Today I’m with the story from Acres of Diamonds, how all is here, and we don’t need to go searching all about.  All is here, right here in the diamond of our heart.

Today I journey to be with Bright Light. We’re expanding the circle so I can help care for Grandchild, the curvature of my shine.

A few years ago I had some little plants planted that were meant to spread but for some reason each stayed compact in its spot.  Then, I fertilized with kelp and “ocean gold” and now there’s some teeny-tiny flowers and a reaching out.

It has me thinking about stimulation, the balance there.  I seem reasonably content in my abode so how much outside stimulation do I need?  Do I need to apply kelp and ocean gold to my roots or sit content in my isolation which includes books, plants, Zoom, Facetime, a husband, and two cats?

One son and his wife want the family to start planning a trip to Hawaii for Christmas.  That would be delightful, obviously, but I, usually an optimist, don’t see an end to this shelter-in-place.  I find myself in a place of discontent with the stirring of maybe I should be reaching out.  Oh, my, that word “should”, and yet, my solitary little plants are beginning to spread, so slowly I honor the reach of my branches, slowly I trust what comes, and release on what I can’t control, even as I trust the touch of my rootedness from love that unbounds.  

Years ago in a workshop I sat with my eyes closed and heard these words. Now, today, I listen and see photos to accompany what sank so deeply into me to open and unfold like the bud of a flower or tree or fingers on a hand.

Last night I went to bed early.  I was with the words of William Wordsworth: The world is too much with us, which is odd because we’re also in isolation so are given an opportunity for inner exploration, or so it might seem but my thoughts are greatly tied with the world these days.  We need to know what’s going on.  What are the “rules” of the day because where I live they change day to day.  Now, this day, I can bring a reusable bag to the store if I leave it in the cart and bag my groceries myself.

A friend found a lump in her breast.  She needs to go to her appointment alone because of the virus.

I have the image of an astronaut tethered to the International Space Station.  We’re alone in one way but tethered in another.  

In my dreams, people wear masks though I woke from one this morning where we were all walking around unmasked and there were children and I was ordering food in a restaurant.  I remember I used to enjoy sitting on a bench at a park watching children play.  The playgrounds are closed.  I feel confused. I think that’s why tears come so easily these days. I believe tears are liquid love so I melt in knowing they come from swinging on understanding and adapting moment to moment to an inner exploration I share.  

Today I swing my tears like incense in a censer or thurible to the words of my teacher of Sensory Awareness, Charlotte Selver:

There is no room any more for holding back or being lukewarm or protecting against something which may not exist at all now.  And in case we actually need to protect ourselves now, we can do it openly.  We can protect ourselves in freedom instead of carrying all this constriction which pretends to protect us.

We each have a different idea of how to organize space.

Because my husband and I are both home all the time now, today begins with a discussion of how we organize and utilize space.

When shelter-in-place began, we were in the process of organizing and discarding.  We’ve lived in this house 42 years so this was no small task, but we rented a dumpster and tossed, and put what could be given away or recycled in the garage.  There it sat since we could do no more.

Now, we’re mobilizing again.  I like cozy.  I have afghans, blankets, books, and pillows.  Steve likes stark and bare, so today there is some disagreement on what can go.

Though Steve likes stark, he’s also a sucker for gadgets.  He set one on the table and I had no idea its purpose. Steve bought it to turn vegetables into spirals, but that hasn’t happened in who knows how many years. That’s going.

Each year we get our trees trimmed.   Each year the cost is shocking but essential.

Today I asked the arborist about my Holly tree. I’ve been fertilizing and pruning to deal with aphids farmed by ants.  He suggested I buy some ladybugs, so I went to our local nursery, learned what they needed, and now ladybugs are happily exploring their new environment.

It’s another example of connection, and how easily a problem can be solved.  Now, to the cupboards to empty and refill with just the right amount of space to satisfy us both.

Yesterday I participated in a Sensory Awareness workshop titled Studying Our Nature through Sensing: The Living Treasure of Being.

As we worked, beautifully led by Miren Salmeron, I felt the tightness in my jaw and throat.  When I reached out toward an imagined flower, there was release.  Release.  I could breathe and I exulted in the exhale, the exhalation that is a reaching out. 

What do I breathe into the world?

When I touch my face, does my hand touch my face, or does my face reach toward my hand, or both, and is there a “my”, an “I”? 

How deeply and spaciously do I meet “the living treasure of being”?

After dropping into an exploration of experimentation with ourselves, Michael Atkinson led a discussion of our discoveries.  He mentioned the book Silas Marner by George Eliot.  I re-read it last night.  It’s definitely a book for the mature and not eighth graders.  There’s a great deal there to digest.

This morning I read that John Muir was a racist.  I was shocked to read that the Sierra Club may take down their monument to him.  Will the name of Muir Woods now be changed?  Should it be?  I don’t know.  I’m mind-boggled these days.  

When my cousin was young, his family moved from Indiana to Georgia.  He came home from school and asked his parents how the South lost the Civil War when they won all the battles.

We’re influenced by what we’re taught and how we’re raised.  Now we’re in a time of incredible change.  I feel like we’re caught in a fireworks display. We have Black Lives Matter and the pandemic at a time when leadership is corrupt and everything is erupting around us with a bang, bank, bang.

Perhaps when the light of the fireworks goes out, we’ll be led by the light from the stars.

This morning I went outside and watered in a soft rain as I considered how to balance the intricacies of social distancing and the need for relationship, companionship, and touch. 

Words of E.M. Forster come to mind. “Only connect!”

Today, my intention is to connect heart and gut as I honor the living treasure of being.

This will break your heart, and if it’s already broken, which it probably is, this will seep through the seams and melt anything still there.

My children and I came to know Mrs. T, Mrs. Terwilliger, when they were in preschool.  I became a nature guide when my youngest started kindergarten.

Mrs. T. was revered in a multitude of ways but what comes to mind this morning is her running towards something calling out “Something Special”.  Perhaps it was a snake or a crab, a nest or a rock.

She would stand with her arms spread out and proclaim: “Straight out for a hawk.”  She’d lift them in a V:  “V is for vulture”.   And it’s true.  When one sees a bird soaring in the sky, check the wings.  Are they in a V or a straight line?

We need both, the hawk and the vulture.  Each has a niche in this dance of unity, which brings me to words handed down, a tale often told.

A Grandfather Cherokee tells his grandson that there is a battle that goes on inside people.

He says “The battle is between two “wolves” inside us all.”

One is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, and pride.

The other is joy, peace, love, empathy, and  truth.

The child asks, “Which one wins?”

Grandfather answers, “The one you feed.”

I’m with that today as I feel the power of my thoughts and how I respond to what comes.  How do I feed?

Am I the hawk or the vulture?  My intention is to be both, to nourish and increase the vitality in the flock as I clean up and recycle what’s needed no more.

I gave myself today to pause. Yesterday we drove south to see the sun and to enjoy hospitality at the home of our son and his wife.

Today I was content to watch the wind move the trees, and the fog move in and out.  I continue to watch the vine twine up the line of the spider.

Today in my sensing group, we spoke of the weight of what is going on.  Some of us are in a place of privilege as to security and safety, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t heartily affected by what is happening all around us.  There is group fear, and personal fear, and lack of touch, and each day seems to create a new reality to comprehend and pass through.

I allowed myself to feel that today, the weight of change, and in that I let the weight of thought pass down to be held by the weight of gravity in my feet, the landing pads that restore.