balance

Woke up this morning very aware of being weary. This sensation is actually a 'good' weary in that it comes from using myself to move beyond old limitations and to practice using little flames of new courage. Yet, as good as that is, I am weary: weary rather than tired. I think of 'tired' as a result of running around and - doing doing doing -and to an extent we use ourselves when we are 'doing' but weariness is a bit different. Weary indicates that some part of myself - maybe a few parts - feel drained. Rest alone will fix 'tired'. Weary though needs to be refilled. As I am also aware that the next few days will be without respite- beginning tomorrow evening with a sale of my bracelets and running through next Tuesday with another 2 1/2 days away to work on the summer camp curriculum - I made the decision to go very slowly today and to have the greater percentage of day used to 'fill' me. Fill me with Spirit time.

To this end I increased my meditation time and added an hour to sit and color a mandala. When I color a mandala as meditation {rather than simply relaxation which they are also good for} I find that I am able to descend to a deeper level as the chatter in my mind subsides because I focus primarily on 'melding' my thoughts only as colors of creation. As the chatter recedes I find myself more open to the 'ministrations' of the Spirit.

Being ministered to by the great Spirit of life is precisely what I need right now in order to celebrate the enormous gifts I have received lately: the ability to create a new form of art with my own mandala design; the retreat in Prescott which at times had me feeling like a pinball as I bounced against 'obstacles' and pushed me to a new place of choice; being asked to do next years retreat; the decision to begin gathering a group of women with a friend of mine to explore what the Divine Feminine is; the writing of the summer camp curriculum ... I know there are more but my mind is a sieve today.

The point of all this {possibly a rambling all this!} is that new life is both magnificent and wearying and I've learned the hard way that we can neither live off the excitement of the new nor can we just keep barreling down the road running to see if another new thing is waiting for us. If we do not stop and take extra time to be filled up then we move to another kind of weary which is we become 'jaded.' Jaded is a world-weariness - it is an experience not so much of darkness as it is one of mono-chromatic blahness and impatient irritation and in my experience, when I become 'jaded' I begin to indulge my senses: eating, drinking, shopping, 'media' {movies, TV, computer} binging - all in an attempt to feel something 'good.' I don't wish to do that as then I'll just need to untangle myself from those experiences and to be honest, I do not want to waste either the time or energy having to do that.

I will stop my rambling here but I'd like to leave you a poem by Mary Oliver. The poem is titled Happiness and I chose it in order to remind myself that without balance - without taking extra time to be available to the ministrations of the Spirit - I am not able to experience being happy. Without being happy - serene and creative - I have nothing to extend to the world and then I just get lost in myself and how the world is reacting to that self. Trust me - it's a yucky place to end up!

Happy is always a result of balance in life for happiness is really nothing more than being able to be receptive to the Goodness that is all around each of us all the time. Receptivity requires that my interior-energy be renewed. I hope you enjoy the poem ... Mary Oliver always renews my Spirit.

Happiness

In the afternoon I watched
the she-bear; she was looking
for the secret bin of sweetness -
honey, that the bees store
in the tress' soft caves.
Black block of gloom, she climbed down
tree after tree and shuffled on
through the woods. And then
she found it! The honey-house deep
as heartwood, and dipped into it
among the swarming bees - honey and comb
she lipped and tongued and scooped out
in her black nails, until

maybe she grew full, or sleepy or maybe
a little drunk, and sticky
down the rugs of her arms,
and began to hum and sway.
I saw her let go of the branches,
I saw her lift her honeyed muzzle
into the leaves, and her thick arms,
as though she would fly -
an enormous bee
all sweetness and wings -
down into the meadows, the perfection
of honeysuckle and roses and clover -
to float and sleep in the sheer nets
swaying from flower to flower
day after shining day.

Ah - Mary Oliver truly understands that when we take time to 'dip into the honeyed sweetness' amid the 'swarming bees', truly we are then able to "sway from flower to flower - day after shining day."