Another Poem from Maithri...

...my beautiful, loving, and as yet unmet friend, Maithri Goonetilleke, and his amazing blog, The Soaring Impulse. Words so true, so necessary to hear and remember, they must be shared.

Beloved,

There are days when nothing seems right. When every shell you pick up on the winding shore is broken. When the silken treasure slips through your fingers too quickly. When comforts are empty. And the world is noise.

On those jagged edged days, when the wind is screaming for a reason only she understands. And you find yourself all alone.

Turn your face to the sun.

There is goodness in the world, that even the river of tears cannot erase.

There is love in the world, that the numbed armies of fear can not destroy.

Sometimes that goodness is everywhere apparent. It pours from the heart of every moment. From the light of every smile.

On those soft days, love hides in the eaves to drop like sweet honey on your forehead and sings her lilting lullabies in the arms of the winds.

But on some days, Beloved. On days like today....

We need to look, to see.

So turn your face to the sun.

Even when she is nowhere to be seen.

Go inside yourself. Find a speck, a splinter of beauty to be grateful for.
'Yes', the day has worn you. And 'Yes' our mistakes have been so many.

But say 'Thank you' anyway.

Take account of all that is in your possession.

A mind. A heart. A body.

A life that breathes, even if for just one more day.

Now count the eyes that have smiled
at you on your wild journey,
the hands that have held you tenderly,
the ears that have listened,
the prayers that have been made on your behalf.

And whisper your 'Thank you' again.

Count the sky that has watched you grow
with His painted eyes,
The heaving waves that find their echo
in the tides of your breathing,
The little birds that have sung
you their songs,
The stars which have been a lamp
to your path,
and are your
rightful inheritance.

Count unexpected laughter,
Count undeserved grace,
Count Passion and Love making and Dreams yet to be born,
And bow your head and say 'thank you',

Now count the lives who still need your light,

The hungry, the sick, the helpless,
Count the children who will die today
and imagine if with the breath of your body
you could help just
one.

Turn your face to the sun,
And know yourself as a child of the light.

You are the Goodness that cannot be extinguished,
The love that burns through the darkest night.

And perhaps,
In turning
You will see what i have seen,

that this day where everything seemed wrong,
was not your curse,

It was your gift,

Your chance...
To find inside yourself a forgotten 'thank you',

To smile in the face of the grim suppressors,

To stand in the heart of the glowering darkness
and turn your face to the sun.

Copyright - Maithri Goonetilleke 2008

Photo - Linda Davenport 2008

Four Thousand Beautiful Words

I haven't done a photo post like this in a while, but I had the urge tonight to just share things that have caught my eye of late. Grateful eyes see beauty everywhere. With all the rain we've had lately...well, there seems to be a theme.

A Gerbera daisy in my yard

Beads of water on a leaf on the deck

Cherry tomatoes in our garden

Water droplets on the dressina plant

All photos by Linda Davenport 2009

Waning Moon, Falling Leaves...Life Marches On

I'm working at home today, sitting behind my laptop screen at my dining room table. The doors onto the deck afford me a healthy dose of sunshine and an ever changing floor show of bird, leaves, wind, and weather.

Moments ago I heard a rustle and looked up to see a flurry of leaves falling to the ground, shaken loose by the breeze...and I was broadsided by memories of so many autumns, so many cool breezes on clear days, with skies so blue my eyes ached, leaves falling around me, crunching on the ground as I walked.

Autumn has always been my favorite time of year. As a child, I couldn't wait for the days to get crisp and cool. I would put on a cozy if ill-matched sweater and go outside, marveling in how different everything was...how the smells changed, the sounds,the light, the feel of the air. 

Watching those leaves fall brought that all back to me. I can smell the air standing underneath the two scalybark hickory trees in the front yard of a house where we lived, even though I'm in my kitchen. I can feel my red cotton Buster Brown sweater with snaps up the front and my rain boots and warm socks. And I'm crying...and I'm not sure why.

Fall comes with such regularity...no matter how sweet the summer, there is no holding back, no slowing the progression of time. This is my 52nd October...I'll see my 53rd November in just a few weeks...and while I know that there will be countless more beyond, I won't always see them. The autumn breezes that energize me and the smells of fallen leaves on damp ground that thrill me every year will go on. One day, I just won't be there to see it. And I honestly don't know if I'm crying because I know my time in this life will end or because the time I've had has been so damned precious, so sweet and juicy and rich.

I don't know what happens when we die.  Nature teaches me, though, that life is endless...that everything that lives dies...and lives again in some form. I trust that it will be so with me, too, and I'm not afraid. I'm not in a hurry...but I have no fear. If anything, my days are so much sweeter lately. The recent death of a young friend and that of at least two other young men that I'm aware of has heightened my awareness of the brevity of life and my gratitude for every moment.

One thing I do know...sitting here working when I want to be outside dancing in the falling leaves is taking every bit of discipline I have. Life is short and fall is wonderful and leaves make the best waltz partners, much to the amusement of my neighbors. Ah, but what of it? Life is too short to worry about giggling neighbors. 

I'm outta here...lunch hour will see no sandwich or soup today. Instead, I'll be twirling in the backyard, arms flung wide, laughing and singing and soaking up Mama's last dance before the long sleep.

Strike up the band...a fiddle tune, if you please...and make it lively...

Photographs: Linda Davenport 2009

Poetry: Divine Mother

A cherished friend and heart sister wrote this poem recently. Her background is Christian and she has described her spiritual leanings fairly recently as a Christian-Buddhist-Pagan mix. Her words touched me deeply and I wanted to share them with you.

It is, I believe, the first stanza that captured me most. What courage lives in those three short lines..and what wonders await us when we set aside our narrow precepts and believe there could be more.

Come .. open your heart to my voice.
Set aside narrow precepts.

Believe there could be more.

Come .. allow yourself to feel my touch.
Relax in my gentle breeze.
Breathe my scent after rain.

Come .. let me soothe your thoughts.
Know my peacefulness.
Recenter in my calm.

Come .. embrace my love.
Allow me in your world.
Rest in your mother's arms.


(Divine Mother - RJH 092909)

Bright Yellow Conversations

Days come and go

work flows in and out

and blends into continuous shades of

gray and grayer.

We put on our corporate masks

take on our business casual aspects

and don the drab mantle of

political correctness.

Then you drop by

and for a few minutes

we talk with each other

not at each other

using real words

about real things

in a real conversation.

A spot of bright color

appears and spreads

right in the middle of my day.

Thank you, friend, for

speaking truth

laughing freely

having the courage to offend

when truth is offensive

turning on the light

and throwing a brief but beautiful

bucket of colorful conversation

against the plain backdrop

waking me from the restless sleep

of the terminally careful.

Dedicated to friends and colleagues who understand that real conversation doesn't tiptoe around; it wears big boots and wades right into the scary places, where all good conversations start.


Wishing you bright, bold, colorful conversations...everyday!


Photo by Linda Davenport 2009

Pain, Wisdom, and Love in Action

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self, so therefore, trust the physician and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility. - Kahlil Gibran

I attended a community ritual last night. It was a beautiful ritual about remembering where you come from, knowing that all that has transpired in your life, good and bad, has contributed to who you are. To forget even the painful parts is to disregard an opportunity to learn, to grow wiser, stronger, more whole. It was about forgiveness, not for the sake of the transgressor, but for ourselves, freeing us of a burden that keeps us from moving forward.

In the course of the ritual, two unrelated young people, one a teenager, one just barely twentyone, were sobbing. Knowing a bit about both of them, I know that their pain was genuine, the kind that, in both cases, comes from people they love doing things they can't understand. And it struck me that their tears, the pain they were feeling, was just as Gibran said, "...the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding." I pray that they will keep growing, keep chipping away at the shell, and that they'll allow the outpouring of love from their larger community to hold them up while they grow through the pain.

Last night was an opportunity to witness many wonders.

When the young man was so obviously hurting, several men in the community stepped around the circle to enfold him, hold him in hugs close and strong, kiss the top of his head, speak to him softly. Men...big, beautiful, strong, loving men...doing what men in our culture have so often forgotten (or never learned) how to do...to care for each other, to nurture their boys into men with both strength and tenderness.

The young woman received the same kind of support, more from the women but not exclusively. And in both cases, the parents...the young woman's father, the young man's mother...both standing beside their children and feeling that pain as surely and as deeply, were encouraged and supported, too. I remember thinking as I watched the young man and his mother that it must be like giving birth all over again for her.

Part of the understanding that comes from going through our children's pain with them is that it is their pain, their growth. We share the pain, but we can't take it away from them, can't do it for them, and can't lead them to wisdom on a painless path. In my experience, that's been the hardest part of being a parent.

Earlier in the evening, a beautiful young mother and wife with a disease that causes her terrible pain was sick. A number of us tended to her as best we could, using touch and energy work to aid her. Later, when the young people were hurting so, she was right there, comforting them, sharing her own precious energy to help them through pain when she has so much of her own.

Love is a verb or it's a lie. My husband says that frequently and I've come to understand the absolute truth of it. Love acts. There are times when the only act possible or advisable may be a silent prayer, but even that is a conscious action. Answering honestly, can any of us say that we always act in love? Do we always do what we can, when we can, including offering that heartfelt, silent prayer when that's all we can do?

I can't say it, though I wish I could. It's a goal of mine to use my hands, my voice, my strength and energy to be a loving force in the world. I have to remind myself frequently that I can't do everything, but I can do one thing...that I don't know everything but that doesn't mean I don't know anything...that if I can't heal or feed or hug or tend the world, I can heal or feed or hug or tend one...now...with love...and when I have neither a dollar nor an hour to give, I have a voice with which to be an advocate.

I am but one, but I am not the only one. Love acts.

Love is a Verb - Possible Dreams International

“Each time a person stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, these ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.” -- Robert F Kennedy

"Love is a verb or it's a lie." - Jim Davenport

When people put love into action, it's worth celebrating. Whether it's a tender word, a loving touch, a meal, a pair of shoes, or a silent prayer offered when no other action is available, acts of love ripple and vibrate the web of life.

The folks at Possible Dreams International are putting their love into action in a time and place where it is sorely needed. One of my heroes in the blogosphere, Maithri Goonetilleke, and his fellow doctors, nurses, and other caregivers have formed an organization to further the work they've been doing all along in Swaziland.

Swaziland is an area of Africa with the largest prevalence of HIV/AIDS in the world. According to Maithri, the community of Setiki in Swaziland has more coffin salesmen than grocery stores. The stories he shares in his blog, The Soaring Impulse, are stories of love, courage, and hope.

I know all too well the despair of feeling like I have no power, no way to influence and alleviate suffering. I don't have a lot of extra money. I can't go to Swaziland. Each time I think these thoughts, I remind myself that even when I don't have a coin or an hour, I have a voice. I can speak loving words; I can tell the truth; I can spread the word.

Please take a moment and visit Possible Dreams. Learn about this fledgling organization and the beautiful people they serve. They are love in action, a verb and a truth.

Spread the word.

Come September (Love Lives On)

You’re leaving, aren’t you?

Yes.

Why?

How many times must we go through this? I’m tired. I’m done. There is nothing more I can do here.

But I love you! How can you just leave like this? What we have is so…so…intense.

Intense…that’s a good word for it. Too intense. All on, all the time…nobody can sustain that forever. It’s too demanding, too draining, too…

Too what? Too much for you? Fine…go! And I don’t ever want to see you again!

[raised eyebrow] Careful…

I just can’t stand to see you go! Gods, we were hot! Sizzling days…steamy nights…fertile and lush and…

Yes…yes, we were all that and more. But don’t you see? It can’t last. It never does. Haven’t you felt the cooling? Our nights aren’t quite so steamy these days. Let’s face it…things change…I’m losing my luster and I know what’s coming for me…and for you. If we kept going like we have been, we’d burn ourselves up completely. No one can take that kind of passion, that heat, forever.

You’ll be back, you know. You always come back.

[smile] I will be back. And when I see you next, you’ll be rested, refreshed. You’ll have slept through the cold nights and walked quietly through the short days. Ahh, but that’s when I can’t stay away from you! Your heart will be young once more, your blood singing in your veins, open and aching for me. And I’ll come to you, young and fiery, unable to get my fill of you. I’ll take you over and over and…

Enough! Stop! If you keep talking like that, I'll burn up right now!

Ohhh...I know you have to go. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the changes in me, too…how tired I look, my color…I know you’re going. Just don’t forget…don’t get lost in the cold, dark nights when the wind howls.

I'll think of you every morning when I see the sun rise over the fields. I'll walk outside and see my breath…and I'll dream of the days when you’ll take my breath away. I know you’ll be back…I have to believe you’ll be back.

I’ve always returned and I always will. Love lives on. Rest well, Beloved…you won’t get much sleep when I come back. [grin]

I’ll be here, my Love…waiting…with a crocus in my hair and a daffodil in my hand. Just don’t be late, ok?

I never am. Look for me as the days lengthen again. You’ll feel me before you see me, in the sudden softness of the morning, the song of the stream bed. Your scent will change as I grow closer, and I’ll know you’re ready to receive me again. We’ll make love and babies and grow full and abundant together again.

Go…go before I beg you to stay. Go, my love…and hurry home.


All photos by Linda Davenport except top (valley overlook) by Elisabeth Hon.

Take a Walk With Me...

My day started with a walk in the woods behind our home. Nothing spectacular happened...unless you count just being in the woods as the sun climbs over the ridge...and I do.

Come with me...

Spider webs abound. I didn't have the heart to damage this one. She'd already taken a hit (near the top) and her tasty breakfast was trapped in the center. I changed my entire route to avoid tearing up her web...

...and because I changed routes, I met this little guy on the path. We always talk about turtles being slow, but his one was right spritely! He slowed down a bit when he figured out I wasn't going to grab him, but not before he covered some ground.

Sometimes the simplest things are really pretty. I don't even know what this plant is, but the gracefullness of the slender stems and tiny leaves just caught my eye.

Another gift...a tiny trumpet vine blossom...very small but the bight orange color jumped out at me.

And I got to indulge my fascination with leaves. There is something just so damned beautiful in the lines and patterns. Blackberry leaves, I believe, and don't you love those sawtooth edges?

Finally, my favorite sight of the morning...a dead branch hosting a lively bunch of lichen and moss. There are at least three different types on this one branch, and they're so pretty. (click on the photo to get a better view) The branch is "dead"...or is it? It's supporting all that life. Who's to say?

Thanks for letting me take you along. If you get a chance, go take a walk outside and see what you can see. It's an amazing world.

Photos by Linda Davenport, August 2009

Red Tailed Hawk

I work downtown, and we have some of the most interesting wildlife here.  Yesterday, a red tailed hawk who frequents the area perched and posed for me just outside my office building. What a treat! Click on the pictures for a larger view. 

Click here to learn more about these beautiful birds.  Red Tailed Hawks are also powerful totem animals.

These hawks are exceptional hunters, and falconers prize them.  Experienced falconers prefer to acquire a red tailed hawk in the first year (it may actually be illegal to take them for falconry after the first year). Beyond that first year, the hawks have picked up "uncooperative adult habits." 

Isn't it the same with us? We have such potential, yet often our "uncooperative adult habits" prevent us from taking our talents and gifts as far as they can go. It's harder to unlearn behavior in later years; paying attention to wisdom and shaping our talents early in life is easier than overcoming years of thought patterns and behaviors that don't serve. We have such power if only we can shed our uncooperative habits!

Thank goodness it's never too late!  An adult Red Tailed Hawk may never become a falconer's bird, but I can keep working on me to the end of this life and beyond. That's good...I'll need all the time I can get.

Gracious Goddess, help me to say yes to this day and the lessons it brings, to pay attention, and to turn around the less-than-productive behaviors I've stockpiled through the years. If I can get rid of the years of accumulated crap, I should have room for just about anything you want to send me...but I'm going to need help clearing out the space.

"For all that has been - thanks. For all that will be - yes." (Dag Hammerskold)

Photos by Linda Davenport, August 2009.

Pay Attention...Just Pay Attention

I was running a bit late this morning. That's not terribly unusual, sad to say, but this morning my lateness was compounded by a need to run an errand five miles in the opposite direction from my usual work route, and to stop for gas. 

My errand route took me almost due east. As I'm racing along, I top a hill and catch the most beautiful sunrise...a true take-your-breath-away vision of gold, cream, white, grey, blue, and silver.  I gasped out loud and immediately reached for my camera, remembering almost as quickly that another errand on my list for today is getting batteries to replace the absoultely dead ones in the camera. I reached for my cell phone to grab a quick snapshot, remembering that I had left it at home and, in the interest of time, declined to go back into the house and pick it up.

It was about then that I heard that quiet little voice saying, "Just enjoy the sunrise!" And I felt a little embarrassed that I was, indeed, so caught up in trying to capture the moment that I was letting it get by me. I was forgoing the beauty of right now in my frenzy to save it for later. What kind of sense does that make?

Fast forward ten minutes...my errand complete, I raced back in the other direction and stopped for gas at a little country convenience store near my home. I was looking ahead, trying to figure out if there were pumps open and which one to aim for...and not noticing the enormous bump-and-dip combination at the edge of the parking lot, the one that I rolled over just slightly faster than I should and nearly ripped the bottom out of my car.  Beneath the cries of, "Oh, s*it!" I heard a by-now familiar voice saying, "There you go again. Pay attention to what's happening now and let the next few minutes take care of themselves!"

Embarrassment gave way to chagrin and edged toward humilliation when I realized the nice gentleman about to enter the store saw the whole debacle. He cringed and hollered (that's the only word for it), and I immediately flashed with anger, assuming he was laughing at me. My little voice was having a very busy morning, and once more nudged me. "You did it; why are you getting mad because he saw it? Just own it, Linda...just own it."

I went in the store. The fellow was standing in line with his purchases. He must have known I would be embarrassed; he didn't make eye contact. I said, "Did I scare you when I nearly took the bottom out of my car?" He relaxed, laughed, and said, "No, I was just hurting for your car!"  The laughter took the tension right out of the moment. He and the clerk shared stories about how many people have done the same thing, how you have to slow to a crawl to cross that spot without bumping, and how one young lady ripped her bumper off going over that spot. I felt a lot better by the time I'd paid for my gas.

Sorry I don't have pictures of the beautiful sunrise to share with you, but I think maybe I needed the lesson more than you needed the photos. Maybe next time.

Do You Speak 'Mater?

Do you ever have those moments when something you don't even know you know comes gently into your mind, into your set of knowledge, as if it had always been there? Comfortable, old knowledge...something you know in your skin, in your breath...know without effort.

I am not a knowledgeable gardner. My beloved is far more knowledgeable than I am about these things, and even he will quickly tell you he's still learning.  But once in a while, I feel so intimately connected to and aware of the plants, the soil, the blossoms and the ripening fruit. It feels like knowing a person, someone you're so intimate with, even if you can't articulate what you know about them, you just know. Ya' know?

Yeah, sounds a bit woo-woo...but it's a real feeling just the same. It's like a language I think I've forgotten that floats back into my conciousness from time to time. My father spoke that language. He loved growing things...loved the dirt, the green, and the beautiful harvest that fed his family and his soul.

I feel him sometimes...like the other day when I placed the umpteenth tomato in the kitchen windowsill to ripen. The window was full and I swear I heard him chuckle, "Whatcha' gonna do with the rest of them 'maters in the garden, gal? You need a couple more windows!"

Dad, I've only got one kitchen window, but I have lots of friends who are enjoying these tomatoes, just like your friends did. Briana and Sarah both love 'em warm, fresh off the vine. We eat 'em with breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and I even made spaghetti sauce with my own fresh tomatoes last week.

Ah, but what am I telling you all this for. I'm sure you already know.

Photos: Linda Davenport 2009

Garden Goodness

Just sharing some joy from the garden. We've started harvesting vegetables regularly now, but we've been havesting beauty for weeks. Enjoy!

Blackberries for Breakfast

I had blackberries for breakfast this morning

grown on a nearby mountain by a couple

no longer young but still in their prime.

I tasted their youth,

felt the grit between my teeth
of a too-tight budget and a too-small house,

smelled their dreams of acreage, farmland, a life made rich and full

by sweat and soil and a solid work ethic.

I mashed up my berries

and watched the juice run in the bowl,

saw blood from blistered hands

and heard the curses muttered under the breath

when another machine went down

and there was no money to fix it.

I lifted my spoon to my mouth and

tasted a first good harvest on land long saved for,

good years and lean years,

pungent, fertile ground and dust,

sun, rain, wind, drought, and storm,

sweet and tart together,

still gritty from time to time

but full and juicy and rich,

a breakfast so full of life

I could taste it.

Don't Worry - You've Got the Good Vibration

We must find peace...

Enjoy.

Something Moved Me

I got a comment from the lovely and talented Sitara Haye nudging me to get off my blogger's arse and write something. She reminded me that I don't have to be profound or even articulate...just write something. "Something has moved you in the last couple of months," she said.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I love you, Sitara, and I still hate it when you're right and I have to get up off the proverbial comfy couch and jumpstart myself into action. Inertia, thy name is Heartsong.

On the other hand, I like moving once I get going (bodies in motion and all that)...prefer it actually, to stillness...so thank you for the nudge.

Huh...I guess you moved me. Entry number one in my list of things that have moved me lately: Good friends who kick your butt in the gentlest and kindest of ways when you need it most. Thank you.

With Number One out of the way, the rest of the list follows.

Things That Moved Me (numbers 2 - 10)

2. My friend Indigo Satin (not her real name, unless you count her seems-like-forever-now internet and email name as real, which I do because it reflects her beautiful, flowing spirit and the deep, cool colors of her soul). As I type this, surgeons have just stitched her body back together after removing both breasts and a lymph node. She's in "recovery" at the hospital; the real recovery starts when her son and sister take her home to heal. She's beautiful, sensual, spiritual, sexy, smart, and soulful...and while I will miss the sweet, sexy, "baby's butt" cleavage she always seemed to have in her oh-so-lovely low-cut tops and corsetry, there is nothing that can dim the light in an around this amazing woman. I love you, Booful. (You can read her thoughts leading up to her surgery here, if you're interested; I hope she keeps writing as she recovers, though it may be a while before she feels like lifting arms to type.)

3. Our garden. Who would have thought, way back when Mom and Dad were sweating and digging and hoeing their little hearts out while I worked equally hard to avoid the sweating and digging and hoeing, that I would be such a garden nerd in my middle years? I love our growing, green babies! I love dirt! I'm even warming up to sweat, hoes, digging, and earthworms tilling the soil and pooping out nutritious goodness, goddess bless 'em. Compost is delightful. Weeding is an act of love. Yeah, I'm smitten...completely head over heels in love with it all.

4. Indigo Buntings. Beautiful, brilliant blue birds, blue all over except for charcoal gray outlines on wing and tail feathers. When one of these little fellows streaks by the window or rests for a while on the feeder or bird bath, my eyes can't drink in enough of the blue. They're like little drops of happy that sweeten whatever cup I'm handed on that day. For a moment, everything is a little more beautiful.

5. Mountains. The earthly ones, tall and strong and solid...and the people ones. People mountains are the ones you know you can go to when you're the one who needs to be heard, held, shored up. They're the ones who never listen superficially, just waiting for the chance to turn the conversation back to their own issues. They're the ones who, no matter how empty you are, they don't try to fill you up. They just accept that's where you are right now, that you'll fill up again in time, and all they have to do is love you while you work your way through it. And because they don't feel compelled to save you, they don't get mad when you don't heal on their time schedule. They wait, like mountains, timeless and unchanging.

6. Mountains. I know, I used this one already, but I'm moved by them in more than one way, and each one deserves its own number. It's my list. I can do that. When you look at the face of a mountain, the rock and dirt kind, you rarely see a surface that hasn't been shaped by events, some gentle and slow, some cataclysmic and abrupt. Volcanoes erupt, rocks slide, rivers run, fires rage...and the face of the mountain is changed forever. The mountain never tries to hide its face, no matter how ravaged or altered. The only regret ever expressed is by us, looking on, at the loss of some aspect of the mountain we were particularly fond of. We hate it when the rock slide changes the silhouette. We cry when fire turns a green mountainside into a ragged, charred expanse. Why is that? Why are we eager to hang onto things as they used to be? Seems a foolish thing to me, yet I catch myself wallowing in missing things that used to be instead of enjoying things that are. Mountains are good teachers.

7. Vulnerability. When people share less-than-favorite parts of themselves with me...fears, anxieties, feelings of inadequacy, loneliness...all the myriad of human worries and failings...it feels like such a profound honor. It's like they're laying down their shields, opening up and removing their armor, and standing naked and unprotected in front of me. That's huge, because we are all armed to the teeth. A single word, a glance, a shrug...we carry an arsenal that can wound as surely as any sword. Courage...not ignorance of danger or absence of fear, but willingness to be there anyway...is amazing. Trust is a gift.

8. The tastes and scents of summer. Peaches. Sweet red peppers. Melons. Iced tea with fresh mint. Fresh, pan-fried, corn. Tomatoes. Salsa. Anything grilled outside. Ice cold beer. Salads. Fresh herbs still warm from the summer sun. The way the air tastes when you breathe through your mouth after an afternoon rain. Jasmine. Magnolia. Marigold. Heliotrope. Blackberries. Squash. Pool water (don't lie - you know exactly what it tastes like). Okra, tomatoes, and onions with cornbread. Salty kisses after a day of garden work.

9. Our daughters. The women they have become. The surprise of it all. I remember when Amybeth played softball...I watched her all the time and then one night I watched her play and she was moving so fluidly, doing the right things with skill and strength, and I found myself thinking, "When did she become so capable? When did she change from my baby girl who tackled everything with her baby hands and her innocent enthusiasm and not-yet-ripe clumsiness into this young woman, fast and strong and knowledgeable? Nowadays I see Amybear with her gardening and her spiritual path, strong from the physical effort of growing and tending plants. I marvel at Sarah and her animals, at Amybeth and her passion and unwillingness to accept anyhing less than making a positive difference in the world. It's not that I didn't expect them to succeed, to be amazing. I've always known they would. I guess I'm surprised by "...the quickslivery racehorse passage of time..." (Pat Conroy). I know they're smart, strong, capable young women. I'm just surprised that they're not babies anymore. Where does the time go?

10. The pure yes-ness of it all. I find myself moved to tears with gratitude and wonder, sitting on the front porch with Jim, hot, tired from a hard day of work in the yard, garden, house...looking out across the yard, watching fireflies, and thinking...this is all I ever wanted...someone to work alongside, to share a glass of tea at the end of the day, to love without reservation. It just doesn't get any better.

You were right, Sitara. Thanks for the nudge.

Of Heaven and Earth

On the way to work a couple of days ago, I heard Brad Paisley and Dolly Parton on the radio singing, "When I Get Where I'm Going" (written by George Teren and Rivers Rutherford)...

Yeah when I get where I'm goin

There'll be only happy tears

I will shed the sins and struggles

I have carried all these years

And I'll leave my heart wide open

I will love and have no fear

Yeah when I get where I'm going

Don't cry for me down here.

It's a well-written song, beautifully performed by Paisley and Parton. But even while I was enjoying the music, I found myself thinking, "Why have I never felt that way?"

Even when I was trying to walk a Christian path, I was never focused on "where I'm going." I always felt like I was already there. Here. This is where I'm going, where I am.

As a child, I went to the Baptist church. I sang the Sunday School songs and colored the pictures of angels. Even then, the notion that this life is merely a trial to be endured on our way to our "real home" left me cold. Later, when my mother moved us from Baptist to Jehovah's Witness, the idea of a "new earth" made a little more sense, but not so much that I ever felt like I was just marking time, suffering and hoping to make the grade to get there.

Why is that? I am a southern American and our culture is saturated with Judeo-Christian (mostly fundamental Protestant Christian) references to streets of gold and mansions on the hills of our heavenly home. How is it that I never, not once, bought into that vision of our future or longed for the day when I would shed my earthly bonds and fly heavenward? I don't recall ever feeling burdened by sin and struggle, nor have I ever looked homeward toward angels.

Some will undoubtedly see my lack of heavenly focus as evidence that my heart is hardened and I'm lost to the sin and struggle. But I gotta tell you, my heart doesn't feel hard. My heart feels joy and pain. I feel bad when I do something that doesn't uphold my values. I hurt when I hurt others. I'm not evil. I'm not mean. I'm not cruel. No, I definitely don't buy the depraved sinner theory.

I don't know why I have always known that living this life is more important than focusing on some future state of supposed perfection. Maybe I've lived enough turns of the wheel to have figured that out. Maybe not. Whatever the reason, it's allowed me to find delicious joy and beauty every single day. When I'm in pain, when I'm struggling, the next beautiful thing is right here, right now, not something to hope for after I've suffered until I'm dead.

Regardless of why I've always believed this way, one thing that's crystal clear is my life is richer, fuller, more joyful, and more blessed because of it. Gratitude doesn't always require an explanation.

Joyous Encounters With the Divine - More Than One Door To God

After my post yesterday about opening the God door, I had to share something.

I was given a couple of glimpses of God today by people for whom, I'm sure, opening the God door was the last thing on their minds.

The first came early this morning as I was walking into the office. A few yards from the door, I heard behind me, "She's running...she's running! She's running to catch up to YOU!"  I turned and saw a friend running toward me. We laughed, shared our good mornings, and when she asked how I was, I responded (as I often do), "Fat and sassy!" 

She immediately replied, "Oh, we've got to eliminate that phrase!"

Me: "Oh, but it's a good thing!"

Friend: "Does your subconcious know that?"

Zing! Bullseye! Just the reminder I needed to pay attention to the messages I send myself. Funny thing is...I was just thinking about that very topic as part of a workshop I'm in the beginning stages of developing about how we claim to believe that words have power, yet we're careless with how we use those words, especially about ourselves. Even though, conciously, I infuse postive meaning into the words, I'm not sure my subconscious knows any other than the literal meaning of "fat." I don't mind being sassy, but fat is not a state I want to perpetuate. Shame on me, and thank you, Teresa, for being the voice of God this morning.

Next...standing in line in the company cafe, waiting to purchase my oh-goodie-it's-quiche-day breakfast...a woman turns and smiles, one of those hopeful, please talk to me smiles. I shared my joy about quiche day, and she asked, "How do you eat quiche and lose so much weight?"

Now, I didn't know her...don't remember having seen her...but she had noticed and watched my weight loss. And by commenting on it, she not only made me feel good, she gave me an opening to share my frustration at having gained a portion of that weight back. We then talked at length, sharing our frustrations, struggles, and hopes, our successes and continued efforts. It was a shot in the arm, better than any weight loss drug ever invented. And she reminded me that we are influencing others all the time, even when we're not aware of it. Thank you, Lisa, for being the smiling, sharing face of God for me this morning.

Blessings are all around us, all the time.  Sometimes God wears business casual and runs on the sidewalk.

Wishing you joyous encounters with the Divine, every day...and an open, aware, and grateful heart with which to recognize them.

Earth Day - More Than Just Recycling

I'm enjoying the flurry of messages bounding around my workplace, each encouraging us to recycle, plant trees, grow flowers, drive less, walk more...all the good, green practices that Earth Day brings to top of mind.

Along with all those active, Earth-friendly practices, I'd like to suggest that we add a mindfulness component to our Earth Day:

• When you eat a meal, take a moment to be mindful of every aspect of that meal - where it was grown, how it got here, how it was prepared, wrapped, served. Who touched it along the way to bring it to you? Savor it all, not just the food but all the energy that went into bringing you nourishment.
• When you work, take a moment to be mindful of all the tools you work with - the paper, the equipment, the power that runs them. Think about everything that went into bringing those things to your hand at this moment. What are they made of? Where did they come from? Who made them? Under what conditions? How did they get here?
• When you walk outside, take a moment to be mindful of everything you see - the natural elements and the manmade. How do they work together? What impact does each have on the other? Are they thriving side-by-side? What do you see-hear-feel-smell? Sense the energy of the space; is it calm, peaceful, harmonious...or is it chaotic, agitated, discordant? Why?
• When you walk inside, take a moment to feel the floor below you, to breathe the air, to notice the light. Try tracing all the elements of your indoor environment all the way back to their origins. Do you know what they're made of, how they're made, how they get here?
• Notice the people you see, those you speak to and those you don't. Earth is not just grass and trees, clean air and water. WE are Earth, too. What can you do to promote health, harmony, happiness among the human natural resources in your life?

Mindfulness is a step toward gratitude...and those who know me, know I'm all about gratitude. When we view the world through grateful eyes, it changes the way we see everything, and the way we live.

Happy Earth Day, my Earthly friends (those I know, and those I don't)!

Saved by an Estrogen Tsunami

When you pray for rain, buy an umbrella.

I asked the universe to rain on me and end the creative drought I found myself in. Salvation came in torrents, waves of beautiful, quenching relief that washed over me like a flood, waking me up and bringing me back to life.

I went to a women's retreat this past weekend. We called it a Goddess Weekend, but I like the name a friend from Twitter used for a women's outing - an estrogen tsunami. (Thanks, @micrathene!)

This tsunami was made up of woman of all ages and stages of life. There were the just barely eighteens, the young mother suckling her son, the single, the married, the divorced, the mothers and grandmothers. Some were healthy and robust; some were battling illnesses. Some were happy and cheerful; some were seeking solace. It would be hard to find a more diverse group. Yet among them all there was a common thread of strength, creativity, survival.

How can I tell you how good it was to be in the company of these women? We laughed and talked and told stories. We shared a powerful ritual in which the maiden, the mother, and the crone used us to tell the stories and teach the lessons we needed to hear. We made food together and cleaned up together. We danced and celebrated being sexy and fun. We loaded our own gear in and out and hooked up our own electronics and backed our own cars in and out of the woods. It was fun, but most of all, it was healing. Whatever the cause of my creative drought, the beautiful, wild, soaking rain of my sisters' company has put it to rest.

In honor of the estrogen tsunami, I'll share some photos I took this weekend. Water is a favorite subject for me and my camera, and the light and patterns of the creek flowing over the rocks just fascinated me. Maybe it reminded me of the way we women flow through life...over rocks and jagged edges, under, over, and around obstacles, sometimes in a flood, sometimes in a trickle, but we keep moving, moving, moving. Along the way, we cleanse, heal, soothe, refresh, nourish...when needed, we reshape, remove, and destroy. We are strong, even when our touch is tender.

Rush on, sisters...rush on.