Hope's Breath

The Last Shell

2011-01-25T18:43:00.001-06:00

I began a path, though I knew not where, to a journey’s end that was calling. Along the way I paused to absorb the metaphors and images of this life, which are so precious. Here you will find me when I was brave, pondering, searching, and collecting the images and metaphors like shells upon the beach.

I do not have it all figured out. One thing I do know and that is how to collect the shells on the beach of my beloved Gulf Shores. I have offered these shells to you. None are perfect, but then, I have always preferred imperfect shells and their character, their stories and textures.

The journey is not over, but now, takes a different course. The tide and time are calling for a new path. It is time, to leave these shells and follow a new sunrise. To all who have followed me and have taken the time to look at my little shells, I am truly honored and humbled.

As I say good bye to the blog, Hope's Breath, i leave one final shell for each of you: May your journey be soft. May you always see Nature and hear her voice. May you always pause to see. May you always look for what you do not see. When the seasons have ended may your pockets be full of shells, little ears whispering to you of wonderful journeys and the sound of the surf.

Thank you all.
Namaste.
Shalom.
I bow from the waist and bend my neck to each of you
Peace to you, and to our world.

Roots

2011-01-20T20:16:00.000-06:00

She is bare but she is not dead nor is she dormant. Nature knows to send her roots deep into the earth when the harsh winter strikes. Even now, spring is emerging within the roots buried deep. Matters not that we cannot see. Her limbs do not go limp thinking all is lost, their seasons have ended, winter has stripped their leaves and hope. From beneath the earth, where there is no sun, where life once ended goes to rest, the roots draw forth life, strength and nourishment.

She is bare but she is not dead nor is she dormant. Her roots are deep into the earth tickling the seeds of spring and whispering, 'weary one, look at me.'

Lace

2011-01-19T18:47:00.000-06:00

The sun will fill every opening. No matter how small the crack the sun's light will enter.

May the tapestry of my life be made of lace.

Reminder

2011-01-17T19:07:00.000-06:00

Though beautiful, stoic, strong and rooted as she is, Nature's reminder to peel back the bark and look beyond. Sometimes fragile eyes are the best way to see.

Valiant Heart

2011-01-16T13:50:00.000-06:00

I look through the pane. In my silence and vision I feel the aching and throbbing of need and yearning. I hear the heartbeat of life and hope. Together they gather all the disparate parts of my life that define, segment or confine me.Their sound and sensations awaken me, breathe life and make me whole. I believe.

Tonight, when the host or hostess looks over my shoulder and beside me, and then mutters, "Table for one?" I will smile and politely correct him or her. "No thank you. A table for me, please."

Intent

2011-01-02T09:26:00.000-06:00

Probably one of, if not the, most universally recognized symbol - the heart. The distinguishing feature, its design separating it from all other shapes, forms and images is the crest and fall. The union bent and bowed, the dent.

Intent.

To Be So Wise

2011-01-01T07:50:00.000-06:00

She has grown up. She doesn't think herself small. She can walk now. She is starting to talk. She is letting the world know what she wants and does not want. She laughs. She runs for hugs. She stands in front of strangers until they smile. She loves without fear. She never doubts that life will, with tender love, fill in the holes. She still looks out the window. She takes time to see.

On this, the first day of 2011, may I become as wise.

Two Small Feet

2010-12-31T05:40:00.000-06:00

Two feet to remind us that we can change our path mid stride.We can adapt, change and choose a different path. Two feet to remind us that we leave footprints wherever we walk. Two feet melting the snow beneath to remind us that time is fleeting and what we see now we may not see tomorrow. Two feet, whose impressions are larger than life, to remind us that appearances can be deceiving, and perhaps the challenges we face aren't as big as they seem.

Two small feet, pausing for a moment, to offer a simple hello to the new year, and recall the pages of those past.

Listening

2010-12-27T08:48:00.000-06:00

There must be something in a child’s chemical make-up that with perfect harmony joins their facial muscles to the muscles of their body and vocal chords. I think we lose this as we get older. I’m not talking about the pout of a teenager. Oh no. A teenage pout is something we never lose. The exaggerated arm movements, the strained voice, that exhale that would power a fleet of tall ships with their sails straining to contain the breath’s power. Oh no, we never lose that as an adult, the struggle for freedom thwarted.

I also don’t mean the tantrum a child flows in and out of like a professional basketball or soccer player who is suddenly on death’s door with an injury. When the penalty is awarded they leap up and score the winning goal. An amazing power of recovery. No we don’t lose this ability as adults either. Well, some of us have learned to lower our voices, tone down the red face but the tantrum is still there. Someone will not let us have our way and by gosh, they’re going to pay….until we get our way, greed.

No, only a child’s body and soul can create this look, sound and movement. Their eyes grow wide and big and they pierce through your own eyes. Their shoulders drop, their bodies somehow become both rigid and totally placid as they look up at you. There is no resistance, just a quiet look and a whispered “no” or “why?” or, the piece de resistance, “o-Kay.” There are variations of this theme, but I think you’ll know the look, the dance and the song. You wish they would go into a tantrum or slam their door like a teenager with the requisite exhale. You could respond then. You would have been provoked. But this, no this is perfect resistance that you cannot defend. In fact, more often than not, it will cause your heart to melt or at least question whether you are the one being unreasonable. It is pure innocence, honest emotion and an unshielded tender heart.

As my shoulders sank into my rib cage, I reminded myself it was a good idea. It was necessary. You’ve put it off too long. If I could have, I would have knelt down, placed her hands in mine, met her gaze and winked. “C’mon sweetheart, I promise, if not fun, you’ll at least learn stuff and get to see new things, O-kay?” Alas, one cannot kneel down and take your hands as a child into your now adult hands. You can only sit, be quiet and listen, especially if it has been a long time since the two of you talked. Sort of like the Little Prince and the fox, you may have to engage in some ‘taming’ first.

Like a blind date, we sat in silence wondering if we could find something in common. At last I heard the soft voice whisper “I’m sorry you thought me so strong.” With those seven words the wax of soon fifty seven years melted downward upon the wick, almost extinguishing the flame. Two hundred twenty four seasons of have to’s, must do’s, responsibilities, need to’s, learn this, do this, take care of, insert whatever label you wish, lay before me in the silence that fell after those seven words. The calculator crunched and the total printed – the don’ts outnumbered the do’s. I had set my face towards the world and neglected the face within. I was "strong" and would plow through all before me and help others to see, never realizing the eyes once walking with me were drifting further and further back, until out of sight.

I felt my eyes grow soft, wide, piercing through to the dawn’s blush, as my body became both rigid and placid. A whisper kissed my lips, ‘o-Kay’ and the heart giggled.

Seasoned Sand

2010-12-23T15:43:00.000-06:00

There are times when I think the seasons are winning. They are moving so fast. I miss the pause. Where is the snooze?

It is then the flame flickers within, knowing no, no I do not, will not, cannot go back to sleep. I reach for the rake and my heart sifts through the tiny grains of seasoned sand. The texture changes. The shadows change. I can move the rocks. Every movement of my heart, however, small, creates a change, a path.

No snooze. With a whispered thank you to the flame, I pick up the rake within my heart. A simple, quiet, slow dance to tend the flame, to create a path, to believe.

A Thousand Words

2010-12-22T17:34:00.000-06:00

A simple truth staring up at me.

The remaining nine hundred ninety three words are yours.

Christmas Card

2010-12-21T17:54:00.000-06:00

"We know you always thought our houses small. We thought the same thing when we were your age and someone was always stepping on our toes. We know you always thought so much food a waste. We thought the same thing too when we were your age. Yes, in a world where so many are hungry it could seem that way. But when family is brought together and not for a funeral, I think perhaps our exuberance might be excused. Everyone is so busy with their lives, except for funerals, Christmas was the only time everyone would gather in one place, in our house, that seemed small. Yes, we know you didn't want clothes, but it was a way to hug you, long after the toys were put away. And yes, we remember your confused look when three different "Santas" gave you the same toy truck with horses. We blamed the elves. Thank you for never questioning even though we think that is when you grew up and learned a different kind of Christmas magic. Remember the magic, and the houses that seemed so small."

Like the rings of life marking the march of seasons, the memories of Christmas Past ripple through my house that seems too big. One does not have to cut down a tree to see how old it is. You don't have to look to see if one season was better than another or how healthy the tree may be. Look to the roots. One does not have to make a big house seem small to know the roots of love. Look to the roots. There you will find the magic. It took a while, but I did grow up. Mama, Sister, Banks, Hoppie, Baba, Daddy Sam, Jansen, Willie Lee, John, Erin, Mike, Judge, Cobb, Annie Mae and others no longer here, I miss you all but you were right about the clothes. You were right about the magic. And your Christmas card tonight has made a big house seem small.

And as I share the Christmas card written by my roots, upon my heart, may I wish you a pause, a moment, to look to the roots this Christmas. Let the tree stand and grow old and weathered with memories and rings. Savor the moment, the roots, whatever they may be for you. And may this Christmas, or whatever holiday you may gather to celebrate, may your roots make a big house seem small.

Namastè

To all of Christmas Past
To all of Christmas Present
To the precious keeper of my heart and breath who gifted such a wonderful Christmas card tonight.

Unfrozen Heart

2010-12-20T18:37:00.000-06:00

Beneath the snow, and upon the green

Beneath the cold, and upon the hope

Warmed by the sun, the unfrozen heart.

Fear not the cloud, hiding the sun

Fear not the warmth, melting the snow

Once you have seen, you know its there.

Beneath the snow, upon the green

Beneath the cold, upon the hope

Love once seen, is forever etched.

Fingers of Truth

2010-12-13T17:05:00.000-06:00

An Evergreen's fingers against a blue sky. Simple. Does not shout at you or scream notice me.

An Evergreen's fingers, with tiny droplets of sunlight against the first blue sky after the blizzard. A blizzard that hid both the sky and trees in a wall of white. A blizzard that for two days turned the soft laced hush of winter's snow into howling winds that seemed to move the house itself. Winds and snow that left the other limbs bowed and weighted with snow. Not these. Somehow they shook off the fury of the blizzard. In standing tall, standing true, not bending, they shed the weight.

A rhythm to every season. The seeds of hope borne within the storm itself. They will not scream notice me nor will they shout their message. Simple. innocent. Gentle. There. Sometimes they only whisper once and are gone. The physical image lasted only a minute or so. The message, if grasped, will forever be touched by the sun.

Truth Parsed

2010-12-10T05:17:00.000-06:00

Do I dare to hope to be so free?

Do I dare to hope?

Do I dare?

Do I?

Do.

Collision of Warmth

2010-12-09T17:52:00.000-06:00

The swirling howling wind was creating a dervish with the pellets of ice raining down from the sky. The temperature was plummeting as fast as the pellets. I arm wrestled the wind to open the plant door so I could get outside to breathe. When you need to go outside into these conditions to breathe, you need to breathe.

The door slammed behind me and I faced a wall of white created by drifts of old snow and ice pellets. My eyes closed. My lungs drew in every drop of air they could hold, never mind the cold. A thump and scratch upon my face retrieved my thoughts from the cold world. A leaf, from I do not know where, caught up in the wind, had collided against my face and fell to my feet.There are no leaves on the trees. Fall's shawl of leaves lay beneath the snow and ice. I smiled and inquired from whence the traveler had journeyed and laughed.

Even that which is seemingly lifeless, frozen, long separated from the source of life, the seasons having drained it of its color and vibrancy can carry and receive the touch of awakening. May it be so. Bowing my neck, I whispered Namaste and left the warmth.

Snow Eyes

2010-12-08T18:03:00.000-06:00

The dust, storms, and the smokescreens of life can cloud our vision and blind us to what we need or would like to see. There are times these same storms, dust clouds and smokescreens open our eyes to see what matters, what we lack, or what we want to be. Perhaps it's nature's way of getting our attention and asking "Now can you believe?"

Sometimes you have to look through the eyes of snow to see the eclipse.

Reflection

2010-12-05T07:55:00.000-06:00

I cannot fret or dream about what tomorrow may bring.

It will be a reflection of what I am, I do and what I choose today.

Emergence

2010-12-04T15:36:00.000-06:00

Neither the caterpillar nor the butterfly, I am both.

A destined congruence of time and light.

A quiet emergence.

Dancing with the hands of life.

Now What?

2010-12-02T18:54:00.000-06:00

Robert Frost had the luxury of a fork in the road. Now what? You can wait for summer and swim. You can wait for winter and walk across. You can find another path. You may even decide you didn't want to go there anyway. It is your choice.

There is never a path that leads to nowhere.

Encased

2010-12-01T09:01:00.001-06:00

It is a heart encased in ice. Winter's fingers, it seems, pushing all away. The heart, though, remains. The ice does not diminish it nor do the fingers crush it.

Do not mistake what you may see for what is. For if you had paused and sat with the heart, you would have seen the sun's hand melt the prison. The branch, once bowed, sprung back and lifted itself in thanks. And in the lifting, the melting, the heart soared and danced.

To see what is, sometimes you have to sit. You have to sit knowing the melt is part of the ice.

Life's Cup of Coffee

2010-11-27T08:44:00.000-06:00

I will readily admit that I am a coffee-holic. Not just coffee but hot coffee. After all the cups of coffee I've consumed I cannot say it is the taste as much as it is the ritual. The running of hot water in the thermos carafe so that it is warmed and ready to receive the fresh brewed coffee, keeping it even warmer. My arthritic hands holding the mug of coffee. The mug's warmth coursing through my palms, hands and arms is the antithesis of caffeine, it is calming. The raising of the mug to my face and feeling the steam is my morning hot shower that awakens my eyes, my brain and my heart. The slow motion tilt of the mug and the anticipation of the hot coffee as it approaches my mouth, is my morning sunrise. It is the first arms of the sun's peak over the horizon spilling the blush of the sun and moon's kiss across the sky.

The pleasure, the calling of coffee occurs and is embedded in the preparation more so than the drinking. It is reminiscent of the Tea Ceremony with its attentiveness and ritual. It is the image of my heart and its calling, its dreams. I must start with the warming of my heart. The intentional softening of my heart. A softening which will receive and nourish the dreams, thoughts, and values that will empty themselves into its openness. I choose the grounds that will make the coffee and the strength. Naught enters this brew but what I choose - a bitter cup of coffee or realization to drink sometimes. I choose how many cups, how full or meager I want to fill my heart. And then, I must sit and be patient while it brews. I must sit and be attentive, anticipating, trusting all will come together as prepared.

But what of those dreams, those desires, those callings brewed in my heart that conflict with the dreams or hopes others may have for me or of me? What if others do not like coffee? Ahh, afraid I am not so wise. I know only that before I let myself ponder those questions I first have to tend the preparation so that I can hear, see, taste and respond to life and its calling. It begins with the preparation and willingness to take the time to brew. I cannot share what I have not prepared. If I do, I sit and wait by a silent coffee maker, my heart. What I share is strengthened when I am attentive to my heart first. Then I become the perfect host, extending a cup of my heart, gently and mindfully brewed for you, for others, and for myself. The drinking of coffee is plural. The preparation singular.

And for those who do not like coffee or thought I should prepare tea or wine? I will be honored to prepare their beverage. I will be graced to sit with them at the table as we sip the outpourings of our hearts and their dreams. I will drink my coffee and not pour it into their tea or wine. I would ask that they do not pour theirs into my coffee. As our beverages touch our lips we can let our hearts speak. And should we reach an impasse, and cannot agree, with mindfulness and warmth we can sit in silence enjoying our company. If we must sadly part we will trust the brewing of things we cannot see, mindfully prepared by the hands of life.

Either way, let us raise our heart's crystal and toast life, love and laughter. L'Chaim! Namaste! And having shared the last drop let us go forth in mindfulness and truth to share and serve our heart's brew. For the preparation and drinking have but one purpose.... to send us forth into the day, into the world.

Defiance

2010-11-22T19:36:00.000-06:00

It mocks that your thoughts fly in the face of reason. It calls your affirmations that there "are no weeds" as you stand before a garden full of weeds, naive. It pours salt in the wound and becomes the pebble in your shoe. As if the drought of fall and the pending surrender of life until spring were not enough, it throws snow in your face.

The pull of doubt.

Reason can be wrong-ask Galileo. There are no weeds if you see the beauty of all living flowers and life. Salt heals. The pebble in your shoe can make you pause and refresh yourself. And a snowball fight can cause the spontaneous combustion of laughter.

Walk peacefully in the world. Let the footprints you leave be soft upon the earth. But when you meet up with the pull of doubt, doubt not the simple truth that you are not alone. Take hold of the outstretched hand whispering 'come on, I believe' for there will be one. Doubt not the strength of Hope's defiance.

Knock Knock

2010-11-18T17:36:00.000-06:00

"Knock knock."
"Who's there?"
You did hear!"

Sometimes the soft knocking of hope - unadorned, without fanfare, stripped of shields and bent by winter - can be hard to hear, ignored or unnoticed. But still she knocks.

Sweet Tear

2010-11-16T17:38:00.000-06:00

A sweet soft tear. No other meaning. Attach nothing more. Sometimes, nature, like my heart, simply cannot find the words. And, if one is lucky or loved, like this tear, it will not fall unnoticed, unheard or alone.