Grounded, and grateful

 

 Dear blog,

 

Hi.

I hope you are doing well, and that the sun is shining, and the grass is green, and flowers are blooming around you.

And all your family is well.

Life.

It seems more and more curious. More and more storybook worthy. More and more like a dream. More and more magic, and miracles. And so strange, and filled with pauses, and then accelerations, and God showing up in the least likely of people.

Something new to learn, or see, or know, or feel…breaking down my old patterns of thought…

Sometimes leaving me wordless…

So much so I don’t know sometimes, how to be. How to write. How to be a person. Doing person things.

Have normal conversations. To know how and when to say, yes, or no.

Borders, and boundaries….

Boundlessness.

Law. And Grace.

Time. And lines.

Spirit, and matter.

Spaciousness, and form.

Loving both.

 Allowing it all.

Feeling at the cusp of old, and new timelines.

And then there are review days---asking if I’ve learned anything. And it feels almost as if God is gifting me bits of old unhealed things to relief, and heal from---and just when I feel at that point where I don't know if I can keep going..."

Spirit steps in, as if to say, "It's okay. I was just seeing if you could see me. Just seeing if you could experience this now---with the knowing of my ever-present nowness, my heart, even amid challenges small or great."

So even in the most challenging moments, I know God is there.

And spirit there to give comfort to myself, and to others.

It is such a blessing. Something I am grateful for everyday. The knowing that God is. And to feel my own heart, and to feel spirit, and even when it’s hard, Gods goodness, is there.

And when I feel it, I can hold hands, and be with people in places where I might have not had enough courage.

Last week, a felt was a review week. And on Friday, I felt like I had some sort of exam.

I was in a hurry, well, maybe a little impatient is the word. I wanted to milk goats, and do the animals, so I could get over to the house where I’ve been working since the week of all our music performances. A neighbor friend started an Air/bnb, and so I’ve been helping, as she, the owner has been away most of the time.

Anyway, I was wanting to get done with the animals, so I could get over there to make sure the house, and room was ready. And my sister, had noted that one of our goats spiral horns was growing into its eye. So we’d been getting the hacksaw, and slowly sawing away at it, in increments. So Bess thought it was a good day to do that, so she started working on that, while I was milking one side.

When she was tired of sawing, and wrestling the goat, I took over, but I couldn’t get the saw to go back and forth very well. We laced the rope around her neck through her horn, and around a fencepole so we’d be safe while we were working on cutting her horn.

I had the idea to get some tree trimmers, and chop away with them, a bit. I did this until it drew blood, and then stopped, thinking we’d made some progress, and we didn’t want to hurt her too badly. Plus she kept throwing her head back and forth, and was very upset. It was safer to stop, we both thought.

So Bess started milking the other side of the goat. I thought about unlacing the rope, but I decided to go and feed the chickens instead.

 I made my way to the chickens, and then I heard Bessie cry out, and scream. I ran back, and Bess was on the ground, and moaning, and the goat had zipped into the barn.

“What happened? What’s wrong!” I asked.

Bess was holding her right side of her face, in pain, and moaned, “She hit me in the face with her head, and knocked my tooth out!”

 Seeing my strong, and brave sister so vulnerable, and so hurt, I couldn’t think very well. And I started shaking, and tearing up, and going into my own shock. Not the greatest thing to do when you are supposed to be strong and steady for hurt persons.

The goat had hit her so hard, it buggered up her nose, and jaw, and her lip, and the gums around her teeth. And upon further inspection her front—ish tooth was only partway knocked broken. It had a big chunk missing. And was barley hanging on--loose.

I ran into the house to get ice, and tried to call dentists or to figure out what to do to save her tooth. I wasn’t sure if I should take her to the emergency room, or what to do. Or how hurt she really was.

I was feeling responsible. I thought that had I just waited a moment, and had been patient, I might have protected her. I thought I might have prevented it. And I still feel pretty shook up about it. Because it really hit her hard. In all my years of owning goats, we’d never had something like this happen. And this goat, has been so naughty. She hides all the time, when we go to milk her. And we have saved her so many times. She jumped a fence and got her leg caught, and we had the vet set her leg, and healed. Then Bess saved her from hanging once. And then last year, while Bess and I were painting sets the wall for the play, she got into something and got bloat. And I saved her yet again.

So by all accounts, this goat, “Pearl is her name. The black pearl. Because she’s shiny, black, and beautiful. Shouldn’t have even been here.

Anyhow, in frenzy, of tears, and shaking hands, I tried finding dentists, and ice.

I howled out to my mom for help.

But, my mom wasn't in the best of shape. She had been in such pain the day before. She had been in such pain, in low spirits, of body and mind, I had considered taking her to the emergency room myself. But she was feeling so much better after some medicine we gave her, we were hopeful---anyhow my sister getting hurt made her feel faint. And she called as many dentists as she could---even the vet, even my uncle who used to be a dentist. 

But nobody was home.

This was real hard. Bess had a lot of pain.

And it felt like a test to see how we could be with it.

We couldn’t find any dentists. Probably because it was memorial day weekend. And we weren’t sure if taking her to the emergency room would save her tooth or not.

Meanwhile, Bess asked me to leave her alone, because I was in tears too much, that it caused her to start to cry.

Because I couldn’t do anything else to help at the moment, I left Bess, to clean the Air/bnb. And the funny thing was, I guess the owner had come back, without telling me, and I ended up cleaning, when I didn’t have to….

Either way, one dentist did call back, enough to say he wasn’t in, and that to be sure to push the tooth forward into socket if it’d been punched back. So later that day, Bess guided my fingers, and we tried pushing it back into its socket. It was really traumatic for both of us. And very painful for Bess.

I was praying the whole time.

And later that night, her face was so swollen. And she was in a lot of pain. It had me very worried that maybe something was wrong more than just her tooth.

So we sat together, and cried.  I felt her face with my hands, and we both just looked at the pain, and were present. And prayed. It was one of those moments. Moments where I felt helpless. But felt God there, helping. And all we could do was be with each other.

We had some comfrey cream, and my sister Jeana brought over some comfrey leaves, and my mom made some fresh comfrey for her to swish in her mouth. And we had some clay we put on her buggered up lip.

And the next day, my sister though swollen, and very sad about her smile, and worried about looking ugly, was much better.

The gums around her tooth had firmed up a lot, and she was very much more herself. She said she felt a lot better.

“phew.”

 

                                            Though…

Her face is puffy. And we don't know yet if the tooth can be saved. I think it can be. Bess is strong. And she bounces back, so beautifully.

 

For me...It pulled on some deep hurt inside me. Where I felt like I should have been there at the goat stand...felt bad I hadn't stayed. 

Another interesting bit…

We also had a lot of family come that day, and everybody was swirling. And it was so much. I was so exhausted by the time I was able to get to bed, I had a hard time sleeping.

Bess noticed something interesting and I think it’s worth noting. No matter who it is, friends, or family.

People are afraid of pain, of looking at it.

We all are.

Of looking at the missing parts, feeling the bleeding gums, and seeing the wound. It’s real scary. That moment where you have a choice to go right in deep, where it hurts.

Or close up.

And I think all of us are learning how to best be with pain.

How to look at it. And be with it. To be present with it---being right there with it. That is real challenging. 

To really, and deeply be present. To breathe in and out, and just look at it.

And allow it.

Wow, that is real hard...

So hard sometimes, it can cause you to weep, too.  

Because we want so badly for it to be healed. We want to do...

And so we do what we can.

But. To remember to be.

Is doing sometimes, the most important thing.

Yet, presence is healing. And to learn that kind of presence. Is to know healing.

To be with my mother’s pain. To allow it, and to look at it. To, as Ram das says, to see how it is, and know it’s all perfect in God’s eyes. Yet do what you can to ease suffering, however you can.

And to be with your own hurts, and should, and should haves, and dids, and dones, and did nots.

And let them be how they are.

And to be that equanimous with everyone who shows up in your life, including yourself.

And to say, “Ah, so.”

As life happens. Good or bad.

And when life hurts, to pause, and say, with as much empathy as you can muster, "Ah oh!" Looking deeply with compassion on all beings, and the pain. To be with life.

And know the deep magic beyond the hurts, and wounds, and high days, and low days, and inbetween days.

And good days, and not so good.

And see the oneness beyond it all, and yet to hold it all close, and weep, and laugh, and know this dance is much more beautiful when you allow spirit to unfold, and life to unfold, and yourself, and others to be just how they are.

And to allow yourself to be just how you be.

And to forgive the moments where you wish you would have been, but could not be.

And to learn and grow from all the moments when you were being, or not being.

And the moments were you were somewhere else, and weren’t paying attention.

Or the moments where you were the one with the pain.

Or the one helping to hold it.

To feel it, and allow it.

And allow God to work in your life, without judging the moment, or how life shows up.

Life, dressed in all the colors.

So, I guess, I’m taking a moment to write, to put down my feelings, because it’s still quite raw in me, this feeling that my dear sister, whose always been quite strong, and someone I rely on so very much, got hurt, that I felt like part of me had been injured too.

And I felt overwhelmed, this month has been a real challenge. There has been so many highs, and so many lows.

It’s hard to watch your parents grow old, especially when they so enjoy dancing in form.

And part of me feels like an ancient mountain, having to watch it all. Seeing my families dancing, as everyone goes on this ride of life, and seeing them take many side roads, and byways, and then all come looping home, in one way or another.

And I feel happier, and sadder, and more serious, and simple, than is probably normal.

My happy thought of today is my little nephew, Archer, (The one with freckles, I wrote about fishing with) he has been spending some time with me, and Bess felt good enough to go to the canal, yesterday, and we had fun playing in the water with him. An airplane flew overhead while we were sitting on the bridge, and we waved, and it waved back, in the sky, and then looped back round, and flew off.  We both thought it was doing a show just for us.

And he had so much fun looking for shells, and dead crawdads. He was crossing a bridge, and pointed to the ditch and said, That’s the different root, canal.

Made me simile.

He’s such a beautiful little mirror, and he copies everything I do. Sometimes he even calls me mom. He’ll even go so far as to try to snort when he laughs, because sometimes it just happens involuntarily when I laugh. And he thinks it something worth imitating.

I took him over to the house I’m taking care of, and he helped me fold laundry, and then I took him to my neighbor friend, Amy. We brought her a wild rose, and she let us see her mini goats.

The Sunday before this last one, She, Amy, came with us to Audition for the play this year. 

The music man. 

So we’ll be going to the play this year as a threesome. Bess and I weren’t sure if we were going to do it this year. But Doug---the director, the one who sang, “Annie’s song,” for us, for our blue notes concert has given us a lot of kindness, and love over the years, so we thought we will come, yet again. And give what we can, too.

Amy, the one who Bess got to try out for the play, she’s a real nice soul, one who has a real big heart. She lost her son, not very long ago, and Bess and I, have shared some real, beautiful moments together with her. 

 So, starting the 15^th, of June we’ll be doing play practice.

And hopefully, Bess can get her tooth fixed.

 And mostly, I feel so many things right now. Exhausted, then energized. 

At times this moth, I have felt more grounded than I've felt in a while.

 And then not as much...

Then just feeling wispy, and soft, just wanting to be, and mediate.

And so many other things...

But beyond all these feelings, I am grateful. 

I'm oh, so grateful that my sister is okay. That she is healing. And back to her bubbly, happy self.

I'm grateful the sun is shining. I so enjoy the birds, all kinds that are singing in the trees outside my window. 

I'm grateful for spaces, for beautiful pauses, for time to be with myself.  

I'm grateful for the space to write. Grateful to feel like writing, as it's been a while.

I'm grateful for loving open hearts, children, and child-like souls who are easy to love, and easy to be with, to enjoy the simple pleasures of life with. 

I'm grateful for real moments and music, and laughter.  I'm grateful for people who see good in others.

I'm grateful for those who value life, and love, and all those most precious gifts of life that are priceless.

I am grateful to feel God’s spirit moving in my life, to feel not alone amid challenges, is a gift. To feel that real, and tangible knowing, amid the beauty, and sorrow, is a beautiful gift. And to know God's love is worth it all.

A lot of my family is out trilobite hunting in the desert today. 

Bessie is happy. And well. And healing. 

Mom is some feeling better, today. And she seems content.

My garden is starting to grow, even after having to replant ---because of chickens. 

I am am happy, and peaceful. It's beautiful outside.

I am content, writing. Spending a moment, with you.

 It seems I should end this post is some music...I really like listening to this one on repeat. It's so somber, and mysterious, and beautiful, and hopeful. How I feel.

                                           

The Voice

 

Dear blog,

 

What to say?

I’ve wanted to say so many things. There’s been so many beautiful things. Rainbows, uncanny walls of them, tablecloths of them. Events that seem so very curious, I’m not sure how to describe them.

That I wonder what to write, and how? So much so that I search for words.

And yet….

I guess sharing a little, and perhaps just writing the marrow, instead of getting bogged in details, is what I will do, for now, because it is the essence that is beautiful.

The aroma of truth that is beautiful.

 I’ve thought about sharing the video of our spring Program.

Then I talk myself out of it, because I know it’s just a form. And going back feels almost like collecting butterfly wings.

When the nows are right here to be found.

I’ve always felt uncomfortable watching myself in videos.

Plus, this video does not show you the bits that made up this choir. The ups, and downs. The mini dramas, and politics, and also the beautiful heart energy that came in at times.

Moments of encouragement, and also seeing moments.

The very humanness of this choir, in a small town.  And the whole program was made up of mini moments, of women.

A collaborative work. Where something bubbled through the cracks, not because of force, or pushing.

But because a soft energy seeped in, and sculpted things, little by little. A very allowing energy. And it seemed that all of us women seemed for a moment, softer.

Little changes.

Soft changes.

Like us women wearing dresses, probably the first time since I’ve been in blue notes, and it’s been a while.

Being able to write words, that were able to be read.

Words that were allowed.

That was beautiful.

Encouraging.

A group of women.

Sometimes so in the space of love, it was beautiful.

And sometime, so in the space of needing love, that it was challenging.

And a Choir director, leading, though with great arthritis in her hips, and an ill husband.

And so, if you decide to listen to this, take into account, that behind what manifests, perfect, or imperfect, loud or soft, on key, or off---in-between all form lies the thread.

The voice---The unheard bits you cannot see, or taste, or touch. Many moments of surrender.

Moments of unfolding, when one could run, or be small.

Moments of expansion for all of us, in our own ways.

Moments experienced on the inside of it all. One soul’s lens at a time. One person’s experience at time.

A point of light. A sound.

 So whether you're singing in the choir, or in the audience, or watching a video, or listening to the sound of your own heart, or sitting in the stillness of your own sacred center, sometimes, in golden moments, you get a glimpse of the sparkling truth, a ray that finds its way to the surface, and is sometimes seen, and even if was just for a moment.

Seen.

Or not.

It is there.

Always.

This third thing, waiting to be invited.

It can be here, with you.

Now.

As you sing together with the voice. 

Below is something I wrote after the program, because it was something I wanted to say there... 

So I'm saying it here. Though, I've rewritten it some since then.

And below that, is the script for the Voice, so you know what was said because sometimes it's hard to tell what was said from the video.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I forgot to include the voice of our teachers in or original script.

And Shirley has been my teacher.

And I would like to say ONEGAI SHIMASU, thank you to her.

And to her mother, and her teacher.

And to her mother. 

And to my mother.

To all mothers, and teachers, and choir directors, of all kinds, to fathers, and songs, daughters, and brothers.

My Teachers.

To you, and to all the those in the audience, and the choir members behind me.

And my beautiful soul sister, Bessie, who has sung with me in all kinds of weather.

Thank you.

You have all been my teachers, and coaches.

Seen, or unseen. Thank you for being there for me.

Supporting me. Loving me.

Teaching me. 

Thank you.

We have all taught one another something, all touched each others lives in some way. All been each other coaches and helpers along this beautiful journey of life. We have all covered each other and helped each other, in some way.

We have all helped each other to see the truth, about life, and each other in some way.

All helped each other to grow.

I would like you to note, that the beautiful thing Shirley just did for us only a little while ago, in playing the star spangled banner, as we all stood up, and looked at the flag, behind her.

With our hands covering our hearts.

“Oh say, can you see?”

By the dawns early light.

Did you see?

A person who’s mother, and people were incarcerated for not being American enough.

Has stood before you, and said, with her beautiful heart, and harp, and fingers.

Do you not see?

My hand over this harp with 13 original strings.

America started out with 13 original colonies.

I wonder if anyone listening felt a bit of awe, and wonder, and then listening felt a twinge of guilt, or shame?

And how beautiful this all is.

If we looked.

We, our hearts all are the same.

Listen.

Hear the music.

One anthem.

One harp.

One heart.

And so, my heart says. Yes. Stand. And cover your harp, your heart. Strum the strings.

Play the hearts national anthem. Learn from your teachers---they are all around you. Teaching you, how to cover your hearts.

Stand before the flag of unity.

Cover love.  And love the cover.

Love.

That is the only thing worth covering.

And you are all that. 

Long may our hearts wave.

 Stand in respect to those who show you your hearts, harps song.

See those who are are willing to play your heart's national anthem despite all that has happened.

Forgive those who held you unjustly.

Love them.

Yes.

I am grateful for teachers that teach us how to be.

And to give love always.

See how beautiful it is to hold up Truth, and love, and unity as their flag.

Long may it wave.

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is the text for the Voice. Bess gave me some good ideas, and word thoughts. So this is a collaboration. I let the choir director rearrange it from the original text a bit. So I've tried to piece together what it changed to. So if it's off from the video, that's probably why.

The Voice 2024 spring Concert

 --------------

1. The Voice.

2. Lineage.

 

Narrator.

The Voice

If you listen, you can hear it.

It is here, with us, always.

The thread of music, the word, that was at the very beginning.

The line of poetry that comes on the radio at the exact right moment, when you need it.

The voice of hope that sings out even in the darkest moments. The voice that whispers truth. The voice of our grandmothers.

The voice of our history, the voice of our hearts, the voice of our friends, and those we lean on in times of sorrow, or joy.

 Listen, and you will hear it !

 

3. They call The wind Mariah.

4. Special number (Lean on me) Loreen Olivia, Sue, Karen, Sheryl, Esther)

 

 Narrator.

The voice of quiet courage, and joy, even when circumstances look grim. It speaks of our homeland, of heroes, of flags, and of courage, the fabric of truth that sewed our nation together. The voice, it tells of beautiful mornings, and meadows we once knew and sometimes remember. It sings to us, and tells us that us that happiness is here, now.

5. The Star Spangled Banner---Koto instrumental. (Shirley Kazuyo Muramoto)

6. Oklahoma.

 

Narrator.

The voice calls still.

Invisible to some.

But heard when we pause, and spend time with real things.

The voice of nature, and of rain, and sun, and of wind. The voice found in the stars, as you stand alone under the sky's umbrella. You can hear it in the seasons, in the sound of silence of winter. Its truth echoes out, calling us to let the sunshine in, even in darkness, when there is no sound. Its voice calls to us all in all ages, and in all stages.

7. Aquarius--let the sunshine in

8. Sound of Silence (special number)

9. Singin' in the rain.

 

 

Narrator

The voice.

Can you hear it? Heard in the jungle's of our own lives. It is the voice of peace. It is the voice of your mother, the strength of your father. It is found in the sound of a harp, the wings of a butterfly, the bells of a wind chime. It lights up your senses.

10. Annie's Song (Lynnette, and Doug Jenkins)

11. Koto number---Kokeshi Ningyo – Shirley Kazuyo Muramoto, Brian Wong Muramoto, and Stephanie Skeem.

Narrator.

The voice is heard beyond the gossip of loud tongues. It tells of beautiful mornings, and meadows, we once knew, and sometimes remember. It beckons us to join in choir, no matter how we sound. To have courage to sing.

12. All God's creatures got a place in the choir.

13. The lions sleeps tonight.

14. Don't worry, be happy (Special number)

15. Gossip Gossip.

Narrator.

The voice.

The breath.

A word. A space. The Yah-weh--the in-breath, and out-breath. The sound of life.

The sound of unity that ties us all together as we sing for you. The sacred space where my soul can speak to yours. The fire behind all creation. It is the presence of the beloved.

16. Pie Jesu. Bessie And Stephanie

 

Narrator.

The voices of those who once sang with us in Blue Notes, but are now singing with us in spirit. Memories of the past.

We sing these songs, that, as you listen, you will hear that voice.

The presence lingering even after the stage is empty, and everyone has gone home.

The call, pulling your heart ever closer to your soul.

The invisible note.

The sound of you.

The beat of your own heart telling you what path to choose.

The voice that leads us all home, back to our hearts, to our original homeland. To that original sound.

For without this voice, we are all groping in the dark.

Searching.

 

18. Blue notes of Harmony.

19. Memories.---Bellanova

 

Narrator.

But if we are still, we can hear the sound of silence, and of sound, and of our hearts and spirits, leading us note by note, to a place where all voices will one day sing together in unity.

Thank you for taking time out of your day, to come and listen to our voices. We invite you, with heartfelt appreciation, to join your voices with ours in singing Edelweiss when Julia turns to cue you.

May we all bloom and grow.

Together!

 

15. Edelweiss.