Laurie Klein, Scribe

immerse in God, emerge refreshed

Catch Your Breath Here

by 20 Chiming In

Breath.

Morning Breath
Photo by Raoul Droog, Unsplash

Nose-to-nose,
each day,
in near silence,
this is how
a teen-aged boy
greets his alpaca:

They touch foreheads . . . and breathe,
swapping morning breath,
mutually saluting the life force.

A pulmonary transaction. A gift.
The trusting loan of what each needs most.

I think of Aslan breathing on poor Mr. Tumnus, frozen into a statue by the White Witch.

And the Hebrew word Ruach: “Wind. Breath. Spirit.”

Breath itself, in the beginning . . .

Dear Animating Mercy,

Thank you for breathing life into the first human being, part stardust, part water, part mystery.

Thank you for lungs—for every fetus, those dormant organs awakened at birth.

Thank you for dreaming up Breath Practice via placentas. Via the luminous, pulsing, umbilical cord. Each of us took practice breaths late in our third trimester. And did not drown. We inhaled rich amniotic fluid, safely expanded our untried lungs.

Thank you for surfactant, the ingenious lung coating that keeps air sacs open, inflated.

Thank you for oxygen and carbon dioxide, the great ongoing exchange among people, creatures, plants.

Thank you for sighs resetting our respiratory system, relieving stress, recalibrating emotions.

Thank you for moments that take our breath away.

Thank you for ancient truths, breathed out:

The Spirit of God has made me;
the breath of the Almighty gives me life (Job 33:4).

If it were [God’s] intention to withdrew his spirit and breath,
all would perish together and return to the dust (Job 34:14,15).

But it is the spirit in [us], the breath of the Almighty,
that gives . . . understanding (Job 32:8).

 Tell me, what does holy mean now?

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Aslan and Mr. Tumnus (watch the magic here).

You might also enjoy reading: Sigh, Sigh, Sigh (& Stay Alive)

Dandelion photo, by Johannes Plenio, Unsplash

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord (Psalm 150:6).

Greek Feet, Great Art & Pivotal Questions

by 17 Chiming In

Trauma

Nested five-gallon buckets separate—mid-air—serially bashing my second toe.

Howls.
Language.
Mega blood blister.

Later, urgent Labrador claws, jigging at our front door,
meet my hapless, arthritic toe and,
accidentally, gouge open the blister.

Colors yet-to-be-named fresco my foot.
Weight bearing? Impossible.
26 foot bones, not one broken.

And now Toe #2 is 1/4 inch longer than before.

Solidarity

Nurse Tina, armed with gauze and surgical tape, groans aloud—more than once—and I love her for it.

She artfully buddy straps toes 2 and 3.

Greek Feet, buddy strapped
Greek Feet, buddy strapped (courtesy of a Seahawks fan)

My newly-bound twosome throbs.

I hobble.

I google.

Comparisons

Pop Quiz: How does my foot resemble

  • Venus de Milo?
  • da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man?
  • The Statue of Liberty?

Greek Feet Zoom

Turns out I have Greek Feet, my second toes longer than my big toes. Greek Feet are the idealized foot shape found in ancient statuary, continuing up to our present-day Lady of Liberty. (Longer big toes? You have Egyptian Feet. Read more here.)

Reflexologists, or Foot Readers, claim overlong second toes indicate leadership qualities: resourcefulness, creativity, intelligence, confidence, enthusiasm, impulsiveness, and vulnerability to stress.

Snopes fodder? You decide.

“The second toe on your right foot shows what you want in life,” Foot Reader Jane Sheehan says. “If you are getting [what you want], the toe will be touching the floor.”

Flattened Toe #2 has never hugged more carpet. Am I getting what I want?

The Kicker

My sturdy middle toe has limits.

This reminds me of relationships. We bind ourselves to a loved one who’s hurting. We try to provide balance. Stability. We compensate, try to share the weight.

When do we loose the bonds, urge the injured part (or party) to step up again and fulfill its role?

Isn’t this what we ask ourselves?

Will Toe #2 return to its original shape? Will my shoes still fit? God knows.

Beyond Buddy Strapping

Meanwhile, I’m reading up on Venus de Milo:

Artistic feet.
Misplaced arms.
She is what she is. And known for it.

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How do we play a supporting role—without playing God?

Reflexologist Jane Sheehan will give a reading if you send her a photo of your feet. Visit www.footreading.com

Scales: Deliberate Tippage

by 24 Chiming In

Scales

Symbol of justice.
Tool for measurements. Proportions. Ratios. Ratings.
Do re mi fa sol la ti do: syllables assigned to musical steps in an octave.
Verb for ascent.
Colorful chitin covering moth and butterfly wings.
Bony overlapping plates on crocs and dragons. Clown fish.

Scales of Wonder
Nemo at the Fair

I see the clown fish bubble toy at the Fair. What a hoot! I breathe deeper, forget the crowds and heat.

Later, I read the news and feel . . . overwhelmed. On a scale of 1 – 10, I’m at -3.

I read a poem titled “Work,” by Catherine Pierce.

… I remind myself
for every person razing there’s another engineering
a ladder of light.

The scales tilt.

Hope stirs my thoughts, my pen. I fumble an incomplete litany onto the page. Perhaps you’ll assist me?

I think of murderous Saul, in Damascus: blind, fearful, huddled in darkness. Enter Ananias, carrying out his work as messenger. He lays his hands over Saul’s eyes.

“Immediately, something like scales fell from Saul’s eyes, and he could see again.”

What can you add to augment our hope?

For every ________________, there’s a ____________________.

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You might also enjoy “Catch and Release”

Yes & No Answers

by 12 Chiming In

Yes. Those 3 letters brim with promise.
Yes can encompass zest
or solemnity,
courtesy, courage or compromise.

Yes can mean guilt,
resignation,
or quiet acceptance—
depending on when and how and why I say it.

Yes may mean “I’m afraid to say No.”

Yes & No

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“To allow oneself to be carried away
by a multitude of conflicting concerns,
to surrender to too many demands,
to commit oneself to too many projects,
to want to help everyone in everything,
is to succumb to the violence of our times.”

So said Thomas Merton.

Then I read this:

“One faces the devil’s bargains frequently when planning the structure of one’s day. How much can one crowd into the day?” asks Robert Johnson.

Violence and devil’s bargains—isn’t this hyperbole? Spiritual hype?

Johnson’s meddlesome “how much” question chafes.

How casually I attribute my productive pace to:

  • Personality
  • Birth order
  • Childhood’s family work ethic

All gifts, I would add … that can be abused. When ticking boxes off lists I feel heroic, almost prolific.

Currently, I’m packing for travel. Bustling ensues. I toggle between fast-forward and pause.

There must be fresh ways to sanely pursue the essential—lest I mortgage my reserves into the next decade.

“Listen deeply to your body’s longings for movement and stillness, saying yes to them in whatever way is appropriate for you,” writes Christine Valters-Paintner.

Discernment sometimes begins in the body.

Yes is worth the wait

 

If amid hubbub I can wait with expectation, discerning my “Yes” may also entail speaking a holy “No.” Perhaps out loud. Perhaps, repeatedly.

The words yes and no even trigger arguments among grammarians trying to classify them into conventional parts of speech. Small and slippery, they can be nouns, adverbs, interjections, even minor sentences.

No wonder I’m conflicted.

While I’m away (sans laptop), I hope those of us pondering this will more easily discern when and how and why we say, “Yes.” And “No.”

Meanwhile, you might enjoy my offering in Jenneth Glaser’s winsome Poetry as Therapy celebration. Daily, for the month of June only, Jenneth features stunning photography, music, meditations, affirmations, poems, and prayers. Click the link below to catch up on earlier posts.

https://mailchi.mp/8d4d29876d22/welcome-to-day-15-of-the-poetry-as-therapy-online-retreat-2018?e=408e5c4767

You might also enjoy my e e cummings photo mediation: Natural … infinite …

And this article, by Natasha L. Robinson (especially the list at the bottom)

I’d love to get your take on saying Yes and No. I’ll respond as soon as I can, depending on computer availability.

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Photos: detail of collage, by Laurie Klein, and our scummily artful birdbath, beneath the eave.

Trapped

by 28 Chiming In

Trapped.

trapped in motion

A hummingbird flails against the open glass slider—inside the house.

Dare I usher this manic three-inch wonder outside?

Inching closer, newspaper in hand, I cradle and lift until—with a cranky chirk—it swivels midair, then rockets away.

In this moment there is life and food
for future years. —Wm. Wordsworth

+++

I just reread this old journal entry because now, 19 years later, several Beija flors, or flower kissers, have converged on our new feeder. Iridescence shimmers, flushing copper to gold, then green.

The green arrests me.

Last night I read exceptionally good news about a fellow writer’s success. In a hummingbird heartbeat, I felt threatened. Territorial. Envious.

And here I am. Jealousy I don’t want to feel and fail to swallow constricts my throat. My soul.

O the tempers and vanities that beset me.

Ego vibrates, carping after the inaccessible, like a beak against glass.

Jealousy escalates. If I’m honest, I want to win. I want to impress.

Like hummingbirds at the feeder, my thoughts bicker and bully, sideswipe and joust for position.

My ego plunges an all-or-nothing beak into any bright opening, no matter how small.

Sometimes I struggle to discern truth in the world.

This feels like truth:

Make a careful exploration of who you are
and the work you have been given,
and then sink yourself into that.

Don’t be impressed with yourself.
Don’t compare yourself with others.

…take responsibility for doing
the creative best you can with your own life.*

When feeling trapped by comparisons, these are words where my soul can hover.

God gently slips his newspaper beneath my beating thoughts, lifting me safely, cleanly, up and away.

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How do you disarm envy?

*Galations 6, The Message