Did I just give you an earworm? It’s a familiar song, and I’m sure for many it brings up images of that iconic ride at Disneyland or Disneyworld. But I needed to travel to Hillsboro, New Mexico, to discover just how small a world it actually is!

Kelly and I have been looking for a home for our camper, a place where we could park it and leave it, and have the convenience of a ready getaway for a weekend. Yesterday we went on a road trip with our friend Bonnie, to visit her friend Kirsten, owner of Hillsboro RV Village.

After a lovely drive up I-25, and then a drive along the winding and very scenic Route 152, we arrived in the tiny village of Hillsboro. It has a fascinating history, if you care to look it up, all the way back to Gold Rush days, and is currently a vibrant community of artists and ranchers and assorted others. With a tiny farmers market, which we just missed by virtue of their hours (closing at 1-ish, which equated to noon yesterday!), an active community center, a self-funded and maintained museum, and a lovely general store restaurant with the best taco salad I’ve ever had, it’s a wonderful and greatly under-appreciated place! Let’s hope it stays that way!

Because Hillsboro RV Village is about to be the new home for our Keystone Hideaway Camper! Kirsten has a single lot, available as soon as she can find a trailer hitch to remove the 5^th wheel camper currently sitting there, and has agreed to rent the space to us on a long-term basis. Our timing for this exploratory trip couldn’t have been better!

But what has this to do with a ride at Disneyworld?

As we sat at lunch in the General Store Café, the conversation naturally turned to origins. “Where are you from?” As usual, I told Kirsten I was from Virginia by way of Texas. “Where in Virginia?” was the next question, telling me immediately she was familiar with the state.

Kirsten’s roots lay in the Mennonite Community of Harrisonburg, VA. This realization immediately brought to mind Hurricane Camille, 1969, and how it decimated Nelson County – and how the Mennonite Community immediately responded to help. The Crady family was fortunate. We were on vacation at Lake Gaston, NC. We were not present on that terrible night. Had we been home, we might have attempted to flee the floodwaters, or worse, to recover possessions from our basement. Who knows what the consequences might have been. When we did return home, we found two feet of nasty, thick muck left behind in our basement.

I’ll never forget the day the Mennonites arrived, cleaning our basement completely, and – a long-held memory – handing Daddy a sparkling clean and polished pair of pliers that had been recovered from his workshop.

The wonderful people who arrived to give aid that day were volunteers with Mennonite Disaster Service, or MDS. Back at the cafe, though, and small community that Hillsboro is, Kirsten’s sister stopped by our table to say hello. And it was Kirsten’s now-deceased brother-in-law who actually participated in the MDS team who responded to Hurricane Camille! He could have been the man who handed Daddy those pliers!

Talk about a small world!

The Mennonite Community has always held my respect and a warm place in my heart for the aid they provided that day, and it is pretty special to have made that connection with our new landlord at the RV park! I had met Kirsten before. She has house-sat for Bonnie in the past and her son lived in Bonnie’s spare room for a while. But now she feels like my friend as well, and more than a simple acquaintance. She is far from her roots these days, as are we all, but that connection is real.

It truly is a small world, after all.

A friend recommended I read Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert. Turns out the book was already sitting in my Kindle library, in my digital TBR stack: books To-Be-Read at some future date, most often defined as ‘someday.’ Well, ‘someday’ arrived unexpectedly with that recommendation, as I finally pulled up Big Magic and started to read.

And I’m so glad I did!

The book gave me words to describe something I’ve been feeling ever since my muse took over in April and I started writing.

Oh. Yes. I’m actively writing now, and I don’t mean blog posts like this one. I am in the middle of drafting a young adult fantasy trilogy, the threads of which have lived within ever since I wrote a short story for my Fantasy In Literature course in college, more years ago than I care to count. I think Dr. Glover gave me a B on my story, with a comment that it needed to go further. Years after that I converted the original story into a longer story, outlined but never fully completed. Dr. Glover would have given that story the same grade and the same comment – where is it going?

Today, it has evolved into a three-book arc, complete with its own world, history, legends, character backstories… well, you get the idea. I wish Dr. Glover could see it now!

It’s as though this particular seed was planted eons ago, and now, in my retirement, I have finally found the time and space to help it grow. It has become a tree, with roots and a sturdy trunk and branches reaching for the sky.

Gilbert, in her book, says that ideas and inspiration have a way of finding someone who is ready to work with them. I suspect this one has been lingering, hovering on the edges of my attention, until I ultimately accepted it. Now, it’s as though the flood of inspiration is never-ending. I’ll go for a walk, and before I’m done I’m anxious to get back to my laptop, or my notebook, to capture the ideas before they float away. I’ll wake in the middle of the night with the next piece of the story ready to go and huddle under the blankets, typing it into an app on my phone before it slips away. Even while writing, I’ll have a moment of “ooh! what if…?” and suddenly I’m off on a tangent of an idea for a character backstory.

Truly, the Dragonbonded of Cyfina have a life of their own. Right now I’m simply trying to keep up. I can’t wait until they’re ready to meet you.

I’m back!

Did you miss me? I’ve been kind of busy lately, training to become a Reiki practitioner. I guess you might say I’m in the process of fitting more pieces together, assembling this grand project called Life. Many parts have come together recently, but there are still a lot of pieces lying in a jumbled pile, waiting to be sorted out and brought into some semblance of order.

If you read my last blog entry, you’ll know I’ve been putting pieces together for some time now, be they LEGO pieces, broken pottery, or a broken heart. Most recently I have assembled a wooden jigsaw puzzle, the result of which I plan to hang on the wall somewhere in my home.

Jigsaw puzzles are interesting. When you first open the box you are confronted with 300 or 500 or 1000 pieces, all jumbled together. It seems impossible to make something out of them, to figure out how they fit together into one cohesive whole. But then you start to recognize patterns. I like to find as many of the edge pieces as I can first, fitting them together to get a general outline. Once that is mostly done – there are always a few pieces that elude me until later – I begin looking for common colors or designs, connecting them as I go. If I’m lucky, I have a picture to follow, some guide or path to help me on my way. Other times there is no picture and I must struggle to understand just what it is I am working towards.

Every now and then a piece of the puzzle goes missing and it is impossible to achieve a complete, perfect, finished image. And on occasion, if I don’t carefully guard my work in progress, the cat comes along and scatters my work to the wind.

Life is such a puzzle!

As I said previously, I am learning to be a Reiki practitioner, becoming a channel for Universal Life Force energy. I can then direct that energy to another person, bringing balance and enabling physical, mental, emotional and spiritual healing. When you learn Reiki, the emphasis at first is on healing yourself so that you can become a clear channel to aid others. And in that process of self-healing, I’ve found myself having to do some shadow work.

If you’re not familiar with shadow work, here is a brief description:

The “shadow self” is the parts of ourselves that have been pushed down to the unconscious — the parts that we’re insecure about, ashamed of, or frustrated with and therefore repress.

The concept of the shadow self is based on the notion that we figuratively bury those pieces of personality that we fear would not be welcomed, accepted, or loved by others; therefore, we keep them in the “shadows.” In short, our shadow selves are the versions of ourselves that we do not show society.

So what is shadow work? This is the practice of loving what is, and setting the shame and judgements free, so that we can be our true selves. 

[For more information on shadow work, check out the source article for this definition:  https://www.bemytravelmuse.com/what-is-shadow-work/]

For me, shadow work involved first identifying an aspect of my personality that I have kept buried, something that has caused problems and even shame, and then bringing it into the light where I can examine it, accept it and work to heal it. And a big part of bringing it into the light, for me, is talking about it, making it visible, and in so doing removing its power.

So here I am.

My shadow self has an insidious voice that loves to whisper in my ear “you’re not good enough. You can’t do it well, so why even try? What will they think when you mess up, when you don’t do it perfectly?”

So I did some Reiki on my own past. The Reiki energy transcends both time and space; there’s even science that supports this concept, called Quantum Entanglement.

In the process of this self-healing I sent loving energy into my past to find and heal whatever was generating this self-doubt and giving voice to a long-standing fear of failure. I talked about it with a friend or two, beginning the process of bringing it into the light.

And a few days later I had a flash of insight. I recalled an incident, an event, where words were spoken without thought to a vulnerable teenager by a trusted adult. These words affected me so deeply that I can still picture the exact moment in time and I can still recall the pain and shame that forced me to escape the room and hide my tears. I will not elaborate here; I’ve shared the story with a couple of trusted friends but in respectful memory of the adult involved I am keeping the details private.

What I knew, when that memory popped into my head, was that it was time to forgive. It was time to take back the energy I have given to that event for so many years, and time to allow my heart to heal. And I have worked to do this and to take away the power that this moment in time has had over me, all these years past.

I may not be done with this particular shadow; there may be more memories waiting on the sidelines to be recalled and healed, but for now that self-doubt, that fear of failure is diminished. And I have found more balance in my life.

Oh, and the wooden jigsaw which will hang on my wall?

The name ‘LEGO’ is an abbreviation of the two Danish words “leg godt”, meaning “play well”. And while the LEGO company has been building toys since 1932, the LEGO brick itself originated in 1958. The LEGOs that I “play well” with today are almost as old as I am! While LEGO was originally created as a child’s toy, these wonderful building blocks have grown along with the children who have played with them; these days you’ll find a category on the LEGO website for builders who are age 18 and older. AFOLs, we’re called: Adult Fans of LEGO, and there are some wonderful and complex kits designed for this group of adult fans. I’ve built more than a few of them myself over the past 9 months.

There’s something wonderfully satisfying about taking a pile of seemingly random LEGO bricks and pieces and putting them together to create something fun, or cool, or even beautiful! And the process of building becomes, for me, a mindful activity where I can focus on the task at hand and set difficult events or feelings aside for a while. LEGO helped ease me through some of the worst moments of my grief last year.

Mindful activities like this are special. They don’t cause us to avoid the difficult feelings so much as they simply give us space to breathe, to rest and recover for a bit before facing the world once more. I have used LEGO for this; you may have other methods. I have friends who knit and crochet, who quilt or paint or even create beautiful bowls on a wood lathe! These and other such activities are so fulfilling; they are a way to create order out of chaos and find the beauty in disorder, and they allow us to step back from the world for a time and find relief.

The Japanese have a concept that I have recently discovered: Wabi-Sabi, the art of appreciating the beauty in this naturally imperfect world. One artform that exemplifies Wabi-Sabi is called Kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer mixed with powdered gold. This art form emphasizes the imperfections, the broken pieces, rather than attempting to hide them. The result is beautiful.

I love Kintsugi. It reminds me of the imperfection of my own heart, having been shattered into pieces last spring when Faith so suddenly passed away. Over time, and with the help of dear friends and family, I have reassembled the pieces of my shattered heart into a new creation. When I look at this new heart I can see the imperfections, the lines where my heart was broken; and I also see a beautiful work of art. It is Wabi-Sabi. My Kintsugi heart honors the memory of what once was, even as it leads me to new purpose. I have created order out of chaos from the pieces of my heart.

And you, my friend? If your heart has been broken and the pieces lay scattered on the floor, I challenge you to pick up those pieces and mend your heart with golden lacquer. Create something new. And if the pieces are too small, shattered beyond repair – then gather those tiny pieces and create a mosaic, a picture, a work of art. Whatever you create, know that it will honor the memory of the love that once filled your heart, even as it gives you permission to live. Find order in the chaos, and cherish the beauty in the imperfection of your new creation.

It is time, as we near the close of this year, to reflect a bit on what has gone before. It is time also to look forward and set intentions for the year to come. Time to get off of this safe rock midstream and venture onward. What lies beyond the bend?

Much has transpired since I stepped on that fateful rock that upended, dumping me into the deep, cold, swift waters of grief. There have been times when I felt devastated, alone, even forgotten, swept along by the current and ricocheting off of the rocks.

And there have been more times when I found a place to breathe, to rest, as someone stretched out a hand in aide. I have old friends with whom my relationship has deepened. I have new friends who brought messages of love and healing. All of these friends, and these experiences, are precious to me.

I myself have changed: I have consciously moved from the mindset of a victim of tragedy to that of a survivor, and I am reaching beyond, and beginning to thrive. I’ve adorned my body with one tattoo, and I have another one planned. I have grown closer to Spirit, and grown in my understanding of my Oneness with The Universe. I sing again. I play my ukulele. And I appear to have found my voice as a writer, or at least as a blogger! I’ve even learned how to make some pretty awesome apple butter!

It still boggles my mind how I have managed to come so far in so little time. Faith has been with me every step of the way; sometimes I have been aware of her presence, more often not. But her voice has continuously spoken from the back of my head, there whenever I asked “what would Faith have done?” She would not allow me to sit still, to linger in my darkest moments. Always she would push me forward, putting words in front of me that I needed to read, bringing people into my life with messages I needed to receive. The dark, the sadness would come, but it was always followed by light, and it was my trust in this cycle that gave me wings to fly. It was faith – my Faith – who brought back the joy.  

Turning my eyes to the coming year, I see Light. I see Hope. I see a continuation of my journey, stepping from one rock to another. But for now the rocks seem to be closer together, more stable and not so slippery. I may still slip or stumble on occasion, I may even get wet, especially if I focus my attention too much on the past or the future and forget to pay attention to where I’m putting my feet. Even so, I know that when this happens there will be another stable rock nearby where I can pull myself out of the water and dry off, basking in the light and warmth of the sun.

In the coming year I hope to speak less of my grief and more of my growth. I will cry, but I will also laugh. I will sing, I will continue my journey downstream in gratitude and wonder.

For now, though, I am content in the present moment. And I am grateful.

I am grateful for the roof over my head. I am grateful for my friends and family. I am grateful for the joy in my heart that sustains me even through the darkest nights. I am grateful for the light that comes in the morning. I am even grateful for my silly dog who makes me laugh!

And I am grateful for you, my readers, my friends, for following my rambling journey down this stream of life.

As the old year fades and the new year begins, I wish for each and every one of you blessings of peace, love, joy and laughter. May your year to come be filled with magic and wonder!

Do you like roller coasters? I still remember my first. I was probably around 12 years old and was spending a day with a new friend at Lakeside Amusement Park in Salem, Virginia. She persuaded me to get on the Shooting Star, a vintage wooden roller coaster. I rode, hands tightly clutching the bar in front of me, while my friend daringly raised her hands over her head. To my great surprise, I loved the thrill of that ride! The park was not busy that sunny afternoon, and we would jump off the coaster, race back to the beginning, and get right back on for another turn. I lost count of how many times we rode, but by the end of the day I was raising my own hands, not holding on, and thrilling in the excitement!

Sadly, Lakeside Amusement Park is gone now, but the memories of that summer afternoon and my first roller coaster will never fade!

I’ve ridden a number of roller coasters since then. My favorites were the Rebel Yell at Kings Dominion in Doswell, VA, the Loch Ness Monster at Busch Gardens: The Old Country in Williamsburg, VA, and of course the Cyclone at Coney Island Park in Brooklyn, NY! What fun! But these days, the roller coaster ride is different, and not so much fun.

Grief has a way of taking you by surprise. You can be cruising along, loving life and happy on the peak of the hill – and suddenly find yourself plunging downward, almost in freefall, into the dark pain of missing your loved one. The ride continues and you are tossed about by the gravity of the moment, until finally, gliding to a stop in the station, you find relief. But so often the exit to the ride seems to lead right back to the beginning, and the ride starts all over again.

Another way of looking at those highs and lows of the roller coaster ride is to consider them as opposites: high or low, happy or sad, light or darkness. On this day of the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year when darkness prevails with the longest night, I am reminded of a saying by the ancient poet Rumi:

“God turns you from one feeling to another and teaches by means of opposites, so that you have two wings to fly, not one.“

Can we truly know light if we have never known darkness? Can we understand happiness if we have never been sad? Appreciate health if we have never been ill? Can we know joy without having experienced despair?

It is in knowing and accepting all parts of life that we find our wings and take flight. My journey through grief has changed me, and it continues to do so as I find my wings and fly through this grand adventure called life. There will be ups and downs, there will be happy and sad, there will be grief – and there will be joy. As I see and accept the cycle of life, I watch the seasons change. Winter is here, but I know that Spring will follow. The long night is here, but dawn will most assuredly come. The roller coaster may carry me into the depths of grief, but it will also carry me to the heights of joy. I have wings, and I can fly.

On this darkest night, this Winter Solstice, may you look towards the light of dawn and find your own wings.

Come fly with me.

While I was driving the vanpool van home from the office earlier this week, I found myself in an odd emotional state. I was a bit sad, a bit lonely, a bit longing for something that was out of reach. Of course this was another facet of my grief, but the combination of feelings caught my attention. I found myself stepping back from the feelings so that I could understand just what was going on, and by the time I reached my own car I had found the perfect word to describe them: wistful.

wistful • \WIST-ful\ • adjective. 1 : full of yearning or desire tinged with melancholy

What I was feeling was a longing for Christmas’ past, and the child-like excitement and wonder that always accompanied the holidays. It’s missing this year, and for good reason. There is no pile of presents under the tree; there isn’t even a tree big enough to put anything under. There are no stockings hung by the chimney with care. There is no one to decorate with, or to watch old favorite Christmas movies with. It’s a very different holiday for me this year, and I’m working on creating new traditions to replace the old.

One new tradition, I think, will be the making of apple butter! I was able to locate all the proper ingredients, as passed on by Fred Campbell of Lowesville, Virginia, some years ago. The Piney River Volunteer Fire Department makes apple butter every fall as a fund raiser; theirs is the best ever. When I was able to get my hands on a jar of their apple butter I would treat it like liquid gold, making it last as long as possible. My supply ran out a couple of years ago, however, and there is nothing even remotely as tasty in this part of the country. But having found a supplier of Stayman apples and a bottle of cinnamon oil, I was finally ready to try my hand.

Traditionally, apple butter is made in a huge copper kettle over an open fire. It is stirred constantly using a large paddle at the end of a long pole; a pair of stirrers would stand well back from the fire and stir the apple butter in a figure-8 pattern: “Once up the side and twice down the middle, that’s the way you stir the apple butter kettle.” I, however, had to resort to my trusty crockpot, cooking apples for hours, adding sugar, and then cooking some more. Finally, I added the cinnamon oil, the “secret ingredient” that makes all the difference!

My friend and neighbor Bonnie came to help me with canning, and now I have a few jars of delicious apple butter set aside, waiting to be spread on hot buttered biscuits! It may not be Piney River Volunteer Fire Department’s finest, but I think it’s pretty darned good! Bonnie agrees…

Awareness is an interesting concept. When I became aware of what I was feeling, driving across Tularosa Basin that afternoon, I found myself centered, looking out at the feeling from a place of space and calm, owning it but not overwhelmed by it. First, I experienced the feeling itself. Then I became aware of what I was feeling. It wasn’t until I consciously realized I was noticing my feelings that I moved outside of the feelings themselves and into awareness. As J.Stewart Dixon,  author of Spirituality for Badasses: How to find inner peace and happiness without losing your cool, says: being aware that you are experiencing emotions, and not merely feeling them, is to recognize awareness.

And in recognizing awareness, you will find that difficult emotions become less overwhelming, and good emotions are enhanced as you are able to appreciate not only the moment itself, but the experience of recognizing the presence of that happiness, that bliss, that wonder.

As I think about wonder, that childlike appreciation for the magic of the moment, I realize that maybe it isn’t so far away as I thought:

The wonder of that burst of flavor, of the cinnamon and apples as I bite into a hot buttered biscuit slathered with apple butter still warm from the crockpot…

Or the wonder of an unexpected gift of words from a friend, acknowledging me and my contribution to their world…

Or simply the wonder of a smile and a conversation shared with a stranger at Farmer’s Market, and synchronicity discovered…

The wonder of you, my readers, my friends!

And as I experience these moments of wonder in conscious awareness, I wish for each of you the same  this holiday season: that you, too, experience awareness in your own moments of childlike wonder.

Here is one of my favorite Christmas songs: Star of Wonder, written and performed by The Roches:

Anticip…

(Wait for it…)

Have you ever been to see Rocky Horror Picture Show? In a crowded theater? If not, you are still considered a “virgin.” My virgin experience with Rocky Horror Picture Show was a midnight movie in the fall of 1979 at Georgetown’s Key Theater in Washington D.C. I’m not sure what I expected, but I know I was starting to wonder, standing in line outside watching men in fishnet stockings and women in gold sequined top hats parade about. And once inside…? To lose your “virginity” requires throwing toast, covering your head with newspaper while water pistols spray “rain” over the audience, waving your cigarette lighter overhead, talking back to the actors onscreen – and of course, doing the Time Warp!

It’s a cult film, and not for everyone’s tastes, but it was an experience I’ll never forget!

And in the words of Dr. Frank N. Furter,

(Wait for it…)

…pation!

Anticipation is defined as the act of looking forward. It implies a prospect or outlook that involves advance suffering or enjoyment of what is foreseen.

We spend much of our lives in anticipation of some future event. This time of year children are anticipating Santa Claus’ visit on Christmas Eve, and the wonders of full stockings and piles of presents under the tree. Adults might be anticipating the big Christmas party, or perhaps dreading the arrival of their in-laws. Some will be anticipating all the work and stress of preparing Christmas dinner, while others look forward to sitting down and enjoying the meal itself. At the beginning of the Polar Express movie, Hero Boy anticipates the discovery that Santa Claus doesn’t really exist.

What is interesting about anticipation is that we suffer or enjoy in advance only what we imagine the future will be; we cannot truly know that reality until it actually arrives. Rather than finding out Santa was fake, Hero Boy found himself caught up in a wild adventure that proved to him beyond a doubt that Santa really does exist; exactly the opposite of what he anticipated.

And there’s the rub. We spend so much of our time anticipating this or dreading that. It’s rare for the reality to live up – or down – to our expectations. More often than not, we’re disappointed when things aren’t as perfect as we hoped; or worse, we anticipate something that we fear, causing ourselves unnecessary pain and stress over what ultimately isn’t all that bad.

I’ve been guilty of just that, anticipating pain and loneliness, beginning on my birthday and lasting through the holidays. You may have read about it in my earlier blog “I hate my birthday.” I was dreading the day, anticipating loneliness and sorrow. Events, however, conspired to make my birthday quite different from what I had expected. Then, over the Thanksgiving holidays, a friend visited, and we enjoyed quiet companionship.

I’ve spoken as well of Christmas Eve, and how I will spend it alone for the first time in my recollection. I’ve decided to let go of the anticipation and allow the day to unfold however it will. I’ll prepare; I’ll make plans. But I will no longer imagine the feelings that may arise. Why cause myself pain today for an event that is still two weeks away? I’ll only rob myself of the experience of THIS day, blinding myself to all that may be good and worthy today.

Ram Dass said it well: Be Here Now.

And so that is my plan for the remainder of the holiday season. I will take it a day at a time, being present each day and not anticipating imagined pain. I will grieve, I am certain. But I will also find joy in the season, different though it may be, one day at a time.

And today? My house is decorated – in LEGO!

Enjoy…

 “Don’t be surprised at how quickly the Universe will move with you once you have made your choice.”

That message was recently given to me by a friend. I was rather out of sorts at the time; I had run across an image of four snowmen in stocking caps, and it so closely resembled one of Faith’s cherished Christmas decorations that I was immediately reduced to tears. Yes, it is the season of triggers, those little things that revive memories of past holidays: bittersweet memories, happy times enveloped in the sadness of loss. Triggers are inevitable in this season of celebration when you are grieving, and I know there will be more than one unexpected wave of sadness in the coming days.

On this occasion the sadness was magnified when I chose to turn on a Hallmark Christmas movie. In years past, Faith and I would tape each movie as it premiered, spending our evenings and weekends indulging in these sweet, predictable stories. This particular movie was named for and based on a song by country music artist Scotty McCreery: “Five More Minutes”. In the movie, the main character had recently lost her grandfather, and she wished for five more minutes to spend with him. Of course, as Hallmark movies go, her wish was granted; although not necessarily in the fashion she had anticipated.

By the end of the movie I was once again in tears. Hallmark is nothing if not the master of evoking emotion! This grief was sweeter, though, if such can be said. I was reminded of happy times that, even as I yearned for them, I could remember with fondness rather than a sense of deep loneliness and loss. And yes, I wished for my own five more minutes.

I was still out of sorts the next morning, and not in touch with my core of joy. That’s when I received the message about making a choice. Thank you, my friend!

Making a positive choice is a conscious act, not something that just happens. Each morning when I wake I can choose who I will be today. Will I be self-centered, disconnected, angry at the world and my circumstances? Or will I choose to be centered, joyful, grateful, and connected to Spirit? When we do not make a conscious positive choice we may in fact be unconsciously choosing to disconnect.

On that particular morning, I chose connection. I felt my spirits lifting, I felt myself vibrating at a higher frequency, connected once more to Spirit. And as I was making note of my choices, my phone pinged, delivering my daily Osho Zen card. Osho Zen is an oracle deck that Faith and I found not long before our ceremony of commitment all those years ago. We didn’t use it to forecast the future, but rather consulted the deck for insight into situations or life in general.

The card that my phone delivered? It was the same card that Faith and I drew four consecutive times in the weeks leading up to our ceremony of commitment. It was the card that we placed on the altar at our ceremony: The Lovers. Faith was reminding me that she is present with me always.

And the Universe moved with me.

And so today I choose. I choose to live, to be centered. I choose to be joyful even in the midst of grieving. I choose to give time to the sadness when it arises, but to continue moving forward in love and compassion. I choose to remain in touch with that core of joy that resides deep within. I choose to remember that I am Spirit in the flesh. I choose to be my best self. I choose ME.

What do you choose today?

I have officially made it through my first major holiday without Faith. It went pretty well, all things considered. A friend drove down from Albuquerque to stay a couple of nights, so I wasn’t alone. Another friend joined us for Thanksgiving dinner, and I spent time with even more friends later on in a zoom call. All in all, it was a nice holiday, although I was constantly aware of the presence of Faith’s absence.

My friend went home Friday afternoon, and by the evening I was pretty tired. I was worn out from not enough sleep, a lot of activity, and the undercurrent of grief that was there but mostly not acknowledged. I had been too busy for grieving!

It all caught up with me, though. At some point in the evening I started to feel an odd sense of disconnection. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to interact with my Facebook friends; I really didn’t want to do much of anything at all. I was disconnected from the world. It was rather disconcerting, and I still don’t fully understand it. I sat with the feeling, though, as I have learned to do, and allowed it to run its course.

And eventually, that strange feeling passed.

Saturday morning was oh so much better! I strolled through the Las Cruces Farmer’s Market (you must experience it if you ever visit Las Cruces), greeting strangers with smiles and chatting with my friends among the vendors. I even scored fresh kettle corn from a vendor who normally has a line 20 people deep waiting for his wares! I was connected to the world once again.

Connection is such a precious and important thing; it makes me feel alive. When I am connected, I am centered and comfortable; I am able to look beyond my own inquietude and focus outward. I see the world; I see everyone in it, and I feel love. Is this perhaps the key to compassion, to get out of your own head so that you can truly see another and be in their world with them?  There’s a thought for another day.

But I am not connected where Christmas is concerned. Now that Thanksgiving is done we are officially in the midst of the holiday season, in whatever tradition is yours to celebrate. I am finding it difficult to connect with joy in the season. Faith is not here; we celebrated this time of year together for so many years that it is hard to celebrate alone. Decorations will be minimal. I won’t be baking cookies. I won’t listen to much Christmas music. And all of that is okay. I am where I need to be, feeling what I need to feel. Maybe next year will be easier. Maybe not. And that is okay. It is all a part of my journey.

What I promise you, my friends, is that I can and will find meaning in observing YOUR joy in the season! Decorate that tree, light that menorah, burn that Yule log, sing those carols, and tell me of your most cherished traditions – whether it is something you’ve done for years or a brand new tradition you’re just starting!

I wish for you the most blessed and joyful of holiday seasons!