Category Archives: Gratitude

Sacred (47)

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I am on the phone with my good friend. She mentions in passing, on her way to another story, that she once did a documentary with Julia Roberts. I am standing in the back yard, and I watch my mother walk down the hallway inside the house, obedient with her oxygen, so the tension in my shoulders lessens. Two red-tailed hawks appear against the blue and fly slow circles above me while I listen to my friend’s voice. And all at once it is one of those moments, when everything aligns, and for several seconds I am not understanding words, only standing there, taking in the sounds. The hawks feathers brush against my cheeks, and I am at the center of it all.

Benign Protect (42)

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I dream of waking in a big bed in a big, dark, empty room. I feel weight against me, but I am not afraid. I reach forward and a multi-colored cat shies away from me, feral, I think, and leery, but she doesn’t leave. I turn to see several slender, leggy, black cats have piled against my whole back. They move and rearrange themselves, six or seven or eleven of them. This is the whole dream, and I wake curious and grateful and somehow reassured by the universe.

Cakewalk (36)

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Today I sit on the edge of my bed in the morning looping cords over my head, laying stones against my chest. I sit for a minute doing nothing, relishing this Saturday, knowing I am off from both my jobs. I sing my little “It’s my holiday” song complete with hand movements and wiggled hips. And in these impromptu acts, these sounds and movements, I feel myself relinquish eleven minutes of believing life is hard.

Interlude (35)

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I unroll my thick green yoga mat in the small flat space beside the shallow end of the pool. It’s full dark already, but I am determined to do my yoga. I face west to do my sun salutes and picture the sun still setting somewhere beyond the curve of the world. After, lying on my back in chavasana, there are more stars in the sky than I remember seeing here before. The moon hangs above me, just to the left. I lie still for a long time, open to the sky, bathing in the silent, magic light.

Good Journey (34)

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I place the big liquid amber leaf
over the dying cricket
canopy and comfort I hope
I righted him once
but he is on his back again
as if in chavasana
and I think
that’s how I feel closest
to the earth
and the universe too.

Happy (32)

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I squat beside my red electric tea kettle in the windowed corner of my room in my mother’s house. I let the boiling water quiet before I pour it over the two yerba maté tea bags in my favorite ceramic cup here with the whimsical fox in her Christmas tree dress. (A barista in San Francisco once told me this particular herb doesn’t like boiling water.) The tea bags are the kind without strings or tags, and today they puff up and float to the top with their corners offered up to me, poking above the hot water, so I can grab them to dunk them without burning my fingers. This perfect offering makes me grateful, and I have one of those slivers of time when I feel like myself and am happy.

Wouldn’t It Be Nice? (31)

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On Saturday afternoon I run out of sun. So I move my lime green yoga mat to an odd diagonal patch remaining on the walkway to do my chavasana. Even this winter sun warms me where it slants between the liquid amber branches and falls on my legs, my bare feet, my face. For long, quiet moments I surrender to trusting. I think about how lost I’ve let myself get in resisting what is. I don’t berate myself, though. This is hard, I tell myself. No wonder you lost track. This is not the first time this awareness has managed to swim to the top in the last two weeks. I know it might sink to the bottom again. But wouldn’t it be sweet if I could just find my way to trusting this now and its unfolding? Wouldn’t it be dear to just let joy and sweetness arise again and again and again?