When my son was three or four, and even now, he was, and is, passionate about  sea otters. All he wanted for Christmas was an otter to come live with him. In his stocking Christmas morning was a letter from A.T.O.O.T.W, also known as “All the Otters of the World” saying they couldn’t come live with him, and he couldn’t come live with them, but he could always visit, and they gave their locations.  All of this was cleverly composed in rhyme, a cadence like The Night Before Christmas, though perhaps not as crisp because otters live in waves and so writing and thoughts go up and down.

I was reminded of this when I read a story this morning of Franz Kakfa who met a little girl in the park who was crying because she lost her doll.  He wrote letters where the doll explained she was exploring and seeing the world.

The girl was comforted, but when Kafka needed to leave, he gave her a doll.  The girl pointed out the doll looked different. She wasn’t the same. He responded that we are changed by travel, and we may lose what we love, but in the end it returns in a different form.  

Yesterday I saw my neighbor.  She lost her twin brother a few months ago.  We talked about how we continue to grieve and be changed by the loss of our brothers.  It doesn’t feel right, and of course it doesn’t, and still the heart pumps, and expands and contracts, and we absorb and adjust as we’re changed by our travels and the travels of those we love.

I was up early for lab work, not early enough, as three people were ahead of me waiting for the doors to open at 7:00.  Required fasting is an incentive to be out and about. It went easily though and I saw the traffic go from light to a little heavier, and heavier still after I stopped at the store, though I was home by 8:15.

It’s an odd thing, this watching the world and day come to life and light. In summer, it would have been bright, but this time of year, the darkness and the light dance a slow, blended exchange.

I’m reading A Pilgrimage to Eternity by Timothy Egan.  He travels along the Via Francigena, the pilgrim’s trail from Canterbury to Rome.  His motivation is his mother who has passed. He wants to understand her belief in Catholicism even though after birthing seven children, the Church said she shouldn’t have a hysterectomy even though if she didn’t, she would die.  She stood by the Church when the abuse of children by priests was exposed, even when abuse was exposed in their home.  

I’m intrigued with the book because my father was a faithful Catholic.  Of course, he passed in 1969, years before the abuse was exposed, and yet, though his father died when he was young, he only received guidance and support from the priests in the church.

What’s most shocking about the book is the conflicts, wars, crusades, often Christian against Christian, and here we are today, still arguing and fighting, led and misled by those who benefit from division and discord.  

Egan is on this journey because he feels a “malnutrition of the soul”. He says we are spiritual beings, and he’s motivated by the words of Saint Augustine.  “Men go abroad to admire the heights of mountains, the mighty waves of the sea, the broad tides of rivers, the vast compass of the ocean, the circular motion of the stars, and yet they pass over the mystery of themselves without a thought.”

We are entering a sacred time of year.  We gather for the holidays and give thanks. Oh, how long the list when we pause to consider all the gifts.

My grandchild is now one month old, and pronounced “perfect” by his pediatrician.  He’s quite a little being, and my heart floats with the desire that this world he’s now part of can come to the listening, understanding, and compromise that nourishes and nurtures education, communication, and peace.   

My father was a pilot in WWII, and he loved planes, and he loved boats.  He built our first boat in our garage. I loved to sit on the steps and watch him work, and I loved to motor on the Des Moines River in Iowa and then, the Mississippi.  Over time, we bought boats and rode in the Atlantic and the Pacific, so childhood memories flow on days and nights sitting on the front of the boat being carried along on dreams and song.

Perhaps that’s why the San Francisco bay area ferries are so thrilling, relaxing, and calming for me.  I’m carried, and this is the one week of the year that seems less touristy than other times. Yesterday, I traveled both ways, Sausalito to San Francisco, and back, on a lightly filled boat.  I felt cared for.

When I bought coffee, I stood next to a little boy who didn’t have enough money to buy what he wanted.  I signaled that I would pay but the man behind the counter said, “I’m sorry. I made a mistake. It does cost $2.00.”  It brings tears to my eyes even now. There’s such goodness in the world, and then after the child left, the man said to me, I almost told him he gave me $3.00 not 2, and gave him back a dollar.  Later, I saw his family on the boat, clearly visiting, planning what they were going to do.  

I pause here for breath, and suggest you do too.  My day was like that all the way, beauty, kindness, and grace, and then I came home to the news, news I knew, and there’s sadness too.  I don’t want there to be such corruption in the world. I knew there was of course, and …

I’m looking forward to Nancy Pelosi as president, because if we truly are a democracy, as I hope we still are, both Trump and Pence are tied and have to go, and she is next in line.    

Meanwhile, I’m still rocked and carried on the waters of the bay as they connect to the ocean, all oceans, and this precious planet, united as One.  

Riding the Ferry

Carried,

Dissolving

Skin, the sea 

I’m working with counterbalance.  I allow my feet and toes to soften as I rise and allow the energy to flow.  I sway front to back, side to side.

I’m aware of the news, and delighted to see courage, integrity and morality brought forth for the world to see.  It’s even more clear when opposed by those who distort and deceive.  

Rain came in the night so I have power today, though I’m still charging my new solar lights just in case.

I’m taking the ferry from Sausalito to San Francisco today, grateful I’ll move from one piece of land to another on a boat, where I even more clearly rise and fall with the soothing and stimulating motion of waves.   

My son and his wife are loving, adoring, appreciating, and savoring their beloved and beautiful, now four weeks old, new baby, and they are tired. Baby loves to sleep in the day and play at night.

My son says I told him it was all pure joy, every moment of raising children pure ease and delight, and that I said that he and his brother were always perfect and didn’t cry, and childbirth was easy, and yes, I did say that because it’s true in the way of expanding understanding.  

It’s all worth it, the ups and downs.  Yes, I experienced pain in childbirth but then I was handed a child.

Yes, there were times it was hard and I was tired, and there were the gifts that were enhanced and wrapped and unwrapped in the ups and downs.

I told my son to watch the 1989 Steve Martin movie, Parenthood.  I sent him the clip of grandma talking about the roller coaster, the thrills in the fear and excitement in the ups and downs of riding a roller coaster, how that is preferable to riding a merry-go-round which just goes round and round.  

Right now, PGE is warning me my power will again be turned off at 4:00 on Wednesday when they flip a switch.  Again, there is no wind, but there will be, they say, though there never was last time or the time before. I have more solar lanterns coming today, and I’m thinking about food.  It seems this time because it actually was dangerous to shut down an entire county, they will leave certain streets and areas with power. As my husband pointed out, where he works the wires are underground, so it made no sense to turn the power off because of wind, and therefore it appeared to simply be a punitive measure.  Who has the power? PGE does.

My book group is reading Blowout by Rachel Maddow.  If you want to get depressed, read that, the history of the gas and oil industry.   I’m thinking of getting a windmill because if the wind blew as much as PGE says it does, I certainly wouldn’t need them, but here I sit with no wind.  If I had a flag, it would hang limp and my windmill would be still, a roller coaster at rest, and viewed positively, this way I appreciate the ups and downs, the light and dark, and the adaptability that lights and heats my life.

May we each enjoy and savor as we lick and scrape each fragrant drop, the icing on the cake and the icing on the sides and in the bottom of the bowl.

Smell the roses and appreciate the soil in which they grow.

I’ve been studying the practice of Sensory Awareness since 1993, 26 years.  I came to it when I’d just returned from six weeks in Nepal, four in the mountains of Everest, Khumbu, and what I found or rediscovered in Nepal, I found in sensing. 

I studied with Charlotte Selver and when she passed in 2003 at the age of 102, I began studying with Lee Klinger Lesser. Around twelve years ago, Lee spoke with me about a vision. She wanted to give even more than she was already giving. From that Honoring the Path of the Warrior was formed which has become Veteran’s PATH.  She and Chris Fortin came together to create this work, and yesterday I was privileged to witness them honored by the veterans they’ve helped as they were helped, as in giving, we receive. There is no separation.

Hearts open and spill with wisdom and experience witnessed and shared.

I first met the vets at Mount Madonna at a Sensory Awareness workshop/conference.  I learned about meeting. In one experiment, I was matched with a tall, erect, muscular, handsome man who respectfully was concerned about standing back to back with me.  He was the age of my sons. Touch is a huge issue in the military, boundaries, but we worked together in the most respectful and touching way. We stood back to back, and held hands face to face.

I met women who’d been sexually traumatized in the military. Later, in other workshops I met a woman raped at gunpoint by a commanding officer.  I heard stories I won’t share.

More and more, each of us in both communities, sensing and veterans who worked with, and were changed by their work with Lee and Chris, met and were touched and opened. Eyes and hearts opened and spread.

I sit with that now with words shared yesterday, with tears shared, and laughter.  Tears and laughter come together like joy and sorrow in the deepest part of the heart and this morning I feel the fullness of my heart beating front to back, head to toe.

What I most deeply received yesterday is the power of the feminine, the strength, the receptive strength that radiates out like the sun when it’s nourished, welcomed, and shared. We can each be a mother to each other, but first to ourselves. What lives in us as we turn with tender care to our own heart and needs?

One man spoke of how he found it silly when Lee invited him to touch the back of his neck, the occiput, the connection of head and neck, but then, with time, he began to feel the living there, the living everywhere, the aliveness, the wake.

Many men spoke of how they’ve learned from Lee and Chris to honor the strength in their feminine side, to soften and feel, to become whole in honoring the feminine as well as the masculine in which they were trained.  We came together yesterday, men and women, and touched with words and hugs and open eyes and open hearts.

As I said in my post last night, this is the time of year when we open our hearts and pocketbooks.  We share.

If you feel inclined, watch the video on this website, and give to support a program that is about healing, mindfulness, and Love.

https://www.veteranspath.org/

Yesterday someone quoted from the David Whyte poem, “Sweet Darkness”. 

You must learn one thing.

The world was made to be free in

When I left the venue yesterday I walked past the Middle School where young boys were skateboarding in what had been the controversial formation of a skateboard park.  They were respectful of each other as they rode their boards up and down the curving slopes. May we all be the same as we move up and down knowing there’s room for all, a place for all, and may we live in honoring that trust, that PATH, that stands for the Journey Forward: Peace, Acceptance, Transformation, and Honor, and as one woman added yesterday, Healing too.  

Last night I was hit with a wave of pain.  My brother passed away on April 14th of this year, and I’ve been doing pretty well with it, and then, there was a jolt.  I found myself with these words.

Younger brother dies

Night light out 

Support unseen

A bulb crushed – 

I woke in the night and went outside to bathe in the light of the full moon.

And then this morning my son sent a video of three week old grandchild playing with his activity gym, and then he called and the three of us Face-timed.

On his back, the little guy is grabbing for the ring, and then, on his tummy clearly wants to crawl.  He’s working hard moving arms and legs and yet, for now, staying in one place.

I sit with that today, with how Brene Brown writes and speaks of how we’re wired for struggle.  We’re made to pull ourselves up from the support of gravity and stand between earth and sky in our aliveness, aliveness in every cell.

Perhaps that helps with the news of the day.  I know my attitude is key. My ability to use my hands and feet in soft radiation from my heart allows me to meet what comes, to receive challenges and curve them in new ways, and yet when I think of nearly 70,000 migrant children held in U.S. custody this year, my heart spills open, a bulb crushed.