Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Jewels of Wind and Sun

There’s nothing mystical happening here.

I’m waiting in bumper to bumper traffic, crawling and stopping, merging and signaling.  Patience is the only virtue in this line of cars and there is nothing to do but idle while the economy bag of organic frozen blackberries beads liquid among my groceries in the backseat.

I don’t want to wait for invitations to transcend.  With all these chores, a moment of profundity doesn’t seem to fit anywhere with Costco or gas stations or credit card bills.  What’s enlightening about being stalled out with end-of-the day traffic congestion?  Yet, I let the Chevrolet emblem that I have been staring at on the car in front of me, transform into a key attempting to unlock my perception.  Subtly, the buildings on both sides of the street come into sharper focus.  The sign for the Wahoo restaurant bears a giant Hawaiian fish-hook, waiting.  The wall of Boss Frog’s surf rental shop is adorned with a hand-painted sea goddess, beckoning.  A man in a lime green sweatshirt crosses the street on the light.  The red turn signal on the Toyota truck flashes in jeweled dimensions.

With a simple willingness, can I perceive this scene more totally?  Can I become more aware – awake – as I hold the steering wheel, inching past McDonald’s on my left?

Eventually, the bottle neck uncorks and traffic begins to flow again.  That driver’s window of mine is now fixed and I can roll it down and feel the wind.  Afternoon sun streams from behind Anahola’s majestic mountain and mingles with strands of my hair that catch the draft and swirl above the highway.  Susheela Raman has been chosen by the Cosmic DJ in the iPod shuffle.  The music features the ancient sound of tablas that tap my heart.  Harken India.  Move me to places beyond space and time.  To realms I do not understand, only feel.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

Window down, wind rushing, sun shining, Susheela singing.

Never mind that the day’s work is not quite finished and there is still a meal to make.  That the ultra-sound results weren’t what I hoped for.  That my boot-inspired fantasy of travel may not turn out the way I imagined.  Jeb will need help with homework.  My solo mothering journey shows no end in sight.  And at day’s end I will say good night to a full moon – alone – for at least the 50th time.  In the morning there will still be bills to pay.

Never mind all that.

This precious moment with sound and wind and sun is the iridescent jewel.  The inner reaches of my heart aligned with this exacting instant – this is mine.  The greatest gift.  Ever-available to be received.  Experienced.  Felt.  Lived.

I say, yes and thank you.  Dance it for as long as I am able.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Hang Time in the Hammock

I wake this morning pondering balance.

Yesterday I attended the ‘pinning’ ceremony of my friend, who has just completed the nursing program and is now officially an RN.  A single mother, who undertook this arduous task while going through a divorce and working three jobs, she stood among a class of graduates who had all sacrificed to attain their goal.  Repeatedly these students announced to the supportive audience, “I’m back.  Life can be normal again.”  So many needs (regular meals, a clean house, consistent parenting) had to be shelved in order for these nurses-to-be to earn their degree in such a demanding curriculum.

My friend has a particularly happy ending.  As I put a lei around her neck and hugged her (having imagined this moment over the years as I’ve encouraged her along) she flashed a new engagement ring.  Her very supportive boyfriend popped the question a few days ago and will be whisking her off to San Francisco for nine days to mark the closing of one chapter and beginning of a new one.  I know there were times in the past when on her journey she may only have seen a dark tunnel.  In those shadow times I think she and I both agreed that only Aretha Franklin and a good laugh with a girlfriend could shed any semblance of light.  But her hard work and determination – an eye to the prize – has paid off and given her more than, perhaps, she even could have imagined.

After the ceremony, at day’s end,  I have a quiet house to myself.  Jeb is with his father.  I finish work projects and then do something I haven’t done in months – I watch a movie.  The title, “One Week.”  The plot revolves around a man who’s told he has an aggressive form of cancer, with only a short time to live.  He instantly sees his life (including his impending marriage) in a new perspective.  Dropping everything, he buys a motorcycle and proceeds to head west across Canada to touch the Pacific Ocean.  On his adventure, he embraces each moment, gaining new insights, making fresh connections and living with no thought to future plans.

The film explores the question of how all of us are living.  It prods the viewer to consider what each of us may be doing if we knew we only had one year, one month, one week, one day to live.  (Funny, I initially made a typo on that last word, “live” and typed “love” – perhaps a clue…).

Is there a balance between keeping our vision on a fixed goal in the distant future and living true to our hearts in this very moment?  Is sometimes it necessary to disregard our very nature, our basic needs (and those of others), in order to obtain the goal that promises to make everything better once we get there?

As I wake with these questions, I find myself finally watching the Ted Talk sent to me by my yoga instructor last week.  The premise:  Hammock Enlightenment.  Eion Finn talks about the “conquest” orientation of our world and how it has shaped the way we connect with ourselves, each other, and nature.  He has an idea of how we can bring a balance from busy to stillness.  His concept is simple, the message heartfelt.  Somehow his talk seems woven with my morning ponderings.

A hammock hangs between two poles (here on the island it’s often two trees).  Maybe the balance is the hang spot between two extremes:  always working toward the future or never thinking of tomorrow.  In the hammock, you take a breather, a good, solid pause.  Can a pause actually propel us forward?

I’m a lover of the pause button, but it can often seem nearly impossible to employ it.  With a full month of dedication to my yoga practice, one could say I’ve been taking time in a proverbial hammock almost every day.  In this moment,  I’m about to head out the door to dive into a yoga that stills through movement. Perhaps more insight will come through one of those asanas.

For now, I’ll leave you with the Ted Talk for your own meditation.  Namaste.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Cold Feet

The new boots are right here next to me.  Kind of like the headless horseman, they stand erect, tall, but empty – waiting for feet and legs to take them for a walk.

Poised here by my writing desk, they exude the scent of leather, fresh and pristine.  What other scents will soon mingle with these boots?  The stale smell of an airplane’s interior?  The damp undergrowth of an ancient forest?  The salt and stone of a seaside village?

This is not my first pair.  The original boots I ordered arrived by mail two weeks ago and when I slipped them on, my feet were swimming.  What does it mean when the dream boots that took six years in coming are finally on your feet and they don’t fit?  They were meant to carry me through visions of grandeur.  Were my imaginings rooted in shoes too big to fill?  My heels are narrow and the wiggle room inside those boots were a set up for floppy hikes and blister city.

Alas, I conceded.  Let them go.  They had to be returned.

There is a happy ending, though.  Or, hopefully, a happy beginning.

I ordered a smaller size.

Perhaps I needed an exercise in holding out for exactly what I wanted.  Making sure I had a perfect fit – solid, secure, grounded and ready for action.  My alternate, smaller versions arrived in good time and when I tried them on, they hugged my feet in promised support.  A fine balance of good sizing with just enough room for future stretch and give.

So this morning, it’s not yet sunrise.  75 degrees and 83% humidity.  I’ve slipped my bare island feet into my boots and zipped them to my knees.  I can sit with the twittering of song birds and the random wake-up calls of roosters.  Ask these kicks, “What’s our first adventure?”

I hold an element of hesitancy, not wanting to mar their pristine state.  I know that once I walk into the world with these, I am committed.  Stepping beyond my front door to touch down on real-life soil, makes them mine.  There is no more return.

Maybe I’m not quite ready (though opportunities for wear are limited in this May, tropical clime).  Perhaps I need to keep them in.  Just slip them on at dawn and dream a bit.  Ask them where they’d like to wander.

Zipped up tight, I can imagine earthy realms where we could travel.  Safe within my mind, scenarios are left to the place where I still can edit.  Fast forward, rewind, delete.  Maybe I’m not quite ready to set foot completely on the real path – muddy, rocky, leading to the unknown.

This morning these boots feel snug and full of promise.  They’ll wait patiently for me to live the script.  Ready when I am, to set foot outside.

Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved