Paddle Boating through life

Monday, January 30, 2006

Paddle boating is quite an experience. Getting the boat into the water and myself into the boat without getting into the water is only the first challenge among many. Then comes the disentanglement from the hydrilla which with its long tentacles reach from the bottom as though to grab onto my paddles and hold me in place. But with the help of wooden oars, I can push off from the sandy bottom, apply my feet to the pedals, backing up as fast as I can, and leave the shore. I am open water bound; whereupon, I meet my next challenge: the waves. What appears from the shoreline to be mere ripples in the body of water, suddenly become what at times seem insurmountable mountains of water when viewed from the few inches above water that I am sitting. At times, the water splashes up over the bow of the boat, and when the waves are this high, pedaling becomes quite difficult and a near painful exertion to the knees. I am a tall person and even with my seat all the way in the most backward position, my knees are always bent.

So when, I decide to simply let go and let the boat float along on the waves, stretching out my legs upon the bow and just go with the flow of the water, life could not be any better. The gentle rocking, the warm sun upon my naked skin, for by now I have shed my T-shirt, wet with sweat from my exercise. The wind blows caressingly through my hair and over my face and about my body and I close my eyes, take in a deep breath and smile at the goodness of life.

And then I reach an adjacent shoreline and it is time to get out the oars and push off and reverse the process. Now those very waves that I let carry me where they would, I must now traverse yet once again.

How like life paddle boating is! I exert myself against the flow so many times and then when weary, I take respite from the waves that seem to beat against me. When renewed, I take up the pedals once again and with a burst of renewed energy, I can easily handle the waves to reach my destination; safely and happily at home within myself. Now all is calm and my day is done. And I can gaze upon the ripples on the surface of my life, and know, I have done well and can now take refuge in that quiet, deeper part of my life where there are no ripples or waves; my inner self, and bask in the joy and serenity of that calm place.

Rain's Renewing Grace

Saturday, January 28, 2006

It is raining! I can see the droplets hit the window, change into an elongated strip of water, and then merge with others that have hit earlier to become an amorphous sheet of liquid sliding down to the ground below where it is received with welcome.

The birds are absent this morning. I imagine them to be nestled among their favorite thick cedar branches, peering at the droplets of rain and feeling frisky at the renewal of their food sources which this moisture will surely bring.

I, too, as I gaze out and watch the rain soak the ground whereupon yesterday I walked amongst dry leaves and sand, feel an excitement at the cleansing of nature; the dusting of sand from the trees and shrubs having been collected for such a long time. I can intuit the rising of the lake as it receives nature’s rainfall. I, too, feel the renewal when it is raining; nature’s special treat to end a long dry spell.

I have been in a spiritual drought lately. The reason for this being daily visits to doctors and hospitals for my sister and her husband; I failed to find the time for meditation; my rain of renewal. Rushing about, getting my husband and myself dressed to be ready to go on time, caused me to cut short or ignore altogether my moments alone sitting by my window gazing at nature and extracting my spiritual strength for the day.

And so on this Saturday morn, with no schedule to meet, I sit here and “soak up” the rain’s renewing grace and I feel serene and happy. For just like the cedars outside my window, whose lovely thick dark green branches lose their luster with dustings of sand without the rain as an occasional shower; just so, I too lose my luster as the dust of daily living leaves its rough particles within me and upon my spirit. I need the daily shower of cleansing I receive from my time spent in meditation as I gaze at the view from my window.

"Free at last, free at last..."

Thursday, January 19, 2006

I got up in time for the sunrise. And it was well worth it! Still groggy, as though by drugs, I managed to make myself get up remembering that I had made coffee the night before so that it would be there ready for me.

How do some people just spring from their bed without any hesitation, and do not seem to need coffee to loosen their vocal cords, for they just start right off with endless chatter and movement about? I, on the other hand, stagger from bed, perhaps a left-over habit from my drinking days in college, to the coffee pot, the well-spring of life. The first cup, though delicious, doesn’t quite do it for me. It’s only after the second infusion of caffeine that I begin to come alive.

Even then, I am not a social animal. I do not, upon arising or for a time thereafter, care to hear the human voice. It grates not only on my ears but on my nerve endings as well. In other words, I like to awaken slowly and alone.

My husband of 43 years still does not quite understand. Being disabled he has quite a few needs and requests that are made of me first thing upon arising. These I fulfill in silence. He fairly well knows by now not to address me nor remind me of his needs. I will, in my half slumber state, complete the tasks as required without verbal prompting. He is kind enough to leave off the television until I am out of hearing range, and with progressing age, that range gets shorter and shorter as my hearing gets worse and worse.

What creatures of habit we are! Perhaps this non-morning-person-demeanor is a hangover from my drinking days in college (i.e., opening my eyes for the first time with my head still on the pillow), and doing a “check” on my physical condition, much like a pilot performing a pre-flight check, to see what my chances are to arise from bed, perform the necessary duties, and then make it to class after at least that first cup of coffee. After having the cup in my hand, I would feel “normal” and would then return to the bedroom, take a shower, dress and go to class.

And so, my coffee routine now serves to remind me of how different we all are and how good it is to understand and accept those differences. My husband is quite adept at it.

Now, for the most part, so am I. Peace and serenity eventually, though it still must be after "coffee", are my companions. Just as bad habits are hard to break, good ones are sometimes difficult to cultivate. And the morning ritual is so important to me for it sets the tone of my day. And that is why sunrises are so important to me.

For to sleep through one sunrise, reminds me of my former mornings when the rising of the sun meant the prior day’s long journey into oblivion was about to begin again. And now, the sunrise reminds me that another day, pregnant with possibility and choice is mine to do with as I will. What I make of today is largely of my choosing for my attitude of spirituality is of my making. This, my attitude, is something over which I can exercise control. “Free at last, free at last, thank God, I am free at last”, to quote a great man, Dr. Martin Luther King. Though in a very different context, it is, nonetheless, very apropos.

And so I salute the sun this morning with joy and happiness in my heart, a clear mind, and a peaceful soul. And with a fit body, mind and spirit, I begin my day.

Sunrises, sunsets and cycles

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

While recovering from a cold and therefore sleeping in late, I have been missing the sunrises. I’ve been arising after 8:00 a.m. after the sun is up and well on its daily trek across the sky. (I know that it’s the earth that moves around the sun, but I like to think of it happening the way it appears.)

I miss my sunrises. Somehow my day just doesn’t get off to a proper start without saluting the sun upon arising myself. If I miss the sunrise, it is like my day began in my absence and I will never quite catch up to it.

I’ve come to love the sunrises here at Stepping Stones and I need to realize the effort it takes to tear myself from a warm bed and go out into the cold kitchen to make coffee is well worth getting up for to witness the bursting forth of a new day right from its beginning.

The reason for my tardiness, however, is a good one. For since the onset of the winter months and also my cold, I enjoy, after the sunset and the gloaming, to retire to bed with my husband, John, and our dog, Maya, and read late into the night while John either reads or watches TV with wireless headphones so as not to disturb my reading. In the months prior to the early setting of the sun, it was my custom to be outside involved in some sort of manual labor, which I thoroughly enjoy, for I put my whole being into the work at hand and all else slips away. I am then wholly absorbed in the task at hand and am totally present in the moment.

I like to work outside. I like to walk about the land and feel the ground soft beneath my feet where moles have/are been digging their underground tunnels. I like the smell of the cedars; so fresh and clean. I enjoy the swaying of the tall grasses, especially pussy willow, or at least that is what I call it. Since we live on a hill overlooking a lake and valley beyond, there is almost always a wind unless, of course, it is summer when I need it the most to cool me, drying the sweat from my brow that I’ve worked up as I go about my chores.

I like the big open sky where I can get lost in its infinite blue depths. And yet on a cloudy day, I enjoy the confinement of the limits imposed by the clouds. It gives me boundaries and exudes coziness and comfort. I’m even developing a fondness for the ever present East Texas sand. It is called sugar sand, I’ve learned, by those who have lived here a long time, because of its fine granular nature.

I laugh each time I clean house for it’s simply a process of recycling. The dog, John’s wheelchair, and I track in the sand or sometimes it simply blows in. I see it settle upon everything inside the house. With dust cloth in hand and vacuum cleaner in tow, I go about collecting it; whereupon, I take it back outside and empty it upon the sandy ground. Then of course, the whole process begins all over again.

In east Texas, the suspicion of having cataracts is often resolved by simply applying a cloth across the screen of the television or computer monitor. Vision is immediately improved.

I love its smell. It is so clean and devoid of chemicals, so antiseptic. I can smell it when I love on my dog, Maya, after she has taken a sand bath. I can smell it when, with a good book, I sit on my front porch in my wicker rocker, covered head to foot in a quilt that has withstood the winds’ tossing about and has been left with the residue of the winds’ heavier sand particles’ fragrance.

When my adult children visit Stepping Stones dressed in their city clothes of shorts, t-shirts and sandals, they complain of the sand’s nuisance and its habit of becoming entrenched in the toes and on the bottoms of their feet. And yes, when first I moved to Stepping Stones, I cursed its ever present annoyances. But now, I have learned to live with it rather than fight it, and I laugh about its tendency to never be satisfied with where it lays but much like its inhabitant to always shift its presence to other places, though in my case, in thought and daydreaming.

And in this process of recycling the sand, I am engaged in a never-ending process, one that reminds me of the nature of cyclical patterns in my day and in my life. Much like the illness from which I have recently recovered, I can smile to myself and say “this too shall pass” and anticipate with excitement the next shift in the cycle.

And a dog shall lead them

Monday, January 16, 2006 (Martin Luther King Day)

As I sit here this cloudy morning, I enjoy watching Maya, my dog, as she goes about her daily morning routine. Upon letting her out first thing each morning, after relieving herself from her long night inside, she then goes about the land with her nose to the ground gathering information about the visitors who came during the night while she was not on guard. When she smells something especially interesting she will dig a bit to get more of its scent. She is very thorough about this task and seems to take it quite seriously.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if I too had that capability of a heightened sense of smell? The world about me would take on a new dimension. My own human sense of smell has never been very good and now that I’m in my 7th decade of life (actually soon to be 63 sounds much better), it is almost nonexistent.

To have the special sense of each species of living beings all combined into one being must be what it’s like to be a god, or the Being. The Ultimate Consciousness, not our limited and sometimes deluded type of consciousness, but the combined "input" from all beings would be Being (some would call it God).

Believe it or not, it was Maya, my dog, among others, who taught me about what a Being would be like. I watched her intently. (This was before we moved to Stepping Stones.). She seemed to be happy and content. She did not appear to wrestle with any deep questions as to her existence, its meaning or lack thereof. She did not appear to question much at all. She was content Being Maya. All creatures, I noticed, appeared healthy being what they are. It then occurred to me that I had found the Being (God) I had been seeking. It was actually an inner power and I had had it all along. It was me! I was It! I am part of what God needs to be essential; and likewise, in order for me to be essential I need God. Maya “knew” this.

I don’t, however, like the word God. The word has been so misused and abused (wars and killing have been done in the name of God). In fact, I can think of no word to describe this Being I had re-discovered. It was that “inner stirring”, that “deep reality” of joy at being alive that I had experienced as a very young girl. That realization of Being was my God.

And so, my god is simply everything as it is. Everything as it is is the way it is supposed to be. Do I analyze too much? Can one analyze too much? I consider what others call analyzing too much as leading to a heightened sense of awareness. It is really no more than Maya’s daily routine of seeing the world of the night before through the use of her nose; her consciousness, her awareness of Being. She wants to experience all of it she can. And like Maya, so do I. The more I look and observe (analyze) the other manifestations of Being, or God if you will, the closer I will come to an appreciation of the Mystery of Life, God made manifest. So for now, I’ll be like Maya, and just observe and enjoy that part of It that I am able to and Be. Be happy, joyous and free.

Misc. Musings about Cedars and Such

Sunday, January 15, 2006

The sunrise this morning is especially lovely for there are clouds. The magnificence of the sun alone is somewhat blinding but with the addition of a few clouds to diffuse the sun’s radiance, there is beauty ever changing with the movement of the clouds.

There are lots of birds about this morning. They seem to like the berries which are blue in some of what I call cedars. I think they may be juniper trees. I am unfamiliar with the names of a lot of nature about me. There are birds, trees, grasses, shrubs, and insects that I did not see in the city. But I suppose knowing their names is rather unimportant.

I like the word cedar. It sounds sturdy and to the point. What I called cedar back in the city was an evergreen tree/shrub that hugged the ground and spread out fat-like. But what are called cedars here are tall, pointed evergreens with no growth at the bottom and with beautiful bark that looks like it could be unraveled like ribbon until no trunk would be left and the branches would simply collapse. The birds like the cedars for they provide food and shelter throughout the seasons.

There are hickory, walnut, sweet gum, dogwood, oaks, and pines here to name a few I know. I’ve been told that spring here is a spectacular display of white blossoms when the dogwoods are in bloom. That is the only season that I’ve not yet witnessed here at Stepping Stones.

Each season brings its own surprises. The emphasis on beauty shifts with each season. Now, in the middle of winter, I enjoy admiring the dark skeletons of the deciduous trees against the backdrop of winter’s blue-grey skies. And the delight of the day is the honking of ducks and geese (I think that’s what they are) as they make their daily flight circling the lake. When first I heard them, I thought it was the sound of gruff voices of arguing men.

But the mainstay of all the seasons I’ve witnessed seems to be the dark green of the cedars adorned with the red of the male cardinal and that special brown tone of the female. All of this displayed upon the scenery provided by the sky with its ever changing nature, the lake whose colors depend upon what it reflects at the moment, and the ever present East Texas sand.

Last night I was homesick for my home of twenty-five years back in the city. There I raised my two children. Perhaps the homesickness was really nostalgia for a season gone by when they were young and were my fledglings. Now, of course, they have made homes of their own with their spouses. But what I feel is not empty nest sadness, it is a need to feel the comfort of a former season of life when I knew they were safe, happy and secure tucked away in their beds for a refreshing night’s sleep. So today I will call them and know that they are secure and happy as when they were under my care. And I will let them know of the love I feel for each of them, though in my heart I know they do. My love is the mainstay of the seasons of my life against which change occurs. For one of the defining moments in my life was the pleasure of becoming a mother. And the unconditional love that accompanied that moment was the most important adornment of my “four seasons”. Whey they came into being and made me a mother, they taught me the meaning of love. For like the radiance of the sun, it never disappears no matter what the season.

I soon shall be 63 years of age. When I look back over my life, it’s not the number of years I have lived that is important but it’s the defining moments that I cherish; moments that cover the whole spectrum of human feelings. When I was very young, I thought that with a certain age one became wise and knew all that there was to know about life, and then one had wisdom, grew a little older, and died.

But now, I think aging is like the Four Seasons and I relive each season as I age until my final winter comes. During the course of a day, I may experience the joy of youth, the maturity of adulthood, the sagacity of being senior, and the peace and serenity of the elderly. Which season is my favorite? Oooh, I’m not sure for just as I think I’ve found it; the season changes and I choose that one.

The T-Rex in my View

January 14, 2006, Saturday

I have a tyrannosaurus rex in the view from my window. A stump with a growth of vines and my imagination and there is a giant T-Rex lurching for its prey. How often do I live in the world of my fantasy? Fantasy would include not just the T-Rexes in my imaginings but also all the drama that I conjure up about other peoples’ lives and others’ reactions to mine. It would include almost all my thoughts that are removed from the present moment. The line between fantasy and reality is not always so clearly drawn as between T-Rex and just a stump with growth.

To live my life in fantasy is to deny the reality of my own Being. This has been the case recently with my involvement in my new community. I perceive this/that to be true and act accordingly and expect certain reactions in kind. But what I perceive to be real; e.g. suffering and poverty may be my own imaginings and misguided perceptions. Perhaps these people, in struggling with day to day realities of providing food and shelter for themselves and their families, are living a more real life (i.e. living in the present moment) than I, who imagine that they need an outsider coming in and “fixing things” perhaps to satisfy my own misguided needs of having “purpose or meaning in my life”.

When I began a newsletter, did I ask what they wanted or needed of me? No, I said you need this and that. Now, do it. I then grieved over how I could make all of “it” come about. I almost lost all peace and serenity I had gained at Stepping Stones when living my life in the now. For lately, I have been living my life in a fantasized mission I had created for myself to fill the “hole” that I know can only be filled from within myself and by myself.

I saw the community as my project to fix. Yes, there are problems here but they have been getting along just fine without me for 30 years. Maybe, rather than conjuring up T-Rexes, I should pause and see what’s really there and ask myself “how can I fit in” rather than try to change the community to fit me.

And it very well could be that to be true to myself there will not be a very good fit. Nor for them to be as they are if there are any “they”. In any microcosm of the world, there are as many realities as there are people. The secret to fit into the puzzle of life with others in my community is to accept who I am, who each of those I meet are, and to be myself and let them be themselves. Humility and acceptance are my two greatest challenges in life. Sometimes, I am not even sure what these concepts mean much less that I practice them.

The “Serenity Prayer” (a prayer which I have always been intrigued by) is most often quoted as “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference”. Perhaps, therein lie the meanings of acceptance and humility. To accept things and people as they are and I as I am keeps me grounded in humility.

It is fine and part of being human to fantasize and imagine. Such is the basis of creativity. It is my “wisdom to know the difference” to realize I have created and that my creating is just that and not reality that matters. When I accept with humility things as they truly are, then I will have the peace and serenity I want for myself at Stepping Stones and the freedom to choose to envision T-Rexes rather than stumps with growth.

Happiness like a spring

Friday, January 13, 2006

A bubbling underground spring

In my neighborhood there is a pond which is fed by an underground spring in addition to run-off from rain. Since there has been a drought this year, the pond is drying up. But, the spring still bubbles to the surface, providing its clear, clean water.

I, of late, like the pond have been drying up. But today, I feel an undercurrent of happiness, like the spring, that is attempting to bubble forth to the surface. Let me clear away any debris in my life that might stop my happiness from coming forth.

Acceptance of life’s situations, whatever might come my way, is the key to my being all that I can be. And that acceptance includes all the people, places and things with which I come in contact. It is not my purpose to change others nor to offer resistance; but to accept. From this acceptance, my purpose, to be all that I can be, bubbles forth clear and clean to the surface of my life.

Darkness Overwhelming

Sunday, January 08, 2006

It is nighttime though yet early. I sit here looking out into the darkness and I remember the darkness which I saw today in the lives of some living in my small community in rural East Tx. Children being raised in poverty and by drugged parents; little ones so happy to have an adult address them personally and show them a little attention. I recall a visit with a young woman living alone and apologizing that I had caught her on a bad day because she had had too many beers; yet, the loneliness was so strong it almost held onto me, but I had to pull myself away to visit others. I told her that I too had drank too much at times and that I understood. She spoke from the darkness of her life. Maybe a seed of hope was planted in her garden of despair. Later, I talked with a woman trying to save fish whose home, due to the drought and unseasonably warm TX winter, were about to die. What little water they had was depleted of oxygen and it is just a matter of time. I promised to try to call the Wildlife or Games & Fisheries for her. And there was one sole duck/goose remaining; too tame to venture off the little drying-up pond, and yet too wild to let her take it into her home for nurture.

I came home in despair from my venture out to help my community. So much poverty, so much loneliness, desperation, escapism; but most of all so much raw Humanity I have never before experienced. I have always lived in a rather sheltered world; by no means wealthy, but able to pay the bills and have the things I wanted. And yet in my financially sheltered world, I too felt the loneliness, the isolation and I too sought escape. With me, the escape came through denail. I pushed away my troubles or at least attempted to, and my troubles when compared to those I met today were minor or at least seem so now.

What was my purpose in my venture? My sister and I had written a newsletter whose theme was “Our Community: People helping People”. Our unincorporated village is run by a Board of Directors and there is a lot of bickering, infighting, and politics. We wanted to have a positive influence by using the clubhouse for a “mom/dad’s night out”
or a caregiver’s time off. Perhaps we could all come to get acquainted over a potluck supper.

My naiveté is embarrassing. My wonderful home in the wilderness in which I am ecstatic with happiness, in no way prepared me for what I was to witness today and made my goal seem silly and insignificant. These people need money, jobs, hope, and I offer them my little piece of paper with big words and little promises. What can I do? Why must life be so unjust?

I saw a football game the other day in which two helicopters were used to dry the field so that the players would have a dry playing field. What is wrong with our world? What happened to “No child left behind?” Some would say “Oh, their parents could work and do better for their children”. The fact remains these children are left behind. And so I did as I got in my golf cart and turned on its lights and drove away leaving them in their darkness.

My heart, or what is left of it, is ripped into pieces; much like our world of inequities. And I sit here now writing, tears streaming down my face. What can I do? What good do these “Views from My Window: Musings of an Observer of Nature” do for that little girl and boy whose parents were so drugged they did not know I was there? The world of darkness will be the only view from their window.

Seeing the Extraordinary amidst the Ordinary

Thursday, January 05, 2006

I noticed this morning, as I had suspected and now it is confirmed, that I have at least one nightly visitor and quite possibly more, judging by the low level of my pond, to my homemade waterfall. I spent quite a while this morning wondering who the thirsty one might be. Perhaps, it’s the bobcat I saw the other morning jumping down from a large dead tree stump and disappearing into the tall grasses. Or maybe a deer managed to escape the hunter’s scope, and in its getaway built up a sorely needed quench to its thirst. Perhaps, there is a fox about the neighborhood, or a lynx (rumors of this creature’s presence I have heard), or maybe raccoons, or o’possums (do they require much water?)

I observe my guesses about my mysterious nightly visitor/s include what I consider the more exotic type creature when indeed the chances are it was simply the neighborhood cat stopping by for a refreshing drink during his nightly prowl.

How typical of me to seek excitement in the extraordinary events of life rather than find that same feeling in the ordinary. I once read a quotation from a famous actress, Marlene Dietrich, I think, which was something like “Happiness is finding the ordinary things of life to be extraordinary”

It goes to the heart of human nature and its tendency to always want more; whether it be more fun, more material things, or more stimulation ; always more something. I, and maybe you, often seek “more” something, someone, or someplace outside myself to fill the “hole”. Once I filled it with escape in whatever form I chose whether it be simply denial or "pushing down", when there was not that “more” I needed. And, of course, now I “know”, at my age and through my experiences that happiness and wholeness come from within.

Yet little things like fantasizing as to the extraordinary nightly visitor over the plain household cat seem to remind me of the maxim “Happiness comes from within and happiness is finding the ordinary things of life to be extraordinary.” Enjoy today looking for the extraordinary in the ordinary: such is the mystery of life.

An Abundance of Simplicity

I sit here in my study with a cup of coffee, warming myself in the glow of the morning's sunrise, with Maya, my dog, at my feet, and I think, "yes, what a wonderful life." An abundance of simplicity surrounds me, whose sum total is happiness.

I made a simple fountain which consists of two elements of nature whose interaction fascinates me: rocks and water. I keep it running to remind me of our trip to the Grand Canyon and the lesson learned there.

Like many visitors to the Canyon, I was overwhelmed by its beauty and grandeur. But, what I found most fascinating about the Grand Canyon was how nature's most yielding of substances, water, with time, had carved a sculpture out of Mother Earth's oldest and most resistant Precambrian rocks.

The lesson learned on that visit to Arizona, of yielding in the face of resistance, can be the most freeing and creative approach to life.

And so this morning, I look forward to the day's unfolding. I lead a simple life. And I am happiest when I live the lessons taught me by nature: resistance to the flow of life is ridiculous for I shall simply be beaten about. But to go with life, yielding like water, to obstacles in my path, finding a new way around them, rather than wearing myself down by conflict with them, will bring me out safely in the calm, still waters and I will avoid the rapids. Only then can I enjoy the abundance of simplicity about me.