Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Wednesday Wish (86); Connect

A  Photograph of Fingers Touching a Bright Light
photo by andrewhardman via flickr

I stood at the mouth of the Target funnel wondering which cashier to choose. Shorter line, or more likely to connect—which did I value most today? I chose to connect and found a cashier that looked interesting.

She moved slowly with an unnamed grace and seemed to search people’s faces as she rang up their goods. But her customers, they didn’t seem to see her. One woman said thank you. Another wished her a great weekend. But no one dared to begin a real conversation and I doubted if they ever shared their eyes. It was a business and for the customers, a way of being that had become a habit, of paying for goods and getting on with the rest of their chores as quickly as possible.

I couldn’t wait to talk to her, to listen to even a little bit of her story—to see her. It was almost my turn.

“Hello, how are you?” I said, looking into her eyes, my hands not busy but present, too.

She looked at me, really looked at me, and let a smile bubble up. And then, in a completely genuine way said, “I am good, busy. Thank you.”

“Your accent,” I said, “do you speak Russian? Because me,” and this part I happened to be able to say in Russian, “I don’t speak Russian.”

She answered immediately, “Russian? Me? Oh no, no. I am not Russian.” I had uncovered something she didn’t expect to reveal.  She went on, “No, no, I am from Romania not Russia. Have you heard of Romania?”

Now it was my turn to smile. She had no idea that I was a traveller or that I knew my geography fairly well, Europe especially. “Yes, I do know where it is. I used to live in Europe.” I said. “But I thought all the children in the Eastern Block had to learn Russian in school back then. Did they not do that in Romania when you were a child?”

She finished ringing up my things and turned to me with a new-found gentleness. “You are right. I did. But the truth is, I never liked it. I always preferred to speak my own language. So now, I can’t remember much at all.” She paused. “And I am happy about that.”

“I bet you are,” I said nodding, sensing her heavy past. “I’m sure I would be, too.”

We laughed.

“How then might I say ‘have a happy day’ in Romanian?”

She chuckled again, thought for a moment, and told me.

I repeated it back to her, watching her light up, her face suddenly pure love, pure beauty. “And Cristina?” I continued, after reading her name tag, “In case you forgot, you’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she called out to me as I pushed my cart toward the exit, “Thank you so much for being so nice to me. Your caring has already changed my day.”

I turned and waved, my smile almost exactly mirroring her own.

*          *          *

My Wish for you this week is to connect—to resist the urge to rush or the compulsion to tick just one more thing off your list, but instead, to value the people around you more than anything else. We forget sometimes that we don’t wear bubbles around our bodies, that we aren’t swimming in a sea made for one. We share the same air, the same feelings, the same needs and hopes and dreams with thousands, millions of people on this earth. And while we may think, more often than many of us dare to admit, that we don’t need anyone, that we can do most of this life thing on our own, you know deep down, that that is not true. We need one another. Not because we are weak or lacking something, but because we are love. Each and every one of us is nothing less than love at our core. And you know something? Love cannot be her luminous Self without that which gives her life…. connection.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Wednesday Wish (85); Begin Your Happy

photo by robby cavanaugh via flickr

In the darkest hour of the night, when everyone around you is lost in heavy dream, when the moon hovers high in the sky and the trees are more shadow than green …. your body stirs. You blink your eyes, trying to clear the dark, but you can’t. It stays. Your feet find the floor, they softly pad down the hall, down the stairs and into the kitchen. You find a glass. You pour yourself some juice. Your swallows fill the blackened air. And suddenly, like a tender memory, you realize you are alive, so very much alive, as you stand there, alone, in the darkest hour of the night.

You walk to the nearest window feeling the coolness of the floor. You tickle the air with your fingers, you scrunch your nose up like a rabbit, you tune in to the mystery of the night because you remember you are alive, so very much alive and this is your night, your moment to feel it all. And then…

Something beckons.
Something calls.
Something begs you outside…

And you listen.

The grass is wet. You stop to feel…. the slight breeze, the whispers of the trees, the distant murmur of the sea, and there it is again, your heartbeat. Again and again, Again and again. Again and again. You touch your chest to be sure. And when you do, the cottage appears. Just like that. Beneath the trees.

Its windows glow golden with candlelight. Flickers dance upon the grass. You want to step where the flickers are, to catch them like fireflies. Are you a kid again? Where is this silliness coming from? You smile at your spirit. And run off to play.

A figure moves in the cottage window. So it’s not a dream. Another walks here, too. You hold your breath. Again and again. Again and again. Again and again. The figure opens the door with a wood-aged creak.

“Door’s open. Come, when it is time.”
“Wait!” you say, “Who are you? What's happening?”
But no one answers.

So you walk into the light and toward the cottage, to see what’s called you near. Bare feet on wet grass, candle flickers sparkling up your eyes, and a familiar voice that doesn't speak, but still, beckons you near. 

As you enter the kindness, you feel at home. You see things from your life on the walls and on the shelves. Things your mother saved and your father wrote. Things you loved and things that gave you joy. You look around in awe. And then you see you aren’t alone.  For there in the rocking chair, sits you. Not as you are. Not as you were. But you, as you will be. Your hair is white. Your face is wrinkled. Your legs and arms are weak and sagging. But you are smiling. Smiling so deeply and so contentedly, that your joy warms up the room.

“But I’m not happy like you,” you blurt out.
“No?” says the elder you, “then when? When will you begin?”

*          *          *

You are smiling in a rocking chair, remembering all the things from your life that brought you joy. Memory after memory pass you by like shooting stars, each one more precious than the last. What are those stars that lit up your life? Can you see them? Can you see them as an elder looking back at a life well lived? Go there, find the older you. Sit there. Rock there. Be that elder you. And when you look back, when you see what brought your heart its deepest joys, hold on to those feelings. Hold on tight. Then return… to the now…. to breathe life into what you know is already yours.

Listen to your playful you.
Honor your feelings.
Remember your inner happy.
Then feed it.
Grow it.
Not tomorrow when it’s more appropriate
Or a better time.
Not someday when you can finally afford it
Or make the time.
But today,
This very moment ...

Begin Your Happy

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Wednesday Wish (84); Pass on your You

Canopy dreamer.
photo by david talley via flickr
It’s well known in these parts but I wonder if it’s well seen. The road that passes it, is busy. The parking lot, is almost full. But the trees, they hang a little lonely and their trunks beg to be seen. Isn’t that why their bumps stick out just a little bit more rugged and their flowers smell just a little bit more beautiful? Aren’t they aching to be recognized, hoping to heard?

I think so.

And what about the gravel as it crunches under foot? Do you hear it tell you of the last man that traveled by? Did his hip ache, did his wife hurt his feelings? Or was it a woman worried about her blood pressure and the gossip she heard at work? Did it try to tell you what it felt as you walked upon its back? Did you let yourself listen? Or did you laugh it off as silly stuff, the kind of talk only crazies hear?

I think so.

And what about the dancing whispers of the sea? As you walk along your gravel path and gaze upon the trees, do you dare to sense the sea? Do you notice how it ripples and curdles and plays …. with far off memories? A tale of a sailor. Another of a dream. Of love and loss in Africa and wails beneath those seams. Do you remember its memories as if they are your own? For aren’t they? Aren’t we all, a memory of the sea?

I think so.

But most of all, when you walk along your seaside path and see another near .… do they, see you? Do you huddle in your bubble, lost within your world, or do you find the courage within yourself to be present enough …. to smile? If the trees can express what they are feeling, if the gravel can pass on what it hears, if the sea indeed carries long forgotten memories, then you …. can you pass on your You?

I think so.

Yes, you can.

*          *          *

A real smile is a gift. Of energy. From your deepest You. If you give it away, and it is returned, your energy is always, always, always—multiplied. And if you give it away and it is not returned, then you know, know, know, it was needed elsewhere for a time and elsewhere it needs to be. Never wasted. Never lost. Always living, Always stirring. Always growing …. something magic. In you, or in our trees ….

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Wednesday Wish (83); Imagination's Gift

out of the ordinary.
photo by robby cavanaugh via flickr

There it sits, outside my bedroom window, a peninsula of grass on the top of a small ridge. I know it can’t speak, but then it does.

At first it sounds like an invitation. So I stop and linger when no one else is near. I take off my shoes to let the dew wet my feet. And soon my toes begin to draw circles in the grass. A tiny one here. Another one there. I feel silly. I feel a bit more alive. I feel a smile brewing in my belly. It’s then I begin to walk in circles. Wide ones, plump ones, full-of-possibility ones. Round and round and round again. Slowly, consciously, with the curiosity of an innocent, I stretch my arms. They rise up and down. Like wings. Like guides. Like friends who want to be an important part of things. And all the while, my heart is nursed by the magic of where I stand.

I revisit the dew of my grassy ridge again and again. In my imagination and with my eyes, and each time its invitation speaks a little louder, each time my smile gets a little wider. Until one day, the invitation is fully accepted.

And suddenly, together, we both begin to sing.

I hunt in my imagination for the perfect pattern, riding deeper still … listening to my grassy ridge, listening to the possibilities. Which does it call for, which shall it be? I discover excitement and new sparkles in my eyes. I discover idea after idea as they stream by, one shooting star after another. I discover welcomed passion and a day in the life of an impassioned human being.

*          *          *

Imagination is yours for the taking.
It is here to...


...not just 
fairy tales
or dreamscapes,

Lives Worth Living.

My grassy ridge is transforming into a labyrinth. One with a fence made of branches and stones that ignite new dreams. Every day I uncover more of what it has called out to be, of what my imagination allows it to be. And every day I smile a smile that wouldn’t be there, had I not listened. A smile that would not exist had I not taken the time to let my imagination create a new reality.

Thursday, July 4, 2013

Happy Day of Independence

May you soar with Freedom,
May you laugh with your deepest Heart
May you dance all day with Love.

photo via facebook, divinefemininereawakening