Lavender World

I am not at home. As I type this, I can't read the title of this post and the body is in a text size view of 1 inch. My mom's computer does these contortions, and I haven't even asked why. Isn't that what it's like to visit moms? We go about our daily work, but suddenly a lens is cast over us -- by ourselves, by the habits of old family -- that distort even our daily rhythms. I'm actually more amused than anything. The experience has been a very gentle one so far this trip.

My sister, Robyn, the boys, and I have come to my mother's organic lavender farm (Harvest Moon Lavender) to help with the harvest. Robyn and I have been out cutting lavender (thank God for the Felcos being such a pleasure to hold) for hours each day, kids wandering, hunting lizards, riding the tractor trailer, and swimming.

I imagine my family thinks me a bit odd, avoiding sugar and artificial additives in the kids food on the whole and letting go to the holiday spirit completely as I am overcome by it. Yesterday, Robyn and I made a trip into town with the kids and stopped at a natural bakery/grocery. While Robyn picked out a wine for dinner, the boys used their money to get a GIANT chocolate cupcake with equally enormous frosting. By the time we left the store, Trinidad was barking.

We went to the Arcata Plaza where Trin and Sam broke out their new street hockey set from the dollar store and played hockey on concrete for an hour or so. They were sweating and running furiously. Auntie Robyn came along and became audience to the flight of rubber band launched jets ("Watch out for the bicyclist... oh, the bicyclist... Sorry!"), catapulting plastic flies, and (get this) an almost remote control cockroach. We decided not to take that one to my favorite Chinese restaurant.

So far, mother, two daughters, and grandkids have survived peaceably under one roof. Three and a half days without dispute has got to be a record. I am grateful for their hosting and the fact that over the years of my adulthood, we have learned more and more ways to weave our days together more effectively and beautifully. I am thrilled to have meaningful work to do here, cutting flowers. Meditative, too.

Poetry comes with no pen to write, given over as the clouds trace their truths across the open sky and release their empty words to the western wind. Such is the harvest.

Honesty

Wow. It's coming at me from all angles in this moment. Kids, adults, interpersonal, in groups. I am set to learn what it is to hold court with someone who appears to be intentionally withholding and even deceiving in order to meet their needs.

I have never had difficulty with a lie now and then. I could see the needs the words attempted to meet, my heart open to the beauty of the soul that feared honesty for the pain it could bring. I delighted to find such ease here while I watched others struggle with trigger and judgment.

Now it's my turn. I don't feel triggered so much as wary. I am sad that when I hear or remember stories that now I question, I do not trust what is being spoken in the moment, to me or anyone else, to be authentic. I am aware that I don't feel connected anymore, that my heart is not moved with the person's words in that delight of shared experience. Lonely. It's a moment of loneliness, for me, and I imagine, for them -- particularly if they have checked in with my trust level.

Words that move the heart are the ones I speak of. When we feel the softest parts of ourselves touched by the artful speech of another and then later question whether the speaker was aware of deceiving... what can be trusted? Is this dilemma representative of our challenge to balance ourselves upon what is Real within and not be fooled by any of the cloaks of delight or defeat this world offers us in material experience?

I have been seeking compassion for souls, connection with the light within despite such painful refractions. In this moment, I am feeling compassion for our plight as a whole, struggling with being present and authentic in the face of our human experience which we cannot possibly achieve full unity and understanding in using our bodily senses.

I have no answers. I have not yet dug deep. That is coming.

Just letting you know... it's way up there on the to-do list.

Regret

I hit a pinnacle of dissatisfaction around how I've been showing up as a parent last Friday. I have been sending much of my energy into the garden with the intent of sustaining our family. I have been on an emotional marathon, and I'm tired. I've spent too many hours on the phone and at the computer struggling to find peace and presence while desperately wanting to be there for my kids.

On Friday, my kids' need for adult attention shot its peak through the fog. I could see that the conflicts between them and me and between each other were largely born of their living leaderless (my own perception), without the emotional and structural stability of a parent who could fully see them.

I have been sad and embarrassed to observe myself responding to them with annoyance as they "distracted me" in my work at both heart and garden. I have so longed for the focus to get through this patch. I rested only in the hope that I would be contributing to them in the long run more greatly by being more available and feeding them. Still, the darkness of bearing this weight between us -- my needs for responsibility and contribution sitting heavy and unbalanced, an avalanche in the making -- became so painfully great that I found myself unable to take another step forward in my own work or connection with anyone before addressing it.

I set intentions over the weekend to spend more time with them, a felt priority placed on their emotional and intellectual development. And on our relationship. I made a schedule to support this. I shook my head and wondered how I'd manage to "squeeze" it all in. I made another intention to find ease in it all, despite the appearance of scarcity.

When I returned home from an NVC workshop, I felt a new sense of spaciousness to receive them with. I found it easy to listen to each, to put down what I was working on and go to them almost every time they asked. To sit with conflicts, supporting the love between us all.

Forking a load of leaves into the pickup on Sunday afternoon, I touched a regret I had not wanted to see in my own choices about the primary relationship I've explored in the past year. The beauty, exquisite, but the pain a struggle spanning months. I have valued the meaning, the growth, it has offered. And now, as I held the price I have exacted on my contribution to the children, I felt genuine regret. I wished I had been able to find a way to meet my needs and theirs more effectively. I hope that in the future I am able to steer clear of such intense caring without a holistic and clear commitment for more.

I take responsibility for these choices. As I worked out even this much in my head and heart, wet leaves flying, I mourned that Sam sat on the edge of the pickup talking and I could barely hear him. I see now that my intentions in any relationship, in every day, drive my experience. In retrospect, I see how my lack of clarity and my fears contributed to the relationship that materialized. Now, I'm holding both sadness and a hope for the future in what I've learned.

Despite this conversation that drew me into the meta again, I showed up for my boys most of the time yesterday. I saw their relationships with each other and me turn around sharply. They jumped to do things for each other. We talked about communication without blame.

At 10:30 p.m., Sam brought his math workbook and colored pencils into the bedroom as Seda turned off her light for night. He started to work while I watched and supported, and suddenly he turned to me and said,"Mom, I'm glad that you're here, working on my math with me instead of being in bed or working on the computer." A smile stretched across his face. I put my hand on my heart and told him I was taking that in with such gratitude and care. He got up and opened his arms to me. "One big kiss and hug," he said.

As we lay in bed not long after, I expressed my regrets around choices I have made that took my attention so far from them. As I described my irritability and sadness in the past weeks, Trinidad said, "These past weeks I have been cranky, too, because I haven't been getting to spend time with you. And when I don't spend time with you, I feel like a ghost. When I look back on myself right now, I see myself as grey."

This struck me deeply. The image echoed my experience of us all, walking through the desert together. What a dry time it has been.

A Box of Tissues

Yesterday, I was biking home alone from the hardware store (hoses on sale!) when I gave myself empathy around watching Trinidad say with perfect honesty to a friend that he didn't really like her, he just liked to go to her house because she had candy bars and a trampoline. It was true that he hadn't "invited" her to play. She had merged with the group because she is one of the neighborhood. And then, he was noticing that he just wanted to play with his other friends because he liked them and they wanted to do what he wanted to do.

Ouch. For her, for me, for who knows who else. I wanted to open my heart to where he was, but I was hurting so much. Really worried about his needs being met in future/present (karma, even if impersonal, will play itself out before me no doubt). Other's needs. When I came to the awareness of my sense of helplessness and deep sadness in watching someone do something what I fully expect will land as painful even if they can't see it's so, I hit the brakes and swung my leg off the bike to sit in an alley and cry.

What work is this! I would love to be able to "show" him how it could be for the both of them if he could open his heart to hold everyone's needs. In conventional parenting, I could give him a time out and a morality lecture and call my work for the day done. Except for the steaming. Instead, I sat with a sense of helplessness.

I want this awareness to come from inside him. I want it to flow in by choice, not to appear in action out of fear of what people will think or his mother would do if he "didn't." I want to give him the spaciousness to explore these more complex social dilemmas, fall on concrete if he must, and draw his own conclusions. I want to support him by being there when he falls, guiding when he asks, and holding the sadness -- his, mine, hers -- throughout.

Oh! To take that many steps away and hold this challenge, the pull at my heart! I really felt the fear and longing in my powerlessness to "control" any of this exchange in a way that would meet my needs for integrity. Ach. I sat with that. And then, more pain. Another situation is near and dear to me with an adult who is making choices that I see will likely cause/are causing pain and confusion. Again, I have a sense that I can "see" what that person cannot, and I would love to share this view, but I cannot share anything someone is not ready to see for themselves. I am no more powerful here than I am with Trinidad. Why would I think that I have some responsibility to force Trin to see when I cannot even do this with an adult?

And the pain, again, in holding the sadness of everyone all round, now resonating through the situation with children and adults, all trying to navigate, meeting some needs and landing tragically short on others. Then, to the world scope, on an adult level again, people unaware of each other's deepest needs unmet, so focused are they on their own (I am by no means removing myself from the lot here) -- major scuffles, lives lost, wars...oh. The suffering. So much sadness.

I sobbed and sobbed. My handkerchief flooded. I so wanted everyone's needs to be seen. To matter! And herein, my power grew a hundred fold. My presence stretched out before me like a hammock wide enough to hold the pain that I experienced, the pain of children, adults, all beings who, stumbling in their own blindness, crash into the hearts and lives of others.

A man emerged from his backyard and walked slowly toward me with a box of tissues. Yep. That's the ammunition I need. He kneeled beside me and told me I would get through it. I did not curb my tears. He pulled several tissues from the box and handed them to me, assuring me that he'd been there before, many times.

I'm sure he has. We all have. And when I held the beauty of the need called mattering, I cried tears both bitter and sweet, all the love in my heart for my family, the world, the recognition of this need so deeply meaningful to me that it seems to pulse in my veins. The power is with me now to hold the pain around this need not met. To recognize the need in its exquisite beauty within and without our human attempts to do our very best.

I will look for my trust in its existence and in my own ability to stay present with it all.

Awakening to Empathy

My favorite thing about aging is learning to integrate more and more aspects of my life so that I can simply "be" in One way. I cherished this awareness last night as I received deep empathy from my womens circle.

"Empathy" is a state of being defined in a particular way in Nonviolent Communication, as pioneered by Marshall Rosenberg. The verbal expression of empathy is usually centered on feelings and needs, but the state of consciousness (essential) has, as I see it, three specific elements: full focus, genuine curiosity, and a singular intent of connection.

I noted in my last blog that I found these elements key to a meditation of self-discovery. Not new news -- there is always overlap across the many paths to enlightenment. I am aware that these same elements have been key to my surviving crises of various sorts in my life. I'm not sure that "crises" speaks to the spectrum of my experiences here.

I am thinking, in this moment, of laboring to birth my second child. I had chosen not to plan out images, music, or meditations, and as contractions intensified, calling for my full attention, I approached the experience with open curiosity and an intention to connect -- this time, with a force beyond me. A powerful awakening into Being followed, and the experience has shaped me.

I opened myself to all guidance as the stimulation of labor took my body in waves. Images flowed through me -- a kayak bearing my infant flowing down a river from my crown to my root, the river turning into a rainbow, a light moving constantly and infinitely in both directions, my child in gentle, safe passage. The sounds of my heartbeat, the blood in my veins, filled me with the emptyfull sound of silence, as if I stood alone in the center of a great cathedral. All time dissolved, and I spent each contraction/expansion completely given over to this experience, guided by a force greater than my spirit had known.

I have opened myself to such imagery more and more in the years since Sam's birth. The process of listening to my body, heart, and mind has only deepened since then, and now I find myself accessing this in writing, music, and empathy. My eyes often close in these pursuits, and I am transported outside of myself beyond the realm of earthly vision.

Last night, as I prepared to receive empathy, I noticed a request from my body to sit cross-legged on the floor. I opened myself with curiosity to "hear" within what wanted to be spoken. Images flowed through me, and I described these at various points in the process. I find that often the images lead me in a meditation that opens my heart to clarity I had not imagined.

Recently, inward turning, I described the shape and size of my sadness and anxiety as an anchor, and then I heard myself saying that I wanted to leave this place, the tide was rising, but I was afraid to pull the anchor, afraid I would leave a piece of me behind. Then, the awareness flooded into me that I would not leave me behind, that I could not. I was in choice to take what I liked, what served me, and leave the rest behind. Relief surged as I realized that it was time to weigh anchor; I had faced my fears and was ready (see blogpost "Weighing Anchor"). Interestingly, my opportunity came to manifest this in my outer world within the hour.

The imagery has served me as I merge the heart of my emotions with my trust in spirit and the intellectual understanding I have gained around empathy as a process. I do not worry any more about whether the way that I receive empathy "works" for others. It is my own, and I am curious each time about how I will be guided to receive it.

I am sometimes surprised. Last night, as I mourned, simply to mourn, allowing the living need to flow through me as water through a pipe flowing both directions simultaneously, I gave myself permission to mourn as long or as often as it was alive to do so. I opened myself to any images that would tell me what was next when it was time. Do you know what came up in picture and word? I had to laugh: Strawberry Milkshake.

Go figure. Proof that mine is not a vegan awakening.

(Un)Attachment

In May, my post entitled "Paying Homage" explored the aspect of attachment that struggled with a perceived loss, a forgetting, when letting go. I concluded that letting go meant taking in more deeply.

This week brought a stretching in my working understanding of unattachment. I have been struggling to let go of a primary relationship (one year deep) and have held with care another friendship, dear to me, that seemed potentially threatened. In both, I have mourned the possibility of total loss... what would that mean?

I learned much from the latter this week that influenced my place in the first. While actively mourning the tenuous nature of mortality (we might all be on the brink of illness, death, or accident and not know it; our sense of security is a false reassurance, though comfortable), I came to view my work in unattachment differently.

A friend told me that she would like to open herself to enlightenment, whatever earthly experience such a growing required. Good or bad, it's pointless to label, but essential openness to becoming consciously realized souls... this was the work. Have I asked for soul realization so clearly? No. I have been afraid to ask for full disclosure because the "price" might be too high for me to bear. Too high? Such as? The death of a child. A loved one. My own incapacitation. On a smaller scale (all my human measurings), the loss of my home, my garden, my value as a teacher/mentor. And more.

I took a breath. Why am I afraid to "lose" these elements in my life? The pain, I imagined, unbearable. Yes, and why? Because the pain is connected to my identities in this plane. The mother. The lover. The teacher. The gardener. Beauty. All the exquisitely defined perceptions of my soul that this ego is so eager to grasp at. And all, in the words of Eckhart Tolle, "are not [me]."

Oh. They're not, are they? I am smiling now. For I am something undefined in this world. Something colorful and infinite in size and shape, my spirit forever unfolding into what I had not yet imagined. What is me? I am in awe to witness.

"Me" is without edges. I am a hue of the All, vibrating with a resonance that sends me spirit-bound into everything I see and touch, feel and know. There is no role or identity in this "Me" that is in any way real.

And now I know it and feel it. I can walk it. My attachment to you is no less than my attachment to me. For that piece of me that seeks some hide-bound connection with what I have cared for is most drawn to the exquisite and finite beauty of what should be, could be, might have been. It knows the symphony of sorrow, the tragedy of love unrequited, a match that nearly struck a fire to light heaven itself.

Nearly. The word speaks to a framework of limitations. The tip-off. Our worldly dramas that catch at my heart-strings, play scenes in my mind, are all drawing hard on me in my roles. As a gardener, a mother, a writer, or a friend it doesn't make sense that the primary relationship I have worked so hard at could have failed. The notion of failure itself, heart-wrenching.

But if I am not these roles at all, if I am only my essence, unattached to my garden (gasp), my children (deep, deep breath), my home (exhale)... then what? What does separation in a primary relationship mean to me? No more than a bird's first flight. Letting go to trust in an instinct deeper than my own, patterns that will support me beyond reason, love that carries wing to wind.

It took me a good few minutes to make that kind of commitment to myself, to let go of my roles and identities and experience what it is I am more fully. Interestingly, I noticed that the same cornerstones I experience in the NVC definition of empathy are my guides to finding "me" in this moment: full focus, genuine curiosity, and the sole intention of (self)connection. I have the tools. Only the willingness to trust and to fly were in question.

All day, I have checked in. Is it me? Is my response to this conflict me? The color combination I chose to wear to the party? The biceps my friends are commenting on? The competence Seda celebrates in me for this achievement or that? My worries about the kids' abilities to navigate socially? No. Not a one. I have been smiling so hard all day that my face hurts.

Unattachment is a taking in. But the work, once integrated, cannot be labeled or categorized in any way. No sentimental token survives the fires that forge these changes. And the rest -- memories of earthly words and deeds that appeared beautiful in their joy or pain -- I am now willing to "lose" or "forget" as the wind blows. I was terrified to let these go before; they were exquisite in their own desperately human sense, so full of meaning. Now, I see that this beauty held me because it appealed to the beauty I found in my own identity.

I am open to being ugly now. Open to forgetting what happened yesterday and forgetting my worries for tomorrow. I am me in my heart either way. The world will or will not understand me. That won't change who I am for a moment. And that is my new affair: I am discovering what it is to be me (at one with all).

You might prepare to be surprised.

Calling Them Home

For the past 2 years, I have wondered what I can use to call my children home. I have coveted my neighbor's big bell as I've grown my lungs according to my childrens' lengthening boundaries. But today, I decided enough was enough as I hiked the 'hood in search of my eldest explorer.

The Universe responded. Dana and I discovered a garage sale only one block away. Sam got a "Need Help, Please Call Police!" sign that one could put on a dashboard in a state of peril if one were over the age of five. I got an antique sickle ($3.75!) and a book for my dad.

And an Official Boy Scout Bugle. That's right. I've never touched a piece of brass to my lips this lifetime.

The neighbors know it.

Chickenpox and Quiet

The boys recovered from Chickenpox completely by day 2 1/2. I thought the echinacea and homeopathics were responsible. Sam was sure it was the bite of ice cream he snuck on the second night. At any rate, I am glad to have my boys' comfort back.

I am moving into a quiet stretch. The Pause. Not taking in, not putting out, not processing consciously. Sitting with, in all ways. So there may be a quiet patch on here. I'm open to being surprised.

The sun is out.

Late Breaking: Chickenpox Report

Day Three: Chickenpox is not fun. Who cares how big your brother's pox are? The popsicles, forgotten. Not even mice are tempting to chase when they run across the livingroom (my gracious, did you hear that right?) unexpectedly. Two boys, especially the eldest, downright uncomfortable all the time.

Me: Hoping to God for sleep tonight.

From the Front: Chickenpox Report

Day One (yesterday): Chicken pox. At last, we know. Both boys got it. A hike in order, tiny red dots forming. Seda took them to Spencer's Butte. Trin caught 2 lizards (one of which bit him) and they saw a rattle snake close up. I am not hiking the Butte with that boy again. He manifests reptiles far too effectively. Particularly those with venom.

Day Two: Chickenpox are fun! You get cocktails three times a day (echinacea, Vitamin C, homeopathics and some in juice). You get Epsom salts in your bath. You get to watch the pox form and compare with your brothers to see who has the biggest. You have a story to tell.

Me: Stuffing mulch onto potato plants. Picking enough fava beans for 2 days. Battening down the hatches. Poised in the calm before the storm.

Masked Bandit On My Side

The snails and slugs have taken out 3 of 5 cucumber plants and a couple of winter squash at the base of the stem. I considered giving them a beer party soon. Then, this morning, nature reminded me of my intentions to create a garden where earthly balance, not human intervention, supports growth on a macro scale.

At sunrise, a raccoon wove his way through the raised beds and found a comfortable spot on our deck. He reached out and plucked a snail off of the kale plant beside him, carefully cracked and peeled its shell, and popped the slimy morsel into his mouth. Some interesting facial expressions ensued. He ate another. And another. In the end, a half dozen snail shells sat in a neat pile where he had dined.

Another intention that found fruition in unexpected ways. (Ya' think I could get him to stay and help me make pickles?)

Illness, Forgiving, Music, and Intent

I have been ill. The cold that snuck up in the last day of planting our Community Garden took me down hard as I put in the last pumpkin and watered. All other gardening has come to a screeching halt. I found myself blue with sadness, sick, and on my moon cycle all at once. ("It's Mercury in retrograde," says Anne).

As usual, in deep sickness and healing, big stuff passed through and came round. I drank a lot of water. I laid in bed having visions between sleep and waking. My kids were miraculously independent and held by the community in turns. When I rose, I had only enough energy to write my first original piece at the piano. It took me in, dragging my feet, and set this moment to music. I called it "Neap Tide," and I find it very beautiful. It got much longer than I expected (I have to end soon... I'm going to fall through the piano bench, I thought), and insisted on offering its last note only when it was ready. Perhaps someday I'll get technosavvy and put it up on the blog!

Last night I laid in bed and invited myself to forgive all of those in my life that I hold pain around. The last and longest challenge lay in forgiving myself. I am not consciously hard on myself, but it brought tears to my eyes to send this careful attention to my heart. It feared complete forgiving and acceptance without judgment for its inclinations because it did not want to be hurt again.

My heart made a request that I support it in this effort consciously. But, do I wish to guard against opening it fully? Do I want to guard against receiving others' care, particularly in the sphere of intimate relations? No. That did not land right at all.

Then the words of Sharon Sweet, a gifted intuitive reader (sweets@oregonfast.net -- I recommend her!), offered in great transitional turmoil three weeks ago sounded once more: "Do not be afraid to ask for what you want." She reminded me to listen to what others asked for consciously and look at whether that was what I wanted, too. I can listen with care and intend to find spaciousness to really hear what they are consciously asking for, no matter the mixed signals to the contrary. What are they intending for themselves? (If mixed signals due to perceived subconscious intent, then a mix of intentions have been sent out to the Universe and all are fulfilled... am I content with my role in each and every one?)

I need not guard myself against that which I do not want. I just need to be clear about what I do want and then let the rest go. What a relief to support my heart with such ease! I just need to give myself the spaciousness to see whether and how a situation sits with my overall intention. So, I intend to live life slowly and deliciously. Chew well and swallow with care.

As I look at the journal I've kept over the past 5 months, I'm in awe at how many of my intentions have manifested beautifully. May the journey continue!

The Big Questions

Journaling last night, I explored a sneaking fear that "love," as I held it, between two people, does not even exist. This is how it went (the abbreviated version):

Is our "loving" of one another actually only the shape and intensity of our own needs being experienced in the universe, some exquisite harmonic tone that sends us reeling? Is unrequited love a felt intense longing attached to an unmet need, the catharsis of empathic resonance nearly at hand?

I had some fear here; what if there is no love? What would that mean to me? Is the only true love what we experience within ourselves?

If this is so, we only feel our own jubilant vibrations of needs met, more apparent as they resonate with the attentions of another. We hold ourselves through the ecstatic caring of one another. But why, oh why, is it so unnatural seeming to shower this affection, this love, on ourselves in the first place?

Are we designed with this reflective dimension (loving one another) in order to survive as a species -- all of us organs, cells, to the body of our people, of creation? Why is the greater whole so important? Why not just create one person who is self-sufficient in all of his/her needs?

Such a solution would be apparently static. As a whole, we can achieve a balance that appears this quiet from the outside in our individual or collective consciousness. Is the dynamic that we move through in order to find equilibrium as great a truth as the balancing point itself? Is the drive to evolve in consciousness as we dance toward equilibrium in the moment what this is all about -- learning to love, make peace and beauty?

Is evolution the life force itself, a living love? If so, how can I best let go of the "here" and "there" I like to mark -- that human charting of the beginnnings and ends of paths that suggests that evolution is a hierarchy in which we better ourselves?

What if our spiritual evolution, reflective of our physical evolution, is only about getting "here" in a state more adapted, alive, and awake? Becoming as Being. Sinking into what Is.

If so, then love is an Awakening of all creation as a whole. Not a feeling limited to our singular reflective experience with one another. Not a feeling flowing from and to ourselves, reflecting only within. It's not about loving oneself or loving one another. It's about loving, just loving, without the notion of boundaries or celebrations of the exclusivity of loving me or loving you.

It's the embrace of the living, a loving in being, in all for all.

I include such serious play in my blog because it is as real in my life as the laundry, the garden, the food I eat. Integrated. I would so love to hear from you all -- is this something you've explored recently? Do you have a different angle on it? Disagree with parts? Find it boring or too heady? Your comments bring my posts to life for me. Would you leave one?

Our Community Garden

Rick Valley inspired me to grow my own flour corn and told me how to do it on mulch in such a way that I could picture getting it done within 3 weeks. He also gave me a little seed.

Anami, up the street, reminded me that I could incorporate beans and squash. Why not? She has come to check my progress and offer Master Gardener worthy advice.

Tim, across the street, said "Sure. You can use my front yard. I hate to mow it anyway."

Dan and Dana lent their pickup for carting leaf mulch, compost, and cardboard.

Jetta, their daughter, helped me test all of the irrigation tape that would water the garden.

The boys and Seda helped me load leaf mulch. Joellen, Jetta's 12-year-old sister, helped them catch crickets when they got bored.

People from all over the neighborhood chatted with me and kept me well-connected while I worked from dawn to dark most of the past week or two.

Jack supplied more seeds and squash plants. He helped shovel leaves and provided irrigation materials and know-how. The cornbread that came out of his oven, baked with local corn, convinced me last autumn to make the effort to source my grains locally.

Sat Hari explored philosophy and spirituality with me from the phone in her own garden, to keep my mind and heart focused on what is real. She asked how I built this garden so she might create one, too.

The children played up and down the street at Evelyn's, Tesha's, the Gormans and the Otas. They ate dinner abroad. I popped in occasionally to supply h'ors doevres or do dishes.

Anne came today and helped me, as I struggled with the blues and a cold, to finish the last pockets of compost and plant rows of corn and beans.

Less and less do I wonder what is mine and what is not, what I do for me and what I do for others. Less and less do I think about what or whether to do, but rather just do what is set before me to do, spending the time in action and intention alone.

The Otas don't mean to push me, but... will I still have time to plant a plot in their back yard? This Sunday, they will be home to help clear the space.

So grows our Community Garden.

Too Sharp for Witchcraft

Here I am, flying low on my pitchfork over the mulch garden I'm putting in at a neighbor's. It is to be sown with corn, beans, and squash. I'll put more details on in the next 24 hours, I hope!

The Real Work

Yesterday, I weighed anchor on one of the most significant relationships of my life to date. ("Weighing anchor" is a nautical term for pulling the anchor up. I like the sound of it. Heavy.) Not Seda, mind you. She and I are family. This was the end of an intimate relationship, perhaps the deepest I've experienced.

I knew that I would know when it was time, and suddenly, it was time. Just like that.

I had moved through the anger of rights and wrongs, what should have been, could have been, or should never have happened. Sat with the sadness, all encompassing. I found myself largely in a place of acceptance around what it was time to do. I did not feel exhilarated or torn up afterwards.

And still, this morning, I found myself unsettled. Sad and holding a bit... to what? In talking with a wise woman friend (I'd mention her by name, but then you'd all want to be her friend and I'd never get a word in edgewise), I realized that I still carried some sadness about a piece of what I was drifting away from: the opportunity to contribute. There are so many things I wish I could share in a way that they could be received by this man. He has taken so much in that I have offered. And I from him. Could our work really be over when so much is left to be done?

"The real work comes when we take up our anchors and drift away from our teachers, charting our courses for ourselves," said my friend. "That is, perhaps, the greatest piece of learning to be done. The putting to test all that we have gained in study. We must leave the shelter of that cove, the protection of our teacher. We must find our own strength, integrate what we now understand to be true about ourselves and the world."

Such sweet relief in this! I had been subconsciously asking myself, "Have I gotten what I wanted from this relationship?" Always the answer "no," of course, or why on earth would I leave? But have I given what I was asked to give? Yes, solidly. Have I received? Yes. I have so much more clarity about who I am, what I may offer, what I want, how to be in the world. The ecstatic joy I was fully present for, the exquisite pain to hold -- all for this far-reaching gift.

When I consider that what I have given and what I have received are not, in themselves, complete in their potential for evolving the two of us, I can set my yoke aside. I am free in this knowledge to trust that each of us and all of those whose lives touch ours closely will do our own work, supported by the work we have shared. Our opportunity to craft from within a vessel that will respond to our calling and our will as only God would have it. To go forward healing ourselves at the heart of peace in our world.

With gratitude, eternal love, and deep respect.