A Prayer to Break the Lull

It seems to me that there is a universal lull permeating the cosmos, a magnetic pull downwards as of late. Maybe it’s the collective sigh of our “hard times,” the residual pang from a nation in peril. Or maybe it’s just the shadows that descend with the dark and the cold this time of year. Or maybe - it’s just me.

Nevertheless, I think it’s time to snap out of it. So – I’m snapping out of it. Right now. I am sending a virtual request to the powers-that- be, to Father Time, Hare Krishna, Santa Claus, whoever is listening. I am calling on the God above and the God within, to the angels who watch over us in all that we do, for myself and for those I love, on behalf of everyone who is down and out and just can’t seem to pick themselves up. Hear my prayer:

Give us perspective. Give us new eyes everyday so we can truly bear witness to the marvel of this life. Open our hearts to all things beautiful and help us recognize it is never lost. There is always up. We are never alone. Give us the space to take deep breaths. Give us the faith that all things are unfolding exactly as they should. We are exactly where we need to be. And we are perfect as we are. We are perfect in this moment. Let us live in this moment like it is all that we have. Let us stop wasting our time on appearances. Let us not spend one more second squandering our fat rolls, our wrinkles, our bodies, our so-called imperfections. We are beautiful. Give us the strength to stop the worrying, the anxiety, the fear. Soften our hearts to forgiveness. Quiet our minds from remorse. Give us the strength to let go. Help us find balance. Help us realize we are worthy. And we are powerful. We are capable of anything. Give us the courage to leap. Take risks. Exceed limitations. Help us see beyond our own battle wounds and the scars of our past and through to the goodness glowing within. Still. Always. Forever. In all of us. Let us love ourselves and let us be loved. Let us love. Allow us to lean into the pillars of the universe and trust we won’t fall. We will not fall. We will not break. Remind us always that something larger than our bodies and our minds and all of our material possessions lives within us and above us, cradling the seed of our spirit, spinning the webs of our lives. We are all spun from the same thread. Let us be there for each other and love one another without judgment, without reservation and with all that we are made of.

Please.

Thank you.

...Oh, and Amen.

Stars, I Have Seen Them Fall

Stars, I have seen them fall,

But when they drop and die
No star is lost at all
From all the star-sown sky.
The toil of all that be
Helps not the primal fault;
It rains into the sea,
And still the sea is salt.

Get Out of Your Own Way

When did it all become so complicated? So much effort? When did we begin to wear the dust of our past like a second skin? Has the act of living in modern times battered us into obstruction or is it simply that we are getting older? The thicker the plot of our lives, the wider the web we spin, the more convoluted it seems.

I think…we need to stop thinking. Our minds are relentlessly jabbering and judging, twisting experiences into tangles of thoughts that sit and grow roots into our hearts. We are taken captive by our pasts and the anticipation of our future, experiences and expectations distorted into whispers of truth that weigh heavy upon us. We want to understand, problem solve, analyze, rescue, fix. We relive and await, relive and await, over and over and over - until we are no longer present in this moment. And it is only in this moment that we find peace.

No amount of thinking will quiet worry. And when it comes to the most worrisome matters, our thoughts often only add fuel to the fire. Our churning mind muddies the waters; it doesn’t bring clarity. Clarity comes when we open ourselves to the story that is unfolding now. Right now. The grass growing beneath our feet. There is no conclusion to draw and no answer to obtain. So stop. Stop grasping. Stop analyzing. Stop chasing. Stop trying to understand. The universe is here to support us. We just have to get out of our own way.

The universe is here to support us. We just have to get the hell out of our own way. Miracles abound. Every single day is a gift. Our chattering thoughts cloud our ability to see what’s clearly in front of us: a beautiful morning. the sky. rain. unconditional love. friends. family. freedom to choose. It’s all there for us - waiting. Once we stop our mind’s preoccupation, the dust and grit of experience lifts and our lives open up like a flower. Effortlessly.

I carry you behind my heart

My grandma passed away yesterday. She had been slowly leaving for some time and yesterday morning she said goodbye. How can I say goodbye? I find myself immersed in her memory, filled with her company, flooded with echoes of her laughter and our moments together. How she used to call me honey and sweetheart and dolly. The way her house always smelled like something was cooking and the feel of the carpet under my feet. Her hands that were always so soft and warm...my dad’s hands. The way her eyes lit up when she smiled and how proud she made me feel no matter how small my feat.

Grandma was unconditional love. She had no agenda, no judgment, no attitude. She was warm and kind and humble, and so generous with her heart. So generous with her spirit. She offered her whole self up, and when you were with her you felt all wrapped up in it like a down comforter.

I miss her.

The emptiness of her absence is tangible; grief feels like a slow ache that never seems to stop rising. Remembering brings everything to the surface. We grieve and we remember, and we celebrate the gifts she brought to our lives. We remember who she was and in doing so, she becomes more and more a part of who we are. We who loved her and we who she loved will never say goodbye. She will always live on.  She lives on. Her essence lives in our essence. She fills our insides with her insides like the sun opening up to the sky. We will always carry her behind our hearts.  Together, our hearts will sing her song and all that she was and all that she is will carry on forever.

Thank you for all you have given me, grandma.  I love you.

Gratitude Overflowing

I think I am going to make a bold proclamation and state for the record that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Oh now, now, Christmas, don’t be sad… and Chanukah, let’s be honest, you haven’t been in the running for some time now. I mean, we don’t even really know how to spell you properly: Chanukah? Hanukkah?? What is it already? I want you to be my number one, I really do… with your potato latkes and eight nights of celebration. (eight nights of presents!) We’ve tried to spruce you up a bit, infuse some “Hallmark” sheen into your repertoire. It’s just not happening. I’m so sorry.

But Thanksgiving… Thanksgiving, you are my perfect holiday. I love everything about you. Aside from some minor conventional fluff (cartoon turkeys, pilgrims… an occasional Indian), you have managed to escape most consumer-driven, pop-culture mania. Well, all but the whole overindulgence, super-size-me, perpetuating the obesity-epidemic thing. But you know what? Whatever. It would be un-American not to stuff our faces. So you are contributing to our ever-expanding waistlines? I forgive you. We all have flaws. The great thing about you Thanksgiving is that you are exactly who you say you are, and you inspire us to do exactly what you instruct us to… Thanks Giving.

Here’s the problem: I have too much Thanks to Give. I do. My cup is overflowing with gratitude. I’m drowning in it. This year my husband beat cancer. How do you feasibly manage to thank the doctor that rushed his tests for what turned out to be an aggressive disease? Dr. Sender and his team saved Angelo’s life. How do you thank the man who introduced us? How do you thank the hundreds of people who kept faith and sent their light and prayers and support, daily, shining love upon us unreservedly?

I open my arms and my heart wide to the universe and shine all of the light and all of the love I have within me. I send it to you. I send it to all of you who have touched my life this year. Every single one of you. My strong and resilient husband who has inspired me and loved me fully and unconditionally for exactly who I am; my amazing parents who have given me the skills to be courageous and the spirit to uncover my path; my beautiful niece who has reminded me that at our center always lies boundless pure unadulterated bliss; my brother and sister for your unwavering support (all of my brothers and sisters); all of my family, near and far, whether we talk every day or once a year; all of the people who are in my life or have just stepped into my life who I also call my family; Sue, Lauren, Bruce, Paul, Lennie, Carol, LuAnne, Roy, Melba, Kathie, Nichole, Patty, Kristin, Holly, Charlotte.

You have inspired me. You have each paved my way. You are always with me. A piece of you lives within me evermore.

How can I utterly express my gratitude for the impact you have made on my life? I really can’t. Not completely. I cannot possibly spill my heart on this page justly. All I have are these words, two in particular, and I offer them to you now in honor of my very favorite holiday, with everything that I am made of:

Thank you.

Take a (shit)Load Off

We all have our shit. Call it what you will: baggage, issues, obstacles, whatever. It’s all semantics, and when it comes down to it, it makes us feel like shit, so let’s just call a spade a spade, shall we?

It seems that through our lives, we are confronted with the same shit again and again. We come face to face with something that pushes us to the same edge; we are thrown into the same dark waters, teetering on the bank of descent. Our path might look different, the road might change, our hair a bit darker, a few more lines on our face, but it seems we arrive at the very same summit over and over again.

Life breaks us open and privately we have to sort it out. As individuals, the journey is ours alone - in this body, with this mind and these thoughts and experiences. And when we’re “in it,” we’re really in it. It’s hard to pull ourselves out from under the dark veil of affliction. We are blinded, buried in the pain.

But I don’t want to contemplate the dark fissures of solitude today. That shit is getting old. What I want to talk about is love, the absolutely glorious miracle of this life. Because love trumps solitude. Love trumps darkness and sorrow and all of our baggage any day of the week.

We might not know the corners of one another’s broken hearts, but we have the tools to mend it. We have each other. We have love. And at the end of the day, when we’ve cried our eyes out and there is nothing more to say, love’s embrace fills the void and softens the ache. We always have love to fall back on. So fall back on it. Put your baggage down. That shit’s heavy. Let the miracle of love hold onto it for a while.

Karma Consideration

It’s time to talk about karma. Because, let’s be honest, you can’t have a blog titled “Finding Zen” and not talk about karma. Despite the fact that there is really no evidence for a metaphysical belief in karma, the conviction is pretty widespread in our culture. We have cast it as a sort of luck associated with virtue: if one does good, one deserves and can expect good luck; and conversely if one does harm, one can expect bad luck or unfortunate happenings.

I’m not really sure how I feel about the idea that the beneficial or harmful effects I have on the world will return to me. I take that back. Of course I feel good about it; I put a heck of a lot of good out into the world. I guess I’m just not sure how much validity there is in the whole “what goes around comes around” notion. Most of the time I think this concept just ends up inducing guilt and taunting us to bend down and pick up the gum wrapper we threw that didn’t quite make it into the trash. Or convince ourselves that our not-so-nice (actually really awful) but very attractive acquaintance who doesn’t have to work and spends her days getting manicures and lunching and who somehow bagged a really fantastic (and wealthy) spouse and what seems like the perfect life will eventually - and inevitably - be plagued with boils and find herself desolate and alone with only her stony heart to keep her warm at night….. or whatever.

On the other hand, it’s hard to believe that there isn’t some cosmic tally sheet gauging our ups and downs. It does feel like there is an ordered rhythm to our days. Life seems to unfold in waves of darkness into light, over and over again. Pockets of sorrow bloom into joy, dip back into sadness and then again come into light. It is an endless dance, the yin and the yang, the ebb and flow of a universe that cradles our spirit, embracing it for a time, and then lets it go. Caught in the middle of this beautiful masterpiece we stand. We can’t possible understand the mechanics of it all. We cannot know how or why, not really.

I suppose it’s human nature to want to understand the reason we are handed what we are handed in this life. We like to rationalize, categorize, justify, analyze. I was demoted at work; what did I put out there that brought this into my life? I lost someone close to me; why? Our minds need to work it out. But I think that in the noise of our chattering minds we’re missing the point. When we’re faced with a challenge, it’s not about the “why,” it’s about the “what” we do with it and the “where” we go from here.

Whatever the challenge, whatever cards we are dealt, we often find ourselves at a crossroad. And there is always a choice: to enter the burning building or not, to speak the truth or not, to stand before ourselves without illusion or not. That’s what it’s about. It’s about what’s underneath the challenge; there is always an invitation to live authentically, to shine, to take one step closer to our truth, that brilliant blue pearl floating in the space between the space of our spirit, singing our heart song.

We are often called further into experience than we’d like to go. Why? Because what goes around finally comes around? Who knows. It doesn’t matter. Here we stand. In the middle of life's tempest with an invitation and a choice.  No explanation, no thing, no one can tell us when to leap. There is no authority to bless our decision. There’s no law that dictates how it will unfold. We can’t look to luck or science or even karma. It’s in our hands... whispered to us from the God within.

Hour of Grace

(This is something I submitted to a magazine; unfortunately it never made it to print...so it has found it's place in the blogosphere)


I have lived 29 years. Twenty nine years of weathering the variable climate that is life. Twenty nine years and, though I can’t recall exactly when, somewhere along the way I must have grown up. As I was standing in line at the pharmacy, all of a sudden it hit me: When in the world did I become an adult?

It’s not a question that warrants an answer, but it is a pretty remarkable thing to suddenly feel the weight of your years. Because we pass our days inside ourselves, peering through our own private window into the world. And it’s so easy to get trapped here. We carry whole universes within us as we brush past one another to read the back of a jar of peanut butter.

And then as suddenly as you turn the corner into your apartment with a handful of groceries, as soon as you see it written on his face that the news is not good, the moment he tells you there are three tumors pushing against his lungs…stage two…lymphoma…more tests… In the briefest moment - a speck of dust on the corridor of your lifetime – everything has changed. Your husband has cancer.

The strange thing about being hit with the enormity of cancer and all its repercussions is that the world still turns. Life goes on. Time moves forward and days pass. Things are exactly as they always have been, yet the ground beneath us has shifted. Privately our lives have been forever stained. In a sense it is disquieting to walk into a world that is blinded by the rhythm of the status quo. It feels that this enormous change in our lives should be causing a ripple. Our distressed hearts and their battle wounds should be visible.

But I don’t need to prove my broken heart. The world is an endless net of broken hearts. Everyone is going through something. Each one of your lives is a language I do not know. Yet we are all made of the same compelling thread. It is the act of living that unravels the mystery.

It’s hard to believe when we are hurting, angry, in pain, that all we ever need is before us, around us, within us. But I see now that it’s true. I look at Angelo and know this is true. I know it is true when I come home to him every day and fall sweetly into the miracle of his presence.

Many people have asked how we are dealing or how we've stayed strong. Day by day we learn how to deal. We put one foot in front of the other. We wake up in the morning and do life. We love each other every moment of every day and with the ferocity of all that we were made of. We laugh. We learn that no amount of thinking can eliminate the pain (and wonder) that comes with living. We discover that (the ultimate cliché) life is precious. And impermanent.

I marvel at Angelo’s strength. He is inexorably powerful, so much larger than his body. Yes, chemo was wretched, but he faced it squarely and kicked its ass right back. Ultimately, it is not the tissue of our humanity that defeats us, and Angelo bravely lives from the deep resources of heart and spirit and gratitude. He lives from the center of the seed of spirit that connects us all together, one and the same.

I draw from Angelo’s strength. He is so much stronger than his twenty nine years. And as I look back on mine, I wonder if perhaps, while standing in line at the pharmacy waiting to refill yet another prescription, I wasn’t peering through my own private window into adulthood. Perhaps I wasn’t feeling the weight of my years, but rather the magnitude of new beginnings. For even now, in all of our uncertainties, heartache, and unexpected moments of joy, I can’t help but feel that this sense of growing up is the hour of grace when all things gather and distill to create the rest of our lives.

Alphabet Soup

I enjoy words. I delight in them actually. Every word is an entire little colony of letters, strung together to make a collective sound with a precise meaning. Each letter has a particular shape that dictates its pronunciation, directing our mouths into an exact configuration which makes a consequent noise. Put next to one another, letters miraculously form units of language – vowels and consonants dancing together harmoniously. Each letter has a place and a purpose, and in synthesis a word is born.

A word - a string of symbols that communicates a thought, an emotion, an object, anything – is a marvel. Every word is a tiny multidimensional universe of expression. A “pot” isn’t just a physical object in the material realm. It’s alive. It lives in sight, touch, sound, smell. I take it and give it a taste, swirl it around in my mind like a sip of wine lingering on my tongue. In a moment, it is smooth and glossy and cold, collecting snow outside in the grass, a pool of frozen soup collecting in its basin. In another it sits inside a window sill atop a book, dry and cracked, teetering sidewise, spilling soil onto the floor.

Words are so powerful. And they are instruments of our creation. They are channels to communicate what is inside out, manifestations of our inner worlds. They are what we have to bridge the enormous gap that separates us as individuals, and they unearth the intimacy that binds us all as kin. Words are magical really. And they’re ours for the taking. In bounty. For free! So roll up your sleeves and start your creating. Spill them out, whip them up, stir them around. Take a taste. In fact, take two. No matter how you slice it, they’re delicious!

Winter Song

I declare it is officially winter. Daylight seeps stealthily from the sky, quieted by the steely chill of night’s early arrival. The air is heavy and wet and leaden with a slow sense of departure. Darkness slips shadows around the sun. It’s easy to sink into the weight of winter’s sorrow. It seems natural. Time slows. Quiet settles with the cold.

I want to curl up inside the warm belly of childhood rememberings. I miss the way life floated carelessly, weightlessly and with abandon. I miss the damp carpet smell of my basement and the way the cold stucco walls felt against my skin. I miss the sweet little vases my mom filled with lily of the valley, a few stems plucked from the backyard then tucked into corners of the house – on a bedside table, in the windowsill of the bathroom. I miss the way our kitchen felt at the end of the night as we turned off the lights to go upstairs, the lingering smell of dinner and the day's activities settling into the stillness as our house descended into sleep. And the muffled sound of my parents voices, their closet rolling open and closed through the wall as I drifted off.

Life is impermanent. Damn that’s scary. The sky darkens, earth freezes, leaves fall from the trees, flowers wilt into the ground. Time keeps moving. We’re getting older. There is no evading this. It is so easy to get stuck here, swallowed up by it, settling into the void, cozying up to it like an old friend. Ah yes, sweet sorrow, I know you well. The weight of this burden is heavy.

How to rise above? We have to look outside ourselves and let the energies of life stir their counterparts within. We have to look to the darkened sky that will soon glow blue; the frozen earth that will melt and warm with the sun; the wilted flowers and leaves that crumble into the soil and bloom again come spring. We have to listen to the rhythm of life’s pulse; it is endlessly in cycle. We too are endlessly in cycle. We rise and fall, pick ourselves up and stumble again.

It is life's symphony, always in chorus, perpetually in motion. We need to learn to let the melody carry us, no matter how dark or dismal or cold it seems. Don't judge it. Just listen. Breathe. Let it go. You are never alone. All that you are made of beats in rhythm with the sun and the moon and the sky. Your spirit dances with the wind and the stars and the branches of the trees. Breathe into it. Quiet your mind. Be at peace, and wait for the season to change.

For Bruce...

Dear Cancer,

It would be easy just to say I hate you. You have once again made yourself welcome where you are not welcome, and it would be easy just to say I hate you. But hatred is transitory, a feeling, a state of mind; it waxes and wanes and leaves blistering fury in its wake. I have no place for fury here. I am done with the wrath that is born from questions without answers, effects without a cause.

Tonight, instead of fueling the fire you breathe into my heart, I will breathe light into yours. I will gather all of the love and all of the goodness, all of the lyrics from all of the melodies of God’s creation, the sweet rhythm that is the ebb and flow of living, and I will sing you into your grave.

On behalf of all of the lives you have taken, all of the spirits you have broken, for all of the heartache, the grief, the confusion and fear, for leaving us in the dark, for leading us in circles, for each and every tear for each and every person that has cursed your name in the middle of the night, in the light of day, to God and into the empty void, I will not ask. I am telling. United, we are stronger. We are stronger, and hear me now:

You. Will. Not. Win.

Say Goodbye,

Leah

Glass Globe of Butterflies on a Tuesday Afternoon

I apologize in advance for those of you who have heard this story. And to those of you who are sick to death of hearing me profess my undying love for my husband, best you sign off now. Because on a day like today, a Tuesday, feeling uninspired, stuck inside as the afternoon looms ahead and the fog rolls in, the only thing I want to do is think of him.

The truth is, my life – my real life – started when a man walked into it, a handsome stranger in a starched white collared shirt. He’d stood dark-eyed and half smiling in the doorway of the Starbucks “on the hill."  I won’t indulge all details of our courtship. I’ll leave the gushy stuff for another dull wintery Tuesday. But for now, as I’m peering into the corners of my mind upon the ever-whirring light of love, I will share just one small memory, a moment really - one that I revisit over and over again.

It was our first date. Angelo picked me up, in that white bmw. I got into the car, and there he was, sitting right next to me. He was wearing a white collarless shirt and he smelled like heaven. I won’t gush about his appearance, except to say that he was beautiful in the way certain handcrafted wooden objects are beautiful – so seamless, smooth, lustrous, so fully realized and self-contained that it only strikes you seconds later and with the force of a lightning bolt: “Oh my God, that’s a chair!” At which point, you sit down and want to stay forever.

Our conversation was convivial, both of us making gifts to each other of little inane stories, shining them up and handing them over. We didn’t drag out our secret souls to dance around naked, just offered slight glimpses into the interior, colorful postcards from the lands of Leah and Angelo. It was all we needed. It was the beginning of the beginning of the only thing we would ever need. The universe shifted the moment he walked towards me for his 7-pump chai latte. The magic began the moment I set foot in the car. All of my moments had led up to this moment.

It may seem trivial, this small account, our love story. But it’s everything. It’s the only thing. And I hold it next to my heart like a glass globe full of butterflies, alive always, fluttering just beneath the surface, ready to inspire...for a rainy day, or even just a gloomy Tuesday afternoon.

It's All Good

Language can be a virus. Words are communicated through the population from one person to the next, and phrases are constructed, ever mutating and recombining to suit the occasion. Much of the time phrases are ephemeral, returning to the linguistic soup from which new phrases will give birth. However, now and again, one of these alchemies will spark contagion and suddenly you hear it everywhere.

I am hearing this everywhere: “It is what it is.” As in, “The situation is out of my control and there is nothing I can do to change it.” Que sera sera, without the good humor. It is a statement of resignation, and an implication that it’s just not worth the energy. What a downer. What ever happened to “Don’t worry be happy”? Or the more recent “It’s all good”?

Is this a slogan of our times? I wonder. It renders us powerless. It says, “It doesn’t matter what I think about it because I can’t do anything about it anyway.” It implies that we are just pawns in the hands of the universe, waiting to be swallowed by a cosmic tidal wave. Now don’t get me wrong, I am quite acquainted with the white water of life’s rapids. I know there are things we can’t control; we are faced with challenges every day. The difference between “It is what it is” and “It’s all good” is perspective.

Life gives you what it gives you, and then you have a choice. You can cry about it and get angry. You can stay there, helpless, dwelling and wallowing. You can sit in it, marinating forever. Or you can move through it. You can look at it (go ahead and cry too. get mad and feel helpless… then stop), and see the opportunity that has been offered. With every challenge is an opportunity to grow. Every single challenge is an opportunity for growth.

So don’t stand still. Grow. Move. Be uncomfortable. Dig your hands in. Get dirty. You aren’t helpless. Empower yourself. There is always forward. Life throws curveballs. Hit them! See what happens. Whatever. No worries. It’s all good.

Cubicle Life

Enough of this "finding zen" (that's going to be a while).  Let's take a moment and talk about cubicles.  Actually, I'd like to spend several moments talking about my cubicle.  After all, it is where I spend most of my time.  No, really.  I average about 9 hours every day in this 5 by 5 (foot) piece of heaven.  I realize by writing this I am diminishing any chance of appearing "large and in charge" (in an I-have-an-office-with-a-view-and-am-very-important kind of way), but I'm okay with that.  And besides, no one has an office wtih a view here....and I am important.  Very important. 

So my cream-cloth coated 5 by 5 haven is really quite charming if you take away the stigma of actually "being" a cubicle.  Really, it is quite lovely.  Dark granite-colored steel cabinets with matching filing drawers below, plush faux-walls cleverly spattered with photographs of pugs and loved ones, awards (well, one) leaning proudly against the stoic blue recycling bin, steadfast in all its moral glory.  A lamp glows brilliantly in the corner, snug amidst the tangle of cords protruding like octopus tentacles from the depths below.

Taking a deep breath, I inhale the electrical purr of collective machinery, droning harmoniously with the sea of click clacking keyboards and a flurry of paper.  In the distance, the copy machine whines in chorus with an ensemble of jangling telephones; and yet, still, I think I hear my cube neighbor swallow.  The air is flooded with the comings and goings of very important people doing very important things.

A perfect 75 degrees and sunny outside, the air conditioning churns enthusiastically, blowing through my hair and down my back.  I nestle into my scarf, throw a second blanket around my shoulders, turn my face up towards the sky, and bask in the glow of artificial florescent splendor.  So invigorating.  Ah yes, it is good to feel so alive.

Root of the Root

I wake up really early. Like way-before-the-sun-gets-up-there-are-still-stars-in-the-sky early. My husband thinks I’m insane. Even the dogs look up at me with bewilderment as I peel myself from under our feathery duvet, leaving a warm wrinkled void. But I must say, once I’ve gotten over the initial shock of the hour, night’s final act is truly magical. Dawn has not yet thrown her cloak, and darkness bleeds shadows from the sky. The moon drips honey beams through the trees and onto the grass, gently prodding sleep from night’s hand. It is so quiet and so still.

In these private moments, I feel caught in the belly of life’s breath, close to the earth and the sky and all things living. And I see how underneath it all, there really are no metaphors. The wind is not like God’s breath. The wind is God’s breath. And I see how underneath it all, there really is only one emotion. Every feeling rises from the same heart source. It is the “root of the root, and the bud of the bud.” It is “the sky of the sky, which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide.”

It is everything. And it is all here. It is all here every single day. It smiles through the sun and it seeps from the stars. It is everything and everywhere and everyone. Always. And you don’t have to wake before the sun to get a glimpse. Just open yourself to it. It’s there.

Change In Weather

The cliché of all clichés: Life is Hard.

It’s tempting to be wooed by this wildly oversimplified declaration, especially now. Especially when your husband who just got through battling for his life gets handed another challenge. Especially when you find out your position at work has been terminated and you feel you are suspended in an abyss waiting for what comes next. Especially when everything in your life feels like it is a vertical trek up upward, in the dark …in stilettos...and a really tight skirt. You might look damn good, but it is not comfortable.

Change is uncomfortable. That’s really what it comes down to, isn’t it? Change. It cannot be escaped. We all buzz around, plowing through our days, busying ourselves, doing our doings, and building a nice little cozy nest. And then one day we get home from the grocery store and there are nine tumors growing in our husband’s chest. Or we are woken up in the middle of the night by a distressed pug, suddenly in pain with an injured leg.

Last night as I sat helplessly trying to help ease my dog’s upset, I just felt scared. I was by myself, and I didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t hurt badly enough to take him to urgent care, but he was uncomfortable enough to make me uneasy. So what could we do? We sat with it. We sat with it and felt bad (mind you while our other pug snored away obliviously). I cried and felt badly and he looked at me, and time passed. Eventually we both fell asleep, the night gave way, and in the light everything felt a lot less scary.

The world begins anew each day. Isn’t that amazing?! I mean, really. Darkness blankets us all, silently, and in that mysterious moment of rest, everything is re-created. Clouds so heavy around our hearts wane with a passing day. You just have to accept the change in weather. Sit with it, look at it…until the day passes. Time will heal.

So instead of stating the obvious – yes, life is hard - turn your heart up to the sky, open your arms and let the rain hit your face. It’s not so bad. You’ll dry; I promise.

Never Lost In Love

Maybe it’s just me, but I suspect it is human nature to constantly seek answers to life’s most ambiguous questions. And it seems we return through these questions to the same vital issues: what is it all about? how do we live fully? With every experience, I find myself speculating these great unknowns. And I think that each experience has brought me closer to the center of what may not be the explanation, but my interpretation of it.

In the past months, cancer’s venom has soaked our lifeblood, and in a blur, Angelo and I have found ourselves standing in the middle of new ground – dense with emotion and turmoil. But despite the blinding trepidation of this disease, even in the thick of it, we lift our heads and the base of our spirits remains – the part of our self that cradles our very essence and sings our heart song. It is never lost.

In love, we are never lost. In crisis and struggle, and even in our hurry of daily doings, we leave pieces of ourselves in the wake of life’s noise. But just as the sky begins to glow when night seems it will never end, there is something indestructible at the center of each of us. The love within us embodies endless tranquility. Peace. Happiness. God.

I’m not there quite yet. I am trying. Daily I am faced with distraction. We all fear breaking; we face monsters every single day, whether it be cancer, a broken heart, or a bruised ego. Each of us is a tiny will striving to find and ride the Universal current without perishing, challenged to stay in the moment and quiet our minds and hearts in love. Days roll by, bills need to be paid, meals need to be made, emails, phone calls, gas in the car, clothes in the drier, dogs walked, and on and on; our list of to-dos is forever.

But freedom comes only when we are so immersed in our moment of living in itself, for itself, that we can see how the infinite coherence of all things continues like a great bottomless stream; and we can dance the ghosts from the chambers of our wounds, loving whatever gets in the way until it ceases to be an obstacle. Because even when we tumble, we are all part of a current larger than our own design.

Certainly we may never have the answers to our questions. Faith is crucial. Faith is no more than the willingness and bravery to enter and ride the stream. This is a hard bit of consciousness to ask for. I’m not saying the obligations of living will disappear; it will always be work. But when we open our hearts to one another and fall in love with the beauty of kindness, compassion, and the thread that ties us all together, the glory of living shines down on us….

And, I believe, miracles can happen.