Always look up

look up -- 
to slowly see the wonder of nature as if for the first time thousands of leaves changing color ever so gingerly slower than a summer's snail greens to golds to pinks to oranges to reds snowflakes will stick to the kitchen window like spring's fallen petals in the rain when we let go of our monkey minds
long enough
to know --
this is the best season of our lives

At the altar

I spent yesterday in an all-day silent retreat with my MBSR (mindfulness-based stress reduction) class. Only one session left. I'd set an intention for the day, not to compare it to my past all-day meditation practices at the Mindfulness Practice Center (Fairfax) and to welcome the day with renewed hope. May we heal this broken world of ours, one sacred breath at a time. 

at the day's altar

i seek the Universe's light

to reflect Life's poetry back to me

at the day's altar 

i offer my conscious breath

grateful to have lived another day

after eight spells

this intimate group of believers

awakens my commitment to

kapwa . . . togetherness

i walk through the window of wonder 

with a deeper practice of sacred breath

and inner connectedness

Tucked in that sweet place

I walked around the lake this morning. As I think of her now, I write by candlelight . . . in her memory.

One year ago, those autumn walks are what got me through my best friend's death. Today, I made sure to let her daughter know that I was thinking of her on her mom's one-year death anniversary. I make sure to share a reflection or two in my monthly letters to her parents. And as I connect with new friends, I am sure to mention her name along with a fond flashback. 

I will look at old photos later and remember our adolescent moments of uproarious laughter, the ones that got us kicked out of Jersey City's Good Times arcade and Pizza Hut at Hudson Mall. The teendom kind that leaves you not embarrassed, but winsome. We didn't know it then, but those were the days . . . when the whole world was warm, and we were blessed and lucky. The loss of one of my dearest friends hurts the most, knowing that her story was not finished. 

Still, I celebrate your wonderfully creative life and most tender strength and know that your story continues through all those who experienced you. 

My dearest Ethel, may you be tucked forever in our hearts.