.....grateful for oranges

Yogis,
It’s always this time of year we are asked about gratitude. If we aren’t prepared, there is that moment of hesitation while we quickly try to think of what we are grateful for. Family….friends…..our health are the ones that typically roll off the tongue. Ok, what else? Uh. Hmm. Let me think about that while I stutter.

It reminds me of those big old cars on a cold winter morning. You would turn the key and the engine revs and then stops. Again with the key. This dance repeating for a few rounds until it turns over. Then like a deep cough it sputters as we ease our foot on the gas pedal, until finally it begins to hum.

For our gratitude engine to hum we need practice. The once a year dinner conversation just won’t cut it.

Indeed we are grateful for our friends, family and health, but if we didn’t have those would our gratitude engine stall? Without practice it may indeed. Gratitude is like a multi layered cake and those are the icing on top, but without digging down deeper we will miss all of the other pleasures waiting right on our plate.

Gratitude is not a thought. It cannot be practiced with the mind. Gratitude is an energy found in the area of the heart and when we feel it, we know it.  So how do we get it humming?

I look out the window. Letting my eyes relax I shift from looking to seeing. There is my garden as it prepares itself for winter. The garden brings me enormous joy and has been my profound teacher. I am so grateful for my garden. I see my firepit where we gather for drum circles, goddess events and full moon celebrations. It is beautiful. Grateful for my firepit. A fox. The blue sky. Oh, how grateful I am for the color blue! Bright red berries on the holly. Clouds. In order to awaken gratitude, I must ‘see’.

I stand sill and listen. The heat kicks on. Extremely grateful for heat. The sounds of sparrows in my front bushes as they chatter amongst themselves. What would the world be without birds! Owls, heron, the red cardinal against the snow, hawks soaring overhead.  The song of the wren. Deeply thankful for birds. The ticking of my favorite clock, the whistle of my tea kettle. Thunder. Music….how could I possibly forget music! In order to awaken gratitude, I must ‘hear’.

Last year I fell in love with mandarin oranges, eating two each day. Citrus is a winter fruit, so I have been holding off buying a bag this year until now. I peel one and place the first juicy slice on my tongue. Ahhhh….I am grateful for oranges. Each morning my mouth anticipates the warm water with fresh lemon and ginger slices. Dark chocolate. Thank you basil, sweet potatoes, avocados…..grateful, grateful, grateful. To awaken gratitude, I must ‘taste’.

I must ‘smell’. The calming comfort lavender oil has brought me over the years. Running my fingers through rosemary. Dinner cooking on the stove. A fire in the fireplace. A baby after a bath. The smell of rain and the ocean. Oh, and pine trees! And I must ‘feel’. Grass under my bare feet. Soaking in the tub with bath salts. Feeling sexy. Thank you crisp clean sheets and breeze through the open window!

Gratitude is found in being here. Awakening to this moment in this day. Over and over and over. This extraordinary world that we call home has infinite possibilities to keep our gratitude engine well oiled when we notice.

To me, the poet Mary Oliver sums it up perfectly. ‘Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.’

I am telling about it,
SARAH

....like a leaf

Yogis,
Autumn is the season which most clearly demonstrates impermanence.

For the last few weeks, the view from every window a portrait. Scarlet red, vibrant orange and bronzed leaves create a mosaic against the blue sky. The reflection of the sun as it touches each one. Look at me, they all say. We begin to get used to it. Then a day arrives with a blustery wind and the trees all look at each other and decide yes. It’s time. Without hesitation they let go.

That day was last week…….. 

I sit in front of my emptied dresser. Everything strewn across the floor. One by one I hold each piece of clothing in my hand. Keep it or let go? I move quickly to not allow sentiment to be one of the judges. Oh, I remember getting this shirt. Darn.  I find it hard to let things go…….

Trees are amazing teachers. They know when it is time. Even though those same leaves have spent months as the sole providers of life force and energy, in winter they would be a hindrance. Trees let them go. Every single one. No holding on to some just in case. Not worried that perhaps new ones will not grow back in spring or that it is too early or late. Trusting.

Shedding and allowing themselves to be naked and vulnerable. Baring their souls for the world to see. If only we humans were half as good at this act of faith. Impermanence.

We hold on to everything. Objects, property, titles, people……..as if they were ours. Yet nothing is ours. Everything only passing through. Some come to stay for a very long time, while others serve their intended purpose and should be freed. Yet we cling. Mine.

And the more we have the more bound we become. A hindrance. We must clean it all, care for it, pay for it and protect it in case someone else tries to take it. Weighted down. Afraid that in letting go we may become less. Become vulnerable.

A quote from Achaan Chah “If you let go a little, you will have a little happiness. If you let go a lot, you will have a lot of happiness. And if you let go completely, you will be free.”

Fall is the season of air. The wind. Clearing the old to prepare for the invitation winter’s arrival offers to go inside. The energy of surrender. Of trusting that we are enough and are supported by a benevolent force who will pick up the reins if we are willing to loosen our hold even a bit.

Fall is the time to take a step back and look for clutter. Whether in a closet, on the counter, in relationships or in the mind and let things go. We often wait for spring cleaning, but spring is for bringing in new, which is hard to do when you are already out of room.

My stacks of books. The bridesmaid dress from my sister’s wedding. The grudge I still harbor from years ago. The artificial propping up of a friendship that has run its course. Worry. I visualize holding each one pinched between my fingers, like a leaf, until a breeze blows and I let them go one by one.

The act of letting go takes no effort. The effort is in holding on…..
SARAH

....four seasons of change

Yogis,
Humans are adaptable creatures. It may take us some time when a change is thrown our way, but soon enough we change along with it. Take this year……

Spring was on the horizon. Seedlings pushing their heads up beneath the wet matted leaves, and daylight about to catch up with night. The clocks had sprung ahead only the previous weekend when ‘Bam!’, an uninvited guest arrived. Her name was Covid.

Spring was the time of new. Stormy. We didn’t understand her so we huddled at home and poured through the news hoping for some certainty. How long was she staying? How do I stay healthy? Is my family safe? All while I wiped my delivered groceries with the one canister of anti-bacterial wipes that a friend graciously gifted me.

Store shelves empty, we learned to navigate alternative food sources. Service providers scrambling to grow new ways of operating to meet the changing customer needs. Many of us finally joined Venmo and I became a Zoom expert. I planted my garden knowing the earth had not changed.

Along comes summer, with its bright sun and call to be outdoors. By then I had learned to navigate. Always providing the required 6 feet to passers by as I hiked, visited the river, and sat by the creek. Comfortable now to have a few others over for dinners on the deck. Seeing my boys once again and with the now understood precautions, making all three beach vacations a reality. Summer, a time of warmth, relaxation and fun. A mask now always in my pocket. Another in the car.

Fall. As the leaves change color and rain down from the trees, the numbers of cases rise. Outdoor dining becomes a less reliable option but my cooking continues. Fresh fish, plenty of herbs and spices and testing out new techniques. Making vegetable stock in preparation for the soup season. The families who created a new habit of walking around our block daily still passing by. The kids all out on their bikes.

I register for an online pranayama course (breath practice) to continue learning while other activities are limited. Strengthening my immune system with foods, herbs, movement and breath. I join Marco Polo, an app where you post short videos to your group, with my sister and parents. Like texting but video. My dad posts his Winston Churchill sounding wisdoms of the day. Staying connected. A few new masks ordered. I am getting used to my true hair color.

And soon winter will be upon us. The one season we haven’t shared with our guest. It is easy to become fearful. Yet we can and will adapt yet again.

This week I set up the table for the 1000 piece puzzle I will soon begin. This year perhaps there will even be two. Recently a quiet inner voice has been nudging me to try painting, so I am planning to ask for an easel and paints for Christmas to give it a go.  I have always said I can’t draw, but not sure I have ever seriously put that to the test. Checking catalogs for the warmest long underwear.

Stacking wood next to the fireplace. Preparing. Keeping a running list of the movies I want to watch. I have ordered lights which I will string across the beams of the great room to bring joy to the season. Why not! In fact, with no one coming to your house you can do anything you ever considered! My easel may stand in the middle of a room.

Four seasons of change, but spring will reliably return again. I have learned many things. One is that…..I am spending less, I want less, I need less.

I’m ready for you winter,
SARAH

.....hope

Yogis,
Each time I run down from the beach house to see the sunrise, I am glad I did. Every single time……

I wish I could say I do it on all visits, but what sounds like a good idea early in the evening, often doesn’t when it’s time to set the alarm.  I instead begin picturing myself snuggling in bed until sunlight fills the room, causing me to squint. Yet there are those nights that I remind myself I should and when the alarm sings, I throw on my sneakers, grab the leash and off we go. Last night was one of those nights, and as we meandered back to the house this morning after welcoming in the new day, I was yet again filled with joy and the energy of hope.

The sunrise ushers in a new day in her own quiet way. The only sounds the stirring of the birds and the crashing of waves. A few other souls wandering the beach as we all individually, yet collectively, share this daily miracle. Phoebe meets a dog and they chase. The air is cool and moist. A ship, barely visible, passes through on its own journey.

The sunrise promises us new. It does not promise us certainty. Yesterday felt to me like a sunrise.

Soon after the election was called Phoebe and I took a long leisurely stroll through town, wanting to ‘feel’ what was happening. Rehoboth is a liberal town and one of the meanings of its name is ‘plenty of room’ and is why I love it so much.

Here, everyone is welcome. White, Black, Latino, Muslim, Asian, city folk, country folk, straight, gay, transgender, rich, poor, funny, grumpy……. We may not all agree and I might not want to have dinner with all of them, but we share the streets, beaches, stores and parks in harmony. It continues to be a sign for me of what is possible if we allow it. A sign of hope.

Regardless of your political or policy views, beneath all of that lies the human-ness we all share. I have watched how we have been treating each other and the direction we have been heading is dark. I know in my heart we can do better and yesterday felt like the possibility that a new day brings.

A sunrise does not bring certainty. No one person can flip a switch for us, as much as we might like that. The hard work is in our hands but the atmosphere in which we will put our heads down and continue forward now feels more spacious.

I watched the acceptance speeches last night. A woman accepting the position of vice president was monumental. Seeing a woman of color accept the position brought me to tears. As I write this my eyes are filling once again. Hope fills me and spills out through my eyes.

Rehoboth did not disappoint. The air was electric and as cars drove around the town’s circle with flags and honking horns, people of every nationality cheered. All of us individually, yet collectively, sharing in this time of possibility. I fell asleep last night to the sound of fireworks.

This morning I watched the sunrise.

The word of the day is Hope,
SARAH

....falling into now

Yogis,
Two threads have been weaving together for me this past week. Mindfulness and fall. First I had chosen to walk through my days consciously noticing the ways that I know it is fall. During this time, I was also asked for my definition of mindfulness. I realized the exercise I had undertaken was exactly that. Mindfulness.

It has become an overused word, but to me it has a simple definition. Being here in order to notice now. Keeping the senses and the mind attached to life as it is happening. Unfortunately, our minds are not usually on board with what sounds so simple. As our body is doing one thing, our mind is most often reliving what already happened, or grasping for what is to come, at the expense of living this precious moment that sits patiently waiting right under our feet.

What are the ways that I know it is fall without the aid of a calendar? I watched.

There are the obvious signs found in cooler days and changing colors. The fewer and fewer hours of sun as she lowers herself in the sky. But then there are others. Those that I could easily pass by while lost in thought.

Leaves suddenly let go of their homes above us to carpet the earth we walk on. Every step I take creates the crackle of dried leaves. I love that noise!  Memories flood in of raking leaf piles into which my boys would take a running leap. Back even further to burning leaves in the backyard as a child. The swish of the broom required to clear the front steps at least once a day. The crow caws. The fox screams. The buck snorts and stomps his hoof. I can hear fall.

I step out the door for my evening walk to the smell of smoke hanging in the air. Families now using their fireplaces and wood burning stoves. I love that smell! I begin using my firepit again and as the fire tender, by the end of the evening each time I run a hand through my hair, I can smell fall. I wait as long as possible to wash it out.

I know its fall when the I am greeted at the store by overflowing baskets of apples.  Carmel apples sit in a window display. The tastes of pumpkin, cinnamon and nutmeg appealing once again. A craving for an afternoon cup of tea. I can taste fall.

The berries that appear on the tree between our house and the neighbors. Each year they and I would wait to see when the raucous flock of birds would appear to devour them. This year I will have to watch alone.  Squirrels in a frenzy (the exact opposite of mindful) as they bury and scamper. Keeping a wary eye on the walnut tree as I quickly pass beneath, hopeful I won’t be hit in the head or twist an ankle on the dropping tennis ball sized nuts. I can see fall.

Then on Wednesday I spent the afternoon with my five-year-old grandson. It was almost as if the Universe had set me up……

We decided to take a mindful walk where we found bugs, leaves and the now vivid green moss to zoom in on to see closer. And the very first thing he says to me as we start down the sidewalk is ‘Nana, I love the sound of the leaves as I walk on them!’.  Then when we get back and head to his backyard he asks ‘Nana, want to jump in the leaves with me?’ A hesitation…..and then of course I did.

My updated definition of mindfulness is to see the world as a five-year-old does.

A leaf fell out of my bra that night,
SARAH