From clear and shiny impulse. A giving spinner.
/Can I tie “giving” in a pink bow and make it all pretty?
Or is it important to look at multiple sides?
Of course my thoughts are mine.
You may have a very different story.
Attention.
Full presence.
Is my favorite thing to give.
I was born a human being.
The human doing wasn’t going at the frantic pace
it is today. (as a white middle class girl that is)
I would give myself hours to finding a four leaf clover in my front yard.
To the dappled colorful sunlight shining down through an October afternoon
on my Maple tree lined street.
I would skip up and down with rambunctious delight.
The cherry red, yellow and orange leaves shimmering, spinning, and dancing to the ground around me.
The ant hills between the cracks in the cement sidewalks.
The potato bugs found under the stones in the yard.
To my imagination. To devouring books.
To dressing up in sheer curtains and prancing around like a princess.
I gave hugs to friends, family, and our dog Bootsie.
And then I grew up.
Got a job.
Got married.
Had children.
And the giving became
One of a world pressing in on me.
Squeezing the drops
And turning it into doing.
Over-giving
From a need to be “identified” as a giver.
To be seen as-------
Nice. A good person. Feminine. Caring. Maternal.
I can stay home with the kids. You go.
I can take time off when someone is sick.
I can give my free time to everyone else. Yup.
I can take care of your kids again. Of course.
I can stay later. You can go.
I can make that appointment. Take her to it. Pick up groceries. And make dinner.
Yes. Yes. I can give you that.
Giving.
Up parts of myself.
Giving.
Love to my wee ones.
Giving.
Resentment.
Giving.
A hand to my friend.
Giving.
Up dreams I didn’t even know I had.
Giving.
With an expectation to receive. Not so great that one.
Giving.
Pat answers and not truths because it took too
Much time to unearth real.
A Giving Cloak that got so heavy, burdened.
That Sickness wiggled its way in.
The body ended up being the route out.
I couldn’t get up off the green couch in my living room.
Surrendering to sleep. Bone deep fatigue.
Pain. Aches. Tears. Grief.
I was stripped bare and laid on the pyre of receiving.
Of asking and taking and stillness.
Naked. Vulnerable.
The layers peeled off.
Identities being flushed.
Who am I if I don’t wear that cloak?
Reweaving how to give.
Back home to my being.
Finding true generosity.
Not always but often.
As John O’Donohue talks about so beautifully in
Anam Cara
It’s seeing with loving eyes.
From a generosity that is boundless.
A sea of roiling motion, flow.
No separation.
Egoless. Heartful.
Attend to. Tender. Attention.
It slips out. Juicy. Smiling. Delicious.
An aching beauty that makes me weak in the knees.
From clear and shiny impulse.
A giving spinner.
A dancer.
Of self and world.
Those moments take my
Breath away.
There is a stillness.
In broken-open hearted giving.
Sshh.
Can you feel it?
Thank you,
Carol
P.S. How Does Giving Come Alive In YOU?
P.S.S This is the beginning of a seven part series of qualities (giving, receiving, taking, offering, asking, sharing and stillness) that I navigate my days with. Some more comfortable than others, some more a part of the status quo, and some growing in me.
Hope it inspires you to contemplate the flow of your days, moments, life energy. To reflect on what you want to grow, pay attention to, lean in to a bit etc.