Author: Erin

Yesterday, for home school, I took Kara and Maddox across to Whatcom Falls Park. Just to walk, try to find the baby ducks we saw the other day, and to hunt for both yellow and fuzzy dandelions. For Kara to practice making a Daisy Crown and for Maddox to “wish Coronavirus goes away tomorrow”.

As we ventured in on a trail, Kara took us off path right away. After helping her brother down to the water, their curiosity about the rocks and the water grew. They started a little bit of a hunt, after Kara found this orangish amber stone (something that resembled a metaphysical gift shop find).

The space they first went down to was tight, so it didn’t take long for them to hop up and over the muddy ridge and keep walking. A few paces and Kara found us a shoreline.

They got into “the stoop”, looking through half dollar sized rocks but my eyes caught on the creek bed at some others… palm sized… orange sized… irregular and PNW colorful.. stones.

Soon enough, we were all barefoot and in the chilly water grabbing for rocks. I felt my mom’s maternal and Kindergarten teacher blood in my veins as each find was applauded, ohhh’d over and put “in the keeper” pile.

At one point I heard myself saying, “you can always wash your bod and you can always wash your clothes, so don’t let that stop you from having fun.” And recalled this one time my childhood best friend and I played in a soft rain, in the mud of her neighborhood’s new development for hours – being completely free to be a complete mess.

As simple as the conversation was on the outside, my internal conversation grew complex. Kind, but complex.

I reflected on whether Ellen and Lucy had this kind of experience growing up, wanting them with us. Yes, St. Augustine – yes, Malibu – yes, Colorado mud on the rental Mustang. And even, in St Louis, on a creek hike we took…

Oh yes, and there were nature walks with my Grandma … like the one right before she finally got a cane, where I caught her in an off balance moment and Ellen stood wide-eyed; aware of the nature of things.

I thought about the joy Kara and Maddox were experiencing and how my willingness, as a mothering / child guide, to sit and let them do whatever ushered it in. I reflected on my role in their life. I thought about cities, houses and moves.

I became unconvinced, convinced myself again, and then again experienced unconvincing.

Needless to say, we found a pastime to begin. We know what we need in our kit for our next hunt. We know how nice a warm shower feels to wash off the clay on our skin – noses and toes.

I peeled potatoes and put beans in the oven, sat out the fish and started roasting some veggies. The sun through the kitchen window and Avett Brothers on the Google Home settled me in to make dinner.

It is common to hear me say, “I want to guard against a spirit of convincing.” Because I believe the minute I feel that edge to sway, I am missing something. Or I may be missing something.

So I tossed out the projected grief I started to carry that was associated with nearly every logistical idea that exists for our lives. And reminded myself to guard against the spirit of convincing and pay attention.

All I needed to do tonight was peel potatoes.

All I need to focus on this week with David is the lullaby we started writing the other night.

All I wanted was to see all the rocks on the fireplace ledge and get supplies to start my next project in the house.

Flipped open to a random page at some point during or after a virtual class from Om Ananda based out of Fort Collins, CO.

Psalm 101:6-7 interpreted by me, the Erin Elise Rendition

“….. the faithful exist in their own skin, with divine radical supernatural self acceptance.

The person who walks honestly, serves with that honesty.

The person who [works deceit] shall not be safe from the external world –

Is without deep, internal comfort –

And cannot simply exist in their own skin, with divine radical supernatural self acceptance.

iF you are not honest in your living –

In who you are, in what you want or don’t want.

If you say “yes” when you mean no or “no” when you mean yes, you won’t feel the beauty of being truly alive.

You won’t have the same appreciation that is possible when your eyes are open to tiny, realistic miracles. You will miss the way storylines unfold and unveil newness, perspective.”

Still working on “works deceit”. Not sure if I think it’s about profit or eagerness or active living without a truth about who you are.

Still working through what it means for “my eyes shall be on the faithful”…

Makes me want to ask Milta what she gets from this Psalm, or my Dad!

Ok – here’s the prayer:

So, God, I don’t fully know what it means for your eyes to be on me. Does it mean you will see me and reveal to me more truth? Does it mean you will bless my touch and the things I do with intention? Will you make my conversation more salty, seasoned and ready for any?

Whatever it is, I want to exist in my own skin, radically accepting ever part of myself. I believe this will help me offer that same space to others.

I invite a spirit to nudge me and remember to be still so that I can align with where I am each day. I invite a spirit to nudge me to be honest and I pray for those who may be served and who may grow, feel loved by my honesty.

I value the comfort of not being attached to this physical world. I value my emotions and the painful experiences, the hard things, and the reminder of something bigger, the perspective I get when I feel them and experience them.

I pray for my understanding of “work”, “working through” to evolve.

I am grateful for the instruction to say “yes” when I mean “yes” and “no” when I mean “no”. It makes some things so much easier to discern. And I love trusting that even if my no hurts or causes painful experience through my truth – or if my yes does – that that is the way storylines unfold.

I like the little ways I notice possibilities. And I am grateful for new perspective.

Be with the people I love in this same sentiment. That they feel empowered to live true to themselves.

See you later.

I hear my future husband tuning his guitar. When I started this post, I was about to get in the shower after a breezy drive through Idaho (never been, beautiful and other worldly, my God), into and up Washington, landing in 63 degree sunshine. I felt my honey’s battery change to having a little lightning bolt on it. And I proceeded with unloading the truck and opening up the house.

I emptied my beloved cooler, cleaned out the fridge to its bones, wiped down the shelves – paid attention to the plants – goal: reset the kitchen for the month ahead.

David, my teammate, cleaned toilets, was in the yard, and switching switching and again switching the laundry.

It feels good to be here. It feels good to be somewhere different while the country flirts with re-opening. It feels good to get a little anxiety and then let the pine trees and sun heal it.

It feels good to see the blues and grays of the bay and it seem a little normal: less like a treasure and more like a rocking chair.

I plan on doing some physical healing and gut recovery in May. I plan on writing and listening while I work and plan our new family.

Plan our vows.

But most of all? I’m just planning on learning myself in this new season of further entering the cocoon in the PNW backdrop of adventure, engagement and the smell of the facial cleanser I bought in Denver en route here in the fall… with the lavender body wash David bought me in the summer after I played in the dirt in the backyard.

This is my real life. I’m in my real life. It’s beyond me.