Being in Love even when it’s stormy

 

It has been almost a week now since my return from a silent retreat in Calgary. I continue to study yoga nidra and being on the retreat deepened my understanding and connection to this practice. Nearing the end of the retreat news of the pending catastrophic storm was conveyed, as some of us, myself included, would need to have knowledge of this in regards to being able to catch a flight home.  As it turned out my flight home on Halloween night was not delayed by the storm.  On the plane I sat thinking about what the coast line was enduring and attempted to began to return to the blissful state of interconnectedness that I had been experiencing for a week. I was taken aback by my feeling so connected to what was going on the east coast.  And here is a poem that I believe sums up my thoughts around this.

The Mind of Love

 

“Today I love the world. Last week it was a vile place, broken, beyond repair.  And my mind reached out in all directions, like a spiders spindly legs to mend and weave and fill the empty spaces, until falling, exhausted dangling by a single thread, discouraged and utterly humiliated that I couldn’t mend the fissures, that I ever thought I could.

 

Today I love the world, the faces on the street, the wind and chill.  Pausing to look through dark bare branches, reaching out in all directions against the vast bright blue.

Soon buds and leaves will fill the empty spaces. In this mind of love the fissures mend themselves. ”          S. Salzberg

 

 

Yes holding love, sitting in love does wonders for ones’ mind.

 

 

 

Hummingbird Stillness

Have you ever seen a hummingbird still?

Arriving at the Albany airport today waiting for my flight to N.Y. I placed my baggage down near a window to sit for a moment. On the other side of the glass sat a ruby throated hummingbird. It remained there for a good 10 minutes as I “oh ahhh” along with the baggage attendant at such a remarkable sight.  Eventually, a sparrow flew by sending the hummingbird into flight.

Such a beautiful sight, and it seemed like an appropriate send off for me as I have just come out of a deeply moving and inspirational meditation retreat at Kripalu. Hummingbirds have a special meaning around living a joyful life, and they also surprisingly have a psychopomp attribute given to them much like ravens. In some stories it is the hummingbird who comes to the dying and hums in their ear, assisting in the transition from life to death.  Two very opposite meanings here which again goes back to the meditation training I just received. The focus was on being with the opposites that arise in our consciousness. Opposite feelings, thoughts, beliefs. Being in joy. Being with change. Just being. It was all and It is all so very beautiful.

Animal messengers are in our lives all the time. Blessings to you and to your animal messengers.

Sonic

The Writing Angel has been whispering in my ear so I’m back.

Have been exploring some interesting healing modalities which I will have to write about.

For today though in the spirit of the season upon us now I thought I would share another song.

The words to this one came very fast and it was a lot of fun to write.  Definitely not about any “Twilight” creatures….
Sonic
Through the hair of his chest
through the silk on her breast
she felt it- sonic.
Sonic- it takes her there,
to a place where she doesn’t care.
Throw it all away on a dare.
Is it the vibration that carries her?
Is it his heartbeat that calls her here?
In a moonlit glare
teeth sharp, claws bared,
blood in her ears, in the air.
Sonic – she poured herself out in a scream,
this is no dream, this is no fantasy.
She’s broken the barrier
taken her boon.
Sonic, sonic, sonic at last,
sonic, sonic, sonic boom.
                                                          c.  Onyx Uriarte 2009

Path of innocence

The significance of meeting my Writing Angel on the Yongecar stays with me, so here I am. Thought that I would share a song I wrote this past year as it narrates an event involving a childhood friend.  As a child, this experience was overwhelming and in response I moved away from my centre a little bit more.  Writing is a way to come back to myself.

  I am not a musician, but several of my writing pieces this past year have been songs. Sometimes melodies come to me with the words, sometimes they do not. The words to this piece came easy to me, but it was heart wrecking work to write.

Garden Gate
She lost her innocence just past the garden gate.
In a screened in porch,
popcans and cookies artfully
placed on a plate.
She was the lamb
who entered the shower.
Sat on his lap
taken to slaughter.
She was the one blamed for being such a loud mouth.
Smoking an cussing,
showing up late.
While I felt like a coward,
she lost her innocence just past eight.
And I felt it all
outside the gate.
Wondering now if I could have stopped her, but I ran
like a stranger embracing escape.
                                                          c.  Onyx Uriarte 2010
There’s that word again-” innocence” the Writing Angel used it when he said to me that his mermaids and innocence would overcome darkness.
 When I look innocence up in the dictionary it means “free of all evil” or “foolishly trustful”.
When I look to the Mayan divination card  of New Myth (which I recently picked from the deck of cards- nice synchronicity here!) -this card speaks of noticing the metaphors of your daily life as the moments unfold.  To be present to now and creator of your own personal myth- purpose. And that this way of being is the path of trust, the path of innocence.
So what does this return to innocence really look like? Feel like?
I reminded of a surprising occurrence someone close shared with me.
They were in conversation with one of their in- laws- a woman who sometimes does unusual things like phoning to say, ” Don’t ride your motorcycle today”- and the two of them began to talk about me when suddenly she became entranced making a beckoning gesture.  This woman then began to repeat over and over again for me to “come home”.  She sat with these words and gesture for about 30 minutes! ( I did mention she could be unusual)
When I heard this it was so affirming.  Affirming that I am on my way, walking home to myself, everyday….  Walking the mystical path with practical feet– Basque saying.
 This return home as a life process I read in the words of Ted Kaptchuk , author of “The Web That Has No Weaver, ”  –  “Healing is a crucible to encounter the source of our being in worst times; it is our genuine and potentially intact response to chaos, anguish, and suffering… an opportunity to uncover the truth of who we really are….Healing is not something we do only when we are sick; it is part of the process and journey of life”
And so I write….

Believe I met the writing angel last night on the subway home. He was decked out in fluorescent lime green high tops, shorts, outback leather hat and had luggage near by with Nightmare Before Christmas looking dolls hanging off the side. I sat across from him and immediately picked up on the vibe of the woman cramped to the window beside him.  She was politely trying to ignore his talk, but when I sat down I felt his radar turn around to me.  Now some people do the classic no eye contact tactic, which is usually successful, and if there was a hint of aggression  I probably would have opted for that. But clearly here was a man of artistic bent, with a handful of business cards that he was using as sketching paper. And I became his subject from St. Clair Ave. E down to the Yonge St. stop. He was an Chinese man with an English accent, and introduced himself as coming from England as he fiercely sketched my profile. I watched the woman beside him looking over his shoulder to gauge the outcome. Her expression was at once interested, amused and perplexed.  I imagined myself with three eyes. His words came out fast and passionate so I didn’t catch his name, but he spoke of writing movie scripts.  This angel seemed bursting with ideas and talked about needing to write them down immediately so as not to forget them. He stressed this point or at least my brain stressed this point to me and my focus sharpened onto this messenger.  

He then shared the themes he was working on in a script where mermaids would save the earth from humans and innocence would triumph over darkness.  He said it was very serious, but a comedy. He spoke about humans truly in the third person, and then asked me to guess how many woman did he already have now for his movie as mermaids.  

I guessed 20. Higher. 85? Higher- he had 60 I believe he said billion women as mermaids for his movie.  I gave an impressed look and so did the woman behind him as she was still eyeing his sketching progress. I told him I was getting off soon, his fingers then flew faster over the card, and he handed his work to me signed and dated.
It was a good rendition of me with a serene look on my face. I thanked him and we said farewell with the praise of innocence being victorious in its rescue of earth. 
On the bus home I remembered his words and promptly started to write down…lime green high tops…mermaids….England…. What he said I needed to hear.
 I looked down at the business card, the labelled side stated community services. Turning it over I looked again at the image of myself and now noticed the swirl of water below my chin and the fish head popping up to the surface just beneath me. Was I one of his mermaids now? 
I hope so.