Wednesday Wish (32)

I believe in quiet. In the gifts that linger in silence.

Like the night sky that looks empty but is filled with stars and other goodies that I don’t know the names of yet.

And the possibilities, pregnant, of an empty canvas. Or a mixing bowl. Or a piano with its bench pulled out, inviting fingers and emotion and soul…

*          *          *

I believe in quiet. In the gifts that linger in silence.

Like a blank message from someone you’d love to hear from, blank with all the space in the world for anything you want it to be.

And a single breath, held deep inside your belly just before you decide to let it free…

*          *          *

I believe in quiet. In the gifts that linger in silence.

In the importance of alone time. Of sitting and staring at the ceiling time. Of moment upon moment with no rush. No requirement. No worry or fret. Just time. Alone. To listen to the sound of inner silence….

…that isn’t so silent after all, but filled with Self, with peace, and with gorgeous invitations to just be.

Photo by wishvam, via flickr

Wednesday Wish (31)

An apple is a very different fruit with your ear against the ground. When the grass is moist with summertime dew, when your feet are bare and tickled, when the weighted tree invites your eyes and the sun invites them closed. When your body finds its niche and your heart slows its tune…the apple…falls. Onto the earth. You listen. And smile. You see. Anew.

The orchard has eight trees—six, in tidy little lines, with two oddball stragglers lingering along the edge. Like you, they are different and happy in their own little worlds…one a wild apple, the other a purple plum, and you, you smile with your eyes closed, your head against the ground.

You hear the bees visit with each other as they jolly hunt for nectar. You know when they're communing with a flower, for their hearts slow. They find their peace in connection. And you notice that when their hearts slow…yours does too.

You hear the thumping rise up from the earth like a bass within your soul. But you don’t open your eyes. No. You wait. It moves closer. You are not afraid. The sun warms your face, your heart softens your fears. It’s your orchard. You see it, as much as it sees you. And just as you breathe into that thought—the cow—he swooshes a bee with his tail. You hear both—the tail as it whips the air and the bee and he hurls through space. And then, the slow and sloppy chewing of a successful cow, his teeth more green and goopy than if you used your eyes.

But before you leave, your belly longs for more. Just one last treat. A ripe and juicy plum. But not chosen with your eyes. With another sense...

First, with your ears you hear the dancing of the leaves, the way the aged arms reach out and into the sun, the silent hum of life coursing like blood through its wooden, ailing veins. Then, with your nose you breathe in the smell of ripe, the delight of purple, the unexpected invitation to be plucked. And suddenly from within, like a gift from your soul and yet arriving from without, appears a smile...

photo courtesy of: www.tree-pictures.com/plum_tree_photos.html

...from your heart.

So you know

that this moment,

this choice,

this plum,

is right and good and…

meant for you.

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My Wednesday Wish for You?

Close your eyes to let your heart give you sight. To see with other senses creates a whole new world, one that has more depth, more meaning and more soul. Make decisions with your alternate senses this week and watch your world change. Then read The Art of Hearing Heartbeats by Jan-Philipp Sendker and watch your world change even more.

Following Dreams....

Where will your dreams take you this week? This is where Simon Dale's dream took him....

"following your dream keeps your spirit alive"

Honoring Self

A little help in honoring your core, your center, your Self in the midst of all the busy of life.
with love,
me,Brynne...

Wednesday Wish (30)

Photo by verbo10 via Flickr

Thick, grey, weighted air, heavy with unlove. Slow steps and bowed heads, bodies dressed in military green. I watched silently as I waited. I breathed deeply as I gazed. I felt as most didn’t dare.

            ‘Good morning Officer Thorpe,’ I said, his keys jingling with excitement as he opened the gate to let me in.

            ‘Morning, Miss Brynne. Friday already? Comes faster every week. Must be all the fun we been having here in prison.’ He chuckled, itching with the same spunk that kept his smile real. ‘The guys’l be happy to see you, always are. I’ll send ‘em right over.’

            ‘Thank you, Thorpe. Happy Morning,’ I called out as I started off across the gravel yard to the small cinder block room that waited for me, just the same, every Friday morning.

            Today I carried a small cd player in one hand and a bag filled with art supplies in the other—trusting the energy of the day to dictate our activities. Funny though, this day, unlike most, I could feel what they needed even before I walked in.

            ‘Mornin’ Miss Brynne,’ said a handful of men in unison, their eyes hungry for attention.

            ‘Morning Plumer, Alonso, Walter, Sam… How was your week? I sent ya’ll some birds. Did you see ‘em? Did you hear ‘em?’

            Plumer, who lost his voice, and his mind, in Vietnam looked at me with a soft, thankful smile. I returned it.

‘Plumer did. What about the rest of you?’

‘I heard one. Think it was yesterday. Sounded like Spring. Sounded happy, sounded free.’ That was Walter. He was in his fifties with hair like a bird’s nest. He loved birds. And after twenty-five years of doing time, his quirky was endearimg.

‘Yep. That was him! Nice, Walter. How’d I know you’d hear him?’

Now there were two smiles. Three if you counted mine.

*          *          *

I asked them to close their eyes, to imagine as I spoke...

The bird is green. Green as the grass under a Carolina summer sky. You look up as it flies toward you. No one else is around. Not a one. You are all alone. So when he swoops low and lands at your feet you don’t look around for show and tell, you just stare. Open mouthed. As it motions for you to step aboard. Step aboard? But you’re just a tiny feller, you think out loud. So he grows. Big and hefty. Fluffy enough for a soft ride. And anywhere you want to go…

The razor wire looks like a stretched out slinky from far above. And camp looks like a silly dollhouse made for ants. You giggle. How’d such an insignificant place ever give you such grief, you wonder. You sigh and decide to think about more important things. Like the nearing airplane. Friendly faces point and wave from their little round windows. You feel like a celebrity and wave back. You reach down to pat the belly of your fluffy bird, your fondness for him growing by the second…

First you want to visit your mama, to give her a kiss and tell her you’re ok, that you’ve managed to keep your heart still lovin’, which is no small task considering the circumstances. After that, you leave it up to Bird. You know he came for a reason and you darn well know you better let him show you what that reason is. He does some loop-de-loops that make your belly do some flips and for a quick second you feel like a kid again. Wow. You let out a big laugh, the wind rubbin’ your cheeks like a dog’s in the back of a pick up truck. You close your eyes to feel it even better. Damn, that feels good…

Before you know it, you’re swooping low, closer and closer to…what’s that? An island? Yep. You haven’t ever seen one before but it sure looks tropical. And warm. The ocean lickin’ at its edges like bathwater in a big ole’ tub. And are those people? Hmm…hopefully they are nice. Yep. Seems they are. They all have smiles and are waving. You think you even see a few with happy tears…

As you step off Bird’s back, you’re encircled and held, hugged and embraced by all those in your past and your future who have, and who will, love you, care for you, want the best out of life for you. People that you thought had forgotten you. People that you thought you had forgotten. People you have yet to meet. And each one filled with love...for you. They step forward, one by one, to embrace you, to remind you that you aren’t alone, to fill you up with hope, with happy, with love…

I looked around at the closed eyes in the room--murderers, rapists, arsonists and simple thieves. Many, had tears streaming down their faces. Most, seemed deeply affected by the imagined love directed toward their hearts. And all, had transformed themselves into hope, into gentle, into love...their faces showed me so.

*          *          *

My Wednesday Wish for You?

Listen this week, listen to your deepest needs and like a big fluffy bird, let your imagination honor those needs into freedom, let your Self fly out of your prisons and into hope, into gentle, into a world warm with love. 

If a small group of inmates can free themselves from their literal prison, then you can, too. After all, you know as well as I that a change in perspective can mean a change in life, a gift we can all give ourselves any time we choose.

Thursday Interlude

An invitation

 to raise your voice... to speak your soul's truth.

Wednesday Wish (29)

photo via googleimages, www.successfulblackwoman.com

Many years ago, when the sky reached a dark violet morning and my heart a fresh tender green, we set off. Just the two of us. In a car. Fifty years apart, twelve inches close, with not a single expectation of the treasures that lay ahead. 

The landscape between my little Danish town and the distant city deep within East Germany's border was lovely. Rolling hills, tufts of farms, cows and sheep, and even a smiling farmer or two. But that, at least, he expected.

And the border with the German shepherds, the soldiers with tight lips and hard eyes, the warning signs in capital letters and the mirrors to check beneath our cars--yes, all that--even I, at age nineteen, expected all that. And I knew how my favorite candy bar would taste after warming up in my hand, how the windshield wiper fluid would sting when it visited my nose, how the car would vibrate and hum when it reached those high autobahn speeds--yes, I expected all those things, too.

And he? Did he expect to long for a smoke as soon as he sat inside the car with a nineteen year old American girl who reminded him of his first love? Or did he expect to focus on the road, to contemplate his overdue retirement, the markets overseas, the dangers of driving near any man with a hat on, even if it might be one's self. I shall never know. But I do know he didn't expect one thing. He couldn't have. I knew him well enough to know his mind wouldn't anticipate his heart. Not this time.

Nor did mine.
But they did.
Our minds folded and our hearts shared.
A secret.
One each.
As we drove through the countryside, ladled with unexpected treasure.

*          *          *

My Wednesday Wish for You?

To share a secret. To unfold the map to your heart's hidden caves, to the places that you thought you wanted no one to ever see. To drop a crumb, or maybe two...with gentle care...and to invite the moment to find you, to find you both. Maybe on a bus. Maybe on a train. Maybe while making copies or ordering your morning tea. Listen for the moment, for the opening in the sea, when your secret begs to be heard, by you and by me. We wear layers in the winter and long for our beloved sun. Our souls are no different. They too, long to feel the sun upon their naked bodies, the warmth of loving sight melting layers of fear, that cumbersome gunk we all know so well, coating, masking, a most magnificent being of light....yes, YOU.

Wednesday Wish (28)

As I sit here in the dark of night with the humming insects and the cooing birds and the distant crashing of the sea, I watch as a moment transforms from a mere moment into eternity. Like a spec of dust seen through a water droplet, that moment expands, its pulse begging to be seen. All these years later a moment in time stands still, its essence still living and growing inside of me…as fresh…as eternity.

photo via Flickr by mrkgrd

*          *          *

Not far from Venice, Italy is a little town that once welcomed me. Its sits like a quiet grandfather, drink in hand, permanent half smile, eyes lost out at sea. His warm and well-worn hand is open and inviting, tender and kind. So I slip my hand in his once again and remind myself a second time, to never, ever let go.

The scent of the sea, the leather in the shops, the belts and the jackets swaying in the breeze, the cigars from the men who play chess and bocce ball in the sand under the grand and beautiful old trees….the scents and feels of this kind and gentle town begin to come back to me.

I walk along the old road that lines the sea, the one with the grand and beautiful old trees. My sandals clap the stones, my dress it sways in the breeze, and my dreams…they grow. I am young and alive and my world is stretched out before me. What do I wish for? What will I be? Where will I go and whom will I see? I breathe in the scent of possibilities and feel them expand my heart. I breathe out my fears and watch them scramble out to sea.

And when I walk beyond the shops, beyond the men mumbling, beyond the women garbling, beyond the lonely dog and the suspicious cat, and beyond each and every normal expectation, I find myself alone. Just me and my sea and the gentle billowing of the grand and beautiful trees. I stop. I close my eyes. And I raise my face up to the sky.

And suddenly, I feel something tickle my face. A tuft of cloud? A curious bee? A fairy on its way to the sea? I giggle as I open my eyes and find more than I ever expect to see…

White puffs of flowers falling like snow, dancing and twirling beneath the grand and beautiful trees. They swoop up and loop over and down. Like unattached clouds. Like tutu-ed fairies. Like butterflies flit floating to the ground. And maybe just maybe, like unclaimed dreams left behind by those who had come before me, still as beautiful as the very day they were born. No…still more. Yes, still more.

I turn to look from whence I came and all along the entire road there is more of the same. The air is filled with magic puffs of white.

            “Its beautiful,” I say to the old man.

            “It happens just once a year,” he says to me, “and its not just beautiful, dear youngin', its magic.”

*          *          *

My Wednesday Wish for You?

To let a special, magical moment in your life, live on for eternity. To hold up the droplet of water when you need it the most, to let it magnify, to let that forgotten moment feed your heart as it once did, again. They say we are better off if we don’t live in the past. But what if we just bring our favorite magic moments with us to the present? What then? I don’t think that’s unhealthy. I think it is honoring the magic in our lives, not letting it get away, inviting it to live on like our dreams...as fresh...as eternity.

Wednesday Wish (27+)

She drove as fast as she could without speeding. Well, maybe she was speeding. But didn’t everyone? And anyway, she had good reason to. She was late. Friends were coming over for dinner and she still hadn’t bought all the food. She pulled her black Range Rover into the closest spot she could find. Any further away was just calling for trouble. First, she could never walk very far in her favorite heels and second, parking further away only tempted jealousy’s fate. No one liked to see a perfect rich girl getting out of a Range Rover during an economic downturn. She wasn’t stupid. Beautiful yes, but stupid, no way. Alysin put the Rover into park and flipped open the visor mirror to check her face. Perfect. Just as she expected. She raised her chin and gave herself a haughty smile. God, I love my life.

Fiona looked up at the tree that was shadowing her path. She loved to see bare branches in the winter time, their silhouettes against the icy sky always inspired her, reminded her of the gifts of cold even when she had holes in her coat and not enough money for a new scarf. She was on her lunch break. On her way to the grocery store. Not to buy anything, mind you, but to visit the flowers. The flowers always made her smile and especially on the coldest of winter days. It was as if they were made of hope, pure hope, something she thought everyone could use a dose of now and again.

Alysin hobbled into the grocery store, sprayed the cart with disinfectant before she put her gloved hands anywhere near it, then found her path blocked by some airhead with holes in her coat who was, what was she doing…smelling flowers?

“Excuse me,” she said with her trademark annoyance. My lord, what is the woman doing now? Is she diving into the poor flower? Alysin had never seen anyone smell a flower with such..such…she didn’t know how to put it but it wasn’t normal, she knew that much. Must be some nut-so affected by the economic downturn. There were a lot more of those lately, that was for sure. “Ex—cuse me…,” she said again, this time a lot louder.

Fiona jumped. “So sorry. I was just….Alysin?”

            “Yes? Do I know you?” Alysin did know her, but at that moment she couldn’t think. Not a bit. Her eyes were too lost on the beauty of this woman’s face. She glowed. And not with a typical beauty, something more. It was as if her beauty glowed from within. What was it about her that made Alysin feel like crying. And so suddenly…where was this coming from?

            “Alysin, its me, Fiona. From high school. Are you alright?” Fiona touched her shoulder with gentle care. “Here, maybe you are like me, maybe you need a little hope. Try this…” And she leaned over to hand Alysin the flower she had just been smelling herself.

            Alysin sniffed it, her shoulders high, her smile tight.

            “Oh no, no. Hasn’t anyone ever taught you how to really smell a flower? Here, like this….” 

And as Fiona buried her face in that lovely gift of flower, inviting her old friend to do the same, Alysin’s tears finally did come. They came and they didn’t stop, not for a very, very long time. Or at least that’s what I think I saw from the parking lot, my bare branches silhouetted against the icy blue winter sky….

 *          *          *

My Wednesday Wish for You?

To bury your face in a flower this week. To throw snobbery to the wind, to rip off any chains, to let your naked heart experience the gift of flower in front of as much of the world as possible, preferably in a grocery store where so few people do any ‘seeing’ other than their own agenda, day in, day out.

You see, smelling a flower isn’t just a nasal experience. It’s a full facial experience. Flowers aren’t made of soft petals for no reason. They are that way because they are also meant to be felt. And when they are, when you actually connect with a flower, they plant their seeds within you. Seeds of hope, of belief in the magic of life, of beauty and of love.

People may stray, but sometimes, like Alysin, sometimes they are just a mere flower’s scent away from getting back in touch with their hearts. And maybe, just maybe, your daring to really smell a flower in public might affect another needy heart enough to do the same.

Wednesday Wish (27)

When your heart is still

And your mind runs rabid

When the cold reaches in

And the warmth leaches out

Will you shut down?

Close the shades and lock the doors?

Or will you open the windows

To let the breeze

Ruffle your drapes

And flutter your skirts

As you forgot it could.

Will you ignore the urge to kiss

Or welcome the pain

That may follow

To let the cold win

Or to have hope that

The scent of a flower

Will outwarm

Your ice.

Hope

Has a secret

Its petals

Are soft

Its gifts are real

And butterscotch.

Wednesday Wish (26)

The office was warm but not hot. The color of the carpet didn’t matter nor did the color of the walls. But the lighting, from a small lamp beside the couch, did. It was golden and kind, like the softness of an afternoon sun after a lazy summer day.

One of the walls was covered in books. They were neatly packed like smiling soldiers, each one begging to be chosen over the rest. A candy store for the escape-inclined. A memory bank for the memory-declined. The other wall, ohh, how have I forgotten to tell you about the other wall? For that is my favorite part of the whole room. The other wall was an entire wall of windows. Floor to ceiling. And beyond that thin glass was one of the most beautiful gardens I have ever seen. No matter the season, no matter the time, the flowers spoke, the leaves trilled, the trees, they whispered and hovered and helped me see. Helped all of us to see…

*           *           *

The young woman with the red hair sat in the chair with the high sides. The comfy one with her back to the wall of books, her eyes drawn to the lush gardens outside. She barely looked at the therapist who sat across from her, a woman who seemed to linger deeply on the red haired angel with eyes lit from within. They had been talking for weeks and this day, this is what they said…

            “You see the potential in others, my dear, but I’m afraid their reality, it often times eludes you.”

            “Potential?”

            “You see with a deeper eye, the eye of your soul. You see what others are at their best, but not who they always choose to be.”

            “I am flawed.” She hung her head down with a sigh. “I make people feel bad about themselves.”

            “Is it flawed or gifted to see someone at their best?”

            The red haired angel raised her head, her eyes wide, vulnerable, brave. She swallowed a lump and began,  “Yes, it is flawed but my flaws enable me to live a more beautiful life. A mystic life. Painful, for I continually watch people choose to live as something less than what they really are, but beautiful because I am able to see with my soul. I taste essence every day and essence… is always love.”

The therapist turned her head to look outside into the garden. “The oak tree lives in the acorn but it is rarely seen. For most of us, the acorn is just a pretty seed. We forget to look within, to truly see. You teach us to see.”

And the red haired angel grew a happy tear and said, “It was never just an acorn. Never to me.”

uacescomm photostream, via flickr

*           *           *

My Wednesday Wish For You?

To see others with the eyes of your soul this week, to see their essence, the oak tree that lives within the acorn. But how? First, take a deep breath and remember. Remember because you know. You know how to see. Open your heart. Listen. And see. Second, if that memory is buried so deeply you don’t even know where to look, then try these exercises to remind you that you do, to remind you of something I promise you, you already know how to do.

1. When you see someone after not seeing them for a while, see them with fresh eyes. Forget the past. All of it. Wipe the slate clean. Let them reinvent themselves, every time. Yes, difficult. No, not impossible. You are up for the challenge. Remember, baggage clouds sight.

2. Look into eyes. Don’t analyze, let yourself swim naturally. What do you feel when you gaze into her eyes? Do you dive in, feel welcome and free? Or do you find the water cool, too cool for swimming? Is she afraid? Was she hurt earlier today? Is she hiding herSelf? Move with her, let your feelings be your guide.

3. Don’t focus on words, listen for feelings. Hers and your own. What is she really saying? Does she resonate with a harmonious chord? Or do you feel jagged edges, sharp pricks, b-flat? Sink into what you are given, never pry, and open your own heart as a welcoming gift for her own.

4. Love. Simple but profound, yes love. Find that place within yourself where you are most at peace, most centered, most who you are. Dwell there. Get your rhythm before you leave. Then take that essence, your own, and come out into the breezeway. Breathe in your strength. Stand tall. And walk, one step at a time. Be in your love and you will see love in others, too. Be in your essence and you will see the essence of others, too.

Wednesday Wish (25)

Here, take my hand, it is warm and friendly and holds yours with a kindness you had forgotten. Here, take my hand, I have something I want to show you….

In the elbow of your afternoon, when your day has slowed enough for you to sit down and take a breath, you remember. An invitation. Not spoken. Or written. But something like a memory, a secret summon, just for you. You didn’t question, you just nodded. And closed your smiling eyes…

Your feet walk barefoot on a cobbled street. They don’t hurt. They are warm and happy to be on their way. Your head is toasty too, heated by the sun, your face awake, your eyes alive, open to this new and unfamiliar, familiar world, inviting it all in…

Beside the banana trees, nestled like a portal to another world, you see the rough-hewn wooden door. You remember it from a far away place and turn to knock, but not before you run your fingers along its carefully carved ridges, along its smooth-bumpy skin. And as you do, the latch opens with a gentle clack and the door creaks open…

You step up and onto the flagstone path. Freshly watered, the heat beneath you is humid, enveloping, like a green house for your toes. You smile at your senses. They haven’t been this alive in a very long time. Your eyes search for someone, anyone who can tell you that you are in the right place. But then you realize you don’t need someone to tell you that. You know you are. Maybe you just wanted a face to echo your joy, to welcome you home to your sensory garden…

You meander along a narrow passageway, beside a vine-covered wall, the bricks barely peeking out, but more than any worry you have. Those are all deeply tucked away. Back in your other world, the world that mattered more, or so you used to think. Your nose rises up, the scents trickle down—first the sea, then the rest. Your shoulders inflate, your smile broadens, your energy lightens even more, oh how is this even possible, you say to your grateful heart. The roses, the gardenias, the herbs and tropical spices, you inhale the life, the pulsing energy of your sensory garden, the evening of your dreams…

Your eyes dance but with a calm and contented kind of sway, seeing things for the first time but you know not the last---the dark and glossy leaves dripping with water, humming with heavy, humid air, the speckled insects and cooing birds, the little gecko peeking from beneath his umbrella leaf, each one as much a part of this world than the next, all an integral part of the whole. You hear the fountain, follow the path deeper, deeper into this lush and enveloping world…

And then, you realize you need to sit. Just for a second. So you do. Beneath the palapa fronds and beside the cloth-laden table as if the chair was there waiting for you. And when you do, just then, you hear a faint tingling of bells. Bells? You cock your head with curiosity. A new scent. The scent of a woman. Someone you know but had almost forgotten. She comes bearing gifts, foods you didn’t know you ached for, treats she knew your senses craved…

Welcome, my friend, welcome to our garden. It was just mine, but now it’s yours, too.  I’m so glad you heard my call. I’m so happy you decided to come. I’ve been wanting you to visit for some time. Here, take my hand once more, and this time, tell me your heart, the heart I have so longed to hear...

Wednesday Wish (24)

Photo by dream_maze via flickr

Late at night, after everyone has gone to sleep, when the worries from my head seep out and run far, far away, when the ocean crashes in the distance and the bugs hum a sleepy tune, late at night when mySelf is a blank and malleable place, when the air is heavy with intrigue, when my senses pulse with inner magnets, yes then, that is when the magic magic happens. Tonight, I breathed in a scent. His scent. A scent I hadn’t thought of in many, many moons. He came to me on a wisp of an ocean breeze, carried with intention. His or mine, I do not know. But intention, nonetheless. So I got up. Out of my cozy incubating nest to send him an email. His scent told me he needed love. He was struggling and needed love.

Everyone has a scent. Not the scent of soap or deodorant or perfume or cologne. Not even laundry detergent or the metallic spices that emerge after exercise. Those are notes, maybe, but not the entire chord. The scent I’m talking about is one’s essence, something you can sense most clearly when you are a short distance away, close enough to see with your eyes and far enough to breathe in with first, just your imagination.

Many times when I breathe in a person, my nose senses desserts—maybe a butter cream icing with a funny flavoring, or a dark chocolate mousse saturated in some sort of liquor. Other times, it finds pictures of herbs or flowers, or places...a library, a brand new Best Buy, an ancient fern-laden forest. And still, I breathe in scents that I cannot yet decipher. Not until I am once again home in my cozy nest of a bed, when that person comes to me on the back of a humid nighttime breeze do I realize what their scent really is, its essence as obvious as my own daughter’s who sleeps right beside me.

 *          *          *

My Wednesday Wish for You?

To return to scented imagination. You know, the nose is one of imagination’s best friends. Not the imagination that raises eyebrows and create smirks. But the imagination that creates dreams and resurrects forgotten ideas into pulsing realities, a gift we all have and at some point learned to relegate to the farthest corners of our ‘pointless’ closets. So here’s your summon. Dust it off, your forgotten imagination. Give it back some of its paint peeling medals. Those you were born with, the ones you earned on the playground in kindergarten when you made the prettiest apple pie out of sand. And when you are ready, give that imagination baton to your trusty nose, that friend that just wants to be believed in to show you things that most people never ever dream of their entire lives, a world within a world that’s only a smidgen step away.  And why?  To see, to care, to share another’s journey as you secretly wished someone else might one day share your own. The scent of Clarice tells you that she is living under an oppressive shadow in her life. Not a person, but a perspective. Steve’s citrus tang tells you first, that his view his life has begun to sour and later, that he longs for a sweeter way to be. Listen to the scents. Read them like a wizard deciphers dreams. Interpret and watch as the barriers between you and others thin to the finest of ancient parchment. See. Care. Live a life of scented imagination. For imagination doesn't just embrace the entire world, it creates it. 

Wednesday Wish (23)

I grew up with a barn. A big old-fashioned barn. And in that barn out behind my childhood home was a hayloft. The kind you see in the movies. With a rope swing and even a resident owl. Breathe in with me? A deep swig with your eyes closed. Yep…there it is. The sweet and musty scent of hay. In my childhood barn.

My neighbor Sandy had her own barn, too. She lived across the field. Her’s was red and white. Mine was a soft, peeling-paint yellow. Her’s was filled with hay, just like mine. But Sandy’s barn was different. You see, Sandy’s dad was a real farmer. And real farmers, in addition to using their heads, use their sixth sense. They intuit. They feel. They are connected to nature. Sandy’s dad knew that the hay wasn’t just for feeding the animals. He knew it was an opportunity for fun, too. So every year when he filled their hayloft in their red and white barn, he didn’t stack the bales in tight little rows like legos with thoughts of practicality. Nope. Sandy’s dad took the extra time to throw reason to the wind and to elevate fun to its rightful place not just for us kids, but for himself, too. Sandy’s dad made Sandy’s hay loft into an entire magical world.

Up levels, down levels, dead ends and sharp turns, tunnels to make even a bore squeal with happy. Cozy little cubbies just right for two girls to tell their secrets, big open spaces near the tip-top windows to see the rolling fields high up from above—Sandy’s dad thought of everything to make my heart sing. And every year when the new bales came in, I could hardly wait to see what new magic, what new fun, what new delight awaited me in Sandy’s hay loft across the field.

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My Wednesday Wish for You?

You probably work. You probably need to use your head to do your job properly. And that’s all good, of course. You have to eat, after all. But sometimes,  that head needs to be thrown out and into the wind. Sometimes we need to get back to our roots, to the real farmers that live within each of our souls. We need to remember our connection to nature, our natural need for fun, and how we all, at some point in our lives and more often than not, over rate practicality and the importance of head. We forget to cultivate the lightness of fun…the magic of being.

This week, I challenge you to loosen the reins, to stop your head from driving your life’s car. Maybe not all day, or even for very long, but for as long as you can. And longer every time, until you see what a difference less head can make in the fun of your day. Be silly without thinking of the repercussions. Aren’t repercussions really just other people’s issues anyway? Eat some decadent food without a thought of what it will do to the scale. Make a desired phone call without wondering how someone else might interpret it. Take a sick day to lounge in your bathrobe with bubbles and chocolate and not a sniffle in sight. Put your head on the shelf and feel like a real old fashioned farmer with a barn full of hay and a banjo on your knee. Feel. Be. Trust. And believe. Believe what? That everything is better, more magical, when we honor what makes our souls sing.

Wednesday Wish (22)

I was sitting at the kitchen counter in my childhood home. It was early morning, before school. My brothers were on either side of me, each of us eating cereal. Cheerios. It was silent but for our silverware hitting the porcelain, our little mouths occasionally slurping up the happy milk-soaked rings.

“What did you say?”

I looked over at my elder brother. Was he talking to me? Yep, he was looking at me with the half irritated, half curious brow only a brother can give.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Yes you did. I heard you.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Oh, really? Then who was it?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I don’t?”

I shook my head, “Nope.”

He pushed in a big pile and chewed violently, his cheeks bulging. I could almost hear their terrified screams. That was it. I had to tell him.

“The cheerios. My cheerios were laughing.”

He chocked on his own laughter, spraying the counter with white and brown splatter. “You’re weird,” he said.

“I told you you didn’t want to know. I knew you wouldn’t understand. But just so you know the whole story, I eat them gently, so they can ride down unhurt. It’s like a water slide. They laugh when they go down. It’s super fun. For them and for me. You should try it sometime.” I took another bite, my face pure smile. Pure smile.

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My Wednesday Wish for You?

Christmas dinner is almost here and I am willing to bet that a few of you get to eat with at least one person you don’t really enjoy. In fact, I am willing to bet that some of you are right now, all these hours ahead of time, dreading such things as conversation topics, uncomfortable questions, all the patience you are going to need, even the way you feel in your belly when you’d rather be doing something entirely different than listening to this person who you really don’t connect with on your left. I mean, lets face it, sometimes we have to do things we don’t always enjoy. And especially when it’s the nice thing to do. But…we do have a little wiggle room. And that’s what I’m here to help with. The wiggle room, the place where fun lives even when boring or painful or ugly surrounds you. And you know what? Even when it doesn't. You see, wiggle rooms are just as fun to be in when life is pure joy.

My Wednesday Wish for you, whether you are dreading Christmas dinner or more excited about it than anything else all month is…are you ready for this…to give consciousness to your food. That’s right. Let your food come alive. Imagine what the mashed potatoes are saying as you slop them onto your plate. “Hey, easy. Its Christmas for me, too, you know.” And what about the dessert? “Ooh, I love this part, when I touch your tongue. I love to make you feel happy, you know. I can hardly wait to play in your belly, too. I will keep making you happy all night, if you let me!” Whatever you eat, invite it to speak to you, to give you smiles, to make your Christmas even more magical than perhaps it has ever been. Give yourself a little childhood fun, if not for me, then for the boring old lady on your left who has never had a better Christmas conversation with anyone but you in her entire life.  


And p.s. don't forget to watch this video. It might give you a happy head start. For truth is, you don't have to stop with your food. Maybe a lot more in your life craves consciousness, too:)

Address Is Approximate from The Theory on Vimeo.