Newton's Third Law.

My cat baby, Moo has been missing for a week.

And Newton has 3 laws of motion.  His third one says:

To every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction. 

So, what does Newton’s third law of motion have to do with my lost precious cat child?

Here’s what.  I moved to Ferndale Michigan from the depths of Southwest Detroit about 2 weeks ago.  Making the big leap out of the city and into the nearest burb is no comfortable decision making process.  It took months and months of agonizing and changing my mind every 5 seconds to finally decide that there was no other way.  And in these past couple of weeks, my excruciating decision has been totally validated, as I’m completely elated in my healthy new home front.  My house has all the darling vintage charm that I require of a nesting ground (and is not infested with ants, flees, and fruit flies), my landlord is a top-notch, high-quality human (not addicted to drugs, with junkie friends breaking into our home and stealing our belongings), my street is safe, friendly, and walkable (I’m no longer being serenaded by gunshots and cuss-out battles as I drift off into dream land) and just one mile down the road is everything this girl needs to thrive…cultural diversity, yoga studio, sweet coffee shop, library, healthy food markets (not strip clubs, pawn shops, liquor stores, and fast food).  This Ferndale land is straight up LUXURY, to say the least.  My roomy Trista and I have just one word for it…..and that’s “Heaven”.  It just works really well. 

Now don’t get me wrong.  I’ve still got mad soul love for the city.  The people are the realest and the beauty is the rawest.  There is no other place for me to teach art to the children, and there’s no other place that I can journey through the entire emotional spectrum in just one afternoon.  I fell deep and fast with the city of Detroit as soon as I first stepped foot two years ago.  It was that intoxicating lustful energy that you are fully convinced is nothing less than true love that will last a lifetime.  I can still remember how it felt.  I will hold that feeling tenderly, always.  But it wasn’t sustainable because my needs couldn’t be met.  Like walking.  Walking is a big one for me.      

So I’m happy.  I’m happy that I no longer feel paranoid when I’m at my house, nor when I leave my house.  I’m happy that I can finally enact the routines I need to make big steps in my dream-life-process. 

And in the midst of all this elation, my baby didn’t come home one night.  And then not the next night either.  And then not the next 7.

And as most of you probably know, losing an animal is like, the saddest shit ever.       

And so now I’m in the process of doing everything I can to get her back.

I posted this note on a hundred of my closest neighbor’s windshields:

Hey Neighbors!

I just moved to the hood and can’t find my sweet cat.

(Well, she’s actually not that sweet, but she’s super cute and I love her tremendously).

Petite, short-haired, white with black spots…like a cow. Her name is Moo.

If you’ve seen her, please do send me word.

530-559-4754

My name is Halley, and I appreciate you looking out.

Peace & Pet Love.

I called a psychic to see if she could channel Moo’s where abouts.

I’m visiting shelters, and walking around the neighborhood, often, calling her name.

And after I’ve done all that I can, I’ll work on accepting the fact that I may never see her again.  But, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

And so, back to Newton.  According to him, when great shit happens, so will it’s polar opposite force.  Doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t keep reaching for greatness, but to know that in doing so, our strength and faith are always being tested.  In order to truly achieve our highest, we must be willing to cultivate mad strength through the ability to be with whatever it is that life offers us.  So here’s to life upgrades, and here’s to sadness, and here’s to pet love, and here’s to Newton’s law that makes good sense of things.  

And if you have any additional tips on animal finding, I'd appreciate your wisdom.   

The 5 to 8 Happy Dance.

Last night to get my wind-down on, I took a nice hot shower, and retreated to my room to bust some yoga moves before bed.  A few deep breaths into a pigeon I had the realization.  Holy Shit.  I’m an 8.  So sneaky!  So good!  I gently undid myself from my stretch, to go announce this triumphant revelation to Trista (my all-star roomy for those of you who have yet the pleasure of encountering her glory).

“Soooooooo…“  I eased in. 

“Yes?”  She replied, as she diligently tackled her free-lance work deep into the evening hours. 

“All summer long, my quality of life maxed out at a 5.  But NOW I’m an 8!”

She stopped what she was doing to express genuine congratulations.  And then sat and pondered her numbers for a minute.  “Yep, that’s exactly me too… 5 to an 8!” 

And then we happy danced.

Being a 5, on my personalized spectrum, is something like a soft depression.  Functional, yet for the most part, joyless.  Seem regular, but the light is perpetually on dimmer mode.  It’s the fight or flight space.  The yearning space.  The attachment space.  But what I had a hard time acknowledging at the time, but can see oh so clearly now, is that this space serves a very useful purpose...

When made the most of.

What did I do to cope with my 5-ness?  I started this blog project.  I painted my ass off.  I discovered avenues for teaching art to kiddos.  I found an amazing therapist who helped me see that I need to have more fun in my life.  I didn’t move across the country.  I empathized with other 5’s whom I love, whom are also eagerly shooting to be 10’s.  We work diligently to support each other.  Every day we make contributions toward healing one another.  In a reasonably short period of time, I situated my life just the way I want it to be… for the time being.  And all this, not because I was a 10, but because I was a 5, and didn’t want to be forever.  

And then ya know, at some point I became a 6, a 6.5, and a 7.  But I didn’t notice these subtle shifts.  It took being an 8 to realize how far I’d come.  The emptiness that no longer feels so empty.  The joy that is much more readily available.  The attitude of non-attachment to particular outcomes that I am way more comfortable navigating through life with.

And my ability to boogie again.  Yes, that's right…Stella got her groove back.

My goal of course, is to be a 10.  But I’m open to the fact that I might be a 2 again before I get there.  It’s cool.  Because the TRUTH IS OUT: nothing lasts forever. 

And we have each other. 

And we get exactly what we need, when we need it. 

So we climb, climb, fall, climb, fall, climb, fall, fall, climb, CLIMB, CLIMB, CLIMB……

And realize, momentum is infectious. 

And faith takes us right where we need to go. 

Believing in the 10, every day, is the hardest part at first – and then makes everything, and I mean EVERYTHING so much easier. 

         

The Grind of Goodness.

Today, my morning meditation was about repetition.  The invaluable conditioning of a practice… of doing something over and over, day after day after day, through the heights of experience, and the depths of unwillingness.  When it’s fun and when it sucks.  When it’s exactly what you want to do, and when there’s 700 things you’d rather do. 

Trista <3

The only way to build endurance.  

The only road to mastery.

I haven’t written in a few weeks.  I’ve excused my way out of. 

Aaron <3

I’ve denied myself of its therapeutic properties.  I’ve chosen other activities, other habits, other life-loving exercises, and I’ve neglected my weekly writing practice.  And so today when I finally decided to sit down and write again, I had nothing to say.  In my previous 13 weeks of this here blog project, I’ve been devoted to my repetitive writing process with a no-ifs-ands-or-buts-about-it commitment akin to brushing my teeth.  This whole “nothing to say” thing hadn’t yet been an issue.  And it surprised me... each n’ every time.    

Michelle <3

But because of the simple fact that I had been conditioning myself, my weekly writing idea began to rhythmically emerge just when I was ready to start something new.  And when it came, I got on it… as right away as I could swing it.  Each day after my initial purge into the word document, I revisit my work-in-progress, build upon it, and get it to a point that feels... releasable.  Sometimes it takes a week, sometimes two days – as there’s continuity in the process itself, I know now to honor the fact that each piece is unique in its evolution.

So here I am.  Back on it, writing about not being on it, wondering what it takes to stay on it.  To remain committed.  To have no excuses in devoting myself to something that brings me no financial reward, but makes my heart feel whole and my life feel jubilantly purposeful.  Anyone committed to some kind of ongoing practice I’m sure can humbly attest to the fact that it ain’t easy… and that sometimes it hurts like hell.  But as it goes, it’s usually only painful in the beginning.  Eventually, the floodgates open and (sometimes gently, sometimes furiously) the flow of holy good stuff unleashes. 

Because it’s The Grind.  And not The Grind of the Man.  Of the 9-5 office job that takes up too much of your life, as a trade-off to feed and shelter yourself.  Oooooh no.  This Grind nourishes you directly.  It slowly but surely, day-by-day, builds the foundation required to live a life that’s full and meaningful.  It’s The Grind that builds strength, resilience, discipline, commitment and consistency.  It’s The Grind that pays homage to the precious time we have here.  It’s The Grind of Goodness. 

And it’s about this feeling. This feeling of fullness I have right now, that comes from sitting down to do the thing that transports me to my high place.  And even though it took a whole lot of internal kicking and screaming to get here, I’ve arrived, and I’m back.  I’m BACK on The Grind. 

Dante <3

So hey, if you fall, be easy with yourself.  Because we all know that it’s not the fall that counts, but how long it takes to get back up.  To remount that little red bicycle sans training wheels with scuffed up knees and a chipped tooth, and ride our way back home.     

(pictured above are some of my gorgeous besties, whom all, incidentally have daily grinds).  

The Courage to Make Amends.

July 22^nd marked the day of my sweet friend Dante’s golden birthday…22 years, wiser all the time.  We’d been talking for a while about visiting and photographing his abandoned middle school, Malcolm X Academy, the most memorable and valuable educational experience of his youth (Afro-centric and progressive in many ways), and it became quite apparent as we mulled over how to commemorate his evolution that his birthday was the perfect day to take on that mission.  And so myself, Dante, and beautiful Swedish Rebecka (making her return to the D after spending last summer studying, discovering, and loving Detroit and all that it is), squeezed into my two-seater pick-up and headed on over to the west side.

The moment we heaved ourselves up into the building through a broken out window, the intensity of the experience felt almost overwhelming.  I'll let the pictures speak for the visual impact – an all too common scene here in Detroit, but what became more and more astounding as we moved deeper through the building was the slap-you-across-the-face, BLUNT symbolism of our educational emergency, of our continued racial oppression, and of our human situation that seems to be so lost and mis-prioritized that this sort of thing can just… happen. All over, all around us. 

A once beautiful space of learning, where black students celebrated their heros, and provided themselves with the human right to learn about their people, their culture, and their history was now nothing more than a heaping pile of despairing evidence of what once was.   

We traipsed through every classroom, every closet, every bathroom, searching for clues.  It had been 10 years since Dante walked those halls, but it remained well preserved in his memory.  He remembered each of his old classrooms and the names of all his teachers, Mama and Baba instead of Mr. and Mrs.  He led us into the classroom of the teacher who still used the paddle, and the one who generously paid his way to be part of a mentorship program called My Brother’s Keeper.  We even stumbled upon the little corner where he got caught making out with his first girlfriend.

We discovered that after the school closed as Malcolm X Academy (which has since re-opened in another location, Dante’s old computer teacher is now the principle), it served as an alternative school for one year.  We unearthed an old syllabus that revealed the name of that School: Last Chance Academy. As if in naming, they were preparing for everyone's doom.   

When we got to the gym, Dante remembered that there was a big portrait of Malcolm painted on the center of the floor.  We used our feet to vigorously kick off the trash and dust off his face.  And as his face became exposed, so became our purpose there.  We were there to visit a past.  Dante’s childhood past, our city’s educational past, our nation’s unjust past, so that we can make something of amends for our future.  We are going back to the school to wash Malcolm’s face clean – to pay our respect, and to make a symbolic vow to use our energy and talents to strive for liberation, for all people.

That night when I got home, winding down from an oddly beautiful day, I was sitting in bed checking email.  I accidentally hit the “sort by date” button, so that my emails were listed from beginning to end.  Up popped a good 5 e-mails from my mom.  I’ve known in the back of my mind for the past 5 years since her passing that I had evidence of our correspondence floating around in my inbox somewhere.  That her being my mom, and me be being her daughter, and our communication with one another as such was documented and stored.  I hadn’t yet been ready to take that on.  After the day at Malcolm X, and experiencing Dante’s courage to revisit a place that was once alive and real, and now long gone… I suddenly felt able to go there. 

The emails took place a few months before her death, while I was traveling and studying in Greece for the summer.  I was recapping my experiences, and she was being a mom.  Happy, proud, supportive. 

“I cannot express how I've been feeling all day.  I cannot believe that I have a daughter such as you, who has prepared (her whole life, without knowing), and propelled herself to such a place where she is worthy of all the universe has to offer.  I am so proud, so happy that I am your mother...  You go girl!”

What I thought would be too painful to relive, was actually just perfectly okay.  I’d been holding on to this idea all this time that she didn’t care enough about herself or me to prioritize her health and avoid a sudden death. 

But now I can let that go.  I can choose what to remember her by, and I will remember her for what she gave me.  And so this is me, making amends.   

    

We cannot save that building.  We cannot bring back the kids from that blighted hood to learn about their heros in a setting that was created for their empowerment.  And I cannot bring back my mom and make her exercise and quit drinking and smoking.  But we can go there.  We can cultivate the courage to revisit our pasts and make peace with them.  And with the gorgeous nature of the past, we can just sort of drop in for a visit, and then leave again when we’ve gotten what we need.  We can squeeze out the love, only to realize that the pain isn’t so debilitating anymore.  We can show our respect and gratitude for the gifts the experiences have given our character, and remember that the most powerful tool we have for liberation and transformation are our stories.              

Enough Already.

Reading quotes aloud from a book of meditations to my friend Jack while building a bench together, this simple little one-liner gave us a big hearty dose.

“Knowing what is enough is wealth.”

Right.

If we can say,  “I have enough stuff” or “I am doing enough” or  “I have enough money” or “I have enough love in my life,” we aren’t suffering from the shame of inadequacy that a society built on superfluous abundance inflicts upon us. 

We are outsmarting them.  We are bigger than their brainwashing.  

“But how do you know what’s enough?” Jack asked.  “I mean, how does having aspirations fit into that?”

Good question Jack. 

What does it mean to quest in the direction of our highest potential and still be content with what we have… right now?  To have big dreams to reach toward while appreciating everything that we are and everything that we have as enough, today.

In this moment, I am in pretty severe physical pain.  And it's giving me clues.  

My past few days have been spent enduring a gnarly ass migraine, which has made it pretty difficult to do much of anything.  Thinking hurts, walking hurts, reading hurts, while sleeping is about the only thing that makes the pain go away... until I wake up.  It feels like my to-do list is growing by the minute, while nothing is being checked off.  And so today (and yesterday) my enough-capacity is really limited – actually, just writing this is enough. 

Tomorrow (I pray) my enough-capacity will increase, and the next day even more, and I can work harder, longer, and manage more.   But I can’t help but wonder if I’m in this pickle today because I’ve been defying me enough-capacity in days prior. 

Of a culture that values doing over being, we’re all suffering from a mass-neurosis around obsessive production.  Even those of us working “against the system,” the very system that keeps us down by over-working us, are no better, as we sacrifice our health-states, love-states, and peace-states for productivity-at-any-cost.         

But what is happiness made up of really?  What is fulfillment based on truly?  I can tell you one thing, it’s not this migraine.  And if I slow down, and gift myself the act of creation because it makes my life better rather than continue to be disempowered by the mind-set that I'm never doing enough, that the only way to make a mark on this place is to create as much as possible as quickly as possible, then I won’t lose two days to severe pain and incapacitation. 

Because the truth is, I haven’t even been swimming yet this summer. 

Respect your spirit.  

Be enough.

(photos are limited due to the fact that my brain hurts). 

Power to the Process.

The title of this here blog project and the purpose for its existence is a loyal reverence to the process, which as would happen, has become rather foundational to my thinking since I began this journey.  This week, I’ve been contemplating a great deal about outcome... and the role it plays for better and for worse.  And more particularly, the desired outcome, or the fantasy vision we dream up for ourselves and others – as if we are in sole control of what goes down in this big ol’ infinite universe. 

There’s this grand illusion that most of us, on some level, buy into - which is that the outcome is where purpose and gratification are stored.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I full-

heartedly believe in the immense power of dreaming great-big-beautiful visions.  But I’m also growing to understand that our suffering arises when we forcibly attach ourselves to how, what, and with whom sh*t ought to go down.  When we exalt ourselves to the almighty status of “decider” losing sight of any other way. This is where the problems lie… Let me count the ways:

1)We set ourselves up for failure.  There is, at every given moment, a limitless amount of possible factors that will throw off the manifestation of the vision we have designed.  If we are only open to one way, then we will surely lose our way.    

      

2)We short-change our growth potential.  An outcome is merely a motivation for movement.  When we are so stuck on a certain result, we close ourselves off to the beautiful growth opportunities that open themselves up to us all along the way. 

3)We become rigid in our thinking, our minds become narrow, and we diminish our ability to be mystified by the surprises and gifts happening around us all the time.

4)We rarely factor pain into our plan.  And so when our hearts break, or our jobs fail, or we lose our homes, we become victims of loss, rather than agents of free-flowing change.  A change that is necessary to take us higher if we are able to accept it as such.

5)We grow accustomed to putting our happiness off.  “Happiness isn’t for now,” we convince ourselves.  “Happiness is for when _____ is in place.”

Story Time:

My girl Hana (or “true boo” as we’ve dubbed one another) decided that she’d outgrown her life in Portland.  It had served its purpose and was beginning to fail her - fail her heart, fail her inspiration, fail her growth.  And so one night about 6 months ago, we were working through her dissatisfaction on the phone, and coming to terms with what needed to change for Hana to receive the best of life’s offerings.  Boston was the obvious conclusion.  She has family there.  She has cultural roots in the Wampanoag tribe in Cape Cod, and she’s determined to get her graduate school on… and Boston has many upon many options.  So, hey, “why don’t you move to Boston?” I suggested.  That was all that needed to be said.  Hana was in.  And so for the past 6 months, she’s been busting hard to save for her cross-country move.  Her plan was to take a few weeks to drive there with a good friend, stopping along the way at worthwhile destinations such as Dollywood, and the hotel where MLK was shot (to name a few).  Almost to her new home city, she had one last person and place to experience.  Kelly, A family friend in Lynchburg Virginia, is a professor of Anthropology and African Studies, a meaningful connection for the work Hana is growing into.  She had a feeling that a stay-over with Kelly would add to her livelihood in some way that was important.  Kelly introduced Hana to a very influential Chilean traveling art educator, who asked Hana what her dream was.  When Hana described it, (to buy an old warehouse, convert it into a youth rec center, with a focus on food, art, music, counseling, and peer mentorship), his interest perked… as he was actively working to grow that very thing, and invited Hana to be an instrumental part of its development. And so now Hana’s moving to Lynchburg.  She plans to spend the next month connecting with her peeps in the Cape while studying for the GRE, and then is jumping on the bandwagon to where her process led her.  

Because she decided to change what wasn’t working for her.

Because she listened to the signs.

Because she wasn’t attached to her outcome.

And well, because she’s Hana. A truly amazing human (as those of you who are lucky to know her can attest). <3

I think Hana’s story does an impeccable job at showing what an outcome is really for.  Motivation.  Direction.  A Loose Guide. 

As being a "dreamer" is something that I don't see myself outgrowing anytime soon, I am simultaneously becoming more and more a devout worshipper of the process.  Here’s why:

1)It teaches us how to trust.  How to surrender to life’s offerings, how to put our egos aside, and attract what we truly need.

2)It gives us the strength to overcome.  When we are connected to our process, we are in touch with the fact that the only thing we are truly in charge of is our growth, and the only thing we can truly expect is change.   

3)We become more versatile.  We hit fewer walls.  We find deeper meaning in everything.

4)We become empowered by making it “through”.  We are able to reap the growth benefits of taking on the challenges we are gifted.

5)We are more open and willing to saying hello and also saying goodbye.

6)We become more apt to forgive ourselves and others because the process is all about screwing up… and sometimes a lot, to figure out what works best.   

7)We build our connection to spirituality.  We work with our higher power(s), rather than try and be it/them.

8)Our happiness is for today.  For right now.  For this very moment.  Because there will never be a time that we are not fully immersed in some process or another. 

It’s not the first time Bruce Lee said it best…

Be water, my friend.

And from the young adult fiction novel (Where the Mountain Meets the Moon) that’s rockin my world right now…

You only lose what you cling to. 

Illustration by Dante Cureton