I can feel the heat of the morning sun on my forehead as I type these words. I sit in the sunroom, worshipping the rise of our nearest star. I don’t know what the solar plexus is but I think mine is awake right now and feeling, in a word, “happy”. Those of us who hail from parts of this globe that are shrouded in darkness and cold for a good portion of our 365 day journey know that the return of warmth is something to celebrate. We cast aside our prayers for a minute and look toward the only things that should truly receive our adoration—earth and sun.
I stared up at the trees as soon as my eyes opened today. Living only to reach for light and provide purity to the air that we breathe—will we ever be that good? These deciduous and evergreen creatures have no neurons but do they think? Do they feel? What do they know? I have forever been trying to decipher this puzzle and maybe that’s the point. We with our big bad brains and all are not meant to know and feel what they do yet we can certainly try.
I know what you’re thinking. This woman sounds really earthy-crunchy and you’re partially correct. I’m actually a new brand of that called earthy-salty. What does that mean you ask? Well, it means that I am three parts spiritual lover of nature, one part gangster. Every so often those two sides flip-flop and you best watch out when they do. I go about my days, smelling flowers, hugging trees, and embracing all the good of the earth. Sure, bad stuff happens to and all around me but I have learned to ignore most of that crap. That is, of course, until my boundaries are crossed or messed with and that little flame inside me grows big. “ENOUGH” is usually the word that precedes the flop over to gangster and when that point has been reached, I speak and insist that I be heard. I own my anger as right and justified.
With my internal fire allowed to breathe and eventually smolder, I step back and look up instead of down. I have retrained myself to look up in moments of complete despair. It isn’t ever easy and some days it feels downright unnatural. The other day I crawled back into my bed at 6:07 AM, fully dressed, not wanting to face the hundreds of hurdles that awaited my short stumpy legs. Maybe that’s why I shoved my bed against the window, so that in those tiny moments of defeat my eyes will see what I saw first this morning—the reddish green maple tree branches telling me where to look. How very wise.
So much crap happens in all of our lives and denying that fact to ourselves only prolongs the pain and healing process. You can always point to whomever has it worse but the reality is, you are you and your crap is yours to deal with. I feel bad for you, I really do. It must be hard being you because I know it’s hard being me. My advice is that you allow yourself the right to groan, cry, and/or let out a primal scream while driving. And, for the love of all things Christmas, when your boundaries are crossed you are entitled to say, ever so firmly, ENOUGH. That song “Don’t Cry out Loud” by Melissa Manchester is a total crock (why, yes, I am old). Instead, maybe listen to Linda Rondstadt’s “Blue Bayou”, a funk cover of “Thank U, Next” by Ariana Grande, “Nasty” by Janet Jackson, “So What” by Pink, or “Best Friend” by Saweetie plus plus plus. Whatever works. See? “One” part gangster. When you listen to whatever song it is that you pick, remember to look up at that gorgeous sun and those budding branches. This Mother’s Day, I’d like all the females in the world (mothers or not) to embrace their inner gangster, cast away all that no longer serves you, and keep looking up because that’s where we’re headed. The Sisterhood of Spiritual Gangsters* will both care for and rock this world. NOT needy. Wanty. Whatever it is that you want, get it girl. I’ve got your back.
*Spiritual Gangster is a term I stole from my eyeshadow palette. It is the best eyeshadow palette I have ever owned.