A Lone Leaf

The boss in on vacation,

enveloped by the warm humidity of Vietnam.

 

We receive the call from the buyer's assistant.

The deal has been closed.

Texts back and forth to confirm. 

Not much will change, or at least at the outset.

I look out through the window of his empty office, 

in darkness, the only light coming from the outside. 

I stand and look at the city covered in gray and white, 

rain patterning down,

trees scattered along bare sidewalks,

 

As I look, I see there a bare tree with one lone leaf not its own, 

caught in its branches, 

holding it there until it blows away. 

Afternoon Clouds

This afternoon the clouds were like a 

collection of angels singing and dancing; their shapes were

like God's whispers spread across the pale blue sky,

lighted with the sweet glow of grace.

A Day in August ~ Dolphins

Ocean waters hug at my feet and legs, 

pull me into the ocean.

The waves tease–

as I edge away, I tease back, hair flowing wild with the wind. 

I stand there looking out at the vast ocean, 

lost in my thoughts that are blank and serene.

The waves crash upon the shore, run like white horses. 

I continue walking along, 

feeling my feet with each step, secured in the wet sand. 

And then, something catches my vision, out of the corner of my eye. 

A fin. Two fins. Then three!

Then I see clearly, not too far from the shore, 

a group of dolphins swimming along with the waves, 

being playful with each other. I can't take my eyes from them, 

and I think this is the first time they've been so close. 

All the other beach goers close in, cameras in hand. 

We all watch in awe as the dolphins swim on by. 

Thrift store, angels cards, and seeing myself

Browsing through the books at the thrift store, I overhead an elderly couple while they were looking at knick-knacks. "How cute, look at this," she said, excitement in her voice. I turned from the books to look at a nearby table that held various items. I stole a look to see what the woman had found. "I'm going to get these."

"What are they?," her elderly companion asked. He peered down through his thick square glasses. "Why, there salt and pepper shakers. How much are these?" She turned one shaker, then tilted it upside down to find the price. She gave a laugh, "Only 99 cents!" 

I saw that these salt and pepper shakers were small. One was light blue and the other a  rosy pink. I couldn't tell what the shapes were, but I thought I heard the woman say Casper the Ghost. I continued looking through a little basket of cards and my eyes spotted a package of blank note cards. Four plump angel babies against a backdrop of sky with wispy clouds. One angel is drinking from what looks to be a golden horn, while the others fly through the air with great joy on their fleshy faces.

The face of the notecard also has six lovely sayings about angels. I felt uplifted at reading each one.

I was ready to checkout with two books and the angel notecards. Then I saw a pair of pants and while I was looking at them, I heard the woman say to her companion "Oh! Look at this!" 

"Try it on." Her companion was supportive and kind, his voice on the low end compared to her exuberance. 

She held the blouse up to her body and looked down. "This is too gaudy."

"Oh, it's just fine. It would look nice on you."

She begins noticing other little things and I am touched by her joy–humbled and inspired by this woman who could be in her late seventies to early eighties. I am drawn in to her energy and I can't help but smile. Her joy reaches me and fills me, and I realize I feel as though I am looking in a mirror; I am seeing my life flash before me.

When I get home, later that evening, I tell my significant other about my experience. I tell him that it was just like watching myself and that her companion was like him in that he was there by her side–then I hesitate and say, "Well, he may have been a bit more supportive." And we both laugh because we know...because sometimes I notice things too much and vocalize my excitement and it can tend to overload him. 

Older folks hold a special place in my heart and this moment was a gift to me and lighted my day just as the angel cards did.

"Angels are bright lights in the midst of our lives.

Nothing is hidden and everything is seen by angels.

Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly.

Music is well said to be the speech of angels.

Angels shine their light on us so that we may see more clearly.

Beautiful visions for the world are dreamt by angels."

Journal - Lost and Found

I have several journals that I write in, including the Notes App on both my iPod Touch and iPad. I was in search of a journal entry that I wrote within the last couple of weeks. I can't find it anywhere and wonder if I imagined writing the piece I seek–or if I wrote it in my head and it never made it to the page. That's what I fear about having so many journals, that something will get lost. It's not a fear, really...it's just that I feel like even when I write little bits, if I don't do something with them sooner rather than later, they get lost, maybe never get found.

I feel that my whole life has been a process of being lost and found and there were times when the waters seemed clearer. I'm a child at heart, but sometimes I wonder if I've a bit of the Peter Pan syndrome in my bones. Sometimes I feel as though I've gone through life backwards, not so much gone through as much as my mind and my ability to accept responsibility has gone backwards. When I was a young girl, I seemed mature to people for my age. I remember having philosophical conversations with my older brother at the kitchen table in my early twenties. I was always filled with questions and would try them out on customers when I worked in a burger joint. I was attracted to older men who had experienced life, who had something to share, who were deep thinkers. I always preferred to listen in on the boy's conversations during high-school. I was never much of a small talker. I'm still not, but I appreciate the usefulness of it now–the humanness of it. 

Lost and found...I've been churning these words around in my head over the past few weeks. One day during a working team meeting, we were talking about something and it led me to share a few odd jobs that I had, and I said to them that it seems my life is a process of elimination. As I sat with those words–I thought how true on so many levels.

When I was a young girl, all I wanted to do was work. I wanted a job so bad when I was ten. I put beads on wire and displayed them on a poster board and tried to sell my jewels to my grandparents. When my brother would take me to the movie rental store, I begged to have a job there. I don't know what it was in me that wanted a job so badly. 

Now, I don't necessarily have those same feelings. I don't mind working. I enjoy a good productive day, but I sense in myself over the past ten years that something shifted inside of me, and that to a certain degree, I do not like responsibility. I would rather have my head in the clouds, enjoying life, and to a degree I feel that I've been able to do that in the simplest of ways. But of course, there are always small things that bring us to reality, rent increases, uncertainty of our jobs, uncertainty of anything and taking the setbacks as they come. 

I've done enough self-analysis over the years and it gets exhausting. I feel that I've done some good work and I still have work to do. I have issues that I still deal with that I have the opportunity to develop. There will always be growth and learning and that is wonderful. 

Right now, I am writing in real time. Another decade is fast approaching for me. I will have been on this gracious earth for four decades. I'm a quiet celebrator, preferring to go quietly into the new dawn. This one feels more real because in another decade and a little over a half I will be the age when my mother passed on. In another three years I will be the age she was when she had me, after already having two sons that were twenty years of age. In some ways, I gage my time on this earth against her clock–or rather when her clock stopped, yet I know that anything can happen in between that time and possibly afterward. I must be honest. I have no desire to live into my 90s or even my 80s. I know my body will not hold up.

This is beginning to sound depressing and it's not meant to. Another thing that I realized over the past couple of days is that I am truly happy. I love life. I love the earth, the little gifts in nature. I am a child of nature. I belong to the moon and the sun and stars, the flowers, the dirt, to the rain–and I will return one day. But what I realized is that I will always have this something inside of me, a certain small little piece of melancholy that lives inside of me, that allows me to feel as I do, allows me to cherish every single moment of my life and allows me to feel everything to my core, allows me to feel the sadness, but to especially feel the happiness and the goodness that this world offers with open arms.

Sometimes I fall, but I always pick myself up. And sometimes when I need it most, there is a sparrow that flies down and tweets, catching my eye until I can't but smile. Or a crow flies overhead, making me crane my neck and soaking him in. Always, these natural beauties make me feel alive and real and like I matter. 

Books, a Quote, and the Moon

"Be yourself, everyone else is taken."
–Oscar Wilde

Yesterday was a long work day, but it was a productive day. Busy season is upon us and I have a feeling that this year is going to feel more crammed than the last.

Energy zipped through me last night. I went to bed a little after midnight, which isn't the norm for me. Then I woke up for some reason at around 4:30 a.m. Whenever I wake at these early morning hours, I take the opportunity to put my glasses on and peer out the window at the moon.

Last night the picture outside my window was a half moon surrounded by stars as billowy clouds streamed by. All I could think of was that this was the image of a soothing lullaby. I stayed there propped up at the windowsill for a few moments taking in the moment, then I tucked back into bed and went back to sleep.

I've tried to stop buying books. This Sunday, though, I browsed the bookshelves of a second hand store wondering what I'd find. I've purposely avoided this section on recent visits, but on Sunday I splurged. I allowed myself to look a little longer and found a handful of books to buy and here they are:

-Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia by Elizabeth Gilbert.

I saw the movie a year or so ago and decided then that I'd like to try the book. I usually wait until the hype goes down for certain things. A month back I tried a Kindle sample and I knew it would be a book that I wanted to read, just not on Kindle.

-All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten: Uncommon Thoughts on Common Things by Robert Fulghum. I'm surprised I don't own a copy or that I haven't read it yet. I did read his collection of writings by other authors that inspired him called Words I Wish I Wrote. I enjoyed this one a lot.

-Kitchen Table Wisdom: Stories that Heal by Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D. I have a vague recollection of seeing this book around. Flipping through it, I knew it would be a gem to add to my shelves.

-Plato and a Platypus Walk into a Bar: Understanding Philosophy through Jokes by Thomas Cathcart and Daniel Klein. I always wanted to pick this book up when I heard about it, but then I forgot about it; I must not have wanted it that bad. When I saw it this time, I knew I had to get it. I flipped open to a random page and was immediately laughing. Laughter and philosophy–what a great combination!

-Ed Emberley's Great Thumbprint Drawing Book. Well, I've seen this cute children's drawing book somewhere, maybe a library. I had to have it. The thumbprint drawings are adorable and it takes you step by step. It speaks to the kid and little artist in me.

-The Touchstone by Edith Wharton. I've never read any of her novels. This is a short one. The descriptions on the back intrigued me, so I had to get it.

I felt like it was my lucky book day, finding so many gems.

I also had some books waiting for me at the library, mostly children's picture books, and one book related to astrology and the moon. I don't think I'll have time to read all of the moon book, but I'm hoping I have time to sit with it for a little while.

The highlight of my Sunday, besides the books, was browsing in a combination vintage art shop this weekend where I saw a canvas that someone had painted the Oscar Wilde quote in white block letters. Well, my significant other actually saw it first and pointed it out to me because he knew I'd like it. I did; I decided to do a similar one using the Doodle Buddy App, so that's today's picture.

Love those words: "Be Yourself..." Yes!

Happy writing and creating & happy Tuesday!

Night

Tonight I drove home with my mouth agape staring at the moon; trees streamed by, blocked my view as I ducked and searched–where is the moon?!

A champagne moon spilled out on its side, close enough to touch.

And the tree I've been admiring each night of class, in her bare beauty, was clothed in beautiful pink blossoms tonight. She looked alive. I like her bare and also in full dress.

What a beautiful night. The air feels fresh. The streets are empty and class was quite satisfying.

One of my Treasures

It feels good to be awake early this morning. The past few weeks I've wanted to continue sleeping; and I have, waking up later than usual.

Saturday has arrived bringing with it a calm and sense of relief.

I wanted to share a photo that I took about a month ago. It's one of those faces I was talking about yesterday. A nearby library that I enjoy visiting has a drive thru book return. I've gone through this book return countless times. On this day, a month back, I must have been in a slower mode, so that I could step back, see the book return from a different vantage point. I usually have to get out of my car because it's a long stretch to push the buttons and place the books on the belt that pulls the books through to their destination with other books, waiting for re-shelving. As I began getting out of the car, I saw a face looking back at me. I smiled, then I laughed. Finally, I had to take a photo.

One of the beauties in life is that simple moments like this can bring such unexpected joy.

As I look at the photo this morning, I realize that the face is a familiar one. One of my father's–my real father–used to build me beautiful creations out of wood. A cabinet maker by trade, he was a true craftsman and artist. Looking at this face, I remember a family of wooden dolls that he made for me. They were beautiful wooden blocks that he had cut, putting together a family, all with smiling faces, moveable arms and legs, and a rich coating of wood stain that brought out the beauty in the wood–a human family that brought me comfort and joy.

Whenever I smell sawdust or freshly cut wood, I think of him in his wood shop, creating.

I wish I still had those dolls. Even though they are gone, and he is gone, I remember the love that he put forth in all the creations that he built for me. I was able to keep and take one item with me, and it rests in my closet where I can see it. It's a small wooden treasure chest that my father built for me, where I store my special treasures.

 

A Bowl of Miso Soup

It's been a long week. I think I woke up in the early morning hours hoping it was Saturday and not Friday. But here I am with my cup of delicious decaf coffee; the morning is feeling pretty good.

While I was cleaning out my lunch bag yesterday, I found a short story that I wrote about a month ago and had been carrying around because I wanted to edit it. I hadn't gotten around to it. I tossed the story in my book bag to take to class to read during break. It's a simple story. I read through it, and didn't have much to change. I think I will post it soon–I'm telling myself that here on the page, so that I can hold myself to it. I've done that before; it doesn't always work.

This week at work we had one of our working "team meeting" lunches. There are only three of us. We went to one of my favorite Japanese restaurants this time.

I'm the dreamer of the group. The others are creative in their own way and have fun sides, but are also very pragmatic. I often get sidetracked when we walk to our destination. I get lost in the sky, the flowers we pass, the cloud formations, the window displays–I love interacting with my environment and being right there.

When our miso soup was served, I looked inside my bowl before taking it in my hands to take a sip and I saw a face–I actually see faces a lot–not a whole lot, but I see them enough, I see the spirit in things. But, back to the soup. The onion slices and tofu were making the cutest face and I said to them there's a face in my soup and pulled out my iPod Touch and snapped a photo. The boss had a flippant comment in response to when I said I see faces in things. I'm used to it; and I think he's used to my fascination with life.

Back at the office, my co-worker sent me an email that he had subscribed to "The Scientific American Mind" and said the current issue sounded interesting. There was an article on mindfulness and in his email he said that mindfulness eludes him. I was thinking of a response back to him when I had a light bulb moment that I knew he would "get." He liked it and this is what it was:

Mindfulness is as simple as seeing a smile in a bowl of miso soup.

A Sunday in September

Readying to settle into a book,
First, I set my eyes on the canvas of the day.
I perch my chin in my hands and look—another glorious page
from Nature's sketch book, cross hatchings
fine as feathers across the page
forming into bursting rays of light that reach up to its source.

Three dragonflies hover,
suspending themselves on the length of the breeze;
they glide into the small force of gravity.

It's the ocean out there in that splendid sky of blue silk
and white linen wrapped in tinkling bells chiming in the warmest
of winds and the copper glint of light as it bounces
from the wings of the largest dragonfly. He gracefully
makes his way across this most wonderful and natural work of art.

Beauty

Beauty lies in

the starkness

of bare

branches.

Following where my Soul Leads

“Natalie Goldberg reveals Clio’s primary secret about why we are motivated to put our experiences into writing: ‘The deepest secret in the heart of hearts is that we are writing because we love the world.’

From The Nine Muses: A Mythological Path to Creativity

—Angeles Arrien

2-1-12: What a beautiful number combination. It’s hard for me to believe that February is already upon us. Though winter is teasing this year with clouds that look like rain, yet rarely produce the stream that we need, spring grows nearer and already I anticipate the longer days of sunlight and Spring fragrances flitting through the air.

Goddesses are at the forefront of my mind. It began with a memory of a wise woman that long ago came in and out my life— in a way that demonstrates the movement, change, and non-permanence of this mortal world. She loaned me a book. She said, I had to read it. She held it like a Bible:  Goddesses in Everywoman: A New Psychology of Women by psychoanalyst, Jean Shinoda Bolen. She told me that Artemis was definitely the Goddess she identified with: Artemis (Diana), the Goddess of the hunt, wildlife, and independence. I was eager to scan the pages to find out which, if any, of the Goddesses resonated with me most. I didn’t take my time with the book, but through skimming the chapters, I found that the Goddess that best seemed to fit me was Hestia (Vesta), Goddess of the hearth and home.

The female figure and spirit in its essence is beauty. One of my favorite representations is of Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus.

Thinking of the wise woman and the book she had recommended so many years ago somehow entered my space and has in a way reawakened my desire to revisit the book. Another connection is that on a recent dental appointment, even though I had noticed the beautiful Goddess statue in the waiting room many times before, on that day the beauty of it and of her whole office left a stronger impression on me. There was also a fresco style scene on a large area of the wall between two sets of seats. My visual senses were taking in every bit that I could. My dentist is of Indian descent, but I cannot recall the part of India she told me she was from. She also has smaller Indian pieces placed on the filing cabinets behind the reception desk, as well as a small scroll of the Dalai Lama’s The Paradox of our Age on another wall in the waiting area.

My dentist has a calm demeanor that immediately puts me at ease. She was 30 minutes late for my appointment, but I was happy sitting in the waiting room, taking the time to soak in the beauty in images and words; I was equally happy to see her unrattled and ready with a warm smile.

As usual new memories and remembrances or new findings always bring me back to my bookshelves—to the books that I have kept, even though sometimes I feel like getting rid of all of them and living with fewer objects, but I simply cannot part with them because I know at some time, I’ll want to look for them; I also fear one day they may become extinct. As much as I adore my Kindle, it cannot compare to the pages, ink, paper, and the art— of what it means to be book. And that is when I pulled the two Goddess books I have: Conversations with the Goddess: Revealing the Divine Power within You by Agapi Stassinopoulos and The Nine Muses, which while flipping through it this morning, I randomly started reading and that is when I found the Natalie Goldberg quote and it said it all: “The deepest secret in the heart of hearts is that we are writing because we love the world.”

**

This is a  photo I took in 2010 when I went to New Orleans. As I was trying to find a different photo to include with this blog, I saw this one and remembered that day, taking the street car into the Garden District for a visit to the zoo; walking through the park afterward, I saw many lovely statues. This is but one and seems to fit the space here today.

To a Happy Day and may we each find the power of the Goddesses and Gods within us when we need them.

**

I dedicate this blog to that wise woman, full of so much spark and energy—and all the women, men—humans and other beings of the natural world, with legs and without, in flesh or in writing—that have crossed my path and touched my own life in a way that will stay with me always.

**

The Paradox of Our Age

We have bigger houses but smaller families;

more convenience, but less time;

We have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgement;

more experts, but more problems; more medicines, but less healthiness;

We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor.

We built more computers to hold more information than ever, but have less communication;

We have become long on quantity, but short on quality.
These are the times of fast foods but slow digestion;

Tall man but short character;

Steep profits but shallow relationships.

It's a time when there is much in the window, but nothing in the room.

—His Holiness the 14th Dali Lama

7 Golden Monkeys

To enter, you must first cross a bridge. On the right is a crescent pattern of five or six stone seats set around a pond of water, with a waterfall in the background. A large copper wire Dragon, at least 100 feet long hangs high, a great protective force.

At first I do not see these sights. Hungry, I know I'm drawn to the beauty of this Chinese restaurant, a certain ambiance that I feel and feed on. There are other restaurants to the left and right of this one. But I choose this one.

It's when I decide to sit at the bar for a quick snack that I am taken in by the carefully designed scene before my eyes.

The bar counter is set up in a curvature that wraps around and creates a semi circle. The counter tops, a polished black granite with specks of white glimmer that reflect off the light like little white fish in the sea.

After I place my order of hot and sour soup, pot stickers, and a coke, I sit there mesmerized. I feel like I'm sitting before an artistic, aesthetic feat of creativity and symbolism. I count...4, 5, 6, 7 Golden Monkeys.  Seven  Golden Monkey statues three or four feet tall, spread around. Each seems to have a role in this divine scene; and in a way, as I look around, taking in the whole, it reminds me of a carousel, but it's also more. Each monkey has a different facial expression—inviting, playful, powerful. The ceiling is round or appears round, an upside down red paper mâché umbrella that is about three feet in diameter suspended from the center of the ceiling. The ceilings are a heavenly blue with white ornate bordering depicting clouds or water. There is painted a priestess in the background. I can only see the robe from my viewpoint. Her robes are painted in soft lilac tones. Chinese characters also wrap the base of the sky. The side walls are painted royal blue and regal red—side by side.

My imagination cannot get enough of the scene. I eat my soup, take bites of my pot stickers and still gaze up at the monkeys. One in particular catches my fancy. He is holding onto a pole with one hand, the other extended in a welcoming gesture—a big smile on his face. It is also gold and thick with detail that suggests either a cord or also conjures images of a carousel.

All of the usual elements seem to be present: Earth, fire, air, water, heaven.

As I was readying to leave, I turned in my seat to the right taking in the rest of the restaurant, and that's when I noticed the great dragon that I did not see upon entering. Beautiful, thick copper—copper being one of my favorite metals—I was in awe. He was a sight to behold and kept me there in his gaze for a few moments before I descended from my seat, passing the pond and walking back across the bridge.

Transported, I was, as if in a boat, streaming down the river, paddles in hand—paddling down the river with my mind, entering this great cultural art. I felt both at peace and tantalized, rejuvenated, and thankful for having chosen this place to enjoy my meal—a meal in paradise—a meal in another time and place, yet right here, right now.