Archives for the month of: September, 2011

I have a few orchids that were given to me by friends.  One of them was looking very unhappy with one lone leaf.  I was thinking that perhaps it was ready for orchid heaven.  When I pulled on the leaf, the roots held firm. They told me, “I am still alive. Not only that,  I am strong. So, pull back.”

It made me think of our roots and the roots of our lives.  Sometimes we look a little weathered on the outside, but on the inside, deep down, we are still strong.  Imagine tracing a leaf down into the earth in which it is growing and exploring the deep underneath.  There, holding strong, are the roots.  If they are healthy, the plant is healthy.  If our roots are healthy, then we are healthy.

I have had plants that have experienced “root rot” when too much water has been given.  This makes me think of those of us who have had far too much watering with perhaps over-stimulation,  conversations that were less than helpful, unhealthy diets.

And then there are the roots that have dried out with too little attention.  The times when we have needed the stimulation,  but did not reach out or when we just withdrew and literally, dried up.

My orchid taught me in a second that roots are healthy, even when we can’t see them.  But, when I think about it, we are always experiencing them on some level.  For people, a kind remark, an astute summation in a conversation, a strong response to an unwelcomed criticism. For plants, one lone healthy leaf.

Roots. They are always there.  Tend them and you tend the soul.

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Your Voice needs the Listen.

Your Words need the Speak.

Your Throat needs the Sound.

Your Life needs the Change.

Your Heart needs the Love.

Your Mind needs the Thought.

Your Body needs the Nourish.

Your Soul needs the Stroking.

Your Legs need the Walk.

Your Arms need the Hold.

Your Creativity needs the Idea.

Your World needs You.

Your World needs You.

Your World needs You.

Your World needs You.

Bring it. On.

I drive home along the mountains.  It makes me happy.  There is a shorter way through the city, but it is not as pretty and uncomplicated as this way.  The way I choose has tree-lined streets and little neighborhoods. I like that.

I have started to shop at a different grocery store.  It makes me happy.  My old haunt had better prices and it was okay, but it just took one trip to my present grocery store to “get” that it made me happier.  When I got home from my new digs, I noticed that all of the chicken was double-bagged and the raspberries were not squished underneath the eggs and that someone paid attention.  I decided right then and there to shop at the more expensive store and seek out their own labels to get a better deal.  And I am doing that; my bill is the same or less than the former place and everyone smiles. That makes me happy.

Both of these journeys are made several times a week, so I am thinking that I made some good choices.  It is like my favorite pen, the feel of my bath towel, the side table near the couch where I keep my crosswords and the special cup that keeps my tea hot.  All of these things make a difference in my life.

So when the big stuff comes along, I am ready. I know what comfort is. I know what makes me percolate.  That helps me to become a genie and start to transform the challenges into fertilizer for the next new experience and enter it braver, smarter and well, happy.

This morning, I was looking for a certain something.  I knew exactly what I needed and why.  I sort of  knew where it was.  And then, I found it.  The relief, the joy, the absolute grounding I felt in my body, was amazing.

Lost and Found.

I remember the Lost and Found area when I went to school.  If you couldn’t find your sweater, it was in Lost and Found.  The virtue I felt when I found something of value and took it there was immense.  Even when I find money in a department store, on the floor, behind the coats, someone opened their purse and out it fell, even if it is a dollar, I turn it in.  It does not belong to me.  Even if the Lost and Found people take it home, I don’t care.  It does not belong to me.

Which takes me to some thoughts I have about Voices.  We have so many voices in our heads.  Not all of them belong to us.  The voices can be resonant and deep, full of wisdom and kindness. Or they can be harsh and relentless, a code of ethics belonging to others.  The important thing for me is this:  to identify and listen to what is mine.  The rest may hang out and be a tribe that inhabits my brain waves.  But my gleaning of wisdom needs to be excavated from my instinctual self-knowledge.  This can be a challenge, especially in hard times. It can only be found in My Voice.

Not getting lost, staying found.  Staying intact.  Knowing the completeness that comes from the powerful voice chanting:  “Yes, I know.  I know what is next for me.  I know what is important to me.  I know who I am.  I know.”

Like the object that I was seeking, that grounded me so, I seek the voice that grounds me.  And I listen.

There, I find my Muse.  And then, I write.

The wonderful thing about layers, living in them,  going through them, removing them,  is that it gets you to the bones.  The bones of a situation, the bones of a home, the bones of a life.

There are bones to a house.  Deep beneath the outer structure, lies the bones.  It is the way that the bones are assembled that shape the strength of your house.

Your life is like a home.  Keeping your life in order, going through the layers, organizing your thoughts, categorizing your experiences and deciding what layers to keep, what layers to disburse, takes you right down to the bones of your life.

Therein lies the marrow, the succulent strength of what makes you who you are.

I used to watch my grandmother suck the marrow out of the bones at the end of  a meal.  I didn’t understand that she was going for the rich moistness of the inner layers.  She was going after the depth.  She was right there with nourishing her inner fiber.

The bones of your life, the bones of your house, the bones of a situation all have one thing in common.  They are held together by tenderness.  The inner tender of the bone blends with the strength of the outside covering.  Both are one.

Our layers are a part of who we are.  It is the bones that hold our resurrection and direct our transcendence.