I Heard an Owl (Carrie Newcomer)

Many of you may recall the blog post detailing my owl encounter four days before Eric's Celebration of Life on October 14, 2023.  I believed then, and, even if it never happens again (although I certainly hope it does), I remain convinced it was a visitation from my son.

Going forward, owls have been appearing everywhere (isn't that always the way things happpen?), on my own radar and stories from others; as I shared my tale with long-time besties Michele and Rox, they too offered up their past histories, neither of which I knew about.  My sister-in-law Pat, a wonderful potter (who is creating a new urn for E's cremains; no rush!), made me a beautiful owl pendant, which I have added to my keychain.

I am also more seriously contemplating something I spoke of in my part of the eulogy:

"So far, he's given us signs of rainbows... and an owl appeared to me that I am sure was a visitation.  And, even though I've declared a moratorium on tattoos ("seven is the number", sings Dave Carter), if I hear Eric's voice whispering in my ear that it might be time for more ink, one of you will be getting a call to accompany me."

It might very well be time (no spoilers yet, but I already have three contenders).  

This morning, when I was transferring last year's calendar dates over to the new year's clean slate of schedules/agendas/commitments... July 2023 jumped out at me (see images above and below).  We all know that July 28 is Eric's birthday, right?  Freaked me the f*ck out (and of course I had to share with M and R immediately!).

So, as my carefully-chosen Word of the Year is Be Present/Now... you can bet I'll be on the lookout for more owls to guide my path or, at the very least, keep me company.  I am mindful and comforted and grateful, oh my... 🦉

"When you see owls everywhere or they recur in your dreams repeatedly, pay attention," says Harmon-Luber. Mello agrees that if you continually see owls, they want to get your attention. "Our spirit guides are sending messages, and they'll keep sending you signs," she says.

"Have you ever stared into the owl's eyes?" ~ Robert Penn

Yes. I. Have... 💞

SONG:  I Heard an Owl by Carrie Newcomer

BOOK(S):  In Search of the Owl: A father's death begins a quest for a deeper understanding...of life. by Jean E. Sidinger

Crossing the Owl's Bridge: A Guide for Grieving People Who Still Love by Kim Bateman

POEM:  Owls by Liza Katz Duncan

And maybe this is all we get: a chilly evening,

           5:30 and the sun should still be out. Instead October’s

                      Full Blood Moon has come and gone

over the hospital parking lot. The crickets’ warning song

           has already begun. My body, we’ve learned, has forgotten again

what to carry and what

           to discard, like those owl pellets we dissected in the fourth grade:

                      here the jaw, there the shoulder blade of some smaller creature.

I imagine an ossuary blooming in my gut, a stone well

           of tiny bones, ancestors tunneling through the cartilage,

though of course I know this is impossible: ancestors

           are supposed to stay dead.

A graveyard forgets more than we know. Names obscured

           by time and weather, grass

                      grown over a stone. So, too, a body.

Mine has forgotten so much. Has forgotten

           rhythms: stars, bird calls. But as we pull in the driveway

that night, a Great Horned Owl, then another,

           chanting their duet—first the female,

then the male, slightly deeper. The evening carrying

           their song through our open window.

I will never be an ancestor. In a few days my body

           will miscarry for the fourth and final time. And maybe

                      this is just what we get: you, me,

calling each other in the dark. Love: the one,

           then the other. A book, two opposite pages

kissing. A glass house. Outside, constellations

           in a quickening sky. Owls finding each other in the dark.

Season of Owl by Beth Weaver-Kreider

This is the season of owl,

of winds that howl through the hollow,

the season of the sharp bark

of the fox, voicing longing in the bosque.

This is the season of bitter,

of fierce flakes feathering cheeks and hands,

the season of crystal, crisp and cutting,

of beauty that will slice you open.

This is the season of rising,

thin and pale, into the dawn air,

but also of burrowing, huddling deep

into the layers that hold you.

Walk the thin line of today with care,

one foot precisely placed, the other. . .

Perhaps you will notice,

when you raise your eyes for a moment,

how the line curves out ahead of you,

bringing you

always

back home.

QUOTE(S):  "An owl sound wandered along the road with me.  I didn't hear it - I breathed it into my ears." ~ William Stafford

"You don't need anything but hope. The kind of hope that flies on silent wings under a shining owl moon." ~ Jane Yolen

"If we cannot sing of faith and triumph, we will sing our despair. We will be that kind of bird. There are day owls, and there are night owls, and each is beautiful and even musical while about its business." ~ Henry David Thoreau

"There’s always a hidden owl in “knowledge.” " ~ E.I. Jane

Even When the Light is Low (Tom Prasada-Rao)

When last we left our SheRa, she (and her husband) had tested positive for COVID (double ugh).  Our first time and, in the grand scheme of things, it seemed to be a fairly mild case (other than that hacking cough and phlegmy build-up).  It almost seemed a relief to have an excuse to lay low and cancel commitments (not that my calendar is that full these days anyway).  The weakness/fatigue continues though.

I was negative by Friday, meaning I could go to Sarah's that evening for her Christmas tree decorating; Rob joined us too, the background music was of course The Roches' We Three Kings (a family tradition), and we could almost pretend it was just like it used to be.  Silly Me!

Being well again, it was lovely to get back to our bereavement group (3rd attendance); I love those women (and a few men), who are so kind and loving and suffering too.  My 2nd therapy appointment was also amazing; she's a wonderful listener, asks just the right questions, and provides A-ha! moments that comfort as well as enlighten me.

Duyen (E's girlfriend) sent us back to Florida with a box of Eric's belongings, and we finally tackled those; I kept a hooded rainjacket/windbreaker that I know will come in handy, a denim jacket with a cloth hoodie, and a sweater... and Chico a few tank tops (he's especially delighted with the Pink Floyd design).  We gave Sarah a few shirts, Colin a hiking/gardening hat, and Rob a nice jacket and lots of ties (two of which were actually his to begin with - ha!).  Everything else we will donate.

Oh, and we chose button-down shirts for the teddy bears that my friend Suzanne offered to make for each of us.  No deadline, sweet memories... 💗

Speaking of Memories... I'm also trying to move forward with two separate plans for remembrance:  a tree in a City of Pembroke Pines park... and a bench in the Hope Garden, both with plaques.  I will keep you all posted.

I'm sure it's the residual tiredness from COVID, and grief brain fog, but I feel very "out of it" these days... as if I'm detached from participation in life and only looking down from above, in observation mode.  I've pretty much decided not to decorate for Christmas this year; the thought of hauling boxes from our storage locker down the hall is daunting and exhausting.  The box with the front door wreath is on the top shelf, so I'll get that down and installed.  I also just bought myself a Christmas (well, a gnome) mug, which I will use every day during the season.  No Santa collection, no Buddha with the Santa hat, regular (instead of holiday) candles; I. Just. Can't. Do. It. This. Year... and that's okay... 🎅🎄🎁

P.S.  Today marks ten weeks since Eric died... 💔

SONG:  Even When the Light is Low by Tom Prasada-Rao (written 11.7.23)

BOOK:  It's OK That You're Not OK: Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture That Doesn't Understand by Megan Devine, Mark Nepo (Foreword)

POEM(S):  I Want My Grief by Peg Runnels

to be brilliant, fast and gone.

Like Mozart. Or Stevie Ray.

Like fireworks. Boom! Flash!

Ooh, ahh. OK, done. Let’s go.

I want my grief to be brave.

Hurts more now, heals faster,

Grandma said, pouring salt

On a skinned knee.

I want to stand up to grief,

Stand it down, like the

Tiny man, big tank

In Tiananmen Square.

Because. Because if I am brave,

Bold, salty, open enough

The tank, the bleeding, the tears

Will stop sooner. I tell myself.

But grief laughs. Humbles me.

I lose keys, break cups, get lost.

Asked at CarMax Why are you

Selling this car? I burst

Into an embarrassment of tears.

A friend says, One doesn’t have grief,

Grief has you.

We wrestle, to the mat. I’m pinned.

But sometimes I break free.

Break patterns instead of dishes.

Start to write myself a new story,

To fling myself toward yes,

Begin to say, Oh. Now this. . . . Observe

What life brings. Reframe. Say,

I’m not wrestling grief,

We’re dancing.

So, I put my right foot in . . .

And turn myself about.

Yes by William Stafford

It could happen any time, tornado,

earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.

Or sunshine, love, salvation.

It could, you know. That’s why we wake

and look out – no guarantees

in this life.

But some bonuses, like morning,

like right now, like noon,

like evening.

What the Day Gives by Jeanne Lohmann

Suddenly, sun. Over my shoulder

in the middle of gray November

what I hoped to do comes back,

asking.

Across the street the fiery trees

hold onto their leaves,

red and gold in the final months

of this unfinished year,

they offer blazing riddles.

In the frozen fields of my life

there are no shortcuts to spring,

but stories of great birds in migration

carrying small ones on their backs,

predators flying next to warblers

they would, in a different season, eat.

Stunned by the astonishing mix in this uneasy world

that plunges in a single day from despair

to hope and back again, I commend my life

to Ruskin’s difficult duty of delight,

and to that most beautiful form of courage,

to be happy.

QUOTE:  “Life is a hard battle anyway. If we laugh and sing a little as we fight the good fight of freedom, it makes it all go easier. I will not allow my life’s light to be determined by the darkness around me.” ~ Sojourner Truth

American Tune (Paul Simon)

What if the Virus is the Medicine? by Jonathan Hadas Edwards and Julia Hartsell

The emerging pandemic is already a watershed of the early 21st century: things won’t ever be the same. Yet for all that the havoc that the virus is wreaking, directly and indirectly, it may also be part of the bitter medicine the global body needs.

How could adding another crisis to an already crisis-ridden planet possibly be medicinal?

Before we explore that question, we want to be clear: our intent is not to downplay the severity or minimize the importance of lives lost to this disease. Behind the mortality figures lie very real pain and grief, and these numbers, often discussed so casually, are personal, representing the potential loss of our parents, elders, teachers, dance companions, grandmothers or immune-compromised friends.

Already, our hearts are breaking for the physical distance with our aging parents until we know if we’re infected. There’s not only a risk of losing beloveds in this time, but having to do so from afar. Our hearts are breaking for those who may die or suffer alone, without the touch of their loved ones. We honor death as a sacred passage, but we do not minimize death, suffering or sickness in the slightest.

We pray that each one who transitions from this virus (as from the many other deadly diseases, accidents, overdoses, murders, suicides, mass shootings, and on and on) be met with on the other side by unexpected blessing, connection, peace.

Neither are the economic implications to be taken lightly. Many in this country have already seen massive impact, and the recession has only begun. As always, those closest to the edge will be hit hardest. For some, a month sequestered in beauty could be a vacation.

Others have a few months before financial panic sets in. And for others living paycheck to paycheck or gig to gig, there is a great immediacy of struggle. The economic ‘side effects’ of this coronavirus could be catastrophic.

And yet.

For many in our world, the pre-coronavirus status quo was already catastrophic. Many are facing an imminent end to their world--indeed, for many species and many peoples, the world has already ended. We are in the midst of a crisis of unprecedented magnitude: the choice for humanity is change or die. No one said change would be easy. (Neither is dying.)

And incremental change is not enough. It will take radical change to shift our current, calamitous trajectory away from massive environmental devastation, famine, energy crises, war & refugee crises, increasingly authoritarian regimes and escalating inequalities.

The world we know is dying. What is unsustainable cannot persist, by definition, and we are starting to see this play out.

What hope is there, then? There is the hope that breakdown will become, or coexist with, breakthrough. There is the hope that what is dying is the caterpillar of immature humanity in order that the metamorphosis yields a stunning emergence. That whatever survives this collective initiation process will be truer, more heart-connected, resilient and generative.

We are entering the chrysalis. There’s no instruction manual for what happens next. But we can learn some things from observing nature (thank you Megan Toben for some of this biological info). For one thing, the chrysalis stage is preceded by a feeding frenzy in which the caterpillar massively overconsumes (sound familiar? We’ve been there for decades). Then its tissues melt into a virtually undifferentiated goo. What remain separate are so-called imaginal cells, which link together and become the template from which the goo reorganizes itself into a butterfly.

Does the caterpillar overconsume strategically, or out of blind instinct? Does it know what’s coming and trust in the process, or does it feel like it’s dying? We don’t know. It’s natural to resist radical, painful change. But ultimately there’s little choice but to surrender to it. We can practice welcoming the circumstances that force us away from dysfunctional old patterns, be they economic or personal. We have that opportunity now.

Let’s return to a crucial word, initiation. On an individual level, initiations are those processes or rituals by which one reaches a new state of being and corresponding social status: from girl to woman, from layperson to clergy, and so on. Initiations can be deliberate or spontaneous, as in the case of the archetypal shamanic initiation, which comes by way of a healing crisis.

To paraphrase Michael Meade, initiations are events that pull us deeper into life than we would otherwise go. They vary widely from culture to culture and individual to individual, but two characteristics they share are intensity and transformation. They bring us face to face with life and with death; they always involve an element of dying or shedding so that the new can be born.

Most all of us have undergone initiations of one sort of another, from the death of a parent to the birth of a child. Many have experienced initiation in the form of a crisis or trial by fire. Those of us who have gone through more deliberate, ritualized forms of initiation can state unequivocally: the process is not fun, comfortable or predictable.

You may well feel like you’re going nuts. You may not know who you are anymore. You don’t get to choose which parts of you die, or even to know ahead of time.

One of the overriding feelings is of uncertainty: you don’t know where you’re going, only that there’s no going back. And there’s no way of knowing how long the transformation will take. It can help to remember that the initiatory chrysalis phase is a sacred time, set apart from normal life.That it has its own demands and its own logic. That it cannot be rushed, only surrendered to. That it may be painful, but also, ultimately, healing.

Imagine what happens when an entire society finds itself in the midst of a critical initiation. Except you don’t have to imagine: it’s already happening, or starting to. It looks like chaos, a meltdown. We’re in a moment of collective, global-level crisis and uncertainty that has little precedent in living memory.

The economic machine--the source of our financial needs and also a system that profits from disease, divorce, crime and tragedy--is faced with a dramatic slow-down. We are all facing the cessation of non- essential activities. There is opportunity here, if we claim it.

This is a sacred time.

However, unlike a traditional rite of passage ceremony, there’s no priest or elder with wisdom born of experience holding the ritual container, tracking everything seen and unseen. Instead, all at once there are millions of personal quests inside one enormous initiatory chrysalis.

And yet, look closely: amid the goo, you may start to notice imaginal cells appearing. Pockets of people who are aligned with something they may not fully understand, in receipt of a vision or pieces of one, beaming out their signal to say: let’s try something different.

This is an opportunity to loosen our grip on old and familiar ways. Those ways worked for as long as they did, and they got us here, for better and for worse. They seem unlikely to carry us much further.

What if we’re instead being asked to feel our way forward, from the heart, without benefit of certainty--which, when concentrated, quickly becomes toxic? No one has all the answers in this or any other time. Right now the questions may be more valuable.

What if we honor this time with sacred respect?

What if we take the time to listen for the boundaries and limits of our Earth mother?

What is truly important?

How can we receive the bitter medicine of the moment deep into our cells and let it align us with latent possibility?

How can we, with the support of the unseen, serve as midwives to all that is dying here and all that is being born?

With these questions resounding, let us s l o w d o w n and listen. For echo back from the unseen, for whisperings from the depths of our souls and from the heart of the mystery that--no less so in times of crisis--embraces us all.


Wow.  Timely.  As of 12:01 this morning (Friday, March 27), we (Broward County, Florida) are now operating under an Emergency Shelter-in-Place order (meaning, stay indoors except to conduct "essential" business). I will stop going to the park to walk, as well as meet up for our family get-togethers.

I *will* walk in my condo complex, even safer now that most of the snowbirds have headed back north.  I feel secure to have at least a two-week supply of food in my fridge, freezer, and pantry. I will venture out at some point to fill up my car with gas, just in case.

And we wait.


SONG:  American Tune by Paul Simon (cover by Dave Matthews)

BOOK:  Shelter by Céline Claire, Qin Leng (Illustrator)

POEM:  Cutting Loose by William Stafford

Sometimes from sorrow, for no reason,
you sing. For no reason, you accept
the way of being lost, cutting loose
from all else and electing a world
where you go where you want to.

Arbitrary, a sound comes, a reminder
that a steady center is holding
all else. If you listen, that sound
will tell you where it is and you
can slide your way past trouble.

Certain twisted monsters
always bar the path -- but that's when
you get going best, glad to be lost,
learning how real it is
here on earth, again and again.

QUOTE:  "When the storms of life come, if they come to me personally, to my family or to the world, I want to be strong enough to stand and be a strength to somebody else, be shelter for somebody else." ~ Anne Graham Lotz

Give a Little (Nicolette Larson)

Today's DailyOM

September 19, 2008

Recognizing Our Own Abundance

Planting The Seeds Of Generosity

The most difficult time to be generous is when we ourselves are feeling poor. While some of us have experienced actually being in the red financially, there are those of us who would feel broke even if we had a million dollars in the bank. Either way, as the old adage goes, it is always in giving that we receive. Meaning that when we are living in a state of lack, the very gesture we may least want to give is the very act that could help us create the abundance that we seek. One way to practice generosity is to give energy where it is needed. Giving money to a cause or person in need is one way to give energy. Giving attention, love, or a smile to another person are other acts of giving that we can offer. After all, there are people all over the world that are hungry for love.

Sometimes when we practice generosity, we practice it conditionally. We might be expecting to “receive back” from the person to whom we gave. We might even become angry or resentful if that person doesn’t reciprocate. However, trust in the natural flow of energy, and you will find yourself practicing generosity with no strings attached. This is the purest form of giving. Remember that what you send out will always come back you. Selflessly help a friend in need without expecting them to return the same favor in the same way, and know that you, too, will receive that support from the universe when you need it. Besides, while giving conditionally creates stress (because we are waiting with an invisible balance sheet to receive our due), giving unconditionally creates and generates abundance. We give freely, because we trust that there is always an unlimited supply.

Being aware of how much we are always supported by the universe is one of the keys to abundance and generosity. Consciously remember the times you’ve received support from expected and unexpected sources. Remember anyone who has helped you when you’ve needed it most, and bless all situations that come into your life for the lessons and gifts they bring you. Remember that all things given and received emanate from generosity. Giving is an act of gratitude. Plant the seeds of generosity through your acts of giving, and you will grow the fruits of abundance for yourself and those around you.

I've been working on this blog post since last Friday, trying to find the perfect mesh of themed selections, as well as processing what generosity means to me. It was mentioned in a Words for All Ages story at church the other day that sharing is easy when you already have more than you need - the point of giving is to sacrifice a bit as well.

This lesson was driven home yesterday, with Marti Forman, head of Broward County's Cooperative Feeding Program, during our UU Sunday service - I am proud to say I helped coordinate the event, taking the suggestion of having her speak for a few minutes on the Empty Bowls project and extrapolating it to a full program, with Marti giving the sermon.

The kids did a Stone Soup re-enactment... and we painted bowls after the service (to be baked later and used for the fundraiser) - the most impactful, though, was Marti's talk... as she told stories of various clients of all genders, ages and income levels, and the unfortunate decline in donations over the last year and the damaging effects of less food to spread to more people. The entire sanctuary was weeping (as was Marti during her delivery) - the good news is that we raised almost $500 among us for the CFP... and we've rededicated ourselves to making a major commitment to eradicate hunger in Broward County.

The concert series I coordinate has always asked patrons to bring a non-perishable food item in addition to regular admission, and we will emphasize that even more from now on - I would also like to volunteer with Marti at least once a month in some capacity.

Really... this hit so close to home - "there but for the grace of god" indeed...

P.S. I've been distracted/worried all day, because my mom is in the hospital having an outpatient biopsy to check some enlarged lymph nodes in her lung area (thank goodness my sister and brother are there with her) - if it's inflammation, they'll treat with steroids... if it's infection, they'll treat with antibiotics... and we're not really dealing with the third possibility: cancer. I heard from my sister that Mom was being moved to the Recovery Room and they'd have test results in 3 to 5 days - Mari then called back, saying Mom has pneumothorax (a collapsed lung) and they were keeping her in the hospital. An Internet search says it could be a result of her COPD... or possibly a complication from today's surgical procedure - whatever the case, any thoughts/prayers/candles are much appreciated for Connie's swift and smooth recuperation.

SONG: Give a Little by Nicolette Larson

BOOK: The Giving Heart: Unlocking the Transformative Power of Generosity in Your Life by M. J. Ryan

POEM: The Gift by William Stafford

Time wants to show you a different country. It's the one

that your life conceals, the one waiting outside

when curtains are drawn, the one Grandmother hinted at

in her crochet design, the one almost found

over at the edge of the music, after the sermon.

It's the way life is, and you have it, a few years given.

You get killed now and then, violated

in various ways. (And sometimes it's turn about.)

You get tired of that. Long-suffering, you wait

and pray, and maybe good things come - maybe

the hurt slackens and you hardly feel it any more.

You have a breath without pain. It is called happiness.

It's a balance, the taking and passing along,

the composting of where you've been and how people

and weather treated you. It's a country where

you already are, bringing where you have been.

Time offers this gift in its millions of ways,

turning the world, moving the air, calling,

every morning, "Here, take it, it's yours."

QUOTE: "From what we get, we can make a living; what we give, however, makes a life." ~ Arthur Ashe

The Part Where You Let Go (Hem)

From yesterday's Gimundo:

Volunteer Guards Bridge to Save Lives

5/4/2008

Chen Si, of Nanjing, China, is a very special kind of lifeguard. He doesn't wear a swimsuit, he isn't paid a penny for his work, and he's never even dipped a toe into the waters of the Yangtze River.

Nonetheless, since the 34-year-old began patrolling the Nanjing Bridge four years ago, he has saved 144 lives.

Chen began his rescue mission in 2004, while feeling guilty about the suicide of an elderly neighbor. "I thought to myself, 'Why didn't I go visit him, talk to him?'" he told The Los Angeles Times. "Maybe I could have saved his life."

So that weekend, he went to Nanjing Bridge, a landmark that's notorious as a destination for suicide jumpers. Since the bridge's opening 40 years ago, over 1,000 people have killed themselves by jumping into the water. Chen decided that, even if he couldn't save his neighbor, at least he may be able to save others from throwing their lives away.

On his first day patrolling the bridge, he came across a man in the process of crawling over the bridge's railing. I grabbed him by the waist, he hardly fought back," said Chen. "I pressed him to the ground. He started to cry."

The would-be jumper was distraught after losing his money to a con man, and believed that suicide was the only way out. But after Chen prevented him from jumping, the man realized he still had a lot to live for – his wife and children. Because the man was now penniless, Chen gave him enough money for bus fare to return home to his family.

"In a time of crisis, all people really need is one person willing to lend a hand," Chen said. "It could make the difference between life and death."

Shi Xiqing, another would-be jumper, who is now one of Chen's best friends, agrees. "This bridge needs people like him," Shi said. "Without him, I would not be here today."

SONG: The Part Where You Let Go by Hem

BOOK: Secret of Letting Go by Guy Finley

POEM: Today by William Stafford

The ordinary miracles begin. Somewhere

a signal arrives: "Now," and the rays

come down. A tomorrow has come. Open

your hands, lift them: morning rings

all the doorbells; porches are cells for prayer.

Religion has touched your throat. Not the same now,

you could close your eyes and go on full of light.

And it is already begun, the chord

that will shiver glass, the song full of time

bending above us. Outside, a sign:

a bird intervenes; the wings tell the air,

"Be warm." No one is out there, but a giant

has passed through town, widening streets, touching

the ground, shouldering away the stars.

QUOTE: "Smile, breathe and go slowly." ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

Spring (Richard Shindell)

From Today's Writer's Almanac:

Today is the first day of spring, the vernal equinox in the Northern Hemisphere. The Earth is tilted on its axis, so as it travels around the Sun each pole is sometimes tilted towards the Sun and sometimes tilted away. It is this tilt that causes the seasons, as well as the shortening and lengthening of daylight hours. On this day, the north and south poles are equally distant from the sun, so we will have almost exactly the same amount of daytime as nighttime.

I love living in South Florida (we moved here 16 years ago this month) but the seasons are not easily discernible - when we lived in Atlanta, the four quadrants of the annual calendar exhibited visible lines of demarcation: fall's crunchy leaves, winter's frosted lawns, spring's bursting dogwoods and summer's oppressive humidity.

It's basically always warm, green and flowering in my part of the state (not that there's anything wrong with that!) - in fact, I, who have had a black thumb for most of my life, now appreciate being able to make almost any plant flourish under my oftentimes neglectful care. We have a yard full of various hibiscus, bougainvillea, bromeliads, crotons, an assortment of palms, ixora, liriope, thumbergia, and so many others - suffice it to say if it's vegetation, it grows with little or no help. I even have a gardenia bush on the side of the house that blooms for only a month (mid-April to mid-May), although it whacked out this year, started producing blossoms in January and it hasn't stopped yet - what a treat!

Spring is a time of rebirth, renewal and reawakening and I seem to be going through a bit of that myself... trying to find my way back from scramble mode to equilibrium, starting with cutting back my working-outside-the-home hours (soon, I hope) and downsizing my volunteer/committee work - it's continued with reclaiming my home office/guest bedroom (after Sarah's departure) and an ongoing effort to purge/consolidate/streamline. I appear to be breathing more and stressing less - I can already envision more reading for pleasure and walking for health... :-)

I have a calligraphic print on my dining room wall entitled Chaos: Where Great Dreams Begin - the text reads: "Before a great vision can become reality there may be difficulty. Before a person begins a great endeavor, they may encounter chaos. As a new plant breaks the ground with difficulty, foreshadowing the huge tree, so must we sometimes push against difficulty in bringing forth our dreams."

Here's/cheers to embracing change in order to achieve vision - puuuuuuuuuusssssssshhhhhhhhhhh!

SONG: Spring by Richard Shindell

BOOK: Silent Spring by Rachel Carson

POEM: Starting With Little Things by William Stafford

Love the earth like a mole,
fur-near. Nearsighted,
hold close the clods,
their fine-print headlines.
Pat them with soft hands --

Like spades, but pink and loving; they
break rock, nudge giants aside,
affable plow.
Fields are to touch;
each day nuzzle your way.

Tomorrow the world.

QUOTE: In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt." ~ Margaret Atwood

So Quiet in Here/Into the Mystic (Van Morrison)

SONG(S): So Quiet in Here /Into the Mystic by Van Morrison

BOOK: Even in Quiet Places: Poems by William Stafford

POEM: Sonnets to Orpheus, Part Two, XXIX by Rainer Maria Rilke

Quiet friend who has come so far,

feel how your breathing makes more space around you.

Let this darkness be a bell tower

and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.

Move back and forth into the change.

What is it like, such intensity of pain?

If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night,

be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,

the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,

say to the silent earth: I flow.

To the rushing water, speak: I am.

QUOTE: "The deeper that sorrow carves into your being the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?" ~ Kahlil Gibran

I Saw a Bird Fly Away (Dar Williams)

SONG: I Saw a Bird Fly Away by Dar Williams

BOOK: Bird Signs: Guidance and Wisdom from Our Feathered Friends (Book & Cards) by G.G. Carbone (Author), Mary Ruzicka (Illustrator)

POEM: Spirit of Place: Great Blue Heron by William Stafford

Out of their loneliness for each other

two reeds, or maybe two shadows, lurch

forward and become suddenly a life

lifted from dawn or the rain. It is

the wilderness come back again, a lagoon

with our city reflected in its eye.

We live by faith in such presences.

It is a test for us, that thin

but real, undulating figure that promises,

"If you keep faith I will exist

at the edge, where your vision joins

the sunlight and the rain: heads in the light,

feet that go down in the mud where the truth is."

(on a plaque in Portland's City Hall, for Portland's city bird)

QUOTE: "I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven." ~ Emily Dickinson

You Turn Me On, I'm a Radio (Joni Mitchell)

Such a lovely birthday yesterday... starting with our UU church service on the theme of Faith - I then drove down to Miami to be on Michael Stock's Folk and Acoustic Show to promote our upcoming Labyrinth Cafe concert series, for which I do the booking.

I had a blast chatting with Michael and sharing stories of the upcoming performers, as well as playing their CDs - what I had presumed to be a 30-minute slot of airtime stretched into an hour. At the very end I had asked Michael if, after we wrapped up Labyrinth conversation, I could play two songs - I told him it was my 53rd birthday and couldn't think of anyplace I'd rather spend it than sharing my music passion. He then spun Susan's House, a most delightful song my friend Laurie wrote for my birthday last year... and then You're Aging Well, my personal anthem - I found out later my daughter Sarah had been listening in and cried her way through both (very validating to think it helped her understand my endeavors a bit more... :-)

Came home to nap and then out to dinner with the rest of the family, as a combined celebration with Eric, whose friend Ryan also joined us - we went to a Chinese buffett and, 3/4 of the way through the meal, my husband, who's allergic to shellfish, began having a reaction. Fortunately we had taken two cars so Sarah drove him home to load up on Benadryl while the boys finished eating - we stopped at Publix to get a cake (since we were planning to savor the desserts at the restaurant) and opened cards and presents in the comforts of home (and medication!). It was my turn to cry at the sweet messages from my family - we then sang Happy Birthday (I inadvertently used trick candles... :-) and I was in the bed by 10:30 p.m... definitely not my modus operandi but, after the full weekend and last week's Falcon Ridge trip, I had hit the proverbial wall...

Great day past, great year ahead - nothing like crossroads and milestones to keep a journey fresh and anticipatory...

SONG: You Turn Me On, I'm a Radio by Joni Mitchell

BOOK: Public Radio: Behind the Voices by Lisa A. Phillips

POEM: by William Stafford ~ When I Met My Muse
I glanced at her and took my glasses
off - they were still singing. They buzzed
like a locust on the coffee table and then
ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the
sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and
knew that nails up there took a new grip
on whatever they touched. "I am your own
way of looking at things," she said. "When
you allow me to live with you, every
glance at the world around you will be
a sort of salvation." And I took her hand.

QUOTE: "If I were not a physicist, I would probably be a musician. I often think in music. I live my daydreams in music. I see my life in terms of music." ~ Albert Einstein

Gentle Arms of Eden (Dave Carter)

My friend M has a lovely ritual on her blog, whereby she refers to each of the people in her life by a fictitious name (either self-chosen or christened) of gods/goddesses, figures in novels/movies or even Disney characters - it preserves anonymity and it also provides history, mystery and more than a touch of romance/color commentary... :-)

I've been curious as to just which mythical persona I'd choose for myself and this morning went googling for something appropriate, typing in the keywords of "goddess of music" (duh!) - I came up with the following, which seems to fit perfectly, not only for the harmonic part of the equation, but for my love of verse, discovery, creativity, the ocean and kids (I taught/directed preschool for 10 years). Plus I'm drawn to anything Asian, whether furniture/decor/art style or Zen/Buddhist philosophy - to paraphrase MCC, I think I'll keep her!

"BENZAITEN or Benten
Goddess of Music, Poetry, Learning, Art
Goddess of the Sea, Protector of Children

The sea goddess Benzaiten is the sole female among the Seven Lucky Gods of Japan. Her temples and shrines are almost invariably in the neighborhood of water -- the sea, a river, or a pond. She is the patroness of music, the fine arts (dancing, acting, visual) and good fortune in general and is often shown carrying a biwa (Japanese mandolin) or playing a lute. She is often represented as a beautiful woman with the power to assume the form of a serpent or shown seated on a dragon or serpent and playing a lute. In fact, the snake is almost always associated with Benzaiten, who was originally a Hindu deity (Sarasvati) who represented learning, music and poetry. Such artistic learning and wisdom often bring prosperity, hence her inclusion in the Japanese group of seven luckies. She also has a jewel that grants desires. Some say it is a jade, while others say it is a pearl.

Images of Benzaiten often show her with eight arms, holding objects such as bow, arrow, wheel, sword, key, lock and sacred jewel; sometimes two of the hands are folded in reverent prayer. She arrived in Japan soon after the introduction of Buddhism to this island in the 6th century and her worship was based largely on her attributes as described in the Sutra of Golden Light."

P.S. I've often spoken of my technoweenie self and, through investigation and trial/error, blogging has helped me overcome so many cyber-roadblocks - today I learned how to hyperlink (what a concept, eh?... :-) so I'll be using that form to provide further information from now on and, when I have/make time, will go back to edit past posts (zippity!).

SONG: Gentle Arms of Eden by Dave Carter

BOOK: The Red Book: A Deliciously Unorthodox Approach to Igniting Your Divine Spark by Sera J. Beak

POEM: Security by William Stafford

Tomorrow will have an island. Before night
I always find it. Then on to the next island.
These places hidden in the day separate
and come forward if you beckon.
But you have to know they are there before they exist.

Some time there will be a tomorrow without any island.
So far, I haven't let that happen, but after
I'm gone others may become faithless and careless.
Before them will tumble the wide unbroken sea,
and without any hope they will stare at the horizon.

So to you, Friend, I confide my secret:
to be a discoverer you hold close whatever
you find, and after a while you decide
what it is. Then, secure in where you have been,
you turn to the open sea and let go.

QUOTE: "I, the fiery light of divine wisdom, I ignite the beauty of the plains, I sparkle the waters, I burn the sun and the moon and the stars, with wisdom I order all rightly. I adorn the earth. I am the breeze that nurtures all things green. I am the rain coming from the dew that causes the grasses to laugh with the joy of life. I call forth tears, the aroma of holy work. I am the yearning for good." ~ Hildegard of Bingen

Movie of My Life (Susan Werner)

This afternoon I realized it's been a full month since I began blogging... and I've actually managed to post something every day - I don't always achieve my goals, deadlines and wishlists but it's comforting to know that when I set my mind to something, I have a greater chance of achieving. Hmmmm - no rocket science message there... :-)

What started out as a song/book/poem/quote cut-and-dried exercise has become fuller over time - I decided to add pictures to accompany each post and am quite pleased with the results. I'm "talking" more, injecting a bit of myself into the day's contributions - it feels comfortable, as I'm overcoming my technoweenie self to learn and grow in a cyber-environment.

Basically, though, I still consider it a journal - at this point, I've only shared the site with three people in my life... and others seem to have stumbled across it. Maybe I'll tell a few more - maybe not. I'm not actively searching for validation or applause or feedback (of course, it's always nice when they happen organically) - this ritual has become my mind/body/spirit meditation... and it feels good to slow down enough to do something daily with forethought, creativity and intention.

P.S. The picture will make sense when you read the song lyrics!

SONG: Movie of My Life by Susan Werner

BOOK: Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life by Amy Krouse Rosenthal

POEM: What's in My Journal by William Stafford

Odd things, like a button drawer. Mean
Things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand.
But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable.
Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous
discards. Space for knickknacks, and for
Alaska. Evidence to hang me, or to beatify.
Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected
anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind
that takes genius. Chasms in character.
Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above
a new grave. Pages you know exist
but you can't find them. Someone's terribly
inevitable life story, maybe mine.

QUOTE: "When we think of beauty, we often think of those things we cannot hold... the moments when we are loved, the distant rainbow, the sweet ordinariness of times when nothing exceptional happens, but we are aware of doors to other worlds and the shaft of light drenches the now with unspeakable joy." ~ Rita Gormley