Mother, 9/29/1932--1/16/2014

Mother and me, 1955

A man I don't really know handed me the photograph of mother and me at her funeral last Sunday in Louisiana.

The photos of flowers have been on my desktop for months now, ones I'd taken with Mother in mind since anytime I see anything pink, I inevitably think of her. Of course, now that she's gone, I won't think of her any less, but now I don't feel so worried.

Pruning

Over the last few years, I've changed from making a list of new year's resolutions to forming a broader, more open-ended intention for the year. This works better for me because I realize that writing the list held a level of shame and guilt at the recognition that I was really only half-willing to accomplish those things (thus their "need" to be on the list in the first place!). The list was rather like a prayer sent to a nonexistent god that I still hoped was there, one who'd tap me on the head and make me "better," or perhaps it was like a letter to Santa Claus. And rather than feeling I'd learned from the list, I often simply felt I'd failed if I didn't accomplish everything on it.

Forming an intention, however, feels more like dipping into mysterious contact with the divine within me----acknowledging that I have some control, yet being open to ways that I can choose to follow, as they appear to me. I don't feel I must have it all figured out ahead of time how this "theme" is going to appear in my life. Instead, this theme allows me to exhibit more consciousness in filtering my experiences through its focusing lens.

For example, this year's theme is "pruning"----letting go of those things that do not serve me any longer to allow for new growth. (The word came unbidden to me as I sat and opened myself to possibility.) That word has so many meanings to me at this time in my life. I just turned 60----and thus phrases like "old prune" came back to me with more significance. Yes. My skin is wrinkling more (even as I also still have teenage break-outs), but I don't seem to mind as much as I did when I turned 50. I continue to let go of ways that I recognize myself attempting to hold on to a youth that is long-since past, though that doesn't mean I don't feel young!

I'm planning to drastically cut my hair, something I haven't done since I was in my late 30s.

I'm going to give away the closets full of clothes I no longer wear.

Realizing these things actually made me burst into tears this morning----and our two dogs and my husband quickly encircled me, wondering what was wrong.

Letting go and trusting that what will follow is best is very difficult. . . .

Unless you're Ruby:

Home Again

"The most basic form of resistance is wanting life to be other than it is." *

I am opening this new "home" for my writing practice (which is basically a spot for me to wonder and reflect on aspects of life) on the day before my sixtieth birthday. Truly, I am no longer young! Yet somehow this makes me happy because of all the wonderful advantages this provides me. For example, although as a young person, I claimed not to care what others thought of me, I knew that I needed to be aware of their thoughts in order to make my way in the world. Now, however, I can still see and be aware of the fact that others I come in contact with may be judging me, but I can just let go of that and continue on my way. What freedom!

On a week's vacation to the Big Island of Hawaii recently, where we stayed at a B&B chosen for its description of being a "healing center," I met a former Buddhist monk and took the refuge vows; my "practice" has now been anchored and more visibly and consciously connected to others. 

I am not a good poser of questions. Questions fly wildly in my head, buzzing about in half-form, yet I feel I rarely get to the heart of matters by posing a clear question. In part, this is because I don't believe anyone else has any answers for me. I must discover those myself (as others must for themselves). But I also recognize, of course, that a good question and response can be helpful! And so, I asked this rinpoche how someone who lives out in the middle of nowhere (as I basically do) can manage to find a "sangha" to take refuge in. He said that he'd asked that same question many years ago, and that this rinpoche answered him by walking over to him and tapping a finger on his chest. 

Yes. It's all there. 


* from an article in TRICYCLE, “Breaking Through,” How to recognize and overcome three universal obstacles to practice by Ezra Bayda