Why Post On Facebook?

Do you ever sit through an inspirational message and while completely paying attention to the speaker, an inner conversation also pulses through your brain? Yesterday, at church, I found myself listening deeply to what was being said aloud, and what I was processing on the inside. 

During the children’s sermon, Carrie talked about being present, how we often miss experiencing things that are happening in the moment because we’re too focused on waiting for the next thing to happen. She mentioned getting a Christmas tree with her family, waiting to find the right one, waiting to chop it down, waiting to get the tree home, waiting for the kids to hurry up and find the candy-cane decked tree. She was cold and tired of waiting.  

Later that evening, while looking at her photos of the described event that she posted on Facebook she realized her family had a truly wonderful experience. 

Why didn’t she enjoy it more while actually experiencing it?

https://giantsandpilgrims.com

This really resonated with me. I often enjoy going through my own Facebook photos…. later. 

Dare I admit sometimes because there is only the rosy glow left, minus the noise, impatience and hassle!

In all fairness, as an “HSP,” I can be overwhelmed by ALL that is contained in one moment. Thus I allow myself to focus on one thing, say the aroma of a field of pine trees, the eyes of my grandchild, and then I miss lots of other good things.

(An HSP is a highly sensitive person often described as having hypersensitivity to external stimuli, a greater depth of cognitive processing, and deep emotional response.) 

Enjoying my life later, through Facebook, is a way to savor, to re-experience some of the details I missed. Another coping mechanism innately used by many in therapists, counselors, doctors, service workers is compartmentalizing thoughts and emotions to unpack later, when in a quiet, safe environment. In my special room, I journal, make art, or do some releasing body work like doing yoga or foam rolling. This makes me a good listener to the joys and agonies of the human experience, but it also makes me miss my own life while I’m paying attention to others’ lives. Again, Facebook helps me realign with my own life.

ilslearningcorner.com

  Then there is the low energy often felt by HSPs after       
  stretches of over stimulation. And the overwhelm of trying to
  print and sort tons of photos into real albums that someone 
  is going to have to throw away after I’m gone; Facebook 
  seems easier. Often accused of being lazy in the past, or
  too reserved and unspontaneous, I believe such holding
  back helps me compensate, and even out life's ups and  
  downs.


Yet, I wonder about my Facebook habits. Maybe it’s that annoying depth of cognitive processing, but I’m often conflicted about what to post: do I want to share this, or not, am I remembering everyone’s birthday, am I posting equal photos of my family so no one thinks I have favorites, why do I post photos and others don’t, do I post out of a need for attention or for connection, from compulsion or from an open heart, can I abstain from Facebook for days/weeks without feeling unease? No wonder the speaker’s comments regarding Facebook set off even more cognitive processing!   

I’d love to hear your thoughts - why you engage or only lurk on social media, post photos or choose not to do so.  Does abundance of time or lack of it help you decide, or privacy concerns, or overwhelm over politics and fake news?  What do you find healthy about social media, unhealthy?

Do you also find yourself waiting until later to fully experience something? I get how we often fear intimacy and hold back. I’m not a therapist but it feels like normal humanness to fear overwhelming emotions, vulnerability, pressure and the messiness of human interaction. Facebook can be an easy out, interaction with others that is often too tidied-up, too false and just the pretty stuff posted. Of course, there’s a whole other side of FB, enough for many more blog posts, all the ugly rude comments, trolling, falsehoods, all the causes and woes out there. How much do we engage and ignore? I’ll be living all these questions continually, finding balance rather than answers.   

Whether active on social media or not, learning to be more present to life can increase our tolerance of the human condition in all its beauty and grittiness. Being present can deepen our art making, our experiencing the beauty of the earth, the marvels of our senses, and the joy of being alive right now, rather than simply waiting for the next good thing.

Sunrise over Starry Meadows ~ Stephanie Landis photography

Resources if you wonder if you are an HSP

“Sensitivity is strength. Its also your superpower!” Anna Holden   https://sensitivityuncensored.com/

Safari Search – “An HSP is a highly sensitive person often described as having hypersensitivity to external stimuli, a greater depth of cognitive processing, and deep emotional response.”

Book -The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You   by Elaine N. Aron 

Another good book - Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking      by Susan Cain

Good info on this website, though psychologists say HSP is not a disorder. What Does It Mean to Be Hypersensitive?  Some signs of hypersensitivity include the following: High level of sensitivity to physical (via sound, sigh, touch, or smell) and or emotional stimuli; More likely to suffer from asthma, eczema, and allergies; Easily overwhelmed by too much information. 

https://www.additudemag.com/hypersensitivity-disorder-with-adhd/

What Happens Next?

When we left for vacation, I purposely left behind all work, news headlines, personal and collective angst.  

The last event on our farm before leaving for Cape May, was hosting an Autumn Equinox Celebration. The evening included noticing the perfect balance of day and night at the equinox, and gentle conversation about bringing more balance into our lives. It was a wonderful way to meet new people, ease into slowing down as we prepped for our trip. 

I never anticipated the challenges we'd face on our simple road trip to the beach, but more on that later. 

Once there, our time at the beach was lovely. I did a lot of releasing while  pedaling a smooth-riding, mint-colored beach cruiser up and down Cape May’s glorious promenade. Bird watching and hiking helped Jay and I both release the pressures of the summer, become more attuned to nature and each other. Earth’s grandeur provides a balance to our personal upheavals and the devastation of natural disasters.

Days felt timeless as we sat on the beach watching sunsets. It was pure bliss watching the beach empty of people and refill with gulls, sand crabs and stars above. Such Divine emptiness, empty of thought and care, just aware of being alive, being together, observing, and yet being part of nature!

Sitting together in the stillness provided an easy platform for dialogue and reframing the challenges of our year so far. Yes, we've struggled in transitioning from Pennsylvania to Virginia. Vision and eagerness didn't totally smooth the way. Despite loving our new farm – really loving the strong sense of place we feel here with the wildlife and meadows that bring such joy, we still deeply feel the uprooting. Grounds-keeping here is definitely not like crop farming in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. We made, and are still making, countless beginner mistakes with the land. Failing and misjudging the cost and management of this beautiful but unfamiliar land takes a toll. Supporting each other through isolation in the country, Jay's heart valve surgery, numerous trips back to Pennsylvania as our children relocated this summer, and the ‘upset apple cart’ feel to our family dynamics takes a toll too. 

We even need to relearn gardening. Bugs and plant diseases we've never encountered turned our food source inedible and us grumpy. Lack of rain, and constant wind, dried everything out. Filling in from local farm markets took effort and expense. There are no roadside produce stands every few miles in this farm country. We came from an area where stands overflow with vegetables and fruit, even five or more kinds of lettuce of every color and flavor! 

Then there’s the energy drain of simply not being known. I underestimated how much energy it takes to build up a new network, break into longstanding communities, and get to know others. Though I make friends easily, I don’t make deep friends easily. It takes energy allowing myself to be known. Starting over at 60 is tricky, especially when not following a job, a network, or having an ‘in-a-nutshell’ reason for relocating. We're quite tired of answering the question, “So, what brings you to the Shenandoah Valley?”

The peace at the beach though, felt deeper than mere vacation happiness. I felt a shift beginning, a new openness, a desire for balance between knowing our up- rootedness and welcoming the putting down of new roots. 

Our drive to the beach was symbolic of our transitioning - fraught with surprises, unexpected dislikes and obstacles. We left for the beach on the hottest day of September (90 degrees) with no air conditioning in the car, accident on I95 around Washington thus a traffic jam in the heat, CD player quit too so no music, GPS was sluggish resulting in missed turns, extra driving, missed ferry ride across bay and the reroute added more driving. 

So like our move, what we thought would be easy was quite difficult, and where we braced for struggle came ease. When we first moved I innocently wondered why all the farms had huge piles of sticks everywhere, and why no one builds stone houses though rocks are prevalent in Rockingham County. The rocks here are too soft for houses but hard enough to bust discbine blades when cutting hay. Farming here means endless rounds of picking up branches and sticks, as the trees here shed like our dogs -profusely!  Stones crop up everywhere but refuse to stay on our lane. After a heavy downpour, when our neighbor’s grandson asked his grandpa where Jay was as he hadn’t seen him for a while, the instant reply was, “Oh, he’s sittin' on his porch cryin’ because all the stones in his lane washed away again.”

How we laughed when told this conversation!

Digging our feet in sand at the beach erased all the heaviness we carried and brought us back to eagerness and vision. Dreams are grand! They carry you through the rough patches. Life is just the hard work that comes afterward, in fulfilling those dreams, or letting go of our expectations of them. Either way, the creating, the sweat and labor is part of the process. Like the crush of waves on the beach, rolling in, crashing, releasing and easing out again, transitioning has it's own ebb and flow. The same Spirit that drew us to Starry Meadows will sustain us, recreate us. And the beauty here balances the rocks and sticks, the energy-drain of relearning and transitioning.

This beach tale ends with our returning home to a scene reminiscent of Lord of the Flies. While we were away, my beautifully decorated pumpkins turned into a fly-fest of rotting, bleeding pulp, the string of lights inside each pumpkin coated with slime! 

And the chestnuts I gathered and left drying on the kitchen counter crawled with maggoty shaped chestnut worms.  (Apparently chestnuts don’t keep at room temp!) Worms trailed down the cupboard, inched and clumped under the dining room table. Soon after I scrubbed the stains off the porch, cleaned up the chestnuts, flies and worms, news of the LA massacre hit the airwaves.

Now, the serenity at the beach seems far away, as does the idealist mentality that  sneaks in on carefree days. Where I want to believe the US will get its collective act together and propel us all toward a saner, more loving, holistic life. Fresh from such idealism, I feel numb. What happens next, when, more than our porches need a good scrubbing?  

Stephanie Landis photography

Again, I start at the beginning: knowing my own heart, accepting what is there with compassion as I open to the new, letting go of what no longer serves.  I recommit to loving the person and piece of earth right in front of me. As I tend the flowers and fields, I tend my soul, making myself and this farm a safe place for others to tend theirs.     

I hope Starry Meadows is a place where people come and fall in love with the earth, or come take a break from their angst by sitting among trees to watch deer or birds. Through individual spiritual direction, workshops, retreats, solstice gatherings, equinox celebrations and contemplative spiritual practices, I hope to participate in community here, an ebb and flow of people who gather to support each other, practice self-acceptance, welcome all, cultivate gratefulness, honor our beautiful planet, walk, sit, meditate and pray through silence, conversation, lament and laughter. 

Stephanie Landis photography

Stephanie Landis photography

We are not evangelists, marchers or activists. We provide sanctuary for life's pilgrims. We do our part; let others do theirs. Together, one by one, group by group, through rest, healing, faith and work, we can be the collective difference, and a non-anxious presence in the world. 

I'll leave you with a paraphrased poem of Psalm 131 by Nan Merrill:

    Most gracious Presence, let me not 

be self diminishing,

nor arrogant, boasting of my virtuous deeds.

Let me not seek fame or set my heart on riches.

Help me calm and quiet my soul,

like a child quieted at its

mother's breast; like a child that is quieted,

so be my soul. 

I shall be at peace in You,

O Breath of my breath. And, 

I shall be at peace. 

https://www.facebook.com/StarryMeadows/

Not Just Another Dentist Story

Does anyone not cringe at this photo?

Yes, this is a dentist story. 

I broke a tooth. I had no choice but to call the dentist. Ugh, and I already have an appointment scheduled for next week, so I’ll be seeing the dentist twice in 7 days. Be still my nervous system!

In driving 35 minutes to the dentist (make that 50 minutes since I followed 3 tractors with hay rigs), I managed to work myself into a full gut-rolling, sweaty-palmed, pocketbook-squeezing panic.  Oh the drill, the dental pick, the cost!!  The broken one is my ‘sinus tooth,’ the left rear molar. In which my sinus nerve dizzily loops down to dance with the roots of said tooth. 

A hygienist once hit that sinus nerve with one of her pointy picks and hew-boy! I felt stars that morphed into networks of tiny lightning strikes.

So, now I’m in the dreaded chair. Hygienist marvels at the perfect half-moon sliver of missing tooth. She speaks of crowns and caps and removing whole fillings. The rest of my body begins sweating.  She finishes her assessment and ushers in the chief.  

Dentist:  “Wow, I’ve never seen such a perfect tiny sliver of missing tooth!” (I sense a conspiracy)  After a minute of shining lights and poking, she says, “Ah, I can easily fix this. It won’t take but a minute.” (I relaxed just a smidgen, trying not to look as doctor and hygienist put on full body armor and adjust their eyeball-burning head lamps)

Dentist, hesitates as she holds drill mid-air above my head:  “Did you want numbed?”

My brain is trying to read her mind, trying to be grown up, trying to not look petrified. (Yes! Please, knock me out completely. I don’t want to hear, smell, feel or see anything!) I never utter a sound but, I blink one time too many. She reassures me.

Dentist: “It will only be a few seconds. The numbing will be far worse than the drilling.”   

Me: (Still not uttering a sound. Wide eyed though.) The dentist takes off her mask, her headlight, the magnifying scope thingy protruding like an eyeball on a stick between her two beautifully set eyes. She puts one hand on my shoulder and looks right into my eyes. (Probably seeing sweat in there) 

She sees me. And, she lets me see her;  her real self behind the mask. She spreads a table of our shared humanity and invites me to dinner.  

“I promise I will not torture you.”  I look from her very pregnant swollen belly to her kind eyes. Would a pregnant, due-on-Friday female dentist (I overheard talk of her having contractions), lie to me just to get me over myself and get herself home faster? I smile then, showing my trust in her.  

“Okay, go ahead.” (I’ll scream if you hurt me though.) Oh wait. I said that last part out loud.

We both laugh as she repositions her body armor and gets to work. For the first time in my life, since going to a horse doctor of a dentist in my childhood, a tooth is being drilled and I can feel everything.  (I even had teeth extracted as a kid with very little numbing. Was told, ‘It’ll be over before you know it.” It wasn’t. And what kid doesn’t relive trauma over again in nightmares?) 

Decades later, another dentist actually made fun of me for saying I could feel his drilling after he gave me Novocain. His words had ‘big baby’ in them even if he didn’t say them out loud.

Back to the present – as the aroma of metal fills the air, the sound of buzzing too, along with sensations of gagging despite multiple sucky contraptions decorating my lower jaw, pressure, weird hot and cold sensations in my tooth, music playing, people talking in the cubicles to the right and left, smells of close bodies and reminders to myself to 

   

            B

                R

                   E

                       A

                           T

                              H

                                 E 

I manage to cope reasonably well. Dental work is sensory overload for me. Overload usually combined with pain and distrust. I tell myself this dentist must feel air from my nose moving on her gloved hand or she might stop like the dentist before did, and grill me.

“Are you okay?”

“Are you sure?” 

“You have to breathe, so I can continue. No one faints in my office.”

Said more gently than the Not More Novocain Dentist, but with a smile that still didn't reach the heart.

Now, every cell in both of my lungs wants to retain air, but I breathe out. In and out, in and out. Then, just like that, it’s over. This dentist told the truth. It truly was less than a minute of drilling!

Afterward, we chat about babies, giving birth, weather and coffee flavors; about everything but dentistry. I'm delighted in her treating me like a friend, a human being worthy of dignity. Not a ‘tiny mouth that is so inconvenient for me to work in” or ‘oh gawd, not another person with a dentist phobia.’ She is not in a hurry to get home. In fact, she plops on a nearby chair and tells me she’s having contractions. Maybe this is her lucky day. (She’s about to work harder than she’s ever worked but it’s her lucky day.

I left with an astounding thought - I just might love my new dentist! 

                                                    ~ ~ ~ 

My farmer making a mowed hay mandala!   I thought of this in the dentist chair - a lovely distraction. 

This Restless Season

     

So much happening in the world. Isn't it tempting to just be absent, buy pumpkins and mums and shut out all the rest?  Climate change, storms, racial tensions, another world war threatening, suffering, abuse...the list goes on. This week, I counted 6 mentions of horrific child abuse in my Facebook feed alone- half of them not in a far away place, but local. So often I question what is happening to humankind! Equally often, I marvel over the helpers and heroes that work for peace and justice, spread love, expend huge amounts of energy to rebuild after natural disasters, plant trees, monitor wildlife, study climate, assist the ill and poor. 

Our church recently hosted a retreat/workshop on racism. Amid the many sobering statics and historical events of our country, I found this hope: Despite many news stories of violence and injustice, most of us feel safe enough to go outside our homes every day. This means there are more humans who are decent and kind than destructive or violent. Something to celebrate and foster in areas where this hope is not evident.

Whatever this season brings, Autumn always invites me to stay calm and open even as I resist shorter, colder days. Like the chipmunks readying their tunnels underground, I too am deepening, preparing for holing up, hibernating a little during winter. 

September is always a mixed bag for me: beautiful blue skies with white fluffy clouds, clear days, my birthday, the anniversary of my father's death, and memories of 9-ll. I love autumn, and I resist it. I mourn summer's passing, am melancholy with sad memories, while loving and celebrating life. The older one gets, the more one holds contrasts.  

Perhaps it's just me, but this year, it seemed like the eclipse stole the sun faster. The days seemed to shrink quickly after the sun hid behind the moon.

Watching the trees and wildlife on our farm helps me embrace this restless season.

This Restless Season

Autumn breezes tickle the senses.

Geese fly with beating wings, a country

rap in rhythm with pings of acorns, hickory

nuts falling on tin roofs covering tractor

sheds all over Appalachia. Hints of color

and vibrancy soften the end of summer. Short

days bring a thousand small deaths. Yet,

chestnuts in high trees, swell

with prickly glory. Waiting for some secret

signal to drop to the ground with bullying thud,  

camouflaged between twig and fallen leaf,

awaiting the bare feet of those

resisting this restless season, still clinging to

memories of warm grass and popsicles. The apple-

cinnamon coats of deer, frolicking in sun-lit meadows

give way to shades of serious brown.                                                               

Dull, like rotting leaves and discarded

walnut husks.  In Autumn, fawns still romp, but the

herds are edgy, gorging on acorns, rutting, ruining

shrubs with thrashing antlers, boxing

away rivals with delicate hooves.  Then,

even velvet itches; longing fills mammalian souls.

Seasons come, seasons go. Hurricanes blow, floods

rise, as does hope and despair. Tides roll out.

Moons ripen and disappear. The religious

spout platitudes in the face of trauma; atheists

shake their heads, their fists. Lovers simply

roll up their sleeves, bring shovels

and clean water, offer up hearts full of compassion.

How easy, resisting, hardening through

the seasons, with faith or without. Autumn invites

vulnerability, openness. Yes, store up,

prepare; then share, let go. Embrace many small

deaths – humanity’s only way of changing seasonal

coats. Whatever comes, whatever color of skin or

pelt, deep within hearts beat the same. 

The Ache to Experience More, or Less

Sunrise at Starry Meadows  ~ Photo by Linda Witmer

Something new is percolating. 

I'm beginning a Facebook page called Starry Meadows - the name of our farm here in Singer's Glen, Va. I probably will not be blogging as much for awhile as I launch this page and our unfolding endeavor at Starry Meadows. If you are one to 'like' pages on Facebook, check out the page:  https://www.facebook.com/rest.restore.walk.wonder/

~~  

 Last guests here at Starry Meadows noticed the quiet. It was 4 in the afternoon with no traffic sounds, no cicadas. Oddly, there were no deer coming out to graze either. Having just shared deeply from our art and writing journals, we resonated with the deep, contented calm. Contentment and calm with a hint of disappointment. Other than birds and flowers, there were no wildlife sightings for the guests. Isn't there often an ache to experience something more: a doe stepping cautiously into the meadow, the whinny of a Barred Owl in the distance? Or something less: less chaos in the White House, less internal drama, less suffering in the world?

As our guests said goodbye and drove out our long lane, the neighbor’s family arrived and our affectionately named ‘no pond hollow’ echoed with happy sounds of playing children. Suddenly, the deer herds moved, bringing does with fawns out at dawn in our back hill’s big meadow, herds of young bucks in the neighboring quarry meadow their velvet antlers silhouetted in the sunrise, and mixed herds in the afternoon down at the creek meadows. When the deer moved, the tree frogs began singing their soothing night choruses. The rhythms of nature baffle and entice.

Last night as I prepared for sleep, anxiety crept around my edges. Like the sudden moving of the deer, my life feels stirred up. Our daughters are moving in 2 weeks, staying at Starry Meadows for a season. We’re currently renaming our studio/shop – the building where daughters will be living in while here. (This will be our future AirBnB, or retreat space, so we’re playing with appropriate names. How about Constellation House? Meadow Lark Lodge? Will our buildings be named after constellations, like Pegasus Place and Lyra Log Cabin? Naming is a sacred, joyful ritual!)  We prepare to welcome them to Virginia even as we are still transitioning ourselves. There is much to do before they come: cleaning our stuff out of the studio/shop, checking on their boarded horses, preparing for our son’s family vacationing here this week, anticipating seeing our newest grand baby again.  Then there is the North Korea threat, the unpredictable and vindictive US president, the state of our country and politics, climate change threatening this beloved earth, plus my body fighting a cold/sinus infection. Along with wanting wellness so not to infect my grand baby, I ache for smooth adjustments for my daughters, energy to enjoy my grandchildren, reassurance from our government and from God. Anxiety wants to morph into fear, like hesitant deer stepping from the security of the woods ready to bolt at the first tiny threat. I can’t control the rhythms of nature, what wildflowers or wildlife guests of Starry Meadows will see, or what experiences our daughters will encounter. Nor can I completely control my health.  

I want my grandchildren to hear the tree frogs. I want there to be children and tree frogs long into the future. I want to sleep deeply tonight. I don’t want the horses to get sick on my watch. I don’t want war or more chaos in the US. I notice all the ‘wants’ arising in me and switch my attention to the song of tree frogs. The sheets are soft below me, blanket warm above me, healing aromas of peppermint, lemon and lavender from my essential oil diffuser soothe my sinuses allowing deep, relaxed breathing. I sense my own aliveness. Outside the earth is alive, vibrant, rooted and grounded in all that is holy. Like a wild turkey hen enfolding a chick under her wing, I feel the pull of Spirit, of deep holding, of gentle Mystery. Nestled and warm, no problems exist.

As I drift into sleep, I am peace.

May you walk and sleep in aliveness and peace,

Sharon

Jesus rebuked the storm. He said, “Peace! Be still!”

Eckhart Tolle writes: “If you create no pain for yourself, then you create no more pain for others. You also no longer contaminate this beautiful Earth, your inner space, or the collective human psyche with the negativity of problem-making.”

Sunset on Big Hill Meadow at Starry Meadow - photo by Sharon 

"Soar"   The skies Starry Meadow -  Photo by Linda Witmer

When Life Gets Non-Wordy, You'll Find Me Out Back Feeding the Goats

Words fail me these days. The world around me is unfamiliar, both interiorly, and exteriorly: in physical location, family and church transitions, in political, spiritual and global changes. For the first time in my life, I’m not voraciously reading books or writing.

Let me clarify -I’m not reading and writing words on pages, I’m reading and writing words in my soul. Every sunrise brings new images and experiences, every day I sense the sudden or slow shifts in my depths. Many paragraphs of the past have been deleted, are still being erased, words written the day before, years before, while new words take shape in the pages of my heart.  I’m writing, but not sharing; I own my writing, but my writing doesn’t own me. I feel no prompting or compulsion to share, no obsession to write because of the label of ‘writer.’  

Old roles, like those disappearing words, have gone. New ones are forming. I’m aware that my identity is not in what I do, offer, say or write; I love living this truth, at the same time such dying is painful even as birthing the new is exhilarating. Plus, I’m half a hermit now, a beautiful fulfillment of a lifetime desire! Every coin as two sides and the flip side of this pretty penny is loneliness. Writing, contemplating, and seclusion are both lonely. Yet, I’d so rather be here than there, be where I am interiorly than where I was.

Though it all, something Gently Mysterious moves with me, inviting me to hold, welcome, observe life, struggle to name what is going on, struggle in the letting go, sing, and walk the dogs. 

This Mystery is very different than what I’ve felt or noticed before. I thought I lost Presence, lost my sensing of Being. But that too has simply dried up, died and is being reborn. It's not comfortable being in between, but it's freeing. 

I remember my hunger as a first year student at Kairos School of Spiritual Formation. There weren't enough days to learn everything about spiritual traditions that I had never known before. Now, as religious groups dispute-excommunicate-harden, I’m just as eager to not know anything. In the deepest deep, I abide with Spirit and Spirit abides with me, deeper than human rules and folly, deeper than theology even. In this place I am safely enfolded in Love, in Mystery, in the cloud of unknowing.

When life gets non-wordy, when my response to life is too full or too deep to sort out, I find balance noticing simple things. You'll find me out back, feeding the goats….

If video doesn't load, try this link   https://www.facebook.com/sharonjl/videos/10159060976445301/

Feeding the Goats

Like a leaf shredder

those mouths, with lips more

delicate than machine,

steadily devouring offered boughs. Maple and oak    
                        

disappear into both kinds of hungry jaws;

molars grind the same, but metal wheels

and whir of mechanical leaf shredders

miss the tickle of leafy edges

in the nostril. Nibble, munch, crunch,

mince. Is there a sound more mesmerizing

than the grind of goat molars on twigs?

More satiating than caprine mouths engulfing 

branches of leaves in sheer eating ecstasy?  With

quick upward flicks

of their heads, veined greens of chestnut, walnut

are snapped free, consumed. Twig-poked eyes,

ears, nose are of no concern. Nipping, stripping,

pulling, masticating receives full attention.

After feeding the goats, I wander down

the farm lane. Stop to tend my darling

young redbud tree. Aghast, I find

only trunk and empty stems jutting skyward, like

the spines of an umbrella stripped of fabric, holding                     

up nothing but air. This favored one, now

naked of all green-with-a-touch-of-burgundy

heart-shaped leaves.  How dare a deer snack on

 THIS tree, with an abundance of browse                                          

 everywhere? Never mind the fawn sleeping

 behind the swing so breath-takingly innocent. Or          

 does bounding fences in the dewy morning mist,

 all grace and beauty.  Indignation wants my full

 attention. Flashback. Minutes ago, goats flicking

their heads, snapping off leaves, eating their bliss,

long lashes framing  round doe eyes. Ah, the memory!

Floods my soul with pleasure.  A breeze rises, a sigh escapes

as a smile settles in my belly.  Nibble,

munch, crunch, mince. How the deer must

   have enjoyed this delicious redbud!  

How to Walk in a Messy World

How to Walk in a Messy World

Illness. Fear. Bombs. Wounds.  

Each life has a cross to bear. 

And, dead bulbs raise tulips!

Storms. Drear. Anxious thought.

We journey in empathy, 

and, dread resurrects hope!

Why does one live and

this one die?  Life makes no sense.

“Why” isn’t important.

Love is. How do I

love?  Receive love? Divine Love

always flows. Accept!

Walk with open heart.

Walk with compassion. Be a

non-anxious presence.

Walk in the woods with

fear; imagine bear, snake, wolf!

Without, see violets.  

Life is anger. Life

is joy.  Welcome both, but do

no harm.  Love revives!                       

“God” is signpost,

pointing to eternal Mystery.

LOVE resurrects all!

Resurrection in Haiku

View from Blue Ridge Parkway- near Dripping Rock parking area

Daffodils -our driveway in Singer's Glen

Like Wind Rustles

The love you need is everywhere. 

Love comes in the sound of the wind swirling leaves around your feet. There is love blowing about your dwelling place, intensely banging on windows and rattling doors. 

Wake up!  Experience the Mystery. Receive the love you need; share in the exchange.

Love comes in breezes and whistles.  Love tickles ears and teases hair, rustles foliage and stirs up wildness.....

              .... invites all to dance! 

               Or hunker down. 

Love whips around pant legs. 

            Love comes like the wind, pushing us into   

     

                     new challenges, encouraging us to lean in.  

   Croaugh Patrick, Ireland 2011 

Ireland 2011

blanket of snow on our cobblestone walk

The love you need is everywhere this day – in blizzards, gusts and sea gale, in tropical breezes 

inviting you to move 

      and change 

                        and wrap up in comfort. 

Allow the wind to rustle your soul. Allow the wind to soothe your edges. 

Nana and grand daughter - April 2012

Be one with the wind. Move with Love's Energy; blow love into the world, like bubbles, like gale force shake ups, like gentle kisses on sweet baby cheeks.  

 Be love that binds. 

Hoya "rope" plant from my friend, Lenoir

I live my life in Widening Circles

I live my life in widening circles

that reach out across the world.

I may not complete this last one

but I give myself to it.

I circle around God, around the primordial tower.

I've been circling for thousands of years

and I still don't know: am I a falcon,

a storm, or a great song?

~ Ranier Maria Rilke ~