Dare ... to Dive In

Prologue

No, I won’t do it, she thought.  

I want to see what will happen.  What will become of them.  

There’s something special in them ... 

It returned.  

Fully formed like Athena sprung from the head of Zeus.  

But it's not beautiful like that Roman Goddess, 

and she's not fully armed and ready to lead in battle.  

Carol begins her chemo on Monday.  

She is fully armed for battle and has even posted 

a rallying cry on her cancer website.

I’ve decided to journey with her and channel that moxy. 

I’ll revisit the scene of my battle and post journal entries from 

that time in my life, just a couple of years ago.  

So ... Why would that take moxy, guts, nerve? 

Because cancer wasn’t the biggest battle.  

For that I received the accompanying Medal of Honor.  

For that I constantly receive a warm congratulatory smile 

accompanied by the concerned follow-up, how are you now? 

My biggest battle was with the Dirty D.  Depression.  

For that one most often receives a kind but confused smile 

accompanied by a veiling over the eyes and a murmered 

something-or-other followed by a change of topic.  

Unless ... one has faced the Dirty D.  

But even then ... shhh quietly echoes in our heads 

... shhh -- someone might hear! 

The discomfort and reticence to talk about Depression

are shadowy residuals of a shame 

 that is still present in our culture.  

!!!Thank God cancer is no longer a topic of shame and silence!!!  

Someday I hope the same to be true for depression.

Today I begin my battle against any lingering shame of depression.   

It will take place on three fronts:  

   The Cancer-Radiation Arena with posts from my cancer journals 

   The Anxiety-Depression Arena with past and present reflections

   Continued posts on the Spiritual Arena with creative whimsical images

I hope you’ll join me and post your comments.  

Go ahead!  You can always post anonymously if you prefer.  

And yes, you can still email me privately.

Ohhhhhh CrapCrapCRAP!!!  Lost EvERY WoRD of this POst!!!  

Fine!  I’ll re-write and re-post!!!   Hah.  First battle.  Won it. 

Here goes the post and the image I just created.

Autumn Impressions: What is a Soul Journal, Anyway?

 "Listen! the wind is rising,

and the air is wild with leaves.

We have had our summer evenings,

now for October eves!" ~Humbert Wolfe~

This great quote (thanks Jamie!) reminded me of
journal pages from a couple years ago.
Looking at the pages this morning I can see
echoes of my soul at the time.

I thought that describing the process of making those pages

might be a good way to give you a glimpse into a Soul Journal.

It started one afternoon while I was reading

a Smithsonian Magazine that my husband was finished with.

(Being last to read, I can play with the wonderful images!)

I remember noticing the dark colors in

Beautiful Rain, a painting by Renoir.

Carefully tearing out the picture I thought about

other paintings by Renoir with their bright colors,

children playing, and sunny gardens. Those were the

type of Impressionist paintings that usually appeal to me.

It really surprised me to be moved by these dark autumnal colors.

I pulled out a stash of paints, ink-pads and stamps,

and "stuff" torn from envelopes, magazines,
restaurant napkins, and the like.

(Some of my favorite things to use in my Soul Journal 

pages are bits and pieces of life around me.)

Randomly opening the book I was altering, I took

colored ink-pads and watercolors and began to rub, paint, and
daub on colors that reminded me of fall sunsets.

To create a casual messy softness I rip around images and

then rub a combination of neutral inks over the white edges.

I also crumpled up the red flowers

and brushed sepia over the wrinkles to add depth and interest.

I continued to play around, adding a dried stalk from

my sister's garden and postage stamps that brightened the pages.

Pausing to take a look, they all seemed to want a cozy interior space.

so, looking out the window at the fall leaves in olive green,

dark ochre yellow, and sepia brown, I smudged and layered

those colors until they created warm and safe edges.

(Can you hear echoes of my soul at that time?)

Dark purple and brown inks were used to stamp the

randomly selected clocks, fern, and butterflies

on top of the autumn-sunset colors.

(Again, can you see intuitive symbolism in the selected images?)

Looking back, the way those dark beautiful colors

in the magazine spoke to me now makes some sense.

Recovering from cancer treatments

and working through accompanying depression

it had become increasingly difficult to talk about my feelings.

I had searched around me and scrounged through the

cancer magazines scattered in oncology waiting rooms

but could find no evidence of others struggling with

such depression after treatments.

Everywhere I looked other cancer survivors were

full of sunshine, optimism, and hope.

They were ready to jump back into life,

eager to re-embrace every single day.

And so I had grown deeply ashamed of my depression

and tried to hide it even more than usual.

(I know, while many commented on how good I was doing,

I didn't hide much of anything from those of you

familiar with depression.)

As I flipped through the magazine that day

something about those dark colors resonated with my soul.

And while I noticed how powerful they were to me, I

didn't really try to understand. Instead, I simply

allowed them to be a springboard for

creative play and nonverbal expression.

Soul Journals can be helpful

when words are inadequate, unavailable.

And ... isn't it delightfully ironic how often we

return to words to explain those nonverbal expressions?

Click below or email me and let me know how you Soul-Journal or

how you'd like to begin.  Remember, I'm always glad to

answer questions if you're unsure how to begin.
I love all your comments and emails for those who prefer!

What Helped?

People often ask me,

What helped you get well?

For the breast cancer it was radiation.

But they usually know that.

It's the depression most people ask about.

It's not an easy question to answer.

I worked so hard to get well -- but it took more than two years.

There were the usuals:

A good counselor, meds, vitamins, healthy food,

plenty of sleep, yoga, meditation, spiritual reflection,

caring family, humor, good books, chic-flicks ...

And time. Lots of time. Much more time than I wanted it to take.

But I'm convinced that the most important thing

for my healing has been friends.

For years my focus had been on our family and the people

in congregations I served as a United Methodist pastor.

I loved everything that I was doing, even thrived on it.

But there was little time left for personal friendships.

And over time this took its toll.

But when I went on medical leave all I had was time.

Time and more time. Time to rest, time to sleep,

time to practice yoga, time to walk, time to bike,

time to meditate, time to journal, time to play the piano,

time to read, time to watch movies, time to do crosswords,

time to visit family ... and time to seek new friendships.

I'm convinced that it's the friendships that turned things around.

Centuries ago Dorotheus of Gaza taught that

our spiritual lives are much like the spokes of a wheel.

The closer we move toward the holy, the center of our being,

the closer we move to one another.

Likewise, the closer we move toward one another,

the closer we move to the holy.

Then there's the corollary.

When we intentionally move away from one another,

and also When we fail to move closer to one another,

we find ourselves moving away from the center, the holy.

Without taking time for myself and deep personal friendships

it was like I was skipping around and around the spokes.

Eventually I found myself spiritually drying up

in a very different way from the natural ebb and flow

of desert times and bountiful times.

It's truly not enough to focus just on our spiritual lives.

The pairing with meaningful relationships provides a rhythm,

a continuity, a balance to our journeys.

Thanks everyone.

You're parading through my mind as I write.

Wow! It's true, I just realized!

Enough friends, enough meaningful friendships,

for an entire parade!

Singing the Blues with Buddy Guy

We planned our day in Chicago:

an afternoon wandering through the Art Institute

and then an evening listening to the blues

at Buddy Guy’s Legends.

What is it about the blues that I love so much?

I think the movie Adventures in Babysitting got it right.

The children and their sitter find themselves

racing through Chicago on a Friday night rescue mission;

they escape one predicament just to find themselves in another.

But things change when they find themselves in a blues club.

They can’t leave until they sing the blues:

Nobody leaves this place without singing the blues.

They’re slowed down because you can’t escape or run away;

you can only go through what life puts before you.

So Elisabeth Shue (the babysitter) takes the microphone

and tells their woeful story.

It’s amazing what happens when we tell our story.

Things aren’t quite as bad as we thought.

Oh, they may be bad alright,

but naming them takes away ruthless their power.

A little perspective helps too.

This is what I love: when you sing the blues you go through them.

And it’s really the only way.

Oh, I’ve tried other ways. Haven’t you?

The old Spiritual explains it though:

You can’t go around them ‘cause they’re too wide;

you can’t go over them ‘cause they’re too high;

and you can’t go under them ‘cause they’re too low.

So there we were in Chicago

celebrating the blues -- on Buddy Guy’s 73rd birthday.

We showed up early for front row seats,

played pool, and shared our table with new friends.

We sang and listened, laughed and talked.

We shared stories of cancer, unemployment, and new jobs.

We worked our way through the blues

and came out on the other side.

Even news of a positive breast cancer biopsy

could be experienced in a different light.

Our new friend hugged me good-bye

and added through tears, It’s going to be alright.

I pulled back, looked into her eyes,

and saw the strength reflected there.

Yes, I agreed.

It would somehow be alright for them.

For mother and daughter would go through it together.

That’s what the blues brings. Hope.

Nicknames

Seeing old friends is great.

You know what else is great?
To be able to respond
when asked "How are you?" with
"I'm cancer free -- and
I'm depression free."

I call them
the "Big C"

and the "Dirty D"

There's power in a name.
Liberating power as well as oppressive power.
There's calm centering power,
and there's also the
whimsical redeeming power of nicknames.

What are some of your favorite nicknames
for struggles or Pains-in-the-Neck?
Favorite practical jokes?
Dreaded foods, days, or tasks?
Alter-egos or an Inner Child?