Human to Human

That’s Flat Head Lake, Montana. As seen, a week ago, from the West Shore State Park & Campground, Site B14. Dana and I stayed there on our return from Canada.

I’ve forever been attracted to big spaces. For one reason, I like and need the feeling of emptying. Being in something vast. Places like this invite it. Maybe even insist.

I heard from a recent participant in my Becoming & Belonging Series that she “took the whole weekend to be lazy.” She was actually describing her version of being empty. She expressed delight. And surprise. And “productivity.”

This language of “lazy” is one to work with. Yup, it’s true that sometimes perhaps we just are lazy. I do well to own that. However, sometimes “lazy” is a misrepresentation of a very fierce and conscious decision to make ourselves part of a bigger picture. Part of a different kind of timing. Learning and productivity is not just found in tenacity (particularly of the mind). Sometimes. But let’s nuance this just a bit — sometimes our tenacity needs to be directed to our emptying. This too, is wildly productive. Insights. Feelings. Rediscovery. Purpose. And, and.

I’m glad for such invitations. And insistences. Thx Flat Head.

It was eight days ago that Dana and I said goodbye to our fledgling tomato patch near the back alley. We’d set up the sprinklers for a bit of extra watering while we would be away, traveling, and while the daily temps rose to high 90s. We did something close to counting the tomato blossoms. We took mental snapshots of how big each of the seven plants were. And we left a few hopes in the soil for safety. There is the journey of home. There is also the journey of travel.

We travelled north through Idaho, Montana, and then in to British Columbia. A lot of rain. A surprising amount. Wipers wiped on the car. We slowed down. And paid extra attention. Montana is breath-taking. I quite like those big skies running north. Missoula and Flat Head Lake stir my imagination. And then welcome a sense of rest in me. BC is the same. Forests of pine, spruce, fir and other conifers. The palette switches from the browns of our desert Utah to lush greens everywhere. With many lakes, streams and ponds.

Also lush, was the reconnection with family. This trip was somewhat of a reunion to what was annual “Cousins Week,” mid summer, for 20 or so years. But it’s been 7 years since the last gathering. My parents (they are the elders now). Me + Dana (her first visit). My sister + her hubby. My niece and my nephew with their respective partners. My daughter + her hubby + my granddaughter. Yes — that’s four generations. We did some of the old familiar stuff. And we did some of the new. Raucous card games. A day at the beach. A campfire that I got to light with my granddaughter). Laughs. A few serious questions here and there to glue us together. We ourselves are a forest, standing closer together for this week. Sharing roots and nutrients.

And then, you blink and it’s time to go. You hug each other. You hear a few smatterings of “let’s do this again in 2028.” And “I love you + I love you too.” You travel with suit cases and duffle bags. You travel a bit tenderized by all of the added belonging. You hold each other just a little more in your hearts. A little more shared vine, growing together. Shared swim of life. Shared majesty of mountain.

Return is a big thing. With all of that stirring in heart, mind, belly. I’ve learned over the years, that it’s true, the return is back to a known pattern — the tomato plants are doing well in our patch. And, we carry some life and appreciation — a bit more tenderized. But I’ve also learned, whether it’s eight days to the north or something broader, it’s good to think of it as one flow to another. Life is flowing in the travel. Life is also flowing in the return. I, perhaps you too, do well to welcome that notion of life flowing. Yes, I celebrate that adventure and flow of family in such a rich geography of memory. And, yes also, for the mystery of today, opening to the nexts found in email, todo lists, catching up to projects, and all the rest.

It was eight days ago. And now it is now. And there is a pretty good chance of another something in another eight days with some different people and different wonders showing up.

Many streams, many rivers. One flow. Yup, one love of it all.

There is so much that I loved about yesterday’s Wanderful Excursion. Circle. Story. Connection. Play. Embodiment. Wonder. Kindness. Poetry. Gentling (Gentle-ing). And yes, spacious kinship. Not a speedwalk to the corner and back. Rather, a slow meander., pausing under the trees. Together.

I hosted yesterday with Elif Poshor and Saoirse Charis Graves. What delight to feel flow with them in the creation, in the hosting, and then in the journey with the others gathered.

I heard and was moved by beautiful expressions.

“I like weaving. I like witnessing. I like whole humaning.”
“I seek openness to the creativity and all of the mess that it comes with.”
“I need mystery. I welcome mystery. I want to hold it all gently.”
“I accept that it is what it is, and, that it isn’t what it isn’t.”

And so much more.

Becoming & Belonging, Wander School — yes, these are programs that I’m glad to have created and that I’m glad to continue to evolve. Beyond programs, they are an invitation to a resonance often forgotten. The kind or resonance that changes who we are, and how we go about doing what we do.

A bow.

And an invitation to try the waters in July’s upcoming Wanders.

Poetry moves.
And excites.
And clarifies.
And invites.
Sometimes challenges.

Poetry moves.
The heart.
The mind.
The belly.
Sometime the kneecaps.

My friend Christina, who I think of as a dearest writing teacher, taught me and others that “the first gift is that it heals us”.

Oh, yes, yes.

Poetry moves.
Integration.
Insight.
Intuition.
Sometimes investigation.

I’ve been glad to write three collections of poetry. Available on Amazon. I’ve written much more in private journals, blogs, and pocket notebooks.

Yes, yes — some healing there.
And joy.
And expression.
And invitation to nuance.
Sometimes feel.