Doing what needs doing

These short, dark days have been taking their toll on me. I got home from work yesterday and I was bone-tired. You know that deep down feeling that every molecule in your body is weighed down and wrung out. It's an interesting feeling and I have to admit that I kind of like it because I'm more likely stop asking myself "what should I be doing?" and instead ask "what do I need?"

Martin stopping to smell the flowers on a recent urban hike

What should I be doing?

• unloading the dishwasher and folding the laundry
• writing a blog post
• responding to emails
• working on my projects

What do I need?

• time
• space
• quiet
• nourishment

January sunset up on Twinpeaks

It's hard for me to let go of "doing" things. I'm not one to put something off for later, which is definitely a learned behavior as my mother can attest to many late nights put in working on my school projects due the next day. And I'll admit that "Last-minute Lauryn" still rears her head from time to time, but for the most part, I've come to realize that taking care of something early on usually eliminates more work later on. Taking care of the breakfast dishes in the morning eliminates the sink full of dishes in the evening. Putting together that spreadsheet in the beginning means you spend five minutes a week updating it as opposed to wasting a full day's work on pulling the information together the day before the final report is due.

Graffiti mural near our apartment

So even though I was bone-tired last night, the dishwasher got emptied and the laundry got done. I knitted another inch on my dad's red & black cap. And still I managed to squirrel some time away to nourish myself by finishing that fantasy novel I started last Tuesday. My mom can also attest to the fact that I'm a voracious reader. 

And today I'm writing that blog post.

Teatime and Dancing with the Dogs

Restoration. Coming forth. Being. Alive. Dance. Word associations are fun to play with sometimes and in that playful outlook I begin by referencing Shelia Foster and her current interest in "What's in your belly, gestating, waiting for the right time to emerge?" I pose this question to myself as the celebration of Imbolc (pronounced"im-olk") approaches on February 2nd, also known as Groundhog Day or Candlemas. All are defined by ritual and lore and give us opportunities to mark the seasonal progression from the darkest days until the light lengthens staying with us longer and longer. This year my belly is protruding and quickening as I continue the process of finding out what it is, now, I am to do, here in the world. I left behind the role of teacher and find I am a student of many things. Lauryn your special gift of taking me to the stone labyrinth at Land's End has inspired me to create a labyrinth of stones in my backyard. A project I have asked my friends and family to help me with by contributing stones. Later in March, I will have a Labyrinth Blessing Party for all those who want to come. So I have been studying labyrinth designs and working on learning a special walking meditation. In my very part time job as a children's art instructor, I am more student than teacher as I share my explorations with the children, about how the lines come together and create shapes, learning about shading and color. I am also learning about dancing with my dogs and tea time with a spoon-dip of honey.

What needs to be spoken? Deep in the belly a kind of longing persists. As I discover parts of my personality through being a student of the enneagram, I learn my basic fear is loss of self. What is "myself"? How can I lose myself? Who am I? For so many years the definition of myself was a wife...a mother...a teacher...and at times the order of importance of that definition shifted and changed. Imbolc means, literally, "in the belly" (of the mother). The Goddess Brigit is depicted as a maiden, one who symbolizes purity, growth, and renewal, fertility and the dispensing of the old and making way for the new, so it resonates with me as I go about this birthing process of finding my new work. Celebrations mark relationships and define us. I plan on celebrating this February 2nd as a tribute to my ancestors who so long ago, at this time of returning spring, lit bonfires and candles to rejoice at the rebirth of the land. As I continue to reflect, I sense a new awareness of how important connection to a community is for me and look for ways to put myself out there in hopes of finding new dimensions of who I am. Building the labyrinth is a part of this journey undertaken here at midwinter. So I leave you with bright blessings at this time in which the earth is quickening and returning to fertility and new life. May the Goddess Brigit give her blessings to you this season as well.

nine with a one wing

To nuke or not to nuke?

Two years and almost four months ago, when Martin and I moved to San Francisco, we limited ourselves the amount of stuff that would fit in a Toyota Camry. And I admit that we did store (and still are storing) some stuff at mom and dad's before we left in order to get down to only a carload. We also donated and sold a lot of our belongings before we left as well. Since then, we've lived in two small studio apartments and have still accumulated more stuff than we need or use. It's hard not to in our consumerist culture. Every where you look someone or something is telling you what you need and want.

Martin making pesto, note the need to stack the ingredients due to the lack of counter space.

A few weeks ago, Martin and I decided to go through everything in the apartment and ask ourselves if we needed or wanted to keep it. We were able to donate two appliances, clothes, shoes, books, toys and a number of other household items. Some we had purchased. Some were gifts. Some were things we had brought with us. It's interesting how over time how one's perceptions of what one needs changes.

A flower bud on the kitchen table.

One of the appliances that we got rid of was our microwave. Not because we're afraid of the radiation or anything like that. When Krista, my sister and her boyfriend Tommy came to visit in August, they talked about how they didn't have a microwave. After they left, I kept thinking about how much counter space our microwave took up (did I mention we live in a studio apartment). So sometime in October, I asked Martin if we could put the microwave in the closet, just to see what it would be like to live without one. And we managed. We make popcorn on the stove. I heat my rice sock, for my headaches, in the oven. Leftovers go in a pot or a skillet. The extra time it takes, which is not always the case, is more than made up for by the ability to have room on the counter to actually make something.

Our newly found counter space.

Now that we have de-cluttered the apartment, I find myself torn between two conflicting impulses. On one hand, I want to continue purging and opening up more space. To continue questioning if I really need this or that. On the other hand, I find myself thinking about things that I want, things to fill the space I've cleared out in my internal and external space.

Living Lighty

As I grow older, I think more about living lightly. What do I really need and how much stuff is enough? As the queen of kitsch, my family knows how much I like my "stuff". In fact some may say I weigh down the space I live in with the pictures, the plants and the many treasures that I have either found, bought for myself or been given. I have lived in the same house for twenty years and items accumulate over time. Lauryn, you told me about learning of individuals who are making a conscious choice to only own a finite number of possessions. One number you spoke of was less than thirty possessions. I am amazed when I hear a number so low. I mean compared to what I own, it is such a vast difference. Of course this family home is also where the recent children (now living out on their own) have left things to store so, I can honestly say our home houses a lot of memorabilia.

Sometimes the clutter is comforting, but mostly it is distracting. So I clean and organize and the space feels better. Taking down the holiday decorations yesterday, I let go of things just taking up space and all I kept has beauty or serves a purpose. It is a good exercise to practice, letting go of all that does not serve you or is not beautiful or meaningful. If you begin to think of the space around you as energy, the things you don't want or use can literally drain your energy. So back to how much stuff is enough? I find I am asking myself this question in earnest now that my parents are getting older and are finding that the weight of having and caring for things, gets in the way of daily living. I will never be comfortable with a minimalist approach to my home or personal space, but I do appreciate simplicity and the idea shared by my friend Melody in her book Partnering with Your Space,

"Just like people and animals, homes and possessions desire to fulfill the measure of their creation. A crib is made to be a resting place for a baby, not to sit in an attic. A dresser wants to hold clothing, not gather dust in a basement. Artwork desires to contribute beauty to a space not to sit unused in a closet."

As my awareness grows, I realize to create a home that supports my family, I choose to release the clutter, finding good homes for things I no longer need and discarding that which will serve no one. There are many options available to recycle used items such as www.readertoreader.org to donate books to schools in need, www.sharetechnology.org for computers and printers, www.excessaccess.org for furniture, clothing and appliances, and www.freecycle.org . These resources and more are there to consciously move in a direction that supports freedom from clutter. I am open and ready to de-clutter and although I will not likely pare my possessions down to even a mere 100 items, I do envision a healthy decrease in the amount of stuff I presently claim to need.

What Rubbish?

We have a garbage chute in our apartment complex. There is a sign on the chute asking people to bring their garbage down to the room if the chute is full. The garbage room is logically directly below the chute accessed through the garage or the street. Every weekend trash piles up outside the chute. Why? Do people not know where the garbage room is? Can they not infer where it is by the location of the chute and where the garbage bins are placed, biweekly, for the pick up? Or, are they just lazy? If so, what thought process makes it okay for them to leave their trash in fornt of the chute? Perhaps not the most elegant entrance into thinking about our koan, but I promise to make this deeper than it appears.

My first few questions relate to the person's awareness. Perhaps they are not aware of the location of the garbage room. The sign clearly states that there is one, and I will assume, for the purpose of my argument, that the person has taken the time to at least glance over said sign. So, let us be generous and say that the person does not know where the garbage room is. Why would someone make the choice to leave their garbage there instead of investigating where the room might be? The sign also states that there is a fine for leaving ones garbage outside the chute. Doesn't it also follow then that it is in the person's best interest to discover where the garbage room is and remove the looming threat of monetary consequences for their actions? Where is the drive to seek out this information?

But what if they know where the room is and they decide to leave their trash anyway? Thus the ethics of the matter. What makes it okay for the person to leave their trash? Why is it not their problem? Why are they exempt from this request to put their trash in the trash room? As a member of our apartment community, I do not look away. I do not leave my trash sitting in front of the chute. I do not assume that my trash is someone else's problem to deal with. I won't even put my trash in the chute if I see that it's filling up. What makes me different? Why do I make these choices while others make the opposite?

Finally, let's talk about the trash, by which I mean the contents of those plastic bags and twist ties. I am extremely fortunate to live in a place that allows me to be truly aware of what I'm throwing away. To be aware of what is going in a landfill and what is not. I can put all of my biodegradable waste - food scraps, soiled paper, used tissues/paper towels, etc. - in a compostable bag and the city will pay someone to come, pick up that waste and take it to a facility to be composted! The urban, community farm that I volunteer at uses that compost. That's awesome. Moving on to recycling. If it has a recycling symbol on it, I can recycle it. Numbers don't matter here. That means that every item that I put into my trash I know it can't be reused or recycled. And I can honestly say that I take out the trash about every three or four weeks, but I take the compost/recycling out at least once, more often twice, a week.

Why do I have this privilege? The technology is there. The infrastructure can be created. I'm sure it would create more jobs. Albeit dirty ones. So, why is it that most people don't have to think about the waste that they are producing and where it's going? In a culture that consumes so much, how often do we really think about what's left over?

The Koan

photo by Anthony Ayiomamitis

January and the darkening of the moon is upon us. In two days the new moon appears, revealing no light for the dark sky. These darkening days of winter are magical and bring forth a dormancy, ripe for reflection.

"A seeker of wisdom in the thrall of Winter Solstice should consider their celebration as a spiritual pilgrimage or even a quest...."
Montague Whitsel

What is ethical awareness? How do we live consciously? How does our knowing effect our doing? When I am aware of unhealthy conditions in myself or society and take no action is the impact different from when I am unaware?

"Each thought, each action in the sunlight of awareness becomes sacred. In this light, no boundary exists between the sacred and the profane."
Thich Nhat Hahn

The inquiry begins.

Let's Dance

When you approached me with this concept of connection, as a gift we could share in the making, I felt honored. My daughter, who has always been in love with the written word and loves to write, the creative writing major, wants to share in a dialogue with me? I mean I've written some poetry and filled a couple of journals over the years, but this is special. So how do we set it up? Are we going to write about the week's events, keeping in touch, commenting on this and that or perhaps we might pose a question and convey our thoughts to each other?

Shelia Foster says, "A koan is a question or statement that cannot be answered by the mind and puts our awareness into the Mystery, and it opens us into a new paradigm in which the Mystery takes the helm of our attention."

So I suggested we use a koan for our inquiry. Something to take us into the Mystery of our journey together over this next year. In our back and forth communication about how to begin, I am learning how we each approach a project like this and how I feel woefully backward in my blogging know how. But there is the gift, Lauryn's gift. I don't have to worry about any of that. I enjoy piercing the veil of the Mystery from time to time and am willing to show up for the exchange.

It is a choice to wonder now that I have grown up
Matured
And begun the work of living
In the world.
Daily chores, habits of mind, responsibilities
All conspire
To pull me away from the practice of wonder.
So it is choice, that leads me to wonder.

Let me wander into the realm of wonder.
What does it mean to call
Your own year of death?
How does it open up ones capacity to live?
Is it really a choice or just a fancy
To wonder about?
Now is the time to dwell in playful musings and
Dance.

Planting The Idea

At some point, the holiday season changed for me from being mostly about receiving and became more about giving. When I was little it was all about quantity - the more gifts, the better. When I was in my teenage years, it was all about the quality - the more expensive/desired the gift, the better. Then, there was a point, during my young adulthood, when I no longer cared as much about receiving. I wanted to give.

As I approached this current season of giving, I found myself not wanting to continue buying, literally, into our culture's consumerist mentality of what a gift is. My growing minimalist sensibilities led me to a different offering to my family and friends - I would either make something for them, recycle something from my life/home for them, or donate to a non-profit in their name. Interestingly, everyone opted for something made.

April 2010 - Lands End, SF

Me and mom with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background

For me, the beauty of a made gift is that it's formed with thought and intention. It's crafted with one's own mind and hands. It takes time. It takes effort. I feel like the creation and construction process imbues the gift with more meaning for both the giver and the receiver. As I contemplated what I would make for each of the people on my list, I found that with each person my mind went in different directions. For Jacob, my brother, something that would make him laugh. For Krista, my sister, something homey and useful. For you, my mother, something to connect across the distance.

April 2010 - Ocean Beach, SF

Smiling as mom sees the Pacific Ocean up close for the first time

As we live over 2,000 miles apart, we cannot be with each other as often we might be inclined. Not being phone people, we talk usually every two or three months. We have been fortunate to have seen each other three times in 2010. Twice in 2009. Emails here and there, but nothing consistent. So I asked myself, what would it be like to create a space where we could carry on a conversation over time and distance? What would emerge? And what if we included in that space an intention to share that experience, that conversation, beyond ourselves?

April 2010 - Lands End, SF

Me, on the top of the hill, looking out at the ocean while mom walks the labyrinth at Lands End

Therein was the seed - the idea - that I offered as my gift. An idea that we will plant here in this virtual blog space. That we have agreed to nurture and develop over the course of this year,2011. That we will then take, shape and manifest into a physical book to share with each other and our loved ones. Who knows how it will grow. Where it will flourish. What unexpected twists and turns it will take. I am full of anticipation and excitement. As always, the journey is as important as the beginning and end.