 You burn sage when you want to clear the energy and start fresh.
Smelling sweet smoke from the Oregon wildfires was the first thing I noticed when stepping out of the airport. The haze filtered the sun. The old was burning to make way for the new. I was eager for new experiences: I beheld deep, expansive green oceans of the tallest pines from mountain tops. I gaped in wonderment of the earths abundance and beauty. I wrapped my arms around wide cedar trees, it’s texture soft like flaky pastry but sturdy and wise. I embraced them and listened - these elders reminded me of my connection to the earth; I could feel the energy. I hiked steep, dusty trails passing smiling, joyful hikers - we were all silent comrades on the same path. Coming back down and completing these challenging treks inspired me to tackle more goals in my life when I got back, feeling capable of anything. I ran my fingers through the branches of the sage bushes and inhaled its fresh and magical scent. A baby rattle snake slithered beside my path, rattling its tiny tail reminding me that I am still new to this part of my life. I stopped in my tracks in deep respect of waterfalls - showing me how fresh, freezing glacier water moves around warm, ancient dark rocks in harmony with each other. I ran, flailing my arms and skipping like a kid again towards the pink sunset over the ocean. My feet splashing into the waves receding for the night, I was rejuvenated and full of energy, excited for what ever would come next in the morning. I bent down in awe of the bright purple and orange starfish, bigger than my outstretched hands who hung onto the underskirts of boulders, patiently waiting and trusting for the waters to rise again. Natures cycles can be depended on. I was mesmerized by the sea of stars above me while I warmed my toes in the fire light. One of many small beach fires upon the large expanse of sand. Sparks drew up upwards and blended with the stars and I sank in to my seat with quiet reverence, feeling small and part of all of it. A white haze descended one morning on the beach as I walked along people watching. I was quickly enveloped - the people were blotted out, they disappeared. The view of homes was erased by the cloud and it surrounded me on all sides. It was disconcerting at first - I lost my way of direction - no landmarks or view in the distance of what I was walking towards. It was just me, alone, wet sand below me, and beside me, the ocean, her constant, comforting rhythm of golden waves lapping to reassure me. All I could do was to let go and experience it fully. Let go of where I was going, when I’d get there and how. No more destination. I was here now in this place, embraced by her and felt so much love and connection and wholeness. What didn’t fit in that moment was the heaviness that I hadn’t noticed before. With all distractions blotted out, I suddenly had an overwhelming desire to make amends and let go of those feelings that hung on. I spoke the names of the humans in my heart and The Hawaiian prayer came to me: I 'm sorry Please forgive me Thank you I love you I repeated them over and over choked up with emotion and my tears dropped into the waves and washed them away, hoping she would carry my message to where it needed to go. I spoke the words to my self as well. I am sorry Please forgive me Thank you I love you I spoke them to the earth. I am sorry Please forgive me Thank you I love you I want that newness. I want to go forward. It was hard to leave that magical place that morning. What does an artist do when she stands at the foot of the greatest creator and artist of all - Mother Nature? She is inspired She is soul filled She lets go of preconceived ideas and judgement She sings out loud to rejoice She is humbled She has been forgiven and will return for more filling up. She will remind others to seek her out and respect her. I can say I was enveloped and loved by a haze. I still don’t really know what that was or define it properly with words, but in my heart that moment crying out to the ocean and the feeling of total peace, will remain in my hearts memory. I am so small and part of a bigger whole. Beauty is Everywhere. - Holly
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 On my tippy toes, reaching my hand far to wipe down the tall closet shelf in the bedroom of my new apartment this Spring, I discovered something. An envelope.
It was dated from 1954. Inside was one small, delicate piece of stationary, partial torn on the fold. On it, a man had scrawled with blue pen, his last wishes to be carried out upon his death. He left a large sum of money to his wife and “my worldly possessions". Material things. I love mysteries, history and people’s life stories and it got me thinking about theirs. Did he die before her, did she find this envelope and receive what he left her? Did they have a strong relationship and did she deeply grieve the loss of him? In the 50’s, many women were housewives. What about her will? What would she have had to leave him? Besides her collection of pearl jewelry that he had gifted her and whimsical hors d’oeuvre platters (paid for with his paycheck), what did she leave for him? Memories? Was she witty at their bridge games with the neighbors? Did she plan fun family road trips and cut his hair on the back porch? Did she create a warm and inviting home for their friends and family to feel comfortable and loved? What value did she share with him and others during her time on earth? Material things help us get through the physical part of life. That has value, but what of the heart? When you leave a relationship, wether by death, divorce or just parting ways, what do you leave behind? That partner, as they depart, takes with them all the together-memories. They leave the feeling they gave you behind. Like Maya Angelou said, “People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” Funny that I would discover this piece of paper the same week my divorce was final. Transitions are felt deeply - a sense of both loss and peace. When she read his will at the time of his death, she may have been relieved he was no longer suffering or in pain but also nostalgic for the weight of his hand on hers. We are all passing through each others lives for different amounts of time. While we are with one another, let’s weave memories that make us feel loved and cared for. May we leave each other better for having known each other. May kindness prevail and may it ripple out to others without end. Beauty is Everywhere. -Holly  1. A single bird chirps at dawn while a new snake breaks through its soft white shell and uncoils its strong body. With the instincts of all the snakes born before, it slithers forward confident but vulnerable, down a path of its own choosing. 2. It’s everyone’s breakfast time and a snake knows hunger. It follows its senses for nourishment and uses its natural given strengths to capture and devour what it needs for survival. 3. On a slow summer day, a snake rests peacefully as still as the shadow that cools it. It frightens a person who lays eyes upon it. They gasp and run away from the snake. The snake has done nothing but be its self. 4. The hot sun shines and a snake finds a calm lake that is just the right temperature. It revels in its glorious freedom as it glides on water. It creates S shapes that ripple upon the surface and the sun glints off its wet scales. 5. A snake cleverly makes a pile of cut logs its shelter and waits for more food to arrive. Its temporary home has many entrances and exits but stays put for the time being. 6. Adventure awaits a snake that searches for a different landscape, a different terrain; narrowly escaping a speeding vehicle as it bravely crosses the dirt road. 7. Two children meandering through wet, tall grass find a snake. It is taken to back to their home to be watched and handled. It escapes its glass box and wanders the walled rooms looking for green. 8. Keeping to itself, a snake camouflages into the dusty brown earth but bites the ankle of an unexpected hiker who has walked too close. It protects itself. 9. Clearly anxious, a snake paces back and forth inside its artificial habitat in anticipation of a group of children and parents to arrive in the nature center. The room becomes loud; louder than its natural habitat. 10. Inside a tall woven basket, a snake has been kept and trained to charm and do tricks. Its daily antics provide monetary rewards for its owner. 11. A particularly pretty looking snake is provided with meals in return for being entertainment at parties, slinking around the arms of its handler; it is stripped of its right to act like a true snake and to hunt its own meal. 12. Older and wiser, a snake hibernates under a large rock. It knows to be patient, that there is a right time for everything. It is in tune with natures cycles. 13. Mid-life, a snake sheds its dry coil of old skin. The people who come across the remnants are left with many questions and the wonder of nature. 14. A thin snake wears bright colors to warn you of it's deadly poison and crosses paths with a thick snake who wears neutrals and conveniently blends in. 15. It is evening and getting dark. It is wise to listen to a snake who rattles its tail. It would rather keep to itself but warns that it will use its venom if provoked further. 16. In the cool of the night, a snake enraptured will coil itself around the thing it desires and will not relent. 17. Under a bright full moon, a snake wriggles out of its old dry scales to reveal its slick, fresh skin. With the instincts of all the snakes re-born before, it slithers forward confidently with its new vulnerable body down a path of its own choosing. Beauty is Everywhere. -Holly  One summer years ago, I was preparing for a garage-sale. I was gathering up old clothes that didn’t represent who I was anymore and clothing the kids had outgrown. Combing each room of the house for items not used, some decisions were easy and some items evoked memories that made it hard to let go.
At that time, my son was in middle school - that awkward waiting place when you are no longer little but not yet grown up. We put the wooden blocks and spiderman blanket in the garage sale pile and he kept his Pokemon cards and favorite novels. He used to spend hours setting up his toy hero figures, creating scenarios and stop-action stories about them. When we unearthed the basket of these old familiar comrades, his eyes grew misty and then flooded with tears. A basket full of memories that reminded him that those carefree, long sun-lit days of playing as a child were gone. I reminded him that no matter how old we are, we should always incorporate a sense of play and delight in our lives, but this was a moment he needed to grieve. I stepped away and knew he’d be keeping that basket of toys that represented his childhood joy. Change is hard - there is loss involved. If it is something you’re glad to move on from or not, it is essential to have gratitude for how it shaped you as a person. What or who was so important to you at one stage in your life, has helped you to grow, brought you joy, a lesson, a skill, insight. Whether you interpret it as a good or bad experience, it came through your life for a reason and if you can see the value, then it’s been a blessing. I believe we are here to learn and evolve. That means change is crucial. We should expect it. Be open to it. It requires letting go which can certainly be bittersweet, but all is not gone forever. We can revisit and feel in our hearts the memories and meaning. Love and life is fluid. Things and people lap onto our shores and then move on. The comforting sound of the waves remind us that we are a part of this pattern of receiving and receding, it is a constant to rely on - change. The feelings, the situations, the experiences are all waves that come from a larger body of water - the source. Peace is felt when the attachment of any of it is let go. The next day of garage-sale preparation, tears spilled out of my young daughters brown eyes. She held out her broken wind-up moon toy that used to play a simple, soothing tune at bedtime. “Mom, how am I going to go to sleep now?” she anguished. It was another sign of having to grow to the next stage. Trust. We need to trust ourselves that we have the ability to move on with what with what remains inside us. Trust that the gift or lesson we need next will come rolling onto our shores with divine, natural timing to etch unique landscapes on the open shore of hearts. Beauty is Everywhere. - Holly  The Red Lentil soup I like to make is chocked full of flavor and warmth - garlic, shallot, ginger, carrot and curry. It takes a lot of preparation, time chopping and care. I don’t make handmade meals that often. Watching cooking shows makes me nervous and don’t enjoy laboring in the kitchen unlike others, who claim it is meditative and calming. This particular soup is worth the effort so I doubled the recipe with the intention of sharing it with those I care about. When you love another you willingly sacrifice and give of yourself on their behalf. So I peeled that crazy, twisted landscape of fragrant ginger with the edge of a spoon and got lost in thought as the weightless, white wings of garlic skin whispered on the countertop. Each step was slow and sacred and I did not rush. I rinsed the lentils tenderly in cool water, the ingredients simmered softly on the stove and I imagined the smiles the soup would create. The last step of making the soup is to put half of it in the blender to make the consistency just right. A well-meaning friend dropped in at that moment and offered to pour the soup into the blender for me. I accepted, even though I didn’t need the help - I had done it many times before in my own careful, concise way with a ladle. The pot heavy, their hands slipping, in one split second - the entire batch of soup spilled into the sink and down the drain. I was in disbelief, taking in the horrific, splattered scene. My face hot and sweating, I could have raged or sobbed. I took a big breath and stilled myself. What was this? I labored with love and had expectations for what I created. I had to accept it was gone now. I could not take it back. Regretting my decision to accept help would not change it. Getting emotional would not change the fact it was gone. What I did have, though was a perfect metaphor to always remember a major lesson to use going forward. TRUST MYSELF. Many times in my life I assumed that because others seemed so confident, that they had better solutions or ideas than me. I have gone along with it and believed them. Putting their values and beliefs higher than my own; my own voice hidden and small for so long. Now, I am learning that the answers are within in me and they are the most valuable of all. I have the solutions for my self. I believe my instincts and they suit me best. Interestingly, another incident made its impact on me not by taking away, but by flooding over. I live in a home with old plumbing and three toilets. You’re welcome to stop reading here if you’re squeamish. The toilet I habitually use is unpredictable. I’m on eggshells whenever I flush, not knowing if it will drain completely down. Some days, the contents would rise up to the rim, dangerously threatening to spill over. Despite my efforts at figuring out if it’s my length of pressure on handle or not, the toilet proceeded to elude me and it’s behavior, uncertain. I flushed several times a day in fear - each time. I continued to do so in habit. On a day that I was especially praying the toilet would fulfill its job in whisking away its contents, the toilet did the opposite. As the toxic waters rose closer and closer to the edge, I chanted desperately, “go down, go down, go down.” But I was the one who was down - down on my hands and knees cleaning up the toxic mess all over the flooded bathroom floor in a hurry before work. I had to leave it. I was afraid to do anything else and it took three days for the toilet to finally return back to clear water. What was this? I was mindlessly repeating a pattern that was causing me stress. Habitually going to the same source with expectations it would work out, holding my breath nervously. It wasn’t until that final blowup that I finally saw my actions and the situation clearly. I had enough. I had a choice all along that I didn’t realize. I could move on from something that wasn’t working for me, I didn’t need to use that toilet that let me down. YOU HAVE CHOICES. Ultimately, in heeding both lessons - I am now taking responsibility for my own life and listening to my instincts. I’ll be in charge of my own soup. I’ll be trusting those who can handle my shit. Beauty is Everywhere. - Holly  Written on the first snow fall of November, 2018
Snow is nice on a calm dark winter night walk. Insulated quiet and boots crunching. A few flakes falling slow and gentle. Snow is nice when it comes down so heavy it cancels school and your young kids jump for joy and play all day outside until they can't feel their coral cheeks. You have cocoa and grilled cheese waiting. Snow is nice when the sun shines and the sky is crisp blue. The trees don't have shade to cast - the leaves left them bare and the white snow capping every surface glimmers in the sun and makes everything brighter. Snow is always nice. Shoveling gets your blood pumping and the seven layers you had on, slowly get thrown to the porch one by one because you're soaking in sweat. Snow. It's nice. It's winter that's not. The long dark nights that cut your day in half, leaving you unmotivated in the evening to do anything but stay inside where it's warm and eat. Eat and lay around and the light you seek is the screen before you. It's winter. Winter is not nice. It's grey and brown. Your eyes crave green so badly it aches. Your skin forgets what the warm summer breeze feels like. You realize you haven't heard a bird sing. Your feet haven't touched the earth, toes haven't sunk in the sand or felt the water lapping. Clothes, clothing, zippers, scratchy woolens, long wraps, coverings, heavy boots and tight extra undergarments. Contain and constrict. The cold cramps your posture forward to retain heat. You go outside and your muscles shiver and tense. Constantly on guard fighting - fighting cold. Fighting Winter. It's the darkness that accompanies the cold. It drives people inside their homes. You don't see neighbors for months on end. You're all probably doing the same things inside, alone. Eating. Watching shows that have sunlight in them to escape where you live and how lonely you are. You contemplate doing something crazy because winter madness sets in. You plot a get a way, but really you want to get away for good. Forget the exchange of seasonal tubs of clothing and closet rearranging. Twenty different kinds of coats for different temperatures, not to mention footwear. Leave it all behind. It's too much. Winter makes your mind simple. It's isolating. Winter. Is it for strong people? Does it make you strong? Why do we stay? We don't have to. Brief interactions with people outside your home. It's the same winter themed comments: Golly it's cold! Haven't we had enough of this? When's it going to end? People drive like idiots in the snow. How long is this winter going to be? The weather man didn't predict this. Winter has its nostalgia going for it. Winter is for kids where you're comfortable and cozy and cared for. Winter for kids means sled rides, sleepovers, pancakes and snowball fights. Winter for adults is getting up in the dark to make coffee and shivering at the gas station to fill up. How can winter be magic for adults? For adults who swerve away from Mistletoe and don’t resonate with the lyrics of young loves missing each other on the holidays. Who brings magic to adults who have been creating it for years for their children? We create the ornaments together, we read and reread the Christmas books, we wrap the gifts secretly. We create the setting. It is full. It is full of magic and excitement and beauty and wonder. The thing that's there that remains is the stillness and light. The bundle of wet boots and gloves and snow pants heaped on the floor. The heat turns on. The dark. It's still. It's a waiting period. So you use the light available and all you want are candles and little lights on strings. It's gentle. It's soft and it's respectful of this season of dark. You open up in reverence and begin to listen to what she says. You realize Mother Nature gave you the dark for real reasons. You're by yourself in the dark for a reason. It's an internal time. Who says winter should be full of shiny joy and love and surprises, anyway? Target? I'm listening to me. To her. I'm putting my hands on the earth. The earth is real. And wise. And all she wants from me is to heed the dark. Feel the dark. Maybe it's a gift. My eyes will adjust. Don't judge. Don't compare. It's where I'm at. This month. This year. This chapter. This season. In my life. No one has summers every season anyway - no matter how warm the sun. Don't look outside yourself for warmth. It's right here. Be still. In the dark. Of winter. Feel. Your. Own. Warmth. Beauty is Everywhere. - Holly  Diverting from life’s real struggles, Willa obsessively scrolled online for a pair of new leather boots.
The boots had specific requirements for her; tall, not suede, snug in the calf, wide in toe, low heel, comfortable and durable to walk to work, but stylish enough to go with her outfits. A tall order. She’d snap out of the trance of searching after an hour had gone by and she hadn’t gotten any closer to finding just the right boot. So, she ordered something that was close enough; settling. Excited for the arrival, she’d open the box, try them on and be disappointed. The boots arrived, the boots had to be returned. She’d spend hours diving back in, searching for more candidates and avoiding her worries. Somehow, that right boot would make her life right, too. Willa put a roll of packing tape in her purse and drove to the mailing store to return two boxes of boots. She had planned to tape up the boxes when she got there, but the packing tape was now no where to be found in her purse or car. She began to panic. She anticipated a long line and the stressful vibe and hurriedness of strangers behind her, especially during the holidays. She fretted that they wouldn’t have packing tape, or that they would charge her for taping it up, shaming her for not being prepared and the customers behind her would curse her under their breath for causing them to wait longer. Six people were ahead of her in line. She looked to the right where they sold packing accessories and she breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a roll of packing tape. She took it off the shelf, kneeled down and began taping up her boxes of rejected boots in front of the growing line behind her. As Willa approached the sight of the counter, she witnessed men and women handing their open boxes to the staff who wielded huge guns of packing tape. They were taping up everyone’s boxes. Everyone’s failed purchase was taken care of. They accepted each open box and taped it right up to go back. An abundance of packing tape. Free packing tape and the service of taping it up properly, even. Free flowing, endless packing tape. Her eyes grew wide in disbelief. Why had she been so fearful? She was just like everyone else.. trying to find the right fit, the thing that would make her happy, just to be disappointed and now they were all in line to start over. It’s hard when you’ve been continually disappointed, it’s hard to trust that things will work out. Willa; if she hadn’t been blinded and distracted by her own whirlwind of fear in her mind.. could have looked up out of herself to see that the staff had plenty of packing tape for her boxes, and for everyone’s open box. A lot of things don’t work out, but it is assuring that we get to start over. The Universe has our back and provides plenty of "packing tape" to everyone. A chance to begin again. Willa felt embarrassed that she got lost in fear mode, over the smallest of things - but it was a good lesson to remember to choose Faith over Fear. Making decisions based in fear never works out. Willa literally had to pay for it - the packing tape. If she had faith, she wouldn’t have. Life is a balance of knowing and reaching towards what you want, and also letting go enough to trust that things will work out in divine timing. Purpose and Intention coupled with Patience and Faith. When Willa let go of desperation to find the right pair of boots, she replaced it with gratitude for the pile of footwear that already existed on her floor. No new boots, but a new attitude. Beauty is Everywhere. -Holly  A brief exchange in the kitchen aisle at Walmart got me thinking.
The night before Thanksgiving, I went to buy a small pot to cook meals for the next 5 days away. I would be spending it alone at the School House. I would be striking a match to light the old gas stove top - not for family members gathered around the table talking, but just for myself in the quietude of the country. An unusual year called for an unique Thanksgiving. I heard a young man’s voice behind me call out respectfully, “Excuse me, ma’am?” No one replied, so he must’ve been talking to me. I turned around and he indeed, needed me. In regards to the one huge box resting in his cart, he asked sincerely, “Do you know if this will cook a turkey?” I stepped closer to take a look at the roaster/boiler he chose. I smiled, “Well, it does have a picture right on the box with a turkey roasting right in it!” I thought that would settle the matter. He asked me again, “Yeah, but do you think it will cook it?” He seemed genuinely concerned. I paused and briefly searched my mental files, expecting I could muster up some wisdom, figuring he needed some experienced assurance. I was honored to potentially be that person that would put water on his nervous flames. I came to my conclusion, laughing and slapping my thigh. “You asked the wrong person - I don’t know. I’ve never cooked a turkey in my life!” It’s true. I ‘ve only baked pies to bring to Thanksgiving get-togethers. I was always the pie person. Pumpkin or cherry, but apple was a family favorite. I wouldn’t be baking any pies this year. The young man, who looked like a “Ryan” to me, didn’t get the reassurance he wanted from me, so he quickly wheeled his cart in the opposite direction and admitted, “This is my first time.” I called out and waved to him, “Good luck!” as he rolled away from me and into a different aisle. It was my “first time”, too, celebrating all I am thankful for - on my own. My heart is full of gratitude this year, despite it being challenging. I stood staring at glass lids, curious now. Was it just his first time making a turkey, or first time alone on the holiday? Where was his mom to tell him how to cook it? Would Ryan be solo for Thanksgiving, like me? Why? Was it because of quarantining, or some other reason? Was he excited to start some new tradition or sad? Who was he making the turkey for? Why did he ask me for advice? Why didn’t I ask him more questions? I thought about how brief the conversation was and the potential for a connection that I didn’t bother to stoke. So many questions. Heavy with more meaning and importance, I thought of my own son, similar in age to Ryan. My son was having a first time without me on Thanksgiving. This is the deeper connection that I truly grieved. My sweet son is the one that I feel sad about letting down. My son, who I wonder and worry about. Clearly, no matter how old you get, and how things can even be illustrated on a box with answers, you look to your mom for reassurance. You trust your mom for guidance. I want to retain that connection with my son who I miss so much. Not having the answers for Ryan, or my son, they will have to look to others they trust and essentially - their own intuition. Turn up the heat and take risks. Fire and intention. That’s how you cook a turkey, or do anything I suppose. I’ll always be a mom. I may not have all the answers, but I have the warmth of a maternal love that will never flicker out. Beauty is Everywhere. - Holly  On an unseasonably warm day this November, I packed up my van with my board and belongings and set out to visit a more northern shore of the Lake for a weekend.
Instead of floating on the water, I spent the day sifting through small, smooth rocks on the beach and developed an unexpected camaraderie with a few other rock-collecting women. Folding up my fossils in my hoodie, I set out on the road and let the day take me where ever my intuition led me. I visited more shore line with the hopes of finding a place to camp out in my van but the season was over. Park gates were locked. I stood on the edge of a high cliff carpeted with soft yellow leaves and looked out on the vast gray body of the Lake. Despite my eagerness to sleep near the Lake and hear her waves lap inside my dreams and wake to a sparkling sunrise, I again was led north by my inner compass to a comfortable place I knew well. The School House. The one room school house my parents bought 52 years ago for a cottage. Once a room for many children to acquire knowledge, I still learn things even if they are not written on the green chalkboard. Just after I took this confident photograph, I literally stepped on an apple, twisted my ankle and fell full-body to the ground. I was fine and laughed, laying there because it was just another bit in my comedy of errors since I had arrived. My plan was to wake before the sun, to finally capture a glimpse of the deer that bedded down on the property. The sun rose and I had slept in, deer long gone. I didn’t bring my coffee maker. I invented a way to make a hot cup of joe, slogging wet grounds all over the counter and my hands. I discovered I had left all my van windows down over night. I made a morning campfire and almost caught the dry grass on fire. When I backed out as I was leaving, I hit a gas line sign and dented my fender. I bought a salad at the gas station and sat on the cold sand at another beach to eat it. A group of sea gulls gazed at me while I realized I hadn’t gotten any salad dressing. Silly mishaps happened on my getaway and in the scheme of things, were minor. When I look at that photograph of myself, it is a reminder that I don’t necessarily gain confidence in doing something amazing or the ‘right’ way. I accumulate more confidence when I’ve handled a situation, solved a problem, let go and accepted, learned from a mistake, gotten over a hurdle, survived a mishap or something bigger. I am more confident when I’ve tried and failed, taken a risk. I am proud of the many things I’ve failed at, because I was doing what I could with the knowledge I had at that time. I was living and doing. The other day I leaned up against a huge mother tree that stood before the Lake and took in all of her crookedness. I don’t judge her, just as I should not judge myself. We are both a part of nature, doing what comes naturally and we are both beautiful in our crookedness. This is a meaningful photo of my confident self, probably with my fly open, about to fall - but then dusting myself off and getting right back up again. Beauty is Everywhere - Holly  Fifty years ago today I took my first breath.
So many inhales and exhales, I am grateful for both the births and deaths they represent. Several years ago I created a painting that illustrated what depression feels like to me and the shift to break through it. Two figures, stem from one woman rooted under water. Her feet were submerged in the bottom of the lake-muck and her legs were tangled and stuck in seaweed. The water, rusty brown and metal blue. The first figure was hunched over in defeat, near death, completely submerged with the last of her breath mingling with the shadows of fish. The other figure had a light that was illuminated in her chest - a dim, shy glow. Her tired arms reached outward, one hand reached upward with her fingertips breaking the surface. No one there to lift her up or out. The sun rose above her head, a bird stretched her wings showing her freedom is accessible. A drenched, full-length winter coat that weighed tons, was shed from her shoulders and sank to the bottom of the lake. A subtle shift was made. Once looking down and hopeless into the dark - and then with the tilt of her head, up toward the surface and the sun - she gasped in air. It was there all along. The light. Life. Inhaling. All it took was a shift. A choice. I called that painting, “Only You Can Save Yourself”. I created it to remind myself that depression is real and valid. Putting it on canvas, I was no longer ashamed. I’ve been under water and I am familiar with how heavy and helpless it feels. But it is also an important part of a metamorphosis to a new place. Mother Nature has cycles and we are all a part of that. We are entering a dark season, and it’s for a purpose. Mother Nature is not ashamed of having bare trees in Winter, it’s all a part of her plan. The leaves lost are feeding the next cycle. What is constant is transformation and regeneration. Mother Nature seems to pause sometimes, and so must we. But there is still purpose in the pause. Being enveloped in the dark can be scary and feels like an end. Pound the ground and weep. Feeling it is necessary. Residing there is part of the process. Mother Nature is bigger than us, it is best to trust - follow the river’s pace and do not resist. Mother Nature is powerful and always is going forth. Fires blaze and destroy the forest, but new green buds burst through the ashes eventually. Waves crash relentlessly on the shore, but the next morning the Lake is smooth as glass and the storm has washed away the old. New gifts from the Lake emerge on the shore. Mother Nature has her plan. Respect it. Regard it. Remember you are a part of it. Mother Nature wants us to thrive. Mother Nature changes, we change. We are a part of the dark and the light. So I remind my self, I may go under periodically and struggle, brought down by the seaweed and the heavy, wet coat, but I remember my choice. When I am ready, I can float to the surface and breathe. That light inside, how ever dim it may get, is a life jacket - to rise above. I breathe again. One small movement - a tilt of the head, shifting my perspective and remember I am part of a cycle and everything. Nature is relentlessly going forward. My connection with nature is essential and life affirming. Only YOU can save yourself. Every day, every moment I have a choice - how will you tilt your head? Down to the dark or up to the light? Last week I fell into the dark and everything felt stagnant. I made myself go to Belle Isle for some fresh air and sunshine. The first thing I saw as I approached the edge of the Lake was literally, “A Message In A Bottle”, laying at my feet. A green beer bottle had a white, rolled up piece of paper inside. One traditionally thinks of a desperate note begging for “Help!”. I pried open the gold cap and pinched out the dry notebook paper. I unrolled it to reveal a simple message written in large print with a silver marker. “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” This message was written FOR a person needing help, not BY a person needing help. It wasn't asking, it was giving. At first, I was sort of ticked off - I thought, “Easy for them to say.. they have no idea what I’ve been through.” But the synchronicity of it all set in and I realized it was just the nudge and reminder I needed. This message was written for me to discover on just the right day. I needed to make that shift again. If I stopped worrying and let go of the illusion that I could change my circumstances, I could feel joy again. Stop resisting and accept. It was there all along. Just like the surface of the water. Additionally, I was stunned that who ever this person was, had the idea to brighten a strangers day. It was inspiration enough for me to break out of the dark place I was in. I needed to re-direct my focus from my self to others. I began to feel better just hatching a simple plan to do a small act of kindness for someone else. A small shift. A choice. I am immensely grateful on my 50th Breath-Day for my rich life, filled with duality that I continue to learn from. Beauty is Everywhere - Holly  For Zach and Grace.
Two Mothers Days ago, you gifted me the SUP - Stand Up Paddle board. On the first warm day, I got out on the Lake to have some new adventures. I assumed that the goal and expectation of paddle boarding was to stand. I was worried about how others viewed me and figured they were judging. Deep down I knew my real goal was to achieve peace on the Lake. Worrying about standing wasn’t bringing me peace. Lately, my overall mantra to myself has been, “Do Things You Are Proud Of.” Early on, there was one morning on the Lake I told my self - “Your goal is not to fall.” I went a couple hours standing up on my new board and was proud of my self. But as I neared the shore, my legs gave way and I sunk in. I breathed in and out a big sigh as I bobbed back up to the surface. My instinct was to get right back up, but that day I embraced the water and my new perspective. The water felt good and I was actually grateful I fell. It was a soft landing - I let my body be embraced by the water and floated peacefully for a while. My mindset changed and I experienced the Lake at a new perspective - lower and immersed. I was proud that I fell. I did the thing I was afraid of and it didn’t hurt, it wasn’t cold, I wasn’t embarrassed, I felt proud of my self. I had an experience that I didn't plan and was grateful to have been rerouted. When I was on the Lake the other day, I saw a guy with what looked like a hang glider riding on a paddle board. He was trying to catch the wind, bending his legs, bouncing. He would glide along pretty fast and then suddenly totally wipe out. He didn’t skip a beat - he just got back up to go again. There was an older lady wind surfing. She had all the gear and had clearly done this before, but her sail kept falling into the water, and sometimes she’d fall in, too. She got back up and to go again. I saw a young boy whose dad was treading water and let him have the board to himself. He watched his son run off the paddle board and leap into the water. He was having fun with falling. Falling on purpose. He got back up and did it again and again. We are all floating on this watery earth trying to get our balance. Young or old, naive or experienced, we are all falling down again and again. It might be because of something we did, but there are always other factors involved. Falling can be humiliating and maddening or you can look at it differently. Falling is part of The Experience - it’s expected. Falling means that you are doing and trying. Falling is something to be proud of because it means you are in. it. - you are gaining experience and learning. When I saw those people fall in the Lake, I thought they were amazing. I was cheering them on inside my head— they were brave enough to be out there and badass to keep going. Mistakes are the best thing to happen in art and in life. I hope you see your falls and fails in a different light - that they are a part of your life lessons - guiding you to grow, to take a new path and new perspective. I hope you can forgive your and others mistakes, be inspired by them and see that we are all on this Lake together. I hope you find peace in your standing and your falling and be proud of both. I love you. Beauty is Everywhere. - Mom  Walking the long route to the Lake, I rolled up my jeans and sat at the water’s edge. My feet let out a sigh of relief as I dipped them in the cool, smooth water. Shortly after I settled into enjoying the view, the surface of the water changed and waves began to lap in. Out of the corner of my eye, I sensed what I thought was a squirrel about three feet away, but that didn’t seem right.
It was squirrel sized, but a different creature all together with a long torso and cute as a button. The waves must have brought him up to the waters edge - his fur was matted down from his swim and his scruffy hair on his head was cock-eyed over one of his tiny, dark glistening eyes. He was just as surprised to see me and we both paused in disbelief - just staring at each other. He edged closer to me out of curiosity and I felt as though if I kept still enough, he would be the type to just crawl up onto my shoulder and nuzzle into my neck. I broke the spell by reaching for my phone to try and capture him on video but he sprinted, dove into the water and disappeared. I needed to know more. What was the creature that rode in on a low wave to my feet and only stayed for a few fleeting seconds? He had made me smile and I couldn’t stop thinking how magical he was. I googled “skinny lake weasel” and sure enough, “Mink” was a match. I scrolled though dozens of images of minks and although I know I made a positive identification, MY Mink was not there. My Mink was wet and had been having a fun time in the water. My Mink had a sense of humor, confidence, strong sense of curiosity and was looking for someone to play with. Unfortunately, I scared My Mink away before I could get to know him better. I never thought about minks. The only thing I knew is that Hollywood stars wore mink coats back in the day. If you’d ask me yesterday where minks live, I’d tell you they live in snowy forests with elk and eat red berries. Don’t assume you know about minks. "Soft, fancy, expensive" previously came to my mind. My Mink inspired me to think of other things instead. Now when I hear the word ‘mink’, I’ll know that they are semi-aquatic creatures that can dive 15 feet under the water to hunt for fish and frogs, are smarter than ferrets or cats and have webbed feet. I wish I could’ve spent more time with My Mink, as I think surely he has even more unique characteristics and personality quirks than the dull ones pictured on my lap top. There are Native American legends that portray the mink as a trickster. He is a flute playing heartbreaker whose story was told as a warning to young men: “Do not think to trifle with the affections of women or you shall be made smaller than you are.” There are spiritual explanations and symbolism as to ‘why’ a mink appeared to you: “Mink teaches attention to intuition and timing, keen senses, awareness and how to move in the emotional waters balanced with the mental world.” But for me, My Mink reminded me that there are still things in life to delight and excite me. At the Lake’s edge over the years I’ve been lucky to spot a mangey fox one sunny morning, dark snakes swimming on the surface, bald eagles flying over my head, blind muskrats scrounging on the beach and swans huddling together on the ice. When walking by the Lake’s edge I routinely just come across stinky dead fish, so when I saw my first mink, it was pretty thrilling. My Mink says, “Surprise! Let’s play, have fun, learn and stay curious. There is more to look forward to, let’s go!” I hope to see My Mink again. If not, I don’t know much about chinchillas….. Beauty is Everywhere - Holly  A tribute to just a portion of the beauty and blessings I experienced in my three years working at the church. (Names have been changed).
Helen began working in a church office soon after a chapter of disappointment and loss. It was a new beginning for her and also for the congregation. The parishioners had also been through some drama which left them without direction or leadership. Some had soured and left, others were disheartened, there was disorganization throughout and a shadow lurked. Like the outdated heavy curtains hanging in Helen’s office, they needed to be thrown open - light needed to be brought in again. Reverend Mabel stepped in at the same time Helen was hired. She was a self-professed “Mary Poppins”, staying just long enough as a well versed interim to fix things up while a permanent rector was sought. Rev. Mabel had a short white bob, stern blue eyes and a generous, hearty laugh. She could tell Helen exactly which page in the Book of Common Prayer to use and also lent her a book on Sedona’s vortexes. She brought communion to the sick and dying and Helen came to find out she was also a shaman who studied the history and healing of labyrinths. She had the strength to jack up her own car to fix a tire and would attend week long retreats to hone the delicate skill of painting icons. For everything there is a season - a time to be born and a time to die. Helen was scheduling funerals more than they both expected. Rev. Mabel would meet with the families beforehand and be sure to include their joyful, inspiring stories in her homily. She encouraged lengthy coffee hours afterward where friends and family could share stories of the person who made a mark in their lives. Rev. Mabel said again and again, “Stories are a way to keep their memory alive.” While Rev. Mabel was a stickler for accuracy in creating worship and funeral bulletins with Helen, sometimes a phrase was repeated or a hymn was off by a number. By the time they noticed, eighty had been printed and she would tell Helen, “Mistakes are natural, they will have to forgive us.” Her main goal, after all, was bringing light and love back into the church and that’s just what she did. Her sermons were full of hope, and her faith in the parishioners was evident. They would eventually see that they, themselves had the strength, skills and answers all along to move forward. She’d say, “My job is to love them - to remind them to love.” Parishioners who came by to drop off a donation envelope to Helen in the office seemed to have wider smiles and there was a rekindled warmth throughout the building. Gatherings and groups multiplied and laughter vibrated down the hall. Rev. Mabel’s work complete, and off to her next church in need, she gave Helen the gift of being able to forgive her own mistakes and showed her the power of love and light in action. She impressed upon her the importance and healing power of stories. Deacon Connie had worked at an animal hospital, was a police chaplain in a big city and had owned an art gallery. Retired from all that, she had come to the church from out-of-state and immediately fit like a puzzle piece into the community. One day a bird flew into the building and was stuck in the coat room. Helen was shaken, but Connie was totally calm. She directed Helen to close the doors. She moved slowly and respectfully toward the bird and cranked open a window. It simply flew out. Connie made everyone feel like that bird - she would give all her focus to the one person she was with. When she found out Helen was an artist, she referred to one of her drawings in her sermon. Helen felt honored and told Connie of her wish to touch more people with her artwork. Connie urged the Church's Women’s Group to select Helen as their next speaker. Helen wrote her first speech for what would be her first one-person art show. Connie empowered Helen to flex her artists wings and share herself and her art with a large room full of people. Helen was able to further define herself as a capable artist able to inspire others and grow from that experience. Like most parishioners at the church, Connie was about twenty years older than Helen, but had a youthful spirit. Helen would bend over laughing as Connie recounted stories of her days as a police chaplain, using macho, police-type vocabulary you wouldn’t expect coming out of a petite, holy woman’s mouth. Her remedy for everything was a good laugh. Satisfied with her success in lifting Helen’s mood, she would always end their time together with, “You’ve got to activate those little endorphin-dudes!” After barely a year at the church, Connie was diagnosed with a fast moving cancer and was dying at home. Connie rang up Helen in the office one day. Helen picked up the phone and bit her lip to hold in a small sob. Connie had called simply to tell Helen that she wanted to have croissant sandwiches served after her funeral. Even then, she made her smile and laugh softly. Deacon Connie gave Helen the gift of encouragement and reminded Helen that life is short. Laugh and activate those little endorphin-dudes. Pamela, a long time parishioner, had been newly appointed as Senior Warden, a major leadership position in the church. Imagine the respect and admiration you feel for the mighty tortoise when you see it - head held high, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, years of experience and resilience under its impressive shell, capable and wise. When Helen sat with Pamela each week for their one-on-one meetings, she felt like she was sitting with humble royalty and under the warmth of the sun. Helen felt like she’d known her from another life. Pamela’s main super power was listening. You may think you listen with your ears, but the eyes are everything and when she’d listen to Helen, she felt Pamela knew her, too. Pamela had a way of putting Helen at ease so that she felt totally accepted and understood. As a kid, Helen loved an old moss-green velvet chair in the living room. The seat was wide enough to sit with your legs double-crossed. The back was tall and curved around to hug your shoulders. The velvet on the arm rests was worn down and soft. For her, being in Pamela's company, was like resting in that chair. They would share old stories, chuckle at coincidences and ponder life’s struggles. Work was creative and fun, brainstorming how to word church documents, forms and processes. When Pamela was asked a question by a parishioner, she was not quick to react. She would often pause long enough to respond thoughtfully with the answer that felt right. To Helen, it was a new way of looking at how to be respectful with your thoughts and words - not to rush, but to give someone your best. They spent a lot of time together and Helen would overhear Pamela talking to her husband. They had met as next-door neighbors, decades ago. They spoke to each other like adorable newlyweds, with a sparkle of joy and inside jokes. As Senior Warden, she put her whole self into preparing for a new rector to come at the end of the year and she did it all with dedication and thoroughness. Like an effective parent, she gave people in other leadership roles confidence, providing the information and inspiration they needed to succeed. Toward the end of her term, Helen was mulling over a difficult decision at work and Pamela’s response made a lasting impression on her. “Helen, whatever you choose, it will be the right thing.” Pamela gave Helen the gift of trusting herself. Pamela saw, accepted and appreciated her. Helen hoped to one day emulate Pamela's patience and wisdom. There were times in Helen’s life when she would look back and wish she had appreciated good moments when she was in them, but in the presence of those Three Wise Women, she knew. Back then, as all the women sat together around the ark sized conference table discussing the positive changes to come, Helen knew exactly how blessed she was to receive the gifts they gave her. Together, they had removed the heavy curtains, and Helen sat in the church office enveloped in light. Beauty is Everywhere - Holly I leaned my paddle board on the black fence at the entrance to the lake. A white praying mantis was praying on the fence at eye level. What a rare sighting and such an incredible creature. A few steps away, a smiling woman with a young boy and girl were at her side looking out at the Lake. I also have a son and daughter, but are now young adults. I caught their eyes and in my excitement shared with them, “There is a Praying Mantis right here...come and see!” I lifted my board and placed it on the other side of the fence, closer to the launching area and closed the gate. The woman asked me about my board. She had always been curious and wondered if it was something she would be capable of doing. She had a bunch of questions and I was happily answering them and encouraging her to try it one day. I would have offered to let her try mine right then - but the social etiquette during this season of Covid is so delicate.
She confided in me, “I’m afraid I’d fall.” I understood this fear, and knew that for me, it represented more - I also had fear about taking risks in my life, but this year I’d faced some big ones head on and had gotten to the other side unscathed and even elevated. There was so much I wanted to tell her, but I simply said, “You will - but your landing will be soft.” I felt like I was looking at my Former Self. Fearful, naive but wanting more. Here I was,,, literally and figuratively on the other side of the fence now. Peaceful, wise and grateful for what Is. I did my best to encourage her that she could do it. She told me she would stay and watch me get on the board to see if it would be one step she could picture herself doing. I was grateful to be a teacher and example to her in this small way. Even though I did not know her, I wanted the best for her and for her goal to come true. I walked into the water up to my waist and pushed my board out away from the rocky shore. It was a windy morning with some waves. Not the usual calm surface for standing up. Through the fence, she asked me, “Can you go out in waves like that?” She seemed concerned for me. I had been out in waves before and reassured her, “There’s no pressure to stand up on a paddle board. Every day is different - some people kneel, sit or even just lay on it. I won’t be standing up today, just sitting and paddling, but it’s worth it to get out on the lake for some peace.” She then yelled out to me, “The Praying Mantis is on your board!” I turned and looked - sure enough, there was the white Praying Mantis sitting right in the middle of my board where I was planning on sitting, myself. I was so glad she pointed it out, as I was so distracted by the force of the incoming waves, I would have overlooked it. I felt honored that Miss Mantis wanted to ride with me and took it as a good sign. I had let dragon flies hang out with me on excursions before, but I felt Miss Mantis should stay on the shore. I urged her to crawl onto the tip of my paddle and I transferred her to a rock. Legs folded sitting on my board, I plunged my paddle into the water and began to make my way to the heart of the lake to take in the peaceful surroundings. Kids at her side, the woman waved wildly to me as a hearty Thank You and Bon Voyage. I felt so uplifted by our brief encounter. I hoped that I kindled something in her to try something new even if it meant falling. Even though I have weathered many storms, naturally I will encounter more. That morning I moved swiftly south. I was far into the Lake and bobbed up and down in the wild waves. The water was lit up in morning diamonds, but the sky over Canada was a wall of dark blue and ominous. I took a break to stare at the sight - the contrast of it all. I realized the wall of darkness may be moving a bit closer to the Michigan shore than when I had started out. I dug my paddle in deep to lunge my self forward, back to where I had launched. I needed my full body strength to propel my self ahead. If I didn’t stroke hard and fast enough, I’d be three strokes back with the force of the waves. The current underneath me seemed to want to keep me back. I would not relent. I would not give up or pause. I would not get stuck in a storm, nor did I want to be pushed into the sea wall or have to hold onto someone’s emergency ladder. I did not want to yell out to anyone on shore for help. I imagined that if I got too tired or the waves too strong, I would have to accept that these things may happen, but I persisted. I passed closely to the back sides of large estates with impeccable yards as I paddled with all that I had. The waves were really picking up. I was a bit anxious. I put on my life vest. The more I looked at how far I was from where I wanted to be, the more discouraged I got - so I didn’t. I concentrated on where I was at the moment and gaged my success on how far I had gone. By passing each estate on the lakes edge, I could see I’d gone a few homes forward. At least I was going forward. This helped me. I thought of the Praying Mantis. Glad that I prevented her from experiencing such a jostling trip, I was missing her and hoped that she was still praying for me, especially now. I did feel an aloneness on my board that morning that felt different. Did I need someone to help me? Could I do this alone? Toward the end of my venture, I saw a paddle boarder being rescued by a small motor boater. No one on the Lake was going to rescue me, nor was anyone on the shore worried about me. I was alone by choice. I was reminded how strong Nature is - her force is to be respected. I was also reminded how strong I am. The waves became more threatening but I made it back safely, just as the rain started to fall and thunder cracked. I did it my self. I rescued my self. I am no longer under the influence of fairy tales like I was as a young girl. I am strong and capable. I had told the young woman I was going out for a peaceful paddle but the Lake has her lessons and I am a grateful student. Beauty is Everywhere - Holly  Early morning on my paddle board. It was choppy so I simply sat down and paddled toward the sun. The huge, undulating dark waves underneath me were unnerving. To calm myself, I sang made-up songs nice and loud to an audience of just the Lake. I laughed - it was fun, not frightening. I sang for a long time. I was a small dark speck on a big orange empty lake. No boats yet, no wave runners yet. Thin clouds caught the sun and made a square rainbow. A bird flew by, caught a fish, dropped it and swooped back three times to re-fetch it. The ruthless waves bashed into my board and body the whole way out to the open. I directed myself into them.
My goal was to get far enough to reach a buoy in the distance that said Hazard. I reached my arm out, hugged it and held on. After a time, it was a struggle - the waves just kept coming and repeatedly opposed my agenda to pause my adventure. I held on. The waves had their own purpose - they wanted me to go with them, but I held on. I thought to myself, “This is what it’s like to hold onto something.” I felt safe and secure knowing I was anchored to one place and could rest for a moment. I knew this buoy, but I certainly wasn’t going anywhere. The Lake kept nudging me to go. Go forward, go with the flow. Time keeps moving, the universe has a plan and is in motion for everyone and everything. I felt like I was being battered now by the waves. What felt like ‘safety’ and what I thought would be rest, didn’t feel comfortable anymore… I simply released my tensed arm from the buoy and instantly started moving, and fast. I didn’t have to paddle. I was in the good hands of nature, taking me along swiftly. I felt such peace. I didn’t have to work or struggle at getting anywhere. I wasn’t anywhere but right there. No destination, I didn’t need to worry about that. I looked back. The hazard buoy was still there but small now… I traveled a great distance, go figure… by letting go and letting the waves take me. I smiled to my self. I felt such peace - this is the way it should be. Life. Not a struggle, just trust and peace. It’s okay to float along. There is always forward movement, I just needed to release my own tension and control and let my self go. I felt good. Such peace. After a time, I looked back again. I scanned the sparkling lake to see if I could make out the buoy, but I couldn’t see it at all. I was somewhere else entirely. Why look back? I supposed to see how far I’d come. There were all new things in front of me. New birds, new landscape, I could see the pedestrians on the shore stopping to let their dogs meet, I could see boats leaving the marina. Strips of seaweed washed up onto my board. A black cormorant flew close to the surface of the lake in front of me. My body was buzzing, I felt so calm. So calm and content. The waves were my allies. The waves are nothing to be feared, there is wisdom in nature, and I am part of that - not separate. Nature takes care of nature. Trust it, not my own agendas. I can paddle against the waves, hang on or I can let go and receive new scenery, new experiences. Thank you, Lake. Thank you. Beauty Is Everywhere - Holly  Last winter, my injured foot was finally healed and I was able to walk to the Lake again. On my way there, I noticed a piece of sheet music lying on the ground. The lyric that stood out to me was “It’s insanity to worry” which reminded me of the mantra I learned in the book, "Living the Reiki Way" by Penelope Quest. “Just for today, do not worry”. I also found a small white credit card receipt belonging to someone who paid fifty dollars for advanced counseling.
I approach the Lake. My retreat, my sacred space, my church. It happens to be Sunday morning, but I come here every day. This is where I find peace, connection and inspiration. It’s a grayish day, all the leaves are gone and clouds are strangling the sun away - but the fresh air, open space and the sound of the waves crashing are calming. I find a short log on the shore, the size of a large shoe box. It’s smoothed from a rough journey and still wet from the waves, that pushed it to where I stand in sturdy boots. I have a strong desire to kick the log back into the water. I also have a strong desire to kick my worries away. Just for today, do not worry. This piece of wood represents ‘Worry’ and I don’t want it as my main focus anymore. I decide to kick Worry to the Lake. Let it go. I pull back my leg and give it good whack with my foot. I do it in one go and Worry is bobbing around in the water. Funnily enough, I’m worried that my Worry log will be tossed right back up on shore by these persistent, strong waves. For goodness sakes, I tell myself, LET GO! You just gave it up… that means completely releasing your idea of outcome. Trust. Trust that the universe is in control. It’s out of your hands and into a natural flow. My instinct is to keep looking and checking the log to see where it will go next. Life is unpredictable, but the current in the Lake has a confident plan and guides Worry behind me. I tell myself to let it go and move forward, Worry is taken care of. So here’s the thing… once the worry is gone, what do I look at now? Worry takes up so much space that when it leaves, I feel strange and different. Who am I now without Worry? What do I focus on now? It feels good to release it but odd now and I can feel the hole where it used to be. Then it comes to me in an instant - Gratitude and Hope show up and I feel lighter and whole. I can’t help but smile. I remember the receipt for advanced counseling. I just saved fifty dollars. Beauty is Everywhere - Holly  It’s finally been hot enough to take my paddle board out of winter hibernation and reintroduce it to my love, the Lake. I waited for the morning after Memorial Day. My instincts were correct - the boaters who partied last night were still asleep, so I had the Lake to my self.
The Lake, she was so still. After so many months apart, I didn’t know if I’d remember the nuances of getting on my board again. Gliding right onto the smooth surface, I stood up and paddled toward the wide open. What a relief, now more than ever - not only to have winter behind me, but to have time alone in nature - out of the confines of the house. The water was an expansive, unruffled sheet - so when I saw something glint in the sun, I paddled toward it out of curiosity. First a bobbing water bottle, then a torn pretzel bag. I paddled on and saw a total of three fish, belly-up. Something else in the distance caught my eye - it had a different texture. Hair. It was a bloated, dead rat. That was the big slap in the face to realize what I was doing. Here I was, with the intention of relaxing and enjoying nature - a long meditation - and I chose to look not only at garbage and dead things, but to grumble at the beep, beep, beeping of trucks backing up on shore. Just like my mind, sometimes. I set the scene of serenity and yet I’m drawn to things that distract me only to disappoint and drag me down - like negative thoughts or negative people, social media garbage and the news. Avoid, avoid, avoid. This lap around the lake reminded me that I always have a choice of what to focus on. I shifted my gaze to the reflections of the clouds shapeshifting on the water, a pair of ducks that came by to acknowledge me and the sound of water drip, drip, dripping from my paddle strokes. Now I was finally reconnecting with nature's lovely offerings that had been right there the whole time. I slowly made my way to my safe little inlet where I laid down on my board, savasana style. My paddle, resting across my hips, I faced the sun and let my hands and feet dangle in the cold water. There, in those peaceful moments, I was lulled by the gentle rhythm of the Lake. She is wise, the Lake, giving me my first lesson of the summer. Beauty is Everywhere - Holly  Formerly a vulnerable and naive slug, I now identify as being a snail.
Blindly forging ahead with my feelings, I now have a protective shell. A part of me has hardened from hurt, but now I can always be at home in my own body. Hanging out in the shadows of the undergrowth, safe from human harm, I make steady progress upwards, downwards and around - to where, I don't know. Patience - both my virtue and downfall is my constant. Slow moving but always going forward, I devour new information as I desire to grow. I may have left a few holes, some destruction in my path. I may have left some disappointed, confused and angry. I move in the quiet dark, undetected - I prefer privacy, I crave change, I elect to travel solo. The path I’ve taken, invisible to most, undesirable to many - is recognized by a select few who have the power and perspective to see. It may be spiral, random and irrational, but it is my own. My adaptable, self-reliant movement - feeling as I go, crawling forward, I create my own steady, swirling snail path, making marks you may or may not see. Beauty is Everywhere - Holly  I’m in the middle of my 49th year, but last weekend, 40 of those years dissolved and I was joyfully back to 9.
My parents have packed up the VW van with my sister and me and driven us to the school house countless times over the years. It has been sitting on the corner of wide open crop fields in the thumb of Michigan for nearly a hundred years. The school house has been theirs since they were engaged and man first stepped on moon, but before that it was a working school room for local children. Huge east facing windows that reach the 40 foot tall white tin ceilings, everyday scenes painted by the students - fishing and playing outside with big smiles on their faces are faded by the sun. My own memories of fresh air summers spent there are still painted on my heart, but fading as well. With the weight of this world wide uncertainty and the repetition of days spent at home - dreams of driving up to the school house kept popping into my head. A new perspective would do me good. I hadn’t been up there in many years and didn’t know what to expect. Would it have changed? How would I feel stepping into the setting of my childhood? Twenty mile an hour winds were whipping down the long dirt road and bending the pear trees, but the school house was right there, rooted and solid and inviting me in to take refuge for a while. There’s something about tall ceilings and huge windows - not only does it make you feel small, but the burdens you carry are suddenly lifted up off your back and all that open space invites your imagination to be uncaged and take flight. Sparks of illuminated dust particles floated in slow motion around me. Walking across the dark amber wooden floor, straight ahead to the expanse of green chalk board is the route I would have taken as a young girl. It’s there that I expressed myself with dry bits of white chalk in words and mostly drawings. This one large room now has designated areas for cooking, eating, sleeping and hanging out. Looking around, some of the furnishings have changed but the feeling remains the same. Like a warm hug. Comfort. Acceptance. I feel unwound, unburdened and peaceful. My parents' joys and love is in everything. There’s a list of birds and wild creature sightings handwritten by my dad on the fridge along with a breakfast recipe he created and cooked for the two of them. There’s shelves of silver tools and contraptions in the ‘boys’ bathroom, a place for him to try out his unconventional wind-catcher inventions from found items. He would show me what he was working on and explain it to me. My mom’s scissors are left on a cushioned chair - one for cutting fabric and one for cutting creative shapes out of paper just for fun. Pages of her marker and colored pencil doodles are in stacks. An old church bulletin lays out with penciled notes to my dad indicating her concern for a church-goer now home from the hospital. Thick black records remind me how she would fill the room with upbeat music and we would sing and dance together as green-eyed flies would sneak through the open doors and land on our sticky, unfurled fly-catching strips. Outside, the acre of land that butts up against a sugar beet field, the once small trees are now tall and full. I find the graveyard of the swing set laying in the grass that my sister and I played on as kids, rusted and deteriorating. I can’t dwell too long on the sadness of what is gone, as it molded me into the person I am today. All those days spent mostly outside, breathing in nature from the crack of dawn glinting off the silver silos, picking wild raspberries in the forest, swimming at the beach in the heat of the day, making drip castles in the wet sand, visiting the one-stop-sign-town for an ice cream cone, playing games and laughing with my sister, exploring and finding rocks, bugs and flowers filled up my soul. Some days were extended by curling up in a cushion by a soft crackling campfire and having my dad point out constellations in the enormous, inky night sky. Peeling back the silver paper of a chocolate bar for s’mores was exciting and licking the melted marshmallow off my fingers, as we sang and told stories. I was a carefree kid with bangs - before bras, boys or bills. Sometimes family friends would meet us at the school house and us kids, united again from our neighborhood would go trekking down the long, straight dirt road for an adventure - always going south which led to a crick that ran under the road. Flat fields of crops and lines of tilled earth surrounded us for miles. From the edge of the ditch we would pick bouquets of Queen Anne’s Lace that had little ants crawling on them and be greeted by large loose dogs wagging their tails as we passed each farm house. From any direction you can see the entire expanse of the cornflower blue sky. This is still the same. My first morning back, I laced up my hiking boots and pondered how I would greet the loose dogs I might encounter. My breath tightened half way to the old crick, as a gun shot rung out, coming from the property I was near. It’s a Sunday Morning, typically more quiet than ever, but two more shots were fired. My heart rate and walking pace quickened, worried that a bullet may find me. I actually thought to my self, “Well, if this it, I will have died happy, here on this dirt road from my childhood.” That’s when it became crystal clear to me how grateful I am. Grateful to have had a life so connected to nature. Feeling so free, so safe and so blessed to just be my self and be loved. I approached the old crick and sat on a large rock at the edge. A steady flow of water rippled over the same bed of rocks. The book I had brought with me on this trip was “You Are Here” by Thich Nhat Hanh. He uses the metaphor of the river in explaining that everything is changing - our physical form, our feelings, our perceptions. Watching the current comb the the wisps of bright green algae, I thought about how impermanent everything is. Despite the school house feeling like a firm foundation to me, one day it may not exist anymore. The crick may dry up, the farm land overdeveloped. I relished every sensation I could soak up in the moment of my Now - the trickling water sound, the bright white birch that serves as lookouts for the birds, the rusty, but still sharp barbed wire I almost lean back on, the dry, crunchy leaves on the ground, the cool breeze and warm sun on my face. I am so blessed, so grateful to feel as free, loved and unburdened as I did when I was nine. Before I walk back, I grab a rock the size of a blueberry muffin that was nestled between the roots of a tree and I push it down into my jeans pocket. A reminder. Anytime, anywhere, I can go Back to Nine. Beauty is Everywhere - Holly  With lots of hours to fill during this Quarantine, I've revisited several old favorite activities, including sewing. The process holds some life lessons.
Life is like sewing. You can’t make a new garment instantly. Here’s what you do: -Pick a goal (the dress, the shirt - Imagine yourself wearing it) -Find out your size (evaluate yourself) -Set out your tools (using the right tools is essential to success) -Cut out the pieces of the pattern (form smaller goals to get toward the larger one) -Pin it (make small commitments) -Cut out the fabric (take some risks) -Throw out the scraps (get rid of things that are not useful to you anymore) -Start sewing your fabric parts together (slowly and carefully, piece by piece, create the foundation of your new goal with patience) -Iron it as you go (the heat and pressure are helpful in the end) -Take a step back from your project (re-evaluate what you are doing and make adjustments as needed - you don’t have to stick to the original directions) -Appreciate how far you’ve come (creating is amazing - your skills and hard work are amazing) -Don’t rush the final steps (each step is important) -Even if this particular project doesn’t work out… (you have learned a lot and can begin again. Learning/making mistakes is valuable in going forward. Sometimes we take one step forward and three steps back - that’s normal) -You’ve completed your goal. (self-satisfaction feels good - you can also take it to another level if you share with someone else for a more rewarding feeling.) Sewing again has brought me some structure, control and creativity to my days. Beauty is Everywhere - Holly |
AuthorHi, I'm Holly. 
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