who are you,little i

who are you,little i

(five or six years old)
peering from some high

window; at the gold

of november sunset

(and feeling:that if day
has to become night

this is a beautiful way)

~e.e. cummings


Eight lines to capture quite possibly the most commonly shared and artfully expressed human experience throughout history---absolutely brilliant.    little i is certain of the night--coming regularly, making everything dark and quiet.  i've learned from experience. Well over 9,000 nights have come and gone in the course of my life. It happens everyday--the sun, doing its thing, making all the little i's stand still and feel that if night must come, what a comfort that we can see beauty in its coming.

 But often little i is just too little to peak over the windowpain, so i hide under the covers--afraid of the night, the darkness.  i don't always see the beauty in impending night. Instead of learning to rest, i wait, anxious for the promised joy of morning.  Here's the trick, though--and we don't even need a stepstool--Sunsets are for stillness, for feeling. sensing. Sunsets are for losing little i in Big I.  Sunsets are for that moment when little i becomes aware of a reality so much bigger--a reality that envelopes and pervades every moment, even the darkest moments. In the stillness, little i remembers what it is like for Big I and the night becomes welcome, even peaceful.  With this feelinging, I can say, "if day has to become night, this is a beautiful way."

Poetry Wednesday

For Whatever it says to Whomever reads it...this one's by me:

Look at the water drops on those leaves
Weighing them down after a shower
Sometimes I feel like those leaves
All drenched and heavy
Longing for an early Fall
To sweep in
And set me loose

Look at the water drops on those leaves
Each a glint of brightness in the sun’s path
Sometimes I feel like those leaves
Lifted by the wind
Loving all these complicated
Refracted
Bits of light

And it makes me tired—
all this holding on
And letting go—
All this loving and loosing.

R.A. Wittum

 
Poetry Wednesday

Poetry Wednesday: Pruning

It won't be long

before a storm will prune

what is ready to let go.

It will be clean and swift

Be your own storm

~

gunilla norris

~

A Mystic Garden

Poetry Wednesday

Poetry Wednesday: the kindred

Yes, it's Friday, but this poem has been simmering in my heart this week to share for Poetry Wednesday. So, here is my late offering.

 Love is a mystery...something that is difficult to put into words. A connection between two souls...deeper than any temporal appearances, labels or stories we live in this earthly existence.  I've felt this connection in my life...a kinship of souls that is so moving that it's undeniable.  A late night conversation with the Man I Love left me with this sense. I'm thankful to have loved and been loved in this way...My life has been made rich by the presence of kindred souls in whom the Beloved One has pitched his tent.

Thank you Hafiz...

The Woman I Love

Because the Woman I love lives
Inside of you,

I lean as close to your body with my words
As I can--

And I think of you all the time, dear pilgrim.

Because the One I love goes with you
Wherever you go,
Hafiz will always be near.

If you sat before me, wayfarer,
With your aura bright from your many
Charms,

My lips could resist rushing to you and needing
To befriend your blushed cheek,

But my eyes can no longer hide
The  wonderous fact of who
You Really are.

The Beautiful One whom I adore
Has pitched His royal tent inside of you,

So I will always lean my heart
As close to your soul
As I can.

~Hafiz~
Translated by Daniel Ladinsky, The Subject Tonight is Love

Enjoy more poetry from Poetry Wednesday

Poetry Wednesday: Listening...

I've been busy lately; moving, rushing, doing. My mind, too; racing, contemplating, creating. But stillness has been illusive...

Listening

Somehow, I must sit to listen.
Standing implies the readiness for action,
for the executing of the will.
To hear You I must sit down and calm down.

The magpie mind chatters.
It doesn't know about stopping.
How helpless I feel in its automatic firing,
its busy babbling. It is impossible to hear You
as long as I am full of sound.
I turn this helpless prayer toward You.
Help me to be quiet, to sit here
...slowly unknowing everything,
becoming dark, becoming yielding...
just sitting.

Here, without will, let me become willing.
Here, without concepts, help me to know.
Here, without doing, turn me toward usefulness.
Let my heart find its ears in You.
Let the countless cells of my body
open in order to listen,
Let my being come into Your presence
and experience the sound of Your light.
~Gunilla Norris~

Poetry Wednesday

Every Luminous Movement

Here's the deal--a few weeks ago, I wrote my last post on A Path to My Woods and tossed it up on Facebook with this poem from Hafiz:

Every Moment

"I rarely let the word 'No' escape
from my mouth

Because it is so plain to my soul

That God has shouted 'Yes!, Yes!, Yes!'
To every luminous movement in Existence.

~Hafiz (trans. by Daniel Ladinsky, I Heard God Laughing)


I hit the submit button with a bit of hesitation because this is such a bold and outlandish statement. The word 'no' escapes my lips daily. I'm the mother of four young children. How in the world could Hafiz be so blind? There are a bijillion things to say 'no' to in the world; a bizillion gut-wrenching injustices to fight against every day. So what was up with Hafiz? Was he blind to the craziness? Did he, as my friend replied in jest, ever have a two year old?

This was my response (more for myself than for her): "I'm certain he did. This poem was most definitely written in a more ecstatic moment when even the exploits of two-year-olds are seen as an opportunity for the growth of humankind. Hmmn. Does that sound crazy? Kind of, but that is Hafiz. There is horrific evil in the world far outweighing 'terrible-twos', and yet, to see a the broader picture is to embrace the hunger and tragedy to be weighed with generosity and compassion. Have we reached a place of wholeness, no. But can I say "yes" to the beautiful process engulfed in Divine presence, Yes! :)"

I've had moments like these, moments when the whole of existence seemed to fill me up with awareness of the Ever-Present. Knock me off my feet if I haven't had that same experience standing by a gushing river, eyes lifted towards the trees, as I have standing at a sink of dirty dishes, hands soaked in sudsy water. God's Spirit is not something for us to 'usher in' with our praises, not something for us to invite. God's Spirit IS. This is what Hafiz recognized.

It's one thing to say "Yes, Yes, Yes" to a sink full of dishes or a pile of dirty laundry. It's an entirely different thing to "shout 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' to every luminous movement in existence." How can the All-Knowing shout 'Yes!' when we can see very clearly so much to say 'no' to? Does this mean we sit back blissfully accepting all that is with no response? Well, no.

I love this quote by former UN secretary-general--and mystic--Dag Hammarskjold: "For all that has been, thanks. For all that will be, yes". Hammarskjold was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize post-humanously. On a life-time scale, his response to 'yes and thank you' was a luminous movement towards peace. On an eternal scale--every ounce of light to every ounce of darkness--we say yes, thank you.

The human experience is plagued with hunger and horror and tears upon tears. And God shouts, 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' to the luminous imperfect longing and 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' to the luminous movement of grace and compassion offered in return. And the angels in heaven whisper, "grow, grow."And we do.

Just-Before-Spring Seasons

February. For the past few years of my life, February has been a month of impending dread. A dark, cold, long month; a month doomed by my psyche as lonely; an end of winter, how-will-I- ever-survive-until-Spring month. February. I could go into a myriad of reasons of how February has deserved this dismal relegation in my eyes, but we all have our seasons and I have grown to believe that even Februaries are sometimes needful and healing to the growing soul. So this quiet, painful Just Before Spring is my February--the one I've embraced.

Gunilla Norris puts it so beautifully in her book, Mystic Garden: "Everything is dormant in the cold. My spirit, too is spilled and scattered. I seem to be at a standstill...Benumbed, we may wonder if perhaps it is in quietude, in seeming deep freeze, that God enters our depth without interference? Below the ever-tracking mind, can we sense, trust, or feel the soul being led? Could we learn to simply accept this, to allow it?"

Now I'm searching for those redeemable moments:

I had an amazing opportunity during February to visit my family in Kansas--my family a thousand miles away. It was a once in a lifetime surprise visit that I will never forget. I came back from that trip haunted by a deliciously heart-rending word--submerged--and picturing a dear one's hands lifted, one slightly more elevated--two uneven plains of existence; to me a sudden sadness, a quick word of correction, of wall-raising. But then a realization that every instance in life has a bit of truth to offer--a lesson to level. And my soul said, 'yes'.

I layed in my bed that night picturing myself perched in the lower hand; my mind bucked at the thought and pushed it away, not wanting to accept this perception. But my soul said 'yes' to the moment; to the element of truth. And when I placed myself in the lifted hand, I realized that I was the one standing at the edge of a cliff, gazing sometimes at the water below, but mostly distracted by the whirlwind around me.

How do we submerge ourselves in Spirit? How do we live in that Divine awareness? I know the truth is simple. The practice can be elusive. This is why I come back to these four lines by Gunilla Norris in her book, Being Home:

First thought--as in 'first light'--

let me be aware that I waken in You

Before I even think that I am in my bed,

let me think that I am in You.

Presence and Awareness--knowing simply that the Divine is not barred from the cliffs we stand on, not confined to the water below, but permeates all. It is my awareness that becomes dull, distracted by life rather than submerged in Life. Recognizing Divine Presence in every moment, every simple daily act--this is the choice to be submerged in a presence we can never escape.

LIFE

Life is really an amazing, crazy, outrageously painful and contagiously thrilling adventure. I admit it, some days I don't see it like this. Some days all I see is the laundry and dishes and caked on yogurt I'm scrubbing off the dining room table. But today, I see it. The dreamer in me whispers in my ear, "dream big." The tired mother in me says, "Straighten the pile of little shoes by the front door and make sure you shower today!" The lover in me says, "notice." and "be." And they are all parts of my "me-ness" trying to burst out in to life and mesh in to one, trying to figure out how this all fits together and what it means.

Some days, I feel confused about it all, pulled in competing directions, but other days, when the lover wins out, my arms seem to stretch out broad enough to contain it all. And it all makes sense and fulfills and enriches and points me to the reason... Just to live, to feel, to be present, to be touched by the lives of others and hopefully in some way to offer something in return...

Absolutely Clear

Today I've been mourning my weakness, a bit sad that I don't aways live up to the awake-ness that I pursue in life. I know weakness in itself is an avenue of spiritual growth, but sometimes it's hard to rise above when we feel deflated.

Then I read this, among other of my favorites poems, and found myself back home, so filled up and reminded. This is just what I need.

Absolutely Clear

Don't surrender your loneliness
So quickly.
Let it cut more deep.

Let it ferment and season you
As few human
Or even divine ingredients can.

Something missing in my heart tonight
Has made my eyes so soft
My voice
So tender,

My need of God
Absolutely
Clear.

~Hafiz
(trans. by Daniel Landinsky)

Authenticity

Occasionally, I free write to "get it all out there." This may not be the most well-written post but it's genuine:

Authentic. The word reverberates, crashes into my shielded existence, this story that I portray as me. Authenticity sets you apart from the masked ones and yet transforms you into a reflection of what they all seem to know is their very self.

Authenticity is scary; it's sometimes painful. Open me up, make me a the still stream reflecting tree tops and sky. Break me apart, and let the pain and suffering, joy and passion pour out in puddles around our feet until someone whispers a knowing, 'yes.' Write what you know, brave soul.Explore your inner-world and draw it out into words. Coax it from hiding and fear into the glaring sun. Writers cannot be fearful creatures. We must learn to separate our true selves from the storyline so we can expose depths without trepidation.

The real truth is in the transformative possibilities of those experiences, how they change us and those around us, how they make us grow or fall. The story ebbs, only feeling endures...what surrounds us, overwhelms us, creates us. We are left standing, one outstretched arm in grasping, another withdrawn, door ajar, insides gapingly exposed. Finally, there is no difference in craving or aversion, only love remains, thrusting us forward into the arms of Other, into heart of Same.

Art
Creativity
Spirit
Love
Water
Compassion
Laughter
Trees
Silence
Pain
Thank you
Stillness
Breath
Joy
Path
Yes.

Winter and Waiting

The ground is frozen where I live, covered with a snowy blanket. It's a restful time, a peaceful season. My garden is sleeping. Trees, sprouting with new growth in the Spring, now stand dormant against the harshness of Winter. They somehow seem vulnerable in their bareness. Some types of trees have developed such a strong need for winter dormancy that if they are maintained in an artificial sunny season, perpetually growing, they will suffer from the lack of rest and almost certainly die after a a couple of years.

Could it be that we need these dormant times, too? A time to be still, rooted in the deep, frozen soil? This is the season of peace. The garden is still also, no blooms or color. In the ground, slumbering seeds await the sun's warmth to soften their beds and Spring rains to awaken them from their sleep. But first, the Winter, the Wait.

Are we willing to wait, to let our spirits be still?

Thankful Thursday: Remembering

Today I'm thankful for memory...the ability to look back over my shoulder and say "Ohhh...now I get it." True, some memories would seem to be better forgotten, but I can't ultimately feel anything stronger than thankfulness. Why? Because I've chosen the path of listening...learning from what life experiences have to teach me. So when tinges of remorse or humiliation attempt to dampen certain memories from my past, I lift my head again and listen, and remember the joy of growing in spirit.

Like a Hungry Begger

Refuse to fall down.
If you cannot refuse to fall down,
refuse to stay down.
If you cannot refuse to stay down
lift your heart toward heaven
and like a hungry beggar,
ask that it be filled
and it will be filled.
You may be pushed down.
You may be kept from rising,
But no one can keep you from lifting
your heart toward heaven--only you.
It is in the middle of misery that
so much becomes clear.
The one who says nothing good came of this,
is not yet listening.

~Clarissa Pinkola Estes~

A Lakota Prayer

Oh, Great Spirit,

whose voice I hear in the winds
and whose breath gives life to all the world, hear me.
I am small and weak
I need your strength and wisdom.

Let me walk in beauty and make my eyes
ever behold the red and purple sunset.
Make my hands respect the things you have made
and my ears sharp to hear your voice.
Make me wise so that I may understand
the things you have taught my people.
Let me learn the lessons you have hidden
in every leaf and rock.

I seek strength, not to be superior to my brother,
but to fight my greatest enemy--myself.
Make me always ready to come to you
with clean hands and straight eyes,
so when life fades, as the fading sunset,
my spirit will come to you
without shame.

American Indian
Lakota
Chief Yellow Lark
1887

Words: Inspiration

Just the sound of the word alone stirs up an elusive excitement and longing all at once. The past 6-months for me have been so wrapped up in this idea, gasping for that breath...to be inspired. The irony is wading through a deluge and complaining of thirst. Inspiration is found not in searching but in waking up.

17 Inspiring Words

At the beginning of the month I wrote a list of 17 words. My hope was to visit these words in the month of November during my Nablomopo month of posts. It would not be surprising if all of these words, being regulars to my vocabulary, have showed up in the past 20 days, but making an intention to write posts inspired by each word seems like a fabulous idea!

If you haven't visited My Woods in a while, make sure to go read why I'm thankful for my recent post deficit in the Nablomopo 30 posts in 30 days challenge. Then come back and check up on the word posts...hmmn....word posts. That is a great topic idea for a word-lovers and artist-type people.

Soul Dusting

Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.

~Berthold Auerbach

My guitar sits dusty on a stand in the corner most of the time. Years ago, I used to play it everyday. Nothing moves or soothes the soul like music.

Last night I happened to be reading with my little girls, weary from a long, emotional day, when I noticed my guitar in the corner. I was feeling a need all day...a need for something. That was it. So, the girls and I made some music, "Rejoice in the Lord always and again I say rejoice."

Brushing the dust off that instrument was like a soul dusting.

That's the good stuff.

More about story...and some of mine

As I get closer to people I'm less inclined to jump to simple conclusions about their life and struggles (or how I might fix them). As the "armchair adviser" in me recedes, compassion, sadness and hope grow. As one of my mentors told me, "When you really get to know another person, sometimes all you'll want to do is weep."

Transparency fosters this continual revelation. And the more open another person is with me, the more clearly I see the truth of Plato's saying, "Be kind to everyone you meet, for everyone is waging a terrible internal battle."

~Jenny Schroedel

I concocted a soymilk eggnog latte this morning, slightly sceptical about how it would turn out. Not bad, though...very sippable. I added just a dash of cinnamon and a few drops of vanilla. Viola! Me, the barista.

Leaving breakfast dishes scattered on the table, I sat down at my computer to start writing, when a full 3D picture of my kitchen sink flashed into my brain, obscuring every other thought. So to the kitchen I flew, mindlessly arranging dirty dishes in a basin of suds and cascading water. Suddenly awareness returned. I blinked my eyes, dazed, hands dripping.

This is about being real, I think to myself. Another authentic moment...the kind that brings you back to the storyline. Mindless dashes are not uncommon in my world, but I've had 34 years now to examine those interesting quirks...not quite so many in higher level thinking.

(I am reminded of this and this and this. )

Here's something real:

When I was younger, I would have instances when disturbing scenarios would repeat over and over in my mind. One common scene would be me getting into a car and shutting the door on my leg. I would try frantically again and again to get that leg in before the door shut. It felt overwhelming, impossible. Finally, with all my brainpower, I would force the leg in and slam the door shut. Sometimes, I felt physically tired from the stress these type of episodes would cause. And, honestly, it was pretty disturbing. I thought I was weird and probably the only person to have this type of brain. High stress seemed to trigger moments like this and make them more intense.

When I felt extra stressed, I would start blinking. Sometimes my eyes would feel stuck closed. I had to work to get them open. As I got older, I would bargain with myself. Say, if I didn't get the silverware put away in the drawer just right, I would have to stab myself with one of the knives. Sounds crazy, I know. I felt a little fearful putting the utensils away, but I never followed through on those sorts of bargains. They were just there, reflecting the inner-struggle. The scenarios changed as I got older, but were always most intense in times of stress or emotional upheaval.

Now I know that I'm not crazy, just a bit obsessive...and knowing is half the battle. I can laugh at my mind's tendancy to need a tidied dorm-room in college before I could start studying.I can laugh at having to make sure the dishes are done before I blog. I can also say to myself, "leave them," and walk away. And that is an accomplishment that brings me peace. My leg no longer gets stuck in the door either. The occasional weird thought is allowed to pass through and move along without having to be "fixed."

A story that once brought me deep pain and frustration now only leaves a tinge of bittersweet. Why? Because this is a little girl I know, whom I have found deep compassion and love for...a little girl who has grown into me. And that makes me smile.

But it's only part of the story and the story is just that...a story....something to learn from, cry, laugh and grow through.

what one can be...

A musician must make music,
an artist must paint,
a poet must write,
if he is to be ultimately at peace with himself.
What one can be,
one must be.
~Abraham Maslow~

Defining Moments

There came a moment in the middle of the song
when he suddenly felt every heartbeat in the room
& after that he never forgot
he was part of something much bigger.
~Brian Andreas, Trusting Soul

Have you ever had a defining moment...one that effected you so deeply that your whole perspective and way of experiencing the world was turned upside down?

I'm thinking about this question today.

My Story

She stood at the sink so long that her hands were silky smooth, just as Palmolive promised. But the river's current had washed the spoons away. Come with me said the current. And she did.
~R

The Story People