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

Words Sought in the Ether (a seeking work-in-progress)

Like an aging granny, I spin tales to Jeb about the ‘old’ days when I was a child.

“Back then, there weren’t even cell phones!  In fact, most of the my time growing up, there were only land lines and they had cords attached to the wall!  You had to sit by the phone.  You couldn’t walk anywhere when you called someone.”

This isn’t quite like the tales of walking to school in snow, uphill (both ways!).  But I see the wheels turning in Jeb’s imagination as he listens, not able to picture my world of curling cords and rotary phones.

“You know, there wasn’t even an internet.  When I was a kid, if you needed to learn about something, you went to the encyclopedia.”

I remember the leatherish bound encyclopedia set on our living room shelf, representing all letters of the alphabet.  Pages edged with a gold-colored coating, promising entry into all things of the known universe that began with the letter ‘A’.  ‘A’ was a book, maybe two inches thick.  For anything A-related, not listed, that was further research in the stacks down at the local library.

courtesy of Shishberg

Back then, should you have opened up ‘G’ (it may have been combined with ‘H’ or ‘I’), you would not have found an entry under “Google.”  These days at our house, it’s a standard phrase.  If Jeb asks me questions I can’t precisely answer (“how is dry ice made?  what makes lightning?), he simply says “Let’s Google it.”  In two clicks we have a plethora of answers.

In all my granny glory, I shake my head, cluck and sigh with amazement:  “Oh, the times have changed…”

Instead of pulling down a two-pound bound edition from the shelf, the fingers of answer-seekers are weightlessly flying over keyboards, typing any phrase imaginable to find clues to their queries.  Oh, the things that you can find on this new-fangled internet thing!

What are people looking for?  And where do their searches take them?

Believe it or not, some of them find me.  So intrigued I’ve become, I am introducing a new page here on the Archives called Little Engines that Search (see left sidebar, under About, and click).  With WordPress tracking the phrases browsers use, I get a glimpse into the words that trace them here.  Fascinating, indeed.  So I’ve dedicated a page listing some of my favorite phrases that have brought people to the Archives.

Who would have thought that “highway grass”, “stirrup chairs” and “does anyone sell banana leaves in fresno county” all would have funneled cyber-surfers to this very ethereal locale?  Inspired by these phrases, I’ve played around to create my own search term poetry.  You never know, maybe this is the next big thing.  So profound it could be published.  Maybe into a hard-bound book to sit on a shelf…full circle!  I can see the title now:  “Words Sought in the Ether.”  I’d definitely want the pages edged in gold.

WORDS SOUGHT POEM I (BEAUTY)
inspiring word
butterfly cocoon unravel
morning sunlight through my bedroom window
bottle french wine
who calls for the waters of the sea and pours them out over the face of the land
rainbow colored honey
rock texture moss
desktop ocean
beautiful toes
barrel of love
wave tossed in the ocean
the honey peace of old poems
robinson jeffers
how do you know? Love
snakes of coastal bend
scary wave wipeout
succulent pocket
osho zen the lovers
chrysoprase stone
moons in our solar system
shroud of turin
desktop water love
a banana leaf miracle
vast

WORDS SOUGHT POEM II (JUST PLAIN QUIRKY)
klmit
hafiz you have been invited to meet a friend
spelling sentences
goat in heat charging
does anyone sell banana leaves in fresno county
highway grass
california safe tent camping
lone ovary
the anatomy of a compost pile
rumplestiltskin edward gorey
solar system for kids
fetus at week 23
how to cut down a banana tree
stirrup chair
red toenails
hornier neck lift
airline rush luggage tag images
charts and graphs on insomnia in children
screen saver crazy
uterus
kermit the frog

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Bridging Fire

As the morning light comes on before 6am these days, I’m finding myself scrambling to keep up with time.  Yesterday I may have walked leisurely on a plush red carpet, but that was Sunday.

Monday morning I’m back on the highway, my day scheduled until nightfall.

Still I remind myself to breathe.  Come here as a gesture, if nothing else.  That this life is still mine.  This half an hour before breakfast can be my place for words, thoughts and feelings.

I can quickly type out a moment from last night’s Beltane fire.  No amorous running through the woods or sightings of the May Queen (unless she was peeking from the nearby garden).  Just time with friends around a back yard fire, built by Jeb with our neighbor.  We each fanned the flames in our own style.  Added twigs under the stars.

I calmed my nerves to open and let Jeb jump across the blaze, not once but probably at least ten times.  His belly full of post-Easter jelly beans, he was wild with the passion.  Excited but intent, leaping with plenty of clearance.

After a series of jumps he came to me to whisper all of his wishes.  His warm, moist words heaving dreams inside my ear, coating my cheek with sugar-sweet, seven-year old desires.

They fell from his mouth in delighted sighs:  “I wish that I could be a ninja…that the world was made of candy…that I could speak Japanese…I wish that the sky would rain hot dogs…and I wish that you would live forever and never die.”

As the evening came to an end, the fire was left to burn alone.  Before heading home, I wandered to the embers.  Let the warmth of the coals fill my hands.  Looked up at the stars.  A wind chime in the hibiscus sounded individual notes with deep resonance, as the slightest breeze played a slow and deliberate song to the night.

I thought ahead to Fall, when I would be living the harvest time.  Days reaping the intentions of what this season sows.  I could imagine my hands warming by an autumn fire in a different place and time.  For a moment I was the bridge, glowing red-orange heating my palms.  Two fires in two times, two places.  And me, the in-between.

I may not know exactly where I’ll be.  But come Fall, I know there will be a moment, as I stand before flames, the weather colder, the days shorter.  And I’ll remember the wind chime’s song on the first night of May on a tropical island.  There at that future fire, I will consider all that has transpired.  Reflect on what was sown.  Know more of what has grown.  I hope to live that moment.

These rituals rely on future.  My human way, can’t help it.  Pretending that I will live forever.