slowing down to smell flowers that love us...

Happy Spring to all...
which emphasizes the need to SLOW DOWN and smell and see the detail of the design of flowers showing their beautifull blooms.
Even though we are busy people, it is a continuing goal for myself to slow down in order to pay attention to the heart within us all...despite our reluctance to do so. Yet it is where I GROW like the flowers do...into beauteous REAL LOVE.
I hope this essay of my life may help you slow down...to love yourself more.



SLOWING DOWN


I feel embarrassed. I want to slow down but it is difficult for me to do so even though I am into my 6th decade. I do write in my journal as my meditation several days a week; as well as enjoy dancing four nights a week. At least I no longer run marathons, which I did in the 80’s: 36 marathons in 36 months, a national record for women. Then, I was proud of my accomplishment; now I see it as abuse of my body and soul.
I still feel a bit embarrassed to tell you what happened a few months ago. Last fall (2009), I met up with my ex-husband for a visit, being friends. I planned a picnic; at his suggestion it would be at Gilford Lake, NY six miles from where he lives in Oxford. I had never been to this lake, and was surprised to see a very small beach area, although the lake is beautifully clear with near a mile to swim and boat. I laughed at the sign on the beach saying: “Only 112 bathers allowed,” along with some other rules. Why only 112?
After that visit I wrote the SUN reader’s write about this BEACH, the topic for that month. Then, decided it would be funny to provide a photo of this beach sign for the SUN. The beach is an hour away from where I live, so I planned to stop there on my return trip from Boston where one of my daughters lives. I allowed just one hour of extra time to drive this side jaunt to take some photos. I am on route 206 west, having traveled this road many times with it many ups and downs and curves. I remember passing a small sign reading Oxford, the town I wish to travel to where Gilford Lake is located nearby. Because route 206 is a country road where I pass few cars, I drive 65mph (55mph state speed limit) so I can keep my speed up to 55mph on the big up hills is my rationalization. When I arrive in Greene, NY, I am wondering why I have not seen the sign “Oxford 11” (11 miles) as yet. I drive a few more miles and realize I must have passed the sign, returning to Greene, where I know I can turn onto route 12, arriving in Oxford that way. Hurriedly, I take photos as I am worried I won’t make it back in time for a client appointment. I am disappointed in myself for not being more observant to see the sign which I had barreled by in West Bainbridge…which I made sure I saw again on my next trip to Boston. It was a short cut that would have provided new scenery and a more efficient drive to Gilford Lake.
I must have needed to be humbled, and of course the lesson…my guardian angel teaches me again today while reading a 1966 letter written by my loving dad to his dear younger sister, recently translated from German…that reads, “As I always do, I read your letter immediately and greedily, then very slowly again. I just wanted to tell you now that I hold you very dear.” which I wish to say to the SUN.

BEAUTY with tears

How to find BEAUTY within:

BEAUTY

While growing up, I lived across the road from the city reservoir, where my dad walked with his 3 children, most Sundays. I cried at age 16 when we left that home to move to a house that my mother wanted…I must admit that the view of Cayuga Lake was pretty. For many years since then, during the summer, I still visit Potters Falls a few hundred yards down from the reservoir, where as a middle-aged adult I learned to swim nude; scary due to my religious strict upbringing to be modest, or rather learning to be ashamed of one’s body.
About 9 years after my first marriage dissolved, my dad died, leaving me enough money to put a down payment on the small lake house my mother was then selling. I have many fond memories of swimming, sailing and ice skating with my two young daughters, as well as playing in Stewart Park which was less than a ten minute walk. I taught my youngest to ride her bike there. It wasn’t until my girls were 12 (Megan) and 15 (Erin) that I was able to save enough money to drive a rusty dodge van that my boyfriend owned across country to camp and hike in many National Parks; which I have a love affair with since my first cross-country trip thanks to my first husband’s interest in the national park system.
During August 1986, we hiked in several national parks on our way from New York to California, where Yosemite, Kings Canyon and Sequoia dazzled our eyes. Then, on to Oregon’s Crater Lake and Washington’s Mount Rainier, where a six mile hike opened up to a 360 degree view of rugged peaks, clear lakes, boundless colorful wildflowers, (tears now), where I stood with tears rolling down my cheeks for no apparent reason.
It wasn’t until several years later that I understood why.
When Erin was 16, we moved to my then boyfriend’s home, because there was more room, which dismayed Erin; I had felt such feelings at 16; I understood that she loved our lake house. Later, I sold it. When that relationship did not work out, I bought a barn-style A-frame home that my girls liked, surrounded by trees instead of water. From this home, they launched their lives into college, all 3 previous husbands (2 stepfathers) present at Megan’s high school graduation. By their college graduation, I had finished my masters degree and was in private practice as a psychotherapist, married a fourth time. Since 1988, I had been chain-sawing down trees on my property to use as fire wood for our woodstove, opening our home to more light, not realizing the connection to my heart being ripped open to deep pain through my marriage.
During the nineties I was drawn to primal therapy, which is truly “gut-wrenching” …and healing, like childbirth’s labor turning into joy of the newborn! It was during a primal-session that I connected with the tears I spilled on Mount Rainer; the beauty that I had seen with my eyes, I did not feel in my heart: the beauty of my body or my soul. Although I had received a 65 in English my freshman year at Cornell University, I was motivated to begin writing books about the healing connection of tears to LOVE. To support this self-publishing venture, I sold my home, and rented a renovated chicken coupe on big sky farmland, on top of a hill, surrounded by light, across the road from my favorite state park garnering many waterfalls of grandeur and gorges of glory.