Mother Nature ushers in the changes that comes with the crisp autumn breeze. The leaves are just beginning to change from the shades of summer leaves and grasses to the brilliance of reds, yellows, and oranges. This tree’s journey shifts from the warmth and growth of summer into the transitional phase of the fall. Transitioning from the green pallettes to the more vibrant colors entices us to awaken and to treasure the change because we know that the beauty is fleeting.

I listened to my sons tonight as we came home after a busy day of school and night of visiting waterfalls, dinner out, and relaxing trip to Barnes and Noble.

“Come on, Buddy. Let’s sleep downstairs tonight.”

“Ok, let’s bring all of the blankets and pillows down. We’ll sleep in your (hunting) blind.”

“You take this side. I’ll be away from the door because you know I’m afraid.”

“Good idea. You sleep in the back, and I’ll protect you. We need our DS’s but don’t tell Mom ’cause she’ll confiscate them. Hide them under the pillows.”
“Good thinking. We need our books too, in case we can’t sleep. We can put those on the pillows. What about my nightlight?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking about that. Here’s the only place where you can see it. Let’s turn the blind.”

“So, I was thinking about lightning. If I throw a lightning bolt at you, like this, what are you going to do?”

“Well, I’m going to block it like this, and then I’ll bend all of the water at you, and you can’t block it because you’re too weak and haven’t recovered from the the lightning bolt. That takes a lot out of you.”

“True. Then I’ll have to use hypnosis on you to heal you after the water bending or else you won’t be able to fight with me.”

And, I listen, aware that they are in a special place of friendship and tweendom. They ooze with excitement that they get to sleep on the floor in the living room, and I feel as though I must relish these moments because they are all too fleeting.

I am grateful to the changing leaves, who reminded me of change. The changes are neither good nor bad. Ask the leaves or the tree how they feel, and I’m sure that there is simply an acceptance of change.

“Yes, my leaves are green. Now, changing into bright leaves. Soon they will fall as I am bare in the winter.”

My sons are growing and changing right before my eyes.

Today, I will embrace my sons where they are without lamenting the past as I did the best I could and without worries for tomorrow as I will support them as they grow and change. I choose to be aware of their brilliant beauty in the moment.

Namaste,

L

Inner Landscape

Journey to my inner landscape.

‘Tis here you’ll find the real me.

Skies for me to soar.

Mountains for me to climb.

Valleys for me to explore.

Forests for me to climb trees.

Fields for me to dance in.

Canyons for me to sing and to hear myself respond.

Waters for me to meet myself in reflection,

to slip into my unconscious,

to glide with the flowing current,

to swim into the depths of my soul.

It is in these peaceful depths

where my light burns ever bright

where I find my inner knowing

where I find myself

where I am

balance

resides.

May I have the courage to journey within, to explore the shadows, and to emerge stronger, even brighter.

Namaste,

L

Words to inspire us

Words to strike out, wounding us

Words to open hearts.

May I choose my words with care today because my words really do matter.

Namaste,

L

My hammock.

Ahhhhh. Deep sigh of contentment.

Yes, this is my sanctuary where I can simply let go and feel completely supported. It sways slightly, and I am a baby being rocked in the safety of loving arms. Then my boys climb on and snuggle with me; well, that’s a bit idealistic as they pretend that it’s a ship on the high seas in a storm. But, every once in a while, we do share a very peaceful moment.

My hammock holds so many memories.

It was a wedding gift from my husband. He bought it and assembled it with great love and care the week of our wedding. (Perhaps it was an early wedding gift.) It was a rope hammock originally, and I first experienced complete and total tranquility for the first time when I laid on it under the oak tree in our side yard. It was the only time my mind stopped racing and my body stayed still. I watched clouds through the leaves. It’s where I imagined the the knot in the tree trunk was a human face, or maybe even the face of a gnome. My imagination opened for the first time in a very long time.

As winter approached and it was too cold to lay outside, Richard humored me and brought my hammock into the living room. When I was pregnant with Pete, I would come home after a long day of teaching and melt into the white ropes. It supported my growing tummy and my achy muscles. I would inevitably fall asleep as the stress of the world disappeared. Even nine months pregnant, it was comfy and the place I went for complete comfort and relaxation. I must confess that it was challenging rolling out of it in the last weeks before I had Pete, but it was also good for a laugh.

When summer came, we moved the hammock back outside, and Pete and I would cuddle in it. He loved watching the cats run in the grass, the birds land on the deck in the cat’s hunting arena, and the walkers passing by. He liked to climb up and then down and then up and then down. Sometimes, he would rest upon my chest, and we would both fall asleep–Pete in my arms, me in the supportive arms of the hammock.

Having an active toddler, we decided not to set the hammock up in the living room. Sigh. I missed my friend, but I also quickly realized that my moments of lounging in the hammock were too brief to reach a place of calm. Then along came Danny, and now our hammock moments were definitely short moments of cuddling broken up by giggling and mischievous little boys. The boys loved tipping the hammock until they fell out. They laughed and laughed–real belly laughs that made me laugh really hard too.

Unfortunately, the ropes weren’t made for the rough and tumble life that we now had. They began to fray and snap. Knowing how important the hammock has been to me, Richard replaced the ropes with the sturdier material that now hangs on the original stand. I mourned for the ropes, which embraced me. However, watching the boys play and snuggle on it, I knew that with our small children that it was a very practical choice.

I think the memory of the boys and Richard on the hammock that stands out the most was when the boys were about two and four. I left them to go to the store for about 15 minutes. When I returned home, I found all three of them naked. Grinning, very proud of themselves, the boys announced all of the places that they had watered around the yard. This adventure was Daddy’s way of potty training the boys. They would rest on the hammock and drink their “grog” and then water the grass and trees.

When we moved, we found a new home for it on our front porch. Again, it became my respite. It’s where I retreat when I just need to relax. It supports me and sways me gently in its gentle embrace. The boys come to cuddle less frequently, and it’s no longer a ship in a storm. Times have changed. We’ve all grown up. There are times, when I find one of them nestled in with a book on the hammock reading “just to get away” or “just to calm down for a while.”

My hammock has the best view of the sky, and it holds treasured memories.

I am grateful that my husband gave me such a wonderful wedding gift, the gift of support and safety. I now gaze at the deer in our front lawn, our cats hunting, the boys riding bikes in the driveway, the birds flying from tree to tree, the trees rustling in the breeze, and the clouds shape-shifting in the ever-changing sky. I am blessed to have a little piece of Heaven here on Earth. I am grateful that I can appreciate my blessings. What a wonderful gift!

We all need to find that place where all is well in the world. One of my gateways to my inner place of harmony and peace is swaying gently on my hammock.

Namaste,

L

Raspberry Awaits

The raspberry, a ruby glowing

in the light of the setting sun.

It calls to me as if to say,

“You have come.

I have been

waiting.”

I embrace its beckoning,

framing the moment

it caught my eye.

I give thanks

smiling.

I pluck the precious jewel from the vine.

It smiles its thanks in my hand,

“Thank you, my friend.

I knew that this too

would pass,

and you

would

show

 up.”

                                                                     What

                                                                                                          Faith

                                                                                     such

                                                  a

                                                            small

                                                                             berry

                                                                                          d

                                                                                             i

                                                                                           s

                                                                                                p

                                                                                        l

                                                                                            a

                                                                                       y

                                                                                               s

                                                                                                  !

May we recognize our blessings with such faith.

Namaste,

L



Change or Die

Our priest has an amazing sense of humor and really tries to bridge the message of the Sunday readings with our lives today. Father John often builds his homilies around “spiritual slogans.” This morning, his spiritual slogan:

Change or Die.

If we are not willing to change, then we will spiritually die. He said that change often “comes gift-wrapped in fear,” but it is in our willingness to change that allows our minds, bodies, and spirits to truly live in harmony.

Today after church, we set off take pictures from the overlook of Taughannock Falls, the tallest free-fall waterfall (of 215 feet) in the northeastern US.

As we got back into the car, I noticed a sign that must be fairly new; it was new to me:

Taughannock Falls

a sculpture in stone

shaped by water

using frost and floods as tools

Taughannock Falls has chiseled its canyon

for at least 12,000 years.

12,000 years of change?! I’m sure that there are photographs to document the physical changes in the last several decades, and it’s simply gorge-ous, despite those changes–or perhaps because of those changes.

Change. Yes, I have changed a lot in the past several years.

Losing my father after a long illness changed me. I was suddenly free from criticism, except my own, and I learned, “Love is all that really matters in the end.” (I said that a lot after he died, and perhaps while he was dying.)

Becoming “Mrs. Laura Stephens” changed me. I was no longer a “Clair girl” in some ways, and of course, in other ways I would always be a “Clair girl” as I chose. I also wore wedding bands with a life-long promise to Richard, and suddenly, I was expected to play the role of “wife,” a less egalitarian role than fiancee.

Becoming a mom changed me in more ways than I could even try to simplify here, but perhaps one the greatest changes in me was my overwhelming desire to be a better person so that I’d be a better role model for Petey and DannyBoy. Circumstances changed. I changed. Sometimes the process was painful, other times more graceful, but frequently “gift-wrapped” in fear.

Then I began a new phase of my journey in this lifetime. A journey where I made a commitment to change not because of a specific set of circumstances, but because I was slowly dying inside, and it was time to live again. I began to look at myself, and honestly, it wasn’t pretty. If I had any doubts of where I was, I only needed to look at the mirrors that my children presented me. Anger. Fear. Irrational. Explosive. Loud. Know-it-all. Confused. Unworthy. Alone in a world of billions. This would be a tragic tale if I had stayed there, but I didn’t.

Because of my sons, I faced a lot of my fears, accepted responsibility for the mistakes that I had made, struggled to release old patterns, and worked to forgive myself for the hurts that I caused. I am grateful to have had such support and mentors along the way. I have re-claimed my identity as “Laurie” and have found myself along the way. (I didn’t even have to go to Paris or Italy or India or Bali or anywhere exotic!) I simply had to learn to stop and be with myself, which for some reason terrified me. (It really is a mind-boggling oxymoron. Maybe that’s proof enough that it’s true.)

I’m so happy that I have unwrapped the fear, which once paralyzed me. Change is a gift now that requires no wrapping for I am aware of the tiny sadness in releasing the past patterns as well as the joy of embracing the future adventures. May I give this gift of life to my sons.

Laurie

a sculpture in flesh

shaped by life

using integrity and trust as tools

Divinity has chiseled my spirit

for as long as it takes

to embrace the Love and the Light.

Namaste,

L

Forgiveness on the Road Less Traveled

This morning, as my consciousness slowly nudged me from my sleep, I was inspired to begin my day with a meditation. A flying friend outside my windows urged me to allow the morning birds to provide the music for my transition from sleep to meditation to wakeful.

I breathed slowly, concentrating on the breath filling my lungs and leaving my mouth. The birds called me gently guiding me to soar with them. I left my worries and buzzing thoughts and entered pure relaxation. My emotional and spiritual well filled so that I would enter a day of love, peace, and harmony with my family.

I must confess that as soon as I start to become somewhat wakeful, my mind generally races into the list of what I need to do and what the schedule is for the day. I establish my expectations and pile on the burdens of my day. Then I wonder why my neck, shoulders, and upper back radiates pain. Today, however, we had no schedule to keep, and I refused to be laden with the impending thoughts of lesson plans. And, so I experimented with creating a sacred moment for myself–an idea that I once would’ve thought was crazy.

Pete and I snuggled and chatted about how we wanted to spend our time today. We agreed that a wonderful way to start the day would be to have breakfast at the local diner–just the two of us. It was sweet to just be together as we discussed what we wanted to do next. We decided to go miniature golfing, and we invited Richard to join us now that he was home. Spontaneously, we signed up for golfing and the corn maze.

The cheery Black-eyed Susans greeted us, brightening an overcast day. We laughed during the golfing. Richard kept score, and Pete celebrated when he was happy with his shot. We all finished within a few strokes of each other, and we were off to the corn maze.

We walked to the beginning of the maze, and they stood plotting out the path separately.

Two peas in a pod. I captured the moment and wondered who would be the official navigator, or perhaps would they be able to share the responsibility?

It was a gift to simply follow them and to not worry about the maps or where the journey might take us. Letting go of being the planner, organizer, and navigator was a relief. I was free to hunt for treasures that I might’ve missed along the way if I had been in I’m-the-captain mode.

I found a few sacred moments that they both seemed to miss. 

When I looked down, I found a mushroom growing amongst the corn stalks in the wet soppy land. I was struck by how it simply existed all by itself. Content with the soil and it’s space.

 Then I looked up at the sky. The corn stalks framed the sky for me, and I closed my eyes wondering what I could here out in the middle of this corn maze. Of course, the passing cars on the road not too far away. Then I listened more closely the leaves rustling in the gentle breeze and a low distant moaning as if the stalks felt the burdens of the growing corn. What peace!

We encountered many intersections, and I was reminded of Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” … “and I, I took the road less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”

When I stood mentally reciting these words, I was aware that I must take a road that I don’t always choose to travel… the road of forgiveness. I sighed. Where the heck did that thought come from? Who did I need to forgive? Why did I have to choose that road now?

Well, of course, I didn’t have to choose that road, but as we had a lot of exploring to do, I pondered the word.

Forgiveness.

One meaning in the dictionary says that to forgive is “to cease to feel resentment against.”

 Yes. Somehow that made a lot of sense, but part of me resisted and just wanted to get lost in the maze of life and not face the question: Where in my life do I need to offer forgiveness?

So many people. So many places. It felt overwhelming.

Then I hit a muddy patch, and as I looked at my feet, I realized that I must forgive myself. I didn’t dwell on the plethora of reasons; instead I simply thought, “I forgive myself.”

Then I looked at my husband. Again, I didn’t try to dredge up any specifics from the past weeks, I simply thought, “I forgive you. Please forgive me.”

Then I heard Pete yell, “Mom! Come and follow me.” Again, I thought, “I forgive you, Pete. Please forgive me.”

“Danny,” I thought, “I forgive you. Please forgive me.”

The list could have gone on for hours, but a tiny seed of inner peace began to take root. I sighed aware that the forgiveness set me free from the inner turmoil that has created so much stress in my life and in my relationships with others this week.

Inner harmony set in as forgiveness blossomed within my heart space. We wandered all over the elaborate trails, searching for clues and hidden words to solve the word puzzle.



The flags and bright lines are over-layed on the maze’s map with our exact path from Richard’s GPS.



We entered focused on how to find our way and who to follow. My husband plotted our physical path, and I plot our emotional/spiritual path. We emerged with our hearts connected when one of us simply asked for forgiveness. I am so grateful for that road less traveled by. I think it’s a road that I’m meant to travel more frequently.

My day started with self-love, which opened my heart to give and receive a very healing love.

Tomorrow I choose to start my day with self-love. I wonder what treasures the Universe will bring forth. I await tomorrow’s adventures.

Namaste,

L

Sacred Moments

 

How can this be the same sky only minutes apart?

At seven this morning, I stepped out of my car, looked up at the sky, and captured the moon smiling at me as if it were the Cheshire cat grinning in Wonderland. I felt my spirit soar at the gift of the smile from up above.

I went up to the third floor and looked out the window of my colleague across the hall. Again, I grabbed my memory-keeper camera and asked if I could take a picture from his window. Of course, I had opened his window and was focusing on the scene long before he had a chance to grant permission. I was in awe of how the clouds seemed to transform the sun as if I were viewing its image in the ripples of the wavy water.

Yay! I had already collected two pictures for my nightly blog, and it was only 7:10. All of the early morning stressors had already melted away. As I checked the pictures, I noticed that the sky was completely transformed–the moon resided in a bright, blue sky while the sun rose over a dusky, darker horizon.

Tonight I witnessed another sacred moment in nature; it is etched in my internal memory, but I was unable to capture it to share.

As I pulled into my driveway, I saw the resident deer family bedded down again near our driveway. They jumped to their feet. I stopped the car.

The twins, who are almost as big as their mother, nuzzled their way under her belly in order to nurse. She turned her head toward me, then at them, then at the far woods, then back at me as her hind legs twitched. She was quickly processing her options. On one hand, she was willing to nurse them, but on the other hand, they had no awareness that she was concerned for their safety as I sat there in my minivan, with my high beams on, gawking at them. She clearly felt torn between meeting their needs and keeping them safe. Finally, she maneuvered her hooves to spring off of the ground over them, knowing that they would follow her away from the human.

So when I begin and end my day with such dualities, I recognize that there must be a kernel to be popped open. I must confess that I’ve uncovered more questions than answers. How can the sky be such a bright blue on one side of a building? How can the sky be such a mystical, watercolor of dusky colors on the other side of the building at the same time? How can the mama deer be so torn between safety and the maternal instinct to nurture her ‘tween deer? Why has the Universe invited me to observe these seemingly contradictions?

Perhaps, the gift is in simply noticing the beauty that surrounds me without judgment. My expectations tell me that the moon should be in a dark sky–not a bright, blue sky with white, cumulus clouds. I assume that a sunrise is filling the sky with bright light, dispelling the darkness of night–not rising in the midst of the darkness. I imagine that fawns nurse in the safety of the woods–not in the near a high-traffic driveway. I presume that the maternal instinct ought to be free of ambiguity.

Instead, when I view each apparent incongruity through my heart’s eyes, the sacredness of each moment blossoms. The moon and the sun do co-exist, sharing the sky. It’s a gift to witness the beauty of each within moments. Tonight, it was an honor to behold the intimate connection between the ‘tween deer and their mama. (After all, I can relate all too well to the contradictions of motherhood. Would that perhaps be a mirror for me?)

In each moment, the Universe blessed me with an opportunity to witness something sacred. I could not have orchestrated these moments, and my snapshots only partly capture the scene. There’s an energy in witnessing these divine moments, which cannot be fully captured. Mother Nature creates the magical rainbows; we can merely bear witness, grateful for such blessings.

Today, I embrace the sacredness within each moment, accepting it as a gift.

Namaste,

L

Fawns Grow Into ‘Tweens

I opened my front door tonight and stopped because there stood a magnificent deer on a gorgeous colored lawn. (This photo is not digitally touched up, only cropped.) We both stopped and stared at one another, equally surprised.

Rarely at a loss for words, I said, “Hello. Look at you right in my front yard. What are you doing right there?”

Her ears perked a bit, and she stood her ground, moving only her ears and eyes as if to reply, “I am here. Am I safe? What do you want? I am ready to run if I need to.” She clearly needed to assess the whole situation.

I asked her to stand still so I could take her picture with my camera. I quickly snatched my camera from the other room.

She stood, posing.

I captured her image on my digital camera, and she nodded slightly and meandered across my front yard toward the woods.

Only then did I notice who followed her.

My heart skipped a beat, or maybe two. These are her ‘tweens! The last time I saw her fawns, they still had their spots. What a gift to see them more mature! They were so much less skiddish tonight, and they slowly followed their mama across my front yard as if there was an invisible line marking the trail. I almost didn’t recognize them, but as they moved into the sun’s rays illuminating the grass, I noticed a little trace of their young prancing. They weren’t interested in a photo shoot, but I captured this one following his mama.

It was so appropriate that I would encountered these gentle creatures as I left for our middle school’s open house tonight. As parents introduced themselves to me, I was struck that they entrust their ‘tweens to me for the school year. Every day I have the opportunity to observe and celebrate their growth, while marveling in how young and playful ‘tweens can still be.

Perhaps they won’t show it, but ‘tweens do watch their parents, follow in the path that their parents have forged, and yet, enjoy their new-found freedom. My students want their parents to be involved in their after school activities, and they do look to see how their parents handle their paths. Tonight, many parents wanted me to know that they love their child and want him/her to be their very best. That connection was very important for them to make.

Of course, nothing is random, as I pulled into my very long driveway, I smiled as this little family had nestled down in our front lawn. The lights spooked them a bit, alerting them to be cautious; they stood and watched, ready to bolt. As I passed them, I sighed as I came home to my own ‘tweens.

I was not able to connect with Pete’s teachers tonight as I wore the hat of teacher. However, I am reminded that there are so many ways to show him that I love and support him. I am reminded that Pete and Danny are watching how I walk on my path. They are following me, beginning to forge their own paths. I am so grateful for the messages of the deer ‘tweens. They were exactly the right visitors at the exact right time.

Namaste,
L

Yellow Daisies

Golden petals glowing with hopeful heads,

radiating eternal optimism as they absorb the sun’s rays

communicating inspiration, popping against the darker greenery.

They might announce

spring’s arrival …

Instead, they brighten

the late-summer

offering hope, 

encouragement.

These sunny

faces show

no signs

of impending

autumn frosts,

mortality,

change.

Instead,

they radiate

youthfulness;

heads centered

fully supported

by the sepal

and stem.

Their petals open completely

to the nourishment of the earth’s star

fully exposed for the bees to extract their nectar

contentedly breathing in the serenity of maturity

unknowingly prepared for whatever the future might hold.

Laurie’s note: How wonderful that such thin stems are able to so fully support the brilliant, much heavier flower heads!

                      We humans have a lot to learn from nature.

Namaste,

L