A Time to Cocoon

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A Time to Cocoon

One of the things I adore about meditation retreats are the blunt conversations one has with strangers. For a stint of a weekend/five days/two weeks a group of strangers are thrown together without any historical baggage or expectations of future interactions. It lends itself to very honest conversations.

Like the one I had at the end of our stint in India for the 10,000 Course for World Peace. We were checking in to the hotel in anticipation for our 4 am departure the next morning back our own beds.

“Are you insane? Why did you bring your kids?” Identical badges hung around our necks.

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Letter to my children: Pocket Peas, Black Caps, and Baby Chickens

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Letter to my children: Pocket Peas, Black Caps, and Baby Chickens

“Didn’t you pick peas for dinner?”

“OOOOoohhhhh, right.” Dragon reached into his pocket and started pulling out handfuls. “I did pick them, and I forgot.”

3 peas were palmed onto the counter. 4 more peas were placed on top. Handful by grubby handful, peas appeared.

I looked at our dinner guests and started laughing, “would anyone like some pocket peas?”

Surprisingly, everyone but the family declined to eat pocket peas. Ah well.

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Homesteading Middles: Uncovering Spring

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Homesteading Middles: Uncovering Spring

“Momma, each bump holds a surprise!” Bean, gently moved cardboard aside, revealing pale yellow daffodil stems.

“I know, this is so much fun!”

“So much fun!”

She looked up at her brother, tromping toward us over the leaves and cardboard. “Careful Dragon, don’t step on any of the bumps - they might be daffodils pushing their way up.”

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Dear Dad, anything else you want to talk about?

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Dear Dad, anything else you want to talk about?

When I was in college my father started throwing into conversations, “Anything else you want to talk about?” “Something else on your mind you want to discuss?” This opening made me feel heard and valued and I loved that he did that.

I started doing this myself with real conversations a few years ago … to create a softness for another subject, another wrinkle in the conversation.

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The Vault

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The Vault

The best advice I received (in addition to “take more pictures than you think is sane” and “get as much help as you can afford”) when we became new parents was about The Vault. The Vault is the place where all thoughts, words, and deeds that happen when you are insane with fatigue - that is where they live.

The door of The Vault is sealed with your faith. Faith in the choices you made when you were still a human capable of decision making and empathy towards yourself and your fellow man. All thoughts or discussions of a snarky, less than helpful nature go into The Vault. The “why didn’t you buy more diapers before the store closed and now we are all covered in poop you idiot,” or the “I don’t know if she is crying because I ate chocolate, we all ate the damn chocolate,” or the cranky 3 am snipe fest “fine, you show me how to swaddle this baby so she doesn’t stab herself in the eye with her talon nails,” all of that and more goes into The Vault. And it all stays there. Never to be thought or dragged up again the next morning/day/week. The strength of The Vault is trusting, nay knowing, that a part of you, the sane part, the part that once slept and didn’t cry at commercials, really wanted this baby/marriage/life circumstance.

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ACIM Review V vs the media frenzy in my head

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This morning we were on our walk and I was sharing an article I read to W. The article is about the American scientists who have graduated from the CDC Epidemic Intelligent Service and the role these experts have played (or not) in our recent societal adventure. For weeks we have been discussing where the leaders are on what has been happening, what the plan is, how crazy this all is (here is my favorite take on that particular rabbit hole). Then I dip into some theories about the Gates Foundation, the WHO, microchipping, and mandatory vaccines. The frenzy in my head gets louder and louder - then I read my ACIM for today.

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Letter for my children: Face Masks and Bicycles

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Letter for my children: Face Masks and Bicycles

Today is day 48 of our staying at home. Holy Bajooley children.

Not surprisingly after 48 days, we have found our routine - and honestly I think you two have never been happier. Partly due to the home projects that have been plentiful this Spring, mostly due to the abundance of parental time and attention that has been showered onto you both.

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How do you hold a pencil?

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How do you hold a pencil?

I have been writing for 30+ years and never thought about how I hold a pencil, until now. I hold my pencil like I am about to punch the paper. Like I am about to pull back a shower curtain and stab Janet Leigh. Somehow I managed to be an English Major in college and write a very long dissertation in grad school - all while strangling my pen - thumb tucked under my pointer finger.

According to the handwriting books I am reading in preparation to teach my almost 6 year old, I hold my pencil incorrectly.*

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There is nothing more important than a daily practice with God - DO IT!

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When I was about 13 years old I vividly remember asking the Universe to for a life to stretch me, to challenge my hangups, to force my soul and beingness to grow and learn and evolve. The Universe heard me.

30th birthday present… stage 4 cancer. Boom.

Here I am, about to turn 42, a bit less plump and bouncy physically but oh so much wiser.

I can hear my 80 year old giggling at that statement. Regardless, here we go, immortal words of wisdom from one who is basically repeating what sages have known for aeons.

Spend the Amrit Vela with God. Wake up early (between 3-6) and meditate, do yoga, pray, and spend time being held by the Divine. Rest in God deliberately, with focus and intent.

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Just in case... letters to my children

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A few months ago I was talking about a woman who had died. “The worst part,” her closer friend shares with me, “is that her kids keep on asking me if I have a letter or a note from her for them - and I keep on having to say no.”

So here we go, my winter project, write letters to my children. Just in case. Why not?

Letters for their birthdays, letters when they graduate from college/run away from home/join a cult, letters when they get married. Letter when it is a random Tuesday in March 2042 to tell them I love them.

You never know in this life. Isn’t the idea of doing this now, in health, with facilities intact, without the cancer industrial complex breathing down my neck, make it seem more of a gift than a chore?

I think so. I feel so. I know so.

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