What Do You Hear?

I missed last week, sorry. I had a post started and just got really sad. It contained thoughts on the current state of being here in this country and it was hurting my heart. This blogging life is interesting in that lessons often freely come forward. Like today. I had no idea what I was going to write about and I felt bad for two reasons. 1) I didn’t have an idea, and 2) the creative spark seemed to be flat and that upset me.

However, the Universe spoke to me when I was quiet and listening to music by Dev Premal and Miten.  (In the Light of Love)  (Be The Light) And it is Sunday—-as the child of a minister I have ingrained religious memories, even though I do not go to church.

The filling of my spiritual well comes from other more personal sources these days. So, on the one hand I do not physically go to church, on the other hand, I carry many of the teachings with me all the time. If I remain open in heart I am given insights that speak to me, and have meaning.

Today I was “given” this quote from Alice Walker:

“In each of us there is a little voice
that knows exactly which way to go.”

I believe if we are internally quiet we are able to hear the Higher Source. Sometimes I receive guidance in dreams, sometimes from Nature, sometimes from synchronicity. (Synchronicity)

So, this being Sunday and all, today’s synchronistic pairing of Alice Walker and The Bible gave me this:

“For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink,
I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me,
I was sick and you healed me, I was in prison and you came to me……
Truly I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.” 
Matthew 25: 35-40

You may infer that these are related to the current happenings and tone in this country. And it eats me up inside.

I work with preschoolers. At the time of 9-11 the school I worked at was near the airport. I spent the day comforting young children who ran to me in fear every time a plane came in for a landing. I was heart broken. Their fear of planes was all consuming. They were not able to separate things out. All they knew was fear and they were now living in fear.

Fear has many faces. Some we need to look right in the eye. Some fears are less substantial. How do we know which is which? As Alice Walker said: there is a little voice inside of us. If we are able to listen free from the tumult of time and fear of “others” and circumstance, we will discover which way to go.

If we take to heart the words from Matthew, we are reminded what matters most to our spiritual side.

If……..our hearts are open.

So, enough of this for today. Feel free to share your thoughts and ideas.

Enjoy this early summer Sunday. Here the birds are singing and the flowers are blooming. May we all find a quiet place to rest awhile and listen to the spirit voices that speak to us.

 


 

 

Advertisements

Resting By Still Waters

There is still a great deal of processing going on for me. I am still battling demons who repeatedly whisper to me that if I was “stronger”, “more determined” I would recover more quickly. I put up a resistance to these thoughts mostly before sleep or as I awake in the morning. You know, the quieter time of the day when the world is quiet and I am nestled in warmth and comfort.

A few days ago as I was safe in this space of quiet and comfort I remembered the image of still waters reflecting back the treasures and beauty of Nature on the shores that contained them. Various Buddhist and other meditative narratives speak of the meditative mind being like still waters rippling in concentric circles as thoughts are tossed disruptively out like throwing stones into the calm waters. I realized that is what my mind is like these days….on occasion it is still and reflective, while other days it is full of the ripples and disruption of thoughts of feeling impatient, harboring doubt and regrets. Not unlike waters in Nature, my mind is not easily stilled or calmed. One small stone or another always seems to be thrown in from somewhere behind or within me. Whatever reflective, peaceful state I may be in, the waters and mirrored images are sometimes disrupted and ripples begin to distort the reflection.

(photographs by me, Ithaca NY)

Granted, my figurative tossing of stones into the calm waters of my thoughts is my decision, and just like in Nature, there is no true prevention for something causing ripples in the waters or in my thoughts and emotional well being. My reactions to words, events, experiences, other people all create ripples. I then must take  deep centering breath and just like stopping along the shore of a lake to watch the ripples slowly melting back into still waters, I wait for my own thoughts to settle again. If I pause long enough I understand that things are not always tossed into the waters. There are times when the mirrored calmness remains as such, void of disruptions. It is here where I am nurtured and embraced, free of the distortions of the ripples, wrapped in a soft blanket of clarity and focus. This is where I can see the calm waters of my heart and soul. These are the shores where I pause to look out over the waters of my life and find peaceful spaces to observe what is reflected.

Times when the waters are particularly kinetic, I find myself going back to the Metta prayer:

prflg_gr_metta

These words line the path back to the shores where calm waters softly kiss the land. My own thoughts, fears, desires are gently redirected to less turbulent places. My life as reflected back to me by these calm waters is in focus and framed by the eternal clarity and beingness of “just this moment”.

 

Of Being In The World

“We have places of fear inside of us, but we have other places as well—places with names like trust and hope and faith. We can choose to lead from one of those places, to stand on ground that is not riddled with the fault lines of fear, to move toward others from a place of promise instead of anxiety. As we stand in one of those places, fear may remain close at hand and our spirits may still tremble. But now we stand on ground that will support us, ground from which we can lead others toward a more trustworthy, more hopeful, more faithful way of being in the world.”  ~~Parker Palmer

Horton Bay heron

drawing by me, Kathryn Howlett. Heron in Horton Bay, MI.

We don’t have to “BE” our fears.  You may be  familiar with ” be not afraid” . There are two dozen examples in the Bible.  It doesn’t tell us not to fear. It means we don’t have to “BE” our fears.

‘Fear’ feels like my middle name these days. It follows and haunts me. I feel as if my body and brain have betrayed me with this aneurysm. Some days I feel as if my fears weigh heavily on me and I am sinking. I don’t know how to toss the weight overboard. Sometimes it feels like I am holding on to a bouquet of helium/fear filled balloons and am being swept away and carried here and there with no control. To contemplate letting go of the fear only presents as another fear, falling and crash landing.  So, how do I get across the fault line of fear and to move instead to firmer ground of trust, hope and faith?
I look for places and time in the day where I can stand on steady ground and regain my balance and perspective. From these vantage points I can look out at the world and life around me with hope and trust.
To be aware of these places and times, I have to pause now and then to create a place of non movement and silence or near silence in order to be aware of them and to allow them to come to the forefront of my thoughts. In so doing I move gently towards a place of promise, away from fear.
“Sometimes the most important thing in a whole day 
is the rest we take between two deep breaths.”
Etty Hillesum
Sometimes I close my eyes and listen to music, or just close my eyes in silence. Sometimes I draw. Sometimes I read, but often that makes me think even more!! Focusing on my breath helps. Whatever aid I enlist has to come from a birthing point of awareness. I have to be mindful to create these spaces because they do not always give birth to themselves!!
These spaces of rest and quiet between my breaths nurture something deep inside of me. They set in motion self care and healing .
Within this space come the words and thoughts “Allow this to be a learning experience that you will grow from.” I don’t have to live from the place of, or to be “fear”.
I have to do three things. One, be mindful of the pauses and allow them to bring me a sense of peace and grounding. Two, to rest in those pauses. Three to look around and reach out to those who are near.
There are some days, or moments in the day when I forget and get wobbly and off balance. In those moments I have to call upon “trust” and reach or call out to those near by to steady me or maybe even catch me. It is okay for me to do that. Not only don’t I have to be perfectly balanced all the time, I need to give up the thought of possibly even being balanced all the time.
I am coming to understand that while I may not be able to be even keeled all the time, there is a centering that happens through the awareness itself. When I breathe deeply and regain my balance, there comes an easy awareness of the pause between breaths and I can rest for a time in the presence and grace of that pause. And healing comes forward wrapped in a gentle blanket of quiet, trust, hope and faith. And when I am wrapped in that blanket the whirling of my thoughts slow down, and I am able to “be” in a space of less worry and fear. A place of balance and awareness where allowing just being to be enough.
Awareness allows me to have days that do contain moments of the healing pauses. The softer hours of sunset and sunrise seem to be the more fertile times for the pausing to arise. The slowing breaths, the quieting of the mostly ever present endless commentary of dreams, thoughts and worries, opens the door and allows for the stepping out into quieter, less kinetic places in my mind. And here, not unlike being out in Nature on a mountain top or standing next to the lullaby of ocean waves greeting the sandy beaches, I find myself in the places Parker Palmer refers to : places with names like trust and hope and faith.
Signing off now to go visit one of those places for awhile. Going to reflect on the way I want to choose to “Be” in the world as I recover and recoup.
A previous post: The Pause Between Breaths

A Place of Love

Image may contain: text

I currently have a lot of time to explore new authors and books, music and poetry, recipes and art. In exploring a topic for this blog I came across a TED TALK by Valerie Kaur, link here: Revolutionary Love . Her words brought me hope, some tears, excitement and courage. This, I thought to myself, THIS is what I want to write about this week.

The quote above from Parker Palmer popped up next and voila! I had a solid theme for a blog post.

The fundamental premise is to look around and ask yourself “Who have we not yet tried to love?” What are each person’s individual stories that we need to hear because those the are stories can help us see there is no stranger among anyone we meet.  

One of the greatest gifts I have been offered/given in my life has been the opportunity to travel and even live in places all over the world. Some of the time I traveled with friends, my father, my husband, and most recently my children. But some of the time I traveled alone. Taken out of the comfort zone of what I was familiar with I found myself experiencing some worry and anxiety. Some of this arrived at my door step even before I began the adventure. What would happen if….? How do I…….? Is there…..? Who will……..? Questions based on uncertainty and a little bit of fear and worry. I was entering a realm of the unfamiliar, even the unknown. I would be my own source of comfort, courage and ingenuity. I would be in places and situations where I did not speak the language that might have been required for me to ask for help or direction. Off I went! First I traveled to India and Nepal. My father, an Episcopal minister had been asked to be part of the team traveling with a group of college students. He was able to make arrangements for me to go with him. After that we were off to Belgium for The Second World Conference on Religion and Peace. Before going to Belgium we stopped in Denmark where I stayed with a Danish family for almost a week. I no longer remember what my father was up to! With in this same trip I went to Iceland, Norway, Switzerland, France and Germany with my father.

Years later I traveled with my dear friend AnaLisa to attend a 6 week college session in England, and then I traveled to Corfu, Greece before meeting her again in Athens where we made arrangements to live in Iraklion, Crete. Years later, married, I found myself traveling to Japan with another friend and her young son. Eventually my husband would come and join me and we would remain in Kyoto for another 6 months. In each and every place there were people who reached out with their heart and hand when there was no shared spoken language. Yet there was love, care, respect, help and trust.

It’s true, as Parker Palmer writes, we all have places of fear. Right next door are places of hope, trust and faith. They are just a step away from the place of fear, yet the first step to leaving fear behind sometimes seems like such a huge, wide one and we falter and pause, wondering if we can get across the chasm. if we would but only take a moment to look up instead of towards our feet, chances are we would find another on the other side reaching out to lend a hand. We are guided and supported by probably hundred of people through out our lives. Those who will reach out to us offering the very best of our humanness. If by some chance we still stumble or fall they are still there to pick us up and dust us off.

As I have been on this journey of healing and recovery I have stood at the edge of that chasm. Frozen by the unknown and fear. It has been a mind game of sorts, and a tug of war with my sense of pride as controlled by ego. Voices in my head yell “You shouldn’t need the help and support of others. Take care of yourself for heaven’s sake.” The dreaded “shouldn’t s”. BUT, if as Parker says I am able to instead, begin from a place of promise, a place of hopefulness, I will head in a direction not so scary and uncertain. And maybe, I will not travel alone. Perhaps now that the foundation is more stable perhaps others will follow me towards a more trustworthy, more hopeful, more faithful way of being in the world.

I can remain stuck in the quagmire of self pity, uncertainty, cynical thoughts and feel all the accompanying feelings and emotions which may only add proof that I am in fact stuck here forever. Or I can gather myself up and step just next door to faith, hope and trust. From this place stepping forward is not so intimidating, so impossible looking.

Sitting here, having walked through a door I never even saw (the aneurysm) and finding myself frozen in disbelief and fear, I am humbled. Humbled by what I now understand is a kind of strength, promise and hopefulness. It comes from deep inside of me, upheld by the foundation built from the love of others. There is no weakness or shame in reaching out to others. It may just be that they are in fact the bridge that connects us, me, to a more trustworthy , more hopeful, more faithful way of being in the world. A place where we heal, grow, love, share, offer, receive, nurture, trust and discover and gain the strength to reach out to others in return.

I put a lot of time into thinking about all this because it is my path to healing and regaining pieces of my life. I am not blind to the goings on of our world. There is much pain and suffering. There is divisiveness and mistrust, anger and fear. When I am quiet in my heart I understand some of this mistrust, anger and fear because, for a moment I am able to put myself in the proverbial shoes of the “Other”.

I am in a place where I feel out of control of the situation, at the mercy of things I cannot control, scared and worried, unsure and uncertain of the future, and sad. When I can understand the situations others are in that may cause them the same feelings and reactions, I am able to feel connected to them, as if I am standing next to them rather than against them. It is possible we may look at each other in recognition of this and reach out towards each other, helping one another.

It’s been difficult to see the silver lining of the past six months, but it is there. It is the cloak of hope and love. Both hold a guiding lantern up to the perceived darkness of not knowing and soften the fear, the uncertainty as they guide us to our place in the world were the light shines on trustworthiness, hopefulness and faith. And it is in this place, understanding there are no strangers, we rest in the arms of others, where we may find comfort, pause, healing and growth. We will discover the one we have not yet tried to love is not so different from us. We need only to care enough to listen to their story with an open heart and then reach out to them with compassion and empathy.

So, this Sunday I contemplate my own way of Being in this world. What guides me and sustains me?

The Opposite Of What We Want

I’ve been out of the hospital and home now for a little over two months and I really want to be able to say that things are going well, but honestly I have to work on making myself believe this on a daily basis. This is not intended to be a pity party, just a snapshot of what my recovery is like. Not surprisingly, it is hard work physically, mentally and emotionally. And while there has been progress and improvement, each day is filled with therapists, doctors, exercises, tiredness, frustration, aches and pains and way too many medications. While I do improve and get stronger, I still have a feeling of “stuck-ness.” I can’t drive. I’m not allowed to cook alone. Can read but do not remember what I just read when I turn the page, can draw and, if someone is around, play board games.

I have lost a certain kind of freedom and I miss it. I feel as if my body has failed me, or if that is too strong, at a minimum it has left me feeling let down and disappointed.

As I search for some comfort and reassurance to cradle me while I try to patiently regain my perceived “being-ness” and independence, I grab on tightly to the love of my family and friends and sometimes the sentences and thoughts in the books I try to read. Reading is now a slow, uncomfortable process, but I read and search for threads of hope and healing and do find comfort on occasion in the words and thoughts of others.

Today this jumped off the page and into my ruminating thought process: ” The wisdom that took longer for me to acquire, through direct experience rather than being told so by someone else, was never to assume that trust always lines up with desire. The offerings of the holy are often the opposite of what we want. They don’t sort for our willingness to receive them. They’re abundantly bestowed, like them or not.” (Magic in Plain Sight by Patricia Heavren.)

I interpreted this to mean is this: I was being “offered” something ‘holy’. Within that however, is the message that the universe is not concerned with what I might want or desire (health, strength, trust). There is no concern as to whether I would like to have an aneurysm. Rather, it was “bestowed” upon me with no concern for my thoughts. The “Holy” saw things differently than I did and had determined I needed to be presented with something I had to work on unwrapping patiently in order to figure out what it was.

“On a fundamental level, everyone plays with the swing of seeming opposites. Advancing and returning comprise an ageless dance with infinite expressions. Everything emanates out and eventually returns home again. It’s the breath and essence of all life, an ever-flowing, sacred change of direction by the One.” (Magic In Plain Sight) So, was I being called to move towards some ‘sacred’ change of direction or something else? Geeze…..this is a lot to process, to ponder. Why on Earth would this be so? All of this would seemingly be the opposite of what I wanted in my life!

There was no place for me to go but inwards.  The only path before me was to try to see, in the quiet spaces of my heart and mind, my true Being. To see what was there, even if it appeared to be hiding or a little bit out of focus. As I kept reading, Patricia revealed a piece of the puzzle, the magic and value of ordinary things: “….one of the early clues that vast intelligence and enormous heart are ever-present in ordinary things, a kind of living wisdom that can take a lifetime to recognize and appreciate, if ever.”

‘Living wisdom’ concerning ‘ordinary things’. I am in no way suggesting that an aneurysm is an ordinary thing. It is scary and serious and dangerous. Perhaps what is ‘ordinary’ for me in this bumpy, restless, time of my life is understanding that my body and spirit are held together by a desire to live. Held together by the threads of unfailing love that cradles and comforts me. Was/is this a call for a sacred change? For me? For my loved ones, my friends and family? What was the living wisdom I was experiencing? How was I to understand what this was and turn it from something I resented to something I could appreciate and value?

There have been teasingly small glimmers of understanding, but like the child blowing on the fluffy seeds of a dandelion flower, scattering them into the air, these glimmers just danced away like sun sparkles on water and the scattered dandelion seeds. Pretty and awe inspiring, but gone quickly. Never to be regained or held on to. Ever fleeting and temporary.

So now I am trying to give positive meaning to something scary. Why? Because I have “lost” so much time. I have missed making beautiful memories and instead have frightening memories and emotions. I am not able to just let all this “be”. I have to find a way to make sense out of some thing that is medically cold and straight forward, and shift it towards some thing that has value and purpose. Otherwise these months will remain “just” lost time. Ultimately the outcome will be determined by the path I take and the destination I choose to pursue. Of course things will appear that I haven’t foreseen or planned for, like an aneurysm, but what else can I do? Stop? Stand where I am, not moving? No thanks. I’ve successfully climbed too many personal mountains to give up or doubt I can get through this.

In quieter moments when the view is not clouded with sorrow and worry, I do see a open path towards healing and growth. Along this path are turn outs where I can pause and refuel and take time to be aware of the “living wisdom” of “ordinary things.” As I gaze  ahead I sometimes feel I am walking among those “ordinary things” and they come into view and focus. The sacredness of the “living wisdom” is always before me with its hand held out and open. Illuminated in the glow and softness of hope and trust. For me, hope is soft because it has to be pliant and pliable, not hard and anchored. Ordinary and sacred might not seem like they go together, but really they do.

As I sit here writing there is a cat in front of me making those little cat cooing sounds that I interpret as sighs of contentment. The snow is dripping off the roof and has become the background music for the dance of the birds that flutter and vie for positions at the feeders. These are ordinary things during the days here on Turkey Hill Rd., and to me they are sacred events. This is how I see life in the days I am living. This is what “living wisdom” is for me…..taking the leap and creating a space and the time to see sacredness in the ordinary. And my path now is to walk this path of recovery and maneuver around the bumpy parts of discomfort and frustration, fear and loss, seeing those things as part of the sacredness. The sacredness that highlights the path so that I can see it more clearly and step with more confidence and determination. A sacredness that gives space for understanding some things may appear to be the opposite of what I believe I want/need.

highbanks1mh

I may discover as I meander this path that the end ebbs and flows in front of me. First near and then further away. Maybe there is an end to the path, maybe not. Where would the “end” be? Maybe I’ll just come to a fork in the path and just continue to meander along in a different direction. This continuation might just be an invitation to see more expressions of the sacredness in the ordinary, and not just be a longer way that delays the arrival to somewhere I think I need or want to be. Just allowing the paths/journey to be the experience. The trail signs with arrows along the way direct me to “Be here now”.

I have not always enjoyed this part of the journey. There has been confusion, pain, loss and resentment. I lay my head on the pillow at night and silently lament “why is this happening?” I hear several  answers. “The medical reason is….blah, blah, blah” That reason offers no comfort. Another response is fierce love from family and friends that almost yanks me awake while wrapping me a tenderness and certainty that has no room for faltering or failing. The other response is softer and highlights the question to Mary Oliver’s offering: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Within that question is also the answer.
Mary Oliver links

So here I sit fingers tapping the keys, gazing out the window upon the grayness of the season. I am here. This moment is sacred to me. And I will continue to try to find the ways to honor the sacredness, understanding that I am being offered many keys to many doors. It is no concern where the doors lead but rather if I can discover which key opens which door. It is about walking through one ‘ordinary’ door after another with eyes wide open, curiosity pulsing through me, anticipating a meeting with sacredness.

So many of you reading this are part of this sacredness. With you by my side and in my life,you are the sacredness in my life. Your friendship and love illuminate my days allowing me see the sacredness in the ordinary, making my life and life experiences extraordinary. My family, husband, children, siblings, in laws, nieces and nephews, friends, all tether me to what matters, to what is sacred in this life. Your love and kindness nourishes me, sustains me, heals me.

Now I’ll close and move on to my physical therapy exercises and try to give space to allowing them to be the keys that just might open another door to something extraordinary. You never know!

Thank you for being the sacred parts of my ordinary life.

“Becoming The Sanctuary We Seek”

field

I’ve been “away” for awhile. I had a brain aneurysm that ruptured and the result was hospitalization, being kept in a sleep state, surgery, therapies and the still happening recovery. It has been a long and challenging time. As I learn more about all the events and concerns, I feel so deeply for my family and friends and can only imagine the worry and fears they must have endured. All the while lifting me up with their love, presence and care.

I have been home now for several weeks and sit here looking at the material remains of Christmas morning. Christmas morning, as soon as my eyes opened my heart called out “I am here! I get another Christmas with the loves of my life!” I paused a little bit letting that sink in….emotions flooded me. Overwhelming me.

I sat for awhile in the quiet of the early morning, Christmas tree lights the only lights on, glowing softly. A cold, just turning to light, morning. I sat there, looking around, allowing everything to seep into my heart and memory: the cold, the quiet, the lights of the tree, the purring of the cats, the birds fluttering at the feeders, the fire slowly warming the room, my heart beat. I sat there blanketed gratefully in awe of the healing powers of the body, and in the love that carried me through a very difficult event.

Soft sounds of awakening began in other parts of the house. My husband and children were rustling and sleepy faces peered around corners and at the top and bottom of stairs. My heart was so full. This could have been a very different story. I caught myself holding my breath at the thought of a different scenario.

As I have been healing I have been reading, maybe even searching for some small morsel of coming to terms with each new day. Days that are filled with therapists, canes and walkers, discomfort, pain, medication, worry, uncertainty, doctors and tests. I think I was looking for answers. Answers to the question “Why me? Why now?” and “When will I be healed and whole again?”. There are also the very strong, very emotional thoughts of “I hate this.” The therapies were and continue to be very challenging and sometimes a little painful. I mourned so deeply all the things that were now either impossible for me to do, or very difficult to do. There was no other option: this was the path I was to travel now. Thankfully I was not traveling alone. Husband, children, co-workers, siblings, friends all walked next to me, protecting, guiding, literally physically holding me up and caring for me. While they held my hand and provided support for my wobbling steps, this journey was physically mine alone and it was an alien experience for me. This was new territory. I was feeling so dependent on others for just about everything. Gratitude and humility, even fear,washed over me.

I would sit during the day and think. Think about the past, and take in the present moment and wonder about the future. There were gaping holes in my memory of the past days/weeks and events. Trying to be present in moments that were full of frustration and sorrow, yet feeling them being softened a little by perseverance and the love from others. The future was still very unknown, but it was colored softly with hope in that my left side, which had not been working as a result of the rupture had regained strength and was slowly coming back to working.

And always, the questions and wonderings. Trying to find a way, any way, to make sense of all this. It was hard to offer up “It is what it is.” I needed something more. I so desperately wanted there to be just one person who could scoop me up and make everything okay again. I wanted desperately to just wake up from a bad dream.

img-5813.jpg

Early days of my hospital stay.

And when I awoke, there I sat, much like today, watching birds at the feeders, rubbing my hand over the bulge on my head where a drain is keeping my brain healthy and safe. The care and support of others, family, doctors, nurses and therapists provide the only road to getting “better”, “Healing”. I am not asleep, there is no bad dream. Still, there is a chasm I continue to almost fall into. This is hard work and the results are not fast enough for me. I have no memory of much of my hospital and rehab stays, so I can’t even compare where I am today physically and mentally, to where I was a few short months ago. There are literally months that have passed that I have no recollection of. No record in my memory of those days and months ever even happening. Poof. Gone.

Yet, here I am. I obviously lived through the days and months I don’t remember.

I was reading a passage by Jack Kornfield, and there was this sentence about one way to approach life and the circumstances and experiences. He says we must find a way for “Becoming the sanctuary we seek.” I read it and I felt a little like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. “There is no place like home, there is no place like home.” I needed to find a way to come home to myself and discover that “I” am the very sanctuary I seek at this time. I am it. Even in my “brokenness” I am what I seek and need. However, I feel like I need a clearer view of the road ahead, and I need to allow time for rest stops to replenish myself.

So, Jack offers these: safe guard a day of rest, create and protect daily time for meditation and prayer, have regular periods of silence, move towards simplicity in life, go out in Nature, go on retreats, ration the news, on occasion place my hand over my heart and take deep breaths. One of my therapists listened intently as I spoke of feeling something akin to anger at how tired I was all the time. He smiled gently and said, “Just listen to your body. It knows what it needs. If you’re tired, sleep. Healing comes through sleep.” Instead of labeling tiredness as a lapse or weakness, I need to find a way to acknowledge this real need for sleep as a means of care-taking the sanctuary that is “me”. And of remembering our heart’s task is here on Earth. Here. Now.

Jack was right. I knew in my heart I was on a challenging path of realization, allowing and honoring the becoming of and being the very sanctuary I was seeking.

There was a different kind of therapy and work that I needed to do. I had to listen to, talk with, and respect that soft voice inside that expresses what “I” needs when “I” am not always aware of it “myself”. So, I work at this. I make a greater effort to express thanks and gratitude towards those who steadfastly uphold me. Let me be clear, without their support I would stumble and fall. I savor the moments of silence I make time to allow and place my hand over my heart and breath deeply, aware of the rise and fall of my chest and the thump-thumping of my heart. Here I find some comfort and peace. I find a place where I can pause and just bask in the light of healing, promise, possibility and gratitude.

At night as I settle under the warm blankets on my bed I talk quietly to myself going over the day. I recall those moments of comfort and peace, giving energy to those moments so I can gently place the more challenging moments and frustrated feelings just to the side as if to say, “I know you’re there, but right now I need for you to just be over here. I am basking in the healing energy of hope and promise, gratitude, being present, love, receiving, and patience. And these are things that will hold me up and carry me forward.”.

I am the very sanctuary I seek. It is time to care-take this sanctuary.

I am stronger than I think. There are numerous people standing with me as support and offering encouragement. They are the pillars of my place of sanctuary. Without them I would fall, my sanctuary would crumble.

ireland bridge

Me just a few short weeks before, in Northern Ireland.

Thank you for reading this. Peace and love to you all.

 

 

 

Starfish

“Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.”
~Anne Lamott

Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.

One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.

As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.

He came closer still and called out “Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?”

The young man paused, looked up, and replied “Throwing starfish into the ocean.”

“I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?” asked the somewhat startled wise man.

To this, the young man replied, “The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them in, they’ll die.”

Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, “But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can’t possibly make a difference!”

At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said,
“It made a difference for that one.”
― Loren Eiseley

It’s a big wide world with lots going on. Billions of people all over this pale blue dot wake up to a life of ease or suffering, joy or sorrow. There’s a million things “right” in the world. And a million things “wrong”.

Despair and hope dwell and linger in everyone’s life. Some days we try to close the door against despair. Other days we open the door to hope.

In this story the wise man walking along the beach knows what a huge act of hope and faith he is undertaking tossing star fish, one at a time, back into the ocean in the hopes of offering each one a chance at life. Something inside of him was incredibly strong, calling on him, to act for the benefit of one starfish each time.

 “It made a difference for that one.”

Isn’t that all any of us can do at any one time? Lift each other up one by one. To reach out again and again and to just try our best.

I cannot, even in my dreams, believe I can make much difference in this world. But I do know when I go to work and hug a child, it matters. I know when my husband and I hold each other in joy or sorrow, it matters. I know that my children knowing they have a home to “come home” to matters. I know that when I look someone in the eye and call them on a racist or misogynist comment or joke, that it matters. My taking action, one action at a time, matters.

And I know, like the man on the beach, that each star fish is worth the effort and hope just like I know each person is worth, and deserving of, the same kind of effort and hope.

One by one, even against the odds. It is about what we are called to do. This showing up, this reaching out to lift others up, this hope that is born in the light of love, and hope, and patience that glows in each one of us.

Again, from Loren Eisley:

Looking so, across the centuries and the millennia, toward the animal men of the past, one can see a faint light, like a patch of sunlight moving over the dark shadows on a forest floor. It shifts and widens, it winks out, it comes again, but it persists. It is the human spirit, the human soul, however transient, however faulty men may claim it to be. In its coming man had no part. It merely came, that curious light, and man, the animal, sought to be something that no animal had been before. Cruel he might be, vengeful he might be, but there had entered into his nature a curious wistful gentleness and courage. It seemed to have little to do with survival, for such men died over and over. They did not value life compared to what they saw in themselves — that strange inner light which has come from no man knows where, and which was not made by us. It has followed us all the way from the age of ice, from the dark borders of the ancient forest into which our footprints vanish… Man may grow until he towers to the skies, but without this light he is nothing, and his place is nothing. Even as we try to deny the light, we know that it has made us, and what we are without it remains meaningless.

Let that Light that is in you guide you. Show up. Bend down and toss the starfish back into the ocean in an act of love and kindness. Simply because for that one star fish it made a difference.

merton

Like those star fish the wise man believed worthy, so is each human being.

*Readings This Week

*NEW!! Little Works in Progress