I've written three books, each a part of my journey to elderhood. Now with this blog my intention is to give a moment to moment accounting of my life as it is now, and now, and now. I'm a leader and student of Sensory Awareness, and a practitioner of Rosen Method. I believe in the connective and collective power of Love.
I watch dark turn to light, listen to birds. The turkeys are active gobblers these days and ground sound to the earth as birds in trees tweet.
It’s a beautiful spring day, and I’m aware that home is within. This time of sheltering-in-place has me moving through memories as though reading a book. All seems to be happening at one time as I sift through layers of childhood to adulthood to now.
The last words of Ram Dass were, “We are all just walking each other home.”
Yes, and home is within, so I settle more deeply and contentedly into couches and chairs within as I watch the tide move in and out. It’s a new day, a day of grace, and all that matters is how I meet what comes, the flowing through.
I like to live and post positively so today I struggle with what to say.
Not to be irreverent but I just read a tweet from God. “One treatment you might consider for COVID-19 is Amendment-25.”
I agree. Either Trump is mentally ill or he wants us to set him free, or perhaps both.
Being released due to mental incapacity might save him from the trials and most likely jail that he will face if defeated in November.
Nobody wants to imprison the mentally ill, and he continues to demonstrate that he is. His illness is dangerous to those who believe in and follow him.
I love to sit outside with the stars at night. These last few nights I watch for meteors. Even when I don’t see a meteor, I’m struck with awe at this wide expanse we share.
Jane Hirshfield, one of my favorite poets, says, “My life has been tuned to making of myself a radar dish for the reception of epiphany. … Writing a poem for me is always the search for—large or small—epiphanic knowledge. If I can find in a poem that surprising realization which in any small way changes the molecules of my life into a broader knowledge or new perception, I’m a very happy writer that day. … A poem is a small machine for creation of a discovery. When I feel that sense of awe, I know I have a poem.”
I haven’t been able to write a poem lately but seeing Trump removed from office out of kindness for him and for us, would be an epiphany that seeds, heals, and broadens our perception like the wake of ducks in the bay.
Yesterday my grandson turned six months, so today I am 70 and six months. The day comes to light early and I sit in the greatest peace. What is this transition from angst at times, suffering, to this unfolding and reception of the light as it feathers unseen wings?
Breath is easy today, trust. Again, why the change? I don’t know but I felt a shift in my cheekbones when I meditated this morning as though they’d been in a bit of a frown and now were reversing course to shift up to hold all the beauty and giving in living and loving this life.
I’m equipped with hand sanitizer and face masks, none of which I bought. All are gifts, and I have enough to give away and so we cycle all we share.
I’m reminded of a John Cheever story. Christmas is a Sad Season for the Poor. I read it years ago and was struck by how we want to give, and then there is this place to receive, and give again.
The story is different than I remembered, and yet, it is to give and keep the cycle going of giving and receiving, and the light comes earlier these days, and today where I live it’s bright with warmth and sun. I receive this new day with intention to unfold like origami and return to the blank sheet with which I began. Peace.
This shelter-in-place is an opportunity, as all life is, of course, but I find myself more and more aware of relationship, specifically relationship with myself, intimacy there, as an exploration. I’m curious. What’s going on in my heart, lungs, and gut right now? What creatures roam and shelter in a place which is part of me and yet may see itself as living and surviving on its own?
I see this sheltering-in-place as bringing us closer together, and I know that those who are struggling don’t like hearing that we’re all in this together as there is a vast and clear difference between the possibilities and opportunities for each of us and yet, as is also true, it’s how we meet what comes.
Last night I went outside to watch for meteors, but though I didn’t see any, the stars were there, sparkling and anchoring like the shine of dew as my heart responded to near and far, and in and out.
A friend yesterday spoke of yesterday her “private excitement”, and I’m with that this morning. What is my private excitement, and what’s yours? How do we sparkle and anchor our day?
This morning I slip into awareness of relationship with myself, and the birds, animals, and plants outside this room, and across the valley, and with you too. Where and how do we meet in, on, and through this new day?
I’m reading a memoir by Weijian Shan, Out of the Gobi: My Story of China and America. It gives me space on what’s happening here, and what it is for individuals when leadership foments chaos for their own gains. How is it for the microbes in me when I lose control and stamp about? My intention for today is to be a good, kind, and generous leader for all that’s happening within, and with that intention perhaps soften my influence in the wider world too.
We’re told this is a time to “forest bathe” even if our environment is small, and it’s only to hold a tiny plant in our hands, and breathe back and forth this exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide that fuels our lives.May we come together in understanding differing points of view even as we unite to benefit the whole.
It’s been a bit tumultuous but today I expanded on a Zoom call. We shared, and one woman led us in sensing, in coming to quiet. She had listened to Jack Kornfield the night before, and he ended the call with these words.
Allow ourselves to live in the great heart of Love.
Breathing that in, I unfold out of a chrysalis to become a butterfly, fluttering in the heart of love.
I ventured out today and wore my mask into the grocery store. It’s been two weeks and it was time, but the whole experience felt strange and overwhelming.
Yesterday, Lee Klinger Lesser ended the Sensory Awareness workshop by reading a children’s book to the 125 of us who were on Zoom and spread across the globe. She read Pete the Cat: I Love My White Shoes, and we all joined in to sing along and clap our hands.
I hate to destroy the ending for you but I will say that when Pete steps in blueberries, he sings, “I love my blue shoes,” and when he steps in strawberries, “I love my red shoes,” and when in mud, “I love my wet shoes.” We sang together around the world a rather silly song but not really because no matter what was happening with his shoes, Pete loved them, and here we all are, caught in a situation we wouldn’t choose, and yet, we can clap and sing, “I love my shelter-in-place”, and in my case, “I love that those I love are currently safe in their respective shelters-in-place”. I have hands to clap, a voice to sing, and feet I can move and tap and swing.
I know it’s about how I meet what comes, so I put my hands together now, and feel that meeting, and hope as I meet myself, I meet you too, in the movement in the moment, this moment, now. Peace!
This morning I’m thinking about superheroes. I watched Superman as a child but have never really related to the idea of a superhero, and this morning I realized why. We are all superheroes, and babies and small children show us the way if we forget.
My almost six month old grandson can now use both hands to put things into his mouth. Somehow that new ability seems like the most superhero thing I can imagine.
I watch this little guy learn something new every day as he reaches out to explore his environment.
I’ve been studying and practicing Sensory Awareness for 27 years, and yet yesterday being led on the Sensory Awareness Zoom call I felt and learned something new. I felt a new awareness of what it is to be centered, to be off-balance and centered. I played with the two learning that the center is always there for me, and in that dance of play, I can branch out like a tree.
I felt what it is to be still enough to feel the movement of breath in and out, not just through heart, throat, and lungs but everywhere. I receive, and without doing anything, my inner moves in and out. I’m involved even when still, perhaps even more so when still.
We are all Superheroes, and letting ourselves feel and honor that, well, that is a gift.
A Sensory Awareness workshop retreat was planned for this Saturday and Sunday in Berkeley, CA. Shelter-in-place has changed that. Now, it will be a free online retreat. If you are curious, you can check it out here:
There’s a beautiful video on the website that gives a sense of what the practice of Sensory Awareness is about.
I stumbled into Sensory Awareness in a poetry workshop with Norman Fischer at Green Gulch Zen Center in 1993. The group wasn’t coming together so Norman led us in some sensing. We stood in a circle and touched the shoulders and back of the person in front of us. We then distributed ourselves around the landscape of Green Gulch and wrote. When we came back together, we sat in a circle and read what we’d written. As we read around the circle, it was as though we’d written one poem.
Intrigued, I signed up to study with Charlotte Selver, the founder of Sensory Awareness. I studied with her in Mexico, and on Monhegan Island off the coast of Maine. Charlotte lived nearby so I also studied here. In 2005 and 2006 when I went through chemotherapy and radiation for cancer treatment, Sensory Awareness was my lifeline. It’s a gift you can give yourself, especially now in such challenging times.
This weekend offers an opportunity to check Sensory Awareness out in the privacy of your home. It’s an invitation for support. I’ll be there, well, here, but in a square on the Zoom screen.
Periodically I return to the image of the grandmother in the movie Parenthood where she talks of life as a roller coaster, the ups and downs, with the point being to enjoy the ride.
The news on Steve was a relief, and again, I jumped into gear, re-merging our living situation, but then I realized we’re still sheltered-in-place, and I’d somehow forgotten the rules on it all.
For a moment or two or three, I felt like a rag doll shaken in the mouth of a puppy.
While pondering my next step, I had the sense that there are no steps, and for a moment, I was in free fall and then I was caught. I’m here.
A friend says she’s lighting a candle each day for those who’ve died, so they aren’t just statistics in her body-mind. I light a candle now for those who’ve passed and those who are left. I light a candle for us all.
Honoring Our Shared Ride Up and Down and All Around
