October 2018

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Hello, and happy Monday to you!

Friday afternoon, I had the very special pleasure of attending a Mandala dissolution ceremony honoring the Compassion Buddha. Monks from the Ngari Institute spent three days creating this exquisitely fine and intricate work of art. It was then swept into a pile, distributed among attendees (anyone who so desired), with the remains scattered into Monument Creek.

Why destroy something so beautiful, you may ask? To show the importance of sharing compassion with all beings and reflect the impermanence of life. It also encouraged everyone in attendance (and the world) to let, just as we do each breath that comes, every little thing, joyful, beautiful, sad, and angry, GO. To the winds. To the water. Let it ALL go.

Before the ceremony, I had the privilege to sit with one of the monks and ask about the mandala. It was quite fascinating! The mandala is a two dimensional representation of a three dimensional house or temple, with the Compassion Buddha at the center. Each of the four directions is represented, with food and flowers offered to the Buddha. The copper cups hold water, two of which for cleansing (the mouth and feet), the third, with an added flower, for perfuming the body. This is an offering of our best selves to the Compassion Buddha. The water also represented rain; as rain falls, it cleanses the body, not only of grime, but of unhealthy thoughts and patterns in the mind. The more it is cleansed, the more it benefits the individual and the world, spreading compassion to our minds and others. So wonderful!

Wednesday morning welcome –  a most delightful change in the weather.

And then yesterday, velvet fog, which will, forever and always, be the softest Portland mornings, waking up cold and happy in a blanket of mist.

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And just because – a little Stevie Ray Vaughn. Sometimes I need more guitar…

Soft Burning

If hot red is for anger and rage, pink is the color of a soft burning – hot enough to light up the dark corners of sadness and grief, but cool enough to be tender, innocent, open.

Ibi Zoboi

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Pike’s Peak in a cloud hug! I volunteer at a retirement home, spending time with hospice patients. One of my ladies, when asked if she had a nice view, said, “It’s nothing much.” Not taking her at her word because I am a woman of my own mind, I glanced out and saw Pike’s Peak. She said she’d seen it so many times she was over it.

Though I am open to many possibilities in life, this really isn’t one of them. Nearly every day, I see this great mountain, and am always delighted by it. It’s here for me! And you, too! I felt the same over my sixteen years in Portland; every day I caught sight of Mt. Hood, Mt. Saint Helen’s, and Mt. Adams was a finding a penny on the sidewalk kind of day, simply the best.

The days are also getting cooler and more trees are starting to turn in our neck of the woods, which means Juniper has occasion to wear a coat. This is a snazzy new one that fits nicely and looks absolutely adorable. How about that dog walker, too. Handsome!

In addition to making kombucha (peach, mixed berry, ginger turmeric, and apple are our best flavors), I have started a wee batch of mead! Honey, water, hibiscus, and time. Fingers crossed that it tastes as lovely as the color. So pretty!

My pack! I snapped these post teeth cleaning (done by yours truly). As you can imagine, it ranks right up there with nail trimming (the hubster’s job) as Juniper’s least favorite activities. Post trauma cuddles go a long way!

Views from yesterday morning’s walk. I know I’m like a broken record, but seriously, this place is so beautiful!

Finally, when I was in college, I was struck by ecological succession. A glacier rests cozily during the ice age; it’s remains melt into a lake; the lake turns to a meadow; the meadow turns into a forest. A magical progression, with every manner of life supported.

During our road trip a few weeks back, I saw a woman who had once been one of my very best friends. For a whole host of reasons, I stopped speaking to her about 18 years ago, a heart-wrenching decision that took me years. Afterward, zooting through the jeweled meadows and forests with a head full of memories, I realized how we are kin: a series of individual beings occupying the same space throughout time. Parts grow and flourish, ebb and flow, advance and retreat, each the same but very different. We spend small forevers with creatures great and small. Some of these creatures nourish, some don’t. Same goes for our experiences, in our own minds and out in the world. As I am solidly in mid-life, I am ever more keen on experiencing all that uplifts and take calculated steps to achieve that goal. This means spending more time with the right people, less or none at all with the wrong ones, as well as being less inhibited about taking risks or trying something new.

So to the picture! I have always wanted to go to a rave, to dance myself silly. Sadly, I never took the opportunity. Then one episode of High Maintenance (my very favorite show!) had a story line with a day rave, and I got super excited. Dancing in the morning? No drugs or alcohol? Where do I sign up?! I searched the interwebs and found Daybreaker, the brainchild of Radha Agrawal, and bought a ticket for their most recent party at the Boulder Reservoir. I went alone but was never on my own, enjoying the best community of huggers, body painters, and glitter mavens! I danced for three hours, laughed and cried. Best of all, I was part of something joyful, radiant, and true. Here’s to more…

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I am who I am.
A coincidence no less unthinkable
than any other.

I could have different
ancestors, after all.
I could have fluttered
from another nest
or crawled bescaled
from under another tree.

Nature’s wardrobe
holds a fair supply of costumes:
spider, seagull, field mouse.
Each fits perfectly right off
and is dutifully worn
into shreds.

I didn’t get a choice either,
but I can’t complain.
I could have been someone
much less separate.
Someone from an anthill, shoal, or buzzing swarm,
an inch of landscape tousled by the wind.

Someone much less fortunate,
bred for my fur
or Christmas dinner,
something swimming under a square of glass.

A tree rooted to the ground
as the fire draws near.
A grass blade trampled by a stampede
of incomprehensible events.
A shady type whose darkness
dazzled some.

What if I’d prompted only fear,
loathing,
or pity?
If I’d been born
in the wrong tribe,
with all roads closed before me?

Fate has been kind
to me thus far.
I might never have been given
the memory of happy moments.
My yen for comparison
might have been taken away.

I might have been myself minus amazement,
that is,
someone completely different.

Wisława Szymborska

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