How Memory Soothes.

“The most evident token and an apparent sign of wisdom is a constant and unrestrained rejoicing.” ~ Michel de Monatigne

The Cardinals’ chirps announce their return

to feeders outside sliding glass doors.

Fresh October air kisses my face

with memories I want to

dive into and dismiss:

The October my Labrador Phoenix and

I stayed with my boyfriend Kevin

at his house in the country

with a view of the river and

trees thick like an autumn rainbow.

Mornings sat us at his new, suited-for-two round table

With coffee made for and served to each other.

Kevin crossed his long basketball-star legs and

Pointed out birds I never noticed.

He knew their names and identifying characteristics.

In those moments, we were an old couple together.

I could grow old with this man, my mate.

We were Fire & Ice; Crazy, Sexy, Cool.

We added a thousand memories

After our colorful fall that felt like

I’d finally found a home for my soul.

March of 2016 took my beloved

like a kidnapper in the night,

by complete surprise.

His heart stopped

in the center of our love story,

that began with

two decades

invested in telling tales

About men and women we dated, married and divorced.

About jobs we worked since the one where we met,

Stories told over miles he and I drove separately.

So often we spoke for hours with one of us on the road.

He ran sales appointments and I drove between MN and OH

To see my sister, whose husband was dying of cancer.

How did I forget that Kevin carried me through those conversations

where my heart was breaking for my sister and brother-in-law and nephews?

Kevin encouraged me to stay with my sister after her husband—and then the cat—died.

And besides, the guy I lived with strutted the pilot stereotype he denied.

Kevin said, “Icey, you’ve got to get out of there.”

Always direct with each other: the kind of friendship I value.

Direct and the freedom to disagree. Respect and acceptance

Built a foundation for our deeper-than-either-of-us-had-ever-been intimacy.

We’d each tried to create a sacred, harmonious relationship with others,

But never got it right. Until we did.

Kevin and I knew what we had the way children know to play in water.

The same way Cardinals know when the feeder is full

And my heart knows it’s fall, when crisp air,

Color, fog, birds and memories collide.  

And I smile.

Letter to my Beloved, a Year and a Half after his Death.

Three and a half years after Kevin’s death, I think less, “Damn! I lost that!” I think more, “Wow! I had that!” Crazy, sexy, cool.

Alice in Authorland

“When good men die their goodness does not perish, but lives on though they are gone.” ~ Euripides

Dear Kevin,

Thank you. Thank you for embodying your authentic self and welcoming me to be the Alice Lundy you saw—not just my best self, but the real me: raw, vulnerable, smart, beautiful, jealous, funny, a writer worth reading, sexy, determined, feisty, intuitive, angry, weird, stubborn, free-spirited, and a terrible singer, but a great story-teller.

You saw me. You got me. All of me—the parts I wanted to deny, abandon, or project onto others, and especially the qualities about myself I believe on my best days.

You knew who I was back when the only thing I cared more about than selling books was the truth, and I assumed it was clear and simple.

So, I held truth against you for 20 years and you let me without pitting alternatives against me…

View original post 1,134 more words

Sometimes We Have to be Our Own Encouragers.

* Dedicated to my writer friends, especially the memoirists.

You, my dear, are the only one who can save yourself.

Save yourself from the lies.

Free yourself from the distractions and self-created stress.

Lean into what you love. Realign your values.

Ground in. Sit with yourself.

Listen to yourself. Hear your Self.

Look at yourself. See your Self.

Wake up. Wise up.

Come on up out of that fog!

Watch the birds, but work the plan.

Don’t give up, girl. Not now.

Not in the messy middle. This is the home of metamorphosis. In memoir and real life.

In our history—personal and societal, individual and collective.

Past, present, future, it’s all the same.

Inciting incidents. Indecisions, heartbreak and fear.

The f*cking messy middle!

Beginnings taste like taking flight. Yes, it felt like take-off when I started writing my memoir in the Summer of Alice in Santa Fe, NM in 2012, seven years ago!

The middle is like a food coma after consuming a box of donuts and a half dozen cups of coffee. It’s head on the desk, I want to go home! and Where the f*ck am I?!

The messy middle is living in a penthouse on the beach in Cancun while your boyfriend is gone all night doing cocaine.

It’s the juxtaposition that demands decision when all your decision-making capabilities feel maxed, your love story has turned tragic, and you don’t know where or how to get out.

Hello, messy middle!

Hang on, girl. Do your best. Fight like hell for your dream, but don’t make it harder than it must be.

Get on your knees. Get on your mat. Get grounded. Stay seated. At your desk.

Walk in the woods. Drink water.

TV is not your friend. And, even your friends can’t complete this book for you.

Your book is good because you’re a good writer and you have a good story, but you can make it better. Own that.

This is for you, my dear. Make it a badass book.

It’s not about being a bestseller (unless it is), but about putting out your best work for your professional debut on the playing field as an author.

Polish yourself and your baby up. Present yourselves to the world.

Bring your full Self into your new life. Leave your false self, like your first attempts before you changed the verb tense.

You alone must craft your art. Your sister can’t do it for you. Your writer friends can’t impose it upon you. Your parents can’t pray success into you.

But baby, you’ve got a gang of angels at your back applauding, whispering and arranging. They’ve got agents praying for your book and men praying for your love.

Marry yourself to your destiny. Go back in one more time.

Because baby, if it weren’t for the messy middle, the story has no tension, no juice, no life force defying the odds and fighting the obstacles, and going for the glory again, like you did in the beginning.

Babe, you’ve got this.

What the Elders and Sages Whisper in the Woods.

“As you get up in the morning, as you make decisions, as you spend money, make friends, make commitments, you are creating a piece of art called your life.” ~ Mary Catherine Bateson

I made a pact with myself. I promise to fall in love every day.

This morning, I fell in love with a hummingbird, a book, and an author I already loved.

I love her a little more after being seduced by one special passage. She called up my intimate connection to words, how they’ve kissed my lips and danced with my fingertips.

Words! I love words! And baby deer in my yard. Their spots ignite me!

Later, I fall in love with the ecstasy of my naked feet on lush green lawns sewn together by the twin hands of man and Mother Nature.

I listen to the trees tell me secrets of the ages. In the woods, I hear the voices of sages, elders, and wise women who came before, guiding me, helping me, loving me.

In these moments, I fall in love with my choice to take on this human life.

I fall in love with my divine destiny—in all its hardship and agony, desperation and senseless pain.

As a country, we’re like teenagers who keep getting drunk and driving into trees. We’re fighting about whether it’s the car or the alcohol.

It’s the stupidity! It’s the recklessness, the not valuing life.

We must value life again, fall in love with the joy of living, so we may fix what’s broken.

We know in our hearts—most of us—the daily onslaught of personal and collective chaos and sadness that comes with repeated mass murders is no way to live (or die).

We must stop the killing and stop emboldening an environment in which hate is part of the dominant conversation.

Watch enough news, you’ll get depressed and angry, too.

But, how do we turn away from what we know is wrong?

Why did we read Anne Frank and watch Schindler’s List?

Who are we, collectively and individually, as a country? Can we unite?

I alone cannot bring honor back to America again.

However, I can make this commitment: to fall in love with something or someone daily, to keep the love in my heart active so when I go into the world, I don’t stir up hate.

I consciously fall in love with a song on the radio, a new purple pen, or a full moon, bright in the darkness.

I enter the world with the intention to soften the air we all breathe.

One day, I’ll do more, but we must start where we are.

We can keep this commitment: love, consciously.

My resistance against the wretchedness killing our joy isn’t denial, but welcomes us to face the dichotomy of these historical times without shutting down or drowning out truth.

Let’s open the door to love daily. I’ll turn on the light, make some coffee, and let her settle in.

Won’t you join us?

How to Resist without being Resistant.

Alice in Authorland

Go boldly into your resistance.

In the morning, resist the temptation to turn on an electronic box to push your emotional and intellectual buttons—the things that stop you and start you.

Instead, reach for peace, prayer, poetry, and purpose—even before you pee.

Resist unedited thoughts, words, assumptions, beliefs, and reactions.

Resist knowing the answer before hearing the question. Fight the urge to always be right, be on time, and be the smartest person in the room. Even Abe Lincoln and Mark Twain had to learn to temper themselves, to be civil in their discourse.

Resist swallowing news like vitamins. Occasionally, we’ve got to reevaluate the choices, benefits, and costs of what we’re taking in.

Resist the urge to share what you’re unwilling to research. Resist through research.

Resist through writing and speaking. Resist by reading. Read like it’s a habit stronger than alcohol and you’ll never want to quit.

Resist…

View original post 577 more words

How We Get Stronger.

Sarah Entrup says, “Getting stronger is a big deal. It takes effort. It takes work. You have to get stronger than your impulse to dive into a ditch.”

Sh*t! I had no idea how powerful my urge to swerve into ditches is. Not one ditch, because baby, I can pass up one, two, three, fourteen ditches in a row. Then, bam!

Like I haven’t done an ounce of work, I get a case of the f*ck-its so bad death invites. Why wouldn’t it? That’s where too many of my loved ones live. I want to go—into that ditch.

No, this isn’t a note about suicide. This is about the realization that yes, we’ve done a buttload of work, but when the call to death and darkness has haunted since childhood, in between seasons of success and joy, the demand for strength Sarah speaks of is as mighty as a Mt. Everest climb.

How strong is our impulse to dive verses how strong is it to climb?

I’m a Scorpio. I’ve gone through metamorphosis a multitude of times. Most of us have or we wouldn’t be here.

Today, I take to heart Sarah’s words about the requirement of strength. I let the idea settle in where the darkness hides in my history and subconscious.

We can’t control everything in our lives. But, I’m willing to take responsibility for the ditches I dove into—willingly, shamefully, secretly, fully. Ouch.

I reclaim my power to rise, not in the way I fantasize—Lalala, livin’ in the love and light!

In this moment, I acknowledge my ability to get stronger with daily practice.

We must make a commitment to ourselves. We start by refuting the claim: “I tried so hard and nothing works!”

We’re trying, and many things are working in our lives if we can just shift ever so slightly to see some beauty, some progress, some good amid the ridiculous chaos and bullsh*t. It’s there, but so are we—planted in this brutiful moment in history.

Sometimes falling apart, individually or as a society, is the path to getting stronger.

We’re aligning with truth and acknowledging lies—the ones we told ourselves and the ones we pretended to believe from others. We set our sights anew.

Now, we see the ditches like I learned to see and avoid the bastards and bad boys while the seduction still kisses me with temptation.

I make new choices, better choices. And, I bet you do, too.

The Third Thing, an Alternative to the Self-Help Madness.

“The gift of it is I’m here like I’ve never been here before.” ~ Sarah Entrup

One of the best pieces of advice my stepmother gave me is “It’s not always one or the other; sometimes it’s both.”

However, when it comes to navigating life from where I stand now, as a mid-50s female in the United States of America, trying to find my footing, I need something more.

Enter Sarah Entrup and Free the She. Like me, Sarah once danced in the self-help, self-improvement, you’re-not-good-enough-yet arena. It’s exhilarating and oh-so tiring.

She also experienced the “love and light” communities. Maybe you’ve tried those methods, too. Aren’t we all seeking ways to care for ourselves and make a difference in the world?

In my 20s and 30s, I loaded my toolbox with Tony Robbins-type techniques. They served me well—back then. I strove for positivity and shunned negativity with transformational vocabulary and state changing. I even walked across 40 feet of hot burning coals and leapt from atop a 50-foot telephone pole. But, the system focused on getting something over there, out in the beyond, like the way a man goes hunting.

As I matured, I craved peace in my heart and didn’t want to chase anymore. “Love and light” caught my attention like a butterfly passing, but I couldn’t capture it. It lacked substance.

With Sarah, I learned there’s a third thing, a middle path. What the hell is that? It’s a feminine, powerful way of entering authentic darkness for the sake of transmutation, grounding in rather than barreling out.

Transmutation is a word born for these times we’re in, in whatever bodies and situations we exist. No denial. No bullshit. And, best of all, not an outgrowth of the overgrown patriarchy.

Free the She meditations and practices open the door for non-airy-fairy enlightenment.

Of course, it still requires work. To become the women we were born to be demands showing up consistently. And when we don’t, we find an open invitation to come back. Come back to our bodies and return to our feminine knowing.

I remember my own solid foundation exists between my legs. What did I just say? Yeah, it’s like that. Divine.

Free the She combines Kundalini yoga, meditation, and energy work with the emphasis on fully empowering every woman who’s ready for something more, even if she doesn’t know what that is.

It’s the third thing, the middle path that no man, no child, no job, and no money can give us. Haven’t we tried those?

The third thing calls us to rise from within, rather than chasing something outside.

It’s saying me too if that’s true, but not stopping in the despair. Not lashing out but aligning and embodying ourselves as strength and possibility in the face of individual and collective imperfection.  

My words can’t tell you what freeing the she within you feels like. But, if you ever tasted the rush of meeting goals and going for it or the hope of affirmation, this is to that like a blazing sky of stars is to the flashlight on your cell phone.

The third thing unties us from old societal norms, which were never created by or for women. I love the way Sarah unites women as a catalyst for change within ourselves and our communities.

For me, it’s not one or the other, or even both. It’s all of it and none of it. I set aside my old tools and rules created by others.

I find the middle path, my path.  Sarah shows me the third thing and it’s me. I’m not awakening a giant. I’m coming into my own—as a queen.