The Game

It started with a simple “tap, tap” on the sunroof of his stroller. He was getting restless. I thought the distraction might keep him entertained.

Our son Devin looked up and laughed, surprised to see me up there, looking through the makeshift window.

He wiggled in his seat then reached his arm up high, high, his fingers touching the wrinkly plastic, reaching for mine on the other side.

I pushed the roof back out of the way and, reaching down, grabbed his hand with a silly sound. He screeched with delight and surprise. We played the game again and again.

Then suddenly, he brought my hand down into his lap and became perfectly still, wrapping his small fingers around mine peacefully.

It reminded me of when he was a newborn and would cling onto a finger with his entire fist. There was something so intimate, so miraculous about that simple movement. It was as if he had forgotten it was me back there, pushing the stroller and now that he’d found me wasn’t going to let go.

We walked this way for a bit, holding hands. Then suddenly, not quite satisfied, he wiggled in his seat again. Reaching his hand up, up, up, his fingers found my other hand, the one pushing the stroller and wrapped around tight.

Thinking it was just a passing touch, a fleeting idea, I let him pull it down closer to him, now pushing the stroller with my belly.

It wasn’t a passing idea. It was a sure thing—a focused request. Let’s have some togetherness time, Mom. His two hands held mine as tenderly as could be. With this simple choice, I felt my heart swell beyond where I think it’s ever gone before.

Miraculous moment became mile as we walked like this, him holding both of my hands sweetly, peacefully, silently, happily. And I, hands occupied with more important things, pushed the stroller using only the weight of my body and cherished every single, labored step.

Devin reminds me again and again how simple true happiness is.

Awakening Abundance

As I am preparing for the second meditation class I am teaching (check out my website at www.dreamcatching.net for more information), I am struck by how much connection there is between abundance and self-care.

This week we are focusing on the root chakra—the first energy center in the body, which is located at the root of the spine. According to principles of energy medicine, this chakra rules issues associated with safety, security and money.

Our basic needs as humans are linked to our root, our connection to the earth. How well we fill our own core human needs—eating well, sleeping and having enough money to put a roof over our heads, and feed and clothe ourselves is linked to how abundant we feel.

I find myself coming back again and again to how necessary self-care is. As a new mother, I have heard time and time again the old oxygen mask analogy. We first care for ourselves so we have energy to give. Life gives us so many examples of this.

New parents know how hard it is to help a new little human fall asleep when they themselves are sleep deprived. When it comes to relationships, most of us have learned, one way or another, that if we don’t have enough energy to care for ourselves, we usually aren't giving to others from a clear, loving place either.

I believe abundance comes when we have found a way of living—-be it through our life’s work, or simply in the way we live, day-in-and-day out--that fills us up as well as others.

When we are willing to dip into the well of abundance that is all around us—-be in by accepting the smile of a stranger, appreciating the beauty of nature or remembering how glorious it is to be alive and able to breathe—-we become not a user of energy but a magnifier of it. The more committed we are to filling up with life force in a way that is aligned with what our inner spirit wants for us, the more chance we give that life force to grow.

A Windy Day

The wind is gusting leaves up the river. The sky is sunny. The neighborhood is full of friends, families and otherwise adventurous folks biking, walking and riding against the breeze celebrating this sunny Sunday. After a week of rain, it’s welcome respite.

I find it funny that after writing the last blog entries first about the river being so low and clear (Oct. 4), then about it being hidden by fog (Oct. 5), today it’s roaring, high and muddy from the rains. We’ve experienced our third flood in 13 months and although we weren’t evacuated this time, I’m reminded how life can change on a dime.

Whether it’s through the destructive earthquakes in Asia, hurricanes in the Gulf or rain in our neck of the woods, nature is constantly teaching me to be grateful, patient, and how the adage about the only thing constant being change is so true.

As I watch my son sprouting from a baby into a young boy before my very eyes—my own little patch of nature indoors—I’m reminded how near we as humans are to the changing currents of the outside world, and how just when we think our well is dry, everything can turn and we can be overwhelmed with great abundance flowing our way.

Stretching My Soul

My head was up, my arms and legs stretched as far as they could go, my index finger and thumb around my big toe. It was a yoga time and the position of the moment was a doozey.

I’ve been taking a Hatha Yoga class that has been stretching me physically, mentally and spiritually.

Suddenly, out of the blue, the teacher said, “Wherever you are is perfect.”

Boom. For some reason, my thoughts shattered. I woke up.

Although I hadn’t realized it, my mind had been screaming things like, “Am I doing it right?” and “Oh, gosh, I’m out of alignment, I’m just sure of it." "She's going to see me and tell me I'm doing it wrong!"

Heidi’s simple statement brought me right back into the heart of what yoga was all about for me when it first came into my life so long ago.

At the time I was studying with a very gentle teacher Jane Morris. Jane taught the very gentle, deeply renewing art of Kripalu Yoga. Even moreso, Jane taught--by her raw, honest example--what it really means to accept yourself just as you are.

When I am doing something out of my element, I find I am often very self-critical. I find myself feeling tense. Am I doing okay? I want to achieve. I want to be perfect. It's an old habit, slow to go.

Somehow, a sense of shame about doing things "wrong" once settled into my being and I have yet to get it out. When something reawakens it, I’m plunked in the middle of all the early insecurities and stresses that went along with it way back when.

Then someone says something like Heidi did this morning: “Wherever you are is where you are supposed to be” and the child in me melts away. The adult steps forward—the adult who has learned a bit of wisdom through the trials and tribulations, clearing and cleaning, self-evaluation and self-absorption life has sent her way.

It was so nice to be reminded not only what yoga is all about, but also life. The only way to stretching beyond where we are is to love where we’ve been. Namaste.

(See my website www.dreamcatching.net for a great quote about this.)

Foggy Morning

I had to chuckle to myself as I drove my husband to the train station early this morning. After writing yesterday’s blog entry on clarity, there I was, barely able to see the car in front of me, the fog was so dense. Things were, you might say, less than clear.

In fact, as I drove along Route 29 South, a highway that hugs the river, I couldn’t even tell the river was there. All I saw was thick fog, even more dense above the water than everywhere else.

That got me thinking. A gift of nearsightedness—be it physical, spiritual or induced by some outer force—is that it brings us back to the here and now.

Having a clear view can be delightful. But being long-sighted also means we're able to see all that is necessary to get from where we are to where we’re going.

Sometimes keeping our eyes on the few feet just before our face is what we need to do to focus on the task at hand.

Funny, but that’s kind of how I went through my day today. First, I did the laundry. Then, I had an appointment. Then I picked up vegetables from the organic farm where we have a share. Then I straightened the house. And on and on. During each task, I was focused on it and it only, almost as blind to what was next as the fog made me this morning.

It wasn’t a day for history books (or even a blog, for that matter). Just a day. A day where I put one foot in front of the other. Nothing more. Nothing less. As I reflect back this evening, I feel good. Peaceful. I got a lot done.

As seers, each on our own unique journey, sometimes we’re blessed to only be able to see what’s before us. Other times, we’re blessed to be able to see straight to the bottom—of an issue, one’s soul, or the river, whatever the case may be—and back.

A Clear View

I can't remember the river ever being this clear. In part, it's because the water level is low. We really need rain.

I think the clarity also has something to do with the floods we experienced last spring. The riverbed is still covered with the silt that settled after the waters receded. I think the swift currents of last spring may also have been responsible for uprooting the duck weed that, this time of year, has been known to crowd our view.

As I'm doing my own inner clearing, preparing for the meditation class I will begin teaching in two weeks on letting go and beginning again, I'm struck by another benefit of "clearing out"--gaining clarity. It's funny, but I've never viewed the benefit of clearing in quite that way.

In the clearing process, it is natural for things to get stirred up like the muck on the river floor. When that happens, it's nice to remember that eventually it all settles again. I know in my own life, usually after the turmoil has subsided, things become clearer than ever before.

Sometimes we've gained a clarity about where we are supposed to be, where our souls are calling us to go. Other times it is a clarity about how beautiful the moment is, or how fortunate we are. Sometimes, it is simply an open view, allowing us space to see what is next in a whole new light.

Back in The Water

She had hung from the rack in the back of our garage for the past few years—untouched by water. Yet this year, on a lazy weekend morning, I asked my husband to help me carry her down the steep riverbank to the river’s edge.

Why I hadn’t been kayaking in so long is a string of stories. First, I was pregnant and too round for narrow opening. Then I was a new mom and too tired to think of it. Before that, I was too busy, complacent or taken with the pursuit of other things. I really don’t remember.

On this day, however, as I pushed off from the shore and felt the quietude that only comes from floating so close to the water, something occurred to me—this was the dream.

When I was a child and our family had rented a rough cabin on a New England lake, I had decided in my heart to someday live in a house on water and have my very own boat. Our home today isn’t fancy and my kayak a long cry from a yacht, but it’s exactly what I had desired for so long—a simple, beautiful dream.

I often find myself focusing on sleepless nights, daily chores or dreams yet to come that I forget to nourish those whose moments of fruition have already passed. The true dream is in how we live with what we have yearned for after it’s already here.

Whether the dream is a partner with whom to share our life journey, work aligned with our spirit, a child, a healthy body, money to pay our bills, or something else entirely—the more mindful and grateful we are of it in the present moment, the greater it becomes.

I believe striving, yearning, pursuit and hope for the future give life great meaning. I also believe living a happy life is about celebrating what we’ve got, long after the victories have been won.

As I gratefully took a stroke of the paddle and eased the kayak out onto the water, I felt a wonderful sense of calm. I am in the dream, and I’m happy I'm here.