So simple and so true.
I’m not sure where this graphic originally came from, but I found it on Pinterest.
Garden Whispers
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Tag Archives: inspiration
Galaxies in a Kaleidoscope: Contemplations
From pickles to the contemplation of broken glass and mirrors; apparently that’s how my mind works!
I’ve always been fascinated by kaleidoscopes; pieces of things that collide to create something beautiful–but fleeting
Peering into one, it seems as if this human-made created and patterned universe of colorful swirling glass morphs into artificial realities.
What’s the question here? Is it that reality doesn’t seem real anymore.or are we simply a fractured, fragmented view of another reality?
In a kaleidoscope, that which exists for an instant will disappear; ephemeral, never to be seen again in that same way, even though the original, organic pieces are still there.
Reality: the world or the state of things as they actually exist, as opposed to an idealistic or notional idea of them. Or, the state or quality of having existence or substance.
One small flick of the wrist and our entire universe can change. Just like a kaleidescope. In any reality. Or any sort of purgatory.
I like to share quotes from others:
“It was as if her life was a huge kaleidoscope, and the kaleidoscope had been turned and now everything was changed. The same stones shaken, no longer made the same design.”
Author: Betsy Byars
“Forrest Gump had it wrong. Life is not a box of chocolate; it’s a kaleidoscope. In the flip of a wrist, realities are shredded and the world takes on a totally new shape.”
Author: Carolyn Haines
Life is like an ever-shifting kaleidoscope; a slight change and all patterns alter.
Author: Sharon Salzberg
I like to know how things work. I like answers.
Science tells me that it’s the incline of the two mirrors inside a kaleidoscope that determines the number of times the pattern created by the reflection of an object is repeated. However, I can’t say that I’ve ever seen a repeated pattern. At least, not that I remember.
A kaleidoscope is an optical instrument with two or more reflecting surfaces tilted to each other in an angle, so that one or more (parts of) objects on one end of the mirrors are seen as a regular symmetrical pattern when viewed from the other end, due to repeated reflection.
Each component works together synergistically to create an illusion of reality–and then it’s gone.
Obviously I have zero answers to all deep questions; my pondering and contemplations are ephemeral and transitory–kaleidoscopic. My brain can only handle a tiny bit of this at any given time; now I need to watch a couple of episodes of the new Dynasty. Balance. It’s all about balance.
If you have time for a great read, check this out via the Exploratorium: Facets of Light: Colors, Images, and Things that Glow in the Dark
https://www.exploratorium.edu/sites/default/files/pdfs/facets_of_light1980.pdf
What’s Your Inspo?
Friday thoughts…
(inspo = something or someone that serves as inspiration or motivation.)
I’m a forever child, never to grow up, still talking like the perpetual thirteen-year-old that I was/am, and sometimes a fairy princess in an enchanted forest with flowers in my hair surrounded by gentle creatures.
It used to irk my son when I’d repeat key phrases from South Park or Beavis and Butthead that were sooo INAPPROPRIATE, but now he laughs with me. A snarky chuckle, but a laugh nonetheless.
One day when he was in graduate school, we were eating lunch with a few of his friends and he put me on the spot and made me imitate Towlie from South Park. “Wanna get high?” in that Towlie voice. Good sports, we all laughed. I knew they were laughing AT me, but it wasn’t in a mean way. I laughed at myself, too. The jokes on them though, ‘cos whatever I did as a mom inspired my son to become a professor. HAHAHA.
Here’s Towlie in case you didn’t have a teenage son in the 90s…
NEVER GROW UP, that’s my mantra. (A girly Peter Pan without leaving all the narcissistic destruction in my wake.)
Just now at the ATT store I noticed that I was the ONLY one who was enthralled with two little starlings who walked all around me in a circle, not a care in the world with regard to humans and cars, and then I looked up and saw a gigantic White Egret. There was a UPS man parked right next to me and he followed my gaze as I was looking up, so I said, “Look at the beautiful white egret!” Nothing. “It’s a BIRD.” Nothing. “It’s really special!” Nothing. He continued with his stressed and frenzied pace to get those packages delivered and delivered and delivered. He looked at me like I was slightly off center but I wanted to tell him that he’d have a better day if he stopped just for a minute to BREATHE and LOOK UP.
There are miracles all around to be seen and heard. The simple things are the greatest bringers of joy and gratitude. It’s also true a Chanel handbag can bring its own kind of joy, as much as a seashell. Same.
Back to inspo…
What’s MY inspo? Now it’s mostly Theo and Charlotte, and always my original Angel Boy, that’s a given.
I’m putting the finishing touches on Theo’s half birthday gift, another one of my personalized books with photos and beginner words that I write just for him.
Yes, we celebrate half birthdays around here. It’s a tradition started by my mom, the original Charlotte. Hee hee. Not only did I get presents on my dad’s birthday, I received gifts and HALF a cake on my half birthday in November. The same was done for AB and now his kids. I think it’s an awesome tradition.
When my son turned twenty-one, I embarrassed him (yet again) in front of his friends with my speech about my love for every breath he’s ever taken and then gave him a gift of a star that I named for him because he was and will always be my entire universe. Check it out: International Star Registry, Scutum RA18h 47m 46d D-12′ 24′
Do you celebrate half birthdays?
What’s your inspo?
Holding Space
Quote
IMHO, this is one of the best descriptions of what it means to hold space.
There will be times when you have to release and trust the awakening process. It may not be an easy thing to do, especially when a connection exists. Let others know you are there, offer support when asked and hold space for them in a kind, loving manner. The rest is up to them and The Universe.
Holding Space The Creator Writings, one of my fave blogs.
I had heard the term but couldn’t wrap my brain around it, and as a slightly OCD Taurus who likes answers to questions and details and timeframes to be specific in order to feel safe, holding space is a confusing and nebulous and ephemeral concept, but I’ve been determined to understand because it resonates deeply with me. I’m relentless when it comes to understandING.
It’s a way of not doing anything when I’m all about doING and fixING and solvING. (All of those ‘ing” words that we’re trained to edit OUT of our writings.)
To hold space is to do nothING but BE.
BeING.
That very beINGness of taking a breath and stayING silent and havING faith and trust that everything is happenING as it should–well, that’s nearly impossible for me.
But here I am. I am. So hum.
And Still I Rise…Maya Angelou
Oh yes. Absolute perfection.
And still I rise. Or sit. Or kneel.
Free will.
The Falling Leaves
In SoCal, we don’t really many trees that change color and lose their leaves, so that’s about one of the only things I miss about the east coast.
But we have year-round beach weather, so it’s not a huge disappointment!
Plus, I can look at this and not have to rake up the leaves, right?
The Falling Leaves
Today, as I rode by,
I saw the brown leaves dropping from their tree
In a still afternoon,
When no wind whirled them whistling to the sky,
But thickly, silently,
They fell, like snowflakes wiping out the noon;
And wandered slowly thence
For thinking of a gallant multitude
Which now all withering lay,
Slain by no wind of age or pestilence,
But in their beauty strewed
Like snowflakes falling on the Flemish clay.
I saw the brown leaves dropping from their tree
In a still afternoon,
When no wind whirled them whistling to the sky,
But thickly, silently,
They fell, like snowflakes wiping out the noon;
And wandered slowly thence
For thinking of a gallant multitude
Which now all withering lay,
Slain by no wind of age or pestilence,
But in their beauty strewed
Like snowflakes falling on the Flemish clay.
Margaret Postgate-Cole (1893–1980)
Nasturtiums in Orange #WordlessWednesday
So much is upsetting at WordPress…the change in the Reader and the format of the write/edit/publish page–whoever thought one could HATE to see “beepbeepboop” as much as I do — so in order to recapture my ZEN, here’s one of my favorite pictures of nasturtiums from the garden.
Because ORANGE.
It looks like a painting.
Enjoy this mostly #wordlesswednesday
enchantedseashells.com
A Butterfly Grows in My Garden
…floating effortlessly on the soft breezes, possibly to lift our spirits lowered by the demise of the baby hummingbirds, is a butterfly sprite of cerulean polka dots and bands of gold called Mourning Cloak (Nymphalis antiopa).
With a nod to Lizzi @ Considerings who asked the question on her Facebook page and got me thinking about one of my favorite books, Betty Smith’s 1943 novel, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn; here in my garden, although water use is now restricted because of the drought and we can no longer grow brightly colored but thirsty blossoms, there’s still beauty if you look for it.
Mother Nature is amazing.
Catching some rays on the rock garden.
So pretty…
Can I come a little closer?
What grows in YOUR garden?
1000 Voices Speak For Compassion
SAVE THE DATE: February 20
Too many horrible things have clouded our world recently — even more than usual.
It’s becoming increasingly more difficult to see the beauty with my rose-colored glasses.
What this universe is crying out for is a paradigm shift toward less violence and hatred and more kindness and compassion.
1000 Voices Speak For Compassion is a brand new initiative.
A few brilliant minds (not mine) conjured up 1000 Voices Speak For Compassion and set a goal to get 1000 bloggers coming together to write about compassion on the 20th of February.
The goal?
To flood the internet with love and help create change for good.
After only three days there are already over 600 bloggers (and videographers) on board.
If you blog or make videos, PLEASE join us.
You can find the Facebook group by clicking the link below.
1000 Voices for Compassion https://www.facebook.com/groups/306227992909657/
And if you don’t blog, please read the many wonderful posts that will be coming — both in the lead-up to the day and on 20th February!
Can we change the world?
Maybe.
At least we can try, right?
Scars. Life. Love. Goodbye, 2014
All I ever wanted to be was a mom.
There’s a half moon shaped scar on my left leg where I slammed my shin into the sharp serrated metal step of a shuttle bus.
Out of breath from running, dragging my suitcase, frantic after a six-hour flight to the East coast.
I was pretty much inconsolable and incoherent but determined in my resolve. All the way across the country, I said over and over, “I just need to get to him. I just need to get there.”
I was literally running out of time.
I didn’t even know I was injured until the next day.
It was sliced to the bone and I never felt the pain, never felt the warm blood dripping down my leg, sticking to my socks, drying hard on my jeans.
I’m sure it needed to be sutured, but that constant pain, like the pain of the C-section that brought my baby into the world, is a wound I’ll always associate with birth and life.
You see, my life almost ended on April 29, 2014.
When I think of 2014, there’s really no other moment in time that so defines my year. Or my entire life.
Up until April 29th, the sun would rise and the sun would set. I shopped, went to the gym, shopped some more. Life was pretty much uneventful.
Six months later, from the perspective of time, I can see that my life was split right down the middle; before the phone call and after the call.
In early April, I had an amazing road trip that culminated at Zion National Park; hiking and camping and finding joy in the magnificent beauty of nature.
But that one particular day stopped me in my tracks.
It was one of life’s pivotal moments. What if we had been out of cell range? What if we hadn’t made it in time? What if he hadn’t had the surgery in time? What if?
It could have gone either way.
The path not taken probably would have caused my disappearance from the world of blogging, of social media, and maybe you’d have thought to yourself, “I wonder what happened to Princess Rosebud?”
I wouldn’t have survived. I’m not being melodramatic; I’m stating this as a simple truth. I would not have survived.
All I ever wanted to be was a mom.
I was one of those little girls who always had a doll. I didn’t so much want to play house as I wanted to be Mommy. I wanted a baby of my own one day to love and nurture and care for and take care of — and protect from all harm.
It didn’t matter how smart I was or how well I did in college; it was is my calling.
My passion.
Lucky for me that my dream came true when I had my Angel Boy. From the very beginning, he was my amazing joy. His smiles, his bright eyes; they sustained me like no food ever could.
Even now, a phone call or an email from him makes the sun shine a little brighter, my day a little happier.
Oh, he was sick from time to time with the normal childhood illnesses; he broke a bone or two from skateboarding, but he grew strong and tall and his mind was a whirl of shiny brilliance and creativity.
No one clipped his wings.
I always told him he could do anything. He has no limits.
He was limitless.
You know how you think you’ll be when you’re a mom, but no one prepares you for the reality of it; the limitless love, the fierce primal desire to protect from harm and pain and sadness — and most of all the fact that none of those feelings end when they’re grown up and on their own.
That’s still how I still define myself. I’m Angel Boy’s mom.
That 3:00 a.m. call that propelled us to the airport for a six-hour flight that caused me to run and trip on the metal step of the shuttle bus so we could rent a car for the final hour-long drive to the hospital to see my Angel Boy’s face before his emergency surgery was the most horrible moment of my entire life.
Nothing else mattered. Nothing else matters.
We were all thrust into a vortex of a limbo world. Waiting to get to him, waiting for the emergency surgical team to assemble, waiting by his side as he was prepped — watching his body contort in agony that I couldn’t do anything about, his eyes filled with pain — but I could feel each spasm in my own belly — and finally waiting for the surgeon to appear. Not really talking, not watching the TV that was mounted at an odd angle on the wall in the waiting room; a desolation of uncertainty.
For three hours I was stationed in the hallway, the first to hear and then see the elevator doors open, my eyes fastened on the surgeon’s face.
He wouldn’t even need to speak; I knew his face would reveal everything.
And the huge smile on the surgeon’s face lit up the universe. No words were needed.
Everything was going to be OK. He survived. It was tricky, worse than we thought, but he was fixed.
He was whole.
My Angel Boy made a complete recovery. He’s healthy and happy.
And alive.
I see the scar every day and it’s a constant reminder to not take anything for granted; that I almost lost everything — but I didn’t.
All I ever wanted was to be a mom.
Goodbye 2014…
Cheers to a healthy and happy 2015!
POSTS ABOUT THE SURGERY:
1. That Dreaded Call at 3:00 a.m.
2. Time To Exhale
3. Full Circle From Hell to Happiness
4. What Does a Cosmo, the Trauma, Unit, and Mother’s Day Have in Common
What Does a Cosmo, the Trauma Unit, and Mother’s Day Have In Common?
