Wednesday Wish (7)

Every morning before I wake, when the rich blackness of night begins to give way to the golden-grey hues of tomorrow, when the earth begins to hum with its new and hopeful promise, a little bird, who’s name I do not yet know, comes to the bougainvillea bush outside my open window to sing his morning song. He is tiny. I’ve seen him jump from twig to twig between the thorns and fuschia blossoms, his little beak piping a cheerful tropical tune. He sings and he chirps and he varies his song and every morning, without fail, he gives my heart a smile.

*          *          *

My Wednesday Wish for you?

I wish you connection with nature this week. No matter where you live or how much cement colors your world, you are always connected to our grand and gracious earth. And while we forget, we must also remember, to sow her seeds of love, to birth them as our own. 

 

1. Find a patch of grass, no matter how small. Take your shoes off, nylons or socks, too. And walk barefoot on the green. Feel the earth humming beneath you. Let her take your negative emotions, your fears, your tight and painful spots. Watch the ugly flow from your feet, the earth absorbing it all, giving you back your natural state of peace.

2. Find a tree. Sit beside it, your back against hers. Imagine what she would say if you could hear her talk. Would she give you advice? Would she tell you a story? Be the tree. Love the tree. Hug her if you have the courage. Feel your connection to the earth through your new friend, the tree.

3. Find a bird. Let your eyes fly with her as far as you can. Imagine what she feels, the wind, the joy, the freedom that she is able to express with her wings. What does she wish for you? What gifts does she give you without saying a word? Where do you feel her presence? In your heart? In your mind? In your wings, tucked too tightly against your back? Feel a sadness emerge and its urge to be colored back to hope. Let the bird show you how. Look to its wisdom.

Nature is always available to share her wise and loving gifts. If we look with soft eyes and an open heart, her magic can become our own.

p.s. see the biggest rock in the picture above? It's a wishing rock. See its white ring? I took the picture for you. I thought you might need a wish of your own this week:) If you can't see it well, click on it to make it larger.

From My Heart to Yours

An invitation to see the bigger picture this week, to reconnect with your loving emotions, with the depth inside yourSelf that knows all the magic you ever need awaits you, within…

Wednesday Wish (6)

Do you drive the same way to work every day?

Do you zone out as you plan your schedule, 

the traffic lulling you into the deepest crevices of your mind?

Do you replay the events of your morning,

imagine new ones for your afternoon, 

then quiver right down to your core when you remember something 

you were supposed to do?

Does your body give you messages?

Like the neck ache,

Like the back ache,

Like the belly ache that just wont go away 

no matter what you cut out of your diet.

Don’t think about it, says your mind.

I’m tired, says your heart.

Suck it up and drive on, says your friend. Its called life.

But it isn’t life.

Not unless you insist it to be so.

*         *          *

My Wednesday Wish for you?

Drive a new way to work...

See with fresh eyes.

Look for magic. 

Look for beauty.

Look for the gifts that exist for you,

just you,

to see.

A lone weed defying odds

 from a crack

in the sidewalk.

A woman rocking out

in her car

 with a happy smile

 upon her face.

Words on the side of a truck…

meant for you, 

an answer to what you were wondering about.

Expect a new day, 

a day unlike any other, 

a day with beauty 

waiting for you,

 waiting to make you smile. 

...then watch your Wednesday turn into what you believed it could be

Dermot and Sally, The End (or the Beginning) of a Fairy Tale

Photo courtesy of www.kltworks.com

Albert rubbed the stubble on his chin. He liked to contemplate with the prickle poking his fingers. And especially much when all his customers were happy. This new batch though, they looked more complicated than the last. You see, being a Ferris wheel operator wasn’t as easy as it seemed. And Albert was even good at it.  

Every person likes to sit next to someone nice. Nice to talk to, nice to smell, nice to look at, nice to listen to, and hopefully even nice enough to want to share your food with. So when Albert looked out at the ticket holders and saw that most of them weren’t family or lovers but singles, he knew he had a lot of magic to weave. And that wouldn’t normally be a problem for Albert because, as everyone at the fairgrounds knew, Albert was good at what he did. What was a problem though, were the two odd balls.

The first one was a man. The second one was a woman. And they were a bit weird. No one wanted to sit next to a weirdo. It just wasn’t nice.

The man’s arms were filled with food. Albert couldn’t see everything but he did see a big bag of popcorn, a bunch of carrots with their greens still on, a box of wheat thins, a roll of Ritz, two canisters of Pringles, cotton candy, at least two fairground baked elephant ears, a Polish sausage with mustard dripping on the grass, a wedge of cheese, a six pack of root beer, and a couple of chocolate bars that looked as if they might fall out of his pocket at any second. And the guy even had the nerve to blow bubbles with his chewing gum, the only food NOT allowed on the Ferris wheel. Albert sighed.

“I can’t wait to taste all these delicious treats way up high, riding the Ferris wheel like a bird atop  the wind. With all these foods just waiting to be tasted, how can anyone not feel joy? Life is delicious!” said Dermot to himself, taking a bite of a carrot and crunching it right loud.

The woman, who stood a few paces behind the man, was odd too, but in a different sort of way. She was half naked. With only a bikini top and a skirt the size of a wash rag, Albert didn’t know what to make of her. She didn’t even have any shoes on, for Pete’s sake. And she was smiling bigger than-- well, maybe as big as-- now there’s an idea, thought Albert to himself, as he fiddled a little more with the stubble on his chin.

“I can’t wait to feel the sky as it licks my skin, rushing by in a windy frenzy to touch as many people as it can. I’m just so lucky! So lucky I am! I can feel! I am alive! Life is meant to be felt!” said Sally to herself, her arms raised high up in the air.

"Ahhh....would you two mind sharing a chair?” said Albert, overhearing their happy, life-love thoughts.

And just like that, the two odd balls, one enjoying life through flavor, the other through her skin, found themselves each, an open-sensed friend.

*          *          *

“Hey, I’m Dermot.”

“Ya? Well, my name’s Sally. Do you got any red vines in there?”

“Red vines?”

“You know, only the tastiest candy ever made.”

“Seriously?

“Seriously.”

“Woa. I gotta go get us some. Do you think he’d hold the ride?”

Wednesday Wish (5)

The scent of her emotion wafted in on the back of a breeze. It was citrus-sour soft, cream cheese with a squeeze of lime.

When he came to see me I saw green before his body turned the corner, his energy preceding him like a reverse trail of crumbs.

She dreamt along side him that night, their visit to the dreamtime realms interwoven into a rich and mystic braid.

*          *          *

Have you ever asked yourself to breathe in the scent of another’s emotion?

To see your neighbor’s aura?

Or to sail alongside a lover’s dream?

When did we stop believing in the power of our senses, relegating them to the five stop points, not letting them stretch their wings?

I heard not long ago that the food pyramid is being revamped. Maybe its due time we upgraded our idea of  what our senses can actually perceive.

My Wednesday Wish for you?

To unleash your senses. 

To stop limiting what you think is possible and start sensing what your heart knows is real. 

Taste a feeling.

 Hear a heart. 

See a spirit. 

And watch the magic of your world unfold. 

Dermot and Sally, Part Two

Sally worked every day except Wednesday from ten to four at the biggest department store in town and she was never late. Her favorite foods were macaroni and cheese in a box, red vines, and diet coke. She loved the movies, a man with cowboy boots, and freshly ground pepper. Her hair was golden and wavy, her eyes were green and usually sparkled, and her shoes were never the same from one day to the next. You see, other than the ornery cowlick in her hair, Sally really only had one obsession in life. Shoes.

“Why d’ya work in handbags, Sally? I ain't never seen you with a new handbag on your arm in years. You always carry that funny looking one that might as well a been Grannies.”

“For the discounts, Sam. I get forty percent off all accessories and my manager says that includes shoes.”

“No kidding? Shoes?”

“No kidding. Shoes.”

It was a true obsession. She’d had it for years.

Every day after work Sally would stop on her front porch, take off her city shoes and put on her house shoes, never once letting her bare feet touch the ground. When she got into bed at night she would take off her house shoes and slip on her socks, never once letting her bare feet touch the ground. And when she went to take a shower in the morning she would take off her socks and put on her shower shoes, never once letting her bare feet touch the ground. As long as she could remember, not once had Sally ever let her bare feet touch the ground. Nope. Not once.

It was Friday and snowing. Sally shivered as she made her way up the steps to her front porch. She was dreaming of taking her feet out of her high-heeled shoes and putting them into her soft, wool house shoes when she slipped and landed flat on her back, her high heels flying off her feet and landing on a bush covered in snow. Sally stared at her shoes. She stared at her bare feet. She stared back at her shoes. They were too far away. She had no choice. After more years than she could possibly remember, Sally had to let her bare feet touch the ground.

She kept her eyes closed as she let her big toe inch closer to the ground, her body stiff with fear. What if it hurts? What if I get a disease? What if I step on something nasty? But as in life, so in all the best stories—when you least expect it, the unexpected hands you joy. It didn’t hurt. She didn’t get a disease. And she didn’t step on something nasty. In fact, when Sally felt the first touch of snow upon her feet, she lost her breath. Not in fear. But in joy! Sally Ann Franklin could feel!

“Why didn’t anyone tell me what I was missing? Why didn’t anyone stop my stupid fears?” 

Because you never listened, 

Because you never heard,

Because you never let yourself

feel outside your world....

...to be continued

Dermot and Sally, Part One

Dermot was a nice boy even if he did eat fast. He never squished a bug unless his mama asked him to, he always let the girls go first, and he couldn’t ever pass a flower without leaning in for a good old fashioned sniff. Oh, and he didn’t complain. Not ever. It just wasn’t in his nature. Maybe that’s why he didn’t know watermelon wasn’t supposed to make his tongue itch or that peanuts weren’t supposed to make him sneeze. Come to think of it, before Dermot was thirty-seven there was a lot he didn’t know on account of his not complaining and to tell you the truth, most of it had to do with the state of his tongue.

It didn’t look funny. And Dermot talked just the same as everyone else did. So why would he think something was wrong with his tongue? He wouldn’t. He didn’t. He just kept living the way he always did. With itchy watermelon and peanuts that made him sneeze. That is of course, until he hit thirty-seven.

The big day wasn’t just his birthday, it was also his first date with a woman he had loved since high school. He was biding his time, waiting for the right moment and finally, after twenty-one years, that time had come. He had asked her out to eat and she had said yes. So he was driving to get her in his souped up black Ford, the windows rolled down to wipe the early blush off his face.

“Hi Dermot!” she was waiting on the stoop outside.

“Hi Claire! Hop in!”

So she did. And before he could say another word, she was kissing him like a mad woman. (Or maybe she was just a thirty-seven year old girl kissing the boy she had loved since high school.)

“Hey Dermot?” she said between breaths.

“Ya?” he didn’t want to talk but he thought he better.

“Happy Birthday. And Dermot?"

"Ya?"

"Why you got such a slimy tongue?”

“Huh?”

“Its slippery like the side of a plastic pool. I ain’t never felt a tongue like yours before.”

“Its all good,” he said. “Lets just keep kissin’.”

So they did.

But that night after he got home (they never did make it out to eat), Dermot went into the bathroom to take a better look at his tongue. He stared at it good and hard. Nothing looked slimy to him. All seemed fine from where he stood. But just to be extra certain he opened the medicine cabinet and took out his tweezers.

Before he could finish a single tweezer-scratch, Dermot had already realized he was onto something. It started like a gust of ice cold wind and then he thought he tasted metal. So he did it again. Made another scratch. Soon he had scratched the whole surface of his tongue off, the film he had lived with for thirty-seven years—gone, a tiny pile of clear junk sitting in the bottom of the sink. Dermot blinked.

You see, for the first time in his life, Dermot William McFarland had uncovered his ability to taste.

...to be continued

Wednesday Wish (4)

When you work all day and fall into bed and someone asks you how you feel or what you want or what you are doing with your life…do you have an answer? What does your deeper Self say?

This one helped me trust that beauty
awaited me on my path.

If you are like many, you have no idea. You’re just trying to get through your day, to feed the family, to do a good job, to do your part. Who me? You answer. I don't know. I’m tired. I don’t have time to think about those things right now.

But you do. And like a bright light in a dark place, you will feel better when you see yourSelf more clearly. I know because I've been there. So here, give me your hand. Let me walk with you a little bit further on your path of Self. It wont take long and funniest thing...it might even make you smile.

Exercise:

1.  Go to a store that sells a lot of magazines. Grocery stores are fine but magazine stores are even better.

2.  As you enter, see what section interests you. Don’t just head to the area you usually like or the kinds of magazines you always get. Look around first. Let yourself unwind. Try to see with your heart's eyes, not your brain’s eyes.

3.  Buy three or four magazines that speak to your heart. Make sure they make you smile.

4.  Go home and sift through the pages with a pair of scissors, cutting out anything that makes you happy. Anything. Even a word or phrase.

5. Now find a big piece of paper and glue all the things that make you smile onto one place.

6.  Step back and see….where you are right now, what makes you smile….from a distance. Observe yourSelf as if you are someone else. Find compassion and love for where you are, for what makes you smile. 

Our hearts speak to us in different ways and sometimes louder than we think. When we get creative, a lot of times our heart's messages will emerge unfettered, without the brain getting in the way, and will tell us things we didn't know about ourselves, things our heart knew all along would make us happier. My Wednesday Wish for you? That you make time this week to discover some more of the magic in yourSelf because there's a lot more in each of us than most of us realize.

This one helped me discover that
I needed to live by the sea, to have a garden
 and to buy a run down house...so I did!

with love,

me, Brynne

Pure Lovely

The entrance isn’t loud. There is no sign. And the menu, propped up on a crooked pulpit, is tucked inside. Out of the rain. The warm and steamy Mexican summer rain.

I run my fingers along the adobe walls only because I can’t help it. And anyway, I love to wash my hands in their sink, to use their lovely lemon soap, to ease myself into this delectable, sensory haven.

The bricks underfoot tap a crooked beat. Italian opera sings his heart out. My belly grumbles as loud as a distant train. ‘Can I get you some wine?’ he says with a kiss on my cheek. I smile. And nod. Pretending calm maturity. (When really I'm a three year old in disguise dying to clap and yell ‘yay!’) 

I don’t have to order. We haven’t been in months but still, he knows the dance. So we sip and laugh and enjoy the rain falling on the garden path, the picture frame hanging from a tree with still more orchids than before, more leaves plumped up with the lush and lovely rain. And don’t forget the music! Did I tell you about the music?

On the crumbling adobe walls are paintings and posters and maps, and even a glittering mask or two. Lovely mixed with tacky makes a gentle, welcome stew so we point and remember and giggle as we sip, then we point and remember and giggle some more. Until the scented promises reach our table, when our eyes want to close because our tongues beg to taste.

First, the peasant bread. But with salt. Not a thing is bland here. And with that comes the salad. Baby greens dipped in olive oil, a drizzle of balsamic vinegar, a sprinkling of Reggiano. Thinly sliced mushrooms, homegrown tomatoes, a dash of spice from an onion slice or two. Ratios are perfect. Flavors are divine. Napkins wipe mouths and my eyes, of course they sparkle.

I breathe in the scent of wild mushrooms before my sparkles can see. A forbidden flavor all their own—musty, earthy, naughty. Homemade fettuccini doused in olive oil, pepper flakes, and parmesano reggiano....ahhhh….did it taste this good last time? I think he upped the annie. I mush and stuff and savor with one eye peeking to see, the other begging to close. They kindly tease and threaten, their palpable ache demanding a taste of their own!

And just when I fear it's over, the dessert rushes in. An Italian mama’s family recipe. Tirimisu, but with an aura that humbles even the bravest of souls. Soaked in hand cranked cream with chocolate and espresso swimming loop-de-loops on my plate, I gaze in to savor the scent, wishing I could bottle it, save it for blue Sundays for all my friends. But I see it begin to melt so I have no choice. I must disturb the peace.

It's cold as it melts into a soppy soup inside my mouth, seeping into my genes, making me more Italian by the second. How can I love this so much? I must be Italian. I let the whiffs of chocolate scent my dreams, the coffee inject my veins, the lady fingers like her owners, surrendering wholeheartedly. Sensuality peaks as it valleys and joys while it mourns. It’s decadent, outrageous, sensuous and unfair. And then, like a pebble on the lid of a pond, it's lovely. Echoes of soft, of kind, of pure... lovely... all its own.

Bring Me Sunshine! Yes, Indeed!