fallow

some days I have to be the ant,
some days I'm swamped with simply being a mom,
and some days,
it snows.

riding has been great all week as I've fit in those hour or ninety minute rides.
but come this weekend, when I want to ride longer, what happens?
snow happens.

lyrics to that old byrds song (though I did just discover that pete seeger wrote and first recorded it) are strumming through my head, to everything, turn, turn, turn, there is a season, turn, turn, turn . . .

at the moment, looking out my window, I believe we have some seasonal confusion occurring. my majestic old trees are thick with leaves, many of them still green and only beginning to brown and curl at the edges. my maple has turned gold, but for some reason is reluctant to drop its decor. the others (lindens, maybe?) are rife with green, thick and heavy, drooping, now, under the weight of four inches of powdery snow.

to live in a place where the weather varied little would challenge me: as much as I love (love) to ride, my appreciation for it only grows when I am kept from it by seasonal disruptions. there is a time when fields should lie fallow.
these are difficult times to work through in life, frustrating times, times where emotions surge and our egoic mind tells us we are missing out/worthless/on the wrong path/confused.
stillness does not come easily to us, and none of us ever want to move in a direction that seems to be backwards from where we were.

but stillness is also a period of regrowth, of healing, of mending things we had no idea needed to be mended. just as our muscles strengthen during the rest cycle, and relationships strengthen after rupture and repair, our psyches themselves become stronger and richer when we allow ourselves to slow down, rest, and be still.
and simply be.

so, today I am enjoying the snow. I will putter around my house and dust when I want to, straighten as it calls to me, do laundry if I feel like it, and put pen to paper when so moved. I will not stress about my lack of exercise, and I will light candles in my rooms. I will breathe deeply and know that the snow has allowed my physical self and my internal self to have a break from routine and to relish the simply act of being.

namaste.

(okay, but if the sun stays out and the roads dry up . . . hmm . . . )

nowhere but there

it happened again today: I was doing my jogging thing and I became thoroughly, deeply, positively engrossed in the very moment I was living.

nothing past, nothing forward, nothing but the clear air and the movement of my legs, my feet connecting with the concrete beneath.

no worries about what happened or what's yet to come, what hasn't happened or what might.

this jogging thing is even better than cycling for being in the moment, at least for me at this stage in the game. ( this most likely occurs because my "jogging" takes away all my oxygen so quickly, and I have to stay focused to keep from following through on my desire to quit. )

regardless, I'm thrilled to have found a new way to be exactly where I am.

I still watch the time, I'm still glad when it's over, but while it's happening, I thoroughly enjoy that place of being nowhere but where I am, nowhere but where I'm apparently supposed to be.

imperfect offerings

one might not bicycle every day, but one can be every day. this one is about being.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

this stanza has been running through my head these past few days. I was first introduced to it at Liz Johnson's memorial service 15 months ago, when her sister read these words of Leonard Cohen's. perhaps they've been front and center because last night was a fundraiser for the company Chris Johnson directs, the company with which Liz was traveling when her life was so abruptly ended.
regardless, these words have been floating within me, and they jumped up, shouted, and rung vibrantly when two days ago I read the seven social sins once proclaimed as how not to be by mahatma gandhi:

wealth without work

pleasure without conscience

science without humanity

knowledge without character

politics without principle

commerce without morality

worship without sacrifice

bells rang and clattered and rejoiced when I read this, imperfect bells, all. we are all made with small cracks and slight imperfections, but we are also all given the ability to stretch beyond what we believe to be our limits. to live by simple truths, and to recognize the pulling power of guidance informed by wisdom, not ego. to seek and find those subtle and often invisible maps that delineate our paths, and to accept the challenge to be who we are meant to be.

what we are asked to do, more than any other thing, is to remove our bushel baskets and veils and masks and let our inner light flow forth and out and beyond. to listen to our inner truths and dig down deep within our souls to find the answers we seek. to proceed with courage and dignity and help others release their own versions of the same.

to ring our bells, to let light shine, to be blissfully imperfect and welcome the humility that comes with that realization.

to find our own way, guided by that crooked and sometimes fragile but always present light that slips in through our cracks.

I send much love with my friends who are boarding a plane tomorrow that will begin their journeys to nepal, to the visionary souls at Choice Humanitarian, and to Liz, who is watching over us all, smiling and gently, gently, prodding.