Like many people I’ve been watching the river this week, but I watch her often. For me she is Mother River. I can’t begin to accurately describe the serenity I find on her banks or the myriad lessons I’ve learned by simply being still at her side.
This week the lesson I learned was about emptiness and fullness. I didn’t realize that was why I had gone to see her yesterday though. I simply went because I had been feeling called to and someone at the bus stop that morning had reminded me of her. So off I went to see how high the water was and to enjoy the peace despite the little bit of chill in the air and the gray skies.
For about a week I have been going through a process of emptying out, emotionally and spiritually. It’s a process that I am working with in general this year, being empty and refilling. The empty part has been challenging. It is not easy to be still with emptiness because it feels like loss at first. Yet, I’m discovering that is not what it is at all.
The first time I went through the process last month I spent a week experiencing intense feelings of separation, from people, from my Source. It was a real challenge. I had been given a gift before that week began though, a glorious moment of oneness spent with a Great Blue Heron that served as a reminder to me that the feelings of separation I was feeling were just that, feelings, not the truth. It is a delicate difference and yet made all the difference that week as I returned to remembering my truth that I can never truly be separate from my Source. In the end, what I found in the stillness of the emptiness was an incredible sense of joy.
This month the initial feelings were similar though slightly different. It was more a feeling of being alone. I know that sounds the same as separate, but it didn’t feel that way. The gift I received to help me through it this time was an opportunity last week to share a story with my daughters from when I was 18 years old. It was a soft, quiet moment that changed my life. At the time I was feeling more alone than I ever had before (including all the drama of that feeling that goes along with being 18!). I had some pretty good reasons at the time because I had moved away from all I knew, all I had grown up with, the summer before I headed off to college, lots of major changes. I was feeling a great deal of despair one night and I looked out the window of my room and through the branches of the trees there was a star. I had seen it there before out my window but in that moment I knew it was there for me. Because the light of that one star brought me a knowing that as lonely as I might be feeling, I was not alone, I was never alone. That moment changed my life and I knew from that moment forward that I would never be alone. Having just told my daughters about that night, served as a reminder to me this week when I was in the midst of feelings of being alone and empty.
Please don’t misunderstand me, I am willingly going through this process of being empty and full in a spiritual sense. It is a great learning for me this year and I am grateful for the opportunity and the gifts I am receiving to help me through it.
As I went to Mother River yesterday to sit in the stillness of the emptiness, she showed me something. The water between her banks was still quite high from the rains of previous days and I knew more rain was coming that would raise her levels even higher. What she helped me realize as I sat there watching her, was that she felt the same to me despite the rushing waters. The essence of her, her spirit, felt the same even though she was very full. I then thought about the times I have sat beside her when water was scarcer and realized she felt the same then too. The difference had been in her physical expression only; her essence remained the same whether she was empty or full. Honestly, I was stunned by the realization. It was so simple and yet for me so profound and until that moment I had not seen it. I am in constant awe of the lessons she willingly teaches if I simply listen and observe.
This morning I remembered something else about my times with Mother River when she was empty. Last summer we were able to wander to places we could not normally reach when she is full. In those places we found great treasures that we would not have found if she had not been empty. So this week I am deeply grateful to Mother River and for the treasures found in the emptiness as well as the fullness.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
The Curve of a Feather
As I walked I was overwhelmed with wonder in the curve of a feather. At the end of the pond was my friend the Great Blue Heron who I see there often. He sat in the morning sun and frigid air with his feathers fluffed up for warmth. I stopped to greet him. The light of the sun caught the spray of feathers that extended from his chest, the feathers lit such that I could see each one individually. I looked at his colors and beauty and design so perfect for him and my heart swelled with joy and wonder (literally I felt like the Grinch with my heart growing three sizes). How beautiful!
I thought of the feathers on other birds I have seen and all their amazing array of colors and sizes, all serving a purpose for that bird. I thought of the different kinds of trees and how each one has a different leaf and different bark, a different way to reach for the sky. I thought about the flowers! There exists in the world such an enormous variety of flowers! Each with different petals and colors, leaves and stems. And what of all the creatures, I thought, those that crawl or run or swim or slither, with scales or skin or fur? Each of these plants, birds and animals with all they need to serve life, to live and thrive and create more life in one form or another. What a wonder that there is such immense splendor and diversity!
I was overwhelmed with joy as a stood there basking in the reflected beauty of the heron. I was filled with gratitude to have that small moment of wonder and to see the threads of life all around me as they stretched out across the earth and into the vastness of the Universe and all its mystery and majesty. What an amazing gift, I thought, to be able to be here in this moment and witness the beauty of creation in the curve of a single feather.
In Gratitude to the Great Blue
I thought of the feathers on other birds I have seen and all their amazing array of colors and sizes, all serving a purpose for that bird. I thought of the different kinds of trees and how each one has a different leaf and different bark, a different way to reach for the sky. I thought about the flowers! There exists in the world such an enormous variety of flowers! Each with different petals and colors, leaves and stems. And what of all the creatures, I thought, those that crawl or run or swim or slither, with scales or skin or fur? Each of these plants, birds and animals with all they need to serve life, to live and thrive and create more life in one form or another. What a wonder that there is such immense splendor and diversity!
I was overwhelmed with joy as a stood there basking in the reflected beauty of the heron. I was filled with gratitude to have that small moment of wonder and to see the threads of life all around me as they stretched out across the earth and into the vastness of the Universe and all its mystery and majesty. What an amazing gift, I thought, to be able to be here in this moment and witness the beauty of creation in the curve of a single feather.
In Gratitude to the Great Blue
Blame Ends with Me
For Christina Taylor Green
We teach them to share. We teach them to be kind, their right from their left, play nicely, use good manners, it’s not polite to point, take turns. We teach them to take responsibility. We teach them the golden rule; Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Unless the others are not like you. Unless they don’t vote like you do. Unless their skin is a different color than yours. Unless they pray differently than you. Unless they live across some imaginary border from you. Unless they don’t agree with you. Unless…
We redefine right and left, until it becomes right and wrong. Pointing, pointing, pointing at who is to blame. Did you ever notice the word blame ends with me?
I am to blame. For every choice I made that did not honor what I teach my children. For every choice not made from love. For every time I didn’t share or play nicely with others. For every time I judged based on color or creed or doctrine. For every time I was impolite. For every time I didn’t wait my turn. For every time I dodged my responsibility for my choices. For every time I was unkind. For every time I forgot that left and right were just directions, not divisions.
For each and every time, my child, I apologize. I should have known better. I should have behaved better. From the deepest place in my heart, from the deepest part of my connection to all humanity, I am sorry that I didn’t behave more like you. I’m sorry I didn’t choose from the heart of the child, so that you could live today, now, in a world of peace. I will choose more wisely from this day forth. I will make choices that I know will one day lead to a world you will be proud to call home. You have my word - if you will still take the word of an adult.
January 9, 2011
We teach them to share. We teach them to be kind, their right from their left, play nicely, use good manners, it’s not polite to point, take turns. We teach them to take responsibility. We teach them the golden rule; Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Unless the others are not like you. Unless they don’t vote like you do. Unless their skin is a different color than yours. Unless they pray differently than you. Unless they live across some imaginary border from you. Unless they don’t agree with you. Unless…
We redefine right and left, until it becomes right and wrong. Pointing, pointing, pointing at who is to blame. Did you ever notice the word blame ends with me?
I am to blame. For every choice I made that did not honor what I teach my children. For every choice not made from love. For every time I didn’t share or play nicely with others. For every time I judged based on color or creed or doctrine. For every time I was impolite. For every time I didn’t wait my turn. For every time I dodged my responsibility for my choices. For every time I was unkind. For every time I forgot that left and right were just directions, not divisions.
For each and every time, my child, I apologize. I should have known better. I should have behaved better. From the deepest place in my heart, from the deepest part of my connection to all humanity, I am sorry that I didn’t behave more like you. I’m sorry I didn’t choose from the heart of the child, so that you could live today, now, in a world of peace. I will choose more wisely from this day forth. I will make choices that I know will one day lead to a world you will be proud to call home. You have my word - if you will still take the word of an adult.
January 9, 2011
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
The Passing of a Redbud Tree
I wrote a post last year (April 2009) about the redbud tree in my front yard. Here is part of that post:
There is nothing that tree can do to stop me from loving it. Looking at it simply makes me feel the love in my heart, the love that I am. What an amazing gift that tree gives to me. It provides me with a reminder of the love that I am, an opportunity to feel the love that I am…. Maybe that’s what love is, simply something or someone that reminds you of or reawakens in you the love that you are.
That redbud tree is no longer in my front yard. The disease I wrote about in the post eventually killed that beautiful tree. And so my friend the redbud continued to teach me about love, even in death.
I let her sit in my front yard without a single leaf on her for a whole spring and summer when others could clearly see that she was dead, because I was hoping she would still somehow come back to life. She had been so full of life, so it must be possible I reasoned. Yet, the truth was that her time as a redbud tree had ended and my holding on to her could not bring that beautiful life back to her branches. I had to let her go with grace. My holding her here because of my sadness and reluctance to let her go did not honor the beautiful life that she was.
It was time for her to transform from one form of life to another. I realized at some point that I could let her do it while I resisted or I could let her transform with love. That’s when I remembered the lesson of unconditional love that she taught me one morning as I sat on my porch looking at her. The question became, could I love her unconditionally even in death?
I decided I could. It did not mean that I didn’t still have some reluctance because I did, and it didn’t mean I didn’t have any sadness because I did. However, I didn’t want to tether her here out of fear of loss, but wanted instead to release her with love. It was a slow lesson to learn for me because I had loved that tree since she was a sapling. I did learn, however slowly, that I was not loving her by holding on to her when she was clearly already gone. The loving thing was to acknowledge the end of the life of my beloved redbud and find a way to rejoice in the new life that would somehow come from her death.
In the woods she might have had the opportunity to fall and decay and become a part of the forest floor that would eventually help feed another tree. I knew she wouldn’t have that opportunity in my front yard. I couldn’t really bring myself to cut her down though. Instead someone that loves me had an opportunity to practice unconditional love as well and be part of this process with me. I know she was taken down with a sense of honor and gratitude. So many opportunities she provided to practice her teachings.
She lay in pieces in my yard for a week. My daughters and I mourned her passing. I still feel sadness that I will not see her colors again or feel the coolness of the shade she provides or watch the buds form on her branches in the spring. I miss what she was. Yet, I had to find a way to celebrate her life and what she could become beyond being a redbud tree.
Rather than have her decay at the dump with other yard debris, she had an opportunity to transform in a more dramatic fashion. She became fuel for a bonfire that was part of a night of music and celebration and community. I think she would have liked that. I sat with her as the fire was lit and watched as she transformed before my eyes into flame, smoke, ember and finally ashes. It was sad and joyful at once. I knew through what she had taught me about unconditional love, that I could love her equally no matter what form she took and I knew she could remind me of the love that I am no matter what form she took.
She just never taught me about the sadness I would feel. And yet she did. Through her transformation she showed me that the love I felt for her could radiate through the feelings of loss and remind me of the joy she found in her new form. If I loved her unconditionally how could I not celebrate her transformation with her? I’m quite sure she enjoyed providing light for smiling faces, heat for roasting marshmallows, and warmth for an evening holding the promise of autumn in the air.
And now? Now I carry the memory of her beauty, her lessons and her love with me everyday, as well as the joy of knowing that indeed her life, in whatever form, continues to bear fruit.
There is nothing that tree can do to stop me from loving it. Looking at it simply makes me feel the love in my heart, the love that I am. What an amazing gift that tree gives to me. It provides me with a reminder of the love that I am, an opportunity to feel the love that I am…. Maybe that’s what love is, simply something or someone that reminds you of or reawakens in you the love that you are.
That redbud tree is no longer in my front yard. The disease I wrote about in the post eventually killed that beautiful tree. And so my friend the redbud continued to teach me about love, even in death.
I let her sit in my front yard without a single leaf on her for a whole spring and summer when others could clearly see that she was dead, because I was hoping she would still somehow come back to life. She had been so full of life, so it must be possible I reasoned. Yet, the truth was that her time as a redbud tree had ended and my holding on to her could not bring that beautiful life back to her branches. I had to let her go with grace. My holding her here because of my sadness and reluctance to let her go did not honor the beautiful life that she was.
It was time for her to transform from one form of life to another. I realized at some point that I could let her do it while I resisted or I could let her transform with love. That’s when I remembered the lesson of unconditional love that she taught me one morning as I sat on my porch looking at her. The question became, could I love her unconditionally even in death?
I decided I could. It did not mean that I didn’t still have some reluctance because I did, and it didn’t mean I didn’t have any sadness because I did. However, I didn’t want to tether her here out of fear of loss, but wanted instead to release her with love. It was a slow lesson to learn for me because I had loved that tree since she was a sapling. I did learn, however slowly, that I was not loving her by holding on to her when she was clearly already gone. The loving thing was to acknowledge the end of the life of my beloved redbud and find a way to rejoice in the new life that would somehow come from her death.
In the woods she might have had the opportunity to fall and decay and become a part of the forest floor that would eventually help feed another tree. I knew she wouldn’t have that opportunity in my front yard. I couldn’t really bring myself to cut her down though. Instead someone that loves me had an opportunity to practice unconditional love as well and be part of this process with me. I know she was taken down with a sense of honor and gratitude. So many opportunities she provided to practice her teachings.
She lay in pieces in my yard for a week. My daughters and I mourned her passing. I still feel sadness that I will not see her colors again or feel the coolness of the shade she provides or watch the buds form on her branches in the spring. I miss what she was. Yet, I had to find a way to celebrate her life and what she could become beyond being a redbud tree.
Rather than have her decay at the dump with other yard debris, she had an opportunity to transform in a more dramatic fashion. She became fuel for a bonfire that was part of a night of music and celebration and community. I think she would have liked that. I sat with her as the fire was lit and watched as she transformed before my eyes into flame, smoke, ember and finally ashes. It was sad and joyful at once. I knew through what she had taught me about unconditional love, that I could love her equally no matter what form she took and I knew she could remind me of the love that I am no matter what form she took.
She just never taught me about the sadness I would feel. And yet she did. Through her transformation she showed me that the love I felt for her could radiate through the feelings of loss and remind me of the joy she found in her new form. If I loved her unconditionally how could I not celebrate her transformation with her? I’m quite sure she enjoyed providing light for smiling faces, heat for roasting marshmallows, and warmth for an evening holding the promise of autumn in the air.
And now? Now I carry the memory of her beauty, her lessons and her love with me everyday, as well as the joy of knowing that indeed her life, in whatever form, continues to bear fruit.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Food of Love
In my writing process I most often feel as if words are simply moving through me. There are some ways in particular that I know for certain are purely words moving through me and this came from one of those writings the other day. I found it to be very interesting and so I thought I would share it. Enjoy in Love!
With an infant a human need is simply a human need. They cry for food or nourishment. They are acknowledged to need love for true, pure growth and stimulation without shame or fear. Love is part of their nourishment and no one belittles them for it. No one holds that need for love against them. As an infant it is part of the basic needs of the human. Then things shift and the need for the nourishment of love becomes conditional and limited as if you outgrown the need for love. That is not true. Love is the source of all nourishment. Love is the core of that bright light. Sit within it and be fed by Love. Feed yourself without shame or self recrimination. Allow that love to fill you and feed you. Its supply is limitless and endless. Fear not in your human form, fear not and love more. Fear none, love all.
With an infant a human need is simply a human need. They cry for food or nourishment. They are acknowledged to need love for true, pure growth and stimulation without shame or fear. Love is part of their nourishment and no one belittles them for it. No one holds that need for love against them. As an infant it is part of the basic needs of the human. Then things shift and the need for the nourishment of love becomes conditional and limited as if you outgrown the need for love. That is not true. Love is the source of all nourishment. Love is the core of that bright light. Sit within it and be fed by Love. Feed yourself without shame or self recrimination. Allow that love to fill you and feed you. Its supply is limitless and endless. Fear not in your human form, fear not and love more. Fear none, love all.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Tuning
I live in gratitude for my morning walks....
There is a natural rhythm to the Earth. With each step I feel it under my feet. With each breath I smell it in the air. With each moment I hear it all around me. With each blink of my eye I see it in color and light. Every morning I am an instrument waiting to be tuned. If I allow it, the birds will sing with me until I hit a harmonizing note. If I allow it, the summer green of the leaves, the deep burgundy of the lilies or the pure cobalt of the blue jay will perfect my vision with their rainbow. If I allow it, the gentle breeze and whispering of the leaves will tighten or loosen a string as needed. If I allow it, my heart will align with the steady heartbeat that arises from the core of the Earth. If I allow it, with each step and each breath I will hear my own contribution to the symphony. I bow my head and continue on in tune.
There is a natural rhythm to the Earth. With each step I feel it under my feet. With each breath I smell it in the air. With each moment I hear it all around me. With each blink of my eye I see it in color and light. Every morning I am an instrument waiting to be tuned. If I allow it, the birds will sing with me until I hit a harmonizing note. If I allow it, the summer green of the leaves, the deep burgundy of the lilies or the pure cobalt of the blue jay will perfect my vision with their rainbow. If I allow it, the gentle breeze and whispering of the leaves will tighten or loosen a string as needed. If I allow it, my heart will align with the steady heartbeat that arises from the core of the Earth. If I allow it, with each step and each breath I will hear my own contribution to the symphony. I bow my head and continue on in tune.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Detours
As anyone who lives in or around Fredericksburg, VA knows, there is a lot of road work happening right now. It seems everywhere you go there is a sign saying, left lane closed, or detour, or fines are higher in construction zones! It’s not just on one road either, but seems to be on every route you try. Like everyone else I have found myself becoming frustrated with the delays. Until a recent morning that is. One morning I was walking and saw a new detour sign on Washington Ave. and watched the cars being guided to the new route. That is when the words came to me loud and clear, have patience with the path as you drive it, have patience with the path as you walk it.
Have patience with the path. I smiled to myself as I walked. It was much easier to find that patience when I was taking my morning walk as opposed to when I’m running late getting my daughters to field hockey or gymnastics. I recognized it as an important moment though.
My own journey took an unexpected turn recently, one that I saw no warning signs for. I wish I had seen the detour coming like I do around town, but it came nonetheless. Paths will do that. While I know it is something I will move through, I also needed the reminder to have patience as I walk it. I can’t always see the twists and turns the path will take in advance and truly I know that is not really the goal. The goal is to walk it with grace, with patience, with love, with peace, no matter how many detours there are or how many lanes end. I needed that reminder.
I honestly think that if I could look down at the way from above, I would learn that really there were no road blocks. It was always straight. Optical illusions were created by my limited vision, or the shimmering waves from the heat of the moment. If I had walked with more patience for the path I might have noticed that with each step. The construction on the roads has given me an opportunity to catch my breath and look again. Maybe it isn’t a curve that I have come upon in my life. Maybe it is simply one more step on the path and all I need to see right now is that one step, because that is where the learning is. From my perspective that’s what the things that seem like detours are about, learning and growth. Each seeming obstacle is an opportunity to grow in my human life and in my spiritual life, and the lessons though they may feel challenging or even devastating, are worth learning, worth the patience, worth the effort. The merging I am focused on in my life is the human and Spirit and for that I must have patience with the path as I walk it.
Have patience with the path. I smiled to myself as I walked. It was much easier to find that patience when I was taking my morning walk as opposed to when I’m running late getting my daughters to field hockey or gymnastics. I recognized it as an important moment though.
My own journey took an unexpected turn recently, one that I saw no warning signs for. I wish I had seen the detour coming like I do around town, but it came nonetheless. Paths will do that. While I know it is something I will move through, I also needed the reminder to have patience as I walk it. I can’t always see the twists and turns the path will take in advance and truly I know that is not really the goal. The goal is to walk it with grace, with patience, with love, with peace, no matter how many detours there are or how many lanes end. I needed that reminder.
I honestly think that if I could look down at the way from above, I would learn that really there were no road blocks. It was always straight. Optical illusions were created by my limited vision, or the shimmering waves from the heat of the moment. If I had walked with more patience for the path I might have noticed that with each step. The construction on the roads has given me an opportunity to catch my breath and look again. Maybe it isn’t a curve that I have come upon in my life. Maybe it is simply one more step on the path and all I need to see right now is that one step, because that is where the learning is. From my perspective that’s what the things that seem like detours are about, learning and growth. Each seeming obstacle is an opportunity to grow in my human life and in my spiritual life, and the lessons though they may feel challenging or even devastating, are worth learning, worth the patience, worth the effort. The merging I am focused on in my life is the human and Spirit and for that I must have patience with the path as I walk it.
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