Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 6 Comments

Embracing One

I’m trying to bridge worlds.

Woo-woo’s may remind that it’s all One. But for me, right now, an IRS 1040 form seems completely separate from mantra meditations.

This morning, Amma, the “hugging saint” is smiling at me. A small picture of her sits upon my desk, having been placed with hopes of balancing perspective. Not far from her, Triple A roadside assistance wants my signature for membership renewal.

Stacked just behind her peaceful gaze, a small pile of books tease, left relatively unopened. Recently, it seems insurance trumps literature, though “I Heard God Laughing” (Hafiz) is in the stack and Grace may be giggling at my current grumpy tone.

There’s also the borrowed copy of “The Good Earth” (Buck), a gifted, pocket-sized promise called “The Ultimate Secret To Getting Absolutely Everything You Want” (Hernacki), Lama Zopa Rinpoche’s “Daily Purification”, and for a little levity, “The Eye of the Albatross” (Safina).

Earth and sky, promised dreams and purification. A good chuckle from the Creator. Thousands of words configured, aimed at conveying the poignant and awe-inspiring. All the while, I find time to rest my eyes on none. I find no stitch to seam the gap between art and taxes, the sacred and bill pays.

Amma, she just smiles that knowing, saintly smile. Her third-eye bindi like a bullseye target, a signpost to a single point of true insurance. Her countenance reminding that it really is all One simply displayed in infinite disguises.

AAA, the IRS, G-O-D, or Y-O-U. All One. Yet, inside, I feel too fragmented to fathom.

Instead, I try the Sisyphus attempt at bridging worlds. Worlds that the Masters say are essentially interwoven anyway.

Somewhere within my deepest knowing, I realize it is all seamless. But this mind of mine, just still keeps seeing chasms. Thinking I can meld what’s already together.

Amma, she does her saintly work by simply hugging. She’ll embrace 10,000 people in one day. No words, just thirty seconds of heart to heart with this enlightened being, and people say their perspectives are transformed.

I’m not quite ready to hug the Internal Revenue Service, but I guess I can thank them for guiding me to observe my own internal world. Checking thoughts that in-come. Watching the ones that tax me.

I’ll look to Amma for a little inspiration. See if I can’t crack a smile into One.

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courtesy of http://www.thenuminous.net
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 5 Comments

Stringing It Together

“We can see it from the cemetery. This house that we think may be our next home.

As an albatross flies, it’s about a mile and a half away from us. We stand beside hundred-year-old lava rock grave stone markers, in a simple cemetery just down the street from where we currently reside. Between us and the peeking A-line rooftop of our dream house, lie grassy meadows, one steep valley, and several property lines with fences. Of the house, we can see nothing but windows…

It feels good to look out over green pastures at the only roofline in sight, imagining ourselves lighting up that house with warm, golden hues from the inside.”

The above passage is pulled from the “Lamp Lighting” post I wrote here on the Archives on September 30, 2013.

More than once, the Bohemian and I would walk down our country road to the cemetery and gaze out across the field at the windows of the home we dared to dream about. It felt possible, but uncertain. So close, and yet, so far.

Like any creation, perhaps, it begins with a desire, a dream, a vision. And then there is the doing. Your two hands, your mind, your action, that begins to herd atoms into some organized system shaped to resemble your wishes made real in 3D.

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For a jewelry maker, it’s bead by bead on the string until some masterpiece can grace a neckline. For a spider, it’s filament cast, row by spiraling row. Always, there are unseen forces at work, elements beyond the control of the creator. But, ultimately, the doing is left to the dreamer.

We humans, busy with all this manifestation business, sometimes fix our vision on the steps at hand, not realizing the greater view.

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And so it’s been for my family, elbow-deep in boxes. Loading and unloading them. Thoroughly cleaning cupboards. Trouble shooting water wells. Clearing rain gutters and gray water drains. Where? In that A-frame house we gazed longingly upon from the cemetery, only so many months ago.

Yes, February 1st we moved in, and it’s been shelf by shelf, room by room, of living this dream-come-true.

But last night we paused the chores. Jeb was at his father’s house, and the Bohemian and I had sunset to ourselves. We moved upstairs to the big window that looks out to a range of mountains, where the sun was an egg yolk breaking in golden ooze behind a hill. We sat quietly with the clouds that moved in mauves, ever slowly, past our view. All was quiet but for bird songs and the occasional trumpeting of a strutting rooster.

Looking out across the treetops, I could see the outline of Norfolk pines, markers of the cemetery where we used to visit.

“Do you see the pines in the cemetery?” I asked the Bohemian.

“Yep. I see them.”

“Remember standing beneath them and looking at this window from over there?”

“Yes. And we said we wanted to see the window all lit up with light from the inside.”

“I know…and now, look. Here we are on the inside of that window, looking back at where we used to stand. We’re here.”

The Bohemian rose and walked to the lamp at my desk.

“Then let’s turn on a light.”

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Resolving Host

I try loading my WordPress site and the rainbow pin wheel spins while a message reads “Resolving host…”

These days, seems everything is in resolve, including my internet connection, which is my lifeline to the Archives. I am a writer first, and a blogger second, so in keeping with my resolve, I am typing here anyway, hoping that once the internet gods bestow me with a better signal, I can post these words for your reading. Until then, the letters are just for me at 5:42 am, as I sit at my desk which is now in a new location, in a house I’m still getting to know.

I watch my family reach for the familiar in this home that has none of our grooves yet inlaid. We seek simple routines, like which drawer houses the forks. We embrace new discoveries, like finding a vast collection of organic herbs and spices left behind.

The story goes that this house was built as a bird lover’s dream. There is literally a stained glass window at the front door from which a parrot shines. But after the birder left for a new island, the house hosted a lineage of others that used it more as an interim while their ‘real’ home was being built. After several couples had their temporary stays and left for more permanent dwellings, the house became a landing pad for island visitors, mostly a small cast of characters who visited regularly but stayed only a short time.

As we clear cupboards and closets, we wipe down the layers of about 30 years of history. I did discover two boxes of macaroni and cheese, the labels faded in color and looking to have been purchased sometime in the mid-eighties. Though one never knows the future, we’d like to settle here for a good long while. And it feels satisfying to wipe the slate clean before hunkering down.

Like every dream come true, there’s a full spectrum of reality. This morning, it’s a glitching internet signal that’s just not reaching our rural locale. Yesterday, it was a strange greenish-brown silt that had backlogged around the drain of the shower. Hmmm…

But the other end of that gamut gifted us with a cornucopia of citrus: grapefruits, tangerines, Tahitian limes, and oranges. Yesterday morning the Bohemian even sighted a whale breaching as he sat taking in the ocean view from the couch in our living room.

It’s all here. Like everywhere. The connect and disconnect. The light and the dark. The moldy shelf and the freshly cleaned windows. As an artist, I’m forever trying to encapsulate the scope and share it. The truth is, right now, I’m all out of my routine and scattered, unable to streamline anything.

This host is still resolving.

And with that, the roosters in the dark outside my window are crowing in the trees. It’s time to wake up Jeb and make our way to the bus stop. We’ll open a few drawers before we actually find the spatula. Start the day in new ways. Feel around for our groove. Remember gratitude in the chaos.

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