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. 

Are

Life, events, people, time, and experiences are not the enemy. Change is not the enemy. I am not the enemy. The enemy is not the enemy. A friend becomes a fiend only when we remove the "r".

Unbarred Fierceness

So many have felt the power of nature. Her wind, water, earth, and fire. Today may my heart unleash an even greater force. To give honor to the devastation with the inviolable unbarred fierceness of hope. 

First Stone

On this day to reflect how quickly my own thoughts, actions and words strike out at others and even myself. To no longer just pray for peace, harmony and love for the world but to intend to be myself the world I would see. In truth, I cast the first stone. May its ripples of hope and peace wash within and without.

To Touch

The haze of drifting smoke from wild fires have created a dance of colors with the sun. How can such destruction create such beauty? Perhaps, as Mary Oliver said "When the thumb of fear lifts, we become alive." To open my eyes and heart and see. Not to just see  but to look. To see. To look. To know. And then to touch....

Saint Francis and the Sow

BY GALWAY KINNELL

The bud

stands for all things,

even for those things that don’t flower,

for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;   

though sometimes it is necessary

to reteach a thing its loveliness,

to put a hand on its brow

of the flower

and retell it in words and in touch

it is lovely…..

Dream Dreamed

Good morning sweet little one. To ponder, again, as my eyes open to the morning, all that is around me, touched, felt, seen, heard and tasted. To ponder that no thing around me existed at creation, and yet, it did. Every thing I see existed in its essence, but unmanifested in the form I see today. The form today is the creation from a dream. A dream that if this and that are brought together a new creation exists. Because of a dream my fingers touch a switch and there is light before the sun rises. Because of a dream the fruits and blossoms of plants and trees,  now gift the coffee I drink, the clothes on my body, this paper and pen, and the little couch upon which I sit.  

And yet, even these things are not the same as originally dreamed.  Even the skills, machines and technology which manifested the dreams are not the same expression as when they were dreamed into being.  All have changed over the years. The dream was dreamed. Everything about me existed, awaiting the form it is now. I ask the couch, the cup holding my coffee, the paper and pen, the computer and light – this is you now as someone dreamed…. What will you be when the dream is dreamed?

My heart sighs to think of the dreams that have brought destruction, hate, death and separation. The dreams that see not creation but the annihilation and servitude of others’ dreams, including nature’s dreams. Perhaps the question that should be asked of dreams is whether the dream allows another to dream? Does my dream create the soil in which others dreams may flourish, manifest and be? Does my dream create boundaries, exclude or define what others may dream? Does my dream honor balance and draw deep the roots of gratitude and love? Does my dream nurture mornings for all so that their eyes may open and see?

I AM a dreamed dream. I am a dream dreamed in the heart of creation. Would I try to keep the eyes of Creation closed and not allow them to open and see? Or will I, this day, choose to allow the dreamed dream to BE? Everything I do, say, feel or believe about me either allows the eyes of Creation to open this day or remain closed. Will I, in fear, hate, ego and disbelief that I am a dream dreamed, hold my hands over Creation’s eyes and say “Sleep, awake not again. Your dream dreamed shall not be.” How often I have prayed in sorrow and pain, “Take this cup from me.” How often I have prayed not seeing the dream dreamed and Creation pouring from an infinite fountain the sweet nectar of life, love, joy and abundance into this cup.

Oh sweet morning, may I be so bold as to open my eyes and shout to the world, to life and love, to all that is 

“Fill this cup now! Let me drink the dream dreamed!”

Morning's Good Night

Good morning sweet little one. To awaken this morning…again. To awaken again and behold all around me. The gift of life. This sweet gift of life. Do I really comprehend this gift? Or do I see my life, the opening of my eyes like the water and tap – I turn the tap and the water will come on. Or like my car – there should be a car in my driveway. When I turn the key the engine should come on and run without thought of the mechanics and electrical system. Perhaps an occasional look at the gas meter. So much around us now has become an unconscious should. I create day with artificial light. I have faucets and toilets. I have ovens and microwaves that come on in an instant and cook my food. My food is prepackaged at the store ready to go. So much of my life is just expected.

I set an alarm because I expect to wake up. That makes me laugh. Do I really understand the gift of opening my eyes and a new day stands before me? Time in my mind and culture is linear. Time progresses from A to B to C and will, accordingly, one day end. Would I see the world differently when I awake if I knew no time? That though in timeless space all simply is, in timeless space all is also re-created and transforming. What if I knew no time and therefore the awakening and opening of my eyes could reveal a life and being so totally different than what I saw, felt and touched all around me yesterday? That the linear constancy of creation in timelessness might well bring a totally different life today. How would I have said good night? Good morning little one. I opened my eyes and all is and was here. Teach me to say good morning, blessed morning that I might learn to say good night, blessed night, gifted day. Teach me how to open my eyes.

30 minutes

Good morning Sweet Life. Thank you for eyes that opened this morning. Thank you for eyes that could see dark turn into light. Thank you for awakening in a warm bed within a house protected from the weather. Thank you for a home with an address. Thank you for a body that arose out of bed without assistance. Thank you for legs that could slide off the bed and touch the floor. Thank you for legs that supported my body to walk. Thank you for a kitchen that I can enter and be fed. Thank you for coffee and hot drink. Thank you for hands and arms that can reach for these gifts of abundance. Thank you for the computer that connects me with the world. Thank you for the electricity that turns lights, computers and coffee pots on. Thank you for a couch to sit upon. Thank you for the earth which gifted all the materials for this home, bed, food, and drink. Thank you for music. Thank you for the sense of touch and ears that can hear. Thank you for all the hands that touched, worked, and created all the things I have already touched, I see and hear. Thank you for clean clothes to put on and all the gifts of the threads from the earth. Thank you for each beat of my heart already passed unnoticed and for each breath that sustained me through the night and continued to beat when my eyes opened.

Thank you sweet life that at this moment, this very moment as I write, 7 billion people are waking to their day or gathered in the sleep I have awakened from. We each are in this moment right now held in your sweet hands. Thank you for the earth that is holding each 7 billion of us and all of nature, plant and animal life maintained by the air, sun and moon. Thank you sweet life for the 30 minutes of arising as one with all of life. Thank you sweet life. Thank you sweet life.

Thank you sweet life for the miracles of these 30 minutes. Thank you for the gifts of this day and all minutes filled with abundance and joy no different than these 30 minutes recorded that I have called mine. Thank you sweet life that each minute that follows will be as sacred and mine to choose how, what, where, of all I will see, feed, smell, touch, hear, and move towards or from. Sometimes it amazes me all the minutes that can occur in such a short span of life. How these 30 minutes become 24 hours and flow one after another. How will they flow? Once I put this pen down how will I move? What will I see? What will I feel? What will my heart record as “happening” to me? What will I record as gifts? What will I record as grace? What will I ….will?

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.

Only One Thread

I awoke with one resolution upon the whisper of my heart. That this day, this day would be the sole purpose and meaning of my life. Tis the only day I have. Should tomorrow come, I will again whisper this day, this day is the sole purpose and meaning of my life.

If when my spirit leaves this physical form, I am to look back upon the chalice that carried my light and smile, then this day I must greet the day with open hands and eyes, full faced, unshielded and vulnerable. And as it is the only day I have, to be bold enough to say

I am beautiful. 

I am strong.

I am lovable.

I am worthy.

I know how to love.

I have and do love.

I know joy.

I know despair.

I know both without judgment.

I am not perfect.

I know my imperfections exist within Perfection.

I am a writer.

I have a poet's yearning.

I have the heart of a child.

I have but this day to say, "I love you."

Namaste.

Parsed and Released

You can feel the calendar quivering. You can feel the months passed, heavy upon the nail holding them to the wall and the last page, weighted with such a busy month. It is a quivering of knowing, not only will the page be lift but the entire calendar will be released. All that was, all that was to be and all that was not known have had their dance... time for take off.

Do I dare hope to be so free?

Do I dare hope to be?

Do I dare hope?

Do I dare?

Do I?

Do.

Giggled Debate

Sometimes a good debate with yourself is healthy.


You can close your eyes, snap your fingers and/or click your heels. You STILL won't get to Kansas.
     But if that makes you pause and take a time out, then by all means go for it! You may find yourself in a better place than Kansas (no offense Kansas).

You can say "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can" over and over and sometimes, well, you can't.
     Better to be honest and know what you can do than to keep beating your head against a wall. Remember Einstein's definition of insanity.

It will rain on your parade.
     So....are you worried the float will melt?

Sometimes the best laid plans are best laid aside.
     That's ok, just don't become a hoarder. Recycle them, it's good for the soul and the earth.

Just because you "build it" doesn't mean they will come.
     Did you remember to send the invitations? Sometimes you just can't sit and wait for opportunity to knock but open the door and yell "Hey you! Over here!"

Only in the old western movies can you tell the good guys from the bad buys by the color of their hats.
     Maybe that's a good thing. We have to get to know people and not rely on first impressions.

Wisdom's Eyes and Hands

She has grown up. She doesn't think herself small. She can walk now. She is starting to talk. She is letting the world know what she wants and does not want. She laughs. She runs for hugs. She stands in front of strangers until they smile. She loves without fear. She never doubts that life will, with tender love, fill in the holes. She still looks out the window. She takes time to see.  

On the first day of 2011, I prayed to be so wise.

A year later, even more grown up and has found her voice, she looks with wonder into the Light determined to hold the Candle in her own hands.

On this day, may I too be as strong.

Absolution Walking Visible

There is a path I walk among the mountains and the lake that takes me to two different bends and two different trees. I call the trees my Orb Trees.  Like a little dog that hears the car of their owner pulling into the drive, my heart beats faster as I approach each tree.  I greet them with love and joy. I lean my body into their trunks and lay my face against their bark. With my eyes closed I can see colors of light. Sometimes the light takes a shape other times just brilliant light beaming through the dark of my eye lids.

                When I walked on the Eve of Eve, having been absent for a bit, I could not wait to melt into the Oneness and serenity of my precious Orb Trees. In nature I dissolve. Everything quiets, and I simply melt and feel only Nature. Yet, I knew from the first step I took upon the path, something was different this day. Having heard the yearning to simply re-member and BE who and what I Am I could sense that today would be different.  I leaned into each Orb Tree and felt my body against the trunk. It was a physical body, a human body leaning against a precious tree. Oh yes, I could feel the life of Nature, but for the first time, I felt my physical body and my bodymindspirit leaning against a tree.  There were not lights dancing. The absence of lights created a bridge of I and Thou. One with Nature but a gentle reminder that I, my Self, remains unique, an individual expression of All That Is. And as I breathed into each tree, I whispered, “Absolution.”

Continuing upon the path, faces returned with each step. Where the bruises and scars had spoken of endings, of should be’s becoming not to be’s the touch of the bark caressed my face, each bruise and each scar. Nothing, no thing had ended…All was, is as should be. There was no separation. There was nothing to forgive and move on from, either stronger or perhaps weaker from the lessons learned. There were no lessons. No need to melt into the Orb Trees where I felt safe from harm, accepted and One. The Orb Trees and I are surely One, but our Oneness is joined within All That Is. They remain trees and I remain human. Our expressions, our divine and innate creation, within All That Is, is our Oneness. And so it was with each face that returned bearing the mantle of forgiveness I had laid upon their shoulders.  Slowly I removed each mantle. Each unwrapping revealing his or her own light, their expression.  Their bark caressed my face as I leaned into him or her. Absolution.

Walking the path back to the car, I turned 360 and stood tall enough to see the mountain tops from the perspective of the clouds.  I could feel my presence becoming a bridge. I giggled, smiled, and whispered, "Let's go. It's time" and walked back visible.

This Day Christmas Eve

I believe in the grace of the baby lying in a manger. I believe in the power of the menorah to quench the darkness and radiate hope. I believe in the vision of a man named Buddha. I believe in the jolly red suited Santa. I believe in the Grinch whose heart grew three sizes. I believe in scrooge who kept Christmas in his heart every day. I believe in this sacred holiday we’ve carved into time. I believe in the hope, love and gathering of this time. I believe in the weariness this time casts as our hearts and energy disperse to loved ones, friends and strangers in need. I believe in those who work this holiday to service, protect and care for our needs.

 I believe that belief is seeing. I believe that belief is faith unseen. I believe that belief is a sense of knowing. I believe that belief is the voice in my head that says “On this day” and goes no further for I have but now. I believe that belief is the voice in my heart that says “On this day a child” and goes no further. For a child I will be, full of wonder and innocence and arms outstretched. I will have no prejudices, no judgments and no past. I will trust all who reach out, especially those in need. On this day. On this day a child. I believe in my soul it will remain, forever, Christmas Eve.

Landscape

To the boulders, mountains, pine and fir trees, I'm sure the leaf appeared small. But when it caught my attention, suddenly it became the entire landscape.

Today is the eve of an event, a day, a symbol that holds our attention.  But tis only a representation of the intention of Love and Hope, birth and becoming that begs to be free from a single calendar day. Perhaps that is why the symbol is a newborn....Life. Each day, each moment, each heartbeat.

No matter how small, if only a blink, what we place our attention upon becomes our landscape.  May the Sweet Hands of Life guide our eyes .....  Love.

Crescent Fullness

A pre-dawn reminder....perfect for the season and the season's season.

Tis only our position's perception that would make us think the moon is not full or that the Light is not always and All Ways complete and present.

Crescent Fullness

Just Another Day

When one lives alone what makes one day a holiday compared to other days? If stores were not closed, traffic perhaps heavier and no mail delivery, would one day be different from another?

As the moon slipped beneath the mountains and the sun began to ascend, I gathered my little dog and we went to the mountains' lake. Walking in the silence of our footsteps upon the gravel, the silkened night sheet was gently covered by the blue dawn's quilt and the day, just another day, awakened.  Amazed at the magical blue of the sky and whiteness of the clouds the sound of geese turned my eyes.  A flock of geese flew down towards the lake but did not land.  Flying just above the water, suspended in the air, the morning sun gifted a sight I had never seen in all the seasons of migration I have watched.  There, upon the surface were the shadows of the geese.  I have seen the water splash and ripple as their wings and feet touched and danced but I have never seen the shadows move between the water and the geese.  Having seen the shadows fly without creating a single ripple, at last, with songs of joy the geese landed and found their rest.

When one lives alone what makes one day a holiday compared to other days? The sun's touch warming your cold cheeks and nose. The sound of graveled foot stepped silence. The sight of shadows dancing beneath water and winged geese.  The feel of the earth as you fall to your knees with your hands to your heart as your neck bends so your head can join your hands. The whispered voice of 'thank you' as tears fall and dance upon the earth.  Just another day. Another day of giving thanks.

Namaste to all. Happy Thanksgiving

"Men must live and create. Live to the point of tears." ~ Albert Camus

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.

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.