Sep 12
Our trip to the nation’s capital led us to the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. We paid six dollars for time spent in the butterfly room. Worth every cent and more. Below are the amazing creatures we got to spend a little time with. Butterflies live a remarkably short time. In fact, one of the moths we saw is born without a mouth and cannot eat or drink. I asked Chris what the point of that was. He said the moth was basically a flying penis…imagine that, a flying penis.
Whenever I share that I’m a spinner (In the spinning wheel sense, not the exercise bike sense)…I always end up saying, “Gandhi was a spinner.” I’m not sure what people think when I tell them this. I am not comparing myself to Gandhi when I say it, rather I want to share with them the rewards of spinning. Gandhi felt that spinning represented the best of living simply. I think spinning is a meditation.
I once read that spinners of olde would pray for and think about those who they were spinning for. In the wool they would add stories, wishes, and blessing for their loved ones. These stories and prayers would be continued as the spinner then knit the yarn they had just made. Those who received their handiwork received not only the garment; they received the thoughts and love of the spinner.
I have pulled out my spinning wheel this week.
my louet spinning wheel
Usually I reserve spinning for the cooler months. Lately I have felt restless and spinning offers me a retreat. My feet pedal back in forth in a rhythm the wheel seems to give me. The mound of fleece transforms into a tiny thread. It’s magical and quiet. When I spin I think of little else; and when my mind drifts I remind myself to keep my thoughts benevolent. My yarn will carry my emotions and one day someone will wear them. I want to spin peace.
The best advice I’ve ever heard about cooking was to never cook angry. Food from an angry chef never tastes good. It’s true. Conversely, food made with love tastes incredibly good. Once I made a dish of barley and beans (it was all I had on the shelves) As I cooked, I remember thinking about how much I loved my children. When I served my kids the simple fare they couldn’t get enough of it..they said it was the best thing ever. One should spin with just as much feeling. Yarn made with love is undeniably remarkable.
Tonight I will spin some more. I have a 100 other things I could and maybe should be doing, but creating a little beauty seems just as important right now.
raise your hand
Feb 1
It’s a beautiful morning. Blue sky and I am home. Unfortunately, I am sick. In fact, I have been sick for almost five weeks now. A persistent and annoying fever and general malaise has been home in my body. Last night I went to bed, a healing mantra circling my brain..”I am healthy and strong.” I awoke stuffy and weak and missed school for the first time ever. I hate missing school.
Perhaps I am pushing too much, trying to accomplish more than I should. I see others who seem to do this successfully. Working and playing, never pausing. I am not one of them. My body needs rest. My soul craves the quiet. I forget who I am sometimes, what it is that I need. Simple things. Time outside. A gentle walk, light, love. I can have these things and nothing else. And I do. And life is sweet and good.
Once long ago, before I had children even, I would day dream of the very simple life I would make for myself. I would have a garden and old but lovely home. I would dry my clothes on the line and make dinner for my lover. It would be perfect.
I have excuses sometimes. This winter has been cold and I have far too far clothes for line drying. There is little light in the Pacific Northwest and one must work hard to pay the taxes on that lovely little property.
Other times, I can see that I am right where I have dreamed. I have these things. I have arrived. Being and doing are different things. I have to see my world with a ‘be-ers’ mind and all is well. Perfect even.
Today, I am taking time to heal. My curtains are open and if I can muster the energy I will head out for a walk with Luka, my beloved dog. My lover is coming home for lunch today. There is nothing else I need.
I saw him in my garden
suspended above the slender orange blossoms
so perfect
and impossibly quick
only it wasn’t enough
or perhaps I felt it unfair
that I alone should see him
so I retreated, dashing inside to grab my camera
on my return, I discovered he had gone
I have wondered
what it was that pulled me away;
the possibility of capturing time?
or the desire to not be alone
in the beauty of that moment
Jun 11
“Enlightenment is not a denial of the world. Is is the experience of seeing deeply into the nature of existence.” from Jivamukti Yoga
I once lived very manically, swinging from high to low, never spending too much time in the middle. Mistakenly I believed my creativity lay in the extremes of my emotions, never understanding the obvious..that such extremes allowed me only to express the extremes of my emotion. It was all about me.
I found the middle to be mediocre. There was certainly nothing to be found in mediocrity. But I was wrong..on both accounts. The middle place is full of opportunity and creativity, abundant in possibility. And mediocrity, well the every day is quite beautiful. In fact, the every day holds every thing. It is what inspires me.
I watched the news the other night and to learn that scientists had discovered the reason for the paper thin shell of the argonaut octopus. I had never seen an argonaut before. It’s a beautiful creature, an octopus essentially living in a shell, a nautilus. The shell is so thin it offers no protection, so it was puzzling why this octopus had made such an adaptation. Scientists learned that the shell is used to trap air and used for ballast. The octopus can control the trapped air and move about. Pretty amazing.
I am captivated by this creature. But I am just as easily captivated by the squirrels in my yard and the tomato plants I just put in my garden. I sat on the bench in my front yard last week, watched people walk by, listened to a sweet bird sing, and admired the growth of the weeds and flowers alike. Life happens. When I take a moment and actually sit in the happening, I happen too. I recognize that I am in the middle of this. I am a part and whole of this All. This is Equanimity.
“Yoga is a practice of observing yourself without judgement. If we do not pay attention to ourselves in our practice, then we cannot call it yoga.”…Desikachar
I am
what I believe…
let me only
believe the beautiful
I had a bad week…
deidre noreen 