A painted lady bending a limb of the butterfly bush in August
Mid August has found me in the gardens pulling the dried, brown leaves off the tall phlox whose blooms are still scented with summer. Beside us, the butterfly bush boasts a brilliant fuchsia, sending out its heady pheromones, urging pollinators to drink their fill as though eternal youth is a promise.
The endless pursuit of bittersweet is threatening the borders again, so I pull their greedy orange roots and toss them onto the black pavement. Bittersweet. I can think of no better word to describe this season of life. Earlier in the day, when the house was humming with waking life, I stilled the words in my husband’s mouth before they could find air. Placing a breakfast bagel in front of our son’s chair, I told him, “I only have a few more opportunities to do this.”
I can feel the ocean in my eyes. Does the tug of the mother-womb ever leave us? I want to hold onto time as much as I want to let it go. There is an old farm in Maine that whispers a love song to my heart, which constricts with impending loss. How many mothers rejoice and weep in the same breath as the longing for the redefinition of self competes with fierce pull to hold onto the children walking through the threshold of adulthood?
I need to get used to the quiet, remembering that in the space of silence the soul can sing loud and strong. There is a season for everything, and each one holds an open and a closing. The neighbor’s children remind me of days filled with pool floats and small feet racing over wet concrete, and I realize there is a different sound I seek. Already I can hear next summer’s bees and the full-throated call the bullfrogs down by a pond that exists somewhere that is not here.
A couple of days ago, while gazing through the depths of nature’s canvas that wraps the cove of a lake, I joke with my friend that I married my husband because of this place. “I can see the joy in your face,” she agreed.
Although I did not marry my husband because of this “happy place,” it quickly became a site of refuge for me. It is a place where the soft sentinels of pines hug a summer home with the scent of comfort. Here, nature offers us her unsalted waters in a basin formed by a ring of small mountains. My favorite way to enjoy it is simply to sit and be still. To surround myself with the songs of the kingfisher and loons; the perfume of pine needles and campfire smoke; and a panoramic wrap of New Hampshire’s beauty that allows the wind to spread the sun across my skin in a way that makes me forget about the burn. It is the setting that inspired my Warriors of Light book series.
This morning, in another town, I sit with technology on my lap inside a home hugged in an acre of hemlocks, oaks, and maples. Here, the sun does not angle beyond the tops of the trees’ canopy to set the water aflame with light before it disappears into the night. Here, Nature’s floor is a patchwork of moss, dandelions, and prunella vulgaris (also known as self-heal or heal-all), instead of the soft throw of pine needles. Yet, it is all a part of Earth’s body.
This morning of July 5th, I find myself thinking about connection as my mind travels back through our shared and divergent origin stories. America’s origin story, for some, began on July 4th. This celebration of independence from another nation. A separation of one group from another in an effort to pursue, “life, liberty, and happiness.” But it did not begin or end here. There is intricate web of light and darkness that weaves back and forth as it goes towards the center and away. If you travel to the furtherest point inward, you get the source of everyone’s collective origin story. The place before separation. Today, we exist somewhere far away, or so we seem to, divided by time and designated spaces formed by different choices and beliefs.
When I think about America’s origin stories, I think of this web. I think about how one group’s pursuit of happiness led to the destruction and enslavement of others. I think about how my happy place is not really mine. Not because it belongs to my mother-in-law, but because long before it was purchased by my husband’s family, it was “Turtle Island.” It was the home of the indigenous peoples before it became this America that is the home where I was born, but not where all of my cells orgininated. I think about a nation made “glorious” with the muscle of enslavement.
And I think about how so often we opt to forget. To make choices that split the web into sectors of partial histories and partial truths. A partial origin story is not whole. There is no wrap of connection. Instead, there are severed lines with polarized ends seeking reunion. Even though our bodies of biology and chemistry, and our essence that abides by the complex, yet simple laws of physics, are constantly trying to remind us that existence is only possible with connection.
There is a reason why joy runs through me in the song of bliss when I sit at the edge of the lake’s body with my feet in the water sunk into the sand. Here, I allow my body to remember the place of its origin. Here, my cells realize that separation is a ruse of defiance as they harmonize to the heartbeat of the mother we all share. And here, my soul expands beyond the orb of Mother Earth to touch its origin, realizing that the origin is already inside of me.
And here, I allow myself to imagine the web repaired and whole, once again.
I am not creating a painting, but I may as well be. No, I am in the process of creating not one, but two business model canvases (one for a business model and one for a nonprofit model) and who would have guessed that it would fill me with such joy? An entire spectrum of emotions wash over me when I look at the blank white squares and add the blue words unearthed from that deep, dark place of potential. It is nothing short of thrilling, even if I have yet to wholly believe it will transform into the thing of beauty and wonder that I see so clearly inside of the private gallery of my mind.
I have begun. I have set the words on the page, and fittingly they are in the color blue. My truth emerging like a reluctant, yet eager spring sapling that has resided in stasis for too long inside the mother womb of creation. This beginning makes it seem possible. This unearthing and emergence. I can feel the touch of light and it feels like joy.
Perhaps I should not be amazed by how easily the words arise to fill each box. After all, they have resided in the underbelly for so long, stirring with a restless need for release. And so here we are, emerging together, scattering the first field of color onto the white space. Somewhat startled at this commitment we have made, this pact to draw down what it takes to nurture this beginning and see what it will become outside of the womb of protective darkness.
When I decided to reach out to SCORE (again), I was not optimistic. Truthfully, I held no expectation as my first encounter, years ago, had proved to be a non-starter. I was not ready and was poorly matched. But this time is different. There is the quickening of life. The excitement in doing the work towards growth, even if it may be difficult. I am content with starting with a few words on a white page filled with boxes, because I have found words to place in each one.
We were supposed to go last year for my husband’s birthday, but the dates offered never matched up with our schedules. This year, the stars of fate aligned and we were able to witness the unadorned splendor of the NH Symphony Orchestra performing at the Keefe Center of the Arts in Nashua, NH. Just the two of us amongst a roomful of strangers on a Saturday night towards the end of April.
Neither of us had ever been to the symphony, unless you want to count the marvelous amateur orchestra comprised of the talents of our town’s local schoolchildren. Our first experience with the NH Symphony Orchestra did not disappoint. Okay, maybe we were just a little underwhelmed by the world premier performance of D.J. Sparr’s Extraordinary Motion: Concerto for Electric Harp, but let me qualify that by saying neither of us are in any way experts on what defines a great piece of music. We can only go by how it sounds to our ears and how it moves the emotions inside of our cells.
And we were undoubtably moved by the orchestra’s production of Antonín Dvořák’s Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, “From the New World,”which filled the second half of the night. A masterpiece, whether it be a painting, a poem, or a symphony is a transformative work of art. I was, by the end of the production transformed. I was no longer feeling the heavy weight of life, but the hope and vitality of its life force. It was just what I needed.
We were also quite delighted by the world premier performance of the New Hampshire Concerto, which was created in collaboration with regional college composers. What a gifted collection of young artists! It was real treat to witness their premier on such a welcoming stage.
To complete the evening, I was able to deposit one of my Warrior’s of Light books and power animals in a Little Free Library in Nashua on our way home. And, today has offered sunshine to replace yesterday’s clouds and drizzle. I have found a renewed zest for life.
If you have not been to your local symphony, I highly recommend you gift yourself a night out. Ours only cost us $50. Money well spent.
It all started with A maze, a crow, and six warriors of light…
I had a fitful night of sleep, again. My dreams have been vivid and detailed every night, one following the other in a breathless chase to be the most dramatic and wildly cast. But last night it was not just the dreams that kept me dancing between wake and slumber, but the ache on the right side of my neck and shoulder. It’s becoming a chronic reminder of imbalance. Yesterday, after teaching my Friday morning Zoom yoga class, I drove to the health center and spent four plus hours checking people out of their appointments and making reminder calls. The right side of my body taking on the onus of the repetitive work. By the end of my shift I was crabby and decidedly unsettled.
What the hell are youdoing to yourself?
It’s a question I have begun asking myself (again). It’s a question several of my friends have formulated in various ways over the past several weeks. The ones who know what pulls my soul into the space of wonder and joy. But here we are again…
The truth is, I have settled. I have settled for a job that in many ways demoralizes me, but fulfills, in part, the nagging obligation I have to contribute more financially to my household. It’s not even close, though, to fulfilling the potential that exists inside of me. I return each day for the regularity of the paycheck, as well as the human interaction that comes with it. I work with a roomful of kind and compassionate souls, and most of the patients I connect with daily, whether I am checking them in or out of their appointments, allow me to share a moment of connection.
Connection is what pulls me forward. It is pulling me now, with persistence. You are here to do more, it tells me, This is not enough.
I know this. I have never deluded myself into thinking I would settle permanently, but the challenge I now face is how to bring an equal balance into my life at this time of financial obligations. This wildly expansive vision of connection I carry inside of me needs to somehow be tamed in a manner that allows me to grow it with logic and care. I cannot bring it fully into maturity all at once without winning the lottery, so practicality must become a friend.
I must reach out the hand of connection in the form of requests and find new mentors and means that allow this persistence to take root and grow. People do it all the time. They take their seeds of dreams and grow them into wonders. Why not me?
A few days ago, I reached out to SCORE and have been given a new mentor. Years ago, I gave it a try and it never went anywhere. The fit was not good and the time was not right. But I feel readier now. The vision more clear. The roots itching for space to spread and connect.
If anyone who is reading this knows about other mentorship programs or resources that help visions take root and grow, I would be grateful if you would leave them in the comments. In particular, how to create a nonprofit that serves a diverse community but also has a physical space(s). Or, better yet, someone who wants to donate 100 acres of land and a structure (or two or three…) to form deeper connections to Life! 😁
We found our way to Plum Cove Beach ten minutes before a group of our daughter’s friends pulled into the parking lot an over-stuffed SUV. It was well before the waking hour of many a college student on a Saturday morning, and the weather that greeted the cheering squad was less than welcoming. The temperature trying to reach 40 degrees has the could opened to rain. The water in the cove beside the halfway point of the Gloucester half marathon was rushing its night caps to the shore. Beside the porta potty, parka-wrapped volunteers offered paper cups of water and lemonade amidst the chanting lyrics of Bon Jovi on automatic repeat, “we’re halfway there!”
The Halfway Point
As we greeted our daughter’s friends, I remarked upon the windy, wet cold, but no one complained. Instead, they looked tired, but happy as they pulled their hoods over the heads and extracted their hand-crafted signs from the trunk. Despite the marathon traffic, everyone had arrived with ample time to spare, and after checking locations of the runners on our phones, we gathered back into our cars for some warmth as we waited for the impending descent down the hill towards the cove.
Cheering Friends with Signs of Encouragement
Back in the car, I began to think about how lucky our daughter was, while intermittently worrying about her leg, which had a tendency to go numb through over-use. How lucky she was, I thought between worry, that she had these remarkable friends who chose to spend a cold, rainy, and very early Saturday morning watching her run a half-marathon. Friends she had met less than two years ago, but whose bond was forged with the strength of shared joys and hardships experienced through college life that included their first year studying abroad together in London.
A northern adventure of friendship during their year in London
We made our way, parents and friends, back out into the blustery elements well before the anticipated trio crested the top of the hill. While my husband and I positioned ourselves for optimal photography, the younger crowd gathered with signs and smiles on the opposite side of the road. Where, I realized later, they would be able to sweep the tired runners into their arms for a brief embrace before they continued on. My husband and I, positioned to be voyeurs rather than active participants, were in for a rare treat.
Without any knowledge of our watching presence on the other side of the road, our daughter waits for a chance to run into the arms of her cheering friends.
In our twenty years of raising our children, my husband and I have been witness to a multitude of moments filled with the highs and lows of friendship. On this marathon morning, we were poised to watch the wonders of what friendship can be at its finest. More than once. There we stood, as our daughter turned the corner and began her descent down the hill. Her eyes, immediately zeroing in on her group of friends never wavered from their destination as her tired (and numb) leg(s) carried her down to the bend near the cove and into the opened arms of her cheering friends.
Some Kind of Wonderful, Indeed
Never once, in those moments of passing the halfway point did our daughter turn to notice her parents were also there, which, in my mind, was more than okay. In fact, it was, in my eyes, perfection. Every loving parent wants to give their child the best of the world, but one of the gifts we cannot bestow upon them is friendship. And here we ware watching the best of the best of that precious gift. Friendship not only found, but forged with the bond of loving support.
More than halfway there
With two eyes brimming with unobserved tears and a heart filled with renewed warmth, I headed back to the car to begin our journey to the finish line. Finding ourselves once again with ample time to spare, I was able to observe how much my body had relaxed its tension. Sure, I was still worried about our daughter’s physical wellbeing, in particular, the leg that had been a chronic issue, but my worry had was mostly replaced with the knowing that she was running beside and backed by friendship.
The hands of friendship are a precious balm
And suddenly there she was, making another turn around a bend in the road with her two companion runners nearby. With about 300 meters to go, I could see the fatigue in my daughter’s gait, and doubt began to tug at wonder as I watched with breath held as one leg, and then the other pulled her forward. At about the 200 meter mark, I heard the voices of her friends as their bodies matched her stride to bookend her. “Come on, Ava,” they called out to her, “You can do it.”
Anything is possible with friendship holding your hands
That was the moment awe returned and fiercely shook away doubt. First one hand, and then another, grasped the hands of my daughter and held fast as three sets of legs made their way to the finish line.
April has arrived already promising mischief. This week, the temperature is determined to plummet twenty degrees by mid-week and bring with it snow. Yes, you read this right, snow. The last time we had an April Fool’s snow storm was a quarter of a century ago. I remember that day vividly, as I had to drive my little Honda from Mansfield, MA into Providence, RI to attend my grad school classes and labs. Several feet of snow dumped on my path that day, and I am hoping this storm that is due to strike between Wednesday and Thursday will be kinder.
But I digress. This post was supposed to be about what has happened to this past month and why I am determined to bring balance back to my life. At the end of February, I started a per diem job as a patient care coordinator at a nearby family health center. When I took the job I promised myself it would bring my life more balance. And, in some ways it has. I have increased my income and my interaction with the world beyond my home and screen, but per diem quickly turned into every day, and I am finding it is not so easy for me to make time for writing.
Several days ago my husband asked me how book three in the Warrior’s of Light series is coming along, and I had to tell him “it’s not.” It still isn’t. It’s hovered around fifty pages for months now, and I really don’t have a great excuse as to why. If I have time to watch “All Things Great and Small” on my PBS app in the evenings, I have time to work on my craft.
What I have done, aside from creating semi regular TikTok posts on yoga and books, is to gather up, sign, package, and start distributing my pre-Covid/pre-updated copies of The Labyrinth (book 1) into Little Free Libraries I encounter during my forays out into the world. This has been incredibly satisfying for me, even though I have no idea what happens to the books after I nestle them among their peers in the tiny libraries.
Honestly, it doesn’t really matter. I like to play with wonder when I release the book into the world. I take joy in gripping the dragon pen my husband spontaneously gifted me (to match the dragon theme of book 2), opening the uncracked covers, and spreading words of light across the title page, before I wrap the book with an elastic attached to a soapstone animal that matches the character whose page I have bookmarked.
I like to image a labyrinth of light spreading across the land with each deposit into the libraries. A seed of hope implanted into the heart of a young reader. A thread of promise.
Some of the little libraries where The Labyrinth and its Warriors of Light have found homes.
After years of people telling me I should join TikTok to help promote my work and books, I have finally done it! If you know me, that’s kind-of a big deal. Especially when it comes to getting behind a camera.
A couple of days ago, I created an impromptu video before leaving the house to teach a yoga class. It was quick and completely unscripted, which pushes my Virgo boundaries. And, I’ve decided to share it with my blogging community too! Mostly because I believe it the benefits of yoga, and I really love this EMYoga Wake-up routine. It’s a wonderful way to start the day.
I’ve also started a new job, as a per diem patient care coordinator, which is also something I never envisioned myself doing. Lots of new changes for me this year! Without yoga, I’m not sure I would have stuck through this first week of adjustments. I think I’ll enjoy the work, but it has been lots of change for someone who loves her alone time.
So, if you feel inclined to watch this video and learn some tips to get your energy optimized for the day, I hope you enjoy it. If you are on TikTok, you can follow me @labyrinthwalker for more yoga videos (I promise to post more), author videos, pet clips, and, most likely some wanders in nature, and who knows what else…
The Light Behind the Story 