In 2005, my book group who loves everything England, especially authors like Austen, Dickens, and Hardy, rented a sixty-foot canal boat, and traveling through the countryside, navigated the locks.  No easy task, but lovely.

We then did a walking tour through the Cotswolds, sometimes using a map on a dishtowel to navigate, as we hadn’t chosen the most expensive tour support, and directions were muddy like the land through which we walked.  

I was reminded because my son called last night wanting to know more about traveling on a canal boat.

That brought me to pictures and remembering back.

Then, today, my friend Elaine, who will have a retrospective of her artwork beginning this Sunday, sent me an email chain from when I was asking for advice on sections of my book, and she was requesting support on one of her paintings.  

We both love Hildegard of Bingen, who wrote of “greening”.  Did the painting need a little more green, and what does green represent in our lives, especially this time of year, well, not in the Midwest, and Northeast, but where I live?

Dylan Thomas comes to mind.

“The force that through the green fuse drives the flower / Drives my green age”.

Somehow today as I continue to clean out, and release, and toss many of my sacred hoop paintings feeling they’ve done enough and need new form, I sink into valuing my life with more intensity. I reflect back, not taking any of it for granted.

I feel I’ve been floating along in a ring of support, and now I sink a little more deeply into the past that supports what comes.  I inhale the comfort of living in a stream, and drop into a sea of swirling depths, where I receive connection and intimacy with more awareness than before.

What comes now as I open to receive?

I finished reading The Dalai Lama’s Cat by David Michie.  It’s not just entertaining, but also inspiring as to how one might cultivate more mindfulness in one’s life.

The book ends with these words by Albert Schweitzer, who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1952.

“Sometimes our light goes out, but is blown again into flame by an encounter with another human being.  Each of us owes the deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this inner light.”

I bow to those beings tonight.  

We spent yesterday going through stuff, and sorting into piles: trash, recycling, electronics, and give-away.

Amazingly, my journals from trekking in Nepal were uncovered/discovered.  I had searched everywhere but then, another pile lifted, and space in a downstairs closet opened, and now they are here.

In believing they were gone, I released, so now I wonder how to enter and when.

Of course I will know the time and place, and meanwhile we’re still in the stage of bigger movement and choice. Perhaps it’s not the time to sink into inner caverns and climb mountains, though as I type this, I want to say all is One. There is no differentiation, at least in theory, or practice.

I continue to read the book written from the point of view of the Dalai Lama’s cat, The Dalai Lama’s Cat by David Michie.  The cat has managed to ingratiate herself with the owner of aa French cafe which means she’s treated like a queen and feasts on delicacies.  I don’t know if my cats are telepathically in sync with the cat in the book but suddenly their food, food they love, is not okay.  Their noses are turned up as they wait to be served beef bourguignon or coq au vin.

The Dalai Lama’s cat is learning about “pure presence”, no mental agitation or elaboration, no dwelling on thoughts of the past or the future.  Hmmm!

And here I am wondering how one balances this moment on all that has been and that comes.  Mindfulness.

Full mind, and perhaps as we continue to empty out our abode we make space in our minds for a more meaningful type of fullness. Certainly clutter is becoming organized and what was stored is open to air.

Meanwhile bees are delighting in the flowers in our yard and blossoms are blowing white petals like snow, as birds tweet joy in air that springs.

I type the word pause and think of paws. I’m reading a book from the point of view of the Dalai Lama’s cat. Meanwhile as we continue to clean out our home, both cats help. They are overseeing the process since everything belongs to them, and they need to ensure the choices of their staff are wise and considerate of their comfort and needs.

Bella ensconces herself on a couch stored downstairs that neither she nor anyone else has sat on in years, but she is clear it must stay.

The news outside our immediate environment is sobering, and so we continue our cleansing and cleaning out as a way to bring order to our small realm.  Each morning I read Heather Cox Richardson’s summary of the political day.

After reading her report, I give myself a shake and fluff imaginary feathers. I may not fly through the air like a bird, but this task of release affects the air in which I move and live. I honor that.

Our son Jeff is here to help.  He’s a fan of Marie Kondo and shares how refreshing it is to clean things out. I agree, but last night we were laughing as we checked out Marie Kondo’s on-line store.

It’s worth a look to see what she considers absolute necessity to fill the space now opened and cleared to view and review. I’m resisting the temptation of a Binchotan Charcoal Body Scrub Towel though on consideration maybe a political exfoliation is what is needed to cleanse the lens with which we see.

Enjoy and savor this sacred and beautiful day. Trust that love, care, and truth bring us back to center where the pause is root.

I’m in a place of not-knowing.  I have a full day ahead of me so it’s not that.  I have a schedule but I feel open to what might reveal as I stand on the edge of a fold that opens on both sides.  Perhaps balance is my intention for the day, balancing openness to what comes.

Though I’d never heard of Marfa, Texas, last night I read about it in H.C. Palmer’s book review of John Balaban’s book, Empires.  Palmer writes: 

“In his penultimate poem, “Looking for the Lights,” spots of light seem to float in the air and vanish, and a man stops his pickup, shuts off the ignition, then listens to the truck’s ticking engine as a Border Patrol agent stops behind his vehicle; blue and white strobe-lights flash him nearly blind. The man is saved from arrest by convincing the officer he’s American.  The officer says, “He had never seen the lights himself but knew people who had.”

“Balaban suggests that those mysterious Marfa Lights in West Texas, sighted for centuries by natives and Spanish explorers (invaders) but without a documented source, are a metaphor for what lasts – “the lights the local Indians took for star people visiting earth.””

Checking out Marfa, I learn that this little town sits at an elevation of 4,685 feet, and located in high desert is now a destination for art and music.  

There’s a Marfa Mystery Light viewing area, and though there are only 2000 residents, it’s now the hipster place to visit.  I’m not a hipster but I’m feeling intrigued though it’s not an easy trek.  

Maybe for me right now it’s simply to find the mystery in each step, the balance unfolding the light.  

I’m with the word grateful, grate full.  My grate, a frame holding fuel when burning, is full.

I’ve been quiet this morning.  My mother passed away 15 years ago tomorrow, and I feel her here/near.

I come to my email from Winter Feast of the Soul and today it’s about how we meet death. I’m with the fullness of this moment, life and death, as I listen to this and look out on trees revitalizing what we might perceive of as decay but is only change.