Tag: nature

I’m Not Aware

Leave a comment

It’s the beginning of another year and for whatever reason – cultural, internal or driven by the all-powerful social media – I am pulled toward self-review. If I am being completely honest, my life is a series of perpetual self-evals. What is my purpose? What should I be doing? Am I on the right path? Am of service to others? To anyone? Followed by, I could do better, Habits are hard, and my all time favorite, Let’s figure this out.

So, here I sit before a blank screen pondering those same tired thoughts without a lot of fresh input. Instead, I offer the following…

Everything begins with awareness. Awareness of that higher, wiser part of ourselves. We all have it, and sometimes we use it. We all know we shouldn’t have the extra helping of pumpkin pie (or maybe even the first), stay up to binge watch something that is not really enhancing our lives, not getting up early to own the day, not planning meals and finances. I trust you’re familiar. I mean there are mythical beings out there whose finances are pristine, their abs are true, their kitchens are stocked with local, organic vegan fare and their relationships are nothing but love and light.

But I’ve yet to meet such a unicorn. If they don’t really exist, why am I spinning plates and hula hooping trying to live up to their imaginary standards?

I’m not gonna make this about resolutions or even intentions. Has that worked for you? I mean for more than a week? Me neither.

My gift to myself this coming year is going to be to listen to my gut, my higher self, the universe, nature, pretty much any voice that doesn’t come from my ego running rough shod with scissors through the night or any other actual well-meaning, yet mortally flawed, human being. I’m going to listen to the powerful, yet calm and quiet and simple promptings of my soul.

    • Put the phone down.
    • Go to your mat.
    • Drink water instead.
    • It’s a beautiful day for a walk.

I mean, her advice is spot on and so clear, there is no innuendo, no context needed, nothing cloudy or unsure. And usually it’s not about don’t do something and more about make a better choice. For my energy, my sanity, my peace.

My life will still be full of all that I love, travel, decorating, creativity, but I feel like it will be richer, cleaner, more spacious, maybe, if I pay closer attention. I kind of imagine myself – my human form – with all my to-do’s and passions and needs stuck to me, adding weight and making me itchy. Then I imagine creating space through nothing more than awareness and listening to that wise voice. (Conscious breathing and meditation never hurt, so I’ll throw that in a well) Then I begin to see myself with an inch of air between me and all that stuff. Then maybe a foot. Then maybe arm’s length, just far enough away that I can reach out and choose which task or project I wish to work on or play with. I mean everything we do involves choice. If we’re not consciously selecting where we put our energy and focus, those decisions are happening by default. And not very elegantly, I may add.

So that’s it. Just listen and follow directions. That’s my big plan. I mean, how hard can it be?

Who Needs TV?

Leave a comment

IMG_7736

This morning on the back patio while Kitty Andersen and I were sorting pine straw for craft projects (I know, my life is glamorous and magical and you wish you were me) we were found ourselves in the front row of a spectacular show.

The curtain went up to a great and brief left over rain shower when one squirrel leapt onto the winged elm branch dispatching all pooled water from recent storms from its leaves onto the tin roof.

Landing in the rubber tree a single blue jay called to his friends. First, he nattered, almost clucking, I had never heard a blue jay do that before. Then he let loose his powerful ear-splitting screech. It was this call that produced another, then another. The meeting was called to order. There was disagreement, as there always is at these things, resolution, some discussion and then eventually adjournment, but not before one attendant stomped off in a huff.

While the remaining executives were in the throes of their strategy, five squirrels rushed across the top of the fence, stage right, the first one stopping short with each one following bumping into the next, and one less than present fella tumbling to the ground. They regrouped and continued along behind the bushes, the rubber tree – we lost one to the rubber tree, seems even squirrels have squirrel moments – then on to the orange tree. All the while they chattered and giggled.

The blue jays squawked directly at the fuzzy gray mammals causing them to stop and look around while wringing their hands as if to say, “Wait, shhhh, did you hear something?” When the answer was clearly no, they continued on.

FullSizeRender

This went on for quite some time. Kitty Andersen abandoned her sorting duties for a better seat atop the stone elephant. Not until the jays flew away and the squirrels pounded across the tin roof to the other side of the house, did she feel ready to get back to work.

Perhaps tomorrow Mr. and Mrs. C will make a guest appearance.

Watching Grass Grow

Leave a comment

IMG_7635

A side effect of not being constantly engaged in social media is the time to stare into my backyard. It may seem like a misuse of time to you, but I can assure you it is paramount to my overall well-being.

I have three favorite perches in my home: The glass and bamboo patio table right under the ceiling fan on the back porch; the Pier 1 wicker saucer chair we’ve had forever with the charmingly rusted foot stool (now table) beside it, also on the patio; and one corner of my exceptionally comfy sofa. All three of them face the back yard.

Can I tell you about it, again?

This yard will never be in a home and garden magazine, but that doesn’t seem to dissuade the squirrels, doves, cardinals or lizards from visiting frequently. The bees and butterflies are undeterred when the orange tree or flowers start blooming. And what I can only suspect is a citrus rat – (since squirrels are not nocturnal) scurrying up the fence when the light comes on and the dogs go out – seems perfectly at home scavenging for fallen oranges..

I have a rubber tree that has not had the benefit of nature’s hard freeze to help stunt its growth. It’s over 30 feet tall now. A bay tree that seemed to have died, proved us wrong when we cut it down by sprouting 5 baby trees. Now all over 15 feet tall. And many other overgrown, bright green hiding places for various Florida fauna.

There are a few palm trees in the yards behind mine and when it’s windy it sounds like it’s raining.

There are strategically placed wind chimes around the patio and a few naked, out in the weather, that add to the music of the raining palms.

There’s just enough space between the trees and the fence to provide a never ending play of light and shadow when the slightest breeze blows.

Doves often take to the exposed patio for a lover’s promenade.

And ferns play host to untold numbers of winged and multi-legged critters.

There’s a dish with water on the table that sits on the dove’s patio. Throughout the day any number of birds can be found sipping the water or taking a quick bath. Occasionally I’ll catch a squirrel taking a drink. And most recently I’ve spied a few lizards and even a yellow jacket quenching their thirst when it seemed it would never rain again.

But the enchantment doesn’t end with the back of the house. The front yard holds its own charms.

A towering live oak tree that serves as a condominium for no less than three squirrel families. A magnolia tree that blooms on and off all year, it seems, dropping leaves … always.

IMG_7620And Elma. Remember Elma? Our struggling winged elm tree that was transplanted from the back yard to the front? It was dire there for a while. No rain and searing heat took their toll. We were convinced she just wasn’t going to make it. Her leaves turned brown and eventually fell off, her tiniest branches eventually snapped with the gentlest breeze and even some of her sturdier branches yielded to pressure from water. The plan was to toss her into the yard recycling pile, we just didn’t get around to it. Thankfully!

I’m happy to report that the recent rains, lots and lots of watering, some encouraging words and a little petting have proved successful. Elma lives!

There’s a metaphor in there about being transplanted or transformation or rebirth, but I’ll let you create your own story about that.

It’s nearly dusk, it’s time to move to the saucer chair and catch the late show.

Nature Nurtures

Leave a comment

IMG_9807

Sitting outside on my patio staring at all things green. Too much swirling around in my head right now to focus on one subject to expound on.

How America got the whole food thing wrong somehow. When I travel I notice how no one is really obese, some overweight of course, but not confined to motorized scooters because they’re too big to move. I know this is a combination of things but mostly it’s the food industry and the culture – that both positive and negatively impact individuals. We’re so sick here. It’s so avoidable.

My potential kitchen remodel and all the tiny little decisions that go into it. And the less than tiny amount of money that is attached to each choice. And how necessary every little piece is.

Receiving my new composter. So excited to have it, too tired to try to figure out how to put it together and start using it. But there are bags of vegetable bits waiting in my refrigerator from juicing that need a new home.

Wondering when it will rain again.

Writing about my twin gay great uncles. One was an opera singer who fled to New York and married three different women. His brother lingered a little longer in Pennsylvania before heading off to Europe to work for Fortuny, the fashion house itself, but not before being introduced (by his brother) to the completely out and daring world of circuit parties in NYC. “There were all these men, just men, it was amazing.”

Plus a million more thoughts about my cat and dogs, yoga teacher training, smart people, my mother’s car and all her stuff, acid reflux, lizards drinking water, recycling, stone pathways, gossip, birds…

When the all the thoughts are competing for space and jockeying for position the only thing I want to do, the only thing I can do, is sit and stare at nature. Just sit. And stare.

It’s a form of meditation that’s highly portable and super simple, and that’s what I need right now.

Habits

1 Comment

IMG_6897

It’s been a week since I put myself on restriction. I found myself scrolling endlessly through Facebook liking and reposting copious videos of adorable animals doing silly things and inspiring folks talking about consciousness.

It wasn’t the worst way to spend my time, but it felt like I was cheating myself somehow.

In just one week a lot of my tendencies and beliefs have been revealed to me. I notice when I want to check out. It’s often when I am thinking creatively, problem solving. I’ll reach for a distraction, my phone, a piece of chocolate, something to break up the knot of thought I can’t seem to get past.

I’ve also noticed my propensity toward multi-tasking. Women, I believe, are genetically predisposed to a certain level of activity with divided attention. What with the baby producing, cooking, cleaning and working and all.

Still, this isn’t permission to go overboard.

I cannot seem to just watch TV. (I realize this isn’t a “real” problem, but it has shone a light on an annoying habit.) If the TV is on I am inclined to do some sort of activity in tandem. Eating, ironing clothes, scrolling. It has to be mindless, which means it’s probably not necessary. It’s very Pavlovian. I do not have this tendency while engaged in conversation or reading. TV on, do something additional.

This bit about the TV had me wondering too, about how much I really like the shows I record. Or did we just see one once and think it looked pretty good so habit has us watch the rest? This will become apparent soon enough.

I made a few decisions based on the insight provided by engaging in social media less. And I have laid the ground rules that I hope will continue after the month-long diet.

Here’s the short list:

  • I have removed notifications from my phone for FB, Instagram and several other apps. No more seductive red circles.
  • I no longer scroll on FB. (I do have to go on periodically for specific groups and business.)
  • I respond only to direct messaging or queries in the groups I host or business related pages. Again, on Facebook.
  • I post only through WordPress and Instagram – usually one blog and one or two photos a day.
  • I am ditching cable completely. I have ordered an antennae and will be making that swtich this month.
  • I have been writing every day.
  • I am spending more time outside. (Unitl it’s a thousand degrees – coming soon.)
  • I no longer start sentences, “Did you see that article/video/post on Facebook…?”

Most notably I feel a lot less urgency. Sometimes this feels good, sometimes I wonder what I should be doing with myself. I always find something. I have time to read the books on the teetering stacks surround me. I am sorting through old family photos – tons of them – to create books and remember stories. The house is clean.

So far there is no downside to less phone. But then it’s only been a week.

 

Urgency Reset

Leave a comment

IMG_7091

Been thinking a lot about urgency lately.

Particularly how social media creates a sense of urgency without really doing anything. Almost all social media channels use their users to create it for them.

Think about it: Aside from the algorithm-driven passive sales on Facebook, we’re reacting to the posts of those we know.

We are compelled to up our game, drop out, do more, do less, get the app, sign the petition, boycott him, support the other guy, all because someone we know, or someone who knows someone we know, is somehow suggesting it. Just by sharing their own opinion. No matter how uninformed.

It’s genius, really. Somehow.

We need to do more. We need to go out more. We need to post food pics and selfies in front of quirky places. We need to practice our inversions so when we’re in Germany we can pop up into one in front of where the wall used to be. We need to post the best version of ourselves we want others to see. We need to prove we’re unique. Just like everybody else.

It’s a mad scientists social experiment. It has to be.

I’m only halfway through day five, but I see this just through my tendencies to reach for my phone when I want to escape a conversation, or I’m bored, or I have a few minutes. I’m filling space and avoiding being present with nothing. Photos and posts of things I normally wouldn’t choose to read. Probably.

And as I scroll my mind is making calculations and decisions, seemingly without my permission or input,  about what I should post next or what glib response I can throw down on a friends photo.

But what if we picked the people or pages we wanted to visit rather than minlessly scrolling? Showed some restraint, some control. What if we chose how to use social media rather than being pulled along by the suggestions of a computer program? Is that even possible?

I get the irony here. I am suggesting you reframe how you use the very media on which you are likely viewing this. I’m just another voice asking you to do something, creating urgency.

I don’t know the answer. There’s a happy medium in there, or out there, somewhere. A place where information and mindfulness meet. I haven’t found it yet, although I am kind of partial to blogs. 😉

It all just makes me very tired.

So, today I spent some time in nature. And some time reading. An actual book with pages that I turned with my hand instead of tapping the right side of a screen. My whole house was open, the wind blowing the curtains on the back patio, breezes running from the front to the back. I caught the light outside and thought more than once about capturing it in my phone. But my phone was in another room and did not go get it. At least twice.

Then finally when it was time to start dinner I retrieved my phone to check for messages – just one, and finally took that photo.

This afternoon, just a few hours of cleaning my house, watching birds and butterflies and shamelessly reading seemed to reset something. No telling if it will last, but for now I would much rather sit on my back porch with a glass of wine and that book.

And no phone.

 

Speaking of the Dead

Leave a comment

soaring vultures

I was sitting in the back of the room with the other yoga nidra facilitators listening with half an ear to the teacher in the front. I can’t even tell you who it was. I don’t remember. In my distracted state, I cut my eyes toward the giant picture windows to my right – I do this often – and between the lush, old stately trees I could see the lake sparkling. A small hole between branches provided the perfect view of a cerulean blue sky and in that tiny hole a vulture soared.

Another one.

They are everywhere in Florida. They are everywhere, period. But they are in my awareness more than almost any other creature.

During this 10 day training I have entertained hoards. At one point, I was peacefully rocking myself back and forth on a swing, enjoying the breeze coming off the lake, lost in the lapping of the water against the shore; I leaned forward for some reason and when I looked up dozens of vultures were making their way across the sky above me. They were low enough for me to see the holes in their beaks and hear their wings flap as they gained purchase against the wind.

They kept coming. I was awestruck. I have never seen so many aloft at once.

I stood, as much as a salute to their humility and grace as to close the gap between us by another foot or two. I longed – long – for one to swoop down and sit beside me. They are clearly my animal totem and I simply adore them.

No matter when I looked up, during this ten-day training, they were there.

As I sat in the back of the room watching my friend soar effortlessly, I thought, “What are they trying to tell me?”

“Clean up your dead.” It was as if that single vulture had stopped, looked me in the eye with hands on hips and said, “Clean up your dead.”

The meaning simultaneously accompanied the words, yet I tried to analyze it, figure it out. It was an opportunity, in that moment, to simply say, “ok” and let it all go. But I needed to know more. I needed to figure out what my dead was. Which relationships, beliefs, habits was I supposed to let go of? How should I clean them out, how will I know if I have?

This gift that was handed to me became a light that revealed a pattern that doesn’t always serve me. Planting a thought in my brain then attaching a million other thoughts to it. Trying to figure things out.

Sometimes I just have to say ok. And so I did. Sort of.

I am using this command, ‘clean up your dead’ each time I find myself hooking into a thought pattern that isn’t serving me. I won’t catch them all and it will be a process of recognition and repetition until finally it’s not. But I’m committed.

And if I hold on a little too long to the dead weight, I have plenty of airborne friends around to remind me.

Saturday Morning Spells

Leave a comment

Sunrays 1288

There is something so enchanting about the first morning light. As darkness relents to the rising sun the whole world is aglow for just a few moments. Light filters through trees, like a mystical omen of the magic to come. The world seems to warm. It’s only meant for a few. It’s too easy to miss, to sleep through.

During this time, in the summer months anyway – of which there are at least six here in middle Florida – the ground begins to make noise. Fallen leaves rustle, rocks are pushed out of the way by tiny reptilian feet. Most birds are still rubbing the sleep from their eyes, but a few start to chirp a little lazily.

There is one that seems to sit just outside my bedroom window whose sole purpose is to let me know the sun is about to come up. In an hour. He panics, I think.

Once the day begins to brighten and the sun makes its way to a visible point, the rest of the avian world begins to come alive. Two mourning doves coo sweet nothings on my fence. At times they roam around the floor of my tiny backyard looking for morsels. So at home, they wait until the very last minute to fly off in a huff when the hounds are released for their morning routines.

It is Saturday. The usual humming of car motors, the rise and fall of garage doors and the air brakes of the school bus are all absent. In their place is silence; the background on which all other sounds can be heard more clearly. A wind chime from two doors down announces a gentle breeze, a dog barks in the distance and beside me a cat works a catnip filled toy, causing the tiny bell on her collar to sing with excitement.

It’s too early and not enough hot yet for the summer bugs to begin singing. I don’t know what they are, some sort of cicada maybe, but I love their song. Or more probably, what it represents, and the fond memories of fleeting summers where there were three other seasons.

In an hour or so, the light will be different, more common. The sweet sounds against the quiet background will be lost to activity. The morning will be just a memory soon forgotten as the day picks up speed.

But later, much later – although it will be here before we know it – will be dusk. That golden hour when the sun, knowing it’s time is short, will flame out spectacularly providing the perfect light for a few fleeting moments before bidding adieu.

Yet there is still light, even after the sun slips below the horizon. As the creatures of the earth honor the rising sun each morning, it is the sun itself that celebrates the end of its workday with an explosion of colors that dance within the clouds.

I wonder what colors the sky will celebrate this evening.

[Photo: Allison L. Andersen. Taken at the Amrit Yoga Institute, Salt Springs, Florida.]

Snowy Knows All My Secrets

4 Comments

photo (3)

Daily prompt: Have you ever named an inanimate object? (Your car? Your laptop? The volleyball that kept you company while you were stranded in the ocean?) Share the story of at least one object with which you’re on a first-name basis.

I have struggled with determining the personality of my car so as to properly name it. Her. Him. Three years in its still just a vehicle. I love it, I take care of it, but it remains an it.

I like to name things. Or rather, I like to create stories around things, applying personality traits to everything from critters to the weather; having full conversations with woodland creatures that sit still long enough for me to take their photos. But as I think of it, I have never actually named them, instead referring to them in the familiar as ‘friend.’ I have a particular penchant for turning verbs into nouns by ascribing qualities to places like Distraction and Procrastination. And I am inclined to make up biographies about people I pass on the street; giving them full back stories based solely on how they walk or the expressions on their faces.

Yet naming things that do not move of their own volition eludes me.

Snowy. I have a white teddy bear from my early childhood that has had the fur loved off of him. His name is Snowy. I can’t be certain, though, that I named him.

A previous purple car acquired the name Barney. But it wasn’t I that named it.

Dogs? Yes. Cats? Yes. Children? Of course. Iguanas? Once.

Perhaps, sadly somehow, the answer is no. No, I have not named an inanimate object. But I’ll be okay. I feel no less complete as a result of this shortcoming.

I will chose instead to continue my tete a tete with the rather loquacious Mr. C, our resident cardinal, in my bay tree out back. I will visit Distraction. Again and again, maybe taking a side trip to Productivity once in a while. And I will continue to love my car, whatever its name may be.

Turn Off to Tune In

2 Comments

Frog IMG_9311

Daily Prompt: When was the last time a movie, a book, or a television show left you cold despite all your friends (and/or all the critics) raving about it? What was it that made you go against the critical consensus?

About 10 years ago I began to shift away from mindless television and fictionalized or glamorized violence of any kind. I stopped watching the ‘news’ first. It makes me sound prudish and elitist, I know, but I’m okay with that.

You’re probably expecting me to tell you now that I’m one of those people who doesn’t own a TV. I still do. And I still watch it, but not often.

At some point I woke up. At some point I realized that everything I was allowing in through my senses affected not only my attitude but my physical being. Maybe it was an amazing book I read, a seminar, a comment overheard. I can’t say when it happened or even why, except that I woke up. And once I knew what I was doing to myself, I made different choices.

When I let go of the need for water cooler banter and chose to turn my attention to talking about expansive ideas and working on how I could become a better person in this world, a better steward of the earth and at the very least do no harm, everything shifted.

I went outside.

I looked up.

I found enchantment in the clouds – we have great clouds in Florida. The praying mantis eating a dragonfly or a spider catching a fly provided drama and a little violence. Birds are actually quite comical. And strangers are always in the midst of some love story. Overhearing snippets of conversation became  fodder for my imagination; creating lives and turmoil and surprises for these characters I was free to develop.

As I wandered with my camera, magic appeared in front of me. Every time. Hawks would pose patiently on low branches so I could snap their portrait before they flew off to capture their morning meal. Butterflies and bees slowed down as they worked flowers, it seemed just for me. Deer made sustained eye contact before returning to their foraging or bounding into the forest.

I’m sure this was always the case. The only thing that has changed is the observer. Me.

While I appreciate the opinions of others and on occasion I will take the advice of a friend and watch a show, read a book or go to the movies, I am more likely found squatting next to a tree to get a closer look at a baby frog.

This is the direction in which my preferences run. That’s just me. But then, it’s all a matter of taste.

[Photo: Taken at the Merrit Island Refuge in Merrit Island, Florida. He’s about the size of my thumb nail. Maybe. Photo credit: Me, Allison L Andersen]