Thursday Share

Thought this was utterly fantastic!

hello: baby wisdom

Tonight at the gym, after exchanging smiles from a distance, an 18-month-old waddled up to me and hugged me from the knees down.

He clung to my knee and lower leg for a good minute while his mom tried to peel him off me.

The whole time I just stood there, quietly delighted that a small human being was holding onto me, clearly from a place of sensed connection, possibly from a place of no-need-to-over-analyze-it love.

It destroyed me a little bit. It destroyed me because it reminded me of the whimsy and joy and good and random beauty all around me that lately I have been failing to observe.

I loved everything it represented.

I loved it all.

Spring Cleaning

I've been doing a little spring cleaning today - three loads of laundry, my closet ripped apart to produce 1 bag of clothing to donate, the ol' lemon + baking soda trick to clean my sink, dust bunny removal, shreading documents (one huge bag filled with shreddings and one papercut later), AND the discovery of various "inspirations" I've stashed in piles throughout the house. Sometimes I really have to pat past-tense Sara on the back for her inability to throw away scraps of paper with what - in that moment in time - she found to be utterly beautiful/true/wise/inspiring. Good work, past me.

So before I share this particular inspiration, I will just say it's exactly what I needed right now. I was lucky enough to get to talk with not one but two of my soulmate-friends (Joseph & Hannah) this morning, and I heard myself wondering aloud with both of them What's next? I feel stuck but I'm fairly certain it's my own fear keeping me stuck. Even knowing it's me holding me back isn't enough to get me unstuck though - and that's the problem. 

This quote from Marianne Williamson - on a handout from last year's Passover celebration at Joel & Melissa's - really spoke to where I'm at and what I'm struggling with. Joel & Melissa prepared a beautiful, progressive seder and this reading is from a section called "The Four Adults" that is a response to the traditional seder section called "the Four Children." It is a way of reminding us how much we have to learn from youth by describing four types of adults: angry adult, ashamed adult, fearful adult, compassionate adult. We are reminded that to create a just world, with children and people who are wise, we need to learn from all of these adults. They all dwell inside each of us and we can only truthfully struggle for justice with an open heart, if we let ourselves hear the lessons of all of them. 

Marianne Williamson brings us the teaching for the ashamed adult. She writes:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate; our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. it is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually who are you not to be? You are a child of G-d. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of G-d that is within us. It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Now, I'll be the first to say I have a gut reaction when I read about G-d in any piece of writing; and while my own "faith" struggles with a G-d concept, what resonates in this for me is the idea that our goodness and good work could bring out more of that in others, in the world. Our fear & shame holds us back, but when we embrace our power and our path ("destiny" if you believe in that sort of thing), not only do we experience freedom, but we free others as well. 

I am going to meditate on this idea tonight. I want to see if I have any more courage than I had this morning, as my voice shook and made excuses in response to not one but two friends telling me You are free. You are not stuck. 

I want to discover what is really filling with me fear. I wonder, is the fear of my own possibility what is really keeping me stuck? 

Chasing the Light

It all started a few weeks ago.

A few weeks ago I met a group of friends at the local just-a-little-over-a-dollar theater, to catch the afternoon showing of a well-reviewed documentary. Two hours later as the credits rolled, my friends dispersed back to their respective Sunday afternoons, except for me, Julia, and Dan. And conveniently, for us lingerers, just across the way was a small wine bar, opening in 5 minutes.

When the friendly barista unlocked the door five minutes later, we took seats at the countertop at the window, in order to watch/soak in the fading daylight. Squinting because the sun is in my eyes - after a seemingly endless winter of rare & fleeting sunlight - is one of my most cherished signs that winter is transitioning into spring. You will find me in hallways at work, next to our floor-to-ceiling glass windows, chin skyward, eyes closed, sun dappling my happy face.

Back at the bar, our perfect little flights of wine  arrived. And I began to chase the light.

This first moment of beautiful sunlight led me to others.

A morning of sunlight, blinds wide open.

(Do you see the rounded diamond of blue, faintly encircling the light spilling in through the window? It delighted me.)

Another morning, I noticed what half-closed blinds created.

Raindrops of light almost.

Yesterday though, I arrived home from work, to a gift of light throughout my downstairs. The glass in my front door seemed to be the culprit for the rainbows of light hitting every surface they could find.

Kids these days

The scared is scared of things you like...

Check it out.

Kids are wise and magical.

Pep Talk

Thanks to Molly and many others for sharing this wonderful video with me.

There is so much about it I love: the lisp, the facial expressions, the dancing, and obviously the overall message.

Burning 2012 (New Year's Eve Inspiration)

1)

"May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself." - Neil Gaiman 

2)

Burning the Old Year
by Naomi Shihab Nye

Letters swallow themselves in seconds.
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.

So much of any year is flammable,
lists of vegetables, partial poems.
Orange swirling flame of days,
so little is a stone.

Where there was something and suddenly isn't,
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.
I begin again with the smallest numbers.

Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,
only the things I didn't do
crackle after the blazing dies.

Hello: Little Joys

Putting your needs and intentions out into the universe can be a powerful thing.

I arrived home today to find two treasures in my mailbox.

The invitation to be a special part of a very special friend's big day:

A letter from a dear friend rambling about what makes the world go round:

Oh, and did I mention, some freshly baked cookies awaited me at my desk this afternoon:

I also have a working kitchen sink! And a beautiful space developing before my eyes:

And two friends asked me how my roots and branches are.

Taking root. Stretching.

sunday evening poetry

A rediscovered Billy Collins poem. Every great weekend should end with a beautiful poem, right?

This Much I do Remember 

It was after dinner.
You were talking to me across the table
about something or other,
a greyhound you had seen that day
or a song you liked,

and I was looking past you
over your bare shoulder
at the three oranges lying
on the kitchen counter
next to the small electric bean grinder,
which was also orange,
and the orange and white cruets for vinegar and oil.

All of which converged
into a random still life,
so fastened together by the hasp of color,
and so fixed behind the animated
foreground of your
talking and smiling,
gesturing and pouring wine,
and the camber of you shoulders

that I could feel it being painted within me,
brushed on the wall of my skull,
while the tone of your voice
lifted and fell in its flight,
and the three oranges
remained fixed on the counter
the way that stars are said
to be fixed in the universe.

Then all of the moments of the past
began to line up behind that moment
and all of the moments to come
assembled in front of it in a long row,
giving me reason to believe
that this was a moment I had rescued
from millions that rush out of sight
into a darkness behind the eyes.

Even after I have forgotten what year it is,
my middle name,
and the meaning of money,
I will still carry in my pocket
the small coin of that moment,
minted in the kingdom
that we pace through every day.

Exhaustion

This week really took it out of me, in areas both interesting and quite mundane.

First, what about that election, eh?

I stayed up way too late to watch local results of some important races, and I have suffered for the remainder of the week because of this decision...but probably I'm also exhausted because my pure elation from these hateful amendments NOT passing just took it out of me. It feels so good to be a part of the winning team, and for that win to be about basic, core human rights. YES.


So in no particular order here are some things making me happy these days:

-You know, this guy.

-The recent discovery of a fantastic cooking/lifestyle blog called Joy the Baker. I love this lady! How did I not know about her for my entire life?!

-And although I am kinda sad I won't get to make those amazing looking pumpkin bars from Joy's site anytime soon, I am SO excited that tomorrow my kitchen renovation starts!! I feel like a ridiculously lucky human that my dream kitchen is about to become a reality.

-Not one but two friends have asked if they can set me up with a friend of theirs. Nice for people to be thinking of me and possible connections of the romantic variety.

-I go to Mississippi in a few weeks to celebrate Thanksgiving with my dear friend Joseph. Dirty South Thanksgiving 2012!

-I purchased some new clothing this weekend, and three of the four pieces are bright red and two of the four pieces have stripes. I know what I like.

-I rearranged my bedroom, and the subtle changes make it feel like a whole new world. I am so cozy and my bedroom feels like a sanctuary.

-I've lost some weight such that I could fit into a tiny skirt that I've been unable to wear because I didn't feel confident in it until now. And my friend objectified me while I was wearing the skirt, so I think it was working for me.

-Also, I have gained muscles. 

-Soy nog is back in season and I am single-handedly making it worthwhile for the Co-op to keep that delicious holiday treat in stock!

Last bit of happiness? That even though this list is hilariously boring, I am going to post this anyway because it's my blog and I get to be as boring as I damn well please, and also: this.

Early October Inspirations

Good beautiful questions, such as: Can art not only raise awareness of current ecological issues, but can it also propose solutions to those problems?

Falling down seven times, but getting up eight times.

Chris Kluwe.

Revisiting the past in an inventive, thoughtful way.

Laughing through the pain.

A Poem I Like

(and possibly have posted here before. deal with it.)

"The Seven of Pentacles"
by Marge Piercy

Under a sky the color of pea soup
she is looking at her work growing away there
actively, thickly like grapevines or pole beans
as things grow in the real world, slowly enough.
If you tend them properly, if you mulch, if you water,
if you provide birds that eat insects a home and winter food,
if the sun shines and you pick off caterpillars,
if the praying mantis comes and the ladybugs and the bees,
then the plants flourish, but at their own internal clock.
Connections are made slowly, sometimes they grow underground.
You cannot always tell by looking what is happening.
More than half the tree is spread out in the soil under your feet.
Penetrate quietly as the earthworm that blows no trumpet.
Fight persistently as the creeper that brings down the tree.
Spread like the squash plant that overruns the garden.
Gnaw in the dark and use the sun to make sugar.
Weave real connections, create real nodes, build real houses.
Live a life you can endure: Make love that is loving.
Keep tangling and interweaving and taking more in,
a thicket and bramble wilderness to the outside but to us
interconnected with rabbit runs and burrows and lairs.
Live as if you liked yourself, and it may happen:
reach out, keep reaching out, keep bringing in.
This is how we are going to live for a long time: not always,
for every gardener knows that after the digging, after
the planting, after the long season of tending and growth, the harvest
comes.

Little Inspirations

I will be making one of these:

It's called a Little Free Library and they are springing up all over town. My idea of mine is to be a mini version of my blue house - except with a green roof like the photo above. So basically, what I dream my house could be. And it will hold all the great books I hope my neighbors and folks passing by would enjoy. Much loved books from my childhood such as: A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Maniac Magee, and The Giver; and new favorites like Dandelion Wine, East of Eden, and Middlesex. I'm also excited to think of the new books that will appear. That's the beauty of these little libraries: they grow and evolve as readers visit them and leave their own 'favorites.' It really is a conversation between members of the community. The book-worm and community organizer in me rejoices!

Another benefit of this L.F.T: my house is a block from a fast food establishment and I often find trash in my front gardens and boulevard. There is also a bus stop in front of my house that seems to encourage people to litter in my yard. I've long had a vision of building a bench into the hilltop in front of my house (right by the bus-stop sign) and having a trash can. Now there will be a library as well. I'm in love with this vision of my front yard!


Today I was telling my friend how I long to be more creative in my life and work. He said to look for the little ways to satisfy that need. I didn't mean to be so literal when I thought a Little Free Library would be a nice way to dive right in.

the little things

My roommate gave me a great gift: 

Bits and pieces of my garden, artfully, thoughtfully arranged, and left for me to discover.

mid-june inspirations

People who don't listen when others say "you can't."

The philosophy contained in this quirky video. This honestly feels like a spiritual text to me; a way to live our lives well.

The new Metric album and this fantastic studio session I got to witness.

The death of a childhood hero inspiring a new summer reading list. First up: Dandelion Wine. (RIP childhood hero.)

Kale season and associated recipes!

hello out there

I have not disappeared. I am just regrouping after a very tiring family "vacation."

Once I've recovered, I will post more. Hopefully something funny. It's getting debbie-downer up in here...

Also, here's a great poem:

Under a sky the color of pea soup
she is looking at her work growing away there
actively, thickly like grapevines or pole beans
as things grow in the real world, slowly enough.
If you tend them properly, if you mulch, if you water,
if you provide birds that eat insects a home and winter food,
if the sun shines and you pick off caterpillars,
if the praying mantis comes and the ladybugs and the bees,
then the plants flourish, but at their own internal clock.
Connections are made slowly, sometimes they grow underground.
You cannot always tell by looking what is happening.
More than half the tree is spread out in the soil under your feet.
Penetrate quietly as the earthworm that blows no trumpet.
Fight persistently as the creeper that brings down the tree.
Spread like the squash plant that overruns the garden.
Gnaw in the dark and use the sun to make sugar.
Weave real connections, create real nodes, build real houses.
Live a life you can endure: Make love that is loving.
Keep tangling and interweaving and taking more in,
a thicket and bramble wilderness to the outside but to us
interconnected with rabbit runs and burrows and lairs.
Live as if you liked yourself, and it may happen:
reach out, keep reaching out, keep bringing in.
This is how we are going to live for a long time: not always,
for every gardener knows that after the digging, after
the planting, after the long season of tending and growth, the harvest
comes.

-Marge Piercy

Mid-May Inspirations

Two things this week have moved me to tears.  The first on the bus (awkward), the second at my desk (ridiculous).

It's important to hear stories like these, and to be reminded of our shared humanity.

First cry

Second cry

life mimics blog

Just mere moments after posting my morning meditation, I went out to my back driveway and saw a message from the universe that indeed, every moment is important:

First allium bloom of the year. It happened behind my back, almost unseen. Even when you feel still, you are in transformation.

mid-April inspirations

People with patience and vision

A powerful woman with a sense of humor

Laughing out loud in the midst of a rough day

But most of all:

Caine's Arcade

I've decided that watching the short film about Caine's Arcade is the only thing you need to do...ever.

the great spring turnaround

The weekend was revitalizing.

I sat around a table full of mostly strangers, and shared the tradition of Passover. Something familiar was made new by the company. Something sacred grew more so.

I sat alone next to an open window with clippings of an old calendar, a gluestick, and scissors and found ways to make something new, placing my creations in small frames that will hang upon my 101-year-old old walls. 

I played Easter Bunny in my garden for two young, bright-eyed children whose mother kindly said "Yes" when, on a whim, I asked if I could. Their glee grew mine.

I dug in the fresh dirt of my garden, discovering little gifts as I went - flowers planted last season, names forgotten but beginnings cherished. Even the painful scratch of the rose bush on my bare arm was familiar and somehow comforting.

I happily chopped away at a mound of thyme to produce a loaf of lemon-thyme bread, and then marveled at the joy in making art out of the presentation. A map to wrap the gift to the family who has helped me find my way here in this town: it's only fitting.

I sat around another table full of mostly not-strangers and shared an Easter feast, listening as we each made a vow of renewal for the next thirty days. Our vows: body awareness, trout-fishing, art-making, self-care, less snarky thoughts, slowing down, long walks, body care, acting with intention.

I found a friend waiting for me on my front porch, arriving at the perfect time to take a walk alongside the last bits of sun of the weekend. We discovered many buds and blooms, and many unnoticed, surprises around the well-known streets of our neighborhood.

It was good enough that I found myself less attached to documenting it, and more attached to experiencing it. But I did find a moment to take a few thoughtful pauses.