The MRI machine is two inches from my nose. I go cross-eyed trying to focus on the 3x 5 lights implanted in the machine ceiling. My arms are not only pinned awkwardly to my sides but pinching my skin on the moving walls on the side away from my body. "Now get comfortable and lay very still," comes the technician's voice over the LOUD speaker. RIGHT, I am thinking sarcastically. Next come the hammers. Clunk, clunk, pound, move clunk, clunk, pound, move, over and over again. Silence, I release the breath I didn't know I was holding. Rat-a-tat, tat, tat,tat, the jack hammers have proceeded to assault both my ears at once. These tiny orange sponge ear plugs are about as useless as bridal veil in keeping the sound out. My fingers are twitching and my big toes on both feet are trying to escape the LOUD, too-fast-to-be-music, rhythm.
My mind is tossing up pictures of miners trapped in underground caves, of victims of Haiti's earthquake unable to move because of crushing rock. I feel panic rising into my throat. I have to get control of this. For me it's only 20 or so minutes, I will survive the experience.
I force my thinking into times when being held this tightly felt better. The times when I was in the arms of love. Probably as a baby bound in a receiving blanket I surmise. Or when I skinned my knee and was held in comfort while I cried. Or those times I sat on the rug when my mother's family gathered at Grandma's house to share the weeks news with each other. I felt so comforted being seen but not heard. Letting the white noise of sisters sing-songy talking lull me into light but restful sleep. And now I'm remembering Sunday afternoons in winter, my children playing together or separately on the living room carpet, my husband in a chair across the room, me swaying in sleepiness on the couch. In the arms of love.
Rat-a-tat, tat, tat, tat, back to the moment. It's still going on. Did the technician forget me? Does anyone know I'm here and I can't move, can barely breathe? How long has it been; am I almost finished. I have to lead myself back to mind meditation, my only saving grace to not going all claustrophobic and panicky.
OK, God, come on speak to me. Yours are the arms of love I need right now. You've promised everywhere I am YOU are there. Come on in I'll make room for you. The rocking motion of the MRI is changing positions, I can imagine that is YOU God. Moving me gently in your arms to bring the rhythm back to a lullaby instead of unplugged RAP. Ahh, yes. That's better. I sigh, peace returns, my fingers and toes noticeably relax. We talk awhile YOU and I, I almost drift into that seen but not heard memory again. And then the words I've been waiting for. "You're all finished, Bonney!" Hallelujah the angels are lifting me out of the tomb that started as a womb, into a room where light steps away from my face toward the windows and the noise has gone on break.
Dreamily the arms of love walk me out to my car and we ride the freeway home.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
Play Room
The glassed front 5X7 shadow box is bursting with -- crayons! Painted on the glass front are the words, "Live, Laugh, Love". It is a gift from my inner child. I ask for crayons at restaurants along with a kid's menu, especially when I 'dine' alone.
(Once I designed placemats for adults in restaurants filled with grown up (whatever that means) trivia, word finds, and coloring space to use while sitting alone and awaiting your meal. Takes away the discomfort of where to put your eyes when there is no one at your table to talk with. I really need to find a market for those.)
Surrounding the crayon shadow box are multiple scissors, papers of all colors, sizes, patterns; stones, beads and found objects; ribbons, cotton puff balls, fabrics, buttons, silk flowers rescued from someone's bad judgment and a trash basket. A large bottle of bubbles waits impatiently just to the right of the crayons. All are calls to my creative, playful side to come learn on the LIGHT side of life. I've heard the DARK side has cookies, but I don't think there's any monopoly on baking cookies -- right Keebler and Auntie Annie's?
Every one should have a Play Room. As adults we call it Hobbies, but the word does not spark with excitement. And, somehow turns into something we 'work at'. We work at our photography, work at gardening, work at carpentry, work at scrapbooking. You know it just hasn't got the same invitation as PLAY ROOM. A space where things are out and ready to use when the spirit moves you.
Playing makes me a better adult.
What's in your Play Room?
(Once I designed placemats for adults in restaurants filled with grown up (whatever that means) trivia, word finds, and coloring space to use while sitting alone and awaiting your meal. Takes away the discomfort of where to put your eyes when there is no one at your table to talk with. I really need to find a market for those.)
Surrounding the crayon shadow box are multiple scissors, papers of all colors, sizes, patterns; stones, beads and found objects; ribbons, cotton puff balls, fabrics, buttons, silk flowers rescued from someone's bad judgment and a trash basket. A large bottle of bubbles waits impatiently just to the right of the crayons. All are calls to my creative, playful side to come learn on the LIGHT side of life. I've heard the DARK side has cookies, but I don't think there's any monopoly on baking cookies -- right Keebler and Auntie Annie's?
Every one should have a Play Room. As adults we call it Hobbies, but the word does not spark with excitement. And, somehow turns into something we 'work at'. We work at our photography, work at gardening, work at carpentry, work at scrapbooking. You know it just hasn't got the same invitation as PLAY ROOM. A space where things are out and ready to use when the spirit moves you.
Playing makes me a better adult.
What's in your Play Room?
Who Moved My Summer?
Once Upon A Time. . .the first day of summer marked the start of bare feet, the fresh smell of street sprinklers on hot asphalt, digging up dandelions for a penny per root and fresh squeezed lemonade. It was for getting an ant's eye view of moving sand mountains to build a home, of the forming of raspberries one succulent ruby bead at a time. It was for summer school that was pure recreation with kickball, table tennis, craft projects, wood burning and giggles.
It was the making of parade lanterns using cereal boxes to cut out flowers, stars, animals and flags in preparation for multi-colored cellophane overlays. Once the candle was waxed to the bottom, the cardboard sides punched with holes and laced with shoestrings, the 4th of July parade at Vollrath Bowl's landscaped park was anticipated with racing hearts and flashing eyes.
The first day of summer marked the loooooooong time off of school when everyone relaxed from their wound-tight, winter restricting isolation. When the air had a 'sound' of relaxation and music had a smell of romance and expectation. A time when everything seemed possible, because it was. When the flavors of the season felt slippery as home-cranked ice cream, as comforting as bratwurst on brick oven hard rolls and German Potato Salad with yellow and white boiled egg slices topped with crispy bacon crumbles.
Red, white and blue flags waving from red geranium and pink, blue and white petunia hanging pots on main street marked the coming of the 'middle' of summer. Celebrations were boisterous, colorful, happening all over town and snap, crack, popping with fireworks. (Also in bowls of Rice Krispies in fresh milk if you had a big imagination). It seemed that after the 4th of July things slowed down to neutral. August was the month without celebration. Garden's were harvested and canning and freezing for the future took front place on the To Do List. By the middle of that slow, dry month Back to School Sales served as a not too subtle reminder of things to come.
But who moved my summer? Who put the 21st of June within arms reach of the 4th of July? What do you mean there are only 13 days separting the start and the middle of MY season? What happened to that long, languishing freedom of days between these bookends? The slower I move, the faster time goes by. What's wrong with this picture? And what happened to the CREAM in ice cream, or the SUGAR in lemonade. I'm embarrassed to give the anemic half circles called hamburger buns to the birds and ducks -- it seems so wrong to give them inferior nourishment.
I don't want my youth back, but I sure do miss my summers.
How is it for you?
It was the making of parade lanterns using cereal boxes to cut out flowers, stars, animals and flags in preparation for multi-colored cellophane overlays. Once the candle was waxed to the bottom, the cardboard sides punched with holes and laced with shoestrings, the 4th of July parade at Vollrath Bowl's landscaped park was anticipated with racing hearts and flashing eyes.
The first day of summer marked the loooooooong time off of school when everyone relaxed from their wound-tight, winter restricting isolation. When the air had a 'sound' of relaxation and music had a smell of romance and expectation. A time when everything seemed possible, because it was. When the flavors of the season felt slippery as home-cranked ice cream, as comforting as bratwurst on brick oven hard rolls and German Potato Salad with yellow and white boiled egg slices topped with crispy bacon crumbles.
Red, white and blue flags waving from red geranium and pink, blue and white petunia hanging pots on main street marked the coming of the 'middle' of summer. Celebrations were boisterous, colorful, happening all over town and snap, crack, popping with fireworks. (Also in bowls of Rice Krispies in fresh milk if you had a big imagination). It seemed that after the 4th of July things slowed down to neutral. August was the month without celebration. Garden's were harvested and canning and freezing for the future took front place on the To Do List. By the middle of that slow, dry month Back to School Sales served as a not too subtle reminder of things to come.
But who moved my summer? Who put the 21st of June within arms reach of the 4th of July? What do you mean there are only 13 days separting the start and the middle of MY season? What happened to that long, languishing freedom of days between these bookends? The slower I move, the faster time goes by. What's wrong with this picture? And what happened to the CREAM in ice cream, or the SUGAR in lemonade. I'm embarrassed to give the anemic half circles called hamburger buns to the birds and ducks -- it seems so wrong to give them inferior nourishment.
I don't want my youth back, but I sure do miss my summers.
How is it for you?
Monday, December 21, 2009
Losing Magic, Growing Love
Christmas has lost it's magic. Lights are not as bright. Carols are not as inspiring. Secrets and expectations almost non-existent. The EVE doesn't feel like the be all and end all of my heart's desire.
I know what's under the tree -- I bought it. I know where the tree came from and I helped decorate it. I know the Christmas story in all its tellings. I once put all my hopes and dreams into December with the goal of reaching pure joy, love and peace on the calendar's 25th day. Journey's tend to take the edge off the excitement when they go on for a long time. And the years of my journey have done just that.
BUT I have found a better celebration, a more exciting tradition, a music that lasts and a magic that spreads itself like honey on toast for the hungry. I have found the love, joy and peace of the Christ's message in EVERY DAY life. The surprise in a sparkling eye when a student realizes her potential. The excitement in a child's voice finding the pennies deliberately dropped on their path. The embrace received for just being there when someone is feeling lost or alone. No ribbons. No shopping hassle. No stress over failed expectations.
Blessings are as plentiful as the snowflakes on the lawn. They've been accumulating all year long sometimes like falling stars, sometimes like rays of sun that come and go so smoothly they are noticed only by their absence.
Do you hear what I hear? The call to embrace, follow, share as the Christ called us to so long ago, and is calling still. The magic is not lost. It is just spread out in continuous opportunities with every breath we breathe. Not always a burst of light out of darkness; sometimes so subtle we really have to be listening and seeing with our hearts to sense its presence.
I know what's under the tree -- I bought it. I know where the tree came from and I helped decorate it. I know the Christmas story in all its tellings. I once put all my hopes and dreams into December with the goal of reaching pure joy, love and peace on the calendar's 25th day. Journey's tend to take the edge off the excitement when they go on for a long time. And the years of my journey have done just that.
BUT I have found a better celebration, a more exciting tradition, a music that lasts and a magic that spreads itself like honey on toast for the hungry. I have found the love, joy and peace of the Christ's message in EVERY DAY life. The surprise in a sparkling eye when a student realizes her potential. The excitement in a child's voice finding the pennies deliberately dropped on their path. The embrace received for just being there when someone is feeling lost or alone. No ribbons. No shopping hassle. No stress over failed expectations.
Blessings are as plentiful as the snowflakes on the lawn. They've been accumulating all year long sometimes like falling stars, sometimes like rays of sun that come and go so smoothly they are noticed only by their absence.
Do you hear what I hear? The call to embrace, follow, share as the Christ called us to so long ago, and is calling still. The magic is not lost. It is just spread out in continuous opportunities with every breath we breathe. Not always a burst of light out of darkness; sometimes so subtle we really have to be listening and seeing with our hearts to sense its presence.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
THANKS AGAIN
Breath by continuous breath life comes and goes, embraced by my gratitude for that life. Breath and gratitude, inseparable, firmly bound yet forever free.
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THANK YOU goldfinch cardinals oatmeal cranraisens temporary drivers license 18th birthday 15th birthday pecan pie purple cleansing rain rejuvenating sun libraries oak creek quilter’s novels words sight eggnog germany extended family memory cameras GRATEFUL THANKS facebook email silver hair chocolate bed blanket pillow cheyenne rocky safety security citalopram medforman dr.O dentists coke rewards commission teaching fabric thread creativity cinnamon roses calla lilies new moon barbara alvis cline debra roger raven sandy glenn brad sarah brittney baylee health insurance ETERNAL GRATITUDE cell phones bev jim scott andy lucy wes cory perry nancy mike evan brian christy samantha alexander shoes umbrellas, turtlenecks peanut butter raspberries campfires scarves abundant love bumblebees honey randy jen danielle justin brenda rhianna lisa dynasty beads braces straws marian faith MUCHO GRACIAS unconditional love angels butchie humor potato pancakes diet coke applesauce slippers doris coast guard symphonies lentil soup brussel sprouts caribou coffee laughter HEARTFELT THANKS high school reunion max thing one thing two sierra leone well project fabric door hangings eva rudy mary joseph eugene irene helen edna robert rick maryann oak trees maple trees irises old spice emeraude snickerdoodles chocolate chip cookies potica pecans viking sewing gallery DANKA spiritual cinema circle human anatomy lectures vegetable soup baking soda biscuits st jude medical fabric supply festival foods st catherine university FOREVER GRATEFUL scholarships haircuts violins flutes harps surprises suzuki athena aspirin diamonds george louise schuette reiny eliza harvey pedicures contact lenses round robins hunger pains cpap machine homemade jam whole grain bread MERCI calculators smiles twinkling eyes for all the blessings that gift my life on this THANKSGIVING holiday November 26th, 2009 I am immensely grateful computers scissors tweezers wisdom walker toothpaste comb brush shampoo hot water cold water schools television THANKS printers test strips authors candles elephants postal services literacy my body my mind my spirit dreams 68 years transitions transformations hope granola garbage pick up recycling flashlights hugs forgiveness tomorrow yesterday today THANKS SO MUCH crab apple tree bird feeder garden frost lawn mowers ideas snowblower zippers buttons aloe vera silverware napkins ceiling fans poetry qtips deodorant heartbeat freedom responsibility resilience resourcefulness snowflakes ONGOING GRATITUDE hot chocolate ladders shamrock plant burrowstail plant evergreen trees rainbows clouds
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THANK YOU goldfinch cardinals oatmeal cranraisens temporary drivers license 18th birthday 15th birthday pecan pie purple cleansing rain rejuvenating sun libraries oak creek quilter’s novels words sight eggnog germany extended family memory cameras GRATEFUL THANKS facebook email silver hair chocolate bed blanket pillow cheyenne rocky safety security citalopram medforman dr.O dentists coke rewards commission teaching fabric thread creativity cinnamon roses calla lilies new moon barbara alvis cline debra roger raven sandy glenn brad sarah brittney baylee health insurance ETERNAL GRATITUDE cell phones bev jim scott andy lucy wes cory perry nancy mike evan brian christy samantha alexander shoes umbrellas, turtlenecks peanut butter raspberries campfires scarves abundant love bumblebees honey randy jen danielle justin brenda rhianna lisa dynasty beads braces straws marian faith MUCHO GRACIAS unconditional love angels butchie humor potato pancakes diet coke applesauce slippers doris coast guard symphonies lentil soup brussel sprouts caribou coffee laughter HEARTFELT THANKS high school reunion max thing one thing two sierra leone well project fabric door hangings eva rudy mary joseph eugene irene helen edna robert rick maryann oak trees maple trees irises old spice emeraude snickerdoodles chocolate chip cookies potica pecans viking sewing gallery DANKA spiritual cinema circle human anatomy lectures vegetable soup baking soda biscuits st jude medical fabric supply festival foods st catherine university FOREVER GRATEFUL scholarships haircuts violins flutes harps surprises suzuki athena aspirin diamonds george louise schuette reiny eliza harvey pedicures contact lenses round robins hunger pains cpap machine homemade jam whole grain bread MERCI calculators smiles twinkling eyes for all the blessings that gift my life on this THANKSGIVING holiday November 26th, 2009 I am immensely grateful computers scissors tweezers wisdom walker toothpaste comb brush shampoo hot water cold water schools television THANKS printers test strips authors candles elephants postal services literacy my body my mind my spirit dreams 68 years transitions transformations hope granola garbage pick up recycling flashlights hugs forgiveness tomorrow yesterday today THANKS SO MUCH crab apple tree bird feeder garden frost lawn mowers ideas snowblower zippers buttons aloe vera silverware napkins ceiling fans poetry qtips deodorant heartbeat freedom responsibility resilience resourcefulness snowflakes ONGOING GRATITUDE hot chocolate ladders shamrock plant burrowstail plant evergreen trees rainbows clouds
Breaking up is hard to do!
Smooth, smooth, smooth, BUMP, SHIFT, smooth, smooth, smooth BUMP, SHIFT. The rhythm of LIFE's journey just keeps rolling along. It would not be a surprise to say I like smooth times the best.
I tend to hang on to what's working. Grasping with all my might the horizon of the sunrise even as my feet dangle over the sunset When I let go it feels like a scene out of 2001:A Space Odyssey, I'm cast about untethered into the unknown, with lot's of 'stuff' coming at me from all sides.
The BUMPS come in my least guarded moments. Words either spoken within my hearing range or showing up in my reading; themes that repeat themselves until I can no longer deny that I am aware of them. The handwriting on the wall gets bigger, the nudges stronger, until I surrender and say I hear AND I am listening. The bump is my 'I hear you', the shift comes when I respond 'AND I'm listening'.
Sitting on the interrogation chair of self examination the questions are unrelenting. "Who am I in this new setting? What identity do I wear for this journey into the next phase of my life? What am I leaving behind; what am I taking on, what is the timing of my transition? How will I know this is the best move? Who will accompany me on this next Wisdom Walk?"
The path of college life was smooth, graduation a huge BUMP and the SHIFT predictable. Motherhood was smooth until the children became adults, the BUMP was when they no longer needed me, the SHIFT painful. Each career choice took me through Bump, Shift, smooth until it became boring, unsatisfying, a push off the cliff. The warning signs start inside, restlessness, desire for change, finding new stars to follow and are reflected on the outside by circumstantial change and sometimes forced decisions. When the questions squeeze upon me so hard that I implode from the pressure, the shift sends me tumbling through time and space.
And somewhere within that process I find the ribbon that promises SMOOTH lies just ahead. Breaking up IS hard to do. But if I don't go through it I may never find the next ribbon of SMOOTH inviting me to ride the wave of new discoveries, joy, satisfaction.
A snake that outgrows and molts its skin is my current symbol of transition. I'm molting, I'm molting!
I tend to hang on to what's working. Grasping with all my might the horizon of the sunrise even as my feet dangle over the sunset When I let go it feels like a scene out of 2001:A Space Odyssey, I'm cast about untethered into the unknown, with lot's of 'stuff' coming at me from all sides.
The BUMPS come in my least guarded moments. Words either spoken within my hearing range or showing up in my reading; themes that repeat themselves until I can no longer deny that I am aware of them. The handwriting on the wall gets bigger, the nudges stronger, until I surrender and say I hear AND I am listening. The bump is my 'I hear you', the shift comes when I respond 'AND I'm listening'.
Sitting on the interrogation chair of self examination the questions are unrelenting. "Who am I in this new setting? What identity do I wear for this journey into the next phase of my life? What am I leaving behind; what am I taking on, what is the timing of my transition? How will I know this is the best move? Who will accompany me on this next Wisdom Walk?"
The path of college life was smooth, graduation a huge BUMP and the SHIFT predictable. Motherhood was smooth until the children became adults, the BUMP was when they no longer needed me, the SHIFT painful. Each career choice took me through Bump, Shift, smooth until it became boring, unsatisfying, a push off the cliff. The warning signs start inside, restlessness, desire for change, finding new stars to follow and are reflected on the outside by circumstantial change and sometimes forced decisions. When the questions squeeze upon me so hard that I implode from the pressure, the shift sends me tumbling through time and space.
And somewhere within that process I find the ribbon that promises SMOOTH lies just ahead. Breaking up IS hard to do. But if I don't go through it I may never find the next ribbon of SMOOTH inviting me to ride the wave of new discoveries, joy, satisfaction.
A snake that outgrows and molts its skin is my current symbol of transition. I'm molting, I'm molting!
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Praise the Kaleidoscope
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.
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.
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