Time and Space

A middle of the night thought, time and space, still present in the early morning waking. Time and space, time and space — on my mind.

It has been said by many, "Time heals all wounds." I believe that and have experienced this phenomena of time as healer. As time ticks on the density and depth of a wound fades to a misted memory. Like the fading memory of a distant dream.

Space a gap of time yet not ticking like time. A place of expansion and growth, like ground to roots. The absence of time, people, places and things. To be, to feel, to absorb the rich offerings from the passings of time — to fully embrace and understand and put them in their proper place. Inside the heart.

Photo courtesy of Paul Tibbets.

Divine Decades

When I first purchased my vintage Spanish Revival bungalow 10 years ago, it was a dream realized. I never dreamed however, that I would burrow-in as a single occupant for this long. Looking back, I never consciously had that as my intention—it was not my plan at all. Then there is that nagging saying, you know the one, "There is my plan, and then there is God's plan."

I wrestled with this reality for a good number of years during this past decade, coming off of an 18 year marriage and not seeing myself as one of those "single-people." I handed down a verdict of self-judgment that was reflected back by numerous people through their broken smiles uttering things like, "I can't believe you are still single!" Or, "You're so (fill in the compliment), how come you don't have a boyfriend?" 

The year 2012 brought in profound and significant losses that permeated my life, mind and heart. It paved a new road of thought and, in retrospect, became a pivotal time for the way that I would think about my world moving forward. I was still here, while others were no longer. I dug deep beneath my skin, burying my head so near to my heart, almost as if to ensure it was still beating. Grief is an odd and unpredictable station in life.

Fast forward and through most of it...grief that is, I arrived at a place of contentment. A profound sense of peace and joy with my life as it is, my place in and around it, an elevated sense of self and the release of mind as judge, jury and sentencer. Released out into a life with open hands and heart to the faith and fate of my destined journey. The mantra "Let go and let God" along with a few "Hail Mary's" and in alignment with my own acceptance, because that is the only way that miracles can get in, has brought with it a bounty of gifts that I could only experience through the light of divine connection and recognition of it as such. Oddly enough, (not really) the hand-held mirrors from other people were placed face-down. The once hard-to-hear remarks muted from outwardly conversations—and erased from my own internal struggle of a voice.

At the beginning of this year I heard Jacob Glass, a teacher of spiritual thought say "You are the glory and greatness," we all are. I scribed that on my bathroom mirror where I would see it every morning, and I would say it repeatedly to myself—no matter how hard or foreign it was to hear. It's true, it is how we were first delivered as babes unto this world and, in short order, sadly forgotten by many—and most of the time by ourselves. 

My life is and has been through a long lineage of divine decades, and this one in-the-making is proving everday to unfold more divinely than I could have ever imagined. 

The Fear of Being Loved

"All You Need is Love." The Beatles sang it, the sages proselytize it and today you can simply purchase the saying on a wood block as decoration. I own one. I chant it, I believe it at my core and at the same time I am challenged by it. 

If love is all you need—all I need, then why does the prospect of it with another raise an eyebrow of disbelief, or have my heart drift behind the clouds of self-protection? Why is something that seems so profoundly simple and innate to our humanness become a struggle, a fear? These are the questions before me today. Good morning Lori.

Of course, I believe to know my own answer. Somehow writing it out becomes a process of working it out. I'm fairly certain it begins with the beginning, my grand entrance into the world. Held in the naive pairs of hands that carried me home, to nurture and love me the best way they knew how—in that moment.

From there, etched in stone, were definitions of love—their definitions. The stone ultimately rolled out into the world, down a few hills (at times mountains), taking little or no time to gather the moss of its own identity. The etchings of what was known of love carved deeper and deeper in definition. Tumbling down farther along the bumpy roads of life and further away from the divine truth of love. 

Until one day, and there have been more than one, the stone came to rest—to stillness. The etchings of love halted and hiding, peering out from behind the bent brim of experiences. Allowing for a more peaceful passage of time. Time and space for the moss to grow, nurture what defines its core and ponder the meaning of love. Time as healer, smoothing out the nicks of pain and shaking off the dusty-heart of a jarred journey. 

The etchings are scars trying on new definitions for love—challenging my mind's heart not to be afraid. To roll on, now with a softer surface and understanding.

Wishing for it to be simpler or I were more courageous about living into the mantra of love. I'm still working on it. 

Shades of Doubt

If we are lucky enough to journey long enough through the human experience, we may more than once, reach out for a dangling cord—pulling down the shades of doubt over our heart.

A momentary reprieve from pain, loss and grief. In truth the shade is only a brief departure from the sun that is shining brightly in perpetuity on the other side.

In time, under the sun's consistent rays of love and light, the shades of doubt will dissolve. It's only a matter of time.

Love-in the Rocks

With little or no agenda we set out, Stevie and I, for an early morning breakfast overlooking the Pacific Ocean with a Santa Barbara point-of-view. Followed by a walk upon the sand—prefaced by a read-out-loud entry of May 3rd from The Book of Awakenings—author Mark Nepo. My arms will not tire from raising the glass of appreciation for this modern-day sage and the moment the title jumped from where I first saw his book on a coffee table and into my heart.

The prologue, inserted here, is necessary in order to fully digest and appreciate the (unplanned by us) universal and miraculous events that were about to unfold, literally appearing in a path of rocks. The rocks, unlike the kind you stumble over—were smooth, yielding and symbolic in foundational support to a miracle in the making.

Prologue: Pre-breakfast conversation hovered around love and relationships. Heterosexual, bi-sexual and homosexual and my long-time thoughts on how it shouldn't matter who you love, but more important, how you love. And the societal prominence of labeling love and relationships, the prejudice and judgment bastardizing the only thing that we need...love. Ahhhh, pre-breakfast conversation—in the deep end of the pool, right where I like it!

Our walk along the rippling tide produced beautiful gifts newly freed from the sea and a few that showed themselves, but were not quite ready for the souvenir of taking. Each of us found a heart-shaped rock, honed in asymmetry and, when placed vertically in the sand for their photo op, their shapes cast out as shadows in heart-shaped perfection. Click, click—preserved by the camera. Slip, slipped into the pocket of my bag as treasure.

With our barefoot impressions erased, as quickly as they were made, the journey along the shoreline in forward motion presented more gifts. The living mollusk in its seaside nautical home, the lobster trap—trapped between rocks and a hard place, and other rocks bored through in curious circular designs. Each step softened and surrounded with feelings of pure joy, walking hand-in-hand with another, in wonder and awe of this moment.

The two-hour parking restriction marked our memory of time, and we began the trek back over where we had just been and—not been. The waves had gently smoothed over the past. My sandy feet begged for a washing—we have time. An out-of-the-way shower brought into view a rock-constructed stairway; my photographer's eye set its sight at the top where lacy openings allowed the blue sky to pierce through in glorious contrast. "Do we have time to go up there?" Stevie following behind—honoring and encouraging my child-like ways. "We have time." He says. "We have time." The depth of irony parked behind those words. For another essay.

This moment is a bit of a blur for me, as I was in my photographer's Zen place. Two women meet us on the stairs; we make room for them to climb up. There is a polite exchange between Steve and them that splashed quickly into a deep dive of human emotion, connection and compassion. I was pulled in. If there had been clouds in the sky, and I'm not joking when I say this—they would have parted the skies, with trumpets loudly playing as sunbeams from the heavens shined a bright light of love upon this place in the rocks.

The women, both weary and teary-eyed, began a tale of their postponed wedding plans to one another as one of their moms had suffered a stroke and they flew out from Boston to be with her. She lay in a nearby hospital in an induced coma. They had come to the beach for a respite from the heaviness of all that was before them, making their way from the very beach we had moments before been walking along, to the rock structure that had caught my eye. The disappointment of their altered wedding plans and the sadness in the news of the mom, who would have been flying to Boston to attend their wedding. We could feel their pain.

Stevie and I turn to each other, without a word or deliberation, through a mutually unspoken eye-balled agreement—he says to them, "Well, I can marry you?" "And Lori is a photographer." They can't believe it, I mean, who would? There we were—Steve, who has performed wedding ceremonies in the past, and me, who by all accounts is a professional photographer—albeit equipped only with my iPhone 5S. The conversation from there exploded into full glow serendipitous disclosure as we prepare for a wedding in the rocks. I'm multi-tasking with a keen ear listening in on the wedding prep between Steve and the ladies, while looking for the right angles, direction of light and positions to document the event. Right here, right now—this is happening! This is neither the time nor place to pause and wonder, or question the timing. The right thing to do—the only thing to do, is to flow through the moment handed down on the wings of angels. Ceremony conducted. Vows and rings exchanged, as raw and unrehearsed as you can imagine. Wishing I had with me my "All You Need is Love" sign and quickly realized that love—was all that was up there on the rock-solid wedding platform.

Following the ceremony, which I was witness to, photographer and videographer of (Apple iPhone ad coming soon), we sat on the steps of the rock cathedral—sharing the stories between the four of us. How we came to arrive at the same place at the same time. The events and conversations that prefaced our meeting. We hugged, cried, and smiled in the glory of the miracle—swapping business cards (equally as synchronistic) for future connection. “And if you’re ever in Boston,” they said, to which we replied, “We’re there next month!” And another connection unfolded.

To give words to what all of this has meant is equal to giving God/Universe a definition of boundary. So I won't.

As the four of us descended our communal place of "Love-in the Rocks" I lifted my arms overhead in the air and shouted "I love miracles!"

I really do you know.

Just before we parted ways, I felt this tug to give away the two heart-shaped rocks Stevie and I found earlier as a wedding present. In mutual consent the two rocks that had paved our way to this moment, slipped their way up and out of my treasure bag and into the hearts and hands of two beautiful women who needed them much more than we did.

Love will forever be embedded in those rocks.

Open Hands—Opens Heart

Imagine closing your eyes, your arms outstretched with the palms of your hands open and facing the sky. In the practice of yoga this is considered receiving mode. Then imagine a gift being gently placed in the cradle of your hands. It doesn't matter the nature of this gift, its size, shape or monetary value, what matters is the way it is being received. Does it feel heavy, like a burden? In the moment of receiving are there companion thoughts? What does this mean? What does he/she want from me? How will I reciprocate?

Or...are you able, as I am learning, with open hands to allow in the gift from another—of another? For nothing more and everything of—the offering itself? To be thought-less in the moment of the thought-full exchange? Can you/I allow the gift to dive below the surface of the physical, swim the channel of extended arms toward an open heart—an opening heart?

Last month I spent 30 days gifting—paying it forward. My reflection toward the end of this practice concluded with just how easy it was to gift for the pure pleasure of giving—much in anonymity and letting go of any sort of self patting on the back. Heading into this month, there was this little voice speaking from the archives of "things I once heard," that receiving was also a gift back to the giver. With that in mind, I set out in April (also happened to be my birthday month) to experience 30 Days of Receiving.

Day 24: I can't begin to tell you how liberating this has been. To be free of thought and be in pure acceptance of bountiful gifts. From gestures of smiles, kisses, well-wishes, and compliments to the traditionally wrapped varieties. Gifts freed from the sea and the garden to notes filled with gratitude for me just being me, and one PBJ sandwich lovingly wrapped, bagged and scribed with my name—LORI, a heart shape dotting the i. Accepting the mirror of glory and greatness in being human. Miracles delivered from God. The month is not over and my heart runneth over.

A visual now formulating in my minds-eye as I write today, two people in profile facing one another with arms stretched forward and in the exchange of "the gift," the symbol for infinity appeared. The figure eight flowing from heart to hands, hands to heart, heart to hands, hands to heart. A symbiotic event, the definition between giver and receiver dissolving. The path of infinite possibility illuminated—from open hands to open hearts.

Letting go-ward

I've been debating (with myself) how to write about my experiences during the month of March, where I lived into the intention of philanthropy. I chose "pay it forward" as my 30 Day Project, a month long daily practice of conscious giving.

To write about it seemed a contradiction to the practice, and somewhere in the archives from my rather non traditional Catholic upbringing was a teaching about that very thing. I'm not much of a bible quoter, and I found it here in Matthew 6:2; "But when you give to the poor, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing."

After some careful consideration and this morning's ah-ha moment/title I am prepared to move forward typing with both my left and right hands open to what spills out next on the page. No celebration, only a share.

There were lessons learned, times of giggly grace, faces left in confusion—sometimes my own and at the end, which really is only the beginning is my own experience of me, my actions and thoughts. In these moments, like a dropped rock in waters still and deep—the concentric ripples of deed spreading infinitely wide with invisible reach, their effects unknown. And like the rock breaking through the water's surface—with varying height in splashes, having no attachment to the ripples in destination on the surface above. The only concern of the rock—if any, is in the depth of its own being. 

Some of the hidden and revealed gems from this project, shined a light on where I still need to grow, and was also reflected back from my co-habitants of humanity. Here is a little story of one pay it forward, the one that kicked off this project. It will be the only one I share, as it is the shining example that allowed the rest of the month to unfold easily and unpredictably. 

It started at the 7/11 down the street from my house. I was in line purchasing my morning ritual coffee and at check-out I asked for a lottery ticket. The clerk while in mid-stream of handing me the potentially million-dollar-life-changing piece of paper, I asked her to please give it to the next person who came up to the counter. Insert her scrunched up face here. She didn't quite understand my request, so I said it again. I left quickly as I didn't want to be a voyeur into what happened next or who received it. As I was making the short walk back to my car my thoughts on two wheels were speeding laps around my mind. "Oh my God, I think I may have just given away a million dollars." My ego mind leaking out its history of missed opportunities, positions of lack and the holding things so close—the clear fear of dying. Death to the ego. I couldn't believe my thoughts and at the same time the clerk with the scrunched up face was reflecting back to me in a look of bewilderment that perhaps was saying—"Is she crazy? She may have just given away a million dollars!" 

I took my thoughts, thanked them and wadded them up like a cashed-in winning lottery ticket and tossed them in the trash with a smile. I think it may have been with my left hand, and I don't remember what my right hand was doing. That moment became the catalyst for the rest of the month and my life.

This morning as I contemplated writing this essay, I knew there was more here than the mere act of paying things forward—money, lottery tickets, a cup of coffee or a smile. For me it became clear that this was yet another evolution in my spiritual development, the practice of leading with a loving heart for no other reason than I believe that to be our innate and best feature of being human. 

One more layer in the practice of non-attachment, letting go...letting go-ward.