A Much Needed Pause

Lately I've been finding it hard to settle in myself. I am. . . antsy, unfocused, reluctant to do the things I know are good for me, tempted to go down the youtube rabbit hole of endless news and commentary. Then, yesterday, I received a book of poetry, and something in me stopped. . . opened. . . and I took a long slow breath. One of the poems was this one, a favourite of mine. I'm just going to leave it here with a wonderful sunrise photo from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming on Facebook. Hopefully, if you need a pause, a breath, a moment to remember what you know in your deepest being, it will help you as it helped me. ~Oriah

Things to Think by Robert Bly

Think in ways you've never thought before.

If the phone rings, think of it as carrying a message

Larger than anything you've ever heard,

Vaster than a hundred lines of Yeats.

Think that someone may bring a bear to your door,

Maybe wounded and deranged; or think that a moose

Has risen out of the lake, and he's carrying on his antlers

A child of your own whom you've never seen.

When someone knocks on the door, think that he's about

To give you something large: tell you you're forgiven,

Or that it's not necessary to work all the time, or that it's

Been decided that if you lie down no one will die.

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

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,

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.

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

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

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

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

How To Stop "Going At" Life

I was taught to “go at” things. Studying, working, writing, organizing, yard work, house cleaning, sewing, reading, praying, fasting, . . . .You name it, in my childhood anything worth doing was worth doing fast and going at it hard.

The shaman with whom I trained decades ago had been a US Marine. Yeah, that was part of the appeal: twenty-two days of ceremonial fasting and praying alone in the wilderness; combat training in the daytime and nights of ceremony on the Mohave desert; martial arts testing to see if we could stay centred and focused no matter what. One of the student's leg broke during a test. We all heard the bone snap. She went to the hospital and we just kept at it.

I used to apply the “go at it” motto to everything including my spirituality.

Old habits die hard.

The last seven months have been the most sedentary of my life. (ME/CFS/FM flare plus a broken foot bone that took a very long time to heal) I recently decided to exercise to see if I can regain some strength. The problem is, if I “go at” exercise I risk crashing the next day and ending up in bed for a week or two. . . or ten.

But I have no sense of where the line is. How much is too much? I can feel fine in the moment and be unable to get out of bed the next day.

So, I consider something on the lightest side of reasonable (like four sets of twelve reps on the weight machine at the local community centre) and cut that in half. This is harder than it sounds. I can hear my brother telling me I’m a wimp, can feel my mother shaking her head in disgust. And I think- what’s the point? How can it have any impact to work this slowly and effortlessly?

But here’s the thing: yesterday I noticed that I did not even break a sweat doing the twenty minute brisk walk I’d been doing for ten days. I thought I must have the wrong song on my headset, but nope. I had actually improved so much that the speed I was going felt effortless! How is this possible?

And I realized that not only was I taught that I needed to “go at” whatever I was doing in order to earn the right to be here and belong, I was also taught to believe that real gains were made (earned) only when we push ourselves.

And apparently that isn’t true!

I will increase my cardio. A little bit. Just enough to get my heart pumping a little. And I will stay at that new rate until my heart rate no longer increases at all.

What if we don’t have to try so hard?

What if pushing ourselves, pushes us right past the sweet spot of being fully here and present?

What if tenderness is more potent than toughness?

What if it’s not even that slow and steady wins the race, but that there simply is no race unless we create one? What if it’s not a marathon or a sprint. . . . but just a life lived as one small, brief and highly biodegradable human being?

What if what we have to offer is how we do whatever we are doing in this moment? And that is enough. ~Oriah

As always photos like this one from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming remind me of how the world creates beauty every day, effortlessly.

Live!

Robert Frost wrote: "A poem begins with a lump in the throat.” 

How can I write about all of the things that make it hard to swallow, that make the centre of my chest ache, that fill me with both protest and longing?

I hear about how more and more adults under forty are deciding not to have children because of the anticipated severity of climate change in their lifetime.

A radio report on the bombings in Sri Lanka tells me one woman lost three children. Three children. I pray she has more children who are still alive- not because I think it will take away the agony of loss, but because they might keep her breathing.

A friend tells me she has cancer. The fact of this sinks in. She is refusing chemo, as is her right. This fact sinks in. The thing that people don’t tell you about getting older is that this time of life is filled with losses. Do we ever get “good” at this- whatever “good at” might mean?

I sit still and let it all wash over me. And I notice the tree nearby has buds not yet unfurled but swelling with possibility.

I watch the small children running and squealing in the park next door, One falls and another stops the game to help him up, giving him a quick but enthusiastic hug with short arms, brushing debris off his jacket (although I’m pretty sure the dirt was more rubbed in than brushed off.) It makes me smile.

I listen to the sounds of construction on the building where I live. I watch the men- including those who hold a jackhammer for the better part of a day- wondering what that does to their bodies, knowing they are working to provide for themselves and those they love.

Everywhere, even in the aching places of loss and trepidation, I hear the world around me whisper, "Live!" ~Oriah

Thank you to Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming for this small visual anthem to spring and beauty and life. 

Letting Sorrow Open Us

There are moments when a world-weariness, a deep grief for what we human beings do to each other and the earth, threatens to swallow me whole. Sometimes distraction is the only way to keep breathing. But sooner or later I have to come back to the aching heart that both holds me and lives within me.

So, I've started this little practice when I am particularly discouraged: I decide that I will let the tragic event guide me to make ten small acts of kindness. I let someone into rush hour traffic in Toronto!  I pay for someone else's coffee or meal; I help a neighbour carry his groceries from his car to his home; I tell someone how wonderful they look today; I remember to look at the cashier, the librarian, the wait staff and really thank them for their work.

I do not expect this to change the world, and it doesn't replace collective political action where that is needed. But it keeps me going when something in me is tempted to give up on human beings. And, as I dedicate each action to the memory of those killed and the struggle of those wounded and terrorized yesteday in New Zealand, it helps me be with the enormity of the sadness.

What if every bit of heart-breaking news inspired us to be deliberately generous and kind with each other? ~Oriah

This wonderful photo from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming reminds me that whatever we do, however we are with ourselves and each other, it ripples outward to the world.

Challenging Ourselves To Receive Pleasure

What role does pleasure have in your life, your well-being, your healing? This was the question that challenged me most listening to some of the speakers on the Explore More Summit over the last week. I realized how completely I've been socialized into seeing that which is nourishing as a means to an end- a way to create sustainable energy so I can contribute to the world, and earn what I need (including connection and belonging.)

This isn't news (about moi :-) ) but I let myself consider- What happens if we think of that which gives us pleasure as an end in itself, a way to just en-joy being alive?

So, tell me what gives you pleasure.Tell me what senses it delights. I find pleasure in a hot bath (particularly during 20 below temperatures outside) - the way the heat sinks into my skin, my muscles, my bones.

What do you do simply for the pleasure it gives? Where do you receive pleasure without reservation? ~Oriah

Visually, one of my daily pleasures is enjoying the photos like this one from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming

Your One Thread

Twice in the last week readers have sent me messages, thanking me for writing that, "explores the inner landscape," and "focuses on our inner lives." I was surprised to find myself reacting defensively. I wanted to respond with, "But I pay attention to the external world too!" and "Wait a minute, I encourage people to participate in shaping our world!" I am infinitely curious about almost everything. Truly. If you know all about spiders, or you're an expert on house plants, or mitochondria, or Celtic magic, or the artificial intellilgence. . . I have questions, lots of questions. But my unending exploration is mostly about who and what we are and why we believe and behave as we do, individually and collectively. And that's okay, unless I've secretly (as in unconsciously, and without telling myself) bought into the idea that I "should" do it all, write about everything, be informed on all topics, and participate everywhere. Yeah, I know- you can almost see how I may have been primed for a chronic disease sometimes described as, "Brain on fire." (M.E.- Myalgic Encephalomyelitis.) The truth is, whatever we do, we are each one thread in the larger tapestry we are weaving together. And my thread is about this experience of being human, more exploration than explanation about why we are sometimes so insightful and clear and, at other times unconscious and baffled. As I sit with this, I realize it is enough, and I can stop pretending to myself that I must and will get to everything else someday. So, what is the thread you are weaving into this dream we share? What are the questions you return to again and again? What do you want to do no matter how tired you are? What sustains and enlivens you? ~ Oriah I am grateful that one of the ways Karen Davis offers us her thread is through photography. Deep thanks for this photo of a water weaving like a thread through the ice in her photo from Open Door Dreaming.

Being Inbetween

I am in an inbetween place, feeling my way into what is created when I can hold the tension between two old strategies, waiting for something new to arise.

I have a natural affinity for liminal times- dusk and dawn, spring and autumn- the moments where we are not what we were and not yet what we will become. I let go of what was to cross the threshold with empty hands, not knowing what I will receive.

It has always been like this with me- years ago I wrote this at the beginning of a poem about love-making:

I want to touch
the sharp taste
of the moment inbetween
the second just before
the place where
the breath catches
in anticipation.

My love of the inbetween makes me slow down. I want to stay awake, to feel the tension of not-knowing before I let go into what is as yet unseen. When I am able to do this I taste the sweetness of the journey itself. ~Oriah

The sun rising on the dark morning- feels like one of those inbetween times to me. Deep gratitude for this photo from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming

My Epiphany

Last night was the first new moon of the new year. I’d cleared out my inbox, my apartment. and my calendar in preparation for focusing on writing the book I've been working on. . . . forever. I felt nervous but determined. Despite a body-crushing fever and head-splitting migraine this was the day! (Yes, this "do-or-die" attitude has both helped me focus and taken me off track before.) This morning, in the tradition in which I was steeped as a child, is Epiphany- the story of the three kings bearing gifts journeying to honour the Christ-child, guided by a star. It is a story of following an unexpected light that appears in the dark landscape of not-knowing. This morning the Grandmothers of my dreams came and spoke to me. They told me what my body has been telling me for a decade: I cannot write this book in the way I have been trying to write it (as a memoir) without doing myself harm. Bodies and dreams never lie, but their languages of symptoms and symbols can be easily (and sometimes deliberately) misunderstood. The Grandmothers left me no room wiggle room for misunderstanding. "Write it as a novel. Let the truth shine through in a story that is bigger and deeper than your memory of the facts." I have faith in stories. They're what change us. They're how we live our nature as meaning-making animals. They open the imagination to new ways of seeing our own experience and our shared world. And I am terrified. I know how to write stories, but I write non-fiction, guided by facts that feel more solid than fiction. Opening the door to something that feels larger. . . . to a story I do not already know. . . feels risky. What if I can't do it? What if I write a crappy novel? And telling you about it here feels insane, because I have no idea where it will lead! (Really, it could eventually lead back to memoir, or into a spy novel, or pages filled with nonsense that will never be shared!) So there we have it: the shining star of my own longing to tell a story appearing in the dark night of not-knowing how. So, I gather my provisions (silence, solitude, and the quiet company of fellow travellers) and step into the journey, not knowing where it will take me. That's the thing about creative work of any kind- it's a lot like life: unpredictable, sometimes scary, and filled with dark nights and shining stars. ~Oriah Gratitude for this photo from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming- may we find the light of our own deepest longing reappearing on the horizon each day to guide us.

Being Guided

This is a little story about how prayers are sometimes answered in ways we don't expect.

I'm writing a new book. I start with stories. I think of it like gathering the raw materials- clay or stone- for a sculpture. This can evoke a sense of overwhelm as I sit with all I have gathered and struggle to find a structure for the book

Two weeks ago, I started to pray for help in finding this book's structure. A day later, I got a request to do an interview with Michael Gervais, a coach for the Seattle Seahawks  (yes, I had to look them up to find out they played football) who does a podcast called "Finding Mastery." I was leery. I know nothing about sports, and I tend not to use the word mastery because it awakens my inner perfectionist and can imply a promise of control where little is available. But I listened to his interviews with Brene Brown and others, and said yes.

To prepare, I started writing about what "mastery" might or might not be for me. An email from Gervais' office suggested I talk about the events and people who have influenced me most in my life. So I wrote some more.

At some point it occurred to me that this prep was rendering an outline for the book I was writing. And when the interview was postponed for a week, I got another seven days to refine my sense of the focus and flow for both the book and the interview.

Remembering my prayer, I laughted out loud. I had not thought of my prayer for assistance when the interview request was made, and yet here I was, finding a structure for the book.

In magic-making circles it is said that there is always "an infinity of solutions," so requests for assistance need to allow that which is larger to point to things we aren't even considering. This unfolding was a lovely reminder of just  how one thing can unexpectedly lead to another in the most delightful way. ~Oriah

I titled this stunning photo from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming, "Layers." Felt like a match with this little story about the layers of experience that can sometimes unexpectely lead us where we need to go.

Living With Others' Choices

How about a little pre-holiday prep for those family gatherings where we sometimes get our buttons pushed?

Let's try a little experiment: think of someone who has a specific behaviour that you feel is damaging to themselves or others or yourself. Maybe it's a family member who seems to make self-sabotaging choices. (We are always so much wiser when examining others' lives than we are our own :-) ) Or, it could be a co-worker or neighbour who does something that has a negative impact on you. Now think of this specifically in the form of "S/he won't . . . . ." (fill in the blank.) Say it to yourself a few times.

I think back to my marriage and how, over a lot of time, I discovered that the wasband was lying. A lot. About things that mattered and things that didn't. I felt hurt, angry, and baffled, often asking him, "Why won't you tell me the truth?"

On the day of my liberation from suffering about this, something odd happened. A lie he'd been telling came out (and a pretty serious one at that.) But instead of thinking, "Oh here we go- he just won't tell the truth," for reasons beyond my comprehension, I felt spectacularly calm and thought, "He can't tell the truth."

In that one small word change I got that 1) his lying actually had nothing to do with me; and 2) it was not going to stop in the foreseeable future. I actually asked him about this and, to his credit, he replied, "I could say it would stop, and really mean it, but no, it probably won't."

Seeing what someone can or can't do makes it less personal, but that doesn't necessarily mean we will want to stick around. He could not tell the truth. And I did not want to live with someone who lied to me daily. So, I left.

The truth is that we cannot know what another can or cannot do at any given moment. When we tell ourselves that someone "won't" do something, we are assuming they have a "real" choice (one they can see, access, and act on under current inner and outer conditions.) And the truth is we don't know if they could or couldn't do something differently. But when we tell ourselves they "won't" it's hard not to take it personally.

So, whomever you thought of at the beginning of this, think of them now and try saying to yourself (about whatever it is you wish they would do differently,) "S/he can't. . . . . "It's not a "solution" to that which impacts us, but it might make us more compassionate and accepting, and from there we can decide what our own choices really are. ~Oriah

When We Don't Need More Information

Some days, a small inner voice arises spontaneously: "You don't need more information." I know what it means. Whether it's news about things related to my health, my community or the world- there is information we need. But we are drowning in information, often overwhelmed by awareness of how much there is to know that we can now access.

But information is only one piece of participating. We need to sit with the information, holding it tenderly; we need to listen to the intuitive and instinctual responses rooted in our body and hearts; we need to let creativity move through us to find solutions and inspiration to act. 

And, of course, there are times when I (largely unconciously) use gathering information as a way to forestall the need to act or create or just sit in stillness to consider how I might best give to and receive from our shared world.

So, I am going to start listening to that little voice that whispers, "You don't need more information," and pause and ask- Is this information I can use in any way? Is there something I need to act on, something I can work with here to contribute? Is there something I am avoiding by gathering more information? Am I using endless gathering of information to feel like I am doing something that helps shape the world?

And from this pause, from a place of quiet spaciousness we can let the thread that is ours to weave into the collective tapestry find us. ~Oriah

One of the things I love about the photos from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming is that they slow me down and offer a reminder of the beauty and spaciousness that is.

Holding It All

This song by Sleeping at Last (the name used by singer-songwriter Ryan O'Neal) both gently challenges and deeply encourages me. The song mirrors my own history of believing I had to try harder, run faster, do more. . . .and reminds us that we cannot and do not need to "earn God's favor."

It's been a very busy week in the world- the US election (with attendant celebrations and disappointments;) the heartbreaking losses at the mass shooting in Thousand Oaks; the fires sweeping through California threatening lives and homes. I cannot think of any of these without feeling both the impulse to pray for those most directly affected and to take a moment, a day. . . to rest and replenish. (Happily one does not preclude the other.)

As O'Neal sings at the end of the song:

I'll hold it all more
loosely, and yet somehow
much more dearly,
'cause I've spent my
whole life searching
desperately
to find out grace requires nothing
of me

In the end grace is a gift, an opportunity to be touched by that which is larger, to live it all, to help each other where we can, to take turns so we can both rest and love deeply by participating in the world with kindness. . . to be the flawed and fabulous human beings we are. ~Oriah

Here's the link to the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-sO2UMoOaFQ

Learning To Live

What if you were sent here by something larger

Not against your will or wishes

But in alignment with your deepest longing

What if it was as simple as finding what you love

And letting it teach you how to live.

                                     ~Oriah "Mountain Dreamer" House

Photo by Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming