rejoice

magnolia

"If the sight of blue skies fills you with joy,

if a blade of grass springing up in the fields has power to move you,

if the simple things in nature have a message you understand,

Rejoice, for your soul is alive."

Eleanora Duse

I am alive.

coming down

trout lily

i am waiting, still, for the spark to return. i am used to a project, a cause, a lurch toward something. But all things within and without remain quiet.

there are so many layers to this coming down and coming down from pointed focus and casualty.

i carry on.

i am seen.

but i am not the same and i have yet to discover all the ways in which that is true.

i do find i am able to see my habits and defenses more clearly in all this quiet. my tactics for self-preservation make me laugh and wince.

in this ongoing beginning disguised as an end, i am coming to know myself better. in that knowing, more choices present themselves. even if i feel smaller than ever before, a promise of great renewal has infused itself in the layers of coming down.

in the soft light of spring, the only important question is how well do i mother myself.

the sensitive soul

brooklyn botanical gardens

sakura

an ode to the sensitive soul~ stop watching the news. especially during disastrous times. the over-played images of fear and loss will coat you like a thin slime. this slime, invisible, will draw unwanted people into your wakefulness rendering you unable to sleep. it will set the stage for small difficulties repeating themselves endlessly or so it will seem. you will unwittingly focus on what is wrong and have difficulty seeing what is right.

turn away from the agitation and despair.

seek, instead, the bounty of the season. roll in its succulence. lift ear and eye to the sky.

nature is the cleanse and the cure for the troubles of sensitive souls.

Fluent

Unexpectedly, in the month of April, the trees froze. There was no sunlight to glint off the water-encased branches, but still, under stone grey skies, the affect of rows and clusters and miles of glass trees was one of an uneasy wonderland.

Then, the wind came, less than softly, and a new language was born. The trees, at the mercy of everything, spoke to each other through the rustle and clink of their frozen fingers. It was a sound I had never heard before, a sound that could vaguely be described as plastic bags being crinkled.

I wondered if the trees were using the portal of unexpected climatic convergence to tell secrets in earnest to each other. To rise quickly to the occasion of muteness reprieved to comfort each other, to whisper hello, to wave, to warn, to say to their neighbors 2 streets away, "I stand with you."

I have noticed in unexpected circumstances, new languages beg to rise and become known.

I have noticed and I have lived, am living, the subtle nuances of openness coupled with boundaries. The particular dialect of letting go and letting go again. The foundation and certainty of a Universal energy, ancient and ever new, that vibrates to the heartbeat of a mouse, the silent, circulating rivers of my blood, and speaks of truth and only truth.

It is all the language and layers of love.

It will take more than one lifetime to become fluent.

a gift of feathers

He was alive the first time we met, early this morning. He was sitting, stunned, on the side of the road. I swung my car around to have a closer look.

He did not resist being lifted.
I was momentarily hopeful.
There was no blood, no crushed wing.

But when I put him safely at the base of a tree in a vacant yard, he was already tipping towards another world. I stroked his silky grey feathers and told him he was beautiful and loved. I asked for him to be taken care of.

9 hours later, I went to find out if he was still by the tree. He was. And his eyes were now vacant. I picked him up again and we drove home to the dignity of final rest in the ivy patch.

On the ride home, because I believe such things, I asked that his red-breasted soul be sent as a gift to my mother from me. She always loved the season of spring.

one thousand times

This is 7 years and 1,000 times.

This is, was, is an outlet for thought, word and image. At one time, maybe two, I believed the reason and content was for you.

I was mistaken.

It has only and ever been for me.

It has been an outlet for sanity maintenance and a blank canvas for creativity I could  not hold back. It has been a personal interpretation and a trying-to-make-sense of this world and this life. It has been a quilt of 999 squares, today 1,000, of love and loss and love again.

You have told me at times my interpretation and sense-making has resonated with you, spoken for you, and for that my heart is glad.

I have found solace and jubilation and kinship through the magnetism of word and image made public. All of it has changed my life for the better. All of it has kept my focus on life's simple demand~ know thyself and all else becomes known.

The quilt continues. There is more to discover and create. Love moves ever forward.


{7 years ago, a very nervous start.}
{The top of my short list of favorites}

expansion

Despite everything; the sorrow of others and my own long winter, the season of quiet renewal has begun. Nature, my favorite mentor and companion, has taken me by the hand and lifted my eyes from burial grounds to half way up the sky.

They are coming for me, the messenger birds, one or two at a time. Last March, the singular, swooping bat in my basement announced the prophecy of my year. This March, it is the eagle, the distinguished timing of witnessing the seconds-long mating of red tail hawks, and yesterday, the king fisher on a wire, nowhere near water, that called out to me a mile before she came into view.

It is going to be a different year. At the funeral of a friend, the minister spoke of ever-deepening grief and the promise that the Creator of All Things will indeed lead us back to joy. The messenger birds tell me to believe him.

I do.

Because the late day sun cast a golden sheen on my cluttered kitchen table and for the first time in countless months, I saw art in the lit disarray. I unearthed my camera, bent close and felt my lungs expand.

extension

The year of grief ripples on. Winter extends itself to the doorstep of spring, keeping me tucked inside.

The spikes of sorrow have softened, yet unlooked-for signs and reminders throw themselves down in my path, returning my eyes to damp.

Another relation, newly diagnosed, and a friend who lost his long battle not 48 hours ago hold the return to joy firmly at bay.

That is perhaps the cruelest subtlety of grief~ the doubt and illusion it imparts that joy will never be found and felt again, that air and color will forever remain subdued.

The birds of spring are returning, but not yet for me. The healing crows are still standing guard.

50 Movies (not even close)

I'm not that much of a movie-goer, even less a stay-at-home movie watcher. I own all of 3. So, when Kelly proclaimed the next list of "50" in her year-long celebration of all things fifty, I doubted I could join in. Add to that my favorite movie partner died last August, and the list of viable favorites, especially current, felt thin. Very thin.

Or so I thought.

When I put my mind to it, I suddenly remembered beautiful films from long ago and treasured memories of having shared some fairly recent ones. I could not, however, come close to 50.

Regardless, it was an exercise in delight and warmth to remember how much I liked each of these stories. The top 3 are the top 3. Emma Thompson is hands down my favorite actress. I have no true favorite actor, although I have been known to idolize the brilliance of Viggo Mortensen. I like foreign films and fabulous costumes. I like to be made to think, and I abhor violence and suspense. Apocalypse Now and The Exorcist ruined me. Disney and Pixar make me happy.

1. The Return Of The King~ I am no man...
2. The Remains of The Day
3. Dead Poets Society~ Oh, Captain, my Captain...
4. Sense and Sensibility
5. Howard's End
6. Cinema Paradiso
7. The King's Speech~ that tattered, gorgeous wall...
8. Life is Beautiful~ the gift of bravery
9. The Piano
10. Being There
11. Toy Story I & II~ I have never laughed harder...
12. Harold and Maude
13. Witness
14. Chocolat
15. Beauty and the Beast (Disney)
16. Shine
17. Carrington~ the home as canvas...
18. The Fisher King
19. The Unbearable Lightness of Being
20. Benny and Joon
21. Amelie
22. Shrek
23. Billy Elliot
24. Wit
25. American Beauty
26. Groundhog Day
27. The Help
28. Terms of Endearment~ Shirley...
29. Slumdog Millionaire
30. A Beautiful Mind
31. Saturday Night Fever~ the Bee Gees rule...
32. Dr. Zhivago~ my Mother's most favorite film and the theme song of my childhood...


What are your favorites? Here are Kelly's and Debi's.

50 Books (well, almost)

Back in January, Kelly and Debi gave their lists of the 50 most beloved books they have read thus far. I knew I wanted to create a list, as well. I've spent the better part of the winter reading, books having always been my drug of choice. But it's taken me some time to put my list together. And in the end, I can only come up with 45 that hold a place of reverence. With my current appetite for literary brilliance, I have little doubt the next 5 slots will be filled by years' end.

Some titles are fiction, some are not. Some are meant for adults, some for children. The top 10 are the top 10 as of this moment. The rest could not be put in any specific order, all holding a unique reigning place. I finished State Of Wonder just yesterday and cannot rave about it enough. The descriptive language is stunning. I plan on putting the book under my pillow in hopes of becoming a better writer.

If you have a list of your own, I'd love to see it. If you don't have a blog, why not share it on Facebook? We could all use the inspiration and I'm always looking for my next fix.

1.      A Return To Love~ Marianne Williamson

2.      Olive Kitteridge~ Elizabeth Strout

3.      The Celestine Prophecy~ James Redfield

4.      State of Wonder~ Ann Patchett

5.      The Hobbit~ JRR Tolkien

6.      Charlotte’s Web~ EB White

7.      What Dreams May Come~ Richard Matheson

8.      The Secret Life Of Bees~ Sue Monk Kidd

9.      The Story Of Edgar Sawtelle~ David Wroblewski

10.  Watership Down~ Richard Adams

11.  Jane Eyre~ Charlotte Bronte

12.  The Postmistress~ Sarah Blake

13.  The Kite Runner~ Khaled Hosseini

14.  A Thousand Splendid Suns~ Khaled Hosseini

15.  Water For Elephants~ Sara Gruen

16.  Snowflower and the Secret Fan~ Lisa See

17.  Life Of Pi~ Yann Martel

18.  Nine Faces of Christ~ Eugene Whitworth

19.  The Joy Luck Club~ Amy Tan

20.  Love In the Time Of Cholera~ Gabriel Garcia Marquez

21.  The Book Thief~ Markus Zusak

22.  On The Banks Of Plum Creek~ Laura Ingalls Wilder

23.  Elegance Of The Hedgehog~ Muriel Barberry

24.  Like Water For Chocolate~ Laura Esquivel

25.  Gift From The Sea~ Anne Morrow Lindbergh

26.  Stones From The River~ Ursla Hegi

27.  The Tomten and the Fox~ Astrid Lindgren

28.  The Four Agreements~ Don Miguel Ruiz

29.  A Tree Grows In Brooklyn~ Betty Smith

30.  Mists of Avalon~ Marion Zimmer Bradley

31.  The World Is Flat~ Thomas Friedman

32.  Alice In Wonderland~ Lewis Carroll

33.  Thirteen Original Clan Mothers~ Jamie Sams

34.  The Giving Tree~ Shel Silverstein

35.  The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society~ M. Schaffer and A. Barrows

36.  The Bastard Of Istanbul~ Elif Shafak

37.  Outlander (Series)~ Diana Gabaldon

38.  East Of The Sun~ Julia Gregson

39.  The Art of Racing In The Rain~ Garth Stein

40.  Sarah’s Key~ Tatiana de Rosnay

41.  Harry Potter(series)~ JK Rowling

42.  Brida~ Paulo Coelho

43.  Our Lady of the Forest~ David Guterson

44.  The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox~ Maggie O’Farrell

45.  As A Man Thinketh~ James Allen

Not Yet

There is small snow racing and swirling its way to the ground. I can see it through the tiny, lace-free squares of the lace curtain. I would rather it be sunshine flooding the space of those tiny squares. I would rather it be warm enough not to snow.

I am getting ahead of myself with wishes of spring and a convictionless impulse to flip open the latch of my invisible restraint. These times of quiet have left me with a smaller sense of wonder and smaller known purpose. I am restless and drained all at once, waiting for spark, for daffodils, for life renewed.

But the season says no, not yet. There is more to contemplate and idle healing to be had, more looking in than out. Hurry is not the way. Great shifts need great foundations. And so the snow, small and meaningful, swirls.

In the quiet, I can hear the daffodils begin to wake.

the barometer

he is the barometer. this cat of unknown, damaged origin. we are more than 4 years into our mutual adoption and progress has been slow, occasionally moving in a backwards direction.

he decides everything from a highly-skittish and intelligent take on the world, letting me know when and how to be petted. when wet breakfast is to be served. when a kiss on the head is acceptable. most times, it is not. it might lead to things. bad things. like being picked up.

so we dance. mostly just beyond my arm's length, yet his need for contact has become more pronounced. urgent, at times. he has taken to vocal utterances and lengthy morning greetings while i am still prone and under cover in the predawn light.

he is a reflection of the frightened bits of me. the soul-deep cravings held to the known side of the line. the safe and sorry side of the line.

but buddha has suddenly gotten brave. this morning, for the second time in a week, he ventured onto my fleece-covered lap while inclined with book on the couch. in response to the elaborate petting and spinal massage, he drooled copiously. it began as droplets and advanced to sticky strands coating my wrists.  perhaps he was once a st. bernard. then, he farted.

the message was clear; it is such a happy relief to simply relax into this life and accept its many glorious offerings. bravery will be rewarded. 

6 months in

This life. This Odyssey. 6 months in from the turning point I still can barely speak of~ the holiness and little horrors. The days and days of silent contemplation, the willing tumble down the pit of despair. Seeing the world completely and breath-takingly new.

All the dramas; 97% meaningless. The gossip; utterly juvenile. The chest-thumping victimhood; get up and get on with it, for god's sake. My tolerance for disrespect has vanished.

What shines important for me may not shine for you. But turning away from beauty, from love to engage in the spittle of the over-inflated lives of strangers makes no sense to me at all, at 6 months.

I sit in my nest, wrapped in soft browns, and wonder how I will ever fit in again. Then, I realize, I never did and what a relief it is to stop trying. Those that resonate will simply show up. Some are already here.

Mundane holiness is the way. Love, the only real purpose.

This life.This Odyssey. 6 months in.

the need of the now

the word and the need of the now is refresh.

the newly painted walls with the undertone of peach.
the 10 valentine-red gerbera daisies in a cream-crackle vase.
card number 19 plucked from the deck of the tarot~ the sun.

above all in the now, the wonderland that is winter.

the crisp air,
the dazzle and awe of faery-weight snow
clinging to branch and stem
in a collective visual poem
that stirs up buried joy
not felt for years.

and then,
now,
the sun.

not number 19,
but the sustainer of life.
luminous.
lovely.
shimmering on faery-weight snow
and walls and red petals.

calling me up from the deep
with its breath of fresh light.

the waking dream

In the waking dream that is my life, there are conversations with misted souls. There are understandings gleaned from silent morning sunlight reshaping the work of night's frost.

In the waking dream, the crows line up across elder trees to announce the coming and going of the young eagle traveling east. The singular sparrow returns from its extended vanishing point. The cat is at the window in an instant.

In the waking dream, grief is dealt with in parceled amounts. A new knowledge of love takes shape. Impeccable bagpipes, eight, wail a rendition of Amazing Grace and I am cleansed.

In the waking dream, there is new light and new color of my own doing. There are stories to be read and a world to leave behind. In the leaving behind, however temporary, awakenings come forth. Opportunities reveal. Travail promises its end.

magic 2013 #3 {natural heart}

the first thing i saw was the tree stripped of too much of its skin. big sheets of bark lay on the ground, leaving the pale under-layers exposed to the winter. wind? vandals? how did this happen? there was nothing for me to do, but do what i do in all circumstances of nature in distress. i pulled the sheets of bark off the ground and lay them back up against the tree to honor and comfort it.

the gesture won't last. the wind is coming again. but a moment of care was what i could give.

after the tree was surrounded once more with its skin, i noticed the etch of a heart on the only slab still attached to the trunk.

"even when you feel flayed and exposed," said the tree, "love will always remain."

For more hearts, more magic~ 

Kelly and Debi

compensation for loss

there was a need for wide open space and visible breath.

the swamps were calling.

 i answered the call with neglected camera

 and hopes of messenger birds.

 there were none except for crows.

=============

there is something un-nameable

 and ancient awakening within.

it seeks to slowly rise

 and wave with willows

on nightfall's breeze.

it is the witch,

 the goddess,

 the oncoming crone.

it is the bitter taste of knowledge found

 in the depths and heights of letting go

of foundations, love and resistance.

it feels like compensation for loss.

assurance.

proof that yes, all matter is energy

and energy only and ever transforms.

it is the gold-plated ticket 

to the exclusive, elusive night circus.

i stand at the gate, 

willow switch in hand,

not quite ready to join. 

the winter

there is nothing to do but trust. yet even that protective mantle is shrugged to the ground in not an uncaring way. it is just too much to contemplate~ the holding a space of peace in the heart-chamber, the knowing all will be well at the end of the day, the season, the odyssey. you must experience the winter, he said to me. and i cannot argue. for none of these cold experiences did i knowingly call to me and yet they happened, are happening and they will define the way i see stars and press my lips to yours.

the snowbound deep stillness calls up a light i have never seen before.

2013 magic {2}

the skies are mostly empty. no sparrow, no starling, nothing terribly common arcing under grey, laden clouds. except crows. everyday, the crows.

they are the messengers and the omens in this time of roiling stasis. they are never alone, traveling as they do in families and murders, pulling up the light with their wing beats heading east and drawing down the cloak of deepest grey in the rush to the roost.

they are masters at riding the wind. they command it and play in its vestments.

they portend change and manifestation. they are full potential in the yet-to-be-formed. they adapt, they communicate, they work together. they are the maps to ordinary magic.

for now, i watch.

riding the wind may come.

it is enough to know,

 as they tell me,

i am never alone.

2013 magic {1}

what the snow angel saw

what actual angels saw

let there be magic.

let it begin now.

create from joy.

share it.

i send you an angel,

from my heart to yours.

xo

This is how it began...

From Kelly

"2013 has declared itself to be The Year of Ordinary Magic.

Because you don't have to be a child to see the world through the eyes of one.

All you have to do is remember.

I hadn't really chosen a word for this year, though I had thought about declaring it the Year of Simply Being. You know, no agenda, no plans to lose this or gain that, just being.

But then, just as least year declared itself the Year of Discarding, 2013 quite suddenly decided to be the Year of Ordinary Magic. Which is not just any kind of magic, but rather the simple, everyday kind. The magic in the firefly that dances outside your window. The shape of a shadow that does not reveal its source. The flower that only opens in the moonlight. The joy of falling backwards in the snow, not caring if you get some down your neck, up your sleeves, in your hair.

There is wonder all around us. But sometimes, we forget to remember to look.

It all started with a a post my friend Graciel did, about letting go and rolling in the grass, to which my response was: "It's too cold to roll in the grass just now, but if we get enough snow, I promise to make a snow angel."

She held me to that promise, and we made a plan to make snow angels and then post the results. And then we had to wait for the right weather, and then for me to get over the flu. And then we invited another friend, debi, who lives a magical life in Texas, to join us by making her own kind of angel, because, well, snow isn't easy to come by in Texas.

And there it was: "We should do this periodically throughout the year."

So yesterday morning I donned my husband's big old gold and purple hooded puffy Vikings coat and a pair of red and black ski pants and my purple rain boots (yes, I looked like a dork) and I went out to the front lawn, (yes, the front, where everyone could see) and made a snow angel.

I can't remember the last time I did that. Perhaps when my son was a child, twenty-some-odd years ago.

And it was fun. It was snowing big, fluffy snow-globe flakes. The snow is so deep that it caught me gently as I fell backwards, and I lay there looking up at the grey January sky, and giggled. And it was magic. One tiny moment of ordinary magic.

So here's the thing: we want you to join us. Look for the magic, all year long. And then share it with the world.

It doesn't matter how you choose to participate. With a photo, a blog post, a tweet or a status. It doesn't matter how often. Once a week, once a month, regularly, sporadically, or only just once.

Because it's magic, remember? And there are no rules in magic.

All you have to do is keep your eyes open.

And every so often, let it catch you, looking."

Magic is HERE and HERE.