Hallow Wind

I woke early to a poised stillness, the sun peeking its delicate, pastel face through my bedroom window.   She was waking me slowly, greeting me with the warmish morning, bringing clear contrast to the chill in last night's air.  The sun's rays were low in the horizon.  The bare tree limbs whispered that winter is on its way.  It is an autumn worthy of October 31st.

"This is the kind of morning that calls for freshly baked biscuits", I jumped out of bed and scuffled off to the kitchen. I felt true happiness, with coffee brewing, kitties swarming below my feet, and my fingers knuckle deep in dough.  The oven took the chill out of the morning air, wafting the all too familiar smell of grandma's house.  True comfort.

As the morning lingered, the breezes outside started to stiffen. Feint sounds of a single trash can blowing down the street silhouetted the sporadic whistling from the window panes.  Muffled wind chimes, though tied back for the impending storm, still found a way to fill the air with their dance.   

By noon, the gusts had made their way to a steady wind;  larger gusts took their place.  Trees adjusted their grand stance, flexing their branches, and giving gauge of the impending force.   

I could sit for hours, safely inside and watching. This is the day to just "be".  No lists. No guilt. No planning. No hoping. No wanting.  Time does not exist beyond this moment. Nothing is more important to me right now than .... now.   

With that, it was decided.  Today is a day to celebrate being alive.  Lounging in my jammies, yoga, stretching, meditations, music, painting, love, gratitude. Gusting, chaotic winds outside brought contrast to the peace and serenity inside.   I shall use this as a metaphor.

It's almost dark and I realized that children in their costumes will be knocking on my door, with that ever annual phrase of "Trick or Treat". It is Halloween.  

Halloween isn't my favorite holiday.  I don't like being scared.  Violence in general makes me uncomfortable.  And sugar can be a very dangerous toy.   So I turned off my front porch light and slid open my back door, sitting just inside to shield myself from the storm, yet exposed enough to still feel the winds of change.

Big, wet drops start falling from the night's sky, scattered at an abnormal distance from each other.   They started falling more frequently, then smaller and closer together, until it seems a steady stream of water falling from the dark sky.   Perfect cleansing end to this day of "now", on All Hallow's Eve.

loving my weeds

It seems these days, I exist only ... to do the "right" thing. My day is completely encased in rules. Go here. Do that. File this. Pay this bill. Seems like everything has two consequences.... a right and a wrong one, nothing in between.

I wake at the right time, gingerly positioning myself to get out of bed the right way, otherwise I might pull a muscle. I walk to the kitchen to feed my, by this time, verbal cats. Take care to feed them the right amount, otherwise they will get fat. I make coffee, measuring the exact right amount into the filter, so as to create that perfect blend of flavor, caffeine and thrift.  I think to myself, "I should eat breakfast, cause it's important to my health." I skip it; I am (choose the right word here...).... a rebel. 

I get in the shower, wash my hair with the right conditioner to perk up and shine, styling it  the right way for my appointments today. Drive the right speed, the right, shortest and fastest way to work. Pay bills on the right day, buy the right insurance, file the right forms, save the right files. Backup the computer, otherwise all the rightness may be lost.

Shoot, I am RARELY right. Yet I still try, holding up the facade of being and doing the right thing is just as exhausting.

I unwind from the day by taking a relaxing walk in the garden, at which point I see tons of weeds. Pull the weeds, manicure the garden, because there are right and wrong plants to have growing in the garden.

Maybe I just need to relax and let my weeds grow. Maybe I need to love my weeds.

The struggle to be perfect has consequences. They are inner turmoil, lack of positive meaning in my life, living for society's notion of what I need to be, what I need to do, and how I need to be doing it.  I want my own rightness.

I choose to love my weeds.

Copyright 2002 Yvonne Ramage

learning to stand upright

Assuming the Theory of Evolution exists, and following all the postulates and rules within, one could come to an understanding that humans are a descendant of single cell water creatures.

Starting out as the simplest of forms, we evolved to become the upright land creatures of today. Intelligence has increased in direct proportion to brain size. Humankind is considered, by humans, to be the most evolved creatures on the planet earth. 

But I think we aren't as evolved as we think we are. In fact, I don't even consider us as "upright", rather more slouched over and bending. Our eyes are to the ground, hoping for the sky.  We are in our minds rather than in that present time.

Our shoulders are getting stronger from baring such a heavy load. Our brows, over-sized and furrowed from grimacing through the pain. "It doesn't hurt.... that bad," we say to ourselves. 

As we become more top heavy, our backs begin to weaken and bend, like a willow tree burdened after a heavy snow.

And from a different perspective, one may be able to see their invisible burden keeping them brow-beaten all these years.

Stand upright. Stand Up RIGHT!

And the view will be different. 
People will change.   
Each moment moves from this to the next. 
There is always a next. 
The next is defined by the intent with which it is born. 
The intent is now. 
You choose your intent. 
Tomorrow is my choice. 
I choose to evolve. 



Copyright 2002 Yvonne Ramage

no need for weak knees

Marathon turned into "why-cant-I-a-thon". Found out that I'm just a bit too weak in the knees to continue the charade, as it applies to my physical, mental and spiritual shape. Drive and ambition have led me to a place where I can no longer see my own image.   How cliche.

Yes, you can push yourself too hard. Just as weak knees bow to strained tendons, spirit bows to stress. And even if you push through the sore muscles, you cannot push through injury. I am injured and need to heal. This physical journey has given me more than a physical change. It has brought me, not closer to my spirit, but closer to the understanding of just how injured my spirit is.

For too long, I sat ready, willing, yet unable. For too long, I waited. My body now injures easily. But it is my spirit that took the brunt of my actions. And it is the spirit that takes longer to heal.

There is no need for week knees.



(PS... I'm fine.. I wrote this years ago)Copyright 2002 Yvonne Ramage

rain

The showers outside draw my attention. Rain sounds of cleansing breath, blanketing everything within its decibels.

There is a cozy warmth in the chaotic drone. Soft, smooth, captured. 

The absence of our day melts into existence, drenching us.

lightly raining in the galapagos

"It was lightly raining in the Galapagos, when ... ", started the older gentleman's story, as a group of us were waiting in the sitting room.  We were waiting for the B & B restaurant to open for their breakfast serving.

As I listened to the group compare stories of elaborate vacations, I began to feel invisible. I am a no body. This was idle conversation to them. It wasn't about the weather, nor about their grandchildren or their pets. It's about how their bodies react to malaria medication. Galapagos, South Africa, Mexico, Mayan country. Mostly it's the well traveled folks talking. The non-well-traveled sit quietly in the corner, away from the group, listening. I can only imagine what they may be thinking. Maybe it's something similar to me.... I am a no body.

Listening to the group, I heard narrow mind after narrow mind, followed by competition and judgment. One-upping games to show importance; but only to those that are playing. To the rest it is just bragging.

But one man who was clearly not well traveled, was sitting quietly away from the rest. Something about him, his humble stance and excited eyes, made me realize that he is the only person in the room I would WANT to talk to, even though I am well traveled myself and could rival any story in the conversation.

He didn't add much to the conversation with rivaling stories. Instead he commented on the most inane things with such joy, carrying passion with an infectious smile, "I just love those bison," pointing outside to the bison in the neighboring field. His comment stops the elaborate stories in their tracks and makes everyone chuckle. Even the proudest world traveler in the room took at moment to look at those bison. That one man spoke about things that are equally relatable... to everyone. He made me appreciate the things I have in this moment, a view of such an incredible creature like bison, not longing for the things that I haven't seen, done, or experienced.

To humbly bring to light experiences that are within everyone’s reach... that is GRACE.  Joy is infectious. A smile is a beacon. And humility is the platform from which everything can be heard.


Copyright 2010 Yvonne Ramage

Vivacious Temperament

it is a perfect temperature,
with the sun setting 

down my spine

drops of vivacious temperament,

hover in time.

They start over my temples, 

falling slowly, 

gravity pushing them effortlessly

toward my chin.

Copyright 2003 Yvonne Ramage

Community

It just dawned on me . . . people judge themselves, their success, by the way people look at them, how people react to them.  Yet they often times do not know how they are seen. 

People tell me I’m a shade of blue.
Immediately I think “indigo”.
I walk indigo.I talk indigo.I function under the premise of indigo.      

Yet everyone sees turquoise.

There’s a big difference between turquoise and indigo.     An indigo sentence might seem to turquoise as if it is a debate.  An indigo smile might seem to turquoise as a grimace.  An indigo silence might seem to turquoise as conceit.

It is as if I am walking on an indigo cloud, above their turquoise sea, never really touching their reality.  

And we call this community.









Copyright 2002 Yvonne Ramage

Listen

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What was once wisdom is now just a lack of questioning.

It's that dull, to and fro motion, 

like the sound of an echo bouncing off the walls of a canyon at 5 am.

That's before the lofty falcon has risen from his perch.
so listen.

To the good morning call of the canyon wren.
Ah........., this moment is 
a once in a lifetime event.
a once in a lifetime event.

And I've had a lot of these, each day of time and space
Between the dimension of the strings
One line to the next
Plane upon plane upon plane upon plane
Of lives, that could be the same.
But they are not.

And I trust that each line brings a slightly different listening
to the beautiful moment where 
stillness of the water
couples the meeting of the sun
against the ages of time.
Periods of history
illuminated for all that care to listen.

so listen.
listen.

Song continues as such:
Step inside my mind, step inside my head
We don't know, so we guess instead
Does it always, happen this way

You can be my muse, or my valentine
Where I'll have your heart, and you will have mine
Does it always, happen this way

Does it always, come apart at the seams
Does it seem, to come together
Just when we start listening

Step inside my heart,
Step inside my brain
Where the same things are different
Yet everything has changed.

so listen.  just listen.



Copyright 2002 Yvonne Ramage

Truth

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There once was a man who was successful in all things
he had a beautiful family, a loving wife and a great career.  
But still he was not happy.
"I must know Truth," he said to his wife.
"Well then, you must search for her." she replied
So he put all his earthly, worldly goods in his wife's name
She being very adamant on that point.
and he went out on the road a beggar for truth.
 
He searched in the hills and the deep dark valleys
and in the small villages and the big city
into the forest and along the great wide sea
he searched through all the wastelands and the flowered meadows of beauty
and one day, high in a mountain cave ... he found her

(song chorus:  
stop don't ask me I don't know what the answer is. Stop.
stop don't ask me I don't know what the answer is. Stop.
the truth... it's inside of you
the truth... it's inside of you)

Now Truth was a wizened old woman, 
with but a single tooth left in her head.
and her hair hung down on her shoulders in lank greasy strands.
Her skin was dry as parchment, stretched over prominent bone.
And when she signaled to him, her hand was crabbed with age.
Her voice was low and lyrical and pure.
And it was then that he was sure, that he had found truth.

(song chorus:  
stop don't ask me I don't know what the answer is. Stop.
stop don't ask me I don't know what the answer is.  Stop.
the truth... it's inside of you
the truth... it's inside of you)

He stayed with Truth a year and a day, learning all that she had to teach.
And when his year and a day were up, he stood at the mouth of the cave, ready to leave.
He said, "My lady Truth, you have taught me so much.  You have given me gifts that even I cannot tough."
But it is time for me to go back to my friends and family
and show them what I have done.

But before I go, i would like to do something for you, 
in gratitude, for all that you have given me.
Is there anything you wish.

Now Truth put her head to one side and considered.
Then she raised and ancient finger, 
and she said, "Yes."
"Yes, there is something you can do for me.   When you go back to your friends and family.. when you show that what you have done.  Will you please, please tell them that i am...    beautiful and young."