not turning away from life, as it is

(photos from last month. outtakes from the #365lex project -  the chosen photo of that day is here.)

what living right here, right now means:

it's snowing again. it wasn't supposed to start until the afternoon and yet, it's snowing and it is not even noon yet.

i get frustrated. i get impatient. i get touched out, angry that my kid needs me so damn much. that my extremely stoic husband won't let me help him. that i want and want and see myself wanting and can't fix the wanting. i can only show up to it and see it for what it is. being human.

i show up to the pain. i show up to being a shitty mom when i am. show up to being a shitty wife. a shitty friend. and oh my fuck how that hurts. i want nothing more than to not fuck up this parenting thing. to not fuck up this wife thing. not fuck this being a human thing. but there it is. fucks ups aren't optional. they're going to happen.

if yom kippur teaches me anything, it's that apologizing, making amends, turning away from fucking up - that needs to happen every year, every day, every minute. there isn't a wham bam you're never gonna hurt again moment. we don't go into the mikveh and come out clean and innocent and then stay that way.

(i haven't been to the mikveh since i converted.)

january is deadly to my spirit. this cold. this snow. (at least the snow covers the dead-brown plants.)

but i have to live through january. i have to live through the cold, the snow, the dead-brown before it comes back to life, before spring. and i do. i live.

i am acknowledging what it means to live, right here, right now, for me.

well, not really here and now. this moment is a good moment (i am listening to Infant Sorrow, which is almost but not quite as great as The Lonely Island). i am not a shitty mom in this moment, not a shitty wife. not a shitty friend. (that i am aware of. admittedly, i don't always know.)

showing up to the pain happened last week. i write about pain after it happens, well, that's just a fact of writing in that writing during pain happens to be not the best way to show up to it and not let it fester, not let it dig deeper. i am showing up to the pain, but i am also letting it pass - as all things pass.

what doesn't pass the is base root of life: here and now, this moment. love. the immense wholeness of being. of my being, of yours. there's no need to be worthy in that wholeness. no having to be enough. there just is. the immensity of being in which you play an intrinsic role. what else can we do but be ourselves in the best way we can, moment to moment? sometimes that means fucking up. sometimes that means having fun fucking.

and knowing that immenseness, i can be present (as much as possible) with what is, even when it feels like it will rip me apart. (almost four years now. four years. the missing isn't so close anymore, but it is part of me.)