Alexandra Lander's Blog

Together Apart
In and out of the same four rooms Blossoms outside the window A view rarely noticed until It becomes the new office Faces in a grid staring back at me My connection to the outside Where the heart still beats The world turns round And Mother Nature soothes With swaying trees against the sunrise And bird choruses heralding springtime
Runners break free of their confines Soaring down paths and avenues Silhouettes of the restless moving up and down steps In the empty stadium of a school devoid of life Where bells have gone silent and hallways empty Bearing no jubilant banners of prom or graduation Outside the heart still beats The world turns round And Mother Nature soothes With her fresh, fragrant breezes And rainbow-filled skies after the rain
Shoppers hurry by with averted glances Fearful eyes peering above meager masks The store darkened by underlying tension And the unspoken how long? HOW LONG? Clutching precious rations they rush out the door Where the heart still beats The world turns round And Mother Nature soothes With her technicolor blooms Warm sun on glittering rivers
Screens feed continual streams of data Numbers, graphs, trajectories, and photos Probabilities, possibilities…and no certainties As a giant question mark hovers over an unwritten future Screens also offer distraction, compassion, connection Faces of loved ones smiling and yearning to be near While our hearts still beat The world turns round And Mother Nature soothes With a spirit of unwavering courage And the will to live on

For the week of Valentine's Day...



Rise in Love
Evolved Over time, we come to understand love’s true nature After years of falling, hurting, getting back up and trying again We finally understand that we do not fall in love We rise in love
When we rise in love, it is not a helpless feeling or an out of control feeling It is arriving at a new consciousness Feeling a deep connection with our other A vibration in the heart radiates throughout the body We see our reflection in their eyes mirrored back at us The light in us recognizes and honors the light in them We find that we want their every happiness, their highest good We’ve got their back and we want them to succeed in all things When they suffer, we want to wrap them in healing warmth Giving to and doing for them brings us great satisfaction and joy We find our heart more open than ever to receive all of this in return We don’t wish to attach ourselves to them or hold them on a tether But to sail or fly along by their side, enjoying the shared journey Realizing that we are making each other’s lives even larger than before Physical yearnings and a desire to be closer are transcended, if necessary Because the experience of rising in love feels far greater, enduring In this way, no hurt results from rising in love One day there may be a divergence of pathways, and a graceful letting go But the love shared is everlasting, forever a part of us, contributing to our continuing evolution As we continue to rise





 

Nine years ago, I began training for my very first Half Marathon. Having it as a goal at that point in my life was therapeutic, as I'd recently lost a brother and my business and was healing from a crippling tennis elbow injury. I was also caring for my elderly mom who had minor dementia. Psychologically, running helped me feel free and "unstuck" and was really helping my body grow stronger. 

I post this now for people who may be considering venturing into long-distance running and marathons/10-Ks as a New Year intention.

I am here to tell you that anyone can do this, if they truly want to, and to cheer you on. I went on to complete three more half marathons before finally taking a break. 

But this was my first experience:  
 



When I saw the small, gray triangular silhouettes fast approaching in the northeastern sky…I turned off the music on my iPod and raised an arm to point at them.
“The F-16s!” I exclaimed to the runners around me.
In the next few seconds, they roared overhead on their majestic fly-over that signaled the start of the U.S. Air Force Half Marathon. The next thing I knew, I was sobbing…overcome with emotion from everything that had led up to this particular moment in time. The courage it took to become a distance runner this past spring, how running kept me sane in one of the scariest and most uncertain times of my life, the long and grueling training schedule through one of the hottest Ohio summers on record, all the minor muscle injuries I had to patiently treat and rest as my “rookie” body got used to such a workout, and how those jets and airplanes in general were what my hometown is all about. The Birthplace of Aviation.
“Okay, Tony,” I silently said to the spirit of my departed brother, who was the first distance runner in our family long ago. “Be with me today and be my guardian angel of the marathon.”
BOOM!
 The starting gun went off and everyone around me starting cheering. I let out a loud “woohoooo!” and turned my music back on—U2’s “Magnificent,” and began to dance and groove while waiting for the massive crowd to start moving forward. Seven minutes later, I was through the gate and trotting out of the Air Force Museum grounds…working my way around people into the free spaces. I felt the energy and excitement of the runners pulsating all around me and propelling me forward.
Gate volunteers clapped and cheered as we were off and headed up Springfield Street. Under the railroad trestle and out of the shadows, the morning sun shone brightly in our faces. Through my headphones, New Order sung:
I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see the light in the shade of the morning sun…
The playlist was no accident. I had carefully chosen and placed songs with particular tempos, grooves, and lyrics at the precise times I would need them the most.
The next stretch through Huffman Prairie was my favorite phase of the race. We ran a couple of miles through a cool, shady, and tree-canopied trail. Runners and walkers of all shapes, sizes, and in multiple colors wove in and out of one another…there were even a few wheel-chair runners and G.I.s doing the marathon in camouflage uniforms and laden with a heavy backpack. Wow. I could tell that everyone was feeling comfortable and running at a sensible, steady pace. Somewhere to the left of us stretched the long, flat field where the Wright Brothers once experimented with their first biplanes.We passed our first water and Gator-Ade station where a volunteer rock band was wailing away on some loud and driving tune. I laughed to myself, thinking how disorienting it must be for a band to be rocking out so early in the morning—when they’re used to closing bars at 2 a.m. and sleeping in till noon. Perhaps they pulled an all-nighter.
The next phase of the race took us through Area A of Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. Grassy green spaces gave way to the perimeter road that eventually took us along the flight line and through sections of the golf course. Now Michael Franti was urging me on:
            Everybody ona move (la la la)…everybody let’s move (la la la)            And you don’t stop, and you don’t quit, and you don’t stop…
Dear God in heaven, Skeel Avenue never seemed so LONG when I used to drive down it on my lunch hour, during my years of federal employment in a building nearby. Now it stretched out endlessly before me, only to be conquered one footfall at a time. Half way down it, I glanced up toward the Officer’s Club, where I used to go swimming as a child (my dad was a civilian, but ranked high enough to enable us to enjoy the facilities), and thought how very long ago that was.
Finally we ascended from the hot concrete to the lovely, tree-shaded housing area of generals and other high-ups in the military. People sat in lawn chairs in their yards or along sidewalks cheering us on. Little kids held out their hands to high-five the runners as they passed. I came upon a team of female runners with purple shirts that read: “Over 40 and kicking asphalt.” Of course I had give them a loud whoop.
The route got a little creative as it wound through homes and buildings…even going in a complete hairpin turn at one point…before proceeding out to the exit gate and ramp that led to I-675…where we merged with the full marathon runners coming in for their final leg from Fairborn.
I smiled to myself when all the runners around me stopped and walked up the ramp to the overpass. It was long and steep, and we knew we had to reserve what energy we had left for our big finish. And it was beginning to feel really hot with the sun overhead. Only the seasoned veteran marathoners trotted up slowly, but they were sparse…and I suddenly remembered a t-shirt I’d seen on sale at the Expo that said: SLOW IS THE NEW FAST. Hee hee!
A young G.I. stood near the top of the ramp and cheered us on, “You’re almost to the top. You can see it from here. Way to go!”
Finally a downhill and back to running! Bono sang to me:
            Oh…you…look…so…beautiful tonight – in the city of blinding lights        We left the overpass and headed up the road that runs behind Wright State University—my alma mater. I passed the daycare where I did part of my student teaching over a decade ago. WSU was supposed to be a huge spectator area, but there weren’t as many people as I thought, and none of them were my sister Carol—an experienced marathon runner who had come up from the Cincinnati area to support me on my big day. Oh well…onward and upward.
Upward indeed! GAH!!! Another sloping hill. I decided to run it. I was tired of stopping to walk—this was getting ridiculous. Newly refreshed from a Gator-Ade station (it’s amazing how a few gulps of that nuclear-looking elixir can perk you right up…that, and Blok energy gels, which I was popping into my mouth a little more frequently now that my energy seemed to be dwindling) and the Foo Fighters’ “Times Like These” encouraging me…I got to the top and saw my sister waiting for me on a curb, looking all smokin-hot in her purple tank top and sunglasses. I shouted her name, pointed at her and ran straight for her—and she finally saw me and came running up to give me a big squeeze and swish her hand on my back.
“Lookin’ good, Alex, lookin’ good! You’re doing great! Keep going, you can do it! You’re almost there!!!”
I was so happy to see her, but the hill had taken most of my breath. I giggled deliriously and rasped out my thanks and stopped to walk for a little before she released me back into the flow of runners and called, “See you at the finish line!”
Oy. I was getting tired.
But wait, what’s this?  Along Kauffman Avenue—the last long stretch before heading back to the museum—a huge group of volunteers lining the road provided comic relief! Their theme was “Welcome to the 80’s.” There were posters of Michael Jackson’s Thrilleralbum, Rubix cubes, and lines from the movie Top Gun. Two guys in wigs (one blonde with a “Let’s Get Physical” exercise headband around it and the other a long, black mullet) stood high-fiving runners. “You guys rule!” I yelled at them as I ran by.
And then just ahead of them were the Nerds! Complete with tape across the bridge of their birth-control-glasses, pocket protectors, flood pants, and painted on zits. I laughed some more and high-fived them before struggling up to the intersection of Kaufmann and Rt. 444.
At Mile 11 I began to hit the dreaded “wall”—just like I had in my high miles training. I somehow thought the magic of marathon day would make it all better, but I found myself walking more than running. Didn’t I eat enough carbs and protein? Didn’t I keep an even pace in the beginning so this wouldn’t happen? The words my sister had told me that morning came back to soothe me: “Whenever you feel yourself tiring, just tell yourself, ‘I have a strong, courageous body.’”
The Foo Fighters, as well, wouldn’t let me worry about it.
            Done, done, and I’m onto the next one            Done, I’m done, and I’m onto the next one…
All I had to do was finish.
Nearing the Air Force Museum grounds once again, I reached Mile 12. Only 1.1 miles to go. I’d wanted so badly to run that final mile, but the energy just wasn’t there. So I walked and then ran and then walked some more. At one point I remember a monarch butterfly floating along with us…flying back and forth over the runners’ heads as though blessing us and trying to give us strength. It was a surreal moment just before the fury. Through the gates was one last hydration station. I passed it up, thanked the volunteers (as I’d done at every other station along the way) and kept going. Volunteers were cheering us on wildly, now. “You’re almost there!!! This is it!”
We had to run down a long U-shaped runway before circling around into the chute. I walked much of it, but didn’t feel bad because others were walking too. We were pretty beat. Nearing the bend in the horse-shoe, I saw my sister with a camera pointed at me.
 “Uh-oh!” I yelled. “I better start running!”
So the shutter clicked, catching me in a worn-out gait…but with the same smile I’d had on my face practically the entire race. I was having such a blast!
She cheered me on one last time, and then tried to run along beside me in the crowd until a bunch of old vintage airplanes on display got in her way.
And then came the “chute.” Droves of people lined it, leaning over the railings searching the river of runners for their loved one. Kids held up “Go Mom!” signs…others had banners with the names of their relatives emblazoned across it. People cheered and waved flags and had all kinds of noisemakers that rang and clacked and whirred and hummed. I could hear the motivational rock songs (We Are The Champions) blasting from the speakers, along with the announcers calling out encouraging things and rattling off the names of finishers, as their micro-chips registered on the computer. And then I saw it.
A white sign stretched across the track ahead, with the two best words a person ever wanted to read on a day like this one: FINISH LINE.
Did I have that blissful look on my face, like I’d seen on all the Flying Pig runners as they came toward me to claim their medals? I was supposed to be looking for friends who were there to watch me finish, but I just couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sign. It was transmitting energy into my body that I couldn’t muster on my own, and propelling me forward. In my haze, I saw someone holding out a sign that said: THIS IS YOUR MOMENT.
Tears filled my eyes.
I raised a fist and cheered as I crossed the finish at 2:36, and as I slowed to a walk again, I nearly passed out from the pressure change in my body. A woman put a medal around my neck and congratulated me (heaviest damn medal everrrr) and I stumbled into the recovery area to catch my breath, stretch out my legs that were already beginning to stiffen, and wait for the blackness and stars I was seeing to disappear.
They had water and Gator-Ade and fruit and crackers and La Rosa’s pizza…and when I was good and rested I took a slice and wandered out into the throngs of people. Miraculously, my sister found me and gave me a big hug…and it felt so wonderful to have a loving support person waiting for me after all that.
Holy crap, I had done it. What started as a daring dream four months ago when I clicked “Register” on the Air Force Marathon website was now a reality. I finally earned that pink “13.1” sticker on the back of my car.
I am a marathon runner.

There comes a time in many people's lives when they must bid farewell to their childhood homes. Often, it's a painful process of letting go. Four years ago when my childhood home was emptied and sold to new owners, it was like grieving a death. I could no longer consider it the family headquarters, and it would no longer be there to come home to, especially on holidays.

Once it was sold to a new family, I marveled at how households--everything that characterized them and defined them--could simply vanish into mere memories. I found a way to convey this in a poem I've been working on for the last several months. I have finally finished it and thought I would share it here.



Household Vanished
Vintage ringtone in a shadowy basementHeavy black rotary phone sits on an orange homemade shelfBeneath ancient college science textbooks and discarded novelsCountless hours of TV viewing, stereo listening, quilting…sleepy Christmas morningsMom whistles cheerfully through wooden saloon doorsSweet clean scent of soap in the air amid mountains of laundryShaking, snapping, folding, smoothing the linens and towels and clothingThat will soon hang neatly in closets filled with hand-me-downs and school uniformsStuffed animals, artwork, boxes of keepsakes, and the growing collectionsOf belongings that were the culmination of each young life…incubating dreams of future daysFlowery twin beds in tidy rooms of a cozy upstairs…golden hardwood floors covered with rugs, dolls, guitar music…Sun shining through light green leaves on tree branches just outside the window Curtains rising and falling on the breeze…offering a framed view of a sloping yard of grass, wildflowers, gardens and towering treesThrough the attic door – children’s playthings, suitcases, old paperbacks, mouse traps smeared with petrified peanut butter, dust, cobwebs, and boxes of mementos from another era...Time capsule carefully packed away for young grandling hands to discover years later
Down the carpeted steps where crawling babies race each other to the topWhere generations of children sit peeking through banister spindles into the living roomFrom which emanates hours and hours of music, three-part harmonies, lively conversations, raucous parlor games, laughter, crying, arguments, solemn rosary prayersThe quiet of reading and studying, and peaceful sunbeam silencesCreaking elegant vintage couch, chairs, and lamps…Stately Parlor Grand Steinway…green Asian relief art and worn ivory keys Playing a wide assortment of tunes by many young hands…filling the entire house with its musicWooden secretary bookshelf keeping finances organized…reflecting a history of literary intelligenceThick wooden cross above hallway entrance announces great faith in Jesus, beseeching His presence in times of fear, dysfunction, addiction, powerlessness…and all the memories begging to be flung off and forgottenLiving room where delicious smells waft in from the tiny narrow ship’s galley kitchenPractical dishes, glasses, and flatware purchased for thousands of uses…Home-cooked meals on the stove and in the oven day after day…aromas of sautéing onion and garlic…chicken with a hint of rosemary…pasta boiling, soup swirling around wooden spoon, Italian bread baking…dishwasher churning, late-night milkshakes with sisters at the round table…Dad’s smoke hanging like a toxic cloudPantry and refrigerator filled with bounty…always enough, always plentiful
Wood-paneled dining room, converted breezewayLong table of polished wood covered with padding and table cloths…Everyday fabric and stainless steel Until holiday adornment transforms it into antique linen and lace, shining silver and china, Advent wreath and ornate candlesticksRoom bringing a family together for thousands of meals, thousands of conversations, welcoming guests and visitors...Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts….Rainbow of color across windowsills where a collection of assorted bottles present lovely views beyondSprawling green lawn, passing deer, falling leaves, puffy snowdrifts, rising and setting sunSunbeams through honey-brown glasses of iced tea or blood red wineSilver bowl piled high with summer corn-on-the-cobFramed “O Thou Who Clothest the Lillies” prayer hangs behind Mom’s chair
MomThe glue holding it all together…household planning, appointments, the living of daily livesHer sanctuary – bed surrounded by walls of powdery blue, white curtains of laceDressing table filled with modest jewelry, makeup, and perfume for those rare occasions Window looking out on her beloved back yard, cracked just enough to let in fresh air as she sleepsSmall closet full of practical yet tasteful clothes and shoesThis week’s novel on the night standA good night’s sleepThis was all that was needed
Front yardConcrete flower urns teeming with petunias or impatiens…wooden bench in the shade of tall treesLong sloped driveway overflowing with cars on holidays, a skateboarders’ slalom, a Moon Rock game drawn in chalk…an endless, back-breaking snow shoveling job in winterBrass bell rings at the side door announcing companyBlack iron eagle spreads its wings protectively over the garageGarage full of old fishing rods, tool boxes, bicycles, stilts, ladders, gardening tools, lawn mowers, nesting mice, and the trusty family carWorn, outdated sun deck once built by capable son’s hands, lost rock garden and concrete patio beneath Gathering place on fair weather days…peaceful bird choruses overhead or flying in for landings at the birdfeeder Wind in the evergreen boughs and all other guardian trees swaying above
Back yardVegetable gardens, fruit trees, roses, birdbathFairy homes built by little girl hands at the base of huge treesPicnic table jams, volleyball, Badminton and BacciSledding to the very bottom where the blackberry bushes lay dormantEmpty field beyond – for wandering and hiding and forts and secret treehousesMeditative grass-cutting, riding round and round and round until the sun sinks low in the westYears later grandchildren run down the slope, playing and romping where parents once didSelling point of an entire dwelling – the magical, spacious back yardOffering tranquil, pleasing views to aging parents day after day
Household once crammed with family begins to empty…one by one they fly awayThen there are only twoQuiet classical music on the radio and after-dinner ScrabbleThe easy golden years of peace and togetherness…….until she is all that is left
Deafening silence. The sound of ticking clocks, a lone television, continued classical music on the kitchen radio and crossword puzzles Dust gathers in unused rooms. Snaps and pops as the house settles. The eagerly-awaited ring of the telephone…or a motor in the driveway of someone visiting
Then, with great reluctance, she is taken away to live out her years where others can care for her
A tomblike hush falls over the household…which is no longer alive Piece by piece, it is disassembled…much goes to live on in the houses of children and grandchildrenOther things are sold to strangers Parlor Grand Steinway ships off, returning full circle to New York Ashes of a beloved niece are reverently exhumed from the garden So many things kept in remembrance, but everything else removed. Erased. Deleted.
The house becomes an empty shell, devoid of anything that once gave it life or characterThe household is vanished…is now only a collection of memories.
For an entire summer it remains empty The familiar scents dissipate The trees continue to watch over it protectively and the wildlife roam the yard
Then a new family arrives with their possessions and their history…and a new household begins

In my younger years, I would often hear my mother or some other adult over fifty years of age remarking how strange it is to grow old—when the mind still feels so youthful but the body begins to change…or when the songs, films, artists, and styles of your era become “vintage.” I tried to imagine what it must have felt like for her, but because that time of life was so far off for me it wasn’t easy. I don’t think anyone can truly understand nostalgia until they are old enough to live it.
Now I am suddenly there. The music and styles of my teen years and even my twenties is now considered classic. It’s as far back in the past for kids as forties and swing was for me when I was the kid. I am one of the “old aunts” that sits with the other aunts and uncles at family reunions while the kids run and play. I look in the mirror and see both a face and a body that is vastly different from what it was even seven years ago due to time and gravity having its way with me.
When one of my sisters was scanning a bunch of photos from our family albums for me a couple of years ago, she wrote in an email that it was such a surreal feeling looking back at all the pictures from all the decades and realizing just how much time had passed. “So much life lived,” were her exact words.
A common human tendency is to react to this passing of time with a certain wistfulness and longing to have some of it back—especially one’s younger and more able body. There is a sense that time is accelerating and running out. That there won’t be many more opportunities to do certain things. Bucket lists are reviewed. Long lost friends are sought out to connect with. There is still so much uncertainty about the future. What will the state of the world be as I grow old? Have I planned well enough to have financial security? Who will I survive in my family and social circles? How much longer will certain family and friends be around? Will I get to grow old with my partner?
I’ve contemplated this a lot lately—sometimes during seated meditation (yes, meditation is supposed to be an emptying of the mind, however, certain awarenesses come up as well)—and I have thought of a wonderful analogy. It involves some backstory about Tango.
I am midway through my second year of learning Argentine Tango, and it’s the year in which my teacher is showing us the nuances, refinements, and embellishments of this exquisite and graceful dance. One of the refinements is taking one’s time. Even if the tempo of a song is fast, a leader and partner can always negotiate doing it in half time, or pausing for an embellishment that isn’t necessarily on the beat…before moving on in the line of dance. If a leader is going a little too fast, the follower can always subtly apply a little more resistance in her posture to slow him down. A leader may have big plans for steps he (or she) would like to lead, but spacing on the dance floor suddenly changes and so he has to adjust those plans for the space he has to work with. Instead, a leader may offer his partner a chance to do something inventive and lovely, or lead a turn—beautifully biding the time until he can move his follower forward again.
This is how time is, now. It may seemingly be going by so quickly, but I can always lean in to slow it down, pause to add embellishment, adjust my steps to meet the unexpected with grace, and continue on in the line of dance until the music stops. In Tango, you are committed to your partner for four short songs, and these are called a tanda. If all is going well, you really savor that last song before the tanda is over. You let yourself become the music and move with a timelessness in which there is only the connection between you and your partner in the moment.
In the last decade, I have moved from being constantly driven to meet goals and timelines and making lots of plans to slowing the pace, seeing what wonderful thing might be “led” to me, offering me a chance to create and shine, and staying connected with the present. "Above all else," my Tango teacher always reminds us, “maintain a good connection.”
So instead of feeling uneasy about time and its changes, I have decided to dance with it. I cabeceo, let it lead me onto the dance floor, wrap myself in its close embrace, try to move with as much grace as possible, flow with the line of dance, and maintain connection until the tanda is over.

Hindsight is 20/20. Don't you sometimes wish you could rewind life and get a do-over?

The older I get, the more I can absolutely rely on my gut. That extra-sharp sense about things, even if reason or the politeness of giving someone the benefit of the doubt are pulling you away from that sense. I mean, we haven't lived this long and collected all this wisdom and insight for nothing, right? This past weekend, how I wish I'd listened to the gut.

Someone from my past who meant a lot to me a couple of decades ago resurfaced out of the blue. When we parted ways way back when, it was amicable and good. We let stuff go. We moved on. But a surprise email said otherwise. There was still some unresolved stuff on his end--and he wanted to clear it up because he might not have much longer to live.

Holy crap. How devastating. I felt for him. Especially because he'd cheated death so many times in the past.

What my wise Higher-self, sense, and gut were all telling me was....absolutely DO NOT revisit old stuff. Tell him we both did our best. Tell him I am heavily immersed in the practice of staying in the Now (not past or future), and let's just remember and be proud of the good times.

But part of me thought I should honor his need to "clear up his issues" while he can, and so I answered (honestly) what he asked about our past. Big mistake. Some behaviors never change or mellow with age as I'd hoped. The reply felt like it came from 20 years ago.

So....I'm giving myself a do-over. Because this is what I really wanted to do.













Hello, old friend
Let's not revisit painful things--especially not while you're sick and trying to feel good. I only want you to feel good about yourself from here on out. I hope you have many days ahead of utter joy and contentment. I hope you seek out the most beautiful places in nature to rejuvenate your body and soul. I hope you spend lots of time with your loved ones (especially your daughter) while you can, and leave them with warm memories of you. I hope you totally let go of all regret and suffering over any part of your life. I hope you check things off your bucket list left and right, and do everything you want to do before you're not able. I hope grace settles over you in a waterfall of white light, giving you the strength to endure the end-time. Most of all, I hope you find deep and lasting peace.
Namaste

I feel compelled to write a special post for those who are part of the movement to preserve human rights, Mother Earth, Freedom of Speech, transparent politicking and a great many other things in these uncertain times.

Many of you, like me, have never considered yourselves "political" or took part in any activism before. It seems, though, that these critical times where rogue, dangerous ways have been allowed to become new norms have served as a great catalyst for more people speaking up--and for more unification than ever. Not just within a political group, but people worldwide.

For those who are working toward this unity...I salute you. We have a long way to go and much work to do. This isn't just a brief sprint--but a marathon.

I know that it can be exhausting. Alarming changes and executive orders seem to be popping up left and right, and calling senators and representatives about them feels like an endless game of Whac-a-Mole. 

This is why I feel I need to offer a mindful and compassionate word of caution.

If social media and other news becomes overwhelming and disheartening, causing feelings of extreme anger, hostility, hatred, despair, or hopelessness....step away. Take a respite. Go pet the cat/dog, spend an afternoon of quality time with loved ones, watch a TV show or movie that makes you laugh (laughter creates endorphins), work out or take a long, long walk (energy moving in the body alleviates stress), or--one of the most important remedies of all--spend a long, quiet time out in nature.


These things all contribute to grounding one's self...escaping the head-chatter, being fully present in the body, and rejuvenating every part of yourself in order to move forward (and take action) effectively.

From this grounded place of consciousness, presence, and unified compassion...one can achieve the greatest results. This I know from looking back at the actions of some of the greatest leaders of world peace.

May we, as fellow humans, continue on a path toward our highest good.

It’s been well over a year since I’ve posted in here and a lot of life has happened. I’m spending so much time in present moment awareness that I rarely take the time to reflect in writing these days.

I won’t lie. The last month has been brutal with the passing of my beautiful cat, Ceili…and a few medical events that have spurred my elderly mother’s decline. But even before those things happened, I found myself in a challenging place mentally and spiritually.

I was fed up. More fed up than I’ve ever been in my life. After countless years of exploring all the useful and marvelous tools provided by teachers, authors, indigenous cultures, modern psychology, self-help, and all walks of spirituality…after healing all the broken parts of myself, learning to love myself and others unconditionally, getting down to the deepest core, elevating myself to the highest realms, learning to let go and be mindful and present...and STILL not seeing certain lifelong dreams coming to fruition (and I’m talking ones I’ve waited years and years for—ever so patiently)…I suddenly found myself revisiting an old impatience and hopelessness I hadn't felt in a long and blessed time. I suppose it's because I trusted that things would happen when they were meant to happen, and then suddenly eleven years went by and they still hadn’t happened. That is a damn long time and chunk of life.

I still had the spiritual tools. All organized nicely in my spiritual tool box. But I simply didn’t feel like using them. I felt that they’d let me down. I was tired of being blamed for causing the blockages and not "allowing" things to come into my life. Sick and tired. I felt like just rebelling against everything…but in a passive way. I was suddenly reminded of this picture that I took of my niece in 1986, in the middle of Ghirardelli Square in San Francisco.




I remember that we had dragged her all over the place that day, and she was getting weary. It seems to me there might have been some little thing that she humbly (because that’s how she was and still is) requested and wasn’t getting, or maybe she just wanted to be done with touristy things for the day…but her solution was to simply lie down on the floor and refuse to do anything.

I thought about how very much I could relate to her in that moment. Feeling stubborn about getting up, brushing myself off, and moving on--because I wasn't getting what I humbly requested. Rejecting the "balloon flower" consolation prizes of life. Feeling weary from the journey. Just wanting to lie there and do nothing for a while in passive rebellion.

One thing I’ve learned about “down periods” is that it’s critical to validate all feelings and not judge them. If a child that I'm particularly fond of came up to me upset and frustrated, I would treat that child with great empathy by acknowledging her feelings and reassuring her that everything will be okay. And even if she didn’t seem at all convinced, I would still be kind and patient with her. So it should be with that inner part of myself that is having huge feelings.

Mine was definitely throwing a passive rebellion on Ghirardelli Square for a good month or two. But I acknowledged the feelings—yes, I see that you’re more frustrated and weary of this than you’ve ever been, and it’s okay. No judgment. No trying to nudge and force it to stop. Maybe doing nothing is just what I needed in order to move forward. Everything passes, eventually.

And as I waited to be ready to stand up again and keeping moving, I continued a daily practice of showing up, staying as present as I could to what was happening in each moment, witnessing--not identifying with--the “story” in my head about why I should be fed up, and therefore making all changes and improvements from a place of grounded Presence and not from a negative, hopeless place of lack.

Today, I feel I’ve weathered another storm. I’ve stood up, brushed myself off, picked my trusty spiritual toolbox back up again, and walked on. Non-metaphorically speaking, I’ve reached out to people I greatly trust and they have given me even more tools. But best of all…I am once again able to gently release thoughts that creep in and cause suffering, and to make way for the peace that is always there to move through me.

I am up off the floor and back on the trolley.

I dedicate this blog entry to my friend John, whose unique habit at brewpubs inspired it.

When a server asks John which beer he'd like, he quite often tells them, "Surprise me!"

Most of the servers are delighted, eager to bring him one of their personal favorites...others just give him a "what, are you kidding me?" kind of stare before relenting and walking away a little freaked out.

But I've always loved his willingness to relinquish control and let fate surprise him, confident that whatever comes will be good and satisfying.

This is what I've done lately, with the Universe. Because certain dreams and goals I've had for years now have yet to come to fruition, I can only deduce that they're not happening for a reason. After all this time, rather than adopt a defeatist attitude about it, I keep on trusting that things happen in a divine right order. Either the things I feel I want and need---or something better.

In the meantime, one way to deal with things not happening on my schedule (or at all) is to reach into my spiritual toolbox for the teachings of Eckhart Tolle, and his lessons of living more and more fully in the now . He likens it to looking at an unfurled scroll. You can look to the left (at your past) and dwell on regret over things not done, not received, done wrong, or even things that were wonderful, but drifted away with time and you miss them. You can look to your right (your future) with doubt and uncertainty about how things might happen, or will they ever happen, etc. But to look right in the middle of the scroll--at what's happening right in front of us--is the most peaceful and powerful place to put our attention.

So for a good deal of 2015 I have set my dreams down for a moment, including getting all excited about the possibility of them--which often leads to fearing that it's all wishful thinking and they still won't happen no matter what I do and try--and I just told the Universe to "surprise me."

So far, what came to me was a thrifty plan to get my finances in a more tidy and secure place. So I've started taking steps in that plan. I've also been invited into a new social circle where I've met the most wonderful people...and I felt inspired to sign up for a few new meetups that are more closely aligned with the way I'd like to be spending my time. I figure I will meet more like-minded people in those circles than ever before.

There are more wonderful "surprises" that have come my way...and so I'm liking this new plan of simply letting go of specific dreams and just focusing on NOW. Because suddenly I'm finding that my "NOW" is becoming more significant than ever. And I'm feeling really good and peaceful inside.

One day at a time, of course.

I will end with this quote that was passed to me tonight, that really resonated with me:

"Acceptance means: For now, this is what this situation, this moment, requires me to do, and so I do it willingly." 

~ Eckhart Tolle

Home, home againI like to be here when I can
~Pink Floyd
When the daylight hours are at their shortest just before the winter solstice, staying home is so underrated.
All week friends and coworkers have been baffled by how tired they are, despite the amount of sleep they’ve had. Some even acted as though the fault was somehow their own. I reminded them that we’re coming up on the shortest day of the year, and that we should be hibernating. We are mammals, after all. And a good deal of mammals are laying low this time of year, staying warm and cozy in their nests/caves, and sleeping a LOT.

In the week before solstice, I always give myself permission to hibernate. This means staying home after work where it’s warm and quiet, rather than venturing out into the cold and dark. Permission to give my body the rest it’s inherently calling for. To be still, and to reflect.
I’ve done this for quite a few years, ever since I ran with a New Agey crowd in the 90s and learned what a sacred time the solstice was in many ancient cultures. I learned how to observe it as reverently as people do religious holidays. Native Americans, in particular, taught me to use this time to “go inward,” sitting in quiet introspection of the self—as a sort of inner renewal before the return of the light…leading toward springtime and new beginnings.
I remember when the song “Long December” came out (by Counting Crows), I marveled at how its slow tempo, its lyrics, and the contemplative inflection of Adam Duritz’s voice seemed to embody the feel of this. Especially this verse:
Drove up to Hillside Manor sometime after two a.m.
And talked a little while about the year
I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,
Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her
At this year’s solstice, my introspection has me contemplating the meaning of home.
For the first time since 2010, I will be able to go “home for the holidays.” Except there is no home anymore. This past spring, my mother was moved into assisted living and the house was slowly emptied and finally sold. There will be no more gathering around the living room talking and laughing as one family unit. No playing of the antique parlor grand Steinway and singing carols in three part harmonies. No sitting around the dining room table with all three table leaves put in, and no grandkids sledding down the hill in the big one-acre backyard.
My “home” is no longer a physical place, but a memory. It is now only a hometown, a region where I connect with friends and family.
In my life, Christmas has always been about family getting together. Talking, catching up, laughing, singing and jamming, and LOTS of eating. And sadly, there hasn’t been a Christmas like that (with everyone all together) in years. Many of my siblings felt they had reached a time of life where they needed to stay put in their own homes and host their own children and grandchildren. They would pay the bigger family (and our mother) visits just after Christmas, or just before…but they needed Christmas Day for their own immediate families.
This year when I am home for the holidays, it will be very different, but wonderful nonetheless. We have our 92-year-old mother talked into traveling an hour from southwest Ohio to Northern Kentucky where I and three of my sisters (and their families) will have Christmas together with her for the first time in a long time. And there will be talking, catching up, singing, and lots of eating. Even if it's not everyone.
This holiday visit, I will be savoring my mother like never before (my gut tells me this might be her last Christmas—but that’s another story for another time), no matter where we celebrate or where “home” is.
For me, a truer definition of home is where a familyis. Even if the family is made up of just two people. In that respect, I am still working toward creating a home of my own. For the last ten years, I have been flitting back and forth from east to west to east and now northwest – and I feel it’s time to be still and grow roots. To find that family. To build a new home.
As I look forward to a new year, I’d like to end with this quote by Stephen Levine. I know he was talking about death, but I think it can apply to the “unknown” of the future.
"How do we allow ourselves to come into the unknown with an open heartedness and courage that allows life its fullness?"

~Stephen Levine  I know the answer to this question is the rigorous practice of maintaining a present-moment awareness. Spending as much time out of my head (dwelling on past or future) and in the now. Feeling the connection to all other beings and to what is going on right in front of me.
Fullness of life. I believe I have my focus phrase for 2015.