paintedpinkmountains

I wonder how we would view ourselves if we were to actually see, in some tangible form, the things that we expend our energy on.  I imagine my day as a jar and at the end of the day it is full of all the things that I have spent my time on, and images of people I have spent my time with during the day.  Does my jar sparkle?  Does light emit from it like a firefly?  Or is it grey and mucky while the bright points are hidden inside beneath a cloud of fog? What's in your jar?

It's always there, you just have to look for it.  The opportunity to take a breath, to notice, to calm, to literally just *be*. This moment is one that brings me calm every day.  It's a routine that we've become accustomed to.  Every time we drive past this spot, we stop and take a moment to say hello to our friends.  Occasionally they are on the other side of the field, and if we stop they will usually come right over.  There is a cow too, and he's become curious lately, but still a little apprehensive. We allow the peace to enter. We allow ourselves to slow down. We allow the present moment in. I've noticed how this moment makes me feel.  Most of the time we stop and at least one of the boys gets out to truly share space with them, but even when it's nothing more than a drive-by hello of sorts where we slow to a crawl and yell "Hello Friends!" or "Doooooonnkey!" out the window, this moment has been teaching me presence all alon...

Nature is a bounty for life lessons, providing us with metaphors everywhere, if we are awake enough to see them.  The changing seasons each bring us "classes" of their own, that teach us patience, perseverance, strength, and vulnerability as we are continually given challenges in life that test what we learn. I've never witnessed the poppy in this seemingly suspended state.  I've watched these beauties bloom every year for as long as I can remember, yet I seem to have only captured them in every other state. First, being completely held tight inside the safety of their pod; second, in full glorious bloom; or after, as they shed the paper-thin petals to the ground around them. I've been thinking about boundaries and openness lately, and have been looking not only at how both are present in my own life, but also in where they could be improved upon.  In the past few years I have certainly become much more present in my world.  I pay much closer attention to ...

This time of year is one that finds me taking random walks around my property multiple times a day.  Some mornings I walk outside with my dog and stare around in amazement at how my yard can seem to have transformed overnight.  My crocus were quite early this year, putting on their show in March and closing the curtain practically before April even came.  The daffodils lasted most of April and gave way to the lilacs that produced profusely this year. My lilacs are my most beloved as they hold many memories from my entire lifetime here on this property.  One bush in particular I spent more than 15 hours freeing from debris and dead branches, while also very carefully pruning it where it asked me to. It has been there as long as I can remember and last year it was practically suffocated by poison ivy, which I'm horribly allergic to.  But I persisted, very carefully, and it rewarded my care by providing me with a bush full of beautiful, full, magenta blooms t...

Clearly my wisteria isn't very good with boundaries, but she sure has a lovely way of being untamed. I guess once the curtain closes on her springtime act, I'll at least pull her out of the areas that she really shouldn't be, but for now I'm enjoying the show. I've found that nature has a way of showing me what I need to work on in my own life.  The metaphors are there on a daily basis, and it sometimes takes a while for me to get the message.  In terms of this lovely plant, the lessons it has been teaching me are endless, but at the moment it's heavy on the boundaries and taming the part of me that ignores the ones that I consistently attempt to put up for myself. Perhaps I need to work harder at not looking at my boundaries as something that I need to make out of an impenetrable material, but more so a material that is flexible in its' firmness.  Something that can bend on occasion.  Something that can allow things in while blocking others. Much l...

I recently saw a photo of a seemingly empty storefront with the following statement lettered on the sign above it: What do you do? What could you do? What's stopping you? These are questions I started asking myself daily.  Most often they come out when I'm faced with a challenge.  And it could be any manner of challenge from garden planning, or a knitting project I want to take on to the book I've been writing for longer than I'm willing to admit now.  Answering those questions is a much deeper challenge than actually moving forward with the act of taking on the projects however, for the act of *doing* requires much less energy than the countless hours spent analyzing the questions.  But let's look at the questions, at least for a moment. What do I do?  I sit here staring at this pattern, thinking about how many new-to-me stitches there are in it and I wonder whether I will struggle with learning or figuring them out.  I wonder whether I will ha...

A short few moments ago I was taking some time to quiet my mind.  I had just finished reading  this blog post  and was thinking about how much I could relate to the talk of learning to be calm.  I was thinking about how I am still learning how to act, rationally, with sincere and deep thought, rather than reacting through emotions.  And as the Universe seems to always do, it decided to test me in what it was just trying to teach me. It's moments like this that I am the most thankful for.  At 40 years in, I am constantly aware.  I have never felt so aware in life as I am at this point.  All the situations I find myself faced with, whether they be simple, tough, passing or constant, I am conscious and aware. I see the mirrors placed in front of me daily and I see my own self reflected back at me.  I take that wisdom and I thank the Creator for continuing to remind me of my own humanness. I see the places where I could turn those mirro...