Love, relief, and more gratitude

I have been meaning to write on the beauty and mystery of sailing in downeast Maine, the innocence, cute-factor, and overwhelming annoyance of puppies, the bittersweet loveliness of autumn, and more, but today I'm going to write about helmets. Bicycle helmets, to be specific. Beautiful, wonderful, gratitude-inspiring helmets. Especially the one my daughter was wearing yesterday (I wish I had a picture of her wearing it, but these will have to do!).


She doesn't remember what happened, but the first thing I knew I was getting a call from the hospital emergency room nurse in Northampton, Mass. We hopped in the car and drove down straightaway, to find a very bruised and shaken young lady, and a cracked and bloody bike helmet on the floor nearby. After many hours it was determined that she had a few fractured ribs, a broken toe, many bruises, lots of road rash, and a big bump in the middle of her forehead (on her Third Eye?). She was released, and we brought her home to Nelson, where she is getting all the tlc she could want.



I believe she is alive and well because she had the sense to wear the helmet. I'm grateful for her sense of responsibility. I am grateful to the Specialized company for making decent helmets. I'm grateful for the good care she got at the Cooley Dickinson Hospital. I am grateful to my husband Hunt for his stalwart presence through it all. I am grateful for the reminder of the preciousness of life, and how important it is to protect my outer self as well as my inner self, when forging bravely through the world. Too much padding would hinder my ability to fly, but just enough will give me the armor I need to face the challenges and dangers that lie in everyday life.

Compassion

Sometimes I am able to stay mindful, grateful, aware of the abundance of this life. At other times, maybe on a chilly, dark day when it seems that summer ended so quickly and even a wool sweater and a cat on the lap aren't enough to keep back the gloomy thoughts- well, during those times I need reminders, pointers along the way. Otherwise it's easy to slip into ego-centered-ness, irritability, and criticism.

If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion. Dalai Lama

I was driving along the road the other day, going the speed limit on a two-lane highway which was about to narrow to a slower route through a local gorge, when I was passed not by one, not by two, but by three large SUVs with out-of-state license plates (clearly loaded with furniture, boxes, bedding), at great speed. My first impulse was to shout, swear, and perhaps gesture towards them. But I caught my thoughts just barely in time and thought, "Oh, well, they're probably headed to college- hope they get there all right"

The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings, which are all part of one another, and all involved in one another.” Thomas Merton

Someone I like and have often admired has recently been acting upset, affronted, disapproving- all behind my back. I've tried to communicate, praise, offer love- but it's been rejected completely. I found myself getting so worked up, I would avoid reading emails, dread meeting this person, and spent too much time in the middle of the watches of the night fretting about the situation. So this is my test: can I practice compassion when it hits home, in a way that directly affects me much more than the three speeding SUVs?

Compassionate action involves working with ourselves
as much as working with others. Pema Chodron

Yes, this is the test, and also the way to live truly- learn compassion for others, and in so doing learn compassion for myself. This creates a cycle of love and compassion that can only help me, those I encounter, and in some small way, the world I inhabit.

lazy, hazy, not-so-crazy...

Sorry for the long blank-out. Somehow, even after 2 years of not-teaching, summer means total veg-out, relax, unwind, get in touch with my inner lazy good-for-nothing self. The garden is growing, amazingly well, almost by itself, and about once a week I manage to yank just enough weeds to keep the things that are supposed to be growing happy. We've had lots of lettuce, about 6 sugar snap peas, one string bean (so far!), and we watch in awe as the tomato plants produce stunning globes of green (it's still early for them to turn red) and the squash plant secretly plots to take over the world- it has sent long, flower-laden vines across the watermelon plant, the annual bed (bye bye, nasturiums!), on to the lawn, across the barren waste that I hope to use for planting garlic this fall, and down the rows of black plastic that I cleverly laid between the raised beds to keep them weed free. I hadn't thought of trying to keep them squash free!


We've had visitors, from Oneonta, NY, and my dear god-daughter Hannah from Littleton, MA. We've had just enough hot days to feel like summer, and just enough rain to keep the wells and gardens happy. Animaterra had a wonderful workshop and concert with the French chorus Cantoria and the Vermont chorus House Blend. Hunt and Dan, our wonderful helper, have started work on what will soon be a screen porch with woodshed attached- right now it's a skeleton of wood, and the kitchen and living room have returned to construction site status. But do I care? No! It's summer! I'm relaxed and mellow.


I've been reading brain-candy mysteries (why did I never know until now about the Cat Who books???). But my bed-time reading is once again The Power of Now. At this stage of my life, where I feel I have emerged into a spirituality of my own, allowing my observations thoughts and insights of the All to guide me, it feels strange to say this, but this is one of the books that changed my life. It's only now, on the third reading in about 6 years, that I am realizing how much of this book is with me all the time.
"Nothing ever happened in the past; it happened in the Now. Nothing will ever happen in the future; it will happen in the Now"
"Unease, anxiety, tension, stress, worry — all forms of fear — are cause by too much future, and not enough presence. Guilt, regret, resentment, grievances, sadness, bitterness, and all forms of nonforgiveness are caused by too much past, and not enough presence"
"To be free of time is to be free of the psychological need of past for your identity and future for your fulfillment"
"You cannot find yourself by going into the past. You can find yourself by coming into the present"
and on, and on.
So simple, and yet in an extraordinary way these words "speak to my condition", as the Quakers say. So I guess in a way that's what my summer's been about so far. Being here in each Now that arrives. Yes, I still look ahead to the fall season of Animaterra, and I nearly have all the music ready. Yes, I'm looking forward to our annual week at Pinewoods coming up at the end of the month. But right now, sitting on the couch, with the muggy air being gently blown by the fan, I am savoring this moment with gratitude.

Spiritual acts

Q: What is a sacrament?
A: A sacrament is an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.

I did have to learn the catechism before my confirmation in 1970 at St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Brockton, Mass. Besides the Q/A above, the only other thing I remember is making the rector uncomfortable because another part of the catechism told us to fear God- and I wanted to know why a loving Father God would want us to fear Him? Somehow, although the rector did his best, I wasn't really satisfied with the answer, whatever it was.

I loved the church as a child, into my teens, and as a young adult. I was raised in the Episcopal church, dabbled in college in evangelical Christianity, directed a Methodist choir, thought for awhile I was called to Episcopal holy orders. Was and am a member of the Episcopal Society of the Companions of the Holy Cross. Have spent time with the Unitarians, Quakers, and the United Congregational Church. I loved and still have affection for the ritual, tradition, and especially the music.
But.
My earliest "spiritual memory" is as a child, probably 7 or 8, sitting on a rock by a mountain stream at a rest stop in the Rockies. The sun was shining, the air was crisp and clear, and I knew without a doubt that there was more than met the eye and other senses. Good church girl that I was, I called it "God" and have loved that presence ever since.
But.
The years in church gave me a beautiful container to put that wonder and glory into. That container felt like enough for many years. But more and more, as I have met so many people and have had so many adventures in this life, the box has seemed far too small and shabby to fit the vastness and infinitesimal tininess of It All. All those years, decades, with "God" as my Father and Creator, kept Him separate from me. He was Out There, great and almighty, and I was Down Here, grovelling and small. And even the word "god" put limits on It All.
But now...
I really don't know anything. Of that I'm absolutely certain, and my faith in my unknowing is unshakable. But what I suspect is that there is no "Out There"- It's all Right Here, and we're all a part of It. "God in Me" really means In Me, and in everyone. And in the cat on the couch, the trees in the woods, the rocks and hills and molecules and electrons, protons and muons and quarks- everything.
"God is Love" means that Love is God and we are love and...
Oh, boy, here I go putting finite words on the infinite. Can't be done. It just Is, ok?
Do I pray? Sure I do.
So, what is a sacrament? Everything is a sacrament. Everything is an outward and visible sign. Everything is an inward and spiritual grace.
Is everything good? Hell, no! Oil in the Gulf, cancer, child abuse, sure, there are horrible nasty things going on. But the power and the glory of creation- all of us- is a force that works in a cycle of Life/Death/rebirth, and the good will of those who love, who believe in the goodness of creation, who try to do the best they can for the greater good, that is God, and that is Love, and that is good.

Gratitude

I'm grateful when I wake up in the morning to the cat at my feet, my husband at my side, and birds singing out doors. I'm grateful for the green wall of leaves that surrounds our house this first Spring at Tam Lin, with the sunlight shining through.
I'm grateful for my warm feet on the cold floor, for steel-cut oats and tea for breakfast. I'm grateful for the warm sudsy dish water on my hands, and the hum of the washing machine in the basement. I'm grateful for the baby garden that I'm about to water, and for the second cup of tea I'm about to enjoy.

I'm grateful for the amazing gift of this true friend, this soul mate, this husband of mine who is my companion, my help meet, my best friend, who makes me think, laugh, listen, grow, and smile every minute of every day.

I'm grateful for this community, the friends that have been here all along and the new friendships forming. I'm grateful for the health and strength of my mother and her partner, who are glad to accept a spontaneous invitation and show up for tea (and then supper) an hour later.
I'm grateful for long-planned dances at the Town Hall, and spontaneous house dances planned in a matter of days.

I'm grateful for my own health, and that of my husband, for his hearing aids, my limbs that remind me to keep stretching them daily. I'm grateful for my grown-up children, for their maturity, kindness, and affection.

I'm grateful for this house, that I've longed for for 50 years and now have. I'm grateful for food on the table, most of the bills paid most of the time, and the gift of time. I'm grateful for the jobs that brought me here, the gift of self-discipline and a sense of duty that keeps me from sinking into a total couch-potato.

I'm grateful beyond measure for the music in my life- singing, instruments, dance, recordings, memories. I'm grateful for Robert J. Lurtsema, Sandy and Caroline Paton, John and Carol Langstaff, my parents, and so many others who showed me what music can be. I'm grateful for Animaterra, the folks in Nelson, my dear husband Hunt, and so many others who show me what music can be.

There's oil in the Gulf of Mexico, there's famine in Africa, there's war everywhere, my muscles ache, our bank account is diminished, I don't have health insurance, we have friends and neighbors dying at an alarming rate- but I focus on the joy and abundance of every day. I don't ignore the hard facts, but I try to have perspective and offer amazed and abounding gratitude for each and every gift, including the AFGEs (Another Freaking Growth Experience) that come each day.

I tried all through their growing years to teach my children about having "an attitude of gratitude". It's only truly sinking into my being now.

Joyful noise

“Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything.” Plato

As I rest here on the couch, on the Saturday afternoon between the Friday night Animaterra concert in Peterborough and tonight's concert in Keene, my head and my heart are filled with the music of these wonderful women. Music is always on my mind- my daily soundtrack can shift from the songs of the season, to contra dance tunes I'm working on with, to whatever was playing at the grocery store as I checked out. But the best times are when I'm immersed in the creation of the music, and that's what pours through me, lulls me to sleep (or keeps me awake!).

As a child, growing up in the Episcopal church, some of my earliest memories are of the thrill of the music- listening to my mother's alto harmonizing with the hymn melody, delighting in the power of a well-played pipe organ, impatiently waiting to be old enough to sing in the junior choir. I remained in the church for years because of the music, and most of my "spiritual moments" inside churches have been with my voice raised in song. Later, when looking for a house of worship, I would often think, "the people are nice enough, but I can't attend this place- the music is awful!". It took years before I realized that music and my spiritual life are so intertwined that I can do without church, but I can't do without music and a community of people to share it with.



Animaterra Women's Chorus is such a community. I am blessed with the opportunity to spend one night a week, at least two weekends a year, and countless hours of preparation, creating season after season of song for and with these phenomenal women. Last night and tonight we are performing our spring concerts, and looking forward to a few future dates before the fall. The joy I feel working and singing with these women is indescribable- truly a spiritual experience

Hunt and I also make music together. I hadn't considered myself much of an instrumentalist before he came into my life, but the challenge of mastering contra dance piano and accordion, and speeding up my fingers on the concertina, has been exhilarating. Making music with one's soul mate is also an experience of incredible depth and richness- again, spiritually fulfilling.



As a younger adult I felt largely fragmented: my spiritual life over here, my family life over here, my job here and my artistic expression over there somewhere. What an amazing blessing it has been to gather the fragments and feel the integration of body, mind, and spirit into a creative whole. How fortunate I am to be able to live my perfect life, seeing the spiritual in every day life.

Animal, vegetable, mineral instinct

Sorry about the delay- we got busy preparing for the New England Folk Festival and related visits, but now I'm back. Last Wednesday we drove to Boston, staying in Brookline with good friends Michael and Lizbeth, and dining Weds. with our friend the wonderful violin dealer Reggie Williams. Thursday was spent visiting my old alma mater, Boston University's College of Fine Arts, and bending the knee at the Haynes Flute Company. Friday we headed further south, our ultimate destination Mansfield, Mass. and the New England Folk Festival.

Before diving into the musical weekend, we took a brief detour to the Attleboro/Seekonk line to visit one of my former sacred places, Seven Arrows Herb Farm. This was not a carefully considered and planned trip; I just knew it was a necessary stop, and so we made the trip with no plans or expectations other than simply to see it. But the moment I stepped from the car in the shaded parking lot I knew I had been following an inner compulsion that was part of a larger experience I'd been having ever since leaving Tam Lin on Wednesday. Again and again my instinct had been taking me over familiar territory of my past, where I could view old scenes with new eyes. Seven Arrows was an oasis of sorts, as it had been 15 and more years ago when I lived and taught in Mansfield. Here was where I first recognized and named my deep, life-long connection to the natural world, here was where I connected with wise, kind and yes, fun teachers and friends who looked at gardening as a spiritual practice, here was where I was invited to lead a monthly song circle and thus discovered my ability to draw out the singing voices of others.

After pausing to look around, breathe and smile, I tentatively stepped inside the shop. At first I recognized no one, but a kind member of the staff, Linda, offered to look for Mich and Judy, the proprietors. The next thing I heard and saw was Judy's delighted face and voice and enveloping arms: "Allison!!" The next half hour was a joyful reunion, catching each other up on 15 years and watching Hunt and Judy get acquainted. We then walked around, soaked up the wonderful vibrations of the place, chatted with Mich, bought their book, and headed to Mansfield and another trip down memory lane (for another musing).



This visit had enormous impact, not only for the sense that I was gathering in fragments that had been dangling for nearly 15 years, bringing them full circle to experience a new wholeness, but also for the awareness that once again, instinct had led me to this place in such a matter-of-fact way that it felt fluid, complete. Again and again in my life I have felt a "knowing", or a "leading", telling me "this is the way, walk in it" (Isaiah 30:21). Following this instinct feels like the most natural thing in the world. It comes in the little and big decisions, and I never feel any fear or anxiety when I act according to it, knowing in my deepest heart that it is the way I should go.

I think we all have access to this inner wisdom- it just requires paying attention and sometimes taking a leap of faith. I've met many people, often women and young girls (usually it starts around the age of 9 or so and never leaves them) who have no sense of trusting their inner voice. They are so anxious to please, to serve, to meet some kind of standard imposed on them, that they have shut off that inner hearing. I suppose men have this, too, but I haven't known as many men with this lack of trust in themselves. I certainly had it, but even in my youth I remember the times when I KNEW what choices to make, where to go, what to do. When I lost my scholarship to the college I thought I wanted to attend, and knew I needed to travel around France and the UK instead. When it was time to leave my teaching job in Mansfield and look for right livelihood elsewhere (which turned out to be Keene, one of the best moves I ever made). When I offered to jump on an airplane to Atlanta, to meet a "total stranger" (the quotes are because in the short time we'd been talking on the phone I knew Hunt more deeply than anyone I'd ever met). These are just some examples of the way instinct has guided me.

I know, I know. There are those who will read this and give instinct another name, with Divine qualities. Of course, you are absolutely right, but so am I! Bear with me; blog post by blog post I'll get there (assuming there is a "there" there...). But for now, thanks be to instinct, and grant that I may have the wisdom, patience, awareness, mindfulness and courage to continue to follow it!

And now, I'm going to sit on the land and let it guide me towards this season's first plantings in the garden!