Dearest Pinkies, it is our honor to re-introduce to you Nancy Slonim Aronie, our teacher, hero, and friend. It was at Nancy’s workshop at Esalen that Joy and I met two years ago. This is a woman who was Owning Pink before either of us was even born. Ever-present in Nancy’s inspiring anecdotes at the soul of the workshop was her son, Dan. Dan passed away a few weeks ago, and Nancy wrote a eulogy that captures him so well, we couldn’t not share it with you.  Most of all, her writing demonstrates the incredible power of love, the capacity of the heart, and the eternal nature of the spirit- how Pink is that?  Thank you, Pinkies, for helping us hold space for and honor Nancy, Dan, and the Aronie family.

****

There were so many Dan Aronies. And on January 29th at 1:21 in the morning on the fullest brightest moon of the whole year, one month after his 38th birthday, with his brother and his father present , we lost them all.

You might have known the little guy with dark eyes and long hair (which his grandmother always begged me to cut  – “he looks like a street urchin!”) and ribs that stuck out (“people will think you don’t feed him!”), who followed his big brother Josh everywhere, who could be found juggling with his father on Lucy Vincent Beach or hitching rides with the likes of Harrison Ford.

Or you might have known the little fisherman always on the jetty at dawn or late at night  (while his mother … me … worried about whether he had eaten his snack and was in the middle of a diabetic reaction, had fallen over and was at the bottom of the ocean. Dan was diagnosed with diabetes at 9 months old and became a rebel about an hour later.

You might have known the inventive, creative survivor Dan who taught his fellow young diabetics how to cheat on their urine tests: “don’t put any drops of pee in the beeker. They wont know the difference and the results will set you free. Think chocolate.”

Maybe the guy you knew was the angry contrary funny Dan, the Dan who drove his boat too fast, rolled two cars, skied recklessly, loved girls wholeheartedly, played his violin passionately (not always accurately). That Dan lasted for most of his young adult life. You might have known him at Bard College when he was starring in View from the Bridge or driving his motorcycle down 9G when he was supposed to be studying for exams.

Or maybe you were there when he was diagnosed with MS at 22 and the anger turned white hot.

But for many of you here on the Vineyard, you most likely knew him in his early stages of losing his “abilities to do anything!!!!!” (his words, screamed often). When he couldn’t hold a cue stick anymore, couldn’t make the steps in the Ritz , when he could no longer drive, when his short-term memory started going, when his speech started slurring, a new Dan was emerging.

If you had been a visiting nurse you might have been met with a tirade of 4 letter words (so now let us thank you for every loving moment you spent with Dan). You may have seen him through two brain surgeries that didn’t work, one open-heart surgery that did. You may have noticed a softening, an accepting, a surrendering. For those of us close to that Dan, he became a Teacher. We got to see how a person changes, actually takes lemons, squeezes the life out of them, cuts away the rotten parts and turns out the sweetest tartest most delicious lemonade ever thought possible.

I once asked Dan, “can you say why you stopped being angry?” His answer was so simple but so profound. He said, “I noticed that being angry didn’t help anything.” Hello.

When Dan’s bedsores prevented him from getting up and out and he became bedridden, he never complained. He got even funnier if such a thing is possible. One night I stood at the end of his bed and I, said “Good night o king of kings,” and I did an exaggerated bow. And then I said, “Good night o lord of lords,” and I bowed again. And without skipping a beat he said, “Good night o fruit of loops.”

One day I arrived to the ubiquitous ambulances that knew 111 Leonard Circle by heart (and let me now thank every paramedic who ever crossed his threshold!). I raced in to find Dan already strapped on the gurney, I leaned in to see how bad it was. I said, “Danzer how are you, baby boy? And when he tried to say something, Alison, the caregiver of the century, raised the oxygen mask and Dan, barely conscious, sang “A three hour tour” from Gilligan’s Island – one of the mantras he repeated to describe his life.

Four months ago, Dan got his third bout of pneumonia and was air lifted to Mass General where he was in the intensive care unit for four weeks. He was intubated and communicated with only his eyebrows and his dancing eyes. He had a tracheotomy and a feeding tube. He was transferred to rehab in Salem where he spent another four weeks not really recuperating, but when he was stable they let him come home. And this community and the love and the energy and the support poured in, and it looked as if the Miracle Man was going to beat the odds again. He managed to fight two fevers on his own and he was looking stronger and stronger and healthier and healthier.

But then he got another fever. And this one brought him down. Five days before he died, a dear friend said, ”Dan on a scale from 1 to 10, where are you?” Mind you, he couldn’t talk, but with his signature grin and his twinkling eyes, he mouthed “ELEVEN!”

That’s the Dan he became. A solid 11. And to quote Dan himself… not too shabby.

Thank you, Nancy, for sharing the story of this incredible human and the journey you went on together. Remember, Pinkies, you don’t need to wait until someone dies to honor their life. Nancy did this with Dan every day by sharing him with her workshops, and later with the world through the documentary they made about him. Have you considered writing a eulogy for someone who is still around — or someone who left a long time ago to whom you didn’t say goodbye the way you would now? Let us know your thoughts, and again, thank you for helping us honor this special Pinkie in our lives.

Honoring all the angels – on earth and beyond …
Lissa and Joy

Dearest Pinkies, please welcome back the one and only Stacey Curnow of Midwife for your Life.  She wrote the below post inspired by this discussion on the Pink Effect Posse Page – how do we use Magical Eyes on those who may have hurt us deeply? As always, Stacey’s wisdom comes at just the right time. Thank you as always, Stacey!

*****

Relationships Gone “Bad”

One of my clients is haunted by the memory of a former lover. She wonders how she allowed such a “bad” relationship to go on for so long. Of course she did the best she could with the awareness she had at the time. But now she has 20/20 hindsight.

We’ve all been in her shoes. We wish we could’ve been more conscious, more able to act on the signs that things were not going well, and avoided the “bad” thing that happened. But when we focus on the past, we ignore the clarity that is available to us right now, and the insight that can help guide us to an even better place.

That shift in focus from the past to the present to the future takes some effort. Blaming the other person is much easier, of course. And we can also pretend that we were duped or unconscious the whole time. But we are much more likely to find peace—as well as some benefit from the experience—if we withhold this kind of judgment.

A Different Perspective

So if you’re looking back on a bad experience or relationship and blaming yourself or someone else, try this instead. Rather than looking at the person with whom you had the conflict as the enemy, try to look at him as an old war buddy. You shared a tough time, but you got through it. You did your best under hazardous conditions, and now you can recount your “war stories” without any remorse that things should have been different. Just accept that they happened and simply move on.

Do you feel some resistance to letting this person — a partner, friend, family member, or even a past you — off so easily? Then perhaps consider that when you choose to forgive someone whose behavior hurt you, you do yourself a huge favor. Someone once said that holding on to resentment is like eating rat poison and hoping the rat will die. You could release the hurt, anger and sense of betrayal not because the person “deserves” it, but because you will feel better when you do. If forgiveness is out of reach right now, then just don’t think about it. Refuse to think or talk about what happened until you can look at the topic with some equanimity. The less you return to the painful memories, the sooner that time will come.

I’m not saying you should condone the behavior that hurt you. And I’m certainly not saying you should jump back in the foxhole with your old war buddy. I’m just saying that when you can accept what happened—which means, more than anything else, that you understand that what happened truly did happen in a past you can’t change—then you’ll start to move on. And where are you going? You are moving forward on the path in front of you, right here, right now. Just start moving. And forget about figuring out what happened in the past “so as not to repeat it.” You don’t even have to feel like you “learned a lesson” or you got a “gift” from a relationship, or even any new skills or tools. You just have to start paying attention right now.

New Patterns of Thought

But how can you be sure that history won’t repeat itself? Again, the answer is simple, and lays the past to rest by keeping you in the present. Just learn to notice when things are out of balance in your life. And how will you know? There’s a built in signal that will always let you know when things are out of balance. It’s called stress. You want to take your awareness of the stressful feeling and try to find the stressful thought that is creating it. From there try to identify a thought that feels better. It may take some practice, but you will get better at it.

And when you consistently engage in the practice of identifying your stressful, negative thoughts and find alternative, better-feeling thoughts research shows that you are creating new neural pathways that will lead to long lasting benefits, like decreased anxiety and depression, and increased satisfaction and happiness. Bottom line: you will change, and as a consequence your world will change for the better, too.

Not everyone gets to make a new world. But people who want to put their past behind them have a golden opportunity to do so. And that is a gift. You can thank your old war buddy for it the next time you see him.

What do you think, Pinkies? Have you been able to let go of old wounds inflicted by others? What do you still carry with you? How is it affecting you? What is stopping you from releasing it, or shifting your focus?

At war no more,
Stacey

"Stars Within Her Grasp" by Rita Loyd (c) 2001

I just met with a group of doctors under the wise and beautiful guidance of Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen, author of Kitchen Table Wisdom. We meet monthly to talk about Finding Meaning in Medicine (http://www.theheartofmedicine.org/), a program lead all over the country which aims to put doctors back in touch with the heart of healing. This month’s topic was “Resilience,” and as you can imagine, lively discussion ensued.

What is Resilience?

It got me thinking. What does it mean to be resilient? Is it a good thing or a bad thing? Certainly, in the US, we ascribe great value to the idea of resilience. If someone experiences a trauma and manages to get back to the details of life a short time later, we praise this person for being “so strong.” When Haitians crawl out from under the rubble to witness the devastation of their city only to talk about how grateful they are to be alive, we smile. It makes us feel good. All is right with our world as long as people can just “put it all behind them and move on.” But is that really resilience? Or is it just denial?

Maybe resilience means that you’re like a rubber band- you can pulled and stretched out of shape, but you bounce right back into the shape in which you started. Sure, you’ve lost your husband, you just got fired, and your house burned down with you dog inside- but damn if you aren’t resilient for being able to bounce right back.

The Pros and Cons of Bouncing Back

But wait a minute. Is that a good thing? Do we want to be like rubber bands after a major life change? Or do we want to allow a natural reshaping to occur? Is it okay if we no longer look like a rubber band. Maybe now- we look more like a square. But we’re still whole- we’re still intact. We are not broken. We’re just no longer in the same shape anymore. Is that resilience?

On the flip side, maybe being a rubber band can benefit us. Sometimes we’re subjected to tremendous external pressure to change our shape. My medical school training is an example of that, for sure. So is being in the military, perhaps. Being a prisoner of war. Marrying into a family that doesn’t accept you. I’m sure there are hundreds of examples of situations in which you are pressured to change your shape. You are expected to morph- and yet, because you are resilient, you retain your original shape, in spite of the pressure to be different.   In spite of it all- somewhere, deep down, you remember who you really are.

Resilience in the World

Then you see these people who experience what might seem like unbearable tragedy. They lose their whole family in a car accident. They find out their husband has been sexually molesting their daughter. They wind up in the midst of an earthquake in Haiti or a hurricane in New Orleans- and their whole world is changed overnight. And yet, they manage somehow to keep living. It’s as if they make a choice to survive the next 5 minutes. And then 5 minutes later, they do it again. Days and weeks go by as 5 minute intervals pass one after the other. Is that resilience? Or merely a profound example of the will to live?

Resilience in Person

I asked this of one of the women I cast for The Woman Inside Project. Her personal story of how her breast cancer came about was particularly traumatic and yet she emerged a phoenix. I was in awe of her. I asked her how she did it, and she thought about it for weeks. Then she sent me an e-mail that said, “I guess I’ve just always had the faith that I will land butter side up.”

Is resilience something we are born with- a part of our genetic make-up? A manifestation of our environment? Or is it something we can cultivate? Can we practice resilience? Can we in any way prepare for the challenges that inevitably lie ahead for all of us? I believe we can. Here are some thoughts on how we might do that.

Tips For Cultivating Resilience in the Midst Of Hardship

1. Nurture relationships in your life. Tend to your family and friendships. If tragedy strikes, you will be mainlining these people. They will be your lifeline.
2. Have faith. Believe in a higher power.
3. Avoid thinking of any challenge as impossible to bear. How you think affects how you feel.
4. Accept what you cannot change. Focus on trying to change the things you can change and not trying to change the things you can’t. When you resist, you suffer. Remember- pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. Joy is a choice.
5. Laugh- often and hard. Even if it’s not genuine. Practice laughter yoga. Watch silly movies. Read comics. Whatever it takes. Laughing is healthy for your body and feeds the spirit.
6. Seek meaning in what has happened.
7. Never give up hope.
8. Stay flexible. Recognize that the only thing certain in life is change.
9. Keep a journal. Write your truth.
10. Set achievable goals.
11. Practice stress management and relaxation techniques, such as meditation, guided imagery, prayer, warm baths, and massage.
12. Take care of your body. Eat well. Exercise regularly. Allow yourself extra sleep.
13. Forgive yourself. Healing begins with self-love and acceptance.
14. Avoid being stubborn and prideful.
15. Understand that there is no right or wrong way to experience life’s challenges. Allow yourself to find your own way of healing.
16. Learn from how you have overcome challenges in the past.
17. Give yourself as much time as you need to feel what you feel.
18. Consider therapy.
19. Schedule activities that bring you peace and joy.
20. Find community. Seek out loving, nurturing people who will hold space and allow you to feel your feelings. Realize that you are never alone.

#20 is my favorite. I believe that the community with which we surround ourselves allows us to tap into our own resilience, in the best sense of the world. Our community empowers us, strengthens us, supports us, guides us, and allows us to be right where we’re at. I’m a big believer in the power of community (no surprise, given that I founded Owning Pink). We are never alone.  We all walk this planet linked by deep roots that interconnect us. When we experience pain, we are one of many who have tapped into their own resilience and found a way to survive, even thrive. With your sisters and brothers lifting you up, it is so much easier.

Let us be here for you, Pinkies. And share your thoughts. What does it mean to be resilient? How you have survived tough times? What tips do you have for Pinkies in crisis?

Believing resilience comes in many flavors,
Lissa

Dan Aronie, our newest angel

Introducing Our Newest Angel
I’m wiping tears right now, Pinkies.
Pink Sage & Writing Genius Nancy Aronie’s dear son Dan died today. He was way too young, but after a long journey with multiple sclerosis, he has left this life for the next. When I heard the news, the floodgates opened, not just for Nancy’s loss, but for my own. Hearing her news brought me back two years, to the writing workshop I took with Nancy at Esalen Institute, where I met Pink Editor-in-Chief Joy, nearly a lifetime ago.

Holding Space For Loss
At the workshop, Nancy invited us to watch a documentary that was made about her son- his struggles, his path, how he overcame anger, resentment, and disability to find laughter, joy, and peace. I was hesitant to watch it. My own father had multiple sclerosis from a young age, and the wounds of losing him were still raw and bleeding. I wasn’t sure I could cope with what might come up if I witnessed Dan’s journey. But the amazing people in my workshop promised to hold me while we watched it together. One even went out and bought bottles of red wine so we could numb ourselves if necessary.

As Nancy prepared the DVD for viewing, the lovely beings in my class surrounded me with boxes of tissues and then guided me to the center of the room, where they huddled around me, touching me from all sides- a knee brushing mine, a head resting on my shoulder, an arm over my shoulder, a hand holding mine. Before Nancy pushed play, I started to cry, and the Posse of people gathered in closer. More hands touched me. I felt held.

As I watched Dan’s story, a story of loss, of disappointment, of dreams dashed, then of hope, triumph, healing, and the resilience of the human spirit, I cried. I felt deeply. I wept for the loss of my father, for Dan’s loss of physical strength, for Nancy’s loss of a healthy child. But I also cried with joy for the tenderness of the hands holding me, the feeling of safety that allowed me to sit among a group of people I had known for a mere three days, the beauty of true feelings expressed fully.

You Are Never Alone
By the time the movie was over, I felt fully embraced in the arms of those in that room- and I don’t think I was alone in feeling that way. Others cried. Other felt embraced. Dan invited all of us to experience loss with him, knowing we were safe in the arms of people we could trust. He guided us, showing us how much you can lose and still retain your spirit. He planted the seeds for what has become Owning Pink. He taught me what it means to be held, to be nurtured, to be cherished, to feel safe. Watching his movie that night taught me the value of community, the healing power of being held by those you can trust, the communal cleansing that happens when we live in love and feel the truth. Owning Pink began to gestate. Nancy and the people in her workshop taught how it’s possible to love people you don’t even know, when you open your heart fully. That group was the first Pink Posse.

(((((((((((((((Being Held))))))))))))))))))))))
A few months later, green shoots began to sprout from the fertile earth of that night. And almost exactly a year to the date later, Owning Pink was born. Very quickly, Pinkies flocked to the site like moths to flame. When Joy and I started Owning Pink, our mission statement was simple- “We want Owning Pink to invite people to go to that place of pain, knowing they are loved, safe, and nurtured.” Just like that night at Dan’s movie, I wanted people to feel empowered to face what hurts, while being held by many hands. The Pinkies quickly figured this out and started hugging each other with this symbol (((((((((((Pinkies)))))))))))))). Only today, Pink Goddess Dana pointed out that maybe this isn’t a hug, per se, as I had been thinking. Maybe it’s all those arms, just like the night of Dan’s movie, holding each Pinkie. I think she’s right. It’s about being held- fully, deeply, wholly.

Seeing Loss With Fresh Eyes
Just last night, I was at UCSF Medical School, taking Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen’s class “The Healer’s Art.” The subject of this week’s session was LOSS. Rachel reminded us that we are trained from early on to think that loss is bad, that LOSS=LOSER. But she says our losses do not diminish us. Loss is neutral. It’s the stories we tell ourselves- about life, love, other people, ourselves- that lead to suffering. Those stories expand or contract the quality of the lives we lead. She says that people rarely meet with loss in a genuine way- usually it’s “Let’s put this behind us and move on.” But loss is part of life. It’s a moment of truth, where we are invited to have a deeper knowledge of ourselves and others. She says the most common response to the loss of another person is to try to “fix” it, but fixing isn’t large enough for loss or for life. Rachel says, “Many things happen that are not fixable. But many things that can’t be fixed can still be healed. The goal in life is not to prevent loss but to meet loss in ways that are healing.”

I say, “Amen, sister.”

Reaching Out Without Trying to FIX Anything
And so, here I sit, grieving the loss of Dan, longing to ease Nancy’s pain, not quite sure what to say. And so I wrote her an email that read:

My heart is with you.
I hold you and sit silently with your loss.
Please know I am here for you- for anything.
Heaven just got really friggin’ lucky, love. Angels smiling everywhere.

What else can you say? But it turns out this is enough. It’s not our job to “fix” loss. Loss doesn’t need to be fixed. It just needs to be honored, to be held, to be witnessed with love, to be held with 16 hands in a circle and a box of Kleenex in between.

THIS IS WHAT WE DO
Do you see what I’m getting at, Pinkies? This is what we do. Joy just waxed poetic about this a few days ago, when a light bulb went off in her head and she suddenly realized that THIS IS WHAT WE DO. We just hold the space. We sit silently with each other’s stories. We hold each other.

What about you, Pinkies? How do you deal with loss? When you’ve suffered a loss, whether it’s the loss of a relationship, a dream, an object, your health, or a loved one, what have others done that helps you? What doesn’t help? How can we be more present for each other, to make this space even more healing? How can we be with loss, without trying to fix it?

Celebrating with the angels for Dan’s new life, and holding you (((((((((((((((((((((((Pinkies)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
And especially you, ((((((((((((((((Nancy)))))))))))))))))))
Lissa

PS. To see Dan’s film, A Certain Kind of Beauty, the one I saw at Nancy’s workshop, click here.

For those who wish to honor Dan Aronie, the family asks that you donate to a foundation on Martha’s Vineyard that helped Dan.
If you’d like, send your donation to:
You’ve got a Friend Foundation
PO box 1317
West Tisbury MA 02575
l 508 693 7733

Thank you Pinkies!
Dan, as a young stud:

Dan, as an angel-in-training in 2007

Dear Pinkies, please welcome back the wisest woman in my life, my best friend and Pink Mommy, Trish Rankin. She’s here today with some thoughts on dreams, transitions, and the miracles that exist in each of us. Take it away, Mommy, and thank you! – Lissa

***

Recently I heard a song* in the car that has tweaked my soul. The lines that particularly touched me were:

What would I do, if I knew that I could not fail?
If I believed, would the wind always fill up my sail?
How far would I go?

All the way home, I found the question rolling around the car as if it were a loose bottle of water seeking a place to settle. What would I do if I were brave? Would I seek my dream? Do I have a dream formulated or have I been afraid to even create one?

The Difficulty of Change

Since my husband died four years ago, I have tried to remake my way, but I am still far from who I think I can be. It would be easier to just go on as I am, remaining in the safety of the niche I’ve re-created. Change is hard and mine is no exception. David was my husband of 40 years as well as my best friend. We didn’t just co-exist – we shared life, and now I live alone. My purpose in life is now in question.

Venturing Out On My Own

In November I flew to Turkey alone, spent a week with our former foreign exchange student whom David and I were supposed to visit before he died. I was scared that something would go very wrong (and many of those fears were confirmed), but I did it. I then flew alone from Turkey to Greece, and connected with a small group from my church to go on a Mediterranean Cruise of four countries. I ended up in Greece alone an extra day due to a miscommunication and flew home alone.

I have never traveled abroad alone before and certainly not to a country where I couldn’t even speak the language, and where few I addressed could speak English. But I overcame my fears. I did it! I was brave, and I was proud!

So what would I ask if I could have anything? What is my dream?

My dream? It is to publish my recently completed book, and present 1-2 “Owning Joy after Loss” workshops a month, to help other women gracefully move through their grief journey. But that takes skill and persistence I’m not sure I possess. Doubt creeps in and steals my courage. My dream? To find love again, to fill my empty home with happiness through a committed loving relationship. But that takes risk, and I am striving each day to find the courage to confront that risk. I know I will.

Believe in the Miracle That Is You

Don’t be concerned about doing it alone. For there are miracles available within us – some large and some small. You don’t have to donate a kidney to become a miracle in someone else’s day or life.  A kind word, volunteering your time, a smile to an angry stranger, a changed heart – these are all small miracles that can change those around us and ultimately change who we are.

I have a sign in my dining room that says, “The poor woman is not one without a dime but one without a dream.”

So Pinkies-Dream big, knowing that the will of God never takes you where the Grace of God will not protect you.

What would YOUR dream look like, if you were not afraid? If you were brave? If you had courage to change anything you wished?

A MOJO MONDAY exercise:

1.  Give yourself a few minutes to close your eyes and fantasize. Where does your mind go if you give it permission to go anywhere exciting? What if you invited yourself to dream your biggest dreams, free of your inner critic and demons? What comes up? What would you do if you were BRAVE?  If you took fear out of the equation?

2.  Make a list of all of your wildest fantasies, your ginormous dreams- the life you might create if you took a Pleap (Pink leap of faith) and truly BELIEVED in yourself.

3. Now write a list of affirmations that will help you be brave. If your inner critic says, “You’re not smart enough,” your affirmation will be You are smart enough. If it says, “You don’t have enough money,” your affirmation is “Abundance is overflowing in my life.” Write as many affirmations as you can think of.

4. Now, try to still your mind in meditation for as long as you can manage (15-30 minutes is ideal. It opens up your mind to a place of receptivity).

5. After quiet meditation, start to dream your dream, in very specific detail. Visualize a day in your perfect life as if it was a movie. Don’t worry about the details of how and when. Just create the scene in your mind, believing it to be true. Imagine waking up in the morning. Feel what it feels like to be brave. What does your house look like? Your family? Your job? Your body? Your community? How do you FEEL in this brave life? How do things smell? How does life taste? Very as sensual and detailed as possible. Let your body live it.

6. There is a part of your brain that responds to this type of programming- (Lissa tells me it’s called the reticular activating system). When you stimulate it, it starts firing, and voila- before you know it- you begin to notice ways that your dreams might come true that you might not otherwise have noticed. Perhaps you need to find the perfect retail kitchen space so that you can open your dream restaurant. So there you are- at a cocktail party- and because your reticular activating system is now supercharged, your ears hear- from all the way across the room- some guy talking about how he has this kitchen for rent and needs to unload it really cheap. Had your brain not been fired up, you might never have noticed. So let’s do it, Pinkies. Let’s supercharge our reticular activating systems and be BRAVE!

6. After watching the movie reel in your head, open your eyes and read your list of affirmations out loud. Even better- read them into a tape recorder and play them with your eyes still closed. Believe them. LIVE them. KNOW them.

7. Repeat this exercise every day for a month- and see what happens.

What do you think, Pinkies. Are you in? I’m starting today…

Share your dreams, dear ones. What would you do if you were brave?

Getting braver ever day,

Trish

* “If I Were Brave” by Jana Stanfield

What would I do, if I knew that I could not fail?
If I believed, would the wind always fill up my sail?
How far would I go? What could I achieve,
trusting the hero in me?

If I were brave, I’d walk the razor’s edge,
where fools and dreamers dare to tread.
I’d never lose faith, even when losing my way.
What step would I take today, if I were brave?

What would I do today, if I were brave?
What would I do today, if I were brave?

What if we’re all meant to do what we secretly dream?
What would you ask, if you knew you could have anything?
Like the mighty oak sleeps, in the heart of a seed,
are there miracles in you and me?

If I were brave, I’d walk the razor’s edge,
where fools and dreamers dare to tread.
I’d never lose faith, even when losing my way.
What step would I take today, if I were brave?

What would I do today, if I were brave?
What would I do today, if I were brave?

If I refuse to listen to the voice of fear,
would the voice of courage whisper in my ear?

If I were brave, I’d walk the razor’s edge,
where fools and dreamers dare to tread.
I’d never lose faith, even when losing my way.
What step would I take today, if I were brave?

What would I do today, if I were brave?
What would I do today, if I were brave?

Jade, a UCSF medical student, honoring one of the women inside at the opening reception at Commonweal

My aim in creating The Woman Inside Project is to shine a light on the beautiful woman that lies within each woman afflicted with breast cancer.  The idea to create this project came to me when, in my work as an OB/GYN physician, I had to tell a woman who was pregnant that her biopsy was positive for breast cancer. Inspired to help her memorialize that moment in time, before she gave birth, lost her breasts, and everything changed, I offered to cast her body in plaster.  The seed of an idea gestated, and five years later, I am giving birth to this exhibition as a way to honor the beauty within each woman, particularly those with breast cancer.

Jo

When I invite a woman to participate in this project, I invite her into my home, where I sculpt her torso using medical plaster bandages. After casting a woman’s figure, I hold up the sculpture and say, “So this is what the world sees. Now tell me about the rest of you.” I then listen for as long as it takes her to unveil the breathtaking woman inside. When she is done telling her story, I transcribe her story into a first person narrative of the beauty I see within her (and geez, are these women gorgeous!)

Some of the women I sculpted describe the process as a spiritual healing of sorts, during which I touch their bodies, place bandages over their wounds, then remove the bandages, leaving them feeling whole.  For others, the process is traumatic, dredging up painful memories of surgical bandages and scars. Either way, the experiences are authentic, and I feel blessed to have been there, holding hands, holding space.

Lissa Rankin's The Woman Inside Project at Commonweal, Bolinas, CA

While traumas such as breast cancer crack us open and force us to grow, we all experience painful wounds that threaten to unravel us.  It’s how we respond to our wounds that tests us and gives us the opportunity to blossom. When you experience The Woman Inside Project, my goal is that each of you not only sees the beauty within these women, but that you see the beauty within YOU.

While I chose as models breast cancer survivors because their wounds are so visible, I could have sculpted any group of survivors, and the stories would be equally riveting and awe-inspiring.  When people have been to hell and back- and you invite them to tell their truth- what emerges is a slender green stalk that, with tending, blooms into full flower.  The women who participated in this project have created a garden for which I can claim no credit.  It has been an honor to be their witness.

SHE LIVES

After five years in the works, tonight is the first time The Woman Inside Project will be exhibited. I am honored and blessed to be showing this body of work with kick ass photographer and Pink Goddess Nancy Bellen, who has overcome breast cancer herself.

SHE LIVES: Photos by Nancy Bellen, sculptures by Lissa Rankin

Our statement about the show:

She lives through the words “You have cancer.”  She lives without knowing what tomorrow will hold. She follows a path towards recovery, and rallies the troops to help her overcome. She is not defined by her illness. She transforms. She surrenders to the Universe. She loves fearlessly. She takes off the mask.  She speaks her truth.  She rides the open road, giggling at gas stations. She plants a garden and watches it grow.  She dances with her arms held high and her head thrown back. Sometimes, she succumbs to the disease, but she lives on still, ever present. She cannot be broken because SHE LIVES.

SHE LIVES: Photos by Nancy Bellen, sculptures by Lissa Rankin

About their show, Bellen and Rankin say, “This show is not about breast cancer. It’s about living. We aim to shine a light on the fact that we all experience and recover from loss over and over again in our lives.  Whether we lose a job, a loved one, a marriage, a dream, or a breast, we live still.  Not to diminish what anyone experiences, but we get to choose how we live in the face of loss.  Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. Joy is a choice. This show is about how people live in the face of adversity. It’s about the resiliency of the human condition.”

SHE LIVES: Sculptures by Lissa Rankin, Photos by Nancy Bellen

Our show SHE LIVES opens at Commonweal today

She Lives
A Collaborative Installation with
Lissa Rankin and Nancy BellenJanuary 24 – March 6, 2010

Opening Reception:
Sunday, January 24 from 3-5 PM
Commonweal Gallery

451 Mesa Road

Bolinas, CA

Lissa Rankin at the opening reception

Seeing the beauty within each one of you,
Lissa

Lissa Rankin & Nancy Bellen

Mom & Dad, back when I was just a twinkle in their eye

It has been a week of winter storms here in Northern California this week- hailing, winds blowing, lightning snapping trees, thunder shaking the very foundation beneath us. It seems only fitting, given that it is the four year anniversary of my Perfect Storm.  Four years ago today, my beloved father left this earth for a better place, and although he said goodbye with total peace, those of us who loved him found ourselves bleeding from the gaping hole he left in our lives.  My daughter had just been born two weeks earlier via C-section. My healthy young brother, who had flown out to say goodbye, landed in the hospital in full-blown liver failure and missed being at the bedside when Dad breathed his last breath. My 16-year old dog died without me. And so I found myself like Dorothy in the tornado, spinning in circles and landing someplace completely different than where I started. My Perfect Storm began the personal transformation that launched me onto the path I walk today.

Four years is a long time. It’s how long it took me to finish college.  Medical school lasted four years. Residency- another four years. My first marriage lasted four years. There seems to be a theme in my life around the four year mark- and here I am. Four years after my Perfect Storm, looking back, remembering Dad.

Dad, crying at my wedding

I remember how he built five-story high radio towers on every home my family ever owned so he could talk to strangers in South America on ham radios at no cost.  (Skype would surely blow him away).  I remember how he bought Mom a pregnant cow on their anniversary (a big step up from the year he gave her an oil can). I remember how he loved to hang out by the barbecue grill and make small talk with everyone as they waited from their ribs.  But most of all, I remember his ginormous heart, the one that paid for multiple kids who weren’t his to finish college, the one that tithed to his church his whole life, not because he had to, but because he believed. I remember how he would pick up the phone when Mom and I talked for hours. He never had much to say, but he didn’t want to miss a word.  I remember how my physician father, who never pressured me to follow in his footsteps, stood beside me when I graduated from medical school, how he passed the torch and said, “Now YOU’RE Dr. Rankin.”  I remember how we always said goodbye (“I love you Dad.”  “I love you too, baby.”) I remember how he hobbled me down the aisle at my wedding, using the cane he needed to help him overcome multiple sclerosis from the time he was my age. I remember how Dad never let his handicap keep him from lurching down a hiking trail or stumbling down a mountain on skis.  I remember how he never got upset at what he couldn’t do. Instead, he rejoiced in what was possible.

Dad and me at my med school graduation

I’ll never forget how I let Dad down, two divorces later. I know he wanted me to have what he and Mom had- 40 years of faithful companionship. But he never made me feel like a failure. Instead, when he heard I would no longer be able to use my ex-husband’s car to transport my art, he sent me an old beater truck as my new art-mobile.  He wanted to drive it to me, cross-country, on a Thelma & Louise adventure of his own with a trusted friend, but Mom put the kibbutz on that idea (two old guys in a beater truck for 1000’s of miles? She was thinking- NO.)

I’ll never forget how, when he was dying of a brain tumor, he waited to die until my baby was born, so he could hold her, and we could tell Siena that her Papa loved her so much that he waited for her. I’ll never forget the day he asked if he could leave this earth, the day I wanted to say no but had to say yes.  I’ll never forget my mother, throwing herself across his still-warm body, crying, “David, I love the way you died.”

I’ll never forget…

Mommy remembers working side by side with Dad to keep their Georgia farm running, marveling at the progress a hard day of manual labor brought.  She remembers Rummikub championships that would go on for weeks. Scores were usually tied- but nobody much cared who won.  She remembers watching Dad and I walking down the street when we were in Indian Princess together- he was Big Acorn. I was Little Squirrel.  She remembers finding Dad pinned under a tractor and how she was somehow able to lift the tractor off him as if it was a feather.  She remembers how she dressed him up for Halloween in my sister Keli’s gymnastics outfit with a hairband, leotard, and tights. He could barely breathe (and you can imagine that his costume didn’t leave much to the imagination, if you know what I mean…) But he was a good sport about the whole thing.

Mom & Dad at the BBQ grill, where you could always find Dad licking his chops

She remembers 22-year old Dad taking her to Bok Tower in Florida, where he waited until the chimes went off at 2 o’clock so he could propose. He had tried to propose once before, but a coral snake scared him out of it.  But her favorite memory (she had a hard time narrowing it down after 40 years together) was right after I was born, when he was a young doctor, who snuck into the room, against hospital policy, to nuzzle me to his cheek. When the charge nurse kicked him out of the room, he leaned into my mother and said, “It was worth it.”

Mom, Dad, and Me!

And so it was. It was all worth it. Every peal of laughter. Every tear. Every swollen moment of love. Every loss. Even with the pain, it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. And so- here we are, four years later, the end of another cycle in my life- the beginning of a new one.

It’s hard to say that a loss so tragic could ever have a silver lining. And yet, like every storm cloud, it has. Four years ago, when I lost my father, I was sleeping through my life. Losing Dad woke me up. Now, four years later, everything has shifted.  My life was so dramatically disrupted that I could no longer stay asleep. The loss and pain became action that brought my life to a whole new level of joy, authenticity, and meaning. It took pain for me to find my purpose.

The whole Rankin family

And now I sit in the middle of another Perfect Storm, listening to the hail hit the roof, the wind howl in the trees, the rain patter. And yet, I know the sun will come out again, just as it has in my life since four years ago.  Four years ago, I thought I might never feel joy again, that I might never heal my broken heart, that my light might never shine again. What I didn’t know then is that these cracks in our lives are what lets the light shine through.

I love you, Dad.  I will miss you always. But I know you are with me still, my angel- just as you have always been.

Have you lost someone you love? Share your memories with us, Pinkies. Did you know Dad? Even better- help me remember….

Heavenly hugs,

Lissa

Dear Pinkies, Please welcome Tre Thorsen, author of Thought by Thought, a blog about listening, heeding, nurturing, loving…being true to ourselves, to one another, to humanity. Today, in the wake of the massive earthquake in Haiti, Tre brings us some thoughts not only about how to help, but to maintain our mojo in the midst of something that seems so uncontrollable. Thank you, Tre – we needed this!

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By now surely you’ve heard coverage of the devastating 7.0 earthquake that shook Haiti Tuesday, January 12, 2010. Like you, I was shocked and saddened and actually broke into tears a bit, as I adore the Caribbean -  that nation’s people in particular are some of the most peaceful and genuinely heartfelt I’ve ever met.

But shock for me soon births call to action, and the first thing I did was begin to pray…

• for my own sense of calm and clarity and strength and peace of resolve to know how to best help…
• that anyone who has lost a loved one find joy after loss and peace in the moment
• that frightened children be comforted
• that the hearts of the world be opened in compassion to the huge tragedy those in Haiti have experienced
• to know that those who are in charge of distributing resources from other areas will have the clarity and wisdom and means to get supplies and help there without distraction or delay
• to defend the presence of resources available for right-now needs for safety and comfort…
• to defend and support anyone that is stuck under rubble or trapped in the mountains or stuck and alone in any way … that will feel the presence and power of the universal divine Love that is with each and all
• to defend anyone who has not yet been found will be located, and that anyone stuck in rubble will not suffocate and will be found
• to defend that there will be a way for supports to arrive, as of this writing, the airport is closed (Note to Pinkies: It’s now open! See how prayer can work!)

I kept on praying like this for a long long while.

Throughout the night on into the dawn, the twitter streams for #Haiti flooded in with similar prayers and hopes. It’s so inspiring when you literally watch in real life the flowing support of thousands of people from around the globe…and realize just how many are saying prayers for Haiti’s people.

But this doesn’t resolve the pull of desperate helplessness that comes over us all too often when there’s a human tragedy like this. So I had to keep on praying for myself too because there’s no rationality in feeling guilty that somehow others received a blow and I didn’t. That’s not logical thinking and it’s also not productive in anyway.

So getting past the pulls of ego and back to how my thoughts can devote themselves to understanding how to help right now these people, again I defended the presence of calm and order, because the pull would try to convince anyone that there’s going to be nothing but chaos and mayhem for a while.

The thing about defending truths: we can’t always see how they’ll pan out in the immediate. Nor can we always see how they’ll bear fruit in the months to come. But just like there’s a deep need to steer a sailboat when the winds kick up rather than be tossed about, there’s a vital need to steer our thoughts. And that is what meditating and prayer does for me….steadies my thoughts so that I’m open and listening to next steps of what is mine to do.

And I thought a lot about how any quake..any stirring and sifting can help all of us wake UP to the needs around us, to deepen our compassion to help whomever and however and wherever. We encounter so many human hearts day in and day out…Let this stirring rouse our compassion to be present – mentally and emotionally present in any encounter with another. Whether a smile or a hello. Humanity is reaching out for love, and we can respond with love.

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So, some practical next steps:

First, for soothing melodic sounds, twitter friend @ambienteer offers his recent compilations for download and requests you please contribute to one of his suggested organizations for aid for Haiti.

For latest tweet coverage, search twitter for #Haiti: Go to http://search.twitter.com and type in #Haiti — the hashtag symbol plus the word Haiti. Any tweet using that phrase will come up and you can see latest tweets and information that way.

You can also search twitter #RedCross, #Unicef, #CARE, #ONE campaign to name just a few of the many organizations already citing ways to help.

Pinkie Heather Shaw offered these suggestions in the Owning Pink community:

The American Jewish World Service has set up the Haiti Earthquake Relief Fund to respond to the crisis by supporting a network of organizations it works with.

AmeriCares has pledged $5 million to Haitian quake relief, and is soliciting donations to a general emergency disaster relief fund to help it accomplish that.

CARE International is sending relief workers into the city of Port-au-Prince and needs funds to support its efforts. Suggested donations range from $50 to $1,000, but you can name your own amount if you prefer.

Catholic Relief Services has an office in Haiti, and luckily it’s still standing even though one of its neighbors collapsed. The organization is accepting donations of any amount.

Direct Relief International has committed up to $1 million in aid through two on-the-ground partners, and is sending containers of medical material aid.

Oxfam has 200 people on the ground to deal with the crisis, and began its efforts by trying to get clean water to victims of the quake. One of its staffers recorded a podcast describing the situation. You can donate on the American or UK site, depending on where you’re located.

Yele Haiti is sponsored by prominent Haitian-born musician Wyclef Jean. You can donate through its website or via text message as described in the next segment.

Musician Wyclef Jean has used Twitter to rally web users to contribute to his grassroots Yele Haiti earthquake fund. He’s urged his followers to text “Yele” to the number 501501. If you send the text, the organization will receive $5. The amount will be added to your next cell phone bill. Consider retweeting Wyclef’s updates and get some of your Twitter followers to donate, too.

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How ’bout your perspective on any of this? How you’re steadying your thoughts, keeping calm, thinking through ways that you can help – whether praying for the nation of Haiti or other ways ?

Striving to stay steady on shaky ground,
Tre (&Heather)

Join The Pink Community and Feel the Love!

This is one of a series of posts I wrote during my retreat at Harbin Hot Springs in early December. I just wanted to share it with you.

I am at Harbin, the birthplace of Watsu (water shiatsu) and it seems criminal not to experience this delicious and unique type of body work- but I am scarred. I received Watsu once before, when I was newly postpartum and my father had just died. It was, at once, one of the best and worst experiences of my life. On one level, it was completely nurturing to be held in the arms of a trusted practitioner, while she swirled me through warm water and held me close in a womb-like environment. I felt so tended and loved that I sobbed through my journey.  On another level, I got so motion sick that I wanted to puke- and I don’t do nausea well. After just completing a pregnancy, my threshold was low, and I dreaded having that feeling again.

Nonetheless, I am here at Harbin, where Watsu was conceived, and I feel like I must try it again. It’s been almost four years. Perhaps it will be different this time. And so I agree to do it. My friend & Mojo Mentor Tricia Barrett is gifting me this experience, and she has chosen Nico, a Watsu provider who has nurtured her before. I am open.

As we begin, Nico puts floats around my ankles and cradles me under my arms, so that I’m floating, eyes closed, in the warm mineral springs both. With my face above the water, he spins and swirls me in gentle circles, as my spine undulates under water. Using his hands, he presses on acupressure points, while the rest of me floats, weightless, in the womb-like pool.

To really experience Watsu, you must surrender completely. You must release control of your muscles and trust your practitioner. It feels quite vulnerable. Not only did I have to let go of my muscles, but I also had to surrender my inhibitions, as we were both naked in a pool.  I’ve never been held by a naked man who was not my lover, but his gentle presence and the sacred space he created allowed me to let go. It is- as much as anything else- an exercise in release- releasing tension, releasing fear, releasing what no longer serves you.

After an hour of nurturing Watsu, I am invited to apply a noseplug and begin a water dance with Nico. When he taps me three times, it’s my signal to hold my breath, so he can take me underwater and help me surrender even further. I am undulating like a dolphin. I am curled in the fetal position and rolled underwater. I am rocked and held- and suddenly, I am transported into an altered state where Nico becomes my father, who passed away nearly four years ago, just before my first Watsu experience.

I don’t remember ever being held in the naked arms of my father, but I’m sure it happened at some time in infancy. Now, the forty-year-old me is held by the angel of my father, and I am rocked, held against his chest so that the chest hair tickles my cheek. The tears begin to flow. I have missed my father so much. It is so lovely to have him back. He floats me around the pool, guiding me safely through the underwater world that has always frightened me but doesn’t now. I feel disoriented, weightless and unanchored, but I don’t care. I am safe with my father, and I know he will protect me.

When the movement is finished, he holds me into a ball and gently presses my back against the back of the pool. Slowly, he guides one foot onto the floor of the pool, then the other- and for the first time in an hour and a half, I am standing on my own two feet, but I am still held.  Then a hand touches my chest, pushing me gently away, and the sobs come. “No, Daddy. Don’t go. Please don’t leave me again. Please, won’t you stay?”

But the hand releases, and I am alone standing in a warm pool as the spirit of my father says, “You don’t need me to hold you anymore. I am always with you. You are never alone. You must stand on your own two feet and navigate this world by yourself. You carry inside of you half of my DNA and all of my strength and courage. You need not cling to the past. You may move into your power without me in the physical realm. I am so proud of you and all you’re doing.”

And then he is gone. And I can’t stop crying.

When I open my eyes, I am alone in the pool, free to cry without restriction, to let it all go, to surrender to the wave of sadness and loneliness, to relish the moment of having my father back with me, to feel my body in it’s jelly-like state, to BE.

And then Nico is back, and we hug. And I am moving forward in my life. This powerful healing is opening something within, something hard to define in words. But it is freeing, a liberation of the soul, an awakening of the heart, an invitation to fully experience what’s next, knowing that my father is with me always.

Still floating,

Lissa

Join The Pink Community and Feel the Love.

I’ve been having a rough week, as those of you who follow me on Facebook and Twitter may have realized. I’ll give you more details about why soon, but suffice it to say that I think I’m going to have to let go of something I care for deeply. I will have to say goodbye to a dream. I will disappoint people and maybe even piss them off. I am mourning the loss of what I thought could be, realizing that I am attached to the fantasy, but the fantasy is not real. It exists only in my head.

How often do we do that? We love “the perfect guy” in our heads, but he’s not really who we want him to be. We attach to a fantasy about friendships, jobs, even luxuries vacations. Christmas morning leaves us longing because our dream of what it would be like to be home with our families doesn’t come true. We WANT to believe. And yet, deep down, we know that the fantasy lacks any basis in reality.

Right now, I’m in the discovery process- trying to sort out whether it’s definitely time to let go of my dream or whether there’s a kernel of hope to be salvaged. But in my gut, I think I know already. So I cry and sit with the sadness. Letting go is arguably the hardest thing we as humans do, isn’t it?

I am- I know- a pretty positive person.  I feel blessed to have the gift of seeing light in dark places, but we cannot always live in a world of roses and violets. Right now, I’m mourning. And yet, I have faith. I know that this is happening to open up room for something else. My path is forking, when I’m dead set on going straight. But why fight it? Better just to fork, maybe.

Let me tell you the good news. I’ve dropped hints about my sadness, to friends, to Pinkies. And my goodness! My inbox is FULL of loving people sitting silently with my story. Love, support, wisdom, and tears meet me right where I am. I am not alone- and neither are you. What we’re doing here at Owning Pink WORKS! Losing my mojo this week has made me realize just how valuable what we are co-creating is, how beautiful it is to have this place, where loving kindness is our religion. The beauty of realizing that, while we are each unique, we share common threads that weave us together into a tapestry that warms us like a patchwork quilt.  We are shifting something here, Pinkies- something is happening. I can feel it. And this week, I got to receive from Owning Pink what it is we have given birth to here. I can claim no credit for this community. All I did was set the intention- that we would hold a sacred space that would envelope the whole planet with love, safety, friendship, and trust. Everything else has been you. YOU are Owning Pink. And I have had pink blessings heaped upon me this week. I bow at your feet in gratitude.

One Pinkie sent me this, and somehow, I just know that this is meant for all of us.

The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, ‘Yes.’

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Feelin’ it,

Lissa