Boxing Up The Former Self

Mercury Retrograde is a good time for reflection and release. So, this weekend I started clearing out my closet. I left the corporate world in 2017, and I’ve spent the last four years, it seems, metaphorically unpacking. I started by figuring out what I DON’T want to do. I determined that I didn’t want to return to the corporate world, and I didn’t want to continue doing what I’d done for the previous 25 years. I spent a couple of years writing out where I’d been and who I was; curious about where I’m going and who I might become.

In the last year and a half, I have found purpose and direction. I have chosen to take what I learned managing the lives of executives – transforming those skills into eldercare management for my aging parents. Being of service is my joy, and I can think of no better way to serve in the foreseeable years to come, than to the endeavor of helping them each feel safe, nurtured, and loved for their remaining days. It is a privilege to have the opportunity to do so. Not only because I want to, but because my retirement savings and the 72T loophole allowing access to it, provides such freedom.

For quite some time, I have been aware that the clothing I actually wear is a tiny portion of what fills an entire closet (or two) and dresser in my home. My style never was corporate, especially since the last phase of my career was spent where business casual and jeans were permitted. But between no longer identifying with anything ‘business’, binding denim, or the maxi dress, bohemian goddess style that once resonated, there is quite a bit of letting go to be done in my dressing room.

What surprised me, as I started flipping through clothes hangers, was the hesitancy I felt. A lifetime has passed since I last donned any of these items, and yet… there was momentary uncertainty in pulling down each piece, folding it, and placing it in the box of surrender. Contemplating how much money was spent on each piece. Pondering a number of items never worn – as if I tried on someone else’s style, then failed to claim it as my own. Can I do this? Can I say farewell to that woman who abandoned her wardrobe? Will she return with regret for all she’s lost? Am I leaving her naked and vulnerable?

This culling feels like an act of severance. The woman who purchased these garments and wore them, doesn’t live here anymore. The current resident is different. Her once long hair, no longer dyed blonde, as all falseness and pretense has been cut away. Shorter, white and silver curls now frame her full and make-up free face.

This woman no longer tries to fit in where she doesn’t belong. She is finally exactly where she is meant to be. She is valued, appreciated and loved for exactly who she is, exactly as she is. Consequently, clothing once sought to make her feel pretty, professional, or desirable is being replaced with that which makes her feel nurtured, comfortable, unhindered, and unburdened. No more binding required, she is abundantly at home in her own skin. The opinions of others are not more important than her own comfort.

There is glorious freedom in this second half of life. Discovering that one can live a simple and joyful life with less (less income, less expectation, less judgment, less time given away to those who don’t matter) is liberating.

Perhaps I once bought clothing to fill a hole. I guess they call it ‘retail therapy’. It all seems silly and wasteful now, but I won’t belittle the woman I was. I will simply sit in gratitude for the woman I have become. I am now hole-less. I am becoming more whole.

As I pack up the remaining items that have caused me to pause, I will bless each piece with love for the new body it will embrace. As for each new owner of my former closet couture… May she feel nurtured, protected, comforted, and held in the light of love. May she know that she is already goddess incarnate, not because of what she wears on the outside, but for who she is on the inside. May she walk through the rest of her days in belonging, feeling valued and treasured exactly as she is, for exactly who she is. May she know that she is sacred and whole. May she feel safe, secure, and free to speak her truth and may she walk in beauty, having all she needs and plenty to share.

Thank you for walking this path with me. I love knowing you are here.

This former wardrobe will be joyfully donated to a local charity called Adriana’s Attic, Inc. Their mission is: “To help adults and children in need of clothing, hygiene items, food, and medical supplies. We believe that spending a few hours volunteering your time to help the working poor and homeless in our community and around the world is critical.”

If you are in Central Florida and wish to support this endeavor, please visit their site to learn more: https://adrianasatticinc.org/

Read This To Me When I’ve Forgotten Who I Am

Every Saturday, since the Spring Equinox of 2020, I have hosted a weekly online gathering of my Sacred Gardeners. These beloved beings joined me for mindful workshops every eight weeks in 2019, and when we couldn’t continue the tradition due to Covid-19, we adjusted. During uncertain times, we found comfort in our togetherness, as we virtually gathered to find reassurance that those we loved were safe and well. We reminded each other that everything would be okay.

When we reached our one year anniversary of weekly meetings, and as we began to celebrate each vaccination, we affirmed how meaningful this connection has become in each of our lives, and how we wish to continue checking-in weekly, even when we are free to safely return to the former gathering schedule.

Following the Holding Space format of checking-in, which I learned from Heather Plett (in the nick of time – finishing up the 6 month course about the time that the world went into lockdown), we would take turns sharing what we’d been doing and how we were feeling over the past week, and then we’d check-out by sharing the plans we have for the week ahead, inviting support and encouragement, as needed.

A recurring theme, as I asked my sacred gardeners to hold space for me over the past year, has been about what I call my swiss-cheese memory… the way that things fall through the holes. I have mostly found comfort in my concern by realizing that I am forced to live more fully in the present, because I am not holding onto whatever may have occurred in the past. Though forgetting something important, like giving my Dad his morning pills, or locking their back door before heading home for the night, especially worries me.

Swiss-cheese memory isn’t new for me. Even as a teenager, my Mom would ask about what might be happening in the life of a friend, with whom I’d spent the day, and I could recall that we had deep conversation, but very little specifics (i.e., she got a new job, but I can’t remember where or doing what). I’ve joked that your secrets are safe with me, because I may not even remember that we ever chatted at all. I will sometimes start telling a story about a memory, only to be reminded that the person I am telling was with me at the time.

I was referred to a Neurologist a couple of years ago, and his assessment was that my memory wasn’t bad, but that I had trouble accessing it. He prescribed Topamax to see if it would help, but after a week of a constant headache and other discomfort (that I can’t quite recall), I let go of the dream of finding resolution.

This week, I actually forgot it was Saturday. Seriously. I failed to set the reminder for the call, and forgot to head to my parents’ place a little early to get Dad out of bed and fed to get home before the start time of my call. I forgot all about this event that I’ve hosted for 58 Saturdays in a row, until the alarm on my phone reminded me that I had 15 minutes before my Sacred Gardeners would arrive in our virtual circle.

Many of us speak of lapses in memory, and fears of being unable to learn and retain new things, but my biggest fear is that someone I care about will feel that something I’ve forgotten might mean that I do not care, that I was not listening when they were speaking, or that I have failed them in our friendship. I have only ever wanted to be remembered as a good friend, and someone who cared about the well-being of others. I hope that translates, somehow… even when I’ve forgotten your name.

I have often been inspired to sit down and write, but by the time I’ve gotten from the point of inspiration to my laptop, the reason has been lost. So, when I finish a piece and post it, there is a level of gratitude and celebration for the act of completion. When I started writing a couple of years ago, if someone asked me what I’d been up to, I would read them my latest blog post, because frankly, my answer would have been quite brief, unless I could also look at my calendar to be reminded that I did something fun last weekend. I thought that I was writing to touch the hearts of others, to inspire, to deliver hope, or to connect with my higher self to nurture self-healing. I figured this was my way of feeling seen and heard, after a lifetime of feeling invisible, in my own self-limiting belief.

But what I know now, is that I am writing for myself. I am writing to capture the memories I’ve been able to access. I am writing to share parts of myself that are faulty and vulnerable. And more than anything, I am writing so that one day, when I’ve forgotten who I am, you might read this to me, revealing the enormous love, bountiful blessings, and glorious magick that has manifested throughout my lifetime. You will remind me that I have been grateful for every little thing in my life, for the way that they turned out to be the important things, not so little at all.

So… in case I forget to say it later… Thank you for walking this path with me. I’m so happy you are here.

The Awareness of Joy

Last week, one of my Thursday circle-mates posed a question for our weekly conversation. It was based on a graphic she had shared earlier in the week, which found resonance. It was based on the idea of how we tend to be painfully aware of what triggers our anger, our fear, our trauma-based emotional and bodily responses to something in any given moment… and asking us to ponder what might be our HAPPINESS triggers.

Graphic that sparked our conversation / from mombrain.therapist, shared by
Women Veteran Social Justice Network

When I saw this, I immediately thought of a recent sensation I had while standing in my kitchen, after a friend had left for home, following our first visit in more than a year… now that we are both fully vaccinated. So… here’s the funny thing about this thought (see my post about my swiss-cheese memory: https://beethelight.blog/2018/08/14/a-blessing-or-a-curse/), I couldn’t remember exactly what it was. Ha!

I swear, it was profound… that thought and that sensation in that moment! I should have written it down. Sigh… What I decided to do, was to write down whatever came to mind on a list of Happiness Triggers. I am now keeping this running list open on my desktop, so that I can add to it when things come up.

(What that feeling might have been, I decided, was this: Not only the one-on-one time I get to share with someone I love, but the time that follows when I can reflect on our togetherness with equal gratitude for the time I now have to spend with myself.)

Walking home from morning ritual at my parents’ house up the street today, I was being triggered left and right, literally (magick happening in neighbors’ yards, as I passed). So, I came home to write it all down.

*Asterisk marks a happiness trigger

It all started when I *woke up in my own bed, *in my own home of 25 years, with *plenty of time for my morning coffee ritual before it was time to be responsible to others. I shook off sleep with *the sound of a favorite book being read to me through Audible. Making my morning pour over coffee has become a form of prayer. As I pour hot water over the grounds of my *favorite coffee, I start with a counter clockwise drizzle to release the oils, and I offer gratitude for the aches and pains I feel, which remind me I am human, and I ask for the release and resolution of it, too. Then, in a clockwise motion, I pour hot water over the grounds with my daily gratitudes to the elements. *I am grateful for the eastern element of air which fills my lungs with the breath of life. *I am grateful for the southern fire which inspires me to action. *I am grateful for the western water that cleanses and heals as waves of loving emotion flow over me. *I am grateful for the northern earth that holds and sustains me, keeping me grounded.

I continue the coffee ritual as I pour cream into my cup, using techniques inspired by Kyle Grey and Jennifer Weigel suggestions for manifesting magick throughout the day. *Thank you in advance, dear Universe, for revealing your magick to me today in ways that I can understand. Thank you for inviting me to be mindful and aware of the messages you are sending, and may I receive them with clarity.

I enjoyed the time I had to myself, with coffee, and reading updates from friends on social media, and then got dressed to start the ‘responsible to others’ part of my day. I stepped out into the beauty of the day, *warm sun and a cool breeze, under a blue sky with puffy white clouds, surrounded by lush greenery on lawns and treetops. As I ventured up the street, a *large dragonfly floated far above me, as I crossed paths with *a flock of young Ibis. I delight in their presence on my block, and always eagerly greet them with, “HI-bis!” They went about their business of bug plucking, and scooted around the *squirrels at play. A *butterfly fluttered by as I turned up my parents’ driveway (*just 7 doors up from my own).

Though I do quite a lot during morning ritual with my folks, there are more days than not, when happiness is triggered for the sheer fact that *all I do is in service to their love and care, which enables a flow that comes with grace and ease. These days, *when I come to the end and tuck them in for the night, and return to my home at the end of the street, I feel enormous gratitude and peace for the blessings we have to be able to live this lifestyle, and for my strength and ability to manage all three of our lives relatively well. I am grateful that on most days… *this feels pretty easy, even though it is quite a lot.

After getting Pop changed and out of bed and into his chair, giving him and one of the dogs their meds, cooking breakfast, cleaning the kitchen, and ensuring everyone had what they needed for a peaceful day, I headed back out into this glorious Florida day. I passed by the flock of Ibis (HI-bis! Say hello to Isis for me!), still doing their part to aerate our lawns, remembering that it was this yard through which I *witnessed an opossum crossing last night (Hi Possum!). Then, in the next yard down, I stopped to *watch a black snake slithering its way through green grass (Oh! Hello!)

As I watched the snake and waved fare-the-well, my neighbor drove up in his little red Moke, I remembered the *bunch of bananas he left on my porch last week, and hoped he enjoyed the Hummingbird cupcakes I baked and shared thanks to his gift of inspiration. Then *another neighbor passed, as I stood in my own yard, *chatting with a blue jay who was singing in my oak tree, and we spoke of the blessing of this beautiful day.

I entered my sanctuary with a mind to *love on my kitties, and to *write all of this down. Next on my agenda is to *indulge in a good nap, and maybe even *a hot bath with epsom salt and essential oil. The bright red *cardinal in the tree outside my window shows up to remind me that my love language is ‘showing up’. So, thank you for showing up, dear ones. I love you more.

By the way, my eyes roll back in my head at *the smell of sweetgrass when I drive through the mountains of North Carolina, and pretty much the sound of *anything performed by Stevie Nicks or Fleetwood Mac starts a bonfire of joy for me. I would love to know what you have noticed triggers happiness for you!


Thank you for walking this path with me, and thank you in advance, dear Universe for making this a magickal day.

*Messages from the Universe
Dragonfly
: self realization; emotional maturity and understanding the deeper meaning of life
Ibis: great wisdom and the ability to work magic
Squirrel: preparedness, abundance, multi-tasking, new-life, rest, better days, and laying groundwork
Snake: fertility or a creative life force, transformation
Butterfly: change, renewal, hope, endurance, and courage to embrace the transformation to make life better
Opossum: expect the unexpected
Blue Jay: truth, faithfulness, and solidarity because they are vigilant in their tasks
Cardinal: devotion, loving relationships, good fortune (for me – love is here)

More Eldercare Blessings

I wrote about the many tools that have been helpful in caring for my father in October 2019, when his mobility was still possible but greatly challenged. A year later, things had changed. He fell and broke his hip in the fall, and he has not regained his ability to walk. Caring for him in this new chapter has brought some additional tools into my parents’ home, so it feels as if an update is in order. I am reminded by friends of the importance of sharing what we are learning about keeping our old people safe and well. May this be of benefit.

One of the challenges for eldercare in the United States is understanding Medicare and secondary insurance options and limitations. To bring Pop home from rehab before Thanksgiving, I had to acquire a hospital bed, a hoyer lift, and an adjustable bedside table (among other things). Medicare would cover a bed with electric adjustable head and foot, but you would have to manually crank the bed height (a burden when trying to protect the back of the caregiver). You can get a fully electric bed with a monthly fee. And if your loved one has a larger frame (6 ft. tall and 200 lbs), and a larger bed is needed, the monthly charge is significantly more.

Since my father is prone to bedsores and pressure wounds, I asked for a pneumatic air mattress for prevention. It turns out that Medicare will cover that… but only if your loved one already has multiple wounds that won’t heal. They care not to prevent them, apparently. Rather than leasing one from the hospital supply company, I found a mattress overlay that electronically moves air through pockets.

(Forgive the link, I have yet to learn the professional technique for such things.)
https://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B00TZ73MUY/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o09_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1

Medicare covers a hoyer lift for your loved ones who are unable to stand, walk, or transfer. That lift is completely manual… but they do not offer a fully electric option, even with a monthly fee. Since I am in my 50s and hope not to require eldercare before my parents are gone, it was absolutely necessary to have a fully electric version. This amazing tool allows me to get my father out of bed everyday and into his recliner, then back to bed at the end of the day. This gives him some level of normalcy, and I am grateful for this blessing. I found this lift through the same catalog that provided his recliner lift chair. It can be folded up for transport, but I doubt we’ll use that feature. I’m amazed by its maneuverability through tight spaces. We found the u-sling or the divided leg sling to work best for us. I was grateful to have gotten lessons from the staff at rehab…. but Dad and I also spent a morning watching videos on YouTube. It all takes practice, so be patient with yourself.

https://www.spinlife.com/Proactive-Medical-Protekt-Folding-Take-A-Long-Power-Patient-Lift/spec.cfm?productID=170785

From the same catalog, I ordered a table for the hospital bed, so that we can do breakfast in bed when necessary. He may stay in bed longer on the days the bath-aid comes, and she is able to use it for her needs, as well.

https://www.spinlife.com/Drive-Medical-Multi-Purpose-Tilt-Top-Split-Overbed-Table-Overbed-Tables/spec.cfm?productID=111716

We have a Costco membership, so that is where I get gloves and wipes, and doggy pee pads, which protect the mattress, and sometimes the tile floor where the aim-challenged dogs might tinkle now and then.

Since Pop can’t get to the bathroom any longer, I went searching for a urinal solution for someone with dexterity issues, that can serve for multiple uses overnight, when necessary. I found a cool device that I would have loved to have that time we slept on the steps of the Supreme Court when we were in our mid 20s. There were no open public restrooms in DC back then, and we had to go to the car to pee in a cup and then dump it out. (Yes, that actually is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.)

https://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B08H8D87D8/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_search_asin_title?ie=UTF8&psc=1

Other challenges are related to acquiring the care my father needs without being able to take him anywhere, since he can’t stand or transfer into the car. One exciting discovery was shared by his Physical Therapist. I was thrilled with the care he was receiving while Medicare covered home care for a few months after his homecoming, but longed for someone to care for his feet and toenails. They set up a Podiatrist to come to the house, which is when I learned Medicare covers these visits even when one is not receiving home care. Glory! Glory! We are in Central Florida, and had a great visit with Dr. Rivera from WoundMD. Pop’s feet have never looked so good. They can be reached at 407.720.4253.

UPDATED: Meeting with the Primary Care Physician and the Neurologist (for his epilepsy meds) can be done virtually, thank goodness, but the Dentist is a different story. When Pop complained about tooth pain and I started to panic about how to find a dentist that wouldn’t require transferring Pop out of a wheelchair (not to mention hiring transport to get him there), Mom hopped on line and found a mobile dentist. Imagine that! I think this is another Florida based business, but I’ve not had the time to research it. These magickal beings are from Tooth Fairy Mobile Dental Service. They provide comprehensive onsite dental care. You can find them at XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. The dentist and his hygenist came on Friday, and took x-rays and discussed a plan of care, which we’ll receive in writing Monday. I am removing my recommendation for this service, which has been a horrible disappointment. I now feel that they are designed to take advantage of elders who are in need of care.


The next big task was finding a new bath-aid, when Medicare stopped covering home health. This is something they do intermittently… ‘we see you need help, but if you aren’t making progress, we will stop providing that help’. I confirmed with his secondary insurance that they would cover a home health aid for bed baths, since he cannot stand to enter the walk-in tub, but when they referred me to the next step, I was denied further assistance. After several hours of telling my story to several people, I cried and gave up. I decided to let go of the need to have that assurance, just so I could get my poor guy a bath. I called several home health services, and found a few that had a 3 or 4 hour minimum of care for each visit. Since I am the full-time caregiver for my father, that felt wasteful of a fixed income for two retired social workers, so…. I kept looking until I found someone who offered a simple rate for bath assistance. A dear friend recommended the Visiting Nurses Association, and I learned they had a name change in our part of Florida. Now, Mediri Private Care, a partner of Orlando Health, we have found our lovely new bath aid for the foreseeable future. Again, in Central Florida, their number is 407.644.2433.

The biggest obstacle of the year, of course, has been how to protect my father from potential exposure to Covid-19, and how to get him vaccinated. Gratefully, my lifelong friend is on top of what is happening in community care, and she immediately alerted me to Florida’s program to vaccinate homebound residents. A week ago Saturday, we celebrated the delivery of the Johnson & Johnson (one and done) vaccine to Pop, at home. If you are in Florida and have someone who needs to be vaccinated for whom getting in line somewhere would be a challenge… here’s what to do: Send an Email to… HomeboundVaccine@em.myflorida.com to put in your request. They will reply with a link and a form to complete online. The 311 form allowed me to alert the Fire Department of my father’s inability to get out of the house on his own in an emergency, and in the comment section at the bottom of the form, I noted that we would like him to receive the vaccine at home as soon as possible. Our request was fulfilled within a week. They also are provided with one extra vaccine per household, in case someone else is in need. Since my mother and I had already been vaccinated, I was thrilled they were able to vaccinate an elderly neighbor of ours with the allotted extra dose.

For the last year, my greatest stress in caregiving has been that while handling all of the errands and grocery shopping for my parents, I would be responsible for killing my father by bringing home a virus I couldn’t see. I cried several times the day the CDC delivered his vaccine…. tears of joy and relief for him and for me.

When I list out my daily activities in eldercare for friends, that this is quite a lot is often affirmed. While I acknowledge that it certainly is quite a lot, I also understand that we are blessed to have access to the tools we need to make keeping Pop at home possible and somewhat simple.

Thank you in advance, dear Universe, for delivering all we need to keep our people safe and well with grace and ease, and may we be blessings to others, as our lives have been so blessed these many years.

Thank you for walking this path with me. Know that you are held gently in the light of love. Always. And… If there is anything you’ve learned about eldercare that is helpful, I’d love to hear about it!

Love is Viral – An Anniversary

One year ago today, I flew to Texas for a wedding. It was right at the beginning of the transition, from our former reality to the current (sur)reality of life in pandemic. This special occasion had been on my radar for quite some time. I did not know the couple well, at all, but I was invited by one of the great loves of my life… the boss who loved me.

Travel plans had been arranged in January, at which time, I was certain the concerns being raised about Covid-19 were overstated. Surely our leadership would make every effort to keep us safe. But days before departure, with an indication that our world would be shutting down after that weekend, the decision NOT to cancel overpowered the anxiety that affected my breathing. That empathetic symptom would rise, but not stay, over the next few months, as I questioned: Is this Covid, or is this anxiety? Is this Covid, or is this my annual allergy to oak pollen? Is this Covid, or am I just afraid that I will be responsible for infecting and killing my parents?

I flew in on Thursday night, and no one was wearing masks, but some were wiping down seats with disinfectant wipes. By my return on Sunday, there were several people in surgical masks for the flight home. The stress of travel in numbers was palpable. Gratefully, I had become conscious of touching my face twenty years ago, when I had lasik surgery and was warned about rubbing my eyes. So, I knew to be mindful of the transfer of germs from hands to eyes and nose, as a culprit for illness. Many trips through the subways in New York, holding onto poles and railings for support, helped nurture hyper-vigilance.

I arrived in darkness, and drove my rental Prius to the AirB&B. This was my first adventure with renting a room inside a house, as opposed to renting a whole house. I pulled up to the house, and received instructions via text message with a code for entrance, and how to find my room. There was no one around, but motion lights activated as I progressed through the foyer and up the stairway. I was quite pleased with my room with en suite bathroom. Though I never did meet my hosts, I felt safe and kind of appreciated the solitary nature of my stay. It felt like pilgrimage to me.

Because I was in a different time zone, I woke before the sun. I did some writing, googled nearby restaurants, and walked through darkness a few blocks to reach the one I chose. I was taken by the overwhelming cacophony of birdsong. I’d never heard anything like it. My friend told me later that they were migrating north from Mexico. I guess we don’t get that in Florida on the same scale. It was a glorious noise. There was one bird call that sounded to me like a slide whistle. It was dark, and they were in the trees, so I couldn’t see them. Later in the weekend, I figured out that they were Great Tailed Grackles… my new favorite.

Pre-Dawn Breakfast at
La Gardenia Restaurant, San Antonio, TX

I wasn’t going to meet up with the family until the traditional Chinese rehearsal dinner, so I had a full day for exploring the area. I’d heard a great deal about the Riverwalk area of San Antonio, and I’d hoped to find some good art galleries to devour. So, I started toward one end of the walk, thinking I would meander for a while and hit several along the way. Since I had such an early start to my day, I was apparently out too early for the art community, so I grabbed a latte at Halcyon Southtown, then walked along the river until Blue Star Contemporary opened. It was a beautiful day. I passed a few people on the trail, but it was clear that the world was starting to grow quiet.

My favorite exhibit was called Common Threads by Candace Hicks. She hand stitched 18 journals on canvas, each filled with synchronicities from stories she’d read and conversations she’d had. I read every single one, wearing white gloves and laughing or gasping at the brilliance of each piece. By the time I was done, I was ready for a nap… and then I would be off to start the family celebration. As I slipped into my private suite in a stranger’s house, my thoughts were on the words and letters that are stitched into the sturdy, canvas pages of my life with the boss who loved me, and how her beloved son’s marriage would be the beginning of a new journal for them.

From Candace Hicks’ Common Threads at BlueStar Contemporary

When I arrived at the restaurant, my heart was already reaching. The last time I had seen her, we dialed up the boss who needed me (who hired us both), and as we got caught up on each other’s lives, I shared that I was considering not returning to the corporate world. I remember worrying about what they might think of me, for considering such a choice, when they had both worked so hard and given up so much of their personal lives until they each retired near age 60. I don’t know why I would be surprised, there was no judgment, only love. As I am for them, they will always be delighted for my authentic happiness.

You will probably think this sounds goofy, but when I walked into the restaurant, and saw my tiny sacred being for the first time in two years, my whole body lit up. It was much like the moment in a movie, when two loved ones are reunited after multiple obstacles have kept them apart. My spirit released a heavy sigh, and said: “Finally… it’s you.” There might have been an orchestra playing, I can’t really say. It may have only been heard inside my head.

Sadly, the boss who needed me was advised not to travel, so upon arrival, I only knew two people gathered for the wedding weekend, having met the groom and the sister of the groom only once or twice over the years. The parents of the groom, I knew well. I was seated at a large round table with other loved ones… and despite my difference (the only white girl at the table), I felt accepted and embraced by the people who had gone to college with the boss who loved me, or who had been treasured neighbors where she lived before she started the last phase of her career.

The neat thing about a destination wedding, is that there are multiple gatherings over the weekend, which allows one time to get to know the other important people in the lives of those for whom you are standing witness. The weekend included a traditional Chinese rehearsal dinner with 12 courses on the first night, including a roasted suckling pig – a symbol of the purity of the relationship being honored. The second day brought the blessings of not only a wedding, but also, a traditional Tea Ceremony honoring both sets of parents and the newlywed couple, before the reception. The final event was a brunch at the same Chinese restaurant, to send-off the guests departing for home.

Each event offered a series of traditions that were honored. Always the teacher, the boss who loved me and her husband explained every step… in English and in Cantonese. I wish I had taken notes. After the extensive meal, there was a comb ceremony, where the bride’s hair and the groom’s hair was combed by their parents. Again, the traditional blessings were spoken in two languages by the Groom’s parents:

May your marriage last a lifetime
May you be blessed with a happy and harmonious marriage until old age
May you be blessed with an abundance of children and grandchildren
May you be blessed with longevity

The wedding ceremony was a ‘marriage’ of Western and Eastern traditions. The happy couple walked down the aisle in tuxedo and white dress, then changed briefly into traditional dress for the tea ceremony, then reappeared as before. The symbolism of the tea ceremony was of the children honoring the parents and their elders, while the parents and elders / ancestors offered blessings to the children. And then… there was food, wine, and dancing.

It was a pleasure to get to know the couple through their own eyes, as they spoke of their own love story, and to see in the groom the influence of his loving parents, whom I know so well.

Gathering for Sunday brunch before heading home was bitter sweet. These were now my people… those who threw the party and those who joined me in attendance. I felt accepted and embraced in this sacred collection of souls, and I was painfully aware that this kind of gathering would be the last, for a while.

I could have floated home, after a bookend afternoon alone on the Riverwalk, but for the heaviness in my heart. With a racist in the White House, xenophobia was already on the rise. I knew that my privilege was to travel while pasty white, while the person in the highest position in government was referring to Covid-19 as the China Virus.

I would be enormously cautious on my way home, and I would wear a mask for two weeks afterwards to ensure my parents’ safety (seems silly now that I didn’t do it the other way around, and wear a mask while traveling… the world was different in that moment). But I knew there was a very real concern for the safety of those from whom I had just parted. I worried for them, and I still do, as xenophobic attacks on Asians continue to rise. Those who enflamed, enacted, and enabled these actions are unforgivable and complicit in the harm that has come to our Asian American community, either physically or emotionally.

I would like to declare to the universe that LOVE, not hate, is viral. Let it be known throughout the world and for all time that we are all the same. We are all worthy of respect and caring, love and devotion, equity and fairness. We have all we need and plenty to share, so lets spread that love around. No one can be a threat to the love you have when you are inviting love to grow within and sharing it freely.

Finally, at this one year mark, many of us have or will soon receive a vaccine for our individual and communal protection. May the lessons we’ve learned stay with us long after the world has reopened. May we take not for granted the sheer joy of gathering in celebrations of love – new love, long love, family love, community love, earth love, lost love (especially poignant, as funerals and memorials have been delayed for so many), and every incarnation of love made manifest. May we hold onto what has been found in silence and solitude, as we have gathered up the beauty of our true selves formerly hidden in perpetual activity and distraction. May we find more ways to live fully, as we are no longer defined by the work we do, but by the love we give. And may all of the inequities and disparities revealed by this pandemic be permanently brought to light and find healing and grace for the change that is long overdue.

Happy Anniversary to the Happy Couple, and to those of us who made it safely through an extraordinary year. There is hope on the horizon and love lights our way. Thank you for walking this path with me. I love knowing you are here.
MAY YOU BE BLESSED WITH LONGEVITY.

Somewhere along the San Antonio Riverwalk, March 2020

Faith in Foundation

My parents were watching the news when I stopped by to prepare a late lunch for them today. As I was stepping back out to run an errand, my mother asked: “Don’t you want to watch the death of our country?” My reply: “No! We are witnessing our rebirth.”

I cannot tell you why, as we watched domestic terrorists attacking and entering our sacred halls of Congress, mingled with horror and disbelief was a sensation between my heart and stomach that felt like… well, excitement.

The truth is, anyone with an ounce of intuition and an ear for actual news, rather than the faux-kind, could see this event coming. So, even though a seditious mob ransacked the halls that house our laws, the fact is, there were already a number of seditious traitors inside. So, one can hardly be surprised that the behavior of those within felt like an invitation to those who left the rally at the White House to follow their leader’s instructions.

That’s how I see it from where I sit, anyway. I keep hoping Randy Rainbow will do a song about GOP sedition to the tune of “Tradition” from Fiddler on the Roof.

As the news was unfolding, I could not shake that odd feeling of anticipation. I had this overwhelming sense that this was it. We are witnessing the final death knell of the GOP. Maybe even the beginning of the end of the patriarchy. As friends expressed disgust and dismay, fear of civil war, and the likelihood of things going badly, I did not lose my sense of awe.

So many images have come to mind today. One is of the Hindu Goddess of Destruction, Kali. Another is the Celtic Goddess of Rebirth, Cerridwen. Both archetypes inform us of the beauty and necessity of destruction. One cannot rebuild on a cracked and broken foundation. It will not hold.

In order to rebuild a bathroom, you don’t just remove the wallpaper, you take it down to the studs to see what might be cracked or rotten beneath the facade. That mold that festers can make you sick down the road, so it must be revealed and then sealed.

Other images that have risen for me today are from film favorites. I could visualize the invasion of our democratic process today in clips and photos, and it was met with a scene from Lord of the Rings. I saw the Ents arriving to liberate Isengard. That scene matched the feeling in my body. When that scene arrives, it is the beginning of the end. There is still darkness ahead, and many orcs to be vanquished, but even though the work remains difficult, one can tell that perseverance will be rewarded. The light returns and chases away the shadows. It always does.

The other day, a friend of mine was doing a tarot reading for herself, and into her future fell the Tower. (It is an image that seems unsettling, with a lightning strike and people falling as the building crumbles.) I squealed with excitement, which was counter to her sigh of dread. I reminded her that the most important moments of my life were ‘Tower’ moments. They were occasions when the rug was pulled from beneath me, but revealed a stunning hard wood floor.

To be sure, there is darkness ahead for our country (at least one person was killed in today’s terrorist attack, and it feels as if justice failed to remove her blindfold, not to mention that a lack of leadership has cost us hundreds of thousands of lives to Covid-19), but there is also light. The dark tower is falling. The gift of this nightmare presidency will surely be that the facade of our beloved country has been peeled away, and every crack and spot of mold has been revealed. There will be new foundations poured, and stronger supports installed.

Last year’s word for me was TRUST. I wanted not only to be surrounded by those I can trust, but I intended to be trustworthy, and above all else, I wanted to learn to trust myself. So, I have to say… this odd excitement that is rising within me on a very dark day in American history… I trust what she is telling me. She is teaching me about FAITH. She is informing me that the word for 2021 is TRUTH, and that we shall indeed… build back better. Bring it on, 46!

The Empty Calendar

Today, I pulled down the 2020 calendar to be replaced.

It was a gift from my financial advisor, featuring paintings from The Saturday Evening Post. Once upon a time, I would have passed on such a gift, seeking something more me… with artwork from a Pre-Raphaelite artist or Mary Engelbreit, but since I owe my current lifestyle, in part, to the compassionate insight of my financial advisor, I liked the idea of holding him close. (Thanks Tony!)

What a strange thing… to flip through the pages of a bygone calendar year like the one we’ve just narrowly escaped. To be honest, the world I manage resides mostly on google, but the big things would usually go on the wall calendar. Like a visit from my brother and his family, a trip that might take me out of town, or a workshop I designed to share with others.

In this case, January reminded me of a friend’s knee surgery, Second Sunday Supper, Book Group, and my 51st birthday. February boasted my second annual Seeds of Intention Workshop (where we would assess the different areas of our lives to determine where we wanted to focus our intentions for… the year ahead), filing my taxes, and what would be the last time we would get to see my brother and his wife, who had come up from South Florida.

Then, I flip to March. It’s kind of eerie to look at. There’s a trip to San Antonio for a wedding, followed by a countdown. 14 days to wear a mask each time I entered my parents’ home. Somewhere in this wordpress account, is an unfinished post about the beautiful wedding I attended. It remains unfinished… much like the calendar.

Page after page of 2020 is blank. Void of significant pronouncements. Right up until October 20, which reads: “Dad Broke Hip”. Then, “Pop to Rehab”. In November… there was one weekend marked with something completely different – a two-day escape with a friend to Merritt Island. Then the day before Thanksgiving, “Dad Discharge”. December, again, is blank.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I did nothing with my days. They were filled with enormous care, and loads of love. I have no regrets for the extreme caution we have chosen, in order to keep ourselves and those we love safe and well (not to mention those we don’t know, but care for just the same). Many of those days were filled with learning and growing, with spiritual deepening, with virtual connectedness, and the acquisition of new tools and new skills in the art of eldercare. We miss our people, but so far… though physically distant, we are still all present and accounted for.

But so many are not as lucky as we. Those blank calendar pages remind me of all the lives that were brimming with to-dos and check marks of accomplishment, with no more pages to be flipped. My heart aches for those who have lost loved ones this year, whether to this virus, to dis-ease, despair, or the horrors of brutality. I grieve not only for those who were unable to have the hand of a loved one holding theirs at departure, but for those they have left behind, without the opportunity to be surrounded and held by those who love them, each longing to ease suffering in the smallest, but most meaningful way.

I remember feeling so lucky that Dad had remained relatively well all year, because I couldn’t imagine him being in a hospital or rehab facility, should there be covid restrictions prohibiting visitors. When that fifth fall in a week broke his upper femur, I was relieved to know that he could at least have one visitor each day.

My parents and I have stopped doing the whole gift thing for Christmas. So, this year I bought us the box-set of the 90’s TV series, Northern Exposure. We’ve been watching two episodes each evening. It is a delightful way to end each day. A gift that keeps on giving.

One of the episodes we watched tonight was an old favorite. I think of it each year around the solstice, as the town gathers to celebrate the birth of the Sun, through the indigenous tale of the Raven. The episode takes us through the lives of our beloved community, each unique and fantastic… valued for their individuality and authenticity. Each honors the season of light in their own way, and their community holds space for all of it.

I could weep to remember that this world my parents and I are diving into, with intense longing, is fictional… but frankly, it reminds me of what it means to be Unitarian. I was blessed to grow up, not in a dogmatic religion that excludes the ideas of others, but in a loving community that honors all traditions, and has space at the table for everyone, including Mother Earth, herself.

In a year that has made consumerism feel rather foolish, I was struck by a quote from the town DJ and philosopher, Chris in the Morning: “Happiness doesn’t come from having things… it comes from being a part of things.”

Being a part of several sacred circles this year has delivered great light and joy, in the darkest of times. The big events on the 2020 calendar were few, but commitments to weekly or monthly gatherings on Zoom were consistent and sustaining. We all long to gather again, in safe spaces that are free from shields and obstacles, but what I know for sure is that we can do hard things. We can love others enough to keep them safe for a few more months… or several, if necessary.

As I hung the new calendar where the old one used to be, I opened it to a blank January. So far, it is marked for Inauguration Day and my 52nd Birthday. These pages are holding space for hope. One day, I will get to mark a square with ‘Vaccines’ for the three of us. And then, maybe… at some point… my brother and his family will get a few squares. That will be something to celebrate, indeed.

Thank you for walking this path with me. I am grateful for your presence in my life. Please know that if you are walking through your own darkness, or living with the ache of longing due to a loss that cannot be whispered or spoken, you are held firmly in the light of love. May the Raven soon carry the light of the Sun to brighten your heart and sky. I love you.

Time for Mending

One week ago today, my phone rang at 7:37am. Three out of the four other times that week that my phone rang was in the hour of 2am, so I’m pretty sure my body thought it was home-free, for the night, from the trauma of what those calls announced.

When the caller ID says it is ‘Mom’s Cell’ calling, I know that Alexa is calling me from my father’s bathroom. It informs me that my larger than life, 83-year old father is lying on the floor and that he needs my assistance.

This fifth call in a week wasn’t really a surprise. His Leo’s pride kept him from calling me BEFORE he pushed the button of his lift chair to bring him to his feet (he didn’t want to wake me), and then pull his red Rollator Nitro walker before him so he could struggle to rise and make his way to the bathroom to empty his bladder. Had he called, I could have been unlocking the front door of my parents’ home before he released the brakes to step gingerly away from the safety of his recliner.

Instead, I got the familiar call that puts my body into a trauma response. Wondering where on the floor I will find him, and if this will be the time that I am unable to help.

The fourth call was one of those times, actually. I pulled out the Indeelift device that helps us lift his body to where his knees are at a 90 degree angle, so he can then push himself to a standing position, but he didn’t have the strength to pull himself onto the platform. I had to call for a ‘lift assist’, and the fire department sent over four strong men to set him back into his chair.

But the fifth call… this was the one we were all dreading. This was the one where he didn’t get to decline a trip to the emergency room. This was the one where the pain was too great. This was the one that led to x-rays. This was the one that came with a diagnosis that comes with horror stories. My father, the man with bones and toenails of steel, had broken his hip.

I think he and I both went to that dark place with this news. I asked him what he was thinking, and he said that he was considering everything this would mean. He didn’t elaborate, possibly because I was in tears considering the same thing, feeling as if I had failed to keep him safe. I was thinking that for years I’d heard it said, when an elderly person breaks a hip, they are not long for this world. He was probably thinking he should have called me before the trip rather than after the fall.

It would be 24-hours before they could do the surgery to put a rod in his leg and repair the break in his upper femur. I was grateful that Covid-19 restrictions allowed one visitor to stay with him in the ER and during visiting hours, once admitted. They gave him a pain blocker and some pain meds to get him through the night. As he was drifting off to sleep, and I wished him sweet dreams, he said to me, “We’re going to have to get you one of those handheld crossbows.” I’m not sure where those pain meds were taking him, but I wish I could have seen the view from his perspective.

On Sunday, he was accepted and transferred to a Rehabilitation Hospital that has a pretty strict regimen for recovery. They provide each patient with three hours per day of physical and occupational therapy. The intention is to have each patient out within two weeks. To be honest, I don’t know that any amount of therapy will help. He has a host of complications that may impair the possibility of getting stronger. He fell four times in a week, and that was before he broke his hip. That said, before surgery I asked him if he wanted a Do Not Resuscitate order should anything go wrong, and his response was a resounding, NO! So, here’s to the strength of spirit for something more.

As for me, I have not had a day off of caregiving duty since this time last year. In addition to wanting to stay close for the possibility of a 2am phone call, Covid-19 has never gone into remission in the state in which we live. It hasn’t felt wise to travel and risk exposure or worse, unknowingly delivering the risk to others. 2020 has been a difficult year for all of us, and I have the added joy of constant highway construction just a few yards from my house. It’s like living in a war zone with the sound of dump trucks banging like cannon-fire, constant motion of cranes and power shovels, and then there’s the rattle and hum that shakes the whole house and bounces the art off the walls as dirt is shimmied and compressed into a highway foundation. Oh! And the pounding of pylons! That felt like an all out assault on my entire body. Needless to say… I’m exhausted.

One of the things I have to acknowledge is that I have two significant strengths at play, when it comes to my choice to not go back to work and care for my parents full-time. One is EMPATHY and the other is RESPONSIBILITY. When I am more distressed about our current situation than either of my parents seem to be, it is quite possible that my strengths are out of balance.

I feel obligated to stand at attention and be of service. It’s what I’ve always done. I used to get paid for it. Somehow, in my need to feel needed and worthy of love, I trained myself to give away so much of myself there was nothing left for me. The year my boss was dealing with a hostile takeover, I told myself I couldn’t take time off unless she did, because it would cause HER more stress. My own stress level and five weeks of unused vacation were secondary. Not because she required it of me, but because I demanded it of myself.

I’ve noticed how my body and mind have been telling me that it is time for a break, the way it did during that difficult year at work, but I hate that it may be made possible by my father’s extended stay elsewhere to recover from a broken and mending body.

I’m working on figuring out how to get away during a pandemic, and plans are starting to develop. Meanwhile, I am mindful of how beautiful it can be to find one’s self in need. During these months of lockdown, I have gotten to know my neighbors. Many of us have been here for decades, but the coming and going of our lives kept us passing with a wave or completely out of sight. Now, we have exchanged phone numbers, and text each other to see if anyone needs something from the store. And when a neighbor was outside the morning the ambulance came… I received messages of concern and outreach from several neighbors, wanting to know that we are safe and well, and how they might be of service to me.

Dear friends and beloved community are letting us know that they are holding us close, and they are standing-by, intending to assist in any way. One friend thanked me for allowing her to cook a pot of soup for us this week. I thanked her back, for reminding me how important it is to allow those who love us to be of service, when they are so desperately wishing there was something they could do.

So, thank you, dear ones… for taking the time to read about the heavy burdens I am carrying, for sending your healing energy and caring thoughts for my father’s recovery and wellness, and for holding space for a woman who is still learning how to treat herself with the same kindness and compassion she so abundantly offers to others. Much like the highway that runs through my side yard, I am a never ending work in progress. It seems tedious, but worth the effort.

Thank you for walking this path with me. None of us should have to do the hard things alone. I suspect that when we feel that we are isolated or abandoned, it is because we are too overwhelmed to notice that we are surrounded by a Tribe that has been paving the way all along. Goodness, we are so blessed, and ever so grateful. We hope that you and yours are safe and well.

Beloved October

This morning I woke with a sense of joy. My favorite month has finally arrived. I greet it with enthusiasm, as I do my cats (GOOD MORNING FLEUR AND NEVILLE!), my sanctuary (GOOD MORNING HOUSE!), and the lizards on the porch, as I step outside to check the weather (GOOD MORNING LIZARDS!). GOOD MORNING OCTOBER! To all of them and to you, I say: I’m so glad you are here!

Living so close to the equator in the state of Florida, October isn’t really so different from September. Really, it is just the idea of it that brings my spirit to a glorious new vibration. I mean, we don’t even get to enjoy the striking color display of states just north of us. We pretty much experience different shades of green throughout the year, until the dull green oak leaves get pushed out by the vibrant green leaves in February, when the world seems coated in yellow-green pollen, and no one can breathe for the code-red pollen count.

Still, I know change is happening somewhere. I can feel it in my bones. For example, the high today is expected to be only 82 degrees. We’re actually having a cold-front! It makes me want to step out of the air conditioning and twirl as I burst into song.

I think the animals are doing the same. I’m in a suburb, so wildlife sightings are limited, but today I was delighted by it. As I walked to my parents’ home to help my father with his morning routine, I happened upon a grand celebration. No less than nine squirrels were dashing around the trunk and branches of their neighbor’s tree. I tried counting them several times, but then three would dash up and to the left, while three more went up and to the right, and a few more came down the trunk and into the yard… and back up again. I stood there, as witness to an abundance of joyful activity and I laughed until I cried.

Since I pay attention to synchronicity and seek messages from the universe, I am taking from Squirrel spirit that I am prepared for the future, I am abundantly blessed, and now it is time to manifest more joy in my life. I mean… NINE SQUIRRELS! One cannot ignore Mother Nature when she is trying to get your attention in such a remarkable way.

Thank you, dear universe, for the abundance of joy in my life, for providing all I need with plenty to share, and for the blessings of beauty that surround me every day. I am grateful.

To be sure, I have struggled with despair in recent weeks. I live in a state where Covid-19 restrictions are being lifted, while thousands of people are testing positive, and more than 100 people die each day. It is painful to understand that life is so meaningless to so many. I have felt oppressed by the realization that in order to keep my parents safe, we will all have to continue living in exile for the foreseeable future. I miss my people. I miss hugging them. I miss seeing their smiles, in real life… unmasked and radiant in the reflection of mutual affection.

Oh, and then there’s the awareness that there are people trying to get rid of the best healthcare coverage I’ve had in 50 years. I cannot, for the life of me, understand how anyone could believe this is a caring thing to do. Why don’t people care about the safety and wellness of others?

But today… today is the beginning of October! And even if I can’t see it… I can feel that change is coming. The things in life that no longer serve us are beginning to shrivel on the vine, and soon it will all fall away. There will be a time of naked awareness as the pile at our feet exposes the truth of what wickedness once grew unhindered and fed by poison.

Then… one day soon, we will bear witness to new growth and vibrant blossoming of new beginnings. This life thing, on the earthly plane, is comprised of a series of cycles, and all things must end. I, for one, value the darkness, and I do not fear endings. In my life, every ending has delivered clarity and greater understanding of where I’ve been and how I’d like to pave my path forward. It shall not be an easy task, but imagine where it will take us!

Thank you for walking this path with me.
May October bring you an abundance of blessings and endless moments of joy. I love you more.

Joy and Woe Entwined

Each week in my world, an international circle of friends gathers to discuss a random topic. This week’s discussion was inspired by a portion of William Blake’s 1863 (published then, written earlier) poem, The Auguries of Innocence. The piece of the much longer poem that initiated conversation was this…

What happens in circle stays in circle, but I can tell you what rose to mind for me, and some of what I shared… at least, what has not yet fallen through the holes of my swiss-cheese-memory, as we discussed what brings us joy, and what the words of this portion of the poem unearthed.

The thread for which my mind first reached was that JOY is surely woven with SORROW. It brings to mind a tapestry upon a cold castle wall that not only warms the corridor, but seeks to tell a story.

Empathy is one of 34 inherent strengths that comes most naturally to me, and I am also an Aquarian extrovert, so when I think of what brings me joy, the first images to come to mind are, at once – spending time with those I love, and bearing witness to the joy of others. Because I feel the emotions of others, I simply relish the opportunity to know that loved ones are happy, safe, and well.

The most recent example was a friend who called for my support. Facing a change of ‘home’ in her 80s, the uncertainty and the financial challenges felt overwhelming. She’s engaged me as her End of Life Doula, and I confirmed I would be her ‘person’, should there be an -in case of emergency- situation. But I also reminded her that, as she looked at the many options for shelter in the year ahead, that above all, she should remove from her concerns that she would ever be homeless. She is well-loved by many with guest rooms, so her worse-case scenario would never include being abandoned and destitute. With that reminder, her entire being began to relax. She called the next day to tell me that I was right, that everything would be okay, and that she already has solutions. And just like that, her sense of peace, became my JOY.

I sometimes get the sense that when WOE is winning – pressed tightly to the chest – encased in fear, we may fail to see that JOY is right there, too, holding space, and awaiting our notice. When we do, everything relaxes, and as we breathe more deeply, we are able to witness everything falling into place, exactly as it should.

The last blog post I shared, was a plea for your assistance to enhance healing energy for someone in need. And this… is what next came to mind about the entanglement of JOY and WOE. A friend and former colleague had recently come back into my life through social media. She was sharing the joy of her work life and personal life – in a pandemic paradigm, along with the woes of friends who struggled with the deadly virus that took some and spared some. I thought of the blanket of comfort she is weaving now, with a special page dedicated to her beloved’s unexpected and all-consuming battle with lung cancer.

The walls of her castle are warmed with photographs of past adventures, the loving memories of devoted friends, online-gatherings to walk a healing labyrinth on her beloved’s behalf, with prayers spoken, songs enchanted, and the very real terror of the limitations of the body and medicine. Connectedness through community is their lifeline, and joy comes to greet the sorrow with the arrival of bucket list gifts, and friends wearing masks to carry the wounded warrior out of the house and into the car to return to the hospital for more chemotherapy. I am agog with the vulnerability and courage they are each expressing to the universe. They are showing us all how to strengthen the weave.

If you are willing and able to read my last post and wish to add your healing energy to the intention of his wellness, please click here (when you finish this):

https://beethelight.blog/2020/08/22/circle-up-for-love-that-heals/

The third thing that came to mind, was the JOY of building deeper bonds of commitment and connection during the WOES of social injustice and global pandemic. I don’t know about you, but I have a minimum of four online gatherings each week, some of which have been occurring since the Spring Equinox. As the Autumn Equinox approaches, only 15 days away, what started as a way to know that dear ones were safe and well through the early weeks of uncertainty and skyrocketing death rates, has become a comforting salve for our longing.

We long to gather safely in one sacred space, with beautiful smiling faces unburdened by the veil of a mask. We ache for the hugs that remind us we are not alone, and that this is not all a dream, we are real and tangible, and lovable, and necessary in the lives of those who love us. We are grateful for the JOY of this technology, which enables us to, at the same time, sit in the living rooms of those we love, to show them that we are safe and well, and through the light of our eyes, exhibit the sorrows of our seclusion and the commitment to doing whatever it takes to get to the other side of this challenging banishment… for HUGS AWAIT!

I hope my circle-mate won’t mind me sharing this one item that resonated from our conversation that night. She said (far more eloquently) that her grandmother taught her that when she goes about selecting pieces of fabric for making a quilt, she must ensure there are many muted squares – so that the favorite fabrics can be savored all the more.

From afar, I witness the mingled vines of JOY and WOE through what is happening around the country and the globe. Friends in the west are facing the specter of a dry scorched earth as wild fires rage, and the Gulf Coast endures yet another destructive hurricane, and little earthquakes are happening in unexpected places. In other countries, communities are reopening and reconnecting to the lives they once knew… with some caution, but some freedom, too.

And in my own tiny world… amid the WOE of missing hugs and mountain adventures, from this sanctuary I JOYfully embrace the comfort and safety of a home surrounded by oak trees, beloved tiny lizards, and wonderful neighbors. I am writing to you from a peaceful living room that is filled with a great deal of art that I love, and two kitties at rest. We are surrounded by the WOEful heat of this sunshine state, but are blessed by the JOY of air conditioning, while my parents, just seven houses up the street, are doing the same with their three dogs.

We are all safe and well, and continue to find JOY in the small things. That we have each other is not taken for granted, and without a doubt, we know it to be no small thing, at all.

Thank you for walking this path with me. I love you more.

An Unusual Harvest

Today is Lughnasadh, or Lammas, in the northern hemisphere. On the Celtic calendar, it is the cross quarter holiday that marks the midpoint between the summer solstice and the autumn equinox. When we lived in farming communities, it was considered the first harvest.

Since some of us were born with brown thumbs and outside of farming communities, as many do in the current era, we can still find value in these calendar pages through the power of metaphor. And so, once again, I ask… What’s in your harvest?

My Sacred Gardeners and I met in February for the annual workshop on intention setting. At Imbolc, we planted our figurative seeds of intention. Even with a brown thumb, intentions can grow when nurtured with mindfulness and attention.

We anticipated gathering again at the end of March, for the Spring Equinox, and even had a Beltaine retreat planned in my beloved Blue Ridge Mountains. It was to be a weekend dedicated to falling in love with ourselves, right down to a commitment ceremony with rings and circlets of flowers for our heads.

But sometimes, something happens in life that takes our attention away from the garden. A loved one dies, a job is lost, the path forward becomes less clear and uncertainty enters like a thick fog. 2020 has certainly been that kind of a year, ten-fold.

But every eight weeks, the wheel of the year turns to remind us to come back to the cycles of nature. Everything changes. All life is temporary. We remember that though these days are challenging, frustrating, disappointing, sad… they, too, are temporary. This pandemic will come to an end. This physical distancing from those we love will come to an end. This financial insecurity and horrific failure of leadership will come to an end. In the meantime, we are free to set our fears and worries aside, to come back to our gardens of intention.

So… this would be the time of year, the midpoint Imbolc and Winter Solstice, to assess the status of our intentions. What is ready to be harvested and stored to sustain us through the long winter? When I look back at my own lifechart completed with my gardeners, I can reflect on the key words I chose to adorn my candle of intention.

I realize that what I might have pictured to be a result of these intentions may not have manifested in the ways I had intended, but I can usually see that the Universe conspired to bring them to fruition in glorious and unexpected ways. The beauty of the garden is always found in the eyes of the beholder. One gardener may prefer something tediously manicured, while another may delight in allowing Mother Nature to do Her own thing.

What I have found is that my word for the year is RECIPROCITY. and I have found it in the ways that love is offered and returned, as friends and community respect and care for one another. We wear masks, we connect by phone, text, and Zoom. We don’t take personally the necessity of our distancing. We do what we can to deliver kindness, compassion, and togetherness in new and innovative ways.

I wanted to EMBODY TRUST. Which was not just to be the friend and daughter that those I love could depend on to hold their truth with gentle reverence, but that I would do the same for myself. That I would trust myself completely. That I would hear the sacred voice of my own intuition, and never doubt it.

I intended to continue to HEAL AND GROW this year, and I certainly have. Gratefully, much of this work can be done out in the world, but is even more succinct when done in solitude or isolation. In silence and without distractions of others, we can hear the cries of the oppressed, and ask ourselves what we don’t know. How is my silence harmful? How might I do better and be better as a trusted friend and ally? Oh, yes! I have learned so much… and I am still learning.

To CULTIVATE JOY was an intention, and I can see the many ways this has grown. Right before our world shut down, I was reunited with the boss who loved me, at the occasion of her son’s wedding. When he later wrote me, he said that it was so obvious to him how much she and I loved and cared for each other. And even though that was the last time I’ve gathered in a room with others… I have continued to find joy in the beautiful moments of each and every day… in a brief chat with a neighbor, having a giggle with my parents, witnessing the bats fly over my head as I walk home from tucking them in. So much delight can be found in living a small and simple life.

I wanted my year to be GROUNDED IN LOVE, and though there are many days when anger and outrage rise to greet the news of the day, it is always love that grounds me. Primarily, self-love. Each time I enter my home, after caring for my parents or doing the bi-weekly grocery run, I greet my kitties, and I walk through a mist of homemade balancing spray. As I do, I feel my shoulders drop, and my whole body relaxes. I can feel my roots reconnect to the earth through my sanctuary of home, and all is right with the world.

The final word on my candle of intention makes me laugh. Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, always reminds me to be careful what you wish for. The word is RETREAT. Well… my intention was to host TWO retreats this year, in those sacred mountains. At first, we thought we would just lose the opportunity in May, but now… as my home state has skyrocketing Covid cases, it is clear that none of us will be traveling in October, either. But still… this intention surely did manifest. Just… not as imagined.

We have retreated into our homes, to keep our loved ones safe. I am in a daily retreat, really, as each day when I return from caring for my parents, I enter my home, and come back into myself… each day a little deeper. I can remember hearing about silent retreats or going on retreat alone, and thinking it had no appeal. And yet, I have found myself here over and over again, not just this year, but in the two years prior, as I endeavored to create a life beyond the corporate world I’d always known.

What I’ve found here, is that though I may be alone, I love the one I’m with. There is no one I’d rather be secluded with when the world is plagued with a potential plague. That’s kind of a pleasant surprise, for the girl who searched long and hard for a love she deserved… to have found it within herself.

Finally, all of these intentions manifested in the form of a new kind of togetherness. With our worlds becoming so small, during self-isolation and continued extreme caution until a vaccine can be discovered and broadly shared, some of us have chosen to see more of each other. Since March, I have been virtually meeting weekly with a Thursday night group of International friends from a course we took together, a weekly Friday night group of intuitive friends, a Saturday morning group with my Sacred Gardeners, and a Sunday night group with my goddesses.

So, I no longer meet people for lunch, but I do take an occasional masked-walk with a friend, with a hip-bump greeting instead of a hug. I write random letters and send them the old fashioned way, in the mail. My friend, who lives on the opposite corner of the country, and I have become pen pals, and last week she sent me sealing wax and a spoon for melting – so our letters are both sealed with more than just love.

I don’t know what I thought I’d find when I decided to walk through my garden of intentions, but I have to say, I’m pretty darned pleased with what I’ve found here. I allowed Mother Nature to do her thing, and as always, she has WOWed me beyond belief.

I hope that you and yours are safe and well. I hope that despite the unexpected twists and turns of an unusual and extraordinary year, it has been kinder to you than realized. I hope that your personal harvest is filled with light, love, and laughter that nourishes, nurtures, and sustains you throughout the coming seasons. Thank you for walking this path with me. I love you more.

The Great Unbecoming

I feel as if the world is in a state of transformation. Global pandemic feels like a symptom of the rising perception of separateness over the past many years. Countries (including my own) that I once admired for what I imagined to be inclusiveness, being so called melting pots of many beautiful and rich cultures, somehow accepted exclusion. They allowed fear and greed to close their borders to people of certain religions or skin tones, and locked children in cages. They voted everyone off the island, so they could have it to themselves. With every news story over the last four years, many of us have asked, “What have we become?”

When forced to go within, as we have all been asked to shelter-in-place for the mercy of our healthcare workers and community members who are at greatest risk, life has become quiet enough to hear the cries of the oppressed. That’s why the world showed up for the murder of George Floyd. They were less distracted by the incessant busy-ness of the world. We have all heard the reports of black people dying in police custody for decades and brown people being caged at our borders, but it was too easy to look away, toward board meetings and soccer matches, and the mind-numbing endeavor to do more, have more, be more. It makes me wonder if this is when we get to ask, “What are we unbecoming?”

I have such curiosity about the emptiness one must feel to insist on spending their lives working so hard to ensure they can buy more things, at the detriment of others, who would be grateful just to have enough food to fill their bellies. Hoarding newspapers and hoarding dollars are really no different, they are both symbolic of filling a hole. When people who don’t pay their fair share of taxes have more money than one can spend in a lifetime (or many lifetimes), while other humans are becoming homeless because they cannot pay their medical bills, we are witnessing crimes against humanity.

To be honest, I can relate to a time in my life when my rising income felt like an affirmation of my worth. It actually wasn’t that long ago. When I left the corporate world and chose to live more simply and care for my aging parents, it took some time to move through the fear of less. This choice has made my life look very small from the outside. I am more mindful of how I spend my savings, and I no longer live beyond my means.

In the process of unbecoming who I thought the world expected me to be, I discovered the rich beauty of who I already am. My income does not define my worthiness of love, it is the actions of my heart that does so. From the inside, my life looks vast and expansive.

When the shutdown for Covid-19 started, I felt a sense of excitement alongside feelings of dread. I imagined that when other people had the opportunity (even when not by choice) to make their worlds small, they might choose to go within. I hoped that they would find the beauty of simplicity, and that even without the ability to dine out daily, and to show the world how worthy they are to be loved, by the cost of the car they drive or the overpriced iProducts they carry, they might realize that life is incredibly beautiful and that being in caring community is an enormous blessing. (This lesson did not arrive for me, until the pandemic insisted that my neighbors stay at home. Most of us have been on this block for 20 years or more, and we are just now learning each others’ names.)

And I do believe that is happening for some, at least in my virtual circles. But what is also happening, as I live in a state that opened too soon and is now seeing a distressing rise in Covid infections, is that living simply and making life small was too uncomfortable for many. The truth had become impossible to believe, and so they imagined themselves immune without regard for those who might not survive their contamination.

I’ve heard some of those people say that they refuse to live in fear, and therefore will not wear a mask, and they will not stop living the life to which they feel entitled. But I wonder what is lost in that inability to place the concern for others above their own perceived pleasure.

I would argue, based on my own life experience, that fear enters our lives to alert us that it is time for change. When I have felt most unsafe and most fearful, or rather when I was on the other side of fear – looking back, I realized that the fear was announcing that great, life-altering transformation was near. I learned that I could see the fear rise, and hold it close, then comfort it and wait patiently for new beginnings to arrive.

It reminds me of being present for the births of three of my goddess daughters. Each time, when their courageous mother, who had chosen natural childbirth, announced in panic that she “could not do this”, her body was telling us that the girls were about to leave the darkness of the womb to be welcomed into the light. I know that those moments felt frightening, but there was no going back, it was too late for numbing medication, and there was untold, remarkable beauty about to be birthed. That beauty, born through fear, made our lives and the world a better and brighter place to live.

We do have a sense that things will get harder and that darkness will grow. Covid-19 continues to surge in America, and it is rising elsewhere. The toll on world economy will surely be overwhelming and deeply unsettling. I have no doubt that fear will be seeded in the hearts of many.

But what I hope will also happen is that the light of truth will rise even higher and shine even brighter. As sacred souls go within for reflection, they will discover what is truly important (that things are not among them) – their health and wellness is important, as is the health and wellness of every being upon the earth, as is Mother Earth Herself.

I hope we can all see that it is not what we’ve accomplished, or what we drive, or where we live, or how we travel that makes us worthy of being loved, but our very existence that makes us so.

I hope that on the other side of fear, a new world is brought to birth, and that we will look back on this pandemic and social justice uprising as labor pains that brought into the world the beauty of humanity, humility, equity, and peace.

May we hold space for this better future without expectation of timing.
Let us commit to doing the labor without looking away or going numb.

May it be so. So mote it be. Blessed be. Amen.
Thank you for walking this path with me. I love you more.

Feeling Seen and Heard

I’ve been finding it difficult to enjoy movie and television entertainment lately. Real life is difficult and complicated right now, and if I am going to turn on the television seeking entertainment, I don’t want it to make me feel worse… I want it to make me feel better. I often start something and turn it off if it cannot ‘take me away’ within the first few minutes. Life is short, maybe even shorter with the threat of a deadly virus lurking nearby, and I don’t want to waste time on anything that does not endeavor to help me grow or fill me up.

I quit cable television 15 years ago, and I have never missed it. Before streaming channels became a thing, I only watched DVDs, and now I have a ROKU device that offers channels of my choosing. But I find myself finding nothing worth watching these days, and so I land on YouTube. There, you can find programs that last 15 minutes to two hours. There are documentaries, clips from programming on topics of concern (like How to be Anti-Racist and White Fragility), and there are TEDTalks, too.

Last night, I happened upon this ‘talk’ by Joseph Gordon-Levitt. He’s an American actor, but also a collaborative creator. He and his brother started a fabulous center for creative minded people from all over the world to connect and contribute online, called Hit REcord. It is enormously uplifting to witness the work that comes to life when nurtured by such crafty folks. It is surely the inspiration that paved the way for what I call ‘Covid Creativity’, as musicians and singers come together through Zoom to perform for our entertainment while remaining safely at home.

In this TEDtalk, Joe asks [paraphrasing]: “How does a social media platform make money? It is selling the attention of its users to advertisers.” He says that, “We become addicted to the power of getting attention.” He goes further to remind us that when we are less distracted, we are able to ‘be in the flow’, which nurtures and expands our creativity. This is a pretty vague summary, so I hope you’ll watch it and see what rises for you, but here’s what it sparked for me.

I am taking time away from social media during Mercury Retrograde, because my addiction to the attention I give and receive on that platform distracts from my ability to be ‘in the flow’.

I referred above to leaving cable television behind in 2005. What was a surprise to me, at that time, was that I found myself finally grieving my relationship which had ended FOUR YEARS before. I recognized that I had been numbing myself with visual noise. Now, just about 36-hours into my FB-fast, I am already finding ‘the flow’. I still hear and feel the chaos of construction in my side-yard, but if I focus on my words, I can move the noise to my side-mind. I’ll be relieved when they are through. Even the sound of unhindered traffic moving will be soothing when the crash of dump truck gates has moved on.

The other thing that Joe brought to mind is the question of why I write. Am I just seeking attention? Am I validated by the number of readers who show up in my blog stats, or how many likes I get on a FB post?

I think that once upon a time, my answer might have been, yes. But I’m not so sure now. I think that what I am seeking by writing is connection. First and foremost, I am seeking connection with myself and my authentic truth. Next, I am seeking connection with those of like-mind. The world is vast, but what I know for sure is that in every corner of the world, there are people who resonate with each of us in a way that delivers a sense of belonging. Whether it is because we share a history of self-loathing with a desire to feel like we are enough, or because we care deeply about the heartbreaking destruction of our planet and about protecting the lives of those oppressed by systemic racism.

About 20 years ago, my Mom was asked to speak during a church service on the topic of her connection with nature. There was one line that failed to fall through the swiss cheese holes of my mind after all of these years. It was a quote from Konrad Lorenz from his lifelong study of the Behavior of the Greylag Goose. His book published in 1988 was titled, “Here Am I — Where Are You?” And these words resonate with me when I ask myself why I write. My purpose is not to seek attention or validation, but to let you know that I am here, and I desire to know that you are here, too. I wish to offer up the truth of my soul, as I discover it, and long to hear the truth of yours. I suspect that what we all hope for in the pilgrimage of purpose is to feel as if we have been seen and heard, before we cease to exist.

Here’s a video I found about Konrad Lorenz’s work, if you are interested.

On last night’s weekly video conference, my friends and I discussed the consequences of despair and hopelessness. What happens in circle stays in circle, but I will share with you a thought I had while holding space for this topic. We are aware of overwhelming sorrow in the world right now, as we face the fear of economic and health uncertainty. Someday, we will learn of the true number of souls who chose to move on, rather than to stick around to see how this pandemic pans out. As an empath, I feel this truth in my body. Since March, I have often experienced symptoms of pain and pressure in my chest that have made me worry that I might be ‘carrying the corona’. I got a clean bill of health in February with my annual exams and I have practiced extreme caution, so I am certain that what I am feeling is 1) allergy related – because I live in Florida where something is always in bloom, 2) psychosomatic responses to the news of escalating outbreaks, and/or 3) the suffering of others felt through my innate strength of physical and emotional empathy.

Even with all of that awareness, I still experience moments of despair and hopelessness. Knowing that this virus will take a long time to figure out, I recognize that my state of aloneness will not change for the foreseeable future. My longing for being hugged and held cannot be fulfilled as long as the threat of breathing the same air as another can endanger the lives of my parents. Not to mention that being over 50 and overweight puts me into the potential death category, alongside the two sacred beings that I care for daily.

As I explore this particular ‘truth of my soul’, I can only acknowledge that I know I am not alone in walking with this shadow of doubt. And the message that arrives to greet my reach is this:

This is temporary. Our world has long been shrouded in the darkness of uncertainty (even when some of us were oblivious), and when shadows have been revealed, we’ve learned to shine our light even brighter to discover a deeper truth. Light is returning and shadows will recede. This exile will one day be a distant memory, through which we will have grown into deeper and stronger beings.

Until it is safe to be hugged and held by another, you will be held in the light of love as you are seen and heard by those whose hearts are called to this sacred space. All are welcome!

Thank you for walking this path with me. I see you. I hear you. I am holding you close through the darkness and all the way back into the light. I love you more.


If you are in the US, and are feeling hopeless and alone, please consider calling SAMHSA’s National Helpline at 800.662.4357. There is someone available 24/7 to provide confidential guidance and support.