Rebirth

We did a breathing exercise in yoga today and the teacher suggested we imagine the deep inhale as breathing in new life, and the exhale as a cleansing, or a shedding of the old skin, as a snake does. In shedding the old skin we are reborn.

I hung on to this image all day. I've never before identified with snakes, (primates being my current obsession) but I like the image of shedding the old skin, of becoming new and fresh again. Snakes do it to allow for growth. I feel poised on the threshold of shedding my old skin, my old self, allowing for personal growth.

I did a little research and discovered that humans actually shed 1.5 million skin cells every hour with a new skin surface regenerating every 28 days (kinda gross when you think about all those skin cells floating around... sort of like the millions of dust mites that live on our mattress... okay, don't get me started.) So, we are shedding too, but this image of flaking skin isn't nearly as powerful as that of that snake, who loses the skin in one entire piece.

Apparently the stresses associated with shedding can be substantial. Sick snakes experience delayed and incomplete sheds. Also, shedding is a slow process, and I imagine there must be some discomfort. So it is with humans embarking on a rebirth. First we have to shed the old skin. Unhealthy humans, people who are emotionally, spiritually or physically ill will struggle more with the shedding. The changing of old routines, adjusting to losses, these are uncomfortable, but by maintaining our health and embracing new opportunities we can aid the shedding process that leads to our own rebirth.

Maybe I can identify with the snake afterall.

Namaste

How shall I live, knowing I shall die....

Random Thoughts on my Spiritual Journey

I've recently returned to the Unitarian church after a 3-4 year absence. There is a new minister there, and he is everything I would hope for in a minister: wise, reflective, funny, humble, human, laid-back, well-rounded/grounded ... I could go on on on. I feel like I have found my way home after an extended trip away. It was at yesterday's service that someone (not the minister) posed the question ~ How shall I live, knowing that I shall die. I jotted the phrase down, realizing that it was extremely relevant to where I'm at in my life right now.

No no no, I'm not facing a life-threatening illness (that I know of) but I'm trying to become more fully aware of how I am living, and whether it's a meaningful life.

By coincidence, or maybe not, I walked into an art gallery in San Diego last month and found a book by Jane Goodall: Reason For Hope, A Spiritual Journey. Even though my to-read stack of books is a mile high, this book went to the top and I'm now half-way through it.

I've always known of Jane Goodall and her work with chimpanzee's and I've held her in the highest regard, but I've never actually read anything she's written. Now I feel like I've discovered a soul-mate. The questions she poses, the thoughts she's had... they speak directly to my own soul. I know I don't have the hardiness or character to do the kind of scientific work that she has done, but what she has learned from her life in the African wilderness speaks directly to me, and millions of others, I'm sure.

In the following passage, she reflects on her first trip to Gombe, when she was totally alone in the forest in Africa.

"Together the chimpanzees and the baboons and monkeys, the birds and insects, the teeming life of the vibrant forest, the stirrings of the never still waters of the great lake, and the uncountable stars and planets of the solar system formed one whole. All one, all part of the great mystery."

Ahhh. Lovely.

I haven't had the opportunity to be alone in the African wilderness, but I understand this feeling of being one part of the whole, of the great mystery.

Namaste

I fell in love during Spring Break

Cinta, a young orangutan and Little Lucu, a siamang ape, have stolen my heart, lock, stock and barrel. My daughters had to drag me away from their exhibit at the San Diego Zoo. They were behaving - yes - just like little monkeys! Or small children. I was captivated by their antics - the teasing, the tackling, the swinging, the swaggering. Watching these magnificent young apes was like sitting on a bench at a playground, watching preschoolers romp. They were absolutely delightful, and seeing the patience and affection that the older apes had for the younger ones - well - it was simply stunning. Human parents could learn from them. One of my daughters, standing beside me at the glass wall that was all that separated us from the animals, commented... "I don't understand why some people don't believe in evolution."

My thoughts exactly.

Photos by the the enormously talented Cara Lee Hrdlitschka

Making way for the new...

In the past I've complained about the way my daughters rarely listen to an entire piece of music. They switch radio stations or press 'forward' on their ipods after about 30 seconds of listening to a song. Until recently I couldn't understand this jumping about. Now I do.

As my life undergoes some major changes I'm learning to recreate my sense of self. I can no longer identify with the same labels that I did just 6 months ago.

I know this can be a healthy process if I remember to celebrate the opportunity for personal growth at the same time that I grieve the changes.

Julia Cameron, in her book The Artist's Way says, "Shifts in taste and perception frequently accompany shifts in identity. One of the clearest signals that something healthy is afoot is the impulse to weed out, sort through, and discard old clothes, papers, and belongings.... By tossing out the old and unworkable, we make way for the new and suitable. A closet stuffed with ratty old clothes does not invite new ones. A house overflowing with odds and ends and tidbits you've held on to for someday has no space for the things that might truly enhance today."

This I understand. I do feel the need to clean out the old to make way for the new, even though I have no idea of what that 'new' will look like.

What I didn't expect was a shift in my music tastes. On hikes with my own ipod I find myself behaving just like my daughters. My thumb is on the 'forward' switch as I skip past all the 'oldies' that once brought me such pleasure. Yesterday I found I couldn't even listen to old Beatles tunes, which I didn't think I'd ever tire of. I'm yearning for something new, music that that speaks to my heart and soul the way the old favourites used to. I know that as I open my mind to new artists, or artists that I never noticed before, I will discover the kind of music that fulfils the new me.

Namaste

Kill 'em with kindness

I consider myself a good dog owner. I always scoop poop. I buy a dog license each year. I exercise my dog daily to keep him healthy and happy.


I also consider myself to be a good law-abiding citizen. My friends and family will vouch for me when I say that I am a lousy liar and that I always follow rules, sometimes to the extreme.


However, there is one bylaw I do occassionally break, and as a result there are some who would consider me to be an irresponsible dog-owner.

You see, I sometimes allow my dog to run off-leash.

(There, I've said it. What a relief.)

In the six years I've been breaking this bylaw I had yet to meet up with the dreaded 'dog police'. All that good luck came to an end last week.

It was one of those remarkably crisp, clear, early spring days. Winston and I headed down to the beach to stretch our legs and enjoy the break in the weather. We were wandering down the beach when we ran into another springer spaniel and her owner, who was an acquaintance from the neighbourhood.

The other dog-owner and I quickly engaged in conversation about the joys of owning springer spaniels. So engrossed were we in conversation that we didn't notice the dog police until after our dogs had run up and greeted them. Off-leash, of course.

I sighed deeply and reached out my hand to accept my ticket. I knew that we weren't allowed on the beach and that being off-leash was a no-no. I figured that I'd been lucky for 6 years, and that if I amortized all our leash-less walks over that time - well, it really only cost me pennies per walk.

My dog-walking friend, however, had a different take on the situation. He immediately started talking. "I'm so glad we ran into you," he said.

I tried not to look as startled as I felt. I waited to see where he was going with this.

"You see," he continued. "I've often wondered what the rules were for walking dogs on the beach."

I kept my eyes glued to the ground. Hadn't he noticed the signs all over the park telling us that dogs weren't allowed on the beach?

One of the dog-police patiently began to recite the law to him, while the other began filling out our tickets.

"Ohhh," my friend said, after having the law explained to him. "Thank you so much for letting me know! You guys are doing the community such a service. There are so many irresponsible dog-owners out here. I don't know what this park would look like if it weren't for you keeping all us dog-owners in line."

At this point I noticed the puzzled glance that the two dog-police exchanged. Then one reached over and checked the tag on Winston's collar. "2006," he noted.

"I have a 2008 tag, honestly," I told him, sheepishly. And I do. "But it's still sitting on my desk. Right beside the 2007 one."

The dog-police person turned to my friend with raised eyebrows. "And you?" he asked, his nod noting Ruby's lack of any tag.

"Oh dear," my friend says, shoulders sagging. "You see, we have four collars for Ruby. Every time she gets wet we change her collar. But we only have one dog license. Hey," he says, looking brighter, "do you think I could order extra dog licenses next year?"

"No," Dog Police #1 says. "May I suggest you keep Ruby's license with your car keys from now on. Then you will always have it with you."

"Great idea!" my friend says.

The dog-police turned to me again. "Please put your dog on leash," one of them says. As I lean over to clip Winston to his leash I wonder what my friend will do. I'd noted that he didn't even have a leash with him, but when I stood back up, I saw that Ruby was now attached to the end of a leather leash.

As I pondered the miraculous appearance of the leash, my friend continued to chat away about how wonderful the dog-police were, and how he appreciated how hard they worked. He might even have mentioned how good-looking they were. Eventually the one with the pad of tickets stuck them in his back pocket. "We're going to let you off with just a warning today," he said. "But please remember not to allow your dogs to run free on the beach again. And get those dog licenses on them."

"Thank you so much," my friend says, shaking their hands effusively. As we walk away, he says, quietly, "My pants are about to fall down."

"Huh?"

It's then that I notice that Ruby's leash is not really a leash at all. It's her owner's belt. I hadn't even noticed my friend slide it off, and clearly the dog-police hadn't either. Between bellows of laughter I asked whether Ruby really had 4 collars. "Are you kidding?" he said. "Ruby's never even been licensed."

"You just have to kill 'em with kindness," he explained. It works every time."

Shelley

Postscript ~ the moral of this story is not that lying and breaking laws is recommended but in this incident, everyone got what they wanted. My dog now proudly wears his 2008 license. I will no longer be walking him on the beach, on or off-leash. But it could have ended a lot uglier, with harsh words and expensive fines. The kind words made all the difference.

Fan Mail

Today I opened my email and found not one, but THREE letters from young people who have been reading my books. Pasted below is one of them, but all three were equally wonderful.

hi.I am obsessed with your books. i just finished kats fall and it was the best book i have ever read. not many books keep me entertained through out the whole book but this one did. i loved it so much and now i am reading dancing naked and so far i love it. my mom and brother went to one of your workshop things and bought some of your books so when im done dancing naked i will read sun sighns. i just thought you should know that i loved you book and you should never ever stop writing because you have an amazing talent as a writer.from your #1 fan

I wish I could reach out and hug these girls. These letters mean SO much to me. As authors, we send our new books out into the world without any idea of how they will be received. Even in fiction we feel that we are exposing our souls to the world through our writing, and we wonder how the world will respond. There is always a long, painful 'nothingness' when they are first launched, and we think.... is anyone reading it? Do they hate it? And then the professional reviews start dribbling in. When they're good you want to scream Hallelujah! and dance naked in the moonlight. When they're bad you feel practically suicidal. There's nothing like waiting for reviews to expose your every insecurity. Anne Lamott describes the feeling perfectly in her book, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. It's a 'must read' for all new writers.

It wasn't until I took up writing myself that it ever occurred to me to write and tell an author what their book meant to me. I have now written about a dozen fan-mail type letters to authors. I should have written dozens more. The professional reviews tell us what professional critics think of our stories, but hearing from our actual targeted audience is SO much better. I have a binder full of letters similar to the one above, and on those days when the writing is not going well and I wonder why I even bother... I just have to pull out the binder, read the letters, and I find the inspiration to continue writing.

Let's not stop at just telling authors how much we enjoyed their books. Let's tell our neighbours how much we enjoy gazing at their gardens, or the check-out clerk at the grocery store how we always choose their aisle because of their great smile or a special teacher how they inspire us. So often we assume that other people know what their strengths are, but we all need reminders. Go on. Do it. Make someone's day.

Namaste

A True Story

The above photos were taken by my daughter, Cara. (Isn't she clever? The black background in the 2nd picture is simply a black t-shirt. Brilliant.) The top one is of a hemp bead bracelet that my publisher is distributing with review copies of my new book, Gotcha!. The bottom one is of the actual book. As I've said before in this blog, I am so pleased with this cover art. Orca Books could not have done a better job of packaging my story. Now I just have to worry about whether the story is worthy of the packaging.

That leads me into the true story part of this post.

An artist, a musician and a writer were relaxing over cups of coffee after their yoga class. They were discussing 'completed projects'.

The artist said, "When I look at my completed paintings, I always want to reach for a paintbrush and rework parts of the painting."

The writer said, "As I do readings from my books, I realize how stupid the story is, and how badly written!"

The musician said, "When I put out a CD, I have to perfom the songs on it over and over again. With each performance I can only hear all the mistakes and wish I could redo the original tracks."

Okay, I'm paraphrasing. But the conversation did go something like that.

I guess it's human nature. I have never hosted a dinner party where, after the guests have all gone home, I didn't dwell on the meal's shortcoming rather than on what was good about it. In my garden I can only see where something is lacking, rather than what looks fabulous. Even in my author presentations, when all is said and done, it's what I forgot to include in the presentation that haunts me, not what went well.

The exception to this rule is with my daughters. When I look at them I can only see their strengths. They are each so close to perfection that sometimes it takes my breath away. Okay, that may be a slight exaggeration, their messy bedrooms drive me CRAZY, the 'borrowing' of each others things borders on 'theft' but these things are minor in the big picture. They really are amazing young women.

There is a huge difference in being proud of our art and of our children. Our children are creating themselves. We can only guide them. In some ways that is true of our art. I'm sure that both my artist and musician friends would claim that their art guides them, just as my writing takes me to places I never expected. What we set out to paint, write, compose is not anything like the final product. However, I do believe we have more control over our artistic creations than we do our children. No, I don't think we do, I know we do.

I'm not even sure why I'm comparing the two. Maybe because it's Valentine's Day and public expressions of love are in order. I hope my girls each know how much they are cherished. I also hope that all my artist, musician and writer friends can learn to be satisfied and proud of their creations. I know I'm working on it.

Namaste