i’ve been pulling these mighty little oak trees out of plant pots and gravel in my garden. they are tenacious and willing, abundant and something to marvel about. somehow the practice of pulling them is grounding me, restoring faith, keeping the calm. i suppose it is the renewal that speaks to me, the reminder of the commitment nature has to thrive and make use of whatever nutrients are available. to grow where planted.

recent travel found me strangely homesick. i missed my family, despite the joy of traipsing through new country, sitting with a wise teacher, and drinking blackberry brandy in an 18th century farmhouse (i know, right?). for years, solo travel offered sweet relief from what looked to be endless responsibility and accountability. i felt tethered and trapped. i wanted to run away for brief bits of time, to know the me separate from them.

in these new-to-me woods, i welcomed the company and conversation of a trailmate who is significantly younger than i, causing me to reflect on where i was in my late twenties. i had two children, was moving out of state for the first time, was unsure and ambitious and proving. i was restless to be ok. i was starving for peace and wanted so badly to feel grounded. i loved my children more than myself. underneath it all, i think my greatest fear was that i would never be enough for them, or for me.

it is so powerfully poignant how we simply have to live long enough, journey deep enough, expand and contract enough, to find our own ruby slippers. this experience i am having of deep peace, of acceptance, could not have come without the demons and doorways i’ve slayed and kissed, passed through and slammed. i can now look at the uncomfortable memories and hold compassion and hope for the younger self who thought that loving was not enough. i can forgive her for trying so hard to be ok. and i can look at the miracle of the faces i share my life with, and be grateful that we made it here, together.

now that i am home, i realize that on this recent trip, i did in fact tap into the truth, rest, and sustenance that i went looking for. only this time it is in the actual homecoming, finding the buddha, the dharma, and the sangha all here, right now. it is in the awakening to this time and space, and the savoring of where i’ve been.

and so i am able to sit here now, writing these words and letting them pass through my fingers without regret–and i can step out into another sun-filled day, holy and bright; unbound, open, honest, and a little more free.

There is no controlling life.
Try corralling a lightning bolt,
containing a tornado. Dam a
stream and it will create a new
channel. Resist, and the tide
will sweep you off your feet.
Allow, and grace will carry
you to higher ground. The only
safety lies in letting it all in –
the wild and the weak; fear,
fantasies, failures and success.
When loss rips off the doors of
the heart, or sadness veils your
vision with despair, practice
becomes simply bearing the truth.
In the choice to let go of your
known way of being, the whole
world is revealed to your new eyes.

Allow, by Dana Faulds

i’ve got that buzzy pre-travel feeling. that one that, always right before, balks and questions whether i really ought to go. of course, i know too well the comforts of habit, the ease of losing myself in the needs and routines of my family, and the need i have, deep down, to balance this blessed life with adventure, retreat, and pattern-breaking.

the past few weeks have brought both radiant sunshine and drizzly grey, both inside and out. i’ve detoxed and submerged, reduced and savored. i’ve carefully curated what enters both my body and my home and the benefits are revealing themselves. i can honestly say that i am greeting spring and the rapidly approaching summer with joy and resolution, with a (mostly) calm belly and with a lightness of being that i’ve longed for after some not-so-easy winter storms.

so tomorrow will find me on three airplanes, so that i can nuzzle up to some different mountains and explore a stretch of trail i’ve dreamt of walking on. i will then be retreating at another place i’ve wanted to go to for almost a decade, and sharing the weekend with a teacher that has had a profound impact on my life for the past several years.

every day, it is my practice to ask for the greatest ease, grace, and abundance, for myself and for my family, so that we can be of service to our highest potential and work on this planet and in this lifetime. at the start of this year, with this daily prayer in mind, as well as mindful of the delicate state i was in at the time, i chose carefully what travel i would do this year and what wells i would pilgrimage toward for truth, rest, and sustenance. this is the first of three journeys that intuitively called to me. my word for the year is home, and each of these 2013 travels feels like a homecoming. a return to source, simplicity, silence.

i am grateful. see you on the flip side.

The three facets of true refuge–awareness, truth, and love–come alive as we dedicate our presence to them. ~Tara Brach

it doesn’t much matter if i am cashmere and you are lace, if i am adobe and you are marble.

what matters is that we know what we are.

if that smooth bark of the eucalyptus tree gives you insight, then it belongs with you.

and the more we surround ourselves by the shapes, the textures, the patterns, the light, the places, and the people that our hearts innately grasp toward, the more we are guided in, the more we are brought back home.

it is not about accumulating, it is about recognizing and eliminating what does not speak the truth.

it is about our senses in action, in response, in communication, consciously, with our depth.

if it really is all energy, which i believe it is, then of course this scent, this view, this season, this warm cup, this song, this flavor, and the weave of this fabric matter.

these objects and elements show me who i am, help me to relax inside, open doorways into my fullness, and help me to better express myself.

and the more i know who i am, the more i can connect to who you are. our separation, our suffering, diminishes.

there is legitimacy in your longing. i have said it before. and it keeps coming back.

Don’t share borrowed insights, there is no transmission in that.
Only share experiential insights. Real teachers practice, transmitting the formless into form.
~Sarah Powers (from my personal notes taken during Insight Yoga workshop)

(the book featured in the above image is True Refuge, by Tara Brach)

i have a fascination with carcass and decay. i am intrigued when i can see what is inside. winter’s veil amplifies the urge–as my own inner world gets caught in the grey undertow of  fear and illusion, i am lured to excavate.

my work in the world right now is within myself and with my family. it is breakfast making, errand running, peace-keeping, college touring, and navigating the stresses of ambitious teens. i am the wing-woman. i am the mother. i am the wife. i am the supporter and forgiver and believer.  i know in the deepest part of my guts that this is where i am meant to be right now. i am better, my family is better. long ignored parts of me are healing with each day that is focused on simplicity and surrender.

but still, i remember the thrill of sitting on that dusty floor in india and of finding and meeting the global community that i became a part of. i fear having lost it. i fear being left behind or forgotten or, worse, being wasted potential. as i sit with my anxious demons, i feel these waves rise up. i question my choices and i wonder if i am underestimating my capacity. but then, i toss myself into the possibility of peddling my wares, deadlines and proposals and accountability to others, and i feel myself seize up inside. i know this is the time to root into bone, for stability and blood-making. and yet, my faith is challenged.

what there is time for in my life now is the depth and discomfort of introspection. there is time for the real lived experience of breath and betrayal, of intimacy and idolization. i have a relationship with my own inner compass in a way that i have yet to know in a life of seeking and distracting, ashrams and incense; of being both student and teacher. i am getting to know my transverse abdominals, my ugliest terrors, my truest dreams. i am lonely often. i am afraid often. i compare and judge often. i am triggered often. i feel vapid and shallow and empty often. i am pathetically insecure often. still, strangely, i am feeling more right, more at home, than i ever have.

not so strangely, one of the greatest solaces for me is here, on this page, with you. this is where things unbind, where grip is released, where curiosity leads to language, and eventually to more freedom inside. i tell the truth of my story as best i can, allusion and metaphor protecting those i love. i am so grateful for those of you who come, who take the time to write, who see something of themselves in what i share. it is true that we all just want to be seen and heard, for our lives to matter. i hope that what i do here, little though it may be right now, helps you to know that you are seen.

and in return, i am not asking for anything.
i currently have nothing to sell, nothing to give away, no course or book or retreat or offering.
i really look forward to the time in my life and in my body that will allow for these things.
but for now, i just want to know that you are out there. that we are living in grace, together.

Because nothing
Can deter or distract me
From keeping the appointment I made
So very long ago
To create heaven on earth
With you.

~From Waiting Room, by Jill Lurie

these are the days that i want to bite glass. there is a restlessness in every corner of my body. i want to unzip it, open it, rip it out. these are the days that the injustices and the absolutions scare me.

these are the days when i know to move. i walk for hours, on a hunt for mercy. my words are sharp and my thoughts relentless. the assault is unbearable and the only way to avoid destruction is to propel myself through time and space. i close my eyes as i trek toward amnesty.

these are the days when i learn to understand the inquiry required to achieve happiness, when i know that asking, naming, telling, releasing, are the pathways to healing. though they seem to be mocking me, the poets and the hummingbirds show up to tell me that this too shall pass. the right song delivers comfort. the shock of aloe blooms change the narrative. slowly and subtly, i change too.

these are the days that i am keenly aware of the shadows looking through my windows and yet i keep dancing naked in front of them.
perhaps i deserve it, perhaps i have granted an invitation to lurk and haunt.
and still, i will continue to follow the succulent’s wisdom and bloom candidly–even when it appears absurd.
in the name of freedom. in the name of hope. in the name of all that brings us closer.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile, the world goes on.
~Mary Oliver

we drove into winter, into below zero, with everything that matters on four wheels. there was nowhere else i’d rather have been than with them. my hand held, the palpable intricacy and delicacy of all that we have shared on this road between colorado and california. as the miles passed, i thought of what it has meant to raise our children into their teenage years, of the depth and heartache shared in twenty-two years of relationship. i thought of all the boundaries pushed, the fears faced, the gains and the losses. i thought about forgiveness and humility. i thought about what is coming and what no longer is.

as this new year begins, i am without many plans and outward ambitions. i find myself still taking form in surrender, in letting-go, in allowing slowness and service to prevail. i want to laugh more. i want to spend time daily in nature. i want to know myself as a guide and a healer, but first to myself.

i want to continue to explore the relationship to what captures us –wind, water, humanity and howling. i want to know vitality and vulgarity, where the rough spots wear down to reveal something alluring and elegant. i want to tell the truth of these things, in imagery and with honesty.

i believe that light prevails. even though each and every one of us will wind up in the most senseless of dramas where the smallest parts of our brains, and the arrested parts of our hearts, will make decisions that wound and hurt, i still have to believe that light will prevail. my prayer for 2013 is that i may know this light as a home that i may always return to– in my body, in my relationship, in my service, and in the world. a home in which i may feel settled and rooted. a home that is a sanctuary and a foundational place to return to for respite and nourishment.

as the mountains rise and the rivers run, may we all remember this home that we share. the one where the light does not dim, and where there is peace waiting at the threshold.
i will meet you there.

I open the window and snow has fallen in a
steep drift, against the pane, I
look up, into it,
a wall of cold crystals, silent
and glistening, I quietly call to you
and you come and hold my hand and I say
I cannot see beyond it. I cannot see beyond it.
~Sharon Olds, from the poem True Love

42. born on this day, this shared dark day when we huddle together, just waiting for the sun to rise.

now i know my place in this world. my home, my heart, my intentions, wishes, and my fears. i know my wounds, i know the potent alchemy of time under pressure–and the diamonds that emerge.

today i know that i would not change a single thing. i feel hope. i feel compassion for suffering in a way that only comes from sourcing to the bottom all things, to the foundation of understanding. i know that there will always be mystery, there may always be pain, and, i am certain, there will also always be love.

as this day began, i burned my prayers and chased the light right into the sea. naked. dophins swam, waves crashed, my toes went numb. it was the most fabulous and normal way to end the world as we know it.

happy solstice. happy birthday. happy to be alive and here. with you.

eventually it will come. the righteous darkness, seeking redemption and revenge. how dare we be happy? even in our flawed humanity? even with apology and remorse?

the way i see it, we always have a choice. to know our shadow. to tell it or to withold it. to use it as ammunition or to protect it. to twist it, to churn it, to allow it to rise. to transcend or to fall in.

i was born with the ability to see. i understand the vulnerable and wounded. i understand the crazy and the broken. i understand the contradictions and the shades of grey. i understand how we can defy our own goodness, how we can act to destroy the precious, because we do not believe we are worthy of it.

there is burden for the one who understands. how i have wished at times that i could see it all in harsh polarities and to place blame in absolutes.
but my strength is in my capacity for expanded viewpoints. my freedom is in knowing what is beyond.
and it is from here that i will respond when an arrow is shot at me.
it is from here that i will remember what is real.
it is from here that i will continue to choose love, and all that is holy.

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase “each other” doesn’t make any sense.
~Rumi

the realization is that our depth becomes our greatest leverage and, ultimately, our levity. it is when we sink into the under, the encompassed, the clay that surrenders to the fire in the middle–that is when we rise into what looks like contentment.

this is not an experience of unrivaled bliss. rather, it is that collected, textured, felt and known experience of what IS. seedpods that explode in autumn and feathers that find their way to the sand. stuffing acorns into my pockets and painting walls in my home. days of questions and other days of epiphany. sifting through politics and finding the poetry.

it is, in truth, that feeling of rightness, order, timing, and being.

it is fear-driven ambition that is undone, and fallen, into grace.

and, yes, it is loving and being loved. serving and the abundant return.

in the end, it will be the foggy mornings and mountain lion encounters that i’ll want to remember. it will be their arms around me and the images that will speak our story.

i wish only that i will fall ever more deeply into vulnerable, primal, reciprocal, and sensual.

and that i will never miss a chance to walk this earth.

Stand Still.
The trees ahead and the bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be know.

~David Wagoner

i’m trying something new today, inspired by my friend meg’s beautiful new site. i love meg’s stories, how she crafts and nurtures them, but what i love especially is hearing her tell them, in her own voice. i highly encourage you to take the time to explore her new space and offerings. she, and her work, are wonderful.

i often leave myself voice memos during the day with my iphone, because usually when the words come is not when i am available to write them. last thursday, i left myself one of these memos as my day unfolded. this time though, instead of writing it all down a few days later, like i usually do, i re-recorded my stream of thoughts into an audio file. i am sharing it here with you, perhaps because i still long for new ways to see and hear one another. because i am focused currently on home and family and don’t always know how to bridge the greater themes from here. because maybe i haven’t been able to write the waves that crash in my psyche and in my gut. and because, meg inspired me.

and, with that, click the link below to hear my voice, in one take, sharing freestyle about an epic ordinary day.

epic ordinary day

note: audio will play immediately, so put on those headphones!