Same day, different observation. The two pictured above walked from the sand toward the shore. He in his little bathing suit. She in her bikini. I would say they were in their 70’s. They stopped several yards from the waves and lifted their arms up toward the heavens. Then, they began what can only be described as calisthenics. Arms up and back. Swinging. Bending. Clearly a routine they both knew. Describing it to HT he said, “Like Jack Lalane?”
There was vibrancy in how they moved.
They appeared to be reveling in being active. In being active under the broad sky, looking out at the ocean and the horizon. They did not care about what they looked like. They weren’t hiding or covering anything up.
After their routine, they went into the water. She hanging back a little, going slow. He, diving in.
Their whole ritual took maybe twenty minutes. And they were off.
I was happy for them.
And I hoped HT and I get there some day, free, and happy, and out there in tiny bathing suits, not giving a rip about anything but the joy we feel in the moment. Not caring who knows it.
So you know, when people act out, it is because they are hurting, deeply. When people lie, it is because they are afraid. When people can’t own up to a mistake, it is because their ego is so fragile, from lack of love and acceptance. When people lack a conscience about hurting other people, it’s because they have no connection to other people. When they say one thing one day, and another a different day, it is because they don’t really know who they are.
I can’t imagine DT has ever been truly loved. I wonder what his early years were really like. Who hurt him? Who was mean to him? Who ignored his cries? Who made fun of him? Was he passed off to nannies that hated his parents and therefore hated him?
Was he ever told no? It doesn’t appear so. A loving parent stops an out-of-control child from hurting themselves and others. It appears no one ever helped him learn to regulate. Spoiling a child is not loving a child.
The bully always acts out of fear. The bully and the bullied share the same vibration. No one who truly knows their connection to the Divine would ever bully another. He is so disconnected, so lost.
My tribe is hurting right now. They are scared and with good reason. DT stands to take away our most fundamental human rights, and maybe even destroy the world.
Anyone can hate him. It takes nothing to hate him. Pile on. So what? It only makes him hate you back, stronger. He thrives on revenge.
When I meditate I shrink him down to a baby and rock him. I rock him until he stops fighting, and the sadness leaves his body. I tell him I’m sorry, and that he’s safe. That he’s loved.
It feels like the most radical thing I can do right now.
We got her at a shelter when we lived in Virginia. She was the lone calico kitten, and Riley wanted a calico. All the other cats were crammed together in little rooms, but she had her own cage up front, and she was chillin’ in a hammock…the kind you see ferrets lounging in at pet stores.
She’s a bit of a prima donna. Very vocal. For the first few years, she would sit beside you, but did not want to be held. If you pet her the wrong way, she let you know it. Now, suddenly, being held is acceptable. She doesn’t fight it.
She drove the stray we took in after her, to a nervous breakdown, trapping her under Seth’s box spring and not letting her out. We wound up giving that cat to my sister. (No need to thank me Kelli).
I’ve had good cats in my life. The kind who melt in your arms, and purr at your feet. She’s not one of them. I’ve always had the feeling she’s out for herself. We humans are a means to a full food bowl, and a clean litter box and nothing more. Riley loved her unconditionally anyway. She didn’t know any other type of cat. She doesn’t know any other type of love.
But lately, lately…this kitty is softening up. She’s getting cuddlier. She sits in my lap and snuggles. She doesn’t squirm when you pick her up.
Who is this affectionate bundle of color? And what have you done with Ms. Cranky Pants?
Nevermind. I don’t really want to know.
Whatever is making her happy, we’ll take it.
You may talk about me behind my back.
You may judge me harshly having never walked in my shoes.
You may erroneously think you know me.
You may feel I’m a poor excuse for a mother.
You may feel I’m a dreadful wife.
You may fear my expansion.
You may not like who I am.
You may call me a complainer.
You may find me distasteful.
You may mock me.
You may not understand me.
You may question my character.
It’s the only thing