A SWAN SONG

The sweet song of the Rose-breasted Grosbeak is akin to the burbling of a forest stream in spring. It is uplifting perhaps because he sings with all his might, putting every beat of his red heart behind each note. Life can be lived with the same philosophy…or not.

I adore the birds. They are solace when my heart aches and medicine when I feel lonely. They inspire me and encourage me when I lose heart. I can be worn out and overwhelmed as I work in the garden, and the sudden explosion of a Scarlet Tanager passing through the woods can lift my heart to a more energetic place. Suddenly, I have a new burst of enthusiasm for my tedious effort. I think too much and I sing too little. Since 2008, I have been writing this blog in one form or another. I write to celebrate the way the wild can bring balance to my life. I write myself toward transparency and  hope that as I reveal the truth of my heart, I will shed the feathers of conditioning and the lies I have told myself to make other people happy. My singular purpose at this stage of my life is to be me and to enjoy my own uniqueness…something I wish I started many years ago. For some reason, I have been very encumbered by misguided priorities. I work hard to anticipate what others expect of me and I learned well that if one is not doing for others, one is selfish. As one can see from the Wild Blogs…I think way too much and consequently find myself tripped up by self doubt and insecurity. I know I have lots of company. I feel a bit like that whale in a video that I saw…all entangled in fishing line…unable to move or even breathe well until a scientist out at sea, studying dolphins, freed the whale from the line. The weight of it…the tangle of it…all kind of a symbol of myself trying to free myself from encumbrances.

Sometimes it is important to cut clean, the cord. Tied up in all those fibers and knots, I found an old dream flickering…about to be blown out. The dream was to publish a book. I discovered that Blurb has a software for turning a blog into a book, so I have been slowly pulling together a book that has already been created. It is kind of a favor to that inner 12 year old. I will only publish a few copies because it will be over 200 pages…but when finished, I will be able to hold it and read when I go to the bathroom. I will be free of that nagging disappointment that I have yet to accomplish that goal. All that effort will finally become a fruit. Finally an end to that inner sense of disappointment. Which means…the beginning of something new. The process of working each page for a book is tedious. It is just computer stuff, using templates and setting up the essays with the photos. I have already completed 160 pages. For some reason…It seems like a big red dot needs to go right here. A punctuation mark ending one me and beginning another. I want to spend the rest of my life singing my heart out…taking each moment with an open heart and committing myself to life wholeheartedly. Next week, we begin our summer of baby life. On June 12 we will bring home 6 baby chicks and 4 baby ducks. Exactly a month later, we bring home our new puppy…Sadies sister from this most recent generation. I feel like a new mom…all excited…anticipatory…but at the same time, afraid of the dependency…11 little lives all dependent on me. My boys laugh at me. Geez, Mom…you brought up us. And I laugh. Yes. I did. And I realize I am doing something for the first time…and inevitably, I'm fearful. I hope I can do lots of things Ive never done before. Because like Rilke said so long ago…we should all resolve to be beginners at each thing we do. It is that vulnerable moment…perched on a branch about to do something you must do and feeling the paralysis of fear. But still…you jump. Because you have too. And because it makes you quiver with the feeling of being wholly alive. Wild.

TRILLS AND TRILLIUMS

Saturday afternoon our cousins David and Cindy, came for a sleepover . It is so much fun to have company come from away. I get all kinds of cleaning chores done easily because I'm motivated by the coming of loved ones. I get cooking so to speak and yes…even cook up a storm like the one that came in on Friday evening dropping about 4 inches of rain overnight and swelling the brooks and rivers to nearly overflowing. I like to get the food made so I can sit around like a guest in my own house doing nothing but visiting with our company. I am much happier if I can indulge myself at the same time that I indulge our visitors. Once they arrived, we set off for a walk at Step Falls and to show them Screw Auger Falls as well. We hadn't seen them since the Sandwich Fair on October 12th weekend…my birthday. We had lots of catching up to do. It was David's brother Jim that we went to visit in Ft. Pierce Florida for the last 2 weeks of April. All three of them were very aware of how deeply we loved our little dog Sadie who was killed in a terrible accident in November. They all called us and cried with us upon hearing the news…and they checked up on our well being several times afterwards. There has always been a loving warmth about our time spent with all of them. We are grateful to have them in our lives.

So, anyway…we set off on our walk and were pleased to find trilliums blooming everywhere. The falls were ripping and I shared with Cindy that this spot was where the last photo of Sadie was taken. As the river beside us raged, I felt frightened by the thought of walking with a dog beside these powerful falls. Last November when Sadie and I walked there, the water was soft and delicate. The flow was more of a trickle and Sadie romped with her friend without leashes. As we walked, I wondered to myself…remembering Stephen carrying a baby Sam beside Jackson Falls the spring he was born. Just the thought of it made my knees weak. I wondered about fear…and about love. Somehow it seems that when one's heart opens to receive a focus or vessel to pour the love from the heart into…the door to fear opens as well. After all…loving makes a heart vulnerable to loss. Mulling this situation, I shared with Cindy a story from our vacation in Florida.

While visiting Jim, we spent some time at a dog friendly beach. While sitting in the sand, Jim lost his keys and a few days later, Stephen and I went back to the beach to see if we could find them. We spent quite a bit of time looking…heads looking down at the ground for about 20 minutes. When I looked up…I saw Sadie running toward us. I said..Stevo. Look. Here comes Sadie. Sure enough, a mini aussie tri -colored dog was running to us. We spent about 45 minutes playing with the dog named Forest…a 2 year old with her owner and his Mom. When they left, I broke down in tears. As we left the beach in the car, I said to Stephen…maybe she was trying to bring us a message. Maybe our puppy is getting ready to come to us. When we got back to Jim's we got on his computer and sent a message to Sadie's parent's owners and asked if the dogs might be pregnant. Sure enough they were and she said they were due in mid-May. It was uncanny. Call me crazy but I am just certain Sadie was visiting us for a moment.

Cindy and I said…wouldn't it be something if the puppies are born this weekend? Somehow the timing seemed so right. And joy that is shared can double in intensity. On sunday morning, I got up and went to the computer to find a note from Sandy saying 5 beautiful puppies had been born on Saturday morning. What a rush of joy…a trilling in my heart. Though I fear the repeat of a sudden and untimely death, it is not going to stop me from bringing this little dog home into my heart. It seems that everything I want for myself is just across the river of fear. That river has to be crossed to arrive at the river of love. So be it. On June 12th, I will pick up 6 baby chicks and 4 baby ducks. One month later, on July 12th…I'll go fetch my baby girl and bring her home. She will grow up with birds and I will grow old with her. Timid soul that I am…I will not NOT do this. From here on, I dedicate my life to the birds…and the dogs. And for this…a blossom of celebration!

SLOW SPRING

Today is the Full Flower Moon of May! I woke up thinking, gee…it's almost May 15th and I haven't yet spotted my first bluebird. The great spaces between birds is a little concerning to me. I first noticed it last year…a decrease in the populations of common songbirds that summer here in the western Maine mountains. I have a tendency to be a worry wart and find I have to practice vigilance against the chronic habit of seeking out things to worry about. There is no shortage of possibilities. But I am concerned about the birds. There used to be so many swallows darting playfully over the farmers fields here by the river. And last year we had a family of bluebirds set up house in our edge of the woods birdhouse. My calendar says they moved in around May 5th. When I walk in the woods I hear the song of the Hermit thrush and occasional oven birds…but their numbers seem low. I hope I'm wrong. More and more, I am startled by how little humans are doing to take care of and nurture the planet that is their home. While all the rich and powerful men are blathering around tables arguing about whether or not there is a change in the climate…oil is still spilling and fracking is still poisoning the water that large corporations want to privatize for their own profit. We've been extracting oil, gas, coal, gems and precious minerals from the Earth for centuries and we still don't have…or use our technology to clean up after ourselves. The scared planet that sustains us all is lost in the arguing about whose religion is THE religion…or whose God is THE God. While all the fighting continues and escalates into spurts and waves of power displays and violence.

Mother's Day has come and gone. We all have a chance to ruminate about mothers and mothering…our own mother's strengths and weaknesses…our feelings of success or failure at being a mother or the echoes of our choices to not be a mother. We all have our private path with the whole concept of MOTHER…our own stories…our own truths. Perhaps we even have our own rituals to celebrate motherhood…our own scripts that we feel dutiful to relive. Yet, truly…there is only one mother. Our singular individual selves have a genetic mother who has her genetic mother who has her mother ad infinitum. The mother of our biological selves…our growing adolescent selves…the mother who nurtured us by generosity or neglect…yet she is not our deepest mother. The mother of all life and the mother of mothers waiting to be celebrated is our planet Earth and mankind is missing his one last chance to bow down to her in gratitude for the riches of his life. She is exhausted and depleted. Her resources are dwindling and her abuse is criminal. But who is talking about solutions to the global issues of planetary health? Most of those speaking about the planetary issues are the butt of jokes . Our individual lives here on Earth are short and perhaps we are as a species, selfish and shortsighted but at the rate we are destroying our home…our grandchildren's futures are something to begin worrying about. Or better yet…doing something about.

What natural patterns do you see changing? Is it OK with you? I become troubled by the young people who's attention seems lost in technology. I observe so many folks who have their eyes on their smart phones or tablets…anything but another human. I worry because so many children don't know anything about the birds and flowers and trees that grow around them. They wouldn't know a blackberry from a bearberry…such is their alienation from the nature that surrounds them. If everyone is so focused on the intelligence of a computer device…who is going to notice the world as it teeters on the edge of disaster?

I feel the pull of the moon in my heart. I feel the Earth perched perilously close to a point of no return. I worry about the worms in my garden and the birds at my feeder. I care about the animals and the trees and the flowers. I am disheartened by the human paradox…so smart…so powerful…so rich having "dominion" over all of nature and yet humans are in a race to destroy their very home. What is happening to the polar bears and the moose and the elephants is a warning of what is in store for us. We best begin to listen. But my God…it is really time to act.

In my weighty contemplation of the arriving songbirds…I looked up at the peach tree I planted for our 25th anniversary. This past winter may have killed it with nearly 15 days of below -25 degree temperatures. I won't know for sure for a couple more weeks. I had my first real harvest of peaches this fall and enjoyed peach smoothies into the winter. The tree was doing great but may not survive. Maybe thats what I get for being so optimistic as to buy a tree at Reny's for 12 dollars and plant it in Zone 4. But maybe…just maybe…I'll try again. Because who just landed in that peach tree and lifted my heart with a hope for the future? A bright blue indigo bunting…irridescent sky-blue and a sweet melodious song. I would despair without them.

ENDING APRIL….BEGINNING MAY

Stephen and I were on a vacation in Florida from April 9-24th. Two whole weeks in the warm sunny state of Florida after one of the meanest coldest winters in my Maine history of 14 years. It was…a refreshing pause. A mark of punctuation. A fortnight that stands as a clear end of winter in my heart and the seeds of hope and trust for the highly anticipated expectation of springs' return. It never ceases to amaze me how an ending is always a beginning and visa versa. My oldest son, Sam turned 30 on April 25th. When I said hello to him, I said goodbye to my life with me at the center. I became a mom and when I did, I started a shift in focus that may never be the same again. When I married Stephen, I said goodbye to my single self and hello to an unknown self who steps gently and with awareness to the steps those around me are making. Always…the end marks a new beginning. And the beginning marks an end.

When we arrived in Florida, our cousin Jim took us under his wing and showed us the flora and fauna of his island…Hutchinson Island in Fort Pierce. Of course this was a fast flight into my heart of hearts being the nature lover that I am. He showed us all manner of plants and birds. We walked for hours that first day, getting the lay of the land and sniffing out the key spots to return to as the days unfolded. When we got back to the nest, he even showed me where the mother dove was nesting in a tree beside his parking lot. Ah…the journey was kindled. Immediately, I was brought back to the week I gave birth to my son Sam. After a long, strenuous labor…one that was especially hard on my back…I managed to deliver him after my Mom stopped in to the birthing center and kissed my feet. She was on her way to work as I birthed my child. Later in the day, Mom and Dad came by the house to see the baby. Dad was carrying sadness. As I lay bringing Sam into the world, he had been saying goodbye to his brother…John Ballou…who died that same day. John  said goodbye…and Sam said hello. Hello. Hello.

I loved my Uncle John more than anyone ever knew. He was frequently in my dreams and when I was 9, he took me on a tour of Salem Hospital where he was a surgeon. He showed me everything…all himself. Knowing now how busy a doctor's life is, I am amazed he took me on that tour. He even took me into the morgue…and mostly what I remember is the cold and the shiny metal surfaces. He was a childhood hero and I can't say that I ever shared that truth with anyone before. Anyway…as I learned to nurse my baby and spent my grief for my uncle, a great wild thing was happening outside my 3rd floor window. A pair of mourning doves had nested in an old bird feeder right there in my kitchen window. I loved to sit there in the dark hours of night feeding Sam while I watched the pair create a family…and hatch and fledge 2 young. I watched them mate…lay their eggs…hatch…feed and teach the young to fly. They shared every aspect of the job, changing guard duty about every 30 minutes. I was riveted. They were the perfect models of shared and responsible parenting. They both hunted food and fed the babies after they both sat on the eggs. It was a cooperative effort that held wisdom, patience and fairness. I was inspired by their wild bird drama that fed my dreams for my own family of 4. I'll never forget that dove family in my third floor window. Seeing the momma dove in Florida gave me a sense of familiarity and yet expectancy. It also washed me with a sense of peace.

At vacation's end, Stephen and I were spending time with a friend I hadn't seen in many years…except for a quickie visit when she was being a companion for my Mom during her first months after the fall that made 24/7 care essential. When we were about to leave Florida early, I called her and she invited us to join her at her condo in Pompano Beach. We connected and stayed with her 2 nights. We had a blast and wholly enjoyed her company and her 85 year old Mom as well. There…up on the 4th floor, we had the visitation of doves. One puffed right up for my camera and left an impression of peaceful receptivity. I am fully understanding the whole concept of the dove of peace. The dove began our vacation and ended it. Birth and death can happen in the same breath. Endings are beginnings and beginnings are THE END. The wisdom of the wild weaves itself into my domestic little life and my wild self sets my chickens free(to another human…not out in the wild). In order to make peace with my life…I must accept death. And in order for a heart to gratefully accept death, it must savor the miracle of birth. It helps to remember…endings are always beginnings. PEACE!

WHAT TIME IS IT ANYWAY?????

Happy Spring…Vernal Equinox…March 20th! I'm dressed in my greens just to remember the quality of the color…the hope…the promise of new life. Last night dropped another 12-14 inches of snow on us all…on top of the 16 inches that fell last Thursday, it makes for quite a heavy wet blanket of white. Last week the weight of it all got to me.  The maple trees are all tapped and in the past two weeks we've only collected a few gallons of sap. Usually by this time of the month, we've boiled and bottled a gallon of syrup at least. I've remarked that this winter of 2014 has been one of the meanest, coldest, iciest, snowiest winters ever and now that we are sliding into the last 10 days of March, I'm wondering if Mother Nature is going to offer up any sweetness in the form of maple syrup. One farmer explained that if the trees set bud before the sap runs, there won't be any sap season. So not only has she given us a winter of icy bones and cold shoulders, but she has refused us our sweetness ritual of spring. I haven't totally given up yet but the forecast for cold for the next week does not bode well for our efforts. Nothing we can do about it. I know the garden season is coming but there aren't any signs of spring to affirm my faith at this point. A double bouquet of Gerbera daisies tease my imagination with their vibrant reds and oranges. I am so grateful to myself for buying them on my way home from Mass. on Tuesday. This storm surprised us all. Most weather channels said we'd have 4-6 inches. No one predicted double that. Sometimes it seems there is no predicting. No peaking into the future…no telling ahead of time what is what. And perhaps that is for the best.

I sometimes wish I could know ahead of time when things are going to happen. I've always been drawn to predictive arts…tarot cards, astrology, palmistry, mediums…you name it. I yearn for foreknowledge but it's just a control issue. I have just returned from a nice visit with my Mom. She is holding her own at the Lafayette Nursing Home. She is very attuned to the present moment and in that moment has a great sense of humor and an interest in other folks that surround her. The truth remains…she isn't going to get better. And on this visit, she turned to me and said.."I'm ready to kick the bucket". The stunning honesty of that simple statement left me speechless. She also informed me that she needs to "line herself up in her sleep" so that she can make her exit while sleeping. God bless her. I hope she can accomplish that feat. At 89, I'd do whatever I could to help her achieve this goal. She used to insist she was going to die at home. When she moved to the nursing facility in August, she seemed to simply go with the flow. Her attachment to being home left her. Somewhere deep inside, she knew she could no longer live in her house with no first floor bathroom. Her days of climbing the stairs were over. She is grateful she doesn't have to get up and go to daycare every day. She still enjoys her activities and friends and visits, but her dream has changed. It had to. I don't know what happens for Death to choose his moment. I do know it has nothing to do with me..not her death anyway. And I wonder if we have any control over our own death. Might there be an element of will involved in the art of dying? I know shamanic cultures claim there is an element of will involved if we are able to train ourselves to let go as we live our lives…ever practicing for the moment when the crack between worlds begins to open and we are invited to step through…over the threshold from one reality to another. Ah but it all remains a mystery.

I know, when an egg is broken from the outside, there is loss of life…and when it opens from within, there is a beginning of life moving toward itself in a journey of growth and development. I know that under all this wet white snow, there is quickening underground as the light begins to work it's magic on the roots and creatures underground. Nature may seem heartless and cold…but she is only doing the work of the great mother…the work of life. Timing doesn't seem to be up to me and my clock…nope!
The great wheel turns in it's own time…and welcomes my complete surrender. Spring is happening beneath the appearance of white winter and she will come when she is ready. Mom is preparing herself for her final journey and despite her appearance of humor and enjoyment of life's simple pleasures, she is preparing for her journey into another form. The universe has it's own timing and the sooner I drop my agenda for when things should happen, the more likely I will be able to feel the deeper pulses…the rhythms of movement beneath the surface that tell the story of the birth, growth and death of life on this planet Earth. I am my mother…in so many ways. And yet I am essentially myself. Such a mystery.

WITH AN EYE ON THE CLEARING

This is my vision as I emerge from a snowshoe up behind my house. Snowshoeing is hard work especially in the deep newly fallen snow that is so abundant this February. One is aware of each single step as the upward climb beckons me to delve deeper into the woods. I sweat. I breathe hard. My butt muscles quiver…. adventure in every single placement of my snowshoes . Winter can seem so long and cold…it is damn hard work shoveling, hauling wood, keeping the fire stoked, keeping the spirits up…and the mind and heart focused on the life lying sleepy beneath the Earth's surface. The blanket of deep snow cover threatens to hold me down. This is February vacation week…one of the busiest up at The Mountain. I love to ski but I have resolved not to do so during the vacation week and I never do weekends. The beauty of living up here is that I can be picky about my skiing conditions. I'm wild about midweek skiing and find it helps move winter along. But my family is up enjoying the mountain today and I'm home on antibiotics for a UTI…something I haven't had in 15 years. It came out of nowhere. So, here I sit, reading, writing and otherwise cozy…but mindfully observing myself as a scaredy cat hanging back from having fun with the guys…feeling pissy because sometimes when my family is all together, I have a sense of not being valued as an equal contributor to the tribe. It is interesting to note the ways I have used my being the only woman of the family to accentuate my aloneness and increase my separateness. The old roles of "woman in the kitchen" and "mom at the hearth fire"…they can be so nurturing and sustaining but on the other hand they can swallow the need to pioneer as a woman. Under this heavy mantle of white, I feel deeply exhausted and hungry for light and warmth and laughter. I continue to move through my grief at losing Sadie. Her loss set up a cleansing of my whole heart that has kept me busy journaling all winter long. She has given me a rare opportunity to encounter myself as human animal. And my human animal eyes are seeing how my human self has quashed my fears and stored them in closets only to have them burst out fully alive …here under the unusual weight of winter, I find myself tromping down a path. I would like to follow a snowmobile trail…or a logger road…or even someone else's snowshoe trail. It is always easier to follow a well-beaten trail. First tracks in snowshoes is a commitment of heart…and it is difficult.

I listen to the silence and hear the sound of my heart beat. Thinking about the work of the heart, I am aware that life is a parade of single steps. I don't hear a many-layered pastiche of beats. What I hear is one thump followed by another followed by another. I see the scaredy cat human who has no tolerance for risk taking looking in the mirror at the human animal eyes of a fierce and powerful tiger who lives a fearless life using all natural born skills and intuition to carry him through her days. She is never too far ahead of herself and she doesn't worry about the future. And I am struck by the polarity of the image and the challenge of my life to hold both versions of myself in view. Clearly the image I prefer is myself as a real tiger…a go-getter, a proud and wise feline with strong haunches and the wisdom of the entire Earth. Ah…were I only that. But no…I am also that whining child who grieves her pet, her mother's debilitation, her own aging process and adapting to limits that change. I am that toddler who believes that sickness and accidents are a message of judgement from the universe and when I break my shoulder or get a UTI or cop out on a family adventure that I am being punished for something I did wrong. I am that female ego that is bruised by men having conversations that don't let her in and pissed off by unwritten rules of expectation that are manufactured by who???? By me of course.

By now, I have tromped out a circle. I have listened to the many fears in my heart and I have sensed the  potential for fearlessness. The whole mess is visible…but at least now, I'm not hiding things from myself. I have begun to heal a lifetime of learning not to feel so I can blaze through another day. To soldier on has been my mantra and in doing so, I created me a heart wreck. Now there is a strong, wild cat in my mirror. She doesn't worry about the future and she is free from the past because she is fully present and has trust in the Earth.  My walking is causing deep hard breathing as I step from the wooded edge of forest to the field ahead and the clear blue skies reach out for my blundering heart. I guess this is what it means to begin to love yourself.

BECOMING BLOSSOM

Just look at this Amaryllis bud.  It is mind blowing and bewildering to me that inside this one bursting open,  simple bud growing at the top of a single stem, becomes not one but four huge sensual and evocative blossoms that can take your breath away. It is a miracle. My literal mind can't quite comprehend the outcome of a blossoming so abundant, tightly packed away into a single bud. This has been my Amaryllis winter. It started back in November just after Sadie was killed. A friend brought us an amaryllis as a gesture of sympathy at the loss of our girl. It was an emerging bud…fat with life and hidden potential standing about 6 inches tall. Oddly, within 2 days of arriving, the bud fell off unopened. It made me sad…but there was something so right about that blossom never evolving. It seemed a fitting tribute to a life snuffed out prematurely…like our girl, death claimed her blossoming. When I took the 50 lb. bag of unopened dog food back to the Paris Farmers Union, I decided to buy an amaryllis bulb for a replacement. That was back in mid December. It is the amaryllis you see here. I bought it because I had the bulb image in mind after Sadie was buried in the garden. I felt like she was planted there like my garlic, asparagus and rhubarb. I could see her lying in the cold ground after the three of us dug her grave. Imagining her body to be like a bulb gets me past the image of her in the ice cold ground and more focused on the spirit blossoming that is the gift of her life having been taken too soon. The planting of bulbs in the fall is an act of faith…as all gardening is. But there is something about digging into the cold earth in October or November after the last of the harvest is in. Planting fall bulbs is an antidote to the lifeless landscape of January and February. It is a secret between me and Mother Nature. In the darkening of the year, I have planted something that results in a colorful expulsion of joy in the spring and only I know it.  When things feel dark and mean and cold, I know in my heart of hearts that I have set a root into the Earth knowing full well that the warmth and growth will return. Doubt disappears. This act of burial, will inevitably lead to a blossoming when the spring returns. I love that! It's a sneaky way of proving to myself that I do have faith…because guess what. Every time I find myself pressed against a cold icy wall, tempted to believe that "it just isn't worth it", I remember the life being planted in the dark. Having planted becomes my secret with myself…the reassurance that new life will return.

In dealing with my grief over losing Sadie, I did something this year, Ive never done before. I booked myself a Crystal Resonance Reading. A friend from my women's writing group has just completed her training and begun a healing practice. We have shared our hearts in our writing and made some shamanic journeys together. I know her in a way that I don't know many folks. And lets just say…we resonate. Sara Cope. How poetic that her last name is Cope…with a capital C. She has truly helped me cope with the meanest, coldest, iciest, hardest winter in 14 years. I have been using some crystals to get through this process and in the process allowing myself to receive support from the mineral kingdom. As a past Polarity therapist, I am not a stranger to energy work. I wholeheartedly believe in auric energies and realities created by the imagination having substance and meaning. This particular treatment was done across the distance…so it required a little more faith than a hands on, in your face process. I have slept nearly every night with a quartz crystal in my hand. In the middle of the night when my ratty little worst case scenario brain kicks into overdrive, I am comforted by the cool hardness of this crystal. I am also reminded of myself as a young mother …when Sam and Will were plagued with nightmares as children often are at certain times of their development, I gave them crystals to hold as a protection from all they feared in their dreamworlds. I remember soothing them and quietly talking them through the Armor Of Light prayer and now here I am, giving myself the same prescription as I seek a new dream for this time of my life. Sara's reading also included a meditation process that I have been practicing all winter. This particular meditation is a grounding of one's physical body in love. It is a tool to practice self love…and like the Amaryllis bud, there is way more abundance packed into the budding practice and sustaining the blossoming than I can even imagine. Because I suffer with poor self esteem and depression at times, and because I have a tendency to believe the mean things I say to myself sometimes, I have spent a lifetime giving lip service to the power of positive thinking. I often say but do not do. Between the accuracy of the stones telling Sara about me and the use of the Primus Meditation…my bulb metaphor has strengthened and put forth a bud.

At Christmas, I received a 3rd Amaryllis bulb that is now about 6 inches tall and equipped with one big bud. It is becoming very slowly but continues to seem like it will blossom. My first bud told me not to count on it reaching maturity just because it sets a bud. My second bud taught me there is far more life packed into that closed bud than you can imagine based on it's bud…4 times the flowering so to speak. Now, I'm fully curious and awaiting the lesson of this 3rd and final Amaryllis of the year. As it slowly aims for blossoming, I keep myself focused on the already present blooms…this is my heart. It is not about the lost blossom…nor is it about the blossom that has yet to emerge.  THIS is about the bulb I gave myself…the one that hid 4 huge blossoms in its tightly closed bud…the one that is blooming now.
Now is a becoming blossom.