I Love Me... I Love You

I have come upon a magic time in my life where I hear and say those three special words from and to many people in my life. “I love you.” When I SAY the words my heart opens. When I HEAR the words my heart opens. My arms open wide to receive and give. There is nothing but wild sincerity in the action.

I remember in my youth when I was in eighth grade, about 14 years old, when my friends and I came to a place of free expression. We were fledging our families and reaching out for connection elsewhere. We were seeking independence and also acceptance amongst our peers. At that time, I probably wouldn’t have been able to count the number of times I gave hugs in one day. We were, literally, hug junkies. We hugged every time we greeted each other even if our last parting was 5 minutes ago. We hugged when someone said something funny or sweet or cute. We hugged before rushing back off to class. We started to play with those simple, yet so important three words, but that’s all we knew how to do, play.

When we said “I love you” we were testing the words out. We were asking a question rather than making a statement. “Do you love me?”

I remember that same group of childhood friends creating a group agreement that being “conceited” was the worst possible trait anyone could have. This polarization prevented us from ever looking inward to find love for fear we’d overindulge and become self-involved.

I moved the next year and was thrust into an entirely different culture full of strangers. The three words fell out of use and were only spoken to a boyfriend, in private. I spent the next decade exploring what those words triggered in me in an intimate relationship. Then I realized the real question was, “Do I love me?” After digging through the morass, clearing out the enchantments and pushing out the pity, I found that at the root of it all, yes, I do love me.

Since then the task has been to not let anything get in the way of that love, absolutely nothing. For those of you that know this path, you’ll know how easy it is to get pulled off course. Some days it comes easier to plague ourselves with guilt, judgment, and doubt than to stand in our truth.

The gift of it all is that thru self-love we can find universal love and then all that acceptance and embrace we have been seeking since our youth becomes limitless. Now I’m finding the fluid ability to open my heart and arms to brand new acquaintances, to co-workers, and to lifelong friends. I do not hesitate to share love because there is no boundary to it. I do not hesitate to receive love because I know it comes through my own filters of self-love and I am capable of navigating those.

I don’t know if this is a sign of the times or a sign of my time. Regardless, I would like to invite you to explore your relationship with those simple three words, “I love you.” If they’ve lost meaning or, worse, become a trigger for trauma, turn inward and make a commitment to traveling deep to the core of who you are. This path may take minutes, months or years, but don’t give up because beyond all the ways you tell yourself that there is no love, there is.

Power Animals: LEWIS'S WOODPECKER

He has a barbed tongue for snagging insects from holes in trees. He has two toes facing forward and two facing backward, like all woodpeckers. His stiff tail feathers make it possible for him to lean his tail along a tree trunk to climb erect. He can drill a hole through wood as well as any of his cousins. Still one gets the impression that the Lewis's woodpecker is distinctly trying NOT to be a woodpecker.

This woodpecker's namesake, Meriwether Lewis made famous by his expedition to explore the Louisiana Purchase with William Clark, commented in his journal that this woodpecker flies "a good deal like a jay bird".  This woodpecker doesn't pound out holes in trees to harvest insects or sap. The Lewis's Woodpecker prefers to hunt by what's called "hawking". This bird, which is adapted to cling to the sides of trees and penetrate their bark with hammering blows, catches insects on the wing. He also delicately gleans insects from the ground or from the surface of the bark. He'll gather nuts and berries too, and, on occasion, he will find natural crevices in the bark and probe those.

It's hard to comprehend tens of thousands of years of evolution bringing this bird to it's stunning form as a woodpecker then to have that form employed for occupations other than, well, woodpecking. If the Lewis's woodpecker has flown its beautiful self into your life you are being asked to let go of how familial or societal norms have shaped you. Clearly if this woodpecker can adapt his awkward climbing body to ballet-style flight and make a living doing it, there is no need for you to conform. Let go of the belief that your creativity is limited by what you are. This simply is not the truth.

This absolutely stunning, rosy chested woodpecker has a black back that glimmers the deepest shade of emerald green in the sunlight. The sweetest color of red covers the sides of his face and clean lines create a collar of grey feathers about his neck. This bird resonates with the deep nature of his forested environment and emanates true, heart-centered compassion from his being. Merge with this love, and know what it feels like to love without judgement in a way that overlaps with professionalism and confidence. A perfect companion for business dealings, this monogamous woodpecker is clear in his partnerships and exemplifies how creativity and duty meet for beneficial ends.

It is interesting that like his cousin the acorn woodpecker, the Lewis's woodpecker will stash acorns in holes in trees, but the acorn woodpecker drills holes to fit the acorn. The Lewis's woodpecker re-shapes the acorn to fit natural crevices. This, again, shows how the Lewis's woodpecker is willing to adapt his resources and his character to match his world, rather than manipulate the world to his needs. This is the power of a true artist, one who flows with his form and that of his environment to accent the power around him rather than play the engineer who strives to perfect.

That this bird is named after a famous explorer tasked with mapping the resources of a newly purchased territory is no cosmic mistake. You are being asked to take a gliding, relaxed flight through the unmapped territories of your world and see the resources available to you. Don't look for imperfections or weaknesses in other people, things, or yourself. Ask, "what is stunning here that I am drawn to work with?" In this way you will find that you don't have to awkwardly think your way through using the resources available to you. You don't need to go through the task of creating more opportunities. All you need to do is open your creative heart with confidence and come into alignment with the deep abundance of the forest about you.

Note: I've been largely writing lately about animals others have encountered, but this lovely little beast kept crossing my path on my drive too and from work. The other day as he crossed just in front of my windshield I spontaneously felt his energy cross through my soul. It's one of those callings you can't dismiss and I hope you find some resonance as well with this sweet expression of the Divine.

The Goddess Pele

In late July, I found myself arriving late at night onto "The Big Island" of Hawaii. I planned to go on this trip, but had left the details to my husband. We made a trade. I scheduled the logistics of our earlier trip in the summer to southern Colorado with our horse and he booked our flights to Kauai and The Big Island. It was great to finally let go and be along for the ride. I was pretty exhausted and immensely happy for the plush lodging and full-on spread of food our friend had arranged. Admittedly, I was confused and a bit worn out by the enthusiasm of our friend as he pulled out a bag full of freshly picked plumeria flowers, a "lea needle" and thread. He was excited to show us how to make our own leas. I held my eyes open through the demonstration then allowed myself to be towed along out to his car.

Where in the world could we be going at 12:30pm at night with three leas in hand? It was cold outside and that cozy bed sounded so nice. Our friend was bubbling with excitement and rightfully so, I had no idea what was in store.

In 5 minutes I was there, standing on the edge of a gigantic volcanic crater. The moonlight lit the entire crater and nearly blotted out all stars. Out before us rose and traveled out to sea an enormous plume of smoke, the breath of lava. At the mouth of the crater the smoke glowed bright red reflecting the lake of molten earth below. Molten earth. I had no idea I was going to see the Goddess Pele creating new land. I hadn't even realized what this meant before this moment. At this moment, I remembered having this desire all my life. The fulfillment of this desire ran fresh through my veins. I was stunned by the experience and felt intense gratitude as our friend sang a chant to Pele and directed us to cast our leas as our gift.

This is what it looks like to travel, to live, without agenda. I wonder if this is what it's like for Pele to create new land, to all of a sudden find that she has stepped foot into an experience that fulfills a deep yearning. What if every experience of our lives could be this spontaneous and this preordained? I encourage you to consider releasing the agenda and showing up on new ground. I surely wasn't disappointed.

Follow-up: "Into Summer..."

In response to "Into Summer... Imagine Winter?" you may choose to journey and/or journal on the following questions:

1. What season am I least familiar with?
2. What has kept me from partaking fully in this season?
3. When have I most appreciated this time of year?
4. Am I prepared to seize the next opportunity I have to partake?
5. How will I know I've fully immersed myself in the time?

Into Summer... Imagine Winter?

Given the lovely promptings of a dear friend I made it a goal of mine this season to partake in summer. For perhaps the first time in my life I decided to fuel summer experiences with my own imagination.

As a single child, a part of a two-home family I spent a lot of hours indoors waiting for my mom or dad to make it home from work. My eleventh summer I was trapped indoors in a full body cast. We titled the cast and the experience the "summer bummer". So, needless to say I have a tad of seasonal agoraphobia. While everyone else is out loving the sun and abundance, I'm often inside searching for the motivation to leave the dark cave of a cool house.

Part of it was cellular memory. I just didn't have it. I had learned how to enjoy the summer on camping trips and vacations, but I didn't have the countless days of hours on end playing at who knows what outside. There were few other kids to play with and even fewer to romp careless with me around the relatively sterile suburban neighborhood I grew up in.

Given that most outdoor excursions I had in my youth required some sort of reason, as an adult I was left without one. Who was I going out to play with? Where were we going? What time would we be back? What was I going to do?

During my years as a field biologist all of these questions were taken care of for me. I got to play on the beach and in the woods as part of some extrinsic scientific plan. I was in heaven and didn't realize that this lack of responsibility was a large part of it.

As my profession changed in favor of a steady income, my reason to go outside was no longer outside myself. I had to generate it from within and found it a troublesome chore. It was a heavy weight I couldn't shake.

So, this summer I just kept going out against the doubt, the resentment, the apathy, and a lovely transformation came about. I stopped worrying who would entertain me. I quit fussing over the finish line because the weeding is never done. I found the sun flooded all hours of the day and took up with whatever small task caught my fancy.

I picked bouquets of flowers to decorate our table, lulled around with my mare in the noonday heat, found solace in the morning shade on our garden, picked bowl after bowl of lobelia and chamomile, and watched colorful new bugs come to visit our plants.

For the first time in my life I've gotten so caught up in summer that I've absolutely forgotten what winter is like. What a strong lesson about being in the moment. May the children of today trapped in video games, cable TV, and air conditioning find it sooner than myself. May those of us that have lost the memory find it again.

In Gratitude, Stacey