Once compassion is gone, there is no breath

The reckoning
when minds

snapped, kidnapped and shuttered
demand of me what I am not

But what to do?

Shout?
Retreat?
Beat my way to my sheltered place
where I can face

Myself

And know, no matter what
my mind is bewildered and lost
betrayed in the confusion
of the noise

tossed about
carried away in a hurricane
of unsettled winds of emotional, mind-bending
lies

my grief or sadness spent
and there in my aloneness
in the quiet, safe shelter away from the chaos

I find my breath and breathe softly
I am aware and feel my skin
the place I awaken to and live in
each day when the sun stubbornly comes up
every morning without fail

reminding me

It is my body I can trust

must
trust

I breathe softly
take it in what is True
in that quiet place

The majesty of me
the only me there is
the one that deserves my compassion

Am carried to the shore of my experience
once more
to the soft sands of tomorrow
where I watch the waves

Strength makes you beautiful
You’ve just forgotten

Maybe you’ve stored your strength away, in a secret vault
hidden it away to protect yourself
or silenced it, shadowed it
behind social rules that value or demand

desirability

accommodation

submissiveness

more than strength

you are not the molded, conditioned you
shaped by ancient irrelevant rules that demand compliance
but, instead

You

perfect, beautiful You

born into life to experience
peace, success, surprise, satisfaction

if you feel

broken
disheartened
drained
betrayed
forgotten

This is a message for your heart and soul

Realize

endless repetitive false thoughts and beliefs trap you into weakness

Your strength is not of muscle or sinew
but of spirit and soul
it is a silent power, with an unimaginable nuclear capacity to overcome
even the worst nightmare

Your inner indominable strength
A powerful wave felt that echoes when it appears

echoes loudly

silences dissention

Your hidden strength awakens from the depths of despair
when you feel it impossible to take another step forward

It arises
when muscles, weary from work or grief, seem to fail
It appears
when both heart and feet are painfully aching
when even the simplest breath feels impossible to take

Strength is creative and powerful

waiting patiently to be summoned
steadfast through the years
awake and on alert, even as the body tires
sculpting your beauty as time goes on

Strength carries us through the worst of times
And buoys us in the best of times
It is our soul’s gift for living every day with intention
Beautiful, desirable, and intelligent without apology

Strength demands you love yourself
All authentic relationships happen when you can
Anything or anyone less than love and kindness doesn’t deserve you

Trust it

Nourish it

Have faith in your strength as a person
Like the sun, and the moon, and the stars
It is always there if you look up

You are timeless

You are strong

It is the beauty of who You are

Not a poem demanding anything
Other than

your feeling

of what freedom

means

to you

In the aftermath of the concentration camp
where Viktor Frankl found his freedom
he shared his secret from living
in the damp
darkness
of hell

that no man, no condition, no one
can take from us what is only ours to give
no one can stop us from loving
or kindness
or compassion
or hope

or from trusting what we know to be true
that we are never far
from whom we truly are

it is up to us to follow our own star

home

On our 250th birthday as a nation
in a country that is continually trying to reinvent itself
what does freedom mean
what does it seem

like

to you

A question without one answer
but in the end, there is only one true answer

What is yours?

Viktor Emil Frankl (Austrian German: [ˈfraŋkl̩]; 26 March 1905 – 2 September 1997)^[1] was an Austrian neurologist, psychiatrist, philosopher, and Holocaust survivor,^[2] who was placed as a Jew into the concentration camp in Hitler’s Germany. His book, Man’s Search for Meaning, was his memoir of what he discovered about himself and the human spirit during the holocaust years, living in the camps. His work was transformative and life-changing for survivors of the post-WWII era. (Wikipedia.com)

We are, as humans, as diverse as the fish that swim in our ocean waters or the wildlife that inhabits our forests, jungles, and deserts. We are here to conquer our fears and live to our fullest potential. We are not here to fear one another. In that spirit, I offer Kahlil Gibran’s poem.

On Fear by Kahlil Gibran

It is said that before entering the sea a river trembles with fear.

She looks back at the path she has traveled, from the peaks of the mountains, and long winding road crossing forests and villages.

And in front of her, she sees an ocean so vast, that to enter there seems nothing more than to disappear forever.

But there is no other way. The river can not go back.

Nobody can go back. To go back is impossible in existence.

The river needs to take the risk of entering the ocean because only then will fear disappear, because that’s where the river will know it’s not about disappearing into the ocean, but of becoming the ocean.

Until we all meet in the ocean, I wish you to know that while we may never know each other personally, in many ways we do. Peace and blessings to you.

Candace

The art of forgiveness is not a Monet painting
Not panels of lily fields painted in soft pastel shades
in the silent safe retreat of Giverny

Forgiveness is a shattering

An abstract, disjointed Picasso painting
that can feel like Vincent van Gogh’s pain
when starry night hope seems lost forever in an eternal void

Forgiveness arrives on the heels of betrayal

It knocks on the door of our vulnerabilities
announcing hard endings

a divorce
betrayal
a misunderstanding that feels impermeable
failures
the death of a loved one

Forgiveness does not call on us when we are content and happy
Not when our needs are met

It is the necessary and unyielding requirement for us to live through

and past

and beyond

our pain

It is forgiving ourselves for what we did or did not do
or others for the same human frailty

Forgiveness only comes after time spent in the darkest night
when the only light appears as a pinhole at the far end of the tunnel
where promised wisdom and peace await

Forgiveness requires our willingness to surrender to wisdom
one step at a time

Once compassion is gone
even my breath feels labored
the air becomes heavy, unbreathable
smoky with misunderstanding

a reckoning
when thoughts choke silent my tender-heartedness

closing me in
demanding of me
what I am not

what to do?

Shout?

Shh oh you

be still

OUT away the have to’s and should’s

Retreat

Wait

RE examine and TREAT my soulful spirit
to a sheltered space

where in silence I am safe to face

myself
in the cracked mirror of my understanding
to accept, no matter what I see there,
my own bewilderment

to see I am but a leaf
in a hurricane of misapprehension
lost and confused

slammed up against the human frailties of expectations

in the abyss of my chaos
I grasp for the fragile string of understanding
swirling past me
so near and within reach
pulling me toward the all-seeing eye of the hurricane
where peace awaits

slowly I breathe
and float into surrender
on the waves of my experiences
and rediscover my breath

in and out
in and out

s…l…o…w…l…y

feeling my skin
living in my body
trusting my Soul’s strength
trusting its wisdom

there

in that safe space of peaceful surrender
I rediscover the majesty of my life

the whole, holy soup of it all

where my fragmented and weary self
returns with its suitcase full of

joys
and sorrows
and successes
and losses

gathered from the dusty road
of my long exhausting travels
through inner space

my personal storm now passed

I am again free

to be myself with you

warming by the fire of acceptance

at least for now

I am a vessel of pure light and love

inherited from a source so eternally bright

that Its Love penetrates me

Its brilliance heals me

body and soul

darkness, is powerless

regardless of how deep or vast it appears

it cannot extinguish Light

nor me

serving only as a Divine contrast

to the Light that shines on us all

I trust I am

a willing, unfettered conduit

a channel

for this pure Love

this benevolent Light that asks

but one thing

to empty myself of all that is not me

I am designed to meet each moment as it comes

with curiosity

even as tears of compassion water the garden of my understanding

I am ready

need do nothing

only receive without resistance

the Eternal Love that flows to me

unfettered

from a vast endless place from which I once came

and to which one day I will return

our benevolent Creator

known by different names by all

whose love flows to me

I trust, I wait, I listen

for Your guidance

Prepared, ready, and willing to follow my path to its end

The world will never be
what we want it to be
it is too complex to meet every expectation
but it is everything we want

with its breathtaking sunrises

and its warm sunsets

its frothy oceans

and beautiful mountain ranges

of emotion
and hope
and wonder

of sorrow
and disappointment
and loss

we just have to learn to be in the world we have
to bow in gratitude for each moment we are given
because truly

we will never pass this way again

peace can be felt in the aroma of a fragrant flower
love can be received in the hand that holds ours
compassion feeds our capacity to love and be loved

powerful and ever-moving

Love is not emotional

it is instead an e - motion

one that drives us on

and like the tide

moves in and out of our life experiences

Love

always present

an infinite ocean of extraordinary beauty

so vast

and ever-present for each of us

continually reminding us we are never alone

we only need listen

as we quietly sit on the shore
the birds’ song beckons us home

in stillness

the gritty sand of our experiences softens our edges
the mighty tide of joy and sorrow flows in and out of our lives
and as it ebbs and flows
in our surrender
it washes away weariness as we

listen

and feel

and heal

in the end
we will know this great Truth
as we meet our final breath

that Love is all that matters

it is all that has ever mattered

why wait?

On a recent weekend getaway to Idyllwild, California, I was walking our dog, Riley, through the quiet neighborhood streets. I began noticing signs (ones posted in most neighborhoods), that read “slow down” or “kids at play,” but then I came across one that really struck me. It read:

Try Slow

I had been working on a poem for a long time about how we run past our lives, especially given my experiences over the past year. Time stopped for me when our son passed away, and I realized how I had run past too many moments and opportunities with him to feel and see his love, to laugh, to take walks, or talk on the phone. This is my reflection from my walk in Idyllwild and my life with our son. I am hopeful it inspires you to try on slow as you go.

You’ll never know
what you might find along the way
a dream, a hope, a different way

Try Slow

instead of …
running here
running there
running everywhere
never feeling the delight of wind in your hair
ceasing to feel that you care

Try Slow
before you hit go

consider all your ragged sighs
as you run on
past calm
and just keep on keeping on

Try Slow

give your heart a healthy flow
trust it to find the way to go
the one way
your way, meant to be
it’s there, but don’t trust me

trust yourself infinitely

A stream that always moves
can’t be caught from shore or reef
but we try harder anyway
and push the stream
and rush

Like Forrest Gump
we run and run
until our gas runs

out

And then it’s done

Try Slow

It’s not too late
you know

breath in
breath out
breath in

and you’ll soon discover
what your life is all about
the fog will lift
clarity your gift
and on your way you’ll go
further than you even know

Try Slow

count on fingers and your toes
each of your blessings
all of those
and when you’re done
count again
until you’re filled to the brim
with joy

Try Slow

take in what too quickly goes

the sun that sets to rise again
the sound of wind
the whippoorwill
the sound of raindrops on your sill

Be still

Try Slow

moments too precious
time too precarious
opportunities abundant and various,
lost
once in your rearview mirror

Try Slow

a different pace, a different way

the world is willing if you let go
of what you think you think you know

take time now
for slow
so you can hear the voice you know
be true, your guidance wise
so you can rise

if for nothing else, consider slow

it
is
not
too
late

You Know

Today

is like any other day

but today the Daffodils arrived

their soft green leaves rising from frozen ground

taking in the fresh air of a new beginning

despite the cold

pushing their way up through darkness

one

small

step

at

a

time

reaching for the sun’s light

trusting it will find it there

because the sun

like life

called it forward

encouraging it to live

to put the darkness behind them

at least for now

some days we are all Daffodils

today is one of them.

so flows our hope

like a gentle wave

it sinks, it floats, it evaporates

and then

just as miraculously

appears again

dancing over life’s troubling waters

like a fairy over a forest pond that beacons …

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Come, follow me.

Choose not the darkened forest where fears hide.

Instead, follow me as you choose,

into the open meadow

where sunlight will freckle your skin

where rain might kiss your lips

where grass may tickle and poke at your understanding

As you face the fears that follow you

the ones that demand your loyalty

I, hope, am there by your side

a lighthouse to guide you home to yourself

where all fears are powerless over you

with me, hope, by your side

you will find your faith

your strength

your peace

your courage

your direction

when you feel vulnerable, I will hold you near

remind you of your endless, eternal light of possibilities

of your wisdom where you reign supreme

I have never left you

I only wait quietly in the shadows

until I am called

The songs we learn to sing

when we have faced the worst of things

the notes

that float

above our agony

playing songs of tender memories

that so easily are pushed aside

the ache we cannot hear

and so

we hide

lost to our agony

the sunrises we see but cannot feel

the love from others that seems unreal

the lonely ache within our soul

for all the tears wept

we grow

a part of us still longs to know

to understand

the why

the way

to buried wisdom lying there

somewhere

deep in our tomorrow

pushing ever upward to the surface

of a patiently awaiting sun

to know

to recall

movies past

every moment of the heart

they come and go and travel on

unholdable in the end

memory

it is there that we might mend

it is there where wisdom calls

pay attention to the small

sprig of new life reaching toward the sun

alive, unseen

yet with a might

willing

to lead us home

to a different self

we will come to love

we, a cracked vase

glued back together by some mystical grace

perfect

beautiful

among the ruins

waiting to be filled again

by moments

that come and go

______________________________________

From beyond his message was clear

As clear as he had been in life

Find your joy so you can feel my presence

I will meet you there

A tall order, an impossible order

An order nonetheless

And so, each morning I arose from slumber

and met a mirrored reflection of a person unknown to me

someone without certainty

a thief who had stolen my joy

Sleepless nights

Endless days

I remembered his plea

and saw only the empty chair

Find your joy

and so, it went

each day disappearing into the next

a pretense of pretending

surviving

wondering why the world rightfully went on

when everything felt so wrong

But the chair sat there

patiently empty

it’s stillness a reminder

find your joy

With reluctance and half-hearted effort

I began to listen with my heart and not my head

I listened for his whisper in the soft breeze

I saw his presence in the red breasted hawk that glided to ground

the one that paused briefly

just long enough to announce his presence

before finding its freedom in the skies above me

I found a smile as the glitter of reflected sunbeams

danced blithely around me

racing across the yard in swirling patterns

reflecting off the water with fairylike sparks of light

each shimmer announcing his presence

as assuredly as the rising sun appears each day

on time

in time

always

The hawk

The gentle breeze

The dancing light of energy

Begs me see what I cannot with my eyes

And so, I see him everywhere

Except in the empty chair

where memories now sit

waiting for a chat

. . . . . . . . .

I wrote this poem as I enter the first Christmas without our son who passed away recently. The empty chair is always a hard proof that life will never be the same, that there is a vacancy that no one can fill. I share this at Christmas, during our holiday season, to acknowledge there are others who are experiencing one of their many “firsts” without someone they love and have lost. Those who must face the reality of the empty chair.

I encourage you, if you are one of those persons, to sit and have a conversation with the empty chair, to write a message to your loved one, to listen for his or her presence throughout your day. Those of us who have lost are not crazy to trust or believe that our loved ones are a breath away or that they whisper to us in our dreams or in an uncommon moment. It is only their love for us that will carry us beyond our deepest grief. Love, as I am learning, is the only power strong enough to breach the walls of a griping grief. It is only love that can lead us safely to a gentle sorrow that will be with us for perhaps the rest of our lives. But that gentle sorrow is evidence of deep love. May you always feel blessed by your sorrow and the love that delivered it to your door.

During this holiday season, may you find peace and tiny moments of joy each day. May you be surrounded by people who care, and more importantly, that you will let those people in. Let others help you find those small bits of happiness. If you are able to do that, then I truly believe when you do, you will feel the presence of your loved one who waits patiently in that empty chair hoping to have a conversation with you.

My gift to you, a fifteen-minute video story of The Gentle Pine’s Purpose being released by me this season in honor of our son, David Wilson Barnes.

I kneel before the altar of my life

and give thanks

for each candle lit experience

the ones that brought me to this moment

the hard-breaking moments

when I thought my heart would never heal

but did

the groundbreaking moments

that restored hope

when I thought all was lost

only to discover a new beginning

the melancholy moments

when I was sure my ink well had run dry

but instead discovered my muse

waiting patiently

my muse, who

had refreshed and refilled me

with words hidden in indigo waters

ink drip, drip, dripping

onto sheets of blank paper

an intravenous feed

keeping me alive

always the pen

intricately black ink fragments

turning magically into words

falling silently onto white sheets

revealing to me what I could not see

or hear

or understand

or taste

until I could

and so it begins again

a return to my personal alter

humbled and deeply grateful

No one can walk this path of grief for me

others can walk beside me

offering me well-meaning compassion and sympathy

but even in my appreciation I am alone

ill-prepared to walk this virtual 500-mile Santiago trail of grief and tears

I am told

the long arduous walk is necessary

to stay the course will lead to the gentle shores of a healing sea

where soft lapping waves and turquoise waters will soothe and refresh my weary soul

where a new horizon will appear, offering hope

but it is an involuntary and unwelcome walk I take

the one they say is worth taking

I am heavy with grief

weighted down by “what ifs” and “wish I had’s”

moments filled with regret, and memories, and denial

the seashore where peace is promised

feels so very, very, far away

a mirage in a distant future

a place I do not trust exists

for now, I refuse to abandon my grief

I refuse to turn away from it

it is a measure of the abiding love I feel for the son I knew

I visit him in silence

I depend upon the movement of my breath to bring me peace

I feel the vastness and eternal nature of this love that I feel for him expand

he always chose life

he fought for it

would not give up

he would expect nothing less of me

perhaps he knows I am overwhelmed by his loss

that my heart is shattered

that my feet are reluctant to take that first step each morning

that they are a poor excuse for this long journey I am on

where I use worn-out cliches in my attempt to motivate me

a feeble attempt hoping to ease my pain

in truth, the worn out catch phrases pinch my fragile emotions and fray my nerves

and I feel an emptiness in their intention to offer comfort

I take one baby step at a time

while the past keeps pace with each step I take

regrets keep jumping through the holes of those worn-out cliches

like pebbles and dirt embedded in the inside of an old shoe

the “what ifs” become shards of memory

that cut me to the quick

finding their way into the most vulnerable parts of me

that others cannot see

the pain is sharp when it hits

I stop all the doing and breathe

I surrender to my grief

until there is brief but welcomed relief

but when it does come

I am a thousand torn pieces of a whole I once knew

I gently hold some of those torn pieces as they float by

and remember my son’s genuine kind heart

So apparent to those who loved and understood his complex nature

Surrounded by caring, loving, compassionate friends and family as he let go of his life

I witnessed his caring concern

for everyone around him even at the end

the storm moves in upon me

often without warning

and I feel betrayed by the sun rise

I feel guilty when the sun’s brightness is sometimes lost on me

when I find myself wandering

as if in a dark forest on a moonless night

where my raw emotions creep to the surface

their roots pushing through the dense soil of my worst nightmare

throwing me off balance until I fall, and I weep, and I stay down

waiting patiently for the strength to stand and keep going

isolated in my darkness, I move like a snail

memories of him reminding me he was real

that he was once here

that my phone would ring or an email would arrive

I am not supposed to be here, in this dark forest of loss

It was my child who would sit beside me when I left this life

I was not meant to feel the bone-crushing anguish I feel

But I am here

imagining the years of my remaining life without him

this surreal, unimaginable twilight zone I find myself in

a place I move in and out of

only half present on most days

my body moving me

sometimes without knowing why or how

When fleeting moments of calm arrive

they leave me terrified

the silence between the notes of my sorrow haunts me

like he will be lost somehow in a void I cannot access

losing him again in this way is unimaginable

so instead, I make friends with my sorrow

and I remember he is gone and I am forever changed

he would smile at me for my sorrow and worry

he would hug and hold me close if he were here

he would remind me that life is a dream we wake up in if we are lucky enough to surrender to what is

Breathing as I did when I gave birth

Bearing the pain of his loss

I will rebirth him through story and poem

my passion for weaving words

now my labor that will keep his beautiful spirit alive

My mama’s heart will be

a soulful ache that will never end until I do

That ache I feel

will become a lifetime quilt of love and kindness

I intend to weave those values into each passing moment

A reminder that in the end

love, compassion, and kindness toward myself and others

is

all

that

matters.

To have him in my life even knowing this was our fate

I would do it over again in a heartbeat just to have known him.

Fly free my dear son. Until soon …

Love is not a verb

It is not an action we take

It is a nuanced blending of all our experiences

It is bread, or soup, or goulash

It is scrambled eggs or a rich chocolate milkshake

It is the one and only essential ingredient of life

It makes life delicious

And meaningful

And worth waking up to every day

It is messiness

the misunderstandings we tangle ourselves up in

It is the joyful memorable moments

Each and all blending in together

Turning the white paint of our lives into our own custom color

We might take an action and call it love

But an act without love is called abuse

Love is the yeast of life

The requisite ingredient that helps us rise to face any moment

It carries us through

delightful moments, fearful, or bone crushing heartbreak

it is ever present and essential

like yeast to bread

with love we rise to courageously face another day

love is our sustenance

nourishing

healing

embracing

understanding

it is the enzyme of life

that digests the whole of it all

The good

The heartbreaks

The successes

The failures

Love takes us past our struggle

And moves us along in life

and in time delivers gifts, even in the midst of agonizing grief

Love is vast and endless

thoroughly penetrating

And leaves no one out

Not even the malcontents who hurt us

In the end, it is us

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While my gaze held fast upon her form

She perched atop our sixty-foot Mexican Palm

a majestic gray hawk

confidently riding the dried brown frond

that swayed ever so slightly in the breeze

She scanned the nearby natural preserve that stretched for miles,

Her head moving ever so slightly,

master of her world

Her senses alert

Her eyes sharp and focused

She knew this wildness

this patch of feral land in the middle of a city

a city alien to her

where traffic backs up

where people rush past their lives

She, impervious to the nonessential

remained focused and moved with the wind

Knowing if all failed her wings would carry her

I watched in silence

admiring and envying her instincts

I coveted her strength to live fearlessly

amongst the wild land

where wildfires come and go

where rattlesnakes and coyote roam

Surrounded by the silence of the afternoon

I longed to find her patience within me

To find myself towering above the chaos of life

Suspended above asphalt traveled roads filled with potholes

Above the worries I take too seriously

and the ones I sometimes blindly ignore

The gray and noble bird of prey

free of the beliefs that box we humans in

from the unimportant mental thoughts that rule ordinary lives

She sat blissfully detached

peaceful

atop the wild sixty-foot palm

and rode the breeze

She was a masterpiece of nature

pure untamed poetry

I envied her

I longed to be that free

When I was a little girl, sitting in my room on a sunny day after my mother disciplined me for something I had done, I remember feeling misunderstood for whatever motivated the punishment my mother disapproved of. Life hasn’t changed much on that score, the part about being misunderstood. But even at nine years old, and even though I hated my mother at the time for how I had been treated, I knew two things.

I wanted to be an author of books, and I wanted to be a mother.

And today, I am both. And I’ve gone one step further; I am a grandmother.

I have realized both dreams, and neither dream has been easy or without its challenges. Being a weaver of the alphabet, trying to put thoughts into words and share them with others, is no small task. But being a mother is the most challenging role of my life—more demanding than being a wife, a writer, a sibling, or a friend.

The days of “Mother, may I” are ever evolving …

May I have a cookie?

May I have another story?

May I have another glass of water?

May I stay up later?

May I go to the dance?

May I have that … (fill in the blank … dress, car, shoes, outfit, etc.)?

May I go out with my friends?

Until one day we no longer hear “Mother, may I?” but are told, “Mother, I may.”

May I go on with my life and make my own decisions? Please leave me to my own mistakes. This is a fair request and demand. We have all made them at some point in life.

So, to honor mothers everywhere by recognizing those women who are responsible and show up when needed, for putting their loving efforts and care for their children above their own needs, I say kudos. Kudos to you for long, sleepless nights, for wiping butts and noses, for healing broken hearts and scratched knees, for being willing to offer a helping hand and put your own needs aside. For all mothers out there whose motives are misunderstood, for all mothers who fear for their children’s welfare, for all mothers who must let go of their children’s hands as they walk away and don’t look back, this is a love letter to you.

Being a mom is a balancing act on a tightrope with no net. It is not a static role. Too much or not enough is the gray area we all live in. Ultimately, love is the only true and precious gift we offer our children; the greatest love of all is letting go. The trick is learning to love ourselves for our efforts, forgive ourselves for our mistakes, and hope that one day our children understand how deeply we love them.

So, in May, the month that honors mothers everywhere, when opposing ideologies, change, and shifting sands shake the ground upon which we stand, I recognize and salute each of you. Motherhood is an act of service; after the expiration date comes for our children, it is time to nourish ourselves. Mother, may I? Dear mother, of course you can.

You can write, paint, dance, and travel. You can play, laugh, cry, and worry. You can be you.

We do what we do because, for us, being a mom has no expiration date —there is only letting go.

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We are not exceptionally good at keeping company with ourselves. As a woman, partner, and a mother, every moment of our day can push us out of our lives. We have been conditioned to believe we can be all things to everyone except ourselves. Being alone is not something we are comfortable doing. A year and a half ago, I spent time alone in Sedona at a retreat. I knew no one. I took long walks by myself among the red rocks and got to know myself a little better. I left there realizing my life belonged to me, not anyone else. Away from that brand of solitude, I continually remind myself that it is true. A wise person once said, “You crawled through the birth canal alone, and you will return to the great beyond alone.” Knowing this can be either a weakness or a strength. I prefer to be strong.

Life does not encourage that kind of aloneness unless you practice spiritual discipline. Feeling lonely is different from being alone and is often misinterpreted as rejection or unlovability, neither of which is true.

I have often wondered what it means to be alone, to spend even tiny amounts of time during the day without my husband's company or our dog Riley. I have concluded that it is natural to be alone because we each are alone regardless of how many surround us.

For me, it is a statement of fact. Naturally, we are alone. It is an acknowledgment to myself that I am alone in everything. I live in my personally experienced universe, with my thoughts and way of seeing things. My world is made up of all my experiences, good and beautiful, bad, and ugly, but in the end, I am alone within the world I have constructed within my mind. For years, my mother kept secrets in her inner universe, secrets about her life I would only discover years after her death. We all have closets filled with “stuff” that is ours to keep or discard when the time is right. If we are lucky and the planets align, we can free ourselves of all the internal secrets and hoarded judgments that keep us small.

Naturally, we can only do that alone. We might need a guide or a counselor to guide us there, but they can only take us to the border of our own inner psyche. They can never enter or cross into that mysterious place where we live alone.

Naturally Alone with Others Who Care

We are alone, and being alone well is integral for our health. When we listen to our thoughts objectively, we may discover that most of those thoughts are conditioned BS from family, society, or the deep, dark web that keeps us from being our own best friend.

We do need others. Even the most spiritually driven hermits have their version of God to spend time with. They have discovered the power and strength of feeling comfortable in their aloneness. It is important to let the people who care come in close. We need to allow others to be part of our lives. We benefit from our relationships and experiences. We are here to take our beautiful selves into the world and live brilliantly, allowing others to see who we are. Our dog Riley is an example of how to do just that. At night, he cuddles against my leg on the couch for a while, then jumps down and finds his own space. He is my guru and my teacher. He is my fitness trainer, making me exercise and move my body with ball throws! But then he leaves me to be with myself. The dance of life in real time!

Every night as I drift off to sleep, my dream may be filled with people, busy as any day I spend. In that altered state, I am often acutely aware that I am alone in my experience. Knowing that aloneness is not a punishment or rejection but simply a fact is a precious gift. I’ve made peace with that fact. In the end, I will be happy I did.

I was too far from home before I realized I had left it behind. It was alone, waiting for me to look its way. I had a sudden feeling of panic. I was alone and had no support if I ran into trouble. But it was too late for me to return home. I had to be somewhere at an appointed time. If I turned around to go back, I would be late. I felt my hands sweating and my heart racing. I entered the freeway, stepped on the gas, and headed toward my destination.

My phone and I would have to be separated for the day.

The further away from home I was, the more my body relaxed.

I had to ask myself: What did I do before cell phones and GPS? How did I function in the world? When did I get so dependent on an inanimate object? When did the damn thing take over my life?

Like most things, it began slowly, creeping into every day like a guest you thought you enjoyed, even invited into your life, but who often wears out its welcome. Sometimes, I get weary of all the beeps and buzzes … not just from my phone but from every appliance in our home. Frustration rises at times so intensely that I simply want to escape to a mountain cabin and exit the hubbub of our “convenient, efficient” world, which more than sometimes these days feels invasive and annoying.

So, next time you leave your phone behind, don’t panic. Everyone else around you has one, and if there is a real need, there are those who will appear and be willing to help. I completely enjoyed the day without my phone. When I got home, I had no messages, no important things I had missed. What I had was peace and a day of pure joy watching our grandson play baseball.

So leave it behind. Set it down. Resist picking it up to scroll. Give yourself the grace of your own company. The Kardashians and politicians will be there when you return. Your streak for Wordle might end, but you can start anew. There is always the chance to begin again.

Better yet, there is always the mountain cabin.

That day, I found some peace in my heart and soul. It put a smile on my face that might have kept others guessing… what has she been up to, anyway? If anyone had bothered to ask, I would have told them I left it behind!