In the Ears of the Hearer, In the Eyes of the Beholder; Five Paradoxes of Self Development; One Intention

Why do I see an elephant in the desert?

Work has been a little slow, although I have a lot of rusty German to brush up with a new translation project just revving into gear. Meanwhile, I've been swimming in an ocean of teleseminars/webinars/summits/start-the-year guidance. I've finished my critical paper for my MFA, and am revising the thesis and contemplating what it will mean to have that qualification. It's always been about the process, not the product; but part of being and becoming a writer is, of course, producing a body of work.
Which is why I'm writing a second blog post this week--I've been intending to go back up to two or three posts per week instead of one for some time now, and it's time to put my fingers where my intentions are.
According to one of the wise teachers I listened to this past week, an African proverb says

While you are praying, move your feet.

Set the intention, open your heart, believe in yourself, give your subconscious the experience that your desired outcome is already in existence, pray, ask the angels for help, pay attention to your dreams...

and act.

It's my belief that we see and hear what we believe in, and also that we see and hear exactly what we need to see and hear in order to shift our beliefs. (Otherwise, why would we see elephants in the desert?) If that's a paradox, here are four more from the wisdom I've been absorbing:

1.  Say "yes" to what the universe offers you   OR   You must know when to say "no" to what's offered
2. Talk about your intentions and recruit other people to broadcast them to the universe   OR   Don't talk about the intentions; don't give naysayers the chance to pull you back
3. Set many intentions for the year  OR  Set one or two intentions every month   OR  Set one or two intentions on your birthday   OR  Don't set intentions at all
4. Only you know what is true for you; tune in and listen to your inner voice   OR   If your best thinking isn't getting you where you wish, get some good help/hire a coach

I'm in transition right now. Coming to the end of my time in Alaska, but not yet knowing where to next, or when. Nearly finished with my MFA, with no six-figure book contract or tenure-track position in sight nor solicited. 

I'm also the smallest I've been in close to ten years, less than when I went away in 2012. I feel better than I did then, though, so I'm still musing over whether it's truly an issue in my current transition.

One intention I do want to put out there, though, is that I intend to produce more than I consume.

It isn't my plan to accomplish that merely through minimal food consumption! 

My intention is--more beauty, more joy, more sharing, more dreams, more giving, more receiving, more learning but more teaching too, more excellence, more love, more blog posts--MORE!

So there's a bonus paradox for you.

Watch out for another post soon in which I'll share some commonalities in all the different wisdom I've been absorbing. Oh, and check out the Future of Nutrition Conference, starting Monday January 27, in which I expect a plethora of paradoxes, since nutrition thinkers from all sides of the spectrum are going to be giving of their best--55 of them!

Love and Light in ears and eyes.

Stepping Into 2014: What Can I Offer You?

Well, hello! Happy New Year! 
At a time when I'm conscious of being in transition, and also in a state of fragility and parlousness, my thoughts are all over the traditional questions--What should my intentions be? --What is truly my passion? --If I can ask the right questions, won't all the intentions finally stick? and finally, When push comes to shove, what do I really have to offer? --because of course I want to give.

I'm half a lifetime away from the sparky straight-A student who could generally assume her resume would fit her for any opportunity she might be interested in. And having maintained such diversified interests (read: not having settled down to any one thing) I find it too easy nowadays to assume that I can't do whatever occurs to my interest--because I lack relevant experience or skills, or because there's a flip side to whatever it is that I wouldn't want to deal with, or because I assume no one would give me a reference.

But one afternoon this week, a series of events and reflections showed me what I needed to know as a theme for this year.
Back in England, I bought a beautiful little inlayed box, miniature mosaic, the beautiful geometrics of Islamic art--from a thrift shop, for the equivalent of about three and a half dollars. I wanted it as a box for writerly inspiration, and just for its beauty. My mom's friend, who owns several such boxes, told me to be sure and varnish it; otherwise, the tiny mosaic tiles would start to fall out. 

So, I came back to AK, I settled in, it sat there. Phil loaned me two cans of varnish, one of them better than the other but he didn't know which, together with a few brushes. The box sat with my semi-unpacked luggage; the cans of varnish and the brushes sat in the back of my station wagon.

After a few days of this, on a day just above freezing with no snow in the air, I took the box, the brushes, and the cans of varnish, and slip-slid up the road to where a bench overlooks the bluff and the bay.

I could only get one of the cans open. 

Well, guess what? The can I could get open was better than the one I couldn't open.

 

I varnished the bottom of the box to make sure it wasn't some weird color, then started on the top. As I worked, I realized it wasn't shiny clean--that I was varnishing over some grime. How beautiful it might have been if I'd buffed it up pristine!

But I was varnishing it at all, rather than procrastinating the job--good enough.

It's not perfect. But now I have a beautiful box, whose tiles will not fall out, in which to store writing prompts, or pens, or love letters from the beyond, or whatever! And I returned the varnish and brushes to Phil right away, rather than driving them around for weeks without having used them.
Most of all, I had the lived experience that taking care of something then and there can be more perfect--and more empowering--than waiting to do that thing perfectly, and the exhilaration of seeing something through without inertia. 

And so, since then my email inbox has been emptied immediately rather than allowed to brim. Books and magazines are being read and returned/recycled steadily. 
And so, here's this post, still with my two blog urls, even though I don't yet have my website set up as I want it to be after an embarrassingly long time like that. Here's this story, even though the box is still drying and not yet brimming with great writing prompts or love letters from my favorite literary magazines.

As I embrace imperfection, I also feel a deeper assurance that I do have much to offer. Why would I write a blog at all if I didn't have anything to give? I certainly don't intend it as a narcissistic navel-gazing exercise. So, please keep me honest! Don't let me go there. 
Since my interests are various, "what I have to give" might be multifarious also. Which is against all marketing advice--I don't have a "brand" or any such thing. But for now, please let me give to you, and please let me know what I can give you.

Acceptance of imperfection, asking of myself what I have to give and where my true passion lies--realizing that these two things are one and the same--and creating an environment in motion where material does not accumulate or get stuck--these are the watchwords I bring to the new year. Hopefully this will also mean a more united and logical website situation. I'm looking for help. I'm looking to help.

Looking up, Belated Epiphanies

Happy New Year!
What a late start to the blogging year. Past the First, almost to Epiphany!
I'm about ready for an epiphany myself--are you too?--after the world failed to end with the Mayan sunset and we all have to find something productive to do.

In excuse for this tardy New Year's post, let me say this last short while has been an onslaught of missed or belated epiphanies. Are things looking up?
I look up from my preoccupation with holiday goodie-making, and the weather is terrible and we must be on the road now to get to Anchorage to pick up Phil's granddaughter.
I look up from trying to get work done amid holiday stuff, and realize I haven't been managing my self-care, and whoops--my moods and physiology are all over the place.
I look away from angsting at the scale going up for no reason at all, check in with this feeling in my middle that I've been ignoring, and lo, I have a bladder infection I've been ignoring, inflammation, water retention, and it actually really hurts.
I look up from talking with my mom on the phone, and there are four moose in our yard--the most I've ever seen--on the wrong side of the fence, eating on all the trees and shrubs we've been trying to keep them out of. Since I only got my iPhone yesterday, I could barely figure out how to take photos of them while failing to chase them out. (Banging some pans together finally sort of worked, the photos didn't.)

The once happiest man I ever met backs away, saying he's spent. Did I spend him? Or did I waste him?

I've put in time at various institutions where the items you're allowed to keep are about like what you're allowed in the cabin of an aircraft.
I spent most of the holidays in a place where even shoes with laces and journals with ties were out; even toothbrushes and toothpaste were verboten: see the disposable toothbrush below with a blob of gel you squeeze up. My own hairbrush had a hollow handle and was out; my own socks were mid-calf, and only ankle-length were allowed. There was no monitoring of lavatories, but all other doors were locked.

How much more to tell of that story is a dilemma with which I'm wrestling, the writer in me desperate to explore (not "exploit") the experience artistically; the person in me just. so. very. ashamed and embarrassed.
If nothing else, this was obviously a great opportunity to reflect, and to set some intentions, and I may share some of those when I'm more together. What are you guys intending for this year?

Is it light at the bottom of the well or water at the end of the tunnel?
And yet, there is love. Always, love.

"50 First Weeks:" Gratitude, Daylight, and a Whole New Year

Another Monday, and as I predicted, it's definitely a day to retarget some good intentions. Like getting out for a hike (which we did again) and giving of myself to my husband rather than being buried in work all the time--and, best of all, writing and reading poetry! I did! I feel a lot more like myself already.

We're getting some incredible sunsets--this is right outside our cabin at bluff's edge. It's a frightful pic of me (was super-windy--check out those whitecaps--and I had no hat on), but I'm including it because of the incredible lightplay.

 Aside from the fact that I was going off track so much with too much work and too little writing (and too little anything else) last week, tomorrow is my birthday. I'm sure I've mentioned here before that in some ways, I think a person's birthday is more important than New Year's day as an opportunity to evaluate, set intentions, and generally take stock. I'll be doing more of that tomorrow, but on my "50 first weeks" Monday, I'm feeling such a sense of gratitude and validation. Writer friends have contacted me with good wishes, poems, and spot-on writerly advice. Another friend nudged me for the recipe for something I made in a crazed between-grading dash that really is worth sharing--here too. And I feel flattered that Phil wants my company, too.

Since Phil was out for breakfast with a friend this morning, instead of fixing breakfast I did some pre-prep for "tomorrow" goodies. This little hand-crank wheatgrass juicer is all the juicer I have, which might explain why this is the first time I've used it in over two years.

Now, I eat a lot a lot of carrots, but the amount of carrots it took to produce that scant cup of carrot juice is about as many as I eat in three or four days--and they're a significant part of my intake. Scary. Also, not the most efficient juicer.

Last time I pulled the juicer out, two years ago, was for the carrot pulp, to make these:

I loved them so much, I thought I should never make them again. This time, I cut them really small! This time, I also need the juice for another creation I'm planning. More on both in my next post! Some nostalgia for Hawaii, too--I got the juicer from a dear friend in HI whom I miss, and I used it regularly to make coconut cream. Of course, I always made goodies (including carrot cake sometimes!) with the pulp from the coconut cream making. At that stage of my life, there was always coconut cream and ginger juice in the fridge, courtesy of that little juicer.

A few minutes after the picture at the top of the post... Thanks, everyone!