The night of the day of the aforementioned conversation, Pete and I talked again.  This time, I experienced him more receptive to my desire.  He listened attentively to my feelings, and reflected them back to me.  No negation, instead good listening, which made me feel safer to share what was happening with me.  We dealt with some real things and got to common ground.  He and I are on the same page, which is a relief to me.  SO, now that the immediate “perceived obstacle” is removed, what is really going on?

I did not ever have my own room, except maybe for the couple of years before my sister was born (and I’m not even sure about that).  Not whining, just sayin’.  When I moved to college, I had a shared dorm room.  It was not until I was a junior and moved into a duplex at age 20 that I had a room of my own, and began to taste what it was like to be master of one’s own space.  Of course, I met Peter when I was 21, and have not had my own room since then.

Now what I want is my own room, but not a bedroom…..what I want is a room that is MINE in which I can do what I WANT without being interrupted or distracted or have to move somebody else’s stuff.  JUST MINE.  And what I have realized is that I sound like a 3 year old kid!  MINE, MINE, MINE!

Well, I am not going to judge that inner 3 year old, but I am also going to include the perspective of the wise parent inside, who will temper the 3 year old’s insistence with some wisdom.  I am reflecting about why I feel I need an office to do the work I need to do, how I can proceed with that work to the extent that I can (without the office) until it manifests, and finally, what other ways I put things in front of my just getting DOWN TO IT.  This is all worthwhile reflection.

I wrestle with my inner logician, who says, “You are not making enough money to justify the expanse of renting an office.”  Also, “You are a mom and only have the hours between 9 and 2 (when BNO  -Boy Number One-  gets home from school) to do your work; does it really make sense to rent an office that will be empty so much of the day?”  And, “You’re a writer, why can’t you just sit on the couch and write there?”  And so many other perfectly sound reasons not to pursue this desire to have my own space.  Whew, all of this inner wrestling makes me tired. 

But there is a wiser voice, too, that is NOT defined by logic, but adds to logic in a feeling sense….it says that it is good and right to begin to bring this into my life because my timing is right.  It says there is nothing wrong with indulging this desire, and that it is in fact good for me to do so.  It says that I am freeing up and emerging in ways that will support the expenses and my desire to also benefit the financial well-being of my family.  I am also told it is indeed part of the universe’s desire for me, and that I will be supported.

So, I will balance the needs of my inner logician with the urging from my spirit to have the space in which to develop the things I will offer this world.  In the mean time, I will move forward and get some things done, even if my outer environment is not exactly the way I want it.  I will move forward and trust……It’s a-gonna happen.

Journaling this morning….11-19-09

I’m feeling sad lately not to have an office space that is my own room.  Licia’s space, where I can work on art and writing.  Crying about it this morning.  I am told this relates to being a teenager and not having much of my own, including my own room or private space.  Of course, Peter is worried about the money, and I think of this too.  I know my writing will not yield much in the money department for a while, but have been guided to create some teleclasses and local classes, so this should pay for any office I rent.  I am told it will be March of 2010, now.

What does it mean to have a quiet, dedicated space for me to do what I want to in?  I am definitely needing to relive being a teenager and fill up that empty reservoir.  Of course, Peter is correct in citing that I have had my own space, in Asheville, in the apartment in Del Norte, and in the gallery space.  And I loved having those spaces, especially the Asheville one, because it was purely mine.  The Del Norte spaces I liked less because it was shared, and not quiet.  I can understand that he sees me needing an office or studio as unjustified spending because I don’t bring in the money.  I say this to myself every day, as a matter of fact.  What can I do for money?  Why haven’t I made money before to the extent that it supports my having a space?  Why does it have to cost my family for me to have this?

But I also think that I am coming into a new space in my life because my kids are getting older and needing me less.  Before, I always had them in the back of my mind, and if they called from school or the years I home schooled them, it was me that ran to serve, me that got interrupted, me that multi-tasked.  They have always been my top priority, and that has been as it should be.  Peter doesn’t understand this because he has been able to be away and dedicated in his job.  I know he is under so much pressure being the bread winner for our family, and I am grateful for this because it has enabled me to raise the boys and truly be there for them.

 But now, they are getting more involved in things and doing their own thing…and I am needing to have a quiet, uninterrupted place where I can leave my things, not have to move from couch to chair to bedroom, where I can walk in and out and leave projects in motion, a space that is mine alone.  Is this too much to ask for?

Perhaps that is what I have been doing with the blog and websites over these years…defiantly creating a room of my own, in which I get to be the boss, I get to decorate the walls with Kiss posters if I want, I get to have control over something that is only mine, for a change…..making my presence felt and trying to do it in ways that justify expense or my existence in the world….by trying to make money for my family, my offering services to humanity for free for years and years….what if I am allowed to do it just because I am worth it?

Today I spoke to Peter about how much I enjoyed using his home office as a dedicated space while he was gone to Colorado this last week.  Of course, my stuff needed to be moved in order for him to resume working in his office space.  I understand that.  But when I was expressing my need for my own space this morning, Peter interrupted me to argue with what I was saying, rather than to listen deeply to what I was trying to say.  Apparently, it hurt my feelings because now I am not smiling at him.

Here’s what I know: I am emerging.  I need space in which to do that.  I am always going to be the mom and wife and partner in this family, but in the few hours that I can, I need to have my own space in order to do the work I’m meant to do in this world.  For reasons that I can’t seem to logically explain, it is hard to do that in my house due to all of the interruptions and noises and distractions and things beckoning at me to complete them.  Even when I had my own office space, it had to be about building a business, and that conflicted greatly with writing, which is not a money producer for me (yet).  Plus, I was still very much mom to my boys…I did not have the mental space unoccupied that I am starting to feel freeing up now. 

NOW, I feel as though I might have a chance to have the focus and the drive and the discipline to write those books that have been hounding me every moment of my existence to be written.  It could not have been so before without it costing my family something…I feel now it would be a benefit to my family for me to get these things done.  I am a nicer person when I write, and feel better about myself when I get a chunk of writing done each day.  And it is so much more doable to do these things in a dedicated room of my own.

Here is what I want:  a big room, like a studio, or a couple of rooms…one is comfy and soft, and this is the Writing Room as well as where I would see clients.  The other is the Art Room, where I will have tables and shelves and organized bins with my art supplies in them.  I can leave art projects out on the tables because we will not have to use them to eat dinner on.  It is inviting, and yummy, the way I always decorate my spaces.  When I walk through the door, I instantly relax and take a deep breath.  It is quiet in this space…no noisy neighbors, no shared walls with a corporate office or rap music producer or a college kid with stereo.  It’s my universe, and I feel full ease and permission to be me.

Universe, please send it my way.

I have been ruminating on marriage and commitment to a Beloved Other recently since I celebrated my 23^rd anniversary with my sweetie, Peter.  I know there are many opinions about marriage as an “institution”, and I’m not here to argue with anyone or convince anyone about marriage being a desired state to live in.  I just want to talk about mine.

Growing up with my parents, I saw marriage at its best as unreliable and unstable, and at its worst, as a torture chamber.  My mother and father eloped when they were quite young, and my mother had me when she was a mere 18 years of age.  She went directly from her father’s house to her husband’s arms, and chose not to have time in her life to prove to herself that she could make it on her own.  Neither my mother nor my father had the benefit of time and experience to grow and mature in themselves before commitment to one another; therefore, they had by default to do that with one another and with their children. 

Their marriage was shaky from the beginning; they were quite infatuated with one another, so that held them together for some years.  But their lack of emotionally maturity caused them to fight with one another; their alcoholism caused them to unconsciously play out mean games, my father the angry dominator, and my mother the crying victim.  Their lack of boundaries emotionally and sexually drove them to have many sexual affairs by the time they divorced after 20 years of marriage.  Their union did not feel holy to me, their concept and modeling of love did not feel divine.  In fact, it felt like the opposite; the environment and climate that their marriage created felt unsafe, chaotic, frightening, even dangerous.  I was relieved that they separated; I wondered why they hadn’t done it sooner.

As I came into the age of wanting to be with another, I was fortunate to be drawn to a young man in my senior year who was still innocent in his own love experience, as I was.  We were able to be gentle and shy in our explorations of what love meant with one another.  It was an ideal first love, I think.  His respect and kindness with me were the complete opposite of the roaring rage of my predator father, who took what he wanted from my mother with a set of his massive jaw, and when she was not available, passed out from drunkenness, or hiding from him, he took it from me.

Later, after the blurry university years where I played out my internalized parental modeling in endless and repetitive fashion, I met my Beloved Peter while applying for a job as a server at a popular Atlanta restaurant.  I was at the end of my rope, completely hopeless in the love relationship department, jaded and burned out.  I had given up; interestingly, it was this surrender that opened the path for Peter and I to SEE one another.

We both tell the story similarly…we saw each other across the room, and there was a sense of recognition.  A feeling of “Oh, THERE you are!”  The feeling I had was of being drawn in to something much larger than myself.  Sure, I could have walked away, but I was curious.  This feeling was different than anything I’d experienced.

It didn’t take very long to understand that we were meant to be together.  On our first date, we walked Piedmont Park together, sharing spiritual philosophies and favorite ice cream flavors.  In the midst of my answering the latest round of “what’s your favorite___”, he said, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”  I just kept talking…to his credit, he bravely said, “Didn’t you hear what I said?  I think I’m falling in love with you!”  This stopped me in my tracks; how could I ignore it now?  This was my clue that this man, this relationship, this love was going to be different.

Oh, the pain of failed love relationships that I carried in my heart!  The sad example of years of mutual hurting that my parents provided, along with my attempts to find love by compromising my body, mind and spirit, had created a defensive and jaded wall around my heart.  This complete honesty from Peter, this innocence and confession of his heart, totally disarmed me.  Both of us threw away the game playing that seems to prevalent in the dating scene, and spoke deep truths to one another.  It was a great relief. 

Some data was still buried deep in my knowing that his honesty awoke.  Once the rusty door to my innermost center was sprung open by his simple offering to love me, an old song came faintly from inside; a clear stream came trickling through until it became a rumble and all but washed away the debris lodged there by my previous messy attempts to create relationship.  Peter was the reminder and personification of my childhood concept of love.  I remember skipping around the dining room table at age 4, pretending my love and best friend was playing with me. I saw him clearly; he had dark hair and eyes, and pale skin.  He loved me utterly; I was the apple of his eye, and he would never knowingly hurt me.  I could trust him completely; he was absolutely safe.  I now saw him in Peter, as if I had known as a little girl that I would find him someday.  Peter was a doorway to my most precious and innocent self, and that old knowing had been rushed to the surface by the purity of his love. 

On an ego level, I fought this for awhile; my skepticism about love and marriage certainly caused me to insist that we live together for two years before we married, and my poor Beloved has had to endure all manner of tests that I unconsciously laid at his feet, opportunities to prove his chivalry and the true mettle of his deep feelings for me.  Much to my great happiness and relief, he has always passed.  

It’s not that we haven’t had our human problems, one of which was my angst very early in our relationship about surrendering my protective ego to the purifying flames of greater love.  “Who will I be if I’m not Licia?” I would ask him with worried brow.  I did not trust Peter’s utter loyalty to me for many years, and still I have attacks of outdated, dark concern that seem to emanate from my dustiest inner file cabinet, memories of the ways my parents hurt each other. 

I feel that we agreed to come together at some level, perhaps the soul, for the purpose of healing one another.  We have had some very hard times; there have been periods in our 23 years together that felt like slogging through deep mud, when the spark and inspiration of our original meeting was all that we could muster to remember why we were together.  But we held on through those times, and it enabled us to grow in our mutual respect and knowing of the magic and integrity of our desire to love more deeply, to bring more of our Spirit to this earthly life.

I have come to see the love relationship, and certainly mine, as a Temple of Initiation, an alchemical cauldron in which we have the daily and moment to moment mirroring of our own self in the Beloved Other’s eyes.  If we seek true growth, if we crave spiritual learning and submission to a Greater Teacher, what better Master than our love relationship?  In the coming together of the two, a third is created; it is the classic Trinity, the union of the polarities, the positive and the negative, the yin and the yang, the Great Father and the Great Mother, or the Divine Masculine and the Divine Feminine.  Call it what you will.  Our mutual awareness of a Third Presence of Holiness created by our coming together, of a larger energy field created by our union has invited, inspired and invoked the best of each of us.  In moments of awareness of this Holiness, neither of us wants to lie or be less than pure with one another because that would be desecrating the union.  

The innocence of this ideal is something I can still feel today….the cockles of my heart know this innocence is real.  It is the divine, pure quality of real love.  It is high in vibration, it flies and dances on wings of rainbow colored light, it lifts and inspires, makes me closer to God/dess, yet causes me to weep in celebration of my earthly body which receives Him and holds Him in my arms.  It is a recognition that my True Love, and yes, that I, are physical representations of the Creator, the Divine Masculine and Feminine, the two poles that unite as one to create the All That Is.

Some people do not believe that there is such a thing as true love, in which both partners come together for the purpose of healing, consciousness, and lifting one another up to their highest potential, but here at our celebration of 23 years together, I am blessed to know better. 

Copyright Licia Berry, 2009

We have had an eventful time since we left Tucson! 

The drive over to the Pacific was merciless as we did not make reservations (BIG NO-NO when you are driving something 35 feet long and weighing 20,000 pounds), so poor Pete was stuck behind Jude’s wheel for 400 miles until we found a place to stop for the night.  That wound up being Live Oak Springs, a lovely hideaway that has been owned by the same family for 25 years east of San Diego off I-8.  We collapsed, ordered in for pizza, and zoned out in front of the TV for the night.

But the following morning as we shook the trauma of the long previous day off, we had an utterly easy drive and got totally high on the Pacific air.  We cruised through San Diego with minimal stress, and headed north on I-5, the road that we think will be the back bone of our west coast trip.  We will deviate here and there, but will come back to I-5 like homing pigeons as we journey.

We ended on Monday, October 27 at San Clemente, a lovely little beach town.  We stayed at the San Clemente State Beach, which is a gorgeous park right on the cliffs with trails down to the beach.  It was a completely perfect orientation for our being on the Pacific coast….I found myself to be in a little shock, still getting used to the changes in elevation since we departed Colorado at over 8000 feet, but what was more intense for me was the change in density, the energy of so many people in a concentrated area.  While the drone of I-5 is constant and loud, the San Clemente area is a great place to get accustomed to the Southern California (So Cal) vibe because of the prolific buffer zone of Nature.

We came here as a destination because Peter made contact with an old high school friend from Flint School, a sailing school that cruised Europe in over the 1978-79 school year.  We won’t get into what a bizarre and unhealthy experience it was here, but suffice it to say that Peter has had some healing to do about it; part of his process was to reach out to others recently to hear what their experiences were.  A true gift for him has been to hear his own experience echoed and confirmed.  As our guidance supported us coming here, one of the absolute gems that he found in his search for friends from his past is Janet Harder, who now resides in the San Clemente area.  She welcomed us with open arms into her home despite not having seen Pete for 30 years, was the most excellent tour guide with suggestions about places to go, made us wonderful food, and even hooked us up with the gorgeous state park we stayed in.  She is a delight, and I am happy to say, a new friend for me as well!

Janet, Peter and Licia in San Clemente CA

While there, we visited the San Juan Capistrano Mission as part of home schooling to learn about California history.  The oldest building in California, this lovely mission did a great job of linking its long and many-chaptered history together and presenting it to visitors.  I recommend the audio tour that comes with your entrance ticket (thanks for the tip, Janet!).  Of interest to us was how the local Indians, the Acjachemen, assisted the Spanish in building the mission, being close friends and allies for many generations.  To this day, the mission has a special ceremony when a descendant of those Indians passes away. 

Bells and Fountain at San Juan Capistrano Mission 10-29-08

Pete and I even got a date night….we haven’t had one in ages, so it was extra special.  The boys are old enough now that leaving them by themselves for a couple of hours is not a problem…in fact, they are both babysitting age.  We went for a romantic, fog filled night to the Fisherman’s Restaurant on the pier.  We had a delicious dinner, but the view of the foggy evening over the water was unparalleled.

We made a reluctant departure from San Clemente on Halloween, and headed north to Los Angeles (L.A. on Halloween, you say?  That IS scary!)   Obviously, I had to overcome some fear when we were guided to come through here.  But it brought another level of understanding and comfort level about southern California.  Here I have had to confront my judgments about southern California and the people who live here….as usual, what I have found is that judgments are such generalizations, and that they should be challenged and violently broken…..they just aren’t true, and don’t hold up when you come with an open mind and open heart. 

Our adventures in Los Angeles tomorrow……