My Prayer

Like soft waves
at dawn
you move
swiftly, calmly
across my window
of sky;

the same sky
blanketing the
other side of
the world where
people are just
tucking in

to sleep and
for some you
are their only blanket
and their hunger
rages but they close
their eyes for one relief.

Will you be
my prayer?
On the backs
of your cloud waves
will you carry
love to them

as they tuck
into you for
the night?
Please, dear
sky, will you
be my prayer?

Pilgrim

"I am a pilgrim on the path of love."

~Swami Kripalu

 

 

I kept trying to do one more thing to help before I left.

 

I will get some clean pajamas for Lilian . . . 

Let me just wash one more dish . . .

and this, just this one more toy . . .

 

Finally, Matt said, "you gotta go.  You are going to miss your class."  Basically he was saying, kindly, "Snap.  Out.  Of.  It.  And leave!"  Thank God for these words; for this push.

 

 

I kissed heads, ran down the stairs and after glancing at my watch realized I might be late indeed.  If there is one thing that makes my stomach churn it is being late so I decided to run the ten blocks to the yoga studio.  As I settled into a gentle gait, a quote miraculously showed up in my head: "I am a pilgrim on the path of love."  A smile now accompanied my jog as I loved this surprise discovery by my own mind and I began repeating it over and over, feeling lighter and freer with each utterance. 

 

 

And then I felt my backpack, blissfully bright and light on my back.  Still chanting, I considered this bag which now represented to me proactivity and change  (you see, I had been meaning to exchange my old bag with a broken zipper for years and finally made it happen last month - I did not understand the positive impact that such a seemingly insignificant task could have on my psyche!)   Next, still chanting, I considered all that this bag contained: pens for writing; my "sacred work" notebook which contains all of my ideas, and some napkins in case I ran into any real trouble.  More and more, I felt my pilgrimhood equal to a warrior.  Again, still chanting, I felt my yoga mat; perhaps the greatest tool for self discovery next to that of a pen.  I felt my new coat and gloves; the only material items that I hade visualized gaining this season.  And there they were, already apart of me.  Chanting still, I moved outside of my own boundaries and considered Matt at home with the girls; everyone safe and happy.  My smile grew as gratitude continued to enter my heart.  In fact, as I neared the studio, I believe I even laughed out loud. 

 

 

I am a junkie for Swami Kripalu stories and perhaps my favorite one is the simplest: "when people would gather in his presence, at times their tears would pour out from the simplest of words or their laughter was uproarious and contagious."  Although I never got to sit by his feet, I feel as though I experienced just a drop of his presence yesterday as I ran through the streets of D.C. - my own version of a pilgrim on the same path of love. 

Cute Man

Last night I was sitting on the floor drinking a glass of wine in the almost dark as Francesca turned around from her room with this final advice for the day: "Don't forget he's cute.  You should get him a drink." 

Now, I do see where she got the "cute" from . . .this past weekend, Matt and Francesca were laying on the couch together and I was leaving on some sort of "radical self-care" expedition.  Before I left (with the unique blend of excitement and calm that radical self care breeds) I squeezed Matt's cheeks together and said something to the effect of, "look at this cute man.  Do you see this cute man?"  In pure form, Francesca, with delight, requested that I do this three more times before I left.  I happily obliged. 

In terms of the "get him a drink"...well, I am not sure where that comes from but I am just going to take it for what it was: light and funny and, well, cute coming from a three year old. 

It is so easy to get tangled in the web of daily tasks that our home turns into a boardroom with never ending task lists and constant negotiations; no room left for the fun and lift that comes from even the simplest spontaneity.  And we are all exhausted, but for what? 

So sometimes the dishes must remain in the sink and the laundry must remain unfolded to allow the fun to peek through because it is the energy of love and laughter, fun and creativity that make it all worth it.  For all of us. 

The Revolution of Chipping Away

My hopes overflow in the morning.  While I am writing my morning pages, these hopes and plans and ideas bubble out of me.  With each one, I feel a jolt of excitement as I jot it down in the margins of my notebook.  People I want to contact, articles that I want to read and write, gifts that I want to buy, projects that I want to complete, space that I want to create.  In the morning, somewhere inside of me resides a belief - a hope - that I can actually accomplish these tasks.

But so often I cannot.  Perhaps one or two or, often, none at all.

And it is in this narrow space between the morning hopefulness and the inability to accomplish these dreamy tasks that my growth resides.  As I begin to really know myself I have a feeling that in the past I would have felt completely side swiped by the fact that the actions of my day do not even come close to matching the hopefulness of my morning.  Despite a sporadic awareness of disappointment, it seems as though I carry on with a cheery spirit and I chip away.  The things that keep showing eventually get done . . .a little here, a little there. 

And with this I am beginning to understand the freedom that comes from acceptance and it is within that freedom that growth happens and room is created for meaningful action - one chip at a time. 

"Mommy"

I don't know how many times I am called this in a day.  Francesca's calls in the morning: Mommy.  Francesca's calls from the bathroom: Mommy.  Francesca telling me news from school or asking me if she can have a special treat or watch a show.  She uses it in expert 3 year old negotiation strategies and she uses it to say goodnight.  She says it when she asks for a glass of milk or to tell me she can do something by herself.  I say this word too.  I occasionally use it in the 3rd person: "silly Mommy" or when I am trying to teach Lilian my name.  This word is spoken so much that I don't really think about it and although I reflect often about parenting, it wasn't until last week that I felt the "mommyness" of myself. 

Somehow after the kids had been put to bed and the kitchen was cleaned and the toys were put away and the laundry was folded, I garnered just enough energy to look through Francesca's backpack.  In the bright red folder, all crinkly from being stuffed inside a toddler sized backpack, I found a piece of Francesca's schoolwork (above).  Well, bowl me over!  In a flash, I realized that I am a "Mommy."  All of the small actions of each day - the waking up, the breakfast on the table, and yes the negotiations, the hugs and holding hands, the dancing and crying and baths and books read- all of these things add up to being a "Mommy." 

Now, the next question is: what exactly am I doing in the picture?  This time, I am just not going to ask.  I am going to take it for what it is: a message that I am thought of outside of the home and that, yes, I am now and forever will be a "Mommy."

Heart Beat

Cozy on the couch with Matt.
Finally.
Watching a favorite show.
A new definition of divine. 

Baby's cries. 
Gasp of breath. 
Garnering of energy. 
Purpose.
Up. 

Dark room. 
Baby's cries. 
Lift her up.
She melts into my chest.

Swaying back and forth. 
All is quiet except for my heart beat.
Or is it hers? 

I cannot tell.
Oh, beautiful inability to
distinguish myself from her. 

And this is what it must be like
to be her
all of the time. 
No boundaries.
No lines.

Just love.

The Bathroom Wall

The quote on the door reads, "the most important thing you can do for the world is to become the master of your own life."

Under the sink, there is a picture of a majestic forest and an e.e. cummings quote about saying yes to everything. 

Taped onto the mirror is a quote that reads, "you have plenty of time."

Oh, and above the washer/dryer is a beautiful painting with the words "find joy."  This from my sister-in-law; a person who is always finding joy in the spaces between.

Magnetized onto the dryer is a passage from Swami Kripalu about replacing negative thoughts with positive thoughts and also a prayer of loving kindness (may you be happy . . . may you be healthy . . .may you be free . . .) 

Next to the light is a cut out from a magazine that says, "positive thought" and next to that is a print out of my mission statement that I wrote last year. 

Welcome to my bathroom; the most sacred space in our whole place. 

And just last week I added something that is perhaps the most helpful yet.  I have a certain structure to my writing practice each morning that ends with writing three things that I want to accomplish and my intention for the day.  I have also added on a gratitude focus (often connected to my intention.)  I would remember my intention randomly once or twice during the day, but I wanted to sew it more deeply into my day.  So, inspired by The Happiness Project, I made an intention chart and hung it on my bathroom wall (see above.) 

I don't know whether it is the act of writing the intention again in my home, or physically having it there every time I wash my hands, put on my make-up, brush my teeth, wait for my toddler on the potty, but it has really bumped up my intention focus and for this, I am grateful.