I have made a commitment to three things: finding time for Blue Space (beach, sky), Green Space (earth, woods), and the responses I have to poets & writers. I seek to discover the art of being.
There are many places I have felt on holy ground, but on Sunday I discovered one I didn’t expect…
The car wash
I filled up my tank, got my receipt, entered the code, and drove my car in until the machine yelled STOP! At that moment, “My Sweet Lord” by George Harrison came on the radio. The timing could not have been more precise.
What else could I do but crank the volume up, close my eyes, and let it all “wash over me?” 😝
It was a meditation extraordinaire.
I’ve known this song since I was fifteen; after today, I will never hear it the same again.
My mind is full of a lot of things today, based on several readings and thinking time. It’s a bit much and I’m not ready to mold it, so decided to take an easier approach.
I came home thoroughly exhausted from work on Thursday, and was confronted with a box that was like a Chinese puzzle to open. I knew there was a live plant inside, because the box told me so, but I had no idea who would have sent it. Once I broke the code and pulled this luscious orchid out, I discovered it was from my teacher union (TALC), presumably because of our loss of Wayne on March 2.
I have the orchid on a table on our lanai, where I can easily see it from inside. It has quickly become a companion, a messenger of peace that can be found if I choose to look. To honor this, I have written an acrostic poem for my new orchid.
Crystal Bowl Meditation is back, and what a wonderful way to untie all the knots!
Winding down the school year with the goal of giving them the best that I've got.
Put the Three Big Questions (Kylene Beers) in front of my kids when we read about Lebron James. I could hear them THINKING.
My stepson is suffering another bout of cancer. Prayers needed.
We had a good PLC talking about how we can best support monolinguals. We need a lot more sessions like that!
Friday was great--beach walk, lunch with a friend, and a massage.
Came across the word "unfolding" in more than one thing I read. A beautiful and gentle word that prompts a question for spring: What is unfolding for me now?
[Note: Sunday morning I arrived at Six Mile Cypress Slough, read David Whyte’s poem “The Thicket,” walked and meditated and took photos, wrote this, and then added quotes from Whyte’s poem in italics.]
I took my meditation to the slough…
free and observant
Contemplated the nature of all things being evolutionary and revolutionary…
surveying the tiny stages and the curtained dramas
Such as the Spanish moss hanging from tree branches…
every further stage of vision leading me back to smaller and smaller worlds
The Pilated Woodpecker busy on his branch, finding breakfast, preening himself…
Always two realities…action or non-action.
never leave the branching world...a kind of enclosed womb-like eternity
What changes things?
Ideas. Curiosity. Faith.
The trees are both able to be touched and observed in a watery mirror.
Is the reflection telling the truth?
searching between the branches... the knowledge of some immanence
When it was time to leave, the sun in the Cypress pond lit the way…
I wrote this on Sunday, October 17 after reading an ancient poem by Sun Bu-er, which I read every day, but on this day I felt like I received messages as I read. By the end of the week, I would have a better understanding of why.
The bold print is Sun's poem. The italicized is mine.
This is my final week of the summer and the focus is self-care.
It's nice to be lazy!
I'm feeling a desire to get back to writing, but just can't grab on to anything. Who am I as a writer?
In a poem I read, the word "balance" stood out to me. I contemplated all the ways this applies right now.
It's really about watching my mind and responding to where it leads me.
Living the question brought me an answer. I have a new, solid, meaningful writing project on the horizon, and its making me feel connected and whole again.
Facing a week of schedule interruption with testing and several other annoyances, I decided to focus on self-care. Here is the result.
Sunday: Took a walk with Kara at Lakes Park
Monday: New clothes ready to wear this week: cute tops and colorful dresses
Tuesday: Giving kids space to be themselves helps me be calm
Wednesday:Managed an escape from my classroom during lunchtime, and drove to Publix to get some sushi, enjoying the blue sky and white puffy clouds and breathing deeper
Thursday: Finally returned to my cushion for five minute daily meditation, and my mind is already in better order
Friday: Early morning neighborhood walk on a breezy, cool day
Saturday:Playing Neil Young music at my lesson, getting together with writing group, and finishing an excellent book makes for a perfect day
Today I met my dear friends Laurie and Annmarie at Six Mile Cypress Slough for some nature listening and writing. I was inspired by Richard Blanco before making the trip, and used the end of his poem "American Wandersong" for my format.
For now: Gorgeous day -- low to mid 70s right now and breezy. Dew point in the 60s.
For now: Deep gratitude that I am in this place to take this time. Felt impossible over the past many weeks.
For now: The breeze ruffles my hair and I hear my friends' gentle laughter.
For now: Thinking about the Days of Mindfulness I spent here, and thinking how Julia Cameron calls it "heartfulness." Distant hawk calls. The breeze wraps around me. I can hear the traffic on the other side of the lake and rookery.
For now: I've come to understand the water is higher than it should be and this is upsetting the ecology. Must be why I'm not hearing the nightly frog chorus. Off to the southwest I hear a whistling bird -- Laurie says it sounds like a creaking playground swing.
For now: An alligator draped across the log, limp, tail curled to catch the sunlight; hawk calling out across the Slough.
For now: A Limpkin picks his way through the water, lifting his legs high and pacing in between the trees.
For now: White feather floats in the clear water, bright green salvinia touching its edges.
We are more than a week into the holiday break, and I've entered the Quiet Zone.
Today I followed through on a decision I had made which was to use the "What's Your Word" cards my writing friend Kathy gave me as part of a gift exchange. There are 33 cards that ask questions that are supposed to lead you to your "word." I decided to go through the questions quickly and answer with one sentence each. After a warm-up and a jump start, there are several categories, each with a few related questions. Categories like Let Go, Be Me, Dream, Grow, Love, and Serve.
Answering these questions in a real "in the moment" fashion helped me get quickly to a couple important things happening with me: one has to do with physical strength, and the other has to do with how I want to spend my time going forward.
For many years I had a lot of different things going. A few years ago I cut back. I decided I wanted to spend most of my time focused on writing. And I did pretty well with that. I've completed several personal challenges, continue to write a poem a day, and my daily journaling, of course.
But something has shifted, and now there are other things that are calling for my time. One is the mandolin. I'm enjoying getting back into it focused just on ways to have fun and play with others. Second is my Music Polls page. I thoroughly enjoy what I'm doing with it, and others seem to like it, too. And third, a bit of art. I've committed to practicing some Zentangle, and that has been relaxing fun. No goals. Just do it.
One thing that has been a concern though, is what I feel is a physical weakening. It really started with the knotted up lat muscles in my side that sometimes made it painful to stand for any period of time, let alone do any walking. I've noticed a difference in my physical strength since I turned 65, and the lat situation has compounded it, keeping me from being as active as I need to be. I still do my daily yoga and stretching, but things like walks and weights and cycling have taken a back seat. Well, are fairly non-existent.
Answering the questions in the "What's Your Word" put this in the forefront. I realized as hard as it is, I have to find ways to start building strength.
So there is my word. STRENGTH
I started here...a return to Six Mile Cypress Slough, where I walked nearly two miles with nary a twinge from my crazy lats, and thorough enjoyment of the slough itself. Throughout the pandemic I knew the slough boardwalk was open, but I didn't go because of a simple thing like the bathrooms not being available. By the time I drive there, I usually need to use the restroom before wending my way along the boardwalk, which takes the visitor through pinewoods, a hardwood forest, a hammock, and more than a few ponds. But yesterday I learned the park was fully open, and I knew that was my first stop today.
My friend Kara shared with me her focus for the coming year: Peace, Energy, Calm. Add to that STRENGTH. And that is what I felt today, finally returning to the slough, where I don't think I've been in quite a long time. At least a year...maybe longer.
Entering the Quiet Zone is a natural part of this bridge of time between Christmas and New Years, a time I traditionally use to reflect and ground myself. All the right ingredients came together today. I intend to use them all to keep my STRENGTH building, despite any setbacks or frustrations. It is the most perfect and necessary thing for me right now.
Today I finally did it. I pulled myself out of the house, into the absolutely perfect Florida May weather, and took a walk at Lakes Park. I know I have not been there in a long time, and I went with the purpose to do my usual loop through the woods.
Lone Palm Morning
I expected the usual Sunday crowd, but the people were few and far between. The pavilions and play areas are roped off, the exercise equipment fenced off, and the picnic tables overturned.
When I got there I changed my idea of where I wanted to walk. I decided to walk around the lake, rather than go into the wooded area. Very quickly I realized something -- when I have walked around the lake, I tend to start in the same place and walk in the opposite direction than I was walking this morning. And as I wrote about a few weeks ago, I was seeing a lot of things I haven't noticed before, getting glimpses of photo opportunities I rarely see.
Ibis Island
Walking Toward the Rising Sun
I had made up my mind just to walk and listen and watch. What I witnessed was a wildlife that is getting used to fewer humans. I could feel the lack of human dominance I usually associate with the park. (And that is with good reason: it's a wonderful park!)
One instance of this was a Little Green Heron that looked like it was going to walk across the path I was walking. I never see Herons doing that there, let alone the elusive Little Green. I trained my camera on him, but he stopped and eventually flew off.
Anhinga Rock
I took a few more pictures, then headed home with my sun roof open. The radio played a song that made me cry: Jerry Salley's "I Want to Thank You." It made me think about all the people in my life who encourage my faith and belief in myself and the goodness of the world. It was a perfect way to begin my day.
Inspired by the last section of Joy Harjo's poem by the same name.
It is November and things can continue to smooth out. We've had some rough patches and this is always the time we doubt ourselves. But our vocation calls, and we are faced with the person in front of us. See them. Do the next right thing.
Of the south, we feast on the language a writer provides.
Of the west, we give up fear and move forward step by step.
Of the north, where we push beyond the way things are to find new paths to walk.
Of the east, because the work we love is the work we do.
Last night I was coming home from movie and dinner with a friend, listening to the Beatles Channel. This being Labor Day weekend, they are doing their annual countdown of the 100 favorite Beatles songs voted by the fans. On Saturday evening, the host Peter Asher was approaching #34 right at the time I was turning into my neighborhood. Peter began talking about the upcoming song, how it was the first song ever to be broadcast around the world via satellite television. Of course, I knew he was talking about "All You Need is Love."
I remember that night in June 1967 when this video was broadcast. The album Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band had just been released on June 1st, but this was not a song from that album. This was something else. If you've never seen it, you can watch it below. (Side note: since we only had a black and white TV at the time, my memory of this is in B & W. It seemed weird to see it in color on YouTube.)
Back to Peter Asher and his introduction:
As I pulled up the driveway he was talking about how the song was recorded, and then a whole myriad of things were added, like a chorus of voices and various instruments. As he was saying this, I turned the car off since I was home.
This morning I decided to head out to the beach around 7:30 a.m. I had been in deep contemplation about some concerns I have, writing several pages in my journal, and I knew the beach would help clear my mind. I turned on the car, and as I backed out of the driveway, I heard Peter Asher saying the exact same things I had heard him say as I had pulled into the driveway last night. I looked at the screen and saw that, sure enough, they were on #34 again. It almost felt like the radio had waited there for me, just so I could hear the song.
SYNCHRONICITY.
I know not to ignore signs like this. Truly -- what are the odds that at any given time a person would have this experience of picking up at the exact same place a radio program was turned off? I mean, it has to be one in a billion, right?
I knew right away what the message was I needed. In the past, I have used a chosen song to help me get through difficult times. And although I wouldn't say I'm in a "difficult" time -- many things are going beautifully. But I do feel some direct challenges that I know are requiring me to be a bit more vulnerable, a bit more open, a bit more (dare I say) loving. I think this song is the one I need to carry me for a while. It is a sentiment I agree with wholeheartedly. In practice -- well, we all know that's another thing.
In 1987, PBS had a two hour documentary called It Was Twenty Years Ago Today about the anniversary of the Sergeant Pepper album. Near the end of the program they interviewed George Harrison, and one of the questions they asked was: "So, is it true -- all you need is love?" George committed himself fully to it, saying it is true, it is his belief, and he's sticking to it. I loved that moment and his unwavering commitment. I think of that interview any time I hear the song.
On the way back from the beach, I heard "The Long and Winding Road" as the final song of my trip. I had to smile -- doesn't that describe the school year -- long and winding? I don't know what is around the next bend, but after this morning I know what I need for the journey. It all filters down to LOVE. I believe it. And I'm sticking to it.
And I have a cool song to play every day to remind me.
We are traveling the American
Southwest, discovering a land of reds
and browns and rocks and utter dryness. The
rental car radio is on, and for
some reason the song "West End Girls" plays
over and over again. The beat of
the song drifts through my mind, connecting it
with the landscape, as we drive the road
to Shiprock and Four Corners and Valley
of the Gods. The sheer vastness of the land
astounds me over and over, makes me
feel lonely, much like the mood of the song.
I'm feeling like an alien in this
environment, lack of green and water.
It's not Ohio. Shiprock stands under
storm clouds, we take a picture and move on. II. Looking into the heart of light, the silence
What I read about Shiprock was that it
looks like a clipper ship, and was a sign
to migrating pioneers they were on track.
I did not read about the Navajo
mythology, and probably did not
even realize we were on their land.
Just now learned the legends and stories, the
spiritual and historical meaning
this place has for the people. Creation
rests on its peaks, closed now to climbers
"absolute, final, unconditional"
according to Navajo law. The owl
and the eagle are part of the myth, and
the story of women and children left
to die when lightning struck and sheered the cliff.
This is a place where evil is lurking.
III. What are the roots that clutch, the branches grow
"Too many shadows whispering voices"
Back in the day I did not hear them at
all. My world was much smaller, sheltered, bound.
I go back to the road to Shiprock when
I hear the Pet Shop Boys sing, there again
feeling lost and disconnected to the
land and the music as well. The hip hop
soundtrack was "The Message" things were changing.
I was so unaware. My roots elsewhere,
my branches clipped. Did I have a "heart
of glass or a heart of stone"? I don't know.
Now I can see at age thirty I was
ignorant of the questions being asked
"If when why what how much have you got?"
I was close to the edge and never knew
how it was or what it could mean to fall.
IV. The faint moonlight, the grass is singing
What is the use of dynamiting the
past, looking at all the things I did not
know? Why do I find myself here on the
road to Shiprock, opening awareness?
It was one line in a poem, and led to one
song from that year that led to creation
stories and epic poetry and the
changing music scene. I follow these threads
because I have to, it's what I do, it's
how I live life now. I missed so much back
then, but over time I could read the signs,
know if I was on track even with the
rock and no water and sandy road.
Grounded more firmly, wisdom comes with age. These fragments I have shored against my ruin.
Lost and then found,
on the Road to Shiprock.
How this poem came about...
On Thursday I read a poem by Layli Long Soldier that contained the fragment "road to Shiprock." It made me think about our trip out west, and I wrote what would be a part of what ended up in section I.
I became a bit obsessed with the idea, so I pulled out my five packs of pictures from our Southwest trip of April 1986. I retraced our steps, figured out exactly what the trip itinerary was. I was not journaling then, so don't have any actual records beyond my photos and memory. I do know that the only thing I knew about Shiprock was how it was named for a white man's creation (the clipper ship), and that it was a beacon to white settlers. Nothing about indigenous people.
Researching Shiprock, and learned the many versions of the Navajo creation story, the legends that surround the rock, the people who tried to scale the cliffs, some to die. This monument is found in the Navajo Nation and they control it. The quote about the law against climbing is directly from them.
I also researched the lyrics of "West End Girls," learning it isn't about prostitution as so many thought, but rather the struggles of inner city life and issues related. The beat is directly from Grandmaster Flash's "The Message," which is fitting since his song is about the same things. (I give a nod to Grandmaster with the words "close to the edge".) It was also inspired by T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland," and even refers to a historical event from World War I at the end.
Once all the notes were made, I knew I needed a form. I felt I could just end up rambling into eternity if I didn't find the right form. Leave it to Rafael Campo to provide it. On Saturday I came upon his poem "Quatrains for a Shrinking World," which contains several sections of 10 syllable lines in a 4 X 4 format. Perfect.
I also checked out the Eliot poem, and pulled specific lines from it for the section titles. When reading the poem, the quotes in italics are from Eliot. The "quoted" text is from "West End Girls."
I had three Eliot lines pulled for a three section poem. As I got to writing, I realized I needed a fourth section, as I hadn't quite come to a conclusion -- in fact, I still don't think I fully knew what I was even writing about. I went back to "The Wasteland" and found a couple of lines I liked, and ended up deleting one of the original lines I had, the opener, "April is the cruellest month."
It is true the fragments came together as I weaved my way to finding some kind of personal meaning here. I think coming upon photos of myself at 30 really had an impact. More than half my lifetime ago. How different I was.
I think of travels through my life, and I know they are connected to specific times of my life. What enriched my experience here was learning all the poetic and literary and musical connections that were lurking beneath the surface of that day in April 1986 when we drove the road to Shiprock. I'm glad I know and see those connections now. It has been a gift I gave myself.
The final day of a lovely seventeen days off, I take myself to the beach.
Cloudless sky. Tide way out for the New Moon.
As I walk, I reflect on past Januarys...
2016 I was feeling a weird tiredness, which later manifested into shingles.
2017 I was on a steroid, puffing me up and causing a false sense of energy. Later, once off the medicine, I would crash hard for an entire month.
2018 I was still puzzled by the lupus diagnosis and waiting to see a rheumatologist, who all but formally dismissed the diagnosis on my first visit.
But this year...is cloudless.
** I have re-established my walking practice, and it is going great. I get out and walk about 10 miles a week. The thing is, I want to go. I don't stop myself. But I'm also smart enough to take a day or two off each week, so getting back out feels like a treat.
** I am finding my way into areas of creativity which have been lying in the background, waiting to be rediscovered. This applies to my personal and professional life. I have plans to slowly eliminate screen time for my life and get more "old school" in my plans. It's time.
** I have built a community of writers and reading teachers around me. It makes every day more worthwhile, sharing the journey with others committed to much of the same things I am.
** I wrote my first new mission statement in twenty years -- one that is designed perfectly to keep me focused in the right direction.
**These days off have enabled me to reflect more fully on the responses to the survey I gave my students in December. Their words point to what needs to change. The needs of each class are different, but there are some simple, proven things I can implement that will help across the board.
Losing a former student caused me to go back and find some words of wisdom the students in 6th period Advanced Placement Literature wrote. I take these words into the new semester with me. I have just a little over 40 days left with each class. May I push the clouds of misdirection away, and fully realize these words again:
Creative, bright, always outside the box.
Easygoing, yet analytical.
Thank you for caring about me.
This has been the best English class ever.
The way you approached everything made it more understandable.
I have learned more than I expected, plus my passion for writing has gone way up.
You're funny, smart, and real -- and that's what kids need.
Your class is one I find most useful for me outside of school.
You always try new things and make learning fun.
You create a very creative environment for your students.
This classroom is a safe and free place to express ourselves...many good memories.
Written in my head on Christmas Day as I walked in my former apartment community. Finally getting it down today as it comes out, as it has been rolling around in my brain for over a week now!
Downstairs,
the window on the right
is where I discovered that the moon I thought might forsake me
would still peek its way into my blinds at night, to let me know she
was still there for me. This is the room we watched The West Wing and Six Feet Under, where I discovered Jon Stewart, where I saw the second
plane crash into the World Trade Center and in a panic called to my husband,
a room I watched the videos for my Humanities and History of Western Civilization
courses, where our dog Macbeth liked to lie in the doorway making it a challenge
to exit. Determined always to move forward, to focus my energy in the right place.
The window on the left is where the computer resided, where the poem "Tulips"
by Sylvia Plath laid me low for days, where I wrote my $500 scholarship story "Dragonfly,"
a draft of a novel called Fire on the River, where I sorted out index cards with research
notes for a variety of papers for my Florida Literature and Shakespeare courses, where
I wrote to my friends and downloaded music for the first time, where I collected
my writings and photos into a booklet called Turning Point I gave as a Christmas
present to family and friends. Determined to be considered a writer with a good mind,
ability to deeply analyze, to extend myself, to be who I never actually thought I'd be.
The screened in center is the lanai where I raised my first orchids, where I watched sunsets,
talked with visiting friends into the night with a bottle of wine, where I would work
diligently with a stack of sharpened pencils completing mountains of math homework,
determined to pass that test, to become a teacher, always knowing it could be the one thing
to bring me down if I didn't focus my energy in the right place. This is the apartment I
hunkered down in during my first hurricane in August 2004, right after I began my teaching
life, where I would come home with parcels of reflection papers by my students, learning
who they were, determined to be the best teacher, feeling wholly unqualified and uncertain,
step by step; I would look out the windows at the wildlife on the lake, walk the pathway
around looking at the little wildflowers, the nature all around me, knowing I was in
the perfect place to make my dreams come true. Southwest Florida, home of my heart.
This place. These windows. This important turning point of my life.
