From Ah-Gnaw to A-Ha and Ah - The New Balance

Ah, it doesn't get any better than this.
Rain on the roof.
Freshly made lemon chicken soup.
Red wine in a champagne flute.
(Who said flutes have to hold champagne?)
Candlelight and a pile of books by my side -
poetry, "Animal Speaks", "The Backyard Bird Bible" and Bob, yes, Bob's still in the picture. (See Oct. 10, 2009 for Bob and my history.)

This had not started as an 'Ah' kind of day. Actually it did but my wall got in the way. It started more like an ah-gnaw (very Southern for 'oh no') kind of day.

This was my first morning in the country. I intended to write, but the day started with a jolt. I pulled back the curtain and saw a cardinal lying on the deck. I gasped and felt sick. The last thing I wanted to do the first thing in the morning was have a funeral. I made my coffee, ate a bite and lest I forget erected my wall.

In December after writing about building a house of love, I realized one of the reasons for faultily built 'homes' is one's project manager goes AWOL or in my case I resist being managed even when I know management is wise. This particular morning my project manager was present and very aware I did not want to be present if that meant feeling. I also didn't want to rush out in search of film to cover the windows in case the bird had crashed or pecked itself to death thinking its reflection was a rival -something not uncommon in male cardinals. I was suppose to be taking action, writing.

I did place the cardinal in a shoebox and made a quick list of associations related to red in an attempt to stir my creative juices. Julia Cameron of the "Artist's Way" would have been proud. It was while making my list that I noticed the box was a New Balance shoebox.

'A new balancing of power,' I thought, 'since red is a color associated with power.'

I then proceeded to putz for most of the day, writing nothing but notes in the margin of a new soup recipe. I had never had such an unproductive day except for making the soup. I berated myself, felt guilty for being lazy and did none of the things I imagined like inviting neighbors for dinner. Of course none of these things were the intended writing. My inner tyrant, who stepped in after my project manager stepped out, preached from The Book of Shoulds. "If thou shall resist writing, then at least listen to an educational cd or better yet the French one that's been on the shelf for months. Lift weights and vacuum. Be productive. Clean the attic."

Finally I opted for movement. Not exercise, but actually getting in my car and driving with a goal in mind. Somewhere between buying Frenchesque Valentine's at Walgreens and washing the salt from my car even though it was now raining, I began to reconnect. My wall gradually lowered as I interacted with people who were kind and saw beauty and humor in the Valentine aisle at Walgreens.

Returning home I immediately found a spade and dug a hole near the shrub where I had repeatedly this winter seen seven cardinals hanging out. Now there would be six.

Taking the cardinal from the box, I realized the only side I had seen was colored very much like a female, shades of gray and blue with a hint of red. As I held it, I saw the side that had been facing down was brilliant, fire-engine red. This dear bird's body represented a New Balance in the world, a world in which both masculine action and doing are honored equally to feminine feeling and being, a world in which we aren't threatened by the heart nor do we misuse or neglect our personal power. It was beautiful.

The burying of the cardinal, the digging of the hole and collecting of fern fronds for its bed, doing in nature, led me to a place of being. My wall nor autopilot existed. Being engaged in a sacred cycle honoring and returning a creature to the earth returned me to Me.

Earlier in the day I had not acted from the place of new balance of which I wrote, the new balance within. My ongoing disconnect and irritation came from a place of resisting my feminine side. Instead of listening to and allowing feelings about the bird's death I compulsively moved through the day. The only tangible product of work and thus my worth for the day was soup, a soup which although it was good, had no monetary value in society's eyes and we all know society is the judge of how we spend our time. (That's another story.)

This beautiful day perfectly illustrated the importance of tending my inner balance, the balance between feeling and doing, masculine and feminine. How easily I forgot that actively tending one's inner balance contributes to the New Balance unfolding in the outer world.

Once inside, my house and myself, I knew exactly what I wanted and needed. I wanted the beauty of good food and poetry, fruits of the earth and of feathered souls, and lest I forget Bob my gardening go-to guy, who like a good project manager reminds me of what's important.

Being inside allows me to realize the things for me that have value, things connected to soul and soil, the plants and animals. It's in listening while doing that I engage in sacred cycles whether interacting with nature or others even in the Walgreens' checkout line.

The day that began with an ah-gnaw moment led to significant a-ha's and eventually to the inner 'ah' - all ultimately bringing me back to me and new balance. This is grace.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse

Here's Good News!
This Friday through Monday is the Great Backyard Bird Count a joint venture with the Audubon Society and Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Click the link in the line above to print out a list of birds in your area and count for as little as 15 minutes on of those days or every day then report on-line your findings. This allows scientists to track birds, flight and habitat changes, etc.

Also February is designated bird feeding month nationally. Click National Bird Feeding Month to learn more and check out the Backyard Bird Bible for great feeding info for the feathered souls that grace the earth.

Of Melting Snow, Picnics Past and The Deep End

Earlier this week my gutters were singing. Yes, the tinkling sounds of the weekend's snow turned water were the first thing I heard upon going outside Monday morning. I excitedly thought, 'The Goddess is singing.' The combo of roof, gutters and water birthed a sound that sparked this thought, a thought I quickly edited for fear people would think I had gone off the deep end, wherever the deep end might be. Besides I told myself I didn't even know exactly what I meant by the goddess is singing.

The following day the dance of the gutters had shifted. The snow nearly gone created a drip, drip, dripping like a clock or metronome keeping time.

Now with today's rain, the gutters sound more like a babbling brook similar to the creek that ran by my grandparents' house, the creek by which my grandmother would spread a blanket for picnics when we were kids. Her pimento cheese sandwiches were delicacies thanks to the magic of sitting by the creek surrounded by daffodils in spring and filled with crayfish in summer.

I do not want to have lived having missed magic. I do not want to have lived having marked time or keeping time by someone else's clock for fear of their judgments. I do not want to live having edited myself for when I do imagination is pruned and experience limited. When I'm gone, I want people to say, "Dawn not only went off the deep end, she lived in the deep end and showed us the richness there."

Earlier this week, the Goddess sang in the tinkling sounds coming from my gutters. This morning she was heard in bird song and last week in the Haitian people making music amidst their sorrow.

In Search of the Goddess

Having embarked on lengthy quests in the snow over the weekend in search of food, jazz and basketball, I intended to give my boots a rest this morning. My intentions quickly shifted upon hearing of the snow goddess up the street and around the corner somewhere between my house and the grocery. Armed with layers of clothing, paper, pen, money, a pocket recorder and excitement, I set forth on an unexpected adventure in search of the Goddess.

I wondered how long my anticipation would last as I clomped and slipped through yesterday's snow now today's slush. I imagined a lengthy pilgrimage along neighborhood streets ultimately not finding the goddess but having an epiphany of sorts something like she was here all along in everything yet I missed her while focused on the goal. You know one of those life is the journey not the destination realizations.

Rather than wander, I walked straight ahead, no side street detours. After a few blocks and a corner turned, there She was between a neighborhood "Go Green" sign and a dragon-like gargoyle, guardians present and past of the Earth.

Quietly and regally She sat, legs crossed, a penetrating yet peaceful expression on her face. A flame of ice, cyrstal-like, rose from her jewel encircled head.

I wanted to meet the creators but snapped instead several photos mindful my quest didn't take long. Rather than creating a drama that could have lasted most of the day, She was nearby, not far away at all. My epiphany didn't result from an arduous ordeal, only the simple yet determined act of deciding to walk, albeit carefully a few blocks away. I only had to engage in the journey.

My return home involved detours, intentional ones allowing time to consider what it meant to go in search of the Goddess. Two things immediately crossed my mind, the first being a photo I had taken days prior in what's unofficially called Dragon Park thanks to the beautiful mosaic dragon created from drawings by area school children. The ones that caught my eye recently were hearts.


I walked home during that quest thinking how the mosaic heart beautifully represented each of our holding pieces of the heart coming together at this time around the world. I walked home today aware once again the dragon, feared and revered, showed up not only in the park but in the yard adjacent to the Goddess. A fire breathing dragon on this wintry day guarded the frozen Goddess.

The other thought hanging around my mind as I journeyed home was that the Goddess (or God, Higher Power, Creator if you prefer) is just as much in search of us as we are in search of her/him.

Arriving home, I felt compelled to google 'the goddess' out of curiosity. There was much to read but what caught my attention were four words near the beginning of the first website: God in feminine form.

This was perfect. This was really what was meant by God is love. God is compassion. God is heart. God is the feminine, here to hold and express love and compassion.

Yet the flame on the Goddess' head was frozen. The Goddess herself was frozen. Yet like the snow outside today She is unthawing. Unfreezing of hearts can be messy especially in a world that's valued outcome over process, logic over feeling and labeling over letting go.

Here I sit, hours after my external quest, continuing to quest internally as to how all of this speaks to me. What I believe for now is that we each have an entity call it whatever you wish that longs for our engagement with our one and only life. If we don't take our individual journey, it will not be taken. What I believe for now is She is here, a strong, fierce, feeling Feminine, inside each of us, female and male alike. She is here. She has been frozen. She is unthawing thanks to the flames of love.

May the Magic not Melt with the Snow

Snow is magical. When else do I stand in the middle of my busy neighborhood street after 10pm visiting with neighbors, comparing notes on where our walks have taken us today while another offers his jeep for rides of necessity and fun? When else am I invited to go in search of parking lots large enough to do doughnuts in, creating circles in the snow? When else have I seen the giant blue jay sit an inch from the tiny finch and share bird seed? Never.

Snow births a pureness, diminishing differences, promoting friendliness. No one's a stranger.

Silence, uncommon to the city and much of the planet, blankets the city as well as the snow. It is the silence that I imagine preceded creation. It is the silence that precedes any creation be it a new thought, idea or work of art. It is the silence so lacking in our busy lives and world, the silence in which if we stop long enough we can hear what our particular life holds out before us.

May the magic not melt with the snows.

- Dawn! The Good News Muse

What Hits the Spot?

This morning during a rare Nashville snow fall, I called my favorite neighbors to see if they were up for a stroll. We walked and talked eventually making our way to the grocery.

Enroute Ella made a snow angel and wrote PEACE! in the snow on the trunks of neighbors' cars and on the sidewalks. She caught me up on her nine-year-old life which presently includes learning about Persephone in acting classes as well as the Greek and Roman gods and goddesses. (I want to be nine again.)

This of course allowed us at the grocery to spy Posideon, Zeus, Persephone and Hera amongst the many shoppers as well as the Artemis in Ella's mom as she hunted for cocoa butter.

Walking home, Alicia shared how she had made hot chocolate for the girls who had slept over last night, a late birthday surprise for Ella. One of the girls commented how the hot chocolate 'hit the spot.' This led to their talking about other things that hit the spot which in turn led to my sharing with Alicia that being able to call her up and walk spontaneously the way we were doing hit the spot for me. Anytime I feel a sense of satisfaction within, a kind of peaceful, resting inside I know I've hit the spot. It's like smiling inside.

I came inside thinking about how we're told often covertly what will hit the spot for us. We're told through advertising what to eat, drink, wear, where to shop and what to buy that will bring us satisfaction. We're so out of contact with our bodies that we don't even know satisfaction. So we eat and eat, buy and buy, drink and drink, sleep and sleep, watch tv and more tv....you get the idea.

So I challenge you wherever you are to find what hits the spot for you and feel the sense of your own inner 'ah' of rest, peace and wonder. Imagine that shift.

-Dawn!

Exercising the Heart

This morning I decided to forgo my usual walk/run down Natchez Trace in order to spend time at the Cat Shoppe in Berry Hill. I had an ulterior motive. Yesterday I dropped in to buy cat nip, organic cat nip. As I rushed out with my dollar bag of kitty hooch as it's called, my breath was taken by a little long hair tabby only weeks old. I scooped up Buttercup as she looked intensely with her big golden eyes at me. The overhead music system played a song I vaguely recalled. "De ja vue, could you be the girl that I once knew?"

Our gaze locked as I thought, 'Could this be the cat that I once knew?' This kitten looked just like my dear cat of many years, Templeton, who died around this time two years ago. Likewise Buttercup seemed to size me up. Was she wondering if I was the woman she had known?

I didn't have time for this. I had lunch to prepare in less than fifteen minutes and an agenda to keep. I returned Buttercup to her perch and drove home. I could not have a third cat. I had to consider Mystery and Bogey as well as my house.

This morning I knew I had to consider my heart. I decided it would do me good to read the journal I kept through Templeton's sickness and death. Maybe I'd find noted there something that would help me discern why I had met Buttercup. I cried my way through the month of January 2008, actually I sobbed. Yet between blowing my nose and taking my glasses off and on I found gems, one liners, that I had written during that time. Things like: "The animals are here to partner with us yet we take them so for granted" or "The heart is an alchemical vessel in which sorrow is transformed into joy and gratitude."

By the time I read through January, peace settled over me and the clock informed me it was time to quit reading and run. This is how I ended up at The Cat Shoppe. I intended to visit Buttercup during an afternoon break but I knew going through the motions of my morning run would actually be running from my heart and my journey.

Cross the threshold of the Cat Shoppe and one is met by a tribe of greeters. I immediately talked to a calico who rubbed against my leg then began my search for Buttercup. She was snoozing atop the six-tiered perch near the door. I rolled a rubber ball then tossed a tiny, headless stuffed sheep to a fluffy black and white cat while talking with Wesley, a fur ball of a Tabby.

Buttercup finally became curious and let me walk her around the store. All the while I'm trying to discern whether this kitten is my former cat returned.

You see, during Templeton's illness, I talked at length with her about rejoining me after a period of time in 'rehab.' I thought we had found each other when Bogeysattvah showed up the very week I had requested Templeton return. This has since been confirmed as they share so many attributes although she returned a he.

After a lengthy whispered conversation, I finally freed Buttercup feeling certain she wasn't Templeton. It was then I discovered the real reason I needed to go to the Cat Shoppe.

As I interacted with these dear animals, I realized I was exercising my heart. I felt love, connection and delight and I knew the cats did too.

How is it we make time to exercise our physical bodies, but we don't consciously exercise our hearts? We focus on the exterior and neglect the interior. How is it we relegate exercising our hearts to Valentines which monetarily benefits florists, Hallmark and sellers of all things heart-shaped, red, pink and chocolate? We exercise our hearts by showing love on birthdays, paying respects at funerals and by purchasing gifts at Christmas.

We are built for so much more. Research shows the heart has an electromagnetic field 5,000 greater in strength than the field produced by the brain. This field not only permeates every cell in our body, but can also be measured up to ten feet away with detectors called magnetometers.* We are built for love and its emotional kin.

I am so grateful Buttercup got my attention as I rushed past her. She was serendipitously a partner and I paid attention. Seeing her see me prompted me to reread my journal and in turn exercise my heart through grieving which allowed me to alchemically turn sorrow into peace and joy.

Animals offer us love unconditionally. They are as I realized two years ago partners with us yet we neglect them so. We neglect them because we unknowingly neglect ourselves.

I returned home and walked straight to Mystery and Bogey entwined with each other in their favorite chair. I got down on my knees, placed my hands on them and apologized. Yes, I apologized for our collective ignorance, fear and greed through the ages and what we've done to the cat family through the killing of cats in the Roman coliseums in the name of entertainment, to their deaths during witch hunts here and abroad and the continued hunting of lions and cats as big game by some men who have yet to learn hunting does not make one truly potent.

I exercised my heart and in so doing hopefully exercised the quantum or collective heart of human and animal kind.

How have you exercised your heart today?
* For more on new info about the heart click on HeartMath.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse

Let's Get Engaged

Recently over an unexpected dinner with friends, I asked the person across from me if he played piano daily. His response was an enthusiastic, "I can't imagine not playing every day." He spoke of the peace he experiences when he's lost in making music, how at times he's transported to another realm.

I had two thoughts. I wondered aloud as to how many people really have a passion or pursuit that they can't imagine not doing daily. I also confessed that I don't feel about my craft, writing, the way he feels about his.

Think about it. What in your life can you imagine not getting to experience every day even if just for fifteen minutes?

As our conversation continued, we talked about the role television and computers have played over the years in lessening our sense of true engagement with life. I say true engagement because I don't consider reacting and arguing as often happens in political goings-on as real engagement. Instead we fall prey to sound bites delivered by opposing sides invested ultimately in our not thinking for ourselves. I just heard Americans spend an average of five hours watching television daily. Isn't this called engaging one's butt with the sofa rather than one's heart and mind with life?

I fell asleep that night pondering engaged living. I awoke the next morning thinking of those past and present who inspire us to aspire to living fully engaged. Anthropologist Margaret Meade was actually the first person who crossed my mind. I've heard Jean Houston say Margaret lived with an attitude of expectancy. It seems she brought into her life whatever she needed at the time because she simply expected to receive not unlike the Biblical directive: Ask and you shall receive.

While making note of this, I came across a scrap of paper on which I had recently scribbled something while watching the Kennedy Center Honors. In recognizing Bruce Springsteen the presenter said Bruce "always empties his tank" in reference to the level of Bruce's giving and living whether he's helping someone, supporting a cause or performing on stage. This is someone who's definitely engaged with living his life.

John Hendricks the Father of Vocalese then crossed my mind. Considered by some the best jazz singer on the planet Mr. Hendricks is known for applying sounds and words to instrumental jazz hits sometimes actually substituting his voice as the instrument.) A couple of years ago I saw Mr. Hendricks in concert. He invited the small crowd in the large venue to come close irregardless of our ticket price. This eighty-something year old man danced and yabba, dippity, bee bopped his way through jazz greats, his body the instrument, never missing a beat. At the concerts end I found myself shaking his hand as he leaned from the stage. Actually he kissed my hand as I in tears thanked him for his performance. I'll never forget what happened next. He said, "I do this because it is good for my heart." What do you do that's good for your heart?
Co opted by drug commercials, many folks today would think Mr. Hendricks was referencing a new cholesterol lowering drug.

Many of the people who came to mind used their musical passion as a doorway to enagement with life. Later the same year while in San Francisco, I serendipitously heard Carlos Santana and Bonnie Raitt in a benefit at Grace Cathedral for R&B singer Angela Bofill. While entering the church to walk the labyrinth, I noticed a sign outside that read: Santana, Raitt Saturday evening. Tickets inside. I laugh about my limited capacity to recognize bands for 60's and 70's songs but there was no mistaking who these two were and there was no missing them since tickets were only $20.

The following night my friend Vivia and I stood yards from the stage in this magnificent church as Carlos Santana transported us into the musical ethers. It was yet again what was said that impacted me most. Between songs, Santana shared that although he loved making music, his greatest mission was finding ways to be of service to the world. He then challenged each of us to find our particular way of being of service in the world.

These four people as well as my friend Bob challenge me to examine how engaged or disengaged I am with life. I want to have a passion, as Bob does, that I can't imagine not doing daily. I want to wake up each morning and go to bed each night with an attitude of expectancy like Margaret had. I want to be consumed like John with living in such a way that is good for my heart whether my words are dancing across a page or I'm just bee, bop, deesinging in the shower. I want to find my mission in the world as Carlos urged and until and when I do I want to give from the bottomless universe from which Bruce lives and gives.

Think about it. We have these mulit-sensoried bodies, hearts and minds wired for interaction with others and the environment around us. We've the capacity for so much more than we realize. How would your days be different if you lived with an attitude of expectancy, if you intentionally did things that were good for your heart? What would you do that you can't imagine not getting to do daily? How would you and your life be different if you emptied your tank through serving with joy? Your tank would never really empty, would it?

I've struggled with how to end this story because it seems rich with so much to consider. I remind myself I can always reengage it at any time and for now I have at least a fun and thought provoking proposal. What do you say? Let's get engaged.

Imagine the shift if we each became engaged with more fully living our life each day.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse 01/10