Returning to the Heart through Beauty

I could hardly complete my earlier walk due to snapping photos of nature dusted by a morning snow. I've been contemplating the conclusion of my last Musing. It went something like "with presence and mindfulness we can at any moment open to what and who we find in our heart and in doing so return the heart to the world."

After writing this, I found myself thinking about what that really means especially after coming across an interview on PBS about sex-trafficking and the billions made annually in trading women and children. What must the hearts of these people be like, those who are used and those who are the users and profiteers? What is the path of return to their hearts?

I suspect my morning's walk held a clue. Imagine the shift in the hearts of these people, those who buy and sell others, if they could appreciate the simple yet deep beauty in nature. I mean really see the colors, the textures and tones as well as hear the messages of the snow melting onto rock, the brillant blood-red berries juxtaposed to the pureness and innocence of white snow surrounded in life-filled leaves.

In this space and place of what feels like such heavy news, I draw inspiration on this winter's walk and that is Good News. Hold with me the many lives and hearts touched by human trafficking. May we all experience simple beauty and love.

Finding One's Juice or The State of My Internal State Department

Last evening, I lay on the sofa berating myself. Not a loud, harsh berating but a subtle, just below the radar of my consciousness berating. I had just written and posted a piece about the New Story and was quite upset the piece didn't have the juice or energy I like my writing to have. The truth was I was the one missing 'the juice.' Of course, I didn't realize this. In the moment I blamed hormones and my imminent period. Then I blamed the planets. I knew from a prior reading that Neptune's on my Mercury or something like that leaving me without the communicative, creative skills on which I thrive especially as someone ruled by Mercury which is all about communicating. I furthered my disconnected, juiceless state with a glass of red wine while watching news reruns of members of the new administration greet and talk with employees of the State Department. It wasn't until I shuffled down the hallway that I glimpsed what was going on in my 'internal state' department.

Like a shooting star, a thought from nowhere shot across my mind's night sky. It went something like: "I hope I don't loose this house." Last year through a series of synchronistic events, I bought a house in the country, a home that I literally felt had been awaiting me. Why would I suddenly think about loosing it?

Then another star shot past. "What if Bogey's dying?" Bogey is the tabby kitten that showed up the week of my birthday, the exact week I had asked Templeton my cat of nearly 18 years to return to me during her decline and death a year ago this coming week. Two hours earlier while I wrote the juiceless story about the New Story, the old story was being enacted in my heart as Bogey lay curled by my head at the top of my recliner. In the quiet, the only sounds were the periodic tapping of my fingers on the computer key board and the noticeable sound of Bogey's swallowing. The unavoidable sound reminded me of Templeton's final days. I did not want to hear this sound but couldn't avoid it. In pauses I would think, 'I don't want to loose this cat, but will if I must' and kept writing.

It wasn't until I lay in the dark bedroom that I realized my internal state department was filled with fear and mistrust. I have said at times that I've a defective wanter, not in the sense of our consuming, materialistic culture but in the allowing one's heart to long. Having grown up with Disappointment as a companion, I thought I had mastered not longing or wanting.



Fortunately over the recent years as I've embodied my personal shift, little green shoots of longing have emerged from what has felt like the cold earth of my heart much like the little plant in my garden that around New Year's was waking up to new life.


Yet in the dark of the night, I discovered that I didn't trust that both my new home and kitten would not be taken from me. Maybe the punitive, hell-fire-and-brimstone God of my childhood had not yet experienced or imagined the shift. My internal shift was in the process of being killed off by my lack of consciousness. The fear-based messages hanging out on my insides were draining life from me or the juice to which I was accustomed, just like a cold blast had killed the plant that two weeks prior had been greening.
Yes, this is the little plant. The Good News is I'm quite certain that in a few weeks I'll be able to post its resurrection thanks to the life juice that courses through it combined with just the right mix of elemental ingredients.


As for me, my 'juice' returned as soon as I became conscious or aware of what was transpiring inside me. The quiet fears of loss had resurrected the barrier around my inner garden, a fence around my heart allowing me to glimpse just enough love, beauty and delight, but not too much lest I get attached to a place, person or pet and have to suffer its loss.

What would happen if I consciously removed the barrier or took down this fence? What would it look like if I felt much delight or joy? Messages like winter cold fronts arrive. I hear: "Don't get all wrapped up in yourself." (Translation: You won't be liked if you're self-centered.) Another follows quickly with: "I don't want to be around when the other shoe drops." (Translation: Loss and pain are sure to follow your attachments.) Regardless of wine, Neptune or hormones, it was quite obvious that I had not been communicating with my own internal state of affairs. I had parts of myself that needed the reconciliation and diplomatic efforts of which I had earlier heard Obama, Clinton and Biden speak. I was the one experiencing juicelessness or aliveness not because I was afraid but because I wasn't aware of what was going on inside me.

Then I realized the barrier had been not only kept fear in but kept good ingredients out. Yesterday held two affirming interactions with strangers, each who temporarily infused me with excitement regarding a writing project on which I had just recommitted to work. My excitement was hardly even temporary thanks to the barrier.

Realizing all of this brings a smile and a sense of sinking down, resting into the soil of my Soul. From this place lively shoots of green immediately begin to sprout again even on this gray, winter's day.

The Good News - The juice of life awaits us even when the harsh weather of unchecked fears and attitudes temporarily block the flow. At any moment with presence and mindfulness, we can return to our hearts, open to what and who we find there and in doing so we return the heart to the world. - Dawn, the Good News Muse

The New Story

While walking in my garden just after New Years, I found these little green shoots peering at me as I looked down. I quickly took a photo and thought, 'This represents the New Story.' I didn't have a clue what I meant by that. I had heard author and lecturer Jean Houston speak of the New Story some years ago during a Social Artistry conference but for the life of me I didn't know what relevance this little plant had. Now three weeks later, I keep coming back to this photo in my digital camera.


It's obvious with the events this week in Washington that we are living in times of New Story in light of a new administration that calls us to personal responsibility and service. Yet I keep asking myself what does the New Story look like up close and personal in my own life and how do I feel it, sense it, see it or hear it.


Like the little plant that I could have easily stepped on or overlooked, the New Story is tucked away in between the lines of my busy life like the green shoots were tucked among winter's leaves. Usually when I listen to that still small voice within I've clues as to the New Story I'm to be leaning into. The Whim, my name for the still small voice, tells me often to do the things I've procrastinated. My grandmother use to say, "If you don't use it, you loose it, in referring to her singing voice, that yes, she quit using years before she passed away." For at least three years I've wanted to take singing lessons so I finally am. As soon as I made the first appointment, I knew I was onto something. I hung up the phone, realized my palms were sweaty and my mind frozen. Fear came visiting, a sign that I was doing exactly what I needed. I noted the appointment on my calendar and got busy. Busyness is a great distraction.


The day prior to my first lesson, I felt disconnected and numb. Familiar with this feeling or lack of feeling, I quickly realized I was petrified of what the next day was to bring. Yet I drove myself to Christina's and discovered she was the perfect person to help with me my self-consciousness. (Jean Houston says, "Self-consciousness is a terminal disease." Isn't that a great line? The first time I heard this I realized I felt so sad with the realization that I was killing mySelf off out of concern as to what others would think if I were truly me.)


I felt so safe with Christina as she led me not through singing during that first lesson, but making all kinds of noises. We did motor boat up and down the piano keys, then she had me shouting "Hey" and flinging my arm into the air on the high notes as well as nasally singing out "Nee, nee, nee, nee, nee" reminiscent of the Knights of Nee in the Monty Python movie. I realize Christina is in my life to be my therapist of sorts a I get comfortable with my voice and exorcise the negative messages from the Old Story from childhood about women being quiet and not drawing attention to themselves. Those messages are escorted away when singing "Nee" and "Hey." I didn't realize they still inhabited my being until my first voice lesson....which brings me back to the New Story.

What is the New Story in your life? Is it shouting or calling to you and you don't realize it or you're just not paying attention? Is it more quietly trying to get your attention through the noticings of your heart? What stirs your heart or has it gone to sleep like mine did for so long unattended and neglencted? What ruts or habits do you get into and how long does it take you to get out once you realize you're in a rut? (Getting into nature, among people or cranking up my favorite music are great rut routers.) What things do you avoid that you tell yourself if you were someone else you might try or if you had more time? What things do people tell you you're good at yet when they do you cringe inside? Have you avoided like me taking a class that would make you stretch and lean into your fear? These are all possible clues and cues to the New Story in your life which like the little plant in the above photo has been waiting in cold dark Mother Earth (or ME in my case and YOU in yours) for just the right time to emerge. Something is waiting in each of us, wanting us to wake up so we can more fully take our place in the world. Regardless of what shows up as tomorrows headline, this is Good News! I'll sing or shout, "Hey" and "Nee" to that. - Dawn, The Good News Muse

Waking Up

A friend from many years ago contacted me this past Spring after synchronisitically finding my radio show "Wake Up & Live" on-line at the Radio Free Nashville program schedule site. She shared that for months she would park in the same parking spot at a local grocery. She would open the car door and see "Wake Up" spray painted on the curb in two areas and wonder, 'Wake up to what?' Through a series of events, we rediscovered one another. Months later, I found the parking space and of course, had to photograph the mystery message or directive spray painted I suspect by some teen who unbeknownst to him or her also had a message for me.

In reflecting on the close of one year and the beginning of another, I've been pondering what it means to 'wake up' in my own life. Thus far I've determined, waking up is far more simple than complex and it's not found in the mall or stock market.

I know I'm awake when my insides smile and making blueberry jam this summer did just that. Early one morning, in July's hot summer sun I picked blueberries at my friend Bernie's farm, blueberries which I in turn cooked and canned. I had never canned anything in my life, but I had grandmother's who had. I stood in the kitchen feeling deep joy and a kinship with these women on my family tree who were long gone physically yet so present with me. As the steam rose and sweet smells filled the air, I danced around the kitchen to Ray Charles "One Drop of Love." I filled a dozen small jars with jam juice and berries then as I began to clean up my mess, I heard a pop. In canning popping is a good sign, a sign that I would be able to eat blueberry jam for months to come. I called my mother and a friend who celebrated with me. They knew exactly what I was feeling, well maybe not the dancing part. The little symphony of pops continued for quite some time as each jar in its own time sealed. Making jam brought me deep joy.

I'm awake when I feel joy as well as sorrow. I had no idea that I would loose Templeton, my dear cat of nearly 18 years,earlier in the year. Templeton's illness and passing was one of the most beautiful, gut wrenching experiences of my life, topped only by the experience I had with my father three years prior as he passed. During the lengthy period in which Templeton quit eating and declined, she taught me the importance of living each moment with love and in love while releasing fear, control and my agenda. Templeton and my father were similar in that both when it came to closeness would rather be alone than with, yet in their passing I was allowed to be with. My father allowed me to sit by his hospice bed and sing. As we held hands, I sang every song that came to me via the hymnal from the church of my childhood still etched in my memory. When I finished those, I sang songs from the women's drum circle of which I had been a part then I went through hymns again.

Templeton allowed me to hold her for seven hours the day she died. I held her fearlessly (which for me was a feat) feeling only love and gratitude while reminiscing about our journey together.When she died, I wrapping her in quilt squares with butterflies on them made by one of my grandmothers. She was buried the next morning in our backyard with sunflowers to cover her grave. Templeton and my father taught me that the heart is deep and rich and only stopped by us when we live on autopilot and prevent ourselves from feeling. Tears are part of the heart's language but how often we ignore them rather then embrace and let them flow.

I am awake when I listen to and follow my heart, my personal GPS system. After Templeton died, the last thing I wanted was another cat. Yet my neighbor called two weeks later just prior to Valentines to tell me that a kitten had showed up at their home. This kitten embodied love, or so she said. I agreed to look at her. That night I reluctantly ventured down the street. I looked through the window and saw a little calico kitten playing with my neighbor's daughters. My heart literally lept. Mystery entered my life that night and five months later was followed by Bogeysattva who took my breath away when I saw him curled in a little bundle at the Cat Shoppe.

These litttle bundles continuously remind me of staying awake to love and the opportunities of living rather than sleepwalking through life.

Waking up is vital especially in these times where superficially things seem to be going very wrong. We've the opportunity every moment to wake up and live life at a deeper level. What clues and cues surround you that suggest how you might wake up to some unlived aspect of your life? What brings you joy? What touches you and makes you cry? What makes you smile inside?

Sharing Champagne

It all started July 4th sitting near Nashville's riverfront awaiting the yearly fireworks display. From my folding chair on the sidewalk, I looked around at the masses many of them drinking beer, socializing before the evening’s colorful climax. I looked around and was embarrassed to admit what crossed my mind for I found myself thinking, ‘I really don’t like people.’ I eventually confided my judgments in the person with me who confessed he was thinking likewise.

Upon further shared wonderings, we determined it wasn’t necessarily people we disliked as much as people’s unawareness as well as our materialistic culture where consuming and competing trump consciousness and connecting the dots. We wondered what it might be like to celebrate an event such as the fourth somewhere in Europe. Certainly in France for example there would be drinking, but surely it would be more refined as in wine? I didn’t mention that I had earlier in the week intended to buy a bottle of champagne, not necessarily for this particular evening but for a celebratory moment.

As I sat wishing for that intended drink, I heard a voice ask, “Who wants champagne?” The voice belonged to a woman in a nearby group. Her friends were all drinking beer. To her surprise, I called out, “Now I know why I sat by you guys. I’d love a glass of champagne.”

Mary Beth could have easily thought me strange and ignored me, but she didn’t. We toasted in lovely glasses then talked. I sipped shared champagne acutely aware that this woman’s generosity altered my attitude as well as reminding me of synchronistic times when the very thing I was thinking arrived as if the Universe or God was saying, “You asked and here it is.”

Of course some people could say: If God or a spiritual being provides champagne on demand why can’t this being end strife and suffering in the world? I don’t have that answer. But I do know shared champagne suddenly created a shift in the lens through which I experience life.

The next day heading out for my morning walk, I heard a neighbor call, “Dawn, I’ve some clothes for you.” Some people pay personal shoppers to assist in their wardrobe selection. I have Judy a neighbor who periodically shares clothing finds with me from her excursions to area yard sales. The week prior I had worn two shirts and a skirt courtesy of Judy that received several compliments.

That afternoon I remembered owing a bit of money to the young woman who designed my website. I hurriedly sent her an email promising I’d place a check in the next day’s mail. She suggested instead that I give the money to a cause I support. The local Humane Association received a check from me on behalf of Leslie sharing her time. I then asked someone consulting with me if she would do likewise. My client happily in turn donated the fee for my service to an area family shelter continuing the cycle of sharing time and money initiated by Leslie.

Suddenly everything I saw or heard was related to sharing. My friend Yvette told of sharing eleven inches of her newly cut hair with a children’s cancer hospital for wigs. Another friend related her story of connecting through different websites with two young people in Kenya who she now shares a minimal monthly donation with, allowing one a college education and the other food and clothing. These two young people, born into opposing factions, have now met thanks to shared connections with my friend half the world away. Another friend navigating a major health crisis asked if she could share in the healing presence of my kittens. I gladly agreed although my kittens seemed more interested in tumbling and entertaining my friend than sitting in her lap as I envisioned. Shortly after this, I returned from a walk to find my neighbor and his friend on our roof cutting tree limbs that I had said thirty minutes prior needed cutting. They shared their time and energy and in turn I shared gratitude and pay.
I even discovered the unobtrusive way in which nature quietly and persistently shares with us. One morning as I sat with my eyes closed in the gliding chair on my deck, the birds sang and insects hummed. Nature shared its song as well as its vibration as I not only heard but felt the palpable presence of everything alive in my backyard.

Opening my eyes the first thing I noticed were the flowers nearby, impatience to be exact. Several blossoms seemed to look at me as I looked at them. It was in this mutually shared moment that I realized sharing is inevitable. We cannot not share. We are constant participants in a cycle of sharing the tangibles and intangibles, be it our money, time or energy or our quiet judgments and critiques.

The only thing within our control is the quality of our awareness. We choose to be open or closed, live on autopilot or practice presence. My autopilot was definitely working the night of the Fourth as I sat in judgment of those around me thinking they weren’t connecting the dots forgetting my only task is to connect my dots, the ones within me impacting my experiences.

This realization prompted me to connect other dots, the ones related to God’s seeming non-interventionist attitude toward the world. What if our inattention is a primary cause of discord not only in our personal lives but in the world? What if the fabric of community and culture unravels as we neglect presence? What if God or a creative power is waiting, waiting for us to wake up to the many ways in which we can share with one another and increase understanding, empathy and compassion? What if we are agents and angels meant to diminish strife and suffering on earth? What if we don’t have to go it alone, but we’ve partners in one another as well as in the spiritual realms to assist in manifesting our desires and needs?

I contributed to the unraveling of my internal fabric as well as the greater whole while sitting in judgment the Fourth of July and hopefully began to mend my portion of the tear through having the presence and courage to acknowledge my judgments and realize our shared journey on this shared planet.

How beautiful that a stranger’s graciously offering a synchronistic glass of champagne initiated a shift prompting me to hear and see the many threads we weave in life’s fabric, threads that whether we’re aware of them or not, we are continuously sharing. For we journey as individuals separate yet together connected through shared threads of conversation, smiles, glances, money, pets, children, hair, energy, thoughts, stories, ideas and inspirations, and yes, champagne.

Imagine a world in which we're aware and grateful for the many opportunities and ways in which we share the tangibles and the intangibles. Let's toast to that.

Imagine the Shift to Sherpas

For over a year, I’ve pondered the concept of playing with pain, how to honor and feel the sorrows that flow through my life in a way that’s light while not diminishing what I’m feeling.
 

As one who encourages clients to create community with whom to share, my ponderings haven’t taken me past the pages of my journal where my inner community has been stumped regarding the possibility of playing with pain until recently.

 

During an impromptu road trip, I heard myself confiding the idea with a friend. Although this was a trusted friend, my sudden sharing wasn’t planned. I’m uncertain now what even caused me to blurt out my closely held thoughts other than we both have been navigating layers of loss, past and present. My friend affirmed the topic merited further thought as we pulled into Hohenwald, TN to partake of the Sonnenschein Festival, a yearly event promoting environmental consciousness and other local causes like the nearby Elephant Sanctuary. 

The first thing that caught my attention wasn’t an elephant or the environment, but a local tv station’s mascot. Snowbird, looking a bit alien in the near 100 degree weather, roamed the crowd. We quickly took advantage of this photo op.

 

This was one of many laughs that day, yet the one I remember most occurred at a table where three men sat, promoting learning opportunities with Gaia University. One of the men began to explain the process he uses to help people unload emotions. My friend and I jokingly said we thought there was a potential business in what he described. We created an imaginal business card that read: “Got Baggage? We’ll Carry It. Emotional Sherpas for hire.”

 

Sometime later I realized the profundity of what we spontaneously created. Pain is lessened as we’re emotional sherpas for one another, not co-dependently thinking we must fix the other, but through showing up and listening, practicing presence as we trek through life together.

 

Why had it taken me a year to share my private ponderings? Why is it so hard to call someone and say, “You want to come over and play or hang out? I’m in pain.” I'm an adventurer in travel but this involved traversing the space between me and another human being. I was afraid. 

 

Thanks to my friend who sincerely held my idea and feelings as I took a risk, a bridge was created between the two of us as well as my internal counterparts as we trekked between pain and play all afternoon. 

Imagine the shift if we became aware of the opportunities that surround us to be sherpas for one another. 

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 28 June 2009

dawn@imaginetheshift.com 

Imagination - An Unlimited Resource (or How My Funk Flew to Madagascar)

Recently after a long day in which a slight funk had settled over me, I spontaneously called a friend to see if her daughters might join me for dinner. (Hanging out with kids gaurantees the funk will flee.) They were about to sit down to their evening meal so my friend instead suggested I join them. I walked to their home mindful of the importance of community and the fact that I've many dear neighbors.

Soon after eating, Ella announced that she was making an airplane. One of the adults commented with a tone of disbelief, "How will you do that?" Ella quickly replied, "All it takes is imagination." With that she was off with younger Lily at her side.

The three adults sat talking while also aware Lily was soon standing in the recycling bin, her blonde hair barely visible, handing cardboard, also known as airplane parts, over the side to Ella.

With the necessary parts in hand, the two returned to the grown ups to recruit an engineer. I volunteered. I had just that morning been quietly reminiscing about the joys of making things during my childhood summers. I could be lost for hours creating from paper mache, paints and plaster.

In less than an hour, we had created a plane with wings, headlights and styrofoam seats. Ella, Lily and my funk were headed to Madagascar and the Artic while I headed home mindful once again that children offer such vital lessons for us, if we're paying attention.

My two young friends modeled imagination and resourcefulness, something so often missing in our daily lives. Also when initially questioned, rather than thinking, 'It can't be done,' they set out certain they could do what was intended, build an airplane. They didn't settle for traveling to just fifty states. They were world travelers. I had an hour prior walked down the street mindful of my neighborhood community yet they were curious about their world community.

I also pondered how today's children will grow up to respond to the world we're leaving them, a world with great advances thanks to imagination yet a world of critical challenges many due in part to our short-sightededness and the non-relational paradigm in which we've been operating. I wondered how utilizing my imagination as well as acting upon my imaginings might alter the world these two girls and the world's children will inherit.

There's much necessary talk today about the earth's limited resources, but imagination is an unlimited resource, limited only by our lack of consciousness and courage. May we be inspired to rediscover the unlimited resource of an awakened imagination so we can travel to the many undiscovered lands within us, around us and between us. If we did this, imagine the world we might co-create. Imagine that shift!

Dawn, The Good News Muse, June 2, 2008