CLEANSING HADES

Every July and August the ancient island filled with a myriad of tourist in search of glamour and abandonment. (It wondered if they knew how she toned down her beauty at this time of year). Her land turned brown and dry and the sky dimmed its blueness in response. Yet the bright light was ever present, always exposing each crevice and wild curve. Everything somehow looked like a fantasy in Mykonos. A trick from the joker above, though many humans thought it was their doing. 

The rock groaned with the added weight, yet held it all with God like strength. The rumble of planes riding across its back. The pounding of music reverberating its cement covered land. Tourists moving along its streets like army ants sensing sweets nearby. Cars screeching, horns beeping in order pass each other in an effort to be first, there always seemed to be a mad rush. 

This is what saddened the island, that odd density that filled the air. A thick energy that felt like Hades was nearby.

Yet the island was clever. Every July and August, the island asked the wind to free her of this heaviness, to clean the air and its people.
And the wind came, as friends do.
To wildly tickle the small trees and fields and make the aegean roar with laughter.
On some days the energy on the island was so thick the wind rushed in with force. A wild whipping that shook the shutters and caused the birds to swerve and curse. Yet all knew it was for the best. 

The island grinned, and dreamt of September.

RESEMBLING LIGHT

Katerina woke, yet kept her eyes closed. She needed to pee. Her sigh held resignation.  She never made it through the night now without needing to pee.  Her eyes opened and she looked towards her front door. She must have fallen asleep in her chair while knitting again. Well, at least it would be easy to get up. Her knees were not what they used to be, years of walking  over cobblestones and mountains had once made her muscles firm, now the bumpy corners of her bones were stiff, swollen and gravely. She thought how she resembled this dry island more with each passing day and smiled at the idea.

The small, dark room still smelled of the herb tea she sipped earlier. An infusion of warm comfort taught to her by her Yaya in this very same house. She inhaled the magic deeply as she leaned forward and with chubby brown fingers braced on the chair’s arms,  pushed herself to standing and moved slowly to the door.

She leaned against the front door and felt the vibration of music, a rhythm that seemed to intensify with each beat, drunken laughter and squeals accompanied the sounds. She lifted the metal latch and opened her door a crack. 

In just that small line of open space her house became a part of the disco just down her little lane, colored spinning lights floated into her living room and upon her chair, her knitting needles twinkled. She remembered opening this door as a child, when the moon was bright and the island was silent. In her girlhood she could hear the moon whisper. 

There was no choice, she would have to step out in her nightgown. Grabbing her shawl tightly in front of her, Katerina stepped out into her narrow lane, quickly maneuvering herself past the night’s partiers. Imagining herself invisible as she opened the next blue door to relieve herself. 

There was a time when this little room down the lane seemed so modern. 

The stones felt the slow rhythm of Katerina’s feet. It had known these feet for many, many years now. Recorded the print of her since the day she was born. It cherished how she once flew through the ally ways and down to the sea on a summers day, her feet slapping hard against warm rocks with a rush of aliveness and roars of laughter. How many nights as a teen had she spent looking up at the sky? Ah, her secret night kisses and embraces. Her grieving goodbyes to loved ones yet open door and arms to strangers. She owned kindness and the island felt humbled to hold her. Yet tonight she felt almost invisible.  The earth and rock comforted itself. Katerina’s essence was forever recorded in the stones and air. Knowing her, she would always be whispering humorous thoughts into the human minds as they lost themselves in the maze of cobbled streets.

Katerina looked quite lovely tonight with her silver hair falling, thought the moon. She was beginning to resemble light. How wonderful. She must be on her way soon. How she would laugh to see Mykonos from here.

HUGE

Operations and chemo had left him weak and had not had the results intended. He was pissed.

As I entered the room to meet him, he sized me up. He took in my messy blond hair half tied in a knot, my colorful dress and my flip flops. Not very business like, but very me. He was polite enough not to roll his eyes yet his expression held great irritation at the thought of sitting through a “breath work” session. I could hear the inner dialogue. “What the hell is breath work anyway? What was the point of all this?” I didn't blame him one bit. I could not deny it, this sucked. 

Call it breath work or rebirth breath work. I have heard all the jokes. “Oh! Will I be RE born? Haha. Will I?” “You want me to breathe for an hour? Oh I don't think I want to do that.” 

It’s part of how we live these days, that makes simply breathing, or openly talking about ourselves feel incredibly awkward. Why would you want to review the ups and downs of your life?  Yet that is exactly what I was about to ask this man to do. 

To open his heart to a stranger. 

I pulled up a chair and he sat on the bed, feet on the floor facing me. Legs crossed, arms crossed and eyes stern in an energy lock down. Slow, concentrated exhales streamed from his nostrils in an attempt to hold his “fed up” in check. 

I began simply by telling him about me and my life. The ups and downs that led me to what I do and how I think. I talked clearly with facts only. This was not a man who wanted to hear about intuitive thinking. I understood. Then I asked about his illness, followed by his job. He was a retired math professor, the keeper of rules, the one you looked to for vindication of your worth. 

I listened to him talk, I heard the monotone stories and the ones that made him offer bored and tired sighs, others that pulled inhales deeper into his being. 

I attempted to mention his breath, and how it was effected by his stories. He shrugged, considering it a possibility.

We went to his childhood, to times of strictness and the learning of life’s book of ‘correctness’ according to man. Life in a New England town. There was an almost invisible change to his eyelids as he mentioned his father, who was once a musician. Admiration and an echo of a child crept into the base of his throat and the tone of his voice owned curiosity and freedom.  

What an honor it is to listen to life stories, to listen to a heart opening, cracking, wrenching, blooming, inspiring… To offer truth and have it returned, even when it doesn't feel pleasant. It holds a sense of energy clearing and true validity beyond good or bad. It’s soul centering.

He awkwardly lied down, shy in his resting pose. Yet brave and polite enough to give it a chance. We added some pillows to prop him up, to try to comfort the constant growing pain in his belly. 

“What will we do now?”

We breathe, inhale followed by an exhale. Simple. Just loose that pause between the two. Create a circle. 

Resistance slowed us, he said. “ This doesn't feel good. I feel odd” 

It can feel that way at first. Focusing on the self, breathing life fully can make you dizzy and scared. 

I thought of an image to help him relax.  I asked him to picture his father’s hands, his fingers as he played trumpet. His inhale caught and his cheeks brightened with a rush of feeling. The rhythm of breath became a circle, joining the universe in its spinning. A current all its own as it connected all life. 

I felt myself drifting into the distance of his awareness, as he felt his father. As he felt everything.

Tears. 

I sat

Quiet.

Watching love. 

Time moved.

After a time he said

“Oh!” 

What is it? How do you feel? 

“I feel, oh. I feel tingly and well, happy. There is no pain at all. I feel no pain just… I am huge. My um energy? It’s huge! Oh wow” More tears.

“Can I stay here a while?” 

Oh Yes. Lets. I put my hand to rest on his shoulder and we hung out in peace.  

LEAVING RESISTANCE

Resistance definition according to the Oxford online dictionary: 

"The refusal to accept or comply with something; the attempt to prevent something by action or argument."

Consider resistance as it relates to an emotional conversation. Consider resistance as it relates to feeling your own emotions. 

You are here in this magical life and you may not travel the world or fly into space. Yet you are blessed to journey through every emotion. Each emotion holds an essence and a lesson that offers you the possibility of being a better person. Each emotion is a link to honoring of your truer self.

To tell yourself or another you are not sad when you are shuts a door, it hurts.
To tell another or yourself you are not angry pulls a curtain on your needs or thoughts and tells another they are not worthy of truth or trust.

To tell another everything is perfect when you are lost keeps you in loneliness.
To listen to another share their worry is the greatest honor there is. A flight to the moon in its wonder.

When sharing those emotions that you feel may be unpleasant, if you share them softly and from the heart you are offering the raw you, the vulnerable you, the bravest and most gloriously growing you. 

Each emotion holds the trueness of life, so another human can learn to connect to you through empathy.
Each emotion holds healing, as it leaves it turns into a space for insight to enter.

Emotions are not a glue, they do not stick to you. Unless you try to close them in.
And yet, maybe emotions do hold glue when we share them with each other, we become united…

Emotions are like music. Rock, symphony and the softest flute and cymbal.
Music is so close to emotion that a song can echo through your soul and find an emotion to match the melody.
Being able to say “I feel” is one of your greatest gifts. Coming back to the purity is one of the finest pieces of music in existance. It honors your rightness as well as others. It comes from a place deeper than correctness according to
life or religion or education. It moves life towards the wisdom of your soul.

THOUGHTS FROM ABOVE

I found this writing of mine, and thought it was worth sharing. This was written less than a month after my Mom passed. I am sure she loves this. 

I am in the air. Flying from Madrid, Spain to San Jose, Costa Rica. Hello.
Its beautiful up here. I keep looking out the window, watching the cotton clouds and the little windows they create that let me peak at the earth below.
I love being in the air, it feels like I am in the “in between”. This space where I can think for hours, review and ponder.
I have been pondering a lot lately and it feels good. It feels like strong thoughts that have directions and insights. They holds roots in bigger definitions of what I want and how I can love responsibly.

In this luxury of time to I decided to write to all of you .
Long flights are likely to have some turbulence. Its a lot like life. Hours can pass and the flight is beautifully smooth. You look out the window from your moving space in the sky and life feels so tranquil. The human face softens in a mirror of peace. Then turbulence hits and your whole being stiffens, the heart rate quickens followed by clammy hands. Even if you are one of those that does not react physically, your awareness of your lack of control suddenly is alert, your breathing is more conscious and you enter the now. You may even begin to think of everyone you love. (Of course you may also think of the pilot).

In life we also have these smooth times. These days upon days where grace runs through your veins and out of your eyes. Where you can share your wisdom and wit easily with the world and it all rings true. (You know from the responses you get)

Think about this past year. How has it been for you?

On a recent retreat I asked the group if they felt like they were the hero in their life story at the present time.
Hero moments arrive in a variety of ways. One common way are times that resembles turbulence on a flight. In life they are the unsure moments, the mucky or sucky moments, loss of control moments, loss of love moments, loss of the life of a loved one, a job, integrity or confidence...you get my drift.
These are the moments when you suddenly are stuck in the now, time moves differently here. Some may say energy shrinks yet I think it expands. Life becomes a challenging workout. If I were to take a pose for you I would stand with arms open wide in question waiting for an answer. When you are here, you are my hero.

Just like when you are in turbulence on a plane, hero moments require faith.

Muck and Grace. Life is magical like that. All is going super smooth and then suddenly you are back in the spin cycle being cleaned again. Being tested by experiences that help you define who you are and what you want to be and do in this life.These are the moments when you either listen to fear and doubt, or you hold on and choose faith and responsibility. You may stumble, complain, mourn and cry now and then, its part of the journey, yet ask for support as much as you can. Most important, even if you can't say it out loud, let faith sing in your soul. Please.

To those of you on a smooth part of the journey. Your golden moments are like that glorious sun out my window, creating both light and shadow. You are holding the essence of grace if you choose, share in any way you can. How can you? ( These were some of my questions to myself this year also).

To those of you in the turbulence. Courage and belief are built here. Stories to be told are written here. What you learn here is part of your hero act. What you do with it is your gift.

I am still learning all this as I have a grace moment up here in the sky.

With love from above,
Lucy

MEMORIES GIFTS

Is there is a reason for things? Is there a higher energy? Is there a God? Are each of us part of God? Does life really hold magic?

If so, what might memories be for? 

Sure they help you know how to do every thing you do, without memory we might keep burning our fingers every time we tried to light a match. Ouch, what?! Fire? Ummm, Ouch! What? Fire?! A surprise every time.  Walking would be impossible as the body would not recall how to stand. Movement forward would not exist. We would continuously fall, perplexed at our tumble. 

Yet memories also effect how you react and act on an every day basis. They can make you trip, loose sleep, snap at someone, calm you or know insight and love.

In a way, memories let us own something deeper if you like, they let us have a fuel with which to live and be by. 

They are a river where time does not exist flowing through you.  

Say my life were a movie, the vision I hold of my memories could create scenes of either inspiration or doom. Its really up to me, to understand this moving river I hold. (Of course I could create a damn now and then, a pause that stops the movement of memory)

With as much information as we keep, we have something computers do not have: interpretation and emotion. It’s an alchemy we have, knowing feelings can grow and change as we hold that same story up for view whenever we want.

Whenever we want.

We are free. 

Sit with a pen and paper and write one negative memory you have told many times. A story of a time that was difficult. You know the story,  the one that makes people look at you and ooooohhhh.

Look at your story. Breathe. 

So lets say you are the director of the most inspirational movie.  A Steven Spielberg epic of a never ending universe. Why would a director create that scene of difficulty for the hero? How much stronger would the hero be if he is aware the lessons are for his good?

How can the story be used for future happiness?

Now write a story, a conversation you had with a person you dearly miss. Maybe that person has passed away or maybe they are just no longer in your life. It’s so humbling and empowering to miss someone isn't it? YOU KNOW LOVE.

Close your eyes and enter memories. Sense that person.

Breathe. 

Its interesting how when a person passes we see how they were like Gods, these creators dressed in a human life, we understand the softness and strengths they held in magnitude.  We see everything in a brighter light. 

Now here is what I truly love. As I hold a memory, it feels real.  The intonation of a voice is still present, as are the sensations experienced at different ages of life.  I hold every story . Each being's presence was/is immensely vast.  It has remained in me, so an essence is still very much alive. All comfort and love still exist, I only have to open my heart to it. 

To me, that is magic. Humans can revisit time, they can revisit souls or stories and still learn and love. 

Yet...

It is all still happening now. 

You hold these incredible scrolls of wisdom and fairy tales. 

They have been given to you through time. For what reason? 
Only you can tell that story.

You hold them now. 

Use them well.

LIGHTING CHANGE

Sometimes we think we have it all under control and the universe seems to let us know that change IS. We are all changing, loving, leaving, arriving, dreaming, inspiring… We ALL are. 

This year especially I am inclined to keep that very present in my thoughts. To whisper in the softest way I can so that it simmers and leaves a dusting of inspiration to remember the peace and power of observance during action.

Imagine yourself at the top of a snowy hill. There you are bundled up in a scarf and hat, gloves covering your hands. You are sitting on a sled and admiring the hill’s incredibly steep slopes. How gorgeous to be out on this sparkling day! You’ll just hang here a while and enjoy the freshness. You let your hand reach out and pat the snow and feel, through your glove, a sense of the chill held in the white crystals. How toasty warm these new gloves are!

Suddenly someone comes from behind and pushes your sled. Your neck jerks back in reaction and your hands attempt to squeeze tight as the sled begins to speed downward. The thick gloves have become a burden as your fingers can’t seem to hold a firm grip. Hmmm. Funny how such a simple protection can become a nuisance in a mili-second.  

Your speed increases and you find your mind spitting out sentences. “Who the hell pushed my sled?” “ I wasn't ready!!!” “Shit it’s cold” “Wow look at that tree!”  Shit look how fast I am moving!” Crap how will I stop?” “ How can I be sweating and freezing all at once?” “ I never get to do it the way I want.” “Why?!” “Oh my god I must look ridiculous.”  

In just under four minutes you are at the bottom of the hill panting. You tumbled your way to a stop that left you sitting beside your sled. You look around, you look up. You sigh. It’s that feeling that you missed something.  It suddenly occurs to you, that most of the anxiety that just occurred happened through your own thoughts. That ride could have felt very different.

This has been a year of growth for me that let me practice what I preach. To hold space for myself as the world around me changed. I’ll tell you all about it when I can look in your eyes, it’s that kind of a story. :) 

Sometimes that’s how life is. It pushes you in a new direction and you don't see it coming. It shakes you awake and asks you to keep BEING.  Finding peace and an inward grace during life’s surprises are the lessons we all will encounter. Sometimes what we arrive at is more than peace, it blooms into a new creative force from deep in your soul that reminds you of everything that is truly important.

Every event or sudden turn in life actually holds that LIVE magic. It’s that space where you expand awareness.