what if it was what if this is it and all that has come before or is yet to come is this just this can you handle it? hang here until until well until this nothing changes to a new nothing

turn towards

it

not away from

it

open to

it

listen to

it

learn from

it

feel your reaction

then forget how you feel

keep listening

stay long enough

to hear what

it

is trying to tell

you

know your place

know that without a hearer

it can not

be heard

to not be heard

means

to stay separate

to not heal

it

takes two

it

takes you

turning towards

not away

it takes you

demanding

to be heard

to be whole

means

to

not outside

it

not over

it

beyond

it

or other than

all of it.

It’s day 4, another non writing day. I read the prompts from the writing challenge. It asks if you knew the world was going to end in the next 24 hours, what would you do with the time you have left. Sadly, I realize that I wouldn’t use the time writing. So there’s that.

My dog snores, loudly. I find that odd. And I can’t nudge her to make her roll over. She doesn’t budge or skip a beat. I would record it for you if I felt like it.

I realize I don’t like writing unless I have a story, or an inspiration to write something. I have lots of writing prompts, even a book called, “1001 writing prompts.” I summarily dismiss them all. blah. Is 127 words enough to count as a writing for the day?

I have things brewing, I have stories to tell, I would just rather watch horrible tv on my free trial week of hulu.com. I can’t get into this.  What’s next, what’s next, what’s next? Bed. is. next.

Day 2 of a 30 day writing challenge. 2nd post. I didn’t write yesterday. No excuse, I just didn’t. But I’m writing today. Why? I read an interesting quote in my horoscope for this week – What matters most is what you actually do with the opportunities that bear weight. Chasing even the most constant muse is not enough; you must work with her daily, diligently and devotedly.

Because of this quote, today I went to yoga, cleaned my house and am writing. Three things that are important to me but 3 things that I’m not good at (anymore). I have never been good at cleaning, actually, I’m better now than I’ve ever been, but still not that great. It’s something that I thought I would have down by the time I hit 44, but alas, like so many other things it is still a work in progress. 

The prompt for the 30 day writing challenge yesterday, the day I didn’t write, was:

Write a letter to the person you think you should have been by now. Explain to them why you aren’t them and offer them proof that who you are is better.

This is a topic I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Why I chose now to take a snapshot of my life’s trajectory I have no idea, but I didn’t and it isn’t great, but it also isn’t bad – I guess I’d say it is “interesting’. The person I think I should have been by now is actually awesome, I am not better than her, but the ‘interesting’ part is that I am Way better now than the person I shockingly easily could have become and the person that i was on the way to becoming.

So today, I am celebrating all the hers that I am not.

I am not a raging alcoholic – genetic predisposition and plenty of practice starting at age 12. Hit my peak around 17, then luckily tapered off from there and quit completely at age 38. Thank you ayahuasca.

I am not a bitter divorcee addicted to pain killers – Yes, I wish I was married, but no, I do not wish I was married to any of the men I’ve been in a relationship with so far in my life, even the two I was engaged to. All nice people, but nope. I’m good.

I don’t have kids who hate me – Yes, I wish I had children, but no, I cannot guarantee that I would have been a good mom. With children I would have stayed in a relationship that I wasn’t happy in, I wouldn’t have been able to have the time and experiences that have led me to such an incredible healing path which would have definitely led to all of the above. Thank you, body, for having more wisdom that I ever have, and made me infertile way before I could have fucked up my and many others lives in the process.

So no, I’m not the person I hoped I would be. But Thank God, I am definitely not the person I could have been. And the most interesting part is because of that, because of where I am now, I very well could still become the her I always wanted to be.

A challenge to write everyday for 30 days. It feels like starting a diet, the same feelings and aversions are triggered. In fact, I just had to stuff half a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in my face before I could sit down and write. It’s like, this thing, this writing is something so important to me, something I am dying to do, yet, it causes me so much pain to begin, to just sit my butt down and write something for a few minutes. The same with dieting. I just want to be in shape, I just want to eat well, as my health depends upon it. All I’ve ever wanted to be is skinny, yet I do things daily to derail that dream. And look at this, all I’ve ever wanted to be is a writer. Since I was a child. Truly. And what do I do, come up with 4000 distractions each and every day to avoid making that dream a reality. Funny how things work. (Funny ironic, not funny ha!)

So here I am, day one of a 30 day challenge to write every day. 190 words in. 193. I have 38 more minutes to write. Do I write about what I did last night? I bet you’ll never guess what I did last night, no really. I would give you 1 million guesses and I bet you do no guess what I did last night.

Apropos of nothing my name is Katherine MacKenzie. Mother’s maiden name is Zimmerman. WASP, recovering Catholic, plant medicine, nature loving agnostic or something along those lines. I’m into life and universality and astrology and actually, in all honesty I’m unable or unwilling to commit to one spiritual practice. Just like in everything, I’m all over the map.  Anyway, this information won’t help you with your guesses, but it will help me tell you what I did last night.

Last night I sat in as the substitute for the Jewish Rabbi for Friday night services. That’s right, I did the lighting of the candles, of course I didn’t lead the services, the very adept and gracious congregation did that, but they let me sing along, they included me in the reading of the prayers, and I facilitated a lively discussion on the poem, Life & Death, by Rumi.  I for one evening was a welcome participant in a religious, cultural ritual that has been practiced for centuries by people that haven’t been talking to “my people” (by a only a very loose affiliation that I cop to only for this story) since time began.

oh, and it was held inside a maximum security prison. I told you you’d never guess. Anyway, that’s what I did last night.

24 more minutes. I have an internet addiction. All I want to do right now is go to yahoo.com home page and read the headlines of the stories listed for the day. 95% of the time I don’t actually click on and read any of the stories, I just read the headlines. Then when I’m done there, I go to huffingtonpost.com and do the same thing. The worse part about it, other than it’s a gigantic waste of time with zero reward or enrichment offerings, is that I do this multiple times a day, so as I read the headlines, I am often reading all of the things I read the day before, or 3 hours ago. I’m so shallow that I can’t even read the shallow, nutrient deficient stories about a star sleeping with his nanny, no, I can only read the headline – over and over.

19 minutes. I won’t make it. I’ve already come up with things that I could be doing right now instead of writing. But hey, that’s ok. I’ve written, and over 600 words, and when I was suppose to. Isn’t that 90% of it. Just showing up. Plus, I’ve already warned you that this blog is all about all of the crap I have to write before I get to the gold. So, mission accomplished! More crap down on paper. Yay! I am so proud of myself I’m almost over the guilt of the Ben & Jerry’s.

Baby steps.

What do one do when what you want, what you need just simply doesn’t exist in your reality? Like a rubiks cube who’s confetti covered sides still need infinite turns away, up and over, around and around before all colors are to find their match, to come together as whole. The true test is when there are rows and rows of red, yet to secure that last corner red piece, you must break up rows an rows of red that have seemed to have found their place, they are good, just waiting for the last bits to fall into place. Yet, for that red to be whole, it must once again bring in the other colors, to separate and twist away from that that it knows is it’s own, to move away and allow green and blue and yellow to take residence in it’s space, in order to find it’s way back to true red, full red. Moving with trust, moving this way only because it knows it’s the only way.

But the rub, the trick is…stray too far, take one click left too far, bring in one wrong blue, and your seemingly solid red is once again, fractured, lost and alone among that which is not it’s own with no way back to itself. So it takes risk, it takes turning away, completely annihilating that comfortable place that is ‘almost wholeness’ in order to have the hope to bring it back fully. To become solid red. All this, required, yet without any guarantee, all without ultimate risk that red will be lost in a confetti sea for ever.

This blog is meant for quantity, not quality. I’m writing to get in the habit of writing. I don’t have to polish and perfect with constant re-writes and edits. If I do that, I’ll never make it to 1001. Plus, it’ll just bum me out. So the last piece I really think could be good if I actually spent some time on it. But I also don’t want to put so much pressure on myself. This is a personal reminder that this is the space just to write, without criticism or perfectionism. Just write.

However, I give myself the right, if I choose, to go back and edit as I see fit.

That’s all.

it only hurts when I compare it to how I ‘should’ be feeling, or how I ‘used’ to feel, when I get the question, “so, what are you doing now?” “What do you do for fun?”

It only feels weird when two different neighbors are having parties and I can’t seem to get myself to either, even though I told myself that I wanted to go. It’s 9’clock and I’m starting my second Netflix movie. I guess I didn’t want to go after all. I’ll have to avoid them for a few days so they don’t ask where I was. It’s just as weird to explain that I wasn’t feeling well. The look of pity, or more like fear shows up on their face. phew, I’m glad I’m not her.

But here’s the crazy secret, though I have zero energy for most things I used to do in my life, what everyone else does on a regular basis, when something comes along that I do want to do – regardless of how I feel –  like magic the energy shows up in spades. I jump in, drive as much as I need to, stay out as late as possible, whatever, it doesn’t slow me down. And I have a great time! The illness moves, takes a back seat to allow me to enjoy myself

It’s just now there aren’t that many things that light me up. Dinner and a movie with a select group of friends, ceremony, prison, retreat, walks in the woods with Maggie. That’s about it. The rest I simply can’t be bothered with right now.

It only bothers me when I feel I ‘should’ want to go. Or I ‘should’ be more social, or I think I am social and I’m missing something. In these moments is when I forget that I have, time and time again, gone out because of these beliefs and have been SORELY disappointed.

So actually, my illness is simply a blessing that allows me to stay in, to retreat, to rest in a world that doesn’t hold these things in high esteem. It is a gift that is giving me the time to heal from all of the frenetic insanity that was my life before. It is a gift that shows me that the peace and well being that I was so longing for is right here, in this place that unless forced to by illness, I would have Never ventured. You would not have caught me dead living a quite, semi-solitary life as an introvert. I would have died first. Well, lucky I only ‘almost’ had to die a few times before I caught on to the trick.

All that energy and movement, all that striving and extroversion, all that pushing and stressing, agonizing, exhausting existence wasn’t living, wasn’t growing or ‘winning’, it was violence, violence against body and my spirit. It was hell. I wasn’t killing myself, I was already dead.

This place I find myself in now, this ‘illness’ that reminds me I need 9 hours of sleep a night, the sensitivity that keeps me away from high energy places with lots of people, this exhaustion that makes me unfit to work a 40 hour week for someone else. It pushes me to spend my energy only on things that are important to me, that feed me. It doesn’t let anything or anyone drain me.

It’s allowed me to heal my blown out nervous system, it’s allowed me to ‘hear’ what my heart truly wants over the din of my deluded brain, it’s allowed me to enjoy long walks in the woods and actually enjoy it without worrying how many calories I’m burning, it’s allowed me to find reality, it’s allowed me to see beauty and God everywhere, in e v e r y t h i n g. Every single thing, to finally see and appreciate every thing I’ve missed by ‘feeling good’ by being energized, by trying to ‘be somebody’

This illness is allowing me to be well for the first time in my life.

BY ROBERT W. SERVICE

Will you write while you’re away?

How will it reach me?

What will it say?

Which is more:

your worry of arrival

or regret for the reason you need to depart?

Either way, I bless you with wind in your sails and courage in your heart.

May your stories be filled with adventure and delight,

but your soul be filled with the longing for insight.

the sun will set on your dreams a time or two.

But i hear the trick is

to get up again and again

each time

brand new.

The water is near to nourish and carry you along.

But don’t be lulled to sleep by its gentle waves…

It too has the power to silence your song.