Beach Day -- 8 June (Photo Poem)

In Morning High Tide

I arrive

Beach nearly empty

Save for a family fishing

A birdwatcher.

The tide is high

The path is narrow

Waves lap the shore gently

I think of this week

I'm filled with art

With work on a short story

With friendships and fun

Yet I've kept a structured path

Returning each day to what is important

Writing, music, exercise, meditation.

Where the beach ends

an inlet from the bay into the mangroves

Observation meditation

Blue herons rustle around the water's edge

Large mangrove crabs scuttle on the branches

New growth green and bright at the base

A cell phone floats by in the water.

I'm awake, alive, and curious as I

bear witness to the natural world

I'm on a small path

but it is a vast world.

I walk back

It is hotter now 

a bay breeze pushes me along

Clouds billow up over the Sanibel Causeway

A missing piece for my story falls into place

unexpected.

I wasn't even thinking about it.

Families have arrived now

Toddlers splash in the shallow water

Photographer walks the shore

Fishermen have left

I'm filled with art -- the color, the process

All that naturally comes together

unexpected

in morning high tide.

Beach Day -- 12 May

Middle Gulf Beach

Haiku 

Strong surf running wild

shells congregated masses

sun beaming brightly.

Black-bellied plover

A spontaneous poem after walking the shoreline.

The ancients are calling

Grains of sand carried far

  from their original home

A shell has made a journey

A thousand shells a migration

A million shells an invasion

Our world interconnected

Touch the sand, the shell,

touched by the ancestors

All the ones who came before

Same sun

    Same surf

                       Same destined world.

Confessions: Three Mistakes I Made in 2013

In The New York Times today, columnist Ross Douthat wrote about the three mistakes he made as a columnist this year.  It caused me to think about mistakes I made this year.  I'm sure there are way more than three, but here are the three that I think had the greatest effect on me.

1. "Am I going to practice peace, or am I going to war?"

The last two years at this time of year, I attended the Begin Anew ceremony at the Florida Community of Mindfulness. As part of the ritual, we write down things we want to release from the previous year and then toss it into a burning bowl.  Afterward, we write down our intentions for the new year on an index card.

My main intention for 2013 was to live the question: and in many ways, I have done that.  I lived the question of where I should be and in what ways could I live my life better.  I believe I received those answers, and made changes accordingly.

But there are other things written on that index card that I sadly fell down on.  And the main one was written in purple across the top of the card: "Am I going to practice peace, or am I going to war?"  This was the saying I was going to live by, much like I have in the past with sayings like, "If you're going to worry, don't pray.  If you're going to pray, don't worry" and "Say Thank You."  I have found sayings effective in helping me with situations -- as long as I remember to apply them.

However, in this case I completely forgot about my saying -- for at least the last six months, perhaps even longer.  When I pulled out the card the other day and discovered the saying written there, I felt...ashamed.  Ashamed that I have been putting myself through various sorts of wars, not even realizing or remembering that I had at one time dedicated myself to practicing peace.  Disgusted with myself when realizing there are many weeks, days, hours, even minutes that could have been better if I had remembered this simple saying.  And dedicated to trying once again to make this a reality.  I have made a real study of nonviolence, and doing violence to myself simply does not sit well with me.  It is just so hard to recognize at times.  My next two mistakes fall right in line with this same principle.

2. Not keeping a daily meditation practice.

I start.  I stop.  I feel the benefits.  I forget.

Meditation offers everything I need.  I have the perfect cushion, I have groups I can attend, I have time clocks with beautiful bells, and I have memories of consistent practice in the past that I know personally changed me for the better.

Why do I walk away?  Why do I put it off, forget, ignore the urgings of my inner voice? 

I know meditation helps me mentally.  I know it helps me spiritually.  I even know it affects me physically.  All of this is important.

And it doesn't even take much.  Once a week can have an effect.  One minute a day.

I know better than to make big pronouncements on this.  I just need to do it.  Action speaks louder than words is always true, isn't it?

So, try again, 2014!

3. I didn't go to the beach often enough.

Okay. Twice.

Yeah, pretty bad for someone living in Florida.

When I went in April, I was so rejuvenated and refreshed I thought I would not forget to go again.
But, as usual, things got busy. Then summer came and the flushing of brown water from Lake Okeechobee into our beautiful Sound and Gulf, and I stayed away. Then red tide and dead fish.

Lighthouse Beach with Iris, Margie, and my breath.

That had never stopped me before.

Thank goodness Iris came to town.  We ventured out to Lighthouse Beach with my sister and I knew exactly what I had to do.  I put down a towel, lied down on my back, and BREATHED.  Deeply.  And deeper and deeper.

The beach, the sand, the surf brought me back to a place in myself that had been inaccessible.  I wrote about it in a blog because the effect was so healing -- words didn't exactly capture it, but I had to express.

I've been breathing better since.  It put me back in touch with the writer in me, who seemed to have been skirting around the edges of my life but not taking a seat.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Douthat ends his essay with "Here endeth the self-criticism" and wishes himself an "infallible 2014."

I, too, will end the self-criticism, but I'll leave infallibility to Pope Francis (whom I dearly love!) 

For 2014, I simply desire to take a few steps forward.  For me that means moving toward peaceful responses, the meditation cushion, and the healing Southwest Florida beaches.

"Openings" -- Photo Memoir in three parts, June 2012

I have been distracted these days with holiday gatherings and preparations.  Even with my best intentions today, I find it is 4 p.m. and I still haven't pulled together any of the pieces I'd like to write for this blog.  Seeing that I haven't posted here in two weeks, I thought I'd go to the past for some inspiration.  Here is a short memoir from my vacation to Ohio in 2012.  It was intended to be an ongoing piece, but ended after three entries.  Maybe someday I will return.

Openings

Openings

1. Parting Trees

Yesterday I went to the Metroparks.  I walked along the lagoon – a place from my childhood.  Back then there was a trail that skirted the edge of the lagoon with dense woods on the other side.  Now much of the woods have turned into a bog, presumably because they removed non-native trees.  I heard a multitude of frogs jumping – that rubber band snapping sound – and saw a gorgeous Northern Oriole that glimmered neon orange in the tree branches, only to flick quickly away before I could photograph him.

I followed the path to the horse trail, and attempted to take it up a rather steep hill – another favorite childhood place.  I quickly realized I am not in shape for that kind of activity, my heart pounding too fast for comfort, especially since I was alone. (Oh, the new awareness aging brings us!)

Meditating on the trees.

Hermit's Cave.  Not so scary now!

I went down to the river’s edge by the ford, then I walked over to Maple Grove Picnic Area.  I expected to be able to see the Hermit’s Cave from the edge of the picnic area – in my memory, it was just across the river.  The Hermit’s Cave was a place that we were taken during day camp in the Metroparks, back in the 1960’s.  We would walk along the edge of the river, and eventually reach this “cave” – which turns out to just be a leftover culvert that ran under a road. Anyway, our camp group would always make a trip there and it went like this: the girls would venture together into the cave, someone would scream, and we’d all run out.  In retrospect, it is rather funny --and maybe rather creepy -- that they would tell us that some man lived in the cave, and then take a bunch of little girls there. Yeah. Creepy.

I had hoped to get a picture of the cave for my high school friend, Maureen. 

Maureen and I reminiscing at the reunion

I had seen her the day before at our informal 39-year reunion, and we had talked about CYO Day Camp, and the things we did there.  So I was a bit disappointed when I didn’t see the cave, and was not sure how to find it.

I knew that perhaps it was upriver from where I was, but I didn’t see a way to get down to the river – there was a rather high tree line in the picnic area.  So instead I sat on a picnic table, drank some water, looking around the area to see if I could find a way out. I looked up at the trees and the sky, and decided to close my eyes for a short meditation.  When I opened my eyes just a few minutes later, I first looked up again at the trees – they seemed so green! Then I looked straight ahead and saw it – a wide opening in the woods.  It was as if the trees had suddenly parted, showing me the way. Clearly there was a trail there, and immediately I knew it would take me where I wanted to go.

Sure enough, within minutes, I had cleared the woods and was back down on the shale landing of the Rocky River, directly across from the Hermit’s Cave.  I took some pictures, and sat on a rock listening to the water burble around me, becoming very aware of the word “opening.”  After all, I had been sitting and looking directly across to where the opening was in the trees, yet I didn’t see it until I had taken a few minutes and quieted my mind.

Key point.

2. A Blade of Grass

Becky has asked me to water her grass. There are high spots and the lawnmower cut the grass too low, which burned it out. So over the last two days I have spent swabs of time watering – a meditative activity to be sure.

I have observed that certain brown strips of grass start showing a streak of green, as the water and sun activates the chlorophyll. It struck me that the roots of the grass provide an opening for the capacity of the blade of grass to heal itself, to find new life and thrive. I thought of how we each have that capacity and with the grace of those we love – who act like water and sun – we, too, can heal, find new life, and thrive.

It goes, too, to Van Gogh – how he was inspired by Japanese artists whom “meditated on a blade of grass.”  This activity inspired Vincent – helped him find an opening to new landscapes and nature forms. A blade of grass is considered such a tiny, insignificant thing.  Yet, it too holds the universe. I see the community of “insignificant” green blades of grass gathering in support of the brown, burned out grasses. They are closing in together, spreading the wealth and being a community.

Nothing insignificant about that.

Openings

3.  Green: Gift from Image Angel

Reassurance with green

grasses thriving spritely

A pebble dropped

splashes up like tiny minnows arching

and rings of wobbly water

sending forth

As I look beyond where the

pebble has fallen I see

placid calm, and life support

yet, aren’t we always where

the pebble is tossed

our lives a continual changing

motion

Our growth assured anyway?

Trees reflected in the river.

Making the Right Moves

Today I take a step forward to begin incorporating writing back into my life.  I had a blast this summer getting into the writing life, and this blog is a big part of that.  I knew that with school starting it would be tough, so I gave myself a bit of a break.  I managed a couple of posts, but in general I was overwhelmed with getting to know new students, new curriculum, new computer programs, and a new schedule.

I am finding the most important aspects of life are rising up, and that is the best I could have imagined when I made the decision to change my life by returning to middle school teaching.  I have started a daily meditation practice -- on the cushion, just 10 minutes in the morning for now.  This clears my head and calms me before the craziness begins.  Today I started walking again for exercise, and keeping a food diary to help myself eliminate some extra pounds that creeped in over the summer.

I am also cooking again. That wasn't even an aim -- I just started planning and putting together meals again. Cooking used to be a favorite activity of mine, but it had fallen out of favor with me the last couple of years.  To see it making its way back without effort on my part is interesting to me!  I'm reading books of my choosing (just finished Brewster by Mark Slouka -- fantastic), and I even got to see two new movies released this month:  Jobs and Les Daniels' The Butler.  Enjoyed them both.

The last couple of years had produced a burn-out in me that was so gradual, it was nearly undetectable.  I just kept having a "knowing" that something big was missing in my life.  Slowly, step-by-step, I am finding what has been missing.  A good GOOD feeling!

In general, I am loving my new school, my new students, my new colleagues.  The pace of middle-school has a hectic quality, but certainly not the intensity I've been used to at the high school level.  I feel an incredible amount of support from my wonderful department chair -- Heather Millican -- and my administrative team, as well as our tech support person.  There is always someone available to answer a question.  I love that.

Cypress Lake Middle School is a special place.  My life is more relaxed, and I feel more in-tune with myself and my teaching.   It is clear to me that I have made the right move.

Super Moon a Super Surprise

As many of you know, I recently had cataract surgery.  My eyes had deteriorated to the point that seeing at night was a festival of glaring light, and my depth of field was getting to be non-existent, making driving....interesting.

Thank goodness that is all in the past.

A cell phone camera rendering of the super moon

The Super Moon has made me realize how glad I am about that.

I woke close to 6 a.m. today, and realized that I may still have a shot at seeing the moon.  It was too cloudy last night when the moon rose to see anything.

I stepped outside on a typical Florida morning and looked up and there it was...bright, shiny, clear, and DETAILED.

I could SEE the definition of craters and other geographical features.  Mountains?  Not sure.

But the point here is this:  I saw the moon, not as the round white blob I've been seeing for many, many years even with glasses, but the way I saw it as a child.

I was suddenly in a different time and place. My driveway on Montrose Avenue in Cleveland, Ohio, staring up a the moon and wondering, wondering....

 ***
Now, I know it is true that the lack of definition on the moon has never taken away its magic.  I have found the moon a wonderful companion throughout my adult life, in all its manifestations.  When we lived on Harad Court in Macedonia, Ohio, we had a skylight in our master bath.  There were times the moon shone in through that skylight and reached all the way in to rest its reflective light on me, sleeping in my bed.  I felt like the moon did that on purpose, slipping in to tap me on the shoulder just to say, "I'm here."

When I moved to Florida,  one of the things I didn't want to leave was this exposure to the moon.  It had become some kind of an important communication.  I knew that if our new place didn't face the "right" direction, my communication with the moon might be limited.

Arriving in Florida, we found a place that had a western exposure.  We enjoyed hundreds of gorgeous, colorful, and even spectacular sunsets over the four years we lived there.  But even more importantly, a month into our new life I woke in the night, bathed in moonlight.  The moon had sneaked in past our vertical blinds, bathing me in its glorious light, reminding me once more, "I'm here."

***
Seeing that moon this morning took me back into my little girl eyes.  I flashbacked to a time when I could look at the moon and see this same definition and yes, wonder about it.  It had gone away over time, and I never even knew it was missing.  Having it back is simply making me giddy with delight.  Such a small thing, but it touches my heart is a sweet way.

My eye doctor has assured me that my distance vision will remain this clear the rest of my life.  And I know that I will never again have the magical experience I had today, seeing through my eyes in a new way, but in an old way, too.  This is where I give thanks for living in a time of this type of technology;  a time when a person doesn't have to just let her vision fade away, but can have it fixed in a way that the past will find itself in the present moment, looking up from the driveway to a shining ball in the sky, mysterious and mythical, this time with the promise to stay.

"When you set out to become a writer..."

 

Today, after three weeks of pure relaxation,  I will be heading out the door early.  National Writing Project begins today, and I have the privilege of being a response leader once again. Since I am going deeper into a writing journey over the next two weeks, I thought this poem I wrote about the writing journey would be appropriate for today's blog.  I wrote this poem as a model for my students to write their own Ithaca poem when we were studying The Odyssey.

Ithaca, as you may know, is the home that Odysseus is attempting to return to for twenty years. The idea of Ithaca has produced many poems about journeys, and I wrote this one based on a poem by C.P. Cavafy  ((here is a link to his poem) which uses Ithaca as a metaphor for any place we wish to journey.

So for writers and teachers of writers and those who love to read the writing of other...here is what Ithaca means to me (and in some ways it has been longer than 20 years trying to get there!)

Ithaca

When you set out to become a writer,

Pray that your road’s a long one,

full of adventure, full of discovery.

Inner critics, outer critics,

those who say you can’t – don’t be scared of them:

you won’t find things like that on your way

as long as your thoughts are exalted,

as long as a rare excitement

stirs your spirit and your body.

Inner critics, outer critics,

those who say you can’t,

you won’t encounter problems with them

unless you bring them along inside you,

unless your soul raises them up in front of you.

Pray that your writing path is a long one.

May there be many a summer morning when –

full of gratitude, full of joy –

you come into harbors seen for the first time;

may you stop at bookstores and art shops

and buy fun things for your writing space,

bright colored posters, writing pens,

inspirational books and thick tablets in soft colors,

and many colored pencils, pens, highlighters,

to delight your senses as you sink into your writing space;

may you visit numerous author’s events

to fill yourself with learning from the wise.

 

Keep writing always in mind.

Arriving there is what you’re destined for.

But don’t hurry the journey at all.

Better if it goes for years

so you’re old by the time you reach the published land,

wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,

not expecting writing to make you rich.

For it is a marvelous journey.

Without it, you wouldn’t have sent out.

Writing hasn’t anything else to give.

And if you find her poor, writing won’t have fooled you.

Wise as you’ll have become, and so experienced,

you’ll have understood by then what a writer’s path means.