A Year To Remember

 Moving home

Getting the garden ready

Saying goodbye

Reflections

A year of transitions.  Some easy, some painful.  Lots of letting go.  Of being comfortable with vulnerability.  Why not you say?

HAPPY NEW YEAR!      

It takes a certain amount of courage to be vulnerable.  First, you have to feel really comfortable within yourself.  Second, you must enjoy being yourself most of the time. Third, don't care what others think.  If you can master these, you can open yourself to a whole new way of being.

Given that it is our 'thoughts' about what has happened' once we release the thought, we can grow.  The past couple of weeks have provided time to explore some thoughts.  Like using my home, my ever so beloved home as a base.  Going to Florida, to New Hampshire following the seasons there.  Travel to visit other friends, creating more - sewing, watercolors, enjoying my own good company.

A year of transitions.  My beloved dogs passed.  One expected, one not.  I still find myself looking for them.  It has gotten easier.  I actually listened to Over the Rainbow the other day without crying.  Not sure if I can do that in yoga.  I will let you know.

The other day, one of my children asked what I wanted in a euology.

Child:  I figured out what I will say when you pass.

Me:  Oh, really.  Is that anytime soon?

Child: (laughing) I hope not but I want to know where you want this, where you want your ashes spread and if there is anything you want your friends to know.

Me:  Just make it joyous.  I never want anyone to feel bad about not having done something.  Regrets are a waste of time.  Just know you were loved by me.  Deeply.

Child:  Well, I will say you were a woman of structured whimsy. Dearly loved your friends, the community met the world to you, about your positive spirit and good wishes toward everyone.

Me: Ok.  I am going to drive along the ocean.  Just in case it is my last time.  You never know. (laughing)

Yes, there is much to reflect on.  There is also much let do do.  And I can't wait to get started.  Again.

Home: Where I Am

Home.  Where I am. 

My heart and soul are in the southern Appalachians. I simply can't get enough of these mountains.
They pull me back again and again. Perhaps they will always be my base.  I am fortunate.

Maybe it is the jagged skyline.  It is the quiet, the solitude, the lack of lots corporate buildings.  That lack of originality where the dull are corporate style landmarks identifiable everywhere.  We only have that in the fast 'food' places. Mostly. 

This is my home minus about ten trees near the front of the house.  Removing them greatly improved my view.  The shutters are green now.  It is a simple life and I adore it.  I called it in.

Home. Where I am.

On Creativity

Suddenly companies are seeking MFA's in lieu of the traditional MBA's.  Now why is that?

The talent pool - the baby boomers - many of them are now retiring. Could it be for their creativity; their ability to work beyond the linear?  Companies can always hire number crunchers. Conventional wisdom is just downright boring.So is flatlining.

At the same time, baby boomers are jumping into the arts both before and post retirement.  Painting, weaving, pottery, woodworking.  There is no gender bias toward the arts anymore.  Perhaps it is because they were tired of the noose. The workplace was rigid.  Men wore ties, women wore suits.  Constraining both physically and humanly.  There was little room for personal expression in both clothing and in one's job.

That has begun to change. More and more Fortune 100 companies are opting for casual attire, even sport shirts.  Some have no collar guidelines.  This is especially true in the high tech fields.  They simply want your creativity.  Google, Microsoft,  Apple are a few.

I keep up with a lot of friends from my youth.  The one thing they remember about me is my creativity.  This past year, I rearranged a couple of rooms in my home.  It was time for a studio.  A place to look outside the window, to the gardens and the mountain range near my home.  Southwestern and northwestern light come through here via two separate windows.  The best of all worlds.  An openness.  Expansive. A new white desk serves as the platform for this. The studio also serves as a guestroom.

As I continue to find more creative outlets, I find it a curious contrast that as our government seeks more and more power and citizens continue to lose their privacy and their civil rights citizens seek a deeper means of expression now.  Maybe that is why the arts attract so many people as undergraduate and graduate degrees and professions today. 

For my part, I enjoy playful art.  Capturing every detail doesn't matter; it matters that we capture its essence.

We Got It All Wrong

There is something wonderful about winter.  It is an inward time.  Time to reflect on the past year.  The events.  The twists and the turns. The beautiful and rawness of earth and all its geology.  Nature.  It tells the truth if we are willing to just observe.

 

But my English upbringing told me to hide our emotions.  They aren't polite and nobody is interested in the first place.  WRONG!  Good friends care about your emotions for starters.  Who said emotions were polite.  That is just another social construct and I don't buy it!

 

The truth about our emotions and the toll they take is evident in many things.  One is water.  Did you know that water in all of its forms tells a story? 

 

Let's look at snowflakes, although water droplets tell a story, too.  The story of the land, the story of your emotions.

 

The late scientist, Masaru Emoto, Ph.D. studied he hidden messages in snowflakes:

According to Dr. Masaru Emoto from Japan, the formation of ice crystals and snowflakes is influenced by different environmental conditions, pollution, human thought and even music.

Studies undertaken by the japanese researcher have shown that aesthetically beautiful snowflakes are produced by pure water, music from classical repertories written by Beethoven and Mozart, and even positive thoughts and spoken words such as "Thank you". On the other hand, distorted and incomplete flakes developed when water molecules were exposed to heavy metal music and negative thoughts such as "You Make Me Sick, I Will Kill You".

Dr. Emoto's work is widely published worldwide but unfortunately at present has little hard scientific research to back it up. If the findings are true though then one thing is certain: with the current temperatures showing no signs of dropping in the Alps, we'll soon all be joyfully singing "Let it snow let it snow let it snow".

http://www.planetmountain.com/english/News/shownews4.lasso?l=2&keyid=35411

 

What does your snowflake look like?  Your water droplets on a given day?  Yes, we got...we had...it all wrong.  

 

Now we know.

 

 

The Door

When one door closes, the other opens.  So often in our grief, in our wanting things to be different than they are, we miss the other door that opens for us. 

The door always opens.  It may not open the way we want it, but it opens none-the-less. 

I am reminded of an e-mail I received from one of my spiritual teachers. People respond to death in a variety of ways.  I find quiet.

Fear of Silence – Thich Nhat Hanh

While we can connect to others more readily than ever before, Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh worries that we're losing our connection to body and mind. He offers a nourishing conscious breathing practice as a remedy. 

 

I have the impression that many of us are afraid of silence. We’re always taking in something—text, music, radio, television, or thoughts—to occupy the space. If quiet and space are so important for our happiness, why don’t we make more room for them in our lives? 

 

One of my longtime students has a partner who is very kind, a good listener, and not overly talkative; but at home her partner always needs to have the radio or TV on, and he likes a newspaper in front of him while he sits and eats his breakfast.

 

I know a woman whose daughter loved to go to sitting meditation at the local Zen temple and encouraged her to give it a try. The daughter told her, “It’s really easy, Mom. You don’t have to sit on the floor; there are chairs available. You don’t have to do anything at all. We just sit quietly.” Very truthfully the woman replied, “I think I’m afraid to do that.”

 

We can feel lonely even when we’re surrounded by many people. We are lonely together. There is a vacuum inside us. We don’t feel comfortable with that vacuum, so we try to fill it up or make it go away. Technology supplies us with many devices that allow us to “stay connected.” These days, we are always “connected,” but we continue to feel lonely. We check incoming e-mail and social media sites multiple times a day. We e-mail or post one message after another. We want to share; we want to receive. We busy ourselves all day long in an effort to connect.

 

What are we so afraid of? We may feel an inner void, a sense of isolation, of sorrow, of restlessness. We may feel desolate and unloved. We may feel that we lack something important. Some of these feelings are very old and have been with us always, underneath all our doing and our thinking. Having plenty of stimuli makes it easy for us to distract ourselves from what we’re feeling. But when there is silence, all these things present themselves clearly.

When feeling lonely or anxious, most of us have the habit of looking for distractions, which often leads to some form of unwholesome consumption—whether eating a snack in the absence of hunger, mindlessly surfing the Internet, going on a drive, or reading. Conscious breathing is a good way to nourish body and mind with mindfulness. After a mindful breath or two, you may have less desire to fill yourself up or distract yourself. Your body and mind come back together and both are nourished by your mindfulness of breathing. Your breath will naturally grow more relaxed and help the tension in your body to be released.

 

Coming back to conscious breathing will give you a nourishing break. It will also make your mindfulness stronger, so when you want to look into your anxiety or other emotions you’ll have the calm and concentration to be able to do so.

 

Guided meditation has been practiced since the time of the Buddha. You can practice the following exercise when you sit or walk. In sitting meditation, it’s important for you to be comfortable and for your spine to be straight and relaxed. You can sit on a cushion with your legs crossed or on a chair with your feet flat on the floor. With the first in-breath, say the first line of the meditation below silently to yourself, and with the out-breath say the second line. With the following in-and out-breaths, you can use just the key words.

 

 

Breathing in, I know I’m breathing in.

Breathing out, I know I’m breathing out.

(In. Out.)

Breathing in, my breath grows deep.
Breathing out, my breath grows slow.
(Deep. Slow.)

Breathing in, I’m aware of my body.
Breathing out, I calm my body.
(Aware of body. Calming.)

Breathing in, I smile.
Breathing out, I release.
(Smile. Release.)

Breathing in, I dwell in the present moment.
Breathing out, I enjoy the present moment.
(Present moment. Enjoy.)

 

In honour of Molly and Jessy, may the door be open.

Heart of My Heart II

I was more than unprepared when the older of my two dogs had three grand mal seizures all due to a brain tumor.  Molly passed in my arms in early September.  Her sister, Jessy James, the younger and larger of the two, had an enlarged heart and congestive heart failure.

 

Molly (left)  Jessy (right)

When Molly died suddenly, Jessy was lost.  She yearned for her partner, her biological sister who was one year her senior.  Jessy was the dominant of the two.  Molly was intense, clever and caught 99% of the balls tossed her way.  Jessy insisted on being first at everything, caught nothing and was always affectionate.  Molly never cared.  She played the role of mother to Jessy. She always guarded the door for me. 

They say experiences come into your life for a reason. Both Molly and Jessy were bundles of joy.  Energetic. They traveled well and endured eighteen months living in New Hampshire recently.  It is fair to say they were far better at adapting to New England winters than I.  I knew it was time to bring them home in January. 

Yesterday, Jessy's heart began to give out.  Her lungs filled with fluid.  Like Molly, three months before, Jessy died in my arms. 

I was honoured and privileged to care for these little buddies.  Letting them go was one of the hardest things I have ever done.  I loved them enough to release them.  It is hard to talk about their last days.  We have a lifetime of memories. Stored for a time when it is no longer so painful to remember.

I am grateful to have been allowed to care for them for so long.

Heart of my heart.

Heart Of My Heart

The past few weeks have been numbered.  You missed your sister more than words can express.  I had you, just you for three months since Molly's passing.  I knew there was little time. 

Your head was lifted high.  Gasping for breath.  The photo above says it all.

How can I condense twelve years and eight months into an obituary for you?  Maybe your name says it all.  My little girl.  Jessy James.

We were closer than close.  Two women.  Senior citizens.  Sharing love, life, my yogurt.   You couldn't get enough of me.  Nor I...you.  We knew our time was limited. Words will never express what you have meant to me.
 Heart of my heart.

The Visitor

The ruby-throated hummingbird is a frequent visitor to my feeder.  They seem to love the southern Appalachians as much as I.

Every sighting is a treat - irregardless of what kind of bird visits.  For several years, these tiny birds would get caught inside my garage.  It's pretty tall in there - a twelve foot ceiling with stairs and a landing. They couldn't navigate their way outside the large and opened garage door.  They simply panic and get stuck.

All to often, they would be found on the steps or the landing. Lifeless.  The easiest thing was to keep the garage door closed.  But that was a challenging with working in the yard. Living on a mountain in a dense forest means there is constant work keeping the forest out of the house. One year something magical happened.

I walked into the garage after planting an array of colorful flowers in the side garden.  It was a hot afternoon outside and I wanted a drink of water. I proceeded toward the garage steps. And there it was!

A ruby-throated hummingbird was wedged between the stucco foundation and the steps. My heart sank.  Something told me to look closer.  The bird was still.

Somewhere in that saddened heart of mine, I noticed another heart beating.  At first it was slow.  As I curled my hand toward it, it began its known flutter.  Fast and furious.  The bird gazed toward me, more vulnerable than it wanted to be.

"I am here to help," I whispered.

"Please trust me, you will be alright."

The gaze grew deeper.  Two hearts were beating.  I continued to move my right hand under the bird cusping it as though my hand were made of cotton.  The bird was safely in my hand.  Protected.  Scared.

Now the task was to free the bird.  Safely.  Walking up the front porch steps with this precious visitor, my hand gently opened sitting the bird on the railing.  The bird didn't move at first, though it's feet were touching the wood.  Carefully, I backed down the steps giving it it's space and honour.  Slowly, the bird turned toward the right looking at me.  Suddenly, it  flew away into the the dense brush of pine, dogwood, maple and hemlock.

Realizing I left something on the porch from the morning, I went back a minute later.  The hummingbird flew past me much like roadrunner.  I could almost here the BEEEEEEEP.  Instantly it changed directions and flew a foot from my eyes.  Hovering in in front of me our eyes met.

"I love you," I said softly.

I could feel the bird thanking me for helping it.

Thank you, I thought.  Thank you for trusting me enough.  Know I am always hear and please, the sugar water is here  - drink and know you are always in my heart.

Birds have come and gone over the years.  The feeder is always full, mostly fresh.  But I will never forget my little visitor.  And since that day, not one bird has been found lifeless in the garage.

They know.