The Monicals

[monicabuccheri]

A Phone Conversation.

Her: “Listen, the glue is gone! And you’re too busy painting rainbows.”

Me: “Painting rainbows isn’t so bad, is it?”

[monicabuccheri]

                                    “Sit a spell. We’ll see who comes.”

[monicabuccheri]

“... a matter of internal stability.”

                     “You are you. Now, isn’t that pleasant?” - Dr. Seuss

The root truth, the sacred admission is I do care what other people think about me. I sat in a meeting for emotional sobriety where I heard more than several women proclaim they don’t give a f*#*k about what others think of them. Some stated they wouldn’t even consider giving a rat’s ass for the thoughts, opinions and comments from others about them. One by one, with each sprouting declaration I felt I was watching someone pick up their sword, secure a shield of armor and place a helmut upon their head, preparing for battle.  

In the group there were a couple of women, naive to their own deep truth, who shared they wish they could not care what others think. I heard a faint toned voice desire to rise like a wartime cross-dresser and follow the others who just declared their independence from acceptance and the need to belong. Honestly, I have spouted this defensive stance, too. I have picked up the verbal sword of defense. At one time. And for a time.  Do you care what others think? 

I wonder if the hidden truth were to rise up like molten lava deep from within our core, how many of us would be stunned to know we truly do care what others think about us. It’s normal and we are hardwired. After all, caring is a way for connection and belonging with others. If we get overloaded, we may either run for cover or stand in fight position.

The meter of emotional sobriety is teaching me how much I actually do care what others think about me and to find a safe middle ground. In my discovery I am learning about the value of connection and vulnerability. At the deep bottom of the sacred truth of caring is internal stability. Therein lies self acceptance of all parts of me - choices, the past, the present as I am experiencing it, and how I see it. I grow in self acceptance, not self-improvement. Defensiveness is constricting and the road narrows. The more I grow to accept all parts and pieces of my self, my internal stability strengthens. Internal stability fosters bravery, fearlessness, undaunted by extreme challenges even failure. Certitude. It’s not easy for me and happens a moment at a time. I do care what others think about me. 

Put down the sword. Don’t reach for the armor. Go for the root truth, and the sacred admission.

Follow the Sun.

[monicabuccheri]

She Made a Decision.

She decided on grey, no more black. After all, she was living by her pen and could no longer live under the heavy weight of the world’s imposed views of the black and the white.

Choosing a lighter, frosted shade of grey allows her to witness the opening of a doorway to the many pathways that flow from the spectrum of colors which only burst out of the deepened dark.

She found herself in a growing sea of the lightest of grey to the lightest of blue melding with a dark charcoal, breathing, flowing, expanding. There is always room for the darker shade of grey for it isn’t thick and ending as black. In the vastness of the far off universe live the many scattered sparkles of light bringing forth the darkest blue of midnight. And her journey begins.

At the tips of her fingers rests the lightest of blue shimmer, iridescent like a fine silk thread, highlighting the beauty of her cocoa brown skin. And with her pen she interlaces strands of thoughts and images for a wider and richer embroidered cloth of her life.   

Junon is what caught my eye.

[monicabuccheri]

The Big Spin.

Creation is sound. The Creator is stillness. - Sadhguru

                                      I do not hear the world spin. 

I hear the loudness of voices and their many arms generating a spin so loud and fast it feels as if collapse is imminent. 

                                       I do not see the world spin. 

I witness the abrupt and volatile twirling of the shouting voices and their many flailing arms. 

                                        The world recognizes me. 

Like a dark monster tornado blazing through open land, the loud and deleterious seek to scoop everything up, twist and turn the all of everything in its harsh and vengeful wind of their words they call language. 

                            Twenty-twenty the year of the truth teller. 

I wince from the burst of words, shattering and slicing like shards of glass, or electrical sparks disguised as words, at the powerful flashpoint of destruction, words erupting as powerful seismic waves.

                                Nature and her beauty welcome me. 

Her offer is stillness and reflection. All her living peacefully mingle at the edge, bearing witness of the mirror reflection of stillness for all that is real. The dark and light are held in the reflection.

                                               Finding the center. 

Along side her living, I engage in reflection. I look to her for what is true. I find the center, the still point. At the center is truth. The world spins on.

[monicabuccheri]

Every Summer Has a Story.

Passerby, him: “Unfortunately this is the way life is now. It’s not the prettiest picture right now, but you gotta keep going. And with a smile.”

Passerby, her:  (from behind the mask), Smiles.

[monicabuccheri]

Heard.

She (on phone): “OMG. I can’t believe you’re bullying me in the areas I’m thriving.”

[monicabuccheri]

Day Number 23

Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow. It empties today of its strength. - Corrie Ten Bloom

It’s a windy, rainy pandemic Monday, and day twenty-three of a strong request to stay at home - shelter in place - only go out for essentials. And yes, I received a dreaded phone call from a family member that another member of the family has been diagnosed with the virus and it is not good news. I’ve been dipping in and out of worry and fear to wonder and possibilities. The response to worry lives long in my history and rabbit holes can often be closer than I’d prefer. In fact, worry found me when I was a young child. It was a raw egg rolling off the kitchen table that solidified my condition to worry first, then maybe have faith. My gasp and urgent response of shooting my hands forward to catch the falling egg immediately classified me as a worrier at a young age, and in front of some more mature family members. However, the art of worrying was the first form of expression when difficult situations and crises arose. I did not come up with this on my own. I witnessed how some others expressed themselves. Remembering this history explains why extreme conditions can immediately prompt me into the worry position. 

I wish I could say they were warriors, but they were worriers first. Once the worrying was done, then they’d reach for the practices that included holding on to faith. Even though faith was a strong practice, it was in second place. Worry first, warrior second, and sometimes maybe. As a result for me, I honestly say that reaching from within for faith is a practice. There are any times I have to override my initial response. I practice looking to the light - it is only a practice, and some days things don't go so well. But it is a tool in my small tool box. 

I will look up to the bright sun, often close my eyes and bring my hands together in a prayer position, and center between my chin and my heart. I tell myself to focus on the light so much so that when it's a cool, crystal-clear blue sky I go outside to receive a picture of the sun staged solo against the calming  backdrop. This is my way to check-in with the utmost high, a bright force bigger than my mind can imagine. My effort is my way of a prayer to the light, for the light.

I've noticed I resort to the outdoors every few days or so for the last couple of weeks. I'm not sure why. It's not a conscious choice. I think I'm responding to the deeply subtle and ever-changing conditions. I find myself thinking about those folks that must be outside - the essential workers. It's a delicate balance for me. I long to be outside because it's good for my well-being. The birds sing strong and loud as if rejoicing in perhaps their reclaimed space.

Being in the beautiful spring sunshine, breathing in the many delicate fragrances of spring, standing amongst her beautiful colors has been another tool for my self-care for a long-time in my life. Wandering my way in nature has always been my place of calm and grounding for my wobbly legs. It helps me relate to the world. And having lived in the city for 9 years this August, I'm already depleted of calm. And Secret Agent Covid-19 has really impacted my nervous system as it has in the nervous system of the collective. There is not a question in my mind that this has impacted all of us in myriad ways yet to be revealed. And the frightening part is there was no loud BOOM that gives clear identification of knowing the sense of trauma. The silence of this secret agent lurking is most certainly a formidable antagonist. I have referred to that damn bastard as a "secret agent".

In the late fall through mid spring I would see dark bare branches with tiny bumps. And for some reason, this spring the branches appear more like uncoiled barbed wire, or an unwound crown of thorns. In all the pictures I've taken for the last six years here I have never seen the trees as rough and dangerous before bloom. They've stood bare boned before me but never in a way that silently offers the idea of suffering days ahead. 

Worry can show up at any time, including when I start to write. I can stumble upon a path leading me into the dark, then I stop! I pull back and try to think of something else that may be of the light. I will even write "I don't want to write about this. Why am I writing about this?" I am afraid I'm not only going to put the dark words into the world, I am doubly afraid that my hand and pen will actually pull the words out of the dark and bring them into my tiny world. For cryin' out loud, such darkened words are not weeds, after all! I think if I avoid and leave it all alone, maybe the light will take over, and dissolving the darkness, shrink it, burn it up with laser sharp focus of a pinhole projector aimed at the invisible enemy. 

The moon still waxes and wanes whether behind thick clouds or clear skies. Spring still comes on schedule, and in all its glory bringing both the lion (who hasn’t left yet!) and the lamb. Life goes on, doing exactly what life does, bringing the wheel of fortune, uncertainty and change. It’s the right time for me to practice reaching for faith, looking to the light. If everything was smooth and easy I wouldn’t have the opportunity to look for the bigger, brighter and all encompassing light. Just maybe I can shed that layer of worrier, and step into the garment of warrior.

[monicabuccheri]

Eve of March 22, 2020

Home...

I arrived back in the city on March 18th. I had been visiting the state I had spent most of my life, Connecticut, to help care for my mother who had a minor but important surgery. Just as I was preparing to leave the city, the public health crisis came loudly knocking on New York City’s door.

All the news of a rapidly unfolding situation could be heard far away. I wrestled with the decision in both leaving the city as the voice of danger was getting closer, and whether to come back as danger was placing its stake into the ground. It was time for me to get back to either quickly pack up and leave for good, or to hunker down and stay through the duration. (I wrestled vehemently of such a choice.) When I arrived into the shocking wide open space of Grand Central Station, I quickly made my way through the concourse without lingering and no lolly-gagging to get back to the apartment.

I was aware of the news and rapidly changing conditions so I was somewhat prepared to stay inside the apartment, unless I had to get food. I take alerts and protocols seriously. I heard the echo, in Connecticut, of shelter-in-place as the crisis was growing.

I ventured out of the apartment on March 21st to purchase groceries for an extended time, run some errands, and with the intention to check in with the natural world - all in the neighborhood. It was a beautiful day. The kind of day with a crystal clear blue sky, and the sun takes center stage.

In my anxiousness, after a couple of days inside, the first site to capture my attention is this sticker on someone’s small car. OM. Known as the sacred sound of the universe that unifies everything. I noticed myself taking a breath. In my anxious feelings I wondered. In that moment, all I could do was wonder.

Enjoying avocado in rolls of brown rice, a dash of wasabi, and the beautiful day of the early spring with my beloved. All necessary shopping and errands completed. With the looming strong protocol for every New Yorker to stay at home, I considered the truth that spending time outside will be less of the norm, and so will avocado rolls in brown rice because this isn’t a necessity or an essential. I love the spring season. I love the clear sunny days, the fresh and mildly crisp air. I find tremendous joy in the invisible hand painting each day into full bloom. Nature is my home.

Sitting on the granite steps of Low Library, engaged in the practice of the new term “social distancing”, facing southeast and noticing the growing wide open space, my mind dips into the coming hours of the strong request to stay inside unless getting food, medications, urgent health care, then I pull back out to the beauty that shows before me. 

The Spring Equinox still comes like the sun rising every day. Nothing can stop her. And when she comes she always opens the door to a new season of light, beauty, growth and wonder. She wears a fragrance that is ever changing with each day. The scent of the softening earth, the fragrance of the daffodils, magnolias, lilacs and more. Her fragrance is a powerful healing elixir, and it’s her own. It’s her signature that she’s arriving, visiting for a while, and departing on her time. Her time is her time. My time with her is short and limited as the urgent request for us to withdraw approaches within hours. Somewhere off in the distance I hear a soft sound of carillon bells, my heart remembers.

Following the Light...

I walk in more silence, less talking. I want to see the light, the colors, the truth without the layers. Like this tree in it’s purity meeting with the light, I stand in stillness before the complete sun and wonder what I can do. What am I to do? The architecture stands anchored and echoing its silence. Are they waiting for their change? Are they asking for their change? Do they change? Daffodils gathered around the tree waiting in the light. The natural beings will do what they do naturally. In different shades each will open, close, blossom, open, close, wane and pass into the earth. A new season will arrive. I see the light. There is no darkness here.

Time passes and I make my way around. There are spots here I want to see and capture for a “just in case”.... This view spots me! I remember! Those big bells off in the distance feels as if they remember me. I’ve not ever made contact from this spot before. I’ve never witnessed from this location. I’m stunned and think where there’s a crack, that’s where the light gets in. Knowing the hours are drawing closer, and the freedom to wander shrinks, I answer to visit. I continue on my path....

I poke around the quiet, the stillness. Everything in its place. The aura of crisis. The stillness sinks into a freeze frame of sorts. A moment where time stops. Yet, still a small glimmer of white light sits. Is there a time-released message held within the light? What knowledge is held in that small white light? What change is coming here, I wonder. I think of a hospital room. I wonder of what life will gather here. Will this space remain frozen in time? For how long? 

Frozen. Waiting. Questioning. Thinking. Resting. Wondering. Stillness. 

And, so here we are. We made it. Standing before this great tower prompts me to reach upward. Scaffolding sits at the base of the foundation and shades the entrance. I wondered if entry inside was restricted because of the growing presence of threatening illness to us, all of us. What can I do, I wonder. How can I help, I think. This is a time for a major check in, a chance to uplift my spirits as we get closer to self-isolation in order to support my beloved, my neighbors of this community, and myself in effort to “flatten the curve” of the invisible enemy.

I only needed to stand in front and gaze upward, stretching my heart and ears to hear the next sound of the carillon bells. The big bells reach far and wide to be heard by all. This majestic structure stands tall with certainty, forever steadfast, and throughout the upper west side. I know it will be a while before returning. I can feel the urgent request from the mayor through the airwaves and I feel the sense to obey the unenforceable. Time is growing shorter to retreat. And wait. 

Heading back to the apartment I remember all the light I saw, cherishing the beauty of nature, breathing the crisp air, feeling the warm of the sun. With each step I am certain I met with the early days of spring and she is here with us, and for her time; another change will be upon us once again. I wonder if I will get to see her another time before she closes her door. I also wondered if all will choose to retreat and protect.

This new level of silence brings forth the sound of my own heartbeat, the heartbeats of the folks in my neighborhood, the community, and beyond. As the noise drowns, my prayer is that our many hearts beating will synchronize and thrum as one giant heart beat as the sacred sound of OM hums throughout the universe.

Seeing this symbol on my travels tells me of such real possibility. As I got closer to the apartment, so did the 8:00 p.m. urgent request to shelter indefinitely. I wonder. The Eve of March 22, 2020. 

[monicabuccheri]

A New Moon...

“As you move toward a dream, the dream moves toward you.” - Julia Cameron

It’s Sunday. It’s February 23rd, 2020. These two details are important. I broke out of my quiet routine and grounded comfort zone - okay, maybe humdrum is to be included is more accurate. Not only did I decide to attend a writers’ group meet-up at 58th Street, I put forth actual effort and action in going, participating and writing. Prior to this action there had been a very long-standing idea (for at least six months or so) I would like to attend. I am very curious. I kept the information up on the computer screen all during these months. I would review those details, too many times to count, hoping courage would blossom and get me there. But I always had some inane reason to not go. The only thing that blossomed was the amount of passing time. 

At the start of this weekend I half-committed to get myself to the meet-up. My half-commitment included reviewing the location information several times, mapping out the travel route, rereading the directions and travel route, and street viewing the location. I even “walked the travel route in my mind” over and over. I went so far as to scan in my memories of the many times I have been at that location. I confess, I “walked” the direction path given by Google maps as if I’d actually done it before. For all my effort and preparation one might think I was preparing for a trip across country by car. 

It’s a coffee shop. LOUD! It’s not as peaceful as I naively thought - honestly. Then I heard myself ask myself “Why did I come here?” I walk in and see a wooden communal table. It is clear these folks are writers! Clearly, on the way up and coming authors, poets, communicators! For every one person at the table there is upright screen, as if a party of two, seated ten to twelve times. This was my visible confirmation to join the seated members. There are others sitting at the smaller round tables in a more intimate seating for the “two”. Of course there is one member of a group that holds a visible presence of command. I made eye contact with him asking for confirmation. He said “Yes, join in.”

It began exactly at 6:00 p.m., with very quick introductions, and just like the firing of a gun to run a marathon, the immediate start time with words spoken “Shut Up & Write!” set everyone on their way. If I was one for pleasantries, bonding and sharing, I needed to get there more than ten minutes before the start time. 

These appearing writing veterans are equipped with more tools. They each had buds for their ears and the connection to the sounds of their choice. I’m sure this particular tool opens the door to their individual chamber, and renders support for a single minded focus so they can listen to the thoughts that are to flow out through their fingers that press square keys one after the other.

I didn’t bring ear buds, and I do not have a large electronic device to bring with me. My tool is the standard 192 pages, 9″ x 7″ black notebook, and a pencil with an eraser. For a brief moment and just before the start time, I noticed the music playing in the background - Freak Out, by Chic-LeFreak - “all that pressure got you down, has your head spinning all around...” Even though the noise level started out loud, it seemed to move in wave lengths, highs and lows. I tuned into the song for a moment, but managed to not even hear the coffee machine as time went on.

If the mind is unabated can emoceans exist? Is this the root of separation and division? Is there a battle between the unabated mind and emoceans? Is it a war?

This visible collective of humans who have come together for the soul purpose to write for whatever their individual project, and I too have joined in this energetic chamber with a single minded focus to listen and allow the flow of words down my arm, out through my hand and onto the page has distracted me from my original question” WHY did I come here?”

As I mentioned I half-committed. Half-commitments allow for wavering, room to exit any idea or plan. Such half-commitment prepares a way for backing out, changing my mind, caving, falling back into the safety of my routine. Status quo. Boring. In the morning and early afternoon I thought I would like to attend the writers’ group. 

So often my curiosity is driven by my naivety. The art of writing and the lives of writers is not excluded! Also, I have a burning desire to know what it’s like to be with other writers. Sure, I’ve journaled every day since May 17, 2014, sparked by a desperate need to express myself, my feelings, my thoughts after a difficult and very challenging three years prior. Daily journaling is as important as my ability to breathe. I have to do it!

My half-committed condition settled down into, once again, not going. Not only did I change my mind, I changed into the sure sign I wasn’t going - my sweatpants! My day is done. By mid afternoon I was checking some emails. In came a message to me! It is a site I subscribe to for the weather - astrological weather. It wasn’t to me personally, but it felt like it. It mentioned of the new moon in the subject line and prompted me to wonder of such an event. I opened the note and read the date of the new moon, which is in Pisces and is today, Sunday, February 23rd. The same day as the writers group. 

I am not an astrologer! I am a Leo sun sign, with a Pisces rising, and a Gemini moon. It is not beyond me to read of such forecasts to help “see” my life sometimes. It is a tool I use gently. New moons are a time to explore new ideas, creativity, planting seedlings of desires, seeking that which can’t be seen, yet. Pisces, ruled by Neptune, is a water sign and about feelings. Anyway, I read and felt that email as a direct communication for me to get on the path to the writers’ group. This message of confirmation is what moved me out of a pattern of resistance that played long. 

So that’s how I finally got to my first participation and attendance in the collective consciousness of the writers’ meet-up group. Like the mutable trait of Pisces, I too, am mutable - at times.

#mystery   #writing   #new moon   #purposeful   #art healing   #intuition  #write #creativity  #dream

[monicabuccheri]

Him: I had a dream about you last night.

Her: Oh, yeah?

Him: Yeah, in the dream you woke up to call and tell me your sheets smelled like me.

Her: Ohhh, did you Google that?

[monicabuccheri]

Practical Wisdom

It’s summertime.  A time of play, fun, celebrations of all kinds, diminishing darkness, enjoying the most of the light while shadows wane.   I crave to feed my aliveness.  I want to do more, be more, to see more.  I am standing in the bright light of summer.  Why am I feeling a twisted fury of turbulent emotional waters around me?  The brightness overexposes all in its path.  Nothing is hidden.  These powerful rays of light penetrate me as if I’ve received an injection of kryptonite.  My mind cannot find the words to match all that my heart is feeling.  My aliveness becomes inner alertness.  I reach for the simple words from HR Jackson Brown, Jr. – Life’s Little Instruction Book, offering practical and ageless wisdom.  I love.  I pray.  I forgive.  This is all that is available to me, and these words lift me up as I stand beneath the powerful rays of light.  I hang my prayer flag with these drawn words, and may they blow through the winds for all to hear, all eyes to see, every heart to receive

[monicabuccheri]

Oracle Tree Wisdom

“The spiritual journey is individual, highly personal. It can't be organized or regulated. It isn't true that everyone should follow one path. Listen to your own truth.” – Ram Dass

Each day I set out to walk the path.  One after the other my feet touch this concrete blocked footpath.  I’ve walked quite a many of steps in this concrete jungle, but yet still not as many as others, and my path is not yet worn.  Such hardness can prompt me to remember the times when the ground below my feet was once softer and quieter.  I am walking in an eastern direction and up a slight incline.  From feet away I begin to feel the silent presence of enduring strength from this Tree Oracle, the holder of ancient wisdom.  Arms are reaching for the sky, crowned head held high as if rejoicing of the heavens. Your presence, like the touch from a gentle hand under my chin, lifts up my face and my eyes to the sky.  I am reminded to look up.  I have walked this way many times, why is this the time we meet?  My curiosity of your squiggly-lined garment is what draws me in closer.   Though you are silent, I listen deeply and I gaze into your essence, like a child’s eyes fixated on the lines of chalk on a blackboard.  

Our connection is deepening in our silence and I read your garment as 1,000 pieces of a puzzle of mystery and complexity, the mystery of life.  A life?  I am not able to see what this entire picture looks like; it is hard for me to see how anything connects.  I slow my mind to the inhale and the exhale of my breath.  I look slower, longer.  I notice I am melting into a silence so deep that my only awareness is the blanket of stillness that surrounds me.  I bury my eyes in the lines worn by this mystical being.

The lines join pieces together making a coherent picture that holds a mystery beyond my understanding.

Within the pieced puzzle, you hold in your belly, is the turtle.  You affirm another keeper of secret knowledge.  I am reminded of her swims deep in the oceans.  How can I swim those channels like turtle?  I listen for waves of bravery, courage, wisdom, protection, inner knowing, play.  She too, mirrors longevity and connection to one energy, the one mother – Mother Earth.  I think of the turtle’s vessel, like the tree, contained beneath the outer shell holds deep wisdom waiting to be revealed.

I am reminded to realize beneath my hard shell I hold within me my way, and I, too, can swim my own creative depths.  At times retreat is necessary for a strengthening in order to move forward, and to consider her shield as a form of protection during those days when outside forces churn and swirl around me.  I see the reflection of determination, persistence, and endurance, a survivor like her.  I glimpse of how far I have traveled.  I give consideration to perhaps she even carried me on her back during some very tough days when I felt wobbly and other strengthening practices seemed ineffectual. 

Balance is cultivated knowing when to retreat and grow, when to swim about and blossom.  Going within is to grow within by nurturing seeds of inner strength.  Time within extends the roots of my inner strength, and the deepening is a strengthening of my spirit.  This inner renewal of deepening, strengthening is sure to shine and reach high like Tree.  And like Turtle, with perseverance and wisdom, come out of the protective shell. 

I wonder of your missing pieces.  What declares a piece is even missing?  Is it my perception that asserts the “missing piece”?  Is the perceived missing piece an area of sensitivity not yet grown into the wisdom of the outer shell of experience and understanding?  Is the missing piece a planted seed needing nurturing and attention for growth?  Are those light colored pieces prayers residing within, pending an appropriate time of release before coming into fruition?  Or yet to be discovered layers of consciousness waiting to spring forth?  Both?  All?

There is no hole.  I cannot see through.  It’s simply a different colored piece tightly connected, belonging and fitting together.  It’s something yet to be understood to complement an understanding of the already existing and coherent picture.  You stand in majesty, whole and complete.

I remember completing a 750 piece jigsaw puzzle with a group of friends on vacation.  I would’ve preferred a different activity especially since I never find puzzles satisfying.  It seemed rather an exercise of sorting through confusion and putting pieces together with the fear there would be a missing piece!  All the group efforts of staring at shapes and colors of distorted images, moving, rearranging pieces thought to fit together, only to find it didn’t, and to try again and again.  Truth revealed – there was a missing piece in the end!  All of our efforts seemed ineffectual, imposing upon us, if not me, the sense of surrender to what is.

I connect with my perseverance and protection.  Am I now in a more peaceful period of growth versus the bursts of chaotic and quick change from days not far behind me?  What do I not see yet, that I am sure to see?  Tree, do you mirror my longing for solutions that are more grounded and long-lasting?  Turtle, are you the memory keeper of my strength, determination, persistence, and to be in the spirit of confidence?  For you stay true.

Your generosity leads me inward.  I long to learn of the ancient wisdom.  As you are, I wonder, can I carve new pathways in my life?  Can my roots deepen and strengthen?  Can I reveal my own generosity and extend my hand outward?  Can embrace my essence of immortality, creativity, a higher wisdom and vision.  I ask to myself  “What is my true identity?   What is my yet to be realized super power?  What powerful resource resides within me?  What do I not know that already lies within waiting for discovery?  You know you are, can I know I am?  I am.  

[monicabuccheri]

We’ve met...

                                           APRIL CALENDAR

                              Oh, how fresh the wind is blowing!                                  See! The sky is bright an clear,                               Oh, how green the grass is growing!                                        April! April! Are you here?                                   –Dora R. Goodale (1866–1953)

APRIL!  Unexpectedly, we met here.  Here is where I accepted your invitation to the spring dance of new life.  In all my confusion I continue accepting this dance, and over these years you always delight.  Some know you as capricious.  But I melt into the steady, stable and constant motion of your capriciousness.  The gifting of your redish-pink hue is your promise.  Our annual meeting may be under clouds, dark and dreary days, snow and rain, bright sunshine, warmer breezes, daffodils blooming, and emerging colorful landscapes.  I follow your lead…

The winds of change are sure to blow…

Cold, rainy and wet, some will take to the indoors, I accept your generous offer to wear your raindrops…

I bask in the peace of your golden light offerings…

IF I shall be inside, I will seek your signature in all your glory…

In the fading shadows, I receive your dewdrops of yellow and green as the trees and flowers slowly awaken…

I honor the wisdom of nature and civilization revealing…

The barren and boned soften, and gently begin to fill in...

The evidence of certainty, I meet you with wonder and awe...

I look for daisies and sweat pea, and when I see the surprise of the bleeding heart in the bright light I will know your loving generosity…

I make wishes as you wish … to never miss our meeting…

Knowing life is risen...

The gift of your rainbow through the colored sprinkles of nature’s confetti anchors in my heart...

I am not blind to the shades of green painted in the landscape, the rock at the center, the signs of a life in motion...

It is this place I’ve come to know the glory of your presence, your call cannot be denied, never let me miss it…

I feel the crisp breeze wafting the unmistakable scent of snow through the air; the signs of earth alive are immanent!

It may be gray, it may be pink, there is a light I know…we’ve met...I know...

[monicabuccheri]

The invisible bobble becomes visible, the Universe is always talking...

At some point during the last week of March, I was walking in the neighborhood of the seventies.  I have this duty to pick up things, little trinkets, small objects, from the sidewalks and streets of the city.  Truly, I prefer to consider my motivations similar to the male bowerbird when picking up colorful and shiny objects.  However, I admit, yes it’s a compulsion.  And, it was in this neighborhood where this habit began when I first moved to the city almost seven years ago.  As I birthed my new city life I felt overwhelmed and scared and yet, starry eyed like a young tourist.  Because I felt equally these strong feelings, I felt as if I was suddenly living with two me’s.  Slowly, everything I had collected and known to be myself and throughout my life, and prior to this new life, was slipping away.  And suddenly my outdoor life of nature and her beauty switched to small shiny baubles on the concrete pathways.  It was all the little and glittery objects spread over the sidewalks that helped redirect myself out of the wrestling match of feelings of being scared and unsettled.  I like glittery and shiny things anyway, so and like a child, I would continue to feed this response to see the ‘light’ and distract myself from a deep nervousness that was alive within me.  I look back on the early days of this developing compulsion and the many times the sidewalks displayed sparkling crumbs as the ignited creative solution to help lead me out of some tough days, just as Elliott led E.T. out from hiding by dropping those reese’s pieces candies to follow him into his room.

Whatever day this was in the last days of March, I was walking in the neighborhood and a small black-coiled unknown object caught my eye.  There it was resting on the sidewalk twisted one time in the shape of the infinity symbol.  I had only one idea of what it might be – a wrist coil for carrying keys.  But it was without the key ring, and it was rather small and made of a lighter weight plastic coil.  I couldn’t accept my solution.  It didn’t feel right.  When I got back to the apartment, I placed it on my desk and let it sit there.  I do not know, but I think maybe those days that followed were a germination period – time needed to trigger some sort of silent communication between the plastic coiled symbol of infinity and me.

Occasionally I would look at it, pick it up and wonder of such a mystery.  Maybe my seeds of silent questioning began sending shoots of communication out into the universe.  Had I actually reaped a small harvest of answers?  And I write those words just as they are because on the third day of April, I was back in that neighborhood stopping in a drugstore for an unrelated reason and to my surprise, what was invisible had just become visible.  I came across a clear tiny plastic box with three round objects inside that resembled the very thing I had scooped up on the sidewalk the week before.  The words on the box read “invisibobble ”.

I attest to another moment in my life that tells me the Universe is always talking, and offers a lot in one moment.  I continue to pay attention and to listen.  The item may be small, but rich in meaning.  “Hello from the Universe!  I tell you of eternity, everlasting love and empowerment.”  And, as if the Universe knows I am waiting on something yet to be revealed, including what I do not even know of myself, “That which seems invisible is made visible.”

[monicabuccheri]

                              When Spring Can’t Come Into Focus

     So here it is, the last days of the month that ushers in new beginnings, including the official start of spring for us folks in the northern hemisphere.  March is one month that reminds us of the equal hours of light and dark, marking the shift for more light.  I cannot ignore how equal light and dark translates over to forces of energy.  More than ever, I notice the polarities of light and dark coming into focus as if I’m witnessing the dance between two separate beings on one grand stage. 

     New life beneath destined to emerge as the earth herself tilts more toward the light.  The gentle pull from out of the darkness into more light is inevitable even though Old Man Winter hasn’t tired from his solo performance.  His own powerful force weakens, struggles with letting go, moving on, and allowing change.  Darkness cannot hang around as the light slowly, gently melts in. 

     March is mighty!  Thirty-one days stuffed with characteristics, idioms, celebrations, historic events and other tandem beliefs; including and not to forget my own collection of personal memories over the years with the month of March.   And this year she’s included two high holy days that are worthy of attention – Passover and Easter.  I am witnessing the dance of light and dark within me, around me.  This is derived from the characteristics of spring, those identifying factors that pin the change of season is upon me, and how I relate to those changes.  I am inclined to embark upon the exploration of change within me, and the reflections around me.

     March is the bringer of a new dawn and is sure to test my resolve.   Like a medicine woman riding on her galloping horse, her rolling presence coming in from the horizon, she greets those who catch sight of her arrival.  She wears an ornamental silver chain of keys attached to her belt, keeping her exact tools close at her hand.  These useful appendages are her functional and mystical tools of the season.  From the dangling chains are the wand to spark change and wrap in beauty, a hanging large globe ball watch, the keys to open the doors to dark and light, and her medicine bag.  In her medicine bag she carries with her the many teachings of the light and the dark.  Some teachings are to ignite sudden new beginnings, or are to facilitate one to explore deeper and push further on their journey of a previous new beginning because change is never-ending.  And some teachings continue to remain a mystery until the designated and most appropriate time - for it is she who knows the exact time.

     A long while of days back, I chose to change the viewing point from my window to the world.  As the darkness began to rise and move in like a long, hard, cold and blustery winter I noticed a subtle shift, as if I was responding to an innate need to look to more light.  But like the repeated snowfalls in this month where darkness shifts into more light, I was reminded of the lingering thoughts of darkness hanging around within and begging for my attention.  The reminder appeared outside myself, showing me where I’d once been.  Suddenly and as I stood in the many days of blooming light, I lost focus of the beautiful and tender blossoms and clear was the winter, the place where I’d once stood. 

     Like the earth tilting (her view) 23.5 degrees, on her axis, I will continue to shift and hold steady my own gaze toward the light, even if just a few degrees.  March, the medicine woman is my teacher.  Thanks to my teacher, I will continue to grow into my resolve.  Just as winter makes peace with spring, and she in all her power, brings into focus her beauty from the beneath, my continued inner contemplation on the light will come into attention on the outside.  And I too will make peace with that opposition that is within.

[monicabuccheri]

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.” - H. P. Lovecraft

Embarking on a path two hundred and twelve days ago, I was sure to be engaged in a new venture that met my previously buried and surprisingly excavated dreams. These dreams were alive just below the surface of my perceived and assumed obligatory daily life. As I continued to walk the curved path upward, sometimes downward, anticipating the unknown, I realize I’m still walking. With each step there are valleys, inclines, curves.  Some steep, some low, some sharp. The sun rises and sets. Darkness comes and goes, just like the light of the moon. And the tide of possibilities has receded, dissolving and blending into the grains of sand. My understanding of my rational life, the believed next right action, the anticipated result of that action has vanished. This shadow blurs into a mystery. I stand on this path facing a space between what my life was and the anticipated and the expected ‘what’s next’. 

I find myself further away from my old comfort zone. A transition that ushers me into the liminal space; the threshold of the unknown, into the mystery. And this mystery begins evolving into a sacred presence. I’m feeling anxiety, frightened and skeptical to the possibility of a passage to the yet-to-be-discovered growth and potential. Seeping into my awareness, I’m realizing the chapter has ended. The book remains incomplete, it’s not finished. And yet, I’m confronted by my unawareness of any new beginning. I vacillate between thoughts of my past and the future. I’m in and out of my head. My experience of my assumed and obligatory life is fading and my understanding is diminishing. The longer I walk, and with each step forward, still no destination in sight, I’m walking deeper within. My external security is now growing deep within me, like a deep water dive, reaching the Divine, down into the heavy silence. Admittedly, I’ve struggled with staying on a course of regular practices in my spiritual life. Often times, the external visual distractions pulled me into the assumed obligations of an expected daily life. Those distractions have fallen away.  Perhaps the lack of such regular and devoted practices, and my continued walk along this path will create the opening within me, between me and the Divine for an experience of the omniscient presence; a moment where the light gets in. For now, with each step forward, I see the sand beneath my feet and the path meets the horizon.