A lighthouse makes me think of home…. a place where they always keep the light on for you. Although my children and grandchildren live far away, they remain the light in my otherwise foggy world. Today I trudge through the thick sand in search of the lightness of being that comes from a life that is not in trouble. The beam that I am walking toward reminds me that there is always help to give and to receive, which is the great peace that comes from living through the storm.
As I meander about the Cape taking time to BE in place while allowing my senses, emotions and mind awaken to what is new around me, I hope my wanderings become an invitation to unfinished women to do the same… Imagine if day after day of 100 days each of us dedicate ourselves to revival how much awakening can occur.
Let’s Begin…..DAY ONE: There’s something exhilarating about dancing waves covering the seas as if in a chorus line. It is not difficult to get a new kick in my step with an ocean of encouragement. Stepping out and away from the mundane offers much needed adrenaline for the seeker in search of waking up.
Knowing full well I’m rushing the end of this joyless time, I can wait no longer wait to jump start my sedentary life. I tossed into the fireplace the sign my neighbor gave me nine months ago. It read: THIS IS NOT NORMAL. I’ve made a promise to myself that in place of brooding (which comes with anything chronic), I will put pen to paper with fresh thoughts that produce positive energy rather than negative. I will set aside the next 100 days that our new President suggested to reboot my lethargic soul and begin to be new once again, ready and eager for when the pandemic leaves us.This will be a difficult task, overwhelmed as I am having spent the past nine months being speechless as well as depressed. Cogent thoughts, when I have them, become fleeting giving way to a sense of hopefulness one minute and doom and gloom the next. Days come and go, one season runs into the other, and there seems to be no reliable future on the horizon.It’s been an underwhelming time with little connection, no face to face conversation,cancelled holidays, and more. We‘ve been introduced to new language and new behaviors, virtual being the dominant one. Puzzled by the term I looked in the dictionary for its meaning: virtual means existing or resulting in essence of effect although not in actual fact, form, or name. We are all meant to go from real existence to an unreal one.That means shelter in in place, social distancing, wearing masks which cover up any or all facial expression…in short, go remote, be solo, and like a bear, hibernate until it safe to emerge.Well I’ve pretty much followed these rules and will continue to do so with one exception: I plan to gradually emerge and embrace the world beyond my doorstep (with mask), hoping to find inspiration beyond the perils of pandemic. The word inspire means to reach toward something. Each day I will open my heart, mind, senses, and energy to find solace in all that was left behind. At the very least there should be born a new perspective.Join me online and together we can begin to come alive once again. Carpe Diem!
year’s calendar full of obligations that were not of my choosing, I feel its time to make some changes. Just as each age has its tasks, so each year has me living differently from before, especially now when I’ve come to the age of wisdom gathering.
Famed sociologist, Ashley Montagu called women “the carriers of culture”. Indeed, when I ponder the instincts and intuitions of the women I know they have a sensibility that encompasses mind, body and spirit.
It seems to me that women would…
Why not all of us begin to carry the culture to a new and more peaceful place by using our innate gifts in quiet and gentle ways.
While trekking through a nature preserve called the Earth Sanctuary, a place of spiritual diversity filled with shrines, small temples, and altars, I happened upon a labyrinth which beckoned me to enter. 
Having been carrying the weight of yet another family crisis, I was once again searching for solutions and have always found that walking such ancient circles offers wisdom. Besides, when I finally slow down and stay deliberately present, insights come.
So I begin, carefully navigating my rather large feet to remain within the narrow confines of the path. Eventually at the center I stand erect, eyes closed, and begin to breathe with the gentle wind that accompanies me this spring day. In a matter of minutes the words LET GO come. Easier said than done my sardonic brain thinks, having failed miserable at numerous attempts to control my life–such things as debilitating hypochondria, lost friendships, failing at solving my grown children’s problems, and myriad faux pas committed that I continue to regret.
Take hypochondria, for instance. For the most part I deny physical ailments because what I don’t know won’t worry me, and yet they do! Similarly, giving up friendships that had become hurtful and even toxic while knowing that anyone who treats you as an option when you treat them as a priority needs to go. And yet, I hold on! As for grown children and their issues, they actually don’t have their focus on us so why do I keep them front and center in my consciousness? And as for faux pas, once the words are out of my mouth or a misguided action happens it can’t be erased, save making amends on paper or face to face.
So I am left in a quandary as I head out of the labyrinth confused as to how to even begin to LET GO. With tears running down my cheeks I repeat the phrase...let go..let go.. let go. Once outside the protective circle I am completely disoriented. What’s more I am supposed to meet up with a group of women and surely now will be a no show. In my haste and panic I take one long turn after another 
going deep into an unknown forest and yes indeed, instead of letting go, I tighten up. Haven’t I learned after all these years of practice that when stopped in my tracks I need to turn fixation away from fear and simply surrender? This is a nature walk, for God’s sake, not a marathon!
I plop down on a nearby boulder and breathe, all the while listening to a cacophony of birds singing like a choir in an ancient cathedral. A little prayer to St. Anthony gets me up and going a few minutes later and without noticing it, I feel soothed by the magic of this place and begin to let its beauty take over. Wandering now and free of panic, I see my group in the distance and meander toward them.
Our destination is a Native American Medicine Wheel–a shrine dedicated to the elders whose spirits and energy are always available to us. As I step over the threshold I am overcome with feelings of grit, courage, risk taking and faith, all characteristics of my mother, grandmothers and great grandmothers.
It occurred to me that they have always stood ready, from their lives and the grave, to buoy me. Indeed, their very DNA lives within and is always there. When next I think I must do it all, perhaps I will remember to turn my eyes to the hills and my thoughts to my ancestors and LET GO. None of us is alone.
It is one of those bleak mid-winter mornings when dawn is about to break. I sip coffee while watching the first snowfall blow gently across the lawn. All seems calm and bright for the first time in a long while.
It’s been two years since my very tall husband tumbled in the middle of the night breaking his neck and part of his back. During the six-hour emergency surgery, while pacing the hospital halls, I made a promise that if he came out of it without paralysis; I would do all within my power to bring us through. So began a time of aimless wandering through my days and months with little or no direction, moving through circumstances that owned me, although I had no role in creating them.
For a control freak to be relegated to bystander is a most dreadful punishment, and playing nurse has never been my forte. I was powerless from stopping his future falls and soothing his pain, save offering him painkillers. It fell squarely in his court to muster courage, will, strength, and a positive attitude.
The more I tried to move things along, the deeper we sunk into the muck. With compassion I cajoled and force-fed him protein shakes, and in desperation turned to humor which occasionally brought us both a chuckle.
Looking back these two years were tough and bitter, but armored with a modicum of hope and friends, a sparkle began returning to my very being. This morning I see it all as an exercise in patience.
An Amaryllis plant which sits before me affirms my morning musings. I realize that I’ve been overanxious for its flower to appear. Each day I water it a bit, coaxing it to life, and each day it does what it’s meant to do–its bold pod staunch as if to say…in time…in time…I’m reminded of something Mark Nepo wrote: Whatever our path, the secret of life somehow always has to do with the awakening and freeing of what has been asleep.
Just as I evolved through this year contained and restrained by life’s will, so it is with my mysterious plant as I watch it emerge from the soil, growing taller and bolder. It is true of me as well.
It is the winter solstice–a time to give birth (or let bloom) to that which I have worked through this past year and then begin to plant new seeds for the future.
Indeed, as Nepo alludes to, I have been asleep, albeit almost sleepwalking. But on this morning I feel an awakening that will free me once again to look for and welcome the things that never were. 
Can you celebrate the old and the new this solstice? That is what this season of meditation is all about…to stay grounded and to grow through one life to another.
It’s never too late to reclaim your life. It just takes a bit of risk and determination. This past November 53 women journeyed to Chatham, Massachusetts to repair their spirits and rediscover the raw material person they had papered over while playing myriad roles that our culture expects from them. The women came from 20 states and Canada, and their ages ranged from mid-thirties to seventies. Out of their busy lives they carved a weekend to remove themselves from the clutter and the clamor of human doingness and allowed themselves to be still and listen to what their heart has been trying to tell them.
Through out the weekend each woman begins to understand the innate strengths she possess from living through adversity, experiencing the various phases of a woman’s life, and overcoming the pitfalls of both counterfeit and second journeys.
They arrived on Friday afternoon as strangers and left on Sunday as a circle of fellow seekers willing to climb the ladder of knowing. Every woman possesses what she needs to navigate her future and the weekend provides the structure to accomplish that goal.
It was on this magical peninsula that my year by the sea began. This is where I realized that I could defer no longer, and that I was as unfinished as the shoreline along the beach and intended to transcend myself again and again.
In a recent morning devotional I read a line that hit me between the eyes. It said: Be free in your spirit always…do not waste your time attaching yourself to hurt and pain.
Having been raised in a fear based household which no doubt accounts for my hypochondria and other phobias, I am more frequently attaching myself to the negative rather than to the positive. Even though I know full well that negative thinking causes depression and worse still, all manner of disease, breaking the habit of worry is easier said than done.
But still, I was struck by the word attach…something that denotes clinging and holding onto rather than simple letting go of that which is simply not serving me.
So on a recent road trip with my husband for a much needed get-a-way, I made a secret pact with myself not to bring up one negative thought or on-going family situation that might contribute to my neurosis. Traveling south for an eleven hour journey and out of cell phone contact it would be possible to work this experiment. We would be disconnected from family, work, and pending issues that tend to distract us from life’s joys. I would attempt to be focused on fun and celebration, both easy to achieve being away from the mundane and heading into the adventure of the unknown.
Although my mind occasionally slipped into thoughts of doom and gloom I reminded myself that I wasn’t going to get this “free” time back again nor would I get this very day and place back again. I could attach to my fears as they crept into my head or not. Reminding myself that fear is nothing more than FALSE EVIDENCE APPEARING REAL I would cancel the thought for the time being and give my spirit a chance to be free.
Breaking habits of attachment is particularly hard for women who have spent so much of their life being involved with others. Time can be better spent enjoying the moment or the process of what we are doing instead of attaching to the hope for destination or peace which, in the end, is almost always unattainable.