Ping!

December 8. 2013


I have people in my life who still write cards and letters via snail mail. This is one of the most beautiful ways to connect with someone. 

My husband and I fell in love through letters.

Taking the time to sit and compose thoughts onto paper, rather than an I-phone, this matters. Putting a beautiful stamp and sending it off from the mailbox with the red flag up is as lovely for the sender as the recipient.

My brother, Rob, sends postcards. They're short and to the point. They come into my hand and land on my heart. 

Ping!

Bean,

Cast All Your Votes for Dancing. I know the call of depression still calls to you. I know those habits that can ruin your life still send their invitations. But you are with the Friend now and look so much stronger. You can stay that way and even bloom! Keep squeezing the drops of the Sun from your prayers and your work and music and from your companions beautiful laughter.


Fret not about getting your Christmas cards out. Get a blank postcard or piece of paper and write to someone you love. 

Draw a picture if you can't find the words...

Send a Ping. 

* poem by Hafiz

You Become Drunk Again

December 7. 2013

On Wednesday I was a substitute teacher in a kindergarten class. After taking our too brief time outside for recess, running around in the fresh air and drawing with chalk, a boy named Vincent came up to me, put his arms around my waist and said,

Ms. Jackson, I love you. 

Later I was telling Claire about Vincent's hug.

She thought for a moment, then said:

"It's like when you're little like that, you're drunk. As you get older, you get sober, serious. Then, kinda like Pop Pop, when you're old, you become drunk again."

A Very Nice Thing To Do

December 6. 2013

This morning, before my cup of tea, possibly before my morning pee, I ate a piece of chocolate which had been hidden 

(yes, it was supposed to be for Claire)

in my closet. 

It melted slowly in my mouth. 

It was a savoring, melting meditation.

I believe it was actually calling my name. 

This isn't the point. 

The point is that it was a very nice thing to do. 

In The Yielding

December 5. 2013

Although I practice daily, 

I suck at yielding to the present moment.

Either hanging in the past:

why did I do that?

why didn't I do that?

what the hell was I thinking?

did I really sleep with that guy back in 1975?

The list of questions and replays are long and looping. 

It's a pointless practice, to say the least.

Then there's my foolish attempts to control the future: 

thinking thinking figuring figuring

if I do this, then that will happen.

if this happens, then I'll be _____________ 

(safe, happy, rich, a successfully published writer...)

if I can just figure out this puzzle then POOF, problems solved.

Up at midnight last night, I finally yielded with a good, old-fashioned weep on the phone with Michael. Michael is presently working in Los Angeles and far away from our little family. This is a whole other story of work and marriage and how more families are having to figure things out creatively. 

This is not the standard text-book way. 

But it's a way, until WAY opens to something else.

The yield came in picking up the phone and crying to my husband that I am tired of being strong. That my unyielding is making my body feel squeezed. That somehow, if I could muscle up, I'd save my kid from this cancer experience, and the other one from middle-school hell, or fill in the blanks of Dad's memory, or find work I love that pays/ But this pushing the boulder up the mountain practice is futile. You will get crushed. Better to yield, better to step aside and watch the boulder of 

troubles
worries 
fantasies of controlling outcomes

tumble and fall.


Not easy if you are a fighter, a muscle-er. 

Try it anyway.

Peace comes in the yielding.

xo b

A String Of Such Moments

December 4. 2013

A moment of self-compassion can change your entire day. A string of such moments can change the course of your life.

- Christopher K. Germer

rest + a little bit of stillness = self-compassion

xo b

To Tip Ourselves Over

December 3. 2013

We are cups
Constantly and quietly being filled
The trick is knowing
How to tip ourselves over
And let the Beautiful Stuff out

- Ray Bradbury

Get Your Jolly On ~

December 2. 2013

This season, we are doing the 25 days of Christmas, thanks to my very holly, jolly daughter, Jesse. Even with her surgery looming (that's how it feels to me, looming), she has brought the spirit of this season fully into our home. 

Mom, you need to get your jolly on, she said.

That was putting it nicely.

In the spirit of getting my jolly on I am offering up something each day for my beloved This Being Alivers. It may be a pic, a quote, a rant, but I'm showing up daily this month.

Show up. Offer. Let go. 

Yesterday while picking up sticks, chop wood carry water, I saw this set of antlers poking up from the ground under the apple tree. Holding its smoothness in my hand, 

a rush of 

mystery + calmness + peace 

swept through me. 

I felt my heart lift.  You know what I'm talking about.

a sign

In my copy of Animal Speak by Ted Andrews is a long piece about the special qualities and characteristics of deer.  How Sir Gawain, Knight of the Round Table, followed a white hart deep into the woods through many adventurous encounters, how Buddha is often pictured with a deer, representing innocence and a return to the wilderness. 

But it was this paragraph that settled me into softness.

When deer show up in your life it is time to be gentle with yourself and others. A new innocence and freshness is about to be awakened or born. There is going to be a gentle, enticing lure of new adventures. Ask yourself important questions: Are you trying to force things? Are others? Are you being too critical and uncaring of yourself? When deer show up there is an opportunity to express gentle love that will open new doors to adventure for you.

-  from Animal Speak


Here's to gentle jolly + love ~