Monthly Archive for: ‘September, 2011’

Equinox

September 23, 2011

I celebrate Mother Earth as a living consciousness each Solstice and each Equinox. You probably already know that the Equinox is a time of perfect balance of daylight and night dark. Did you know that an egg could stand upright without falling during the Equinox? Try it and you, too will appreciate the balanced energy field of our planet. Seasonal passages and cycles can support us as well as alert us to places to balance and expand our own consciousness.

Every Equinox I challenge myself to look at where I feel balance in my inner life and outer expression as well as where I sense imbalance. One of the patterns I notice is how much energy I devote to nurturing others. Like many women, relationships and caring and connecting bring me joy and meaning. The balance practice that I committed myself to maintain until the Winter Solstice in mid December is to gift myself with six hours of silence for one day a week. Time for a word fast, self-care, and going within to discover who will show up.

In Maine autumn is a time of relaxing in front of the fire pit with sweaters, apple picking, getting lost and finding our way in corn mazes, cider pressing, and seeing your breath in front of you in the early morning. My grandmother traditionally made pickles and my mother made jam to celebrate autumn. I concoct nourishing homemade soups and cutback on tabouli and green salads fresh from my garden.

Living in Maine, allows me to be receptive to seasonal passages. For instance, I notice how darkness descends earlier in the day now and mornings take longer to be light. Each morning when Noah, Malia, and I take our beholding walks at 6 AM, we have to figure out if we wear shorts or sweaters and long pants. Soccer and football games replace swimming and kayaking. Roses and cosmos are replaced by asters and mums. Early morning frost kills tomato plants and decorates the maple trees. Cats grow thicker fur and no longer leave behind traces of themselves on furniture.

When I lived in Taos, New Mexico, the doors to the Pueblo closed to visitors for six weeks. Native Americans used the forty-two days for going within, deep dreaming, and meditation. My word for their going within was “ fermenting.”

As a prelude to Equinox, I began to feel a deep stillness when I sat in meditation each day. My inner stillness sustained itself for a week and I felt a sense of deepened peace and possibilities. When I shared my experience with a soul friend, he wondered if my deep stillness was the spiritual equivalent of human contentment. I considered his comparison for a moment before I realized that the deep stillness is balance.

May you, too, experience the blessings of balance during this time.

September 11, 2011

September 11^th is complicated for our family because it is also the birthday of my grandson, Noah. I have felt an unnatural mixture of sadness and celebration for the last seven anniversaries of 9/11.

“Grand mom, you have to admit, it’s a man’s world and all that matters is war and muscles. Being a girl is pretty useless.”

Picture Malia, my ten year old grand daughter, and I sitting on our front steps watching six 7-year-old boys tumbling, wrestling racing, and challenging one another. Juice boxes transformed into squirt guns and carrot sticks became projectiles. Toasted marshmallow on long sticks became flaming swords.

My first response was to reassure Malia that she had power and vision and could impact the world. However, I squelched my knee jerk reaction to launch into my own historical perspective.

In my twenties, thirties, and forties, I marched, protested and joined millions of other women who demanded more personal power and power in the world. I also wanted a different world for my daughter. And that happened. When I went to college in the early sixties, teaching or nursing were the professions open to women. I wanted to be a photojournalist. I surrendered my ambitions to be a photojournalist and studied to be a teacher. Years later, my daughter chose to be a doctor. My vision did not extend to the world my granddaughter might inherit.

I breathed into my heart, and let go of telling her about my participation in peace marches, consciousness raising groups, sit-ins for Roe versus Wade, and even a short jail sentence for a peaceful demonstration for the Equal Rights Amendment. I imagined she would be shocked to know I also drove conscientious objectors across the Canadian border in protest of the Vietnam War.

Then I invited my curiosity to lead. I know at age 67 that I learn more when I let go of my assumptions and my history and connect more deeply with others and myself. Then I naturally enter a woman’s world of relating and caring. Instead of lecturing Malia about my passionate pursuit of equality, I instinctively reached out to hold her hand, a sign of inter-generational sisterhood and comfort.

Without taking her eyes of the boy posse in front of us, she asked,

“How many do you think will call their Moms in the middle of the night because they want to go home?”

“None,” I responded without thinking. “Boys don’t usually do that.” I sighed as I realized I just bumped up against my own stereotype.

“Why not?” challenged Malia.

“Because even if they were scared or homesick, they probably would not admit it.”

“That’s what I am saying, Grandmom, it is a boy’s world. Maybe if they knew it was okay to talk about their feelings, our world might be different.”

I imagined we both remembered her first pajama party when she was seven. Like Noah, she had looked forward to her first sleepover for months. Like the first day of school, an all nighter was a rite of passage. Her best friend got scared and missed her parents. Before ten o’clock the party was over. It took three or four more unsuccessful dress rehearsals before a girlfriend slept over all night.

“Did you expect the party to be as rowdy and rough as this, Grandmom?”

I nodded over the noise. I know boys. I was the mother to my son, Mike, for almost fifteen years. I grew up with a younger brother.

“I kind of like to play with fifth grade boys, but second grade boys are just wild and all over the place. They don’t mind stepping on each other, getting dirty and smelly, and peeing together in the woods.”

I laughed as I admitted that most of the action taken place in front of us was horizontal not vertical.

Then Malia’s friend, Laura, who is 11 years old, arrived on the back of a motorcycle with her Dad. Malia dropped my hand and rushed to hug her best friend. Moments later they returned to the front steps holding hands and giggling.

“Bye, Grandmom, we are going into my room to do “girlie stuff.”

I smiled and felt hopeful because she already knows the value of girlfriends and caring. And she has me to remind me that she will grow into her own voice and vision, and that she will learn about her power in relationship with other girls. Perhaps, in time, this world will become a people’s world in which relationships and creativity replace war and muscle.

Stones, Frozen Music, and Soul

September 6, 2011

Join me as I weave the themes of sculpting, soul readings, detachment, and angels. Staying present is the thread that connects the threads.

Pythagoras, the Greek mathematician and philosopher, believed that stones are frozen music. I agree. Ten years ago I developed a passion for sculpting stones. Full time grandmothering for the past seven years left little time for my artistic passion.

I was surprised how instinctively, I merged with the pink and white alabaster stone to hear the hum of its inner frozen music. Without plans for what the stone might become, I listened and reflected deeply. In a meditative state, I settled into my body and invited my intuition to guide my hands—not knowing anything and trusting everything.

I smiled as I remember Mary Shephard, my first sculpting teacher who insisted I let go of the first ten forms that emerged from a stone. She stressed that the moment I thought I had a sense of the possibilities, I needed to surrender the form and return to filing. I resisted her guidance initially because I felt relieved to see even a hint of a form emerge from within the stone. Plus, I was eager to begin and finish.

Today I honor her wisdom of waiting and witnessing because I trust that I will hear the stone’s hum if I am quiet and overflowing with appreciative awareness. Practicing detachment feels like watching the passing clouds change shapes and disappear.

A shape or story always emerges. I participate in this ongoing co-creative process by filing away stone that does not add to the essence of the emerging shape. Sculpting is a subtracting process unlike clay building, which is an addition process. For me sculpting and soul making are similar. As we align more deeply to our destiny, our soul purpose, any aspect of our personality that limits us, is filed away.

Imagine my delight when I spied the outstretched wings of a bird within the stone. When I turned the stone a bit to the left, I caught a hint of the beginning of a small head. I filed and the fine white dust flew into the air and reminded me to stop, look and listen for more cues. Then my mind challenged me to remember exactly how a bird is structured. The ratio of head, body, and wingspan felt foreign to me. Back to nature. Since we have three cats, the bird population is scarce around our home. So I disappeared into the house and grabbed a bird book and studied the proportions of a bird. Better prepared, I returned to my workbench and the stone.

Enter the angel. If you have read my earlier blogs, you might remember that my awareness of angels is expanding. As I turned the stone over, I beheld a distinct image of an angel. Then I breathed gently and looked deeply. Inwardly, I felt the inner music of the angel’s celestial signature. Instantly, I was inspired to add my energy and talent to the emerging shape. My head did not distract me with ratios and right proportions. My heart and hands knew exactly how to cooperate with the stone to release the emerging angel.

When I do a soul reading, I follow an identical honoring process as I listen inwardly for guidance. I behold a person’s essence just like I honor a stone’s essence. I relax, merge with the soul of my beloved, let go of knowing everything or anything, and the soul’s story emerges. Being present is the only requirement.

The angel sculpture is complete except for sanding and polishing. I am not in a hurry to finish. As long as the angel is unfinished, I remain present. When the angle is polished and secured to a base, I will continue to listen to the flowing music of the stone angel as I make a commitment to listen to the music of my own soul.