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Cleansing for Hidden Treasures

Do you have at least one box, bag, or drawer of old miscellaneous things that need to be sorted or discarded? I certainly did. I had been living with a big box like this for years. This box lingered with me as it sat, collecting dust, harboring piles of who-knows-what.  It was that nagging sense I had, realizing my life may not be as together as I would like to believe. I have file cabinets, yes, shelving, yes, coordinated stacks of necessities, yes, neatly placed pieces of papers, yes, but this one old, overstuffed, dust-collecting box somehow eluded me. It had taken on a life on its own. I felt that I might as well befriend it, name it even, since it had lived with me for years. It had even moved with me across two states. However, something inside me realized this codependent relationship must end.

Fueled on a super food smoothie, streaming melodies of Deva Premal, and a huge dose of SUNSHINE, I pulled it from the depths of the closet and reverently cracked it open- like an ancient Egyptian tomb – exposing its poor, forgotten, little soul to the light of day.

I have now breathed fresh life into the contents, which are now in their appropriate places.  (And, yes, a garbage can is an excellent place.) Items have been stored and paperwork has been filed. The box itself received its proper burial, ceremoniously folded and gently place in the recycle bin with a grin and a relieved sigh.  I feel, in doing this, I have now breathed fresh air into my life and myself. I am finally free.

I truly believe people take on the energy of stuff, and stuff influence the energy of people. What stuff are you consciously or unconsciously, intentionally or unintentionally keeping in your life? Are you aware of its influence over you?

If you still have that lingering “thing” that needs tending to, organizing, or tinkering with, I encourage you to tackle it. The time it takes to release it from your life is minimal compared to the subtle constant pressure it has applied on your subconscious over the weeks, months, years.  And… you never know… you may just find a treasure…

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Musings

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Communing with Water

Flowing water over Galena Creek, Reno, Nevada

I love water.  Water is movement, action, vibrancy and life.  I love water in all forms.  I enjoy watching water run over slick rocks in creeks, carrying with it many life forms, providing a self-sustaining ecosystem.  I enjoy sitting in the damp sand, watching the ferocity and energy of ocean waves as they slap shorelines, intimidating me, exciting me.  The power dwarfs me, humbling me.   I also relish in simple pleasures like long showers.  I cherish my time under the hot flowing water as it cleanses and awakens me.

Water is musical.  Some of my favorite sounds are of rumbling creeks and of trickling water fountains.  I can think of countless times I have snuggled up in my home, listening to the symphony of raindrops as they pound on my rooftop like a team of thundering pianos.

When the skies open, I cannot contain myself.  I want to be in the rain, in the flurry and liveliness of nature as it washes the earth.  My fondest childhood memories are of my long walks in the rain with my father in the wooded Oakland hills.  The dark, wet daylight would amplify the green trees and vegetation.  Life stood still, and all that could be heard was the pitter-patter of wet drops on exposed leaves.  The sounds of water can be calming as well as dramatic.

I have always loved being in water.  Swimming is a source of pleasure for me.  As a child, I would turn into a wrinkled prune before I ever considered leaving the pool.  As an adult, I swim to relax and energize.  I love the way it makes me feel physically, emotional and spiritually.  Exercise improves the body and mind, but swimming, for me, takes the experience an extra step.  I can meditate in and around water.  When I swim laps, I get into a grove, a meditation so to speak.  I can truly turn off my mind, allowing my body to flow.  It is rhythmic.

This rhythm and the clear presence I have when I commune with water is the common theme behind my love for water.  Water is power, it flows, and I feel my body and my spirit flows with it.  I can float into a restful yet powerful place when I am by a creek, an ocean, or even as I stand with my arms open to a storming sky.  I simply love the way water sounds, feels and gives life.

“If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.”

Quote by Loran Eiseley, The Immense Journey, 1957

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Musings

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Crow Spirit

Raven Messenger

                                                                                                                          Photo by stephenbrunophotography.com

Nature is my religion. My soul communes with the outdoors, gifting me great spiritual inspiration.  I love the northern California beaches. Oceanic power induces deep meditations, harmonizing my center with life, rhythmically soothing and empowering me.  I also love the soft hills of Sonoma County, my current residence, with its rich carpet of grape vines and dried summer grass. I cast my gaze, wanting to reach out and run my fingers through it, feeling the prolific sweet fibers of the wine country. But what I really love is a densely wooded forest, dark green canopies, cushy earth, thick quiet, the magic and mystery of the energies that entice me, invoking earnest delight and wonderment. What spirits reside there? I am not sure, but they croon to me silently, plucking my heart, tuning it like an instrument. I play for them. I dance like an innocent child.

In my youth, my father would bring my sister and I to the redwoods of Oakland hills where we lived.  We would hike and search for faeries, gnomes, trolls and anything else our imaginations could lure into our visions. “They love to hide in the moss that cloak the trees,” my father would whisper, instilling excitement in my coasting eyes. Everything was vibrant and green. We hiked in the rain often with little more than an umbrella, lunch and a candle in tow. We would huddle around the single flame while nibbling on afternoon treats. The lone lizard would scurry by. Raindrops plopped on wet leaves, mud, stones, muffled by their journey. I had never heard such quiet or experienced such complete beauty. These memories never fade. Rich in luster, they flourish within me. I scintillate in nostalgia.

The closest forest to me now is Armstrong Woods. A mere 23 mile drive, and I can be coddled by tremendous redwoods. Last weekend, Laura and I explored these woods. Immediately upon our arrival, as we entered the density of this small wooded park, I opened- eyes wide, heart juicy and full. I hadn’t walked among the trees, ferns, dirt and moss in a long while. My senses heightened, enlightened, lifting my spirit, reminding me of my innate Self.

We journeyed within, walking deep into the park on a narrow paved road. We were alone. The silence was overwhelming; it folded around me. In the distance, I spotted two crows, walking the same road as Laura and I. They were far enough away to maintain privacy but close enough for us to clearly watch their movements. We were enchanted by the ambling pair. These two crows walked side by side like two old friends, soul mates, lost in one another and the simple pleasure of leisure. They strolled down the center of this narrow street, waddling, swaying, occasionally turning their heads toward one another as if in idle conversation. They looked like little people to me, small feathered people, enjoying the afternoon. Never before had I felt this way about wildlife. I am not sure if I was anthropomorphizing this interaction or, if on a deeper more intrinsic level, I was sensing their Truth. We watched the crows walk in front of us along our same path. They seemed to mirror us without knowing it. We smiled. It didn’t take long for the crows to sense our existence. Once catching on to our company, they leapt off the ground, swinging wings, calling to the trees, gently lifting into the sky. They were gone, leaving magic in their wake.

What really happens among the redwoods when humans are not around? Does the forest awaken to play and delight? There is an undercurrent of power, an unseen presence, that uplifts this wooded grove. I have always known nature holds precious secrets from modern man/woman or, rather, modernity has dulled man/woman from translating secret into truth. Whatever the case, I am unfolding, unwrapping my own gifts to bestow. I coil around and melt into the natural world. This, I profoundly sense, and watching these two old friends, the crows, solidified this sacred recognition, my connection to my Self and the landscape of spirit.

“The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”

John Muir

Category:

Musings, My Life

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Gaia

Mendocino, California

Mendocino, California

I sit idle, watching as each wave licks the compressed sand, lapping it up like a savory treat.  Back and forth, small bursts of white froth move excitedly, digging deeper into the cavernous beach.  The ocean foams at the mouth, curling hungrily around each isolate rock.  These rocks, positioned haphazardly throughout the watery cove, lay hidden beneath mystery and fury.  It isn’t until the fervor of the ocean unleashes angry bursts around them are they exposed, vulnerable.  Like beached whales, they are stubborn and steady.  Occasionally, the lone bird coasts powerfully by, dancing its commanding dance, arduously pumping against the western winds, cutting the evening air like a thick, dull knife.  Seagulls have now returned to their hidden shelters, and the skies are clean, leaving only the clouds as a moving, cluttered canvas.  Various shades of grey glide by, determined, deliberate.  Charcoal, lavender, silver, peach, blues, each color faintly kisses the contours of the heavens.  And as the coastal wind whips by, the celestial art changes, moving about, morphs, evolves into nothing, something into everything.  One glance away and the scene is gone, replaced by a new canvas, new inspiration, a new mystery.  My eyes aren’t absorbent enough to consume each pixel of light and color, not focused enough to catch every angle, each contour and the rich depth that lies before them.  I gobble up each subtle moment; each luxurious second feeds into my mind, my body, my soul.  I can feel my molecular structure change.  Each cell, each atom slows, relaxes and meditates my body.  My muscles, my blood, my flesh, all bubble and simmer, fluid and flexible.  Am I any different than this great spectacle I feast my eyes on?  Am I the ocean in all its glorious fury, the air that whisks by, carrying with it the soft grey sky as one complete and complex unit?  Am I each seagull that clamored through the breezy current?  Or perhaps I am that blade of grass that chatters in clumps, encompassed by a field of sand.  There is no separating myself from the land, the life, the action.  I am beautiful.  I am life.  And I sit quietly, steadily, yet actively participating in this living, breathing masterpiece.

Category:

Musings, Poetic Whimsy

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