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alchemy

10/28/2012

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What is this facility that we humans have which we call "memory?" 


Of course, it's a necessary skill that keeps us from burning our fingers on a hot stove after the first time; it assists us to get from here to there a second and third time; or to know how to hold the darkness at bay or to heat the house on a chilly day.  Without memory perhaps humans would have become extinct eons ago having no protective fur or fins or claws and needing  many years of relying on parents for survival.  Memory holds accumulated experience and brings it forth at just the necessary moment.


Memory beyond this survival aspect seems to act according to its own rules. At times memory can be so strong and substantial that it seems as if we are actually living again the time and place and event. Memory can stir in us feelings of love and joy, can bring back long forgotten stories, can wrap us in a sweetness that is all the better in the remembering.  At other times, bitterness and rage rekindled can once again burn hot to flood our senses with destructive doom promising thoughts.  In an instant we can feel old shame and guilt.  We can regret deeds done or words never to be taken back.  We can long for the words we might have said.  We can recreate ourselves and others as monsters or saviors or innocents.


What then is the usefulness of memory?  Many religious, spiritual, and philosophical traditions agree that we have but two basic emotions: love and fear.  From these two spring all the nuances, the subtleties, the extremes of all other feelings.  And from basic love and fear emerge behaviors, which then merge into our collections of memories.  But what is the use of all of this emergence and merging again?  Perhaps memory is our day of salvation, our first day of creation.  If we are brave enough and willing enough to allow memory to be, just be, and if we are kind enough to welcome and embrace it, we become our own alchemist.  From the raw materials that we resurrect and bring into the light of the present, we may create the gold, the imperishable, redeemed for ourselves and for our descendants.   

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muchness

10/9/2012

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Picture
“You’re different,” said the Mad Hatter to grown up Alice in the most recent film version of Alice in Wonderland.  “You’ve lost your muchness.”

All summer my muchness has been expressed mostly in the gardens.  For the first time ever I have a greenhouse.  Many hours were required to prepare the soil, dig out the weeds, lay layers of cardboard to deter insistent weeds before the greenhouse could even be built.  Then came experimenting with temperature and moisture, moving tender plants inside on cool nights then outside to soak up the sunlight or refreshing rain.  I expanded my herb gardens adding new plants, moving others to more conducive locations.  Nearer the house I made a meditation garden, created a walkway between it and the strawberry beds.  I gathered large stones to create curved borders defining the space around the abundance of flowers returning from last year’s planting and the addition of new ones.  I created nearly invisible mesh fences to keep horses, cats, rabbits and raccoons out of the delectable herbs and veggies.  Took long walks in the cool of the evening or drove further west to stroll along the shoreline of the bay.  Met new friends and neighbors at potlucks.  Drove the grandkids to play days, shopping, and summer activities.  My muchness manifested in frequent sunburns, aching muscles, prolific gardens, joyous exchanges with family and friends.

Now it’s time to redirect my muchness; stir up slumbering embers, add woolen blankets to the bed and a sweater for cooler days.  My muchness turns to writing and reading, crafting and cooking, reconnecting by phone and slow mail.  I’ll add to my photo collections on the computer.  This winter I may even get to those boxes of old photos pushed to the back of the closets, our family history and memories ready to be sorted. Maybe.

Just now the golden light of autumn days stretches across the fields, leaves are falling, horses are growing winter coats.  Our busy muchness is ready for rest, turning inward to discover what has been waiting for an invitation to come forth.  I’m not sure the Mad Hatter was right.  Our muchness may change shape and appearance but given loving cultivation, it will never be lost.  Maybe the Mad Hatter himself is the innovator, the inner critic transformed into Guide, assisting muchness to emerge slowly, slowly until its presence is made visible.  Until it finds its life in beauty and service.

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seasons

10/1/2012

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Two and a half years  . . . .
it has been of settling in, nesting, in this new place that is becoming home, day by day, season by season.  Turned the calendar this morning and the earth seemed to roll over from late summer into fall, just that quickly.  The Grandmother mountains that encircle and embrace this valley seem solid and comforting as blustery winds bearing grey moisture laden clouds from the northwest seas scuttle over the ridges.  The setting sun backlights their forms with muted pinks and bright yellows.  Glorious!  

The lawn chairs have blown over, perhaps suggesting that it's time to retire them to the shed.  But, no, the colors are too enticing to view from inside the house and the touch of cool on my face is a welcome treat early mornings and last thing at night.  I'll set the chairs upright and bring out a blanket with my morning coffee. 

My rambling thoughts are making their way to paper through my ink pen that can't quite catch the whispers that are in the misty shadows just behind my thoughts.  Something about change.  Something about satisfaction.  Something about all rightness. 

Read a quote recently and chuckled: 
                               relax --- nothing is under control

Caught up with a friend back on the prairie who shared a story about an interview with a woman who had just reached her 100th birthday.   She was asked: 
         "What's the best thing about being 100?" 
Without missing a beat, she replied:   
         "No more peer pressure!"

Such a lovely sense of humor, nostalgic irony, victory.  All this I heard in her words and I imagine the twinkle in her eye.  Salud, Grandmother! and AMEN!

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    musings may delight or disturb;  musings may spark new activity, sometimes. . . . .

    Phyllis shares current musings, momentary insights, process in motion.


    All reflections are original material copyrighted by Phyllis.  Please ask permission to quote, copy or reproduce. 



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