August 23^rd. Sweet Offerings

I have been looking for a sneaker, hiking shoe for some time. I have paid gratefully for the right fit for my narrow, high arched foot. Sometimes I fantasize about having a boot custom made. At this juncture of my life, it certainly would be a lifetime investment. Often I hunt for shoes until my feet get confused and forgetful. I often wear a sales person out as they pile options at my feet and politely and wearily ask, “how does that feel?’’

Mountain Thrift here in Sedona, hosts barely worn shoes and boots. A lot of them are hastily bought with only a few miles on them before they are deemed the wrong fit. Lee, a Paul Bunyan sized man, chats away as he, too, lays every pair of size 8.5-9 at my feet. As he waits on me, I engage him in conversation about how he hunts alone in the North Country for white tail deer. His kill, often weighing 90 pounds, is hauled away on his shoulders.

He’s been here a long time. I ask him about Humphreys Peak outside of Flagstaff and specifically about Locket Meadows where I might go in September for a few days. He knows all the places and draws me a map on scrap paper that is mostly goobly–gook to me with little orientation. As I walk the store feeling into my feet he steals away to his car and returns with a well worn map of Coconino National Forest Map. “Here”, he says, “You could use this”.

Isn’t it these small acts of kindness that are treasured and remembered along the way? It’s George bringing me a piece of indoor-outdoor carpet for the front of my tent, and Adam sharing his smoothie and Grace making breakfast and offering to clean up as well, and the email that arrives with a "hello, thinking of you".

I did buy a pair of shoes and maybe made a friend as well. It was a good day.

Stillness

August 20^th Stillness.

The leaves of the sycamore droop low and steady from the branches. Like a crouched cat gathering their life force, the trees call forth the rain. Even the grasses are motionless.

The morning sun carves out silhouettes on the east wall of my tent. It’s my mural. Grey on Grey, I call it. Over hanging juniper branches frame the upper left corner and the tall reed grasses ground out the bottom. The sun cascades over the rest as I amuse myself with the changing canvas.

Not much is in motion accept for my pen, and it is in this cool stillness that I greet the day with only my mind pulling me forward towards obligations and the day’s to-do list. Purpose becomes the engine driving the day, hauling me away from the serenity of quiet beauty.

I play the role of Event Coordinator for One Spirit Weekend. My list is long and my days are short. I root gently in the tall grasses that do not bend and rise slowly to the call of the desk layered with notes. I must go.

Sunday, August 16th, 2009

Possessions and Belongings

Yesterday I moved from the convenient comfort of the Retreat House into my 9’x13’ tent set under the sycamore, juniper and cottonwood trees overlooking the pond. Last night as the crickets serenaded my way in the dark to my new bed, I heard the movement of the deer in high grass. A new home is to be discovered.

I sit now with my pile of possessions and reflect upon the move that I just made. It took me three months to sort and box up my house. Outside of a table and chairs, desk, two end tables, four lamps, one bed, a couch, and a portal with a small couch and table and chair, my possessions fit into approximately 50 boxes with other odds and ends stuck in between. These possessions take up about 30% of a two-car garage.

I reduced my books to two boxes, my papers to two file drawers, clothes to one single closet and 4 boxes, and these are packed next to my 30 some journals that date back to junior high school when I wrote un-award winning poetry and swooned over Paul Anka.

In my tent, I look at the one duffle bag that holds my clothes and a few satchels of this and that, and the books I have chosen for the Journey:

Oxford American Dictionary

The Right to Write by Julia Cameron gifted by Susan Slotter

The Santa Fe Yellow Pages

I Am That by Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj

A Gradual Awakening by Stephen Levine

Mac OSX Tiger

My Summer with the Leprechauns by Tanis Helliwell gifted from Lin Reams

Vanishing into Everywhere by Rinaja Soleil gifted from Rinaja Soleil

Birdsong by Rumi

The Core Balance Diet By Marcelle Pick

A Death on the Barrens by George Grinnell gifted from Jane Perry

My Address Book

My Day Minder

All that is not essential has been stripped away. What needs to be carried? I looked at my knit tops yesterday and they looked tired and worn, when it moves me I will shop to replace them. All else appears to be in good order.

Possessions and belongings, what shall they be labeled? The word belongings has a ‘round’ feel to it as if the word itself could envelop me. Dear belongings, today I welcome all the things that give me pleasure. My journal and lantern, blanket, cozy socks, back rest, three mesh bags to organize the underwear are reflected upon this morning with a smile.

When I say ‘possessions’ out loud I feel like I pulled something from the outside into myself where it is now held hostage and taken it as mine. And in this journey of self to the Self, neither belongings nor possessions touch the closeness of emotions and sensory states arising and falling and dropping away like those old knit tops that have had their day.

August 11, 2009

I have dropped into a new constellation of seven people here at Grace Grove: Puma, Morgan, Sam, Barbara, Rose, Celeste and Adam. Being the new star in this configuration, I am feeling out all the gravitational pulls. Where do I fit? How’s the fit?

I reflect on old friends where the story lines are known and where familiarity breeds trust and comfort. Here where there is so much newness it is natural to seek the familiar. In the mornings I write in my journal propped upon my knees. I write until I have emptied myself. I devour myself in words dissolving wants and desires, and pull at their very roots. I write until my senses bring me to attention and begin with anticipation yet another day here by the river, under the sycamore trees.

Over the past weekend I happily reunited with Martin Gray. Many of you know him as the National Geographic photographer who wrote Sacred Earth. Unfortunately for me he is leaving the country once again for another round the world adventure at the end of August. My best hiking buddy will be gone but not until we get to the Humphrys Mountain outside of Flagstaff. I am anticipating cool air, a great trout breakfast in Flag, a hike to meadow high on Mt. Humphrys and of course some great companionship.

Meanwhile working nonstop on this launch for One Spirit Weekend. What an amazing team of dedicated folks and I don’t have a long commute!