Wednesday Wish (52)

photo by ziduswong via google images

The sky was so black she imagined painting its edges a swirly neon blue with a big, thick, sable brush.

A picture frame

For her dreams,

Hers and yours.

For she had you in mind.

Every Tuesday night.

For 52 weeks. A year?

Yep, a whole year of wishes

written in the dark of night with a backdrop of dreams and a belief

in the presence of... magic.

Most nights were warm, cradled by the pulsing Mexican earth and soothed by the wind of the rugged Pacific sea. She murmured quietly to herself, feelings that came by way of colors and scents, emotions that journeyed not just up from within but like shooting stars, too, from the outside--to her heart. She listened and watched and honored what was. She sensed and let those senses guide her along a new path. Unlit and made for two. Just You and She.

Sit with me a while, just the two of us beside this sandy nighttime sea. Let me feel your hand in mine and let me tell you once again how much I love having you here, by my side.

Can you breathe in to feel the salty air tickle your tongue? Do you see the moon reflected off the peaks of little waves, those that lap up onto shore, gently loving on your bare and tender toes? Do you feel your skin glisten in the heat of the night, in the magic of the Mexican sun? And do you wonder why you ever worried? For here, not a lick of ugly can find your open heart.

I tell you a story. Of a fisher queen and her seven daughters that frolic at the bottom of the sea. And then another of the night goddess, who searches all night for her lost lover, her tears dropped as dew, dried up by the rays of her rising son. We smile and giggle, sparkle-eye and cry, and the warmth of our hands, together, reminds us that connection plus imagination, equals magic. Equals…love.

*          *          *

This year of wishes has given me far more than I could have ever given you. You see, every time I gave you a wish, a thousand more appeared like kites in the nighttime sky, begging me to string-pull them in. Gifts from you. Kites of love you grew in me.

So this week, on the anniversary of a year of wishes, my wish is that you share your own wish with someone else.  Any wish, to or for, anyone else.

Connection begets imagination, begets magic, begets love. Watch. A wish to share so that you’ll see, just as I have, the beautiful gifts you have given me.

Sunday Interlude

Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you 

If you're young at heart. 
For it's hard, you will find, to be narrow of mind 
If you're young at heart. 

You can go to extremes with impossible schemes. 
You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams. 
And life gets more exciting with each passing day. 
And love is either in your heart, or on it's way. 

Don't you know that it's worth every treasure on earth 
To be young at heart. 
For as rich as you are, it's much better by far 
To be young at heart. 

And if you should survive to 105, 
Look at all you'll derive out of being alive! 
And here is the best part, you have a head start 
If you are among the very young at heart. 

Songwriters: KING, RILEY B.

Wednesday Wish (51)

photo by richard kehl via flickr

Richie felt so deeply that his shield wasn’t invisible like so many. It had a lovely patina from all the storms it had weathered and it even breathed out a warm rusted scent. But it wasn’t permanent. It was just a temporary, as-needed shield. So sometimes, when I perceived with the Me in me, I caught glimpses of the He in he, too. They found me like playful, magical, extra-sensory twinkles….a moonbeam through the clouds or a silver of an exotic tropical fish. He was beautiful. And extra-ordinary. And his imagination grew mine.

I wasn’t allowed to take his class. My profile didn’t fit the mold. Maybe that’s why he let me in. Maybe he related better to people like me--a spiral in a line-laden world. Whatever it was, non-art major me was somehow admitted into an upper level art-major-only class, Richie’s class, a class I still carry around with me all these twenty-something years later.

He invited me to make a zero backwards, to creatively express my definition of my Self, and to make slides of different ways of seeing every day things. Like Bach stretching the brain through the pianist’s fingers, Richie stretched my imagination through colors and textures and wild, yes, WILD ideas. Nothing that semester, nothing mattered more than riding the waves that Richie set before me.

photo by richard kehl via flickr

He fed the whimsical spirals in me, the bird that longed to swoop and soar and make her own path in the sky. He gave me guidance to trust the wind as it took me, showing me, without any words, how to ride that wind to places I had never before seen. And he did it all with invitations to see with fresh, innocent eyes. Richie inspired me, made me more alive.

*          *          *

What makes you more alive? What inspires you? What gives your heart a flutter and your toes a little twitch? What gets you off that track of yours and into a feeling of whimsy where you want to dust yourself off and soar? Is it a song, or a person, or a quote, or a feeling? Is it a something you pass every day or a something you missed long ago? Is it a dream that you don’t dare share or a wish you thought you would have let go of by now?

This week, my wish is that you honor that which makes you feel more alive. Even if you aren’t supposed to or you aren’t really allowed, find a way to do it anyway. Break a societal rule to honor your own (as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone), soar with your whimsy, leap with your heart, invite your ideas to color your future with a big fat brush.

Ride the wind to the place where the moon sits down for breakfast to fatten herself up and the stars plug in to get recharged. Find the place that gives flowers their voice and trees new sheet music for their songs, where your heart knows love and your eyes know sparkle, where your imagination comes alive. You see, that's where I most like to be, so of course I'd love for you to join me....want a cupcake?

photo by richard kehl via flickr

Wednesday Wish (50)

When night rests her dark sleeves upon the colors of my island home, I cuddle in tight to watch her show. She isn’t picky, she treats the flowers the same as the trees, the sky the same as the bees, but me? I am. I like best to watch the trees.

Three are pine, one is cedar, and I think there’s a maple or two. And through my window, as I lay in bed, they tell me secrets as the mistress of night slowly softens and mutes, whispering like a mystery, inviting my eyes, yes, my eyes…. to hear.

Green is the obvious one. But have you listened to her today? Oh yes? So what does she say? Maybe she told you that the seasons are changing. Or that she needed more water, that her roots were thirsty. But then, what says your heart? Do you let the green of your trees speak to you there? For you know, the whispers of green are secrets for your heart. Your heart. Not just mine.

And have you seen the blues and the purples as you weave your thread to sleep? What? you say. On a tree? Can you sense my smile and the happy nod I make? Blues so deep and purples so rich you are bound to speak. Of the things you wish you said or the things you wish you heard. Of your day, or your tomorrows--words, voice, music from a hidden soul that always wished to speak. Do you hear the invitations from the blues in the trees? They are there. I see them nearly every night. I hear them with my eyes.

And did you see a swash of orange tonight? Or was it more pink instead? A warmth reflected to your eyes. And did you, oh dear friend of mine, did you dare to catch your breath? When it coursed through your veins like a solvent for your soul, did you let it melt you, touch you, remind you of what you thought you had long ago forgotten?

…that you are a sensual being with abilities beyond your brain, that you can hear with your eyes and taste with your soul and that color is a gift for your sensual Self...even as night falls on a few chosen trees....

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