“I Am”

I have a friend who asked me, “are relationships places of surrender?” I held one gentle fist over the other in front of me in the shape of a small spine and said, “I am.” I encouraged her to do the same. Once we both established our “I ams”, our individualities, our proclamations of being in the world, I got up, and linked arms with her. We walked around the room a bit, as if taking a stroll into the world together and I once again made the same gesture, fist over fist in my own personal soul-spine and said “I am” while arms still linked. “Are you still I am, too?” I asked her? “Yes,” she replied, “I am.” I noticed tears of relief and understanding as she felt the possibilities of partnering relationship with individuality.

This little exercise was revolutionary and revelationary, though so so simple. We can be the being we are in all of our strength and still be linked to another without giving up our identity, our authenticity, our integrity. It seems so simple- almost too simple, but powerful. “I am.”

How are you “i am” today, alone, and linked with the “I am” of others?

My own rite of passage: cloud mysteries

I find myself under a July grey flannel sky pondering the threshold I’m straddling this emerging summer morning. I somehow know the sun will come out, but until then, I’m trying to enjoy the complexities of cloud-mystery: the wonder of what you can’t see behind the curtain.

“Cloud-mysteries” can describe motherhood, too. There’s something potentially exciting around the corner, or something scary, or something unknown, but the present hangs in shadowy, subtle draperies. A current weather change in my own reality is that my two young adult children (20 and 19) are both involved in romantic relationships this summer. One has had her beau for awhile, the other, my son, is engaging in something entirely new for him.

As a parent, I know there’s no way out. Children get experiences by experiencing. And, in so many ways, it’s all good. Risk. Caring. Even love. But also, often unknowingly, pain, mistakes, and heart break could be the dark gift behind door number 3. My threshold now is about trying to accept this new role of “mysterious curtain gazing”. What is my role now? Who am I if not protector, keeper, and guardian of my children?

As I think about this, I can’t help thinking that perhaps the best way to stare into a cloud of mysteries is to take a moment and stand back with awe and respect. Observe with care. And be diligent and present so that when the curtain does open, I can experience for myself the rays of light that come through- those delicious moments of enlightenment that young people (and the rest of us) every now and then get to envelope themselves in. But for now . . .

a holder of the moment. A hoper in the moment. That pair of hands that knows how to receive the gift and draw the drapes.