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The right to survive

I’m sitting by the pool trying to think of a blog piece. I have time to write, I have energy, but nothing springs to mind.

A dove flies from white desert rocks over the water and into a flowering shrub. The birds are busy this morning and noisy. Hanging ferns cascade near my chair in perfect abundant health. Peppers sprout in the garden, next to perfumed rosemary, and a grapefruit tree that shelters fruit the size of basketballs. How can anything grow here? I’m confused. This is a brown place where houses have rocks instead of lawns – yet life springs forth in radiant colors and profuse blossoms.

When I wrote my sister Kristen about visiting Arizona, she said, it’s a different world with its vivid colors and dry, strange landscape. I never felt it was a gentle place but one that challenges your right to survive.

She’s right. The temperatures have averaged 109, which have been ten degrees lower than Phoenix. The result is like being under house arrest because nobody in their right mind would go anywhere to do anything for any reason – with the possible exception of my host, Joe.

Joe has the desert in his soul, its essence shines from his eyes. He grew up here and slept under the sky most of his childhood. Joe heads out the door like a lizard ready for a sunbath.  No problem. He and his brother Steve used to spend their day catching snakes when they were kids, snakes bigger than they were. They collected them in pillow cases and thought nothing of picking up a rattlesnake until one bit his brother and nearly killed him. Joe and a passing motorist cut open his brother’s finger and took turns sucking the poison from his young body.

Lucky the snake had a belly full of rabbits, Joe says, or Steve wouldn’t have made it.

A few months ago Joe was making sweet talk to a king snake. Come here baby. Come on pretty girl. He found it in the front yard and moved it to the back, where it could eat rodents and other rattlers. I think of myself as a nature girl but stories like those reflect the core of my inner wimp.

I am soaking in the light and beauty of this place today. I will need to remember it when the dark months come. Winter in Oregon is like having a fat lady in black pants sit down on your head, plus it goes on forever! I will long for this place in winter, and be willing to save grocery money to re-experience it. Just don’t tell me any more stories about snakes. I don’t like having reality interfering with my ideas about life.

Help!

In aquatic school they taught me to save a drowning person by diving underwater. I came up behind them as they flailed and splashed, leveraged their chin above the current, pulled them against my body and swam them back to shore, all while doing a reverse stroke so they weren’t kicked in the process. Once on shore, I released the water from their body, closed their nose with my right hand and blew into their mouth to bring them back to life. 

We role played this situation so often I could have done it in my sleep. The victim swam to the middle of the lake, began thrashing and pretending to drown, yelled HELP and off I went! I swam straight out with eyes fixed on the victim, about five feet away, the underwater dive, the turn of the head and the carry back to shore. Piece of cake. 

What they didn’t teach me is that people don’t say help when they’re drowning, because folks have not taken a class in correct victim behavior. They just get a quiet look of panic and bob above and below the surface until they disappear. 

I was working as a life guard and teaching swimming at a girls camp one summer when a young woman right in front of my chair looked silently up at me with a lonely puzzled expression. Her eyes darted from me, to the sky and back to the water. Her arms moved slowly up and down as the print ruffle on her bathing suit made busy swirls around her legs. She tried to propel herself over and over without success. 

Finally someone came to my chair, I think that girl can’t swim, they said, I think she’s in danger of drowning.

I looked down as if coming out of a trance and immediately saw the truth. I jumped in, pulled her to the side, put my hands around her waist and lifted her above me, until she sat safely on the edge. Water dripped from her cap and mixed with tears that ran from her young blue eyes.

Why didn’t you yell help, I asked? I was right in front of you. Why didn’t you call out to me?

She had no answer. 

Sitting by the pool today I thought about that moment all those years ago, and the deeper truth it held – the realization that people don’t yell help when they need it most, they retreat into silence, fear, shame or self-protection. They become private at the very moment they need saving the most.

Brave New World

Isn’t it amazing how you can step on an airplane and when it sets down, walk out into a completely different reality? I love that! I dislike the airport security-tin can-claustrophobic plane part, but thrive on the adventure of being someplace new. 

I left Oregon in a jacket, cotton top and long skirt. When I stepped into the state-wide sauna that is Arizona, I wanted to run into the ladies room and strip down to my underwear, but I don’t wear underwear, so I couldn’t do it. Thankfully my friend Dicksie ushered me quickly into her air conditioned car and then into the radiant hues of her life.

Dicksie is married to Joe, an award winning architectural landscape designer. Look him up on line and envy me my get-away, his talent is amazing: www.archland1.com.

Dicksie and Joe make a charming couple who fit easily and smoothly together, the way a cup fits a saucer. They have fashioned a place of such gracious beauty, it rivals the best resort. The walls are splashed with bold Arizona colors which serve as backdrops for the paintings they have done in shades of purple, greens, reds and rust.  My forest home whispers in pale blues and restful greens as it sits quietly among cedars and pines, while their house is bright, unashamed and blends with the splendor of a southwest sunset.

 I spent the morning floating in the backyard pool while feasting on the visual delights that met my glance at every turn. We swam without our tops, talked like girls at a pajama party and sank into a sweet connection that continues to deepen and expand.  Did I mention she’s a fabulous cook?  How does it get better than this?

I packed for summer in Oregon, which means a shopping trip is in order, because half my suitcase holds an array of sweaters, long pants and warm shirts. Inexperience and disbelief informed my selections. A day which is 109 degrees is as foreign to me as finding a camel in my bathtub, but I am learning.

Today I saw oranges spilled over a city sidewalk. That would only happen in Portland if someone dropped a grocery bag. Apples on walkways are common, as are figs and walnuts, but never oranges. The simplest things astound me, like the beauty of mesquite trees, lavender colored bushes that balloon like the top of dandelion puffs, and birds of paradise that burst fully open in shades of on-fire red.

Tomorrow we will join their friends and go to the mountain. I always hike in flip flops because I like to be as close to barefoot as possible. This is causing great distress to those who climb in regulation boots and do things according to the rules. I am told I will hear about it from their friends - or maybe snakes will bite my toes - or rocks will reach out to snag me, but I don’t care, because in the end, I have to walk the earth, the way I walk the earth.

The enemy within

A battle wages within you every day. It happens as soon as you open your eyes. Some of us are aware of it, some are not. It is a battle between light and shadow, a war between living the creative life you dream about or being hypnotized by the distractions that have been with you since birth, distractions you encounter in the daily grid of your life.

We all have a voice within that knows what our gifts are, and dreams of becoming the expression of those gifts. It is what we are here to do; it is why we walk the earth.

The shadow side of our lives is an expression of darkness and strives to convince us that we are incapable, too old, too young, too fat, too thin, too anything that will steal the light of our creative selves and imprison us for one more day. We must become aware of the power of darkness as it urges us to resistance, and finally to illness, alcohol, prescription drugs, over-eating, sex or anything that will take the pain of an unfulfilled life away, putting us numbly back to sleep.

You can wake yourself up from this dream. Understanding your enemy is the first important step. Are you ruled by fear? Good! That means your dreams are important and the work is big. The more afraid you are, the greater your potential. Celebrate your fear for all it represents but don’t let it bury you. The radiance from your soul is real. It is the reason you walk on this planet. It is your duty to fight for your dreams.

Do you want to play the violin, start a company, exercise, diet, paint a picture, write a book?  Then go to war. Overthrow the tyranny of inertia and distraction before it disfigures your life. Make a time to do what you love  and let nothing deter you. Stand in the process and stay with it until the magic shows up - and it will - then love yourself enough to keep coming back day after day, and year after year. 

You can change your destiny in a moment by recognizing the power of darkness, and the seriousness of its influence. How do you recognize it? It can not be seen or heard, but can be felt. You are in its grasp when you feel negative, hate your life, or generally function in low grade misery.  Be ruthless, escape from its prison and keep going. Take charge of your life and your dreams. Insist!

What is your small still voice saying to you? This is your wisdom self. Listen, then sit down and do your work, not tomorrow, begin today.

Refrigerator Girl

I think there’s a secret in my refrigerator. I don’t know what it is, but almost every night I feel compelled to open the door and stare inside.  I know exactly what is stored in there. That part is no secret. Tonight there are salad greens, cheeses, a pesto sauce, deviled eggs, aloe vera juice, limes, zucchini, cod liver oil, yogurt and cherries. The contents don’t vary a whole lot, but something in me expects a surprise or a fulfillment of mysterious origin. 

This frig has a life of its own. It’s taken to making random staccato forte sounds at the least appropriate times, which escalate in manic fashion, then die completely away. I’ve never heard anything like it. Could it be possessed? Is that why the adjoining microwave has decided to go on and off whenever it feels like it? Is that why I’m under this spell? 

I walk over, open the door, look inside and watch with full attention. I gaze off into middle space.

What is this relationship with my refrigerator? I would be no less captivated by the sway of the wide winged head of a cobra.

I have noticed that I am not the only person to do this ritualized search. My best friend, Susan does it, and my husband did as well, only his path included the cupboards, particularly the shelf that stored the baking chocolate. But I am not drawn to the cupboards; they hold no mystery for me. 

I don’t care about breakfast and feel indifferent at lunch, so dinner finds me ravenous. I eat too late, then boomerang back to the refigerator – again and again. I pull open the door and study each shelf as if something new might have sprung up inside, as if the lighted interior might have birthed a full-dished banana split complete with whipping cream and sprinkled walnuts, the kind I could eat without gaining weight, feeling bloated or getting a raging headache afterwards. Or maybe I’ll discover a ticket to the Bahamas hiding in the lettuce crisper, or a perfect and eager lover waiting to materialize behind the raspberry lemonade.

Specks of dust motes glow against the interior light as I close the door once again…closing the door…walking away.  Didn’t find it tonight, maybe tomorrow.

Arid

Arid is not a word I use much in writing. That word belongs to places like San Diego, Texas and Arizona. My expressions are full of words that drip and hold moisture. Just the mention of Oregon has people looking for umbrellas, rain boots and fleece jackets. But not today.

Today children play in the fountains – air conditioners are turned up. The highway is full of trailered boats and the vacation minded. I love it! The sun hits the hammock every morning between 10 and 10.30, so I stop whatever I am doing, strip down and soak warmth into my bones. My face has turned a chocolate brown making my white hair and blue eyes pronounced. I feel healthy again and whole. I greet and celebrate the sun as fully as my neighbor repels it by pulling her shades and planting hawthorne trees.

I’ve gone rafting on the Sandy River every summer for the past 36 years, but this year, I wonder if I’ll make it. I have no visiting granddaughters to entertain, no husband to float with and friends with occupied schedules. I’ll travel out of state during prime rafting weeks and have promised John - my marketing guy - that I will hold up my end when I return.

This summer feels different, quiet and withdrawn, a time for regeneration and slowing down to regroup. My need for introspection asks for patience.

Late afternoon light streams through the front window in amber shafts, spilling over my writing pad. I’m held in an almost perfect moment. Preludes enhance the mood like black stones in a Zen garden. A single grace note on a piano keyboard dancing near the ceiling is sweet beyond words, sweet beyond imagining.

Writing is my salvation and faith. I feel relief as words spill out of me and land safely on the page, ready to take a life of their own. I dress them up like children who are going off into the world without me. I give them my best efforts so they will journey well. These words are not scholarly, information driven, political or unique. It is my heart that speaks. I write letters to undiscovered friends, sending them off like paper boats on a river, saying hello to people I have yet to meet.

Visions

She hovered in shades of night time blue like Kuan Yin, up high and out of conscious sight. It looked like she was blowing bubbles because small specks of something were descending from that place to this.

The air is full of secrets, little hidden messages I don’t yet know, traveling down, past and through. One day soon they will land in my ear as an idea, inspiration or sudden fiery impulse. I see her and feel her, I know she is there.

Today I did a reading that was full of birds. The woman was dancing and each part of her body was a different bird. She danced, smiling and full of light. These were not ordinary birds. They sprang from the tropics in shades of radiant life. A raven off to her left showed the dark night she’d moved out of.

Her husband was a bold rooted tree, serious and solid. Elephants walked next to him, and in the shadows, I saw dolphins for diving deep. Their colors matched perfectly, like an artist painting with the same brush and pallet. She offered him gaiety and life. He offered stability and shelter, a good match.

I see the world in symbols, colors and images. I walk in twilight and mystery willing to share the unseen. What is this strange way of knowing? It’s not easy to understand for minds that paint with black and white.

These visions would seem frivolous and unimportant except for the confirmation they bring, the comfort, recognition and guidance that can heal and reveal.

I allow more of this reality into my days as I get older and have less to protect, defend or hide. For me, it simply is.

I went shopping today for a ritual knife needed to cut into other realities. I gather bones and feathers. A friend called me a witch yesterday. More labels, more useless titles that limit, repel or invite. Words can’t define experience; they box it so we can feel safe. It’s the risking, opening and allowing part that can set us free.

It’s nice to be older and more fully who I am. I no longer apologize or push into shoes that don’t fit. Now my essence speaks my name. I know who I am and I know what I do.

Change

I feel change in the air, moving like dappled light through darkness, arriving at an unknown destination.

Summer is here at last, the sun we’ve waited for, strawberries, cherries and a scorched nose.

I reach forward into the future eager and impatient.

I pull back wanting security, structure and the voice of old friends.

The air is charged and alive with excitement.

It is stagnant and filled with too much me. I get lost in the space.

There are promises whispered, felt, unseen and unheard.

They are there opening in the mystery.

The sky turns from purple to black.

I rest, and in the morning, do it all again.

I am an egg, cracked, and waiting.

Any day now, the shell will fall away and I will reach out, walking completely and utterly into the dream.

Bloodline Ceremony

I’ve been taken down to the bone. I spent the day with a Lakota Medicine woman who spent hours walking in other realms to rid me of darkness and the karma stored in my family bloodline. Hers is powerful medicine, which has left me open, raw and renewed.

I have always been the one to heal others, while longing to find someone who could do the same for me. Many people claim to have spirit medicine, but few are authentic and free of ego. This gift has been a long time coming. 

Part of me still journeys in that other realm, while the physical side sits in silence in my quiet retreat of a house. Stepping into the world again was especially hard, like having a split-screen open on the computer. Lucky for me, a friend was there to drive me home or I may have ended up in Idaho. 

Loved ones ask about the experience but there are no words. The details and mechanics defy description, because they are sacred and not of this time and place. I can only say that the work went deep and until I integrate I am left feeling like a visitor in my own life, and a little uncomfortable in my skin. 

June has been a month of pulling back. My worldly self is resting and what little writing I do comes in drips instead of the stream I am accustomed to. I welcome the day when words move through me like a river. I see them waiting and hold out my arms, knowing they will land again when the time is right.

Days at the ocean preceded my ceremony. I spent hours outside, slept in the sun, walked barefoot in the sand and was nurtured by the loving presence of a friend. I found bones, the exact size and shape I was seeking, and feathers, lots of feathers. My essence feels more bird than human, so these things comfort me. 

I am always surprised when people choose not to work on themselves, and to live in their fears and patterns of limitation. That is a choice I could never imagine making, because releasing darkness and making room for more light is such an exquisite thing. It is painful, as any birth is painful, but the other side is worth every second, because everything around you reorganizes to create a flow of ease and love that makes life so much more inviting and welcome. Today I sit with my labor pains and raw open feelings, but soon I’ll soar again with even greater freedom than before. I am humbled in gratitude.