Jumping Into a New Pond

At the Dock                                                                                                                        Catherine Al-Meten Meyers

Last year I published a memoir, Tales from the Lily Pad. The tales, a series of essays, grew out of a virutal writers group I joined. Actually, joined the group a full year or so before I took the leap of faith, and joined in the daily writing. I remember the first day I finally took that leap. It was terrifying. I had to make decision at that moment whether to write something safe and bland or write what came from my heart. The thought of laying myself open before strangers, all of whom I had deemed much more proficient and experienced writers than myself, made my stomach churn and my heart beat like a drum. But I did it. 

All I remembered was feeling a knot in my stomach and a kind of "who do I think I am" feeling about starting the 30-day writing challenge. My first piece was entitled "Writing in the Now". Here is how I began: 

"Writing, knowing that others are going to read what I write, is not unusual for me, but this type of writing is. I've enjoyed reading the pieces written about the  individual writing group members’ experiences and the reflections of daily life experience--the simple and the profound. I'm not sure what I'm going to write here this month, but for today I'm going to focus on the 'now'."  

From there I proceeded, and when I was done, I took a deep breath and waited. Waited for response. Unlike other kinds of writing, this was meant to be a starting point, an unfinished, unedited, uncensored piece of writing that attempted to dig up some relics of our past, some dream of the future, or some deeper sense of the now of our lives. It was meant to allow for going further with an excavation of our deeper selves, and so it did. One of the most unexpected pieces of the experience were the connections made through this experience. A connection that began when I began to receive response from what I had written. 

I recall the excitement of the first feedback I got. Surprisingly, it was positive. More surprisingly, it didn't meet my expectation of being found out to be a fraud. One of the things that happens to us as writers, artists, or musicians is that kind of terror that we're just not going to measure up to some standard. I believe we all have a fear that what we feel so passionate about or what we have worked to shape, sculpt, arrange, or lay out, is somehow not quite good enough. That one fear can be the roadblock that stops many creative people from ever laying their work out to be received. It can even be what stops a writer from writing. However, on that day in early July two years ago, I took the leap, and have not been sorry. 

Once other writers began respnding to what I'd written, I felt freed of fear. I also found a new voice within me...a voice that went deeper into memory, deeper into exploration, and beyond the limits and parameters that I had confined my writing to in the past. A kind of liberation happened, and at the same time, I began to develop some fairly deep communicaion with some of the other writers. People who identified with my experiences, or who found some kind of solace or humor in something I'd written. Two years out from that inital experience, I can honestly say I have some new friends, friends who are fellow writers, artists, healers, seekers, and men and women who put themselves out, who take the leap with me each time we write and share our words with one another. 

The title of my book came from the vision I had each time I went to write with my group...a vision of a bunch of frogs coming to the lily pond each day. Each of us sitting on our lily pad, would sing out our songs. Soon our songs rang out across the pond and helped create a very special place to gather. This experience has been unique for me, for I am not much of a joiner. After many years of working with many people, my life as a writer has been much more solitary. The only way I can write is by making my life so. However, what feeds a writer's mind and soul, cannot be found just by being alone. After a while, we need to find those lily ponds where we can croak out our songs and find others who are singing as well.

And that brings me to where I wanted to go today. A few months ago I moved to a tiny town, only a few miles from where I'd been livng for the last 7 years. Just a few miles, but far from the energy and life of where I had been living. Usually it takes me a while to get acclimaed to a new home, a new place, and a new community. Slowly, I take my time setting up my new home, making myself at home, before getting to know the neighborhood and community around me. First venturing out to find the local places where I can shop, pick up a newspaper, or get a good cup of coffee. Or in my case, a cafe au lait made just right. For the first month after living here, I would drive back to the other town to do my grocery shopping or to get gas, or to visit my favorite coffee shop. And sometimes I'd just drive back and drive by those places to remind myself I did have a sense of community there. I could still feel at home there. However, I wanted to find out more about where I was now living. I didn't want to get stuck with a superficial impression of the place and never go deeper. 

Slowly, I began developing a routine. The best of both worlds, I guess. Maintaining my yoga practice and teaching schedule, visiting the coffee shop at least once or twice a week, and going at regular intervals to pick up something I could only find in my old market. Of course I have family and friends in that town, so I go there often to be with them. And it's not like it's an hour's drive away. The difference between living in a town, for me, is the need I have to make myself at home. My new home, this little town at the end of the river on the edge of the coast, surrounded by water and forest, is my new home. 

Getting to know the sights, sounds, smells, and energy of a place, can be full of surprises. The surprises here have included the quiet. My other home was very quiet. This place is even more so. My other home was full of beauty. This one is as well, but it's a different kind of beauty. Plants, animals, birds, and even the insects and bugs are different. Where I was was upstairs and surrounded by people--next door, downstairs, walking by and standing outside the windows carrying on conversations, walking dogs, occasionally erupting into midnight arguments when too much alcohol fueled some slight or rage. Here, it is quiet.Cars pass by out on the road, but they move by in a swish. My new home is ground level, and the only walking by is done by deer, elk, and the neighborhood cats.  The wind howls and rages here at times. I'm out of touch with the rising and falling tides. My need to connect to those sea changes, finds me sitting by the water letting the headwinds blow my hair and sting my face with salty air. 

Walking along the river, I spotted a small green and yellow snake coiled up, sunning on a rock. His diamond-shaped head perfectly still as I leaned over to get a closer look, he did not move. That is until I walked away. When I retraced my steps, he had disappeared. But we have met, and I look forward to meeting Snake again. 

Squirrel, fat and bushy-tailed from a good winter, visited my deck, checking out my potted plants to see perhaps if there was anything worth chewing on. Need to remember to get some peanuts to put out for Squirrel. Wild geese have been flying in formation overhead this week, honking out at sunset as they get ready to fly into the lagoon near my old home. Now I find the geese at another point in their migration north. I know where they're headed. I will miss watching them land and take off from the river this year. The elk and deer must be somewhere else on their journey. Haven't seen them for a while.They'll be back. The old migration paths cannot be erased by houses, roads, fences, or peoples' lives.

One little building in particular has fascinated me. It looks like a little old white schoolhouse or church. White clapboard, listing slightly to one side, the sign above the door reads, Hammond Townhall. It currently houses the library. Loving libraries as I do, I've been wanting to stop in and see what is going on inside. I've heard it's going to be closed down, and the contents are to be moved to another building, a more modern one a little closer to the main highway. Before that happens, I wanted to be sure to go inside. Yesterday, instead of doing my laundry, I decided to visit the library instead. 

Little did I know what a treasure awaited me inside. I was greeted by a woman wearing sparkly lapis-blue earrings and necklace. She took charge of greeting me and making me feel at home. She immediately began introducing me to everyone standing nearby, all of whom looked at me with a bit of suspicion. All that is except the library director, Nettie. Nettie walked me around the small, narrow building, showing me where to find books. She took me to each and every  neatly organized bookcase, talking about authors we both loved, Anne Perry, Robert Parker. She won my instant approve when she marched me back to the compuer table where she showed me a large white notebook filled with authors' names and their works listed in chronological order of their publication date. Now maybe other libraries have this. Certainly you can look this up on Google, but here it was, printed out and put in alphabetical order. My Virgo Moon was in heaven. Chaos neatly organized! 

Seated at the table in front of the computer terminals were three people. Two women and a man. All were in my age range, I think, though I'm never really sure about that. They too were friendly, and in the middle of the table was a huge cake surrounded by cupcakes, all frosted with a thick, pale orange icing flavored with fresh orange juice (this fact was shared by one of the women sitting at the table). In cursive writing someone had written on the cake in icing: For all the March Birthdays! I have a March birthday, so I was instantly in love with this little old library. One of the women, the one who had made the cake, were so kind and welcoming, offering me suggestions and tips about where to find things. There was an air of comfort, caring, and familiarity among these library people...one of those family affairs, where everyone knows your name.

After the initial sweep of the library and introductions, Nettie helped me get my new library card. I filled out the registrations, and felt compelled to tell her, "I can't remember my cousin's exact address. I always confuse the numbers." Nettie looked at the form in front of me, and said, "Oh Sandi, I used to substitute for her. She taught at the grade."  Yes, it's that kind of area. Everyone knows someone you know or is related to someone you know, or was married to someone you know. It's so different from growing up and living in big cities where you could go days and weeks without ever seeing anyone you recognize. Here that's not the case. After giving me my new card, a refrigerator magnet and bookmarked, she proceeded to give me a real guided tour. 

She showed me every nook and cranny. Along with showing me where things were and how they were organized, she also told me some of the stories of the little library's history. For starters, it used to be a military building on the grounds of the local army fort, Fort Stevens. The building had been cut in half (yes that happens a lot up here in the Northwest, or at least it used to), and one half had been brought to Hammond where it now resides. At first it was the local downhill, and then in the 1990's  it became the town library. It has a fine collection of all types of books, many of which have been donated. The floor is sloped, as is often the case in old buildings sited on boggy land near the ocean or river. Nettie gave me her version of a "little tour" and when I finally thanked her and promised to come back to volunteer from time to time, we had spent over an hour together.  

Why was this little deviation from the norm experience so important to me? Because our writing and creative lives are nourished by just some moments, such normal and unexpected twists and turns that turn out to lead us into the wardrobe and out the back door into a magic world of imagination and reality mixed up and ready to use to paint the next chapter. And so I've found such a magic land, and am sititng with a stack of books to explore. Seek out adventure in the ordinary, in the diversion or hunch that leads you astray now and then. And who knows, maybe there will be a cupcake with your name on it in the deal.

Flying in the Face of FearI

In Bloom                                                                                                                                 Catherine Al-Meten Meyers

One of the things that bogs down a writer is fear. Fear arises when there is a sense that we are in danger or that there is a threat to our safety.  With writing, it may come in the form of wondering whether or not we are capable of doing what we set out to do. At times we may wonder, "What have I gotten myself into?"--wondering if we can finish what we've started. Fear shows up in all kinds of forms for writers and other artists, but one kind of fear seemingly has nothing to do with our art.

Fear brought about by unforeseen circumstances or conditions. Fear that arises when our lives are turned upside down. This can happen when we get off track, but it can also occur when what is going on around us interferes or disrupt our lives. Illness, accidents, or deaths are some of the major events that cause our lives to shift dramatically. Conflicts of interest also play a key role in how we use our time and manage to balance our obligations, plans, or desires.  Occasionally something occurs in the world itself that shakes things up in our lives. Depending on where we live, we may get caught up in natural disasters (earthquakes, floods, tsunamis, droughts, hurricanes, and the like). Political events can also shake us up. Think back on those moments when a life-changing event occurred that caught you by surprise.

When I do reflect on major events, I think of President Kennedy's assassination, the landing on the Moon, Robert Kennedy and Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King's assassinations, the invasion of Kuwait, and the tragedy of September 11. We live in a time of turmoil and tumult. Earlier in my life I would have said we were headed for peace, but time has shown that we humans are capable of maintaining an extended love affair with war, oppression, and all that they bring on. My own graduate work involved exploring the ongoing effects of trauma caused by war and oppression as it affects one generation after another. My focus at first was on refugees, immigrants, asylees, and those affected by war, terrorism, and violence. I went further on to unmask the intergenerational trauma that is passed on through the ongoing trauma experienced by the First Nations peoples throughout the United States. After years of listening to people talk about their experiences, I came to the conclusion that we are all a part of this ongoing narrative.

The reason I'm writing this essay today is because it is impossible not to recognize the heightened level of fear in our lives. Not only in our country, but also around the world. Not only in my life, but also in the lives of just about everyone I know. For those who seem unaffected, I can only imagine the level of numbing or detachment that has to be going on to ignore the very clear and present danger that faces us at this turning point in our history. And we writers are in a very precarious position. If you are a journalist or a part of the media, you understand the attack on not only our ability to write about what we observe and learn, but also about our right to express our ideas. In many cases, writers have been murdered, imprisoned, or censored for doing what they do--writing.

Growing up my Mother explained to me what the adage, "The pen is mightier than the sword" meant. In fact it was part of a debate that took place when I was in elementary school, and it fascinated me at the time, a time when I was quite naive and unaware of just how that debate would play out in my own life, and the lives of those of us who are living through this period of time. Words hold power, the power to shape our thinking, to reveal truths and lies, and to unmask or cover up what might otherwise be hidden. Language, and our ability to use it, can be an instrument of good, or one of evil. As the old Deuteronomist said (Deut. 30) "I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Choose life so that you and your descendents may live."

No small feat to choose life especially when you feel threatened, oppressed, or fearful for your life and the lives of those you love. We have within our capacity though the power to discern what is life-giving and what is not. And we writers understand that even when we have been weighed down with fearful thoughts or oppressive demands and obligations, writing helps us find a way to the surface into the light and thus, into life. When conditions overwhelm or cause us to fall to the ground in pain, exhaustion, or when we feel beaten down and dismissed to the point where we wonder if we can hang on another day, we know from experience, we can survive what we might have thought impossible. We know this because we are here in this moment. We have come through the storms. We have woken up from the deep sleeps and trances of our own illusions or of the abuse and destruction that has caused our lives to be torn apart. We have done more than survive--we have persisted, gotten back on our feet, and moved forward despite all odds. Each of us has done this in our own way.

And I am betting, we've each done it despite being afraid. If we wait to try again until it's safe, we might never move again. Overcoming fear has nothing to do with being guaranteed that nothing will ever cause us to fear again. It has everything to do with facing the darkness, looking at what we fear, and taking action anyway.  Facing our fears is one of the best writing practices as well as spiritual practices. Make a list of what you're afraid of, and then begin chipping away at that list. For example, if I'm afraid to try writing a short story, I might begin by writing out a simple outline of the story. Start with a piece of the whole, and "do it in littles." Next, spend some time with a character sketch of one of your fictional characters. Practice freeing up your imagination to explore your characters, settings, or maybe potential conversations and conflicts between two characters. And finally, simply start writing trusting that something will come out of putting words down Ray Bradbury suggested writing a short story a day for a year. His thought was that at least a few of them will be good. Not doing anything only invites lethargy and creates more fear. Doing one small thing a day that you fear is a good practice for all of us, writers included.

How this figures into my need to look at fear today, is related to how debilitating it has been to be caught up in the tension, chaos, and frankly unbelievably tragic events of the last month or so. Feeling such compassion and empathy for so many people targeted by the massive changes being made, and feeling personally threatened by those changes, it has been more and more difficult to get focused and to write. And as events unfold, my determination to have a positive impact through my writing, has been a reminder of the work that remains to be completed. Work on how we have coped with ongoing trauma, wars, stress, and identity destruction. Work that focuses on how we have been affected, how we have survived and continued on despite ongoing oppression.   How do we understand and heed the call for intergenerational healing in light of current events?  How do we break apart the illusions of what should be and face what is, so that we can meet the need for healing and reconciliation?

The questions and events that are occurring on a massive, widespread scale, are too much for any one  person to comprehend and digest thoroughly. It's beyond our capacity to cope. As a trauma therapist said to me years ago during another war, "We're trying to deal with an impossible situation as best we can. What is required is a day by day, moment by moment attempt to remain mindfully present to something that we can handle."  His suggestions at the time seemed frivolous to me, but his advice was what helped sustain me, and still does. When life is overwhelming, we lose focus. The best way to cope with that is to intentionally to take some very basic, tactile, concrete steps.

Yesterday, I was in a state of feeling overwhelmed and sliding into despair. I sat before my keyboard and held onto my pen and notebook, and started writing about what I was feeling...not for public consumption but so I could get my feelings and thoughts out. That's what writers do. Writers need to do other things, because otherwise writing becomes stale or blocked, or routine. On a day that had every type of weather going on except extreme heat, I picked a break in the clouds to head out for a walk. Walking along the river is healing, and given my compassion for and connection with the Water Protectors who are under attack, I felt the river was where I needed to be. The only person on the walk, I first met a beautiful blue heron who was standing in the shallows along the bank. Heron flew down the river perhaps searching for a fishing spot, I don't know. Heron disappeared.

Walking on I looked down at the rocks and saw something curled up. Looking closer I could see the arrow-shaped head of a beautiful, tiny black and gold snake. Snake was basking in the sunlight, and reminded me that we too can cling out from the darkness where our souls get trapped. We need the light. We need the Sun. We need the movement from one place to another, from one moment to the next. We need these things because we need to feel the continuity of life...to experience the ongoing, life-affirming, life-giving experience of being alive. Snake symbolized for me, that continuity, that knowledge that life goes on and we must use our one precious life to help heal. Heal ourselves and help be a healing link for others. We need to find meaning in our work. And then I recall with the promise of life, the words that first struck me from Victor Frankl.  We must each keep looking for something of meaning, some light, some reason to find the beauty of life, even in our darkest hours.

And these are by no means the darkest hours, as rough as they seem. However, in our darkest hours, we humans have been tested. We individuals have learned how to rise up and carry on. We have been given great gifts, and we must use them. When we falter or fall, when we are without light or energy, we must find that divine spark within us, the one thought or desire or dream or hope that helps us light up the day or the night. Writing is for me and other writers, one of the ways we remain connected to our life force. Find whatever it is that you find threatening, that makes you feel afraid or hopeless or angry, and find another small action to take to get yourself moving again. Move from that which dulls your thinking or overwhelms you with a sense of frustration, and do something simple that can be done. And then another.

One person I like listening to, is the ancient philosopher and statesman, Marcus Aurelius. His counsel on fear is beautiful:

 'If you are distressed by anything external, 
the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; 
and this you have the power to revoke at any moment.'

My Daughter gave me a small, framed poster years ago, at a time I was struggling to handle a multitude of obligations and fulfill my dream of being a writer. I will share that with you today because if anyone knew about overcoming obstacles, it had to have been Eleanor Roosevelt.  "A woman is like a teabag. You never know how strong it is until its in hot water."

She also said, "Do something every day that scares you."  And it doesn't have to be a major thing. Just begin facing some of the little fears that stop you in your tracks. Inch your way toward something that you think you cannot do, one little step at a time. And never underestimate the power of making an attempt even when you most feel like pulling the covers up over your head sometimes.  Get your rest, take good care of yourself, and keep on keeping on.  You can do it. We all can do it. And we must. We're here to live this life, to choose life, in each and every moment. 

As I reflect on fear today, I remember that our fears arise because we feel something of great value to us is in danger. Our fears point us in the direction of that which gives us life. What are we afraid of, and how can we use that fear to find our way into the Light?

Coasting Along: A Writer's Journey Change of Course

Arctic Dawn                                                                                  Catherine Al-Meten Meyers

In life as in sailing, we sometimes have to adjust our direction according to the prevailing winds. Such is the case when the world around us explodes with multiple crises playing out. Something for everyone it seems, and within a week our system of government has been turned upside down. One crisis after another shakes us up, and regardless of what your politics or philosophy of life, we're all caught up in a massive upheaval. For a writer, getting through crisis is often made easier because of the ability to write down what one observes or what one feels. In the case of the last few months, that's been the case for me.

However, in the last week, the storm warnings have increased in intensity, day by day. Each day something more shocking and unthinkable than the next. No resolve on anything, simply the piling up  of one crisis upon another. As if we weren't aleady battle weary and barely recovering from a dividing, vitriolic campaign and election cycle...one that went on far too long and got far too coarse and dirty, we entered another exhausting cycle. Yet urged on by some to 'wait and see', to give things a chance, we barely had time to breathe before the proverbial shit began hitting the fan. And they were hippopotamus-sized missiles flying right and left and landing on some of our most cherished rights--freedom of the press, freedom of speech, freedom of assembly to name just a few.

Rather than not talk about the elephant in the room, we can lay most of the chaos at the feet of the newly elected (albeit by the electoral college not the popular vote) president and his cronies. So whether you think he's the cat's meow or something akin to the devil incarnate, he has changed the course of our ship. And if you're ship, either individually or your collective ship of expectations and hopes, was set for something peaceful and reflective and maybe even enjoyable, you might be wondering what the heck happened.

A while ago I talked by Skype with my 10-year old Granddaughter. She had been on vacation for the last 10 days, and we were catching up. After talking about her trip, she asked me what I had been doing. I told her, "I've been marching and I'll probably be doing a lot more marching in the near future." She knew why I had marched, she nodded her head. See even at her tender age, the children know full well what has been happening. It's been the topic of conversation at home, on the playground, in the classroom, and certainly in our conversations. I went on to say,"I didn't think I'd be spending my latter years protesting and fighting for the rights we had already won and held dear. I had no idea I'd feel compelled to put other pleasures aside so that I could go back to working hard to protect our freedoms and to support those who are vulnerable to abuse and discrimination."

I also said, "I'm not sure what I'm going to do." To which this wise little woman said, "But Yaya, you're a writer. You will write." And of course, she's absolutely correct. She too is a writer, and knows that we express ourselves, our deepest, most cherished ideas, thoughts, and feelings through our writing. And she has watched me for all of her 10 1/2 years, writing. Her Mother, my lovely Daughter then said, in the background, "Tell Yaya how you called your Aunt out on vacation."

My Granddaughter got a serious look on her face, shook her head, and said, "Yeah, I had to say something. I couldn't let her talk about him that way. I had to tell her what I thought and challenge her accusations. I couldn't let that go on without saying something."

"Good for you, I'm proud of you. That was a brave and good thing to do. No, you're right, we cannot remain quiet when we hear lies and abuse being presented as facts. You're absolutely right."

And so, I rest tonight, assured that the line of women in at least three generations of my family, are not willing to go back, to return to a time when we were content to know our place, keep quiet, and not rock the boat. If the boat needs rocking, we're here to do it. And as writers, artists, actors, administrators, managers, teachers, healers, engineers, lawyers, bus drivers, whoever and whatever we choose to devote our lives to or whatever we have to do to earn a living--we are all entitled to a place of respect, equal opportunity, equal access to education, opportunity, and the right to speak our mind in a free and democratic society. At least the last time I looked, it was.

And when our neighbors, friends, family members, and fellow human beings are being abused, discriminated against, denied the rights and freedom that this country was founded upon, it is our obligation, every last one of us, to defend the rights of all men and women, regardless of religion, gender, ethnic and cultural background. And it is our duty to make certain that all are protected by the fair and just system of laws and due process. One man cannot dictate to the whole country, indeed to the world, on the personal whim and weight of his own hatred, bigotry, or misguided thinking. Fortunately, we've all endured attacks to our way of life before. We are capable and able to meet the challenges ahead, each in our own way according to our own gifts, talents, and calling. For writers, part of our way is through what we write. Another vital part of our work is to learn as much as we can, be vigilant, and discern what is right from what is not.

To do that we must set aside our emotional reactions and needs enough to clear our vision, take a deep breath, and seek deeper understanding and meaning. We also need to remember, we alone are not responsible for fixing anything. We have work right before us, a calling to answer that requires certain action, and blind spots and vague fears that must be clarified and faced. We can only do so much, but we must do something. And we must seek ways to work together for the greater good, and support our individual rights to freedom of thought, belief, and the choices we make in life. We need to understand that we only know the world from the perspective that we view and feel the world we live in. We may think we know how others feel, but we cannot presume to know for sure. We can, however, support another's right to dwell in their own belief system and perspectives without having to fix or change them. By the same right, we have the right to our own way of looking and understanding the world. Together, though we can do great things, heal a divided world, and find solutions and answers to the challenging problems and questions we face. But we can only do this if we respect one another. Democracy may be ruled by divisive sectors, but it only works when we all work together for what's best for all people regardless of income level, religion/philosophy, ethnic/cultural background, gender, and age.

We are better together, especially when each of us is doing our best to be our own personal best. When I was a swim coach long ago, one of the things I loved most about swimming and coaching was the idea that each of us had a personal best. It might not look like anyone else. It might not be as fast as far or as good as anyone else's but for us, individually, it was the best we could be. And that is what we each need to seek within ourselves right now. From what point of strength or weakness, knowledge or lack of understanding, tolerance or intolerance are we beginning? Where do we hope to go and what do we hope to achieve?  What is calling from that deep space within us as well as from the world in which we live? What conditions or situations or issues are we best equipped to address? And how can we begin moving towards what allows us to work towards our personal best and to lend our service, time, energy, heart, passion, and life to urgent needs and crises? What strengths do we possess from the life we've already lived to help us move forward? We can each ask ourselves some of these questions, and focus our lives on working forward.

As for myself, I meant what I said to my Granddaughter today. I am devoting the rest of my life to fighting for what is right. I am devoting my life to building on the work I've begun to deal with the plight of refugees, immigrants, asylees, and those who've suffered from the wars, terrorism, and intergenerational stress brought about by systematic violence and attempted genocide. Today I reengaged with a friend from New Zealand to collaborate on some work to address topics near and dear our hearts. This is one thing that prepared me to move forward at this time. Other areas that call for my attention are those areas where I can provide the support, guidance, tools, and understanding that help others do what they must do to live strong, courageous, and productive lives.

We are all working at this time to heal the wounds of war..wounds that have scared, frightened, marked, and defined one generation after another, worldwide. We're feeling a little bit of the threat right now, that millions around the world have lived with for days, weeks, months, years, decades, and longer. Those who now seek shelter from the storm are not weak. They are not frightened. They are strong and courageous, though they may be hurt, tired, and full of grief. The least we can do, the very least, is to ease their pain, offer a hand, and share  a meal and peaceful moment together. We must live our lives in full compassion not just paying lip service.

And for writers, we will be waking late at night to look out in the Universe to see the vastness of it, as we wonder how to handle our day to day experiences. And in the lovely, insightful observations of my Granddaughter, we will look out and see that "We are just a small part of a large and endless explosion of countles stars, space, and energy." That perspective helps in reminding us that we alone are not the center of the Universe. The Galactic center is not even the center. The Center is that Soul seed within that exists everywhere beyond all time and space and which some understand is the guiding force that infuses us with Light. We can choose life or we can choose death. Life is the path of light and hope. Death is the path of hate and fear. Choose Life.

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.