A Midweek Fairytale: Continuing Conversations with the Pippsywoggins

The view out my office window is dreary indeed, not at all like last fall’s blaze of sun-bright yellow nor the spectacular glow of ice-white which greeted me one morning last winter.

 

 

 

 

Today it’s gray, a dull lifelessness, which fits my present mood. I’ve no reason to be glum as the future is full of creative possibilities for joy and love, adventure and discovery, compassion and connection. I do believe that, but last night I let myself watch way too much cruelty, dissension and hatred on TV. That, on top of days of political news and confusion as to what’s moral and what’s true, plus my own disheveled getting-ready-to-move house and studio, and I went off to bed feeling like curling into a fetal ball, which I did. As a result I woke before 5:00 this morning feeling the dread of an already forgotten but way too vivid dream.

So here I sit, determined to bring myself back to that inner space and place where I can look at both myself and my fellow human beings with light and hope reflected in my gaze. I know that there are many ways to center oneself and reconnect with soul. There’s prayer, mindfulness, breath, yoga, meditation, gratitude, forgiveness, paying attention to one’s thoughts, various healing modalities, physical activity, volunteering to help others … and there’s storytelling.

I believe that all of us have a knowing, a wise soul, inside of us, deep in our inner core where we connect with Mystery, with each other, with All that is. We each access that inner knowing in a way that fits us, who we are. One way that I connect with that Truth is to immerse myself in nature. Another way is to sit down and have an imaginary conversation with the Pippsywoggins, little friends from the edge of imagination.It may sound weird to some of you, but it’s great fun, really, and a bit magical, too, as going into the world of make-believe allows me to access inner truths that escape me otherwise. Speaking with the Pippsywoggins let’s me be a kid again and put voice to ideas that otherwise are only rumbling around somewhere, beyond my grasp. Letting go and seeing where the conversation leads, has, in the past, been a great adventure, but it has been on hold for the last 15 or so years because, well, life has been busy. But, just maybe, now’s the time to open the door, that little one that’s hidden at the base of the old willow by the creek, and see if anyone’s there.

I’ll let you know …

 

Read Full Post »

My Own Spoon

Olive, our blue-eyed, tiny-framed, skip-on-her-toes 2 year old granddaughter came to visit last weekend. The trip from her home 3 1/2 hours away was planned to be a very short one as both parents needed to get back to family responsibilities, and the two teenagers, at home. But the hospital visit with a family member turned out to require more time than originally planned, so Olive was our “guest” for most of Saturday and half of Sunday. We did have fun! I also learned a few things.

1. Music is essential.
   Children’s folk songs make my body, heart and soul dance! I’d forgotten that, but, thanks to the presence of Olive, and to the ability on Pandora.com to choose stations with a theme, I now remember. In fact I’m going to hit pause and go turn it on … and up… right now! (pause)

2. The heart knows.
   On Saturday I had a class scheduled, one that I really wanted to attend, but I’m so glad that I spent the day with Olive. Choices are hard, sometimes, but listening to one’s heart, and then going with it, makes the way easier. I think the lesson is to listen, choose, embrace, follow through … and don’t look back. Second-guessing is only that, guessing. Every chosen experience is part of our story and deserves our attention. Our whole-hearted attention? Yes, perhaps that, too.

3. It’s Ok to ask for your own spoon.
   Our daughter, Jenelle, has long shared a love of deliciously flaky, rich, filled pastry with her father, Dan. As a thank you treat for the weekend spent watching Olive, she picked up two enticingly beautiful and generous portions of torte at Cossettas ( http://cossettas.com/home/hours-location/ ), one for her and one for Dan. I was watching my intake of sugar, so I received a wonderful loaf of raisin bread, an only slightly less rich concoction than the torte!

   Before presenting the torte to her dad, Jenelle, with a grin on her face and a lift to her eyebrows, went to the kitchen and got two forks, then proceeded to sit on the couch with her dad, open the white carry-out box, and the two of them dug in. Olive, who had climbed onto the couch alongside them, received periodic shared forkfuls between Jenelle and Dan’s savoring sounds of delight.

   “More, papa, more,” says Olive.

   Suddenly she gets down from the couch and runs into the kitchen.

   “Where are you going,” asks Dan.

   “To get my own fork,” says Olive.

   Her Olive-sized spoon was lying on the kitchen table, so she took that, instead of the fork, and headed back to the couch where she filled her spoon to heaping, again, and again, an equal part in the experience.

   That image has come back to me over and over again in the week since Olive went home. Those of you who know me may perceive me to be a strong-willed and independent woman, but I always recognize, and remember, the tendency that I have to take what people are willing to give me rather than to recognize what I need, that I want more, and that I do have the power to take the initiative, to get up and go fetch my own fork, or spoon, and be an equal part in the experience.

   Two books that were recently recommended to me are The Year of Yes, by Shonda Rhimes, and The Art of Asking, by Amanda Palmer. I think it’s time to check those out. Don’t you love it when the universe, or God or Spirit or the Inner Knowing gives us the same message, over and over again, using different messengers and metaphors, until we finally get it?

Read Full Post »

Imperfect Perfection

This photo suits my mood this morning.  It’s been a long time since I’ve posted.  And the reason?  That addiction/condition called perfectionism.  Couldn’t post if I didn’t have time to do it “right” or if I wasn’t in the correct mood or if I didn’t have time to write each word with precision.  Yet whose judgement is it that I crave?  And what happens if I continue to get in the way and keep spirit and soul from permeating the “work”?

And I do just that.

So here I am.  Again.  And with me come these two magnificent pictures of clouds, just as they are.  And all is well.

Read Full Post »

The Face of God

When I was a little girl, I saw God as a big white man with a flowing beard, like Moses. But, as I got older, that image didn’t work for me anymore. For awhile I tried to just not think about it, as the subject made me uncomfortable. But part of me yearned for an image that reflected God to me. Since my religious heritage is Christian, I could attach the tradtional image of Jesus as that of the visible face of God. But, to me, the physical face of Jesus seemed to be only a partial view of God, only one of God’s faces.

I’ve always delighted in seeing faces in the things around me, like in clouds and in the grain of wood and hiding in the crevices of stones. I realize that’s probably because I, as a human being, am trying to see my own species reflected in everything I see. But it surely is fun. On the other hand, if God is an unanswerable question, an infinite mystery, the source of all being, then it must also be true that the creative force, the essence, or face, of God, can show up in unexpected places and be incorporated into everything that is. Perhaps, if we look closely, with the spiritual eyes of knowing, we’ll “see” God in everything around us, including me, and you.

With that premise, I’ve been collecting pictures of the face of God. Sounds strange, doesn’t it? But these pictures illicit in me a reverence and awe that reflects my view of the majesty and mystery of God. This first offering is titled Graceful Vines. Or grace-full vines.

Read Full Post »