Awareness

I love floors that creak. There’s a power, a personality to it, as if the floor acknowledges me there, greets me, in a way. The house feels homey and lived in, in some sense imprinted.

Old houses have creaky floors and stairs, for sure. It’s not clear if it’s the personality of the people who lived there coming through or the personality of the home itself. But, to me, it always seems inviting and cozy.

It makes me mindful of the moment, more fully present with more of my senses focused here and now.

I also love doors that creak and drawers that squeak.

New Earth is not a place, but a way of living.

A way of experiencing earth a different way – joyful, playful, conscious, and aware.

I live on New Earth, or rather, “in” New Earth.

I am very aware of what I am thinking and saying. Always, as best I can, choosing positive over negative. So, I am constantly editing and guiding my thoughts, rather than letting them run rampant.

I have found that I can be in a room full of people, and feel absolutely isolated and lonely. Perhaps this happens to you, too.

So, there is something more going on with loneliness than just needing to be around other humans.

Perhaps we are lonely for this, that, and the other.

When I take care of a garden, I feel that the flowers, vegetables, herbs, and all that grows out of the soil are my friends. So, I like visiting the Hartford Flower Show, the Bronx Gardens, and the Durham County Fair.

Did you ever walk through a place and feel that it was watching you?

Like in the woods where you walk at the foot of tall trees, far out of reach above. And if you are really lucky, you come upon a sea of green moss, furry and emerald green, tinting everything it lays upon. Or you come upon a patch of bluebells covering the forest floor – just happening to be there.

As I woke up this morning
I stumbled into my kitchen to do my dishes
I was half groggy and half asleep
As I was doing my dishes and looked out the kitchen window
I saw this beautiful blue bird, it was like a violet blue, and it was rust colored
It wasn’t a blue bird
I wasn’t sure what kind of bird it was
It was sitting on top of my patios table closed umbrella just perched
Looking all around just like taking in the scene, the scenery around him

There’s nothing like doing nothing.

I feel liberated, carefree, as if all responsibility is paused, and I am placed in a state of open wonder, able to just be.

Some may find it totally boring, perhaps a waste of time – not me!

My imagination is piqued, and ideas appear, as if clearing away everything that was blocking them. My senses are more, well, “sensitive,” magnified. So, I see and hear beauty around me more easily.

We have a huge Chinese rug in the living room, 10 feet by 15 feet, 1 inch thick.

It is truly gorgeous. The colors and design are out of this world.

Sky-blue borders, decorated with flowers, all against a crème background. And it feels wonderful under your bare feet.

Who made this carpet I so enjoy? I feel I know him, or her, or them. I appreciate the sheer scale of its beauty and its masterful craftmanship.

Was the design handed down generation to generation, perhaps on rice paper? Or was it kept “in-mind” and shown only when needed?

Grandpa always wore a three piece suit with a white Oxford shirt. In the heat of summer, he removed the vest. In the winter, when he went on his daily walks, he added a topcoat and a fedora to his outfit.

Two blocks from his house was a small grocery store where my brother Mike worked as a manager.

Every day, grandpa, in his late eighties, walked to the store to visit Mike and to pick up an item or two.

Two four year old girls in my nursery school class were the best of friends. When one entered the room, the other would run to give her a big, welcoming hug. They managed to sit side-by-side throughout all activities and held hands when they walked around the room.

These girls were bright, creative and mature beyond their years. Every so often, something of interest would happen at home and they would turn this idea into a little two girl play.

These plays delighted me so much I’d stop what I was supposed to be doing and watch (from afar, of course).

When Bruce and I were first married, we discovered Jones’ Family Farm, and started a tradition.

Each October we’d go to the farm and pick out a huge pumpkin. Then we’d bring it home, and work all weekend to make pies (usually 9) and loaves (usually 6).

Sometimes, we’d make pumpkin cookies or pumpkin pancakes (not a big hit). We’d cook the seeds. Then we’d distribute the pies to my parents and my brother Mike, Bruce’s parents, aunties, neighbors, etc.

I’d always bring some in for the teacher’s lounge at Second Hill Lane School.