It turns out that the wound in my body does look like the bottom half of that, tiny opening through the middle, connecting the outside world to my inside world.
One of my new growing projects asks for picture journaling. Starfeather is running a seven week series with a group of women. We are asked to sketch a circle and use words in the further progress through a sketch. My favorite thus far is from a meditation.
I checked in with my mind. What I saw was motion. It pulled from the two sides of the back of my brain, up toward the forehead, the third eye.
I checked in with my heart, also in motion. The picture was of a swirling of light, inside spiraling outward.
I checked in with my body. I saw a shape that was similar to an open ended hour glass. This was far more mysterious to me than the other two, so I asked for clarification in a deeper meditation. It turns out that the wound in my body does look like the bottom half of that, tiny opening through the middle, connecting the outside world to my inside world. The connection is palpable. The wounding of my body, the pain and wounding of our current world situation. Astounding. Associated.
Everything in motion. We are in motion. Shifting. Growing. Evolving. As a whole, we are moving, somewhere, for some reason, in Divine grace.
Cone. Like pine cone, fir cone, evergreen tree cone. I was out again today, tackling the “raking of the cones”. My dad’s property is 3/4 of an acre, which isn’t very large when you compare it to the Granite Falls house. BUT there are trees that feel that it is their exclusive right and occupation to solidly cover the ground, unfortunately lawn, with cones.
This may seem inconsequential, but the abundance fills wheel barrows, barrows with an s. Not once a year, or twice a year, but constantly.
My theory is that the conifers in last year’s California fires sent some sort of tree mail to the Washington trees. “Prepare to die!” In Scouts, we learned that forest fires pop the cones and send out seeds to create the new generation.
Many things in my days are pointing to ancestry and lineage. Yesterday in Reiki, the vision appeared of an enormous tree on the hill. We visited it in the current time line, and then saw the generations return to the same place, honoring the tree (the ancestors).
We are one. We are joined in the continuum, never to die, always to be a part of the Eternal. The cones remind us of our evolving grace. What a beautiful awareness.
New baby hairs are constantly popping up on the scalp. The hair is new, different, maybe grayer or more auburn. It’s growing in. It’s always been growing in.
Chemo makes hair change. The types I am on are not supposed to leave me bald, although it isn’t a big deal if it does. As much hair that I have, I am not attached.
I notice focus though. I see the amount of hair I pull out of my brush. I spin the hairs on the shower into a ball and toss them in the garbage. A lot of hair. It’s falling out. It’s always been falling out.
The spring rain is falling in noisy sheets and waves. The day is gray. Water droplets caress the infant leaves of the maple tree outside the window.
Living in this house, my parent’s house, the house that I grew up in, rainy days bring this shadow memory.
On a day like this, Dad was in the house (rather than out in the garage). He stood over the stove top, stirring and stirring. He didn’t want the caramel creation to burn. I can remember the sweet smell of the air, the laughter and lightness in the goal.
I have always loved Shrek. “Onions have layers…cakes have layers…You know what else everybody likes? Parfaits!… Parfaits are delicious…” Layers.
When I mentioned Challenge Lasagna to Christine, she reminded me that I have always loved Shrek. “Onions have layers…cakes have layers…You know what else everybody likes? Parfaits!… Parfaits are delicious…” Layers.
For some reason, my mind is on main dishes. No one has just one lasagna noodle right now. The challenges are piled on. Noodles, sauce, cheeses, repeat. We’re all in a challenge lasagna, or a challenge parfait if you are like Donkey, and that’s what you like best.
There is beauty behind it all, each piece. The release into control-less-ness. If we point our internal vision to the incredible gifts, the lack of control seems to be a part of the gift.