24Mar/090
Further Words on Growth
Evolution
Realizing,
Gathering my mind,
My heart,
Around the
Idea that changing
Is evolving.
Not giving up
Or losing respect.
Rather it is growing,
Moving forward,
Adapting towards
Strength
Instead of favoring
Weakness.
24Mar/091
Inner Critic vs. Ada Lovelace
CK signed a pledge back in January to post a blog entry about a woman in technology she admired today, March 24, in honor of Ada Lovelace. The goal of the Ada Lovelace Day project is to get 1000 blog entries talking about women in technology. There's been a thing about it on her blog for weeks.
She surprised me by saying she wanted to interview me. Yes, I'm a woman who's been working in technology for over 12 years. I just never have thought of myself as worth interviewing over it. In fact thinking about it gets my inner critic all riled up noting how I don't do anything important, that I'm just a hack with a lot of what I do, there's so many other women who are better at technology than I am...
Yes, that list could keep growing, easily.
Part of it falls right in line with my having a very difficult time recognizing my accomplishments. I am so focused on moving forward, keeping momentum up that the very idea of stopping to appreciate, reflect seems very uncomfortable. I come from a very non-technical family and being the only child with a real passion for technology, learning and studying, my interest in these areas didn't really warrant a lot of supportive input. In fact, I never had a computer until I was in my 20s and on my own. The value of buying one for home was not something that I could convince my family of in the mid 1980s.
Here I was this morning, reading CK's blog post about me, and feeling awkward as all heck. Just noticing the awkwardness, where it comes from. Aside from all I've already said it occurred to me that it feels strange because I admire her so much, as a woman in technology and as a human.
In part I am just in awe of anyone who is successful in running their own business, doing freelance work. I've been in the situation of living with someone trying to do that and it was pretty hard. I've always felt a lot of uncertainty at my ability to do that and have let that drive me to try and find as stable as a job as possible. She works really hard for her clients and is concerned that her work be the best that it possibly can be. She has inspired me to think about leaving the corporate world and work for myself!
There is a large part of my admiration for her that comes from my respect for her integrity and intelligence. Those don't have anything directly to do with technology, but I think that they are so important. Combined with her openness, her want of learning, sharing knowledge and fostering collaboration is so important in any community. In the technology community I see her using these skills to find ways to support and encourage women more. CK also uses her time and technology skills to help non-profit organizations improve their online presence and make resources more accessible.
A lot of the time I think CK is a way more accomplished woman in technology than I am. She speaks with great skill about the specific tools she works. Her capacity and tenacity when it comes to learning is just amazing, she just sticks with topics, turning them from side to side until the solution becomes more clear to her.
I've never given a lot of thought to being a "woman in technology", it was just what I was drawn to and I spent a lot of time projecting a "tough" image to protect myself, playing "alpha geek" with all the guys who would be at events. I pretended not to notice and/or just played along with the "boys club" type attitude I'd run into on a regular basis in the NOC, in server rooms, in the cafeteria, and at conferences.
Over the past few years I've become more aware of the need to foster an environment where people do not feel the need to compete, especially for women. Yes, some competition is fun and can spark creativity, but it shouldn't be regarded as the only means to feel included in a group. Most importantly, everyone can benefit from being encouraged to go where the passion and curiosity for learning takes them, whether it is data visualization, neuroscience, baking, teaching, or writing.
23Mar/090
Remembering Dad
Kind of a heavy post today. These thoughts, the poem below, have been banging around in my skull for several days now. Nearly feels like the noise them make gets in the way of trying to write about things for my Zen community, a piece on my weight loss for Chozen to post to her blog site, or the poem that's lurking around in there (an homage of sorts to Neruda's Ode to Tomatoes).
The other day I was looking for a safety pin and came across my Dad's wedding ring. I've had it since the day he died. I very clearly hold in my mind taking the ring off of his hand and putting it onto my hand. For a while I wore it, when I was 130 or more pounds heavier. I was a bit sad when I'd lost enough weight that I could no longer wear it out of fear of it falling off.
That moment where I took off Dad's ring has been fresh in my mind now. The further away I get from his death, the more I am able to pull apart the frozen way I felt at the time. He's become a big part of the reason I changed my life, lost the weight and began steering my life always towards health. It hurt so much that he would choose alcohol and cigarettes over me. In some ways I now see more clearly how the nearly 25 years he was my step-father were never free of his addictions and that those addictions were closer to his heart than the love he tried to show me. It hurts to think about, but I try not to let that anger & pain completely obscure the ways he really tried to be a good father.
This December it will be nine years since his death. I still have some of his ashes in a glass jar in my house and his ring in a box in my room. I remain profoundly sad to have lost him and sometimes feel like I am one of the few people who actually remembers the ways he tried to be loving. He wasn't very good at it but he was the only one who tried to fill that "father" role in my life when I was a child.
I was reminded of all this during a final scene in the last Battlestar Galatica episode. It combined a couple of things I hate about crying (I have a very long list of things I hate about crying) -- crying in public (was watching with a crowd at the McMenamin's Bagdad) and crying because some television show or movie is written in such a way to tug at my pentiful heart-strings. I feel like a weepy sap and embaressed there are people there who might see it. No, it doesn't matter if other people are crying too.
It was a scene where a ring was exchanged between the living and the dead. I watched and felt the weight of my Dad's hand in mine. How I had to move his fingers to remove his ring. He felt lifeless, truly. His body was an empty shell and I knew my Dad was gone. There was only his ring left, heavy on my hand.
Dad, December 11, 2000
I stood there; still,
Silent, holding tears.
Mom gestured at me
To take his ring.His hand was
Still warm
As I slid off
The ring and put
It on my finger.The heavy gold
Didn’t really know
The change from
One cooling hand
To one cold with
Grief and anger.He didn’t look
Asleep, at rest.
He looked dead.
My heart was filled
With the enormity of
This final withdrawal
And I didn’t know
What to say
Or do, aside
From putting
The ring on.Nine years later the
Ring no longer fits,
My fingers are
All too small.
It sits in a box
In my room.
My heart still
Pulls tight
In my chest.
21Mar/090
Just a Few
I'm really not feeling much like writing after another full, long Saturday at Prananda. I'm physically and mentally tired. It was a really good day, I even was working on my handstand (a pose I hate). The second to last free class was less crazy than the three previous weeks, for which I was really grateful. Even worked on the bio I'll use on my site.
Had a bit of a rough moment, watching the last episode of BSG no less. Reminded of my Dad's death, but it still feels a bit too sore to write about. That and I'm just too tired out to devote a lot of energy to it, and it deserves that energy. In part because I am just worn out by the combination of staying out late for BSG on top of the grief & anger that came up.
So I'm for bed early on a Saturday. I'm not teaching tomorrow and am looking forward to sleeping in, hanging out, maybe doing our grocery shopping. A Kundalini Yoga class at 2:30 then seeing Watchmen with CK and a friend at Cinetopia in the evening.
That brings me to today's poem. I was a little foggy and noticing how I felt resentful, petulant about coming up with a poem. I'm trying to be kinder since the poem I put together the other night when I felt this way someone really liked, commented that it was a kind of "word painting". I gave the irritation and blank screen a few breaths, then came up with something I actually feel alright with.
Aging
What is age?
This thing that
Happens to us
All, eventually,
If we're lucky.
The thing is,
I am just not
Feeling it aside
From a collection
Of physical aches
And emotional pain.
I keep moving
Forward into "age"
Yet feeling further
Younger and less
Certain inside.
19Mar/090
Spring Frogs
I woke up with a start when the alarm went off and seemed to stay that way all day long. Feeling anxious and drawn in tight. Combined with a day at work that felt both unproductive and frustrating it meant I arrived at the Dharma Center anxious.
I hate sitting zazen when I'm anxious. Near the top of "most uncomfortable meditation periods" list.
Instead I sat down, awaiting the racing of my heart, heard the bell ring 3 times, then silence, and a chorus of frogs reminding me something I love about springtime zazen! My mind settled swiftly and softly, occasional bursts of anxiety creeping in during the first sit, but then the frogs would sing again and I'd feel myself smile inside. By the time the second sit came I felt like I was in my body instead of my anxiety.
Vernal Chorus
Outside the zendo
A choir of frogs is singing,
"Wake up! Wake up now!"
18Mar/090
Late March Sunset
Yep, I'm in a mood where I don't want to do anything. Don't really want to write, especially not a poem for the Sangha Challenge. A little zazen? Nope. I had a somewhat frustrating day, an enjoyable meeting with a group of folks that are all contributing to the PDX Pipeline site, and managed to help make dinner even though I didn't feel like doing that either. Didn't even make up a decent title for the post, just used the title of the poem I did today (which I don't particularly like). Bleh.
I want to curl up in bed with a novel or silly DVDs... sleep would be fine too. I am actually feeling better today. My neck still isn't hurting the way it was and my sinus pain was a bit better today too. Still taking decongestants and ibuprofen pretty regularly, but the pounding sinus pain doesn't resume immediately upon their wearing off.
Had to be part of the decision to pull my project from the release this weekend. Will still be putting out part of it, but we've found a bug a couple of users can recreate but I cannot myself nor have I been able to get a truly clear understanding of exactly what they are doing. I also had to tell someone in the same meeting they couldn't ask for any more changes, at all since little last minute changes appeared to have introduced the bug. I think... and I'm back to the lack of clarity.
There is some tension around the finality of AM moving out of the house. Not bad, I think in part it is the usual tension of moving combined with the divorce finalizing earlier this month. Just an awareness of how the body and heart tighten up a little around it all.
I was pretty nervous about meeting all the Pipeline folks this evening. I was conscious of my mind trying to pick out clothing that would be casual but "cool" (whatever the hell that means). The whole meeting new people isn't always my best and I immediately felt how carefully I was about being open, the old habits of holding back, guarding coming up. Interesting to note how much easier it is to perceive that tightening happening.
I realized about 20 minutes after things got going that I was possibly the oldest person, which felt a little strange. I wonder if I would be so aware of it if I wasn't having a "milestone" birthday this year. Why is it we focus so much on the decade birthdays anyway, well most of them. 20 is kind of a wash since you're really just waiting for 21 to happen.
A note on venue: I liked the Goodfoot Pub & Lounge a lot. Nice art display on the walls, open space with a few nice pool tables. I heard there's some great dance parties in the downstairs (a place I seem to recall as being a lesbian bar I'd been to years ago when I lived in the neighborhood). Tom Waits came on while we talked, which is a good thing in my book.
And therein lies the difficulty. Great place to hang out, not so great for listening to details and getting to know people a bit better. I found it a little loud to actually hear people and a couple of times missed something because of it. Look forward to checking it out some evening with CK when we can play a little pool.
Poetry seems to be especially hard tonight. Like prodding Zonker to do much of anything. Ugh, this feels so, so, so very lame tonight. I don't even have the tingling of a haiku I could piece together... So here it is, purely the disciple of practicing poetry no matter what.
Late March Sunset
A break in the
Spring rain
Reveals sun
In pink streaks
Against clouds.
Lingering along
The green edge
Of the hillsides
As I head home.
17Mar/090
Although They Are Only Breath
Today began my experiment with greater "word exposure" for myself. This morning PDX Pipeline posted a short piece I wrote about watching the series finale of Battlestar Galactica at the Bagdad Theater. Which is pretty cool and a lot of fun, plus good writing practice!
Seeing it published on the site reminds me a bit of when a piece I wrote for my Sangha journal came out. Looking down at a picture of myself next to my words. Today it is seeing something I wrote, with my name and little bio line there, on a very public site with a growing amount of traffic. Then there's this sharing poetry thing I've been doing, the Sangha Poetry Challenge. I think more people have read my poetry than ever before in my life, which is kinds strange and nice at the same time.
While chatting with the person who runs PDX Pipeline this morning before heading into the office we sorted out trying to arrange for me to do a phone interview of the guys behind a musical act I'm a big fan of as well a go to one of their shows next month and take some photos. I was just hoping for the show & photos bit, the interview thing... Wow! Don't want to write a lot of details about this one since it is still getting sorted out, but it is enough for me to be excited and nervous about.
Although I checked out another new yoga studio tonight, had a really nice class that even helped my neck feel a little better -- I'm not going to write about it. I'm just going to leave it at reflecting upon the interesting emotions, inner dialog that arises around writing, sharing my writing. Which brings me to my poetry offering for today:
My Words
“But, why?”
I ask myself
And wonder.Why is it I even
Want people to
Read my words.
Why do I think
My words are
Worthy of the
Eyes of others
Taking them in,
Holding them.
Letting my words
Linger.My critic reminds
Me that I am
No great hand
With words,
Daring me to
Compare my
Crude lines
With those of
Other, greater
Women.
Men.A defiant child’s
Voice, I barely
Recognize as mine,
Repeats with small
Determination
Words she’s heard.
My words may
Transcend darkness
To bring illumination.My words are
Potent medicine.**The title of this post is taken from a bit of Sappho someone from Dharma Rain Zen Center reminded me of when she saw today's poem for the Sangha Challenge.
Although they are only breath
these words of mine
will live forever
16Mar/090
Illness Anxiety
I am tired, cranky and generally impatient feeling tonight. I am irritated with my slow-healing body and that the continuing headache makes writing feel like I'm swimming through black-strap molasses in winter. Usually when I feel lousy I'm still able to focus on some writing, but I have been just staring at the screen lately.
Still haven't done up a review of the M. Ward/Port O'Brien show at the Aladdin from last week. I started to write about the amazing discussion around generosity the Love Based Living group had on the 9th. Wanted to post some stuff about the Ashtanga Vinyasa class I took weeks and weeks ago. Trying to finish up the piece I've started looking back at the service practice of maintaining the Transfer of Merit list for my Portland Sangha. My teacher still wants me to write on my weight loss, and the way I came to see mindful eating as a practice of very literally "feeding peace" within myself.
My inner critic likes to make lists and point out how I skipped a day of writing practice yesterday, including failing to produce another poem for the Sangha Challenge. It doesn't matter to that critical voice that the decision was made to not write after teaching a class, running errands, attending a Sangha tea, and helping CK with the week's shopping. By the time all that was done I was exhausted and my head hurt, not that my inner critic cares about how I feel physically or emotionally. Instead of writing CK and I spent the evening making a simple dinner, talking, watching a DVD and attempting to get to sleep at a reasonable hour.
Honestly, what I think is underneath it aside from the thoughts that I should just be producing MORE, is feeling anxious that I'm still having a terrible sinus headache. Today it moved to the right side, including the pain in neck, and I am fatigued again. I took my last dose of antibiotics with dinner tonight and am worried that not feeling well is going to hit me with a thump later this week. I've been taking pseudoephedrine, ibuprofen and drinking lots of water. I really don't have the time to spare to be sick and will have 5 days packed with yoga classes next week to get finished with teacher training.
When the Self is Slow
I am impatient
With this body.
It heals slowly
And reminds me
That I am not
Comprised of
Limitless energy.
Even my mind,
Well, most of it,
Resists prodding
To make it go.
Instead it mostly
Ignores criticism and
Lingers instead
On thoughts of
Sleeping late
And spending
A day going
Nowhere,
Doing
Nothing.
14Mar/090
Glory of Words
I wonder at the way I have a difficult time embracing the word, "Writer" when it comes to myself. How my inner critic bristles and mutters invalidating comments. How I feel the need to avoid this label, feel unworthy of it.
Like the uncertainty, downright dread of singing in front of people, I wonder if there is something underlying feeling like I don't deserve to call myself a writer. All the times I was told I was too talkative, too inquisitive, too argumentative (a prelude to my spending days at a time in my room, grounded)...
Anyway, in trying to keep up with the Sangha poetry challenge, which I've now missed a couple of days of, I came up with a poem tonight inspired by thinking about this.
Glory of Words
Just some words,
Any words, really,
Would do now.As I child I was
Told I used too
Many words, but
Impossible to explain
Without opening
My mouth to
Share that my
Head felt full
To bursting
With the glory of
Words, of knowledge
Available, open to
Me in the long
Library stacks.I find less words
Now, although the
Silence feels familiar.
12Mar/090
General Impatience with Illness and Napping
I never have liked naps really. As a kid it was absolutely punishment to say I had to go lay down for a nap. I'd offer to read quietly, anything but napping. I usually wouldn't fall asleep and on the rare occasion I did, I'd end up feeling groggy when I was awakened.
Napping is a sign of illness or extreme fatigue for me. Today I took a nap. I felt like I needed it since I didn't actually feel much better at all today. Although my head and neck feel better I was weak and shaky feeling from the moment I got up today.
Another day on the bed with the laptops. I worked on stuff until about 1 at which time I felt generally lousy. Cleared my afternoon meetings until tomorrow and Monday and had some leftover stew. Then I lay down and was surprised that I fell truly asleep for about an hour -- yep, definitely sick.
But same as when I was little, I woke up feeling groggy and not well at all. I made myself get up, drink some water, and put some split peas on to cook so we could have an early dinner. That helped me feel like I was back out of nap-land again so I did some dishes and got back to looking at a bug that had been found.
I stayed home from zazen tonight, something that provokes a few words from my inner critic about how I'm well enough to sit around at home so I should be well enough to sit in the zendo. I know though I'm making a good decision for my health, especially considering another busy weekend starts tomorrow. I'm just tired of feeling sick and fatigued.
I am discovering that writing poetry is harder when I'm fatigued. Writing anything really, even writing this blog post I feel like I've just gone through the motions and have come up with some boring nonsense about my day being sick. I'm getting started out with PDX Pipeline and told JC I'd write up the M. Ward show at the Aladdin this past Sunday, but even trying to put together 300 words about that seems like a tremendous effort.
Ugh! On that note, here's a haiku about trying to write with a sinus infection.
Waiting
My eyes, just staring.
Seeing white space, waiting-
Wanting words to come.