Empowerment

 
I had rented a tiny cottage in Cape Town, South Africa. It was the last segment of a solitary trip that had taken me from the Kalahari Desert to the precipice of Table Top Mountain. The rainy season had settled in on this southernmost tip of the continent. Sheets of rain pelted the windows of the bungalow as I sat curled up on the sofa. No phone, no computer, no television, and no place to go. If I had wanted to find myself, then here I was. No distractions, just me face to face with me. I wondered how I got here and why? I had just survived an incredible ordeal in the desert alone with a disreputable guide. Thousands of hectares of nothing but sand and scrub trees were the only witness to the intended assault. What was I thinking? I had been so trusting and vulnerable. How had I allowed myself to be in that predicament? What force had protected me?

Now far from the desert, while I sat in the safety and comfort of the cottage, I kept hearing a faint line pass through my mind, “Seek healing in unexpected places.” Anyplace around here would be unexpected, I imagined. What was that supposed to mean? Where was I supposed to go? I paced around the house. With nothing else to do, I could walk into town to get something to eat or find a computer to check in with the states. I donned a raincoat and headed down the steep hill into town, the refrain to seek healing still playing through my head. My favorite expression directed at the Universe is to state, “Show me a burning bush. Don’t make me guess.” Wind whipped the rain in torrents and it quickly soaked my jeans and shoes. I trudged on. Laughing out loud, I read a purple sign in front of a house, that clearly spelled out, “Energetic Healing.” “OK” I said to the Universe, “I’ll play.” I walked up to the door and knocked. A man answered and said, “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you. My car won’t start and my afternoon appointment cancelled, so I figured someone must be stopping by”.

His name was Alan Davies. It was an amazing afternoon of conversation and drinking tea. I told him, “I don’t even know why I am here. This is crazy.” He asked me, “How far do you have to go to run away from who you really are?” It was pretty amusing that Cape Town is about as far as you can get from my home on a globe. “You are a healer. You have a gift. Your mother and your grandmother had the power and they gave it away. You are running away from yours.” I was aghast. I refuted his statement. “What am I supposed to do? Hang out a sign?” He replied, “I did and you came.” That shut me up. I told him I had just spent the last five years completing a Ph.D. This does not compute with my logical mind. Alan reminded me of how many young women had sat at my table drinking tea while we were all students at Cornell. He explained that I had been gifting them with so much more than tea. Most of them were the same age as my daughters. I had been helping them recognize their power.

During my discussion with Alan, I realized that I was in the midst of growing into my power, my own sense of worth and ability. This is what I was doing at 50 years old. This was the answer to my questioning and traipsing around the world.

 As a child, I had grown up in an environment that stripped that from me. The women in my life had relinquished all power and expected me to follow that path. The religious teachings I had received reinforced that edict. Here was a man telling me that I was powerful and that my role was to share that with others. We all have an inner power. We all have an inner knowing. It’s a peeling away of our conditioning that frees us to see and embrace this power, to know the Divine is in us and not somewhere in a far off heaven.

It’s almost ten years later and I see how profound that meeting was. My greatest rewards have been helping someone else be successful, find their confidence, realize their potential. Sometimes, it is as simple as educating a person about the needs of a plant in order for them to grow their own fruits and vegetables. Sometimes, it’s helping a student perform a persuasive speech or complete a winning job application. More often than not, it’s assisting a fellow adult to see that we are only trapped in our mind. There is always another way of seeing a situation. If we can let go of expectations and attachments, we can surrender to our inner power and the greater part of ourselves that holds a deeper wisdom. Eckhart Tolle says that, “We are never upset for the reasons we think we are.” Often it is something that happened a long time ago and an event has triggered the old wound. Accepting and surrendering to life as it is can feel like giving up, but in truth it takes a great deal of courage. It is the greatest challenge of the Spiritual Warrior, to stand in our own power and know we are alright without controlling the outcome. Once we have come to own our inner strength, there are limitless ways to share this with those that are experiencing uncertainty.

I have witnessed people I respect over the years give this gift to others.

I watched my friend take the two ends of the baling twine and cross them over, first right over left and then left over right. He pulled the string taut and behold, a perfect knot. “Now you try it,” he said to the young man sitting on the bale of hay with his legs dangling off the trailer’s edge. The youth struggled to keep the twine under control. He dropped it not once, but several times before getting the first twist accomplished. “Great job, keep at it. You’ve almost got it this time,” said his enthusiastic teacher. “Don’t give up now.” Concentration and coordination were failing as the handicapped boy tried again. His eyes began following the path the dog was taking and his focus left the string. “Come on. Let’s try it together. I know you can do it.” The young man looped the ends once more and this time when he pulled the twine, the knot held its position. He beamed with pride. A simple twist of a string had boosted his confidence and left him with a sense of accomplishment. The kindness of the mentor had enabled the boy to reach a new level of achievement.

The woman was terrified of her horse. She had experienced a traumatic fall some years previous and had not been able to conquer her fear. I was there the day the trainer led the woman’s horse and encouraged her to get onboard. The rider climbed up, outfitted with a helmet and a flak jacket. Slowly the horse walked around the outside of the round pen, while the passenger clung to the mane and reins. Around and around the trainer led the horse until the woman began to breathe a little easier. She began to sit up a little straighter in her saddle. It was a first step toward overcoming the anxiety that had kept her grounded. The trainer could not erase the terror but she could help the woman reclaim her power.

At Cornell University, a common ailment is the “imposter syndrome.” I was a middle aged divorcee attempting upper level graduate degrees at Cornell University. Who did I think I was studying and working on a PhD? Who was I kidding? Someday, someone would find out that I wasn’t that smart and that I had no right to be there. I was just a mom and I must have gotten lost somewhere along the way. In the midst of one of those self-flagellation tirades, I met a professor emeritus in the education department. He was 85 years old and still teaching classes. Verne had published more text books than all of the other professors in the department combined. He didn’t care that he hadn’t been paid in 20 years, he taught for the love of his students. Maybe he could see my self-doubt, but for whatever reason he assigned himself to be my guide. We would meet for a sack lunch in the arboretum on a bench. He’d ask me about my classes and my daughters. Verne was always there explaining his latest science experiment or his latest research paper. He became my hero, 40 years my senior, and he was still coaching the track team and inspiring fledgling science teachers. He couldn’t do the work for me but he could be an understanding ear. He described his own challenges when he was a student and during his academic career. His faith in my abilities encouraged me when my conviction flagged. With Verne as my support, my own research projects blossomed. I don’t know if I would be where I am today without his empowering me along the way.

I know what it is like to feel powerless in the face of a hopeless relationship, financial situation, dead-end career and health crisis. I have been there. With that said, I have also watched amazing, selfless teachers and guides show the way through these dark nights of the soul. They hold the light and raise the vibration, all the while asking and prompting others to find the power that is hidden within. Helping another individual to get up off their knees and embrace their inner strength in the face of adversity is one of life’s grandest rewards. I claim my power for the women in my past and I challenge my daughters to hold on to theirs in humility and self-assurance. Empowerment is a quiet sense of dignity.

Offer a helping hand to those that are lost. When someone feels there is no way out, do not make the way clear for them. Instead, show them, teach them that they have the power to release themselves. Open their minds to alternatives. Power comes from finding the answer within you. Be a living example and shine your light.

 

 

 

My Valentine

If I could, I would give to you: the scent of the pines after a summer rain, the tingle of the ocean surf as it tickles your toes, the song of the meadow lark on an August afternoon, and the blaze of a fire deep in the snowy woods. I’d bring to you: the thrill of an eagle lifting off with his catch, the fuzzy comfort of a decades old blanket, and the romance of a candle lit dinner and a fine bottle of wine. I’d gift to you: the promise of tomorrow with each goodnight kiss, the soothing calmness of a mountain stream and the feeling of home in cookies fresh from the oven.

 I wish I could somehow dip each of these experiences into a chocolate decorated with telltale hints of the surprises enclosed. The box would hold dark, milk and white chocolates - sprinkled, frosted and wrapped - to be enjoyed at your leisure. You could select the dark chocolate truffle with the white sugar sprinkle. As your teeth penetrate the outer shell, the magical chill of frozen fog surrounds you. The lake appears clear as you gaze, the mist hanging just above the surface. Each blade of grass and dogwood branch is coated in a crystalline cocoon. The air is still and calm. The snow covered pines begin to tremble and you expect a medieval knight to emerge on his steed. This time it is a doe and her yearling fawn. The taste of magic and possibility linger on your tongue as you smile.

One more, you tell yourself, only one more chocolate. You decide on the milk chocolate delight with the dash of cinnamon red on top. Maybe it is paprika, nutmeg or chili powder. Here goes. As the truffle melts in your mouth the sun washes over your exposed skin. The rays are welcome and life giving. Your face turns to greet the radiance like a flower catching the full benefit. You feel the sand under your toes. The red rock rises up to the clear blue sky and the sage brush surrounds you. You are slightly winded from the exertion of climbing this precipice. The view is breathtaking, nourishing your soul. All the aches and pains your joints have held in the past dissolve in this healing environment. You can sense the spirit of the native peoples that lived here long ago. The notes of a tin whistle float through the canyon below. The heat and the sensations liquefy all of your concerns as you make the last swallow of honey colored, caramel deliciousness.

What if there was another way of packaging these experiences? Could I take the fraction of a second before a long, slow kiss and wrap it in a rose bud? As the rose unfolds, the scent wafts into the nostrils stimulating the entire brain. Captured is that instant when we are only a whisper apart. Your 5:00 shadow barely brushing my chin. Hearts pounding, anticipation peaking. Eyes close, skin shivers, the ever so slight inhalation and the mingling of soap and perfume. Hands caressing, pulling closer, lips meet – surrendering, giving, receiving, crushing. That is the gift I would give my love in a floral bouquet.

The traditional Valentine – a lovely, lace embellished card, a heart shaped box of Russell Stovers and a deep red rose are lovely but they leave so much lacking. I wish to give much more beyond the store bought perfunctory items.

I wish to give him love and sunshine, magic and wonder. I have not discovered a way to capture these experiences so I will take his hand and begin creating them. Valentine, let us go into the world walking in gratitude each day for the love we share. This is a day I honor you and I honor what we have together. Let us always realize what a blessing this is. Come with me and let’s be off on our adventure, my best friend, my lover, my muse. 

Happy Valentine’s Day!


written January 2016

Reunion

My heart is a flutter.

My breath comes quickly.

I feel the blood coursing through my veins.

The wait is over; our reunion is at hand.

I hear my name slipping from his lips.

He reaches for me. I am a ship sliding into port.

The days have been endless.

They piled up like drifts across my soul.

My pen is breaking free of the icy stillness.

I feel warmth returning to my body.

A thaw washes over my being.

Months melt away in the blink of an eye.

A blessing is bestowed upon us today.

A healing is at hand.

Time has no meaning right here, right now.

As the sun rises to greet me, I share with him my dreams.

I thank the Divine for giving me this day.

I let him know, I did not waiver. I did not falter.

I held to my heart’s calling.

A quiet encircles me in a peaceful embrace.

Knowing expands in the freedom of this space.

Joy bubbles up gently to tickle my nose.

Soon, I tell myself.

The waiting is over. Our reunion is at hand.

September 15, 2015

Fire

Each evening we gathered sticks, rotten bark and fallen trees and added them to the pile. We talked, we laughed, we shared as we gathered our load. Conversations would blend one into the other, topics often spanning from one night to the next. The effort could take hours on one day and only minutes another. The discussions rode their own wave of calmness interrupted by peaks of emotion. My friend and I, sometimes consoled each other, providing support. Then again, sometimes playing devil’s advocate to see a new perspective. Our branches often aligned but could also cross in disagreement. As the talks grew deeper, the pile became higher. Summer heat and winter cold may have slowed the building but still it progressed year after year. We were eliminating scaffolding material from the forest floor and tending the land. This desire we held in common. Snow would settle on the pile and the wood would shift and groan. The spring melt would reveal that our pile had become stronger and meshed into a solid foundation.

It was not time to set fire to our construction. The conditions were not right. There could be no wind, the soil must be moist, the wood must be dry and there must be time to tend the intensity. So we continued to add brush and open our hearts in friendship. The fire was not the objective. It was the time in the woods, the watching the pond turn to glass, the deer creeping close enough to nibble the moss that clung to the branches at our feet, throwing sticks for Dodge and Aries, and embracing the good fortune of these moments.

Then one day we saw that the pile was smoldering. We did not know how this had started or when. We had been so careful in our actions. Each time my friend and I met to work in the forest, we avoided stirring up the heat that crept under the pile. Water was pored over, soil was dumped on top, and leaves were raked away. Still we could feel it linger.

Then one night, the mountain that we had built, ignited. It started deep within and flamed out in every direction. Instead of fighting the fire, we drew close and relished the warmth. I looked at my friend and he at me. The light from his eyes told me all I needed to hear. The years of building and tending, talking and sharing had secretly prepared us for this moment. Love had crept in like a thief in the night. Quietly without fanfare, sure and true. As I moved into his embrace, passion exploded and would not be extinguished. An inferno burned across my guarded heart melting the walls of defense in an instant. The sparks flew even higher into the starry sky and I knew I was safe at last.

October 16,2015

 

 

 

The Christmas gift

The wainscoting’s surface was cracked and marbled with age. He had removed it piece by piece from his great grandfather’s farmhouse, salvaging a few feet of his heritage from the then vacant homestead. The boards were now even more significant since the house had eventually been destroyed by fire. Each nail had been cut to avoid splintering the wood upon removal. The layers of ivory paint hovered in sections over the original red stain like ice floating on a river during spring break-up, patches moving in assorted sizes and patterns. These precious boards, he cut to size to form the long sides of the shadow box. He had measured the dimensions secretly, using only his arm, to ensure the box fit into its intended space.

The door, he built from an antique window sash rescued from his family’s historic home during an upgrade. He had resized the deep colored molding. Mitered corners and fine sanding made it fit just right. The old varnish was worn with use and darkened over time. Holes from bygone window latches gave it a rustic charm. A single pane of glass had been neatly set into the grooves to provide a perfect view of the treasure to be placed inside, while protecting it from dust or soiled hands.

The top and rear panel was constructed from lumber resurrected from a little red barn where I kept my horse for years. The paint was flaky and bleached by the sun. A mixture of dried wood and faded paint made a flawless background for the anticipated collectible. Exactly where in the barn it came from, I have no idea.

He couldn’t wait until Christmas. The gift was delivered on a snowy evening three days early. It was for me. Newspaper embraced the box, sheet after sheet. The handcrafted gift stood straight and proud, as the wrapping was torn away. Astonishment and appreciation overwhelmed me. I could feel the love that poured from the box and emanated from his soft, brown eyes. Night after freezing night had been spent creating the gift, he, warmed only by the wood stove in the shop. Beaming, he recounted the history of each component and what it had meant to him. I was receiving not only his love but a gift of his past and his future; where he had been and where he was going.

Along with my horse hair bridle, I keep the cards and sentiments he has written to me in the shadow box. It has become my most precious belonging, made with love, deep understanding and friendship. It is a place to keep each token of affection. Our bond has matured, as we have, over the years. First strangers, then friends, and when the time was right, so much more. We are like the box, a compilation of weathered pieces that have come together to form something that serves a new purpose. The construction has had its challenges but the result is a thing of beauty. If I ever doubt our relationship, or if we are separated by time or space, I touch the box and I know. This is for forever.

Gifts from the heart, last the test of time. It is not the most expensive or the most lavish presents that linger in our memory. Often it is a simple act of kindness or support when we are down, a thoughtful gesture, remembering an anniversary or birthday, a car repair or a dish to eat and conversation. Allowing our fellow man to feel acknowledged and valued is what we can offer every day, an ear to listen, a smile to say, “I see you.” Let us offer forgiveness to those who may have wronged us as they followed their path; let us forgive ourselves for seeing them this way. Remember each time someone has gifted you, no matter how small and take that forward into the world. Let’s take the holiday spirit into our being, magnify it, and pass it to all we meet.

Many blessings for a season of love, light and laughter.

Gifts from Life

My holiday gift list is lying on the table before me. In turn, my children ask me what I would like for Christmas. They don’t realize that they are themselves one of the greatest gifts I have received from Life.

Throughout my years, Life has brought me everything I need. Just yesterday, I returned from a meeting in Bozeman. I had quickly grabbed four audio books from the library in Kalispell before the long drive. One of the books, I had read as a hard copy years ago. On the way to the university, I listened to two of the books, one about eating a more healthy, plant based diet and the other about living as the “dangerous, wise old woman” archetype. Turning the car around and heading home, I listened to Eckhart Tolle, the book I had read in the past. It was exactly what I needed to hear. His words began pulling aside the veil of resistance I have had towards Life lately. Deeply buried resentments began to surface and dissolve. My unwillingness to accept my Life as it is, had created a wall of separation between me and everyone I met. I would remain safe behind my barricade until Life appeared the way I imagined it should. This translated into ever increasing isolation and despair. Questioning my choice in career, my home and my town, I had been considering moving to escape from this anxiety. Allowing me to see my resistance and face the shadow I had been feeding, brought a feeling of calm to my being. I stopped feeling the need to run away. Peace had found me. This book, at just the right time, was my latest gift from Life.

My home is a rustic cabin that Life gave to me. Sometimes I mutter to myself as I drag the forty pound bags of wood pellets up the stairs from the basement to fill the stove every morning. Yet, whenever I have looked at homes to purchase in town, they cannot compete with the view from my front porch of the park, the quiet of 40 acres of trees and meadows, the enjoyment of seeing my cats romp up and over the ancient apple trees or the delicious taste of the well water fed by mountain springs. Living simply in my cabin, affords me the pleasure of owning, Lakota, my wonderful horse. My landlord built a garage for me this summer. I have never had a garage in my life and for this, I am so grateful. If I need help carrying heavy loads, plowing my driveway, fixing the plumbing or picking me up when my car breaks down, I can call my landlord, who after all these years feels more like a brother. I plant flowers, keep the cabin clean and tidy, maintain the lawn and honor his family’s memory while living here. I am sure his mother and his grandmother are pleased to see one more lady tending to the cottage gardens and keeping the weeds at bay. This cabin suits me perfectly and only Life knew the happiness it would provide. 

Life has gifted me with animals of every shape and size. Each one has its own story, its own purpose and we have had a unique connection. For seven years in upstate New York, I was the creator and director of Farm on Wheels, Inc. It was a non-profit organization designed to teach urban school children about the source of their food and fiber. I hauled a sixteen foot stock trailer into inner city schools and set up on the playgrounds, baseball field or parking lot. I taught agriculture lessons, aligned with the New York State learning standards, using my dairy cow, horse, sheep, goats, ducks, chickens and rabbits. I also taught a federally funded violence prevention program in the toughest middle schools with a border collie and a chicken – but that’s a whole other story. My barn was overflowing with animals that were children friendly and would load themselves in the trailer. Not one of these animals was purchased. I never went searching or reading ads. Life would send them. Each animal had an interesting background; each one needed to be there. This was the most rewarding work of my life. Every time an inner city child, raised on concrete and asphalt, set foot on the pasture grass at my farm or wrapped his arms around the neck of a fuzzy sheep and beamed an ecstatic smile, tears would well up in my eyes. I could feel the students resonate with the love that flowed between my animals and me. What a gift I received from Life. We titled my Jersey cow, Maybelline, a “professional kid kisser.” Her long, black tongue could slurp a child’s cheek three feet past the fence. She lived to go to schools and teach children. I was so fortunate to have been the facilitator that enabled these farm animals to connect and educate urban youth about respecting all of earth’s creatures. Every animal and every interaction with these children was a gift.

Life has chosen for me all my dogs, cats and horses. Even Aries, my faithful companion at this time, was dropped into my car with a bag of food and a warm hug by my dear friend and veterinarian, David. I wasn’t looking for a dog or feeling ready to take on that level of commitment. Searching for a career path, after obtaining my Ph.D., I was not ready to take on a dog, in case I ended up with employment in a metropolitan area and lived in an apartment. No, was not an option, as he plunked the puppy into my front seat. “Consider that you are fostering her for me,” he said. That was over nine years ago. It’s impossible to describe what a gift Aries has been to me.

How do I begin to categorize all of the people who have been and are a gift to me? Some are still here and some have moved on along their journey. My sweet ex-neighbor who watches Aries when I travel, enjoys Costco and going to the movies on rainy, Sunday afternoons also helps me with home maintenance projects. He is always there, dependable as clockwork. The woman that is my horse trainer and cares for Lakota, is my friend and confidence booster. She encouraged me to keep trying when I was convinced I had to sell the horse. I watch and learn from her trust building exercises every time we ride. I will always treasure the cattle drives I shared with my rancher friend and the nights at the symphony. He exemplified living each moment with passion and joy. I learned about Mozart, stringed instruments, navy seal secret missions and how to deliver and breached calf from him. What a gift he was. I have a group of lady friends that are always up for a beer on Friday night, if it’s been one of those weeks and a shoulder to cry on, if that should be needed. I have a self-proclaimed Montana Dad that I adore. He treats me with all of the respect and affection any daughter could desire. I have friends from 20 years ago, that encouraged me to join them on a trip of a lifetime through the United Kingdom this past year. We visited sacred sites for two weeks and I will forever carry the magic and energy we experienced. I would have missed that trip, if they hadn’t kept nudging me. My closest confidant is someone who listens to my stories before I publish, shares my most intimate thoughts and dreams, creates wooden keepsakes and accepts me unconditionally. This person reminds me to keep play in my life and that we are never too old to giggle. I am continually grateful for the gift of my family- mother, brothers and sisters. They are my foundation, my touch stone and cheer leaders through life. Last but not least, are my daughters, the greatest gift Life has given to me. I am honored to have had the privilege of caring for them while they grew and blossomed into the incredible adults they are.

More and more gifts flow into my mind as I conclude, vying to be added to the list. My blessings are endless. Thank you, thank you, Life. Let me always recognize the gifts that have been sent to me, not in paper and ribbons, but in each person I meet. Allow me to be a gift to others, not in what I purchase but in the support and energy I offer. Let me be a light in the dark, as so many have been for me. I have all that I need and am eternally grateful.

Peace. May the gift of the holiday spirit be always with you.

 

 

Knowing

 I walked along the rocky trail and instead of seeing a lovely, purple flower, I labeled it knapweed – noxious, invasive, must be destroyed - weed. The asters were a similar shade, with a golden center, growing along the same path. These I bent down to smell and honor their beauty.

From the middle of a dirt road, fields of horses look majestic with mountain peaks in the background. Instead of focusing on the magnificent view, I notice overgrazing that has occurred because the pasture is overstocked by 400%. The grass can’t regrow because the stems have been chewed off too short and all carbohydrates, have been removed. The hooves disturb the soil and thistles take the place of the grass.

I see residents transplanting weeds from the forest and putting them in their gardens. Field bindweed is allowed to grow in lawns and up chain link fences. Trees are thirsting for water because their roots have been covered in asphalt and concrete. Shrubbery is “maintained” by scalping with electric trimmers and shaped into globes and boxes.


Why did the top of my spruce tree die?

 Why is there a worm in my apple?

My tomato has a black spot on the end, how do I fix it?

How can I get the woodpecker to stop hammering on my house?

My maple tree gets white spots on it every summer, will it die?

I am paid to know these things and make these observations. In my world, everything is to be identified, categorized as good or evil and then controlled. Yet, knowing is a double edged sword. I wonder what it would be like to not know for 24 hours. What if I could switch the knowing off? I would like to take a rafting trip through Glacier, down the middle fork, and not see the ox eye daisy along the rail road tracks. I’d like my mind to go off duty at 5:00 pm and not notice weeds, poor planting and inadequate animal husbandry.

That said, is it the human condition to want to know? Or is it just me? I do enjoy learning and gaining understanding. If it’s out there, I want to experience it. I want to taste it, feel it, understand it and smell it.

There are so many things that we cannot know. It can be frustrating, if we can’t accept this fact of life. For example, no one knows for sure where we will be living next year. We cannot be positive of our health, our relationships or our finances. We can speculate and weigh our odds, but positively know? Sorry, no guarantees.

Why do we want to know? We want to protect ourselves against loss, against pain, against the unknown. The unknown can be seen as negative and harmful. The unknown is not always embraced with exuberance and out stretched arms. My grandest dreams can only be realized if I plan it, work towards it and keep my eye on the ball. Is that correct?

 Recently, I visited my oldest daughter. I had purchased my airline tickets six months in advance. When I arrived, she was in a different town, in a different house, and in a different relationship then when I had set my itinerary. We had no idea, when I bought those tickets, how her world would have changed. I could not have planned that visit better. My not knowing was in harmony with her life alterations.

Subsequent to my visit with her, I joined a tour in Europe that had been organized by a couple of dear friends of mine. I did not know where we were going exactly, how we were getting there, who were my traveling companions or what the activities would entail. Meeting in London, at a specified hotel on a designated day, was what I needed to know. I relinquished my desire to control and organize to my trusted friends. I had asked to have my knowing put on hold and here it was. I didn’t know where we were going to eat each night or where our bus was taking us. Every day was met with anticipation and surprise. I felt like a child at Christmas. My knowing was replaced with trust and a sense of magic.

When I returned home my need to know hit me full force. There were no lifelong friends to plan my days. My trust was compromised. How do I know that my new co-worker will be an asset to the office team? Do I want to move forward in this career or change direction? Will I find an affordable house in an area that I like? Do I see myself committing to a relationship? I want to know. I want to plan. I was back to the need to categorize and control. Somehow this style didn’t fit the way it had before. It felt like putting shoes on that were too small and restrictive.

What I did know was that I have to trust in something outside of myself, outside of my friends and outside of family. I pulled a rune stone this morning and it was blank. “Blank is the end. Blank is the beginning. The Unknowable is moving in your life. Relinquishing control is the ultimate challenge of the spiritual warrior.” That something was listening.

 Can I picture that the something grander than me wants me to be happy, successful and loved? Do I dare dream that my wishes have been heard and are manifesting in ways I cannot imagine? Am I brave enough to jump into the void and know I will be supported?

I have to accept my not knowing. It is not a weakness; it is my greatest strength. To know when it serves those around me and be willing to surrender any control to manipulate my future; that is my goal.

Stonehenge at dawn

 

The first stone

I stopped writing several months ago because there were people stalking my blog in order to learn about my life,  in hopes of hurting people close to me. It just boggles my mind that there are people out there that will use anything they can to control and inflict pain. I shut down the blog and then had emails to open it so that my stories could be shared. 

I love writing about Montana, the friends I have, the insights I gain, the inspirations I receive. 


Our thoughts and emotions always begin from a place of fear or love. I choose love. "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do." I am doing my best to practice forgiveness and acceptance.  Why is it that those that purport to be holy and sinless are the first to the throw a stone?

Surrender

I was finished grazing Lakota and headed into the coolness of the indoor arena. Stacia, the trainer, was working with the latest arrival. I soon learned that the horse was 15 years old and recently gelded. He had attractive markings but was seriously over weight. The bay hadn’t been ridden in 10 years and someone remembered that he had a history of bucking. The owners wanted him to become a roping horse. The first step was to get him to walk safely on a lead rope. This is where the ground work started.

I was in no rush to go back to the cabin that evening. I had mowed the lawn, fed Aries and finished giving Lakota her ration of grass. I took a seat on a stool near the fence.

By the time I got in position to watch, Stacia had him walking with her on his left side. Now, she was about to start on the right. We chatted as she worked. A good number of horses have never been led, saddled, mounted or worked from the right. She picked up the lead rope and asked him to move forward. To keep herself in the “safe zone” near his shoulder, she lifted the lead with one hand while tapping on his hip with a dressage whip with the other. The first thing he did was to fling himself backward, his head went up as he tried to escape. He hit the end of the lead and then threw his body towards her. The trainer stayed consistent. She held her grip on the lead, hand up towards his face to keep him from turning into her space. She continued to reinforce the forward movement with the tap of the whip. Around and around, they went. The bay would fly into reverse, bolt towards her, try to use his shoulders to push sideways - anything to escape following her request. As I sat there, I thought this could go on all night. Stacia said this was not unusual and that the majority of the horses that came in for behavioral problems went through this to one extent or another.

As I watched them, I thought about how his life had changed. He had been out to pasture, doing as he pleased, fathering offspring and not being asked to do anything more than eat and sleep. All of a sudden, he was being told how to walk, how to behave and to put his desires aside. He was not having it. In spite of her running to keep up with his movements, her voice and her emotions remained steady.

I continued to observe his resistance. Then all at once he took a step. The trainer stopped asking and immediately pet him. She let him stand quietly while she rubbed his now sweaty head. Then slowly, she asked him to step forward. I could see him begin to back up and then change his mind. Once more he stepped forward. Again, she stopped and rewarded him. After that, he walked with her, head and neck soft on the lead as if he did this every day. What I thought would take hours, took 15 to maybe 20 minutes. Stacia had remained consistent and calm. She allowed the horse to take the time he needed to understand without giving in or rushing him. He tried all his tricks that had worked in the past. At some point, the bay must have sensed the futility and accepted her command.

The horse did not know what surrendering to the trainer would mean for him. Would this woman lead him off a cliff, would she mistreat him or starve him? Would he ever see his pasture of green grass again? He did not know her and had not learned to trust her, yet. If he traded his resistance for acceptance, what would he gain? Stacia’s tag line on her promotional material is “It’s all about Trust.” Incrementally, step by step, she earned his trust.

It wasn’t until the next day that, while I was reliving the training session in my mind, I made a connection. I could see myself as the horse. I could see my Will. I can see the way I have resisted where Life wants to take me. I am like the horse, not trusting the guide.

My desires have been my green grass. I’ve always felt if I could just try harder, learn a little more, and persevere – I could take control of my destiny. It has rarely gone that way. If it did happen, it was God’s timing, not mine.

What keeps going through me is “Thy Will be done.” It’s past time that I release my Will and let my Creator’s Will be done. I have become disillusioned with myself. My running away, hiding, pushing forward and resisting has accomplished only the accumulation of bumps and bruises. All the seeking and striving that I thought were signs of strength have left me exhausted. It’s time I face the music. If an outcome takes place, it will not be because of my trying. If an opportunity is mine, it will come to me. What I thought was quitting, may be wisdom. You can only run to the end of the lead so many times before you give in. With horses it might take 15-20 minutes, with me it has been decades.

I think it is time for me to try travelling in a different manner. I will walk softly where I am led. I will do my best to trust. I realize this is difficult for me. It does not mean I do not have dreams. I hold them in my heart. But I will let Life guide me and show me the route that is being selected for me. I will trust that it will be the path that is for the highest good of all around me. My Will left me broken and beaten. I’m ready to give up my resistance. I am learning to be led. I am surrendering to a higher power. Life picks up the lead and my heart bends to it.

Thank you, Stacia, and thank you for teaching me to trust.

 

 

 

Whitefish Winter Carnival Parade

 I could not have been happier with Lakota at her first parade in Whitefish, Montana. There were over 10,000 people lined up along the streets with barking dogs, costumed Yetis, loud music, winds whipping signs and plastic flying across our path. She never faltered. Chalk off another bucket list entry!

Waiting for spring

 

The windows reflect my movements as I set up my natural light box on the table. The bulbs are a poor substitute for the morning sun but they will have to do. The long nights of darkness and endless days of clouds wreak havoc on my psyche. A light box, exercise, vitamin D and outdoor walks are my weapons to combat these dreary Montana winters.

Yesterday I could see the sun ever so slightly through the blanket of clouds. The wet snow descended on my windshield as I drove towards the light. Maybe, if I drove up the mountain high enough, I could rise above the mantle of grey and feel its rays. Too quickly the cover thickened and vanquished any brightness emanating from the sky.

But I had seen it. If only for a moment, I had witnessed a glimpse of blue and the shape of the sun through the veil. It was a promise and a reassurance that the sun will return and spring will arrive soon enough.

I am reminded to be patient. I cannot push the seasons or change the natural progression of time. Season will come after season, regardless of my actions or emotions. This is not the time to use my will to force an outcome. There is a time to plant and a time to harvest, right now is not the time for either. It is a time of waiting. Passing the time can be done with frantic pacing or in quiet contemplation. No matter what my thoughts, time will pass the same.

 In my class, I caution my students not to plant too early. If the soil is not warm enough, the seed will rot in the cold, wet ground. If the soil is walked on while it is still wet, it will compact and ruin future plantings. Starting seedlings in the windowsill before the time is right, does not insure a jumpstart on the spring garden. They become gangly and pale and will not survive when transplanted. Having been a grower all my life, I know these things and yet, I still find myself yearning for spring instead of accepting and relaxing into the winter.

The dancing of the candle flame in front of me brings a smile to my face. I see him as a light in the dark, one more sun behind the clouds. “Have faith and trust”, he offers me. “All is right in the world.” There is a Divine order even though I cannot always see it. For some reason, when the sun is on my back and I am making progress, it is easier for me to remember this. When I am forced to be still, I feel powerless and unproductive. But then what of the wheat field as it lays under the winter snow? It is resting and recuperating in order to provide once more in the proper season. 

I will sit myself down and drink my coffee. There are no windmills to battle or mountains to climb this morning. Spring will come, the days will be long and there will be plenty of time to till the soil. The buds will swell, the trees will green, the soil will warm – and then, it will be time to plant. Today, I can select my seeds, plan my rows and dream my dreams. All is in Divine order. I will sit calmly today, waiting for spring.