A Worthy Host

A friend of mine committed suicide on June 30, 2014. When I heard the news, I wrote down my thoughts with the intention of capturing something I might craft into a poem or essay to help me process the riot of emotions I felt. I haven't touched it since, until today. Robin Williams' death reminded me of that unfinished work, so I vowed not to let another day pass before I wrapped up my thoughts and feelings about the act of suicide and the legacy it leaves.

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A WORTHY HOST

by Trinity Demask

My friend killed herself.

Her daughter called to tell me, to utter, “she took her life” in a practical, cordial tone that broke like waves on the rocky shore of those four words. In that moment, I became an unwitting participant in a thoughtless, invisibly violent act no child should be asked to endure. All the disbelieving questions died in my throat. I could not ask them of this woman who had been so cruelly drafted to bear and spread this toxic burden.

My friend undoubtedly had not considered the resiliency of her pain. She sought to escape it, diving into that gaping unknown where nothing could follow. In her dash for freedom she unleashed this plague upon all who loved her, binding her agony to their own, propagating a new suffering fresh in its virility and ancient in its will to survive; a parasite of misery perpetually seeking a worthy host to spread its seed anew.

I inherited this infection. The strain passed from my mother whose emotional firmament is fickle and flighty as the child she’d been when her father bequeathed his agony to his wife and four daughters. I carry in my mind two images of him, neither first-hand. My mother possessed only a single washed-out photo of a squinting, pinched-faced man in a gray fedora.

The other image I hold contains no face, only work boots swinging just above the reach of the basement’s dirt floor, an overturned bottle of liquid courage resting on its side on the cool earth. I imagine his suffering released, floating heavy in the air, briefly disembodied until it reached the nostrils of my grandmother whose maternal intuition stopped my mother from descending the stairs.

And so it was my strong, Midwestern, no-nonsense grandma who found him – she who had already borne the loss of two children and in that private torment had made acquaintance with the rising waters of despair and had learned to tread them quiet and steady – it was she who discovered her husband’s failed attempt to swing above those waters from a thick rope. And still, after all that grief and the hardship that lay ahead, she arose from that basement stoic and uncompromising in her will to survive: an unworthy host.

My mother hosted her share with a willful dissociation that kept the contagion’s touch at bay even as it crippled her ability to love and mother with any true connection. She passed it to me without instruction or explanation, a mark on my cellular memory like a smallpox inoculation scar for which I have no conscious recollection. Its ownership, however faint, serves as a warning against the spread of this engulfing despair, an unspoken pact to contain it within until it can be carried naturally, honorably into darkness.

Never Underestimate Your Ability to Make Someone's Day

Never underestimate your ability to make someone's day, even a complete stranger. 

Case in point: I was recently chosen by the U.S. Census Bureau for a Consumer Expenditure Survey, which is how they obtain data to update the Consumer Price Index (yeah, sounds like fun, don't it?). A field representative came to my house to conduct the hour-long survey. She will come back once each quarter for the next five quarters to conduct more surveys to document my spending.

The field rep was a woman (I'm keeping this anonymous out of respect for her privacy) I would estimate to be in her mid to late 60s and she clearly had some health issues because she used a cane and seemed to have limited mobility in general. She was very friendly and as a self-described "people person," it was clear she really enjoyed her work. She has been working for the bureau for several years and I found her to be quite interesting because she was so gregarious, but at the same time maintained the professionalism of the bureaucrat. 

We completed the survey, made an appointment for the next one, and she went on her way. Today, I get a handwritten card (yes, you heard me, I said hand-freakin'-written) in the mail with the U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of the Census seal on it. She wrote:

"Dear Trinity,
      I want to thank you for participating in the CPI survey. Your information is a valuable contribution to statistics.
     You made my day.
     Wish you well and see you in May.
Respectfully, (signature)" 

Maybe it's policy to send handwritten cards to thank participants in order to ensure their cooperation in the future. After all, a lot of people would find this to be an inconvenience, or might even be freaked out by having a government employee come to their home to ask them questions about how they've spent their money over the course of a particular period. 

But I don't think she's directed by the agency to tell someone they "made her day." Did I really do something special? Was it because I understood what a lousy job that might be at times and I let her know that I was happy to participate. Was is because I was hospitable and offered her a glass of water when she arrived? Or does she write that on everyone's card to build a rapport to help ensure that they won't feel quite so inconvenienced next time?

Did I really make her day? I can tell you one thing, with this card she made mine.

What It Really Means to be Vulnerable

Vulnerable: susceptible to physical or emotional attack or harm.

Over the years, many people have commented that one of my strengths as a performer is that I'm so vulnerable it gives the audience an opportunity to access their own vulnerability.  I help them to feel and process emotions they otherwise avoid or keep bottled up.  I've been pondering that for quite some time now because that word -- vulnerable -- keeps coming up for me.  Usually it's referred to as a strength, which goes against its very definition.  Over the last few years I have opened up more and more to the point where I feel this unusual sense of power when I am being vulnerable.  I don't feel weak.  I feel bulletproof. 

A year or so ago, a friend who had recently been diagnosed with cancer said in casual conversation that I am the bravest person she knows.  That floored me, and triggered something deep in me that reduced me to tears.  What on Earth could someone with bigger, scarier problems than I have see in me that would lead them to say something like that?  I'm not brave, I'm terrified every day.  I'm constantly putting myself in situations that are uncomfortable for me.  I force myself through the discomfort because what I want is on the other side.

A-ha... Isn't that the definition of bravery, to face your fears, to put yourself in uncomfortable situations because you know you must in order to act with integrity or to follow your dreams?

She explained that I don't let anything get in the way of what I want.  I don't write myself off.  I show up.  I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, even when I'm afraid... especially when I'm afraid.  I had never considered this, and certainly never thought of myself as courageous. 

After the Sandy Hook shootings, I saw a powerful  interview with the mother of one of the children who was killed.  She glowed with love and pride as she spoke of her child and her voice held so much power and certainty.  It was so unusual to see someone who had suffered something so unspeakable relating their feelings in a way that was, for lack of a better word, empowering.  Then she said something that struck me personally.  I'm paraphrasing here since it's obviously been awhile since I saw the interview, but this is the gist of what she expressed.  She said when you experience a loss so great, you gain a kind of fearlessness. You can't be hurt any more than you already are.  You have nothing more to lose and there is a freedom in that. 

My losses have not been so great, but they have taken me close enough to the bottom to feel the fearlessness that comes from the rawness of being laid open by grief.  I've even written a song about that experience, Phoenix (Sleep Without Dreams).  There's no weakness there.  You have felt such hurt that you are amazed that you are still alive.  For better or worse, you feel invincible.  All the petty fears that loomed so large before your loss are forgotten.  There is nothing left to be afraid of. 

I have tried to explain this epiphany to several people and it seems the ones who really understand it are those who have faced loss themselves.  We have talked of Joseph Campbell and the Hero's Journey, of the metaphorical death and rebirth in the cycle of our journeys.  It is a personal redemption as we process our losses, shed the trappings of the world that no longer hold power over us, and attune to our inner strength.  Letting ourselves be laid bare and vulnerable realigns us with our authentic selves and our soul's purpose.

So, just as I've finally come to my own understanding of what it really means to be vulnerable, I hear an interview with Brené Brown, a research professor at the University of Houston Graduate College of Social Work, on the TED Radio Hour on NPR.  Some of her quotes that grabbed me:

• Vulnerability is not weakness.
• Vulnerability is our most accurate measure of courage.
• Embedded in real vulnerability is an honest raw bid for connection.
• You cannot selectively numb.  When we numb vulnerability, we numb joy, gratitude, and happiness.
• Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change.

In her second TED Talk, Brené ties vulnerability to shame and our fear that if others see us as we truly are, we will be found unworthy and unlovable.  We will face disconnection from others, which is the most terrifying fear we possess as social beings who rely on connection for our very survival.  

I have discovered over the course of the last few years that being authentic and expressing my own vulnerability is a means for me to really experience my worthiness.  I'm afraid when I open myself up, I will be be found lacking and will be abandoned.  But that has not been my experience.  My experience has been that when I am authentic others embrace me and they open up, too.  And those few who do abandon me are replaced exponentially by those who recognize themselves in my struggles. I have become part of a support network of "the Whole-Hearted," as Brené has named them.  The Whole-Hearted are people who feel worthy.  The more I challenge that part of me that feels unworthy, the more I call it out and name it, the more worthy I feel and the more whole-hearted I become.

Brené found in her research that the Whole-Hearted have the following in common:

• They have the courage to be imperfect.
• They have the compassion to be kind to themselves and others.
• They have connection as a result of authenticity.
• They fully embrace vulnerability.  They believe that what makes them vulnerable makes them beautiful. 

If any of this resonates with you or piques your curiosity, I strongly encourage you to listen to the NPR interview with Brené, and both her TED talks (the most recent is at the top of the page and the earlier one is further below): http://www.npr.org/2013/08/23/174033560/can-we-gain-strength-from-shame 

I hope you will share your thoughts and insights with me below.

A New Song for a Community in Mourning

On Friday, October 12, 2012, police confirmed that the body found in Arvada, Colorado was indeed that of Jessica Ridgeway, a 10-year-old girl who had gone missing the prior week. Several of my friends have been experiencing grief and loss recently, so the topic which had already been weighing heavily on my mind of late was brought into stark relief at this tragic news. After reading through Facebook comments from friends, particularly those in the metro Denver area, I sat down to work on the songs that I'd be performing that Sunday at Living Water Spiritual Community (a Unity church). While rehearsing a cover song I felt would be appropriate to help my community find healing, I felt another song trying to come through. It began with the phrase "all that remains is love," then a chord progression followed and the words began to pour out.

After performing this song on Sunday, it became clear that it was what many in the community needed to help them grieve the loss of this beautiful child and their own personal losses. With the help of my friend Andy Ard, who offered his home studio and expertise, I recorded the song "All That Remains" and offer it now as an mp3 download at http://trinitydemask.bandcamp.com. It is my hope that this song brings some level of peace and healing to those who are experiencing grief and loss of a loved one.

Attention all writers, songwriters, and poets

This Wednesday is my next songwriting class and I've decided to tweak the direction of my teaching. I'd like to focus on the part of songwriting that I'm passionate about: the lyrics and ideas that we're trying to express musically. I want to help people dig down to discover the well of their own authentic self-expression, their own unique voice.

At the same time, I recognize that this focus of topic broadens the audience of people who might benefit from the discussion. Writers, poets, and people who just wish to better explore their own lives through journaling will find these ideas and the sharing of others' journeys useful. To that end, my goal is to open this group to these other writers (aspiring or otherwise). We'll explore free-writing and other exercises to prime the pump and I'll introduce you to things that I've found very inspiring. Think of it less as a class and more of a workshop/support group meant to inspire your creativity.

That said, next Wednesday, August 8 at 7:00 pm, I'll be sharing a movie that greatly inspired me. It's a documentary called "Finding Joe." It is an exploration of Joseph Campbell's study of the hero's journey. I know, you're thinking, "what on earth does that have to do with songwriting?" More than you know, especially if you write songs that tell stories. Even if you're writing about one moment in a story - falling in love, for example - understanding where that moment fits in the context of the subject's journey will help you bring it to life with more depth. Also, we are all living our own hero's journey, and this film will help you become more aware of your own story (or stories) and might inspire you to live a more fully realized life by "following your bliss."

Space is limited so if you're interested in joining us, please email me at trinity@trinitydemask.com to RSVP.  We meet at a private residence in Westminster so if you haven't been to a class before, I'll email you directions.  The cost of the class/group will be a suggested $10 donation and it will meet on the second Wednesday of the month (unless otherwise noted on my website).  I will still facilitate the critique group on the fourth Wednesday of the month.  There is no cost for the critique group and it is open to any songwriter who wants feedback on their songs whether they take the class or not.

If you're a poet, songwriter, or writer and need a little inspiration, direction, or just want to be among a tribe of like-minded creatives, I hope you'll join us sometime.

Lughnasadh: Let the harvest begin

Today, August 1, is Lughnasadh, the first of three Celtic autumn harvest festivals.  With the heat and drought much of the US has experienced this summer, it is perhaps a time to more finely focus our gratitude on what we have.  In my case, hay for my horse will be hard to come by so I'm already planning to stock up for winter.  Feed prices for grain have also increased.  However, my small pasture has been resurrected by recent rains (little rain thought it was), so Tori has been able to graze for a while each day, therefore allowing me to feed her less.  That little patch of green has been a welcome blessing!

As I reflect on what I've sown this season, I realize I've cultivated gratitude for my home, my friends, and my abilities (both creative and mundane).  I have also returned to a much closer relationship with nature than I've enjoyed in years, spending more time with Tori and other critters that cross my path, and taking time being observant, still, and open with the natural world.  I've had the wondrous pleasure of walking amongst literally dozens of large dragonflies, I've taken walks in the rain, I've watched some amazing and colorful cloud formations, and I've experienced kayaking on a lake at sunset.  (I love Colorado!  Can I get an "amen," brothers and sisters?!) 

In the next couple months, I hope to start some new projects and I'm a little apprehensive about taking these next steps.  But when I reflect on all that has come to me this summer, both externally and internally, and when I realize how inspired and excited I am at the prospect of these new doors opening, I feel confident that I'll be reaping a soul-sustaining harvest that I can share with others who hunger as well.

What seeds have you sown this year?  What is coming to fruition for you to harvest this fall?  As we begin the autumn months and prepare for the introspection of winter, what will you gather now to sustain you through the darkness?

Chipping Away At Worry

The last month has been a very introspective and enlightening time for me. Things are always shifting and changing – sometimes in very turbulent ways – but this period of time has been different. I have been less shaken by the physical changes in my life.

I’d like to say I’ve learned to trust the Universe and have truly accepted that everything will work out for my best and highest good. Perhaps I have become more trusting. At least I am allowing myself the benefit of the doubt these days and give myself a little credit for growing, which is certainly an improvement. But it’s more likely I have just burned out on maintaining my high stress level. I’m done with the constant worry. My give-a-damn is busted.

If worrying was an Olympic sport, I’d be a gold medalist. My mind has always jumped ahead to land on the next possible disaster. I’m always looking ahead to the worse case scenario, the logic being that if I plan for that, I’ll be prepared. And being prepared is the closest you can come to being in control when your world falls apart.

A few months ago, I saw this quote at a coffee shop: “Worrying does not empty tomorrow of its troubles, it empties today of its strength.” I’ve taken that to heart, finally. It hasn’t been easy. Changing your mind’s habits is a struggle that requires persistence and vigilance. You gain ground in inches, not feet. And sometimes you need to hear the same thing said in different ways over and over again. At some point it all starts to coalesce when the conditions are right and you’re ready to do things differently.

I think the shift for me came when I realized what I’ve accomplished and survived. I began to look back and give myself credit for the long haul through the wilderness. When I looked ahead at possible obstacles, I found myself thinking, “been there, done that.” I guess when you’ve put out enough fires, you stop worrying about how to handle the next one. You gain confidence in your ability to deal with whatever arises. But you can only truly gain that confidence if you take the time to step out of the fear long enough to objectively assess the road you’ve traveled.

Don’t be surprised when your ego shows up to coax you back into fear mode to maintain that sense of separation. For me, a little voice arose to question my sudden surrender. Had apathy set in? You’re being lazy! Are you so depressed that you just don’t care anymore? It was a good try, but I found myself enjoying time with friends, spending time nurturing myself with walks and meditation, and gaining interest in creative activities again. Certainly not the behavior of someone who has given up.

Some doors are opening and others are threatening to close, but I’m not worried about it. I’m focusing on the opportunities ahead and taking time to just breathe. It’s been so long since I’ve had my feet under me. I just want to enjoy being in the eye of the storm for a while, experiencing balance and peace amidst the chaos. I want to absorb that feeling so I can carry it with me. Learning to hold that peace as you walk through life is the answer to everything.