Me and My New Shadow

It's been 9 years since I've been in remission from Lymphoma. After 5 years, I was considered 'cured.' It's also been nine years since Hutch, the star of Who Will Come for Pup, died. I had to say goodbye to him while fighting for my life. He spent his last days trying to protect me from cancer. After he was gone, I visualized him as a furry angel eating all the cancer cells in my body. Kinda weird, I know, but it helped me cope with his death, plus I could still remember him as my unofficial service dog. A few years later, I said goodbye to Carey, my other beloved cattle dog. I was sure I'd never completely bond with another dog; also positive I would never own another high energy cattle dog.

And then this happened.

Meet TikTok. YBR N Wayout's Ain't Out Of Time. I picked him up on his 1 year birthday!

I was an anxious mess picking him up to have him on a trial basis. My family thought I was nuts. I knew my current dogs would be bent out of shape having him around. I wanted a therapy dog to train, wanted this to work out so badly, but was overthinking everything and being an anxious mess. I feared no cattle dog could have the solid, easy-going temperament described to me by his breeder and owner. I thought he sounded too good to be true.

I've had him for less than 48 hours. I'm pretty much a goner. It's almost like he chose me instead of the other way around. Technically, he's still on trial here. But, he's had so much overstimulation already and he's remained rock solid. My two dogs have their noses out of joint as I expected. Tikky just grovels and backs off when they sass him. I'm doing childcare today and figured this will be the real test - he greeted them both by crawling on the ground, so he wouldn't scare them. Earlier today, the toddler pinched her fingers in the door - much screaming and TikTok tried to comfort her by licking her tears. He nuzzled the baby's hand.

I might have found a dream dog to train for therapy work. If he doesn't pass (can't imagine why not!) he'll just be fodder for my next book about cattle dogs!

www.sharonclymerlandis.com

“I can’t change the direction of the wind, but I can adjust my sails to always reach my destination.”
— Jimmy Dean

In the last six months, I've had to adjust my sails quite a few times. This past weekend, while readying for my book launch

Cake for my launch party!

party and setting out kites for kids to fly in our fields at Starry Meadows, this song kept playing in my head...

Let's go fly a kite
Up to the highest height!
Let's go fly a kite and send it soaring
Up through the atmosphere
Up where the air is clear               
Oh, let's go fly a kite!                  

Lyrics by Richard and Robert Sherman

Twenty or so years ago, in the midst of taking writing workshops and attending writers' conferences, I listened to authors share personal horror stories of all that went wrong when they wrote, published, marketed their books. I remember feeling overwhelmed, not sure I was enough to weather such headwinds. But, here I am now with two published books and horror stories of my own.

If I'm ever asked to speak to other aspiring writers, I will try not to share my horror stories. I hope to smile and say, "You are enough. Keep writing. If you have stories to tell, you will find a way to share those stories. You can always adjust your sails and learn to soar."

Kite flying during "Who Will Come for Pup?" book launch party at Starry Meadows

Today I ponder this quote from a link my sister sent me - 

"Your job is what they pay you to do, but your Work is what you were born to do. Your job is your skill but your work is your gift" - Dr Myles Munroe.

Long ago I was told that publishing does not make you a writer. If you write regardless of success or fame or publishing, then you are a writer. I am a writer. I was born to write because I can't not write. I will write even if no one reads or buys or cares. 

What is it that you 'can't not' do?

Reading  "Who Will Come for Pup?" during my book launch party at Starry Meadows (photo by Don Clymer)

www.sharonclymerlandis.com
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#borntowrite #soulcompanioning  #everyonehasagift
#fly   #youareenough   #soulcare   #starrymeadows

SOAR!!

Kite flying during "Who Will Come for Pup?" book launch party at Starry Meadows

Invitation to Come Back Into Balance

Can you even imagine doing this? -stock photo of stunning sand raking

Often I'm drawn to the things that my soul needs, whether it makes sense to me or anyone else. 

I really wanted a sand circle at Starry Meadows. I thought it would be a nice addition to the contemplative offerings at the farm, for retreatants, for children to play in, and possibly a small source of income. 

Months later, I'm thinking my own soul was just trying to get my attention to 

                 come 

                      back into 

                                 balance.

stock photo sand raking

When we enthusiastically dug out the circle, prepped and lined the circle, ordered sand and watched it dumped out, I really thought I'd rake the sand every day, for focus, for the discipline of creating -giving my whole self without clinging to any design - letting the rains wash it all away.

Intentions can be different than reality; I only half-heartedly raked designs twice before today. I've been far from contemplative this summer which is unusual for me. This summer has been a creative storm, birthing a children's picture book, planting and tending a wildflower garden, making flower bouquets to sell. All good, just unsustainable long term. 

A new contemplative practice helps me slow down, listen more deeply to nature, Spirit, to my truest self. So now, I bring my reality to my intention and heed the call of rake and sand. 

Today, I simply show up. Tomorrow I do the same.

I can't even imagine the time and patience it takes to rake a perfect design in the sand - as the above photos show. My hands feel clumsy holding a rake, my efforts feeble. I don't really have the tools I need, the stillness or the clarity of what I'm doing; I know none of that really matters....it's just mind chatter. The same thing happened when I learned other spiritual practices or other forms of contemplative prayer and meditation. My soul draws me and that is enough.

My first attempt at meditative sand raking 

Weeds Never Killed Anyone

  

 Last week I succumbed to the tyranny of my to-do list. I drove myself like a crazy person, making myself work longer hours each day. Since the farmer's surgery and recovery, I've become so adrenaline-filled I barely recognize myself. Especially the part of me that can become a slave to the voice in my head saying, 'Don't be lazy! There's work to be done so woman up!!' For the first time since we moved here, I stopped seeing beauty all around me. No, I did see the beauty, but I didn't allow it to move me. What I allowed was an insane sense of urgency to rise up and fill me, dulling the beauty, highlighting only the work that constantly screamed for attention.

On Sunday, I heard this poem in church and it stirred something deep in me.

KEY DROPPER, by Hafiz and translated by Daniel Landinsky

The small man

Builds cages

For everyone he knows

While the sage

Who must duck his head

When the moon is low

Keeps dropping keys

All night long

For all the beautiful, rowdy

Prisoners.

I wondered why the poem intrigued me. Surely I'm the one dropping keys. Yet, later in the afternoon, when I examined myself, I found a cage around my soul and pliers in my hands. I'm imprisoned and I'm also the cage builder!

All week I struggled with the compulsion to fill in the gap that Jay's recovery leaves on the farm. During the service, I realized I'm simply putting myself in prison. Old perfectionistic thought processes had taken over. Thoughts that if I couldn't keep up with all the weeding, trimming, planting, transplanting, watering and the thousand other things this place needs, people will be disappointed. Then, they wouldn't share my love for the land; they wouldn't fall in love with the earth at all and wouldn't care about honoring it. They wouldn't come again, and those who ventured in would leave grouchy. They'd go home to yell at their children and send their dogs to bed without toys. Everything would fall apart.

As if I controlled the fuzz in a fawn's ear, painted the yarrow flowers red, and squeezed the clouds for rain. It's laughable, isn't it, how I, and probably you, think and spiral and want control. In my defense, the world can be ugly and I need this spot to be wonderful!

So much is just crazy out there. Fear, famines, floods, accidents, mass shooters, the loss of family farms, sea animals choking on plastic, lack of compassion, cancer, global warming, tornadoes, lack of rain, too much rain, on and on. If I can keep my corner of the world beautiful then things won't seem desperate. The trouble with compulsion is it slowly moves from managing, inviting, and offering to forcing things, often with a clenched heart.

I'm not judging myself here, as many of my concerns are valid and I do need to work more to manage the farm in Jay's recovery. I'm inviting myself to refind balance by listening to my body and soul. I want to encourage myself and others to know what is ours to do, when to ask for help and receive it, and when to sense that we're out of balance. And for me, specifically, it's letting go of perfection. Freeing myself from that cage is the beginning of world peace. :)

In order to find balance, I took myself on a walk around the farm. I laughed with the rushing of the creek water, sang to the wildflowers, snapped picture after picture of beauty. I saw plants needing water, thistles to be dug and I simply told the breeze I'd get to it someday, but not today. Weeds never killed anyone. I felt truly free, tall enough to have to duck my head the next time the moon is low.

Photos in this blog post are from around Starry Meadows