Garden: Saturday Morning

I’m sitting in the garden. It’s Saturday morning. I made it halfway out to my office, which is in my garage, out back.

I’m weeping. I’m weeping because my heart is spilling over. I stepped out on the back porch with my briefcase: Busy Bee, Busy Bee…gotta get some extra work done…mentoring a colleague in a few hours, must clean up the office…tons of work…..just figured out how to use InDesign to get my book into production…It’s quiet in the house, the yard.  A blissful Saturday morning; the sun is finally shining, and it’s spring. It’s finally spring.

I step outside and hear all these birds –it’s a symphony. They are so beautiful. The world is alive…Alive with sweet songs and whistles and staccato twitters and I just have to sit down halfway down the path and perch my behind on a cold slate step. I just have to stop and listen. My heart is so full.

This is my garden. This is my sanctuary. This is me creating a space of beauty and serenity, in the middle of a busy life.  And it just makes me so appreciative for everything I have and it reminds me to stop…and feel.   These epiphanies – this place of richness and depth – is new and unexpected.  I’m having these moments of discovery more and more when I stop. Stop and take a moment to breathe.

 

It brings to mind the poem by David Whyte, “The House of Belonging”

I awoke

this morning

in the gold light

turning this way

and that

 

thinking for a

moment

it was one

day

like any other.

 

But

the veil had gone

from my

darkened heart

and

I thought

 

it must have been the quiet

candlelight

that filled my room

 

it must have been

the first

easy rhythm

with which I breathed

myself to sleep

 

it must have been

the prayer I said

speaking to the otherness

of the night.

 

And

I thought

this is the good day

you could

meet your love

 

this is the black day

someone close

to you could die.                              

 

This is the day

you realize

how easily the thread

is broken

between this world

and the next

 

and I found myself

sitting up

in the quiet pathway

of light.

 

The tawny

close grained cedar

burning round

me like fire

and all the angels of this housely

heaven ascending

through the first

roof of light

the sun had made.

 

This is the bright home

in which I live

this is where

I ask

my friends to come

this is where I want

to love all the things

it has taken me so long

to learn to love.

 

This is the temple

of my adult aloneness

and I belong to my life.

 

There is no house

like the house of belonging.

 

I’m taking in the huge infinity of wonder and good will and gratitude and I’m learning to just stop and appreciate the beauty of nature and the moment. In my mid-fifties it’s a new and exciting experience that’s taking me by surprise. And it’s glorious.

 

Celebrate Everything

Until Further Notice: Celebrate Everything

I read this line on the memorial plaque on a bench in a lakeside park, visiting my Dad last summer.

Good advice, really.

I’m all for celebrating everything. To me it’s just an extension of the gratitude practice. Lifting something up to a higher level of recognition, celebration, honor, importance.

Many rituals and ceremonies exist within organized religion, but for those of us who don’t participate in that, I think it is important to create opportunities to celebrate, to mark special occasions, milestones, and accomplishments – otherwise every day is the same.

As I thought about celebrating, I realized there is usually always some kind of aesthetic choice, some beauty involved. Whether one dresses up in fancier clothing, serves special food, sends a lovely card, sings a touching song, chooses meaningful words to write or communicate, sends gorgeous flowers or gifts….there is artfulness, and an elevation from the ordinary.

I went to a fundraising gala the other weekend and got to dress up in a ball gown (I love that!), and I had a birthday recently and organized a wonderful party with great music and food to mark the occasion. When my son was little we decorated the house at Easter, Halloween, and Valentine’s Day along with birthdays and other special days.

My sister and I have a special ritual to celebrate our birthdays (one in May, one in July) where we go to Bard on the Beach, here in Vancouver, and out for dinner together as a special outing.

Show up at those award nights, applaud the winners, celebrate their accomplishments. Call people on their birthdays. Sometimes it is a simple as lighting candles, or setting the table a little bit more elaborately. But as simple as that is, there is intention to elevate, to honor, to celebrate.

Yesterday I visited my Mom and gave her a Mother’s Day hug. She has advanced dementia and doesn’t really know one day from the next, nor exactly who I am… but, I can celebrate having one more Mother’s Day with her.

That’s something to celebrate.

Give Flowers to the Living

Give flowers to the living. That is a saying my mom often used. It meant: be kind, tell people the nice things you are thinking, give praise and bouquets of thanks (and don’t wait till they are gone).

It’s been an exhausting week with a hectic work load, and a bit of the cold-and-flu season, but mainly because I lost a friend to ALS last week. And, yes, it didn’t help that it’s Valentine’s Day today and I’m very much “single”.

To my surprise some flowers were delivered to the house yesterday. A sweet friend of mine sent them to me, thanking me for my friendship. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise: I know of no woman who doesn’t delight in getting flowers. I’m always thrilled on the rare occasion when I come home and there is a bouquet on my doorstep or a florist’s delivery person has knocked on the door.

There are also other kinds of flowers that we can give: the bank teller who has a gorgeous hair cut would appreciate your comment, a co-worker who is wearing a lovely outfit would be so pleased to hear that compliment that’s in your head. A child who’s done a good job on something around the house would appreciate hearing your praise.

I’m trying to make my 3-pronged gratitude exercise a habit. I keep a journal by my bedside and when I wake up in the morning I take a moment to write in it. I list three things I’m grateful for, I write a short paragraph describing a positive experience I’ve recently had, and I make a note about who I will call or email that day to say something positive to – who I will give “flowers” to.

It’s a wonderful way to live, giving flowers of all kinds.