Things are Sacred “Before They Are Beautiful”

I spent the last week in Green Cay, U.S. Virgin Islands in creative process, in conversation and – ultimately – in exploration of the deeper colors of life. What does it mean to be surrounded by beauty? What does it mean to be resourced by the earth?

Blessed be the Creator God – who made the heavens and the earth. 2 Chronicles 2:12

Part of this exploration was related to how, on an island, you celebrate the rain for filling up the cisterns, you wait for the sun to power up the panels before you do your laundry. This coordination with nature is and of itself a deeply desired internal rhythm I know I have, but I truly think we all have in our innate humanity.

What child doesn’t want to love and feel love from its mother?

Being in community with women who not only lived this way, but discussed which fish were eating which fish, increasing the big fishes’ mercury and who marveled over who had what trees growing on their property was nourishing and replenishing. Like rain to the cistern of my heart :)

Waking up this morning in the midwest with the type of tan I have found you really only get in St. Croix, I walked my garden similar to how I walked Samadhi by the Sea, the garden of my beautiful host for the week, Riya – a chakra oriented artist whose sculpture garden served as the key dwelling place for me and my creative spirit.

My garden – with it’s patchy weirdness, spiraling thin weeds and a serious need of mulch looked much different than Samadhi by the Sea. Thoughtfully still, I took my prayer beads and charged them by one of my favorite 2025 plantings: a baby rosemary shrub I am going to experiment with sheltering over the winter. I walked my garden slowly, kneeling down, looking carefully – naming what I believe are its main centers.

I moved the lemon eucalyptus and the pineapple sage together (near the “The Stump of Contemplation”) so they could be friends as they will both fruit Christmas gifts for my friends when I harvest their leaves, dry them out and bundle them for smudging gifts later on. I texted a dear family friend and studio member, Kim Joern – a master gardener and herbalist – for insight on my lavender. I danced in my garden when a neighbor stopped on her drive by. I pulled a few more weeds, said a few more prayers, noted a few more tasks and came inside.

One of the takeaways from my trip is a new installation in my vocabulary of the word “sacred” before key nouns in my sentences. Like the gold paperclips I picked up on my first day on island were dubbed sacred paperclips and kept all week in a dish, I started seeing the weird, the unorganized, the unmulched, the unattended parts of my Garden of Knowing as sacred.

My list of next round needs? A sacred rain barrel, small sacred fencing for the hostas… Among other things, of course, like sacred stones.

There is this stoic thought about how you cannot tell an emerald it is beautiful and it all the sudden becomes beautiful. Likewise you cannot tell it is is ugly and it becomes ugly. Rather, the nature of the emerald is that of an emerald, its nature is derived from itself.

As I spent time in my newly appointed sacred garden, in its overgrown honeysuckle and hidden irises, I reflected on how nature simply becomes. It unfolds without rush or definition. More rain does one thing, less rain does another. Early falls do things like late springs, hot summers and cold winters are an active part of the unfolding.

I promised my garden I would write in it. And I saw the process of the gardening serve up a lesson as I walked up the steps again (similar to a 12 hour writing day a few days ago, when I ascended and descended the steps of Samadhi by the Sea over and over and over and over).

“Discipline means walking up the steps again.”

It is my recent finding that the faithfulness to the process seems to be more important than the dedication to the outcome itself.

To allow my garden its sacred nature brought the same wave of gratitude and inspiration, nourishment and knowing as the waves crashing ear’s distance away from the vibrant intentionality of Samadhi by the Sea.

At the 3rd Eye Point, Ajna, the 6th sculpture in Samadhi by the Sea.

airports and big rocks @ my parents’ house on a spring day

last night i asked david for his thoughts on me buying a plane ticket and immediately cancelling it just to buy a plane ticket. just now, sitting on my parents’ screened in porch on a march day where the sun and the breeze work together to both comfort and remind you of your need for comfort, i had a pulse of longing for that way you feel when you deplane, work your way through that familiar yet unfamiliar corridor with your suitcase of exactly what you believe you need for however long you planned for.

it’s a feeling of novelty meeting intimacy and exploration using roots. travel. travel, i love you.

on my instagram story this morning, i shared how – in surveying my mom’s backyard for a place to sit and do a little reading and doodling – i realized my obvious choice of: on the creek bed rocks. i shared some of my favorite sits across malibu, ojai, palo verdes, washington state bays, florida beaches.

pretty sure it was after that little picture hunt i had my craving for an airport, that feeling of my travel charms against my chest and the smell of whatever essential oil i chose to accompany my journey. the feel of too much starbucks, a new time zone and the excitement – focus – and anxieties of travelers around me.

i love people. the people i meet on travel have a special folder in my icloud. confident young girls, old graceful men, foreign women who are beyond elegant in their simple cosmopolitan ways. the sunglasses, the water bottles, the caps. the shoes.

i always notice peoples shoes when traveling. i take pictures of my hikers by rocks. i marvel at who people are when in common commute: who are you and why are you going where i am going? though not the one who initiates conversation; i might ask you a question or offer a thread of thought, of appreciation, or compliment.

i think travel is when the real spiritual work of moving people from one place to another happens. it’s an ancient thing: moving from one coordinate to another. and the astonishing truth that a moment with a stranger can change a person’s life, an annoying stranger can give you the patience life lesson of a lifetime, a new food or cultural attribute can inspire a whole new chapter in your life.

i have always said i love travel because it allows you to see yourself against a different backdrop than your ordinary one. things you love and did not realize you love, you will find when you travel. the things you do consistently – that are a part of your being – you do when you travel. the things you need more of in your life, you come across and cherish when you travel. you become when you travel.

today? i traveled to my mom’s creek. i read a myth about how two constellations came to be based on native american folklore. i laid out a half of one of my poems for my publishing project. i drank coffee. i felt chills.

where will you travel today to feel something different? to love what you love? to be who you are?

5.1.20 On the Road

Started into a podcast this morning when Maddox, our youngest, asked for music for a little bit. He is so sweet, I obliged.

As I scrolled for a good easy song to play, I stumbled upon Oceans and said to David, “I think I’ll start us out with a little worship music.”

“I really don’t want to listen to worship music.” He said, with his loving laugh voice which I’m thankful exists.

“Well then that probably means you should” I say in my loving laugh voice which I’m also thankful exists. It was a sweet exchange.

I looked out the window at this beautiful sunny morning, headed into our 9 hour journey to Black Hills National Forest. My heart started to tremble:

// spirit lead me where my trust is without borders //

Listening to the repetition of the prayer while watching the landscape with the lingering smell of a PBJ in the truck cab (made for Aria) made me aware of this reality that I have been led to an adventurous man.

This commitment we are in has me on a roadtrip, through a part of the country I have never been in, using strengths my life has equipped me for (like making three kids comfortable in a backseat and making sandwiches from a front seat – wrapped in a folded napkin with a quick scribble note to the recipient on it) and in a landscape of people so wide and deep that the only realistic expectation I can have of myself to help guide and mother is to stay present. To pay attention.

When I consider the whole of all that is on my mind and heart and how much is unknown, I am led just to consider its opposite: “known”.

I considered seasons of “known” (where nothing major was in question or in flux) and realized those seasons were seasons of plans, concrete planning or where plans were in motion.

If what is “known” means to me that I know the plan then, very much so, my life right now is “on the fly”. Big stuff: I don’t know what June looks like, yes. But even daily stuff like tomorrow night, I’m sleeping “in Montana”.

I did a little word math, a way I journal to try and make sense of complex ideas, to find my center. And I saw quickly that living “on the fly” and living “planned” have the same root: my intention.

If living present, per my true honest root, my intention, I believe, would not make my plan that much different than what I would come up with in a split decision. Said another way, what I come up with in a split decision is probably similar to what I would have planned… I think this is where the lyrics got me, spirit lead me where my trust is without borders.

Maybe living spirit led allows them to be the same: making plans and winging it. Just like Covid changed the best of plans, a boon can change the worst of winging it. If you’re true to your intention, to being spirit led, your trust is without borders.

To close, I’m stunned at how much of my life with David rings true to what I am accustomed to – like long road trips and lots of people – while also having me in unknown territory where I am reminded to rely heavily on the spirit. In yoga, we call this the balance between effort and ease – and when we find this place, we have just the right amount of tension to grow and explore newness with just the right of softness to trust and relax. It’s humbling: how simple the complexities of life can be.

Lots of love. :) me

Iowa. <shrug>