Friday, May 22, 2020
Storytelling #4: Apples and the Cops
Monday, May 18, 2020
Storytelling #3: You Are Now a Dog.
This story is about my brother, known affectionately as “Le Professeur”, when he decided to become a hypnotist. And so, I never did become a dog! Lol
Storytelling #1: Ivory Elephant
This is a story from my family of origin that introduces you to all the players:
- Le Professeur
- Virtuous Virginia
- Wayne the Pain
- Screamie Susan
- The Youngest (Me)
Here’s what happened when one of us carved the Ivory soap into the shape of an elephant.
- Le Professeur
- Virtuous Virginia
- Wayne the Pain
- Screamie Susan
- The Youngest (Me)
Here’s what happened when one of us carved the Ivory soap into the shape of an elephant.
Storytelling #2: Water Is Good for You
Monday, April 27, 2020
This Too Is Garden
This Too Is Garden
There are beautiful wildflowers
That were once weeds in my garden.
Delicate fairy fronds of Yarrow
With its white, flat flower of multiple parts
Now thrives intentionally,
An honored resident of my garden.
Its healing essence
Enriches me,
Protects me
Against unseen microbial threats
Before they are felt in my being.
And once,
I would have mercilessly removed
This wildflower from my garden
Of consciousness.
It’s possible
That there are wildflower people
In the garden
Of my consciousness,
Whose presence serve to
Enrich and protect
My awareness of the
complexity,
The interdependence of living things
In the garden of life.
On this Earth Day,
Let me accept the wild things
The unexpected wildflowers
The unexpected treasures
Yet unrecognized
In this thing called Life.
- C. Scribner ©4/23/20
The tendency is to expect that my own happiness can result only when all that I want is fulfilled. Or at least the next thing to which I aspire. The next project. The next social contact. The next outfit. The reality is that happiness is a state of being, a calmness that derives from a place that is apart from any of these things. Residing often in this place, this wellspring of equanimity, beings comfort and rest during a time of upheaval the like of which the world has never before seen.
In this garden of life, interdependence is key. Each microbe, each insect, each particle of light and of water serve the needs of the community. In like manner, each element of living of which I partake serves to provide nourishment to the garden of my mind. Do I obsess over the news? That pours salt water on the garden. Do I revel in the essence of music? That’s nourishment for the soul. I want to be aware of what I allow in my garden.
And yet there are weeds, or wildflowers, that benefit the whole. Being in a place of detached acceptance, viewing the world through the ens of the inner self, provides a sense of equanimity, of blessing, that can be applied to my interactions throughout the day.
Meditation, prayer, writing, making music, speaking words of wisdom, listening to the sounds of nature, all give life, while it exists here and now, an opportunity to grow my own garden of consciousness within a garden that clearly needs tending, with attention to the things that nurture growth, recognize the wildflowers, and yields healing herbs for people of the world. How we need it now.
Are there herbs that can recreate the balance of wild and nurtured things in the world so that this -not alive- virus can be put back to sleep? If it’s not alive, it can’t be killed. We need to tend our gardens so well that this invader, like harmful insects, can be sent back into hiding, with the many others that await an opportunity to proliferate in an adulterated world garden.
There is no part of this living planet that doesn’t also affect every other part.
There are beautiful wildflowers
That were once weeds in my garden.
Delicate fairy fronds of Yarrow
With its white, flat flower of multiple parts
Now thrives intentionally,
An honored resident of my garden.
Its healing essence
Enriches me,
Protects me
Against unseen microbial threats
Before they are felt in my being.
And once,
I would have mercilessly removed
This wildflower from my garden
Of consciousness.
It’s possible
That there are wildflower people
In the garden
Of my consciousness,
Whose presence serve to
Enrich and protect
My awareness of the
complexity,
The interdependence of living things
In the garden of life.
On this Earth Day,
Let me accept the wild things
The unexpected wildflowers
The unexpected treasures
Yet unrecognized
In this thing called Life.
- C. Scribner ©4/23/20
The tendency is to expect that my own happiness can result only when all that I want is fulfilled. Or at least the next thing to which I aspire. The next project. The next social contact. The next outfit. The reality is that happiness is a state of being, a calmness that derives from a place that is apart from any of these things. Residing often in this place, this wellspring of equanimity, beings comfort and rest during a time of upheaval the like of which the world has never before seen.
In this garden of life, interdependence is key. Each microbe, each insect, each particle of light and of water serve the needs of the community. In like manner, each element of living of which I partake serves to provide nourishment to the garden of my mind. Do I obsess over the news? That pours salt water on the garden. Do I revel in the essence of music? That’s nourishment for the soul. I want to be aware of what I allow in my garden.
And yet there are weeds, or wildflowers, that benefit the whole. Being in a place of detached acceptance, viewing the world through the ens of the inner self, provides a sense of equanimity, of blessing, that can be applied to my interactions throughout the day.
Meditation, prayer, writing, making music, speaking words of wisdom, listening to the sounds of nature, all give life, while it exists here and now, an opportunity to grow my own garden of consciousness within a garden that clearly needs tending, with attention to the things that nurture growth, recognize the wildflowers, and yields healing herbs for people of the world. How we need it now.
Are there herbs that can recreate the balance of wild and nurtured things in the world so that this -not alive- virus can be put back to sleep? If it’s not alive, it can’t be killed. We need to tend our gardens so well that this invader, like harmful insects, can be sent back into hiding, with the many others that await an opportunity to proliferate in an adulterated world garden.
There is no part of this living planet that doesn’t also affect every other part.
Sunday, March 8, 2020
Submission
March 3, 2020
“It is always hard to see the purpose in wilderness wanderings until after they are over.
6.”
― John Bunyan, The Pilgrim's Progress: From This World to That Which Is to Come
Rachel Held Evans, who passed much too soon at a young age, and John Bunyan are separated by time, country and theology. Still, the sense of being a pilgrim in a land of becoming is consistent to both writers. Her blog is still available online, and her books too, that illustrate her journey of faith in the land of social justice.
Though I haven’t read John Bunyon’s The Pilgrim’s Progress (1676) (yet) or John Milton’s Paradise Lost, I think that I’m on a path to delving into the some of the deeper meanings... as I said to Stephanie yesterday, I go very deep, especially after meditating, to which she responded: “Even without meditating.” Hmmm. If that isn’t food for thought....
“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven...”
― John Milton, Paradise Lost
There is a common thread between these excerpts from these 17th Century writers, which is the sense that life is a journey of challenge and discovery. This is what I’ve been sensing all my life, and especially during the last few months, while committing to daily meditation and writing. This writing is something that I now acknowledge that I need to do, as part of my personal journey. I don’t know why yet, but I trust that the reasons will eventually become evident.
There is so much connection already, a synchronicity, a sense of becoming, to things that I don’t yet understand. I feel the tug and pull of the future drawing me forward. I know the goal is personal transformation, renewal and growth, part of which is learning how best to apply what I’m learning to the world around me. That’s always been my weak point: applying myself to the world around me. I’ve always felt out of step with the world of Sundays to Saturdays. Perhaps I’ve been looking in all the wrong places! Where I am most at home is at rest in the quiet, writing. I need to remember that.
Submission
At eight years of age,
Spending months as a housebound invalid,
I said I wanted to be a writer.
It seemed natural,
That what I was reading
Could also be written....
That knowing eroded over my years,
With the reading of great writers.
Could there be room for another who scribbles
(My childhood nickname),
Sending thoughts into the Universe?
It stuns me
To realize
That I don’t control
Readers’ thoughts.
That is a domain
Best left to them.
What I write means only
What it means to the reader.
Humility comes gradually.
If I submit verse to the Universe,
I must submit to it.
- C. Scribner © 3/3/20
Where any of this goes is not up to me. If I put it out into the Universe with a pure heart, it goes where it needs to go.
“It is always hard to see the purpose in wilderness wanderings until after they are over.
6.”
― John Bunyan, The Pilgrim's Progress: From This World to That Which Is to Come
Rachel Held Evans, who passed much too soon at a young age, and John Bunyan are separated by time, country and theology. Still, the sense of being a pilgrim in a land of becoming is consistent to both writers. Her blog is still available online, and her books too, that illustrate her journey of faith in the land of social justice.
Though I haven’t read John Bunyon’s The Pilgrim’s Progress (1676) (yet) or John Milton’s Paradise Lost, I think that I’m on a path to delving into the some of the deeper meanings... as I said to Stephanie yesterday, I go very deep, especially after meditating, to which she responded: “Even without meditating.” Hmmm. If that isn’t food for thought....
“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven...”
― John Milton, Paradise Lost
There is a common thread between these excerpts from these 17th Century writers, which is the sense that life is a journey of challenge and discovery. This is what I’ve been sensing all my life, and especially during the last few months, while committing to daily meditation and writing. This writing is something that I now acknowledge that I need to do, as part of my personal journey. I don’t know why yet, but I trust that the reasons will eventually become evident.
There is so much connection already, a synchronicity, a sense of becoming, to things that I don’t yet understand. I feel the tug and pull of the future drawing me forward. I know the goal is personal transformation, renewal and growth, part of which is learning how best to apply what I’m learning to the world around me. That’s always been my weak point: applying myself to the world around me. I’ve always felt out of step with the world of Sundays to Saturdays. Perhaps I’ve been looking in all the wrong places! Where I am most at home is at rest in the quiet, writing. I need to remember that.
Submission
At eight years of age,
Spending months as a housebound invalid,
I said I wanted to be a writer.
It seemed natural,
That what I was reading
Could also be written....
That knowing eroded over my years,
With the reading of great writers.
Could there be room for another who scribbles
(My childhood nickname),
Sending thoughts into the Universe?
It stuns me
To realize
That I don’t control
Readers’ thoughts.
That is a domain
Best left to them.
What I write means only
What it means to the reader.
Humility comes gradually.
If I submit verse to the Universe,
I must submit to it.
- C. Scribner © 3/3/20
Where any of this goes is not up to me. If I put it out into the Universe with a pure heart, it goes where it needs to go.
Monday, March 2, 2020
The influence of connectedness
“Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never Is, but always To be blest.
The soul, uneasy, and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.”
― Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man
How many times have I come to what I thought was the end of my rope, only to find that there was more rope. Drawing in breath is itself an act of hope though unconscious, an effort of life to sustain life. The body collaborates with non-human organisms to extract nutrients from our food that sustain us as we move about the day. The heart beats without rest every moment of our lives. These things are all votes in favor of life, to the very last breath.
I am grateful for the continuity that this implies. I am grateful for those whom I carefully consider, as I contemplate what effect I may have had, and am having, on those in my past and present life. In the latter third of my life, it’s these thoughts that are sustaining. I want to continue to be a positive influence as long as I have breath.
Entangled
It’s impossible
To encompass a sufficient understanding
Of the ties that exist
among ourselves and living things.
Invisible
connections vibrate,
Unseen, the way
the glistening, dewy web
Is,
Of a hidden spider
Who rids my garden of pests.
Across time and distance
These connections extend, effortlessly
Providing a tactile resonance
Of all the vibrations
That have begun
Unknowingly,
Through thoughts and actions
That we create.
As long as time exists
We are entangled, connected
With history and present
Of living beings, through memory and influence.
Let us be mindful of the power of creation.
- C. Scribner © 3/2/20
Man never Is, but always To be blest.
The soul, uneasy, and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.”
― Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man
How many times have I come to what I thought was the end of my rope, only to find that there was more rope. Drawing in breath is itself an act of hope though unconscious, an effort of life to sustain life. The body collaborates with non-human organisms to extract nutrients from our food that sustain us as we move about the day. The heart beats without rest every moment of our lives. These things are all votes in favor of life, to the very last breath.
I am grateful for the continuity that this implies. I am grateful for those whom I carefully consider, as I contemplate what effect I may have had, and am having, on those in my past and present life. In the latter third of my life, it’s these thoughts that are sustaining. I want to continue to be a positive influence as long as I have breath.
Entangled
It’s impossible
To encompass a sufficient understanding
Of the ties that exist
among ourselves and living things.
Invisible
connections vibrate,
Unseen, the way
the glistening, dewy web
Is,
Of a hidden spider
Who rids my garden of pests.
Across time and distance
These connections extend, effortlessly
Providing a tactile resonance
Of all the vibrations
That have begun
Unknowingly,
Through thoughts and actions
That we create.
As long as time exists
We are entangled, connected
With history and present
Of living beings, through memory and influence.
Let us be mindful of the power of creation.
- C. Scribner © 3/2/20
Winter Wakes Spring
Winter Wakes Spring
Sown in Fall, wheat wakes late in Winter,
Growing with the warming sun
Into the Spring and Summer for this dot on the planet,
And maturing slowly, gracefully, late in Summer.
Earth inexorably tilts toward the sun,
Moving closer daily by small degrees, in its annual orbit
Around the source of nuclear fire that produces
All the power of Earth’s growing things.
Noticing:
Raptors circling overhead, songbirds with their throaty songs And a woodpecker hammering on my old tree,
Spring peepers that sing into the dusk and the dawn,
While slumbering trees and flowers swell with new buds.
Daffodils and tulips pierce the crust of soil.
Look closely.
Be filled with the grace of presence
As the life blood of growing things
Flows into new life yet again.
All is not lost.
The intoxication of an unmistakable Spring smell arrives again with hope,
Earthy.
A cardinal posed as a sentinel yesterday
On the bare branch of a Winter-denuded tree
To certify that I am not a threat.
I am not.
This, while snow geese sounded the alarm
As my terrier and I approach across the wide field,
Taking to the sky by the dozens,
Filling the air with the sound of wings lifting,
And a chipmunk skittered across the garden,
Widely aware that she is not alone.
I am awake.
- C. Scribner © 2/27/20
Sown in Fall, wheat wakes late in Winter,
Growing with the warming sun
Into the Spring and Summer for this dot on the planet,
And maturing slowly, gracefully, late in Summer.
Earth inexorably tilts toward the sun,
Moving closer daily by small degrees, in its annual orbit
Around the source of nuclear fire that produces
All the power of Earth’s growing things.
Noticing:
Raptors circling overhead, songbirds with their throaty songs And a woodpecker hammering on my old tree,
Spring peepers that sing into the dusk and the dawn,
While slumbering trees and flowers swell with new buds.
Daffodils and tulips pierce the crust of soil.
Look closely.
Be filled with the grace of presence
As the life blood of growing things
Flows into new life yet again.
All is not lost.
The intoxication of an unmistakable Spring smell arrives again with hope,
Earthy.
A cardinal posed as a sentinel yesterday
On the bare branch of a Winter-denuded tree
To certify that I am not a threat.
I am not.
This, while snow geese sounded the alarm
As my terrier and I approach across the wide field,
Taking to the sky by the dozens,
Filling the air with the sound of wings lifting,
And a chipmunk skittered across the garden,
Widely aware that she is not alone.
I am awake.
- C. Scribner © 2/27/20
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
Each bite contains the life of the sun and the earth
August 13, 2019
“May the food we are eating make us aware of the interconnections between the universe and us, the earth and us, and all other living species and us. Because each bite contains in itself the life of the sun and the earth, may we see the meaning and value of life from these precious morsels of food.” — ADAPTED FROM THICH NHAT HANH
From Ryan, M. J.. A Grateful Heart (p. 98). Red Wheel Weiser.
Lemon Balm herb in my garden, used in teas and tinctures for relaxation and anxiety reduction. And it’s delicious too.
Monday, February 24, 2020
Movin’ and Shakin’
There’s a whole lotta movin’ and shakin’ goin’ on.
Shaking
The ground of my being is shifting,
A seismology of change,
Quiescent for long periods
Though building power to insist
Upon expression.
As the plate of my past
Confronts the plate of my present
To produce the plate of my future,
Rumbling becomes eruption
Toward the surface of consciousness.
Control
Lies within hidden chambers
Invisible to detection.
Inexorable forces
Aeons in the making,
Now producing
Instant mountains.
- C. Scribner © 2/24/20
How, you might ask, did all this begin? Aeons ago, I answer. Before birth. Before consciousness. Before yesterday. There is only the sense that much of what I think I know is hidden from view. Glimpses of it are afforded to me within and after meditation, and in the process of allowing my fingers to produce words with hardly any effort.
Sometimes there is the sense of looking out through my eyes with the consciousness of my inner self, seeing the material world as the product of the implicit agreement of millions of selves who all want to think of the world as concrete and knowable.
Quantum physics tells us that there is no time and no space; everything is energy. What do we do with that? How can we understand our lives, and the necessity to go and get a quart of milk to have with lunch? The silence answers with a ringing in the ears, the gift of aeons of sensate humans who exist in time simultaneously with us, perhaps in other dimensions? There is much too much to consider consciously. Perhaps that is why just being aware of the need for a quart of milk is so comforting.
Compost takes the detritus of what is no longer needed and transmutes it into something that is nourishing, that will grow what is needed to sustain life. What a miracle, that waste begets growth. How similar to my life is this: that the detritus of my mistakes is fodder for growth. How efficient that nothing is wasted, not even waste.
And so here I am, the sum total of everything that has happened thus far in my life. Those things that I would change if I could; those mistakes that I am unable to rescind; all these I have needed to become who I am now. And I’ve discovered that the me who I am is okay. Or becoming okay, at least, in the process. Sometimes I get a glimmer, a shimmering glimpse, of the opposite of a shadow as it moves past me around the corner. This figure that others have told me I am. I know where she is: I’ve sensed her, within. When I speak with her, she tells me wonderful, wise things, and I know what she knows. Because I am she, who remains discoverable in the quiet times, when I can listen in meditation, and in prayer, I can hear the still, small voice that does not need volume to be heard.
Away from the traffic of the day, silence is full of meaning.
Shaking
The ground of my being is shifting,
A seismology of change,
Quiescent for long periods
Though building power to insist
Upon expression.
As the plate of my past
Confronts the plate of my present
To produce the plate of my future,
Rumbling becomes eruption
Toward the surface of consciousness.
Control
Lies within hidden chambers
Invisible to detection.
Inexorable forces
Aeons in the making,
Now producing
Instant mountains.
- C. Scribner © 2/24/20
How, you might ask, did all this begin? Aeons ago, I answer. Before birth. Before consciousness. Before yesterday. There is only the sense that much of what I think I know is hidden from view. Glimpses of it are afforded to me within and after meditation, and in the process of allowing my fingers to produce words with hardly any effort.
Sometimes there is the sense of looking out through my eyes with the consciousness of my inner self, seeing the material world as the product of the implicit agreement of millions of selves who all want to think of the world as concrete and knowable.
Quantum physics tells us that there is no time and no space; everything is energy. What do we do with that? How can we understand our lives, and the necessity to go and get a quart of milk to have with lunch? The silence answers with a ringing in the ears, the gift of aeons of sensate humans who exist in time simultaneously with us, perhaps in other dimensions? There is much too much to consider consciously. Perhaps that is why just being aware of the need for a quart of milk is so comforting.
Compost takes the detritus of what is no longer needed and transmutes it into something that is nourishing, that will grow what is needed to sustain life. What a miracle, that waste begets growth. How similar to my life is this: that the detritus of my mistakes is fodder for growth. How efficient that nothing is wasted, not even waste.
And so here I am, the sum total of everything that has happened thus far in my life. Those things that I would change if I could; those mistakes that I am unable to rescind; all these I have needed to become who I am now. And I’ve discovered that the me who I am is okay. Or becoming okay, at least, in the process. Sometimes I get a glimmer, a shimmering glimpse, of the opposite of a shadow as it moves past me around the corner. This figure that others have told me I am. I know where she is: I’ve sensed her, within. When I speak with her, she tells me wonderful, wise things, and I know what she knows. Because I am she, who remains discoverable in the quiet times, when I can listen in meditation, and in prayer, I can hear the still, small voice that does not need volume to be heard.
Away from the traffic of the day, silence is full of meaning.
The eyes of now
Thoughts are illusory. Feelings are illusory. They have no substantiality, are fleeting and they pass away.
Today’s meditation is about the nature of feelings, that have power only when I allow it. Recalling a memory, I recognize that it exists only because of the power that I give it. If I allow it to pass through me and to continue on to wherever it goes, then it won’t reside in me. The clouds pass. Let it be.
I Feel It
I feel it
That panic,
Powerlessness,
Displaced wish to be compliant,
To obey.
And yet,
This is a moment
That also passes
Through me,
And continues
On:
To wherever
Insubstantial thoughts,
Experiences,
Feelings
Go.
There is no power
To change me,
To hold me,
To engage me,
That I do not allow.
My spirit is free
To decide to see
Through the eyes of now,
Where I am.
- C. Scribner © 1/24/20
Moving through the day, staying in the present, allowing the clouds of experience to move through, enables me to be a part of what is the ongoing nature of unreality. The place where I go when I go inside, where I am still me.
There is power in not holding on. Power to be the me who looks through the eyes of knowing, on a world that is entrenched within the bonds of inertia. Let me be free with the raven, to see, then to craft a way to make use of the “real” world for my use, to pluck shiny things to appreciate for a time, and then to fly off into to soar in the reaches of where the clouds pass by.
Today’s meditation is about the nature of feelings, that have power only when I allow it. Recalling a memory, I recognize that it exists only because of the power that I give it. If I allow it to pass through me and to continue on to wherever it goes, then it won’t reside in me. The clouds pass. Let it be.
I Feel It
I feel it
That panic,
Powerlessness,
Displaced wish to be compliant,
To obey.
And yet,
This is a moment
That also passes
Through me,
And continues
On:
To wherever
Insubstantial thoughts,
Experiences,
Feelings
Go.
There is no power
To change me,
To hold me,
To engage me,
That I do not allow.
My spirit is free
To decide to see
Through the eyes of now,
Where I am.
- C. Scribner © 1/24/20
Moving through the day, staying in the present, allowing the clouds of experience to move through, enables me to be a part of what is the ongoing nature of unreality. The place where I go when I go inside, where I am still me.
There is power in not holding on. Power to be the me who looks through the eyes of knowing, on a world that is entrenched within the bonds of inertia. Let me be free with the raven, to see, then to craft a way to make use of the “real” world for my use, to pluck shiny things to appreciate for a time, and then to fly off into to soar in the reaches of where the clouds pass by.
On Balance
Balance
Tipping on its axis and turning continually,
Creating winds that change weather around the world,
Spinning while traveling around the sun,
this planet is home.
Home to billions of conscious beings
Who all are in need of the same things:
Food, shelter, water, security and love.
How many are they who succeed in securing these things?
I am grateful for my life,
Graced with such gifts of nurturing,
That allow me to spend these moments in quiet reflection
Of all that my life has to offer.
Let me use these resources today
To make a difference
In the life of someone.
Tipping on its axis and turning continually,
Creating winds that change weather around the world,
Spinning while traveling around the sun,
this planet is home.
Home to billions of conscious beings
Who all are in need of the same things:
Food, shelter, water, security and love.
How many are they who succeed in securing these things?
I am grateful for my life,
Graced with such gifts of nurturing,
That allow me to spend these moments in quiet reflection
Of all that my life has to offer.
Let me use these resources today
To make a difference
In the life of someone.
- C. Scribner © 1/27/20
Birthright 2
Birthright
Through the tunnel of my history,
Passing scenes along the path,
I wonder
Where is this journey taking me.
We all reach an end
On our own paths,
Directed by our own choices.
The inertia
That obtains
When I allow myself
To be directed by others
Leaves me powerless
To claim
The birthright
That is mine alone.
My own claim,
Like that of others’,
Is to be
Who I was meant to be.
May I see my way clear
To make daily decisions
That move me along the path
Toward
My birthright.
Today, then:
- Post to the blog
- Organize for tax filling
- See a doctor
- Make a Google docs file for all storytelling stories
- Organize my emergency files in the safe box
- Move money for paying property tax
- Take a look with Tirath at the choices for excursions on the cruise
- Contact Anna to let her know that I’m sick
- Look at Square Space
- Match.com
Yoga stretch
Today in February
One of my two least favorite months
Because the light is dim
The days short
I want to climb into my cave by myself
Is this why I get sick in these months?
Isolation?
- C. Scribner © 2/7/20
Through the tunnel of my history,
Passing scenes along the path,
I wonder
Where is this journey taking me.
We all reach an end
On our own paths,
Directed by our own choices.
The inertia
That obtains
When I allow myself
To be directed by others
Leaves me powerless
To claim
The birthright
That is mine alone.
My own claim,
Like that of others’,
Is to be
Who I was meant to be.
May I see my way clear
To make daily decisions
That move me along the path
Toward
My birthright.
Today, then:
- Post to the blog
- Organize for tax filling
- See a doctor
- Make a Google docs file for all storytelling stories
- Organize my emergency files in the safe box
- Move money for paying property tax
- Take a look with Tirath at the choices for excursions on the cruise
- Contact Anna to let her know that I’m sick
- Look at Square Space
- Match.com
Yoga stretch
Today in February
One of my two least favorite months
Because the light is dim
The days short
I want to climb into my cave by myself
Is this why I get sick in these months?
Isolation?
- C. Scribner © 2/7/20
On Meeting Self
On Meeting HER
It was as if I’d known her
At some point,
Indistinct but somehow familiar,
Bearing an outline that I recognized
At some unrecognized level.
At once welcoming
And mysterious,
Knowing and powerful,
Here in a way that was unmistakable
The one who was always
And still is
Me.
That said
Finding her again
Released the fear of myself
That I didn’t know I had.
Loving yourself -
isn’t that what we’re told -
Is the goal
Before we can love others?
And here she is.
Accepting and deep
Aware that the me who I am
Is the same that she is.
Welcome home.
- C. Scribner © 2/7/20
It was as if I’d known her
At some point,
Indistinct but somehow familiar,
Bearing an outline that I recognized
At some unrecognized level.
At once welcoming
And mysterious,
Knowing and powerful,
Here in a way that was unmistakable
The one who was always
And still is
Me.
That said
Finding her again
Released the fear of myself
That I didn’t know I had.
Loving yourself -
isn’t that what we’re told -
Is the goal
Before we can love others?
And here she is.
Accepting and deep
Aware that the me who I am
Is the same that she is.
Welcome home.
- C. Scribner © 2/7/20
Friday, February 21, 2020
On Connection
“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone - we find it with another.”
― Thomas Merton, Love and Living
When we’re told that we need to learn to love ourselves first before we can love another, we’re left to consider: how can we learn to love ourselves? I’m learning to love the self that is the inner me, who is always there, and who knows how to connect with the All. This Self, when expressed, is patient and kind. This Self puts aside “selfish” grasping, and learns to see others in a way that seeks to alleviate their suffering. We all suffer in the effort of being human.
And so, true belonging begins with belonging to myself. Loving and accepting that deepest, knowing part of me allows me to enter into relationships in an authentic way, from where I can truly be present for others.
B —Did I respect my own boundaries? Was I clear about what’s okay and what’s not okay?
R —Was I reliable? Did I do what I said I was going to do? A —Did I hold myself accountable?
V —Did I respect the vault [emotional privacy] and share appropriately?
I —Did I act from my integrity?
N —Did I ask for what I needed? Was I nonjudgmental about needing help?
G —Was I generous toward myself?
— p. 39, Brené Brown, Braving the Wilderness
“True belonging is the spiritual practice of believing in and belonging to yourself so deeply that you can share your most authentic self with the world and find sacredness in both being a part of something and standing alone in the wilderness. True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.” — Brené Brown, Braving the Wilderness
ON CONNECTION
From the inner me
To the inner you
This bond of being
Surrounds us with grace.
Within the circle of love
We know even before hearing
What moves us
What gives us pain
What brings joy.
Let us rest
Just for a few moments
In the knowing place
Where boundaries are immaterial,
Where we are free to be
You and me.
C. Scribner ©2/21/20
― Thomas Merton, Love and Living
When we’re told that we need to learn to love ourselves first before we can love another, we’re left to consider: how can we learn to love ourselves? I’m learning to love the self that is the inner me, who is always there, and who knows how to connect with the All. This Self, when expressed, is patient and kind. This Self puts aside “selfish” grasping, and learns to see others in a way that seeks to alleviate their suffering. We all suffer in the effort of being human.
And so, true belonging begins with belonging to myself. Loving and accepting that deepest, knowing part of me allows me to enter into relationships in an authentic way, from where I can truly be present for others.
B —Did I respect my own boundaries? Was I clear about what’s okay and what’s not okay?
R —Was I reliable? Did I do what I said I was going to do? A —Did I hold myself accountable?
V —Did I respect the vault [emotional privacy] and share appropriately?
I —Did I act from my integrity?
N —Did I ask for what I needed? Was I nonjudgmental about needing help?
G —Was I generous toward myself?
— p. 39, Brené Brown, Braving the Wilderness
“True belonging is the spiritual practice of believing in and belonging to yourself so deeply that you can share your most authentic self with the world and find sacredness in both being a part of something and standing alone in the wilderness. True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.” — Brené Brown, Braving the Wilderness
ON CONNECTION
From the inner me
To the inner you
This bond of being
Surrounds us with grace.
Within the circle of love
We know even before hearing
What moves us
What gives us pain
What brings joy.
Let us rest
Just for a few moments
In the knowing place
Where boundaries are immaterial,
Where we are free to be
You and me.
C. Scribner ©2/21/20
Monday, January 27, 2020
2020 Vision
2020 Vision
On looking forward into the new year
Time to Survey
I’ve been over the waterfall
Of discovery
In a kayak.
Exhilarating and terrifying
Together.
In the rapids
At the bottom of the falls
I shake off the terror
To navigate new movement
That demands full attention.
Time is quick
To avoid the rocks
As they appear.
Quieting now,
A landscape comes into view
Beyond the bend of the river
That flows beneath me.
I feel the current that guides me
To the unknown,
Carrying the creatures within
And on its surface as it flows
Toward its destination,
The almighty ocean.
This landscape invites me
To disembark,
To explore on land,
What new adventures await.
What new challenges will lead me to parts unknown?
Time to survey the landscape.
C. Scribner ©1/27/20
The path ahead is unknown, but I look forward to seeing it unfold.
Master Vision for 2020
I am living in a small community that is in a place of natural, unspoiled beauty. It’s environmentally clean. I am an herbalist within a wellness center that participates in multi modalities of health. I have a husband who can match me for philosophical and spiritual understanding, who prioritizes health for both of us and for the community. Creative pursuits will be supported and appreciated in this community.
Let it be so!
On looking forward into the new year
Time to Survey
I’ve been over the waterfall
Of discovery
In a kayak.
Exhilarating and terrifying
Together.
In the rapids
At the bottom of the falls
I shake off the terror
To navigate new movement
That demands full attention.
Time is quick
To avoid the rocks
As they appear.
Quieting now,
A landscape comes into view
Beyond the bend of the river
That flows beneath me.
I feel the current that guides me
To the unknown,
Carrying the creatures within
And on its surface as it flows
Toward its destination,
The almighty ocean.
This landscape invites me
To disembark,
To explore on land,
What new adventures await.
What new challenges will lead me to parts unknown?
Time to survey the landscape.
C. Scribner ©1/27/20
The path ahead is unknown, but I look forward to seeing it unfold.
Master Vision for 2020
I am living in a small community that is in a place of natural, unspoiled beauty. It’s environmentally clean. I am an herbalist within a wellness center that participates in multi modalities of health. I have a husband who can match me for philosophical and spiritual understanding, who prioritizes health for both of us and for the community. Creative pursuits will be supported and appreciated in this community.
Let it be so!
Saturday, January 25, 2020
My brain has been hijacked by healing.
Soft underbelly
When my furry pal turns over because she trusts me,
Shows me her soft parts
Allowing me to stroke her lovingly,
She tells me that this is safe.
She luxuriates in the warmth of my touch,
The love that she knows
She shares with me.
How intimate is this connection
That we can share with a creature
So unlike, and so like ourselves.
When we have moments
Of simple clarity
Through pain, or joy
Sometimes
We can turn over
To expose our inner underbellies
With one another.
Pure bliss.
C. Scribner © 1/25/20
Have you ever spent time with Apple support on the phone? Yes? 3 1/2 hours? This is a success story.
Preparing for a marathon technology intervention, I assembled the five devices that needed my attention. Each device had issues.
1. My iPhone 6s
2. My MacBook Air
3. My iPad Gen 4
4. His iPad Gen 3
5. His iPhone 5
Now, I don’t suffer fools gladly. And, not being a fool myself, I don’t suffer well when treated as a fool. So when technology geeks begin with the question, “Is it plugged in?”, the clock is ticking on my patience. I have perhaps 10 minutes left.
Two hours into the conversation with Alan (the Apple tech), I found myself saying, “When all this is over, I think we might become good friends.” Say, what? Did I hear that right?! Hmmm... what’s going on here?
The short answer? My brain has been hijacked. Oh, and four of the five problems have been solved. The fifth... well, put it down to planned obsolescence. Nothing I can do about that.
My brain has been hijacked by healing. What? At my age? Well, yes. It’s possible. A year ago, encountering Alan at Apple would have decimated my day, or my week. This time, I completed the call tired, but satisfied. How did this happen?
Well, I’ll tell you. Simply put, I’ve been rewired. The brain circuits that quickly got fried when confronted by frustration now have a higher Om reading. Let me explain: unlike actual physical circuitry, which has limits of [conductivity] that are rated in [ohm], brain circuitry is what is called “plastic”, which in this context means moldable, changeable, healable. Able to be improved. Yes, improved, even at retirement age!
How to do that?
Food. Meditation. Reflection. Connection. Let’s unpack that.
First, sugar and flour are more addictive than cocaine and heroin, respectively. Sorry, yes. The brain research done by those in the know, namely, brain scientists, proves it through using PET scans of brain activity, and the like. I stopped eating it.
Second, daily meditation is free, quick (5 minutes some days) and not scary at all.
Third, a daily writing habit is 20 minutes. Finding clarity is priceless.
Finally, connection is more satisfying than I ever imagined. Finding a small group of people who are committed to one another’s growth has conferred inner riches to each of us. I am eternally grateful. And so are the techs on the other end of the line, who can end the conversation by saying, “It’s been a pleasure talking to you today”, and I believe it.
“Waking up this morning, I smile. Twenty-four brand new hours are before me. I vow to live fully in each moment and to look at all beings with eyes of compassion.” - Thich Nhat Hanh
When my furry pal turns over because she trusts me,
Shows me her soft parts
Allowing me to stroke her lovingly,
She tells me that this is safe.
She luxuriates in the warmth of my touch,
The love that she knows
She shares with me.
How intimate is this connection
That we can share with a creature
So unlike, and so like ourselves.
When we have moments
Of simple clarity
Through pain, or joy
Sometimes
We can turn over
To expose our inner underbellies
With one another.
Pure bliss.
C. Scribner © 1/25/20
Have you ever spent time with Apple support on the phone? Yes? 3 1/2 hours? This is a success story.
Preparing for a marathon technology intervention, I assembled the five devices that needed my attention. Each device had issues.
1. My iPhone 6s
2. My MacBook Air
3. My iPad Gen 4
4. His iPad Gen 3
5. His iPhone 5
Now, I don’t suffer fools gladly. And, not being a fool myself, I don’t suffer well when treated as a fool. So when technology geeks begin with the question, “Is it plugged in?”, the clock is ticking on my patience. I have perhaps 10 minutes left.
Two hours into the conversation with Alan (the Apple tech), I found myself saying, “When all this is over, I think we might become good friends.” Say, what? Did I hear that right?! Hmmm... what’s going on here?
The short answer? My brain has been hijacked. Oh, and four of the five problems have been solved. The fifth... well, put it down to planned obsolescence. Nothing I can do about that.
My brain has been hijacked by healing. What? At my age? Well, yes. It’s possible. A year ago, encountering Alan at Apple would have decimated my day, or my week. This time, I completed the call tired, but satisfied. How did this happen?
Well, I’ll tell you. Simply put, I’ve been rewired. The brain circuits that quickly got fried when confronted by frustration now have a higher Om reading. Let me explain: unlike actual physical circuitry, which has limits of [conductivity] that are rated in [ohm], brain circuitry is what is called “plastic”, which in this context means moldable, changeable, healable. Able to be improved. Yes, improved, even at retirement age!
How to do that?
Food. Meditation. Reflection. Connection. Let’s unpack that.
First, sugar and flour are more addictive than cocaine and heroin, respectively. Sorry, yes. The brain research done by those in the know, namely, brain scientists, proves it through using PET scans of brain activity, and the like. I stopped eating it.
Second, daily meditation is free, quick (5 minutes some days) and not scary at all.
Third, a daily writing habit is 20 minutes. Finding clarity is priceless.
Finally, connection is more satisfying than I ever imagined. Finding a small group of people who are committed to one another’s growth has conferred inner riches to each of us. I am eternally grateful. And so are the techs on the other end of the line, who can end the conversation by saying, “It’s been a pleasure talking to you today”, and I believe it.
“Waking up this morning, I smile. Twenty-four brand new hours are before me. I vow to live fully in each moment and to look at all beings with eyes of compassion.” - Thich Nhat Hanh
Tuesday, January 7, 2020
Musings from the Point of Change
Point of Change
6/10/16
On the way to “The Point” on the Marginal Way, at the edge of the ocean in Ogunquit, Maine
A restless night had me evaluating who I am in life and where I want to go for the rest of it. I happened upon the film “Father of Lights” on Netflix in the middle of the night that reveals what can manifest when a person takes the risk to love another actively, with the love of God. A “word of wisdom” as described in the Gospels… A healing through the laying on of hands… How simple and how profound. The promise that Jesus’ disciples will do the same and more of the kinds of miracles that he did while he walked the planet is clear and directive. I already know the power of healing through connection with God. Where will this take me?
At the same time, I felt a groundswell (intentionally used) of connection to the natural world, a sense that the Earth is holy and that the plants and the animals on it all are part of the life that is God. I want to participate in this, to grow and to bless what the earth produces and then to use it to bless others through herbalism. Could this be the nexus for using writing, storytelling, gardening and therapy skills? Maybe getting a PhD in psychology is not the way to go for me. Maybe herbalism is.
· Complete Illustrated Guide To The Holistic Herbal: A Safe And Practical Guide To Making And Using Herbal Remedies, by David Hoffmann
(Please Note: The 2002 edition is preferred, 1999 version is also OK. Earlier versions may be used if you already have them.)
· Rosemary Gladstar’s Recipes for Vibrant Health, Rosemary Gladstar
(formerly published as The Family Herbal)
· Botany in a Day, by Thomas J. Elpel
-->Birthright
This is from my writing this morning: Thomas Merton said that our job is not to examine whether a person is worthy of love before offering it, but to offer it nonetheless. The love itself will render both ourselves and our neighbors worthy.
Birthright
From a place of limitless love, let me be free.
Free to share that love, without first checking whether it should be applied.
Let me let it flow.
Let it be the language of my actions and the forgiveness of my thoughts.
Let me give it without restriction.
If I feel rejection, let me return love.
If I feel judged, let me return love.
Expressed without anxiety
Or the expectation of return,
Let me exude love
From an abundance
That is
Birthright.
Living with memory,
Past slights,
Fear of rejection,
Anticipating division,
All this
Healed through the sharing
Of love.
Love anyway.
Love always.
C. Scribner © 1/7/20
Unanticipated, isn’t it, that ordinary days become extraordinary in the simplest of ways, by a change in thought, capturing of memory, a chance meeting, a bit of conversation. What has changed? It’s perception, subtle, easily overlooked. Being present allows a little time for a breath between action and reaction.
Birthright
From a place of limitless love, let me be free.
Free to share that love, without first checking whether it should be applied.
Let me let it flow.
Let it be the language of my actions and the forgiveness of my thoughts.
Let me give it without restriction.
If I feel rejection, let me return love.
If I feel judged, let me return love.
Expressed without anxiety
Or the expectation of return,
Let me exude love
From an abundance
That is
Birthright.
Living with memory,
Past slights,
Fear of rejection,
Anticipating division,
All this
Healed through the sharing
Of love.
Love anyway.
Love always.
C. Scribner © 1/7/20
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Storytelling genesis
In answer to a question from one of my fellow students in the Creative Coaching online class:
Storytelling is something that I learned at the feet of a master, my father, who used to gather his five children onto one bed on Sunday nights and tell "make up stories" to us. We loved his deep bass voice and feeling a part of the creative moment. Though he didn't call it storytelling, when I, the youngest, heard the art form later in life, I recognized it for what it was: an oral performance art.My father is gone now, but he has left a lasting legacy that I intend to pass on.
I'm not sure what spurred me on to create the storytelling curriculum for my students some 18 years ago. Perhaps it was sharing family stories around the dinner table when visiting with my family at a get-together. It seemed like a good fit for my 10-year-old gifted students, since in the general classroom, students don't get very much instruction in one of the pillars of communication: public speaking. I'd come across a book by Bob Greene called To Our Children's Children that is comprised only of questions, organized in chapters, that seek to elicit responses from elder family members, to be saved for posterity. I use a selection of these questions to give my students as interview questions for their parents, with the goal of eliciting a story of their parents' choosing that occurred to the parents when they were ten years old. This inter-generational exchange proves valuable for setting the stage in the academic year for parental participation in the language arts class that I teach. Students then spend about eight weeks with me, once per week, polishing the stories as dramatic art pieces. When they are ready, they perform their stories for Kindergarten students, who are a very appreciative audience.
My father having passed the "threescore and seven" benchmark, I thought it a good time to capture those memories before it was too late. I selected one question per month for a year from the book and sent it to my parents, giving them the entire month to think about their responses. Then I collected and collated their remembrances at the end of the year and distributed the collection to my siblings. Since within two years my father was stricken with inoperable and terminal cancer, I was eternally grateful that I'd engaged in this valuable exercise. Shortly after he was diagnosed, I asked if he and my mother would be willing to share their responses on film so we'd all have a visual, as well as a textual, record. This will always remain a treasured piece of family archives.
I recommend that you go to the National Storytelling Festival Web site at http://www.storytellingcenter.
If you're really interested in learning how to do storytelling, this is a good place to start.
Cindy (or Cynthia)
Ms. C. Scribner, Ed. M.
Teacher, Gifted and Talented Education (Retired)
E-mail: cescribner@gmail.com
Owner, 3 H Herbs, LLC
Storytelling is something that I learned at the feet of a master, my father, who used to gather his five children onto one bed on Sunday nights and tell "make up stories" to us. We loved his deep bass voice and feeling a part of the creative moment. Though he didn't call it storytelling, when I, the youngest, heard the art form later in life, I recognized it for what it was: an oral performance art.My father is gone now, but he has left a lasting legacy that I intend to pass on.
I'm not sure what spurred me on to create the storytelling curriculum for my students some 18 years ago. Perhaps it was sharing family stories around the dinner table when visiting with my family at a get-together. It seemed like a good fit for my 10-year-old gifted students, since in the general classroom, students don't get very much instruction in one of the pillars of communication: public speaking. I'd come across a book by Bob Greene called To Our Children's Children that is comprised only of questions, organized in chapters, that seek to elicit responses from elder family members, to be saved for posterity. I use a selection of these questions to give my students as interview questions for their parents, with the goal of eliciting a story of their parents' choosing that occurred to the parents when they were ten years old. This inter-generational exchange proves valuable for setting the stage in the academic year for parental participation in the language arts class that I teach. Students then spend about eight weeks with me, once per week, polishing the stories as dramatic art pieces. When they are ready, they perform their stories for Kindergarten students, who are a very appreciative audience.
My father having passed the "threescore and seven" benchmark, I thought it a good time to capture those memories before it was too late. I selected one question per month for a year from the book and sent it to my parents, giving them the entire month to think about their responses. Then I collected and collated their remembrances at the end of the year and distributed the collection to my siblings. Since within two years my father was stricken with inoperable and terminal cancer, I was eternally grateful that I'd engaged in this valuable exercise. Shortly after he was diagnosed, I asked if he and my mother would be willing to share their responses on film so we'd all have a visual, as well as a textual, record. This will always remain a treasured piece of family archives.
I recommend that you go to the National Storytelling Festival Web site at http://www.storytellingcenter.
If you're really interested in learning how to do storytelling, this is a good place to start.
Cindy (or Cynthia)
Ms. C. Scribner, Ed. M.
Teacher, Gifted and Talented Education (Retired)
E-mail: cescribner@gmail.com
Owner, 3 H Herbs, LLC
Monday, June 25, 2012
The first day of the rest of my life...
Today is the day that I begin writing for publication. I am free to design my days for the next 10 weeks to accomplish my summer goals:
Fear.
- Work at least 20 hours per week, writing. This will include blogging; committing my storytelling to the written word; composing responses to the lesson for the week of Creativity Coaching
- Type as many of my poems from age 12 as possible during the summer
- Photograph at least one illustration for each story or poem
- Enlist at least one Creative Coaching client to mentor (for practice, for free)
- Reading at least two hours per day, including materials for the Creativity Coaching course, as well as Imagine, How Creativity Works; a devotional; If the Buddha Dated; and The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, for fun
- Read at least one hour per week of Spiritually Healthy Divorce, Navigating Disruption with Insight and Hope
- Prepare and follow through with a summer curriculum for two brothers, on the topic of character development, meeting twice per week, one hour per session
- Exercise at least a half hour per day, 5-6 hours per week
- Maintain a healthy Eat for Life, Dr. Fuhrman vegan diet
- Lose 1-2 pounds per week
- Widen my circle of friends, while maintaining those that I already have
- Participate in Meetup.com events, once per week
- Take Fergie to the dog park at least once per week
Fear.
- Fear. Fear of myself, of what will find its way to expression; fear of success, of failure; of loneliness; of togetherness; of rejection; of acceptance; of becoming overwhelmed by my plans.
- Illness. At any point, my lungs could flare up.
- Of interference by Joe. The hearing for the Final Restraining Order takes place in three days, and I hope that the court will issue an order that he cannot ever contact me again.
- Of meeting someone for whom I will want to subvert my goals.
- Practicing avoidance of people and myself through lethargy, distraction.
- Watching movies for distraction, staying up late to do it
- Failure to prepare healthy foods, out of a sense that "I'm not worth it."
- Failure to exercise, for the same reason.
- What happens when I meet with success? I back off. When the poets loved my reading, and told me that, I didn't go back.
- When my photos won awards, I stopped entering them.
- When friends and family compliment my work, and offer suggestions on how to market/publish it, I stop working on it.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
The Botany of Desire
The Botany of Desire: A Plant's-Eye View of the World by Michael PollanMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
This book certainly makes me want to buy a big piece of property and grow my own food. I have always felt in collusion with nature when I'm in the garden, and this book accentuates that. In addition, after reading what major agribusinesses do to the genetic makeup of plants, I would like to preserve the natural world's method of genetic transformation, as much as I can, in my own little piece of heaven.
The book is surprising in many of its details, especially in its account of Johnny Appleseed, and it makes perfect sense. Every time I go into my garden now, I feel a sense of obligation to the natural world. I'll be buying more of my seeds now, instead of plants that are at the end of the agribusiness production belt, and those from organic sources. I'm going to begin experimenting with heirloom varieties as well.
I'm glad I read this book and I recommend it to everyone who needs to eat.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Genius: The Modern View
The latest research suggests that far from being genetically determined, what separates geniuses from those who are "merely accomplished is not a divine spark... Instead, it's deliberate practice".
For those of us who work with highly academically able students, this is a very thought-provoking article.
For those of us who work with highly academically able students, this is a very thought-provoking article.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)