A bright fire to you all. We turn and return.
Where I live the pouring rain of dreary spring lingers still. I hope that where you are the sun of coming summer is shining.
Beltane: Turn and return
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Tag Archives: spirituality
When you start to think, stop.
“My gauge each day, in all things, is simply this: Is what I’m choosing (to think, do or say) moving me closer to my Creator or farther away? For this question, I am immensely thankful. It saves me an awful lot of backtracking, worry lines, frustration, angst and apologizing. Today and every day, I give thanks for my ability to exercise power of choice—even when I’ve chosen wrong.”
—Richard Wagamese in EMBERS: ONE OJIBWAY’S MEDITATIONS
Years ago I attended a writing workshop led by Richard Wagamese. His process, he told us, was to go for long walks in the hills and tell himself a story out loud as he climbed. When he returned home, he’d write it all down, letting the words pour unto the page. He’d write, he said, until he “started to think.”
When thoughts began to run through his head—”Is that the right word?” or “Should I take that part out?” or “This is the worst thing ever”—it was time to stop.
The words weren’t coming from Source anymore.
At the workshop he invited participants to give him a topic—any topic—so that he could tell us a story. Several times he received his subject, reflected only for a second or two, and then began to speak.
In a miraculous way, he opened himself up to become a channel for story. He surrendered to it. Story unfolded through him, complete and beautiful from beginning to end.
I think of this often, when my hands hover over laptop keys, uncertain. Or when those questions or comments start to circulate. “Does this word belong?” or “Is that part too long?” or “Am I wasting my time with this?”
I’m no Richard Wagamese, but I try to recreate what he showed to me that day, not only in writing, but in day-to-day life. For stories or for difficult decisions, I try to open, to surrender, and to allow the unfolding.
When I manage it, even a little, I’m surprised by how complete and beautiful it all turns out, from beginning to end.
And when I start to think, I stop.
In sauna
“I noticed that she used this phrase again and again: in sauna rather than in the sauna. She’s not talking about a building, a little pine shed with burning coals in the corner; she’s talking about a state of being.”
—Katherine May, speaking of a Finnish friend in Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times
Yesterday I took a day. A whole day.
I went for a short walk, but other than that I did nothing but lie on my couch, read a book, and watch the Toronto Blue Jays and Tim Hortons Brier curling.
I don’t have a pine shed with burning coals or a cedar-lined sanctuary, but I spent the day in sauna, in the way of Katherine May’s friend.
That is something I almost never do. I’m always doing something.
It was glorious.
Today I feel restored, and that is the power of rest and retreat.
Soft and supple: Thoughts for new life
Men are born soft and supple; dead, they are stiff and hard. Plants are born tender and pliant; dead, they are brittle and dry. Thus, whoever is stiff and inflexible is a disciple of death. Whoever is soft and yielding is a disciple of life. The hard and stiff will be broken. The soft and supple will prevail. - Lao Tzu, as found in Atomic Habits by James Clear
In this season of Easter | Passover |Ramadan—all times of self-reflection—we contemplate what it means to live fully and well.
The soft, supple, tender, pliant, and yielding are alive and growing. They stretch toward sunny new truths.
The stiff, hard, brittle, dry, and inflexible are breaking. They crumble and return to dust.
For me this is Easter Monday morning. A time of new life, in whatever way you believe it to be. A time of recognizing that good always arises out of the darkest of times.
I just need to remember that during the dark times.
Not grow dry and brittle. Stay soft and supple and ready for new life.
Focus: A word I need
My word for 2022 came to me in December as I was reading a post on The Spectacled Bean.
What would my word for 2022 be, I wondered . . . Oh wait, the laundry needed to be changed.
. . .
Right. A word. 2022. That was what I was thinking about. What should . . . Oh, but then my husband was going to the grocery store. I just needed to tell him we need milk.
. . .
Back again. Think, think, think. What would . . . Sorry. A notification popped into my computer screen. I needed to respond to that.
. . .
If only I could focus, I thought.
That’s it!
FOCUS.
One thing at a time. Multi-tasking is a myth. I aim for a more productive 2022 as a result.
Do you have word for 2022?
A fairy tale of crossed lines
Once upon a time a three-year-old boy sat in a church. At the front of the cavernous space, far away from him, an adult voice yammered on. The boy squirmed. Squiggled. Stretched out on the floor.
To entertain him, a woman handed him an activity sheet. It had a maze printed on it, full of dead ends and clever diversions.
Happy to have any distraction, the boy sat up and began to trace the path with a finger. He made his way through the maze with delightful disregard for the lines. After blowing through any twists and turns that might have blocked his progress, his finger reached the end.
He raised his arms in victory. “I did it!”
“Yes, you did,” the woman affirmed.
Why tell him that crossing lines isn’t always that easy?
Why burden him with the idea that some lines are best left uncrossed, and sometimes it’s hard to figure out which ones.
Better to send him out into the world excited about obliterating barriers blocking his path. Better to equip him to cross the many lines that need to be crossed.
And, far away from him, the adult yammered on.
Somerton Smith 