Archive | Cat Lady Matters

Not Far from the Tree

I know I’ve been quiet on this blog. I’ve been quiet everywhere for a week as I find the rhythm of writing this book. It’s forcing me to evaluate how I expend my energy, because being of body means we have limited battery each day. I’m figuring out when and where to eat, when and how to exercise, who and how to see. Most of all I’m figuring out what to say and when, for communication requires the most energy of all. I have about a month to squeeze as much of this book inside my heart and head and hands into the world, and I’ve never better understood the double entendre of such words as produce, create, birth. Continue Reading →

Blood in His Tracks (Indigo Grownups)

I have come to accept my sadness as holy. I don’t mean to fetishize depression. I don’t even think the great grief I experience is depression because it is situationally appropriate and does not rise up to wall me from my day, duties, you.

But I think of my sadness—this heavy, grave stillness I often carry—as holy because it is true and because, after all these years, I am grateful to feel even when it is very, very hard.

As a young empath my daily prayer was to not stop feeling. I worried that I’d grow as numb as most adults, that I’d stop registering the sorrows and struggles and triumphs of bugs, birds, plants, people–of every soul quietly hurtling on its forceful fateful path. I felt everything so deeply that it made me cry in fast food restaurants and plastic playgrounds paved over meadows, at birthday parties where the parents didn’t seem happy their kids had been born. Oh, Lisa, she’s so sensitive. That’s what they always say, isn’t it, when we can’t block out the miracles and savagery of everyday life.  Continue Reading →

No Book Is An Island

There are so many dreadful things afoot and if we let them (as I did yesterday) they can devour us entirely. This morning I did not. Some of you may know I am writing a book and finding it the greatest challenge I’ve ever tackled. It is lone-wolf work. You must be alone and you must be focused and you must listen well. But it is also collaborative. Spiritually, emotionally and even physically I sometimes need rescuing from this story, and I am used to relying only on myself. On a day like today, when I write long and well and see how it all may fit together, I feel more grateful than any time since I was a 3-year-old viewing the world from the safety of my daddy’s shoulders. In turn, I send love to you. For the love we each generate shores everyone else, even when we think ourselves islands.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy