The Depth of Winter

I went to a meeting last night and an acquaintance said to me, “Why haven’t I seen your writings in the magazine or on your blog?” I realize my pen has gone still.

I think back to December. I lost two of my best friends in one week, one to death, the other to distance. I’ve spent the dark of winter in reflection and contemplation. A forty day journaling exercise found me uncovering buried beliefs that had been hidden since childhood. Questions flooded my mind pertaining to reality and illusions. With the loss of three confidants in one year, I faced my fear of abandonment and stared down the nose of my need for approval. Digging at the roots of these limitations has allowed me to remove much of the foliage that has tangled my steps forward. Who am I without their support and nurturing? Where am I going without their guidance? What is my role in the world if not to tend to those around me?

All of this uncovering and peeling away has left me a bit raw and tender. My heart is fragile in its openness. The light is burning its way into my soul to fill me with a new sense of purpose and direction. I am swimming in the void and am not sure which way is up. My instinct is to swim as hard as I can to reach a shore and yet, I realize it is the time to surrender and float. The winter is still upon me and the spring will awaken my senses. I must have faith that all is in perfect order and of myself I can do nothing.

I am reminded every day to stop trying to push doors open and wait for Divine Timing. Life is. I Am. These are the only things I can know for certain. Energies run high and yet I remain unmoved. My pen is still, but it will flow once more. Spring is just around the corner.

40 days

This has been an interesting start to the year. On the full moon, that kicked off this new year of the rabbit, I began writing a 40 day journal. Each morning I rise between 5:00 and 5:30 am, light a candle, and pull out my new workbook. I list all the things I am grateful for and all the things I would like to bring into my life. I sit in the stillness in front of the wood fire and see my reflection dancing on the window panes. I am 21 days into my 40 days endeavor. Jesus was in the desert 40 days and 40 nights. He sought clarity. Each morning I become more sure of my purpose and my direction. My writing has been directed at the process of uncovering hidden belief systems that block my progress. I am amazed at my daily revelations. "If I have more, someone has less. If I get something, someone else goes without. I dont need a grand house, just a roof over my head. Dont be selfish. Who do you think you are? You are to be seen and not heard. No one wants to hear your opinion."

As this new moon tonight conjuncts my house of creativity, I feel my writing wanting to spring forth once more. I have spent 3 weeks in quiet reflection, a wonderful way to spend the long nights. I am half way through my experiment. I feel more connected and more alive. Each day, I do my best to bring this energy to my workplace. I will keep you posted on my process. Love is all around us. It is my job to remove the blocks that I have built that keep it out. I am taking down my walls brick by brick, stone by stone. I've been hiding behind them since childhood. I saw myself as a child, hiding under a heavy wool blanket under the dining room table. I was afraid of the dark and all alone. All at once, the blanket fell off and I was dazzled by the fact that my father was in his winged back chair in the living room next to me and I never knew he was there reading. The lights glowed peacefully and I climbed into his lap. The darkness had been my own doing. I was afraid because I did not know that I was never really alone.

I cant wait to find out what other mysteries I will discover on this journey.

Transition

It has been an interesting start to 2015. I have been absorbed by the energy of stillness. There is a power in the quiet, some underlying courage. The snow has been piling up the cabin walls as it slides off the tin roof. There are white banks as high as my kitchen window and the path to my door is beginning to look like a labyrinth of twisting tunnels. My pen and I have been silent. It is a period of rest and recharging. My mornings are spent reflecting and envisioning. I stretch my legs in front of the fire and snug my afghan around me. The break in office duties was welcome during the holidays. The feeling of calm has persisted, which is strange, yet wonderful. The calm before the storm,maybe? No, I think more the resting before the launch. This year is full of promise and opportunity. I am wondering if I am just more accepting of the flow this year. The long nights are welcomed instead of being endured. I go to bed early, tucked into my flannel sheets, allowing myself to rejuvenate and dream deeply. The endless summer days will be here soon enough. They will be filled with outdoor activities and home maintenance. Sleep will not be a priority then. So for now, I am content to enjoy the solitude, shovel once more and settle in with a book for a change. 

Happy New Year

“I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes. Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You're doing things you've never done before, and more importantly, you're doing something.”

― Neil Gaiman

Proposal off to editor

I am so excited to have the Hay House book proposal off to the editor for final polish. This has been quite the journey. The project was a test in perseverance. I wondered how many obstacles and challenges could keep coming up that took all of my attention. We had a major external review of our department that took about 3 weeks in November. I've lost two dear friends through death and distance in the past 2 weeks. Lakota suffered an injury that required hand walking again - at least only a week this time. Then holiday preparations and an unexpected training in New York.

Life happens. My calendar had been cleared in order to focus on my writing but the Universe had different plans. In my heart of hearts, this is my passion. Writing, telling stories. I will continue to write whether or not I get the contract from Hay House. I will not let my self worth hinge on this contest. For too long, I have set aside my dreams because I might appear foolish, I might meet with disapproval, I might fail.

I cannot see the ending of the story of my life. I am happy about that. The choice I make is to see my last few chapters as disappointments or as going out with a huge exclamation point. What will I leave behind that will impact the next generation? How can I leave the planet a better place?

"In the end, we will conserve only what we love, we will love only what we understand, and we will understand only what we are taught."
This quote from Baba Dioum has been my tag line on my signatures, business cards and stationary for over 25 years. I feel like the native, wise woman that passes along the stories of how to care for the earth. Getting children into nature and allowing them to get their hands dirty is my biggest thrill.

The submission date is December 28 but I am leaning towards submitting on the new moon and solstice on the 21st. The results will be posted on face book on January 28 on the Hay House website. I know you will join me in sending positive, light filled energy with this proposal.

Best wishes,

Pat

Someone to Tell

Tonight the wind whipped across my face in the dark. The full moon was hidden behind the moving storm clouds. The rustle of the grasses and the shaking of the aspens created a symphony of sensations. Light mist kissed my cheeks turned up to the sky as I leaned against the car. The scent of the pines wafted downhill and surrounded me. I stood alone in the driveway buffeted by the evening and I wished, I had someone to tell.

I loped around the arena being carried by a thousand pounds of muscle and heart. She moved like a rocking horse evenly and steady. Ta Dum, Ta Dum, Ta Dum. My hips moved in rhythm to her legs; we were as one - she and I. I could feel my chest ever expanding, overflowing with love and affection for my partner. Her ears flicked forward then back, listening to my every word. She was light on the reins, waiting for my slightest command. The mare and I had traveled a painful journey and now we had arrived. All of the trials and fear, waiting and perseverance had been worth it. We were moving in unison, connected through bodies and breath. My hands steady, my weight dropping into the saddle, my legs slightly forward-and she slowed to a halt. Perfection. This feeling was intoxicating. I floated from her back and wrapped my arms around her neck; heart to heart, my forehead pressed against her shoulder. The ride meant everything to me and I wished, I had someone to tell.

The sun baked upon the tour group as we traversed across the ruins. I felt I had stepped into a National Geographic magazine. The Coliseum, the stone aqueducts, the columns a thousand years old. The marble angels, the David, the Celestine Chapel. I was in awe of the beauty of Rome. Fountains everywhere, each a grouping of Gods and Goddesses pouring water over their nakedness. The aroma of tomatoes boiling and bread baking filled the air. These were only enhanced by the scents of espresso and wine. I took pictures of families and they returned the favor. Me at a cathedral, me at the Duomo. The history, the architecture, having seen these places only in calendars and books, I was living a dream. I only wished, I had someone to tell.

I pulled the towel from my head and combed out the knots. The morning ritual had begun as each tress was dried and curled into place. My hands moved rhythmically across my hair in a silent dance of preparation.

My thoughts are on the day. I set my intention. I contemplate the struggle between Spirit and Ego. I wrestle with the option to build or to buy, a house in town or a house with a view? I drift into dreams of luxury vacations aboard a sailing schooner. Can you see the Greek Isles while the sail billows above? The salt spray is inhaled with each wave we crest. The gulls circle our ship as the chef carries the tray of champagne and cheese. The white linen pants I wear, gently sway against my tanned legs. My lover lays a kiss on my brow as I toast another day of love and abundance.

Ouch! The iron descends into the sink after scorching my finger. Drink the coffee. Pack the lunch. Clients to see. Decisions to make. As I lay on the lipstick, I drift once more. How do you know when to push and when to let go? How do we know what comes after this existence? Does everyone question life as much as me? Sometimes I wish, I had someone to tell.

I was so afraid alone in the desert. Hadnt he accosted me? Hadnt I used the only threat that could save my life? What was I doing on the other side of the planet from all that I knew? My vow was to return to this place one more time. It was a now or never, do or die precipice in my life. I was going to stand on that dune in the Kalahari, on Easter as the sun came up on my 50th birthday. I made it! My tears poured forth in joy and relief, as the rays crept over the sand. He had not touched me, the torrents from the storm had not washed me away and the lightening had not struck me. I was still here.

I have known violence from an early age at the hands of men. A knowing sprung forth that no man would ever force me again, the day I earned my black belt. Abuse stopped here. No more stalking, rape, beatings or hostility. Someone referred to me as “rage under control.” That was me and that was then. I had spent decades in fear. Now I am free. I have faced terror and pain. I carry those scars inside. I only wish, I had someone to tell.

I lay down on my pillow. The flannel is soft wand warm. Cats purring along my legs. The dog stretches and yawns. I can hear the pellets drop into the stove as the fan begins to hum. All is quiet, time for sleep. I long for the strength of a man to lie beside me and hold me close. Trusting that he will be the protector, the defender against the things that go bump in the night. The woman in me is yearning to cook and provide for him, to make a home that is peaceful, sacred and serene. The child in me searches for a playmate, a friend to share secrets and play hide and go seek. Buckets of ice cream long after dark, pillow fights and racing on bikes. We run; we laugh; we play. I am a woman and a child. I only wish, I had someone to tell.

A best friend is someone whom we share our most intimate thoughts – our dreams, our fears, our passion. Our stories feel empty when we are separated from this person through distance or death. My wish for you is that you always, have someone to tell.

Unexpected Pathways pre-order!

http://www.futuresinspired.com/unexpected-pathways-project/

Unexpected Pathways: "The Journeys of Women in the Workforce”
I am excited to announce the publication of this new book. I am one of several authors that have contributed their life stories to motivate and inspire other women. Take a peek!