all material copyrighted, Jacqueline Kramer, 2007-2008
On the side of the world where I live it is now summer. In the morning I go out to my garden and see zucchinis that are twice as big as they were when I
left them a couple of days before. The garden is a riot of sage, lavender, blue-green squash leaves the size of elephant ears, orange nasturtium trailing
through the pumpkin patch and a number of uninvited plant guests. The sun is big and generous. It invites all things to thrive and expand under its
abundant rays. Where I live one finds bags of plums and tomatoes at the door left by neighbors who have more produce than they know what to do with.
This is a time when you want to shake the peaches off the tree, bring them inside, boil their skins off, mix some butter and flour and sugar with your bare
hands and throw the casserole into a hot oven. It's the kind of season to share peach cobbler with a surprised and delighted family or neighbors. You sit out
on the porch, eat peach cobbler, laugh and drink up the last drops of light from the day all the way into the warm nights. It is easy to have an expansive
heart full of love on this sort of night.
One day you wake up and there is fog in the garden. The growth slows and everything becomes dryer and crispier. Zucchinis become scarce. Dry leaves
start following you as you walk down the street. There is an impulse to make oatmeal and hot tea. The expansive feeling diminishes and what is left is a bit
of sadness in the places where the heart mind was stretched wide open in the full sun. Life is pulling in. Winter is on the way.
In the winter we ring our neighbors doorbell, this time bringing cards and cookies. We go inside our homes and huddle by the fire. Even the days are
dark. We read, reflect and draw into small spaces to stay warm. The plants stop growing. They too pull themselves into their roots to keep their life force
warm. It is a time of intimacy with our selves. Even noise and activity is more introspective. We may wake up with a little sadness. If we cling to the expansive
joy of summer our happiness will be ripped out of our hands. We are stripped bare and challenged to know ourselves without distraction.
Expansions and contractions occur in everything that breathes. We can watch them in our own breath as we meditate. The in breath expands our
experience of the outside as we take in the smell of incense, apples, the garbage that needs to be taken out and life giving oxygen. The out breath draws us
inward and empties out toxins and CO2. As we meditate we watch our mind expand with ideas and insights then contract into emptiness, if only for a brief
moment.
We expand and contract in our life off the pillow as well. Sometimes we need to contract our spending patterns when money is tight, sometimes we can
spend more freely. Sometimes our lives seem barren and without inspiration, sometimes we are bursting with activity and creativity. We may feel limitless joy
at the birth of a child or deep contraction at the death of someone we love. Sometimes life feels dark even in summer and, against the call of the season, we
need to pull in. Sometimes we burst out into an icy white winter night, our hearts in love and expanding beyond the bare horizon.
Some of us love the feeling of expansion, the ripeness and juiciness, but are afraid of the dark, cold quiet days. Some of us feel warm and cozy in small
spaces but fear the limitlessness of expansion. Yet, it is our nature to both expand and contract. As we practice open awareness we begin to flow with the
expansions and contractions. We grow and thrive during our bright days and allow ourselves to turn into the mysterious darkness, open to the richness of
small, spaces, open to emptiness. Instead of fighting where we are we take the ride, joyful and grateful for this life in a body in which we can feel life's pulse.
We let go of the branch and fall into the river of life as it expands and contracts.
left them a couple of days before. The garden is a riot of sage, lavender, blue-green squash leaves the size of elephant ears, orange nasturtium trailing
through the pumpkin patch and a number of uninvited plant guests. The sun is big and generous. It invites all things to thrive and expand under its
abundant rays. Where I live one finds bags of plums and tomatoes at the door left by neighbors who have more produce than they know what to do with.
This is a time when you want to shake the peaches off the tree, bring them inside, boil their skins off, mix some butter and flour and sugar with your bare
hands and throw the casserole into a hot oven. It's the kind of season to share peach cobbler with a surprised and delighted family or neighbors. You sit out
on the porch, eat peach cobbler, laugh and drink up the last drops of light from the day all the way into the warm nights. It is easy to have an expansive
heart full of love on this sort of night.
One day you wake up and there is fog in the garden. The growth slows and everything becomes dryer and crispier. Zucchinis become scarce. Dry leaves
start following you as you walk down the street. There is an impulse to make oatmeal and hot tea. The expansive feeling diminishes and what is left is a bit
of sadness in the places where the heart mind was stretched wide open in the full sun. Life is pulling in. Winter is on the way.
In the winter we ring our neighbors doorbell, this time bringing cards and cookies. We go inside our homes and huddle by the fire. Even the days are
dark. We read, reflect and draw into small spaces to stay warm. The plants stop growing. They too pull themselves into their roots to keep their life force
warm. It is a time of intimacy with our selves. Even noise and activity is more introspective. We may wake up with a little sadness. If we cling to the expansive
joy of summer our happiness will be ripped out of our hands. We are stripped bare and challenged to know ourselves without distraction.
Expansions and contractions occur in everything that breathes. We can watch them in our own breath as we meditate. The in breath expands our
experience of the outside as we take in the smell of incense, apples, the garbage that needs to be taken out and life giving oxygen. The out breath draws us
inward and empties out toxins and CO2. As we meditate we watch our mind expand with ideas and insights then contract into emptiness, if only for a brief
moment.
We expand and contract in our life off the pillow as well. Sometimes we need to contract our spending patterns when money is tight, sometimes we can
spend more freely. Sometimes our lives seem barren and without inspiration, sometimes we are bursting with activity and creativity. We may feel limitless joy
at the birth of a child or deep contraction at the death of someone we love. Sometimes life feels dark even in summer and, against the call of the season, we
need to pull in. Sometimes we burst out into an icy white winter night, our hearts in love and expanding beyond the bare horizon.
Some of us love the feeling of expansion, the ripeness and juiciness, but are afraid of the dark, cold quiet days. Some of us feel warm and cozy in small
spaces but fear the limitlessness of expansion. Yet, it is our nature to both expand and contract. As we practice open awareness we begin to flow with the
expansions and contractions. We grow and thrive during our bright days and allow ourselves to turn into the mysterious darkness, open to the richness of
small, spaces, open to emptiness. Instead of fighting where we are we take the ride, joyful and grateful for this life in a body in which we can feel life's pulse.
We let go of the branch and fall into the river of life as it expands and contracts.
| August 2008 - Expansion and Contraction by Jacqueline Kramer |
| N ewsletter |
| The Hearth Foundation - Copyright 2007 - 2008 Wendy Myers Web Designs - Copyright 2007-2008 |
