closer and closer.

when synchronicity swells and washes over.

i find it.

****

i'm sitting in seconds of pure light.

here it is... the darkest time of the year...

and i'm bathed in love and light,

and held like i was that afternoon on an island with turquoise water

and the softest smile just off shore.

****

you know that feeling when your throat closes in the rip of emotion.

overwhelming.

your breath catches in the half way mark between heart and head. right where words form.

when you have so much to say, then the words stop. your heart surges and splashes against the wall of what feels safe and what feels scary.

when you swallow that feeling, where does it go?

and when you release it? and the warmth of the crashing wave crests and falls easily down your cheek.... what then?

****

i'm standing here watching my ship come in.

so it is.

successes

"the secret of success is to be in harmony with existence, to be always calm, to let each wave of life wash us a little farther up the shore."

~cyril connolly

****

a few thoughts on this steely morning, where there's moisture in the air, and the world feels poised, and ready:

*which boundaries are guiding you towards your self?

*what spirit is moving through you?

*what will be your success today?

*how are you measuring success as you read this right now?

*what is the goal?

****

i'm watching smoke drift from a chimney across the way. and thinking about the spark... so it flares on the tip of a match (the smell that burns your nose a bit), adds itself to some fuel (wood, gas, paper), and grows.

and then what?

then, the fuel must change. it cannot help itself.

then the fuel turns to smoke.

rises up a chimney.

bursts out into chilled air.

releases.

dissipates.

dissapears.

the smell remains.

are you getting washed further up on shore?

remain calm, and true to your spark.

you are changing things, whether you know it or not.

so it is.

holy texts.

i'm curious.
i'm wondering.
what are your holy texts?
and. what makes a "holy text"?
if you were to gather up those books, those bits of paper, those photographs that make you think, feel, understand, question, and feel more alive... what would you gather?

the other night, i sat to write a ceremony. i gathered up my texts. i realized how there were some new ones in the pile. and i felt comforted by the ones that have been there for quite some time.

i really want to know this from you. tell me. what are your sacred, and most holy texts.

here's what i found in my pile (in no particular order):
*emerson's essays
*the essential rumi translated by coleman barks
*the mastery of love by don miguel ruiz
*the celestine prophesy by james redfield
*the soundtrack to 'amelie'
*the soundtrack to 'the piano'
*life prayers from around the world by elizabeth roberts and elias amidon
*the bridge of stars edited by marcus braybrooke
*practical feng shui by simon brown
*singing the living tradition (the unitarian universalist hymnal)
*you can heal your life by louise hay
*leaves of grass by walt whitman
*e.e. cummings complete poems
*the shawshank redemption screenplay
* the view outside my bedroom window
*the photo on the windowsill of the loves of my life

so.... there's the beginning of my list.
i'm ready to hear yours.

so it is.

heaven.

there are stars by the billions just outside my window.

how small can i feel?

with that expanse at my fingertips.

with those piercing pins of light peeking through mere panes of glass.

with a distance that presses down on my heart.

there is a vase of full and fat bodied roses at my side.

how held can i feel?

with their petals begging for a touch.

with the soft glow of light kissing on their color.

with a closeness of scent waking my soul.

so in the middle i sit. perched on the balance point between small and large, the mystery and the familiar, time and space and life and dying all in this moment.

and of course, love.

the distant light that holds wishes of masses (and mine). the stars that lend a little hope to the darkest nights. the night that remembers....

the velvet touch,

the unfolding and unfurling,

the opening of that place that used to hold tight.

i'm letting go.

stars. come on in.

petals. open up.

i'm ready.

so it is.

sick days.

my body protects me with a great ferocity.
is that even a word?

well anyway. my dad is always telling me to listen to my body. and i've also been told that if you listen to your body, you'll always be led in the 'right' direction. because, after all, why would your body do anything to destroy itself in the end? you know, go with your gut. it's a good point.

so the trick, then, is to listen.

but it gets tricky when
you absolutely LOVE everything you're doing,
and you just WANT to do more,
and
"of course",
and
"YES!"

i've also been told that sometimes i might be able to get away with saying, 'let me think about it.'
but i feel the surge of YES! as adrenaline, as spirit, as soul! and so, YES! it usually is.

and then. my body has to speak up a little louder, until, finally, i hear it.
and spend two days in bed.

but, what a gift: two whole days of my pillow, and my comforter, and my breath, and my thoughts, and my body (finally happy, being heard).
and my body has great messages to tell: awareness of thigh, of eyelids. consciousness of right ring finger, and ankle. the balm of breath. the salve of sleep. enough sleep to exhaust even dreams.

what is your body saying to you tonight?

note to self:

don't wait for screaming sickness to hear the whispers of life within the skin. you'll be glad you made the time. trust me.

so it is.

open. air. market.

stay close to any sounds that make you glad you're alive.

~hafiz

fact or fiction, is the mind ready?

open~ for any experience to come rushing through. any experience that might inform the rest of your days.



open to sounds of the clamour, of the hundreds of bumping shoulders speaking languages foreign and familiar. sounds of instruments strummed and blown, and the percussion of footsteps on surfaces woven and fired.

open to smells of citrus and spice. sweet bundles of cut grasses and animal sweat. the smell of hot sun on linen, and mint tea.

open to the feel of plush carpet, roughly woven basket, smooth bead and hot stone. to the touch of strangers brushing past, the nuzzle of a stray dog.

open to tasting dust on your tongue. tasting the burst of a pomegranate seed. tasting sweat mixed with lemon cakes.

open to sights that dazzle, confuse, and affirm. to sights that raise curiosity and consciousness.

****

open air~ in this maximalistic place, there must be space to process, and expand. outside, with the boundless blue rising forever above you, you may find breath, and you may find peace. or, you may feel suffocated and full of turmoil. but you'll find something there, in the spaces between. in the air that holds all this cacophony together. in the air that is life.

****

market~ are you here to buy or to sell?

what are you 'buying' at this 'market'? what do you buy for necessity? what for decadence? are you aware of what you're buying? of what you're supporting? do you 'purchase' from friends, or from the booth with reputation? where is your 'money' best spent, or saved?

you know in this 'market' that there is anything you could imagine or dream to buy. this 'market' is so full of choices and textures. will you make a purchase here? or here?

and what are you 'selling' in this 'market'? what do you have in excess that others need? that others want? is that 'good' for sale? and how will you 'sell' your wares? will you stack them neatly on display for all to see at a glance? or will you tumble them into a basket that must be dug through, with frantic fingers and excited eyes... searching for that hidden treasure? will you hold your best work back for that certain customer you can always expect, or will you let the universe decide?

well?

are you open to this market?

the steam rises of my lemon tea, to clear my thoughts, and smooth my brow.

so it is.

'one voice'

first, listen.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=-mm3JY5qmQs

this is the sound of one voice. one spirit one voice.

the sound of one who makes a choice. this is the sound of one voice.

this is the sound of one voice.

this is the sound of voices, two. the sound of me singing with you.
helping each other to make it through.
this is the sound of voices, two. this is the sound of voices, two.


this is the sound of voices three. singing together in harmony.
surrendering to the mystery, this is the sound of voices three.
this is the sound of voices three.

this is the sound of all of us. singing with love and a will to trust.
leave the rest behind, it'll turn to dust. this is the sound of all of us.
~the wailin' jennys

now. listen again.

there's a part of me that cannot even begin to write about this experience, and yet, i can feel my seams bursting. i must let it go.... for here, you'll find, the origin of my authorship. at least half of it.





"...this is the sound of one voice.. the sound of one who makes a choice..."

can you help it? i can't. i can't stop (nor would i) that force of spirit within that makes a choice and chooses to, yes, live. and yes, sing. it can be scary at times to sing out (if you're gonna sing out, sing out!), but we must. when you sing your song, when you contribute your verse, people hear you. and perhaps, if you're lucky, they are moved to join in.








"this is the sound of voices, two... helping each other to make it through..."

and when two voices join, there is a greater strength, a greater depth, a greater knowing. for now, there are two sets of experiences, two souls touching, two lights that brightly shine. with two voices though, there is also the possibility for conflict (and resolution). there is discussion (and growth). and yes, there is harmony. oh sweet harmony.


a harmony where two people join their slightly different viewpoints, and make something so sweet you just feel like breaking open. and when you do.....










"this is the sound of voices, three....surrendering to the mystery..."





...a mystery is born. the mystery is how, with your one voice, ripples begin, and the web is jostled, and before you know it, there is something that was never there before. in simply singing your song, (that only you can truly sing) the miracle of connection begins: creation at its best. and when voices that join together surrender to that mystery, surrender to not knowing, or needing to know outcomes, when this happens, the whole world takes notice.











"this is the sound of all of us.... leave the rest behind it'll turn to dust.... this is the sound of all of us."

your voice can get anything started.
your voice has everything in it.
your voice wants to be heard.
your voice is singing already. and the world is waiting to join with complex and lovely harmonies.

you have a voice. and so do i.



so it is.

what you think about.

of course. it's emerson:

"you become what you think about all day long."

this is the 'new' old thing: the power of thought. have you noticed your thoughts lately? i've been watching mine today.

i'm thinking about the rain, and how it's suddenly quite cold and raw outside.
which gets me thinking about
heat,
and being cozy,
and a different way of cooking and eating,
and how you don't move as much when you sleep and it's cold in the room.

and i'm mindful of
how my shoulders are 'up',
and the weight of layers of clothing,
and the clicking of the heater coming on....

heat. what is the temperature where your body is most comfortable. what level of heat feels right? what is your 'boiling point'? what needs 'burning off'? what are you 'fired up' about? what is 'lighting your fire'? how different it feels to need to create your own heat (by rubbing feet together under the covers) rather than the need to fend off the heat (with a ceiling fan). where are you today? heat.

being cozy. coming inside from those 'great outdoors'. those wild expansive spots where there is no boundary, where there's ever another hill, another curve, another cloud to chase. now, it's time for awareness of walls, the warmth of a closely held coffee mug, the smell of something simmering. it's inner-life time now. time to sift through all the beach sand in the seat wells, and see what's worth 'bringing in'.

a different way of cooking and eating. the crunch of lettuce and string beans has shifted with the temperature towards the crisp of tart apple and weight of steak soup. we light a chalice candle at our table inside. outside, summer eating is begun by noticing the light of the sun on the table. i, alone, carry out the tray for outside eating. the kids stand beside me on a chair as i stir the stew. heavy nourishment is necessary for this deeply contemplative time. riches for the soul.

moving in sleep. this morning my bed looked already made when i woke. my cocoon of feathers and cotton a nest of warmth in a sea of chills. my nose is cold when i sleep: a way of keeping conscious amongst all the warmth. i suppose you flip the pillow for a cool spot in summer. now i hold still to let warmth trickle in.

my shoulders are 'up'. these first days of cold are shocking. it's easier, at first, to put up the walls to protect from the cold. but, man! so tiring after awhile. and like those cold times in life when you're missing the one you love, or feeling adrift and unorganized, walls feel reassuring. but what about this?: the relief of letting your shoulders fall. of finding the subtle but real heat from within. it's all about focus. will you focus on the wind blowing in your face, or the sun at your back?

layers of clothing. i love sweater days. being held in textures of wool, cotton, fleece. scent of perfume coming off a scarf warmed with moist breath. knee socks for awareness of calf muscles, the hug of the right pair of pants. knowing where i end, and the rest of the world begins.

click. the heat just came on again. i can smell it. i'm relieved in it. i'm nourished by it.

i have a wildfire inside my heart. i'm thinking about that now.
you become what you think about all day long.

so it is.

'the loving seamstress'

your life is a text that can be read. your creativity is also a text to be read, and re-read. i've been moved to revisit a creative text of mine, to see what it has to say to me this time around.

the loving seamstress 2009 in the early spring of 2004, i took a class through my church called 'with sacred threads'. the idea was that at the end of the class, each member would have a quilt that explained their spirituality. the loving seamstress is what emerged from within my creative soul. since it has been five years since the creation, i figure it's time to get out my notes, and see what's still the same, and what has evolved. and to hear from you all your thoughts as well..... so here we go!

****

my notes from my "spirituality journal" begin this way:

"planning for a creed quilt:"

and i begin now this way:

so. the loving seamstress....

she sort of came to me, an image of a motherly being who was sitting, and stitching quietly. she was sitting with legs crossed, creating a comfy spot for someone to sit. (this happens to me everyday as a parent and as a teacher, where, as soon as you sit down, the kids come running, and plop themselves in the spot where they can feel the most of you around them.) i know that i feel the universe/god/loving seamstress all around me. it is comfort to be aware of it.

****

her skirt is made of calico fabrics (that were cut years ago by my great-grandmother). her skirt represents the past. for in looking back, all is crystal clear. when you look back at a situation, you can say, "oh yes, i was sad then." or "that was when i was in third grade." just as easily as you can say, "that is plaid" or "that fabric has orange and white in it." her skirt represents all that she has seen/known before. she keeps it close to her, as we keep our memories close beside us as comfort, or frame of reference. when you were learning to write, or ride a bike, perhaps someone stood behind you, or lay their hand on yours to help guide you. and then, suddenly you realized that you were doing it on your own. whenever i become aware of the 'loving seamstress'/universe, it's there, and then as i grow confident, i realize at some point that 'she' has backed off a bit, and it watching me go!

****

in her arms, the 'loving seamstress' is creating the present. the present is not as easy to interpret as the past. in fact, it slips through our fingers before we are able to name it. for when we can name it, it has become the past. the ethereal ribbon here represents the present becoming the past. it shimmers with awareness and consciousness. this 'mess' of ribbon or 'present' also shows how as things unfold, there is so much that is unseen. have you ever looked at a piece of stitching from the bottom. it's such a mess. but if you look on the top, it has a certain shape, and form. it seems to make sense. and yet, it takes that 'mess' beneath it to make the beauty.

****

remember that when life is seeming random and ugly, we might be looking at the bottom of the tapestry.

****

behind the 'loving seamstress' is the rising moon.

although it does have calico fabrics that (as the past) can be easily identified, it is also spotted with the gauzy haze of the present. one of the beauties of the moon is how it has been around and in our awareness for so long, present at so many post-football game kisses and full moon walks, and present even in the new moon phase when we can't "see" it. it rises behind 'the loving seamstress' also as representation of the phases in life. of the constant ebb and flow. of the reassurance found in the changing of the seasons. it simply cannot stay winter (or summer), sadness (or happiness) forever. it would not only be unnatural, it would be the end of awareness. without one, the other disappears.

****

more elements to consider:
*seams held with knowledge (not just beliefs)

...i ended up not actually 'finishing' the quilt. i left the edges raw. i felt that to finish it would be to assume that all learning had ended, all evolution had stopped. a smart move, looking back, because i find my spirituality evolving each day, being influenced by each experience.

*holes left necessarily~to make room for the new (tattered edge

*what holds the pieces together? (what holds 'peace' together?) what is the thread with which we stitch? ethics/values?

*remember to think between the stitches.

*the use of 'the knot'. the french knot as well as other knots were used on the quilt. since making this quilt, i've had changes in my life that make me questions the worth of 'the knot', but in the end, a knot is nothing more than a tangle which can always be loosened. with a little patience.

*it was important to hand-stitch this quilt. i used silver thread (to symbolize moon/starlight) and with each stitch thought love (as the needle went in) and light (as the needle came back through)

****

on the back of the 'loving seamstress' is my nod to 'grandmother spider': the creator of the world (the web) in many native cultures. and there is so much to say about this web, and this grandmother spider, that we must wait for the next installment.... after all, there is the present to notice, children to feed, and love to nourish.





so it is.

breath.

tonight i took to the bike again.

(it's a stationary bike so i can focus on my breath rather than traffic, road conditions, weather, etc..)

and so, tonight, i remembered my breathing. i felt the air rushing down my throat. it was shocking at first. like leaping into lake water. ragged even. and then the rhythm came again. and the breath started to seep down into my belly, and leak into my arms, and drip into my legs. until, finally, i could feel my breath bathing each organ as it should. and in that moment, there wasn't the labor of 'exercise', only awareness of breath.

tonight i cried a bit.

(i don't do it often enough, i suppose: focus on tears, rather than ever the positive, the silver lining, the upside, etc..)

and so tonight, i remembered my emotions. at first, trying to manage them, like swimming upstream. it was searing, the feelings rushing into my chest, the ache of missing someone. and then the tears came, and bathed my aching spirit. as they fell, a surge of love rose. as they rested in crevices (face, neck, fingertips) i remembered my breath.

i let the two work together. cleansing and nourishing. breath and emotion. balancing the two is tricky. finding a place where they can exist together without one drowning the other. letting them live together inside my chest.

i'm finding in love, and in emotion, and in breathing, that my capacity is great.

tonight, i took to the bike, i cried....
and tonight.... balance remains.

so it is.

are you afraid of this happiness?

so... are you?

my first reaction is, NO! i embrace this happiness. not only do i believe in this happiness, i am this happiness. i even know that i deserve this happiness. but that doesn't set me apart from anyone else. we all deserve it.

you deserve it.

to be afraid of happiness.... and yet, i know people are. i know there are moments (yes, moments) when my ego flares and says, "well, enjoy it for now, 'cause it don't last!" but that doesn't last either. i watch people moving through life in fear. i remember what it felt like when fear owned me. it was awful. nothing was as bright (or as sad) nothing was full (or empty). it was as if the pendulum stood still.

i've often heard the idea that the opposite of love is not hate, but fear.

when the pendulum stands still, then life and growth and balance halt. and you're at the tipping point between living and 'trying not to die'. and believe me, it's up to you. you decide, just as you deserve.

happiness, to me, isn't all about comedies, and raucous laughter, and having what you want or need. i suppose happiness to me is awareness, consciousness, ability to be quiet and to be satisfied, and to be hungry and to be alive.

is it possible to be sad within happiness? i say yes. to be angry inside happiness? yes.

what are you afraid of? fear not, this happiness. for i say this happiness is life, and love, and waking up, and falling asleep in peace, with the weight of the beloved's hand on your belly.

this happiness is yours.
and mine.

so it is.

whistling inside.

i had an amazing co-worker who used to scold me everytime she'd catch me whistling inside.
"that's horrible luck in my country (russia)!" she'd say.
i miss her everyday... but i must admit i do LOVE whistling, inside and outside.

i've also been lucky enough to have picked up my 'essential rumi' book over the past few days. rumi writes about we human beings as reeds, cut from the field, and of "the beloved's" breath moving through the reeds (us) to create music (spirit). i often think of this when whistling.

i most certainly have a breath moving through me, creating music, creating spirit. and when it comes through as a whistle, it must be the beloved moving through. i'm aware of the urge to whistle. of which song it is that emerges from squeezed lips. of the key in which i whistle (is it too low? too high?) again, of course, i speak in metaphor:

what 'song' is coursing through your body right now?
how urgent is the feeling that you must let it fly into the air? that you must share?
how easy is it to breathe through your 'song'?
how long has it been living inside you, and how does it feel when you hear it echoing off the walls?

perhaps my co-worker was onto something, or perhaps she was communicating a belief about sharing that 'song' that lives within. perhaps it was too personal a thing to share for her.

oh boy. not for me. what a relief to let it emerge.
to feel the beloved (in every sense of the word) loosen my lips, then tighten them for balance and tone... and then.
to whistle from the inside out.

so it is.

a bright blue morning

i fell asleep writing a sonnet last night.

as i shut off the light, there were rumblings of thunder, and bright flashes of lightning; the rain speaking wisdoms on the roof.
i seem to be getting quite a few messages these days:

*it's anniversary time. and yet! it's also the present. and in the present we are able to do what we will. i choose to be informed by memories, and patterns, and cycles. and i choose to be in the now, in happiness. what will you choose to do with your anniversary times?

*it's the time of heading inside after taking it all in, and beginning the great sorting. what to keep? what to throw? i still have a lot to throw. remember the thrill of throwing a baseball so hard it almost hurt your arm? and then hearing that satisfying thwack as it hit someone's glove. whatever i throw, someone else will catch. and whatever i throw, makes room for ... the present.

*the metaphors of the natural world are forever overwhelming me: i heard about john muir last night, wondering if leaves get lonely on the branches as they watch their companions fall. there is relief in the falling (as in the throwing), in letting go, and letting yourself land on soft warm earth. especially when there's the possibility of being collected by children on rainy walks, who can't wait to share you as their treasure.

*therapy days are wonderful.

so it is.

on the first day....

so it is.
the present.

here is a place for connection, for reflection.
a place of release. a place for
many voices.

so it is.