Tag: Living Delight

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Flying with Owen

Rocketing down the runway a few days ago, I suddenly remembered another flight home from the West Coast many years ago.

I was sitting at my gate, listening to music and absorbed in a book that had been waiting far too long in my “to read” pile. I had several uninterrupted hours ahead of me and intended to enjoy every one of them.

My attention was interrupted only once, when I heard a young boy urging his much younger brother to hurry.

“We’re going to miss the plane!”

Both boys were pulling their own small suitcases and weaving somewhat precariously through the crowd while their mother followed, gently assuring them that they had plenty of time.

I smiled and returned to my reading.

When I boarded the plane, I discovered that the older boy was sitting beside my window seat, engrossed in arranging his book and snacks. I greeted the mom and boy and settled quite contentedly inside the private world I had created with my music and book.

“Excuse me,” the boy said. “Can we switch seats, please?” He wanted the window.

I understood. The window was part of the magic of flying. I agreed to switch, even as my anticipated cocoon of privacy quietly disappeared. The middle seat isn’t my favorite, but I was young once and I do love a good view from the plane.

His mom was genuine in her thanks and I met Owen before his nose was pressed up against the oval window.

Once he was settled beside the window with his seat belt fastened, I returned to my music and book. I was remarkably good at narrowing my attention and tuning out everything around me.

Until a small, persistent movement at the edge of my vision entered my awareness.

Owen’s legs were bouncing.

Sitting cross-legged in his seat, he was practically quivering.

I couldn’t yet tell whether he was anxious or delighted, but he had captured my attention. There is something wonderfully contagious about a child who can barely contain his excitement.

We had begun moving toward the runway. I leaned toward him. “Do you like to fly?”
“I love to fly, especially when we take off.”

Now, here was a boy after my own heart. I immediately became grateful for those bouncing legs. They had reminded me that I was about to fly through the sky inside an enormous metal machine, a marvel in itself. And I had nearly missed it because I was absorbed in someone else’s story.

As the plane taxied, Owen and I discussed where we might be going and how we would know when we had reached the runway.

When we finally arrived, his legs began moving with even greater enthusiasm. A piece of gum suddenly flew through the air and landed in Owen’s lap, surprising both of us. His mother had apparently decided that the moment called for gum. Owen nodded his thanks, began chewing, and turned his full attention back to the window.

“Here we go,” I said as the engines grew louder and the plane began moving down the runway.
“That was the nose lifting off,” Owen declared.
“You think?”
“Yep.”
“Look at the terminal. Is it still there?”
“Oh, it’s still there.”

The plane gathered speed. “Now that was the nose lifting off,” he announced with great authority. Then he noticed that the terminal was still level with the window. “Hmmmn.”

“Tell me when you feel yourself pushed back in your seat and the terminal disappears,” I suggested. A moment later, the plane lifted from the runway and pressed us both back into our seats.

Owen turned to me. “THAT was the nose of the plane lifting up.”
“Yes, Owen. THAT was lift off!”

Together, we leaned toward that little oval and watched the terminal disappear and the landscape grow smaller beneath us. Then Owen returned to his book and I returned to mine.

Throughout the flight, he surfaced only occasionally to share something funny he had read or ask his mother for a snack. By then, I was attuned enough to enjoy him without leaving the world of my book entirely.

I remember feeling grateful that, of all the possible people who might have occupied the seat beside me, I was flying with Owen.

His joyful, jiggling legs had brought me back to the moment I was actually living.

I still love disappearing into a good book. I definitely appreciate a quiet flight and the rare pleasure of uninterrupted time. But sometimes Life arrives at the edge of your carefully narrowed attention and asks you to look up.

Sometimes it even sits beside you, asks for the window seat, and begins to quiver.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Ecological Belonging

Everything belongs. Everything has its place in the grand web of Life.

I was thinking about this recently as I wandered through the forest and stopped by a lake to chat with an old turtle hosting a flowing forest of algae upon his shell. I watched the long strands lift from his shell to dance in the water as he nibbled on balls of algae, pausing occasionally to gaze at me.

Nothing in nature exists by itself.

Every tree is in relationship with the soil, fungi, underground waterways, rain, wind, sunlight, insects, birds, and creatures sheltering beneath its branches.

That which is visible and microscopic engages in a relational dance of nourishment, consumption, and destruction. Life competes and cooperates. It grows and decays. Some of what you encounter is astonishingly beautiful and some decidedly less so. Yet everything has a place within the ecosystem.

Everywhere I move, I witness this ecological belonging.

In the Andean path, you experience the world as Living Energy.

Pachamama and heavens. Mountains, oceans, rivers, clouds. Elements, animals, ancestors and humans. Past and future. Seen and unseen. Nothing exists outside the living fabric. Relationship moves in every direction.

A central practice in this wisdom tradition is Ayni, the way of reciprocity. You recognize yourself as both steward and relative within this living weave. And the message comes forth.

You are welcome here.

You belong within the weave of Living Energy.

You are essential in this garden.

After listening to the Angelic realm for over twenty years, I recognize the same messages of welcome and belonging.

You are wanted here.
We delight in your presence.
You are precious and your existence matters.

You are already woven in the cosmic light.

And within Via Sophia, the Way of Living Wisdom, I find it again.

The Mystical Mothers do not ask you to prove that you deserve entrance to the garden. The Great Mother reminds you that you were born within it.

You belong here.
You belong to Life.
You are part of this garden.

You are a precious blossom already planted here.

Different traditions. Different languages. Different ways of understanding existence.

Beneath them, I hear the same message.

You already have a place. This is ecological belonging.

It isn’t belonging as a feeling you achieve when the right people finally love you in the right way.

Ecological belonging is more fundamental than that.

It doesn’t require achievement or fitting yourself into an acceptable way of being.

From the moment you enter this life, you are already woven into relationships that extend in every direction.

You have a place within the family and lineage you came through, even when those relationships are difficult or you choose not to remain in contact. You have a place in the human family, among the other creatures with whom you share this planet, within the history that preceded you and the future that will continue after you.

Relationships change. Communities come and go. You lose people, leave places, become estranged, feel lonely, or long for relationships that do not yet exist.

Belonging does not erase any of this. Belonging is foundational.

You belong when surrounded by those you love. You belong when isolated and feeling lost. You belong when uncertain of your place in the world.

You are a creature of this Earth, breathing air, drinking water, soaking up light and walking upon ground that has held life for billions of years.

Perhaps one of the great misunderstandings of belonging is imagining that someone else has the authority to grant it to you or exclude you.

The natural world suggests otherwise. Nothing has to demonstrate value to earn a place in nature.

The bird doesn’t confer belonging upon the tree.
The tree doesn’t grant membership to the moss.
The water doesn’t award the right to swim to the turtle.

They are already participants in the same living world. As are you.

Perhaps the invitation isn’t to seek those places where you belong. Perhaps it is to remember the place you have never actually left. And to choose how to live as a human who belongs in the garden where you are planted.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Seeking Treasure

When I was young, the neighborhood kids and I would spend an entire day playing a game we called Seeking Treasure.

Ranging in age from seven to eleven, we’d split into two teams and retreat to separate houses, where we sprawled across the floor mapping out a plan to outwit the other team. We’d write and decorate clever clues on slips of paper. Each team had a designated area of the neighborhood and a firm no spying rule.

We hid clues in trees, on porches, in birdhouses, and mailboxes.

Every game brought a new challenge as we searched for hiding places that would thwart the opposing team. One clue led to another. You didn’t know where you were going when you started, and you couldn’t gauge how far along the other team was in their quest.

That was the fun of it.

At the agreed-upon time, the teams met at a central location. Once the first clues were formally exchanged, the race began. I honestly can’t recall a single clue or whether there was even a treasure to be found.

Yet I have a visceral memory of packs of children running madly through the neighborhood. Putting our heads together to decipher a clue. Climbing trees, sticking our hands into small places, getting really dirty, and screaming wildly for everyone to hurry and keep up.

It was exhilarating fun.

I remember the pleasure of creating, the camaraderie, and a keen feeling of aliveness. Strangely, I have absolutely no memory of winning or losing.

Eventually, both teams ended up at the designated house where somebody’s mom had snacks waiting.

Apparently that’s when we learned that every good quest should end with celebration and plenty of food, no matter who won.

Somewhere along the way, we grew up and stopped seeking treasure.

Even if you never played a game like this, I imagine you left behind at least some of that childhood creativity, freedom of movement, playful exploration, and trust that one clue would somehow lead to another.

Instead, you probably became very good at figuring things out.

You make lists, research decisions, compare possibilities, and ask other people what they think. You may even try to understand what something means before you’ve had a chance to experience it and see what emerges.

There’s nothing wrong with thinking. Your intelligent mind serves you beautifully. But some things are discovered differently. Not by trying harder to find an answer, but by becoming receptive enough to notice what meets you.

I think we need to play again.

That’s the spirit behind Awaken Your Inner Oracle, a day of Oracle Card Readings and Treasure Mapping at Soul Sanctuary.

Imagine arriving among friends, new and old, with a few questions that are alive in your life and absolutely no requirement to know the answers. We’ll play with Oracle cards, share lunch together, and spend the afternoon seeking treasure throughout Soul Sanctuary.

You’ll have an opportunity to relax, play, follow your curiosity, and discover how much more you perceive when you’re not trying so hard to be intuitive.

I’ve enjoyed so many days like this with others at Soul Sanctuary, sitting around playing with Oracle cards, seeking clues, and having no idea what we’ll find.

My favorite part is watching the doubt disappear as people discover how easily they can perceive the wisdom hidden in plain sight.

When I was running around the neighborhood all those years ago, I trusted that something would catch my attention and lead me toward the next clue. I didn’t need to know where I was going or how things would turn out before I began.

I just played.

On Saturday, September 26, I’d love to invite you to come play with me. Bring your curiosity and whatever questions are alive in your life. Let’s have some fun and see what finds you.

Come for one workshop or make a day of it. And I’ll definitely have snacks waiting for you. Some traditions are worth keeping.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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I’m a Secret Librarian

True confession. I’m a book nerd. 

Reading is one of the great pleasures of my life. As long as I remember, I’ve devoured books. My home is filled with artistic book piles in most rooms. Set there to lure me onto the couch in order to gain a little knowledge or get lost in an imaginative adventure. 

I’ll trade sleep for a good book and often am running late to an event because “I’m at a good part.”

I never hop on a plane without two books. One to study and one to invite me into a new world. I overpack books on vacations so that I can choose the read of the day from my traveling library. For practicality’s sake, I tried, against my better judgment, to train myself to use a Nook but I missed the paper and ink too much. 

It’s no wonder I view book stores as my playground.   

Some of my best writing and creative projects have occurred in the cafe at my local Barnes and Noble. It’s as if I enter a zone or portal of creativity whenever I settle in to write there. I can work for hours, almost unaware of others around me, only to surface for an enjoyable break perusing the shelves. It doesn’t matter what department I enter, I find the perfect books and read a few pages. It’s a habit, I guess. Gathering a pile of books to “look at” and heading down a rabbit hole while sitting on the floor, engrossed by someone’s research or creative expression of genius.

I think this is where my career as a secret librarian began. In Barnes and Noble.

While my eyes scan the book shelf, I inadvertently notice authors out of alphabetical order or a disorganized display (gasp). Perhaps the books are left haphazardly laying upon the rows, even from other sections, as if someone dropped them there without regard. This desire to neaten and place books where they belong also arises in the public library, but doesn’t seem to cross over to other areas of my life.

I think it’s a love affair with the written word that has me working incognito. 

If I followed my bliss and spent more time at Barnes and Noble, their shelves would probably be in really great shape. It seems like a perfect volunteer position when I decide to retire. The only downside is that I’d probably discover something else to study and head back to work.

I decided to officially become a librarian when I found the perfect little free library in a nearby town.

 

I’ve seen those cute little bird house libraries and even toyed with putting one in front of my home.

That didn’t make much sense as I live on a quiet street where everyone can easily access books of their choosing. Or pop in their lovely vehicles to head to the public library or favorite bookstore. Anyway, I’m not so good with building birdhouses, even if they’re going to be filled with books.

Imagine my surprise when I noticed a little library appear at the playing fields where I sometimes walked.

People head there to walk their pets or themselves. Kids, teens, and adults use the field for personal training. Mostly it’s empty when we venture there for a nature stroll, but sometimes it is filled with the enthusiastic hustle and bustle of kids or teens practicing their favorite sport.

A summer evening may fill the place with kids practicing football, lacrosse, soccer, or cheerleading.

Game days bring the parents, siblings, and grandparents who overflow beyond the small bleachers to lawn chairs. It’s fun to watch and brings back memories of the thrill of little league games and working in the snack bar.

So, I’m already primed for enjoyment walking by that tiny free library. It draws me in.

I saw a bunch of old adult books. The kind you clean out after 20 years of sitting in your study. They sat there for weeks. Nothing coming in and nothing coming out. Plus they weren’t displayed well. Just sayin’. With all these hundreds of kids and teens running around, some old Tom Clancy books weren’t fitting the bill. So, I tried an experiment. I found some young adult fiction I had read in pristine shape.

A week later, the books were missing. Tom Clancy remained.

When I read fiction, which is the only book I’ll pass on, you’d never know it was read. I take off the cover and use a book mark. It’s a book nerd thing. I started to experiment. Dropping off a trilogy with really fat books looking brand new. They disappeared. I rustled through the books my kid never read. Hardbacks. Fiction. Biographies of brave girls. All gone.

I only drop books when no one is around. Hence the secret part of my librarian title.

And I send each book with a wealth of wishes. I talk to the book(s) as I head over to the tiny house. “I hope you find the perfect home and inspire someone to know how creative they are. I hope you help someone discover a love of reading .. create new authors .. encourage innovation .. alleviate loneliness .. open minds. I hope you travel well and enjoy your adventure.”

Of course I cleaned up that dusty box so whomever it serves has a lovely library that respects the books and their readers.  

Not everyone supports the idea of free little libraries. 

Some dissenters feel they take away from services offered by the free public library system. Or are a harbinger of attempts to gentrify urban neighborhoods. Two librarians from Canada described these cute little birdhouse free libraries as “a highly visible form of self-gratification cleverly disguised as book aid.”  Most supported the idea of these as a resource or an enjoyable hobby or just another way to share a love of creative projects, good reads, and generosity.

I guess since I just outed my secret about tending to a little free library in a diverse neighborhood, I’m now engaged in a highly visible project of self-gratification. 

Yup. I’m unapologetic. I love books. I love little cute libraries. I love being a secret librarian. And I love my public library. 

I’ll skip the cute tiny libraries in affluent neighborhoods and stick to the two I’ve found that serve a more diverse economic population. I’ve got no regrets, even as I acknowledge my flagrant self-gratification as a book nerd do gooder. Imagining children, teens, or adults grabbing a good book warms my little librarian heart.

In the end, I don’t really care who takes my books, if they are returned, or where they travel. 

I just trust they will land in the perfect hands to be read at the perfect time. As long as they disappear and I’ve got (good) books to share, I’m hired. I’ll let you decide where you land in this (mild) controversy about cute mini houses with free books. Read all about it here.     

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Lessons from a Blimp.

Many years ago, I was invited to take a ride in the Blockbuster blimp for my birthday. 

Yup.  That many years ago.  When renting video tapes was a thing. Arriving at a small airport in Northeast Philadelphia, I was startled by the size of the huge bullet-shaped “balloon.” Six strong men struggled to hold the blimp steady via long ropes. My friend yelled out, “This is going to be a hell of a ride!”

I saw an inconceivably small oval cockpit hanging beneath this floating behemoth.

I decided the butterflies in my stomach were from excitement as we squeezed into our seats.  Since it was my birthday, I had the front seat next to the pilot.  Lucky me. In a flash, those strong men were waving as our little engine chugged us forward.  It was surreal.

I thought of the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang movie while watching neighborhoods glide beneath us.

My husband’s seatbelt wasn’t secure and our gracious host in the miniature back seat wasn’t much help.  “No worries” said the pilot as he reached back to adjust the belt.  No worries?  The nose of the blimp moved rapidly toward the ground, giving me a full appreciation for the term, “nosedive.” 

Those butterflies weren’t only in my stomach anymore.

The pilot turned back and casually righted the blimp.  “See, nothing to worry about.”  Funny guy.  I breathed a deep sigh of relief. Immediately that familiar sensation of nausea came over me.  It never crossed my mind that a lifetime of motion sickness within all moving vehicles might extend to a blimp ride. I immediately got into management mode as I relaxed my body, set my gaze forward, and began breathing deeply.  Placing myself in an aware trance state, I focused the delight of flying.

“Kathy! Take a look. Your husband is turning green.”

Apparently we shared an affinity for blimp sickness.  Well, that man was on his own.  The pilot suggested they open a window. In a blimp? Good grief.  The backseat duo couldn’t get the damned window open, so the pilot reached back and battled with the sticky window. 

Another nosedive while moving through rough wind currents.

Happy birthday to me. I quietly scanned for an airsick bag.  Nothing.  As fresh air blew through our tiny capsule, I made a quick decision. I was gonna totally enjoy this novel experience. I decided my butterflies found it thrilling. After all, how often do you float over neighborhoods, rivers, and highways? I even snapped a photo of Philadelphia before we were turned away from the restricted city air space.

I gratefully realized I was halfway through my birthday adventure without losing my cookies.

My celebration was interrupted when the pilot asked if we were interested in heading to Willow Grove to see if we could fly in the air show.  Since I didn’t think I’d be flying fighter jets in the future, might as well try to show up in a blimp.  When else would I get a chance to be in an air show? 

Choosing to focus on the wonder of this otherworldly journey helped manage my discomfort.

I was hanging on by a thread when we got the message to “stay put” in case we could fit in the lineup. We’d been in the friendly skies nearing two hours and still had to make it back.  By the way, the back seat was doing just fine with their breezy window.  Enjoying some history and a tour of the grand estates in a ritzy area of town.

I’d love to tell you that we were the star of the show, but the Blockbuster Airship didn’t make the cut. 

All that extra travel for nothing!  Or was it? Reflecting on this gift of flight, I’m grateful I hadn’t recalled my motion sickness before we arrived. Or knew what a long, uncomfortable experience I’d have. I’m certainly glad I didn’t know anything about hanging in a mini cocoon under a gas filled balloon. Nor about nosedives and open windows.

All that knowledge would have definitely led me to worry and hesitation.

Which would have been an absolute waste of time and disrupted my birthday excitement. I learned motion sickness exists in the air and on the ground. And so does delight. As above, so below.  It all depends what you chose to focus upon.  Truth be told, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

In hindsight, the blimp was a walk in the park compared to the time I jumped out of an airplane. 

But, that’s another story entirely.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Lost in the Woods

 

I’ve recently awakened the desire to go hiking and spend more time exploring the trails in New Jersey and other locations. 

So, my husband downloaded a new app with a wide selection of hiking trails in our area and chose our first 5 mile hike. It was rated “moderate” hiking difficulty which was good for me. I enjoy our walks in nature tremendously, but I was hankering for a little elevation and variation. Since a weekend hike in Rocky Mountain National Park was out, we popped in the car to celebrate Labor Day with an enjoyable walk in the woods. 

I love to explore new places by wandering around without a plan, discovering what is around me. My husband, on the other hand, is a map kind of guy. Or in this case, an app kind of guy.

We arrived at a tiny gravel lot, grabbed our bottles of water, and headed down the deserted path. How could we go wrong? There were white painted trail markers on the trees and we enjoyed being in the shaded woods as a respite from a sunny day with temperatures in the 90s.

It was a delight to be immersed within hundreds of trees with a hint of the stream’s gurgle beyond the ferns. The blue sky and white clouds peeked through the trees as if to check on our progress, yet the rays of the sun were only lightly visible. 

We strolled along as if we were the only people in the world on this path.

Apparently we were, as we didn’t see nor hear anyone for over an hour. There was a peace that descended when we were immersed within the natural sights and sounds of the forest. Even my husband relaxed his noticing of the changing color trail markers and we enjoyed quiet conversation interspersed with long periods of silence. The sight of massive roots of a fallen tree, minnows swimming by the edge of the stream, or a surprising tree of burning orange leaves was good for the soul.

Faced with a fork in the road, we simply went left as the absence of trail markers left us to our own devices.

We spied two deer leaping across the path ahead and disappearing into the dense brush.  It was a delight and we decided it was clearly a sign we were headed in the right direction. This was our first indication that perhaps we weren’t reading the signs correctly – trail signs or nature signs – as we ended up stuck in a field of prickly grasses with nowhere to go. So, we turned around. At the next fork, we got serious about looking for trail signs.

How hard could it be? After all, we were walking on a 5 mile loop. A loop is a circle, or so I thought.

Back on the path, we continued our leisurely hike as my husband called out, “Here comes your elevation! All 124 feet!” Peering around him, I saw a tiny hump in the path. Okay, so we weren’t in the Rocky Mountains. We stopped on a bridge and looked for fish while the trees protected us from the driving sun above. Relaxed and at peace, I was content in our meandering. And then we hit another split in the trail and absence of trail markers. This was beginning to become a theme. 

I didn’t object when he pulled out his app with the GPS. Good news: we were halfway through the loop. I felt a deep love for that stinkin’ app.

I was aware that while I wasn’t tired, I was pretty darn hot. The benches that appeared did not seem appealing for a rest stop. They looked like they had been carved in the 1800s and were covered with elaborate webs. Truth be told, I noticed I was a wee bit wilted on my first hike through this hilly terrain (yes, there were very tiny hills now). And then I saw it: a thin tree had fallen across the path. Unlike the others we had climbed over which had moderate to large trunks, this was a slender tree. The remarkable thing was that it was still growing. Its trunk was bent and the leaves were fluttering in the wind.

I felt an affinity for that little tree who just laid down and took a nap, right in the middle of the path.

 

Soon after this wonderful sight and a few more tiny inclines and declines, we came to another fork in the road. It was confusing, so we got out my favorite app. Turns out it was no help at all and the GPS, which had given us such hope, was suddenly suspect. We were back at a previous choice point and had to either go in an unknown direction which logically took us away from our car or backtrack via a path which meant we had miles to go before we could rest.

As we headed back from whence we came, I was no longer a fan of meandering nor of that silly app. I was also aware that the trail markers, which were absent at the choice point, were now abundantly clear – as if some ranger had gotten paint happy.

“We aren’t out of the woods yet!”  Who knew my husband had such a sense of humor?

Hot as all get out, I took stock and began rationing my water.  Very soon, I realized that getting lost in the woods was detrimental to the annoyed or anxious mind. The surrounding landscape was as calming when we were lost as it had been when we were all gung ho and full of vigor. As we walked, my husband and I began to notice places we had seen before and it became a game of sorts. We even ran across another couple which gave us hope that we would rediscover civilization. Back into our confident meandering, we didn’t feel the need to ask how to get out of the woods. We figured we were on the correct path.

How many detours could there be on a loop anyway? [Two more, but who’s counting?]

Spoiler alert: we made it out of the woods and returned to civilization. None the worse for the wear, we were so busy pulling the sticky leaves from our shoes and clothing that we almost missed the sudden appearance of that other couple. They were calmly strolling up the paved road beyond the gate. Apparently, that “unknown direction” not only led back to the parking lot, but did so in an easy and timely fashion. 

When my husband mentioned that the app had an upgraded version for $2.99/month with more trail details and an improved GPS function, I handed him 3 bucks and told him he was in charge of next week’s location.

And then I took a mini nap on the way home – just like my favorite tree.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions.