Sometimes things stop working. Sometimes limits are reached. Sometimes hearts are shadowed, dishes pile up and six different weeds dare to emerge in the garden by the door.
In a parallel dimension to ours, there dwells a lovely Faery named Iris. Iris Of The Rainbows, to be exact. She is in charge of hope and healing and shedding light in hearts and minds when things become too stormy. She works very hard to reclaim the light when we are thundering and raining. She bends the light and fractures it, waves her willow-wood wand, and arches rainbows over our heads. She points her wand at our hearts and whispers, "There is hope, My Love. Hope for colors and joy. Hang on. Chin up. Gently now, let me see you smile. I'm here, Love. No more worries. The future is so full of promise." Iris has been spending time with me since spring began. She has been helping keep my chin up and opening my eyes to rainbows. She chose the spot to bury my beloved cat after I had her put down in May. Naturally, in a patch of yellow iris. She holds my hand when hormones surge, winds pick up and storms suddenly roll into my mind. She held my hand this very morning as the sweetest lady Oriole flew into traffic one car ahead of me, was struck, and fell, almost torn to bits, in the lane next to mine. I heard Iris whisper through my storm of sudden tears, "Oh, Love, she died instantly. Let's bless her tiny soul. Keep driving. She's not in pain".
My favorite Preacher is at it again. Dispensing invaluable advice. This time to graduating highschoolers in a lucky town in Texas. Read his words, print them out, and tuck them away for emergencies. Or daily reminders of how to live.
The shell must break before the bird can fly. And just what is the shell? It is the ego. And all its limitations. I won't, I can't, how dare you, I'm better than you, I suck, you suck, we're not safe, can you believe what she's wearing, Jesus is the only way, I'll never forgive you, I hate stupid people...all hard-shell thoughts, notions and blind beliefs. All effective at keeping us small and hard and incapable of living a glorious life.
Again and again and again, it is the simple pleasures in my life that keep my head and heart above water. The soft and gentle song of the Baltimore Oriole at 7am. A whirlwind of maple seeds spiraling into my lap. Sweet, fragrant bells of lily-of-the-valley. My ever-soothing rose petal tea. Belly laughs and tears, over lunch, with my dearest Kasia Blue. German berry strudel. Time to read. Big events in life are not what are sustaining. They don't come often enough. It is the little events, the whispers of sweetness and fleeting beautiful things, that sustain the will to go on. That keep me engaged and looking forward to the next simple pleasure. As long as I notice them and appreciate them, the little events will come. Again and again and again. Visit www.kasiablue.blogspot.com for more simple pleasures and beautiful words.
There comes a point in every life, I hope, when the reasons and excuses and fears to hold back wilt in the mind. There comes a point when it is suddenly pointless to remain in the shadows, to deny dreams and to keep the lid on creative forces that can change your world for the better. There comes a point when you must simply bloom.
I am longing for Berlin. I am longing for the creative verve, the self-revival energy, the tamed and untamed aspects of a European city in flux and forward movement. I am longing for Berlin because 2 years ago my inner spirit woke up in that city. My soul was sparked, my mind was lit, my heart was home. Today, my inner spirit is tired. Too much work and shards of small grief have worn me down. I'm not fond of being worn down. I prefer to be lit from within by wonder and discovery. I prefer to feel rested and ready to welcome the gifts of each day. I prefer the pulse of creative verve in my veins. 
Yesterday at 4pm, I watched the ever-compassionate Dr. Brown slip the thinnest of needles into the fore paw of my beloved Rain Dance Little Shoes. 30 seconds later, her heart stopped. Before that heart-stopping moment lay a mountain of effort to avoid that decision and a mountain of love laid out over the coarse of 14 and 1/2 years. Alimentary lymphoma in the small intestines, with tumors present and no hope of improvement, led me to let go of one of the sweetest loves to grace my life. As a woman with no children, cats have been a needful outlet to channel the love I carry in my heart. The pleasure I get from animals is profound. The pleasure I got from Rain Dance was at times, life-saving. Because my 2 cats are elderly girls, each morning I would hug them and kiss them and thank them for staying with me another day. Because Rain Dance was ill for the better part of a year, we had many talks about her need to do what was best for her soul, regardless of how sad I would be without her. I told her God's plan for her was what we would follow, not my need for company and fur-love. On the drive to the Vet for last-ditch-effort tests, I reminded Rain Dance that all her angel friends were with us, and her highest and best would be served. While at home, waiting for the dreaded call with test results, I cleaned up the mess and the effort of many months. I sat with a cup of rose petal tea and listened to Vivaldi's "Four Seasons", knowing deep down Rain Dance had reached the end of her winter season. Back at the Vet, with trusted opinions given and no hope offered, I asked for 10 minutes to talk with Rain. I kissed her a thousand times. And this is what I told her: "There is no death. There is only a dream of love. In this moment, you are held in my arms of love and in a moment soon to come, you will simply and sweetly drift into someone else's arms of love. Your angels are waiting. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the gift of your life with mine. You live in my heart forever. You know I love you". I put her in her favorite green walnut box and drove home with one hand on her still-warm body. I let her companion and nemesis, Miss Romance, sniff her in the box. I found a shovel and dug a round hole next to the yellow iris in the backyard. I lined the hole with a pink towel and her favorite catnip pillow. I knelt in front of the little pink womb, picked her up and cradled her against my heart. And then I sobbed. Big, fat tears that soaked her fur and baptized her into her next life. Finally, reluctantly, I layed her down and gave her body back to the Mother. Today, I am the indentured servant to only 1 cat. Today, I mourn the loss of Rainy days. But all endings contain new beginnings. All endings bestow freedom. Somewhere, someday there is an orange cat that will come to me. I will name it Sun Dance. Because after the Rain, the Sun always appears.
Today I live without clocks. Today I care not for time. My time pieces are either taken off walls, turned around or covered up. Because I am exhausted from rushing, rushing, rushing through my days and my life. Rushing to meet expectations and obligations. Rushing to be somewhere I am not. Rushing to please all others but myself.
If something or someone is stagnant, if fatigue or inertia or indecision have a hold, if movement is needed for well being and nothing has come to start the flow or end the flow, praise that something or someone. Praise it out loud. Praise her out loud. Praise him out loud. Offer up a hand or a lift by finding something good, anything good, about the circumstances or person in question. Declare that goodness out loud. Declare it like life itself depends on it. Because life itself just might.
Most days I wish to help make a big difference in the world. A difference in the level of peace. A difference in the level of girls who feel good about their bodies and themselves. A difference in the level of depression swirling throughout the world. A difference that swings the pendulum to the positive. But most days, I don't make a big difference, a big impact, on things that are important to me. Some days, my impact is small. Some days, it doesn't register at all. Some days I have to let the world take care of itself.
Words have power.
The transition from winter to spring can sometimes be slow here in Western New York. Bare trees, bare earth, clouds, and a chill in the air that prevents the storage of mittens wears thin. The soul aches for color. But just when limits are reached and the lack of sunshine begins to call in the question of sanity, time tips the scales and sweetness slips in. Tiny blossoms burst through damp earth and reassure the soul monochromatic times are passing. Lavender is arriving. Yellow is arriving. Pink and white and fresh, spring green are arriving. And so it is with our lives. Just when we think we can handle no more, when the chaos and depression and colorless days have threatened to shut us down, sweetness slips in and carries us over the threshold to a new season. Often the sweetness is small, easily overlooked, barely visible in all the mud. But it comes. It comes. It comes. It comes. Look to the earth. Look to the sky. Look to the hands and smiles nearby. Spring comes. Outside and inside. It comes.
“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe,
The older I get, the less I know. The less I am sure of. The less I understand. I used to know everything, or darn close to it. But here in the outer fringes of my early forties, I am forced to rethink the known world. And admit that it will take more than my sparse lifetime to know even the smallest of important things. The more open my mind becomes, the more fears I conquer, the more there is to understand. The more that gets revealed in the crystal clear light of day. The more I see the world is too complex to fathom. So let me be a student again. Let me approach people and things and circumstances with freshness and openness and a willingness to learn. Instead of thinking I have any answers. Instead of presuming or stereotyping or seeing only 2 of 4 sides. Let me learn about love. Let me learn about joy. Let me learn of the value of service to others. Let me remember wonder. And surprise. And the yelping laughter from tickle-fights. Let me know nothing to experience everything.
