Sunday on the Porch

Porch sitting. My first day of the season when all I feel called to do is sit here on the porch and listen to the world. It is warm, and moving into overcast. I'm told it will rain tomorrow. One of the trees in my neighbor's yard is glowing with yellow fuzz, the first chutes of life dancing on the still gray branches. There are some kids bouncing a basketball across the street, talking about nothing in particular, shrieking now and then. The dogs on the other side of the street have been barking off and on all day, and I am getting tired of hearing them. They are little yippy dogs, and the neighbor there has eight - yes eight - of them. These things tend to make me a bit cranky, and shatter the peace of what my porch sitting is at its best. But I am also trying to relax, to enjoy the humanity of it all. This is what we humans do here on Earth. We live our threads as we do, day after day.

I'm listening to one of my favorite songs by my brother Jarah in Peru. "Invisible Indivisible" - "unspeakable radiance in my heart ... unspeakable radiance we hold..." It speaks to me of everything that I feel in this moment. "Prince of love, carry me, carry you 'till we meet, 'till we part." "Past all time and space to places long forgotten, deep and holy..." As I sit here on the porch, I feel still. I feel my heart glowing radiant and bright. I feel all the beauty and joy in the world flowing through me, and all the sorrow and loss too. And to feel so much existing inside of me at once ... "this sorrow, this joy, this let go, this hello, this goodbye..." I am utterly pierced by the River of Love as I sit here.

The Magnolia, which I have now watched for more than half a year, still sits where she did, now a third shorter than last fall. The snows of this brutal winter splintered her height, yet there she stands, the guardian over the final resting place of my little kitty. I feel like her in many ways. The winter has broken both of us down, brought forth tremendous change and transformation. And yet, here we both stand, glowing in the faint afternoon sunlight, a testament to the tenacity of Life.

I went into ceremony on Thursday night for the first time in half a year. Three dreams had called me there, each with increasing clarity and persistence. I knew that it was time to listen, and I am infinitely grateful for stepping beyond my fear and returning to this part of my path. It was intense and scary at times. I was taken into the depths of my search for belonging, community, relationship. She brought me tremendous insight into my actions and thoughts, and the ways that I want connection, and then pull away from it, interfere with its flow, and doubt the truth of it altogether. I love this about the Medicine, the way that she shows me my patterns in the most loving, compassionate way. She does not fix my life, but merely shows me the truth, and opens my heart again and again so that I can have the courage to grow beyond these limitations, and love myself through that process. I am deeply humbled.

She went into my anxiety, too, and all the fear and lack of trust that accompanies it. She coaxed me gently, saying "calm down, it's okay, just calm down." She showed me how I get all stirred up, and try to flee my body. I have never more clearly felt the limitation of being alive in the body, and how uncomfortable I was in my own skin. My hands were burning hot and sweating, my feet were cold, my insides were writhing and tremendously uncomfortable, my heart was full of pain, and I wanted to bolt the room, bolt the house, bold my body, or to at least tear out my hair and scream and beat my head against the wall. I felt all the misery of my body, and of this feeling of being trapped within it. And all the while, She whispered to me, "breathe, calm down, it is all going to be okay."

(There was more written here, but it was lost. I am not feeling quite up to rewriting right now...)