April Love prompt, “an inspiring person.” Susan Piver. She’s a tenderhearted, brilliant, wise writer, teacher, practitioner, friend, human being. I adore her. I want to grow up to be just like her, specifically in the way she’s been able to merge her practice and her work. We are both introverts, 4s on the Enneagram, Buddhists, practitioners in the same lineage, women, writers, teachers, so I feel like the ground is there, that it’s possible I could one day offer something as meaningful, as helpful as she has. In the meantime, as I work towards it, I look to her for inspiration. I get to do a virtual retreat with her today, and I’m so excited to see her, to listen to her wisdom, to practice with her.

April Moon prompt, “I wouldn’t call it a collection as such, but I do seem to have a lot of…” Oh, I’m a collector, a curator of things, so this isn’t just one item but a list of them.

I collect books and journals (which at first are blank, but eventually full of my mad scribbles), precious containers for words written and empty spaces for those to be written.

I collect seashells, rocks, and feathers. I try to tell myself that I don’t need to pick them up and take them home with me, and yet before I know it, they are in my pocket and then on the tiny altars I build everywhere.

I collect Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, and malas, all of them reminders of who I really am, instruments of practice and inspiration.

I collect pictures with birds. I hadn’t realized this until one day I just saw it, that so many of my pictures had a birds in them.

The Heart of Things by Christina Rosalie

I collect love notes from Eric, keep every note left on the kitchen counter, every letter and card. I always make him say “love you” when we part, so that no matter what ever happens, the last words we said to each other were that.

I collect divination tools, books and decks of cards.

I collect quilts. My aunt is a quilter, so that might be part of it, but that’s not all. Maybe it’s something in our DNA that is drawn to the color, the pattern, the comfort.

I collect keepsakes from my dogs — baby teeth, collars, toys, adoption documents, ashes, and pawprints.

April Love prompt, “my superpower”: Generosity. Attention, love, help, gifts. What I give always seems to find its way back to me, in tiny offerings and grand gestures — from a love note left on the kitchen counter to an entire jar full of every reason he loves me, from a half dozen fresh eggs to sitting with me as I cry about the news that my dog has cancer, from feeding me lunch to making me a beautiful mala, from leaving a blog comment or liking a Facebook post to making me a tiny precious book or writing me a letter.

April Moon prompt, “It’s the first thing that comes to mind when I wake in the morning and the last thing I think of before I go to sleep.” It’s sad that my response to this is in direct opposition to my superpower. I am a giver, but my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night are of lack — there’s not enough time, I’m not getting enough done, I need to do more, but I’m so tired, what about me? I’m stuck attempting to work the same faulty math problem, believing that if I’m not getting what I want, what I need, then I need to work harder, do more, earn it. Generosity in this way moves from sanity — an act of wisdom and kindness, a deep knowing of what is needed and how to provide it — to neurosis. It shifts the feeling in my chest from a light, open, warm radiance to a constricted jittery panic, a weight and tension that makes it difficult to focus, hard to breathe. I’m working to shift this story, but it’s an old and sticky one that’s dug itself in deep. I practice generosity towards it too, giving it space, being soft and gentle, allowing and accepting it as it is, knowing that it isn’t as solid as it seems.