Flow

One of my more interesting writing projects was to create the content for deschutespassage.com for Portland General Electric and the Confederated Tribes of Warm Springs. The site was designed to inform the public about the efforts to restore fish passage on the Deschutes River.

When the original dams were built on the Deschutes River in the 1960’s, they were designed to allow migrating fish to pass through. But what wasn’t well understood at the time was the three rivers feeding in to Lake Billy Chinook were very different in temperature. When the warm and cold waters met, it created a disturbance in the current, resulting in swirling eddies rather than a strong flow. Without a strong current, the fish simply couldn’t find the exit. The current project involves building an underwater tower to properly mix the warm and cold water, creating a strong current that guides the fish to exit.

It’s a perfect metaphor for my life these past months. I’ve been running around, putting out fires, meeting urgent needs and just trying to keep up with outside demands. My energy has been scattered, “swirling eddies,” with no focus or purpose other than to just get through it all.

But when I started focusing my attention on “extraordinary collaboration,” it was as if a huge wind swept through my life, clearing away everything that didn’t belong there.

Yesterday I finished the last project. This morning I could just feel all the parts of my life start to line up and point in the same direction. I can feel the energy, the spirit, the life force of the universe flowing through me again. This time I can actually see the resources of the universe heading my way.

Funny—while I was thrashing about, I kept trying to “make things happen.” But when I stopped and simply allowed myself to line up with the flow of energy, things started falling into place. I even got a new contract today. Amazing!

Intention

I’ve long been familiar with the idea that if you state what you want clearly enough, it will manifest in your life. I think the part that always tripped me up was the “what I want” piece. It always sounded so egotistical, so self-centered. I also knew that my own vision was limited—“what I want” didn’t seem adequate to address the needs I saw around me.

Yesterday I picked up Wayne Dyer’s book “Manifest Your Destiny” and I’m gaining new insights.

If you were to zoom in on an object and see it with a powerful microscope, you’d see the molecular structure of the object. Zoom in further and you see the atoms themselves. Zoom in again and you see the parts of the atom – proton, neutron, electron. Zoom in further and what you see is pure energy. Everything around us, at its fundamental level, is pure energy. We are all made up of the same stuff. We—all of creation—are literally one.

I’ve read this from so many sources over the years, but somehow this time it stuck. All I need to do to create something in my life is to manifest a part of me that has been hidden.

As I sat under a tree this morning, I realized that stating my intention is an essential part of the process. Yes, my vision is limited. Yes, I don’t always know exactly what I want or even what is good for me. But this is a collaboration with my soul. When I state my intention as clearly as I see it now—and stay open to being guided—my soul leads me on the way.

But if I just sit there and say “I dunno,” nothing happens. My soul can’t guide me. A ship that is dead in the water can’t be steered.

So I make a beginning. I state what I want to achieve as clearly as I can. I listen for guidance and I act as if it had all been accomplished. In the process I gain more insight, see more clearly, glimpse a broader vision. Then when I sit down under my tree tomorrow, I have a more defined intention. I can state it more clearly. And the cycle begins again.

Discourse

Listening to the national conversation, it is clear that we are in desperate need of a better way of interacting with one another. We’ve become so polarized that we talk right past each other.
Indeed, what is the nature of discourse, of dialogue?

• Listening – When I listen for the truth in what the other person is saying, I am humbled. Not one of us knows everything. And no one is completely devoid of truth. We each have a piece of the picture. When we listen, really listen, we discover those gems of truth in each other and in ourselves. It is that open-minded search for truth that allows us to see what is right in front of us.
• Courage – Very often, the truth is not comfortable. It requires me to look at myself, to examine my motives and face my own prejudices. This is not easy work. But it is essential. We cannot make progress if we cling to our old preconceptions.
• Compassion – It is so easy for me to become impatient with others’ blindness. I want to pick people up and shake them so they see. But then I realize that I, too, am blind. And in danger of hardening my heart. So I step over to where they are standing and look at the world from their point of view. Amazingly enough, their argument makes sense from that vantage point. And then when I look beyond the current conversation to the experiences that built us, I realize how much we have to overcome. I take a deep breath and seek a way to bridge the gap. 
• Time – It takes time to listen and to think. It’s not easy to examine my own views and honestly seek to understand the views of others. Yet we live in a world that is speeding up—everything must be done NOW. It takes fortitude to resist that pull to rush things. Building understanding is essential to our progress on this planet. And the stakes are getting higher. We may yet discover that our very lives depend on our ability to slow down and really look at what is.
• Letting go – Sometimes, for whatever reason, it’s just not possible to bridge the divide between people. Or maybe it’s not the right time. Whatever it is, I’m learning there’s a point at which I must simply let go. Perhaps the right opportunity will come later, but for now it is time to wish the person well and move on.

We have so much potential, we human beings. And our current trials provide us with an amazing opportunity. It’s up to us how we respond. Do we continue to argue? Or do we seek to understand and start building together?

Ducklings

When my daughter was in kindergarten, she learned a song about five ducklings. Each day the ducks would go out and play and each day fewer would return, until finally there were none. Then…

Sad Mommy Duck went out one day

Over the fields and far away.

Sad Mommy Duck called

“Quack, quack, quack.”

Five little ducks came running back!

The song hit me square in the heart and brought tears to my eyes. I had no idea at the time I’d have a hand in making it come true.

Yesterday was a Baha’i Holy Day, so my daughter (now 10) had the day off of school. We went into town to meet some friends for lunch. As we pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, a mother duck and her ducklings were crossing the driveway. They didn’t pay any attention to the car and, even though we beeped the horn a couple times, we had to creep into a parking space to avoid hitting them.

We were a little early, so we decided to take a walk before lunch. As we got out of the car, though, I kept watching the ducks. They were acting so strangely. The babies were scattered all over and the mother was just wandering around.

Then I heard it—another kind of chirp, frightened and distressed. We looked all around, but couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Then I saw the grate over the storm drain. Sure enough, trapped inside were two little ducklings, scrambling and jumping, trying to get out.

I tried to lift the grate, but it didn’t budge. I looked at the mother duck, quacking desperately for the babies she could hear but not see. There had to be a way to help. I tried the grate again and finally it moved. Between the two of us, we lifted up the grate and I knelt down and scooped out the babies. The mother immediately gathered her brood and headed off.

Later, when our friends came into the restaurant, they told us of the mother duck’s run-in with a crow. The crow kept trying to get her babies—swooping down when one would stray off. But the mother called her ducklings and kept them close. The crow landed right in front of her. She and her brood swerved around it. Eventually the crow gave up and flew off.

Two disasters averted within 15 minutes. What courage and dogged persistence to keep her babies safe!

During lunch I watched the mothers of toddlers, ever watchful, getting a bit to eat in the odd moment when the children were occupied. I listened to the mother of an emerging teenager and the struggle for independence. I looked at my own daughter and at all we’ve gone through together.

What an enormous effort goes into raising our youngsters—ducklings and humans alike. We pour our hearts into them and are, ourselves, transformed in the process. There is indeed nothing more precious, more fundamentally life-altering, than a child.

Bless them, every one.

Into the Woods

I went into the woods today, my thoughts churning with unresolved problems. I tramped up the hill… and stopped. A bed of violets spread out purple and green before me—my grandmother’s favorite flower.

I hiked and hiked and hiked. The breeze caressed my face and I slowed down. The smell of spring, the song of the birds…

I stopped under a Sequoia tree. Huge and old and solid. Generations upon generations have brought their problems here. The Sequoia has heard it all. Suddenly my own problems didn’t seem so big. I looked up and saw these giants swaying in the wind. So solid from the ground, but dancing at the top.

I walked on. Water, ivy, paths and roads. Deep carpeted forests. Light networks of branches, luminous leaves glowing new green in the sunlight.

This has all been here long before me. Whatever I must face today will pass and another challenge will come. And the forest will remain. Quietly breathing. Reminding me to do the same.

Umoja

When I was living in Chicago, I discovered the Fleetwood-Jourdain Theatre, the local African-American community theatre. They put on some wonderful productions. I saw one play there and it made me so homesick for the theatre experiences I had in high school, that I stopped by one day to see if I could help out. I was a bit nervous, being a white girl from po-dunk rural Oregon, but I went anyway.

The troupe was rehearsing Sophisticated Lady, a collection of Duke Ellington’s music. One of the guys was performing his tap dance number and apparently the rest of the cast hadn’t seen it before. He was fantastic! Afterwards, two of the girls held their hands over his shoes like they were sizzling hot. I was hooked.

Gwethalyn Bronner, the director, gave me the job of manning one of the spotlights. What a perfect vantage point to see the show!

Dress rehearsal was just a few weeks later. It was Saturday and we planned to run through the show twice. Everyone got into place and we did the first run-through. It was a bit rough in spots, but not bad, really.

But it was clear Gweth wasn’t satisfied. “Okay everyone, it’s time for an Umoja Circle.” A what?

We all gathered in one of the rehearsal rooms—cast, crew, musicians, everyone—and formed a circle holding hands. Gweth explained, to those of us who hadn’t been there long, that umoja is Swahili for “unity.” It’s one of the principles of Kwanzaa, the celebration of African history and culture that occurs around Christmastime.

Then we started chanting “Umoja means unity.” As we chanted, Gweth described her vision for this play—what she saw in it and what she saw in us, what we could accomplish when we all put our hearts into it. Around the circle we went, each person given a chance to share their thoughts, their vision, a prayer, a poem, whatever was on their mind.

When everyone had had a chance to speak, Gweth led the chanting louder and louder until it erupted into a huge cheer. I turned to the guy next to me, one of the musicians, and suddenly there was a connection between us. We saw in each other’s eyes that we were part of something greater than ourselves and we knew the other person would give it their all.

And we did. It was already 9pm when we started the second run-through. This time it was a show! The air crackled with the energy of engaged hearts, unified in a single purpose. And that energy carried through the entire run of the show. Every performance started with an Umoja CIrcle and ended up being a celebration of life and the power of the human spirit.

Seminal cells

In her book, The Soul of Money, Lynn Twist describes the process by which a caterpillar transforms into a butterfly. At first the caterpillar lives a pretty normal life, crawling around and chewing leaves. Then at a certain point, it develops a voracious appetite and eats everything in sight. Eventually it stops and encases itself in a cocoon. We all know this from 4th grade biology.

But here’s the surprising part. Inside the caterpillar are particular cells—seminal cells—that know how to make a butterfly. Eventually they find one another and start working together. The caterpillar then becomes the nutritional soup from which the butterfly is formed.

When we look at the world, we see the same thing happening. Modern society, with its voracious appetite, is consuming everything in sight—forests, seas, land, air. We are barraged with constant messages to buy more, have more, spend more.

But here and there, individuals and groups are catching a glimmer of what a sane society could look like—dynamic and peaceful, prosperous and sustainable. Slowly they are finding one another and starting to work together.

These “seminal cells” are finding out what they love to do and what they are passionate about. They are harnessing that energy to create new ideas, new structures, new ways of doing things. They put their hearts and souls into the work. And they attract resources as a result: like-minded people, contacts, partners, ideas, conversations, tools, material means. They are collaborating with those around them and coming up with creative solutions and new ways of looking at the world.

These people are under no delusions about the state of the world. They know things are in bad shape. But they have decided they can and will do something about it.

Mr. Brown

My high school drama teacher, Dana Brown, was amazing. Actually he had already moved away before I even got to high school, but I still claim him as my teacher.

You see, I grew up in a town of about 580 people in Western Oregon. The biggest entertainment was the high school football games. One year the stadium blew down in a storm and the whole town got together and built a new one. Sports were the big draw, not art.

Along came Mr. Brown.

I have no idea how he did it, but he gathered people from all the neighboring small towns and created community theatre like we’d never seen. These were full-scale, quality productions.

In Fiddler on the Roof, he convinced the local sheep farmer’s wife to be the Fiddler, and taught her to walk backwards and fiddle at the same time. The mild-mannered wife of the middle school principal was the ghost in Yente’s dream, screaming like a banshee.

In the Wizard of Oz, the sheep farmer’s daughter played Dorothy. The Lion was played by the Agriculture teacher and he was hilarious. The social studies teacher played the Tin Man and his wife played Glenda, the good witch. My sister and I got to get in on that one—she played a Munchkin and I played a winged monkey. We would dance and sing all the way home from rehearsal.

It was an extraordinary experience. And poignant too. My sister ended up in the hospital with a serious medical condition a few days before the show opened. So the entire cast and crew showed up at the hospital to cheer her up. Dorothy came in full costume.

It was amazing to see the level of professionalism and dedication these people put forth. Who knew this cluster of small towns had such hidden talent?

But really, I think the talent was Mr. Brown’s. He took a ragtag group of ordinary people who had never been on a stage in their lives and helped us see the light shining within us. He showed us that we are capable of so much more than we imagine. And when we work together, we can make magic.

Speaking the Truth

Today’s lesson in extraordinary collaboration is “speak the truth.” I’m not talking about not lying—that’s a given. I’m talking about saying what is true even when it’s difficult and no one really wants to hear it.

I’m dealing with a situation where people are not being treated honorably, myself included. It has taken a lot of private ranting and reflecting and self-examination to be able to sit down and clearly describe what is going on and how it affects those involved. And what I choose to do about it.

Speaking the truth is not easy. It is not a license to lash out in anger. Anger only obscures the message.

It is a process of sorting through my own experience and determining what are the facts and the principles, and what are my own reactions and biases.

It requires me to scrutinize my motives and make sure I am speaking with the purpose of shedding light on an issue, rather than exacting revenge.

Speaking the truth means choosing my words wisely and stating those facts and principles as clearly and succinctly as possible.

It also requires action. Once I speak the truth, what am I going to do about it? What action am I going to take to correct the situation?

And it requires detachment. My job is to state the truth as clearly as I can and then let it go. It does not matter how people respond. If I’ve done my job well, the truth will find it’s way to the ears of those who can hear it.

Under a tree

I’m developing a workshop around the idea of ‘extraordinary collaboration’ and it’s turning out to be an amazing journey. Yesterday I decided to just take some time and reflect on the concept. So I grabbed my old foam kneeling pad from the gardening supplies and headed to the orchard to sit under a tree.

A noisy plane flew overhead. It seemed appropriate somehow—the noise and commotion of the everyday world had my thoughts in an agitated jumble. So I sat and waited until the noise died down. Then I heard birds. All kinds of birds, busy with their flurry of spring nest building. As I listened, my thoughts quieted and I could hear their different voices. Two crows flew overhead.

When my mind was calm, I turned my focus to the idea of extraordinary collaboration. I mentally placed the phrase in the space in front of me and watched to see what would happen. Snow began to fall. (Snow! In April, no less.) I listened to the flakes land on the leaves and on my jacket.

Suddenly I realized—this is collaboration too! Extraordinary collaboration is nothing new. It’s how nature works. Rain (or snow) falls and nourishes the earth. The sun shines and warms the soil. The earth nourishes the plants, which feed the animals and the people. Birds scatter seeds and build nests. Animals harvest the plants and nourish the soil. All of nature is extraordinary collaboration. It’s how the world works. We don’t have to invent it—it’s in our very blood and bones. We just have to remember and tap into it, bring forth this collaboration in our own lives.

I realized too, that sitting still is a part of the process. When I sit still long enough to let my thoughts settle, I can start to hear what my soul is saying.

A lot of the work of putting together this workshop is very active work—developing the concept, creating the activities, finding participants. But there’s an essential part of this process that is very quiet. It’s about sitting still and listening for what needs to come next. This is extraordinary collaboration too—collaboration with one’s own soul.

White

White

• Purity
• Cleanness
• Clarity
• Hygiene
• Sterility
• Simplicity
• Sophistication
• Efficiency

I woke up this morning to snow—in March. It was so beautiful! When I went for my walk, I was amazed at how much a dusting of snow gives definition to the landscape. Rather than a mass of branches, I could see each individual twig, every flower. Every groove and tractor track in the field showed up as the white blanket cast shadows that brown never can.Daffodils drooped under their little white night caps.

The whiteness and the hush always amazes me. Even though the road was clear, and the cars rumble along, still… It’s as if the world pauses for a moment to just breathe.

I watch my busy life as I rush to get things done and I realize how much I am missing. Yesterday I was too busy to feed my soul. By the end of the day, I just felt awful. Today I chose to take the time and just walk and look and listen.

I feel much calmer. Things are more in perspective. I still get caught up in negative thinking, but I catch it earlier. And I’m realizing how poisonous it is, how different I feel when I focus on color and light and joy and laughter. And new fallen snow.

Pink

Pink

• Physical tranquility
• Nurturance
• Warmth
• Femininity
• Love

I’m a tomboy, so pink is not the first thing I pick up. But this morning the daphne bloomed, with its delicate pink flowers and heavenly scent. Now that’s a pink I can appreciate.

Pink is nurturance and warmth. I tend to just see the caricature of pink—the brassy pinks, the gaudy pinks. But becoming a mother, I’ve learned pink’s richness and its depth. There is nothing in the world like holding a baby in your arms and rocking her to sleep. In nurturing this child, I nurture myself. I find wells of gentleness and quiet I didn’t know I had.

As the years have passed, I realize that I tend to get busy and occupied with the world. I pass by those nurturing moments without really noticing. It takes care and attention to stop and cherish those experiences, to allow that nurturing warmth to feed our souls and cheer our hearts. And when I do, I see more deeply the richness of my life that is always there.

Red

Red

• Stimulation
• Masculinity
• Excitement
• “Fight” or “Flight”

Red, the physical color. The color of the heart and body. I don’t see much red around me right now—it’s still late winter/early spring. Too early for the tulips.

But the last week or so, I’ve been focusing on my heart. Clearing out the cobwebs, clarifying issues, speaking truths that need to be spoken. And I feel my heart becoming lighter, clearer, strong and beautiful.

Red is also the body and I’ve been working on exercise. I can tell the difference when I miss a few days. Here again, it’s the heart—getting my blood pumping, fresh air in my lungs. And I feel my muscles getting stronger. The more I exercise, the more I enjoy it and the more active I become. What seemed like hard work is now easy and I’m ready for the next challenge.

Red is excitement and stimulation. Coming out of winter, I’ve been rather subdued, but I can see that red energy coming. It’s a different energy from the creativity of yellow. Red is the buzz of a country fair, a swashbuckling pirate movie, rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. The thrill of a roller coaster.

Red is strawberries, tomatoes, cherries and apples. If you try to eat them out of season, they are bland and tasteless. But in their right time, they explode with flavor. There’s nothing quite like that first really ripe strawberry of early summer.

Feeding my soul

It’s March. Tomorrow the Fast starts. I realized this morning that I tend to think more about food during the Fast than at any other time. I feel like I need to make a sturdy breakfast in the morning and make sure I have solid dinner at sunset.

But the whole point of the Fast is to focus on my spiritual development, to nourish my soul. So I decided this year I’m going to put my energy into feeding my soul first and let the food take care of itself.

So what feeds my soul?

• Being out in nature
• Music
• Sewing something beautiful
• Color
• Sunshine
• Gardening
• Being of service
• Connecting to Baha’u’llah
• Singing
• Loving
• Bringing joy and hope to people’s hearts
• Encouraging the people around me

I’ll bet you could live forever on food like that!

Orange

Orange

• Physical comfort
• Food
• Warmth
• Security
• Sensuality
• Passion
• Abundance
• Fun

Orange is not the first color I pick, usually. But I’m learning to appreciate it more. Yesterday I saw the new growth on the trees—long orange tips of exuberant life in a leafless landscape. And off on a distant hill, the orange branches of the berry field gleamed against the green of the grass. New life is popping out all over.
There’s the warm orange glow of a fireplace on a cold winter night. And all the wonderful orange things we eat—citrus in winter, apricots in summer, squash in the fall. Such a rich, warm abundance.

Orange is not my strong suit, but I know people who do it well and I treasure them dearly. They bring such a friendliness and abundance and energy into the world. Every single one of these people cheer me  on, no matter how tough things get. They are deeply caring people and get along easily with just about anybody. They value those who are different from themselves and the unique gifts they bring.

This is the thing that continually amazes me—these colors and qualities are everywhere. Even in the areas where I’m weakest, I’m surrounded with people who have those qualities and I learn so much from them. And to be honest, it’s rather a relief to know that I don’t have to be everything. That’s why we need each other. We bring different gifts to the table. When we learn to value those differences, we’ll be able to accomplish so much more.

It’s all about love

I bought some fabric the other day to make summer clothes—in beautiful greens and purply blues. An elegant print with some solids to go with it. It all just worked and I was very excited to get started.

Saturday, when I sat down to sew, I kept battling a nagging doubt that this is all so frivolous—it’s just clothes. But then I pictured myself giving a workshop wearing these colors and what a calm and reassuring effect it would have on me and those around me.

In the process, I realized one more thing—it’s all about love. The love I put into making these garments has an influence. The love I put into creating the workshop has an influence. And love has this magical quality of spilling out into everything else.

When I am doing what I love, my whole being changes. My interactions with others are more caring and gentle. There’s a lot more room to just accept what is happening for them. To just accept what is happening for me. And know that everything will work out.

Love is like the oil in an engine—it lubricates the parts and eases the friction. Soon all the pieces are working together smoothly again. A deep happiness settles in. A happiness that knows that all is right with the world. No matter what the challenges ahead, we will find a way to work it out.

These are not just clothes. Just look at how much I’ve learned and I haven’t even cut the fabric yet!

Yellow

Yellow

• Emotional strength
• Friendliness
• Creativity
• Confidence

Today I focused on yellow and the robins showed up. Okay, okay, robins aren’t yellow, but their beaks are.

Seriously, it was the most amazing thing. I went to my favorite spot beside the young cedar tree and just gazed out over the field. Suddenly I heard rustling behind me and two robins came scuttling out from under the hedge. They were a bit surprised to see me there and watched me suspiciously for awhile, heads cocked to one side. But when I didn’t move, they lost interest and got to work looking for breakfast among the furrows of the field. Surely spring is on its way.

I caught a glimpse of crocuses as I drove through town the other day. We live up on a hill, so things take longer to bloom out here. I haven’t seen the daffodils open yet, but their buds are just about ready to burst.

Yellow. Creativity. I wake up the in the mornings and the air is clear and the birds are singing and my head is full of ideas. I bought fabric the other day and can’t wait to get started on creating something beautiful to wear.

It’s amazing to me how powerful and wonderful these natural rhythms and cycles are. When I started this process a couple weeks ago, focusing on the colors one by one, it was still winter—cold and wet and dark. Yellow felt exhausting to me. But since then I’ve freed myself from a couple burdens that were weighing me down and I feel much lighter, more whole. At the same time, the sun has come out, the world is waking up and spring is sending out it's early call. Yellow just seems like the perfect color for all this renewed energy.

Clear

Yesterday I went out walking and realized that perhaps the most important color is no color at all. It’s the color of air, the absolute clearness that allows us to see all the colors in front of us. Imagine if the air was blue—we couldn’t see a thing.

It’s so amazing that air surrounds us and sustains us, yet is completely invisible to us.What is the color of the wind? Only when air takes on a color—yellow smoke, gray fog, white blizzard—do we realize how much we need it to be clear.

Just look at what clear gives us. Through its transparency, we can see every color of the rainbow. Every blade of grass, every blossom,feather and twig.

“Clear” is just as important for our inner sight. When my vision is not colored by emotion or by what I want, I see the situation more clearly. I see what is actually happening, rather than what I want to happen. I see my own motives and actions and I can choose a wiser path. I see what is happening for the people around me and can respond better, rather than with knee-jerk reactions.

Ironic, isn’t it? Without the absence of color, we could never see the colors themselves.

Purple

Purple

• Spiritual awareness
• Vision
• Authenticity
• Truth
• Quality
• Containment
• Luxury

I’m putting together a team of people to work on content for our local Baha’i website. I was a little nervous about the first meeting—getting all the people together, getting us all on the same page, etc. So I started thinking about what qualities I needed for this work. The first thing that came to mind was purple, the spiritual color.

As I focused on the purpose and vision of this project, I realized that it’s all about connection—connecting people with each other, connecting to the Source of all things. We need to inspire ourselves and become channels for that love to flow through us. What are the stories that inspire us? Stories of love and service and transformation. Personal stories of triumph and insight, of overcoming obstacles and rising above limitations. That’s what we need to focus on.

Purple. The color of inspiration and insight. And it’s through story and song that we tap into these treasures.

Purple. It comes as no surprise to me that the first flowers I saw this spring were purple. Cheery little primroses in my neighbors yard. Yet another inspiration that keeps me going as winter settles back into cold, rainy weather once again.

Green

Green

• Restoration
• Reassurance
• Environmental awareness
• Equilibrium
• Peace 

I went for a hike today. It was one of those exquisite February days in Oregon when the sun comes out, the earth warms up and the birds sing their hearts out. The whole world seems to heave a sigh of relief—spring will come. Winter won't last forever.

Everywhere I looked I saw green. Fir trees, ferns, moss and ivy—all the evergreens. But there were new buds too. And carpets of new young plants covering the forest forest floor. Daffodils were pushing their points up through the earth. And snowdrops shining in the sun.

February is such an extraordinary time. It's no longer the dead of winter. There's actually sun and warmth. Not the biting cold sun of January, but warmth on your face, a kiss of spring. Yet it is still winter and chilly in the mornings as I watch my breath hang in the air. It's a time when the world starts stirring, getting ready for that burst of energy that is spring.

Spring - such a meaning-laden word. February feels like growing tension on a coil, turning the crank on the Jack-in-the-Box until suddenly it bursts through the door with blossoms and birds and busy-ness.

Gray

Gray. The psychologically neutral color. And yet there are so many flavors of gray. Sure, we all know the depressing gray of a rainy day. But there's the ephemeral gray of fog stealing between the trees at dawn. The solid gray of rock and stone. The delicate green-gray of lichen growing on the bare tree branches. There's the dramatic grays of a stormy sky. The soft gray of a mouse's fur.

Even that gray rainy day has many different qualities. Sometimes it's a soft gray mist. Sometimes it's a driving downpour. But isn't it odd that we think of rainy days as depressing when this is the water that nourishes us all? That gray is pretty important. Besides, those rainy days make it even more delicious to come inside to a warm house.

There are dark grays and light grays, silvery grays and purpley grays. Hard as steel, crumbly as concrete, solid as a rock. Soft as fur, a wisp of smoke, a fleeting mist.

As I am discovering with all these colors, gray was just gray before. But there's so much more to it.

Letting go of yellow...

I'm at the point where I need to pass on some of my volunteer responsibilities. When I started these jobs, my workload was pretty light. That's no longer the case.

As I started thinking about handing off one particular job, my brain immediately filled with all kinds of ideas about how to make it better, all the things that need to be done before I hand it off, how to manage it after I hand it off, and on and on - a flurry of bright yellow sparks of creativity. It was exhausting.

Then I remembered I've been trying to focus on the qualities of brown - groundedness, support, earth, the restoring hibernation of winter. This isn't the time for "busy" energy. This is the time for rest and reflection. So I visualized gathering all those bright yellow idea sparks and bringing them back into a seed and a pot of soil and then handing them off to someone else. Then I could let go.

That was my problem! I wasn't willing to let go and let someone else take over and be creative about the job. Once I brought it back to "seed and soil," I felt much calmer. I can do this. I can hand it off and let someone else make it grow.

This focus on colors is so amazing to me. It is helping me see more clearly the natural rhythms of life and how I get myself out of whack. There's a season for things. This is the season for reflection and restoration. The season for creating and growing is coming, but it's not here yet. When I'm out of sync with my natural rhythm, I feel like I spin my wheels and waste so much energy. Seeing the world through colors, I understand more quickly what those rhythms are and what I need right now.

Brown

Brown

• Seriousness
• Warmth
• Nature
• Earthiness
• Reliability
• Support 

It's fascinating to me how the colors flow into one another. I'd decided to focus on each color in turn and picked green next. I felt like I needed peace and equilibrium. But I just couldn't focus on it. Then I realized—I'm still in winter. Everything is underground. But at the same time, I can feel things stirring under the soil. Seeds moving in their sleep, dreaming of great things to come. Seeds are brown, the soil is brown, yet they produce all the green things around us. Green comes from brown. I wonder what brown is?

Brown is seriousness, warmth, nature, earthiness, reliability and support. Hmm. That does sound good. I could use some warmth and groundedness right now. Maybe it's brown I need and the green will come out of it.

Oh! The soil is rich brown and alive. It's the soil time of year. Last year's grass has died down and this year's grass is just starting to grow, so patches of earth show through. Brown is the earth, from which all things arise. It's the rich brown soil. It's the foundation, the state of potential, the seed.

That's where I'm at right now. Dormancy. The sleep of life. All things are quiet, resting, preparing for spring. Building, storing, collecting energy for the new burst of life when the sun warms up and spreads its smiles across the landscape. For now, though, it's rest, connection, groundedness. Touching the earth and knowing it is solid.

Brown is warmth and sturdiness. It is the trunks of trees and the twigs and the branches. It's what gives our world structure. It is our support. It's the wood we frame our houses with, the strength of our furniture. It's the solidness under our feet and the bones of the trees that reach for the sky.

What an incredible color brown is!

Blue

Blue

• Intelligence
• Communication
• Trust
• Efficiency
• Serenity
• Duty
• Logic
• Coolness
• Reflection
• Calm

I've decided to try an experiment and focus on each of the colors in turn. I've been reading about the psychology of color and find it fascinating. I want to see what happens when I really turn my attention to a particular color. So I decided to start with blue.

The first thing I noticed were the clouds at dawn—a deep cobalt blue. I even saw a patch of blue sky. The mountains were a deep blue as well. What a sense of joy this color brings! Blue is not a sad color at all, but full of hope and promise. In the midst of a cold winter day, that glimpse of blue sky brought memories of sunshine and summer.

The heavens are blue and lift my sight upwards. I feel my vision is expanding. So much seems possible when I see the blue sky.

Today I need to bring blue to my work—calmness, efficiency, communication and intelligence. And discipline. Any new requests will have to wait in line. I've got enough to do already.

If I had all the blue qualities I needed, what would I do next?

• Organize my day and schedule any new demands for a later time.
• Set a policy for turn-around time.

How would blue help me solve today's challenges?

• I'd feel like I'm more on top of things and have a plan.

*****

It worked! I was able to get through my work today and not feel so scattered and chaotic. I got a lot done and I actually do feel more on top of things. In fact, I was able to get started on one of those 'headache' projects I'd been putting off and it doesn't seem so enormous now.

I wonder what the next color will bring?

What is prayer?

I'm trying to live my life from the inside out, to delve in and find the pith of life and live it authentically. I've never been one for surface talk and chit-chat. I'm on a journey, a quest for what is real and meaningful and to live from there. It's a spiritual journey.

One of the questions I've been pondering is "what is prayer?" Why? Because I feel a deep connection to something deeper and greater than what I see with my eyes. I'm searching for the words to describe what I experience.

My "church" right now is the young cedar tree down the lane. I go there in the mornings, next to the field, and just watch and look and listen. Sometimes I'm very quiet and reflective. Other times I feel my soul stirred by the breeze and the fresh air in my lungs and my heart just bursts out singing. A huge wave of joy and gratitude and love washes over me.

That's the key—love! When I kiss my daughter goodnight, that's a prayer. When I hug my husband, that's a prayer. When I pour my heart into my work and render a service, that's a prayer.

Prayer is the flow of love. It flows to us, through us, surrounds us. It connects us to mysteries beyond our comprehension. And to the living, breathing people standing right in front of us. It opens our minds and cheers our hearts. It nourishes our souls and calls them to dance.

So often I approach prayer as a requirement, a duty. But it's so much more than the "murmur of syllables and sounds." It is the music of the soul, the breath of life, a connection to all that is and to the life-force that animates the universe.

Life Force

When I come to my stillness spot by the cedar tree, it takes awhile for the mental chatter in my mind to settle down. I breathe the fresh air into my lungs and I just watch and notice and listen. Each day is different—foggy, rainy, sunny.

Lately when I come to the cedar tree and my mind becomes quiet, I feel an exhilarating joy sweep over me. I feel connected to the earth and the trees and the birds, yes. But this is something deeper. It's like the wind—invisible, yet felt, stirring all things and filling them with song. Yet, even as I listen to the winding singing through the trees, I realize it's much deeper than that. It is the force that moves the stars and fires the sun. Deeper, more subtle, more inexplicable than anything I can imagine.

In that moment when my mind quiets, I feel that energy thrill through me and I know I am alive.

Restoring creativity

I've been practicing stillness in the mornings for a couple weeks and now I feel impatient - "Okay, enough of that. Time to get on with it." This stillness is hard. I know it's valuable, but I just don't want to do it. I want to get things done. So what would I have once I get everything done?

• Satisfaction
• An orderly environment
• A chance to create

Ah yes! Create. And that comes from stillness too. Oh my goodness! I am trying to get things done in order to allow enough stillness in my life to be able to create. I've always approached it this way - "get the work done first and then you can play." But these couple weeks, I've turned it on its head. I've been working on stillness first and then I go and get the work done. And the work is getting done.

By focusing on stillness first, I'm also building up my reserves. I was completely bone dry. No energy, no creativity left. When I started practicing stillness in the mornings, I'd do just fine for a couple hours, but by the afternoon, I felt crushed flat. Now I'm able to keep up my energy all day. I have a feeling my creativity will come back too.

Maybe I really did have it all backwards. Maybe the trick really is to feed the source of the creativity first, rather than get all the work done first. The tell-tale sign for me is sewing. That's my creative outlet. When I'm sewing, I feel so much more whole. Yet it's the last thing on my list. I just can't sew when I'm agitated or feel like I've got too much to do. So I'm practicing stillness in the mornings, replenishing my reserves, getting done what needs to get done and making space to create something beautiful.

It's kind of like the standard financial advice you always get - "pay yourself first." Put money into savings first and then pay the bills on the rest. So I've been taking care of myself first, and amazingly, the work is getting done too.

I used to charge right into the work because there was so much to do. It felt like everything was urgent and had to be done now. I wore myself out racing to do it all. Now I'm getting a better sense of pace and rhythm. Some things do need to be done today. Others can get done sometime this week. Taking time in the mornings has helped me not feel so frenzied. By putting stillness first, I've discovered that there is enough time.

Stillness

I know why we avoid stillness, why we stay so busy all the time. It's darn scary. What if I stop "doing" and become still and discover I'm empty inside? What if there's nothing there?

At first it feels great to just stop the inner mental chatter and look at the blades of grass and the twigs on the trees. I get a glimpse of the extraordinary beauty and immense variety of the natural world - even in the midst of winter.

But when I start to go deeper, I realize I am alone. Even my dearest, closest loved ones cannot get inside my head. I am one, single human being. A wave of loneliness swept over my so intense it brought tears to my eyes.

But then I looked again at the grass and the twigs and suddenly saw them with new eyes. I am a child of the earth, a daughter of the sky. The trees are my brothers, the grasses my sisters. I am separate and apart, but I am also one with all creatures that live and breath on this earth. We breathe the same air, we drink the same water. I am an independent mind and an individual soul, but I am also part of a whole much bigger and vaster than I can imagine.

I go back to my family and realize I am part of something extraordinary. Individually we each have wonderful gifts. But together we help one another bring those gifts forward and polish them until they shine. And we have a lot of fun in the process. I still must do my own inner work, but the people around me help me see what that work is and how far I've come.

Stillness is still not easy for me. But slowly I'm learning to trust that it is not empty. I'm finding it more like an ocean—every time I dive down, I find a pearl.

Taking care of oneself

Yesterday, I went for a walk and the wind was blowing. It was amazing to hear the different sounds it made. I could hear the wind in the trees across the field, and in the trees behind me. When I turned my head, the wind was right in my ear. Each sound was distinct. I could see the wind bending the new blades of grass, but I couldn't hear a sound from the wide open field. I stood next to a young cedar tree, just a few years old. A baby, really, but growing tall. It's branches were soft and gentle against my face. Yesterday it was the wind, ever the wind. And I stood and listened and listened and listened.

It's a curious thing about taking care of myself. It always feels like it will take so much time, so I put it off. Stillness? Who needs stillness? I've got too much to do! So I plowed into my busy schedule, finishing client projects, tending to my family, taking care of all the details of the holidays. And I wore myself out.

Now I still have client projects and family to tend to. The holidays are over, but taxes are upon me (one of the many perks of working for oneself - taxes are due 4 times a year). But this time I decided to take care of myself first. I write and walk and listen in the mornings. Then I get on with the rest of my work.

Amazingly, the work is all getting done! And I feel like I'm replenishing myself bit by bit each day. I used to think I didn't have time to take care of myself. Now I realize I can't afford not to.

Oh look! The sun is rising. What incredible colors! Time for that walk - a window is just not enough on a day like this. I've got to be out in it.

* * *

That was one spectacular sunrise - yellows, oranges, pink, purple, blue. A symphony of color across the entire sky. I had no idea taking care of myself could be so much fun!

Stillness Spot

Today I went to my stillness spot - my special spot behind the young cedar tree. There's actually a view there, but today it was foggy. All I saw was the curve of the hill below me and the tops of the trees.

It was hard to quiet the chatter in my mind. The planes overhead didn't help. And the morning commute was loud, even from the distant country road. But I stood there anyway and watched the mist. It stole in like a ghostly army. First the wisps on the leading edge, then thicker and thicker until the horizon disappeared. Just the tops of the trees were visible. With the fog came quiet, even the planes and cars were muffled.

For a moment, the briefest of breaths, there was stillness. A mysterious moment where there was nothing, yet which contained all things. It was like the long-lost voice of a dear friend in the distance, whispering, calling me back — "Remember..." And then it was gone.

But I'll be back tomorrow.

Solid

I'm trying to write more, so I've made time in my mornings to write, to think, to be still. There's a place down the lane where I can go and I'm visually shielded from the man-made world. It's the other side of the cedar tree. I go and just stand there and look and listen. I'm practicing stillness. I'm not very good at it yet, but I figure if I keep practicing, I'll get better.

The first day I just stood there. After awhile I realized the earth was solid under my feet. I was surprised at what a relief that was. I've been going, going, going for months, really busy, feeling like I had to "make it all happen."

But in that moment I realized I don't have to make the earth solid. It's just there, always there, under my feet. The source of my sustenance, my life. I don't have to create it. I don't have to "make it happen." It's just there—always there—under my feet.

What I needed was already here

2009 was drawing to a close and I decided I needed a new beginning - a new year, a new decade. So I cleaned out my home office.

I hauled everything out into the family room - files, pens, papers, boxes, books. All but the furniture. I moved the desk near the window and the whole room opened up. It's beautiful!

But then I had a problem -  the two file cabinets I had at my desk just wouldn't fit. So I dived into the sorting. What a pile of paper! And what a blessing a computer is - so much storage in so little space.

I recycled, reduced and rearranged and ended up with just the set of working files I needed at my desk. But I still needed a place to put them. An under-the-desk file cabinet would be perfect. I looked online and then realized the cart I was using for office supplies has racks for hanging files. Voila! Problem solved.

As I continued sorting my stuff, the same thing happened over and over again - every time I had a need, I found I already had a solution. I just needed to look for it.

• The red notebook was too big to fit into the filebox. And there in the GoodWill pile was a smaller notebook that fit perfectly.
• The guest bed is in my office and we had a small bedside table for a lamp and clock. But with this new arrangement, the table just looked tiny. Sure enough, I found another table that fit the space better.
• Before, I was running out of space in my office, but by clearing out all the junk, I discovered I had plenty of space for the things I need to actually do my work.

Now, after a full car load to the recycling center and another to Good Will, I have a clean, spacious office. And far from feeling like I had to "make do," I feel so rich - everything I needed was already here!

Riches of the Soul

What would our world look like if we actually followed the rhythms of the earth? Modern society moved away from the farm in our quest for more. We set up factories that run 24 hours a day. We created businesses that demand people work in offices for 8, 10, 16 hours a day. It's damaging us (look at the obesity rate) and it's damaging the earth.

The thing that really intrigues me is that we human beings are hard-wired to strive for more. If you try to tell us to make do with less, there's an inner rebellion. We feel deprived.

It's not the "more" that's the problem--it's how it is directed. We got away from creating more (the farm) to consuming more. We don't build and create with our own two hands anymore. We have this gaping hole in our psyche that we try to fill up with things. But things don't satisfy—we still feel hungry and all we know to do is to buy more stuff.

So what does satisfy? When I look at the times I felt truly fed, it was moments of inner richness:

• A heartfelt conversation with a friend.
• Creating something beautiful out of a few raw materials.
• A good run (actually, in my case, it's a good skip) or a strenuous hike to the top of a mountain.
  
• Standing in a forest or on a mountain with the earth beneath my feet and the air in my face.
• Stepping out on a starry night, gazing in wonder at a bejeweled sky.
• Holding the hand of a child as she discovers a ladybug.
• A quiet moment when all the inner chatter ceases—a glimpse of that deep peaceful stillness from which all things come.
• The spray of the ocean, the mist of a waterfall.

These are the moments when my heart feels full to bursting, when my spirit comes up dancing. These are the moments that fill my life with richness. This is my true wealth. A new pair of shoes or a new car is great, but no object can fill my life like the riches of the soul. That's what I want more of. That's what I want to create in my life. That's why I'm here.