The Story Midwife

Dolphin-bound

A.K.A.  My sneaky husband...

Thank you, thank you for all the wonderful birthday wishes! It was a wonderful birthday and birthday week. One of the coolest parts was a secret my boys were keeping from me. I could see Sammy was about to burst, but as I love a good surprise, I kept stroking him in his "doing a good job keeping this secret, Sammy."

Here's one thing I love about my husband: he knows me. Another thing: he loves me beyond words, methaphor, and image. I am pretty sure I have no idea how deep his love goes. While we live in the day-to-day unfoldings of life together I encounter the well of his love for me and our love together. But it's a moment or event like my birthday surprise where I catch my breath and think, "Damn! This man really digs me.  And he gets me."  It's a lovely combination.

So what is this surprise?

I'm going swimming with dolphins!  And my best friend Heather Michele will be joining me!  WAHOO!

The Minnesota Zoo has a get-to-know the dolphins program which includes special seats for the dolphin show, followed by a special one-on-one time with a particular dolphin. From what I understand, the dolphin swim is more like a dolphin dip: very brief and highly controlled in a small part of the pool. And while it's my dream to someday frolic in the wild with dolphins this is a glorious foretaste of the feast to come. Made all the more fun that Heather and I will do it together. The date's not yet on the calendar, but it will likely be a Saturday in the next couple of months.  I'll be sure to take pictures and post them here.

In the Native American traditions, animals are messengers and bringers of good medicine. As I talked about in my last post, there is much arising in my emotional life right now. With the surprising way Dolphin has shown up here has me wondering what what gifts she might bring. Here's a traditional native story re-told by Jamie Sams and David Carson, co-autors of the animal Medicine Cards:

     Dolphin was traveling the oceans one day as Grandmother Moon was weaving the patterns of the tides. Grandmother Moon asked Dolphin to learn her rhythms so that he could open his female side to her silvery light. Dolphin began to swim to the rhythm of her tide, weaving, and learning to breathe in a new way. As Dolphin continued to use this new rhythm, he entered the Dreamtime. This reality was a new and different place from the seas he had known.
     Dolphin came to discover underwater cities in the Dreamtime, and was given the gift of the primordial tongue. Dolphin learned that all communication was pattern and rhythm, and that the new aspect of communication was sound; he carries this original pattern to this day.
     Dolphin returned to the ocean of the Great Mother, and was very sad until Whale came by and told Dolphin that he could return to be a messenger to the Dreamtime dwellers anytime he felt the rhythm and used the breath. Dolphin was given a new job. He became the carrier of messages of our progress. The Dreamtime dwellers were curious about the children of Earth, and wanted us to grow to be at one with Great Spirit. Dolphin was to be the link.

Ted Andrews' Animal Speak book talks of the power of breath, sound, sexuality, and spiritual practice that Dolphin invites us to. Being a sound-breath-body-Dreamtime lover, all of this makes sense. A few years ago I attended a week long retreat in Shamanic Breathwork. Whew, what an experience. I'm still integrating things that arose in that time. I'm not sure I'm up for a retreat like that right now, but perhaps the elements of breath and sound and body and dreamwork are asking for a different sort of attention. Thanks for that post-it note, Dolphin.

It's a Spirations Spiritual Direction Training Program weekend coming up, and I must return to my preparations. We have been exploring Ache and Dark Nights of the Soul this quarter. It's been rich and luscious, and I am eager to be with my women to hear their stories and know their hearts.

How might breath and sound be calling to you?
   

Happy Birthday Week to ME!

Trish, age three, Burt and Ernie birthday cake - made by Aunt Beth, my mother's sister.

__________________

Yep - it's birthday week!  Wahoo!  I love my birthday week and drink it all in with feisty joy.  I'm an Aquarius, born January 22, 1975.  For those of you who aren't math geniuses, that makes me 32 years old on Monday.

In our house, the birthday girl or boy gets the whole week. Richard and Sammy have sweetly gifted me with a present each morning before Sammy hops aboard the bus. Monday it was a recipe book (handcrafted by Sammy and Daddy with LOTS of tape) full of recibes for just one item: the mango lassi! Ooh, I love Indian food, in particular the traditional Indian mango drink. The boys got a whole pile of mangoes and accompanying ingredients and Sammy and I whipped them up for dinner on Monday night. Tuesday I got a new orange (favorite color) folding toothbrush. Today it was the new Stephanie Plum mystery by Janet Evocovich, Twelve Sharp. (I'm a sucker for a quirky murder mystery, and Stephanie Plum takes the cake. No pun intended...) Last night Sammy took me out for pizza, and tonight we'll do something special, too. (Richard's at the Big City Church both nights.) This weekend friends are taking us out for pasta and the theater. I think it'll be a great birthday week for me.

This photo above of me at my 3rd birthday party is tender for me. Each time I really look at it - and into the eyes of my three-year-old self - I tear up. In the midst of preparing our house for sale, I recently re-discovered my baby book with photos from my early childhood. Many find me with a strained smile or no smile at all. Here though, at age three, I have a spontaneous smile - maybe even a precursor to a giggle? It 's both sad and heartwarming to see my/her face. I want to scoop her up as I have so often scooped up my son and ask her what she knows. To tickle her and snuggle with her and sing her to sleep. To love her like she's never been loved before.

Over the last several weeks, I've been exploring EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique), an energy-based, self-healing method based on the meridians, as well as "mind training" methods that integrate prayer, meditation, EFT and hypnosis. As a contemplative who leans deeply into Buddhist Insight Meditation and treasures the journey of life (including the rich folds of the soul that darkness, sorrow, and grief lend), I am reluctant to try and am skeptical of ultra "light-based", instantaneous, "change-your-mind-and-change-your-life" recipes for success, happiness and manifestation. 

In his book Original Self, author, musician, psychotherapist, and former monk (now there's a combo I love!) Thomas Moore offers that when we are "chronically trying to be someone other than [our] original self, persuaded that we are not adequate and should fit some norm of health or correctness, we may find a cool distance gradually separating us from the deep and eternal person, that God-given personality, and we may forget both who we were and who we might be."

Three more quotes from Original Self:

   "The soul has its own set of rules; the events of the soul are cyclic and repetitive. Familiar themes come round and round. The past is more important than the future. The living and the dead have equal roles. Pleasures are deep, and pain can reach the very foundations of our existence."

   "The soul doesn't evolve or grow, it cycles and twists, repeats and reprises, echoing ancient themes common to all human beings. Its odyssey is a drifting at sea, a floating toward home, not an evolution toward perfection."

   "To be modern is to worship at the altar of health. We look forward to the day when we will be fully balanced and adjusted. We believe we will have arrived there when trouble vanishes and we feel chronically carefree... Behind this attitude lies a salvational fantasy... Once in a group discussion James Hillman was celebrating the soul's pathologies. I supported his stance by saying how important it is to safeguard our symptoms. A man in the group came up to me afterward and said, 'Did I hear you right? Did you speak in favor of preserving our symptoms? How could a therapist, of all people, make such an odd remark?'
   Our neuroses are the raw material out of which an interesting personality may be crafted. They are sometimes dangerous and debilitating but nonetheless valuable...
   Not wallowing in our limitations by creatively dealing with them as resources for a vital life - the prima materia of the alchemists - we arrive not at shallow self-acceptance but at profound love of the soul, which, with its rich mixture of the good and the bad, is the starting point of a creative life."

Whew - this is the sort of stuff that makes my mystic soul come alive! It's also very much in tune with my experience of breath-centered meditation. And, to me anyway, it seems that the hypes of EFT, positive affirmations, and hypnotherapy blatantly contradict this more soul-nurturance view. A 'salvational fantasy', if you will. Yet there are many individuals dear to me that claim the personal and life-altering power of these tools and methods. The movie The Secret is big news in many spiritual circles, as are books by Esther and Jerry Hicks, which contain messages on the laws of abundance and attraction brought forth by the entity Abraham, whom they channel.

As much as the contemplative in me may initially bristle at this sort of language, it has been my experience that where I place my thoughts my attention follows. And I love my readings in the intersection of faith and science, of quantum physics and faith/theology/spirituality, which is at play in EFT, affirmation work, The Secret, and other "mind tools". AND I'm also a Big Fan of the incredibly rich diversity of God.

So - what do I do with all this that initally feels like discord? I'm sitting with it. Exploring it. Opening my mind to the ways these seemingly different world/spirituality views might find stands of similarity, even compatability.

How, you may be begging to know, does this relate to my birthday week? I often find myself claiming themes rather than resolutions for a year, and as my birthday is so close to the new year it is often the marker for such thematic turns around the sun. Lately I feel a rumbling in my belly as I relate to my past. This is not new, and Lord knows I've done a shit load of inner work, therapy, journaling and spiritual direction as I bring healing and peace to my Story. But as my son ages, it becomes more important to me to live "cleanly" from my Story. I'm not sure what I mean by that, exactly. Just that I don't want to bring all the tangles from my family of origin into so many of my encounters with my son. I'm sensing that all of the above - from Thomas Moore to EFT to affirmative mantras - have pieces to contribute to a new layer of healing might occur in my life. Thus, we have a theme for Birthday Year 32. (Incidentally, in numerology the number 32 is broken down to the number 5. Here's what one resource says about the energies of 5. Right in line with child-hearted-ness, I think!)

This is a long post, I know. And full of diverse ideas and thoughts and explorations. If you've stuck with me this far, I'd love to know your thoughts on this. I know some of you personally, and know that you are mystic-contemplative minded folks. How do you integrate (or not) some of these ideas? If you feel yourself more in-line with positive visualization, the laws of attraction and abundance, and other new thought modalities, what do you think of Thomas Moore's assertions? You Buddhists, too - what's your take? I'm interested in creative dialogue here, so be real and be kind.

Okay. I'm off to slather on another coat of paint on some doors on my second floor. When will we ever be done with this house tending so we can get this baby on the market? 

Hmmmm.... Maybe I can harness this law of attraction.  I'm visualizing it now.... The doors are painted, the clutter is gone, the floors are so shiny I can see my face in them... The plumber is on his way to install the new shower... I can see the sale coming...

:-)

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A Music Gift for You

Spiraling round,
Darkness abounds,
I am bringing the light.

__________________

Merry Christmas,
  Happy Hanukkah,
   Blessed Advent,
    Joyous Kwanzaa,
     Wondrous Solstice,

               to you.

To celebrate you I am offering you the gift of song. To receive your free song, please either leave a comment below, or email me at the EMAIL ME link to the left just below the picture of me smiling at you. Then, I'll send you an MP3 of the song.

Called Spiraling Round, I wrote this simple and sparse chant last winter to accompany a ritual my husband and I led some retreatants in at Prairiewoods Spirituality Center.

When I decided I wanted to gift you with this song, my amazing guitar-playing husband and I went into our studio to capture it. What you'll hear on the MP3 is the dance of Richard's guitar and my voice. It's quiet. It's simple. It's like we're sitting with you right in your own living room. So go ahead! Dance. Sing with your unique voice. Add harmony. Play your drum or your pots and pans. Change the words, if you wish. Light a candle. Take some deep breaths. Let it lull you to sleep.

Why would I do this, you may ask? It's a rich and full season we are in. For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, we are experiencing shorter and shorter days. You may know that I am in love with darkness. In the midst of this darkening time we hear all around us the buzz of the winter holidays - many of which include stories of brightness of light. It can be disorienting. It can also stretch us to find the Sacred in the midst of all of it. In any way I can I want to offer blessings of hope and mystery for these days of intensity.

Over the next year I hope to be writing a book of rituals with accompanying chants (in the vein of Metta Chanting Circle) which will include a different arrangement and recording of this song.

I'd be remiss if I didn't also mention that this is one of our 5 year-old son's favorite songs. Last year on the Winter Solstice we called several friends and family members to sing them this song. He gets into it with full voice and drum - announcing his "Lightness" to anyone who will listen (or might just be strolling through the neighborhood). Consider calling your dear ones to sing Spiraling Round quietly in their ears.

However, wherever, and with whomever you mark this season, whether it is the Light or the Darkness that most calls to you, I bless you.

Finally, I wish to thank Christine at The Sacred Art of Living who has been clearing out her books and giving them away to her faithful blog readers. (I was a happy recipient! Thank you so much, Christine!) She was part of the inspiration for my own giveaway.

And thanks to Kashfia at Stock Xchng for the incredible picture above.

With blessings and deep bows,
Trish
The Story Midwife

In Love With Darkness

I love the dark. Love, love, LOVE it. Appropriately then, the Winter Solstice is my absolute favorite day of the year. 

It was not always so. In my more fundamentalist Christian days I believed that truly it was the Light that was to conquer the darkness, and that darkness was bad and to be avoided at all costs.  Especially the darkness within. I am pleased to report with a deep sigh of gratitude that these days I welcome the darkness - especially the darkness within. I find such beauty and solace in that quiet, still place in my belly.

An example: For Thanksgiving, we drove out to Colorado to visit my brother and his new wife in the Denver area. My parents and sisters and their families also made the 12+ hour trip out. My favorite part of the whole trip was driving home in the dark. At the last minute we decided not to sleep over on Friday evening and begin the 13.5 hour drive at the crack of dawn. Instead, we packed up and headed out around 9:00 Friday evening, and figured we be home around 11:00 A.M. I was driver #1. While Richard and Sammy slept, I listened to two self-compiled CDs of music - one called STORY, one called ACHE.  And I fell in love over and over again. With the songs' characters, with the wondrous ways words and melody find and dance with one another, with the stars, even with the other late-night drivers. I fell in love even more deeply with this part of me that so treasures darkness and story and the ways they are ever interwoven.  Ahhh.  I believe this is why the word "luscious" exists. 

(The side story is this luscious dark-night drive would be AFTER the good yet wearisome family time and BEFORE Richard began manifesting the stomach bug my niece was first struck with en route to the Denver Children's Museum. Ugh. Obviously, I ended up driving the whole crazy way home.)

Five years ago now, Richard and I hosted our first Dark Party. We were so inspired, the next year we made a Christmas/Winter Solstice CD called Behold and wrote about it in the liner notes. An excerpt:

Last year, we began a new family tradition. At the Winter Solstice, the first day of winter and the darkest night of the year, we hosted a Dark Party. We invited friends to dress in black and bring dark colored food for a potluck. After the blackberries, deep dark soups, and "Edgar Allen Bean Dip" we sat in a circle, sharing our stories and witnessing for one another the presence of God in our dark places. At the end of the night, some chose to light a candle to symbolize a welcome of the returning sun, others held an unlit candle, honoring the presence of God in night.

(If you're interested you can view lyrics and listen to song snippets from Behold. Click here.)

This year's celebrations will be a bit different: on the solstice, I'll be doing a contemplative concert and ritual in Des Moines, and the Dark Party will happen nine days after solstice, and just the women of Spirations are invited.

Yesterday, I learned about another winter holiday celebration: Night of the Mothers! An ancient English holy day, it's celebrated the day before Christmas. Though legend holds Night of the Mothers was originally celebrated the day before solstice.  After the Church declared Christmas would be celebrated on December 25th, the Night of the Mothers date was also shifted.  Read about it here, here, here, and here. I particularly like the notion that dreams that occur on Night of the Mothers hold special meaning for the year to come.  Oh, I'm delighted by this new-to-me holy day so much I could just squeal!  In fact, so inspired was I yesterday that I wrote a new chant-like song on the spot. You can download that PDF here: Download pdf_night_of_the_mothers.pdf.

Well, there's a rumbly in my tumbly. Must follow that invitation.

But before I go, do share!

What does this holiday season mean for you?
What Holy Days do you intentionally celebrate - and intentionally NOT celebrate?
How does the idea of nourishing darkness strike you?
Shall we all have a virtual Dark Party?!

I can't wait to hear.

One more thing...

Ooh, Ooh!  I forgot to include perhaps the most fundamental gift of feminism in my earlier post. Without this piece, the list is grossly incomplete. If you have not read that post you'll be stepping in mid-stream. So go read it first, then come back...

Okay. Now that you're caught up, we'll continue.

The greatest gift of feminism in my life is my understanding of a holy, loving, Mother God. I grew up with the image of a severe man-god who was out to get me. The church of my childhood included the reading of the Ten Commandments at the start of every Sunday morning church service. No kidding.

When the faith of my childhood began to crumble uncontrollably, I sought out new ways to image God. Actually, it felt more like the God of many faces began showing herself to me. I was both terrified and drawn with everything in me. I devoured books such as A God Who Looks Like Me, Praying with Julian of Norwich, In Whose Image?, and The Feminine Face of God.

Over time, I felt born anew. It was as if I had been simultaneously birthed from the heart of this Mothering God, and birthed from the heart of myself while being midwifed by this Mother God. And it's changed everything.

I think it is only because of this experience that I am able to claim and recognize any of the other five gifts of feminism in my life.

Nest TWO!

Prologue: I'm going to experiment here, okay?  Instead of attempting to gather some thoughts into a coherent something-or-another before writing, I am using this writing space as a way to understand more of what is happening inside me. Consider yourself my lovely therapists. If the whole post feels a bit disjointed, don't say you weren't forewarned!
________________________________________

Good God.
I swear -- I SWEAR -- I have no idea what is going on.

Nest number two found me today.  After we came in the house from the bus stop, Richard came to me and said, "There's a nest in the front yard."  Gasp!  For those who are keeping track, this is two nests in 10 days.

So of course I leapt from my chair and went to inspect.  Then ran back in to grab the camera. 

This is not a half-nest. It is whole. And filled with leaves. It's amazing, amazing, amazing.  So delicately and powerfully woven is this nest, crafted together with grass and branches and horse hair and sheep wool fuzzies and tule fabric. Tears fill my eyes as I write.  What is this nesting thing about???

Indulge me, will you, as I read a bit about nests in one of my symbol books:

This book, Denise Linn's Secret Language of Signs, says this:

Nest:

• A nest is a sign of incubating ideas or projects.
• When you are nesting, you are creating a warm, cozy, safe space within your home. This is an excellent sign for congenial family life and domestic affairs.
• A nest can be a sign that it is time to pull inward for rejuventation. Go into your inner nest and incubate there for a while. There are times in life when you need to be still and inward and times when you need to be outward and expansive. if you see a nest, this could mean that it is time or you to withdraw into yourself for a period of renewal.

Okay. Sounds a bit like getting ready for winter.  I like that.

None of my other symbol books (some of which I like better for their historical context and/or women's spirituality connections) have "nest" listed.  Hmmm. Doesn't this seem like an archetypal symbol???

Some background information:

• The half-nest was in the backyard; the whole nest was found in the front yard.
• The half-nest was an immediate reminder of death and the women I know who are dying.
• The whole-nest comes to me on a morning when I am thinking about the dance in my life between these things: food, exercise, money/debt, lack, abundance, spiritual practice, teaching/learning, (meditation, prayer, writing, art-making, songwriting, etc.). They all seem to inform one another in ways I cannot untangle right now.

Well, golly. As long as we're experimenting, can we try something else?  If you've been hanging around here awhile you know that dreams are important to me, and dreamwork is one of my spiritual practices. When sharing dreams with one another, it is standard practice to share one's insights by prefacing the comments as such: "If it were my dream...". This isn't a soft way to whip the dreamer into shape with the sharer's most dazzling sagacity. It truly is a practice of seeing through the lens of one's own life, and sharing what would be true for that individual if she had had the dream herself.

So I ask you: Knowing what you know about this nest story (limited though it may be), what would it mean if you had found it?  If this was your "dream" what images, thoughts, stories, insights, blessings and questions would arise for you?

Now, are you ready for this picture?  As with the half-nest I placed it around and inside my home snapping pictures. Rather than sharing them all, I will share just one. I played around with this image in Photoshop - I have no idea how I did this as I am so new to this software and usually just flubb things up instead of making them prettier. This time, however, something in the spirit of the nest came forth.

I am absolutely smitten.

 

(Click on the photo to see full-size.)

She seems to want a name, though I don't yet know what it is.

Scattered around it are buckeyes, a pecan from my neighbor Ev's tree, and yes, that IS a little two-pronged, lime-green Lego. (What good eyes you have!) I am a mama, afterall.  The nest is exactly as I found it, leaves and all. I took the liberty of adding the buckeyes, pecan, and Lego that were in a red, octagon-shaped bowl on our bookshelf.

Whatcha think?

P.S.  I must shower now and scamper out the door. As soon as I found this nest this morning I called my spiritual director to see if she had an opening today perchance. She does!

P.P.S. I joined RevGalBlogPals!  My site should be listed among the other amazing sites soon. Who among you is part of this community?

Keeping Vigil: An Altar of Attending

This is a deep and wide post that has taken me nearly all day to write so grab your tea and snuggle in...

Last week I shared about Heather and G. In the next few days, G will be leaving the hospital for the last time and entering hospice care at her father's home. G's life is coming to a close and, in Heather's words, her circle is getting smaller and smaller to include just a select few. Heather continues to walk very closely with G and her family. Your continued prayers, candle lightings, songs and dances of healing are so greatly appreciated.

I am holding several stories of women who are dying or have recently died right now. Some of them I know, most I have never met but hold their stories through clients and friends. I so deeply struck by these women and their stories. I seem to carry them like a seed in my belly. Sometimes I find that I have turned my head to look out the window at my naked trees, wondering what these women are thinking in that moment. What is happening in their bodies? What do they know that I will not know until I am approaching the end of my life? What do their prayers sound like in their mouths? Feel like in their bellies? Look like in their eyes? 

In the last few days these wonderings have begun to stretch out to include the women all over the planet who are dying. Right now. And right now. And now, too.

Yesterday while Sammy and I were outside throwing the boomerang around, I found a half-finished nest under our ancient lilac trees. Or maybe it was a falling-apart nest, I’m not sure. Somehow, in an instant, this half-nest represented all these women - known and unknown - that I have been praying with. I thought of G – and the women who are saying goodbye to life so much sooner than they expected to. Women who will not marry; women who will not mother; women who will leave behind children and lovers and neighbors and best friends; women whose dying is prolonged; women who are dying suddenly or violently or in great pain.

My hands and body knew what to do: I fetched the camera, then set this small, half-nest all around our house and yard taking pictures and praying as I went. It was quick and spontaneous.

Here's the half-nest and a few of the places we prayed together:

On my lap...

Cupped gently in my hand...

Among a five-year-old's toys in a rusty wagon... 

In a cracked-open pottery vessel,
a tulip bulb nearby...

 

Atop weathered corner bricks... 

 

Then, I ascended the steps to my office / meditation room to completely dismantle my altar and re-set it to receive the half-nest. 

Here:

 

The window shows the view from my office. That's our naked tree on the left, and our fiery orange one on the right.

Some close-ups:

 

 

In addition to the nest the altar holds items of special meaning:

• Lit stick of my favorite incense;
• Candle made for me by a little girl - also the candle I used in the placenta burial ritual; 
• Tibetan bell, which we call the Bell of Kindness;
• A Talking staff that appeared in my life at a spiritually transformational time, and has been held by hundreds of women in sacred circle;
• Pocket goddess token;
• Bundle of sage and sweet grass;
• Glass star and two pieces of broken glass;
• Heart-shaped rock; 
• Two goddesses, a tree goddess and Gaia,  keep guard on the window sill.

I feel as though I must midwife this altar today. When one stick of incense goes out I whip out another and light it up. I ring the bell and bow to a women - any woman - on the planet who is dying.

Please hear me: this is not morbid!  (At least not to me, though some may beg to differ.)  Nor I am depressed or heavy-hearted. I am full. And I'm compelled to keep vigil. Is anyone else keeping vigil with these women? What about those who die alone or frightened or without anyone to hold their hand? Today I feel as though I cannot let this go unnoticed.

Last week it was one year ago that my Aunt Lori committed suicide. She died utterly alone in her basement. Today I keep vigil for those like her.

We do not know how to die well in our culture. I guess I want to learn about this for myself. And when I really need/want to learn something I do just what I'm doing: I read about it, write about it, make songs, do rituals, look at pictures, pray, light candles of vigil, take long baths, gather up stories in my story pouch and pass them around.

I am in the process of writing some songs and rituals for women who are dying, including a sacred cirlce ritual for women to do with a woman near the end of her life.

A few weeks after Aunt Lori's death I wrote a song called We Remember Them inspired by the Jewish poem of the same title. In a few days I will be offering this song for download from my website in honor of the approaching Mexican celebration, Day of the Dead. (More on D of the D here and here and here.)

I'm finding that I have absolutely no idea how to wrap this post up.  All my thesis summation ideas feel utterly inadequate. So I'll ask some questions - since that's what this Story Midwife does - and see where the conversation goes, okay?

Can you imagine creating an altar for the women who are dying today?

Who in your life is dying right now? How are you companioning her/him?

Are you afraid of dying? Why or why not?

What rituals do you have to mark the passing of those whom you love?

If you knew you only had a few weeks to live, what would you most want/need to do for closure?  What rituals and prayers would be most important to you?

How do you want to be remembered?

Autumnal Equinox

It's autumn. Officially. Ahhhhh.

I love the autumnal equinox:
Its balance of light and dark, its one-day-of-the-year reminder that there is equilibrium and harmony. The earth feels so gently poised, and it feels like rest. 

I love autumn: Its stark reminder that nothing stays the same. Years ago I heard a quote that's become my autumn mantra: It is as if the trees in all their glorious, colorful splendor have flung their arms into the air exclaiming: "I'm changing! And I just can't hide it!"

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Autumn is an especially active work season for us. Richard and I have been out and about leading several workshops, retreats, concerts and worship services the last few weeks. At nearly all of these gatherings I've gotten to hear my husband speak aloud that we so often think that a time of transition or change is the exception to our mostly status-quo living. But in reality, we are ever, ever changing and shifting. Each breath is brand new!

What if we danced these changes proudly, vividly, with arms flung to the sky exclaiming, "I'm changing! And I just can't hide it!" What an image: people all over the planet dressed in wild colors to match their changes, dancing down the street with their arms outstretched to the clouds, chanting, singing, howling. To me, that feels like a snapshot of radical grace.

Thank you so much to those of you who have written, called, and sent loving prayers this way as we navigate the school journey with our son, Sammy. Last weekend was a good extended connecting time for our family. This week, I think, has been more gentle for Sammy. We got his weekly progress on the school's "Pillars of Success". His teacher noted that he's "shown improvement in all areas."  There were no check marks indicating "needs improvement." On one hand, I'm relieved. "He's getting settled into the routine," I think to myself. "He's finding his way through this new system." Then I get riled up inside and think, "Oh, I just want him to raise some holy hell! You tell them, Sammy! You be your wild colorful self! Exclaim to them all that you're changing and you just can't hide it!" 

I'll keep you updated...

Speaking of dancing our changes, I will be doing my first solo concert in years next month in Des Moines! While I sing by myself at retreats, workshops, and classes I have not done a full-out concert without Richard at my side in years. As he's the Guitar Man I've relied on his amazing strumming and picking abilities to carry that part of my music. He won't be there, which means I get to rely on my own strumming and picking abilities. Albeit, not as stellar as his own, but I think I'll manage. The concert is part of a larger day of celebration and exploration. In the morning I'll be co-leading an InterPlay workshop with Mary Ellen Lewis. We'll be drumming, dancing, singing, moving, resting, exploring through our bodies and voices the ways we're transforming. Here's information about the whole day: Download dance_sing_drum_bead_flier_2.pdf

If you're in the area and want to hang a poster or share the news of the concert, find the scoop here: Poster - Download trish_poster_urbandale.pdf
Bio sheet - Download trish_concert_bio.pdf

Of course, even if you live far away, you're welcome to come! I'll even pick you up at the airport.

Whatever season of transformation you're in, I bless you, dear one, in all your glory.  For you are changing!  And you just can't hide it!

Namaste!

Grace for the Small Ones

AKA: My Squishing Heart

This won't be a long post.
It won't even be very descriptive.
For I am tired and it's the end of a very long week in our home and in my heart.

I've just put my son to bed. After book time we got to spend a luscious half-hour talking and lying in silence while I rubbed his outdoorsy, child-sweat-scented skin.

I wonder: How do people do it?  Have kids, I mean, and send them off to school?  We've put Mr. Sammy on the bus 20 days in a row now. And it's changing him in ways that are utterly heart wrenching.  I'm not kidding.  It's squeezing my heart and squishing it in ways I didn't know could happen.

This is turning out to be one of the most painful aspects of parenting I've encountered so far.  It's not like the colic that we endured together when the Sambo was just a wee little one.  (The colic that started when he was about two minutes old, mind you, and lasted so long I was on the brink of begging to be medicated and locked up.) It's not like the absolutely horrible extreme unholy, god-forsaken lack of sleep that we endured together until the boy was two years old.  (Okay, I'm a mystic.  I think everything's holy and has it's place in the shaping of the soul's landscape.  But I didn't like it and it wasn't the most healthy period in my life.) It's not like the challenges that arose within and shifted every single relationship I was in (marriage, parents and parents-in-law, friendships).  It's not exactly worse than any or all of these.  It's not better.  It's just really, spinningly different. And I'm at a loss.

Starting this week we get a weekly progress report from the teacher. (Who, by the standards of the public school system and that whole institution, is an EXCELLENT teacher, by the way. She's a GREAT communicator and I think she wants very much for her students to learn and thrive and (gulp) excel.) The report comes home in his school-to-home and home-to-school folder. Sammy has been "having trouble" sharing at center time and sitting still at carpet time when they have their "morning meetings".  He has difficulty keeping his hands and feet to himself and doesn't use the proper hand signals to indicate when he has something to share with the teacher or class.  Apparently he's walking around saying "O crap" "over and over and over."  On the positive side, though, he's learning to read their daily schedule, so at least he's got that going for him. 

As parents Richard and I are to talk with Sammy about these issues and sign the paper and return it to school. I did talk with him.  We sat together on the hundred-year-old hardwood floor of our dining room.  He was surprised to hear that the teacher thought he had trouble sharing at centers.  He thought he "was being really nice, Mama!" When I asked him about sitting at the carpet he pleadingly said, "But Mama, it's because I forget that sitting like this (demonstrates a sitting position similar to hero pose) isn't good for my legs." He's shared before that the "proper" way to sit is "criss-cross-applesauce," like this. When we talked about keeping his hands and feet to himself he said, "Yeah" and looked downward like this was not a new conversation.  He also said he kept forgetting to fold his hands in his lap.

When I asked Sammy if he knew what "crap" means (since it's not a word we use in our home -- well, at least in front of him), he said no, he did not know. I told him it meant "poop" and he was a little embarrassed and agreed that it wasn't too kind. I imagine no one had told him -- he was just told not to say it.

In addition, Sammy brings home homework a few nights a week with an extra dose for those weekends when there are two days in a row when he doesn't have school.

Then there's the bus fiasco delayed the route for 25 minutes yesterday.

Tonight in bed we talked about the new alternative recess that is being offered. He knows that the next time his class will participate in alternative recess there will be peer role models that help lead it. He said quietly, "I hope I get to be one." I asked him what a role model was. He told me quite plainly, "They're the good people." 

I could go on and on into the depths of what this calls up for me. I might go of on a tirade about how the frickin' culture we live in makes it nearly impossible for creative, artistic souls to emerge. How even the best of the public schools in our country are grooming all their little people to be cookie-cutters of each other. How at AGE FIVE we're teaching our children to be the "good people".  (Tell me, then, about those who aren't the "good ones?" What, pray tell, are we doing about them???) I could share how I'm scared my son will go underground in attempt to be one of the "good ones" and what will arise instead is the conditioned little person that has been socialized to fit in. I could tell you how freaked out that possibility makes me. We could take a walk down memory lane and look at my own childhood challenges with school and learning in so-called non-traditional ways and how I still tire at being "too big" and "too much" for the general population to "get". And in later posts perhaps I will.

But for tonight I simply wanted to check in and share my heart. To give you a glimpse of where I am in my own process with this.

Tomorrow morning we will go hiking at Backbone State Park, our favorite.  Then we'll drive to a pizza-and-
a-movie place in Waukon to take in Ice Age 2.  I hope he has the best weekend ever.

Okay, so it was a little more descriptive than I thought.

Do you have stories?  Words of encouragement?  Thoughts, reflections, well-paying job offers near a Waldorf school? I am ever so hungry to hear them.

Deep sighs within,
and deep bows of purest compassion to all the children of the world,
The Story Midwife