Here I go again...

I know, Whitesnake. 

It is finally summer break. The hardest teaching year so far is behind me and I have saved up enough money to make it through the summer without working. I need this break to rest, to stay home, and to work on creating new curriculum for next year. I am setting a goal for myself to take at least an hour a day to write, be it in my journal, right here in the blog, or on my creative nonfiction piece that one day will become a book. But for now I need to carve out this time in my day and focus on the practice of creating. If one were to scroll through previous blog posts one might see that I have set this goal before. I have it in my habit tracker, and each night I go to sleep without checking off the box next to "journal." Even though I could merely write a few sentences to be able to check off the box, I still manage to ignore the deep need to write. Why?

"I don't know where I'm going, / but I sure know where I've been / hanging on the promises in songs of yesterday, / an' I've made up my mind. I ain't wasting no more time"  (David Coverdale / Bernie Marsden).

Can one be an expert at wasting time? I may just be the poster child for the art of deflection and procrastination. I have put parental controls on Facebook for just this reason. But I know that once I create a routine around a certain habit I am good to go. Each and every morning I wake up, feed all of the critters with whom I reside, meditate, stretch, run, stretch, and head out the door to work. Every Sunday I create meals for the upcoming week. Before bed I meditate again. So it is not really a stretch to add five minutes of journaling into my day. But I don't. Because it feels good. Because the act of writing soothes my soul, calms me down, fills me with hope, and connects me to something much grander than my mind can fathom. It's just too good for me and so I do not do it. But, here I go again. 

Whitesnake sings, "Like a drifter I was born to walk alone." Writing is a solitary practice, yes, but the process of sharing one's writing brings the act from a solitary experience to a communal one. I do not know who reads this, if anyone, but as I sit here with an imaginary audience I am connected. And that is where the fulfillment comes into play. I connect to the solitary experiences of others within this act of allowing words to appear on the screen. I am part of a larger community of writers, of readers, and of seekers. I feel that I am not alone. And maybe that is why I struggle to sit here and write. There is something familiar about being stuck. It is safe here by myself. Nobody can criticize me. Just for today I am going to step into the community because "I ain't wasting no more time." So here we are and here I go again. Hopefully I will be at the blank screen again tomorrow.

Abandoned Habits and Goals

 My goal at the beginning of 2021 was to spend time each day writing, either a short poem, a blog post, or an entry in one of the many journals strategically placed throughout my home. It is now April 11, and that goal has been thrown to the wayside amidst the stress of teaching in a pandemic, Covid outbreaks, work for classes, and my own inability to just get out of my way. I get distracted by social media, pleasure reading, training for non existent races and the daily grind of staying alive and supporting myself. Although many of my other new found habits have been incorporated into my day (meditation, pranayama, stretching, strength training, and cooking actual food for my body) I have yet to find a space for writing. Which makes me wonder what is it that I fear if I create a writing routine? I have the space within the day if I decrease my time on Facebook and cancel my Netflix subscription, but this very act of sitting down to write is akin to opening myself up to rejection and criticism. Today I sat down to write a marketing plan for a book project I am working on and I realized that I have not been focusing on my writing lately. I have been grading my students' essays but I have not sat down to look at and create my own. Because really, the more I practice writing the better I will hopefully get at it. But I cannot get better if I do not write. So here we are, sitting on the porch on a cloudy April day, finishing up a class project for yet another degree, and practicing this (hopefully soon) daily habit of placing fingers to keyboard. It takes mere moments to invest in myself. I wonder why I do not do this more?

Beginner Mind

It has been a long time since I have sat down to write; my fingers miss the rhythm of the tapping on the keyboard and my mind misses the meditative state that writing induces. It is a blustery Saturday in the Berkshires; the snow is still piled up in the backyard, but Spring birds have started their morning symphony. All is well.

I have not taken the time to write, I have not given myself the space to prattle off a poem, or even just a few lines, lines that someday will transform into a story, a post, or even just a note to myself. I have been too "busy," rushing about my day, working and commuting while squeezing in runs and yoga and shopping and bill paying and time with my partner. Too often, what is really important, what really brings me joy, those activities are stuffed into a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. If I were to go back, to read my previous blog posts, I would undoubtedly find a post similar to this one, following months of silence. What is really important to me today? Do I make the space in my day to nurture those things? Probably not.

It is National Poetry Month. Yes, it is already April 4, but I remember last year on April 1 I made the vow to create one poem per day. I upheld that vow and was left with 30 poems, some corny, some nonsensical and a few that made me smile. The act oif creating as a daily practice is intensely powerful. It is within the act of caring for my self and my soul, that I find God. It is within the intersection of self-care, silence, and creativity, that my Higher Power exists.

So right now I gaze at the sun-streaked sky, the balsam pines swaying in the wind, the snow disappearing, and oak leaves floating across bare ground. It is in this moment that I am grateful, for the desire to put my fingers to the keyboard and the space and time to do so. 

Returning to Center: What To Do When My Practice Derails

I have not been writing. I can feel the deep loss of this important part of my daily spiritual practice. Three weeks ago I started a temporary job in my chosen field, which will last until Christmas. I have been underemployed for a few years now, so the position was welcomed and it has proven to be an amazing opportunity. I work with people I respect and have support in learning my craft. The only caveat? A long (hour and half each direction) commute. Before this job, I would wake up early, go for a five mile run, and head to work. I would then come home, maybe another short run or yoga class. Now I am waking at 3:45am to run a quick two miles and leave my house by 5:30. The days are shortening and daylight savings time has begun. My schedule has been disrupted and I am experiencing intense exhaustion. Three hours a day in the car has begun to wear on me, and the resulting illness derailed the daily spiritual and physical practices which have kept me centered and, for the most part, serene. My job now is to get back on track, which includes taking a few moments a day to write. My problem is, that if I cannot do something completely, I do not even begin. So today I am here, with a cup of tea and the blank page. I do not have to write a novel, I just have to write a paragraph. Disruptions are part of life; we change jobs, go back to school, experience loss or fall sick. Getting back into the rhythm of routine is nearly impossible for me, but must be done before I succumb to the negativity that plagued my life years ago, before embarking on a spiritual journey.

As I write this post I am reminded of the opening lines of the Divine Comedy: Midway in the journey of our life / I came to myself in a dark wood / because the straight way was lost (Inferno 1, lines 1-3). Dante writes that it is the "journey of our life," not my life. First, I am not alone, we all get lost, off track, or derailed. But just because the straight path is lost to us, we are still someplace, even if it appears to be dark. It might just be that the straight way is not the path I should be walking, and I need to get lost for a bit, in order to focus on my surroundings. What has the past three weeks taught me? First: I adore teaching and I adore teaching teenagers. Second: I am wrapped so tight in my habits and routines that any time I stray from the path, I lose serenity. I am not well practiced in the art of navigating through change. In the Comedy, Dante, after finding himself in the dark wood, continues on, even though he did not know how he had gotten to that place. He takes a rest, and continues on the path, although he is ultimately thwarted by three vicious creatures. It is only when he accepts the help and guidance of Virgil, that he is able to continue. Albeit he continues on a different journey, one that will result in the writing of one of the most important pieces of literature.

What can I learn from my favorite writer? Certain daily practices may have been derailed, and it may seem a wee bit bleak, but if I reach out and accept the help and guidance of others, I might be able to find a different way. I know that in the past when I was trying to figure out how to juggle my undergraduate work with commuting and raising a child, I only had to ask for help and my schedule smoothed out. The first step in resolving this unrest, is to ask for Divine guidance. Breathe in, breathe out, pray, take a nap, and begin again. My one paragraph has become three, and I already feel as if I am returning back to my Self.

Creating a Spiritual Practice

Creating a spiritual practice is much like painting a masterpiece. You sit down at the canvas and just pick up

the brush. Where do you begin? First some colors must be gathered, mixed, prepared...then maybe just maybe you feel as if you should start painting with cerulean blue. Just take a dab of paint at first, try not to go too heavy handed in the beginning. Now remember, this will not be done overnight. I have been creating a spiritual practice for years now. Layers of paint have added, colors mixed, a little turpentine comes in handy when something didn't work.

I am writing this as I am reentering society, "reality" as some might call it, after a week on Cape Cod. I spent this week running, attending spiritual group meetings, walking my dogs, daily yoga classes, eating healthy vegan food, and relaxing on the beach. Most of the week was spent in silence, on my own. It was a beautiful week, and by the end, I began to feel like a person again. It was a week I would have never been able to take had I been hired at my "dream job." It felt as if my spiritual practice was supercharged. I already have a daily practice: prayer in the morning, running meditation, and spiritual meetings with others. I also write a daily gratitude list and eat vegan food (a practice of non violence.) But the week on my own, near the ocean and an abundance of yoga classes and running trails, allowed me to, as Emeril would say, kick it up a notch. And today, as I have no full time employment as of yet, I can continue this daily practice. But what happens when I find employment? The hour of yoga and two hours of running, followed by prayer and meditation and an evening walk with the dogs, might not fit so well when working 8 hours and commuting. Plus, I am adding too much to my daily practice at one time. I have noticed, that a habit sticks when I add one at a time, and a doable goal. If I were to say, plan on adding a full yoga practice while increasing mileage and meditation time while simultaneously juggling a life, a relationship, a grown child, animals, a household and family and friends, I might internally combust. Or the new routine would just not stick.

What color can I add to my canvas today? Might it be a gentle stretch in the morning while I am brushing my teeth, and maybe a few minutes of alternate nostril breathing to calm my mind with the goal of continuing to take at least one yoga class per week?  I would love to end each day, feeling just like I did while on my retreat. But life is what happens when we are making plans. And a full immersion in a complicated spiritual practice might not pay the bills or make my partner happy. Just for today I will add a few small pieces from my retreat into my daily practice, see how the color looks on my already paint splattered canvas. I can always add more paint later. And it only takes a small shift to make a change.

Always Right?

Do I always need to be right? I suppose if I were to answer honestly, yes. However I could say no, I am open to learn from others, to be humble and to grow in new and meaningful ways. But this is true if it is on my terms. I do like to be right. I like that feeling of superiority when I am proven right...see trickle down economics doesn't really work, we are all still floating around in poverty and the Earth is really round, not flat. There is a sort of rush that comes out of winning a good argument, especially if the little people come out on top. But what ends up happening is that I separate myself from others. I am not only refusing to speak to anyone in that other political party, but this person was mean to me and that person cut me off in traffic, so I need to ignore them too. 

Don't get me wrong, I have strong beliefs, and abandoning those beliefs would mean that I abandon certain populations in a time of need. I will remain staunchly vegan as I cannot condone the killing or abuse of animals. I will not support a political candidate that is racist, sexist, or neglects the voiceless in my community. I do not believe that we should be able to walk into Target with an oozie because of the second amendment and I will not stand by while our public education system is taken over by corporations that wish to stuff our children into slots. But I must live surrounded by people who condone the above, for a whatever reason. If I place my energy into judgement, I am perpetuating the problem. I am doing as they do. I am being mean, and I am trying to be right. So what does all of this mean? How can one balance advocacy and activism with humility and acceptance? I think it could become easier if I can let go of my constant need to be right? 

I need to take a look at the  feelings come up when I am wrong. Shame tops the list. I know it is hard to admit I am wrong, because I someplace deep within my twisted psyche I equate mistakes with inadequacy, that somehow if I am wrong I am damaged. This deep - seated belief has served me in the past; I have always strived to earn good grades in school, and I have made sure that I am meticulous in my work. But the "I am right" monster has outlived its purpose and has kept me from forming relationships with people who are different than I. This monster has kept me in a place of continuous judgement. 

"When I am right I make myself the hero of my own story." A wise man said this the other day. This I can relate to. I need to allow myself to be just another human, stumbling around on this planet we call Earth, making mistakes, and changing our minds, growing and changing, evolving. After all, who wants to admire a hero or heroine who looks reviles the other characters stumbling around the story? A hero can still go out and slay dragons, but hang out with those people who may support dragon advocacy. I am beginning to digress. How does one balance advocacy and humility? Any advice?

Spiritual Experimentation 101

I was pondering, as usual, wondering how I could balance turning my life over to God and taking concrete actions to create a life I love. What is my reality and what is it that I wish to happen in my life? Where does God's will fit into all? There are many spiritual paths, some  tell us to picture what we want in life and we will draw those experiences toward us. Some paths have a male God in the all powerful chair, arranging our lives to His suiting. Some speak of karma. How does one deal with the many theories and belief systems? I can read Mike Dooley, The Bible or a book on Twelve Step spirituality. I can visualize or pray. I do believe in a Higher Power and I know that when I allow that HP to guide me, things run smoother. But I also believe that life is what I make of it, if I am positive, I will draw in positive experiences. Judgment plays a role here, I know. 

I guess I am still in the experimentation phase. I know what I don't like, organized religions that preach hate, intolerance and a literal translation of the bible. But as for a clear spiritual path, mine is a bit overgrown. I believe that prayer and meditation work. I believe in a "God." I also believe that what I think or focus on is what I create in my life. Hodge Podge.

I heard someone say that when she follows God's will, life is easy, yet when she doesn't it feels as if there is a clear wall blocking the path. She still takes a sawzall out and attempts to continue, however the sawzall method always ends in disaster. Some people say that if it is God's will it will be easy, and if not, problems will arise. So what does all of this mean? What is the difference between my will and God's will? Was it God's will that prompted me to go to college and earn my Master's degree in teaching? I started out working toward an Associate's in Business, and then opportunities began to fall in my lap, the offer of a large scholarship here, an acceptance letter to a good college there, a part time job subbing here, and a little extra help with bills there.

 

Let's look at this scientifically, as sort of an experiment. In elementary school science class we are taught to follow the scientific method, to come up with a hypothesis, perform an experiment with controls, and form a conclusion. Maybe I can use this process for my questions concerning spirituality. 

Steps in the scientific process:

• Ask a Question - What is my system of spirituality? Do I even need to have a system?
• Do Background Research - Read what I can, come up with a list of beliefs and try to piece them together.
• Construct a Hypothesis - A spiritual hypothesis?
• Test Your Hypothesis by Doing an Experiment - Practice turning my will over and taking it back (I already do that.)
• Analyze Your Data and Draw a Conclusion - Not there yet.
• Communicate Your Results

Maybe a hodge podge works, maybe I can turn my life over to God and then meditate. If I change my attitudes, concentrate on the positive, what harm may come? Maybe spiritual matters cannot be put into a neat little system. Only time will tell. After all, I started writing this post a little confused. I am still confused.

What's Eating You?

"If something is eating you, you got to find a way to use it," said the art teacher from the movie  Speak. This got me to thinking about just what is eating me (because something is) and how I can use it. 

So I have been sending out resumes for the career field I chose since February of 2011, and proceeded to spend 120,000$ on the education needed for said career. It is now March of 2014 and, countless resumes and cover letters and "no thank yous" later, I am still searching. Now granted I am not the only one, and English majors are a quarter per dozen (inflation,) and I know that I would have a job if I was, say a Physics major with a minor in biochemistry. I also know that "rejection is God's protection." But I am also tired of not being able to support myself. So that is what is eating me. So how can I use this frustration / anger / uncertainty / apathy that is beginning to eat away at my stomach lining? Create something would appear to be the answer. As a writer my impulse is to grab a pen and create a sonnet, or possibly a haiku. But I also know that mucking around in the bog of complex emotions won't get me far. I have prayed, I have shared, I have knit hats, I have written poems and blog posts. The act of creating is cathartic, but if a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound? If the resulting creation is not shared or read or seen, does it exist? 

Today a motivational speaker / life coach came into school to speak with students in our internship program. He talked about just how much we really don't know about the world and how there is a perfect career path for all of us. He had us break down what we loved about our jobs (the students, their internships) and what we don't want in our workplace. He went on to explain that sometimes we can find meaningful work in the unexpected places. I want to be a teacher, but if I were to break that career down into pieces, I would need work that involves teaching, collaboration, creating and connecting the dots. It would involve working with young people (not too young) and it would be a new adventure everyday. I would have autonomy and creative license, I would use my research skills frequently and I would have opportunities for reading and writing. Now a classroom teacher is one way to go. But maybe I am missing something. Maybe in that space of limbo I am meant to cast a wider net. Maybe the frustration / anger / uncertainty / apathy is lurking for good reason. I don't know. But I know that I don't know and I guess, just for today, that is enough.

Life's a Beach

It is my annual trek to the beach, such a strange custom. Everyone has their own temporary space. We get to see just how many of us have beer bellies and stretch marks. We get to see how our own bodies will look when we age and how they looked twenty years ago. We get to watch children either get back up or cry after being knocked down by a wave. Our creations are demolished when the tide turns. We sleep, we eat, we play and swim...soaking up the rays of the sun. We know it is  harmful, uv rays, jellyfish even a shark or two. But we flock here and watch the waves, feel the breeze and soak up the warmth of the sun. I like to listen to conversations around me, they are handy ideas for plots or characters for short stories. Today my neighbors speak Russian and I can turn off my curious brain and enjoy the sound of the waves. I will miss this when I go home, but the Berkshire hills will beckon me and gently envelop me in her arms...home. But for today I will soak in the rays, watch people of all shapes and sizes, read a trashy novel and return to myself, someone who has been neglected with the busyness of school and work. My space on this beach is temporary, someone will inhabit it tomorrow, there will be new people to watch, new waves to gently lull my tired body to sleep. Until then...

Going Vegan

My 200th post! It has been awhile since I have last written, I have been busy working my way through a Master's program, and it has been intense. But I am enjoying every minute and I am grateful.

Approximately fifteen years ago I attended a vegan dinner at a local Indian Restaurant with my father. The food was delicious and I left the meal feeling energized rather than the usual sluggish. I was volunteering at a local shelter working with animals, and I made the decision that night to stop eating meat. I have been a vegetarian since that dinner. I made the choice for ethical as well as health reasons. I lost weight and felt better about my food choices.

Recently I have taken another step, I am attempting to remove all animal products from my diet, including some of my favorites, cheese and ice cream. I haven't had milk since I was a child (with the exception of coffee at restaurants) but dairy products comprised a significant part of my daily protein intake. The ice cream was fairly easy (shocker) with products such as Tofutti frozen dessert and SoDelicious coconut milk products. The cheese was a wee bit harder. I did finally buy vegan cheese and made myself a batch of mac and cheese, melting the shredded "cheese" with Silk creamer and vegan butter. The dish was surprisingly yummy (my twenty year old man child even ate an entire batch.) And for the past few weeks I have actually made myself meals. For anyone who knows me, this might be considered a miracle greater than the whole turning water into wine act.  I have been a prepackaged food gal ever since I can remember. I don't enjoy cooking (it involves cleaning...) But I now have three meals that I have mastered out of Nava Atlas's Vegan Express cookbook. The recipes are fast with few ingredients and super yummy. I have read that for every person who eats a vegan diet, 900 animals are saved. I am not perfect yet, and I still eat cheese whenever there aren't options for me when I am out and about, but so far I haven't purchased any animal products for a few months now. I feel better about my choices, have lost a little more weight and have in the end learned how to be a little more compassionate with myself. Taking care of my body in these ways, eliminating high cholesterol products, and cooking foods that contain real ingredients, is a step in the right direction. This journey is a spiritual one, my connection with the planet has only been amplified. Next step... my shoe obsession. Wish me luck and a vegan shoe store...  

The Great Blush Revealed: Adventures in Humility

"Humility" has always been a concept that I have had a hard time grasping. What exactly does it mean? The online dictionary says that it is "the quality or condition of being humble (modest, inferior or respectful); modest opinion or estimate of one's own importance, rank, etc." It goes on to state the synonyms: lowliness, meekness or submissiveness. The antonym is pride.   I can go down the road to humility by being modest, but as a woman growing up in a culture that devalues my gender, I can take humility (by the dictionary's definition) to an extreme. I can think little of myself, because isn't that what the world's religions teach us? And doesn't my culture display women as body parts? (Sorry, just had to get the dig in.) I have come to have a different relationship with the word however. A friend of mine, Fred, always said that humility is teachability. Do I accept constructive criticism? Am I able to make changes in my behavior and admit when I learn I am in the wrong? I am not always wrong, and to be humble I do not have to be submissive. However I need to have a balanced notion of self. I have noticed lately that I tend to blush when community members with a so called "higher rank" than I, approach me. This is not humility. This is an extreme reaction where I do not feel equal. I believe that we are all God's children, and that as a child of God I stand on the same ground as my fellow human. (I believe that animals are equal as well, but I will save that argument for a different day.) I am not better than or less than anyone. Just because I have a "better" job, "better" rank in society, or I make more money, have a greater education...just because my hair is blond or my feet are a size 9-1/2 or eat only yogurt for breakfast...these exterior trappings do not make me a superior human being. The opposite is also true. I am not inferior because I make minimum wage and drive a foreign car. Today I have added a prayer to my morning routine. I have asked God to help me to be right-sized, to remain teachable. I don't have to kiss your feet, or expect you to kiss mine (they get kind of smelly, especially after a run.) That for me is my entry into a humble life. The Budoshin Jujitsu Philosophy states that humility is: "your ability to be humble while maintaining your integrity. You do not need to be boastful or tell people how wonderful you are or how much you know or what you can do. Although you may be quite knowledgeable or competent, it is for others to discover through your behavior and your actions. It is your ability to sincerely apologize when you have erred and help others who are in need without expecting thanks or compensation. Humility is based upon your sense of integrity and respect for yourself and others." (http://www.budoshin.com/philosophy.htm.)

That where there is discord, I may bring harmony

The other translated line of this prayer reads "unity" instead of harmony. I will stick with the version of the prayer I have been using until this point. The word "discord" has multiple meanings according to the dictionary, a lack of agreement between people or ideas, quarreling, or in musical terns, dissonance, or lack of harmony. This English major loves it when phrases are open for interpretation, people are unique, what's wrong with individual interpretations of literature? To digress for a moment with a story, I had an English Professor that insisted that his interpretation of a short story to be the author's intended meaning. I had another reading and was curious, so I wrote the writer, who answered me promptly. The professor was wrong. Which brings me to my concept of internal discord. Why, years later, do I delight in the fact that this pompous man was wrong? Clearly I have a wee bit of internal discord. See a previous entry for my attempts at forgiveness. Saint Francis, 1182 - 1226, was a monk who founded the order of Franciscans, and whose basilica stands today at Assisi, in Umbria Italy. For a great book on the life of Saint Francis, read Valerie Martin's Salvation: Scenes from the Life of St. Francis. He is believed to have studied with the Troubadours (a composer and performer of Occitan lyric poetry in the High Middle Ages.) Saint Francis loved to sing and it is fitting that one of the most famous images of the monk is a scene of the Preaching to the Birds. In musical terms the prayer might ask for harmony where one finds dissonance. This might be the answer to a complex issue, that of, how can we as individuals bring harmony to a world filled with chaos, cruelty and abuse? I cannot end world hunger, stop wars, or cure disease. It is hard for me to hold my temper during high volume traffic let alone bring peace to warn torn countries. Maybe the answer is to add a little music to one's life, a little harmony, something to uplift the spirit. Certain studies have shown that certain types of music actually alter the cells in our bodies, making them healthier, music such as Pachelbel Canon in D for instance. Stop, breathe, listen, and bring harmony where there has been discord, just for today, just for you.

That where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness

Forgiveness is hard. Period. I don't think that it is something I can think my way into either, it needs to come from the heart. I am good at lying to myself, and when I just think I am over a "wrong" done to me, the resentment will pop up someplace else in my life. It is tourist season here in the Berkshires, a good time to flex my forgiveness muscles as I attempt to drive through my little town on the weekend. Instantly forgiving the New Jersey Lexus driver for almost killing me in the crosswalk is a good place to start. That happened last year, and I need to get over it, let it go. Just how does one "let it go?" Prayer helps, but I find that I also have to physically move the resentment out of my body, either through intense activity (my well - used punching bag) or writing it down on a post-it and placing it in my God box. I also need to practice compassion toward all tourists that invade my little hometown, even those SUVs that take up two lanes and attempt to parallel park on Main Street. These are little things, just a daily practice to prepare me for the bigger areas of life, the friend who lets me down, the ex who pops up, the person who has physically or emotionally harmed me. If I can't forgive Mr. Wealthy New Jersey, how can I let go of serious infractions from my past? Forgiveness comes from the heart, and in order to access my heart I need to be in contact with my Creator, God, Higher Power or Self. I need to realize that I am connected to Mr. Wealthy New Jersey whether I like it or not. We are a part of the whole, and in order to forgive myself I need to be able to forgive others. Tall order, but I might just be up for the challenge. Just for today, I'll start with 5lbs.

Let the Mosquitoes Be Your Guide

I needed quiet time with God today. I also needed a long run, so I dropped my car off to get my snow tires removed (I think it's safe) and headed South on the Appalachian Trail. I wasn't sure what to expect as I entered a field that abuts Route 7. I turned off my music, sure that it would robe me of the total effect. Good choice. I arrived into a magical world, filled with lush grasses and maple trees, pine needle strewn floors and swamps. I traveled from the cool of a grove of trees to the mucky algal water of swampland. My feet were wet within minutes as I wondered just what the eel- like creature I had startled, was. I began to pray. The mosquitoes guided me across the terrain and I gave up on the practice of Ahimsa, wiping my sweaty arms, smearing the bodies as I went. I emerged from a grassy path onto a side road and continued through a field, the only sound was my breathing, sneakers hitting earth and songbirds. Traffic was a distant murmur. I was alone. Not really alone though. I know I was with God and probably a host of other creatures that watched me run by, the heavy footfall a contributor to hip problems and waking every field mouse in the vicinity. Each turn of the trail brought a new world, the only constant were my guides the mosquitoes, their unceasing loyalty to me made me feel important, needed, wanted, loved. The funny thing was, in the quiet, I wasn't scared. I entered the path with a clear mission, to spend time with my Creator. Field, swamp, forest, and on and on. I reached a point where I might have hit the road and continued to my final destination, my partner's house, where I would wait for my car to be ready for pick-up but I chose a different path, I continued along the Appie, unaware of what would meet me up the road, and unprepared, but armed with curiosity and naivete. The trail should lead in the direction of my destination right? More of the same terrain, right? I looked up at the rocky cliff in front of me, a mile from the turn off, my mouth parched and deer fly in tow. It was too late to turn back, or was it? If I had a map I would have known, so I forged ahead and proceeded to climb to the miraculous view shown in the above photographs. Turkey vultures flew overhead, close enough to jump up and reach, I was sure they were waiting for me to fall into the ravine, tired and dehydrated. I forged on, contacting my father for direction once I could text, amazed when he had, that day purchased a book on the trail, which he proceeded to share with me. Three miles until the turnoff that would lead me to my destination, three more mini peaks to go, Mountain Laurel waiting to bloom, Goosefoot Maple, relaying my altitude. Frustration, uncertainty and fear cropped up. Emotions I am familiar with, having indulged in fear cocktail daily for the last few weeks. But I was ok, I wasn't mauled by a bear or fed on by vultures. I reached the intersecting trail three hours and forty five minutes after I had left that morning. Maybe I traveled ten miles in all, many of those however were scaling cliff. But I was supported the entire time, almost four hours with only the sound of my breath and footstep, the rustle of trees and plop of a toad. I survived being the only human traveler, although my buzzing friends do get credit for their tenacity and devotion. I found what I was looking for, a sense of peace and space withing a fear-filled world. I was brought into the land, cradled, rocked and spit back out on the other side, reaching the faucet and plastic cup right in the nick of time.

Markings

My son let it slip the other day that my father did not approve of the tattoos I have gotten over the last decade, and said that I was poisoning myself. Typical comment from a concerned parent and I might feel the same way if my own child walked in the door decorated. What my dad doesn't know however, is that each of the marks I have permanently placed on my body have spiritual significance. The practice of marking the skin is not a recent phenomena. The oldest tattoo that has been identified carbon dates to 5,200 years ago. Tattoos have served many functions over the last 5,200 years, according to the Smithsonian, as amulets, status symbols, declarations of love, signs of religious beliefs, adornments and forms of punishment. My reasons vary from design to design, but it comes down to one word, "connection." Connection to the past and my heritage (Celtic knot work,) connection to significant life experiences (the water lily,) and connection to God. The latter, is represented well! A Triskell adorns my arm, representing the Celtic female trilogy, and Great Blue Heron fly up my leg, bringing me into physical contact with the bird that represents my spirituality. This bird lives within all of the elements, water, air, land and, represented by its brilliant orange beak, fire. Last autumn I realized just how much I was connected to these magnificent birds when I felt their migration as a physical loss and they are now with me wherever I go. Today I join 40% of Americans between the age of 26 and 40 who have chosen to get a tattoo, and with that decision comes a connection to history and the Divine.

Random Acts of Kindness

My weekend ritual includes a trip to my local Dunkin, for a very large super caffeinated coffee. This morning, the young woman manning the drive through told me that she is very happy to see me pull up because I am always so kind, and usually people aren't. This comment made my day, I felt amazing, pulling out and heading home (not because of the lack of kind people out there). The simple act of kindness, of connecting with strangers, is divinity in action. I cherish the "relationships" I have with local workers, the folks who greet me by name at the turnpike exit everyday, and the stories of their lives that I receive, bit by bit, add dimension to my day. I refuse to get an easy pass because it would mean that I wouldn't find out where someone went for their four day weekend, and no one would ask me when my next race was. I was disturbed recently to find that a large grocery store was handing out self scanners. You scan your own groceries before placing them into a bag. This conveniently eliminates the need to converse with anyone while shopping. I enjoy asking cashiers how their day is going, and then listening as they tell me that their grandson is sick or that they have a doctors appointment coming up. I feel as if I am part of a community, I am a thread within the divine web. Technology has both created more and cut many existing connections we have with our fellow man. We are available 24 hours a day to receive phone calls or emails, but we lose the face to face conversations that bring us in contact with other people. So for today I am saying no to easy pass, to hand held scanners and to self checkouts. I cherish the connections I have with people out in the community. I enjoy being someone who makes others smile, it is a gift that is returned to me tenfold. Try it, you might like it.

Fighting with God: Round Two, Tea Time

I had a dream last night, where I sat in front of a machine that doled out coins, one at a time, in a slow methodical fashion. I sometimes feel that the Universe does this to me, doling out what I need, one thing at a time, never an outpouring, just a coin here and a coin there. Of course this is not the way the Universe works. There is an infinite abundance out there waiting for me, infinite love, security, laughter, and as Mike Dooley would say, possibilities. The problem dear reader is what is always is, me. M. E. Somehow, at some point I convinced myself that I was only worthy of just a little, a trickle, so that is what I receive. And when I ask for help, I only ask for just enough, just a bit. Now I have done enough work on myself to know that I am a child of God, that I am worthy of plugging into the power of the Universe. But today I overslept, I forgot to eat until 2pm and was unable to take my stress relieving six mile run per usual. It is freezing rain outside and I am "trapped" at home with me, myself and I (and a surly teenager). I have no boyfriend next to me to reassure me that I am worthy, I am a grown up so my parents aren't going to come into my room with milk and cookies and kind words. It is just us, me, myself and God. God, the one who I am mad at, again, although today the anger has softened at the edges. I have seven cents in my pocket and an almost empty oil tank. I have one semester of school to go until I am employable. If I am to pull through this I better have God, because, I know, from past experiences that when I turn my will and life over to my God, the pieces of my life fall into place. I just happen to be trying to jam the wrong piece into a jigsaw and getting frustrated when it doesn't fit. Again I need to out down the boxing gloves and do the next right thing. I will email, yet again the woman at the fuel assistance office. I will write another blog post, start my homework, peek at my resume and scrape off my car. I will fill my belly with food and light a fire in the fireplace, and I will connect with God. I will steep myself in God's love, I will leave the teabag in, just for today, because I am worth it. And tomorrow I will set my alarm and start again.

Of Paper Towels, Purple Shoes and Miracles

This past week has been an interesting one to say the least. I have been observing my reactions to life's challenges, and although the patterns haven't quite gelled, the mixed metaphors are aplenty. Observation number 1: I am like a paper towel, capable of extreme self - absorption. Just call me the quicker picker upper. Observation number 2: Not only do I absorb, but I drink in negativity and fear. It is a party here, pour me another please and make it extra weepy with a few shots of rage. I am like an addict getting drunk on fear, anger and self justification. It hasn't been easy hanging out with me for the last few days, it is actually kind of a drag. But but but, I want to scream. Maybe it is time to make up with God, because when I separate myself from the Divine, I become a real pain in the ass.  This morning I started to say thank you, over and over again, because when I am in fear I am not in gratitude. I will take this week's experience with poverty and I will use it in my writing. I can understand why folks get tired and cranky when their pantries hold no food. I can understand how hard it is to ask for help, how shame creeps in when one has to ask for help just to survive. I can understand what it feels like to be cold because oil is just too expensive. Great, I have learned those lessons. Now I can get out of it, ask God for help, and start looking at the amazing miracle my life is. I live in the most beautiful apartment, have a fabulous son, animals that wake me up in the morning, friends overflowing, and I have purple shoes. I have enough food for today, enough oil for today, enough gas in the car for today, and the more I say thank you, the less power the negativity has over me. I put down the paper towels and print out a resume. I pour out the glass and write this entry. I put on a warm fluffy sweatshirt, thank God for my life and wake up to miracles.

Fighting with God: Round One

God and I are fighting. Rather, I am throwing a temper tantrum and God is the target. When I am fighting with God I am forgetting all that I receive in a daily basis. I am not practicing gratitude. I still am ticked, and tired and scared, and I know that my Higher Power is the only one I can yell at, curse, and still be loved unconditionally. So yesterday I screamed, I ranted, I raved and God loved and loved and loved, and told me quietly to get my resume in order. This morning I moaned and groaned and wallowed. And God told me gently to write. So my well isn't working, my heat isn't working and my pantry is almost empty and I moan and cry and pray. And God is there, taking the blows until I calm down, breathe and acknowledge what I have, amazing gifts, friends, family, laughter, and joy. Because when it really comes down to it, I am not actually fighting with God, I am fighting with myself. I am the one that made the choices that inevitably brought me to the present situation. And I am also close to accomplishing two major goals, graduating from college and obtaining a divorce. When I come close to making life easier for myself I seem to end up creating a wee bit of chaos, just to shake things up a bit. Because as much as I am afraid of failing, of falling on my face and losing what I have and of not making it, I am petrified of succeeding. I am like a boxer in the ring, waiting to be knocked out so I don't have to have my hand raised high with a referee shouting "winner." That pesky little fear is at it again, this time it snuck in the backdoor when I was feeling connected to Spirit. So just for today I am going to put the gloves down, because when I am fighting it, God cannot help me. Today no one wins, but today I surrender.

Survival Means Forgetting God

This is my brain, well, maybe it is a representation of my brain. Right there in the Pons and Medulla is where my primal instincts reside, instincts that have been firing lately, that have been literally kicking my butt. These instincts tell me to collect, to hold, to keep everything I have and not let go because my survival is at stake. I know for a fact that whenever I turn my will and my life to my God and let go, miraculous things happen, my world opens up and opportunities fall at my feet. I am in survival mode however, stuck in the brain stem. Being a full time student I have been living on a drastically reduced income. This is my third year of doing so, and I know that the ends always get met, that I always manage to muddle through. Lately however I feel that a primal part of me has taken over, and that primal part is tired of getting calls from bill collectors, is tired of waking up in the middle of the night wondering how to pay my car insurance and is tired of wondering just how I am going to provide enough food for a teenage boy to live on. Usually when I get into this mode I can turn to my spirituality, but I am tired and I am scared and I am afraid and exhausted. I want the degree so that I will be employable, I just have to make it another four months. The answer, blah, blech, I know the answer. It is gratitude, it is prayer and meditation, it is looking at the world with wonder and it is allowing others to help me, it is asking for help and it is knowing that God will provide. Today, just for today as I sit in front of the fire place, waiting for my fuel assistance to finally go through, I can be grateful for how much I do have, health, family and friends, shelter, food enough for today, a car, and the ability to run. I am rich, I have a full magnificent life, I just need to stay away from the fear that takes over when I go into survival mode. Pesky little Medulla.