know it all

my tiny soothe-me garden

despite the chaos and the upset, despite any inclination to feel lost, the answers we seek are usually right before us. actually, they are inside of us with the magical ability to project themselves outside of us, at our feet or in front of our eyes.

but chaos and upset cloud our vision and our instinctual knowing. the only way to invoke the answers to the questions of the moment is to first find a way to soothe ourselves. when we are soothed, we relax. when our mind and body feel safe and at ease, everything we need to know shows up.

soothing ourselves takes effort. we need to commit to the effort to get to that metaphorical place of peace. standing at the freezer door inhaling ice cream is not the soothing i speak of. it is much more an atmosphere of peace that needs to be created; a setting up or preparing of nest, food, bath or nature sanctuary. building something, riding a bike, sailing. the effort must result in a calming of the entire nervous system. 

if that happens, when that happens, there is nothing we cannot know.

Thank You

blank canvas

if you come to my door

you will be greeted

 with simple

with texture

and

 with a blank canvas on the wall.

because there is no image, no word

that defines the quality of the soul,

nor is there anything to be dragged

from one day to the next.

the blank canvas is

 the benediction and the prayer

of the now.

lift and joy

mr. solly, the arabian boy

to the fox who wandered through my tiny town backyard,

to the orioles who came back and sing resplendent songs through my window,

and to mr. solly who made me unafraid of horses today with his gentle, gentle ways,

i thank you all for giving me lift and joy

by simply being your magnificent selves.

cardinal rules

retablo, mala beads, male cardinal

These are the cardinal rules~

I am always learning. Emotions are not to be feared even when they terrify me. I have purpose even if I can't for the life of me remember what it is. Purpose shifts and transforms. Death is an end, but more so a beginning. Every moment is sacred because in the midst of everything there are mind-blowing miracles taking place. Broken hearts can be healed with effort. Nothing is a burden unless I decide it is. I can decide differently. The ability to see color is like winning the lottery every day. Silence is golden and birdsong is platinum. Beauty keeps my Soul inflated. Tea is Holy. Nature is my Church and my answer. If Love is the only reality, and it is, then I am always and forever going to be okay.

Mother's Day

 May, 2011~ Bremen, Germany/ My Mutti and me

We went back to her homeland for Mother's Day

I did not realize this first Mother's day without her would trip me up to the extent it has. I am one kind word or inquiry away from a public irruption of tears that is the stuff of nightmares. I had no idea people would send messages, call and approach me at work to tell me they are thinking of me or to discuss my Mother.

I thought I was doing fine.

Until I realized I am not.

When do I stop automatically saying to myself. "Oh, I can't wait for her to see this one" when I press the shutter button on my camera? When do I understand she is not coming back? 

A wise woman once told me, long before my Mother left, it takes at least 2 years to recover from the loss of one's Mother because, good or bad, it is the most significant relationship of a lifetime. I never forgot her words.

I no longer wear the black leather coat. I wear her green one instead.

late bloomers

Spring came late. But it finally arrived with blue skies and no humidity and the most ravishing burst of scented blooms.

My great hope is the metaphor.

Bounty and sweetness for all.

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.