Nature's Cake and Candles

Some birthdays and celebrations are welcomed with cakes and candles. Others are welcomed alone with a quiet stillness and gentle sparkling light. Nature's soft shroud or shawl that offers a slight but strong touch of presence.

Fear is courage waiting to be seen. Weariness is but strength waiting to curl like an ocean wave. Home is but familiarizing the unknown. And the gentle snow falling like streaking candles, the diamond sparkles glistening in the night, is the celebration and birth of Now. I have now walked 240 seasons and none more precious than the one birthed with this breath.

More AND enough

Wondering how I would gather it all in. How to gather the random threads and see the tapestry that awaited. It seemed overwhelming and somewhat daunting. I paused and looked down to see the small acorns gathered round the oak tree. How small they looked. Indeed, how fragile. And yet, like a mother, the oak tree seemed to have gathered them together. "Look little ones, look and see. Tis more than what you are, and yet that is enough. You must see with the eyes of the seed, the eyes of the roots, and the eyes of the sun. Look little ones, tis more than what you are now, and yet, that is exactly what is necessary to become."

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.

Dark's Light

Sometimes the dark, even when looking at a dream, makes us long for just a bit more light. We think more light would give clarity. What you cannot see in the image, is how once the artificial car lights were turned off, the brilliance of the sunset upon the lake and mountains exploded. In truth, I wasn't in the dark at all.

Exposure Nailed

Life always nails us. The big nails somehow seem to wake us up. The little nails either go unnoticed because we've become numb to the pain or we fail to notice the gift. Either way, when we're nailed we bleed.

What is interesting is that our blood is not red until it is exposed to air, to the outside world. The essence and flow of our life changes when exposed.

Removing the rock from my shoe and rubbing the bloody blister made, the dance of the sun caught my eye. The rock, though little, was as much a part of the mountain as the big boulders. In fact, the boulders, even the mountains would fall were it not for all the little rocks that hold them in place. I placed the rock bearing a dab of red not blue blood back upon the trail side. Life always nails us. Bowing to the dance of sun and tree, I whispered the welcome for all nails and rocks to expose and transform what is inside of me. To see not nails or rocks, but the ladders, support, and mountains they create and sustain.

Warrior Child

Sometimes I feel like such a restless child, held down, sssshhhhh'd and told to sit still. I want to run without a care, laughing, arms flinging and legs tangling til I fall. There is a time for polite and attentive listening. There is a time for silence and learning. But there is a time for play. Band-Aids are available. Grass and mud stains will be bleached. They are the scars of a warrior child released.

Doubting Not

Oh, doubt not her fullness. Nor your own.

Circle Complete

Sunrise we look to the east. Sunset we look to the west. Sometimes I too find myself looking for the splash and flash throughout the day. Instead, to see the whole circle touched. A dawn’s gaze to the south that does not disappoint. And to know neither will the views of myself, others, and the day’s events. I just have to turn my gaze and see the circle, complete.

Rattling Songs

A walk by the lake to clear my fuzzy brain and weary eyes. The wind swirling and thoughts pondering how perception actually creates what we see. I thought it was a stick. My little dog ran to the end of her leash ready to retrieve. The stick transformed and rattled its tail. Yes, with panic, I reeled my little dog sending her legs flying in the air.

Have pondered that sound I can still hear and how I have always wandered the lake, canyon and mountain paths without concern. An error that could have been quite costly. The rattling sound still dances in my mind but has transformed it into a song. No judgement. No fear. No veil of threat to shroud my walks. I will be mindful - lesson learned. But my heart releases. The rattler was actually quite beautiful and moved on. And so must I. Letting go of all mistakes and seeing their beauty, their rattles are but a song.

Gift Surrendered

I had an email from a friend who started with "thank god it's Friday " Made me think of how often we live our lives for the days between the "Fridays" and "Mondays." Giggle. the hobbit is a dork, if you figure a life of 80 years, that's 4,160 weeks or 29,200 days. If I only live healthy, alive, present, happy for those "Fridays" "Saturdays" and "Sundays" that only gives me 12,480 days of "life" for the bodymindsoul. I keep 42% of my gift of bodymindsoul and surrender to work, others, or whatever the other 58% of the gift. And then to think of prayers made for abundance.

Beyond the Skin

*"What color is an apple?" The teacher asked. The young students all replied red, green, or yellow. One young boy was adamant they were white despite the teacher's correction which was growing stronger and stronger. "But when you cut it open, the apple is white."

A is for apple. Apples are red. A concept, a way of learning and seeing the world inherited by all from the beginning. Such a thin skin or veneer has defined the greater essence of white. Oh sweet Life, may I cut all I see open and see beyond, to see within the greater whole.

*Story told by Joseph Goldstein, "Insight Meditation" © Sounds True

Lost Found

I tried to ponder loss. Does the absence of one drop really change the ocean? Does loss mean something no longer exists? I pondered those loved now lost. I pondered the words from hospice, “Do not say she is dying. She is no different than you standing there instead of lying in the bed.” I pondered these failing eyes that struggle to read the words typed. This and that, no longer here. Lost? Gone? Are there no longer hearts that love and are loved by another? Are there no longer eyes that can read? Is there no longer this and that? Is loss like the new moon, so black but it is only her position that makes her light lost? Is loss the absence of mine and the shape, form and time I desire, perhaps demand? 

It is not acceptance. It is not release. I can still grieve; I can still feel the absence. But, as I laugh my heart begins to sing as it feels the love of 7 billion hearts and the changeless Heart of the One. I laugh to see through 14 billion eyes and the changeless eyes of the One. I experience the this and that through all and All. Maybe your heart? Maybe your eyes? Who knows the abundance is so grand. And should you need strong legs to walk the mountains, know there are two good ones here, laughing, and offering you their joy. And should you giggle for some unknown reason, giggle again to think another has laughed through you.

Mattered and Remembered

I ponder the lives of Buddha, Jesus, Allah, Mother Theresa, Ghandi, St. Francis of Assisi, and others. It was “easy” for them. After all, they were Buddha, Jesus, Allah, ……. Me, I’m just me and the frailties of me are ever so obvious. I can strive but I am not them. And then I ponder the immersion, attention, effort and abandonment we throw ourselves into creating the perfect wedding day, job interview, first date, taking the first child to college, a work presentation, even knitting or tending a garden. We completely surrender ourselves to those moments. We absorb each breath and moment. We lose ourselves and yet each moment is knitted into the fabric of our mind, body, and spirit. Should my attentiveness, love, joy, hope and open heart be any different for this day? Should I be any less alive? 

Maybe, I wonder, that is what Jesus, Buddha, Ghandi, and all the others were trying to say. You can do it. You have done it. The only difference between those days and moments, is your intent and desire to make them matter and remembered. May this day be so mattered and remembered. 

Goldilocks and the Full Moon

I felt like Goldilocks. This spot too hard. This spot too soft. Could not capture the moon's fullness. Then to pause and see leaves that are unseen at night framing the moon's illumination. Darkness framing light. Light giving shape to darkness. Like Goldilocks, I giggled... this spot is just right. Changing not where I stand but what I see.

Freeing Shadows

               What is the difference between knowing and feeling? It’s like the space between water and ice, the sea and sea bed, or the wick, flame and wax. 

               I walked the hilly mountain path. Into the wind. I sang and chanted the Knowing of Love, being Love and giving Love. In the wind I heard a whisper and thought it only the sound of my feet slipping on the rocks. But I knew the voice. I was walking into the wind. It began as a whisper. Grew quietly into a cry. “I am unloved. I am not loveable. I will never be good enough for anyone or anything.” I knew the voice and the 237 seasons that had shaped the words and then silenced them. Even the Knowing had, in some ways, silenced the voice but always knew it was there.

               I walked the hilly mountain path. Into the wind. I walked with Knowing. And as I walked I listened as the voice became stronger lengthening my stride up the hills. As I walked with Knowing I sat the voice free to cry, to yell, to fly. I walked the hilly mountain path. Into the wind. I walked with Knowing. The voice, the silent fear flew ahead, soared above and hung like a bird in the sky, so effortless, suspended in time. I found the Knowing and my heart chuckling softly as we walked into the wind. Even shadows deserve to be free.

               What is the difference between Knowing and feeling? It’s like the space between water and ice, the se and sea bed, or the wick, flame and wax. The space where no voice is silenced. The space where you walk into the wind with Knowing, watch feeling soar and fly no longer afraid. The space where feeling and Knowing become trust. 

Composite

Sometimes I marvel at the ability of the human mind to see only the pieces of shells lying upon the ocean or gulf shores. We scour for perfect shells, whole and complete.  To see only pieces, making even more as we walk over them never taking the time to look at their intricate colors or feel their texture and marvel at the intricacy of design and divine creation.

What makes this picture special is not the color or wholeness of the perfect shell.... it is the mosaic of the other shells in pieces or those so small they are unseen unless you bend down to look. The picture, the gift is a composite. It is not a portrait.

And so it is with my heart resting upon the shore of my life.

Fresh

Thank you Sweet Life for the lady at the store who taught me how to pick our oranges. So long since I experienced cutting open an orange. The juice dripping down my fingers, lips and chin. Fresh. To feel fresh swirling and dribbling. The explosion of taste and sensations.

Thank you for the walk despite... No. I will not write DESPITE the weather. I will not write despite the weather. Why would I write despite the weather? Is not the weather the same as the orange? Is not the wind and cold embodied within the orange? Did not the tree drink deeply of the wind and cold and imprint the sound and texture within the same explosion of taste, freshness and joy? Is not the juice that dribbled down my lips, chin and fingers the same as the wind and cold that numbed my lips, chin, and fingers? Why would I write despite as if part of your creation was succulent and another part to be confronted in "despite"? No, I will not write despite.

For the juice of life, for the joy of cutting open a slice of life, peeling back the texture of every season past, and the fresh release upon my body, my heart, and my spirit. For the joy of Life dribbling upon my body and the taste of eternity. Thank you.

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

Filling Choice

"Your joy can fill you only as deeply as your sorrow has carved you" (K. Gibran).

As deeply as I treasure Gibran's writings, innately this passage has troubled me for it seemed to suggest that in order to know joy we had to be carved by sorrow. Were we not born to know joy? Why then must sorrow cut and hollow our souls?

Watching a child reach for what she wants, pondering that one of the first muscular movements an infant learns is reaching, falling to my knees upon the lake path reaching in tear'd joy towards the gifted feathers, Life whispered the quote in a different voice. All spiritual, religious and inspirational wisdoms speak of being filled. Even enlightenment is a filling.  One cannot fill what is full. The vessel must be emptied. In its emptiness the vessel reaches and draws in its filling. It is not a carving. It is the hands of yearning reaching into the clay of my heart and soul's vessel, emptying all else so that the rivers, the blush of sun and moon, the dance of wind and grass, the touch of another's heart and eyes, the One Song of Love may stream in and fill. 

Two threads remain. In emptiness we reach...in reaching we are filled.  In emptiness we reach...in reaching we are filled...by what we choose.  

So you can see

The base of my honor stone, Namaste, could not keep it upright.  Straightening it became a ritual, a chance to remember, and whisper yet again, ‘Namaste.”  Today, the earth gifted another as I walked pondering the seasons and time.  This one shaped like a heart.  As soon as I saw it, I knew where it belonged.  The soft gentle whisper of ‘Namaste’ written on the second stone, to honor the first that grew wings and then became a fish in the waters of life, needed a heart. 

Two stones, heavy and hard against the wall of adobe.  One offers honor.  The other gifts the hearth’s strength.  The earthen wall supports them both.  And feathered reminders of softness and flight.  Earth, stone  and sky.  Honor without heart cannot stand. Together, surrendered to the earth, they have wings.  Stones of life, so you can see the whispered painting of Life,  when I say,

"In Lak' ech".... you are my other me

Namaste….