Out of My Grasp

Arrange whatever pieces come your way.

Virginia Woolf

This morning I explored highlighted sections in several of my books.  I had not remained with one theme, rather reading anything and everything.  The results had been overwhelming.  There were so many fragments, each exploded in my mind, and demanded more attention.  So instead of streamlining into one flowing thought, I had been bombarded by every worldly thought.  I knew the best way for me to simplify would be to retreat into the stillness of outdoors.

I settled my lovely self out on the back deck.  I breathed in the crisp spring air while I wished for sunshine on my face and hair.  The birds chirped, the rabbit ran away, and the squirrel dared me to stay.  As I watched the clouds as they floated by, I was reminded of Shirley MacLaine's suggested experiment with clouds.  She instructed the reader to choose one cloud out of the sky and to keep eyes locked upon that one cloud.  Permission would be asked of the cloud for it to disappear.  With maintained eye contact the cloud would slowly dissipate. 

When I first read of this experiment, I grew very uncomfortable thinking I might have the power to ask a cloud to disappear.  Besides, clouds had been my childhood friends, so why would I want them to go away?  Curiosity got the best of me, however, so I chose a very small cloud and asked if it would disappear.  I eye-balled it with great intensity, and sure enough, it began to stretch its shape until nothing was there.  It made me feel sad.  It didn't feel right for me to make a game of something so lovely in the sky.

Somewhere in my thoughts, wisdom surely waited.  Unfortunately, it was either too worldly or lofty to be grasped.  I watched the clouds as they gently floated by, unable to formulate words, but I sensed deep within there was so much more to oneness than what really meets the eye.

Articulating on a Blank Page



Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works.

         Virginia Woolf (1882-1941)

The travel from Key West went smoothly and safely all of the way to our doorstep.  With thankful and grateful hearts, it was good to deeply breathe in the unforgettable fragrances of home.  There was great comfort in sleeping in our own beds with our familiar pillows and linens. 

When I made my coffee this morning, I was delighted to find a male cardinal showing it self off in the layer of snow freshly fallen upon the ground.  His amazing red image was heightened by the white of the snow and his singing of a song.  Smaller birds were gathered in the bush as if to personally welcome me home.

Today I will have to unpack, do laundry, and then re-pack as I will leave shortly for Nashville, Tennessee.  I had committed to spending spring break with my daughter not realizing how closely it fell to our arrival home.  I do look forward to the long drive as it is always undisturbed thinking time while the beauty of nature appears at every glance.  A visit with my daughter ... well, that is like getting a whole body healing.  Nothing delights me more to feel her love, interest, touch, and quiet times we have always shared over the years.

As I transition today, I am physically accomplishing things needing to be done, but there are words bulging inside of me.  There are thoughts and theories needing to flow onto paper allowing creative release.  I recognize there are some words never meant to be spoken, but only to be squandered upon a waiting blank page.

Upon the Lips

Language is wine

upon the lips.

Virginia Woolf

There is incredible power in words and even when spoken innocently, words have the power to do harm.   There is also incredible power in words to uplift, support, honor and respect.  It is necessary to be responsible for our words and how we choose to use them.

Just like wine, language offers a wide selection.  There is sweet or bold,  fruit tasting or woody blends, and expensive or cheap.  Wine can be found in unique bottles with corks or in small pints with screw on caps.  Words are wrapped in all kinds of coverings as well.

Wine is intended to be sipped and words are best used when they have been lingered over.  Too much wine has consequences just as rushing too many words can offend.  Establishing a healthy pace is best for both wine and words.

The importance of words is discovered with the art of expression.  Finding voice and articulating opinions, values or wisdom is of major importance for all people.  Reflecting our unique self through writing, art or the spoken word is of importance, as expressing ourselves is a testimony to our living. 

Level of Kindness

Some people go to priests;

Others to poetry,

I to my friends.

Virginia Woolf

Every week I attend a gathering of spiritual women.  We have been meeting for numerous years stretching, growing, learning, and sharing.  As one woman makes a discovery, through her sharing we are all moved forward.  If one woman stumbles in darkness we are there as sisters to support her best we can.  

Although we are certainly different from each other in age, career, and family, we all share the common bond of caring for the spiritual path of others.  During our time together, we ask for energy, light, and love to be sent to those we know as well as those we do not know.  We extend our intentions to our community, city, state, and across the world to all those who hunger or are lost in pain. 

Many of my friendships are equally supportive.  These "sisters of my heart"genuinely care about me and uplift me with their awareness and insight.  They seem to intuit when I need words and when I simply need the comfort of their presence. 

Frequently, it is difficult for me to reach out to others as my natural tendency is to withdraw.  It is important to remember when friends are lifting me up, they are lifting the level of kindness in the world as well.  We must be gracious receivers as well as givers.

 

Gifts from the Art Fair

 I was in a queer mood, thinking myself old;  but now I am a woman again ~ as I always am when I write.  

Virginia Woolf

A few days ago, we went to the Peoria Art Fair.  It was a gorgeous drive as the leaves on the trees had taken on vibrant fall colors.  We have had so little rain, I expected the leaves to crinkle up and turn brown, but this clearly isn't the case.

I thoroughly enjoyed the drive as either side of the highway was splattered with deep rich colors.  It felt as though the trees themselves were casting out a powerful energy to anyone willing to take in the beauty of nature.  This array of colors and texture certainly set the mood for the art fair.

We arrived one minute prior to the opening, but the parking lot was mostly full and many art enthusiasts were already wandering through the works of art at the river front park.  Oh, I was excited!  The sun was out and the temperature had not even reached 70 degrees.  It was a perfect fall day and quality art, interesting artists, and a creative atmosphere would soon be tantalizing all of my senses. 

We wandered the art fair for a few hours while I marveled at the creativity of many artists from Michigan, Colorado, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Tennessee, Florida, Alabama and other states as well.  The art exhibits were very diverse so each tent brought an interesting and unique surprise. 

I must admit my favorite part is talking with these creative artists, listening to where their imagination leads them, and how they express their art to obtain the end result.  One such artist, Erika Mock from Superior, Wisconsin, was delightful!  She creates textiles for body and soul with the suggestion of "Balance your  life with art."  She was an enchanting and spunky individual and we had an immediate connection.  Everything about her was unique and I felt as though I had met a kindred spirit.  Her website:  www.erikamock.com

Designs by Dana also captivated me, but for a different reason.  At this exhibit, several women were working together.  They were all dressed uniquely, and with artistic flair!  They were decorated from head to toe and they were having the time of their life!  The tent was filled with buyers interested in their textiles, but their atmosphere of good friends having a 'hoot' pulled people right in.  They encouraged every one to try something on, while their laughter and sense of sisterhood  encouraged every sale.   Their designs can be found on facebook, Etsy.com or www.DesignsByDana11.com

Brenna Busse is an artist from Minneapolis, MN and can be found at www.brennabusse.com  She makes these incredible pieces difficult to describe.  To call them a doll would be insulting.  They are intriguing forms with richly colored fibers.  Only the tiny head, hands and feet are exposed.  My instant reaction triggered thoughts such as:  historical form, ritual, honor, symbols,  and intricate details.  She was a gracious woman who definitely enhanced my day's experience.

There were more artists working with oil, water color, or combined mediums.  There were steel designs and very unique jewelry worthy of future heirlooms.  And just as interesting were those attending the art fair.  It was an atmosphere of fun, peace, and friendliness even though it was an odd assortment of folks who had never met before.  They were the true gifts from the art fair,  inspiring my mind, my heart and my soul!



Women in a Cage

I thought how unpleasant it must be

to be locked out;

and I thought how it is worse, perhaps,

to be locked in.

Virginia Woolf

 

 

To not have freedom of thoughts, words or deeds is a terrible thing.  Either locked out or locked in, we experience spiritual, emotional and physical pain.  This leads to feelings of lacking power over our own life, depression, and isolation.

 

Some women have never experienced personal empowerment or have never used their voice, and feel as though they live in a cage.  Imagined or not, feelings of unworthiness abounds.  They are told to be thankful for having a roof over their head, food on the table and a bed to sleep in.

 

The saddest part about these women in a cage is that they themselves hold the key.  They have the capability to unlock the cage, but their sense of separation has grown so great, they feel totally powerless.

 

Some women are not in a cage, but have a small pet cage where they house fear that unleashes itself from time to time.  They too will experience the lack of power, depression, and isolation, but just not all of the time.

 

All women are stronger than their cage and with assistance can maneuver rather nicely outside of it.  We need a support person whether it is a professional therapist, clergy, or trusted friend.  Sometimes it is just a matter of finding and using our own voice that allows empowerment to begin to flow.

 

It is never too late to try!  What do you have to lose?



Looking Beyond the Title

Each has his past shut in him

like the leaves of a book,

known to him by heart

and his friends can only read the title.

Virginia Woolf

People see only what we allow them to see.  Our childhood reprimands and well intentioned parental directives are safely recorded within.  Shame and guilt establish origin in these very early years.  Parts of our selves get tucked away before they have had time to begin.

Generally speaking, men seem to have the 'buck up' or 'it is what it is' attitude pushing themselves forward, burying emotion and challenge deep within.  Women have the tendency to repress such memories, but like well wrapped china.  They are stored carefully and unwrapped with delicate hands on occasion to be wept over and then returned safely again.

In either case, both men and women repress emotions not realizing how these unresolved feelings drive our behaviors.  If asked about therapy to address the past, men usually respond with something like, "Why would I want to dredge all of that up?  I want to just leave it alone! It is over."  Perhaps women have a higher awareness and are more apt to experience the cracking of the emotional foundation where things can no longer be stored. 

A woman is more apt to drudge through her history as though she were rooting through family heirlooms stacked against a basement wall.  She is willing to sort through water damaged boxes discarding tarnished or shattered pieces that no longer hold any value.  The task may take weeks or months, but when she has extracted what she no longer wants to save, she has fresh new spaces to maneuver through more easily. 

Male or female, we may not be able to sort through our hidden chapters.  We may require the help of a trusted friend or a qualified therapist.  There are a variety of tools to help us such as:   keeping a journal, dream recording, prayer, meditation, contemplation and energy work to name only a few.  Nature is a wonderful container to sit in when we don't want to explore alone or a quiet retreat center or chapel.

Either way, it is human nature to want to use our voice, to be listened to, and to be understood.  Deep inside we long for others to accept us, but if we do not allow trusted others to look beyond our title, to read our pages and in between the lines, we will feel fraudulent.  It is when we open our selves to experience compassion from others that we feel unburdened.  With self-forgiveness love empowers us and our life story becomes a manuscript! 



At A Snail's Pace

It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.  ~ Virginia Woolf


Today, I seem to be moving at a snail's pace.  I have a list of chores I want to accomplish and I have been carrying it around for days with not one task eliminated.  Perhaps I need to just embrace this slow state and use it for meditation or contemplation or prayer or sending love, energy, and light to those I know who are in need.  This lazy time might then be turned into a productive time worthy of my day.

Sitting in stillness, I am surprised what rattles through my consciousness.  I settle deeper within and my mindless chatter disappears.  Being mindful, paying attention to what gentle thoughts float into my quiet mind, I sink into the calm.  My body relaxes and I am at peace.

Throughout my day, my pace remains slow, but it gives me time to let my insights unfold.  If I were racing around completing my chores, I would not be experiencing this wonderful state of just being in the present moment.  By late afternoon I am longing to sit with my journal, to further explore what came to mind earlier in the day.  I feel my creative juices longing to flow. 

I think I shall spend more days at a snail's pace.  The experience has brought the gifts of living into awareness and an enhanced appreciation for all that I have. 

All is good in my world.

Southern Wise Women

For most of history

'anonymous' was a woman.

Virginia Woolf

Upon moving to Nashville, Tennessee, I attended a spiritual discussion group at Scarett~Barrett in hopes of meeting new friends.  The woman I randomly sat next to just happened to have been born in Peoria, Illinois, within an hours drive from where I used to live.  This synchronicity brought surprise, laughter, and the beginnings of friendship.  When Judy learned of my interest in writing, she graciously invited me to attend a writing group at the senior center, Fifty Forward.

From the very first writing group, I felt warmly welcomed by true "Southern Hospitality."  All of these women were seniors to me and they have grown to be the elders I have never had.  Those in attendance, week after week, seemed to be unaware of the wisdom they held.  They are bearers of history, reflectors of family development, and conquerors of life's many challenges.

Each author takes a turn to read a piece of her memoir, poem, or creative writing.  With each testimony, the stories wrap themselves around my heart.  These women share personal insights into lives that I have previously never experienced.  There is no extended family in my life, and these women unknowingly have become respected and admired grandmothers, aunts, and sisters, blessing my life.

Wanda's fingers are always knitting as she listens at the table.  Her words are so descriptive I feel as though I have sat in her son's home up in the mountains appreciating nature's panoramic view.  Carolyn, with all of her southern sweetness shares her next detailed account of family history with names and dates written in exacting penmanship.  After the reading, she neatly folds the letter into a stamped envelope to be mailed to grandchildren and great grandchildren.  Betty's writings bring back my own memories of childhood times spent in Wisconsin.  We have chatted about places of interest we have both visited.  Janie at times seems to be unconcomfortable to have everyone's attention, but she is a natural storyteller of her younger years.  Sharing her early thyroid treatments, her words remain crystal clear.  Sybil is the eldest of the group, I believe in her mid-nineties.  She has a spry and spunky spirit that has experienced a life of adventure with her own sense of style.  Lou is our leader.  I sense that she has held many responsible positions throughout her life, mastering them all.  She appears somewhat stern upon first meeting her, but I have learned that she has a heart filled with gold.  Sitting next to her every week, I have sensed she would extend a loving hand to help anyone if a need should ever arise.  She may have accomplished more serious writing than all of us put together, but it is not her style to show it.  Alice appears as though she has placed her life in God's hands so she can experience life innocently and simply.  Her faith is portrayed between her written words, giving testimony to the presence of God in the midst of her life.  Although there are other remarkable women in this group, I will lastly mention Ann.  She reads from her memoirs and frequently speaks of her grandsons, Harry and Jack, especially Jack.  It is only with the passing of time that I have recognized my self while looking into the heart of this woman.  There is an uncanny parallel between our lives, and I find her to be a kindred spirit!

At this time and place, my ten months in Nashville, Tennessee, are drawing to a close.  I am eternally grateful for the synchronicity in meeting Judy.  Her kind heartedness introduced me to to people, places, and events, but most importantly her heart and home.  I have started the transition back into a full life waiting for me in Illinois.  I will return to Nashville for ample visits with my daughter and perhaps we shall all gather again.

Thank you, thank you, and thank you.

May Divine Spirit always surround you.

The Person I Intended To Be

Lock up your libraries if you like,

but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt

that you can set upon the freedom

of my mind.

Virginia Woolf

After I made pink lemonade, I sat in my white wicker rocker under the cover of the patio.  I think I was half-wishing to be drawn back into time, to be found on my old screened-in porch, and to have little feet gathered around me.  It was a time when I was secure and not afraid to be bold.  Not yet did I know the magnitude of the challenges in life, but I don't think I would have been as discouraged as I find myself of late.

Twenty-four hours of my life passed by today.  In one sense it feels like a loss, but in an other, is it more of a gain?  Where is home anyway ... is it here or is it there.  I am not who some others expected, and yet, here I am.  The person I intended to be.

Round or square, hot or cold, black or white ... choices I don't seem to care to make.  I hesitate to speculate as nothing seems to be what it appears.  Left or right, up or down, above or below ... all decisions for others to make.

The sun has hidden itself as the rain now pounds down.  The humidity feels like a sadness hanging on me, like a heavy wet woolen coat.  The splashing of the rain drops refresh my toes, but these clean feet have no desire to go.

I seem unable to quench the thirst still lingering in my heart.   I am ever so grateful for the splendor of my mind, but long for an artistic flair to dissipate my despair.  The ancient freedom of my mind whispers, "simply let it be."