valuing time off

Oh. My. July was a beast of a month.  But it's August now and my kid is back in school and i'm scrambling to pick up the pieces of stuff strewn back through the summer that I had hoped to have wrapped up by now but aren't quite yet.

And so these three recent posts really got me thinking.

 Being Okay With Where You Are. by Wendy N. Wagner:

"A few weeks ago, the very wonderful John Anealio wrote a great blog post about getting out of the success grind. What he said made a lot of sense. Sometimes your ego makes the artistic experience painful and miserable, and it’s stupid to turn the joy of our lives into torment. Sometimes you have to change your relationship with your ego to make good art.... Sometimes I absolutely loathe myself for writing so slowly–after all, if I was a “real writer,” I’d be cranking out the words.... But only sometimes. Mostly I remember that holding a Hugo award in my hand can’t possibly feel as good as that moment when I’m lost in a story and there’s no time or space except the stuff I’m unfolding in my head."  ~read more

Taking Time Off From Social Media. by Amy Sundberg: 

"I hadn’t unplugged myself so thoroughly for quite some time, and I found quite a lot of value in it. Space to just be. Time to think about whatever I wanted to think about. Permission to be in my own present moment, whatever that happened to look like. And perhaps most refreshing, a break from most external stress.... When we hate a thing or secretly resent it, we aren’t going to be doing our best work. A grudging connection has a different quality to it than one that is celebrated." ~read more

(For a totally different angle, but related,) Periodization Traning. By Sandra Wickham:

"Periodization is a principle used in may sports. It involves planning your workout year into smaller segments to avoid overtraining while consistently making improvements.... A week of active rest will gives your body time to recover, and helps you refresh mentally. Take it easy that week. If you’re lifting weights, lift at about 50% of what you normally do. If you’re swimming six days a week, back it off for two or three easy swims that week. Whatever your activity, you can apply the 50% per cent rule to give your body a rest, or take the entire week off."  ~read more

All that stuff I'm trying to pick up, the pieces of projects left trailing behind me? It's the stuff I'm thinking about. And my family. And my friends. And my active life. And my private creative life. 

Anyhooo, in other news, That Amanda Palmer tarot deck that I created the 10 of Swords for several years ago... it is FINALLY BECOMING A REALITY! Go check it out!

Emotoinally Stable...

A friend sent me this.
Originally written by Nick Knox, put to music by Max Lugavere.
(Both those links contain the lyrics/words.)

I put it on repeat and listened to over and over, all day.

"Don't be overwhelmed by the abundance: your life has only just begun, and you have all the time in the world."

Thank you, Wendy.

free the birds. (100 other lovers, Shake it out.)

"...I am in love with an idea
Sophisticated Neurological appeals
I want to negotiate some kind of a deal
I want to tear it open show you that it's real..."

~Devotchka. 100 other lovers.



"...I am done with my graceless heart
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart
Cause I like to keep my issues strong
It's always darkest before the dawn..."

~Florence and the Machine, Shake it Out

*****

Anyways, last month a tree happened to sprout up in my
book. I was quite pleased with that.

wierd is okay.

Read an interesting article the other day.

I learned a few helpful labels; ie my preference for solitary activities and for work over play may be tied to Social Anhedonia. My difficulty with close relationships and intimacy, as well as my odd social quirks could be linked to a Schizotypal personality. My distress at the inability to successfully filter out the pervasive stream of information (and my ways of coping with it) could be a touch of Cognitive disinhibition.

It's nice that "weird" is being more appreciated lately (the market value of out-of-the-box thinking helping to facilitate positive social change in work-place environments), but I'm haunted by the fact that I'm merely missing the higher IQ and a greater working memory required to pull all the odd edges together into actual viable creative power. (Heh, that itch just never seems to go away for me, even after an artistically busy and successful year.)

********
Random wrap-up stuffs;
I have been enjoying Bones quite a bit (yes I know, I am a bit late to jump on that bandwagon). Particularly, I love actress Emily Deschanel's portrayal of dr Temperance Brennan with a social awkwardness that boarders on Asbergers Syndrome. Then, from the more tortured end of the genius spectrum, I finally got around to watching Sylvia. Personally, I wanted more from the movie, particularly, I wanted more of Sylvia's words. So here, November Graveyard, performed by Plath herself:

The scene stands stubborn: skinflint trees
Hoard last year's leaves, won't mourn, wear sackcloth, or turn
To elegiac dryads, and dour grass
Guards the hard-hearted emerald of its grassiness
However the grandiloquent mind may scorn
Such poverty. No dead men's cries

Flower forget-me-nots between the stones
Paving this grave ground. Here's honest rot
To unpick the heart, pare bone
Free of the fictive vein. When one stark skeleton
Bulks real, all saint's tongues fall quiet:
Flies watch no reserrections in the sun.

At the essential landscape stare, stare
Till your eyes foist a vision dazzling on the wind:
Whatever lost ghosts flare
Damned, howling in their shrouds across the moor
Rave on the leash of the starving mind
Which peoples the bare room, the blank, untenanted air.
~sylvia plath

In Defense of Humbug. (and...THE HOBBIT!!!)

This. Yes, this. I need a little validation, now and again for the fact that December in general (and Christmas specifically) is a no fun time of year for me.



This next bit is something Malanie posted to her FB page, however she had merely stolen it from someone else who I do not know. But it's brilliant so here you go:

Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday practiced with the most enjoyable traditions of religious persuasion or secular practices of your choice with respect for the religious/secular persuasions and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all.

I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2012, but not without due respect for the calendar of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make our country great (not to imply that the USA is necessarily greater nor lesser than any other country) and without regard to the race, creed, colour, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.

By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms :

This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for her/him or others and is void where prohibited by law, and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher. The wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year or until the issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.

Best Regards (without prejudice)

Name withheld (Privacy Act)

Meanwhile, on a totally different subject (but helping me feel happy)... GUESS WHAT WAS JUST RELEASED!? First Trailer for The Hobbit (coming Dec '12)

My son: just like me.

My off spring and I, we share a few quirks, a few choice personality traits. I have noticed this makes us occasionally volatile (?) together? Only every now and then. But enough.

The other morning was... 'difficult'. We had pressed each other's buttons. An emotional meltdown was in full swing and I only had a few moments before we were supposed to be in the car going to school.

So I sat him in a chair, gave him a notebook and pen, and said; "Make marks. Whatever marks you want to make." He immediately calmed down, and threw his full focus into the pen and paper. He made marks on the paper, and was ready to get in the car and go to school after a few minutes.

Of course, he made some fairly pointed marks:

But it worked. Meltdown averted. Balance regained. Ability to move on with life attained.

How did I know to put a pen and paper in his hands?
Because it is what works for me when I am on the verge of a meltdown.
I figured, it would work for my son too.

(For you entertainment, a glimpse at some recently marked pages of my own:)

private ritual

This Thanksgiving, after all the eating and football and more eating (etc) our family had a bonfire. (We do that. A lot.) Once the initial 20 ft conflagration (yep, we use gasoline) had turned into a nice glow, my mother surprised us all by pulling out the Black Belt.

This belt is a heirloom from her side of the family. I don't know how many generations it goes back, but it's sole purpose was the disciplining of children. A thick leather strap, folded over on one end for better grip with sufficient length left over for the whacking of bottoms. As the oldest child I remember getting whacked quite a bit. (My folks had mellowed by the time the younger ones were getting into their trouble, not nearly so much whacking going on then.)

So my mom surprises us all, by pulling out the long unused Black Belt... and after a few words, throwing it on the fire.

This was her ritual for us, a gesture of reconciliation, of apology, asking forgiveness, and a hope for healing. It was very powerful.

I don't believe in magic, or gods, or fairies, or angels, or answers to prayers. But I DO believe in ritual. That in our animal brains, we respond to special acts done with intent.

This has been a very difficult week for me and I've been able to find some measure of comfort in my own private rituals. My primary form of worship/ritual involves making marks. It works for me.

I also believe in the ritual of sweat & strained muscles, of beating the hell out of an inanimate object, of writing things down, of creating something, of destroying something. Of Silence. Of reaching out.

What are your rituals?

sensitivity, insecurity, thick/thin skinned...

Today Sean wrote a bit about insecurity, being thin skinned, and avoiding rejection. (Random coincidence, so did Wendy.)
He basically just took the words out of my mouth.

As an interesting joiner to that revelation; I'm meeting with an old friend tonight; he is convinced that if we do a brainstorming session on the subject, I will come away from it knowing how I can make at least as much off of my art, as I could off some run-of-the-mill day job (a prospect I am considering as money gets increasingly tight for us.)

I agreed to this brainstorming session with outward enthusiasm, but feel I should confess a good deal of... nervousness? Just how to I explain to this enthusiastic friend all of my insecurities, my fears, my lack of experience and knowledge and my low self-esteem, my inadequacy... Already pinging around in the back of my head are all the usual excuses I feed myself about lack of time, means, business savvy... Plus the usual line that I may be better off doing this 'thing' I do on the sidelines as a 'hobby' (hate hate hate that word)...

I've written about my insecurities on this topic before.

Nevertheless, I am curious about what we will come up with during this brainstorming session.

$$$ (or, career-fail insecurity)

one cause of significant insecurity and occasional bouts of panic/frustration/sense-of-failure: i attach huge emotional value to the dollar worth of 'what I do'.

and 'what I do' has no practical dollar value (ie, brings no money to our coffers).

i feel it like a chain, my little creative 'hobbies' that i, as a pampered housewife, indulge in. (god that almost made me sick to write it. but that is how it feels sometimes)

for added weight of guilt/failure; the fact that other people, DO get practical dollar value for those same indulgent creative 'hobbies'.

(NOT GOOD ENOUGH NOT GOOD ENOUGH NOT GOOD ENOUGH NOT GOOD ENOUGH NOT GOOD ENOUGH NOT GOOD ENOUGH.)

as a related segue... i sabotage all opportunities to get practical dollar value for my creative hobbies.

does this even make sense?
(pay this post no mind, it has merely been a bad day, requiring a rant and an outlet)
(i will most likely delete this. it's pretty humiliating.)

getting out

This is my submission for the Mind On Fire Group Creative Experiment. The card for today is The Devil. Yesterday, Sean posted a short fiction as his submission and it brought up some stuff for me; being uncomfortably close to some of my own realities. The following is an excerpt from a journal entry during a particularly dark time:

Her eyes opened and she was disoriented by the light. What time was it? Mid-morning. Oh yes, now she remembered crawling back into bed earlier to escape his need. A noise from the next room, the TV was on, some kids show. That was what had woken her. Also, the sounds of things being moved around. He was probably hungry, looking for something to eat. (In a corner of her mind she tries to think of what was in the cupboard that a 4 yr old could access.)

She pulls the blankets higher, close around her head to shut out the light, the sounds from the next room.
The dog tries to snuggle close to her, tries to stick it's wet nose in her face. Rage flares and she grabs the dog's muzzle, hard enough to make it whimper. Go Away.
The dog slinks to the other side of the enormous bed and curls up in a miserable ball.

There is a thud in the next room and in a panic of guilt she springs up out of the bed, running to check...
He was choking,
He had fallen,
He had eaten something toxic...
But it was none of that. Just some item accidentally shoved off the filthy cluttered table. However, now he saw her, she was there and he latched on with excitement. So many things he needed from her.
A softness brushed her calf; the dog slinking along next to her, keeping close (in an unobtrusive way).

They needed to get out, out into the bright desert sunlight. Out of the staring walls of the house (she hated those walls, wanted to punch holes in them, scribble black marks all over them).

Yes, out.
A trip to the store (always an errand that needed running). And lunch, at that fast food restaurant with the child's play area (to make up for leaving him to scavenge his own breakfast).

Grabbing keys and purse, and summoning faith in the power of "getting out" she loads him in the car.
Hoping it will be enough to draw back the internal tides of thick black waves, enough to ease the scratching of those thousand little claws...

also from the pages of my journals:

(this creative experiment has a second part: before the child was born, a lesson about bad women.)

winter is my discontent

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That opresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes...
-emily dickinson (full poem here)

Perhaps it's seasonal depression, perhaps it's the pressure of holiday season, perhaps it's facing a dying year and another birthday (Capricorn!) and fears of growing older... but whatever it is, Winter is my down time. My off season. And I start to feel the first strokings of this right about now, the Fall. (Which sucks, living in Tucson; Fall is such a relief from the heavy summer heat. I LOVE Fall and Winter!)

The past few years the off-ness has actually been a heavy crash, a fairly burdensome melancholy. But this year, I have a plan, and lists of little things to jumpstart out of a downward spiral if I start down that path. Little rituals and routines for my salvation. Heh, I started to list what my rituals are, but they are so benign and boring, sufice it to say, I have them, and they are easy, and I think they will work. We'll see if they work, if I can embrace this season of death with hope. (Hehheh.)

Meanwhile, for your viewing entertainment, two absolutely delightful music video's which a friend shared with me, and BOTH of them touch upon the dying times of Fall and Winter.
The short animated "Rain" and the most exquisit Emilie Simon's "Fleur de Saison" (Sorry, couldn't embed them, but do go see them; pure amazing.)

Food, Flesh and Spirit

(also posted at The Exponent.)

This is going to be a little sensitive to talk about, but it's been on my mind lately so here goes.

I used to have some serious issues with my body and with food. For most of my teens and 20s I was pinging back and forth between thin and thick, either starving or stuffed, but never satisfied. And my mind was utterly and completely preoccupied with it all; what I was eating, what I wasn't and how it translated on my hips and tummy. (It took a good chunk of brain space for all that obsession. Aside from the bad health, I miss all the other things I could have been putting my mind to.)

What has been interesting for me is to trace back and try to mine my history of eating disorders. Inevitably, the worst spikes in the disorder corresponded to my times of heaviest activity in the church. In high school when I was deeply involved in the seminary counsel. During my mission. At BYU while holding a calling as RS pres (and working at the temple and teaching at the MTC).

These disorders were spiritually distressing to me, I viewed them as a sin that kept me from God and made overcoming them a spiritual quest of worthiness. To no avail. That just made it worse.

This isn't a universal experience. Not all LDS women experience this. (And PLENTY of non-LDS women experience it.) However from many personal conversations and from the plethora of anecdotal evidence I get the sense that I was not an anomaly among Mormon women. In fact, I was in good company.

Happily, I think that depression and eating disorders (etc) among Mormon women are being recognized and addressed by the leadership much more than they were before.

But I sat in Sunday School last week and had an epiphany. The teacher was talking about service in the church and kept using the term "swallowed up". "Swallowed up in the work of the Lord". And how we should strive to achieve being "swallowed up" and what things keep us from being "swallowed up" and as everyone else around me gave faith promoting answers to the problem of why we aren't "swallowed up" the answer in my head was "Because humans are hardwired for SELF PRESERVATION."

My epiphany was this: when I was starving myself perhaps I was trying to disappear, to erase myself, to be swallowed up (and cease to exist).

And when I was stuffing myself perhaps it was my sense of self preservation refusing to let myself disappear, increasing my area of circumference as protection against being swallowed up.

Who knows? Maybe Freud would.

Me, I'm just happy to have that behind me thank you very much. It is nice to finally have a healthy navel, (and strong loins?) and to have my mind (relatively) free from a preoccupation with food and my flesh.

Just some of my thoughts on the subject at the moment.

the crutch and the confidence

Something that happened when I moved out of participation in the church. I lost my confidence. Of course, I was no longer getting the validation and sense of responsibility that comes from callings/teaching/etc... and for a introvert like myself who does not naturally seek out service/leadership/human contact opportunities that has noticeably reduced my sphere of influence in the world. But I noticed something else as well. I had thought I was just going explore and expand my belief system, but instead I found my belief system merely disintegrating and when that happened, I lost grace. I lost the shield that had previously softened my failings. I don't mean this in a salvation way, a "repent or your sufferings will be sore" getting-to-heaven way. I mean this in a day to day, suddenly feeling much more overwhelmed by my errors and my insignificance. By the utter inconsequence of being a human animal.

I just finished Joseph Campbell's The Power of Myth. Campbell talks quite a bit about the importance of our spiritual Myths and Rituals in giving the individual a sense of place, purpose, connection to something greater. And he's pretty clear that the literalness of these myths isn't the point, it's their ability to give humans some sense of meaning in an otherwise meaningless world. A sense of confidence.
A crutch.

I've been trying to write this post now for several weeks, and I am still no closer to having some sort of nice wrap-it-up epiphany about finding meaning, having confidence, metaphorical belief systems, etc... So I though it was about time I just hit the publish button anyways and see what your thoughts on the subject are.

quiet...

This past month (or few) I have sat down multiple times to write posts about various and sundry thoughts or ideas and been unable to make them come together. Unable to say what I thought I was going to say. Not out loud anyways.

I'm finding renewed value in the privacy of my journal where I can hash things out raw and without concern for nuance (and without audience). I'm finding renewed value in getting back into the images of things. Really, words aren't my forte. I hit brick walls every time I try to put things into words. Don't get me wrong, I keep coming back to them. I LOVE words and reading and writing them. But I found that lately they are failing me. Or I'm failing them. Whichever.

And it also feels that I'm changing my mind, rapidly, about things I hadn't anticipated changing. It a private process, changing from what you were to, well, whatever it is that you will be next. There is an embarrassing element of inconsistency about it. It really dims the desire to make statements about it or to try to define it while "it" is still a mess of floating things not nailed down.

So, I'm finding a renewed value in just being quiet for a while (sort of a twist on 'if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all').

And wouldn't it be ironic if just by saying this it opens up the floodgates and I suddenly find all sorts of things to say?

insomnia...

When I lie in bed and all the wheels are still spinning with no sign of slowing down. And poor hubby sleeps on while his wife crawls in and out of bed trying to find some outlet for the little things running around frantically in her head. Wrote in my journal, played the guitar, played around on photoshop (and ended up with a rather disturbing photo-illustration. woke up and though "wtf?" when I looked at it in the morning light.) Then tried one more time to lay still under the sheets, only to have my stomach start itching with hunger. "It will go away" I think, and lay there for 15 minutes before finally giving in, getting up (again) and eating some bread and butter. There, that does the trick. Now I finally lay quiet and go down easy. (3 am. Not as bad as it could have been...)
(Other times when I can't sleep I take picture after picture after picture with the camera...)

Now for you viewing pleasure (because OF COURSE you want to see this), my tired eyes: (ironically, I took this pic after a night where I actually GOT a good night's sleep, but was still very tired!)

like a fire burning II

I went to a Quaker meeting yesterday. I visited once before, last year, and I had forgotten how strongly I felt the spirit there. It’s actually been quite a while since I have felt the spirit; months and months, and in the back of my mind I was beginning to wonder, to worry. So to feel it again so strongly, yesterday, among that quite group of oldish whitish hippyish folks was an overwhelming relief.

I stepped on the path of questioning a few years ago with the utmost trepidation and fear, well versed in the church’s language: take heed lest ye be deceived, don’t be led astray. And so I determined to follow closely the promptings of the spirit to take each questioning step with prayer (allowing myself to question The Church, but never that spiritual guidance). Removal of the garments, first alcoholic drink, experiments that to a true believing member must seem like an attempt to mutilate and destroy spiritual sensitivity, but I went about it with a keen sense of listening to the spirit. Does that make sense? An intentional pushing, a deliberate testing of boundaries. A controlled scientific experiment even (closely looking at cause and effect). And during that time of experimentation, I did feel the spirit sometimes so strongly, a comforting validation of my being “okay” (Good with God? On the path? Something like that.)

And so this long stretch of numbness has caused me some concern in the back of my mind, the lingering language of the church, warnings of the traps and snares of the devil, being gently led to destruction, and I have wondered. (“Am I deceived? Damned?”) But that is only in the back of my mind, a quiet audio-feed with my mother's voice. I am just surprised at how much I have changed in these past few months; I went from being a mystic to a skeptic. I’ve lost (almost) all belief in anything supernatural and feel much more inclined to look at things with a rational eye than a spiritual eye. Mostly, I am just questioning everything now. Including the feelings I have previously felt, including spiritual guidance.

So yesterday, sitting in that simple room, sitting in silence… to once again feel that tangible clear feeling inside my ribcage and running up and down my veins. Well, it was relieving. But it has also brought up all sorts of questions about this thing I call “The Spirit”. I was a missionary (and after that, and MTC teacher) whose major focus was ‘helping people feel and recognize the spirit’ (and then getting them to understand that the spirit was telling them to join the church).
Now I sometimes wonder if it isn’t chemical euphoria, perhaps a by-product of my mildly manic depressive tendencies.
I really like JohnR’s post about the subject, a skeptic’s yearning for “those sublime moments in which we feel a deep awe and a sense of connection to humanity and the universe.” I like the sound of that much better than the effect of a frenzied mind.

Anyways, just some thoughts.

starting from scratch

I visited a local Unitarian Universalist congregation on Sunday. Driving there I felt like I had many little bruises on my inside parts. Not specifically painful, but definitely tender, vulnerable.

I guess I wanted to make a note of that. The bruised feeling. I had rather anticipated a feeling of freedom, of a burden lifting by allowing myself to take a step away from the LDS ward. That feeling may yet come, but I want to be honest about this experience and not try to tell the story as I think it should go, doing the same kind of whitewashing and re-interpreting of the story that has been done to Mormon History, the same kind of whitewashing and re-interpreting that happens in so many faithful member's journals.
I do it too; coming up with the expected explanation for things that I really don't have an explanation for. I'd like to stop that habit.

So I felt a little bruised going to a new church service.
But it was a lovely service, music, a few readings, a sermon (about what Americans believe, facts, figures, and statistics).

Next sunday, I think I'll attend a local Friends meeting. (I've been before, and was very touched by the guided silence).

Then, the week after that..... I don't know. Perhaps sample meditation with the Buddhists, experience Eucharist with the Episcopals, maybe even find a coven of local pagans and see what they say about the divine feminine and the power of trees.

But I feel a bit jaded about doing this. Am I shopping around for a church? For a belief system? I have no allusions that this is a treasure hunt where I will be able to find a nice neat package "just for me" in some hidden location.

But I do need to rebuild my beliefs, find the things I believe in. I used to believe so strongly... I used to feel the spirit so strongly, and experience God so strongly.
I've lost that. And hope to be able to regain some semblance of it all.

Well.... more about this later.

loosing my grip...

[or am I just losing it?]

A few days ago, I made all the necessary calls required to get out of all my callings and obligations to the ward.

But let me back up a bit.

Two, maybe even three years ago I wrote this:

"But I hang on. Lots of others in my situation have severed all ties, start to drink, smoke, swear, etc… Obviously they don’t keep paying 10 percent of their income to the organization. But not me. I am still there, gritting my teeth through most of the meetings, trying no to be too cynical of the things said in Sunday school. Trying not to deviate too far when I teach the kids their Sunday school lessons, not bring up any of the questions that torment me. I don’t drink or smoke, and I am fighting off swearing as hard as I can… but then I know lots of good members who do let rip with offending words, but they still have callings in high places, so I feel okay about my little slip-ups. And we do keep paying 10 percent of our income to the organization of the church. I say we, because I get little checks here and there from various art projects I do… and I usually slide on paying my tithing on them- is that a sign… am I loosing my grip on the rod? As long as “We” pay that comforting little 10 percent, I am content to ignore my own little irregularities. So why do I hang on? Here is the best answer I can come up with: deep in the spiritual experiences I have had with this theology, there have been good and Godly things that I have needed. I am content to allow myself to interpret things in a slightly different way, and to permit myself to see certain things as a result of the “false traditions of the fathers” while still remaining within the framework. Still hanging on. keeping silence a lot of the times, but hanging on."

Then, it was last year that I returned my temple recommend to my bishop. letting that go, but still hoping to hold on to the church as a non-recommended member.

Still hanging on.

Then, several months ago, I hit a fork in the road. I felt I could no longer go on as I had been going, I had to make a decision about The Church one way or the other; either re-enter as a fully participating member, or take a leave of absence for a bit. I was leaning towards a sabbatical. The same day I wrote that post, I was called to work in the nursery with my husband. These past few months have been quite hard, I have felt so stuck, arrested mid-step. More than anything, these past few months have solidified the desire to take a break. To step alway from the church, get some breathing room, something.

So now it begins. I have let go. I am taking a sabbatical. Taking a break. I'm going to start from scratch, and try to do some rebuilding of my shattered self-image.

Margaret Starbird in speaking of her own crisis of faith, wrote: "I feared it would turn me inside out. Doctrines I had believed on faith had to be uprooted and discarded, and new beliefs had to be sown and allowed to take root. The entire Roman Catholic framework of my childhood had to be dismantled to uncover the dangerous fault in the foundation and then the belief system carefully rebuilt when the fissure had been sealed."

Likewise, Jeremy (Chandelle's lover) spoke of when he left the church: "Without the constant need to check every decision I made against the teachings of that institution, a whole slew of possibilities previously closed to me opened themselves for consideration and action... I also had an intense feeling of fear. I was afraid of giving up the familiar. Afraid of ridding myself of a level of support that I had relied on all my life."

I am a little afraid. And shaky. Really, I don't know who I am anymore. And the day I made the phone calls to get released from my callings, I cried and cried.
Cuz I don't know where this is going.

empty

I've lost the energy and ability to organize my thoughts into any sort of cohesive writing, whether as journal entries, blog posts, comments, etc. I think about the topics and issues that I have wanted to blog about and compare it to the easy little quips and pics that i have posted instead in the past month or so and I get sad and worried. I try to remember what an associate of mine (an artist) said; something along the lines of 'honor the down time'. And so I keep holding on to the hope that this is just 'down time' and it will pass, and that I will be better for it... But I also harbor the fear that this has just become plain laziness, lack of discipline, complacency, or worse.

have you ever felt this?

running out of options...

I"ve come to what feels like a bit of a watershed point with the church. I didn't anticipate this, I really thought I could continue for some time in my current path. But I really don't think I can for much longer.

I can either peacefully leave the church, stop attending, and be open with friends and family about my no longer 'living the gospel'

or

I can move back into full participation in the church. Began wearing garments again, live the word of wisdom, 'confess' to the bishop and work towards getting temple recommend.

I need to write more about this, I know. I have explained nothing here to give anyone any indication of my personal reasons for and against each of those options, or the lack of any forms of 'middle road' options... but I'm going to post this now anyways, and come back to it later.