Julie Unplugged

Angry Transcendence

The anger pierced my skin from the inside out.  It traveled
from deep in my gut and burst out my throat in a torrential
storm of vehemence

It is an image that will stick with me for a while.

I saw my friend, Sheila, standing in the wings.  I was
rehearsing, fully in the moment and angrier than I have
been in… probably years.  In a flash of energy I lost my
line-thought, it vanished.  What I remember was throwing
my head back and yelling an expletive because I thought
I had stepped over Rikk’s lines.

Sheila’s voice came out from the wings, “No, hon,
you are ok…”

So I kept breathing and finished. And stepped off stage
and whispered-or-did-I-shout-“Dammit!” I can’t remember
how loud I was with that word, I just know I felt it from
the soles of my feet to the top of my head.

I am usually pretty calm, pretty upbeat, so this seething
me… very different energy. I couldn’t even see for a
minute, my eyes were glued shut.

Jared stood next to me and calmly said, “I am having the
same problem tonight, I can’t seem to be able to
get the lines out.”

I looked at him, still angry, and said,. “I am just so
mad at me. I just so want to get it right….”

It had been a three-theatre-day in a weekend full of
theatre related activity, most of which was intense
and pressure-packed. I was teching “Macbeth” at the
Empty Space – a substitute tech for closing night
which brought striking-the-set on Sunday morning.
That mostly meant, for me, cleaning and carrying
stuff around, putting things away.

I sat in my idling car on Oak Street and California
after strike and started crying. I was doing some emotional
work for “Streetcar” and just let it rip as I waited for the light
to turn green. When we started moving forward, I noticed
Thomas Brill, a cast member from “Macbeth” had
been idling in the lane next to me.

I wondered if he saw me crying. In a flash I realized
I didn’t care. “I am Julie, I cry. How do you do?”

In the afternoon and early evening I was providing
support at the producer of “Rocky Horror”. I sat and
watched rehearsal, provided water, made sure the cast,
crew – everyone – had as much of what they needed
as I could provide.

I schlepped stuff for the band, restocked toilet paper
and brought bottled water for everyone to drink in
what feels like the perpetually overheated space.

I watched rehearsal, sitting in awe of the performers
who were giving it their all. I couldn’t take my eyes
off Caroline-playing-Columbia and the woman playing
Janet, a woman I have sang karaoke with at both the
Junction and Kosmos, I think her name is Terese.
She is so cute, so good – so quintessential Janet in
a 50’s Barbie style. Loved it.

Next it was rehearsal for Streetcar, the end-of-the-day
task doing what I enjoy the most – performing, being
onstage.  I had two aims for rehearsal – to work without
my script for the first time and to follow up on the notes
from the last rehearsal.

I needed to be louder in my angry scenes. I needed to
amp up my energy. 

My first scene went relatively well except for my inability
to remember the line, “That’s where you are now.”

I spent more time backstage, finding Eunice’s walk. Being
where Eunice is as the other action is occurring onstage and
she is not seen. I started to hear some of Eunice’s thoughts.
This always helps me in performance, when the Julie thoughts
begin to vanish and the character thoughts begin to take their
proper place on the forefront of consciousness.

It was time for seething, unleashed anger.

I have been known to say I don’t need to go to therapy anymore
because I have theatre. Rehearsal has been my greatest
medicine since my brother, John, died. It is almost like
my meditation, my release, my playtime, my play doh and
finger painting – detached yet highly committed to bringing
forth something of value.

I remember in “Into the Woods” when I faced down the
Giant in order to protect my son. My mother told me the
woman sitting next to her said, “Wow, she is really yelling!”
as if that was astonishing.  Her thought, I suppose, was that
I should pretend to yell or pretend to feel the importance
of protecting my little boy from sure death.

I loved fighting for “my son” because when my real-life
daughter died I didn’t have the chance to fight. I had often
said I would have traded my life for hers and this one – this
time – in character, I got to do exactly that. I (my character)
died and “my son” lived.  I wasn’t angry in that shouting
match, I was empowered, I was determined, I was Mama Bear.

This shouting match is different.

It feels like I am fighting on behalf of “woman hurt” overall.
Yes, I am fighting for Stella but I am also fighting, once again,
for myself and madder than anything that I have to keep
fighting this fight over and over and this, this, this fight
is quaking me to my core… again. I sense Eunice has said
these almost exact words before and she will, more than
likely, say these exact words again, for the Stellas and
whoever the heck else comes along and needs a protector.

And I also get the sense that Eunice didn’t have anyone to
fight for her, so that shows up in my show down, too.  Yes,
I am fighting for Stella - and more than that, I am
fighting for myself.

Fighting for myself. It brings another onslaught of tears.

Deb just wrote to me, concerned when I
told her I was busily “writing and crying.”

I responded, “I am emotional. Crying isn't bad. I am
processing. Crying is cleansing.”

Interesting. In allowing myself the space to cry through
all this I am wrestling with myself. I am stretching the
muscles of my Julie Self. I am becoming comfortable
and settling into this latest version of me.  I am consciously
bringing on the tears, daring myself to feel through everything,
completely, complexly, creatively.

Theatre, among my favorite art forms – the place where I
experience transcendence and discover me, more fully me.

Richard O’Brien’s Rocky Horror Show opens May 4 at Midnight
at Bakersfield Community Theatre: 2400 S. Chester (just north of
Wilson) and runs for three weekends with shows at Midnight on
Friday and Saturday with 8 PM shows on the first two Saturdays.
Call 831-8114 to make reservations.

Streetcar Named Desire opens on May 11 at 8 PM at the
Spotlight Theatre, Located in the Historic Hayden
Atrium Building in downtown Bakersfield. 
Call 634-0692 to make reservations.

© 2007
Julie Jordan Scott

How to Build a Fire - Even in April

I stood in my backyard, pulling twig sized branches
from the smallish trees that stood at rapt attention,
waiting to serve me.

Tears filled my eyes as I said, “Plum, dear plum, what
do your branches offer me today?”

Less than a quarter hour before I was plucking wet and
slightly tired and soggy wood from my diminished wood
pile.  April in Bakersfield doesn’t sound much like
hearth-fire time, yet today – it was.

I had told My Muse last week, “It is so cold and damp,
I want a fire so badly… but…well…I….”

He wondered aloud why I couldn’t have a fire.

“Well, all my wood is wet.”

“The trick,” he said, “is to leave some wood by your
fireplace so that it doesn’t get wet.”

I glared into my phone, massaging the skin between my
eyes so my frown wouldn’t deepen the lines there.
“I know that, but I didn’t suspect I would want to
have a fire in April.”

Days passed and it was still cold in April and I still
wanted a fire and somewhere between the desire and
the implementation everything clicked into place and
I found myself scavenging for wood.  I marched into
my living room and plunked myself down in front
of my fireplace only to discover there was, in fact,
some dry wood available.

It was large dry wood, though. I sighed. “Great. Might
as well not have any wood at all,” my
facial-lines-massaging-self lamented.

I put together what I had and struck a match.

Imagine my delight when it ignited. I had made a fire,
in April, without the perfect equipment. “Hummm,” I
thought, “time to shift my beliefs I suppose.”

I sat right on the floor, watching the flames
lick the roof of the fireplace in great arching
motions as if it was an enormous, charred
chocolate ice cream cone, much like my favorite
fudge brownie flavor from Baskin-Robbins. I reveled
in my success.

And then it started fading. And my quick burst of
stuff from outside had diminished and the wet, soggy
wood had never gotten hot enough.

“Anything will burn if it is hot enough,” I heard my Muse
speak into eternity. Even when he wasn’t nearby he was
pushing my buttons.

I stood up, brushed off my black pants and marched
myself back into my yard. I greeted my trees that needed
pruning and cooed at them as I pulled their dried, shriveling
branches from their core.  “You give me so much, you
ask for so little,” I said to them.

I worked intentionally, methodically, quickly.

I rested my hand on the trunk of my little plum.  I felt a
twinge of sadness for not paying near enough attention
or gratitude for this perfectly colored tree.  “We’ll do this,
we will.” I told her as I turned and marched back
into my house.

The embers were crackling, seeming to celebrate my
return with more fire-making offerings.

Once again I built.  “Are you in this for the long haul?” the
fire place asked me.

I nodded. “Then show it,” it dared me.

So I did. I built with everything I had and then some. I
struck a match and sat back, smiling. I watched and smiled.
I grabbed my notebook and wrote.  The “too big” wood wasn’t
anymore. The wet wood was no longer wet.

The earlier quick-burst of flames was beautiful to look at
and was even fun for a moment, but it wasn’t a long-haul
fire. It wasn’t there to teach me, over and over, to whisper
to me when I most needed its presence.

It was a flash-in-the-fireplace.

This fire, this second fire, was the life-changing one, the
soul one. The one that I allowed myself to build hot enough
and true enough. The one that said, “Yes, I am building
for the long haul.”

The fire is gone now, except for traces of sound and
the scent still hangs festively in the air.  It left
a poem, too:

Sweet sensuousness of the crackling air
Grey essence climbs into my heart
Arching, aching, tendrils twine with my hair
Love offerings given heavenward
Lips humming unspoken melodies spare

The unburnable burns
The not there suddenly is
The too soggy and wet
Now isn’t and it all
It all It all It all It all

Weaves with the saltwater
Traveling from my face
To the Earth
In bewildered gratitude

= =

The sounds of these words nurture me, like the fire did
as it made my heart fill, my lips hum, my ears hear
whispers from deep within me.

Bewildered gratitude from the soles of my feet to the
top of my scalp from my heart and my breath and my
fingertips: it is gratitude of the unknowing, gratitude
for the smokey-grey, not quite being able to see shadows
that come into our lives cloaked in what looks like fear
and often, in the end, is our greatest friend.

My plum tree offered her used-up branches so that
I could have an “a-ha” and pass it along to you.

I am in it for the long haul.

Anything will burn if it is hot enough.

Somewhere between the desire and the
implementation everything clicked into place.

Thank you, plum.

Thank you, Muse.

Thank you, fire.

Thank you, bewilderment.

Thank YOU.

© 2007
Julie Jordan Scott

= + = + =

Julie Jordan Scott is a Writer, Life Coach, Poet, Speaker,
Actor, Director and Mom Extraordinaire whose deepest passion
is helping people - like you - discover and live with
passion. Call 661.444.2735 to book your complimentary
coaching session or visit 5passions.com for
plentiful resources to live a passion-rich life.

How the Fear Helps Me

I keep reading the blog my daughter Emma
wrote after we went to see John, our final
viewing of his physical form. I told my
children I would go to view John's body
but that they could make their own
choice in the matter.

My nine-year-old has learned to take time
out to write through her process, as she
has done in this excerpt from her blog:

"This was the first time seeing someone dead.
It scared me. It made me think. What would happen
when I die. Would anyone care that I'm gone? Would
I just rott to the ground with no one remembering me?
I know that it's not gonna happen, but what if it does?
What if when I die no one's gonna grieve, no one's
gonna be crying. But in a way the fear helped me."

A couple things I learned from Emma through her writing.

She let the questions bubble up and didn't label the "fear"
of them as something "bad" or something "to be avoided."
She boldly faced the questions and is continuing to
allow them to move through her.

Since this weekend I have also experienced an
increased gentle inquiry within myself. I am quietly
and consciously questioning most everything I have
simply accepted before as "it is what it is…."

I realized just moments ago how once again the
wisdom from my beloved Rainer Rilke fits into my
current ways of being and reflecting:

"Have patience with everything unresolved in your
heart and to try to love the questions themselves
as if they were locked rooms or books written in a
very foreign language. Don't search for the answers,
which could not be given to you now, because you
would not be able to live them. And the point is to
live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then,
someday far in the future, you will gradually, without
even noticing it, live your way into the answer….."

I am loving each question, itself.

I am not rushing to respond or close doors
or open different doors.

I am having patience and not searching.

I am living everything.

I am so grateful you are here for the
experience with me.

I also figure there is a reason you are
reading alongside me, now.

The one line from Emma's writing that keeps
asking me to look again is this one:

"But in a way the fear helped me."

I am loving the ways fear is helping me and I am
loving the fear – and I am loving that I am sometimes
wild enough to create situations which feel a lot like
fear… and in those cases when I consciously, purposefully,
knowingly allow myself the privilege of stepping into it
and living it fully even when it feels like a maelstrom – yes,
these are the moments I know fear-as-a-helpmate.
Fear-as-a-transforming-power.

Wow. I just got "fear-as-love".

I am going to live that one for a bit.

Passionate. Counter cultural. Mind-expanding, Loving
those questions.

Thank you, Emma and Rainer. Thank you.

What question will you live today?

What wildly "out there" question will float in
your presence today?

© 2007
Julie Jordan Scott

Couplet: I Remember, I Don't Remember

After this writing, I asked Katherine about the first moment I wrote of here, I asked her “Had you ever heard sounds like that before?” and she said, “From a human? No.” and then I said, “Did it scare you?” and she said, “Nope.” I must raise brave children!

I remember crying, sounding like an animal or already gone from this world being. I remember feeling like I temporarily ascended into heaven or above myself as if my heart suddenly stopped… which maybe, in actuality, it did.

I don’t remember experiencing this before. When Marlena died I was immediately numb, dead on the inside and out, but this time with death, I emoted so strongly and so viscerally whatever was happening spiritually and psychically had such force it pulled me from my body, lifted me and then slammed me back down into my body as if it was saying “No, no, no, you stay right there – right there!” There was no running from this, this time. No leaving, no unfeelingness, no place to go except fully into presence.

I remember when I was a little girl, I would go places with my family. Driving trips, camping trips to Florida and North Carolina during Spring Break. I remember bits and pieces memorialized on film like running the dunes (slow behind everyone else with John) and feeding huge masses of seagulls.

I don’t remember being afraid on those trips. I remember liking North Carolina, I remember going to Kitty Hawk. I remember the green tent, long braided hair which means second or third grade. I remember the endless car rides to get places.

I don’t remember much about the meals or conversations.

I do remember people catching eels off a pier in North Carolina and talking about the speed of light with my brother, Jeff.

I don’t remember my mother at all on those trips. She wasn’t a big fan of camping, she still had so much work to do. She preferred hotel vacations or even renting cabin vacations.

I remember when Kathie was born, my parents stubbornly braved the grapevine to get to Bakersfield, driving separately because Mom was going to stay and Dad had to go. I didn’t think they were coing because all the reports of heavy snow and the road being closed. I rested on the couch, Kathie across my chest, in lots of pain because of the episiotomy from hell from Dr. Schmuck, and hormones raging beyond anything I had ever experinced. It was hell.

And then they showed up, I was shocked. To see Dad, especially. I remember tears gliding down my emotionless face like a faucet in need of repairs. My parents needed to see, to touch, to ooooo and ahhhhhhh this life that came from my body. This life that made it, safely. I remember Dad had to leave, quickly, and he went home via the coast, a long extended trip but he did get to see his grandbaby.

I don’t remember… oh, my pen stopped.

I don’t remember ever being terribly patient with myself, I don’t remember feeling compassion for me… but now – I do – I understand the value of treating myself with the same TLC I treat others, kind of an inverted golden rule.

Interesting. I notice I have written four pages, beyond the normal three.

Interesting, again.

I remember, I don’t remember.

Wow Gratitude - Life Celebrated...

I posted a Gratitude List the other day in several places where I do that... a gratitude list that shared about the Celebration of Life I facilitated in honor of my brother, John, whose death process I chronicalled here and in other spaces since September.

This "Magic Circle" as my father calls it, was so wondrous, I feel compelled to offer this list here, too - because it marks the end of one chapter and the beginning of the next... in many different ways.

So - here, for my beloved readers... is the recap of Saturday's event for you to share in as well.

Wow. I want to post a list from today because right now I think I am more grateful regarding today’s Celebration of Life service than I have ever been grateful for a single event in my entire life.

So, unlike my usual list thing – I am going to write a few paragraphs (free flowing) and then put together a list about the events of today.

Planning a Celebration of Life for my brother could have been filled with a lot of worry, a lot of hand wringing and not-being-sure.

And yes, there was some of that, mostly worried about logistics and who would show up and would I make anyone angry by the choices I made regarding this very simple service I had planned within the overall celebration.

I knew it was significant to have a ceremony of some sort, an organized time of intentional remembrances with a little bit of tradition (not much at all) woven in.

I trusted my gut completely and just went with it. Minimal planning, no pre-assignments (ok, you guys say this and I’ll say this…)

I had emailed my siblings and said, “Be thinking of what you might want to say to remember John, there will be time for anyone who wants to speak to speak.”

I had also organized the people, the park and the food. I mean, this is what I said to folks when they asked if they could bring something: “If you would like to bring food to share, that would be great.”

Mom had it in her head that we would have pizza, so she furnished that. (this was in a park, real simple). Well, folks brought plenty of stuff to share, there were no duplicates, plenty of leftovers -

I loved that at this event Mom didn’t have to do anything. She got to hang out with her friends and receive love, period. This is unheard of in the life of Nancy Jordan. Unheard of. Instead, I did most of the running around but that was perfect, it was what I had planned.

Folks gathered, visited, we ate, and then came time for the ceremony.

I have never done anything like this, but I have facilitated enough workshops and done enough performance that I knew how to organize people and I knew how to communicate effectively.

I let people know we would be starting and everyone moved from eating and chatting to a largish circle. (There were probably about 50 people there.)

I had wanted a circle, but was sure I would have to “make it happen.” Well, I intended it and it happened.

Right up to when we started my Dad was nervous. “I won’t have to say anything,will I?”

“Anyone will be able to talk, Dad, and you don’t have to if you don’t want to…”

(You would never guess my Dad was an extremely successful salesman and Mr. Charming.)

I read a poem I found online when searching about funerals.

I opened the circle for people to share John memories.

Each of my siblings shared a story or two. One of my childhood neighbors shared a story (they moved from Glen Ridge, NJ to Del Mar a few years before we moved to Dana Point.) One of the women from John’s sheltered workshop told a story. I closed with my final sharing, about John and I communicating silently as children – and how that prepared for our special bond at the end of his life, and how privileged I was to be a part of that.

The final reading was from Jesus’ Sermon on The Mount. When I stumbled across that earlier in the week, I realized how fitting it was, and it has a natural stopping point in the words, “Let your light shine….”

And at that point, I opened up the circle again, offering people to share one word “popcorn style” about how they had experienced “John’s Light” and how his light would continue to shine in them. (I had thought, “This might really bomb. I mean, my coaching client friends and students do this stuff, but this eclectic gathering of folks, could they do it?”)

And yes, they did. Share, share, share. My children even popped words in.

I realized I hadn’t included any prayers, so I closed with a prayer – but not until I told everyone to hold hands.

No one was going to escape the day without being touched. We are not a very demonstrative family – so this was a stretch. And ya know, everyone just did it.

I prayed in the Christian tradition and was completely unprepared for the onslaught of praise afterwards.

To me, this is just such a natural expression of who I am,it is so “not a big deal”... one woman, my Uncle’s wife (so I guess she is officially my Aunt) who I had only met a couple times before since she married into the family only in the past few years.

She stopped me and held me by the shoulders and tried to find words.

She said, “I will remember that service for the rest of my life.”

(This is from some one who barely knew my brother.)

People from John’s sheltered workshop thanked me for inviting them. They said, “Usually people leave our program after years and years and years and we never know what happens to them. It is such an honor that today, we got to participate. We got to know your family. Now we know why John was so extra special.”

(All it took was a phone call and an email with information and directions!)

OK, I need to get back to my resting perch. Tomorrow we are going to the Long Beach Grand Prix to honor John. My brother Jim works for Mazda and he got us fancy schmancy suite tickets… LOL.

So – I am soooo entirely grateful for all I said above and more specifically….

1. I am so grateful for the help from Katherine and Emma in pulling this off.

2. I am so grateful for the absolutely picture perfect weather in Dana Point today.

3. I am so grateful to see so many people I have not seen in years and years – and to reconnect soulfully like we did today… mindbogglingly wondrous, one of those “beyond words” experiences to describe.

4. I am so grateful I got to finally meet my niece, the one I “found” several years ago via “my friend” Google… my sister relinquished her for adoption. She and my sister and my sister’s children had been building a relationship for several years but this was her first appearance at a big family event. When it came time for a big photo with all the family there she said, “Am I family?!” and we were all unanimous in our… “Ofcourse you are, get in here!” and plunked her into the center. I finally met the young woman I linked back to her birthmom, my sister. Precious.

5. I am so grateful to witness my daughter, Katherine, standing with my Dad in the circle, taking care of her Grandpa just by being present with him and standing with him. She will remember this forever.

6. I am so grateful I trusted myself to this level to just step out in a wildly, authentic, Julie-esque way and have it so well received.

7. I am so grateful for NO TRAFFIC in all my driving today.

8. I am so grateful for the phone call I received from my Mom, thanking me again. Saying what I did today was so far beyond anything she ever imagined… and this is from a woman who didn’t want to do ANYTHING… no service, nothing.

9. I am so grateful my sister-in-law Lynn and I shifted her opinion about that which enabled today to happen in the first place.

10. I am so grateful for the deep eye contact with my father today when he just looked at me and said, “Julie. Thank you so much. Thank you.” (Thinking through tears about what Meister Eckhart said about prayer.)

11. I am so grateful for the pillows on my bed, which hold my head in loving embrace as I have been resting since I got home.

I am so so so so so so grateful.

Today, I got this email from my Dad, after I asked him about whether or not he heard the train whistle I heard during the ceremony, as train whistles, to me - are always ways my grandfather communicates with me... (he has been "gone" for nearly 40 years.)

I'm sorry to say that I didn't hear the train though I'm very glad

that you did.  Emotions encapsulated me during the Magic

Circle and I was not aware of anything else.

Dad

====

It is all pretty amazing stuff.

Hugs,

Julie

Check It at the Door

Participating in theatre is like medicine for my soul.

No matter what “stuff” I am experiencing away from the stage, when I am there, doing my thing – everything else falls away so that I can be pure with my work. I can be pure in my process.

Last night I was late to rehearsal and I do not like being late. Emma had a performance in her show choir and as the sole means of transportation for her performances, I had to schlep her there and back.

I had called Bob to tell him I would be late it and he said it was ok – but nonetheless, I went to rehearsal out of breath and concerned that my absence was problematic.

It wasn’t. I arrived in my out-of-breath, apologetic state and they were in the midst of the part of the scene before my arrival. Bob stopped them and they re-ran the scene up to that point before continuing on.

I thought, “I wonder if Bob stopped and had them restart so that I could become present, so that I could ease into the rehearsal and do a respectable job instead of an out of breath, apologetic job?”

Konstantin Stanislavsky said, “Never come into the theatre with mud on your feet. Leave your dust and dirt outside. Check your little worries, squabbles, petty difficulties with your outside clothing -- all the things that ruin your life and draw your attention away from your art -- at the door.”

It came to the time for me to do my thing on stage and I literally ate up every moment. This is my shortest time on stage in a particular scene but I so enjoy telling Stanley exactly what I think of him and handing it to him on a chipped, cheap platter from the neighborhood five and ten cent store.

Rikk said during our break, “I felt like I was getting in trouble, that I got caught by my Mom.”

My first instinct was to lament that I am not all that much older than him.

My second instinct was, “Hey! I was doing my job!”

One of my commitments to myself during rehearsal time is to always be acting, to not be “calling it in”.  In the case of this rehearsal, Bob, as the Director, really assisted me in the process by backing up so that I could catch up and allow “the worries, the squabbles, the petty difficulties” fall away as I sat in the audience, watched, and reviewed my lines before going on.

I even managed to do some breath work during my first read of this scene. Perhaps that helped Rikk to feel what he felt, which created a real response for

Stanley

– and would lead to his very authentic, heartfelt request to Eunice which, naturally, she shoots right down.

I have been living a tough chapter of my life lately.  I found it exceptionally syncronistic the way the schedule for “Streetcar” managed to unfold exactly in the way I needed in order for the crisis point in my life to subside, just a little – and begin to step back into my new normal.

It feels so right, so replenishing - when I accept and live within this wondrous medicine for my soul.

Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams, Directed by Bob Kempf, opens at the Spotlight Theatre on May 11, 2007 and runs for four weekends, including Sunday matinees for the first three weekends.  I hope to see you there!

Couplet: I Know, I Don't Know

I know if I take blue and mix it with red I make purple. If I stir in just the right amount of white, lavender shows up. I know George lets the eyes mix the color in “Sunday” and I get that, somehow, but I trust myself not to intellectualize it too much….

I don’t know… I don’t know… and I laugh at my self inflicted penalty of using those words by themselves, because I know the value of not knowing. Being truthful and trusting of not knowing gives lots of room for growth, I know this.

I don’t know if I know enough to believe it.

I know I don’t believe it when fear crawls through the fissures in the corner closet of my psyche, the one holding clothes long outgrown and broken stuff, I have, for whatever reason, refused to ceremoniously give up to the gods of the dumpster.

I know the sun rises every morning whether it has my permission or not.

I don’t know why what? Oh that is funny. I don’t know why I get tangled up in just the writing of those three words: I don’t know.

I know I feel like shaking my fist at Natalie Goldberg, the Jewish Buddhist like Jack Kornfield, etc who doesn’t bear the weight of Easter – which has such a pagan feel attached to it.

I don’t know why that declaration pisses me off. Maybe it is because I am so busy cataloguing my grief process, wanting to tick “anger” off my list because it is one emotion I am almost completely divorced from by choice… which in this moment strikes me as a bit batty. Which is very good to know. More laughter.

I think I know it is time to reconcile myself with anger, to allow it adequate time and expression so that its constructive nature has space to appear.

I know, I don’t know I know.

This all strikes me as a humorous thing. I hear Nixon in my memory.

I know. I know.

Weaning

Weaning myself
I smile when I
Consider I haven't
Sent a note or made
a call or made
any motion in
his direction
since Friday

That makes three days.

I feel a light breeze
Loop its way across
the palm of my hand
and under my chair,
gently kiss my calf
and come, grab my
other hand

The gray sky belies
Bakersfield in April
Sam plays in the hallway
Looking for other halves
of plastic eggs
And I think

Thank God Spring Break
is almost over

There is that quickening
Knock from the inside of
my belly, reminding me
of the Energy Pregnancy
I felt before all this
Onslaught of loss and
loss and more loss

That energy pregnancy
moved again, like saying
Thank you, Thank you,
Thank you.....

The light breeze
whips around my chair
again, my feet, my
legs, my ponytail

See?

Everything is going
to be ok

Weaning myself
I smile when I
Consider I haven't
Sent a note or made
a call or made
any motion in
his direction
since Friday

That makes three days.

Strange Myspace Survey Says HEY!

There is this strange phenomenon on Myspace.com known as "The Bulletin Survey" where you fill out a questionnaire sort of thing with numerous random questions on it like the one I have posted below.

What surprised me several days after I posted is was how thoughtfully a very tired, grieving me answered these questions.

I hope you will enjoy some of the responses. I know I did. I enjoyed responses of my own. Now that is fun.

1. What color is the bra you have on right now?
I'm wearing my nightgown. It is white and pink.

2. Do you ever lie about your age?
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

3. Do you prefer "sensitive boys" or "tough guys"?
I love men in general. I especially appreciate men
who remind me to never put men into "boxes"
like stereotypes or expect them to behave in
a certain way because they look like they are
tough guys or sensitive boys or whatever. They are who
they are, and if they are unique... completely
authentically themselves. I am happy.

4. Do you prefer blonde or brunette guys?
I have been involved with both - and
men with shaved heads. What does it matter?

5. Are you currently single?
Do you mean digits? Not since I was
nine years old.

6. How many things in your past do you regret?
Oh sheesh. You don't have enough time to read.
I don't have enough time to write.

7. Did you answer number six truthfully?
Yup.

8. Do you have a best friend?
Yes.

9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
I supposedly am grown up. I want to continue
being an ever evolving, ever improving version
of me.

10. Have you ever kissed two people in one night?
Yep.

11. Where do you shop to buy most of your clothes?
Most? Thrift stores, cool stuff there for cheap, and I
tend to be looking for costumes and find great stuff
for me... costume or otherwise.

13. Have you ever had your heart broken.
I have thought it was broken, felt like it was broken.
It was just stretching and getting stronger.

14. Have you ever thought about suicide?
Yup. At the lowest time of my life I thought
I wasn't worthy enough for suicide, that I wasn't
worth the effort to kill myself. (for all of you
who think I am only positive, don't judge
a person you only think you know.)

15. Have you ever wanted someone but you knew you couldn't have them?
What is couldn't?

16. Have you ever felt like killing somebody?
Hmmm. Pretty darn close.

17. If you could change anything about your past, what would you change?
I would go back to fifth grade and say (and mean it!), "So what? No big deal, really. I totally get it."

18. Do you like your life?
Most of the time.

19. Do you shop at Hollister?
What is Hollister?

20. Has one of your friends ever stolen a boyfriend from you?
Not that I am aware of.

21. Has one of your friends ever stabbed you in the back?
I am not permanently scarred.

22. Did you forgive them?
Forgiveness is a way of life. Unforgiveness is poison.

23. Who was your first best friend?
Danny Nussbaum. I was going to marry him, too.

24. Do you have more friends that are girls or boys?
These days? I probably talk to my guy friends more and have longer conversations/hang out times with them. It isn't because I plan it that way? That's just how it is working out right now.

25. How long have you had myspace?
A couple years?

26. Have you ever skipped school?
Yup.

27. Has anyone ever cheated on you?
Yup.

28. Have you ever slapped a boy in the face?
Not a boy. A girl, yes.

29. If so why?
I was mad.

30. What is one of your biggest fears of your life?
Dying alone and having no one show up at my funeral.

31. Have you ever skipped class?
Yup.

32. Has anyone close to you ever passed away?
Yup. This week, even.

33. Have you ever cried yourself to sleep?
Yup.

34. Have you ever not been able to get someone out of your head?
Yup.

35. Do you believe in the saying "once a cheater, always a cheater"? Nope. Don't believe in putting people into boxes. See #3

37. What kind of cell phone do you have?
a motorolla razor

38. What is your screen name?
It is my name name. JulieJordanScott. It is pretty much the name I use for everything.

39. So far, do you like this survey?
It's a survey. It is putting me to sleep which is good.

40. Have you ever had a good feeling about something and it
turned out great?

Yes!

41. Do you ever wish you were famous?
You mean I am not?! LOL. J/K. In my high school year book I said I wanted to be rich, famous and married to Jackson Browne when I grew up. I am batting 1,000!

42. Do you ever wish you were the opposite gender?
Never

43. Do you think any men will open this just because it has the female survey?
Is that what this is? Deva, you didn't tell me. I wouldn't have opened it then. LOL.

Trolls and Women with Clipboards

Tonight I felt myself hovering in that space of despair – that place that has a tendency to make people run away when they see you hanging out there.  Sometimes I think people spot that look in my eyes and dart away for fear it is contagious.

I needed a change, so I did something really simple.

I took a shower and I breathed deeply.

I came out of the shower a changed person.

I was able to sit on my front porch in my nightgown and feel awake and alive. I wasn’t ecstatic, but I was comfortable.

I felt angry, mostly. There was a purple haired little troll taking over my personality.

She was mumbling and muttering and just fed up with the world.

We’ll call another me Clinician Julie, clipboard in hand, stood on the side in heels, a straight navy skirt and a white tailored blouse.  “This could be it. The anger part, yeah, the anger part of grief. Ok, check that off the list and move along… let’s see. I think it just might be depression next. Go check supply of Kleenex for the next stop on the grief train.”

Then the normal me starts to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

I have been through grief enough in my life to know there is no train, there are no destinations and you can’t really foresee what will hit next beyond knowing there are waves and ins and outs and nooks and crannies that will pop up for sometime as the new way of living-in this case, without my brother walking around with skin -  is fully integrated.

It doesn’t mean I am less evolved, it doesn’t mean I am depressed, it doesn’t mean I am a purple haired troll living under a bridge, it is just me expressing my emotions without any other map then the permission to live and feel truthfully.

That, my loves, is a pretty darned good road map. The road map of living authentically. The road map of taking good care of myself and allowing other people to lend a hand so that I can keep on keeping on without driving myself and others nuts in the process.

Grief is a powerful teacher. It has taught me more than almost every other experience I have had and is always, ironically, a teacher I would just rather not have partially because of the lack of a recipe book to get from a-to-b-to-c.

I do know how to stay centered in my self – to nurture and guide my process.  I have come far enough in my journey to recognize the turbulence before it happens and I have an overall game plan for when it starts to get wobbly.

To be an authentic, soulful griever means I don’t avoid it, I don’t stuff it, I don’t push it away. I allow my soul to move within it.  Jean Shinoda Bolen said, “To be a soulful person means to go against all the pervasive, prove-yourself values of our culture and instead treasure what is unique and internal and valuable in yourself and your own personal evolution.”

Popular culture says grievers are doing well when we have that stiff upper lip, when we appear to “be doing great!” which often times means we are medicating our way past the process or acting as if it didn’t exist in the hopes of willing it away.

I don’t want to will the grief away. I want to honor it and allow it to do its thing.

Passion is about experiencing it all. Bring it on.

Trolls, women with clip boards, the occasional sleepless night. Bring it on. I don’t need to know the exact recipe, I just need to know my soul is on board. I know the ride will be wondrous that way.