Saturday, 29 November 2014

ungrounded. part 1.

Ungrounded.

The past two weeks, save a lovely respite last weekend due to an amazing conference in nature, have been some of the most un-grounding days of my life.  (something I cannot talk about now, but will possibly vent about in the not too distant future)

What do I mean by that-- ungrounded.

Unsettled.

A challenge to stay heart-centered.

Incongruence with the task at hand and what feeds my soul.

This week I posted this photo on Instagram and Facebook of a 5:30 am view:


Yes, the gorgeousness was well-noted and served to start me off with an overwhelming sense of AROHA-- love and connection to everyone and everything.  Even though I would be walking into soul-sucking mire, for that bit of time, looking at that view-- "gratefulness" --enveloped me.


But this is the more realistic view of what I'm seeing, taken today.  You may have to peer closely to see the paint cans and disarray-- that is the upheaval that is also a part of my current life view.  

Less than grounding to be certain, but I have a choice regarding how I look at it and what parts I choose to focus on.

And yet another view of today-- looking beyond the chaos. Choosing to see the beauty, amidst the tasks at hand, while insisting on being the one to have my two feet grounded on Mother Earth to hang these clothes up and inhale the blue sky and feel the warmth of the Aotearoa sun on my skin.

This post is written cryptically I know, and for good reason.

But today I just needed to use my words to say that for this moment, this day, I choose to see and feel and experience the AROHA.

I choose to feel the love and light from my kindred spirits-- of whom I've found so many in this majestic land.

I choose to acknowledge that we were guided to this spirit-filled land for a reason.

And I express gratitude for the connections and serendipity that Life brings.  

And I am grateful to have been in the presence of a New Zealand force of love--AROHA-- last weekend whose words and energy have gotten me through this week's most challenging times.

Dr. Rangimarie Turuki Rose Pere

As I enter my daily task at hand I sing this lovely waiata (song) on the way to and from:

Te aroha
(in love)

te whakapono
(truth)

me te rangimarie
(and peace)

tatou, tatou e!
(we are united!)


Here's a dose of grounding for you today . . .  Do yourself a favour and watch this short video:


The Right To Be Me (Dr. Rangimarie Turuki Rose Pere Elder, healer and leader in the Maori community)



Sunday, 9 November 2014

the thirty-four year long train ride


Recently I realised that by the time my now ten year old is 18, I will have been feathering, welcoming chicks, delousing, nurturing, sometimes neglecting and kicking fledglings out of the nest for a totally of 34 freakin years.  Solid.

I totally get I'm not the first grandma/mama to ride that train, but this is not exactly how things were planned when looking into the crystal ball of what my life would look like.

Thankfully, I've worked in a field that demands I keep myself half-way centred if I am to be congruent in my work and with the people I serve-- otherwise, I might have had more train derailments on said unplanned train.

Being so blessed with creative adult children as well as working with many families, I felt it was okay to use some of that experience for an article that was recently published on elephant journal, which happens to be, what I consider, an online haven.

Please take a moment and check it out HERE and feel free to share if you know others that might relate.

And buckle in, because the ride will inevitably have some bumps!


Choo Choo!


Thursday, 6 November 2014

New Zealand: you've stolen my child

It's been two days of sick.

Two days of watching my ten year old boy miserable-- fever, exhaustion, stomach cramps, headaches-- his symptoms have run the gamut.  

By this afternoon I knew he was starting to improve when he said, "I need some fresh air," even though he promptly crashed for the umpteenth nap in two days shortly after uttering those words.

Having snuck outside for a phone call and a breath of fresh air, I glance up to see my boy heading towards me, "Oh this feels so good to be outside," he says, "let's go for a walk." 

Pajamas and shivers

Quite a while back he stated, "I'll never be able to live in a town again, I reckon." 

That was the first moment I suspected New Zealand and its wily ways was capturing my son.

New Zealand, you gorgeous and magical vixen, you win.

I reckon. 

Sick boy gazes at his captor.