august memories ...

Summer is hard for me. I feel heat and humidity more intensely than the cold and it may sound perverse, but too much sunshine makes me grumpy. 

 

But summer has been bringing me some lovely moments which I record in my gratitude journal -

~the pleasure of sleeping with windows open after a long heat wave
~finding baby peppers growing in the garden box
~waking to bird song
~walking Moose in the coolness of night
~an abundance of marigolds
~fresh peaches from the farmer's market
~monarch butterflies on my walks
~an afternoon thunderstorm
~corn still warm from the sun and the fields

Ah, corn. I buy it from a truck parked daily in the corner of our neighborhood gas station. I buy 6 ears and they always throw in an extra "just in case" an ear is less than.  We usually end up with left-over ears and recently I have taken to cutting the kernels from the cob to use for soup. 

I am cutting a cooled ear when I remember cleaning out my mother's kitchen shortly after her death. In her freezer were six small plastic containers, each filled with corn. Individual meal sized portions of summer corn set aside for winter months when the taste of fresh corn would be most welcome.  I am struck by the hopefulness of that action and then undone by the reality that I held the bits of my mother's last summer. It felt sacrilegious, but I emptied each container down the disposal. There were too many memories to swallow in her stuffed apartment. Crackers of every kind (she was a cracker afficienado), canned goods long expired (stashed away for those rainy days that never arrived), spices I still use, and a half emptied bottle of Kahlua. (DId she drink it with friends? Or by herself? A solitary pleasure enjoyed as a daring gestures in her golden years?) 

I realize part of the weightiness I have felt this summer perhaps can be attributed to a growing list of bittersweet August memories. The last real season with my mother. The last time I saw my father was in August. He was in the hospital recovering from by-pass surgery and I flew out to help my mother for a week. When it was time for me to return home, I hung back from my mother and brother. I slipped back into his room.  I didn't want to believe I was saying good-bye, but part of me knew.  

My father asked me, "Do you think I will be alright?" I can't remember what exactly I said, but I know I reassured him. I reminded him he was going to have a new granddaughter and that he would be meeting her soon. He had to get better.

Less than two weeks later, the Husband and I flew to China to bring Cowgirl home. One month after I became a mother, I lost my father.  He never got to see Cowgirl in person, but at least he knew finally we had become a family.  He never said so, but I know he was thrilled for me to become a mother. 

This month will be our ten-year anniversary. Ten years as a family with Cowgirl. Next month will bring the ten year anniversary of my father's passing. As I get older, I become more fluid in the dance between grief and joy, sorrow and gratitude, loss and hopefulness. I store up memories like my mother put away corn. I feed upon the moments, the memories to sustain and inspire me. 

And we fill up our days with new moments, new memories. The imperative is to enjoy the Now because the future can be a long way out and all we have is right here, right now:  life rich and hard and heartbreaking and heart filling all at once.  

Bali blessed *

I've been home over a week now and I am still unpacking the many treasures I brought home from Bali (a patchwork-batik and multi-colored tassel explosion!) 

this is a shop, NOT my closet ... yet ...

While I did my fair share to support the Balinese economy, the more precious of gifts rest securely within the confines of my battered yet robustly beating heart. The price of these treasures cannot be measured in rupiah (undoubtedly the currency does not go that high; one million rupiah equals about 74 US dollars) but instead is relative to a willingness to open oneself up, trust, and receive.

But before I could receive all that was offered, a healthy spate of shedding and cleansing was required.

I'll try to explain. (in my round about way, of course!)

Taking in the signs (and that is what I do ... seek out the cosmic breadcrumb trail for confirmation and comfort) the first thing that strikes me is how on the flight over, water was a dominant force. I mean, a typhoon rearranged our schedule! Once we were finally on the plane, I discovered my water bottle had leaked all over the contents of my carry-on bag. Soaking up the bulk of the water was the current edition of Taproot Magazine which includes an article by Em and Nicole about Nofel, the Blue Man of Ubud who would be sharing with our group the technique of indigo dyeing. Not a big deal, but I was thinking about my pristine collection of previous editions back home and moping a bit over my destroyed copy.

Of course, included in the pile of welcome goodies from Em and Nicole was a fresh and unblemished copy of the same magazine!

Okay, so that may be a minor co-incidence. But wait, there's more! (A common refrain while shopping in Ubud ... note to self: always take time out from shopping with a lovely four dollar half hour foot massage, complete with jasmine tea. Totally civilized and proper way to treat oneself, never mind my feet which trod barefoot across both holy and common ground.) 

Can I talk about snakes? No, not the metaphoric trouser snake (although penii bottle openers are plentiful in the market place ... this is a country that worships Shiva and his lingam alongside the less threatening Ganesha) 

so everyday I sat on my porch taking in this view and I swear it wasn't until the last morning that I noticed THIS

I mean honest-to-goodness slithering and totemic snakes ... snake who represents the shedding of a skin (of self) that has grown uncomfortable and restrictive ... snake who can only move forward (or sideways) but never backwards ... snake who apparently slipped into the water at Tirta Empul, a sacred holy springs consisting of two large pools and 12 decorative spouts (or more? I couldn't keep count and I find conflicting information online) where we joined a crowd of both Balinese and foreign worshipers moving from sprout to spout immersing ourselves in the cleansing and restorative water. 

Tirta Empul - image from online source

This was our final day (post-retreat). We had hired a car and driver for a half day's tour of nearby temple complexes when Surinder, the owner of Gajah Biru Bungalows (the Blue Elephant where we stayed our last two nights in Ubud) told we simply must end our Bali experience with a dip in the holy waters. This was to be my third water-cleansing/blessing while in Bali (aha! The magic of threes ... Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva ... third time's the charge and more) and just to make sure I hadn't missed the point, something (a carp fish?) bit my toe - twice! -  before I exited the final pool.  

There is standing under a gushing spray of water, reciting prayers or mantras and then there is the experience of many such blasts of water and a tossing aside of any mental activity and just going for it. Hands together in front of the heart in anjali mudra (symbolizing union of body, mind and spirit) and bowing down under the gushing stream over and over and over again. Midway through, my mind emptied I began to place my hands on either side of the spout and lean into it, allowing the water to crash against my heart. My hands shifting to padma or lotus mudra, representing the blossoming or opening of the heart. 

It is exhausting work, this spiritual stuff. There is no thinking, just submitting and receiving.  Climbing into the second pool for the final array of spouts, I was startled by something brushing up against me. I then realized there were fish in this pool! A foreign tourist laughed at me. I gestured to her it was big! What I did not know was minutes later Alison, just a few spouts ahead of me, would watch a snake slither past the heaps of offerings on the stone mantel above and slip into the pool. While I love knowing the snake was there, another wink by the Universe in my mind, I know in reality if I had seen it I would have undone any sacredness to the atmosphere with my shrieks. 

The fish bites were reminder enough to WAKE UP and PAY ATTENTION. 

As I said, this was my third water cleansing while in Bali.  The first was a visit to a local healer arranged by Nicole for our free day during the retreat. I had no idea what to expect. I was told he would inspect my skin with a magnifying glass, so I was a bit concern about what he might uncover. Kristina, my traveling partner, went first so I had time to sit in the garden courtyard waiting area.  A total delight for the senses as fountains burbled, twinkle lights flickered, outside scooter sounds were muffled by the wall and fragrant incense burned all around me. 

for sound effects, click HERE

 Oh, and the entire place was painted in pastel shades of pink, green, and yellow.  

When it was my turn, I made my way to a small room at the back of the courtyard. I was told to stand facing Agus, the healer, and to close my eyes. He sat for awhile and I could hear him softly speaking. Whether he was chanting mantras, prayers, or thinking out loud, I do not know. But the effect was strangely soothing. I found myself slowly beginning to sway and spiral, like a human pendulum. I wasn't sure if my body was doing this to keep me from keeling over, or if it was the result of the healer working on me. Finally, he stood up and proceeded to press upon my head, then rather forcefully sweep his fingers across my brow bone. It was as if he was pressing out the heavy gunk inside my mind. He used the magnifying glass to inspect my arms and hands and then gently pressed upon my back and my belly before finishing up with my legs and feet.  All the while he was chanting or praying and periodically writing upon my forehead with his fingers. 

And with that, his examination was complete. He then began to tell me what my various body parts revealed. From my hair, he said he could tell I was an honest person. My eyes told him I want to help others. He continued describing and explaining to me aspects of my personality and life that were very accurate. A few surprising and interesting ideas about myself that made total sense.  He told me my mind is very strong ... but that this is also my challenge, that I need to learn to clean and clear my mind. He gave me a simple exercise to do everyday.

What was odd - or unexpected - was not what he told me, but my reaction to him. I found myself saying over and over "I believe you." It wasn't that he told me any new, so much as I found myself accepting those parts of myself rather than resisting or believing I need to change. It is like pulling off a the shelf a book you've had for years but never could seem to read. Then one day you open it up and wonder why you haven't read it before because it is exactly what you've needed to hear.

He asked me if I had any important questions. I asked about Cowgirl and he gave me the most practical parenting advice and again, it just made total sense. Perhaps all the mantras made me ripe to accept what I've needed to know?

I then asked about my mother, specifically how I could move on with her gone. At this point I broke down in tears. Calmly, he explained that I should pray to my mother and that way rather than crying, I would be in a new relationship with her. Again, I found myself marveling at the simplicity and yet profound nature of his advice. 

When we were finally finished, Agus led me outside the room where Kristina joined us. We three held hands and carrying incense, made a circuit around and around his courtyard garden.

All of the following images with Agus were taken by his wife and courtesy of Kristina Wingeier

He completed the ceremony with a final cleansing and blessing by water and handful upon handful of flower petals showered upon us.

The final day of our Soulful Escape to Bali retreat included another water blessing. Our group traveled to a sacred springs which Em and Nicole asked that we keep private in order to protect the site as it is primarily visited by locals and not tourists. We had to descend the deepest of steps down down down to reach it.

We were wearing sarongs and it was, per usual, hot and humid. We arrived at a series of three springs - again, sacred the sacred triad of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva -  where we were instructed by Nicole's friend on the proper way to begin. Cleansing the face, sipping the water, then splashing water over our heads. Three times, of course.  

 

Then down down down even further to a little temple where we were to make our prayers. We each were given a basket - canang sari -  and some incense to leave as our offering. I thought about what it is I wanted to pray for. I realized, I already knew. Just as it was with Agus, my truth is crystal clear and the path simple: I am here to let go of my mother. When she was dying, I was focused upon letting her know it was okay for her to go. What I hadn't realized or accepted was that I was the one still holding on. 

Suddenly, the whole pilgrimage sense to the trip clicked. On the flight over Kristina and I  both watched the movie The Darjeeling Limited and I was reminded of what the eldest brother, Francis, had shared with his brothers at the beginning of their trip:

I want us to make this trip a spiritual journey where each of us seek the unknown, and we learn about it. Can we agree to that? 

I want us to be completely open and say yes to everything even if it's shocking and painful. Can we agree to that?"  

I was here in Bali to release my mother, to let her spirit move on. I was here to find my way forward. I was here to say yes and trust whatever arrived or arose.

I prayed to my mother. I let her know it was okay for her to move on. That I too would move on. I thanked her and I asked that I might find a new source of connection, nurturance and support. And being the doubtful Thomas that I am, I slipped into my prayer a request for a sign that all was okay with my mother. Nothing big, just a little wink or nudge, if that was okay.

After our prayers we went to a changing area to put on our bathers under our sarongs. Down a few slick rocks there was a small pool of water and two waterfalls cascading down over a rocky wall. We were instructed to lean face forward into the first fall, then lay back into the second. 

The sound of the rushing water filled the entire area. In my nervousness, I propelled myself too quickly into the first waterfall and bashed my forehead against the rocks. For a moment I was certain I would be bloody and bruised over my third eye point. I then remembered to relax into the experience and receive. At the second fall (I wasn't bleeding) I lay back and again, felt my entire being releasing and resting in the cool and refreshing water.  I felt myself opening up. I felt myself being filled. I felt the grief of the previous year washing away and in its place, a sense of connection and belonging more expansive than anything I have known through human relationships pooled into and completed me. 

Exiting the falls, I fell into Kristina's arms and cried like I hadn't cried since my mother died. The sound of my sobs was absorbed into the sound of the rushing water and with that, I felt complete.

We sat in prayer for a few minutes more and then our group began the uphill return. A few of us were straggling behind when suddenly a group of Balinese people in matching white t-shirts decorated with a red lipstick print and what turned out to be the name of the man celebrating his birthday, came barreling down into the previously quiet space. The jovial birthday boy greeted us with gusto outdone only by his mother or granny who laughed and kissed and mugged in turn which each member of our remaining group. Until she got to me. 

She immediately shifted from wacky to quiet and serious. She took both my hands and closed her eyes and just held me in a space of immense calm and presence.  She didn't say a word, she just held my hands. The moment passed quickly - the birthday boy grabbed her by her braid and playfully pulled her away. She let me go and returned to her wacky, lovely self. Kristina turned to me and said "You two just had a moment."   

Yes, and initially I thought I had missed it! I was too shocked to really "feel" anything, but in a way beneath language or knowing, I felt that she was tapping into something or reading me in a way that was both immensely personal and also comforting. I sensed that she knew what was happening for me ... that she was the "sign" that I had asked for ... that she was affirming the importance of this experience and the importance of this release and new space I was entering in my life. 

It has been exactly one year since my mother left her body. One year since she let go. On this anniversary I followed Agus's advice and offered up nine sticks of black incense (a fragrant lotus blend purchased in Ubud) to honor my mother's life (the past) and to honor her spirit (the present and future). 

Afterward, I spent some time praying to my mother, then drumming for her but really for me. I am slowly slipping back into my non-Bali life. Or more accurately, my life now infused by the magic, the beauty and the deep sense of reverence and gratitude which Bali evokes for me. I feel lighter, more present, more spacious and open to what each day brings. I am mindful to stay in touch - through my practice -  with the lessons Bali has gifted me; each day watering them, and myself in the process.

Oh ... a little endnote: my first day back to running, I came across a small snake dead by the side of the road. It was curved into the shape of the lemniscate or the symbol for infinity. I carefully carried it to a spot underneath a nearby rose bush and covered it with dried leaves, adding a single rose on top of the tiny burial mound. I took a moment to offer thanks for this message and then I prayed that it may have had an easeful passage. I wished that it may have always known it was held in absolute love and care and that it move into its next incarnation free and unhindered.

And so may we all. 

I hope you will bear with me as I have more I would like to share from my Bali adventure. I believe one last post is in order; I promise, a more classic travelog heavy on the lush images, light on soul-excavation. 
 

tiny magic ... and tears ...

For the second year in a row, I've put out a hummingbird feeder in our garden. While the bird books say that the ruby-throated is a seasonal visitor, I was skeptical. I mean, the winds alone would blast the little fellows clear across the state! Never mind the vast stretches of fields and prairie that would seem inhospitable for these tiny creatures.

So I am continually amazed when I look out my back door and spy a hummingbird flitting about the feeder. There had been one female coming to feed although sightings were sparse. A couple of times I've almost put the feeder away, certain no other birds would be visiting. But then I mix up a new batch of sugar water and hang it out, just in case. 

Yesterday I was pretty certain it was well-past the hummingbird season.  The tomatoes are surrendering the last of their fruit and the mint plants are looking rather leggy; summer is making her exit. I was hunting about the thicket of dying vines, reaching for a lone tomato buried deep within when something buzzed by me. I looked up and discovered I was in the middle of two hummingbirds engaged in territorial battle over my feeder!  

I believe they must be fueling up for their journey south as my feeder has been hopping with hummingbird action for the past 24-hours. This morning there is a chill in the air, a preview of Autumn, and the normally shy birds have stayed on the feeder even when I have wandered outside for a closer look. 

This display of hummingbird magic has done much to revive my own flagging spirits. I am not a hot weather person, so I find the lingering heat draining. I am very much aware of a kind of closure coming to this, my year of mourning for my mother.  The number of days when I can think back to a year ago and remember her with me, those days are dwindling to a hand full. A year ago she wasn't sleeping and could not find any relief to her exhaustion.  

A year ago, I had no idea goodbye would be coming so soon.

Today, I am aware of the impending departure of the hummingbirds. I have been captivated by their antics this morning. One female sits off to the side, on the garden fence, waiting to ambush any intruders. At least three have stormed the feeder and she attacks. This final feeding frenzy feels like a last gift of the season. 

This past year I feel I have felt quiet and even more intensely and inwardly focused than is my norm.  Much is happening beyond the space of words and action. I believe I have been re-rooting myself. Or acclimating my roots to new soil, to a world where my mother's physical being is absent. It has been lonely work, but I never really feel alone. Days like today, the hummingbird wings give lift to my spirits. Yesterday, I worked with the horses and felt their earthiness anchor my soul to this patch of prairie that is my home. 

This morning I learned another sweet being slipped over the fence to that other realm. I actually uttered out loud "oh no!" and sobbed when I read that Stevie, a resident of Apifera Farm, had died. 

I had read about Stevie on Katherine's blog, sketched him numerous times in the online class Capturing The Essence, and I finally got to meet him - twice! - on the farm. 

After my tears had abated, I admit to being grumpy and downright fed up. I mean, Death has been claiming far too many bright lights in my world this past year.  But then I could hear my mother laughing over me weeping for two old goats. Just as the hummingbirds so magically flew into my world, so too have the beings that I have loved best. Without having to do much of anything - just by being here and yes, having a little sweetness or sugar water at the ready helps - love comes in. It flies, it hobbles, it slides up beside me to nuzzle my sleeve or lick my palm. It comes when I am relaxed and open. It comes when I stop searching for it.

And just as quickly, it moves on. But if I have learned anything, it is that loves always returns. Just in new and unexpected forms. 

 I cannot hold onto those whom I love indefinitely. To grasp or grab, to demand or tantrum shatters the magic and sends love scrambling for cover. 

our new love, Beau

But I can be held by love. I can dwell in love which is to say, I choose to keep my heart  open, welcoming all the seasons of loving, knowing that the soil of my soul is enriched through the process of love welcomed and love released. 

a lightness of being ...

Somehow, I ended up booking three trips to three coasts in one month's time. Hence, the travelog nature of these postcards from the edge. While Cowgirl and I jet around, the Husband has been tending the home fires - or rather, the garden and Moose boy - for which I am ever-so-grateful as leaving home is bittersweet for me. I love travel but ... I love the rhythms of homey summer days. Early mornings watering the thirsty plants in my garden boxes, my pots of herbs and flowers needing pruning and deadheading; and then there is the dog who is even more a creature of habit than I am and that is pretty immense.

So recent travels took the girl and I back East to Cape Cod to bring my mother's ashes to be buried with my father's. Things started off comically: do I pack or carry mom on the plane? I packed her and then warned the Delta agent "Don't you lose my mother!" He wasn't quite sure how to respond to me. 

 

Cape Cod is a place that holds many memories for me. My parents bought a home there when I was in college and it became the summer retreat. Later, when living in Boston, the not-yet-Husband and I would travel out there every weekend to get away from city living and our tiny, one bedroom closet of an apartment. Twenty seven years ago we were married on Cape Cod and when Cowgirl joined our family, it was to the Cape that we took her for the first five years as a family. 

It has been three years since I was last on the Cape and while I have missed it, I hadn't realize just how much it is part of who I am and what I love: the gentle wildness of the landscape; the wide and long beaches; the rough and unruly Atlantic ocean and the icy cold water that shocks and invigorates me; and the wildlife that is visible if you know to slow down, be quiet and pay attention. Seals, otters, turtles, egrets, herons, hawks, fox, coyote, and many vocal and riotous birds.

Traveling to the Cape, I was returning to my heart's home. I love the openness of the prairie but my soul aches for the ocean. And not just any ocean, but the crashing tumble of waves that is the Atlantic. The pulse and rhythm of the earth is most present for me when I stand ankle deep in the frigid waters of Nauset beach, stones and shells tossed unmercifully against my feet and shins, skin turning fish belly white from the cold. The rawness of life apparent in this place of sea, sky and sand.

While I was surprised by these feelings of homecoming, I was even more unprepared for the sensation of weightlessness, an unbearable lightness of being and deep and tender vein of grieving that opened up with what I now understand as the completion of a journey.  This trip back to the Cape was the bookend to the trip made between snowstorms 5 1/2 years ago when I brought my mother West to live near us. Now I was taking her home and, after a lifetime of so many travels and adventures, this was the last trip we would make together. 

Having fulfilled so many daughterly duties over the past few years, the weight of responsibility has been lifted off of me and while yes, there is a sense of relieve and ease, there is also an unfamiliar and disconcerting emptiness or lightness. The space that was held by my mother is now gone. I stand again on a stark edge: there is my life that was - as a daughter, caregiver, friend - and the life that slowly pools around me, the tide turning from emptying of grief towards the filling of what I cannot yet know or name.