EASTER, Looking back 35 Years

                        MEMORIES OF EASTER WEEKEND 1979 (Photo is March 2014)

            Our family was on a sabbatical year in Flagstaff, Arizona, far from our usual spring in the snowy grips of April in Alberta, Canada.  This was to be a different Easter.

            We were camping in Organ Pipes National Monument, west of Tuscan.  The trip began with serious rain that got under our tent, leaving us with the task of drying wet, down sleeping bags before the next night.  Too much rain can be as daunting as too much snow, particularly when we were far from the comforts of home and dry bedding.

            Yet as Easter approached, and we’d dried our bags in the nearest laundromat, the brightly colored Jelly Beans I’d bought for this trip became the venue for our first family Easter Egg hunt.  Jeff was nine.  Neal was five.  An element of surprise made a morning hike for our first sunny day more promising, and I’d scouted ahead, hiding the tiny egg-like jelly beans behind rocks, boulders, and the variety of cacti along the trail.  We’d never had Easter in a church so our sons weren’t familiar with the Christian version, but it was a time to be together, celebrating new life unfolding after the rainy winter.  It was likely our first hike together since the fall before.  Our community was the earth, sky, tiny flowers unknown to me, and the marvelous cacti unlike any I’d known from Death Valley days, where there were more flowers, canyons, and strange desert landscapes on very arid soil.  We were wanderers in a strange land, with few humans nearby this early in the season.

            Honestly, the details of the day are foggy in my memory, but just to be together in the sunshine, hiking easy trails with no maps, but also no danger of getting lost, was delightful.  We could stretch our limbs and be silly now that the rain had passed.  The red plumes on the ocotillo cacti were cool, and  the boys loved the incentive of  finding flavorful, sugar full jelly beans to supplement our usual healthy trail mix, triscuits, cheese, celery and carrot sticks.  Likely we had some salami too, for protein and fat that traveled well for camping.  This was before the days when I kept diaries, though that was common for me in backpacking growing up.  Writing became back-burner with the responsibilities of being a wife and mom of two young sons.  It would be years before I discovered I was a poet, not just a list-maker and journalist.

            “Wow, Mom, where’d you get these neat treats?  Chocolate bunnies too, awesome!”  Jeff rarely praised my menu ideas, so this felt special.  He and Neal were actually enjoying the day, something not always true when they had to share close quarters in our 4-person tent and share with getting drinking water and dishes clean-up.

            The storyteller in me was still dormant, but I had along a great book of coyote tales, so before dark we’d read about the trickster and his many pranks while John was out taking photographs.  Jeff had a toy camera early on, and I don’t recall Neal’s passions at age five, but he did enjoy hiking.  That summer the boys joined us and Grandma Jeanette for their first real backpack trip into the Mineral King area.  So this trip was the precursor for the longer mountain trips to come.

            We didn’t sing the Halleluiah Chorus or  “Jesus Christ is Risen today” but it was a true Easter.  We were coming back to life after a hard winter, exploring options we’d never known in our Canadian spring times.  To this day, all four of us still love being in the mountains or the desert.  Neal’s daughters are learning to love the coast of California instead of cross country skiing.  Despite all the craziness we were all experiencing, getting out in the woods or seashore or mountains still gives us all solace and perspective!   Thirty-five years later we are rarely in the same place, but the wonders and beauty of wilderness continue to inspire the four of us.  I am so happy to say, my daughters, Lara and Meagan, grew up loving sacred places like Yosemite, the California or Chilean coast, and amazing arboretums and museums that expose them to the beauty and historical significance of earlier as well as current times.  Being connected to the natural world gives us all resilience and renewal for the rigors we all face, too.  Strong roots give us the ability to be both strong and flexible in life’s storms.  Learning to weather all sorts of conditions in nature helps us be more confident and capable in our daily lives!

BLESSINGS TO MT. ASHLAND!

We came from Arcata (Bobcat), Montague (Devon, first photo; he gave a Lakota prayer-blessing), all over the Rogue Valley to bless, honor, and offer our deep gratitude for this mountain.  She stands firm,as does her sister Mt. Shasta to the south, in the midst of a severe drought that affects all of us for many months to come.  Without the snowpack, our reservoirs, forests, lakes, and streams, the high deserts of Southern Oregon and Northern California won't have the grass growing to feed bison and cattle, to feed our farmlands with the moisture we need to grow healthy crops.  We humans will need to conserve precious water as we've not learned to do in the past.
    It was precious to join with others celebrating and blessing this mountain.  One lady came from India, with flowers, prayers, and yes, even water to share on our central altar.  We circled and sang with Winsong, "Earth my mother, water my blood, air my breath, and fire my spirit."  The ceremony was healing for Mt. Ashland, and for all who came at this difficult time in our common history.  The mountain needs to know we care and love her, and we need her many blessings to all of us.  So as we go our separate ways, may we remember this day, and continue to offer our prayers to the sacred mountains  that protect and encircle us.
   The mountains know the virtues of stillness, of standing firm no matter the weather, of persevering in the drought as well as the times of abundance.  It wasn't a winter for skiers to enjoy the slopes, and have their usual mountain high
to keep their bodies and their spirits up.  We need to trust our blessings will be heard, and surrender to powers greater than we can control.  That's it for now, folks!

IT'S TOUGH

IT’S TOUGH, SEEING MY SON IN PAIN

This dear man, my first born over forty years ago,

Is recovering with grace and his quiet manner

From surgery for a troubling hernia

I weep, as so many mothers must when their beloved children have to endure pain

The usual pace of life, ground to a halt,

The basic movements of standing, sitting, walking, getting the intestines moving again

Are now a labor he must endure with patience

Hoping each day to be stronger

The discomforts of recovering from surgery I know all too well

Often the pain comes as a shock,

For suddenly bodily functions one takes for granted

No longer can be counted on, and we learn to be tender, to be humble

To know what it means to have no one by your side

When it could sure be helpful.

So while it is tough to see my son in pain he had no way to prepare for

It’s special to be able to give a helping hand

Be with him when he’s feeling vulnerable and unsteady

His balance will return, the injuries this time will heal if he paces himself

The pain will subside.  We all experience labor that hurts.  That seems to be part of life.

We don’t have many folks who make house calls,

Even when we take the time to make friends, few come when we’re in pain.

It does feel good to be able to share my love

As he has done so many times when I’ve been overwhelmed by life, by loss

Friends who care come in all shapes, ages, and sizes

Thank goodness kindness still comforts us, no matter our age

We are meant to give one another a helping hand, for true friendship

Is reciprocal.  We help one another moved by love, not gain.

It’s hard to imagine the courage our vets and their families must muster

When they return severely injured, often in body, mind and soul,

Sadly, we are a culture that prefers to deny their suffering, their sacrifices except on special occasion, then too often, we forget them.

We can choose to be there for one another, to show our caring

In whatever ways suit our own talents and energy.

 For some, a comment of encouragement on Facebook

 May be the best way to show empathy, or an earnest hug for Jeff

When his sore incision area is feeling better.  May he rest in peace this night,

And continue to regain his strength.  May his generous heart be open

To receiving love from family and friends in the weeks to come!

IN THE DARK AND SILENT NIGHT

IN THE DARK AND SILENT NIGHT, ALL IS CALM

In the dark and silent night, all indeed is calm. 

We have passed safely through the Darkest Night

Signs of a New Dawn, even midst the bleak and trying times

Begin to unfold in mysterious ways

In the labors to keep Downton Abbey alive as the aristocracy must learn to adapt if it is to survive, we see Matthew, Tom Bronson and his Lordship, still head of the Crawley estate, forging a coming together after their mistrust came so close to dividing them.

Matthew knows the legal, financial needs, Tom has the Irish farmer knowledge of the common folks, and his Lordship, father of Mary and her sisters, now feels he is not being disregarded, but included in vital ways to preserving Downton as it faces a very different future.  Tom agrees to join the House cricket team, and Matthew coaches him on this game he knew nothing about.  Everyone  needs to rally, and games are a time-honored way we bond even in difficult times.

After his experience in prison, falsely accused of murder, Bates has a new empathy for Thomas, facing shame and dim prospects of new employment if Carson sends him off without a letter of reference.  For all his mistakes, Thomas is not evil, but a gay man in a day when it was criminal to be so; with Bates speaking to his Lordship, Thomas has a second chance by playing on the house cricket team, and finding a new position downstairs as a footman.  The downstairs women help soften Carlson’s heart, and forgiveness and good will begin to brighten prospects for the emerging alliances, both upstairs and downstairs; they have a need to work for the common good.

With the passing of Nelson Mandela, the world for a brief time comes together to honor and respect this incredible man who, even when imprisoned, envisioned a South Africa not just free of the curses of apartheid.  He began to create a homeland where men and women of all races could live side by side, free at last in ways never thought possible before he began the journey of reconciliation, forgiveness, bringing joy and celebration to a land known for its intolerance and harsh indifference to the humanity of its black and poor people.  He was a leader both humble and willing to suffer personally to see his dream come true.  President Obama spoke of leaning from Mandela that it does matter if we strive to be the best we are capable of becoming, not settling for an easier life if we have talents that may help change the course of our country’s destiny.  Light is returning, and the struggles for justice and equality are making a new world order possible.

So as we slumber, let us give thanks we are part of this unfolding, this enormous time of transition if the planet is to survive.  Men and women, all colors, rich and poor beginning to envision a future that embraces and includes us all. “Peace, peace, peace, peace, wars have been, and wars must cease.  We must learn to live together. Peace, peace, peace”—the words of our beloved Dave Marston in a gathering of poets and musicians in the fall before he died.  May we learn to grieve, to laugh, to love and honor one another and be part of the great healing with our circles of reconciliation and deep listening to one another.  May the Chalice indeed replace the Blade in the years to come.

 Shalom, my sisters and my brothers.  The old ways are dying, and new blessings lay dormant, waiting to receive the Light.  May the New Year indeed be a much happier, healthier one, where we dare to address real issues and forge a more compassionate way of living, working, and being together.

   Carol Browning in the predawn hours of December 23, 2013

TRUSTING THE SACRED LIGHT WITHIN

OH, Divine Light within and surrounding us, help us feel your comfort, your guidance, your protection,  your Love that allows us to be at peace.  Allow our hearts to soften and  trust your devotion, your support no matter what our circumstances.  Please unbind us from unhealthy cords to the worries, fears, concerns, and obligations we may still carry from others, or even from past lives.  Help us let go what is not our own truth, that our hopes and dreams may begin to unfold in earnest, with the support of our joy guides, our angelic friends in unknown realms and even in human form now.   Help us trust all the work we have done to be more open, more in touch with our own true nature is not in vain.  Help us forgive those who have harmed us, intentionally or not, and may we forgive ourselves and others too, for making mistakes is part of our learning to be more discerning.  In this season of Thanksgiving, may we put our attention on the blessings in our lives, and realize we, too, may be a blessing to others with our kind thoughts, healing words and touch, gentle ways of being. 
     The early Pilgrims endured much hardship and loss of friends, health, everything familiar that they left behind when they sailed from England.  Yet they took time to give thanks, to share with one another, and learn from the native folks who helped them survive by planting crops that were unfamiliar to them.  May we continue to learn from one another, giving thanks, trusting more, fearing less so Joy and Wonder fill our days.  Time to put on some warmer clothing, and attend to the needs of my patient body!

It is a sacred time for New Beginnings

This is a sacred time.  This spring we saw amazing rings around Mt. Shasta.  In the summer heat, wildfires purged many of our forests; Mother Nature told us loud and clear we need to listen and respect her, walk in better balance with her rhythms.
    And now the rare star of David came in July to herald the birth of a new king, perhaps to herald the birth of a new Era where charisma and power will be aligned with a very different kind of leadership, one that honors the heavenly bodies, the Earth Mother, not the false gods of personal greed and capital ventures that harm our environment and destroy the very air we breath, water we drink, oceans and soils that have given and sustained life for millennium.
   As we gather to honor the changing seasons, let us also make time for solitude and reflective moments so our course is more true to our unfolding talents.  It is a time to pay attention to our bodies, our sacred vessels that allow us to better enjoy this earthwalk. 
   It may be a time to quietly, or boisterously, create rituals that honor those who have died, and also give guidance , courage,  and inner strength to  those of us still living.  Yesterday I heard a coyote story about grieving souls crossing the great river into the Land of the Dead. They learned their loved ones who had died did not want to come back, but had made peace with their transition, and wanted their living partners to return, to be doing their work in the Land of the Living.  Grieving can help us be more open, more vulnerable, and it can give us resolve to move on, accepting our losses and learning resilience from their gifts.
  If we are to become stronger from enduring losses as we grow older, we need to be attentive to our blessings and our lessons, and not be frozen in fears that make us unable to be present, to enjoy the simple pleasures in our daily living.  It's a new Dawn.  May we arise and honor it!

Grieving Needs Balance with Self-Care Measures

In recent months my family has celebrated the life of my mom and dad with a memorial service in the Sierra (see photo of my sister and son, Jeff), a dear friend Mary died unexpectedly of a heart attack, Alex, one of my favorite caregivers has stepped down and I am getting used to Shira, Alex's replacement.  The seasons are again changing, and my vision makes it unsafe for me to drive much at night for 6-8 months of the year.  My companion for several years, Curtis, has multiple health issues and feels unsafe driving out of Chico, so I phone him just to chat, and send him e-mails with a few i-photos he might enjoy.
    With aging comes loss, some expected, some sudden, with little time to adapt to the necessary changes.  It helps me to celebrate simple pleasures, like preparing an interesting potluck dish when my energy is at its best, or saying yes to a chance to dance, or attend a special concert with a neighbor.  Sunshine and simple exercises always help me, and I've just begun a class on Stillness Midst the Chaos, where we're learning mindful meditations to help us be more relaxed, present, and okay with whatever arises in our day.
    The driftwood photo above evokes the memory of walking the beach, listening to the waves, and the sound of young children making forts and laughing, oblivious to the fact it is windy and cold.  I have always loved arranging driftwood, and as a child, I'd make gifts for family out of driftwood and manzanita and pinecones. Yesterday I delighted in making a collage to hang of  the fun time in the mountains and a Davis park with my sons, Adrienne, and granddaughters, Taryn and Eliza.  Even midst the waves of grief or focus on loss, it sure helps to pay attention to what is working, what still gives joy.
    Self-care means honoring routines that nurture me on my own, and it means being with others in ways that don't drain me.  Tonight I'll be part of eight women sharing a potluck dinner, and soon I shall get outside to enjoy a warm and sunny autumn day.  This is enough for now!
    Carol  October 5, 2013