What Else Is Here?

Finding What's "Whole" in Holy Messes

“Our life is not ours to change, but to be changed by.” Sez Kristiansen

I used to think I needed a clean house to “preserve my sanity.” As if there’s really even such a thing. Everything and everyone (including myself) are a bit nuts, right? It seems we never quite locate “sanity” on our life maps. Maybe Sanity is a land of make-believe..

Behold our beloved Roscoe, the very essence of insanity. He’s 14, he’s deaf, he can barely see, and he’s always been on high alert. Marking his “territory” is the one hobby he can still find time to enjoy—and he’s not as discriminating as to whether this is an indoor or an outdoor activity. We tried to get a handle on things by locking him up in our laundry room, but could not endure his agony, hours of crying, howling, and destruction. And attempting to put him in his room each morning was not for the faint of heart.

So, that’s how we got here.. this is how we’re living in our living room. A mockery of my most frantic, obsessively controlling tendencies. Disregarding my internal sirens blaring. “THIS IS NOT OK— WE CANNOT LIVE LIKE THIS!!”

But we are, indeed, living like this…

Feel free to let your judgments fly at this point—mine certainly do. I own that I am a habitual “judge” and critical thoughts descend like nasty mosquitoes in early summer— relentless in their mission to make me, and everyone around me miserable.

So my repellent? Cleaning and cleaning followed by resenting. Or grabbing my phone for a hit of some emotional intensity or a good laugh..maybe watching a tragedy on a screen so I can comparatively make myself feel “fortunate.” I’ve been known to start fires, point fingers, complain incessantly about the torture of having to live “like animals.” (Side note, it might be time to live more like animals at this point, ha). I shame myself for being shallow, I try to fix my broken parts with more “self-work”. But not one of these habits has brought me sustainable joy, or made me not want a clean house.

Thank God, this is not all. There is more. Four words have found their way to me in the writings of Sez Kristiansen (author and teacher here on Substack, follow her!). Four simple words that I’ve been asked to ponder in my restlessness.

What. Else. Is. Here.

When I’m stuck, I ask myself this one question, and it’s become a lifeline, a compass. Allowing me to remember that life is 360 degrees, happening in all directions— not just the pretty, not just the ugly, not just the frame I’m choosing, while cropping out everything else.

So today, What Else Is Here?

Out my window, a dazzling spectacle of green. Spring showing off, plucking blossoms from the trees and blowing them softly, lazily toward the earth. The morning sun beaming its light on fiery red stems of the dogwoods.

The sounds of morning. Distant traffic, an airplane, and birds in their hyper, chatty morning conversation. All of it blending perfectly in my ears.

A bouquet of tulips, their gradual opening… a bit more brave each day. The purple one decided to go first. She’s adorned with softly scalloped edges and some bright yellow pollen in her belly.

I look down–and there’s this tiny doodle-sketch of Roscoe. A crumb of adoration left by my 24 year old son.. I feel a smile on my face, a warmth. Eddie’s humor, his deep-set, beautiful eyes. I’m reverent at his complexity: sensitivity, a quick mind, carried around in a slow-moving body. His laid-back intensity. I hope he doesn’t read this, LOL. He won’t.

Cinnamon, almond and coconut in my coffee… so many flavors arriving all at once–damn that’s good. I’ve considered adding vanilla. But since I’m just appreciating what is here, I’ll try that another time.

The heft of my favorite blanket holds me in place while I notice me, in this body. There’s anxiety in scanning and searching—a fear of what I might find. I feel a hesitation at my core, like it needs to check first before breathing too deeply. There’s tightness—holding in of things, bracing for something. But.. What Else Is Here?

My lungs are opening and collapsing, and they take in more, they release more. I realize how much air is here for me to take in—and to let go. Infinite air. My pulse, an aliveness in my veins, life radiating inside of me. All of it happening, all at once, right here, in this body.

And last, but certainly not least: Roscoe is here. Wild Roscoe–all his fuzzy edges, his old and tired eyes. I take the time to examine the pads on his feet, touch the long, unkempt hairs of his eyebrows and ears. I feel the comfort of my hand on his breathing little body, the uneven beats of his tiny heart. I’m overcome with love for this unruly, unmanageable soul. I’m giving in to his mess, I’m letting it change me. Not into someone who loves messes, but one that lives more abundantly. One that watches, listens, and waits for What Else Is Here.

Feel free to share what ELSE is in your world:)