Tag Archives: Jennifer Louden

Wishcasting Wednesday

What do you wish to experience?

Swimming. I can’t. Well, I sort of can–I can keep myself from drowning for about three minutes, but it’s not pretty, and that’s what’s stopped me from learning, from relaxing into what I might already know–fear, of drowning, of dying, of being out of control and uncool. But, I wish to know what it feels like to glide through the water, to feel safe and confident there. And Jamie Ridler told me I have mermaid hair, so I think it’s required of me to know how to swim.

Performing, singing and playing my ukelele. I wish to take lessons for both and someday get on stage to sing and play my little heart out (but not all by myself, maybe as part of a band?).

I wish to experience being in a flash mob.

I wish to experience holding my published book in my hands. I’ve held it (them?) in my heart and my head and my notebooks and computer files for so long, I wish to manifest its full form, to share it. I wish to know what that feels like, being able to claim that I am a writer, an “author” in a way I’m not able to yet.

Spending a whole summer in Amsterdam. I still can’t really explain it, but I love this place, and I think spending the summer in a house boat or apartment in the center of town, walking or taking the train, shopping in the outdoor markets, visiting museums and writing in cafes, would be amazing.

Spending two months traveling around all of Europe.

Spending time in Japan. I’ve never been, but I love everything about it, the aesthetic, the mood. I’d find shrines and meditate, I’d take an Ikebana class from a master, I’d see the cherry blossoms and the maple trees and the cranes, I’d eat the food, see the people (trying not to stare or be rude), and I’d take a million pictures.

I wish to experience speaking another language fluently.

Leading a retreat. The more I think about it, dream and plan, the more of them I visit as an attendee or even do on my own, the more I wish to offer this to others, to give them the gift of being able to sink into practice, to soften and relax and open in a supportive and inspiring environment.

Teaching an ecourse. Another thing I am thinking of, dreaming and planning.

Teaching yoga and meditation. Along with writing, these two practices have benefited me so much that I want to be able to share them, to have the knowledge, skill and training necessary to do so effectively, ethically, and safely.

Finding my “thing,” my unique offering, and being a creative entrepreneur, being able to quit my paid work if I’d like.

Being able to make, sew, build, craft whatever I can imagine, and selling it in my etsy shop.

Making art and taking a workshop with Patti Digh.

Doing yoga and going on a retreat with Jennifer Louden.

Painting and yoga with Flora Bowley.

In person Wild Writing with Laurie Wagner.

Finding and making magic with Andrea Scher.

Hiking the Appalachian Trail (at least some of it) with Eric.

Having an urban farm. I wish to get my hands dirty, to tend the earth, to provide, feeding not just us, but having enough to share, and keeping animals and insects too, chickens and rabbits and bees and ladybugs. I would love to have a cow, but I wouldn’t be able to eat it.

I wish to experience healing, whatever form that might take.

I wish to experience complete self-love, acceptance, worthiness.

I wish to experience wholeness and wellness.

I wish to experience my life, all of the beauty and brutality it has to offer, the whole thing, all of it, and to know at the end that I made a difference, that I showed up with an open heart and was loved, that I mattered and was able to ease suffering in the world.

Leaving Home, Going Home

They say that home is where the heart is. I would agree with this, but the problem for me is half my heart lives in Oregon and the other in Colorado, with my body shuttling between the two. And yet, I don’t ever feel like I am living with half a heart, or carrying the ghost of another half, more like I have two full hearts residing in two different locations, but somehow still connected, like twins who can feel each others pain, sense what the other is experiencing.

This morning I discovered that other than the first day of July, when I correctly wrote “7-1-12” in my journal, I’ve been dating every entry with a “6” and thus giving myself a whole extra month of June. With the weather here at the coast never getting much warmer than mid-60s, you could almost believe in two Junes.

Cape Foulweather

But now it’s time to go back, to temperatures in the high 90s, to a place that was on fire when we left and is now in the thick of sadness, confusion, and anger brought on by another kind of tragedy. Yesterday, all I wanted to do was watch HGTV and sleep, which is rare. I hardly ever watch that much TV anymore–when I am “sick” maybe (too depressed and tired to get dressed and leave the house, barely able to get out of bed), but I haven’t been that for a long time now. This post from Jennifer Louden helped yesterday, “Ways to Channel Fear and Sadness,” reminded me of what I already know to be true. She ends the post with this: “We are human and fragile and afraid – together.  Never alone, my friend, never alone.”

Later in the day, I even found myself smiling a little.

There are a lot of lasts today: last full day at the beach, last sleep in this house, last farmer’s market, last serving of marionberry cobbler (*sob*). Walking on the beach this morning, talking about how this last month went by so fast (the kind of talk that always reminds me of this post on A Design So Vast, where Lindsey’s daughter says to her “When you’re in them, days take a long time.  But then when you look back they went really fast”–brilliant, and exactly…), I asked Eric “how do you get your life to slow down?”

Farmer’s Market this morning in Newport, our last one

Eric answered: less internet, less tv, less feeling like you have to be “on,” checking in and connected. I know from practice that slowing down is about relaxing into the moment, remaining present, surrendering, no judgement or rejection, no plans or control or even hope. Let go. Give up your agenda. Pay attention. Breathe. It’s simple, but we make it so hard.

South Beach, south of Newport, where we walked/ran this morning while being chased by 100 mosquitoes trying to eat us

Much love to you, kind and gentle reader. I have a post for tomorrow, but won’t be doing a Something Good list this week, as we’ll be on the road to Colorado, moving from this home to that one.