Wordless Thursday?

Getting sick tends to put a crinkle in so many best-laid plans.  So, a day late, but still one of the most glorious blessings of the season here in the way, way Pacific Northwest. 

More tulips grown around here than any place outside of Holland. Yup. True.  And if there's a better way to spend two bucks, I invite you to share it here!

For more photographic inspiration, join the hop for Wordless Wednesday at the Create with Joy "Wordless Wednesday" blog hop.

MFB,
L

The Gods Are Not Large

But perhaps
the heart
does not want
to be understood.
Your shadow
falls on its pond
and the small fish
hurry away.
They have
their own lives
which they love.

And if to you
it is anger,
bewilderment,
grief,
to them
it is simply life:
their mouths
open and close,
their gills,
they are fed,
they breathe.

The gods
are not large
outside us.
They are the fish
going on
with their own
concerns.

         - Jane Hirschfield

Thank you, Ms. Hirschfield, for so consistently creating poems that feel easy yet resonate more with each reading.  Zen you is, Ms. 

For more about Jane Hirschfield, try The Poetry Foundation's page (scroll to the bottom for three more poems).  For more of her words, images, and ideas, try poets.org's Hirschfield page.

And for a lovely, brief interview with another marvelous poem at the end, try this:




MFB this fair weekend,
L

Wordless Wednesday: How to spend a rainy day

Claudia Jean demonstrates.

Sometimes bliss is not far away.  It's a sweet little dog completely at ease.

MFB on Wordless Wednesday,
L

For more shots of everyday bliss, visit the Create with Joy "Wordless Wednesday" blog hop.

When in doubt about where you are meant to be,

look down at your feet.

So much consolation in realizing that we are always capable of filling the present moment with the whole of our being, with all our gifts offered and all blessings received openly.

MFB, right here, right now,
L

Ants Redux

OK, so these are leaf-cutter ants, not the odorous house
ants I was battling, but you get the picture.

Update: They left.


But they'll be back.

And the non-harming remedies didn't work.  Not a one of them.  At least not on this crew.

Cinnamon sticks at their entry point?  They just went around.

Cinnamon sprinkled on their trails?  Confused them for all of thirty seconds and might possibly have tickled their toes, but then they just marched right through it.

Cayenne, then chili powder, then black pepper sprinkled on their trails?  Ditto.

I did find their entryway and tried to soap it closed, but that didn't help much.  The ants simply found another little crack in the floor/wall joint right nearby.  I'd have to soap the entire wall, in a closet no less, and that just didn't seem reasonable.  Perhaps that was my own fail though: A bit more time and effort with the soap, or warming up some wax and dripping it into the length of the closet floor, might have forced them to find a different entryway and bought me at least a few days sans the little critters.

Instead, as their numbers amassed and their trails got longer and longer on the kitchen counter, I caved and put out one of those Terro type ant baits right next to their entryway.  A few hours later: no more ants.

So then, does anyone out there know of a better way to discourage ants that doesn't require killing some of them?

I know about all the preventative measures and we've continued to practice impeccable kitchen-cleaning now that it's ant season in the Pacific Northwest, but every year they seem to come back through some new entryway every month....

MFB, with a lot more ground to gain,
L

Wordless Wednesday: Finally, Spring.

This week.  The methley plum trees in our backyard full-blown with blossom.

For more fun with photos, join the Create with Joy "Wordless Wednesday" blog hop.

And welcome to this brand new blog about living (imperfectly) mindfully in the beautiful Pacific Northwest.

MFB,

L

Conflicted Bliss

Today I worked out.

It was in a fitness class that I haven't attended for a full year:  Bodyflow at my local Gold's gym.  My teacher's a supportive and skillful leader, and one couldn't ask for a better trainer in even the most competitive of big city gyms.  I admire and enjoy her personality and I trust her expertise absolutely.  In Bodyflow class I know I will push myself, albeit in a seemingly gentle way (not really!), and that I will emerge stronger and stretchier after each session.  Not only that, but I'll be privileged to connect with men and women from a wide variety of backgrounds and circumstances in our class.  I loved this class all last year, but when I went back to work this year, I had to give it up.  This week I'm on spring break, so I can pounce on the opportunity to shift my balance from the uber-cerebral toward the body-aware.

I'm not rich - oh, by no means: I'm a part-time public school teacher - and yet I invest every month in an expensive gym membership.  One I - as most of us - don't use as often as I should.  How suburban is that? 

It's a great gym, unlike any I've attended in the past.   Polite and pleasant members, incredibly friendly and personable staff, clean and up-to-date facilities, and zero "look at me: I'm so fit" factor. 

Yet I feel embarrassed to be spending my money on a gym membership when I have so little of it in the first place. 

So, suburban zen apprentices, I have to ask you: Why?  Why do I feel guilty for participating in something so healthy, so community-oriented, so absolutely positive in my life?

And I have to ask you to ask yourselves:  What absolutely positive investments have you made that you feel - perversely - conflicted about? 

Let's confront our stupid conflicts here and now. 

So we can MFB,
L

Ants

This morning I woke up to fog and frost, the rumbling ruckus of the recycling trucks rolling down our neighbors' cul de sac, and ants.

All over the kitchen counter.  Amassed in ranks and scattered blindly about, intentional and random, skittering and, well, marching. 

"So today it begins," I thought, as I reached under the sink for the eco-friendly lavender-scented 'household cleaner'.  "It" being the nine-months' invasion of the stinky little black buggers who pop up here, then there, and who - like dandelions and blackberry bushes - spend 100% of their daily intention on taking over my resources to grow their population while I can only afford a scant five minutes here or there to amass my munitions and mount the occasional counter-attack.

But this morning, attack I did.  All over that counter.  A hundred ants met their demise, at least.  And it felt good to do them in.  I relished it.  Squirt, wipe; squirt, wipe; squirt, wipe, toss.  The ones in the coffee maker went first.  Then the ones on the counter by the cutting boards, then the trail to the stove - oh, so that's where they're coming from this time, eh? - then the (oh, ug!) picnic gathering 'round the one crumb under the plate, and finally the litter sucking at the trough of a tiny half-mooned, half-sponged ring of milk from yesterday afternoon's latte.  It felt great, actually, to wash the last few dishes in the sink and then sop the counters with soapy water until they gleamed again, pristinely ant-free.

Of course, by the time the morning coffee had finished perking and one last ant had scurried up and out of the steaming carafe, I'd lost the will to kill.  I simply watched as that one little survivor scurried away under the counter's lip rather than hunt her down and do her in. 

Admittedly, we've been sick, so although we did rinse all the dishes and wipe the counter last night, our half-skillful efforts contributed to the gathering of the little black annoyances and to this moment's (ever so slight) twinge of regret.

So is there a way to stem the six-legged tide without regressing to such carnage?  Apparently.  Perhaps. 

Paradox Is The New Black.

Indeed it is.

Be it in the garden, on the plate, with the younguns, at the job, or around the house, life is always crying out for more zen and offering us opportunity after opportunity to fail.

Hence my decidedly edgy, non-ironic blog title and our mission: To provide encouragement and information so suburban Jedis can cultivate compassion for themselves and all beings, and so we can all fail just a little bit better every day.
I'll tell you a story or post you a picture, and then share ways that I could have "failed better" in the situation revealed, in hopes that we'll all benefit from my conspicuous imperfections.

I will be ever grateful for your companionship along the way.

MFB,
L

(MFB = ''More fail better", which is all I ever strive for and all I've yet achieved.)