*a black & white calla lily "impromptu postcard" from my "lady friends in Maine"
*a fun "4 things about me" e-mail exchange with my soulsister s., my oldest friend (e.g., 4 jobs i have had in my life; 4 movies i would watch over and over; 4 places i've lived; 4 favorite foods); perhaps i will share these bits in another post...
*planning a late june/early july beach reunion with peeps who are family; celebrating nearly 11 years of livin' & knowin' & lovin' one another!
*the dear diary stories, marta writes
*a cup of heaven rooibos tea in my favorite mug, which by the way was found on the sale table at one of my favorite shops
*writing
*The Ganesh Mantra: Om Gam Ganapataye Namah; a mantra known to remove obstacles, inner and outer, along the path. thank you, beautiful t., for sharing this mantra at the perfect/divine time!
*the library
*avocados & grape tomatoes
*chocolate chip + walnut cookie dough
*therapy
*the color yellow; the color of sunshine and ripe bananas
*these words from The Persistence of Yellow by Monique Duval, #317: "Everything melted, rained, unraveled, became, grew wings, attempted flight, flopped, tried again, succeeded. Just another day."
*these words from Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert: "I remember her taking me by the shoulders and looking me in the eye with a calm smile and saying simply, 'Tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth'" (p. 94).
*hope
*imagining
*creating
*grace before meals
*learning & practicing living the poem, "The Journey", by Mary Oliver: "One day you finally knew/what you had to do, and began,/though the voices around you/kept shouting/their bad advice-/though the whole house/began to tremble/and you felt the old tug/at your ankles./'Mend my life!'/each voice cried./But you didn't stop./You knew what you had to do,/though the wind pried/with its stiff fingers/at the very foundations,/though their melancholy/was terrible./It was already late/enough, and a wild night,/and the road full of fallen/branches and stones./But little by little,/as you left their voices behind,/the stars began to burn/through the sheets of clouds,/and there was a new voice/which you slowly/recognized as your own,/that kept you company/as you strode deeper and deeper/into the world,/determined to do/the only thing you could do-/determined to save/the only life you could save."
what are you treasuring?
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
dialogue
the other night i asked: "what is bella's message for me right now?"
the card responded: "Play and laughter are the greatest healers."
then i asked: "what do i need to know right now?"
one card said: "Peace comes to you if you stop craving..."
another card said: "Everything in nature has its special healing powers. Discover your own..."
[card responses from The Wisdom of Elves and Fairies cards by Gayan Sylvie Winter]
the card responded: "Play and laughter are the greatest healers."
then i asked: "what do i need to know right now?"
one card said: "Peace comes to you if you stop craving..."
another card said: "Everything in nature has its special healing powers. Discover your own..."
[card responses from The Wisdom of Elves and Fairies cards by Gayan Sylvie Winter]
Friday, April 25, 2008
exactly
from Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert:
"I look at the Augusteum, and I think that perhaps my life has not actually been so chaotic, after all. It is merely this world that is chaotic, bringing changes to us all that nobody could have anticipated. The Augusteum warns me not to get attached to any obsolete ideas about who I am, what I represent, whom I belong to, or what function I may once have intended to serve. Yesterday I might have been a glorious monument to somebody, true enough--but tomorrow I could be a fireworks depository. Even in the Eternal City, says the silent Augusteum, one must always be prepared for riotous and endless waves of transformation" (p. 75).
"I look at the Augusteum, and I think that perhaps my life has not actually been so chaotic, after all. It is merely this world that is chaotic, bringing changes to us all that nobody could have anticipated. The Augusteum warns me not to get attached to any obsolete ideas about who I am, what I represent, whom I belong to, or what function I may once have intended to serve. Yesterday I might have been a glorious monument to somebody, true enough--but tomorrow I could be a fireworks depository. Even in the Eternal City, says the silent Augusteum, one must always be prepared for riotous and endless waves of transformation" (p. 75).
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
the three b's
the message attached to this morning's yogi tea bag:
"I am beautiful.
I am bountiful.
I am blissful."
you are beautiful.
you are bountiful.
you are blissful.
"I am beautiful.
I am bountiful.
I am blissful."
you are beautiful.
you are bountiful.
you are blissful.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
life savers
when i was in first grade my teacher, sister marie, gave all of her students little rolls of life savers every friday. even after she went to the hospital towards the end of my first grade year for all that time; every friday we were given little rolls of life savers.
sister marie died the summer after i finished first grade. i remember my mother receiving the phone call. i remember hearing the word "died" and understanding it and not understanding it. i think death is like this. i understood it as something big and powerful and incomprehensible then. i still do.
these days as i continue to navigate death, bella's death. as i feel layer upon layer upon seemingly endless layer of loss, sad, broken-hearted. as i feel outraged, ferociously outraged. i'm thinking about these life savers:
*spring (as i said to l. on the phone yesterday evening, "spring is saving my ass")
*music (two of my faves: mixes made by lovely babes c. and s.)
*the physical presence of beloved beings (a weekly tea date with t. in the park, our first outdoor tea date of the year; sitting across from k. at her kitchen table on friday late afternoon/early evening eating chocolate chip scones and veggie chicken nuggets with ketchup; and, surprise breakfast dates with b. & b.)
*writing
*my momma
*ice cream days (days when it's hot and ice cream sounds like perfection)
what are some of your life savers (or, what's saving your ass) these days?
sister marie died the summer after i finished first grade. i remember my mother receiving the phone call. i remember hearing the word "died" and understanding it and not understanding it. i think death is like this. i understood it as something big and powerful and incomprehensible then. i still do.
these days as i continue to navigate death, bella's death. as i feel layer upon layer upon seemingly endless layer of loss, sad, broken-hearted. as i feel outraged, ferociously outraged. i'm thinking about these life savers:
*spring (as i said to l. on the phone yesterday evening, "spring is saving my ass")
*music (two of my faves: mixes made by lovely babes c. and s.)
*the physical presence of beloved beings (a weekly tea date with t. in the park, our first outdoor tea date of the year; sitting across from k. at her kitchen table on friday late afternoon/early evening eating chocolate chip scones and veggie chicken nuggets with ketchup; and, surprise breakfast dates with b. & b.)
*writing
*my momma
*ice cream days (days when it's hot and ice cream sounds like perfection)
what are some of your life savers (or, what's saving your ass) these days?
the presence of presence
it is night
and
i am full
full of
restlessness
and
sorrow
and
spring
and
memory
remembering
g, my maternal grandmother
her birthday was on monday
one of our rituals was
walking to the acme (supermarket)
on a day just like today
and
choosing my chocolate cupcake tastycake treats
my lunch dessert with a tall glass of ice cold milk
she would sit with me
and
enjoy my enjoyment
remembering
what spring felt like then
what comfort felt like then
and
home
and
love
and
the absence of
fear
or
longing
or
dis-ease
just the simple pleasure
of
being
together
me
and
g
the presence
of
presence
sometimes i am full
of
such longing
to
go back
where
i wonder?
to
safety
certainty
birth
the beginning?
to
what i can only call
by the name
of
home
home
not as a physical structure
or
location
home
as a feeling
of
trust
comfort
warmth
light
wonder
possibility
the presence
of
presence
and
i am full
full of
restlessness
and
sorrow
and
spring
and
memory
remembering
g, my maternal grandmother
her birthday was on monday
one of our rituals was
walking to the acme (supermarket)
on a day just like today
and
choosing my chocolate cupcake tastycake treats
my lunch dessert with a tall glass of ice cold milk
she would sit with me
and
enjoy my enjoyment
remembering
what spring felt like then
what comfort felt like then
and
home
and
love
and
the absence of
fear
or
longing
or
dis-ease
just the simple pleasure
of
being
together
me
and
g
the presence
of
presence
sometimes i am full
of
such longing
to
go back
where
i wonder?
to
safety
certainty
birth
the beginning?
to
what i can only call
by the name
of
home
home
not as a physical structure
or
location
home
as a feeling
of
trust
comfort
warmth
light
wonder
possibility
the presence
of
presence
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Saturday, April 12, 2008
gesture
Gesture
I
put
my
arms
around
the
sun
and
kissed
her
forehead
gently
-by Zoe Peterssen from Whispers from Nature (part 2), Oxford, 1993
who or what are you wrapping your arms around today and kissing gently?
I
put
my
arms
around
the
sun
and
kissed
her
forehead
gently
-by Zoe Peterssen from Whispers from Nature (part 2), Oxford, 1993
who or what are you wrapping your arms around today and kissing gently?
Thursday, April 10, 2008
today's notes
some of the notes i took today:
*spring cleaning
*spending time here
*horses
*elephants
*sisters
*laundry
*how will i treat myself this weekend?
*blooming
*releasing
*emerging
*walking
*grounding
*stretching
*focusing
*planning
*discipline
*community
*connecting with, listening to & following my heart
*leap
*grateful for "a love note to you" posted here
*living out
*living out loud
*living in light
*living in my body
*living in my breath
*living in my beauty
*living in my heart
*yearning to create
*writing a petition to god (inspired by Elizabeth Gilbert; see pages 32-33, bead 9)
*living in joy
*living in connection
*living spring
*grateful for the open window in my office, beside my desk; the plant that sits in front of this open window; and, the view.
*what other windows am i opening this spring?
*simplicity
*"live to the point of tears." -camus
*wonder
*sprinkles of laughter
*yes
*cupcake power here
what notes are you taking today?
*spring cleaning
*spending time here
*horses
*elephants
*sisters
*laundry
*how will i treat myself this weekend?
*blooming
*releasing
*emerging
*walking
*grounding
*stretching
*focusing
*planning
*discipline
*community
*connecting with, listening to & following my heart
*leap
*grateful for "a love note to you" posted here
*living out
*living out loud
*living in light
*living in my body
*living in my breath
*living in my beauty
*living in my heart
*yearning to create
*writing a petition to god (inspired by Elizabeth Gilbert; see pages 32-33, bead 9)
*living in joy
*living in connection
*living spring
*grateful for the open window in my office, beside my desk; the plant that sits in front of this open window; and, the view.
*what other windows am i opening this spring?
*simplicity
*"live to the point of tears." -camus
*wonder
*sprinkles of laughter
*yes
*cupcake power here
what notes are you taking today?
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
fire & glass
after little sleep i woke to the sound of a fire alarm in a neighboring building at 5 a.m. then the sound of smashing of glass. a "minor" fire, the newspaper reported.
a fire alarm and smashing glass.
it was that kind of day.
gentler (nevertheless alarming) wake ups:
*on the way to my 9 a.m. appointment delight-fully noticing relatively fresh, colorful, chalked images on the sidewalk made by little hands.
*in response to my thought, "oh spring, where are you?", i looked up and saw a planter full of daffodils on this cloudy & a bit chilly (again) day. no, i do not live in seattle; although, we are beginning to think this in this city of ours.
*feeling bella grab my hand while walking down 20th street. she said, "i'm here. i'm right here...you are not alone. you are so not alone. i'm not going anywhere." i replied with tears welling up (as they are now), "i know, babe. i know." we walked like this, hand-in-hand, for a block or two.
*walking into a store at the end of my work day, turning a corner and finding j. standing there; he was saying my name. j. is the man with whom i abruptly ended an out-of-alignment relationship in march 2006. this ending was one of a series of sudden events preceding bella's death. i haven't seen him (intentionally) since august 2006. instantly i was struck by how i felt like i was facing the past while facing him. he was familiar and somehow blurry; there seemed to be this haze covering him. i stood facing him (sturdy on both my feet and crystal clear) and i realized that i was not in the past. i wasn't living there. i faced how much, how very, very much i have grown and healed. i am here. many, many moons later. i thank the spirits.
a fire alarm and smashing glass.
it was that kind of day.
gentler (nevertheless alarming) wake ups:
*on the way to my 9 a.m. appointment delight-fully noticing relatively fresh, colorful, chalked images on the sidewalk made by little hands.
*in response to my thought, "oh spring, where are you?", i looked up and saw a planter full of daffodils on this cloudy & a bit chilly (again) day. no, i do not live in seattle; although, we are beginning to think this in this city of ours.
*feeling bella grab my hand while walking down 20th street. she said, "i'm here. i'm right here...you are not alone. you are so not alone. i'm not going anywhere." i replied with tears welling up (as they are now), "i know, babe. i know." we walked like this, hand-in-hand, for a block or two.
*walking into a store at the end of my work day, turning a corner and finding j. standing there; he was saying my name. j. is the man with whom i abruptly ended an out-of-alignment relationship in march 2006. this ending was one of a series of sudden events preceding bella's death. i haven't seen him (intentionally) since august 2006. instantly i was struck by how i felt like i was facing the past while facing him. he was familiar and somehow blurry; there seemed to be this haze covering him. i stood facing him (sturdy on both my feet and crystal clear) and i realized that i was not in the past. i wasn't living there. i faced how much, how very, very much i have grown and healed. i am here. many, many moons later. i thank the spirits.
Friday, April 4, 2008
on your 43rd birthday
happy birthday, brother.
this date arrives faithfully year after year. 4/4. as i approach this day, you arrive. you enter my mind and heart space. you walk in at the start of april, blasting through the front door without warning, a phone call in advance to announce "i'm coming" or even a knock. you'd think i'd remember after all these years that it's april and you're coming. perhaps i'm the april (forgetful) fool. your entrance can't be restrained. it's like breath in my body. it's just there. it emerges. makes its way in. you make your way in.
you are a part of me. we are connected. we are sister and brother. in our way. in the way that i see it and in the way that my heart and wisdom understand it.
i remember. your big (literally, you being 10 years older) and playful presence all those years at the beginning of my life. then the sudden and seemingly absolute physical absence and the presence of the absence. now as i sit, i recall some absence, some distance, even when you were present in the beginning.
the last time i saw you was when i was 9; you were turning/had just turned 20. it was spring/nearly spring. it was the day of your maternal grandmother's funeral. it was a rainy day. bella hadn't been born yet. i realize as i write: the last time i saw you was when you were just about/had just turned 20 and the last time i saw bella alive in her physical body was when she was 20 years, 5 months and 6 days old.
for so many years (i.e., 19) what i remembered most about that day was that you didn't (couldn't/wouldn't) look at me and i wanted you to. for so many years it was the day i was rejected, abandoned; it was the day that my hope of being the recipient of something i desperately wanted and needed was taken away. i was little then and i placed my hope (of being the little sister cared for, loved, guided and protected by her biggest brother) on you. i wanted you to feed me, to satisfy my wild, tender, colossal hunger. misplaced, childlike, yes. honest, yes.
three years ago, after some intentional digging, i found a phone number for you on the internet. i called and left a message. i tried again and we spoke. we spoke some more. fragments. awkward. bits. me trying and spinning and trying. then somehow (again, as natural as breath emerging in my body) there was releasing and allowing. the last time we spoke (so brief) was about 7 months before bella's death. you said you would call back; you didn't.
it is okay. somewhere, in a place beyond words, in my heart, i understand. i am not pushing, pulling or pumping anymore. you do not need to be who i wanted you to be. what i grieved all those years was the loss of who i wanted, who i hoped, who i (thought i) needed you to be. all you need to be, though, is you as you are. this is enough. plenty enough.
today i wish for you what you wish for you.
you, brother, are present in my heart.
thinking of you, wherever, however you be.
thank you for your presence.
happy 43rd birthday, c.
love,
your sister
this date arrives faithfully year after year. 4/4. as i approach this day, you arrive. you enter my mind and heart space. you walk in at the start of april, blasting through the front door without warning, a phone call in advance to announce "i'm coming" or even a knock. you'd think i'd remember after all these years that it's april and you're coming. perhaps i'm the april (forgetful) fool. your entrance can't be restrained. it's like breath in my body. it's just there. it emerges. makes its way in. you make your way in.
you are a part of me. we are connected. we are sister and brother. in our way. in the way that i see it and in the way that my heart and wisdom understand it.
i remember. your big (literally, you being 10 years older) and playful presence all those years at the beginning of my life. then the sudden and seemingly absolute physical absence and the presence of the absence. now as i sit, i recall some absence, some distance, even when you were present in the beginning.
the last time i saw you was when i was 9; you were turning/had just turned 20. it was spring/nearly spring. it was the day of your maternal grandmother's funeral. it was a rainy day. bella hadn't been born yet. i realize as i write: the last time i saw you was when you were just about/had just turned 20 and the last time i saw bella alive in her physical body was when she was 20 years, 5 months and 6 days old.
for so many years (i.e., 19) what i remembered most about that day was that you didn't (couldn't/wouldn't) look at me and i wanted you to. for so many years it was the day i was rejected, abandoned; it was the day that my hope of being the recipient of something i desperately wanted and needed was taken away. i was little then and i placed my hope (of being the little sister cared for, loved, guided and protected by her biggest brother) on you. i wanted you to feed me, to satisfy my wild, tender, colossal hunger. misplaced, childlike, yes. honest, yes.
three years ago, after some intentional digging, i found a phone number for you on the internet. i called and left a message. i tried again and we spoke. we spoke some more. fragments. awkward. bits. me trying and spinning and trying. then somehow (again, as natural as breath emerging in my body) there was releasing and allowing. the last time we spoke (so brief) was about 7 months before bella's death. you said you would call back; you didn't.
it is okay. somewhere, in a place beyond words, in my heart, i understand. i am not pushing, pulling or pumping anymore. you do not need to be who i wanted you to be. what i grieved all those years was the loss of who i wanted, who i hoped, who i (thought i) needed you to be. all you need to be, though, is you as you are. this is enough. plenty enough.
today i wish for you what you wish for you.
you, brother, are present in my heart.
thinking of you, wherever, however you be.
thank you for your presence.
happy 43rd birthday, c.
love,
your sister
Thursday, April 3, 2008
wholly holy
"Sometimes when we quest for a hidden spiritual truth, we miss what's right in front of us. Fumbling blindly for the mystical, we miss what is holy within the mundane event of walking down a city street."-Ethan Nichtern, from One City: A Declaration of Interdependence
what's the wholly holy that's in front of you, in your mundane?
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
taking this moment to heart
i am honoring...
*the silence. the pause. the space.
*his message to me: "Dear One, You're doing the best you can. Isn't that enough? What's to be, will be. Thank you for all your effort and care. Love, J."
*the music.
*my feelings, my intuition, my truth, my wisdom...my heart.
*my response to this question: what do i want/need/hope for in this moment?
*my relationships. the presence of love, light & beauty in my life...sweet, simple, pleasure-full.
*my location on my path of healing.
*my string of beads.
"My prayer beads are strung on my life span.
I am not allowed to skip a single bead:
Sometimes the bead is a seed. Or a bone...
Or pure light...
No matter what the next bead is,
I must count it,
Perform my daily austerities.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Until repetition becomes endurance.
People seldom understand the power of repetition. What is repeated over and over again can become enduring; what is done in a moment is seldom lasting. If farmers do not tend to their fields every day, they cannot expect a harvest. The same is true of spiritual practice. It is not a grand declaration or the colorful initiation that means anything. It is the ongoing, daily living of a spiritual life that has meaning. Our progress may range from dull to spectacular, but we must accept both. Each and every day...linked together, strung into a long line of prayer beads.
In life, you don't know how many beads you've counted already, and you don't know how many are yet to come. All that matters is fingering the one that comes to you now and taking the spiritual significance of that moment to heart."
-Deng Ming-Dao
*the silence. the pause. the space.
*his message to me: "Dear One, You're doing the best you can. Isn't that enough? What's to be, will be. Thank you for all your effort and care. Love, J."
*the music.
*my feelings, my intuition, my truth, my wisdom...my heart.
*my response to this question: what do i want/need/hope for in this moment?
*my relationships. the presence of love, light & beauty in my life...sweet, simple, pleasure-full.
*my location on my path of healing.
*my string of beads.
"My prayer beads are strung on my life span.
I am not allowed to skip a single bead:
Sometimes the bead is a seed. Or a bone...
Or pure light...
No matter what the next bead is,
I must count it,
Perform my daily austerities.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Until repetition becomes endurance.
People seldom understand the power of repetition. What is repeated over and over again can become enduring; what is done in a moment is seldom lasting. If farmers do not tend to their fields every day, they cannot expect a harvest. The same is true of spiritual practice. It is not a grand declaration or the colorful initiation that means anything. It is the ongoing, daily living of a spiritual life that has meaning. Our progress may range from dull to spectacular, but we must accept both. Each and every day...linked together, strung into a long line of prayer beads.
In life, you don't know how many beads you've counted already, and you don't know how many are yet to come. All that matters is fingering the one that comes to you now and taking the spiritual significance of that moment to heart."
-Deng Ming-Dao
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