Phases and Cycles

It's still grey and rainy here. Yesterday afternoon we had a brief reprieve with sunny skies. It's not that I don't love the rain; I do. It just makes me feel like curling up with a good book (or a honey who's read one!). And I don't feel like I have time to do that.

Hmmm... is that a hidden "should" in there? Does that translate into "I SHOULD be doing something else"? Probably. Yes, I'm sure it is. I found myself "shoulding" about my teens yesterday. Next to myself, I'm probably most judgemental of them. Heavy burden for all of us!

So today is Day 6 in the 37Day challenge to change just one thing in your life. I thought I was doing well... (I'm not going to say I should be doing well...). But we sure have a lot of ways to disguise a word and the sentiment behind it.

A few times, I've wrestled with "should" and had to stop and wonder why I couldn't say, "I want to do this" or "I don't want to do this" instead of "I should...". This is usually when I need to run errands, run kids to appointments, etc. "Should" is really easy with kids: I should be a better mother, I should have more fun with my kids, I should be more patient with my kids. I've been reading Christiane Northrup's "Wisdom of Menopause", which is a great resource for both scientific and intuitive insights into "the change"... and change it is! Northrup states that when a woman enters menopause (I'm 55 and still -- occasionally -- having my cycle), her brain literally rewires itself from primarily nurturing others (the Mother mode) to focusing on herself and her desires. So even though I still have teens at home (I was 40 when we adopted our kids), my rewiring has shifted already.

Most of my artwork is about the Feminine. Mother Nature. The three stages of Woman (Maiden, Mother, Crone). The Goddess. The Moon.

From a cycle standpoint, I know I am on the cusp between Mother and Crone. If I look at the Moon Phases as a symbol, I am at the gibbous waning moon phase. Gibbous means convex on both sides. Full, but not completely full. The Full moon represents the Mother in all her pregnant and nurturing glory. This is typically during the 2os and 30s and 40s. And while we have many more women choosing to begin motherhood in their 40s, I have learned that when you have a daughter at 40, then she and you end up going through hormonal changes at the same time: her going into her menses, the mother finishing it. That can make for some intense times (especially when you're both Fire signs)!

I treasure the Feminine. I have learned how strong the Feminine is. I feel outraged whenever I hear anyone put down the strength of women. I read a great quote the other day: "We have a secret in our culture, and it’s not that birth is painful. It's that women are strong." (Laura Stavoe Harm). Whether it is observing women of courage, whether it's canning tomatoes, whether it's reading about women in history, I am a full-fledged fan of the Feminine.

And sometimes I want to celebrate the Feminine all by myself.

I just sneaked a peek at Patti's 37Day blog, and today is Day 7 (which day did I miss?!? What else am I missing?) and she writes about being selfish, doing things for ourselves. Interesting that I just flipped to that as I was going on about "shoulding" myself about the kids.

So now, I am going to curl up and read a good book. Maybe even take a nap. After I pick up Paige from school. Because I really want to.

I hope you indulge in some "self" time today of celebrating the Feminine!

Peace,

Kate

Perfect Stillness

I couldn't resist including this today, from Finding Beauty In A Broken World by Terry Tempest Williams, an environmentalist committed to showing human's impact on the land:

"I watched prairie dogs every day rise before the sun, stand with their paws pressed together facing the rising sun in total stillness for up to 30 minutes. And then I watched them at the end of the day take that same gesture 30 minutes before the sun goes down they would press their palms together in perfect stillness. I don't mean to anthropomorphize, but when you look at a creature that has survived over the millennium begin and end each day in that kind of stance, it causes one to think about one's own life and speed and rapidity in which we live."

And this picture reminded me of this poem by Pablo Neruda:

Now we will count to twelve

and we will all keep still.

This one time upon the earth,

let’s not speak any language,

let’s stop for one second,

and not move our arms so much

It would be a delicious moment,

without hurry, without locomotives,

all of us would be together

in a sudden uneasiness.

The fishermen in the cold sea

would do no harm to the whales

and the peasant gathering salt

would look at his torn hands.

Those who prepare green wars,

wars of gas, wars of fire,

victories without survivors,

would put on clean clothing

and would walk alongside their brothers

in the shade, without doing a thing.

What I want shouldn’t be confused

with final inactivity:

life alone is what matters,

I want nothing to do with death.

If we weren’t unanimous

about keeping our lives so much in motion,

we could do nothing for once,

perhaps a great silence would

interrupt this sadness,

this never understanding ourselves

and threatening ourselves with death,

perhaps the earth is teaching us

when everything seems to be dead

and then everything is alive.

Now I will count to twelve

and you keep quiet and I’ll go.

-from Full Woman, Fleshly Apple, Hot Moon

I guess these thoughts on stillness struck me today because I am still following a delicate, fragile inner strand that is telling me how to regain and maintain balance in my life. I know stillness is part of the process. Conversely (no pun intended), I also just started an intentional walking practice this morning. And while walking and stillness might sound like opposites, I think my walks help focus the inner stillness that feeds my creative spirit.

I've been thinking about doing this for years... and especially since becoming unemployed. Get up in the morning, take the kids to school, and go for a walk with the intention of finding and following my path. The operative word in that statement is "thinking". But this weekend, I read a post by Patti Digh on her 37 Days blog (check it out; it's wonderful! And if you haven't read/practiced the book, please do!). Patti, who lives in Asheville, has made a commitment to running a half-marathon in May in Cincinnatti. She is training for it with trepidation. A reader wrote her a beautiful message of encouragement. I was so inspired by Patti's courage to follow through on what she fears that I have made a commitment of support for her by intentionally walking every day. Literally "Walking the Talk".

I used to be a strong walker. I loved to walk and would do it just for the heck of it. I remember walking with someone decades ago who commented on what a good, strong walker I was (while I was just walking!). Now my steps are heavier and slower, my stride shorter and stiffer. I need to become more flexible and strong physically so that I can do the same mentally and emotionally, and walking is just the ticket. So while I can't physically cheer Patti on at the race and congratulate her as she crosses the finish line, I can add my energy and commitment to hers -- while increasing my own and finding my way at the same time. Win-win!

So today I went for a walk at Connemara, Carl Sandburg's home which is only a few miles from our own. Connemara is a National Historic Site and is beautifully and lovingly maintained. There is a small lake below the house and a trail circling it surrounded by trees and rhododendron thickets and birds and quiet, peaceful joy. It's no wonder Carl and his wife Lillian decided to settle there; it was the perfect spot for them and their family: enough space for him to "dirty paper" (as he called it) and her to raise her award-winning goats. Make a visit, take a walk and it is clear why a writer could be so prolific there.

Today, while the crows were cawing in the early morning chill, I walked around the lake. As the tree tops captured the sun, the mosses caught my eye and my imagination. I want to find some green velvet and wash it in the washing machine and see if it comes out resembling moss so I can use it on a journal or a book or a pendant or something.

I imagined being a wood sprite and how I would set up home deep in the forest. I would sleep on moss in a bark home with cicada wing windows on a foundation of an old oak stump. Spider silk would surround my soft green bed made of fragrant cedar wood and comforted with down-filled ginko pillows and spring green leaf quilts. A laughing stream would sing to me all day, and I would serve tea in acorn caps in the fall and winter and honeysuckle blossoms in the spring and summer. Birds would be regular, curious visitors. I would be friends with all the animals. There would be no fear in the forest, only wisdom, sharing, and laughter.

(These pictures are not from Connemara, although they share green. They are from St. Nectan's Glen in Cornwall, England. I took them this summer. But that's another story for another day.)

I'm looking forward to the visions tomorrow's walk will open for me! Thanks to Carl and Lillian and Patti for the inspiration.

I hope you find your joy-filled visions today.

Peace,

Kate