I don’t think I really learned to walk until I was an adult. Even then, I had to learn to walk again when I was 50- after I lamed myself. It is no secret; I walk for health. Not to become a monument of sculpted beauty and strength; but for all around health: spiritual, physical, mental, emotional. When I walk I pray, meditate, think. I gain a new perspective. This spiritual well-being acquired while walking multiplies the physical benefits of circulation and aerobic fitness. Better circulation of blood and oxygen improves my mental faculties resulting in sharper, clearer perception of my emotions. Bringing emotions into clear focus can be somewhat daunting. When I acknowledge my emotions, I must acknowledge the yearning and longing that surface with high definition in sun and nature. I am wary of acknowledging the longing and yearning. To acknowledge them puts me at risk of attempting to assuage them with false fulfillment. There is so much more I want to do and experience; let me not detour to cheap fulfillment; but rather, may I harness the yearning and longing and let them be a matched team that pulls my chariot victoriously across the finish line.
Category Archives: Spiritual Well Being
I Feel Welcome Here
You may know the struggle I had a year and a half ago when I left my beloved mountains of 8,000 feet above sea level and repaired to the high desert. I did not want to come here. I loved my rustic cabin, the conifer trees, the open space trails, clear air and perfect weather; and most of all the feisty mountain my blog banner is named for.
I did not want to come here – to the high desert. It was my plan to take a writing sabbatical in Seattle for 5 months, finish a novel, and then see what new adventures life afforded me; maybe on another mountain. But here is where I ended up. I finished my novel. I began another and another. I did not find a publisher, but I found a job. A good job. A job tailor made for me. I love what I do and who I am. The job fits so well that I feel welcome there, welcome to be me and to do what I do well. I feel welcome when I come home at night and write. I feel welcome here, in the high desert. Walking has provided great spiritual, emotional, mental, and of course, physical health for me over the years. I have walked many of the foot paths, back roads and trails in this high desert community. No one has shouted at me to get off the trail- that it is dangerous and I don’t belong there. No one has threatened to call the sheriff on me for walking on a public easement to get to a public building. I have made new friends at work, and at church. I bought lemonade from the boys next door in my new neighborhood.
I will not go so far as to say I feel at home here. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be truly at home anywhere on earth. But, I am able to make my home here, because; I feel welcome here. I am at peace.
Lion!
I don’t know if it was something I ate last night. I did have an extra serving of Selah’s birthday cake and some ice cream. I did have a few licks – a taste check and finger cleaning of the seven layer bean dip I made for the potluck today. But, in the pre-waking minutes before six A.M., I had a dream about a lion. I don’t know if it was a precursor of things to come; a sort of warning, or a manifestation of inner thoughts and fears. I was not particularly fearful of the lion.
In my dream I was walking back to my house, my childhood home, where I am now living temporarily. I did take a walk in the dusk and twilight last night, without fear or startle. I dreamed I was headed South on 12th Street from Horizon Drive hiking on the embankment that inclines toward what is now Horizon Towers. It was in the late afternoon. The embankment was rough and rocky as in the old days. Sandstone boulders leaned one upon the other like a railroad grade or new road base. Various piñon trees and scruffy brush told me this was natural terrain, not man made. I had to pick my way and scramble from boulder to boulder, much like I did in Seattle last month when the tide was in and I wanted to get from point A to point B along what had been a nice sandy beach the evening before. Suddenly, as I neared the ridge, there appeared a lion. An African style lion with full mane. He was about 25 feet away and though I tried to scream, “Mountain Lion!” no sound came out and I knew I was too far away from the houses to be heard anyway. It was not a mountain lion. I knew this in my dream, yet I persist in giving it the title, Mountain Lion. My mind and body were consumed by the immediate question, “What should I do?” Fleeing was out of the question. One jump of mine to the next boulder would accomplish nothing compared to the leap of this cat. Nor could I, in my summer shorts and sleeveless top, pump myself up to look bigger and more in command. The king was studying me. I picked up a fist sized rock, aimed, and threw. “Maybe I can distract him,” I thought, pitching another rock wide. With each pitch I moved in the direction of my goal: home and society. He turned his back to me, disinterested, and in his place stood a female lion. I felt wary of the female, particularly as I continued to walk forward and pass a half grown lion. Was this a cub? Would both parents come after me to protect the off-spring? I do not know. I woke then and I am sure, if anyone was passing my open window, they heard me talking in my sleep, trying with numbed lips to articulate the warning, “Mountain Lion.”
Describing Codependence
You know you are codependent when you self-sacrifice to give another what you want for them. You can be sure you are codependent when you are doubly self-sacrificing in order to provide what you want them to want and what they want. It is proof positive you are codependent when you pull out all the stops of self-sacrifice in order to provide for another person the thing you want for them as well as the thing they want; in hopes they will see the thing you want them to want is the better choice and choose that thing over the thing they thought they wanted. Love is complicated. Codependent love is convoluted.
“The negative idea of Unselfishness carries with it the suggestion not primarily of securing good things for others, but of going without them ourselves, as if our abstinence and not their happiness was the most important point.” C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory
Alone without a camera
I traveled without a camera. I had no companion along to snap pictures. No excess baggage. Instead, I bought lots of postcards-particularly in San Francisco. In Seattle, my gracious cousins accommodated me with housing, sightseeing plans…and a camera. Here are some shots ot the most beautiful day one could desire.
Worth It For the View
“Whatever would you want to go to San Francisco for?” I was asked by the older generation. Many my own age were envious. I could have enjoyed the company of several travelling companions had schedule and budget allowed. After yesterday’s wanderings in the city, I now know. I came for the view. Chinatown was fun. The food (butter cake, banana roll, rice and beef, stuffed shrimp at the wharf) a treat. The cable car a must. The cheesy, top-off double decker tourist bus (though over-priced) provided much needed bearings for the city. But the crowning moment for me was a stroll to the end of Fisherman’s Wharf and a wander out to the end of the pier. I had already walked to the end of the Embarcadero, smelled the smells, shopped in the little shops, purchased a cable car music box for my mother (so I could tell her that’s what I came to San Francisco for). I pressed forward. Passed a sandy beach where two children built sand castles and a couple of die-hard swimmers trained in the cold water. I rolled my toes in the sand without taking my walking shoes off and continued on my morning’s journey. Just before the entrance to a wonderful military park, I veered right and followed an aging cement pier a half mile or so into the harbor. By this time I had squirted a couple of honey straws and an individual peanut butter package into my mount to give me energy and keep me going. The pier was wide enough for pedestrians and two-way cars to pass, but, motorized vehicles are no longer allowed. On the way foot traffic was mild and I found myself mingling from a distance with single photographers and their tripods and a couple of serious fisherman. There were, perhaps, a total of 12 people on the long, curving pier. No one paid much notice to anyone else. In the distance, Alcatraz Island rose out of the fog when the clouds parted and the sun came out. The view was breath taking and breath giving.
I found myself saying, “This moment, this view, was worth the whole trip.” At that moment, alone at the end of the pier and looking out toward the water, a sea lion surfaced, not more than twenty feet away. He (or she) was coming straight for me, nosed up out of the water, blew (a friendly kiss, so it seemed) and then dipped and was gone. What a moment! What a view!
House#1 in route to there and back again
This is a sanctified house – not because the owners are Christian (they would cough and gag and chafe at such a suggestion inadvertently linking them to the conservative religious right); but because they are spiritual, deeply in touch with their dreams and desires and goals. This house is sanctified because every inch, every nook and cranny, every photo and artifact exudes who they are. Ultimately, consummately, they are fulfilling the purpose for which they came to be and it is glorious to witness. And, they love each other…deeply, as largely as they are capable of and they are persons of great depth, thought capacity, artistry, and innovation. This house is authentic, as are the people in it, and the books that line the shelves and spill into architectural heaps on coffee tables and nightstands. So, I will spend my time here being authentic, and taking long walks in this wondrous, brick and red geraniums, old money and rich tradition neighborhood. Oh, and playing the grand piano.
The Rail Chronicles,June 11, 2009
Been there, done that. The first event of the train trip came less than 15 minutes out of the station – delay for maintenance workers to get out of the way. Been there, done that. I am used to train delays for maintenance, passenger train delays for the freight trains (who own the railway) and delays to change crews when crews have been on the rails longer than the union allows (due to aforementioned delays). A mere three years ago this would have been a new and unique experience for me. Since that time I have made several rail trips from Denver to GJ, GJ to Denver, GJ to Glenwood Springs. Even with the delays, I continue to enjoy train rides. Trains have plenty of legroom, luggage storage, and big windows. The overwhelming plus for train rides is the freedom from driving. This freedom; to write, daydream, think, crane my neck, be an armchair traveler and really reach the destination; is huge.
Ruby Canyon- I have not been here or done this before. In his best tour guide voice the conductor tells us we will be following the Colorado River for the duration of our ride from GJT to SLC today. The Colorado River ends just 40 miles short of the Pacific Ocean after providing showers and filling swimming pools for the populace of Southern California and trickling into Mexico. Ruby Canyon is aptly named. Red rocks flank the Colorado River and make this evening trip well worth the effort. We pass at least three different groups of river rafters who have made camp for the night on the opposite banks. Some totally ignore us. One group waves; but none of the groups have any sense of obnoxious tradition, thus disappointing a group of 40 something, female sight-seers from Chicago and points further East.
Saturday Prayers
Dear God, show me truth. Show me your will and direction for my life. God, please grant me the power to carry it out rather than the constant worry and striving to make it happen on my own. For my daughter; grant a deep and abiding knowledge of who you are-and are meant to be- for her. Grant that she be always a fulfilled and loved woman, peaceful and wise at heart whether single or in a relationship. For my son; I ask that you grant him an awareness and revelation of truth: who YOU are, God of the Universe, and who he is to be. Give to my son power and strength and wisdom and boldness in the things of the true and living God. For the one estranged, who, because of his raging and insults has become my enemy, I pray for the higher good to master him. I pray he would have truth and beauty and self-awareness. For my grown and settled children, I pray that you would continue to knit them together in a strong cord of love and ethics. Bring out the best in them. You have given each of them marvelous strengths. Burst on them at every turn in beauty, truth, joy, the energy of life and love. And for my friends, my listening ears; I pray your protection on them, that my “viruses” would not attach to their “systems”, but that they would remain whole, beautiful, joyous, successful, and wise. May it be.
Back to Square One
Recently someone tried to convince me that starting over is never a good idea; it just doesn’t work. Essentially she was saying that one needs to just stay in the pit one has dug and continue plodding, maintain the status quo of the circumstances and people one finds oneself with. I understand the Biblical principle behind her adamance to never start over (Peter’s example of a sow returning to wallowing in the mud, or Paul’s question as to why the Galatians were returning to the weak and beggarly rules they started out with which led them from the school master to grace).
I also dislike being bumped back home or to the hospital as much as the next person playing Careers or Monopoly or other reality games. While I understand the necessity to refrain from continually running away and starting over, I have found that retracing one’s steps is often beneficial to ascertain why one went to the kitchen in the first place, what one was thinking of, desiring and wanting, before allowing oneself to be distracted by outside urgencies or circumstances and the daily stresses of life.
So, pardon me, if, in my mid-life quest to be all that I can be and all that my Higher Power asks of me, I decide to return to square one, a mile marker with clear directions.
Though it appears to some that I am starting over, I am actually still standing expectantly on the beach waiting for the next big wave – not just any wave, but a true quintessential pipeline, something I can ride all the way into port; “or be content to sail with God the seas,” as Emerson penned.