am not the center
but the center is in me
am not the center
but the center is in me
Most days now begin before the warmth of the sun has a chance to drink up the dew clinging to smooth blades of grass. Nonetheless, I’ve taken precautionary measures. I know the sun will be high and mighty before I’m through harvesting the garden’s bounty. Stretched across my brow, a bandana folded over itself several times to secure hair and soak up sweat. We’re at the tail end of the dog days of summer here in Wisconsin but the sultry weather is hanging around like a bad case of fleas.
Basket in hand, I head to the peace of the berry patch to harvest abundance. The thing about abundance of any kind is seeing it through to the harvest. However you bring abundance into your life; grow it, attract it or visualize it. Know you will have to; pick it, preserve it and participate in distributing it. Prosperity is all around us rotting on the vine.
If there is one universal law everyone forgets it’s the Law of Action. To manifest anything in our lives we need to engage in actions that support what we have been visualizing or affirming. Take my gardens for example. The visualizing started back in January. Planning what crops to plant and where. Come spring the action shifted from my head to my hands. There was compost to move, soil to turn and seeds to plant. Nothing was guaranteed but without action the plan doesn’t get set into motion. It’s not so much finishing what I started as it is staying with it through the good(sunshine), bad(drought) and ugly(Japanese Beetles) parts. As my Mom used to say, “Don’t be afraid of a little hard work.” Nothing teaches that lesson better than a garden in my humble opinion!
Picking vegetables as soon as they are ripe often encourages the plant to keep producing. Nature might be hinting at something here. Maybe that’s how it works with abundance. You have to be willing to pick an action when the opportunity is ripe. If we make a practice of taking actions that support a thriving life, the Universe responds by bringing in even more prosperity. Ever action, no matter how small, lets the Universe know what you’re striving for and it produces big time!
This time of year I lack for nothing. The garden’s overflow is shared with family and friends. With the pantry shelves filling up fast the feeling of abundance will last for many months to come. Which brings me to another gift from the harvest of abundance—gratitude. Most mornings you can find me in the garden, pick’n peace and grin’n with gratitude— harvesting happy.
“What we plant in the soil of contemplation, we shall reap in the harvest of action”. ~Meister Eckhart
I wasn’t sure if the cheeks facing me were on the smile end or the seat end of this caterpillar but it didn’t matter. Either way, she made me crack a smile. What a delight to see this amazing cecropia moth (Hyalophora cecropia) caterpillar in our apple orchard on this dewy fresh morning. She was nearly as big as my thumb!
With a wingspan of 5-6 inches, the cecropia moth is the largest North American moth. All winter will be spent in a 4-5 inch cocoon. In late May, the cercropia moths emerge from their cocoons. The female only lives about two weeks, just long enough to mate and lay eggs.
Because their skin doesn’t grow the cercropia caterpillar goes through several molting phases, each time attaching itself to a silken pad it has spun. When the new skin is fully developed it will literally walk out of its old skin. This cercropia caterpillar is in the fifth instar larvae stage.
If you have the good fortune to see an adult cercropia moth, I promise you will not be disappointed. Their spectacular color and size is something you will not soon forget. The cercropia moth is another example of nature’s marvelous metamorphosis; ever thing in sacred motion.
Moth medicine is that of inner knowing, determination, vulnerability and movement. I wish her well on her magnificent journey of transformation and hope we meet again in the May night, both of us with our wings.
Summer’s youth wanes,
each day riper with fullness,
Phlox’s bright eyes open wide.
A delightfully lovely fragrance,
once cradled in her bosomy blooms,
now billows gently in the breeze.
Hot pink petals aflame,
devour the green scenery,
burning off the heat’s heaviness.
A Sphinx Moth visits,
humming above nectar filled flowers,
long tongues dip into wells of sweetness.
The cool of the evening,
invites me back for a visit.
I sit enchanted by the tall aristocratic beauty.
Phlox, you are the queen of my garden empire.
I bow to you.
After ceremony, I fly in a bigger sky, on a higher vibe.
It’s a spiritually induced, clean connection.
Intentional attention to the presence of Creator.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
……that walk through the woods sure did me good.
Rainbow sightings excite childlike feelings of wonder and awe in me. Intuitively, don’t we all recognize the mystical energy rainbows emanate? The bridge between heaven and earth open before our eyes.
If only people could perceive the facet of our diversity like the millions of water droplets in a rainbow. Reflecting, refracting and dispersing light, creating a rainbow of humanity by bending our beliefs without breaking them. Something I call compassionate compromise.
Within us a rainbow exists. The seven colors of our chakras correspond to the seven colors of the rainbow. Held within us is also a vessel that holds unimaginable treasures. The riches of the heart can’t buy a single thing but it can connect you to priceless feelings of love. Love is a powerful unifying force. I find it interesting that the “pot of gold” in our internal rainbow isn’t at the end but in the middle. Our heart center is the source of a great treasure—compassionate love.
Seeing rainbows gives me hope that one day humanity can bridge the diversity gap with the colors of compassionate compromise. Both ends of a rainbow bend. Where they meet in the middle is the heart of humanity.
“In my world, everyone’s a pony and they all eat rainbows and poop butterflies!”~ Dr. Seuss
An excerpt from Sweet Wisdoms….
Tractor fumes mingle with the sweet scent of freshly turned hay. The sickle cut close to the earth. Tall proud stems and blades laid and dried by the breath of the sun. A steady parade of bulging squares marched out of the baler to be stacked in an orderly fashion on the hayrack, and following each, a cough of fine chafe that stuck to beads of sweat draped across my brow. Bald fields void of lush green begin again.
When the daylight is extinguished I’ll rest, my forearms speckled with tiny cuts from the stems of hay, my fingers swollen from plucking taut twine. To know that this labor keeps hunger from winter’s long reach and squeezes the throat of drought gives my soul temporary satisfaction.
Next summer, I’ll begin again like green fields.