Follow the Scat

In Flight                                                                          Catherine Al-Meten Meyers

Scat. No not the improvised vocalizations of a jazz singer, but the scatalogical droppings of animals like deer, elk, moose, and horses.  When heading out on a new trail, how do we know where to go? Writers find themselves constantly heading out in new directions, even when they'd most like to stick with some kind of routine.  Routines develop during periods when the status quo is the norm, but as we all know, nothing ever stays the same for very long. The status quo is the existing state, but probably not the permanent state of affairs. As we live our lives, we realize that life is dynamic--ever changing no matter what we may wish or want.

And change is good. Change and dynamism bring about new opportunities and different circumstances and conditions. All this change calls us to adjust, adapt, and look at the way we're living differently.  Philisophically, it all makes sense. In actuality, in the every day of it all, change isn't always easy.  We live in a time when change is rapid and chaotic and constant. Just when we get used to one set of circumstance, they change forcing us to adjust again. Alvin Toffler, a futurist writer of the 1970s wrote a book, Future Shock, describing pretty much what has been happening over the last 50 years. In the macrocosm, we witness constant change, yet in our personal lives, we still try to build in some semblance of stability. We grow comfortable with the status quo, and yet, we still find that the inevitable comes. Change happens.

With writers, the last twenty or thirty years have been an incredible time of change as well. The technology that has enhanced our ability to communicate, research, share, and discover data  and information in real time, has changed the way we relate to one another and has changed the way we think and understand the world in which we live. Possibilities have opened for us to extend our writing skills beyond just what we can write by hand or type out on a page of type written script. We have moved from a press that depended on typesetting and printing to one of electronic media and press. While traditional publishing houses still exist and dominate much of the writing market, independent, freelance, and self publishing have all become terms and occupations that are less desparaged and moving more into the mainstream. What does all this have to do with setting out in search of a new trail and animal poop? Well there is a connection here, and it has to do with learning to recognize the trails, though they be metaphoric, that we are feeling called toward. How do the day to day activities and events of our lives, point us in the direction that is ahead? Toward that which may be the next right step for us?

As I set out to take a walk this morning, I wasn't sure of where I was going. Having moved to this area recently, what with all the unpacking, moving, holidays, and pretty bad weather, I hadn't gone out on the river walk by my house since the middle of the summer. I went out on a small section of the walk with a friend who lives here, and had a kind of vague recollection of how we'd made our way out there. It's not far from my front door, but it's over and across a field with no clearly marked path. That is no path unless you know what to look for. Night before last at about 3:30 a.m., my cats alerted me to movement outside our door. I ran over to the sliding glass doors and there in the moonlight was a large body next to my car. The body was a giant elk who was making his way into the yard. There is a small path beside my house that the local elk use as they make their way around their territory. Their animal souls have been using these trails for thousands of years--years and eons before the houses that cover the land were built. The elk and deer, the birds and other animals still wander on the trails they have always wandered on as they go from place to place. Only now they have to make their way around the buildings, fences, gardens, and vehicles that we have planted in their way.

This morning, I bundled up. It was icy cold. The car windshield still had a layer of ice on it, and the tall trees all around the property were blowing in the wind. Living on the edge of the Continent as I do, the cold winds of winter have a meaning unlike anything I've ever experienced before. My yoga buddy warned me about the winds on the coast, and though I believed him, I didn't quiet understand what that meant to me until this morning. I wore  my thermal top, some long underwear under my jeans, a warm jacket, and a couple of scarves--one around my neck, and the other wrapped around my neck, shoulders, and face. I crossed the street and made my way along the split log fence that neatly lined the big estate across the street. Gong to the end of the fence line, I found a deer trail that led through the bush. The trail was so faint it was almost impossible to discern. Then I spotted the first pile of scat...elk poop I could tell from the size. My suspicions were confirmed as I continued to follow the path that was nothing more than some beaten down wild grass with an occasional pile of animal droppings. Next I saw deer droppings, and then more elk, and I knew I was on the right path. The animals take the same paths over and over, and they also take the best paths.

The field was still protected from the icy winds that I could hear blowing. Looking up, I saw a gull or two having trouble flying forward as the strong winds pushed them sideways in their flight. I pushed forward. Now and then it seemed the path split. I had to decide which path to take. The one that led up a hill or the one that led more to the right towards an open area? I chose the one to the right. I chose it because I could see fresh scat on the path ahead. The elk had gone this way recently. Making my way to the end of another fence line, I found a dirt road that led to a bank of rocks that were covered with dirt and weeds. I remembered climbing up this bank last summer when it was dry and slippery. Today it was solid and much easier to climb. And there was a fresh pile of elk poop right in front of me. The elk must have come this way. I climbed up the bank that was about 4-5 feet high, and found myself out on the riverwalk. The River was right in front of me. Nothing protecting me from the blowing wind and the river that flowed swiftly out to sea beside me. The walk was a simple path of asphalt built atop a levee of rocks. The river was high and swift today, full of whitecaps. Whitecaps indicate a rough sea, and there was not a single boat or ship to be seen out on the water.

I looked west as I turned my back to the wind, and started my walk. I saw one long fishing pier and mooring, and the remains of an old pier right in front of me. The pilings from a once upon a time pier, were all that remained of one of the old canneries. The other pier up ahead was still in use, and at a distance I could see a cannery its smoke stacks smoking indicating it was busy at work. This is crabbing season, and the dangerous task of going out in the winter waters to get that delicious crab dinner for you, has cost more than one man his life. Just last week a crew from a fishing boat that capsized was pulled safely aboard another boat who just happened to be near enough to help. The survival time in cold, rough water is measured in seconds and minutes at this time of the year, not hours or days. This crew was lucky to walk away with their lives. Unlucky because their fishing boat is in the briny deep of the Columbia River, but alive. We all breathed a sigh of relief when we heard they were safe, and more than one of us prayed in gratitude for the miracles of the day.

In front of me on the ground was my long shadow...stretching out to a length heading north and south about twice the length of my real body. I have accidently taken shadow shots of myself on many occasions. Today I took a photo on purpose, and noticed that this was the first of many photos that I will be taking on this new trail that is now part of my daily routine. My daily routine has changed abrutly and quickly. From writing day after day, getting to yoga 3-4 times a week, seeing clients on a regular basis, and taking little side trips and participating in different activities, I have reverted to some kind of packing routine. I pack, and unpack. I load and unload. I haul stuff from place to place, and wonder what to do with old furniture, clothes, books, and doo dads. My body screamed for over a month at me, letting me know it didn't like the changes I had put it through. I had trouble adjusting to the changes of light and my cats' new antics. My whole routine of life changed, and I have not yet figured out what a new routine is going to be.

Last week I began seeing clients again. I began writing daily chapters, and started making plans and taking care of business other than moving. My new shopping and cleaning routines are beginning to fall into place.  After letting my laundry stack up, I found a place in a national park that has a cute little laundromat in the woods. It's perfect, neat, and clean, and very close to my home. It's a new weekly adventure. We are learning about the patterns and routines of the local animals as well. The cats and I are on the ground floor for the first time. We pick up much more of the local action this way. Deer, elk, other cats, and dogs wander by. The bushes outside the windows are full of tiny finches and I'm sure there is much more going on than I've noticed yet.

Out on the river walk, I wrapped my scarf around my face, and pulled my green wool hat down over my ears, and breathed deeply as my teeth chattered and I felt the cold wind pierce my clothes. Bone chilling wouldn't be too heavy a word to call this. Fortunately I had put some warm gloves on. but my face was freezing and my watery eyes and runny nose were icing up on me. I got to the end of the trail, took a few shots of the pier and a memorial bench left for the River Keeper, and I turned off the path and headed down another path to the main street. I crossed the street and walked a bit. Seeing that my path led back into a neighborhood, I turned back toward the river path. I thought I'd try to walk it against the wind for a ways. Getting back up on the path, the wind was now blowing in my face. I took some shots and breathed deeply wondering if I was going to survive, and then it hit me. I wasn't doing this walk as an act of contrition or because someone was forcing me to. So I turned back and decided to walk back down to the road and back towards my house--a more protected route.

In the neighborhood where I live, there are no sidewalks. Instead there are more animal trails that lead up and around cracks in the ground, property line fences, trees and bushes, and mail boxes. When the property got too rough, I'd notice that the deer or elk had worn a second path leading out of harm's way. The paths they blaze are best to follow because they know the best and easiest ways to avoid trouble. They also know the prettiest paths. Today there were no elk or deer on the path with me, but I followed where they have worn a true path through the neighborhood. Walking past the old estate across the street from my house, I remember seeing the elk walking along the same path I was on today. I stopped at my mail box, pulled out yesterday's mail, and took one last look up the hill to where I had followed the deer and elk scat to the river walk. Next time, I'd walk the other direction, and explore the path that leads east. Today it was enough to recognize how to find my way by following in the well worn paths of those who know the path better than I .

And what did I discover? That the river has a different kind of beauty when it's almost too cold to bear. That the path may not seem clear or direct, but if I follow my instincts, trust what has come before, and make choices that soothe rather than harm, I'm bound to get some good work done. Today I have some beautiful shots of the river, the mountains, the bridges, piers, and little pieces of my new neighborhood. I've looked at things from a different angle, and allowed myself to move out of comfort into something much more enjoyable---exploring. When I got back home, I was taking my hat, scarves, and jacket off, when I discovered a large twig stuck in my hair. Attached to the twig was some dried up lichen, and I wondered when it had attached itself to me on the walk. In following the deer and elk paths, I had had to make my way through a lot of bushes, trees, and grass. Somewhere along the way, I picked up pieces of the past and I became part of the path. Maybe some animal will follow my scent and go looking for or avoiding the human who had wandered out of her ordinary world into the world of the river and its life along the river as it rushes out to sea.

Stages of a Journey: Somewhere in Between

Birds of a Feather                                                                                                                      Catherine Al-Meten Meyers

At any given time, we find ourselves at various stages of experiences, conditions, and relationships. Before something happens, as it is happening, and in the aftermath of what has come before. All this applies to us regardless of who we are or what we do. There's are the moments before a big event, the event itself, and the reflections and consequences of what we experienced. Whether it is going to university, getting married or divorced, having children, making a home for ourselves, or caring for our family member and friends as they reach the end of their lives. We have great joys and sorrows, and we have a lot of the in between times as well. Writers experience the multi-layers of experience in just about everything we do.

There's the seeding and germination time when we come up with ideas or begin to envision a new creation. We get ideas or inspiration for poetry or music. We discover lyrics on a walk, or a tune in the shower. We find meaning and purpose as we struggle to find solutions to big problems. We have doubts, fears, and worries, yet we plunge ahead into the unknown despite them. We may spend time, sometimes a lot of time, wondering if we should or not. Wondering if we're good enough or not. Wondering if what we're doing is worth the energy. Wondering if anyone will care or notice or be touched.  Something about writing though, is in itself, the answer to just about any problem or challenge. Through our writing, we explore and discover. Through our writing, we reveal our true thoughts or uncover the hidden treasure trove of our minds and imagination. And we write regardless of what stage we're in.

Beginnings are times when we take great risks. We set out into the unknown. We may have maps, charts, list, plans, and diagrams all set down as if their creation alone will bring the desired result. But we also know, as writers, that's seldom how it goes. The journey itself is one that may thrive on some structure, but it may also be limited and blocked by too much of the expectations that require us to lose touch with the serendipity and whimsy that drives so much of our imagination. We learn to let go at times, and we learn to use our planning and list-making to help us when need be. Beginnings find us stepping into the darkness of the unknown, the incomplete, the unfinished, and the wide open spaces. Our desires and dedication keep us going forward, like that proverbial one step at a time. We put pen to page or fingers to keyboard, and let go. We let go of the yoke of wondering long enough to let the words come. And they come. Good writers keep going. Uncertain writers, keep backing up and editing as they go, thereby slowing down the process and momentum. Some great writers say they don't look back until they reach the very end. That's a very brave act, but one that helps keep us in the present of the characters and stories that are flowing out of us. When we get entangled and bogged down in starts and stops or mechanical and electronic glitches, our creativity level and patience may plummet.

Somewhere along the way, we discover ourselves well into the story we have created. And then what? We wake up each day, or sit up every night, letting the story go on. We wait for the characters to tell us where they're going, or what they're thinking, and then we get quiet, antsy perhaps, and wait. Nothing much happens until we trust the next word that we commit to paper or screen. Starting is all it takes, for there is always more to say. When we start hearing voices tell us things like, "You're never going to finish this," "there's something wrong about three chapters back...go back and fix it", or "what if this is all crap?"   Of course Anne Lamott tells us there's always the 'first shitty rough draft", and that seems to be so. So we work until we reach an end point, and then we start rereading rewriting, and critiquing ourselves, ad infinitum. And if we have editors, readers, agents, or well meaning friends, we get plenty of advice and criticism. So at what point do we get to the point where we've worked a piece enough? There must be something about the end of the calendar year with writers, because many writers I know spend the fall and early winter days and nights, reworking, editing, rewriting, and getting work done that has to be done before publication. Sometimes we are told we need to rewrite or reread or change something major about our work. And we have to decide for ourselves, what is the next best thing to do here?

We may rewrite and spend a few more months getting things ready or cleaned up or prepared for a deadline. We may reread and do a mad dash to some imaginary deadline (the kind we give ourselves so we get things done). Many of us learned to do all-nighters when we were students or teachers, or when we were Mothers trying to get it all done in the hours we weren't working full time. Yes, we're skilled at pushing ourselves. A good trait for a writer, but we also have to do the caretaking part. We need rest. We need fuel for the fires of our passions. We need diversion and time to simply get lost or to bury ourselves in some good piece of literature or a hour or two in film land or a day or two by the beach or in the mountains. A horseback ride always provides me with a true sense of taking a break. A time when we get out of our daily grind, our normal mode of operation, and shake things up a bit. Today is a New Moon, and having made several decisions that will help me move into the final stage of this book's creation, I find myself wanting to jump over the hurdles to the end zone magically.

Only endings don't usually come about as a result of some magical act, Divine intervention, or wish granted by the genie in the jar. Endings arrive slowly but surely by picking up all the pieces, taking each step and addressing all the steps that are required to give birth to the next book. There's a system and process that is required whether you submit your work to a publisher or publish your own work as an indie author. We get to the end in any number of ways, but there are steps than need to be done. For some, this process part of the journey is in no way appealing. Just as we discover our parenting skills, we find ourselves as writers too. When you become a parent, you have no idea how you're going to respond to the different demands made of a parent. There are some ages that we are better at than others. There are some of us who try to be consistent with our parenting; they're the ones that may have a harder time when our children, unlike robots, do not stick with the plan.

Children grow and carry their own temperments and destinies around with them, and we can be supportive and help out when we can, or we can block, challenge, hinder, or miss the boat and miss knowing the real person who is our child. As our children age and make their own way in life, they change. And we must do so likewise, if we want to remain at all connected or relevant to them. Their lives are not our lives, and they are dealing with a lot we didn't have to. We can offer support and give advice only when asked, or we can judge and build walls between what we expect and what we are being offered. And if you are not a parent, you are a child of one. And we carry around the role playing with us even when they are no longer alive. We develop similarly with friends. With some friendships, there is room to grow; with others we can only be friends if we continually return to the points where we met and engaged in the first place. That may work for some; it doesn't work if you change.

The idea of adjusting to the different stages of life, life as a writer or artist or whatever we do, demands that we be open to receiving new information, of getting assistance, of relinquishing our need to control some things, and to develop the discipline to remain steadfast when all we want to do is be done.  And so endings, as hard as they might be to reach, do come. The end of anything comes in that moment of decision. I've followed the steps, completed the processes, revisited the questions, and set aside some choices for others. Now the moment has come to decide, what's next? Do I reread and rewrite one more time? Do I push the magic button and let the presses roll? Do I take a long vacation and hope I dream about the perfect answer?  Today, I have no idea. Today I've made a few decisions, and feel good about the choice of cover I've made. That may be enough for today. For we writers do share one thing in common. When we're on a roll, we want t keep that momentum going. Make one decision; why not make ten more? Why not? Well, because it's not necessary.There are other things that need tending to, and the next right decision will be there when I return to this point again.

For now, I'm setting aside the need to choose anything more. Setting aside the push to go farther, when what I need is to get some exercise and have some lunch.  Time to take a breather, and that, I believe, is a key to what makes writing more than just a passion. Writing is a lifestyle that demands we tend the fires, feed the body and soul, and take time to have a life apart from the words and pages and characters we spend so much time with. Everyone is happier and healthier when we honor the need for balance. The sun has disappeared behind the haze that is settling in here on the coast. The midday hour has come and gone, and it's now time to let go of the need for words, for now. This piece of this morning's journey is over. On to the next scene.

Fire on the Mountain: Awakenings, Observations, & Small Victories

Blooming Tulips                                                                Catherine Al-Meten Meyers

Life, when taken in large doses, can be overwhelming. Most of us are engaged to some extent, in the world outside of our own daily realm. We may try to figure out what is going on and what we might be able to do about tragedies of overwhelming proportions, disappointments with how people behave and think, or in coping with personal obstacles, upsets, and challenges. And most of the time, we have more than enough to deal with in just living day to day ourselves. Regardless of who we are, we each face circumstances that call out our highest selves and present unique challenges. How we cope and face that which we are faced with, determines what our lives look like.

It's not a coincidence that when the world is blowing up in some way on the outside, something similar may be happening in our own lives. In an example from the Northwest tribal cultures, we talk about "Fire on the Mountain".  The Pacific Northwest is located in Tierra del Fuego (the Ring of Fire). The land of fire refers to the string of volcanoes located all along the Pacific Rim including the Northwest. When we see smoke rising from one of the mountains, or when tremors and earthquakes occur, we take it as a sign that something big is brewing beneath the surface. Something that might erupt without much notice, changing the way we live our lives. And so we notice the signs, the ways that the natural world speaks to us. We notice when the rivers run fast and are full of white caps near the mouth, or when the tides are extremely low or high. We notice when the birds gather near the marshes, on their migration routes to the south, or when they return in giant flocks overhead. The world around us gives us signs, as does the world of human activity.

When humans in a given area are generally upset, everyone feels it. You personally may not be upset, but it is likely you'll notice the edginess of those around or near you. Likewise, when people are feeling peaceful and calm, it is apparent. Everything that is going on affects us. To ignore that fact, is to ignore the messages that we are receiving. Messages may include the need to slow down, or take a different route home. It may include hearing news that turns your world upside down. Messages that come in all forms including dreams, direct experience or observation, intuition or hunches, or knowledge gleaned from research or some form of study. Socrates coined the phrase, "The past is prologue," meaning we can look to the past to learn lessons about the present and the future. Events and experiences may not be identical, but there is enough evidence to show that we humans repeat patterns of behavior and our ideas and perspectives change over time. We swing between the extremes of the polarities in life, and when we as a collective body have swung too far in one direction, something usually occurs to swing us back more toward the center. The extremes on the pendulum represent the out limits of our experiences and choices, and often reflect what our response is to the events occurring in the world around us.

What does all this have to do with writing? If we are writers, artists, musicians, or creative people, we respond to the energies inherent in the dynamics of the world. In the last few months, for example, (maybe much longer for some of us), we have been bombarded with the pre and post election information and challenges. We have also been more acutely aware of the conditions that affect people in some of the most dangerous and troubled parts of the world. Our technology and communications systems have made it impossible for us to ignore what is going on. And as those who tend to attempt to reflect what is going on in the world and how it affects us, we are on some level tuned into the upsetting and chaotic, sad and frightening, and challenging and unpredictable nature of the world around us. At the same time, our lives go on, and our own challenges may also reflect that fire on the mountain.

We may have lost a job, or someone we love may have recently died. There may be a sudden and unexpected crisis or a chronic situation that is coming to a head right now. We may feel as though we are at our wits end about some situation we need to deal with, or we may find ourselves having to make a decision or react to someone else's decision in a way we'd rather not. If you're fortunate, your daily emergencies are not life threatening or too challenging, but if they are, how do you cope and maintain some level of focus, purpose, meaning, and direction? How do you do the work you need and love to do? How do you maintain mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual balance? How do you best tend to your own health and well being?

Some of us are good at rising to the occasion. We do well in emergencies or we work best under pressure. These skills are often learned by surviving earlier challenges, difficulties, or dysfunction. The gifts in the garbage, so to speak. And if you do well under pressure, you may have been channeling your energy into all kinds of meaningful and purposeful tasks. However, what happens when it comes to taking care of yourself? Really tuning in to what you need to find greater harmony, stay healthy, and take care of the basics of life. I write about this today as I'm just coming through a period of time that was set into motion long before it happened, but came to a head on the morning after the election. I recognize that it has forced me into having to search deep into my own well to find the strength, energy, focus, and willingness to ask for and accept support.

At the same time, it has coincided with some events in the world that I also have a long history with; the horrors of war and violence and being too far from the source to help. The pain and suffering experienced by others, though not my own, necessarily calls for some kind of ongoing response and action from me. And so, the challenges seem to be all around. And as I began this essay, I realized we may have reached the point of being well beyond overwhelming, if there is such a point. Not just for me, but for many who find themselves either in the middle of battle for their lives, or too far removed from it to feel useful.

I want to share some of what I've learned that has helped. In my practice of mindfulness, presence, and prayer, I have struggled at various times to know how to proceed or how to handle situations. The mental, emotional, and spiritual anguish we feel has been difficult for me as well. And so to try to get through one day or one hour at a time, I've relied on all three practices, even when I wondered if it was doing any good at all. Being mindful simply means, to me, slowing myself down enough to simply observe and breathe and connect with what is true in this moment. What is the situation right now? For example, there are two cats exploring the upper rafters of the house. Do I get up, grab the broom, and try to shoo them off? Or do I just let them be and keep on focusing on what I'm doing right now? What is the priority? A very simple, mundane, silly thing, but nevertheless, I could make it a bigger deal than it has to be. It depends on what I want to do with my energy.

Taking a bigger situation, one I understand probably better than I do the election and governmental process, is the violence and war in Syria. Prayer is a powerful force of energy, so just taking time to pray and focus my energy into bring safety and peace into a terrible situation is one way I can deal with it. Another way is to support in some way, the organizations that I know are helping. The on-the-ground organizations that can actually save lives. Another way I can help is to learn more. Having knowledge of the history and politics of the region helps. I read a lot of overseas newspapers, to get a variety of points of view. Mindfulness lets me become more aware of what is feasible or not. It also often helps me understand why I feel the way I do. What about my own life, makes me more aware at this moment, of the suffering of others?  Being able to get some perspective on how I can or cannot help another, may also trigger me to get more involved, more engaged, or to learn more. Going into a deep, dark depression or losing hope and sinking into that abyss, are not ways that help anyone; myself or anyone else. It may be that we feel the great pain and sorrow, but to get lost in it doesn't help.

This is the juncture between how an artist, a writer, composer, or musician will cope with what seems insurmountable or too dark and hopeless to bear. And so it is. Those simple little gifts we have, a roof over our head, food to eat, friends and family near, time to think about something besides survival--all gifts that to appreciate, we need to use as well. One thing I've learned is that I need to take care of the basics. Need to eat properly. Need to get enough water, and be thankful I have water. Need sleep and rest from the hard work and struggles. And in those moments when I rest from what wearies me, I notice things that give me the light I need to see my way ahead. Todays' blessings, found me in front of the fire this morning, sitting on the floor in prayer and meditation. A new spot that has become a holy place for me, and how grateful I am to have discovered it. From that same place, I looked up in the hour just before dawn, to see the Moon shining her light in the window high above the rafters. Next to the Moon some brilliant stars shimmering in the pre-dawn sky. And as the light began to fill out the colors of the day, I found that well of deep gratitude that is a reservoir for me.

What good fortune to be alive at this time, and to have the skills, knowledge, talents, and resources to be a creative person. And how to use those resources and gifts in ways that build up rather than tear down. That sustain, rather than drain, and that support and uplift rather than debase and degrade. And for all those whom I've worked and lived with,  those whom I have our  shared lives and stories, I have learned that whatever one suffers, calls the sufferer to search for whatever light sustains them in the darkest hours, in the worst moments and deepest pain. And I have met so many who have done more than survive, so I am fully aware that those who seek to hurt and destroy others, can never kill the human spirit, can never destroy and replace the Truth. The Truth, whatever that is, remains the Truth regardless the lies and corruption. And so we cling to what is true, good, and the next right thing to do. Acting with this motivation and taking care of the valuable gift of our lives, are the most beautiful ways of fulfilling Christ's command to love one another.

Starting Anew: After the Turning Point

White Tulips in Bloom                                                                                                              Catherine Al-Meten Meyers

For quite some time, I was working toward some goals and planning for some changes. When we know what we want, it's often the case that life starts opening and closing all kinds of doors to make dreams come true. Whether this knowing is of a conscious kind or a deep inner certainty, we all know it when it happens. That straw that breaks the camel's back or the slight view of a possibility that we hadn't considered. So it is for us when we are paying attention to how our lives are progressing or not.
For over a year I worked to finish a novel, and  had planned to get it ready to launch, right about now.
Instead the life I planned disapperared for the life that opened up before me.

As a result, I'm sitting here on the other side of four weeks or so of packing, sorting, and dreading a moved I was about to make.  The onerous task of picking up every item I had and putting it somewhere, seemed too much. The wonderful thing was, I didn't have to do it alone. My friends and family all rallied to help me, and so it is that on this Thursday morning as I sit here watching the snow fly outside my clear, clean sliding glass doors, I have made the move. Before the move when people would ask me if I was excited, all I could think about was the high mountain of work before me. Now that I am on the other side of that mountain, I am excited to start fresh in my lovely new home.

First thing I did was set up a nice, comfortable living space. Boxes and furniture are stacked in the garage, and my office/studio is in a state of disarray, but my living space is neat and tidy and livable. This morning I went out to the garage and found music so I have music playing for the first time in ages. Not worrying about disturbing anyone because I'm not near enough anyone to disturb. What freedom that is. Starting anew allows for rethinking how we want to live or do something. In the case of a new home I can decide what goes where, and how my new office will be organized and decorated. For now, I'm just glad to have my living space back, wth some fine additions.

My new home is surrounded by trees and green. I thought I'd miss my river view, and I do but the green forest around me are so nourishing, and the river just beyond the trees that are outside my office window, is still within sight. And better yet,  I am within walkng distance of the riverwalk. While going through the moving business, I have done most of my writing by hand on tablets and in notebooks. My internet connection is set up so now I feel like whatever needed to be done has been done and I can get back to work.  Today is the day. No more running around, waiting for phone calls or people to show up. My time is mine again. With the exception of a pair of mittens which I keep forgetting to get, I have what I need and do not need to do any running around. In our area a bad weather day has been called for the storm that has been working its way into town, so everyone has more or less changed their plans.

Plans are ideas we get about how an event or activity should happen. For some people I guess that works pretty well. For me, plans generally turn out to be a great idea at the time, but one that bears little resemblance to what actually happens. I learned this over all the years of teaching and administering programs, events, and activities. And I've learned this as a writer, when writing different kinds of work. A plan is an outline of where you'd like to go...a set of expectations perhaps, but what shows up in the end may look quite different. And so starting anew in a new home, has become an adventure. An adventure which takes lots of work, requires quite a bit of help, and takes time.

When we make big changes in our lives, it causes a chain reaction of other alterations. We have to adjust and adapt to  all kinds of things. After first resisting the change, I found myself on the floor in yoga in savasana realizing that maybe change would be a good thing. It would mean I'd have to go through my stuff, and figure out what I really needed and what could be better off going somewhere else. So the process of renewal for me, is going to be about doing more of that. A good friend who supported me in more ways than one during the move, suggested I get rid of some rugs and start over. I thought about it for a minute or two, and then realized how long I'd had them, and realized I could let them go. Other things that I've kept (a lot of it paperwork, odds and ends with special memories, and duplicates of things I no longer needed) were no longer something I had to hold onto. Rather than sorting as I packed, I saved that for now. Mainly just because I didn't have much time. Whatever way we sort through our stuff, it is a healthy way of clearing out parts of our lives that no longer need holding onto.

As I have been in this process, I've maintained contact with certain people who are instrumental in helping me rehink and reenvison possibilities. One good writer friend of mine sent me a suggestion for a magazine she thought I should submit an essay to, and it got me thinking about what I wanted to add to my writing goals now. This is a perfect time, while setting up my new office, to organize around the new goals I've got going on. I'm also setting up writing centers

Starting over also has some odd and unexpected consequences. My two cats have shown me how much parts of us resist change. There have been some challenging moments with them in this move. I've watched as they have slowly gotten familiar with a new place (sniffing every nook and cranny and stalking sounds and sights what were unfamiliar and frightening). I tend to make myself at home pretty easily, but also take my time getting to know new sounds, sights, and patterns.  Learning to adjust to new ways and new parameters, new schedules and new kinds of needs...all part and parcel with starting anew.  And then comes the quesion as I'm setting up, how do I fit my ways of doing and knowing with the new space, arrangement, and a new way of life?

I knew right away, to put my office/studio in the part of the house that was most closed off from the rest of my living. I knew to do this because I've set up my office/studios before. When I have limited space, I use the living space for everything that has nothing to do with work. In the past, I've slept with my feet up against the refrigerator in the living room so that I could use the bedroom as an office. Working at home, for me, requires setting clear prarameters between the work space and living. Even though I may write in other parts of the house, the equipment, desks, book cases tools, supplies, and work-related materials are set apart from where I relax, entertain, and live.  During times when this was not the case (graduate school for example), my dining room table and coffee table were strewn with paperwork, computers, books, and well you get the picture. I prefer to keep the organizational things separate. We each have ways to set things up, and there were many times when the kitchen table was my desk. It still is where I prefer to meet and talk with clients. Finding what works for us at different times of our career and in different spaces, is essentially something left up to individual taste and preferences.  When people question me about having my bed in the living room, I realize I do things differently from what others think is normal. My sister reminded me last night when I told her how things were arranged, "Oh you always like to have your office in the bedroom and bedroom somewhere else. You've done that a lot in the past." And so, she's right. Use  your space for what works for you, not what it's supposed to be used for. No one's looking or checking. It's your choice. Be innovative and creative with your space.

One of my formative educational experiences was working with the ideas of Maria Montessori. Her ideas for the slum schools in Rome have become the essential guide for the Montessori system of education. One of the things I loved and still use are the learning centers. The adage, "A place for everything and everything in its place" appeals to my senses and my sense of order and discipline. And so much of my home is organized into centers for specific tasks. I'm not always very good at doing this, so I have friends and my sister who come into my home regularly to give me suggestions on how to do. I trust those who are capable of seeing space differently than I do.  I'm always open to suggestions, and to trying new ways of organizing. For a time I tried storing everything out of sight.That method did not work for me. I need to see things so having a visual way to organized helps me. For others, hiding things away in files and drawers works better. Notice what works for you, and do more of that. Ask friends or your organizer buddies to give you some ideas.

For today, it feels good just to be able to sit down in front of the sliding glass doors, watching the snow fall, and writing from my day-bed couch.  My blanket is wrapped around my feet, the fire in the fireplace warms the room, and the wind is blowing the huge pines and cedars that surround the grounds of my new home.  Bit by bit I'm finding what I want to keep and what I can release so that someone else can use or remake into something of value. Renewing and beginning a new phase of life is a very special time when we can set our intentions in a very physical way. By consciously organizing and arranging our new spaces (time, space, or other form of energy), we align ourselves with purpose and are more likely to find meaningful ways to move forward. We bring the best of the past with us and we leave room in our space and time for allowing life to unfold in and around us.

At this time of the year we move from the past to the future, and it is a good time to be preparing ourselves, our homes, and  our work for what lies ahead. A writer's life is one that is constantly allowing  imagination, intuition, and memory to create new forms and pathways. Take some time to look around at how you are moving to renew yourself, your work, your home, your office, or some other aspect of your life, and enjoy what is opening up within and around you. Consider your daily schedule, your eating and sleeping patterns, exercise and leisure activities, and build in more of what makes you feel renewed. Let go of what is no longer nourishing or working for you. And enjoy spending some time expressing gratitude for all the bounty that is yours. Share some of that bounty, and breathe in the freedom of the life you have to live. We are so fortunate to have chosen our lives as writers, artists, musicians, and creative people. Blessed be the bounty. The turning points in our lives may be difficult, challenging, and exhausting. We may choose them or they may choose us, but beyond the threshold of the changes they bring, gifts await us. Gifts of renewal.

Coasting Along: A Writer's Journey Path of Grace and Flow

Bleeding Hearts and Pine                                                                                                             Catherine Al-Meen Meyers

Someone said recently, "it is a strange kind of person who becomes a writer". It was a writer herself who said, (might have been Anne Lamott) this and for the life of me I cannot remember which writer it was. However, the truth of her words struck me and remain with me as a point of reference. No, I'm not doing something that I have all figured out. No, I'm not necessarily sure of what the result will be when I open myself to let my mind, imagination, and whatever else is at work here, loose on the page. And that in itself can be a bit intimidating for many. Why else are there so many books, essays, and blogs written about  how to write and how to be a writer?

What does it take? Well, I'm not here to answer that question, only to say it is something many have asked. My questions were a bit different. When I was younger and heavily committed to a career, raising my child, and trying to make a home and life for myself (sometimes alone and sometimes with a partner), I wondered where and when I'd find time to write. Holidays became times when I'd sneak off and write, or I'd set up a short vacation to retreat to the coast of Oregon to spend time with my Dad in the early part of the day, and spend time with myself, writing at my desk or table overlooking the ocean later. At various crossroads, I chose to let writing be a sidecar to my life until I finished a graduate degree, and realized I had to spend more time writing than doing most everything else. Still in love with the work I did in international education and religious studies, I decided to split my time. Once I knew I wanted to do this, the way appeared to allow it to happen.

And that's the crucial piece in the puzzle of life, I believe; deciding what we really want. Once we make a decision or identify what it is we really want, then we can begin to articulate or name it. We can see more clearly what we want. We can begin to envision doing or being it and we can begin to take steps in the direction of that aim. That, I believe, is the magic ingredient in what makes life work at times, and what seems to block our path at other times. Why is does this at times seem difficult if not impossible to do?

A lot of it has to do with our expectations--those we have for ourselves, those others have for us, and those that 'society' seems to sell as the way to succeed.  For artists and writers, that way has always been uncertain and fraught with mysterious obstacles and surprises. The idea to define myself as a writer has been with me since I was young. And I did a lot of writing. Only I didn't count it as writing because it was what I wrote in between the big projects, assignments, or research papers that I was really doing. The poetry written on the backs of napkins or in the blank pages of books an diaries simply did not fit into my idea of what a writer should do or be. Until fairly recently, writing was reserved for those who work hard enough and get their ideas accepted by the publishing houses, magazines, journals, and news organizations.

When I first moved home to Oregon in the early 1990s, my daughter took me to the Willamette Writer' Conference, held at Portland State University. We wandered around looking at books and chatting with authors, and we went up to a book where a woman had her books stacked on the table. She and her books, I recall, were all colorful. The three of us struck up a conversation, and she asked me, "So do you write?" My reply was, "Oh, I write some poetry." And then she said, "Oh, so you are a poet?"  I was shocked, because no one had ever called me a poet, and I realized at that moment that if I denied that, then perhaps I really wasn't a writer. So I said, "Yes, I guess I am." A real awakening for me. And part of our journey as writers is to begin to identify ourselves with what we really are.
Of course, I identified more with other roles, but this little kernel of truth became part of me.

Later after completing a great deal of graduate work, I had a dream about repotting a plant. The plant had become dried out and root bound, and in the dream as I pulled the plant root out of a pot, I heard myself saying, I don't like this kind of writing. It has no life. And then, from that wonderful deep unconscious well within, the truth rose up and made itself clear. Up until this point, I had been doing what it took to make my way into the positions I was in in education and educational leadership. To consider living life differently, especially in light of all the education I had and years of training and experience, seemed almost to much to envision. But that was not the end.

In a few phone conversations with an old friend from childhood, Shirley, I found myself in possession of some new, life changing information. First, she sent me a copy of Anne Lamotet's book, Bird By Bird. Second my friend Shirley planted a seed in my mind--a seed that was rooted in the idea I could and should make whatever changes necessary to make the sea change to follow my path as a writer. By this time I had begun a mystery novel, which was in danger of being shelved in lieu of enough devotion for more 'important, security-related matters'. With the input and example of Shirley, another turn led me into a new way of knowing myself. Where time was lacking, I found ways to make time to devote to writing daily.

First I began journaling--a daily writing practice. Thanks in part to The Artist's Way morning pages, I kept and maintained a daily journal practice. Next once I knew I had to write more and take it more seriously, a way opened up for me to do that. A co-worker and friend, Kerry, adopted a child and wanted to spend more time with her child. Before it was a regular practice, Kerry and I convinced our boss to let us share our job. I had several mornings a week off and a couple of afternoons a week off, and Kerry had the others. Without too much effort, my daily writing practice and my career as a writer began in earnest.

Nt only do writers and artists have to battle with the competeing voices in their own heads (you know the ones, the critique, the wet blanket, nervous nelly, and the worrier  to name a few), we also have to deal with the helpful and not so helpful advice and observations of our friends and family and colleagues.  Part of my nature is to keep some things to myself, and I've also learned to be discerning about who my friends are. Despite that, the comments, questions, and criticism come anyway. My Mother used to call it 'getting a thick skin'. And that's what I've had to learn to do.  Get a thick skin so that I can keep myself from falling into a puddle of tears or give up all my dreams because someone else doesn't undersand what I'm doing and why. I had learned this in other areas of my life, and so it came in handy.

We do have a lot of transferable skills and experience that we can bring into our lives as writers. It wasn't the first time someone had scratched their head as I announced my plans. My Mother told me right before she died when I was just 40, "I used to worry so much about what you were doing and if you were going to be okay. Now I see that you have done such a good job and I don't need to worry about you. You know what you're doing."  Well, I don't always know what I'm doing, but I'm willing to try to figure out how to do what seems like a very good idea. I guess I take more chances, and not that it's a good or bad thing, but my idea of what security is may differ from many. Staying in a job or relationship or situation I hate or that is unhealthy is not something you'll find me doing very often. Once I understand the cost of so-called security or comfort, I am willing to make changes to improve my life. Sometimes I hesitate, and I can be sure if I put off something that my intuition or the signs of the times tell me is inevitable, I get what one friend calls the Divine 2" x 4" that pushes me over the edge of my fears to make necessary changes.

Writing is full of different ways to do it. Some of us maintain our connection to and success in the more traditional forms of publishing. And that is great. For me however, I've become a kind of accidental writer. Writing work comes up in unconventional ways, and I often initiate writing projects just so I can do the work. When I broke my ankle and had to stay in bed for 7 weeks at my Daughter's home in San Francisco, I had to find ways to connect. Farmville and online crosswords were not a substitute for creativity. Instead I set up a blog, and invited women friend and colleagues to contribute to a monthly journal on exploring womens' spirituality. We produced a beautiful monthly then quarterly journal that lasted 3 years and may some day find its' way into an anthology. It also helped me launch my career as a small press publisher. And I began writing for an online newspaper. At the height of that experience, I was writing 5 columns in three cities, and was drawing a huge audience. Both experiences netted me very little money, but they all served to get me writing. And I wrote a lot. The more we write, the better we get.

In 2006 I returned from the East Coast to the Bay Area and Monterey. I began my own writing business (including publishing, editing, and journal and magazine writing). I took a course that the Small Business Administration offered, a mentorship program to learn about the business side of writing and publishing. Of course I read a lot. My Daughter loaded me up with Writer's Digest, how to books and books on police procedurals, and always fed my fantasies of becoming an eccentric writer living on the coast of Oregon (her fantasy, not mine). I don't consider myself eccentric. I consider myself a pragmatic and realistic creative. I put my time, energy, and resources into creating what feeds my soul and allows me to communicate and express myself. It also allows me to support others in doing the same, and in helping other writers and artists achieve their dreams. And if this all looks haphazard, let me tell you, it is not. I made my money from a variety ways including editing, graduate reading of dissertations, web design, photography, some teaching here and there, and freelance wriitng jobs. Freelancing has grown over time and my publishing business now provides a steady stream of clients.

My writing, like every other aspect of my life, is a faith journey. Jobs I had, things I learned, heartache and loss, success and praise, all have happened to lead me from one step to the next and to help me become who I am. And writer is one of the big parts of my being. For years I used other skills including speaking, organizing, creating programs and curricula, and managing large groups of people and programs. Slowly but surely though, I am letting go of one way of life for another. And I see again and again something I failed to grasp or make sense of earlier in my life, is making sense and kind of fitting pieces of my life puzzle together so more and more meaning and purpose become clear. And for those who plan down to the last detail, and find that life falls into place perfectly, I say, I am so happy for you. We each have a life path. For those of you who are meeting obstacles or disappointments, and may be wondering if it's worth it or not, I invite you to slow down for a while and let the pieces that aren't working fall away, and let something new arise.

When I stopped worrying about branding, marketing, and having the perfect platform, I started enjoying writing. Coincidentally, opportunities, books sales, and finances improved. Letting go of the idea of the end goal, the marker of success, opened the door for me to experience a new joy with my writing and a much more successful writing career. I let go of the work that didn't reward my skills or pay me a livable wage, and focused on creating a good piece of work. There are many more things to learn and more miles to go as a writer, but the magic of my life has been the experience of allowing my faith to be what grounds me, and the grace and flow that follow fill me and my life with all I want or need. And I'm enjoying each part of my life.

No matter how carefully any of us map our our life, we do not always have smooth sailing. Sometimes we have temporary set backs, other times we have to make major life course alterations. I recall an example from Ann Miller-Tiedemann's book, How to Not Make it and Succeed. I connected with Ann through the life as career movement at the Lifecareer Foundation at USC in Los Angeles, California. My husband was in graduate school and Ann and her husband David were his guides in the field of Adult Education portion of his Ph.D. program.  Ann's book had a profound impact on me. She herself is a scientist who lives a very spiritually grounded life. She wrote about how our life plans and goals sometimes seem so clear and we feel we're really on the path and we hold the magic key. It's like putting together a giant jigsaw puzzle. Only we have set the puzzle up on a card table, and suddenly without warning, someone walks by and kicks the leg of the table, and all the puzzle pieces go flying in a thousand directions.

And life and our plans are like that. And so when pieces of our dreams fall apart, what do we do? When something traumatic and shocking disrupts and upsets our life, how do we adapt to the changes? When we run out of steam or resources, what comes next? One of my favorite tools for times like these is to go on a treasure hunt. It's a good time to look back at the other times in life when plans didn't work out, upsets and conflicts happened, or when sudden, shocking events changed the course of life. I use a timeline to lay out 5-6 events, not of my choosing, that changed my life. Then I add 5-6 choices I made that also changed my life. Notice how they lay out patterns and indicate how you've been affected in the past. Next, try to recall what helped you cope with the difficulties, and what the gifts in the garbage were after a particularly difficult time.What were the lessons that happened then that could help you get some clarty now? What didn't work? And then, take a break form trying to fix everything. And if you are a person of faith, try surrendering to the natural flow and graces of life. See what letting go of something is opening up in your life. Even the emotional and psychological experience of letting go releases tension and stress.

Why do I write this today? Well for the same reason many writers write...to give myself some much needed advice at a time when I'm in the process of packing and moving. With less that two weeks until moving begins, I'm feeling a bit stressed. What I see as the holidays begin is that instead of speeding up and increasing the pressure, I'm going to move more slowly and give myself more balance and rest. Instead of panicking, I'm breathing deeper, writing more, and making short list to cut down on the pressure to get 'it' all done today before noon. No one need that kind of stress.

Taking time to determine what it is that you envision yourself doing for your highest and best interest, can only benefit others as well. Whether you find ways to connect and serve others, or you find time to take care of yourself and whatever you may have neglected, be at peace with the gifts of today, and notice the graces that touch our affections and the flow that opens the path before us. You have to be paying attention to notice either the still small voice within or the signs and answers coming your way. Whatever you do, do it in peace, from a place of love and compassion, and figure yourself into the equation. And for heavens sake, just write.

The Train Blew Through the Station....

Communion on the Water                                                                                                          Catherine Al-Meten Meyers

What was that? After a very contentious election campaign in this country, and several years of political upset and conflict in many other parts of the world, the train of change roared into and through the station here. Almost no one expected the results or the aftermath, and nearly everyone was affected in one way or another. There is a palpable, visceral experience that many are being affected by. Where do I go when I'm blindsided by events or conditions in either my personal or the collective realm? To poets and authors and artists of course. And to my craft--writing.

One way that I relieve stress or deal with overwhelming emotions, event, or crisis is to write. My writing lately has been for me, the spiritual practice that helps me ground, process, and alleviate elevated levels of stress hormone, that have been running wild for the last few weeks. Our art, our writing, and our other spiritual practices as well as daily habits all help us maintain a sense of equilibrium. Author, Toni Morrison said it best perhaps when she said that "this is precisely the times when artists go to work". And so it is. When times are crisis-ridden and in political turmoil as they are now, it is also the time when artists need to get political. And by that I mean, they need to operate our of their principled reflections on how they view and understand the world. We need to be the reflecting mirror for what is affecting others besides ourselves. We need to listen to what our body, mind, spirit, and life conditions say to us about what we're needed for. We need to give voice or vision to that which is cracked or broken or bleeding. And we each have to do this within the context of the life, gifts, resources,  and privileges we are fortunate enough to have. And for artists, musicians,  and writers, this includes vision, imagination, sensitivity to the world around within and around us, and a sense of the whole and our place in relation to that.

For we have ways of connecting people and soothing souls. We have ways of expressing what we hope for or fear in ways that connect to the truth within others. And we often have experiences and knowledge of how to survive through connecting to the flicker, the small flame, the tiniest seed of light and truth that can only be found when we are not intent on reacting to illusions and distortions and lies that cloud our minds and world. So whatever that pathway is for you, get on it as soon as you can, and keep staying on that path. Even when you get distracted, keep knowing the light is there to be found, if only we keep pushing forward and  keep lifting ourselves and each other up.

It amazes me when I see how connected people are to one another now, despite some of the most upsetting and disturbing things going on in their own lives. There is never an outside event that doesn't send ripples if not tsunamis of change in all directions in its aftermath. And what is changing and transforming in our own world, in many of our cultures, nations, families, and indeed in ourselves, is truly astounding. What has transformed us is not your everyday change of clothes type of situation. Instead our entire perspectives and identities have been turned inside out and upside down.

For the past few weeks I have heard people describe not understanding who they were anymore. As I have watched the sea changes taking place over the last few years, it has become clear to me that we have been going through a significant transformative experience that is calling us each to reexamine who we are, what we are doing, why we are doing it, and what we need to do to adjust or adapt to the new reality?  Regardless of what your experience or thoughts about how change is taking place, the element of stress caused by all the reactions and responses to this shift, has activated some pretty significant stress reactions and triggered a lot of chronic stress reactions among many. This results in a large number of people being in heightened states of alert and hypervigilaince and shock. Feeling the cortisol and adrenaline levels shooting sky high in our bodies as we live in a constant state of elevated stress, is not good for anyone's health and well being. And it certainly is not healthy for what  remains to be created and dealt with.

So as I write today, my own stress hormones reminding me of how my body responds to threats or upset, I also am reminded that my art, my craft, and my experience hold the key to how to bring some equilibrium into my life. And knowing, as I do, that the balance is never static, but instead rests on the ever-moving fulcrum of dynamic change, I also know that the more I can stay in awareness of the shifts in and around me, and the more I can move into my art as a way to release, express, and search for meaning and answers, the better I'll feel.  The more I'll be able to create something of meaning out of confusion chaos, upset, or negativity. And so that is where I find myself this afternoon.  Keeping warm as the weather chill bites and penetrates the window barriers. Attended to by a loving, compassionate, purring cat who seems to sense my need for comfort and I for his. Resting on the page for a few minutes before heading back to wrap up dishes, dreams, and my life so that I can relocate to a safer, kinder, shelter from the storms that have risen up around not only me but also around so many. What was hidden, is out in force, rapping at the windows, spewing in unrelenting rage, or barreling over whatever is in the way to wipe out the good that has been done in favor of that which benefits the selfish interests of a few who use their power and authority for their own ends. And everyone is caught up in the maelstrom, even those who seem to be oblivious or satisfied with life that has not changed for them in any way.

Artists, musicians and writers, take times like these---significant, earth-shaking, mind blowing, and surreal times--to create their art, to do their work, and to do their part in helping heal, explain, critique, or point out what needs our attention. As a pain in our back or shoulder or head may signify a need for sleep or nutrition, so too does the pain, frustration, anger, or fear we feel point us in the direction where we need not to run away but to dive into through the ways we use to create beauty, harmony, peace, or commentary on the truth of what we observe, what we feel, and of what we plant our hope in. One beautiful writer, Karen Berg, wrote yesterday that the time of sitting Shiva on the death of the election has ended. Time to stand up, shake ourselves off, arm ourselves with our best care and intentions, and proceed to get to work.

Whether you are living an artist's life or not, we all have been woken up and called to take steps to work together to stand in solidarity with the oppressed, those in need, those who need healing, those who have become targets of hate, and for our entire way of life. We need to continue providing support for those who need help resisting and trying to protect our lives, our earth, and one another. So we begin the hard work ahead, knowing that what we do now is part of the ongoing healing needed in the ongoing creation of life. We have been tasked with doing our part now. And so we go on, awake, aware, and determined.

While the train of change and the shifts of both the Earth and its inhabitants has begun, we have yet to know what will get off that train. We must be vigilant, courageous, willing, and steady in our determination to speak truth to power, to stand for and work for what is right and just for all people, and we must work with all to be one as we live together on this planet. In this moment in time, we have choices to make. Choose life. Choose art. Choose to take a path of light and stand by those who need your help.

A November Remembrance

Autumn Leaves                                                                                                                    Catherine Al-Meten  Meyers

The Celtic New Year begins today, and this is a holy month for me. My other favorite month, I said to a friend this morning. A month of beginnings and endings, of anniversaries and farewells. A month of remembering and honoring those who've come before and a time to open the door for those who are starting anew.


Over the past few days I've been clearing and sorting in between time I've spent getting my latest book into shape to go to print. Taking recyclables to the new store in town that sells everything for $1 and donates to local charities. Giving up and giving back help the clearing process. Changing the way I do things as well as the way I view things. Moved my work site to the window seat in the living room. A local bookstore owner, Lisa, and I were talking about writing, books, and authors. I was telling her of a new book in the works, and she said to me, " You have to have a dedicated space for your new book...a place where those characters and that story can grow their own wings." Well those are my words but her gist. I thought about that, and as I'm trying to think of practical ways to keep my characters and settings straight in my mind, I thought this might just be a piece of the answer. So here I sit, getting ready to start with a new story.

Finishing with something is finally within sight. As I began working on Sunday, I wondered if I'd ever get it done. And then, as if I'd been walking on a long, deserted road for hours, I came up over the rise and saw before me, the end of the trail right before me. And then the finishing touches began falling into place. There's still another phase or two, but the bulk of the creative work is done. Next is planning a marketing campaign and getting myself geared up to launch the new book. I haven't even done much with my other books, as the real impetus for me is truly, the writing. The creating. Some day I hope to either have a publicist or get motivated. For now, I am content to do what I love, and just keep on doing that. Not time to fret or ponder the hows and wheres. Just time to stay focused on this step, and then the next.

There is an inner student/teacher/deadline cruncher part to me, and that's the part of myself I summon up when I need to get things done. Surprising how much energy there is in tapping into that part of myself. It's there when I need it, and fortunately, I can let it rest when I don't.

November is a time of sweet sorrow for me. Said farewell to my Mother in this month. Got married in this month. Bid my sweetheart farewell on All Saints Day many moons ago. And have lived 71 Novembers with such precious memories of love, laughter, music, dancing, cold spells, thanks givings, holy days and nights, walks along leaf-filed sidewalks, crunching autumn leaves. Jackets, sweaters, first snows and rain storms. Cider and pumpkins, bobbing for apples and first kisses and camping trips. Trying to cook tempura on an open fire in a Big Sur campground...ending up eating pizza and sleeping in a leaky tent. Driving from Monterey to Big Sur for picnics with my daughter and her friends.Watching double and triple rainbows spread out over the valley behind the Ventana store. Hiking on Andrew Molera beach trail, climbing down the sandy dune to the shore below the cliff just past the turn before going into Big Sur. Stopping by fruit stands in Washington getting apples and pears for canning and pies and applesauce. Changes in the colors. Portland magical turning trees light show...all shades of autumn in a single tree, changing from day to day. Looking for my gloves, and the thingie to wipe ice off the windshield. So happy to have a car again.

Remembering what needs to be done before the freezes start. Comparing this year to last or seasons past, and trying to predict the future by looking at how the birds behave or the thickness of the cats' fur. Looks like some cold ahead.

November is when the wintery things begin. More reading. More candlelight. More indoor time and darkness. A calmer, quieter time which I adore. Music that soothes and fills the senses. Symphonies blasting out on Sundays sending notes and harmonics across the Carmel Valley. Music on the Peninsula was always an intentional thing. Unlike LA which always has music as background and backup and setting the scene, on the Peninsula, it's only heard when it's the focus of what is. Playing music and singing with a local singer and her tribe to celebrate John Muir's Birthday. Going to the performances and jamming with other musicians in barrooms, backrooms, and around campfires and fireplaces and patios. Music for the soul rises up from life experience itself, and we don't always need to have the drone of music behind us. Music is something I do with intention too. I play when I play. I sing when I sing. I listen when I want to hear a piece or two or when I feel compelled to let it fill my soul. I dance and sing at times when it's time to pray. Midnight, in the kitchen with my family, when I've finished something momentous or rearranged the house or another part of my life. Music, dance, and song are prayers that come out of darkness, silence, and movement that has been hidden and is ready for expression.

Thinking today of a friend who died early in the year. It may be time to open my guitar case and put my fingers to to the strings and frets to do some reminiscing and remembering. November is the month to honor and remember those who have passed and that which is in need of healing and release.

So whatever way we choose to do that, or whenever we find it s time, let it be in ways that bring us back in harmony with ourselves and with one another. I found a lovely thought this morning from St. Theresa Margaret of the Sacred Heart. I have a strong devotion to the Sacred Heart...through some powerful dreams and metaphysical connections, and so I thought it was so perfect that I would be drawn to her words. St. Theresa Margaret of the Sacred Heart of the Carmelite order was profoundly touched by the passage from 1John 4:8, God is Love. She said, "I propose to have no other purpose in all my activities, either interior or exterior, than the motive of Love alone."
And so it is on this 1st day of November. For Love alone.