Saturday Morning

I am grateful for my horses.

I was the typical horse addicted little girl: horses filled my dreams, my waking thoughts and my imagination.  Breyer horses occupied the space on my shelves that wasn't filled with books about horses.  I wished for a horse until it seemed that having a horse would fulfill every wish in the world.  But having a horse wasn't possible in my family, and so I buried the dream beneath layers of explanation.  "I can't have a horse because of money ...space ... time" eventually became "because I'm not the kind of person who can have a horse."  And that became "I'm not the kind of person whose dreams come true". 

I lived with that belief about myself for most of my young adult life, and manifested it in many 'failures': failure to get pregnant, failure to be loved as I wanted to be loved, failure to create joy for myself.  But then I happened upon the world of horse rescue, and that small happenstance became the catalyst for enormous changes in my thinking and in my life.

By the time I found out about horse abuse and slaughter, I was already a neophyte metaphysician.  I believed Ernest Holmes' commandment: "Change your thinking and change your life", but I saw only its most surface implications.  I had not yet grasped the reality that all of the conditions of my life arose from my thoughts and beliefs, so changing those beliefs didn't occur to me.  Even less did I realize that I needed to explore the things I believed about myself and the world if I wanted my life to change for the better.

But one day while searching the internet for a place to take riding lessons, I stumbled upon Harvest Moon Ranch.  Buried in a page about some of their horses was a reference to horse slaughter, and an organization in Washington that was rescuing horses who were bound for slaughter.  I immediately found the website for that organization, saw the photos of the horses they were hoping to rescue from the feedlot, and fell in love.  I saw a chestnut mare they called Speckles, and recognized the gorgeous horse I had often dreamed about owning as a child.  But seeing her photo wasn't enough to overcome my belief that "I wasn't the kind of person who could have a horse".  It wasn't until I saw the photo of a younger chestnut mare called "Spirrah" that I recognized a compelling plea for help.  The look in her eyes spoke directly to my soul, and I knew that this horse needed my help. 

So, even though I believed I wasn't good enough, rich enough, blessed enough, I made the decision to rescue these two mares.  Suddenly, the girl who couldn't have horses became the girl who had two rescues who needed her, whose very lives depended on her.  That was the beginning of the end of a belief that had held me captive far too long.  Because rescuing those beautiful horses shattered that belief I was able to begin the process of looking at all of the beliefs that were creating my life. 

Since then I have been able to identify and gradually change many of the 'truths' I had accepted about myself and my world and replace them with Truth as I understand it now.  My life has never been better, and I know that this is only the beginning of the changes I will create for myself and others.  I owe all of this to Speckles and Spirrah, now lovingly known as Gualala and Pippin. 

And so I am grateful to my horses, whose peril became the catalyst for change and whose well-being gives me motivation when I struggle to find it for myself.  Thank you, Divine Spirit, Creator of all that is beautiful, for my horses.

Friday Morning

I am grateful for affection.

I was blessed yesterday to spend the day with my sister's family and in-laws, my parents, and family friends.  There was an abundance of wonderful food (including a few vegan dishes made especially for me), shared stories and laughter.  Everyone seemed relaxed, and happy to be celebrating Thanksgiving together.  I realized as I was driving home afterward that one of the things I most love about seeing my family is the physical affection we share with eachother.  Hugs and kisses, besos y abrazos, are freely given and joyfully received. 

After years of living in a home without affection, I recognize that it isn't just receiving the hugs that is so important to me.  Having a happy recipient is even more important than being the happy recipient.  And my family are, by the vast majority, happy to be hugged, happy for squeezes and hand holding and strokes on the cheek.  No one manages to leave our gatherings without hearing "I'll take one more hug" from at least a few.  What better way to acknowledge our connection than with a physical one?

As my life moves forward I hope that affection will be as much in abundance as every other blessing.  And I am grateful for the ways in which affection shows up in my life now.  Thank you, Mother-Father-Sister-Brother God, for affection.

Thanksgiving Morning

I am grateful for the way in which time and Spirit heal.

Reflecting back one year ago today, I remember well my state of being.  I lived in a constant psychic malaise; just unsettled enough that I was never relaxed but so subtly unsettled that I didn't recognize until recently the anxiety that was always just under the surface.  It was like hiking for miles in uncomfortable shoes and only at the end of the trail removing the boots and realizing that they were uncomfortable because there were pebbles inside.  I knew I wasn't at ease but couldn't get enough distance from the discomfort to really identify it.  And since I couldn't identify it, I certainly had no thought of understanding its source. 

But in the way these lessons go, Life brought the discomfort more and more into my awareness until I had no choice but to look at it head on.  Spirit knew I was not living in my full expression and brought the lesson so close that I saw it, identified it, and finally understood what I had only dimly perceived before. 

Since that time, I have been moving through lesson upon lesson, moving into and out of pain so profound I have felt as if my very cells were being destroyed.  The movement is not yet complete, I know that there is still more to learn as Life insists upon my emerging completeness. 

"All Life is a movement towards our perfection"

I move into and through these lessons so that Spirit in me, as me, can express more fully.  As the movement takes place I am healed bit by bit as an onion is peeled, and I come closer and closer to that sweet flesh within which is my perfection. 

And so I am grateful that Spirit within me demands my growth and healing.  And so it is. 

Wednesday Morning

I am grateful for the self-givingness of Spirit.

God gives itself continually, instant by instant, to its creation.  What we are made of is what God makes us with: Godstuff.  We are no more separate from God than the rays of sunlight are separate from their Sun.  They are not all of the Sun, but all of what they are is Sun.  Likewise, all exists within and through God.  There is no thought within God of withholding itself, its bounty, or its love from its creation; there is only giving and giving and giving.  Whether it is by grace or by merit we are the constant recipients of the self-givingness of God. 

"So God created man in His own image"

And we see around us the proofs of this replication.  When we are at our finest, when we express that within us which is our best, our Godling-ness, we too are self-giving.  We share our abundance with those who are in need; we share our gifts with those who will make use of them; we share our joy and our laughter and do not think to reserve them to ourselves.  At these times we come closest to our God-nature; we act in love for creation around us and give and give and give.

And so I am grateful for the self-givingness of Spirit, and the expression of that givingness as the generosity of my fellows. 

In gratitude.

Tuesday Morning

I am grateful for my hands.

Before I sit down to meditate, or blog or read or make a phone call, I pick up my knitting and work a row or two on the project before me.  I am calmed, centered, stilled as my hands transmit the joy of yarn and knitting to my heart.  The feel of the yarn as it slides over and through my fingers, of the needles as they press against my fingertips and guide the loops of yarn in and out of the emerging fabric, these tactile pleasures come to me through my workman-like hands. 

My hands sense, they create, they grasp and they offer up gifts.  Like my mother, I accentuate my speech with the movements of my hands.  The touch of my hands conveys my caring; the things my hands feel as I examine a patient brings me information about the state of the body's being; my hands grasp the hands of others in greeting and in compassion.  Without my hands I would not be the person I consider myself to be and I can not even fathom the ways it would change me if I were to lose the function of my hands. 

They are not lovely, my hands.  The skin is creased, weathered, often dry.  The fingers are not shapely, the nails are uneven.  I do not have the hands of a dancer, or of an artist.  But I do have wonderful hands that never fail me:  they do all that I ask them to do. 

And so on this day, I am grateful for my hands and for the spark of the Divine which expresses in me through them. 

Thank you, Beloved, for the gift of my hands.

Monday Morning

Today I am grateful for the feeling of gratitude.

I don't remember how or even when it started, but for many years I have been approaching gratitude as a sort of meditative practice.  At some point, I became aware that when I think about God, or Spirit, or a 'Supreme Being', what I feel more than any thing else is grateful.  It was at that time that I took the pseudonym 'Gratefulknits'.  It came from a screen-name generating progam on Yahoo or Google that asked "how would you describe yourself?" and "what do you like to do?"  The answers 'grateful' and 'to knit' were instantaneous. 

Of course I'm aware, as is any feeling person, of how much suffering there is in the world, how much needless pain and destruction humans inflict on each other and on the Earth.  I see those things and the grief is a physical hurt in my chest.  It would be so easy to take refuge in an attitude I often hear: "people suck" or "life is painful".  And I'm guilty of doing it, oftener than I'd like to admit.

But all I need to do is take even a second to contemplate the Earth, the immensity of Creation, and then I can only feel gratitude.  Feeling gratitude is much like feeling love: it benefits the one experiencing it, so much more than it benefits its intended recipient.  I am enlarged when I am grateful; I become more than I was, I receive more than I ever had to offer.  I am both humbled and uplifted and can scarcely utter the words 'thank you' as I recognize the hand of God in that which lies before me. 

And so I am grateful.

Thank you, God, for the gift of gratitude.

Sunday Morning

I am grateful for my hearing.

Sitting on my couch on early Sunday morning, I am surrounded by sounds of life.  I hear my sister in the kitchen and I know my home contains love.  I hear a crow on the telephone wire and know that his belly will soon be full with walnuts from the neighborhood tree.  I hear the sound of the clock ticking away the seconds and my thoughts are transported to John Harrison and his clock-making experiments in the 18th Century.  Because of the gift of hearing I can entertain myself with songs from my childhood and the remembered voice of my beloved Nana.

The sounds of life weave in and out of my awareness, creating an ever-changing symphony which is the sound-track of my existence.  Without my hearing I could still function, but would live in a world only half as rich.

Thank you, Mother-Father-God, for the gift of my hearing.