Authenticity, and Needlepoint for Men

From Wikipedia:

Roosevelt "Rosey" Grier (born July 14, 1932) is an American actor, singer, Christian minister, and former professional American football player. He was a notable college football player for The Pennsylvania State University who earned a retrospective place in the National Collegiate Athletic Association 100th anniversary list of 100 most influential student athletes. As a professional player, Grier was a member of the New York Giants and the original Fearsome Foursome of the Los Angeles Rams. He played in the Pro Bowl twice.

After Grier's professional sports career he worked as a bodyguard for Robert Kennedy during the 1968 presidential campaign and was guarding the senator's wife, Ethel Kennedy, during the Robert F. Kennedy assassination. Although unable to prevent that killing, Grier took control of the gun and subdued the shooter, Sirhan Sirhan.

Grier's other activities have been colorful and varied. He hosted his own Los Angeles television show and made approximately 70 guest appearances on various shows during the 1960s and 1970s.
As a singer, Grier first released singles on the A label in 1960, and over the following twenty-five years he continued to record on various labels including Liberty, Ric, MGM and A&M.^[1] His recording of a tribute to Robert Kennedy, "People Make The World" (written by Bobby Womack) was his only chart single, peaking at #128 in 1968.

Grier is known for his serious pursuit of hobbies not traditionally associated with men such as macrame and needlepoint. He has authored several books, including Rosey Grier's Needlepoint for Men in 1973. Grier became an ordained Christian minister in 1983 and travels as an inspirational speaker. He founded American Neighborhood Enterprises, a nonprofit organization that serves inner city youth.

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A note from me. I love this man.

You never know when you're making an impression, good or bad. What you do and who you are matters -- whether you're big or small, public or private.

Be bold and unique, be yourself and relish in it. Take your 100 or so years on our little rock in the galaxy and what you do...and be proud of yourself.

Decisions to Be: Grateful

Since that last post I’ve felt gratitude, and I’ve felt not so much gratitude. For several moments I have been down on myself: I thought I was schizophrenic, or too moody. Was I really grateful, or what that a bunch of lip service? Where does being grateful go when it “goes away”?

I want to remind myself today that above all else, gratitude is a choice. And it’s a gift. And it’s closely related to the word grace, also a gift, also free. Both will get you back to feeling good in no time. And when things are looking bleak, it really helps to remember that we choose to be, or not to be, grateful.

There are two speeds in my life I’m interested in looking at this morning: the speed of my moods and emotional states, and the speed of the actual circumstances I encounter in my life. For the most part, and save the occasional drastic shift of life events, circumstances move slowly. They involve mass, inertia, other people; they are physical and dense and seem more or less “set”.

Circumstances can be things like a partner, a job, a home, mortgage payment schedule, your childrens’ personalities — and usually they don’t change, or not quickly at least. But moods do, and do again. My moods fly around fast like little birds, hopping from one tree to another, her feeder, his day-old bread, flitting from one neighborhood to the next, one view to the next. Does this sound familiar: I love my partner, I hate my partner. I am patient with my children, I am not patient with my children. I can afford to go out to lunch. No, no I shouldn’t go out to lunch. I am happy in my home, it’s perfect. I want to move; this place is too small for us. My moods migrate from one expansive emotional territory to another, and they’re as light — or as dark — as air. Quick. I move through them relatively fast, and I often don’t even know what causes, sustains or changes them.

I can (and have tried) to blame my crazy moods on my circumstances…but this logic is increasingly failing me, and this morning I’m getting hit over the head with this realization once again. Often times, the exact same circumstances that may piss me off on Tuesday can give offer peace and joy tomorrow morning. So it’s more and more clear to me that my moods and how I feel about things aren’t actually a direct by-product of my outer circumstances. The circumstances, remember, are SLOW, SAME. My moods are FAST, CHANGING. So what’s going on here?

This is the nature of the mind. The mind — maybe not yours, but mine — loves to get its panties in a wad about stuff. I remember how excited I was as a kid when I was allowed to get a soda at some fast food place. My favorite soda flavor was the suicide. Remember that? It was every flavor: Coke, Dr. Pepper, Sprite, Root Beer, Diet Coke (maybe), Lemonade. All in one cup. Totally gross, and yes: we called this a suicide. What an interesting name! A little of everything in one cup = suicide. This is what I feel like when I’m all over the place, spinning out, trying every flavor, compiling it all in one cup to drink. Enjoyable? Tasty? Not sure. Does feeling and thinking a hundred different thoughts which cancel themselves out and contradict one another taste delicious. I think not. The mind can make me feel crazy if I let it. To the inner state of peace that’s ever waiting just under the turbulence of my monkey monkey thoughts, it must feel a lot like a murder…

What I’m aware of, and what I’m practicing on any given day, is that I COULD, theoretically, choose to find something to be grateful for. No matter how my circumstances appear, no matter how they may compare to hers or his…I could choose to be grateful.

This morning, I’m grateful for an empty house. Some time to drink my coffee in silence. An allotted space in which to do my creative work, and get organized. The same things that put me into a black temper last evening, two afternoons ago, etc. haven’t gone away. But what were they again? Rather than feeling crazy, I will just assume that this is the mind’s play…the ongoing drama…that we’re all eventually going to see for what it’s worth. Mind stuff. Fluff. Ego. Me stepping out of the mystery, the miracle, and thinking that I’ve got how it “is” dialed.

God: let’s hope not.

I am grateful for perspective, choice and space today.

Peek up through something in your way and take a moment and ask yourself what you’re grateful for? Just one small thing can help turn the corner. It’s a choice, and a [FREE] gift.

Grateful

Yes: I have a belly full, some not much but some money, a loving husband, a nice dog who sheds too much, an old but functioning vacuum. I've got two door bell kids, and windchimes that are chiming outside my windows, open on this moonless, cold night, letting some fresh air inside and mingling with the heat coming off our new wood stove. One hard decision I made today was whether or not to continue with the iCal set-up, or move back to writing things down in the Quo Vadis. Analog, digital. Analog, digital. Really.

I note: if these are the kinds of things that are making me scratch my head what breed of fortunate am I not? It's easy to consider myself lucky a day after Thanksgiving. The gratitude pump is all primed and we're formally kicked into our season of abundance, overeating, extremes, intensity, socializing and -- ideally -- loving each other a little bit harder. For me, at least, it's a good time.

I've noticed, though, that my Thanksgiving seasons are getting longer, and longer and longer. They extend well into December and up until and through Christmas. I was at King Sooper's night before last and went up to greet all the cut down trees awaiting the crank down of dusty Christmas tree stands, dry heat, and neglectful watering. I inhaled their woodsy upbringing. I teared up and began laughing at the same time. I could try to explain, but I won't. Gratitude.

There's usually a little blip for me around December 25th where I'm American style psycho stressed and predictably straddling the love/hate line of the holiday season. Kids are helping me get over myself more and more. And then, after a lot of doing stuff, January comes and I'm grateful for the new evident longer days...detox, clean surfaces, new beginnings, that Quo Vadis I bought today. I have an intense invitation and impulse to de-clutter. I appreciate white walls, re-potted plants, simply steamed greens. I celebrate my birthday, I soak in hot springs with dear friends. And I reinvigorate my practices and good habits. January is a gentle, strange month. Somewhat of a let down, used to be, but actually quite welcome now.

And then comes pink and red and short snowy February. Valentine's Day is an easy target -- I used to detest it. But then I loved to hate it, I graduated to making fun of it, of lovers, of being a lover and calling myself "lover" and generally just overusing that word. But now I actually kind of love VD, and February, and making things your own -- that whole creative challenge. Feb 14 is my dad's anniversary and a day after my daughter Phoebe's birthday. It's such a short month, and wow: Black History month. Gotta love all of that. All months should be so lucky. And yes: OK. Here's March. Longer, dreary still, but crocuses start smiling nearby and my crappy hiking shoes are getting a breath of air, muddy soles, toe stank, some good fecund life stories.

School feels different for the kids, and there's usually a trip to take somewhere -- maybe this spring break we'll actually plan something? A little drive...a picnic somewhere new...at least sleep in regularly? Most people do this around now. I know what I'll be Googling tomorrow. In April, my other favorite month, Willoree will turn 6. It might rain some more. I love rain so much, maybe you do too?

I am beginning to plant rows of peas, Willoree will arrange them and sing to them. I am saving money for gardening things, cooking differently, and eventually I'll uproot (finally) last year's thick, neglected stalks of kale, collards, cauliflower. Weeds even seeming OK, welcome. If I have snow tires I might thing of taking them off, but that will be premature. I am grateful; life's running me at a pretty good clip. Where does the time go?

May is this harbinger of all things good, loud, yang to come. People are getting social, I notice. When I lived in NYC I called it boobie season. Warm weather comes and all the girls are wearing skimpy tank tops, and their breasts are bobbing all over the place as they walk, fast, all over the place. Probably more than 4 million girls = 8 millions boobies just out swaying in the springtime breeze. I guess I was one of them. Life's looking brighter. Days qualify as being long now, and we're all getting senior-itis in our own ways.

Perhaps Quella's shedding is under control. I am sleeping as well as ever, and eating and working and always feeling the balancing act that is my life. I am working out. I usually take out all the old Abraham recordings and give them a listen, a spring/early summer thing that has inadvertently become a regular thing with me. I am thrilled. Brewing. In love. Tilling. Planting.

Summer whirs, and I never know what summer will bring. It will pass too fast, but seem too slow while it's happening, much in the same way that parents I know have described their kids' childhoods. There will be teeth lost, words learned, miles traveled, new ideas let's hope and memories; aches and pains and a lot of laundry hanging on the line. Mosquito bites and fresh food, farmer's markets, small scrapes and overpowering heat and brown shoulders, more work, late nights, the sounds of box fans in the windows. Ben and I will paint the house, and read more chapters in more books...outloud, to each other, to ourselves. My practice is heavy and juicy and my hair is longer; I will wear new shoes that don't hurt my feet, throw the old ones out I've been wearing now for six years. I deserve some new shoes. I am so grateful. The whir of it all.

The fall comes and I breathe it in deeply. I think to myself: yes, fall is really my favorite season (even though spring comes and I wonder whether spring is actually my favorite season) and we celebrate Ben's birthday, our wedding anniversary, the little NM sunflowers that bloom for Ben and the splay of gnarly fucking 9" long grasshoppers are grossing me out hourly. I use Ben's September 5th birthday as a New Year's Day of sorts: a time to count my blessings, love him better, forgive myself all my asshole moments. I adore our setting, glowing and rich and flowers everywhere...colorful and abundant and home. I am aware and appreciative of the simplicity with which we operate and the complexities I can't seem to escape. I get the sheer retardation of my plodding. I drink some coffee, or tea, or a beer. Definitely good water. I stay curious about peak foods. I am uplifted, renewed, growing; I am still alive. And I'm grateful.

I moved to CO late October years and years ago and October's face -- a first snow, the smell of leaves against that impossibly blue sky, all the nuance of brown and tan around here, pumpkins lying around --  makes me twirl in my heart and head. I delight in the feelings of being in a new place, hopeful of a new relationship, living in a new home, another new beginning. October has become petting zoos, corn mazes, fundraisers at school and (by the way dear god please don't let me NOT buy a butter braid for Willoree next year or she'll be so, so sad) and going inside. I will head to Rebecca's more often. I crave sushi, retreat, and appreciate all over again the yoga retreat I was attending last year with my BBBBBBFs. I sell some of Angela's CDs and DVDs.

I will prepare for another November, as if it just happened yesterday -- and will not have lost sight of the "importance" of things like iCal vs. Quo Vadis. The ludicrous, sweet nature of being a human with planning and organization needs in the 21st century. The spirit underlying all of it, unchanging, unchanging. I sweep up dog hair. On my best days I am truly, deeply grateful. On my worst: I am overwhelmed, and forgetful of the shakti animating all, every, now. Even my lapses of awareness. The dog hair, like my soul, goes on. The CD is on repeat.

I might complain about clutter, have pant in wad when I'm running late. I have spent hours obsessing about which snow tires to put on my car. Dumb shit, life kind of shit. I peep down occasionally and realize that I'm a wealth of OK-ness. I'm one bad ass little boo bunny puja. Gratitude will not let up. 

We can time travel as needed. We do it all the time. We might try the Mexican-themed Thanksgiving next year, and we hope to see you there. Hott. I am hoping that you all are doing OK, and if you're not, you probably will be again. Not to make light of any of us. Maybe a little.

I am grateful right now for this doing pretty well state I find myself in, and I know that it won't last. I'll hit some more walls, fall down, hate and curse and feel oceans of self-pity again, probably. And I'll probably dear diary about that, too.

PS Ira Glass: thanks for bringing a cheer, again, to my hour.

Mothering Source

I don't have a lot to say quite yet about this wild and freeing project I'm calling Mothering Source. I am excited about it, though. Very much so.

I'm just busy, like you are. And I yearn to find a single, juicy place in which to pour myself...although I know that's impossible. I'm the multi-spout. But. 

I'm AM trying to reconcile the books, however. I'm trying make good with the flavor of God I've got. As much as I think on some days that I want to, I'm not leaving Longmont (with my fleece and down for a quiet adventure into inner space somewhere near Tibet.) Not at least while the babes are young and my commitment seems so obvious here.

So, GOD, LOVE, SPIRITUAL LIFE, all of that? It's got to unfold here, now. What I'm feeling is the the illusion of tomorrow, elsewhere, that setting, this class crashing down on my jam hands and dirty laundry and the sad, somewhat defeated AHA knowing (!!!) that oh. This is what she/he/they mean when they say start where you are.

My Mothering Source vision is to combine, write about and perhaps eventually teach about integrating seemingly opposing forces in my (and I'm guessing your) life: the desire for slowing down mashed up with life that seems to be speeding up. Meditation and silence with constant noise in the home. Simplifying alongside the complications of managing money, stuff, vacations, work, and self-care. I think it can be done.

While getting information at the click of a button is exciting to no end (repeat: to NO END) I actually find it annoying and overwhelming and, sometime, more hassle than help. It's like one of those loud ass toys that won't turn off. The lines indicating where to quit, when to turn down, how to unplug, etc. are really blurry these days. And we -- still human in most every cell I guess -- are pretty much fucking confused and freaking out. If you don't think you are, I would maybe want to argue with you...at least a little bit. Really, there's nothing that's making you hit overwhelm?

It's OK to go inside and be in the dark. It's delightful. And kind of hard when life presents this strange and perpetually sunny face of go-get-it ness. Not much of anywhere in modern culture do we support turning away from it all, though. Churches are weird for some of us, meditation and yoga can offer quick fixes, but once we get back to normal and the retreats/classes end we're back to crazy. And, mamas, are you noticing how your kids are doing in this situation? All good? If you're anything like me you may feel like you hanging on for dear life some days, or sad that your kids are being bombarded with marketing shit for a funner life from every angle. And you might want to sleep a lot. It's OK. Sleep is so good. It's actually quite natural to rest, retreat, go inside, play alone, participate less...can you recall what "natural" means? I do. I think.

The whole "householder" yoga speaks to this, but I think that term was created a long time ago. Among my shining lights? Well, who among them was living in 2012, with all this shit to deal with?

There are guides out here for us, though. And no guide is better than that little quiet, knowing place you call YOU. Make time for her today. Get still, be quiet, make some room. Her silence is really smart. It'll make you smarter. And it might make you cry, too.

Truly the desire to settle into the things that matter most is stronger than ever. This is something that calls me and I am doing it...I am figuring this all out in my own strange and unique ways. I borrow and get inspired from people like Maple Tree and Angela Farmer. Herbalists and people who smile and say hello to me vs. text someone else. It's a constant choice I'm making, and it gets so much easier the more I choose it. Truly: dropping the bs is self-resolving. It's like dumping abad boyfriend you are sure you're going to miss. But then you realize you actually so much happier without him. And so the decision is sustained.

Mamas: let's talk...

Summary

From a talk I just heard here:

http://www.saintstephensrichmond.net/clientimages/47922/audio/1-01%20sunday%20first%20half.mp3

Emily Cobb...one of many who seek to help us "de-literalize and find fresh and deeper meaning in deeper in our creeds and beliefs.

Loving Frank

Just finished this novel. I thought it was wonderful...one of the most satisfying reads in a while for me.

Presenting...the werd.

This entry is inspired by a podcast I was listening to today. It was an interview of Arjuna Ardagh by Tami Simon, about his notion of "living a translucent life". Wonderful word, translucent, and beautiful use of a word informing a philosophy. The call seems to be this: how do we simultaneously live in our bodies which hold our unique pain, fear, all the crap...how do we honorably inhabit the Mary-ness, Ben-ness, etc.-ness of the human drama...while ALSO allowing this gorgeous, unfaltering transmission of very impersonal divine light to shine forth? I don't know. I try, daily. It's not that hard, I guess, although it's often scary and takes me to places that freak me out. But I'm committed to untangling this as my days roll on. I will add that I fully agree with Arjuna that so much of the juicy, personal, deep work which helps us shine is quite accessible right close to home. (Great news for me, chained to totally mama-ing, often "stuck" at my crib and not creating a lot of time for classes, etc. But I do go to bed every night with a beloved guru...Ben.)

Side note -- early in the game: Ben and I are "doing the work", per se, but also enjoying being married. Inquisitive, contemplative types like myself can get addicted to seeking help, changing for the better, ever seeking arrival at some place of deeper peace, stillness...............always out there, one more book, one more class, one more re-birthing experience, one more emotional release...........but all that seeking and looking can also keep the "goal" at an impossible reach. Ask me how I know? Stop. Start again. But mostly stop. And now? I get that "words", and trying to "understand" universal truths via language, etc. is a potential trap, too, but OK, yeah. That's a large part of what I'm trying to write about here. So bear with me.

I love the notion of melding of self and Self. I am relieved by the suggestion that, rather than running off to India or seeking permission and inspiration to surrender to the divine from someone who comes off as "higher" than we are (a common Guru/disciple gig, I gather) the work is here, now, present, and usually thrown in our sweet, sun-kissed faces by none other than our kids, husbands, wives, neighbors, etc. Since so many of us ARE wives, employees, husbands, mothers, shoppers, etc. THIS is our chance. This is how the divine opens up to us. We need not go anywhere! For those seeking truth, lok no further than the understated romance with very normal stuff like laundry and and wiping your five year old's bottom. These are tip of iceberg-y, powerful and timely conversations, I think. And I am involved.

I'm wondering what more I can do to show up in a fuller, more vibrant expression of my self and Self. How best to use my gifts, my passions, my ideas and uniqueness...to serve. My design business is wonderful in a hundred ways, but I know I will be expressing myself differently in the years ahead.

I am thinking about words. I am thinking about how moved I am by beautiful stories, poems, conversations, by writing...by Satsangs. How good to get a sentence down that actually says what I'm wanting it to say, or to read one. I love the elegance of mathematical equations, as I love the elegance in superb phrasing. Words are fascinating, to say the least. And they are so, so limiting. Especially when they're used to discuss BIG concepts like "enlightenment", "forgiveness", "peace", "love", "perfection". The bigger the concept, the more the word struggles.

But even limited, words are important. They do not comprise all -- but make up a decent chunk of -- the celestial conversation and human drama. Words seek to unify, but my guess is that if you asked 100 people what "enlightenment" meant, you'd get 100 slightly different answers. And maybe we'd all suddenly be pants down pontificating about what's what, what's real, what's the deal, who's got it just right. Interesting, but doesn't that get old? When words fail...we get lost in their shortcomings, too.

Shout out to the really good poets.

But alas, we're sort of stuck with them. And boy do we love to hear ourselves talk sometimes. They're like old friends who can prop us up, make another person laugh at the perfect time. Let's try to get better at the discourse, and perhaps personalize it. Let's personalize our language, deeply understand and pour ourselves into these words we use, so we can let them go...

In the interview, Arjuna spoke about a tendency that some "spiritual" folks have to avoid (?) our uncomfortable circumstances (inside and out) by reverting back to this "spiritual idea" that everything's "perfect." Shit happens. Feelings are hurt. Koko's sad. X triggers Y. But it's cool: it's all "perfect". Choose happy thoughts! Get with joy. "Joy." And "meaning." And didn't we miss something here?

What's in-between? I am so struck at how damaging, or confusing, this idea of reverting to an ephemeral, cerebral understanding of "perfection" could be. And, further, what's so "imperfect" about the things presenting themselves here and now? What is perfection, anyways? And what is its face? Peaceful? Quiet? Loving? Stillness? Do you have to jump somewhere to get back to "perfection" when it's "lost"? I know people who move around doing stuff constantly, but who are still, and I'm grateful that they are helping me see a little more clearly what "stillness" can mean! I mean "mean."

And maybe more interesting, what face of perfection do I find most comfortable, and maybe -- just maybe -- could I play around with eradicating that particular self-limiting idea and just face the x, y or z at hand? Thereby residing in the perfection of an honest moment? I get excellent mileage from that. Galactic speed, in a place where speed is irrelevant.

I was thinking back to a time or two when I was trying to "help" someone who was in a dark place with a well-intentioned word, or idea that -- oops, well shit -- backfired. My "good" words caused more confusion that clarity. I may be doing that here, post after post! But discovering how to be with words in a healthy way -- as a lover or words -- is a very real struggle for me. And I think that I'm not alone. I sometimes even shy in the reverent shadows that BIG words evoke...so much so that I shy away from jumping in, playing with how that particular word or concept flows with and through me, and thereby I miss a really good chance of "landing" whatever the concept was that the word was advertising. So yes: timeless concepts can remain trapped in insufficient words. And what good is that?

I meditate every day. Is that the same as your meditation every day? What do we think, what do we assume about each other that both combines and divides each others' experiences here on the planet?

We are all editors and composers in some sense or another. And we're all living in these very new, strange hybrid kinds of lives whereby we straddle things spoken and impossible to articulate. So be it. And is not all of it an invitation to experience "perfection"?

More...

This idea of "perfection" is a totally great idea. And of course, it's bigger than an idea: it's a great and discoverable truth. And as such, let's apply it to all situations, good bad and ugly, moment to moment, and really lean on that. Moments are OK, neutral, inviting. Just as they are, in sequential progression. If I'm in a tangle with a friend, and my body is registering tightness, blockage, my throat feels hot, etc. what is so scary about trusting in and inviting the perfection in that moment to unveil itself, and step me into the light? So what if I fall "down". Call it falling up! And resolve the tension. Free the tension. Relax into it. What's so scary?

I'm still negotiating this...but the more deeply I do, the more deeply I fall totally in love with this working, and very inclusive idea of perfection. The more I can let messy be OK. And the more I can allow authentic exchange in my life.

OK -- so this all started with this idea to serve in as translator between concept, word and individual. I think that if we can absolve our relationships with certain words, and the concepts they are trying to convey, we can actually jump straight into the concept...bypassing mental "understandings" of them...and more easily embody what we were after in the first place. In the end, I do think that words are rendered useless. But in the meantime...

In the meantime...

Well.

I will hit publish. And wonder why I spent an hour writing this.

And enjoy silence as often as possible. With some good conversation, music, and stuff thrown in. Loving it all...

An Album - Shooting the Average, One Fine Early Spring Day

St. Vrain Greenway. Got out the iPhone. Decided to shoot the ordinary today.

And so we begin.

 

Better like this. Because no motor vehicles. Nice that the whole walk is not almost allowing MVs.

Sweet Willa took this shot of me and Phoebe.

 

Shy smile, hiked up mermaid shirt, dirty cords.

 

Thanks, nurses walking along the path. Cheesy.

Good day to the shadow cracks.

Filters and filtered light, tree, sun.

What's up 1974? Sweet teeth! I bite...

My fav wall. Flagstone an industry around here.

Shadow hands of my kids, embracing me with their shadow hands amidst my old shoe.

 

Look at this sprockety spike fescue, acting wild against the river's edge. While house cranes roof to see from background.

 

Another shot from Willa; she wanted to capture the sparkles in the river. Did she?

We stop and hunt for heart-shaped rocks, probably shipped in from somewhere and milled to specs. Note the right angles of suburban shadows; we are not wild.

This looks good!

 

What is a walk with my darling head children on this path without card without stopping at Left Hand Brewery for some pretzels? Alas, we cannot get in.

But we see that birds take residence nearby to the pretzel and beer place. They make nests and live in trees like normal, but include plastic in their homes. Like we do! We are not wild, or this is wild?

 

Love this flavor.

Just a logo.

Fire color under the bridge; sweet surprise. Willoree remarked that the river must be getting a lot of exercise bc it's always moving. Joggers pass by.

Above that bridge is the sign that backwards people can read.

This is too close to Papyrus to remark without a little bit of uuguh.

My total favorite rusted metal pole. OMG.

Path leads to home, across the lake, past wild rose and a rock crushing factory. The mesh is a JUST SAY NO TO BEAVERS ideology; surrounding some trees.

Keeps me in, keeps me around.

Foot foot.

Roses hip me.

 I have two hips.

She has two hips.

Cattails have no hips. Do you see what monochromatic pre-spring Colorado is doing to me? Nuances are everywhere, like motorcycles.

Walks take a long time with a Pilgrim who's bent on taking it all in, every step. I sing many songs.

Juniper.

Longs Peak.

That rock cement making factory alluded to a few back. Great work, guys!

That's our house across the lake -- house: you know who you are! Holla!!

Trees that were once young, and upwardly mobile, then went through the fence, then got choked and girdled but absorbed the fence anyways and kept on growing, mildly deformed according to some...not to me.

 

1/3 panorama ...

... 2/3 panorama ...

... 3/3 panorama

What's a barrio these days without Mexican horses?

These tracks are bound for glory.

You don't see the hand; it's holding mine.

Time to plant, weed, make-shift table at home. Tomorrow...

We get home, take off our shoes, welcome wagon style to the kitchen for a late lunch and, later, some gum. I water seedlings, get Phoebe down for a nap. Ponder, wash a dish, work a minute, download.

Lastly, I just re-read these FOUR IMMEASURABLES, as a means to an invite of dedication. To what? To whatever! On my knees for this or that reason, or walking around, and of course in my various seats, while spreading peanut butter, filling the gas tank watching the price get so high, tapping this keyboard. May it be so! Om Shanti on the 3x.

May all sentient beings have equanimity, free from attachment, aggression and prejudice. 
May they be happy, and have the causes for happiness. 
May they be free from suffering and causes for suffering. 
May they never be separated from the happiness that is free from suffering. (3x)

Almetto's Labyrinth...

My step-father, Tom Schulz, recently completed a compelling project in Charlotte, NC. He's an artist, and much of his work is creating Labyrinths made of stained concrete. This one was for a remarkable woman named Almetto Howey Alexander. I am sending congratulations! And I badly want to go to Charlotte next week and walk it, walk it with my children, and give this woman and big hug. Tom writes,

What is your dream?

Almetto Howey Alexander dreamed of a Labyrinth in 2002. She stayed the course until she walked the path. What is your dream, Pilgrim? And where does your journey take you? To Healing. And Meditation. To Education. And Community. Walk your every walk with Almetto. We need all the good we can get. Now and evermore. Thank you.



From my aunt Mary's web site, which is devoted to educating and fundraising for this project:
 
About the Design of the Labyrinth

In November 2007, Almetto Alexander attended the opening of the Jack Matney Memorial Labyrinth Courtyard, where she met Tom Schulz, the artist who designed and built the labyrinth and prayerwall located at Presbyterian Hospital's center courtyard.

In 2009, Artist Tom Schulz prepared a proposal for the labyrinth. He designed a specific labyrinth that, while based on the conventional eleven-circuit pattern, speaks to the ancient African origins of the labyrinth. His studies and to-scale painting interpret aspects of Almetto Howey Alexander's life journey through personalized symbolism, imagery and color. The top goal for 2010 is to raise $51,000 to prepare the location, pour the substrate, and to employ EnnisArts, LLC to bring the labyrinth to completion. [read more...]

“The labyrinth is my dedication to the Washington Heights [in the historic west end district of Charlotte, NC] community to inspire people of all ages to find a peaceful place to reflect, refocus, heal, meditate, find peace of mind and pray," says Mrs. Alexander.

Why I Love Hairdryers, and a Holler Bach to Trista.

And I never, ever use them. UNLESS

I go to the gym...which I never, ever do, UNLESS

I magically get a free pass to go to a really nice gym, in which case, I'll do it nightly for the five consecutive nights gifted to me and get my sweat on until the pass runs out. (I did this in Bend, OR, too with Ben's sister and loved it -- thanks, Tia!) When I get an extra $$$ I'll spend it on gym membership, I think, because I learn through these experiences that I am fond of gyms. That's news to me. Shout out to Haven for the 5-day pass to the nice gym in Boulder.

Two discoveries:

1) Trista Hollerbach the yoga teacher.

Hands down one of the most seasoned, rooted, inspiring and excellent yoga classes I've been to in a good while. I love it when teachers offer real, deeply investigative inspiration to court the divine. She did this so naturally, and so accessibly! No pretense, no barriers; all shakti, confidence, love and union. She teaches a (very well attended) class at the Colorado Athletic Club on Tuesday nights, 5PM. I'm not alone in saying I think I love this lady, I love her so, and just being around her is a grounding, whole-body invitation to a deeper love affair with my practice.

A couple of times tears of relief fell off my cheeks during class. Love those. When and if I ever teach my own classes, she is who I want to emulate. Her class was challenging, flowy, slow but fast enough, fast but slow enough, and peppered with her insights, suggestions and easy encouragement. The wisdom of the season shone through. She gave us a recipe. The music was almost as good as the music that Isha plays during her classes...

Trista has a lot of initials after her name, none of which I know anything about, but I gather she is a sex therapist in addition to a yoga teacher. Sex therapists: a noble and fascinating gift to humankind. Oh, the places we can go!

I am so, so very grateful for all of my wonderful yoga and meditation teachers, to my comrades, my peeps, this morning. You know who you are!

2) Hairdryers make me cry? WTF!

Turn them on: they remind me of getting ready for a date. (What are those, again?) It was Friday night, the ladies at the gym stood in front of mirrors drying their hair, mostly naked at least from the waist up. Naturally beautiful and readying themselves for supper? Or their first walk around town in the early spring? Maybe meeting their husbands of 20, 25 years in town for a meal? Beauty.

I fantasized: these gals were feeling strong enough and well cared for, juicy and alive and in love. Pleased. Routines serve these women. Sweating and taking the time to flex in and out of changing musculature good. Setting goals, being human, dealing with screwy issues at work, budget changes, sick kids, dying parents, pending divorce, maybe not?, a broken toe, grocery lists.

Mingling with these women I decided to take the time to slather my with lotion and dry my own hair; it was like vacation. Fucking transcendent. I was transported. Where was I going? Not on a date, but home...where we had leftovers and the girls were almost asleep, Ben on the sofa working on an estimate. Quella eager to say hello. It was not date night, but my heart sang loud and smiled on the inside and opened, and opened again, for when the real date night(s) come. This is enough for now, though, and I can extract the good and be with it easily.

I do look forward to the time when Ben and I will be able to work out together, co-sweat yo, then meet up for a nice supper in town after showering and doing locker room things. This is how I see ourselves when we're in our '50s. It's a sustaining and happy vision.

Yeah, What She Said

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most.

We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world.

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

~ Marianne Williamson

Happy Birthday to Phoebe Rosalie -- she turned one yesterday.