It has been several months since I have posted anything on my blog and I have realized several things during the months of non-posting.

My writing is a practice and it is a practice which keeps me centered, balanced and focused. It is a practice that would have been good to rely on during the previous months.

My yoga is also a practice which keeps me centered, balanced and focused. It, also, is a practice which would have been good to rely on during the precious months. Correction: my yoga is a practice which puts me into a place of meditation which keeps me centered, balanced and focused. My yogi teaches that the mind is the taxi driver and my spirit is the person in the backseat. If the taxi driver is doing the driving with no instruction from the person in the back seat there really is no idea where the path of the journey will be. If the person in the backseat is giving instructions to the taxi driver then the journey will be more filled with intention and purpose. For many years my mind was the driver and the person in the backseat was silent so when I choose to think in a stress-filled way, that old pattern likes to jump into control again. It is only through diligent practice that I can maintain a difference between the taxi driver and the person in the back street. These last months have taught me the importance of that diligence.

I have also learned that it is possible to completely block out the moment to moment experience of life and not notice or feel parts of life or all of it. It is possible to become numb and not realize the “numbness.” I have learned, again, that it may take something “momentous” to be forced out of the numbness. I wonder how many times I will have to learn this lesson in this lifetime. The “momentous” experience for me this time happened over a period of several months this summer and fall. I was forced to look at the experience of my life and realize it was time to break out of the numbness.

I have also learned that moving into a place of uncertainty may cause others to feel fear and worry. The phrase I heard most often toward the end of my momentous experience was variations on how will I survive. When I responded with “I don’t know but I’m sure I will be fine” that is when I was frequently confronted by fear. On the surface it may have been legitimate concern for my well-being but I think on a deeper level that response may have touched something within each questioner about his/her own uncertainty.

I have also learned to be precise and clear when setting intentions. Last year at Christmas I set an intention to be out of retail before another Christmas came. At the beginning of June there was no path that I could see for the fulfillment of that intention but here it is a few days before Christmas and I am no longer in retail. As I look at a lifetime of unintentional and intentional intention setting I am in awe at the way the Divine works on our behalf.

I look forward to deepening my practice of writing and I look forward to reading your responses and thoughts. My hope and prayer for everyone during this Christmas season is that the Light that is celebrated on December 25th shines into all the dark corners of everyone’s life bringing divine illumination.

Hummingbird moment

It happened for two mornings in a row and only as a result of walking the dogs. There is a part of our walk that leads through wildflowers on the edge of a swamp and, from a doggy perspective, is filled with intense and varied smells. This particular part of the walk takes a long time to accomplish even though the distance is very short. Lillee and Gabbee will take a step and sniff and this is not just a quick sniff. This sniff is a “bury the nose deeply for a long time” sniff. Each step is a “bury the nose deeply” step. As a consequence I spend a long time standing and breathing. The area is worthing breathing deeply because it is filled with all the wonderful “sniffs” of wildflowers.

The change over the last two mornings has been a visitor whom I’ve seen at a distance in the trees but never like this. Yesterday morning this iridescent visitor flew by and then came back and hovered looking straight at me. The beat of the wings was so rapid that the wings seemed to be still and the long pin-like bill used for gathering precious nectar pointing straight at me. It was almost eerie the way time seemed to stop and everything went still. It was like being captured momentarily in a bubble. The hummingbird appeared again the next day but this time it was to swoop across my path drawing attention to its beautiful coloring in the early morning sun.

I have learned to pay attention to small things like this. I believe that the Divine sends us messages in a variety of ways and nature is not the least among those methods of communication. After all, it was a burning bush through which Moses heard “I Am” so I’m convinced that nature is a significant method of Divine communication. When I got home, I opened my book of bird wisdom and checked out hummingbirds. This is what learned about hummingbird wisdom.

Hummingbirds see unusually well particularly in color. They can see patterns that are invisible to human eyes. They are also a high energy bird and need to eat almost constantly to stay alive. They draw their life and energy from the nectar of flowers. A hummingbird hovering around a person invites that person to see deeply, to look beyond the surface and search for patterns that are difficult to see. A hummingbird experience suggests being aware of energy levels. The invitation from the hummingbird is to spend time in nature or enjoying nature’s bounty in the forms of fresh fruit.

In the past, I would have been content to admire and be in awe of the hummingbird moment but I have come to believe that there is more to these experiences than I originally thought. To be honest, it is a little difficult to write about because of wondering what the reader of this might think of me. To see a hummingbird as a divine method of communication is not part of my current culture. I can’t even say that I know exactly what the hummingbird may have been trying to communicate to me. This is what I do know. Because of my dogs I stopped and it was in that moment of stopping that something extraordinary happened. I searched for meaning in that extraordinary moment. I sought to look deeply and to search for patterns that were not part of my everyday experience. Since then I have become more aware and have taken more time to hover in nature allowing the beauty to surround me and to quiet me and perhaps that is all that I am being asked to do: stop, hover and sip deeply from nature’s bounty.

The air is different

The air is different in the evening. I know this from my twice daily walks with the dogs. The air at 5:30 am is very different from the air at 7:00 at night.

That air that I breathe in during the evening walks is heavy and full. It is filled with layers of scents like a spice rack. The fragrance from the flowers and plants that has been released in the heat of the day mingles with the whiffs of kitchens and grills: the lavender and the pine with the steaks and stews. It is like an incense that slightly tickles the nose.

In the evening it feels as if the air is laden with the thoughts and feelings experienced by those who unconsciously inhale and then exhale into the world the joys, the worries, the introspections, the anxieties, the gladness, and the thousand other feelings that are felt during the day. It is saturated with coffee shop conversations and quiet meditations, with heated discussions and loving interludes, with sirens and children’s laughter punctuated with the sounds of the cicadas and the horns of cars.

The early morning air is empty. It has had time during the night to release the absorptions of the day. All the sounds, feelings, thoughts and activities of the day have dissipated leaving behind a bareness that allows the first sounds to filter in without distraction. The fragrance of the flowers is more sharp and poignant at 5:30 am. The first bird songs have more clarity when they aren’t mixed with the cacophony of cars and people. The early morning bees stand out in that emptiness.

The sun is not yet up in the August sky at 5:30 am as it is in June so there is still a milky, blurred quality to the day. Everything waits in suspension for the first sounds, first thoughts, first movements. The rabbits sit in the openness enjoying their breakfast of grass watered with the early dew. The birds start their first conversations from tree to tree and once again the layering begins.

Mia the yogi master

Mia is the Giant Schnauzer that has moved in on the other side of the circle. She is a deep gorgeous black. She walks with a gentle knowing. It is not a Doberman or German Shepherd walk that carries with it a certain authority. It is not a Siberian Husky walk which has a distinct focus with the eyes gazing steadily forward. And it is not a defensive walk for which her breed is known. Instead, Mia places her paws on the road with a gentleness and a sureness that states that she knows exactly her place in the world and that she is content being in that place.

My dogs react to that knowing. They don’t start barking at her as is their wont with other big dogs. It is a general rule of thumb that small dogs feel the necessity to bark at big dogs. What they don’t have in size, small dogs make up for in sound. But with Mia it is different. They approach Mia with the same gentleness that she exudes. Despite the significant difference in sizes, they quietly extend to each other the usual doggie courtesies. Chit chat is exchanged between myself and Mia’s owner while the dogs are involved in their communication and then everyone moves on. It is an astonishing encounter. If it had happened only the one time, then it could perhaps be written off as odd but it has happened three times now.

In our small neighborhood circle I know the people more by the dogs they own than by the owners themselves. I suppose that makes quite a statement about me but that fact is that when I’m walking my dogs, it is good to know where there are potential pitfalls. Next door to my house is Rocky, a playful Doberman mix with whom my dogs love to exchange greetings through the fence. At the first curve in the circle is the Mini Schnauzer who has the same small dog penchant that my dogs have. Generally he is out in his front yard around 7 in the morning so that’s not a good time to go by his house unless I want to intentionally wake the neighbors. Next door to the Mini Schnauzer is an elderly Yorkie and a Westie who usually get their walk around 6:30 in the morning. By unspoken agreement their owner and myself go different ways. Four small dogs trying to prove they’re big at 6:30 am is just not something a small neighborhood could get excited about. If by chance, we do see each other, one of us politely waits in the distance until an alternate route can be found by one of us. Down the street from them is the Welsh terrier; a pretty dog that frequently looks bewildered by my dogs’ response to her. Mia lives across from the Welsh. The neighborhood also includes a German Shepherd and two Pomeranians. It is nice mix of big and small and it’s nice that so many of the people in the circle love dogs.

Gabbee, Lillee, and I not only take the walk around the circle but we frequently take a mile walk that takes us through difference neighborhoods. We regularly meet a variety of dogs most of whom get the usual small dog bark. However, every time we come upon Mia it is with stillness and silence. The general perception of Mia would be one of a giant guard dog intent on defending her property. However, as she gallops across the yard to greet my dogs, no one, least of all my dogs feel fear. Mia doesn’t bark. She simply comes to a stop and waits. My dogs don’t bark. They simply stand and sniff. I simply stand in wonderment. It leaves me wondering if there is such as thing as a centeredness in dogs, the kind that we search for as humans.

Does Mia come by that naturally? Is her own environment that peace filled that she carries it out into the world? What is it in Mia that allows this to happen? Why are my dogs so different around her? There is one thing that is clear to me, in the midst of this wonderment. Mia is a yogi master and I await my opportunity to sit at her paws and learn.

Doggie Snoozing

I had a good chance recently, when I was sick, to closely study the sleepy habits of my dogs. It has led to the discovery that their sleeping habits in some ways mimic their dog walking habits. In other words, when it comes to these two dogs and sleeping, it’s butt first.

Each dog claims her distinct area of the bed and Gabbee being the alpha dog always gets first dibs. Her dibs are always the middle of my back or the back of my knees. Lillee, on the other hand, heads towards the top of the bed curling up somewhere near my head or on top of my head at the top of the pillow, but here’s where “butt first” comes in. While I’m laying on the bed head to foot they lay on the bed foot to head so that their tails are nearest my face. I believe, understanding the nature of dogs, that they intend this to be a great compliment. For dogs everything is about the tail end: greetings, health, any kind of doggie communication is done more through the tail end than through the muzzle. Even a good wag takes the tail end.

So there I am curled up in the middle of my double size bed or rather penned in the middle of my double size bed. (I can’t imagine having a smaller bed but I’m not sure a bigger bed would make any difference.) I have one dog tucked snugly against the center of my back and the other curled up by my shoulder or on top of my head. It is rather comforting when you are shivering with chills to have these two warms bodies snuggled so close to you. I know that they understand instinctively my need for contact and they are more than willing to be the able bodied providers of that contact.

But then, in about a half hour they both get too hot and the movement begins. One shifts down to my knees and the other moves to the cooler top corner of the bed. And, in another half hour another shift takes place. Then, sooner or later, there is the movement to the floor and then to the chair and then back to the bed and then to another place on the bed and then back to the floor and then the chair and then the bed and then... Even this, in my sickness induced sleep would not be that disturbing. There is a gently rhythm to the movement like the tides coming and going. It’s that inevitably sometime during the time when a tail is closest to my face another aspect of tail end activity presents itself wafting gently into my nostrils. In my deep sleep, I stir. I snort slightly and open one eye to find Lillee looking intently at her tail end as if wondering what exactly just happened. It is very clear to me even if it is not to her!

Would I change the habits and the comforts these two dogs bring despite the aromatic gift that I am given with some nightly frequency? Absolutely not. They probably believe that they have just bestowed upon me one of their highest honors because, for them, everything is “butt first.”

Lillee the Huntress

Lillee is a throw back. She is not what a bichon frise should be. She looks the part of a Bichon with her white, soft, slightly curly fur and the tail that curls gently over her back but the ancient art of sitting next to an owner and being quietly stroked and pampered is not part of her makeup. She is a dog not a lap dog. She proves it every day. She is a hunter...the most ancient type of dog.


Her purpose, as she wakes in the morning is not to move from bed to chair quietly following the owner to fulfill the owner’s need to love something living. She does not rise in the morning thinking, “how may I best serve my owner this day?” She rises for the specific purpose of getting outside as quickly as possible and not for the general doggie reason. Her primary task is to take a survey of the yard. What has happened over night? What animals have left their scent behind? Who has come into her domain? Is there a squirrel on the bird feeder that she might surprise if she is quick enough out of the door? Could there be a ground squirrel too far from its hole? She darts to a tree and does a brief inspection ending with a quick pounce in the hopes that she has surprised some furry or feathered creature and then continues on to finish the yardly inspection. This is the worthy purpose that begins Lillee’s day.

It is only when these questions have been satisfied that Lillee will concede to being a lap dog and then only for brief stretches of time. It is always necessary to do timely checks on her realm for any changes that may have occurred but in between those checks she will take moments of relaxation and allow herself to be petted and pampered. She is, after all, the ruler of this one acre kingdom and deserves the pat as an acknowledgement of her importance in the protection of the castle in her kingdom.

Her survey and protection of this yard occasionally results in the capture and sometimes execution of those inhabitants that venture out while she is on her survey. In her role as hunter and protector she can sit totally inanimate for extended periods of time waiting for any creature to dare to cross her path, to come up out of a hole or to stealthily move down a tree. When she has fulfilled that hunter’s instinct, she expects to be acknowledged for her skill. She proudly presents her prize by bringing it into the house to be dropped at her owner’s feet or laid carefully on the carpet to be admired. It is the role of her owner, myself, to duly admire the kill...and then quickly dispose of it before she decides to completely carry out the hunter’s instinct. Exhausted and fulfilled by her role as yard protector supreme she, once again, takes a moment to be a lap dog until it is time to go to bed for night; assured that in the morning her skills and her role as the hunter dog will begin again. She may be bichon but she is hunter!

It is in watching Lillee at her morning tasks that has me wondering what I would be like if I did not live according to the roles assigned to me. She has no sense of her heritage only her sense of calling and that calling is her primary purpose in life. Is there a way to live, I wonder, as if I were not daughter, mother, woman, sister, aunt, ancestor to the Applachians and all the other stories that seem to make up parts of me; stories that through the years have defined me to me. What if I simply got up in the morning and raced to fulfill my purpose in life as Lillee does? Would I be filled with the joy and commitment that I sense in Lillee every morning? It is hard to begin to imagine who I would be and what I would be like if I were not defined by the roles and stories and even by my name. All these aspects lend structure to who I think of as myself in the way that the body lends a structure to the soul. And, this is where I pause. The soul has so much more freedom when it is not bound by a body. Would I be able to enjoy that freedom if I were not caught up in who this body is as defined by that which has been named Deborah? Is it possible to live as Lillee does without the sense and heritage of being Bichon and simply be “dog.” As my mind tries to wrap itself around this concept, there is a moment when I grasp fully what this might be like and then, like the ground squirrels Lillee chases, it slips into a hole. I think this lack of structure might be worth sitting inanimately, as Lillee does, patiently waiting for my ground squirrel to appear out of the hole again so that it may be captured. Or perhaps it is more the sense of just doing out of the being that Lillee teaches me each morning...just simply do what I was meant to be and let the ground squirrels appear at the perfect moments.

dog walking

5/27/09

Today I watched a man running on the sidewalk. He was clearly a newbie. There was little grace in his running style. His face showed the exertion. It is once again spring and those would be runners/weight loss aspirers are back pounding the pavement. It is not as if I would show any grace if I decided to start running. I’m definitely a walker preferably in nature on the cushioned paths of dirt or grass not the non-forgiving surface of cement.

Each morning I go walking with my dogs who remind me every morning that this walk is a necessity for their well being. With dogs, this is definitely not a power walk. This is a sniff every blade of grass, pee on every scent some other dog has left behind, dawdle and enjoy the stroll kind of walk. They stick their muzzles deep into the grass like it is a freshly cut bouquet of flowers, taking in every possible scent that is covering every stem of that grass. Undoubtedly there are hundreds of scents. When I contemplate how many dogs must pass this same way every day and every one of those dogs stopping at exactly that same spot and doing exactly what my dogs are doing, I wonder if I’m missing something in having such a dulled olfactory sense. What would it be like, I wonder, to be able to scent every human that has walked this same path before me? What would I know about those humans from the scents? Could I tell how big they are? Would I know what they had eaten for their meals?

As they stop for this doggie intimate moment, I stop. I take a moment to look around, breathe deeply, admire the colors of the leaves of the trees against the backdrop of the sky. I can feel my shoulders drop a few inches as the thoughts and plans of the day drop off my shoulders for a moment. I am reminded to live in the moment for just this moment. I can almost hear Eckhart Tolle and Oprah talking about living in the moment as I stop to sniff too. So for countless times during the course of this necessary walk for the dogs I stop and breathe deeply and appreciate the moment. I realize how grateful I am that I am not aspiring to be a springtime runner and how grateful I am that my dogs find it necessary to take this walk every morning. It gives me a chance to stick my muzzle in the air and just breathe deeply.