The grounded gypsy

I have a new friend who, as I write and, perhaps, you read this, is on her way back to British Columbia from Indiana. She's either on a bus or train, I'm not sure. Neither was she when we parted from the writing conference yesterday.

She cobbled her way to the conference by ferry, sleeper train and fortuitous ride on the fly. Her plans to drive with someone fell through last minute. Somehow, I know that didn't faze her.

I told her she was a gypsy and she didn't argue. She has an untethered, ethereal quality about her, which drew me to her.

My life seems anything but ethereal and untethered most of the time. Kids, appointments, schedules, projects, etc.

However, the past five days at a rather intense spiritual writing conference allowed space and time for detaching and freedom. To the point that, about halfway through, I had to ask what day, specifically, it was. I didn't have to know or, really, even care. Meals were provided (including all sorts of gluten-free goodies like brownies, cookies and muffins I usually must bypass), a schedule was available, I had a comfy bed at a nearby 17-room Victorian house and there were beautiful grounds to traverse anytime. A paradise of sorts.

A paradise for hard work and harder lessons, which would never have occurred in my normal life.

The work of finding clarity for the next step of my life by examining the experience of others, searching my soul, seeing a plethora of possibilities, winnowing that list and settling in to what truly fits me right now. It's only with a day of perspective that I can begin to unearth some direction. There's so much swimming inside my body and mind that needs to calm, dissipate or be expelled. For me, it's not a mental process, but more of a bodily one. There was a lot of talk at the conference of embodiment. I know I physically take things in, so this spoke very deeply to me. Now, I need to unload and only keep what is mine.

A tough challenge.

So while I might prefer to be ethereal and untethered as I have been, I must ground myself to incorporate the conference experience within the context of my daily life. Another opportunity to balance the inner and outer worlds. I find the only way to do that is to take a periodic break from the grind, truly detach, then come back refreshed and, hopefully, in a different place.

I think my new friend has figured out how to live that inner-outer balance with regularity. She's a wonderful model of the grounded gypsy.

• When do I detach and untether myself?
• What happens when I do?
• How does that shape my life as a result?
• What is my inner-outer balance and how do I tend it when it becomes lopsided?
• Is there someone in my life that can be my model or guide?


Push, push, push
rush, rush rush

get this done
and that

write it down,
mark it off

it feels so
mechanical

as if I'm at the
mercy of some
sinister plan

that will eat
me alive

unless

I step
away

take a
time out

regularly

turn that
blasted
machine off

and myself
back on


ahhhh ...
so much better

Rooted in winter

I really do like winter. A time to snuggle up, hunker down and pull inward. I recently told a friend who adores summer and detests bundling up in winter that it may have something to do with the season in which we are born. I am a January baby and she celebrates in June.

Sometimes the lack of access to sunshine can be diminishing, but talking a brisk walk in the sun can be so recharging ... for me, anyway. I remember always feeling so alive in college when walking to and from class (or the local watering hole) layered with rosy cheeks. I am rediscovering that joy this season as I trek back and forth daily to the small office/former storage area I bummed off my husband two blocks from our house.

It also helps that I have live green things (herbs) growing in my sunniest window and just started some microgreens. They are thriving next to the spot where the cats often settle for a warm nap.

I have an appreciation for what goes on underneath that seemingly sleepy state of hibernation. Even though most trees have lost their leaves, I sense the energy that’s been sucked inside and focused toward the roots. That stillness reminds me of the Sundays I worship in silence or the times I meditate or practice centering prayer. My mind and body are quieted, yet so many things are happening gently and deeply. Shiftings of which I am barely aware, but try to trust.

I like the idea of roots and wings; being grounded, yet also ethereal and free to change or go wherever one is led. Winter seems the season of roots, centering life more intimately on family and close friends. For me, it’s also a time of more reflection – perhaps a reaction to the over busyness of the blurred holidays.

This annual cold spell reminds me of “emptying” spiritual practices and the season of desolation. Winter strikes me as emptying and desolate, yet not devoid of Spirit.


• What season speaks most to me?
• What is the spiritual correlation to that season?
• What nurtures my reflective nature?
• Do I ever take a more restful time, a time to hibernate?
• Do I notice that I have cycles, perhaps corresponding to seasons, of activity and inactivity?



the sharp wind
frosts my cheeks,
fills them with redness

I see beyond the
bleak, monotone landscape,
anticipating nature
at work

resting for
another
birth

yet, occasionally
out of that
stillness, a lone
bird sings,

as if to remind
me that after
the deadness,
spring will return