angelbirdflies

 Christmas morning at a house with a young child is always a whirlwind.  This Christmas was no different. Bodhi was up long before the sun, pressing his chilly feet against my legs and whispering a question in my sleep deprived ear, "Is it time yet?".  I rolled over and tucked him beneath my chin in a big morning hug, "Soon".  In a short time he crawled out of bed and I could hear his bare feet rhythmically hurrying over wood floors to peek beneath the boughs of a twinkling tree.  I imagined his face light up at the surprise of gifts and a loaded stocking hung by the fireplace.  His bare feet padded a quick return to my warm bed as he loudly whispered, "Mom! Santa DID come! And he brought LOTS of presents for me AND Owen!"  With this he grew quiet.  I knew he was thinking about mom.  His brows furrowed in concentration.  I wondered if he might be remembering a conversation we had just a few days prior that went something like this,: ...

"Give up defining yourself - to yourself or to others. You won’t die. You will come to life."  Eckhart Tolle, Oneness With All Life

The loom is ready.  The warp is prepared and ready to receive the weft.  I look at it with my metaphorical sensibilities and have to smile.  We think our lives are supposed to be uncomplicated and easy.  Like straight, supple lines of warp, wound carefully and doled out to us, a year at a time, with uncompromising appeasement.  How dull is that?  There is nothing to hold it together.  No weft.  The weft is essential: life interacting with life, weaving under and over, creating tension and texture, pattern and variation. How might our relationships be different if we approached one another with spaciousness.  If we responded to connection and union with a willing invitation to the tensions implicit in dancing with other?  How might our lives look if we abandoned the premise of safety and appeasement and instead welcomed the wonder and uncertainty of the unknown; if we responded, moment by moment, with a weavers hand: respecting the n...

The boys and I celebrated the last night of Hanukkah with a disgusting meal ala Angelina...really it was remarkably bad.  Bodhi had been feeling a little punky all day and after his second bite of beet greens and spinach he gagged.  I said, "Spit it out.  In fact everyone spit it out.  This food is terrible."  Unfortunately, Bodhi's belly was already lurching and he began a tremendous display of projectile vomiting where he stood.  I was poised nearby, arms out stretched, legs spread wide in the stance of a referee on home base calling "SAFE". I carried him to the sink where he continued unabated and I spent the rest of the evening cleaning, bleaching, rocking, soothing and pampering.  Ahh.  A celebration of light in preperation for the longest night of the year.  An appropriate event for such a night.

My mom and I hiking.  My beloved sister-love Michelle My brother in his convertible feeling the groove. It's good to be in Prescott and hard all at once...just like coming home always is.