Dancing Anyway

Wounds can be healed
Some leave a scar
Some leave us walking
with a bit of a limp
We can spend years
trying to walk as if
we'd never been hit
Learning to pass as someone
who has never felt the blade
never been burned by the fire
Trying to fade every scar

Or we can accept what is
and move to the music as we are-
a little lopsided
tilting into the wind
coming to a sudden stillness
when a voice or a movement
ignites an old neural pathway
with the remembered scent
of blood and burning

We pause for just a moment
not breathing
Then exhale
and inhale
and move to the the melody once more

Some wounds
even after they're healed
leave us walking with a bit of a limp

But they cannot stop us from dancing

~Oriah "Mountain Dreamer" House (c) 2016

Photo from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming

Time Off-line

Blessed Full Moon and Solstice dear friends. Longest time of light here in the northern hemisphere, and longest night down-under. My heart, body and dreams are telling me to take a break from online life, including Facebook and this blog. I am off this week to a lakeside cottage - and then hope to get further up north to the wilderness I love a little later. Mostly I need to unplug, to step out of the stream of constant information, to go (internally and externally) quiet. And so, I will heed this call on this day of the fullness of the Summer Solstice light. I don't know what it will bring. I do know I will miss many of you. Following inner promptings- Oriah

And if you find yourself missing Karen Davis' spectacular photos like this one, please go to her Facebook page Open Door Dreaming

Kindness

I've been thinking a lot about kindness, about how it is often not my first (or second, or third. . . ) impulse. At some point I realized just how daunting and life-changing it could be to make my moment by moment intention, kindness toward myself, others- family, friends, strangers- and the world.

Kindness, in any specific instance, leaves no one and nothing out. Sometimes kindness requires that we walk away. Sometimes it asks us to dive in. Most often I find it asks me to pause, to slow down, to feel my way into the moment asking, what would kindness look like here?

In a world shouting that you must live your BIGGEST, BEST life, kindness can seem too tame, too quiet, too ordinary. But I begin to suspect that making room for kindness. . . .could take us beyond where we thought we could go, would unleash the breath-takingly wild and generous stuff of which we are made.

 ~Oriah "Mountain Dreamer" House (c) 2016

Gratitude to Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming for this wonderful photo.

The Little Things

So here's how the day started: I opened the fridge door to take out a one liter pitcher of homemade iced tea and. . . . dropped it. In the fridge. From the top shelf. Small picturesque waterfalls of brown liquid trickled down onto all the food below. I’d planned to take some tea back to bed and start writing there, in a leisurely way. Which is exactly what I did, leaving the fridge as it was. An hour later I went into the kitchen to embrace the opportunity to clean my refrigerator. (Ha!) As I opened the door and felt the cold tea dribbling onto the floor soak into my socks (happily black, not white) I flipped on a cd by Mary Chapin-Carpenter. She sang, "Some days you're the windshield, some days you're the bug. . " And I started to laugh. Of course, there are many things that are much more serious than kitchen spills. I recently spent time with people who were reeling (and still are) from the sudden and completely unanticipated death of a woman who was wife, mother, sister, friend, colleague and inspiration to many. One of the enormous privileges of living where I do, is that very few days are about life and death. A few are, and- as we would say in the shamanic teachings I’ve learned and shared- when death comes we have a chance to make it an ally. It is the reminder of impermanence. It is that which puts spilled tea and wet socks and most other things into perspective. My fridge and kitchen floor are cleaner than they’ve been in months. The sun is shining, and the children in the park next to my balcony are squealing and laughing as they run around as children do. Life is good. I am grateful. ~Oriah "Mountain Dreamer " House I love this photo- makes me smile. Like this little guy we are small and beautiful, and although sometimes solitary, always connected.Thank you Karen Davis at .Open Door Dreaming.