bringingupbuddhas

suburban adventures in bu-curious mothering

Tag: poetry

yes, thank you.

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Today is the day, the day I say yes.

I say yes to dreams.

I say yes to inspiration.

I  say yes to joy,

yes to love,

yes to hard work,

yes to perfect health.

I say yes to risk

and yes to faith,

yes to full expression

and alignment

and pennies from heaven.

Today, I say Yes, I am that.

I say yes to God’s divine love and yes to my unmistakable connection to it.

Today, I say yes to it All.

Yes, yes, yes!

From  mine to yours,

Vanessa

final steps

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Small feet padding on a hardwood floor make a very distinct sound, especially when said feet are bare. We parents begin to hear it when our children are toddling. A slapping noise. Deliberate. Not heel-toe, heel-toe. It sounds more like the palm of a hand followed by the palm of another hand. Sort of clumsy, but delicate at the same time. Heavy and light.

My son is almost six. My youngest. My last. The expiration date on this footy sound, welcoming me to rise from bed each morning, is nearing. Fast. The echo of his undressed size twelves will soon be replaced by other equally welcome noises, like late night giggles and mid-morning snores; but this morning, I’m taking the time to really sit with the rhythm of my boy’s steps. The quick patter telling me wordlessly that he’s excited to greet a new day, that he’s likely still wearing his jammies, and that great speed is required to move from room to room. The sound breathes directly into my heart space, suddenly filling me with gratitude.

I’m nearing the close of something very special with my son, and all my kids, really. No more diapers, no more nap times, no more shoe-tying. The end of an era. But some sweet delights of toddlerhood linger a little longer amongst my ten-and-under crowd… The little hands that slip automatically into mine when I stretch my fingers behind me. The dinner plates with tiny portions, spread into smiley faces or colorful rainbows. The insistence for bedtime snuggles and stories.

Knowing that these early childhood connections will soon be memories inspires me to step into my full presence of mothering. It’s mornings like this, sitting in my house, listening to the clap-tap-clap-tap of bare feet on hard wood, my mind and my body share the same space and my human experience blurs into the now. As I’m spontaneously moved to deep gratitude, my sock-less son dashes by on a very important mission in his almost-six-year-old universe.

From mine to yours,

Vanessa


Originally published at www.artofdharma.com.
To learn about Om School Meditation, serving the Boston area, visit www.vanessagobes.com.

today’s spirity download

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i’m waiting for you, whenever you’re ready.

 

you don’t need a teacher, professor, doctor, or mystic to guide you.

 

everything you need is in you, but you need to believe.

 

make this about you, not about others.

 

don’t be afraid.

 

walk tall.

 

be strong.

 

ask me for help.

 

i’m here with you.

 

i love you.

 

you are never alone.

 

surrender.

 

receive.

 

rejoice.

 

from mine to yours,

v

 

awww shucks, an inspiring award

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Big thanks to Molly at Love Well Live Well for the very inspiring award!  Please visit her page  http://lovewell-livewell.com, where her mission states:  “I love learning and sharing about holistic wellness. This site was developed as extra motivation to remember to love myself and prioritize my wellbeing, as well as a hope to be a small source of inspiration to others.”  Her blog is diverse and helpful – check it out!

These are the requests of award recipients:

1. Display the award logo on your blog.
2. Link back to the person who nominated you.
3. Nominate 7 other bloggers for this award and link to them.  (I changed this number from 15 to 7 because of the time it takes to copy/paste/post/type/YIKES!)
4. Notify those bloggers of the nomination and the award’s requirements.

1.  Dennis at Gotta Find a Home:  http://gottafindahome.wordpress.com. Dennis is chronicling the lives of homeless people.   This one is particularly touching to me because the homeless hold a special place in my heart.  More on that some other time.

2.  Andrew Mellen at his site’s blog:  http://blog.andrewmellen.com.  He’s all about simplification and less stuff.  Plus I’m in love with his mother’s day message.

3.  Maryanna Hoggatt at Little Wolf:  http://littlewolfblog.com.  It’s so inspiring to see people following their passion – especially when that passion induces grins, gasps and giggles.  If you enjoy whimsy, fantasy and downright creativity, this blog is for you.

4.  Robbie Bobby Boy at Letters to a Nichiren Buddhist:  http://www.nichirenletters.com.  Nam myoho renge kyo.  Period.  🙂

5.  Harula Ladd at Words That Serve:  http://wordsthatserve.wordpress.com.  I nominated her last time I received an award, too.  I just love everything she does.

6.  Terry Marotta at Exit Only:  http://terrymarotta.wordpress.com.   Terry and I occasionally share an editorial page in The Winchester Star.  She is funny, creative and seems to have a bottomless well of inspiration.

7.  Charlotte Porter at Momaste Blog:  http://momasteblog.wordpress.com.  All I can say is, “If you like this blog you’ll LOVE Momaste!”  😉

Thank you for the shout out!  Happy blogging!

From mine to yours,

Vanessa

a beautiful “I AM” lullaby for children at bedtime

Yesterday I posted about using “I AM” statements at bedtime to create realities for ourselves and for our children.  A friend suggested an affirming lullaby.  She is an extraordinary poet so I asked if she’d write one and she did!  AND IT’S BLISS!!!!  As Harula says, “the tune is vaguely ‘borrowed’ from the Connemara Cradle Song, or you can make up your own.  Enjoy!”  With deep appreciation for Harula’s talent…

An ‘I am’ Lullaby by Harula Ladd

I am well in my body

I am kind in my heart

I am loved, I am loving

I’m a light in the dark

But the sun needs to rest now

And for now, so do I

In a blanket of love’s warmth

With a smile, close my eyes

I am filled with compassion

I am good with my deeds

I am happy and joyful

I am calm and at ease

But the day now is ending

And for now I must sleep

Giving thanks that I’m healthy

And my goodness runs deep

I’m creative, I’m worthy

And I’m honest and true

I am perfect, I’m human

And I know you are too

And this song is a river

To the ocean of sleep

Where I rest and am peaceful

And the dreams are all sweet

 

To read more of Harula’s beautiful work, visit:  wordsthatserve.wordpress.com.

From mine ours to yours,

Vanessa and Harula  😉

This is the lovely Harula:

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hi, it’s vanessa. where are you?????

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The clock in my kitchen is my go-to for all my timely needs.  There are other clocks around the house, but for some reason I always consult the kitchen clock for accurate time.  Oddly enough, the five minute intervals read “now” instead of numbers, so time telling is a two step translation process – a process that perhaps took the edge off last night as I was watching that minute hand in orbit, converting “nows” into numbers, waiting for my husband to come home after work.

We were all hungry, dinner was hot.  Around 6:0o I called him four times in quick succession.  I thought the intensity of my effort might encourage him to pick up, mentally willing him with every ring.  No dice.

So finally at 7:00 I sat the crew down to eat.  Dinner was typical.  The girls chowed down while my son staged a sit-in across the kitchen.  We ate the last half of our meal in intentional silence, doing our best to focus on chewing and tasting.  In the silence I had a hard time focusing on anything really.  Well, anything but this:  Where the hell is my husband???

As the “nows” accumulated, one nagging, irrational thought snagged its claws on my otherwise typical thoughts.  If he got into an accident, the hospital would have called me, right?  Would I have a sixth sense if he was dead?  Would I just know?  He’s not dead, though.  But he could be.  No.  Could he be?  I’m sure he’s fine.  Maybe I’ll watch a little TV.

The phone finally rang after I put the kids to sleep.  He was fine, enjoying dinner with a friend visiting from out of town.  He had actually told me several times he had plans but I forgot, didn’t write it down, screwed up.  Oops.  All that worrying for nothing.  It’s not as if I didn’t have a gentle reminder telling me to be here and “now”.  Jeez.

The scene brought to mind of a poem I heard by Richard Blanco on NPR’s Fresh Air with Terry Gross.  I pulled this off of NPR’s transcripts, so I’m guessing how the stanzas might be broken up.  Enjoy…

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Killing Mark, by Poet Richard Blanco

His plane went down over Los Angeles last week, again.

Or was it Long Island?

Boxer shorts, hair gel, his toothbrush washed up on the shore of New Haven, but his body never recovered, I feared.

Monday he cut off his leg chain-sawing. Bleed to death slowly while I was shopping for a new lamp.

Never heard my messages on his cell phone.

Where are you? Call me.

I told him to be careful.

He never listens.

Tonight, 15 minutes late. I’m sure he’s hit a moose on Route 26.

But maybe he survived.

Someone from the hospital will call me, give me his room number. I’ll bring his pajamas and some magazines.

5:25, still no phone call.

Voice mail full.

I turn on the news, wait for the report. Flashes of moose blood, his car mangled, as I buzz around the bedroom dusting the furniture, sorting the sock drawer.

By 7:30, I’m taking mental notes for his eulogy, suddenly adoring all I’ve hated, 10 years worth of nose hairs in the sink, of lost car keys, of chewing too loud and hogging the bed sheets,

when Joy yowls.  Ears to the sound of footsteps up the drive and darts to the doorway,

I follow with a scowl: Where the hell were you? Couldn’t you call?

Translation. I die each time I kill you.

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From mine to yours,

Vanessa

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