We learn that Ebi, the rescue greyhound, did race. She was in 15 races and won one. She wasn’t even two years old. No wonder she’s so grateful to just snuggle now. Racing dogs are kept in crates. The girl crates are on top of the boy crates.That’s their life, a crate and a chance for a sprint. That’s it.
Her name was Super C Rumor, a rather odd one. I like Ebi.
I watched the movie Awakenings last night. It was my third time, and again, like with Ebi, it leads me to wonder what is this immersive connection called life. Bella is here on the chair next to me. I’m caressed by her curled sleep of contentment, her breath.
It rained in the night and more rain comes. I feel the streambeds fill and roots reach for water to drink, cleanse, and raise. Offering abounds.
I read that this year is just like last year only this year we have toilet paper. Ah, and one can only laugh and the rain pours down, pure grace.
Friends are going through chemotherapy right now which may be why I’ve wondered what to post. My experience comes back, and I remember the beauty of connection, the clarity and gratitude that we are all one and we do a great deal to save the life of another.
Lately I’ve been with the uniqueness of each one of us, the uniqueness of our experience and perception.
Recently I read The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion. As reading does, it allows one entry into the mind of another, a man with Aspergers. It’s laugh out loud funny in places and yet there’s a deeper stream of compassion and strength holding it all together. Though it’s a trilogy, I only read the first book. It was enough, and I’m with enough these days, knowing enough.
I’m grateful to be alive and well and able to feel the reverberations of all we create and share as we balance the tides and embrace and release with care.
Ebi, the rescue greyhound, thinks she’s a Lap Dog.
The De Young museum is opening up in San Francisco. I feel such hope when I’m in a museum and then walk outside to see what we endeavor to capture in a frame or form. The museum is presenting a conversation between Alexander Calder and Pablo Picasso. I’ve always related to Calder, especially his mobiles.
Alexander Calder wrote: “The Universe is real, but you can’t see it. You have to imagine it.”
In 1951, Calder observed: “At that time and practically ever since, the underlying form in my work has been the systems of the Universe, or part thereof. What I mean is that the idea of detached bodies floating in space, of different sizes and densities, perhaps of different colors and temperatures, and surrounded and interlarded with wisps of gaseous condition, and some at rest, while others move in peculiar manners, seems to me the ideal source of form.”
Picasso in Life with Picasso wrote: “If one occupies oneself with what is full, that is, the object as positive form, the space around it is reduced to almost nothing. If one occupies oneself primarily with the space that surrounds the object, the object is reduced to almost nothing. What interests us most – what is outside or what is inside a form?“
I sit here now, a perceived form, feeling size and shape, texture and vibration, moving in and out celebrating the changing fields I influence and am influenced by. I swing and am swung, interacting fields of exchange. Gratitude ribbons the chains.
John Muir –“When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.”
It’s another beautiful morningandI’m with the news which is sobering.
Heather Cox Richardson points out:
Today’s biggest story about the previous administration, though, came from the Senate hearings about the January 6, 2021, attack, held before the committee of Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs and the committee on Rules and Administration. While there is still confusion about what happened when, it became clear that there were some serious lapses in the protection of the Capitol, and it appears those lapses originated with Trump appointees in the Pentagon.
From another source: During this moment of crisis — an attempted coup in the Capitol — the defense secretary and the Army secretary were “not available,” Walker testified.
As I struggle to understand, to stay in a place of peace, I find comfort and support in these words of Rachel Naomi Remen.
Perhaps the most important thing we bring to another person is the silence in us, not the sort of silence that is filled with unspoken criticism or hard withdrawal. The sort of silence that is a place of refuge, of rest, of acceptance of someone as they are. We are all hungry for this other silence.
Our days continue exquisite with such a clear circling of movement as the sun rises and sets, and the moon is still a shining orb in the morning.
CA law is now requiring sensitivity training for companies with five employees. Steve fulfilled the requirement yesterday, on-line of course.
California law requires all employers of 5 or more employees to provide 1 hour of sexual harassment and abusive conduct prevention training to nonsupervisory employees and 2 hours of sexual harassment and abusive conduct prevention training to supervisors and managers once every two years.
Steve then learned the company that created the training is right across the street from his office in the old post office. It’s a small world.
I’m thrilled with the requirement and again it makes it hard to reconcile with a former president who clearly violated all sense of decency, and with his blatant lies still does. I’m working with balance today, grateful for increasing teaching and awareness, and mind-boggled at how a man, any man, can spout lies without consequence over and over again.
And I’m with the sun and the moon, grateful to be alive.
I’m keeping David Whyte’s beautiful book Everything Is Waiting for You, here on my desk. Today I light on this poem. May poetry find you today.
I often think of self-care from the outside so washing skin and hair, brushing teeth, and today I do those things but I also consider self-care from the inside out – see the buds of my hair follicles – the layers of skin – the tissues – the blood flowing – heart beating – lungs pumping – what a marvel I am this day, the first day of March as we march along toward spring.
I’m with both today, inside and out, massaging the tissues with poetry and allowing the touch of sunlight to stream deeply within, planting lanterns for fairies and leprechauns.
Orchid comes to bloom again this year, called to form and open by the Light
When I was invited to make a Happy Birthday video, I found myself at the overlook for the Golden Gate Bridge welcoming the sunrise. The bridge looks so stable from above. It is stable and yet I’m reminded of May 24, 1987.
To celebrate its 50th anniversary, the bridge was closed to traffic and opened to walking. My youngest son and I were there early for the event, and received a piece of the banner as it was cut. As we started across we met people coming from the SF side. Because we were first, we got through easily and walked along the bay through the city to the ferry building. Returning on the ferry, we were shocked to see the bridge flatten out. No one expected 300,000 people to show up and meet in the middle. It was claustrophobic gridlock. For us on the ferry, it was slightly unnerving to see bridge without its curve, and clearly it didn’t fall.
Yesterday in a Sensory Awareness workshop, Misty Hannah led us with the image of bridges, the bridges within us, and the bridges connecting us. I saw suspension bridges in Nepal and another saw stone bridges in northern England. It was an invitation of exploration.
What kind of bridges swing or hold steady within us and between us? Where do we find support?
I thought of the game Chutes and Ladders, visualized and felt an up and down flow within.
Misty shared with us a tribe in Mexico who greets not with Hello, but with “Are you here?” or “You are here.” They may add “How is your heart today?
How is your heart today?
When I ask myself how my heart is, I feel a swing of response as my lungs move in and out, responsive beacons of support.
I feel fluidity in my spine, a bridge connecting head and sacrum.
All of this flows through me today as I wake in the dark, the moon still shining in the sky.
My son and his wife got their long-awaited rescue greyhound yesterday. She is a beauty, small and young. She was never on the track and naturally is her own self so she is different than their first rescue greyhound Senna who passed away last year.
I’m so happy for them and for her. Bridges of love and connection brought her to them as she was rescued from Florida, and brought to Denver, and now she is here in their home, her home. Her track name is Rumor, but they have named her Ebi because she is small.
Beauty and Love. Bridges of connection. My heart is full.
Tonight is the full moon. I read that we sleep less the nights before the full moon. We’re more synchronized to the phases of the moon than we may realize. I’m going to notice from now on but Steve and I were both awake at 3:30 this morning, ready for a shiny new day.
I’m invited to a 100th birthday celebration, on Zoom, of course. Perhaps seven years ago now, this man was told he would die if he didn’t continue treatment for throat cancer. Since he couldn’t eat with the treatment, he was slowly starving to death, so he quit the treatment and here he is. 100 years of a very good life, and who knows how many more he has to go.
Inspired, I leap on the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson:
The world is opening up. I got my teeth cleaned yesterday and I’ll get a haircut today. Yes, we’re still wearing masks but there’s a little more space in these longer days.
I asked my dental hygienist how his children were doing with the pandemic. He said his seven year old daughter had been doing well and then a few months ago became hysterical and they couldn’t calm her down. She kept saying, “The hospitals are full.” They took her to a behavioral psychotherapist who through talking and having the child draw discovered that the child remembered when she was four years old and had respiratory failure and was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. Now, she feared it would happen again and the hospitals would be full and she would die. The therapist assured her she is older now and stronger and will be okay.
I think it’s good the memory of her trauma was uncovered, discussed and aired. I think of the healing in putting it on paper. In chemotherapy, I drew an image of my body, and the therapist analyzing it, pointed out what she saw and what I might not be seeing and feeling in my experience. I can’t remember what I drew, but I do remember how her analysis hit home.I walked out feeling “seen”, and of course, it was really me seeing myself.
I sit with how our children have been and are being affected by all of this. Yesterday, my hygienist put it in perspective. He said that though this may be hard on our children, it’s not like life in Syria. Yes, it’s true. And I wonder what they say.
I’m with words of Jane Hirshfield: “One breath taken completely; one poem, fully written, fully read — in such a moment, anything can happen.”
Yes!
I’m with the fullness of the moment, the fullness of the breath as I assimilate and reflect. My passage expands like the twittering and flight of birds, a reverence ringing inside and out. I am the bell, the space, the lamp, the light, the chime.
Harvest and meaning gong!!
Morning ComesOrchid reaches to open and bloom Wind chimesLight shines Gong!!
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