It's a marvel -- the Kaleidoscope!!
On the grayist of November days I hold it to my eye and see things that aren't there. Red cardinals, emerald green grass, azure blue waters and sunshine nibbles dancing in silent hope. When my day feels like I am being dragged over gravel, hostility in global relations is viewed on TV as black death and spilled blood or when sorrow creeps up my throat like a vice pushing out my breath with tears -- I reach for my marvel.
No matter how oddly the pieces are shaped, no matter what combination of colors are present, the mirrors fit them together and make them look like they all belong right where they settled! A whole new perspective emerges. A visual quilt of colors and possibilities join to bring order out of chaos.
I'm encouraged to see inspiration, hope, beauty and to breathe in courage to look with new eyes -- all in a 2 inch circle. And while tempted, I can't hold on to what is. A twitch of my hand sets change in motion again. Newness in every blink of my eye.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
That Was THEN --This is NOW
50th High School Reunion, excitement/PANIC. Just hearing that the date is set for a year from now I become 17 again -- emotionally. Voices of judgment, criticism, remembered tears, feelings of isolation, exclusion, dreams and crushed dreams confusion and struggle WHY do I want to return to my memories of that???
It's taken 50 years of hard work to realize and overcome the seeds planted during years of being a teenager in high school. Why do we call it "going through" high school like it's the paddle wheel of growing up? A giant dunk tank of emotional ups and downs -- near drownings -- and momentary lifts into the light and then plunged again into uncertainty, self doubt, broken hearts and dreams. We usually say we 'attend' college, or go 'to' university and have a career in a certain fiels and the very detachment of the words help me breathe more freely. Secondary education is more of a buffet for the curious and hungry and while no less challenging and growth producing, somehow less battering to the soul.
Continuing education is my greatest indulgence since leaving High School. Once I stopped giving others (almost ANY other) the authority to tell me who I am, what I should be doing with my life, how disappointed they are in what I have or haven't become -- life has been a convertible ride through the countryside on a beautiful spring day. Well almost. There are times I've had to put the top up despite my Doris Day image of the 50's that sunshine and gentle breezes and an adoring person to love at your side were to be expected -- or even deserved.
Why did I PANIC when anticipating a return to a turning point in my life's journey? Because I dumped all the progress I have made in my thinking. It wasn't my anticipation that others would judge/condemn what I have or have not become. (you know, successful career, financially stable, fatter and uglier than THEN, children who won the Nobel Peace Prize or went to the moon and found the secret to life. That stuff.) My biggest panic was that I have let myself down and now I would return to the community who knew me then, wearing a blinking neon sign saying LOSER -- my self imposed reflection.
YOu know I REALLY like who I've become. I am honest, genuine, loving and compassionate and have a healthy sense of humor. I am a good teacher, mother, grandmother, friend and co-worker. I look at my warts and see opportunities for change. I embrace what I have done and been to those sharing my journey, and pronounce it good because of what I have learned from the experience. I know that expectation is the brick wall I hit causing depression, anxiety and stress. So I have learned to build doors in that wall to allow myself to move through unscathed. Expectations? Necessary measures and values to build on when I allow them to balance with mid-course corrections during those times when life invites me or shoves me to a different path. I love the words of Michelangelo in his eighty-seventh year, Ancora Imparo, Still I am learning.
I have just purchased a college level course in Understanding the Human Body. Why do I want to have the insight of a doctor when my years left in my body are fewer than 30? Because I want to know what has been at the center of my ability to share fully in human experiences. I want to look at injuries, illness and disease and understand their part in my path of learning during this lifetime. I want to build compassion for others' physical journey and KNOW what they have endured. I want to appreciate my body for exactly what it was and is. Not my expectation of how I wished I looked on the outside. I will NOT work desperately to lose weight by next September. I will NOT color my silver hair to feel as if I haven't changed from the jet black that used to define me. (Those choices have been constantly nagging me for several months now.) I HAVE changed. OH, my how I have changed. Thank GOD. I have NO judgment about those who choose either of the above. It's just not my choice and I feel freer for having made it while of sound mind.
Time moves so quickly that This is Now will be That was Then before I end this sentence. Blessings on all of it. The gift and journey of a lifetime.
It's taken 50 years of hard work to realize and overcome the seeds planted during years of being a teenager in high school. Why do we call it "going through" high school like it's the paddle wheel of growing up? A giant dunk tank of emotional ups and downs -- near drownings -- and momentary lifts into the light and then plunged again into uncertainty, self doubt, broken hearts and dreams. We usually say we 'attend' college, or go 'to' university and have a career in a certain fiels and the very detachment of the words help me breathe more freely. Secondary education is more of a buffet for the curious and hungry and while no less challenging and growth producing, somehow less battering to the soul.
Continuing education is my greatest indulgence since leaving High School. Once I stopped giving others (almost ANY other) the authority to tell me who I am, what I should be doing with my life, how disappointed they are in what I have or haven't become -- life has been a convertible ride through the countryside on a beautiful spring day. Well almost. There are times I've had to put the top up despite my Doris Day image of the 50's that sunshine and gentle breezes and an adoring person to love at your side were to be expected -- or even deserved.
Why did I PANIC when anticipating a return to a turning point in my life's journey? Because I dumped all the progress I have made in my thinking. It wasn't my anticipation that others would judge/condemn what I have or have not become. (you know, successful career, financially stable, fatter and uglier than THEN, children who won the Nobel Peace Prize or went to the moon and found the secret to life. That stuff.) My biggest panic was that I have let myself down and now I would return to the community who knew me then, wearing a blinking neon sign saying LOSER -- my self imposed reflection.
That was THEN
This is NOW.
YOu know I REALLY like who I've become. I am honest, genuine, loving and compassionate and have a healthy sense of humor. I am a good teacher, mother, grandmother, friend and co-worker. I look at my warts and see opportunities for change. I embrace what I have done and been to those sharing my journey, and pronounce it good because of what I have learned from the experience. I know that expectation is the brick wall I hit causing depression, anxiety and stress. So I have learned to build doors in that wall to allow myself to move through unscathed. Expectations? Necessary measures and values to build on when I allow them to balance with mid-course corrections during those times when life invites me or shoves me to a different path. I love the words of Michelangelo in his eighty-seventh year, Ancora Imparo, Still I am learning.
I have just purchased a college level course in Understanding the Human Body. Why do I want to have the insight of a doctor when my years left in my body are fewer than 30? Because I want to know what has been at the center of my ability to share fully in human experiences. I want to look at injuries, illness and disease and understand their part in my path of learning during this lifetime. I want to build compassion for others' physical journey and KNOW what they have endured. I want to appreciate my body for exactly what it was and is. Not my expectation of how I wished I looked on the outside. I will NOT work desperately to lose weight by next September. I will NOT color my silver hair to feel as if I haven't changed from the jet black that used to define me. (Those choices have been constantly nagging me for several months now.) I HAVE changed. OH, my how I have changed. Thank GOD. I have NO judgment about those who choose either of the above. It's just not my choice and I feel freer for having made it while of sound mind.
Time moves so quickly that This is Now will be That was Then before I end this sentence. Blessings on all of it. The gift and journey of a lifetime.
Tails You're IT
Cheyenne is not a talking cat. Her meows are limited to "My food bowl is empty. HOW could you DO that to me?", or "Where have you BEEN? I wanted you HERE!" Over time she has taught me her second language. Gentler, more loving and on a much deeper level than demanding her due from me. She speaks with her tail.
If I have prodded her off her throne (MY recliner) in the middle of one of her many naps in the glow of the sun, she reluctantly jumps to the floor, puts that tail straight UP, stops at the doorway to glare at me over her shoulder and with great impertinence sashays out of the room giving me the finger -- or, ah, the tail.
When I massage her with the lint roller (she LOVES it) to remove her hair before it gets on my furniture and linens, she whups me with her tail to tell me "that's enough already -- I need some warmth for the coming cold weather."
The rapid twitch she signals as she's anticipating just how much power and leverage it will take to get from the floor to her favorite sleeping spot the terry towel draped between the sheets and up against the pillow on my bed, you can almost hear the concentration and communication between head and tail. "OK now if I want my front paws to reach the mattress and my back paws to support my landing, I should do three practice lift offs of my rump and then lunge like I'm still 3 years old instead of 13. And in order to miss that rumpled blanket I'll aim just a little to the left of yesterday's jump. All systems ready? Swish, swish lift off, Here I goooooooo!"
My favorite secret language though is when she circles my limp body as I prepare to dream (and perchance to sleep too) dusting me with the full length of her tail as if tucking the blankets in just so. When she is comfortable that I am settled for the night she selects her position of choice, butt near my shoulder, head facing away toward any approaching danger from outside our sacred circle and talks to my nose, cheek and chin with the gentlest brush stroke whispers and emphatic taps from the tip of her tail. Her very own prayer time and lullaby. "Thank you for Bonney and the care she gave me today. Help her rest peacefully and awake rejuvenated. Let her know I am guarding her through the night even if I jump down and go catting around the house while she dreams. And thank you for giving me the unique voice box to purr her to sleep with her favorite comfort sounds. I give it gladly."
ZZZZPURRZZZZPURRZZZZPURRZZZZPURRZZZZPURRZZZZPURRZZZZPURRZZZZ
If I have prodded her off her throne (MY recliner) in the middle of one of her many naps in the glow of the sun, she reluctantly jumps to the floor, puts that tail straight UP, stops at the doorway to glare at me over her shoulder and with great impertinence sashays out of the room giving me the finger -- or, ah, the tail.
When I massage her with the lint roller (she LOVES it) to remove her hair before it gets on my furniture and linens, she whups me with her tail to tell me "that's enough already -- I need some warmth for the coming cold weather."
The rapid twitch she signals as she's anticipating just how much power and leverage it will take to get from the floor to her favorite sleeping spot the terry towel draped between the sheets and up against the pillow on my bed, you can almost hear the concentration and communication between head and tail. "OK now if I want my front paws to reach the mattress and my back paws to support my landing, I should do three practice lift offs of my rump and then lunge like I'm still 3 years old instead of 13. And in order to miss that rumpled blanket I'll aim just a little to the left of yesterday's jump. All systems ready? Swish, swish lift off, Here I goooooooo!"
My favorite secret language though is when she circles my limp body as I prepare to dream (and perchance to sleep too) dusting me with the full length of her tail as if tucking the blankets in just so. When she is comfortable that I am settled for the night she selects her position of choice, butt near my shoulder, head facing away toward any approaching danger from outside our sacred circle and talks to my nose, cheek and chin with the gentlest brush stroke whispers and emphatic taps from the tip of her tail. Her very own prayer time and lullaby. "Thank you for Bonney and the care she gave me today. Help her rest peacefully and awake rejuvenated. Let her know I am guarding her through the night even if I jump down and go catting around the house while she dreams. And thank you for giving me the unique voice box to purr her to sleep with her favorite comfort sounds. I give it gladly."
ZZZZPURRZZZZPURRZZZZPURRZZZZPURRZZZZPURRZZZZPURRZZZZPURRZZZZ
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Poetic Wisdom
Edwin Markham, now deceased poet from Oregon City, Oregon, wrote 4 lines that lassoed my attention over 40 years ago. And the truth of his words rings in my ears often. I admire his simplicity of wisdom in poetic form; like Burma Shave signs along my journey. Here are a few of his signs:
**********************************************
"He drew a circle that shut me out-
Heretic , rebel, a thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle and took him In!"
**********************************************
"There is a destiny which makes us (brothers);
none goes his way alone.
All that we send into the lives of others
comes back into our own.
**********************************************
"For all your years prepare,
And meet them ever alike;
When you are the anvil, bear--
When you are the hammer, strike
**********************************************
**********************************************
"He drew a circle that shut me out-
Heretic , rebel, a thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle and took him In!"
**********************************************
"There is a destiny which makes us (brothers);
none goes his way alone.
All that we send into the lives of others
comes back into our own.
**********************************************
"For all your years prepare,
And meet them ever alike;
When you are the anvil, bear--
When you are the hammer, strike
**********************************************
Starting From Scratch
A story I heard years ago told of a man studying to be a priest. One of the students'challenges was to speak extemporaneously on a topic written on a piece of paper under their dinner plate. This young man's paper was blank! Nothing on either side. He hesitated to collect his thoughts and then said, "On this piece of paper there is nothing," (pause for colleague laughter) "And it was from just this kind of nothing that God created everything." He then launched into an inspirational message on creation.
August is my piece of nothing. Since early childhood this is the month I wanted to wish away. My beloved trees are beginning their transition to winter rest. Garden harvests are dying on the vine. Grass becomes amber instead of emerald. And something in the air just pats down my energy like a salve I can't breathe through. August is my transition month and I'd like to eliminate it. This time period zaps my energy rather than sparking it. I feel the call to sleep in every cell of my being; to rest up for the real love of my life, -- adventureous learning! In my youth going to school to unlock more secrets than I knew existed and savoring each (except math maybe) was like an unending buffet.
I'm in a different school now. The longing to learn still pulls at me during this languishing month each year. Yet I don't have the control of a calendar starting date. Aging forces me to set goals in new ways; on my own and with little help from guidance counselors. What will I make of my nothing? A long list of things I always thought would interest me? One specific focus that will consume all my energy and focus my three months heading into Christmas? Or perhaps no list at all; just tear that paper nothing into a ship or star and let my imagination lead me to all things exciting and nourishing.
From nothing God created all things. Perhaps I could create just one?
August is my piece of nothing. Since early childhood this is the month I wanted to wish away. My beloved trees are beginning their transition to winter rest. Garden harvests are dying on the vine. Grass becomes amber instead of emerald. And something in the air just pats down my energy like a salve I can't breathe through. August is my transition month and I'd like to eliminate it. This time period zaps my energy rather than sparking it. I feel the call to sleep in every cell of my being; to rest up for the real love of my life, -- adventureous learning! In my youth going to school to unlock more secrets than I knew existed and savoring each (except math maybe) was like an unending buffet.
I'm in a different school now. The longing to learn still pulls at me during this languishing month each year. Yet I don't have the control of a calendar starting date. Aging forces me to set goals in new ways; on my own and with little help from guidance counselors. What will I make of my nothing? A long list of things I always thought would interest me? One specific focus that will consume all my energy and focus my three months heading into Christmas? Or perhaps no list at all; just tear that paper nothing into a ship or star and let my imagination lead me to all things exciting and nourishing.
From nothing God created all things. Perhaps I could create just one?
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Spice It Up
One mallard duck is swimming on the tiny pond just about 50 feet from my viewing point. Wide spread pine limbs are raining down yellow needles in clumps of two. One duo lands like a finger pointing to a passage in my open book where on page 52 it clearly marks the words, "Ask the universe to make clear where you should put your energies next." WHOA. That is the quickest answer to my thought question that I've ever gotten. Just seconds before I wondered silently what I should explore next on life's journey.
The outdoor weather worn deck of our local library is providing me with the view, the peace, the air and the privacy to wonder 'where to next with my life?' As the surprise awakens me the next image I 'see' is me lining up pieces on a gameboard deciding what to move where. I blink and a second image shows me choosing spices to shake on that same gameboard laying receptively before me.
I understand the imagery. I am being presented with options to spice up my life. The choice is clearly mine, yet I still do that childlike thing of waiting for the universe to throw down the clearly written choice I SHOULD make.
The outdoor weather worn deck of our local library is providing me with the view, the peace, the air and the privacy to wonder 'where to next with my life?' As the surprise awakens me the next image I 'see' is me lining up pieces on a gameboard deciding what to move where. I blink and a second image shows me choosing spices to shake on that same gameboard laying receptively before me.
I understand the imagery. I am being presented with options to spice up my life. The choice is clearly mine, yet I still do that childlike thing of waiting for the universe to throw down the clearly written choice I SHOULD make.
Monday, July 27, 2009
What Happens On a Journey
I KNOW I'm on a journey when I see with new eyes, taste with new pleasure and use all my senses in heightened awareness. I image myself as a spider at the center of my web catching all the things the wind blows my way. Some I sample immediately, some I wrap up to savor later and some fall from my web because there are too many to hold all at once.
I KNOW I'm on a journey when information swells my head to the bursting point. Often I write it down with pen on paper so I don't drop crumbs that fall between the cracks. I KNOW I'm on a journey when my feet connect to the path others have built, walked on, driven on or played on, and I can feel their historic presence. When trees whisper their stories and flowers tell me their secrets as I greet them and thank them for being in my world of discovery, I KNOW I'm on a journey.
When I move from here to there on a journey I feel like someone else. Sometimes I sense another part of me walking parallel not only to collect the overflow of experiences but to whisper tidbits of wisdom or information to help me see more clearly. When I sleep contentedly because I am full of rich gatherings; when I dance through waking times trying to taste the air of newness, I am on a journey.
I welcome the dance, the air, the paths, the tastes the smells and sights that write a book in my heart for me to read over and over as I punctuate it with sighs of remembrance.
I KNOW I'm on a journey when information swells my head to the bursting point. Often I write it down with pen on paper so I don't drop crumbs that fall between the cracks. I KNOW I'm on a journey when my feet connect to the path others have built, walked on, driven on or played on, and I can feel their historic presence. When trees whisper their stories and flowers tell me their secrets as I greet them and thank them for being in my world of discovery, I KNOW I'm on a journey.
When I move from here to there on a journey I feel like someone else. Sometimes I sense another part of me walking parallel not only to collect the overflow of experiences but to whisper tidbits of wisdom or information to help me see more clearly. When I sleep contentedly because I am full of rich gatherings; when I dance through waking times trying to taste the air of newness, I am on a journey.
I welcome the dance, the air, the paths, the tastes the smells and sights that write a book in my heart for me to read over and over as I punctuate it with sighs of remembrance.
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