Unnoticed Day

That our hearts and love were such that this day would go unnoticed. Simply another day of love's outpouring.

Nurture embedded

The image of the tree is embedded in the leaf. What was to be became and now is. The image true to its source yet the leaf is unlike the tree. The leaf is unlike all other leaves. With winter's rhythm both leaf and embedded source will return to nurture what is to be, what has become, and what will be.

May all see the image of Life and Love embedded in my presence and uniquely expressed. And may each breath, word, thought, and deed be as giving as the tree held within the leaf.

Feathered Migration Home...Again

The journey is complete. I return back to my mountains and little hobbit house tomorrow. Nature had been sweet and gifted me ten feathers. Having met the amazing hearts of my peers I returned nature's gifts by gifting each one, all ten to my peers. Each feather was received with such a gentle soft heart and eyes.

Saying goodbye to the river front and city lights I turned to walk back to the room as the sun bid good night to the day and the journey. The sea gull's cry made my heart dance. I knew the whisper. Looking down, was a feather of my own. In giving we truly do receive so much more, I would not have returned empty handed. But nature had one more feather that would travel with me. A gentle whisper, though the dream has been realized, the flight has just begun. A new path awaits. Like the migrating geese, I am going Home.

Opening Christmas Day 8: RSVP NOT

On this day 8 of opening Christmas I ponder an email I tried to write last night. I was trying to thank someone for a simple simple gift they sent to me. A small gift nature gifted. Not Christmas. Something they said simply had my name written all over it. And...it did. Oh sweet mercy it did. Sweet mercy it did.

So why did my mind take off like a rocket trying to think of something equally perfect I could send? Why did my body tense wondering how I could match such a gift? Why is it so hard to simply receive? Why can't I just see both the day moon and the branches in focus and not focus on one overpowering the other?

 I remembered her words, "It had your name written all over it."  Holding the small gift in my hands, as my smile was gifted a drink of sweet tears, I whispered "Thank you." It had my name written. It had love and attention written. It did not have RSVP. Opening Christmas, may my heart also open to simply receive. Is that not the song sung in the heavens?

Opening Christmas # 2- Tracking Gifts

On this second day of opening Christmas I stepped out to feed the birds and giggled with delight. They left a gift of softness and dance.

We track the to do's and to gets of Christmas. We know the gifts we need to give. To be these days mindful that wherever we walk or drive we are leaving tracks of gifts. All touched by our presence, energy, voice, eyes, and expressions are gifted with our being. These gifts do not wait for one day to open. They are opened immediately when touched by our being. Oh to be mindful of the gifts I give to all strangers these days.Oh to be mindful of those I gift myself.

Nested Feast

Sometimes the whispers and lessons so simple and clear.  I, with such a small but growing heart, experience and know such joy clearing snow to feed the birds.... What must the Heart that created mine, in boundless perfection, experience when I dare to take flight and come to feast?

Pauperless AbunDANCE

 Paying a bill and simultaneously sending a bit of money to a friend, a sigh of wishing I could do more. Suddenly the sun exploded over the mountains and trees, literally blinding my eyes with light. Turning to reach for my "sun" hat, the sun danced with my hanging prism and created a rainbow upon feathers I've found. I burst into laughter and awe filled abuDANCE. To those I know, calling them by name, to those like you who kindly read these words, I began to offer such blessings and gifts. The joy of the sun burst, laughing prism'd feathers, the peace of rainbow streamers, the sound of birds hovering to feed, the elegance of a single cloud dancing, a diva no doubt, the unburdened trees dancing, the anticipation of a little dog sitting by the door knowing its time to walk. My heart exploded, I could not name the names nor the gifts fast enough. To you, and you, and you and all. I felt the wealth of opening my burlap sack and gold coins spilled all over the table, clinking and spinning on the floor.  You, my friends, and all, open wide your arms, you may need help, a buffet of gifts are lavished upon you! Perhaps that is the essence of mindfulness.... you learn to see, so you can give away. No one a pauper....receive...receive.

Absorbing Absorption and Reflection

As I stood and gazed upon the street light beaming down upon the fresh snow fall, I was struck by the difference of the earth. Were not the snow there, only the stream of light would be seen and the earth would be shadowed in contours of black.  But with the snow, the earth reflected back the light and shadows now were hues of blue not black.  Absorption and reflection and yet one light, one earth.

And from such reverie I thought of my breath. The inhale as the earth, drawing in, absorbing, growing inward with the nourishment like the roots of trees.  The exhale, reflecting the light drawn in, extending outward and upward like the trees that are visible to our eyes.  My exhale moves upward through the earth, reaching outward, creating and changing space and time. It is presence. 

Absorption and reflection.  Sweet mercy, may the trees I exhale, the reflection I gift, be wide spanned branches of love.

Wish List

I watched a piece of Christmas wrapping paper dance with the wind down the street. The present, wherever, had been unwrapped.  I laughed to think of the colorful paper's dance as one seeking another gift to adorn.

And as I pondered the season and recent events, Christmas wish lists and letters to Santa, the dancing wrapping paper left thread.  But one gift, perhaps is all I need to ponder.  To gift to Life, Love, Source, God, Yahweh, Allah, the Expression and Life sought when the Divine spark was lit within me.  

I AM, all ARE, the wish list of Life, Love, Source, God, Yahweh, Allah, the Sacred.  Perhaps the wrapping paper flew off the gift of my heart.

Visible Invisibility

Sometimes I feel invisible. So much so I even check to make sure I cast a shadow.  To think no one knows I am here, my coming and going unnoticed.  Sometimes we make ourselves invisible, hiding behind our masks so others cannot see, know or hurt us again.  Sometimes we run from those who have managed to slip in between, or melted a door with their gentle touch.  Sometimes in our busyness and things to do we hear not the voices of another or others calling our name, and in the visibility of our doing we leave them invisible.  Sometimes with the smile and joy reserved for the gods, we leave random acts of kindness for others and co-create with the sweet Spirits a new life, that is renewed and refreshed from our gift. Ahh yes, tis definitely a joy and smile reserved for the gods, and in that moment of gifting, we know the power of joy and desire made manifest in compassion made visible.  Sometimes we stand alone, invisible and dare to utter the plea or prayer ‘help me’ and feel it hang upon the invisible air around us.  Quietly, softly, we feel the invisible embrace cloak us, embrace us, touch our heart and our face, clasping our hands and whispering back, ‘I am here. You are not alone.’ Moments of visible invisibleness reserved for our hearts alone, knowing there are no words to describe that another would understand.  Sometimes we see the pain of our children or family as they struggle to grow, their invisible scrapes on their knees and elbows and our invisible kisses to make it all better.  Our invisibility is our love to let them find their way, to lift from crawl to walk, to mature to hear their own call, and perhaps even, our love that says good-bye.

Sometimes I feel invisible. And then I think of the wind.  And I think of the smile and joy of the gods when compassion alone is made visible. I bow my heart in silence, and send forth the invisible breath of Life,  “in lak’ ech– you are my other me,  stranger or friend, shalom, peace, and angel wings to lift you from your knees of despair.”  Quietly I go walking.   Into the open windows, closed doors, buildings and cars, I giggle to see invisible angel wings fluttering about upon the wind stirred by the joyful clapping of the sweet Hands of Life.  We scamper about, like the wind, with a smile, beaming eyes of joy, sending forth angels and compassion, invisible like the wind, and watch them become visible when upon another they land.

The Heart's Feeder

Sometimes we may wonder, we give so much, try so hard, and yet, a quiet whisper may poke, when it seems we have not made a difference.

The bear was back.  All the feeders were on the ground. One pole was even bent.  The fallen feeders were emptied but the feeders were all intact.  As I cleaned up and tried to restand the feeders, I giggled at the bear, remembering his size, grateful the feeders were intact.

Maybe, I pondered, there is a thread on giving. We give the seeds of our heart and sometimes long to dig them up to see if they are growing.  The seeds belong to others now, their hearts, not ours.  We may only see the bent poles and feeders strewn across the yard.  But the feeders are intact, the bear was fed, and even now I watch the birds feed on a tilted pole, the Pinyon Jay screeching 'oh my what happened here?'  And our thank you comes with the dawn.... we have another day to give.

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

~ 

Emily Dickinson

The Dance is Enough

She is called a Blue Moon. The last one for a few years.  Labels and names can be so deceiving.  She graces the drought stricken trees, stripped of their leaves before Fall, with the brilliance of yellow they will not know this year. Bearing their naked imprint, she fills them with splendor as they dance.

I clasp my hands to my heart, with a smile and sweet tear, I bow to her gentleness and wonder if anyone else will notice the simple, wonder, of nature's love and embrace.  And then I smile again, capturing the tiny stream of tears.  She needs no applause. She needs no audience.  The dance is enough.

To Steer the Wind

Have you ever felt a house sigh? The summer has been quite hot, and the un-air conditioned house has only one east facing window to let air in. The wind seldom blows from the east.  This morning, before dawn, as I opened the window, the curtains danced and a morning breeze streamed through the house, and I heard her sigh. Such a little gift, unseen, offering a release that made her sigh.


I will never be a Mother Teresa, Ghandi nor wise and all loving.  But even mud puddles can become a canvas for dropped petals of blue.  Some gifts people offer are magnificent.   Others offer simple gentle acts of presence, a touch to say 'I am here,' a soft exhale to breathe another's name in prayer and thought ....  and like the gentle Hand that turned the breeze towards the East, such simple gifts cause the house, the heart, and Life to sigh.

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.

Singing touch

If rain never touched a leaf, a window pane, the earth or lake, would it have a sound? Sometimes I think of rain as nature's tears, other times laughter and other times her gentle touch to heal and nourish. Whatever the expression, to hear the music Nature knows it must touch another, it cannot fall alone. The wind has a voice that does not require touch to speak, but the music of rain, of Love, Joy, Sadness, and Life, must be poured and bathe another to sing.

Forgetting the Giver

I gently bathed the bamboo's leaves, refreshed her water, then giggled and gave her a complete shower. My fingers thought they felt her joy to be so immersed, droplets still cling to her leaves. Was it her joy or my own? I remembered the waterfall I stood beside, the beauty and sound inimitable, knowing how deeply body, mind and soul wanted to lay down and feel the current. I shall next time. But what if there is not another? Not only would my hesitancy have deprived my own spirit of such joy, but what of Life that stood waiting to giggle as she bathed me? So often I view things I miss, lose or refuse to accept from my own eyes, forgetting the eyes and heart of the One who stands waiting to give.

Cold River Covering

Sweet soul of mine, forgive me
I can offer not one excuse.
I heard your voice, felt your need
Accepted the gratitude not the desire.
June 2012

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.

Unmined

That which we have given value, declared precious, rare, to be sought after no matter what, lie deep within the earth.  We drill, mine and draw forth minerals and stones the diamonds, gold and oil.  Yet the trees which sustain us,  give us our breath, shade, hold fast the earth’s soil and shelter nature’s fragile creatures, stand naked and exposed.  They have no mountains to nestle inside.  The earth’s soil, for some, barely covers their roots.  Exposed to all the seasons they stand and give.  Even when stripped they have learned to survive, re-birthing the sap and leaves in the spring, to give, yet again.  Those that have fallen to the seasons or fire continue to give as they enrich the earth.  Without them, we would find it difficult, if not impossible, to exist.  They would die if hidden in a vault to protect their worth.

Sweet hands of life, I was simply walking watching the wind bend the trees and make the leaves dance, when it occurred to me they have no shelter.  They have nothing  except what they have become and are…life rooted in the certainty of earth’s soil, reaching upward, sheltering and giving life.  Sweet mercy, do you think maybe we don’t have to dig and claw trying to find value, worth and meaning?  Maybe we just have to be what we are…rooted in the certainty of earth’s soil, reaching upward, sheltering and giving life.

Gifted's calling

I have been pondering one’s gifts, talents and the infamous topic of one’s calling.  We have all heard people say “You have such a gift,” or “He’s such a gifted…”  Just what are gifts?  When we think of “gifts” quite often we think in terms of teaching, artists, healers, speakers, leaders, and even athletes.  I’ve tried to ponder their common themes.  The one thread that sticks is that so much of what we call “gifts” involves the “giving” of oneself.  But, don’t we all have that gift?  No, I cannot draw, but I can give.  Drawing or painting, dancing or other “gifts” are simply the tools, the manifestation of how the gift is expressed.  We all have different tool boxes, but do we not all have the “gift” of giving?  If we did not, why do stories of heroes, random acts of kindness, stories of people or animals in need move us so? Do we not all have the “gift”?

Hell, I have not figured it all out.  But somewhere there is this little thread that keeps poking me and reminding me of my radical hippie days in the 60’s and early 70’s.  I remember ID bracelets were all the rage.  I bought one for myself.  Instead of my name, I had etched “A Person.”  It was my subtle way of rebelling against labels.  Maybe it was the origin of this poking thread.  Maybe that is my gift.  I am A Person.  I am the “gift.”  Gifts are gifts because they are given away.  In giving of myself, I am the gift. Gift and giver are one.  Maybe that is the calling-to simply be the gift.  In all I do may I be truly human.  May I be the gift.  When you look at it that way, we are all gifted.  There are no bench sitters or stars, no one is special.  We are all the same and equally gifted.  Different tool boxes, yes, but equally gifted, as we are.  We are the gift.  And with a confessed quiet chuckle, now ain’t that special?