Ale La (Go There)

Somewhere around the turn of the New Year, thoughts about fear kept weaving themselves through the fabric of prayers, experiences and conversations that make up the living, breathing fabric of Life. I suddenly stepped back and saw a greater pattern in mine. I saw some of the ways that fear has dictated my thinking and guided my decision making process.   Fear dominated much of the way I approached my faith. Fear snuck its way into my thoughts about femininity. Fear told me to hold back reserves even in my deepest friendships.  Fear kept me from following.  Fear had my hopes for the future locked up tight in cages.  But something has been shaking loose.  "Be a Lamp. Or a Lifeboat. Or a Ladder. Help someone's soul heal. Walk out of your house like a shepherd."   - Rumi The BIG parts of life and death keep hitting me like a Mack truck. Rather than be the sad llama  who feels oh so sorry for herself, I want to be ...

Somedays I feel like my nickname should be “perpetual motion” but then days like today happen and I find myself sitting in the my living room, in a dark and quiet house, with the light from one candle and the chatter of far away traffic for company. I feel shaken from the Holiness of death. Not in a fearful way, but it’s as if something Big has happened, and as if the longing space in my heart just grew deeper. I feel like moving slowly and purposefully. Then I feel like tying on my minimalist shoes and finding a trail that runs a pathway under that big, clear moon that has just risen up to quiet the noisy sky. I feel like eating chocolate and drinking whisky. Or maybe I should just lay down on the wooden floor, and let silence wash over me. These moments are precious and if we “Have not Love” then all the words we speak are just noise, and all the actions we take are empty. Sometimes we must stop moving to feel and be filled. And I remember: ...

Welp. I was going to write something about pain, but… It just wasn’t gelling. Like seriously, this past weekend I wrote 4 different fragments of thought collections, and none of them were anything that I felt in my bones. I was on vacation with my friend Lindsay, trying to write, and suddenly turned to her and said, “ This is not working. I think I maybe need to write something… gritty .” She nodded supportively and asked me ½ hr. later how my “getting gritty was going.” Yeah. I had nothing. I have no success at "grittiness." It just looks like crazy eyes.  Yesterday I was in a patients home with no words, tears in my eyes, and barren comfort to give the daughters of a young mom who is dying of cancer. Last night I was sweating the emotion out of every single pore of my body in a hot yoga class. And today was like listening to the same song on repeat- another family, more tears, and eye contact with my patients hazel eyes that blinked to pu...

Thankful. People have been using that word a lot this week. As it turns out, this time of year is a good time to look at all the things you have in your life, to count your blessings, to name them all, and then to celebrate. Lately, I've talked a lot about the emptiness that I sometimes feel. I've talked a lot about the open handed, bleeding kind of love. I've talked about my tendency to throw myself  pity parties and think " Why is life so hard ?" What has been missing from this narrative are the moments of deep thanks and satisfaction; the full moments, or thankful moments- if you like. The truth is that I usually feel like one really lucky girl. My friendships are the kind that you cross oceans for, the ones who let you cry on their shoulders, and the ones who give you pep talks but also tell it to you like it is. We celebrated friendship and life a few weeks ago when we all passed around Megan's baby. A baby! Our little friend group, our ci...

On Monday I lit a candle and prayed about Faith, Hope and Love. It went something like this; “Let our Love keep burning when Faith and Hope flicker.” A beautiful prayer…  Except that my innermost being was saying something more like this. Ahem. “shit, shit, shit. F***” So, I guess that should be filed away with my other not so beautiful, and yet honest, prayers.  I also said to God, “I have nothing. And I have everything.” I didn't understand that statement but it felt real, and it kept coming up throughout the week. I had nothing and everything when my family sat together grieving, crying, and praying. When we called each other to see “how it was going,” and when other people outside of our immediate family asked to come and to BE there. You realize how many people you have when you really need them. Later in the week I walked with a dear friend. We were talking about singleness, and circling a reservoir while the stars and gl...

Everybody knows about my llama problem right? I love llamas. I take pictures of llamas. I talk about llamas all the time. The hashtag #llamasofinstagram is a real part of my life. I know, I know. It's ridiculous. I think that God speaks to us each in unique ways, which is why He sometimes speaks to me using llama references. Do you ever feel sorry for yourself? I do. In fact, I sometimes spend a significant amount of my day thinking about how hard life can be and wishing that the next thing would hurry up and happen so that I could escape the reality of what is happening right now. Oh, this thinking is flawed in so many ways... And YOU are thinking. Why? Why are we talking about llamas and feeling sorry for yourself. Don't worry the answer is coming. Boom.  The other day while I was praying this clip from Disney's The Emperor's New Groove popped into my mind.   This is the part of the movie where Cuzco is feeling sorry for himself and sitting the rain s...

I sit in an alleyway of sillar stone. The white walls collect the heat and shine it back at me. I have just ordered a pizza a la leña from a tourist trap restaurant behind the cathedral. When it comes a man walking by comments, "Asu, que rico! Provecho!" Only he's not looking at my pizza when he says that. I have forgotten that to wear a tank top here often invites a full body glance up and down, a lingering stare at the blondish streaks in my hair, or some incarnation of a whistle. I have tentative plans for today including eating tres leches cake at least once, drinking a cappuccino with some friends, and perhaps drinking a cusqueña negra in the airport. I have to catch up on my caloric intake after the colossal effort that my metabolism made in the high altitudes. And my Peruvian mom's voice echoes in my head, "Amandita! Porque tan flaquita, mi reina?" I love the sound of my name here, Amandita. Teresa managed to fuss over me all morning, even while...