Reflections on 2018: A Year Well Lived

A labyrinth at St. Crispins's Conference Ctr. OK

2018

         This has been no ordinary year, not that I have known an ordinary year for some time now. Folklore has noted that what happens on New Year’s Day, so goes the year. Well, 2018 began with an abundant feast at Pat Maden’s – can’t remember enjoying the company of friends and neighbors as much as I did this year. A labyrinth introduction event followed soon after. This was the beginning of what will someday be a permanent labyrinth in Crescent City. I spent most of February and March in Sri Lanka with my long time friend, Kurt. In about the middle of the visit, we journeyed to India for 8 days on a pilgrimage to sites marking the Buddha’s life.  At the same time, I was reading “Old Path White Clouds” by Thich Nhat Hanh which enriched the experience of this eight days, the most amazing trip in my whole life. Back home, I kept myself busy in the community with a Story Telling Project and choosing scholarship winners for the Woman’s Club. I also got involved in the beginning of a live theater endeavor. What I was really focused on was preparation for ordination in The Order of Interbeing. I had been studying the teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh for several years along with a daily practice of meditation Qigong exercise and ongoing study. After a delightful Thanksgiving in Oklahoma with grandchildren, Chris and Maddie (and Stephanie), I went to a retreat. On November 30^th, I received the transmission of The 14 Mindfulness Trainings of The Order of Interbeing. It was like I had been an old grey pregnant mare who gave birth to a colt. Now I am a new colt, ready to run with stallions.

2019

While I continue growing in my daily practice, I really want to enjoy retirement in a meaningful purposeful way. I will be hosting a clan gathering in March and April. This will be a once in a life time impossible dream about to come true - again.  I will be planning for a graceful ease on into the rest of my life after that!!!

May 2019 be a year when

 the Divine Spotlight

 shines on a future of

 Compassionate care for the health and well being of Planet Earth.

May You be well, happy,

 peaceful, and feel really

 loved.

Have you been aware of the growth of compassion for the suffering in the world today? Have you noticed some leaders taking a stand to end the suffering?

The Pineapple Upside Down Cake

Pineapple Upside down cake has always been my favorite dessert. I hadn't had it for many years and hadn't baked one in at least 50 years. During this past year, I was present at three meals which included this delightful dessert. One time it was a meeting with pineapple upside down cake was the dessert theme. That there are so many variations never occurred to me.

Of course, I was determined to bake one myself. So, I pulled out an old recipe and went shopping for what I needed. After measuring out all the ingredients exactly as the recipe called for (which is NOT my typical way of proceeding),  I followed the rest of the directions exactly as written. The only differences were to double the recipe and use coconut sugar. This was the only heavy pan I had and I don't use refined sugar in anything.

I opened the oven once, saw that it was not ready, turned the temperature down 25 degrees, and let it continue baking til the aroma filled the house. When I opened the oven to take it out, I w as so disappointed to see that it had fallen in the middle. Nevertheless, I let it sit a couple of minutes and then turned it over onto a plate and let it cool. The consistency of the well browned, cooled  and delicious tasting cake was heavy, like a queen cake, but very moist. 

I put a photo of the cake on facebook. Many people responded both on the post and when I met someone in the village.   I took the cake to the church brunch.  It and my tale of its creation evoked many tales of pineapple upside down cake. Memories were shared of how a mother made hers - in a bundt pan, in an iron skillet, or in a cobbler pan.  I got lots of feedback accompanied with disaster stories on what might have caused the cake to fall in the middle. 

I didn't get a lot of feedback on others' experience of my cake, but the stories told and the conversations around pineapple upside down cake has been an event to cherish for a long time. 

A couple of days later, I was watching, quite by accident, although I have come to believe that there are no accidents, The British Baking Show.  The assignment was to create three different cakes, one for each round, with a different theme.  In all three rounds, the basic cake was to be a sponge cake. I watched as the contestants prepared their sponge cakes. As I watched, I became aware - well remembered - that the pineapple upside down cake recipe I used was a sponge cake. While watching these sponge cakes being made- some with success, some with unexpected results - I realized I was watching the answer to my bewilderment about why my cake fell in the middle and why it had the consistency of a queen cake. 

I am not sure I know the answer yet, but I am now very aware that the making of a sponge cake is somewhat of a skill in and of itself.  If there is a next time, I will make the cake with an old fashioned mixer, not the Cuisinart.  I will not bake a double batch and I will not open the oven before the delicate aroma of pineapple fills the air. 

In the meantime, I am waiting patiently for the next inspiration to call for me to respond. Perhaps there was a lesson in the pineapple upside down cake experience. Even though it was delicious, it just may have come out as I remember making it 50 years ago, if I also included the way I made it then.  I am not suggesting I should be t the person I was way back then, or a more conscientious cook.  I love most of my unexpected results, just as I have loved this one.

 I am sensing that in other areas of life's ongoing experience, I might trust that which I already know and incorporate it into what I am doing, trust my intuitions when creativity is calling me beyond that which I already know, and trust that the tension between knowledge/skill and creativity/intuition is always a great place to be alive.

Reflect on those times when your own unexpected results turned out to be meaningful moments. What's your story?

Fight Flight Freeze

Recently, I was listening to a talk about responses to trauma. The speaker mentioned "fight-flight" response to trauma, but added "freeze". I googled this and, indeed,  stress experts have changed the responses to" "fight-flight-freeze".

My friend's leaving after being home-mates  for many years was acceptable to my understanding of what was inevitable. While there is always trauma in separation, the trauma of this was well within my ability to heal.  The trauma caused by his family's all out determination to totally sever our friendship has been huge. The lying they did and the actions they took were absolutely insane.

  My Mother and his Dad married shortly after we introduced them, so we were related by marriage. All of my family were in a happy relationship with him.  He and I supported each other during the end months of both my Mother's and his Father's lives on earth. We supported each other through both of our surgeries. We shared happy trips together as compatible traveling companions. We made each other's birthdays and holidays special.

He had been showing signs of dementia for a couple of years and his health was beginning to fail for more than a year before his acute cirrhosis almost took his life. The dementia and that day his systems were shutting down and his refusal to go to the hospital until I finally I called the ambulance against his will was an emotionally huge event.  But, the reactions of his family were too much to handle at the time.

As I reflect on my response to the trauma of their attacks on my person, "Freeze" fits perfectly.  Instead of taking the bull by the horns and calling a halt to the insanity, empathizing compassionately,  or just walking away from the whole thing, I   froze like a night animal  suddenly having a light shine in its face.

 All I was able to do was be there every day and pray for his comfort and healing, bring him things he needed,  and arrange for his rehab placement. Then,  while he was in rehab and when he returned home, the family's determination to sever our relationship permanently continued. For the next six months,  I still  was not able to function beyond monitoring his medical needs and be there to assist with daily care.

As I look further back in my life, I see that, for the most part, that has always been my response.  I would not stand up for myself and fight back.  I did not walk or run away  in the face of potential  physical or emotional danger .  I just stood there, speechless, numb, mind and  emotions void of any way to respond.

 But, I am learning that my challenge is not as simple as doing something besides freeze. My challenge is to transform this freeze into a pause for discerning reality and to access my own ability to respond as a healing agent.

My friend, step-brother and housemate completed his life on earth last week. The finality of it, has allowed me to peacefully grieve for the end of our incredible experiences together as well as the absolutely uncalled for,

yet now past, drama of the past three years.

  I observe others fighting back at what is happening in the world of politics and in their lives. I observe others defending what is happening in the world, which to me is a flight from reality, if not to them, of course.  I am standing here, watching it happen. I am determined to deeply understand what is happening before I respond.

The important new element of my life is transform "Freeze" into the discipline of  standing present to what is happening, taking time to understand from a place of love, and to respond appropriately, occasioning reconciliation when possible.

What is your response to trauma and how have you learned to transform it into a gift of compassionate response?

A No Mud No Lotus Year

Another birthday is here which means setting aside time for another reflection on the year just lived. This year, I am grateful for the feeling that a Lotus is  finally blooming in the ephemeral mud pond called life.

After some reflection, I decided, of course, the turning point of this year is the gift I was given of a trip to India,  a pilgrimage to sacred sites of Buddha's life,  and precious time with my dear friend in Sri Lanka.

But, as I looked into my heart, I began to see that pilgrimage as the blooming of a precious Lotus which had grown up from the mud of many events.  I am not equating mud with miserable suffering. On the contrary, the mud represents the rich nurturing soil which allows the Lotus to be born.

The muddy pond began about a year ago, when rain began to fall in torrents in a circle of 15 people. The event planning  I was leading and working on for three months, was discarded by a unanimous vote, except for  me, leaving me devastated with disbelief.  I had been practicing the discipline of abiding calmly for several months, but had lost it when I first sensed this coup. I lost it again at the event when I was being bullied  and told the person to go to hell which also  ended a close friendship.I lost it one more time - my response was out of proportion. I had my legitimate reasons or so I was convinced of at the time. I The pond in which I was abiding was really muddy now.

The next weekend I attended a meditation retreat and, along with the dharma talks and meditation with a whole room full of like minds, the long silences provided a powerful opportunity to gain insight into the many ways the Universe was attempting to communicate with me. I listened deeply to the cause of my irrational responses.  I connected with what I really want to be at this end of my life's time on earth.  Since that weekend, everything has been different. I have been happy with that which I have chosen to do, who I have chosen to be with, and I have acquired the discipline of abiding calmly -  slowly but surely.

At that meditation retreat, the Lotus seeds were planted. There have been moments of relating to a seed buried in the mud. There have been glimpses of it emerging into the sunlight. These three sentences hold a whole year of experiences which have pointed the way to this year of new beginnings I finally claimed for myself at the beginning of 2018.

Miraculously, the first Lotus began to bloom in India. The turning point was the  meditation retreat, but life will never be the same since a powerfully full and meaningful pilgrimage to the life of a man who learned and then taught others  how to be alive.

This upcoming year I am looking forward to  being a member of the Order of Interbeing,  hosting a reunion of my family clan, and planting Lotus seeds for a permanent labyrinth here in Crescent City. Most of all, I will actually be considering how and where to be abiding calmly as I move on into my 75th year on earth.

Along with the Lotus, the Bodhi tree has become a precious symbol for me. I brought back a tiny sprout which has been growing tall and sturdy .For me, the Lotus holds the promise of new beginnings and the Bodhi holds the continuation of the mindfulness journey of new beginnings.

I am so grateful for the mud. I am grateful for the Lotus and the Bodhi. I am grateful for this year past and for the promise of this year to come. 

(Check out my new blog which I began in January: http://anandasmantra.wordpress.com )

Crescent City is Home

I moved to Crescent City in 1991 and rented a house on Florida Avenue which belonged to Alan Talmadge. To the East and Southeast of this house were two vacant lots on Lake Street. They were untold stories, remnants of what had been two fine buildings. Both, according to historical accounts were the Orange Inn. I have a photo of one building on the corner lot which has written on it “Orange Inn”. I have another newspaper clipping of the building on the other lot. It, too, was known as “The Orange Inn”.  I would sit on the porch of the Talmadge house and imagine the lives that must have walked on those lots and stayed in those “Orange Inn”s.

Today, there are houses along Lake Crescent just to the East of both of these lots, which I now own, by the way. I built the house I have lived in for 25 years on the southernmost lot and recently bought the other lot.

When I was building my home, it was the first new construction to occur in Crescent City in years. People would pass by to watch the very slow process of its being erected. I would enjoy mentioning this fact in conversations when meeting new people who lived here. I do have to tell you, that I was soon upstaged by the new Winn-Dixie which was erected shortly after my house began.  The notoriety was fun while it lasted!

During the landscaping process, I found pockets of empty bottles buried by the Orange Inn proprietors when they cleaned the rooms of their guests. I found natural gas pipes, two concrete septics, one with an old metal toilet attached which must have been in a bathroom – not outside, but not in the house. I found the cornerstones of the Inn but, inspite of hopeful exploration, never found much else.

Over the next few years, however, I listened to many stories of the history of not only my land, but of the whole neighborhood. There used to be a lumber yard all along the lake and the office was just West of the Talmadge house- or was it the Talmadge house.  I would venture to say that about every home and building that is standing in this part of Crescent City has a story to tell.

 The most significant home is at the north end of Lake Street, The Hubbard Mansion which took up enough land to be referred to as Hubbard Park. It might also be called a park because Mr. Hubbard planted a botanical garden which extended all the way South right to Florida Avenue, where my land begins.

I have been on many walks around Crescent City.  The flora is present in abundance. At  their blooming time of year, the yards are filled with azaleas. The air is rich with citrus blossom fragrance. The Florida Iris or the Ginger or Hawthorne or Verbena or Crepe Myrtle or Bouganvilla or Plumbago or Prickly Pear or Morning Glory vines or any number of fruit trees or about anything that will grow in this climate flourishes in abundance. But, the Hubbard Estate, now divided into many individual homes, still blooms through and through, however sparsely,  with exotic bushes and flowers and trees. Even on my land, probably, seeds, probably carried by birds, a strange flower will grow for awhile until a storm or a freeze takes it away.

I am notcertain exactly when it was that I finally realized that I am no longer a stranger here, but I now feel quite at home here in this house where I have lived for 25 years. I am an elder. I live alone with my two cats. I feel safe and I feel that I belong where I am. When I take my daily walk, I savor the sights along the way. Down Prospect Street, the peacocks live in abundance. ALongthe route to  Lake Stella and back, the Osprey, the Limpkin, the Ibis, the Sandhill Cranes, the brown bunnies, an occasional alligator or snake, all seem to coexist peacefully.

Most of all the wondrous beauty that is my home are the magnificent sunrises on Lake Crescent and the breathtaking sunsets on Lake Stella. Just before the sunrises, although the sky is light, there is a total silence. Then, as the sun officially rises,  some birds take flight while others remain on their perches and the choir begins to greet the day.  Sunset is the opposite. The hustle and bustle begins to lull until darkness and silence prevails and the night sounds begin.

Storms and heat and  bitey bugs and, Oh yes, fleas and red ants  in summer and annoying freezes in winter bring balance to the affluence of beauty in this small village of a city. These intrusions make living all so real This is what brings people together making  a community HOME. This is what makes the beauty so vibrant. Crescent City is a special place, a quaint southern town of many cultures and perspectives. After awhile, I find myself wondering if perhaps I was born here and the fifty years before I arrived was another lifetime.  Who knows!!!

Well, that's my story of Home. Now it is your turn to write your story - the one that belongs in the annals of history of your home in the New Millenium. Write it from your heart,.

Gifts Which Last

I was married  for 30 years to Bob. We have been divorced for 25 years. We have three sons and four grandchildren to continue the journey of our genes. I have grieved our parting with sublime rage - at myself and at him and the whole tornado of events which ripped us up by the roots and dropped us into separate paths.

Recently, I found this lanyard, although we called them boondoggles,  which I will so do here. It was tucked away in my safe and is over 60 years old. Bob made it and gave it to me when I was 12 and he was 13. I am not certain, but will remember it as a 12th year birthday gift of love.

As I held it in my hand, I drifted off into a world of live memory dreaming, remembering how we met and of that summer of getting to know each other.

Flagg Street playground was a community node with many activities for kids. I would walk or ride my bike down the hill almost every day and hang out, involved in whatever was happening on a given day. Once a week, we would get on a school bus and go swimming at Summit Park. In the winter, there was ice skating.

Pony League would practice on summer afternoons. I would pass by them on my way home. One day, I heard a whistle - the whistle that guys do to attract girls. I looked but none of the guys owned up. In fact, they all started whistling. After a couple days of this, Bob finally acknowledged that it was he who wanted to get my attention.  I don't  recall the exact details of this, however.

My memory skipped to the afternoon he walked me home from the playground.  This was the beginning of our summer love. I remembered clips of that summer and the years that followed. 

I remember how his brown eyes with those long eye lashes lit up under that baseball cap when he saw me. I remembered that they lit up the last time I saw him. We ran into each other in the post office recently, and he introduced me to his wife.

My conscious awareness returned me back to this gift from him which I was holding in my hand. Many events of our lives together and since our parting seemed to wash through my whole existence, leaving me empty of all that hidden anger. 

I stared into the memory of those love lit eyes, grateful for the life we had, grateful for the person I am today. 

Why? Well, this is the way life is.  We have changed, changed by all that happens while we live and breathe. All the past holds the pain and suffering as well as the joy and happiness, balancing each other in a delicate dance.

Finding and holding this boondoggle in my hand was to have been given this gift of love all over again. Love certainly is a gift that lasts forever.

Surely, we all have a boondoggle or two to hold. Which is yours?

Let's Keep On Dancing

This returning  after two months away from familiar space and routines, is a major adjustment period. While away, I had huge periods of time to reflect on my decision to make 2018 a year of new beginnings. Even with all this time to reflect , the two months was filled to overflowing with new experiences, some of which were long awaited dreams come true, all of which was one grand adventure into enjoying every minute of being alive.

Some days were difficult. I encountered each of these as challenges to learn how to be happy no matter what.  I learned to let go of my expectations.  I learned that I could feel loved only through loving myself as I am.  There were many days I felt old, fat, ugly and not welcome. Each time I was aware of this, I practiced unconditional love and forgiveness on myself and on the occasions of my feeling as I did.

I learned to not react when I was angry - and there were times when I definitely was angry.  I learned to breathe thru the anger into a place of understanding the cause and to trust those insights. I had been working on being able to do this for about two years. I could get to this place of understanding after the fact.  I do mean to say after I had blown my cool first. But, I had opportunity to practice immediate response to a wounding as it happened.

Now that I am home, I am experiencing the need to replicate my newly acquired skill for responding to anger and finding that it, too, takes practice here in an environment where I had on more than one occasion shown anger then regretted it as I processed it. So far, so good - sort of!!

Most days, I must emphasize, I am happy. I am happy to be alive.I am happy that I lived two months full of wonder.  I am happy to have a place to live where I feel very much at home. I am happy to be living in such a nature rich environment. I am happy to be alone.  This is the difference. I have been alone before and I have been alone even when I was not alone. The difference is, I am happy to be alone.  I am sure I do not want to be alone forever. But, right now, I am enjoying the freedom to care about me. I do believe I am not being self-ish. Rather, I do have the privilege, one for which I am grateful, to be able to take care of myself in preparation for whatever is coming next.

I am planting and pruning in the yard.
 I am refurbishing and rearranging space and furniture.
 I am weeding out clothes which are no longer me and adding new ones.
I am taking care of my eyes, teeth, and other physical ailments I have avoided.
I am nourishing my Soul with new information and images.
I am practicing being in harmony with my true nature and passion for life.
I am at peace with the way life is each day and with each encounter.
I practice being  happy.

I suppose there is more to say, but for now, that's all there is, my friend (as the song goes), so let's keep dancing. 

Are you being happy, too?