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Posts Tagged ‘celebration’

Today, I set down shame:

  • for designing my life to be mostly free of such over-rated complaints as overwhelm and too busy,
  • for creating a work week in which I get to find plenty of time for other people and being outdoors with Nature
  • for doing work that feels so much like play that at the end of a day with a Walkabout client I think “I’ve been goofing off, I need to do some work.”

Today, I celebrate how resilient and creative I am and that I am not “getting away with something.” I CREATED this.

I celebrate with intense gratitude, the beings and aspects of Nature (seen, unseen) that have been with me, loving and guiding me, every step of the way.

My life is not perfect. There’s a lot about it that is really messy and…

copyright(c) Aug 2011 Kathy J Loh, all rights reserved - flower

It is Beautiful!

What will you set down today?  (Boldly declare it in the comments/reply section below and see what happens!)

copyright (c) May 2013, Kathy J Loh, All Rights Reserved including photo.

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Spring Equinox – when the day and night are of equal length – is tomorrow for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere.

With a new storm coming in and the lights flickering threatening to take me off line and detain me from posting this, it doesn’t much feel like Spring. Then again, Spring can be expected to be every bit as active as Winter, in its own way. Whereas stormy Winter is a time of hibernation and going inward, Spring is a time of emergence and new life. So, maybe I can think of this latest storm, after a week of truly magnificent weather, as a new foal kicking up its heels for the first time; everything and everyone feeling their oats. (Oh gosh, now I’m hearing Marvin Gaye singing “Let’s get it on.”) And I digress…I know, just when you thought it was going to get interesting!

This Spring Equinox, I invite you to explore, describe or express the landscape you will cultivate as the days grow longer and the Winter fights to be remembered but will, as it must, give way to Spring.  Write it, paint it, dance it, sing it, drum it. Allow Spring to introduce itself anew to you in dreams and meditations. However it feels right for you, let it flow out of you from your deepest connection to what matters most for you.

Then take another look and see what, in metaphor and symbolic, soulful dreamscape, you are creating for the landscape or the field known as you.

(A note for those of you in the Southern Hemisphere:  Fall is a time of harvesting the fruits of our labor and letting go. The first storms will rip the leaves right off of the trees and the first frosts promote deadlines for harvest.  What is the landscape you will create for Autumn?)

mushroom

Back to Spring. I’ll go first….

The landscape of my Spring

I want to work with the natural wild landscape that is already here.

Put some benches in the best sitting spots for all kinds of moods.

Some memorable moments will come for me on those benches and often, they will be shared with others.

I will cultivate invitations to birds, butterflies, wildlife and fairies.

I want to prune the fruit trees to give them the best chance to produce new fruit on last year’s wood.

I want to clear open space for Medicine Wheel work, meditation and ceremony.

I will nourish the energies of play and love.

I will grow flowers with color and express delight at every mushroom that pops up under the pine needles.

I know that each corner of the landscape has its own gift to offer.  Beauty is not always pretty.

If it doesn’t rain enough I will water the land.

If there is too much sun, I will provide shade.

In all instances, I will honor this landscape and if something wants to go, I will not argue; will not hold on.

I will gather the fallen twigs and branches and burn them.

I will till a specifically designated bed for growing organic vegetables and herbs and will compost the remains of what I have consumed to nourish what is just now growing.

I will wander and I will be still.

I will listen

and

I

will

make

noise.

And you, dear reader, what is the landscape of your Spring?

Copyright © March 2013, Kathy J Loh, All Rights Reserved

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With the help of a small pre-lit tree, borrowed from a generous friend, and a Christmas music channel on Pandora, I am beginning to feel like it might be Christmas. Which is helpful, since today is Christmas Eve.

I moved in early December and I am still getting things into place. Last night, I finally got my home theater components hooked up and in the entertainment armoire (which took a lot of reaching, bending, flexing and patience). I’m still missing the speaker wire for the sub-woofer, no boom-boom sounds for now. My printer is still offline since it was not installed to communicate with the AT&T wireless modem that AT&T insisted I buy to use instead of my perfectly good Netgear model.  (Yes, I’m complaining. AT&T has always brought out the best in me – challenging me to find my most patient and compassionate self.)

I think I have bought  two gifts. Thank goodness our family event is not until the New Year, almost.

I have had the magic of snow, the frustration of things gone missing, the unnerving of trees swaying wildly with the wind and rain and power outages that, in this neck of the woods means I can’t pump water either.  It also means I wear long-underwear and polar fleece jackets indoors.  I have had ice that dares me to go anywhere in a car and forces me to walk with tiny baby steps across my deck to the garage and laundry. I know, it’s all sissy stuff compared to what most people live with.

Today, though,  the sun is shining and I am absolutely in love with my new home. Trees make for wonderful companions. The other day, I saw two jack rabbits that came right up to my deck and peered at me through the window. Today, I saw the coyote who is their likely enemy, chasing after something down the hill in the direction from which I’d seen the rabbits come the other day. Though my first view of the coyote was right out my kitchen window, by the time I got my camera, it was weaving in and out of the trees. Coyote was so intent on the hunt, it did not even notice me as I stepped into the yard for another peek. They are fluffier and healthier looking up here than the ones I’ve seen up in the Marin Watershed.

Here are some photos of the coyote in the morning woodland fog. I did not touch them up. I like them looking as mysterious as it felt.

copyright (c) Dec 2012 Kathy J Loh All Rights reserved coyoteEnlrg

Animal sightings are pure magic for me.  My delight rises from my wild nature through my heart and out my mouth as a simple gasp and single word of surprise “coyote!”

Coyote is the trickster; reminds us of how we lie to ourselves in a way that makes rational sense. My lie was that I did not need to decorate for Christmas. It’s Christmas Eve already and I am having holiday meals at other people’s homes. Why would I go to all the trouble to get ornaments out of boxes and deck my house and then have to go to all the trouble to put it all away in a few days? Why?

Coyote reminded me of magic. There is a magic I want to feel around the holiday and there is a child in me who insists on decorating the tree. So, I listened to her. We put on the music, we chose just-right ornaments that speak to me now – most of them woodland creatures. Enchantment rose in me and illuminated my new home.

Later today, I will go for a hike with my friend who is now my neighbor. We might even go snow-shoeing which would be a new activity for me, one I look forward to experiencing.

I said I moved here because I wanted adventure. I have not been disappointed yet. It’s just the sometimes it is hard to remember that adventure is not always comfortable. There is no predicting the Mystery and yet, there is no need to wait for enchantment.

We are all magicians traveling this Full Moon Path.

What illuminates your path?

How is the Mystery speaking to you today to get you to follow it into the woods of timelessness and create a little magic of your own?

Sending you all love and enchantment!

copyright (c) Dec 2012, Kathy J Loh, All Rights Reserved

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“We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.” Ray Bradbury

This post is in celebration of:

100 blog posts

60 years on the planet

60 people who got me through some rough times

I began this blog in 2009. It was after I’d futzed around for a year trying to get up the energy to write a book. Finally, I decided to surrender the book and create a blog. The title Full Moon Path came about as a result of seeing a road in Montana named New Moon Path. I was on a road trip at the time, trying to decide what to do about my marriage, my life, my everything. I fancied owning a house in the country down a private road named Full Moon Path and I’d have a red barn, like the one in my night time dream, that housed a stage and a piano. It was a flying dream too and I floated above the barn rafters taking it all in. That was in 2004 and in 2009, I finally put the name to use. It didn’t take long for me to discover that the Full Moon Path is so much more than what it seems; 100 posts about shadow, light, cycles, navigating the unknown; the spaces between.

“There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of the people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will have truly defeated age.” – Sofia Loren

In June I turned 60. 60 years on this planet. 60 wonderful years well supported by a loving family, good friends, amazing educators, coaches and advisers. I was well feted with numerous phone calls, cards, gifts and dinners. I had the exquisite pleasure of spending a week in Tahoe as the guest of my coach and dear friend, Jeanine.  We hiked, explored, collaged our visions,  partied with other friends at the Ritz on Northstar and on the beach at Sand Harbor. Here are some photos from that week.

Lake Tahoe copyright(c) June 2012 Kathy J Loh

Rincon Trail Lake Tahoe

Eagle Lake - copyright (c) June 2012 Kathy J Loh

Eagle Lake

copyright c) Kathy J Loh June 2012

party crashers

copyright (c) June 2012 Kathy J Loh All Rights Reserved

Sand Harbor

I’ve lived a privileged life, a colorful life, an introspective and reflective life, a creative life, a coupled and singled life.

I’ve lived in the most beautiful places on the California Coast: San Diego, Santa Barbara, San Clemente, Marin County and Santa Cruz.

I’ve lived through my personal dark night of the soul and the karmic lessons of betrayal several times over, the kind of lessons that brought me to my knees and found me shaking my fists at the sky pleading “Please don’t ever make me come back here again!”

It’s the people in my life that form the fibers, the weaving of the supportive hammock that held me aloft, saved me from drowning,  these 60 years.

So, I sat down to come up with 60 names I want to celebrate.

The people who were the soft place to land, the homes away from home, the ones who were the first to get the call when everything fell apart, the ones who endured countless “emergency” calls after that.

The ones who helped me see who I am and what I’m made of when the people I thought loved me betrayed me, the ones who re-birthed me, nurtured me and championed me.

All of them told me the truth.

I am not naming the rogues, frenemies and lovers. They hold another position in my life and I honor them too, but they are not the focus of this particular celebration.

I am not naming my family members either, though each and every one of them holds a special place in my hammock.

I smile with tears in my eyes as I write the word celebration because I think of celebration as something with tiaras and loud noise makers, lots of people, music and dancing.

This is somehow quieter. It is this deep river of gratitude that runs through me.

It is so heart-opening to receive the beauty of being loved and cared for by so many others. Try and judge yourself as unworthy, unlovable, not enough (common core limiting beliefs) in the face of so much evidence to the contrary!

So here they are, my friends, my rescuers, my heroes and heroines; the people who were there to pick up the pieces and put them back together again. (There is no order to this whatsoever):

Joette, Lindsey, Leigh, Wendy, Ingrid,

Leslie, Brooks, Jeanine, Cyndie, Jordonna,

Jan, Val, Verna, Lil, Paul,

Kate, Arvid, Dawn, Betty, Elaine,

Mary, Trudy, Judy, Julie, Grace,

Nicki, Karen, Diana, Kathrin, David,

Jann, Jim, David, Sue, Mark,

Jamie, Kathy, Pemma, Karen, Michele,

Tina, Gerry, Cynthia, Judy, Diane,

Mikol, Elisabeth, Gini, Joan, Jean,

Henry, Patrick, David, Leza, John,

Evelyn, Robin, Keri, Margo, Camilla

Here’s to YOU!

I celebrate you beautiful spirits,

beautiful minds and hearts,

beautiful beings, who had a hand in creating me.

I celebrate your honesty, your stories,

your gifts and skills, your laughter,

your smiles, your tears and compassion.

I celebrate your strength and wisdom,

your generosity and playfulness,

your music and your poetry.

I celebrate your patience and your impatience (when you proclaimed “enough!”).

I celebrate the profound gift of being alive to experience receiving, loving and knowing you.

I celebrate you and I thank you for the immense pleasure of your majestic company on this full moon path.

copyright (c) June 2012, Kathy J Loh

A tiara was involved after all!

PS: I wrote a small note of appreciation to each of the people I named to let them know about this post. I cried for hours as I did so and today I have the swollen eyes to show for it. And, I have a softened and opened heart. I recommend this exercise to all of you. Meanwhile, I have many other friends whom I cherish and who did not have to walk the narrows with me, so may not be on this particular list. It’s just a list. This is a party to which everyone is invited.

copyright(c) July 2012, Kathy J Loh, All Rights Reserved (including images)

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“The words ‘I am’ are potent words; be careful what you hitch them to.  The thing you’re claiming has a way of reaching back and claiming you”.  ~A.L. Kitselman

I saw the movie Tree of Life last night. It’s a long film and more a collage or kaleidoscopic adventure than linear story.  It’s definitely more art than entertainment, though I found it to be both. It’s definitely a feast for the eyes and perhaps the soul. It met with mixed reviews from the audience, but then so did Impressionism, Symbolism, Cubism; you name it.

About half way through the movie, the guy eating popcorn next to me checked the time on his watch. When it was over, the woman behind me sighed loudly and said “Oh thank God. That was awful.” (I wondered why she found it important for the rest of us to hear that and why she stayed through the entire film.  Why spend precious moments of life voluntarily enduring something that causes you pain?) In general there was a huge question mark hanging in the air in the theater as everyone made their way to the aisles and back to “reality,” speaking in muffled late evening voices or simply walking together in silence.

I carried that question mark home with me and it wove itself into my dreams and threaded its way into my first waking thoughts this morning.  Never mind trying to come to grips with some missing details in the storyline like how old was the boy when he died and whatever happened to… or what was being said / not said about afterlife.  Never mind, as well, how much I related to a story set in the 1950s with an authoritarian parent and the death of one of the children.

What I was sitting with (or what was sitting on top of me) was the paradox of significance and insignificance.

In the film, we are treated to amazing scenes of the Universe. The sense of space as infinite and time as eternal is awe-inspiring.  I felt so small while viewing those images. While making breakfast, I continued to feel the tug of war between my desire and passion for creating a life I enjoy, making a difference while I’m here and some sense of nihilism. I experience both extreme discomfort and huge relief when I ask myself “what’s the point?”

I took the paradox into my morning meditation / contemplation.  After getting myself deep into a meditative state, I found myself saying out loud:

I am significant in my insignificance.

I sat with that for a moment and then I said:

I am insignificant in my significance.

I let it resound in my being for a moment, without answer, just experiencing the impact of the words.

Then, thinking I would say “I am both”, I found myself uttering:

I am

A huge wave of energy washed through me. I can’t describe it better than that and I can say that the tears (OK sobbing) came with the wave and it was not sadness, it was more like gratitude. I saw a sun floating before me that I decided to take into me. It filled me with another wave that forced breath in and out of my throat chakra. It was the breath of life. That’s what it felt like; like the first cries of a newborn babe.

The mind, being the wonder it is, may look for connection with the biblical verse from Revelations:  “I am the alpha and the omega.” But, honestly, I have no need to follow the mental thread any further. I was in the experience and what I knew for sure was that something was coming online.

Some part of me that I’d left for dead was recognizing I’m alive and that all that matters is this gift of Life.

This gift of Life is exactly that, a gift and not something we have to wait to live until we’ve earned it through our good deeds, our political, spiritual or eco-correctness. It’s not a reward for achievement(s); not a destination on some far horizon.

The generous giver of the gift only wants us to receive the gift. Receive.

I don’t think we are expected to give anything back. Our generous receiving is our giving.

Those redwoods I hear singing in celebration when I listen deeply – perhaps they are singing joyful songs of “I am.”

copyright(c) October 2009,KathyJLoh, All Rights Reserved Soquel Hills

We spend a lot of our lives adding extra words to “I am.” By those words we define ourselves and others. We lay claim to our specialness in a way that leaves us bereft of our true uniqueness. 

We get our knickers in a bunch over what to say after “I am” and we get confused if what we think we are conflicts with what we wish we were. We carry the baggage of the words by which we call ourselves around with us, adding more and more through the years. Some of those words are lovely and some, downright degrading.

Perhaps all we need is our name (which in many traditions is the source and the resonance of our life power) and to know that at the root of every name is Love.

As one who is Love, we are each and every one, significant.  We are the unique expressions of creation; the vehicles through which creation gets to play in form; sees and is seen, hears and is heard, knows and is known.

In our sense of time, this unfathomable timeline of eternity, my life, your life, is but the blink of an eye, as it is said.

At the same time, all that is and ever was is now and the blink of an eye is a major event in the now.

copyright (c) July 2011, Kathy J Loh, All Rights Reserved

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Two years ago, I wrote a post about my roller coaster ride of a birthday / Summer Solstice weekend. This year, I got another bumpy ride, literally.

I was driving up Pacific Coast Highway, along a scenic stretch between Santa Cruz and Half Moon Bay, where beach after beach awaits exploration.  I’d taken the coast route because it was an exquisitely beautiful day and I wanted to gift myself some pleasure on my birthday. At the same time, having been away for eight days on a no-cation (meaning I’m off work and away, but attending to other business), and having been on the road the whole day prior, I was anxious to get home and “start my day.”

What’s up with thinking the destination is the point to the journey? What’s up with the notion that the fun begins when I retire, when I finish this project, when I have a certain sum of money (when I’m dead)? Oh boy, here comes the John Lennon quote: “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” Yep, and my birthday is what was happening to me while I was busy trying to get home to celebrate it.

Because of my focus on getting home, it never crossed my mind to stop at one of the beaches, which is unusual for me. I was also easily triggered by the leisurely pace of some of the drivers on the two-lane highway. And so, with my hackles up and my sights on my final destination, the bumpy ride began.

It began with a ka-clunk sound that had me think something in the back of my VW Camper had fallen. But a quick look over my shoulder revealed nothing out of place. Moments later, the dreaded “thunk-thunk-thunk” noise and the way the steering wheel was taking on a mind of its own told me the ka-clunk sound was something I ran over and I had a blowout.

Picture, HWY 1 – minimal to no shoulder in many places, one lane each way, no divider, cars traveling 50 to 60mph … My first thought was, “where do I pull over?” I was gifted with a small stretch of sandy parking space across the road and no on-coming traffic. I tucked my van into the one spot left among five parked cars and assessed the situation; brand new tire, flat to the rim.

Pumping with adrenaline, I pulled out my AAA card and prayed for a cell signal. Prayer answered. I could not pinpoint my location, but AAA operators are very patient and the tow truck driver (who is local and knows the area) could call me on my cell if he could not find me.

gull taking off -- copyright(c) Kathy J Loh, All rights reserved

As I awaited AAA, I took in the warm sunshine, watched fishermen catch rockfish and discovered I was at A Wit Bird Rock which is part of Bean Hollow State Beach. There was an abundance of wild flowers, birds and butterflies to enjoy. Life decided to have me notice it instead of my plans, and so I did. I got an hour at the beach. If I wasn’t going to go to the beach, the beach would come to me, in the only way it knew how.

I came to see the blow out (once I knew I was safe) as the call to adventure.

We often say that something like this is meant to slow us down and bring us present. Yes that and… it was the wildflowers wanting to be seen and the ocean breezes wanting to be felt. It was the fishermen wanting to be celebrated and the birds wanting to be heard. That’s what I mean by the call to adventure: those experiences and moments that are begging to be had and noticed, that take us out of our well-worn grooves and off our beaten paths.

To be with the unknown, to embrace the Great Mystery, we are called to be adventurous.

I realize I’ve been treating my birthday, Summer and Winter Solstices and New Year’s Day as heavenly oases in a desert of obligation, duty and struggle. On my birthday I celebrate me and on Solstice and New Year’s Day, I plant the seeds of intention.

That’s way too big a desert and way too few oases. I’m not a camel, though I can imitate one pretty well.

Life celebrates itself every day all day long. That’s what I want for my journey and my time on this planet to be too: passion, adventure, celebration.

I still got home in plenty of time to enjoy a last minute invitation to dinner at a friend’s home.

Oh and Solstice?

Another dear friend and I drove along country roads and over forested hills to an un-crowded beach where we delighted in the perfect temperature mix of sun and ocean spray, watched seals watching us, cooled our toes in the water and simply savored the longest day of the year.

At one point, I ventured to begin a conversation about intentions and my heart wasn’t in it. I was already living what I’d intentioned a few weeks back: adventure: taking off with a friend in her souped-up Jetta, hanging at the beach, watch-free, judging time by the angle of the sun and the tan lines on our shoulders, moving when the time felt right to move. We explored and found a place to eat when we got hungry and by the time we got home, the Solstice sun had set.

What’s different now from 2009, is that I am moving into experiencing life more and planning it less. Each moment is sacred and every day is another opportunity to assess, reassess and offer intentions. The signs and feedback, which I used to view as playful ways to make meaning, are becoming the constellations by which I navigate.

Something big happened to me when that tire blew out. I have felt altered ever since. I have felt more disconnected from the stuff that doesn’t really matter and more connected to that which does, as if that which matters most claimed me for its own.  The stuff that doesn’t really matter was really high maintenance and took a lot of my time, needed constant vigilance and upkeep, required lots of planning, manipulating and analysis. It’s all just a big smoke screen; a huge distraction from that which really matters, including me.

So, dear reader, what, what adventure great or small, calls to you today? How will you respond?

Copyright (c) June 2011, Kathy J Loh, All Rights Reserved

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