Here’s one. That I missed out on the greatest joy and that my life will always be “less than” because I did not get to be a mother. How to move beyond this particular, very limiting belief — that has only seemed to gain power as I have aged — I do not know. Only to keep looking at it with an open heart, I suppose, since trying to dismiss it with self-talk such as “you should be over it by now” has not been helpful. Yesterday I received an email a...
Here’s one. That I missed out on the greatest joy and that my life will always be “less than” because I did not get to be a mother. How to move beyond this particular, very limiting belief — that has only seemed to gain power as I have aged — I do not know. Only to keep looking at it with an open heart, I suppose, since trying to dismiss it with self-talk such as “you should be over it by now” has not been helpful. Yesterday I received an email about World Childless Week and perhaps looking at some of the offerings online this week will help move me a few steps forward on this.
Gratefulness moves me out the back door first thing every morning to stand on the earth and bless her — to raise my arms and turn my face towards the sky in wonder — to bow. Whatever happens the rest of the day, there is always this.
The interconnectedness of all things — becoming more and more aware of this reality, and acting more and more from the love that this awareness engenders.
I want to learn more about the people involved in the Work That Reconnects. When I left my work as a wildlife veterinarian, completely broken, over six years ago, I thought it would take a year to heal. Looking again at Joanna Macy’s process, I feel some hope that perhaps it is a way forward for me. Thank you, Gratefulness Team, for supporting the work.
The weathered gray pine boards of the porch floor. They were once trees as alive as you and me. The little fly that lands there momentarily and its intricate shadow, so discrete that even the front legs rubbing together are replicated. Thank you for this moment of seeing.
Dear Pavithra, thank you for this very beautiful, poetic exhortation. Your images and words are music for the dance of celebration with the coming spring. May we all dance.
Early morning. So quiet. I step out into the dark and go to a place in the yard where I can feel Mother Earth rising up under the soles of my feet. A gentle pressure in the arch that rises to the level of the heart. A moment of greeting, gratefulness, deep love and concern. Asking for help to do everything I can to protect her.
Here is one practice — the way I have been starting my morning meditation for the last 6 months or so. With both hands over my heart. Gentle pressure like a hug, offering warmth, acknowledgement. Feeling the beat in the palm of my hand. Just silently, saying something like, “Hey there, little heart. I feel you. We’ll do this day together.” Then chanting “om” from that place.
The plight of the world’s whales is deeply, deeply affecting to me. And so I tearfully celebrate the rescue of the humpback seen in the video as well as the rescue of another humpback as recounted in the Radiolab episode. (I must say that the miracle of these two stories rests with me as I recall the recent report of a Canadian fisherman who was tragically killed in the process of disentangling an endangered right whale.) But what to make of the unexpected actions of these two humpba...
The plight of the world’s whales is deeply, deeply affecting to me. And so I tearfully celebrate the rescue of the humpback seen in the video as well as the rescue of another humpback as recounted in the Radiolab episode. (I must say that the miracle of these two stories rests with me as I recall the recent report of a Canadian fisherman who was tragically killed in the process of disentangling an endangered right whale.) But what to make of the unexpected actions of these two humpback whales, once freed? Were they feeling and expressing gratitude toward their rescuers? Who am I to say for sure? But I choose to live in a world where this is possible.
Thank you for this beautiful, ambiguous question, which I continue to turn over and over in my mind.
Since you asked for a story, I am reminded of an experience I had last summer. Every morning I would rise well before dawn and refill the two hummingbird feeders, one each hanging under the eave of the front and back porch. And I spent a lot of time sitting on the porches enjoying the bright company of ruby-throated hummingbirds. At the height of the season, there could be up to eight adult and juvenile hummers weaving in and out and around the feeders. Sometimes the feeders would be drained of sugar water by late afternoon. It was common, then, for a hummer to pointedly hover facing me at eye level just an arm’s length away, in order (I came to believe) to draw my attention to the feeder, which at those times would invariably be empty. And they would wait watchfully on the nearby clothes line or in the spruce tree until I emerged from the house with a clean, refilled feeder, swooping in to drink while I was still reaching up to hang it. A few times, one even hovered directly in front of the kitchen window as I was washing dishes, as if to summon me outside. But there was one particular adult female who visited me several times mid-morning when the feeders were full. As I sat in the porch swing, she hovered just inches from my face and then began swinging back and forth like a pendulum, never breaking eye contact. The last time this happened, she ended the display by perching for a moment right next to my shoulder on the metal chain from which the swing was suspended, making soft twittery noises. I was fully enchanted by this experience and could only think at the time that she was saying ‘thank you.’
Thank you, Fabiana, for this loving and lovely tribute to our dear Mary Oliver. You hold a door open to new experiences… following the link to her 2001 reading and stopping there to listen was a distinct joy and solace for me this morning. Bright blessings to you.
I join you in this prayer, Carla, and I light a candle in remembrance. May peace prevail on earth.
Dear Antoinette, this is just to say that I “see” you there, shining. I applaud your courage and wish you the best this week in taking action towards re-opening your business. Your sharing has encouraged me to lower my own mask. Namaste.
Holding you in light, dear Pilgrim.
Thank you for your kind reply, pkr. I am so sorry for your difficult situation. I wish you all the support you need. Please take care of yourself as you navigate. May you be safe. May you be healthy. May you be happy. May you be at peace.
Oh, Mary, I really feel connected to you. Thank you for reaching out. I cannot imagine the difficulty of your work and want to support you in any way I can. I know you must be an extraordinary teacher, so full of compassion, curiosity, creativity. I keep thinking about the art project you created for your students to learn about indigenous peoples. I was truly wowed when you shared that. I so hope for the sake of the children that you can find all the rejuvenation you are needing.
Thank you, Ose. A deep bow as I celebrate with you your unfolding.
Dear Anna, thank you for sharing this. My doubt has loomed so large lately. And yet, as you remind me, what remains a truth is love.
Oh Debra, I smile when I read this. I too have known this love.
He is still with us (scroll down to the beginning of this thread) but has changed his photo, now wearing a black cap and glasses 🙂
I love the simple truth of your answer, Deb. Thank you.
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We invite you to experience six blessings in this short, meditative video from Brother David: