6.7.14 We find ourselves in that very same place we noticed others in, so long ago.

Somehow we were catapulted out of the mosquito-defying coooolll days, and nights - letting the Dante pup  avoid the nightly fleeing from the bedroom as I leapt about smashing them before sleep- to a warm day today, ominous heavy violet and grey clouds overhead, topped by sheer white mountainous clouds with bright sunlight, somewhere far above.


This evening I drove the dogs down the range, into town, much the way country people drive Halloween kids into neighborhoods, only we seek level grown devoid of ,once again , hundreds of desperate mosquitoes.

Shiva, at 16 1/2, is a bit more up for car rides, as I've caught up once again with back vertebrae and discs and sciatica. She delights, then, in standing unsteadily upon the front seat, her window all the way down, as I hold her firmly, and she hungrily takes in the breeze.









We wander where she wishes, past library and senior center-as the small Alpha pees upon every peed upon spot ever, digging up the grass after each time, feeling her bossy old oats.


Dante unhappily is made to wait in the car, letting the old queen go first. And when it's finally his turn, it's work work work, as I imagine he's edging toward a not tall but filled out 80 lbs, powerful and young, thus the work.
We pass by walkers and whole families relishing the rail trail bike routes- one mom on a tandem with her kid, behind, squealing with happiness, as they pedal furiously, broad smiles across their faces.
One young man parks and heads toward a private elder care program, as the farmlands lay , visible, in every direction , bustling with activity and hard work, despite the fact that it's approaching 8pm. But, what do we non- farmers know ?









The broad fields for the most part are planted; the plastic unfurled between rows-the intermittent rain perfect for what all growing things prefer most.
There are huge tents erected on town commons and cars crowded at homes , as we slowly make our way back home, the pup with his head out the back window , the world racing by.





Back home, the mosquitoes have been given a reprieve by the warmer day, and rush to greet us as we hustle back inside.
The Bluebirds are quietly nestled into their birdhouse ,hung upon the clothesline. The Sparrows too are to bed, in their brown birdhouse, and even the newly hatched Phoebes are drowsy, allowing the parents a break in frantic feeding rites.




All the pampered seedlings are rising up, in the new wildflower garden, the neglected herb garden, or in the small pots- stretching their small new selves up toward the glowering skies.
I ready myself for a late dinner , cats and dogs fed and supplements for various conditions given.




And as I imagine what everyone is doing at this moment -in their days, their homes...I imagine my beloved in Bologna, investigating history and politics and the wonderful old lefty cooperatives there, in his last lap before returning home.






I suddenly remember a newspaper column I would read weekly in the Greenfield paper.
I was 36, with a child, a baby, and pregnant, having left my job to care for my sick small one , and sick father-in-law.
In the midst of sleepless nights and caring for young and old - days, I would read, fascinated, this column by this woman most probably In her 70's, so 10 years my elder, now.







Oh, she would go on in this lyrical voice, about wildlife and the town and recent history and nature and her garden, and thoughts about life.
Each time I ferreted out that column, I was transfixed. Soothed. Brought into her quiet, small, soothing world of simply that which she encountered-and no more.






Even then, with no such thing as internet a or cell phones or iPads or videos or video games , or even cable, what she wrote was the antithesis of so much we, still, knew of, in the world .
Those were not the days of shocking live coverage of human beings trying to outrun tsunamis, while we the WORLD looked on, OR the many plights and genosides across the globe, our own country's secret tragic hobbies against other humans , or even school shootings, 'going postal' (!!!! It's a term!) or 9/11.




The memory makes it all the more tender ... That time has passed, calmed. Sometimes this happens .
Sometimes if we are lucky, and if need be, jobs lessen- days and lives slowly become smaller and quieter , and somehow we find ourselves in that very same place we noticed others in, so long ago.

6.7.14 Some Innate Depth

     I wonder how many of us are struck, as small ones, at being here. At the very beginnings of watching stars. Watching leaves unfurl in springtime. Watching wounds on our knees heal. Watching the sun in the day, sharing skies with a pale slip of a Moon, lingering there.
     I always have felt this stretch toward some kind of all-ness. Since I can remember. We probably are all kinds of flavors of humans, and are pulled in various ways, and this is probably one of them.
     So I have always been struck by the 'concept' of the earth, and my inability to actually 'feel' it and 'get ' it..beyond a concept. Same with the depth of our oceans. The projectory of a shooting star. Same with the Native Peoples who lived in the field next door, until the 1600's and 'Euro-intelligent-life' came smashing along. Because there is the 'knowing' information, and then there is the awareness, inside of you, of that self same thing.
     I  gaze at the sky outside, in between mosquito events. I gaze at photographs of The Milky Way, leaning into some awareness of its being more real than a photograph on a computer or a book or a page or a memory of a photograph in my mind. 
      As I stand in the cool night air, jumping about, eluding mosquito bites, sensing inside of me some innate depth of feeling for all that is.

6.7.14 Day After Night; Season After Year

   A beautiful early summer afternoon on the river-as I walk along the elegant river side. The pale early June breeze, The shining mud riverbanks somehow revealed, despite recent intermittent rains. The very same ancient powerful waters. The same age-old path of all snows from winter; and all the rains from on high - slowly making their way down, through mountains and hills- ravines pouring rivulets into tributaries and outwaters.                                                       Day after night. Season after year. A tireless rushing through streams and creeks, past water-worn stones , as the flow keeps turning and twisting, until finally it surpasses all obstacles, and empties into this river.
And on this day , like any other, you will find the waters roiled, plunging past- the deepest slate blue.
     One more moment . This particular land; this particular planet. 

6.3.14 Walking the river, I anticipate an angelic chorus, somehow

6.5.14 Hi-tailed It Out Of There

Dante , a now 14 month old Shepherd, and you know who

 just went for a run up the mountain; 

and promptly treed some poor bear. 

Hi-tailed it out of there 

before the little boy noticed

 a thing.

^.6.14 Even When Our Lives Are Devoid...

Even when our lives are devoid of present hunger,
 of present danger,
 of great pain or great isolation,
 life is still tough stuff. 

Possibly ,our question is- 
Can we grow the strength and determination and faith and ability 
to show up , day after day,
 in our relationship, 
 in our friendships , 
in our families, 
in our work and neighborhoods , 
 and for our own selves? 

It takes a lot of time and patience- 
all that growing. 
It seems impossible at times. 

But we are in such remarkable company, 
from so many species , 
for so long. 

From that, I derive hope and determination.

6.5.14 Love Renders Unto Us

   

Love renders unto us such a bounty of experience. Within family. Lasting friendship . Oceans. Wildlife. Courageous others, human and animal and living beings alike. Those so difficult to know, with their terribly brambled ways. Beloveds. 

And acquiesced depth brings with its stride it's consequent vulnerability. Of caring. Of being touched by our experience. And changed.

Love makes a shambles of imagined walls of protection - of anything we pretend we have, hiding away; leaving us only with our own open true hearts.
And we sit with love. Love of the world. Of a neighborhood. Of a memory. Of individuals once known or those soon to be gone.

We sit , and the opening simply continues ; an unending wave, true unto itself, without regard to fear or uncertainty- or that scampering visitor, desertion.

Love fills us and murmurs one true song, whose capacity is to bring us to our knees. It reveals it's consciousness of this very moment-now-as the place to BE.

As, yes, a loved one worsens. As a sea is filling with radiation. As birds soar and play in updrafts. As another summer rolls on in. As we small beings, human and other, continue living our small precious moment , being here.

6.4.14 In those days, everyone was a nudist and no one thought twice.

     When I was 18, like many of us , I deserted my end of first semester at college, where all anyone did was smoke pot and sit and stare- and we decamped to New Mexico, after a whirlwind tour of the US, much like ' Make Way for Duckings', searching for a new better home , far from family and old habits.
     We came upon New Mexico, Albuquerque, where Jon's friend Jaime Leonard had moved, and chose that over too-cool Boulder, and many other places, moving in with him and his soon-to-be-pregnant girlfriend . It was a gilded land in those heady days, the world there full of anti-war passion and belief in integrity and honesty .
     We lived eventually in a dusty, poor Barrio, while he worked at a K-mart type place and I waited tables, he played his rented piano , fell in love  with the 12 string Yamaha I have to this day and raised my children on, and we spent time on any 100• day at the very top of The Sandia Mountains, freezing cold, a reclined dragon affording you a VIEW of desert and Mesas for miles around .
     A friend from school  used to come visit us, while she lived over the hill in Prescott, AZ. One thought nothing of driving 8 hours to AZ or CO or LA or even Mexico, on a whim, everyone packed in the car, 8 track of Mitchell or Santana blazing. All cars went 100 mph, and someone always knew an excellent restaurant south of the border where the spiced food was so good you kept shoveling it in, while your eyes streamed with the heat.
     We had two favorites hot springs. One was on a Native American Reservation, in a cement pool, walls and no ceiling- where you would go at night, and lay with the stars, as a thick mist swirled everywhere, and strangers moved slowly by.
     The second we drove 1 1/2 hrs , parked, and hiked maybe a mile up into the mountains where there was a small pond ( kitchen floor size ) with a goldfish living in it... Water cooler farther away. but warmer near the source. Beneath pines . So peaceful. I can smell the pungent forest as I write.
     In those days, everyone was a nudist and no one thought twice.

6.2.14 Once Again Our Insides Are Peaceful

     We have emotional responses while just going about living our lives.
     If we do our best to disavow them....If we avoid giving them a moment of airtime....If we put them in little containers, and wrap them up them or lock them away...,
     If they're uncomfortable or devastating , we simply want to pretend they're not there.
     It kind of makes sense . Like avoiding touching a hot stove .
     Only, a difficult emotional response is akin to a burn we've already gotten- that will feel so much better, incur less damage , and heal faster and more completely- if we soak it a good hour, on and off, in the ice water that can suck the heat out-and then soak it, sopping wet, in aloe gel for 6 or 12 hours.
When we shy away from emotional responses - instead of recognizing and responding to them, like a sudden burn , they simply build up.
     They build up and whether they identify themselves as they emerge, or not, emerge they do.
Onto our bodies. Driving our blood pressure. Lowering our immunity. Tightening our necks and fostering pain and headache , migraine and poor brain circulation.
     Psychosomatic does not mean you are imagining it. Psychosomatic means your psyche us kicking the butt of your somatics -your body and how it feels and functions.
     Our dreams try to inform us. Depression can increase , as well as waking suddenly in the night, without a thought in our minds .
     How many clients do I talk with about how silent and WASPY and polite and unyielding anxiety can appear? How many times do clients take GABA ( thoughts that go round and round ) Theanine , or 5htp, and find that their body's 'shock absorbers ' are suddenly making the bumps along the road practically imperceptible -because they are taking things that are increasing the production of brain chemicals that buffer us from stressful chemical responses.
     How often do people try out sitting out ( or with this mosquito weather, in) and watching the trees blow in the wind, letting each and every thought come on up- be felt-and allowed to pass on by?
How often do they begin to sleep through the night, fall asleep with more ease? Have more energy , looser shoulders, and a nice blood supply to the brain ( always helpful).
     So often we have this odd impulse to BE convenient. To avoid needing anything. To 'put a good face on it'.
     Instead, it's really possible to trade, just for one minute. Or five.
     "Want to do five minutes?" You say as you stroll with a friend, greet a neighbor or partner at the end if a day.
     They go... and talk about their carburetor or tight shoes or pissy co- worker, and you listen. That 's all. You don't try to fix it, or remember it for later.
     They may talk about how much pain their shoulder is in. Or how confused they are about their kid. It only works when you simply listen , and listen well. And when they're done, it's your turn.
     The only rule besides not going over - is to avoid contentious or triggering topics. So that it's possible for it to work. To continue being a resource for each other .
     So often afterwards, you find yourself feeling so differently. Just because you shared how you felt, and someone listened well.
     Our emotional health is so similar to the health of our organs and systems . Like a vibrant pond, with a great supply of incoming fresh clean water, and an outgoing flow of waste, the ecosystem thrives.
All that 'finding the silver lining' and 'going with the flow'? That 's what naturally happens, after we give ourselves a chance to sit with anxiety, fear, resentment, anger, feelings of inadequacy, dread or bitterness.
     Because after feeling those things , without boxing them up or censoring them, they deflate and pass on by; and once again, our insides are peaceful, even with the challenges of our day to day lives.

6.1.14 And Yet Again, Magic Happens.

5.31.14 It's A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood