Wednesday Wish (49)

There she was, rocking slowly in the moonlight, her stockinged feet kneading the porch planks like she hadn’t ever done it before. But she had. Every night for fifty some-odd years. It was her ointment, she told me, a balm she used for soothin’ her soul. For soothin’ her soul? I smiled half-like, not really understanding her all the way. That’s when she clarified. “Because I had my blank message, that is,” her eyes sparkling like a Carolina star. My smile stayed stuck. And she noticed. Ms. Dorothy noticed everything. That’s when she took her hands out of her apron and put one on my knee and said, “Here darlin’, listen right hard. I have somethin’ important to tell you now, ok?” 

           

*          *          *

It was late at night. The children were in bed, her husband was still at work and the cat, he purred in her lap, the two of them reveling in the warmth of the fire.

            “Shall we go to bed then, Avery?” she asked the cat. And not a second later came a knock on the door. “Well who in heaven’s name might that be?” she said right quick. “Am I dreamin’?”

But there it was again. A nice knock but still, a very late knock. Dorothy set Avery down and slipped her feet into her shoes, leather pumps from Belk’s.

            “Comin!” she yelled.

            His face was kind, she reminisced to me. Kind in the way faces with lots of wrinkles tend to be. But it was his eyes that she remembered best. Yes, his eyes.

            “Can I help you?” she asked the stranger.

            “I don’t think so,” he said.

            Dorothy humpfed. “Well then, what are you doin’ on my porch so late at night?”

            “I came to give you this,” he outstretched his hand with a dandelion puff.

            Dorothy didn’t know what to say so she did the polite thing and said, “Why, thank you.”

            “You know what it is, don’t you?”

            “Well, call Aunt Ginny Uncle John, of course I know a dead dandelion when I see one.”

            But the old man shook his head. “You don’t know, do you?”

            “Don’t know what? Your name? Yes, you’re right. I know I don’t know that.”

            “It’s David. And that there,” he nodded toward her, “is a message.”

            Dorothy gave him her second humpf of the night. “A message? Are you tellin’ me I need to cut my lawn? Well, I never...”

            “No, ma’am,” said old man David. “I brought you a message, and not just any old message, a blank one.”

            “And what pray God, is a blank message?”

            Old man David cleared his throat. “It’s a message for you to make into anything you’d like. Whatever you need, whatever you want to hear, whatever you long for, that’s what it is. It’s blank but it sure isn't empty. And it’s just for you.”

            Right then and there on her front porch, Dorothy saw old man David’s eyes for the first and last time. They were lit from within and echoed his soul. Looking back she didn’t know how she knew what she did, but deep inside, she just did. It was the God to honest truth. His eyes echoed his soul.

            “Would you like a cup of tea?” she said gently.

            “Why no, thank you, I must be goin’ now. You see, it’s gettin’ late and I have a lot more work to do.”

            She reached out to shake his hand but at the last second thought better of it and leaned in to give him a hug instead.

            They embraced like old friends.

            “Thank you, David.”

            “It’s my pleasure. Just passin’ the torch. Passin’ the torch to a woman who is more than deserving.” And just like that, he shared a happy chuckle and turned down the stairs.

*          *          *

The Wednesday Wish this week is a blank message for you, one that you get to squish and squeeze and poke and knead into anything at all that you desire. Do you need to be reminded that you are truly beautiful? Have you forgotten that you are loved? And what about the difficult day you just had? Did you forget to praise yourself on handling it all so well? Do you need a little compassion for fudging on your diet and eating what you weren’t supposed to? Or what about a compliment? Do you need one of those? For we all do sometimes. Your blank message is a reminder that whatever you need, is yours for the taking. If you can imagine it, it will be….and like Dorothy, you might just find your blank message to be a delightful little balm for soothing your precious soul.

Wednesday Wish (48)

On a quiet side street of my island home there are dandelions and tall, weedy grasses and a tiny creek that dances over bits of stone. It makes me happy to walk along this street, my senses open, my heart oh, so wide. I like to see the things that no one else notices, to give them my attention and to feel them plump up when I do. Like the tuft of grass in the middle of the street. 

I love him. I don’t know how he happened, but there, suddenly, in the middle of pure asphalt, is mister tuft of happy green grass. When neighboring lawns turn brown and coarse, he doesn’t. Here it is late summer and still he’s his sweet self of lush green.

And then there is the Stop sign tucked behind the tree that so few can ever see unless they get under the tree like I did. What color is the Stop sign, I asked my little girl. And now I ask you…what color is the Stop sign? Is she really red? Or is she something more? Is she also white…with maybe a little bit of tree juice mixed in there, too? What color is your Stop sign, the one nearest to your home? She's not just red even if 99% of us say it is so. For we forget to really see. To see the letters, to see the happenings, to see the life of something we stop beside every single day.

When we take the risk, because it is indeed a risk, to look closer and closer, the things around us begin to change. You see, it takes a certain bravery to wait and just look when the rest of the world is in such a hurry. But when we do, when we soften enough to step outside of our self-centeredness, we open ourselves up to a realm of wonder where we are a part of something larger. That place where we connect not just with a person or a people, but with the things around us too, that place, it emerges. The You in you and the Me in me…walk into the light to guide us home. We are steered back to our center.

And all because we took the time to give our attention to something.

A patch of grass

A Stop sign

Anything that finds its way into your path

Is your sacred ticket

To You.

Wednesday Wish (47)

photo by dolfi via Flickr

He walked slowly with no destination, his feet taking him for a ride. Or was it his nose? Or his ears? Or his eyes? For his senses were certainly awake.

When she saw him, her hand reached for her daughter’s to pull her away, leading them both to the car with whispers paving their way.

When a woman on her power walk saw him, she u-turned around. And made a phone call while looking back behind her, her eyes aflame with piercing fear.

A dog walking his owner saw him then too, and lept over to share a good sniff. But when our friend reached down to pat the sweet dog, his owner pulled his leash away.

I watched. And while I understood….I also, understood.

He probably hadn’t had a shower in a few days and his jeans were smudged with dirt. His shirt barely covered his belly, he wasn’t clean-shaven, and he walked a lot slower than anyone else around. He noticed the trees. He shuddered with the breeze. He raised his nose to take in scents and lowered his head to see what his feet had found. His fingers trilled the air. His eyes explored, and while his presence gave most fear, it gave me tenderness. He was highly sensitive and had battles with his mind. Didn't he need love just as much as the rest of us?

A dandelion. The color was perfect. Somehow I knew he’d like yellow.

So I picked it.

For him.

No words,

just a smile

And my arm outstretched

with a flower.

He sat down with his back against a tree and smiled at his flower, his eyes watering with happy. We nodded our heads and as I turned to leave he shared a 'thank you'.  'Of course', I said, my heart alive with tenderness--his gift of love to me.

*          *          *

We all need love.

How will you share your love this week?

Wednesday Wish (46)

There’s a dancing in the trees. Did you notice it today when you went outside? Even in the grocery store parking lot and on the highway where everybody’s in a rush, aching to be somewhere other than where they are….the dancing…its there, too. I feel it. Do you?

It’s something like a little itch inside and when you shine light on it, it starts to shimmy. Just a little bit. But still, it’s there. It’s fresh and alive…and it feels new. Like a baby worm inching it’s way along on a cold, windy day. It’s unsure of itself. Until you start to listen, until you start to turn the sunshine on. And then…it begins to feel heard, seen, invited to be what it was always meant to be. This baby worm, its really a butterfly in disguise and the dancing in the trees…is really your heart finding its wings, soaring in the way it was meant to---free and alive and hopeful. Not naïve, but filled with belief in the goodness of life. Not afraid, but trusting in the beauty that is meant for you. Not hesitant, but sure, sure of the You in you, in the magic in you, in the love that you are in your core.

So this week…I invite you to feel the dancing in the trees and in your Self, to find that lightness, that hope, and dwell there. Put your mind in the back seat and give your dancing heart the reins. Ok? Here, let me give you a taste of how that feels. From my dancing heart to yours…no matter where you are in the world...a joy that is always available to you, a joy that wants to get up and dance:

Wednesday Wish (45)

It was a dreary kind of day. Heads hung low, spirits sagged, even the trees seemed to droop, their branches heavy under the weight of it all. Little girl and I, we sat in the car waiting for Papi to return. He wouldn’t be long. And we didn’t mind. We had time. And when there is time, imagination gets to play.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a small jar of liquid. Pink liquid. With a little wand tucked inside. I showed it to little girl.

            “Yay!” She clapped. “Bubbles!”

            Of course I yay’d and clapped, too. They were bubbles, after all. And in a heavy-feeling parking lot on a dreary kind of day.

Photo courtesy of hannahduffyphotography via Flickr

At first there were just a few but I kept dipping and blowing and dipping and blowing and soon, the parking lot started to dance with bubbles. An old man with a sour frown looked up, and wondered into the sky. A child dropped his mother’s hand and leaped to catch one. The mother laughed. The sister and a stranger in a car, they laughed, too. The worker who collected shopping carts stopped to watch. A dog began to bark. And a man dressed in a suit grew a fresh smile. Eyes tried to follow their origin. Spirits grew curiosity. And was it just me? Or was the air softening just a little bit? Was the day just a little less dreary and a little more magic? Yes, I am sure it was. And not just in our little car as we waited for Papi and let our imaginations play. Everywhere around us, too.

*          *          *

How would your world change if right now, 

you started blowing bubbles?

*          *          *

In a grocery store…on an airplane…in traffic…at the dentist’s office…at the mechanic’s…in a law firm…at the post office…in a restaurant…in a department store…beside a train…over a lake…on a beach…off a balcony…into a garden…in your cubicle…in your bath…at a red light…in a staff meeting…going through customs…in a coffee shop...when you’re on hold…

Let bubbles soften your day 

Wednesday Wish (44)*

She came to me through the darkness and the shadow, thru the echoes and the pain. I felt everything as if it were my own. And then… it was my own.

I sat in my car waiting for the ferry to take me to my island home. My daughter slept in the back seat. City lights shined on the harbor. Night had snuck in. I took a deep breath…and there she was.

She spoke to me as a feeling. Her essence clearer than most voices I hear every day. I could do nothing but weep. Crumble from the inside out. It was she.

            “Why me?” I asked. “Be with those who need you most….but not me.”

            “I’m with them, too. Always. There is no separation where I am.”

            I nodded. I understood. Somehow, I understood.

            “Why…why did you have to die?” I cried. “You were so loved, you are so missed. Hearts are broken.”

            “I was the only one who could show them, awaken them to their souls.”

            I was quiet, listening through my silent tears.

            “It was only me,” she said, “anyone else, the effect would have been entirely different. That day, that time, that place…it had to be then. It had to be me.”

            “Why? I don’t understand.” I pleaded.

            “For love.”

            “For love?”

            She was laughing. She was happy. I was hearing her and getting it. Getting it enough to share it with the souls that needed to hear it the most. “For love,” she said again, thru her smiles.

            “Tell them,” she told me, “tell them I died for love, love of their souls. It’s not about the rest. Not any of it. Tell them I am with them. Tell them to believe in deeper things, to sense deeper things, that when they do, they will find me there. I have never left. I could just do more for them from here. Tell them, Brynne, please tell them. Tell them to open their eyes, the eyes of their hearts, to see love in everything. To drop the cynicism and disbelief in 'hocus pocus'. I am not gone. I am not human anymore, but I never really was. None of us are. We’re energy, we’re souls. Tell them to awaken to the things I now know for certain. I have gone first to soften their lives in the now. But they have to let me. They have to hear what I am trying to say. Will you tell them again, Brynne, tell them what I have been trying to tell them all along?”

            “I will. I think they hear you already, but now, they will hear you even clearer. You are not gone, you are right here. And love is all there is...."

*          *          *

Death. We are all headed there. But this week, my wish is that you begin to see death without its usual dark mask. While bodies may hurt and falter and even disintegrate into the earth, the We in we will never die. Because we aren’t our bodies. We are energy, we are our souls. So this week, I challenge you to begin being more of the You in you. Not for long. Maybe even just a few minutes at a time. But try to just be. Be with yourSelf, your beautiful Self. See that you are love in your core. Feel the warmth that you emanate from that core. And know that those around you are but love, too. Whether here or there, we are all soul, we are all love, we are all energies that will never die. Make that truth your own.

*          *          *

Theirs was a soul family. But they didn’t yet know it. Oh yes, they felt it, but their minds, their minds blocked the depth of their paths. All except one. One who would sacrifice herself for her beloved friends. So finally, they would see…

*In honor of Lisa Mills

Wednesday Wish (43)

photo by Cazzydance via Flickr

It wasn’t rainy or windy or even foggy. It wasn’t super sunny or super hot, either. It was just an average gray Pacific Northwest kind of day. No obvious reason for what he was about to do. He wasn’t tired. He had slept well the night before. He wasn’t even day dreaming any more than he normally did. He was just driving. In his old, barely alive, beat up pick-up truck. On a gray afternoon in June.

When suddenly, he took a wrong turn.

Just one wrong turn.

And before he could remedy the situation, right there on the side of the road stood an old man. He was pasting something to the window of a truck.

For Sale, it read, in big black letters.

So the young man pulled over. He got out and walked over to the old man who still stood beside the truck.

            “I see you’re selling your truck.”

            “Yep. Don’t need it anymore.”

            “How many miles does it have on it?”

            “Aw, well…it says 88,000 but it’s more like 8,000 since I’ve towed it to Arizona every winter for god knows how many years and I barely drive it when I'm here.”

            The young man nodded, thinking-like.

            “You in the market for a truck?” said the old man, trying to be polite.

            “Well, I wasn’t planning on buying one today. But soon, ya, soon I guess I’m gonna be needin’ a new one.” He nodded toward his pick-up with the sweet nostalgia of a young man who loves his truck. “How much you want for it?”

            “Hmm…how about $1500.”

            The young man nodded but kept silent.

            “If you buy it today I’ll sell it to you for $1200.”

            “Mind if I take it to my mechanic to get the engine checked out?”

            “Have at it,” said the old man as he threw him the keys.

The young man climbed inside the beautifully kept truck, smiling at the perky springs in the seat and the smooth way it shifted gears. He appreciated the careful care that had been given to the truck, the same kind of care he gave his own truck. The young man chuckled to himself as he drove. He felt happy.

            “What’d he say?” said the old man a few hours later. “Did she get a clean bill of health?”

            The young man wasn’t accustomed to lying. And anyway, he liked the old man. “Yep. He said she’s perfect.”

            The two men looked at the truck as if sizing up a new horse to breed.

            “I just wasn’t planning on buying a new truck today.”

            “Son?”

            “Yes, sir?”

            “Do you like the truck?”

            “I love it.”

            “Then give me 100 bucks and its yours.”

The young man drove home that night in his new truck, sure he had just experienced the wonder of a fairy tale.

*          *          *

Mama cried, “I’m so happy! Now he'll be safer on the road and he won't have to work any extra hours to pay for it, either! Hallelujah!"

Daddy asked, “Any rust? And what about the tires? Got good tread? Wow. All four brand new? You sure played your cards right, son.” And he patted him hard on the back.

His wife cheered, then did a little dance.

His brother laughed and shook his head.

And his sister (that’s me) smiled at the magic of one wrong turn.

*          *          *

What about you? When you make your next ‘wrong turn’ on the road or in life, will you chastise yourself for it? Or will you look for the magic and appreciate the gifts of the unexpected? Its been said many times before that what happens to you can’t always be controlled, but how you interpret what happens to you, can. So go for it…see the wonder in the fairy tale and maybe your taste of magic will come sooner than you think.:)

Wednesday Wish (42)

When life’s path leads you deep into an unknown forest… 

will you remember to listen to the breathing of the trees?

*          * 

Your imagination will beg to show you magic…

but will you remember to hush your mind enough to hear her tender voice? 

*          * 

Will you see with childlike wonder the secrets left for you-- hidden treasures and veiled doorways...

or will the adult in you squelch it all away?

*          *

Will you look up? To discover fresh hope?

 *          *

Will you see the beauty of your scars and the richness of your bruises?

 *          *

And will you, oh, wont you please, leave some of your own magic behind…

for the forest of the gentle trees...

Wednesday Wish (41)

Somewhere way up north, where the blackberries ooze plump and the summers are almost all sun, is a little cove tucked inside a hidden curve of forest. And overlooking that patch of magic that so few ever see, is a house. It's small. And quaint. And it gives you an unexpected smile when you first see it from afar. Come…you have your suit on…dive in the water with me…let me show you something secret, a magical place for me…

You put your hand in mine when we step onto the rocky shore. You are cold from your swim but my hand, its warm and safe. You can trust me. You made a wise choice. You are already starting to warm up in the summer sun, enveloped by the trees, your hand the warmest, as you walk close to me.

The forest floor is soft, padded with pine needles and moss, ferns and salal. Birds twitter out of sight, a butterfly dances just beyond your reach and a single yellow orchid twists toward the sky. You smile to yourself because you feel hugged. Hugged in a foreign place with your hand in mine, your body dripping ocean on the muffled forest floor.

You breathe the judgment out. Acceptance finds its place. You breathe the worries out. Peace finds its place. You breathe the objectives out. Receptive-open finds its place. You look up and see a ray of sun sneaking through the trees. And when your eyes return to your Self, you notice your step is lighter, your mood has a scent of hope, and you feel more alive-awake than you have….well…in a very long time.

The house is a warm rust red with golden light kissing its seams. There's a vegetable garden with a pin wheel, a red geranium in a pot, and a big glass jar of tea, steeping in the sun on the porch. The screen door slams…

Darlin’? Is that you?

You are silent. Waiting for someone else to answer. But you look around. And there is only you. The old woman smiles, her eyes sparkling like diamonds, her warmth and welcome begging to be shared. With you. With you. With YOU.

Yep, its me! I’m coming! And so you do.

Music’s already on. I’ve been waiting for you, she says, and off she goes…

You step inside. Its nice. Its very nice. Not fancy. Or pretentious. But beautiful, artistic. Warm and gentle. The kind of place you’d expect a golden retriever and squishy couches and a swash of wild flowers perched in a jar. You take a cookie off the plate, little crumbs nestling into the ridges on your shirt.

Have a seat then! The next song is about to start. And I can tell by looking at you, you need it. So listen tight…

And before you can protest because you decided long ago you hated musicals, that darn wonder takes over and you begin to crack a smile. Not a shallow smile that feels like silly humor, a deeper smile, a happy that feels like hope. Hope in the goodness of life. Hope in the goodness of people. Hope that where you are is exactly where you are meant to be. You breathe…trust…believe…in the open heart of a stranger on the edge of the sea, in a hidden cove, with no where else you’d rather be…..

*          *          *

When I was a little girl, my grandparents spent their summers in the Canadian San Juans, in a little town beyond all others, their house overlooking the sea. And every summer when I got to visit, I swam in the frigid waters, wandered beneath the lush ancient trees, and came home to their little house, to the sound of musicals singing through the eaves. My feet were bare, my body oh, so alive, and my spirit grew filled with hope…

...a hope that a lot of us seem to have forgotten these days. It was a hope that grew things like the American dream and the urge to marry, the hope that believed that dreams come true and that love can last forever, that people are good and that life will always show us something exciting and wonderful, just around the corner. The hope that musicals were made of, a hope, this week, that I wish for you...

Wednesday Wish (40)

It doesn’t have the sultry lushness of my tropical garden. Its not my Mexican sea. There is no deep, mysterious forest. Or wide and cloud-puffed sky. I don’t hear birds. I don’t breathe in my favorite hot and humid air. My body does not tremble, my spirit does not soar, but my soul…it knows its niche, it still finds its peace. There is magic here. Magic here, indeed.

The floors are cold cement and polished to a shiny gleam. The air is thin and dry. The space is filled, but in the gaps, ideas burn with vacancy. I look around, my eyes wandering, waiting, excited for my first clue. Organic bananas? Sushi in a plastic box? Or strawberries, plump and tempting in a fancy cart? Yes, I say. Let the magic find me…let the soul-food begin.

Every time I visit my new neighborhood grocery store, I am struck by the serendipitous lovely of it all. Last week I met Fiona in the natural health aisle. We spoke of Ireland, her home, a country she left over 30 years ago and how every day, she longs for the easy lovin’, the gentle spirits, the camaraderie of a good old fashioned Irish Pub—the open arms of her kin. And then there was Per, the seventy-year-old Swede who saw his granddaughter in the eyes of my daughter. His own eyes betraying his pain, his soul sharing more in a few minutes than most would ever imagine possible… in the soup aisle, between a couple of strangers.

Each visit to my new neighborhood grocery store presents a new message to me.  But only…only…if I am aware-awake. And only…only…if I remember I am a piece that matters to the whole. I am only one, but one sun, one moon, one child, one teacher, one event, one love—matters. And without the one’s, there is no whole.

So today, I met Amy. She stood, leaning on her cart, whispering to her little boy. She was thoughtful but airy, serious but floating, and her spirit, it tingled mine. Maybe that’s why we spoke. But just a little. Until we met again in another aisle. This time near the frozen lasagna.

            “He’s beautiful,” I said of her son.

            “So is she,” she said, nodding toward my daughter.

            “Have you tried this lasagna? Its my favorite. And maybe your boy will like it as much as my girl….”

We spoke of high school in the land of rain, of seeing the world, and the jobs that fueled our dreams. We found we had both recently returned to the area where we grew up, that child rearing was much more than we imagined, and that life had thrown us a fair share of unexpected detours but that we wore them like ribbons, taped to our invisible lapels, emblazoned into our hearts. And when we were done, we vowed to connect again.

            “No pressure to connect,” I said, as I turned to leave, “but my arms are open wide,” I said with a smile.

            “Mine are, too,” she said with a smile of her own, “mine are, too.”

*          *          *

It was almost dying that made me realize that the key to my survival

depended more on strengthening my connections to all of life 

than on strengthening my individual will.  

–Mark Nepo

The modern capitalist world reminds us every day how independence, competition, a strong will and a determined spirit are qualities to be honored and revered. We are unknowingly guided toward self-preservation and personal life agendas. So when depression strikes or when illness arrives, what do many of us do? We distance ourselves, we grow a thicker skin, we strengthen, as Mark Nepo says, our individual will and tackle life, often times, alone.

But what if instead, we dared to connect? What if we dared to be vulnerable, to shed our thick skins in favor of a rawness that invited other hearts to do the same? What if we finally admitted to ourselves and to one another that we need, yes need, one another? To listen to, to hold, to care about and to connect with, to be our friends on this one wild ride we call life. What then? Would we heal our wounded hearts? Would we find less reason to be sad? Yes…I think we would.