Jet (poem) by Tony Hoagland

and it is good, a way of letting life
out of the box, uncapping the bottle
to let the effervescence gush
through the narrow, usually constricted neck.

Everything is Going to be All Right (Poem) by Derek Mahon

Derek Mahon, from Selected Poems

How should I not be glad to contemplate
the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window
and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?
There will be dying, there will be dying,
but there is no need to go into that.
The poems flow from the hand unbidden
and the hidden source is the watchful heart.
The sun rises in spite of everything
and the far cities are beautiful and bright.
I lie here in a riot of sunlight
watching the day break and the clouds flying.
Everything is going to be all right.

Day Off

 Presidents' Day weekend. House is clean. Tennis lesson done. Travel planned for this summer's half-marathon in the Grand Tetons. A run, then yoga today. 

So tomorrow can be an honest to goodness day off. Yoga in the morning, pickle ball, drop-in tennis in the evening. And maybe some puzzle. Maybe some shopping. Maybe a church task or two. 

The feeling of well-being is overwhelming. So few shoulds that it's a miracle. I am so grateful. So full of gratitude!

"In the Moment" (poem) by Lynn Ungar

You've probably heard
the central rule of improv:
Say yes... and.
Yes, we are on a desert island...
and I am a shark.
Yes, we are playing in the World Series...
and I will use this hot dog as a bat.
It's an excellent way to talk with those
who have wandered into dementia:
Yes, OK, I'm your mother.
Can I sing you a lullaby?

Improv is the core of jazz.
Bach may have set music's
rules of the road, but he
was one crazy improvisational driver.
Look, I get this isn't
the plot you chose, and everything
has gone off script.
Isn't that just the way of it?
Play the scene you're in.
Shift the plot. Tell me
where we can go together.

What you can control...

 I'm feeling buoyed by the positive changes that I've been able to imagine, set intentions to accomplish, set steps to put in place, and keep choosing and following through again and again.

And if that can happen in some areas of my life, suddenly I assume that's true of all aspects. 

So it is somewhat startling and deeply frustrating the ways that I cannot gain traction in changes that are important and potentially life-improving. 

I am happily going to yoga almost every day, yet I cannot seem to manage to go running once a week. 

I have given up cream and sugar in my morning coffee, but I cannot not eat 3-5 desserts per night. 

I use my meditation app every morning, but I still find myself a stress case in most other circumstances throughout the day. 

I sing to my kiddo every night before bed, but I keep choosing Youtube videos before bed instead of my library books on kindle (tick tock...). 

Probably dwelling more on the wins and less on the disappointments would bring more happiness and more successful change. 

As a human, I'm primed to focus on the negative and the "problems" to be solved. As a spiritual being,  I practice gratitude and celebration. Begin again, begin again... 

"The Next Noel" (poem) by Lynn Ungar

I don’t know what a noel is,
Except that it’s something
That angels say, and the first time
They said it, was to shepherds
Who were out laying in fields.
But the next noel, couldn’t it
Have been to anyone –
The barkeep handing drinks
Or the woman easing off her shoes
As she comes in the door?
Behold! The angel says, as in
Pay attention! Look what is happening!
And then, I bring you tidings
Of great joy. I don’t know
Who got the second noel.
Maybe the wise men. Maybe not.
But if there was a first noel,
They might have just kept coming –
Angels popping up where you least
Expect them, demanding that you take notice,
Insisting, through every battered age,
That you listen to tidings of great joy.

Quote - Larry Levis - "My Story in a Late Style of Fire"

"It is so American, fire. So like us.

Its desolation. And its eventual, brief triumph."

Quote - Gaston Bachelard - The Psychoanalysis of Fire

"Fire is the ultra-living element. It is intimate and it is universal. It lives in our heart. It lives in the sky. It rises from the depths of the substance and offers itself with the warmth of love. Or it can go back down into the substance and hide there, latent and pent-up, like hate and vengeance. Among all phenomena, it is really the only one to which there can be so definitely attributed the opposing values of good and evil. It shines in Paradise. It burns in Hell. It is gentleness and torture. It is cookery and it is apocalypse."

"An Avowal" (poem) by Denise Levertov

As swimmers dare
to lie face to the sky
and water bears them,
as hawks rest upon air
and air sustains them,
so would I learn to attain
freefall, and float
into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace,
knowing no effort earns
that all-surrounding grace.

This poem is from Oblique Prayers, copyright ©1984 by Denise Levertov, and also appears in Levertov’s The Stream and the Sapphire: Selected Poems on Religious Themes. 

Circle of Life

I did a good job in the past couple years reaching back, reaching out, to key people in my past. I didn't realize how much that also meant re-opening closed chapters in my life, and finding there, not cringing regret and harsh recriminations for all the ways I failed to be my best self, but memories of the ways I tried to stretch in different directions. 

Being a parent, I've learned, provides many magical moments to confront past selves. Music is a doorway to the past; Umea has discovered Simon & Garfunkle, Kenny Rogers. She does not seem to mind my reminiscences of the past selves who loved the songs she's falling in love with. (And I realize I may be especially blessed with a kid who is not (yet?) focused on pushing away to differentiate herself.)

And clothes, too. When she steals a sweatshirt that's 20+ years old, I am remembering who bought it for me, or who I dated when I wore it first. How can she want to wear the same item? A rhyming across time. 

We went shoe shopping, and as she tried on Birkenstocks, I texted my best friend in high school, since in my memory, we walked everywhere in Birkenstocks. She said yes, her son, too, asked for his first pair of Birkenstocks the summer before, and yes, how strange and right and resonant. 

This also, of course, is true of books. Certainly when she was little, I crammed her little brain with my favorite childhood books -- Anne of Green Gables, first and foremost. And now she shares a few of my favorites in adulthood -- Miracle Life of Edgar Mint, most miraculously. 

I think you could have these same moments of resonance if you were really good about sharing your inner life with a close friend. (I'm thinking of a podcast [This American Life, Plan B, Act Two], where a young woman described trying to "download" her past into a new friend's brain - making her mixed-tapes of important songs, narrating past relationship stories onto tapes, providing a list of favorite books...)

But having kids, who are exploring themselves, partly through exploring what they have in common -- or not -- with their parents, is an especially organic unfolding of moments and moments and moments where the past opens up and offers a chance to see and feel how much I have in common with past selves -- or not.

And pairing that with friends who loved me when I was those past selves takes things deeper. It's partly triangulation -- do their memories, or their continued love, confirm my experience? My existence? Do I, can I, still love who they loved? Who they love? Are those the same? (Oh god, what is time? What is life? What is perspective across time?)

And I remember, I try to remember, there is nothing to be done. There is everything to feel, and accept, and learn. And celebrate. And feel gratitude. So much gratitude for this miracle of life unfolding -- out and in.

When all seems dark, what can you do to let the light in?

Breathe.

Feel grateful for blessings.

Move. Stretch. Feel grounded and stretch to the sky.

Meditate on the miracle of a spark of my perspective and life in the vastness of the universe.

Reach out to wisdom from others.

Slow down. Notice that you can only live moment by moment. (Nothing to be done, nothing else, nothing other. One moment only.)

Go deeper.

Shine. 

 

What's your burden?

The question today at church. And an offer: Can you lay it down for a minute? 10 minutes? An hour? For days or weeks or months at a time?

Today, I'm thinking about cholesterol and eating - all the ways I feel out of control when confronted by cookies, chocolate, hawaiian rolls...

What does it really mean to be addicted to sugar, to gluten?

A Kenny Loggins self-help book from the late 1990s said (oh lord, wisdom from Kenny Loggins? Sure. Why not? Take it where you can get it!): "Where there is no hole, there's nothing to fill."

What hole am I filling with sweets? With butter?

I'm picturing a gingerbread house, pre-construction, and me sealing up the seams with frosting. 

I suspect more play will help. More yoga. More tennis. Maybe learning pickle ball? Snowshoeing? And puzzles. (So grateful for a puzzle exchange at church! I brought back about 10, leaving with 5...)

And if that doesn't help, I'll have to go deeper. Pretty sure I'm doing everything I can, eating all I can, not to do that. 

Blue Christmas

 Now it's December, and I'm still struggling with dark spirits.

Atheist Christmas Carol

Me to the season: Don't forget, I love, I love you.

I am sadness and joy and stress and resilience. All are part of the tapestry of my experience. So be it. So may it be. 

Prayer to myself: May I be brave. May I welcome the connection and light that waits for me if I open the door to them. 

Thanksgiving Eve

Today, everything feels like too much. Too many things to do. Too hard. Too much energy needed to overcome the inertia of despondent now. 

Tomorrow, there will be music and singing and cooking and cleaning and laughing and friends and games. All will be well. All manner of things will be well.

Today, there are meetings to get through. Plates to spin. Tasks to knock out. Discussions to contribute to (show up! be present! bring value!). 

I've had an Insight mediation app on my phone for a few months now. Most mornings I listen to affirmations as I make my way toward my desk. Most mornings, I feel grounded afterward. Rooted in my body, confident and at ease in myself. 

Today, the woman's voice was talking to someone else, and I was just eavesdropping. Nothing she said was for me. 

• "I am enough?" Not even close. 
• "I trust the process of life?" Not today, I don't. 
• "I am grateful for every experience that shaped who I am?" For all the good it's done. 
• "I am grateful for all my blessings?" What are they, again?

Work has been full and stressful lately. Lots of brain power, emotional intelligence, organizational skills, task switching, energy expended. I'm depleted. 

I skipped out on a church meeting to watch Dark Skies with the fam. I've done puzzles. So. Many. Puzzles. I've escaped into Stacey Abrams mysteries. I've done yoga. Tennis. Walks with the dogs.

I'm doing all the right things. Trying for good habits. 

Today, it all feels for naught. Darkness is heavy in my chest. My shoulders curl over my quaking heart.

These feelings too will pass. Tomorrow will be a better day. 

"Look up" has been on repeat in my head - as I went to sleep - as I woke up several times in the night - this morning. Yes, Joy. Thank you. I can be grateful even for this. 

Fall shining

It's been a whirlwind fall. I've been co-teaching a class at UNM, which is so fun but soaks up all my "free time." Teaching requires a presence and an awareness of the moment that leads to richer experience. This practice carries over into the rest of my life, primed to find deeper meaning. 

Rich but exhausting. 

It's been a sweet few months with the kiddos. There's been tennis and running. Puzzles. Coffee. More delights from Ross Gay. 

Lunches with friends, tea with a new friend, coffee with an old friend. 

Life is sweet sweet sweet, and I am trying not to hang on or expect anything to continue. Just notice. Feel grateful. Shine shine shine on all I see.

What I Can Do (poem) by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

So I can’t save the world – can’t save even myself,
can’t wrap my arms around every frightened child,
can’t foster peace among nations, can’t bring love to all who feel unlovable.

So I practice opening my heart
right here in this room and being gentle with my insufficiency.
I practice walking down the street heart first.
And if it is insufficient to share love, I will practice loving anyway.
I want to converse about truth, about trust. I want to invite compassion
into every interaction.

One willing heart can’t stop a war.
One willing heart can’t feed all the hungry.
And sometimes, daunted by a task too big, I tell myself what’s the use of trying?
But today, the invitation is clear: to be ridiculously courageous in love.
To open the heart like a lilac in May, knowing freeze is possible
and opening anyway.

To take love seriously. To give love wildly.
To race up to the world as if I were a puppy, adoring and unjaded,
stumbling on my own exuberance.
To feel the shock of indifference, of anger, of cruelty, of fear,
and stay open. To love as if it matters,

as if the world depends on it.

Balance, Longing, and Gratitude

I am working on a small service for Wednesday evening. This is a 30-minute online Vespers, a time for poetry, song, and reflection. My theme is balance. I'm blending Dorianne Laux's Balance, the excerpt below from Kurt Vonnegut's Sirens of Titan, in which he writes of lovely and fanciful creatures called harmoniums that have found their own balance in the deep caves of Mercury, and David Whyte's essay on Longing in his (gorgeous, strange, brilliant) book Consolations.

And for the song, of course, Life Is Better with You by Michael Franti. I'm rocking this one!

Excerpt from Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut

The planet Mercury sings like a crystal goblet.
It sings all the time.
One side of Mercury faces the Sun.
That side has always faced the Sun. That side is a sea of white-hot dust.
The other side faces the nothingness of space eternal.
That side has always faced the nothingness of space eternal. That side is a forest of giant blue-white crystals, aching cold.
It is the tension between the hot hemisphere of day-without-end and the cold hemisphere of night-without-end that makes Mercury sing.
…
There are creatures in the deep caves of Mercury.
The song their planet sings is important to them, for the creatures are nourished by vibrations. ...
The creatures cling to the singing walls of their caves.
In that way, they eat the song of Mercury.
…
The creatures in the caves are translucent. When they cling to the walls, light from the phosphorescent walls comes right through them. The yellow light from the walls, however, is turned, when passed through the bodies of the creatures, to a vivid aquamarine.
Nature is a wonderful thing.
...
Each creature has four feeble suction cups – one at each of its corners. These cups enable it to creep, something like a measuring worm, and to cling, and to feel out the places where the song of Mercury is best.
Having found a place that promises a good meal, the creatures lay themselves against the wall like wet wallpaper.
…
They do not reach maturity, then deteriorate and die. They reach maturity and stay in full bloom, so to speak, for as long as Mercury cares to sing.
There is no way in which one creature can harm another, and no motive for one’s harming another.
Hunger, envy, ambition, fear, indignation, religion, and sexual lust are irrelevant and unknown.
The creatures have only one sense: touch.
They have weak powers of telepathy. ... They have only two possible messages.
The first is an automatic response to the second, and the second is an automatic response to the first.
The first is, ”Here I am, here I am, here I am.”
The second is, ”So glad you are, so glad you are, so glad you are.”

Prioritizing Me

I'm keeping an intention to fold in physical activities high in my consciousness. It still hasn't turned into action much, but the realization that fun = moving my body is still motivating me to figure it out.

The latest scheme is to try for some family bike rides when it cools down a little. I think we're going to "borrow" my 80-year-old mother's Schwinn for Beckett (a much more appropriate age for biking!) so that we will all have decent-ish bikes. Umea's is a second-hand store find. Actually, I think Eric's is, too. And mine is the bike I bought in grad school, which I still adore. 

The other goal is to play tennis Monday evenings. 

And soon I'll be able to get back to yoga at lunch 2 times a week. 

I've done fairly well going for one long-ish run on the weekends. 

One of the fun things at camp was playing "ga ga ball," which I hear is taking the nation by storm, following the pickle ball revolution. My son was surprised but pleased that his mom did pretty well - for a beginner! It was a reminder that I'm kinda athletic. Felt like being little and playing baseball and kickball and all kinds of other things - and being pretty good at most of them just by being fairly coordinated. 

Although ABQ does not have gaga ball pits, it is embracing pickleball. Many of my older friends are enamored. Once the City opens the registration for pickle ball lessons, I'll sign up to learn that. Then I need to find a partner to play with!

All of this requires carving out time in the week for something that I actually find fun, even though my kids don't. The past 14 years have been trying to find things to do as a family. Now... it's probably ok to strike out on my own again and leave them to their screens and their friends. 

Church Camp

We just got back from a week-long UU kids camp. I've been wanting to go for years; we hear a lot during the year about "camp magic" -- a place where generally reluctant UU kids actually want to go every year. 

There are no "families" at camp, even though most (but not all!) adult "counselors" are parents. Some were, but their kiddos are now adults. 

Like most camps, there are campers 3rd grade through 8th grade. Then there are Counselors-in-Training (CITs). Because people continue to want to come back, there are also "Young Adult Mentors" (YAMs). 

My 14-year-old leaned into the no families rule -- generally not making eye contact but not actively avoiding me. 

My 10-year-old declared the rule stupid and refused to follow it, but even so, he did not seek me out much, although bedtime was still important. Lots of singing! Which worked out well for his roommate, who was more homesick than most. 

So I was left as just myself - an adult among kids - parental but not a parent. At camp but not a camper. I found myself SO SELF-CONSCIOUS! Walking the delicate tightrope of asking questions but not be prying, being silent but not withdrawn, being present but not centering myself. I was the only adult who had not been to camp before, so I found myself empathizing with the new kids, who were also the quiet kids, on the edge of every game, sitting alone during meals. What is more tortuous than being a new kid? Turns out... being a new adult. The responsibility to do something about both my own discomfort and theirs made the discomfort urgent. So I went about gathering the loners into community. And by day 3, the CITs had been admonished enough that there were many helpers in this quest. 

And by day 5, there were no outliers. There were certainly still moments of discomfort and shyness and awkwardness that all kids - and all people - have. But camp magic worked. Many became one. And had fun. And accepted our infinite, unique quirkiness. 

I think all camps do this, some better than others. Some more intentionally than others. Our UU camp was very intentional, teaching the skill of inclusion and practicing the courage to show up. So vulnerable and so beautiful. 

The call to worship today at church:

Let's not go building new walls around our hearts

We have already enough that keeps us from each other

Enough that keeps us from ourselves.

For this hour we practice showing up with a willingness to see, to be seen

To remember ourselves, whole, and still becoming better

To believe it is ok to not be ok

That we are loved, even when we feel unlovable

That we belong, even when the ground comes out from under us

To be for each other a surprising generosity, a sudden

sweetness, a sign of hope the start of a new day.

Together, we can be this brave.

The welcoming song:

I pray for you; you pray for me. I love you; I need you to survive. 

I won't harm you with words from my mouth. I love you; I need you to survive. 

Groundedness

Umea asked me if I was ever fun. An old friend asked me what I did for fun. A new friend told me how he fills his days with joy now that he is retired. 

I have a new answer: tennis. To be more specific, tennis lessons. Turns out, I do not like playing matches, but boy do I love drilling! I've been doing it for several summers now, and this year, I seemed to come into my own. 

And the other things I fantasized about when picturing my retirement were similarly active - riding my bike, going for hikes, running. Turns out that what's fun is moving my body. 

How ironic when what I prioritize is being in my head. 

 It's so easy to get lost in there. 

When we talk about grounding ourselves, we so often mean in our bodies. Moving our breath from shallow to deep. Settling our weight into our hips. 

The metaphor for grounding to me has always been the rootedness of a tree - slow growth outward to grasp the earth and hold on, hold onto more and more as you grow. But today, listening to a meditation about courage, the metaphor the woman used was lighting, and I realized lighting grounds, too. A flash of electricity that connects sky to earth with violence and awesome beauty. There and then gone. A strike. 

I had asked some people at a party on 4th of July when they felt grounded in who they were. My friend's mother said - "Oh, very early. I was lucky to have people who mentored me toward leadership." This matches what I knew of her but was not the answer I was hoping to hear. But today, after telling that story, my friend said, "Sure, she felt grounded early, but she never felt free." She could never jump into a new situation, travel to Europe by herself. She was rooted to her spot in the world but didn't see much of it as a result. 

And so I now have 2 metaphors for groundedness that give me more freedom, more hope that whatever I am feeling is what I am supposed to be feeling - connecting to the here and now, digging deep and wide - and branching out (oops, still tree metaphor!) because I feel safe in who I am and so can leap into something new, strike out in a new direction and see what there is to see. 

For today, this feels revelatory. And enough.