The sun is directly over the equator today. I balance on a ball that invites me to put my arms out and twirl, centered in what answers and calls.
It’s a time of balance.
Pumpkins, gourds and winter squash shine vibrantly orange as we nourish on foods filled with vitamin A to refresh our eyes to see in the dark.
It’s a time to sink into the sensations of breathing, to notice more clearly the stimulating and calming movement of air in and out.
The morning darkness invites us to light a candle and begin the day with a meditative ritual. I begin with this.
Exhale energy down the left side of the body; inhale up the right. Do this three times.
Then exhale down the front and inhale up the back – again three times.
Next bring energy up the feet through the center radiating from the top of the head like a fountain and back down to the feet. Do that as long as you wish.
You are your own playground.
Today I pause and knit patterns of presence. I reflect and integrate what shapes and informs intention, honoring reception.
I’m with these words of Wendell Berry:
It may be that when we no longer know which way to go we have come to our real journey.
Waves of light flow through. Like trees and flags, I receive the wind as it moves, patterns generous in weaving change.
My mother, who passed in 2005, was born a year after Queen Elizabeth II. I remember her talking about playing with paper dolls that were the young Margaret and Elizabeth. I think of how we each have our own path, both imposed and created. Elizabeth was born into a role, as are we all, and then we have choice in how we respond and flow, give and receive, move and pause.
As a child, I cut out paper dolls with my grandmother. I would be impatient and sloppy. Though she wouldn’t comment directly, she would example by holding her scissors precisely and cutting carefully around the curves, and say words that repeat in and out of me these days.
“The way we do one thing may reveal the way we do all things.”
Memories slide in and out; gentle guidance weaves the day.
We’ve been experiencing record breaking heat. The sky this morning offers the possibility of change.
I was outside last night with the moon and stars, and now this morning the sky was still bright with stars. Light comes and the birds sing and flit joyfully these late summer days.
This morning I read Garrison Keillor on his experience at the Mayo Clinic. He exclaims over the care he’s receiving and how many of the nurses these days are male, a vocation carefully chosen, appreciated, and enjoyed.
I remember my mother’s care from a male nurse, and the care I received when I went through radiation treatment. The male nurse who handed us our gown, always made sure they were newly warmed. He prayed for us each day.
Celebrating the dedication of teachers and medical workers, male, female, and evolving choice is a way to deal with challenges in the news.
Today I dance with the words of one of my favorite authors: A.A. Milne:
“What day is it?” asked Pooh. “It’s today,” squeaked Piglet. “My favourite day,” said Pooh.
Yesterday Monarch butterflies accompanied my walk and today birds were out enjoying the early morning marsh. I saw avocets, willets, egrets, ducks, gulls, and smaller birds. The special treat was a Heron in the reeds.
These last four months of the year go together as beginning, harvest, fruition, celebration, and rest.
I feel myself in the pause as though just being is enough. Last night I sat outside with the stars and crescent moon. During the day, I sat under a maple tree looking up. This morning seeing light arrive later, I light within. I am candle, illumination, trust.
Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.
Yesterday I went to the O’Hanlon Center for the Arts to see Holly Wong’s Guardian of the Spirits, a “suspended installation of cellophane, dichroic film, silk and polyester organza, gold fabric, vinyl tablecloth, transparencies and thread”. That may sound strange but it’s a beautiful, flowing, clear and patterned airiness. It moves as one walks by, and then, guarded by the spirits, one looks up to the second floor, and there overhanging is a long gun sticking out from the turret of a tank. Walking up, one sees the tank with a teensy-tiny Russian flag atop is breaking through a wall. The flag of Ukraine hangs from the gun.
Heart stops and beats even more receptively again.
This morning is dark and cold, well, it feels cold to me. It may still be August but the smell and feel of Fall fills the air.
I’m celebrating and integrating these words of Audre Lorde:
“It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences.”
Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.