My tai chi teacher keeps reminding me to “settle into your center.”  If I am anchored there, she says, I move with power.  If I move from my arms or legs instead of my waist, I am moving “empty”.  It is in the pause, the slow breathing and that infinite exquisite paradise between the breaths that is the true heart of my center.

Here I pause.  The maple tree next door is brilliant with orange, yellow, salmon, green and those combination of colors that are impossible to duplicate.  Then the sun flashes her spotlight on them and the colors change again.

We see this as a swan song celebration of the season.  Leaves just drop without any cheering; they don’t expect it and wouldn’t know what to do with it.  They are ultimately just being.

That is what refreshes in the pause.  That I crave nothing, move towards nothing, regret nothing, know nothing, and sit.  Just sit in the pause.  In comforting relief from the question “why”, I thoroughly and wholly AM.

It is a human day today.  The Spirit is pervasive, wet and slowly dripping rain; the earth is deeply watered.  Like a crab on the beach in the rain, I swim in emotions and am not aware of them.  How could I see anything but food.  How could I move toward anything but immediate satisfaction when letting my little lobster brain lead the way.

I appreciate the monkey back there, getting me dressed, walking the dog, cleaning up his shit, telling him he is a good ole boy, forcing myself into a shower.  But sometimes the mud of feelings gets me stuck.  Inertia seeps into my bones and I feel stunned.

But if I have unconditional friendliness to myself, this is just a day.  This is just now without drama.  My mind keeps tempting me with possible scenarios I could force with my absent new boss, and my heart practices peace.

Practicing peace and inner friendliness today.  Allowing the seesaw of this and that, mind and matter, heart and soul just play back and forth without keeping score.  The Divine Lady loves to watch me and cheers and yells and laughs and coaches me to do my personal best.

With my modicum of Latin training–without looking–I’d say that “appreciate” at its core, means “to perceive ahead of time”.  This meaning portends to the idea that gratitude for something causes more of the same to occur.  What I am thankful for–and what I speak about, express, write and scream to the rooftops with feeling and consistent thought–increase.

What I’d like this to work with is for something to happen that hasn’t yet.  Ok, I don’t think I’m making sense, but stay with me here.  I am now grateful for the conversation and evidence in my workplace of thoughtful organization, conscientious expression of guidance, calm appreciation of past work and future abilities, a bestowal of responsibilities that infuse my day with motivation and a recognition of talent.

Phew, lots of big words to say: I am now thoroughly thankful for being seen, appreciated and actively recruited for fun projects.

At the core of which is: I am NOW loved and appreciated.  I am here and now noticed and embraced for talent, abilities, skills, and a calm, helpful manner.

No one at work needs to do this, really.  My mission is to see this in front of me every moment, to perceive in front of me the Beautiful Boss of my life, the Divine One that giggles as She skips ahead of me on the easy, exquisite path in Paradise.  She sometimes turns out of sight and I am catatonic on the path–which turns dark, mysterious, threatening.

She always peeks around the corner, gives me a tender urging–HEY, I’m over here, come ON!  And today resumes it’s walk in the park.

Today is different.  The early morning dog walkers had a spring in their step.  The dawn angels were throwing pink and coral veils around, teasing the Old Mountain so much he blushed.  A collective conscious majority of people chose change, and it was recorded, noted and implemented.  That whole process is astounding.

May the glorious cheering crowd in Chicago heal the wounds that shot through us 40 years ago on that spot.  May the young man’s big smile and dark face be soothed with grace as he steps into an unimaginable task.  May the puppy distract the girls from the fish-bowl isolation life they are entering.  May the hand-holding wife cherish each touch, eye to eye love, over the heads of others, the phones, the appointments and so many doors.

The road still rises to meet my feet.  The gravel still chants I am that I am that I am that I am.

Oh those Buddhists that insist we can be calm when the ship keeps rocking and rolling and dipping and swaying so much we all feel like puking overboard.  Dizzy with election, Saturn opposed Uranus, suicides, financial ruin, personal insecurity and the change of seasons too.

When it rains, it just rains.  When leaves and dirt and mud get tracked into the house, I just have to clean it.  Then it happens again.  Cycles of on/off, in/out, republican/democrat, success/failure, life/death.

But if we get comfortable with it–then what?  Do we die when we’re bored or “satisfied” with uncertainty?  Does Siddhartha just get cross-eyed and wish he had a pizza, a beer and a good college football game to scream at?

That’s why I like the idea of god-faces.  They are so much more fun than neutral-zone flat lined comfort.  Of course, I could be in for a whole shit-ful more lives thinking like that.  Oh well.  Maybe next time I’ll suffer through being rich and famous. ha.

Right now I am thrilled to be aware that no matter if the pendulum goes this way or that, if it stalls in the middle, if history is in the making or if we are doomed to repeat it, I can laugh at the teeter-totter and have fun with it.

The leaves are bright flags, the sun and clouds are playing tag, we are laughing at illogic, and I am that I am.

God spilled a bit of paint while She was touching up a rose in Borneo.
It landed on a maple tree in the Adirondacks.
(She was on a retreat at the Loj–She loves being two places at once.)

The red on the leaves looked so good, She sprinkled brilliant yellow on a birch.
Then She started giggling and throwing colors around.
One of the angels came up to Her and reminded Her that She had already colored leaves as green.

But God just shrugged and said, “Ok, well, I’m changing my mind–for a season.  I can do that you know.”  The angel rolled his eyes and said, “You’re the boss”

God giggled and then dressed up like Shiva (one of Her favorite God costumes), She danced and danced with her paint brush splattering all over the world.  Gold landed in Europe, bright yellow green showed up in Vermont, and the orange in the Northwest lit up the night.

The maples blushed, the aspens turned pale at what they saw under Her dress.  The wind got all excited and threw colored confetti parade and a carpet of twirling leaves.  Gaia grinned in glory.

Written with a grateful nod to Cynthia Rylant’s “God Went to Beauty School”

Four days ago!?!  Where have I been?  Well, on jury duty, actually–the cornerstone (so many say) of democracy.  The power of the people to choose–and fabricate the facts.  From one attorney’s well painted side of the story to the other attorney’s fascinating and diverse depiction, five people connect the dots and declare the “truth” of the matter.  And so it goes.

All this reinforces the human life as a layers of stories upon stories upon stories.  The political race–from generations of family anecdotes, public relations slant, media rancor, Saturday Night Live comic bites to the next so-called leader of the so-called free world?  HysTERical!

In the core of the spirit inside me is a chant: I chose life is good.  I chose life is good.  Today is a day that from all perspectives, every viewpoint–whether I see it or not–I chose that life is good.  That’s my story, and I’m sticking with it.

That’s what the Buddhists say to do, to head into the fear, the doubt, the inertia, the pain, as if it is life’s greatest adventure to get to the other side.  Or no, to forget and give up the idea that there is another side to it.  But that’s a goal into itself isn’t it?  To “achieve” the enlightenment that there is no other side to suffering.  I’ll leave that theological conundrum to the scholars.

Today I head into jury service–that’s certainly diving into someone’s despair, making a decision on someone’s life based on the “facts” presented.  We all know that the facts are one sided–from each side.  I see that everywhere I go: my daughter inviting a feuding brother and father to her birthday party, playing hookey from work to indulge in a thrilling day with my honey, working hard at a job that seems to go into the abyss without acknowledgment.  Each of these perceptions are from my point of view.

Perhaps today I’ll dive into the day and allow myself just to watch for Creation’s Delight in every thing, person, situation in front of me.  Like a movie, asking myself what is the message here, what is the scene, the set-up, the build up, the transformation of characters.

In the end, it is my diving form, I guess, that spurs me on to compete against myself.  How well can I listen better and better every day. 

To that end, I will keep this vision: on a little trusty scooter, riding endlessly on the empty beach.  The waves roaring and thundering and foaming and pulling and pushing and tenderly ebbing and flowing on one side.  Dunes of scrapy grasses gripping the moving earth shielding all civilization on the other side.  Before me and behind me the fog–stealing all signs of the world.  I am in Heaven at all times.

I’m not being rude.  It’s just that if we manifest our lives, what the heck am I creating with an old dog that can’t hold his shit.  Early morning bagging what I can put my gloved fingers around, scraping, scrubbing, mopping and crying my way through the basement–linoleum and rug, all over, thoroughly covered with shit.

Shit is food we don’t need, the remnants of our life that don’t serve us.  Am I finally at a point where the dog no longer serves me?  He’s a companion, not a service dog.  He was bought for the kids 15 years ago, and both of the kids are 3000 miles away and not expected back except for visits.  But like any long term companion, well, like another kid, is just isn’t that easy to say: off to the old folks home.  Not many hospice places for dogs.

Something to contemplate.  What is the shit that is reflected here?  Parts of my life that doesn’t serve me, can’t digest, isn’t part of my nourishment.  Or just that the dog has to go?  Or how freaking hard it is to let go of the human–dog–experience.

No answers here today.  I am in faith of freedom, I claim the light that shines within to gently open up all shadows.

I worked on a patent litigation case once where the months and years and rooms full of files and boxes came down to what the word “flex” meant.  The big fat dictionary says “to bend, to curve.”

Well, life gives us curve balls all the time, and I have to watch out for them and move my bat to intercept as best I can.  Or to move a bit out of the way so I don’t get slammed by one.  Today it feels more like watching the curve of a wave come towards me and allowing my intuition to meld with the curves so I too can cycle my water, choose my actions after letting the feelings run through me and around me and under me and over me and at me.

Am I the waterfall or am I crushed beneath it?  Do I have the ability to flex my heart muscles around seemingly opposing forces?  Those are good questions.

The truth test works pretty well for me.  I allow my imagination to take me down the two different paths in front of me.  One completely-feel my feelings.  The other completely–feel my feelings.  The path that feels more free, more fun, more loving to and for myself IS the truth of me and my being.  And if I indulge myself in the truth of my being, the action simply rolls forth with ease.

The ability to flex is about leaning in the wave, not trying to figure it out or convince it that it just shouldn’t bend that way.  By dipping into the side of the mountain on my snowboard, I get that pure exhilarating life of air and freedom.  Bending at the knees.