Posts Tagged ‘wind’

Fleece Lined Tights

September 22, 2016

And falling into Fall.

It’s autumn.

Hello my favorite season.

Though it’s not the same as where I grew up in Wisconsin, the changing light does signal to me the season is upon us.

The crisp cutting of the wind, the smell of the few deciduous trees in the neighborhood turning their green to gold, red, yellow.

The smell of beach bonfires.

A shift, a tilt of the earth.

An owl overhead.

A barn owl.

A white barn owl hovering above me, my heart beat against my chest.

Was I really seeing this?

Its wings a blur of silent fluttering as it shifted in the blanket of air moving over the dune then it dropped.

So fast.

A blur.

I ducked my head.

I literally thought the bird was diving at my head.

I have had birds swoop me for my hair.

It is not the most pleasant experience, just let me tell you, although my best friend in Wisconsin thought it hilarious when we were walking in Olbrich Gardens and swallows kept swooping into pluck at my head.

The owl was coming for me, I know that, I can see it, it was a sign.

Yeah.

Like that.

I believe in signs.

Is it odd?

Or is it God?

I sent a message to a friend of mine that I had gotten to reconnect with out at Burning Man and I told him the story of what was happening in my life and the owl in the dunes last night.

He’s a shaman and his animal is, yes, an owl.

Although not a barn owl.

Here is a decent link to some of the spiritual significance of a barn owl.

And I mention that it was a barn owl, as I have seen a Great Horned once riding my bicycle through Golden Gate park, but never a barn owl, never so freaking close, never silent and there and hovering over me.

Whew.

It was intense.

I felt like a ghost had walked on my grave.

I instantly thought of death.

And death not of myself, but of another, then I realized, no, not death, change, extraordinary change, wild change, a deep knowing that the world is about to become something else, a gigantic shift in my perspective.

I came home and cried a lot last night.

I was cold in my feet.

My hands were cold.

I wrapped myself deeply in my blankets, my heart sore.

Tender.

Vulnerable.

In these moments.

A small knowing opening.

A change creeping in the open back door with the cold wind of fall.

What is working?

What is not working?

I wrote a lot of inventory last night, stashed the blog I had been working on, posted a part of it earlier today, it was incomplete, but complete at that.

I got up early, then went back to bed.

I fell asleep, as the cool morning grey light was sliding in the cracks between the bamboo blinds on the back door, silvery and shined with the coming of day.

I did not get up and go to yoga.

I got up, instead, and read some of my readers and knelt by my bed, I prayed.

Earnest and with longing and with a much lighter heart than when I went to bed.

I washed my sheets and made my bed a new.

I started fresh.

I showered.

I made breakfast, persimmons, another sign of fall, and apple in my oatmeal, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt.

Hot fresh coffee.

Writing, my morning pages.

Then.

A message to my friend, the one who has an owl on his business card.

I told him the situation.

I told him what was on my heart.

He told me the owl had come for me.

Yes.

I felt that.

That it was a deep knowing, to look inside.

He suggested some inventory and that I share it with the clearest person I knew in recovery.

I did that last night.

Guess who I talked to shortly thereafter on the phone?

Yeah.

Like that.

I got some great guidance and a wonderful suggestion.

And I took it.

Strong signatures of barn owl symbolism are abundant creativity as well as fantastic capacity to produce well beyond what others may do. This productivity will not always be visible either since the barn owl hunts primarily at night when others are sleeping. The barn owl is monogamous which speaks of a steady commitment to what you are producing in the world.

Oh yes, that too.

I am here to produce for the world.

Through my writing, through my connections to my community, through school, through love and how I just move through this life.

I feel really blessed to have the experience.

And I don’t have judgement or scepticism about what happened, there was so much happening, that it was what I needed to see.

I needed to see it, then look inside, see what was right with the experience and what was not.

Then to get some outside perspective and to really listen to my heart.

You know what happened today.

Nothing.

And.

Everything.

Clarity.

I wrote on a pink piece of paper and folded it into a small square.

I stood by my hot pink bunny bank from Paris.

I stroked his nose and whispered a prayer.

I looked up and saw the photograph of my mother and father one Christmas long, long ago, 1973? And saw in that dark hair and in those dark eyes a kind of sweet soft mystery and a deep love.

Good bye father.

Good bye to all those old fantasies held onto like a stubborn child.

I Shepard that small girl, daddy’s girl, along with a warm hand.

Not any more my dear.

Time to grow up.

Time to sit and let the sun branch out its warm fingers on your back, a strong hand, a warm guide, and let the wind lift the curls off the back of your neck.

And when you see that last leaf fall from the beech tree.

You will know.

The kiss on the back of your neck.

And the knowledge that all along.

You just had to come back home.

Sitting on this bench.

In the slanting autumnal sunlight.

Of the spirit.

Rich.

Golden.

Blessed.

Graced.

The beat of silent wings above your  heart.

Love.

Love.

It always comes.

Right.

Back.

Here.

To you.

To me.

Always.

This.

Profound.

Love.

 

I’m A Pussy

December 31, 2014

To a point.

Once I’m moving, the cold doesn’t bother me too much.

Although my fingers feel like they are still defrosting.

It was a chilly, chill, chill ride home tonight on my bicycle.

And I argue that the weather here though temperature wise is warmer than say, Wisconsin, or Alaska, it’s still nippy out there and uncomfortable.

Yet.

There were moments in the park, in the dark, the wind whistling through my hair, the sound of my bicycle a fast low whip of feet churning and the slip of wind wicking through the spokes of the front wheel, that I felt so free and light that the cold was no more nuisance than a falling leaf.

There was more than one falling leaf however.

There were blown down limbs, palm fronds, acorns, seed pods, walnuts, scattered detritus that threatened to derail my wheel and send me flying over the handle bars.

There was just enough light in the park to avoid the majority of the windfall, but it was a winding road I rode.

It reminded me of the path, the journey, the way forward that I walk.

I realized that though there are times when I am literally the only person on a part of the path, some intrepid wanderer has gone before me.

I am not special.

I am not unique.

The most popular thing?

Yeah.

I will probably like it.

Although I have my tastes and foibles, they are often such to alienate me from the pack and isolate me, make me feel special, unique, mysterious, or some such other crap that is generated in my brain to pander to my super special ego self.

I am no trailblazer.

This is the thought that came unbidden to my mind as the wind grew woolier and the trees creaked in the sluice of air.

I suddenly had a feeling of what the woods were like, here, at the end of the wilds before the sea, the trees, the dark smell of earth and salt, the special light of moon playing over the meadows, an eery blue-white that velvet like drapes itself across every blade of grass and edge of leaf.

There was the road I was biking upon.

And there was the path, winding through the fallen leaves, sticks, boughs, branches, and various other road blocks, it was not wide, but it was there.

I was not the first bicycle through the park in the messy weather, and I  probably wouldn’t be the last this evening.

I would bet, though, that I may be one of the last folks heading all the way through the park to the wilds of the Outer Sunset at 9p.m. on a Tuesday night.

A night I had previous to today, thought was going to be my Friday.

I was under the impression that I had tomorrow and Thursday off for the holiday, and without realizing it, I had also assumed  I would have off Friday, like I did with the day after Christmas.

Not that I am being some sort of hound for extra paid holiday days, but you know, I like to know when I am working and I also wanted to co-ordinate with my guy, who was also under the impression that I would have a long weekend.

However, I was wrong.

Not impossibly wrong, but just slightly off, I will have Thursday and Friday off.

Not tomorrow.

So, off to work I go.

But with a four-day weekend in sight, I am happy to do so.

I don’t mind working tomorrow, I had a long weekend last week, and I still am going to get four days off in a row.

Plus, I have a date for tomorrow night and a destination!

I am going with my guy to Petaluma, to the Mystic Theater to see Tommy Castro.

I’m going to get some blues music on, some rock and roll, with a splash of rockabilly and I am psyched.

I get to dress up.

I get to go out with my guy and have a new experience.

I get to dance!

I don’t know swing, I don’t know two-step, all that well, maybe a tiny bit, I don’t really know anything formal, but I know how to rock out and I know how to shimmy and shake to a good blues line and I know how to kick up my heels.

My heels shall kick tomorrow night.

I’ll work until 6:30 p.m.

Hop on my bicycle, hopefully all the windfall will have been cleared up, and I will put on my swing dress with polka dots and put some fishnets on, red roses in my hair, re-apply my lipstick and head out-of-town.

We’re going to grab a bite somewhere on the road, which is fine with me, I don’t need to do anything fancy, I’ve had plenty of fancy for a while, then get to the show and hang out with my baby.

It’s nice to have plans.

It was nice to get the surprise text from my boyfriend about the show.

I didn’t know what we were going to be doing, aside from a possible party within our fellowship of friends, nothing really seemed on the menu.

And now I got a date to dance.

Pleased as punch.

And though I have sat and warmed myself up and had some tea and I am loath to wander out into that cold night, current temperature 50 degrees, I am off to Celia’s by the Beach to have a late night dinner with my honey.

Well, he’ll eat, and I will watch.

Discuss details and make our plans for tomorrow.

And do what all humans want to do when they are cold.

Snuggle into the arms of someone who cherishes them.

Nothing new to see here.

 

 


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