Paths not Taken

 

Paths not Taken

Our life is a day-to-day thing.  We wake up if we are lucky, get out of bed, and go about our day.  But if we forget to sit for a moment on the edge of dream and wakefulness, we stumble, lurch, and sway our way to the bathroom, to the first cup of tea or coffee. We are unprepared.

I was unprepared this morning. I didn’t do the ritual of feet over the bed, rotating my ankles, breathing slow breaths and giving gratitude for being. I lost my way, thinking of only getting to the bathroom to pee.  It was unnecessary. My bladder was not full. I could have waited to equalize myself with the world and I would not have spun my way against the walls, the counter in the bathroom to sit down on the toilet.  Just so you know. I am unhurt, there is nothing wrong with my balance, my body but when you are not fully awake you forget how to operate in this so-called reality of dreams. Spirit does not recognize walls. It is after all myself, the wide awake being in this house of miracles' task to set the pace, to make the choices or not for the day. My body needs reminders.

I thought about the stumbling, my unorganized movements during my walk this morning.  Even the loud chatter of the birds did not disrupt my thoughts for maybe a minute. Yes, I gave the morning events before my walk a minute before my attention turned to cacophony of the birds in numerous trees greeting the day. I was equally rewarded by flowers wild and domestic blooming flowers, trees, and shrubs along the way. I thought of how each footstep was a blessing to the earth. I wonder how my blessings could reach the essence of the Mother through the concrete sidewalk until I remember the sand, the rock, the water it takes to make the structures are part of the earth.  I smiled, I walked, I blessed.

Sometimes, I think about the paths not taken, beneath shady trees, along darken roads, places where my path was unclear but somehow, I walked through, I gained ground.  I am still gaining ground. I am adjusting my thoughts, forgetting, and forgoing the stuff thrusted upon me.  How I should be, what I can or not do?  I found a lovely thought.  If I do not get it done now, I will continue down another life among the paths not taken.

Huh, the Things They don't tell you

 

Huh, the Things They don't tell you

This is about personals. If you are shy, easily offended, or just do not want to go there, move on.

I was greatly disturbed a few weeks ago when I realized I was going to be sixty-nine years old. Why? I do not know. I haven’t been worried about the other birthdays; the other age groups now past. It is just well, things are not happy, you know, down there. I figured it was just other thing to annoy me on a day-to-day basis. Now I find out by flipping tv channels, it is an age thing.  On The Drew Barrymore Show was a medical doctor answering questions about important stuff.  A television show actress asked the question about well, down there.  Dryness, irritation, itchiness, and general discomfort.  Bingo! I was winning on all fronts. And it could be helped. 

I disregarded the hormone creams, particularly after looking at the supermarket at things inserted into the depths. Nope, not what I was looking for.  Which meant, it was time to head to the internet to search for natural remedies.  Well, hello.  Aloe Vera.  I got up and walked over to my recently transplanted Aloe.  I started talking to her since this was to be a group effort and to simply prepare the plant for a trimming job. I explained mother was sorry but I needed to try something new and it required a small donation.  I figured I would start with what was close to hand in my house, the plant, olive oil in the kitchen and though I searched there was no coconut oil to be found. No problem, I could see it clearly on the shelf at the store in my mind and would pick it up later. I won’t go into the details of the Aloe Vera experience but the results were immediate.  Comfortable and happy. I am glad to report equal success with both the olive oil and the coconut oil. Plants are food and medicine.

Now for the other thing.  I am happy to be approaching the end of another year.  I can’t complain. I kept waking up. I am still here.  

 Celebrating National Women's Day

My husband and I just finished a movie, "Women Talking" and it reminded me of a short story I had published in an anthology many, many years ago.  I thought it was relevant for the day.  Here it is for your reading.  

 

Learning to Fly 

Opal wore long stockings and long sleeves with her long dress.  A scarf covered her head.  All the other girls and the women wore the same wrappings.  All the women changed their clothes in a small dark room that was in each house.  Everyone always changed alone. No one smiled or laughed unless you were not a girl or woman.  Opal’s memories were of silence since no one was allowed to talk with another unless you were not a girl or a woman.

            One day, something wonderful happen to Opal.  A small white feather floated down from the sky and landed on the back of her hand.  It tickled and Opal felt a stirring in her heart.  A shudder ran up from her hand to her body.  The corner of her lips started to turn upwards in a smile.  A small laugh came out; it sang like chimes in the wind.  Opal looked around.  No one had seen the feather or heard her laughter.  The girl gently covered the feather with her hand and wondered.

            One day when the men and the boys left the town to do whatever they did, Opal did a brave thing.  She took the feather and walked down to the river.  She removed her shoes and stockings and touched her feet and legs

with the feather.  It tickled.  Her lips smiled and the small laugh returned, tinkling like bells hung on a string Opal removed her scarf and a little breeze played on her hair.  Another laugh struggled out.  Her long dress followed her scarf and remained on the ground.  Opal held the feather in one hand and stretched her arms up to the sky.  She felt different.

            The girl noticed for the first time the soft hair on her arms and legs.  The wind felt delicious as it blew across her body.

            Opal was smiling and laughing.  She was unaware of the girls and women that were huddled in a group near her.  Their eyes were full of awe and confusion.  They came closer.  The soft “ohs” coming from their throats began to grow into a long note of joy as they began to remove their wrappings.  The air was filled with flowing hair and singing laughter.  The girls and women surrounded Opal in a large circle and joined hands.  They felt different.

            They were unaware of the men and boys who were beginning to stand around them.  Their faces were full of dismay and anger.  They wanted to stop the women. They shouted.  Opal and the girls and the women began to sway and to dance in their circle.  They could not see the men’s and boys’

anger or hear their shouting.  The songs of joy were so loud that the men and boys put their hands over their ears to keep from hearing the songs.

            Opal grew brighter and taller, the girls and women grew brighter and taller.  The men and the boys covered their eyes to keep from seeing the girls and women grow brighter.  Opal and the girls and the women grew brighter.  They were different.  They marveled that they could feel so light and felt themselves slowly drift upward into the sky.  The men and the boys cried for them to return but Opal and the girls and the women drifted higher into the sky, for they were different and learning to fly.

As I shared this I am filled with gratitude I have been loved and cherished for all of my life by both men and women in my immediate family and treated with kindness by other men who came briefly into my life.  I am a miracle.  I am strong.  I am complete and I am enough.  

Reflections of Light

 

Reflections of Light

 

Sometimes we are reminded of the light of the world when we see it shining in front of us. I live in Oregon where most of our days during a normal year is overcast if not rainy. So, it is a really a delight to experience the light of the sun streaming in the windows illuminating the carpet on the floor, showing the dust on bookcases, bits of lint and what-not on various surfaces untouched and forgotten by a cleaning rag or the swoosh of the vacuum. 

It was one such day this January when I walked into the kitchen to find bands of light on my kitchen cupboards. I was transfixed. I stood unmoving, not breathing for fear of it disappearing before I grasped all its beauty and warmth. It bought to the front of my mind other days of light and sunshine and I sank into the moment being present. I did not worry about outside the kitchen, outside my door, in the neighborhood, across the bridge, the ocean or anywhere. A bit of the light hit my back and though I couldn’t see the light I felt its gentle warmth. A slightly surprised warmth being drawn from millions of miles to me at this moment lingering without an agenda as if it was saying, “So there you are.”

It is hard in this present day world to find a light, a purpose with so much being thrown in the thought cloud of the world. Thought cloud, I like that. I try and adjust my thought cloud on a day-to-day basis. I work on the little thoughts. Letting them come and go until I find something I like or think I like. It is hard to tell sometimes. Particularly, when so many of the thoughts are twirling and whirling about. They are restless, some are lonely, others passionate with some screaming to be heard. I try to let them settle, to find a safe corner, a high pinnacle, to hide until they are ready. 

The important thing for me is to let them, my wayward thoughts know they are loved, the experiences we shared are all good as we have survived, we exist and just like the light on cupboards we have our moments in the sun and it is glorious.

 

Walking with Bella  

 

I went walking with Bella today.  I can’t say it was a long time coming as I didn’t know she would be part of my life until I received an email stating she would be arriving.

She doesn’t mind the cold and seemed to particularly interested in sharing her warmth and comfort as she could provide. Today was a windy day so we bundled up, cuddled a bit and I cooed to let her know how soft and pretty she was even though her size was not great.

The sunlight was deceiving, the wind was cutting but we put our heads to the wind and bravely continued down this street and another, stopping to gaze at the silly daffodils blooming in the chill. I moved her a bit to settle the warmth between us. Not a single complaint as she was adjusted here and there to ensure continual warmth beneath a hiding sun behind storm clouds hovering with a wish to rain.

I knew our walk would not be long with rain seeking to drop out of the sky. It was after all a first walk for us. A time to get acquainted, to find out our likes and dislikes, how we would fit together and to dream of our future.

We didn’t talk, there was an easy silence between us. No words were needed just a comfortable feeling of new friends.

 

This little story is for Anne, my sister-in-law and her great kindness and cleverness.  A wonderful gift given in love and very timely with the chilly weather.  I thank you. Bella is a beautiful Merino wool scarf woven on a loom by Anne. 

The Art of Becoming Patient

 

 

Recently I bought a new teapot.  I have a stainless steel one already.  It lives on our wood stove insert. It is filled with water for cold days until it heats up from the comfortable burning fire. The man, my husband is the fire builder.  The fires he makes are generally because he has walked by me and has seen me huddled beneath several woven lap blankets, assorted knitted throws, and what-nots. The sight of me shivering with three sweaters on, hands tightly gripping a (burn your fingers) cup of hot tea stirs something in my husband.  After kissing the top of my head, he promptly sets about starting a fire.

We don’t always have a fire burning as I am not good about tending to it while he is gone during the day unless he has carefully placed wood at the ready in the garage for me.  I get distracted somehow and the fire goes untended until it dies in despair.

Back to the new teapot.  It is blue and beautiful.  It is a whistling teapot.  I had seen it in a little kitchen shop before Christmas but I had only admired it from afar as I was on a mission for pizza at the small bakery next door.  The pizza was still in the oven and I was wandering and biding my time patiently waiting for hot, delicious pizza for our lunch.  I was looking only, no touching, the better to resist temptation.  As food was on the horizon, I quickly lost interest in the wonders of the kitchen store. The pizza was perfect.

It is now January.  After watching an episode of Voir on television, the teapot came to life. The presenter was having tea and was pouring from my teapot.  I promptly said, “I want that.”

My husband, the man ever attentive in old moments asked, “What?”

“The teapot.”

I now have the teapot.  It is teaching me patience.  Whereas before I would fill my cup with water, microwave, steep and it was ready, my tea takes a longer process with the teapot. First, fill the teapot to an exact line, place on the heat, wait for the boil and after the whistle, wait 15 to 20 seconds off of the heat. This takes more than 1 minute, 30 seconds in the microwave I had been doing for a cup of tea. 

I make a matcha green tea with powder.  I have always found it soothing. The precise measuring with my son’s baby spoon of the matcha, the whisking of a bit of hot water and matcha together without a thought in my head as I gaze at the motion of the whisk, the green powder undergoing a transformation into a cloudy green liquid. I still do it.  But the blue teapot has added a new dimension.  The matcha still does its thing, I still whisk but my thoughts have a hint of anticipation.  An excitement.  A waiting.  Boiling down to becoming patient.

 

 

 

Walking without lead in my pockets

It is windy today.  We are expecting another large rain/wind storm on this Monday.  After the man headed for work, I bundled up and headed for a walk trying to gain some steps for the day. I walked here. I walked there.  Always staying at least 2 blocks from home, opting out of walking nearer the forest and the tall trees which were bending now and then in the wind.  I contemplated the ease of walking up one street thinking not bad, not much wind, I might be able to go further as the sky did not look like it was ready to dump buckets of water on me.  Until I turned a corner.  I stood still. Trying to hold my ground. As the wind gust eased up, I stepped forward determined to make it a few blocks more.  I ended up stopping, holding my place, my back to the wind as I was pelted with small debris. Needles from the pines, leaves of gold and red from maples, twigs broken and now heading for parts unknown.  I changed my mind, though my heart was in it, for the walking but common sense against having bits and pieces blown into my face, my glasses, and my eyes made me turn around and head for home. 

I like being home on a blustery, rainy day. I spend part of it turning on lamps as the house darkens with the presence of heavy skies. I have wandered about the house now, turning on the lamps which add a false warmth to the rooms.  Outside, the storm has arrived.  It is time for a cup of tea, a moment of sitting in a comfortable chair, with a warm cover on my legs.  It is times like this, I don’t read, I don’t watch a video or tv.  I like to just sit with the tea, hearing the rushing of the wind, the pounding of rain on the roof and windows.  

I used to love the sound of wind and rain but now I find an occasional note of discord vibrating through me.  The world has changed or maybe it is just me with a different awareness.  Whenever I feel it, the note swimming around, I let it hover, I let it dive and I breathe. 

Today, I turned off all of the lights, sat in my chair with my hands and fingers wrapped around the cup. Hot, close to burning but warming my hands as I drank the tea. A bit of cold metal brushed my cheek. The long sterling silver teaspoon nestled in the cup.  I use it to stir my matcha tea as it settles.  I enjoyed the near burning sensation of heat on my fingers, on the palm of my hand.  How often, I just do things without paying attention to what is really going on.  Today, I was present. When my tea was gone. I rested in silence, filled myself with gratitude.

It is always gratifying when you step into a different awareness no matter how brief.  In a wind storm walking without lead in my pockets makes me aware of how light I am, how small in a great big universe.  I like it.