paper.
but i don't feel that i am doing well.
am i loosing my voice.
figuratively. literally.
i'm confused. i feel shallow. i feel i can't explain things to my satisfaction and this is what makes me shallow...

...i don't want to feel.
all i want to do is feel...

...nothing is explainable. but i think i accept things. i thought this was good now i'm asking myself is it.
what do you think? there is so much bad, but i accept it. i think there is no choice but to accept it.
my father has leukemia. but he doesn't not really. like knowing you are going to be hit by a bus in ten years. it's not real.

i have no choice but to accept it.
my grandmother is dying. she's been dying since dotty died. dying inside and now on the outside.
the only option is to accept it.
she's buried her whole family. sisters. brothers. parents. grandparents. her youngest son. i was in the stars. her only daughter. it wasn't.
i feel so shallow. now i hate myself for being so concerned about me.
ME. ME. ME. i hate it.
my thoughts. my feelings. what does it matter?
do you think i'm beautiful.
i feel beautiful when i'm naked...

________________________________


And from my journal the following the summer after my freshman year of college...

May 26, 1997

...I awoke last morning into loneliness, before the sun had risen to disguise the emptiness of the universe that becomes so apparent at night. (Perhaps this is why we sleep at night--to avoid the obvious truth that we are all loners in the dark sea).

But last morning I awoke before the sun and was greeted by a cold reality. That I am alone in life. And that there will come a time when I will cease to draw a breath and again enter into another phase of loneliness.


June 26, 1997
I want to be a writer. I want to be a massage therapist. I want to have experiences that feed my mind, body, and spirit and through this make my life interesting and worth living. I want other things. I want to live in a house of straw on a lake in the mountains. I want to fall in love but don't believe in it and this causes conflict within me. I want to have a child and love him or her but am afraid of the total consumption of this love and also don't want the responsibility this love entails. Perhaps this will change as I grow.