True Art

I did not know what to say when her tears fell and then my own to see the pain. I only knew each tear was a thread uniting all in the tapestry of Life. The fear was but Love's palette spilled of its richness upon the canvas of the heart. And both were framed in silence sung.

Heart Bell

image from google: www.panoramio.com

On this Eve of ringing bells and ringing in, I sit with the whispered image of my heart as a giant bell. To whisper back to the image, "may all beings, all life, all forms know their hands hold the rope." To hear the infinite vibration and resonance ringing forth no matter the touch or pull. My heart beat but the bell dancing back and forth in joy and love. No resolution. Just the awareness and longing of what is...the heart bell and rope of humanity.

Uncovered Song

Yesterday, she was bowed beneath the snow. This morning unseen beneath the drifts of snow wind. Have you ever heard the difference in wind as it blows across the snow covered earth? The song is so different. I stood knee high in the drift and thought I remembered where she was. Gently the snow removed and there she was. I giggled to find her again. Together we greeted the first blue sky in days and sang with the snow wind. Her image and strength will return the favor when life's drifts cover me....and we will sing again and again.

Child to Child

We cherish the moments we walk with a child. Hands holding soft but firm. We adjust our stride to meet theirs. We look for danger. We give them strength but encourage their own. Time passes so slowly and life fills abundant and gentle. We change our voice so it is soft, gentle and encouraging. We remember how to laugh. We remember how to see. We notice. We listen. All because we walk with a child. Would that in all our walks, whatever the age of the one we are with, we would see the child. And with a soft whisper, reach out our hand, and say, “Come walk with me.”

Surrender and Embrace

A fallen Birch Tree embracing and supported by a Pine Tree.  As the day winds down and you close the door to today in your sleep, for a moment, pause and give thanks for those, who like the Pine offer their strength. And with the final inhale of wakefulness, a soft thank you to your heart for Her strength in surrender.


"May you be blessed with a wise and compassionate guide Who can accompany you through the fear and grief Until your heart has wept its way to your true self."  ~John O'Donohue

Sculpted Heart

There's a hole in my heart where yours once laid. Whether you left for what you thought was my own good or for your own, I do not know. Whatever the why, there is a hole in my heart where yours once laid. You are growing, unfolding, and finding your dance. Answering the prayer I breathed with every breath - that you might be whole and happy.

And on the day when infinity arrived, just days after the gift of soft,  I simply wanted to say, 'thank you.' You graced my life, and your presence truly made me blessed. There is, yes, a hole in my heart, where tears, like droplets of dew glimmer, beyond the sun's reach to dry, pool and gather rippling like the leaves dancing in the wind. Infinity. Still. 

There is a hole in my heart where yours once laid. Or maybe what was once stone has simply been sculpted into a work of art. Beauty. Grace. Softness. Sharing. Or maybe even simply the imprint of knees left when an angel knelt upon my heart's hearth to plant an eternal seed of love. Infinity. Grace. Simple truths of soft.

Unshared Invitation

We can share with others our irrational and angry side. We can share our political, parental and even childrearing expressions and opinions.  Even the child in us, now a parent to the parent shares what is right and should be done’s.  We can express and claim our needs and rights to the stop sign or to go the speed limit (or better) to the drivers in front of us.  We share our impulsive side, our silly and romantic expressions and needs.  As managers, employees, citizens and consumers we freely share the unmet needs. 

Why then, is it so hard, perhaps even rare, for the naked soul and heart to quietly whisper to another, “I hurt” or “I need”?  Is there no invitation?

May my heart and spirit, with all their shortcomings and small wisdom, always offer to another, the comfort and invitation of uttering such a whisper.   

Blessed Day

A morning like fall, only fifty eight degrees. The day whispered to come to her and see a different nature. I walked to the downtown main street and the morning whispered 'Worry not about the pain.' Sitting outside a small town cafe, I tasted the sounds and morning breeze beneath a canopy pretending to hide the sun. 

Coffee and breakfast ordered with the crispness of the morning air. 

A shop keeper came out to tend the petunias.  She taught me about pruning, the energy of plants and invited me in for coffee when breakfast was done.  

As I looked at the plate, even the sun seemed to smile. The morning air and the energy of the plants told my body there would be no pain.  The empty plate a witness to hope for my fading body. 

The shopkeeper shared her Native American treasures and talked of the mountains and how they too had drawn her here.  Taking my hand in hers, her voice quiet and soft, 'Welcome and blessings' she bid me as I readied to leave.  I paused at the door, partly to savor the morning nectar and partly from embarrassment, I had failed to introduce myself.  She gifted me her name, and with a smile, "And yours?"  "My name is Beth" I replied with hands to my heart as I bowed.

Walking back, I paused by the river to give thanks, and savor a bit longer, the morning breeze.  To drink and taste again the coffee, quiche and fresh fruit partaken with no thought but their delight.   To wish a blessed day to a stranger friend and celebrate the river'd dance of Life.

Namaste to all who see, Welcome and Blessings on this gifted day.

Paths no more

And when choices made for me or those I make - whether intentional or not - send me to the path on the left and all else moves forward on the other path, know that in the realm where hearts of light meet, in the absence of fear, there are no paths.  Forever the journey together.

Eyes to the sky

The sky has been, will always be so translucent and blue. The sun brilliant and fiery orange. They make no excuses nor apologize for their appearance, their life or the gifts they offer and well aware of how often they go unnoticed.


 'Here I am. Here are my gifts. Opened or unopened, they are yours.'  


Do you think today would be different if we could be so giving and accepting as the sky and sun? If we approached ourselves, our partners, children, co-workers and strangers with the same self-acceptance and acceptance of them, no if, and, or fixing, just a blue sky and fiery sun spread over our lives and theirs- how different would it be? . Loving and embracing that our our own hearts, or they may respond as the blackened velvety night sky and luminous white moon. Love without definition. Love abiding. Love that sees only the sky.

Statue'd gnomes

She wrote how odd to say good-bye to family and friends, joined together for the annual family reunion. You say good-bye every year, but for her, and for them, it was good-bye. She stared out the window and wrote that no matter how hard she tried, she could not keep them all in the back yard forever like statue’d garden gnomes. They are gone, but still, more importantly, their life remains. How different they would have celebrated, in years past, had they known today was near.

Rumi writes of a group of men who went to see another they heard had gone mad. The madman threw stones at them and away they ran. He calls out that 'See you are not friends!' Friends do not run from pain, even if inflicted by the other. “A friend is pure gold singing inside the refining fire.”  George Elliot wrote “Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away.”

A simple thread, I readily confess my thoughts are odd.  But to not see others as statue’d garden gnomes, kept for their presence, unwilling to enter the fire or to sift the chaff from the grain. And then the thread tangles with another, that perhaps allows the first to become real. To awaken to the day, and with the same heart, whisper to Life, ‘You are my friend. Today is near’

Invitation

I must go and remove all the seed from the ground and feeders. The store was out of sunflower seed and I had to buy a mix with berries and fruits. The ants have discovered the banquet and the birds and squirrels can no longer eat. Last night sweltered in the oppressive heat, no air conditioning to cool the body, my head exploded as I tried to make eyes that cannot see, read about ways to display my feathers. I have images but there will be no other hands to do what mine cannot, but I will get what I see. I hung some of my photographs, that make me smile and feel the sacredness of being, in plastic sheet protectors, taking several hours trying to hammer or hold a tiny nail with a hand that will not grasp. I laughed to feel my mother’s shame of not having picture frames.

A litany of ‘have not’ and ‘cannot’? No, each one is an invitation. With a hand that tremors I extend my list to you. The invitation is that your open hand extends yours to me.  Take not my list and withhold your own. Nor will I take yours and in silence keep mine.  It is the exchange, the invitation and offering that heals. Oh yes, the ants may still be there, the feathers remain undisplayed, but the invitation, the offering and acceptance is what transforms the have not and cannot into Life itself. That is the beauty of the souls walking together upon this sweet earth.  Together….to gather. 

In Lak'ech - you are my other me.

And she soared

Sitting outside, it seemed even the coffee swirled inside the cup, the wind was so strong.  Holding those whose hearts are heavy upon my own, the whisper of ‘kite’ rode upon the wind.  I am 58 and have never flown a kite. I giggled and drank my coffee. ‘Kite’ the wind whispered as the neighbor’s sprinklers danced and bent.  This time I listened.

Off to the one store where I thought they might be, only one was left, waiting for me.  And then I became afraid.  My eyes are not good and my hand tremors and stutters and cannot grasp.  As the nice man took my money, with shy eyes I asked if he would help.  As I stuffed my stuttering hand back into my pocket, unseen, his face softened and he put it together and tied the string.

To the lake I went. Holding the kite against my body, my back to the wind, I unraveled the string. As I turned, releasing my grip I released the drowning, heaviness, death, and silence gathered around those faces upon my heart.  With a whoosh and jerk the kite soared, almost taking me with it.  I whispered “Please” to the sweet Hands of Life, “Hold still my hand, the wind and kite. One picture please to remember.”  And Life giggled back, as she drew the kite closer to her own heart.  “Two pictures my child. One for you.  And one for those who now fly into my embrace.”

I am 58 and still do not know how to fly a kite.  A stranger’s compassion became my hands.  My body turned to face the sun, the wind pushed me back and I loved with laughter and sweet tears…and Life accepted the gift.  

Unclenched pillows

Some nights the pillow is softened with tears.  Some nights the pillow cups the waters of nature’s walks and brings such sweet dreams.  Our heads need pillows.  Even when none is present, we bend our arms beneath our head to keep the neck and spine straight so the energy can flow.  As I think of the earth and those now seeking their pillows as I leave mine, I ask for their pillows to be soft, accepting of any troubled hearts, tendered and fitting so many shapes and needs.

We need pillows.  And should there be those, whose arms are too weak to hold their heads, quietly I slip my hand between their weighted minds, weary eyes and their chin buffeted by the day’s blows.  We need pillows.  Our heads were not meant to be lowered and bent, save in the gift of honor and love, or perhaps to notice a blade of grass.  We need pillows.  And so, when I ponder the world, all the needs, wondering oh sweet Hands of Life, what can one little person like myself ever do, may I recall this scrich.  We need pillows.  My hands are small and gentle, and closing my eyes, when I see a face stressed, saddened, or head bent, to slip my hand between their head and the world, a soft whisper, ‘Quiet my friend, and know rest, my pillowed hand is here.’ 

Loo-li, loo-li, loo-li, lai-layLoo-li, loo-li, loo-li lai-lay Lay down your head and I'll sing you a lullabyBack to the years of loo-li lai-layAnd I'll sing you to sleep and I'll sing you tomorrowBless you with love for the road that you go….May you bring love and may you bring happinessBe loved in return to the end of your daysNow fall off to sleep, I'm not meaning to keep youI'll just sit for a while and sing loo-li, lai-lay~SECRET GARDEN - SLEEPSONG

Time to ride

Together they went to arrange her funeral.  Wearily they returned home only to find, parked out front, a Harley with a side car and a classic Mustang convertible – top down.  Lifting her weakened body from the car, their friends carried her and then snuggled her in the Harley’s side car wing.  With goggles and blankets, a classic escort, she sprouted wings of her own and flew with the wind to sit with the waterfalls.

Such a simple act of grace, compassion, laughter and truth.  I, who confess I am a squirrel, forever stuffing treasures in my pockets, ask you sweet Hands of Life, for yet two more pockets (and perhaps a stronger belt to hold my pants).  To carry with me always, a pair of goggles and a side car.  Would it not be grand to imagine putting goggles on the faces of all those I see during the day and lifting them into a side car to let them fly and then sit by the waterfall?  Why should they have to wait?  And if they cannot believe, my arms will still carry.

Yes, my child, why do you wait?  Put on your goggles, time to ride……… My arms will still carry.