Spiriting

Spiriting

I was raised with the idea of spirit inhabiting everything.  Ask before you hug a tree. Apologize, asking forgiveness when you walk on the grass and when you weed your flowerbeds.  As one of my Wiccan friends said, she needed to do a lot of apologizing to the fairies and spirits for all the yard work she had done one day in early spring, she was feeling the anger and grief for the disturbance from the fairies.

As we drove home from the valley yesterday, well the man, my husband was driving while I gawked in wonder at the display of clouds ringing the valley. My little body was vibrating with the utter joy I felt, getting me caught up in wondering how many cloud spirits it might take paint the sky with the mass of thunderheads I was seeing. Back lit with the sunshine, my heart was stilled. Which lead me to wonder about fire spirits, how many fire salamanders are needed to keep my little fire in our wood stove burning.  What about the wild fires burning every year? Spirits, billions and billions of spirits are inhabiting just the bodies of human beings, animals, insects, plants and heavens know what we are incapable of viewing with our eyes. It is easy to be overwhelmed.

 

Probably it is not a good thing to dwell on it, the mechanics of what is going on around us every single moment.  I am constantly amazed by myself. Egotistical?  No, just amazement for the body I have which in turn processes the good (a really great salad) and bad things (okay, I ate four chocolate chip cookies. They were homemade by the man.  They had a bit of oatmeal and whole wheat and all of the sugar and butter); I eat into a breathing, walking, thinking bag of protoplasm.   I mean Wow.  As a woman, I did an incredible thing.  I grew another creature inside my body.  Other than the initial hard work done by my husband and I in the set up for the biology experiment, I really didn’t do much.  I was lucky. The experiment now lives in New York.

Spirit, spirits.  Miracles, sparking everyday occurrences. Life. It happens, right?  I need to take more time out to feather dust my spirit. Let the sparkle shine.  Time to let some spiriting happen. 

 

Sweaty Buns

Sweaty Buns

When the man, my husband came in to wake me in order to go to our local REC center, I declined, telling him that I needed to cook my broccoli which had been sitting in the refrigerator for more than a week. After he left, I returned my alarm clock to the floor with a nice pile of dirty socks to muffle the tick, ticking of the clock.  I don’t like the noise while I am trying to go to sleep so over the years I have developed a routine of hiding my clock under a towel or discarded clothing but I have found socks work exceedingly well.

I began thinking of my day, cooking the broccoli, what to wear, figuring out what to have for breakfast.  Soon I began tossing, turning and ended up pushing the bedding to the foot of the bed allowing myself to steam off in the cool air of the bedroom.  Sweaty buns, I thought to myself as I flung my body onto its side.  My right bare arm rested on my side, my right hand touching one of the buns in question. Yes, definitely sweaty or is it a glow. Supposedly, women glow. Yeah, glowing, my royal ass.  Baby, I am sweating. In all of the creeks and crevices. Just a note, according to my sister Cindy, it never goes away.  Changes, yes, but never goes.  Just eat your dark chocolate during the day and you will know what I mean.

Luckily for me I never had to take hormones or rather I choose not to.  I had a brief period in which I would start stripping down practically everywhere.  Once in a jewelry store.  Fortunately, we knew the owner who smiled and continued to help us. The man, my husband told her, she gets hot. I did keep my blouse on but fanned myself a bit too rigorously defeating the purpose of fanning cool air on my body.  It is a good way to impress others.

Often, my own little ritual would begin with the removal of one piece of clothing followed by another piece and more articles of my attire until the blessed sweet cool air danced on my skin.  For a while, ice packs in my sports bra front and back was a new fashion statement in the privacy of my home.  Occasionally, our scrabble friend would see the sweater, t-shirt slide off and on throughout our game as I tried to adjust my temperature until I was sitting in just my bra on my torso.  I was aided in the process with a glass of cold water to put against my forehead and the back of my neck. The scrabble game went on.

Thankfully, I am way past those days.  My heat is mild lasting about 30 to 45 seconds.  Most of the time I sleep comfortably in my cotton flannel nightgown. I am resting beneath several quilts, a dark blue comforter, a couple of cream colored hand knitted afghans and a couple of small cotton blankets depending on the night.

 

I like to sleep with lots of things.  When I was a girl, it was the time of single pane windows that the winds whistled around and through.  Everyone slept with heavy quilts and a sibling or a cousin.

I would wake up with frost on inside of window from our breaths’ moisture in the night. The windows in my home are double pane now. Despite the whistling and howling of wind there is no frost except on the rooftops, the lawns about us. I have to wonder what the next decade has in store for me.  So far, I have begun to develop the attitude that this too shall pass.  Hopefully, the only future sweaty buns will be hot out of the oven with steam rising from the baking.

 

Aggravation and Relief

Aggravation and Relief

Sometime the simplest thing can aggravate you.  Perhaps this is not a conversation for the faint at heart as it involves potty talk. I am talking about heading to the small room after waiting too long, standing in place, trying not to dance as you try to separate the paper toilet seat cover in order to use it.  Aggravation, near terror, hopelessness and a compelling thought to stand and hover to take care of the problem.  Damn paper product.

Allowing the flow of bodily waste to pass warm from your body is one of the greatest pleasure in life. There is no judgement, no need to hurry once the process is in place as you rest gently in a publicly designated spot, in a stall with the door firmly closed behind you.  I have been out in the woods with rain or snow hitting my bare backside.  The great relief was not diminished in any sense.  Though the drip drying was not exciting.

 

I am trying to take my moments of aggravation out where I can examine them more carefully, to dig out the roots, to laugh at myself for nonsensible emotions I seem to be having at the time.  This is my truth. “This moment will past.” “The next moment will come.” “I will be.”

Gratitude should play into this somewhere.  Being grateful for a body which takes care of itself without much effort on my part is a win-win situation as far as I am concerned.  But I am working on it.  I am making an effort.  Adding various different vegetables into our meals, yes, the man, my husband is involved in taking care of ourselves.  Not only are we working on eating better daily, stretching our bodies, walking, playing games but periodically we attempt meditation on line with Deepak Chopra and Oprah.  We are not good at doing it daily but we are at least aware perhaps a higher view point would be good for both of us.  Procrastination is not just a big word.  It is a lingering habit right up there with the promises of an afternoon walk which does not materialize, reading uplifting prose to expand my mind, hell, just head for the cookie with a cup of coffee or tea to wash it down.

I am getting older.  I will be sixty-five in a few months.  I think I am doing well.  I can still walk and think.  I can touch my toes.  I practice it daily or try to.  When I was on the bed placing the eye drops for my dry eye problem, I found myself just continuing to rest on the bed.  There was really no pressing reason to get up yet for our walk. I relaxed my knees and let my legs rest fully on the bed.  This moment is perfect I thought to myself. I am perfect. I am loved. I gave thanks to the glorious father and divine mother.  I allowed myself to breathe in the perfect moment.

I find myself seeking these moments more and more as the days go by. It is better than aggravation.

 

Waiting for the Other Shoe

Waiting for the Other Shoe

            Do you ever have those moments of feeling like you are waiting for something? It is almost a heightened state of awareness bordering on some of the same effect I feel when I am attempting to meditate.  It causes me to pause, to listen and to reach out with my heart.

 

I had a moment last night as I work towards drifting to sleep. Not really a feeling of what will happen next but instead a feeling while I was compiling a list of what I was grateful for in the day I had just traveled through. I had a moment of awaiting, holding my breath, seeking out with my mind for a thread to grab, looking for the clarity to gain some insight.  I lost it. Gone as drops of rain dripping off a leaf to be absorbed into the earth. At least, out of my sight.

It seems I am getting a lot of messages. I just wished the telegraph system was better. I can hover in my mind on the edge of the universe taking in the view all I want, but when I return I am reminded of so many things, when turned on edge, seem to be lacking something.  I ignored most of it.  Instead, I watched the man going about his business, vacuuming, doing dishes and I enjoy the occasional nuzzling of my ear on his way to complete another errand.

Today after going to the grocery store, I let him know I was going to be reading for ten minutes before I started the casserole dish.  I put some items in the refrigerator and promptly sat down to enjoy a new book I had barely started.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw my husband looking intently at the recipe that his mom had given him years and years ago. Soon he was cutting up the onion, preparing it to sauté in a small frying pan. I read a few more sentences and headed to the kitchen.  Patience is not a state for his tummy.

Patience, it is hard to have patience.  Currently, I am waiting for the years to roll by so I can retire. I am still absorbing the idea.  I am hopeful I can treat it as new job. Get a schedule started.  One, get out of bed. Two, think about breakfast.  Three, kiss husband as he heads out the door for work.  (Yes, I am a cougar.) Four, take a walk. Weather permitting.  You get the idea.  Purpose, reading, writing and arithmetic to be enjoyed daily. Why, the arithmetic?  Well, how much money will I have?  Expenses? How long will I be enjoying this world?  I ought to have a plan of some sort.  Or I could simply wait for the other shoe to drop.