Embracing My Inner Tantrum

whenitookitallapart-150ppi
‘When I Took It All Apart, There Was Nothing Left’

It’s Thursday.  Blog writing day.  I want to be all sunny today, writing lovely positive words.

Nope.  My inner two-year-old took over on Monday and is having an extended tantrum.

‘No’ is my word right now.  No, I don’t want to work on my book.  No, I don’t want to draw.  No, I don’t want to read anything enlightening.  No, no, no, and no.

The funny thing is I am totally okay with writing my morning pages.  Usually these are what I resist doing.  Not this week.  My inner two-year-old is taking great delight in having permission to whine, complain, be ratty and growly as much as she pleases in the morning pages.

In fact I have given myself full permission to be as ornery as I want for as long as I want.  I have decided to embrace my inner tantrumy-self.

Usually I try to push my bad attitudes away.  Cure them somehow.  Cheer myself up.  Force myself to be upbeat.

But halfway through Tuesday’s morning pages I write, ‘I am tired of pushing myself.’  Six words.  They stop me in my tracks.  I sit there, pen and mind stilled.  I say out loud, ‘Oh.’

I can feel the truth of this.  I want to love myself exactly as I am.  Always pushing and always reaching doesn’t let me be settled with who I am right now.  Instead, it keeps saying ‘not good enough’.

I’m tired of being not good enough.

I need to love myself now.  My inner two-year-old needs love and hugs.  I need to be loved for who I am, however I am, always.  No exceptions.  Love myself whether I am having a tantrum like now, or whether I am feeling clear and light and joyful.

Love all my moods.  Love all my flaws.  Love all my talents.  Love all my beauties.  Love the whole of me that makes me human.  Love me, Cat, the wabi sabi human.

This says I am good enough now.  This says I love myself now and I am lovable now.  This says I am perfectly imperfect.

I can handle being a wabi sabi human.

 

Being Here and Wanting There

1.'Containers for the Soul'--Cat Fink
Containers For The Soul

It is Thursday and I am here in my studio, writing.  Through my windows I see pine and fir and aspen forest, all around me.  From my front door, I see rows of round hills moving into the distance.  Greens and smoky blues.  The wood thrush has returned for the summer’s nesting.  I heard him calling yesterday, a song that sings like water over stone.

Beauty is here.  Yet today, it is not enough.  My heart is longing for the ocean.

What is it in me that can move away from peace so easily?

I love my studio here in the trees at the top of the round hill.  I open my window and the air breathes me.  The songbirds and the ravens companion me.  Their calls inspire me to imagine and write and play.  Peace and creation live here with me.  Fall, winter, spring.

When summer comes, I move my studio to Victoria on Vancouver Island.  There, I have ocean close to me.  On three sides of me, when I look on the city map.  I can leave my summer studio, drive four minutes in my car, and I am there with my beloved ocean.

I love my studio there, where the ocean lives close by.  I open my window and the beach rushes in.  I hear the seagulls yelling from their heights in the sky, hear the baby crows demanding their place in the world.  When I sit at the beach and write, the waves move in time with my words.  Peace and creation live there with me.

What is it that moves me so easily into longing?  Time.  I have been away from my ocean for nine months.  The forest and hills have filled me, and now I come close to the time for change, to become washed by my ocean.

Oh, my heart, love here where I am now.  Love here where I am creating these words to the sound of the wind in the trees and the wood thrush song.  Know that I am blessed to move from peace to peace.  From forest and hill to ocean and beach.  From beauty to beauty.

Love what is here before me today, and love what I know will come soon enough.  Love the longing I feel today, that created the words on this page.  Cradle my longing.  Whisper ‘Thank you.’  And whisper ‘Soon, I promise, soon.’