Pamela Stead Jones

“ in and out

up and down

over and over

she wove her strands of life together.

patching hole after hole

eventually she saw it was more than

the threads that gave her strength,

it was in the very act of weaving itself,

that she became strong. ”

~terri st. cloud

I want to share with you today a story of weaving.

Last September, my sweetheart and made a trip to Shepherdstown, WV to visit my brother.  We spent part of an afternoon strolling down German Street and visiting the little shops that sit side by side, each one a unique surprise that adds its own color to the collage that is this wonderful little town.  As soon as I saw On The Wings Of Dreams, I knew I needed to go there and breathe in all the wonderful things they had to offer.  It was an amazing place filled with all kinds of things that just begged me to take them home — crystals and jewelry and gemstones and candles — and the list goes on and on.  I wandered to a section in the back and was looking at the books and cards when a poster caught my eye.  I don’t remember any more which one it was; but I do remember that my pockets were empty and my budget stretched.  I pulled a scrap of paper from my purse and wrote the web address — www.bonesigharts.com.   I counted out my change and managed to take along a polished tiger eye as a souvenir of my visit, and I wrapped it in the paper with the URL and tucked them in my pocket.  When the weekend was over and we returned home, I smoothed out my scrap of paper and typed the address into my browser.  So began an adventure that continues to unfold each day.

I discovered that the artist, Terri St. Cloud, not only sold her work but also seemed committed to bringing love and hope and gentle strength to anyone who cared to spend a little time thinking about her Bone Sighs — words that spring from the depths of being genuine and female, words that touch the reader deep in the heart.  I signed up for the Daily Quote, and the first one that arrived said:

“ they plowed down her trees and she wept.

they forgot to take the sky tho.

the clouds became her refuge. ”

~terri st. cloud

‘Wow,’ I thought, ‘I’ve felt that way!’  I knew what it meant to feel like you were losing so many things that you held dear and then to discover that what really mattered was something that nobody could take from you.  I couldn’t help myself.  I wrote Terri an email, just to say, “YES!”  She responded; and so began the exchange of a gazillion (give or take) ideas, thoughts, and emails that goes on to this day.

I’ve never been very good at joining things.  Some of us just march to the beat of a different drummer.  In my case, I’ve been told that maybe I dance to mine — a little bit like Elaine Benes on Seinfeld.  Never did I imagine that through meeting Miss Terri I would come to know a whole circle of genuine and deep women whose blogs and notes enrich my life as each dances to her own unique music.  There’s MerryME, whose Random Thoughts are anything but random; there’s Akasa, the grandmother, who asks us to share our Heart Songs; there’s Queen Dani, whose heartfelt stories touch us with both their meaning and their beauty.  As the circle widens and the list of blogs on the right side of my own grows, I realize that I have unwittingly been woven into a tapestry that is made of the bone sighs, the heart songs, the random thoughts, and the truth-telling that brings together the varied colors and sounds that spring from the hearts and souls of each weaver.  There is no uniform of the day in this group.  There is no secret handshake.  All that is required is a desire to weave and the honesty to bring who you really are — to add your own color to the weaving.  Through the love and sisterhood, the thoughts and responses, the encouragement and support that we bring to each other, each of us becomes just a little more ourselves.  I think of our mothers and our grandmothers and theirs before them; and I think, “yes, the women are the weavers — of cloth and of dreams and of stories and of life.”

“ in and out

up and down

over and over

she wove her strands of life together.

patching hole after hole

eventually she saw it was more than

the threads that gave her strength,

it was in the very act of weaving itself,

that she became strong. ”

~terri st. cloud

How often do we miss opportunities to go the extra mile in our interactions with others?

Our weekend basketball adventure is done; and we are back from the land of tournament to the real world of work and school and schedules.  Ivy’s team fared well in their first games together, winning two games and losing two.  They learned a lot about themselves this weekend, both as individuals and as a group united by a common goal.  In sports language, I could probably give more than several examples of what it means to go the extra mile; but the incident I want to share with you happened after the last game.  It took place in the parking lot as the gym was emptying and we prepared to make our trip home.

In the fourth game of the tournament, Ivy had a moment.  You know what a moment is, right?  It’s one of those times that just stays with you long after it takes place — sometimes etched in your memory for a lifetime.  My granddaughter is not a very tall player, and her ball-handling and shooting skills are the ones that people notice when she plays.  Her moment took place during a break toward the hoop.  The ball went up, and so did Ivy, and my 5′ 3″ girl grabbed that rebound, pulled it down, and with one fluid motion took the ball right back up and sank it — right in the basket of the opposing team.  In an instant, as the spectators gasped in unison, she realized what she had done.  And so her moment was created, etched forever in her record of basketball accomplishments.

I’m happy to say that she was able to recover and redeem herself with other contributions to her team’s ultimate victory.  There is no doubt that Ivy will continue to play basketball; and since she will continue to play, there is no doubt that she will continue to make mistakes.  After her moment, however, I think we can be certain that she won’t make this particular mistake again.

It is easy for a young person to become discouraged by a moment like this one; and I’m sure that Ivy still is replaying that shot in her mind today.  What might make it just a little easier was another moment in the parking lot after the game.  We were opening the minivan when a voice called out from another car, “Hey!  You’re really good!”  We turned to see one of the two referees who had officiated at five games that day.  This man had every reason to be tired and to be ready to go home at the end of his long afternoon.  Instead, he caught Ivy’s attention.  ”You know,” he said, “there’s no need to be upset about what happened in there.  Everyone who plays makes mistakes.”  He went on to tell her the story of Chris Webber, the player from University of Michigan who called a time-out during an NCAA championship game, only to find out that his team had used all of theirs.  The points scored by North Carolina due to his technical foul clinched the game; and Webber’s moment became one that I’m sure he would like to forget.  In sports, as in the rest of life, there are no do-overs; and we carry with us the results of our moments — the bad ones and the great ones.  Who and what we become often is shaped by the way we carry those moments; and the ref wanted to say that to a young player he never had met.

Of all the extra miles people traveled during the tournament, I will remember the official who chose at the final moment of our day to go the extra mile and encourage my granddaughter.  I’m sure he would say that it was nothing at all, but it meant the world to me.

Awake!

Spring calls

From winter grass,

Daily growing green

As Oz

From black and white

To Emerald City.

◊

Look!

The final snow,

Falls lightly,

Melting, quickly

As it lands.

The tender sprouts

Spring forth and bloom.

◊

Remember!

Winter seems a dream

As restful sleep,

So deep and dark

Gives way to light

And energy

And, like the world,

We are reborn.

◊

Dance!

Become the rhythms

Of the Earth

And wind and

Soft Spring rain.

Caress the warm,

Live-giving soil

With joy and sunlight

Once again.

◊

Live!

©Pamela Stead Jones 2008

“You can become blind by seeing each day as a similar one. Each day is a different one, each day brings a miracle of its own. It’s just a matter of paying attention to this miracle.”

– Paulo Coelho

Today will be a day of adventure.  For Ivy, it will mark the first tournament as a member of her new basketball team.  It will be a day of taking the butterflies in her stomach and harnessing their energy so that it drives her through her games.  We will venture out to a new town, two new gyms, and two teams of opponents the girls never have met.  The energy that buzzes around the players is electric, and their excitement is something you can almost touch.

As I watch them prepare for their exciting weekend, I want to be infected by their wide-open approach to life.  I want to open my eyes and see the sights of a town I’ve never before visited.  I want to open my ears to the sounds of the day.  I want to open my heart to the experience of meeting new people who share our interest in girls and in basketball.

Wherever we end up today, let’s all pay attention — see, hear, taste, smell, and feel the world we live in.  Whether you find yourself in a new location or in the same old place, let’s try to see our world through excited eyes and greet it with our hearts wide open.  Every new day is an adventure,  if only we pay attention.

“Something opens our wings. Something makes boredom and hurt disappear. Someone fills the cup in front of us: We taste only sacredness.”

– Rumi

Last night was cloudy — the kind of night when people say there is not a star in the sky.  We know that is not true.  The stars are there, but the clouds stand between us and obscure them from view; but there are times when we find this hard to remember.  I had spent the evening with a young friend whose light is lost behind the clouds.  It still shines, but we can’t see it right now; and the people who love her are suffering with her as they await the return of the light.

It was one of those nights when a little starlight would have been welcome; but the sky offered only clouds.  I drove home in silence, offering prayers of healing for my beloved friend.

Today began as the night had ended — veiled in clouds that promise rain before the morning is through.  Everywhere I looked, I saw gray skies; and though I knew the sun still rose, I found myself struggling to imagine that it still existed beyond the haze.  I shortened my walk and returned to my morning work feeling burdened and alone.

As I gathered food to pack lunches, I saw a flash of light hit the kitchen window.  Leaving my coat behind, I grabbed my camera and let my anticipation lead the way to my back yard.

There it was, higher in the sky than an ordinary sunrise, but spectacular in its own right!  The sun — the Light — was reaching through the clouds.  It took my heart in its hands and brought warmth and comfort to my dismal morning.  ’YES!’ I thought; that is what we need to do for one another.  We cannot brush the clouds away.  They have no substance that our hands can grab, and they close around anything that moves through them.  There will always be clouds.  They will come and go, but they will always be with us.  What we need to remember is that behind the clouds the sun still shines.

I learned something today about healing.  It is not our job to brush away the clouds — they will always be with us.  It is our delightful duty to extend a hand bathed in Light through the clouds and darkness and invite another to join us on the other side of the darkness.  Just as the sun will burn away the clouds of the morning, compassion and trust will light the way from separation to healing.

Sunrise, April 2010

The tranquil moon

Her night’s shift done

Begins to fade

And calls the sun

♦

Cold, dark silence

Drifts away

As song of birds

Announces day.

♦

Black to gray

Gray to white

White to rosy

Dawn of light.

♦

Dewdrops sparkle

Shadow trees

Stand silhouetted

In the breeze

♦

Iridescent

Daily rainbow

Peeking pink and

Purple promise

♦

Orange arises

Glowing brighter

Yellow! Shouts

A brand new day.

♥

©Pamela Stead Jones 2010

“Student, tell me, what is God?  He is the breath inside the breath.”

– Kabir

After several weeks of summer-like weather that have made us all question our calendars, a touch of winter returned to our area last night.  We awoke to frost.  As soon as I was awake, I hurried into the yard to inspect the apple blossoms and reassure myself that their ability to set fruit was not impaired by the fickle weather.  A part of me remembers the years when we had snow on May first — the “onion snow,” according to local farmers.  I realize how important the balance of climate is as I consider the consequences this combination of early blooming and sudden frost might have on our food crops.  Once again, I am thankful that we live in a time when we are able to preserve food.  After convincing myself that the apple and pear blossoms were high enough above the ground to escape the dew, I decided to finish my morning jaunt through the park.

My friend, Terri, posted a tongue-in-cheek status on Facebook this morning about going hunting for birds — the noisy ones that just couldn’t stop long enough for her to sleep, I guess.  I know what she means about their relentless singing, but I had a different view of them this morning.  The other effect that the sudden frost had today was to combine with the warm ground and the moisture in the air to produce fog.  As I crossed the street and entered the park, this is what I saw.

From my side of the alley, the tree in the foreground had looked like those in the distance; and it was only as I approached that it became completely visible.  I considered turning around and saving my walk for another day, but then I heard them — the birds!  As they have staked out their territories and built their nests, I’ve learned to identify each bird by its song.  What an awesome way to navigate the foggy park!  I knew that the robin was singing from the top branches of the largest maple tree, because I’ve seen him there every day for a week.  I could close my eyes and find that tree, just by listening to his song.  I could picture the crows — their several nests resting in the topmost branches of two sycamores and an oak — swooping and flying ahead of me, announcing my presence to all their feathered friends.  My mind’s eye knew the stations where they would pause and call out their warnings.  The woodpecker drilled in the dry old tree by the creek, enjoying his breakfast and oblivious to the haze that hung in the air.

I thought about Kabir and what he said about God being the breath inside the breath.  I thought of the way that creation is spoken of as sound — the “big bang,” or more quietly, “in the beginning was the Word.”  And I thought, as I walked, that when the birds are singing, God is the sound inside the sound.  At times when my eyes are made dim by fog or by doubts, all I need to do is open my ears and listen.

♫ .♥.•* ★¨`*•♫.•´*.¸.•´♥♫

The Beauty Within

Made in God’s image.

How ordinary

The One must be

If his image is me.

♥

Formed from the dust

How plain and coarse

My countenance

Of earth and clay.

♥

Breathed into being,

My name spoken once –

My own voice falters,

Is lost in the wind.

♥

Your radiant beauty,

Your infinite Light

Blinds my eyes

And gives them sight.

♥

We drink the wine

And leave the skin,

Useful, but empty,

Unless it is filled.

♥

Your Image is not

The vessel of clay

But the beauty within

That is hidden away.

♥

May our eyes shine your Love

May our words sing your Love

May the cracks in our covers

Be portals of Light.

May the eyes of our heart

See the beauty within.

♥

©Pamela Stead Jones 2010

Today I would like to share with you a beautiful poem.    It is by a mystic poet from the 15th century, and it speaks of the potential that lies within each of us:

The moon shines in my body, but my blind eyes cannot see it:
The moon is within me, and so is the sun.
The unstruck drum of Eternity is sounded within me; but my deaf ears cannot hear it.

So long as man clamours for the I and the Mine, his works are as naught:
When all love of the I and the Mine is dead, then the work of the Lord is done.
For work has no other aim than the getting of knowledge:
When that comes, then work is put away.

The flower blooms for the fruit: when the fruit comes, the flower withers.
The musk is in the deer, but it seeks it not within itself: it wanders in quest of grass.

– Kabir

How eloquently this speaks to the potential that lies within each of us.  How beautifully it expresses the process of growing and becoming by changing and letting go — how the flower must wither for the fruit to appear.  It makes me think about how often I cling to something I see as beautiful, never considering that releasing it might open the door to something more breathtaking.

My walk today was a rocky one, which means my eye was attracted to some of my mineral friends.  They always show their colors more vividly after rain has cleaned the dirt from their surface.  Here are the ones that followed me home.

Hard to believe that they all fit in one pocket.  I suppose I’m an expert at making the most of the space.  I was attracted to these particular rocks by their shapes, their sizes, and their colors.  I also was attracted to their potential, because years of collecting has helped my eye to see the beauty that may lie hidden beneath the surface.  Two weeks ago, on a walk along the riverbank, I found a beautiful stone.

Where I live, it is not unusual to find stones in many different shades of brown.  This one caught my eye because its tan varied almost to white, and I could see pink showing through the surface colors.  I thought of keeping it just as I found it, because it had such an unusual blend of hues.  Instead, I decided to see what might happen if I polished it.  Since it was too large to polish in one piece, I pulled out my hammer and cracked it open.  What I found inside was surprising, to say the least:

A center of pure white quartz lay surrounded by its rosy relative, all encased in an outer layer of tan that barely covered the surface of its hidden beauty.  Again, I faced a time of decision.  Should I keep what I had discovered intact, or should I continue to explore what lay within?  My decision was to keep half of the rock, its center displayed, exactly as it was.  It sits in a place of honor on my shelf with other minerals that have shown me not to judge a book by its cover.  The other half, broken into smaller chunks, became part of the new batch of stones I would add to the barrel of my rock tumbler.  After two weeks of tumbling, I poured them out.

As you probably can guess, the two stones in the center of the bowl — the pure white ones with a salmon-pink coating — are parts of my river rock.  They will return to the tumbler for further refinement and additional change.  In several weeks, when the final polishing is done, they will be as smooth as glass.

I know from experience that the results will be breathtaking, beautiful, and unique — just like the people who will enjoy them.  Some carry them in a pocket where they can reach in and feel the soothing smoothness when their day becomes stressful.  Some find comfort in holding them close and looking at their swirls of color as they face the bumps and bruises of their road to healing.  I can tell you for certain that at least one polished piece of this special stone will hang, like this one, in a custom-made silver cage.

As it hangs from a chain and rests against the wearer’s heart, perhaps it will speak to the still-undiscovered beauty that resides within its owner.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could allow ourselves the freedom to find the ever-increasing beauty that lies within each of us?

“We have to do the best we can.  This is our sacred human responsibility.”

– Albert Einstein

Once again, I find myself beginning with the words of Albert Einstein.  Sometimes it amazes me that he and I agree on so many topics.  I guess great minds must think alike, right?  This is exactly what I don’t want to write about today — holding ourselves to the high standards of performance demanded by another person’s accomplishments.

I imagine that each of us could write a list of people we admire and the things they have done that deserve our admiration; and I also imagine that the things we admire are those that we see as being beyond our own abilities.  My own list would include favorite writers, artists, and humanitarians, because I see in their accomplishments something that I would like to achieve.  Their examples stand before me and encourage me to stretch my own limits and strive to be the best I can be.

“Do your best.”  How often in our lifetimes have we heard those words?  Our parents said them, our teachers said them, and the list goes on.  Hopefully, by the time we reach adulthood, we have learned to say them to ourselves.  As we say the words and look to others for examples of achievement, what happens too often has nothing to do with being encouraged.  How often do we look at someone like Albert Einstein, admire his accomplishments, and then say, “well, he was Albert Einstein — I’m not smart enough to do the things he did.”  We see his best as something so far out of our reach that it seems futile to continue to strive for any accomplishments of our own.  We look at the work of a great artist and become inspired to take up a brush and some paint and place our own beauty on a canvas; and then we evaluate the result in light of the master’s work and stop painting.

Too often we confuse doing our best with achieving perfection.  Maybe it comes from message received in  childhood  – you need to try harder; you are not working up to your full potential;  you need to do your best — delivered as criticism rather than encouragement by adults who couldn’t see that we had delivered our best effort.  We must always remember that we are works in progress and that life is a process that moves from moment to moment and from day to day.

Robert Browning wrote this:

“Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?”

If we truly do our best in each moment that we have, and if doing our best means reaching just a little bit beyond what we are able to accomplish in that moment, we will continue to evolve and grow.  We don’t need to be perfect.  We don’t need to be as good as another person or measure ourselves against their standards.  If I think of the people on my list, I can’t imagine one of them who would have been satisfied with the accomplishments that I admire.  It’s all about the striving and growing — not about arriving at an end.  Let’s not limit ourselves with self-doubt.  Let’s not set tangible goals based on the achievements of others.  Rather, let us bring all that we have to our lives each day and simply do our best.  The results might be surprising.

Whose list might you be on one day?