In the Spirit to notice

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Yesterday, I began to count my blessings – one a day during this thanksgiving month – inspired by the practice of friends on Facebook. I don’t intend just to acknowledge them, but to revel in them, absorbing their goodness and expressing true appreciation.

After a cold and stormy few days thanks to Sandy (but nothing like the East has experienced), I gratefully walked to work in the bright sun and brisk air. It was invigorating. I noticed a neighbor reeling in a spider web from the night before and asked her how Trick or Treat had gone, assuming, like many of the rest of us, it was a bust. On the contrary, she’d had a blast handing out treats and wreaking havoc by lowering the suspendable spider on those unaware. It was Joyce’s first Halloween in our neighborhood. She had no idea that her street typically hosts over 500 costume-clad kids. Her enthusiasm was untainted. I also discovered she has knowledge to impart to me, an old-timer, about the neighborhood: a great replacement-window company and specifically whom to call at Duke Energy to get covers for annoying streetlights. She was eager to share and extol the virtues of East Milford.

Often we forget what we have right in front of us. This morning encounter set the tone for the rest of the day – most especially Joyce’s invitation to join her some evening on the front porch by the fire pit for a glass of wine. Turns out we’re exactly the same age and she is a massage therapist. I told her all about my shaman.

I enjoyed a splendid morning and afternoon in my studio, re-organizing after last week’s mask workshop and anticipating Nov 10’s Artsy Fartsy, winterizing around the air conditioner, recovering from endless days of grant-writing and just hanging out in this beautiful space. I decided to make a few Artsy-Fartsy-related drop-offs on my way home. First, to the wonderful man who provides our transportation. I owed him copies of the kids’ permission forms and an invitational packet for his son. Yes, that means I may have boys next week! While Kelvin wasn’t home, I met his neighbor, each of us smiling as we basked in the sun. I rounded the corner to make another delivery and heard my paperboy’s rooster crow. Reminded me of when I’d gather eggs from my grandparent’s chicken house and shanghaied it for a playhouse.

Next on my list was a stop at the home of Dorian, a fifth-grade boy anxious to become part of Artsy Fartsy. I’d met him in the school parking lot last week and invited him to the program. His second-grade brother, Dalton, tried to convince me he was old enough. In two years, I told him, though his winsome smile and charms almost weakened me. They were with two other boys, sixth graders. When I checked their interest, one impolitely told me “art sucks.” I explained, that as an artist, that was somewhat insulting. I then asked what he was going to be for Halloween. With somewhat more interest, he replied, the Scream. I promptly Googled an image on my phone and told him it was a famous painting and that art did not suck. He remained unimpressed. That’s okay, I told myself, I’ve got Dorian. Dorian is a sweetheart and so eager to be engaged. He’s the oldest of five living in a three-room house with a father who’s really trying to parent and a mother battling cancer.

Though I heard crashing just inside the door, I knocked anyway. One of Dorian’s younger brothers answered. I handed the information to the father, who said he’d make sure it was completed and Dorian could drop it by my house, just down the alley.

I walked home to my own children, said hello and set out, on foot, on a couple of quick shopping errands. As I returned, Dorian and Dalton were buzzing down the street on scooters. Dorian was elated when I said I’d dropped the forms off. All he wanted to know is “When is it?” A week from Saturday and you can ride the van with Kelvin. The van belongs to the church next to Dorian’s house.

I adore my neighborhood and, yesterday, felt that God truly placed me here … to live, interact with, learn from, nurture and be nurtured by my neighbors.

• How is this season tapping into my sense of gratitude?

• What are some of the blessings I take for granted?

• How have others helped me see those blessings?

• When have I felt in sync with Spirit, belonging where I am now?

• How have I expressed gratitude for that?

a simple urge,

really, just

to get out into

the sunshine

and walk

with a destination,

but not a

timetable

the luxury

of making

it a

journey

letting

the gifts

unfold

and being

in the

spirit

to notice

thank you

God's gaze of pure love

My paper version of a Venetian mask

Two things this week have captured my attention and, while they may seem unrelated, they have a similar lesson. The first is how we carry ourselves and use our bodies simply to walk. I am taking a walking class, which may sound silly, but the chiropractor has a lot to teach. And I, for one, have a lot of unhealthy, old patterns to break.

So, I've been practicing this full-body stride, arms and hips swinging, gliding side to side in what, at first, felt very exaggerated, but now seems more natural. Last week when one daughter, my husband and I were out on a walk – I was warned they would not slow for me – I hit a wonderful stride, not even noticing when I eclipsed them. My husband experienced a minor injury, but I wanted to keep my new-found pace. When I reached home, my older daughter said her friend had texted that I was power walking past. I laughed at the notion, but now see the truth. This more natural way of walking is empowering, forcing me to thrust my shoulders back and my heart forward. Gradually, my confidence is shifting as it feels good and I feel better in this new form.

Because of a shoulder injury, I have backed off yoga, trading it for walking and still swimming. I do errands on foot more and notice how others walk. Yesterday, I was aghast at an older man who never looked up, hunched his shoulders and constantly eyed the ground. I silently said a prayer because his posture said he had either been very hurt, suffered or has no self esteem, It really tugged at my heart. I suspect the man may have been younger than he appeared, his stance adding years.

My new walking teacher/chiropractor suggests that, in our culture, we are always moving forward, forcing our bodies, heads, necks and shoulders out of alignment. With some attention, I see that he is right. I understand, though, that an inward adjustment must happen first. I have been trying to live more in the moment. When I don't, I do notice my body shoves itself forward. Now that I am aware, it seems ridiculous. Pushing, pushing, pushing to get ahead somehow and neglecting to savor the now.
...

My creative project this week has been to design paper masks based on the Venetian long-nosed one I brought back from Venice to Lily. My nurture group's theme this week was "Stripped Naked," and I was playing with how best to facilitate opening to that. Here's the introduction that I offered:

We all dream that being somewhere naked is catastrophic. Nudity often is uncomfortable, unfamiliar and forces us to disrobe, hiding nothing and removing our [turtle] shell. It’s truth.

Shedding my masks, pretentions, ego and willfulness allows me to make my being my message. Lets my life speak. Lets us wear our truth nakedly for ALL to see. 

Like all else worthwhile, paring down and casting away the unnecessary occurs slowly, through many little steps and not one major cleanout. It’s progressions of nakedness.

It may be acquiring new skin after sloughing off, layer by layer, the old armor that makes us tough, numb and non-feeling. We outgrow the thick skin that has scabbed over buried wounds. Ultimately, we want nothing between ourselves and God. When my girls were infants and I’d bathe and hold them skin-to-skin, I thought of it as “naked to naked.” That’s how I feel best with God, when I truly experience her gaze of pure love and see myself as beloved. Those rare and fleeting glimpses are enough to hold me.

Pain is a stripping agent, forcing us to come to terms with our humanness. That discomfort stirs up what’s hidden and brings it to our attention.

Real nakedness is seeing ourselves truthfully and without judgment … through God’s untainted eyes. We must remove the glasses/perceptions/judgment of others that cloud our view.

So the idea of creating masks seemed a good way to chip away at our false selves. First, however, we focused on two queries, which assisted deep and powerful sharing:

• To what do I cling?

• What masks can I shatter or put down?
We discussed how hard it often is to put down those masks and traveled to the conclusion that becoming aware is the first, big step and casting them aside is the journey toward wholeness.
Then there was a wonderfully intense period of creativity when we made our masks, put them on and looked at each other. Our passion drove us past the usual stopping point, so I  asked each person to try in the coming week to look in the mirror (real or metaphorical) and see themselves with God's pure gaze of love.
If we could do that often enough, there would be  no need for walking classes, I do believe!


• How do I project myself in public?
• How can I pay attention to how I walk and what it may reveal about me?
• When have my physical and spiritual selves been in alignment?
• What does that look and feel like?
• What mask am I attempting to remove?