Evening Visitors

At first I did not know what I was seeing. I stood at the second story porch rail at dusk, looking out at the mountain and valley view. Something black moved below. Make that four somethings. . . black bears! We knew a mother and her three cubs had been making the rounds of the mountain ridge, but we had not seen them. Now they were on our property, ambling along toward our neighbor's full peach tree. For fifteen minutes the cubs climbed and jumped while Mom stood on her hind legs to pull branches down to her snout. She scarfed up peaches and shook the branches making a dozen ripening peaches roll down the hill. I was surprised how peaceful and serene the scene was. They were so quiet. If I had not happened to look over the rail at just the right time, we would have missed the whole thing. For months I had wondered if I would run across this family on my daily morning and evening walks with our Cavalier spaniel. How grateful I was to watch them from the safety of my porch two stories up with her safely inside the house. I took pictures but the dark shadows under the tree and the dimming light prevented a great shot. The pictures in my mind are very clear! It was one of those times when I felt insignificant and small. We were in their territory. I might think I am in control of my little world, but it is not true. The wonders of the natural world-- the mountain range and misty valleys, the clouds that roll in for days or catch the sunset colors on a spring evening, and the beauty of these bears who roam the mountain just as their ancestors did--all this surrounds me and reminds me of the power of life beyond humans.

In Memory

I light a candle to brighten this mountain house which is surrounded by fog and to commemorate the fifth anniversary of my mother-in-law's death. She and I had a lovingly close relationship for nearly 35 years. Her presence in my life gave me confidence and a sense of belonging. She took me for who I was, never challenging or ignoring me, always offering unconditional love. Being with her taught me to slow down, to create a beautiful table, to freshen up for dinner. We shared a love of fine novels, antique china and silver and flower gardens. We enjoyed a summer trip to Ireland with her son and my husband, dozens of visits to her Baltimore and Florida homes and many hours of easy conversation about life, children and friends. Her loyalty and generosity impacted all who knew her. I have missed her and still ask her for wisdom in trying moments. These five years have brought blessings she would have loved to share, especially our sons' completion of graduate school in fields they love and the recent arrival of her twin great-grandchildren. Her husband of 60 years has learned to iron and wash clothes and now understands in new ways all that she did to help him be successful. I honor and celebrate the life and influence Florence Tarr has had on my life and my spirit.

4th of July

Like most people, I enjoy celebrating holidays. Thanksgiving and July 4th tie for my favorites. Both days include times for being with family and friends, playing and talking, listening and cooking, eating and giving thanks.

Two life experiences a decade apart increased my love of Independence Day. In 1990 I started my own consulting business. For several years my supportive husband encouraged me to work for myself. I ignored him or raised my voice to him for a long time, because I was afraid I did not have what it would take to create and sustain a business. I was an English major, for Pete's sake! What did I know about entrepreneurship? When the Charlotte school superintendent eliminated the leadership training center where my creativity and facilitation skills could be happily applied, I had two options: work for another big bureaucracy or start a consulting firm. I started Leadership Dynamics on my birthday in June and by that first 4th of July, I was only two weeks into it, but I had a new appreciation for what our American freedom allows. I could just strike out and do whatever I wanted to do! And I was doing just that.

In 2000 I returned from a three week trip to Guinea, West Africa where I joined my son and his friend [now wife] who were creating a school for Sierra Leonean refugees in Guinea. Living in a small block building, eating Mabinty's delicious but very simple food cooked over a coal fire, walking dusty pot-holed roads, breathing polluted air from constant burning of plastics and garbage gave me another level of appreciation for our country's bounty and infrastructure. Later when our Guinean and Sierra Leonean friends visited, they would remark on things I took for granted like the security of our mail or the dependable trash pickup or the network of excellent roads. I am grateful for all that my taxes dollars support.

Today I celebrate another decade of freedom and opportunity. My new grandchildren enter a different world than the one I have known. One sons apply their values and graduate school educations to environmental issues in law or research science. I can travel, write, tend gardens and spend time with my husband and friends. On this 4th once again, I gather with the extended families of three couples I have known since before I was 21. The grandchildren of the children I babysat are in college. New babies will make their debut. Elders will walk a little slower. And when we sing, "God Bless America" before dinner on the wide green lawn beside the lake, every heart will swell, and my eyes will fill with grateful tears for the blessing of birth into this country.

The Visitor

As I finished drying the morning dishes, something moved in the air to my left. When I turned, I saw a ruby-throat hummingbird flying through our great room. In the mornings the room is filled with light from large plate glass windows and sliding doors that we often leave open during the day since everyone kept walking through the screen as they looked out at the view. I guess the bird couldn't discern the difference between indoors and out.

I quickly closed all the blinds and shut the front door to eliminate light except at the doorway where the bird had entered. I knew he would tire quickly as he sought escape and banged his beak against the glass at the bottom of a front window. When I got to him, it took several tries before I could cup a hand close to him. Finally he calmed against me, his soft green feathers vibrating lightly, so I covered him in both hands and walked him to the doorway. I stood on the deck at the railings and released him to the sky. My whole body smiled at this unexpected visit of just five minutes or so.

Since then I have thought often about how I closed off the light so the hummingbird could find the "real light" that would take him toward home. I remember times I have been in the dark looking for an opening, some light that would bring me back to myself. Spirit works like that, sometimes closing off the other light sources that won't get us back on our own path and shining brightly in ways that show us the way home.

Creativity in a Basket

A dear friend and I set out at noon on to wander through Mitchell County, NC, visiting glass, pottery and basket artists who open their studios to the public twice a year. We pack a small picnic lunch so we can spend our time enjoying the beautiful creations instead of trying to find or waiting in line at a restaurant. It is a warm June day, one of those days where you could be lazy in a chair with a book all afternoon or active in a shaded garden. I am grateful for the presence of a friend of many years and the time to catch up as we witness some amazing creations.

We head north toward Tennessee and veer off the highway onto a two lane, winding road through dense forests, open pasture lands, past weathered barns, vegetable gardens springing with lettuce and climbing beans, and arrive at Billie Ruth Suddreth's studio. She is a renowned basket artist whose red, black, yellow and walnut baskets wow the eye and lift the spirit. I attended a show of her twenty-five year basket-making anniversary two years ago and am so happy to meet and talk with her today. Something in me is pleased by her baskets in the way that witnessing a sunrise or hosta leaves turning out of the ground deepens and enriches me.

A student of mathematics, she creates her baskets' unusual patterns by using Fibonacci numbers, a mathematical pattern identified as early as 200BCE and named for a 13th century biologist. The natural Fibonacci pattern is found often in nature's fern curls, pine cones, leaves, flowers and the reproduction of bees. By definition, the first two Fibonacci numbers are 0 and 1, and each subsequent number is the sum of the previous two. Fibonacci numbers are those in the following :

I am pleased to learn that these incredible baskets priced in the thousands of dollars and collected by museums are created using a pattern of nature. I think again of Matthew Fox writing that creativity is the place, a space,a gathering, a union a where--wherein the Divine powers of creativity and the human power of imagination join forces. Such places are sacred and draw us closer to our own spiritual center. Billie Ruth's baskets are such a place and they invite me to seek that space in myself today.

note: I tried in vain to find a photo of one of her baskets on line for you to see.

2010: The First Half

The earth is our mother, we must take care of her.
The earth is our mother, we must take care or her.

Her sacred ground we walk upon with every step we take.
Her sacred ground we walk upon with every step we take.
~Earth based chant

An earthquake devastates Haiti. A few weeks later another quake rocks Chile. Volcanic ash spews above Iceland grounding European air traffic for days. A coalmine fire traps and kills more than two dozen West Virginia miners. An enormous oil well in the Gulf of Mexico explodes, kills eleven men and pumps thousands and thousands of gallons of oil into the water for fifty days with no end in sight.

I have to force myself to watch the news. The strong images of broken cities, wounded orphans, grieving widows, out of work fisherman and oil-drenched brown pelicans cut deep. I sit in my air condined home or new car wondering, "What can I do to help this situation?" I know I use and want the energy of the oil. I turn off lights, go the speed limit, combine trips, keep my car at home two days a week, and yet I stlil want to be able to drive to the mountains on a whim. I want to be able to travel at my convenience to see my new grandchildren.
The current Gulf oil disaster requires us all to pay attention. I look at the well pumping continuos oil and think, "If the earth is our mother, our nurturer, giver of resources for our survival, then this oil comes from a wound at her core."

The shift in our earth's crust and inside the volcanoes gives me pause. Why are all these things happening in just a few month's time? So far this year the earth has been wounded and broken in too many big ways. Of course, it is not just this year. . . it is our cumulative effet of decades of humans using the earth's resources with little or not regard for the results of our actions. What we humans have damaged, we must correct. We cannot afford to believe that the resources are available to us forever. We must take care of her.

All I know to do is to pay attention to my own choices. I must remember that the earth is our mother. When it is a pain to wash out the peanut butter jar for recycling, I must chose to do it. I buy fewer paper products and am mindful of how I waste water. For ten years we have had a bucket in the shower. I compost. We recycle more than fits in our two red bins weekly. I chose products with less packaging. I am hooked on the new pump laundry detergent in small battles which require fewer resources to make and transport.

Last night I saw video of a crab struggling in the surface oil. The commentator explained that the crabs mistake the oil globs shape for the seaweed they usually eat. The crabs swim up and into the oil seeking food. They are covered, stuck and unable to free themselves. I don't want this to happen to us!

Creativity is not a noun or even a verb--it is a place, a space,
a gathering, a union a where--wherein the Divine powers of creativity
and the human power of imagination join forces.

~ Matthew Fox, Creativity: Where the Divine and the Human Meet

Matthew Fox identifies what I love most about facilitating workshops and groups or sitting with a person who is attuned to his/her spiritual journey. Together we share a place, a bubble of time and space that opens and contains at the same time. Together we create something new, a sanctuary of sorts. It is a place, a where, as Fox puts it. It is intimate and quiet, yet pulsing with connection and excitement. When we gather to share our true stories, those experiences or insights that have made us who we are today and that urge us forward to continue becoming, we sense Divine presence. Fox calls this New Creation and says it "brings renewal, resurrection, and forgiveness with it."

When we chose to sit down, reflect and write of spiritual wonders or the everyday ordinary that moves us, we create a sacred place for ourselves. Our best self expands, we tap our truth and we feel larger, less confined and aware of more possibilities. And when we share such writing with others, we invite them to join us there.

Writing Your Spiritual Journey creates space for individuals to mine their life for events and experiences that seem now to have been significant to their spiritual journey. Through writing and reading our own stories and listening to and affirming the stories of others, we celebrate and honor creativity.

Peonies

At dawn I walk our tri-color spaniel down the mountain lane and tug the warm blue fleece robe against my throat to block the early morning chill. As Cheyenne trots and sniffs, I am drawn to the peonies in a neighbor's wild garden. I associate peonies with my mid-western childhood, the large bushes barely able to hold the enormous flower heads bobbing in a breeze. Today beside the wire fence, two small plants attempt to keep their blooms aloft. One sturdy stem boasts five pink blooms from bud to dropping petals. Cheyenne stands with me as I kneel.

I take a cleansing breath and inhale: first the subtle blush of the pink peony, soft and gentle like a newborn baby, then the burgundy ‘s robust and hearty perfume. I stand to face the bright sunlight beaming through the forest at the end of the lane. In such a simple moment, immense joy pulses through me. I am grateful to witness the beauty of the peonies and realize they would have gone right on being beautiful whether I saw or sniffed them or not. They do what they do, create what is their essence to create. As I turn to walk home, I consider my essence and what it is for me to create. I feel charged for my day of writing and revising, eager to begin.