Pay attention. Watch
for bluebirds
and
trains. Distant train whistles are soulful
echoes;
speeding cars delight little
boys.
Blue wings beat out the rhythm and
colors
of hope. Notice the plump song
sparrow
- a little body pumping out
music.
Trains and birds are accordions, holding
our
collective breaths before transforming
us into
dance tunes.
Show up. Count the eyelashes on
a
sleeping child. Catch the smile of your
suckling babe, when the tiny mouth
opens wide, spilling milk from cherub
lips that dribble down your breast all
sticky, gross and indescribably
precious. Be pen and paper for the
last requests of one you love.
Smooth your hands
over your body.
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| photo by Stephanie Landis |
Let hands say with fondness -my
body has
many
parts. Marvel over the lines and detail,
having
a toddler's no shame. Then, being
gassy
is only "peeping." And, maybe
even
marvelous
like horses exploding
into
a gallop.
Play with your
shadows. Invite
your inner
multitudes to dinner. Notice how love,
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| ymiu.com clip art |
like sunlight and your own position,
lengthens or shortens your characters.
Use
your best china on colorful linen
cloth.
Introduce yourself to yourself; get
to
know humanity this way, through honesty,
acceptance,
compassion.
Be gentle. Always and above all, be
tender, easy, forgiving your processes, your
angst, your temper, your struggle to love. As you
do with you, so shall you offer to others. Throw
away your measuring stick; fling your soul
wide
awake. Embrace what is, stomp and kick your way
to acceptance. Or sigh.
When
stuck in the mud trumpet loudly.
Ask for help from the herd. Do
your
hard inner work. And then watch Tim
Conway's
Elephant Story outtakes. Laugh,
cry. Wear
your heart on your
sleeve right
beside
the washable dragon
tattoo. Set your
Facebook
account to pirate lingo.
Listen with your heart to the
song of the
moon. It will drop your jaw, like Richard
Strauss music. So will the gak gak! of a
crow harassing an eagle in mid-flight. Lie
on
the beach under the splash of milky way,
listening
to the night sky. Hear the sound
a
soul makes when awed.
Stay with what's uncomfortable. Put
up a bluebird feeder and nest box for
your dying wife, knowing every time a
bluebird feeds, builds, your heart will rip
apart with loss and love. Allow your farm
dogs to hunt groundhogs. Gentle souls
can know reality; predators can lay across
your lap, cozy. If you turn away, hurl up
your pancakes after the first kill, embrace the
paradox. Somehow, it all belongs.
Say goodbye. No matter how hard or
full of weeps. Build monuments, cairns of
stone or shell. Gather wood. Stand around
the funeral pyre, the birthing table too, and give honor, thanks, dignity. Record your steps. Plant trees, light the fire, look deeply into eyes of loss and place, of memories, of hellos and dreams. Then, when
it's time to move on, say goodbye firmly.
Open your heart. Let that movie in, fully. Lay
down your armor; bring tissues, let stories stir
you to action or sleeplessness. Especially, when
the little one trips into your room
rem-stage
sleep, and throws up undigested pieces of
the day
on your good quilt. Hold the sobbing girl, depressed,
anxious, let her heart open yours. Lie on the
green grass and stare at the sky, until your heart is wide and expansive.
Cultivate wisdom. Roll over and
play dead
when needed. Say no frequently, so your
yes can be wholehearted; aren’t those fully
alive
attractive?
And, every time you take off your
shoes,
or fall asleep, or sigh into a
yoga pose,
practice dying. Slip off whatever is too tight,
and breathe, knowing in your soul –
after
the pinch - freedom!
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| Honoring the life of the newest angel in our family- Elaine, much loved and newly released from this earth. |
