Spring was on the horizon when I last checked in and now the Summer Solstice is here and the Strawberry Full Moon will rise low in the sky tomorrow evening. The Japanese Cherry blossoms that dazzled in April are a mere memory, as are the pink delights of Dogwoods’ bracts. Rhododendrons and Peonies, always up to the astonishment challenge, too have faded. Fortunately an array of Roses have stepped in, scenting the air with both spicy and sweet aromatics. And my lips are stained red with Farmers’ Market bounty of Strawberries, Cherries, and Raspberries. We have crossed over into a most delicious time of year.
Sojourning with Stillness: Collaborating with Kindness
three weeks in. three weeks into this sojourn and. three weeks and a few days into this sojourn and Stillness finally said “you are making this more complicated than it needs to be.” let me back up to where i left off in my last blog post, “Disconnected.”
after i left my West Highland Way (WHW) companions, it took a couple of days to exhale and expand into my own space again. my roommate was lovely. she would make a “cuppa” at the end of every day for both of us. we were both respectful of the space we shared and made a genuine connection (and are remaining in contact)—so perhaps my perception of connection needed to shift? what was i focusing on? at that point on the journey, my perceptions were more like a kaleidoscope shifting moment-by-moment. no wonder Stillness was waiting to offer insights.
Lessons from the Pandemic: Stories Grief Weaves
Spring has begun in earnest in the Pacific Northwest. Daffodils are in yellow and orange abundance. Plum and cherry trees blushing to life. And Daphne’s aroma intoxicating for blocks on end. Blue sky, dry days are joy, sun warming Earth and skin. Rain is gentle, coming and going as tide. We need each drop to recover from a lingering drought. That the rain falling off-and-on this week without a storm’s full-on bluster is gift. No flooding.
Spring’s energy has been rising for weeks and after two years of all the upheaval Covid has wrought, there is a giddiness in the air of hope that the worse is behind us, even as more chapters are being written. At least that is what the birds are singing. Or…it is mating season?
Lessons from the Pandemic: Where's the Grief?
An invitation. A plea. Please, what ever you are doing in this moment—stop. Take a minute. Two. A half-hour. More. Breathe deeply if you are able. Too much? Then shallow, light breaths. Pants. Sips of air. If that is all your body can handle—take that in and then let those molecules slip out between your lips, one-by-one. Slide back in. Slow yourself down. Please. No hurry to read the rest of this blog. Set your phone down. “Sleep” your computer. Take time to nurture your soul. My words will be waiting. Step away for a spell and I’ll reconnect with you in a while…
Lesson From My Mentor, Grief: Sitting With Discomfort While Embracing Beauty
Tulips began erupting from their sleek oval bulbs in April. Long stems hugged by thick winged leaves, one flower per stem. Colors the pastel pink of tongues, the vibrant red of heartbeats, the cream of moonbeams, the yellow of lemon drops held in cupped hands. Tulips surpassing their daffodil bulbed relations with a flourish by month’s end. One completing their laborious cycle, having awakened in late winter with tips barely gracing the earth to now drooping in browned petaled demise, waiting to fall back into dormancy. The other, as their cycle nears completion, throws open their petals with wild abandon, tossing them to the ground one-by-one leaving the stem bewildered, naked for all to see. Daffodils, my heart flower, resonates with the steadfastness that is the root of me. And yet, in slowing my pace during this pandemic time, the allure of tulips is calling to the wild in me. A wild that keeps bobbing to the surface with greater frequency with each passing year.
