One on the slow road, the other the fast,
Improbable two should every pass.
Yet within this complex and twisted world,
An intersection of light begins to whirl.
Life as we know it bends and breaks
Energy between vibrates and shakes.
Two hearts and minds influence the end
The passing importance must defend.
Everything is different, now as before,
Two walking by, one through the door.
Connectivity grinds, no matter the pace,
Ushering the new, face to face.
-Lavinia Busch, 2018
Authors Note: Years after the fact (blog post here) I still occasionally dream of the two others actors in the unfortunate story of my married life. This time it was her. Forgiveness is a muscle that needs to be flexed in order to keep it mobile. I am continually called to flex these muscles over and over again.
“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.”
― Mark Twain
I dreamt of you last night. This is not the first time you have visited me in a dream, forgiveness being such a difficult pill to swallow. Just when you think its done, you find yourself choking on the remnants of bitterness.
The image I am left with, after a restless night, is dandelions. When I was a child, I sat outside in the cool evenings and plucked dandelions from the grass. Placing them one by one close to my lips, I would make a wish and blow the seeds of the dandelion into the wind. I was certain by doing so, my wish would come true.
I realized at 3 am that even though I thought I had let go of the past, the darkest spaces of my heart were still holding on. Each dandelion seed represented a hurtful memory, sadness or grief. By holding on to the bud, I was tethered to the tendrils of emotions still lingering within.
“To err is human, to forgive, divine.”
― Alexander Pope
Thinking of you, the person who was unwittingly connected to me by circumstance, I blew symbolic dandelion seeds into the air, releasing all that remained, all that had gone unsaid. While doing so I did my best to conjure up the most glorious rays of love and light….all for you.
As insidious as the darker emotions can be, I am not naive to the fact that more resentment may be hiding deep within the ethers of my psyche. When the darkness creeps back or, should you visit me once again in the silence of night, I vow to send you on your way by blowing the seeds of a dandelion into the light, setting you free -setting us free.
Last night above the hills you crept
Rain caressing the mesa as you wept
Tears of all who walked this way
Shadows of souls still wandering today
Listen, If only these hills could speak
Wind boisterous and bold but never meek
Land with voice, stripped raw and naked
Holding bones of the many sacred
Tell me who you were, what happened here
I feel your presence, strong and clear
In the still of night you visited my room
Memories of your life weaving a mystical loom
Speak soft and quietly if you must
I hear your whisper between grains of dust
Heat of daylight silencing the bustling squalls
As the final moment encroaches, inscribing the wall.
-Lavinia Busch, 2018
Spending time in nature, one feels how very small they are, so insignificant as compared to the absolute, magic of the natural world. Millions of years: heat, cold, wind and rain have, forged the highest peaks and lowest deserts. Nothing humans are capable of creating has such longevity and complexity.
It takes only a few moments on a petrified sand dune to see the artistry and creativity of nature. No picture or painting will ever capture this visceral sensibility. How humbling to be in the shadow of such depth. Even these words, written on paper, feel elementary as compared to the canyon in which I stand. Any ego I may have inadvertently fostered is crushed in an instant.
Nature is the ultimate equalizer. A keen businessman could stand next to a carpenter in this canyon and wind will knock them both down. No discerning for class, financial stability, education, race, gender…nothing. The heat of midday will bring physical exhaustion and the cool evening breeze, a gentle kiss upon the forehead. Nature has quite a sense of humor.
I can be funny but in general am a serious person. My walk in the woods has left me with one very keen impression. My life is short and what I believe to be of importance is not. My career is a symptom of living in a financially motivated world. My condition is living a human existence as a spiritual being.
Never before have I been so aware of this disconnect. It pains me to the point of sadness. Even while basking in the brilliant light of the natural world, I see how acutely misguided so many are. I see how misguided I have been. Nature equalizes us all in an instant.
It is quiet now, a womb of new, washing
away all that came before. The trail,
is empty, blank slate to pen.
No footsteps, only water against sand.
Flow in the way you are meant to be.
Show me the invisible path,
or let me be.
Empty as it was before,
A desert flower in forever darkness,
blooms while quietly painting
the vibrant oneness.
Together grains of sand persist, each drop
etching away the old, gently soaking
into the depth of new.
Deeper runs this vein of new, crushing
the oldest pictures of,
an ancient sea- browns, reds and blue,
hovering above, awaiting the forever sky.
Liquid labors, birthing the next
breath of quiet reveals a pathless view.
-Lavinia Busch, 2018
Everybody has a little bit of the Sun and Moon in them.
Everybody has a little bit of man, woman, and animal in them.
Darks and Lights in them.
Everyone is part of a Connected Cosmic System.
Part Earth and Sea, Wind and Fire, with some
Salt and Dust Swimming in them.
We have a Universe Within ourselves that mimics the Universe outside. None of us are just black or white, or never wrong and always right.
No one. No one exists without polarities. Everybody has good and bad forces working with them, against them, and within them.~
~Suzy Kassem
Fire, water, air and earth; all necessary for life as we know it. As a water sign, I tend to flow with circumstance. Neither one to be overtly confrontational or flighty, I observe, listen and only speak when I am absolutely sure my thoughts are in order. Watery landscapes are familiar territory for me and I quite like living in the flow of this element.
My last post quoted a Hopi elder asking “Where is your water?”. Water can shape a landscape by simply flowing around and sometimes through rock that obstructs. This flow may take millions of years with the end result being a breathtaking canyon. Water can be incredibly strong in the gentlest of ways. Never underestimate the power of water.
What in your existence gives you life? Is it a spiritual practice, family, friends or even a creative pursuit? You must know the answer in order to be fulfilled mind, body and spirit. Without this precious element, flow will be disturbed, and life will be bumpy, dramatic or flighty. When the same challenge is constantly rearing its ugly head and you wonder why life must be so hard, ask yourself this question.
Consider approaching the challenge from a different perspective. If you have tried to be forceful and are not getting the result you desire, flow with the situation. Observe, listen, learn and gather your new perspectives. If you are like me and do a little too much flowing, consider activating your fire element and testing out the fiery side of your personality…in measured doses of course. It will take some time to find the correct balance specific to you.
Do not shy away from darkness in this venture, it is vital to the understanding of self. In order to appreciate joy, one must walk the shores of despair and swim in the tides of grief. Then and only then can joy be given breathe as seen by the sun in the sky above. Even when drowning in self-doubt one can see this distant light, a beacon of possibility. It may seem terribly far, and you might be tired from the journey. Allow the water to carry you through your grief and sadness and towards this light. There is no shortcut, one must walk the shoreline for as long as it takes.
My water has always been writing and my faith. They nourish me in every way by providing strength when the current gets too rough. As I continue walking down the shoreline, I wonder how many more twists and turns the path will take. I see the stream and know that under the surface strong currents and undertow await. I often picture myself floating above the depths, the cool wetness lapping at my sides and the warm sun in my eyes. Water caresses every cell in my body and light lifts me higher. As I float, all the many difficulties that linger below seem so far away. I am weightless, and the journey is effortless in this moment. Find your water and flow.
Shards and pieces fill the floor,
Emotions trampled as before.
Watch your step, this glass cuts
Its best to keep things tightly shut.
Tempers flare and shouts persist
The allure of anger hard to resist
Careful now, handle with care
Sharp as a knife, better beware
Be gentle now, glass does break
All it takes is one strong shake
Softer words and kinder touch
Broken glass hurts far too much
-Lavinia Busch, 2018
Broken glass is an eclectic collection of what was once a whole, yet each piece is still able to shine separate from this whole. Think of a stained-glass window. These inspiring works of art are comprised of broken pieces of glass, each able to stand alone in specific brilliance. In totality, the stained-glass window shines like a sunbeam, sending colorful light in all directions. The beauty of this whole does not negate how special each individual piece of glass is. Removing even one piece would change the stained-glass window completely.
How easy it is to forget what makes each of us as individuals shine. We define ourselves by family, friends, job and relationships. It is so easy to forget who we are and what we contribute to the whole. Losing self in another is a slippery slope and the treacherous fall that may occur is not one to be taken lightly.
For empathetic people, this is especially difficult to navigate. We pride ourselves in being helpful, selfless and putting the needs of all others before our own. While this may seem to be a service-oriented way to move about the world, the exclusion of self in all matters is neither healthy are wise. Without goals, creative energy and spirit it becomes impossible to have a voice in any partnership. Each person should intend to uplift the other while gently encouraging their partner to stretch and grow. Without this space one will inevitably become stagnant, a shard of glass crushed by the weight of insecurity.
“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”
― Anton Chekhov
No one should dim their light for the benefit of another. Each one of us has the opportunity to shine in our own way. The color of the glass we use is up to us as is the manner in which we create our window. As the artist, we have a choice and a voice. It is incumbent on us to not lose sight of our precious light.
Continue to love those in your life. Lend an ear when necessary. Offer a helping hand and gentle encouragement but never compromise who you are and what is important. Shine as brightly as you are meant, dimming no amount of self for the benefit of others discomfort. You will find as you gain confidence, that your stained-glass window is more representative of your shining spirit and gentle heart.
A Hopi Elder Speaks
“You have been telling the people that this is the Eleventh Hour, now you must go back and tell the people that this is the Hour. And there are things to be considered . . .
Where are you living?
What are you doing?
What are your relationships?
Are you in right relation?
Where is your water?
Know your garden.
It is time to speak your Truth.
Create your community.
Be good to each other.
And do not look outside yourself for the leader.”
Then he clasped his hands together, smiled, and said, “This could be a good time!”
“There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are torn apart and will suffer greatly.
“Know the river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above water. And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate. At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally, Least of all ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt.
“The time for the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word struggle from you attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.
“We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.”
-attributed to an unnamed Hopi elder, Hopi Nation
Driving into Monticello, Utah after having been at Hovenweep for two days was like an assault on my senses. Hovenweep was a mystical place, devoid of obnoxious noise and city lights. The Milky Way and shooting stars painted the night sky, displaying the vastness of the universe. The only audible noise was the gentle breath of the wind against the canyon walls and the swoosh of wings from birds above. It was the closest I have come to peacefulness this entire trip.
The clouds rose every afternoon as if fluffy cotton balls shooting forth from the mesa. Monsoon rains could be seen approaching miles away and in one instance were escorted by a rainbow giving spectacular color to the tumultuous weather. An unexpected electrical storm the first night lite up the entire mesa revealing secrets in the blackness of night. With the ruins close by, any separateness I had felt from others disappeared and was replaced with an embodied lightness felt deeply within.
As my time in Hovenweep began to near completion, the outside world began to knock at my door. It began as a gentle knock with a few emails and phone calls and progressed to a young child’s temper tantrum with escalating business issues disturbing my peace. The only safe space remaining was outside. I could walk the campground next to the ruins, look at the dynamic sky and regain peacefulness if only for a few moments.
“We will be known forever by the tracks we leave.” – Dakota
Upon arriving in Monticello to attend to some much-needed RV housekeeping, I felt the jolt of the unwanted all too quickly. Not only was I back in Utah, the home of some unfortunate memories, but the RV park was right next to the only road through town with constant traffic. The icing on the cake was a dog barking all night. Yes, Monticello felt like the Van Nuys of Utah.
Staring at the map and considering possibilities, I was struck with a feeling of anxious awareness. I have been wandering for the past two months and feel more lost than ever. I certainly have experienced a good number of enlightened moments, but these in no way have given breathe and depth to a greater awareness. What is left is a lingering feeling of being completely lost.
I am not naive enough to believe one trip will produce revelations powerful enough to change my life in drastice ways, but I guess I was expecting something more tangible. I can’t help but think of what my life will be like when I return to Southern California. I had planned to stay in an RV park for six months or so while figuring out the where and what of my next chapter. Now the thought of living shoulder to shoulder with other travelers is not appealing. I need space to breathe, space to ponder and space to just be. National Parks have been ideal for this type of contemplation but are not a long-term solution when considering my current work life.
The question becomes, how does one extend the glow of open space and fresh air and insert this feeling into a constrictive office space with four walls. I am lost as to how I will proceed. Juxtapose this against other personal challenges, and all I see is confusion, gray where I had hoped there would be vivid colors.
Maybe it is within my wandering ideals that I have missed the mark. No matter what natural beauty is approached, I still must find the beauty and calm within myself. No amount of external prodding will assist me in this task. As the Hopi elder states, I must let go of the shore and keep my head above the water. I thought I had already let go simply by releasing my material hold on the world but have now realized letting go involves so many layers of self. I am in the middle of the river with eyes open, yet still struggling to swim.
My work now is to face this transition with an open mind and heart without giving in to a persistent inclination to withdraw further into solitude. As the Hopi elder says so well, “we are to take nothing personally, Least of all ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt.” While I still require a fair amount of quiet, I cannot remain isolated forever. My walk in the woods has always been a temporary proposition. This too shall end. It is so important that I see this end as a beginning and find joy in all that a beginning allows.
I offer the possibility that we are all wandering home in our own way. It is a slow and tedious stroll that requires patience, resilience and compassion. I miss home so very much, this place I cannot define but know exists. This world is so harsh on the senses and so ugly at times, a difficult place for a sensitive spirit such as myself.
I suppose accepting the wandering and confusion is just a part of the package when living out a life contract. When my journey reaches an end as it will, I hope to finally understand. Then and only then will I be able to say with confidence, I was always right where I needed to be.
I walk with spirit, strong and fierce
Each crack of thunder, light does pierce
Souls of those wandering long ago
Traces of energy as if arrows to a bow
One moment the valley is quiet in repose
The only sound witnessed, the squawk of the crows
Suddenly wind dances and spirit beckons
Drawing in those who dare to reckon
The mesa stands, resolute as before
As if, representing a historical door
Breathing in the air, lungs holding life
Stone to a hearth, bone to a knife
Storm clouds billow from the crest of hills
Ancient spirits painting with time honored will
This place is forever present, no matter the map
Spoken in the rumble of each thunder clap
-Lavinia Busch, 2018
Mesa Verde. What words can one speak to paint a picture worthy of the actual? It seems trite to write about a place that speaks and sings as if teaming with life still today. The storms roll in and can be seen miles away in all directions. The ravens playfully squawk, taunting all those who venture this sacred ground. The sun playfully kisses the tops of the mesa and the moon shines with a silver beauty reserved for ancient souls and brilliant spectacles of light.
I could stay in a place like Mesa Verde and be content for the remainder of my life. The dynamic energy is humbling and begs to be explored, not superficially as a passing tourist might. This place is a living, breathing organism and would take a lifetime to understand if only in some small way. I am certain that given the opportunity, I would listen intently to the sky and hope to hear what it has to say.
Returning to Los Angeles fills me with a deep sense of melancholy with the knowing that Mesa Verde lives on. Maybe this is the way the ancients felt, leaving the majesty of these cliffs and the intimacy of these rocks. I understand that thumbprints remain on some walls after having been smoothed by ancient builders. What I would give to rest my finger upon this ancient graffiti and feel the spirits of long ago.
I suspect if given the opportunity, I might find a kindred soul among the ancients. Being one who has never felt of this time, the intimate relationship between people, land and spirit speaks to me as no other place has. How can one return to the bustle of city life, rush hour traffic and the disease of busyness? For the moment, I plan to soak in all this place has to offer in the whispers of the wind and the painting of the sky. I will imprint the memory of this place until I can return once again to walk with the ancients.
“Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.”
― Franz Kafka
Life is messy. We spend the lion’s share of our days trying to clean it up, wrapping it all in a pretty bow to present as unstressed as possible. The worst scenario is in showing the ugliness of it all, the dirt and grime that makes us human. There is never any way to avoid the mess, it is only in the mud when truths are told, and destinies revealed.
I tire of being constantly upbeat, writing as if all is meant to be and nothing happens without divine predestination. How false a perception and a blatant misdirection to believe such ideas. It is only in the murky and muddy depths that spirit is challenged. The darkness doing nothing to blind us from reality and all of its unbearable eccentricities.
Even standing in the company of great natural beauty, I am moved by the anguish and violence that created these enormous natural wonders. The depths of their dark waters run deep. In some cases, towns were washed away, entire peoples relocated, and life forms extinguished. We like to forget the messy parts, it makes it easier that way.
“The role of a writer is not to say what we can all say, but what we are unable to say.”
― Anais Nin
Why are we so uncomfortable with the mess? Why is it so difficult to find the words for someone who is grieving? When did it become taboo to say how awful it is to loss a loved one. No, it will not all be okay, no it was not for the best and no it will not get better with time. Scars fade but never really go completely away. Scars remain as a tattoo of the mess written on our hearts forever.
The same can be said for misfortune. Life can be ruthless at times. Financial ruin is not “karma” or required reading for life school. In reality financial difficulties are awful. Those who experience this misfortune are not unworthy of success. They did nothing wrong as some might point a judgmental finger. The way this world values the almighty dollar is a big part of the mess, and we all roll in this dirt over and over as if pigs to a trough.
In my utopian ideal emotions and feelings are valued and stoicism is not. Tell me if you are hurting, in pain or suffering. I may not like what I hear but say it anyway. I must be equipped with enough tools to take in another’s sorrow without condition. Only in this way am I swimming in my own murky waters and attempting to rise toward the air above. Tell someone your mess today and be unabashedly truthful. You may be surprised by the response.