Of Bullets, Butts, Beauty, and Brevity - A Story for Today's Shadow Inspired by Blossoms and a Bag

Early last summer, these blossoms and I began an ongoing relationship. I first noticed them at the street’s edge during a morning walk in late June. Their pastel purple and hot pink got my attention. 

I picked one up to study its beauty. 

Unfurled, a few steps away a cluster of blossoms caught my eye. I bent down to get them only to realize the pink that I thought was part of the flower was actually pink bone shapes on a bag of dog poop someone had left among the blossoms. 

‘

How perfect. We are all one.’ was my first thought. This was quickly followed by ‘Huh? This bag is unnatural. How can plastic be part of the one?’ 

I picked up a blossom and the bag and walked home pondering how it is we’ve unconsciously turned Earth into a dump for inventions, like plastic, whose long-term consequences haven’t been fully considered. 

Ironically our physical bodies will decompose long before the remains of our unconscious behavior. At times I fear we are creating an earth that’s artificial and unreal. 

I walked and experienced the beauty of this blossom that had entered a new phase, a phase many would label dead. Maybe it held a clue to some of the challenges presented here in Earth School.

I wanted to listen further to my finds so upon arriving home, I left them outside and got ready for work. 

The next morning, I mindfully held the blossom. Overnight it had changed ever so slightly, still it was beautiful fading and withering into a new texture, color, and shape. It was departing to eventually live as memory.

To make peace with departure - change, loss, declines, good-byes, and ultimately death - is one of the most necessary (and for me challenging) lessons in this journey. 

Suddenly I wondered if on an unconscious level plastics were made as a means to create beauty that would not depart. A plastic blossom or bouquet outlasts the nature-made yet doesn’t hold the energy this parting one did. Cupped in my palm, I felt the blossoms subtle energy as it shared its presence with me. 

My momentary meditation concluded but I could not relinquish the blossom. I continued to be drawn to it even in this parting phase. 

The next day enroute to a meeting, I intentionally drove past the site where the blossoms lay. To my surprise, more had fallen overnight. Their cylindrical bodies scattered about reminded me of cigarette butts and bullets. 

What might happen if someone had to hold a blossom before taking a drag or taking a life? 

I’m serious. 

What might shift in a person’s experience, their heart, body, soul, and mind, if they first had to hold a blossom in their palm? What space might open up inside if before taking another’s life or numbing one’s own experience, a person studied the lines, colors,and textures of a blossom or considered its wisdom?  

Could a blossom’s beauty be an antidote for violence and its brevity a wake-up call from numbing behaviors and sleepwalking through life?

I took another blossom as a reminder of this encounter. 

Several days passed. I had not walked or held the blossoms nor had I revisited the plastic bag in the mulch where I initially placed it. 

I set off on my morning walk but this time went in the opposite direction. At the turning point, the blossom crossed my mind. I circled a pile of roadside brush awaiting the quarterly Metro pick-up crew and looked down to see, yes, another blossom. Its petals, not yet curled inward, held moisture from the overnight rain. Its veins resembled a miniature lilac forest. 

I walked with this damp open blossom while pondering the importance of not becoming dry. I can easily slip into conditions leading to dryness when I experience life as a burden instead of a gift or when I live from “have to” rather than “get to,” when I tire of tears and close my heart or allow fear from current events to give rise to despair. 

Upon arriving home, this blossom joined the other two reminiscent of papery, Monet scrolls now residing on a bookshelf. 

Still I ignored the plastic bag. Thinking of it created an inner tension. It reminded me of my concerns for Earth. It stirred my frustration toward people who seem oblivious to increasing the plastic quotient on the planet. And it touched my personal despair related to the plastic I see flowing through my own life in the recycling bin each week.      

Weeks passed, before I finally retrieved the bag. In that time, our collective shadow was in the spotlight as black men were killed by police officers in Minnesota, Texas and Louisiana followed by the republican and democratic conventions.

When I finally went to get the bag, I discovered the beauty in it as well as the profoundness of where I previously placed it.

Nearly twenty years ago, we laid sod in our back yard. That sod never flourished. At the time, I didn’t realize each square was held together by green mesh (plastic of course) which over time began to reveal itself.

I’ve associated this mesh with a grid of Love as green is the color of the heart center. This time I realize I’m being shown the grid of Love and compassion rising in this time.

It is perfect that the bag of neglected dog waste (a symbol of our material trash and the stuff of our unconscious which drives our unexamined behaviors and attitudes) lay on the green grid rising from the underworld of my yard. The green mesh is a symbol of Mother Earth rising to love each of us despite our trash and our shadow. 

It is also perfect the bag is covered in pink bones for in this I see the pink bones of the Divine Feminine rising on the grid of Love holding us and all our shit and shadow just like the bag holds the dog waste. These pink bones rise to say, “Give me your weary ways. Let me have your have-to’s, your burdens, all the experiences that have led to your dryness, your heavy heart, your fears, your personal and your ancestral traumas, America’s sufferings and the world’s sufferings. My pink bones know suffering. My pink bones have been used, abused, violated, and raped. And my pink bones are rising in this time.”

Remember how that first blossom prompted me to consider how at death we physically decompose? 

Love is the great decomposer. 

Love is rising to lay to rest our disconnects internally and externally. If we choose, we each have the ability to hold the blossom of our body and feel its energy, hear its truths and reflect before pulling the trigger of reactivity, judgement, and condemnation.

This love is not the love of stuff and material goods or love that is temperamental and based in momentary positive feeling.This is Big LOVE, the Love embodied and lived out by Jesus, Ghandi, Martin Luther King, Mother Teresa, Joan of Arc and millions of unnamed souls throughout time who have held the vibration of compassion in the face of profound judgment, torture and hate. 

This Love dismantles the old forms societally and within us. This Love is needed now more than ever as we witness the breaking down of systems that for eons have used power improperly to abuse and control. Yes, it’s messy, chaotic and violent at times as fear prompts reactivity rather than reflection and as the patriarchy clings to diminishing power. 

Yet Love is rising like the green grid in my yard to lay the dying patriarchy to rest as a healthy masculine emerges to dance with a healthy feminine in us all.

Love is the great composer orchestrating this new dance and love is the great decomposer breaking down our disconnects within and without. 

Months passed since that first encounter with the blossoms. In that time, I allowed my awareness and focus to be hijacked by my own shadow. My reaction to more shootings of black men by police officers as well as officers being shot, the presidential election and the neglect of Mother Earth stirred my fear and created profound inner tension for me. At times I’ve been paralyzed by rage and have wanted to beg Earth to destroy us all. 

I temporarily lost heart. 

Then I finally revisited the bag of dog waste. 

A critter had moved the bag from beside the chair that is my morning sitting place to beneath the Japanese maple surrounded by ferns not far away. The bag had been placed in what I consider the sacred resting place of my yard where I lay dead animals that I find or that find me. 

To my surprise, when I retrieved the bag the waste inside was gone, not emptied, but decomposed, gone. 

A squirrel or a Nature Spirit had done for my shadow what I usually do for the animals. It had  laid to rest my need to control out of fear and mistrust. It had laid to rest my self-negligence, my ignoring, my anger, my grief.  

This is the beauty of grace to me. 

Love is the great decomposer. Love is the great composer. And life on earth is a never ending love story of joy, pleasure, heartbreak, and pain. 

We are each departing, just as the old ways are departing, like the blossoms. If we can only realize Earth is this amazing home offering herself to us for this oh-so brief time maybe just maybe Earth wouldn’t be a dump for plastic or for the unconscious violence we cause to ourselves and others. 

***************

Since last November, I have kept the parts of this story on a nearby table. I’ve avoided completing the story though I have literally from time to time held the parts -dried blossoms,green netting, and a pink bone covered bag. 

This week I shared with someone how my cats have different ways of sharing their messages with me. Redbud for example within one month of being in my home found a Grand Canyon National Park newspaper which he left in the middle of the floor. He had pulled it from a file folder I forgot I even had just as I was debating whether to cancel an Autumn Equinox trip to the Grand Canyon. Four years ago, I heeded Redbud’s message. 

I told my client that at times when I allowed Redbud into my office he left things in the middle of the rug as well. I was mindful as I spoke these words that he hadn’t done so in a long time. 

That evening, I found in the center of the office rug the green netting that is integral to this story. In the netting was a dried green leaf from one of the blossoms.  I was being reminded Love was rising to embrace me and my heart’s dryness so I could ultimately “leave” this self-inflicted dry period. Redbud was also telling me it is time to share this message of Love’s Rising. 

Remember how I've held the blossoms? 

To those of us who carry this Great Love, please hold these Times and our fellow travelers in your loving hands for you and I are the embodiment of those pink bones of the Divine Feminine. 

To ponder: 

1) I have literally held the parts of this story yet avoided this story?  In the quiet before pressing “publish” I realize I likewise have held the parts of this story internally and have avoided My Story out of weariness, fear of judgement, and feeling powerless. 

What parts do you hold related to your story and Earth’s Story in this time? Do you reflect and consider responsible action or avoid, distract, react, and ignore? 

2) What if realizing the brevity and beauty of life holds a key to violence diminishing between individuals and also the self-inflicted violence of judgement and self-hate? Really let Life's brevity sink in. You do not get another NOW. What keeps you from embracing now? What keeps you from seeing the beauty all around you?

3) We are, like the blossoms, each departing. What do you want the memory of YOU to be? How do you want to be remembered by those you encounter each day and by those who will hear of you in future time?

-Dawn, The Good News Muse  at Imagine the Shift 

20 August 2017 

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Earth Is at a Threshold - Do Not Limit Your Flow (When the Ordinary is Extraordinary)

Pay attention to the seemingly ordinary in your life for the 
ordinary reveals the extraordinary which is vital to your journey and ours. 

While walking from the basement, I glimpsed something unusual at the threshold of the door. 

Before I could actually wonder what I was seeing, I knew.  It was the magnet of Earth made from a bottle cap years ago by Ella, who's now thirteen.  I saw it and thought, 'Yes, we and earth are definitely at a threshold, aren't we?' 

We are at a threshold.

Collectively we've the opportunity of lifting Earth as has never before occurred. This is the shift I intuitively sensed when "Imagine the Shift" came to me ten years ago during a walk. I was seeking a title for my cd when the image of a pulsing heart beating with Love's vibration over Earth came to mind.

At the time I was unfamiliar with the HeartMath Institute. Their research has revealed the heart's electromagnetic field measured by an ECG is 60 times greater in amplitude than the brain waves recorded by an EEG. * 

This Earth magnet at the door's threshold was a beautiful reminder of the heart's magnetism and the energy of love within each of us and shared by all when we access our heart's vibration.

We are collectively connected through this energy creating an unseen web. This connection assists us in lifting Earth.  As we lift ourselves, we lift one another.  To collectively lift and shift requires looking at the things that hold us down.

Earth's lying on the threshold to my basement was an even more perfect metaphor.  The basement represents the unconscious and unknown feelings, memories and past experiences.

The stuff of our basement is revealed through the patterns and behaviors that are familiar thus safe despite often being laden with subtle and overt violence to self and others.

My "basement" is filled with stuff.  Early mornings are my designated writing times yet one recent morning I observed myself get out the weed puller and begin making my way around my yard before setting it aside and sitting down to write.  Another morning I strategized how to prop a ladder against the house in order to check out a gutter that needed repair.  Since I'm a nester, home chores are personally satisfying for me yet this was ridiculous and another diversion from writing. Fortunately I called Leonard and the gutter was easily repaired two days later.

These behaviors and ways in which I distract myself from listening, writing and sharing originate in my "basement."  They are fear's emissaries causing me to neglect my heart's vibration and keeping me from potentially being seen. As a sensitive, being seen is even more of a challenge as judgement and terror have periodically stopped me in my tracks.  I have allowed these behaviors fueled by fear to hold me back and create a slow energetic drain at times.

Our collective "basement" has a lot in it as well.  We've prejudices and valuations based on zip codes, what others drive and wear, gender and sexual orientation, geography, politics, religion, race and differing views on hot topics such as gun, immigration and abortion laws.  Each of these things is connected through fear, the fear of loss and vulnerability, the fear of loosing family and tribe, the fear of difference, the loss of control over how we're percevied, feared loss of freedom, fear of one's own death, a divorce or job.

Historically to the present as individuals in a world community the stuff of our basement is much.
When not brought to the light, it shows up in the media and internet.  It shows up on our streets and in our communities through poverty, violence and inequality.  It shows up in the world of sex trafficking, addictions and suicide and in our complacency, disconnects and diversions.

The invisible web of love's vibration also carries our dark side.  Each of our "basements" is connected to the "basement" of others including those I've not even met.

For example, not long ago a video of a little girl brutally kicking a puppy made the rounds on Facebook.  Most folks, including myself, considered this horrific.  I wondered who treated her this way or was this how she saw an adult in her life treat another.  What if this dear girl just feels horribly hopeless and powerless and she's taking it out on her dog?

I also quietly thought, 'How does my anger connect with her abuse toward that puppy?'

I have internal tantrums in which I kick and scream in the pages of my journal. There are tantrums I have with myself for allowing the external to distract me and those I have with the Universe when I've felt particularly disappointed, discouraged and betrayed.  And though I literally kick no one, in that moment I knew my internal tantrums were connected to that young girl's outbursts.

We are connected through our repressed fears, frustrations, outrages and heartaches as well as through love.

Then there's the sexual stuff in our basement.

Looking at the internet, tv, ads and magazines, one would think we are a fairly open society sexually.  Yet nudity doesn't equal openness otherwise the stunning rise of sex trafficking wouldn't be rising in our basement.

How can we have such dark, abusive goings-on when nudity is everywhere?  Literally "covering up" bodies is not the answer.  Covering up the stuff in the basement has gotten us here.  Sex is in our basement and for the most part we shy away from talking openly and honestly about our bodies and beautiful, sacred sex.

Yes, the Earth and we are at a threshold. It is vital that we use this time as an opportunity to own and bring into light then hold in compassion the stuff of our insides or "basements."

What stops us? How do we unknowingly stop ourselves? 

The lessons of this particular morning were not over for another extraordinary metaphor revealed itself unexpectedly that morning.

The water pressure in my kitchen sink has been abnormally slow for the last year.  I, someone who enjoys cooking, have lived with low water pressure in my kitchen for a year!  The fact that my water pressure is usually too high made this phenomenon even more unusual. 

I have tolerated low pressure because I didn't want the hassle (assumption) of finding a plumber. 

I have mindfully practiced Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hahn's suggestion of washing the dishes to wash the dishes daily. **

On this particular day, my patience ceased.  I began my quest for an answer. The first person I called attributed the problem to internal sludge in my faucet.  I looked into the faucet strainer.  Sludge wasn't evident.

This too was the perfect metaphor since energetic sludge created by fear doesn't openly announce itself.  It reveals itself through behaviors and patterns in which I habitually succumb to diversions and distractions that keep me from fully showing up and owning my heart's vibration. 

I called the same person and for a second time he insisted I had something in my faucet.  Feeling frustrated, I went for a walk.  Interestingly I walked right up to a plumber six houses away from me. I asked if he might he be willing to look at my faucet. With only a moment's hesitation, he volunteered to come take a look.  

I ran home and went straight to my basement crossing the threshold where earlier the earth lay. Before the plumber arrived, I decided to see if I could actually replace the new with the old.  I did and it worked!  It worked !! 

When the plumber arrived, I shared my success. He remained curious as to why I had the problem in the first place.  He asked if he could look at the old new faucet. Just as he suspected, inside it was this  tiny plastic piece, a water saving device in new faucets restricting water flow.  

I'm all for conserving water. I have three rain barrels from which I water my flowers and garden when it's dry.  I honor water yet I have not honored myself for this ordinary circle of plastic represents how I restrict my flow When I unknowingly succumb to fears in my basement I allow my life force to be episodically drained and neglect my heart's vibration.

The steps for getting back on my path are usually simple. This particular morning revealed what for me are keys.  I had to take action (go for a walk), be mindful of resources on my path (the plumber) and then be willing to look for what's in my basement!  Listening, acting, sharing and trusting are personal remedies for my inner tantrums and my stuckness. 

What extraordinary messages I discovered embedded in the ordinary of my morning.

To me, this is grace.

We have this precious opportunity to bring the stuff from our personal basements, the stuff that unknowingly restricts our flow so it can be faced and healed in Love's vibration.

And if we don't well..... 

The two ordinary objects of my morning were circles reminding me of the extraordinary truth that circles and cycles repeat themselves. Everything circles around again and again throughout time historically and in our lives daily.  If I don't get it today, it will arrive again tomorrow.

Within these simple things that circle around are profound messages and lessons when we are willing to listen, pay attention and exercise courage through wise action.

Let's move beyond our restrictions so we as individuals and we as a collective here on Earth can rise having cleaned out the basement of our personal lives and the times!

Pay attention to the seemingly ordinary in your life for the 

ordinary reveals the extraordinary which is vital to your journey and ours. 

I call this Good News !! 

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 15 Sept. 2014

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

For Pondering and Wondering: 

1. How do you possibly restrict your flow?

2. What familiar yet uncomfortable patterns repeatedly show up in your journey suggested there's something to be brought to light from your basement? 

3. Pay attention to the extraordinary messages your receive through ordinary objects, incidents and situations. 

* For more on the HearthMath institute and the study where I found the info above click  HERE. 

** Years ago I heard that a Buddhist monk Thcith Nhat Hahn said there are two ways to do anything. You can wash the dishes to wash the dishes (just get them washed) or you can wash the dishes to wash the dishes (be present in that very moment with the process).  I use this with mowing the yard, vacuuming, just about everything because there's such truth in it.  The first path gets whatever done but the second path opens me to sensation, memory, the richness of the moment.  That said, I decided to actually searched for the quote and this is what I found. Click Here.