Marcia’s Musings: It’s Me, Marcia
/Hey, God, are you there? It’s me, Marcia.
Usually, as I sit on my cushion, I listen for and to you. As you know, sometimes, I call you God, other times Universe. Other times, Goddess. In a long life with you, I learned that you hear and answer to many names. I know you’re there.
I sought you out because of updates to share, things to say. It’s the month of love overflow called forth by Valentine’s Day. It’s the month of frenzy dusted up by the Super Bowl. It’s the month of other special days, like President’s Day, though this year it feels like the apostrophe is in the wrong place because sometimes it feels as though we have two. The actual one and the phantom. Sorry, God. I know politics isn’t your thing and that you leave that up to people.
My reasons for speaking to you span the gamut.
First, comes gratitude. I’m so happy I could attend my friend Elizabeth’s 60th birthday in Arizona in January. As I covered three times zones in a week – departing from the sub-tropics of Florida, stopping in the Plains of the Midwest for a visit, then enjoying the magnificent desert – I marveled at my great fortune in being able to travel, both because I so enjoy seeing my family and friends and because I still am energetic enough to do it. Amy, also a friend of Elizabeth’s, and I sat shoulder-to-shoulder on our journey. Strangers when we took flight and separated in age by nearly three decades, we reached a rich nascent friendship of our own by the time wheels touched the ground, as women often do. Funny how that often works when hearts open. That felt good.
I’m also deeply contented, God, that my daughter, Gina, could join me in warmer, sunnier weather in Florida the first part of February. Recently engaged, we talked about many topics in the special cocoon of the sacred mother-daughter relationship, including a wedding, as we cooked, biked, read, swam, and walked the beach together. This emotional space, cozy and protected, permits us to find a level of realness and sharing that cannot be found elsewhere. One word describes our week together: cherished.
Now comes a request to shoulder with me some burdens and worries. My two longest-time friends of more than five decades, Kathy and Julie, face health issues that frighten me. Do you ever become frightened, God? As I lay in a yoga class, nestled in savasana, their beautiful faces float in front of my mind’s eye. Tears burn in the corners of my shuttered lids; memories, so many, rise. What I would do without them is an ever-present question and feeling. Through these last weeks of worry, so far from them, I remember to be mindful and present as I do what I am doing now – sitting on a cushion talking or listening to what moves through my body. In all cases, and especially in these two situations, the only way out is in, as you’ve taught.
Green Lotus faces some challenges, too – and I know business isn’t your thing, either. The heat went out in Mendota Heights, though, due to an aging system whose parts seem to be in short supply. Unfortunately, it’s winter. Fortunately, it’s a mild one. Several of our teachers and one of our healers find themselves smack in the middle of leaves to take care of their health for one reason or another. We’re proud of them for that. Our spaces and students miss them, however, and these talented individuals feel a bit unmoored when not sharing their skills. I think of them often, and I trust you will, too. Like all businesses, sometimes you hit the rapids of multiple challenges. It feels right now as though Green Lotus is being attacked. Even as I write those words – being attacked – I know it’s not hyperbole, and I also know it’s temporary. At these times, Goddess, I call on the superpower of focused awareness to steady the ship. I know you get what I mean.
I wanted to speak to you about aging gracefully. When I was a young girl, I often sat in a tree house – really a platform – that my father built for me. I placed a bird feeder and watering bowl in one corner of the airy perch and was delighted when I found them empty the next morning. I learned so much up there about the natural world that informed the real me that eventually emerged. Now in my seventh decade, my treehouse is an internal island of refuge where I go to ponder this time and how to navigate it. I remember when my mother, who rarely complained, began to say, “But, honey, I have aches.”
I wondered when she said this how Mom’s body really felt. Now, I know. As I consider aging gracefully, Universe, I occasionally feel a oneness with you within me (and vice versa). I feel your ever–expanding nature. And – not always but sometimes – I feel my own expansion into another dimension, energetically now and no longer physically as I did as a girl. This seems as it should be. I’d like to communicate to my children that in these moments I’m peaceful to what is, because, Mom, I too now have aches, and that’s okay. I could use some help, Universe, in not clinging to this feeling of acceptance of aging because then it immediately dissipates. The point is, I’ve come to know through my intertwined spiritual journey nurtured in workshops and retreats that, like you, my consciousness is and will always be ever-expanding, however that looks, feels, or occurs. Isn’t funny, Universe, how the act of expansion can feel grounding at the same time?
Well, that’s about it. Thanks for listening, God/Universe/Goddess, without judgment or rebuke. I promise to do the same for you next time. Until then, feel the love. The big love.
