Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Resolutions and Absolution.

(image courtesy of northernsun.com)

No, not the Catholic kind - but close.

I've never been big on New Year's Resolutions. Designating an arbitrary day in the gray of winter to both jettison old coping mechanisms and celebrate mass drunkenness and socially-mandated coupling seems like a loaded sort of situation at best. It's the kind of vibe I try to stay away from, not out of prudence so much as basic emotional self-preservation. The way I see it, life and temperament afford me copious opportunities to feel like I'm not doing or becoming enough; why set myself up with one more?

That being the case, this year I celebrated the best way I knew how: a brief appearance at a kid-friendly party, a drive through the snowy Vermont landscape, and an early-to-bed evening in the company of one of the dearest people I know. I'm pretty sure I was asleep by 10, and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by 9, which officially makes this the Best New Years Ever.

Of course, celebrating the new year is an ancient tradition - one of the oldest holidays ever recorded. The first written mentions come from the Babylonians, who celebrated on the vernal equinox (aka Spring); when better to celebrate the birth of a new year than the season when everything is born anew? Apparently, they celebrated with resolutions, too - mostly ones about returning borrowed farm equipment.

Thinking about the Babylonians' ancient resolve has me considering mine, not because this particular day feels like a new beginning, so much as the fact that it does line up with a certain break in this here Journey of mine. For a brief period, I'm back where I started, at least physically, and since the end of one cycle (however small) does mark the beginning of another, why not chose it to reflect on the changes I'd like to manifest?

Those who know me know I've got a tendency to push push push myself down life's path, in an effort to do/see/live asmuchaspossible. Why? Your psychoanalysis is as good as mine. I think it has to do with some internal fear that if I make the wrong choices I'll step off the my Path - a path that I often navigate based "soully on faith," as Hunter says - and end up in the wrong place. Surrounded by so much bounty and confusion, it's often impossible to know which is the right step to take - all that's left is the faith that I'm doing what I should be.

That said, here are this year's resolutions*:

(*I should note here that they're not so much resolutions as gentle suggestions to myself. I have a feeling that's going to be a lot more successful than anything else.)

1. Stop actively looking for people's negative characteristics to emerge. It's an unnecessary safety measure, and one that depletes new relationships and interactions of the uninhibited joy that I want to share with the world.

2. Relax. You've all been telling me to do that for a while, so why not give it a shot? The path will unfold, whatever I do will bring me joy, and ultimately, I'm not all that important in the grand scheme of things, anyway - if worst comes to worst and I don't make the right choices, I'm going to trust you all to take care of all the stuff I didn't get to.

3. Reduce the multitasking and limit the stress. One thing at a time really is ok. So is saying "No." Here, let's practice:
"Self, do you have enough time to do everything you want to today?"
"No."
"Should you maybe try and get it all done anyway?"
"Uhhh...no."
"Are people (including you) going to be dissappointed in you if you don't get it all done?"
"Potentially."
"So which is worse: admit you can't do everything and give up trying, or set up unreasonable expectations for yourself, crash and burn, and singe everybody around you in the process?"
"Ummm, that would be the second?"
"Very good. Here, have a cookie - now you've got time to eat it."
Wow, that was... surprisingly easy.

4. (And most embarrassingly necessary of all...) Ok, officially? I want to stop standing you all up and being late all the time. That shit is old and unbecoming. I'm pretty sure I've got what it takes to beat a little ADD, know what I'm saying?

5. Be gentle with myself. Ever since I can remember, I've had a difficult time forgiving myself for my imperfections and general screwed-up-edness - you know, those really human, really embarrassing or stupid or just generally clumsy sorts of interactions with the world that mark everybody's lives in some small way, but have the tendency to grow and morph into something so much greater inside your head. And I was very good at letting them take over a lot of my self-analysis; more, I think, than perhaps they deserved.
Eventually, though, I figured out that if I forced myself to stop staying awake at night reliving my foolish mistakes, I'd have enough energy to laugh at them when they happened. Or at least soon after, which is sometimes as much as you can ask of yourself, even if you do tend to fill your life with as much ridiculousness as I do. And let's face it, I'm never really going to be graceful or completely organized or tactful. But I can be funny, and I can be self deprecating, and I can be kind. And that has to count for something in these Kali Yuga times. After all, not everybody can be a slapstick routine unto themselves.
So now I try and go easy on the whole beating-myself-up shtick. It gets easier each year; maybe that's part of the whole "maturity" thing. Or maybe it just got boring, who knows? What I do know is that for the past year or so, I've stopped feeling the need to forgive myself for being human.

And to that effect, I now turn you over to Alanis Morissette, who continually sings things better than I know how to say them:

How bout getting off of these antibiotics
How bout stopping eating when I'm full up
How bout them transparent dangling carrots
How bout that ever elusive kudo

Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence

How bout me not blaming you for everything
How bout me enjoying the moment for once
How bout how good it feels to finally forgive you
How bout grieving it all one at a time

Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence

The moment I let go of it was
The moment I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it was
The moment I touched down

How bout no longer being masochistic
How bout remembering your divinity
How bout unabashedly bawling your eyes out
How bout not equating death with stopping

Thank you India
Thank you providence
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you nothingness
Thank you clarity
Thank you thank you silence

and while we're at it....
Here's another great Alanis video. It's a promo for a song about letting go of those old coping mechanisms we all know and love. I first heard this about a year ago, and it really resonated, but I think the video needs a sequel...

"Precious Illusions"

You'll rescue me right?
In the exact same way they never did.
I'll be happy right?
When your healing powers kick in.

You'll complete me right?
Then my life can finally begin.
I'll be worthy right?
Only when you realize the gem I am.

But this won't work now the way it once did
And I won't keep it up even though I would love to.
Once I know who I'm not then I'll know who I am
But I know I won't keep on playing the victim.

These precious illusions in my head did not let me down
When I was defenseless
And parting with them is like parting with invisible best friends.

This ring will help me yet as will you knight in shining armor.
This pill will help me yet as will these boys gone through like water.

But this won't work as well as the way it once did
Because I want to decide between survival and bliss.
And though I know who I'm not I still don't know who I am
But I know I won't keep on playing the victim.

These precious illusions in my head did not let me down when I was a kid
And parting with them is like parting with a childhood best friend.

I've spent so long firmly looking outside me
I've spent so much time living in survival mode

This won't work now the way it once did
Cuz I want to deside between servival and bliss
Now I know who I'm not
I don't I still don't know who I am
But I know I won't keep on playing the victom

These precious illusions in my head did not let me down
When I was defenseless
And parting with them is like parting with invisible best friends


These precious illusions in my head did not let me down
When I was a kid
And parting with them is like parting with childhood best friends.

I love Alanis, the same way I love dandelions and myself. She's gone from wounded and pissed to strong and centered, and has been remarkably witty and self-reflective through the entire process. The world's a better place because of it. Hare Krishna, Alanis - go you.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

A Prayer for a Stranger

The travels are by no means over, but as of about 12:30 last night, I'm finally back in sunny, snowy New Hampshire, enjoying a cozy, cuddly Christmas with family. We're all about to gather up for what my mom has dubbed the "Chanukah for Christmas" dinner, and I'm feeling pretty euphoric about the whole thing, especially seeing my grandparents - there's a sort of mental "happy puppy wiggle" going on in my head right now.

Much love to all the fellow travelers, hosts, and dear sweet people I've met along the way - thank you for your hospitality, warmth, generosity, and spirit.

Also, I'm sending out a special prayer out to a street kid named Sean who I met in New Orleans. I have no way of thanking him or his family, but if you don't mind, I'd like to invite you to send a minute of warm wishes out to kind-hearted and down-on-his-luck young man who took me in and under his wing, despite having so very little to call his own.
I didn't blog about it, but I spent a homeless night in the Big Easy, and it actually was easy due to Sean's hospitality. When my lodging plans fell through, he took me under his wing and gave me a guided tour of the side of the city I wanted to know but would never have gotten to see withouut his protection. Gritty, archetypally roiling, and Dickensian in the way I imagine most cities' underbellies are, the streets of the French Quarter are an intense place; a purgatory of dark magic and old energy - and kind-hearted dancers in the dark.

A Prayer for Sean
Sean, I hope that you're ok this Christmas season. More than ok, I pray that you are safe and reunited with your family. I pray that you're warm. I pray that you have enough to eat. I pray that you're healthy. I pray that you have a new guitar, and that you're playing it for your little girl, and it brings you both joy. May you find happiness. May you find sobriety. From one traveler to another, I wish you a way in from the many cold winds of your life; a pathway out of the purgatory you've been traveling through and into a place of peace. Thank you for befriending a stranger on a rainy night. May the Universe hold you sacred and loved, and surround you with people who treat you kindly and love you for your inner Godlight. Wherever you wander, wherever you are, may your feet find the path that leads you Home.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Snowed In In Florida (Jacksonville)

Season's Greetings from Jacksonville, Florida, where I'm enjoying that gluttonous, post-party feeling that comes from A) stuffing myself with really good vegetarian food and B) drinking what amounts to a cocktail's worth of tinctures (I like to call it my daily Tonic-tini), and wishing you all a heavenly Christmas.

So I've put about 5,000 miles on the odometer in the past five months, what with the whole "making friends out of strangers and plant-medicine out of weeds" adventure I've been on. Between the stories in this journal and the other encounters and escapades not fit for a blog (but maybe a book?), I'm finally ready to go back North and see what I can write. And plan. And make manifest.
But first, there's this pre-Christmas blizzard to contend with. You know, there's a sort of irony that comes with getting snowed in in Florida, but it's nothing compared to the surreal feeling I got this evening driving through the outskirts of Jacksonville. The streets had a vintage feel to them, and the neon lights and trails of sunset transformed the neighborhood landmarks and gray city blocks into a movie set of three-dimensional Edward Hopper paintings. Each building looked like it was its own perfect model; miniature diners and crab shacks and Mexican markets rendered in well-lit, perfectly painted plasticine.
Driving back over the bridge after catching the dusk-end closing of the 365 days-a-year farmer's market, we stopped at a tiny corner drive-through and walk-up restaurant for ice cream sundaes. The building was shaped like a soft-serve ice cream cone, and looked more like a Disney World prop than an actual restaurant. I wish I still had a camera; it was one of those perfect life-as-art moments.

Driving to Jacksonville, I found myself chanting Hare Krishna along to every song that came on the radio. For a while, tuned to a really great classic rock station, it felt like I was part of some incredible traveling Kirtan, singing along with Supertramp and Guns N Roses as we simultaneously warded off and extolled Kali Yuga, the current age of strife. I wasn't counting along on my prayer beads, but I'm pretty sure I chanted an entire round to the end of Free Bird.
It was great. I know it doesn't count as Japa (using beads to chant the Mahamantra with intention), but for a while there, cruising along the Florida panhandle, drinking horchata and fingering my new mala, I had a grand old time. At Blue Boy Herbs, one of the girls and I would sing the Mahamantra to Beatles songs (Eleanor Rigby was the decided favorite), but that's nothing compared to belting it out to traditional Christmas carols like The Bells of Paradise (Down in Yon Forest). That one's definitely my new favorite.

Both of the friends that I drove here to visit are guys I met on this trip, gentle men with interesting perspectives and stories. Andreas is a Mexican-born artist I met in a hostel made of tree houses this past Halloween. Before he moved down here to go to school, he was a professional massage therapist in the Berkshires, and before that, he served in the Mexican army.
Blake is down here for school, too. An herb-smart former Marine-turned-hippie who came down South after Katrina hit, he and I met at the Essential Herb Cottage this Thanksgiving. Blake worked herbs with Linda for several years, and as far as she and Whitney are concerned he's as much a part of the family as any blood or by-marriage kin.
Both of these guys like good food, a fact I'm relishing after two weeks spent completely surrounded by amazing vegetarian food. Between cooking kidgeree and pumpkin soup at the Essential Herb Cottage, walking down the lane to Darrell Martin's cabin for lunch every day, and taking prasadam at New Talavan, my tummy and taste buds have been seriously blessed in Mississippi. After a certain number of lovingly crafted veg-head meals, its just makes sense to continue the meatless love-fest. Karma or no karma, there are so many amazing meals you can make out of plants, why bother the cows?
Last night, Blake and I went to Andreas' apartment for dinner. The menu: sweet potatoes, baby winter squash and eggplant broiled in a home-made spice rub, served with red Swiss chard, Andreas' Ayurvedic lentils, and bottles of Guinness' super-tasty new anniversary stout. (The Wandering Herbalist's opinion? Less hops than the original, but still enough to send me right to sleep!)
Tonight's dinner came almost exclusively from the Farmer's Market: oven grilled corn on the cob, pan-seared mushrooms seasoned with Montreal Spice mix, steamed mustard greens with Bragg's liquid amino acids, oven-baked sweet potatoes, biscuits, and fried bananas for dessert.
Yumm....

Broiled Sweet Potatoes, Baby Winter Squash & Eggplant

Chop one small winter squash, leave the skin on, and scoop out the seeds. Cube one small eggplant and add to the bowl, along with one large sliced sweet potato. Coat with olive oil, 1 1/2 tablespoons Bragg's liquid amino acids, and -in no particular order or quantity- the following spices:
Himalayan sea salt and freshly ground pepper
Fresh rosemary, parsley and oregano
Ground ginger, garlic, paprika, and cayenne.
Marinate in the spice rub, then spread out on a baking sheet, pour in about 1/2 cup of water, and bake at 450 or so, stirring occasionally until caramelized and delicious.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

From the Lion’s Mouth: Dancing a Weedy Revolution


(photo courtesy of: http://www.wineintro.com)

I love dandelions. Beautiful and independant, simple, scrappy and potent, dandelions remind us that our paths are lined with blessings. When the road is overrun with weeds, it means we don't have enough wisdom yet to see them as the messages and medicine that they are.
As I've made my way on my own journey, dandelion has been a constant source of friendship and beauty, an herb that's resonated with me for well over a decade, for all the reasons Kiva Rose Hardin wrote about in this article. Though we haven't met -yet!- she was kind enough to let me repost it here for you all. Thank you, Kiva!
...........................................
From the Lion's Mouth: Dancing a Weedy Revolution
by Anima on December 10th, 2009 No Comments From the Lion’s Mouth: Dancing A Weedy Revolution

by Kiva Rose Hardin http://animacenter.org

Common Name: Dandelion

Botanical Name: Taraxacum spp.

Taste: Bitter, sweet

Energetics: Cool, dry

“It gives one a sudden start in going down a barren, stony street, to see upon a narrow strip of grass, just within the iron fence, the radiant dandelion, shining in the grass, like a spark dropped from the sun”

- Henry Ward Beeche

“Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them”

- A. A. Milne, Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh

If there’s a single personal symbol of hope for me, it’s that golden-faced flower that peeks out from under trash-strewn vacant lots, takes over carefully controlled lawns, bursts from sidewalk cracks and blooms even on land damaged by nuclear radiation and other environmental degradation. Yeah, you know, that weed people are always pulling up and cursing and dumping poison on. Yep, Dandelion. This much maligned wildflower when looked at honestly embodies profound possibility for change and incredible capacity for the regeneration of life in the most hostile of situations.

In many ways, Dandelion is the very definition of insistent wildness, of life that survives and thrives anywhere, anytime, anyhow. Perpetually persecuted, it still adapts to nearly any climate, seeds itself in concrete, rock crevices, chemical-laden yards, vacant lots, and even in a sprinkle of earth and rock tossed atop a slab of metal. Dandelion is persistence, joy in the face of adversity and bliss even while broken-hearted. Dandelion is also sunshine with teeth, for her very name is from the French Dent de lion, meaning teeth of the lion. The name refers to the typically jagged leaves as well as the tenacious nature of the plant itself. This once revered medicine and food is now looked upon as a trouble-making misfit, a smiling badge of resistance that defies all attempts to shut down insistent life and nature’s bountiful diversity.

Not one to be swept aside by convention, Dandelion is a cheerful outlaw as she slowly but surely busts down walls and breaks up sidewalks. She reminds us of the wildness of the earth beneath our feet wherever she goes. Regardless of zoning laws, landscaping plans and subdivision “weed-free” regulations, this vibrant plant is likely to dance in on wish-blown seeds and settle right down, enriching the soil and offering you medicine, whether you asked for any or not. Dandelion is the activists’ emblem, a brilliant spokesperson for necessary action and groundbreaking revolution, no matter the consequences or cost. And like the best revolutionaries, she also shows us how to live fully and encourages us to indulge in a tango or two. The happiness inherent in her nature is imparted by her very presence as well as through nutritional and medicinal means.

The freshly picked flowers of Dandelion infused in olive oil, make a very effective rub for all sorts of aches and pains, from knotted muscles to injured joints. It’s especially helpful for those who feel saddened or depressed by the pain and need a little extra sunshine in their lives. The flowers also make a fabulous wine, and every Spring I’m sure to gather enough to make at least a few quarts of the wine and mead. I specially reserve one of those quarts for my special Southwest Sunset Melomel made with Dandelion flowers, Prickly Pear fruit juice and desert wildflower honey. The wine and mead are a wonderful cheering tonic for the long Winter days and the blues that often accompany them. Small doses of the flower tincture can also serve the same purpose.

A nomad with deep roots, this plant travels far on the white wings of her seeds but also sends her taproot down far wherever she settles, fully engaging with the land wherever she is and provides us with an excellent example of presence, focus and a life fully lived. The bittersweet roots are grounding in nature, restoring the proper circulation of fluids in the body and nourishing the kidneys and heart in the process. Dandelion leaves and roots are very effective diuretics and especially helpful for those with a constitutional tendency towards high blood pressure, gout, bloating, feelings of excessive heat, a sense of too-tight skin, water retention and scanty urination.

The roots tend to be more bitter and diuretic in the spring and more sweet and starchy come autumn frost, teaching us the value of living by the seasons and that a plant’s medicine changes through the year. The bitter taste of both root and leaf can initially turn many people off, but this same unpleasant experience is part of Dandelion’s most important medicine. It increases the release of gastric juices throughout the digestive tract and improve digestion, especially if there’s symptoms of heat and acidic imbalances. The leaves make an excellent food-based digestive bitter and can be added to all manner of salads and cooked greens for their bitter bite and their high mineral content. They’re a great addition to pestos (as are the flowers), soups, pickled greens and even kraut! The roasted roots make a bittersweet but pleasant and hearty brew, well accompanied by cinnamon, nutmeg and a splash of cream.

Dandelion is also a primary medicine for almost anyone with hepatitis. The cooling, heat-draining nature of the herb is wonderful for relaxing and cooling an overworked, irritated and liver and accompanying hepatic functions. For the same reason, it can be very helpful in clearing up red, itchy rashes as well as many chronic skin issues such as eczema and acne that are rooted in an inflamed or stuck liver function. The bitter taste promotes the movement bile and prevents sludge and stones from from forming. However, care should be taken if there are already existent stones, as moving the bile in such a case could actually lodge a stone in a duct and cause further problems as well as pain.

The medicine of this wild and rampant weed is pervasive and wide-ranging, and lifetimes could be spent delving into her generosity. Children are naturally drawn to the bright spark of her flower and share the blossoming exuberance that accompanies her presence. Every time I see a Dandelion, I smile, and am filled with the reminder of what a powerful teacher this plant is. Her courageous insistence to not only survive, but thrive in the face of hurt and hostility, has repeatedly given me renewed hope. I take her fierceness and fervent joy to heart, and close my eyes and make a wish every time I spread her seeds with my breath. We healers and earth people are all dandelions shattering concrete with delicate, yet infinitely strong roots. Every wild food, plant medicine & healing choice that takes us closer to wholeness is a revolutionary act and a step towards radical wellness on a planetary level.

Cautions & Contradictions: A generally very safe and food-like herb, Dandelion is still a strong diuretic and those with low blood pressure or already excessive urination should avoid its use. Additionally, avoid if you have active gallstones.

~~~

Pic (c) 2009 Kiva Rose Hardin

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Hare Krishna, y'all!


I'm on my way to visit Blue Boy Herbs and the New Talavan community for a few days. Here's a quick video from Thanksgiving at Blue Boy Herbs... the man with white hair is Darrell Martin, founder of Blue Boy Herbs, and the woman at the end of the video is Lynda Baker. Her magical kiddo is the one radiating purple light (a phenomenon that hadn't happened before on my camera, hasn't happened since, and isn't likely to happen again, since I recently broke it and haven't gotten a new one yet - ah well, c'est la vie...



Of all the religious places I've visited, the Hare Krishnas have the best music and vegetarian food (though I still miss Mrs. Dietz's cooking!)....as Lynda says, "Thank you Jesus for the food, and thank you Krishna for Jesus!"

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Prayers and Love

...to our friend Farmer Dave, who recently lost a beloved family member.
Our hearts are open to him and his family, now and always.

Mary Poppins (coming soon to a driveway near you)


Whitney, 10-year-old extraordinaire and daughter of the herbalist I'm staying with, asked me yesterday if I used some sort of magic spell on my car.

I probably do. The sheer quantity of stuff I've fit in my little teal home-on-wheels has earned it comparisons from "a magic bag" to "a traveling Walmart" (you know, if Walmart carried mostly organic stuff, gave it away, and supported the Dixie Chicks...). I prefer to think of it as a cross between a prairie schooner and a three dimensional Tetris game.

The list of things that I have in my car is pretty varied (who else roams around with gold flakes and henna?), but almost all of it falls into one of five categories: Herbs, Ingredients, Clothing, Camping/Household Supplies, and Entertainment & Education(Books/Music/Art). Since most of what I own fits in those groups anyway, even when I'm not playing nomad, this allows me ample opportunities to announce my favorite travel phrase: "Ooh, I have some in my car!"

Lynda and Whitney have taken to calling me Mary Poppins.

In no particular order, here's a sampling of the things people have idly wished for or seemed to need that my car has immediately procured:

-whiskey
-veggies
-a blanket
-maple syrup
-a Verizon cell phone & chargers
-good chocolate
-a jacket
-ceremonial tobacco
-hair tonic
-cold remedies
-spice and herb blends
-books
-pens
-makeup
-informational pamphlets
-fresh fruit
-henna
-skin salves
-sweaters
-herbal emennagogues
-allopathic medicine
-honey
-olive oil
-all natural conditioner
-soy milk
-empty bottles
-empty jars
-CDs
-sleep remedies
-dried herbs and spices
-seaweed
-a sewing kit
-a lighter
-dental floss
-rope

This happens all the time, but I've never run out of what I need.

My theory is that as long as our hands are open, we're conduits for the Universe's blessings, messages, lessons, and gifts. As soon as we try to hold onto what we have, we lose the capacity to receive what we need.

I'm not saying give away the things, time, or energy you don't want to part with. There are times when it makes sense to protect and defend that which you need and want or are holding in reserve, to say "No" to that which is asked, offered, or demanded. But to do so bears a cost, as does every choice, and it pays to be aware of the exchanges we're engaged in, both miniscule and grand.

Think about your life and ask yourself: Do you want what you have, or are you willing to consider an upgrade?

Citizen of the Planet


Alanis Morissette has an amazing song called "Citizen of the Planet" that's been resonating with me ever since a new and dear friend had me listen to it about eight states ago. One of the lines talks about-
-you know what? I'm not gonna do it justice. Here, you listen and tell me what you think.

......................................................
Citizen of the Planet
I start up in the North, I grow from special seed
I sprinkle in with sensibility
From French and Hungarian snow
I linger in the sprouting until my engine’s full

Then I move across the sea
To European bliss, to language of poets
As I cut the cord of home, I kiss my mother’s mother
Look to the horizon

Wide eyed, new ground
Humbled by my new surroundings

I am a citizen of the planet
My president is Kwan Yin
My frontier is on an airplane
My prisons: homes for rehabilitating

Then I fly back to my nest,
I fly back with my nuclear
But everything is different
So I wait

My yearn for home is broadened,
Patriotism expanded by callings from beyond
So I pack my things, nothing precious
All things sacred

I am a citizen of the planet
My laws are all of attraction
My punishments are consequences
Separating from source the original sin

I am a citizen of the planet
Democracy’s kids are sovereign
Where the teachers are the sages
And pedestals fill with every parent

And so the next few years are blurry,
The next decade’s a flurry of smells and tastes unknown
Threads sewn straight through this fabric
Through fields of every color, one culture to another

And I come alive and I get giddy
And I am taken and globally naturalized

I am a citizen of the planet
From simple roots through high vision
I am guarded by the angels
My body guides the direction I go in

I am a citizen of the planet
My favorite pastime edge stretching
Besotten with human condition
These ideals are borne from my deepest within

......................................................

...and they are.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Backstory, Bounty, and Blessings from the Universe (sometimes painful, always good)

A great big "Thank You!" to whoever slipped fifty dollars into my coat pocket at some point between Georgia and Mississippi. Seriously? Seriously. I'm tickled and humbled and totally grateful.

Everyone keeps saying these adventures of mine will make a great book, but I'm pretty sure the above example and the following Cliff's Notes version sum it all up:

I travel. I give away herbs. I open my heart, strangers open their homes, and miracles occur. Together, we turn Enough into Plenty.

How far-out awesome is that?

................................................

Of course, that's not the full story.

A year ago I told my students I was leaving.

I didn't tell them how sick I'd gotten; how my adrenals were shot and my heart was heavy and I could barely make it to 2:15 before collapsing at my desk. I didn't tell them what I couldn't yet tell myself; that my six-year relationship was also reaching its desperate, terrifying, life-altering end, and with it, all the dreams and stability my partner and I had worked so hard to craft. I didn't tell them how hard I was trying to hold things together, or how scared I was of not knowing what would come next, or how I was so busy vacillating between euphoric and desolate, I couldn't tell if my inner self was singing, screaming, or just plain numb.

Instead, I told them how much I loved them, that I was looking forward to traveling and cooking and learning about plants, and I hoped someday they'd do the same.

I had no idea that three months later, I'd find myself on the other side of the world, prostrate and sobbing before the Goddess of Compassion. Or that three months after that, I'd move to a tiny, one-room cabin at the edge of the woods, throw myself into a new job, and leave three months after that, so I could spend the next three working my way from Pennsylvania to Mississippi, cooking breakfasts for strangers out of my car and dispensing tinctures and chocolates, bath salts and teas, from the depths of an ever-rotating reserve.

A season of death. A season of germination. A season of growth. A season of change.

Once again, we've come full circle, and I find myself marveling at the painful, wounded, necessary place I was in back then, and how little it resembles the (sometimes) painful, (mostly) healthy, and completely necessary place I've arrived at now.

Then again, a year ago, I still thought the right combination of willpower, stick-to-itivness, and emotional duct tape could keep the swiftly severing threads of my chosen life-rope from snapping apart. A year ago, I had no idea that in the end I'd find the strength to saw through them myself, choosing to lay the clean-cut ends down with love and reverence, rather than tear myself ragged in a futile tug-of-war against the inevitable.

I remember driving through the frozen streets of Burlington, singing and re-singing the same two lines of a song I've yet to complete:

I had nothing left to cling to
once my bridges were all burned
I felt ashes slip through my fingers
each a lesson that I'd learned.


................................................

Change can be a scary thing. Sometimes it manifests as a choice, and other times, it leaves us gasping and flailing, scrambling to stay upright in a newly-overturned world. Whether we're responding or reacting, anticipating or recovering, it's all part of the Journey. No one's immune. No one's exempt.

And no one's alone.

Namaste,

Blackbird's Daughter

PS- Funny how the other definition of change - the leftover bits of riches that most of us have scattered through our pockets and cars, the dull and shiny pieces we pool together when we're desperate and worried that we don't have enough - means pretty much the exact same thing.

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