Mental Health

Life has felt like too much lately,
Something I'm learning is Self-acceptance.
I don't like being called "emotional", "overly emotional" or having "lots of feelings."
I can emote more readily than most people and I don't think that is a weakness. I think it's a strength.

I honestly don't think I have more feelings than others, I think my access to them is a much shorter distance.

I have fell into a depression over the last few days and needed to miss a few days of work because of it. I feel I have finally floated to the top of the ocean and took my first breath.  I was able to do this because I stopped fighting to hold the waves up. I didn't realize that I had been drowning in them.
 I feel much shame because I notice the uncomfortability people have when I talk about my grief. 

What I have come to realize is that it isn't about them, its about me.  People can't handle grief or sadness.  Most people anyway. And I think its because we are all carrying so much that we can't bear to hold any more.  And to be quite honest I have been feeling that I'm cheating myself.
I tell people, when someone shares their feelings with me, I feel like I am on Holy Ground.
How lucky I am to witness their pain and help them hold it.  I recognize that most people do not feel this way.  What I am learning is to also turn this around to myself. That my feelings are Holy Ground.  There are many secrets and lessons for me to learn and Love to give myself.  And when I can hold my own feelings I feel so much more powerful as a human.  My Spirit is filled and ready to give Love, once more.  What a gift it is to be able to do this.
The last few days I have locked myself into my apartment. Walked around in my underwear, read, wrote, listened to music and cried. I cried in my fear and pain.  My fear of what others thought of me and the pain of their judgements that I had placed on myself.  As soon as I released this pain, I began to feel full again. I began to feel gratitude and meaning. I hadn't realized how much I was missing.  

American culture lifts up the people who do not emote sadness. Or we capitalize on their sadness We do not have any tradition for holding grief and sadness. It seems the less you emote those feelings, the more likeable you are and the easier it is to climb the ladder to success. It's hard to make space for people who are sad because it brings out our own sadness. It is our fear of pain that stifles us.

Our feelings are what make life rich.  We can hold both joy and sadness in the same hand if we are willing to accept that neither are good or bad and in fact both need the other to give meaning to life.  It is the lack of emotion that makes us feel dead and apathetic.

So really, if I have feelings and it makes you uncomfortable it is because you are not comfortable with your own feelings.  And that is sad.  Because you are missing out on so much.

I will continue to emote and love myself through it.  There is nothing wrong with me.

I don't owe you or anyone else, anything.

I'm truly learning how to love myself.  I am becoming more comfortable enjoying my time alone and not looking for anyone else to tell me how to feel.

One of the issues I am becoming more aware of is the mixture of being an emoter and not knowing how to hold them.
That is something I am working on not being ashamed of.  It's not my fault that I never learned how to hold my feelings and its also not fair for me to not learn because in actuality, no one can hold them better than me.  And no one will ever know how to hold them better than me.  With that being said, we deserve to ask for help and not everyone will be able to help hold your feelings and that's okay.  Just know that you are worth it and don't give up.
Take it One Day at a Time.

Instead of pushing through, take time to acknowledge your feelings.  As you do they will become lighter and more flexible.  The reason they feel heavy is not because they are "too much" it is because you are using so much energy to hold them back.

It is much easier to let the wave crash over you than it is to hold it up.

I am beautiful in my sadness and in my joy.  And I love all facets of myself.

Unwanted thoughts

It is really difficult when people want to project their problems on to you.  I feel like I am a constant scapegoat for people.  struggling to find my words when someone pushes me around and always feeling the coulda woulda shoulda.
Which is why I become so angry when I see someone else being taken advantage of.
When these feelings are forced to be shoved down, I feel like I want to run to the place I remember being the happiest.  This place was at a Bible Camp in Montana.
However, if I were to go there today, it would not be the same.  I would still feel the longing and loneliness I feel when someone refuses to hear my needs.  This is because you cannot go back to that place, because you are also not that same person.
I recently listened to a podcast by NPR's Invisibilia, talking about our thoughts. More specifically our unwanted thoughts.
I have lots of these. Just like I'm sure you all do.
The secret is, is that these thoughts don't necessarily mean anything; unless you want them too.

My unwanted thoughts are to runaway.  It drives me crazy.  My anxiety shoots to the moon and my whole body tells me that everything I am doing is wrong and that I need to change something right now if I want to feel better.
However, that is because the pain of not being heard is so great, that I immediately go into flight before I have a chance to give it a second thought.
The podcast talks about "leaning in." An expression I've heard several times before from Pema Chodron.
I hate leaning in.  It hurts so much.  I get overwhelmed by all of the bombarded thoughts that yell and scream at me as I even look at those feelings.  However, I know that leaning in is the only cure.
And then comes the peace.  But it isn't for long before the overwhelming thoughts return.
I am hoping to get involved with a support group of some sort.
I need to practice assertiveness.  Not sure how to do that yet.  But its on my care list.
Check out that podcast, its pretty neat.
Love, Holli

Ecclesiastes

Almost a year since my last post.

May times I have thought about writing and then was carried away by some other 'to do'.
I don't feel that I have any profound thoughts or feelings to share but I do have an itch I can't scratch.

I was so excited to be working on a farm for the summer until the unbearable happened and I developed carpel tunnel. I cried at the hospital, the chiropractor, to my boss, to my mother and to myself.
I love working on the farm.  I love planting something to have it grow and produce food for your enjoyment. The labor that goes into working under the hot sun, gathering zucchini from the sticky vines. Counting and bandaging beets with the rubber bands holding four of your fingers together, filling each crate until there are no more left. Lifting the dust from my sandals and drinking the water from my nalgene while it splashes down my face as I walk towards the truck. I sit on a crate between the two seats as we return to the barn to wash our fresh produce and prepare it for delivery.

I looked forward to each morning as I rose with the sun and roosters crow; beckoning to feed them.  I showered outside while the sun licked my naked body and the hot water tamed my goosebumps from the chilly morning.

I was in love.  So in love.

By the third night of sleeping in my trailer, I awoke to pain and tingling in my hand.  I thought I must have laid on it wrong and continued back to sleep.

The next time it happened again but much worse and numerous times. I began to worry at this turn and called my mother, in which she convinced me it was just something you learned to deal with as you got older.  I was convinced.

By my 7th night there, I awoke numerous times and could not shake the pain out of my hand like I had done the other nights. I eventually made it back to sleep but awoke again at 5am and could not return to sleep. I tried sleeping sitting up, noticing that the pain only reverberated when lying on my back.
I waited until 9am before I decided to go to the ER to find out what the real problem was.

Two weeks later today.  I still am unsure.  My chiropractor believes it is Thoracic Outlet Syndrome and I believe she may be right.

I still have all my things in the trailer still.  I do not want to surrender my life at the farm.  But I also do not want to cause myself more injury, especially not knowing the exact cause.

Its hard not to feel like a failure in some way.
I left my life in Seattle to live and work on a farm, only to find myself unable to continue after one week.  I am living at my mothers' with no car and no job. I am not really close to anyone out here and am now second guessing my decision to go to school in Olympia.

I want some security, and although I could not have predicted any of this happening, I still can't help but try and untangle the past events and find out where I went wrong.
I realize security is only a mirage, but what a beautiful mirage that I lust after.

If you know me, you know that I have been a jack of all trades and master of none.  I hate being bored, and I hate routine; until it is times when I have no ground beneath my feet that I will grab onto anything familiar.

So what do you do? What do I do?

This is one of those times when I feel like God or the Universe is silent.  I scream and all that comes back to me is my own voice.

Perhaps this is my lesson.

To listen and have

Patience.


I named this post Ecclesiastes because it reminds me of the verse "there is nothing new under the sun." And a few years back I was reading that book and feeling that everything is meaningless.  This is also another way to say that your depressed. However, everything that I am going through right now is bringing back memories during that time in my life. Thus, reflecting a lesson that I must have missed and is waiting for me.

To sit down, when I feel anxious.

Regresar

I am back home in Seattle, and as excited as I was to return, the feeling did not land with me.

I feel lost and a little confused.  Wanting to hug the people I meet and greet everyone with a smile and a Spanish greeting.  But, I can't. I feel like I am unsure of how to return to where I was.

The problem is, I can't. When I say I feel lost, it's probably because I actually am.  I have to carve a new path to walk down.

Part of me anticipates this being read with criticism and judgement but the truth is is that these are my feelings and no one can say otherwise.  I feel as I need to prove to someone that it's okay that I feel this way but that is because I want to live up to these presumed expectations that I am thinking that everyone is thinking I should be full of life and joy after returning from this trip.  When reality, I am projecting my own expectations. (I laugh at my own ridiculousness.)

Costa Rica was difficult and beautiful but it became my life and home for a while and it always painful to accept the death of things.

I loved seeing another culture and practicing it as my own.  It's hard to return and to have to leave it behind.  I went to Costa Rica prepared to do so, but not in returning. 

Something that Costa Rica taught me is the comparison factor that we do.  My Way vs Their Way.  I was caught with this a couple times with things that displeased myself and was surprised at my own response and reminded myself, "Not better or worse, just different."

I was surprised to find that I carried this back to Seattle with me when I was confronted to my usual patterns of being irritated and passing judgements.  "Not bad, just different."

I hadn't realized how judgmental and self-centered I am until I returned to Seattle.  I am really thankful that Costa Rica has shown me so.  Because it is my selfishness and judgements that I build my own prison.

Like the breaths we take in each moment, I breathe in what is now and as I breath out, relax my grip on the things that I think should be.

Tranquila.

Costa Rica

When I first arrived in Costa Rica it was really difficult for me. I was timid and scared as I sat down for breakfast with my new family for the next 4 weeks. They spoke little to know English and I knew only small phrases that made me sound similar to a cave man. "How I go school?"
I was so incredibly anxious not knowing anyone nor where any of my fellow students were.
Spanish words were swimming in my head.

On Monday when I finally met up with the other students I had never been so happy to speak English. I don't know if there is a worse feeling than not being able to communicate your own self. Your own thoughts and feelings.

Although I was able to speak English with my fellow cohorts, part of me was still missing. I began to pull away from Costa Rica and into a search for myself. Most of which I found in the companionship of other English speakers. This was my bandaid.

Today I went on a walk with my iPod. I walked alongside the narrow cement road noticing the many cyclists and motorists whom rode by, along with the occasional red taxi.
I looked at the houses and what felt like to me, odd balance of beauty and disarray. Nice cement driveways with large black gates surrounding and mud that hung between the house and the street and the occasional smell of sewage.
At other places I would stop at the side of the road where the houses opened up to the sugar cane fields. There it would stretch into the hills and the hills that climbed into the mountains.
Tranquila.
A word that is common amongst Costa Rican people, or Ticos, as they like to call themselves.
I walked further, still letting my playlist sing to my own voice. I could feel myself breathe again. I could hear my own voice climbing out of me. And finally I could see what it was I came here for.

The colors and warmth of Costa Rica was more alive tome now. It's like I had found the language I was trying to speak the whole time.
I couldn't hear because I forgot how to listen.
I couldn't hear because I couldn't.

Despite my minimal words and construed sentences, I can still communicate kindness.

My host mom and I, despite our language barrier have been able to talk about the difficulty in communicating with each other.
We both had been concerned with the feelings the other had regarding our self. I was worried I would offend her in some cultural way I knew nothing about, and she was worried I didn't like her or her family.
We hugged and understood one another.
Something she reminds me of, "poca a poca."
Little by little.
I always want to run full speed into something and that's okay. But sometimes it is helpful to take it little by little as you go.

Life is hard. But life is beautiful.
Oh! To be curious!
To be wide eyed and excited to hunger with your senses.
We were born to love and laugh.

I drink coffee every morning that my host makes me and eat delicious frutas which she slices each morning for me.
I take a taxi to a beautiful campus where I learn and speak Spanish. I have a break each day where I drink another cup of coffee and eat galletas outside at a picnic table where tropical plants grow all around.
I've seen a coffee plantation and tropical animals. I've danced the salsa and swam in waterfalls. I've celebrated 50 years of life with my host mom's brother and met all of her family. And I have much more adventures to come. I am truly blessed by and with love.
Pura Vida.

Validation

Lying in my bed I inhale the neighbors cigarette smoke that drifts inside my bedroom window.
His patio just on the other side of my wall.  It's too hot to close the window, so I let the smoke slither in. the soft burning in my nose, I remember the time when I used to smoke.

That smoke would bellow my frustrations to the world.  It would linger in my throat so tightly as if grabbing on and shaking it.  My anger reverberating into my lungs and then back out my mouth.  I loved smoking.  I loved that it would comfort me and validate my feelings of inadequacy.
I would walk down the street, my breath short, and dragging my cigarette.  I felt like the lone ranger.  I felt like I was strong. I felt like my cigarette was my best friend.

The smoke I smell now is the lamentations of my best friend.  Almost like a prayer of disparity.
My disparity that is.  The feeling of not knowing anything about where I am going.  How do I know I'm going somewhere?  Because the anxiety to not be is greater than the not knowing.

I'm afraid of standing still.  Of being left behind. The fear of finding out what I already believe to be true is that I am not needed. For anything.  I lack of any importance or real meaning.  If you wanna talk about fears, well this one is the bell ringer.

This fear longs to push people away, to protect myself from the inevitable. Why don't I just let it come? To accept that I am unwanted?        Good question.

Because my hope keeps grabbing on.  Like a small child that doesn't want to let go of her balloon.

But like each child that loses her balloon, she will throw a fit.  Cries and screams, maybe even kicks and yells.  This is how I feel in that moment of losing what I have been hoping for for so long.  The hope which is always the branch that keeps me from my fall.  When in actuality, what I need is to fall.

To be seen and heard is what everyone wants.

Its okay to want these things. This is the validation that I look for.  Realizing that everything I feel is neither good nor bad. that everything I feel is okay and no one can tell me differently.  Nor do I need to change my feelings for someone else so that they may avoid being uncomfortable.
My feelings are my feelings and exactly that.

I know in Psychology there is always that phrase, "change your thoughts change your feelings."
But I believe a lot of our feelings are automatic.  Not to say they were not inspired by thoughts first, but the process that I believe is needed is to not shame our feelings but validate them and then look at that thought and decide if that is something we would like to believe in or not. 

What I believe my greatest struggle is, is when I have an uncomfortable feeling, the first thing I want to do is figure out how to get rid of it. But for me what I am finding is that if I honor my feelings and allow them to be present with me, then the struggle isn't there.

Now I can hear what it is the Universe was trying to teach me.

My dad, Ron Lyons.

It has been so long since I have wrote anything on here. 



Something I experienced and came witness to recently, was while I was watching the movie, "Ordinary People."  I had a time of great healing and realization. The movie is about a husband and wife and their son, of whom the eldest son and brother, dies in a boating accident.  The younger brother was holding his brothers hand across the upturned boat while the waves were crashing and the wind and the rain were blowing.  The older brother grew tired and let go and drowned.
The younger brother in the movie, struggles with PTSD and attempts suicide but is unsuccessful.  The mom resents her younger teenage son for living when the eldest died. And the dad, feels caught in the middle of the two, overwhelmed with guilt on not being able to solve either problems.
The younger brother begins to see a therapist and begins to deal with his pain in the loss of his brother. Towards the end of the movie, the brother finds out that his friend whom me met in the hospital has just commit suicide.  The brother takes off down the street in the middle of the night, finds a payphone and call his therapist and says that he needs to speak to him now.
The boy and therapist enters the office while the boy hysterically yells about his friend and that it reminds him of his brother.  The therapist pushes him a bit farther with questions about whose fault it was.  The boy then redirects his anger towards the therapist as if her were the brother and says "you should've held on! why did you let go?!"  The therapist answers back, "because I got tired."
The boy begins to break down in tears, crying "I'm so sorry, its all my fault."
The therapist asks, "what did you do wrong?"
The boy answers, still crying hysterically, "I don't know.."
The therapist replies, "Yes you do. You held on."

While watching this movie in my class at school, I had to leave the room.  I went to the bathroom and I just cried.  I let myself cry into my hands as I remembered my fathers death.  I felt it was all my fault that I couldn't save him.  I tried so hard to make him happy and to help as best I could.  My dad didn't really have any friends and couldn't work because he was so sick for so long.  I wanted to be the one who could make him happy.  I hated to see him suffer so much and feel so alone.  He wanted me to come live with him and be his caretaker.  He would call me up in the middle of the night when I was 12 years old, saying he needed to go to the hospital.  He would always tell me about how he wanted to buy some property in Eastern Washington and have chickens and ducks and cows and to live off the land and have no one bother him except his girls.  My sister and I.  We were his world.
I loved my dad so much but I couldn't go with him to his own healing.  His own departure. I felt so much guilt for wanting to enjoy my life while he sufferred alone for so long.  That he loved me so much and I couldn't return it the way he wanted.  I have so much guilt.  I just cried and cried.  I'm crying now as I type this.
My dad loved me so much.  This I must remember.  It's not my fault that he couldn't get better.
I will choose to focus on the good memories about my dad. I loved my dad so much for who he used to be before he got sick. 

I think that is who he would want me to remember:

When we were kids, my dad would pick us up in his truck and drive us back to his house and he would say, "Whose daddy's girls"
"We are!", we would answer back.
My dad would cook us dinner every night that we were there, and a lot of the time it would be trout or salmon; deer or rabbit that he had killed while he was out hunting or fishing.  He would take us to the 7Eleven every before or after dinner to pick out an ice cream bar to eat for dessert.
I remember celebrating aChristmas visit with him and him surprising us with each a giant pillow to sit on in front of the TV, as to watch TV with him.
I remember in the summer him taking us down to the lake to swim and play on the beach and coming back to the house and playing wiffle ball with a plastic bat and baseball in the driveway.

I have a lot of good childhood memories of my dad and how much he wanted to be a good father.  He knew that he made a lot of mistakes while he was with my mom, and while growing up.  But he wanted to fix it with us.  He loved us more than anything.  And he told us that.

My dad was probably one of the funniest people you would meet. He did have a good heart and wanted to help people.  He knew what it was like to struggle and accepted his wrongs. My dad had a good heart.  And I love him for who he was and how much he loved me.

When I think of that child I used to be in relation to my dad.  Carefree and having fun, that is who I want to be. I have been living life in such a way that I am still trying to save my dad through other people.  And I hear in my mind, "You have to let him go Holli."
I chose not to go with my dad emotionally when he started to go down hill.  When he began drinking more and wanting more from me.  I chose not to follow him.  And that is the guilt that I have lived with but that is not my fault.  I did nothing wrong.  "You held on."
I held onto my own life and well-being instead of being sucked down with him. 

The fun loving dad that always wanted me to be happy and to laugh with him.  That was the dad that I loved and who he truly wanted to be.
I'll always love you dad.  I miss you.

Holli

Flavors of wrong

Life is a constant relearning of ourselves and accepting that all of us on this planet are equally flawed. 



“We’re all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you’ve been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there’s no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn’t until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems—the ones that make you truly who you are—that we’re ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you’re looking for. You’re looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: the right wrong person—someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, “This is the problem I want to have.”

I will find that special person who is wrong for me in just the right way.

Let our scars fall in love.”
― Galway Kinnell

Bears, Bugs, and GOATS! oh my!

I drove to Port Angeles feeling excited and proud of myself on the adventure I had claimed.  One or two nights in the woods, alone. 

I reached the Wilderness Information Center (WIC)  and parked my car in the lot, prepared to await morning and purchase my pass and bear canister. 
I unpacked my sleeping bad and Pema Chodron's book on 'How to Meditate' and prepared to sleep in the back seat of my car.  I glanced at the street lights and the darker unlit lots near the forests edge.  I felt I was in good company near the lights and decided that it was a good enough place to sleep.
I climbed into the backseat of my car and almost immediately fell asleep.  Exhausted from the long drive and my busy day of appointments and tying up loose ends in preparing to make it out for tonight.

When 6:30am finallay arrived, I climbed out of my car and stretched my legs.  Still groggy from my multiple awakenings, I began to think I may have slept better if I pitched my tent in the grass near the forests'  edge. But I shook my head and decided to climb back into my car and doze in and out of sleep until 8:30am arrived and I could walk into the WIC and take care of buisness.

When 8:30 finally did arrive, I awoke to people already parked in the lot and anxiously waiting for the WIC to unlock their doors.  I was surprised  to see that being outside had become so popular.

When I went inside I spoke to a ranger that had informed me that I had bought the wrong pass and that I could purchase a one night pass and that he needed to know which campsite I was going to stay and for how many nights.  I was surprised that backpacking had become more like a family campground, but was still determined to hike to a camping spot by myself. 

"Are you going by yourself or in a group?"  asked the Ranger.
"By myself."  I said, awaiting his thoughts on the matter.
He seemed more or less un-phased by my reply but wanting to make sure I knew what I was doing.
He showed me my route on my map and checked me out a bear tin.  He wished me a good time and I felt confident as I left the WIC.

Back into my car and dressed to hike, I followed the Rangers direction on how to get to the trail head.  I was surprised to see that the roads were paved all the way through and had wished  had enough time and swim wear to jump into Lake Crescent, that reflected an iridescent blue.
 I was happy.
 I felt energized and alive to be subjected to such beauty.

When I reached my trail, I decided it would be better to not accidentally drop my keys in the woods somewhere so I stashed them on an unknown car part near my tire.  I threw my bag onto my back and headed down the trail.
I smiled to myself as I thought of how proud I was to be back outside with the trees and the dirt that lifted off the ground when I walked.
The smell of pine sung around me like a parade welcoming me back into the forest.

I came to Sol Duc falls and remembered a friend had told me to take pictures so I snapped a couple and decided to move through and find my trail.  I walked through the nearby campsite and found a deer trail and walked that about 20ft when I realized there were two other trails that looked equally worn, if at all.  I decided to walk back and see if I missed the trail.  I pulled out my map and stared at it a while before I remembered that I left my park pass in the car.
 I asked  myself if they would even check for it.
I decided it wasn't worth the risk for only being a mile in and wanting to start out on the right foot (haha get it?)
 I hurried back tomy car, grabbed my hidden keys, got the pass, tied it on my backpack, hid my keys again and headed back down the trail.

"Did we just pass you going the other way?"
"Yes, I forgot my pass in my car."
I speed by them, eager to find my trail head.  An hour had already slipped by and I wanted to get a move on.
I returned back to the place I left and opened up my map.  I decided that the trail leading the other direction must be the right one, so I happily started hiking up the hill thinking about what kind of scenery awaitedme.
Before to long I ran into another sign pointing to Deer Lake and one pointing the other direction: Sol Duc Resort. 
I took out my map.These lead in the opposite direction of the trail I wanted.
I returned back to my spot by the falls and opened up my map once again; thinking the Ranger may have had his hat on too tight when he pointed out this trail for me to take.
"You got it all figured out?" A nice gentleman who was with whom I assumed was his son, asked me, peering into my map.
Eager for some help, "No, I can't find the trail head and I'm thinking it may be closed down.  Do you know this area?"
"It's been a while since I have backpacked up here but let me see."
I informed him of where I had intended to be going and where I saw the 'closed for repairs' sign.
The man walked with me to the sign, and to my mistake, the trail continued just to the left of the sign.  We exchanged smiles and I thanked him.

It had now been two hours since I arrived at the parking lot.  A little frustrated that it had taken me this long, I decided to put it behind me and move forward. I hiked in my new boots which I knew I should have broken in first and with my pack that I was now remembering how it did not fit so great.
 My excitement had started to shift down a couple notches as I began to count my missed goals and question my purpose of this trip.

My mind wandered aimlessly through the accounts of my day and my goals of this adventure.  Why did I want to camp alone?  I felt my mind begin to battle as I was frustrated with only being able to spend one night out and how long it had taken me to find the trail.  I felt my pride twinge at these facts and then move away.
I trudged up and up, badgering myself with endless questions.  When was I going to reach my campsite?  Did it matter?  Of course it matters! Why can't you enjoy the moment?  What does that mean?! What was I going to do when I got there? Do you really want to do this?

Question after question as my legs grew more and more tired. I thought of the author of the book I was reading.  She did this for 2 months by herself, and I am struggling with one night.  I felt somewhat betrayed by my endeavor and that I had already failed.

Three and a half hours later I finally reached a clearing, too tired to climb much more, I decided to set up camp.
I unpacked my tent and unrolled my thermarest and sleeping bag.
 Exhausted, I fell onto my bed and slept for an hour.  When I awoke I decided that I should eat something.  Not feeling hungry at all but knowing it was better to eat now then wake up hungry later. I grabbed my bear tin and walked across the trail and onto a large rock where I set up my stove and ate macaroni and cheese.  I thought about my year in Explore and how we feasted on our left over freeze dried meals the last night out.  I wished I had someone there to share my meal with.
I swatted the bugs in the air and pictured how it would be funny to see someone like me, alone, getting so angry at bugs.  I chuckled to myself as I swatted more angrily at them. 

When I finished my meal, I rinsed my dishes in the creek and enclosed my bear tin and left it there on the rock I ate on. I walked back over to my tent and climbed back into bed.  My shoulders ached from the weight of my bag and my legs were sore from the amount of climbing I did.  I slowly drifted to sleep.

I awoke to the sound of a four legged animal galavanting through my camp.  My mind went immediately to a bear.  Having never camped in the park before, I decided if I lay there motionless it would move on and leave me alone. I heard several others come galloping through.  My heart began to speed up.
'Do bears travel in packs?' I thought, "Only if they have a cub?'     'SHIT.'
If there was a cub, I knew I was in trouble.
I heard one of them begin to tear into a bush near by and then another into a patch of somehing near my tent.
'SHIT,SHIT,SHIT,SHIT,SHIT'
I could hear it's breath on my tent as it started to paw at it.
'Please God, pleeeease.'
I remembered that bears are more afraid of you then you are of them so I decided if I made some noise maybe I could alert it that there is something in this tent. The choice seemed better than having it tear into me..
I sat up and peered through the mesh of my fly-less tent, to find a white faced animal catch my eye and run off.
'White bears?  They're white? I thought they only lived up north?!'
I peered through the mesh long enough for my wits to come about me that there were no 'white bears' in this area...
'Not deer...Goats!'  As one turned to the side I saw its long goat body and horns unraveling through the top of his head. 
But my fear was not done yet.  'What were they smelling that would make them paw at my tent? Was a bear going to come sniff my tent to?  Why aren't they finding my bear tin?'
I became angry that the forest service wouldn't let me hang a bear bag away from my tent now, and I became angry that perhaps someone dumped their leftover lunch somewhere onto my campground.
Interested now, I watched to goats from my tent run back and forth from one spot to the next.  They didn't seem to be in a hurry to go any time soon.
I unzipped my tent and stood barefoot on the ground.
I clapped my hands and held my arms up in the air, "Hey goats!  Come on!  get outta here!"
The one goat looked up at me from the cherished goat spot and then back down.  Totally un-impressed by my arm waving and yelling.  I thought about putting a little more movement into my goat dance but noticed two horns coming out of the head once again.  I decided then to go back to bed and wait for the goats to leave.
I eventually fell back asleep and decided that bears were too smart to hang around with goats.

When I awoke, my head ached and my stomach felt bloated and stiff.
'Damn carbs', I thought to myself.  I fantasized about orange juice and apples.
I realized I should probably drink some water and remembered I was running low.  I reached for my sweet water and read the label regarding an expiration date.  It had been three years since I bought the stuff.  I remembered my iodine tablets and opened one.  Powder dusted the ground.  I guess I should have checked those things before I left.  My pride too another hit.
I decided I would then just pack up all my belongings and hike out.  Nauseous and migraine induced, I didn't appeal to the decision much, if at all.

When I gathered up my things and lathered in bug spray, I took a couple final pictures, looking for one a future painting might induce.
I then hoisted on my pack and began my trek down the mountain.
Once again the badgering kicked in.  I felt like I had failed.  I didn't make it as far as I wanted, it took me forever to find the trail head, I was only able to spend one night, I didn't have enough water, and goats scared the living day lights out of me!  I had failed this trip.
I was on the bridge of tears as I was thinking about what people would think after I told them this story when I became aware.  'What would people think'? My whole trek up this mountain I was thinking about what other people wanted to hear rather than what I wanted.  What did I want out of this trip? A story, and I got it.
As I mentally stepped back from my badgering march of thoughts, I realized that there is nothing wrong with my experience because its MINE. 

People can say and think what they want but the experience was still mine.  My life can only be lived by and through me.  No one else can feel the way I feel and think the way I think.  I am Unique and Enough.
With this moment of awareness I walked to the edge of a switchback and thanked God.
I felt like everything had gone wrong, and here given to me was the awareness that I had set out to receive.  I was reminded of an analogy a friend gave me about holding things with an open hand.
I cannot make a bird come and land into my hand, but if I hold it there palm open, it may choose to.  I cannot make anything come my way.  I may hope for it, but that is all. I could not make myself grasp the awareness of being enough, but once I let go of trying to be, I could see that I was.

How beautiful to have choices.  I have the choice of how I want to live my life and how andwho I want to love.  The same goes that the people who love me, love me because they choose, not because they have to.  How blessed I am.
I feel as though this trip appeared chaotic, I stumbled upon what I was searching for.  The beauty in my true self..

If you had read this far, I hope you have enjoyed this writing and have found some inspiration.
Love and Peace to you my friend.

Holli

oh and in case you were wondering, goats like salt.  I figured it was the sweat I left on my backpack which was pressed up against the side of tent where it was digging.  Stupid goats...

Maitri

I feel like my words are dripping this morning. And yet am not sure how to form them yet.

I feel a lot like God has been speaking to me lately.  My heart has been opening more and more as I have been in my present relationship.  I have been realizing how selfish I can be which makes me sad and longing to be a more loving person to myself and others.  It never feels good to learn these things about yourself and yet I am empowered knowing that I have the ability to change it and become more
Christ like.

I have also been thinking a lot about my Explore year and my time in Montana.  This weather tends to have that affect on me some.  However, as I look back and remember how much I had grown and how much love was shown between all of us.  When you live in such a tight knit community that you see everyday, it is difficult to escape yourself.  And perhaps that is part of the reason I left, in part in realizing there were my past demons that I did not know of until I spoke with a Therapist.

I am working more and more to be content with who I am and love myself and others regardless as to my expectation I may hold against myself and the people in my life. 

I believe this may be why I am so attracted to Bhuddism.  It speaks to me about things like Maitri; Loving kindness towards oneself.  I truly believe that if you can love yourself with honesty and curiosity, it will flow into lives of others.  However, I firmly believe that giving of yourself  can help you see more of your self.  The key is, is that we can always learn from our present moment and walk away with love. 

This is beyond difficult for me as my ideals become my obstacles and I forget that my opportunity to love is 'now' and not when I have all the right tools within reach. 
The life I long for is now and in my future and that success lies within an open palm and not a clenched hand. 

The memories I adore the most is when I was alive in that present moment, and I find myself constantly reaching for that exact time, when really, I can create another one by simply resting in the one I'm in. 

By all means, I have dreams and aspirations like everyone else, but I don't need to wait to begin working on them. 

I read an excerpt of something I wrote during the time my dad was in the hopital in 2008 and it brought me hope of love and a reminder to Rest.  Here it is

There's been a turn in my heart.

I visited my dad with my sister and nate on monday. He didn't look well, but I was prepared for that. He is very sick and continued to forget things while we were there. At one point while we were there he just began to cry. I felt like I was looking at a child and not a full grown man, and my heart ached for him. My heart ached for him because I could tell how much he just wanted to be loved, how much he just needed someone to love him, and I am not sure if he will ever see how to get that for himself. I can see how he wanted me to take care of him so much when I was younger. It only hurts me that he cannot seem to find the key to love himself. So all I can think of is, is to love him out of myself, no matter what; and still loving myself all the while.

On the way home from visiting my dad, I cried in the car with in front of my sister. I am not used to letting my sister see me cry nor letting her comfort me, but it felt like something I had to do. I found myself wishing that I were closer with her, closer with my dad, and closer to my mother. I wish we had all been closer together and there hadn't been so much pain to seperate us from the love. I realized through my tears that how precious time is. That the time I have right now is a gift and how it can slip so quickly through your fingers. I realized how much I have been running forward trying to catch up to the past. trying to catch my lost childhood, trying to makeup for lost time, and feelings of guilt and failure, when all I have right now is the present. In realizing this, I have decided to make the most of the time, and just focus on right here, right now. And when I feel change calling I will listen and give wisdom to it.

I am going to set up a care conference with my dad, so I know how to make the most of my time.

I am also going to stop worrying about school at the moment and think about what I would like to do right now. And just let things fall into place. School is not going anywhere.

But I might be :)

What is that verse about worrying? Do not worry about tomorrow because there is enough cares for today.

This is fitting.

love to you all and Merry Christmas.

Let the feeling of longing fill your heart, and see what it is you long for.

Luke 2: 8-12 There were sheepherders camping in the neighborhood. They had set night watches over their sheep. Suddenly, God's angel stood among them and God's glory blazed around them. They were terrified. The angel said, "Don't be afraid. I'm here to announce a great and joyful event that is meant for everybody, worldwide: A Savior has just been born in David's town, a Savior who is Messiah and Master. This is what you're to look for: a baby wrapped in a blanket and lying in a manger."

Loving wisdom

Do you ever wonder when someone or something is going to wake you up?  When you will be rescued from the thick fog you tread through?
I find my soul yearning in this question more often than not.  And when I reveal to myself that it is me who is in my way, I become angry with myself and rendezvous back to where I started. 

I think a good portion of this problem lies within my lack of patience with myself. 
We are all followed by our past and there are plenty of times that I convince myself to run fast enough that it will not catch up.  Well that's a lie friends.

I was reminded by a friend that healing only comes through befriending your past.  Often times my pride takes me by the hand yelling behind us, "Try and catch us!"  and I grasp her hand and ride that wave of rebellion until I crash hard on the sandy shores of my humble childhood to meet the girl that was once me. 

It's hard to be with her because she is always crying. That is what my pride says.  But there is another part of me that wants to be with my pride and the little girl.  This part of me is my loving wisdom.  I don't know where she comes from but she's always there, the difficult part is quieting myself long enough to hear her. 
She walks with grace and peace, carrying only love.  She's always willing to give love to me. She is beautiful and everything that I want to be. She is me. 

She is me. 

All that I chase and long for is in me. 

I am perfect as I am. 

Listen.