As Is

The dance of the drought hardened earth's dust and wind shrouding the mountain, in so many ways, took my breath. The invisible made visible. The visible almost invisible. And as my fingers touched the dust resting upon my face, I had to giggle and wonder in awe, "Where my friends have you come from? How many miles and years have you traveled, now to kiss my cheek?" The wonder of the present moment, without story or judgement, simple awe.

Delighted Certainty

A morning gift as the coffee gifted a dance of steam and tiny droplets leaping in the air. My laughter joined the dance and swirled in awe. The certainty and clarity of life's path is neither possible nor necessary. What is certain, what is ever so clear....is the joy and awe when I pause and see.

Brevity's Sustenance

How could I ever doubt that this day is a gift? That even the brevity of this joy would not be the sustenance of the day?

Opening Christmas Day 9: The Reacher and the Light

On this day 9 of opening Christmas a simple image of a child’s arm reaching for the lights. And with the image a simple prayer, blessing, and wish for all. May the child in all and all of us, reach unencumbered for the Light and squeal with joy and awe….because we can. And may the Light in all our hearts be the lure and delight for the reaching hand.

Waving Back

She skipped across the street to the corner where the school bus would stop. I see her every morning. Today, she turned back to the truck where her Dad was watching. She waved so vigorously her whole body swayed. Something was different. Then I saw she had a floppy stuffed animal in her hand and was waving it back and forth towards her Dad. Her smile was so big even my failing eyes could see. As the school bus approached, one last fierce wave and then she gently placed her floppy friend in her backpack, which looked way too heavy for her body. She was off to school where she would have to sit still, memorize, and be taught all the things society has decided are important. If by grace a moment to color, it would have to be done within the lines. But inside her backpack, a soft floppy but now still little reminder that she is still a child. A child of wonder, magic, laughter, joy, and such a huge smile of life and love. She’s growing up but she has a soft reminder of what counts. As the school bus drove away my arm and hand fell down into my lap. As did my own floppy stuffed animal that had been waving back.

Unlimited Quantities

The morning and the day, a blank piece of paper and dancing shadows. The joy, the simple childlike innocent joy of knowing it awaits my mark. But oh, sweet mercy, the giggled anticipation of knowing at the end of the day, I get to re-open and savor each mark made. The marking, the re-seeing, and then the letting go. Not to worry! Not limited to just one sheet.

Transmuting Moments

The sun has journeyed over the mountain hill, it is in a different place this morning. The wind is dancing with the trees. If this were the only moment of sight and then sight would be gone, the colors and shapes of trees would be so different from that gifted with the same moment in just a few hours. Who would be right?  And even if the moment of seeing the trees and sky were done at exactly the same time every day throughout the years, still the vision would be different as the earth moves around the sun. Like the proverb of blind men defining an elephant, one only feeling the trunk, another a leg and another only the tail. Whose sight is right? Whose wisdom and perception the truth? A reminder of how little we see. Only this moment is what we have. To be mindful of how we define ourselves, our day and others based only upon this one moment. But an even better and magnificent reminder of the expansive wonder and awe that is before us.... waiting, waiting, for us to see.

Layered Choice

How is it the clouds are racing across the sky? They linger a moment, a quiet hush upon the mountains, and then create windbows as they glide like a leaf on a flowing river? The trees are still. No wind to make them dance.

Today, when others, or myself, would define my atMUSTsphere, may I remember this moment of awe. Stillness of trees. Gliding armies of clouds. Playful windbows. Or the softness of the grass looking up and beholding all. To choose where I will dance.

Hands of Curiosity

If only there had not been exams and grades. The dreaded red pencil upon the papers turned in. For some reason I have wondered just what the world looks like through a microscope. To imagine the galaxies and worlds that exists right now that I cannot see. The opportunity was lost in school as the dreaded red pen of judgment transformed curiosity, openness and seeing into an object lesson of trying to please. 

I have no microscope so the worlds remain unseen. But before me now a cricket hops and suddenly looks like a moth as it flies from here to there. Three evergreen sentinels stand firm and still while an elm tree is dancing softly like a lace curtain behind an open window. A few yellow leaves are the scouts of fall. A roofer’s hammer mimics a woodpecker. I wonder if he hums while he works. A single leaf looks like two. And beneath all I see are the galaxies and universes streaming that I cannot see but this morning to feel. No dreaded red pen today! There is no right or wrong way to look and see! The only question on today’s test and journal is “Look little one! Look! Tell me, do you see the wonder, the awe the absolute abundance about you!” Curiosity is the hands that opens the gifts.

Forward Gathering Backwards

There are two points on my mountain trail walk where I stop and walk backwards with my hand to my heart. To gather in all that I have seen and whisper thank you. Though it appears to be walking backwards, I am, in truth, walking forward...the body moves forward and the eyes and heart like the tide drawing the wave, gather all and carry it with me. Much like the touch of a lover's hand upon their beloved's...a gentle, soft whisper.

“What would happen if the wonder of existence was experienced as the primary capability of a species. Well we are what happened. And that is what it means to be human. …. The unity of the world rests on the pursuit of passion” ~ Brian Swimme

Bouncing Laughter

Some mornings you just have to wonder. Oh, not "wonder" as a question and scratching your head. True wonder.... We all know "sleep hair." Well, this morning I woke up to sleep hair that would rival Woody Woodpecker and I just bellowed...  and the laughter, sweet mercy, bounced back.

In the Field of all vibrations where we align with All That IS, like a child standing in front of the Universe's playground, with impish eyes, I shall simply run in without abandon and throughout the web of Life, in my best southern childlike drawl, giggle

"Hey Yall!.... What's Happen'n?"

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.

Eve of Eve

About 3 am, my little dog demanded to go out NOW  and with only a t-shirt, sweat pants and no socks, the cold pre-dawn 19 degree wind whipped against my body and I bellowed a  'sweet mercy!' that made the stars and moon dance, causing me to squeal in joy and giggles.  I giggled to think of Christmas magic for a child. That one moment standing before the tree when the eyes and heart exploded in the squeal of joy.  I shall abide in that breathless moment....for the magic, the gifts, the joy and excitement are mine now, wrapped in my BEing.  The Essence of Love never makes us wait, tis ours now, this moment, every breath.  Oh sweet mercy, the gifts of breath, life, a beating heart, and joy are so precious... but tis the moment of awareness of their presence, the Present...that creates the magic squealing with joy. In that space I shall abide. Sweet mercy....rampant giggles.

Let the magic out! Release the joy of the Present wrapped in ribbons weaving throughout time and all dimensions. Let your squeal be heard and vibrate infinity!

 "Inside of everyone is a great shout of joy waiting to be born" ~ David Whyte

Tsp Revisited Bearing a Gift

I related my inability to cook in a July entry called Seesaw Wisdom .  I repost it here so you can follow the update.

My mother was obsessed with cleaning and her kitchen. No one could help her wash dishes or clean. Only she could make sure it was done correctly. And she most definitely did NOT teach her daughter how to cook.  I am 58 and I still do not know how to cook. The language of cooking is as foreign as the language of Martians. To get my Brownie badge, the one exception was made and I entered her sacred kitchen to make brownies from a boxed mix. The directions were quite clear- "50 strokes by hand." Hmmmm. Must be a reason you cannot use a spoon, it clearly says by hand. So...... squish...one..squish...two... My mother entered the kitchen and to her horror her daughter was mixing the batter, by hand.  Lesson over.  Later, regretting her lack of wisdom, she gave me a Barbie Easy Cook Book for children hoping I would learn to cook...I was in my 20's and living away from home.  I tried.  Finally in frustration I called her. She could tell I was mad.  I had been to every store, asked every clerk and no one, no ONE had tisp flour! How were you supposed to make the recipe if you could not get tisp flour! A long silence. Then in her ever so slow southern drawl, she asked me to read exactly what the recipe said (perhaps remembering the 50 strokes by hand).  I did.  Another looooonnng pause.  Quietly she informed me that "tisp" was an abbreviation for teaspoon - tsp. Not a brand or type. TSP mean teaspoon. Sigh...and giggle.

Tonight, Friday 12/21/12 - Perhaps the season, but my mama's presence would not leave me and created a desire for toast made in the "thing" (aka oven) with butter and cheese. Do not know why, but felt I needed to make.  Four phone calls later, finally found someone at home who told me what kind of pan to buy at the store and to call them back when ready. With phone on speaker, and yes, much laughter, they told me how to put the butter and cheese on the bread, and using the photo of the thing's (aka oven) knobs told me what to press and turn.  And then, quite exhausted from their laughter, told me to call later to make sure the house did not burn down.

And so there I sat, on the floor, with the light on so I could see. Have you ever watched bread turn into toast?  Folded cross legs holding my hands I squiggled and sat and watched it all happen.  No, there is nothing in the picture, the thing is empty...and yes I remembered to turn off the light.  I sat there looking into the empty cave of the thing, drinking my coffee and eating my mama's cheese toast and heard the thread.... perhaps that is Christmas .... daring to look beyond what has never been done, into the light with the eyes of a child.  Magic. Wonder. Giggles and sweet tears.

Merry Christmas mama.... thank you for the present.

A Child

And the sacred whispers I have no off limits, no proper or must nots. Climb upon my window sills and look with wonder. Come my Child, be a child and look with awe, delight, innocence and delight upon my stained glass windows and know you are loved. Know, you are loved. Come my Child, be a child.............

A Growl, Screech, Eeeek and a Blessing

I have no photo that resembles the thread. I giggle to think I am almost glad I have no photo.  So bad the pain last night, as Friday became Saturday, I stepped outside on the front porch with my faithful little scruffy white companion.  Nature's gentle cool breeze gathered us both in a most gentle embrace.  Eyes closed, listening to the wind's whisper I felt the sound of the breeze change. Opening my eyes, at the same time my little dog jumped against the screened porch wall, four eyes met two and in the night breeze a screech, an eeeeeek and a growl could be heard. There standing on his hind legs about to take down the bird feeder on the other side of the screen was a rather large bear. If he (or her) had extended his reaching paw towards the screen, we could have shook hands and introduced ourselves.  With his muttered growl, the little dog's screech and my own eeeeek, I gathered my little friend and into the house we scampered.

Sitting, now with two pains - laughter and the other- I explained to my frantic companion the bear was simply hungry.  Our drought has been unkind to all life. Watching the sun rise I went out to feed the birds, wondering if the feeders were still intact. The empty feeders were intact.  I giggled aloud to think of last night and pondered a simple silly thread - What do a blue moon, a brown bear, a white dog and pain have in common?  One smiles, one growls, one screeches and one cries. When you mix them together, with a gentle midnight breeze, you have but one sound, laughter, you have but one feeling, blessed peace.  And that, for anyone who should happen to read, is simply grand. 

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

Simple Friday morning

The day awaits my exploration.


That simple.


And thank you for sharing the journey.  

"Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering" ~ Winnie the Pooh