A long, long time ago I bought a canner. A simple, water bath canner. It was purchased during one of the most difficult times of my life and has only been used a few times, in the summer of discontent when I first brought it home. Over ten years have past, and while I have let go of almost all of my possessions from that period of my life, the canner has made made the cut every time I purge my unused clutter.
Today I canned 8 quarts of applesauce. Somehow a cycle of wanting was complete. I purchased the canner hoping to someday have a lifestyle that involved lazy Sunday mornings in a cinnamon-scented kitchen, with cute children and an adoring husband playing in the other room. Today I had all of that and more.
The lesson for the day is that sometimes it takes a very long time to experience the reality of what the heart wants. And yet, ten years is nothing to give for the blissful peace of satisfaction.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Friday, July 4, 2008
Rise
The massacred poppies of last month have risen from their whacking to bloom in full. The most perfect pink tissue paper petals with a dark chocolate middle now grace my yard, a reminder that the circle of life is adaptable and STRONG. The death of the first spring's growth allowed minor growth, that normally would have been too shaded, to hit full sun and bloom a month later.
I think I have fallen upon a beautiful death metaphor here. Death is a passage that leads to new life, new experiences, a rebirth of unfathomable proportions. Death is not the end.
I think I have fallen upon a beautiful death metaphor here. Death is a passage that leads to new life, new experiences, a rebirth of unfathomable proportions. Death is not the end.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Teacher
We are all, at least for a moment in time, teachers. Some teaching is by example, good or bad. Some teaching is intentional and direct, consumed with rules and technique. While countless forms of passing knowledge from human to human (or other creatures) exist, there is a form of teaching which has been modeled by those such as Jesus, Buddha and others that seeks to communicate truth above all other outcomes. The highest, most effective teachers do not actually "teach" with any sense of the verb commonly in use in our vocabulary today. Instead of filling themselves with knowledge and then doling out sips to thirsty scholars, a Teacher becomes a supremely efficient transmitting device. The truth and light of the universe are captured, broken into packets of communicable information, and transmitted to those with antennas up, ready to receive the signal.
The wonderful thing about being a Teacher is that there is no need to continue filling the mind as if it is some vessel which is most valued when topped off. Also, there is no need to discern the capability or intent of the learner, which is pure folly at any rate, but still often a concern for those who wish to elevate the understanding of the masses. The Teacher broadcasts openly and in a clear, unwavering frequency. Someone is in no danger of receiving the packet of information if they have no antenna or receiver tuned to the broadcasting frequency.
Teaching is not about the Teacher, but about the light and truth being harnessed. A Teacher strives for transparency, for a state of translucence that allows light to pass through the teaching body in such a way that the form and character of the teacher become irrelevant, and the light of the message remains intact in the journey from Universal consciousness to common parable. The ego in a Teacher must be dormant while transmission is underway, or there is a risk the message will be skewed to fulfill the egoic needs of the teacher, guaranteeing a loss of light and purity.
When a Teacher goes astray and falls subject to the pull of the egoic mind, truth is lost and often manipulated to feed the image of teacher as pinnacle of knowledge. Truth can not be exemplified by one individual more than another, for truth is absolute, and is itself not dividable. It is or it is not. It is either cleanly transmitted and received as truth, or it is assimilated by a teaching ego and spit out as words or ideas. Some words or ideas are fetching and may even be beautiful and of great value. But truth cannot be spread from any other than a translucent Teacher, who has controlled the ego, if for but a moment, to allow light to pass through without fraction or filter.
The wonderful thing about being a Teacher is that there is no need to continue filling the mind as if it is some vessel which is most valued when topped off. Also, there is no need to discern the capability or intent of the learner, which is pure folly at any rate, but still often a concern for those who wish to elevate the understanding of the masses. The Teacher broadcasts openly and in a clear, unwavering frequency. Someone is in no danger of receiving the packet of information if they have no antenna or receiver tuned to the broadcasting frequency.
Teaching is not about the Teacher, but about the light and truth being harnessed. A Teacher strives for transparency, for a state of translucence that allows light to pass through the teaching body in such a way that the form and character of the teacher become irrelevant, and the light of the message remains intact in the journey from Universal consciousness to common parable. The ego in a Teacher must be dormant while transmission is underway, or there is a risk the message will be skewed to fulfill the egoic needs of the teacher, guaranteeing a loss of light and purity.
When a Teacher goes astray and falls subject to the pull of the egoic mind, truth is lost and often manipulated to feed the image of teacher as pinnacle of knowledge. Truth can not be exemplified by one individual more than another, for truth is absolute, and is itself not dividable. It is or it is not. It is either cleanly transmitted and received as truth, or it is assimilated by a teaching ego and spit out as words or ideas. Some words or ideas are fetching and may even be beautiful and of great value. But truth cannot be spread from any other than a translucent Teacher, who has controlled the ego, if for but a moment, to allow light to pass through without fraction or filter.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
A New Sensation
I have been fiddling with a rib-releasing sequence using small balls. Here is the latest version, which I tested out yesterday on about 10 different clients to rave reviews:
Equipment needed: 1 small ball (Franklin ball is perfect) and 1 larger ball (8 in) designed for bodywork
The Releases
1. Lower rib cage. Place small ball about 2 inches below the shoulder blade. Lie on the back, allowing the body to relax in a slightly spiraled position. Relax for 1-2 minutes, sending breath to the ball. Perform the exercise one side at a time.
2. Mid-thoracic. Place the small ball between the shoulder blades, lyiing on the back. Feel the front of the chest gently open, with the breath traveling into the sides of the ribs.
3. Sternum. Position the body in a kneeling position, with the knees on the floor and the upper body leaning forward over a chair. Place the large ball under the sternum, folding the arms in front of the body. The pressure from the ball will likely be a bit uncomfortable, and it is important to keep the breath even and directed to the sides of the ribs.
4. Upper ribs, front. Place the large ball on top the crease where the arm meets the torso. Support the forehead with the opposite arm while leaning forward to allow the body to sink into the ball. Repeat on the other side.
5. Lower ribs, front. On the floor, place the small ball underneath the lower edge of the bottom rib while lying face down. Gently rock from side to side, keeping the breath smooth and even. Repeat on the other side.
6. Lateral ribs. Lying on the side, place the large ball under the middle of the rib cage. Every 20-30 seconds, place the ball slightly higher, until the ball is under the armpit area. Keep the breath flowing and smooth. Repeat on the other side.
7. Upper thoracic, back. Place the large ball under the neck while lying on the back. Spend 30-45 seconds in each of three positions: facing directly up, slightly turned to the right, and slightly turned to the left.
After completing the seven releases, sit up and notice the rib cage. It should feel like a light spring, vertically oriented with the head balanced perfectly and easily at the top. Any lingering tension can now be addressed with either of the balls. Simply place the ball under the tense spot of the ribs while lying on the floor, and breath smoothly for 60-90 seconds.
Equipment needed: 1 small ball (Franklin ball is perfect) and 1 larger ball (8 in) designed for bodywork
The Releases
1. Lower rib cage. Place small ball about 2 inches below the shoulder blade. Lie on the back, allowing the body to relax in a slightly spiraled position. Relax for 1-2 minutes, sending breath to the ball. Perform the exercise one side at a time.
2. Mid-thoracic. Place the small ball between the shoulder blades, lyiing on the back. Feel the front of the chest gently open, with the breath traveling into the sides of the ribs.
3. Sternum. Position the body in a kneeling position, with the knees on the floor and the upper body leaning forward over a chair. Place the large ball under the sternum, folding the arms in front of the body. The pressure from the ball will likely be a bit uncomfortable, and it is important to keep the breath even and directed to the sides of the ribs.
4. Upper ribs, front. Place the large ball on top the crease where the arm meets the torso. Support the forehead with the opposite arm while leaning forward to allow the body to sink into the ball. Repeat on the other side.
5. Lower ribs, front. On the floor, place the small ball underneath the lower edge of the bottom rib while lying face down. Gently rock from side to side, keeping the breath smooth and even. Repeat on the other side.
6. Lateral ribs. Lying on the side, place the large ball under the middle of the rib cage. Every 20-30 seconds, place the ball slightly higher, until the ball is under the armpit area. Keep the breath flowing and smooth. Repeat on the other side.
7. Upper thoracic, back. Place the large ball under the neck while lying on the back. Spend 30-45 seconds in each of three positions: facing directly up, slightly turned to the right, and slightly turned to the left.
After completing the seven releases, sit up and notice the rib cage. It should feel like a light spring, vertically oriented with the head balanced perfectly and easily at the top. Any lingering tension can now be addressed with either of the balls. Simply place the ball under the tense spot of the ribs while lying on the floor, and breath smoothly for 60-90 seconds.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Coming Right Along
One of the things I most love about gardening are the developments, both expected and not so expected, that greet each new day. It is rare for a "development" to be negative. Yesterday I got myself one of those.
One of the prizes of my garden is a huge oriental poppy which is the most beautiful pastel pink with chocolate brown centers. The blossoms are the size of salad plates. My dear hubby decided to help out with yard work yesterday, and equipped with the power of a high horse-power weedwacker, proceeded to knock down anything on our property that looked to him like a "weed." Apparently, he thinks poppy foliage looks like thistle. Wacked it to the ground.
I was upset enough to cry, but managed to keep the tears at bay for the sake of not making him feel any worse than I think he already did. No poppies this year. Is that really a problem? Is it any more of a crime than the doe and fawn that walked through our urban neighborhood last week and mowed down the raspberries and new aronia bushes? My garden has experienced some casualties, but nothing that won't be as good as new by next year. In this respect, the lesson of the month seems to be that healing happens, you just have to give up some time. In the meantime, all sorts of other places in the garden are alive and full of fragrance and beauty.
One of the prizes of my garden is a huge oriental poppy which is the most beautiful pastel pink with chocolate brown centers. The blossoms are the size of salad plates. My dear hubby decided to help out with yard work yesterday, and equipped with the power of a high horse-power weedwacker, proceeded to knock down anything on our property that looked to him like a "weed." Apparently, he thinks poppy foliage looks like thistle. Wacked it to the ground.
I was upset enough to cry, but managed to keep the tears at bay for the sake of not making him feel any worse than I think he already did. No poppies this year. Is that really a problem? Is it any more of a crime than the doe and fawn that walked through our urban neighborhood last week and mowed down the raspberries and new aronia bushes? My garden has experienced some casualties, but nothing that won't be as good as new by next year. In this respect, the lesson of the month seems to be that healing happens, you just have to give up some time. In the meantime, all sorts of other places in the garden are alive and full of fragrance and beauty.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Breathe In, Breathe Out
Cathedrals ribs.....people ribs. Somewhere in the dead of night I decided my next phase of enlightenment was buried in symbolism embedded in our bodies juxtaposed to architecture and other creations of men. Once upon a time I was a writer, but a few bouts of trauma sent my pen to the perpetual junk drawer in Life of Carolyn.
I hope blogging will exorcise some creative demons, and give me a medium to explore the idea that we stop our selves from reaching joy through the tensions and emotions we hold in our bodies. I might also just enjoy talking about the trials and tribulations of brewing a perfect batch of rhubarb wine.
I was once a writer by profession, and now I am a teacher of movement. I remember my first journalism teacher telling me that the best solution to writer's block was a cigarette outside the classroom door. 1991 seems like an awfully far gone year. He begged me to smoke; I resisted and got an A anyway. Cigarettes make me puke.
Writing turns me inward, and seems to be a break from my daily routine. The opposite of movement is stillness. Maybe in stillness, and the rhythm of tapping keys, I can find what I left, without leaving the path that I have found.
I hope blogging will exorcise some creative demons, and give me a medium to explore the idea that we stop our selves from reaching joy through the tensions and emotions we hold in our bodies. I might also just enjoy talking about the trials and tribulations of brewing a perfect batch of rhubarb wine.
I was once a writer by profession, and now I am a teacher of movement. I remember my first journalism teacher telling me that the best solution to writer's block was a cigarette outside the classroom door. 1991 seems like an awfully far gone year. He begged me to smoke; I resisted and got an A anyway. Cigarettes make me puke.
Writing turns me inward, and seems to be a break from my daily routine. The opposite of movement is stillness. Maybe in stillness, and the rhythm of tapping keys, I can find what I left, without leaving the path that I have found.
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