SMALL BOY HEAVEN
July 30, 2014

My four year old Chicagoan grandson is spending a few weeks with us.  I have always loved roaming the woods and exploring the rivers and creeks that I have lived by throughout my life.  Now I live not far from Gitchie Gummi–Lake Superior–and never tire of the beauty, the power, the blessings and gifts that Mother Earth continues to give us despite our ignorance and abuses and negligence of those same blessings and gifts.  Sharing it with a four year old, though, is like adding frosting to a cake–it just makes it sweeter and more beautiful. 

We have introduced him to many “firsts”.  Riding on Poppi’s motorcycle up the hill to the wild blueberry patch–and picking a bucketful for blueberry zert (desert) and blueberry pancakes.  First ride in a canoe. 

Dropping a fishing line into the water and bringing it back up with a tiny sunfish wriggling on the end of the hook.  Camping–roasting hotdogs and sleeping in a tent and peeing in the woods.  First time petting a live chicken.  First time going to a dance recital and a children’s theater production (as in theater performed by 5 and 6 year-olds). 

This morning it was throwing stones in the creek and clambering over the rocks around the small waterfall in the hills behind our house.  

  
“Wow, this is so awesome!” he says as the canoe cuts through the water and he drags his fingers alongside, creating a mini wake.  He giggles hysterically and jumps up and down when he catches his first fish, a sunny no bigger than my hand.  Always observant, when picking slugs off our granddog Willow’s waterdish in the campsite he examines their ability to stretch and shrink. 

“Chickens have soft feathers!” 

“How does those girls put their legs so high in the air?” he asks about the ballet dancers…

Whispering…”Nonna, is there deer in these woods?  Will we see a baby deer?  Shhh, Nonna…” 

But there are adventures and firsts for grandparents as well.  We learned many new things this week.  For example: upon going into the bathroom one night to get his pajamas on, he announced to everyone that he needed his privacy because no one was to see his private parts.

“You can’t watch me change my clothes because you can’t see my private parts because you know my penis is a private part and you can’t see my penis because it’s a private part so nobody comes in the bathroom. Do you understand?”  He shut the door.

Approximately five seconds later he opened the door, and while standing in the doorway, hand on doorknob, and stark naked, held a conversation with me about what we were going to do tomorrow, etc., etc., etc. Then satisfied with the conversation he proceeded to shut the door and put on his pajamas.

Sequel to this story; Next morning:

“Nonna, I’m full. (4 blueberry pancakes w/ 1 bite left) I’m trying to eat it but my belly says (falsetto voice) ‘I can’t take anymo!'” 

“Are you sticky?”

“Yeah.”

“Go wash up, ok?”

“Ok”

  From the bathroom we received an announcement… “But don’t come in here guys, okay? Cause I’m washing my private parts. My fingers are private parts you know.”

Upon exiting the bathroom all fresh and clean, Poppi and Morgan proceeded to discuss how we could transport ourselves to the blueberry patch for more blueberries….so Nonna can finish making pancakes you see. We learned many new Spanish words for things such as motorcycle, blueberry, and dog. (My native Spanish speaking Colombian niece, Sharon, who is also visiting us, choked on a piece of pancake trying so desperately not to laugh).  One possible mode of transportation suggested by Morgan included Poppi, Morgan, Sharon, and Willow on the motorcycle. Nonna would have to stay home because there’s no more room. Poppi suggests taking the car?

“But that’s bo’ing!” says Morgan.

Then there’s new camping experiences for grandparents.  Morgan had a good night except when in a sound sleep he wriggled completely down inside his sleeping bag and woke up screaming because he couldnt get out.  He was trying to sit up…scared the bejesus out of us; Willow started howling. Once free Morgan immediately went back to sleep and had no memory of it the next morning. On the contrary, I was awake most of the rest of the night.

More adventures await all of us…there are the places he visited last summer when he was only 3 that we need to return to…the Lift Bridge and the Canal Park Seagulls and Park Point Beach.  We also plan to visit Jay Cook State Park to walk over the swinging bridge.  We might take him canoeing up at Thompson Reservoir and have a picnic on an island. 

His visit began with fireworks…15 minutes after his arrival last week the local ballpark set off fireworks which we could see and hear from our house.  We convinced him it was a special fireworks just for him–welcoming him to Duluth.  Willow instantly became his special pal and sleeps right next to his bed each night which he thinks is great and can’t settle until Willow takes her place next to him.  A perfect ending would be a fish fry at Great Grandma Pat’s.  And, if Auntie Sarah makes it home from California in time the thrill of meeting her horse and going for a ride. 

July 19, 2014

MISSING YOUR COMMENTS

Dear Readers,

Perhaps it is because I am not technically savvy and I am not doing something on my blog site that I should be doing.  Or, maybe this isn’t the greatest site to have a blog.  But, as far as I can see, I have 4 Followers.  If you are actually in your internet browser reading this post on my blog page, “Musings from Mary” at http://soulfoodandroses.blogspot.com/, you will see in the right hand column that there is a place to sign up as a Follower of this blog.  It requires you to have a google account, I believe.

Above it is a place you can sign up to follow through your email.  I assumed that you were then alerted when I posted a new Musing.  Evidently, you actually get sent the posting into your email inbox.  If there is a place for me to know who you are, I haven’t found it yet.

This morning my mom mentioned that she had replied to the Musing I posted on Thursday.  She had replied to my Musing that was in her email inbox.  I never received the reply or any alert that one had been made.  Nor are there any “comments” on the actual blog site at the bottom of the post.  This got me to wondering if there have been others of you unknown readers who have sent comments/replies to me that I never received and know nothing of?

I will get some technical assistance to see if I just don’t know how to work with my own blog site.  🙂  But, in the meantime, my apologies if you have sent me comments and wondered why I never responded in turn.  And gee…I wish I’d received them!  Until I can figure out this glitch, I would encourage you to post any comments at the bottom of the Musing post in your internet browser…sign up as a Follower and not just through email so I know who’s reading my stuff…and, if you wish, contact me directly with comments through my personal email, NOT by replying to the email that Blogspot sent you with my Musing.

Thanks…

I send love and blessing to each of you!

Mary

P.S.  If any of you are chuckling because you know exactly what I am ignorant of and can help me rectify this…PLEASE DO!  🙂

July 15, 2014

GUILTY AS CHARGED

She recommended I read the book, Delivered from Distraction, about Attention Deficit Disorder.  Just the name of this type of brain-wiring disturbs me with labels of “deficit” and “disorder”.  Labels aside however, I realize with just a quick scan that though undiagnosed, my husband is living inside the ADD textbook.  This is information that will deliver me from “crazy”.  It will also challenge me at the core of my own “brain-wiring”.  The first time the possibility of my husband being an ADD dude was suggested our marriage was beginning to come apart at the seams.  I read enough for it to save our marriage.  But that was some years ago and the details of information fade over time leaving only impressions.  And fundamental wiring resets back to default mode and…oh my.

Shit hits the fan.  Regularly.

Walls go up.  Trust wobbles.   Old tapes start up, repeating old beliefs about value and worth, tangling up the past with the present.

So she tells me to read.  She recommends the book.  I get it from the library.  I scan the chapter titles and turn to the one about the mates of those with ADD.  And I read:

“…tend to fall in love with, live with or marry someone who is controlling, critical, demeaning, belittling and very well organized…”

OMG!  He did!  I am sweet and kind, loving and altruistic.  Sometimes.  I am also a perfectionist and value excellence, organization, beauty and cleanliness nearly as much as life itself.  I have a brain that can scan a scene and see every nuance of everything that might matter–from the dirt in the corner to the crooked picture on the wall, the moods of the people and the way the room is arranged and decorated–the beauty and the base.  I also have the ability to consider the big picture of a situation and quite quickly comprehend what is needed to fall into place and very possibly by when if the goal is going to be achieved.  I am intense and quiet and serious much of the time.  It has been quite a journey to learn to relax.  When those around me don’t value excellence and perfection, or whose disorganization and mess impact my life, my space or my plans, the flip side of my sweet and adorable self rears up; what did the book say…controlling, critical, demeaning?  Yeah.

Because I am also an Aquarian 4 on the Enneagram personality profile, (which by the way means that life should be perfect and beautiful and organized and artsy-fartsy and after all, is really all about me) so when I’m frustrated and feel disempowered or helpless I’m wired to resort to either deep depression (anger turned inside-out) or rage (anger turned right-side-out)…all that controlling, critical, demeaning, frustrated, exasperated, confused, bemused energy flung at the target with the energy of a pro-pitcher…bullseye.  Home-run.  Whatever.  You know what I mean.

“…what they really need is someone who sees the best in them and helps to bring it out.  They need someone who sees more positive in them than they might see in themselves.  They need someone who loves them for who they are.”

Yes.  And not just need.  He deserves to be loved, unconditionally, for who he is–the wonderful admirable qualities–of which he has many–and the other stuff.  Don’t we all need this?  We all screw up.  Even us perfectionists.  Maybe especially us perfectionists.  We all desire to be known truly and fully and loved for who we are.  But our culture conditions us from the time we can toddle that love comes with price-tags and conditions.  There are rules to be followed.  Break the rules, lose the love.  Don’t pay the piper, the song is silenced.  It is no surprise that the young people I work with when asked what the Golden Rule is most often respond quite confidently, “Treat others the way they treat you.”

Long ago I set an intention to put my feet on a path to learn to love–deeply, truly, unconditionally.  As I have walked this path, I have discovered that “nice” isn’t enough.  Nice is like frosting; it can look good, maybe taste good, but can be covering over cake that is inedible.  Nice doesn’t have to be genuine.  Love does.  I’ve also learned that forgiveness and appreciation are key to genuinely loving both the folks at home–which sometimes are the most difficult to love without condition–and strangers on the street and corrupt political leaders and cruel men and women out in the world who seem to care nothing for the misery they create.  It’s easier to find forgiveness for and send blessings to some corporate CEO I’ve never met than my husband who found more interesting things to do than the tasks that he promised to get done 3 months ago…five years ago…uh-huh.  I can curse the CEO knowing that the negative blast of energy I’ve discharged does nothing to help the situation and probably contributes to the dark juju spreading through our world.  Oh well.  But curse my husband and I can see the tear I’ve made in the fabric of his spirit–the wretched unraveling of the seams of our relationship–the heavy energy I’ve created in our home; the wound I’ve made in my own heart.

As I’ve walked this path it takes me higher up and deeper in.  I discover the roots of old things in my heart that prevent love from thriving.  Wow are they stubborn to remove!  I find toxic waste dumps in my psyche where I learned to store the anger and hurt from a lifetime.  Removing that has taken time and care and persistence.  I am learning that I must forgive myself and love myself before it ever can really work to forgive and love another person.  That lesson is sticky.

I’ve also come to understand that loving someone can be as simple as making a choice in the breath between the seconds of stimulus and response.

“Between stimulus and response, there is a space.  In that space is our power to choose our response.  In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”  – Viktor E. Frankl – Man’s Search for Meaning –

And sometimes, love is as easy as smiling.

Smiling is like turning on a faucet…humor and love and happiness begin to flow.

I’m practicing smiling.  I find it makes being cranky more difficult.  

May 7, 2014

THE VERY IMPORTANT SMALL THINGS

I look into his large brown eyes.  Someone very much alive is looking back.  He doesn’t have language yet, at least not people language.  Yet, he is thinking—something.  The corner of his little mouth turns up without breaking the rhythm of his sucking.  His eyes smile.  I feel sweet, untainted  love radiate from his squirmy little body into mine.  The bottle empties.  He lets go the nipple and sighs.  Then he squeals and grins and kicks his pudgy little legs.  I lift him up for burping.  He stands sturdily on my thighs.  He is all of two feet high, maybe.

In another five weeks I will be gone–swept back to the Northlands to my little house and my woods and my Great Lake.  Back to my solitude and my writing.  Back to gardening and kayaking and camping with my husband.  For now, I am my grandsons’ nanny.

I have been here now for seven weeks.  It is the most intense lesson I have had in being present, living in the Now.  I have friends traveling in Europe.  I have a friend who went sailing in the Caribbean.  I have a friend acting in a play.  I have friends working hard at teaching and politicking and doing all manner of important work.

I make breakfasts and dinners and do up the laundry and sweep up the floors and blow little noses and change dirty diapers and play “Fight the Goblins” in the park with a four year old.  When asked, “what’s going on in your life?” I’m not sure what to say.  Today I made bread and took a walk through the neighborhood with the baby and chatted with the local drunk who wished me a wonderful day and found a little vase for the fistful of dandelions my four-year-old grandson brought to me.

About a year and a half ago I took on a part time job as a nanny to bring in some supplemental income.  I hadn’t provided regular, hands-on “mommy care” for babies and pre-schoolers for a very long time with the exception of a few weeks here and there with my grandson.  A few weeks into the job I had a self-worth crisis.  After changing a poopy diaper and then trying to carry a very fussy, very heavy one-year-old around, I kept thinking, “What am I DOING here?!  I should be teaching!  I should be providing consulting services to some organization or school!  I’ve “been here, done this” a LONG time ago!”  I felt angry and small.

It got worse, or rather, I got worse.  I began to engage in vicious games of “If Only I’d…” and “Compared to Her”…  One afternoon as I rocked the fussy child to sleep, something inside me broke open.  I cried.  A soggy, smelly mess of nasty, old, mouldering energy poured out, toxic junk from a long ago time when I didn’t feel like I was of much value “just being a mom”.  I had tried to be the best mom I could, of course, but I don’t know that I collected any gold stars or honors certificates; certainly not any mother-of-the-year trophies, which to me, at the time, meant I’d not even managed to be very successful even at “just being a mom”.  I watched the sleeping child in my arms.  “Who are you?” I whispered.  “From where did you come?  Why did you come?  Maybe I am caring for a child who will grow up to be a great man and who will do really important work in the world, I thought.  What are you here on this Earth to do?  What gifts have you brought?”  In this little human body is a great Being of Light trying to come to terms with being human, I thought.  A Being constrained by time and space and the human growth cycle and experience–for now, at the mercy of his caretakers.  Perhaps this Being, outside of the time and space we both have incarnated into here on Earth, is my Teacher, a great Master, a Leader…

The longer I thought about this, the more humbled I felt.  I knew what a privilege it is to do this work of service–caring for the small ones.  Whether they are our own children or someone else’s doesn’t matter–we are all one, all connected, all individuated aspects of Consciousness, or as Einstein would say, Universe.  But I think I had only known this in my head.  That afternoon with the golden haired little toddler my heart opened and let the fullness of this truth into a space it had not been able to reach before.  The rest of my time at that job I felt honored and important and regarded my work as sacred.  I was greeted warmly when I arrived and sent home with kisses and repeated goodbyes and I love yous, no less valuable for coming from a 2 and 6 year old than a grown-up; my work no less important than that of a professor in front of a packed lecture hall.

Now, 18 months later, I look deeply into the eyes of this beautiful three month old grandson of mine.  My heart fills up and my breath catches as I open up to this privileged time learning to be so very Present.  My to-do list and my early morning meditation spent visualizing my ideal day is sure to be adjusted several times over. This is where I get to be today.  Here with these children.  Taking time to watch the ants build a home in the cracked sidewalk.  Teaching a little boy how to pick a flower by the stem, and hold his shirt sleeves in his fist when putting on his jacket. Rolling on the floor giggling as we invent new things “the fox says”; telling stories “with my mouth” (i.e. made up ones).  Today the baby discovered his toes.  Last week he giggled.  The week before he discovered he could do all kinds of things with his voice.  I get to witness these discoveries.

Some day perhaps he will win a Nobel Prize for some other discovery and perhaps if I am lucky, I will get to witness that as well.

April 19, 2014

Fear Is Not Real

“Fear is not real. The only place that fear can exist is in our thoughts of the future. It is a product of our imagination, causing us to fear things that do not at present and may not ever exist. That is near insanity. Do not misunderstand, danger is very real, but fear is a choice.”
–from Cypher Raige in the movie “After Earth”–

I was asked recently what lesson, or idea seems to keep coming up for me–one I haven’t mastered or moved through or achieved as yet.  I didn’t have to think very long or very hard. 

“Fear,” I said. 

I know I am not alone in this one.  Most of the human population is radiating a frequency of fear. 

The way I learn best is through story.  I am so grateful to the great storytellers who are making it possible for us to wake up from our deep slumbers and take back our lives.  The Wachowski’s The Matrix… that one comes to mind over and over as I observe the world around me–too many people still choosing the illusions that allow them to dream their lives away asleep; others waking up with a Roar, spitting out the amniotic fluids that held them in suspended animation. 

J.K. Rowling’s Boggarts from the world of the Harry Potter series are a favorite of mine, as are her Dementors, both such rich examples of how our own thoughts and beliefs, our perception of reality, creates how we experience reality.  Boggarts are strange little creatures, harmless except for their ability to morph into what we most fear–and gain more substance and power in direct proportion to the intensity of our fear.  If we believe it is real, it is.  If we believe it is not, if we disengage from it, it suddenly disappears and returns to it’s state of unformed potentiality.  Dementors on the other hand have form and substance and sustain themselves by feeding on the emotional energy of humans–in particular the positive energy of joy and happiness.  Similarly, our own negative thoughts can become so real, and gather so much energy, that they can completely drain away any sense of happiness, peace, joy, and hope even though in truth, these are accessible to us–we simply begin to believe they are not, and therefore, they are not. 

The other day I watched the movie After Earth starring Will Smith as Cypher Raige and his son Jaden Smith as Cypher’s son, Kitai.  The movie did not get good reviews, so I wasn’t expecting it to offer much.  Once again I wonder at the lack of insight of so many of our loud-mouthed reviewers.  It may not be the movie of the year, but it is a lovely little gem.  As one more discerning reviewer noted:  “This movie is a fable.  Fables teach.” 

There are a number of ideas woven into the story, but the predominant one is about Cypher’s quote above…that fear is not real.  The monster in the movie is an Ursa, a blind predator that can only track its human prey by smelling the pheromones humans give off when they are afraid.  The only way a human will be able to escape or defeat an Ursa once its found him is if he is successful in disengaging from his fear.  Once again, I see deeper than the monster raging about the screen and the terrified young man scrambling to save his life…and I see the toxic creations in my own life sculpted from the clay of my own fearful beliefs. 

It reminds me of a Native American story I read of how it is that the “medicine” (life energy) of Rabbit became Fear…  In some Native American traditions Rabbit became known as the Fear Caller.  …He goes out and shouts, “Eagle, I am so afraid of you.” If Eagle doesn’t hear him, Rabbit calls louder, “Eagle, stay away from me!  Do you hear me?  Don’t eat me!  Eagle, do you hear?  I’m talkin’ to you, Eagle!” Eagle, now hearing Rabbit, comes and eats him.  Rabbit calls bobcats, wolves, coyotes, and even snakes until they come.  We can learn from the rabbit that if we are always afraid of something then we may draw/create the very experience we are afraid of into our lives. Fear sends out a certain vibrational energy that may attract the very thing we fear. Fearful thoughts reproduce (like rabbits) and manifest what we fear. 

In the movie Cypher tells his son the story of how he became fearless and therefore inaccessible to the Ursas.  “We are all telling ourselves a story and that day mine changed.”  I too am changing my story.  Boggarts, I laugh at your ridiculous charade.  Be gone.  Dementors,  the one energy that is toxic to you is the energy of pure love: and so I practice becoming Grace; I practice love.  Ursus…well, isn’t it strange, I have become invisible to you.  I am free.

And the Lady climbed upon the back of her Tiger and they ran upon the land, and they ran upon the clouds, and they ran all the way to the Stars…

April 7, 2014

FIGHTING GOBLINS WITH SUPERHERO MORGAN

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.”

March 31, 2014
RAINBOW MAKERS

“Let someone love you, just the way you are, as flawed as you might be… To believe that you must hide all the parts of you that are broken out of fear that someone else is incapable of loving what is less than perfect, is to believe that sunlight is incapable of entering a broken window and illuminating a dark room.” – Marc Hack

This morning I found the quote above in my Kind Spring’s weekly newsletter.  I thought about it while I cleaned up the kitchen and rocked my grandbaby to sleep. As I rocked, my thoughts carried this idea down a different track… “Choose to love another, just the way he is, as flawed as he may be.  To think that he must not have any rough edges, or show any broken parts because either of you fear that if he does you will feel he is unworthy of your love, your forgiveness, patience, understanding or kindness, is to believe that no one is worthy of love, including yourself, unless they are perfect.

Which is not unlike thinking that nothing is good unless it is perfect.

I have stumbled on a nasty, thorny, unwelcome weed in my inner garden.  I have uncovered a brule (bullshit rule).  Because though I would deny it, I realize that somewhere underneath all the shiny smears of positivity, this ancient belief with its many runner roots is still very much alive in me.

I’ve been dismantling old Brules (bullshit rules) that I’ve lived by and under based on the models that have shaped my reality.  It’s been quite a fascinating project, really, figuring out what some habitual reactive behavior of mine is really rooted in.  

What, in my world, is this concept we call “perfect”?  Who determines what constitutes perfection?  Does it mean to never make a mistake?  But who decides it is a mistake?  A wise woman once told me that there is no such thing as a mistake–only lessons–only learning–only experiencing.  Is being perfect more like what Henry Higgins suggests in My Fair Lady, “why can’t [you] be like me”; think and do things the way I think and do things!  Does being perfect mean we should measure up to the standards we see in the movies and media, or to measure up to the spiritual standards of our religions and of the demands of the gods and goddesses that we have created?

What does someone need to be like to be acceptable to me?    

I don’t know.  I think it is subject to the weather and that the truth is closer to Henry Higgins’ definition than any other.   

My thoughts took a right turn.  (Or maybe it was a left turn…)  A rainbow is beautiful, but it is in truth, broken light.  Imperfect Light.  Flawed Light, if you care to think of it that way.

Perfect, unbroken light is “white”–pure colorless illumination.  Break the light by shining it through a mist of water or a crystal and suddenly you have color…beauty…brilliance…the promise of sunshine after rain, of light pouring through the cut glass of a window or a cup, spraying rainbows across floors and walls and ceilings. 

My perfect union with the Divine, perfect Light–is broken when I am poured into the prism of this  human body to live a human life experiencing a physical, three dimensional universe.  If I allow the Perfect Light to shine through me, I will cast rainbows over everyone and everything that moves through my space; all the attributes of the Perfect Light.  If I close myself off from that Light…there is only the grey darkness, shadows.

No one is ever unworthy of love–of kindness and forgiveness.  The Light simply shines, always, on everything and everyone.   The Light is always there.  If I am willing, the Light will shine through me, breaking apart and splashing the colors of It’s nature on everyone about.  If I am unwilling and choose to block the Light, the Light is still there, still shining, never retreating, never failing–but I cast only shadows.

Is this a model for living that I can build upon?  Can I let go of my belief that we all must always try to be “perfect” because our deservedness of love and respect is in direct proportion to the perfection we have achieved?  That is like asking ourselves and others to BE the perfect Light rather than a vessel for It’s refraction in the world.  That is like demanding that we be the sun, instead of the rainbow makers.    

March 29, 2014

MY GARDEN OF ABUNDANCE

I have this gift of a day to live–healthy, strong in my body and mind.  I have the gift of sight to look out at the blue sky–a sheet of pale, robin’s egg blue.  The great Maple Tree whose skin grew as though it were a skirt twirling in a dance is silently pumping life into red buds.  They are slowly swelling, gathering force.  Another day I will find them busted open, dangling tiny green leaves.

As is the land here in the North, so I too am waking up–to new models of reality through which to perceive the world, to new systems of living.  As in our gardens here in the North, I am clearing the winter debris–the old models, old beliefs which no longer serve me or others; discarding the Brules that have governed my life.  I like this word, Brules.  It means, “Bullshit rules”.  I also like the word Blisscipline.  It sounds so much happier and more exciting than the drudgery of being disciplined!

I have long been a student of the concept that our thoughts create our beliefs and that it is these beliefs that determine our attitudes and thus our behavior patterns.  To successfully change a behavior, change the belief.  Simple.  Never-the-less I have found change a slow and difficult process because beliefs never exist in isolation.  Rather, they are part of a larger model, a more complex construct of reality that we create based on what we believe to be true about the world we live in.  We all have a huge network of rules supporting entire systems that govern who we are and how we respond to our experiences based on the models, the beliefs, we have adopted.  Trying to just change one or a few “nasty habits” without examining the larger picture–the whole model and the system it supports–makes it pretty tough work.  It’s much easier if we are willing to simply wake up and ask ourselves the important questions.  And answer them, of course. 

Why do I do this?   
Why am I angry? 
What am I afraid of?
What do I believe to be true that I feel the need to act like this? 
Is this really true? 
Where did this belief come from?
Is it mine? 
What is the rule that I’m minding when I act like this? 
Is it a healthy rule–or a brule? 

Brules are Bullshit Rules that we adopt to simplify our understanding of the world.  How do we know the difference between a Brule or a Rule?  Ask more questions. 

Is your rule based on trust and hope? 
Does it serve your happiness? 
Does it violate the Golden Rule? 
Does it come from cultural or religious systems/models? 
Does it come from rational choice or social conditioning?

Early this past winter I read a quote a friend had posted that became a pivotal moment for me: I choose to let go of all that does not serve me, anything that prevents me from thriving.  I considered this deeply and realized there were a number of situations in my life that definitely did not serve me nor allow me to thrive, and thus prevented me from serving my family and community better that they also might thrive.  Since learning about brules, I realize that I have perpetuated these situations because, after all, one must make the best of life and gain never comes without pain and it’s the cards I’ve been dealt and don’t complain and be glad for all the lessons that your suffering is teaching you and…what a load of bullshit!  All I need to do is look around at nature to see that the Creator made everything to work in balance so that all might thrive!  We’re the ones who screw it up and cause suffering!

Little green things are poking up above the earth in my garden; perennials planted there once upon a time.  Year after year, they return, like beliefs that I adopted long ago that call forth the same responses from me, time and again.  I am digging them up and moving them somewhere else…some even to the compost heap.  I am re-creating my entire garden.  I am disgarding the Brules I’ve lived by and creating enhanced, healthier, happier models and systems for living my life–my one, wild and precious life.

I embrace this work with joy, considering it a privilege; procrastination and stagnation give way to productivity.  I get to dig about in my newly awakened garden!  I get to create something new!  I get to grow my garden into a work of art and I get to receive from it an abundant harvest.  As my inner and my outer gardens have become labors of love and gratitude, every stage has become rewarding. The garden thrives and I thrive and all who experience the blessing of it, thrive.

Once there was a woman jogging down my street.  She looked unhappy, angry, tense.  As she ran past my little front yard garden the sound of water falling into the rock pond must have caught her attention for without breaking stride she glanced over, and her face relaxed into a wide smile.  She never noticed me sitting on my porch, only the flowers.  As I watched her continue down the block, I noticed her head was higher, her shoulders back. 

How much greater might the impact of my inner garden be on those who pass through my sphere of influence?  I will not limit myself.  I will not allow the weedy beliefs of “can’t” nor the fears of what it might “cost” me to choke out the life of the Creator within me.  I’m cultivating joy and gratitude–like the daffodils and lilies and roses that I love.  I’m nurturing and growing the gifts I brought to this world so that I can share them–my writing, my art, my ability to teach; like green beans and ripened tomatoes and summer squash and apples in autumn.  I’m practicing kindness–random acts of…they are herbs to season life.  

I found a penny on the sidewalk today.  “Find a penny, pick it up and all day long you’ll have good luck!”  Ahh, yes.  In the middle of my Garden of Abundance I plant a Money Tree so that I will no longer be limited by the lack of money.  I am rebuilding my model of what it means to live abundantly, without lack, creating a life in which I am thriving.