I've often wished I could join them all.

I couldn't pick just one.

I tend to approach life either from a state of genuine and wondering appreciation--after all (in my view!) it is a gift to just be here, and to merely be embodied on this odd miracle of a planet is not something I ever want to take for granted--or expectant enthusiasm about what might be happening next.

I have been so often suprised in my life, in the strangeness of how things unfold and the unfathomable deeper logics of our planned and unplanned paths, and these days can only assume that, until that last breath, it is all happening for the best.

I feel more than a little uncomfortable writing that, especially given the pain and the stories flowing from Haiti. How could there be anything good in so many lives lost, in such destruction, in such suffering and pain? I am interested, though, not in being seized and captured by questions of the past, of what-ifs, and if-onlys, but in being open to the possibility of help and healing and hope, and the potential here is always and will always be infinite.

So the atittudes I find most beneficial are gratitude and appreciation, anticipation and enthusiam, acceptance (and acceptance and acceptance), curiosity, openness and a willingness to say yes. 

One day I'll be better at remembering to rest more easily in such states; for now, it's a joy merely to know they're available.

I love to walk.

I love to walk. There's something about the rhythm and ease and motion that I find both wonderful meditative and conducive to both thinking and letting thoughts go, and I've often daydreamed that my true ideal job would be that of a mailcarrier. (Of course I'd want to live someplace mild and warm then... it's been blizzard-y cold in Colorado and it makes me appreciate my own cozy office.)

The last place I walked to, outside the usual strolls, was the grocery store this past weekend; I live not too many blocks from a small organic market and I think I'd forgotten an essential dinner ingredient. It was cold, but too beautiful not to be outside, so I walked down the road (the sidewalks were trecherous) for the trip.

I thought about Peace Pilgrim, and wondered.

Presence. Attention. Grace.

I often wish I were more of an artist, more of a creative, more the sort capable of taking raw materials from the environment and crafting them into something tangible and bright. I often get a twinge of envy toward those who have a great eye for design--whose homes are artfully arranged and whose clothes are aesthetically delightful. I admire those, deeply, whose movement through life and the world comes trailing clouds of beauty.

I am most definitely not one of them. My attempts at artful cooking end up as unidentifable (if delicious) one-pot meals. My flower arrangements look like a floral equivalent of Charlie Brown's Christmas tree. My approach to interior design is to methodically strip away all excess, so that only the barest of bare rooms remain. My idea of fashion is monochrome. I have tried my hand at artist pursuits, but always end up disappointed; others seem to be more gifted (or more dedicated) than I. I am not good at creating beauty.

I am good, though, at seeing it everywhere, and discovering it in the sweetest and most surprising of places. There is beauty right now in the tooth-marked and capless Bic pen lying beside me; in the missed smudge on my otherwise clean window; and most of all in you, the dear being reading this, siting somewhere in the world, and thus making it, in your own way, that must more amazing.

Well, it's not the most surprising thing I learned, but it is to my mind wonderful.


2010! A bright and shining new decade! 2000 feels like just yesterday, in some ways, and an eternity in others. And though my mind can't imagine what the next ten years will bring, my heart, at least, sings in anticipation.

What a great and glorious gift this life is.

I loved Jim's answer, so I think I'll just adopt it too. Life! My favorite games are infinite ones.

This year's topic is climate change. There is so much I could write in response to this, but I think I'd rather just share a picture.

The photo below was taken from Mars. It shows the Earth and the moon.  







The original, in which you can see Jupiter, is here. Do look. It's incredible.

I sent an email out about this last week, but wanted to post a more personal note here as well. This coming Saturday marks the first of the fourteen weekly telegatherings that will make up the Women on the Edge of Evolution Summit, an event organized by two of my great female mentors, Claire Zammit and Katherine Woodward Thomas. The event is free (you can call in or listen online, depending on your preferences) and I'd love to invite any and all of you to join.

Gaia Community (for what I hope are obvious reasons!) is helping to sponsor what I have a sense will be a historic gathering of female voices coming together to support each other in collaboration, connection, awareness and change, and I do hope that many of you will be present with us for the conversations that will unfold. I intend to write my own way through the process, and to share my reflections and experience on the calls here, and it'll be a joy to know that others of you will be following along.

I'll write more on this later--about why this topic feels so important to me, and about my own hopes and dreams for the weeks ahead--but for now, if you haven't already, please do come sign up. Saturday will be here soon.

This is the first of our weekly Gaia meditations, a project that, allong with the daily Gaia Minute practice, is unfolding in our Gaia Community Vision Group. You're welcome to join us the next time; we meet every Monday morning at 9 am MST (8 am PST / 11 am EST), and the meditation begins at 9:09.



Our circle is located at the following coordinates:





Conference Dial-In: 1-218-862-1300


Conference Code: 855676