Walking through our fears

Lakota and I, reunited

It had been another year of one of us healing. The latest injury had been Lakota tearing off most of her hoof under a sharp metal fence. Seven months of summer- hand walking and an additional six months of winter. Now with over a year off from riding, the mare had fallen back into her previous fearful behavior. Cripes. Not this again. It had only been two years before that, when I broke my back in a horse accident. She waited more than a year for my bone to mend. I threw the saddle over her back; she flinched and drove her nose into the corner of the stall in terror. “Oh, come on. I am not going to hurt you. I have never hurt you.” I threw the pad on and off her until she settled. I hoisted the saddle up first from the left, then off and up on the right. I sure hoped she calmed down before my arms gave out. She did. As I came around her rump, I noticed her skin actually rippling along her right flank. When I ran my hand over the area she cringed under my touch. Lakota looked like a watch spring wound just a little too tight. This location on her body had been abused years before. I imagined a right handed rider using a whip along her side to motivate speed. The rider was long gone but the fear remained. Each time we were laid off, we lost our rhythm and these fears came back to haunt her.

Fast forward two months. I decided I didn’t have time for Lakota. It would be better to let another owner take her who would give her the attention I could not. I felt guilty when my work kept me away from riding her. My schedule is erratic and I was house hunting. Maybe I’d be even busier with a house and then maybe I wouldn’t be able to afford her board. I would sell her and it would be the best for both of us. Our relationship had deteriorated and neither of us was enjoying the situation. I was tired of riding around a farm alone and she would rather eat grass than listen to me.

I delivered her to a trainer who would work with her for two weeks, show her to perspective buyers and then she would be gone. I choked back the tears as I drove away. The sobbing and heartbreak was relentless for three days. I went back to the barn to check on her. The trainer had been using ground exercises to help her work through her anxiety and return to work mode. She was responding beautifully. More days went by and more I saw Lakota willing and eager to cooperate. As time allowed, I learned the exercises and continued them on weekends. She whinnied for me when I arrived and nickered with head bobbing as I left. Our friendship was blossoming once again. When a buyer called, I told him I needed a couple more weeks to decide.

The words fell on my ears like bricks. “She’s ready to ride. You have your old horse back. Go get her.” I tied her. I brushed her. I applied fly spray. She stood calmly as I lifted up the Tucker onto her back. Lakota lowered her head to allow the bridle to slide gently into her mouth and up over her ears. I led her to the arena. My bowels turned to jelly. My stomach churned. The wind rattled through the aspen trees. Bits of leaves and dust danced across the ring. She stood silently as I climbed slowly into the saddle. I nudged her forward into a walk and then a trot around the fence line. “Breathe,” I reminded myself. “Lakota has done her work, now you do yours.”

Traumatic images percolated up as soon as my foot hit the stirrup. Long forgotten, or purposefully buried, painful equine mishaps reared their ugly heads. My confidence had been shattered by a long history of horse accidents. The events were suddenly remembered in vivid detail. The wind reminded me of the thoroughbred off the racetrack I purchased 25 years ago.   I attempted to retrain him for a dressage horse. Each time something startled him, like the wind, a leaf, a gum wrapper – he would bolt, racing then bucking – always, always resulting in a trip to the emergency room. I broke both of my wrists, my nose twice, my ribs two or three times, the bones on my hand. The last time I was thrown off my Achilles tendon was torn so badly I was told I would always walk with a limp. After that gelding, I bought a quarter horse that did not run away with me. In fact, when asked him to trot or lope, he bucked and tried to throw me into a fence. I took him to a trainer who told me that the horse needed an expert with a sharp set of spurs. I handed him over to an expert for a month of training. The horse never thought about bucking so there was not much for him to do. The moment I climbed on board, much to the amazement of the trainer, the horse began bucking around a huge rodeo arena determined to do me in. That is another story, but when I finally got off that horse, I handed the man the reins and said, “I never want to lay eyes on this horse again. Sell him.” More recently, I had just purchased Lakota. My daughter was visiting and I put her on my new prize. A friend handed me a horse all tacked and ready to ride. “Join your daughter. Go on a trail ride; this mare will be fine.” I took her to the round pen to try her in a small area and got on. I had no sooner asked her to move forward when “she broke in two”. Meaning = she exploded into a fit of bucking. The pain I felt when I landed will forever be burned into my body. The doctor at the hospital said it was as if someone had taken a sledge hammer to my sacrum. The months of therapy, medication, loneliness and agony are every horse person’s worst nightmare. All of these horrors flooded into my psyche once I was aboard Lakota.

Had I really become too busy or had I simply lost my nerve? Each time Lakota and I took a year off, we both fell back into our fears.

I was upset at Lakota because when she gets scared, I get scared. When she gets tense, I get tense. I wanted her to stop thinking of the past and know I wont hurt her. Stop being afraid! How ridiculous is that? Can I just stop being afraid of getting thrown off a horse again? I wanted her to do what I had not been able to accomplish. It would have been so much easier to deny these feelings and send her down the road, than to face this terror.

When I made this realization, something inside of me shifted entirely. I threw my arms around her neck and I am sure she understood. I am in this for the long haul. I would like to be riding until I am 75 years old. I would like Lakota to be my horse. By the time I am that age, we will both be ready to hang up our boots and call it good. There is no race. If it takes me a month or years to completely trust a horse again, it is OK. She helps me see where I am each day in the process. Around and around the pen she lopes like a carousel horse, allowing me to be comfortable with speed again.  I don’t have to be afraid she will run away with me. When the wind blows, she is unaware and keeps to the lesson. My new instructor says, “it’s is all about trust.” Lakota and I are learning to trust each other again. We are helping heal each other’s wounds. We can’t take away the experiences that happened before. We can only move forward with what we have today. Every day I see her moving through her fears, I hope she sees me moving through mine.

First step

I am sitting in the shade of the cabin as the sun beats on the front porch. The heat can become beastly in July right around supper time. A breeze puffs down the hill from the forest, crossing first the orchard grass in the pasture and then my lawn before it reaches me. The scent of pine needles and cottonwood blossoms are carried along with the cooling breeze. I am distracted first by a butterfly and then by the realization that the lawn needs mowing one more time. I can hear voices floating  up from the horse park and jet skis buzzing across the lake. My chair is a tractor seat that has been nailed onto a tree stump. It goes beautifully with the old wooden, electrical spool that serves as my table. 

I must create a "platform" for my book proposal. This is a publisher's version of a business plan for for a book. The platform describes how I intend on getting the word out about my book. It includes social media - I better learn how to tweet - interviews, contacts, newspaper, magazines and television. I do have experience in this area, not only from the job I have now but also for years working as director of the Farm on Wheels, Inc. and development coordinator for the NYFVI. I sent my promotional materials to ABC, CBS and Oprah describing my agriculture program. I cannot begin to convey my excitement when a crew from CBS news spent two days with me going to inner city schools filming me teach and joining young students as they learned hands on activities at the farm. I found the 1997 VHS tape, amazing it has made all of these moves across country, and had it converted to a DVD. I picked it up today. Step One of the book proposal project. Now, I have to figure out how to make it available as a link to this site. You will all get to see it as soon as I have that figured out. The right person will show up, I am positive. 

Each day I hope to make one step toward my goal. I'm going to set up a calendar of deadlines. The next person I need to find is a copy or line editor. I have some ideas where to begin. It will help me to select which stories will go into the proposal if I have an editor that is not related. Each family member has their own favorite.

I will have to share with you that I am still house hunting - six years and counting - and I am working with a personal trainer. There are many balls up in the air, so to speak, but it is time for these things to  fall into place. I am sure I will manifest a home that is conducive to writing where heat can be expected by turning a dial and not dragging wood up from the basement. The stronger and healthier my body, the more confident I feel speaking in front of a group. Yes, it is time.

Next post I will share with you my intention and why I wish to write. I am content that I made myself sit down and I actually wrote without finding a reason to do housework or plant additional flowers. Until later..

Book Proposal Launch

Ok, this is going to be the beginning of something new. My blog usually consists of my commentary of life and the awareness that I gain from being in nature. I called my vignettes "stories" and a friend told me that term indicates fiction writing. This is not fiction. 

I wish to share with you, my reader, my dream. I love to write. I'd love to make my living by being an author and speaker. A part of me always denied this yearning and kept me pursuing more practical careers. A little more than a year ago, I started posting to this blog. It was my first venture into having my stories out in public. Next, I presented some of my work to Montana Woman magazine. The editor, Cindy, allowed me a section in this beautiful, monthly magazine. I am so grateful for the opportunity. Having a deadline each month gives me the reason to set aside time for writing. 

I have recently returned from a Hay House publisher writer's workshop in Denver. Hay House publishes Marianne Williamson, Wayne Dyer, Deepak Chopra, Gregg Braden and many more. If you attended this workshop, you may submit a book proposal on December 28 without an agent. One person will receive a $10,000 advance and a publishing contract. Two people will receive a Balboa Press self publishing contract - worth over $7,000. The odds of winning this contest are about one in 50 compared to the average one in hundreds of thousands. This is my shot and I am going to take it. It is my intention to share this journey with my readers so that your energy and support will help guide me along this path.

When I first arrived in Montana, there had not been an agriculture agent here for 15 years. I was charged with teaching my clients how to grow their food in spite of the fact that  I had never grown anything in the Rocky Mountains. I decided to plant a vegetable garden on the courthouse lawn in the middle of town. This way, people would know where the ag agent was and I would learn along with my clients. If I was making a mistake, the whole town would see it. I would teach what I had learned. People loved seeing the garden mature as they drove to work each day. I had many wonderful phone calls and yes, everyone knew where the new agent set up shop. It didn't matter if the garden succeeded or failed, the purpose was the learning.

This blog is going to be like that. I encourage you to select one of your dreams and follow that path with me. I will continue to post my "vignettes" but will also be sharing my process - emotional, physical and spiritual - as I develop this book proposal. The staff at Hay House told us repeatedly that our ego would try to stop our progress. I listened to authors and publishers recount situations where writers gave up because they thought that "no one wants to hear what I have to say, who am I to be publishing, who will buy my  book or listen to me, I am not worthy, I probably wont be selected, " and on and on. When those thoughts began running through my mind, I thought what about those 3,000 readers I have on my blog. They are my support network. I will ask them to help me. 

What is so amazing to me each month is where you readers are located. Half of you are in the Ukraine. I have followers across the U.S. and in more than 20 countries. I say this to demonstrate how varied my audience is. I will gain so much from your unique perspectives. 

** There is a comment section under each post. I would appreciate your feedback very much. All you have to do is mouse over the word comment and a text box will appear. We all have dreams; we all have fears; we are all buoyed by each other. 

I read once, "If you want to be a golfer, golf; if you want to be a painter, paint." I want to be an author, so I am writing. More to come. 

Beginnings

I was brushing Lakota’s mane. It had been a seemingly endless winter and her long tresses were rolled into tight little spirals and knots. A mist of detangler, some finger pulling and finally the wide toothed comb. I actually enjoy this process – it is a mindless task that allows my brain to wander and relax. As each tangle unfolds I feel my being settle; my breathing quiets. The scent of her filles me, her munching soothes my soul. I know that I love her completely. Then why was I grooming her and preparing her for a potential new owner?

When I thought of losing her or giving up my dreams of us becoming old ladies together, my heart would clench. Tears would well. I could feel anxiety rush over me. It felt like death – sudden, irreparable, final.

The word beginning hit me out of the blue. In an instant, I saw Lakota taking a young girl to the state horse show. I saw her being doted on and fussed over. Lakota would be a best friend and ally as this young lady traversed the pinnacles and canyons of high school. Her life was just entering a new chapter as was mine. When Lakota and I began our story, I envisioned joining folks exploring the Bob Marshall Wilderness and Glacier National Park, going camping on weekends, driving cattle, and possibly learning western dressage. I had only owned her 10 days when I had a serious accident and fractured my sacrum. Lakota waited for me for a year until I could ride again. The next two years we rode around the farm and the forests nearby. I came to realize without a truck and trailer we weren’t able to meet up with groups who were traveling with their horses. All the assurances I had been given that you could just jump in a trailer going by, had been unrealistic. Our third year, Lakota suffered a traumatic injury and sat on the sidelines for over eight months. I have come to a point where I understand I either have to go big, by purchasing a truck and trailer, or find Lakota a new home. Riding around the farm alone has lost its appeal.

My beginning will be to invest in property and put down roots. My choice is financing a home instead of a truck and trailer. If I allow myself to feel the love I have for Lakota and still move forward, allowing us our new beginnings, I feel at peace.

Why do I feel I am losing something? Why do I hang on so desperately to the past? Why do I cling to old dreams even though I can see fresh ideas pouring into my mind? Change can be scary. Change is continual. When I look at my life, the biggest changes have brought the biggest rewards. Getting married, having children, going to college, moving, even dating and buying a horse. Every change has allowed me to grow and become more of the person I am. Change has never made me less.

I am only afraid when I think I am doing it alone, when I forget I have a higher power. At those times, I feel inadequate and not able to face the challenge. When I remember we are all one, we are all connected, that there is a force supporting me – I find the courage. Change is an opportunity for life to get even better.

I am talking to myself here. I saw that the man I care about has moved on with someone else. I put an offer on a “fixer-upper” house and wonder if I have what it takes to pull this off. I am at a workshop for writers because this is my dream. Should I stay with the job I can do with my eyes closed for the security? We all have doubts. All we can do is face them one at a time and keep walking through. I ask each day to see my life the way Spirit sees it. Use me to help others. Let me see me as the loving, perfect soul that the Divine sees. My judgments of myself and my lack of trust in my decisions, perpetuates my fear of change. I ask to see these changes as the new beginnings that they are. Jumping into the void is easier if you go with me. Come on, let’s go.

Dog as my Teacher

Aries first day home June 26, 2007

After reading Your Dog is Your Mirror by dog trainer Kevin Behan, I looked at my dog, Aries, differently. Behan states that dogs respond to what their owners feel and not necessarily to what they say. Most of the book demonstrated the heart connection between humans and their dogs. The trainer had handled numerous canine behavioral issues which he felt were related to the owner’s emotional state.

I remember thinking – wow – if Aries’ behavior reflects what is in my heart, I could only be so fortunate. She is playful all the time. She is loyal, trusting and dependable. Aries never has a bad day. She likes everyone and everything. This dog is always wearing a smile. I must be joyful, loving and optimistic if my dog is my mirror.

In light of that idea, what keeps going through my mind is My dog is My Teacher. I could only aspire to be what Aries shows me. I don’t know if I can agree with Behan that she shows me what is in my heart or what I wish was there.

Aries demonstrates to me unconditional love. Right now, it is just the two of us. Aries lets me know every morning and every evening that I am the most important thing in her life. I can be totally who I am and she loves me completely. She is totally accepting, a walking example of unconditional love. Each day I see her and remind myself to be more accepting and forgiving in my work and at home. To me it is a process, to Aries it is who she is.

Aries trusts me completely. She does not worry that I will forget to feed her or care for her. She is always in the moment. How amazing would it be to have that kind of faith and trust? Aries lives without worry of the future and has no regrets of the past. Right here, right now. It is my intention to achieve that kind of peace and security. I tell myself “Surrender and Release, Let Go and Let God.” Eventually, I sense anxiousness over something at my work or fear of my future and I must remind myself to stop trying to control the outcome. Let it go. I say the Serenity prayer once more. Aries does not need a reminder.

Hand in hand with trust, must be patience. This is a quality I have worked on my whole life. Blame it on my personality type, my astrological sign - I’m an Aries, too – or my upbringing, but I am a get it done person. Be a part of the solution to something, or get out of the way. My co-worker and I joke about this all the time. I’d like to grow into the sweet, gentle, little, old lady in the back of the church that is wise and humble. I recognize that patience is a major ingredient to that achievement. Aries will wait for me for days, for weeks, for months. You could say it is because she has no choice. True. But when I leave her anywhere, she watches the door quietly until my return. Friends and kennel owners tell me that she doesn’t want to play, she doesn’t whine or pace, she just waits. She is obedient and calm. Her patience is unlimited. Her patience is not limited to waiting. Aries loves children. I took her to a sledding party where there were many dogs, kids, adults and activities. There was a disabled child there that could not join in the sleigh rides. She could only throw snowballs. Aries assumed that was a game and joined in catching the snow each time a handful was thrown. The child’s mother came up to me and said, “I am so sorry, your dog does not have to keep doing that for so long.” I told her, “Don’t give it a thought. When Aries gets tired, she will go lie down.” I can’t remember who gave out first, the child or the dog. I have seen her catch sticks, snow, or tennis balls from children for hours without getting bored or agitated. This must be where the saying “Patient as a Saint” came from.

Aries makes a sport of every activity. Ever since she was a pup, her favorite game is to catch the snow that is being brushed off the car as it is scraped in the morning. She makes me laugh even when I want to be miserable. This was a particularly bitter cold winter with more snow piled up than I have seen in years and countless subzero nights. Of course, it coincided with the winter I would sign up for a boot camp at the gym four mornings a week at 5:30 am. At 4:45 am, I am shoveling the walk and trying to find the car and Aries is having a ball. With each swish of the snow broom, Aries’ face is filled with white powder as she leaps and swallows the snow. She coughs; she gags and then leaps again. As I shovel, she grabs the shovel and tugs. I get angry because I’m freezing and tired and she pulls even more. Finally, I have to enjoy it with her. Her sense of humor is contagious. I can’t imagine cleaning the car without her dashing around my legs. I will remember her actions and be more like her finding enjoyment in little things - being excited by simple daily duties. No matter how daunting things appear, there must be fun in here somewhere waiting to be discovered.

Maybe her happiness stems from her youth. I told my friends when she was a fuzzy puppy, “I am treating her like she is 90 lbs. and I am wearing nylon stockings. This is how I want her to behave.” I spent countless hours training her and I have been rewarded for that effort over and over. The days of practicing drills, we were making an investment in our future. I had clear boundaries and expectations, consequences and reinforcement. She never questioned who was Alpha; she fell into her role as pack and relaxed contentedly. We would go on long hikes, swim in the lake and bask in the summer sun side by side as she traversed the road from sprout to mature dog. I was a mother bear in her regard, protecting her and the rules were clear. She didn’t need to expend energy in a power struggle; she could live life and find the ecstasy that abounds. I would be much more peaceful if I could remember that there is a power higher than mine. I am safe and protected. My relationship with the Divine is endless and the journey clear.

I do not believe for an instant that Aries is some type of super dog. She is a good dog. We have molded each other. She will be seven next month which is getting up there for a 90 lb. German Shepherd. Our time together is finite. I am choosing to learn the lessons that she presents to me. We humans, with our amazing brains and souls, have an ability to see everything and everyone as a path to our evolution. What can we take away from observing wildlife, holding a lover, raising a child or helping a friend? Are we able to use every opportunity to grow and become more of who we really are?

I can choose to become exasperated over the mud and shedding hair this time of year, or I can remember that soon things will dry out and Aries will be back on the front porch of our little cabin. I do not know if I will adopt a dog again after she leaves this world. I would have a great deal more options on where I can live without a pet. I will never regret this time and I treasure each day I am graced with her presence. People come in and out of our lives and pets do, too. Can I discover the lesson that each encounter brings to me?

What does my Creator ask of me? He asks me to be patient and kind, forgiving and trusting, love unconditionally and without regret. He asks me to be grateful for everything in my life and to know I am being cared for even if I lose my way. He asks me to be joyful and happy. He asks me to be of service to my brother. My Creator has given me a teacher and she is lying at my feet. Yes, Dog is my Teacher more than she is a mirror. Thank you for this gift. I am honored and grateful.

Aries and I December 2013

If you build it, they will come.

Ok, I admit it, I was wrong. I went to the barn where I keep my horse and I saw a plywood sign on the road spray painted “Free garden space”. I asked the farm owner, “What is up with the sign?” He said, “Look!” He proudly showed me that he had enclosed a section of his fallow hay ground with deer fence and tilled it smooth. “It’s a new community garden.”

Considering that I was the county extension agent and had organized many of these gardens around the area, I thought he was being naïve. It takes a village to raise a community garden; committees formed, goals established, raised beds built. His farm was out in West Valley where there was no transportation and his neighbors all had acreage. Why would anyone out here need garden space and who would travel all the way out to this spot from town to use it? All that effort, gone to waste.

A few days later I saw activity inside the fence. Strings were being tied, rows created, seeds sprinkled. What? Who? Soon the garden was springing up with flowers and leaves and shoots. Neighbors further up the road were on rocky ground and in shaded areas. The deer were a constant threat and plantings were always under assault. It became obvious the location was perfect. People would stop by the garden on their way home from work and tend to their young vegetables. I was amazed.

After the first season, there were so many friends that wanted to join the garden that the farmer expanded the fence. Irrigation was improved from a single hose to an automated system. I did have my nose slightly out of joint when I realized that the project for having the riding arena enlarged was on hold so that the garden size could be increased. More and more gardeners arrived daily. A shed was constructed for tools. One gardener installed a small plastic house to start her tomatoes. A few of my master gardeners showed up and started planting. It was fabulous.

Centennial Farm is the location. Les Keller is the farmer. He is shy about talking about his success but when asked about the garden, he gushes about how much he enjoys it. “I meet all the nicest people who live nearby and I am constantly receiving fresh vegetables. I wish more farmers would consider taking a small piece of ground and provide it to others for gardening. The fence and the water are a small price to pay for the satisfaction of seeing nine families from my area growing their own healthy food. I am not sure how I would have met so many neighbors if I hadn’t done this.”

As I ride my horse on the farm, I wave to the gardeners who ask where my plot is. I say, “I have a horse.” This is my choice. The sunflowers hang over the fence and rattle in the breeze. The gardeners exchange ideas and advice under the brightly colored umbrella installed over a spool. Les refuses to acknowledge that this garden was an act of generosity but his neighbors disagree. He has offered to help any other farmers interested in creating a community garden for their neighbors. Build it and they will come.

Pink Moon

He invited me to watch the Pink Moon rise over the Swan Mountains with him. I did not know that the full moon in April had such a designation. We walked along the lakeshore observing the snowcaps bathed in the rosy rays of sunset. A great horned owl gazed silently at our progression along the dike. He and I came to rest on a grassy slope that afforded a view of the marshland. The trill of the red winged blackbirds surrounded us. A pair of Canada geese honked overhead. Ducks sought refuge among the reeds. Deep blue clouds floated in to rest atop the peaks in the east. Who would win out, the formations or the long awaited Pink Moon? We waited in silence filled with the tranquility of the moment. The last of the sun’s rays lit golden on the cattails as the chill of the damp earth eventually worked its way through our jeans. The clouds were winning but the moon remained steady in its ascent. He reached for me and held me close, his hands stroking my hair. Then a tentative kiss. The sand hill crane croaked its prehistoric call. Confidence rising, melting, giving, receiving – laughter and tenderness. The moon eventually rose above the clouds but long after I had returned to my cabin. The Pink Moon is forever etched upon my heart even though I did not see it with my eyes.

This snippet from my journal reminds me of the reason why I am so grateful for my life. I read this passage and am transported to this treasured moment. The savory deliciousness of each encounter in my past is engraved on my heart. I am fortunate to have experienced the thrill and exhilaration of potential love. The magic of these moments does not fade whether I am 16 or 60. This is the frosting on the cake of my life.

Being a romantic is not for cowards. To enjoy the moment means opening and allowing the connection for all that can be. If I didn’t release my fear and allow myself to bond with this man, I would have denied myself the pleasure of this instant. The length of time that this union endures, does not define the value. If preoccupation with security and protection is foremost, we block all feelings behind walls of trepidation. How can we breathe in his scent and hear his heartbeat when we are fixated on the possibility that he may one day leave? How can he find us, if we insist on hiding?

Be bold. Be vulnerable. What is at risk? What is heartbreak? Heartbreak is when you have assigned a function to another person and they did not live up to the role you desired. You say to them, “I need you to fulfill this need for me or I will be …despondent, depressed, angry, ill...take your pick.” How does it feel to have someone put those conditions on you? I am responsible for my happiness. My partner can certainly add to that pleasure but I am ultimately in charge of my life and how I view it.

I choose to remember what I brought to the scenario. I brought an open, willing heart. I was generous and kind. I was playful and innocent. These emotions feel wonderful. I did not act or pretend; I was totally myself. I love the way I felt. I cannot know how another is interpreting my actions or words. I cannot dictate his actions nor would I want to. My security is my own. I know who I am going into this situation and I will be the same person if it continues or ends. I trust me. When I have loved honestly, willingly without expectation, I am being my authentic self. I accept the other unconditionally. If the Other decides to walk on another path, he is not taking anything away from me. I am more because I have known him. I have learned about me in the process. My spiritual progress is gauged by my ability to see his holiness at all times. I honor and respect him in light of my own personal desires. Sometimes, I disappoint myself when I have allowed emotions to blur my sight. My sister reminds me that, “I don’t walk on water”. I tell her, “I am in my human suit doing the best I can”. I am a work in process.

I bless each person I have had the pleasure of knowing. I continue to grow with each new relationship. My strongest wish is to encourage us all to continue to reach out to others. Be available. We cannot serve the world or find true joy unless we share who we are. Happiness shared is multiplied over and over exponentially. Hold your brother’s hand. Express yourself. Allow yourself to love and receive love from everyone you meet. Be the light. Please, come out and play. There is nothing to lose unless you make it so. Show up in the world. Show off your talents. Excitement is a magnet. Passion is contagious. We are here for such a short time in relation to eternity. Let’s not waste a moment being afraid that someone may not like us or approve of our haircut. Grab your roller skates. I’ll pack a picnic. Let’s set off for the next big adventure and see what the next moon holds in store for us.

Books

My eldest was packing to return to the east coast when she groaned, “Crap, I finished my book and I don’t have another one.” I said she could borrow one of mine and she said, “thanks, mom, but I am fine just the way I am.” She had been staying in my room and the bookcase is filled with spiritual and self-help books. I did find a novel for her to borrow but it really made me think about my reading habits. How long can you spend trying to learn about how to be a better person, partner, parent or leader? Is there no end to it? I do find a new insight into my being each time I read a fresh book. I see something about others or me that I had not thought about previously.

I find myself hip deep in another lengthy book right now. In some ways I must enjoy having all of my beliefs challenged. I am ok with feeling a little lost until I can integrate new concepts into my personal paradigm. I don’t mind other people questioning me, because I am continually questioning my own thought system.

This book is stating that, in most cases, I do not really know what is in my best interest. We think we know, but only the Divine can truly see. After life’s twists and turns we come to realize that a situation was not what we thought it was. A person turns out to be someone we should not have trusted, or a job turns out to be a nightmare, or a move resulted in a life we had not anticipated. I am facing relationship choices, career choices, and location choices. How do I know what is in my best interest? I believe that it is true, I probably really don’t know. The text encourages me to have faith and to listen to my Creator. I always joke with my friends and tell them I don’t want to have to guess what the answer is; I want a burning bush. A big YES or NO on the front lawn would suit me fine.

What do I want in my life? Will these decisions bring whatever that is to me? Is my life about finding a body to sit on my sofa? Is it about making more money? Is it about achieving glory? No, at the end of the day I want peace and I want joy. Will any of the situations I am considering bring me peace and joy?

Closer to 60 than 50, I am not looking for another heart break or an unrewarding career. My pondering takes me to a place of faith and listening to my Creator. My book reminds me, that my Creator will not put me in a place of fear, limitation, poverty or pain. I am free to make the choice to be miserable but that is not the will of the Divine.  I was created to be happy. This is my function.  I trust that the burning bush I have asked for will lead me to my best interest.

The Divine created us to be content and supported by loving relationships. Are we able to receive this? Can we allow ourselves to be blissful? How many of us can give freely but cannot tolerate compliments or gifts? When we open ourselves to the abundance of the world in every direction, we allow the energy to pour through us. Our acceptance of an offering is a benefit to our fellow man. We deny our brother the pleasure of giving, if we refuse him out of our feelings of unworthiness.

I know in my heart that we can have heaven on earth. We can choose to be in alignment with our higher selves. If we wish to create a union of peace and joy, we allow ourselves to see the light in our partner. That light is shared and strengthened through our thoughts and actions. Acceptance, nonjudment and kindness.

I consistently see people my age in a place of fear about relationship. I have several girlfriends who simply say, “Never again; I am not going through that kind of pain ever.” My male friends talk about what they have lost in previous break ups: stocks, retirement, and real estate.  In our haste to protect ourselves, have we forgotten the love that we have shared over the years? Why do we choose to feel the fear and the loss? Maybe it is more difficult to talk about love, maybe it is more socially acceptable to share misery, maybe feeling only the loss justifies us withdrawing and closing our heart to everyone around us. Does this decision bring about peace and joy? Hardly. It makes us feel cold, afraid and isolated. This feeling of separateness is not Divine will.

I choose peace. I choose joy. I make a decision to remember the love shared in my past. I am in the process of forgiving myself for any blame I have bestowed on past partners because a relationship ended. It is a process, because no matter how much I think I have ferretted out any negativity, I can find it trickling up. I am ok with that. I will stay vigilant and will bring these buried thoughts to the light as they surface.

In order for us to see the light in our partner, we must see the light in ourselves. We must come to know what an amazing, unique gift we are to the universe. I know when I meet someone, if they do not love and accept themselves, there is no way they can love and accept me. When this happens, I look closer at myself because my brother is my mirror. Am I able to acknowledge all that I am? Am I willing to be as happy as my Creator intended me to be? Can I let my walls down and accept this person as he is without judgment or fear?  

My books on the shelf have served their purpose. After years and years of reading, the conclusion is simple.  It’s not complicated. Be happy. See your brother as the Divine being that he is. See yourself as the perfection that you are. Let the light shine on all of your relationships, past and present. Allow yourself the bliss you were always meant to enjoy.

Play

Yesterday a group of friends and I held our annual sledding party on a private drive north of Columbia Falls. The weather was less than perfect.  There was an adequate base of snow but the day was unusually warm and rainy for January in Montana. This did not dampen our enthusiasm. Chili was cooked, a bonfire lit and the roadway groomed to a glistening sheen. Each year we celebrate our host’s birthday by pulling out the runner sleds that he collects and race neck and neck down the hill. There is a very large bend in the road and some of the sleds steer better than others. The contests often look more like bumper cars than races. I wonder how far the laughter and shouting can be heard as we barrel into a pile up. A four wheeler with a long rope pulls the willing participants back up the road at the end of the trip. This is a luxury we enjoy as adults. By adults, I mean there is no one in the group younger than 55 years old. If you close your eyes and listen, it sounds like any sledding hill filled with children.

I lie on my stomach and hold the wooden bars with my soggy mittens. I taunt my opponent as I slide back and forth revving my machine, loosening the runners from the slush that is forming. Then it’s off down the hill. My face is only about four inches from the glazed road, the sled making a crunching sound as it flies over the ice. I scream to my friend to “watch out” as she weaves into my lane. I am gaining on her but the bend is coming; if she takes the turn too wide we are going to crash. Her grandson, who is snowboarding along the edge, dives out of the way. Somehow we make it around the turn without a collision. We high five each other at the end when we see we have set a new record for distance this trip. My friend and I trudge back up the hill pulling our sleds since everyone else has disappeared to watch the football playoffs.

Sledding makes me feel like I am eight years old again. In our youth, we used to toboggan downhill in snowy pastures. We didn’t have a smooth road for runner sleds. The exhilaration is the same now as before -wind in your face, sounds of sled over packed snow, teasing, laughing, wet clothes, and matted hat hair – all good for the soul.

My dog, Aries, played all day with other dogs and youngsters who threw snowballs for her to catch. The children built snow forts and waged snowball fights with the adults. I think about all the ways that people and animals have of playing, actions that are simply for enjoyment; no purpose; no agenda.

My sister and I took a vacation to Sedona a couple years ago. After about our fourth day of hiking, she sat on a stump and said, “You go ahead and do your thing. I’ll be right here when you get back.” I was totally bewildered. She said, “You told me we were going to relax and have fun, but we keep hiking every day.” I was so totally absorbed in the rock, the beauty and the warmth of the sun, it never dawned on me that this was not her idea of play. I enjoy physical activity – kayaking, hiking, swimming and riding my horse. Sometimes, I like to just sit in a place of grandeur like Glacier, the ocean, a forest or the lake. After awhile, I need to move again. Taking her desires into consideration, my sister and I reached an amicable compromise.

Currently in middle age, my friends and I are exploring hobbies and opportunities to play. The kids are grown and gone. We are and have been conscientious, hard working and focused. It won’t be long and we will have more time on our hands. Now what? It has been so many years of being the responsible adult that I struggled to make a list in my journal of what I consider play. That cracks me up. To get my list, I play the game with myself, If I were King. That means letting my imagination go. If money or time was not a limitation, what would I enjoy the most? It’s a pleasurable exercise. I see myself visiting my daughters more often, taking excursions to the ocean, riding my horse into the mountains and writing stories. Just envisioning these activities makes me happy.

Our perception dictates our definition of play. A rancher friend of mine needed a hand to help move cows to summer pasture. To him, it was work. To me, it was glorious play. This does not mean I did not take my role seriously. I moved when and where directed.  I pushed; I guided; I ran back and gathered stragglers. Other times, I guarded dirt paths that could become an escape route. This was not an ordinary task for me. It was filled with excitement and camaraderie. I was definitely playing.

When I returned home last night, I listened to a webinar online as I cooked my dinner. The speaker mentioned “sacred playfulness”. He said it was a source of creative inspiration. That term has been running through my mind. When we can let go and play, relax, be in the moment, have fun without any expectations – we are in a place of openness. We are happy and joyful. This is where we are one with Spirit. Ideas, insights and motivation flow into our being. Guidance is delivered when we are not blocking and over thinking. The silliness of yesterday’s activities is still in my heart. I allow myself to be inspired, to create without purpose. I am giving myself permission to simply enjoy the writing of this story for my own pleasure.

I am fortunate to have a job that is rewarding. There are many times in my day that if I just slow down and become aware, I experience pure joy. Nothing makes me happier than to help others be successful tending their land, to see a child grow their first vegetable, or feel that I have contributed to protecting our environment. Sure, I can see it as work and then it creates a feeling of drudgery. If I look at it as doing exactly what I would be doing If I were King, it makes my heart soar. I am surrounded by the magnificence of the mountains, the spectacular reflections in the lake and the endless fields of wheat as I travel around the valley carrying on my duties. As I head into 2014, I will make room for more play in my life. It is all in my mind.  The way I look at my everyday activities will determine whether I see them as a chore or not. I will seek joy and share it with the community I serve. I invite you to add more play to your life and encourage your friends to do the same. 

Sheep

The other day I was making a presentation and I told this story. I was painting a picture of me.

When my father passed away unexpectedly over 20 years ago, I had the sudden urge to buy sheep. I don’t know whether it was something biblical or what. My dog had died three weeks after my father and I was bereft. I had horses but the thought of a soft, furry animal gently ruminating while I sat in the grass made me feel comforted. Within days, I was the proud owner of a black Oxford cross and a caramel colored Tunis. They were bottle babies and followed me everywhere. Just as I had imagined, we spent many hours sitting in a meadow overlooking our pond. When it was time for their first shearing I kept the fleece. I met a group of ladies that taught me how to spin the wool into lovely yarn. Spinning proved to be a form of meditation and soothed my soul. The rhythm of the foot pedal and the easy slip of the roving through my fingers was heavenly on quiet evenings. I started taking my lambs and my spinning into the neighboring elementary schools. 

By now it was time to start considering a new dog. Wouldn’t it be fun to have a Border collie that would work the sheep at the schools and on our farm? I purchased a lively pup my girls named Charlie. The sheep were unimpressed with this young tyke. They followed me everywhere for a graham cracker and did not see the need. I was totally frustrated by my attempts to get the sheep or the dog to go in any direction that I desired. The ladies in my spinning group recommended an expert sheep dog handler. I was thrilled it was a woman. I invited her to my farm for a consultation.

The handler and I spoke while she met my dog and my sheep. She looked at me and shook her head. I will paraphrase, “You can’t have a dumb dog, dumb sheep and a dumb person. Someone in this mix has to know something.” I was not deterred. I had a vision in my mind and somehow we were going to get there. She said, “OK, bring your collie to my farm. I have dogged sheep and I will work the dog.” So off we went, Charlie and I on our adventure. We had a blast. I learned to walk with the trainer and hold the staff out over her sheep. The sheep clustered under the staff and when Charlie got too close, I would tap him with the staff to move him out. He learned to bye and way. He was a natural. Eventually, my dog and I tackled our sheep at home. The sheep were correct; there was no need for the dog. They went wherever I wanted for a cookie.

I had succeeded in creating my vision. We had muddled through – my dumb dog, my dumb sheep and me. I told this story about how it reminded me of my early days as extension agent in Montana. Once I had unpacked the boxes, I had this sinking feeling in my stomach. I don’t know about growing plants in Montana; I don’t know what kind of bugs or weeds they have here; I don’t know anything about cherry trees. What I do know is that I want to help people grow their food. I want to see them be successful and feel a sense of pride about their land. I held this vision and figured it out. When my clientele asked a question, I had no problem saying, “I don’t know, but I will find out.” I assisted my growers by consulting with the top researchers in the country. Just like with the sheep, I had to start with one piece of the puzzle. The rest fell into place.

I guess that is me. I can hold a vision, even if I have no idea how to get there. I don’t have to have the answers. They will come. This philosophy has served me so far. I am now in the process of building a house. I am gathering facts from excavators, framers, health department inspectors, general contractors, real estate agents, bankers and land owners. I can do this. My road may not be straight and narrow. It is sure to have a few bends and hair-pin turns, but that’s ok. I’ll get there. I always do.

Eventually, the dog herded sheep, the job exceeded my expectations and soon I will be peacefully curled up in my new house. I don’t know where or how, but it will happen. “Ignorance is bliss” – or so I have heard. I can’t say I know that to be true. On the other hand, I am not going to let my lack of knowledge keep me from my goal. I can always learn more. I’ll find my inner sheepdog and use it. I’m going to keep my sense of humor and smile when I realize I have taken the long way around. This will make a good story someday when I am in a rocker. Until then, keep a clear picture and soldier on!



xdx

Hercules

It started out as an ordinary evening of chores. “Sarah, close the chicken coop door. Kate, make sure the rabbit’s water bottle is not frozen.” All tasks seemed to be accomplished-horses munching; cow ruminating; chickens roosting; bunnies hopping; hog grunting; sheep jostling for position and goats…hey, there should be two goats. “Girls, Hercules is missing. Has anyone seen him?”

Hercules and his older sister, Clover, were grey pygmy goats. My daughters had crowned him Hercules because even as a tiny kid, he was a daredevil. Climbing up onto the walls of the barn, chasing bicycles, running to the beach to watch the girls swim, Hercules wanted to  be wherever there was action. He was especially fond of suppertime and his graham cracker treats. Where was he?

The winter nights were long and it was dark in the barnyard when we started our search. The girls and the dog began looking in the riding ring, along the driveway and down at the house. I headed down the dirt road towards the draft horse barn. Maybe somehow he had gotten into that building and gotten locked in, or found a way into the grain room. The moon was brilliant and it was easier to see without the flashlight. The snow was crunching under foot when I heard something odd. I stopped and listened once more. It was a scratching sound and sort of a crumple. The sound was coming from the pond on my left. I peered into the darkness and there it was again. It was then I saw him.

Hercules was boldly heading across the ice towards the middle of the pond. I called to him in desperation. The edges were frozen but the center was open. I could not walk out there to save him. The pressure of my weight made a cracking sound as I called once more. He turned towards me and seemed to skip with joy. Over his head, blinding him to his peril was a grain bag. He had obviously pulled it from the garbage can, put his head in to lick the crumbs and his horns had become snared. Was he bumbling around aimlessly or was he brashly continuing his evening rounds? What I do know is if I hadn’t found him within seconds, he would have fallen through the ice and drowned. I was shaking from the what ifs and he was totally unaffected. It was just another adventure to Hercules.

This scenario popped into my head the other day as I contemplated a job offer. It made me laugh to think about how many times we think we see all the options when we really are bumbling in the dark. How many times are we positive we know exactly where we are going when it ends up we are headed towards a cliff? Hercules almost traded a few sweet crumbs for his life. I have to hand it to him; he was doing it with confidence. 

Time will tell what my decision will be. I haven’t seen all the options yet. I have faith that my choice will be exactly what it should be.

Tribute to Dave

Dave Mann Brant 1934-2013

He taught me patience.

I was weeding in the courthouse garden when an older man in a beat up hat asked if I was the new county agent. I said I was. He proceeded to ask me gruffly why I had not told him the grasshoppers were coming. With irritation he told me they were eating everything on his ranch. I said, “for one thing, I just got here. I didn’t know they were coming.  There have been several articles in the paper submitted by APHIS, federal agency, about the insects.” “I don’t read the newspaper,” he explained. “There have also been news programs about the grasshoppers presented by Montana State specialists.” “I don’t watch television.”  “Then how would you have liked to get this information?” I asked. I shook my head and thought this is going to be a long year. Somehow he expected I would know who he was, where he ranched and had his cell phone number.

He taught me history.

One summer night after the symphony in Whitefish, Dave asked if I would take him downtown for a while. Now it was a school night for me and it was already 10:00 but I said yes. He introduced me to the Palace Bar. You have to know that Dave did not drink although he encouraged me to do so. I declined since I was the driver. He told me about raucous evenings in that place 30 or 40 years ago. Our next stop was the Remington across the street. Funny, these places had never been on my must see list. Dave told me how there used to be two bars in here and sleeping rooms upstairs filled with bunks for patrons that over imbibed. The stories he could tell of skiing and partying in his younger days. Whitefish had not changed in many ways.

He taught me humility.

Dave asked if I could do something about his cherry trees that never produced fruit. He said, I just want enough for one pie that is all I ask.” I stopped by one afternoon and trimmed the heck out of the trees. Brad and Dave dragged away a pile of branches as big as my car. I told him to put water on the trees as least once a week. Later that summer, I got a call in my office. It was Dave. He and Chica were parked out front of the health department building in the old Cadillac. He said he wanted to deliver something to me. I ran down and he handed me a half of a cherry pie. The crust was all carved and beautiful. Natalie had been able to make three pies from the cherries off the trees this year. He wanted to share the bounty with me. He said, “You know, you might actually know something about this stuff.” After five years, I had finally proved myself.

He shared his faith.

Dave told me how he had a heart attack right in the Kalispell Emergency room. While recovering in the hospital, he swore that Jesus appeared at the end of his bed. I believe him. It changed his life completely. Wherever we broke bread – restaurants, bbqs, picnics, or at the ranch, we always held hands and Dave would say a blessing. He thanked God for his friends, his gifts and even his challenges. His faith never wavered;  it seemed to strengthen every day.

He shared with me his love for music.

I accompanied Dave to the Glacier Symphony several times a year. We watched them perform at Rebecca Farm, on the water in Bigfork, at Flathead High School, the Christian Center and the Whitefish Middle School. He’d tell me about the lives of the various composers, the differences between the instruments, how he idolized John Zoltec, and his appreciation that came from his mother. We’d dress up, have a special dinner that included seafood and always a chocolate dessert. Those evenings Chica begrudgingly sat in the backseat. This past winter he sheepishly told me he was having a great time but it was at my expense. When I asked, he said everyone keeps asking me who the blonde is but I don’t answer. I had to laugh, too.

Dave and I shared a wonderful friendship. I still have bags of peppermint tea in my purse that I carried with me in case we went somewhere they didn’t serve his favorite drink. My mother was visiting from New York a couple weeks ago and we had lunch at the ranch. Dave said he really wanted to know where I came from. He could rest assured I hadn’t been hatched. He and Mom had a great time comparing their surgical scars as I prepared the meal. They talked about me as if I wasn’t there, swapping stories. He always included me on the cattle drives with Kathy and Steve. I realize it was work but those days were some of the best memories of my life.

I will always treasure everything that Dave taught me- love of God, love of family, love of the land, love of music and love of cattle. I know how happy he is now. He is my hero riding his horse well into his eighties. What I miss is knowing that there will be no more Friday afternoon phone calls asking if I want to meet at “our place” – Scottibelli’s. No more driving the cattle up the mountainside to summer pasture and down again in the fall. No more long conversations about the composers before the symphony. What I do have is the gifts he left – love, laughter, friends and a sense of home in Montana.

Pat McGlynn

11/27/13

Return

Even though it is still August, the air was crisp like an autumn morning today. Droplets of dew hung heavily on the long grasses and glistened as the early rays of sun peeked over the back hill. It was the first morning in ages I was able to settle into my camp chair without the harassment of wasps. On cold mornings, this is the place I choose to drink in the first dose of warmth. My feet find the prefect ottoman on the concrete wall and coffee slides down sensuously. This is the time of day I feel closest to my Creator, my Source. As the day makes its debut, I am filled with gratitude and a sense of peace. I am intoxicated by the sun rises over the Atlantic, swept away by the colors of the early morning over the Kalahari and I anticipate the grandeur of watching the sunrise over the Glacier peaks. The cabin sits in a canyon and I do not observe the sun until it is fairly high in the sky but the pleasure is still palpable.

As I say my morning prayers, I am filled with love and appreciation for the people that come in and out of my life. I see how each interaction has added to the tapestry of my life with its own unique color and texture. "God has sent us only angels." Conversations with God, Neale Donald Walsh. I let the images of people, places and situations percolate through my being and gave thanks to their contributions for assisting me in developing into the person that am today. My awareness dove into my heart center; I felt a finger of light and love reach out from my heart to all of those I have cherished, both past and present. Compassion, healing, understanding and deep affection poured from my center to theirs.

What came to me is that "freedom is the highest expression of love". That made sense, no judgements, no boundaries, no needing to meet someone else's needs. Ok. So, I am sitting feeling content that I have come to a place where I have emotionally set all these people free. I have sent them love and light and come to a feeling of peace. Then, I think of the Return. Wouldn't absolute freedom and therefore the highest form of love include the allowing of reconnection with the same love and light?

A friend of mine posed a thought provoking question. He asked, "do you think it is spiritual to allow your partner total freedom in the relationship even if it means spending time with another?" Wow. My conditioning tells me one answer but my being knows the reality. We are love. That is all we are, it is all we can ever be. Anything that stands in the way of knowing that truth is fear based on conditioning and outdated belief systems. Recognizing that all the people that I have interacted with are pure love, some are simply more in alignment with their knowing of this fact, allows me a new perspective. Marriages disintegrate, friendships crumble, families disown each other - because they are unwilling to allow the return. Blame, shame and guilt is heaped on one party or both and there is no compassion. The story of the prodigal son in the Bible has more meaning to me in this light.

What if one of the people that I have "set free" came back and stood on my porch asking to renew our connection? Would I be able to see past the old story to accept them as the loving being that they are? Would I remember the mirror that they were for me and how they helped me along my path? Would I recognize the gifts that they provided at just the time I required them? It comes back to self knowledge. It comes back to seeing our roles in a new light. There is no forgiveness when we realize that these individuals all came to us for our growth. The pain, the hurt, the conflict was all an illusion we created to demonstrate where we still needed work.

Allowing the return does not mean opening up ourselves to abuse, or sexual coercion or struggle. I feel it as absolute acceptance of the God inside the other. It is the laying down of barriers, weapons and walls in order to see their Divinity. I trust myself and love myself enough to know that I will make choices that are for my highest good in this new dynamic. There are many wonderful people that have come and gone from my life. Their presence was a blessing even if I did not always see their contribution at the time. I have learned so much from them. I have been on both sides of this equation. I have attempted to reconnect friendships and been turned away. I have also been afraid to allow another's return in fear of a repeat of old patterns. When I declined, I see it is me again I didn't trust to design new parameters. By holding onto the past, I have been shooting the messenger for the awareness that they brought. Those lessons can be painful if resisted. I now realize I can open my heart and create unlimited possibilities of interaction. People who push me away do not wish to hear the message that I bring or uncover the wounds they have hidden from themselves. I cannot possibly know what my role is in their lives just as I am not fully conscious of theirs in mine. It is not personal. When there is a lesson they are requiring, if I don't bring it, the next person will. Have no doubt. The same situations will keep appearing with different faces until we finally see. This is the "pie in the face place".

Letting someone go in love and light is noble, but allowing them to return to share in our love and friendship takes it a whole step beyond. This takes the expression "freedom is the highest form of love" to a higher level and acknowledges the God within all of us. For me, the answer to my friend's question is, "absolutely". To love your partner or a friend enough, to feel secure enough in your own being, to trust yourself completely and to give them their freedom to come and go is an enlightened, spiritual individual. This is my work in progress.

I just heard the call of the red tailed hawk and went outside to find him sitting in the tree next to my house. He was telling me to get outside on such a gorgeous day and stop wasting daylight. There will be more time to contemplate. Cherries are ripe on the trees and ready for harvest!

Reflection

It is a rainy summer night.The Earth is drinking in the long awaited moisture. I can almost hear the trees breathing a sigh of relief and see them flexing their limbs. The hummingbirds dart under the porch roof to sip at the feeders before night falls. I pull my fleecy sweatshirt closer to my chin and feel the cool, damp air kiss my face. I let this week float through my mind and allow the wisdom to rise to the top.

I am aware that relationships are an opportunity for measuring how far we have journeyed along our spiritual path. We cannot know ourselves in a void. Often it is a way of acknowledging who we are not, as much as who we are choosing to be. Relationship can be with a co-worker, a friend, a child or a parent. Bringing another person into our space allows us to have a mirror of our internal process. I have read many times, "if there is something about another person that you don't like, look inside yourself and find it there." I did not find that useful. If I saw or read about someone who stole, or cheated or lied, I would say, "not me. I don't do that." Lately, I have been looking deeper. It's not the action, it's the fear or emotion behind the action. I may not make racist remarks but do I harbor judgement? I may not outwardly criticize but am I afraid that I am not good enough? If I feel a charge, then I know I must look at my reflection.

My cabin affords me the luxury of letting very few people into my space. I have chosen not to have radio, television or newspaper. This place has been my monastery of isolation to propel my inner exploration. When someone enters my life, it is because they have something to teach me. I am aware enough to realize I must watch and listen. When someone acts from a place of fear by withdrawing, or creating conflict or needing to create outcomes, I must look deep inside myself. My actions may not be the same but this person is here to show me something I have asked to see. I have to be especially careful when I want to find fault or blame the other, they are my mirror.

Some authors will refer to old, emotional wounds as stuck emotions or thorns or hot buttons. It is an inescapable part of life to carry at least a few. I remember getting very defensive about a letter I wrote to an academic administrator. I was not criticized for the content, but for not passing the letter through the proper chain of command. I was upset because I thought he was attempting to "put me in my place." What took me awhile to see was that I was not feeling worthy of respect; I was not coming from a place of empowerment; I was doubting my own ideas. It was me putting me in my place.

In the same vein, when a partner has left the relationship, I have been forced to look at my own feelings surrounding the situation. Instead of pointing a finger at their fear of commitment, I see my own. I am so positive I am ready and yet my mirror shows me that I am afraid of losing my freedom. My intellect would certainly deny this accusation. My outside reality reflects my inner truth. I had not come to fully trust myself to balance commitment with independence. I think that I am afraid the other person will take control when in fact it has been me that does not trust me to not give up my power. The other is simply being my mirror reflecting back what I need to see.

When I see the things I love about another person - like generosity, kindness, a gentle spirit - I also know that these are the things I can see in myself. It has been a bumpy road to get to this place of Self love. I cannot expect to truly love another until I can accept all of me. I see the places that still need work and I see the places that really shine. I am a work in progress. Several years ago, my oldest said, "Mom, I think you are looking for a male version of you." I thought that was so funny when only a short time before I had been looking for all the things I thought I wasn't. It took much of my life to come to a space of appreciation about the person that I am. When the time is right I will once again ask to have a relationship teach me more. The other will reflect who I am. Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall.

War

Ok, this is it. I have thrown down the gauntlet. I am tired of dodging and racing from yellow jackets every time I walk out my back door. It is my fault. I let my guard down. This spring I was preoccupied and let some duties slide which included getting out the wasp lure early in the game. I know from experience if you have the traps set when the queens are hunting for a nesting site and you snare them, you wont have any wasps all summer. Tough life, only the queens overwinter, the rest of them die. I wonder if the wasps that are so eagerly protecting her now have a clue how this is going to go down? Anyway, I digress.

This morning I began planning my attack. I watched to see where they were coming in and out of the chinks in the cabin. I cut white electrical tape into small sections and each time I saw a wasp enter a crevice, I snuck in and quickly stuck a piece about an inch above the opening. In my haste to retreat while being pursued, my flip flop caught on the low concrete wall and I went sprawling into the grass. I could have added a sprained ankle to my anger at these buggers but I was lucky. Just a bruise to show for it. As I stand back and look at the rear wall of the cabin, it looks like an adolescent with his first try with a straight razor. Little bits of white dot the wall.

I wait for nightfall when I can empty a can of bee spray into these nests and hopefully rid myself of these invaders. I am not happy doing this but they will not live peacefully with me and my pets. That was always the one rule I had on my farm. No fighting. If a rooster, pig or ram began fighting, he was gone. It only happened a few times but I would not tolerate anyone getting hurt by one of my animals. If you cant get along, you are history. These wasps are making it impossible for me to unload my groceries or enjoy the early morning sun with my coffee. One of us has got to go.

I have declared war and now I must follow through. No prisoners. No negotiations. Plans drawn, weapons ready, I attack at sunset.

Easter

As the sun rose behind my little cabin I felt the warmth seep into my body through my flannels. I stood with my coffee blessing this glorious Easter morning. All that could be heard was the wind rustling and far off geese returning for the summer. I blessed this day and all its symbolism. This day conjures up a multitude of meanings and memories.


I feel that the stone has been rolled away to reveal a me that I had not known. My stories about who I am, who I have been and where I am going have created only limitations and darkness. By questioning all that has been handed down to me, all that I have accepted and all that I believe, I am resurrecting myself.

My reality is a creation of my own design, like painting a beautiful egg with glitter and pastels. My illusions have been easily cracked and broken. This happens to many of us when a marriage fails, a child becomes ill, a job disappears, or a house is destroyed. I do not know what is inside my neighbor’s egg. Is it filled with delectable sweetness, is it filled with nourishing sustenance, is it old and rancid? As my egg cracks and crumbles, I see the life that is struggling to break free. It is a power that is growing and stretching its wings. It teeters and wobbles yet continues to thrive.

The light of our Creator fills the cavern I had prepared to protect myself. The rock of meanings I had so strategically placed disintegrates in the brilliance. My hiding is over. I greet this day with full presence. I am all that I am. I am filled with appreciation and the willingness to question all of the boundaries built by me and accepted from others. Happy Easter!