Guest House

I have been away for a few days only returning last evening. My desire is to connect and touch my friends through this space, but I am feeling the need to stay with myself for a bit longer. Nevertheless, this poem greeted me today and it speaks much to where I am. So, this is my offering for the day along with this fabulous new photo by bill.

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

-Rumi

oh painter grand - #2

more dreams...

I am the spinning hay
the air through the trees
fearless bear
golden
hopeful
solid & steadfast
earth meets water
combining. uniting
making mud not mire

I am the fire in the basement
the hidden room
the arc of the sky
going to the highest heights
and plumbing the depths inside
brave
fearless
God is with me
the painter’s pallet is broad and wide

photo borrowed from shelby

oh painter grand

...the dreams continue.

spinning round through fields of gold
the painter by my side
will the convertible transform
or simply take me for a ride?

chains for boundaries—protection or harm
who is the faceless man?
angel bear floats by my side
am i doing all i can?

orange-tipped rose hints of passion
does mud speak merge or mess?
will we grow like the mighty oak?
will we survive this test?

my forehead creases into question
the tree stands by my side
gold prevails and covers earth
while water tries not to hide

oh painter grand with pallet broad
where are we going now?
the golden hues command my life
few droplets here to wet my brow

the road marches on
the path is so varied
must i walk it alone
or shall i be carried?

dream collage by lucy

Paradox...Conviction

"Meeting the world in all its painful variety with feet spread and arms open, neither accepting everything nor rejecting everything, but leaning into what is nourishing and letting the rest move on through." -- Mark Nepo

Recently I have been pondering what it looks like to live in paradox. The already and the not yet. The both/ and. The Kingdom come. If we are not definitive, does that mean we lack conviction?

Having grown up in a pretty black and white, right and wrong environment, I must admit that I struggle a bit with the need to take a stand. I find, however, that being a person who “takes a stand”, who is unwavering for the sake of not being “wrong,” is no longer who I am.

I find I am more drawn to words like mystery and possibility rather than good or bad, right or wrong. Does this make me wishy washy and indecisive? I think not. Mystery and possibility feel so much more expansive than toeing the line.

The poet Rilke’s words speak deeply to where I feel I am in life today. He says, “I want to unfold. I don’t want to stay folded anywhere, because where I am folded, there I am a lie.” If I try to keep things folded up or in a box, it seems so limiting. It feels like a lie. And so I want to open up the lid and unfold the mysteries--the areas where I have placed limitations with my judgments and insecurities. I want to live in the paradox where by appearing as though I may not have convictions, I, in reality, have more conviction and truth surrounding me than ever before. The possibilities and the mysteries are limitless. To that I am convicted.

photo by bill

Journey through the Night

Do you ever have those mornings where you wake up and feel like you have been on a long journey throughout the night? I slept well last night…I think. As I started to awaken, I realized I was dreaming and so I lay there and tried to stay in the dream. It was neither a pleasant or disturbing dream, but it was intriguing nonetheless. I finally sat up, gathered pen and paper to me and started to write the dream.

It was fragmented and I could not find the flow which is much like the dream itself. I hesitate to put too much down here because it feels like a lot of processing is still going on. As I said earlier, it felt like I had been on a long journey. There was a bus ride, a pick-up truck with its bed filled with loads of baggage, a parking lot with only handicapped spaces available. I pitched a tent next to the lot. It was in a huge field of dry grass. My tent poles got twisted up and a woman I know (one that I see as quite depressed, sarcastic and conflicted) helped me realign the poles. There were two other tents in the field, but I have no recollection of other occupants.

After pitching the tent, I was riding along in my little convertible, going through the fields of dry grass. I was standing and trying to climb through the car while attached at the ankles to my husband. No one seemed to be driving the car. (Yikes! I can only imagine the symbolism in that one.) It felt as though I was constantly looking for water. Usually my dreams contain water and ironically while lunching with a friend yesterday, she suggested that I am closely associated with the element of water. Hmmm. Was I looking for myself all night?

There were lots of other unusual little images and symbols throughout the dream. It felt like a very long, foggy journey. Therefore, it was no surprise when I looked out my window this morning to see the neighborhood blanketed in white mist. It feels like a good day to cozy up in bed and see if the fog lifts.

I’d love to know what you think of dreams…yours, mine, or generally speaking.

fabulous new photo taken in whitefish, montana by bill