Archives for category: Metaphors

As I sit here, feet up, hot cup of tea on the table next to me, basking in the commonplace comforts of home and hearth: indoor plumbing, clean drinking water, a home warm against autumn chill, a nutritious breakfast, electricity, efficiency improving appliances, clean dry clothes, internet access… I realize how very special every bit of that actually is. How luxurious. How extraordinary! I have the added luxury of good employment – I am neither exploited nor abused to earn my living, and I have leisure time I can count on.  I can comfortably spend this morning on yoga, meditation, study, and enjoy the quiet contentment of nourishing my heart and soul, of healing, of growing, of learning, in a safe and secure space, quiet and uninterrupted.  It seems very worthwhile to extend a few moments of real appreciation for all of it, to stop for a minute and make time for gratitude.

Gratitude is a pretty big deal. Thanksgiving is coming, and it is so easy to get caught up in the hustle of planning and shopping, so easy to get swept up in a moment of emotional turmoil over some small stressor, or challenge, or inconvenience, and forget about the thanks implied by the holiday we celebrate. So easy, actually, that experiencing everyday gratitude for everyday wonders often falls by the wayside in the flow of everyday life.  Delights and comforts are enjoyed but unnoticed, sampled but not shared, and entirely taken for granted, day after day.

This morning I am taking a different approach and enjoying my morning, even the everyday bits, with eyes wide, and immersed in the wonders of modern comforts and luxuries as though they are new. Taking notice, experiencing appreciation and gratitude, and slowing down the clock. I am contrasting my relatively luxurious experience now, with other times, other experiences; my life hasn’t always been one of everyday comfort, or everyday luxury.

I started the morning with a cup of tea, rather than a latte. I measured out the tea itself, loose, enjoying the fragrance of the dried leaves, and bits of lemongrass and dried citrus. Smiling at the recollection of the day I bought the tea, and the conversation with the gentleman minding the shop, I boiled water, first warming my cup, then preparing the tea. I watched the clock for four minutes, contemplating the clock itself, and the incredible step forward measuring time meant for humanity, and the simple convenience of having a timepiece in the kitchen.  The morning conversation as one partner headed for sleep after a night out, and another prepared for the work day, was cordial and practical.

Soon enough the house was quiet. A light breakfast presented a nice opportunity to consider the conveniences of store-bought bread, cured meat, and artisan cheese. The advances of humankind from its dawn to its present day are considerable, and many of my favorites are every day experiences: stores, bread, preserved foods like cured meats, jams, pickles, dried fruit. These aren’t even new things, but each individually represents some human being at some prior moment taking a step forward and making life better for every one of us in some fashion, if we have access to that product or service or experience.

I made another cup of tea, treasuring my experience of choice.  I have options – even with a simple cup of tea. Green or black? Sweetened? With cream? Iced or hot? Dainty porcelain cup with a history, or a robust mug chosen at a discount store because the words delighted me? My everyday life is even filled with choices of this sort. Options.

I spent time meditating, unmeasured time. The luxury of being able to capture, and measure time is pretty amazing, and we build a lot of our world on it, with the result sometimes being that it feels like time is in very short supply.  I am finding that when I also indulge the luxury of not measuring time, of not limiting it, time seems to slow down, to become more plentiful. The clock advised me after-the-fact that I had spent 37 minutes meditating. It felt like ‘just the right amount of time’, however it was measured.

I enjoyed my yoga practice on a different level. This too, I slowed down. Each pose its own moment, its own experience, and bringing as much mindful attention to the feel of it, to my breathing, to my balance, as I comfortably could. Stopping to review details on a new posture now and then, and enjoying the luxury of comfort and quiet. Calm. Content. Strong. Centered. These are not words I have had many opportunities to apply to my own experience, over the course of a turbulent life. I enjoy each moment awake and aware.

Now I chill and, feet up and my cup of tea near at hand, I write a few words. I observe. I feel. I consider. I find myself taking a moment of gratitude and appreciation for the friends and family that nurture me, and enrich my experience.

Gratitude feels lovely every precious day – and every day is precious.  Today I am practicing gratitude. Thanksgiving is coming; it’s always good to practice what we want to be good at. 😀

Practicing gratitude is like photographing mushrooms at dawn. I took scores of pictures of them, and although only one picture celebrates the experience, every picture I took was an experience worth having.

Practicing gratitude is like photographing mushrooms at dawn. I took scores of pictures of them, and although only one picture celebrates the experience, every picture I took was an experience worth having.

There’s only this moment, and I am quiet, still, and content. I’m listening to my heart resonate with someone else’s words this morning, words about love. ‘About’? Words that try to capture the nature and experience, the feel of love – are those ‘about’ love? What is love? There are hundreds, thousands, millions maybe, of love songs – do they describe love, document it, preserve it for others? It’s like sharing ‘spiritual growth’, or ‘happiness’, isn’t it? Always an attempt, rarely successful – or so it seems to me.

Since I was a ‘tween, I’ve longed to ‘be the woman men write love songs about’. Odd sort of thing to want, I guess. Wanting is part of my human experience, I suppose it as a obvious a thing to desire as any other. I didn’t know what I meant, until I realized that I have it. I realized it… yesterday? This morning? Sometime last week? It hasn’t been very long.  There was just this very still moment, connecting with a lover’s experience of me, when it hit me – I am loved. I am loved in that extraordinary and passionate way. Loved by poets, loved by artists, loved by craftspeople, artisans, engineers, soldiers, musicians, writers, philosophers… across the years I have been loved – and turned love away unrecognized because I did not love.

In this place in my life I know love. I love. I am loved in return. I am even in the embrace of one of those soul-shaking loves that leaves an impression, a glow, a look that lingers and that is visible to the world… which is a little odd and naked feeling sometimes. I’m not sure how I  missed it, and I smile for a moment thinking of other loves, other stories of romance, and the smile becomes a broad contented grin – all delight and no reservations.  Love is amazing stuff – and that this love does not write songs about it is no remark on the intensity of it.  It’s a good day to awaken to that awareness and hold love dear, in all its power.

Hormone Hell can be a dark corridor with a new nightmare or irritation behind every door, but it can also be a window into places in my heart that are usually far from view. This morning I know love. I am love.  How’s that for being ’emotional’? 😉

Thank you, Love. Thank you for walking with me, thank you for helping me change the world. 😀

Sometimes words aren't enough.

Sometimes words aren’t enough.

It’s been awhile since I had a night like last night. I didn’t sleep much. I wasn’t anxious, and there were no nightmares, I just didn’t really sleep deeply, for very long, or very restfully. I went to bed later than I prefer to, because although I’d started to feel sleepy, it just wasn’t moving me to choose sleep, and there were still a couple of things I wanted to get done before the work week began.

Everything seemed on track for a good night’s sleep. I just didn’t happen to have one. lol. Last night was the change to ‘daylight savings time’, too. I was already going to lose an hour of precious sleep, I knew.  Feeling a bit like a leftover Halloween zombie this morning, I’d have been delighted to wake just one hour short on sleep this morning! I did drift off a couple of times, long enough to be surprised when a partner, out for the evening, returned home – and again sometime later when he kissed me hello-goodnight in the darkness.

It is a change that even feeling so groggy and tired this morning there is no anxiety about my lack of sleep – and there wasn’t any during the night, either. I was merely awake, instead of sleeping. Any experience that changes from being an anxiety-based experience to being a calm chill contented experience is progress – so I’m not bitching. I’m just tired. lol.  Tired – but still eager to see the dawn.

A recent dawn. This morning will be darker; sunrise comes later.

A recent dawn. This morning will be darker; sunrise comes later.

The sky is just barely shifting from black to deep dark blue-gray, just now.  I really don’t understand daylight savings time – who does it really serve? Foolishness to fight the changing light of the seasons.  Strangely apropos this week, though, with so many other elements of my every day routine also on the precipice of change. The winter holiday season begins soon. One of my partners starts a new job tomorrow – one that results in a substantial shift in routine, perhaps even lifestyle at some point, certainly we’ll all be making adjustments here and there, at least.

I’m tired this morning, making this a wonderful morning to commit to giving people my whole attention when they interact with me – listening with my attention on them as people, hearing their words, using mindfulness practices to stay in-the-moment and resisting the ease of being ‘on autopilot’. Today, I will listen attentively. I will speak with compassion. I will choose kindness, and provide gentle service to family and love. I will do my best.

Today I will change the world.

I’m still contemplating an epiphany of sorts, a developing understanding, a hint of something broader than I know just on the horizon of my awareness of self. I’d like to write. I feel eager. I feel motivated. I feel. That’s really it; I feel this from my core to my consciousness. I am also feeling just a bit unworthy, or unready or ill-equipped to handle the topic just yet.

The topic dominates my thoughts. Something about the nature of identity, the nature of language and words, the effect of definition, the precious and necessary confound of ambiguity and uncertainty, or the outcome of unanswered questions being a larger part of my experience than the answers to questions ever have been… or… something like that.  The substance and the weight of it, still a bit incomplete and unformed in my thinking, is so massive that I feel ‘crowded’ cognitively, and continuously compelled to write, only to find myself still not yet ready to ‘lay it out’ and take a look at it as words on a page. It’s a strange sensation.  It is that ‘can’t quite put my finger on it’ sensation of being unable to recall the name of a favorite movie in the midst of an exciting dialogue with a dear friend, or being unable to ‘name that tune’ even though it is a favorite song.  A creative gadfly.

The pen: a might artifact, a weapon, a tool, a magic wand, a toy, a treasure.

The pen: a might artifact, a weapon, a tool, a magic wand, a toy, a treasure.

So, although words elude me for now, I celebrate them, and language. So much of who I am, of what we are as beings, of our potential to experience the world and our ability to share it, is in our hands in the form of a pen.

Yesterday’s loveliness lingers in my memory as a secure stronghold against insecurity and fearfulness. I love, and I am loved in return. Today I will embrace serenity and calm, and that still place of observation without judgement that is within me.

Today I will change the world.

I really wanted to come home and write. I have something bubbling up in  my consciousness, a new level of understanding of something that seems… worth the time and the words….

…but I feel angry. I feel annoyed. I feel… too close to the darkness that lurks within, poetically speaking. I’d rather not taint my tender epiphany with any of that. It’s worth more. So, I am taking some time to chill and contemplate how human we each are, how easily I can identify with many facets of a conflict, how difficult perspective and balance can be – so tenuous, so fragile – in the face of strong emotion.

Sometimes a change in perspective doesn't really answer any questions.

Sometimes a change in perspective doesn’t really answer any questions. It isn’t always about answers.

I continue to chill. To breath. To study. It could be that the most important changes for me of late have been moving away from a need to know, to a comfort with ambiguity and uncertainty, letting go of the desire to ‘be right’ in favor of being calm, and letting go of mastery and answering questions to be a student, every day, asking more questions than I answer, and being open to what is… sometimes more than others; I am, after all, still human. 🙂

Today did bring a nice moment of surprise – I’d forgotten I had ordered a couple of books in pursuit of my studies, and they came today.  Siddhartha; a favorite novel that didn’t open my eyes when I read it in the 70s. I was young, and broken, and more than any of that, I was not ready, now I am, and I really want to read it with new understanding.  I also ordered a book I never read, but could have… but didn’t.  I want to read it now.  As if only I could read all the words, I would be able to… something.  Something more than I can, so far.  Buddha in Blue Jeans. Quite tiny and slim and unassuming (some of my most enduring favorites and influential tomes are tiny).  I opened it tenderly, randomly, in that vaguely reverent  way people who love books do. It’s a keeper. Pretty words. 🙂

Lest you think me more serious than I am, there was a third book. 101 Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookies. Mmm, even the title sounds tasty. 😀

Nightfall has over taken twilight. Time to consider things, and take care of me.