Anne
I go to Magen’s Bay on Sunday mornings. In addition to turquoise waters and sea grape trees, one of things that warms my heart is to see the white dove that hangs out at the far end of the beach.
I especially love it when I see Blanca (my name for her) perched on my Suzuki Grand Vitara. Then I know for sure it’s going to be a great day. Nothing like a bird and a blessing.
Which gets me thinking about times in my life when I looked forward to seeing something along the lines of Blanca – an omen, a mascot, a sighting – something pretty random to which I’d assigned magical powers.
When I was living in NYC, my boyfriend and I delighted in seeing a vendor with a pushcart that was laden with stuffed ducks of the bright orangey, yellow, fuzzy, fake-fur variety; creatures hung on and packed into a cart that moved around the West Village and Washington Square Park, catering to tourists and children and us. Seeing him always made me happy and know it’d be a great day. My boyfriend and I would come home and report, gleefully, “I saw the Duck Man” and we’d both feel bathed in good fortune.
When I lived in Davis, California, my daughter started going to middle school and I drove her to the other side of town, past a large uncultivated field where we always saw grey rabbits hopping around. We’d count them and it’d be a two bunny day or a 5 bunny day. My daughter and I would smile because seeing the bunnies reminded us that all was well with the world.
Which reminds me of the Disney Cruise ship pulling out of port here in St. Thomas and how it sounds the first 7 notes of “When You Wish Upon a Star” – I tear up and keep an eye out for those red smoke stacks and the mouseketeer ears, praying that I’ll catch that musical treat.
I looked up the word mascot in my trusty, very large Webster’s Third International dictionary. Mascot is defined as, “a person or thing held to bring good luck” and as “something regarded as a cherished emblem or symbol” and lastly, as ” a small boy chosen to accompany a team to its contests, typically wearing its uniform and usually obliged to perform such chores as tending bats or fetching water”.
I don’t have any such requirements of my ducks, rabbits, white doves or cruise ship horns. I just consider it an honor to be in their presence. I assign benevolent meaning to the magic of their existence and to those special moments when our paths cross.
I’m glad that I don’t get too bummed out when a Sunday goes by and I don’t see Blanca, or when I didn’t see the Duck Man or when the rabbit field was turned into a public swimming pool or I miss the Disney ship’s visit. I ask about the bird and I wondered where all the rabbits had gone – but I’m not handing over my power.
I’m just aware of what brings me joy and makes me happy. Since I know that joy begets joy – noticing and being grateful for and moved by these birds, ducks, rabbits and horns invites more of the same into my life.
And now I’m remembering the days of finding playing cards all over the place and delighting in the kings and queens and aces and even the two’s, and how it feels to see dolphins or a whale passing by.
What does it for you? What are your personal feel-good mascots and signs? Collecting evidence for everyday magic is just another way of saying thank you and inviting more of the same into our lives.
Blanca on the Suzuki
When I told a friend that I had been feeling depressed, he reached into his treasure trove of stories and sent me many versions of King Solomon’s Ring. He said it might help and that I would do well to share it so that it could also help others.
This version of the story is attributed to Rabii Meir Tsvi Hirsh Zachman and is from his New Interpretations of the Torah, written in 1928. It is best read aloud.
Once, in the middle of the summer, toward evening, when the air was clear, the sky bright, and the dimmed sun setting, King Solomon was sitting in his palace roof garden. He took enormous pleasure from that sight, overlooking the city of Jerusalem.
As he looked at people walking back and forth, he noticed a simple man, not from the royal family, all dressed, from head to toe, with golden clothes. He sent his messengers to summon the man.
When the man came and stood in front of him, King Solomon asked: “Where did you get all this gold? Are you a highway robber and a murderer?”
The man replied, “Heaven forbid!, I would never do such a thing. I am working with both my hands and I earn my livelihood with manual labor.”
He continued, “I am a good silversmith. It is well known that Jerusalem is considered to be the wealthiest city in the world, and people come to trade here from the four corners of the earth. Everyday, kings, ministers, and wealthy merchants come to Jerusalem. One has a broken ring, another a broken watch and all of them come to me to repair these items and I return them as new.”
The King put his arm around the man’s shoulders and said to him with a light smile on his lips, “If you are such a wonderful craftsman, let me test your great craftsmanship and wonderful wisdom and see what you can do.”
“I command you, a royal command, to make for me such a wonderful ring that will be able to affect a man spiritually, changing his mood of the moment. If the man is happy, he will become sad when he looks at the ring and if he is sad and worried, the ring will change his mood and he will become happy. If you can show me this, then I will reward you as befits your skill and wisdom. If you cannot fulfill my command, I’ll cut off your head.”
The silversmith asked the King to give him three days time. In his craftsmanship he had done many strange and different rings but he did not even know how and where to start for such a work. He grieved greatly, for he feared death.
After three days he went to the wise King Solomon, bringing with him several rings to show the king. He reached the royal palace and found King Solomon’s son, Rehoboam, sitting in the front room.
When Rehoboam saw the silversmith and his ashen face, he asked, “Why are you so miserable?”
The silversmith answered him: “I am walking to the king trembling and my knees are knocking. I am bringing to the king a golden ring, but I doubt whether the king would like this expensive ring.” He told Rehoboam that the king had asked him to make a ring that would change a man’s mood every time. ” I do not know how to make such a ring.”
When Prince Rehoboam heard these matters, he said. ” Put one ring on my finger and I’ll show you how to make it.”
The silversmith gave him one ring and Rehobaom put it on his finger. He took a nail and engraved on the ring three letters G, Z, Y -(in Hebrew Gimel, Zayin, Yod)- each at a different point on the ring. He said, “Take this ring to the king and he will favor you and will give you many presents and will not punish you.”
The silversmith happily went to the king with the ring. When King Solomon examined the ring carefully he recognized the three letters at the three points on the ring and the wise King Solomon, for whom all mysteries and secrets are revealed and known, understood the wise hint and read it: ” Gam ze ya’avor” which, in Hebrew, means THIS TOO WILL PASS.
When the kind examined the ring with the initials GZY he applied it to himself: “This too will pass”, that is to say, “that although now I am at the highest rank, a king of the whole world and can enjoy all kinds of pleasures, this will not last forever and my huge success will not last always.”
When such thoughts came to Solomon’s mind, he immediately grieved very much and indeed, it befell him exactly as he interpreted it. A great trouble came upon him, demoting him from his high position. And it came to pass that Solomon lost his crown and wandered as a beggar in remote lands.
And when Solomon, in his poverty, looked at the ring on his finger and read the initials GZY (this too will pass), it said to him, “The trouble that came upon me will not last forever, and I hope one day to return and gain be the king of Israel.”
And so it happened.
I hope that the story speaks to you as it does to me. When you are sad or going through difficult times, may it serve as a reminder that “this too will pass” and lift your spirits. When you are happy and enjoying the bounty of life, may it (rather than making you sad) remind you to be grateful and appreciate each and every moment, because THIS TOO SHALL PASS.
The New Year is humming two weeks into 2010 and I’m still 
greeting those I haven’t yet seen with “Happy New Year”. It’s a fresh start, it’s celebratory and it feels good. I want to keep the good feeling alive 365 and see no reason to limit the excitement to New Year’s Eve.
I’ve been noticing what helps me to return to a feeling of gratitude and eager anticipation when I’m in a funk. I see how important it is to have a practice – something that we do on a regular (daily) basis to promote well-being and positive energy. It doesn’t matter so much what we do as that we do it. People go on different diets, play different sports, embrace difference exercise programs, have different spiritual practices and unique paths to finding balance, inner peace and connection to Source energy and many people get where they are going, or don’t – with many practices.
Practice makes perfect. This is true whether practicing the violin, drawing, doing Yoga, or creating new habits of thought. The thought part is the basis for all the rest. When our thoughts are of success and on enjoying whatever we’re doing in the moment (violin, yoga, drawing etc.) it’s so much easier to stick with what we’re doing. It’s always our negative thoughts that start any kind of falling off the wagon. Practices that encourage us to notice how we’re feeling and what we’re thinking can help us shift our focus when we’re stuck in ruts and losing heart.
I wrote myself a letter on New Year’s Eve 2009 and dated it Dec. 31, 2010. It began with ” Wow, What a Year! On every front I stepped through a glass ceiling. Everything’s clear, full of energy, more colorful, smarter, and more creative, more loving and much more fun. .” I continued, at length, to jump for joy and express gratitude for the wonderful experiences, relationships, travel, creative ventures, prosperity, good health and spiritual evolution that I enjoyed over the course of 2010. I just reread it now – on January 14 and it warms my heart and makes me smile. Writing it (and rereading it) makes me want to STEP UP, own and go for what I want.
I’m going to take this Ideal Scene out on a regular basis and read it aloud. It’s serves as an affirmation and as a drawing board. I’m already itching to add things and get into more detail about others. It’s a great way to plant seeds for experiences, people, places and things I want to enjoy this year. By rereading and watering my ideal scene with love and positive energy – the seeds will bloom and bear fruit.
When we plant vegetables and flowers we plant many seeds, water them, protect them from danger and go about our business. We tend to worry our seeds of desire to death – pulling them up to see what’s going on and wondering when we can eat the fruit.
Writing an Ideal Scene is a powerful act of creation. It plants seeds and waters them at the same time. It’s like entering a giant universal try on room. We can imagine what it would be like to be, do and have anything at all. We write them in the first person and in the present tense. We write them to create our futures and to feel good right now. Ideal scenes help us get clear about what really matters and what we really want. We can write them as I did, to pre-pave this next year or we can date them next Saturday and pre-pave the week. We can write about all the amazing things that happened, lessons learned and opportunities welcomed. It’s a way of thanking the universe in advance. Our wishes are granted. There is nothing to worry about.
So, while I’m still jazzed about making my dreams come true and about Hang Zen in 2010 (my theme for the year), I’m going to strike while the iron is hot and use Ideal Scenes to help me to stay clear, inspired and feeling good. Happy New Year. Happy New Day!
As 2010 has launched with fanfare and fireworks, I’ve been scanning the past year and one (of many) chapters stands out. It’s the Chicken Chapter, when I adopted a newly hatched fluffy chick named BeBe, moved her into my shower which she called home until 3 or 4 months later when I moved her to Drina’s farm.
A friend had found a newly hatched chick abandoned in her driveway. My friend organized the equiment (cooler, lights, wood shavings) and I became the adoptive parent. The most memorable and literally heartwarming part of this early relationship was that I carried BeBe in my camisole (the kind with the shelf bra) and she settled in. I worked at my computer, played the piano and only barely heard her contented peeps as she stayed warm, close to my heart.
It was a pleasure to watching her fluff turn to feathers and her legs get thicker and tougher until one day she had enough lift to fly out of the cooler and walk around my cottage. As you may guess the whole situation started to turn messy. She followed me everywhere and roosted on my shoulder. My cocketiel was jealous and flew to the other shoulder, shooting dirty looks at the bigger but younger, more demanding fowl. The dogs just rolled their eyes. They’ve gotten used to the random assortment of species that have been part of our family over the years.
I loved BeBe and I was very ready for her to move out. After considering getting a coop and raising chickens, I was overjoyed to find a farm home and company for BeBe and greatly relieved to have my small home reduced to its original house-trained population.
This past Saturday, I stopped to visit BeBe for the first time since I’d dropped her off. Drina led me to the back of the farm and past amazing looking hens and roosters to a large cage where she pointed out BeBe -“the most spoiled chicken in the bunch”. She looked beautiful: shiney black with a shimmering brown tint to her wing feathers. When I called her name, she seemed to vaguely remember something and turned my way.
I took her picture and, in my mind’s eye, compared her to the fluffy chick of back when. I thought of all the nurturing that had saved her life, helped her to thrive and become who she was meant to be. Then I thought of the photo of me with BeBe tucked into my cleavage. I could see how she had changed but how had I
transformed? I thought about how I’ve been nurtured and grown. I felt like I should have feathers to show for it. I started thinking in terms of new foliage and bigger wing-span, better top notch, bigger cage and free ranging farther and deeper.
In my year end completion exercise one of the most important parts is to look back over the past year and acknowledge every little success as well as the bigger milestones and achievments. Focusing on all that has been accomplished inside and out: improving a relationship, starting to practice Yoga, forgiving someone, cleaning out the closets etc….
If every win was a feather – what would you look like? Would your head-dress be carnival worthy? How high will your wings carry you? How boldly will you strut your stuff.
Here’s to fluffing your feathers and taking flight. I am. Remember, you gotta flap ’em to fly.
Last week I pulled the plastic container marked “Christmas” out of my closet, dragged my potted Norfolk pine into its holiday corner of the living room, put on my CD of Amahl and the Night visitors (a Christmas operetta I first heard when I was 5) and started with the lights. You know how that goes!? After I’d woven the strands around the tree, I realized that the plug was at the top. I had to start all over again – smiling! I took my time removing the paper towels and bubble wrap from the ornaments – savoring each one. My daughter made this one, others were gifts, my mother passed them on and they all have a story and a memory. As I trimmed the tree I could feel a warmth spread throughout my body as I pulled this thread from my past into the present.
Webster’s Third International dictionary defines traditions as “the process of handing down information, opinions, beliefs and customs by word of mouth AND an inherited or established way of thinking, feeling or doing”.
If a belief is a thought that we have repeated over and over until it’s set in stone, a tradition is an action or activity that we do over and over until it takes on the quality of something sacred and special.
My family celebrated Christmas even though my father was Jewish. I have fond memories of going out with my Dad and my sister in the cold NYC winter to pick out the perfect tree. We all decorated it and I’ll always remember the magic of turning the lights on for the first time and the glow of the tree in the dark. There were the stockings laid out on Christmas Eve and the cookies and milk for Santa and carrots for the reindeer. The first program I remember I ever saw on our new TV was Amahl and the Night Visitors – the story of a crippled boy who is healed after meeting the 3 wise men. He accompanyies them to Bethlehem walking on his own and carrying his crutch as a gift for the child. The music is timeless and so am I as I sing along.
My parents are no longer alive and my sister and her family celebrated in San Francisco where they live. My daughter spent time with her Dad and with friends and I celebrated with old and new friends. I cre
ated some new traditions, let go of others, but held onto those that warm my heart and create a sense of continuity, community and comfort.
I’ve made and dismantled traditions as my life has changed. When I start to feel obligated and resentful, I know it’s time to take a look at whether or not the tradition is worth holding onto or whether it’s time to tweak it, let it go or create a new one.
Sometimes the people who we think of at this time of year are not here and our circumstances may have changed – for better or for worse. We can think that if we can’t recreate things just the way they were – it’s not worth it. I know differently. The purpose of traditions – those acts we perform over and over – is to stir something deep inside us; to connect us to our ancestors and all who have gone before us and to remind us of a truth that illuminates our lives with love. This light can emerge in many ways.
I decorated my tree by myself this Christmas and I’ve got to say that it didn’t dim the magic. When I turned off the house lights and beheld the colored bulbs twinkling and the ornaments shimmering as I sang along to Amahl – I was delighted. I was 5 and the bearer of a tradition that I have cared for and repeated for many, many years.
We are creative beings. Even though nothing stays the same, it is our traditions that ground us, provide comfort and plug us into continuity, community and into the warmest places in our own hearts.