May I so Push

The morning greeting to the plants in the sun room and to turn on their gentle music for the day. As the curtains were pulled I explained had lots to do would not be able to sit and chat right now. Deadlines were awaiting. A gentle whisper to pause and look. An orchid's bud pressed against the stem. Sitting down, I did not rise until an hour later. To do what I must, push where required, but always to do so with the gentle strength of an unopened bud.

Opening Christmas Day 10: Unbounded Sitting

On this day 10 of opening Christmas I paused in my tiny room I think of as the sun room. Shelves hold my little plants and yes, the floor beneath provides a bit of storage. The window faces the west where I can sit in my grandmother’s rocking chair and watch the sun set. A small room, for some houses probably smaller than the closets. My little house was built in 1949 and the closet doors are no wider than me. I call it my hobbit house. The ceilings are low and even my short body and small hands can touch the top of the arched doorways. It was not built for storage and yet it raised a family of six and gifted Christmas to grandchildren until my purchase two years ago.

I sat down in the rocker and listened to the squeak of its old wooden frame. I watched a huge flock of geese pass by the window. I noticed a new tiny growth at the base of an orchid. A cloud rested from its journey upon a mountain. I heard the birds gather on the roof awaiting their seed. I heard the echoes of laughter from children to see wrapped gifts strewn throughout the house – no place to hide from curious and wondering eyes. My heart stirred to hear the chorus “fall on your knees” from the song O Holy Night playing on the CD.

Christmas is about joy. The knock your socks off experience that shatters any and all illusions of hopelessness.  The crumbling of all pretense and doubt that sends you to your knees in wonder, awe, and joy. It is not about storage and accumulation. It is not about what surrounds or does not surround you. It is taking your seat upon the cushion of your heart and shaking with laughter and tears of joy as you feel the smallness and walls of life explode in love. It is the joy of transformation such that you will never be the same even after the calendar has turned.

I’ve warmed the rocker…you’re welcome to come and take your seat. 

Opening Christmas # 4 - Stepping Stones Gifts

Opening Christmas Day 4 returns the reminder that paths take many forms and are often interrupted. To let the mind settle from a calendar and clock. To honor the disruptions and lack of flow. To embrace the cannots of money, time, and even heart. To pause in wonder of a frozen lake where nature has left her footprints like cobble walking stones. All is well. Christmas is not a day. The day, the path is the journey.

The Real "TO DO"

"You don't go to a restaurant to read the menu"*
As one who has never smelled a fragrance in the almost 60 years I have walked this earth, food has never been enticing. I go to restaurants to enjoy the communion with friends, to laugh with the waitresses and other patrons. It is the presence and awareness of sweet moments shared. And then to remember the wisdom as I set out into the day. To see the ice dancing on the car, and put away the to do list, to pause and savor the moment's dance. This moment IS the path.

*Gil Fronsdal "Issue at Hand"

To Leave Your Thread

Amidst the wonder of fall a clearing called and beckoned me to come and sit.  The ponderings and threads I left here, so simple, unwise and insignificant, need not litter the clearing or its call.  Rather, it is the call to come and sit that is the thread I leave for you. May it be a welcomed bookmark for your day.  

Labor Day Blessing

May the pause of your labors, give reflection of pride for all you do -do not forget to praise yourself.

May the pause of your labors allow your feet to move towards your dream, upon the soles of ‘what if.’

May the pause of your labors issue forth a blessing within your heart for the millions who have no work, food, shelter, water and exist upon the sustenance of dust.

May the pause of your labors celebrate the changing seasons and give cause to notice nature’s symphony and painted canvas beckoning you to come and play.

May the pause of your labors be not the pause of your laughter.

May the pause of your labors remind you to breathe, and enjoy the breath.

May the pause of your labors so delight your eyes, come tomorrow, you eagerly seek to see yet again.

And may today, you know only the effortless labor of love.

Blessings.

Humming prayer

I am so much a child. The morning coffee, the birds and the sun.  I had to share. Having no one I brought outside my impulse buy of a toy horse, posed standing up with the feel of power his feet pawing the air.

Holding the image up to the morning sun just seemed the thing to do. And then I giggled at myself, with a whisper of 'my gosh you are a dork.'

A car went flying by, way too fast, probably late for work. Open neighbors' windows released the sound of a husband yelling at his wife and another the sound of a child and mother not very pleased with other. I recalled the young man standing in front of the house last night screaming at his girl friend on the cell phone and bad words flying through my open windows. I thought of the clerk who despite my best efforts simply refused to smile. I felt the holes in the wholeness of my heart and body. 

As I pondered, the little horse danced in the air, and upon the porch windowsill. The birds and wind chime became his orchestra accompanied by my soft gentle hum and prayer of peace to all whose images and voices I felt and saw.  Another hum for any who might see my little scrich, a hummed prayer that in the midst of your busy day, you could come and play with life, pause to hold up the silliness and wonder in your heart, and giggle to yourself, 'my gosh I am a dork.'  I'll leave my little horse here, in case you need a friend to play.

Sundogs

Sundogs. I do not know where the name came from or what it means. They are called sundogs in Minnesota, rainbows or prisms floating inside a cloud. Some have been so spectacular that they literally pulled my car to the road's shoulder so I could stare in wonder.  The morning's coffee outside gifted such a sight.  First one I've seen since I left Minnesota. I scurried inside to get my camera only to find it gone.  Their presence is fleeting, a simple gift, then gone.


After my muttered "rats" I pondered, how sundogs are like so many experiences in life. We want to capture them, hold on to them, have proof we really did overcome or for a brief moment felt ourselves to be alive.  In our hurry to understand, analyze, figure it out, gather the proof, and file it away in a scrapbook under "I remember when..." we fail to sit and simply accept the gift, to drink the morning coffee and actually taste and feel the warmth, fragrance and steam instead of guzzling or making a dusty scrapbook fat with frozen memories.  We want to share and in sharing find the words themselves are so inadequate as to bore the other....unless they too have seen a sundog.   We do not trust the same Giver that gifted the sundog to also gift another who understands, has seen, and needs only glimpse the look of wonder in your eyes without words, to see the sundog in your heart. And if there is no one to share the wonder, to join my heart in celebration of the unseen who also saw, and humbly accept the prism'd thread, for now, meant just for me.




"Why am I here?" "To create the world in every moment." ~ Deepak Chopra, The Book of Secrets

Morning sit

A morning’s sitting outside, with morning coffee, the birds and the rainbows created by the neighbor’s sprinklers dancing in the sun.  I turned to feel the sun’s warmth upon my face.  And for a few moments, with a wink of grace, the flower and I were one.

The doorway into the house is both an entry and an exit.  An entry into shade, things, solitude, chores and responsibilities.  An exit from the flutter of wings, sprinkled rainbows, and sunbathing with a flower.  But in the middle of the doorway lies a threshold, a point that is neither an exit nor entry.  A point suspended in between and questioning “Which way is your choice?”  Sweet Hands of Life, to see only thresholds, to trust their journey and gifts, and feel the sun’s warmth upon my petals and face.

Simplicity

Waiting....

Drizzle trust

A day of cannot do, do not have, cannot figure out, and what now.  I went for a walk in the drizzle.  Like a heating blanket on pre-heat the drizzle soaked my hair, skin and clothes.  Just a 15 minute walk.  Not much.  A squirrel peaked behind a tree, as wet as me, to say hello.  I walked through, not around, a puddle and created a splash.  Drops of rain played on my hair’s slip and slide and raced down my cheeks.  And when I returned, two small feathers, dwarfed by droplets of rain taking a nap, awaited me.  I still cannot do, do not have, cannot figure out, and do not know what next and the night still awaits.  I went for a walk in the rain.  A short walk.  Timid trust.  And two feathers drying beside me.  

Life on the fly

The delicate dance of life.

Feathered bark upon a tree

New life waiting to unfold

Life on the fly, a momentary pause.