.....plastic, plastic everywhere

Yogis,
I run my fingers up the toothpaste tube, pressing all that remains up to the top. With a big squeeze it shoots out but as soon as I release it to reach in with my toothbrush, it disappears back inside. Two more times I play this game until finally it lands on the brush. I guess this tube is really done, as I throw it away. I notice an empty one from my husband lying in there too. Sigh. Plastic…….

Every now and then something will snap me back to the ludicrous situation we have put ourselves in with plastic. A few months ago, it was videos of the sea of plastic bottles floating atop parts of the ocean. Last week it was someone stating that each of us consumes about a credit cards worth of plastic each month through our food and water.

Each time I vow to make more changes. I have moved my zip locks to the closet for emergencies only and invested in reusable silicone bags and a variety of containers (slowly switching even these from plastic to glass). Stretchy silicone coverings for bowls and cut vegetables. Reusable green bags for veggies that I use for months before replacing. Yet even these small changes took remembering and getting used to. Plastic has become so inexpensive, prevalent and convenient. A way of life.

I look at the two tubes lying there waiting to go who knows where, and wonder why toothpaste can’t come in glass jars. Better yet why we can’t go to a store and refill our glass jar each time it empties?  That would take effort. A new way of moving through the world. Would we?

Covid made matters even worse. Plastic gloves, plastic silverware, containers for take out to keep us ‘safe’. New ways of packaging that I fear will not die off with the virus. Individual servings and the plastic container the salad is placed in at the deli an hour before we pour its contents into a bowl and throw it out.

And we all do know very little actually gets recycled, right? Hence the credit card in our belly.

Someone sent me a podcast of a doctor who has proven the relationship between chemicals in plastics and our reproductive health. Lowering sperm counts generation after generation. Difficulty conceiving. We were not designed for this type of consumption nor is this earth that holds us. But consumers we are…….

At times it appears overwhelming. Our individual small changes, while absolutely necessary, won’t be enough. The stories we hear are ones of doom and gloom. How hard it will be and perhaps not even possible. The challenges of human nature.

I was tutoring a kindergartener this week and whenever he read the sentence a shining star would appear on the screen. Yes!...he would exclaim with a twinkle in his own eye. How many stars do I have now? I began to think.  We need a new story to guide us to our own stars. Incentive.

A collective story that can turn this ship in a new direction. Help me come up with one! Maybe something like a tale of the young heroine who moves through the world placing any plastic she encounters into her basket and replacing it with flowers, songs, poetry and rainbows. Everywhere her feet land transformed by her simple shift from ‘how can I make this easy for me’ to ‘how can I make this more beautiful for all.’  The animals gather to sing her praises and the children splash in the creeks, while each night a new star shines its light on her hair as she lies to rest.  

What are you doing in your own world? Let’s share ideas and give each other stars. Weaving a new story of a path we can walk together.

Noticing plastic,
SARAH

.....seeing from different angles

Yogis,
Hello ferns! I see you plantain, poke and clover. Wow stinging nettle, you have grown this week!

Phoebe and I are strolling through our woods checking in on everyone. We are almost back up the hill to the grass when I see someone I don’t recognize. Hmmmm…… A memory floods in of me planting some roots here but that must have been four or five years ago.

I pull out my phone and launch my trusty plant identifier app. Right away it knows it is a plant. Ok good start. It then recognizes it as being in the buttercup family, and eventually narrows it to Baneberries and Cohoshes genus. Sometimes this is where the app gets stuck.

Try different angles it tells me as I lean this way and that, zooming in and backing up. At times we never get any further. This time, however, it finally announces her as Black Cohosh. Indeed, the plant I had placed beneath the earth years back. “Welcome! I guess you were waiting for just the right moment.” How amazing nature is.

It all got me thinking.

I think it is safe to say that more than half of people walking through the woods see a sea of green plants. So why when I walk through a lawn am I seeing the violets, dandelions and spring garlic so distinctly? Why as I drive do the mullein along the side of the road yell ‘here I am‘ to me?

My eyes are no different than yours and it has nothing to do with intelligence. It’s only that I developed a passion for plants and have chosen to pay attention. To spend the effort to see each one as an individual. Recognize its unique gift which then leads us to a relationship.

Maybe for you its birds, where you can’t fathom how anyone could confuse a house wren with a carolina wren. Or your ears know within a few notes whether it’s Mozart or Beethoven. Aware of the stunning differences between the two and the gifts they offer. Or perhaps its trees, or artwork, or how your tongue instantly assesses which spice was used in the sauce.

Those areas where your life app knows not only family, but genus and bores right down to the individual. Unfortunately, we don’t always do this with each other.

How often it is that we classify a group of people by their nationality or color of their skin. Labeling the ‘family’ or maybe down to ‘genus’ and then applying sweeping characteristics to the whole group. Staying up at that surface level where we can convince ourselves they are all the same, like a sea of green. Blinders on that they even all begin to look alike. Prejudices love this easy path in.

When we live here there is no hope of relationship. What if we could make our eyes as determined as my plant app?

Each time we pass a person, after the usual assumptions of who they were, we would be reminded to look from different angles. To zoom in and step back. To open ourselves to witness the subtle. The curve of the jaw. The way a hand lifts to smooth back the hair.  How one side of the mouth lifts higher than other as they smile. Boring down to the myriad of intricacies that comprises an individual. Unique. Unlike any other with a gift they want to share. Now a relationship begins.

As I stand up from the black cohosh, my phone passes over Phoebe. ‘Mammal’ I am told.

Seeing others from different angles,
SARAH

.....re-entry

Yogis,
Ready or not, here it comes!  Re-entry………

I knew eventually this day would come, but now that it’s here I am not sure I’m ready. Fourteen months snuggled in quietness suddenly coming to an end.

Yes of course there are things I am looking forward to. Walking along the canal without a mask and clear sunglasses, and not having to shout to the cashier to make my muffled voice audible. Being able to walk into friends’ homes, having the family together for celebrations that were put on hold and an island winter vacation.

Yet there are many aspects of ‘returning to normal’ that have me hoping the shift will take its sweet time.

I am reminded of going to the movies. Do you remember going to a matinee? Two hours of sitting quietly in a cool dark room absorbed in a story. The mind and emotions transported to another world. At the end the credits would roll and any voices were kept to a hushed whisper. The lights lifting only enough for a safe navigation of the aisle.

In those days you didn’t go back through the lobby. At the bottom of the theater next to the screen were doors that led outside. As the usher opened them you could see the stark contrast between the dimly lit theater and the bright sun of the outer world. And stepping through that door, eyes blinking and mind trying to adjust, was incredibly jarring. Horns honking, people talking, bikes flying by….as if nothing had changed. Yet I felt changed.

I am finding even the thought of re-entry jarring to my system. For introverts, empaths and those who were searching for peace before this all began, much of this past year has offered many blessings. But re-enter we must. But how?

The other day I was driving on a local highway and found myself sandwiched between two eighteen-wheelers, with someone so close behind we should have just driven together. All of us going 65 mph. I felt myself cringing. My hands gripping the steering wheel. Breath shallow. I remember this now. Two steps back…..

The planes are overhead and stores more crowded. You can feel the energy shift in the air. Soon there will be gatherings and the calendar will begin to fill. I already miss weekends with no guilt over moving slow. Of no plans. Of time spent with one person at a time where conversations felt more meaningful.

Discussions have begun of when and how my in person classes will start. I look forward to moving and breathing together but still can’t visualize exactly what that will look or feel like. I think back to how it was before, but it’s almost as if I am watching someone else. I trust that what it is supposed to be will be shown to me when the time is right. Baby steps forward……

I know not everyone feels this way. Some of you can’t wait to jump back in the saddle of life, but for me the thought of it all feels exhausting. My re-entry will be more like the pony ride at the fair.

I am not the same person who went into lockdown last year. I am changed. Please be patient with me as I navigate this re-entry.

Quietly happy,
SARAH

.....mysterious mushrooms

Yogis,
Walking through the woods I’m hunched over with my eyes trained on the ground. Take a couple steps….pause. Take a couple steps…..pause. Crouch down. Focus. Stand up. Repeat.

Phoebe is frustrated with our pace. She is accustomed to another rhythm. One where we walk briskly to a location, she is released from the confines of a leash, we spend time there, and walk back with a spring to our step. It’s as if she is rolling her eyes and whispering under her breath ‘not again’ with each pause. Not unlike a teenage boy who you thought would be fun to bring on your shopping trip.

It’s morel mushroom season and I am on the hunt!

My first season at this ‘sport’ was last April. After seeing posts of others bringing home baskets of morels in our area, I decided I wanted to participate. I can do this, right? I read articles and watched videos. I studied their shape and coloring and learned which trees they may be under.  After days and days of foraging I had found only two small morels….neither big enough to warrant bringing home…..yet they gave me joy and vindication that yes, I can do this.

Morels are known for being mysterious and elusive.  Rising from the ground quickly, they mimic the dried leaves in which they mingle both in color and texture. With a short growing season and other hunters competing in potential choice locations, it is no wonder that veterans to the sport closely guard their coveted spots. This is a competition where its every woman for herself!

Mid-April arrives and time to freshen up my skills. I start looking on my walks with Phoebe.

A couple of days in I am with a friend and we decide to check around some tulip poplar trees. Nothing. I take a few steps away and see the tree has dropped one of its leaf pods with flowers. In that instant everything that had happened last year when I found the mushrooms flooded in. I could feel it. I turn and there right in front of me stands a large morel, her head still bent, holding the dirt she had recently pushed through. A thrill!

She had shown me.

Not much different than the spiritual journey, right? At times, what we are seeking can feel mysterious and elusive. We look and look and when we become discouraged and ready to give up, we can suddenly feel it. A moment where time stops and everything appears crystal clear, showing us that we are on the right path.

I am finding morel hunting to be an amazing mindfulness practice. One that takes the yoga tenets and rolls them together into a real-life practice.

Being present. Pausing. Awareness. Silence. Patience. Letting go.  Seeing. Opening to guidance. And most importantly…..trust.  Unwavering faith that what you seek will come.

This time I did bring it home and cooked it up in oil and butter with a little salt. OMG! I have never had a morel before, and although I like mushrooms, this went way beyond that. An explosion of flavor in my mouth. NOW I understand what all the fuss is about.

Complete trust,
SARAH 

.....dandelions and violets

Yogis,
Last Sunday I returned home from ten days at the beach. A wonderful week filled with long walks, yard clean up (which I enjoy), cooking and relaxing, yet in the back of my mind I was concerned that I might have missed the blooming of some plants in my yard. This time of year, when you head out of town for even a short time it can feel like you are arriving back to a completely different season.   

Pulling up the gravel driveway I scan the yard. The grass sits much taller now with tufts of spring garlic towering above. My fig has leaves.  I look closer. There they are! Dozens of bright yellow smiling faces looking my way surrounded by a sea of delicate nodding purple heads. Hello friends!

Dandelion and violet can be counted on to blanket the lawn with color in mid-April and they hadn’t disappointed.

I quickly unload the car, grab my mason jars and head outside. It’s a beautiful day and the sun is shining. Perfect weather to say hello, spend time together and make earth medicine. Dandelion flowers will soak in olive oil to make a salve for dry or damaged skin. Violet flowers, when placed in my white wine vinegar, will turn it a stunning vibrant pink and she will share with me her vitamins and minerals as I use the vinegar over the year.

Gifts.

   

When we think of gifts we often think of the present we buy a friend on her birthday. An object. Yet gifts involve an energy. If I hand you something you asked for, or I buy a new sweater, those are not gifts, even though there was an exchange. What makes a gift a gift?

A gift requires a giver. Someone/something expressing the energy of giving. But there must also be a receiver, or else there is no gift. And that receiver must express the energy of receiving. Which when activated becomes a gift back to the giver. A cycle. A current.

Sometimes it feels easier to be a good giver than a receiver.

Water is a master teacher of the receiving energy. If I stand down by the river and throw in a log, the river opens herself up, accepts the log and wraps her arm around it. She doesn’t ‘send it back’ or resist. She won’t tell me she wished I had thrown in a rock instead. She won’t say ‘you shouldn’t have’ or be embarrassed. She receives what I give. Fully.

The universe gives us gifts daily. Am I fulfilling my receiver role? The colors of the trees this week…..the way the sun shines through my windows as she sets……the crescent moon low in a clear night sky……a cool breeze on my warm cheek as I sit quietly collecting violet flowers. All gifts.

Am I aware?  Do I notice the gifts and receive them, or have I just come to expect them? Am I doing my part to keep the energy circulating…….

The saying is ‘the more you give, the more you will receive’, but I am also witnessing that the more I consciously receive, the more gifts come my way.

This week I opened my heart to receive them all. Each one perfect. I noticed them, pointing my awareness their way and spoke out loud. Thank you, Universe! Thank you, dandelions! Thank you, violets! I see you!

A relationship is formed. The cycle continues……

Receiving gifts,
SARAH

......spring cleaning

Yogis,
It has begun in earnest! The frenzy of spring cleaning. Can you feel it?

I guess we are no different from the squirrels. I watched one who was busy cleaning out, gathering leaves, carrying them up and sprucing up their home in anticipation of family. Or the birds, with their early morning excitement to get going on the day, not even waiting for the sun to rise. Dipping into my bird bath and fluffing their feathers. The energy is clearly in the air. Can you see it?

Spring is the time of year where our instinctual urge to sweep, mop, dust and polish arises. A natural call to clear away of the accumulation our collective winter slumber has blanketed upon us.  Wanting the space around us scoured and sparkling, prepared for the new we can sense is lying just ahead. Can you smell it?

When else would we have the desire to remove everything from the utility closet and get down on hands and knees to wipe the baseboards and mop the floor? Or decide to spend a Saturday morning pulling the sofa away from the wall to face what lurks behind? This week we even pulled the oven out. Yikes!

The annual cleanse is not limited to our homes. The body asks nicely (or not so nicely) to be lightened. To forego those cookies before bed and switch from heavy stews to steamed artichokes and roasted asparagus. It too yearns to be ready for the activities ahead. Can you taste it?

And don’t forget the yard…….When you walk out the door in spring you can hear the spring cleaning. Mowers, trimmers and blowers creating a steady hum. Lawns and gardens being cleared and primped to await the incoming rainbow of colors. Our yard an extension of us. Can  you hear it?

Spring cleaning is hard work, as any squirrel can tell you! I don’t own a leaf blower so back down on my hands and knees I go as I lift soggy clumps of leaves from deep within the ivy. Up and down, up and down. Reach this way, lift this, move this. Even climb behind the heat pumps, reaching my hand down into who knows what. By nighttime my body reminds me of each of my movements. But it’s what I refer to as a ‘good hurt.’ Removing the winter lethargy from my joints. An inner rinse that they thank me for. Can you imagine it?

We clean and vacuum our cars. Launder the bedding. Power wash the house and finally throw out the leftovers in the back of the frig. The more we do…..the more we notice needs to be done.

The spring rains soak a quickly melting earth, reminding us that this is the season of water. An annual wash of the world. I think in the next warm rain I will stand out there, opening my arms to the sky and let myself be drenched.

Want to join me?

Windowsills next,
SARAH

......visualizing bluebirds

Yogis,
A friend mentioned in class that she saw a bluebird on her feeder. A first in her yard! In fact, we don’t have them in the neighborhood. Oh, I want to see a bluebird! I don’t know that I have ever seen one. She says she will send it my way.

I start watching out the window. I listen to a recording of the bluebird calls thinking maybe I can hear them. I look at pictures online to make sure I recognize them when they arrive. As I walk down the street, I search the trees. I even paint a picture of a bluebird!

Holding my awareness on what I want to create in my life…..

When hearing about a bluebird, many picture the blue jay. I have blue jays. Those good sized boisterous birds with a pointed hat are hard to miss. Bluebirds, on the other hand are quite a bit smaller with an iridescent blue head and back, and an orange chest similar to the robin. Sometimes they are even referred to as the ‘blue robin.’

A few days later, walking through my great room a flash of blue catches my eye out the back window. I stand and wait and there he is! She not far behind with a softer grayer blue. Gone again in the blink of an eye.

I begin to see them more often, aware now of where they like to land. Thinking perhaps I could attract them to nest, I begin looking for bluebird houses. I order one and wait.

They arrive daily now and soon are checking out my old yellow birdhouse that Danny made years ago. Of all the birdhouses I have, this is without a doubt the most popular. I watch birds argue over it and one family often waits for another to move out to quickly slide in for their turn. It’s prime real estate and like today’s market it causes a bidding war.

Every day they come. They land. They go in and out to take the tour one more time. I visualize them moving in…….

Not so fast say the sparrows. Little but spunky they can be the bully on the block. Not that they necessarily want the house, they just don’t want the bluebirds to have it. My neighbor tells me that sparrows are a threat to bluebirds. Oh no. I’m not going to visualize that.

Much swooping, dive bombing and bickering ensues, yet the bluebirds hold their ground. They found the house of their dreams and don’t seem willing to let it go without a fight.

Each day I go out to have a word with the lead sparrow, reminding him that they have houses in the front yard already. That there is food for everyone, a new birdbath on the property and safety. I begin sending out the energy of ‘peaceful coexistence’ and ‘enough for all.’ He responds by building a nest with his mate in the green birdhouse adjacent to the yellow one. Hhmmmmmm……

I continue to ‘see’ a bluebird family in the yellow house and the sparrow family in the green house, projecting that image out into the universe with trust.

Ms Bluebird has begun to build a nest. Mr Bluebird is so sweet, taking his job as protector quite seriously. Standing on top surveying the property while she goes to gather material. Doing a little happy shake when she arrives back and bending his neck to look in the hole, checking on her progress. The sparrow watches from the house next door.

The answer to what we ask for isn’t always yes. Nature swirls and dances and the outcome will be what it will be, so I will try not to attach. Yet I will continue to do my part, sending welcoming energy to my new friends……the bluebirds.  

Stay tuned,
SARAH