Avoiding other stuff

I don't feel like blogging. But...I need to. Perhaps as a diversion; who knows why. I rarely speak of bigger issues on my blog. I'm content to read those who are brighter and more articulate than I. But today, in the midst of all my other issues, I happened to glance upon this photo. Isn't this just an exquisite photo? I don't know lots of things. But there are a few things I do know. And one of them is this:

I cannot judge what others do; and I fail, but try hard not to calculate the measure of another human based on circumstance that I may not understand. So, I often am unable to know the measure of a man, or a woman. But I do believe that I know some gifts that make a man, or a woman more trusthworthy, more honorable, more deserving of my belief.

The man who loves, respects and honors his wife is far more likely to respect and honor his commitments to others. We speak of fidelity as though it only pertains to marriage, but the one who understands fidelity is likely to be faithful to his friends, his colleges, his job, his community and even his country.

Does this man adore his wife? Oh! To me it just swirls all around them in each photo that I see of them together. There is respect and love, commitment, honor and faithfulness. And today, for one reason or another, it makes me very happy. I am happy not just that we have such a man, with the support and love of his life partner to lead us, but that such a marriage is possible - amidst what must be greater challenge than most of us will know. Is that inspiring or what?

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming, which means that I'm still on haitus.

Enjoy a wonderful weekend everyone!

Popping In

Hello everyone. I've been pretty absent; as you can see. I can't even remember what I last posted. My life has taken itself into some intense times and I've just been too exhausted to sit and share - though I think about it all the time. I think I'll be back in a little while. I even received an award that I've not properly acknowledged. Soon, I hope. I read your blogs and think about you all often. I once in awhile update my twitter, though I've been really too tired to do even that. But, it's something and an abbreviated "catch-up" until I can compose something more meaningful and manage to write. I hope you'll keep checking back and I'll share with you as soon as the energy is there!

Soon.

LeeA

Wishcasting Wednesday

I'm so amazed that Jamie keeps coming up with these wonderful, provocative questions. This week she asks us, "What do you wish to connect to?" Ha!

That list got long. It got really long, really fast. My partner, my daughter, my employer, my profession, that Cosmic Conduit, a woman healer,my garden.....yes, it got to be a really long list and it left me in despair. Suddenly I realized, I am disconnected! Really. I am. So..I did what I tend to do; I wallowed in the despair for awhile. I let that feeling sink in all the way to the bone marrow. I am disconnected. Thanks, Jamie for giving me a moment to really feel it, to acknowledge that truth and honor it. I am disconnected. And, I need to get connected. NOW.

To what? To whom? To a place? To a home? Maybe a friend or two? Source? Wallow, wallow, wallow some more. When it hit me this morning. I am not disconnected! I can never be disconnected. Not from Source, not from God, not from All That Is. Never. So if I can't be disconnected, what's going on? What is this despair that's been floating around me for so very long now?

A long time ago, seems like lifetimes ago, I had a vision. It was a beautiful image, descending to me this perfect, pulsing, Light-Radiating hand. I was told to join my own hand. It's been a long time, but you see, this hand had to do with holding one of my hands while the other of my hands held my client. Over time, I stepped into this ritual of seeing "The Hand" clasping my own before I initiated any kind of work with clients. That hand came back to me today and I realized, very clearly, that I am the client. I need to connect with me. I want to somehow connect with that playful, fearless, creative woman that once was me.

Partner often reminds me how I speak of all the things I "used" to do. I used to be a spinner, I used to garden, I used to do lots of things, I used to bake and sew. I don't want to do all those things again. Nope. Really. Not all of them; but I do want to connect to that woman who tried things, who learned and succeeded and created. I'm not sure where she went, but I'd sure like to make introductions and re-new that connection.

I believe that many of us experience disconnect as we age. Many of the pinnacles of my life happened in youth. Oh, I'm not just talking about the birthing of our children but I am remembering the explosive creativity, the profound awareness and spiritual growth that accompanied that time. I mean, I think I had my peak spiritual experiences while I sat with crying children, washed diapers and danced Maypoles. I'm convinced that I once stopped a speeding car soley by the influence of my will, just inches from an errant daugther. I remember spining pounds and pounds of wool with babies on my lap and experiencing the deepest meditation I've experienced or can imagine experiencing.

Some days, getting older seems a bit dull - does it not? Yet, I don't want to wash diapers and only rarely do I wish to achieve the feat of calming a squirming child while simultaneously attempting to accomplish something I want to do. What then? I don't want to be young again - but I think I'm beginning to understand that I do wish to dance with my younger self, to somehow "bring her forward." I want to remember living with no reserve, with nothing held back - the self that danced before konwing that occasionally the world is painful and unkind. I'd like to connect with her and maybe she can connect with the older woman and somehow create what I believe others have called the Wise Woman. I didn't realize that until I typed the words just now. I'd like to connect my young mama self with my older malee self. Yes, That's what I'd like to connect - the two parts of this whole woman.(Just so some of you know, I backspaced over the Cr_n_ word because I am just simply not ready to accept that yet.)

Thanks Jamie.


I'll explain the photos tomorrow!

Cheers - ~Lee

Wishcasting Wednesday

I find it a hilarious, cosmic, booming moment of laughter that questions, asked by virtual strangers, can all at once call me into a brand new place, and send me reeling into the crevices and caves of my own past. This time, I don’t even know why. I will set my intention that by the end of this story, I will begin to imagine why – whether or not the proper words will allow themselves to be yet articulated. (You know of course, that of course I damned well know why; I just don’t really want to know, but I do, and maybe so do you.)

I read the question and immediately, before there was time to create my own thousand reasons why this question should be difficult, I had a memory. It was a layered memory, one built atop the other, with connections I’d not made in my every day waking life.

In the gateway memory, it is a Sunday morning. I have quietly entered our small chapel and had glanced around in haste at faces not yet very familiar to me. In the dark, I could make out a few features; a few familiar profiles which allowed me to feel safe in my stocking feet in this dark place. There sat Chip, our long lost friend, and a few others who had been friendly and kind to me in the passing months since I’d been attending these services. The incense was heavy in the air, not all that pleasant to me. Whether the fragrance, or the instinctive return Home that I’m sure my daughter felt, she rolled and danced inside me, making it a bit uncomfortable to sit in this dark and still strange place. I was supposed to be meditating; I was supposed to be preparing myself for Holy Communion. I remember none of that. I only remember being hot, feeling heavy, and struggling to remain seated while Satori danced and punched inside of me. Finally the Priest arrived. Finally, there would be something to occupy and direct my thoughts.

There are more gaps and I remember nothing of his opening statements, nothing of the songs that must have been sung or the prayers that must have been offered. But I woke up as he told this story…somewhere in the middle of it I suppose, for I recall neither the beginning nor the conclusion. Father Michael had asked us whether or not we recalled a particular television show. How odd, I thought, only a newcomer, I knew enough to know that these folks didn’t particularly “approve” of mass mind television. So those conflicts must have demanded my attention.

He recalled, for us, a particular episode of Kung Fu, when a group of men had happened upon David Carradine’s character and had demanded to know his occupation. After a moment of silence Carradine answered, “I am a Priest.” Of course, we all knew that. Father allowed a dramatic moment of silence, as Priests and other charismatic speakers are wont to do for effect and then he continued. “Some viewers, “Father Michael said, “might have missed that at the moment of answer, Carradine, our beloved Priest, was shoveling pig shit.”

He really said that. Right there in church! At that moment, I could swear that I’d seen that episode. And, in truth, whenever I’ve told this story before, I always leave the listener to believe that I indeed, remember the episode. 30 years have passed and I’m not so sure now that I really do recall that particular television moment. I can see it clearly, I can hear the words spoken…but then, I can also smell the pig shit mingling with the incense, so I’m not really sure that I didn’t create the memory on the spot. I’d like to come clean about that now, because I think that some readers might not realize that what we imagine that we remember, what we create when we attempt to remember, is likely the more precious nugget weighed against the proof of mere fact. I remember that at some point he said, quite without elegance, that those of us who would long for the Priesthood (and all are called to it) would do well to remember that quite a lot of time is spent shoveling pig shit. Then we sang, then we prayed, then we left.

So – I guess, my friends who still read, that I am wishing for that Priest to show up on my doorstep and shovel out some shit for me. Eh? Except then there’s that nagging detail, that small, priceless truth...

Each of us is called to be our own Priest.

Where’s that shovel?

Cheers and happy shoveling, ~LeeA

Oh...P.S. The fascination just doesn't stop...isn't it also interesting that I'm "behind" in writing my next Tarot Thursday post - and that card would be, oh, umm, I dunno, the Mage?

Beaming

This was one of the nicest things that has happened to me for a couple of days. This little charm has just made my day- in the midst of a couple of days which needed some making. Remind me to tell you sometime that there was a fire in my house last night. An hour spent with 7 firemen and hoses and axes is a little bit umm exciting but not necessarily in a way that I ever want to spend an hour again!

I find it so touching when others who blog, take pleasure in our connections. Hybrid J stopped for a moment and remembered something I wrote. Ha! And it was my rock! Thank you for your gift, there was meaning far and beyond what I'm sure you imagined. We have such an amazing, expanding community we bloggers. There is such support and acceptance permeating all that we do each time we share.

I've thought about that rock quite a lot since I zipped off that quick little, laughing post. I have passed by my goofy rock half a dozen times since then and chuckle. But for the moment, that rock has become fairly important to me - oh but were it small enough to carry around in my pocket as a talisman. You see, it's not a very rocky kind of rock is it? It's square for pete's sake. Rocks are round, or oblong, or, or, or something. Rocks are not square. But, mine is. How come that "rock" has languished, hidden, in craftland shame, and it was marked, "fail!" It was marked fail, on the first pass, because it wasn't a pincushion. And, let's be honest, it's not quite a happy accident either. And so, what is it?

I'll tell you what it is! It's Lee's little whisper.

Lee didn't have permission to make a rock. Lee has permission to make something, oh, I don't know, umm, errr, perfect? Once upon a time, Lee had permission to make rocks. Well, maybe not rocks. But, I've made birthday cakes for my children that turned into myths. Myths. There was the myth of the fairies that lived beneath the kitchen sink. You see, I'd determined that the cake was not quite perfect enough to be served. And quickly, I hid the catastrophe beneath the kitchen sink, and dispatched kidlet's father off to purchase a "proper" cake.

Now, kidlet's father isn't known round the world for his speed and deft ability to carry out wishes quickly and efficiently. He has many other wonderful notable talents, but reliability is not amongst them. His delay left hoardes of hungry children, eager for the coup de gras of birthday parties.

Back then, in my permission giving days, I'd decided to have not one birthday party, but SIX. Yes, we celebrated the birthdays of all six daughters in one, longgggggggggg day. We'd begun early, the entire property had become a fairgrounds with each child garnering a special, two-hour limelight. As plans go, this wasn't the most intricate plan of plans and it came, not so late in the day as I'd imagined, that there were birthday party guests for all six children at each two-hour soirre. That's a lot of kids! That's a lot of balloons and water guns and whirly gigs and noisemakers. And, there were SIX cakes to be baked - some more worthy than others. At a certain point, I cannot now recall exactly when (that's the beauty of myth), one of those poor children was going to be without cake and candles. And eventually, it became necessary to DO SOMETHING. Tthe ugly cake was born.

In great drama, magnificent even, the cake was retrieved from its hiding place beneath the sink (yes, really, with dozens of children in audience) Disappointed sighs were returned with greater sighs and the myth of the fairies beneath the sink was born. Those kids laughed until we all cried. And they were just delighted to gobble up that fairy-wrecked cake.

That myth has swirled round our birthdays and gatherings for nearly 20 years now. And, once in awhile, there is an attempt to duplicate the ugly cake. I sometimes wish that I could re-create that cake exactly. It would take pounds and pounds of sloppy, sugary icing and I rather doubt that I could achieve those neon colors ever again. There were "roses" that looked like anything but roses and writing to rival the best kindergarten print. No, I don't think that cake will ever appear again, but, re-creating the perfection of the moment is not difficult. All that's necessary is a little magic, and some permission to ride the moment, accept happy accidents, and cling to happiness with abandon. I give myself permission RIGHT NOW!

And so, my little square rock is a hit. A little late in coming, but a real hit. And, I thank Hybrid J for noticing and celebrating with me.

Now! I have the added pleasure of celebrating a bit more, and naming 7 of my favorite things along with 7 other wonderful bloggers. So, here we are - seven of Lee's favorites:

• Watermelon
• a perfectly tuned piano – playing very simple, elegant music
• lemon anything will always be my favorite taste
• Lillies of the Valley are a favorite fragrance (okay, today they are my favorite, tomorrow it might be honeysuckle)
• Seeing THE MOUNTAIN is a favorite way to begin the day
• Lingering in silence is my favorite way to end the day
• Dancing somewhere off in the Pleiades is my favorite dream

And seven bloggers are:

Violaceous - I choose Amanda because her blog is just so sweet and I love landing there and reading about her days and her family.

Dana - Dana makes the list because she is brave and vulnerable. Dana doesn't share too often on her blog crafty little things but I have been the lucky recipient of Dana's craftiness. And, her sharp writing and witty observations are always a worthy read, even when I don't agree (which is fairly often my friend, but she knows that).

Posey - Posey makes my list just because I love landing on her blog; I love looking at her photographs and she inspires me with each post. It's just PRETTY.

Apron Thrift Girl - I've been reading this blog since I first discovered blogland. She lives here in the Northwest and her photos keep me inspired and remind me often of why I love living here. And, she's thirfty! She elevates thrifting to an art.

Crissy - I discovered Chrissy's blog when I had the good fortune to send her an apron in a Swap Bot exchange and I am sure glad I did. She has a fun blog and is really clear that she gives herself permission! It will remind me now to give myself permission too.

The Magic Onions - I don't need to say a word about this blog! If you go and visit, you'll see for yourself. My heart dances each time I land there. Such beauty!

Be Present....Be here - One of the first places I go every day. Liz's blog is another great permission giver. Also in the Northwest, Liz' photographs are moving, inspiring and a lovely place to breath out, relax, and breath in sweetness.

Candalaria - Candalaria's blog is another of my favorites. She is so honest, so forthright, so, HERSELF. Candalaria reminds me that being yourself is really just an amazing gift. I bet she has no idea how much she has healed, how many questions she's answered and how much faith she inspires.

I almost hate to stop. I'd like to name dozens more. But I think I'll stop and give myself permission to go make some rocks...or something :) You suppose if I put that rock under the kitchen sink.....?

Cheers!
~Lee

Just a Sunday Quickie

I saw this beautiful photograph at Wise Craft today. I love this blog! I always feel so calm, so centered an d inspired while exploring her pages. Isn't it beautiful? Go look. Really. Do it.

This afternoon though, I am laughing wildly. I am having the deep, all the way down to your toes laugh that we just NEED to experience from time to time. I almost left a comment; actually I wanted to leave a comment but I couldn't place the comment right beneath the photo that captured my attention. The comment would have read:

Beautiful! Wool rocks. Thank you! I've made a wool rock myself. It was so much fun! Of course, I was trying to make a felted, heart-shaped pincushion. Now that I know I was really making a wool rock; I think I'll make some more.

You thought I was kidding, didn't you?