In the Arms of Love

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.

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?

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?

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.

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

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!

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.

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.

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

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:
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"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!"

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"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.

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"For all your years prepare,
And meet them ever alike;
When you are the anvil, bear--
When you are the hammer, strike

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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?

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.

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.

Where does a journey begin

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.

~~ Lao Tzu ~~

What IS the first step of a journey? Getting on the path, bike, airplane, train or in the car? When buying the tickets that will get you to your destination? Perhaps before that, looking at a map to determine where you want to travel? Or even before that with the thought that you would like to go somewhere, do something you've read about, heard about, seen in media coverage? Perhaps as a child while reading a poem, listening to a conversation, observing someone who came from somewhere beyond your immediate awareness?

Grandma Mary used to tell things to her gathered daughters in the presence of her grandchildren. Speaking English until the punchline, where she deftly switched to German to protect little ears. Little did she realize that we could get the import of her words from the story itself or her emphasis in relating the punchline. Grandma Lucy took me with her to her German speaking Lutheran church several times during my childhood. While I couldn't understand the words, it sounded like an exotic song to me from the first bell ringing to the last.

Kindergarten was the longed for first year of formal school. We never knew that it was a word brought with our ancesters describing a place where children (Kinder) grew in learning (garten).

Saturday mornings in mother's kitchen were punctuated with German words describing the aromatic and delicious tasting cakes she lovingly called kuchens. The bread (Brot) she baked for the week already cooling on wire racks, woke me on Saturday morning with a jump out of bed not a reluctant rolling to the edge and slowly placing my feet on the floor. One of her special self treats was cooked Kaese (cheese), which she licked slowly off a spoon. (we children held our noses as soon as the cover was removed.)

Living well off your garden, working hard from sunrise to sunset, putting church at the center of your life, keeping family ties strong, these were all woven into the fabric of my being with indelible love.

Learning to sing Stille Nacht, Heilege Nacht to the music of the well known Silent Night Christmas hymn, was like honey on my tongue. Those words belonged there, flowing like a smooth, cool river. And I wanted to speak more of them, to unlock their mystery and make them daily music to my ears.

I looked at book and magazine pictures of little German girls my age with white-blond hair (often in braids), blue eyes and freckles and contrasted them to my olive skin, curly black hair and brown eyes. I wanted to know that girl, I wanted to play at her side, share her toys, eat lunch at her table, be a part of her family. Just to experience her experience.

Something in me was reaching out or maybe back into history even then. Was this the first step in my recent satisfying journey to Germany? Did I come to my desire so naturally and innocently that I didn't recognize it as a lifelong desire to hug the ancestry gifted to me through genes and socialization? Were these my first steps that began the journey from which I've 'almost' completely returned?

It may be idle reflection to some WHEN the first step takes place. But to me it enriches every thought, dream, wondering that approaches my daily consciousness. I may already be making first steps into another journey. And now I'm wise enough to welcome them all and tuck them into an open suitcase ready for travel.

The Journey

After several days of intense preparation I locked the house, got into my car and began my journey 'home' to Wisconsin to visit loved ones. A quick stop at the gas station was first on my agenda. Coming out of the station I realized my keys were in the locked car with the motor running. Oy Vay! Calmly reaching for the spare set in my purse, I took myself by the shoulders and thought loudly, "Not a good start, Bonney! You better clear your thoughts and focus from here on!" Feeling justly scolded, I was again on my way.

Semi-truck traffic was thicker than bees on a hive. Lots of buzzing, very little movement and way too much crossing over one another to get past a slow mover. As hills began undulating in all shades of green I became mesmerized with the beauty I so often overlook living a suburban existence. Spring born calves, sheep and horses moved sprightly amidst their older relatives. Farm signs tugged at me with their invitation to purchase fresh asparagus or rhubarb. The enticement slid my mind into memories of childhood kitchens and the domestic joys of gardens and cooking for my own family. I visualized the fruit cellar when I was eight, shelves stacked four high reflecting every color of mom's canned fruit and vegetables ready for winter consumption. The second visual is of my full-sized freezer while raising my own family holding the treasures of my hands.

After a few miles of mind travel I paused to ask myself WHERE are you? It's amazing (and frightening) to realize you can travel parallel existences in your mind and your body simultaneously. "Road sign, road sign, try to find a road sign that tells me where I am, what I've passed and what lies ahead! Ahh, something familiar, I'm on track again." But then I realize I've chosen to take a different connecting highway than in the past and I hadn't checked a map before traveling to see WHERE it connected. Oh, well, I was feeling confidant (smug) that I could trust my inner voice to show me the way. But when I began sensing I was in a flowing river of cars without my wheels touching the road, my uncertainty leaped to the top of the anxiety scale.

Taking the next exit I pulled into a gas station for directions, being careful to notlock my keys in the car again. The clerk said I was five miles past my exit but by following the local shortcut, could get back without losing any time. Whew! Strike three??

When beauty turned to tedium and every town looked like the last one, I was ready to ARRIVE and not be traveling anymore. After 5 1/2 hours of driving I accepted my own conclusion. Phoning the host awaiting my arrival I explained I just couldn't push any harder and needed to stop. I was clearly going to be later than anticipated.
Ordering a ham slice and mashed potato dinner at the restaurant my in-laws used to frequent every Friday night, I finally brought body, mind and spirit together.

In most of my life's experience, it's the getting there that's been difficult. Once I arrive I'm fully present and fully engaged. I don't know why I think I can journey without a map. And yet, not having a precise path, direction, timeline to guide me is what has added so much spontaneity and joy to my days. Traveling alone is a condition to which I've become accustomed. While it's often lonely, it's also what allows me freedom of movement and freedom from expectation and judgment. This travel back 'home' is what helps me arrive at my REAL home. That comfortable place within that lets me know that I am the author of my destiny and the CEO of my own life.

What is your journey teaching you?

Soul Song

Music tugs my ear and my attention follows. "Sh-Boom, Sh-boom" yanks my smile into my young life of the 50's. There I am in bobby socks and saddle shoes, smelling warm asphalt at the sock hop at the roped off street dance. There I am doing the hip swaying, finger snapping rhythm of the music of my past.

New music, and my heart swirls like slowly rising steam into the starry night of romance hoped for; nay expected. "I have often walked down this street before," pulls my eyes closed to watch movie memories on my eyelid screen. "Teen Angel" never fails to put my feet near the railroad track where High School friends attempted to beat a train, and the train won.

"I fall down, but I get up again", brings the memory of a grandchild singing with passion the song of courage during rough times. "One elephant went out to play out on a spiders web one day", now sung my the third of my grandchildren, still finds me remembering the Girl Scout troop in which I first learned the motions.

"America the Beautiful" fills my eyes with tears, my chest with pride for the nation in which I've been blessed to be born. "This is my Country" does the same.

Music is my lifelong companion. Lifting me up, bringing solace, inviting my compassion, bringing pride.

While researching before teaching my "Befriending Your Dreams" courses, I found an important notation. In ancient times American Indians taught their children that each soul had a personal song. That when the dreamer's body slept, the soul could safely wander until awakening came. Then the dreamer would lie quietly humming the song to let the soul know it was time to return to the body. What a spectacular way to awaken; with a gentle musical connection.

This particular blog began when I overheard the process of selecting music to enter into cell phones that alert the receiver to which caller was trying to reach them. Each caller with their own unique alert that they were trying to communicate. A wake-up call of sorts. A stretch of the soul music concept; yet ironically similar. Both are a call to awareness that some part of the spiritual universe that has been wandering, is ready to come 'home'.

What music has called you home recently?

JOY IN THE MORNING

Morning sun rolled out its golden tongue tasting the azalea bush bobbing with last season's mocha flower heads, licking a corner on the shepherd's hook bird feeding station. The gathering birds didn't yawn, resist the wake up call or even look sleepy-eyed. The simply accepted the feast refreshed before them the night before.

Two white mesh thistle seed holders swung gently like mantles on a camping lantern; moving to the music of the wind. Black-capped Chickadees, Goldfinch without the gold, Sparrows -- or maybe Wrens, I must learn to tell the difference -- held their pecking order with crescent clenched toes. Those attempting to break line were pecked to the end and spent their wait picking up the fallen seed on the carpet below. As they moved in circles the ground seemed to act as a trampoline pushing their ballet toe steps up again for a landing a few inches away again and again. Sky approaches allowed several to grasp the sock upside down to pick their treasures off the top of the fill line. Their split tails flicking a victory sign before swooping away on a wavy return flight to the waiting Birch.

After every few samplings each took refuge in the red branched bushes beneath my watching window. There, beaks were wiped clean on branches of choice until the way was clear to return for the next course.

Oh, joy in the morning. This is the news I want to wake up to, dance to, fill my heart with. I like that I am so easily pleased.

What brings you joy in the morning?

All My Life's a Circle

I stepped into a circle of lonely last week. Recognizable by the suction pulling me downward with the same power of my red childhood boots being sucked into spring mud. The more I longed to move on the deeper I was drawn into helplessness. I wanted to lay down, pull my purple comforter over my head and disappear. "If you stepped in, you've got to be able to step out," came Wisdom's voice. "If loneliness is a circle of dark energy, there are other bright energy circles available. Like the Twister game, it may be awkward, but you can get there from here."

After a trip to the greenhouse to smell the flowers, a chapter read in a book that transported me to another time and place and a food treat to soothe my body, I had moved on. The dark circle barely a shadow of memory.

Another circle presented itself this week with my step into Facebook. Not only did I not realize how vast and fast was this web of connection, I also did not realize it held a place for me. Former school friends, both high school and college, colleagues from several work incarnations, students from past classes, and those I've met briefly and deeply at the same time were just waiting to be invited to re-meet me. ( I know it's not a word, but I'm a writer, I'm allowed to make them up.)

Full circle? More like a constant coil or open ended Slinky, moving out, crossing over, coming back at a different level of engagement each time. It makes sense. The earth we inhabit is a circle. The Spirit that births and rebirths us crosses like a figure 8 renewing all at its center. Our hearts pump blood in a 'circle'. Our breathing comes in, changes us and moves out.

I have a special affinity for Harry Chapin's lyrics from All My Life's a Circle that adds passion to this concept.

"All my life's a circle
Sunrise and sundown.
Moon rolls through the nighttime
'Til the daybreak comes around.

Seems like I've been here before
Can't remember when;
But I have this funny feeling
That we'll all be together again.

No straight lines make up my life
And all my roads have bends.
There's no clear cut beginnings
And so far no dead ends."

Roll on sweet circle of Life, roll on. And thanks to all who have gone the distance with me.

Look the Other Way

When I become entrenched in my ways and as a result become 'stuck' emotionally and spiritually, a trusted voice whispers, "look the other way." This is not the call to ignore what's going on and to escape engagement with reality. Rather it is the invitation to change perspective and expand my small thinking.

At my workplace I often end my lock-up shift by moving 20 feet away, then turning and giving one last look before going home. I am intentionally checking my mental list to affirm I have turned off all sewing machines, flipped out display case lights, completed end of day financial readouts, locked what should be locked and set all things right for whichever co-worker opens the next morning. But in that 20 foot viewing space I also raise my awareness to what customers see as they approach that space. Looking IN instead of OUT becomes a wake up call of sorts. A nudge to change the place that frames my daily activities, to freshen the picture.

President Barack Obama's inauguration provided a powerful recent reminder to 'look the other way.' Cameras pulled back to the Washington Monument, pulled slow motion focus over the multitudes present to participate in history, and slowly came to rest on the singular podium standing like a toothpick in a snowstorm. I attempted to project myself standing at that podium looking out at those million plus attendant faces while imagining the many millions more viewing through TV screens. All those expectant, demanding, judging faces. I know what it feels like to be among the many looking at the one. But what must it be like being the ONE looking out at the MANY? Humbling? Powerful?

As a teen I once asked an influential pastor in my church camp "is it your power that makes you humble, or your humility that makes you powerful?" He was as stunned by the question that came THROUGH me, not from me, as I was by the words that left my mouth. ("Where did THAT come from", I thought.) We both stood in silence, the unanswered question reverberating somewhere inside each of us. I ask that same question about Albert Schweitzer, Maya Angelou, Abraham Lincoln and other influences in my life. At what point does humility transcend into power or power into humility? Those who integrate them equally are world changing, life enhancing, positive influences for me.

With the Golden Globes and Oscars season approaching, I find a multitude of occasions to 'look the other way.' What is it like to be the actor projecting into the character, projecting into the story, projecting into the audience of expectant, demanding, judging faces. I have a small sense of that everyday, as I play my roles of mother, grandmother, sister, niece, neighbor, co-worker, senior citizen, wisdom seeker, spiritual searcher sometimes simultaneously.

When a woman came into my workplace recently with a full grown, trimmed black moustache,I was at first stopped cold by the initial shock of something so out of the ordinary. As she spoke in her fully female voice and reflected a kind, thoughtful demeanor, I found myself not looking 'at' her but turning and looking 'with' her at the purchase she came to make. 'Looking the other way', together, took away the feeling of separation of how we were different. Looking in the same direction bonded our two beings into a gentle and productive result. I thank the whisper that guided that moment.

"If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always gotten." I don't know the origin of the quote but it serves as a guiding light for me when I get bogged down in the same old, same old. 'Looking the other way' is my activation mantra to discovering new paths that serve my journey toward wholeness.

Where are you called to 'look the other way'?

Everyday Gratitude

Gratitude is the weft that holds the weave of everyday life in place for me. Each Thanksgiving I pause to show myself just what fibers brought me to this moment in time. What weft and weave colored your life this year?

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THANK YOU pencils chimney smoke ice scrapers cinnamon rolls baked apples baby toes WITH GRATITUDE email state quarters memories chocolate caramels books hope president obama GRACIAS cell phones calculators MANY THANKS laughter surprises gifts snowflakes candles paychecks words twilight movie sweeny todd THANKFULNESS wicked elphaba smiles MAHALO cranberries lemons family FOR THIS I’M THANKFUL friends full gas tanks cocoa butter lotion starlight fresh flowers chocolate cake FULL OF THANKS pecan pie fabrics sewing machine I’M GRATEFUL buttons grandchildren sunsets adventure THANK GOD fresh laundry haircuts doctors contact lenses massages holidays rituals music silence WITH FULL THANKS poetry purple MERCI graceful aging longtime friends new friends smiles tears love composting wisdom CONTINUED THANKS cattle dog gentle cat MY THANKS paper fleece bed baking bread slippers sisters aunts children nieces nephews uncles baptisms I GIVE THANKS goodbyes hellos APPRECIATION applause compliments education FOREVER GRATEFUL dictionaries dreams goals geo-caching roofers house-siders survival compassion kin empathy DANKA charity imagination sleep creativity my heart sings with the blessings that rain in my life this Thanksgiving Day 2008 A.D. questions light thunder rain breezes artists teaching peppermint WITH THANKFULNESS skiing snowboarding UNENDING THANKS health teeth trust faith spirit energy colored cotton bolles winks secret smiles jokes mysteries gardens the well oaks maples THANKFUL HEART palms breath touch WITH A FULL HEART beaches fair trade coffee bagels violins pianos tennis shoes printer catnip newspapers justice toes ears garlic onions spontaneity