I'm not sure where this month has gone.  Somehow my photos ended up on the computer when I turned it on.  Looking at pictures from a few weeks back is a really strong reminder of where I was and where I want to return.  I think of Eliana and her kite, the green hills and sweet valley.  I remember how she embodied that Peace festival, how in tune and focused she was, how wholly present in her very best self.  I feel so exhausted and disconnected sometimes, feel like I haven't seen my friends forever, haven't had a moment alone, my body and mind moving so quickly with such focus from minute to minute.  Our life becomes so full so fast.  So I'll return to the pictures, hold on to my girl and her kite for September the way I held on to the dock at Tipi Camp in August.  These grounded moments of tremendous presence. 

phew!

Phew!  Two weeks in and that's about the only word I have for it.  Eighty-eight students back to back this year. It's organization, anecdotal records, clean files, exact plans.  The kids are getting in the groove.  Such troopers, my children.  Huge. 

It's a beautiful, warm September.  The kind of smoke-free September that is so rare around here.  Upstairs in the school building where I work is like a burning stove of intensity.  Everything about me shifts in the fall.  What I wear.  How I smell. 

Eliana started soccer after school today.  I was such that donkey kid who never really played any team sports.  I was a dancer through and through but at times regret not having that base knowledge of American athletics in my back pocket.  So there was my goofball girl, kicking the ball at the cones, all long flowing hair and pink bike shorts.  No Umbros for Els.  She looked pretty funny.  And good lord was she hot and tired at the end of it all.  I think between Eliana and Sol's feet and my whole being we could win a contest for funkiest family.  Dang. 

So they sit in the basement and happily watch a show.  I sit up here in the cool shade and happily type away.  I'm cool with the roller coaster.  It's totally insane and full and all flips and loopy loo's, but it's mine.  It's ours. It's what we do.  Phew. 

there are no rules

"There are no rules about moving into the new.  No one has ever been there before." 

My mom handwrote that quote by some big smiling baby face pictures of me and hung them above my childhood crib.  The same arrangement now hangs in Eliana and Solomon's new room.  I'm not sure who came up with the words, but they seem pretty fitting about now. 

Today was our first day of school.  Eliana's a first grader, Soli's in pre-school.  We all pulled up to school together, entered with four lunches, four fresh outfits, four beings filled with anticipation, anxiety, excitement.  When all is said and done, it was a pretty good day.  I felt present in my heart, felt so appreciative of my students, appreciative of the great books I get to read and unique writing prompts I get to deliver.  My own kids seemed a bit less smooth.  I found Eliana on the playground at lunch, her fancy silver sandals covered in mud.  The sight of her mom brought her to tears and I spent a good part of my lunch break wiping mud from my daughter's feet.  The perks of being a teacher's kid.  Then I made the mistake of peeking in on Soli from the window outside his classroom.  He promptly spotted me at which point he started crying, not understanding why he couldn't just come up to my office to watch, "The Wiggles" at my desk.  Shoot.  Transitions abound. 

Back to moving into the new.  We took back our Labor Day holiday this year.  I can't remember the last time we've done anything for Labor Day. While it's always a last hurrah of sorts, it seems we spend most of it getting ready for school.  This year we broke our rules and rented a house on Flathead Lake with our buddies.  It was so exactly what we all needed.  It was that perfect balance of family time and friend time, grown-up time and kiddo time, big laughs and deep thoughts time, good clean fun and late nights of Persian gin rummy, replete with bad words and red wine fun time.  The children all got along beautifully, the olders taking care of the youngers, the village mentality at her finest.

We needed a little TLC.  Solomon landed in the Now Care with his first set of stitches last Thursday.  I was in the middle of an all-so-appropriate CPR refresher and couldn't leave to be with him, so while I was getting texts from Jeff about how Solomon was doing, I was watching real-videos of people experiencing seizures after suffering head trauma.  My boy apparently dove out of a playhouse window.  This does not surprise me.  Tonight he climbed up on the deck railing.  He scares the shit out of us often.  He's such a complex creature.  He plays so rough and tough, has so many big words and big ideas, but then today in the preschool classroom, he crumbled like a baby when he saw me.  There are no rules about moving in to the new.

Eliana was super excited about first grade.  Last night she lay out her outfit, princess sparkle lip gloss  and "E" initial necklace carefully placed on top of her new dress and folded leggings.  The before-mentioned silver sandals sitting on the floor.  I wish I had a picture.  It was so dang sweet and all from her. 

So here we are.  I can't help thinking about the sound at the beginning of a roller coaster.  The creak of the pulley as you slowly move up and up.  That feeling as you near the top when you know things are about to get wild and crazy and unstoppable for a bit.  It's a fun feeling.  It keeps us all on our toes.  But it's bittersweet, knowing that another summer has come to an end, knowing that we all just keep moving up and up and up, into the new.  

 

Smoke slowly fills the valley.
A bit south homes are being evacuated,
your worth reduced to people and land,
everything else superfluous and refundable.

I think of Tipi Camp and my essentials --
pillow and sleeping bag, yoga mat and journal.
What I needed most was the sunrise over the lake,
the blanket of polished stones.
The voice of Paul as he put me deeper in a
tunnel of my own understanding.
The light and dark.
Karuna adjusts my hip and decades of over-extension
release into the open sky.

I no longer hear the voices of my children.
No longer wake to the to-do list in my mind,
the huge and mundane mixed
to create a full life.

This life is full with understanding.
It's full with stories that transcend
alarm clocks and lists of objectives and outcomes.

The objective is this moment.
The outcome is being here.

re-entry

Re-entry is the rocky depths.  It's the in your face to-do list.  The laundry and toilets and groceries and layers left un-done.

I escaped my real life for a week.  I escaped to a tiny island in British Columbia.  Tipi camp is magical and twenty of us went deeper then many go in a lifetime.  There was a glow to our days, an aura of sorts bringing forth all shades of light, all levels of dark.  Asana practice was deep and intense, Karuna's first few adjustments on me better than any I've ever received.  I was more in for movement than meditation, but that soon changed.  Paul's courage and conviction lead me to places so deep, so beautiful, so painful, expansive, spacious, real.  There was uncontrollable crying and unabashed joy.  Much of it felt somehow altered, like life amplified.

It's almost hard to write about it now that I'm back.  I was so deep within myself that I didn't miss anyone.  I was so deep within myself that all I could do was write and move, breath deep and dream wild dreams, messages and symbols shouting to me from all directions.

Now we're on to integration.  Yesterday I set up a little alter and woke with asana, tried to sit still, prioritized writing in my journal.  But last night anxiety seeped in and all the little, mundane realities of life began to slip into my consciousness, wake me in the night, leave me feeling twitchy and frustrated.

Today at breakfast I focused on the faces of my children.  Eliana and Solomon sang along with their Disney Pandora with all the gusto in the world, bright and earnest eyes and full hearts.  I realized that it was okay to make that my moment to savor, that the pieces of me have been placed in a giant mixing bowl that is me with my contexts, me with my family.  I felt more settled when I forgave myself for not holding the holy reigns on a new practice.  I don't have anyone cooking glorious and healthy meals for me at home, don't have an endless supply of tea and fresh fruit.  Don't have the simple choices of journal or swim, child's pose or downward dog.  So integration is upon us.  It fills me up inside just to write it down.  Integration in an attempt to hold on to that other piece of grace that is me. 

Tipi Camp

At Tipi Camp we rise in silence.
Hot chai waits,
the simple joy of warm water
on my face.
The pink of sunrise matches the pink of sunset.
I'm settling into my driftwood bench
after a night of fluid dreams,
revelations to explore -
journal,
pebbles,
quiet,
connections -
when two bare bodies greet the lake.
One lithe, strong frame on the tiny dock,
one full, lovely shape makes ripples
in another direction.
They are nymphs, are women, are
the glory that is all things
open and bare, seen and unseen.
Their bodies float back towards me
and I'm filled with longing for
what they're doing.
Want that expanse of cool water though,
I know,
I too can have that.
Want that fearless freedom,
though I know, too,
that I am a heavenly water creature,
that I too was made to float.

On the last morning at Tipi Camp,
I wake to a beautiful face and a
silent invitation to swim.
We make our way down the pebbled beach,
peel back bed clothes and stumble in.
I push off a rock, push myself under,
arms propel cool, clean water.
I remember strokes I learned at eight,
how to make a heart shape with my arms,
my legs little frogs.
I am all amphibian and nymph,
one with wild water bugs and their skittish ways.
We skim and dance,
float on, energy and grace.
Her face is so lovely as it rises from the water,
new friends so full of vital life force,
so ready to connect, go deep,
be born. 

And from nowhere geese start singing,
breaking our silence.
Heads turn and the birds' discuss,
rally, decide to take flight and
bring their song to another bit of shore.
They rise, voices fading,
float in a perfect line beyond the point.
We are a collective catch of breath,
a remarkable and full sigh. 

the tango