Under a Red Roof

Epiphany

November 2, 2018 in Learning, Loving by Colleen | Permalink

Have you ever felt so drawn to a place that it defies explanation? Round a bend of highway where you have never lived and felt the most incredible sensation of home? That, to me, has always, always been Southern Colorado and New Mexico. For fellow travelers who know where I-25 bends just south of Larkspur to reveal Greenland, this is the where my heart goes positively aflutter. I had always thought it was the anticipation of visiting New Mexico where my Nana lived most of her life, and my Grandpa and Mom were born. It turns out, there’s more.

In conversation with my dad last week, talking about family, he casually mentioned that my Great Grandma Tillie was part Comanche – she is second from the right, with her mother to the left, and her siblings Clifford, Henry, and Lula. Her mother’s maiden name was Serna, so I always assumed that part was solely Mexican (or Hispanic or Latina, depending on your persuasion). But, as a Catholic, her family had taken a Spanish name, so it’s difficult to know much there was of each in her. But that knowledge! I am part Comanche! What a delight to think upon my ancient sense of home when rounding that bend. My ancestors of the Comancheria had likely made camp on the very spot.

And today’s photos, of last Sunday, spent with our cousins Brent and Bronson, sharing more of our history, along with delicious food and even better company and that incredible view of the Spanish Peaks – home to my heart and ancestors, the ancient and recent.

Spirited

October 15, 2018 in Inspiring, Learning, Loving by Colleen | Permalink

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!

Work in Progress

July 23, 2018 in Gardening + Nature, Learning by Colleen | Permalink

Happy Monday, dear reader, and welcome to our June 2016 garden! Though, it would be far more accurate to say our 2016 weed patch. A very small portion of the plants here were anything but the insidious and horrible little boogers. This was after pulling the mega weeds that were as tall as the hubster and filled one third of an equally mega dumpster with their remains. It is before we replaced the cool looking but falling down and totally lacking in privacy fence or jack hammered the hideous and quite unsafe patio. And people wondered why we weren’t inviting them to tea. Our house was a shit hole, that’s why.

Here we are a couple of weeks ago, with all the latest plants in the ground, and the majority of last year’s (seen here – scroll down a bit) doubled in size.

Fifteen TONS of rock delivered!

We got super serious and rented a Bobcat! As you can see from the photo above, it was a rather spritely one, the actual smallest of the lot, at 36″ wide, but perfect for maneuvering around plants and in and out of our back gate. In a hindsight is 20/20 world, we would have done this first, but honestly, the thought never occurred to us before our backs were sore and tired of digging. Hopefully I am now saving you much, much time, and aches and pains, of the bodily and pain-in-the-ass to shovel variety.

The dumpster was 4.5 feet tall, 8 feet wide, and 18 feet long. We filled it about one-half of the way, mostly with rock from the unsafe patio. It was a LOT of trips down the alley. A LOT.

This morning, under the shade of our neighbor’s massive cottonwood. The paths are made from the rock we had delivered. It’s called Sunset Breeze, and we are both super pleased with it!

In front are my hail-mauled peonies, looking rather sad. The two patches of crocosmia are going like gangbusters and making our resident hummingbirds (Rufous and Calliope, mostly the latter) very, very happy! Also pictured, but not easy to discern: milkweed, horehound, foxglove, yarrow, iceplant, mallow, feverfew, honeysuckle, red birds in a tree.

I really couldn’t be more in love with the way it’s coming along and delight in thinking about every plant growing bigger and even more beautiful. Our red hot pokers, for instance, only made five flowers last year. They’re on their way to more than fifteen this time around! It is worth every bit of effort to walk along the freshly laid paths and admire the flowers teeming with bees and butterflies and to watch the scores of birds, squirrels and rabbits flitting happily about. As our friend Travis says, “It’s like a Disney movie!”

There is still much to be done, like moving the rock that delineated the paths before the addition of sunset breeze, putting weed barrier and rock down in the fenced garden, planting more plants, moving a couple shrubs, finishing the woodwork on the patio, building a shed for our bicycles (currently stored in the basement), and possibly getting a wee patch of grass for Juniper Beulah to roll in. Soon, I hope!

Ambition

July 2, 2018 in Being, Learning by Colleen | Permalink

After much consideration, I believe I have finally, at least for now (life is fluid, after all), come to the point where I understand my purpose, or at least part of it (I am open to more). It’s to be as kind and generous as possible, open heart, open mind, and to love everybody. EVERYBODY. The easy people and the difficult people. Do not confuse this loving with letting everybody treat me how they wish, however. I gave up my doormat status.

The actual shape this is taking? I am choosing to recognize the humanity in all of us, the utter miracle of our sometimes deeply flawed creations. We were born! We are alive and breathing thanks to a million operations occurring simultaneously in our bodies. Blood pumping, cells dividing, lungs breathing, neurons firing. What beauty!

It is my great ambition to not let politics or cruelty or whatever else might cast serious shade on another person hamper my enthusiasm for the fact that we are each of us wonders. I may not like you, but I T R U L Y love that the universe brought you here to teach me. Patience, gratitude, resilience, and maybe even resistance. A million thanks!

A Whole Dollar on Suicide

June 9, 2018 in Learning, Listening by Colleen | Permalink

With two famous suicides in the news, I have been thinking, even more than I normally would, about mental illness and suicide. And since I have been plagued by what Winston Churchill called the “black dog” since I first tried to kill myself at age eight, I have a bit more than two cents to offer on it. I’ve got a whole dollar and what I anticipate being a lot of swear words. Because I am pissed.

First off, for nearly every person I have heard comment on how important it is to talk to you about my depression, because you really care. Mean what you say. I cannot tell you how many times I have heard this line, then attempted to get my head in a safe space only to be on the receiving end of bullshit like:

How could YOU possibly know about depression? You’re my cheerful friend! Just because I work my ass off to keep it positive absolutely does not mean I have not visited or sometimes resided long-term in the pit of despair.
Here’s what you should do! Yes, I have seen a therapist. Yes, I’ve read books. Yes, I have tried exercising more (an hour every day) and yoga and meditation and eating differently. Yes, I do take note of small miracles and kindnesses (bees! a smile from a stranger! that cloud there, literally floating!), of how TRULY great my husband is, AND how lucky I am. And yet, none is a cure. My brain is still broken.
Oh, well then, maybe drugs are the answer. I tried them, multiple kinds and doses. They only made it worse, physically and mentally, so I quit them.
I’m super uncomfortable. Let’s talk about something else. If I am feeling brave enough to share my anguish with you, a person who is supposed to care, I am going full narcissist and only want to talk about my shit. Shut up and really listen. It is being heard, admitting openly (sometimes only in a whisper to myself) that I am hurting and my suffering is bordering on self destruction that I am saved.

Finally, should I ever choose suicide, know that it isn’t because I think it will make me happy or that I don’t have a fierce love or genuine concern for the feelings of my family and friends. It will be out of sheer exhaustion and a sincere desire for relief. My body aches with depression. My head, my heart. It makes me vomit while shouldering the crushing weight of mountains. It fills my mind with terrible piercing screams, of the horrible and unspeakable that exists in the world, of my own foibles – all that I am not, all that I cannot do and be and see, of the utterly stupid and trivial. Some of it is true. Much of it is not, but still, it continues, and I along with it, for how long I cannot say.

But, because, miracle of miracles, I remain an optimist, I have hope that it is ages and ages.