Standing Still

 But mostly I just stand in the dark field,

in the middle of the world, breathing

in and out. Life so far doesn't have any other name

but breath and light, wind and rain.

If there's a temple, I haven't found it yet.

I simply go on drifting, in the heaven of the grass

and the weeds. 

(Excerpt from What Is There Beyond Knowing by Mary Oliver) 

These days it seems wise to know what grounds me, what strengthens me, what nourishes and fills me, and to make of that my practice.

I've spent a lot of time wondering and worrying about purpose - my purpose to be exact. Wanting to be of purpose: to contribute and to help ... to heal and repair ... to inspire and support and of course, to fight the good fight.

It feels rather daunting right now. I suppose it has always been so and now there is some clarity in perceiving the immensity of the situation before us. Definitely the lid has been blasted off and we see clearly  (and painfully) the dark and ugly trends in our society, the gaps and the divide.

One thing that stands out for me is the tendency for helping out to evolve into mucking up. Each side of the political divide would argue for their intentions being The Good Ones. I'm not suggesting apathy or inaction, but I am taking this time to tend to that which is mine to care for: the hygiene of my spirit, my heart, and my home.  For if any real change is going to happen - and honestly, the change needed to course correct is epic, and it will require immense reserves of resilience and determination which for me demand a  stable inner foundation, and a clear and strong inner light. 

So what do I do right now? I walk. 

  I walk and I try to listen and learn. I try to understand the message of the trees shaking in the wind. I listen to the geese and the stories told by their wings as they beat overhead. I watch the muskrat glide across a pond and open myself to his wisdom of his life. I speak my prayers daily to my backyard bushes and grasses, birds and chattering squirrels. I bury the rabbit's legs (yes, two so far) retrieved by my dog and offered to me as great gifts, which they are. The leg bones picked clean, the delicately tapered feet left intact. Lucky rabbit's foot. Well, luck is a matter of perspective and time, but I am reminded that my daily practice puts me in a mindset to perceive and act upon opportunities of grace and good luck.

I try not to do so much as undo ... the fears, the overwhelm, the doubts, the I'm too small mindset and limitations. If ever there was a time to Be The Light, it is now. These days my spiritual practice (which can look a lot like a creative practice) feels like a daily load of laundry: soaking, washing, and spinning my inner field of thoughts and energies.  Each days there is gunk to clear out and parts of me to mend and strengthen. 

Yes, darning the holes in my soul.  Embellishing the elbow patches of my heart sweater. Doing what I can to support groups tackling the big causes and throwing myself into local action.  This past week I stepped up in my volunteer position, taking on a more edgy (for me) task. It felt good to stretch myself. I know the challenges ahead will demand more stretching, more pushing myself past my edge of comfort, and that the edge will continue to shift and move as I grow. So starting small is okay. Just start, right?

There is a young mother I see every week when I volunteer. She shows up for her son in ways that stretch my heart to the point of cracking. And yet, she often expresses feeling helpless and uncertain, frustrated and afraid. I get it. We all feel that feeling about some aspect of our lives right now. Work, community, the environment, teenagers ... the list goes on.  But I believe the way forward is what I hear inside my head every time I see this mom - Just Love. It sounds so trite, so banal. But past the sappy sentiments, Love can inspire fierceness (think of the goddess Durga.) it can motivate us to take action and stretch and grow in ways beyond anything we could imagine. I know I cannot imagine a possible solution to the woes before me ... but my heart does not think. It feels, it holds, and it transforms.  

My intention is to show up here to share this journey. It feels important to me to communicate and share where I find Light in my life and how I work to support it. I get lost when I think "Does this matter? Does this help in any concrete way?" I cannot control the outcome of any action ... I can only attend to the gesture itself, taking care to act from the truth of my heart. I cannot judge whether it will be enough.  I only know that  showing up for Love each and every day brings me in alignment with Hope and Possibility, and those are not small things.

new rituals (festive fun)

This week leading up to Christmas has felt particularly dreamy and still.

I'm not sure whether it is my current state of head and heart or earth's own somnolence with the Winter Solstice now upon us.  Even though I have had to venture out (!) for last minute errands and some very essential (and soul nurturing) teatime with friends, I still feel suspended out of time and in that liminal space of not-quite-knowing/not yet there-wherever-there-may-be. 

And the oddest thing of all - I am relaxing into all of that. I am okay with being in my current state of old-dog-shuffling-about-the-house-looking-for-a-place-to-rest. 

I have had two very rich and grounding sessions with a seriously amazing wise woman who is an astrologer slash storyteller slash myth-mapper with a huge dose of heart-healthy humor and goosebumps inducing truth telling. (Carol Ferris, based in Portland OR. We used Skype for our sessions. Email her at: rficf@easystreet.net)

rficf@easystreet.net

 

rficf@easystreet.net

rficf@easystreet.net

rficf@easystreet.ne

She has helped me connect the dots and perceive the greater image of myself and the journey of my life thus far.  She explains how this is the season of dark and cold and "all of the seeds are in the ground, everything is there" and now "the seeds are dreaming in the dark." 

That is it, isn't it? Now is not the time for efforting, pushing, building, and certainly not for understanding. Now is the time for rest ...time to allow the mystery to be ...  for the seeds of what I cannot yet name or know (for to do so would be to limit their potential) ... time for those seeds to be dreaming in the dark. 

In my current dreamy-state, I have been able to perceive the outline of forms, rhythms, rituals that slowly but steadily taken root. In this season of traditions, I recognize what naturally has to fall away now that my mother is no longer here to participate, but I see what has arises to fill that space.

Behold: our yearly ornament experimentation!

Each year Cowgirl brings home an ornament (or two ... or three ...) crafted at school. 

 Decorating our family tree, I realized I have a bevy of homemade ornaments collected over the years.  There are the ones  I've made ...

And the ones made and gifted to me by friends.

 This ornament practice has been quietly rooting itself within our holiday preparations. In these final days before Christmas, I am imagining holiday music, the smell of baking cookies (each year we bake and plate Santa his Christmas treat ... along with a finger of Scotch which we know he appreciates), and a busy production line of ornaments to be completed.

Gentle, warm, creative time in which we nurture ourselves while allowing our seeds their time in the dark to dream and be.

Happy Solstice.  Wishing you the full enjoyment of the magic, the memories, the joy of this season of the dark turning towards the light. 

Final day to enter my giveaway! Details to be found HERE.

she's with the fairies now ...

My mother was a survivor. She grew up in Texas during the depression, often reminding me (whenever I made a comment about all of her shoes) she often went barefoot as she only had one pair of shoes. A child of divorce in a time when "that just wasn't done" she was separated from her brother and spent the second half of her childhood with her grandparents.  At 21 she lost her mother and then her father a few years later. 

But my mother was not a mere survivor.  She transformed her life, choosing to thrive in whatever conditions she found herself in.  These past few years she was active and busy in her community, a fact that surprised me given her natural predilection for a comfortable armchair and a good book. She told me she knew she would get depressed being by herself, so she forced herself to get out and make new friends.  

My mother never failed to surprise me.

 
When I thought she was beyond words, she sang one last song with me, pouring all her strength into a surprising rowdy rendition of Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head.

The hardest part of her passing is the fact Cowgirl never got to say good-bye. There just wasn't time. 

So one week later, we wrote out our wishes and prayers, creating tiny scrolls.  I made a sacred bundle with a sprinkling of her ashes and a few special objects to accompany her spirit and we buried it all in the center of our fairy circle in our backyard.

Now my mother is with the fairies.  There are many prayers in that earth.  She is shaded by a flowering crabapple tree.  Right now, the branches are bare but come Spring ... come my mother's birthday ... we can look out and say "Amma O is blooming."