Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Reiki class

My students are listening, feeling, and learning. They are researching and writing.

We did Reiju at the pond this week. Frogs bellowed, turtles bobbed, water lilies shone. One student felt vibrations. Two saw colors. All participated. It was marvelous.

They are Reiki. We are Reiki. I love to teach. 

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Wellness Conference

Was so much fun. I could have spent three days talking to the wonderful crowd of magical people. I think we had enough food for three days. I wanted to talk to everyone and attend all the presentations, but I kept having to check on something, fix something, or answer an important question. I did make it to the final workshop: Kirtan. I love Kirtan. Sound healing from inside and out. Sound meditation; connection with self, spirit, and community. I love the moment when the chant ends and it's silent, breathing, maybe a gasp of wonderment.

We'll do it again next year.

Sunday, April 16, 2017

grass

The two women took me on me on a tour of their city. I was travelling in the southwest USA and they were best friends.

"These are the best houses," they told me. "Where the rich people live."

I looked quickly for hints of amusement and deception, but could detect none. They were chattering and bickering with each other, as usual, casually admiring the homes, paying no notice to me in the back seat.

The houses looked worse than the poorest houses in Maine. Mud houses in dirt yards. Old wood fences around the perimeters. The houses were crowded together with short driveways and clear views to the neighbors. Small windows. Dirt houses in dirt yards. These were the best houses?

"There's the river," they pointed out.

I looked down into a long depression in the dirt.

"Dry now," they added, unnecessarily.

I thought of New England's best houses. Grand three storey clapboards, long windows with green shutters. White and yellow houses and green lawns, white picket fences. Long driveways, trees, and beds of bright flowers. Or the newer boxy places with lots of glass and fancy landscaping, a pool out back.

They can't even afford a lawn, I thought, ignorant, confused; not understanding the economics, environment, or culture. I thought again that it must be a trick. I thought I'd like to walk in the wild desert and feel nature in this strange place. 

one challenge today

Life's challenges help us learn, grow in compassion and wisdom. I hope you have one challenge today.


Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Outrage fatigue

                                 Every day bad news from Washington. Every day more erosion of democracy, gangrene in our Capitol. More hate, more division, more income inequality. The rich play, the rest of us are slaves.

I want to fight for what's right: love, tolerance, diversity, education, health, green Earth, and compassion. I would march every weekend if that would help. I'll volunteer, donate, I'll support altruistic candidates.

But feeling a bit of outrage fatigue tonight. Eleven hours in the hospital with smart eager students, with too many brave kind people dying of cancer, with excellent fabulous wonderful nurses. A little fear too. With so much hate and ignorance, so many guns, will they start shooting us?

And Reiki. Our ethical foundation is to recognize and release fear and anger. Transcend these fearful angry times, while remaining in the world, lightly.

Today

                someone said, “I have to wash my truck.” I paid scant attention. I was in a room full of strangers. He continued, “There was a murder….”

“WHAT?” I interrupted. I pictured blood and guts in the back of a pickup. I pictured him furtively hosing it down.

He grinned and I knew. “A murder…” he said.

“of crows,” I interrupted again.


“that’s what they call a flock of crows.” He spoke over me. He grinned again. “They made a mess of my truck. I have to clean it off.”

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

so much snow

Our side streets are one lane, we have narrow paths from our cars to our front doors. Out early or started late two days last week. No school yesterday, no school tomorrow. Thursday iffy.

Those of us who move snow are exhausted. I shovel my steps, scoop my deck and driveway; put on snowshoes and go around the house and garage to rake the roofs. My arms, shoulders, and hips ache.

The snow piles around my house are 12 feet high. I scale them in my snowshoes and I'm level with the roof of my house. It's supposed to snow the next two days: we're expecting another foot.

It's pretty. I like the white stuff. I love to be out in a storm and I love to ski and snowshoe. I like wintry isolation. I like cold outside and warm house; I like to sip tea and watch snowflakes swirl.

I have help: I pay my neighbor to plow the end of the driveway. When the snow piles got too big he had to stop plowing and change to a snowblower. But the snow was so light and fluffy and the piles already so high that much of it simply slid back down into the driveway. My driveway is half full of snow and no place to put it. It's pretty, but there's so much of it right now.

A stretch of warm sunny days will be welcome.