We’ve occupied this abode for over 42 years.  Going through what’s here is like going through an archaeological dig.  How do I meet what I’ve gathered over the years with full perception and new and grateful heart?  

I  come to what I consider my most private room.  The white Bible with my maiden name engraved in gold is here.  It’s a gift from one grandmother. The Christian Science books from my other grandmother nestle close.  Both women were amazing and I bow to the wisdom and grace in my ancestry.  

In this room, I have an array of baskets that cluster a variety of things and today I delve into one to find a miniature herb garden kit my mother gave me right before she died.  I find a tiny spade, and four tiny two-inch pots with metal labels for Basil, Coriander, Parsley and Thyme. There’s a little book on herb gardening. In addition, there’s a set of cards, Creating Sacred Gardens Knowledge cards by Elizabeth Murray.  I pull out a card. It’s the Arch. 

 “The arch, one of the most sacred symbols of the ancient world, signifies openings and exits and the cycles of life-death-life and creation – destruction – re-creation.  It is also the symbol of the Earth Mother. Arches are prevalent in Druidic, Hindu, Arabic, and Greek temples, as well as in Christian churches.”

“Positioned over garden entrances, arches welcome us and offer a sense of grace and fluidity. They suggest a rainbow reaching from earth to heaven, bringing good luck and blessings.  Arches also make a particularly appropriate setting for marking rites of passage.”

The arch represents the soul’s longing for grounded and spiritual connection.  I sit with that now. Yes, that is my desire – grounded and spiritual connection, and so I envision an arch over my head, a rainbow dropping light like dew, transcendent awareness of gifts gathered here and everywhere.  

Peace!

Books are heavy, not necessarily one at a time, but when there are many, yes they are, and so this morning my sacrum area is asking for a little more ease in the movement and sorting of thousands of books.  One wall of our living room hosts floor to ceiling books. I’m trying to clear that out so that I can move books that cover two walls in each of the other bedrooms onto the living room shelves.

I’m making progress but I see there will still be books in the back of the house and that is okay since books make a house a home but there will be a little more space, and each book will feel comfy with its neighbors on the shelf.

John Keats wrote that “My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.”

Perhaps that’s what these books mean to me.  I am their keeper, and I love what they bring to and inspire in me.  I look around and feel the leaves of their pages feed and nourish me.

It’s the fifth of January, a glorious day here, and I’m happy to fill the monastery of my imagination as I honor the priestess I am.

Rain in the night, then, clear, and now I enjoy blue sky augmented with clouds moving the reins of love through my heart, feet, hands and chest.

I pulse with love like a bell struck with a gong.  The vibrations go on and on.  

I tremble at the fragility of the political situation, pause for guidance. Tears come, and knowing love trumps fear, I center myself in the mud I am, the moving clay, moist with tears of connection.

Liquid, the bearer of healing, tears.

Bees are buzzing in the rosemary, the universal symbol of remembrance.  My father died 51 years ago today. I center in the fluidity of tears.

Years ago one of my sons decided to let go of his toys.  He is like me, attached and appreciative. He went through Matchbox cars, models, Legos, and carefully and reverently placed them in boxes so when a child opened and received what was there, their heart would leap with joy.

I find myself now having made a New Year’s commitment to type recipes into the computer and let pieces of paper go, and to let go of some of my books.  The way it’s going it will be years. I type in a recipe and sit with memory. I pull a book off the shelf, sit down, think, yes, this is the last time I’ll read this, and then, immerse, and so today, two books have been chosen to go, and I see that this process needs a faster pace, so I find myself doing math problems to assess exactly how long it might take.

If three books departed the house each day for a year, that would be over a thousand books in a year, which is about right, but can I release three books a day, and a year is a long time, so maybe six books and then six months, or maybe, and so here I am. This exploration has led me to realize it’s time to go to the grocery store, and buy some carefully chosen ingredients, and cook.

At least then there is transition, transformation, and flow.

Tomorrow will be 51 years since my father passed away in a motorcycle accident in 1969.

I was in Mexico City and struggled to get back home.  Flights were booked as people returned from vacation and finally the American Embassy stepped in to ensure I got home.

Now, today, fearing the threat of war, I look at an abstract goddess figure my brother gave me years ago.  Her lap is a bowl where you place your wish for the day, week, month, and meditate on invitation, reception, and request.

Right now I have a little red elephant placed there.  I think of the animals destroyed in fires due to climate change. I think of pain ringing through each of us as we take in destructiveness in a multitude of forms.

I’m with these words from the poem “Lie Down” by Nancy Paddock.

Lie down with your belly to the ground

And then rise up

With the earth still in you.

Times have always been challenging, but I believe today is a good day to: 

Lie down with your belly to the ground

And then rise up

With the earth still in you.

It’s official.  It’s 2020. I’ve already written two checks and used the right date.  I like this new year. It’s easy to remember and stresses vision and clarity.  May we all be curious, joyful, receptive, and well.   

It’s 2020 and we move through an open door to whatever is ours to create. I rose at 4 to meditate, invite, receive. I lean back, then, forward, sway, and believe. Here is an offering for the New Year!

Home now, kitties relaxed and asleep.

I settle more deeply into inner knowing, that place within that lifts and shifts, moves like the ocean waves.  Ah, yes, here now, and now, and now.

Peace!

In Iceland, the tradition is to give books on Christmas Eve, and read.  Each of us is a book, so yes, give books, but also open up the pages within, and share what’s there.

I’m watching the sky come to light as my family gathers today and for the next many days. I’m with these words of Antonio Machado:

The deepest words

of the wise …. teach us

the same as the whistle of the wind when it blows

or the sound of the water when it is flowing.

Rejoice!!