Yes, another one of those just right mornings. Not too hot. Not too cold. Just right. I could hardly wait to hit the pavement this morning, in spite of the garret desk pulling me. Maybe because of all I felt I needed to accomplish today.
I set off with words of Thomas Merton in my head.
All we need is to experience what we already possess.
This seems to me to be a statement about awakening and awareness. Such good words. Therefore, I set out easily, joyfully, to see what I could see, to bless what I saw, and to reflect on what entered my heart.
Here's my morning inventory.
Roses. I love the exuberance, the abundance of roses that have been allowed to grow with enthusiasm for many years. How can I live more exuberantly, more enthusiastically, sharing the abundance of my life?
Curbside Garden. In Cleveland this area between the street and the sidewalk was called "tree lawn," a most appropriate name, I think. In our neighborhood of small lawns I love seeing how people use the spaces available to them. How can I best use these years given to me?
Screen Porch. I admit it I still have porch envy. Not many of the homes in our neighborhood have an open or screened porch, and those that do, don't seem to be used. I rarely see people sitting on their porches, and I wonder why that is. Don't they know what they are missing? In each house we've owned that had a front porch we used it fully. What is it in my life I am not using fully?
Sidewalk Saying. I laughed out loud when I read this one, for it is such a good representation of male Scandinavian reticence. If you listen to Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion or just live in Minnesota you know what I mean. What feelings am I not expressing and why is that?
Neat yards. When does neat and well-tended become rigid and boring? Are there ways I need to loosen up?
Messy yards. I wonder about the people who live in homes where the yards and gardens seemed to have taken over, where all control seems to have been lost. Have they lost interest or physical ability or do they just not notice anymore? What is their story and is there someone who knows and cares? What am I no longer noticing and what do I need to tend?
Two Wishing Wells in One Yard. Does the owner have wishes that are too big for one well? What are my wishes, spoken and unspoken, known and unknown?
Hammock. This house not only has this luxurious hammock and pillow just ready for an afternoon book and nap, but also a screen porch. I wonder if they would like a new friend. How do I nurture myself?
Grecian Lady. The house where this elegant lady stands is simple and unadorned and in no way resembles a Greek temple. She doesn't seem to fit the location. What areas of my life do I need to accept with more elegance and grace?
Mixed Metaphor. First, I notice the tall iron fence and concrete planters, and then I see the tin goats and gnome on the lawn. I laugh outloud and wonder how and why someone created two such different looks in one small yard. How can I live with greater lightness and humor?
Ah, the gifts of a morning walk.
The quality of life is in proportion, always, to the
capacity for delight. The capacity for delight is the
gift of paying attention.
Julia Cameron, The Artist's Way
An Invitation
I invite you to go for a walk today. What do you notice around you and inside of yourself? I would love to know.
Earlier this week I left my garret feeling a bit twisted and conflicted with thoughts of Christmas tasks struggling for dominance in my head. It was time to fix dinner, but, instead I was drawn by the soft lights in the living room. I have been reading a small book called Christmas on Jane Street http://www.harpercollins.com/9780061626425/christmas-on-jane-street by Billy Romp (Don't you love that name?) with Wanda Urbanska, a true story about a family in Vermont who go to New York City to sell Christmas trees every year for the month of December. It is one of those heart-warming stories reminding one of the importance of love and compassion and how keeping those values in view allows us to change and grow.
I finished reading the book, sighing with pleasure at the end, and instead of weariness overtaking me, which is what sometimes happens if I relax right before fixing dinner, I felt lighter, calmer. Then, instead of listening to the news on the radio, my more normal routine while fixing dinner, I listened to Christmas music on one of my Pandora stations. Dinner was ordinary--scrambled eggs with ham and cheese, English muffins, and clementines--but each step felt more meditative. I was in the midst of a walking meditation. I breathed in and out, finding my own rhythm, releasing the unfinished list, opening my heart to Spirit's guidance.
As I filled our plates--Christmas dishes which always remind me of my mother, for she started us on this collection--I thought about how the habits of Christmas can haunt us; how the way we have always done something can stay with us long after its usefulness. That can be true, also, with the pace we whip ourselves into during this holiday or other busy times of our lives. When we were raising our families and working full-time and being active in communities whether it was our faith communities, schools, or neighborhoods, adding in all the must-do's of Christmas was exhausting. The pace was frenetic.
There were years when it all seemed overwhelming, and days were not long enough to do all the Christmas-related tasks I wanted to do or felt compelled to do. Rush, rush, rush. Too much to do in too little time.
That was then and this is now.
Yes, there is still lots to do, but now I am in a different stage of life; one in which the taffy-pull of life isn't as intense, but unless I intentionally move in a walking meditation, I still find myself reverting to those former years when Advent was more a time of deadlines and expectations than sacred waiting and anticipation. I sometimes get caught in the rush-hour habits of those earlier years.
What I try to do now, want to do now is focus on those aspects of Christmas preparations I love the most.
* I love the decorating, surrounding myself with the context for the other tasks. Re-imagining the house for these days of magic and expectation.
* I love picking out Christmas cards and writing our annual Christmas letter, as well as more personal notes. When I write our letter I think about the highlights of our year that would be shared over a glass of wine, if we were to meet in person. Is there news that is cause for rejoicing or news that is hard to share, but those who have known us over the years would want to know? I try to express a new learning or understanding, a piece of spiritual growth and deepening that I hope will resonate our ongoing connection.
* I love the music of the season, the Advent hymns, the carols. Most of the time I write with silence as my background, but this year I can't get enough of the sounds. The music reminds me to listen with the ears of my heart.
Of course, I love the family times and gathering of friends and family in our home. I even enjoy the shopping and finding gifts that will be enjoyed, although wrapping is not my favorite Christmas activity. And while I love to cook, baking cookies is not my thing. I will make our traditional cherry walnut bread, and I better get started doing that next week, but leave the plates of a dozen different varieties of cookies to someone else. That decision is one way I have chosen to decrease that crazy, swirling out of control feeling of earlier years.
This year I am trying to be present to each day and not think about the new year yet. Thoughts about what I want to do come January--the organizing typical of the new year, my writing goals, my reading plans--hover near the surface, but I won't have this day ever again, and this is the day, this Advent day, that needs to be lived to the best of my ability with love and joy and openness.
Thanks be to God.
An Invitation
What Christmas expectations can you set aside? Do you know what you most love to do during this season? Is that what you are doing? I would love to know.
What do you think when you see a house that looks like this? I drive or walk by this house almost daily, but today is the first time I noticed it. That is not too surprising since the house itself is almost totally concealed by steroid-sized shrubs. However, as I walked first thing this morning, that house cloaked in deep, thick, almost impenetrable bushes entered my imagination and my heart.
First, I wondered about the inhabitants of that house. Is this a rental house and a case of an absentee landlord who has ignored the landscaping? Or do recluses live there who have intentionally created a moat of green to keep out any invaders? Do the people who live there only enter the house from the back door and never see how overgrown and oppressive their face to the world has become? Is this a case of old age, lack of money and ability, and a too-large home to manage anymore? What do the neighbors on either side of the house and across the street think? I wonder if this is the house on the block where sidewalks are never shoveled in the winter time. Perhaps no one lives there and the house is empty and lonely.
This house is not the only one in the neighborhood that could use major loving-care. Every neighborhood has homes that for one reason or another are not well-tended or cared for. In some cases the reason is deliberate--the person simply does not care or have pride in how things look. In other cases what started as neat and orderly with gardens and landscaping pleasing to the eye have gotten out of hand. My husband, the head gardener, often points out perennial gardens that are now overbearing, overblown, and in need of ongoing attention, as every garden does to some degree. Of course, neglect can also be the result of lack of money or physical abilities or a different aesthetic from what seems acceptable to most people. Whatever the reason, there is a story attached to each of these unpruned homes.
As I continued my walk, I wondered about this situation and what was being protected behind the thick wall of green. Is there a need to hide from the rest of the world? What fears are represented here? How could anyone feel welcomed approaching this fortress and is that an indication of the inhabitant's need to retreat not only from the external world, but also from his or her own self-awareness? What is being defended or concealed here? I don't think about possessions necessarily, but what emotions and vulnerabilities are secreted here? How is self-growth and self-awareness limited in such an environment, for not only is it daunting to enter, but it becomes hard to get out the front door as well.
Here's the challenge I encountered on this walk, knowing what opportunities for metaphor houses and gardens offer: What have I hidden deep within myself? What am I protecting? What do I prevent from discovering the light? In what ways have I built a fortress, defending myself from unknown invasions? Where do I need to prune and weed and transplant and dig? What deep, well-fortified issues prevent me from being my true self, my whole self?
In what ways do I need to tend my own home? And if not now, when?
Fortunately, there is lots of help available for clearing the barriers, including meeting with a spiritual director, spending time in contemplation and meditation or developing other spiritual practices that open one to deeper self-awareness. My daily walks often move me to greater clarity, especially when I then take time to sit and breathe and allow what I have seen to become part of my interior landscape. With a clearer landscape comes an open and more compassionate heart.
A Gift
Currently, I am reading The Rebirthing of God, Christianity's Struggle for New Beginnings http://heartbeatjourney.org/2014/04/15/the-rebirthing-of-god-2/
by John Philip Newell, whom I heard speak recently at Wisdom Ways, Center for Spirituality. http://wisdomwayscenter.org I offer his words for your reflection.
What does it mean that we are made of God rather than
simply by God? In part it means that the wisdom of God
is deep within us, deeper than the ignorance of what we
have done. It is to say that the creativity of God is deep
within us, deeper than any barrenness in our lives or
relationships, deeper than any endings in our families
or our world. Within us--as a sheer gift of God--is the
capacity to bring forth what has never been before,
including what has never been imagined before. Above
all else, as Julian of Norwich says, the love-longings
of God are at the heart of our being. We and all things
have come forth from the One. Deep within us are holy,
natural longings for oneness, primal sacred drives for
union. We may live in tragic exile from these longings,
or we may have spent a whole lifetime not knowing how
to truly satisfy them, but they are there at the heart of
our being, waiting to be born afresh. p. x
An Invitation
I invite you to walk outside your house and have a good look. Is there something that has been neglected? Can you see what others see? Is it time to prune and bring more light into your heart? I would love to know.
Instead of "lions and tigers and bears, oh my," think "herons and egrets and 'gators, oh my." Yesterday's walking meditation was on a 2 and 1/2 mile boardwalk through the Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary near Naples, Florida. Preserved by the Audubon Society the sanctuary consists of 13,000 acres of pristine wilderness dating back 500 years and includes the largest old growth Bald Cypress forest in North America.
Signs requesting quiet appreciation of the flora and fauna, including no cell phone use, were posted. I suspect for many it was a natural response to lower one's voice, almost to a whisper, and to slow one's pace as if processing up a church aisle. That was not the case with everyone, however, and at first I was irritated with those who did not seem to get the message. I reminded myself, however, to refocus my awareness to what was underneath human sounds.
I discovered layers of sounds. People talking. People whispering in respectful tones. The sounds of cameras chiming as they were turned on and then clicking with each picture. Eventually, the nonhuman sounds became more apparent. The calls, ranging from chirps to squawks, of unknown birds who remained unknown, for I rarely spotted what I heard. A scuttling small raccoon peering out from underneath ferns, and green or brown anoles slipping along the the bark of the Bald Cypress. Dried alligator leaves sounding like paper as a soft breeze maneuvered over and through them. An occasional leaf dropping. At home I would suspect a squirrel on the move, but instead I wondered panther or alligator?
Later our friend asked if we heard jets as we walked. Not at all. I had dropped to a lower level of sound and consciousness.When I taught T'ai Chi, I often started the class with a walking meditation. Walking slowly in a circle, I suggested even a slower pace. How slowly can you move and still maintain balance? Heal to toe with each step. Slow the steps. Slow the breath. In and out. Relax the shoulders with arms slowly at your sides, letting them swing only as the breeze moves them. What felt different in the swamp (I can't believe I was in a swamp!) was instead of letting go of thoughts, one less thought with each step, I asked my heart to see more, hear more. Be aware. Be awake. Pay attention.
I noticed the lichen graffiti, red and white , on the boardwalk fence. The strangler fig wrapped around bald cypress trees, like petrified lizards and snakes entwined around trunks and branches. The occasional polka dot of non green color, a purple or yellow blossom. Bromeliads tucked in crooks of branches looking like nests for prehistoric prowlers.
I pushed the pause button within myself often. Be aware. Be awake. Pay attention.
Henry James said, "Try to be one of the people on whom nothing is lost." I tried, but I knew I was not receiving it all. Not only was I not knowledgeable enough to know what I was seeing or what it was possible to see, but I was also not fully awake and aware. Being fully awake is a lifetime practice. I was grateful for the practice time.
How are you practicing being fully awake? What is waiting for you to notice?
Roses. I love the exuberance, the abundance of roses that have been allowed to grow with enthusiasm for many years. How can I live more exuberantly, more enthusiastically, sharing the abundance of my life?
Sidewalk Saying. I laughed out loud when I read this one, for it is such a good representation of male Scandinavian reticence. If you listen to Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion or just live in Minnesota you know what I mean. What feelings am I not expressing and why is that?
Mixed Metaphor. First, I notice the tall iron fence and concrete planters, and then I see the tin goats and gnome on the lawn. I laugh outloud and wonder how and why someone created two such different looks in one small yard. How can I live with greater lightness and humor? 
