pumpkin festival

Saturday was spent kicking up dust at the Annual Pumkin Festival fundraiser for the Botanical Gardens. WHEW! talk about exhausting. We arrived at 10AM and left at 3PM dragging four weary boys behind us(or was it the other way around).

In the intervening hours they rode rides, ate corn on a stick, all things greasy and drank gallons of lemonade.

They wandered through an intricate corn maze for a half an hour before throwing caution to the wind and taking an unauthorized short cut to the exit.

The youngest member of our party ogled lamas, caressed pony manes and even talked to a real witch, moonlighting as a balloon artist.

We scavenged for pumpkins and looked for the three big boys in our keep.

In the end we drug our selves home and admitted defeat. There is no way to outlast a child in a battle of fun, you may stay awake longer but you are inevitably far worse for the wear.

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tree digging

Yes, I know it doesn't look like much. It was only about 5 inches in diameter and 8 feet tall. The root ball was no more than 3 feet deep. But it was a sweet red-bud tree that we planted the year Bodhi was born, his placenta was buried in it's roots and like many of the trees in our neighborhood, it died (see this post to understand why) . I can't say that I mourned its death in a tangible way, rather it produced in me a sort of unnameable melancholy. I am a woman who loves the spring. I nearly live for it. When the first signs of life emerge like a haze of hope, I drink in green with the passion of a desert crawling woman sipping at an oasis. I gorge. This year has been hard. Our neighborhood isn't leafing out in native splendor, instead the tired trees seem to begrudge the effort, only offering a tender shoot or bud occasionally. The north side of many trees appear to have given up all together, too tired after a long winter...

Coraggio

When everything looks bleak and the darkness cramps against the cold, it takes courage to simply look out from imagined isolation toward the wide horizon of beauty available in every moment. It takes courage to lean into the sea of life and trust the tide. When weary limbs no longer support us, it takes courage to trust our inner buoyancy and float. It takes courage, in the face of darkness, to remember the light and sit in all our apparent blindness and listen, silently, to the still, small whisper within. It takes courage, in that dark hour, when nothing else remains. Eyes closed. Eyes opened. A glimpse, a memory, a fleeting vision of a light so bright it blurs the borders of things seen and things perceived into a comprehensive wholeness of being. It takes courage.

connection

It has been an interesting few weeks. I have been contemplating connection a great deal as a basic need of being human. I watch my fellows rushing from one place to the next, gathering technology to themselves like talismans of protection against the emptiness of separation- a perpetual flutter of texts and calls and music and smart phones and GPS and more. Yet so many of us are longing for the central cord of union- with one another, with ourselves, with life. It's as if we are frightened of being disappointed, so we retreat deeper and deeper into the tight orbit of self. My teacher recently filled me in on a little secret...the meaning of life is to LIVE IT . That isn't tidy or safe. It is messy and vulnerable and unpredictable and unknown. And yet LIFE extends an invitation to us in every moment asking us to unleash the breathtaking beauty hidden in our hearts and experience, EXPERIENCE, experience life. Life isn't singular. ...

angelbirdflies

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