What Dinosaurs and Love Have to Do With One Another

I lie on the cool ground and cover myself in a blanket of leaves, soil and moss. My childhood friend and I lie still, holding our breaths at first, but eventually relaxing into the arms of the earth. Minutes later, the ferocious dinosaur that’s been hunting us for miles passes us by. Just before I wake up from the dream, I watch him lumber off through the forest and dissolve into the horizon, and I feel a deep sense of peace.

What does this dream have to do with anything? you might be thinking. Well as silly as a dream about a dinosaur sounds, this tiny scene is actually full of wisdom, which I hope you might gain something from.

Here’s my interpretation…

In the dream, the earth, a manifestation and symbol of the feminine (love) energy, is a safe haven, salve and protector against the dinosaur, which represents antiquated, primordial fear. This fear is what our ancestors once felt, and what we, on a cosmic level, were initially born from. This is simply part of what makes us human. We all feel primal fear at times during our lives.

What are these fears? Although they vary, many of us experience the fear of truly entering life and “risking it all” to fulfill our purpose, while also equally fearing failure, death, separation, loss, vulnerability and intimacy.

t-rex

Fear is so powerful that it can alter our understanding of who we truly are. That’s why we need an antidote, and the antidote is love. Love is not conditional and it knows no boundaries. It can be felt as an openness and a receptivity to life, regardless of mood or circumstance. This life-giving feminine energy lives inside all of us, and is most fully embodied in mother earth, as we would not exist without the generosity of our planet to sustain us. Therefore, it is not a coincidence that in the dream, my friend and I find refuge in the earth (love), and that this is what causes the dinosaur (fear) to dissolve into the horizon, leaving us unscathed.

If I haven’t lost you yet, here’s what I see as the takeaway: you are love. Beneath all negative emotions, patterns of behavior, and external circumstances, you can access this powerful truth by breathing and opening you heart over and over again. It will take practice, and believe me, I am someone who needs lots of practice, but I do believe we are truly all capable of defeating fear by embracing love.

What’s that? You’re afraid of love? So what, as my boyfriend would say. Love anyways. Love through the fear; love past the fear. Love yourself, love your partner, love your friends, love your family, love your enemies, and love life! Keep in mind that love is not bothered by imperfections, so it isn’t about being flawless or void of darkness. Rather, when you realize there is a greater purpose love serves, to help you grow into your whole, most joyful, empowered and free self, you can embrace the places where you’re broken with compassion.

Love is who you are, even, and especially when, the dinosaur of your deepest fears comes gnashing his teeth, threatening to swallow you whole. When this happens — and if you’re human, it will happen often — return to openness, and let the feminine element of your soul remind you how to be vulnerable.

flower

I’m Still Alive

Seattle was wet like it usually is. Despite the rain, we were smiling. It was Valentine’s Day after all, and we were together.

seattle

We’d wandered into a cozy bar and took turns feeding the jukebox. Sipping on drinks, we sang along to Van Morrison and Al Green, nodding and humming. The jukebox shuffled – a pause – and then my song, Pearl Jam’s “Alive” clicked on.

Eddie Vedder belted out his infamous line “Oh, I, Oh I’m Still Alive,” and the man at the bar began swaying side to side. He looked as if he was made of stiff limbs rather than muscles that bend and flex. We watched him with sideways glances from our tiny red vinyl booth. A guttural yell escaped from his mouth and filled the tiny tavern, pushing against the walls. It occurred to me that he was trying to sing along. The word “Alive” was momentarily audible but the syllables were drawn out and muffled as if he had a cotton ball under his tongue. 

The bartender kindly told him it was time to leave. His behavior was beginning to interfere with the other patrons. One too many drinks; and perhaps, one too many heartbreaks.

Although it was a painful sight to watch – a grown man in his late 50’s three sheets to the wind, mumbling and stumbling, unaware of the impact he was making on those around him – there was something about it that stuck with me weeks later.

It’s the brokenness that was so clear, and the humanity I saw beneath this man’s moment of rawness. Although his actions were jarring, they were also somehow comforting. As two friends guided him to the sidewalk to take a cab ride home, I saw a man who was lost. And I also saw a man fighting something – or maybe for something. For what, I don’t know, and I’ll never know. But I imagine it to be love. The love we all crave so deeply. Not just from others, but from ourselves. And with that comes acceptance – knowing that you are okay just the way you are.

I recently turned 28, and birthdays have a way of making me take stock of things. I’ve had a lot of gains, and also a lot of losses in my time here thus far. And in the depth of my grief, I’ve even felt as if I’m at risk of losing myself. But tonight, as I feel the sharp edges of wounded places in me, I remember this man and Eddie Vedder and the words, and even though I feel swallowed whole by emotion sometimes – I’m still alive. You could even say they’re proof of it.

Inch by inch, I get a little closer to something that resembles love; maybe even acceptance.

bridge

The Tiniest Motions

There are many roads we travel just once, and there are others we visit again and again. This afternoon, like so many afternoons before, I heard the sound of a voice abandoned. And as I headed out the door to walk in the park, I felt that familiar tingle of a road I recognize. It is such a good thing to remember it – the call to pay attention and abandon the self. To be absorbed into something greater and to make note of the world unfolding, transforming itself into something new every moment.

I’m reminded that we can also be transformed.

This I know to be true: no matter how far I run, or fly, or hide from the work, it’s always there waiting. The pen calling to be used, the imagination painting meaning, the heart saying, go deeper. How did it become so difficult to record? And so difficult to be still enough?

No matter; this is a post about returning: changed, but ready to work again.

Author Anne Lamott writes, “It is easy to sense and embrace meaning when life is on track. When there is a feeling of fullness — having love, goodness, family, work, maybe God as parts of life…”

And when life feels off track, it is just as easy to lose our way. We can run in circles searching for what has changed, and how to fix it, but that rarely leads us home. Oftentimes, we just have to be patient, and forge ahead a day at a time until we can see the light again.

“Most of us have figured out that we have to do what’s in front of us and keep doing it… Every time we choose the good action or response, the decent, the valuable, it builds, incrementally, to renewal, resurrection, the place of newness, freedom, justice…”

As Lamott writes, it is by the tiniest motions that we can find the road again that leads us back to our whole selves.

Meanwhile, I’ve been attempting to leap and sprint, or build a new road altogether. And let me say from personal experience, it doesn’t do much good to take arms against your life like that. Sure, there’s always a time for fighting the good fight, but not the bad one. Not the self-defeating one that demands “change now!”

“If you fixate on the big picture, the whole shebang, the overview, you miss the stitching,” Lamott wisely points out.

Wouldn’t life be sweet if we could trust that gentle, slow hand that threads the needle, drives it into the dark fabric and brings it up again, changed and refreshed? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to forget the need of knowing how it all turns out? The truth is that moment by moment, we have the opportunity to be amazed and to stay awake.

So in honor of the tiniest motions, here is a very tiny poem, and with it, the recovery of a stitch:

What more am I
than the observer
of mottled sunlight
casting amber waves
across the kitchen cabinet,
and a bowl split open,
bleeding pink,
revealing the tender ribs
of the sky?

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