HONORING TRANSITIONS

THE DAY MORGAN TURNED 13 YEARS OLD

May 6, 2023

My oldest Grandson crossed a threshold today. He exited childhood and entered the Spooky Forest of Adolescence. A long and winding road awaits him, finding his way to himSelf. Growing into a Man. There is beauty in this forest as well as dark and treacherous paths. There are Beings who live here — but one doesn’t know if or when they may show up nor whether they will be friendly Guides, or hungry Trolls hunting their dinner.

But this young boy-man of mine, he’s smart, and he’s incredibly creative. He’s adventurous and eager to learn things. I trust him to make it through this spooky forest. In fact, he will probably enjoy most of the journey! I certainly hope so.

To honor this momentous occasion, I am re-printing a blog I wrote the year he turned 4. As much as I love watching him grow to be a man, towering over me, now, his voice deep, his knowledge and abilities far beyond even just a few years ago, still, I miss the little boy he used to be.

So, Morgan, this is for you, today.

FIGHTING GOBLINS AND RESCUING PRINCESSES

April 7, 2014

I walked with three-year old Morgan, soon to be four, the three blocks to the little playground next to a neighborhood ball park.  We looked for daffodils growing up beside the houses and talked of birds and worms, the dietary habits of squirrels and why the rain makes the grass turn green.  We tried a short cut through the tennis court, but the gate was locked, so we took the other short cut through the alley. 

“What’s an alley, Nonna?” 

“It’s a little road behind the back yards of the houses.  See?  We’re walking down an alley.”  We heard a rooster defending his territory. 

“Nonna, what’s that sound?”

“A rooster.”

“Is a rooster a daddy chicken or a mommy chicken, Nonna?”

We arrived at the Park.  Morgan ran for the largest layout of blue and green and orange equipment that included platform stairs, a tunnel, a swinging bridge, a curved stair ladder, a lookout post and a 10′ tunnel slide.  He scampered up to the lookout post before I could even catch up and hurled himself down the slide…and did a full body face plant into the mud at the bottom.

You know how one of the funniest not-funny sights is someone slipping on the ice?  The next funniest not-funny sights is a little boy covered in mud–face, belly, hands, knees–just after a half-flip belly flop face-plant off a slide.  Morgan looked about to cry and much to my shame, I burst out laughing.  He looked at me in confusion.  His brain was registering tragedy and calling for tears, but his Nonna was having a complete giggle melt down.  Tragedy lost to Giggles and soon we were both laughing while he spit out mud and wood chip fibers and I brushed what dirt I could off his nose and chin and hands.

He actually looks pretty clean here; we’ve removed most of the mud…but he’s still working on spitting out the mouthful of grit he got…

“Nonna, the Bad Guys are hewr.  They pushed me down the slide.  We bettow find ow fighting sowrds ’cause we need to fight bad guys.”

“What kind of bad guys?”

“Zombies.”  He looked around.  “No!  Theys Goblins!  Theys the wust kind!”

He grabbed a stick sword, I grabbed a stick wand.  I said my wand could get more goblins.  He said, “Ok, Nonna.  You can use a wand this time.  …Oh no!  Hewre they come Nonna!”

We fought Goblins.  It was quite a noisy battle. 

“Nonna!  We have to wescue the pwincess!”  He took off to climb the stairs and cross the swinging bridge and climb up the roundy ladder…  “You fight the goblins, Nonna, so I can wescue the pwincess!”

The tower was breached successfully.  “Hurry, Morgan!  Grab the Princess!  Where are we taking her?”

“To that bench oveer thewr!”

“Is that where she lives?”

“No, she’s fwom Cavelot.  But we can make hewr safe thewr on the bench and fix hewr ouchies.  That’s the hospital, Nonna.”

“Ok.  You better pick her up and carry her over your shoulder.”

“Ok, Nonna.  …Whew…weew safe now.  You fix hewr ouchies with yous wand, Nonna.  She’s a beautiful pwincess, Nonna.  Do you think she’s vewy pwetty, Nonna?”

“Oh, definitely, Morgan.  She’s very pretty.”

“…Oh-oh, Nonna.  Hewr come mowr Goblins!  Mowr and mowr and mowr and mowr…Fight Nonna!”

“Morgan, I think they captured another princess!  I think they turned her into a bird!”

“Yous wight, Nonna!  Only she’s not a biwrd.  She’s a winosowus.  The Goblins changed her into a winosowus.”

“Oh no!  We’ve got to get her out of here!  You better kiss her, Morgan, turn her back into a beautiful Princess!  But be careful of her horn!

“Nonna, I’m not Mowgan.  I’m a Pwince.  I’m a Supeohewo Pwince!  And I can’t kiss the winosowus pwincess.”

“Why can’t you kiss the princess, Prince Superhero?”

“‘Cause I’ll get make-up on my face!”

“So who’s going to turn her back into a Princess?  You don’t want her to be stuck being a rhinoceros, do you?”

“Nonna, you can do it with yous wand!”

“Oh.”

“Ok.  I will cawwy hewr over to the bench…I mean the hospital.”

“Prince Superhero, where do the Princesses live?  Should we take them home?”

“Yeah.  They live with the King in Afwica.  We can fly in the aiwplane to Afwica.  But you have to fight off the Goblins while I cawwy the pwincesses, okay Nonna?”

“Ok Prince Superhero.”

“Yay!  We made it Nonna!  You got the Goblins!  Now we need to fly the beautiful Pwincesses to Afwica!”

“Nonna, quick, we got to take the Pwincesses to the King before more Goblins get us!  Huwwy, Nonna.  Theys coming…the Goblins aw coming!  Mowr and mowr and mowr…”

“Prince Superhero, let’s get back to our plane and fly somewhere else!”

“Okay, Nonna.  We’s going to Austwaila, now.  To visit the Kangawoos.  I don’t know if theys Goblins thewr.  See Nonna?  Thewrs the Kangawoos!  We’ll land the aiwplane by the Kangawoos.”

“Nonna, the Kangawoos can talk.  They’s Mommy Kangawoos with theys babies in theys pockets and Daddy Kangawoos–theys have babies in theys pockets too.”

And so we had a lovely conversation with the Kangaroos of Australia and discovered that they were also under Goblin attack.  Soon we were fighting more Goblins and discovered that they had captured several Princesses that needed rescuing.  Six princesses to be exact.  According to the Little Prince they were all from the Star Planet Shada Zuken Sak.   We rescued them…and just barely making our escape from the evil and ever present Goblins, the Prince and I flew them in our airplane out beyond the Moon and past the Sun until we came to the Star Planet Shada Zuken Sak.

Upon our arrival, the Little Prince made a mad dash for the castle carrying six pretty princesses on his strong shoulders while his brave Nonna fought off a horde of Goblins.  Apparently the entire Universe is suffering from an infestation of Goblins–there is no escaping them.

He was successful…suffering only a broken arm
in the battle.

All six princesses survived and were very happy to be home again. 

 Nonna was called upon to do some magic with her wand to try to make the broken arm of the Prince better–but her wand broke before the spell was cast.

 “Nonna, you will have to take me to the dentist to get my awm fixed cause yous wand is bwoken.”

“I see.  Where is the dentist?”

“Can’t you see, Nonna?  Ovew thewr!”

“Ah, yes.  Under the slide.”

“But you have to get a new wand, Nonna, ’cause theys a lot of Goblins coming.”

“Okay.  Let’s make a run for it, Prince!”

“Good job, Nonna.  You got the Goblins and fixed my awm.”

“I think we need to fly in our airplane back to Earth, now Prince.  Daddy and Mommy are waiting for us to come home.”

“Okay.  But aftew we fly home we have to take the twain.”

“Okay.”

One airplane flight, two more Goblin battles, one train ride, and then a narrow escape from another horde of Goblins later…we were headed out of the park.”

“Nonna, I think more Goblins are going to follow me and gwab my feets!”

“Oh dear.  You better ride on Nonna’s back then…they can’t get you then.”

“Are we going frew the alley again, Nonna?  Whewre’s the wooster?  Who’s that guy–what’s he doing?  Does the wooster live in that biwrdhouse?  Those are cool box gawdens.  Weally–that’s what my Daddy is making fo ow home?  Why is it called a daffodil?  Maybe we can have a tweat when we get home!  I’m hungwy.  Can we pway bad guys when we get home?  Not Goblins, Nonna…zombies.”

THE BREAKING

Like a Seed My Heart Breaks Open

April 30, 2023

“We spend our lives trying to anchor our transience in some illusion of permanence and stability. We lay plans, we make vows, we backbone the flow of uncertainty with habits and routines that lull us with the comforting dream of predictability and control, only to find ourselves again and again bent at the knees with surrender to forces and events vastly larger than us. In those moments, kneeling in a pool of the unknown, the heart breaks open and allows life — life itself, not the simulacrum of life that comes from control — to rush in.”

So reads the opening paragraph in the April 30th, 2023 edition of Maria Popova’s weekly newsletter, The Marginalian. It is the beginning of her introduction to Tina Davidson’s book, Let Your Heart Be Broken. She goes on to describe Davidson’s memoir as “a lyrical reckoning with what it takes to compose a life of cohesion and beauty out of shattered bits and broken stories.” 

She had me. Right there in the lines, “We lay plans, we make vows, we backbone the flow of uncertainty with habits and routines that lull us with the comforting dream of predictability and control, only to find ourselves again and again bent at the knees with surrender to forces and events vastly larger than us. In those moments, kneeling in a pool of the unknown, the heart breaks open…” 

Yes, the heart breaks open – and if we allow it, Life will rush in. But sometimes, in our confusion and grief, we desperately try to put the two halves of our heart back together. We resist the call to allow something new to emerge. We resist the opportunity to change and to grow. We just want things back the way they were. It’s as if a seed, having broken open to release life, frightened of the deep dark in which she finds herself, would try to close back up, rather than to push up toward the Light. It’s a little bit like a baby bird trying to crawl back inside the egg that just broke open and released him into the world.

Popova quotes Davidson’s book:

Let your heart be broken. Allow, expect, look forward to. The life that you have so carefully protected and cared for. Broken, cracked, rent in two. Heartbreakingly, your heart breaks, and in the two halves, rocking on the table, is revealed rich earth. Moist, dark soil, ready for new life to begin.”

For the past two years I have been repeatedly bent at the knees with surrender to forces and events vastly larger than [me] – than any of us. I have not just been kneeling in a pool of the unknown, I have been swimming in it. And some days I am just treading water, surviving. The thing about this pool of the unknown is that there are no clear answers. What is truly true is obscured. There is nowhere to gain a solid footing. It is a deep, dark pool of unknown.

This morning I also read two other bits of news. One was a report from DFL candidate Marianne Williamson, reporting from the South Carolina DFL convention. She wrote:

“Democratic activists [are]being told what to say to convince their friends and constituents to vote for Joe Biden in 2024. The official position – despite the fact that 51% of Democrats have expressed a desire to hear from other candidates – is that President Biden is the nominee and that’s it. Everyone is supposed to toe the party line this year, regardless… There is an anemic and delusional spirit in the air here, I’m afraid – an almost trancelike way in which Democrats are instructed by an official narrative to be so concerned about fascism…that we’re willing to limit our political imaginations, suppress debate among ourselves, and diminish our own commitment to the democratic process.”

The second article I read was about the man in Texas who shot 5 of his nextdoor neighbors on Friday. He was angry that they had asked him to stop shooting his AR-15-style weapon in his front yard at 11:00 at night because the noise was keeping their baby awake. So he walked into their house and shot them.

Marianne’s report heightened my current discouragement with politics. I used to be involved. I used to care. I used to vote. But since the political upheavals of 2016 and 2020, since the political and social fiasco of Covid-19 and vaccinations, since the national, and international confusion and hate filled squabbles about what is conspiracy and what is truth, what is mis-information and what is censorship, what is “fake news” and what is real, unbiased journalism, well, it all seems pointless. I’m angry. And impotent. I refuse to “take a stand” just so I am comfortable and can belong somewhere with like-minded folks. I have opinions – some of them strong ones… but in this grey of the unknown, I am committed to remaining open to the possibility that none of us are “right”, and all of us are “wrong”. Someone once said, “When there are two camps each declaring they are the ones who are right and know the truth of something, then the true truth is camped somewhere else.”

The article about the shooter in Texas broke open yet again that place in my heart that contains this bottemless well of grief. It’s like a slow hemorrhage…it never stops bleeding. 

What I could only do in fits and starts was to look squarely at the two halves of my heart rocking on the table, revealing the rich moist soil of possibility and opportunity and begin planting seeds for something new and beautiful. These were seeds of love and compassion. These were seeds of hope. These were seeds of courage. But as we know, there is a time lapse between the planting of seed and its fruition. 

Between these momentary fits and starts when I would find my footing, were the days and sometimes weeks of treading water, days of darkness with barely enough energy to engage in the bare necessities of living. When you’re nearly drowning in the unknown with no anchor, it is difficult to know what in the world to do. Some days it all felt too hard, too painful, too pointless. Feeling like that was unbearable – so I’d read novels, or binge watch TV series, or busy myself with household tasks. 

My primary lifelines to still giving a damn were my children and my work. I work with educators supporting them in creating healthy learning environments rooted in the philosophy of Restorative Justice. The challenges of this work are what kept me swimming for shore; gave me courage to plant some seeds now and then in the fertile soil of my broken heart. My children and my family were my reason to keep returning to making the choice to open my heart, to feel the feels as my daughter calls it. To reckon with the grief and the anger, to slowly find my way through the valley. 

And then there were, and are, the occasional songs, or blog posts, or something a stranger would say…messages from the Universe… “Keep going. Keep swimming. Keep loving. Allow. Open to love and joy and gratitude, allow them to fill you up and radiate beyond you into the world.” 

Sometimes that is all we can do. Sometimes that is enough. 

PLANTING SEEDS OF LIGHT

August 15, 2021

I’m sitting at a music festival and Sara Thomsen, a much loved local musician here in Duluth, is singing. I’m relaxed. I’m enjoying myself when she begins a new song…

Ay, what to sing about in these days?
What rhyme or melody, turn of phrase?
What is your story now, where is your gaze?
Ay, what to sing about in these days.

For a moment I stop breathing. I sit up straighter, and feel tears rushing up from somewhere deep inside me, stinging my eyes, begging release. My ears hear the word ‘sing’. But my heart hears the word, ‘write’.

Towers are tumbling, tumbling down 
Fortresses fumbling, crumbling crowns 
Governments grumbling, as they drown 
Towers are tumbling, tumbling down.

Indeed, what to write about in these days? Again and again I have deleted, or left unfinished what I’ve tried to share with you. Somewhere in the cyberspace there exists a wastebasket full of crumpled up sheets of paper. My heart is full, but my voice — it has retreated.

Plant your song like a seed
Hold your heart like a prayer bead
Give your breath like a tree
Set your soul's deep love free.

A tree gives her breath without hesitation or fear. She must. For her to live, she must breathe — and in doing so, she breathes life into our world. Our breath connects us to one another and if it is Love that holds the Universe together, then perhaps Love is an integral component of what we are breathing in and out, moment by moment.

Breathe it in, she sang. Let it fill your heart. Hold your heart close. Then breathe it out. Set it free, this Love that lives deep within your soul.

I know a woman who walks and prays
Follows the river's old rambling ways
Eagle flies over and butterflies play
Watching the warrior walk and pray

What is your story now, where is your heart?
This is a one-act play, what's your part?
In every ending there's some new start
What is your story now, where is your heart?

I know my part in this story we are creating and living out together. What to sing about in these days? What to write about? Write from my soul’s deep love.

I love this hurting, cracked, and beautiful world. I sat beside the sea last week and breathed the sun drenched air. Watched the seagulls play, dipping, diving, coasting. There were little purple flowers blooming, growing in the clefts of the ledge rock piled on the shore. The sky was blue, fading slightly in the late afternoon, introducing shades of lavender and rose. A happy dog was paddling about, fetching sticks from the waves. A couple were exchanging wedding vows under a tree, cameras clicking, preserving these joy-filled moments. Juice ran over my hand and trickled down my arm from the peach I was eating. The waves kept time to the heartbeat of the earth and I waded in and swam — clear, velvety liquid sliding over my arms, enveloping my body.

There is a darkness in the land. It has brought unspeakable suffering, and stolen our innocence. We aren’t certain anymore what the world is made of or how it works. Fear is throwing parties — EVERYONE WELCOME! He’s drunk on the confusion and the conflict he’s incited. The successful dividing of families and friends has him cranking up his dissonant music and dancing in the dark.

In the fog of chaos it’s difficult to discern the truth, to see clearly, sometimes even to think. Accustomed to trusting the experts, we very badly want to believe them and their mouthpieces and the promises the rulers make if we will just do as they bid us to do.

But the experts don’t agree. Across the world they don’t agree. There is suppression and censorship. But we cannot believe that would happen in the free world so we comfort ourselves with the idea that those who disagree with the mainstream narrative have “drunk the koolaid,” and succumbed to ‘conspiracy theories.’ But, where did we get the idea that there could never be such a thing as a real conspiracy to undermine our nation’s freedom, or the well-being of our people? When did we accept that anyone who would believe that such a thing exists is stupid, deceived, delusional, lying, criminal or crazy?

If the information formerly esteemed experts are trying to tell us can’t be found in our accustomed data searches, and is negated by high level officials and respected news sources, well then, what are we to think of these once respectable, highly educated, successful, dedicated scientists and doctors? Perhaps one or two, a few here or there, could for some mystifying reason have departed from the official findings of government funded agencies such as the CDC, WHO and NIH. But what are we to think when hundreds of scientists and doctors around the world have risked their reputation, career, and even their lives to ‘blow the whistle?’

What are we to think?

And now the land is burning and drowning. And crops are failing.

My daughter is ill. My friend’s daughter is ill. My friend and I are helpless to make the world right for them. How many mothers across the world are holding their babies, helpless to make the world right again?

We just want life to be normal again. We want to feel safe again. We want to keep our children safe. Please, when will this be over?

Pulling weeds from among the flowers in my garden a kalaidescope of images from moments I’ve recently witnessed flicker through my mind. A small boy is laughing, running to his mother to show her the little frog he caught. A young girl comforts her little sister who has fallen and skinned her knee. A young man stops his car, jumps out and hands some bananas and money to the homeless Vet standing at the corner of the grocery store parking lot. Three pre-adolescent boys race their bikes down our alley, no brakes, legs flung wide as they fly down the hill howling with glee, their voices cracking, undecided whether man or boy. A tiny hummingbird follows me around the porch, trying to tell me something — ahh yes, the nectar needs changing. A developmentally disabled man whom I have never seen before walks down the street greeting everyone he sees, and grinning, he calls out to me, “I love you grandma!”

Candle flames in the darkness.

My family gathered on a Wednesday to celebrate our Uncle Peter’s life — a generous man who created beauty and breathed it into the world every day of his life. On Friday we gathered again to celebrate our mother’s life — and I knew at last how deeply she had loved even though she had struggled to set that love free. Having the span of their lives presented in pictures and videos and stories — we knew them now in ways we had not while yet they breathed. The flaws faded and we were keenly aware of their strength, their generosity and kindness. Their quirky lives, works of art. Like Japanese Kintsugi pottery — their broken parts mended with gold.

My family is made up of liberals and conservatives, activists and healers, teachers and artists, business folk and lawyers. In our veins runs the blood of a people who strongly desire to bring Light to the world, to make a difference in a good way, to create beauty. Most of us had not been together since the summer of 2019…a few more of us at various times during 2020, including when my mother died and my uncle took ill. With the world gone crazy and battle lines beginning to be drawn, we came together with some trepidation. But the simple joy of hugging one another, looking into each other’s eyes, sharing our news and our stories, playing games, eating great food, laughing together…well, our privately held views about the state of the world didn’t seem to matter as much. We held our hearts like prayer beads. We set our soul’s deep love free and breathed it out into the space that held us…and breathed it in.

There is a garden that grows at night
Then in the winter it tucks in tight
Drifts off in dreams about birds in flight
That carry the seeds of this garden's life. 

I’ve been thinking often about the world view of the Unangan People of Alaska’s Bering Sea region. They do not see themselves as separate individuals. Rather, they see the “other” as their “other self.” This view is similarly shared by many indigenous people around the world. They have a keen sense of how we are all interconnected — how indeed everything is connected. And that everyone, without exception, has intrinsic worth and value. If I hurt you, I have hurt myself. Repairing relationships, resolving conflict and attending to the health of the community are high priorities for those who see the world this way.

In Euro-American, (western) culture we view ourselves as separate individuals, disconnected from each other. Our way is steeped in a power-control mindset. Our way is about power and domination, winning vs. losing, being right vs being wrong. We punish to teach and to control. We have a history of judging those who don’t believe as we do, live as we do, behave as we do. Being wrong is shameful. We can’t be this different and both be right! So we judge the other to be of lesser value, or at least deserving less respect. Ours is a world of ‘us’ and ‘them’. The ‘other’ is not my other self. Just, ‘other.’ It takes some doing to rise above this deeply entrenched cultural view of the world.

Spiritual Masters and Teachers through the ages had much to say about how we view one another. Among them, Jesus, who said we should not only love our neighbor as ourselves — you are my other self — but to love our enemies for they also are our ‘other selves’. How different would our conversations and our Social Media posts be even in the midst of these chaotic and treacherous times if we strove to live this way? Not merely being nice, but loving from our heart, from our soul, in word and deed. Would the Light from such love begin to dissipate the darkness in which we seem to be losing our way?

Ay, what to sing about in these days
What rhyme or melody, turn of phrase?

Despite the scary and heartbreaking things happening around the world and to people I know, I choose to hold fast to Hope. I choose Love. I give thanks for simple blessings — a ripe peach, a song.

What is your story now, where is your gaze?
Ay, what to sing about in these days.

* Song Like A Seed… written and sung by Sara Thomsen

Music and Lyrics by Sara Thomsen

CRYING IN THE DARK

November 10, 2020

Yesterday I posted a letter I’d written to my eldest daughter. I was trying to express what I feel is needed during this time of great division, intense suffering and for many, myself included, confusion.

I suggested deep listening. I said we need to choose to divest ourselves of judgment and find the courage to be open-minded and open-hearted to one another. I said we need to find the strength to question our solidly held positions — what if there is more to the story? What if there is truth in the beliefs/truths held by others that seem in opposition to what I have believed to be true? What if the information we have trusted, proves itself false?

This morning I deleted the post.

I woke up feeling more heavy hearted than I have felt in some time. I’m feeling the intensity of the pain that is washing over this whole country, my family included. The pain feels worse, more intense, than it did before.  The division feels more solid than before. I feel the heat of the anger and the rage leaking into the air we are breathing.

I’m frightened, for my own family as well as the country. I don’t know what my role is during this time, but my heart gravitates to wanting to bring people together to heal. Despite whatever is being reported, whether it is true or not, and no matter who is behind the terrible things happening and predicted, I know in the deepest part of me that we have to find a way to stand together and not against each other. Somehow we need to find a way to figure out and see through what is the lie, and what is the truth. 

But this morning I feel ignorant and confused and it seems impossible to ever bring everyone together around the table to remember that loving one another is most important.

But still…and yet… well…

I know that we need to consider that each person is “our other self” as the Alaskan Unangan people believe. Who would harm their own selves unless they have lost all hope and all faith in themselves and others? We cannot lose our hope or our faith…

But how do we manage this “coming together”? What do we need to do?

How do we spread the message to “DO NO HARM”?

How do we find the courage within us to open our eyes and see the common ground we all stand upon, and the common values and desires that bind us together?

How do we find the strength to work from our common ground and our shared values to stand against this darkness?

How do we help others to find the courage to put aside their mental, emotional and physical weapons and disengage from the brain washing that urges us to fight each other, reject each other, unfriend each other…that we need to go to war in order to bring about the conditions for peace and prosperity? 

How do we remain beacons of Light in this darkness?

GIFTS FROM GAIA

April 21, 2020

STOP, LOOK, LISTEN

What I learned from the Iris:

The steel grey sky pressed down heavily. There has been no rain. The snow has disappeared except for blackened remnants of icy mountains in the northern corners of parking lots and a few icy patches hidden in pine groves. The world is brown and dirty and unkempt.

I bought an armful of iris. Their buds shut up tight, waiting for the gentle caress of sunbeams and a drink of water.

The sun has come and the iron clouds have flown. Golden light is pouring through my windows. It bathes my purple iris. The buds are swelling, a few peeking open. One beginning to unfurl. By afternoon another has broken open fully, showing the streaks of sunlight woven into her purple petals. My heart hears her song, just beyond hearing.

Then, my iris just, stopped. Day two, day three — I watch them slowly wither. They died, unopened. Their beauty hidden, never shared. Were they afraid? Was it too overwhelming to split their protective shield and expose themselves to the wide-open world? Is the world too scary?

They withheld their one small gift to the world. Perhaps they thought it didn’t matter. Perhaps they thought their gift was insignificant, too small, unworthy.

They didn’t understand that withholding their gift meant some winter weary person never experienced a smile curving upward to ignite even briefly a sparkle in her eye and a lightening of his heart. They didn’t understand that a tiny insect was denied a sip of needed nectar.

All they had to do was unfold. All they needed was to BE… to open to who they were intended to become.

What I learned from the Trees:

“Find your place, accept it with grace. Grow roots before you grow branches. Give shelter, shade and nourishment to those who seek your protection. And in your passing, leave the earth richer for those who follow.”   Kent Nerburn — Road Angels / Avenue of the Giants

I walked among the trees today. I touched their skin. I picked a Pine needle and broke it and breathed it’s perfume. A stand of Birch commanded the steep and rocky river bank. I grasped the strong sapling as I carefully navigated my descent to the river. I sat on a shelf of rock under a large Cedar and watched the river roar by, carrying the last of the winter melt.

I remember the Grandmother (Oak? Maple? Cottonwood?) that grew along a pathway near a river in a different time and place. I used to sit in the niche between two of her huge roots that protruded from the earth and rest my back against her trunk. Here I would seek comfort, peace, wisdom. Sometimes in the deep dark of night. One morning following a viscous storm that had riven the night skies, I found her fallen. Her body lay across the path. Men came with chain saws and took her away. I felt her absence. I missed her.

Slowly my body fills with peace. I head home full of earth and rock and trees and rushing water.

THE TEDDY BEAR’S PICNIC

April 13, 2020

THE TEDDY BEAR’S PICNIC DURING COVID-19

If you go down in the woods today
You’re sure of a big surprise
If you go down in the woods today
You’d better go in disguise!
For every bear that ever there was
Will gather there for certain because
Today’s the day the Teddy Bears
Have their picnic…

“Mr. Flynn, do you know why we’ve been stuck out here in this freezin’ cold?”

“I don’t, Little Boo. It is a bit frigid compared to our warm quarters inside.”

“I’m scared out here. ‘Specially when it gets dark and  creatures come investigatin’!”

“Oh, but have you noticed the stars? And the great large moon? I like watching them. They do this slow kind of dance as they glide slowly down the dark.”

“Of course YOU would, Billy. Yer always lookin’ at the bright side of things. Don’t mean there ain’t a dark side!”

“But Little Boo, Billy, makes a good point. When have we ever gotten to be in the great out-of-doors? What amazing things we’ve seen stationed out here. The melting of the snows. The rain streaming down. The flowers suddenly appearing in the garden below us.”

“But, Mr. Flynn, there’s been dogs! And big horsey things sniffin’ ’round the fences!”

“Boo, those horsey things are called deer.”

“How do you know, Billy?!”

“Don’t you pay attention to anything? That’s why the folks put up the fence. To keep the deer from eating all those little flowers that started appearing!”

“Billy’s correct. And deer only eat plants. So you’ve nothing to fear young Boo.”

“But, Mr. Flynn, dogs love to chew on little bears like us!”

“So they do. But, have you not noticed that they are tied to a person when they walk by?”

“And anyway, Boo, we have an important mission being out here! Maybe you should pay more attention to it!”

“What’s that, Billy?”

“We’re here for the children when they walk by. To wave at them and send them a happy blessing!”

“Really? Is that so Mr. Flynn?”

“It is indeed, Boo. And we can send that happy blessing because of the happy blessings we are enjoying.”

“Wow. I suppose yer right. I mean, I was livin’ in a closet. And now I’m gettin’ to feel the wind in my fur. The mailman smiles at me when he comes by. I’ve watched the flowers bloomin’. The birds sing to us. I like watching them fly up into the sky. I wonder what that would feel like–to fly way up high above the trees and the houses and look down?”

“That’s right, Boo. And don’t forget the smell of the rain. The color of the sky when the sun slips down behind the bluff. The twinkling of the stars as they appear, The moon sailing down the sky, following the path of the sun.”

“I love being an outdoor bear. I feel bad for Sally Jo who’s still inside.”

“Well, she at least gets to sit in the window, Billy. She can see some of this.”

“Oh, look sharp, boys. Molly and her Mom are coming down the street.

************

“Mommy! Look! The Bears are still there! The big brown one is sitting on top of the rocks, now. The little black one is on the railing!”

“I see them, Molly. Where’s the little brown one?”

“He’s hanging on the mailbox!”

“Oh, Molly, look! There’s a Bear upstairs too! The Mailman Bear in the window!”

“I see him, Mommy. And look, the curly one is in the window in the front. She’s like our cat Sammy. She likes to sit in the windows and watch everything.”

*****************

There’s a National Bear Hunt happening! Join in the fun!

We’re going on a bear hunt.
We’re going to catch a big one.
What a beautiful day!
We’re not scared…

 

 

THE CROCUS

March 30, 2020

THE GIFT IN THE DEBRIS

Despite the sun shining brightly this morning, and the orange tulips blooming on my table, I felt like the dried up lawns and dirty remnants of snow glimpsed through the windows. Everywhere lies winter’s decay, matted and brown and grey.

Despite my energy deficit, I finally talked myself into going out on the porch for the mail and to move the teddy bears into more visible positions for the children who go on neighborhood “Bear Hunts” with their parents. That’s a thing here in Duluth while we’re all home-bound.

The sun felt good. The air was moving gently. I looked out over my little front yard garden. Dead stuff, debris, a tumbled inukshuk, matted remIMG_1901ains of last fall’s final blooms. We had to put the deer fence back up last week to protect the tiny tulip tips who were waking up early, a delicacy for the deer. I noticed that they’re now an inch, some two or three above the dirt.

And then the splotch of purple caught my eye. A flower? Blooming? With snow still on the ground? A crocus!

I put on my shoes and went to investigate. Pulling the dead ornamental grasses aside, I found three crocus in various stages of bloom! I looked around at my wreck of a garden took a deep breath and went and got a rake. As I worked I noticed a robin hopping about in the grass, picking away, whether looking for food or nesting material I’m not sure. Both of us looking for new life. With each pull of the rake I found more green. I even found a dandelion growing in the middle of the Siberian Iris.

Standing there with my rake, I felt like I’d swallowed the sun!

 

FINDING THE GIFTS

March 24, 2020

SEARCHING FOR TREASURE IN THE DARKNESS

“It is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.”
~ Mary Oliver ~

To say we live in troubling times is a bit of an understatement. The world as we’ve known it seems to be ending. I can’t help but consider that that may not be such a bad thing.

Primarily I’m hearing reports that people are maintaining their sense of humor in the face of the spreading Coronavirus, reaching out to one another with compassion, and mostly cooperating with what needs to be done to slow this modern day plague. But I’ve also heard reports that gun sales are climbing. Liquor stores are considered an essential service on par with grocery stores and the shelves are emptying. Some of us are suffering an economic crisis —  our paycheck is gone, we don’t have any savings, our small business is tanking, we can’t pay the bills, and our kids are home from school and need supervision to successfully navigate distance learning. I guess that’s why the beer is sold out.

Yep, it’s really scary. And I’m not even talking about the possibility of getting sick and possibly dying. We are trying to cope in a world we never imagined. Living in the middle of what for some is a nightmare from which they can’t wake up.

As challenging as it may be, this is a time that calls for each of us to shift our focus as best we can away from fear, away from the anger that is churned up as our bodies and minds are flooded with stress.  Fear and rage and frustration are not going to solve our problems. Certainly violence will not. But holding an energetic resonance with hope, with gratitude, with Love, all attributes of the heart, will allow the creation of peace. And in a state of peace and gratitude we will discover solutions. We will increase our compassion quotient (CQ) — our capacity to act in service even when it may not offer any immediate or visible benefit. [Key phrase: may not immediately offer a visible benefit.] There will be a benefit. Gandhi suggested that we as individuals and cultures must align our “hands, head and heart” and ultimately learn to lead with the heart. Here’s a chance to do so on a global scale.

With change comes chaos. With great change, expect great chaos. Anyone who’s deep cleaned their closets knows this. Anyone who’s built a house knows this. Any woman who has borne a child knows this. Our world is in chaos — from the political systems and indeed, all of our “systems” all the way to the suffering our Earth is experiencing. The old ways are being shaken to their core — and something new is trying to be born. The only way we can diminish the pain of moving through this time, even if only a little, is to look for the treasures hiding in this darkness. To seek the gifts that this time offers. To notice the little blessings that daily surround us and offer gratitude.

Let us discover the gifts hiding in plain sight, and bring forth treasure from this darkness.

I invite you to begin posting on your social media platforms the blessings you note, the gifts you find, the treasures you discover. Let’s create a great light to counter this darkness.

 

LOVE: THE BREATH OF LIFE

March 9, 2020

WE ALL NEED TO START BREATHING

“It’s the type of love that says ‘I believe in you.’ It’s the type of love that says, ‘You don’t have to be like this.’ Not the love that’s like ‘I just want to hug you.’ It’s the love that’s like, ‘You’re going to be better! And I’m going to stand here until you get better. I’m not going anywhere. That’s how much I love you. I’m not going on to buses. I’m not going to lunch. I’m not. I’m going to stand here and wait for you to do better and be better because I love you.'”     Mauri Melander Friestleben — about loving students

Love them first. This was the directive at Lucy Laney at Cleveland Park Community School in North Minneapolis under Ms. Friestleben’s leadership. “What if we all did that?” she asks us in the Kare11 documentary Love Them First.

And I ask the same question.  Whether we are their teachers and educators, their care-givers, their probation officers, the police driving through a neighborhood full of youngsters who live in homemade war zones, what if our first response to children and youth was to breathe deeply and love them first?

How would we need to “see” these young ones regardless of their exterior behaviors?

How would we need to view ourselves in order not to have their negative or disrespectful behaviors trigger our self-defense system?

I have been providing support services to several teachers in some notoriously dis-regulated third grade classrooms. The goal is to re-create the environments of these classrooms into healthy, thriving learning environments. I have been teaching the teachers the necessity of shifting their culturally inherited punitive mindset to a mind that is set on always honoring the dignity and value of each child. I teach that while we must hold firmly to the expectations and boundaries that  provide the structure in which we can all be together in a good way, we must also support and nurture our students at all times. That means we support them in taking responsibility and making amends for harm they have caused as well as supporting them through their very real crisis and stresses.

It always sounds so good in theory. The teachers never disagree with me. But then, here I am in this third grade classroom early on a Monday morning to facilitate a discussion Circle with the students. After 15 minutes and three attempts to get them to come and sit down quietly in Circle, we finally succeeded and were able to begin. They did well listening to each other without interruption or side-comments or total disregard for what was happening for about 10 minutes. Then it slowly began to unravel so I cut to the end and closed the Circle.

I watched how the teacher, who is young and only a few years into her career, handled the constant inattention and commotion. She uses affirmations, encouragements, call & response, all good things to settle them, redirect them, provide positive affirmation to those who are trying to pay attention and learn. I also see that she is stressed. I am surprised that she hasn’t just blown up!

But I also noticed that there did not seem to be an emotional connection between the teacher and the students. It seems on the surface that she is regarded as just another tiresome adult who they have to endure. Across the city at another school with another equally chaotic third grade, I sense a similar attitude.

I’ve sat with a Circle of teachers who have actually cried because they are so stressed and unhappy and finding it impossible to “reach” these children, none-the-less teach them.

So how does someone like Ms. Friesleben inspire an entire staff to so thoroughly love their students that it transforms an entire school? How is their love different? How come they are effective and the classes I’m observing never seem to be out of chaos for more than a few moments at a time?

I believe it begins with us. Do we love ourselves? Do we see the light within us? Are we gentle and compassionate with ourselves, while also holding ourselves accountable to make right any mistakes we’ve made or harm that we have caused? In other words, are we doing our own work so that we are able to receive love, and allow love to flow through us to others? “Love your neighbor (others) as yourself” is a tenet of most spiritual traditions/practices. So, it begs the question, how can we fully and freely love another if we don’t love ourselves? How can our self-defenses not be triggered when we are treated disrespectfully if we have not done this work within us?

And then, can we truly see the divine light within each of our students? Do we look deeply into them and see what they’re not saying? Do we believe in them? I mean, not just cliches we might parrot — but really believe in their inherent worth and goodness, in their potential?

Something else that Ms. Friesleben says:

“There is a level of investment that comes at a cost. Because when you choose to press into that, you do get great outcomes from kids, you do. But [to do that] you also [must] choose to press into the pain. And for some people it’s too much. But it’s worth the cost because the return on your investment is pretty powerful.”

They are worth the cost. So, let’s all take some deep breaths and remember that even as we are surrounded by the air we breathe… we are surrounded by Love. It is the Breath of Life — the breath of the Universe, the breath of the Creator. It’s the type of love that says, I believe in you. It’s the type of love that says you are worthy of love, you are valuable, and you have something important to give to the world.

“No child should feel locked into a box that they can’t fight their way out of. It is our job as grown ups to find the keys and open them up and open the box and say “Fly!” “Breathe!” “Live!” “You will NOT be confined to a box. Not on MY watch!” Mauri Melander Friestleben

LIGHT AND WATER WALTZING

March 2, 2020

MOMMA IS DANCING

My mother once told me as we stood on a bridge overlooking a creek, “After I die and you see the sunlight dancing on the water, think of me. I will be in those sparkles. I will be part of the Light.”

My mother always loved to dance. I wish my father had taken her more often. When she lived alone she would put on a rousing piece of music and dance around her house. It was her exercise. Now, whenever I drive her somewhere I have classical music on. If it is upbeat and cheery she will wave her arms as though she is dancing or maybe conducting the orchestra. A big smile on her face, she will exclaim with childlike wonder about everything she sees.

In November I noticed an advertisement at the library for a dance class for folks with Parkinson’s or other disorders affecting mobility. I took her to one. She was in a terrible mood when I picked her up. But a few minutes into class she was smiling and doing her best to follow along with a dozen other people sitting in a Circle doing an odd mixture of ballet and movements to support brain pathways. Dancing in chairs!

Momma needs all the brain support she can get. She suffers from vascular dementia. She was only able to attend the class twice as she began to rapidly decline from Stage 5 into Stage 6 of her illness making it much more difficult for her to process information and also for her brain to direct her body what to do. Only six weeks later she is stumbling now and then into Stage 7, the final stage of this disease that devours a brain.

Occasionally she will cling to me… “I’m going to lose you!” she says.

“No, Momma. You won’t lose me. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Her eyes pleading, she shakes her head. “You will lose me. I’m, I’m, I think I’m slipping away.”

She’s right. We are losing Momma a brain cell at a time.

The other day I sat on her bed holding her hand after a severe episode had left her exhausted and sleeping. Whatever bitterness and disappointment still lingered in the holes and scars in my heart because of who my mother was not, because of what she was unable to do or give, because of what she didn’t know…quietly dissipated like shreds of fog succumbing to the Sun.

She was Enough. She is Enough. I gaze at her withered and ruined body in which she holds Divine and Sacred Light. Her body is a vessel meant to be filled up with Love. Mine too. All of us. Our bodies are vessels meant to hold Love and Light. She did her best to do so in the ways that she understood.

She did her best.

And soon, Momma, you will be that Light I see waltzing with the water in the bay.