tolle

Do you ever wake up and the first thought is… “Wow! This is my life!!” I think often times life becomes so mired in progress, goals, achievement, and deadlines that we forget to acknowledge the beauty of the journey itself. We forget that there are miracles all around and inside each of us.

When is the last time you thanked your body for being the healing vessel that it is? Do you treat it with the respect it deserves? In a world full of technology and big corporation… have you taken the time to marvel at the astoundingly complicated and intricate form that is your very own body? We build elaborate, mind-blowing techie stuff. We create start-ups that earn enough to wipe out world hunger… and then some. We bow to big pharma as the answer to our every ache, pain and DIS-ease. When will the time come that the most precious of inventions finally becomes the thing we protect and nurture the most? Ourselves. Our bodies. Our spirits. Our health and happiness. Our vitality. Our youth (YES! Even with each passing year… We can maintain the youthfulness that is so desired. It just takes work, patience and a lot of understanding.)

Start today with a little gratitude and love for another day! Abundance is all around you and just needs a spark of recognition and reverence from time to time to manifest many more blessings than imaginable. Now… I’m off to chase the Seattle sunrise…

Namaste.

Nooks & Crannies & Grannies

Her laughter tickles from the far reaches of my memory. It draws me through space and time to a black & white vignette of a country road, chicken house races, muscadine grapevines and an ill-fitted smokehouse never breached. Lazy Sundays were spent ’round the bend on Ollie Weaver Road. Barely traversed. Quiet as a church mouse.

granny

Her house. Small in stature. Grandiose in the journal of my mind. It stands among a backdrop of blue-stained mountaintops and monumental pines, both native to these parts and all-too-often taken for granted, with scarce more than the bare necessities of modernity. The uneven walkway from mailbox to front door conjures many a sunny day lounging on the metal front porch glider, sipping sweet tea and breaking green beans. The family poodle, Puppy, and another unknown mixture, Cricket, jingle around our legs. Bouncing up and down, over and through. Begging for attention. It never occurred to me until this moment that this patchwork walkway was simply for retrieval of mail items. The driveway was in an altogether different direction and had no such walkway for visitors. Hmmm… 40 some odd years later, I wonder if this was by design.

The modest internal surroundings bring sighs of comfort and fragrant memories of country cookin’. In the living room a mantle of pictures pays homage to family memories and milestones. Marriages. Sporting events. Dance recitals. Children. Grandchildren. Rarely changing. Stamped in time. A crocheted afghan covers the plastic couch cover. Shade of greens, yellows, and browns carry me to my own living room and the many hours my mom spent twisting yarn over needle to complete this very item. I recall wanting her to teach me… for about a minute. By the window stands the turntable I do not recall ever being used. Yet, never collecting dust in their pristine surroundings. In the corner stands an end table, home to a powder blue clock whose hands of time seemed to move through molasses during our visits. I can still feel the round leather footstool beneath my small body as I lie in front of the Wonderful World of Disney, or Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, or Bonanza playing on the b&w television. I roll around the floor like a hamster on a wheel. Only on the outside of this leather spool. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. I must’ve made the adults crazy.

granny 2

Entry into the dining area is greeted by more plastic covered furniture and the table for six that we crowded around each week. Her always waiting for her own meal until we had eaten. Memories of biscuits, gravy, squirrel, chicken, green beans, and a host of other southern delicacies invade my taste buds and immediately I begin to salivate. Instinct. Memory. It is so strong. I realize too many years too late just what heavenly food I must have missed in my immature love of Spaghetti-O’s and ignorance to my family’s futile attempts at expanding my palate. At least I can appreciate how wonderful it all must have tasted. I am saddened at the realization that I cheated myself of the memory. I recall another time. Same room. Just the two of us.  She at her end seat. Me peering from behind. She has a box. It is filled with photos, letters, post cards. I am curious for some glimpse of history. She bestows a hair comb. One that is used to hold the hair in place, not merely to comb it out. It belonged to her mother. Whom I never met. I savor all such treasures. She, at this time, is penning a letter to her sister-in-law, Mozelle. Her penmanship is dainty, and curly, so very feminine. She divvies out a few photos. Father. Mother and child. Uncle, long since deceased and only a story in my mind. I add them to my string of paper memories. Grasping to feel connected to my make-believe history. Those moments alone. Just the two of us. They were so few and far between.

granny collage

The memories of this feisty, happy, solitary matriarch of my clan are pushing their way to the surface these days. Many more are sure to arise as I continue to dust the cobwebs and unearth long forgotten snapshots… more to come…

Love & Light

 

Pilgrimage of Silence

floor

I enter through an open doorway not knowing what awaits on the other side. I find a laborer on his knees scrubbing the floor. He does not return my gaze, focusing solely on his task. As I float along, I hear chanting and slight drumroll in the distance. Jasmine fills the air and permeates the senses. My skin glistens in moisture from the balmy air. It pricks and burns in anticipation of ritual, silence, offering, and deep devotion. The warm breeze rustles my skirts and carries them about me in a dance of abandon. Am I ready? The answer is… YES! I have wanted, needed, craved this very experience for decades. This moment in time to be alone with myself. To clear my mind. To quiet the body. To enter into communion with ancestral memory. To at once become one and whole.

ashram

My vow of silence has already begun. I can feel myself falling away. Tuning in. Checking out. I cross a threshold on the opposite side of the veranda. There is a collective energy that instantly shifts. The room is sparsely occupied. All bowing or kneeling in prayer and meditation. I take my seat. Find comfort. Begin.

I am novice. My mind is willful as a child. Constantly running off toward the next sparkly thought. Begging for attention. Punching, hitting, screaming for the front and center spot. I find myself, at first, anxious and disheartened. I hold on. The thoughts can be tamed. I have the ability to honor them. Look at them squarely and then turn away. Quietly. I sit.

As my breathing slows, I am greeted in peace. Deeply seated and overpowering. I find my body in an easeful state that is not often attainable. The floor supports. The ceiling contains. The heart swells. The love washes my spirit. I have already found what I came for. I sit. I breathe. I slowly let go of thought, noise, ego, space, and time. Measurement of seconds, minutes, hours is of no importance. The devotion to self and honoring of the spirit are limitless and soothing. I bow to the ego and watch as it falls away. I bow to the soul and watch it flourish and reveal. This revelation calls me to choose mindfully the nourishment of all that I hold dear… at all cost. This is my time. Time to slow. Time to be. Me.

Love & Light