Reflections

I'm still awakening, looking at the blogs FlitzyPhoebe and Baha'i Views, and reflecting. Photos of the writers canoeing in the Black River, where my former husband and I tried to find where to put in with our canoe many years ago but just found a short, slightly swampy passage. Perhaps we did not find the right place; perhaps the time of year was wrong, or the water was low, or the tide [whether it was a factor or not, I don't know] was out. But from the photos, for people in the know who can find the elusive [to us] Black River, it looks like a blessing. It was nice to find a spot on You Tube with bird songs, as I am becoming more interested in those.

Many photos of concerts and Feasts and meetings, and it's nice to see them more objectively: we all seem to have lumps and bumps and bald spots and fork-to-mouth shots, and no one seems too concerned to find their imperfections captured. Because it's the love that dominates every glimpse of a person.

I was also reflecting in the shower [a good place--someone last week in the Stress Management session mentioned using the shower as an opportunity to cry] about the fundamental difficulties I have with work and relationships. What started me off was thinking about abandonment. In my case, the abandonment was emotional; physically I was taken very good care of. There is a line in the final scene of Dr. Zhivago when the grown up child of Dr. Z remembers how she came to be lost. The fires, chaos, and crowds fleeing everywhere, and then--"He let go of my hand!" "That was not your real father," says her uncle, Alec Guinness, "that was Kamarovsky." Meaning, your real father would not have abandoned you.

The relationships I create seem to be about finding someone to take care of me. And then rebelling when they do.

I abandon everyone. I cut and run before things can become too ugly. But sometimes they do, anyway. Sometimes when someone is manipulative, and I rebel against having every string pulled by them, leaving is the only way to reestablish my independence. But if that person is sick, or losing their ability to take care of themselves, now I am abandoning them. So I can either be controlled, or neglectful.

Watched the film "Gaslight" on PBS at last. It was mentioned months ago in an article someone posted on Facebook, concerning the term "gaslighting" a person. The husband in this film causes his wife to feel she's lost her sanity and her credibility. He hides objects in the house, then gets her to find them, making her believe she has stolen or moved the object and then forgotten about it. He changes the level of illumination in the gas lights where they live, which makes her believe that her observations are merely a product of her imagination.

The wife becomes extremely vulnerable, doubting herself and believing she is losing her mind. The term gaslighting references the little ways men, in particular, can frame comments in such a way that they seem objective, but actually undermine the credibility of the woman they are speaking with; the objective being to enhance their own power in the relationship.

So with me continually doubting my abilities and decisions during my life, this film struck home.

Friday I practiced putting a smile on my face to join the gaiety at a bridal shower, determined to respond to the invitation without making anyone else unhappy, and allowing the smile to trickle down into my heart, eventually. That was after a trying day of making several job search contacts and then paying my bills [Oh, thank You--I can still do that.]

Saturday I rose in time to go to the Nisqually National Bird Refuge situated in the delta between Tacoma and Olympia, for a bird walk on the board walk. I was grateful for the nylon poncho I made a few years ago, because it let me dress in light layers underneath, yet still repelled the rain. It's lovely not to be too hot underneath a rain coat. Despite the water that fills the air, it's still fairly warm out.

So we watched for birds, with expert birders along to point them out, and translate the orchestra of trills into individual songs which experienced ears can recognize. We saw rufous hummingbirds, and Anna's hummingbirds, and heard a Western Warbler which we never could spot, and saw two does, or else the same doe twice. Also a female wood duck and her eight teenage 'lings, bobbing their heads as they paddled through the algae. And barn and other types of swallows, and cow birds. There is no current salmon run, so we didn't see raptors.

It's  difficult to spot birds in the foliage of trees, and these folks are good at it. I tried to spot a hummingbird's nest the size of a quarter cup measure, several feet away. It reminded me of standing outdoors on winter's nights, with my father trying to get me to spot an individual star by sighting along his arm--an impossible task. It was worth attempting because of his care and attention. At one point, the volunteer birder pointed out a bird that, to me, was just a dark outline on a branch. "That's a Chestnut-coated Chickadee. They're quite rare around here."

Humility must be a valued commodity in the next world.