Actions Speak Louder

 So fellow travelers, in light of recent events, I held off publishing the last post I wrote, choosing instead to immerse myself in coming to a better understanding of what the voices speaking out need me to do.
The process left me with what fellow writer, mentor and friend Tom Atkins refers to as an emotional hangover from the anger which rose within me. I am tired, but surely not as tired as the families of too many black men, women and youths lost to senseless racist fueled violence. After a day of rest and much needed time on a newly reopened walking trail, I realized to move forward I need to start where this new path begins:

June 1, 2020
This morning,  I woke up to a new life experience.  

My first thought  was:
“What day of the week is it?”
I am sure many of you whose routines have been upended by the pandemic can relate to the experience. When you don’t get up and go anywhere for days on end it is a challenge to keep track of the days, because everyday is the same.
And if you, like some of my friends, are one of the many working on the front lines, you too lose track of time, in a far more desperate way while battling to save lives or keep essential services running. “Thank you,” seems barely enough acknowledgement for that.
So, I clicked through my “what did I do yesterday” prompts all the way back to “Ah, we had our Sunday call with  Mom and Dad, so today is Monday.” My next thought was “ Hey even though it is Monday, I do not have to “go” to work today- because I am R E T I R E D!”
“How does it feel to be retired?” people have been asking me.
Well, to use a common point of reference, it feels like the first day of vacation, filled with joyful anticipation with one key exception-
—there is no pre-set end date 
———— there is no pressure to “fit in” all the things I want or need to do now
It feels like the freedom I yearned and worked for through so many decades is finally mine.

——————————————————————————————————-

At this point, my original post included a haiku about that glorious sense of freedom and the instant I signed in online to access my blog page, the entire post felt completely and utterly void of significance. The recognition that a revolution, fueled by the senseless murder of George Floyd was gaining global momentum superseded any relevance my personal sense of freedom might hold.
I hit “pause” on this post, along with any adventure plans, and got down to figuring out how I can make a difference and turn intention into true change. Because as I affirmed in my Memorial Day post, my own freedom means nothing if it is not equally available to all my friends.

After a week immersed in the dialogue of outrage and calls for reform, I at least know this:
I do not profess to have the answers or even to have the right words to offer yet. I understand this is a time for me to listen to my friends and the black community; it is not a time to speak over those voices which need to be heard right now. I also believe silence implies complicity, whether intentional or not. So, if silence is not an option, clearly it is time my actions spoke louder than my words.  
My Words:

Unless we speak love
Hatred will destroy us then
Freedom means nothing

My Action:

Walk mindfully on the path my friends, may Love find you ready.

On Freedom, Honor and Birds

So fellow travelers, until 1970 the traditional date of Memorial Day was May 30th and until this year, our tradition steeped village continued to celebrate Memorial Day on May 30th,

Yep, regardless of what day of the week it fell on or what weather Mother Nature might throw at us, on said day, the village of Baldwinsville, NY staged a parade along the flag decked “four corners” route, across the steel bridge by one of the still operating Erie Canal locks and out past the town cemetery along the Seneca River. And every year, the stream of first responders, dignitaries, veterans and local celebrities (some from as far away as the Big City of Syracuse NY) were cheered on by the loyal residents of our district who lined the streets with their lawn chairs, kids, dogs and an occasional leashed kitty.

I will confess until I became a Marching Band Mom, I was one of the residents who stayed home to avoid the gridlock of closed streets. But there was no way I would miss the chance to catch this view of the kids who would one day also march in the Macy’s Day Parade

Favorite Youngest Daughter on the bells Memorial Day Parade 2014

So, as I mentioned, the “this is how we have always done it” tradition of a May 30th Memorial Day parade continued until this year when the Pandemic of 2020 cancelled, well pretty much everything we “have always done.” Still, parade or not, our little village is lined with flags and hanging baskets of red, white and blue flowers to honor the servicemen and women who gave their lives in the name of freedom.

Freedom right now is a much debated topic: the dialogue about how to reopen areas which closed down to slow the spread of Covid19 has become quite heated. Fueled by trolls and bots whose sole purpose is to derail any progress towards productive discourse, the terrible tendency to revert to divisive language is disheartening and disturbing to me. Navigating “virtual school” already pushed my blood pressure higher than normal; it has been necessary to “unfollow” or, in a few extreme cases, “unfriend” folks on social media.

Understand I am choosing to eliminate rude ignorance and disrespectful bullying which shows up in my media feed, not avoid challenging issues. I am willing to have a civil dialogue about difficult issues like public safety vs government overreach, anti-vaxers, conspiracy theories or global warming and the effects of climate change.

Once again current events have brought the menacing immorality of racism to the forefront in ways which, frankly, I am damn tired of seeing our society tolerate. The veterans whose lives we honor every year on Memorial Day did not give their lives for the freedoms of some Americans- they gave their lives to uphold and defend the rights of ALL Americans- every single one of them. So I sat down this morning to try and write about this, sensing I might struggle to find the right balance of reason and indignation to write words which could make a difference.

Turns out I did not need to struggle, because my friend Jennifer Bowman wrote a powerful blog post which cut right to the focal point of why Christian Cooper’s experience while simply birding in Central Park even happened. I hope everyone of my followers reads it and takes to heart the insights Jen so brilliantly brings to this issue.

https://jenniferkbowman.wordpress.com/2020/05/29/birding-race-and-the-freedom-to-enjoy-nature/

Walk bravely on the walk my friends, the journey is about to talk us where none of us have ever gone before.

Guest Post from Tom Atkins Poem: Murder is Slow — Quarry House

Murder is Slow A black man dies on a city street, the policeman’s knee on his neck, breath, life taken from him. There are riots. Of course there are. A people ignored too long will erupt sooner or later. A people not heard too long with erupt sooner or later. This is a truth we […]

Poem: Murder is Slow — Quarry House

Of Squirrels and Hope

So fellow travelers, a key turning point in my adult life came when a meditation teacher gave me permission to stop “shoulding” on myself.  Or as Master Yoda might put it “do or do not, that is all.”

The fact is, current reality* leaves me little time and even less energy for writing. The amount of screen time I am obligated to engage in to meet my assigned responsibilities for on-line education leaves me with little to no motivation for spending  additional time on line. The bright side of that is many long neglected sections of my garden are looking quite hopeful for the growing season ( whenever Spring decides to show up for good.)

Still, writing a blog does come with a sense of responsibility and, while I have no financial or commercial pressure to maintain any set number of followers, likes or comments, I often feel a “should be posting” if for no reason than simple gratitude to you, my readers.

So, while I sort out the responsibilities of the last few weeks of on-line school, I am glad my friend and fellow writer Jennifer Bowman gave me permission to share her recent piece. As she so often does, Jen has found words which give cogent elucidation to so much of what I have been feeling these past 60 plus days.

Enjoy:
https://jenniferkbowman.wordpress.com/2020/05/04/anti-depressant-squirrels-of-the-2020-pandemic/

Editorial note: My reference above to the “*new reality ” stems from my refusing to empower the current global situation with the title “new norm;” there is nothing normal about any of it. But that is the substance of another post. ‘Til then

Walk gently on the path my friends. Be kind to yourselves and others

I Lack Discipline? You Lack Compassion — My Zen Brain

Editorial note: Guest Post from a fellow writer and friend who nailed it on the head. Thanks Andy!

A friend of mine sent me a link to a Facebook post that everyone should read. I’ve provided a screenshot of it here so you can read her words of wisdom. Now, I get it. The motivation behind this phrase is painfully obvious: “If you don’t come out of this with a new skill, you […]

I Lack Discipline? You Lack Compassion — My Zen Brain

Now What ?

So fellow travelers, while I have considered this space as a kind of creative “thinking out loud,” there has always been an underlying hope that my writing has served some purpose beyond my own musings.

If an uplifting haiku, an eye catching photo or a bit of humor brings joy or even insight to some of my readers, I feel I have done my part in making a difference by helping others along on their journey. 
Adjusting to the massive changes brought about by the COVID19 pandemic has proven to be more demanding than any of us thought it would be. For me just the switch to online education created an overload of new information to master. There has been little time for myself to relax, let alone write; I had even stopped journaling.

Thankfully, two practices I have maintained are daily meditations and evening gratitudes. That and frequent walks with our dog have kept me sane in a very crazy time, a time which, in the words of therapist Barbara Young, “…is a much longer marathon than we could ever have imagined (becoming) a reality.”  I found her words in an article my friend and fellow writer Kate Rantilla shared. As I read it, I realized why I have felt so pressured: I am, as she describes, trying way too hard to “do isolation well.”

Her insights have helped me make sense of my emotions and allowed me to reorganize my intentions with less self-judgment. So, although I rarely share outside sources here, it felt like the best way, at the moment for me to make a bit of difference for you, my fellow travelers. 

Barbara Young’s article “What do we do now? can be found here: “https://tinyurl.com/sx2ke7n

Walk gently on the path my friends another time-
for now save lives, stay home and be well.

Insights for a New Decade

So fellow travelers, this has been a busier than usual holiday season for which I am grateful to have had a full two weeks off from work.

In between road trips to visit family, I have managed to rearrange several rooms in our house. My efforts have allowed me to resurrect my pilates machine, reclaim art studio space with good daylight and establish a new meditation and yoga space.

I’ve been honoring this last gift by spending time every morning reflecting on the passing year and clearing out any burdens I choose not to carry forward as I set intentions for the new year.
(This photo is the spot in my parents townhouse where my Mom meditates and says her ancestral prayers each day.)

Entering this shiny new decade free from past hurts, resentments, guilt or regrets is a gift we can only give to ourselves. I have been trying to write about this (in between packing up Christmas, moving furniture and clearing out clutter) but it came out sounding too diadactic.

Then friend and fellow blogger Lisa Dingle put up a blog post which embodied what I was trying to say- only absolutely on point with her signature Light touch and good humor. You can find her post here https://justponderin.com/2020/01/03/on-my-cup-and-the-new-year/

Synchronicity struck as I read Lisa’s post right after writing my own intentions for this new decade on the first blank pages of my 2020 journal. Intentions which revolve around making choices which will fill my own cup with less judgement and more tolerance and compassion, as much for myself as for others because we cannot give what we do not hold for ourselves. So I raise a cup in a toast of united commitment to “doing the work.” Here’s to the spillage bringing more hope and joy into our weary world.

Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.

Poem: Speakeasy

So fellow travelers, clarity is a gift beyond measure in writing .

One of the many benefits of being part of a creative tribe is what we call the “ripple effect” of sharing inspiration from each other’s work. At times the dynamic exchange of encouragement and energy will bring insights which shift my perception of something I am working just enough to reveal how something I was struggling to express. This morning a post from my friend Tom Atkins did exactly that for me by defining something I experience when I am at a show with my favorite band.

The context is slightly different but the reference of being in a safe space where we can “spill ourselves is precisely why I go to as many concerts and events as possible. Each time it is an unburdening of doubt, healing of sorrows and an infusion of hope made possible by faith in the ultimate power of Unconditional Love.

The original post is shared here

Quarry House

Speakeasy #1.JPGSpeakeasy

A single red light at the end of a brightly lit alleyway,
your secret place,
a place of release,
more about the safety than the alcohol,
where everything spills out.

About this poem

We all need that safe place to be, to talk, to spill ourselves out.

The painting, one of mine, is also called “Speakeasy” and inspired the poem.

Tom

View original post

Stopping Time

So fellow travelers, fellow creative tribemate Deb German Young posted a photo from her recent travels to see Falling Water, the iconic Frank Llyod Wright house in Pennsylvania.

The image not only caught my attention, it literally stopped me mid-scroll and I gasped out loud. “What is it?” my husband inquired as we wound through traffic in downtown Portland. “Something amazing one of my friends posted on the creative page,” I said once the neurons in my brain unlocked. “Oh, ok” he responded in the matter of fact manner indicating he is fully acclimated to the “wow” moments which often occur when I check in with the creative page.

“It is as if you stopped time” I commented under Deb’s photo, tears welling in my eyes as I posted. This image, so delicate and powerful all at once, went straight through my heart, deep into my soul, calling up that thought.

Isn’t this part of why we take photos? Are they not attempts to capture a moment so when time takes its toll we can re-ignite the fading memory into the brillance of the present? At least for me this is true. I rely on the photos I have in my camera roll to help me write because my emotions are embedded in the images I capture. When I sit down to write, I need the images to bring me back to the moment so the words are more genuine.

Sometimes I have to remind myself to take fewer shots, and be more present in the experience. Over the years, as my aptitude for writing has developed, a modest confidence in my ability has allowed me step back from creative misgivings. Being intentional of when and why I take photos is becoming more habitual. Mindfulness makes everything, including creativity, flow with less resistance.

The tears in my eyes at that moment came from the emotions I am experiencing on this year’s visit. The sense of belonging has grown exponentially since last year. I just wrote about the weather factor, but as I have been crafting a post about my Switchfoot week in San Diego I am aware there is a bigger shift happening. The words to express it have not yet become coherent, but the moments I captured and stored in my camera roll are helping me get there.

Stay tuned.

Rainbow over Encinitas

Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready

… on a letter to the first owner of my second-hand dog

So fellow travelers, a guest post here from a fellow blogger and now rescue dog adopter whom I am blessed to also count as friend. Grab some tissues and be ready for your hearts to smile.

Dear Sir, Firstly, I’m so sorry for the anonymous nature of this salutation. It’s just that I don’t know your name. My name is Lisa Dingle, and I adopted your Bella nearly a month…

Source: … on a letter to the first owner of my second-hand dog