A New Earth

Happy Earth Day everyone. It feels like a day of celebration, so I'm putting aside the blog I've been writing to post something a little more, well, earthy.

A few years ago I was blown away by Eckhart Tolle's A New Earth. I had been listening to his CD's for awhile, but must have been ready for the messages in the book because it was one of those defining moments where life around me changed dramatically. Literally; there was lots of flailing about looking for a way to take the next tour bus to Timbuktu because I wanted off of the one I was riding. I liked the way things were just fine, thank you...but of course that's not how it all played out.

If you look around, change is in the air for many of us, and not just on the nightly news. I see it in your blogs, and with my silence you can bet that I'm knee deep in it as well. My changes are not as exciting as fellow blogger Linda Lou  who is leaving her life in Las Vegas heading east (roadtripping with her sister!) for an undetermined while to be with family, or fellow blogger Heather  who left the country entirely to raise her kids in a beautiful part of Guatemala, or even my raw food mentors Matt and Angela who settled down in Vilcabamba (don't you just love the way that rolls off the tongue?) Ecuador to build a home and rural life.

No, my change is much more boring, haircut aside. Still, things are shaking up (and not just our old Maytag washer which gave up the ghost in a dramatic fanfare of shaking and screeching, nor the 4.9 earthquake that rumbled our sleepy western state). What's fascinating is that change can be viewed as hostile--and finding yourself mired in fear; or supportive and friendly--and embraced with love and acceptance. I tend to waffle between the two perspectives, hence my experience of the changing reality does too. As a recovering hermit, change in my life usually involves a lot of kicking and screaming only to get there and look back wondering what the heck was I smoking, and feeling grateful for the new (and usually improved) scenery.

As you know, I've been blogging shamelessly about Geneen Roth's new book, Women, Food and God. Because of her insights, I'm re-discovering Eckhart Tolle's Power of Now as if I'd never read it before. It's resonating so deeply I'm left wondering where I was when I read it before (probably in a self-imposed hell). Insight after insight takes me into parts I hadn't seen before. It's like what my old church leaders used to say about scripture reading--that every time you read them again, you see them with new eyes (only without the brainwashing; more like a brain cleansing, or purging, of beliefs).

I get so excited about Eckhart's passages that I can't sit still. Which kind of defeats the purpose of what he talks about, because stillness is a big part of the inner discovery. Still, I'm finding that it's a process, this practice of evolving as a human, being. And because of Geneen's emphasis on kindness, I understand that the perceived "delay" really is okay; just something to notice. Then too this new spring energy is so invigorating it's hard to sit still when you want to bounce around outside waving your arms like a drunken kangaroo.

In the Power of Now Eckhart shares his insights about spirituality without taking himself too seriously--a major turn-on. He's no Jon Stewart, but he's humbly funny, which is perfect because I can no longer listen to folks who take themselves too seriously; it either cracks me up or tunes me out. So his teachings are a lovely breath of fresh air, leaving me ecstatic to practice what he teaches.



All of which bring me back to the creation of a New Earth, which we are all somehow building, consciously or unconsciously. And there is so much to celebrate, the hope of us getting it, getting that we are all vital parts of a global family and this wondrous planet our home. And as she changes (shifts) so do we.

Yes, change is scary and we can run and hide (my initial hermit-crabby instinct) or jump around outside like a kangaroo excited about the possibilities...I don't know about you, but I'm outgrowing my shell.

Scarier Than A Halloween Night

It...finally...happened.

The dreaded first day of the kids going back to school.

Relief at surviving their exodus couples with pangs of missing them and the winds of change that always blow this time of year.

I was lucky; not everyone gets to spend their summer with their kids without leaving for work every day, and for that I am deeply grateful but now it's back to looking-for-a-new career season.

And it's scarier than Halloween.

But, it's also kind of exhilarating in a roller-coaster way, and maybe after I get past the cold-sweats aspect of it, it'll actually be fun.

Let's hope. Then maybe I can find some...

Barefoot in the park

I decided to visit the park where I had often over the last decade connected with Utah's four seasons, both with family and on solitary meditative walks. Where I strolled with my aging parents when they visited from Florida. Where the kids and my ex rode their bikes and where we played on the playgrounds. Where I rediscovered my youth on the swings, something about whistling through the air, your head thrown back in the wind. Suddenly the mental cobwebs are out and being in the moment is in.

I wanted to park in front of a favorite copse of trees but someone else was already there, reminding me that my run was pretty much done here. It's just not my spot anymore.

A creek flows on one side of the park trail. In spring the creek rushes with snowmelt and dries up in summer, hence its name, Drycreek. It's so unbelievably weedy now. Did the economic hardships trickle down to city funds with barely enough left to manage the park? You used to be able to see the current flow down the creek as you walked the meandering trail. Now you have to carry a machete just to catch a glimpse. It's more of an auditory experience now with you wondering where that sound is coming from. The weedy overgrowth reminds me of the condos blocking the view of the beach along the Florida shoreline where I grew up.

But oh, the shifting seasons! Spring--with its birds and frogs and the creek rushing over the rockbed, snowmelt winding down the mountain, the grass uber green.

Summer--with its relentless heat, the dry creek quiet now except for the symphony of crickets that crescendoes in August; and children running everywhere, celebrating their three month freedom. The walker's sprinkler dance, where you try to keep pace while the sprinklers shower you with watery rainbows which you dodge because the irrigation water isn't particularly refreshing.

Fall walking, my all-time favorite, with trees lining the track in burnt orange and fiery red and the crisp air hinting of changing weather heralding...

Winter--the coming snow that sparkles under my crunching boots. Snowshoeing those bright winter days, the field blanketed in dazzling specks of white giving you a surprising sunburn after just a few laps around track.

Unlike the usual trail walkers, my daily exercise adventure began on a dark January day deep into local inversions (the air heavy with pollutants and probably not fit to breathe) a solitary park fixture until the spring thaw brought out the regular walkers craving their sunshine fix. But outfitted in gear worn while on snowshoe treks on the ski slopes of Brighton, the cold doesn't faze me and the eerie quiet is peaceful.

Today I see familiar dogs-- a small, black Boston terrier without his parents, off his leash, oh wait, here comes Dad, only without his wife. We were practically family considering all the times we encountered one another over the years, greeting each other in silence. They didn't seem to care for me much but their dog sure did. His enthusiasm even made up for the lack of theirs.

Someone is yelling "Duchess!" and then I see a golden lab running back to her irritated owner, who walks with his hands behind his back, as if he is carrying the weight of the world--preoccupied coming up with solutions--and who doesn't have time for her lollygagging today.

Of all the furry friends the kids and I made here over the years, and they are many and varied, I miss the wolf-dog that came out of nowhere to chill with me. Sometimes he lay there all nonchalant, in the middle of the field while I paced around him on the track. Sometimes he followed me, at his own slow pace, until one day he just stopped coming. I still miss him.

I remember lazy afternoons spent sitting in the van, with a good book, a journal and drinking funky raw Kombucha, and listening to what the birds had to say. Sometimes overhearing conversational snippets from passing social walkers in groups of two or three.

More than once I cursed the evening baseball and football games and morning practices that hogged every conceivable square inch of the park. The parking lot overflowed with bulging SUVs then, with loud adults and unsupervised kids running merrily amok.

Then there were the two anniversaries I spent contemplating my ailing marriage; once during a thunderstorm that drowned out the tears, and on the other Wendy's takeout numbed the pain, the chocolate frosty a descriptive representation of our chilled relationship. I spent many mornings writing here, reflecting on the direction our lives had taken. And practicing walking meditations until I could have opened my own healing practice.

While walking alone I never felt alone. There were always fellow walkers, children, birds, dogs and the occasional cat. Then there were the quaking aspens who seemed beside themselves with joy to see me before slipping into winter hibernation. The steadfast spruces that stayed the course all year round, quietly wise. Breathe in, breathe out; just keep breathing, they whispered, and the wide open support kept me coming back for more.

Time has changed not only me but the park as well so being here now feels very different. The need to find refuge and answers is gone, and it feels like it does when you visit the place you grew up. You're all excited to revisit fun memories, but after awhile you know it's time to go. Home.

Change Is In The Air

I can hardly believe it's a week already since my last foray into blogging world.

It's another rainy spring day, which is quite lovely around here. Things are turning green fast. and new things are cropping up everywhere.

What's new in my life?

Soon to be done with my job of the last two years, and I will be venturing into new arenas. This job is extremely physical and not-so-well paying, but I have loved that it allows me to be with my kids and allows them to go to their old schools, with all their friends from growing up. Plus I've formed some amazing friendships and enjoyed being around kids in general.

Now I'm looking for office work, which is what I used to do before settling into the stay-at-home-mom job field.

Ideally, I'd love to work at home, doing something creative and/or online. Writing, healing work, etc. Also craving nature and sunlight and fresh air, so wouldn't it be fun to incorporate that?

Don't know how to make this work, so at this point am opening to what Life brings me next that aligns with that. I used to say 'God', then 'Higher Self', then 'Universe', and now I say 'Life', that which incorporates the all-encompassing goodness that is out-there-in-here, supporting us little humans on our journey of awakening.

Long-term I am really wanting to be part of a creative/healing community, like the raw foodist trend-setters are creating. Doing what you love with people that you love in an atmosphere that you love, how amazing is that? Now, to figure out just what that is....

And that is what my bubbly thoughts are percolating this beautiful Sunday afternoon in May.



Credit: Photo courtesy of Elizabeth Hansen on the KSL photo gallery website