Almost There

2008 peeks out and I can see, as clearly as the next person, the rays of its dawn on the horizon.

I've never been one for major resolutions. Yet, it's impossible not to reflect and come up with vague notions of what might be better behaviors or objectives when the calendars change. Not that I've ever needed a particular occasion to decide I want to up and change in an effort to make my life better, richer and most importantly, more fun, more peaceful and more joyous.

This year's different. I have an interest in recognizing, appreciating and honoring the upcoming calendar change. It's an undeniable urge. Up until a few days ago I was in a bit of funk about it all because, as clear as it was that things were changing, that I was changing, I couldn't seem to grasp its amorphous form.

It was bothersome to have such a drive to set new goals for 2008 while at an utter loss to identify what those goals might be. In a society that specializes in creating want, here I was not wanting. Worse than weird, I felt wrong for my mental state of wantlessness.

I don't have everything, that's for sure. I've got plenty to dream over, that oceanfront Caribbean condo for starters. But the reality is that even there, to claim it as a true want is a stretch. Do I really want to be responsible for the upkeep of a distant property, checking on it regularly, paying for maintenance while I live elsewhere? Why do all that when I can afford to rent by the day or week what I need when I have the time and interest to be there. I just can't get into owning for owning's sake, participating in the massive consumerist unconcsiousness that continues to wreak havoc on people, nations and our planet.

Not to say that I am not equally twisted up in the web of wanting, it's just that on some occasions, when the light hits an area just so, the glaring stupidity of wanting just because there's something out there I don't have becomes inescapable.

With that on my mind, setting materialistic goals has become all but impossible. At least, for now. I won't deny that it helps that I've reached material goals I didn't expect to years ahead. I'm not rich. I'm not near retirement either. I still work for a living. I still need to work to live.

As it happens though, I mostly love my job. I find it fun and don't hate going and even feel slightly overpaid for the privilege. Maybe I just need a healthier self-esteem so that I'll know that being satisfied with where I live, what I drive, where I go and what I can do just isn't good enough.

Beyond consumerism and materialism there's still plenty I could want. I can squeeze into a size 8, but it's still too snug. I've already known and loved a few soul mates. I could ask for another, but I haven't convinced myself that I'd do anything differently with the next than I've done with the former. In fact, the formers are still friends, so maybe I'm not done with them yet anyway. I haven't learned how to drop all the love just because the relationships changed.

I suffer from a clear case of contentment. I don't know what to do about it. I can only hope it doesn't become so endemic that my resolutions for 2009 end up looking about the same as those I'm setting for 2008.

Be it resolved that I will enter 2008 fully aware that I am in the thick of casting off old skin and putting on a new one.

Be it resolved that I will leave 2008 even happier, healthier and more fulfilled than I entered.

That leaves room for growth and change and maybe a healthy dose of wanting.

Room 227

I imagine myself
on the bed
in room 227,
staring out across the boundless Pacific Ocean,
the loud, clear sounds of crashing waves fifty feet below.

A roar that drowns out pelican calls and seagull shrieks.

Over 100 rooms here,
only this one has an unobstructed, soul stirring view
of pure deep-ocean blue
from the bed.

At just the right angle
I can easily imagine
my self
entirely alone
at sea.

And as I sat imagining
this favorite place, being in Pismo,
in room 227, staring out at the sea,
I suddenly imagined
being there
not alone.

And I cried.

A third party there
talking, breathing
would mean
not being one
with the sea,
not alone
with the sea.

No absolute freedom
to get lost
in my thoughts.

...“So, what’s the big deal?”

I’d try to explain
why I love the room,
why I love the view,
why I need the time
alone with the sea,
away from the world.

What if,
no matter
how hard I might try to explain,
no matter
how many words,
how intense the emotion,
I never adequately convey
what the place,
the room,
the view,
the sounds,
the smell,

the sea means to me.

If I were to invite someone
to witness this place,
share with me
that space,
they might only confirm
no one else I know
feels what I feel,
imagines what I imagine,
or experiences what I sense and believe.

I’d feel
suddenly alone
thanks to the company.

Customary Giving

It is common in some cultures to make a gift of something that has been complimented. I recall seeing most clearly with my former in-laws who brought the tradition with them from Ethiopia. I also recall reading it was prevalent among some other Native African and Native American tribes. It has always felt right to me.

Five or six months ago, I purchased a green tourmaline ring that caught my attention. It's a brilliant display of four slender, beautifully cut, flourescent lemony-lime green specimens. The first few times I wore it, I was a bit self-conscious because it's huge. To be honest, I feared I had crossed over a little early and would soon find it appropriate to wear it with leopard-designed tops, gaudy broaches and super-bright lipsticks.

The constant compliments, especially from guys, let me know it was just my usual disinterest in anything that draws attention, even positive. When I wore to the family Thanksgiving meal last week, I'd become accustomed to folks commenting on it.

My mother, evidently, was seeing it for the first time. She didn't just comment once or twice, but several times. Since I was consumed with when the turkey would be carved, the spread laid and when we'd be getting to the blessing of the food which is the preview to the eating of the food, I answered her questions about it politely and completely, but didn't recall until later how large her eyes had been as she twisted it to and fro round my finger to get a better look.

This morning she's coming over for Reiki and a crystal grid healing. We'd set it up on Thursday. Now that my uncle, an aunt, my grandmother and a cousin have shared their healing experiences with me to others, I'm starting to get requests. Pretty soon I might be ready to accept paying clients. For now, though, I'm enjoying the slow and steady confidence building occuring with healing family and friends.

My mother and I set up the healing session for today...in an hour, actually. Yesterday, as I got dressed, that ring seemed to scream out, clean me and let her have her have me a while.

I'm delighted to share that it didn't even cross my mind to hesitate. I trusted that it must be the right thing to do. It was then that the full measure of her interest last Thanksgiving came to mind. So I obeyed.

Last night, in preparation for such an early session, I was reading up on a few crystals and techniques so I'd make the best use of the session and time. I went and read up on Green Tourmaline since it had heard what I hadn't, that she belongs to my mother, at least for now. Of course, it was spot on for everything going on in her life right now. I feel so blessed that the universe uses me.

As I get ready to offer it her, I'm appreciating why some cultures created the custom in the first place of offering to others what they comment upon enthusiastically. Not just a comment, mind you, but enthusiastic "Wow, that's really, really nice." Sometimes we're just conduits. Things don't have legs. The wind can sometimes carry things to their destination, and accidents can happen where just the right thing falls at just the right time in just the right place to be found by just the right person.

Sometimes, though, we're the angels that move mysteriously to connect others with what belongs to them. Temporary custodians.