My World View

Staring out a window from a dark room with city lights outlining the town below and the distant peninsula. Again. Just being, just being contemplative. Looking out at the whole wide world while I try to see inside.

img_1122

Advertisements

Inhaling the Sea–Missing the Moment

006

I walked out onto my deck and inhaled the sea air—the saltiness, the vague fishiness. I was there that moment to savor it, but instead I was overwhelmed by grief. In 2 weeks I would no longer live in this treasured house and my sorrow for that 2 weeks hence me broke my heart. 20 years later, my memory is of sadness, not of a sweet smile that could have lingered if I had merely taken a seat on my deck and contentedly inhaled the sea air—the saltiness, the vague fishiness.

Tea

IMAGE0009‘Drink your tea slowly and reverently, as if it is the axis on which the world earth revolves – slowly, evenly, without rushing toward the future.’ ~Thich Nhat Hanh

I adored my grandmother Nummie. “Eagle” was her response to “if you could be an animal….” Her favorite T.V. shows were Roller Derby and College Bowl. She epitomized blue-bloodism (and symbolized and believed in everything that I rejected when I turned 15ish). She was hilarious and loud. She enjoyed her cocktail hour. She was better as a wife than as a mother (according to my mother). And I loved to spend time with her after school. She provided a refuge for a moody teenager and she was fun. She died the night I graduated from high school. She had a beautiful upholstered mahogany rocking chair—her usual seat. Now, I have that chair in my living room. Now it is my usual seat for one of my recurring practices of reverence—having tea with God. With a cup of tea in my hands, I share a bit about how I feel, I express gratitude, and then I sit in peace—listening to the silence and the profound wisdom of that, slowly and evenly and reverently sipping on my tea—having tea with God and Nummie.

Orcas Island

OrcasI didn’t anticipate how much it was going to hurt to walk down a simple hill.  After a marathon, what could be better than relaxing at a resort on Orcas Island in a room with a view of the Pacific Ocean, forest up to the coastline, deer roaming by?  All of that was spectacular, but the walks down the hill to meals and my longed for massage proved agonizing.  My legs weren’t bending correctly.  My balance was off on the incline.  Every single leg muscle hurt.

Following breakfast I hobbled out to the cliff’s edge and plopped down.  Spectacular seascape!  The details up close were even more amazing to me.  Tiny flowers carpeted the cliff top—incredible colors!  As I sat and silently absorbed the warmth of the sun and all of the magnificence that surrounded me, I felt enveloped by the sensation of a mystical embrace.  What was it?  Grace.

After a week of being intensely aware of time, space, and my own survival and perseverance in both the small and big picture, I actively felt Grace.  And then gratitude.