This is a rehash of a post from 2018 with some new modifications for the times…
It shouldn’t be that difficult. Most people open their eyes, pop out of bed, and voila!- on with their day. For me, making the transition from Dreamtime to wakefulness is a sacred ritual. This can sometimes take up to an hour. Even when I was working full-time I always allowed some time for this. Now with COVID 19 & sheltering in place, there seem to be no people to be held accountable to, nor yoga or pool schedule to meet and no medical appointments. Now I am left up to my own motivation. It’s gotten to be more difficult not to be tempted to sleep in.
First step- avoid reading or listening to the news. I fail to see the point of starting the day feeling depressed. It’s curated to produce nightmares. (Plus, there is a dearth of good news to be had even though I know it exists.) My phone is in silent mode or better yet turned off.
Place my 15-year-old dog, Bandit on the bed. He makes me smile. Then have to free the “wild hamsters” that populate my head and if I don’t get rid of them my day seems chaotic. Essential to that process is to brew a cup of tea, heat up my “hottie” for my tight back, and do a quick meditation.
I spend a few minutes in my planner thinking about my goals for the day or week. I have been finding that scheduling joy into my day can really help to keep the lonely demons away. Anything from reading a good book, walking the dog, gardening, phoning a friend, or watching a movie IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. Then onto my journal where I may write anything that’s been lurking in my mind, a poem. Finally, I add a funny daily doodle in my planner for fun.
Now I am ready to transition from human being to more of a human doing with a foundation of centeredness that I hope to carry with me throughout my day.
Next step- remove body from bed and get to living in this simplified yet complicated world.
Continue reading “The Art of Getting Out of Bed- COVID 19 Version”
I don’t have anything to write about today but say, you should really see the Hawthorne tree in the driveway bursting forth into a blaze of magenta blooms and how about those pie pan size exploding pink peonies on the kitchen table that Mary brought over as a May Day treat from her garden, eye-catching saffron-colored bundles of stamens and pistils in their midst.
I don’t have anything to write about today but the blaze in the woodstove on this chilly May morning cheers me, as well as the news that Raymond saw a pair of scarlet tanagers in the trees by the west fence line! I haven’t seen tanagers in years around this place- so exciting to know they are still around. They must be migrating through. I wonder where they go? And darn, wouldn’t you know that we have a pair of ground squirrels that moved in and are making a fine Swiss cheese mess of the yard along with the huge party of voles living below ground.
I don’t have anything to write about today but wow- all of a sudden the lettuce is big enough to pick in the garden along with some kale and chard and even a few snow peas to throw in the evening’s salad and I’m so excited about the flower seeds I started that are almost ready to plant. The vegetable garden will be so colorful this summer!
Back to birds, the black-headed grosbeaks returned to the feeder and will probably stay to nest in the yard. Oops, the hummingbird feeder is empty.
Also blogging about living sustainably and making nature your friend at One Sweet Earth
WALKING THROUGH SCOTLAND
In the company of friends
And the rhythm of sticks
I spy a blue fly on green fern
Sheep grazing in the distance
Tufts of wool dangling from fences
Bluebells line the path with yellow anenome,
Purple geranium, wild rose, ferns
and blossoms of which I have no name
Rain falls from heavy clouds
White water spills over the faces of dark rocks
Into bubbling pools
The land begs verse
We end each day foot weary but filled
Seeing more by seeing less
We end each day bedding at inns in quaint towns
Savoring warm bowls of soup
And cups of hot tea
I was not an English major. My heartfelt essays in high school often came back redlined, oblivious of the content. My love of reading and journaling came from the only English teacher I liked, Mrs. Geselschap from my junior year. She let us read what we wanted and often suggested great books. The journaling habit continues to this day.
I could always write decently when required, yet it was not something I chose to do, especially majoring in the natural sciences. So I’ve wondered as I have become a writer in my 60’s, with words oozing from my core, where did the ability to express myself in poetry and prose come from?
Continue reading “Letters to the Universe”