Heart Transformer

I was reading Thich Nhat Hahn’s words this morning of transforming the past. But are we not told we cannot undo the past? The past is transformed by how we respond to it in this moment, the present, now.  That thread led me to ponder how a baby learns to walk. They do not see the thuds and plops back to the earth their shaky legs create. Oh, there may be tears, bruises and owies, but sometimes they even laugh. Either way, they begin again. Something inside calls them to walk and they do. Today, I walk here and there without even giving it a thought. I am here and suddenly I am there and never do I recall the bumps, bruises, thuds, and plops of learning to walk. The past transformed in the present, this moment, now. Tis a whisper easily dismissed as the challenges today seem far greater than simply learning to walk. But if we truly knew and appreciated the intricacy of the muscles, brains, and total restructuring of how we see, move, and think that occurs when we learn to walk, is the difference that great?

The whisper made me sigh and then suddenly I thought of the orchid bud and wondered if it had opened. Had the bud learned to walk? Had the bud transformed the past of simply a seed and a bump into a gorgeous flower? And there she was. Oh yes, more opened than yesterday but today a gift I did not expect. My dog thought an intruder had come into the house; such was my squeal of delight. And then I simply sat and stared. Transforming the past in this moment now, is imprinted with and within the heart.

Gauntlet of Intent

Every child knows the parental voice of "We'll see" actually means "No." The dreaded "We'll see" that drops a child's shoulders. No way you can argue with "we'll see" as the gauntlet of "no" has not been tossed.

In a similar way I pondered how "intention" has been transformed. "He had good intentions." "I intended to..." It has also become a gauntlet-less no, a way to avoid the challenge. And the simple prayer that I may not go through life like a crab with my eyes set one way but my body moves another. That my intent and intentions will be deliberately set like the stones in a river. To accept the effort and the concentration. To be true to my heart and know the joy of "walking" on water trusting the stones of intent.

Completion

I stood with the buffeting wind pondering the long day. Away from nature's sanctuary, a strange city. Dazzling lights, though beautiful, hid the natural glimmering of the stars. "Breathe. Breathe." I missed my mountains. I missed the stillness and quiet. Closing my eyes I listened to the whisper to simply breathe. Lifting my head towards the sky I opened my eyes. Greeting me softly was the image you see. I am sure those walking passed me wondered what was so funny as I laughed out loud. There, beside one longing for nature's soft cradle, was the very thing I sought but did not see. A simple tree singing with the wind.

Was it the trees I longed for? The chorus of leaves? Or perhaps simply to breathe and know the end of desire and longing, was both birthed and completed within me.

Gift of Within

The truth is, no one will ever truly know the beauty of our heart. No one will ever know the strength, the courage, the love, and wisdom. Nor can we truly know theirs. But the beauty and joy in that truth is that when we look and see, the world, life and love itself is made alive. We look within so that the without is blessed.

Done.

When I think of the litany of items about my body I would change I have but to look and realize there is only one. That I might have the eyes of my sweet companion or those of a child. Eyes that say "I am totally present with you, accept you, love you.....come let's play!" With eyes like that nothing else really matters. It is how I would see the world and the gift of beauty I would give.  Perhaps the true beauty of such eyes, is there whisper and mirror...the eyes are indeed mine. Giggle mark the desire and prayer done.

Bookmarked Wakening

I confess my struggle to find this thread. Perhaps it is meant to be another bookmark. To ponder this morning the picture of my beloved Gulf and hear the waves. To see the water gather and swell. The swells and wakes rising, cresting, and spilling upon the beach. 

Are waves singular? Is the water separated and individual? Or does not the entire Gulf or ocean move within and beneath so that all is contained within the one? Can a wave be a wave without carrying and being carried by all? Is discovering our true Self, humanity, heart, enlightenment or awakening a singular effort or wave? Does the Gulf or ocean offer but one wave and sigh “I am done”? Does the path lead to one moment and all effort and paths end? I know not how to express this whisper. Perhaps it is a bookmark calling for a return. Perhaps to simply say, it is but a whisper of A Wake n I.

Karios Magic

The plane was packed on Christmas Eve. The line of passengers and luggage stuffed in the overheads made me think of clowns in a circus stuffing themselves into a tiny car. A young woman paused to let her child sit between she and I. I smiled but no recognition was returned. Their coats were too thin for the winter. Her very presence, coughing, watery eyes and flushed face painted the image of a mother not feeling well. She all but collapsed in her seat. The little one's excitement was quickly met with a stern "Be quite!" I stared out the window as the plane rolled across the runway and then to see the earth get smaller and smaller.

Glancing at the mother I saw she had fallen asleep. The little one clutched her toy, eyes fixed forward and tears rolling down her cheek. I nudged her with my elbow and smiled. Hesitant she just stared. For the next hour we played silently with her doll and magical creatures we created with my gloves. The coffee stirrer became a magic wand. A napkin became a cape and her doll learned to fly. Only a few soft whispers were exchanged. As the plane landed the little one's eyes looked up with such wonder and awe I almost cried. The mother took her hand and wearily said "Let's go." I gathered one of her bags to hand to her and in her hand I pressed all the Christmas cash I had brought me. With a wink to the little one, I waved the magic stirrer. To this day I still hear her giggle. There a moments now, over 4 decades later, that when I open my wallet I still see her eyes.

We can think of time as chronos - linear, always rushing forward ticking away seconds we cannot get back. Or, we can think of time as karios - the pregnancy of the moment filled with opportunity, possibility, love, and being. The picture attached looks like a magical forest. Or, you could see the truck that passed by stirring dust upon my body and in my eyes. Our journeys require different eyes and different ways of measuring time. The forest IS magical. A 60 minute plane ride has spanned 4 decades. A plastic stirrer still makes my heart laugh with magic. Today, may you hear only the ticking of karios and know the magic of time filled with presence, love, an open heart, and possibility. The magic of karios.

Opening Christmas #6: Re-Gifting Magic

On this day 6 of opening Christmas I think of the gifts called white elephants. Giggle, though I do not know why the name. They are often considered gifts to re-gift- especially those gifts of reciprocating guilt for an unexpected gift received.

But what if, instead, we saw the sacred magic of an actual white elephant! What if we chose re-gifting as the perfect gift. The re-gifting of a friend's presence when we were stricken with sorrow. The friend who worried not about perfect words, their presence spoke healing. The re-gifting of a smile or the stranger who helped us pick up packages dropped. The re-gifting of an actual conversation face to face absent texts, emails, and cell phone chatter. What if we chose the re-gifting of all those moments others gifted that healed and perhaps even saved. Oh that we could see such amazing white elephants trumpeting and heralding the season that is.

Opening Christmas #5 - Bargain Aisle

Opening Christmas Day 5,  I ponder the conversation with my brother about items still remaining in our parents’ house. “Yes there are things I would like, but I have nowhere to put them. It is ok to discard.”  My gaze went to the corner where a kite hangs and gently moves with the furnace’s breath. I remember over a year ago when it sailed. At 58 my first ever time to fly a kite and I marvel to think of the joy that still overwhelms my heart.  A $2 kite flown for less than five minutes and even if the kite was not visible to my eyes the gift of life and joy would still be there.

 On this day 5 of opening Christmas may I seek not those gifts that require space and not heart. May I remember Rumi’s words of warning about Love – “This kiss will cost you your life!” To which Rumi replied, “What a bargain!” As I open Christmas on this day 5, may I seek only those gifts in Love’s bargain aisle.

Searching for Truth

So many wisdom teachings, so many paths. I sat and asked what do I know to be true? All I heard was my heart. I decided that was enough. That was my answer.

Heart Hug

Some hugs you will never forget.

My passion, joy, and delight are feeding the birds, squirrels, and marmots that grace my yard. My state, in such a drought, the bears have left the mountains in search of food. No danger except for humans who will not let them pass through. A mother and cub have found the bird seed. Humans will not let them be. My heart wept. To call Wildlife would mean their killing. To not stop feeding the birds meant I was inviting their harm. I sat in meditation seeking my heart. I made the call.

Some angels are delicate, wispy white wings and soft ivory faces. Others are big burly men, bald and waddle when they walk. I will clean up all seed and put no more down. I will leave a corn meal blessing for the birds, squirrels, and marmots and a promise to feed again soon. A burly angel sits watch in his truck having talked so gently to the mother bear. He will do nothing now. He saw the silent tears streaming down my face and wrapped me against his body in a true bear hug..

Some hugs you will never forget.  The union of two hearts, two strangers, and one prayer…may all beings and creatures be safe.  To seek the heart and then to listen to what it says. Namaste sweet life. I do honor you.

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.

To Stand

To stand and then bend in the warrior squat, to feel the burn in the thighs and stand rooted, strong. Ahhhh a grand pose and one I so enjoy. To think of the Maori, Samurai and other warriors and feel the power moving yet rooted in the body. And so I stand. Clarissa Pinkola Estes would call it fierce compassion, the fierce love that holds that which is sacred, the heart, and says to all who would take or harm 'you shall go no further.' To stand as a warrior of fierce compassion.


“Said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.” ~ Mary Oliver

Ritual made Fresh

Giggle, I do not sleep much. I tend to simply doze in bits. The pre dawn is my sacred time. Every now and then, my little body says it needs more time and I do not wake up as I normally do. ....this morning was such a morning. The little hobbit eyes opened and smiled to see the sun coming in the window. Then a start went through my body....sun???? Sun?! Birds? There is no sun, there are no birds in the early pre dawn. Ooops, I giggled. I had missed the sacred pre dawn. The sun was already just peaking over the mountain, the sky that wonderful blue gray pink color. I stood outside and where my eyes always rest upon the constellation, the moon, the pre dawn silhoutted trees, now I had to squint with the sun's bright smile. A wispy cloud streamed across the sky. The finches gathered in the trees and began their songs. The squirrel from across the street had already made his way over for breakfast and was sitting on his haunches like Godzilla. I giggled to think of him looking at his little arm with a watch and the thought, uuuhhhhh, breakfast please. So many sounds and images, that yes, I hear and see every every morning, but only after I have been awake for several hours. This morning, they were the first.

Oh my friend, the sacredness of rituals. I had missed my pre-dawn ritual. For a brief moment I was almost miffed, thinking myself "lazy" for not awakening as I do. And then gently the whisper came. The rhythm of ritual that brings meaning and mindfulness to our days, our steps, our breaths, our heart beats. But rituals were never meant to become the sacred. Rituals were never meant to become the rhythm. Rituals are like the vibrations and resonances of the singing bowl that calls us to pray and meditate and the celestial songs. Anahata - unstruck vibrations that resound. As I do in the pre dawn velvet of night, when everyone in the neighborhood is asleep, I stood and stretched my arms wide, lifted my head to feel not the moon's warm touch but the brightness and heat of the sun bursting through my closed eyes. I said "good morning" and drew my hands to my heart and bowed deeply, whispering "namaste sweet life. I do so love you." As I straightened and opened my eyes, the morning earth, already awake, smiled. I stood with my hands still to my heart which gifted the sun a sweet tear to drink as it lay in the crevice of my smile. Rhythm, ritual and dawn.... the resonance of being greeting the pre dawn moon and stars in full sunlight. To awaken and see the rhythm and dawn of morning's dance...fresh, crisp, waiting to be greeted. To open my eyes and heart. The ritual of life. The ritual of joy. Fresh. The trigger of my heart not my mind.

It Remains

A morning reflection. A perfect heart. A perfect heart with a heart light within. The light switch will make it seem to disappear. The camera cannot capture its reflection. 

And yet, having been seen, it remains.

Site of Sight

Often considered the windows of the soul, perhaps the eyes are not so much windows through which we see but mirrors reflecting what we feel and believe.  Through the eyes we scribe labels, see challenges, cannots, objects to fear and treasure, walls and doors all framed and colored by the iris of our mind.

To take these eyes of mine, growing more blurred and teasing shadows of floaters, to walk the mountain and lake's path, a broken bottle whispered to my heart that my eyes did not see. Using the camera to see, the image of tiny twigs reflected in the glass mirrored my sight.  Sitting I pondered the image, blurred yet somehow distinct.

As the calming warmed my heart, I realized the whisper was not a voice but the eyes of the heart.  Unconditioned by language, beliefs, labels or perceptions, knowing only unconditional Love, tis only the eyes of the Heart that truly see.  The timeless, perfect eyes of the Heart were the whisper.  And as I left the image of glass, earth and reflection, I pondered the thread of abiding in the Heart and the Eyes of Clarity, Vision and Infinity. To abide in the Site of Sight. SOS. Not a call of distress.  A Being. A call of de-stress. The Site of Sight. Abiding in the Heart to see through the Eyes of Love.

"Her eyes are homes of silent prayers" ~ Alfred Tennyson

Grace of Soft

It seems sometimes that so much of what we see, reactions, conversations, beliefs, media, whatever, challenges even the most determined heart too remain soft. So much easier, it would seem, to just go with the "flow." But... still....

This morning a whisper to go and walk and take my little bag of corn meal. To walk, not in nature, but along the busy streets as commuters frantically rushed to work. You could see their eyes and faces, even the way they held the steering wheel. As they passed a whisper of 'soft.'   

After a bit I came to a large cemetery with patches of trees untouched, and little winding paths. Wandering through their maze, I came upon a pile of tree trunks, branches, and trees that had been cut and tossed out of sight. Standing and thinking of all the clearing to create such an area, I noticed a cloth flower from the cemetery had somehow found its way through the trees and rested upon the pile of weathered limbs and trunks.  A gentle branch held it in place. The ritual of leaving corn meal is a Native American tradition - when something from the earth is taken, corn meal is left as a gift of thanks. Kneeling I sprinkled my corn meal and offered my gift of thanks to the flower. 

A different kind of flow. One I can live with. I know many don't understand. Simply the grace of soft. 

The Heart's Magnet

This morning, holding the mala (prayer beads) their texture seemed different in my hands. As I do in nature I listened to see if there was a whisper.  My heart quietly whispered "see and touch each thought, moment, step, breath and person as a bead on the mala." Each bead on the mala gently and sacredly held and followed by another and another. All connected with a single thread. Each guiding my breath, prayer to the next, each bead a vibration containing the bead and space in between. And when the circle is complete, I begin again.  To see life as connected, sacred, within and without.

This afternoon I went walking by the lake.  As I walked, whispering the names of those dear to my heart, my own version of walking meditation, upon the lake was a flock of white birds floating that made my whispered prayers gasp. I had never seen white birds upon the lake and scampered to the shore. A bit distant for these poor eyes and suddenly they turned their bodies - white pelicans.  The first ever flock I'd seen.

I sat on the shore in wonder and awe as the wind gathered the ripples and sent them to the shore.  Bringing my eyes from the flock to the shore... drifting upon the ripples a white feather made its way to me.  As did another.  With sweet tears and gratitude I gathered them in.  Thanking the wind, the water and the pelicans, walking back the ripples sent more.

To see Life as sacred, connected and One draws forth compassion, Love and the willingness to be vulnerable with all of Life, including ourselves.  That can be quite daunting.  Holding the feathers to my heart, each beat a prayer bead one following another, I pondered perhaps the more daunting task is to truly believe the Sweet Hands of Life not only know what we need, but can and will direct the wind and waves to draw all to our feet, our hearts and our souls.

Eraser of the Heart

A tree I had not met, a rock or feather I had not found and a path that I had not walked called me to come and find.  May my life always be a treasure hunt to see each moment as a wonder and surprise. Discovering the treasures awaiting me and leaving my own for others to find.  

My Story is not written by the hands of others nor the physical. My Self's story is written by the heart. I can tell you the story others would tell of me. Or I can tell you the Story I know. These scriches I write tell the latter, each word an eraser so that only one Story my little heart knows. So off to nature I went to find the tree, rock or feather and the path. To sit with the paper of the soul, the eraser of the Heart, and to discover the treasures waiting, leaving a prayer here and there that others would find what simple gifts I have left for them to find.

Moving From

A "duh" moment of laughter. Waking up before dawn and my first thought "I need to go and meditate" As if the space and time between my bed, waking and altar were insignificant and not part of Now .

  My little altar, nature, sitting by a tree, walking, and the precious things I can see and read bring such joy, peace, laughter and love. I would find myself going "to" them. To experience and BE and know myself as the altar, nature, the sitting, the walking, the words of Love, Hope, Life allows me to move FROM and Into Life not "to". I am the center and entrance to the labyrinth of Life and Love all of these are the gentle curves and turns giving pause to reflect, give thanks, and expand like ripples outward, growing, understanding, developing, unfolding and embracing all others. BEing Now I move From I am and ripple and turn moving "to."