refuge

You know you know something...when your heart will not be still, when your sleep is disturbed by the grinding of your own teeth...when your fear is shattered, even when your hands shake, and again- your heart that won't be still, pounds little extra beats into a rhythm that you fear might bring about breathlessness.
Every time I'm fearful about something, I become aware of the signals my body is sending...the trembling, the awkwardness of the rhythm out of time, out of context, out of the blue...I feel weakened. But it is truly at these precise moments, these scary, scary times...that I stop whatever I'm doing...take refuge out under the cherry tree, or next to the chickens, sometimes out on the swing...and I say "Father, thank you-increase my faith." And then I wait. And wonder. And become aware of the signs, the signals...the cool breeze against my face, unsettling the longer pieces of bangs that fell right over my eyes so that I cannot see, allowing me to feel the breeze against my skin-even more intimately, a caress of assurance. And my nose picks up a scent that I did not realize a moment ago...it filters through my memory and elicits sweet joy...roses. My hands stop their shake, my heart slows it's pace...I breathe...in...peace.
Perhaps this is faith, or maybe just a fine moment in time that I discovered to be truly, truly holy...
Sharing these thoughts does not make me any more or any less than any other soul on this earth...it just makes me keenly aware of the goodness, the sublime...the count your blessings and be grateful for all you have and all you know...you are alive. Intact.

Sitting out in the little orchard yesterday, under the sky- bruised and swollen with yet again more rain...I realized, perhaps for the first time in my life-I am intact. Blew me away...sat down and wrote a blue streak yesterday...don't know where it all came from, the words- but they left their mark on me and on the page. All because I started to fret and shake about something I have no control over...no steering...no holding on...no handle...as the breeze from??? blew it all away.

Be well, take care.

holy now

"...there's Uncle Joe, he's a movin' kind of slow- at the junction...(Petticoat Junction.)"

See if that little song doesn't stay in your head all day. Just had to bring it up, remembering that show with the sisters and the mom and old Uncle Joe who got up early just so he could take a nap. Yep. I get up early just so I can make a pot of coffee and put the tea kettle on...for dessert, kind of. Oh I love my tea, herbal and otherwise. Which brings me to the point, the explanation of writing this early morning- the tea kettle relates to time taken out of time. To sit and wait for the boil, to mindfully pick and place a tea bag in the stoneware pot and pour the whistling hot water over it. To watch the steam rise, carry the little pot here- next to this keyboard and pick out a story, a tale of time come, time gone, and time now- this very moment finds me alive and happily so.

I don't know about you, but I find some importance in being still in moments such as this, reflecting on lists made, good strong intentions, whittling away the mess of loss of time- so many things carry us away from the project or the moment at hand. I suspect that most people in my life (who have observed me in my daily manic ways)...do not realize that out of sixth gear I do shift, generally in the morning, or out in the gardens and always in the woods- I slow, I'm quiet, I'm purposeful in that I meld with the silence, the stillness, the shrillness too at times of bird songs and tight breezes. Yes, most do not know this side of me- I suppose I rarely share it, it is mine and mine alone- selfishly sitting out on the sidelines why life whizzes by for so many. Oh, I use to whiz along too, never stopping, realizing the beauty to be had, the miracles all around- for me, it seems...everything is holy now. (From a song, love that line.)

May this week find you well, precious to yourself- as precious as the time, the moments we have here. Oh and do look for the green overcoming the winter's weight of greys and brown, it's popping through little by little, overcoming- resurrecting the bleak with the beauty of Spring.
Take care-