The Universe of Unknowns

I have entered and wandered through many books, seeking validation, wisdom, and relief from the discomfort of living in the universe of unknowns. 

Now, I see the fruits of my labors of looking. I am full and I have always been full. I am free and I have always been free. It is the clutter of culture I must organize and compartmentalize and primarily ignore. I see my love. I see my light. I see too the agitation of disappointment. For I thought the sun might burst inside my being and life would become bright and easy. Now, I see that it is the seeking. Now, I see that it is the surrendering, the acceptance of it all - the known and the unknown, the light and the shadow.  Now, I see that the Divine did burst inside my being, making life what it needs to be for me, the known and the unknown, the light and the shadow. 

In our world of form and formless, I am learning how to live - and how to embrace simplicity and some naivety. And while the books are publicized as study guides, they are - quite simply - the stories of other seekers. They can hold within their bindings, wisdom. However, the pure curriculum of life is in the moment. I must build my own book, pen my joy, articulate my awe, and write of wonder—not necessarily for the sharing but for the time spent telling.  

I wanted a third baby.

Yes! Let me fall into the space of tender infancy. Yes! Let me bud in pre-natal, bloom in birth, and nest in post-natal. Yes! Let me do better. Yes! Let me be better. Yes! And let me be home home home! Let me hide behind the responsibility of baby care. Let me hide from all the unknown opportunities out there. 

I daydreamed for one month about another soul joining our home. 

It started with a thought - an I could be pregnant thought - followed by stirrings and swirlings and quiverings within. And swelling? Yes, swelling! And swooning? Yes, swooning. 

But then, oh, then, - blood banged down my door. And I wept. This was grief. Grief for this one. Grief for no future ones. Grief for the end of an era. 

After a few days, the sorrow rose like fog, and there in the clear meadow of my being, I was whole and free and open to more. 

Yes, let me be more more more! 

Spirit

This life is a mystery. But You are here within me, whispering the song of my being, to my being, and with my being. It is a symphony of light and hums and strings and bellows. It is a symphony of steadiness and swells and grounding. It is soft though and it (if left unheard) will enter the body and harm it into hearing, into healing. And so, hush the world, for a little while every day, and sit in stillness and silence. Open the heart and bow. 

The Blue Woman

I am the blue woman, crying into the color, seeking the light within.  

This painting was made by my beloved Christina many years ago. She gifted it to me during my twenties, a time of meandering within the misery of doubt and uncertainty. Recently, I noticed the gold on the left of the blue woman, just below the hip. It is more subtle in person, but it looks like this when photographed. Here I see a candle. I see gold light. The blue woman looks like shadow. 

I have lived in shadow and I have lived in light. Now I know that I can be both. That I must be both, both blue and gold. Gold in the moments of rest, bliss, ease, and joy. And blue in the shadows of grief and fear and naivety.  I feel now the gold within me. This summer, it burst and bloomed. Christina is gold. She brings me (and many) to the light. In this painting, I am the blue woman, seeping through the canvas of form, dripping to Mother Earth, wet with sorrow and soul and sadness. I am also the gold heart, soft and luminous. I am both blue and gold. For the blue is gold and the gold is blue. Multitudes. I am multitudes. 

Purity and perfection are myths of myths. They are not impossible. We are pure. We are perfection. We are among and within sin. And we are among and within our lives of love, light, and learning. It is meant to be this way. We are here to transform. Avoidance is the abandonment of truth.  At 40 years old, I am deep within my metamorphosis. I now meander less and listen more. I have been transforming since the beginning. 

I once believed I was all shadow. Years later, I yearned to be all gold. I hoped to hide in golden bliss for the rest of my life. It was a hopeful lie and a helpful one. For in my seeking, I learned how to fly. Now I know that I can live with and within gold and blue. I can weep for my mistakes. And I can shine too with the light of love. 

I am the blue woman, and I am the gold woman. 

Light and Shadow

May we direct light to flicker and glimmer and stream into shadow. May we weave lines of light into the caverns until all is merged, for this is the essence of life on Earth. 

Life is the light entering the dark and the dark remembering its light. 

May we drink the light. May we swallow and bellow out shadow. May we pull back the heavy folds of despair and let in the golden glow of hope. Life is a basket in the Sun. It is light wrapped in wicker wrinkles. The wrinkles are where we get our wisdom. And the light is our light - our being and our love.   

It is early September in the year 2024. Every morning, until it is too cold and dark to do so, I move on my yoga mat on our tall wooded porch. As the Sun rises and reaches its rays through the trees, I notice light and shadow.  Already, the Sun is kissing the leaves and killing them into bold color. This is what light does. It shines, illuminates, and kills what needs to die. It transforms old sins into vibrant beauty.   

On Earth, in our human form, we are hurting our Earth and ourselves and others. Hurting can transform us, but we must witness the pain we cause, and allow it to hurt us too. For this is what inspires atonement, forgiveness, and peace. The light must get in to burn the old leaves and kill them into bold color. Only then will Winter come. And only then will there be the long, cold, bare grieving, the settling inside in the stillness and in the silence. Only then will there be rebirth and the transformations of Spring. 

Winter storms come and we must accept them and expect them to wreck us while knowing that we will bloom and blossom and be born again in the Spring Sun. All this darkness  (all these storms of unconscious, unjustifiable injustices) is here to awaken us from our patterns of prejudice, separation, and retribution. I hope and dream for our awakening, for the collective transformations of Spring. May we let the Earth be and spin its brilliant cycles of wild wisdom. May we abandon war, the most horrendous method of hate and domination. May we forgive and find freedom, forgive ourselves, and forgive others. 

Every human being is a human being. May we love with our whole wild hearts. May we be in our full humanity and being and humility and humbly learn how to love all human beings, especially the ones we so vehemently dehumanize. 

Because the world is for all of us. 

Indigenous Peoples  

Immigrants 

Women 

Jews

Hamas

Muslims

Palestinians 

Israelies

Christians  

Ukrainians

Russians

Mexicans

South Americans

Africans

Black Americans 

Police

Poor Folks

Trump Voters

LGBTQ Folx

Prisoners

Soldiers 

Refugees

The elderly

The Homeless 

This is by no means a full list. 

And yes, some human beings (with one or some of these identities) may have dehumanized you or others. 

Free yourself through the courageous act of forgiveness. 

Birth yourself from the depths of hate and enter the light of love.  

Many are tempted to fight like jungle animals - posturing, growling, pouncing, killing. Yet, what if we instead took a breath, and paused? What if there was deep silence? What if there was space for stillness? What if we slowed down and allowed the living of human beings? What if we saw every other soul as a soul, as multitudes, as a whole universe of worlds and words? What if we learned how to love humanity? And love authentic diversity? 

Rather than screaming, hollering, and shooting, what if there was weeping and humming and singing? 

Yes, let's not be foolish. We must protect ourselves and set our boundaries. Not everyone is safe with everyone else yet. And we don't have to agree with the actions of another. Yet imagine if everyone accepted the existence of everyone. For attempting the destruction of another and/or another identity is primitive, is it not? Have we not yet learned that the Divine will not allow it? That history will haunt us and shake us awake until we atone, forgive, and evolve?  

Let the light in. Let it burn all that must die so that you may burst into bold color. 

Please join me in hoping and praying for communal, collective, and collaborative awakenings in the glorious Spring Sun.  Join me in praying for truth and love and peace. 

The Vintage Man

My cousin, Christina sent me the poem, The Vintage Man, by Hafiz (rendered by Daniel Ladinsky). In it, he writes of an artist who hurts his art and his heart with violent self-depreciation. [This is, of course, my interpretation.] The wise man, "the vintage man," does not. He hurts no one. Rather he goes to work, sculpting light. My dear Christina sculpts light. She is the vintage man. 

I once wandered in and out of the fog. I was once the novice, hurting my art and my heart with violent self-deprecation. [This is, of course, my interpretation.] 

Now I seek and simplify and settle into stillness. Now I surrender to my journey's authentic magnificence. 

I do wonder when we, human beings, will collectively stop battering ourselves. I wonder when we will rise from the unconscious "novice" to the quiet, light-filled "vintage man." 

Until then, I will sift for gold, for wisdom that has slipped through the pens of poets. And when I find it, I will invite the small sun to sit with my soul. 

This, these whittled words of hope, is a sculpture of light. 

I can be a sculpture of light. 

I can also be the vintage man. 

Eucalyptus

We live in a small, spectacular house for three days. It is bright with light and space. Therefore, we feel bright with light and space. 

We are in California among Eucalyptus. These small soft statues kneel into Gaia, holding their round faces up to Sun, and bending and bowing their bodies into Air, into prayer.

The Austrailian tree was brought to California over one hundred years ago. Now, it is common. Some call it a weed. Sturdy and still and strong, it sheds its bark like a tattered cloak. It can handle a little drought. And in rain, it drinks and drinks. 

If you ever find yourself with it, notice its silence and elegance. 

Notice too, its wise being. 

Some believe Eucalyptus symbolizes Awakening. That it encourages the release of fear and clutter. That it encourages one to live an authentic and awakened life. 

I am blessed to be (even temporarily) in the presence of such a simple and gorgeous sign to live in my truth. To surrender to life as it unfolds. To leap. To dance. To be free. To settle in the wisdom of the world. And to have faith in the radiant, brilliant essence of the universe. 

I am shedding all that is not serving the spirit. I am revealing the smooth vibrant color within.