Quote For The Day

“Translation is the art of erasing oneself in order to speak in another’s voice.”

David Cole, professor, author, and correspondent (b. 1958)

Quote For The Day

“Our heads are round so that thoughts can change direction.”
Francis Picabia, painter and poet (1879-1953)

“Edge Of Seasons”

Sunny Sunday
Beach breezes blowing coolness off the Atlantic
New roses, pink and petals fluttering
Riotous red Cardinals brightening georgeousness of greens hedges and tree leaves;
Trilling exciting new summer songs
People parading with surfboards under wetsuited arms
Bicyclers pedaling by; leaving trails of sunshine smiles as they speed along
Strollers taking in the sun on a pleasant constitutional
Babies happily babbling to the tune of perambulation
Neighborhood dogs calling bow wow hellos to each other
Dining al fresco, a mid day highlight
Enjoyment afoot

And then they roll in, sweeping sun from view
At once, in a moment’s time span, it is grey and misty
And all cools.
Goodbye May
Hello June

Nap time is nigh

Quote For The Day

“We are all wanderers in the desert; at heart, searching for the oasis of companions in kindness.”

Florence Ondré

“E.T. Phone Home”

It’s one of those days today.
Fuzzy brained and feeling covered with a big blanket of velour, I know I’m awake yet half of me is asleep somewhere in the cosmos..
What is in retrograde today?
No matter how well I’ve worded or worked, whatever is done winds up having to be redone.
A red sock finds it’s way into a load of carefully sorted whites; buttons pushed to answer phones disconnect instead; in the best of intentions of recycling, checks wind up in the shredder with the envelopes in which they came and books with intriguing titles are begun which seem to have a familiar ring as you delve into the second or third chapter only to find yourself realizing, “My God. I’ve read this one already!”
Yes. Today was one of those days.
An email sent to me by my friend, Carol, made me think enough to want to share with others. 
So, I cut, pasted, eliminated the naggy part at the bottom which usually attempts to guilt you into sending to ‘10 of your best friends’ and threatens with some kind of negative reprisals from the Gods of Bad Luck if you don’t. Then I added a personal note, a quote of my own and, after making sure it was all in order, sent with Light & Love.
Minutes later, I get a reply from my friend, Ben, thanking me for the lovely thoughts and discreetly pointing out a small error in my own quote. “I think you meant to type it differently… not sure,” writes he ever so lovingly giving me a heads up. He knows I’ll go crazy over the mistake if left uncorrected.
I’m a stickler for spelling and live in fear of looking like an uneducated schmuck for ‘putting i before e after c,’ leaving out any of what should be double letters or writing ‘there’ when i mean ‘their.’ 
You get the picture. 
Perfectionism is one of my challenges in many things and the rules in English class still ring in my head.
Yet, as diligent as I may try to be, electronic components of energy zip in and zap my best efforts, sending out half words crunched together, missing first letters of words and a nice word picture of me as either lunatic, space cadet or unintelligent.
“A writer?” I can hear people whisper in my head full of critiques. “Is she delusional?” 
‘Tsk tsks’ slip across the ethernet and I cringe thinking, “I can’t believe I just sent that out! Yeah, great. Nice to be quoted as the poet who can’t spell…or spellcheck!”
I can’t believe that my perfectly worded AND SPELLED missive wound up with a glaring word crunch- in red no less-size 20 type!
What is left to do?
Of course. Out goes the follow up e in which I edit the quote, spell the offending word correctly and fix the wordbotch glitch.
And then thank AOL once again for an oops which gave me yet another opportunity to grow in humility, let go of perfection and practice of patience with the wonderfully flawed process of being human…in an electronic age.

Quote For The Day

‘Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.”

James M. Barrie

Quote For The Day

“Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.”
Kahlil Gibran

Day In Haiku

Wild fear ebbs and flows
Today is time in between
Where there’s breathing room.

Quote For The Day

“Tears soften human edges.”

Florence Ondré

Branching Out

It is said that we are all one; a part of one another; unique, individual yet the same; like limbs of a tree.

Pondering this thought over the years has taken many twists and turns as with each life experience, I’ve faced gnarls and windbends, whorls and snapping breaks of the branches of my own tree.

It never ceases to amaze me how varied human leaves look, sound, act, react or cease in the storms that this tree of life weathers.

Bending in sweetness to birdsong as a winged one alights in softness on a sturdy shoulder; swinging low with bountiful harvest of luscious ripening of the seasons, holding fast in the face of fierce storms, arms held akimbo reaching for light in the darkness and growing into fantastical shapes with aching, arching of years of survival in all life’s gales and gasps show the simplicity and intricacy of patterning on which one comes to depend for framework. A how-the-world-should-look-and-be in what is named normalcy.

Yet where one might suspect sapling flexibility there may arise oaken solidity unbending; fertile fruit bearing females may fail, male monoliths may moss, and where willows weeping-wend low they may wildly wail warning and warring while weathering the world.

How can it be that if we are all indeed one, there is such diversity, intensity and perversity on the tree of life?

One is tempted to be lulled into a false sense of illusion that leads to expectations of drops of kindness falling gently on leaves being met with kindness of receiving; joy shining in sunshine returning bright, reflective joy; compassion greeted green with whispering breezes empathetically enfolding and satin sadness shaded by the underside of understanding of silver soft leaves.

It is not always so, this vision of how things which seem to have always been will always be.

Therefore questions crop up as behaviors metamorphosis in conditions of global warming, economic explosions and scorched earth wars wreak havoc on the roots of our foresty home. 

Chaos of color collapses into challenge to change beyond accustomed seasonal sensations.

Where green at its worst, was envy, it is now greed. Riotous Autumnal ruby reds are flames of fury; buttery yellows of golden years turn into fears for future and burnt browns and siennas represent shades of balefulness.

How can our roots hold fast while limbs have been arched in agony, twisted beyond recognition and broken in breach of faith while the trunk of our tree of life is interminably tested?

Can we, arms of this essential elm, embrace each other and weave together a tapestry of stronger support so that we all may live long and well enough to see other bebranched beeches benefit; palms together play; willows whisper wonder and gingkos give the gold of memory for hickory heirs yet to spring forth?

Will we want to wake up enough to branch out in saner directions; to bring our best to the borrowed time in which we’ find our firred and furrowed forest and are we willing to look deeply inside the bark of ourselves to become aware of and acknowledge our shortcomings and see the lunatic in limbs gone gaga?

Can we manifest peace and perfection without courage for a good look at our family tree and, in the middle of madness all around us, when found to be outrageously out of control; whacked out in our own wilder-ness, can we honestly own our own behavior, see our common roots in “out of my tree’ behaviors and answer, without shame or blame, with perhaps a shower of light, the tree trimming question, “From what branch of the Crazy Tree did you fall?”

Quote For The Day

“”Now more than ever the receptors are open for those who couldn’t hear it before. So fill the air with love as you, I know, always have.”

Ed Barisano

Cry Me A River

“When life is challenging and I’ve girded my loins for whatever hard times, words, emotions or actions may come, the cells of my body clench together like little fists making up stones for my walls of defense for survival.

This is me trying to be stoic, strong, courageous in the face of trial, turmoil and turbulent times.  Mostly it’s a protection mechanism that kicks in the minute shock, unexpected change or unpleasantness hits.

Survival in the face of loss; sturdiness of resolve to weather the storm and dredging up the wherewithal to stand the onslaught of the tiger is still in my being from prehistoric times.  It’s in the genes.  It’s the flight or fight syndrome in response to stress which consumes brain power, pulls my shoulders up into tuck position under both ears and sets me up for, at the very least, the need for a chiropractic adjustment.

Emotions get held in behind a wall of trying to hold up.  Heart clenches and bones ache with the effort.  God only know what the other vital organs are going through.  I’m thinking the expressions, ‘hardening of the arteries,’ ‘hard hearted’ and  ’hard of hearing’ aren’t being tossed around like salad for nothing.

When I’m so busy toughening up for whatever hard moments seem set to attack, I have noticed that my heart hurts, anger covers hurt and my listening skills decrease in width and depth to the height of crisis.  

For most of my life, the one thing I’ve tried not to do in this arena is cry.

Upon feeling myself about to leak at the eyeballs, weak, vulnerable and loser are words that come quickly to mind.  And then  the orbital sockets strain with pain of  fluid retention and girding begins.

Recently a good friend shared with me that she also worked her whole life to not cry.  Now she can rarely accomplish this human feat of body and emotion when she know it might be helpful.  She has become invincible; a giant warrior woman in a little granny’s body who takes no crap from anyone and, like me, sometimes has hard words or reactions pop out her sideways to zap those within bruising distance.

She is a stalwart advocate to have by your side in a fight and a bolster for one’s own backbone in adversity.  I’m thinking she was a cave woman to be reckoned with by beasts of the forest and tribe members alike.  

Defenders of the nest, lioness of the pride, and tigress to her cubs are appellations that suit us both-then and now.

I must be getting older or wiser because I want more than that kind of survival now.  I know that when I’ve cried buckets of tears, I come away from the experience feeling easier in my skin, ready for a good nap and with the ability to feel all my feelings and the softness of sheets and pillows to boot.

It is as though I’ve been emptied of burdens too large and heavy to carry and though whatever I face might not have changed, I have.

My eyes may be red rimmed, my sinuses all schnuffly and nose puffed up yet my heart has eased into a calmer beat and breathing reaches all the way down to my lower abdomen easing out every vertebrae in my spine.

So why don’t I do this more often?  Why wait until it’s a flood of gut wrenching proportions that gags me on it’s way out?  How stuck in Neanderthal times am I and when can I choose to come forward in evolution?

When they say, “Old habits die hard,” they weren’t kidding.

I have decided that, though there have been horrific times when not existing in this world sounded momentarily good, I don’t want to ‘die hard.’

So, I’m going to practice becoming aware of when I feel little hurts or fears or challenges arise and allow myself to shed tears.  I’m going to watch sappy emotional movies and cry until I’m not embarrassed to be seen feeling feelings.  I’m going to carry tissues and keep them handy for every tiny touching moment life has to throw at me-good, bad or indifferent.

I don’t want to wait only until the concrete of my facade finally cracks, the damn dam burst and floods the plains of my existence.

I want to ease my soul, heart and tear ducts with rivers, streams and trickles of water down my face.  

Why shouldn’t I live my own quoted words, “Tears soften my edges,” when I know the benefit for body, mind and spirit of that truth?

I feel softer, lighter and saner after a good cry; more in touch with my center and easier in breath and skin.  More oxygen seems to get to my brain and I can focus on the heart of each matter instead of being scared witless behind a facade of the illusion of strength.

In truth, I feel good; stronger for the softness and nobody else gets hurt by bumping into my pointy, sharp edges.

When a friend said recently, “I know you’re facing some high hurdles but please, remember your center, dear,”  my response was a childlike wail, “ I can’t find it right now.  I can’t remember what it looks like.”  

“Well I remember it and I know you will find it again too.”

Now that’s a gift.

It enabled me to let go and cry with relief that I was not alone loin girding like a David against Goliath and gratitude for her loving heart.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as my shoulders lowered and my cells expanded with the light of her love and my allowing tears to soften my edges.

There may not have been a solution immediately at hand, yet I felt less bowstring taut.   No arrows flew at me or from me and I could let go of outcomes and simply be.

That basic task can be the most difficult thing to do in the human form.  Be.

For years I’ve been in awe of my daughter in law, who is divinely named, Hope.  The first time we went to the movies together, she cried during the emotionally touching scenes and I, who was feeling the same empathy for the situations and characters portrayed on the big screen, choked back my tears until my eyes and throat hurt from the effort. I blinked furiously, stared at anywhere else in the theatre to distance myself from the overpowering emotions and snatched glances at this beautiful young woman beside me who wept unabashedly and wholly appropriately in sadness and joy; no filter.  I thought, ‘Wow! How does she do that?  She is amazing!’ What a power of example she is.  And her family is equally open, expressive and in touch with feelings.  Her over 6 plus foot tall Dad was a superman of  weeping with joy at the wedding.  How great is that? And her lovely, sensitive Mom tears up in happiness each visit or upon leavetaking because she will miss her daughter when she goes home.

These wonderful human be-ings help me stay in the moment and remind me that crying is also a loving thing; a leaning into the heart which heals and makes whole.

After a good cry, I feel cleansed, more flexible, softer and oddly stronger.

 And, now that I think of it, could that be why they call it ‘a good cry?!’

When I cry, I am present in the now, fully feeling, not shut down or cut off.

I’m able to be connected with others when I’m connected to my self.  It is in the fertile fields, watered with weeping, where I can crack open the seed casing circumstances build and allow myself the softness of Spring, green growing, bending into the earth around me to blossom into the light.

I am soft petal and strong stem; able to wave, bend and stand tall in whatever breeze or gale force comes my way, as long as I keep the life giving and easing water flowing.

So join me in this practice if you will.  Notice where you hold off and where you can receive; where you pull in  and where you ease out.

Then cry when you feel frightened, lonely, hurt, sad, happy, joy filled, weak or strong.

Cry me a river and know that you are not alone in your feelings or challenges.  

Together we can flow to the calming sea of unity and connection, where, in our softened state, solutions can float to us in ways, perhaps different from the way we wish, yet better than we can imagine.

I’m seeing you shine with light glistening on your tears.