Angels

As 2011 draws to a close, my thoughts turn to angels.

Snow angels, to be specific.

I am grateful today for the opportunity to squeeze in one last angel for the year.

Plopping down onto the cold, smooth ice of the lake, laying on a small cushion of snow, my arms and legs gliding back and forth in perfect snow angel formation, I reconnect with the magic of childlike wonder that exists in me -- in all of us. The place I try to remember to live my life from each and every moment of each and every day.

Not an easy task. But not so hard either. Not really.

We just have to remember.

So, I leave you tonight with a wish for the New Year...that we remember this precious place in ourselves. That we remember our own divinity and that of those around us. That we remember that this life isn't about all of the physical trappings...but about love. And joy. And wonder.

And snow angels.

Happy 2012 to one and all! See you in the New Year. :)

Essential

Suffering is not a virtue. Joy is not a sin. ~Paulo Coelho


After an extremely packed weekend and on the eve of another work week, I revisit my tantrum from earlier this week and ask the question of my self again...

Self? What can we do differently here so that the holidays are manageable, and dare I say it, enjoyable?

I admit to still being a bit baffled. But it has certainly been on my mind.

You may recall my post about the movie, The Way, in which I wrote about how we can uncover our true self by paring away what is unessential. Asking the above question last week got me wondering -- could the same hold true for my current dilemma?

So the question becomes: If we pare away what is unessential, are we able to uncover -- and rediscover -- the true spirit of the holidays?

I've used the above quote before but I love it so much, and it seems to apply so strongly here, that I had to use it again.

It occurs to me that if I somehow allow myself the freedom of choice to take on only that -- or mostly that -- which brings me joy (because, let's face it, there are some things we really must do that we don't love) can I preserve the feelings of warmth and love that permeate the season?

As I ask that, more questions present themselves...

How and to what degree will I insist on caring for myself during the times when I am undeniably swamped?

When will I allow myself to say when? Do I know the difference between stretching my comfort zone constructively and stretching to the breaking point?

Will the world stop if I do? If even for a moment?

Because here's the thing...what good is it to rush around frantically trying to make things perfect, to get everything done with the intention of making things special for others, for making others happy if we can't find a way to make space for our own happiness in the process?

Continuing to say yes to things that don't feed us, to things that are unessential simply because someone expects it of us or we, for some reason, expect it of ourselves is not a virtue. Especially if it makes us miserable and overextended and unable to enjoy the holidays in the process. Saying no to those same things, taking care of ourselves, maintaining our buffer and some level of sanity is not a bad thing.

At what point do we allow our own joy and well-being to count?

I think part of me keeps hoping for a magic pill -- for the right answer. You know, something that has never occurred to me, that has never occurred to anyone in the history of mankind, something that will spring up from the wisdom-filled depths of the Universe. The clouds will part, a ray of sunshine will cast its spotlight on me, the angels will sing, I'll smack the heel of my hand to my forehead and exclaim,

Of course! Why didn't I think of that??!?

The real issue is that the answers are right here before me...before us. The real issue is we already know what we need to do yet somehow still allow ourselves to be swept away on the frenzied wind of perpetual holiday hubbub instead of deliberately stepping into our days and maintaining a degree of seniority over our lives.

We're not in control of what goes on around us, of what and who tugs at our sleeves like needy children -- let's be real...sometimes those tugging on us are needy children! What goes on around us goes on. We can relinquish any desire to control what is uncontrollable. Whew! Right?? What a load off!

What we are in control of is how we respond. Of how and where in our day to carve out a few minutes here and there to relax, to regroup. Of what we say yes -- and no -- to. It is up to us to allow ourselves to know what is essential and to choose it, letting the unessential fall away.

What is essential to me this holiday is slowing down: by meditating -- which has incredibly dropped to the bottom of my list of priorities these past couple of weeks -- and taking care of my needs as much as possible...eating well, eating often enough, getting plenty of water, some fresh air and exercise, planning ahead so I can get enough sleep.

...she says as she stays up past her bedtime writing her blog. Well, you know...us creative types and all. : )

Every choice we make determines our priorities. If we choose what is essential on a soul level, we will remember the spirit of the season and uncover the peace and the joy that is all around us waiting for us to slow down long enough to tap into it. To witness it. To be it.

As I type, the house is quiet, the neighbor's red and white Christmas lights twinkle and shine, the blanket of white that covers the grass and is settled in the branches offer a bright outline against the dark sky. I breathe, I reconnect, and I remember why I'm here.

Love. Joy. Peace.

This is essential.

I want to value taking care of myself and choose it every day so that I can bring the best of me to every part of my life, especially to my gatherings with friends and family, honoring our connection with each other and appreciating the spirit of joy that we bring into one another's lives.

Isn't this what the holidays are all about?

It's actually no different than how I want to live my every day.

Perhaps this time of the year is just really good practice for all of us in holding our course in a time of chaos.//

12 Brews of Christmas!
The fourth brew of Christmas that my true love gave to me was...

Abita Christmas Ale!

I'll be honest...this one was not my favorite. It was smoky and coffee-ish to me, which seemed unusual for what looked like and had the light body of a red ale. In all fairness, I'm not a coffee drinker so I don't always appreciate that flavor, especially if it is the predominant one. Their website suggests certain foods to eat with it -- gingerbread, nuts, strong cheeses. Probably would have been well-suited and could have balanced some of the harsher, more bitter notes. If you like coffee and IPA-style brews (the bitterness reminded me of a strong IPA), or enjoy drinking beer with different foods, this one may be for you!

Personally, I like my beer straight up!

Sleep well, one and all. : )

Love Life

How can I not?

1. It's Friday and I'm done with work!

2. I'm biding my time until I head out to The Wine Thief for my honey's wine tasting tonight (4-7ish...come on over and join us!!) and then off to dinner with our friends and Wine Thief/Ale Jail owners Paul and KaTrina. I still think Wine Thief/Ale Jail have the coolest website ever!  Check it out!

3. There are fuzzy little critter friends outside (where they belong!) to amuse me...

 ...pumpkin head!  And...

...the flying trapeze artist!

4. Did I mention there will be wine?

5. The weather folks are promising us our first taste of snow tomorrow...I LOVE SNOW!  Only one inch but we've seen nary a trace so far (so weird!), so I'll take it!

6. I have officially adjusted to the getting-dark-earlier-than-you-can-possibly-imagine portion of the Fall-into-Winter program.  In fact, I'm actually enjoying it! Really, really enjoying it. Who knew?  Shh...don't tell.

7. It's a balmy 47 degrees outside and I'm loving that, too.  Who wouldn't in Minnesota in November??!?

8. Terry raked the yard this afternoon so I we don't have to tomorrow morning when it may be freezing rain out there. : )

9. My Christmas cards are ordered and on their way (before December? What have you done with my procrastinating twin sister??!?).

And...

10. While we're up to smousy #18 -- cute little sucker captured and released this morning -- they have stopped choosing the DT and are no longer traveling in multiples. There have been no babies and we're down to about one capture per day.  Hallelujah!

It's the simple things in life that bring a smile to my face if I take the time to notice and acknowledge them.

How 'bout you? In this season of giving thanks, what do you love about life?//

What's For Dinner Tonight?

A mystery.  Up for grabs.  Anybody's guess.  Some restaurant in St. Paul...does that narrow it down?  

We have this annual Thanksgiving outing with Paul and KaTrina each year -- T does his tasting and we go grab some grub, visit and catch up.  We haven't all been together in a while so I'm really looking forward to it. 

Most years we go to The Nook, but not sure if we'll get there this year. I haven't been there since a kitchen fire closed them down and forced a renovation almost a year ago, so I'm pretty sure they will get my vote. Not that we didn't already have burgers this week (didn't plan that very well) but we don't get to The Nook very often -- and love, Love, LOVE it! -- so it's a treat!

I'll let you know where we end up tomorrow.

Have a great night! : )

Weeks 39 & 40 and beyond - A Little Help

"We can do no great things, only small things with great love." ~Mother Theresa


One morning last week as Terry, Trooper and I were sitting next to the rain garden, I saw a small, pale green creature struggling to make its way across the grass by our feet. Upon closer examination, I noticed it was a freshly hatched cicada -- its wings weren't even fully unfurled, and seemed to be efforting greatly to find a place to rest. The blades of grass were unyielding until the cicada had climbed up to the very tip, at which point the blade would fold and extend to the next unyielding blades.

"Look how hard he's working," I remarked to Terry. "He looks like he's climbing mountains." I crouched down next to the cicada and extended a tiny stick, which he grasped immediately. The stick provided a bit of a bridge through the grass, aiding its way to where it finally reached its destination -- the leg of Terry's chair.

"You know, they've been doing this for hundreds, possibly thousands of years without our help," Terry said. "It'll be fine."

Indeed it would, and they have, and yet I couldn't help lending a hand -- or more accurately, a stick -- anyway.

In the month or so that has passed since my meditation project officially ended on July 5th, I've been contemplating what the experience has meant for me. Forty weeks of daily meditation. Has my life been transformed, as I had wondered when I began my journey nine months ago?

Perhaps not transformed, but certainly altered. "Transformed" seems so big a word, so full of expectation, so grandiose. Having used that word when I began these forty weeks, I realize I moved into this project with much more expectation than I had originally realized. Maybe it was more a hope I had than an expectation, but it put demands on the outcome just the same. I certainly felt the resistance of those unspoken expectations as I went along. It seems what I'm left with after nine months of daily meditation isn't earth-shattering by any means. And to my surprise, I'm finding this is more than OK. In fact, it's a relief.

I admit to having lived the better part of my forty years putting an extensive amount of pressure on myself for how I should live my life and what I should be when I grow up. Is what I'm doing with my life enough? Big enough, important enough? I'm not a mother or a veterinarian or a business owner or a published novelist or a teacher -- these all feel like appropriately Big Things and I've done none of them. Whatever I'm here to do with my life, shouldn't it be big? Shouldn't everything I do be above and beyond? What am I waiting for?

If my journey with meditation thus far has granted me anything, it is humility. And trust. Suddenly, where I am and who I am is enough. However I choose to live my life, whatever I am moved to do is perfect as it is. After years of feeling I needed to be more or do more, I'm relieved to trust that everything in my life is right on time. Being in the present moment and seeking to savor every little experience isn't necessarily easy, but it's satisfying. I'm content now knowing that a life well-lived doesn't have to be about doing or having everything grand -- small matters. Watching the hummingbirds and chickadees go about their daily tasks outside my window while I write on this endlessly sunny afternoon has me full to brimming. Embracing this moment, I trust that a life well-lived is about loving the life we live and living a life we love.

Assisting a cicada on its journey to someplace dry and stable enough to complete its metamorphosis is a small gesture. As is a pat on the back, a smile or a kind word to a friend in need or the man or woman on the street. It's an acknowledgement of our common source, of what is essential and real, when what is changeable and impermanent falls away. We're all here together as manifestations of this common source on this earthly journey doing the best we can. And sometimes we all could use a little help.

Perhaps meditation is the little stick that has aided me to a safe haven to continue my metamorphosis. It's another tool in my toolbox -- a way to center, to ground, to unwind and certainly to connect. I have come to love how it bookmarks my day as I continue to sit every morning when I wake up and every night before I go to bed. Over the months, my practice has simply evolved into a morning and evening touch point, sitting for 15 minutes or more depending on how I feel and it works for me.

I imagine my practice will continue to grow and change just as I will, little by little, bit by bit, depending on what's required in the moment. It is what it is, as am I, and it appears to be just the help I need.//

Weeks 30 & 31 - Legacy

If it's not fun, why do it? ~Ben & Jerry


This morning after my meditation, I walked out into the kitchen and witnessed our resident Mallard hen (a.k.a. "Mama") down at the feeder having breakfast and taking a dip in the water pan. She gobbled feed off the ground, then swiveled her head over to the water to guzzle. Then deciding it was time for a bath, she hopped in the water -- all of two inches deep -- and proceeded to fluff, preen, flap and splash to her heart's content.

Now, I've seen her do this countless times this spring, she and her beau both, and get a kick out of them every time. But something about this time was different for me -- seeing her out there, gratitude overcame me and brought me to tears. There was something about it that was so real, so vulnerable. Maybe it was because she was there alone without "Papa". Maybe it was the extent to which she was truly engaged in her bathing without a care that made her look utterly comfortable and at ease. This simple act felt big to me, as if it represented something more.

I've been struggling lately with this desire I have long had to be effortlessly good at something I love. Not that I'm put off by hard work by any stretch but I recognize that the things that I love deeply -- the creative pursuits of writing and painting and music and such -- are things I know I would have to work extraordinarily hard for in order to see any "real" success with them. I enjoy these things so much that it hardly seems worth the effort to hone a craft to such an extent that I could create a product that would be generally consumable by the world. Would such work be as soulless as I fear? Maybe not. But knowing myself and how I respond to rules and doing things right according to someone else's standards, I know I wouldn't have much fun putting my heart into something that, in essence, wasn't my own.

But maybe the question I've been wrestling with isn't about "real" success at all or about avoiding hard work as I've often thought. Maybe what I'm really concerned with is how I will leave my legacy -- after I'm gone, how will anyone ever know I was here? Children and the physical act of extending one's family tree, it seems, is the natural legacy to leave. So, when we learned we many years ago that we couldn't have kids, it seems a thought worked its way in to me and stuck: What am I going to leave behind? What will my legacy be? I realize now that I imagined it would be something I accomplished creatively -- "accomplished" according to societal standards, not my own.

What occurred to me this morning watching Mama at the feeder was, what if a legacy is simply a life well lived? A life of honoring heart and soul? Of recognizing and letting in the wonder inherent in enjoying creative pursuits? Of cherishing relationships, not only with other people, but with the natural world? What if a legacy is simply providing food and respite for a mama duck to fluff, preen, flap and splash to her heart's content on a humid spring morning? What if every little thing we do, if every little thing we are that extends love and kindness and joy to one another is enough of a legacy to leave?

And of course it is, if I let it be.

As I witness, in wonder, our rhododendron in magnificent full bloom, the leaves on the maple trees in the woods unfurling, the birds and squirrels bopping around the feeders with their song and chatter echoing around me, I know this is the life I am meant to live. A life of creative wonder and gratitude that doesn't require a text book to learn about rules and techniques and right and wrong. A life of pushing the edges of experience and exploring new things which allows us all to grow and thrive and flourish. If we simply let the lift in our hearts remind us that we are innately and intimately connected to the creative source and to all that is alive, in recognizing this and living from here, we find our collective legacy.

As I write this, the first hummingbird of the season just arrived at my window! How telling that in Native American culture, Hummingbird represents Joy. Yes! And thank you. What a great reminder of what I want to leave behind...//

Week 16 - Room for Joy

"Suffering is not a virtue. Joy is not a sin." ~Paulo Coelho


Those in my household are getting more and more comfortable with my meditation practice and my forays into the "soul cave" as my room is now dubbed. Though it is a little complicated. My husband, Terry, knows that if he comes into the kitchen and can't find me but sees the timer on the microwave ticking down, I'm sitting. He respectfully waits until the timer beeps and I emerge to check in with me.

Our dog, Trooper, on the other hand, doesn't have this handy-dandy notifier of where I am and what I'm doing. Usually, she'll trot right into the room, park her butt and stare at me. How do I know this since my eyes are closed? I've peeked...and there she sits, perhaps in meditation as much as I, boring holes through me.

I can out sit her, I think to my clever self as I brace for the ensuing competition. (A very soothing meditation technique, I assure you.)

But this seldom works. Why? Because she's already got one up on me. The way her toenails click-click-click on the wood floor on her approach mocks me for doing something as frivolous as meditating when I should obviously be tending to my manicurial duties. Or her stomach growls a plaintive reminder that it's far beyond time for breakfast and accuses me of wasting time. Or if all else fails, she'll bodily pant and dance, whining and crying, begging me within an inch of her life -- and mine -- for my attention. Just because she can.

And then I break my meditation and yell at her to go lay down, just because I can.

It makes me crazy, and I let it. I have enough trouble getting my mind to quiet down in the best of situations than to contend with Trooper's shenanigans on a regular basis. I'll admit that early on I loftily imagined we would come to some understanding where she would see what I was up to and quietly retreat to the other room until I was done. Not so much. Instead, she digs her heels in -- as do I.

I've often wondered if I'm failing somehow by responding to her at all...but how do I not? Maybe my will just isn't strong enough yet. Is this part of the process? The part where we have to learn to filter out the distractions and let ourselves get itchy and have a leg fall asleep and have the house burn down around us and keep on sitting? Do we really have to suffer in silence to be good at this sort of thing?

Last Saturday morning I came downstairs before Terry and Trooper got out of bed to get my meditation in while the house was still peaceful enough to not deal with much distraction. About halfway through my time, Trooper came bounding down the stairs with Terry close behind to let her outside. When he let her in she charged through the living room and into the "soul cave", planted her front paws on the cushion right in front of me and stuck her nose in my face as close as she could without touching me. I held my ground, but this time out of amusement rather than frustration and force. Without batting an eyelid, I very slowly pursed my lips, which Trooper quickly met with a huge SLURP before running off. The smile on my face lasted the rest of the meditation.

Maybe suffering isn't the virtue it's cracked up to be, here to teach us all of the valuable lessons we're told that it is -- the hard way. Maybe force is just always met by force. What I've been learning these months is that developing a softness that allows us to yield doesn't make us weak, but makes us stronger than we could ever imagine. It allows for the unknown -- for the possibility of finding our truth in some fascinating, exciting, unexpected place.

Maybe there is room for joy after all...//

Week 11 - Making Room for Connection

Ah, the holiday season. Hustle and bustle abounds and the weather, at least here in the Twin Cities, is getting in on the fun. We've had nearly two feet of snow in the past 10 days and are on pace to break records for the snowiest December in recorded history. Not only has work been busy and taxing, but there's still the rest of life to tend to...right now occupied mainly by shoveling and last minute holiday preparations.

I've managed to keep up with my meditations, but only marginally. I've been taking for granted the fact that I've been doing daily meditation for nearly three months and allowing a quick five minute sit mere moments before I fall into a deep exhausted sleep to count for something. At least I'm showing up, I tell myself. But how present am I being, really? Aren't I just going through the motions? Is that OK?

But the real question that plagues me when life throws me every curve ball in the book is, "In times like this, where is the room for quiet time?"

It seems that when we need it the most, our quest for silence and reconnection gets cut. It's no problem to carve out time for meditation when life is reasonable and we have some time to spare. But how do we keep the priority intact when we can barely get the laundry done so we have something to wear to work tomorrow?

I think the answer is that we find our quiet time wherever we can get it. These are the times when we put meditation to work in our ever-chaotic, endless to-do-list, daily lives. Take a few conscious breaths while stopped at the stoplight. Offer a silent wish of loving kindness to the other people in line with you at the post office. Before pulling out the cell phone to multi-task while you drive, or turning on the radio, allow yourself to drive in silence...notice the scenery, the way the snow alights on the branches, the joy in how the dog out for a walk is wagging its tail. Find peace in the in-between moments. Let the love of life come to you.

The only way we don't have room for quiet time is if we forget that it is all around us if we open to it, if we choose it. It might come in fits and starts. It might be more challenging than we can imagine to focus on our breathing in the small moments available to us rather than turning over all our energy to our minds in hopes of keeping us on task with our duties in the world. Compassion with ourselves is key. We need to remember that connection is up to us.

Am I proud of my incredibly short and scattered meditations this week? No. I'd love to be able to sit longer and give 100% of my energy and my presence to the task at hand. But what I'm realizing is that maybe I am giving 100% -- 100% of what I have to offer in that moment. And that that's enough.

Because what about all the brief moments I remembered to stop during the day to breathe, to smile at others, to enjoy the beauty of the winter wonderland that surrounds me...even if that moment occurs while shoveling? Meditation means nothing if the practice of making room for connection doesn't spill over into our daily lives.

May your holiday be filled with the moments of peace that dance along naturally with the moments of chaos. May you make room for all that means the most to you this holiday season. And I will do the same.//

Week 5 - Good Day Sunshine

I need to laugh, and when the sun is out
I have something I can laugh about
I feel good, in a special way
I'm in love and it's a sunny day
~lyrics from The Beatles' Good Day Sunshine


My last post reflected on a supposed promise of howling winds, a turn toward winter and a most unforgiving Mother Nature to come. And yet the weather continues to be stunning. This past week has been nothing but mild temperatures and sunshine. Wait, this is Minnesota in November, right? It occurs to me that while we may intend to live in the moment, often it is our minds that take us forward into the anticipated future or back into memories of the past that keep us from enjoying the here and now. Even when it's as glorious as this.

Meditations this week have been easy, relatively short but sweet. In my fifteen minutes or so once or twice per day, I've been feeling connected and content. It doesn't seem like all that much is going on. No wild dreams while I sleep, no anxieties as I sit. All is well, just mellow and peaceful.

Surely there must be something wrong? I hear the voice in my head say. Maybe I should enlist the timer and the rule book and start making myself sit longer? Why isn't anything happening? Shouldn't something be happening??!?

I can't help but laugh now when I hear these cries for attention from the mind, the ego, whatever you want to call it. The part of us that just won't let go. Who, when everything is going swimmingly, starts looking around for signs of disaster. The one who waits anxiously for the other shoe to drop.

What good is peacefulness if we feel we have to brace ourselves for its passing? Don't we at least get to enjoy it while it's here?

Now, it's true. As the adages say, "All good things come to an end," and, in speaking of the more challenging aspects of our lives, "This too shall pass". Nothing lasts forever -- we know this. For better or worse, we are all changing all of the time and as part of this cycle of Nature and life, we are born and we die. We want so much to hold on to what is impermanent, to grasp tightly to what we love, to keep it while knowing full well that just as autumn turns to winter, what we love will fade and expire. This is human nature. The trouble is, we let the anticipation of pain and loss keep us from fully savoring the joy of presence -- being with what is. We get so distracted by impending doom that we unwittingly keep ourselves from enjoying the pleasure while it's here.

Why buffer ourselves for the fall before we even get a chance to bask in the beauty of this moment...whatever "this moment" might be?

I woke up earlier this past week with the song, "Good Day Sunshine" by the Beatles bouncing around in my head. There was no reason for it -- I hadn't heard the song recently, as often happens when I end up with a song in my head, nor could I say it was a song I had ever been particularly attached to. I couldn't figure out where it had come from. As I listened to it play on, I began singing aloud, complete with crescendos and key changes. I was swept up in the song's spirit of joy and whimsy...and I hadn't even gotten out of bed yet! From the moment my feet touched the floor, I was invigorated with the magic of simply being alive. It reminds me of the 90's television show Ally McBeal and how the characters always had "theme songs" -- depending on where they were and what they were doing, a song that echoed the mood they wanted to bring to the situation would begin playing. I couldn't imagine a better theme song for myself. What a way to start the day!

"Good Day Sunshine" has stayed with me much of the week, greeting me as I wake. Like these mild temperatures and sunshine outside, some morning I will wake up and the song won't be there. This is the way. I can think it back into being, but it won't be the same. I owe it to myself -- and the song -- to relish the magic of this moment so that I can leave space for new magic in the next moment when "Good Day Sunshine" decides it's time to move on. I would rather savor the joy while it's here than waste this time living in the idea of what it will be like to have to conjure it up once it's gone. Memory can be sweet, but being present to the moment is sweeter.

In the spirit of "Good Day Sunshine," I will appreciate the peacefulness of these gentler meditations, knowing full well that the tides will turn and that the ebb and flow that informs the ocean and the moon also informs my heart, my soul and my practice.//