sometimes, when i do a reiki session for a client, i see a series of images that may or may not be accompanied by a story. if i can manage to remember the images and story until the session is over, i like to share them with the client.

i was doing a reiki session for myself one day when i saw the following story.

it is a beautiful day and i am walking down a path. there is lush green grass on both sides of the path.

i push and pull at the castle gate, but it is to no avail.

at this point, the story stopped. i couldn’t see the ending. my sense, however, was that the ending, the way into the castle and celebration, had something to do with giving up, though i didn’t know if it had to do with giving up or with giving up something.

’tis the season for our hikes at the sandy river delta to begin!

atlas and i headed there for a hike (for me) and a run (for him) last tuesday and then again on sunday.

on tuesday, we met that little black dog. he (or possibly she, i can’t remember) was hilarious. he kept dropping that slobbery ball on the ground, lying down in front of it, and then staring at it. but if his person tried to get the ball to throw it, he would grab it and run away.

on sunday, we met another weimaraner. you can see him (or her) chasing atlas in one of the photos.

it’s such a great place for dogs. i have a feeling we will be heading there again tomorrow. plus, a tired dog is a happy dog. or is it a tired dog is a happy owner. probably both.

one.

i’ve been thinking a lot about how i believe that beauty is a need (in point of fact, it is often included as one of the needs and desires that people try to fulfill), a need i think we would all do well to spend more of our time/energy/resources on than we do. beauty is an expression of the soul; therefore, expressing it feeds our soul, and our soul needs nourishment as much as the rest of us does. in some ways, maybe even more, because there is something about allowing our soul to express itself that helps elevate life from the mundane, that gives us a vision, that helps us go on when things are hard.

two.

expressing and appreciating beauty feels vulnerable, and it can be hard to be vulnerable.

three.

if i could gift you with the qualities i think you need in order to fill your life with beauty, they would be: trust and permission; maybe a dash of presence; and maybe a spoonful each of play, curiosity, vulnerability, and openness.

on this chilly afternoon, i am thinking about coffee and tea.

the first three photos were taken at a bakery in northwest portland called two tarts. they have the cutest little cookies. each one is a mouthful. or two.

the last two photos were taken at townshend’s tea company on alberta street. on this visit, i tried a roasted coconut mate latte. it was good. (to which i say, whew. i don’t love tea so am still trying to find just the right drink there.)

thinking about coffee and tea makes me think of a) the strangeness of memory and b) the power of a tune. during a visit to the wisconsin state fair one summer, i heard the ink spots sing a song that included the following lines: “i like coffee. i like tea. i like the java java. it loves me. coffee and tea for the java in me. a cuppa cuppa cuppa cuppa coffee.” what feels like a million years later, i still remember it, never mind that it seems like that space in my memory could be used for much more important things, like the exact day of my sister helen’s birthday.

speaking of the power of a tune, i used to use tunes to memorize words for spelling bees. if you ever ask me how to spell a word like rapprochement, for example – not that i imagine you ever would – if i don’t sing the spelling to you, then you should know that i am singing it in my head and then translating it to regular speak so you don’t laugh at me.

at the beginning of the year, i started a conversation about beauty.

i had been wanting to talk about beauty for a long time, but there were things in the way. i talked about some of them.

i thought that post was just the beginning and that i would continue the conversation. after all, i think about beauty all the time. after all, i have lots of things i want to tell you about beauty.

and yet here we are, nine months later, and i haven’t continued the conversation at all.

i knew something was in the way, but i didn’t know what it was.

until the moment i did.

it turns out that i can’t talk about beauty because i’m not beautiful.

this seems like such a puzzling reason.

for one: physical beauty, as defined by other people or society or culture, or by our impression of ourself based on those definitions, is not what i want to talk about at all. it is completely unrelated to what i am thinking about when i think about beauty. i talked about this in the initial conversation.

for two: one of the things i believe to be true of beauty is that it is a quality of the soul and, as such, we are all beautiful. it seems the height of hubris to imagine that i am somehow the one exception.

the good thing about letting the unconscious become conscious is that often, those thoughts dissolve in the light of day. this was one of them. i wrote this in my journal on wednesday and immediately followed it with a number of blog posts about beauty. i felt moved to share this before i begin. again.

atlas and i have an almost-annual tradition of visiting a corn maze. last week, we went to bella organic’s corn maze on sauvie island with a friend and her pups.

it is a fun tradition for me, though i was wondering what atlas thinks about it. it occurred to me while we were walking that, from a dog’s perspective, it might seem like wandering around in a corn field with a person who doesn’t seem to know where she’s going and often winds up in the exact same place is not really the best idea.

(you would think that dogs would be good at leading you through mazes. as it turns out, not so much.)

just for fun, here are the stories from two previous visits:

• lost in the corn
• the story of a girl, a dog, and a corn field

i was lying on my bed last evening, looking at the pictures on my wall from a different – sideways – angle, and i noticed the heart in this particular image.

can you see it?

(i’ll give you a hint. it’s not a complete heart. you can see all of the left half and a little of the right.)

it just goes to show you that rotating images can be full of lovely surprises.

together
no, not together
alone

here, i am always alone

i’ve been here before

in my dreams
in my waking life
in my dreams that have yet to be dreamed

and yet
it is different this time

before
i was holding back

i say that i am seeking
the divine
madness

and yet
i am really seeking safety and security
in a different form

the madness is here
again
knocking at the door

i want to let her in
i want to answer her call
i don’t want to be afraid anymore

alone
i step
out
over the ledge

i am not waiting for a net
i am not asking for wings
i am not crying, “save me”

i am falling
i am tumbling

as i fall
through terror and exhilaration
through loss and love

i wonder
if i will live or die

there is a blackbird in my breast
and a bluebird in my ear

each one is whispering secrets
the other one can’t hear

hello, friends.

if i could give you one piece of advice from my very long life, it would be this:

learn to open doors.

you will be glad you did.

besides the possibility of opening that marvelous food-filled box in the kitchen, there are many times when i want to leave a room or a building and elizabeth is strangely uncooperative, no matter how strongly i attempt to communicate my desire to her.

if i could open doors myself, this would not be a problem. i would just open the door and walk out.

oh, the freedom.