The tightly closed fist has no room for light.
The tightly closed fist is unable to reach forward
to let go of the past.
The tightly closed fist can't receive what is given
can't let go of what it doesn't need.
Tightly closed fists can't take the hand of another
can't give or get help.
Enemies come from tightly closed fists.
Loneliness comes from tightly closed fists.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Monday, March 31, 2014
Of "I and Thou"
What does a nerd do when she's on spring break? She reads a philosophy of the sensuous and blogs about it before she even gets out of bed. Well, to be fair, I would rather be on a tropical beach, but I can't afford it. And honestly, I'd be reading The Spell of the Sensuous on that beach.
I just read two of the most exciting sentences I've read in quite some time. But before I get to those, let me address what's been on my mind these past few mornings when I wake up (and it's relevant, leads up to the exciting sentences etc.). You see it's spring and in Chinese medicine school, you can't help but focus on the particular qualities of whatever season you are in and what the philosophy of the ancients was in regard to that season. Spring is about the Liver and Wood and Wind. Wind has captured my curiosity. Not just recently, but since I was a child. Right now, with spring winds whipping through the cedars and tapping on my studio's windows, I am obsessed with wind.
As a child I used to like to stand outside as the weather shifted into tornado clouds, green skies, swirling masses, leaves curling to show their underbellies. It was the ultimate in excitement. Warm air caressing my body, I would raise my arms and pretend to command the sky. (It wasn't quite the ego trip that it sounds like... more of an engagement with the elements.) On a sunny day I would lay for hours in a field listening to the song of tall, dry grasses commingled with bird calls. Both were sensuous experiences that engaged all of my senses.
I keep thinking lately about the nature of wind in particular though. Wind seems so different than the other elements. You can't really touch or hold or contain wind. You can't directly see it. You experience it most commonly through its effects on other things. The movement of tree leaves, the shaping of sand, tousling of hair.
You also come to know wind through sound- wind chimes, reeds. This has me thinking about the sounds we make and their origination in breath. One of the most obvious examples would be woodwind instruments. Like the wind itself, we can create music through our breath across and through these surfaces.
It doesn't take much to make the leap to speech itself. The shaping of wind-breath through our vocal cords, epiglottis and tongue. The proverbial "if a tree falls in a forest does it make a sound" is only half the equation though right? It is the reverberation along the ear canal, past minuscule hairs, off the drum, into the sea-shell that is the cochlea of our inner ear that creates a reception of sound. (That is then translated specifically by our individual brains into a myriad of understandings that are related to our individual experiences.) The other half of the equation, that by many beings is sensed through an ear.
I am then reminded of Martin Buber's I and Thou and his discussion of the sacred nature of words. It's been years since I have read this mini-tome, but my take away was that words are acts of creation. We use words to convey a shared understanding of an object or being, but by applying a word to an object/being, we necessarily confine the object/being to our understanding of it. Buber is specifically addressing the profaning of the divine when we use words to define "God". We are taking something that is beyond our experiences and limiting it to our experiences thereby narrowing it's very nature to something within the human realm of experience. More to my current topic, our words are powerful.
The other aspects of wind important here are wind's nature to spring and wood. It is in spring that we see new life. We see long dormant seeds sprout through wet soil. This defiance of gravity is a lesson in the nature of wind. It takes enormous energy for this new life to burst out of the confines of its seed shell and through the soil into the increasing sunlight. There is a warmth in the surrounding, a shift in the angle of the sun, that calls it forth. An exchange if you will. My teachers have pointed out that seedlings need resistance. A seed that sprouts on the surface of the dirt will soon whither and die and rarely makes it to fruition. The seed that sprouts just the right depth under ground grows strong.
Wind and it's resistance to "other" illustrates the creative aspect of spring. We literally see wind in it's relationship to other objects. Wind, represents change and life (to paraphrase Brandt Stickley). It is the wind that moves seeds across oceans. Wind carries pollen and the insects that inseminate plants. Wind, and by extension, breath becomes a generative force. Through this we can see the power of our words, our formation of breath into meaning. Our words interact with the world around us to literally shape that world, to interact relationally with our surroundings.
And, finally, we come to the most exciting sentences I've read in some time. In his book, The Spell of the Sensuous, David Abram draws us into how our language can cut us off sensorily from our surrounding world.
"By linguistically defining the surrounding world as a determinate set of objects, we cut our conscious, speaking selves off from the spontaneous life of our sensing bodies."
"Only affirming the animateness of perceived things do we allow our words to emerge directly from the depths of our ongoing reciprocity with the world."
While we are never truly separated from our surroundings, our words go on affecting our environment but without our awareness of that effect. Additionally, we deny ourselves the reception of the response of the objects and beings around us. We feel alone when we are not, simply because we are closed off to seeing the animateness of the life around us. Lovely, lovely words my friends from a book I'm going to enjoy spending my spring break indulging in!
I just read two of the most exciting sentences I've read in quite some time. But before I get to those, let me address what's been on my mind these past few mornings when I wake up (and it's relevant, leads up to the exciting sentences etc.). You see it's spring and in Chinese medicine school, you can't help but focus on the particular qualities of whatever season you are in and what the philosophy of the ancients was in regard to that season. Spring is about the Liver and Wood and Wind. Wind has captured my curiosity. Not just recently, but since I was a child. Right now, with spring winds whipping through the cedars and tapping on my studio's windows, I am obsessed with wind.
As a child I used to like to stand outside as the weather shifted into tornado clouds, green skies, swirling masses, leaves curling to show their underbellies. It was the ultimate in excitement. Warm air caressing my body, I would raise my arms and pretend to command the sky. (It wasn't quite the ego trip that it sounds like... more of an engagement with the elements.) On a sunny day I would lay for hours in a field listening to the song of tall, dry grasses commingled with bird calls. Both were sensuous experiences that engaged all of my senses.
I keep thinking lately about the nature of wind in particular though. Wind seems so different than the other elements. You can't really touch or hold or contain wind. You can't directly see it. You experience it most commonly through its effects on other things. The movement of tree leaves, the shaping of sand, tousling of hair.
You also come to know wind through sound- wind chimes, reeds. This has me thinking about the sounds we make and their origination in breath. One of the most obvious examples would be woodwind instruments. Like the wind itself, we can create music through our breath across and through these surfaces.
It doesn't take much to make the leap to speech itself. The shaping of wind-breath through our vocal cords, epiglottis and tongue. The proverbial "if a tree falls in a forest does it make a sound" is only half the equation though right? It is the reverberation along the ear canal, past minuscule hairs, off the drum, into the sea-shell that is the cochlea of our inner ear that creates a reception of sound. (That is then translated specifically by our individual brains into a myriad of understandings that are related to our individual experiences.) The other half of the equation, that by many beings is sensed through an ear.
I am then reminded of Martin Buber's I and Thou and his discussion of the sacred nature of words. It's been years since I have read this mini-tome, but my take away was that words are acts of creation. We use words to convey a shared understanding of an object or being, but by applying a word to an object/being, we necessarily confine the object/being to our understanding of it. Buber is specifically addressing the profaning of the divine when we use words to define "God". We are taking something that is beyond our experiences and limiting it to our experiences thereby narrowing it's very nature to something within the human realm of experience. More to my current topic, our words are powerful.
The other aspects of wind important here are wind's nature to spring and wood. It is in spring that we see new life. We see long dormant seeds sprout through wet soil. This defiance of gravity is a lesson in the nature of wind. It takes enormous energy for this new life to burst out of the confines of its seed shell and through the soil into the increasing sunlight. There is a warmth in the surrounding, a shift in the angle of the sun, that calls it forth. An exchange if you will. My teachers have pointed out that seedlings need resistance. A seed that sprouts on the surface of the dirt will soon whither and die and rarely makes it to fruition. The seed that sprouts just the right depth under ground grows strong.
Wind and it's resistance to "other" illustrates the creative aspect of spring. We literally see wind in it's relationship to other objects. Wind, represents change and life (to paraphrase Brandt Stickley). It is the wind that moves seeds across oceans. Wind carries pollen and the insects that inseminate plants. Wind, and by extension, breath becomes a generative force. Through this we can see the power of our words, our formation of breath into meaning. Our words interact with the world around us to literally shape that world, to interact relationally with our surroundings.
And, finally, we come to the most exciting sentences I've read in some time. In his book, The Spell of the Sensuous, David Abram draws us into how our language can cut us off sensorily from our surrounding world.
"By linguistically defining the surrounding world as a determinate set of objects, we cut our conscious, speaking selves off from the spontaneous life of our sensing bodies."
"Only affirming the animateness of perceived things do we allow our words to emerge directly from the depths of our ongoing reciprocity with the world."
While we are never truly separated from our surroundings, our words go on affecting our environment but without our awareness of that effect. Additionally, we deny ourselves the reception of the response of the objects and beings around us. We feel alone when we are not, simply because we are closed off to seeing the animateness of the life around us. Lovely, lovely words my friends from a book I'm going to enjoy spending my spring break indulging in!
Friday, February 15, 2013
Most Beautiful
I think I have not been writing over the last few months, well for a few reasons. I have stumbled into something that feels like the deep end of the pool. The last few months have felt a bit like jumping off the diving board and then swimming as far down as I can go. Far enough to reach the bottom. The bottom hasn't come into reach yet though. I keep coming up for air and going back to try again. It's not the kind of deep, underwater feeling of being in over my head or drowning. Not that kind of sensation. It's as if there is something beautiful just out of reach. Something that catches my eye at the bottom, just distorted enough that I can't tell exactly what it is.
I have an inkling of what it is. It is something beautiful for certain. Something that I tell myself will fill me and meet a need deep within me. Usually when I believe one thing or one experience will provide this, it's been an illusion. I pause each time I come up for air and think, "wild goose chase"? The radiance of what hides down there seems so close and so real though that I can't help but keep trying to reach it. I jump back in.
This is the best way I can think of to describe the experience of my classical Chinese medicine program. The last five months have been an up and down journey of diving in, sometimes holding my breath, feeling at once exhilarated, exhausted, refreshed and curious. There are so many parables in this story it's hard to notice each. I have a feeling in my bones though that this image of repeatedly attempting to dive deep to capture the illusive beauty below is the central story I should attend to.
It's possible that pearl represents two things. (If you know me well you know I will end up with a third before I'm finished, but I always like to start with two. If you are in school with me then let's contemplate the Daoist nature of that at some point please.) The elusive pearl that is always just out of reach must illustrate that the object of my desire will always be just out of reach and that perhaps that is the way it should be. The second story that life may be showing me is the beauty of this form we inhabit (that can keep diving and enjoys the sensation of water on skin, the slight pressure of depth and the release of breaking the surface upon return).
So why should the pretty thing at the bottom of the pool be out of reach? Reaching it could mean forever stopping if what we attain fills our every need. And, perhaps the act of reaching is the actual pearl? The effort of stretching ourselves just a bit further, expanding our lungs and other capacities just a bit more broadly with each attempt, is the real purpose of our journey. That said, it might be good to learn to pace myself in this. To enjoy being at the edge of the pool, sitting still, drying off, refueling. We can't live in water right? (And oh what a tangent I could go on about the significance of water in Chinese medicine and the idea of water holding a bright flame at the center, but we won't go there just now).
This form we are given is meant to live on land. Studying Chinese medicine for just a few months has given me a glimpse of the beauty in that earthly bound existence. Well, every experience I've lived up to now has informed that too. Don't misunderstand me though, I've hated being stuck in this human body for most of my life. I've been most comfortable in my head, living day to day through my eyes and ears and relating to the world through academic curiosity. Who would have thought an academic endeavor would alter that? But it has done just that. I have stepped closer to understanding I may experience the sublime more readily and reliably through embodiment.
I may more readily and reliably experience the sublime through embodiment. I think that may be the pearl at the bottom of the pool for me - right now anyway. Next time I dive in it may be something else. Maybe we never reach the pearl because it is something different each time we dive in.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Offerings
I woke up this morning trying to tell myself I didn't want to give away our dog. You see he had me up at 2:30 AM cleaning a fresh pile of crap from my living room floor. Not sure why, at 7 years old, he is having an accident in the middle of the night. Could be he was boarded for a week over Christmas. Could have brought home a little bug of some sorts. Or he may have just gotten out of his routine and can't remember to relieve himself earlier in the day... Who knows.At any rate, I needed a little "om" moment to change my attitude. I've been completely out of my habit of morning meditation/yoga for quite some time. I have no concrete plans today until 1:00 so no excuses.
Opening my "altar" (a repurposed armoire) this morning was like greeting a beloved friend. Absence made the heart grow fonder.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Seasons of Leaping
Ah, so it's that time in my life again where I take a swan dive into the unknown. I just completed my first week of medical school. Not your traditional medical school either, but Chinese medicine. And not your Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) either. No, I've chosen CCM or Classical Chinese Medicine and it's a rabbit hole I've dived into friend. More on that particular part of my new journey later though.
What I woke up thinking about in the wee hours of the morning today was just the actual process of getting onto this path and not the journey ahead itself. I had tea with a friend this past week, right in the middle of this new start and was able to reflect with him a little upon how I got here. It occurred to me, as he and I were talking about life changes, that I've had a few of these "leaps of faith" in my life.
The first was deciding to leave Missouri at 18 to attend school in a far corner of the Northwest. Sure I did a tiny bit of research into university programs. Enough to know that I could study French and/or Marine Biology at either of the places I applied to. That was about the extent of what I knew I was getting into though. My heart just said, "Go," and I followed.
The second leap of faith was leaving that little comfy corner, my ex-husband and friends to live in a new city and to embrace the life of a lesbian. This was no easy decision and it wasn't made overnight. I had spent countless hours searching my soul for concrete answers to what I should/shouldn't do. I didn't have a lot of support in the process aside from two very dear friends. Little planning went into this decision though. Lots of fretting, but in the end I just listened to my heart again.
Most recently, my heart said, "Get into this CCM program." So I made it so. All along, I have kept close to my heart the Rumi quote, "Let yourself be silently drawn by the greater pull of what you really love." I believe this to be true, I carve out spaces to try to listen to my heart.
What occurred to me after my conversation with my friend this past week though, was that it is very important to understand these leaps of faith have not been trodden on a blissful, easy road. Taking the path of my heart has not meant the path of least resistance nor have they been accompanied by that elusive friend "certainty." In fact, when I reflected this morning on the beginnings to these journeys, they are usually (like the hero's journey in Joseph Campbell's words) immediately rough. The start of the road is often one part excitement and joy and equal parts trepidation and obstacles. It is as if the universe says, "Are you sure you want this?"
In fact, each of these journeys fairly early on have been accompanied by loss and disorientation. Early into my college years, my grandfather died and not terribly long after him, my cousin committed suicide and then within a year or so my grandmother died. Under a year of leaving Bellingham I lost the central vision of my left eye and one of the two dear friends mentioned above died unexpectedly. Just as I was entering this latest leap of faith, a dear friend and volunteer at my most recent job passed away and just before starting the actual program, another died.
I say this not to deter others from leaps of faith nor for sympathy. I say it because I want to internalize and recognize that this journey is difficult, but that it can still be the right path. In fact, this is a shedding of past buttresses, pillars of support, and the "known." There is discomfort in this process, no arguing it. But I am convinced this discomfort is just a normal part of the process and should not deter us from forging ahead. Or rather than "forging" ahead, for going softly inward to reflect upon how far we've come already down the path. They are perhaps signposts that we are on our heart's path and, like any physical pain, are best attended to and breathed into rather than ignored.
What I woke up thinking about in the wee hours of the morning today was just the actual process of getting onto this path and not the journey ahead itself. I had tea with a friend this past week, right in the middle of this new start and was able to reflect with him a little upon how I got here. It occurred to me, as he and I were talking about life changes, that I've had a few of these "leaps of faith" in my life.
The first was deciding to leave Missouri at 18 to attend school in a far corner of the Northwest. Sure I did a tiny bit of research into university programs. Enough to know that I could study French and/or Marine Biology at either of the places I applied to. That was about the extent of what I knew I was getting into though. My heart just said, "Go," and I followed.
The second leap of faith was leaving that little comfy corner, my ex-husband and friends to live in a new city and to embrace the life of a lesbian. This was no easy decision and it wasn't made overnight. I had spent countless hours searching my soul for concrete answers to what I should/shouldn't do. I didn't have a lot of support in the process aside from two very dear friends. Little planning went into this decision though. Lots of fretting, but in the end I just listened to my heart again.
Most recently, my heart said, "Get into this CCM program." So I made it so. All along, I have kept close to my heart the Rumi quote, "Let yourself be silently drawn by the greater pull of what you really love." I believe this to be true, I carve out spaces to try to listen to my heart.
What occurred to me after my conversation with my friend this past week though, was that it is very important to understand these leaps of faith have not been trodden on a blissful, easy road. Taking the path of my heart has not meant the path of least resistance nor have they been accompanied by that elusive friend "certainty." In fact, when I reflected this morning on the beginnings to these journeys, they are usually (like the hero's journey in Joseph Campbell's words) immediately rough. The start of the road is often one part excitement and joy and equal parts trepidation and obstacles. It is as if the universe says, "Are you sure you want this?"
In fact, each of these journeys fairly early on have been accompanied by loss and disorientation. Early into my college years, my grandfather died and not terribly long after him, my cousin committed suicide and then within a year or so my grandmother died. Under a year of leaving Bellingham I lost the central vision of my left eye and one of the two dear friends mentioned above died unexpectedly. Just as I was entering this latest leap of faith, a dear friend and volunteer at my most recent job passed away and just before starting the actual program, another died.
I say this not to deter others from leaps of faith nor for sympathy. I say it because I want to internalize and recognize that this journey is difficult, but that it can still be the right path. In fact, this is a shedding of past buttresses, pillars of support, and the "known." There is discomfort in this process, no arguing it. But I am convinced this discomfort is just a normal part of the process and should not deter us from forging ahead. Or rather than "forging" ahead, for going softly inward to reflect upon how far we've come already down the path. They are perhaps signposts that we are on our heart's path and, like any physical pain, are best attended to and breathed into rather than ignored.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
A Lesbian and a Bear Cross the Country...
Sounds like the start of a good joke no? So many miles crossed the last two days and so much seen, and yet not too much to share! We've been driving non-stop. We headed up from Nashville Friday morning, drove straight through Kentucky to Illinois and then over I-70 through Missouri. It was a marathon drive through hurricane Isaac rain and tornadoes and Labor Day weekend traffic. I have to say that Kentucky looks a lot like Missouri. We were barely in Illinois, but long enough I'm claiming it. The pay off was a night at my mom's house. Dinner with my mom and dad - home made and sleeping in their house and cozy clean beds! Then homemade breakfast to get us started.
And we sorely needed that start as day three was the worst. Driving straight north in Missouri to Iowa and then due West through Nebraska all the way into Rawlins Wyoming. Nebraska is WAY too wide. And flat, and boring. It was a 13 hour drive day and all we wanted to do was collapse in bed when we got to our hotel. But alas, we had no room at the Rawlins Hampton Inn when we got there at 11:30 PM. Jason had booked the room and paid in advance, but they had no room clean - they had rooms, but none clean. I almost went postal. It was a bit creepy too as the young woman working the front desk simply pulled on her hair, said, "I'm sorry" and disappeared to tidy the dining room for breakfast. We finally got them to get us a room at a nearby hotel.
Today we pushed through the rest of Wyoming, up the Eastern part of Idaho and then west from Butte to Missoula, Mt. We had a lovely lunch in Pineville, Wy - one of our best meals yet outside of my mom's house. Then we drove through the Tetons, past the basalt flow desert of Idaho and then West into the forest fire smoke to land here in Missoula for the night. Our room is strangely set up light a cruise ship room. I'm off to bed for an early start for the final push tomorrow to Seattle!
And we sorely needed that start as day three was the worst. Driving straight north in Missouri to Iowa and then due West through Nebraska all the way into Rawlins Wyoming. Nebraska is WAY too wide. And flat, and boring. It was a 13 hour drive day and all we wanted to do was collapse in bed when we got to our hotel. But alas, we had no room at the Rawlins Hampton Inn when we got there at 11:30 PM. Jason had booked the room and paid in advance, but they had no room clean - they had rooms, but none clean. I almost went postal. It was a bit creepy too as the young woman working the front desk simply pulled on her hair, said, "I'm sorry" and disappeared to tidy the dining room for breakfast. We finally got them to get us a room at a nearby hotel.
Today we pushed through the rest of Wyoming, up the Eastern part of Idaho and then west from Butte to Missoula, Mt. We had a lovely lunch in Pineville, Wy - one of our best meals yet outside of my mom's house. Then we drove through the Tetons, past the basalt flow desert of Idaho and then West into the forest fire smoke to land here in Missoula for the night. Our room is strangely set up light a cruise ship room. I'm off to bed for an early start for the final push tomorrow to Seattle!
Thursday, August 30, 2012
We temporarily interrupt this blog....
....to bring you Jason and Maria's 10 Year Frenaversary (or Friend Anniversary) Cross-Country Road Trip!
OK, so the purpose of this voyage is not to celebrate our phenomenal friendship, but to move Jason from Tampa, Florida to Seattle, Washington. I am so excited about having him back in the Northwest (which makes a permanent move of John and Jason more believable), that I am willing to while away my time this way.
It helps that I have nothing else I have to do right now. I'm currently in transition between my job managing one of the Portland Ronald McDonald Houses and starting a Master's of Science in Oriental Medicine program. So, why not road trip with a packed U-Haul trailer and pick-up??
First leg today was Tampa through Georgia to Tennessee. We are currently tucking in for the night just outside of Nashville. Two new states for me! Here's a little trivia we learned along the way:
- The Interstate system was a project of the Dwight D. Eisenhower administration, although FDR had initiated research into an interstate system.
- The system was lobbied for by car manufacturers but was also seen as a good defensive network in a post war era.
- After crossing the Suwanee River, Jason and I discovered we only know one phrase of the entire song, which doesn't translate well into meows. AND, through the miracle of modern technology, we learned that we didn't want to know the rest of the lyrics. Apparently it is a racist song that tells of an ex-slave pining for the plantation! Who would have known?
- "Spa" in the south means whorehouse, pleasure palace, or something like that. So if your straight husband or lesbian wife says he/she went to the spa, be warned. (No we did not learn this by trying to sneak in a mani-pedi on the first day of our trek, although I know some of you won't believe that.)
- Lastly, Jason is a pomophobe. This means he is bigoted toward post-modernists.
Check back tomorrow night for real-life pictures of my morning hair.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Epiphanies
Had one of those "oh duh" ah ha moments today. Do you ever find yourself saying something all the time and then realizing you haven't been truly applying it to your own life?? For the last few months, as I have been working full time and taking classes, I have been repeating the mantra to everyone, "I think I can learn anything if I just put in the time and it's really just a matter of time and effort. Given enough time, I can do it."
I have been thinking of this in terms of, I'll be able to pass that chem class or that physics course from hell if I just have enough time to study. I've been thinking, physics may be so hard for me that I just need more time on it than I have.
This morning I was sitting in my kitchen fretting over how much I needed to get done today but not feeling able to start because of a bad headache. The makes you queasy kind. Then I had a chain of thoughts that went like this:
I have been thinking of this in terms of, I'll be able to pass that chem class or that physics course from hell if I just have enough time to study. I've been thinking, physics may be so hard for me that I just need more time on it than I have.
This morning I was sitting in my kitchen fretting over how much I needed to get done today but not feeling able to start because of a bad headache. The makes you queasy kind. Then I had a chain of thoughts that went like this:
- I think my blind spot is bothering me -it's hard to tell if the bright white spot in my vision causes the headache or I'm noticing the spot more because I have a headache...
- Maybe I overdid it this weekend using my eyes - looking at all the scenery on the way to SF, reading in the car/studying in the car, intensely using my eyes as I drove the streets of SF etc.
- Wow so much of what I enjoyed about this weekend has to do with having vision - being able to use my eyes. I'm so grateful for my vision.
- I'm so worried that I won't be able to keep up the pace in grad school the next four years due to my blind spot - that all the reading will tax my eyes and make my blind spot more noticeable, stress my good eye too much, lead to me not being able to do it.
- Hmm, wait a minute, maybe I will just need to go more slowly through the program?
- Wait, that sounds a bit like "I can do it if I just give myself enough time."
- Wait, maybe the lesson from my vision loss is that I need to be more patient with myself. If I slow down, it doesn't mean I won't get where I want to go, I just may be more likely to make it there....
Hmm, maybe I need to apply my attitude toward the coursework to the rest of my life?? : )
Friday, March 16, 2012
Tea With Mara
In a book I read recently (Radical Acceptance) the author describes how the Buddha meets with Mara. You can think of this encounter sort of like Jesus in the desert and encountering Satan/temptation. Buddha is confronted with Mara who tries to question Buddha's right to speak/think what he does. I've really connected with this Buddha/Mara image in my own body. When I feel fear/anxiety/tension begin to build in my body, when I start to question my path or decisions, I can step back and say, "Oh, hello Mara." Identifying these thoughts as Mara, as something separate from me, from my best self, I can sit down and have a chat with Mara. I can invite these feeling and questions in and have a conversation with them, allowing me to fully explore them and literally diffuse them. Rather than ignoring these things, building a wall and tensing my body. Rather than them creating tension in my life, I can invite them in as an old friend with some advice. Advice I might follow or ignore. I can look at them honestly and maybe even learn something important from the encounter.
I have even started envisioning asking Mara, when I recognize her, to have tea with me. "Hello Mara, I see that's you," I like to say. "Please sit and have some tea with me." Mara is usually grumpy and a bit juvenile, but like a patient parent with a hormonal teen, I can wait for Mara to open up to me.
I have even started envisioning asking Mara, when I recognize her, to have tea with me. "Hello Mara, I see that's you," I like to say. "Please sit and have some tea with me." Mara is usually grumpy and a bit juvenile, but like a patient parent with a hormonal teen, I can wait for Mara to open up to me.
Monday, March 12, 2012
I am brilliant in the morning!!
So independent confirmation that early morning, blurry, wild ideas are good to record! I am reading an article I got at work called "Getting to No: The Science of Building Willpower." In a sidebar note, they say this:
"The habits most of us follow each morning, it turns out, run exactly counter to the conditions that neuro-scientists and cognitive psychologists tell us promote flexible, open-minded thinking. Our hurried wake-up leads most of us to miss imaginative insights, which are most likely to come to us when we're groggy and unfocused."
They also recommend standing in the warm water of a shower, not thinking about plans for the day, but just enjoying our wandering thoughts. I'm an expert at that!
"The habits most of us follow each morning, it turns out, run exactly counter to the conditions that neuro-scientists and cognitive psychologists tell us promote flexible, open-minded thinking. Our hurried wake-up leads most of us to miss imaginative insights, which are most likely to come to us when we're groggy and unfocused."
They also recommend standing in the warm water of a shower, not thinking about plans for the day, but just enjoying our wandering thoughts. I'm an expert at that!
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Road Signs
I think I've been a bit overly distracted by the big road signs in my life. There is no map to our lives right? So we go along somewhat trial and error, down different roads, some dead ends, some superhighways busy with fast-paced noise. I think it's been easy to get distracted by the big road signs -the "Turn Here!" flashing lights, neon bright signs. Like graduating from high school and the big "Go to College" sign. Easy right? Just take the turn. Of course I've definitely taken my turns onto smaller "road less travelled" routes, some even that had "Dead End" signs I insisted on taking anyway.
It's funny though that as a child growing up in the country on a huge piece of property, that I have found myself often on these well travelled roads. I mean, as a kid I used to wander aimlessly across pastures and through woods with little knowledge of where I was going. I was usually following a well-worn cow path through the tall weeds and thick undergrowth. I think there's something symbolic about these contrasting ways of navigating territory.
Where I live now, you don't leave the people trail because you could get lost or you might destroy plant life or something like that. So you get yourself on a hiking trail or sidewalk or bike lane or paved road and you go to somewhere. You travel to a specific destination. No Sunday drives wasting gas aimlessly exploring the countryside. No weekend ambles following the minute signs of an animal road. No looking for the broken grass, inspecting each step as you take it so you don't accidentally disturb a snake or step on a cow pie. Just head up, look straight ahead. Get to the end of the trail so you can say you hiked it. Get to the store, get to the movie, get to work, get home, get to school....
How can we follow Rumi's advice and let ourselves "be silently drawn by the stronger pull of what [we] really love?" How can we see the imperceptible signs of where we want to go when we are so distracted by the neon, flashing, "Turn Here!"? How do we listen to the whisper of our hearts when the rush of traffic is around us?
It's funny though that as a child growing up in the country on a huge piece of property, that I have found myself often on these well travelled roads. I mean, as a kid I used to wander aimlessly across pastures and through woods with little knowledge of where I was going. I was usually following a well-worn cow path through the tall weeds and thick undergrowth. I think there's something symbolic about these contrasting ways of navigating territory.
Where I live now, you don't leave the people trail because you could get lost or you might destroy plant life or something like that. So you get yourself on a hiking trail or sidewalk or bike lane or paved road and you go to somewhere. You travel to a specific destination. No Sunday drives wasting gas aimlessly exploring the countryside. No weekend ambles following the minute signs of an animal road. No looking for the broken grass, inspecting each step as you take it so you don't accidentally disturb a snake or step on a cow pie. Just head up, look straight ahead. Get to the end of the trail so you can say you hiked it. Get to the store, get to the movie, get to work, get home, get to school....
How can we follow Rumi's advice and let ourselves "be silently drawn by the stronger pull of what [we] really love?" How can we see the imperceptible signs of where we want to go when we are so distracted by the neon, flashing, "Turn Here!"? How do we listen to the whisper of our hearts when the rush of traffic is around us?
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Atomic Attractions
OK seriously I have been thinking more about the whole orbits thing. I'm taking a chemistry class right now and we just finished studying about atomic orbitals. There are two basic shapes for the orbitals of electrons around the nucleus of an atom in extremely simplistic terms. The electrons may make a spherical orbit around the nucleus or they make a dumbbell shaped orbit. The spherical orbitals are called s-orbitals and the dumbbell shaped orbitals are p-orbitals.
Enough chemistry. The reason I bring this up is that I really think we each have different types of energy that lead us into relationships that resemble the s or p orbital. S people draw us in and our life begins to revolve around theirs. P orbital people engage more in a dance around with us looking more like the back and forth and interplay of a dumbbell shape. Maybe it's not that we are either p people or s people, but rather how our energy combines with someone else's that makes the s or p dance. When you can recognize if your shared energies are making one of you revolve around the other, rather than dancing back and forth, then maybe those are unhealthy relationships. Maybe there's no good or bad orbital relationship, maybe there is just one you prefer to the other.
Enough chemistry. The reason I bring this up is that I really think we each have different types of energy that lead us into relationships that resemble the s or p orbital. S people draw us in and our life begins to revolve around theirs. P orbital people engage more in a dance around with us looking more like the back and forth and interplay of a dumbbell shape. Maybe it's not that we are either p people or s people, but rather how our energy combines with someone else's that makes the s or p dance. When you can recognize if your shared energies are making one of you revolve around the other, rather than dancing back and forth, then maybe those are unhealthy relationships. Maybe there's no good or bad orbital relationship, maybe there is just one you prefer to the other.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Orbits
It occurred to me last night that we are all like little planets with our own orbits. Some people's orbits work nicely with your own, other people's orbits repel you. Then there are those whose orbits try to take over your orbit, that pull you in and have you circling their life. Being aware of the pull of other people's orbits seems to be a good way to ensure you are respecting your own boundaries. What I mean is that I don't necessarily think that one orbit is better than another and I don't mean to judge how another person's orbit affects mine. I am just thinking that, in the moment I become aware of how their energy is impacting my energy, I am more aware of my own needs/boundaries/shifts etc.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Grateful
This morning I came into work and ran into a dad whose daughter was in a car accident months ago. They have been staying with us the entire time as she gets strong enough to be transferred to another facility for rehab. We have two older teens here right now who have been with us for months and are recovering from car accidents (MVA's). Each time I talk to these parents, I get a glimpse of what could have been my experience and I am left feeling like a ghost of myself has just walked by.
We see so many different families here, but MVA families hit way too close to home for me. For those of you who didn't grow up with me, I totalled my car when I was 17. I hit black ice, likely overcompensated, went off a 13 foot embankment and was thrown from the car. If it weren't for a very small ditch within the larger culvert where I landed, my car would have landed on top of me. Because of this little ditch, the car landed upside down straddling that ditch, settling down a few inches above me. The force of the accident broke my back and punctured a lung. I spent a week in the hospital and then a bit more time at home recovering. It was a hellish time, being trapped at home with my mom, as a grumpy teenager who had previously been counting the days until I could leave said home and mom. If you've read Ethan Frome, I had nightmares at the time of being stuck there forever like the broken Ethan in his loveless marriage.
Now when I encounter a family who has a child who was not so lucky, who did not escape so unscathed, who may be at the mercy of other people's caregiving for the rest of their lives, I go cold inside. I stop in my tracks and thank the universe for my luck. I also thank these parents for the care they give their children. I slump a little thinking of how they must feel to watch this bright future change completely. They claw their way toward hope, toward a different future, one they have no blueprint for. I send up my wishes for their self-care, for the progress of their child, for their patience and for a loving community of support for them.
We see so many different families here, but MVA families hit way too close to home for me. For those of you who didn't grow up with me, I totalled my car when I was 17. I hit black ice, likely overcompensated, went off a 13 foot embankment and was thrown from the car. If it weren't for a very small ditch within the larger culvert where I landed, my car would have landed on top of me. Because of this little ditch, the car landed upside down straddling that ditch, settling down a few inches above me. The force of the accident broke my back and punctured a lung. I spent a week in the hospital and then a bit more time at home recovering. It was a hellish time, being trapped at home with my mom, as a grumpy teenager who had previously been counting the days until I could leave said home and mom. If you've read Ethan Frome, I had nightmares at the time of being stuck there forever like the broken Ethan in his loveless marriage.
Now when I encounter a family who has a child who was not so lucky, who did not escape so unscathed, who may be at the mercy of other people's caregiving for the rest of their lives, I go cold inside. I stop in my tracks and thank the universe for my luck. I also thank these parents for the care they give their children. I slump a little thinking of how they must feel to watch this bright future change completely. They claw their way toward hope, toward a different future, one they have no blueprint for. I send up my wishes for their self-care, for the progress of their child, for their patience and for a loving community of support for them.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Farewells
This morning I am thinking of goodbyes. I have a friend for whom we are babysitting today so she and her husband can attend a funeral. I have been thinking a great deal about this funeral for the past week for several reasons. One, I had met the woman who they are burying today and she was the sister/sister-in-law of a couple I have married. I had spent time specifically trying to get to know her and her siblings and sat with her for quite some time at the rehearsal dinner.
I can't say that I "knew" her as I had only met her a few times and had that one nice conversation with her over dinner. When I was informed of her death though I had a very clear image of her face in my mind. She had left an impression on me- one of quiet strength and yet vulnerability. Jovi and I had played with her son that evening too and I too easily pictured his loss as well as her husband's.
The other reason I have been thinking of the funeral, I was asked by a family member if I might be offered as a stand-in for a pastor for the burial in the event they were unable to locate a pastor for the burial today. I had quickly responded yes as, in addition to wanting to do whatever I could for this family at this time, I have been thinking over the past year about presiding over funerals.
I know this sounds morbid. Why would anyone want to do this. I can't quite answer this. I don't think it would be anything I that would have crossed my mind had my friend Jason, years ago, not contemplated having me preside over his father's funeral. Jason had an extremely difficult time finding someone to perform the service for his father as Jason lived out of town and his father didn't belong to any specific church community. He had asked me if I was willing to do this and I hesitated and suggested we look harder to find someone professional. At the end he was able to find an experienced person to perform the service, but the man had no connection to Jason, his father or the family in general. I regretted having pushed for someone else as I knew that I could have spoken to what Jason needed at the time much better than this gentleman had.
When I was asked this last week, I didn't hesitate as I felt that if the family decided this was what they wanted, or that they couldn't find anyone else, I might be able to relieve some amount of stress from their ordeal.
I can honestly say I am relieved that they found someone else to perform the service. I can also honestly divulge that I am more interested even now in being of service to others in this capacity. I have mixed feelings about that. What could my motivations be and is that weird to want to do that for others? I need to think about this one more.
I can't say that I "knew" her as I had only met her a few times and had that one nice conversation with her over dinner. When I was informed of her death though I had a very clear image of her face in my mind. She had left an impression on me- one of quiet strength and yet vulnerability. Jovi and I had played with her son that evening too and I too easily pictured his loss as well as her husband's.
The other reason I have been thinking of the funeral, I was asked by a family member if I might be offered as a stand-in for a pastor for the burial in the event they were unable to locate a pastor for the burial today. I had quickly responded yes as, in addition to wanting to do whatever I could for this family at this time, I have been thinking over the past year about presiding over funerals.
I know this sounds morbid. Why would anyone want to do this. I can't quite answer this. I don't think it would be anything I that would have crossed my mind had my friend Jason, years ago, not contemplated having me preside over his father's funeral. Jason had an extremely difficult time finding someone to perform the service for his father as Jason lived out of town and his father didn't belong to any specific church community. He had asked me if I was willing to do this and I hesitated and suggested we look harder to find someone professional. At the end he was able to find an experienced person to perform the service, but the man had no connection to Jason, his father or the family in general. I regretted having pushed for someone else as I knew that I could have spoken to what Jason needed at the time much better than this gentleman had.
When I was asked this last week, I didn't hesitate as I felt that if the family decided this was what they wanted, or that they couldn't find anyone else, I might be able to relieve some amount of stress from their ordeal.
I can honestly say I am relieved that they found someone else to perform the service. I can also honestly divulge that I am more interested even now in being of service to others in this capacity. I have mixed feelings about that. What could my motivations be and is that weird to want to do that for others? I need to think about this one more.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Rockin' the Kwan Yin
Years ago I had the image of Shiva given to me from a therapist. At the time I was going through a not so pretty divorce and coming out to my family. The therapist had likened the change I was experiencing and initiating to the Hindu deity of transformation. Shiva is sometimes described as the one who creates birth through destruction. You can think of Shiva's power like that of a forest fire. The idea was that, while change can mean an end, death or destruction of something (the end of my marriage, the end of how my family perceived me) it is also the beginning of something. This was a great tool for me at the time and helped me stay the course of much needed change.
More recently, in the last few years, as my life has undergone a completely different kind of transformation, one that I don't quite understand fully yet, Shiva hasn't quite worked for me. I've needed a different Eastern embodiment of some "om" figure to fixate on. The change I've been working on has been a much less personally empowered change; a giant wave that I must attempt to ride out and just keep my head above water kind of change. It's been changes that have happened to me rather than change that I have initiated.
Enter Kwan Yin, or White Tara. The Chinese or Tibetan embodiment of compassion. In my paid job I have learned a great deal about compassion over the last seven years. As I have had countless first hand opportunities to practice witnessing to the trauma of families with children who are ill, I have dramatically improved my deep listening skills. I've become a practitioner of "being present" with others in their struggles. I have come to place an enormous value on just sitting with someone else's pain. Compassion for others has never been something I've been challenged by (I am the type of person who sees a stuffed animal on the side of the road and I get an ache in the pit of my stomach thinking about a sad child missing a fluffy friend...). Compassion for myself is a entirely different story and the brand of compassion I've been practicing is depleting and I've been left exhausted and drained.
I've been reading Radical Acceptance: Embracing Your Life with the Heart of a Buddha, by Tara Brach, nightly over the last month or two and just came across a passage on Kwan Yin. Ms. Brach presents us with the image of Kwan Yin as the mother of compassion who extends her healing presence through acknowledgement of the suffering of others. Ms. Brach then invites us to turn that image inward. For those of us who work in the community service sector, it is easy to view compassion as an outward practice and something that we embrace for others. Ms. Brach challenges us to turn that compassion inward first and posits that compassion will then naturally flow outward. I woke up this morning with the image of a pebble thrown in water, the ripples radiating outward effortlessly from that central point. Compassion begins with lovingkindness towards ourselves. When we greet ourselves with compassion, there is no effort required to share that compassion with others. It flows naturally outward.
Postscript: For another good book on self-care, especially for those in non-profit work, please see the lovely Ms. Laura Van der Noot Lipsky's Trauma Stewardship. Ms. Lipsky's book gently turns us toward self care as a source of energy and asks us to consider how we may improve our service to others through that self care.
More recently, in the last few years, as my life has undergone a completely different kind of transformation, one that I don't quite understand fully yet, Shiva hasn't quite worked for me. I've needed a different Eastern embodiment of some "om" figure to fixate on. The change I've been working on has been a much less personally empowered change; a giant wave that I must attempt to ride out and just keep my head above water kind of change. It's been changes that have happened to me rather than change that I have initiated.
Enter Kwan Yin, or White Tara. The Chinese or Tibetan embodiment of compassion. In my paid job I have learned a great deal about compassion over the last seven years. As I have had countless first hand opportunities to practice witnessing to the trauma of families with children who are ill, I have dramatically improved my deep listening skills. I've become a practitioner of "being present" with others in their struggles. I have come to place an enormous value on just sitting with someone else's pain. Compassion for others has never been something I've been challenged by (I am the type of person who sees a stuffed animal on the side of the road and I get an ache in the pit of my stomach thinking about a sad child missing a fluffy friend...). Compassion for myself is a entirely different story and the brand of compassion I've been practicing is depleting and I've been left exhausted and drained.
I've been reading Radical Acceptance: Embracing Your Life with the Heart of a Buddha, by Tara Brach, nightly over the last month or two and just came across a passage on Kwan Yin. Ms. Brach presents us with the image of Kwan Yin as the mother of compassion who extends her healing presence through acknowledgement of the suffering of others. Ms. Brach then invites us to turn that image inward. For those of us who work in the community service sector, it is easy to view compassion as an outward practice and something that we embrace for others. Ms. Brach challenges us to turn that compassion inward first and posits that compassion will then naturally flow outward. I woke up this morning with the image of a pebble thrown in water, the ripples radiating outward effortlessly from that central point. Compassion begins with lovingkindness towards ourselves. When we greet ourselves with compassion, there is no effort required to share that compassion with others. It flows naturally outward.
Postscript: For another good book on self-care, especially for those in non-profit work, please see the lovely Ms. Laura Van der Noot Lipsky's Trauma Stewardship. Ms. Lipsky's book gently turns us toward self care as a source of energy and asks us to consider how we may improve our service to others through that self care.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Meaning and Purpose
I have often heard the most famous of Viktor Frankl's quotes from Man's Search for Meaning:
"...everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms - to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way." This is a profound thought, often repeated, but difficult to implement. It is a quote that I often cling to in difficult times.
I am currently reading Man's Search for Meaning and today I came across the quote. I read it with surprised joy, to come across it in it's original context. What surprised me more was the quote on the exact opposite page. It is not a single sentence that can be easily picked out of the paragraph and quoted alone, which is why I'm certain it's not as frequently recited. It had as profound an effect on me though. So I quote it here. To best understand it, I am adding the context of the quote above, with the emphasis added:
"...everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms - to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.... It is this spiritual freedom - which cannot be taken away - that makes life meaningful and purposeful."
This is the further action. The action that does not require difficult circumstances before we show our best. This is the part of his thesis which compels us to make a purposeful life even absent suffering. So appropriate for this time of year and for those of us to whom fortune has been more attentive this year!
"...everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms - to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way." This is a profound thought, often repeated, but difficult to implement. It is a quote that I often cling to in difficult times.
I am currently reading Man's Search for Meaning and today I came across the quote. I read it with surprised joy, to come across it in it's original context. What surprised me more was the quote on the exact opposite page. It is not a single sentence that can be easily picked out of the paragraph and quoted alone, which is why I'm certain it's not as frequently recited. It had as profound an effect on me though. So I quote it here. To best understand it, I am adding the context of the quote above, with the emphasis added:
"...everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms - to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.... It is this spiritual freedom - which cannot be taken away - that makes life meaningful and purposeful."
This is the further action. The action that does not require difficult circumstances before we show our best. This is the part of his thesis which compels us to make a purposeful life even absent suffering. So appropriate for this time of year and for those of us to whom fortune has been more attentive this year!
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Wedding Thoughts
Officiated another wedding last night! It was fun, beautiful and sweet. This morning I woke up thinking about how much weddings are about community. Just the whole idea that when things go wrong, our friends and family can really be there to help us. Not everyone can for every need, but we rely on our peeps for their different strengths right? I had the notion though, as I lie there thinking, that when we share celebrations and happy times with our friends, they share in our sorrows and difficult times.
I am reminded of the poem "Solitude" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox that I used to fixate on as a morose young adult. There is a line in the poem that goes something like this, "...laugh and the whole world laughs with you, weep and you weep alone...."
Well, I think she is wrong. I think that if all you do is project and look for others to share in your sorrow you will find yourself alone. Turn that around though and if you actively seek to share your joy, to invite others to celebrate with you, they will weep with you when the occasion calls for it.
Ella, share your joy with others first and they will share your sorrows.
I am reminded of the poem "Solitude" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox that I used to fixate on as a morose young adult. There is a line in the poem that goes something like this, "...laugh and the whole world laughs with you, weep and you weep alone...."
Well, I think she is wrong. I think that if all you do is project and look for others to share in your sorrow you will find yourself alone. Turn that around though and if you actively seek to share your joy, to invite others to celebrate with you, they will weep with you when the occasion calls for it.
Ella, share your joy with others first and they will share your sorrows.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Meow
I am going to be EXHAUSTED today. I am working the overnight Friday to Saturday shift at work and I could not sleep last night! It's been a while since I've only had 5 hours of toss and turn sleep. I stayed up watching "Howl" last night. It was so motivating to me that I had to update one of my blogs midway through the movie.
I absolutely was pushed by the scenes in which James Franco, as Ginsberg, describes his writing process. I do not in any way wish to compare myself with Ginsberg, but I've never heard a better description of what it feels like to produce prose. "I saw windows and thought 'eyes' and I felt 'dun, da, dun, da.....' so that's the way it should be..." (Not an exact quote.) The push and abdominal need to spit out authenticity, through words, through descriptive auditory paintings - I can feel this. I can feel a corporeal response to that - as if my body rather than my mind agrees with him. In a grunting, hands pushing a plough, feet digging in kind of way. A delicate at times, other times guttural, "unh" "this is me, this is my inside out." It is as if you are slowly, beautifully and grotesquely, inch by inch, from your toes up, pulling your insides up through your gut and out of your mouth to examine, to share, to both shed light on them and to protect them. To declare them safe, valid and real. As if the are not real until they are seen, the very solitary experience of them not enough.
That said, like "Leaves of Grass" I have a feeling that "Howl", if I read it, would feel overly masculine to me. Whitman, while the pure relishing of earth and form resonates with me, has always felt distantly male. I don't know a female voice for this same genre, for this same cry to be seen, to see ones self, to self-validate at the same time you are making an argument that you are valid without question and in prose. In a hazy, half poetic, half drunken or drugged, or elated lyrical way.
My little half asleep, sleep deprived, morning meow.
I absolutely was pushed by the scenes in which James Franco, as Ginsberg, describes his writing process. I do not in any way wish to compare myself with Ginsberg, but I've never heard a better description of what it feels like to produce prose. "I saw windows and thought 'eyes' and I felt 'dun, da, dun, da.....' so that's the way it should be..." (Not an exact quote.) The push and abdominal need to spit out authenticity, through words, through descriptive auditory paintings - I can feel this. I can feel a corporeal response to that - as if my body rather than my mind agrees with him. In a grunting, hands pushing a plough, feet digging in kind of way. A delicate at times, other times guttural, "unh" "this is me, this is my inside out." It is as if you are slowly, beautifully and grotesquely, inch by inch, from your toes up, pulling your insides up through your gut and out of your mouth to examine, to share, to both shed light on them and to protect them. To declare them safe, valid and real. As if the are not real until they are seen, the very solitary experience of them not enough.
That said, like "Leaves of Grass" I have a feeling that "Howl", if I read it, would feel overly masculine to me. Whitman, while the pure relishing of earth and form resonates with me, has always felt distantly male. I don't know a female voice for this same genre, for this same cry to be seen, to see ones self, to self-validate at the same time you are making an argument that you are valid without question and in prose. In a hazy, half poetic, half drunken or drugged, or elated lyrical way.
My little half asleep, sleep deprived, morning meow.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Another Blog?
Yes, it's true. I was thinking as I woke up this morning about starting yet another blog. This one I envision being a collaborative blog though. I have recently met several other gals who grew up on farms and have this shared experience with me of disconnection and yearning. I would call it "Once Upon a Farm." The three of us could post our thoughts, memories, and experiences of being from a farm family, but no longer living on the farm. All three of us have family still in farming, we just aren't a part of it for various reasons. It's such a unique experience I'm finding. As a young child I knew lots of others who were living on farms. Throughout the 70's and 80's there was a mass exodus from family farming operations though. Again, for various reasons. Each year, the number of other people I knew who were living on farms dwindle rapidly. Now it is such a unique way of having grown up that I would like to preserve the experience as much as possible. Even if just in a little blog. Here we go again!
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