Reiki Share

Hot ball of love and light, that was Reiki tonight. Reiki Share.

I got on the table, re my new resolution to receive. For so long I could only give. I felt the energy like an intertwining of spirit. Like a Celtic knot. Heat, pressure, pulsing; I took in so much energy that I wanted to jump up off the table and dance down the hall.... afterwards I felt clearer and lighter. Grateful.

Thank you, my fellow Reiki practitioners. 

white buffalo

I dreamt of a white buffalo this morning.

I was dreaming about a house, my family, and then the buffalo came. It was in a herd; all others were brown. The herd came towards me, and I saw a white babe. The other dream stories resumed and continued. The herd came back; they galloped past me; the white buffalo had grown. I heard a voice, "The white buffalo means a great gift, great blessings."

Well that's a good way to start the day. It was a long one. I got up just after 5 am, dark and starry outside, temp 1 degree F, cold sucked heat from my bones, chilled and shivering in my winter coat and boots. Got coffee and was at a work before 6 am, preparing for students and patients. Had a superb day with students; they're wonderful: bright and eager to learn. Full day with them, home to shower & change, in office to grade papers, to cancer center for Reiki Share which was fabulous of course, and then home just before 8 pm. Dishes, laundry, emails, too much energy to sleep. Thinking of that white buffalo and the richness of life.

bltcoins

anybody want to buy my blt-coins? Each coin is worth one fake-bake, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. On toasted whole wheat. 

still winter

it's still winter in Maine: cold. Snowstorms predicted. Benefits: no mosquitoes, skunks asleep, puffy jackets hide much.

Nature transcends culture

When you feel overwhelmed by judgment, fear, or anger; connect with the energy of nature.
When your own balance is restored, then you can again interact with humans positively.

-Catherine Bean Weser

Mavis Gallant

Listening to the radio today, heard a review of her work.

Looked online to purchase. Price range for one book: $72.02- $2420.43

I need a cheaper radio station.

Pettengill Farm, Freeport

Jumped out of bed at 6:30, the fresh snow and light were so beautiful. Every branch, every twig was topped with an inch of fluffy white snow. The sunrise was pink and gold and the sky pirouetted from pale to deep blue.

"Pirouetted," is that too precious? Is "shifted" better?

Snowshoed up Mt David, got to the top, someone was there, how can I revel in nature in the presence of a stranger? Left the summit to the stranger, turned around and slid skiied snowshoed down.

Friends postponed planned lunch: I was on my own. Headed south. After several days of storms and solitude I felt ready to be among humans. Was partially successful with that. Better was the snowshoe adventure to Pettengill Farm. The last inhabitant of the home was a single woman. Google it for interesting historical details.

I snowshoed through old woods for 15 or 20 minutes. Maples, birch, ledges, snowy inlet. Found the house and peeked inside. All muted and ghosty inside: peeling walls, some bits of furniture, and a double-sided fireplace. House on a point, bay or river, frozen over. Lots of tall pines, an enormous lilac, apple trees.

It was a solitary snowy adventure. Revelled in nature. I hustled along the trail, missing my dog. Clouds developed, turning the sky nearly as white as the land. It was warm, so the morning fluff changed to heavy wet snowman snow. The trail was like a highway, snowshoes on the left and skiis on the right. When I left the trail I sunk to my knees, even with the snowshoes. It's deep.

Maine: a place of beautiful shifting light and deep snow.

swanky cafe

Lunch at a locally famous place in an expensive tourist town. Pale birch floors, padded benches and tiny tables, packed closely together. Open kitchen, heavy leather menus and drinks lists. People beside me discussed the NYC Guggenheim Museum briefly, and the menu at length.

Waitress swanned over, "I'll be your server. The special is salmon on a bed of kale. My name is Zeus." She had a nose ring, thick wavy blond hair, and a petite physique.

Maybe she said, "Suze." Sounded like "Zeus." Did her parents name her that, or did she select it? Is it her all the time name, or just at work?

I was there as a treat to myself. I was supposed to be having lunch with friends, but they couldn't make it and I was on my own, missing them. Was cheering myself up with an adventure and a delicious lunch.

The salmon came and there were suspicious stripy rectangles. I pushed the plate forward and waited for Zeus to return. She noticed right away, despite waiting on several other tables, and came over.

"Everything to your satisfaction?" she inquired.

"Is this bacon?" I asked.

"No. Pancetta. Italian ham," she pronounced.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm sure you told me, and it just didn't register. So sorry, I don't eat ham, I'm a fussy eater. I eat seafood, but not ham," I went on far too long, repeating myself, apologetic, distressed. "I'm so embarrassed," I said, and I was.

She changed, dropped the pretensions, got real and real nice. She took away the offending hog flesh, said she wanted me to be happy, and soon brought a new plate. Couldn't I just have swept it aside, I wondered. What's the harm? Face it, there could be chicken stock in there, you'd never know. Would that be OK? Not if I know, is the answer.

The meal was great, Zeus was great. I left her an enormous (50%) tip. 

$400

Went exploring  today.

Dropped in to the Bean home store, interested in a small bookcase. Everything I liked was on sale for $400. Or $800.

OK: flea markets, yard sales, and second-hand stores.

3 times

I scooped and shoveled three times today. I like the sharp cold, the snowflakes like electrons, and the sound of the scoop against the asphalt. I like the piles of fluffy snow and the feel of my muscles shoving the heaps up a snow slope and over, dumping. Restart. I like the cold dark quiet solitude of the work.

I start on the deck, move to the driveway, and turn back to the deck: already covered again. The snow is light white crystals, easy to move. I breathe hard, look back at my work, look back at where I started, and start again. It's snowing hard. 

New lock

What do you say to a sexual harasser? How do you make it stop? Why is this happening to me now?

I feel like an old woman, in the last stages of my life. I'll be a grandmother soon. Don't know if it was my looks or my personality, but I never had to deal with this before. Oh, maybe once or twice, but I didn't really understand what was happening at the time, and the time passed.

It's a neighbor. I've had enough. It shocked me when he started, the little remarks. ha ha. As if. What would your wife say? She doesn't have to know. Immediately, totally, irrevocably unwanted.

He's 80, I would guess. Has a hearing aid, a pacemaker, and a tiny old wife. They live directly across the street from me. I thought they were so sweet, when I moved in 3 1/2 years ago, and gave them my house keys. I wanted someone to have my keys. Just in case. Just in case, what? I don't know. Just in case.

He knew things about houses. I didn't. "Put down your storm windows," he told me in the fall, "Take the canopy off the deck." Once he came to fix a faulty switch. He snowblows my driveway sometimes, even though I pay a plow guy and enjoy clearing snow. My mailbox is beside theirs, across the street.

I hate confrontation. Would way rather run, deny, or move to Tanzania.

But he keeps saying lewd, vulgar, skanky, disgusting things to me. Is it his culture, his time? Does he think he's suave and charming? Do I somehow invite his attentions as I shovel snow in my enormous snowpants, puffy coat, hat, boots, and gloves? Is it a power thing?

Who knows, who cares. I've had enough. Talk in the driveway wasn't enough: today he came to my door. I didn't let him in, of course.

Later I went out and purchased another lock for my door, a chain lock. I looked at pepper spray online. I considered a restraining order. I thought about writing him a letter, speaking to his children, getting a baseball bat or gun, or adopting an attack dog. I wailed to a friend.

People are kind of strange right now. Lots of shifting. I keep learning new things, and new ways of taking care of myself. I spend time with people who nourish me, and lock out those who don't.

icy barricades

Steep snow banks surround the house.

It's snowing again and I'm not sure where I''ll put this new snow when I want to clear the driveway and deck, after I rake the roofs, when I shovel the steps.

weather report

Expecting a foot of snow tomorrow. Happy! Snowshoeing, skiing, skating, and snowpeople.

Fun in flakes. 

sunset from the 5th floor

clouds were playing in the sky like fish,
like goldfish in a pink sea

solitude v socialization

Love my job: teaching, interacting, guiding, and mentoring. We talk and laugh.

Weekends I need solitude to recharge. Or gentle loving socialization.

It's the weekend. After a cup of coffee I did laundry and dishes, vacuumed the whole house, stripped bed and washed sheets, sorted clutter, removed trash, put clean laundry and dishes away, graded papers, cooked and ate breakfast, showered and cleaned the bathroom. I talked on the phone with my cousin and checked emails.

Got restless. Sunny and 20s F outside, headed south for woods trails and ocean. Went snowshoeing and walked on the beach.

 But here's the thing.

People.

How can I be so intolerant? The woods were OK, just the possibility of humans, but no interactions except a brief hello to a healthy couple unloading from their car as I was, blinded by sun, approaching mine in the parking lot on my way out. But the beach. I happily drove in to the parking lot, but was stopped by a colorfully dressed grinning woman taking photos of a family gleefully posing in snowshoes. Stand up, sit down, jump, stand with one foot up, crazy faces: snap snap snap.  A man with a grey ponytail guarded her from crazed parkers. I felt like a crazed parker as I waited for the colorful snowshoe family to fulfill the photo allotment. They waved to me, frenziedly, with Crayola mittens, when they finished. I grimaced back and pulled into a spot.

I gauged the weather and trail conditions, and decided on a jacket, thin gloves, and clog boots: hat and snowshoes not needed. I headed for the beach.

The trail was like a superhighway, groomed and well-packed. Could have walked it in sneaks.

Right away I noticed the woods were full of people. I heard shouts and calling. I saw people in expensive jackets, hats & gloves, gaiters, and snow pants. They used deluxe snowshoes, skis & poles. They wore big back packs, stuffed with stuff. I thought about how in summer I hike these trails in flip-flops, T-shirt and jeans. I remember the summer hikers with big boots, walking poles, huge cameras, and backpacks. My annoyance grows.

I jump and skip down the superhighway trail. Through the woods, sunny and snowy. I send tentacles to my heart and soul: am I transformed? Has natural beauty elevated my spirit, enlightened my soul?

I get to the end of the trail. I can see the ocean. I can see the bottom of a person ahead of me on the trail, upended, adjusting her knee-length gaiters. She is blocking the trail. I stop. My annoyance grows.

Darn it. I'm here for sustenance, not irritation. We lightworkers are not supposed to get irritated, right? I'm a failure. Can't recharge and can't socialize.

The upended woman in gaiters notices me and moves ahead so I can pass. Then she begins to bray and holler. She and her friend accompany a pitbull on a leash. I skip ahead and turn right to walk on the shingle, feel the sun, and listen to the waves. They follow me and I can hear them so I turn back, arc a wide berth, and walk up the beach the other way. It's quiet. I try again to feel peace in my soul. Suddenly there is a group of people on the ridge above me, all decked out in colorful swishy nylon clothes, walking poles with metal snowshoes or skis. They continually call to each other and announce their mundane observations. Their shouts slice the silence, shave and scrape at serenity.

I look at green crabs in the water, exotic shells on the beach, and the blue blue sky. I listen the to the gentle woosh of the waves. I smell the salt and sea. Ice crunches beneath my boots. The sky is blue, the sun is warm. There is snow on the rocks, ice on the beach. Sea glass is frozen sheets of ice. I look for ospreys, see a herd of seagulls on a far rock. Seaweed drapes the slabs of rock.

I try to ignore them, but their shouts jar my sense of peace. Time to head home. Home with unending silence, solitude, and selfishness. Home with order and predictability, candles, incense, knitting, and good books. Home.

recipe for Friday night

Cook whole wheat angel hair pasta.

Saute fresh garlic.

Mix pasta and garlic with roasted butternut squash, splash of olive oil, and Parmesan cheese.

Forgot to mention, you roasted that squash yesterday. Side note, love that childhood Parm in the big green shiny canister but of course you could go all gourmet and shave your own aged Parm.

Eat, go out and shovel, chop at ice, and then come inside and do yoga stretches.

Recipe for a cold Maine night. 

transitions

Still remember the time. My son had a sledding party.

Little kids, snowsuits, snow, and sleds. I had hot chocolate, crayons, and coloring books ready for inside fun.

They got cold, they came inside, and took off their snowsuits. Girls wore tight jeans and belly shirts. Boys' eyes were big. They put on popular music and started to dance.

Oh. They weren't kids, they were, like, teenagers.

Get with it, mom. Your child, your baby, is a teenager.

It's years later. That teenager is going to be a father. I'm going to be a grandmother. Transitions. 

wind turbines

The ones I saw in Oxford County were surprisingly sculptural, stately, and spiritual. They were slow, graceful, and beautiful.

I was drawn to them. Stopped to watch them. The blades moved so slowly that I had to note their relation to the background to be sure they were indeed in motion. Spiritual? Yeah. Somehow at the time, and still in my memory, they touched my spirit. Weird.

Sometimes I hear about people protesting against wind turbines, but I never hear of people railing against cell towers or power lines. Surely they negatively impact the environment. They are ugly and ubiquitous, but we never protest. They emit EMFs, with possible implications to human health: I'm talking cancer. Where is the outcry against power lines and cell towers? 

Wind, solar. Clean and sensible. 

sensations in the skull

my forehead tingles intensely and gently pulses when I send distance Reiki 

Chocolate

Sunday morning is decadent inertia after working Tuesday-Saturday.

Sunday morning is coffee, chocolate, and chickadees. Freshly ground and pressed coffee. Lemongrass shrimp stir-fry leftover from birthday dinner last night. Chocolate, milk instead of my usual dark. Chickadees jump around the hydrangea, which wraps six windows on the east side of my house. Read the local paper. Listen to public radio programs.

Should I fold clean laundry, tidy, vacuum, put away clean dishes, wash sheets, or write another book? Jump in the car to go for a hike, skate, visit family, or shop? Or grind another small batch of dark greasy coffee beans and sink deeper into sloth?