Tuesday, May 26, 2020

Small Voice, by Roland Flint

Originally published in Dakotah Territory 3, 1972.
It was my dream, and I remember telling it to him, and I must have been 6 years old, maybe 5.
I came downstairs in the morning and he was there, in the kitchen.
So I told him and he wrote it down at least 10 years before it was published in Dakotah Territory.
I remember trying to remember the word for those green things- olives.

Roland Flint
Small Voice

All night long
we were in the refrigerator - -
Kate and you and I and
milk and eggs and
those green things - - olives, And
it was warm and we laughed and
then someone opened the door,

And afterward we were all angels.

Friday, May 22, 2020

Reiki is Do Nothing

When sharing Reiki in a hands-on or distance practice, do nothing. Be nothing, just be.

You might notice thoughts, visions, or impressions; let them float by. Don't try to block or pursue the thoughts; do nothing. Don't even share the thoughts with the client- your thoughts are your own, part of your own journey. Your client's thoughts, visions, and impressions are their journey. When sharing Reiki, you are a therapeutic presence for the client. Support their journey, not your own.

Be a therapeutic listener, a witness, and a nonjudgmental presence. Place your hands, fall into Reiki, and just be there. Do nothing.

Doing nothing is also doing everything. Use every bit of knowledge and experience. Apply ethical principles, support the client's insights, and be a kind loving presence. Do nothing and everything.

Tuesday, May 19, 2020

Pandemic Time

I have my routines. I walk at sunrise and go to bed when it gets dark. I wash sheets and towels on Sundays. I do New York Times puzzles every morning before answering emails, grading papers, and doing my own schoolwork.

I listen to our state CDC report every afternoon at 2 pm. It's on the radio. Our Dr. Shah is magnificent: calm, compassionate, intelligent, and patient.

Mostly though, time is fluid. I lose track of the time of day, the day of the week, the month, and sometimes even the season. Easy to lose track of the season when it snows in May.

The days go by slow; the days go by fast. 

Thursday, May 14, 2020


How are you? Are you going in to work?  Did you lose your job and your health insurance? Live alone or have a houseful? Tough times for sure.

What are you doing to stay sane, balanced, and full of light?

Me, I walk every morning and then come home to a computer screen. I teach online, so online meetings, phone calls, and grading papers and essays electronically. I'm taking a class too. Face glued to screen all day, every day.

So I walk in the morning before work. Often I walk around a pond. It is still cold in the mornings, 30 degrees, sometimes snowing, sometimes raining.  I wear my winter jacket, hat, and gloves. Sometimes mist rises from the surface of the pond.

I saw the ducks return in the early spring. One day there were tiny ducklings. One morning there was roiling at the edge of the pond; koi were bubbling up out of the cold mud. Twisting and flashing bright orange pisces. Twice I've seen a shy Great Blue Heron. It startles, and with a leap and unfolding of big blue-gray wings, is airborne. It sees or hears me before I see it, so it startles me too. The father and uncle ducks have gleaming green heads and huddle protectively around the ducklings. There are fragrant blooming trees around the pond, magnolia and cherry. Yellow daffodils, pink phlox.

My morning walks keep me balanced.

Friday, May 8, 2020

Take a deep breath

I just sent distance Reiki to a client. It was a brief session. I cleared and prepared, then fell into the Reiki flow. I felt the pulse of universal life force energy. 

Then I saw dusty old black suitcases, like old baggage that needs to be cleared away. And I felt like I had to do a lot of deep breathing and clearing away of old energy. And my hands felt so heavy. Heavy and intense. My hands have never felt like that before. Like they were weighted down. I usually feel so light and full of love during a session. But this was dust and heaviness. 

If you are feeling discouraged or anxious, I hope that you will center yourself, clear away old baggage, and do some deep breathing exercises. Take a deep breath and puff it all out. Remember that you walk in the light. You are surrounded by love.

Sunday, May 3, 2020

Digital Disruption

I wasn't sure that I could work from home. I love my sunny little office with desktop computer, coffee across the hall, and printer/scanner a few doors down. Work from home? I felt like a student who wants to take an exam in the same chair in which they listened to lectures. I didn't know if my knowledge, skills, and practices were portable. Could I think at home?

How could I accomplish the same work processes on a laptop, in my jammies, as I did on my work desktop, in my office, in my work clothes, surrounded by colleagues? Didn't I need things, people... those ... people and things I was used to? Could my mind make the switch?

Turns out: I could, no, and yes. Working at home is fine. I am able to access my files and documents from the work cloud. I have online and phone meetings with colleagues and students. I like working in yoga pants. I like the quiet of my house and neighborhood. My mind whirs away internally, dreaming, considering, thinking, and tuning out the external. Turns out I like working from home just fine.

Friday, May 1, 2020

Morning Walk

I am working from home, on a computer or a phone all day. I have online meetings, papers to grade online, and lots of emails. Face in screen all day.

So before work, I go for a walk. I often walk around a pond at sunrise. There are new ducklings this week, little balls of fluff. I am surprised at how fast they can swim. Mom is protective and hissed at me once when I got too close, marveling at the small ones. The uncles are protective too; the males gather in a circle around the ducklings when people walk by. A magnolia tree is loaded with floppy white blossoms. One morning I saw a Great Blue Heron.

Walk, work, work.... the days blend. What day is it? What time? Pandemic distancing and grey spring days, I lose track of time. But I take that walk nearly every morning.

Island Boy

For my grandsons

Island Boy