Heart Happy

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May. 24th, 2012

A note from the past

Shuffling through papers, I come across this quote. I used to read it every day. I see now I had an excerpt. I give you a part, and then, the whole.

Pablo Casals:

And what do we teach our children in school? We teach them that two and two makes four and that Paris is the capital of France. When will we teach them what we are? We should say to each of them: You are a marvel. You are unique .... You have the capacity for anything .... And when you grow up can you then harm another, who is, like you, a marvel?

Pablo Casals:

Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe, a moment that will never be again. And what do we teach our children? We teach them that two and two make four, and that Paris is the capital of France. When will we also teach them what they are?

We should say to each of them: Do you know what you are? You are a marvel. You are unique. In all the years that have passed, there has never been another child like you. Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers, the way you move.

You may become a Shakespeare, a Michaelangelo, a Beethoven. You have the capacity for anything. Yes, you are a marvel. And when you grow up, can you then harm another who is, like you, a marvel?

You must work, we must all work, to make the world worthy of its children.

Yes!

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May. 23rd, 2012

When bubbles fall

I haven't been to Burning Man but I appreciate the ideals with which it formed. That Krug champagne would distort those values for their own advantage is unsettling, but we do have a voice. I'm not sure I've ever bought Krug champagne, but I will remember this and never do so. If they see a drop in their sales, perhaps they and other businesses will learn there are a few places that want to be left alone.

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2012/05/23/DD3R1OL7Q6.DTL

Wealth

This comes my way today. I love it!!

Measure wealth not by the things you have, but by the things you have for which you would not take money.

- Anonymous

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May. 22nd, 2012

The Blue Flower

I read the novel The Blue Flower last night. Written by Penelope Fitzgerald, it is the true story of the man who became Novalis, a German Romantic poet and philosopher.

The book is highly acclaimed, so I came to it with high expectations, and while not being able to put it down, I wasn't exactly sure where to put it in my categorizing of book loves, but, then, I woke about three, thinking what it really is about. It is about Joy, about seeing deeply and between, about living in innocence and with curiosity and appreciation. I woke exhilarated, thinking of Sophie, a child of child-mind.

I want to share something of my weekend, and yet, I have no words, though a deeper awareness of my cells and spaciousness, of what it is to sit and stand, reverberates in me. Perhaps I can offer a taste.

In one workshop, we worked with the power of pausing. What tools can we use to remind us to pause, to refresh? I thought of the pause button on the computer. Another, when triggered by a person or situation, hears the voice "recalibrating" from the GPS in her car. Pausing can help us step out of a cycle of constriction. We can pause, focus on the breath, and the tangible sensory experience that greets us where we are.

Sounds rather esoteric, I suppose, but what we did was throw balls, and tap each other awake. We put our hands to our ears and brought them away until there was more sensitivity in hearing. We walked together and separately, and lay down in the grass. What did we see? Hear? Receive?

Perhaps, you can toss a ball up and down 40 to 100 times in a minute, and tap your head and shoulders and cover your eyes, and lie down, and notice what you see, feel, hear. Then, without pausing, write continuously, answering this question.

"What is alive in my heart?"

Pause and then answer this question writing continuously. "What most wants to be heard in me?"

Ah, now, I find myself with "What most wants to be herd in me?" We spoke of being a shepherd. Perhaps what most wants to be heard and herd in me is Joy, though what I wrote on Saturday was "trust", and perhaps they are the same. Joy and Trust!

If you are interested, the conference next year will be May 3 to 5, and it takes place here:

http://vallombrosa.org/

Information on Sensory Awareness is here:

http://www.sensoryawareness.org/

The Blue Flower is a symbol for inspiration. May you inspire on the petals, stamens and pistil, ovary and fruit, of this day.

May. 18th, 2012

Morning Thoughts

We rise early these days, the light beckoning. I am awake late. My nights, too, like this place on earth, are shorter. There will be a solar eclipse on Sunday. I look forward to that.

My friend Annemarie Roeper died last Friday at 9:15. Her daughter and niece were with her. She passed peacefully.

She was horrified by Fox "news", but they did do a lovely piece on her. The video is touching and inspiring. She and her husband created a school where "everyone is so happy they will never do anything bad like the Nazis". They wanted each child to create their own identity and speak their own truth.

http://www.myfoxdetroit.com/dpp/news/local/roeper-school-founder-dies-at-age-93-20120514-ms

I sit this morning, looking out on the ridge, thinking of those I know and love who have died. I feel like cotton candy, pieces of me plucked into a wider expansiveness, a dissolving perhaps, that feels very alive and conscious.

I'm going to be away this weekend, five weekends in a row, I realize, unusual for me, and yet, just right. I'm going to a retreat center for a conference on Sensory Awareness.

There are three women who have influenced my adult life, three women outside my mother and grandmothers. One is Charlotte Selver, the founder of Sensory Awareness. The other is Marion Rosen, the founder of Rosen Method, and the other is Annemarie Roeper, the co-founder of the Roeper School. Her influence is in her own right, as Annemarie, and also through her daughter, my friend Karen.

All three of these elders have now passed. All three were German, and because they were Jewish forced to flee Nazi Germany. All came here, and brought something precious to share. I am graced to have known each one, and through them to more clearly learn the power of knowing my inner well enough to soften in the grace of tears.

Marion said "Tears are Liquid Love". I believe this to be so. I'm grateful for the moisture that glistens my eyes and my heart. It feels like dew.

May. 17th, 2012

Home

It may be obvious how much I love our home as it stands, and sometimes work is needed. This house was built in 1952, and is amazingly strong, but now it has dry-rot in what we hope is only one bathroom, but when Will came today to check things out, it may have spread into the bedroom wall, and into the other bathroom. We won't know until it's opened up.

Meanwhile, we are looking at months of disruption. Will has done work here before, and is a Zen presence, so I am comfortable with that part, and I'm looking forward to how everything will look once completed. We've put this off for two years, so now have had time to adjust, and plan, pick, and choose color and tile, and now I am ready. Of course, this is easy to say right now when I'm alone in the house and work has not yet begun.

I do know though that there is a place to pull things apart and see what lies underneath and behind and beyond, and then, to put it back together again.

The story of Humpty Dumpty never really made sense to me. Why couldn't he be put back together? Aren't we continually breaking apart and re-forming? Isn't that what life is about?

Why do we offer this nursery rhyme to children, who love to build with blocks, and knock them down, and build again?

I like:

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
In that fall, wings opened out,
and as he flew, he knew no doubt.

Reflecting

The speeches were powerful at my Toastmasters meeting last night. All four were strong and emotional, but two are with me.

In the first, a man shared his experience as a helicopter pilot in Vietnam. They had landed in a field, and two prisoners were presented. No one seemed to know what to do with them. One was a grandfather, weighing maybe 100 pounds. The other, his grandson, was perhaps twelve. They had offered water from their well, but because it was dirty, there was a fear of poison, so they were brought in. Water offered. Water rejected, or received. When do we offer water to others? When do we trust? What do we drink?

In another of the speeches, a man spoke of what it would be like to live in Syria. He created what life is like there by using members of our club. Two members were absent. He said they were in jail. One man, who is likable and well-loved, was pointed out as a moderate, and therefore a threat. He was jailed. Another man's son had thrown a stone. He was jailed, and his father was given the good news. He wasn't tortured before he was killed. I can't convey how chilling this all felt. It was visceral, and I still feel a little sick.

What I've gained is even more appreciation of my life, and of where I live. We quibble over a great many things in this country, but we are still allowed to quibble. I am grateful to live where I can still speak without fear of torture, banishment, death, or jail. I am with the glass of water. I pray we recognize we share one planet; we drink from one glass.

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May. 16th, 2012

Beauty

I enjoy keeping reading material around, books I can open to and peruse for a moment or two.

This morning I opened to these words from Wabi-Sabi, for Artists, Designers, Poets & Philosophers by Leonard Koren.

“Beauty can be coaxed out of ugliness. Wabi-sabi is ambivalent about separating beauty from non-beauty or ugliness. The beauty of wabi-sabi is, in one respect, the condition of coming to terms with what you consider ugly. Wabi-sabi suggests that beauty is a dynamic event that occurs between you and something else. Beauty can spontaneously occur at any moment given the proper circumstances, context, or point of view. Beauty is thus an altered state of consciousness, an extraordinary moment of poetry and grace.”

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May. 15th, 2012

"Our Bodies Break Light"

When we left on our trip, I didn't bother carrying extra credit cards, library card etc. so I hid them carefully away, so carefully that I can't find them, though over a week has passed.

That means I'm going through drawers, books, closets, looking in vases, noticing more clearly and carefully what is here. I'm on a treasure hunt as I see all the places I might have hidden the cards and yet when I look in, or up, or down, then, no, they aren't there, but I am seeing my home differently. It is filled with wonderfully tiny places where something or someone might fancy to live. There is space, invitation.

This hunt led me to a wonderful book by Carol Bly, My Lord Bag of Rice. I recommend it. I don't think I appreciated it when I read it when I was younger. Now, I do.

In her poem, "Our Bodies Break Light", Traci Brimhall writes: "we are prisms breaking light into color".

I've touched on this, but never grasped it so clearly. Of course.

You can read the poem here, and at the end, read it again, divided into segments, tastes. Read it both ways.

I know the cards are here, if I can slow enough to separate them out. My home is a poem, gently breaking waves, vibration to lace.

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/22868

May. 12th, 2012

Mother's Day Weekend!

Mother Earth comes to mind, the honoring of her, and the honoring of the mother within each of us, and then, the honoring of our mother, whether she is here or passed on. We are on our way down to Jeff and Jan's. The fog has come in and all is wrapped in bliss. Beauty, peace, and ease for us all.

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