To Leafy on his sixth birthday,

Dear Leafy,

 A few days ago, you turned six. It's the oldest question in the world, but WHA? When did I blink and suddenly you're a man? Please. Slow down a bit for your poor mother. If my grandmother were here she'd say she was going to put a brick on your head.

But. There are many benefits to you getting older! One is that I am always safe. Because you're super strong. A few weeks ago you were telling me about how strong you are, and you offered me a bit of proof, your eyes wide and earnest. (You are very earnest.)

"Once, I defeated a whole BASE of Tickle Worms." Tickle worms are part of a game that you play with your Daddy. They are coming for you! (They look a lot like Daddy's fingers.) You must beat them back. You are very good at the game, apparently.

So, when I am in the garden, weeding or cutting grass, and you ask me if I would like you to guard me, my answer is OF COURSE. You stand nearby, sword in hand, ready to beat off my various enemies who may approach from the coconut grove. You do this for an hour at a time, taking practice swings to warn anyone who may be watching.

You told me that when you grow up you are going to become a Cyborg. I'm sure I'll be even more protected then, but I hope that when make your change to cyborg, you keep the human parts that are snuggly, at least.

Another amazing part of you getting older is that we get to know more and more of the workings of the Leafy mind. There are two kinds of people in our circles of friends. Those who say, "Leafy doesn't really talk, does he. He's really quiet" Then I take my eyes out of my head and lay them on the table and stare at them like that for a while until they are sufficiently creeped out and chastened. Because the other kind of people are those who respond, "Leafy? He never. stops. talking."

You have a spigot on your stream of words and you can turn it on or off. When people get closer they see it on, and they start to see the depths of the Leafy well of words. It goes on and on. It has no bottom. You like to pace and live out your entire battle strategy for Anakin and Obi Wan OUT LOUD. And sometimes, when the rest of us are exhausted by the flow, I have to let you know that you seem to be having inside thoughts on the outside, rather than actually conversing with anybody, and to please bring it back inside.

But you also love to make these grand pronouncements with your peculiar and genius logic. As I was writing this post, you looked up and said,

"Blood is like an ARMY. There are lots of little blood molecules like a HUMONGOUS blood army."

And then you said, "If our feet were made of skin, and we were so small that our feet were only made of one skin molecule, and then you cut them in half, (motion of cutting your foot in half) they wouldn't be made of skin anymore."

Tis true, son, tis true.

Also, the way to your heart is through your stomach. If I make something you love, you throw your arms around me and tell me you LOVE me. If I make something you dislike, you sometimes say something to the effect of, "You don't want us to have anything we like to eat EVER?"

You are a tad dramatic. And always very interesting.

You were all playing a game the other day, and I heard you say, "I'm the guy who saves the princess."  This is you. Saving the princess. You are very concerned with justice, for yourself and for other people. You frequently tell me that when you grow up you will make a lot of money and give it all to poor people. You get very upset when you feel that YOU are being unfairly treated.

Dear one, but I believe there is something very special about you. People feel it. They're drawn to you. I feel it too, and it makes me protective of you. Then I remember the base of tickle worms and I have to back off, because clearly, you are getting older, and now you can defend yourself.

I love you with a wild, ridiculous love, son. Happy birthday.

Love, Mama

The giant garden post.

I have finally gone through the hard drives and found the necessary photos for the big garden post.

This is what our house looked like on the day we moved in.

This is jumping forward a bit, to the second year we were in the house. This is looking out at the yard from the porch. I can tell it's the second year by the length of Leafy's dreadlocks and the small fence in the front of the yard. When we moved in there were no fences, but gradually, every year when we returned there were more fences, until the seven food stone and concrete fence that keeps us in now.

It started to feel ridiculous to have a fenced in piece of dirt, especially at a meditation center. Back when it was just a piece of the village it was one thing, but now that it was our "yard," well. Well.

So last year I came up with a big garden plan. It included grass. That meant that all the top soil needed to be removed and new soil put in. I drew a plan for a path and some spirals around coconut trees.

These lovely ladies from Karnataka worked on sifting the new soil and mixing it to fill it in. In their off time (a lot of off time, work in India requires a supervisor to encourage everyone to keep working, and I'm not so good at that) they played with YaYa's hair. She would run in and have her hair all up or braided.

They also helped her find tiny shells for her collection.

And this year, when we returned, we found this bit of loveliness.

This is looking out from the front porch. I love this little corner. And unwanted fences are certainly better with climbing flowers on them.

Don't let me forget about the beauty of brown stone and climbers.

Those palms are some of the greenest and easiest things to grow. The bougainvillea, also. Oh I love that color. I want a scarf in exactly that color.

The last plumeria flower until the next time it blooms. I need to get some cow urine to fight the fungus that wants to take this plant over.

No matter where I live, I want growing things around me. Here we fight fungus and ants as well as strange moths that burrow into the ground. (If fighting means occasionally putting neem onto the grass and sighing as I pull away at the grass they've eaten. I've given in a bit. Other than putting DEADLY CHEMICALS into the ground, it seems that my only option is to try a few natural things and then live with them. Jungle garden.)

 

And there's this guy. He likes to run into the spray of the hose while I'm watering. He's a general pest. An adorable one.

In the vegetable garden, the Bok Choy was really easy to grow. A lot of my vegetables disappeared when the ants carried the seeds away. But we got a lovely giant community salad out of it.

I will rewrite the parable of the seeds and include "some seeds fell in the jungle, and ants carried them away..."

I love that I'm making mistakes and learning. Plants are such beautiful object for meditation. The garden of the soul. It heals me, sitting and working with plants that are eaten or need water or trimming. All these lovely things that need a little help, some care and hydration and guidance.

Every. Single. Day. Just like me.

Still here.

I'm feeling quiet. I'm also processing many things. And I can't seem to find a chunk of computer time anywhere in my day.

We're very busy.

Yesterday I chopped vegetables with M and we made soup for dinner together on the roof, after our devotion circle. Broccoli, carrots, parsnips, tomatoes, mushrooms. Spring onions and cilantro. It was good. Just the kind of soup I needed, since I'm a bit sick.

The Turbans are trickling back into town. That means fun and music.

Kid A, YaYa, Leafy and I went on a dolphin trip this morning with M and a new friend who is leaving soon. We went out with some neighbors who are fishermen, in pursuit of dolphins. The sun rose after we were on the boat for awhile. The dolphins came, though not where we expected them. Dolphins. Always where you least expect them. Our neighbors, who live on fish and have probably fished since they were children, before all this traveler madness happened here, were sweet and kind. They invited Kid A and YaYa to take turns driving the boat. I saw Kid A swell with happiness. Afterward, he said, "It was pretty hard to keep the throttle open." Which in Kid A language means, "I loved it and I'm proud and happy and joyful."

The dolphins slipped through the water. There is a peculiar kind of longing when you see dolphins. What is it? You want to be with them. You want them to accept you, to tell you, "You the most dolphin-like human I've ever seen." You watch from far off as the rising sun touches their wet, slippery flanks, and they slip off to places you can't follow.

There is a Gala at a nearby international juggling convention tonight. I'm trying to gauge whether I have the energy to go. I'd like to, we do every year. The kids would like it.

We have beautiful visitors with a sweet and perfect year old daughter. I love watching the older kids with her. They are so kind and try to take such good care of her.

This morning while I was making pancakes, YaYa started washing dishes OF HER OWN ACCORD. She washed as many as she could until the water ran out and we couldn't start the pump because the power was out. It's still out. We still have no water. Then she cleaned the counter off a bit, helped Solo get dressed, and swept the kitchen floor. I could barely believe what was happening to me. Have I died, and gone to heaven?

So much of parenting occurs in this "One day at a time," way, but then there are these glimmers, you know? They take your breath away. Kid A's laugh and his face stretched in a smile, YaYa seeing that I needed help and giving me a hand, Solo's modifiers, Leafy's sweet magic. 

Anyhow, not to worry. I'm still here. Busy, and quiet, but still here.

(Un)Changeable

You could graph my life in a series of waves. Doing well, not doing so well. My mind working with me for a while, then turning against me. The tightening in my gut when I'm asked a series of simple questions. "Do you have any plans today? What should we make for lunch? Can you buy some oil and potatoes?" Each question a lance, probing the fight or flight response that is so woefully out of context.

Let's say that I'm not doing so well, lately. I know enough to know I will rise on the next wave.

*

Here are some things that trigger fight or flight, even panic, when I'm not doing so well.

The internet. All forms of connection over the internet. Emails I need to return.

Phone calls.

Money.

Groceries.

To do lists.

Making decisions of any kind.

You'll recall that I have four children, that I help to run a meditation center. That I homeschool. These triggers, therefore, cannot be avoided. Nor would I want to avoid them.

It's sad to me, sometimes, the ways that this sickness can paralyze me. I love to write to people and be written to. I love to pick the ripe tomatoes from the pile. I love to speak into the empty space of the phone and hear something in response. But these are dangerous things in a difficult time.

Can you describe what you're feeling in these moments?

A sense of failure and impending failure so complete that it cannot be moved. It makes me afraid, the sound of people's voices, the thought of opening the computer. Better to walk in circles, go to sleep, sleep myself to oblivion. All the things I did not accomplish, all that I did but didn't do well. The gust of wind that carries them swirls up inside of me. This is anxiety. Anxiety is not "being worried." It is being sat upon by a large elephant.

It is sickness.

*

The other night I decided to sit in the garden and clip the grass for a while. At night, yes, that's what I said. I stopped eventually because I could not see what I was cutting. But it was nice to sit there, in the dark, in the prickly/soft grass listening to the rustle of the palm trees, the whine of mosquitos. The Russian children getting settled for bed in the guest house next door. The moon was there. And the stars.

I was reaching for something helpful, something peaceful, something inspiring as I went to sleep that night. And as I was drifting off, I had a half waking thought journey, snippets of a story or poem or something. They made perfect sense to me as I traveled through them, but in the morning, all I could remember is one line. "Sky, stay sky."

Sky, stay sky?

There are other, cloudier images of what I was thinking. The young story, never realized. Something with walking under the sheen and cloud of many stars, of finding the moon in the swirl, of lying on my back and watching. Sky, stay sky. Don't change, be the same, sky. Stay.

*

My kids made the most amazing To Do lists the other day. I have always loved YaYa's lists, because they are so rewarding. "Wake up," her list says. "Eat breakfast." "Play." She gleefully checks off each point.

Leafy made some as well, for the first time. He listed his in illustrations, because he's not so confident with his writing yet. He had separate lists for me and for Chinua. In the morning he came to me.

"These are the things that I want to do with you today," he said.

1. Snuggle.

2. Draw together.

3. Do something beautiful with flowers."

Who can argue with goals like those?

We snuggled first. That one was easy. Then I needed to sew some things, so Leafy was content to sit with me and draw while I stitched away. We were both doing creative things and sitting together while we did them, so it was enough. Leafy's lists are both wise and flexible.

Later, I needed to prepare for our weekly Devotion Circle. For our Devotion Circle we sing, someone shares a story or message, we pray, we show devotion. We always decorate in some way or another, usually with flowers. It was my turn to prepare the space. As I was heading for the rooftop, I remembered Leafy's list.

"Why don't you come and help me?" I asked him. In the end, he and YaYa and Solo all came. We sat and made a circle of flowers and candles together. They helped me, we created something beautiful, we sat and were together. It was lovely.

It's not always like that. Often I'm running. I'm buying things in the market, I'm watering the garden, I'm giving the kids a snack during homeschool so I can run out to the market to get the day's vegetables. Even now, as I write this, I'm thinking about after, when I need to run out to the vegetable stand to get today's okra and potatoes and lentils, for dinner after devotion circle tonight.

It is the unending nature of details that gets to me. Today's shopping doesn't even mean a day's respite, in my life. I will be back out tomorrow. I cleaned and decluttered two shelves in the kids' room yesterday, but they will be dusty again by the end of the week. Things break, people get sick, this is life. Is there room for thought in such a life? For creativity? For dreaming?

*

Sky, stay sky.

I'm learning, in my thirties, that I will not ever be the sort of consistent person who churns out posts and articles without fail. It is not my nature. I am not an unflinching woman. I set my face like flint, but then it begins to wobble and melt in the rain. I will possibly never even have the strong stem that I desire, the strong rose stem covered in thorns. Protected. Safe. I will always be bendable. A daisy. Accepting it helps.

*

1. Snuggle

2. Draw together

3. Make something beautiful with flowers.

It's a list that describes a pretty good day, actually. And I can do these things, well or unwell, usually. I may not be able to listen to rambling and plan the week's meals without stress, but I can snuggle at any moment. I can't keep my kids in clothes that aren't falling apart or get their bikes fixed in a timely fashion, but I can always stop to make something beautiful with flowers.

*

Sky, stay sky.

I am changeable and inconsistent. This is my nature, all of ours, to some extent. But God is with us, unchangable.

God, unchangeable, unshakeable, immovable, unruffled, not panicking. Jesus, never unloving, not moody, not shaking, not afraid. God moves into me and lives within me. But the distinction never changes, God is God and I am I. I don't become Him, I don't change him. So unchangeable God burns within changeable me. Whether I feel it or not, whether I remember or not, there He is, perfect and good and always the same. Never untrue.

I can rest in it. After all, I occupy my own little restless universe, but the real world, the universe with planets and systems beyond my knowledge continues on despite me.

Sky, stay sky. I'll lie on my back in the grass. Dreaming, just watching. The heavy blue, the haze. Planets glowing, stars in the distance. I'll wait for the wave to smooth itself into ripples, rest in the shallows, wait for the next wave.

Photos from Christmas

I promised them a while ago. Time waits for no man, and we're spinning away into the next year.

Making palm frond stars with Miriam.

This was very soothing to me. I may have to make about a thousand palm frond stars.

Jaya helped me make salad for our feast.

We decorate our live tree. I love this tree. It was a little Charlie Brown Christmas tree when we first got it, three years ago. Our landlord planted it and now it's a huge wonderful tree, perfect for lighting up.

We also decorated our daughter. Actually, our friend Rebekah decorated her. She doesn't look impressed.

Lights and a big circle on Christmas Eve.

Feast!

The tree, seen from above.

Light circle. Everyone shared their names, where they were from, and something that was a light to them in the last year.

 It was a beautiful Christmas. Sweet and lovely and soft.