Beliefnet
The Bliss Blog

“The Journey
by Mary Oliver
“One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice —
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do —
determined to save
the only life you could save.”

This poignant poem reached out to me this morning, following an intense and deep conversation last night with my friend Tom who has become a dear one in my life and whose soon to be birthed book I am editing.  We had been talking about a common pattern of what I call ‘savior behavior’. With a shared Libra healing and peacemaking sensibility, we have noticed a tendency to draw people into our lives who are facing major life challenges. In my case, whether or not they request it, I offer support, encouragement, ideas, advice and in the past (not as much anymore, blessedly) direct intervention. Sometimes this comes to my own detriment.

The origins of my excessive co-dependent caregiving came by way of my parents who modeled it exquisitely. In addition to raising my sister and me, working, having a life long loving marriage, a social and spiritual life, they each also volunteered in the community. My dad was a firefighter, led a Sunday morning breakfast/prayer gathering at our synagogue and did what was then called Patterning, which would be considered a form of physical therapy with a young girl in our neighborhood. My mom volunteered at synagogue as well, was a homeroom parent, helped out at our swim meets; our kitchen was a kind of Girl Scout cookie central when it was time to vend the decadent treats. In addition, the front window of our home bore the the red and white Helping Hand sign that told neighborhood kids that ours was a safe haven to come to if they were in danger. Holiday tables included friends and family from various circles.

They were reliable and seemingly on call 24/7. They appeared to be able to do it all and were universally loved. I wanted to emulate them. My mother would say that she was a rock and would hold it together in a crisis and then would fall apart afterward. Funny thing is that I never saw her fall apart. I would sometimes say to her, “You know, mom, rocks crumble.”  It wasn’t until many years later (2014) when I experienced the horrific pain of kidney stones when my own began to crumble, that I realized how much like her I truly was.

My personal and professional resume calls me out and has reflected these patterns.  Social worker-therapist-minister-coach-mom-wife-friend-lover-daughter-sister-aunt. Each of these designations carried with them the belief that I needed to be all things to all people.

So, back to the conversation. Tom had commented that it was time to rescue and save myself. I remember my lifeguard training back in the 1970’s that taught me to wait for someone to stop struggling before going in after them, since diving in immediately would likely have them pull me under with them. Then there is the oxygen mask metaphor. While traveling on an airplane, the flight attendant instructs that if needed, put the life giving equipment on yourself first, since you can’t help anyone else if you are passed out from oxygen deprivation. I can’t count the number of times I have attempted to do just that while physically or emotionally crawling and gasping.

I cried when I realized how exhausted I get at times. I cried to all the times when I gave support when I wanted to receive it…hard as it is at times to admit that I actually need it. Who me, human? Who me, vulnerable? Nah. Wonder Woman at your service.

As I am listening to the sweet soothing lullabye sounds of Enya wafting through the air, taking in the sunlight streaming through the windows, the sprinkler offering nourishment to the lawn, the planets soaking up the rays, breathing a sigh of gratitude for my friend, his kindness and generosity and the ways in which he mirrors me.

Saving myself today.

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As I am typing these words, I am curled up on a comfy couch in a B & B (or more appropriately ‘bee and bee’) called The Hive. It is located in the Ontario Canadian town of Leskard. I trekked up here on Friday from my Bucks County, Pennsylvania home, taking to the roads at 8:30 a.m. and arriving (three potty stops and one gasoline stop later) at around 5:00 pm. The roads were clear, with minimal traffic as I listened to music, sang, danced (yes, I dance in the car sometimes…and as I was doing so, I remembered a story told to me by a Canadian friend who was stopped by a police officer here in the states for doing that!)  and enjoyed the brilliant summer scenery en route. I was excited to arrive to celebrate the wedding of my friends Shayne Traviss and Tim Emberley who embarked on their relationship 18 years ago when introduced by a friend.

Shayne and I cyber-met back in 2011 and then he introduced me to his partner at a conference all three of us  attended that year.  At the time, Shayne was launching additional radio shows on Vivid Life to enhance an already stellar line-up. He offered me the opportunity to create my own show, called It’s All About Relationships. As we worked together, albeit long distance, we got to know each other well. When he told me that he and Tim were tying the knot, I was thrilled and began making plans for heading Northward.

When I stumbled out of the car, I felt as if I had stepped into a faerie land paradise as I was greeted with a hug from Elsii Faria who is co-owner, with Kevin Craddock of The Hive. I breathed a sigh of surrender as I entered  from drivetime into playtime. This eco-friendly haven tucked in the woods has a European country side elegance to it, with natural touches, such as river rocks around the wood burning stove, polished to a high finish hardwood floors, plush bath towels, big bottles of shampoo, conditioner and body wash in the spacious showers, rather than the rather wasteful mini bottles, as well as my favorite, peppermint soap at the sink. The breakfast, which is self serve, includes organic juices, almond and soy milk, cereals, eggs, fruit and bread. The Hive is also a holistic retreat center where I will be teaching next year. What makes the place all the more wondrous is the love that goes into it.

Over the weekend I met hug to hug, friends  I had only known via the marvels of modern technology and the phenom of Facebook:  Crystal-Lee Quibell , Sharon Quirt, Jodi Clauss Salata, Jeff Brown, Susan Frybort and Milana Vinokur. I had the joy of re-uniting with another friend Eloise Morrison and my angel-agent Raquel Benavidez.  When I checked into my room, I found a lovely Canadian care package from Shayne and Tim that included a mug with a bear on it, maple syrup, votive candles, a box of Smarties and ketchup potato chips, as well as a beautiful card that had me in tears.


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After a bunch of us arrived, Shayne led us on a tour of the grounds and showed us where the ceremony would take place the next day. The wonderland includes a clear flowing over rock tumbling stream. Icy cold, it chilled the heat from the drive and the mud between my toes was a welcome relief. Gathered on the deck were the families of Tim and Shayne and together we dug into pizza, salad and a rainbow decorated, sparkler bedazzled birthday cake. In addition to celebrating nuptials the next day, Shayne was turning 41.

The morning of the wedding dawned bright and breezy, as requested, rather than the possibility of rain that was forecast. Clearly, the weather devas were with us. Country chic decor highlighted the festivities, as patchwork quilt blankets, with bottles of mineral water, goblets and picnic baskets were scattered across them.

The ceremony was officiated by Spiritual Minister Sharon Quirt who created a sacred space in this impromptu chapel in the woods that began with cleansing, with the burning of sage, coming from a Native American tradition. She then spoke of the relationship between these two men who have seen each other through joys and challenges. They were garbed in black jeans, white shirts, suspenders and bow ties made of bird feathers, as were their male attendants, with the women wearing flowing white with earrings and hair clips similarly embellished and Sharon having donned a pale blue print dress as she presided over the ceremony. A handfasting ritual incorporating a Tibetan scarf that was wrapped around their joined hands reinforced the idea that their lives were bound one to the other and that with each knot tied, they hearts were as well. They acknowleged that although it was not their intention, they might inadvertantly hurt each other. They affirmed that it was indeed their intention to love and support each other for the long journey they were on. Sharon asked us all to join in the bond with them as we suppported their marriage. We all enthusiastically agreed.

The music that enhanced the service and the celebration that followed, was offered by a sweet couple named Sarah Frank and Luke Fraser who call themselves The Bombadils, so named after a characted in the Lord of the Rings series. Celtic-folk-mystical-magical is how I would describe them.

The food was phenomenal and simple. Cheeses, bread, fruit, sweet treats abounded.  The wedding cake was a luscious vanilla with custard filling shaped like a pineapple, enwrapped in gold fondant.

Far and away, the sweetest treat was the love fest that occurred all weekend long. I will carry the residual energy with me as I make the trip back home.

For Shayne and Tim (change the lyrics a wee bit), wishing you a life long loving relationship. You are off to a grand start. <3

 

As I was making my way from my home in beautiful, bucolic Bucks County, PA to North of the border Canada for what I know will be a magical wedding of my friends Shayne Traviss and Tim Emberly, I was tuning in to various radio stations as I lost signals and then picked them up once again. I happened upon religious programing on which a couple was being interviewed about the death of their youngest daughter shortly after her birth. The were tearful as they described the emotional roller coaster they had been on at the time of her passing and since then. They expressed their belief that since they were faith-filled and devotional, that they would be spared hardship and trial, but they had come to accept that life happens, regardless and loss is part of it. The show host reminded them that their was no quid pro quo with God, to which they agreed.

As I contemplated events in my own life, from the ectopic preganancy I experienced, to the  Hepatitis C diagnosis my husband had, which led to his death, to the loss of our home to Hurricane Andrew in Homestead, Florida in 1992, to my parents’ passing, followed by a series of health crises and financial challenges, I too have come to the same conclusion as this couple. God didn’t make any of it occur. My take on it  is that God/Goddess/All That Is, has been the strength and comfort that has sustained me through each of them.

I smiled when I realized that all really is well and that I will get through the financial uncertainties I am facing at the moment. I reminded myself that if those thoughts weren’t hammering at me, I would be enjoying the journey to Ontario, where I am right now as I am typing these words. Freshly showered, after the 8 1/2 hour trip,  hugging the grooms and other friends  when I arrived, some who I met for the first time, since knowing them for years via Facebook, a traipse through the woods, wading in the icy cold creek, getting muddy sneakers, walking barefoot in the grass, watching the wedding rehearsal, enjoying the mixture of salad and pizza and lemon infused water, followed by a sparkler and rainbow decotated birthday cake to celebrate Shayne’s birthday tomorrow. I enjoyed the dimming sky and lively conversation.

Okay, so back to the car ride…right after I listened to the interview, I was again flipping through the dial and a song came on that had me laughing and saying, “Got it.” It was a Jon Bon Jovi classic called Living On A Prayer. Even though the story line didn’t resemble my own journey, the title grabbed me. Less than an hour later, as I had crossed the border from NY to Canada, guess which song came back on another station, just in case I hadn’t gotten the message the first time. Now I knew I was truly taken care of and that all I may doubt, on the other side, has assurance that per Christian mystic Julian of Norwich, ““All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.”

 

 

 

 

As a 57 year old woman penning these words, I am amply aware that I have accumulated some baggage in my lifetime. From the moment we are born into families, we are threaded through with ancestral messages; spoken and silent. As we move through childhood, adolesence and adulthood, we pack into our ever enlarging duffel bags, relationships, beliefs and behaviors. Some take the form of addiction and illness; others, emotional tsunamis that threaten to capsize our boats in the midst of the vast oceanic expanse with no rescue in sight.
When we find ourselves encountering another with whom we want to emabark on a journey, we notice the size of the baggage they are toting around. Some are overburdened with symbolic suitcases handed down to them by family legacy, while others are accumulated over time. It is at that moment, we have the opportunity to decide if we want to grab handles and hoist shoulder straps and haul away the luggage. If it is done with and not for the other person, with the expectation that it is a shared endeavor and that it is acceptable to put it down and rest for a bit, then it is manageable.
As a recovering co-dependent, workaholic, I have, sadly chosen to hoist, haul and carry the various sized containers brought into relationships. My marriage was the greatest example of said behaviors. In the 12+  years we were together (we met on October 24, 1986 and Michael died on December 21, 1998), I vacillated between willingly sharing the load and feeling obligated to do so. His history followed him into the marriage and in some ways, became our shared destiny. Although I saw clearly how many valises he toted in his life, I convinced myself that with enough love and determination, we could unpack them and toss some of what they contained. Giving us both credit, we were able to lighten the load  and by the time he died from end stage liver disease, some healing had taken place and I would like to think that he took the next leg of his journey, baggage-free.
In conversation a few nights ago, with my  face to face friend Greg Bullough., we were talking about the dynamics in relationships that involve said satchels. It continued onto the Facebook thread of another friend,  Tom Ziemann.
Greg: “Gee, it seems possible actually to love someone’s ‘baggage.'” It helps when you own a matching set, I guess.”
 

Edie: “You did mention that in our recent conversation too. Remember I said that I prefer carry on that can fit in the overhead compartment, or under the seat, rather than steamer trunk.”

 
Greg: “Truth to tell, most baggage is carry-on, when properly packed and handled. Much is simply a small personal item. It’s as often as not the handler who turns it into a steamer-trunk by not handling it well. “

It becomes light when someone says, “Let me help you carry that, and you can help me with some of mine.”
 
Seems to me that if we claim our own baggage, check it at the gate and decide if it meets weight and size standards, then we can travel light.
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