Wings of Freedom

There you are, 

Sweet child, 

Drinking your morning

Coffee. Cream no

Sugar, you used 

The same mug

Every morning

(Except for those

Mornings you met

Your friends at

The shop - I

Can see you - 

Your broad shoulders

Caving in

Towards the center

Of things not

Unlike my shoulders

While I weep - 

Laughing. God knows

I know there 

Is nothing 

Like sharing coffee

With friends, those 

White paper cups

Flags of freedom;

I can see

The shop owner, 

Too greeting

 

You with those 

Big eyes that 

You did not

Shy away from

Because you knew

Truth when you 

Saw it - 

And you knew

Why the coffee 

Tasted better under 

The awnings of 

The shop - like 

Wings of

freedom.)

And let go

This topic - this experience of letting go - is every changing.

A few nights ago, I was legit playing with Blair.  To be completely frank, this doesn't happen all too often because I end up feeling as though I have been taken hostage by a four year old and will never return to the adult land of dishes and laundry.  And this provokes fear.  But on this night I could not say no when Blair said, "Mommy, will you play jungle with me?"  To my surprise, jungle involved me laying on a carefully laid out "bridge" of pillows and blankets which was both a surprise and a delight.  I secretly pretended I was in a restorative yoga class while Blair collected items from the jungle.  She told me to stay put.  Soon, however, we moved on to the desk and were now playing, "desk."  I was instructed to sit on a meditation cushion as close to her as possible.  Again, I obliged jumping on the opportunity to catch a little meditation action.  And there they were!  Worry thoughts sky-rocketing through my brain...."why does Blair always have cell phones in her play?...where is she learning this?...she is actually pausing her play to respond to a "text"...what is the world going to be like when she is an adult?  who will she become?  what have I don't wrong?  and what are we going to do about global warming? . . . " (the latter is currently attached to every worry thought that I have.  You?)

With my meditation cushion as support, I noticed all of these thoughts and I wondered if I could just let them go.  Each thought.  Notice it.  Let it go.  Each worry.  See you.  Float away.  I, in fact, became a bit lighter.  I was able to carry on with my play and continue this as a practice long after "jungle" and "desk."

Sometimes letting go can be misinterpreted in my own mind as not caring.  Like I don't care about cell phone usage with kids or what Blair will be when she grows up (this one, I might actually not care about, I just want her to feel fulfilled and alive).  And so I believe that it is exactly the touching in to the thought/worry/feeling that is vital.  The noticing.  Letting go cannot happen without the noticing.

I was reminded of a quote from Gandhi that has to do with right action and moving on.  In other words, do the next right thing.  And don't get too caught up in the fruit of your actions.  I brought this to my yoga students this morning.  As we practiced, I encouraged them to pause after effort had been put forth.  To rest in the body.  And let go.

Just The Right Speed

It is as vivid as ever: walking down O Street in Washington DC with my first born baby.  She was probably about six months old and it was a beautiful fall day. I was hot from the long walk with the stroller and had paused for a moment to gear up to carry my daughter, her carseat, the stroller, some groceries and myself up three flights of steep stairs.  I wouldn’t say I was happy or sad; but tiredness was a given. A soft and generous man, probably about twice my age, strolled by with his bouncy five year old granddaughter. He stopped at the foot of my stairs, gazing adoringly at my daughter.

“It goes by so fast,” he said, looking me in the eyes.  “Enjoy it while you can.”

I got hotter.  This phrase, so frequently doled out to new parents, had begun to nearly make my blood boil.  

“So I have heard,” I retorted and went on with the work directly in front of me but now with slightly less energy and a nagging question, “am I not enjoying this ENOUGH?”

Now this daughter is seven and I have two more, five and three and this statement has nagged me through it all.  I have rolled this statement around in my head, felt agitated by it numerous times, wondered why it agitates me so, and discussed it undoubtedly at nauseum with my husband and friend.  

A response arrived completely out of the blue the other evening as I lay in the darkness just before sleep, “we are all growing and changing at just the right speed.”  I felt so delighted as I basked in the warmth of this perspective shift and I imagined all of my children, “growing at just the right speed.”  

I saw my three year old cuddling into the crook of my neck alongside having hot-blooded tantrums; 

my five year old learning to blow bubbles with her gum alongside testing the waters of the difference between joking and lying; 

my seven year old still needing hugs while simultaneously pushing me aside in front of peers.

There are such joys and challenges at every stage that it would be quite miserable to stay in any one stage forever. The change might be hard, but it is what makes us human and the growth is a strong symbol of our aliveness.

So, to all of the people who ever said to me, “it goes by so fast,” I thank you because you have led me to this new perspective of, “right on time.”  And I vow on my knees that the only thing I will say to new parents is this, “it is all happening at just the right speed.”

The Barn

The barn,

     although young, 

sloped into herself.  

Where most barns

    crumble in straight 

lines, she softened 

    in curves.  

And although the fall 

     undoubtedly occurred in 

an instant, 

the appearance was such 

    that it had happened 

over many years of

    gently letting go.  

Certainly she didn't look like barns should.  

But her beauty 

    would make any 

warm body weep

   and draw them into 

The tender earth surrounding her.  

Tender Angles

The snow
             flake, so
                       soft, melts
                                      right through

The misplaced
              skin where
                           there used
                                        to be
                                              a breast

"Easier access
                   to the
                         heart," she
                                        says, floating

inward to
             the beating
                           and with
                                   first contact
                                                  expands, wrapping

Her angles
               around the
                             tenderness becoming
                                                              one
                                                                   with her.

The Most Daringest Thing

Is looking straight
into your eyes
the daringest thing
I have ever
done?

Perhaps.
Yes.

Because not turning
away from your eyes
roots courage and
now I look
into my own
eyes.

And I don't
turn away from
these soul windows.
Which is precisely
the same daringest
thing.

Perhaps.
Yes.

Prayer Leaves

The leaves
fall like
prayers, filling
my spiritual
inbox with

messages from
my teachers

and as
the rusted
yellow and
burnt red
soften into
the grassy

fingers of
the earth

my heart
expands into
the soil
of my
own body

with a
knowing gratitude
that is
the surest
and gentlest
confidence I

have yet
to know.