"Be sure to wear ... some flowers in your hair ..."

I remember very clearly one day when I was in elementary school and Mom was looking through the ads in the paper. "Oh, look! There's that album by that new band, The Beatles. I hear they're good!"

I can still see the ad in my mind's eye, an album cover with a price on a page filled with other album covers and their prices. Always into music, Mom bought that album ... and I began my love of 60s music.

There's an undercurrent throughout much of the music of that period, an undercurrent of peace, love and harmony, of the world being one.

"Everyone is a part of everything anyway."
- Happiness Runs, Donovan

"... and the world will be as one ..."
- Imagine, John Lennon

Lovely ballads like those of James Taylor, beautiful harmonies like The Mamas & The Papas. The Youngblood's Get Together is one of my favorite songs ever: "C'mon people now, smile on your brother. Everybody get together and try to love one another right now." These are the songs that make my heart smile.

I found this fun, happy video of Donovan on the Smothers Brothers Show (another fave of my youth). I play Lalena on my piano very often; it reminds me of simple, happy times and hopes for a world of peace and harmony. Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRqFCF-ACo8

random rose ...

A random assortment of thoughts late on a Sunday night ...

~~~~~

I was very happy to go to church last night. I was there about 15 minutes early and got to spend some time in meditation and prayer before mass. Just lovely. This is only the 2nd time I've been to Saturday 7:30pm mass but I think I'll make it my practice. (It will be nice not rushing for 8am mass on Sundays!) The Saturday service is less crowded, a bit older ... more experienced - lol! With the smaller congregation, it felt more intimate. I love to go to Mass. During communion, I watch all the long lines of faith-filled parishioners respectfully waiting for their turn to receive. And I often imagine all the other churches in my county having mass and communion at that same time, all the long lines in their churches ... and all the people lined up in the state, in the country, in the world. Lines and lines, their hearts and thoughts intent upon the action they are about to take. I'm not alone in my faith.

Our priest last night was a Vietnamese brother; he's been with our parish for a few years now and has told us stories of growing up in dire circumstances. I am grateful that I can openly practice my faith so easily, that there's a church right here with its doors open, that there's a community of good, caring people who I can share my faith with and be supported. I don't have to hide in a basement to have mass or fear any government reprisals. Freedom is such a gift. Watching this brother and knowing of his struggles, I am humbled and grateful.

~~~~~

I fully embrace the greeting "Namaste." Its essence is "I honor the Divine in you that is also in me." "Nama" means "bow, "as" means "I" and "te" means you ... "I bow you." Namaste recognizes the Divine with one another ... and smiles. How wonderful to great each day with the intent to honor and greet the Sacred within one another! Doesn't it just make you smile already? Makes my God within just want to dance with joyful abandonment. Whee!

~~~~~

I found what looks like a wonderful movie: http://www.onetheproject.com/ I've watched a few clips and smiled through each one. (Thich Nhat Hahn's among them, of course; he's such a favorite of mine. I could listen to him read an insurance policy and be enthralled.) To hear great spiritual leaders talk about God, about fear, about the Oneness of humanity - I'm going to download the movie and spend a couple of hours enjoying it thoroughly. I already know I'll be smiling throughout. "Peaceful Warrior" is another movie in a spiritual vein that I recommend very, very, very highly.

~~~~~

There's a big shift that I can sense in my life right now, a subtle excitement in the undercurrent of each day. I can feel it within me: whereas I was at a plateau for a few months, there are just so many good things coming into my life lately (books, stories, experiences, people) that are stirring me to grow further in my consciousness. Someone once told me that not everyone is seeking a higher consciousness, a deeper connection with the Divine. I accept that. And I accept that I am one of those who is seeking. We are each who we are. When I was young, I found that people generally thought you were a world-class weirdo if you acknowledged some of the "God experiences" that I believe most of us have. I always wanted to talk to others about them and my thoughts, but it's such a personal thing and there's not a lot of acceptance of "woo-woo" talk.

Some years ago, I became friends with a wonderful woman who said I needed to give myself permission to be who I am, not who others wanted me to be for their own comfort. I needed to stop restricting myself and embrace my "inner woo," if you will. Big, gigantic breakthrough for me: I gave myself permission to embrace every nook and cranny of who I am and what I experience without reservation. And then things started to flow into my life once I opened that door: people, experiences, words, music, yoga - a wide variety of gifts that pulled me further along my path in a rush.

I make different choices, choices that suit me. Always a person of peace, I started to become very aware of the subtle ways that violence permeates our lives and I make choices to avoid that violence. I don't see movies with gratuitous violence - killings, car chases, that sort of thing. No violent sports on TV. I'm not a big fireworks fan. I don't play games for competition but just for the fun of the game. Competing makes us separate, me vs. you. I want to embrace Oneness instead.

~~~~~

And speaking of oneness, how about happy dancing with people all over the world? Pure joy!


Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

drink your tea slowly ...

Drink your tea slowly and reverently,
as if it is the axis
on which the world earth revolves
- slowly, evenly, without
rushing toward the future;
Live the actual moment.
Only this moment is life.

- Thich Nhat Hahn

Like so many of us, I live a rather hectic life. My workdays are usually 10 hours, working against deadlines, juggling multiple projects, dealing with client expectations, which can change from day to day. Most weekdays, I'm not home until after 9:30pm, either because I go straight from work to yoga or I go to visit my daughter and family over an hour away. I never make dinner; there's no time and it's too late. With such a packed week, all the chores are usually crammed into the weekend.

Some weekends, though, I try to claim for myself. These are weekends where I feel the need to do nothing, despite my lists of cleaning and fixing and planting; of oiling the chairs on the patio, posting my excess on Craigslist, replacing the worn flap on the toilet. I just want to recharge my batteries, to decompress, to release and renew - and ignore the nagging of those lists. They can wait.

This past Saturday was one of those days. I felt lazy most of the day, happily, contentedly lazy. I did a few little things after my morning walk and my yoga class - played piano in a contented reverie - but mostly I just hung out in my courtyard doing a bit of plant clean-up, reading, sitting and thinking – just being ... and just being happy. My heart was just filled with gratitude for everything: for the home that keeps me sheltered; for the courtyard garden with the white butterflies fluttering about and the little birds drinking from the fountain; for the water that comes right out of the tap just by turning a lever; for the ability to choose when and what I will eat, at whatever time I am hungry; for the washer and dryer that clean and dry my clothes with so little effort on my part. I am abundantly grateful for the abundance and ease in my life.

On my lazy Saturday, I felt very much "in the moment." No rushing about, no calls or e-mails to answer. I felt fully present to the air, the sun, the sky; to life.

We only really live in the present moment. We don't live in the future; it's not here yet, so we cannot live in it. And yet, we sometimes invest considerable stress and worry about an imagined future that may or may not come to pass. More likely than not, when the future becomes the present, it's very different than we imagined it would be.

Drink your tea slowly and reverently ...

We don't live in the past, either. Those hurts and disappointments, events and feelings are not in the present moment where our breath and our heartbeat are. Too often, though, we stuff our sorrows and our victimhood over past events into a big old knapsack and hoist the full weight of it all over a worn shoulder. Thus encumbered by events from long ago - events that are done and gone - we face the purity and freshness of our present moment burdened and stooped under the load, as if we've forgotten that it's our choice whether to carry those burdens forward with us ... or to release them and fly freely like an untethered balloon through the air of now, feeling how much lighter and clearer everything is, how the sunlight sparkles, how the white butterflies dance, and how our heart shines throughout our being.

Live the actual moment.

There really is only this present moment. And then it passes ... and now we're in this present moment. We are not past, we are not future. We are truly only present. It's good to take time to get off the hamster wheel that life can become and just Be; happily, contentedly lazy if that suits you in the moment, noticing each breath and each butterfly and filled with gratitude.

Only this moment is life.

suspicious minds ...

“As human beings we all want to be happy and free from misery… we have learned that the key to happiness is inner peace. The greatest obstacles to inner peace are disturbing emotions such as anger, attachment, fear and suspicion, while love and compassion and a sense of universal responsibility are the sources of peace and happiness.”
~ Dalai Lama

Lotus Pond - Bruno Baumann


The other night after yoga, I was speaking with another student, discussing his hip problems and the spondylolisthesis of my spine and how yoga is so helpful. He told me of a therapist in LA who'd really helped him and that he'd give me the man's number. I thanked him but told him quite honestly that I probably wouldn't drive all the way up to LA and that a friend had recommended someone who was closer.

The man's response: "Well, you must not be hurting that bad if you're not willing to drive to LA."

I thought it was an odd comment at first, and then I gave it my full consideration, thinking about whether there was any truth for me in his observation.

Some might have thought his comment was insulting. This was the first time we'd spoken and he didn't know me or what I've been through with this condition, as well as other pain issues (from fibromyalgia, sciatica, scoliosis, transitional vertebra). Maybe he was being intentionally rude ... or maybe not. I don't know and really what does it matter if he was? The only one who knows the intention behind that comment is him. Any speculation on my part would be just that: speculation.

I'm not big on speculating about other people's motives for doing or saying what they do. I know of people - co-workers, family, friends - who often second-guess other's intentions: "I know that he did that just to spite me." "I know she did that because she wants his money." Uh, no, you don't know.

One person in particular is prone to spinning her theories and suspicions as if they're the absolute truth. When I gently counter with the fact that she doesn't really know, she insists that "well, it's obvious what she was trying to do. Anyone can see that!"

Hmmm ... I think I may be missing the "righteous indignation" gene ...

Have you ever had anyone misread your intentions? I've had a couple of occasions where I've said or done something with the best of intentions ... and later found that the other person assumed something entirely different than I'd intended. I would apologize for any hurt feelings and discuss the issue with a listening heart to both explain my intentions and also to better understand the other's perception.

Many misunderstandings arise from an incorrect perception. I could have perceived the fellow student's comment as rude and thoughtless, but that would be merely my perception, and not his truth, which only he knows.

These kinds of assumptions can really damage a relationship, so I try to never speculate about the intent behind another person's actions. Well, that's not entirely true. I do make one assumption: I always trust first in others' positive intentions. And I hope that others trust in my positive intentions.

I believe that it's very rare that anyone would be intentially malicious and hurtful to a friend. Am I being naive? Maybe. I've been told that I'm too trusting of others. Do I miss signals when someone is truly intending to be rude or disrespectful? Probably so. But what harm is there in that?

If someone is being rude, that's on them and has nothing to do with me or my happiness. I'd rather be naive and trusting in my happy little bubble of bliss than be suspicious and hurt for no good reason other than my own misguided assumptions. I'm much happier feeling that everyone in my circle is a good, kind, loving person and that we all have one another's best interests at heart. It's a nice way to live.

Namaste

remember ... remember ...

I must be self-indulgent today and write for myself. I am filled with thoughts, feelings, experiences, triggered by my uncle's death. My thoughts have been ajumble with memory and sharing with relatives-seen-too-seldom for my taste. Time is such a thief. "I'd love to see you more, but you know ... so busy, so little time." Such a thief. And then the door closes and you realize that we gave Time our full permission to steal from us. Complicit in the crime, we just leave the door wide open and our wallet on the table. We're temporary; each moment is precious. Engage with those you love.

I'll likely be rambling through the rest of this, just needing to get my thoughts on paper*. Feel free to abandon ship right now and not read any further, if you wish. But be fairly warned if you choose to continue. I didn't make you do it. Thanks!

*I love expressions like "thoughts on paper" and "I'll cc you on that." We don't really often put thoughts on actual paper and when was the last time you made a carbon copy of a note? Adages that have evolved from their meaning when I was a kid make me smile.

~~~~~~~~

photo courtesy of Tracy

I. Yoga of loss

Last Monday, at the beginning of yoga class, our teacher, Maureen, asked if there was anything in particular we wanted to work on. "Hip openers," I said. I needed to release some of the sorrow I'd been carrying all week and hip openers are designed for releasing emotion in a big way. Just what my body was craving. We did several hip openers throughout class (including a wonderfully long pigeon pose) and as I breathed through each asana, releasing on the exhale, I could feel these sticky bits within me releasing their hold and opening up, sometimes with a soft "pop!" sound. I could feel my breath become fuller, my clarity more clear. I really love hip openers, even when I'm not holding any deep emotion. Bonus: they're a wonderful release from the spondylolisthesis and sciatica pain. Great stuff.

At the end of class, as were guided to lie still and relax in savasana - that state of surrender without attachment, being aware but not engaged - I decided I would like to softly think of my uncle and feel blessings for him during this time. I relaxed my body, closed my eyes, opened my heart and aimed my love at an image of him in my mind. As soon as I saw his image, though, I felt this sudden rush of love coming from that image ... and then very quickly, I felt others rush forward with him - my mom (oh, Mom!), my aunt, uncles, grandparents, friends - and they all hurtled love at me like an uncontrolled flow from a fireman's hose. I was briefly unnerved at first, sputtering against the unexpected flood, then I relaxed and opened my heart ("receive what you have been given") and I could receive it all, feeling it fill the spaces just opened up by the earlier poses in class.

Amazing experience.

~~~~~~~~

II. The Vigil-formerly-known-as-the-Rosary

Thursday night was the Vigil. Pre-some-change-in-the-church rules, we used to have a Rosary service on an evening prior to the funeral. Everyone kneeling, rosary beads in hands - some of those hands smooth and young, others gnarled with arthritis and wrinkled with time - the priest would begin each prayer and those gathered would complete it, in a call-and-response cadence. You do five decades of those - the prayers droning in a sonorous rhythm, buzzing in the chapel like bees on a hot summer day - and you're in such a wonderfully meditative state, feeling that interconnectedness with the Sacred within. (I can always use more interconnectedness with the Sacred within.)

Nowadays, though, it's a Vigil; you get a nice, small service and, for the Rosary part, it's one decade and you're on your way. Seems like my tio got cheated.

My mom had always said she wanted her full five decades when she crossed over, and my dad and brother made darned sure she got 'em when she crossed in 1990, by golly. My brother had to make a special request, but I'm so glad Mom got it the way she wanted. I have strong memories of sitting near her feet as a kid, with her sitting in the upholstered rocker (which now sits in my living room), her beautiful crystal rosary beads in her fingers, eyes gently closed, her lips slightly moving, the soft sussurous whisper of the prayers from deep within her soul. (I can feel the depth of her faith in those moments.)

At her rosary, we prayed every last prayer, moved through every single bead. After the service, several older women all gathered around Mom's open casket. In a bit of a semi-circle, they began to sing, a strikingly beautiful sound, a capella, with deep and powerful emotion. The tears silently coursed down their cheeks as they bravely sang for her. They'd been schoolgirl friends of my Mom and they all used to sing together in church choir. And now they gathered and sang for Mom, hands held together, arms around one another, singing her over to Heaven.

Amazing experience.

~~~~~~~~

III. Losing my stories

My mom came from a family of ten children. Growing up, we had a lot of tios and cousins that we'd visit with very regularly, some were on the same block when I was very little. All the family was very close and we cousins grew up together.

From those ten, there are now two uncles who remain on this side. Gathered together for my Uncle Art this week, we all shared a lot of "remember" stories -

"remember that time with the garter snake?",
"remember driving through those fields to tio's house?",
"remember how we used to ..."

remember ...
remember ...
remember ...

These are the only people who know my childhood stories first-hand, who have known me from my beginning on this side. As each one ages and moves on, they take my stories with them, one by one. Each one has a different piece of my story, various bits of my life's narrative ... each unique piece making a "pop!" sound as it is released and disappears. Pop! Fifty years from now - likely, less than that - there will be no human alive who knows my childhood stories first-hand. There won't be any memory of them left on this side.

Amazing experience.


Namaste

golfing in heaven ...

Thank you for the gift of allowing me to see how you see me in last Sunday's blog post! I found the comments so interesting, so insightful, so revelatory. If you live with someone, there's a constant feedback that you're always getting: comments, opinions, conversation, the give-and-take of living with others. I don't have that since I live alone, so to get your feedback was very enriching to me. Thank you for holding up a mirror and letting me see myself through your eyes. (I really do like my cool aqua kitchen, btw.)

~~~~~~

On to other things, things that are weighing on my heart and thoughts right now ...

My godfather (my "nino" in Spanish), one of my uncles, crossed over this week.

Uncle Art was 85 years old, one of my mother's brothers, very fit, still playing golf, still with his thick, gorgeous head of hair. He owned a number of successful car dealerships in his lifetime, and did quite well for himself and his family. Playing golf was his big passion and he played as often as he could. All my mom's brothers were/are very handsome men, full of the devil (as my dad would say), very sharp dressers, fabulous dancers. There are only two siblings left out of the ten original kids now; my Uncle Alfred crossed over just last October.

I love so many things about getting older except the fact that those who have loved us since we were born get older, too ... and then cross over. It’s sad to lose those who have been a part of our lives forever. They’re part of our identity, you know? These are people who have been part of my entire life's journey. People who have known me and have been forged into my DNA. When I am with these people, I am not a successful careerwoman, a homeowner, a mother and grandmother; I am a niece, a cousin, a small part of a large family. I am part of them, they are part of me.

At Uncle Alfred's funeral last year, I was speaking with my nina (Uncle Art's wife), and told her of my memories of the year when I was about 5 and she and my nino bought for me a rabbit fur stole, handmuff and hat, in the softest white fur one could imagine. I loved that set. My nina threw her head back and laughed. "Well, you said you wanted a fur coat and so we had to get you a fur coat." Sharing that story with her, I was her 5-year-old goddaughter again, delightedly (and perhaps a little too proudly) wearing her white fur.

And now we're to say goodbye for now to another of my uncles, my dear nino/godfather, Uncle Art. (He's on the far right in Mom and Dad's wedding photo above. Uncle Alfred is on the far left.) So difficult for my nina, for their son, for my remaining uncles, for my cousins. I'm sure my mom, aunt and uncles all welcomed him joyfully into heaven. I really hope they have a very nice golf course there for him to enjoy for Eternity.

Eternal rest give unto them, O Lord ...
... and let perpetual light shine upon them. Amen.

just a little bit ...

I had it all planned to write this week's blog entry about my little courtyard, a labor of love that has evolved from a bare slab of concrete when I moved here almost 10 years ago to a pleasant little courtyard filled with sights, scents and sounds that I find so pleasing.

But I've been working most of this weekend, it's nearly 11:30pm and I have to get to work early as I'm working against a deadline ... and we're already behind. Breathe ... breathe ...

I've been working a lot of late nights and weekends the past few months; a 6-month redesign project that launched last week went into crunch mode the last two weeks and we were really putting in the hours to get it launched. As soon as it launched, I was asked to pick up the project I worked on this weekend, which was behind and needed a lot of late nights and this weekend if we're to meet the deadline. I just wrapped up working on it for tonight - knowing that tomorrow will be hectic - and now am heading to bed.

But first, I do want to thank those of you who visit, and those of you who comment when you visit. When I started my blog several years ago, I really did it for me, wanting to get the thoughts that fill my head and heart onto paper, perhaps to be able to better examine them, turn them over for a good look, and sort through them, to better understand my life, my truth and my path.

I didn't really write for an audience and hadn't really considered that others might find me, might actually visit more than once and be interested enough to comment. Imagine my surprise and delight! As I've received comments, I've come to truly treasure them; words and snippets that encourage and enlighten, that delight me and bring a smile to my lips and a joyful bounce to my heart. So I want to thank you for your thoughts, for your links (loved the angel link, Amber!), for taking the time to visit, for the friendships that have developed (love you, Lynn!). I find myself grateful for these connections from you to me and me to you; you honor me with your time and your words. Thank you so much!

And now look, it's nearly midnight and I really must get to bed, to dream happy dreams from a happy and grateful heart.

Namaste