Whale Watching: Is There a Metaphor Here?

Posted by Ruth Davis on Feb 5, 2014 in awareness | Comments Off on Whale Watching: Is There a Metaphor Here?

photo courtesy of subseatours.com

The last time Marika and I went whale watching, we both got seasick. But it was more than twenty years ago. And we both wanted to try. And this time we would take some pharmacist-recommended bonine pills before we went out.

She took two pills with her tortillas and cheese breakfast. I decided I didn’t want to feel spacey, so I put my no-more-nausea- seasickness bands on the pressure-points on my wrists and we headed out.

It was a clear, crisp, blue-sky morning. I bundled up in layers: an under-camisole, brown turtleneck shirt, mid-weight fern green sweatshirt. My top layer, my over-sized blue Morro Bay hoodie that I bought in 1995 was on the seat next to me. I had my knitted hat on and I regretted not bringing gloves.

The boat was a catamaran, like an oversized pontoon, but with two tubular hulls to float the boat instead of one. And it had a motor. The sides of the boat were about four feet high and the deck was open to the sky with five rows of white, wooden benches to sit on. I took the end seat on the left in the second row. Marika sat next to me, on my right.

The water in the bay was smooth and easy as we made our way past the raft of harbor seals toward the harbor. Captain Kevin stopped the boat and the Naturalist, my friend Ruvi from the bird festival, pointed out where to look for the peregrine falcon.

“Three quarters of the way up the rock, do you see the waterfall of guana? Look to the right of that, in the shadow of a rock that looks like a fist.” I borrowed Marika’s binoculars and found him, tall and still, perched in the small crevice.

But looking through the binoculars as the boat rocked was making me immediately uneasy, so I handed them back to Marika and refocused my attention on connecting my body with the rhythm of the water.

Morro Bay Harbor is one of the more dangerous harbors on the Pacific coast. The entrance is narrow, bounded on both sides by high, dark rocks, and big swells can create dangerous conditions in the bowl of the bay.

Last week we joined the other tourists and locals who came to the harbor to watch nine and ten foot waves break over the jetty. Hard-core surfers took their boards out into the swirling surf and people perched themselves on the most inland of the rocks to watch the show.

In fact, the surf was so high that they cancelled the whale watching tour we were supposed to go on last weekend and rescheduled it for today.

I’d been watching the water the past few days on my morning beach walks. The ocean was still more active than usual, but the waves were smaller and slower and there was much less wave action on the horizon.

From my seat on the boat, the waves looked calm and easy. Ruvi came up to me and pointed far out, past Morro Rock. “There are some whitecaps out there, so it may get a little choppy. “Uh oh,” I said. “Why?” he asked. “Do you get seasick?” Marika and I both nodded. “But I’ve got my meds on board, so I’ll be fine,” she said. I turned to her. “OK, can I have one too?” I took two, chewed them as directed, and had a sip of water.

The boat followed a curving route away from the marina, around the corner of the sand spit, between the red and green buoys toward the open ocean. Just past the jetty, the waves became a roller coaster of five foot swells, raising the front of the boat up, then dropping it. I WOOHOOed loudly with the kids in the front row, thinking that being one with the movement would ward off getting seasick.

I screamed and smiled, feeling the water rise and lift us, then fall out from under us. My torso rolled forward, my hips settled back with each swell. The cold wind felt good on my face as we rode the waves toward the horizon.

The boat turned right, cutting across the water, parallel to the coast. The engine at the back of the boat roared over the water sounds as we headed north. The wind kicked up and I pulled my hoodie on with the hood.

“The gray whales are migrating south, from Alaska to Baja in Mexico and pass through the open waters just beyond Morro Bay.” Ruvi stood on the storage box labeled “Adult M Life jackets” and pointed out over the water.

“Watch for spouts,” he said. “ It’ll be like a spray from a garden hose in the air.” We all scanned the endless waters on all sides of the boat. The water was getting choppy and there were small whitecaps where we were headed.

The swells were only a foot or two high, mostly slow, gentle rolls. But they were constant, and coming from all sides now. I took off my hoodie. Even though the wind was blowing cold, I was suddenly feeling warm and flushed.

Ruvi squatted next to me and asked if I was OK. “There’s less movement further back,” he said, pointing to the row of seats behind me. He was right, I felt less of the swaying. But it was too late. I hurried to the back corner of the boat, hung my head over and puked.

He brought me a bottle of water and encouraged me to splash some on my face. It did help. For a while. Until I had to puke again.

I sat back down next to the droning engine. I turned my head into the breeze. I tucked my face down so I couldn’t see everything moving. I tried chanting but couldn’t get past the first line. I looked up to catch glimpses of what everyone was seeing. But mostly I just sat in that back corner and waited for it to be over.

But, we did see gray whales! Three of them traveling together. And there were displays of mating behavior and fluking and we were close enough to see the barnacles on their skin.

It was an unsteady walk back to the car and I was shivering. Marika gave me dry socks when we got home, turned the heat on and I got in bed and slept for three hours.

I was hungry for pretzels when I woke up. Marika and I talked a little about my whole ordeal. “I knew the minute I saw you take your hoodie off that you were in trouble,” she said.

“Thanks for coming back to check on me.” She had spent the last hour of the trip at the back of the boat with me, but still watching all of the whale activity that was happening in the water.

I asked her to tell me what she saw, what it felt like to scan the waters, watching and waiting.

“There were three whales and they were moving so erratically in the water, not swimming in a straight line, so the boat kept moving to find them.” I remembered hearing Ruvi shout out the different positions on the face of a clock. “First they were in front of the boat, then off the right side at 4 o’clock, then they spouted again behind the boat.”

“Males or females?” I asked. “One female and two males. The second male holds the female in position for mating.”

“What did Ruvi say about them swimming with their fin on it’s side?” “That was the mating behavior.”

“WOW!” I’m glad everyone got to see it!” And I was. I didn’t regret the day at all. “Now I know that I don’t do boats,” I said. “And now I know that I can,” Marika said.

I tucked into bed early that night with a hot cup of ginger tea and a check in on Facebook. I had no pictures of whales to share but it was still a very good day.

Showing Up On the Page

Posted by Ruth Davis on Jan 29, 2014 in writing | Comments Off on Showing Up On the Page

I am writing.

Not just blog posts and my Mac tips, but real writing with sturdy nouns and persuasive adjectives, full delicious sentences that appear on the page as if by magic.

Writing that isn’t about making a point or sharing information or already knowing what I want to say.

I’m writing from a deeper, more creative place. And yes, I have a book in the back of my mind, but I’m not writing for it to be a book or published article in a magazine. I’m just writing.

I’ve been making excuses for months, years, really, about why I don’t have the time or the energy for this kind of writing.

But really, WHEN I AM WRITING LIKE THIS I GET ENERGIZED!

Writing is one of my very favorite things to do. I get lost in it. Time has no meaning when I am following a sentence on the page, finding the absolutely perfect way to describe the bending shadows of a tree or how it feels the day after you meet a favorite author.

Some days the sentences come right away and I write several pages. Sometimes it is a slow kindergarten start, and I just rhyme words to oil the machine.

That’s what Maya Angelou does.

She says, “I write until the muse is convinced that I’m serious and says, Okay. Okay. I’ll come.”

You see, you have to be willing to show up and be serious. You have to be willing to not know where the story is going. You have to give yourself up to your muse, your guide, your creative spirit. With no expectations of the outcome.

Not knowing. Not needing. Just giving voice to that which needs to speak.

And the words are coming because I’m showing up at a regular time every day, my fingers on the keyboard, open, ready, wanting.

Hanging out with other people who understand this process is great inspiration. Being in the presence of other passionate people is uplifting. Motivating. It truly raises your vibration and calls the words to the page.

I used to think that I had to stop reading when I was writing so that I wouldn’t be distracted, so that my energy wouldn’t get diffused. But really, reading other people’s writing fuels my own love of language. It reminds me even more why I write. And so, for the very first time ever, I am part of a reading group. And it’s true, reading and talking about other people’s writing sparks my own craft.

So what are you ready to show up for?

What do you absolutely love to do?

What is the thing that takes you out of time and space, that energizes you, that you wish you could do for hours without interruption?

What is the thing that sparks your heart and gives you life?

And how are you going to begin?

I’d love to hear your comments. Please share them with me and my readers by clicking on the Comments below.

Sitting In Stillness Opens a Heart

Posted by Ruth Davis on Jan 15, 2014 in awareness, breath, meditation, overwhelm, present moment, relieving stress, self-care | 5 comments

“Beautifully Balanced” by Deborah South-McEvoy

Life is funny sometimes.

We tend to avoid what we need and want the most.

And then circumstances happen and we are suddenly faced with exactly what we weren’t able to give to ourselves.

Leaning into it, accepting it, can be a challenge.

But when we are able to be grateful for the experience, magic can happen.

Several weeks ago I tweaked my back (again) and spent five days resting, moving slowly, doing virtually nothing.

I couldn’t walk the dogs or do the laundry or run errands. I couldn’t sit at my computer for very long. I couldn’t do any of the things that I usually do to distract me from my heart work.

But it was such a gift, really, to have my body step in for me and give me what I most needed–time to let go and do nothing.

Because it is in this quiet space of stillness that we can choose to release the struggle and begin to ask, what do we really want.

The weeks leading up to my tweaked back had been very stressful, emotional, and challenging and I was feeling especially agitated, restless, uncertain. I had big choices to make and I had no clarity about anything.

I knew that what I most needed was to let go of all of the struggle and just step away from myself and create some space.

But I was too caught up in it all to do that.

And then I tweaked my back and had all the space in the world.

Now, when I’m not overly stressed, I do have a habit of creating quiet time in my life on a regular basis. And so, when faced with this sudden stillness, I was able to relax into it, grateful, even, for the opportunity, even though it was physically painful.

And in the stillness of not working, not housekeeping, not care taking, I could feel myself letting go of the struggle.

I was taking deeper breaths. I journaled. And I got very clear that I wanted to manifest more opportunities for community creativity in 2011.

Not surprisingly, as soon as I named and claimed this, emails appeared in my Inbox with opportunities to do just that. (Really!)

And I was standing straight again, walking my regular pace. I felt a lightness in my body and so much excitement in my heart for these new possibilities.

Struggle is hard. Stillness can be uncomfortable. But, for me, leaning into that quiet space is the only way to let go and discover what my heart really wants.

So how can you create some quiet stillness in your life?

Here are just a few suggestions. I’d love to hear your ideas.

· practice yoga
· take a long walk in nature
· listen to music without words
· color, doodle, draw without expectation
· take a nap in the middle of the day
· massage your dog or cat
· play an instrument
· lie in the grass and watch the clouds
• go on a weekend retreat

New Year’s Un-Resolutions

Posted by Ruth Davis on Jan 1, 2014 in abundance, awareness, creativity, dreaming, personal growth, possibility | 4 comments

Do you begin the year with a list of New Year’s Resolutions? Things you swear you are going to do or not do that will make this year different than all the rest?

And then, just a few weeks into the year, you realize you’ve abandoned your list, slacked off on all of the things you swore would be different this time?

And you feel pretty down on yourself?

Face it, resolutions are a great concept, but they’re usually goal oriented and don’t address HOW to achieve what we want.

Here are some simple suggestions to help you focus more on the HOW of the changes you want to make in your life.

1. Take some time to discover what you really want
2. Be brave and say it out loud
3.Join an online coaching circle
4. Be open to opportunities that may not look like your original vision
5. Do more of what you love
6. Hang out with people you admire
7. Find more balance between your body, mind and spirituality
8. Say NO more often to the things that don’t make your heart sing
9. Say YES more often to what tickles your fancy
10. Imagine yourself already being, doing, having what you desire

Another tactic is to rephrase your resolution.

Instead of lose 20 lbs, how about, make healthier snack choices. This gives you a concrete action step that you can take, a HOW TO for losing weight. It gives you something tangible and real that you can choose to do that supports the results you want.

Every day is a new opportunity to say YES to what we want, what we really want. Every day offers us a chance to choose HOW we can make that possible.

So what do you want to to make happen in your life?
What do you want to manifest in 2026?

I’d love to hear what you’d like to manifest in your life this year. Send me an email and you’ll be doing step #2!

Postcards from Paradise

Posted by Ruth Davis on Dec 18, 2013 in abundance, awareness, gratitude | 2 comments

I am back in California and I am so grateful for this freedom that I have created for myself to be able to move between places and appreciate the joys of each of them.

The Story of Our Stories

Posted by Ruth Davis on Dec 11, 2013 in gratitude, positive thinking | 10 comments

We love stories. We enjoy the telling of a person’s life, the happenings in a dream, great descriptions of people and places.  But often, we begin to believe that the stories we know and tell ourselves are the only truths.

We convince ourselves that, because, in the past, when we did this, the result was that, therefore, it will always be that way.

That because the last time you went to a party where you didn’t know anyone, you were ignored and uncomfortable, so anytime you go somewhere where you don’t know anyone, the same thing will happen.

Or that because every time you’ve submitted a piece of writing, it was rejected, you’ll never submit anything again for fear of another rejection.

We all have these repeating stories. And, because they are based in truth, we believe them. We hold them up and say, see, I’m not making this up. When I do that, this happens.

But, if we are truly writing our own life stories, then isn’t it possible to write a new ending, even a brand new story?

I have worn eyeglasses since I was four years old and I have a lot of stories about how getting new glasses is hard, traumatic and always difficult.

There’s the story about the octagonal tortoise shells in fifth grade that had such an improved prescription that I was nauseous for days.

Or the wire framed aviators in high school that were too snug behind my ears, so I bent them and re-bent them until the metal temple broke, but I still wore them, even though they created an open sore on the side of my head.

Or, more recently, the very expensive, digitally-made lenses that I had to tilt my head to the left to find the sweet spot and I had them re-made and they still weren’t right but they wouldn’t give me a full refund.

In fact, in the last three years, I have paid for two different pairs of glasses that have ended up in the bottom of my drawer. So, even though I strain to read 12 point type, and my lenses are scratched and foggy, I’d rather wear a pair that has a five year old prescription than go through the whole New Glasses thing.

And, while, on some level I knew that this was a story that I didn’t have to keep repeating, it wasn’t  until a friend said, “But it’s just a STORY!!”

Until she pointed it out, I knew it but I didn’t KNOW it. Or realize that I could write a NEW one…

So while I was in Phoenix, Marika made an appointment to get her eyes examined for a new prescription, so I made one too. And the exam was easy. And we went shopping together for frames.

We looked in several stores and we both found some we liked at an independent optician in the neighborhood, an older man who really knows about glasses and fitting. I took a deep breathe and ordered the frames and he said they’d be ready in a week.

But they weren’t. And then it was Thanksgiving and the store was closed for the holiday weekend and I had to extend my stay in Arizona another week to wait for them.

I could feel my anxiety building and I noticed that I was beginning to sabotage the situation with my thoughts. “They’re not going to be here in time.” “I’m not going to like them.” “This is going to be like all the other times.”

I worked myself into quite a tizzy – should I cancel the order and just stick with what I have. After all, there was probably going to be something wrong with them.

And this is where the story changed.

Because I heard myself telling the old story.

And I realized that I really WANTED these new glasses. I wanted to see better.

So I told myself that it might take some time to get used to the new prescription, but that it would be worth it if I could see clearer.

I took out a big piece of paper and wrote:

I will adjust to these wonderful glasses with patience and willingness, grace and ease.
I will be so appreciative of the better vision.
They’re going to feel good and fit right.
I’m going to love seeing myself in the mirror wearing them.
Folks will notice and like them.
And my neck and shoulder pain will be gone.

I read and re-read these words all weekend, envisioning myself trying the new glasses on in the store and being happy.

The day I picked them up, I closed my eyes before I put the new glasses on and repeated that first line of my mantra, to remind myself to be patient and willing to get used to them.

With a few tweaks behind the ear and on the nose pieces, they were wonderful. I could read the smallest print on the bifocal card and the details on the sign across the street. And I didn’t have a fish-bowl effect when I glanced sideways.

The fact that he took $50.00 off the bill for the delays didn’t hurt either.

It was amazing. Marika and I went to the grocery store and I was reading EVERYTHING out loud, from the big signs at the far end of the aisles to the fine print on the cereal box. No squinting, no straining, no tilting my head every which way to find the sweet spot.

I couldn’t believe how easy it was!

The first time I saw myself in the bathroom mirror, I did a double-take. With a big grin. Yes, they’re big and bold and fashion forward, but not eccentric. And I love having so much lens depth to see near, far and everything in between.

The next morning, Marika and I were sitting outside having our coffee and she said, “I still can’t believe how easily you’ve adjusted to your glasses.” “I know,” I said. “It really is all about the story we tell ourselves.”

But there was a red tenderness on the left side of my nose and the back of the right earpiece was pressing too hard on the top of my ear.

The optician was closed for the weekend so I postponed my departure, scheduled two clients and went back to see him on Monday. I was surprised that he called me by my name. I sat down and explained what hurt and he made some adjustments. The nose piece immediately felt better and the pressure on my ear was gone.

But after I got home I felt a new pressure along the side of my temple. And I started crying. Bawling. Because it was no longer easy. Because I hated this part about too tight, too loose.

Marika encouraged me to go back for another adjustment. She reminded me that they’re just adjustments. That I already know that I can see with them, now it’s about getting more comfortable. I cried some more, then asked her to go back with me. She even drove.

Sherwin, the optician, was just as happy to see me as the first time. He adjusted the right earpiece so it was no longer pressing, tweaked the nose piece to recenter the frame and we left.

Marika asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to walk around and try this for a while?”

“No, it’s good. Let’s just go home.” But as we walked to the car, I wasn’t sure. “Can we just sit in the car for a minute?” We did, and after some more crying, I went back.

Sherwin and I did several rounds of too-tight-too-loose, and when I started to get frustrated, he said, ”Just relax. Take your time.” And in between each adjustment, he shared a story about his son, or the house he is building or he asked me a question about my Mac training.

And then I couldn’t tell anymore, so we stopped. I thanked Sherwin and joined Marika who was waiting in the car. By the evening I realized that, with all of the tweaking, the glasses were slightly crooked and the prescription was no longer in the right place.

But instead of freaking out and crying, I reminded myself that they were perfect before and they could be perfect again. That it wasn’t a problem with the lenses, I just needed to get things adjusted again. And hey, maybe now that I had sharper distance vision, I’d start seeing what I want for my future.

So I chose to delay my departure one more day, and I saw Sherwin again in the morning. He tweaked, he bent, he told me he’s adjusted more than 10,000 glasses since he’s been in business, and that sometimes, you have to go through Texas to get to Florida.

Now they’re pretty close to perfect. And I love seeing so much better. When my eyes are tired from the day, I remember that this is a transition, a process. That I just need to keep breathing and moving through.

And I’m still saying my affirmations, but this time, they’re in the present tense.

I am adjusting to these wonderful glasses with patience and willingness, grace and ease.
I am so appreciative of the better vision.
They feel good and fit right.
I love seeing myself in the mirror wearing them.
Folks notice and like them.
My neck and shoulder pain is gone.

What stories do you keep repeating, reliving? What if you re-wrote it? Please share your comments here.

Blessing the Openings: Clearing the Clutter Part 2

Posted by Ruth Davis on Nov 27, 2013 in awareness | 2 comments

Native Americans have a tradition called The Sacred Smoke Bowl Blessing, often called “smudging,” which is a powerful cleansing ritual. Herbs and incense are burned with the idea that smoke attaches to negative energy and, as the smoke clears, it takes the negative energy with it.

Smudging is not the process of eliminating or killing anything, but is simply the shifting of energies so that there is a balance of positive and negative.

Here is an opportunity for you to bless and balance this space you have created in yourself and in your life.

What you will need:

some incense (sage, cedar and sweet grass are most commonly used in traditional smudging)

two pieces of paper

matches or a lighter

a big glass of water (just in case)

a well ventilated room or a place outdoors

a metal baking dish or non-flammable bowl

Light the incense and slowly take a few breaths to relax yourself and come to the present moment. Feel the space inside of you that you have created. Notice what it feels like, if any emotions are still attached to that space of letting go.

On the first piece of paper, write what you are releasing. It can be a single word, or a paragraph that sums up what the clutter in your life symbolized.

Crumple the paper into a loose ball, place it in your burning bowl and carefully light it with a match.

Watch the smoke and flames rise up, carrying that which you have released up into the atmosphere. Follow your breath, inhaling and exhaling with awareness.

As the smoke clears and the paper disintegrates, consider what new things, ideas, traits, inspirations you’d like to come into your life.

Hold this vision in your heart as you write it on the second piece of paper. Again, it can be a single word or a paragraph. Be clear. Be concise. Be sure.

Crumple this paper into a loose ball, place it in your burning bowl and carefully light it with a match.

Breathe deeply, inhaling and exhaling as you watch the smoke and flames rise up, carrying your new visions into the atmosphere. Feel the space you have created, inside and outside.

Breathe into this space. Make it holy. Make it yours.

Please share your experiences in the Comments below.

DID YOU KNOW??

In addition to writing this blog, I also lead workshops, retreats, and small coaching circles for women over 50 who are in transition–in their relationships, jobs, living situations, roles in life, or just in an in-between place in life.

Clearing Clutter: Creating Room to Grow

Posted by Ruth Davis on Nov 20, 2013 in mindsets, purpose | 10 comments

We are deep into Autumn, the season of letting go. Trees are losing their last leaves, the fruits have fallen from the branches and we can see through the bareness of the limbs.

We can mirror this season in our own lives by clearing the clutter – letting go of old, dead, useless things and thoughts, to make room for new growth and blooming.

Clutter isn’t just piles of papers and stacks of unsorted bills. Clutter can be anything you no longer use: trinkets you used to collect, clothes you no longer wear, wedding gifts from a previous marriage.

Not only do these things take up space in our homes, they keep us attached to a version of ourselves that we no longer are.

And until we let them go, we cannot move into the authentic person we truly are.

For several years I created artworks from found and recycled materials. I had full drawers and boxes, neatly organized and arranged with all kinds of objects and doodads for my creations.

Sometimes a friend would call, asking for some odd item and, sure enough, I had it.

But after two years of not making art, it occurred to me that, not only were all of these things taking up precious space, but they were making me feel bad that I wasn’t creating anything.

I kept the things for “just in case” I needed something, but realized that, I can always find them again if I do. (And finding them was part of the fun of it, after all.) The bottom line was, I was no longer that kind of artist and so I didn’t need to hold on to all of those things.

There was such freedom in the revelation.

I spent an entire weekend sorting through all of my stuff. I filled 4 boxes for Goodwill, 2 bags for trash and even made a pile of some real treasures to give to an artist friend. And yes, I kept a few special items that were just too wonderful to part with.

It was a great feeling to open up empty drawers, to feel the space I had created. Not just the physical space in the drawers, but that new space in my identity. I loved being able to stretch into the new questions: Who did I want to be now? How did I want to express myself creatively now?

It’s impossible to move into this place of transformation if we are living in a space filled with old things, old beliefs, old habits.

The first step toward any change is really examining what no longer serves us. From there we can find the courage and the desire to let those things go, to make space for new growth, new questions, new possibilities.

So what things, beliefs, habits are cluttering your life and keeping you from being able to ask new questions?

As we move into this season of letting go, what are you ready to let go of that is no longer serving who you want to be in your life?

Please share your thought by clicking on the Comments!

The Whole of the Heart

Posted by Ruth Davis on Nov 13, 2013 in GRIEF, nature | 2 comments

As you know, I’m spending the month of November getting reacquainted with my creative heart. It is great fun to hang out in the studio, tearing images from magazines and calendars, playing with patterns and colors and composition. I’ve also been shaping flying birds out of newspaper and sketching sculptures that I imagine building with found pieces of metal.

And I’ve been pretty easily able to stay focused on the play and process and not worry about producing product for the upcoming Arts Festival.

But what I didn’t expect was how emotional I’ve been, especially about missing Laddy.

Being a Mac workaholic seems to have kept a lot of this tender grief at bay since Laddy died in September. Now, with more time and attention spotlighting my heart, of course I’m going to FEEL other things more. Good stuff, fun stuff AND sad stuff.

Because the creative heart is not a separate place. The whole of the heart feels everything.

In fact, it’s probably BECAUSE of this deep grief that my heart begs to be more creative, more expressive. Because it’s a way for me to touch the sadness, lean into the feelings, move through the sorrow to some peace and healing and sharing.

This past weekend Marika, Mabel and I drove up north to spread some of Laddy’s ashes where we’ve spent many happy weekends camping. We parked in the day use area on the top of Mingus Mountain and walked the graveled road into the campground. The sky was big and blue and clear and, with the campground closed for the season, it was incredibly quiet. The only sounds were the birds and Mabel’s jingling collar and the breeze through the tall pines.

We sat on the picnic table in our favorite camp site and Marika told the story about the night it stormed and the thunder cracked right over our heads and the rain pelted the RV roof and Laddy was so scared that he climbed into the shower.

We walked along the road beyond the campground and crossed the cattle guard that Laddy got stuck in, and turned off onto the dirt trail to the pond, where he liked to swim. The water must have been cold because Mabel only went in up to her knees.

At each place I released a few finger fulls of Laddy’s ashes from the ziploc bag, the white chunks falling onto the dry brown grass and the finer particles blowing back onto me and leaving a layer of salty white dust on my hands. And each time I cried, feeling the enormity of his presence and his absence at the same time.

We had our lunch at a picnic table in the sun, then drove further up the mountain to the spot where hang gliders take off. We sat on big boulders and looked out over the expansive Verde Valley, to the red rocks of Sedona in the distance, pointing out familiar places in the terrain below.

We drove back down the winding mountain road, through Jerome and into the Verde Valley where we stayed overnight at the pet-friendly Little Daisy Motel. It was the first time Marika, Mabel and I had ever stayed in a motel together.

In the morning we headed to Dead Horse State Park, another favorite winter campground. We drove through the park, remembering the early morning pooper walks, and how Laddy would walk ahead of me on his leash, pulling me up the steep inclines.

We walked along the banks of the lagoons where people were fishing and we reminisced how there used to only be one lagoon and the rest was just a big open field where Laddy would dig for gophers. And how one time, we followed the trail really far, and found the dead flicker when we were walking with Zasu and Saffron, even more years ago.

I sat down on one of the benches, imagining how Laddy would sniff around for a while, then find a comfortable lying down spot, preferably in the shade. And I shared with Marika how this loss is so different than any other.

When I am missing my mom, I can hear her voice, even have a conversation with her. But Laddy and I had a more physical connection and I don’t know how to connect with his spirit. I can remember us doing things together but I cannot feel his presence now. And this makes me miss him even more.

We cried for a bit together, then headed down toward the river. We followed a trail to a small cove along a bank of turning cottonwood trees where Laddy loved to chase sticks into the water. His legs were so long and the water isn’t very deep so he mostly just stood in the water up to his belly. But then he would walk out to the very center where the water was deep enough and he could actually swim.

I stood at the edge of the water, remembering and crying and I spread some of his ashes in a circle around me. The water was so clear that I could see the streaming of green grasses underwater. I tossed the remaining ashes into the moving water. As they hit the water, they lit up like sparkles.

I’d love to hear your stories…. Click on the Comments below.

Doing What You Love: How to Begin (Again)

Posted by Ruth Davis on Oct 30, 2013 in selfish, spirituality, Uncategorized, writing, Yes | 8 comments

We all have something we love to do. But for whatever reason, we aren’t making the time. Other things seem more important. We neglect to schedule it in. We put it off until someday.

But if we want to do this thing that fills our heart, we have to make the time.

It has to be a habit, a routine, a regular part of our daily life.

Routines become mundane. Often, the word habit has a negative connotation. We tend to break habits, think of bad habits.

So why not, instead, create an habitual ritual.

A ritual is sacred. Important. Meaningful.

Like walking the dogs. Feeding the birds. Drinking your morning cup of coffee. An habitual ritual happens at a set time every day. Not every other day. Or once a week. But every day. Even if something else seems more important.

Nothing is more important.

You’ve learned this by NOT showing up. By talking yourself into other things, out of THIS thing. But then, you feel a hole in your heart, and food can’t fill it. Sleep can’t fill it. Not even dog kisses can fill it.

Only doing what you truly love can fill it.

It could be painting. Or exercising. Or learning a new language.

For me, it is writing.

How words miraculously appear on blank paper, flowing out from the end of my hand as if by magic. Sometimes they are boring, simple, repeating rhymes that any five year old could write.

But when I stay with it, a sentence forms, an image appears and a story unfolds like a fancy napkin in my lap and I just watch it, breathe it, follow it. Without censoring, without spell check, just allowing the words to lead and flow and color the page and I realize that it’s not a hole in my heart at all, but a filling, an overfilling, an overflowing and THIS is what I have been missing. This is what I have been aching for. THIS is why I write.

And so, even on the days when all I can write are silly rhymes and simple descriptions of tall trees and a sky that is only blue, I must make it a habitual ritual to show up. Because I want to write.

How do you create an habitual ritual?

You show up. At the same time everyday. Every Day. And you remember how much you want it. You come back to the WHY of doing this thing in the first place.

You honor the time, you honor yourself. You honor this thing you are setting out to do.

You pick up your paint brush, or put on your running shoes, or poise your finger pads over the grooves of the keyboard and you begin.

And the next day you begin again.

Create the ritual.

Become the ritual.

Because it’s the only way to your heart.

I’d love to hear your comments. Please share them with me and my readers by clicking on the Comments.