It’s okay to forget.

present signpostIt’s September 11, 2013. For a few minutes this morning, I forgot. It was lovely.

As I woke to some unexpected quiet minutes to myself, I took a few to say hello to the world – first smiling quietly to myself. The cool sheets and soft mattress my body hadn’t yet unfolded from, the sunshine creeping through the blinds, the warmth of my son sleeping beside me, the squeaks and bangs of the morning shunting in the train yards those of us who live near Seattle’s Interbay know so well. My first formed thought: Today I will see my husband who has been in London for several days. I miss him and love him so very much. This will be a good day.

Taking the joy of my morning with me, I decided to say hello to the world on a larger scale and picked up my devices.

Bam.

Oh, yes. I’d forgotten. It’s September 11. Email, Facebook, Twitter, radio, TV. Within the first half hour images of the Twin Towers and the beautiful memorial in lights that now stands in their place and, of course, the words “Never forget” and “We remember” followed me everywhere.

In our world where every story that wants to be told has a place, today’s posts and messages recount endless memories of that day. Amongst my friends and virtual connections I have several New Yorkers, journalists, police officers, Red Cross workers, and a few flight attendants. But even amongst the folks like me who weren’t more directly involved or intimately connected to the events of 9/11, the memories are vivid and the emotions still present for so many. Everyone knows exactly where they were and exactly how they felt. And many feel they should never, ever forget.

Maybe it’s time we forgot a bit.

It’s undeniable that the country – the world – shifted in a profound way that day. Our sense of security, stability and priorities were challenged and changed in ways that we may never completely understand. Many lost their lives or loved ones, both on that day and in the violence and wars that continue 12 years later.

The sacrifices and loss are seen. They are appreciated and honored. They are remembered.

But I have to wonder what good comes from remembering, even reliving, the fear and sadness of that day. Why do we as a country feel it is helpful to hang on to our individual and collective experiences, as if it would be disrespectful not to? As if we need to vividly remember everything that happened and everything we felt in order to ensure it never happens again.

Only when we are able to move beyond the pain of the past are we able to truly heal.

The shift happened. The lessons are still being learned. The effects are still being felt. But the vivid memories do not serve us anymore, and it’s time to move on.

We honor the sacrifices of the firefighters, the police officers, the airline staffs, the soldiers and the innocents more by allowing ourselves to find peace and move forward toward an abundant future unencumbered by our memories and all that we attach to them. By living fully in the present day, with hope for generations of peace, with love for all of our fellow human beings. By not continuing to turn our lingering anger and fear about the potential for another such attack into endless military actions that serve only to continue the worldwide cycle of anger and fear. By taking what we learned on that day and all the days since and using them to better the future and live with purpose and joy.

We don’t need to remember everything to do this.

Just imagine. Next year you could wake up and feel only the smile of a quiet morning and the anticipation of a good day. You check your devices and see the same messages of hope and laughter you see every day. You look at the calendar and remember the loving sacrifice of so many 13 years ago and smile or send up a prayer in gratitude for the strength and beauty of humanity to overcome adversity and selflessly help others. Then you go about your day. And it’s a good day.

Wouldn’t that be lovely?

It’s okay. Just scream.

My son Henry has started screaming. Sometimes at the dog. Sometimes at me or my husband. Sometimes at no one. Often for no obvious reason at all. But almost always with a hint of a smile.

Of course at times he’s frustrated. Toddlers are, after all, easily aggravated, since they firmly believe the world is theirs and when anyone gets in the way of what’s theirs they must be punished. But mostly he seems to take great joy in it. As if he’s finally found his unique voice, a way to express exactly what he needs to, and right now it needs to be very, very loud.

It makes sense, actually. He’s part of this world, this humanity in the process of breaking open, breaking apart, releasing the pressure that’s been building for millennia. The entire planet is filled with souls quickly building to, in the process of, or in desperate need of a magnificent release. The earth itself is enjoying a much-needed good scream via extreme weather, earthquakes, natural disasters and massive change. Henry’s just following its lead.

If you ask me, and apparently Henry, we’re all not screaming enough.

This past election season is a perfect example. Many of us, including me, experienced much of the “rhetoric” of the day via social interaction and social media. Except, like me, most of the concerned citizens, political junkies and reasoned voters I know were conspicuously quiet. When we discussed such things, often instead of discussing the issues at hand, we all instead agreed that expressing even balanced political opinions or relatively benign jokes caused enough conflict with our vocal friends on the other side of the aisle or issue that it just wasn’t worth the hassle and frustration.

“No one’s mind has ever been changed by a Facebook post,” I heard more than once as I nodded in agreement. “It’s not worth creating conflict and contributing to the noise. I don’t need to be reminded that half the country thinks I’m an idiot.”

So, political opinions were left mostly to talking heads on the cable news channels and those on either end of the political spectrum who were just angry enough, and often more than judgmental enough, to continuously express their rage against those who dared to disagree with their beliefs to some degree and the organizations connected to such issues. The extremes, the angriest and most self-righteous of us all, were being heard loud and clear.

Meanwhile, most of the rest of us sat quietly in our ideas and explorations, safe in the knowledge that at least we weren’t contributing to the divisive language of the day, hoping against hope that once the election was over the screaming would soften to a simmering roar and we’d all accept and contribute to the tasks at hand – that we’d put down our pitchforks and work together toward the greater good.

Naïve? Perhaps. It’s wouldn’t be the first time someone’s optimism has been labeled as such. Naïve or not, so far this is not what has happened and if we stay on our current path, it doesn’t look good.

The angry are angrier. The self-righteous are even moreso. Everyone knows they are right and few with a loud enough voice want to compromise for the sake of progress.

Okay, universe, I hear you. Lesson learned…again.

When we don’t allow the release, the healing light can’t get in.

When we don’t allow some space for everyone to scream when they need to scream, then we all suffer.

My son gets it. He screams when he needs to. He lets it go. He laughs and plays and eats with joy the rest of the time, and he sleeps like a baby.

Here’s a radical idea: Let’s all speak our truth.

Be “brutally” honest. Say what you feel, even when it’s not politically correct. Express that emotion that’s been building in your throat for weeks. Stop apologizing for having unconventional ideas. Tell someone about them. Stop feeling ashamed for buying in to stereotypes or hanging on to old programmed beliefs. Instead, release them. Post that provocative political meme if it’s truly what you want to say. Be yourself, even if that self is exceedingly angry or sad or frightened or confused. Let everything just be what it is. Express it. Release it. Scream. Let it go.

In exchange, we agree to allow everyone else to do the same. We will support everyone’s vulnerability and release equally. We will allow everyone a voice, even those we desperately disagree with. We will openly accept and cheer on everyone who says anything that self-censorship previously kept them from expressing. We will hear everything they have to say. We will welcome disagreement, even angry (but not violent) disagreement, with love and enthusiasm. When people or organizations use negativity or power with the intention of quashing an honest opinion or manipulating a heartfelt belief, we will defend ourselves and others by laughing and enjoying that they are releasing that fear and anger – that soon it won’t be there at all. We will understand that even when you feel it’s being directed at you, it’s not about you at all. It’s personal only to those expressing it.

We’ll all let it flow out as long as it needs to. We’ll all keep screaming and cracking open and listening and cheering until enough of it has vaporized into light and love. We will wait. We’re all in this together – the country, the world, the universe. We’re not going anywhere. It’s okay. Just scream.

Then, when we’re ready, when enough has released and the cracks are big enough for the light to get in…

That’s when the healing will begin.

Are you in?

One moment to notice

Every week I check in with myself about what’s on my mind, in my heart, needing to be heard. Perhaps I’m too new to this whole blogging thing, but I have little to say this week. I have lots to say in general, just ask my husband. There are numerous stories to tell, just take a look at my computer files. But nothing seemed prescient beyond this, right here and now. {shrug} Perhaps nothing was worth offering this week.

But then I sat in that, in front of the computer, as you do. And I thought… Isn’t it lovely that there’s nowhere I want to go that is different from here in this moment, sitting in the quiet in front of my computer? There’s nothing I want to write other than what’s simply before me and within me. Perhaps that’s the story I’m supposed to tell. So, here is my here and now.

Rainy day bright green grass. Huffing pup. Drizzle wind. Damp leaves on bricks. Handsome horse chestnut tree grows before my eyes. Wet Buddha changing colors. Humming laptop. Glowing lamp. Bright red change purse on an apple green box. Throw pillow on my back – an offering from my son. Pillow slippers on my feet – an offering to myself. Stillness. Breath. Click. One moment to notice. One moment to love.

What’s your here and now?

When you realize how perfect everything is…

Okay, I’m ready to write about this. The germinations in my head are at last so insistent they be expressed that I’ve created a place – a cute little spot? a sacred space? a garden? a safe haven? – for them to live. For years well-meaning people have said I should write about this. Until a few days ago, I brushed off the interest and encouragement, believing that maybe someday, if the winds were coming in perfectly from the East and the planets were aligned accordingly, maybe I would. Today, I’m ready. Why?

On May 3, 2010 in Tainan, Taiwan, I became a mother to a 10½-month-old perfect little person. Last week, without any direction or videos or photos or prompting, this little person started placing offerings in the open hands of the Buddha sculpture in our back yard.

That’s perhaps the main catalyst, but it’s one of many.

On August 25, 1971 in Dayton, Ohio, I began this lifetime. On February 14, 1995 in Cincinnati, Ohio, I recognized for the first time that my body is not immortal but my soul is. On September 25, 1999 in the same city in which I was born, I became a wife to a beautiful spirit and the perfect partner for this stop in my soul’s journey. On April 6, 2008 in Santa Monica, California, I finally acknowledged admitted that we all are far more powerful than we realize and have access to all the energy in the universe, simply by believing we do.

Sometime in July of 2010, while playing with my son in an inflatable outdoor pool in the heat of a Los Angeles summer, I knew – not just the intellectual knowing that happens after reading it and hearing it a thousand times over from every other parent you’ve ever encountered, ever, but a true knowingness – that parenting will be the most significant challenge I will face in this lifetime. That not only will it strip me down to the core on most days, but that I will find more joy and learn more than I could possibly have learned had Larry and I never ventured to that introductory meeting at the adoption agency almost three years before. And at that moment – after my heart palpitations stopped – I knew everything was perfect, and I laughed. As Buddha said… When you realize how perfect everything is, you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky.

You’re joining me a little bit into the journey, but in this space I will chronicle what I learn, how I learn it, what I’m embarrassed to still need to learn, what about this craziness makes me laugh, cry or rage against the universe, and most importantly how I let it all inform how I raise my child. Like many, I’m trying to discover how best to pass on my conscious intentions, my way of living, working and being on this planet, to my son. Wait, no, that’s not it. I’m trying to figure out how to be a parent who consistently and lovingly allows this eccentric, beautiful boy to remain his true self. To believe what he already knows. To believe he already knows intuitively how to be a conscious being. To trust himself above even me. To know he is a perfect piece of universal light right here on earth. And to know he is loved unconditionally.

He already is who he is meant to be. He already laughs at the sky on a regular basis. And as he grows he’s merely trying to show me how not to get in the way of his journey. I am a student and he is my teacher. Thank goodness we can laugh together. Here we go.