Ice slides into cracks on bridges. Do not cross. Reports indicate more is on the way. Freezing cold and flakes fall, only following the tug of gravity. Looking to land in a home on sidewalks slick. Just water, frozen, bright, looking to land.
February comes, a month of hygge,
squirrels burrow in the knots of trees,
stalks huddle in the too-cold shade,
waiting for the glimmer of a warming sun.
February kills my high,
bums me out.
with its soft slow snow, feathery fistfuls.
February, the heart-smacking,
wait for longer days.
For the spring of birthdays,
of another hula hoop,
scoop around the sun,
for stronger days,
when the shoots doesn’t break in the brittle cold,
and the loon calls from the lake.
And even the Met opens her front doors, wide,
like a seamstress, ready to unfurl her crazy quilts.
inspired by Bill Christophersen’s February.
After today’s second dose of the vaccine,
I feel freer but not free.
I will follow my bliss but ever so cautiously,
And here’s something to know about me when we meet again,
I will not shake your hand or anyone else’s hand for that matter,
Alas, I will hug you.
See, I met a doctor at Kripalu when I were there, from March 6 to 8, 2020, a few days before the world shut down.
She, the endocrinologist, told me that hugging’s safer than shaking hands.
Namaste, she and I said when we parted,
hand to heart probably safest still.
I signed up for an online Kripalu zoom class because I miss the vibe. The class began yesterday. And we were invited to
make a wheel out of the areas of our lives.
My wheel looked a little deflated.
I miss the walk down to the lake.
We will go again, hand to heart.
Be free. Follow your bliss.
I’m thinking this pandemic has unleashed ‘our new spiritual earth,’ a theme found in this morning’s #spiritchat, a wonderful Sunday morning twitter chat. To me, a spiritual earth means we have to give our home and human family a break — for spring to blossom forth and new growth to emerge. We wait and welcome quiet before jets return to their booms across the sky and trucks rumble across the highways.
Let’s remember that every day belongs to the earth. Every day is Earth Day. Children seem to know this instinctively and are way smarter than adults; they are more enthusiastic about recycling and protecting the environment than we, older folks.
Among my favorite of the elements of earth, water, wind, fire, space, I am an Aries, a fire sign. I tingle with sparks of fire. I love a good campfire.
But also I love the water that puts out the fire. Gentle in its quiet or violent in its rush, tug, waves in the ocean.
Dogsitting this last month (or more? how long has it been? where has the time gone?) has forced me to walk on the earth every morning. So I feel the solid ground beneath me. I look and listen for nature as we walk. The calling, quacking, and homing of birds. The healing in the beauty of blossoms tightly furled.
I surrender to the forces of nature, powers far greater than myself.
Returning to the image of water: when we hiked yesterday, we got a little lost, we thought about following the water – because a stream or river always leads to civilization.
Water helps us find our way home. It is the primary element in Baptism. And blessings. And holy water.
I intend to create a positivity ripple to make impact of health, healing, hope. Love overcomes hatred.
I also am:
- walking 10K steps a day.
- thanking mother earth.
- celebrating every blossom and bud.
- pushing back against injustice and hatred and intolerance.
- choosing love and unconditional positive regard for everyone whom I meet.
The world doesn’t want to be saved. It wants to be loved. That is what will save it! – April Peerless
We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. – Shakespeare, The Tempest
At any moment, you have a choice / that either leads you closer to your spirit or further away from it. – Thich Nhat Hanh
We are Earth people on a spiritual journey to the stars. Our quest, our Earth walk, is to look within, to know who we are,
to see that we are connected to all things,
that there is no separation, only in the mind. – Lakota Seer
You start your hand moving. And then you just keep it moving. You write, I remember… and you keep writing memories… popping like popcorn. One memory after another. Don’t worry about which era from your life wherein the memory emeges or how you feel or what it all means.
I learned this from Dani Shapiro who learned it from a book I Remember by Joe Brainard.
I remember. And the important thing with this writing exercise is to keep going. Keep your mind moving from memory to memory. I found it very relaxing and centering. It’s also a great way to mine some gems which may become sparkling jewels in your larger memoir story.
Weave the memory jewels into the tapestry of your life.
There’s a noise in my chimney.
that only the dog and I hear.
Of course, I wear hearing aids and the dog is finely tuned for sound
so it could be that we’re special?
I worry that some poor thing’s stuck in there–
not a vicious wolf in the wall (a la Neil Gaiman).
And it’s not that I’m scared. No, not me.
I’m not scared,
not at all
You’re scared, not me.
There’s nothing in the chimney.
but this morning when I walked away from the house, with Charlie on the leash,
he and I looked back at the house,
at the tin man’s hat at the top of the house.
at the top of the chimney.
A black bird was looking down the chimney. It called
for a lost chick
down my chimney.
Why a lost child? and not a lost spouse?
I’m surely projecting.
There’s no wolf or black bird in my farmhouse chimney.
Chimney’s are jolly places, just ask Santa.
I thought I just heard a slight thump
or a scampering.
It was the wind.
There’s nothing in the chimney.
Yet I hesitate to start a fire.
We need a fire in the fireplace for it snowed last night,
a little drafty at the beginning of spring, at the tail end of winter in the Adirondacks.
I’m happy to do nothing.
It’s only me Pandora who hears strange noises.
Well, me and Charlie.
Yesterday we bought Charlie a dog bed. And yes, he loved it.
But the dog flipped it over and lay on it, upside down.
“Oh God, you really are becoming my dog,”
I thought with a little dread and a little relief.
Who else turns things upside down?
Who else hears wolves and birds in the chimney?
I’ve been writing my posts first thing in the morning. I wanted to write about Earth Day today. Earth Day for 50 years! The commemoration lands on April 22, because it is the fullest, richest day of buds and blossoms of the whole year. Well, this morning I did not notice the beauty of springtime, because, again, WE HAD SNOW TODAY!! But here are a few pictures of flowers in the past. And they will be in our future too. Have hope.
Grace comes from Latin, meaning ‘pleasing’ or ‘grateful.’
When are you in a state of grace?
Find grace in nature:
that fox there darting across the field.
belongs in a dance.
But also in the way you make your coffee,
set the table,
wipe the counter,
turn the page of the book you’re reading as you snuggle in
before you fall asleep.
Grace is found in dreams.
Grace is found in bedtime prayers.
And before we eat,
children with their heads bowed
mouthing words, an incantation of gratitude,
in remembrance of the hands that grew and picked and prepared
the food we eat.
While there are many things that I miss about life and school
BC (Before Covid)
Oddly, I miss the ruckus of the dining hall
and the hastily said grace,
the pause before the pandemonium of
eating, laughing, arguing.
You still have grace, I remind myself.
There are still dolphins, butterflies,
foxes that dart.
There is still the coffee, the table,
the countertop to wipe.
There are still rote prayers of gratitude
for the hands who grew, picked, prepared our food.
And I am visited by grace as I use my hands to cook,
to clean, to pray,
To turn the page as I snuggle in.
Before the dreams dart like foxes into the night
Good afternoon from beautiful and sunny Westport, NY. On my morning walk with Charlie, I had a good (and brief) cry because I miss my NYC life. But I am not alone. We’re all missing some semblance of familiarity and normalcy in our current landscape. There are major and minor losses and shifts in our ways of relating to home — with each other and with the world. Knowing that I am not alone comforts me. I am full of gratitude for health and family.
I joined my beloved #spiritchat on Sunday morning. Sign in on twitter at 9 am (eastern time), type the hashtag #spiritchat and witness and join some amazing conversations for an hour. What follows are some of my remarks, observations, and tweets from yesterday morning’s session on ‘Spiritual Liberation.’ Every week, there’s a new theme.
Spiritual liberation sounds like women’s liberation and I am all for that. I love so many things about liberation. Been thinking about the theatre of the oppressed. I have a fleeting memory of meeting some adherents to this improv group in Rio de Janeiro back in ’93, I think. I was leading a small contingent of United Methodist Women leaders to an international conference. And the improvisation group whom I met in my hotel lobby was performing in the City Hall Center the next day. They invited me out for drinks that night. And as an improv performer and theater lover, Oh, I wanted to go. But I hesitated. I did not want to leave my colleagues and that day my camera had been stolen off of my person. I felt fearful. I didn’t leave the hotel that night. I have always regretted my inclination to play it safe.
What are your constraints to liberation? The spatial distancing is getting old. I am trying to see it as an enforced sanctuary. Like Jesus’s 40 days in the Judaean wilderness. What lessons can we take from monks? sequestered nuns? folks on house arrest? How do we fricken’ do this much longer? Like many people, I am an extrovert; I miss the verbal jostling, joking with my colleagues and neighbors.
What is required for spiritual liberation? What is required for this moment in time? Stillness seems a prerequisite and pregnant waiting. Yes and I’m committed to listening to and following the health directives of people way smarter than me.
As for needing to ‘make do,’ yesterday we went on our weekly store run. We were so excited to be out and about — we bought the fixings for a cake but forgot the toilet paper. Note to self: Remember the essentials. Let them eat cake — for reals.
Someone mentioned ‘synchronicity’ on my twitter stream. I remembered being in college, in this course ‘Body, Mind, Soul,’ and I loved discovering Jung’s words about meaningful coincidences. Signs, symbols, myths.
And how does spiritual liberation relate to the community?
‘“If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together,” Lilla Watson said. I find liberation in the mutuality of helping and working together.
And I’m keen to find the humor in our present moment. Where is the silliness in life? The other day we ordered from Ledge Hill, a local microbrewery, a beer called Compassion. The kids tried a sip. One wrinkled her nose. “Compassion is bitter,” I said. We laughed.
Feeling rooted in a particular place, I find comfort. A local artist here in the Adirondacks left seashells around town. I’m always seeing them as I walk the dog. It feels like such a gift — to come upon a seashell in the countryside. Like life is one big Easter Egg hunt.
Here are some pictures of the seashells in town.