Yesterday, in a Facebook post, my friend Lisa discussed tea she was enjoying, purchased at $60 a pound in Chinatown in LA. It reminded me of a tea experience of mine. I had been somewhat taken aback at the end of the experience and the memory surfaced during another writing class with Julie Jordan Scott. In that session, a few days after my “outing,” we were to write on a “sensory experience.”

The spontaneous writing that emerged brought appreciation and humor to the whole experience for me and I still smile when I think about it and what I wrote. I promised Lisa I would post the story here. Thank you, Lisa, for the memories and Julie for the prompt that opened it up.

Tea – Taste and Smell at Twenty-seven-fifty

Twenty-seven fifty – yes, that’s Twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents
On three little bags of tea…. Can you believe? 10 ounces total –
Twenty-seven fifty!!!

I’ll blame it on my friend. We tasted two delicious teas, up front,
Almost in the mall pathway, two inviting urns, cups – little plastic ones
in a dispenser beside them -

Rooibos Chai with something else was on the left
Didn’t get the name of the one on the right.

Had two cups of each and went to discard the empties.
Friend said, “… must have to go back to counter
to toss them out. Don’t see anything here.”

Same friend had commented when we passed, down the interior mall path. “Imagine, a shop just for tea. This one has fine tea.” So we stepped back, walked over and sampled.

Would have left and found place for cups/trash, only friend said “to counter.”
So we wandered back.

Nice lady salesperson, enthusiastic, knowledgeable and sharing.
Got enrolled. She opened tins. Showed us mixes. Gave us wafts of aromas
as she tilted the 12 inch tins – Were they 18 …?

The blueberry/peach on the counter in the back, served cold, was delicious too.

Now we’re deep in conversation.
Aromas are great, textures appealing and the names sure do call.

Eighth of a pound and 2 ounces. Getting somewhat confusing. Hearing four, five and six dollars plus for some portion of a pound wasn’t really registering. Brain must have been
thinking/assuming that she was talking about quarter and half pounds.

So we – she, that is – started mixing, to replicate the samples.

4 ounces – 2 ounces of each makes on bag – Ten dollars and seventy cents, already mixed
custom for me – too late to change mind. Besides didn’t even realize what it was costing, so caught up was I!

In the back of my mind as all of this is happening was,
“I’m in this course… This week is about sensory awareness…. Senses not usually attended to. So……. Taste and smell… my weakest. I can chalk some of this expense up to course work. Right? Ok, I’ll do it.”

Mind chatter. Can justify so readily. But twenty-seven fifty?? Couldn’t believe it.
And it’s OK.
There was no sales tax, so must be good for me!

Now I sit with three copper-colored, front and back, brown sides and bottoms, little foil bags. All [....] the store name

There is Mate Vana – Rooibos Chai – the first I tasted. So smooth, light and yet rich.The middle bag is Blueberry Bliss – Rooibos Peach that was the slippery, smooth, lightly refreshing, cold one on the counter.

That would have been enough – Totaling twenty-one dollars and I still wasn’t really aware of what this all was costing.

“ChocoNut Green Tea” suddenly caught my eye in the beautifully done booklet/catalog :
“The simple pairing of Chinese green tea with delectable chocolate bits and scrumptious almonds, pistachio nuts and macadamia nut pieces” Who could pass this up? Especially and, of course, after she, the server, said it was new and delicious! All hot button tastes for me!

I finally asked the total and stopped. Still hadn’t really registered – Twenty-seven fifty!!

Tried the choconut last night. It was somewhat of a disappointment and I’ll work more tomorrow on breathing it in. Might even put some of the tea leaves on my tongue.

And, I know, I’ll wind up doing visual here also…. Photographing, perhaps writing more.

This twenty-seven fifty already has given me some fun in the writing. There’s also been irony in looking at the circumstances, for you see, none of it was necessary beyond the tasting.

There was, in fact, a round opening into a trash receptacle, right between the two urns way up front, far from that counter!

Must have been my auditory sense kicking in the strongest, as I missed it, listening to my friend who said “We’ll have to take the cups to the counter to toss.”

Three 0 five AM. Twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents worth of fun and I still have lots to taste and smell!
©3-18-08 Sheila Finkelstein

Two weeks ago, I decided to sign up for NaBloPoMo, National Blog Posting Month (can start any time) and made an agreement, mainly with myself, to do a blog post daily for 30 days. I decided to do this as a way of creating a structure and some self-discipline for myself.

Right now, I have two somewhat active blogs. Since I had not been posting much on Writing for Healing, I thought this challenge would be way to build it. The challenge I’m finding is that I do not have a set intention, other than to post. When I set up the blog, I thought it would be a good idea to reach, particularly caregivers, actually anyone who is mourning a loss. Mourning a loss does not necessarily mean there has to be a physical “death”, though I guess there is some form of “dying” off of something that had been a certain way, “lived” a certain way.

I would often say to my husband, as we lay in bed at night, “I miss you.” In retrospect this, I’m sure, was not the kindest thing to say to him, since I’m sure he missed himself, his “normalcy” and what we were able to do in the past. There wasn’t anything he, or I, could do about it. At those times I was, particularly, missing his ability to communicate freely and to easily roll over in bed and hold me in the way he had for 40 plus years.

As I’ve mentioned in earlier posts, the biggest toll Parkinson’s Disease took on Sam was his ability to vocalize the words that were right there in his head. Also though he fortunately was able to walk easily, he did have some rigidity in freedom of motion in other positions.

My wandering here today is an example of writing without a specific intention… or perhaps many. Back to my original underlying purpose of this blog, supporting others in finding their healing processes through writing. When I think of that, I’m left with the questions, “Should I be telling? Teaching? Simply sharing writing?” I started to take the “easy” way and share writings I had already done.

Today, I had the thought, “Why am I focussing here, when the thing I most love is taking photographs?” Thus I’m taking on posting a photo daily on Photography and Transformation.com. Today’s post is a Weathered Wall, which might well inspire writing and perhaps healing writing, I thus invite you to visit a Weathered Wall – Photography for Meditation.

You might experience the riches of nature in addition to mourning the passing of what might have been before.

“They may forget what you said, but they will never forget how you made them feel.” Carl W. Buechner

Once again, Sam comes up. I hope he forgot what I said and forgot how I made him feel in the moment.  When I screamed and yelled and cursed, he hated the “f” word. He felt like “sh” I know.  Sometimes he said it.  So the feeling was there.  And, thankfully, I think he did forget how I made him feel in those moments or he wouldn’t have been able to put up with it.

I’ll rest in peace and he is too, I’m sure, knowing that most of the feelings he would never forget are those of being loved and cherished, as was I, most of our times together,  throughout our 47 1/2 years of marriage.

If we worry about everything we say, it can be very stifling. On the other hand, a good practice always is to think before we speak.  Though we may not think about the feelings, if we ask ourselves, “Will this make a difference?”,  it  will, obviously, have an effect on feelings.

4 minute writing – 10/21/08 – eleven months after Sam’s death. – What had surfaced in response to that quote were the memories of my anger. When I was in the midst of them, unfortunately, nothing else mattered. And, I was truly blessed that Sam understood, and accepted, what was going on with me during those moments.

“You are wearing yourself out with all this searching. Go home and rest.” Oriah

Searching, searching, searching… well discovery anyway. That’s the juice of my life. It’s only when I’m consciously, purposefully, I think, searching for answers that I get worn out. Well maybe it’s the second and third searching that’s the ‘wearing out” part. It’s the initial searching… the being open to discovery that’s the excitement for me.

No That’s not accurate also. The excitement for me comes from discovering something new, unexpectedly, spontaneously. Therein lies my joy. Then sometimes I might search for answers let’s say on Google. For a while that’s fun. New discoveries and after a while truth be told it does get “wearing.” “Wearing”…do I actually put any of the stuff on as clothes?

Let me look momentarily at “go home and rest”. Where is that home? What is that rest? Home to myself. Simply being accepting and reveling in the joy of discovery. There is the “rest” – the “home.”

Note – Written 4-07-09, not all that long ago and reading it now is a reminder for me that sometimes all the “searching” I do is the “wearing-out”, “fatiguing” part… Sometimes the “rest” is simply “letting go” and accepting what is.

In earlier posts I’ve written how I have used Haiku,letters to the editor and writing from prompts, all as means to gain control over anger. Interestingly, though I am a visual artist, currently using my photography to inspire people to see things newly and in ways they’ve missed, when I am in the depths of a strong emotion, I immediately go to writing. Some of my most profound work has been written at such times.

When I taught Art in an elementary school, I worked from a cart, moving from classroom to classroom. My supplies and cart, when not in use, shared space in one of the school storage closets. Because I used a lot of different materials, my space in the closet was not always neat.

One day, on my way out to a graduate class, I passed the principal by the front entrance. I must have made some comment about the closet, for she stated, “A bomb can go off in your closet and no one would be any the worse for it!” I immediately became furious and ended up handling my rage by writing out at every red light on the way to my class. The following, turned out actually to be an expression of my life and still is what I stand for today.

I wrote:

ODE TO A PIECE OF CARDBOARD:
or, A Philosphy of Life

What’s a piece of cardboard?

It’s the base of a sculpture, or an
integral part of one.
It’s the support for an assemblage;
A cardboard loom for weaving.

It has form, or it is flat.
It’s a surface to work on–
To build a mask; to rest a tray as
plaster is poured;
To keep work safe, as it is moved from place to place.
It’s a support for the paper on which notes
are taken at a museum, on which observations
are drawn.

Skin it. See the corrugation.
Use it for line or texture in a collage.
Cut it with scissors.
Roll it.
Attach it.
Tape it. Glue it.
Build with it.
What more is it?

That is up to you.
You may make discoveries as yet unknown.
I am not the possessor of all knowledge,
all ideas.
I can be the source from which you can get help

to develop your own ideas, your
individuality, your uniqueness.

If I can, I will provide the materials that will
help you make your discoveries, to suggest
alternate possibilities if I can’t.
When you need it, I hope it is on hand.

All of my knowledge is available to you–
all of my expertise.

I hope that these experiences will help
you to use things frugally, with originality;
That sometimes when you are sparked
with an idea
You remember and are aware of potentials
and alternatives.

Pass a pebble, a rock, a shell, a leaf–
A new and different shape (real or in your mind)
Look at it. Touch it. Turn it over.
Return it to its home if you wish,
Or, let it send your mind and fingers flying
in a drawing or a painting.
Use it in a collage.

What’s a feather, a piece of cloth, a strange
shape, a can of nails, a box of scrap wood?

That’s up to you, my dear friend. . .
Up to you to collage your life a rich and vibrant one.

© 1977, 2002 Sheila Bakely Finkelstein

(Note – If you are wondering what happened insofar as the principal was concerned, I placed the typed poem on her desk the next morning before classes started. She never mentioned it to me AND she also never spoke to me about the closet.)

“Inner vision is perhaps the greatest change catalyst that the world has ever known.”  Diarsmid O’Murchu

Inner Vision – 2 words could be one word like television.  One Word – a screen into which we can look and see the secrets of our soul – a clear flat panel for fast moving pictures.  Could be delights and also could be nightmares.  I see now a sonogram with a moving baby.  Didn’t have those in my time, at least not for general use.

Inner Vision separated brings more of a mental-sensory thing/experience to me – a kind of intuition.  Innervision – we can see with our eyes.

Inner – coming from within.  Vision – coming from without – Can be a different experience.  I’m actually getting confused here.  Mixing up metaphors and combining things; a tendency of mine, to wander, mix, get off track.  Not sure I want to stay here, blocking out things I don’t want to see.

It is ok to turn off the innervision screen.  Needs rest sometimes.  Don’t we all?  And perhaps that is when the INNER VISION is the strongest – at Peace – a blank canvas, screen, that is!

“In the moment, sometimes the only way to find out what it is I want to do is go ahead and do something. Then the moment I start to act my feelings become clear.” Hugh Prather

This quote so sums up my life which almost always seems to be the act of creation. How well I know that all it takes to get me out of a slump is simple action – out of my head and the rights and wrongs that smack themselves around there, along with the dos and don’ts and shoulds and shouldn’ts. Anything, it doesn’t matter.

The act of taking a miniscule, seemingly infinitesimal, step is sufficient to light a path to wherever, whatever. It doesn’t matter. It’s the moving forward that sets in all in motion. The excitement comes. It builds and whole new things open up. Sometimes, not always, and it’s enough, more than enough, sometimes great – Yes, Picture to Ponder, the little girl sculpture on my table – so much more – my life.

written 1/29/08 – Free flow, timed writing to a quote and

Interestingly tonight, 7/28/09 , Dan Millman, The Peaceful Warrior, stated on a conference call that yes, it’s important to pay attention to our feelings AND to focus on our actions, moment to moment, what we need to do next and act.

CONNECTION – “When I connect from my heart to my soul to you and to the paper, what I feel is:”

Peace and a way to move on.. move on from my thoughts, the jumble in my brain, perhaps the anxiety in my heart, in my body;

the tension which tightens across the birdge of my nose, clenches my teeth, tightens my jaw – all magically disappear;

I “know” all this. Why don’t I remember and move it out, let it flow freely, keep it going ongoingly?
(Starting quote is another from a course with Julie Jordan Scott, a few years ago. Above was written then, below now.)

The answer to freedom -
Remember the pen to the paper, the keys on the keyboard, tapping, bursting forth with symbols on my monitor. Therein are the connections, the openings.

“Where your power and the needs of the world cross, there lies your calling.” Aristotle

So many talents have I, my dilemma, my sticking point. “Where are the needs of the world that are wanting to be fulfilled by which of my talents?”

What comes up now, as I write, is “beauty”. “Everyone wants beauty,” so my friends tell me. I see “beauty in the ordinary”, “the extraordinary”, everywhere. And I suppose, when I start seeing that as an unfulfilled need for people, I can market accordingly and feel my power, my calling.

I hear my mastermind buddies yelling “yea”, as I write, for they tell me this all the time I think right now it’s simply that I’m suddenly seeing it a fraction differently, as a place where I can stand, from which I can come.

Interestingly in a way it all also fits with the Pollyanna in me. She, above Nancy Drew, was my favorite childhood heroine, or book anyway. Maybe Pollyanna precede Nancy in my age scale. Pollyanna’s talent for seeing the good in everything is what became, I think, an underlying pathway for me to live my life.

(And so, once more, timed writing from a prompt has given me an opening. Is that not what healing is about? Creating new openings?)

Timed writing (usually 4 minutes each from quotes) in my weekly writing group has been an important part of the healing process for me. The  healing I refer to today is that of mourning the loss of my beloved Sam (and still mourning 1 3/4 years later). In my commitment to post daily here, I will start sharing some of my Tuesday writings from released by the quotes suggested by group members.

I invite you to do your own timed responses, if you are so moved.

“Truly it is in the darkness that one finds the light, so when we are in sorrow then this light is nearest to us.” Meister Eckhardt

“Darkness” and “Light”.  I guess my deepest darkness is the passing of my beloved Sam.  How can there be light in that?  And yet the quote says “in the sorrow the light is nearest to me.”

So, my Beloved, were you nearer to me in those dark days of November, December, January?  Perhaps.  Though most of the time it showed up as pain.

Don’t know that I thought of particular darkness.  And, now, does this mean that as I move from sorrow to acceptance, though the “missing” is always there – that there will be no light for me, since the quote says “the light is nearest to us when we are in sorrow”?  Maybe the light is moving toward and into me.  Thus it’s an inner whole being thing, not an outer proximity.

You always will be with me, my Darling.  You were the light that lit me and moved my life.  Inside of me that will always remain and be.  (written 4/28/08 )