Listening deeply

So I've been reading lately. I know, it's not much of a surprise for those who know me well. I've been reading non-fiction. This is unusual. And on top of that, I've been reading it at the rapid rate typically reserved for novels. Something must be seriously wrong...

Ok, not wrong at all, just different. Introducing myself and being introduced to the field of ecopsychology/deep ecology is radically changing the way I live my life. Not only live, but view life. And this whole notion of being human is questioned.

Spending time in the natural world, I've begun having conversations with the trees and the deer. Even the snowflakes and I communicate. These communications, this time outside brings a vibrance, a fire, a renewed purpose to life. Last night, for example, I walked to a small creek near my house. I laid down and listened. I heard the gurgle of the water moving over rocks and around the bend. I heard the snowflakes on my jacket. I heard the silence and stillness of the grasses and the trees in the snow. As the back of my body pressed up against the snowy, frozen ground I felt remarkably warm. I believe this warmth was not just a result of the layers of down and fleece I was wearing, but was a result of (or perhaps an invitation for) yielding into the earth. Sensing deeply this ability to let go (of what I'm going to do when I get home, or planning my day tomorrow, or how I'm going to apologize to a friend I fought with) I could feel the contours of the earth holding me. The way my right shoulder blade fit perfectly against a bunch of grass, or the way the dirt and leaves moved aside to provide a shelf for my feet.

I don't know how long I lay like this. There is a timelessness in these communications...

And tonight, I return home from work, gently riding my bike in the snow, hungry for more information. So I search. I search the library catalogs. I search websites of organizations doing this work. I put books on hold. So many that I've committed my library card number to memory. And in this search I find my community; the trees, the rocks, the thinkers, the writers, the movers, the dreamers who are also willing to listen to the snowflakes.

Allergic to...life?

As I've begun to land onto the island I find myself covered in mosquito bites. I started getting eaten the night my plane landed. At first I had a bunch of average mosquito-bite-sized bumps on my legs and ankles. This quickly turned into a full-body allergic reaction of proportions never-before experienced. I had an intense case of hives in the form of big red itchy welts. It became so painfully itchy to move, so I spent two days lounging in bed and reading.

As I was reading Pema Chodron, I came across a passage where she talks about transforming poison into beauty. She cites the example of the male peacock who ingests small amounts of poisonous foods in order to brighten the colors in his tail feathers. While I seemingly had no control of the amount of poison coursing through my veins (and thankfully not enough to send me into anaphylactic shock!), it caused me to pause and wonder what brightness, or transformation, or opening this experience might facilitate.

I'm going to Kauai, and I'm taking with me...

To keep ourselves entertained on a road trip this summer, a friend and I played a game where each person says, "I'm traveling to..., I'm getting there by..., and I'm taking with me..." The first person starts with the first letter of the alphabet naming a place, mode of transportation, and object all starting with the letter "A", next person does the same with the letter "B", and so on to the end of the alphabet.

As I've been packing and gathering together my things to take to Kauai with me, I feel a little like I'm playing that game. The preparations are happening on physical, emotional, and spiritual levels.

I'm going to Kauai, and I'm taking with me a basket with Joy, Creativity, Curiosity, Intuition, Improvisation, and a journal with which to make art that might not be pretty, but is REAL. I am bringing business cards that have my name, and then underneath state that I offer dance/movement and creative arts therapies. May they be my reminder that this journey is a threshold crossing. That it is a time of reconnection and growth. Shedding the skin that is old and no longer fits, in order to grow and expand. Aren't snakes incredibly vulnerable for several days after shedding? I take with me this vulnerability. I bring it with me to cultivate it, to really get to know it, to learn to use it in service of others.

I bring with me the red and gold sparkly shawl a friend brought back for me from India. When I first opened the package, I thought, "oh that's pretty, but it's not really me...it's too pretty for me to wear." I wear the shawl on my shoulders as a reminder of the inherent inner beauty I carry with me where ever I may travel.

I bring with me yarn and knitting needles as a reminder that I am a weaver. A weaver of seemingly disparate worlds, curling, winding, and twisting them around each other in just the right way to make a beautifully strong garment.

I bring with me an open heart and hands ready to tend the earth...

Following bliss

Something beautiful happened the other day. I made the decision to follow my bliss and move to Kauai for the next 6 months. After deciding, I called up my brother, who just graduated from college in May and has been living in the basement of my mother's house in the suburbs without a car. While I'm generally a proponent of car-free living, I happen to have one that I drive right now, and understand how useful and even important it can be. So, after deciding to go to Hawaii, the first call I make is to my brother. Now we're not super close, and I often don't just call him to talk.

So, I say, "Hey, I'm moving to Kauai, do you want the car?".
He says, "Oh my god, that would totally change my life. It would open up my possibilities for getting a job and getting around."

I smiled.
There was something so poetic about making the decision to following my bliss, and in turn be able to offer a gift of grace to someone else...

Follow your gut?

I was asked today to follow my gut, and realized that I lost contact with that creative, intuitive, spontaneous side of myself awhile ago. I'm at the precipice of making a big life decision, and I don't even know what my gut instinct is telling me? Okay, so that's not entirely true, but this decision-making process does not feel simple like I've know intuitive decisions to feel before. It feels fraught with details and complications...

I'm reminded of a an experience I had this past summer at Dreamtime. As is customary every year, the festival organizers get up onstage, and say a little something. This past year, one of the organizers, walked us through a guided visualization where we stepped into our full, vibrant, creative, spontaneous, empowered selves. In that moment I knew that returning to graduate school in the fall, was not the right life path. I cried with the shock of that realization. And sat with it for a couple days, and realized that I'd put so much time, energy and money into this whole graduate school thing, it would be absolutely silly, in so many ways, to stop now - especially because I was so near the end.

Well, apparently, the end is not soon enough, nor where I thought it was.

For the last four months, I've been interning on a hospital psych unit for children and adolescents. I felt alive, excited, and vibrant the first week or so I was there. After the (very brief) honeymoon period was over, I've dreaded getting up in the morning to make the long trek down to the hospital. This dread was not about the commute (although it can be horrendous) but about the constant fear, inefficacy, and overwhelm I've felt.

In a meeting this morning, I was presented with an ultimatum of sorts: commit to the internship at the hospital, or leave, take a break, reapply in March, and restart my internship next fall, at the hospital or elsewhere. I have one week to make my decision.

My gut instinct says "LEAVE! Take time to nurture and resource yourself. Get clear on your goals and intentions of becoming a therapist, and try doing this again in the fall." And there's this other nagging voice that says, "But aren't you running away, and not facing all of your fears and issues about stepping into this professional role by leaving and not finishing what you've started?"

As I perhaps prepare to not finish what I started, I'm reminded of the guided visualization this summer - how clear the "not returning to school" bit felt, and how I didn't listen. It's been muffled, silenced, stuffed, rearranged, ignored, and severely neglected, yet that voice has been there all along. With all it's been through, the voice has gotten softer, less sure of itself, but remains none the less. And while it seems I may have to strain to hear it, I hear it now and am willing to listen...

Locavore?

I have beans soaking on the counter. Buttermilk biscuit batter soaking as well (with homemade raw buttermilk, I might add).

I have more veggies than will comfortably fit in the fridge waiting to be processed for freezing. I've decided to eat only local produce all winter. This decision was influenced by several factors. Reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle this summer I was inspired by Kingsolver's stories of growing her own. I also realized about a month or so ago, that I ate only fresh produce from the Farmer's Market all summer. This was not an intentional decision really. It just sort of happened that way. It just made more sense to give my business to local farmers than to large grocery store chains. I walked into my local Whole Foods one day, after reading Kingsolver's book, with the intent of buying apples. I picked up a shiny looking Fuji and read the sticker. It was from New Zealand. I decided then that I would forgo that apple in place of something that was a) actually in season , and b) at least grown in this country. I don't remember what fruit I decided to buy that day, but I do remember the determination and commitment I felt the moment I decided to leave the apple on the shelf.

As the height of summer has come and gone, and harvest season is nearing its end, I'm sitting with some questions about my commitment to local produce for the winter. One big question arose recently while attending a friend's birthday party. The party was catered by a local company with delicious looking and smelling food. However, as I was eating my salad made from grocery store lettuce and spinach, I noticed how different these leafy greens tasted to my usual Farmer's Market fare. Not only were they not as fresh, crisp, and sweet as I was used to, but they also did not feel alive. I'm not sure how to adequately describe this observation, but my body noticed. I felt it on a visceral level. My cells knew the difference. When offered a meal with produce not supplied by a local source, do I choose to accept it? Being an unemployed graduate student, this question feels like a bit of a no-brainer.

Yet when I so obviously notice the difference in taste, texture, and nutrients between an apple from a friend's orchard, and one a friend offered from the grocery store, it causes me to wonder... For now, I plan to accept non-local produce from those who offer it (who can resist having dinner made for them every now and again?) while starting conversations about my decision. Maybe a seed will be planted (pun intended!).

A more recent trip to Whole Foods, brought up another dilemma. What exactly do I consider produce? I'd been eating raisins in my cereal lately, and was out. Do I consider raisins produce? They are dried , so the fresh thing isn't much of an issue. It also means they weigh less which means they take less energy to ship across the country. However, they still are being shipped. Plus, another intent of eating local is to eat with the seasons. Rather than eat the New Zealand apple in May (which is definitely NOT apple season here), I've opted to find fruit that was in season. As winter approaches and the abundance of summer wains, I continue to sit with these questions.

While I'm choosing this eating adventure, I imagine that the time will come, sooner rather than later, where I won't have the choice to eat local - it will be all that is available. Knowing where the alley plum trees hide, or where the sweetest apple tree is, or how many frosts a pumpkin can tolerate will be a necessity, not just a fun experiment.

In the mean time, anyone know if Bok Choy freezes well?

More moving

Seems fitting that my last post was titled, "On moving deliberately". As I am now moving, deliberately (and literally). The time has come to put more permanent home-like roots in Boulder. I've been in my house for a year and a half, and while I've never fully felt at home here, I've made a home for myself in Boulder with an ever widening community and circle of friends. What a blessing that I now also have a place where I can feel at home at home.