with gratitude

I find it curious that as I deepen new practices, others seem by necessity to languish. Writing being one of them!  I have been feeling deep shifts - tectonic plates within my heart and soul - but lack the language to describe it all. Or perhaps I should say I do not feel the need to explain myself. And that is a little huge for me!

I have been spiraling back to long-lost practices - meditation, yoga, journaling.  I recently realized my meditation practice dropped off just as my creative practice took root. Now I am returning and while my initial reaction is to bemoan the gap of 8 (!) years and all that might have been if I had stayed true, the new and wise me recognizes that I return ready to sink down some deep and tenacious roots. 

I doubt it comes as much of a surprise, but I can be a bit of a curmudgeon. Cantankerous in the sense of needing to go against the flow. Yes, I resisted for many many years the Harry Potter series because, well, I was annoyed by everyone pestering me to read them. (I also worked at a bookstore at the time and resisted ALL books that arrived in bulk. It just offended my sensibilities to pile waist-high stack after stack of one book when there are sooo many good books seeking readers.) 

Another trend I resisted on principle was the gratitude journal. (If it came from Oprah's lips, I turned a deaf ear ... yet I love Oprah? So I own, I am a tortured soul.) It's not the concept of gratitude or the beauty and impact of a regular practice in acknowledging the daily gifts offered by life and living that raises my hackles, but rather a scrapbookish notion of prettifying and pasting gratitude down in a kind of memento mori manner. 

Truth be told, I didn't give it a whole-hearted effort.  Oh yes, I did for one month keep a gratitude journal. I completely forgot I had done so until this past week when I half heartedly decided to answer a journal prompt from a course I am taking. The prompt was to write down 111 gratitudes. 


Let me say, that when writing down so many gratitudes, the heart shifts from half to full. 

What I loved about this exercise was how much deeper the gratitude flows when I pushed myself beyond the usual items of health, family, nature, and friends. I started to see the relationship between gratitude and creativity. For the more I wrote, the more expansive my understanding and the vision of my heart.

So I decided - decades past Oprah's proclamations - to start a gratitude journal.

Which is how I found the journal (that one month experiment) I had forgotten I had started eight year ago. Looking through the entries, I was blown away by the beauty and love within those pages. I was also stunned to realize that at that time, I could not fully perceive the depths of the love and gratitude.

I found these entries which spread wide my heart:

- reading out loud to Cowgirl; feeling her head upon my shoulder
- warm & spicy chai to begin a new week
- seeing the pride on Cowgirl's face as she puts her boots on "all by myself" 
- the drive through French bread bakery and warm rolls to eat in the car   
- the smell of Cowgirl's hair 
- my girl telling me "good job mommy" as she holds my leg
- meditating in the early morning; finding my girl sleeping behind me on the couch
- baby orangutan looking us in the eyes and goofing
- singing together in the car
- my mantra for when things get tough
- Cowgirl singing to her stuffed animals in the dark   

 

 I marvel that I relinquished this practice so quickly, but I probably hadn't even looked at what I wrote down. I was too immersed in it all to perceive the tiny treasures each entry was. 

Now, with the distance of time and perspective, I see how unique and precious each moment can be ... and truly is.  So each night I reach for my lovely gratitude journal (a beautiful book of handmade paper given to me at Cowgirl's baby shower) and I write with my Lamy fountain pen five items for that day.  It helps to be doing so as the sun sets over my garden, the birds singing and the fragrance of new blooms combining with a citronella candle or incense by my feet. 

Gratitude, mindfulness and celebration ... life in these past 8 years has prepared the soil and I am ready to receive it all.

going slow ...

An interesting thing happens when when you slow down and commit to uni-tasking  ...  the day feels large, time stretches and snaps like an elastic band and a common response to the inquiry of "what did you do today?" is perplexed silence.

What did I do with this day?  Or more accurately: what did this day offer me? 

Lots.  Just nothing I can quantify or measure in the usual terms. How illuminating that my knee-jerk response is to want to offer some sort of measurement of productivity? As if wrestling with the contents of my world or my mind is a sign of deep engagement? Certainly the rabbits who are frolicking about my yard aren't concerning themselves with how many of my pansies they demolish in a day. (Okay, frolic may be too energetic a term for these suburban lagomorphs who resemble overfed house cats lolling in the sunshine.) 

There is a natural heaviness to this season of new beginnings.  Through Ayurveda I've come to appreciate that this period of earth mixed with water (rain) = mud. Just the other week I was volunteering at the stables on a misty, damp day.  We took the horses outside to their corrals for some fresh air while we cleaned inside.  Then the rain came. Hard. Fast. Cold and miserable.  We rushed out to bring the horses in but rushing was impossible. Each step in the now-sticky mud coated my boots in a thick and heavy layer so each step felt like I was walking upon slippery platform shoes. The horse I was told to retrieve was even more distressed by the unstable conditions, refusing to face downhill, he slide sideways towards the gate.  At one point, all I could do was circle him around and around because going forward was impossible.

Hmmm ...

I finally just stopped moving. And waited for help to come. Part of my work with horses is to yield completely and utterly to my lack of experience, learning to say I need help, learning to ask for guidance and learning to trust that I am, well, learning.  It is an overdue correction to how I was in childhood and, truth be told, an embarrassing amount of adulthood. Saying I didn't know or understand something seemed to me - as a child -  to be a sign of my inherent lack or incompetence and therefore something I guarded carefully. Understanding the absurdity of this still does not undo a lifetime of habit and fear. But I am chipping away at it.

Sounds a bit like Anne Lamott's famous prayer: Help. Thanks. Wow.  In my case, the wow came once I sat down in my car and took stock of my boots, drenched jacket and hair do inspired by a mix master blender frappe cycle. 

All of this is to say, going forward isn't always the best option and mud demands a delicate kind of surrender. I cannot clomp through mud, it just won't allow it. What is required is a mindful and careful stepping forward and an understanding that things will be messy for awhile.  Learning not to rush, but to linger ... and summoning persistence, stick-to-it-ness seems to be my mode for the season.

Even this wonky little bowl required undo amounts of patience and willingness to start again ... and again ... and again.  It's imperfections remind me that I am not striving for perfection, but instead seeking to learn, discover, grow, and ask for guidance.

Oh yes ... guidance ... seeing who my real teachers are ...

Happy mud days. May there be much comfort in these mud pies of mine.  I am inhabiting out-of-time-ness with these inspirations: 

Taking my time listening to David Whyte's What To Remember When Waking.  The perfect guide for the threshold stages I've been traversing.  
true discipline - reading one poem a day from his collection and not continuing on ... it is hard, just one but then time allows the images to soak in ...

Sharon Blackie (reenchantingtheearth.com) This post got my mind whirling ... (thank you Mel)

Company in the dark (and the light!) places - The Sacred Pause and my sister in moondancing (more to say about her amazing work on repatterning energetic boundaries, if there is anything the doctor should prescribe, it is this!)

Speaking of the moon ... my moon mandala meditation practice is my contribution  to Spectrum 2015 which begins on May 1st.  26 amazing workshops that compliment and augment each other in magical and exciting ways. I am particularly excited by Hali's offering "Calling on the Grandmothers" and Jennette's offering of Make-To-Mend moon ritual object and moon exilir.  

Finally, this had me in tears ... and filled with gratitude and anticipation as I will be making this very journey next October with Em and Nicole. 

Suddenly, I realize I am soaking in a wonderfully cleansing mud bath of ideas and new perspectives! Feel the energy of sunshine slowly drying things out ...

what is lost ...

Last Saturday ... oh, last Saturday!  Saturdays are busy days for us ... sleeping in means an extra hour of sleep (which I argue is NOT sleeping in ...) and a breakfast pace only a smidge leisurely compared to school days.  I have to rouse Cowgirl to head into town for our Chinese class. It is not her favorite way to spend the morning, but it is what we do.

 

I say we because for years I attended Chinese language class by myself. When Cowgirl was old enough, I started back at book one with her.  I held my head high in those early days having mastered "Hello. My name is Lisa.  What is your name?"  and "I like green. What color do you like?" Not fluent, but rattling off my phone number in Chinese sounds impressive. 

Fast forward a couple of years and I can barely hold my chin above water.  The class transitioned from conversation to reading and writing which causes my brain to cramp. Seriously. I'd swear you could hear gears grinding and pieces of my mind breaking off with a rattling clattering clunk.  And then that hissing sound of an exhausted engine.

I joke (but it is true) that together Cowgirl and I are a B+ student.  Divided, we would be crushed under the 公共汽车 (Gong gong qiche - bus).  The teacher is very kind, generous and patient which makes it all the harder when the verbal grilling begins.  今天天气怎么样？ We startle, looking at each other in panic, Cowgirl hissing at me "You're suppose to help me!" and me snapping back "You should know this!"  We (by which I mean "I") talk a lot about being more kind to each other in Chinese class and about the work of learning and how anything worthwhile is often challenging and requires effort and patience. Yes, Cowgirl's eyes glaze over and I'm sure what she hears is yadda yadda yadda Chinese. 

When the hour and a half class is over, there is an audible gasp of pressure being released.  Usually we head home but this past Saturday I had errands I wanted to run while in town.  So off we went to the Asian market to pick up the rice crackers Cowgirl loves. She gave me grief when I first bought them.  "Hello Kitty crackers?!" She was concerned they might tarnish her image (the logos she prefers are KU Jayhawks and Nike) but her fear of trying another brand that she might not like outweighed her disdain of cute, girlie things. 

Then we got wild. Impulsive.  We bought a new soup bowl (so now we have three! Once for each of us) and a much needed rice cooker to replace the one falling apart. After the market we had one more errand which brought us in the vicinity of the French Bread bakery.  "Let's swing in for a roll!" I gleefully suggested. Cowgirl does not like bread products except for artisan breads. Of course.  So we ducked into the warm and bustling bakery café.  It had begun to snow outside making the bakery that much more inviting, the smells more intoxicating and tempting.  We bought croissants, a baguette and some soup to take home for the Husband who was sick in bed with a man cold. We had to wait for the soup. Standing off to the side, Cowgirl proceeded to eat her entire croissant while I eyeballed a giant cookie.  

We waited. And waited. Usually (I am ashamed to say) I can be impatient waiting. I am ready to be off to the next event. But this day -  with the snow gently falling, the hum of conversation in the café,  the whirl of the bread slicer, and the fragrant smells wafting out from the kitchen - I was content to steep myself in the moment.  And it was a moment. Golden and rich like the croissant my girl wolfed down. A moment that I could sense transmuting into a memory that I would call upon at some later date.  Realizing that, I leaned in to kiss the top of my girl's head and to whisper to her "I love spending time with you."

Then it hit me.  A collision of memory. Past and future sandwiched together. This moment with my girl (linked to so many other similar moments we've created or shared) with memory of moments with my mother.  Other bakeries (a theme there?), other excursions, adventures in suburban travel, meals in special, tucked out-of-the-way places and journeys through museum labyrinths, movies and books and stories experienced and shared together.  It overwhelmed me, the tidal wave of all that memory, of all those moments with my mother, each one a pearl on a long strand looped about my heart. 

When I say I lost my mother, I realize what I mean is I've lost a keeper of memories.  I've lost the person who could confirm details, fill in the gaps. I've lost a companion who could travel with me back through the delight of treasured moments.  With both my parents gone, I've lost the only record to my earliest days, the years before my memory clicked on. 

I am finding my mother in new ways. In a song, in the call of the Blue Jay, in a favorite recipe, a joke, a story, the smell of her perfume, and in moments with my girl.  I know the foundation for my relationship with my daughter is strong and stable as it rests upon the deep bond my mother and I shared.  I know that as much as I may mourn the gradual fading of memories held by myself and my mother, new ones created by me and Cowgirl will flood in to fill the space.  

It isn't that I've lost my mother but that I've lost the beginning of my story. I suppose the beauty is I can continue writing the rest of the tale. It's completely mine now and I honor her by living it fully, with gratitude, with awareness of each sacred moment.   

frozen (no, not THAT "Frozen" ...)

Trudging into the new year ... can't say I've found my rhythm yet. It continues to be cold and snowy here which has me wandering about the house thinking of all that I would like to be doing (painting, writing, playing with some new art toys) but stalled by inertia and hands tucked under armpits.  

my boot scrapper hedgehog in hibernation

Even coming here, I find myself wondering why am I sharing this? Nothing inspiring, nothing enlightening, nothing noteworthy.

 

my altar ... my commitment to connecting with Spirit, with the Sacred, with Nature on a regular basis

Ah, yes ... just life as it is I suppose.  I move through my days not sure what I do matters much at all but trusting somehow it all will add up to something important, useful, empowering.  It is like japa meditation. Holding my mala (strand of beads) I move one bead for each recitation of my mantra.  Sometimes I do it with real connection and engagement in the words, with the vibration of the mantra (mine is a Sanskrit mantra and Sanskrit is a vibrational language - rather than be descriptive, the word conveys meaning  through sound/vibration), but more often than not I simply going through the motions. Yet each time I perform japa, I do believe I am adding to a reserve of energy that one day will rise to support or carry me. I know because I've experienced it. It is both amazing and so ordinary.  Of course the net will appear ... when you trust fully. 

So I keep showing up ... as best I can.  Flung myself into another photo-a-day project because in all honesty, it is the best way I've found to manage memory.  Crazy as it sounds, staying at home the days blur together. Okay, perhaps that is also due to shifting hormones (a blog unto itself) but when I need to remember what I did when (or even that anything remarkable happened) I turn to either my photos or my sketch journal.  In the moment it is hard to recognize what is happening. But with even a small gap of time, I am better able to tease out the narrative elements.

life is what happens ... just over your shoulder and in the kitchen ...

Kinda like watching grass growing.  It does grow!

So consider this post a little rest stop in your day.  A moment of fluff ... or a moment of inspired nothingness to keep us connected.  Ah ... my Intention for the year ... Connection.  Like how I wove that in?

Each day one precious bead in a full strand ... I suppose my purpose here is to remember how lovely it is to simply honor and celebrate what is ... these moments with family ...

the quiet moments that are doing their work below the surface, feeding something yet to be known. 

Stay warm. Stay connected.  Let's stay in touch, okay? 

 

done with fixin' (and being fixed)

I am blessed to be part of an amazing women's circle that meets monthly at my home. We have been meeting for - gosh! - over two years now? 

lots of tea and conversation happens in circle

It is fascinating to observe the cycles we each have moved through, and to tease out the common threads and themes in our lives.  Some of those areas are: finding work that is meaningful and connects us with deeper purpose than making a buck;  connection and sense of place in community; understanding and valuing the work of creating a home and caring for family (children and aging parents); finding comfort and ease in our own process of changing, aging, and deepening into the wisdom that journey provides; and crafting personal spiritual practice that is  authentic, vibrant, and vital.

This past gathering as I listened to each woman in the circle sharing her story (council style sharing: one person speaking at a time, no interruptions, no commentary from the others; just being heard and witnessed by the group), I had a mini epiphany.

Actually, the night before while brushing my teeth I received the first flash of a very dangerous thought: I'm done with self-improvement. 

Like the home renovation shows that Cowgirl and I like to watch, the process has come to feel like a constant sledge hammer to internal walls and out-dated fixtures.  Ripping out, adding in, only to tear myself apart again ... and again ... all under the guise of coming into my fullest, truest, authentic expression of self.

While scrubbing my newly straightened teeth (yes, my self transformation has been both structural and spiritual) I realized: this is it and I am there.  With all the efforting to create the life I believe I was born to live, I am overlooking the fact that I already am living my life.  Living a damned good one at that!  I am not a project to bring into some elusive state of perfection, but a living expression and extension of the Universal creative force.  It's not a matter of doing anything to bring about growth or change; actually the more I try, the more I get in the way of things.  

my dream that night: tigress is always resting right by me ... i just have to lean into her, trust and receive

As I've often heard in Yoga, it's not a doing but an undoing.  What is required isn't effort so much as releasing my death grip upon things - my infantile attempt to control - and relaxing into the life that is happening while I busy myself with hammers and saws.

In our circle, I came out with a variation upon this theme: what if we entertain the idea that there's nothing we need to fix?  What if we accept our lives, and the people in our lives, as is?  Which is not to say we don't hold aspirations, that we want to continue to learn and grow and evolve in positive ways, but we open to that growth, we open to our individual evolutionary path.

I know this sounds dangerously naive or head-in-the-sand-ish ... I don't mean to imply that there isn't some seriously shitty and harmful and dangerous stuff happening in our world that requires change, that demands we take action ... it's just the attitude of fixing, the restlessness of "not enough" and the culture of constant and continual up-grading makes me feel like a dog ever and always chasing her tail. 

I can only attend to myself.  What if the violence stops there?  What if I embrace myself and my life as is in this moment and proceed from there?  What if I cease the fixing, tinkering, adjusting and attend instead to what fills, nourishes, augments and enlivens me? As I learned in Flora Bowley's painting classes, build upon what is working rather than pouring energy into fixing what isn't working.  

The not-so-subtle message we've received for far too long is this: something is missing, you are incomplete or lacking in some way BUT here's what will fix you ...

I'm done with being fixed.  And I vow I am done trying to fix myself or anyone else for that matter. As I am, I am enough.  This life of mine is more than enough.  I want to appreciate and enjoy it and that is hard to manage if I am continually sledge-hammering it - and myself - down to the studs.

All I need is right before me ... under my nose or sleeping by my feet.  Waiting for me to wake up and pay attention ... 

dog days

My stars, where did this week go?  I confess, I come to this space to touch that part of me that feels enduring, that tastes of my essence, that holds space for my dreams.  Sometimes it is easy to share stories from my days; like plucking ripe fruit and savoring.  Other times, it is hard to find me.

It has been a challenging week.  I could lay blame upon the weather ... the build up by the local news for storm system that threatened - and proved - to be severe. 

As much as I hated living in earthquake country, the hype around storms here is akin to blow-by-blow reports of an invading army. It is hard maintaining an even keel when all about you are screaming "The sky is falling! The sky is falling!"  The girl and I did what we could do: offer prayers for protection and support from the local fairies, dragons, and spirit protectors.  We walked the perimeter of our yard scattering herbal offerings, smudging with sage and chanting.  My neighbors are getting used to us and our "usual" ways.

But storms aside, I have to be honest and acknowledge that summer (or summer-like weather) is and always has been my challenging season.  When all around me is activity, sunshine, and go-go-go my tendency is to want to seek a quiet spot, preferably in the shade and read a book, sipping iced tea.  What trips me up, is questioning myself: what is wrong with me? Why no ambition?  

Yet I know this is how I feel every year.  My already hot disposition requires cooling off.  Less is more is a lesson for me year round, but especially now.  I believe I ought to be able to do more, fill the days with activity the school years doesn't allow, yet the truth is, we all need this time to empty out.

What I want to remember for myself, for this time with my girl, is to allow ease into our days.  In these bright, sunshiny days there is more to receive: the songs of the birds, the bounty of our garden, the space and time to cut loose, relax and enjoy.

I sat down to write this post with a dark cloud over my head.  But sitting here, allowing myself to be with my experience (not pushing it away, not denying, not questioning) something has shifted.  Or rather, I just shifted.  Releasing this inner battle with my dark dog allowed me the space to look up and see the first butterfly of the season visiting my hanging planter.  

Message verified and received. 

The days ahead fill up without me having to add any more ... martial arts, pool, our neighborhood garage sale (ah, divine decluttering ... but it has an energetic price!) it's all I can do to fling some tuna salad on a plate, gather the girl and keep going.  Honoring my inner rhythms and tides, recognizing this is my outflow time, and lazy is the new self care.

Perhaps not lazy ... but blissfully simple and elemental.  Grass (grounding), deep breaths (air), letting go of judgment (grace), and surrendering to play (flow).  I swing wide and wild this time of year, so I need to honor the pull towards the  extra space to allow myself to be ... to thrash and roll without getting hurt by rigid expectations or limitations.


 

 

tending to my own knitting ...

admiring yours,

but attempting focus

upon

what is

mine

Preparing this season's garden requires clearing out the debris from previous plantings.  One.Project.At.A.Time.

Finished! Onto the next ...

this moment

lemon daffodils

march winds

lemonade

unsweetened

i want that ... one more time ...

With full awareness of a high cheesiness factor, I put this out there ... 

Inspiration comes from the most unlikely of places and unexpected times. Hunkered down with my knitting and some evening entertaining, The Husband puts on his new favorite television show, The Blacklist.  It is the first of a two-part episode and the main character, Raymond "Red" Reddington is trapped in a security chamber with an armed assassin outside the protective glass waiting to kill him.  Inside with him is a wounded FBI agent who says "We're not going to live through this."  Which launches Red, played by James Spader, into a moving monologue.  His response is "I think we will."  "How?" the agent asks and Red explains "Have you every sail across the ocean ... stood at the helm of your destiny?  I want that, one more time."  (If you want to watch this clip, the scene occurs around the 30:50 time mark.)

He goes on to list all the joys in his life - a meal in Paris with one more bottle of wine and then another; to sit in the garden and read one more good book; to walk on the wall, ride the river, stare at the frescoes; "to sleep like I slept when I was a boy ... give me that, just one more time ... that's why I won't let that punk out there get the best of me, let alone the last of me."

Which has me thinking ... what keeps me from crumbling, from giving in, giving up?  What keeps me rising from a warm bed into the cold morning, stepping into the unknown day after day and opening myself up to Life, to Trust and to Possibilities?  What keeps me moving into vulnerability, tempting fate, exposing myself to heartache, loss and uncertainty?  What brings color into my day?  What would be on my "just one more time" list?

All of this falls upon a ripe and tender heart as today I learned of the unexpected passing of a work colleague due to the complications of cancer.  She was only 43. She only recently found out she was ill and now she is gone.  Her art is currently hanging in a local exhibition and was due to come down when she passed. 

Give me that ... one more time ... Events seem to be reminding me again and again of the the finite nature of life.  There would be so much I would want to taste, touch, hear, see and experience one more time, so moments I would want to savor just a little longer if I could.  

Where would I even begin?  I can start with this past weekend and the pause from madness that a snow day afforded us. Waking without an alarm, blurry eyes registering the change in light around the curtains that happens only when the world is covered in freshly fallen snow.

A day of extremes ... the bitter cold with flashes of brilliant sunlight kissing skin ... the burden of heavy snow gear and the impression of renewal in a world washed white and clean ...

The delight of tracks and signs of all the life that surrounds me and yet remains too often hidden and secreted away in leaves and bushes, dark corners and open sky ...

 

A day with no agenda, just following our impulses.  A day folding in upon itself as we nestle deeper and deeper into the vastness of inner worlds ... 

Together in quiet but deep in another kind of conversation ... busy doing and being rather thinking, talking, filling ...

Play happening ... magic manifesting ...

Drawing our dreams, giving voice to our inner worlds, guides and friends ...

I want all that ... all in one day, in our p.j.s ... and then squeezing in the time to run outdoors in the darkening night and catch snowflakes on our tongues as night settles and the cold sinks into toes and fingers but we have the option to  linger ...


 

All that ... and so many days more. I want to receive and celebrate these gifts, just one more time.  And then just for fuck's sake, one more lovely time around please. Oh, I'm not asking ... I'm declaring it will be so.

thanksgiving treasures ...

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone, signaling the official start of the holiday season.  I am scheduled to make a presentation on "Happy, Healthy, Stress-free Holiday" at my local library in just a few days, so I probably ought to figure out what I will share?

This year the family Thanksgiving dinner was held at my home.  I believe it the first time we've ever hosted The Husband's entire family and including my mother it was dinner for 13 people. The cooking was divided up among four cooks, so the only challenge for me was organizing the timing of multiple dishes needing to be heated in our one oven.  The Husband had the more challenging task - smoking and roasting 2 turkeys.  

I don't believe he's ever had a smooth run.  This year he stayed up until midnight to put the one turkey in the smoker.  The next morning he woke early to prep the second turkey and discovered the smoker had stopped working due to the intensely cold temperature overnight.  After attempting a hair dryer to warm up the auger, he had to move into plan B:

The grill was brought out to finish the job.  It was a cold and smokey morning but he stayed calm.  

Meanwhile, I was busy with scavenging enough china, linens, silverware, and glassware for a traditional table setting. Yes, I had to pull up Emily Post to figure out proper placement of knives, forks, bread plates and glasses. 

While it sounds like a lot of effort, the end effect was a sense of festive and special.  A friend has started a practice of pulling out her nice dishes for her evening meal, noting that she is deserving of such attention and care.  My memory from holidays is my mother lavishing attention upon every detail, an act that sent a message of celebration and love.  While we generally always sit down as a family for our evening meal, the appearance of the special china and silver conveyed a sense of cherishment which is my goal in all that I do.  I want each person to know they are deserving of this attention, and that each gathering is an moment to be celebrated.  I am learning to do this for myself. 

It was exhausting but the festive time spent with family generated energy that carried me through the day.  The main lesson (and key to a happy holiday season) is to determine one's intention for season; what is the tone, the message, the feeling I want to experience? And what do I want my loved ones to experience?  In the end, it is about coming together, taking time to be with each other and to be nourished.  Good food lovingly prepared helps ...

my vegetarian plate

But in the end, it is about simplifying, striping away the inessential and honing in on what really matters: moments savored and memories created.  Laughter and connection, traditions passed down and new ones created.

showing our nephew how to carve a turkey ... with a Moose waiting for a lucky spill ...

It is taking time to just relax and be, slowing down enough to be present for the individual moments that contribute to the story of our family.

Even though I hosted dinner and then had to work on Black Friday, I feel relaxed,  recharged and excited for the days ahead.  I believe this is because I am taking time to care for myself which allows me to be better able to care for the ones who matter most.

Belated Thanksgiving wishes.  May we all experience a happy and stress-free holiday season by remembering to slow down and enjoy the small moments that hold so much meaning and provide the juice that feeds our days ... and our souls.

 

 

the moments in between ...

Years ago a friend said to me: I jump from this and that when what I really want to know are the moments in between.

Indeed. I know all too well the sensation of being a frog, leaping from one lily pad to another.  I am aware of skipping those liminal moments ... I am becoming aware of what it is I am avoiding by my compulsive busyness.

I am avoiding the discomfort of this moment of stillness and quiet.  While I have craved such, to be in it is hugely disorienting.  I am aware of the sound of the clothes tumbling in the dryer, the hum of the refrigerator, the steady rhythm of my dog breathing as he sleeps by my feet.  I am aware of the glow of the kitchen light, harsh in contrast to the darkness outside.  The false brightness emphasizing the gloominess of the weather and the dimness within me.  

I am aware of the compulsion to be doing something.  The other inhabitants of my home are out in the world and engaged in their tasks while I sit here ... doing what?  Abiding?  Waiting?  

Paying attention.  Trying to grab hold of what constantly slides through my fingers, aware of a shadow at the edges of my consciousness.  I envy my dog his lack of anxiety over what he does or doesn't do.  He simply is.  

I am aware of my defensiveness regarding my day.  The Husband comes home and in a spirit of genuine interest and curiosity asks me, "What did you do today?"  I snidely reply "I sat around eating bon-bons."  I am aware of feeling guilty if I cannot account for myself, my actions, my productivity. But I know too well that busyness and doing does not equal living nor does it make for a satisfying life.

I have joined with the participants in The Gift of Practice in experimenting with a new practice.  I took the advice of David Whyte and am taking the step that scares me, the one I've resisted for much of my life.  I am sitting every day and spending a minimum of 5  minutes watching my breath.  I am not doing, striving, perfecting ... I am attempting to simply be.  Sit. Breathe. Be.

In the process, I am watching the cloaks and hats and labels I've dressed myself in, peeling away one by one.  The longer I sit, the more layers I discover.  Perhaps one day I will come to the end and discover what I've been seeking my whole life: to truly know myself. Just me. Simple, plain, perfect in my imperfections.  Sitting snugly, comfortably within myself. 

If Life is a gift ... and truly, I believe it is such ... then each of us is a parcel of wonder, a treasure to be shared and enjoyed.  I want to sit in that space in between the scattered wrapping paper, torn off bows, savoring the moment of receiving. 

Time to turn off, stop typing and start being ...