Poetry is not just something on a page. Life is poetry. Herbs are poetry. I love St. John’s wort and oatstraw. Our approach to holistic healing has to become more holistic.
This is an illustration from my book The Ecstatic Goddess. There are a couple of calligraphy pieces in it. Click here for more information on the book.
Part One in a Series about the Hidden Life of Disabled People
This article has five helpful hints on . . . how to be helpful. Humans are basically good. When they see someone with disabilities struggling, they want to lend a hand. But if they don’t know how or the best way to do so, they might do nothing. This can leave them frustrated or disappointed in themselves. That can be avoided.
Hint #1: Ask. When it seems a disabled person might need assistance, it is easy to think that saying “Can I open that door for you?” or even “Can I help?” might be intrusive, presumptuous, or condescending. Naw. Just ask. On the other hand, mine is the opinion of one person. Someone else who is disabled might feel differently. That brings me to my second helpful hint.
Hint #2: Ask for instructions. What works for your wheelchair-bound Uncle George may not work for someone else who rides a chair. Not all disabilities are the same. Even a specific diagnosis can manifest in a lot of entirely different ways. Here’s an example. (I’ll be the examples herein, since it is easy for me to write them.) Sometimes I have to be lifted, in my chair, over a step. If someone assumes that it is good to lift me the same way they do George, I may get injured. I break so easily that I have pulled a hip joint simply by speaking. Also, my wheelchair might be unlike George’s. Instead of assuming you know how to lift any chair, and starting in on the job, first ask “How do you want me to lift you?” Which brings me to Helpful Hint #3.
#3: Ask for instructions. (Okay, I’m repeating the last hint. But, even if you have no assumptions based on ol’ George, asking for instructions is a topic unto itself.) I’m often injured by well intended people. E.g.: Some very considerate guy sees my caretaker having a difficult time getting my wheelchair over a doorway’s threshold. He is kind to ask if he can assist, but then he pushes the chair hard, to get me over the bump. This jars my spine. I’m in pain for a week. Mind you, the jarring may not be huge; the accommodating man isn’t being rough per se. Before I learned better by becoming crippled myself, I would have pushed the exact same way. (Now I know to ask my caretaker to turn the chair ‘round and wheel me in backwards.) I’ve repeatedly been injured by nice folks who lack know-how. So, ask for instructions. In cases of navigating obstacles, ask the person in the wheelchair exactly how they want it done. This brings me to the next super-duper helpful hint.
#4: Ask the person with disabilities, not the caretaker. I am not a bag of groceries someone is transporting. I am capable of thought. Don’t look past me to the caretaker. I know my needs better than anyone else can. When I am out and about, my caretaker and I dialogue about how to manage what we are undertaking. Join in our dialog.
Yes, I keep asking you to ask. On the bright side, this means you don’t have to fear doing the wrong thing, or figure out what to do all on your own. You ask and voilá, instant competence!
Hint #5: Dialog. When you ask a question, wait for the answer. As the expression goes, “Silence is not consent.” Some people need a moment, or a lot longer, to prepare for speech. E.g.: I may have to shift position to speak safely. If speaking is hard for someone, it can require physical preparation that might be small—e.g. a minuscule shifting, a deep breath, or a moment of stillness in which to rest. These subtle preparations may not be recognized as such. Wait for speech.
And wait for the full answer. It can require enormous patience to listen to someone slow in speech, but let them finish. Why? Example: I can’t manage speech well when moving. So if someone’s assumption about how I was going to finish my sentence is wrong, and they grab my chair and start moving it, I am at their mercy, no matter how injuriously they are handling things.
My suggestions aren’t always easy to implement. Being of service to anyone who is “differently abled” can be challenging. But helping others gives one greater self-respect and personal fulfillment. It also puts you shoulder to shoulder with some wonderful generous and interesting folks. Or knee to shoulder.
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I fondly reminisce about the perfect weekend. In an ocean-side tourist town, I lazily passed the time, stayed abed late, walked along the beach, and ate by candlelight. And felt, by Sunday night, the lovely warm glow of a romantic weekend tryst. However, I was alone the whole time, having gone off to get some peace and quiet by myself. I was shocked by the result!
My surprise was a happy one, though. I was delighted that many of the marvelous feelings experienced during a romantic getaway don’t necessitate a partner—they come from the getaway itself. (Boy, publishing this info is going to thwart a lot of seducers.)
You may want to try it. But I’ll warn you, people kept asking where I lived (it’s just something one asks in a tourist town). When I’d respond, “San Francisco,” they were shocked, because S.F. was just over the bridge. I was only a half hour from my apartment! No one could fathom my spending a holiday weekend so close to home, let alone by myself. I didn’t care. Besides, they kept saying, “I’m jealous” with immense longing in their voices. They so wanted what I was having.
Don’t wait for love if you have no mate. Love yourself and do it now. Make memories of fabulous holiday weekends with or without a significant other now. You might even meet your soul mate while you’re gallivanting about. (And I got to make lots of folks jealous, instead of just one significant other.)
Afterthoughts: Okay, so enjoying life with or without a mate is relevant to everyone. Even if we have a significant other, we need to be happy in ourselves, or we can’t be fully happy with our beloved. Romantic Weekend, Straight Up is excerpted from my book, to be released fall, 2011.
Hi, some of my friends gave me arts ‘n’ crafts supplies for my birthday, Yule, or other reasons. Today’s blog is a way to say thank you again, by showing you how I used your gift. Whether you gave me supplies or not, I want to share this with you, just for the fun. I hope you enjoy it!
M gave me a gift certificate for Dharma Trading Company. I bought plain white pants. This is what I did with them.
K sent me fabulous beads, and W mailed me earring findings, plus all sorts of really cool filigree beads and bead caps. The pic is of single earrings, b/c I rarely wear pairs.
Ju gave me vintage doilies that I hand painted.
I go through rags fast, because of all my dying and painting. So my friend Jo gave me a bag of clothes his boss was throwing out. Jo’s always showing up with what I need! I rescued a mint-condition men’s ???-X T-shirt from the rag bag. Am proud of my idea: Cut T off right below the arms to make a kilted skirt. I kilted it instead of gathering it, so that all the stenciled part (it’s my original foliate face design, which I made a stencil of by hand) can be seen – – it lies flat over one thigh.
I also rescued a brand new black Tshirt from the bag. I painted it for my friend D, who’s going thru hard times.
I am so grateful for my friends.
More of my latest artwork: www.outlawbunny.etsy.com
The following is from my book Share My Insanity (release date – Autumn 2011) and was written maybe 2004 (I take years to write a book). It is dedicated to my beloved cat, Ganesh. May he rest in peace. He was the most joyous being I ever met. “Look, wow, isn’t it amazing? I have a tail. Wow, look, I have a paw. Whoo hoo, I knocked over a vase, isn’t the water running from it cool? Wow, Francesca’s mad at me for spilling all that water, cool!” His joy was a gift to me and my other cat Teenie. And with that:
The tale below illustrates the beneficence of the jumble, tumble, and bumble of life’s events.
Recently, at about 11 p.m., I decided to proof some typing. Ganesh, my cat, started meowing—that awful, loud, and insistent yowling that cats know drives you to distraction. Sure enough, I couldn’t concentrate. I chased him off repeatedly, to no avail.
Finally, I said to my older cat, Teenie—Ganesh is, let’s say, college freshman age—”Would you please take care of him for a while so I can work?” (Ignore the fact that I talk to cats.) Teenie came over to my table and—oh, lawd—promptly settled down onto the document I was trying to correct, completely covering it.
I looked at her and thought, Okay, I surrender!
I should’ve known better than to try to work when one of my cats was interfering. They do it for my own good when I need a break but am workaholically plugging away.
A friend expressed it perfectly when I called to tell her this true-life parable: We need to listen to our betters.
Sometimes, those superior beings are pets, but myriad other forms can manifest. For example, another time the wind may whip a hat off because it looks silly, thus sparing you a fashion gaffe. A superior being might also be the god within you, who’s telling you to do something other than what you are engaged in right then.
Whatever those helpful entities and traits are, they’re often part of life’s beneficent chaos—chaos that we resist, thinking we need to cling to some everything’s-in-its-right-place-and-time plan, and/or some “appropriate” order we imagine to be the underpinning of happiness and even of life itself. Sometimes, of course, it is good to cling to order, and there is an orderliness to the cosmos that guides us, nurtures us, and sets us free. Chaos, too, however, is one of life’s underpinnings, and not always a bad one. Often it acts like my cats, lovingly guiding us to the happiest possible conditions. Besides, chaos is simply part of the order that we can’t see the logic to. Doesn’t mean it’s not there. When the chaos of life interferes with our plans, it reflects a truer plan, one in accord with our real—but possibly ignored or even unknown—needs and longings. Nanao Sakaki, the renowned poet, said, “Listen to wind.” And me, I’ll also listen to cats. An odd form of Divine guidance? Odd is good.
***************
If you enjoyed this excerpt, Share My Insanity portrays my chaotic life as a mystic and just plain ol’ human, in-depth. Available on Amazon.
I consider food God, and the stove an altar. So Kathi knew I’d like her following guest blog. An ecstatic mystic takes care of soul and body!
Comfort Food for a Cold Day
By Kathi Somers
On a cold winter’s day, comfort food is what we need. Something hearty and warm to soothe the heart as well as the body.
I’ve adapted an old favorite to make it a little spicy. My family loves it and I hope you and yours enjoy it, too. You can make it healthier by using whole wheat macaroni and lowfat or skim milk.
Kathi’s Spicy Macaroni & Cheese
Oven: 350 Serves 6-8
2-1/4 cups of elbow macaroni
3 cups milk
4 Tbsp butter
3 Tbsp flour
Dash of cayenne
12 ounces shredded sharp cheddar cheese
1/2 cup chopped onion
1 pound frozen green peas
1 can Ro-Tel (tomatoes and chopped green chilis)
1. Cook 2-1/4 cups of elbow macaroni in boiling water for about 8 minutes. Drain and set aside.
2. Melt butter in a large saucepan and stir in flour and cayenne until it forms a paste (don’t let it brown).
3. Stir in milk until well blended. Stir and cook until bubbly and slightly thickened.
4. Turn off heat. Add cheese and stir until melted.
5. Mix in macaroni and the rest of the ingredients and pour into a 2-1/2 quart casserole dish.
6. Bake at 350 degrees for about 40 minutes.
Note: You can make it plainer by leaving out the Ro-Tel and substituting paprika for the cayenne. The peas are also optional.
Copyright 2011 by Kathi Somers. All rights reserved.
I’m nervous about this week’s blog being a picture-poem. Calligraphied pic-poems since a teen, but didn’t share lots til recently (mostly in oral tradition). In fact, I usually make them only for my own use. As is the case with the one below. But then decided to share it. Sharing my poems when they’re a pic-poem is intimate, feels even more risky than sharing my usual poetry! So…gulp. (Though others would differ, I find this barely a picture poem, but I’m compelled to share it. If you like it, then I’ll share wilder, more pictorial pieces.)
If the pic-poem isn’t big nuf, click on it. When a new window opens, be sure it’s open all the way; the image’ll be larger.
This picture poem is a contemplation, ritual, vision…ok, I’m being a bad bard. Bad mystic, bad! The ecstatic path unfurls itself, if you let it. Which is part of what the pic-poem is about, so I’d better try to walk my talk! So I’ll let the pic-poem speak 4 itself. Blessings on our day, moi
10/2011 Update: Blog-time is bendable. I posted this blog Jan 2011. It was written Dec 2010. The blog says it is “from my upcoming book.” Now the book is out. It is called Share My Insanity. And now the blog:
When It Comes to Romance, I’m Not a Normal Woman
Dec 2010. From my upcoming book.
Years ago, I attended a luthiers’ convention (luthiers build stringed instruments). I walked into the main exhibition hall, and went into a dead heat. Not because of all the fine dudes there. It was because of the guitars! I was stunned—completely shocked—to find out I could feel that way about them. But it was then I realized, I am not like other women!
My relationships with my guitars and my mandolin just ain’t right.
Multiple Sclerosis (that’s as close as we’ve gotten to a diagnosis) has made holding a guitar too difficult. I really missed it. (I name my guitars. My vintage Gibson semi-hollow-body electric was called Blondie. She’s living in Arizona now with a drummer.) One day, a friend dropped by, after a gig, toting a mando. I asked, “Put that in my lap, will you?” (It can be too hard for me to reach for things.) Lo, its weight was not too much on my thighs, and it was not too big for me to bend my torso around.
Blondie in the arms of someone new
I usually wouldn’t have asked to be passed a mando. I assumed I couldn’t manage it physically. But just couldn’t stop myself! Again, lo, it turned out way great—unlike some guys I dated whom I thought I could manage! Maybe my impulsively saying, “Put that on my lap, will you?” was a bit of the Divine too. The Gods of Chaos do use every part of a person toward Their agenda of us having immense joy.
Back to the story: My friend offered to lend the mandolin to me. However, it was his Dad’s. I insisted I could not accept it. But deep down, I’d fallen in love. I was lusting after another man’s mando! I mean, that’s actually how it felt to me, like I was breaking the tenth commandment, “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife” (or his musical instruments either, in my case! Oh, wait, now that I think of it: The full version of that commandment isn’t solely about wives. It’s also about coveting property. If craving someone else’s belongings is so rampant that Jehovah had to make a commandment against it, maybe I’m little normal).
My friend would not take no for an answer. I finally accepted his kind offer. But honest-to-goddess, I felt I was cheating with his wife!
Since then, he’s generously given me the mandolin. The mando and I have a legitimate relationship now. I am not normal.
And recently, there is my crush on Jacquard products. I won some of them in the TeeJuice contest (www.teejuice.com). Called Jacquard a few times to ask something about their merchandise. In maybe my second phone call, I suddenly found myself asking if they had a job opening.
They had no position available, and it was a crazy request. I have a job. And am not suited temperamentally to hold any position there. Besides, they’re in California, I’m in Pennsylvania. Plus I’m too disabled to go to an office. (I break easily. Seventy percent of the time I’d leave the house, I’d end up injured. So I happily live, love, and work, all at home.)
But I was acting impulsively because I’d fallen in love—with product. And with a company of really cool people. I wanted to be part of that family.
I still do, and am trying to make it happen. (Is this a courtship?) I figured one way I could contribute to their work would be as a writer. I submitted three articles to them (they accepted the third! Yaya!). I mention Jacquard products on this site for free. I will keep offering articles.
Another reason I adore this company is that I owe them big-time! In July or August 2010, their products taught me that I can draw ‘n’ paint. Doing so has been a huge blessing to me. More about this is in my blog “I Can Draw? Huh?“
So Jacquard started an adventure for me. They’re a bunch of people whom I perceive as doing something remarkable: the highest quality product, highest quality service, and genuine caring. Their TeeJuice contest is generous with prizes. I rely on it for some of my art supplies. I get to have the best possible stuff, which I could not otherwise afford. I want to be part of all this, support it any way I can. When someone has a project I think highly of, I tend to get involved, do my bit to support it. I also want to give back to them for all they’ve given me.
Still, a love affair with an inventory and a group of people is odd, no matter how amazing the merchandise or how awesome the people. (Today I got some Lumiere paint. It looked good enough to eat, yum!) It’s ridiculous. Aren’t I supposed to feel this way about a man? Or woman? Or polyamourous group? Is something wrong with me? Or am I instead passionate, focused, and capable of being in love with all of life? Yes, I like that explanation better.
Chosing colors of Jacquard's Pearl Ex to paint a doily
Afterthoughts
1) As a mystic on an ecstatic path, I really do find myself in love with all of life. There are moments of connectivity to individuals, or to a group I’m teaching (and in the latter instance, I’m also feeling connection with each person). Or during one of the spiritual practices I’ve created comes the experience of bonding with all the dots in the connect-the-dots painting that is the cosmos. And during all these unions, I am in love.
It’s part and parcel of what I realized long ago: I’m in love with my closest friends. But it isn’t a bad thing. I adore them, worship them, try to treat them as a beloved. It’s wonderful for them. And for me.
This style of friendship is not something I chose; it’s just how I innately do things, before I even recognized what I was doing. In case you misunderstand, I’m not talking about wanting to make love with them, nor do I put someone on a pedestal or otherwise set myself up for short, disappointing alliances. I am a loyal friend, with lifelong friendships. But they have a strong element of romance.
The world is my divine beloved.
2) Some people live happiest single, some married, and some do well with altogether different options.
One of my particular gifts as a spiritual teacher and counselor is to help people live their authentic self. So I’m able to guide them to choices other than my own. When I couple counsel, I rock! Yet I am single. Women who come to me looking for the dream mate repeatedly end up happily and long-term married.
We all have our own path; supporting each other along it is not about being identical. It’s about honoring the Divine Spark shining in each of us, by respecting whatever supposedly bizarre crazy way it manifests.
When it comes to romance, that might mean helping each other create new ways of being married, of being single, and of being everything in between.
——————
Check out Share My Insanity.
Detail from A doodle Is a Faerie Geometry Lesson. Silk Painting Picture-Poem, Francesca De Grandis
Probably 11/2010, I was leading a group, and trying to help us all relax better during mid-holiday frenzies. So I asked, “What do elves do on their day off?” to provide a role model. I told the groups’ members to each pick one thing an elf would do on their day off, and to do it.
Holidays may be over, but some of us (moi!) need to keep learning about self-care. The above exercise is useful any time of year.
However, before I gave them the exercise, I read them the piece below:
A Fairy Party
June 18, 2005
Imagine you’re walking through the woods. And it becomes stranger and stranger, not in a bad way, though it is definitely so out of the ordinary that it might frighten you. The woods seem . . . well, magical. The color of tree leaves are brighter than you’d ever thought possible. Branches are more sharply defined, as if your eyesight suddenly improved vastly. The air is still, yet somehow also buzzing with a sense of expectancy. Shadows hold secret wonders. And though there is nothing evil about all this, you know in your gut that you should still be careful, in case you inadvertently trespass on a secret meeting of wood gnomes. So you’re a bit worried.
Then, as you come to a clearing, your fear vanishes. In the meadow ahead, there is a tiny cottage. It is everything a magical cottage should be. And, deep down, you know that, as tempting and wondrous as this dwelling is, it is absolutely not the work of Hansel and Gretel’s evil witch, or of any other malevolent being. You know it is the home of someone very special. Could it be where Glinda the good witch lives? Or where a young loving mother is raising a child in humble circumstances, a child who will grow up to be a great hero in a mythic tale? Who inhabits this hidden place, tucked away in an enchanted forest?
You go up to the door to find out, hoping it will not be an intrusion if you knock. And you see the following sign posted there:
Today’s Optional Reading for My Front Door
There once was a fairy who wanted to be like Santa’s elves—fairies whose happy work blesses many people. So she started working away, in her own way, by creating spells with which people could fulfill their dearest wishes. But though they were grateful to have health and wealth and happiness, the fairy herself became very ill. Too sick to even wash her own dishes.
You see, fairies need a lot of fun to stay healthy. They get unwell when they forget to play. Our fairy’s dreams about helping humans—the way ol’ Saint Nick’s elves do—made her work so hard she forgot to have fun.
She had not realized that Santa’s elves . . . well, bluntly . . . ignored their tasks a lot. A lot! Not in a mean-spirited way; they were just constantly distracted by the urge to sing, or the opportunity for a teasing jest. Not to mention the scent of hot cocoa that dictated one immediately drop whatever one was doing to consume chocolate. (With marshmallows in it!)
On and on, all day, the North Pole sprites spent more time playing than making toys—which made for better toys than all the hammering, nailing, and painting ever could, because that’s the way of elven magic.
This fairy had friends who came and did her dishes and other chores, so that she could rest and get better. But she still worked too hard. Then one day, fairy Timothy visited, then a good Christian minister named George, then a dish-washing bird called Blue. They all asked, unbeknownst to each other, “You don’t have any fun, do you?” So she’s throwing a party today and, hence, will start getting healthy.
So, now that you’ve read this sign here on my front door: Welcome! You’re just in time for the party. C’mon in! I’m throwing a bash to kick off a more balanced life. And maybe the festivities’ll help you become more self-caring yourself— if you need that. But we’ll have lots of fun anyway! And I have cocoa! With marshmallows. And cinnamon sticks. And games. And prizes. And everyone gets to take a balloon home!
*****
The above piece is from my upcoming book. Am way busy b/c deadline=deliver manuscript to publisher Feb 2. That’s a few weeks from now! I better keep using elves for role models so that I don’t burn out while wrapping up final parts of the book!
I love the brilliant, fruitful, and diverse thinkers in my community = Here’s a guest blog by Kathi Somers.
And here’s a fun pic of her. She’s smart and fun.
Old Gods in the Modern World
By Kathi Somers
Many writers and philosophers have speculated that gods exist or become stronger based on the belief expressed in them. By this thinking, whenever we name a deity, we invoke that entity. Therefore, we daily invoke various gods by simply acknowledging them in the names we use for weekdays, months, planets, constellations, etc.
The English-speaking world’s days of the week are simple to recognize, of course. Sunday and Monday are the days, respectively, of the sun and the moon, long worshipped by ancient peoples. Tuesday is for the Norse war god Tyr. Wednesday is Woden’s day (Woden or Odin is chief of the Norse pantheon) and Thursday is Thor’s day (the Norse thunder god and, some believe, the original Santa). Friday is Freya’s (Norse goddess of love and beauty who taught magic to Odin) and Saturday is Saturn’s (Roman god of agriculture).
We also have many words in common use that invoke the gods: Jovial (for the cheerful chief Roman god, Jove, also known as Jupiter); saturnine (for the gloomy Roman god, Saturn); mercurial (for the speedy Roman messenger god, Mercury); music and musing, both of which derive from the nine muses of Greek mythology. These are just a few of the words we use in daily speech that have their origins with the gods.
The old gods have never left us, because we cannot leave them. We belong to each other, we are interdependent, despite the jealous god who wanted us to leave them out. Where is the value in leaving them out? How insipid and empty our world would be without them!
Copyright 2010 by Kathi Somers. All rights reserved.
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