Time Tides: This Time

Time Tide--This Time: This November 12, 2016


This time, I pack my sailing gear to include the Sea-Souling, Sea-Changing, Gypsy-Wandering heart of me--the hated she, that I secretly wanted to be, lacked the confidence to be--because I kept locking her in the closet, or banging her butt with the back door every time someone rang the doorbell at the front of the house.

This time her luggage, her cargo, await boarding right along side of mine. I even left some of mine behind to fit hers in. And now, standing in front of me, vixen embers burn in her eyes. Her voice a waterfall, laughter peels from her. Tossing her hair she starts dancing, bare feet escaping wharf splinters as she scampers over the boards. Then, sly grin stealing across her face, we step to the luggage in stereo, gather up what I packed and balance ourselves up the gang plank, none of me, none of she, left behind. 

Never fully tamed, she has things to teach me. No longer orphaned by the fear in me, wandering is no longer her only option. She has replaced the fear inside of me, the hole inside of me now the whole inside of me. She's the depths of richness, the sense of Magic, that I always yearned beyond me, outside of me, could never count on, because I kept pushing her out the door, bolting it behind her. But, she always got in through the window.

Bolding, this time, I've invited this ruffian soul of me forward, front, and center. Oh my!
Cat-footed she joins me from the shadows of even-fall. Together, we stare out through the dark toward port, both os uf softly joyed that I failed to chase her off , this deeper wilder royalty of me. "I used to walk inside your shadow with you," she answers my unspoken thoughts, Gypsy music lacing the stars.  Pivoting to face me, she finishes, “Now I walk as you.”

Ensouling Sea: Retrieving my Soul Skin

Immersed in blue: blue sky, blue mountains, blue saltwater -- I stand in the surf, slaking soul-thirst: It's been 28 years since I wandered off out of the Pacific Northwest into the golden hills of California, then the towering red rocks of Sedona, and a brief time in the Mid-West, soaked in prayer for our world. Having returned to Arizona this past March, this September I returned to my homeland, the Wet Coast. Wet Coast describes the the coastline of the U.S. Pacific Northwest and Canada's British Columbia during the long, damp winter--and is also a play on West Coast. 

Standing in surf-lap, Ediz Hook, Port Angeles, Straight of Juan de Fuca, I recover my sea-tail, stashed amongst the rocks and trees at ocean's edge. "It's time for you to come home," say the Thunder Beings--the Thunder Mother and Father, "to recover your mer-tail, your saltiness, crown of sparkling sea-spray; that which has gone empty to fill, sea-lonely inner spaces mated once again to the shoreline. Lightning zippers the sky of my soul.

Wikipedia describes Selkies, also spelled Silkies, as mythological creatures found in Irish, Scottish and Faroese folklore. Similar creatures are described in the Icelandic traditions. Selkies are said to live as seals in the sea but shed their skin to become human on land; this legend being most common in Orkney and Shetland. 

Seal Skin, Soul Skin (originally from the Inuit Nation) is a fable told by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes, in her book, Women Who Run With the Wolves, a fable of our deep need to be true to our own nature, preventing the loss of our soul as we forge bonds with 'other,' reminding us that the greatest loneliness comes from loss of contact with our inherent, native depths.

Journeying into the California Anza-Borrego and Arizona Sonoran desert-scapes 28 years ago, I wooed the wild dryness; stark vision, bare-bones discernment; cooked-down, the wind-stripped sacred parching that would scour clean the debris of my years.

Now I venture home to the Wet Coast, and the jewel within--the Sunshine Coast; renewing myself to my seal-skin/soul skin, re-fleshing my spirit with this lush, raw, undulating wet wildness: the richness of past exploring and the breathing, velvet, evolving tide of my future marry, becoming my present. Sea shanty arises in me, rhythms pulse my blood, tides call forth what is to be, rendering me to primal yearnings: soaking in sea-soup, fulfillment, recovery of my seal skin, soul skin. 

For a time, I was graced to have a real seal skin gifted me by an Alaskan Native--and, as in the fable, the seal skin is gone from me, and now, I've come to retrieve my inner seal skin, soul skin. I stand at the threshold of coming into Full Presence of my deepest currents. 

Navigating the TINGLE-SEA

Goose-bumps arrive: TINGLE; deep resonance, bones sing . . . Alert, attuned, tuned-in: we're paying attention. We're focused, buoyed, renewed, intrigued. We're INTERESTED. We're in touch with Life--with that which brings life, vibrancy to our very being, zest to our breathing, clarity to our awareness. We fill with impetus to continue, move on, move forward, embrace, engage; verve, vivacity, vigor. We are a verb, as well as awareness.

Noted to me, by several friends, even since a young girl, I was always the action person: If we talked of, yearned something--an experience or an event, I was the one that wanted to take action on it, make it happen, make it real--discontent to leave it only in the ether.

As an adult? If you can't apply it, what use is it? We are animated, active creatures. We're responsive. We have hinges, not by accident, but for movement, action, expressing. We've got knees and elbows. We are God in expression; we're the hands and feet of God--we're God, exploring God in action.

However, there is another kind of action, internal expression that permeates not only all of outer events, but the larger sea of our inner experience; actually, the larger part of our life-experience, our Inner Sea.

When the TINGLE arrives, we are in TRUE RESONANCE. For that moment, we are fully alive, freed of our habit of judging, ourselves or others, free of fault-finding and blaming. We just ARE. TINGLE is a direct hit, with no filters. For just that moment, there is no doubt, no self-recrimination. There ain't no debate. We're in an ecstatic point of FULL PRESENCE to the greater part of what we are and its resonant expressions. We're in ALIGNMENT.

Alright. Well that felt great. So--are we to do anything with that? Anything beyond flashing a quick smile and brief narrative of the event to the friend standing beside us?

This from: www.asknature.org --The wings of carpenter bees cause pink gentian flowers to release their pollen by beating at a frequency that causes the anthers to vibrate. "It [the bee] arrives at the flower making a high-pitched buzzing noise with its wings as most bees do. As it alights on an anther, it continues beating its wings but lowers the frequency so that the note of its buzz suddenly falls to approximate middle C. This causes the anther to vibrate at just the right frequency needed to release the pollen and thre grains spout out of the hole at the top in a yellow fountain." (Attenborough 1995: 100)

When we get that rush, the TINGLE, we're in resonance with our deepest reality, the greater part of who we are; we're in alignment with it, within and without. Our inner tuning-forks are sounding. We TINGLE all over.
It can't be manufactured, but it can be cultivated, received. The bee can't manufacture the pollen, but it can open the channel, the anther, with resonance.

Many spend their lives trying to recapture these moments, these points of high, of natural joy--distressed by their return to self and other judgment, of finding fault, of finding there lives less than these moments of high. What they often miss in this is not only the sense of resonance, but the lack of negative judgment, traded in, just for those moments, for however long it lasts, for true discernment, observation, seeing.

True joy is not over-indulgence; over-immersion; rather it is being in resonance with this deeper Truth as it presents, the wave crest, and not being in fear, worry or an attitude of lack or self/other disdain in the trough between the wave crests.

To help keep ourselves in a state of trust and appreciation, a fortuitous state for resonance, many of us keep a gratitude journal as a way to retain an appreciative perspective of our life-blessings, a sense of balance in the fluctuations of our inner and outer weather--our attitudes and beliefs, our filters on perception about both our inner and outer conditions/situations of our lives. What about a TINGLE journal, serving as a narrative compass, guiding our ship in confidence to our True North.

This is not to eschew common sense or reasoning power. However, we make choices based on what we are conscious of, what we focus on: not just the facts, but what we think/feel about the facts. We make choices based on our beliefs about ourselves and our world. If we pay attention to the TINGLE, we may create a completely different trajectory in the navigation of our Life-Sea--both inner and outer. To navigate is to plan and direct the route or course of a ship or other form of transportation, especially by using instruments or maps.

A very small percentage of our experience is the actual events; rather, the most of our experience is our interpretation of those events, the other people, and ourselves and the relationships. It is our interpretation of these events that causes our internal experience--happy, sad, mad; curious/inquisitive, delighted, joyed, sense of mischief and play, grateful relief, confidence of trust in life--or fear, anger, resistance, resentment, mistrust, self-doubt, finding blame with ourselves/others. These interpretive factors are our rudders and also the wind in our sails, the ocean and wind currents that carry us not only to our outer experiences, but out inner weather, the weather conditions of our inner seas.

Daily, most of us make some sort of loose plan--if not for the day, then for the next day, next week, next month, next year: some kind of activity map. Infrequently we consider plans or maps for our inner sea/see--the way we perceive or frame our outer experiences, and the the internal and external results of those inner filters/interpretive lenses/maps that we reference.

We can choose our thoughts! The auto-pilot voice in our heads, which is often some kind of non-credentialed running-stream narrative--usually at one end of two poles: ego vaunting or self-bashing, about who we, and the other people in our lives, are; whether we/they/it are good or bad; to be praised or berated--and is NOT who we are! Rather, we are the CHOOSER. And beyond the thoughts, feelings, attitudes and beliefs, is that resonant recognition when we TINGLE. Doubt flees into the night. There's not time for self-condemnation or blasting others with scathing reviews. We're too busy, too engaged with that which brings joy, focus, energy, delight.

Alan Cohen, in his 365 book: A Daily Dose of Sanity, writes on the August 29th entry: ". . . you will act and create results according to the identity you assume."  Can we imagine an identity not tangled in the noose of self-doubt and fear of the Universe's intention toward us? Can we see ourselves as more than our small-scale thoughts about what we are/are capable of? Can we let ourselves out of the box? Tango with Intuition?

Luminescent Sea

Illumined See

Indigo LEDS belly-dance wings.

Turning inward to our depths; plumbing the depths of others, we discover new seas--uncharted waters within; promise here--surprises within--soul oxygen. There is direct encounter: without checks and filters: symphony of nuances, orchestration of our soul's unfolding--our birthing into flight.

Often, we avoid a regular meditative practice because we're more than a little scared of what we might be--beyond the old definitions: We see Spirit-houses, shrines, out in the desert, up in the mountains, floating on water. Our bodies are Spirit Houses. God is shining out from within. We are God, expressing as us.

We tend to treat the unknown as against us, something to be feared. Wonder if it is our friend; a greater friend that we imagine? The caterpillar that becomes a butterfly is a blueprint of our own process--if we don't slip back into a caterpillar husk.

The caterpillar caries out the engineering of the cocoon on deep instinct--unafraid of going to sleep to the old established ways--and in so doing is graced with flight it could never imagine. Let the unknown grace and wisdom within you court you. Give it time; give it space. Slow down; pause. Be still--in spite of any dis-ease with it; be graced by the spiritual bioluminescence within.

When you're 'hunting'--when you're 'hungry'--you are not hunting something without, but rather something within that wants to get out; out into the world--to express. Surprise is not always the boogeyman in the night; you might find something tender, vibrant and patient--something to sustain, guide and inspire you.  It takes two to Tango. Dare to dance with it; dive over the railing with it into your unexplored deeps. Get bold! Get beautiful. Let your Soul-Wings be the stars of your night.

Swimming in the TINGLE-SEA

I've got the TINGLE. Tingle-say; tingle-speak. What is that?

We've all stood rapt, at a point, with a resonance that brings goose-bumps to our skin, tingle to our bones: a sense of knowing -- a knowing outside of time and space when something "is for us"--something is right for us -- AND, it is also about timing.

We can know, deep in our bones, that something is "real" for us--something calls out to us--but for some reason or another, it doesn't gel; doesn't come together. We can push at it, plot, plan--and nada--"not at all; nothingness--nothing comes of it. Fizzle.

When that happens, two common, deeply ingrained, acculturated responses to that are either to self-reject, or to blame someone, or something else. We judge ourselves; judge others; the Universe.

However, there's another way of looking at it. Often we have to grow into something--ripen into it; delay isn't that it is not for us; rather that the timing isn't right.

And, it isn't just about us! In any endeavor, their are other players, other sources, juxtapositions of opportunity, that have to be in place. There are other players on our stage of life, and in any particular scene, for us to carry out our role, we are in interdependence with those other players, that might have a different timing than we do before we can come together to carry out into form what TINGLES us.

When something is not the right timing for us, it is not a comment on our worth, our value; does not mean we are unworthy of success, support, God's Grace or things coming together for us. 

Our greatest blocks to success, to following the call of our TINGLE, is our own filters. The jaundiced eye, the view of our tinglings as being not trust-able, undependable. AND in so doing, we shut ourselves down into a mediocrity; or a pattern of trying to substitute what we don't really want in place of what we really want, and we perpetuate ourselves into a series of non-fulfillment.

Instead, we can have a different response to that; we can take that temporary "No" not as a slap of dismissal, but rather as "Prep" time; as an opportunity to prepare deeply for what resonates in our bones, for what TINGLES us--that which makes us glad we are alive; that fills us with a sense of gratitude that we are on the earth. That makes us want to be aware and alert instead of numb and dumb.

We can learn to stop filtering out Our Good! -- rather dive into, immerse ourselves, in that which brings pleasure, that which makes our bones sing.

The Universe, a holographic spiritual Internet, is a TINGLE-SEA. All-That-Is, can put any manner of things together for us, to bring us joy, that we wouldn't even know to consider, let alone be able to manipulate into place! LET IT! ALLOW IT!

Allow yourself to TINGLE-SEE into, to swim in the TINGLE-SEA.

Seasoning of a Sea Soul

The Seasoning of a Sea Soul: When we are connected to something as immense as the Sea -- be that Salt-Water Sea of this Earth, or the Star-Sea that holds it all; we don't get tangled in the events, situations, thoughts or feelings of our lives as the only aspect of us. 

We remember through the Seas that we are more than all of that; that the Truth of us goes much deeper, wider and higher than any one event or one relationship--any one episode, chapter or season of our lives.

We remember Who We Are--that we are all a part of the woof and warp of a Sea-soned--Sea Zoned, Sea Sonic Tapestry--greater than any imagining, ever evolving, growing. 

We don't hold ourselves chained to any one event, to any one person's definition of us, not even our own. We set ourselves free, to ride the waves--unafraid of Seachanges. 

"The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea."

Isak Dinesen [Karen Blixen]

Read more at: http://www.azquotes.com/quote/78896

Swimming in Mystery Soup

Following the depths of winter, we all need a breath of fresh air, to relax into the Winds of Change, allowing it to breathe us--bellow our lungs, in and out, in and out: to blow out what no longer applies; freshen in us what still does, renew what has gone dormant in us from lack of use -- that is circling within us, restless to engage us and our world again.

A long ways back, we separated out from trusting our Intuition, the Voice of Mystery--regarding it as an 'unusual,' -- an 'infrequent visitor," rather than as our Partner. Going off on our own, we've become ever hyper-vigilant, unable, for the most part, to enjoy that which is before us, unfurling. We look at sync--being in alignment with things; synchronicity--things coming together, in the right way, at the right time, in the right place--as rare, uncommon, scarce--undependable. Not so.

It only awaits our invitation. And, usually, we don't--invite it. Instead, we struggle, we strain; we plot, we plan, we scheme, we avoid. Any wonder we're tired, exhausted, off-our beam? Invite it! re-Partner with Mystery--not just a few munches--graze on it, swim in it, soak in it.

The three Muses of Mystery--Intuition, Inspiration and Imagination--the bridge to our Creativity awaits our nod, our invite. Open the door of your mind to it, and  Life starts to work in unexpected, delicious, validating ways--ways never imagined, anticipated . . .

God arrives this planet through our hands, our eyes--our wonder; our intrigue--through self-EXPRESSION; through our answering what shivers us with anticipation, shimmers our souls with possibility. Give it breath. Give it LIFE: try out  "I" words:

Intuit, Inspire, Imagine
Imprint new Impressions onto your awareness
Infuse your possibilities with your Impulses
Interior landscape? You are on the Discovery Channel
Innermost depths--Invest in you and your art; dare
Interest your muse with succulent ideas
Investigate possibilities
Invite your Intuition on a date--
[Let it Introduce you to the rest of your self]
Inflame and quench yearnings
Incite surprise--let it Ignite you
Imbibe the Mystery . . . Tip back your head; drink the rain!

Seachange In the Wind

Frustrating as it can be, sometimes a techno issue is the venue of the unasked being unmasked -- and answered: user delight.

  

This past week, my email, via Smartphone became unavailable, even while remaining accessible online.

A call to my phone company's technical support resolved this techno hiccup -- followed by "Do you have any other questions?"

"Yes! How come I can access my blog [I love and live to blog] through email online, but can't access it through email on my phone?"

Easy fix! A free Google Blog app! This old sea dog learned a happy new trick, fog of frustration revealing stars on the water as I realized I now hold in my hand mobile access to the blog dimension.

Tonight after work, solo flight: speaking delight into Bluetooth, spellbound by words; Writer's wine! Mesmerized, incanting enchantings, seeding implantings -- flights of perception; inception--beginning of conception, birthing a flock of words into flight, words that are themselves pregnant with meaning. I am their mother, Mystery their father.

Sea Shivers & Desert Quivers

March 9th, I departed the  2-1/2 year boot camp of heartland Missouri, returning to the high desert, and once again, only 500 miles from the sea. A time of deep turning within, in Missouri, I learned to drink from an Inner well; graze upon Mystery. Altered  & Altar-ed, I now hoist my sails, catching the winds of these next chapters. Aquiver, snuffling, a wash of intrigue breaking over me, I swim with the UNEXPECTED early return: an unanticipated work opportunity, a restored house-share--and, one more time, a closing sense, on the heels of a successful cross-country move, that "I know nothing; am attached to nothing, trust everything--steady as she goes." 

Even for flexible sorts, not all locales can foster being in resonant residence. Until I departed the West [my sequence of Oregon/Washington, California, Arizona/New Mexico] for the Midwest [Missouri--skipping through Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas], I had never been farther east than Santa Fe--and never knew what it was to be in dissonance with the land under your feet, the air that you're breathing.

Saturated in a soup of spiritual exploration, connecting with others also plumbing their depths--my sense of connection with the earth careened into a down-hill slide: circadian rhythms went askew from night-shift work, emotions flat-lined; my body slipped into allergic malaise. Initially able to prance up three flights of stairs, I faded to half a flight. I struggled, not to inhale air, but to exhale it. In an emerald land of rolling hills and  pockets of dense deciduous forest, I was frozen in winter and sodden with stifling summer humidity. And, from that land of distress, in the pocket of my heart I carry rich new threads in my tapestry, the yet new bonds of friendships just starting to grow as I departed.


We may make peace, for a time, with a place of dissonance--deepening and quickening our intuitive sense, meeting needs of a time that changes the course of our seas; graces us with insights, perceptual powers, a connecting-of-the-dots--that we'd not have arrived had we not gone walk-about--and in which we weren't meant to stay, lest we are too long gone from our motherland, from that which sings in our bones, mirrors the patterns within; mends and restores us.

Life is call and response. Coming up the grade from Tucumcari onto the desert plateau upon approach to Albuquerque, I felt the stars "dropping" into my eyes, mouth and heart from the black velvet sky as a beckoning ivory crescent moon slipped behind the inky black ribbon of mountains on the West. 


On approach to Arizona, I was ambushed by sobs of unprocessed grief at having left. I cried out to the land, "Mother, I'm home." To the Sea, my lover, I whispered, "I am close." Searingly lonely at times in Missouri for desert stars, ocean brine, and my circle of Spirit-Friends, I feel quickened and renewed upon my arrival. And chaos ensues: it takes me awhile to find order--new order in old surroundings, to get my bearings,  to nest, to know whether I'm upside down, or right-side up.


Even as I renew my bond with the desert, the coffee-table book I've been pining, Tall Ships Today, by Nigel Rowe arrives from Amazon.com. I am always sailing a ship--the ship of my life, whether in desert or upon sea. 

Intuition: Unfurling and Skirling

From our relationship with Intuition, we experience its off-spring, synchronicity: things come together; the dots connect; it works! Intuition as premonition gives us far more than present-moment effectiveness, or keen discernment in linear time. It also gives us 'soul-time':--time to prepare, consider, reflect; tread water. It gives us time to pause in the gap--and get directions for what is coming next.


Like a wave, it can even seem to come back on itself, but keeps its integrity, even as overlapping individual waves retain cohesiveness, slip-sliding over and under each other, yet all of the ocean. When we have Intuition, we don’t have to kill, burn, or chase time--we're on time; time becomes elastic rather than rigid. Instead of "killing it," we live into it, breathe into it, vibrate with it. We flow. We ride what is arriving. We instinctively know what to do next, preparing us for the next pulse. We are in right, timely action, before conclusions. We are prompted! 


It’s free, wild and curious. We hop on for the ride as it unfurls. We are not oppressed by it--freed of our usual polarized view of having either too little time, or too much. We are loosed of the swell or dip that preceded; loosed from old definitions/interpretations, fully living in the ripe moment, no longer afraid to be different than we were, riding our arriving; surfer riding skirling, unfurling wave.

This is the way we are designed. We were never meant to assess and navigate our lives only through analysis; we were designed to have Intuition as an ever-present Companion; analysis only a tool. Mystical poet Rabindranath Tagore wrote: "The winds of grace are always blowing, but it is you who must raise your sails." We were meant to be Partners, in co-creation with Intuition. If we are not a participant, Intuition has no one whom to bring synchronicity.


It takes trust to put up our sails--not only trusting the wind, but trusting ourselves. As author Tama Kieves shared in her recent teleconference (www.tamakieves.com), the best predictor of success is how we navigate uncertainty. She points out that many seek first a job, situation, relationship, circumstance to foster peace of mind. She goes on to say, rather, we need first to find peace of mind, then generate from that the job, situation, relationship or circumstance. And, peace of mind comes via our becoming our own ally, by being in our own court, becoming dependable to ourselves, our own consistent supporter--no matter the winds and the tides. We need to become our one dependable thing; rather than fickle, hot-water/cold-water, fly-by-nights.


We only truly get to that when we give up the blame game: blaming others, because we first blamed ourselves, and are then seeking alleviation of that through pointing the finger at someone else. Rather, when we are willing to become conscious of our continual inner narrative, in all its grace and vulgarity, we truly step up to the plate of being our own best friend. When we are that, this is when we can arrive ready to what is arriving to us, with bells on!

 

SEA BECKON, Sea-ing the possibilities

Leaning ‘gainst the port railing, arms akimbo: I rise up, a beckoning teasing the edges of my hearing—my eyes scanning the Mesmer-flicker mirror of the sea, searching . . . what? Mysteries, possibilities, becoming-s . . . the urge to inform myself (to form myself within) through forming myself into something new becomes paramount, priority.

There is a saying:

God can only do for us what God can do through us.

      — author unknown

Another saying:

Let go, and allow in.

—author unknown

So--question is: Will we allow ourselves to be amazing? To step out of bounds—out of outdated, limiting, restrictive, land-locked perceptions of how, and who, we are--can be; allow fresh briny breezes to blow into our scent-ual awareness , tantalizing scents, of what we’re becoming; in spite of ourselves; our own resistances.

Author Alan Cohen, narrates in his book, A Daily Dose of Sanity, that student, George Dantzig, upon arriving late to his U.C. Berkley math class, copied down the two problems on the board, assuming they were homework. Solving them, he turned them in to the professor at his next class and, the next morning George’s professor was pounding on his door: George had solved two classically unsolvable math problems!

Alan’s point, of that day’s reading, February 17^th, was that at times ignorance of what is “impossible” allows us to step right through walls of time-honored restriction, through waves of cultural resistance, breaching a strictly adhered limitation.

The harder limitations to shake are our own self-defined restrictions: we live in our own soup, most often convinced that it’s just the way things are. A second layer of this can come from familial assumptions: unlike many, I don’t have this familial layer to undo if I become a new me;—my family of origin dissolving years ago.

I’ve been blessed to live in several states, and, one of the blessings of new territories is that they don’t have you “pegged,” they don’t have any images of what you’re like from ‘way-back-when’—so, you don’t get any “That isn’t like you,” flack. Change in familial units can often feel threatening to the individual members who have developed emotional charges and attachments to having other family members filling a certain slot, being defined a certain way. That can happen even if they’re no longer in your life, if you still roll the same “film-strips” in your mind and heart.

So how do we get our own permission to change; into something we haven’t been before. Some of it comes from the inspiration of others: we become enchanted or intrigued by someone: sometimes it can be difficult to sort out if we’re really attracted to someone because we like them, or because we want to be them!

However, we also have an organic unfolding of soul-silk, the unfurling of a satin wave. We feel that Siren call from out across the seas of our awareness. We long, yearn to go to it. Question is, will we allow it.

Allow vs. permission: hmmm. Looking at the words: allow, I initiate; permission, I seek. So, there are two stages to it. First I seek my own permission to change, or grow, and then I allow it. I let it in. I try it on for size; I become it.

My creative energy tends to be organic, wild, sometimes messy, in a nest of basic order. Like the tides, the visual mediums around me surge and recede—natural objects; images of the sea or high desert, people’s faces, structural features of ships, homes, or a fan of clothing and textile images, featuring rich organic textures and color palettes.

And then, every so often, I need to bring it all down to a clean white slate, to clear the decks. Think: unmarked sand, un-trodden snow; or painting words on water. It usually arrives me because I've been praying for it. Something in me has been wishing that something would force me to pare down; that would require me to initiate a 'thinning.' I need that fluidity, the flexibility; the freedom to go with my own flow, to swim out to what is unfolding in me, to the surprise of me—the part that I don’t know yet: I’ve shucked down to undies, slipped through the railing, over the side, stroking out to what I’m becoming—drenched in curiosity; a sea-soup of greater possibilities.

Salient Saline Ponderings

Back in 2010, in one of our Photoshop class assignments, we were furnished a gray-scale image of the sea, to "shop." As I worked with this, the mystique of living in a universe that offers us the distinct lenses of day and night presented in the imagery.


As this imagaic metaphor unfurled, I was impressed with how incredibly lush it is that we live in a world that provides daily seachanges: internally, externally; echoed in the pulsing of tides, the rhythm of our breath, illumined by the sky-lanterns: sun, moon, stars, and the mirror of the sea.

Intuitive Sees

Deep-see diving into intuitive sense, there is a rich sea of perspective on the mystique, and the effectiveness, of Intuition as a mode of being here on this planet. Traditionally, intuition is seen as an occasional visitor, gossamer, like a muse. I have an intuition that it is rather how we are wired to be here; like our breathing, we come equipped with lungs. As we are equipped for oxygen, so are we equipped for Intuition--its in our blueprint:


"It is always with excitement that I wake up in the morning wondering what my intuition will toss up to me, like gifts from the sea. I work with it, and rely on it. It is my partner."

Dr. Jonas Salk



This captures that that sense of Intuition joining us at the ship's wheel, pointing our way, as we navigate the seas of our lives, new vistas opening before us, a deep trust and dependence upon the intuitive process growing us into a sort of muscle-memory of the spirit:


"Most of us are living at the periphery of consciousness intuition invites us into the center."

Willis Harmon



We are drawn into the center of the Net--a spiritual Internet:


"Intuition is really a sudden immersion of the soul into the universal current of life, where the histories of people are connected, and we are able to know everything, because it is all written there."

Paulo Coelho

and:


"A mystical experience is simply a prolonged intuition."

Paul Brunton

Intuition is also intelligent; not just good at timing. Repeatedly, master of surprise, I've been astounded by Intuition's wry Wit!--a swashbuckling sense of humor, that has our best interests at heart: Intuition comes a court'n, uh-huh.

Sea Swoon

Reading these words, first time: First sentence raises hairs on my arms; visceral SWOON. The very word ‘swoon’ saturates me, attendant sensorial pulses mambo dipping me. Waves slide over me, catching me in palpable push-pull tides.  

Hairs up again—quivering: 5th paragraph; 3^rd sentence; begins:  

swoony as the sea . . .  

 

Follows a poem, by poet extraordinaire:  Diane Ackerman 

 

Whale Songs 

 

Speaking in storm language,

a humpback, before it blows

            lows a mournful ballad

in the salad-krill sea, murmurs

deep dirges; like a demiurge,

it booms from Erb to Santa Cruz,

bog low, its foghorn a thick liqueur.

 

Crepe black as a funeral procession,

the pod glides, mummer-deft,

through galloping brine,

each whale singing the same

runaway, rounded tune:

 

Dry finger rub, drag, drub

a taut balloon. Glottal stops. Pops.

dry fingers resume, then, ringing

skeletal chimes, they ping

and rhyme—villanelles, canticles,

even a Gregorian done on ton tongues

 

as trapped below the consciousness

of air, hungry, or wooing

or lamenting slaughter,

jazzy or appalled,

they beat against the wailing wall

of water, voices all

in the marzipany murk they swim,

invisible but for their sons.

 

And often they raise high

as angels’ eyes a refrain

swoony as the sea, question-mad,

sad, all interrogatives, as if

trying to fathom the fathomless

reach from ladle-shaped ocean,

scurrilous surf, to breach-birth

upon beach and blue algae’s cradle.

 

Sleek black troubadours

playing their own pipes, each body

a mouth organ, each shape a daguerreotype

of an oblate friar caroling,

they migrate, glad to chain rattle

and banshee moan, roaming the seas

like uneasy spirits, a song on their bones.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of Sea Scents & Soul Sense, Riding the Waves with Old Salt

 

When we breathe in the briny air—something clears—winds of clarity and renewal blowing through us; and something anchors. There is that deep sense of “just knowing,” of surety—a type of homecoming—not about sticking our heads in the sand, or hiding under the covers to effect that comfort—rather, it is that deep, clear, sharp sense of clarity: it relaxes into itself. There isn’t any doubt. But the surety doesn’t come from having nailed down every possibility, or manipulating everyone and everything into conforming to our expectations. It’s an inner surety, that even mindful of some likely soakings, that we’ll be just fine—and we know what to do next. Timidity has fled.

While we may refer to nautical charts, known facts, eye-witness reports, local lore and suspicions--joining us at the helm, is Intuition. Standing at the ship’s wheel, gazing out across the water, flanking us, sometimes in translucent outline, at other times in near flesh, age vacillating, is a sea-seasoned, tall-plank, ship’s captain, with crystalline eyes, in captain’s cap, pea coat & dungarees. There is: kindness, wisdom and challenge in those eyes---and info and insight we won’t live long enough to garner on our own, but is being freely offered. This Old Salt is the Presence of the Life Force necked down into something relatable, personal, companionable and useful.

We were never meant to ride the waves of our lives alone. This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t develop reason, not use our brains, or blow off common wisdom—and, Deeper Wisdom, at times, flies in the face of all known common sense, drawing on a deeper Truth. This old Salt will also inform us, against all appearances of clear sailing, not only to not leave shore, but “absurdly” to batten down the hatches—only to be spared the ravage of an unexpected storm. It knows all manner of things that we do not—and is willing to share.

Imagine being gathered ‘round a map table, several shipmates discussing the best routes and the weather conditions as you explore where, and whether, to go next. In the corner, rocking a chair tipped back on two legs, is The Captain, whispering adjuncts, sage wisdom and knowledge, that is not floating the conversation in the room. We were made, engineered, to have this Intuitive Partner informing all of our contemplations and activities. Regrettably, with sometimes distressing results, we have blown this off as anything needed or necessary, seeing it as intermittent flukes —sporting an “I’ve gotten along fine on my own, thank you,” attitude. While we survive a lack of direct interface with it, we don’t really thrive unless we accept this Old Salt as our Ship Mate.

We’ve all had that heady sense of being “spot-on,” against all odds; well-meaning friends hissing “don’t do it,” and—we ARE spot-on. We score; we bring down the “big one.” We hear ourselves muttering, “At any other time —I’d agree with you. But . . . something’s different this time; I’m do’n it. We don’t know ‘why’ with our minds; we know with our bone-knowing.” On the other hand, we’ve had the occasion to hear our self-same voices, saying “I was so sure . . . “—and it didn’t pan out. Most times self-deception is the culprit, personal dishonesty—or potential harm to an unknown other.  Spiritual Override buts in: “Nope—ain’t let’n you do that; it’ll mess you (them) over.”

       Old Salt gives us space and respect we rarely give each other. It waits for Permission, with Patience unimaginable, to be Invited, allowing us free rein and reign--sovereignty of will: to our frequent consternation of feeling lost, confused and alone, “flopping around on the dock like a fish out of water.” On occasion, it intervenes without invite, maybe not even noticed, changing something only minute degrees. On rarest of occasions, it’ll blow the ship out of the water! – loosing us from a tangled net in the process. This occurs usually because something deeper of the soul is crying out for help overriding the obstinacy of the ego’s fears of being found either lacking, or Heaven forbid, revealed that it doesn’t have to be a victim of circumstance! “All you had to do was ask!”

      This Wise Presence operates through many mediums, including people: When I was 19, I had made an error in judgment. Distressed at the results, I felt since I had created it; I had to fix it. More than that, I was embarrassed to reveal the issue in order to get help. Stressed out, I reported for work for my usual shift. I hadn’t been on the floor long when the phone rang: No ‘Hello,’ no ‘How are you?’ — Just my boyfriend growling into the phone “What’s wrong!” When I got off work, we faced the issue together, and the problem was resolved. That boyfriend again: riding a city bus headed to karate class, I surprised the bus driver, telling him: “Please, I need to get off here.” I’d only just gotten on a couple blocks back. Kindly the driver stopped, at a ‘non-stop’ and opened the door. I scrambled down the steps, trotted back across the intersection we had just crossed, and stood at the cross-walk, craning my neck, scanning the traffic. I saw my boyfriend’s gold Chevrolet pick-up truck in the traffic. Flagging him down, I ran to the passenger door and jumped inside the truck; looking at his grinning face: “Knew you were coming.” I married this guy—with him 29 years, until he passed in 1996.

       It can work through timing and the ‘luck’ of forgetting something: think Sleepless in Seattle, when young Jonah leaves his knapsack behind at the Empire State Building, which brings him, and his father, Sam Baldwin, back to the observation deck to retrieve it, hence connecting them, destined, with Annie. In a similar manner, now many years ago, I was protected when getting off work extra late at night: a man approached, starting to harass me, as I was locking up. A worker from the next-door shop unexpectedly returned to retrieve a camera he’d left behind earlier, the threat melting into the night as the worker guarded me to my car.

        "Why?" we ask, initially, when something spools out that appears to derail us, capsize us, only to find out later—sometimes years later, it was steering us to ultimate success—in spite of apparent disaster. There’s often that eerie sensation of it being the road “almost not taken,”—the “left we took, when we almost turned right,” the intense sensation of “Could have missed that—altogether!”  We can make a “wrong turn” and, stopping to ask for directions, we connect with our next right employment. A snatch of conversation heard from an open doorway informs us of a pirate movie our nephew would love to see. We go to the movie. Next thing we know, we’re taking a fencing class that blesses coordination, timing and agility—where we meet the partner of our dreams, a guy who captains Tall Ships, bringing hours of joy out on the water. See you out on the waves.