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following true north
ponderings along the path
For years I kept a copy of “Monastery Guest Houses of North America” in my home office.
I could judge how well I was doing emotionally by it's location. On the shelf, on the desk, on my bedside table or in my hands. At the moment, I have misplaced it entirely, which must mean I'm doing really well. But then again, I have just checked Amazon for the latest edition …
(please click Read More below)
I have more questions than I have answers for. When I wake up in the middle of the night
(3 a.m. being my preferred hour) my mind can pull up the longest list imaginable.
Why am I awake being question number one -
but the queries rapidly evolve into so much more....
Is the instinct to mother/nurture a learned skill or is it in our DNA?
Does it really matter to whom I address a prayer when I feel the need to pray?
Am I being selfish if I want to live in the now - meaning my own "now"?
How long will it take for my pineapple skins and leafy top to break down in my compost?
There was a time when I found those late night sessions annoying.
Now, I think about it as just an excuse for another pot of tea.
During my 20+ year career in residential real estate I must have walked through literally thousands of houses. At the end of the end of the day, after all the other questions were asked and criteria discussed my final question would always be, "Which one feels like home to you?" (please click Read More below)
As we move through the seasons of our life it seems that we must leave so much behind.
We see friends fade into the distance and can feel a profound sense of loss.
And when we lose someone along the way, we often blame ourselves. Sometimes
it's simply geography, family or career.
But for whatever reason, they do fall away from us. (Please click Read More below)
I am watching a butterfly lift its wings for flight,
taking nothing measureable from the breeze.
It lands on a blossom - a pollen laden pillow.
It rests, drinking nectar, then is airborne again.
But now, its body is powdered with gold dust.
And this treasure will be shared without thought or intention.
How incredibly beautiful! I am in love with this accidental generosity,
this seamless link between butterfly and blossom;
between giving and receiving.
When our feet no longer walk these paths,
will the vibration of our footsteps still resonate in the earth?
Will the stones we stacked here to mark our progress
remember the touch of our fingers?
and will the soft moss we lay upon
still hold the scent of our skin?
I believe, yes. The earth's memory is long and vast.
Our vibration, our touch, our scent will remain forever.
Have we lost our connection with the sun's earthly sister?
I certainly hope not!
This hot, burning miracle was once a turning point in our evolution, the most powerful symbol of life. It brought warmth, illumination and ritual. But fire has become something to be feared and controlled in our modern world. In fact, your Home Owners Association has probably banned it! (Please click Read More below)
As Roman Goddesses go, Diana is my absolute favorite. Not only was she a symbol of the "fierce feminine" with her weapon aimed and ready but she also represented the mystic and creative spirit of woman. She was immersed in the natural world, could communicate with the animal kingdom and was known as a protector in the birthing process with her planetary partner, the moon. Definitely a multi-tasker! (please click Read More below)
Thoreau's words remind me of happy times with my two girls when they were small. We lived in an old farm house in northern Vermont and I would decorate the house, mostly with foraged items from the garden or the fields and woods around us. Wild apple blossom branches in spring, armloads of sunflowers in summer, grapevine wreaths in fall. Cooking seasonal foods was almost a necessity since we grew most of our fruits and veggies. Each season felt as if it brought purpose to life, subtle rhythm that made sense and felt comforting. (please click Read More below)
Watchers of the earth.
They guard the history of this place.
They have weathered hundreds of seasons.
The depth of their roots is beyond measure.
Their branches reach broad and low, to shelter and protect.
The record of every flower in the field and
each footstep on the path will live in their memory forever.
If there is magic, it is here.
I always thought that "True North" meant .... well, true North. The arrow on a compass guiding sailors safely home. A constant in a revolving world. It was such a reassuring idea. Then I learned that a compass will only show magnetic north. Although useful, it is not constant, or unchangeable, or necessarily true. And where does that leave us?
I believe it leaves us with the guides that were here before compasses and maps.
The sun, the moon, the stars and our intuition. They remain. They are true.
They are waiting for us to look and ask for direction.
The meaning of true North may be different for each of us.
For me, it is the direction I choose which makes me feel true to myself,
makes me feel balanced, makes me feel like I am moving forward.... maybe north?