How about a gratitude buddy?

Last fall, when life seemed to be deep in pressures of all kind and I seemed to be lost in others suffering, I reached out to a dear friend to inquire about being a gratitude buddy?  We have known each other through studying spiritual disciplines together over the years, share a common thread of our work and raising children about the same age.  I said, ‘what the heck’ she can say no.  But that is not what turned out to be the case.  This daily practice of sending an email to one another to say just what we are grateful for and about has proven to be a bedrock practice that reminds both of us to see to good in our lives and that of others.

It really is simple, I heard the suggestion on a pod cast of one of my favorite Buddhist teachers, Tara Brach and it hit home or my heart.  It is rather simple, just say yes to someone, write as often as you can (cuz life happens).  It takes about five minutes really, just say one or two things that you are grateful about, even if it seems like nothing…find one little thing.  And send it off!

Here is a favorite poem of mine that I believe inspired me to just keep going, to find just one thing, one good thing, one thing to be grateful about, to say ‘Thank you’ and mean it!

Arms Full of Wildflowers

Gratitude means showing up on life’s doorstep,

love’s threshold, dressed in a clown suit,

rubber-nosed, gunboat shoes flapping.

Gratitude shows up with arms full of wildflowers,

reciting McKuen or the worst of Neruda.

To talk of gratitude is to be

the fool in a cynic’s world.

Gratitude is pride’s nightmare,

the admission of humility before something

given without expectation or attachment.

Gratitude tears open the shirt

of self importance, scatters buttons

across the polished floors of feigned indifference,

ignores the obvious and laughs out loud.

Even more, gratitude bares her breasts, rips open

her ribs to show the naked heart, the holy heart.

What if that sacred heart is not, after all, about sacrifice?

Imagine it is about joy, barefoot and foolhardy,

something unasked for, something unearned.

What if the beat we hear, when we are finally quiet

is simply this:

Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.

– Rebecca del Rio

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Dear Humans

One of my east coast friends sent this the other day I just had to post it here.  I thought it said more then enough to continue to take the necessary steps to becoming fully human.
‘Dear Humans,
You’ve got it all wrong.  You didn’t come here to master unconditional Love.  That is where you came from and that is where you will return.   You came here to learn personal Love.  Universal Love, messy Love, sweaty Love, crazy Love, broken Love, whole Love.  Infused with Divinity. Lived through the grace of stumbling.  Demonstrated through the beauty of….  messing up often.  You didn’t come here to be perfect.  You already are. You came here to be gorgeously human.  Flawed and Fabulous.  And then to rise again into remembering.  But unconditional Love?  Stop telling that story.  Love in truth doesn’t need any adjectives.  It needs no modifiers.  It doesn’t require the condition of perfection.  It only asks that you show up.  And do your best.  That you stay present and feel fully.   That you shine and fly and laugh and cry and hurt and heal and fall and get back up and play and work and live and die as YOU.  It is enough.  It is plenty.’  Courtney Walsh
Photo by Wendy Sanchez

Welcome to my new blog site!

Ok, so you think that I know what I am doing, well, I don’t and I don’t care…what matters most is a place where I will be writing things, posting things, asking questions, inviting you to be a part of this blog along with connecting with others who also think that what matters most is actually something we should all be thinking about together.  My intent for this blog is about connecting and not just with dots or dot coms, but with one another.  So, what matters most today is learning something new, how to choose a name, a picture, what to eat for dinner and what time to go to bed.  Mundane, yes, but this is how we start….

I realized after seeing Mary Oliver last night, listening to her wise words that it is not always that easy to see, to see on a regular basis what is right in front of me, the moment opening to the many layers of perception.  This is a deep desire to see…this is what matters…..to be able to really completely read a poem, to let it wash inside my mouth and let the images twirl around inside….to slow down, to listen again…this is what matters….so I begin and invite you to join me….

Morning Poem

Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange

sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches —
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it

the thorn
that is heavier than lead —
if it’s all you can do
to keep on trudging —

there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted —

each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,

whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.

– Mary Oliver