in the stunned silence

like a hummingbird
flitting
forward
and back
sipping the sweetness
never still
never landing
too fast to be captured

until she flies into the glass
headlong

f
a
l
l
i
n
g

in the stunned stillness
hands reach out
holding
protecting
sheltering
feeding

(not all hands hurt or capture)

changing the room of my mind

There’s so much I want to say.  So much I could say about friendship, and belonging, and how care (or the absence of it) feels deep in the center of my being.  About feeling dehumanized so often.  Objectified.  Plunked into the fantasies and projections of men who said they loved me but didn’t show me care.

I could talk about how my ache for belonging has led me to saying yes when I knew it should be a “no”.  About how finding the courage to finally say “no” meant being cast out.  Shut out.  (Or worse.)

About how that makes me not trust anyone, especially myself.

I will write about those things and more. I  know there are others who need to these stories but today, just for today, I’ll linger on the sweet sustenance of this poem by Hafiz and just let my heart rest deep inside my animal body.

“All the Hemispheres
Leave the familiar for a while.
Let your senses and bodies stretch out

Like a welcomed season
Onto the meadow and shores and hills.

Open up to the Roof.
Make a new watermark on your excitement
And love.

Like a blooming night flower,
Bestow your vital fragrance of happiness
And giving
Upon our intimate assembly.

Change rooms in your mind for a day.

All the hemispheres in existence
Lie beside an equator
In your heart.

Greet Yourself
In your thousand other forms
As you mount the hidden tide and travel
Back home.

All the hemispheres in heaven
Are sitting around a fire
Chatting

While stitching themselves together
Into the Great Circle inside of
You.”

~Hafiz

Update:  After I wrote this, I went to yoga with one of my favorite teachers, Ashley.  At the end of class, she put my head in her hands and gently said, “I’ve got you girl.”  Quiet tears rolled down my cheeks.

Trust is earned but we have to remember to open to it.  Opening…

casting spells of liberation

He found this tiny black feather and gave it to me.  He said he thought it was a crow feather and told me not to cast a spell with it.  Ha!  I told him that even if I did cast a spell, it would be good magic, it would be in service to love and liberation.

So here we go.  Let’s cast a little spell together.   I’ve put the feather on a piece of art infused with intention.  A little bricolage.  This is similar to the mantra my yoga teacher said in hot yoga the other day. A spell is a prayer is a mantra.

May all beings be peaceful.
May all beings be happy.
May all beings be well.
May all beings be safe.
May all beings be wild and free.

And so it is.

yoga of vulnerability

The other day in yoga I was in “Happy Baby” pose and suddenly I felt very small.  And vulnerable.

I found myself saying, “It’s okay, sweetie.  I’m sorry that you were hurt.  I’m sorry that you were lied to.  I’m sorry that has made it hard for you to trust people.”

I started crying as I thought of all the people that I have loved. All the people that I haven’t treated as kindly as I wished.  And all the people who haven’t treated me as kindly as I wished.

I just let myself really feel that sadness.   Then I whispered, 

“It’s okay.  I forgive you.”

Then my body just relaxed and I felt something shift inside me.  Like a lotus flower opening.  I opened to that feeling of deep compassion for myself and others and awakened to the realization that we are doing our best at any given time.  It’s often only through a reflective practice that I realize that I could have done better.  And how I could have done better.  Even with that kind of practice, I still mess up, because I’m a messy human.

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bare

IMG_20160301_095142 I read an article recently that recommended walking with bare feet.  I’ve been dutifully trotting outside each morning while I wait for my coffee to brew and walking on the little gravel patch on the side of the house.

Back and forth.  Bare legs.  Bare arms.  Bare feet.

The rocks are hard and cold on my tender feet.  It hurts.  I feel the nerves in my legs responding and muscles contracting.  I feel where I am unstable and where I overcompensate. It’s fascinating and disturbing but answers some questions about my body.  Doing this makes me feel very vulnerable.  I become aware of things I need to change and of the temporal nature of life.  It’s also making me feel stronger and more alive, day by day.

I’m finding that love is a lot like this.

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