Sunday, March 22, 2020

Sustaining Our Lives

Hey everyone- have not been on social media much. Long before current collective challenges the chronic illness I live with (M.E. Myalgic Encephalomyelitis) was flaring and I knew I needed to step back from everything. Then there was my mother's death, followed by the hacking of my facebook page (so grateful FB got rid of the hackers.) Life!

Now I am finding it hard to see the misinformation and fear-of-fear denial (that could hurt us all) on social media. Turns out yelling, "No! Just. . . NO!" or "Aw, come on!" at your computer screen does little or nothing for a struggling immune system. :-) So I am taking a break. I am fine- I spend a lot of time in social isolation and always have lots of supplies and food because I often don't know when I will be able to get out. And the city is much quieter than usual- which I love.

But, in the meantime, I came across this little story posted by my dear friend Linda Mulhall. It delighted me and reminded me how stories- lived or told or both- open our hearts and imaginations to truths that can sustain us. Hope this one delights you as much as it did me. Be safe. Be well. Take care of each other. - Oriah

At forty, Franz Kafka (1883-1924) who had no children, was walking through the park in Berlin when he met a girl who was crying because she had lost her favourite doll. She and Kafka searched for the doll unsuccessfully. Kafka told her to meet him there the next day and they would come back to look for her.

The next day, when they had not yet found the doll, Kafka gave the girl a letter 'written' by the doll saying, "Please don't cry. I took a trip to see the world. I will write to you about my adventures."

Thus began a story which continued until the end of Kafka's life. During their meetings, Kafka read the letters of the doll carefully written with adventures and conversations that the girl found adorable.

Finally, Kafka brought back the doll (he bought one) that had returned to Berlin. "It doesn't look like my doll at all," said the girl. Kafka handed her another letter in which the doll wrote: "My travels have changed me." The little girl hugged the new doll and took her home, happy. A year later Kafka died.

Many years later, the now-adult girl found a letter inside the doll. In the tiny letter, signed by Kafka, it said, "Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in another way."

Thanks to the Mentors Channel


Wednesday, January 15, 2020

My Mother's Death

My mother passed away on January 7, 2020. It's a complicated loss, but I have received so many messages of support and prayers, I feel held in love. This has helped me sit with the grief as it arises.

What I've realized is that my grief is rooted in the sadness of knowing I could not save my mother from her constant underlying anger and deep unhappiness. I've known this for a long time, but I've discovered that some forever-young part of my being had not quite given up- because children often don't give up. They keep trying and hoping. As a child I would have done anything to save her. And I tried endlessly.

And now. . . . now, I hope and pray she is free of the unhappiness and the rage. I hope she is deeply at peace. I do not want her to suffer. And I want the young part of me that danced as fast as she could in the hopes of making her mother smile- I want her to feel her mother is at last, free.. ~Oriah

This photo of a sun pillar at sunset by Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming felt appropriate- a soul-light flaring before it disappears from view,


Friday, December 13, 2019

Dreaming Together

We are approaching the winter solstice here in the northern hemisphere. The nights are long. For me it is a time of deep rest and dreaming. And oh how the world needs our dreaming these days. But was there ever a time when that was not true?

In the shamanic tradition in which I trained, the Dreamers are those who work in what is called the Fifth Dimension to create that which manifests here in our shared world. I suppose another way of saying that is we feed the collective unconscious, from which springs many of our choices, with how we treat each other, how we envision and work for peace and justice, how we refuse to put those who disagree with us out of our hearts as something less than fellow human beings. (And yes, in this some days are better than others.)

I am so grateful for the prayers and good wishes you have all sent- and my eyes and vision are slowly and steadily improving. Still not looking at a lit screen much- but hopeful that I will be able to here more in the new year.

In the meantime, let's dream together in the fertile darkness (even as those of you in the southern hemisphere hold the light) for ourselves, the Earth and all her children. ~Oriah

Stumbled across this photo previously posted on Facebook. Sometimes my own words come back to remind me of something I thought I could never forget but need to hear again.


Tuesday, November 19, 2019

Visioning

Dear Friends, well, you may have noticed I am here even less than usual. There is a reason. My eyesight is impaired. I have always worked predominantly with one eye (my other eye has about 10% vision- optic nerve problem) and right now my "good" eye is not doing well. Not looking for advice- have doctors and healthcare practioners and we are on it. Aside from the pain (think ice pic in eye) I have to give the eye a rest- which means not looking at a lit screen and no reading. The latter is my lifeblood- always has been (and yes, I know I can listen to audiobooks but it is not the same!)

So, aside from concern about my vision this poses an interesting situation: I cannot read or be on line. My ongoing chronic illness shapes a lot of what else I can do- so I have come to rely on both activities to occupy myself and stay connected with the world.

What I realize is how much I use being online to distract myself- from pain, from the ongoing and relentless sounds of construction on my apartment building, from my own frustrations, foibles and uncomfortable feelings. And now, that distraction is not available. What will happen? I admit, I am a sucker for learning so, as much as I want my sight and the internet back, in my better moments I am more curious than frustrated.

And, I will (I think) be back when my eye is feeling better. In the meantime, I have a whole new apprecation for the visual beauty of the world- and so will share a little of it here in a photo from dear friend Peter Marmorek. ~ Oriah


Tuesday, October 29, 2019

Messages from the Misty Morning

This morning is shrouded in mist. Lying in bed I started to make "a plan"- a way to efficiently get lots of things on my to-do list done. But when I pulled back the curtains, the mist-soaked world was still dreaming, and it whispered to me, "Breathe. Soften. Follow the impulse to move slowly and see where and how you go."

Of course, most mornings, many don't have that option- there are children to be dressed and fed; preparations for the work day; the need to plunge into the movement of getting where we need to be at a particular time. Years of this can teach us to value only that which fits a very narrow definition of productivity.

Chronic illness loosened my grip on believing worth was exclusively tied to what the world defined as "work." Even as I write this I feel how hard it is (even when the choice is taken from us by changing abilities) to surrender to slowing down, to take a deep breath, to sort out what really "must" be done immediately and what could be set aside, or done in a way that lets us taste the movement and make room for the unexpected.

I know, I know- this is not how our world works. So, slowing down- even just mentally for the first five minutes of our morning, or for three breaths in middle of the morning- is an act of defiance, an assertion of our commitment to stay connected to life as it is lived in this one small human being. ~Oriah

Photo by Conal Gallagher at https://tinyurl.com/yxacrndw


Monday, September 23, 2019

Holding The Darkness and The Light

It's the Equinox- equal moments of light and darkness today. Harvest time in the northern hemisphere- planting time in the south. I trust the light that does not deny the darkness, and I can rest deeply in the sheltering darkness when I kowing the promise of the returning light.

A short while ago I connected with a woman who knew my mother's family years ago She is kind and committed to focusing on the positive- a light for many in the darkness. Then she shared with me that she'd lost a son years ago, and suddenly- for me- her light held depth and strength as well as brightness.

So let's hold them both today- the dark and the light, the being lost and being found, the pain and the joy. Let's allow the darkness to give depth to the light and feel our way together through the dreaming that guides us when we are no longer afraid of the dark. Blessed Equinox dear friend. ~Oriah

Spectacular photo is by my dear friend Peter Marmorek


Sunday, September 8, 2019

On The Eve of My Birthday

I was born at 9 am on the 9th day of the 9th month. Some numerologists have told me that this means I will be incredibly wealthy in my lifetime- and I am, in a thousand different ways.

I am loved- by two wonderful sons who are magnificent men. Honestly, I feel I can take no credit for this- I have always been in awe of what open-hearted, smart, generous, funny, kind people they have both always been. They taught me how to love just by being.

I am loved by friends- some of whom I have known for more than four decades. We have given each other support through births and deaths (literal and metaphorical,) not always agreeing, but always loving, holding and making each other laugh. It is good to be seen and loved by people who knew me before my hair was white and my recall of most nouns floundered!

I live in a country where being raised in a working class family was not a liability- where the education system is good and healthcare, a right for all. I am grateful that I have been able to contribute to and receive from the collective pot that provides so much for us all.

I have had a chronic inflammatory neurological disease for 36 years, and I think it would be fair to say that it is not improving with ordinary aging. Honestly, I wish I could have said, “Pass” on this experience. And I have received things from it. I have learned to live with the reality of how little we control or know, and that has made me more generous with others as I realize I know very little of what challenges they face daily. It has taught me that kindness is often the only thing that matters. And it has given me great respect for physical reality. To be human is to be, amongst many things, a physical organism, is to be small, brief and highly biodegradable. And this knowledge helps me enjoy the way the sun slowly lights up the sky at 5 am, sitting on my tiny apartment balcony in July; the taste of fresh buttered corn in August; the feel of clean crisp sheets as I crawl into bed.

I live in a time and a place under circumstances where I have enough good food to eat and a comfortable home that is not at risk of being bombed in the foreseeable future. And this home has hot running water, central heat, and electricity. These are not things I take for granted. These are things many do not have.

And I have books! I live in a city with a library that is the most publicly used book lending system in the entire world! Right now I have three of these books in my home, and I am on the wait list for nine others (which will be duly delivered to the library two blocks away when they become available.) And this embarrassment of riches that gives me access to the stories that lift my spirit, educate my mind and bring me sheer delight are all provided by sharing collective resources so that there is no fee-for-service. It would be fair to say that as a child, books saved my life- and all of those books came from the local public library. Great wealth indeed.

I could go on. And I will, in my journaling and my prayers. The numerologists are right- I have been given an abundance of that which supports life lived fully. And I am deeply grateful. Oriah