A Quote

“True beauty comes from within.  Take a flower as an example. In the beginning it is only a bud.  It does not yet show its loveliness to the world, it does not attract bees or butterflies, and it cannot yet become fruit.  Only when it opens is beauty revealed in its center.  There is the focus of its exquisiteness, there is the source of its aroma, there is its sweet nectar.  In the same way, our own unique beauty comes from within.

     Our glory has nothing to do with our appearance or our occupation.  Our special qualities come from an inner source.  We must take care to open and bloom naturally and leisurely and keep to the center.  It is from there that all mystery and power come, and it is good to let it unfold in its own time.

     Just as a flower goes through stages–bud, open, bloom, polinate, wither, fruit , fall–each of us will go throught the obvious stages of birth to death.  We aren’t of a single character throughout our lives.  We change and grow.  Our identities unfold and bloom.  Unless we attain the center and keep to our progressions, we cannot ever reach true independence in our lives”

 

From 365 Tao Daily Meditations by Deng Ming-Dao Day 123 – Center

Four AM

I have watched entirely too much Sex and the City and I am now feeling this existential loneliness.  It is despicable this craving, this hopeless suffering that I put myself through.  I wake up at four am…I have dreamed all night of emotionally distant men, of empty houses, of car rides in the dark.  Weird.  I want to walk, I feel like Forest Gump.  I want to walk across the country, I want to walk and walk and walk.  Forget all of this, forget that I am I think allergic to wool.  My face is so itchy, the corners of my lips have minute cracks after I spin.  Forget that I am young and beautiful, strong and good, kind and compassionate, and just breathe and walk.  I open my vampire book, why vampires now added to the marathon DVD watching, more hunger, more unfullfilled desire.  Fabulous.  The dog whines, it is windy and he is afraid of the ghosts that open and close the doors by themselves.  I am like a horse on a windy day tossing my head at every shadow, eyes rolled back, whites showing.  Ironically, I dream of a Volkswagon driving hippie who lives with his parents on a nearby horse farm, I ask him if he wants to go riding sometime, he seems interested but drives away without me.  My car has been stolen and I am left with no ride home.  I start to fall asleep, I turn out my light but not before checking my cell phone for new messages, really who on the planet earth would be texting me at four am.

Meditative Walk

I walk in a dreamy haze for about a mile before I suddenly reach a level of awareness, I feel my breath moving in and out of my nostrils.  I slow down a little, I notice a few drops of rain falling.  It seems unavoidable.  The endless rain.  It seems to miss me as I breathe, as though I am at one with the air.  I skirt around the field and go backwards from my usual walk, the dog seems annoyed that I have not yet taken his leash off.  I am thinking of crow feathers and I see a finch and a dove taking a bath in the puddles.  I haven’t brought my camera, and I vaguely don’t care.  I remember to breath again.  An older man jogs by me and smiles and says hello.  An older woman is throwing corn to the ducks, almost grown babies and a gaggle of molting adults she says to me, I see Momma has some babies still, I smile.  A girl runs out of a hidden copse and scares both the dog and I.  Somehow my mind is lost until the turn off for the field.  The dog too has forgotten and I have to call him back. I go across the field again, and the dog runs away like a rocket, galavanting in the grass.  I smile to myself.  My feet squish in the soaked ground, the water table resting just below the surface of the grass.  I have to pee, too much coffee before I left the house.  The dog again perturbed as I replace his leash.  I walk home, the rain has held off for once.  It is cool and breezy and my heart is light.  I think of the word Shunyasa.  I am the uncarved block, I am the sawdust on the floor.  This must be shunyasa.

Passion

We are talking as client and therapist for perhaps the last time.  I have come to have a deep abiding respect for this man.  He has changed my world view, I see clearly now from my own eyes.  We talk about passion, how some people have it and some don’t.  How some people rip living plants from the ground, and others find life to be sacred.  Sacred.  We talk about Woodstock, and the true belief of the sacredness of life.  The loaminess of it.  I tell him thank you.  Our eyes meet and that sparkle is there.  He tells me thank you.  I know that he has a deep abiding respect for me.  We talk again about Loren Eiseley and a story of little foxes, he likens this essay to my story of the doe and her two fawns.  He tells me that I am a person of great passion, and that not everyone has this passion and that I must continue to let it grow.  It is time to go.  The gentle giant hugs me as I prepare to leave, I hug him back.  I feel I have met a kindred spirit.  I feel a great and deep abiding respect for what my life has become.  Later, I look at my hot pink yarn that some people shake their heads at and ask what will you do with it? My daughter she likes it.  I bet he would like it too.  This hot pink yarn.  I feel lonely though, and I try hard to embrace it, but I don’t want to…I want to share this passion with someone else.

Early morning

I am awake before six, a bad dream about a good friend or well someone who used to be a friend but then that is why I had the dream.  I think it will be a good morning for a walk to the park, the birds are singing.  I lie awhile longer thinking of the doe I saw crossing the off ramp the other morning as I was headed home from an early morning trip to the grocery store.  She crossed and noticed me, stopping, I thought there might be others and slowed.  She looked at me and turned and looked behind her on the other side of the road from where she was.  I put on my hazard lights and stopped.  She looked at me again and then behind her once more, she flicked her ears and two spotted fawns crossed.  After she had gone down the embankment I slowly passed, she looked at me and bowed her head just a little.  You are welcome Momma, I say, I won’t hurt your babies.  As I lie in bed it starts to drizzle.  Well at least I can put on my new rain coat and walk the dog, I will have to put a towel by the door before I leave.  The birds are still singing.  For some odd reason I begin to think of Dumbo clutching a crow feather in his trunk and trying to fly.  It starts to pour.  I guess no walk for me today.  I get up and make myself a pot of coffee.

Red Raspberries

The sun is shining and after two days of it the red raspberries are starting to ripen.  The long slender and lithe brambles bending down and touching the earth with the weight of the red berries.  I pick off a handful and eat them, checking each one carefully for a worm.  I have found only a few worms inside of a raspberry ever in my life, but I wish to avoid them, and so I dutifully turn each cup upside down before I pop them into my mouth one by one.  It is like an obsessive compulsive behavior, but unlike touching each fence post one by one for no purpose, that tiny white maggot not getting into my mouth makes the endeavor so very worthwhile.  I think I have found three in my life long quest to avoid the worms.  It may have been more but I distinctly remember three.  Three small worms.  I shudder to think.

There are more on the vine nearly ripe, but the long and heavy rain and grey afternoon means it may not be until Wednesday’s breakfast that once again am compelled to flip the handfill of berries one by one, before I eat them.  I lie down on my bed, sleepy, with a book in my hand, my eyes grow heavy after the first paragraph.  I am so tired today.  I had one wish when I gave birth to my daughter, and that wish has been fulfilled, an 18 year obsession with this moment now on a shelf.  What is next in this life I do not know.  I dream, and hope that it is a handful of raspberries, with only the occasional worm.

Red Raspberries hiding

Juicy Red Raspberrys

Green and Purple.

lichnessandlavendar

Tiger Lily

It has rained so much this spring, it has reached a point of enough already, at least for this human being.  The plants however are pretty happy.  I have never seen the lavendar in my garden so wonderfully healthy and bright.  I love lavendar the way it smells, not like pine, but like some earthy fragrant delight.  I pick the stems and place three in a vase by the sink.  I pick three glorious lichness and put them with it.  The striking color of hot pink with the dark violet of the lavendar a contrast.  The shining light of that pink, with the depth of the lavendar, and both that green so subtle so very soft.  I look at the orange of a tiger lily against the brilliant green of the leaves, and it is also striking but in a completely different way.  It’s a flashiness that has it’s own unique qualities, like a salsa or merengue, it flashes and moves to an intense rhythm.  And yet the lavendar, even a field of it has a catchiness.  A depth of character, a strength of purpose, a wall of wonderful smell, and although it’s eye does not make you catch your breath, it holds your attention.  It has a warmth and charm all it’s own. 

The daisies have begun to bloom and although they have always been my favorite flower, it is the lichness and the lavendar which hold my attention this year.  It is the subtle grace, the brilliant light, the dark dark purple and the earthy green. I wander romantically amoungst my flowers, barefoot, and hair curling softly about my shoulders, I bring a frond of lavendar to my nose, I stop and inhale, I dream.

Genetic Variation in the Garden

I have this plant that I have posted pictures of previously called evening lichness.  It is a bright pink hot fuschia really flower on a soft fuzzy pale almost whitish green but almost blue stem.  I am intrigued this evening by the interesting genetic variation that has taken place in my garden.  This plant has many seeds inside a little pod once the flower has bloomed and faded, and the seed have a very high germination rate.  Three plants have become too many to count and it is scattered all over the garden.  One very cool thing that has happened is that two of these plants have begun to show a genetic variation.  One is a pale white flower with a super pale pink vein stripe on the petal, the other is a much smaller version of the original flower, with a shorter stalk and a tiny flower.  See images.

White and pink version of evening lichness

Typical evening lichness with smaller version

And the sun comes out today.  It has rained so much this spring, to the point of flooding in some areas.  Just absolutely poured cats and dogs.  After several days of it the sun has finally come out.  The garden of course loves the rain, it is a veritable jungle.  It has also brought out something that I am allergic to. 

I went to yoga today as I always do, the teacher who is also my dear friend and my oldest friend whom at the age of 70 is a spry and lively man.  He did a pranayama at the start of class, usually something reserved for the end of class on Fridays.  I dislike pranayama.  I do not know why but I do.  I sit at the Zen Center and I am okay with monitoring my breathing.  I used Lamaze 18 years ago when giving birth to my daughter.  But the pranayama is not my thing at all.  I tried it today – I look at it as being like one of those foods you dislike as a child and you keep trying it in the plan that one day you will like it.  Pranayama is like lima beans; I just don’t like it no matter how often I try it.  But it is not as icky distasteful to me as liver. 

I find myself in this place, it is a bit unusual for me.  A place of infinite patience, and yet of no patience.  Of enlightened mind with a feeling of deep deep ignorance.  A place of love and compassion, with some serious anger mixed in.  This is the place I breathe in and out of. 

I am in Loews and it is remarkable…I am alone, dressed in black sweats, a navy shirt, a bandana over my unwashed hair and a pair of well worn flip flops.  A lone woman carrying a bag of grout and tools.  Several men shopping alone say hello to me.  I find my eyes sliding off to the side once they have walked by me….I am not used to getting attention from a man when I am not perfect…I ask for help with drill bits…why they went away and the drill stayed a big mysterious question I have no answers to.  Instead of shooing me off to the drill bits as the woman at Michaels shooed me off to find the art supplies that I buy for one of my students every summer, he stops and talks to me at length, smiling and making lots of eye contact, extending the explanation for a long time.  It was the same last week at the dealership.  The two men talking to me, one walking me to my car.  I don’t get it.  Was it because I told them I changed the starter by myself?  That when they suggested it was the battery I said no, but maybe the neutral safety switch? 

Who knows.  I just smile and continue about my business.  Lifting 80 pounds of charcoal by myself.  Grouting the floor by myself.  Fixing the car with help from someone with tools.  In my old beat up clothes and my bandana, unwashed and makeup free, all natural.  This is the real me.

Honey Bee with Milkweed 2009

Buying Used

The other day I took my daughter around to take some items to Goodwill, and since she is a teenager without a job and I am a mother who is feeling not so indulgent because of it, she also took some of her books to the used book store , and CD’s to the record store to sell.  The book store Books and Memories has been bought out by a new person, a young funky woman, and the cashier was the bemuscled and tattooed guy from the locally owed video store that recently went out of business.   The buy back is not great there.  I however thought of my favorite author Loren Eiseley and found several copies of his book The Star Thrower and bought one.  The place is alot cleaner and more organized, the owner not yet aware of each and every book as the previous owner was.  The record store Sound Garden has a much better buyback program and she was able to sell several for a good price.  I of course had to check out the CD’s and purchased a used Amos Lee (my new favorite) CD and a copy of Morrison Hotel, since for some reason the Doors are really appealing to me lately. 

I nearly bought a Clash CD but Morgan stopped me, we already have it, my former husband bought it for her and once again I am struck by how poorly the ex knew me.  He made a big fuss over the 80’s CD (Madonna, Billy Ocean, Michael Jackson UGH!) he made me and I was pretty much not interested because I didn’t listen to pop music at all in the 80’s.  I put Elvis Costello on Pandora the other day and all of these great musicians that I did listen to came up…The Clash was one, the Smiths, Joe Jackson.  I also remembered a few weeks ago how much I loved the bands Berlin, Missing Persons and Souixsie and the Banshees, the Moody Blues and other Prog. Rock bands, Bruce Springsteen, Peter Gabriel, Kate Bush and Suzanne Vega.   I also was pretty much obsessed with Janis, the Doors, and Bob Dylan.   My friends and I also went out a lot and saw local bands, and had their recordings too.  One of my college friends, Will who now teaches high school English and preaches on Sundays…posted the songs of one such band on Facebook, and it nearly brought tears to my eyes.  Alot of really good times!  And it is odd how many of us from college are teachers, or lawyers.  I guess our liberal mindedness got us somewhere. 

I am struck by how much the those 11 years of were really just a dirty basement window of my life…how much freer and more of my old spicey, saucey, juicey self I am now.  I am like a used book or a used record.  I’ve been sitting on a shelf just waiting for someone to take me down and discover all the treasure I have to offer.