A Dream Goes to Sleep

What do you do when a dream dies? Can a dream die? Does waking up put a dream to sleep? Today, officially when I press “post,” a dream will have died or gone to sleep. Sometimes metaphors escape me. Winter’s trees are starting to bud.  For now, they stand naked, vulnerable; some would even call them stark. You can see their broken, bent, and misshaped branches.  One could even say, against the blue sky they stand with a dignity spring and the glory of autumn will never know.

My journey has been like winter’s trees. Unlike the dignity with which they stand, I preferred to hide in the canopy of spring. I have written of nature’s whispers, the simple joy of being alive, and the wonder of this gift called life. I am, very much, a simple child at heart.  It has been a journey of affirming healing long sought. The losses have been great both personally and collateral damage. And still, with childlike trust I keep walking the path and gathering the tapestry’s threads.

One whisper, one thread I could not hide from or ignore. And so, today, like winter’s naked trees, in one fell swoop the canopy of spring is disrobed.  The disrobing is swift as I tell any who may pause to read, that my little heart has put her whispers in a small wee book called Whispered Grace. Simple scriches. Some you have read here. A website/blog has been created and launched today:  http://www.whisperedgracebook.com/

I do not know how to or if I will continue to use the two blogs or migrate to one. How does one leave a home like this that has been my sanctuary and mantra…affirming healing. My hope would be somehow a Facebook or page where others can record the whispers they hear during the day, to describe their own winter and spring tree dance. I began this space so that others would know they were not alone. The path, is in truth, well worn. Logistics are logistics. I only know today a dream has died or gone to sleep. For though I wrote so that others would know they were not alone, I dreamed I could remain alone and hidden, not even using my name to identify the one who posted.

And so….. Hello. My name is Beth Chapman. I like to walk in nature. Sometimes nature whispers gifts of hope. Sometimes nature makes me laugh. I am so far from perfect you’d probably shudder but I try. Sweet mercy I do try. I have been on a long long journey dreaming I could stay hidden and out of sight. And so I step out and offer my heart like nature’s winter trees. I know my writings seem childlike and sometimes see joy and possibility in a world that would say naught. But still I believe. Still I trust. Still I laugh in awe and delight. And still I know none of us are alone. Now, to live awake with healing affirmed in whispered graces. Hello… my name is Beth Chapman and I've written a wee tiny book that I dreamed could not, would not ever happen. Another dream put to sleep. And my heart is laughing.

With hands to my heart and bowing deeply, Namaste.

Neither Up Nor Down-Simply There

Sometimes I do smile at Life's sense of gentle humor. How often to think a change of perspective is needed. Yesterday, as the plane flew so many thousands of feet in the air, I looked out and there were my precious mountains waving above the clouds. So many days, looking up, I stood in awe at how they pierced the clouds. That moment, looking down, not up, the vision was the same. 

Sometimes we try to over analyze, sometimes to think a change is needed, sometimes to ask "Oh please life grant more clarity!" And there stood the mountains, the same whether looking up or looking down. A gifted smile, to know strength, awe, beauty, and courage are so constant. No digging, no clinging or discarding, no effort required. To trust the instinct within the heart.... it is there my child, right now, where and as you are.

Union's Garden

Doubt is but the resistance of the soil to the seed. Life is their union.

Six Inches of Awakening

It is such a simple thing to wake up in the morning. I know well dark nights where perhaps a thought maybe the morning will not come. I know well the mornings where my eyes open and the world is a fresh mystery, untouched, an absolute purity, clean and open armed.

 I know well the work days where I would toddle off to a corporate meeting breathing the amazing energy of life. I would enter the room and WHAM the energy within would singe me like the open flamed hearth I imagine at steel mills. I would step back outside the door and feel the cool peace. Step back through and feel the fiery negativity. I would ponder those tiny six or so inches separating awareness into two diverse and tangible experiences. I confess, giggle, there were times I thought to do an about face, turn the other way and beg forgiveness later.

The first people the Buddha met after his enlightenment asked if he was a god or what. Buddha replied he was neither. He simply said “I am awake.”  Perhaps that is the thread of waking up in the morning - those tiny six inches or so separating my chosen experience. I can turn on my heels and not enter the portal of life as it is. I can enter as I am awake and open. To see the morning and everyone I meet, the must do, would like to do, breath and emotion as those tiny six inches. To breathe and whisper quietly, sweet mercy yes, thank you, I am and will be awake.

Being's Beauty and Strength

New calendars have replaced the old. I smile to think each month, day, minute, and breath are in fact the beginning of a new year. No need to wait.

A whisper gave me pause as I walked in nature. The stillness and quietness rumbled like a rolling tympani. I did not realize how much sound my footsteps made. In the quiet I turned to see the image. And the whisper of the beauty and strength of being.

Blessings to all, this sweet earth and life.

Rooting Soil

I awakened this morning and felt my heart race. I am alive. My heart raced to see the shadows of light, to feel the floor beneath my feet, and the strength of legs and spine that held my body upright. When graced with such powerful caress all else I face becomes rooting soil.

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.

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?

AT the Being of BE

I do love words and the powerful changes a subtle shift can make. So many of our sayings, prayers and meditations use the words “like,” “know” or “at.” May you be like the sun giving never asking for return. May you know the state of happiness. May you be at peace.  But the words feel like a place or emotion, here or there but never quite me. In the midst of turmoil I can be “at” peace. But how much more powerful would it be, if instead, in the midst of turmoil I “was” peace? To change the “likes” and “at’s” to being or be. And so today, for myself, all beings, and all life, my meditations are that all may be at peace and at ease. But with a heart smile, I shall add “May all BE peace. May all BE ease. May all BE happiness and joy. May all BE strength. May all fully BE.

Costumes of My Mind

Like a two headed arrow, the deadline sharply approached as my ability to finish flew the other way. The whispered question, “What is my intention?” To get it all done. “What is my intention?” The whisper asked again. To get it done. And yet a third time, “What is my intention?” My hands fell softly into my lap as my breaths slowed and deepened. To love this life with an open heart. To see the miracles, wonder, and love streaming past me each moment. To see all that touches my life as my Teacher.  The whisper smiled. The silence transformed the arrowheads into the sun’s first stream of light. We create our misery. We create our bliss. To let them both go and with love and the mystery of awe, joyfully embrace and learn from what is.

On this day of tricks and treats, may I let go the costumes of my mind.

Ready to Play

A friend wrote of a battle to keep her land pristine and free of development. It triggered within the fear that life or forces are much bigger than me. What chance do I have against such powers? But then to think that Life, the Divine, Source IS all. What can be greater than All? To know the joy of trust. Joy! It is not clinging to the life raft or broken piece of the ship as I am tossed among the wreckage. Joy! Not holding on. Not Holding. Joy! Releasing and knowing the waves will be but a different raft to carry me where I am to be. But even in the releasing, to know that I also am gifted arms and legs to steer my course. They match the current of the waves. To know both are one. One without the other will surely sink, or even worse, simply cling to the wreckage. Diving into the ocean of trust with arms and legs readied to direct. Releasing into the Joy of All. Come sweet life…I’m ready to play.

Imprisoned Not

He made a terrible mistake. Oh no, not a saint.  He is paying the price, a young adult in prison. Surrounded by windowless cement, bars, electric fences, watchful guards with guns, and others filled with rage and despair, he found his heart, forgiveness, and chose to be free.  Years without a mark, unthinkable in such surroundings. He devoured every course offered and desires only to complete the price and then to be a good man, a good father and son. Because of his record he was moved to a less guarded prison. For the first time in years he stepped outside and felt grass beneath his feet. A tree on the grounds gifted her touch. And he stood outside in the night and saw yes, sweet mercy, there is a moon and stars. I am thirty years older and judged by society as the better citizen and person; he is my teacher and guiding North Star. Sometimes I am overwhelmed with responsibilities and mistakes I've made. I see only the walls that keep me from being who I know I could be.  At such times, with grace, I touch the door handle and think of him. I can step outside the prisons I create. 

Domeless

I walked up the steep mountain hill I could not pedal. I would embody within, the strength that could meet the climb. Looking up the sky seemed so close. The gentle whisper, “It is NOT a dome. It is not a dome.” We are not goldfish swimming in a bowl. The cosmos and universe extend far beyond what we can even dream or conceive. Columbus shook the world proving the earth was not flat. He never mentioned neither was it a dome. My own body, like the sky, contains a cosmos of Light extending beyond the dome called form. Come Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria… time to set sail………………….

Earthen Clod of Joy

Last night, for some reason, the whispers of the moon's cycles called me to read. Farmers have long sought to join their planting with the cycles of the moon. Poets and mystics have likewise looked to the moon for the tilling of the earthen heart. When the moon is moving from full to new, is best to plant rooted plants or vegetables. The moon is drawing energy from the earth, and rooted plants would be deep in the earth where the energy abides. When the moon is moving from new moon to full is best to plant flowering or above ground plants for the moon is shining down her energy to nourish. And like the tides that move with the moon's cycle and pull, even the moisture within the earth moves like the tides drawing upward to nourish the seeds when the moon is full and ebbing back down when the fullness of her pull is slight. Within each cycle there are called barren days, when the earth simply needs to rest and abide in the energy that has been and is soon to be.

I remember years ago attending a Good Friday evening service. The service was somber. I looked around at an almost empty church and thought how odd knowing it would be packed come Easter morning. Those that did attend were elderly. Their presence was palpable and majestic as they listened to the somber service. At the end of the service the altar was stripped, all adornments were removed and the cross was cloaked in black. I know the power and touch of wind and storms, the warmth of the sun, the immersion of silence and yes, I know silence all too well. Never has silence held such presence as I watched the few elderly that were there as they moved about stripping the altar and not a word was said. When the last adornment was removed, the cross cloaked in black, they simply left into the night, again in silence, their presence adorning the sanctuary stripped of all else. Sunday the now stripped sanctuary would be filled with color, joy, and packed with people dressed in such finery and laughter.

We yearn for the glory of spring. We long for the abundance, warmth, growth and its folding into the busyness and play of summer. A week ago, in my own yearning of the seasons, I planted seeds. I watched the earth for their emergence. The earth and pots looked stripped like the sanctuary. Still I watered knowing the seeds were there. At night the moon shone through their window.  At last a sprout emerged but a clod of dirt weighted it down. I watched as the sprout pushed its way up, carrying the clod on its clumped fist of two leaves, lifting the earth, not to be denied.  The day after this picture was taken, the clod of earth had been tossed to the side and the sprout stood straight welcoming the touch of the sun and moon. And in its tossing of the clod, another tiny sprout waited to emerge ... and would do so free of the weight...the clod was perfectly placed.

May I learn the rhythm of Life, Love and nature. To know when to allow my roots to go deep. To know when to stand tall, blossom and flower. To know that barren days are but Hope's rest and silence, nurturing the strength within. To know when the weight seems heavy, to continue to push and then to toss aside so another may grow. To know the joy, the color, the beauty of being human and honor the days of feeling stripped of all adornments. May I, please sweet Life, never forego the rhythms of fullness, the celebration of Life's tides and pulls and attend Life only in the spring. May I be so wise. May I be so joyful. May I not deny myself the clod of earth...its joy, love, laughter and hope.

Mountain paths

The paths of the mountains weave and turn flowing upward like the rivers down to nurture the mesas. The rhythm of Life.  Setting the dream, the intent surrenders the how.  I only have to continue the path. The best trees and beauty are often found on the unplanned paths of nature. What will BE, what IS, remains unbound by time, calendars and unforeseen events. Love is boundless. I choose Love. I choose Flow worrying not about the path.

There is no such thing as being blindsided, disruptions, detours, nor denial. They are simply whispers to look around and discover the unseen flower, tree or the reflection of the sun streaming through the dense forest or mountain path. A gentle whisper...."Here." Choose Love. Choose Life. Choose abundance. Choose Laughter. Sweet mercy, choose to See.

This too

In all mythologies, creation stories and in every culture, stories of God/gods becoming human exist. They become human to experience only what these frail human bodies can feel. The touch of another's hand, the presence and voice of another. The experience of weariness, fear, uncertainty transformed into Love, Joy, Life, gratitude, abundance and Light.  And so we are here.... the Source of Light, Love, Joy and Creation journeying upon this earth.

No matter the storm that has brought destruction or loss, no matter whether from nature, our own mis-beliefs or those of others.... this too shall pass. More importantly... this too shall transform.

Perfected Senses

This morning, well before dawn, I stood outside and witnessed the moon encircled by a cloud of light. A perfect circle of luminosity around Her own.  Such a pondering the sight gifted. 

Time is not running out or down. Time is timeless and cannot, is not owned or defined.  For 58 years I have never smelled a fragrance not even my precious coffee brewing or a flower, food has no taste nor have I breathed through my nose and my eyes they do not see. 

These are not statements of lack. We can insert any "sense" of what is "not." But as I sit and ponder the dawn's timelessness, the whisper of Love's perfection called. And with each bead of the mala, in Love's perfection I knew the fragrance of rain upon the grass, wet earth, a rose and tasted earth's abundance inhaling Her breath. The senses communicate to our body. Their Perfection, however, is embodied in Love.  

And as I looked at the moon within the circle, to hear the whisper “can you sense the sun?”

To remember I have “no time”…. I am, Life IS timeless.  To remember my senses are perfected IN Love.  And IN my Timelessness and Perfection, I am BeComing.

All

To awaken shortly after midnight, not knowing why, and discovering during the two hours I had slept, giggle, I had gathered my gratitude stone in my stutter hand and was holding it.  This quote was my first “People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child -- our own two eyes. All is a miracle ~ Thich Nhat Hanh.   And ALL includes me, you, All.

And this evening as tween time fell upon the earth, closing up the house a feather I should not have been able to see called to my eyes.  A perfect white feather, but you could see a faint hint of gray in the light.  I cannot think which of the birds could have left such a gift. 

“All is a miracle” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh.   And ALL includes me, you, All.

Stillness Standing

I will not stand my ground. I will stand quietly in Love so that even the deer have no fear and eat in the midst of Love's stillness.

A common phrase I say and hear, "In the end....." There is no end, only Now. The beginning, the end, the middle and beyond what even my little brain can comprehend, all rest in Love's tapestry of Now.

In the pre-dawn silence, standing beneath the stars, two deer came into the yard, so very close and had a breakfast of bird seed. Our stillness whispered, "A tear is but the heart's caress upon the face so that the smile of Love may drink."

To Stand Faithful to Intent

There are moments and days when I think surely all this must be a dream and has not happened. Surely I will wake up in the cabin in the woods the dream having taught me a lesson in gratefulness for all the blessings I knew before I went to sleep. But if it be a dream, I have not awakened.  And if it be not a dream, my little heart sighs. Amidst the destruction and loss, and yes the whispers and images of nature, words that are woven into all mythology, poetry, art, faith and wisdom teachings keep coming back.   The only friend in the solitude, to sit, comfort, and paint a picture of then, now, and perhaps to be.

"You can choose between loveless and miraculous channels of expression. You can make an empty shell, but you cannot express nothing at all. You can wait, delay, paralyze yourself, or reduce your creativity almost to nothing. But you cannot abolish it. You can destroy your medium of communication, but not your potential. You did not create yourself" [Course in Miracles]

Am I the charred and scorched guardian of the tiny new life or perhaps the tiny new life itself?  Maybe the new life is part of the scorched and the two are one. I do not know. Sweet Hands of Life, help me stand my post, faithful to Your intent.