Tomorrow Sara and I close the deal. OMG. Today is the last day for me to hold the financial reins, so to speak. OMG.
I hired a financial planner/investment advisor dude. OMG. (To manage my millions, har har)
I have stacks of dharma books on my desk, awaiting my perusal. I am a student, as you know. Again, I am a student.
Yesterday I raced back to the birth center to just barely catch a nice baby boy. What does my future look like...I don't know.
Except.
The sun is shining, I'm going for a swim, I AM going on retreat at the beginning of October with my beloved teacher Adrianne for 5 whole days and I'm still in my bathrobe at 12:30. And I'm doing a dharma talk on forgiveness this Sunday. "Forgiveness happens only when we completely given up on changing the past." -Nancy Anderson.
"I see my light come shining, from the west down to the east. Any day now, any day now, I shall be released." -The Band.
I haven't looked at the news once today. I'm observing a moratorium, for 24 hours I won't get sucked into the national embarrassment/fuckery/nonsense/fear-based awfulness. I can do it! I'm strong! I have will power!!!
May all beings have peace, tenderness and safety today.
Wednesday, September 27, 2017
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
This morning we had a baby boy after an exciting ambulance ride. O the firefighters and medics were so nice and gentlemanly in their black shoes and uniforms. And that momma was the hero of the story, pushing out a baby who was FACING US and his head wasn't tucked down but straight up-if you must know, she had to push extra hard to get him out and she did. She just did. The ordinary extraordinary women I am privileged to hang out with, it's astounding what we can do because we have to.
Then tonight I answered a call from a woman who is miscarrying the only baby she has ever conceived. She was crying and I was listening and comforting. Nothing to do except to grieve.
The great wheel of life. At the end of it all, I hope I can look back and see I did a good job, not a perfect job but a good job. A good enough job.
Then tonight I answered a call from a woman who is miscarrying the only baby she has ever conceived. She was crying and I was listening and comforting. Nothing to do except to grieve.
The great wheel of life. At the end of it all, I hope I can look back and see I did a good job, not a perfect job but a good job. A good enough job.
Monday, September 18, 2017
Watching Ken Burns first installment of 'Vietnam' on PBS. Please tune in. I had no idea how long that country was under siege, how many presidents had their eye on the 'situation' and sent $$ and troops covertly. What is it about us humans that we must take other countries, people hostage? Why do we do that? Endless misery.
End of this month, my clinic will once again feed homeless kids in a church basement. I think we're going on 4 years we've been doing this. I have my regulars, folks we've delivered who show up to make a mess o' food in a truly decrepit kitchen. I mean. The burners on the stove are iffy, there aren't any decent knives and the lino is, well the floors need replacing. We make it work, time after time. I do a Costco run, we always have food left over and we feed hungry children.
Going on two retreats in October. I'm beyond weary. We lost a baby and I'm holding so much grief. I want the silence of the forest, simple meals made by someone else and a little bed I can sleep in. No cell phone, no internet, just the quiet dharma hall and my beloved Canadian teacher leading us in chants in her wobbly voice. Refuge, I'm seeking refuge. Someone asked me tonight if I was doing a 'spiritual bypass'. Quite the opposite. I'm not looking to transcend the pain, rather to go deeply into the pain, to hold it with tenderness and love. The loss of a child is a profound loss. All over the world are parents who have lost children and there is a web that connects them all. Grief levels us, makes us more compassionate.
As our very planet suffers, we who are made of earth and sky, we open to the pain of it all. Precious, our lives. How we spend our time. How we treat each other. How we treat ourselves. It's all we have, in the end. Staying open, letting the pain open us in ways we hadn't expected. Softening to love and wisdom and grace.
End of this month, my clinic will once again feed homeless kids in a church basement. I think we're going on 4 years we've been doing this. I have my regulars, folks we've delivered who show up to make a mess o' food in a truly decrepit kitchen. I mean. The burners on the stove are iffy, there aren't any decent knives and the lino is, well the floors need replacing. We make it work, time after time. I do a Costco run, we always have food left over and we feed hungry children.
Going on two retreats in October. I'm beyond weary. We lost a baby and I'm holding so much grief. I want the silence of the forest, simple meals made by someone else and a little bed I can sleep in. No cell phone, no internet, just the quiet dharma hall and my beloved Canadian teacher leading us in chants in her wobbly voice. Refuge, I'm seeking refuge. Someone asked me tonight if I was doing a 'spiritual bypass'. Quite the opposite. I'm not looking to transcend the pain, rather to go deeply into the pain, to hold it with tenderness and love. The loss of a child is a profound loss. All over the world are parents who have lost children and there is a web that connects them all. Grief levels us, makes us more compassionate.
As our very planet suffers, we who are made of earth and sky, we open to the pain of it all. Precious, our lives. How we spend our time. How we treat each other. How we treat ourselves. It's all we have, in the end. Staying open, letting the pain open us in ways we hadn't expected. Softening to love and wisdom and grace.
Saturday, September 16, 2017
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