After many overcast days and days of much-needed rain, the sun came out today in all her abundant glory and dazzled us, truly. I hope you were outside and able to revel in this beautiful weather. There’s something so healing about that stunning indigo blue sky. To a certain extent, the weather feels like a metaphor. We’ve had a long period of dark days and struggle, but hopefully we’re beginning to see the light.
This afternoon I spent some time in circle with an intimate group of women friends. We’ve been meeting at a cadence of several weeks—outside and socially distanced---since COVID began. We gather, enjoy a brief conversation together and then settle in to check-in time, each taking our turn without interruption. Somehow we’ve found our way to that sacred circle where deep truth is shared. . . .and it feels wonderfully healing to be able to speak so freely, but also to have the honor of holding space, of taking in a beloved friend’s story with simple loving kindness. We all have our stuff; our struggles and our joys, but one of today’s themes was what we’ve learned from COVID and how we’re shifting and evolving and exploring new stories for ourselves. For me, it was about seeking the truth; the truth of being, the truth of the heart, the essential truth.
One of the many reasons I love this dance practice so much is that I seek and often find truth in movement. The body knows. And movement is the catalyst to truth, to unlocking what lies beneath. It’s through movement that we can get out of the head and into the vessel of body, in which lies authenticity, intuition, and instinct (Gabrielle Roth used to say something along those lines, bless her birthday last week). I look forward to dancing with you tomorrow in the zoom room.
It's my great pleasure to report that the scrumptious Stacey will be at the helm tomorrow; guiding us and creating a soundscape for us that will be in service to truth-finding.
We begin at 9:45am
And here’s a lovely invitation from Jennifer Burner:
She’ll be leading her annual "Love Dance" Saturday, Feb 13th from 2-4 PM? Dancing w/ Matters of the Heart and would love it if you’d consider joining her.
I have a file of favorite phrases, quotes, poems, etc. Do you have such a file too? Care to share a few snippets? It’s such a magical file. I re-discovered the below quotes tonight and I’d like to share them with you. At this point, I have no recollection of where or how I might have stumbled upon them, but they still speak to me and inspire me. May they have the same effect on you. Enjoy.
I think of this pandemic as a “shaking experience” and so, indeed, I’ve come to learn some things, to view the world from a new perspective. . . . .like how to see with my heart, not just my eyes.
“Only truly shaking experiences . . . can deliver us to the full knowledge—the knowledge from the heart—about life’s transitoriness and evanescence. . . . Knowledge from the heart engages us, draws us to the world, and sears its stamp indelibly in our lives. For only when we get to know things viscerally, so to speak, can we say we’ve learned them fully.”
—F. González-Crussi, Carrying the Heart
If I were called upon to state in a few words the essence of everything I was trying to say both as a novelist and as a preacher it would be something like this: Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.
- from Now and Then by Frederick Buechner
Testament So often has it been displayed to us, the hourglass with its grains of sand drifting down, not as an object in our world but as a sign, a symbol, our lives drifting down grain by grain, sifting away – I’m sure everyone must see this emblem somewhere in the mind. Yet not only our lives drift down. The stuff of ego with which we began, the mass in the upper chamber, filters away as love accumulates below. Now I am almost entirely love. I have been to the banker, the broker, those strange people, to talk about unit trusts, annuities, CDS, IRAS, trying to leave you whatever I can after I die. I’ve made my will, written you a long letter of instructions. I think about this continually. What will you do? How will you live? You can’t go back to cocktail waitressing in the casino. And your poetry? It will bring you at best a pittance in our civilization, a widow’s mite, as mine has for forty-five years. Which is why I leave you so little. Brokers? Unit trusts? I’m no financier doing the world’s great business. And the sands in the upper glass grow few. Can I leave you the vale of ten thousand trilliums where we buried our good cat Pokey across the lane to the quarry? Maybe the tulips I planted under the lilac tree? Or our red-bellied woodpeckers who have given us so much pleasure, and the rabbits and the deer? And kisses And love-makings? All our embracings? I know millions of these will be still unspent when the last grain of sand falls with its whisper. its inconsequence, on the mountain of my love below.
I simply loved the imagery of this poem, the notion of love accumulating in the bottom chamber of the hourglass as we live our lives. . . . .so that, in the end, all we’re left with is love.
May you know pleasure and joy and abundant love. May you revel in the mystery of life.