krishanna|dot|com

Trust

Your breathing comes from a calm inside your chest. Your eyes are closed; you have the atmosphere of sleep. In the heat of your arms, which have gone loose around me, I am aware of the wind, blowing above our bedsheets. 

Can you love a man for his mysteries? For the stories he tells? Can you base the decision on something like faith? How many facts do you need? How much does someone need to tell you before you know the stretch and the scent of his soul?

I have friends who speak of settling down the way others might speak of choosing furniture, trying on a number of partners for size, and finally, like a comfortable recliner, one fit. Other people fall in love with a person without stopping to measure or analyze, without systematically screening and filtering and testing for proof of long-term compatibility. I fall into the second group for sure. I have given my heart to an enigma, a dark-haired man with twinkling eyes and capable hands whose spirit dreams and softly sings in a language as different as my own.

I think I thought I wouldn’t ever find it, that all the men I’d meet would be like the ones I’d already met, crammed with the things that hold no weight for me.  What do you do with the sprawl that is the life you’ve not yet lived? How will you know when love happens? I had been looking for something I could believe in, and there you were smiling at me from across the street as you walked around the backside of the car to meet me, the autumn sun shining on you like a spotlight.

It was your hands, at first, I think. Certain things are knowable about a man’s hands. I knew instantly that yours were gentle. Yours was a hand probably capable of great violence if provoked but still able to cradle a tiny, fussing, newborn as she adjusted to her new surroundings. A hand that took my hand into itself. A hand that I trusted instinctively.

Trusted. And this is something new, the weight and quality of this trust. It is something extraordinary—more compelling than the mosaic of good feeling and faith that lies at the foundation of every true friendship, so powerful that I cannot name it. There is nothing traditional in your appeal for me, nothing conventional. I have found a man who shares his fragment of the moon and his portion of stars. A man who thinks my writing and art can matter.

But let me go back to that thing you give to me—this big loom of trust, with so many fibers. A net large enough and so exquisitely crafted that it can catch my many shards—my moods, my regrets, my music, my joy, the person I have been, the person I am becoming.  I can be every part of me-- conflicted, ambitious, loving, self-doubting, victorious.  I can sit, dance, want, give, fly and be drowning , too and you will leave your lamp on for me. You will be there, come the rain, come the gray hair. You will be there, and that is what I understand. This is friendship, of course, but it’s also so much bigger. Certainly it’s bigger than romance.  It is the union of two souls, and it scares me to death at times. I hadn’t meant to fall in love with you.

There is no one like you. Without so much as a conversation you have shown me the color of your soul, and then you start talking, telling me of your travels and the characters you’ve known. Revealing the life you’ve lived. And I sit legs tucked up under me, listening to laughter, watching you and loving you, occasionally still afraid of the feelings I have. I know enough now to know when a man tells you about the people he has known and the people he has passionately loved, he is inviting you into his family, bringing you into his life.

When you open to me like a page in a book, open with all poetry and heart, watching the moon, telling the truth, there’s no not loving you. There’s no not looming you into the weave of my life. There is no going back. I’m not headed that way. This is what is true about the life I choose to live to date: You are the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done, and you are also the safest, smartest and dearest.

Beside me now, you sleep. Your hand rests light as silk below my breast, your freckles stand in acute relief against your skin. Tied by the things we cannot see and by things we just imagine, we are here because trust is, because it has saved us from ourselves.

Kjs; 11.2011

 

11 Ways To Live Life Rather Than Survive It

When I came to 24 years ago and was thrown headfirst into a world that didn’t include booze and drugs, I decided I was going to put out as much energy into learning a new way of living without booze and drugs as I had in living life with them.

When I became disabled 13 years ago as the result of an incomplete spinal cord injury, I also became determined to live life rather than merely survive it.

When the man I had shared much of  my adult life with suddenly announced he wasn’t sure he loved me anymore one week after our 15^th anniversary and I found myself  joining the ranks of the newly single a short two months later, I remained loyal to my resolve to live life rather than survive it.

It didn’t matter that I didn’t know how to accomplish those things. It just mattered that I get through them to stay alive and relatively sane.

 I have come to understand that I don’t always need to know how. The how of it all just sort of appears as I refuse to stay down and continue putting one foot in front of the other.  Sometimes it seems simple, sometimes it’s so difficult that I can only keep my head above water and survive for months or years at a time.  Still, I never seem to lose the passion, determination, and desire for learning a new way of life and living rather than merely surviving it.

 As much as I’d like to say that if you practice these 11 things you can learn how to live rather than survive too, I can’t. What works for one may not work for another. These are just the things that have worked and continue to work for me. But if one doesn’t work, maybe another will or you’ll be inspired to find out what does work to help you live life rather than survive it.

Be positive. Learn to recognize the negative stuff you think about: the self-doubts, the criticisms of others, the complaints, the why-mes, the excuses why you can’t do something. Once you recognize negative stuff, change it right then. Stop yourself when you have these thoughts, and replace them with positive thoughts. Possible solutions, affirmations, happy thoughts, prayers, whatever- it doesn’t really matter as long as it is positive. I know it sounds queer but it does  help.  If you are not focused on the solution, you are living in the problem and that makes life miserable.

 Don’t suffer. Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional. I don’t suffer much. I don’t suffer fools or life. Life isn’t all about fun and games. We lose our jobs. A close relationship breaks apart. A loved one dies. We get physically injured or sick. A loved one becomes sick. Learn to feel the pain intensely, and really grieve. This is a part of life- really feel the pain, walk through it. And when you’re done, move on, find joy.

Focus on now. Instead of thinking about things you need to do, or things that have happened to you, or worrying or planning or regretting, think about what you are doing, right now. What is around you? What smells and sounds and sights and feelings are you experiencing? Learning this through meditation is great, but by bringing your focus back to the present as much as you can in everything helps you to live life on life’s terms.

 Learn new stuff. Constantly learn something new instead of stagnating. Not because you’re a dolt but because learning encourages growth and fosters empowerment. Accepting yourself as you are, and learning to love who you are is a part of evolution but without learning and growth we stagnate and become stodgy and inflexible.

 Find spirituality. For some, this means finding the Goddess, God or Jesus or Allah or Buddha. For others, this means being in tune with the spirits of our ancestors, or with nature or just inner energy or knowledge. Whatever it means for you, rediscover it, and its power.

Be of service. Don’t just donate money or stuff you don’t want anymore. Donate your time. Get out of your house and find those who live in worse conditions. Mentor someone. Be a child’s advocate. Sponsor a recovering addict or alcoholic. Help at homeless soup kitchens. Foster a homeless pet. Volunteer at a hospital or hospice. Meet people, talk to them, work at understanding them. Live among them. Be one of them. Learn compassion.  Give of yourself and touch humanity.

Find your passion. Take a chance and discover your calling. Make your living by doing the thing you love to do. First, think about what you really love to do. There may be many things. Find out how you can make a living doing it. It may not be easy, but you only live this life once.

 Lose control. Come to understand that control is actually an illusion. We can control how we think and our behaviors to some extent but we control very little of what happens in life. It’s generally a bad idea to try to control others; it rarely leads to anything other than stress and unhappiness for everyone concerned. Let others live, and live for yourself.

 Spend time with children. Kids really know how to live. They experience everything right now, with everything they have. When they get hurt, they really cry. When they play, they really have fun. Learn from them, play with them, and work to be joyful like them.

 Talk to old people. There are  none wiser, more experienced, more learned, than those who have lived through life. They can tell you amazing stories. Give you advice on making a marriage last or staying out of debt. Tell you about their regrets and failures, so you can learn from them and hopefully avoid the same mistakes. They are the wisdom of our society. Take advantage of their lives while they’re still around.

 Love. Maybe the most important. Is your heart a tough bundle of scars? Learn to open it, have it ready to receive love, to give love unconditionally. If you have a problem with this, talk to someone about it. And practice makes perfect. Fall in love, if you aren’t already. If you are in love, fall in love with your partner all over again. Abandon caution and open your heart to life. Or love family members, friends, anyone. It doesn’t have to be romantic love. Work at love and being loved, one person at a time.

Faith With A Hole In The Middle

Sometimes

I feel I'm held together

with old rubber bands

a little string

and bits of dry-rotted cloth

gripping the tail of a 

forgotten  half-filled helium

party balloon

tied  loosely

to a dilapitated

white picket fence

the worn whitewash

rubbing off easily

leaving powdery white smears

on one's hands

impossible to wipe off

without marking something else

 

Nothing solid

to tether myself to

nothing tangible

nothing sure

only faith

with a hole in the middle

juggled and tossed

by a capricious wind

(9.7.2011)

Truth About Writers

From the LA Times: The Truth About Writers.

Ask a writer what she values most in her creative life, and she is likely to respond, "Time to write." Not many of us have the luxury of writing full- time; we have spouses, families, day jobs. To the people closest to the writer, "writing time" may seem like so much self-indulgence: Why should we get to sit around thinking all day? Normal people don't require hour after continuous hour of solitude and silence. Normal people can be flexible.

And yet, we writers tell our friends and children, there is nothing more sacrosanct, more vital to our intellectual and emotional well-being, than writing time. But we writers have a secret.

We don't spend much time writing.

Read the rest...

Miss Dorothy Parker

Learning To Be Disabled

Disability Blog Carnival #48: Capacities and Capabilities

"I can be changed by what happens to me, but I refuse to be reduced by it." -: Maya Angelou

I have been "disabled" now for 10 years. Most people who know me think of me as "strong", "brave", "persevering". People admire me for this; as though those qualities didn't exist before I became disabled. They admire me for continuing to live and pursue my dreams freely, "in spite of" a spinal cord injury and the chronic pain and depression that accompanies it.

But for me, it doesn't seem to be so great a thing, such an admirable feat. For me, it was a matter of practicality and realism.You do what you have to do. I am  "strong", "brave", "persevering" but I was BEFORE I became disabled. Those are the things that assist you in finding a way to continue living  instead of curling  yourself  up into a tight ball in the corner of a dark room and waiting to die.

People without disabilities assume that I write, create things, keep moving forward, work at keeping a decently positive attitude, "in spite of" my disability. People with disabilities, admire my resilience and capacity for not allowing my disability to stop me from living and expecting the best I can get from life.

Oddly, no one ever assumes I do what I do and I live the way I live with the attitude I have BECAUSE of my disability.

I have taught myself many things because I am an experiential learner. I taught myself a lot of how to live and be in this world due to a crappy hand in childhood. I taught myself to use computers back in the dark ages. I am a self-taught artist and thingmaker. Becoming disabled was no different. I had to learn how to be disabled because I wasn't born that way.

True enough, I am not paralyzed. I don't use a chair to get from point A to point B, it's true. But, I need a cane and I need a scooter to participate in activities and events that require walking and standing for long periods of time. I need to use a shopping cart to lean on in the grocery store, even if I am only getting one item. There are days when the pain is so bad, it's all I can do to get through the bare minimum and hope the next day, the next hour, the next minute is a better one. My life was changed and I needed to learn how to cope with the newness of it all.

When I was working full-time and more able-bodied , art and writing were things I poked at when I had the time. Once I became disabled and had nothing but time during recovery from surgeries and in between doctor appointments,they  became the lifeline and the preserver that kept me afloat. When it became clear I was never going to be able to go back to work as I once had, art and writing there to indicate a new path on which to travel. My disability gave me the time and space I needed to forge a new career for myself and this time one I had passion and patience for. I was no longer bogged down by doing the 9-to-5 thing and that left a lot of unfettered, creative energy energy to float among the rocks that rattled around in my head.

More than that though, I had to learn what it was like to be disabled in a culture that worships ability and perfection and a disability culture that viewed me as not "truly disabled".  I have always tossed conformity and convention out the window. Ever since I can remember, I have always been too much of one thing and not enough of another to fit in most pigeonholes. Disability, evidently, was going to be no exception. Within able-bodied circles, I was not able-bodied enough and within the disability community, I was not disabled enough or worse, I wasn't really disabled at all because I hadn't been born that way. It filled me with consternation and frustration. I was, it seemed, a woman without a country.

So I created my own. The country of Krishanna.

Just as I had balked at accepting the term "alcoholic" to define who I was years before, I rejected "disabled" to define my identity again. So many people get so caught up in labeling their identity that they forget who they are. To define who I am or can by limiting myself to what I can't do seems to me fruitless. "Disabled" is just one label to describe one part of who I am, just as being a feminist or an advocate, or a cranky artist describe other parts of who I am.

There is no one label for who I am. I am who I am. I am distinctly me and there's no one else on the face of the planet is that is just like me. Sounds hokey and rote, but it is true. For every one thing I can't do, there are half a dozen more I can.

Beyond our lists of all we are not and our litanies of all we cannot do, I believe the intrinsic knowledge we are only limited by our imaginations and dreams lies within us; indeed in spite of ourselves.

Disability Blog Carnival Reminder

The next Disability Blog Carnival is at Barriers, Bridges and Books. The theme is “Capacities and Capabilities”.  On that blog, Terri recently posted a reminder about the blog carnival, in which she said:

“What have you learned or become that you might not have without and encounter with disability? Have you become a medical expert, education specialist, behavioral manager, mechanic, efficiency expert, law specialist, problem-solver, activist, interpreter, ambassador, poet? Or something else that I haven’t thought of….Has your faith, creativity, determination, efficiency, patience, impatience, techno-savviness, assertiveness, connectedness, sensitivity, sense of humor or some other trait grown or been changed? Any of the above? All of the above? None of the above, but something else entirely??”

I'm participating are you?

A Room of One's Own

Okay, so it's been a few weeks. I've had a bunch to do in preparation for getting the equipment for my new workspace.

I had to transform this:

To this (with some help of course):

Doing that meant moving the furkids into the kitchen and finding a place for everything else, which is no easy feat nor for the faint of heart.

We live in a small house that is positively CRAMMED with stuff and so when you move one thing, you have to move at least three other things. It's a bit like living in a jigsaw puzzle. So when you move substantial things around like storage space or furniture or furkids kennels, it takes awhile. Then add me and my spine to the mix, it probably takes 3 times as long for me to get anything done even with help.

But it is done now and once I got to work in here, I realized how much I missed having a space of my own in which to write. I had been working and writing at a station in the living room which is perfect for web surfing, light e-mail reading and photo editing but it lacks the flat space and the environment conducive to productivity and writing. And it's nice to have a desk again with a good comfortable chair in which to lean back in and think deep thoughts about social media and writing and and art- whatever pops into my head to feed my insatiable curiosity and active imagination.

Though I share this space with the washer and dryer and an art making nook, I have really been enjoying  have a space where I can be alone, that is mine to write in again. In her book, "A Room of One's Own", Virginia Woolf wrote, "'a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction". I don;t have a lot of money so I don't write a lot of fiction but I have to say it has been lovely to write and work with no other person in the room; no TV droning on and on with programs I detest. I have caught myself wondering if this isn't more important than having having a studio. Perhaps not.  Perhaps they are equally important and I am just a space hog.

What do you think?  How important is having a space in which to create where you can be alone ? Do you have a space of your own at home where you can be alone to blog or do art or write or mix music or whatever it is you do? If so, how important is it to you? If not, how do you manage?

Well, Poo!

From Terry Pratchett

AN EMBUGGERANCE                                                             

Folks,

I would have liked to keep this one quiet for a little while, but because of upcoming conventions and of course the need to keep my publishers informed, it seems to me unfair to withhold the news. I have been diagnosed with a very rare form of early onset Alzheimer's, which lay behind this year's phantom "stroke".

We are taking it fairly philosophically down here and possibly with a mild optimism. For now work is continuing on the completion of Nation                        and the basic notes are already   being laid down for Unseen Academicals. All other things being equal, I expect to meet most current and, as far as possible, future commitments but will discuss things with the various organisers. Frankly, I would prefer it if people kept things cheerful, because I think there's time for at least a few more books yet :o)

            

            

PS I would just like to draw attention to everyone reading the above that this should be interpreted as 'I am not dead'. I will, of course, be dead at some future point, as will everybody else. For me, this maybe further off than you think - it's too soon to tell. I know it's a very human thing to say "Is there anything I can do", but in this case I would only entertain offers from very high-end experts in brain chemistry.

Snarfed from PJSM Prints, courtesy of Sandra Kidby of PJSM Prints.