may our minds (and hearts) be one

I woke this morning to a gentle rain.  For the past six hours, it has continued with the rain gauge reading 2 inches so far.  It is unusual here to have a steady, rhythmic rainfall. Normally, rainstorms are intense outbursts that come upon us swiftly and suddenly and just as quickly, they pass by. 

Hmm ... reminds me of life these days with a preteen.

I have been struggling to create some sort of rhythm for myself in these changing times. Summer, I need to remember, is a time of spacious uncertainty. The days may have a routine but it is frequently shaken up with vacations, camps, and the fluctuating moods and passions of an almost 12-year old girl.  

My only constants have been patio time early in the morning. I light a stick of incense and read out loud prayers or poems to my garden ... and to mama mourning dove who has made her nest in the grape arbor by the side of our garden boxes. 

I then find my own words. It is one thing to think my prayers - what is it I need to ask and to share with Spirit - but another to speak those thoughts out loud. Speaking, I realize how unclear my thoughts truly are and how this practice of giving voice to wisdom filtered through my heart is helping me to find clarity and understanding.

I was sitting with a group of dear mama-friends, each of us querying how to offer our children guidance in such challenging times.  How do we teach them to anchor themselves in love? How do we mentor them in seeking and then honoring the wisdom of their hearts? To speak and act from that truth when all the world seems to shove us towards surface matters, to lock us in fear and doubt, doom and gloom? What do we give them to anchor and guide them?

Suddenly, it all seemed so obvious. Nature.

"This is really why I made my daughters learn to garden—so they would always have a mother to love them, long after I am gone." (Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass) 

 My morning puja is my attempt to enter into a conversation. Not to merely be listening, looking or receiving but to also be giving back, to seed in my heart a dream of healing and hope for all. 

Knowing that you love the earth changes you, activates you to defend and protect and celebrate. But when you feel that the earth loves you in return, that feeling transforms the relationship from a one-way street into a sacred bond. (Braiding Sweetgrass) 

I have had Robin Wall Kimmerer's book by my side and reading it brings together so many strands of inquiry, practice and study.  Her essay Alligience to Gratitude introduced me to the Haudenosaunee (or Six Nations) Thanksgiving Address and the past few mornings I have read out loud the version shared in her book.  (A version of the same text can be found here.)

The words are simple, but in the art of their joining, they become a statement of sovereignty, a political structure, a Bill of Responsibilities, an edcuational model, a family tree, and a scientific inventory of eco-system services. It is a powerful political document, a social contract, a way of being - all in one piece. But first and foremost, it is the credo for a culture of gratitude.

...The Thanksgiving Address reminds us that duties and gifts are two sides of the same coin .... What is the duty of humans? If gifts and responsibilities are one, then asking "What is our responsibility?" is the same as asking "What is our gift?" It is said that only humans have the capacity for gratitude. This is among our gifts. (Braiding Sweetgrass) 

Today I perched on the step from my backdoor to my patio. The narrow roof line overhead offered shelter from the rain, although a gentle breeze wafted a misty blessing of rainwater upon my toes and knees.  I read out loud the Thanksgiving and allow the words and the teachings to seep into my soul, refreshing and nourishing my heart and spirit.  I can easily get overwhelmed, so it is imperative I focus upon what is possible for me. Small, but honest attempts to connect, to remember, to heal.  

To give thanks in word and deed. Today my words were shared with a new residence of the yard.

I take this as a positive and encouraging sign. 

choosing kindness

I was having one of those mornings.

Truth be told, I've been having a week or more of such mornings.

Part of it is readjusting to waking with an alarm. There is just no way any of us in this family will wake up in time for school without setting the clock radio alarm and somehow, that onerous duty falls upon me. Which means not only do I have to pry myself out of bed, but then I have the joy of waking up two other grumpy and ungrateful non-morning people. All before I brew the coffee.  Yeah, good times.

Factor in the fact that I am currently menopausal hormonally challenged. What that means is I tend to wake up around 4 am needing to pee (sorry, if that is TMI) and then I realize what really woke me was a hot flush. I call these power surges flushes as they aren't as extreme as what other women have described to me. And I hope by speaking nicely about them, they will be nice to me.

Not yet anyway. 

So now I have to cool off (ah, a dab of peppermint oil on the back of my neck works wonders!) but am fairly alert now (due to activity of getting out of bed, peeing, finding peppermint oil) so then I lay in bed and watch the rabid squirrels tear up the stuffing that is my mind.

The only thing that helps is to wander downstairs, turn on the living room lamp and read for awhile. I wake the dog up doing this, but he is the only one pleasant about waking up (probably because he averages 22 hours of sleep a day but none-the-less he is always pleasant about keeping me company). 

So I had been up at 4 a.m. reading and was feeling all manner of crusty edgy by breakfast time. Oh, and another important detail: that previous evening Cowgirl came home from playing with the neighborhood kids, slumped over the kitchen island and wailed. She had been hit in the face by a ball. It was a "soft" ball she explained, BUT the Rule was no throwing it into people's faces AND even though it was soft, it bumped her glasses which - she pointed out in case I wasn't understanding the severity of the injury - are not soft. 

But more than her physical injury, it was the fact that the injuring party "didn't care" and merely shrugged her shoulders when Cowgirl explained that IT HURT. (Poor Cowgirl is ever frustrated by the fact that most people do not mind the rules and notions of fairness that she champions.) Now, what my mother never told me was that when you parent, you have the added option of re-living all your childhood woes and traumas through the lens of your child. It is an option not to, but like waving a biscuit in front of a dog, I cannot help but take a wee nibble. (Which is progress over snatching, gulping, consuming without batting an eye.) 

So I struggle in these situations with separating my own fears and experiences from those of my daughter's. And while I have learned the wisdom of listening, acknowledging, and holding space for whatever my girl is going through, my impulse is still to find some finger-hold of hope for forward movement. I want to help her feel empowered to make choices other than giving up.

Too often I confuse doing nothing with giving up. Slowly I am figuring out that resting in the moment - waiting, relaxing, "doing nothing" - is actually the best way to allow solutions, answers or options to present themselves. The emotions of the moment make everything cloudy and confused. It is best to attend to the feelings and allow time to work its magic.

Okay, so back to my morning. I was still ruminating up the previous evening, frustrated by my inability to find the right words (read: Wise Words HA!) to support my girl and yes, swallowing all kinds of bitterness and anger at the offender (her only crime being an aggressive and competitive nature) along with sadness over what I perceive to be a decline in kindness brought about by what feels like an increase in hostility and aggression in our world.

Then my doorbell rang. As I neared my front door, I realized  that the two shadowy figures on the other side were Jehovah's Witnesses. Too late to retreat, I opened the door and prepared myself for the attack. Two women stood there smiling, the older one with her Bible at the ready, a copy of their newsletter (my Good News I sarcastically thought) extended towards me.  I honestly heard little of what was said, I was busy in my head constructing my blistering rebuttal for whatever hokum they might offer me. But I caught myself.

Okay, I cried. And I'm not sure why? But I suspect it had to do with the earnestness with which they addressed me, their clean and formal clothes, their plain and scrubbed faces, the way they looked at me right in my eyes. They seemed so proper and from another era, as if coming out to talk to me was deserving of their best (pressed and pleated) dress. As if I was deserving of this attention and care. And I was immediately brought up by the ugliness in my knee-jerk reaction to them, my desire to put them in their place, my intention to show my intellectual and spiritual sophistication and yes, to squash theirs.

I blathered something about having a hard day and apologized for my distractedness. As I reached for their newsletter, the older of the two gently took hold of my wrist and told me she was sorry for my day. They both looked genuinely concerned for me, and that unsettled me even more. I hastily thanked them and retreated behind my front door. 

"Good grief," I thought, "I've really lost it!" But here's what I realized: I could choose to be right, or I could choose to be kind. And I could choose to accept kindness even if it isn't in a form that I had wanted nor expected. I wasn't going to change their spiritual beliefs and they weren't going to change mine. But I could accept the energy behind the offering of scripture and interpretation; I could accept the care and kindness. 

This epiphany lead to another crumb of insight. When Cowgirl came home that afternoon, I told her about my visitors and I told her about choosing kindness over needing to be right. As gracefully as a waddling goose, I immediately brought up the previous evening's events and how we always have the option to align ourselves with kindness but then to extend to ourselves. Sometimes self-kindness is knowing when to walk away, when to acknowledge we cannot fix, alter or amend a situation.

But we can ask for support. And so then we talked about turning over our frustrations, turning over our not-knowing-what-to-do to God and ask that she help us to see and accept a solution when it is ready or when we are ready for it. Until that time, we can continue to seek out and support kindness beginning with ourselves. 

I recently heard author Caroline Myss explain Every thought is a prayer.  

I'm awake now.

wisdom in a tin ...

I often need to remind myself to lighten up. My tendency to be close in to my life (perhaps a product of my slight near-sightedness?) has me often overlooking the bigger picture. Usually when I am ranting and raving about something (hmm ... and I wonder where Cowgirl gets her knee-jerk reactions? Her  It's not so good for me! cry as a toddler a favorite family expression now), I am brought back to earth by an unexpected flash of humor, absurdity, beauty or love reinforcing the truth that
 

Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about.

-Oscar Wilde 

My position being that life is best lived rather than obsessively analyzed, considered, plotted and planned. 

Getting out of my own way is a good operating principle for me. Being aware that each moment offers me a choice, I can consider "What action will contribute to happiness? Joy? Not just within myself, but for those around me? I've been reading and working with the ideas presented in Deepak Chopra's The Seven Spiritual Laws of Yoga. A friend shared this book with me and now we text each other to support a daily practice on one of the principles or "laws."  

Today's focus is on the Seven Law, the law of Dharma:

"... every sentient being has a purpose in life. You have unique abilities and your own way of expressing them. There are needs in this world for which your specific talents are ideally suited, and when the world's needs are matched with the creative expression of your talents, your purpose - your dharma - is realized.

To be in dharma, your life force must flow effortlessly without interference."

-Deepak Chopra, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Yoga

To be in flow with life is to choose happiness and to extent it to others. Here is how we practiced being in flow, honoring the Law of Giving and Receiving (Law #2), and my favorite, The Law of Least Effort (#4):

Nature is held together by the energy of love, and least effort is expended when your actions are motivated by love. When your soul is your internal reference point, you can harness the power of love and use the energy creatively for healing, transformation, and evolution.

- The Seven Spiritual Laws of Yoga

 And for making dragons:

 

When I sent my obsessive inner task-master and deep-thinker on a vacation cruise, I am able to see clearly the easy choices right before me that bring me back into flow, into a field of happiness, joy, and a celebration of love.

This weekend I am working on a gift for my niece who just headed off to college. What kind of a care package would offers real support and nourishment for this threshold stage of her life? 

I am calling it "Wisdom in a Tin" and selecting the quotes to write upon the enclosed cards is a gift for both my niece and myself.


 

Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.

- Oscar Wilde

Happiness, purpose, aligning myself with the flow of life ... this is the practice. It is about choice and remembering and staying open and present. Honoring the fullness and wholeness of being alive. 

Giving thanks, extending and receiving love.

What the trees told me ...

I went to the woods to be with my sisters. 

I went to the woods seeking my next step.

I went to the woods feeling lost, confused, uncertain, weary, emptied and afraid. 

I went to the woods to release my grief. To cleanse my soul. To hear my voice. Find my song.

I went to the woods to disappear for awhile. Be quiet. Listen. Receive.

I went to the woods and I was SEEN.  I was HEARD. I was WELCOMED.

photo by Nika Ridley

I went to the woods and I shed yet another layer, another scaly piece of snakeskin armor.  I shed and left in the dirt beliefs that are Just.Not.True.Anymore. 

Stories that were Never True were laid upon the altar and burned. Wounds honored for the truth they bear witness to: Strength. Belonging. Acceptance. Love.

I went to the woods to create new prayers. To gain new tools. To go deeper into my own truth.

I emptied and then I receive the love. Oh, soooo much love.  It cracked me wide open. It pulled my insides out and left me shiny new, tender, raw.

Reborn. 

image by Tiffanie Gabourie Davis

I went to the woods and I was found. I un-covered what had never been lost, just misplaced, buried underneath piles of decomposing leaves, a poultice upon old wounds  long-ago scabbed over and now healed.  New skin ready for sunlight and fresh air.

I sat upon a mossy rock and rested against a tree whose trunk leaned away from the dark of the woods and stretched towards the life and light of the river.  I closed my eyes and I listened to the river's song. I breathed in the scent of wet wood and damp earth. I felt the swift flow of water crashing over rocks in my pulse, in my blood, in my being. 

I listened to the tree tell me its truth, its experience of belonging, of grounding, of reaching, of becoming.   

 

I received the tree's message about claiming my place. Strengthening my root system. Growing by taking in that which refreshes, inspires, and nourishes me. It shared with me t how I am a link between the past of my ancestors - the earth I come from, the clay soil of my body - and the future that I co-create, that I hold in my arms and in my heart, that I lift up and offer to the light. 

I went to the woods with trust in my heart and in my sisters and with a fledgling's trust of myself. Wobbly, not quite certain, but willing to make the leap. By doing so,  I was welcomed into magic and healing, wonderment and love.

Oh, the love ... a mother's love ... mama goose's love and dedication to her eggs, dedication to life ...

Dedication to her path reminding me to honor mine, to have patience and understanding that there can be no rushing soul work. It must be attended to with care and kindness, generosity and a constant dose of patience and no self judgement. Just love and understanding.

I went to the woods lost, alone, weary, and weak.  I came home fortified, refreshed, filled, and connected.

image by Nika Ridley

I came home flooded by the sense, the understanding, of So.Much.Love and a taste of the immensity of the power and magic of that love that surrounds me and is me.  I came home ready to be fully myself.  It takes a team to do this work. Thankfully, these doulas were on hand to guide me through the journey. Aho my sisters. So.Much.Love to you all.

our ReWilding doulas

 

unfamilar ground

So far, the process of grieving is like the movie Groundhog Day. Every morning I wake up, I remember, and my heart breaks anew.  

The day takes on a rhythm ... calls to be made, lists added to, strategies mapped out as I begin the process of clearing out my mother's apartment. Honestly, you could tell me I was preparing to ascend Mount Everest and I would feel the same as I do now.  How?  How do I do this?

One step at a time.  

I think may end up walking around the perimeter of the earth.

When you lose someone you love,
Your life becomes strange,
The ground beneath you becomes fragile,
Your thoughts make your eyes unsure;
And some dead echo drags your voice down
Where words have no confidence
Your heart has grown heavy with loss;
And though this loss has wounded others too,
No one knows what has been taken from you
When the silence of absence deepens.
(John O'Donohue, A Blessing For Grief)

I try to take comfort in what was ... 

my mother's sunset

 

But I am human, and all too often my mind wanders back and I think of opportunities lost, things I forgot to say, things I wish I had done differently.  I wish I had played music on that drive to the hospital.  I wish I had read more poems that last night.  I wish I had known more of the words to her favorite songs.  

I wish I had understood what she was asking me that last night when just as I was about to leave she said, "What do I do?" 

That question -  so raw to me now - I reflexively dodged in that moment.  I didn't think, I just said "You get better. You try to rest and let the doctors and nurses take care of you and you let you body get better."

I wish I had said "You think about all the good that has been in your life.  You think about all the love."

I suppose that is the answer to my own heartache, my inner struggle to know how to move forward.  I remember the love.  All the love.  So very much love.

For now, I hold onto the ache of loss because it is what I have ... it is immediate, intense, real.  It is the flip side to the immensity of the love ... hers and mine.

Thank you mama for this birthday.  It is a hard one. I seek your reassurances and comfort in new places and new ways ... to grab hold and trust the guidance that echoes within me now and know it is your voice, The Voice, keeping me company for the remainder of this journey.