When I die, scatter my ashes in a place with a big sky.

Lupine blooming in an area known as the "Bald Hills" (about an hour from home)

Not in Control

Carving out ways to "practice" one's beliefs (as opposed to merely allowing oneself to drift with the flow) seems difficult to me sometimes as I watch how easily I can let go and lose track of where I am and how I'm spending my days. My own efforts to send down steadying anchors or tethers (that keep me from drifting too far out to sea or from floating off into space) depend on a sitting practice, along with awareness of the moon and seasons, and figuring out what's really important to me (which is slippery and changeable) to accomplish. (Now there's a heavy-sounding word.)

When I taught high school oh-so-long-ago (an "accomplishment"), I'd write a quote on the chalkboard each day, and my students knew that I expected them to---at least---copy that quote in their journals (a ploy to maintain a semblance of order and quiet as I checked roll, that is---a way to tether them) and, if they cared to exert a bit more energy, to write something they thought about the quote. As a (somewhat reluctant) member of Facebook, I see how many persons mostly share quotes they pick up from here and there (for those of you who do not do FB, sites specialize in quotes on different topics with accompanying photos, and if you "like" them, they show up on your FB page), how the tendency is to grab a bit of "wisdom," pin it on our chests like a badge, and move on---sometimes with no deeper understanding or thought than a simple nod. FB encourages this sort of "pinning" (and pricking) tendency to share soundbites and lives, creating more complex webs of connections, and sometimes weighing a person down with their own self-designated "likes," creating an FB-personage.

Reading the Dalai Grandma's post today brought back my own thoughts from this morning as I sat---how, though I've experienced our essential oneness (and to experience versus to know, of course, is quite different), I also have experienced and acknowledge the apparent contrary: our simultaneous uniqueness. Though we all walk a path, it is our own, and---like that water I keep feeling myself drifting on---it branches off, tugs me under, tumbles me over, and takes me to places I'm not really in control of. (Once I believed I could stave off aging---or at least ignore it: don't look at it and it will pass you by. Really.) I also used to be highly judgmental and critical, especially of myself, and my choices in life---not to mention extraordinarily private: marks, I suppose, of a highly controlling person. . . especially in regard to my own life.

Through the constant sharing of quotes and photographs and various tidbits from life that people post on FB, I see others and myself enjoying the thought of being able to form, to control life, to make it consistently "beautiful" or "reasonable" or at least "orderly." But FB reminds me that I have no control over what others post there (e.g., that photo of me looking ridiculous at my daughter's wedding), to acknowledge that I do what I must on this path I walk---as others do on theirs---and to let go, let go, let go. Recognizing I no longer need to maintain an ego is a wonderful aspect of aging.

Peacock at an Austin Park 

Hawaii, the "Big Island"

Not Far from Home

Near Home

One of the most convincing arguments that life-is-but-a-dream is waking up in a dream and feeling absolutely certain of its "reality."

Potential

blooms

like a burst blood vessel

in the eye----

momentary clarity, then

the obfuscation

of too many possibilities.

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