Unexpected Gifts

(For those new to Musings, read the Nov. 18 story for my initial encounter with the earthworm.)

Winter use to be my least favorite season with its cold temps and gray skies. And although I still prefer sunny winter days, an inner shift has allowed me to come to experience Winter as the perfect time for reflection and turning inward. Reflecting is what I've been doing as I scan journals from the 2000's as well as read the many notes taken in 2009. It's in this looking back, that I realize the gifts I cherish most from the past year.

Just last week I called a relative to confirm her zip code. I had forgotten that in her Christmas card I had tucked a couple of my "Musings." Her first words were, "I got your stories." I was suddenly so excited. My excitement was short lived when she added: "Now you have to write about our happy times together."

I was speechless at first, then I semi-lied. I told her I had written of the happy times which was true to a degree, they just weren't related to the holidays. Okay, I lied. After which she said, "You write really well but you made me sad" in reference to the story about holiday losses. I didn't know what to say. So instead of just honestly saying to my aunt, "I don't know what to say" I stiffly replied that good writing evokes many emotions. Why is it that saying the truth never crosses my mind in the moment when I need it to? Does that ever happen to you?

I lied to my relative and a split second after hanging up realized the amazing gift this woman on my family tree gave me. Suddenly I knew why I've always felt like a mutant, why I've felt so disconnected and different. I am a feeler. I feel deeply and know that when I shut off feeling sadness, anger or fear I also shut off feeling joy. I quit feeling alive because I'm emotionally turned off and thus tuned out. I am a feeler who grew up in a tribe of people whose language allowed happiness. My question is: Is it happiness or faux happiness when that's the main feeling allowed?

Suddenly I knew one of the reasons I felt so much sadness throughout childhood and why none of the adults ever knew of that sadness. On some level I knew even as a kid they wouldn't know my language if I shared it, that if I were found crying I would be told not to because they would sincerely not know what to do with me...not realizing when someone's sad you really don't have to do anything, it's just about being with them in their sadness.

I also realized a great portion of my sorrow was connected to the generational unexpressed sorrows in my extended family. I come from people of great heart, people who care deeply about others and one another. Yet they are people who do not use their voices to speak what was really true for them emotionally and to own their experience. Ah, there's that 'don't say what's true' thing again.

My aunt's comment birthed a cascade of thoughts related to my heart and emotional self in my family and this world.

The other gift that's been given me in 2009 showed up repeatedly through various people, events and animals. In November I chronicled my encounters with earthworms on morning walks. These encounters didn't cease. Even two weeks before the brutal cold, I continued to find a dead earthworm on the sidewalk during my morning walks. Each time I found one, I'd place it as close to Mother Earth as I could pushing aside the grass and leaves and bless it with a moment of silence. I found the last one just prior to Christmas. Still alive but looking as if it too was about to die, I debated whether to place it in the grass too. Immediately I knew I was to hold it. If it was going to die, I would ensure it didn't die alone.

Bearing witness to this tiny worm touched me so. Before burying it, I opened my palm to look at it one last time. It was in the exquisite shape of an ear. It was gifting me with a reminder to 'listen.' I was giving the earthworm the gift of presence in its passing and it in turn gifted me and reminded me of the gift I gave myself this past year, the gift of listening.

This "gift" first showed up a few years ago when I heard, "Learn French." I was somewhere random when this audible thought zipped through me that said: "Learn French." I thought this odd and forgot about it until I was walking out of a friend's office. As I opened the door to leave, she said, "Wait, I'm being told to tell you to learn French." My heart jumped and I suspect I looked quizzically because she said, "I don't know who's telling me to tell you this, but I'm hearing, 'Tell her to learn French.' The gift reappeared. This time I at least browsed bookstore shelves and bought a cd series for learning French - a series which yes, I never used.

Months passed and one day while walking past a neighbor's house she came out to visit. Midst conversation, she said, "I've been meaning to ask you. Have you ever thought of learning French?" The above tale came tumbling out and she asked if I'd consider taking a local five-day intensive course in French with her.

We signed up and in a few short months I was sitting in a classroom for the first time in years, the only participant I think to have not had any foreign language but Southern English. I was surprised at how easily another language came to me. I didn't want it to end.

This was the summer of 2008. It took me nearly two years to follow the Voice I had clearly heard but I finally learned some French then closed that chapter or so I thought. For later in the year, I received a brochure from an acquaintance inviting me to join her and other women on a trip to France to many of the sites of the Black Madonnas. Despite the fact that I didn't know who the Black Madonna actually was I knew I had to go on this trip because one of the brochure's cover photos was of a place I had seen in repeated dreams years ago. Upon further reading, it appeared I would actually be in the medieval village on the side of a mountain from my dreams for my 50th birthday.

I looked at Jerry and said, "I can't leave you for my 50th" to which he replied, "I think you have to." So this past year, I turned 50 in France. I awoke in LePuy, visited Conques for a few hours and ended up in Rocamadour all in one day, the day I came into this world.

In looking back on the year, it now occurs to me that I gave myself the gift of listening and finally following what I heard and knew, knew not in a rational way, but in a deep, visceral, soulful, body way. I've often said that my GPS is my body for when I'm truly on the path that's charted specifically for me I am at home in my body. Sometimes 'at home' is a deep inner knowing in my core at other times it means being covered in goosebumps and at other times it's crying with tears of deep joy or sorrow.

Listening and following revealed what it feels like to be at home inside myself. Listening and following took me to the Grand Canyon three weeks after returning from France. I thought I was off my rocker when I found myself telling a friend in New York that I'd hike with her ten miles into the Grand Canyon and sleep on the ground four nights. I had never slept on the ground more than two nights and that was in my twenties. I had certainly never hiked ten miles in 100 degree heat.

Listening didn't mean I didn't question. I thought myself a bit crazy as well as financially irresponsible and wondered what people would think of me suddenly traveling so much. A couple of weeks prior to leaving for France, I sat in my chair and told the Universe/God/Spirit that I needed a sign as to whether to make canyon trip. I forgot about asking and got on with my day only to be startled by how quickly my request was answered. I booked a flight West and after France met Karen with whom I hiked into Havasu Canyon and Supai, the village where the Havasupai still live.

It was after this trip that I heard yet again about the gift I was being offered. While hiking out of the canyon, a local man sitting trail side asked us to sign a postcard to the Environmental Secretary asking that uranium mining be discontinued on Native American grounds because the process contaminates the underground water. Supai as we learned he was called began walking with us. At some point before parting, he gave Karen a flier about an upcoming event. After Supai walked away, my friend looked at the flier and said, "This flier says, 'Contact Bucky Preston.' I wonder if Bucky Preston is his real name?" We walked on knowing we had a long, hot hike ahead of us.

Three days later in the Flgastaff museum at the Hopi Festival I felt compelled to go to the museum bookstore. I had only browsed momentarily when I heard a man behind me say to another, "I want you to meet Bucky Preston." I immediately turned thinking I'd see Supai when instead I saw another Native American man with a small frame standing nearby. After the two other men walked away I introduced myself to Mr. Preston and shared how I had heard of him while walking out of the canyon.

Mr. Preston shared a portion of his story, how he's known as a spiritual runner who grew up on one of the Hopi Mesa's and still lives there although he travels (often running hundreds of miles) to call attention to what's occurring to Native lands through coal and uranium mining.

My mind raced trying to figure out why I was meeting this man in such a synchronistic way. Being a connector, I wondered with whom I was suppose to help him connect. My mind went into overdrive and I never actually figured out why I met Bucky Preston until recently.

You see Mr. Preston offered me a gift that day personally that I finally got while holding the earthworm in my hand. In our brief interaction, he looked at me and said, "Most people don't know how to listen. We aren't quiet or patient. We must be patient and listen." (This is one of the things I found noted in my journal from July.)

Mr. Preston offered me such a gift. It is the gift I've been given all along.....messages through listening to my intuition and my body, through others, the animals and nature. But I've not done a very good job of listening. I take that back. I listen, but I don't follow through as quickly as I aspire to.

It appears I had grand adventures in 2009, but it was and still is the inner experience in my travels that was most important. It was and is the willingness to listen to my inner landscape that I value most. This landscape within us interfaces with the outer world constantly whether we're at home or work, the grocery or the gym. If I had been tuned in and listening while talking with my aunt I could have easily said to her: I don't know what to say.

In this moment, I know what to say. It's harder to practice than say, but I pass along to you the gift given me this summer by Bucky Preston: Listen. Learn how to listen. Learn how you listen. Learn how you keep yourself from listening. Learn how messages come to you.....and I don't mean via the news. Really take the time to hear what you're being offered through nature, others, your intuition and however you think of God, Goddess or Spirit.

Listen.

- Dawn ! The Good News Muse 1/201

* Bucky Preston also coordinates the "Water is Life" run a 30 mile run in its 6th year on the traditional Hopi Trails bringing attention to the areas water that's threatened esp. by mining practices. Last year over 250 people participated. This years event is Sept. 11, 2010. For info go to: www.waterisliferun.org

Green in the "Dead" of Winter - Clues from Food

I love how food provides clues as to the deeper mysteries of life. Last night while washing Swiss chard one of those mysteries jumped right out at me. There in the strainer I was met by a tree, a beautiful tree of green with a red trunk and branches. The green, the color of growth, reminded me of leaves each Spring as well as the heart chakra or energy center of our bodies. The brilliant red reminded me of the vessels transporting blood throughout our amazing bodies.

How perfect that here in the dead of winter, as I've heard it called, Swiss Chard reminds me we are anything but dead. We are alive, vibrant beings with the capacity to replenish ourselves cellularly and energetically through the foods we eat, the thoughts we think and the vibration we hold in our hearts and being.

Everything is alive. Everything is coded, especially in nature where it's available to be experienced when we see and hear deeply and imaginatively.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse

Gifting One Another - How I Spent My Christmas Eve

I couldn't let the Holiday Season truly end without sharing one last related story. Oftentimes on Christmas Eve we go to the Green Hills mall, not to stimulate the economy but in search of happiness. Yes, armed with a couple of gift cards from a coffee shop sometimes local and other times Starbucks, we go in search of happy people. This year we took our two favorite girls with us, nine and nearly six year old Ella and Lily.

The only prerequisite required of winners is a smile, one that's not the result of an interaction either from greeting us in our Santa hats or talking with someone in person or on a cell phone. The person has to appear genuinely happy over the course of our somewhat stalking them around the mall.

AS soon as we entered the mall, we noticed our first "smiler," a woman driving a motorized cart with a pleasant expression on her face. Determined to not give a gift card away too quickly, we took a group vote and began our search officially.

Actually we walked and stalked for when we found a potential happy person we tailed them for a while checking the longevity of their smile. We followed a half dozen folks at most for as Ella noted it seemed only the women were slightly happy and there were only four or five happy women at that. True to Christmas Eve's past when we've done this, most folks are sullen and serious. As we stalked the few candidates found, the woman in the motorized cart appeared often and yes, she always had what I would call a soft, gentle smile. Was she truly happy to be alive on what for many adults is the most pressure-filled, tense day of the year as food's prepared, gifts are readied and families anticipated?

As the woman entered a store, we sat on a bench to eat See's candy samples and continue our search. This was how we found our first winner. Unsuspecting shoppers passed our watchful eyes, a few we had seen previously including an African American woman with a friend and children. They stopped nearby as we watched. After an eventual unanimous vote in her favor, Ella gave the woman the gift card and explained what we were doing. The woman opened her arms wide enveloping Ella in a bear hug.

We then followed our initial candidate as she came out of the store and moved through the mall down a hall to the elevator. Not wanting to loose her, we got on the elevator too. I inquired as to the pins on the front of her cart, many which were connected we learned to her military career as a Master Sergeant in the Air Force where she worked on jet aircraft and computers.

Getting off the elevator, the four of us discretely traded affirmative nods, signaling that this woman was a winner. Lily gave her the card as we explained our search for happy people. Our small token or gift of acknowledgment was nothing compared to the gift we were given.

Our new friend, Corina, shared that she was extremely happy to be alive because this time last year she had throat cancer and didn't know if she would live. She spoke of how cancer had taught her to not only appreciate life, but to appreciate and take better care of her body. I choked back tears listening to Corina's story. It was beautiful as was the spirit shining through her.

I awoke this morning thinking about the teaching 'moment' we lost not talking with Ella and Lily later about happiness being found in enjoying life rather than in material possessions. Then I realize they each in their own way 'got it' probably better than if I had gone off on a long Aunt Dawn lecture of sorts.

Upon taking them home, the first thing Ella told her mom wasn't about the many little gifts they had unwrapped under our tree, but the story of the woman at the mall.

Lily on the other hand presented me with a metaphor I'm still absorbing. As the girl's visit concluded, Lily decided she wanted to become a present for her mother. In seconds, a roll of paper, some tape and scissors, transformed Lily into a gift that walked down the street and up the steps to ring the doorbell.

It wasn't until this morning that I realized the deeper beauty in Lily's gift. The best gifts aren't found in stores at the Mall. The best gifts are found in each of us. We are gifts to one another as we share our presence, not just during the holidays but throughout the year. And as Corina's story so beautifully shows, the best gifts are found in the deep joy of being alive or as I experienced on my morning's walk the joy of warm sun on my face in 20 degree weather and the smile of a friend as I stopped in for a quick hello. (And yes, I wore a smile mindful of Corina's smile that day in the mall.)

These are the gifts we give and are given each and every day we live. Children get 'it' while we as adults repeatedly have opportunities to get 'it.' Personally I get 'it then loose 'it' but gratefully keep getting 'it,' the gift of life through practicing presence.

Practicing presence is part of the shift that makes each moment a gift. Thank you, Lily, Ella, Corina and Life!

- Dawn! The Good News Muse

God Thumped on my Window - Feathered Love

While writing yesterday morning, a loud thump on the nearby window caused me to cringe. As I feared, a tiny bird lay on the ground below. Without hesitation I grabbed my coat and a small towel. I didn't question rushing out into the frigid air. It was the right thing to do.

I sat on the bench in the cold holding the little bird against my heart uncertain whether it was in shock or dead. I held it while energetically sending it love and saying aloud a blessing for all the birds of the earth. Their presence and song are gifts often missed in life's busyness.

I held the little bird and knew I held love. As warm tears rolled down my cold cheeks it came to me. "I am a Mother. I am a mother to nature. I am a mother to the animals. I am love." This is why years ago in a state park I confronted a guy much larger than me who was throwing rocks at ducks in the lake where we swam. This is why not long ago I wept upon seeing a tiny fawn that had been hit and lay on the roadside. As we buried her, I knew we were returning her to the earth from which she came. This is why I had compassion for the tiny gray mouse found in our basement this summer . Uncertain as to whether it was dying or just digesting all the seed it scarfed down, I placed it in the shade and stroked its little body hoping it would live. When it didn't, it too received a loving burial.

Yesterday though as I held the little bird and loved it, I realized it too was loving me, part of a beautiful picture of reciprocity. This had happened the night prior as we walked in the yard on New Year's Eve. I was drawn to a tree, a tall, leaning tree. I placed my hand on it and said, "I honor you" then clearly heard, "Dawn, I honor you." My heart was touched, tears came as I stood with gratitude by this dear tree.

Memory then took me to this summer when I hiked into the Grand Canyon with a friend. We were preparing to leave after four nights camping in Havasu Canyon near the village of Supai. As Karen finished packing, a lone horse in the nearby coral caught my eye. I walked over hoping to stroke its mane when I realized it had a sore covered in flies on its back. With one hand, I kept flies away and with the other I sent healing energy to the sore while the horse and I gently looked at one another. I thought I was giving this dear animal a gift, and I was, but I in turn was being given a gift. The horse looked me straight in the eye. It was loving me and aknowledging the lover in me.

How often do I think I'm the giver, which we Southern women are skilled at, and in so doing miss the opportunity to receive and allow the other to be the giver?

Life offers both. Life offers both simultaneously, giving and receiving as the little bird was teaching me. I held the bird close and brought it inside. I determined it was important to continuing holding this tiniest of God's creatures while receiving all it had to give and reveal.

The first thing I did not want to notice but couldn't avoid was the quality of stiffness in my arms. No matter how I repositioned myself my arms held a rigidness. I was privately embarrassed. I could not relax into holding love. My discomfort was lessened as I removed the towel and allowed the bird's soft feathered body to touch my palm. I could feel its energy and warmth in my hand. How often have I missed an opportunity to receive because of unacknowledged discomfort or fear?

Next came a memory, the memory of being told my father cried whenever a family pet died. I wasn't witness to this. I wish I had been. He and I were much alike. Another memory followed, that of my sister sitting in the basement of our family home while my dog Duchess passed. I was in college, navigating such aloneness at the time, aloneness I shared with no one. I'm grateful my sister's presence allowed Duchess to navigate her life's end while sharing her aloneness.

I held the little bird and was reminded of the many times in the past two weeks of holiday hurriedness that I heard the birds singing outside and how each time hearing them made me smile inside. I thought of my parents, both of whom loved birds and how I still enjoy my mother sharing the goings-on at her feeders.

I held the little bird until 'class' was over. Now I am to digest what I was taught. The little bird died.

Under the moonlight we buried it then sprinkled remnants of beauty I wanted to release it on the first day of the New Year. Not only do I love the Earth, I collect it. At times I think I horde it. Over the grave, I sprinkled bits of earth from the little church in Chimayo outside Santa Fe where many go for healing, rose petals from my father's grave (who died four years ago this morning), red maple leaves from our yard, a smooth stone from the Oregon coast and a few hairs from Templeton my cat.

God or whomever you think of in a God/Spirit/Creator/Goddess/Life Force way thumped on my window. Now I realize the thump was more like a knock, a knock on my heart's door, a knock offering me a choice, a choice to extend myself and open my heart to the little bird lying on the ground or get busy, doing things called 'important'. I choose what for me was important.

Welcoming Life in feathered form, holding love in my hands showed me the love I Am. Welcoming Life in feathered form, holding love in my hands, showed me the love in another.
Welcoming Life in all its forms opens us to who we really are. - Love, Dawn

Remember Who You Are.....

(Not wanting to alarm folks, I hesitated sharing the following so publicly. Yet every time I hear myself recounting the story privately to a friend, I realize I need to write it. Here goes....)

Over the past few months I've been off and on navigating the medical system, off and on because the doctor with whom I'm working periodically hears me say: I think I'm going to try energy work or a homeopathic remedy before taking further steps. The thing I appreciate and respect about this man is he not only sees me again when a remedy doesn't work, but he actually has a degree of curiosity as to what I'm trying. This is a highly unusual and most refreshing trait to find in one's doctor. His honesty has kept me returning to him to report on what I'm doing and find out what he suggests as a next step.

One of those next steps recently took me to the hospital for a biopsy. There at 7am I thought I would be one of the first folks seen so I could get on with my day. Instead I got in line and was given a card reading number "56". I felt like I was in the airport awaiting a Southwest flight in the day when passengers got colored coded and numbered flight cards.

To my surprise, I was called to another area quickly where a kind gentleman collected information then said if I paid my bill in full that day I'd get a 20% discount. I was stunned at even the discounted cost that I insisted they file insurance first. He kindly noted this and ushered me on to my next stop where I presented my doctor's orders for a neck biopsy. To everyone's surprise including mine, I had been scheduled for a thyroid biopsy. A neck biopsy meant I needed blood work prior to the procedure. As I'm being shuffled apologetically down yet another corridor, the man with me called out to a doctor just in front of us. The doctor learned I was his next patient. He looked at my neck and said I didn't need blood work. I smiled appreciating the synchronicity of encountering the doctor in the hallway.

An hour later, an apologetic nurse retrieved me from yet another holding area. By this point, I would typically be irritated, hostile and judgmental, while attributing the morning's confusion to brokenness of the system. I had a litany of former frustrations with 'the system' from trying to help family members navigate it. This was my first time to do so personally.

Throughout the past few months during this journey, I had been practicing seeing those about me, from the nurses and technicians to receptionists and insurance handlers, through a lens of love rather than fear. I had been amazed at how doing something so simple had kept me in an open place and prevented fear from controlling me. I was mindful of looking each person in the eye and seeing them as assistants as part of my journey.

My attitude was challenged when the nurse on this particular morning pulled a curtain back and offered me a hospital gown and bed on which to lie while waiting. The biopsy was on my neck. Why did I need a gown and a bed for that? When she asked if I had a 'driver' I realized I might be in for something a bit more significant than a few pin pricks in the neck. Fear temporarily became part of the lens through which I was seeing my experience.

As I lay in the bed surrounded by a curtain, I was aware of the many conversations around me. They were unavoidable in such close quarters. One man was having his lungs biopsied. The risks of the procedure were being explained and highlighted to he and his family since he had a horrible cough as well as a fever. Another woman was having a heart procedure while another was having something kidney related done which she had previously had done it seemed multiple times.

While lying there, I became acutely aware of how the material world pulls us away from who we really are and even more so when the material world is trauma-related and fear creating like a hospital. Just as I realized this I heard: "Remember who you are." No, it wasn't the voice of yet another staff member checking my cognitive capacities. It was a voice, that shot through my mind, not audibly but certainly not of my mind. I clearly heard: Remember who you are and I immediately knew: I am love.

I nearly get teary (happy tears) just recalling this because here I lay in a place surrounded by strangers, without my 'driver,' uncertain which procedure I was ultimately gonna have and all I could feel, think and be was love. A feeling of love permeated my body as I lay in a hospital bed in a strange place but not feeling like a stranger at all. I lay there over an hour, yes an hour, feeling such joy and happiness while sending love to the staff and patients all around me and throughout the hospital floors above me. I was in a deep meditative state aware that I seldom enter such a place of quiet at home because of the many distractions.

I was in that place when a different young woman came and wheeled me to the biopsy room where I met the doctor from the hallway again. Seeing the equipment that would be used to assist in the exploration of my neck made me realize the earlier sum of money requested wasn't much compared to the equipment used, not to mention paying the many salaries of those who assisted me throughout the morning.

Another hour of so later, I made it home fine without a 'driver.' Come to think of it, Love was my driver, love and the voice that I thankfully heard and obeyed. It never fails when I'm awake and aware I get little messages of such simplicity and importance.

My gift to you this holiday and every day is "Remember who you are." Take the time to listen, to pay attention to find the things that speak to you, the small things that move you and make you feel, that bring a smile to your insides or a tear to your eye. Remember, remember who you really are and allow whomever you find to be your 'driver' in the coming year!

-Love, Dawn!, The Good News Muse with the Little Lump of Rare, but Benign Cells

Happy, Sweet, Sad, Dear, Deep Holidays

There's a certain start and stop quality to my decorating this year. Last night we began decorating the Christmas tree. This morning I did a bit more. Last year we didn't have a tree. Ooops, I take that back. There was a temporary tree bought the prior month at a yard sale for $2. I put it together certain that parts would be missing since I came by it so cheaply. Instead I found it was a beautiful five footer with all the necessary limbs to look very tree like. I also discovered in moments prior to decorating it that young Bogeysattva who was spending his first Christmas with us had the necessary limbs, four of them, enabling him to scale the inner tree like a little round about as he went from one level to the next ultimately to perch and peer from the top. To Bogey's dismay, I disassembled his new jungle gym and put it away in exchange for a tiny tabletop tree with magical dancing lights built into the limbs.

So yes, I technically had a tree, but not one that allowed the hanging of my ornament collection from over the years. This Christmas I determined to try again hoping Bogey had 'matured' or had found satisfying, higher hiding spaces that he didn't have last year.

Decorating the tree has been a beautiful experience thanks in part to the ornaments that come from places and people who have been dear to me. Many of them are gifts from the women on my family tree and from travels afar and just down the road.

Last night though was different. Last night was hard. Last night I realized in the more recent years I've accumulated things beyond ornaments surrounding the holidays. Last evenings challenges began with the many cat ornaments I discovered I have...and they're unrelated to Mystery and Bogey. These are the ornaments from the eighteen years Templeton spent Christmas with me.

The last 'real' Christmas tree I had was 2007. I still recall the happiness I felt as I heard Templeton lapping up the water from the tree stand. I was grateful to find she liked tree water, since she like me didn't drink enough in winter. I learned early in the new year that Templeton was dying. I also learned chemicals in tree water can be highly toxic to pets. This may not have been the primary cause of her death, but I did not want another 'live' tree. I didn't want to fear Bogey and Mystery's finding a new water source or be reminded of Templeton's little lapping sounds.

I forget memories and emotions can't be avoided. I was reminded of Templeton with every cat ornament that went on the tree last night. I kept decorating only to be reminded of the year prior. How we got the phone call as I was considering undecorating the tree. The phone call informed us that a dear friend had died. We had seen him a couple of weeks prior to Christmas when my nephew rushed him from West TN to the Vanderbilt emergency room. That holiday included a stay in the hospital for Jonathan who was so spirited and young. His cancer had only been found earlier that Spring and by Christmas he looked nothing like himself physically yet his light shown through as bright as a star atop the tree.

We got the phone call and I undecorated the tree in minutes. That's no exaggeration. Jerry walked into the room and said "What are you doing? What happened to the tree?" My response to not wanting to feel regarding Jonathan's death was to undecorate the tree faster than I could feel. I still remember thinking, 'I am distracting myself from feeling the loss of Jonathan.' This is another reason I've not really enjoyed decorating a tree.

Then there's my father. The Christmas of 2005. We thought his last Christmas might be 2004 after receiving his cancer diagnosis earlier that summer. I write we 'thought' because no one actually said it yet many of us including my aunt from Alabama traveled to Middle TN for the Christmas meal. We showed up and of course my father didn't. He left home early that morning having unbeknownst to us volunteered to work all day allowing younger coworkers to be at home with their children. Meanwhile my father's family gathered without him and acted as if all was normal when it wasn't.

Month's passed and Christmas 2005 arrived. Some of us wondered between ourselves if my father would die on his father's death, Dec. 23. Papaw, as we called him, died in intensive care just down the street from me the day before Christmas Eve in 2001. For several days prior, I traveled Natchez Trace visiting him during the allotted hours as well as seeing my parents often taking them pumpkin pie lattes from the new Starbucks in the area.

My grandfather lay in the bed for days often repeating over and over the phrase "Lord's Prayer. Lord's Prayer." I volunteered to say the Lord's Prayer with or for him and he'd firmly say, "NO." This was the man I had known all my life by whom my father was reared. The man who was in control and controlling was loosing control. I'll never forget singing to him, at the moment I don't even recall the song, trying to help him find peace. He told me he didn't want me to sing, but I did. Instead of saying, "That's disappointing or sad" I sang anyway. I knew the words to Amazing Grace or whatever it was, but I didn't listen to the words of my heart, the words that would have been unscripted, personal.

I thought my father would live through the holidays in 2005 or at least be held hostage without being able to get in his car and avoid us the way he did the year prior. He ended up with hospice care in a hospital bed at home for our last Christmas together. I was so grateful to be able to sit by his bed and just be rather than have another funeral to hang on memory's tree, but even then there was a Christmas tree, a small one like the one I had last year that sat on the bedside table in his room.

I had no idea when I first started writing this that I would cry my way through holidays prior. All I knew was I wanted to own the fact that decorating a tree had been surprisingly hard for me. Now I know why. I've privately and at times openly grieved all the above losses but like Bogey going round and round last years Christmas tree, each time an anniversary arrives there's another layer to be felt, another rung to be climbed revealing a new perspective.

Having nearly completed the forced decoration of the tree, I want a do-over. I want to redecorate the tree from an engaged place allowing tears to flow if there are any left. Then it occurs to me, have you ever seen anyone actually crying as they put ornaments on a tree or a wreathe on the door? I haven't and the thought of my doing so prompts the fear of folks thinking, 'What is her problem?'

I'll tell you what my problem's been. I have spent far too much of my life especially the 2000's not allowing myself to express what I'm feeling. This has been the elephant in my world as I began writing about in the prior Musing "Elephants in the House of Love."

So if you see me or talk with me or think of me this holiday and I'm crying, please don't have pity or feel sad for me. Be glad I'm allowing the greenery that grows in my heart to be alive and nourished. I'm resuscitating my heart through beautiful sadness while honoring all of those in my life, Templeton, Jonathan, my father and grandfather, whose lives are sweet ornaments on the tree of my heart. With that in mind and heart, it's not enough to say, "Happy Holidays." More truthfully it's "Happy, Sweet, Sad, Dear, Deep Holidays."

P.S. I could not complete this story without completing the tree. Once again I went into the cold basement and dug out the last of the ornaments and the angel to top the tree. The sugar plum fairy I made from dough forty years ago and saved by my mother all these years is now tucked in the limbs near Ragged Ann and Andy from the same period. The angel....well that's another story. She broke. Her head broke to be exact. I didn't even know it was glass until she tipped over on the tile floor. Bogey immediately began batting chunks of angel head about as I thought, 'This is a strangely perfect metaphor reminding me of the necessity to get out of my head and live from my heart.'
As for the cats, thus far the only ones in the tree are the ornamental, hanging kind. Hopefully this will not change since Bogey, while I decorated the tree, discovered the top of the refrigerator, a warmer, higher place from which to survey his kingdom as I am in the process of discovering the kingdom of my heart.


Happy, Sweet, Sad, Dear, Deep Holidays to You and Yours and may this holiday find you dwelling inside your heart. --Dawn! The Good News Muse 12/09

Elephants in the House of Love

My nephew Kirk (the one in the black shirt by me) and I decided to choose a photo from holiday's past and each write an impromptu story inspired by the photo to jump start the holidays and our creative juices.

Knowing this was the chosen photo prompted the turning of my wheels. I thought of how most families have "elephants," particular issues that are avoided that create either deeper denial during holidays or conflict and distress as individuals try to address the "elephant."

The photo also reminded me of "Larger than Life," the movie in which Bill Murray inherits an elephant upon his father's passing. This movie had particular significance for my nephews and me because it was released just after Mr. Murray had just been an angel in disguise for us at a Chicago Bull's game and the Elephant Sanctuary in nearby Hohenwald, TN had just opened the year prior. 1996 was an elephant themed year.

Now as I sit looking at the photo and attempting to write, I feel unexpected tears. Why would a photo so funny and dear strike a chord of sadness? The young elephants in this photo are now nearly 18, 24 and nearly 21. My sadness has something to do with the word 'dear' or more correctly the experience of someone being dear. You see I took my nephews to the above mentioned basketball game because they were dear to me. Their parents were going through a divorce and I wanted to give my nephews a positive memory. My intention, the Universe and Bill Murray got my nephews a memorable present but what I learned was the importance of presence, honestly showing up with another and listening. The 'doing' of my gift was my way of saying, "I'm sad you're going through this" but I never actually said that.

Of course, I didn't learn this lesson well enough. As my father was passing four Christmases ago, one of the bigger elephants in my life, I was told by a friend that his mother's cancer was ultimately a gift because he was able to share with her all he needed before her passing. He said, "Be sure you say everything you need to him."

I thought I did this with my father until he died. That's when I realized I never just honestly said, "I'm so sad." I sat by his bed and sang to him. I held his hand and reminisced. I thanked him for things like ensuring my car oil was changed regularly in college and for giving me Duchess our poodle in fifth grade, but I never did the simple thing. I never looked at him and said, "Daddy, I'm sad you're dying. I'm sad I feel like I've never really known you and you've not really known me." Yes, it was a stretch for me to sing especially since I'm not prone to this, but I was in control. Singing didn't make me feel vulnerable, the way simple honesty would have.

I did not practice presence. In my not wanting to feel the pain of his possibly responding gruffly to me, I said nothing at all. This of course didn't allow me the opportunity to hear him potentially say he was sad too.

Now I look at the photo above and reconsider Bill Murray's inheritance in the movie. We all inherit "elephants" of some sort. If I'm sincere in my prior story about building a house of love, I'll embrace the "elephants" in my life as opportunities to be present and honest, not judging, but honestly speaking from my heart what's true for me.

I've nothing against gift giving, but this holiday it will be interesting to see if I can practice the level of presence to which I aspire and desire and allow that to be the greater gift I offer regardless of whether it's received. Just imagine if we shared our presence as much as we tend to share presents in this country.

And don't forget to check out my nephew Kirk's story and leave your thoughts at one of our sites .. optional of course :)