Flow
/A sadness comes over me
When I've done something I dreamed of.
I grieve the loss of a dream,
Even small, inconsequential ones.
I long to live in the flow,
Not the episodes, of life
A sadness comes over me
When I've done something I dreamed of.
I grieve the loss of a dream,
Even small, inconsequential ones.
I long to live in the flow,
Not the episodes, of life
In my perfectionistic mind,
Energy sticks, trapped,
When I look out and see imperfection.
To restore my sanity,
I have adopted a new mantra:
Do it now, or it doesn’t matter.
You write it: How do you notice energy getting stuck in your mind? What new mantra might release it?
I just forwarded through my calendar to the end of the year, noting the recurring events and the special ones, as well. Travel. Visits. Appointments.
What doesn't appear on my calendar is the most important aspect of my life--the love I have for my husband as he heads for the golf course--the compassion I feel for a young woman who expresses her anguish to me.
May God surf me through these days, whatever events they bring, with love and compassion.
You write it: Thumb forward through your calendar. What energy is surfing you through it?
Years ago my marriage was in difficulty. I was advised to pray "God, be with him" for my husband. I did it over and over, numerous times a day, every time I thought of him. Within a very short time, harmony was restored.
When I encounter difficult people today, I pray that same prayer. Sometimes I say it as "Surround and infuse her with love."
The laws of spirituality, neuroscience, and physics align in the power of this prayer.
You write it: When you have difficulty with someone, what do you do?
Eventually we sailed into a quiet harbor, ate a nourishing breakfast, and then jettied into a quaint little town. It was a beautiful, clear Sunday, and people were wading on the beach or having coffee outdoors or, like us, simply walking.
Beyond the harbor, the ocean still chopped and churned its mighty waves. But we were safe, serene, relaxed, and happy.
You write it: When a tempest arises, what do you do?
I want to seize and hold
Precious moments in life--
Say, "Sit. Freeze,"
So they last.
But the Law says,
"Flow."
So I release my longing
For permanence.
In gratitude, I embrace
Ephemeral Life.
Every morning begins with journaling for me, followed by meditation. Always, I begin by writing what I'm grateful for. Usually I write about a page, unburdening myself with thoughts and feelings that get in the way of my peace.
This morning, after I wrote what I'm grateful for, I wrote only one sentence: "Relieve me from the burden of wanting other people to be different."
You write it: What one wish would unburden you?
I just said goodbye to my cousin and her friends, who are now my friends, and I'm a bit sad but mostly grateful. Grateful that she came and grateful that my view of hospitality has changed.
When I was young, I believed hospitality was making everything perfect. I even kept guests waiting at the front door once while I straightened a bed! I was misguided and, by the time my guests left, exhausted. I'm sure they felt my depleted energy. No wonder we didn't have much company!
Today I simply want my guests to relax and have a good time. That means cooking simple recipes in advance, ready to warm. It means getting out and enjoying the area with them. It means being relaxed myself.
Our home is simple, peaceful, and easy. That's how I want guests to feel. If something is imperfect, I don't care.
You write it: When do you feel most welcome? How do you do hospitality?
Beneath those bushes
Is life about to burst forth.
I know there must be nests
Because I see adult
Gambel quail scurry about,
Watch protectively from atop the
Fence, and wait
For life to burst forth.
Someone wrote a script for me.
Go to school.
Marry.
Raise children.
Have a good career.
The script stopped there.
So I had to rewrite the script
To learn to be happy in a new marriage--
To live my life easily and joyfully--
To work for purpose and calling.
Now is a new phase of my life--
The last one? Maybe.
I'm looking for the trail to walk
That enfolds and infuses me
With perfect peace and bursts of joy.
You write it: What is the script of your life? Where are you now?
Our land stops at the rail fence,
Yet I can see beyond.
My eyes follow the slope of the hill down
To the pond and the tops of trees growing
From the valley below.
Then I rise to the rooftops and
Italian cypress in the village,
Lifting to the bluish gray hills beyond.
My soul expands.
You write it: When do you feel your soul expand?
My native language is poetry. As a child, I shut the door to my room and read aloud--even memorized--poems from my mother's high school literature textbook. Many years later, typing my journal entries into the computer, I was shocked to realize that I had written poetry! A friend is encouraging me to write poetry again. Here is the poem I wrote this morning:
On this day the cottonwood seeds
Fly through the air like angels.
A friend will tell her children
That she is divorcing their dad.
Tired travelers go to the airport, inspired after their
First look at the Grand Canyon and Sedona.
Another friend grieves
The death of her dog.
I am happiest and most content when I let my voice speak poetry.
You write it: What is your native language? When are you happiest and most content?
"It's been 14 years," he said, "since my daughter died. Yet, among those women who loved her so, I felt her presence."
You may remember the book and movie, "Tuesdays with Morrie." The main character, a beloved professor, is dying of ALS, one muscle at a time, and one of his former students, a cynic, meets with him on Tuesdays to show his affection and to learn from him. The professor, very subtly, is teaching him how to love. Finally, when it is clear that his mentor will die soon, the young man cries out, "What good is it to love? You're just going to die!" To which the professor replies, "Yes. And after I am dead, you will still love me."
The simple truth is that love does not die--cannot be destroyed.
Teilhard de Chardin said it this way: "Someday, after we have mastered the winds, the waves, and gravity, mankind will harness for God the energy of love. Then, for the second time in the history of the world, we will have discovered fire."
You write it: When have you felt the power of love?
Shakespeare wrote that one purpose of drama is "to hold the mirror . . . up to nature." In other words, it helps us see ourselves as others see us.
A few days ago, I heard myself say, "You're gonna love it!" as if I can force another person's response. Then I realized the phrase sounded familiar. I won't be saying that again.
I view the current political season as drama--an opportunity to glimpse the best and worst within myself. I leave others to do as they will.
You write it: What is your response to the current political scene? How can you use it to make you better?
I read the headlines of the digital version of the New York Times hurriedly, feeling the stress of ominous words and fear-filled events or dreads. Then I look up, out my bedroom window to the gentle hills, peaceful pond, and soft, early morning light. Once again, I realize my state of mind is my choice. Once again, I choose peace.
ou write it: Have you noticed the effect the day's news has on you? What do you do to keep your state of mind peaceful?
I sit up straight. I close my eyes. I breathe deeply, slowly, regularly. I place my fingers on a string of beads, moving slowly from bead to bead to help me stay in the moment.
My mind flits into the past, reviewing what has gone before. I re-center, go to the next bead, and focus on my breathing.
My mind leaps forward, anticipating what lies ahead. More quickly this time, I re-center and focus on my breathing. I begin to let the breath breathe me.
Then I become aware of the warm sunlight on my forehead. From somewhere, deep within, I feel these words: "Be still and know that I am God."
You write it: Do you meditate? Describe your experience with meditation.
For almost two weeks our internet was out. During that time, my husband or I were constantly on the phone with our provider, moving through their ineffectual process. We said to each other, "This is a disadvantage of living in a small town. This area is not wired like Austin. This would never happen in Austin." We assumed we had to accept this terrible service.
My mood was bad. I was disgruntled. It was the first of the month, and bills that I normally pay online were due. I needed to reconcile the bank accounts. All of my systems were on hold.
Then I realized I could take my iPad to a coffee shop and do what I needed on the internet. But I resented it.
Then I realized I could choose to enjoy being at the coffee shop, with its music and activity, instead of alone in my office at home.
Then I realized I could change internet providers. We made a phone call and had new, faster internet service installed within three hours. Finally, I was free.
You write it: When have you felt as if you were being held hostage and your world was narrowing? How did you work your way out of it? How long did it take you?
Yesterday my husband and I removed a large round manzanita bush to open up the view of the red rocks from our patio. I was a bit sad about our decision to have it removed because it was a beautifully shaped bush, and in bloom. But it was in the wrong place.
The next morning, early, as I sat in bed, I looked out the bedroom window to see a new scene--one I had not expected. A pond at the bottom of the hill with ducks skimming the surface in duck play. Beyond, the village nestled at the base of the hills, waking up in the early morning sun, its rays bringing adobe houses to life.
We knew the manzanita removal would open up the view of the rocks, but we had no idea of the new view from the angle in our bedroom. It was an unexpected gift.
You write it: When have you taken action that resulted in an unexpected gift?
Recently I began working with someone to live a happier, more peaceful life. I took her through some tools for taking responsibility for her own emotional state and shared a few daily practices for maintaining peace and harmony in her life.
About three weeks went by. Then I had a voicemail from her. "Things are going well, but is there more I should be doing?"
She was experiencing the discomfort of the switch from doing to being.
My answer to her was, "Just keep it up. There is no more you have to do. Enjoy your life, and share your good news with someone you trust."
You write it: Do you find yourself looking for more to DO to be fulfilled? Do you share your happiness with someone you trust?
Out of the totality of my life, these two mere occurrences fed the monster of impatience so that it filled all but a bit of space in my life. I was trapped, with no room to breathe.
Then a phone call came from a friend--then another friend--then my daughter--then another friend. The freedom of love swept impatience away.
Coincidence? I think not.
You write it: When has love set you free?