patty love's Blog
A forty-something woman's exploration of life.Change
Cherished experiences fall away as
Hope arises that
Another day will bring
New beginnings and
Gifts of Love, for only Love is
Eternal, My Friend and Once Beloved.
Mother Moon
When my life is more simple, I am more connected to the passage of time. I’ve really been in touch with how much I need simplicity and nature to keep me in a good place and just to feel me, feel my Self. When I was walking after dinner last night (now a few nights ago), I was surprised by the full moon popping up over the trees. I started to cry. It was so beautiful and I was so grateful for its presence and beauty.
It was so reassuring, too, that nothing stays the same. My life is such that I currently pray for change. There are cycles and rhythms and, like the moon, sometimes the changes are so small from day to day that I don’t notice them. Still, they are real and, over time, I can take their measure. I found much comfort in that remembrance and my connection with that rhythm.
As a woman whose body has a rhythm of ebb and flow much like that of the moon, I fell deeply connected to Her. I am now 45. I wonder how that connection will change over time as my cycles move away from Hers, becoming less predictable and then stopping altogether. I won’t even know that my cycles have really stopped until I look back over a year of their absence.
Like the moon changes, my body’s changes, too, will come slowly. One day at a time, they will be unnoticeable. Over time, I can take their measure. For today, as the moon is already waning, I look forward again to Her fullness and to mine.
A Birthing Prayer
I pray for the mother about to give birth.
I pray for the child ’bout to walk on this Earth.
I pray for their safety as they move through this change.
I pray that tomorrow we will not be the same.
Copyright 2009 by Patty Love
Notes:
– May be sung to the rhythm “ta ta ti-ti-ti-ti ta ta ti-ti-ti-ti” (If I find a better way to express this musically, I’ll edit the post.)
– The last line is meant as a more general prayer for the rebirth and raising of consciousness of the world’s people. This is along the lines of one of the Buddhist traditions of praying for ourselves and then for all sentient beings.
Invitation to Joy
Quietly at first it begins
as the dawn chorus awakens.
A few “early birds” start to sing
then more arise and join in.
My mind’s ears hears them as I sleep
and my dream I cannot keep.
Like a diver I begin to stir
and swim up through sleep’s layers.
Slowly my mind comes awake
just as dawn begins to break.
Earth’s music plays within my heart
and joyous feelings begin to start.
An invitation to Joy today
that I may walk The Beauty Way.
patty (fern) love
Copyright 2009
Free Hugs – And A Few Bonuses
I had an amazing day! Inspired by a YouTube video where a man stands with a simple sign that reads “free hugs” and hugs willing passersby, I did the same. I attended the Rochester Pagan Pride Festival today and, with the organizers’ prior permission, carried a “free hugs” sign with me all day. It’s a day that will long live in my memory.
I don’t know that I can accurately relate what it was like exactly. One thing I can tell you is that it was fun. While some people kept their distance – sometimes without making eye contact and sometimes with a smile and a “no thank you” – others approached me eagerly. A few even run up to me, arms open. One woman said she’d always wanted to do that. She liked it so much that I offered her a second hug, this time with the sign on the ground and both of my arms open and ready. That was really fun.
The kids were also especially fun. If you haven’t hugged a wee one in a while, see if you can make that happen. One young girl, who took the initiative and approached me, told me that I hug better than her mom. (I hope her mom didn’t hear that.)
There was one special child who will stay in my memory. She didn’t say a word and couldn’t have with the pacifier in her mouth. Not more than two years old, she ran right up and hugged me. Then she ran right back to her daddy and gave him a hug first and then her mama. This girl knows what to do with a hug – pass it on to someone else. They’re not meant to be hoarded.
One of my favorite parts of the day was staying present during the hug and feeling when it was time to let go. In order to stretch myself and truly give hugs, I made a commitment to myself to keep hugging until the receiver let go. I didn’t want to be the one to stop the hug because I wanted to give each person what he or she needed and wanted. Sensing that moment was tricky and I was wrong a few times. Some of the hugs were very quick. I gave a great, tight hug and let go when I sensed the person pulling away. It was easy to know when to end those hugs. Other hugs lasted much longer and I felt myself a little uncomfortable or maybe it was impatience. Regardless of the emotion, I started just the slightest movement of pulling away (still with awareness) and discovered that the receiver was still fully engaged. So back in I went, arms tight, letting the receiver end the hug. Then it felt right to stop.
I also met a special man, Peter. I can’t tell you here all that we talked about today but I felt then and still do now that I was talking with God or, at the very least, someone who knows Him well. As I told my husband, I truly felt like I was in the presence of the divine and I feel changed by the experience. And it all started with a simple hug.
In all cases, I thanked the brave soul who received my hug and most thanked me. I accepted their gratitude but I know that I was the one who was actually receiving, and it started by giving.
Sometimes when you give a hug, a hug that comes all the way from your toes, you get back more than you give. Try it.
In Appreciation of Hands
With these hands I do magical, ordinary things
Smooth cream on booboos
Stitch together a torn knee
Pluck a melody out on strings.
My fingers they bend, my thumb it does, too
I can caress you
Undress you
Make love with you, too.
They really are amazing this grouping called a hand
Holding pencil to paper
Painting a landscape
Or leading a band.
Hugging my dear ones and touching are my favorite things
Smoothing your curls
Touching your shoulder
Or handing you your wings.
My body is amazing and my hands are even more
Helping me show love
Helping me give love
And simply, kindly holding a door.
Holding Grandmother’s Hand
I was there when it happened yesterday. People on their way to…(whereever). Laughing, chatting, singing, and driving. Suddenly someone does the unexpected and turns in front of another car. You know the sounds -the nearly simultaneous screech and thud. The sound of my stomach turning. Uh oh, an accident.
My first conscious thoughts as I approached the car that took the crash head on were: “What will I see when I look through the car window? Can I handle it? Will I know what to do?” Whatever the thoughts were in-between the crash and the awareness of walking toward the car, I discovered later that in seconds I had put my bike kickstand down, sent my 9-year-old son to stand safely by the light post, pulled the cell phone from my pocket, dialed 911, and started walking into the middle of the holiday weekend travel log-jammed intersection. “What will I see? I’m scared to look,” said my mind.
Luckily for the passengers they had not a visible scratch. A quick check of the other car and the same. Someone Else was there -helping. Triage done! (If there were invisible injuries, I will never know.) “Now what? How can I help until The Authorities come? Who needs me more -my son or the car’s occupants?”
Looking into the passenger window again, my mind relieved at the relative okayness of the situation, I was free to see through the eyes of my heart. My heart saw two scared women checking with each other. “Are you okay? What happened? I’m okay.”
The fifty-something driver daughter was farthest away from my reach and my son. Her mother, Grandmother, sat with only the partially opened window between us. As I wondered how to help, I saw her lips tremble in response to my gentle inquiries. Answering while she bravely fought back tears, her ageless Mother’s Courage claimed to only be worried about her daughter. Was she really okay? The trembling lips and reluctant tears spoke to my heart and suddenly my heart knew what to do. I asked if I could just hold her hand through the window.
Hearts connected through our hands, I stood leaning in. She sat -waiting. Together we waited. Sometimes it feels so long before Help in the form of official vehicles arrives. Someone Else suggested the car should be moved out of the intersection. The driver complied. Grandmother held my hand as I walked alongside the moving car. Though my mind wondered if I should let go, my heart (and hers) knew it wasn’t time yet. We stayed connected.
Finally sirens arrived -police, rescue vehicles. It was time for The Authorities to help. With Grandmother’s permission, I made final good wishes, accepted their gratitude, and returned to my role as mother. After connecting with my bravely onlooking son, I gathered my Mother’s Courage and crossed that scary intersection with him. Then it was our turn -our lips trembled, our eyes welled with tears as we relived our scary witness experience. We were okay, too. Just scared. I knew what to do – I took his hand and gave him a hug.
I can still feel her skin in mine today -the soft, sunken skin of an aged Grandmother. (Is that how My Own Grandmother’s hand felt?) And next time, my mind as instructed by my heart will know what to do – just reach out and take the Scared Hand.
Rough Road Ahead – Next 12 Miles
“Rough Road Ahead – Next 12 Miles” reads the sign. I was travelling home from a day of blessed solitude in my heart’s home – The Adirondack Mountains. Winding back from Blue Mountain Lake, I thought, “I’m so grateful to have that warning.” Usually, when there’s rough road ahead in my life, there is no warning. No sign. But here, on my daytrip, I could prepare. I could slow down. I could heighten my awareness. I could assess my surroundings. I could be careful.
In day to day life, there aren’t such warnings or, if there are, the sign is too small to see. The rough road appears out of nowhere. A smooth, beautiful morning suddenly turns rocky during a disagreement in the early part of the day. Or a relaxing evening becomes stress-filled because someone is not participating in our family in a positive way. During these times, I wish there had been a sign warning “rough road ahead” so that I could slow down, take a deep breath, and pay attention. Without getting caught up in my emotions, blinded by my anger, I could handle the bumpy terrain in a more skillful way. How can I make that happen?
The sign even tells me for how long these conditions will last – 12 miles. I can glance at my odometer and take note so I’ll know when to expect the rough road to come to an end. However, during my day, just as the beginning is a surprise, so, too, is the end. Suddenly things will smooth over and I might not even notice because my emotions are still shaky or my mind is stuck in the stories of the past. My mind is still riding that rough road. No, the end is not apparent immediately. Nor will the beginning of the next patch be.
In my new marriage and my new stepfamily, the road is rough. The children don’t want to be part of this adventure; this partnership that my husband and I have created. Friends bold enough to speak to this topic have advised me that the first year will be the hardest. 12 rough months not 12 rough miles. “How can they know?”, I wonder. Is there a sign? With nothing else to cling to but hope, I feel reassured by this verbal sign. I’ve (we’ve all) survived 3 months so far. Nine to go. Whew!
I hope their wisdom, my only sign to go by, is right.
patty love
Copyright 2009
A Relation’s Death
What is the sound of a tree dying?
Men’s voices shouting over Wednesday morning chainsaws. The terrible thuds as severed limbs crash to the ground. The chipper grinding flesh and bone to mulch. Rakes collecting up bits of flesh.
More men’s voices, just before the trucks pull away with the body – cut and chopped and ground into pieces, leaving just an open wound in the Earth’s skin and a few scattered fragments of tree flesh where once stood a magnificent oak.
And the heart-aching onlookers who came too late to prevent their relation’s untimely death. They who gather in a circle over the wounded Earth hug and console each other. Through the tears a groundswell arises. The tree’s spirit speaks through their hearts and they know what to do. They gather up the fallen acorns and begin to plant.
patty love
Copyright 2009
Suckling The Mother
Like a babe I suckle at the nipple of Mother Earth
instinctively rooting for Her fleshy mound,
seeking the sustenance of Her liquid energy.
I drink with my toes
digging them into the pebbles of the riverbed or the sand of the sea bottom.
Through my feet Her life force flows into me, through me,
filling me with life; replenishing my soul.
Time suckling passes too quickly.
Unlike a babe, it is I who must tear myself away from this Mother’s bosom to return “home”.
Still thirsting, I am insatiable, aching for more.
My Earth Child Self yearns instead to sleep here at Her breast,
not to get on my bike and return to the hard, dry crust of my blacktop suburb.
patty love
Copyright 2009
