Darkness Visible

The late great William Styron wrote this is the preface of Darkness Visible, A Memoir of Madness:

“Of the many dreadful manifestations of the disease, both physical and psychological, a sense of self-hatred-or, put less categorically, a failure of self-esteem-is one of the most universally experienced symptoms, and I had suffered more and more from a general feeling of worthlessness as the malady had progressed. My dank joylessness was therefore all the more ironic because I had flown on a rushed four-day trip to Paris in order to accept an award which should have sparklingly restored my ego.” (Id., page 5)

I know this experience too, and so did my mother, and her mother before her. It is the thirtieth anniversary of my Mother’s death to suicide, and the weeks preceding this anniversary are always potent. Something is always surfacing from within me to be seen in a new light because I was unable to process or appreciate the magnitude of that experience as it happened thirty years ago. Trauma is like that, and traumas remnants remain as repeated unconscious behavior, until the light exposes them for acknowledgement and healing. What I see today in this passage is the fact that he was on the way to Paris to receive an award when he described this madness. The external conditions of a life cannot meet the need of this disconnection, but holy love can.

Several weeks ago my car was stolen from my place, in the early evening hours, and in full view of security cameras. My steering wheel was equipped with a lock, but it didn’t stop them. And no one noticed it happening. I now know it was likely a group of young boys, “the Kia Boys” who steal them and drive recklessly in them, and abandon them in another location, only to take another car. The week before, I met three of them touching my car at 4:45 a.m. when I was leaving seed for the birds. It startled me but I acknowledged them and said, “You must be cold wearing only a sweatshirt.” They walked by and one turned around and asked, “can you give us a ride to North Milwaukee.” ” No, I can’t, but God Bless You.” I felt, for a flash of a second, that young man’s heart crying out for something, even though I knew they were up to no good. I don’t live in fear, and I refuse to see people as thugs.

I never took the theft personally, but my heart felt the searing pain of violation, hatred and disregard for others. It took a while for that feeling to pass, but it did. And I wouldn’t talk about it much, because my mind could not settle on clarity enough to understand and respond to it. I could only sit with the discomfort and pray. Especially for them. The details became clear, and my car will be returned, repaired.

I wasn’t able to respond this way in the wake on my mother’s death; at least not at first. I was angry and I never knew how to express anger in a healthy way. I was exhausted too, because I had been involved in her care for moths before she died. She had recently sold the family home too, but never spent the night in her new apartment, but she chose to die there. Alone, and suffering. And that is the memory that has haunted me for thirty years. Not that I could have changed the outcome, but that I wished she hadn’t been alone. That is the darkness visible for me, that she was in a place of such pain, that she believed no one could touch her.

I heard Neil Diamond’s, Holly Holy Love during this time and I couldn’t stop listening to it. The melody, the words; the crescendo.

Holly holy eyes, dream of only me
Where I am, what I am
What I believe in
Holly holy

Holly holy dream
Wanting only you
And she come
And I run just like the wind will
Holly holy

Sing a song
Sing a song of songs
Sing it out, Sing it strong
Yeah! Yeah!

Call the sun in the dead of the night
And the sun gonna rise in the sky
Touch a man who can’t walk upright
And that lame man, he gonna fly
And I fly, yeah, And I fly

Holly holy love
Take the lonely child
And the seed
Let it be full with tomorrow
Holly holy

Sing a song
Sing a song of songs
Sing it out, sing it strong
Yeah! Yeah!

Call the sun in the dead of the night
And the sun gonna rise in the sky
Touch a man who can’t walk upright
And that lame man, he gonna fly
And I fly, yeah
God (And) I fly

Holly holy dream
Dream ’bout only you
Holly holy sun
Holly holy rain
Holly holy love

He was describing Holy love, and I know Holy love. It healed me. We are all capable of it, when we feel the connection to something within our beings that receives us, without judgement, and with a mercy that levels our pain and shame. That is what the Mother does. One hand holds him, while the other remains open, to receive the source of that Holy Love.

This is the posture that I strive for, every day my feet walk this earth. Holding and receiving, simultaneously. Always engaged; always connected.

Neil’s song also reminded me of scripture that was given to me in the wake of a painful loss, and it helped me to realize that love is more powerful than death, and to rest in the essence of it, no matter what appears to change.

New King James Version
Set me as a seal upon your heart, As a seal upon your arm; For love is as strong as death, Jealousy as cruel as the grave; Its flames are flames of fire, A most vehement flame. Song of Solomon 8:6

Darkness visible is actually ripe with positive potential. What we can see, we can acknowledge, and affect. Not label, or judge, or dismiss, but transform. In Greek, an apocalypse means this:

An apocalypse (Ancient Greek: ἀποκάλυψις apokálypsis, from of/from: ἀπό and cover: κάλυψις, literally meaning “from cover”) is a disclosure or revelation of great knowledge. In religious concepts an apocalypse usually discloses something very important that was hidden or provides a “vision of heavenly secrets that can make sense of earthly realities” Wikipedia

Here is Holly Holy. I hope you feel it the way I did, as potential.

A Lot Happened But Nothing Changed

Until one day, nothing was happening, but everything changed. I got this line this morning while I was driving to the grocery store and I wanted to stop to write it down, but I didn’t. Instead, I remembered a story Liz Gilbert wrote about Tom Waites and how he once had a similar experience.

“But then he got older, he got calmer, and one day he was driving down the freeway in Los Angeles he told me, and this is when it all changed for him. And he’s speeding along, and all of a sudden he hears this little fragment of melody, that comes into his head as inspiration often comes, elusive and tantalizing, and he wants it, you know, it’s gorgeous, and he longs for it, but he has no way to get it. He doesn’t have a piece of paper, he doesn’t have a pencil, he doesn’t have a tape recorder.”

“So he starts to feel all of that old anxiety start to rise in him like, ‘I’m going to lose this thing, and then I’m going to be haunted by this song forever. I’m not good enough, and I can’t do it.’ And instead of panicking, he just stopped. He just stopped that whole mental process and he did something completely novel. He just looked up at the sky, and he said, ‘Excuse me, can you not see that I’m driving? Do I look like I can write down a song right now? If you really want to exist, come back at a more opportune moment when I can take care of you. Otherwise, go bother somebody else today. Go bother Leonard Cohen.’” You can read Liz’s blog here: https://storiesforspeakers.blogspot.com/2009/09/elizabeth-gilbert-and-tom-waits-on.html

This is the theme of chapter two of my next book about what happened inside me, when I began to see everything differently and step, ever so cautiously, into the world of cause. I’d been conditioned to look at the outer circumstances of life and seduced by the mind of effect. Move the pieces, move the players, and then everything will line up and I’ll finally be happy, peaceful, or whatever it was I thought was missing.

A woman I loved died recently and it was impactful. I lived with her in the Healing House for Women, and I adored her. She was walking cool, and full of tragic humor. She denigrated herself with humor and I see how sad that is today. When she passed, I looked at her Facebook photos and noticed she was also looking for something. Something the world told her would make her okay. I copied the photo in this blog from her page. There is nothing really wrong about looking for something, but there is a better way to get what I really want and that is to make a decision. A solid yes, or a solid no. And then allow the rest to show up.

I see this is the work I do everyday. We offer participants jobs, and services, and money and supports. We scratch our heads when nothing changes. I know it’s complicated, but at the risk of oversimplification, I believe it would be different if they experienced something like Tom Waites did while he was driving on the LA freeway. A movement inside, something alive, and the self respect to ask for a better time for the exchange because they know they have been seen and heard. It strikes me that all sorts of inner judgement, about seeming failures or missed opportunities would stand down because we know we’ve seen something, been seen by it, and know it is real. This is a relationship and that is what working in the realm of cause is all about. Seeing, being seen; listening and responding.

The pandemic has been a great cosmic reset for me. Even the six feet apart is a metaphor for change, while a new pattern is created. In that space, having the guts and grace like Tom Waites did when he said, ‘Excuse me, can’t you see I’m driving…if you really want to exist, come back at a more opportune moment when I can take care of you”, is revolutionary. It is the acknowledgement of a relationship.

And that is when everything changed for me, even when it looked like nothing was happening. Something is always happening, especially when we make a decision or a commitment. Things are lining up, and showing up at a more opportune time.

I heard this song several times this week, and felt the love of my Healing House sisters. We walked out of hell together, and our bond is strong. And it’s for Chana too, because we are with her, forever in our hearts.

Wonder and the Razors Edge

I Had a Love Affair With Pain

But, I don’t now. Pain flows through me, and I buckle with the weight of it. It steals my breath, and makes me bow, on my knees, sobbing, “I am so sorry”, to something sentient that is listening. Because I cannot touch you, but I feel you.

A woman I got to know deeply, several years ago, lost her twin nineteen year old son yesterday, to a virus that attacked his heart. I believe it happened quickly, in my sense of time, but I’m sure hers feels different. We met during a Empowering Women Mystics class several years ago. Hand picked participants by Mother Clare Watts (who has since passed on too). Super Nova women, of heart, accomplishment, guts, and promise to burn themselves up serving humanity. We were together weekly, for over six months, and I grew, and touched, and laughed, and cried and often said, “Damn, these women are so beautiful.”

I haven’t spoken to Josephine for several years, but I saw the photos of her gorgeous boys, Graduating from High School, on their way to Northeastern University. She asked me to come to Chicago, and I promised that I would. She promised to come to Milwaukee.

And yesterday, I soldiered through the day, as best I could in between sobs, and flashes of her face, as I served clients. I was so raw, and they could feel it. I was quiet too, when I may have forced words to guide an appointment to a desired outcome. Several women could feel it, and we talked about the death. Several said they were sorry, and we were quiet together. Something happened between us without words, and we ended feeling like we knew each other better. Holy moments are raw wordless moments, so often.

By the end of the day, I was sure I couldn’t go on but I did, with other folks that are my spiritual family. I was fed, and when I asked for prayer, I felt relieved. I know what to do these days, even when I don’t think I can, or don’t want to.

This morning, I awoke at the same pre dawn time, and I felt hung over. Not like I’d been drinking, but that something had passed through me, and left it’s mark. I was drawn to my book, and a memory of a similar time. This is an excerpt from a chapter titled, Love Is:

~Facing my fears opened me to understand a bit about love. It was a late summer evening and I was outside my friend Greg’s house admiring the butterfly bush. Greg lived in Kansas on ten acres of land that he called the farm. It was the closest thing to nature that I had come to since my arrival in Missouri. The land had apple and peach trees and lovely flower bushes. A butterfly bush was in full bloom, and each flower was covered by a beautiful butterfly. They looked so exquisite and, so vulnerable. I was captivated. For a few seconds, all of the thoughts in my mind evaporated, and I knew, with absolute clarity, that God did not want me to suffer. I caught that knowing like I would have captured a butterfly; carefully and gently. I allowed it to linger as long as possible.

It seemed an odd time to be gifted with this knowing because I was not suffering. But, I was able to use it, the next week. My friend Karen’s son hanged himself in the garage three days later. I knew Mike somewhat, and he was a beautiful man tormented by addiction and depression. The day after he died, Karen was moving, but her grief was palpable, like the life force had been sucked out of her body. It was almost impossible to speak in that vacuous space, so I just sat with her and waited. We made ourselves available, and we tried to hold her up while she planned the funeral. Several days later, I spoke at Mike’s funeral, and told the story of the butterfly bush. I chose to see Karen as a woman that could weather this loss, and be transformed by it. Beauty and vulnerability are mystical qualities to me. Beauty captivates, while vulnerability can move a transformation, if it is allowed. Love Is, pages 167-168; Going Naked Being Seen, The Power of Being Real. Amazon.com: GOING NAKED BEING SEEN eBook: MaryAnn Fry: Kindle Store.

This morning, I drove to Lake Michigan, and the sun was just coming up. The sky was crystal clear with brilliant pink and yellow hues. I could breathe, in this beauty. When I came home, I fed my birds some new seed. The sky was brilliant blue, and clear. It was quiet, except for the faint sound of my sweet house sparrows waking up the neighborhood creatures. Then swooped the seagulls, which rarely visit, until they landed on the light posts. Next, the crows, and they chose the tree top right in front of me. Finally, a woodpecker chimed in on the front left, and I felt like I was at the symphony. Squirrels came, and a wild bunny too.

And, I felt your prayers, and your love, even as I felt her pain. And today, I believe she feels them too. I didn’t know how to do any of this before I stopped drinking. I always got stuck in the pain, or the escape. I missed so much beauty.

It is more than a gift, to be in the presence of love; to be moved by it, and returned to it.

Here’s my Morning Joe. This song was it for me today.

Spiritual Experience

going naked being seen

” When belief was not enough, I accepted the invitation to an experience.” ~ MaryAnn Fry

That was the first line of my book proposal for Going Naked Being Seen. It took me about a year to write that line. And, it took me another year to really comprehend it; to realize it. For alcoholics like me that follow a twelve step program of recovery, we need a Spiritual experience to recover. Not a belief, an experience. I believed in God before I recovered, and was very religious too. But, I still drank. And, my ongoing recovery is dependent on the maintenance of a fit Spiritual condition. I’ve had those experiences, and they’ve changed the way I see and experience life. But many people haven’t, even though they have years of physical sobriety. Time and time again, the subject of a Spiritual experience comes up in discussion and I wait, and hope…

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” I Got This”

going naked being seen

A good friend asked me for some help last night, and I’m sure it’s because I’m a former trial lawyer that specialized in Child Protective Proceedings. I’m also her friend though, and she accepted my perspective and direction, when the solution was  a spiritual one, and not the legal one she had called to explore.

We did discuss many things about the legal situation, including my take that the lawyer seemed to be sliding by some important ethical guidelines, and had not spent time preparing her for a hearing that was set for next Friday. But, I don’t practice anymore, and must deliver broader solutions. We ended the long conversation with plan for her to focus on her spiritual fitness; all that she could really do in the meantime anyway. So much is out of her control, not to mention that she really doesn’t have standing in the proceedings. She…

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Crashingly Beautiful

Luke Storms, the Editor for Parabola Magazine, had a blog titled, Crashingly Beautiful. What a combination of movement, and image in those words. I became an instant fan of his work. Today, I used crashingly beautiful to describe something going on in my life, and I was reminded of how I felt the first time I saw those words used together; arrested, intrigued, and upright.

Tonight, I’m in love with life, and mine in particular. I’m home, and have some time. I’ve had conversations in the last few weeks with people I love, but haven’t talked to in years. The holidays do that; I’m thrilled to have such lasting relationships. I’m thrilled to want to talk; the past few years had me in some processes that rendered me speechless. And I couldn’t write either, and it nearly killed me. This is a humble beginning, and a welcome to the life that calls me.

At the end of a year, we make goals and plans and resolutions. We look back to measure the unmeasurable really, as if it matters what we jammed into a block of time. I’ve resisted all that behavior but I’m not unaffected by the collective vibe. I hear these conversations daily.

This picture is a Christmas card that I got 20 years ago from a dear friend. Laura died last year; a brilliant woman terrorized by mental illness. It arrested me the moment I saw it. Mary, holding the radiant being to her breast, alone, but in repose. I imagine Laura that way now, and it feels good.

On Christmas Eve, we held a midnight service at our chapel, and read from Maria Valtorta, The Poem of the Man God. It was a moving passage about how Mary experienced the birth of, and the loss of, this magnificent being we know as Jesus. The humiliation of her pregnancy,  the poverty of her condition, and the humility of her service. What resonated in those words was a supernatural love, a crashingly beautiful love. Bloodied, and hurt, and healed and whole and pure, all at the same time. It’s all a part of love; every last fiber of thought and experience.

I see that now, and I feel it too. Last year I moved, and left a relationship with a man I loved, because it wasn’t right for either of us. It was painful, but beautiful because it was the right thing to do. There is a price to pay for authentic expression and freedom, and it’s crashingly beautiful.

I took a new job that has been insane; demanding, brutal, exhausting and rich. I could have easily justified leaving but I didn’t, because I wanted to master something. One day, I woke up feeling differently, and realized that the work has always been about my reaction; not the situation. I’ve become a better leader, and our team has accomplished the impossible. It’s crashingly beautiful really, and I’m glad I stayed until this rest to appreciate that.

We have so many superficial ways to evaluate whether we’ve had a good year, or a good experience, at year’s end. This one, with the Mother and her child, will always remind me to hold the higher vision. Feel the greater love. Risk the humiliation; endure the fatigue. The sphinx holds her, as the mystery holds me. Forever, always, and in rest.

What We Return

going naked being seen

Humility like the darkness, reveals the heavenly lights.

Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) American naturalist, poet and philosopher

There is something more than gratitude I feel for those that have gone before me on the path of recovery and spiritual development. A common bond of love and reverence, I guess. I feel less alone as I traverse uncharted territory. A line from one of my favorite Ferron songs comes to mind,

“Where the lines connect but the points stay free.” Ferron, “Our Purpose Here”

So, I was pretty amazed with myself when I said to my friend as we talked about both last week,

“There is nothing more attractive than holiness, and nothing more powerful than humility.” 

That’s my perspective, and it comes after years of living, and spiritual striving. That sentence rings with  simplicity, and that’s how I know I’ve made some progress. After I said that profound statement…

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Out There

going naked being seen

Euphemisms always intrigue me because of what they don’t say, or try to minimize. “Out there” is a way that most people in recovery talk about the time when they were sick, and actively using. It’s also used to describe a relapse. It was hard for me to feel that at first, until I got really honest with myself. You see, I never had to sell my body for drugs, or sleep under bridges because I had damaged every relationship and lost every stable residence or job. I drank in the comfort of lovely homes and with nice glasses; quality wines too, don’t you know. Over time, I’ve come to know how profound that description of the state of disease is. It feels like self-hatred to me, and I sure engaged in that; to the gates of death.

I just didn’t know I was angry. And I didn’t have a…

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Epiphany

going naked being seen

Diana was a dear friend and helped me navigate the stormy waters of my mother’s mental illness. That was in 1990, and she was a psychiatrist. In a dream the other night, I was gifted with a memory. A searing moment of pain, and a phone call to her. I felt and heard her steady, solid voice as I told her my mother hanged herself, and I couldn’t make it for Thanksgiving dinner that night.

A long pause ensued, characteristic of those trained in her profession, but it was more. She held such a profound space for me as I struggled to breathe. She finally broke the silence, and said,
“Your efforts on behalf of your mother were heroic MaryAnn. I admire you, and I am so sorry.

Over twenty years later, I know that heroic efforts did not make me a hero, and certainly not a hero of love…

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