the foreign and the familiar

Where do I start today?

It's a little after 9am on Sunday morning. I just 'hoovered' my first cup of coffee (espresso with milk) in 2 weeks, one of the most delicious experiences I've had for awhile. It was a necessary step to sitting at this cafe and working away at a computer; good to purchase something when accessing otherwise free internet services. The sea is to my right. I sit by the window of the cafe so that I can plug my housemate's MacBook into the wall. I can hear the occasional seagull, the low rhythm of the waves, behind the staccato of the locals around me waking up with their own liquid caffeine (and nicotine). I wonder how many espressos I can afford (physiologically and financially) as I enjoy a light breeze through the window and the space to type something genuine, something true.

Breathe. I drop into myself, bring some awareness to my ever changing system of thoughts, feelings, impulses, and sensations. My morning writings (pen and paper) have been a torrent of words, encompassing angst, struggle, peace, quiet, and lightness. This morning I wrestled with the juxtaposition between life as both familiar and foreign. Perhaps at any given moment during a human experience there is a tango, a pull towards keeping things familiar and a simultaneous inclination to exploring the unknown. I feel this tension, this dance in my body.

When I put my body down in bed at the end of each day, there remains a low hum of vigilance, a part of me is unwilling to sleep because it remains attuned to the environment around me. Only through waking meditation do I consciously invite myself to sink in, to rest, to feel into the space below the surface. As I sink deeper, I find the location in the universe that is unchanging, unchangeable. Regardless of place, regardless of events, activities, surroundings, language, physical being, emotions, or thoughts, this place is constant. And yet, even in its constancy it's constantly moving - not the quality of moving each of us knows living on the surface of life but moving that is pulsing with colour and life, pure breath.

Unfortunately, I don't choose to anchor myself this way very often. I am highly susceptible to slipping into the more surface currents of the water and getting tossed around like debris. I get to a place of exhaustion and complete disorientation and then I react with a need to control - a kind of false grounding built on the illusion of individual will. And then I become more disconnected from my body, more depleted, until I collapse. At the end of my rope, there's nothing left to do but drop. With grace through exhaustion, I find myself with nothing left to do but, once again, find solace through surrender, through finding the quality of peace which is not dependent on circumstances but which finds its source in the ground of being.

And so it goes. Over the last two weeks, I've repeated this cycle many times. Sadly, most mornings I find myself trying to 'redo.' I forget how futile it is to muscle my way into the world through better management of the surface waves (schedule, expectations, physical space, circumstances, individual energy level) and I return to my familiar habits - the way most of us get through. After two weeks of this cycling, my mind recognizes the futility but my body still knows the dance so well, so mindlessly. Funny how 'familiar' then reveals itself as a cage, a system of movements I can't seem to easily alter and 'foreign' emerges as the quality of my human existence that has always been with me and has never wavered in its invitation to 'return.'

So, how am I? I'm tired. Exhausted really. Not the type of exhaustion which comes from too much activity or exercise. Different. There is a fairytale called "The Red Shoes." In it, a young girl is given a pair of beautiful red shoes and she is so enraptured with their shinyness and shimmer and she puts them on her feet. She begins to dance, and dance, and dance, and she can't stop dancing. Her feet are moving on their own power and she can neither stop nor get them off her feet. Ultimately, she meets a woodsmen who uses his axe to chop off her feet. The story goes on with continued insights and wisdoms. The meanings are woven into the archetypes. I am the girl, the shoes, the woodsmen, and the axe.

I know that the dancing I am doing right now is a necessary and vital part of my growth. I know that in this dancing I am meeting new ways that I move, I feel more than see how this way of moving in the world has always been in me. The difference is that due to my current circumstances, the dancing is gruelling and my patterning is louder, revealing my habits as unsustainable. I can't find more energy to fuel the dance. I must find my own way to chop off the shiny red shoes.

My salvation, I think, lies in finding a way to sink to the bottom of the sea, finding a way to the timeless and spaceless space, the spot on the ocean floor which is directionless and eternal.

Ironic that I have finished my second cup of coffee and am considering a third. Funny how we have created rituals in our busy lives to help us maintain a good 'on', other rituals which assist us to turn 'off.'

I'm not sure I would have been so aware of this patterning had I not spent the last year or so of my life living a life of great solitude in a moldy, cold cottage in the woods of northern New England. And so, as I sit here in this beautiful land, beside the constant rhythm of the ocean, and under the rays of the unchangeable sun, I am deeply grateful for the ways that life is guiding me and teaching me always, inviting me to wake up and drop in.

My gratitude goes out also to those of you who have reached out to me in various ways in the last two weeks - your words and presence in my life have been tethers, connecting me to another (maybe the same) abiding source of unconditional energy, Love.

That's it for now. A third cup of espresso would definitely disconnect me from any kind of authentic ground.

12 students, 12 weeks

Okay, where to begin.

I'll start with some of the simpler stuff. I'm just finishing up my first week of training with GMI (Green Mountain Institute) in Portugal. The name of the founders and trainers are Judith and Michael Jamieson, a married couple who split their time between Bennington, VT and somewhere outside of London, England. Michael is of British ancestry, Judith from New York/Vermont area originally. There are 12 students in the program whom I am slowing getting to know, some better and faster than others. Many of the students come from across the US, one from Mexico, one originates from France, one lives here in the Algarve region of Portugal, though he lived the first 40 years in Germany (immigrated to Portugal 20+ years ago).

I live with 4 others; 2 women, 2 men. I would have to say that thus far, communal living has been the source of my greatest angst. Those of you who have known me or spent much time with me in my home know that I'm obsessive about neatness, organization, and order. I also have a relatively quiet existence, preferring to read rather than socialize or make small talk, preferring to rise early and retire early. Now, my housemates are doing everything in their conscious power to be kind and accommodating to my preferences. They have been very considerate and responsive to my expressed desires. I, too, am trying to let go and relax, recognize that 'my way' is not the way - just a way.

The apartment is,..... how can I describe it? Traditional southern Portugese, well-worn, and quirky. My housemates and I describe it as living in the ghetto. There are some electrical wiring issues; if a heater is on and too much other power is drawn, the electrical system becomes overwhelmed and shuts down. The first few days we were noticing that the gas stove was pooling a clear liquid. While it didn't smell, it did become alight when we held a match to it. Alas, a few issues with the stove but a secondary source of heat was discovered which came in handy when the electrical units shut down! The location is just one road off the main beach in town so I can hear the ocean waves from my bedroom. Unfortunately, we are discouraged from opening the metal grates when we are sleeping or away from the apartment as it's a 'call' to would-be burglars to scavenge our contents for goodies. Alas, there are still the preverbial mosquitoes in paradise.

I am most enamoured with the people in the program. I have known myself, historically, to be someone who can be too easily annoyed with others but I'm genuinely smitten when I look into the eyes of any one of them. We are different, unique, have varying levels of training and education, and still we come with a wish to learn how to skillfully put our hands on others and be of service. I have gravitated to one very wonderful woman, in particular, who feels like a sister from another life. My connection with her feels effortless and easy, familiar. Laressa and her partner, Ali, share an apartment nearby - while she is in training with me, he works via phone/internet and some travel. She has been so kind as to make available her internet connection so that I type in comfort, without being on the clock at a smokey internet diner. Thank you, Laressa - I will repay your kindness in good chocolate and the occasional beer.

Speaking of beer, I enjoyed my first brew in a week last night as we came out of our 5th day of class. We are not to combine alcohol and massaging so my opportunities to imbibe are few. We went to a British-styled pub where rugby played on one TV and football (soccer) played on another. Also, no coffee for over a week now. I've shifted to herbal tea without too much pain or anguish. The diet for me is centered on fruit (the oranges are mindblowing, grown locally) and bread (baked fresh daily just a 2 minute walk from the ghetto). The kitchen is a challenge for my culinary habits; the storage space for each of us is limited and the utensils sparse. But I am well-fed and don't go without.

The class schedule is a little more rugged than I anticipated. We attend Monday through Friday, approximately 8:30am to 7pm with a 2 hour break for lunch. Every 2nd Saturday is also a class day but generally shorter. I'm pleased with this as my funds for exploring further afield in Portugal are limited. I walk a lot and because I am close to the beach and cliffs at the east end of Luz it's easy to access some nature. Outside of class and basic life habits (eating, shopping, sleeping, personal hygiene), I read and walk and stay near the water.

Class time is split between theory and practice, maybe 1/3 theory and 2/3 practice. We work on each other as students, switching between giving and receiving a massage. I know it's likely tough to summon up any kind of sympathy for this new grueling schedule considering that I spend an hour or so each day receiving a massage but it's surprisingly intense - particularly because the content is so new to me. Anatomy and Physiology are strange new subjects for me and I've never been at ease with Biology or the other sciences. My head spins a little when I try to get a handle on the names of the 4 gabillion body parts.

Even considering my experience of feeling a little over my head and overwhelmed, I'm orienting myself to the space, the place, the people, the practice, and the schedule. I find myself wondering how I will one day 'connect the dots' between my history/training/passion for psychotherapy and this new frontier. Today, as part of meeting the course requirements, I had a 1 and 1/2 hour massage with Michael. I imagine they would like each of us as students to develop a sense of what a good massage feels like and how their structures and system fall into place as a whole. There were many times during the unbelievable bodywork that I could feel the easy overlap between working the mind/body/heart bridge in massage. While not clear, I still trust that the pieces will fall into place and the mystery will reveal itself, magnificent as always.

I miss home some. I miss Bradford and Ben greatly. I find myself sometimes wishing the time away, counting the weeks or days. But as I lay on the massage table under Michael's masterful hands this morning, I felt so alive with the experience and the possibility of learning how to be so skillful, so supportive as a practitioner with the ability to 'touch' someone so profoundly, well, I found myself thinking that another 11 weeks will never be enough time to absorb and learn all that awaits me.

That's the thing with me, I need to remember to be awake where I am rather than traversing the wilderness of my mind and missing the moment that lies before me.

I am taking pictures as I wander through my days and explore this new place. I have yet to figure out how or if I can somehow connect my camera to a computer and link my pictures to the internet. I hope to write a weekly update by blog so this is the way I can translate my experience for now.

Sending you my love.

whew!

Okay. Iºm here. The keyboard is different here on the Portugese computers so there might be some new and interesting symbols to show up in my upcoming blogs.

The travel day was both smooth and long. My bag was overweight (56lbs) but the kind woman just told me to take something out and sheºd look the other way. I was awake for what felt like 2 days, travelling for 25 hours plus a few hours of preparation and settling in on opposite ends of departing and arriving.

Portugese is not like Spanish, not like Italian, not like French, certainly different from English. I canºt seem to understand it in writing nor speaking. Alas, itºs only day 2 ~ Iºll give myself a little more time. Iºve brought my uptight, rigid, and controlling ways with me. As such, Iºm running up against my tendencies to take over, organize, and make things more efficient. Both the culture and the program itself are dialed differently ~ less concerned with things being on time, smooth, productive, effective, and intense. Did you know that they actually take a 2 hour break in the middle of the freaking day in parts of the world!? Unbelieveable.

In case my making fun of myself is too subtle, I am finding myself shaking my head and laughing at me and how driven I am for things to be efficient, organized, planned, orchestrated and executed. Case in point, the flight from Boston to Heathrow was on time. My flight from Heathrow to Lisbon left early. My 30 minute flight from Lisbon to Faro (1/2 hour flight) was an hour late. FYI ~ my new favourite airline is definitely British Airways - generous, efficient, polite, and on-time. I find myself looking around me and coming up with all sorts of ways that life as it is could be improved. Brilliant! Wherever you go, there you are.

There are 12 of us in the 3 month course. Seems to be equal males and females ranging in age from 19 to 60 years. While it appears I might be in the mathematical middle of ages, Iºm likely in the top 10 percentile. The group seems great. Again, kind, open, enthusiastic, energetic. Maybe Iºm already setting myself out as the grumpy old woman who likes to intimidate others into their acquiescence.

The land is beautiful. The sea is breathtaking. The oranges are mindblowing! I know outside of class and study, I will spend a great deal of time walking and exploring the coastline, in and out of the water. Iºm still a bit overwhelmed, at times wondering what Iºve got myself into. Iºm still a little travel-lagged and tired and disoriented. Ultimately, I know Iºm in the right place and that Iºll find my feet before too long (and my hands!).

hope youºre well, my love to you.

beautiful blue

Watching the weather. It's a very grey day today. The cottage is shrouded in fog. The temperatures have warmed and the smaller snowbanks are giving way to puddles. Living in this part of the country, different from Colorado, lends itself to watching the weather, rolling with the weather, letting go.

I noticed an internal fog this morning as I got up, moved into the morning rituals - filling the kettle, taking Ben out for his morning constitution, checking out the temperature and the feel of the air outside. I noticed my internal landscape was similarly shrouded with a sense of blue. Blue, to me, feels not exactly like sadness, not despair, nor discontent - just 'blue'.

With hot coffee and the morning blank pages before me I considered jumping into a dialogue with myself about what was arising, a discovery of the root of my blue. Nothing came. I could feel the texture and colour of my internal weight, I could touch its rhythm - slow, pulsing, methodical but I could find no source for its arrival to the horizon of my experience. In fact, my mind could only conjure a poignant sense of gratitude and yet this gratitude was cloaked in a melancholic blue.

I consider myself someone who enjoys the arrival of a 'new year' because it's a culturally accepted and recognized form of a collective birthday. I am not geared towards resolutions as much as I relish an obvious opportunity to get more clear on this human path I'm walking. One of my aspirations is to be better attuned to and aligned with my body. In talking with friends over the last week I've been exploring how much intelligence I have been discovering in the form of im-pulse; impulses are constantly arising through my body and directing me towards certain movements, awarenesses, and choices. I was born with impulses - I knew when I was hungry, felt clearly when I was tired, moved without self-consciousness when pulled to do so.

The years and life indeed impacted this knowingness. My impulses became confused by noise in myriad ways - I swallowed beliefs about what I needed to do to be lovable. I inhaled messages around the importance of avoiding certain outcomes (abandonment, destitution, aloneness, failure). I slowly, steadily shifted away from organismic wisdom and connection to the whole as I came to believe I was a fragile, separate, broken, and dependent self. This phenomenon is compounded by the collective belief system that Nature (human nature and the great outdoors) is to be managed rather than allowed to run free. Humanity prefers to see itself as separate from the whole because of our intellect and we mistrust our basic drives, viewing them as primal and lacking morality. Downright dangerous.

Perhaps collectively we are dissociated. I know that individually, I have been rather disconnected and dissociated and the potential I see that lies each moment in this body is to wake up.

And so this morning, I felt blue. And out of the habit of disliking uncomfortable emotions and not trusting my body, I felt compelled to clear out this weather pattern either by analyzing it and applying a treatment (hello psychotherapy) or by overriding it by forcing away the fog and greyness so that my natural light could shine through.

Taking a breath, I noticed a wave of sadness rising up. Tears flowed as I held my journal in my lap. It was simply a wave. I had named the feelings which were happening and they began to move. I didn't need a storyline to anchor my experience in so-called reality. I didn't need to fear that this internal weather pattern would wipe me out. I just needed to relax and trust and let go.

As I've alluded to a number of times in my entries, I'm torn by working in a field which pathologizes pain and seeks to remedy that which appears to be broken. Perhaps depression and anxiety and addiction are running rampant because we fear that we cannot tolerate the waves and so the suppression, distraction, and dissociation are compounding the force of energy - that which we do not embrace becomes our master. With a deeper connection to the rhythms of our physical selves and more faith in this innate intelligence that expresses itself through the body - through sound, through movement, through choices - wouldn't we be remarkable? And wouldn't this remarkable quality include the brilliance of all kinds of weather?

"How are you?"

"I'm blue."

"Oh, I'm sorry. What can I do?"

"See my beautiful blue."

the solstice

solstice - the standing still of the sun

Movements continue. Does moving end? Can it stop?

I enjoy this time of year, enjoy the ways of Christmas, appreciate the blending of freneticism with the enforced stillness that is a bi-product of winter weather . The collective energy around shopping, cooking, travelling, socializing is not so apparent for me here in northern New Hampshire. Last week we received nearly 18" of snow with single-digit temperatures (and I'm not speaking metrically here). Then a warm up with a deluge of rain. This week another 6-10" of snow (I better understand the name 'White Mountains') and the diving temp's.

I must admit I've had my eyes on the calendar hanging in the kitchen, seeing that this Tuesday is the winter solstice, the magical time of year when the relationship between planet Earth and the Sun dramatically shifts. The days while long in darkness hold the promise of more light. Being a woman who migrates towards metaphors and analogies, I notice a parallel between the tipping of the Earth out of the shadow and the path of my life beginning to show forms and shapes where, for the past year or so, it has been somewhat shrouded in mystery.

In the past week, yes, that's right, just one week, I intersected with two opportunities which came to fruition. I interviewed for a position as a clinician with a group private practice based out of New London, NH. I was offered a job with them last Monday and I'm thrilled, ecstatic, pleased, and grateful. The agency is called Counseling Associates of New London (http://www.nlcounselingassociates.com/) and I was impressed with the folks there with whom I met. Secondly, I yielded to my own inner nudgings and the encouragement of some close friends to look into bodywork training. Perhaps I can give this more form over the coming months. For now I can say that for more than a decade I've been drawn to working with my hands, migrated towards better understanding how the body can be accessed as an intrinsic element in working with emotional and mental issues in psychotherapy. I came across a unique training institute based out of southern Vermont and, after meeting with one of the founders/trainers, I decided to do their upcoming 3-month training program (http://www.internationalbodywork.com/ and then click on the Portugal program - yes, that's right, Portugal).

So, by the kindness of my new employer and their willingness to accommodate a 3-month delay in the start of my working, I am headed to southwestern Portugal mid-January for an intensive program in massage and bodywork. I'm not sure how or if I'll be able to bring this into my work as a psychotherapist for some time but I know that my direction as a clinician is towards working more fundamentally with the body-mind-heart dynamic.

The last couple of months have been full of wonderful experiences. Bradford and I travelled to Arizona for Thanksgiving with his relations. I was able to visit Fernie, BC where I once lived and reconnect with dear friends. My best pal, Kirsten, visited for a few days and we day-tripped to the Maine coastline. When Ben went for his scheduled neutering at the end of November, the veterinary technicians let me know, in no uncertain terms, that if I am to care properly for my beloved canine, I am to be getting him groomed regularly as well as ensuring that I am cleaning out his ears of wax and excess hair weekly - while I get an 'A' in exercise and attention, I flunked grooming and skin management. Alas, at the beginning of December Ben met with his new lovely and lively hairdresser who, despite her best intentions of saving some of his locks relieved him of his entire mop-like coat. Finally, Ben has discovered his penchant for socks and underwear. One Friday evening when I was otherwise distracted, he swiftly took hold of the situation to swallow one pair of white tennis socks as well as one pair of underwear. After consulting with fellow dog owners and a few veterinary types, I was told to relax, that the clothing would find its way out... somehow. Alas, after a week of regular bowl movements and normal eating behavior, Ben got up early one morning and regurgitated a big cotton log (one sock and the underwear). Later the same day at the end of a long hike, up came the second sock. Amazing how the dog's body could carry on as if all was usual with a pound of cotton in his stomach.

May the holidays find you well. May you gift yourself with the all-important opportunities for quiet space; the time of darkness being a potent ally for reflection and stillness. As I currently feel the seas of my life stirring and the figures of my path begin to take shape before me, I am thankful both for the forms that are arising as well as the period of not-knowing that gave it birth. Hibernation. Gestation. Darkness. Uncertainly. Confusion. The Mystery appears to be made up of equal parts dark and light, form and formless, knowing and not-knowing. While the forms are frequently intoxicating and the confusion generally unsettling, Life will have its way and demand that we sit in the stillness or risk spiralling off into madness.

equinox - equal night

the fall of 2010

No doubt it's been a time since my last blog entry. Might be a time before my next.

I've travelled to Boulder, CO for a few days - had wonderful visits with a few friends in the area and then replicated the cross-country drive with Bradford and Uhaul trailer in tow between Boulder and Franconia; this time Bradford's stuff in the trailer as he brought to a close a chapter of his life in Colorado and joined me for some living in New England.

I've also celebrated my 40th birthday with the brilliant and beautiful women of North Country Shelter and then journeyed to Ontario with Bradford and Ben to celebrate many October family birthdays with the folks across the border. Wowee.

What else? I'll write the NCMHCE for both NH and VT state licensing requirements next week down in Concord. There's a good chance I won't pass. Then again, anything can happen.

My life with Ben is breathtaking. I'm simply smitten. My unfolding adventure with Bradford is pretty cool. We're shacked up which is fun. And not so much fun when it's cold and dark and neither one of us knows exactly what life holds in store for us.

What do I really want to say? I'm a middle-aged woman (I can say this now) who is unemployed, somewhat unfocused in her life's direction (at least professionally), with $9 in her bank account. As I walked with the dogs through the woods and trails this late afternoon, I was talking myself into being frank about this whole situation with whatever eyes come across this screen.

This life thing, it's an unwin-able endeavour. There is no 'logos' to which humans currently ascribe with any success. God, the search for meaning, religion, materialism, service, comfort, security, control, peace, enlightenment, knowledge, salvation, environmentalism. You name it, none of these forms can bring a sense of completion, rightness, nor ultimately be attained. Nailing jello to a tree. Not that we stop trying, as a collective humanity, however. And that's the insanity. To look for meaning, to grope for a handhold where there is nothing. Emptiness, no-thingness, the great Void, the Mystery. So many of us try to assign benevolence to the Mystery and emptiness. Then it wouldn't be empty - it would have an angle.

I see it as the ultimate joke. We just want something to hold onto. If it could be held, put into words, captured by the mind through thought and ideology, it would be a shoddy sham. Everything we can hold or aspire towards has a built-in self-destruction unit and man, it's gonna hurt when it dissolves or blows up and there we are, holding on for dear life. The joke is that we take our 'logos' so seriously. We take this dream of being a human so seriously. We take our stories so seriously and get so lost in the groping for and reinforcement of a false self that depends on our opinions, circumstances, and personal drama. Speaking for myself, I have taken this dream of being alive so seriously, and that's the sick and brilliant sense of humour of the Cosmos unfolding.

In my life I have had a lot of fear around being destitute, a failure, a floundering fool, incapacitated, out of control. At middle age and with $9 to my name, I'm meeting what once was my worst fear and I'm laughing like never before. If you're not laughing, afterall, you've gone to sleep in the dream and gotten lost in character. You've gone and made the fatal error of trying to lean into that which doesn't exist.

We are a crazy, crazy species. We will go to extraordinary lengths to avoid our fears of emptiness, meaninglessness. We will hide through seeking. We will sooner die than relinquish our all-precious beliefs. We will destroy life to hold onto a false-self. We would rather acquire more information than experience more truth. We will always draw to us new opportunities to wake up. This is grace.

Good luck.

uncompromising cooperation with life

A full week coming to a close.

My replacement, Kelly, began her new posting at the shelter so I spent time helping her acclimate to the position; her responsibilities, the ways of NCS, the understandings I have garnered around the juvenile justice system, etc... She's a bright woman and undoubtedly the job will bring her new challenges and moments of great inspiration. Three more days for me, Monday through Wednesday, and I will, again, be officially unemployed. Hmmm...

Sadly, my friend, Red, was put down this week. The tough decision was taken by Becky and Harry for a number of reasons including Red's age, health, and mental wellness. Walking with Willy and Ben this week on the trails around their home was an adjustment. I will notice his absence. His presence touched my life. There's simply nothing like a dog.

Ben went in for more needles including his rabies shot so I can take him over the border into Canada in the future. His weight has doubled. During his first visit to the vet's a couple of weeks ago I was encouraged to up his food servings because he was too skinny. That is no longer true. He's getting taller and moves with an awkwardness not disimilar to the way many of the adolescents in the shelter inhabit their bodies - forgetting how big and heavy his feet are, not quite understanding how throwing his weight in one direction can topple him onto his head. Spending the week dogsitting and homesitting for Becky and Harry gave Willy the opportunity to begin in earnest Ben's education into doghood. Willy has been running Ben over when he gets too boisterous, snarling at him when Ben attempts to steal a toy, and ignoring his cuteness when he's simply had enough. With Red gone, Willy is demonstrating a new quality of maturity, taking on alpha status - if you knew Willy, you'd understand how bizarre this is to watch.

June, my VW, finally got legal - a new catalytic converter, a new air pump, and a brake light found me/us passing NH emissions inspection. One year after moving to New England and the check engine light is off!

The thing about a check engine light going off is that now it can always come back on. While I'm still riding a small feeling of satisfaction that my car has no recognizable problems, it's only a matter of time before I need new brakes or a new exhaust system, a timing belt, a clutch. I see that I've created a lot of tension in myself throughout my life trying to avoid things being broken, out of place (whatever that means), or going wrong. If you've ever visited my place of residence or seen the way I make my bed first thing in the morning, you know how fastidious I am about things not being awry in my world - I love order and loathe chaos - I am a control freak. Moreover, I have a highly developed/practiced ability to spot anything that is 'off.'

Did I mention that Willy got sprayed by a skunk this week?

A very fun experience for me. I woke up just before 5am to take Willy and Ben out for their first morning walk - a short one that lets them clear their systems after the night of rest. In that moment, just before becoming lucid while still suspended in the dream state but entering the world of waking I had a felt experience of there being nothing, absolutely nothing 'off' in my world. This wasn't a qualitative analysis and inventory of the circumstances of my life but a deep and unmoving sense in my system that there could be nothing other than right - life is, there's no arguing with the unfolding of life. Of course we have free will. As humans we are likely the only species on the planet that questions the way things are. We have a mechanism in our brains that has the capability to imagine other scenarios. Add this to our ability to conceptualize and compare ourselves to others and the various protective and fear-based strategies that our egos employ and it's a recipe for deep dissatisfaction.

Or not.

Why do we not walk through life with an unwavering acceptance for what is? Why do we find it comforting and compelling to look for and imagine what is wrong? Why do we, with the frighteningly powerful gift of self-awareness, not know enough to view the world as unconditionally supportive and therefore align ourselves with this reality? It might sound like the ramblings of a wacked out fruitcake but I think there's some value in looking at our habits of mind and how the course we set through life is a direct consequence of our power of perception.

So, as Willy came running back to me from his disappearance in the dark field the smell of skunk was so potent that my eyes were burning. My habitual reaction was to say, "No!" Fortunately, I was still floating on my little cloud of perceived perfection and I started to giggle and I thought, "This too is life. No point in judging it as good or bad. It's here. Why resent what has unfolded? Why take life personally?" And so, a little thing but I decided to alter my habit of mind and instead relish, okay maybe not relish, but I decided to fully accept the newly annointed Willy rather than think I had just been victimized by life. Low and behold, no upset only entertainment. It's not to say that action can't be taken - full cooperation and agreement with the way life unfolds does not preclude being able to respond. My sense is that my response to life is more clear, more intelligent, because my mind is in alignment rather than in resistance.

Today, Anemone and I hiked up to a top section of Bridal Veil Falls, just south of Franconia. While Willy was nimbly cartwheeling and careening himself off rock ledges and over and through the swollen creek, Ben was tenuous and slipping off the wet rocks and landing on his ass (or face). At one point we crossed the creek just above a long drop in the falls. Ben slid into the water and began heading towards the waterfall's drop. Without thought, I looked at his freaked out eyes, his little body unable to gain purchase as he was carried by the current closer to the falls, and I jumped in and grabbed him. I don't know that there was time enough to think "No." All I knew was that my little guy was not going down the falls if I had any power over the situation. And I did.

And then, already soaked, I took off my wet clothes and shoes and slid down the rocks into the deep pool of frigid water. Life is short, afterall, never miss an opportunity to jump in the water. Say yes. That's what heated car seats were made for.

The images - Red pictured at the top. Willy and Ben from a week or so ago. The rest are from my walk this morning with the dogs. The lighting and fog formations were breathtaking, nestling the mountains like islands in the sea. I can imagine that there were people in their homes underneath the fog patches thinking that it was another rainy day while, for me, I got to lose myself in the rapture of a sky that I will never see again. That's the thing about being human, we get to choose, for better or worse - free will.