Sunday, November 6, 2011

Keeper of Sacred Memory


Frost and sun mingled on the edges of autumn’s jewels, luring my attention briefly until an open heart fluttered toward earth disguised as a golden leaf.
Mine released the fist it had become through ongoing days of worry, finger-petals unfolding to reveal the blossoming inner smile of soul recognizing sister as though greeting a beloved not seen in many years. Gently I lifted her up from her perch on frail, dying weeds where she’d fallen, heaven sent.
Like a doll I posed her in several settings, searching for perfect light. My hands raw from the icy air, I continued photographing this blessed visitor, admiring her beauty, adoring her mysterious, impeccably timed appearance, on a morning I’d been feeling heavy and tight.
She reclined on the first crystallized grass of the season, still emerald, laced through a patch of early snow. Though her life was fading, as one would expect given the chill and date, I could not bear to leave her freezing, decaying in the wild world, forgotten. 
Coming in from the cold, I laid her lovingly between the pages of time in a Tanach, keeper of sacred memory.
 ________________________________________________________________
*A Tanach is a book containing the wisdom of Torah (the Five Books of Moses), the writings of the Prophets, and other sacred Jewish texts. In mystical terms, it maps the collective consciousness of our ancestors and progeny throughout time. 

These photos were taken after the first taste of snow in October, a few days before the huge storm that left us without electricity for five days. There is much going on at home so I will be online only intermittently. It warms my heart immeasurably when you leave comments. I feel so deeply loved in this world, I hope that my photos and writings remind you that you too are loved, and surrounded by blessings.

To read a recent poem I wrote about gratitude and blessings please visit Buddha Chick Life, where you'll find articles and poetry from several wise women.  I hope you will take some time to enjoy the offerings there.

linking to:



Friday, November 4, 2011

Life Is A Very Narrow Bridge



Look for the blessings, seek them out each and every day, these are the words I say to myself, a personal mantra. This is how I find earth to meet my feet and air to breathe when I feel as though I’m falling, spinning, gasping, lost to myself like a tumbling leaf, shaken loose from it's secure tree home. I look for blessings. Simple is best, the sweet sound of my dog sighing in her sleep, the soothing scent of oolong tea, the weight and warmth of the mug fitting perfectly between my palms, the taste of the first sip early in the morning, a row of leaves hung like prayer flags carrying the secrets of a heart’s longings upon the gentle breeze, or a single bright autumn jewel resting on a stiff, tired weed. 


Kol ha’olam kulo gesher tzar me’od, veha’ikar lo lifached k’lal. The whole world is a very narrow bridge, and the main thing is to have no fear at all.” ~Rebbe Nachman of Breslav

Like all of us, Rebbe Nachman deeply understood the fragility of life, the depth of human suffering. He also knew and taught the value of a joyful heart open to gratitude for the blessings interlaced between life’s painful challenges. I don’t know if it is possible to go through life with no fear at all, it isn’t for me, not so far, but I'm no tzadik. Still I do believe we can hold both fear and blessing in the same warm cup carefully balanced between curved palms, delicate, fragrant, so full of emotion it could spill over in any moment. For this awareness I am grateful each and every day.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you are wondering where I've been, we were without power from Sunday through Thursday evening from October's intense storm that pounded the northeast, dumping a foot of wet snow on our town, taking down leaf laden trees and boughs and many utility lines with them. Our area was hit particularly hard. We are grateful that the branch of the oak outside our bedroom did not break off any higher than it did or it would have landed on the roof above our bed. (My 14 year old daughter explained this to me in the morning using the pythagorean theorem!) We heard the sickening crack and saw only white for several minutes as it made its descent then slammed the ground, stirring up snow.