Doing it Scared (my CLL Journey

Okay this is the proof I got out of my actual pajamas yesterday, if only for an hour.

By: JANA GREENE

Hi. In the interest of journalistic integrity (haha), I feel like adding a disclaimer of some kind to the entries I’m going to be adding in Words by Jana Greene. Because I’m a writer, I like stories to have a clear beginning, middle, and end. I like when I can weave the narrative in clever ways or end up with a cohesive piece.

Yeah, this is NOT that.

When writing about this journey in particular, I am writing stream-of-consciousness-style, and if you don’t want to read me because this page may be full of incorrectly punctuated, rambling, seemingly random words, I get it Sis. I am not over-editing, because that breaks the intention of sharing my heart and makes it sort-of clinical in a way. I’m going to get plenty of “clinical;” this is the opposite, I think.

Yesterday, I had a rollicking good afternoon. Weirdly good. I put on a dress, asked my husband if we could go to dinner. I’m so tired of having cancer-ese language in my head.

I did my makeup, which happens with the relative frequency of a solar eclipse, and my hair – which is very long and very thick, and EXAUSTING to my hypermobile shoulders. And THEN – after alllll that – I look him dead in the eye. “Baby, I’ve used every ounce of my energy getting ready. I’m exhausted.”

“It’s okay,” says he. “Want to order in wings and binge-watch Dexter?”
GOD, I LOVE THAT MAN.

So, lickity-split, I changed back into my “Agape Against the Machine” oversized t-shirt, ordered food, washed off every bit of makeup, plopped on the couch with my beloved, and ate chicken wings King-Henry-the-Eighth style in a MOST unladylike fashion with what little energy I had left.

The energy of a sick person is finite. And some days, it is more finite than others. “But you just DID it,” they say. “Yes!” say I. “And that’s why I can’t do it again!”

Doling it out over the course of the day must be deliberate. We don’t just “do things,” we do things that deplete our body’s energy ration in parcels. The parcels are not of our choosing, even. We wake up, take stock of pain, and – if our pain to exhaustion ratio is high, goals for the day get voted off the island until you are left with one crappy thing to do that isn’t even fun. Disabled bodies are utilitarian, and have no time for frivolity, on low-energy, high-pain days.

The ante was significantly upped with the cancer diagnosis June 13.

Tomorrow morning, I go for an invasive bone marrow test, which by all accounts SUCKS. I feel like up until now, I’ve been pretty accepting of my diagnosis and kind of positive about all this, but I ain’t feeling brave this morning. Fight, Flight, and Fawn all have seats at my breakfast table right now, and they look a hot mess.

So, today, I interrupt my own sometimes-toxic positivity with a special news bulletin:

I’m scared.

For the first time since the diagnosis, I am legitimately scared. I don’t know what triggered the fear (having cancer, probably – ha) but as tomorrow’s test looms, I’ve decided NO THANK YOU PLEASE, I don’t want to do this cancer thing. But thanks for the offer, I already have a full schedule full of trying to stay alive. I already gave at the office. Dance card is full. I have prior engagements. But thanks for stopping by!

But that’s not reality, so I just need to be able to say, “I’m f*cking terrified.”

When a disabled person gets cancer, there are “people of the Lord” who assume God’s got it OUT for me. Why else would he “allow” all of this? Or this secular quip: “You’re the unluckiest person I know.”

But I don’t feel unlucky. I am surrounded by light and support and love. I just feel scared today, with a chance of intermittent sadness. Not strong. Not perky and upbeat. Just run-of-the-mill scared. I feel both: Scared AND lucky to have such an amazing tribe helping me make it through.

So I’ll shut this laptop, and light some candles, and get into a quiet spot, and breathe deliberately. I might take out my tongue drum and play some tones, focusing on each one as it completes its own life cycle of vibration, letting the sound take my fear down a buttonhole. Light some sage, let it’s perfume reassure me. Pray honest. Do some breathwork. Maybe I’ll get into the paints and make a mess today. Talk to God, and listen for his answer back, which can come in a myriad of ways – you just have to have the awareness to hear it. (Just ask for greater awareness of the Divine. God wants us to have the peace that passes understanding. He is not stingy with it! Don’t believe me? God lit in the forest by yourself for a while and receive. I highly recommend.

These are some of my tools to treat the fear when it comes. I acknowledge it, thank it for trying to protect me, but busy myself in art and music until it can stop actin’ a fool. And perhaps in the coming weeks, I will have another energy burst and put on the little black dress again, and actually make it out the front door! Maybe get all the way to a nice restaurant, where I’ll be able to stay awake, digest food like a normal person, and have a whole-ass date, start to finish. My husband deserves that – and so much more.

Signed,

Afraid in the Port City

Blessed be, friends.

June 30, 2024 2

Thoughts on the Recent Debate that Nobody Asked for, but I’m Writing About Anyway

By: Jana Greene

I’m so old, I remember when presidential debates were civil and if one talked over the other, it made news because it was RUDE. Remember when rudeness mattered?

I’m going to stray a bit from my usual content to vent about our current presidential situation, hopefully for the last time, but don’t quote me on that because HOOBOY! It’s going to a bumpy ride.

No. I did not watch the Presidential Debate. So let’s get that out of the way. “But Jana, how do you know it was a disaster if you didn’t watch it?” I’ve unfortunately pored over the snippets and talked to friends who did watch.

Ain’t nobody got anything good to say, unless they are maybe really good at cognitive dissonance, which is when you’ve already made up your mind about a candidate, and anything he says will be processed in your brain IN HIS FAVOR.

The reason I know this is I was the Queen of Cognitive Dissonance not too terribly many years ago. So cocksure was I that I was on the right side of history, I hardly listened to what people who believed differently than me had to say, and when I did, I listened through the filter of already being “right,” which discounts their point-of-view entirely before you’re out of the gate.

And if you have made up your mind already, debates are useless – just a gladiatorial showcase or two old men who have NO concept of what living paycheck to paycheck is, much less be “in touch with the People.” (The PEOPLE? Yeah, that’s US. We fall by the wayside in all of this.)

Also, I hate to state the obvious, but we have seen with our own eyeballs how each of them ACTUALLY “presidents.” So this is season two of a really sh*tty series and I cannot BELIEVE it was renewed for a new season.

Didn’t most of us teach our kids not to bully others, call other children names, to share their toys and resources, and to use their indoor voices?

We taught them to work out their feelings out without resorting preschool behavior (even though THEY were ACTUAL preschoolers?) At tender ages, they learned to advocate for themselves without being disrespectful, to not inturreupt each other, and to tell the truth?Weren’t these the baseline manners and respect we instilled in them when they were in diapers, for @&$/# sake?

SO WHY CAN’T ADULT LEADERS MANAGE TO TO DISPLAY ONE SINGLE BIG-BOY BEHAVIOR? NO REGARD FOR RESPECT, AND NO RISING FIRST- GRADER MANNERS? If they were on their BEST behavior (you’d think auditioning for Leader of the Free World would inspire classiness, but you’d be wrong) during a debate, at least we would know they had some civility. But now I’m thinking HOLY SHITEBALLS, maybe this IS their BESST behavior. Which explains so much…

What’s that you say? They are righteously upset, and that makes it okay? Hell naw. It doesn’t make it okay. This country is broke as a joke, in more ways than one. Guess who else led “passion” for what they do? Nero. Hitler. Caligula. Hell, even Ted Bundy.

Maybe some of are staying away from politics right now NOT because we don’t care about our country, but because we care so much about her we can barely stand to watch the fall of an empire, in the name of Christian nationalism, no less, by a man who displays not ONE SINGLE FRUIT IF THE SPIRIT. Not even a little, shriveled grape of grace, or dingleberry of actual truth. (Note to self: incorporate “dingleberry of truth” in everyday conversation.)

The sitting president is giving Weekend at Bernie’s. I don’t actually thing Biden is evil, just aged and currently on some other planet, which also does us NO good here on earth, that he is supposed to be RUNNING a portion of. The other is, well, Trump.

Shame on us. Shame on us for accepting this. Shame on us for propping up Biden and expecting him to have ONE coherent thing to say, and shame on us for allowing that tyrannical, arrogant, extremely UN-Jesusy megalomaniac who has published his own version of the BIBLE (which doesn’t phase some of you, wtf?) get THIS FAR.

We are the laughingstock of the entire world and I ain’t even mad about it because DAYUM, old farts!

Through the supposed “leaders of the free world” we saw a political version of The Punch and Judy Show (Biden would be familiar with that.) You gave us a shitshow SO SPECTACULAR, it will go down in the books as the single most undignified, unhinged, embarrassing impressions of two entitled, pull-up wearin’, nanny-nanny-boo-boo-stick-your-head-in-doo-doo Kindergartener displayin’ blowhards, for ALLLLL the world to see.

Returning to my regularly scheduled content next, which is usually about my woo woo spirituality, recovery, the frustrations with and triumphs over chronic illness, including cancer.

I would rather write about my chronic illness than the chronic state of the union – the union is whack, and our candidates are a cancer on this great nation, no less toxic than a percentage of the janky blood my marrow is making – useless in any practicality and snuffing the life out its host. As Americans, we are playing host to this political machine, and it is sucking the life out of us. It is ABSOLUTELY dividing us from one another. Which I think is their whole point.

And with that, I bid you good day. Please smile at strangers. Please feed the hungry. Please be there for your sick friend, open the door for people, and remember that every single person is battling something you don’t see. Please try to remember these two “leaders” don’t your name, or even really care what you think, so long as it translates to money and power.

June 29, 2024 1

Bootstraps, Stiff-Upper-Lips, and Other Useless Coping Mechanisms

By: JANA GREENE

Some days, I just need to have

a teeny-tiny Nervy-B.

And not have to worry about

yanking myself up

by my bootstraps.

Because,

I’m not even wearing boots at all.

I seem to be wearing

emotionality Crocs –

my feelings just as bulky, utilitarian,

and full of holes as a worn-in pair,

(a pair that is – of course –

completely strapless.)

Since the bootstrap method

isn’t working out,

shall I try the “stiff upper lip”?

Channel the ways of my ancestors,

those British stiff-upper-lippers,

And the Irish, stoic in the face of

calamities and potato famines.

Or worse, wail like a banshee

stuck in the quicksand of grief?

Slowly going under, trapped.

Or…

If my spirit feels beat-up

battered, and bruised,

shall I approach this trial

as a soldier?

Standing firm, poker-faced,

trained to tamper down feelings

and alchemize them into rage?

“I’ll give you something to cry about,”

it says,

not realizing I’ve had a lifetime

of things to cry about,

and right at this minute, cancer

is waiting for her

emotional release.

Yes, some days I really just need

a mini Nervy-B.

I’m giving the boot to

pulling myself up –

because I could really use a hand.

I’m giving my emotions

a safe place –

because I could really use

my own permission to feel.

And I’m quitting the “armed” services –

laying down the weapons

I use against myself.

Telling the rage-filled

Drill Instructor in my head

to shut the f*ck up,

please and thank you.

Because this is my Soft Era,

cancer or not.

And tears are welcome here.

Blessed be, friends.

June 27, 2024 7

Fundie Me and Free Me – a Fireside Chat

By: JANA GREENE

A conversation between Fundamentalist Me and New Me:

FUNDIE ME: “Lord, if I ever stray from your will, please just take me home before I disappoint you.”

NEW ME: “Wow. That’s a little dramatic. You are asking God to let you die if you ever start asking questions of a spiritual nature? Isn’t that basically crossing all the “t”s and “i”s, so in case you ever DO stray you can get God on a technicality?”

“No. He’s a good, good father. I will walk each day by faith each day. Because Oh! how he loves me so...”

“He is. And he does love you so. But that prayer is literally the definition of ‘living by the letter of the law. I remember how much you love music. You’ll appreciate it even more in the future. Did you know, all music is worship, by virtue of being a creation of the Universe? Led Zepplin, Indigo Girls….”

“Deceived. Let’s change the subject. This country is going down the tubes! Jesus must be ready to return! Turn before you burn!”

“But ‘it is finished,’ I thought. “To me, that means that it’s a finished work.”

“Speaking of work, this nation was built on…”

“Yeah, in the future, you don’t support blind nationalism.”

“I know that’s not true, because God would have taken me home already if I stopped supporting the nationalist movement. I love my country!”

“Sweet girl, it won’t be the same country by the time you get here, trust me. Better in some ways and so much worse in others. You will care about social justice…”

“Gosh dang! NO.”

“And the death-wish-before-doubt prayer that God will take you right off this earth before he’d let you become liberal….er, um, I mean unholy fallen daughter of the Highest King. You’ll see how whack that is.”

“We are all born unholy. Did you just say ‘whack?’”

“We are all already holy. We are all redeemed. We are all saved. All means all.”

“WELL, I NEVER!”

“Actually, you do. You will ‘never.’ And your heart will be full, because you have no other motive than love. You’ll go to Pride rallies and pass out Free Mom Hugs…”

“No. There’s no way. You can love them without approving of their lifestyles.”

“… And the people there will sometimes dissolve into your arms and sob, because their own parents reject them just on the basis of their sexuality.”

“Well, they shouldn’t. BUT you’re playing fast and loose with ‘grace’ to ‘condone’ all that.”

“What’s to condone? As turns out, that’s not what loving unconditionally is supposed to look like; having ‘buts‘.”

“I mean, love the sinner, hate the sin. You keep saying ‘love.’ Love is discipline. So that’s not what God meant.”

“Isn’t it? Once I filtered the BS out that I feel like Jesus wouldn’t approve of, it made things so clear.”

“Did you just say ‘BS’?”

“Yes. And I say a lot of other potty words too. After repressed for so long. I now know that cussing is not what God meant about keeping our language and hearts pure. He meant don’t use your words – even scripture – as a weapon towards others. Using language for cruelty, exclusion…”

“You don’t say the ‘F word,’ Lord, please say ‘no.”

“Oh yes, you’re quite fond of that word. And the funny thing is, so are many of your ex-evangelical girlfriends who never swore because a Proverbs 31 woman wouldn’t say naughty words, and that was the standard for the godly faith of a woman.”

*Plugs ears* “LALALALALA…”

“Oh, you will learn that Eastern religions have a lot of truth. You’ll do yoga on occasion, and…”

“NOT YOGA!”

“Listen. It’s perfectly effin’ okay.”

“You went and said the ‘F’ word.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“God corrects…”

“Then let God correct, as he is far more persuasive and compassionate than we could ever be. Just love one another. He wasn’t just whistling Dixie when he said, ‘love is the greatest of these.”

“It can’t be that simple. You cannot go around willy-nilly approving of people the way they ARE, when they should…’

“Yeah, you’ll learn not to ‘should’ all over other people. And it IS that simple.”

“Well, that’s not ‘love.’ The BIBLE CLEARLY SAYS -“

“Yeah, about that…once you study Christ without 2,000 years of human dogma considered, you’ll learn the Bible ain’t too clear, period.”

“Lord, why am I still living? Oh the humanity!”

“Calm down, you’re going to love God more than ever when all is said and done. Not the concept of God you grew up with, though.”

“Well, I KNOW God, and…”

“You know the absent or spiteful god. God is incredible. So let him out of the box, sister girlfriend.”

“That’s scary. That’s gotta be the devil talking.”

“Yeah, that’s a whole other subject for another time. In the future, Fundie Jana, I’m going to love you, too. Because you strived so hard for a God to accept you, when your very existence proves that acceptance.”

“That’s New-Agey. Please repent. Before it’s too late.”

“I’m extending grace to you. The grace that you have deserved all along, but never claimed.”

“That’s prideful. We don’t ‘deserve’ anything.”

“And you’ll see the bigger picture and realize every single belief you practiced was necessary for you to be free in the end. And you will be free.”

“That doesn’t sound right.” *Wrings hands*

“You’re so afraid just to be. Please believe God is not trying to get you on a technicality.”

“But the ‘human heart is deceitful….”

“God wouldn’t have place a curious mind if you weren’t allowed to doubt and delve.”

“I’m so worried I’m going to lose the love of God if I open my mind.”

“Yes, that’s what kept you sick and stuck for a long time. Reconstructed You will be safe. You will be strong. It is truly for freedom that you have been set free. I love you just the way you are.”

June 26, 2024 5

Skin Deep (or: Bonus Cancer)

By: JANA GREENE

Hi friends.

Send me your warm fuzzies, good vibies, and petitioning God for a good outcome today?

Having the skin cancer on my leg removed via MOHs surgery. Completely separate and unrelated to my leukemia, because, um…go big or go home, I guess? (*shrugs and cries simultaneously whilst rocking in fetal position, then gets up and deals with it because THEM’S THE BREAKS KID!*)

They biopsy around the legion (original legion has been removed) to get the margins and have a lab onsite to test each layer for malignancy, leaving the would open as they keep excising around it, until all cancerous cells are gone. It can take hours and hours.

It’s really not that big of a deal, especially with everyone else I’m having to contend with right now, health-wise. But I could do without the aggravation. But we all know aggravation is crappy at taking its turn, always rudely infringing on us at the least opportune times.

If you’re keeping up with my journey (I don’t know that it’s a journey solely about physical health (is it ever? we are not just our bodies, where our minds and souls live. Healing has to be a full-participation thing – and I’m going to be working on my spirit, mind, and emotional well-being with every bit as much fervor as I’m going to put into my physical self.

Until next time, blessed be. And thank you.

June 25, 2024 6

Sorrow Like Sea Billows, Peace Like a River

The Hubs and I went for a little adventure in Southport the other day. We made a whole day of exploring after a lovely ferry ride across the choppy Cape Fear River. Well, we made half a day out of it anyway.

By: JANA GREENE

Nobody talks about what it’s like the first week after a cancer diagnosis. You’ve been leveled, and you know you have a “long road ahead, “but that road is a raging river so far as you can tell. The same day I received my CLL diagnosis, I was also diagnosed with a basal skin cancer on my leg. What are the odds? Two cancers in one day? I never half-ass anything!

Instinctually, you want to lay in bed and lament your fate, with weeping and probably gnashing of teeth, but you have things you want to do. And none of us have the time we think we do, so I’m trying to do the things. Like get out of bed. Like brush my hair. Like meditate until my mind quiets. Sorrow rolls like sea billows, a Nor’easterI didn’t know was coming. But I also have times of peace like a river, attending my way. There is no manual for this. I don’t really know how to feel most of the time.

I was having a good day and we were down for an adventure, so the Hubs and I spent some time in Southport. We even took the ferry across the Cape Fear River. Ferry rides are always fun.

One of the places we visited is the Maritime Museum. It has all the usual small-town museum kitch – displays about pirate life, a few real buttons from the Queen Anne’s Revenge (Blackbeard’s sunken ship.) Displays about hurricanes that have come ashore here. An “interactive” fishing exhibit. That kind of thing.

But what stopped me in my tracks was a display featuring little porcelain figurines of sailors trying to row themselves out of Hurricane- whipped seas. Every crest of the ocean higher than the last, roiling waters with no safe harbor in sight. And this little sculpture spoke to me. It reminded me right away of my favorite old hymn – “It is Well With my Soul,” by Horatio Spafford.

You see, Spafford wrote the hymn after several traumatic events leveled him. He had been a successful attorney and real estate investor who lost a fortune in the great Chicago fire of 1871. Around the same time, his beloved four-year-old son died of scarlet fever.1n 1873, hit by the economic downturn, he planned to travel to England with his family. He sent his wife Anna and four daughters ahead on the SS Ville du Havre, a French ocean liner, while he finished up business. He planned to follow in a few days’ time. While crossing the Atlantic Ocean, the ship was involved in a terrible collision and sunk. More than 200 people lost their lives, including all four of Horatio Spafford’s precious daughters. His wife, Anna, survived the tragedy. Upon arriving in England, she sent a telegram to her husband that began: “Saved alone. What shall I do?”

My grandfather had loved the sea, though he was never a sailor. And he had his own struggles, as we all do. He met up every day with depression, but he also had this bright light – like the bulb in a lighthouse. He showed me the way many times. I remember watching him paint a great Cutty Sark ship. His oil paintings of oceans were always depicted with rough waters, and he spared none of the turquoise, deep blues, and crests of white foam to get the point across – chaos is the nature of this world. Rough seas ahead!

Some might think his paintings were of angry seas. But to me as a child, surrounded by the smell of turpentine and admiration for my Papa, it looked happy enough to me – like riding riding the tilt-a-whirl at the state fair. A busy, alive sea…. WHEEEE!

My creative Papa was also a choir director, and when I’d tag along to his practices, he would often choose the old hymn. It is actually a horrible story to tell a little kid. I’m not sure I would have told that story to a four-year old, but it was a different time. I definitely never forgot the song and its meaning.

It means, “Shit happens, kid. Things will occur in your life that an earlier version of you would have sworn would kill you. Hoist the sails. If you don’t have sails, trust the wind. If you can’t trust the wind, trust God. Because tragedy is inevitable, and saved alone, what shall we do?”

Ah, but we are not rowing alone, and we are not saved alone. We are saved by a God who knows we will get roughed up a little and saved by each other – crewmates. Keep rowing over the roiling seas, and I will too. I’m grateful a little plastic sea featuring sailors in danger reminded me to trust God in a small-town museum in the middle of a crisis.

Horatio Spafford had to go through hell in order to create something that has brought untold millions hope and strength.

I have complained to the manager (God) about this protocol, that in order to bring hope, you have to walk through despair. Doesn’t seem like a good business plan but what do I know? He is the Captain, and I am not. Whatever my lot, he has taught me to say, it is well. It is well with my soul. (Today anyway, which is the only day all of us know we have.)

“And Lord, haste the day with the faith shall be sight; it is well, it is well with my soul.” I pray it is well with yours, no matter the seas.

Blessed be, friends.

June 21, 2024 2

Scary News and Big Hope – a New Journey Begins

By: JANA GREENE

Hello, friends. I have decided to share my current situation, in the hopes it will help me to process what’s going on, and maybe give someone else hope who is struggling similarly.

I kind of hate that about myself – I want to be mysterious and private, I am just really bad at handling things alone, and there’s nothing worse than feeling like you’re in a sinkhole by yourself, (and nobody will even admit there IS a sinkhole, much less throw you a rope.)

So, I’m sharing this in the hope that you guys will lob some prayers and hope and good vibes my way. I could use it. I also hope by sharing this, maybe someone else facing a difficult diagnosis will feel less alone. I have decided to blog about my journey. Feel free to follow here at wordsbyjanagreene.com if you want to keep up.

Thursday, I saw an oncology hematologist at the Zimmer Center, because I’ve had whacky labs and a ridiculous WBC count for a while now. I have been feeling extra run-down. I already have a host of other major medical issues. Why was I being sent to an oncology specialist? Huh. I figured it was just a mix up. It was not. I was told to expect bad news, which was actually helpful to my mental health, even though was the longest weekend of my life.

Today I got the call that confirmed that I have Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia. “CLL” is sometimes described as “the kind of leukemia you want, if you MUST have leukemia.” It is the only cancer that never goes away – there is no getting rid of it, it’s in my marrow. Many people live 10-20 years with it, sometimes without needing continual treatment. It is also extremely slow-growing and highly treatable. And I’m hanging my hat on that. But it’s still cancer. The next step is a bone marrow biopsy, and a PET scan to make sure it hasn’t spread. The doctor suspects it has not, and I hope he’s right.

On the one hand, I have answers. Mystery pop-up fevers all the time? Oh. Excessive bruising? Well, that makes sense. Mind-melting fatigue? Whelp. On the other hand, I have a long road ahead and I’m organically TIRED. Not just physically, but in every way.

I am pretty sure I have done all five grief stages in the past few days. Denial – poring over my labs determined to find some easy, benign explanation for all of it. And hitting a wall with obvious markers all weekend. Anger – WHAT THE ACTUAL F&%$? Bargaining – well, maybe not so much. At the end of the day, God is in control, and I am not, and I trust that he knows better than me. I feel his presence so intensely that I know the Spirit is buoying me up. I seem to be teetering between Depression (it’s a bummer any way you slice it,) and Acceptance currently. And the notes of acceptance are starting to be the dominant flavor.

I plan on letting my feelings have their say in all of this, even though it feels like my brain is being operated by untrained carnie workers right now.

The very hardest thing about this has been breaking the news to my three precious daughters yesterday. Literally the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I am so fortunate – they are all such incredible people and so supportive. And my husband is my ROCK. And I have such beautiful friends surrounding me.

Some people might think I’m the unluckiest woman in the world, what with so many health issues. But I see it differently – how lucky am I to be surrounded with so much love? So lucky. This is not going to steal my faith. Or my sense of humor. Or hope. It can’t. I won’t let it.

Blessed be, friends. I love you all.

June 17, 2024 8

Keep Going Kiddo

Okay, it’s giving 4th grade
(but I’m a child of God, sooo…)

By: Jana Greene

I used to doodle a lot in church. Some would call it “prophetic art.” I’m of the mind that all art is prophetic, in that it releases energy. It releases dreams.

This week has been a most difficult week…maybe one of the most difficult ever. Bad news stacked on bad news. But still, deep inside, it is well with my soul. Not my body – and certainly not in my mind!

But my soul? A peace that I have NO business having – on paper. I can only thank God for making sure my spiritual sails were hoisted and my rudder steady. He saw it coming. And he made a way.

When peace like a river, attendeth my way.

But also when sorrows like sea billows roll.

This morning, I doodled again. I got the message loud and clear:

KEEP GOING, KIDDO.

Let the chips fall, but keep going. Accept bad news, but keep going. Cry, scream, and give God a WHAT-FOR. But keep going. You can walk forward while shaking your fist at the sky, I promise!

Maybe your inner kiddo needs reminding too. I’ll keep going if you will.

And thanks, Lord. Because whatever my lot, you have taught me to say, “It is well, it is well, with my soul.”

I hope it is well with yours, friend.

June 15, 2024 0

Boxcar Children and Other Books That Shaped a 70’s Childhood

By: JANA GREENE

Things are pretty heavy in the world right now, so I thought I’d write some fluff.

Thanks for your readership!

By: JANA GREENE

Most of the favorite books I read in childhood featured children fleeing into the woods, being rejected by parents, taming wild beasts, and falling in love with poetry (not necessarily in that order.)

In third grade, I wanted to be one of the Boxcar Children (written by Gertrude Chandler Warner.) The plot is thus: Four children orphaned by both parents go to live with their grandparents, who resent the absolute shite out of them for having the nerve to be parentless. So, the kids run away and end up living out of an abandoned train boxcar. Sometimes the adventure was begging for food, sounded kind of fun to my naive, privileged brain. They bathed in rivers, dodged rabid animals, stayed up as late as they wanted, and stole honey from beehives (wait…that’s Winnie the Pooh.) You get the picture. So obsessed with the Boxcar Children was I, I would go into the woods behind my elementary school and pretend to be orphaned and outdoorsey. I would build a “boxcar” out of sticks and boards and the random tarp in the woods that – now as an adult – makes me wonder if that tarp had been used in a crime of some sort. Oh well….it made a great roof for my boxcar.

For the best fleeing-into-the-woods pick, we have “My Side of the Mountain,” by Jean George. It is the story of 12-year-old boy who intensely dislikes living in his parents’ cramped New York CIty apartment with his eight brothers and sisters, and can you even blame him? He decides to run away to his great-grandfather’s abandoned farm in the Catskill Mountains to live in the wilderness. Five out of five stars, so good I may read it again at 55. This boy had the life. He acquired a freaking falcon just by gaining the bird’s trust, and catches a weasel and names him “The Baron” because of the “regal way he moves about.” I wanted a weasel named “The Baron.” Just a boy (who was my hero) who lives in the trees, catches fish and smokes the meat, and attains Snow White-level rapport with the animal kingdom. Bliss.

Next up, we have anything by Dr. Seuss. Just pick one. His books were silly for silliness’ sake and I loved it. Utter nonsense, just the way I like it. I went hard and heavy on the Dr. Sues with my children when they were little. I can still recite “One Fish Two Fish” verbatim, whether I want to or not.We were hoppin’ on Pop, hearing a Who, and hanging with the Sneetches. Classic. On one occasion one of them asked, “If Snitches get stitches, do Sneeches get leeches?” (I still don’t know, he never said.)

Then there was Shel Silverstein. Oh Shel. I wanted to grow up to marry the poet behind “Where the Sidewalk Ends.” I wanted to BE a poet and write about pertinent kid topics like he did. Classics such as “The Sharp-Toothed Snail” that bites your finger if you pick your nose, being eaten by a “Boa Constrictor” which takes you on ablow-by-blow account of being eaten by a snake, and “It’s Dark in Here,” about being inside of a lion. Quality prose.

And for those coming-of-age stories, Judy Blume was my go-to. To be a scandalous ten-year old, you must have read Judy. Boobs, periods, or practicing kissing boys were always mentioned, thus giving us the thrill of our training-bra lives. She captured universal growing-up angst better than anyone. Who can forget “We MUST, we MUST, we MUST INCREASE OUR BUST!” This is before any of us had started developing and realized that getting actual boobs and periods were really a tremendous bummer and horrible inconvenience, and none of us enjoyed having when we got them. Judy made it sound much more fun than it actually was. Still a little salty at her about this.

In 1977, “Bridge to Terabithia” by Katherine Patterson came out. There was an immediately a waiting list at the Quail Valley Elementary library, and it did not disappoint when it was finally in myhands. Picture it: Two best friends create an imaginary world called Terabithia, which they escape to in order to manage trauma. When tragedy strikes, they must rely on their friendship to work through grief. This was my introduction to fantasy worlds, and the realization that you can make your own (and you may as well, this place is bonkers.) Another fine example of children “fleeing to the woods.” It was also the book that introduced me to crying while reading. I really felt I kew these kids – who made their own world when this one hurt them. I filed that away in my little survivalist head and it grew into a more vivid imagination.

Which brings me to the series I read as a tween in 5th grade that I plucked right off of the elementary school library shelves, I sh*t you not. HOW? No banned books for us! I’m talking about “Flowers in the Attic” by V.C. Andrews. Now y’all aint gonna BELIEVE this, but here’s the plot: A grandmother locks a 12 year old girl and her 14-year-old brother in an attic. Dripping in wealth but low on compassion, the villainous grandmother decides it’s a good time to break it to the children that one of them is a product of incest. And that’s not even the worst thing. She calls the children the “Devil’s spawn” and is obsessed with the idea of incest, forbidding all contact between opposite sexes. The children are not allowed to make any noise, only in the attic are they free to play because their grandfather will kill them if he knows they are being hidden there. Yikes. (There was a waiting list for that series too. And yes, it’s a series.)

Who was monitoring our reading material? No one, that’s who. It was the 70’s.

I don’t have the attention span to read like I did when I was younger. Too much thinky-ness about “real” issues, but I sure would like to lose myself in a book again! In the meantime, I think I’m going to find some woods to flee to today, for old time’s sake.

June 5, 2024 0

Wandering the Desert – Miracles and Mirages

By: JANA GREENE

I’ve written most of my life about wandering in the desert, because frankly – I knew the desert like the back of my hand. Desert journeys include a lot of traipsing over the same sands you’ve already navigated, because the terrain is indistinguishable, and a lot of anxiety is generated by wondering when the bare, solitary wasteland finally opens up into the green meadow.

“Wandering the desert” is a catch-all term for feeling lost and bereft, without benefit of a plan, and without benefit of a Guide. On your own, finding your way without a map. Knowing somebody somewhere knows how to get out but is watching you bungle it. It’s the Christianese way to validate the spiritual experience of feeling lost and alone.

Every day, more wandering than wonderful. Wander and bump into something in my way. Wander and collapse from exhaustion. Wander and bump into myself (which can be a real awkward encounter, if you’re not ready for it.

Everyone acts like the desert is a life stage you have to go through to get to the other side. But many of us been wandering in a desert, keeping our eye on the sands, only to watch it disappear like a mirage the closer we get. Suffering here is buoyed by the hope that in the sweet by-and-by, we will be magically lifted when God returns to scoop up all of his chosen people, heretics and hooligans literally be damned. Except for I want my magic now, and I rather like the heretics and hooligans (and suspect Jesus does too, given his propensity for hanging out with scoundrels.)

What they won’t tell you is that it’s an inside job – that the Guide came preinstalled in you, and you cannot uninstall it. Trust me, I’ve tried, in times I was sure I knew a better way.

The “magic” of a God who cannot be anything BUT mystical and That’s where the magic happens. Paradise in the midst of a desert. You don’t have to go far to hear the Spirit of Source – go within. Not all who wander are lost, after all.

No bare, solitary, spiritual wasteland for you. Source loves you too much to keep you in that parched wasteland.

Blessed be, friends.

May 31, 2024 0

A Prayer for Softness

By: JANA GREENE

God, grant us a softer life.

One where jagged words won’t

make us bleed so easily.

One that buffers against

the rough-housing

of a world throwing hands.

God, be our pillow,

a soft place to land.

Where there is anger,

and resentment,

let us not be

too big for our britches,

but grant m the softness

to extend others.

Where there is struggle,

release the ties that bind,

loosen the indignation,

and set us back to soft center.

God, I pray

we can bear our infirmaries,

even as we struggle,

and be gracious and grateful,

for each stage of healing.

And God,

where there is hate,

that sharpest of weapons,

the one we keep

locked and loaded,

forged in fire,

even as we sing our hymns,

let us be ever softer of spirit.

Smooth our rough edges,

help us to be healers,

and help us to carry

your sweet, soft light.

Amen.

May 30, 2024 0

An Earth-Side Quest

By: JANA GREENE

If we are eternal creatures having a physical experience for an allotment of years on Earth, it begs the question:

Why have a physical experience at all? Especially with all the heartbreak and tragedy raging all around us. What’s the value in being here?

No matter how crazy life gets, I truly believe there is purpose in our being Earth-side. And I recognize that having a human experience enables us to experience things others in the spiritual realm may not.

Take chocolate, for example. Do angels eat chocolate? We do. It’s delicious.

When they hear Led Zeppelin, so they feel the music in their physical bones? We can. (And it’s like climbing a stairway to Heaven!)

We have thunderstorms so rumbly, you feel the thunder in your chest.

Literal water falls from the sky, on the regular. That’s some legit Garden of Eden stuff there.

Water is one of my favorite parts of being human. How would we appreciate the Living Water that is our Creator, had we not known the concepts of thirst and satiation?

We can climb trees that have their own intelligence, and admire flowers that God didn’t need to make so pretty, but did.

We get to host the lives of other sentient beings – little furry forever friends. We get our faces kissed with slobber, and benefit from the vibrations of a purr, and although I know pets go to Heaven, I’m grateful for their pretense in this intense world.

We have telescopes to remind us how small we are, and microscopes to show us how intricately we are put together; for we are made of divine love, and stardust.

We have books – vast volumes of human history and human frivolity, ours for the ingesting.

And we have tacos, y’all. In all the universe, we get to enjoy tacos!

Best of all, we have one another. That’s really something – relationships. Just two Earthlings who took a shine to each other and become friends for life. What? That’s crazy! And I love it.

We have such grace and grief, both; double-edged swords that clear the rubbish of human drudgery to make room for the fruits of the Spirit.

If you are living under skin and over bone, you are on a quest. Get excited.

The world – even with its trials and tragedies – is one God so loves. It’s messy and painful and sometimes I’m not sure why he loves it. but I’m certain it’s loved because look around us.

May we find love, joy, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control in our human experience.

Better yet, while we are questing, may we BE love, joy, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control.

And May the angels and eternal beings on the other side cheer us on as we throw down the gauntlet, anxious with anticipation.

What are your favorite parts of being human?

May 24, 2024 2

Spilling Goodness and Mercy

Photo by Jou00e3o Vu00edtor Heinrichs on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

I believe we will all share a Christ-consciousness. I believe that we are all sharing communal birthing pains – periods of big intensity, followed by what could be misconstrued as God’s silence and withholding, if you didn’t know better.

We are all in spiritual labor, that’s why it’s so hard, I think.

I believe the same God who expands the universe and paints the cosmos envelops us in Love and one day – when we are past the bullshittery of politics, fighting amongst ourselves, dealing with pain in our Earth Suits and in our hearts – there is only goodness and mercy waiting for us.

For us ALL.

When the husk of physical being falls away, only universal love and acceptance remain. We can do nothing to enable it, and nothing to suppress it. It’s our birthright. It’s the ultimate reality.

So be encouraged, dear one. Lift your chin. Leave space in your expectations for good things.

Leave space in your ego to accept those good things humbly.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our lives, spilling over and splashing other humans who are lost in the dark.

Here, take my hand, and we will get through this intensity together, one itty-bitty step at a time.

Let us strive to have a dry-run here and now.
Let us learn how to love and accept here and now.

You can say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. ❤️

May 18, 2024 0

Motherhood – The Hardest Job I Ever Loved

By: JANA GREENE

To my girls,

Before I had you, someone told me that motherhood is like the Peace Corps – “the hardest job you’ll ever love.” Truer words were never spoken.
Thank you for making me a mom – it’s been my greatest and most challenging role.
When each of you were first born, you wouldn’t cry on your own. Because of my condition, your births were unsafely fast. Neonatal doctors were called in to resuscitate you, and it was then I had my first taste of sheer terror and first fervent Mama prayer. Your cries were the sweetest sound.
When you were babies, I nursed you for what may be considered a “long” time, and I wore you in baby slings all the time. We co-slept because it felt natural – it WAS natural – and I didn’t take one second for granted. “Remember this,” I would say to myself all the time. “Remember the way the nape I’d get neck smells. Remember how she plays with your hair while you’re breastfeeding. Remember these peals of laughter that sound like a thousand angels playing bells.”
When you were in your terrible twos (and then threes,) it became so apparent that you were your OWN people, not extensions of me at all (and boy am I glad of that!) Peeling you off the floor of the grocery store, where you’d decided to tantrum hard core over God only knows what minor disappointment, I told myself to remember that, too. “Someday, you’ll look back in this and laugh,” I said to me. And without fail, when your tears were dry, you’d crawl up in my lap and say “I love you, Mommy.” And all was right with the world.
In your elementary school years, you were all about learning. Some of our best times were going to museums, and art festivals (and of COURSE cultural fairs!) Witnessing the unfolding of your minds was one of the greatest pleasures of my life. So bright! So eager to learn about the world.
Then you became ‘tweens and Lord have Mercy, Katie bar the door! All of the sudden, my mom confidence plummeted. I no longer felt like I knew what I was doing at all, but I faked that I did. You were morphing into beautiful, opinionated beings of light with penchants for drama. And even in the midst of arguments, I still told myself, “Remember this…” When the squalls passed over, we were all three right as rain again. These were the years I welcomed my Bonus Daughter, not by birth, but by grand design. I’m so grateful to be in her life as well. God must really love me or something.
In the blink of an eye, you girls were in high school. My babies not so much babies, but spitfires unafraid to assert themselves and their ideas. Your ideas were certainly not my ideas, nor my beliefs yours. But oh my God how proud I was that you had that crazy zeal for life, and in your quest to figure it all out, we became actual friends.
There have been many moments of sheer terror in being a parent. And many, many more fervent prayers. And I still try not to take one moment for granted, even though we don’t always see eye-to-eye.
I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, As long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.
Always my babies, now you are almost 29 and 32. You’ve given me stretch marks and gray hair, and the greatest joy I’ve ever known. When we spend time together, there is still a piece of my mama heart whispering, “Remember this. Remember laughing so hard that we peed a little. Remember her face when she accomplished that goal that she worked to hard to achieve. Remember all of the difficult times, but especially remember the beautiful breakthroughs.”
So, thanks for making me a Mom, my loves.
I’m so very proud of you.

May 12, 2024 2

Becoming a Boxcar Child – a fun romp through the childhood books that shaped us

Things are pretty heavy in the world right now, so I thought I’d write some fluff.

Thanks for your readership!

By: JANA GREENE

In 1977, “Bridge to Terabithia” by Katherine Patterson came out. There was an immediately a waiting list at the Quail Valley Elementary library, and it did not disappoint when it was finally in my hands. Picture it: Two best friends create an imaginary world called Terabithia, which they escape to in order to manage trauma. When tragedy strikes, they must rely on their friendship to work through grief. This was my introduction to fantasy worlds, and the realization that you can make your own (and you may as well, this place is bonkers.) Another fine example of children “fleeing to the woods.” It was also the book that introduced me to crying while reading. I really felt I kew these kids – who made their own world when this one hurt them. I filed that away in my little survivalist head and it grew into a more vivid imagination.

Who was monitoring our reading material? No one, that’s who. It was the 70’s.

May 5, 2024 0

An Open Letter to the Church Today

By: JANA GREENE

Dear Church,

You’re the one who got me in this pickle. You started it.

You said to love your neighbor. But it turns out there seems to be disclaimers to this most important of all commandments, and it’s very confusing to keep the rules straight.

Then you told me to witness to the world, make disciples of men, when what they really need is a template for what love looks like; not just what it sounds like.

So, I did that too.

You told me to pray God would break my heart for what breaks his heart, and that is the prayer that did me in. I hope you’re happy.

This was the knottiest kink in the whole chain. Because listen...

HE DID IT. I had a supernatural experience. The veil didn’t tear open but it did have a loose thread. And I did what people do, which is to pick at it until it unraveled.

And it was VERY upending and not entirely pleasant.

People were hungry. People were lonely. People had had scripture lobbed at them at every turn but were empty. I did a lot of that lobbing in the day. They were all hurting, because we are all hurting. Presence does what words can never do.

The whole, wide hurting world is looking at Christ-followers to see if they are made of the same stuff they preach. And woefully, too much of it perpetuates the separation between us and God (in reality, there is none.)

And you never told me to love myself, as one who could also benefit from that top-tier commandment. And I didn’t know how, as you taught me the human heart is deceitful above all things and not to trust it. Not to trust the voice of the God particle we all carry, that divine spark.

Church, God is within you, you told me. But he’s not the icky parts. No, he cannot be in the presence if ick. It’s too icky and you’re too human. As if Christ didn’t pick his nose or wipe his butt. As if he didn’t wail and cry, and ask the cup to be taken from him.

It’s my desire to see the Church repent for making love about doctrine and law.

Please don’t discount revival because it looks nothing like you thought it would. God is crafty that way. He isn’t bound to do it your way (or mine.)

As it turns out, I don’t mind being in this pickle anymore. Because it’s fundamentally changed me to consider the suffering of others. It should change all of us.

I fell in love with you a long time ago, Church. There is so much to love. Good news! Community! You reared our whole generation, and I’m so grateful for all the wonderful experiences I’ve had in your space. It felt like a safe space for a long time.

But perhaps it’s time for a shift?

I will always love you, but sanctuaries should not be proving grounds.

And as we all experience this great winding-up to sharing the mind of God in total, let’s remember people over policies. Politics have no place in religion, and frankly, we cannot afford the hatred that comes part and parcel with politics. Please keep it out of the pulpit. You alienate more people than you help.

So, actually, thank you for starting this, I think.

Warm Regards,

April 24, 2024 6

Celebrations, Pity Parties, and a God who Attends Both

How often do I feel like I’m spiritually “getting things right”? About as often as we see an eclipse. So let’s not lean on on our “understanding” of God and lean instead into Love (which is really just another name God goes by.) And yes, this is my lame attempt at photographing the eclipse.

By: JANA GREENE

If it’s God’s will, it will come easily. That’s how you know you’re operating in the Spirit. Things will click. Things will flow. His yoke is light, etc and so on.

But also, if you are in God’s will, it will be hard.

You’ll know you have holy favor when you’re downtrodden and at the end of your rope. That’s the ol’ devil, don’t you know. And he wouldn’t mess with you if you weren’t doing God’s work.

Well, which is it? Do you see the conundrum?

This is life, and it’s both and neither. It is, so far as I can tell, it’s ALLTHETHINGS, dammit.

I can’t trust a God whose mind I have to pick apart to get it “right.”

I don’t tell my adult children, “Okay, I’m feeling some type of way about you…but WHICH way? Let’s see if you can correctly guess based on interpretation of an ancient text and my jealous, vengeful nature. May the odds be ever in your favor!”

I learn alongside my children, you see. For everything I learn about them, they learn about me. And in the process, and I feel like we are all learning alongside God, with curiosity and wonder and grieving and suffering.

It will be easy, there will be times of flow.

It will be brutally difficult.

It’s all holy favor, you see, and that’s the confounding part.

God only feels ONE type of way about you.

We need not wring our hands in an attempt to earn love, because that’s the way we have been taught to please a world of broken people and an unpleasable diety.

In actuality, the odds are always, always in your favor, Beloved. Even (especially?) when you’re most hurt, downtrodden, and at the end of your rope.

Whether you invite God to a celebration of the soul or an old-fashioned pity party, just invite him. The Spirit shows up for both.

How to be in the will of God? Just be.

Blessings, friends.

April 16, 2024 7

That Chris Robinson Spirituality

By: JANA GREENE

God, I love music.

And not just “love” it like I love chocolate, or cats, or 70-degree days.

No. I mean it “ministers” to my soul, man. And not in the holy-roller way; but in a way that satisfies me to the core. Maybe you feel the same?

A few months ago, my husband took me to see a concert by the Black Crowes. Watching the lead singer, Chris Robinson, create and enjoy his music on stage was mesmerizing. He didn’t exactly dance like no one was watching; his dance was more like an inviation to join him.

He flailed his arms; he stomped his feet. Shades of Woodstock, I tell you. He danced about because his body had to follow the direction of his heart. Can you imagine the Black Crowes performing while sitting in stillness? Of course not.

His fancy footwork was unchoreographed, but in the freest, most uninhibited way. That man couldn’t care less if thousands of people were watching, he just let go and let the music take over 100%. And you cannot convince me that God himself was present, chillin’, and appreciating the fine artform his kid Chris was sharing. (We are all his kids, you know.)

“I want to get to that level of unbotherdness,” I told my husband. “That’s true spirituality right there.”

And it was.

What seems like both yesterday and an eternity ago, I read Eric Clapton’s autobiography (aptly named “Clapton”) on a sunny beach in Aruba. I was on my honeymoon. It was 2007.

“I have always been resistant to doctrine, and any spirituality I had experienced thus far in my life had been much more abstract and not aligned with any recognized religion. For me, the most trustworthy vehicle for spirituality had always proven to be music.” Eric Clapton said.

Ah yes….MUSIC.

I’ve always felt this way about music, but it scared me. Getting heavy into a vibe felt like giving in to secularism, unless the song was churchy. “Churchy” music was fine to dance too. Heck, you could sprawl yourself out on the floor whilst fellow congregants got their groove on. Because it was FOR GOD. “The bigger the spectacle, the closer to God” was kind of the thinking.

I’ve fought it my whole life, good music trying to settle into the marrow of my bones. In my teen years, our youth pastor hosted a “Devil’s Music” night, and I wish I were kidding. We listened to Led Zepplin – whose music I was already having a torrid affair with – and then we listened to it BACKWARDS.

OH MY GOD HAVE I BEEN WORSHIPPING DARK FORCES, just by listening? This scared me into an exclusively Amy Grant and Petra phase, which I really tried to adhere to, but have you HEARD Al Green? Have you felt the pulse and lull of David Bowie’s voice?

The bottom line of the theology I lived by for years was: If it’s not worshiping God, it’s worshiping the devil. Which – in my current de/reconstructed faith, sounds absolutely ridiculous, but it’s what millions of people think is true.

Maybe all music is of God, because it was his big idea. Feel that bass in your heart? Chris Robinson does, and he isn’t afraid to BE the music.

But what if the music has a dark message? I promise you it’s not too dark for God to hear. We are ALL in a dark place many times throughout life. We record it and remember it because it too is part of the human experience. I personally have a Spotify list of “Crying Songs,” because sometimes my antidepressants make it difficult to cry and these songs really get me going.

Emotion is not the enemy. Things that evoke emotion are not innately bad.

For the majority of my life, I’ve tried to temper what I assumed was “worldly,” lest I offend God with my listening choices. “You are what you listen to,” I was taught.

And what I’ve been taught has run my whole life up until this point. Obsessed with what the church sanctioned, all while doubting the church’s reasoning but being afraid to give it voice.

But the subjectivity of music is like appreciation for any other art. Only God could take doh, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, doh, and give us the liberty to arrange those simple sounds into millions of possibilities. And I have to believe that’s a holy process. Lots of things are part of a holy process. MOST things, I’d venture.

For God so loved the world, that he gave it music. And to make sure it properly,was executed properly, he gave us Chris Robinson, Van Morrison, Creed, Snoop Dogg, and Al Green.

And I’m grateful. I want to give myself over to music…become a spectacle not to impress others, but because the music is reaching a place in my soul that is so full, I have to get my body involved in what my heart is already enjoying.

God bless us, everyone. Crank up your tunes, and enjoy all the good gifts God has given!

April 9, 2024 2

The Wrath of Crepe(y Skin)

By: JANA GREENE

I am trying to figure out if I want to adopt a skin care routine at the ripe old age of 55, or to just roll with the reality that I’ve abused my body most of my life and it’s a vindictive mofo. Sometime between exclusively “washing” my face with Sea Breeze astringent and realizing Father Time is stomping across my face in soccer cleats, I decided I needed a system. Never mind I hate anything regimented. I am starting to look like Tweety Bird’s Granny, and desperate problems require drastic solutions.

Actual conversation between me and myself, after the thousandth dewy skinned 30-year-old tries to sell me a “skincare regimen” on my socials, because even Big Brother knows I am just another post-menopausal consumer:

Me: Buy the eight-step skincare package.

Myself: But we already have two bottles of Eight Saints. $30 per bottle. Use that up first.

Me: But what if today is the last day we can start The System before it actually doesn’t work anymore. Like, ‘well, we could have saved ourself from looking like a Shar Pei, but we missed the boat.’ Our Eight Saints will have all been for naught!

WE won’t make it to the second step.

OKAY, WOW. *insert righteous anger*

We are incapable of doing anything in a systematic manner, how many bosses have told us this over the years?

They said we don’t work in the most efficient manner, thank you. Efficiency is boring. I’m getting The System. Maybe if we spend enough money on skin care, we WILL care!

Look under the bathroom sink. It is littered with previous, half-empty bottles of caring. Caring with peptides. Caring with collagen. Caring with retinol. Caring with Eight Saints….

Just listen to this: Nobody would go to all this trouble if it didn’t work! “Step 1: Exfoliate. Step 2: Use pre-facial treatment. Step 3: Dot on the eye cream. Step 4: Boost serum. Step 5: Use ambiguous facial treatment. Step 6: Use smoothing serum. Step 6: Pretreat neck for crepey skin. Step 7: Slather anywhere your skin looks like an accordion...

And Step 8: Look exactly the same as if we’ve used nothing but Dove soap and Sea Breeze astringent. We are lousy at being a “2020’s” woman. Where are our lip fillers? And we were TOLD to expect smoker’s lines if we were going to smoke two packs a day in the 90’s. And our EYEBROWS! Why are they natural? Ditto the lashes, wait….do we even have lashes?”

Listen. we are straddling the line between SALVAGE WHAT YOU CAN, LADY and HOW ABOUT I JUST GIVE LESS F*CKS? And honestly, I think we should just let Father Time drag his cleats across our face, be happy with our turkey neck, and putter around saying things like, “Bad ‘ol Puddy Tat”and “Shhhh, I’m watchin’ my STORIES.”

(Okay, I DID buy The System, after writing all of this. Stay tuned! So far, I have used the exfoliator twice, the eye cream three times, and the neck lotion two times. How many times have I done the WHOLE “system?” Once, when it was freshly out of the box. I am really bad at this.)

April 4, 2024 2

Breathe (a little poetry jam)

Photo by Anthony ud83dude42 on Pexels.com

I’ve been learning some breathwork lately and considering the connectedness with nature that our breath allows. The trees are breathing too – everything in a constant flux of inhalation and exhalation. We literally inhale the fine air the trees exhale; and how nifty is that? Let’s take a page from nature and stir some leaves today.

By: JANA GREENE

My breath stirs the leaf,

so the tree lets it go.

The wind carries it gently

to the ground below,

to soften my footfalls

on the forest floor,

creating a soft place

to breath once more.

We are connected symbiotically –

the flora, the fauna,

the wind,

and me.

And you my friend

are a part of it too,

the flora and fauna,

me and you.

April 3, 2024 5