And, in the End...

...the love you take
Is equal to the love you make.

<sup>In these final hours of 2008, it's good to recall this bit of wisdom from the Beatles. Those with whom we share moments of love and understanding are our profound mirrors and teachers. Of course, they are our friends and family, the long-term reflections of our own human frailty that we find in our lives for some strange reason. Mirrors and teachers are also fleeting strangers, like the people on the train who laughed with me about some such urban craziness. (See my 2/21/08 post.)

Where did we extend our love, forgiveness, and understanding this year? To whom? In what circumstances? How did we stretch our hearts? And what were the rewards? Conversely, where did we withhold or step back from meeting another with compassion? What did that experience give us?

My late friend Randy was fond of saying hearts break, yes, but they break OPEN to get bigger. And as we enter a new year, we can be on the lookout for how best to tend our hearts, meeting ourselves with compassion and care. When we do that, we feel safe to keep ourselves open to life and other people. So along with your resolutions, consider what shape and size you want your heart in 2009. Mine is going to be shapeshifting, but mostly roundish, so that it can roll around and play with others.

Blessings for this passing year and all the riches it has brought.</sup>

R is for Receptivity

I was sharing with a friend a short story I'd written. She wondered how I'd come up with one particularly striking image. The truth is stranger than fiction. I pretty much wrote down exactly what I'd seen. This specificity helped ground the scene in a way, which I might never have been able to imagine. Creative people know, and we are all creative people, that a large part of our work is to live with eyes and ears open. Our receptivity and the open space we hold are essential to our capacity to synthesize and create.

When we are too full of distraction, there's nowhere for new energy to come in and stay. We become like an overflowing closet. That's when we need spring cleaning, to clear out the clutter in our minds and our internal creative space to allow the energy to flow again. This could mean literally cleaning up our writing space or art studio, sweeping the dance floor.

Or it could mean properly storing our odd thoughts, idea seeds, scraps of dialogue, or stray images. I use my laptop or my journal. Raymond Carver apparently kept his scraps in his bathrobe pocket. Jotting things down, doing sketches, playing with movement and gesture are ways to give things raw form and reassure them they can have your attention at the right time. It gives you something solid to return to.

Once those are given initial form, there's a clear arena for what wants to emerge. Again, it's listening, watching, being curious about what is going to show up. Why is it that I can trust something will come in my creating life, when the same uncertainty in other aspects of my life just makes me anxious? I think it has to do with practice. Some people, especially meditators, know about the comings and goings of ideas and energy and have a broader perspective of nonattachment.

So notice where you are receptive and where you need to clear out some space for new energy to come in.

Q is for Quality, not Quantity

I splurge in little ways to stay open and abundant. By choosing quality over quantity and taking time to savor, I give myself a greater experience of being alive and connected and present. Sometimes just a taste can open up a world.

Each step of creating an organic heirloom tomato salad can be savored. Selecting the ingredients, I can feel sense the water, earth, and sun dense in the flesh. I can smell the vines, almost feel the pricklies. At the check out counter I chat amiably with the cashier with the faded Maori chin tattoo and am grateful we have money in the bank for this and that she’s here being of kind service. In my kitchen, preparing and arranging the food I lose track of time, move efficiently and with the forehead numbness of pure intuition. In the thrall of everyday creativity.

Eating, slowly taking in this delicious fruit, is a whole mindfulness meditation. I so enjoy the natural sweetness set off by just enough salt. The golden yellow, the green stripes, and the shadowy red fill my eyes. And I laugh with my man at how outrageously good something so simple can be. How lucky we are.

A little luxury is good. Once I paid $3 for one fragrant, softball size peach in Tokyo. Totally worth the memory of peach juice in August running down my face. It didn’t cure my homesickness, but gave me a much-needed connection to the earth there.

Experimenting is good. I brought home the exotic dragonfruit to try, because I’ve never been to the dry tropical places it grows. The magenta fleshed fruit is definitely something to be eaten in appreciative company. I had the pleasure of oohing and ahhing over it with friends who’d come for Sunday brunch.

Receiving is good. The time we went housepainting up the coast, the art teacher had brought one precious truffle from her home in the south of France. Shaved finely over an angel hair pasta appetizer, it was earthy sublime.

Opt for quality over quantity and connect - to the earth and her bounty, to deep nourishment, to each other, and to the seasons. All this lived experience expands out of the relatively brief clock time needed to prepare and eat a side dish together. And that's the key, time shared. I'm convinced it is our most precious resource, how we show up awake and alive to this moment with each other. Here I’m talking about food, but for you it could be something else. Where do you choose quality over quantity?