12 comments on “rar.

  1. Wow. We’re quite similar. Except, I think you have more faith in your abilities than I do in mine. I think I’m fortunate that I have this teaching gig, but I keep wondering when they’re going to wake up and say “d’oh, we should get someone who knows what she’s doing.”

    *hug* good luck.

    • But you DO know what you’re doing. The dirty little secret of all teaching materials is that SOMEONE HAD TO MAKE IT UP. Someone had to sit down and pull all of those diagrams and text boxes and passages out of their butt, then try it out to see if it would work. It’ll work okay for some students, not so well for others, and it gets tweaked… but every teacher has to do it, because a class taught well is just as much about the instructor’s comfort as the students’.

      How would you teach a 100-pound waif to belly-dance?

  2. I wish I had some kind of advice or answers for you… Unfortunately, I am in a similar boat myself.

    Ever since I read Harrison Bergeron by Kurt Vonnegut Jr when I was younger, I’ve suspected that nature or fate or whatever you want to call it, has a way of trying to “even things out” amongst us. No one ever gets it all… sure people can pretend (or convince themselves) they have everything they want and need, but in reality there’s always something or some area very lacking. We’re all handicapped in our own ways… may be not equally, but it does seem that the more potential a person has, the more chains they also have.

    Meh, just a rough theory I’ve had for a long time. It has been on my mind a lot lately because I realize that to truly try to reach my own potential, I have to risk my sanity and perhaps lose myself to a point where I won’t be able to come back. Chances are I’ll wimp out and just do what I need to survive.

    One of the things I admire about you Dawn is that you are very honest and out there about what you think and feel and I think not as afraid to take chances as many people are.

    • When you get down to it, risk-taking is all about honestly assessing what’s at stake. A little pain doesn’t scare me, so having kids was not a big deal. Losing our son was a horrible thing, but having crossed the threshold of “worst thing ever” changed the perspective and made more things “acceptable risks” – like developing GDM or being in the hospital for over a month (things I would otherwise never willingly do).

      I’ve stared my own death in the face a few times, even stared down someone else’s death by my hand, gotten the living crap beat out of me, been homeless, left my kids behind, took them back without permission, been violated, gotten fired, quit, been on stage, worked behind the scenes… and so much more, and NONE OF IT KILLED ME. Some of it made my mental state a little flaky for a while, but it didn’t kill me.

      So, why not take the chances? As my late aunt once said, “Sometimes you have to grab your ass with both hands and jump.” Why? Why bother jumping at all? Because the best growth comes through adversity, and the universe doesn’t let you get in over your head without 1) giving you the tools to deal with it or 2) giving you a way out – and most often it’s the former. Most people flail and fall either because they still need to learn more about the problem or they have given themselves self-imposed arbitrary limitations that keep them from shining. Silly, non?

      • Fittingly enough, you’ve reminded me of a favorite quote by Kurt Vonnegut:

        “We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.”

        Hmm, I don’t know, sometimes I think I lack the courage to live. I’m good at surviving… like you, I’ve survived so many things that could have destroyed me. Living though… much scarier and harder.
        I hate it, I see people with so much less making so much more of their lives and know I am wasting too much, but I don’t know how to force myself to do what I need to. Or I don’t have the skills. Or my chemistries keep me from using them. Or I’m too lazy. Or whatever.

        I don’t think I am as brave as you though. I know I can withstand pain, way too much of it, and I’ve withstood everything life has thrown at me (sometimes barely) thus far. But I live in pretty constant fear of worse. I know I have limits, I just don’t want to reach them. I don’t want to completely break, you know? I don’t know if I’m making sense or not.

        • But, honey, you can’t break unless you’re already fragile, and everything you’ve been through only proves that you AREN’T fragile. Broken hearts aren’t proof of vulnerability – they are an opportunity to be strong.

          How do I explain strength…? How do I explain courage…?

          It’s all about choosing to do so…? Power is the will to do something that others are determined NOT to be done…?

          Hm… Perhaps this will help:

          “For Strong Women” by Marge Piercy

          A strong woman is a woman who is straining
          A strong woman is a woman standing
          on tiptoe and lifting a barbell
          while trying to sing “Boris Godunov.”

          A strong woman is a woman at work
          cleaning out the cesspool of the ages,
          and while she shovels, she talks about
          how she doesn’t mind crying, it opens
          the ducts of the eyes, and throwing up
          develops the stomach muscles, and
          she goes on shoveling with tears in her nose.

          A strong woman is a woman in whose head
          a voice is repeating, I told you so,
          ugly, bad girl, bitch, nag, shrill, witch,
          ball-buster, nobody will ever love you back,
          why aren’t you feminine, why aren’t
          you soft, why aren’t you quiet, why aren’t you dead?

          A strong woman is a woman determined
          to do something others are determined
          not be done. She is pushing up on the bottom
          of a lead coffin lid. She is trying to raise
          a manhole cover with her head, she is trying
          to butt her way through a steel wall.
          Her head hurts. People waiting for the hole
          to be made say, hurry, you’re so strong.

          A strong woman is a woman bleeding
          inside. A strong woman is a woman making
          herself strong every morning while her teeth
          loosen and her back throbs. Every baby,
          a tooth, midwives used to say, and now
          every battle a scar. A strong woman
          is a mass of scar tissue that aches
          when it rains and wounds that bleed
          when you bump them and memories that get up
          in the night and pace in boots to and fro.

          A strong woman is a woman who craves love
          like oxygen or she turns blue choking.
          A strong woman is a woman who loves
          strongly and weeps strongly and is strongly
          terrified and has strong needs. A strong woman is strong
          in words, in action, in connection, in feeling;
          she is not strong as a stone but as a wolf
          suckling her young. Strength is not in her, but she
          enacts it as the wind fills a sail.

          What comforts her is others loving
          her equally for the strength and for the weakness
          from which it issues, lightning from a cloud.
          Lightning stuns. In rain, the clouds disperse.
          Only water of connection remains,
          flowing through us. Strong is what we make
          each other. Until we are all strong together,
          a strong woman is a woman strongly afraid.

          • Hmm, it might be more frighting to think that you wouldn’t break… I do understand what you’re saying I think. And I do like the verse a lot. Thank you. 🙂

            I really didn’t mean to make any of this about me. Sorry.

          • And what if it NEEDS to be about you this time? If it means that my experience or observations have maybe helped you a little to find some peace and light in the world, then it’s completely worth it.

            Never, ever apologize (to me, at least) for sharing pieces of yourself, regardless of the format (my journal or your own, for instance). Friends share themselves that way, and that is always a beautiful thing.

            That poem always gets to me. It’s been my inspiration and my touchstone for… wow, over twenty years now, maybe more.

  3. What do you do without thinking about it? Do you find yourself writing or drawing in your head?

    You should probably turn your focus in that direction. The rest will snap into place as you go along bit by bit — not overnight, of course.

    That’s what I want to say. It’s probably as good an answer as any.

  4. I was going to remind you that the vendor registrations for Ft. Collins and Denver prides will be coming up soon, and you at the very least could set up reiki booths at both of them for more of the word of mouth and money during the summer. And, since you’re not going to be pregnant this year and I don’t think there’s a wedding, you could probably set up a reiki booth at the vendor carnival (or one of the earlier days) at Rendezvous this year. You know the gays like the alternative stuff, have money to spend, and WILL recommend you if you’re good, which we both know you are, love.

    • I might be able to do the first two, but Rendez-Vous is still out – even without weddings, we still have Magestock, and this year is Mardi Gras themed! (WOOT!)

      Can you get me some dates and contact information? PJ also suggested that I talk to his school about teaching some classes or giving some lectures.

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