Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Spring?

I know I should be outside doing something but it is windy.  I think of pioneer women who went mad on the plains in the wind.  Days of this can drive one mad!
I have been trying to get another blog up and running for HerStory and rather than exercising I am sitting on my butt at the computer, thinking and swearing...at the computer!  I am thinking about story and how so many stories are sacred.  The lives of women who have passed and whose spirits remain; whose courage and spunk helped grow farms, children, families and more. I think of the invisible thread that connects me to these brave souls. They encircle life, mine, yours and those to come, as hopefully we will when we leave this earth.
Sacred story speaks to us of timeless lessons and offer us different ways of looking at our innermost core, who we are.  I like to think of this as exercising (as I really need to get some of that in today!) mythic memory. I feel so strongly that these ancestors really do live within and through us; their stories are our in so many ways.                                                        
I love "entering" the life of a woman who has been spoken of little, if at all in history, discovering who she it. It is a magic trip as I make her life my own for a little while and get to know her. I just finished posting Annie Smith Peck.  She was born in Rhode Island where I lived for so long, and was truly an amazing woman.  While she is spoken of, especially here in the extreme state of Colorado, she is still relatively unknown.

Well, maybe I will stop thinking for a bit and try the treadmill.  That will exercise something other than my mind and it is not windy inside!

Saturday, April 13, 2013

April 13, 2013
I thought spring was here but it was just a tease.  There are sprouts peeking up in the cracked earth and it still freezes at night.  How brave these little sprouts who in just a few weeks will be basking in the hot sun while they shoot up to that bright sky.
Life is so interesting with eyes open.  I have been reading a lot of Mary Oliver of late.  I have always loved her writing; really connected with it.  Often I have felt that she was writing straight to my heart.  There is so much beauty and wonder when I stop and observe.  There are so many gifts when I put fear aside and open myself.  Sprouts, birds, music, poetry, children, fresh eggs, the goats and the llama - they all hold deep secrets of joy - their gift to me.  The richness of March, each mild day sweeter than before, then the chill winds again and cold that bites my nose but April is here and each day I know there is a blessing in the air for me. Turn over the earth in the inner garden...planting seeds of "simplicity"in the fertile soil of our souls. Yes!  So grateful for the seeds, the gifts, the soil and the awareness of soul.

This particular poem of Mary Oliver touched me so very deeply that I want to share it.
The Lamps  
Eight o'clock, no later, 
you light the lamps. 
The big one by the large window,
The small one on your desk. 
They are not to see by- 
It is still twilight over the sand
The scrub oaks and cranberries.
Even the small birds have not settled yet.
For sleep yet of the reach 
of prowling foxes. No. 
You light the lamps because 
you are alone in your small house
And the wicks sputtering gold
Are like two visitors with good stories
They will tell you slowly, in soft voices
While the air outside turns quietly 
A grainy and luminous blue.
You wish it would never change -
but of course the darkness keeps 
Its' appointment. Each evening, 
an inscrutable presence, it has the final word
Outside every door.
                                                           From Twelve Moons

Tonight I will say a quiet prayer, thank the day, the spirit that gave it, the world that held me the lovers that sustained me and light the lamp on the table by the window and the one on my desk and listen to the voices.