My Dog Is A Mirror

I was out with Chewy walking in the sun and it really was so beautiful, even with the bloody cold wind, it was still beautiful, and my body felt strong and moving, I was running with him in the snow, and he was very happy, of course. Such freedom. 


I thought, my dog is a mirror for all that I long for: go ahead, sniff that, jump in, go to the edge, dig in, run, chew on tree branches, play, be joyful. Okay, well, maybe not chew on branches. But I sure can gnaw on things for a long time. Years? Even the way he gets all whimpering and staring out the window reminds me of me. Like there's something out there; we'd better check it out. 


So I've vowed to stop yelling at him when he is being his dog-self, to have more compassion and understanding for his wanderlust and joie de vivre. He gets so caught up in happy thoughts, he can't always hear what I'm saying. Anyway, maybe this will translate into me not being so hard on my *wobbly person-self.

The final sweetness was when we were getting in the car. I saw the two eagles, their white heads so clearly visible through the trees. I was too far away to get a picture so I sat quietly and watched them glide over the creek.


Surely, it was a sign.


*read: A Bit Wobbly (Jan. 12, 2011)

It's Just A Bone

Claire and I sat in the car at at the bus stop, watching the boys swinging sticks and hitting the tree.
Claire said, "I feel nervous about middle school. Sid seems to have it figured out, she seems to have settled in. But I'm worried about changing classes, what if I get lost. I hope everything's on the first floor."


It's only November. She won't have to deal with the reality of that new life change until next fall. But see? We all do this. We run ahead of ourselves, believing if we ruminate long enough, our worries and trepidation will be swept away. We'll have solved the perceived problem. Whatever ails us will be gone, ruminated to death. 


It doesn't work like that. I know this well. I speak from years of experience as an Olympic-ranked ruminator. Give me anything: work, children, marriage, parents, wrinkles, and I will chew that thing like a dirty old bone found half-buried in the yard. It may be coated in grass and leaves, clumps of mud, some bugs. This only adds to the deliciousness of the ruminating, the terrible, gnawing taste of it. I will work it over. And over.


But the thing is, when I finally let myself drop the bone, I'm exhausted. Bone-weary. There's no relief, not anymore clarity than when I started. Exhausted and agitated, I have lost the game.


Clarity comes when I drop the bone. When I stand still and see it on the ground at my feet, touching the tip of my black boot. 
"It's just a bone," I say.
That's all.

Nobody's Business

"I grew up pretty much as everybody grows up and one day seven years ago found myself saying to myself - I can't live where I want to - I can't even say what I want to - Schools and things that painters have taught me even keep me from painting as I want to. I decided I was a very stupid fool not to at least paint as I wanted to and say what I wanted to when I painted as that seemed to be the only thing I could do that didn't concern anybody but myself - that was nobody's business but my own."


- Georgia O'Keefe


(from the book, A Woman On Paper by Anita Pollitzer)

Re-entry Can Be Slippery

Email to Neeny this morning before heading home from my get-away:

I stayed an extra day and feel all kinds of things:

good, relaxed, ready to get home, nervous to come home. missing my family, enjoying my freedom...

breathing.

The beach was incredible.

I went in the water yesterday. Just had to.

(back home...)

Got home @ noon.

Dad said, " You're a sight for sore eyes!"

We hugged & I took him to the dentist. Picked up Claire from school. We hugged. She told me tales about health class and the video they watched about pinching an inch.

"I'm fat," she said.

Attempting to make dinner, I burned my hand on scalding water from the kitchen sink, cried like a baby. Shrimp boiled over on stove, cried. Took a cold shower because burnt hand couldn't take hot. Cried. Michael helped Claire with science homework. I kissed him with my swollen cry-baby eyes. She gave us a funny look.

"Dad and I are pollinating," I said.

Sat outside under the full moon with Neeny & drank wine. Cried a little more & listened to crickets and laughed about all of it with baggie of ice cubes on hand.

Re-entry can be slippery.

A Turn Of The Key

I've been thinking about practice and happiness and what a nice couple they make, most days. They're dependable, yet surprising. Practice doesn't mean you already know. Nope. That's why it's called practice. Doing the practice invites happiness to show up.

My daily practice is writing. It starts with a notebook, pen(s), and a quiet pocket of time. I don't have a plan. I do watch turkeys and people. I stare out the window frequently. I listen.

Some days my writing leaps right into whiny, fearful worries. But, usually, in the midst of the scribble, or the rubble, a glint of light seeps in. Then comes the shift in my solar plexus; a click, a turn of the key. I step out of the cage. I am released.

Inevitably, small mind hooks and reels me back in. I turn, retreating into my cramped, but familiar cell where the scurrying mind-mice keep busy, gnawing on small bones, infinite worries.

Next day, I begin again; pull out notebook, pen, find quiet pocket of time, write. Even the briefest time brings freedom and opening; it restores me, loosens me, releases me. It’s always the same, never the same.

Write, whittle, whistle, make wine. Pick a practice. Invite happiness. Then share yourself with others. The world needs you.

ps. today is my 201st daily post of This Being Alive. I am grinning from ear to ear. So this is a a grin-out, to you and the turkeys, who just this moment meandered by, no kidding. I love those damn birds. And you! Thanks for letting me share...

xo b

Learn Ease

"Today I'll choose groundedness and freedom. I'll choose to learn ease...and slip myself off the hook where I stay hung up out of fear, fear of the unknown and perhaps fear of freedom."

- from Promise of a New Day (Mom's meditation book)