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?

P is for Perception

From my father I inherited the ability to see what's wrong. A pathologist, he spent most of his life in front of a microscope hunting down the cause of diseases. But I was made for the more elusive task of being Medicine and seeing beauty. It takes a lot of practice to choose moment to moment to focus and build on what's right in the world and in myself. 

On a beautiful hike yesterday I watched my mind do its habitual thing. Tree stumps and ugly military bunkers bummed me out, so that I didn't really take in the serene views of the bay and the city and the lovely sailboats. I was too busy imagining horrible things - my cat dead upon our return home, my partner mangled in a bike accident, gloom and doom. Each time I became aware of my tragic daydreams, I physically made an X in the air, a sign to the Universe that I'm not putting any more energy into manifesting those thoughts.

Try it now. Let a worst case scenario come up in your mind's eye. X it out and say 'that doesn't have to happen.' Then imagine something yummy, productive, helpful, ideal. Does it make you smile or laugh? Spend some time with that imagining and mark it with a + plus sign. Say 'thank you' for it already manifesting.

When I'm feeling grateful and open and willing to play, the world opens up with wonders. What lens are you using to perceive your world? 

O is for Openings

In a recent movement workshop, we were instructed to walk, skip, leap in whatever direction at whatever rate through the studio. I sped up. Nearing a wall, I'd push off with my hands and ricochet in another direction. Walking fast backwards, we were coached to say "thank you" if we and another collided. It didn't happen. Without knowing each others' ever changing trajectories, without disrupting my instinctive arc, I kept finding the open space to move into. I left open space in my wake for others to enter.

Why doesn't this seamless hive intelligence happen on the street? I believe it's because we often tune out our awareness of being part of a larger group. Cell phones exacerbate the situation. In individualistic driver mode, we don't necessarily look for openings, but wonder why everyone isn't getting out of our way. In our public life we don't have the same agreements or intentions as in a movement workshop.

It made me remember other larger groups, other dance spaces filled with forty or fifty people zipping across the room, nobody colliding. It's as if we were all aware of being in relationship to the whole. My small 't' taoist friend Howard often says that he follows the openings, looking for where there's already flow and movement in his life. That's what we all were doing in the larger dancing group and so the whole group body flowed.

I like that, being welcomed forward by the seemingly empty space or life openings. Opportunity knocks and we answer or we don't. Nature abhors a vacuum, so invites us to fill it momentarily by our stepping forward or leaping into it. What openings are beckoning for you? What invitations do you ignore or resist? Do you get stuck in setting your trajectory to where your way is blocked?

N is for Nourishment

I'm convinced that self-care is the Achilles heel of so many of us in the healing arts. And parents raising young ones. And teachers. And anyone dedicated to service. I'm confounded by how loving, patient, giving, accepting we can be in our daily work with others, while forgetting to extend basic nurture to ourselves. Without sustaining ourselves with consistent deep care, our work is truly unsustainable.

So in search of elusive balance, this year I've been following what nourishes me. Keeping up my own creative practice and playing well with others is vital. Yes, it's true. I am my own kindergartener! This has led me to join a writers workshop, create and teach a dreams and collage workshop with a friend, make occasional art dates, take movement exploration classes, and give myself a retreat with kindred spirits. It continues to be a year of rich inner life, which has served me well.

A nutritionist I know calls those things that most feed us 'primary nutrition.' So not just food, air, water, rest. It may be hanging with people who know you best and love you anyway. Being your sensual self. Hula hooping, old car souping up, refining your barbecue sauce recipe, learning more Italian. It could be something no one's ever heard of, yet is important to you.

How do you know what feeds you? Follow the soul longing. What would you regret not being and not doing at the end of your life? Which people, places, things inspire you? Who and what helps you feel aligned with your higher purpose, even if you don't quite know what that is?

Now that I'm tending to what's important, I'm getting a clearer sense of what is enough. I don't have to chase after every retreat or training or book or experience to complete me. I can discern and follow what nourishes me. And filling myself with my true life, I'm reaching the tipping point of naturally spilling out in generous service to others.

M is for the Great Mother

On a recent walk I passed a tall wooden fence with a bougainvillea poofing out over the top, creating a leafy roof a few inches above my head. I could not see the very top where magenta blossoms were reaching for the sun. Most people are taller than me, so I felt this as a rarely occupied place of refuge on a busy neighborhood sidewalk. I passed under it quickly, then something made me return and stand under this bushy vine's canopy.

I pulled the earbuds from my ears and turned off the MP3 player. I swept my troubles away to be recycled into more fruitful energy. That spot smelled earthy and green and the dark stillness pulsed and carressed me. My skull felt like it could breathe better, like during a Reiki treatment or craniosacral therapy. The soles of my feet spread and took root. It was being held by the energy of the Divine Mother, a strong nurturing feminine presence or the plant's calling out those qualities in me.

It could be that the boug's longing to climb up and over the fence of the front yard of the unseen house was what made it so strong a protective presence. Having reached more freedom, it could hold itself up as it spread out thickly and offered shelter. Don't we all know people like that, men and women who have climbed up through addiction or hard times to stand firm and offer a space of comfort and leadership for others? The best healers are like that, alchemizing compassionate service to others out of their own struggles to be free.

I carry the Great Mother essence in me strongly, even though I have no children. As an artist and healer it's part of my journey to know that nurture for myself and to offer it up in the form of beauty, attention, caring. No matter our sex and gender, how do we bring nurture forward in this wounded world? Even when our own personal mothers did not have what they needed to be able to offer us whole and consistent nurturing, we can learn from nature and other mothers how to share Love Medicine. We can celebrate the seeming chaotic wholeness in our ever changing lives. Just by taking a moment to feel our body as part of the greater body of the Mother, the earth, this world, this belonging.

How do you experience the Divine Mother?

L is for Luck

I was surprised to find myself engaged in deep conversation with my seat mate for the whole duration of the flight. Usually I travel in my own cocoon of solitude. Something in me recognized Wayne as an 'important stranger' and this meeting as just the Medicine I needed. Perhaps you know people like Wayne, or maybe you are like him - uplifting, grateful, blessed, curious, open, willing. Essentially happy. It's contagious - even now when I think of our unexpected meeting, I am all those things too.

Wayne told me he wakes up thinking, "Please, God, let me help just one person today." He really means it, and I felt happy to receive help arising out of his solid intention. I'd been wondering how to find a great general contractor for my parents, whose home we are de-cluttering and prepping for eventual sale. Wayne owns many rental properties in that area and highly recommends his own meticulous contractor. I gratefully took the referral.

What luck, right? I never stated the intention to find a contractor, just put it on my back burner to 'figure out' later. With natural ease a great lead found me. Just because I was open to it.

Wayne and I are kindred spirits: went to the same university years apart, and both of our career paths have led to more joyful purpose. He's inspired by his wife's courage facing cancer and looks for and thankfully receives the miracles of her healing. He passes on hope in the telling of her courage. We shared about experiences caring for parents in assisted living and how illness can strengthen family ties. We agreed that it is the greatest gift to be able to serve from contentment, joy, and satisfaction. I walked away feeling grateful and happy, offering blessings back to his wife and family.

So here's what I think about luck. Wayne, like other friends aligned with their divine life 's purpose, make their own luck with their intentions. They show up to serve others for the sheer joy of it. He seems to expect to find common ground, anticipating the discovery of just how he's already connected to a new acquaintance. A natural networker looking to serve. I've decided this is a key to my happiness, setting the intention to connect with people and being open to what connections are revealed. Finding another in the flow of giving and receiving. Let me know how luck and intention have served you. I'd love to hear your stories.

K is for kinfolk

I'm on a family visit, helping out my ailing parents find more supportive living arrangements. I could not be here and be truly of service to my mom and dad without the loving support of My People. Most immediately, I mean my beloved younger sister and her wild and wonderful husband, my brother-in-law. We plan these trips together to offer mutual support and have fun and kick ass on cleaning our family's homestead to prepare it for sale. My brother and older sister do the same, forming the elder sibs team. Not only am I lucky enough to be related by blood and by marriage to these amazing people, I also get to enjoy them as my chosen kith and kin. Friends who are also relatives are a double blessing.

What would we do without our kinfolk, those people close to us, whose souls sing with ours? When I stop to think of the circles of kin I have, it's like the water rippling out from the center of a lake, where I've cast a stone of longing for belonging.  My man, my mate, is my main anchor back home. My parents, with whom I feel closest than I ever have, are another anchor for me now.  (Perhaps it's because I'm now interested in being of service to them, rather than obsessing about what I didn't get from them when I was a young one. Surprisingly enough, I am acting like a grown up! Watch out, it may happen to the best of us!) My friends, my clients, my colleagues, my teachers, my ex-friends - all these ripples of kin surround me, support me, and I carry them all in my ever enlarging heart.  

Of course, this leads me back to my favorite theme, gratitude. I'm learning to let in the support of my kith and kin, to belong, to feel connected in the giving and receiving flow of Us. Who do you count as Your People? Make sure you let them know often that you love and appreciate them. It'll bring a smile, a tear, a heart opening laugh. Try it and let me know.