Archive for the ‘winter’ Category

What does my wild heart desire, #3

Friday, February 22nd, 2013

Those of you who live in AZ will understand why the snow storm we just had was a major miracle. If you live in Kansas City, you might not agree this week. But for desert dwellers in the middle of a long drought, water in any form is good news.

More importantly for my wild heart, the snow created a fairyland that made me feel about six. Sitting in my home office, I could feel my wild heart sitting up to take notice. “It’s turning white!” she said, anticipating an adventure.

Sure enough, after part one of the storm my husband came home and we put on our boots and went for a walk. Crunching along, halfway around our usual loop, it started to snow again. Slowly at first, then more and more intensely. We started to laugh. Slowly at first, then more and more intensely. Our dog began to prance. We were in the middle of a full-on snow storm.

By the time it all ended, our table on the hill was uninhabitable, but my wild heart loved the scene. And here are some of the reasons:

  1. My wild heart loves surprises.
  2. My wild heart loves wildness in nature.
  3. My wild heart loves beauty.
  4. My wild heart loves transformation.
  5. My wild heart loves joy.

I got all these in one walk. There’s something to treasure, to consider, to keep.

And you?  What does your wild heart love?

Do you have room in the inn?

Thursday, December 23rd, 2010

Looks like a heart-shaped puddle, right in the middle of mud, doesn’t it? What an odd image to put into a Christmas blog.

That’s what I thought while I was scanning my photo collection looking for just the right burst of light and energy that could represent the true Christ energy. The Christos: a burst of light in the midst of darkness.

Born in a stable. I often think of that. In a town where there was no room in the inn. So His birth was probably dirty, common. According to the story, he was born in the mud. Love was born right in the midst of the mud.

No matter what your faith, all our holy ones have brought light into the lives of the suffering. They have all taught us that even though life is dirty and hard, we can find surprising moment of love right in our path.

So no matter what your faith, do you have room in the inn?  Do you have room in your heart and in your world view for love? Not the easy love for all that is beautiful and whole and graceful, but the kind of love that is a surprise. The kind of love you might almost trip over or walk past if you weren’t paying attention.

I think we have to intentionally make room in our hearts for that kind of love. We have to practice shifting every time we see a person behaving in a way we want to judge. Every time there’s a political decision we can’t stand. Every time a loved one is unkind. This doesn’t mean giving into it; we don’t have to wallow in the mud ourselves. We need to stand for justice. When we “take a side,” though, I think being conscious means being on the lookout for the love contained in this “dirty” situation that might surprise us. Every time we can find it by paying attention, we receive the Light, the true Christos, the Beloved.

So Merry Christmas, and happy Holy Day, whatever yours is. If you don’t have one, try making it today. Make room in the inn. As you walk your path, look for love, and report on the surprises.

Winter Remembers the Spring

Sunday, February 28th, 2010


I walk out into the desert’s winter, watching for signs.

The blonde brittle grasses part, giving me a glimpse of apple green beneath.

The hard ground softens for ants wakening to build spring mounds.

Black broken trees play dead, but tell me the sap is rising like warm honey in their limbs.

The mountains’ sprinkling of sugar pours down into liquid in the washes.

Wildflowers are plotting from deep within their seeds, imagining their riot.

And I thrill to the feel of my heart widening into the sweet flow of breath within.

The land is remembering me into new life.

Stormy Weather

Thursday, January 21st, 2010

stormy ocean

I am lucky enough right this minute to be sitting by a large window looking out to a very stormy sea. You may have read about the series of big storms hitting the Santa Barbara area of California, and that’s where I am, on my yearly retreat with a women’s group I’ve known for 30 years.

We’ve had to rush out of the house every time the rain clears for a quick walk before diving back into the warmth of the fire. Not what we had planned. But does this qualify as BAD weather?

This group of women ranges from mid-50’s to almost 70, and we’ve seen some stormy times. Eight lives, eight stories, eight sets of weather that could make the hardiest person shiver. Three bouts of cancer in the group. Four divorces. One death of a child. Traumas with all the children who lived. Many tests of faith. And yet, as we listen to each other, we wonder: were these storms in our lives BAD?

Not one of us relishes or courts drama, and not one would wish suffering on another. But each time a roaring wind has struck us it has dragged gifts along with it. The learning and growth in this group is stunning. Maybe stormy weather isn’t bad, but just stormy.

The wind sweeps long rooster tails from the crest of each grey and white wave. Mud swirls at the shoreline, where a creek is depositing debris from the mountains. Gulls venture out to scout for surprises, new life deposited on the shore, fuel for whatever weather comes next. And I sit in comfort, just watching the drama, the wonder, the life force.

Solstice images

Wednesday, December 9th, 2009

Desert Solstice

Golden grasses,
brittle branches breaking underfoot,
hidden water,
last leaves gripping black mesquites.
In this desert
things are dying.

Quail bedded down
burst forth as I pass.
Surprising red plants flow along the wash.
The thrill of my own breath moves faster,
echoing the rising wind.
In this desert
something new is coming.

Cells fall away in me,
brittle old ideas breaking apart.
Old juices lay hidden away, reserved for drought.
I change every day, now faster and
in the dry, arid places of me
things are dying.

An explosion of wings breaks through my soul.
Colors appear, flowing through my center.
My life force quickens
as a storm gathers within me, promising flow.
In this desert within,
dark with winter,
light is coming.
                          Pamela Hale, 2009

Desert solstice_opt

And you?  How do you experience winter and solstice time in your outer landscape?  How about your inner one?  Does nature act as a mirror for you?