In the Four-Fold Way, Spring is about paying attention to what has heart and meaning. This Spring I experienced a series of deaths. Everything fell away but grief and loss and letting go. Clients and teaching gigs disappeared, making way for what was to come. While fully inhabiting mourning, I also wondered what was coming next.
Like water flowing downhill, new life and potency fills any void. But it often doesn't feel fast enough. We feel the drought, the lack, and forget to notice all that makes up the dry creek bed. Being curious about what is here at rock bottom soothes our impatience and strengthens our trust in the cycle of change.
Out of my dad's passing came tremendous creativity, love, and healing. My siblings and I shared live music, original writing, video, and artful crafts in our homemade memorial ceremony. And though the reason for gathering was sad, it was a great family reunion. Lots of laughter and reaffirmation of who we are as good, kind, and loving people. This strengthens me and has been deep soul retrieval.
I've also let go of the story of struggle in building my practice. Allowing more ease and organic growth to arise. It certainly helps to be working with a great coach, clearing limiting beliefs and taking concrete action. And while I don't know what exactly is coming for Wild Imagination, I'm dreaming it up again as a way to restore Beauty and Balance.
All this life arising, right in tune with Summer, the Visionary season and my next post.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Creating His World
I saw a great documentary film Marwencol, which is all about the healing power of one man's imagination and his desire to create something good after something very bad happened. Mark Hogancamp was beaten into a coma, losing much of his memory of his previous life. So he embarks on another life of his own making, filled with art, imagination, and connection.
He's created a 1/6th scale WWII Belgian village called Marwencol in his backyard. He painstakingly turns Barbie dolls and hobbyist figures into alter egos of himself and friends. By doing what pleases him and following the story, as he says, he's fashioned his own form of physical, emotional, mental, spiritual therapy. He sets up and photographs scenes of American GI's, SS men, a Belgian time traveling witch, and myriad cat-fighting women with fabulous outfits and guts enough to save his own alter ego's hide.
Story lines are funny, human, romantic, and yet often turn violent. Justice is always restored. By following his passions, to create and follow the story as it unfolds within him, he both creates and documents the ongoing life of Marwencol.
Check it out! Marwencol will be in theaters and on PBS in the next year.
He's created a 1/6th scale WWII Belgian village called Marwencol in his backyard. He painstakingly turns Barbie dolls and hobbyist figures into alter egos of himself and friends. By doing what pleases him and following the story, as he says, he's fashioned his own form of physical, emotional, mental, spiritual therapy. He sets up and photographs scenes of American GI's, SS men, a Belgian time traveling witch, and myriad cat-fighting women with fabulous outfits and guts enough to save his own alter ego's hide.
Story lines are funny, human, romantic, and yet often turn violent. Justice is always restored. By following his passions, to create and follow the story as it unfolds within him, he both creates and documents the ongoing life of Marwencol.
Check it out! Marwencol will be in theaters and on PBS in the next year.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Plum tree teachings
Ten days ago the 20' plum tree in front of my house did a slow motion dive onto a car and needed to be cut down. This Standing Person (indigenous people call trees Standing People) was a guardian to the house and provided a great home for chattering and preening finches, sparrows, hummingbirds. It also offered partial screening for my bay windowed studio room. Now the house feels a bit naked and exposed to the street.
Initially I was sad, but have accepted that this poor tree was living on borrowed time. It had never been pruned properly, hadn't bloomed well this year, and apparently had serious root problems. I wonder what in my life has not been well-grounded or has been too top heavy to flourish. What wants to be uprooted to make more space in my life?
And as we take our time to replace it with another tree, I'm getting used to more light, more space, and our house being more visible. Perhaps the plum tree bowed out so we can have a bigger perspective and connect our inner worlds and the outer one.
I'm thinking of all this while my 15 year old cat's kidney problems are being diagnosed and my father falls further into Alzheimer's and physical decline. Mostly I am holding a space of curiosity about what new thing comes on the heels of loss. As Winter gives way to Spring, new life unfolds.
How have you experienced loss and its unexpected gifts? Would love to hear. RIP, plum tree. Thanks for everything!
Initially I was sad, but have accepted that this poor tree was living on borrowed time. It had never been pruned properly, hadn't bloomed well this year, and apparently had serious root problems. I wonder what in my life has not been well-grounded or has been too top heavy to flourish. What wants to be uprooted to make more space in my life?
And as we take our time to replace it with another tree, I'm getting used to more light, more space, and our house being more visible. Perhaps the plum tree bowed out so we can have a bigger perspective and connect our inner worlds and the outer one.
I'm thinking of all this while my 15 year old cat's kidney problems are being diagnosed and my father falls further into Alzheimer's and physical decline. Mostly I am holding a space of curiosity about what new thing comes on the heels of loss. As Winter gives way to Spring, new life unfolds.
How have you experienced loss and its unexpected gifts? Would love to hear. RIP, plum tree. Thanks for everything!
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Not Missing Out on Winter
(This bit of fiction came out of timed writing in Laguna Writers workshop this week. Here's the cleaned up version. I'm including it here, for it reflects where some of us are with seasonal cycles.)
Spring arrived yesterday, but I wasn't answering the door. Or perhaps I was out getting turkey meatloaf. It was a pajama day for me, unlike the wishful lollers in Dolores Park wearing flip flops and tank tops. I just pulled my East Coast coat over the Italian men's pj top and old baggy ass sweats. Stomper boots kept me grounded, not getting carried away by the promiscuous Chinese magnolia defining magenta on Hancock. I was still hibernating.
Spring arrived yesterday, rang my doorbell and waited. She looked up and watched the Tibetan prayer flags being pushed around by the wind. The plum tree was like me, not getting enough sun to bursth forth and blossom. Spring looked inside my mailbox - phone bill, junk mail, a catalog from an expensive clothing store.
Spring took her bright pink shiny hardcase on rollers and sat on the studio bench outside. She fingered the individualized clay tiles, looked up at the sign. Yes, a pottery studio. Spring wanted a clove cigarette, but realized she no longer smoked, giving way to her delicate petal lungs. Spring looked in her handbag and left me a calling card:
"Dearie, missed you today. Be back soon. Get ready." And this is what I found, walking home with my turkey meatloaf and digging in the dusty copper mailbox. Her note all fresh and frothy.
I unpeeled my coat, dumped the note, and headed for the kitchen. I put the turkey meatloaf in the fridge, made some Mexican hot chocolate with almond milk, and got back under the covers where I belonged. The lump at the foot of the bed moved, and my cat shimmied out, disoriented. He flopped down by my hand topside for a belly rub, while I sipped the Mexican hot chocolate.
Warmth went through me, and I tried not to think of Spring's threatened return. She'd come and stay and be too cheery, and the apartment would feel too small. I'd have to make up work gigs in other places. Leave her here with her fairy dust wands, while I hunkered down in some friend's walk-in closet, guest room, or far off cabin.
For now I wanted to still the hands on my alarm clock, keep time with my cat purring under my fingers, and grow my Mexican hot chocolate belly. I had five weeks until equinox, dammit, and I was going to have my Winter, no matter what anyone else thought. Spring was coming for sure, but my cocoon pod time would not come around again for another year. I wasn't going to miss out on the big, delicious Nothing this time. Something always comes from Nothing, that I knew for sure.
Spring arrived yesterday, but I wasn't answering the door. Or perhaps I was out getting turkey meatloaf. It was a pajama day for me, unlike the wishful lollers in Dolores Park wearing flip flops and tank tops. I just pulled my East Coast coat over the Italian men's pj top and old baggy ass sweats. Stomper boots kept me grounded, not getting carried away by the promiscuous Chinese magnolia defining magenta on Hancock. I was still hibernating.
Spring arrived yesterday, rang my doorbell and waited. She looked up and watched the Tibetan prayer flags being pushed around by the wind. The plum tree was like me, not getting enough sun to bursth forth and blossom. Spring looked inside my mailbox - phone bill, junk mail, a catalog from an expensive clothing store.
Spring took her bright pink shiny hardcase on rollers and sat on the studio bench outside. She fingered the individualized clay tiles, looked up at the sign. Yes, a pottery studio. Spring wanted a clove cigarette, but realized she no longer smoked, giving way to her delicate petal lungs. Spring looked in her handbag and left me a calling card:
"Dearie, missed you today. Be back soon. Get ready." And this is what I found, walking home with my turkey meatloaf and digging in the dusty copper mailbox. Her note all fresh and frothy.
I unpeeled my coat, dumped the note, and headed for the kitchen. I put the turkey meatloaf in the fridge, made some Mexican hot chocolate with almond milk, and got back under the covers where I belonged. The lump at the foot of the bed moved, and my cat shimmied out, disoriented. He flopped down by my hand topside for a belly rub, while I sipped the Mexican hot chocolate.
Warmth went through me, and I tried not to think of Spring's threatened return. She'd come and stay and be too cheery, and the apartment would feel too small. I'd have to make up work gigs in other places. Leave her here with her fairy dust wands, while I hunkered down in some friend's walk-in closet, guest room, or far off cabin.
For now I wanted to still the hands on my alarm clock, keep time with my cat purring under my fingers, and grow my Mexican hot chocolate belly. I had five weeks until equinox, dammit, and I was going to have my Winter, no matter what anyone else thought. Spring was coming for sure, but my cocoon pod time would not come around again for another year. I wasn't going to miss out on the big, delicious Nothing this time. Something always comes from Nothing, that I knew for sure.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Red Fox
Certain times in my life I'm graced by magic. I go out into nature or for a wonder walk in the city and get slammed by the beauty of life. That's what this blog is about, staying awake and open to beauty, and therefore experiencing something wonderful. Cocooned for most of the Winter, the most astounding thing to me lately has been my warm blankets.
On Valentine's Day, I was sitting on a bench in the arboretum of Golden Gate Park with my man. We were talking about things that were causing us stress: money, work, sex. After 23 years together, we were feeling humbled by our everyday struggles. Trying to hold space for all that amidst the enormity of our great good fortune.
He sighted it then, a keen-snouted, bushy-tailed red fox, coming out into the open and disappearing into the underbrush. We were maybe 30 feet away, but this gorgeous creature was meant for us.
That red fox was like an arrow. Its keen snout and ears pointing the way with a lush full tail streaming straight out behind it. With luxurious thick-looking fur and clear markings, he or she looked well-fed on quail, squirrels, gophers, and other fellow park residents.
Elation might be the right word, this lightness in my heart and the happy-making repetition of our sighting. Later I found that the red fox brings the Medicine of kundalini energy, sexuality and life-force; shapeshifting; and knowing when to hide and when to come out into the open.
Dear Red Fox, Thank you for bringing hope and the power of shapeshifting. As Winter melts away into Spring, we're all counting on your Medicine to renew and revive for another round on the big wheel of life.
On Valentine's Day, I was sitting on a bench in the arboretum of Golden Gate Park with my man. We were talking about things that were causing us stress: money, work, sex. After 23 years together, we were feeling humbled by our everyday struggles. Trying to hold space for all that amidst the enormity of our great good fortune.
He sighted it then, a keen-snouted, bushy-tailed red fox, coming out into the open and disappearing into the underbrush. We were maybe 30 feet away, but this gorgeous creature was meant for us.
That red fox was like an arrow. Its keen snout and ears pointing the way with a lush full tail streaming straight out behind it. With luxurious thick-looking fur and clear markings, he or she looked well-fed on quail, squirrels, gophers, and other fellow park residents.
Elation might be the right word, this lightness in my heart and the happy-making repetition of our sighting. Later I found that the red fox brings the Medicine of kundalini energy, sexuality and life-force; shapeshifting; and knowing when to hide and when to come out into the open.
Dear Red Fox, Thank you for bringing hope and the power of shapeshifting. As Winter melts away into Spring, we're all counting on your Medicine to renew and revive for another round on the big wheel of life.
Friday, February 5, 2010
24-3-7
Winter is the season of mending and tending. Relationships need care all year round, but the dark season somehow illuminates where we need to clearly say NO or YES to people and situations that are not right for us.
One of my teachers Angeles Arrien has a 24-3-7 rule. When a problem arises, it's your responsibility to address it within 24 hours. If you can't do that, do it within 3 days. And if you can't do that, do it within 7 days. A week is enough time to be unresolved with yourself and with another.
24-3-7 holds space and time for a truly creative response to the problem. For visually dominant people - those who sense the world most strongly through sight and images - it takes a long time to even realize that something off-kilter happened. Then it takes more time to know their feelings about it and to get clear on a creative response. 7 days gives even slow processors a limit to being swamped by a problem.
If you are somatic or kinesthetic, you are at an advantage in knowing sooner that something needs to be addressed. The wise body does not lie, gives clues to what is amiss with common symptoms like insomnia, upset stomach, or headache.
This happened to me recently with a client. It took telling the story many times to colleagues before I heard what I was saying. I did not feel good about working with this person, and my body symptoms were saying NO. My process unfolded slowly over the week, and by the time I was clear, I had to wait a few more days to be able to reach this person. I said what I needed to say to this person, and it was done within 7 days.
Even if you are a slow processor, fearful of speaking up and rocking the boat, do it. Take that 7 days if you need to, but listen to your wise body and practice saying NO to people, places, things that are not right for you. It opens the door to be able to say YES to what is nourishing for your journey.
One of my teachers Angeles Arrien has a 24-3-7 rule. When a problem arises, it's your responsibility to address it within 24 hours. If you can't do that, do it within 3 days. And if you can't do that, do it within 7 days. A week is enough time to be unresolved with yourself and with another.
24-3-7 holds space and time for a truly creative response to the problem. For visually dominant people - those who sense the world most strongly through sight and images - it takes a long time to even realize that something off-kilter happened. Then it takes more time to know their feelings about it and to get clear on a creative response. 7 days gives even slow processors a limit to being swamped by a problem.
If you are somatic or kinesthetic, you are at an advantage in knowing sooner that something needs to be addressed. The wise body does not lie, gives clues to what is amiss with common symptoms like insomnia, upset stomach, or headache.
This happened to me recently with a client. It took telling the story many times to colleagues before I heard what I was saying. I did not feel good about working with this person, and my body symptoms were saying NO. My process unfolded slowly over the week, and by the time I was clear, I had to wait a few more days to be able to reach this person. I said what I needed to say to this person, and it was done within 7 days.
Even if you are a slow processor, fearful of speaking up and rocking the boat, do it. Take that 7 days if you need to, but listen to your wise body and practice saying NO to people, places, things that are not right for you. It opens the door to be able to say YES to what is nourishing for your journey.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Choosing the Story
Something hard happened to me recently. When I asked what I was to learn, my inner knowing answered: What do you want this to be about?
You mean, I get to choose? I get to write the story?
I decided I wanted it to be an end to choosing fear over love. And so I am in this practice of trusting in the good, trusting that the Universe is a loving place, trusting that my inner process is taking me where I need to be. This, as opposed to trying to control things out of fear.
This sounds so simple, yet it is a profound shift. How do I contribute to my own well-being, rather than suffering?
Would love to hear how you choose your story.
You mean, I get to choose? I get to write the story?
I decided I wanted it to be an end to choosing fear over love. And so I am in this practice of trusting in the good, trusting that the Universe is a loving place, trusting that my inner process is taking me where I need to be. This, as opposed to trying to control things out of fear.
This sounds so simple, yet it is a profound shift. How do I contribute to my own well-being, rather than suffering?
Would love to hear how you choose your story.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Creative Fulfillment and Loneliness
A friend is making a book, fulfilling a dream in words and images. It seems like the perfect winter project. Yet she is in heaven and hell. She could choose heaven and immerse herself in the joys of the creative work before her, doing what she loves, and bringing her vision into vibrant, living form. Or she could choose hell and bemoan the isolation, her recent heartache, and be looking elsewhere for salvation. I hope she can find more space for all of those feelings.
I realize this has been a common theme around me. Another friend is devoting a lot of time and energy to her creative life and trying new things to grow and heal. Yet in this self-care mode, she's coming up against a core loneliness.
When in a creative groove, do we always meet our loneliness? Does fear of loneliness keep us from going deeply with our creative work? I wonder about my novel/s, languishing for my lack of disciplined, consistent attention. Perhaps that's just a judgment. I do suspect my characters just go on living and changing and have infinite patience with me to catch up.
There's that old belief that writers live a lonely life. But tonight is a time for company, to be with my characters and to write in the company of others. In the rainstorms of winter, a safe haven.
Thank goodness for the writing workshop. That is one way I balance creative time and mutual support. How do you?
(Collage: Friend And Flow Detail 1, by Carol Harada 2010)
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
Ready for anything
If I can't take what happens, I'm not ready for anything. - John Cage, artist, composer
According to Angeles Arrien's Four-Fold Way, Winter is the season of the Warrior. We embody the Warrior when we show up and choose to be present. Doing so means we are ready and willing to be with whatever is here. One way I'm accessing the Warrior is by volunteering at the Reiki Clinic in San Francisco.
In Reiki, we practitioners simply show up and serve up Universal Energy to the client. The client's body-mind system knows where and how to direct that flow of energy. Relaxation, releasing, and self-healing all take place organically. Being a practitioner means showing up, getting out of the way, and trusting the process.
Being a strong conduit for Reiki and holding space for what wants to happen is a very Warrior activity. Oddly enough, it feels easy, effortless, as if you are really doing nothing. We take for granted the huge gift of our Presence. By choosing to show up and be Present, we lend ourselves as witness and create and maintain a strong container for healing.
Anything can happen in life. By showing up and choosing to be here, we are saying we can take it. We can respond with full hearts and clear minds.
According to Angeles Arrien's Four-Fold Way, Winter is the season of the Warrior. We embody the Warrior when we show up and choose to be present. Doing so means we are ready and willing to be with whatever is here. One way I'm accessing the Warrior is by volunteering at the Reiki Clinic in San Francisco.
In Reiki, we practitioners simply show up and serve up Universal Energy to the client. The client's body-mind system knows where and how to direct that flow of energy. Relaxation, releasing, and self-healing all take place organically. Being a practitioner means showing up, getting out of the way, and trusting the process.
Being a strong conduit for Reiki and holding space for what wants to happen is a very Warrior activity. Oddly enough, it feels easy, effortless, as if you are really doing nothing. We take for granted the huge gift of our Presence. By choosing to show up and be Present, we lend ourselves as witness and create and maintain a strong container for healing.
Anything can happen in life. By showing up and choosing to be here, we are saying we can take it. We can respond with full hearts and clear minds.
Friday, January 8, 2010
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