A blanket of snow covers my town, adding a loveliness to the day.
And a stillness that invites me to sit and look out the window. To gaze upon the brilliant white lawn scattered with prints of the deer enjoying their leisurely morning commute. Stopping to snack on my bush, as if I planted the garden for their pleasure.
The trees shake with the wind, breaking free from the snow.
I see how this dance not only protects the trees, but prepares for the wrapped lights to brighten the night when it arrives. My ears perk at the sound of the birds, pulling my eyes to the feeder.
There is a calmness to the hustle and bustle with a steady stream of feathered visitors.
As if an invisible air traffic controller guides the pattern. Alighting on the tree top and moving down the branches until the way is clear. There’s room for 5 birds at a time in this system. Rotating tiny flying machines, some wrapped in red, eat their fill and lift off to destinations unknown. Even the ground crew is busy at work. Sometimes a chipmunk, other times my dog.
Taking turns and wasting nothing.
The stillness awakens a lightness of being as my breath settles me within my body. It’s a pleasure to sit still and look. This mostly quiet world tells me stories of partnership and beauty. Cooperation and kindness. Survival and creativity.
An entire library in my backyard.
A breeze gusts the snow in a swirling pattern. Upward and outward. Light as a snowflake. Heavy as a blanketed lawn. Gazing at this natural landscape, feeling the warmth and beauty within my home, I reflect on this pandemic holiday season. The sweetness and grief. The gain and the loss. The lightness and the heaviness. The disappointment and the celebration.
To witness the intimate, interdependent nature of life. To recognize the benefit of the art of giving and receiving. Far beyond a wrapped present from a store, it is the sharing of love that makes a holiday. And a life.
Love dances through my backyard amidst the blowing, flying, and shaking.
Without a focus upon the giver and the receiver, it becomes one magnificent movement. There’s no telling where Love begins and where Love ends. Perhaps that’s the greatest lesson of all. No beginning. No ending.
Just Love swirling about. Creating all things bright and beautiful.
May your holiday, however it is celebrated, be a blessing to your life. And may you realize in your moments of stillness how deeply you are enveloped in this movement of life.
Giving and receiving. Dancing within the complexity of it all.
Thank you for your generous gifts throughout the year. Your presence in Soul Sanctuary and online. Your gifts and donations for Love Orphanage and SisterHood. The privilege of sharing space with you in person and virtually.
It’s a wonderful thing, this Life, and I’m grateful to be sharing it with you.
2021 is almost upon us. I hope you’ll join me for the virtual Sacred Intent Retreat on Saturday, January 9th. Let’s discover your Soul’s intent for this New Year. I’m looking forward to the magic we’ll create together. Please sign up soon as we’re limiting our retreat space to 20 women.
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
Food banks offer dignity and support with home delivery. Since the pandemic began, utilization of Feeding Children Everywhere’s services has soared, from 40,000 households in 2019 to 61,000 this year. Many people have felt too self conscious to head to the food bank. But with jobs lost and families hurting, innovation makes getting food and honoring families possible. Imagine the power of a service similar to Instacart or Amazon delivery harnessed by a nonprofit food bank. Kudos to Feeding Children Everywhere. Let’s not forget our neighbors in our communities. However you help out, do consider the benefit of giving … and receiving.
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
Three months ago, I unexpectedly entered into a relationship with a horse.
I met Zor during a visit to Liberty Stables in Florida, where I had gone to spend time with a friend’s horses. I had no particular expectations. I have no background with horses, no training, and no experience in equine-assisted therapy. I simply met this magnificent Friesian, and something quietly familiar unfolded between us.
I fell in love.
The women who arrive in my classes, retreats, and therapy sessions are sincerely looking for healing, expansion, clarity, or sometimes just a little room to breathe.
They are thoughtful women, deeply engaged with the people and work they love. Rarely do they arrive because they want another spiritual philosophy. Most are carrying something much more ordinary.
A life that has become full. Beautiful in many ways, but crowded.
About twenty-five years ago, I was driving with a colleague to a local conference. As we approached the hotel entrance, I noticed an open parking spot near the front door.
“There’s a spot,” I said, pointing to the right. He drove past it.
A few seconds later, another one appeared. He drove past that one, too. Then I pointed to a third. “There’s a spot.” Without the slightest hesitation, Dan replied, “I’ll leave that for someone else.” And he calmly parked much farther away. As we walked to the entrance, I asked about that statement.
During the Seeding the Light Gathering, I had the privilege of hosting Pascual and Jose Tomas in our home.
They feel like family as this was their second visit to New Jersey. We’ve also spent a week together in Damanhur and the Temples of Humankind in Italy. I’ve sat in many ceremonies with Pascual in Peru’s Sacred Valley. His flute playing often carried me up mountain trails in the thin air and hot sun.
I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.
All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.
The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears. Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.
I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.
Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her. Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.
