Fri, 18 May 2012 10:35:34 -0500WeeblyTue, 08 May 2012 18:26:08 -0500http://tremblingleaf.com/1/post/2012/05/change-for-julie.htmlEver have that feeling that things are spinning like a wobbly top, and the wobbly part is getting crazy? Me too! The world ain't what it used to be by a long shot. But, then again, it never was.

Change can be threatening to feelings of security and predictability. Change can feel like a cold wind on a raw day which seems to take your breath away. Change can be uncomfortable, even very painful.

Yet, Change must be embraced or we risk even worse: stagnation, embrittlement, encystation. Change challenges me to wrap my big arms around Life and draw Life close to my chest, even when there are some pointy things in the mix that keep squirming around.

At times it feels like I've got a scrappy little kitten in my arms. Other times I feel like I'm wrestling an arm full of blackberry brambles on a windy day. A little blood may get drawn.

Give me the full deal with this Life thing. Not interested in a half-lived, half-awake, sub-life. Winter comes but that is only because Summer came and is coming again. Change comes but it will also yield to that Peacable Kingdom in its time.

The really great thing about Change is that it keeps changing, keeps rolling along. When Change gets painful it is just as likely to change into something very lovely, or startling, or puzzling, or satisfying.

Just like the Pioneers, the only ones who get to stand in the presence of great discoveries are those who embark on journeys into the unknown. And like grabbing a hold of that little pig at the County Fair, until you do wrap your arms around Change, you will never know just were it might take you in this thing called Life.
]]>Fri, 09 Mar 2012 17:23:31 -0500http://tremblingleaf.com/1/post/2012/03/the-man-thing.htmlYou've probably noticed that I do my fair share of writing about men and little snip-its of man-life. Being a guy myself, I consider it an honor to interpret the tableau of guy dynamics as they play out before my eyes.

Man Things have been getting some bad press and bad PR recently. This is my little part to present a guy view of men "in the field", in their element; undistrubed by tour buses of gawking naturalists or the like.

Sure, my bias is that, by and large, guys are honorable, well intended, limited creatures who often times do the best they can as they see how to do it. But, that IS the human condition, isn't it? We could say that about any or all of us.

I hope that these humble observations and inspirations can in some way uplift your spirit. There is so much goodness we can see and receive if we have open hearts and peaceful spirits. I believe we need each other on this journey. We need all the differences and all the likenesses, too. Its a wild and wooly ride at times!

]]>Fri, 09 Mar 2012 14:37:36 -0500http://tremblingleaf.com/1/post/2012/03/apprehending-a-thief.htmlRecently, I've been trying to undo an number of things which probably should not have been done in the first place. Bad habits, like big rocks, often times are a drag and take significant effort to remove. One of my worst habits is letting "time" steal from me.

As I have heard, there was an Africa tribe that thought clocks created time. They did not like that at all. They did not like clocks, either. I can sympathize!

Yet I have repeatedly allowed 'the clock' create time inside of me. I have stacked my work load, calculated timelines, worked to cram in as much doing as possible. Jacked up my stress levels. I'm spent I tell you. Clock went from being a tool to being a tyrant. I'm done with that!

I have been working to weed out the tentrils of time pressure from my inner life. It takes attention to recognize the little buggers, but worth the effort: snip - snip - snip. After a few weeks I am more calm inside and can focus on what I do with more enjoyment and less stress.

This is not just a matter of not wanting to be troubled or pushed. Its a matter of health for me. I recognize that if I continue to allow time to be the master, then it will steal my vitality, joy and peace. It will also kill me. That would not be a "career enhancing move", as they say.

So, 'time', you are going were you belong. I am removing your status as a master and relegating you to the tool chest. When I want you I'll call for you. Otherwise, chill.
]]>Fri, 17 Feb 2012 22:02:57 -0500http://tremblingleaf.com/1/post/2012/02/a-mighty-cloud-of-witnesses.htmlI had grabbed a cup of coffee from the coffee place on Main St, and was working back against the cold wind to my desk. Turning the corner where the old train station clock is displayed I found a mighty cloud of witnesses surrounding ...Who/What?

There were at least a hundred wings clapping at the brisk air surrounding a man in a wheel chair. Out in the cold wind both man and birds were engrossed in a ritual that I'm sure had happened daily for more than a few months. He was casting out bread crumbs to the adoring crowd. And the crowd was eating it up, quite literally!

He was the master of ceremonies at a feast of grace where no one was wondering why they were there, neither they nor him. Though his head was bent down as he cast out the fare I could see the most blessed smile on his face. The birds were furiously fluttering with happiness and desire as he was intently lading out the stuff of his patronage.

It could very well have been the pinnacle of each of his days. I do not know, but it looked so. His admirers were equally as inspired that he, again, returned to give them goodness. As I walked past him it occurred to me: One giving freely day after day, with Joy, to those who could not pay Him back. I thought about that for a while afterward and the next day.
]]>Thu, 16 Feb 2012 22:40:15 -0500http://tremblingleaf.com/1/post/2012/02/gnarled-old-hands.htmlWhen I was a lad of 7 or 8 I had a fascination with the hands of men that had seen hard work. The wrinkles and callouses and worn shiny skin seemed to be magic to me. Here were hands that touched tools, metal and wood. They endured pain. They formed the ground and living things. I was enthralled by those hands, even though they were mostly at rest when I saw them.

I desperately wanted to have hands like that. My own young hands were skinny and tender. No character. They were weak and easily felt pain. On occasion I would use my hands roughly and try to get them toughened up, but the progress was very slow. I vaguely recall my first real callouses and that I was amazed that I finally had a callous to speak of.

Today, at 55, I look at my hands and see a bit of the hands of a working man. My palm skin is creasing up. Some of my joints are getting a little large. One finger won't straighten out very well. There are scars and stains here and there. The veins stand out a bit on the backs and the skin is starting to get a bit transparent. I think I'm finally making some progress.

Then I meet my neighbor Ralph and I feel like a little kid again. He's in his 80's and worked in the woods almost all of his life. His hands are just as gnarled and knotty are old tree roots. Beaten up and yet tender. Old, yet capable. And when he gestures with those old hands I DO pay respect to his decades of years and experiences. I love his hands.

Hopefully I can get some more things done with these hands of mine and make a real contribution of goodness to this world. I'd like to have more character in my hands. Its going to take some real work. And maybe, just maybe when I'm an old man gesturing to make my point some younger whippersnapper will pay me a bit of respect, even if just for the fact that I have cool looking, roughed up old hands that have a few things to say for themselves.

Now ... where did I put that shovel of mine??
]]>Mon, 09 Jan 2012 19:07:29 -0500http://tremblingleaf.com/1/post/2012/01/when-push-comes-to-shove-or-not.htmlI'm always a little concerned when I find myself with a choice between two things I don't want. Have you been there recently? Sometimes its best to take a breath and step back, at least a short distance, to gain some perspective. Let the ill-wind blow by. See what's left after the squall line passes through.

I have a cat like that. His name is Lee. He's quite the charming fellow. He does not know any other cat who is not his friend. Kind of like the way Will Rogers lived: “A stranger is just a friend I haven't met yet.” Another cat might hiss at Lee, but Lee just looks at him with a kind of expression that says to me "no hablo 'hiss' , wanna be friends!?" He really doesn't speak that language!

Guess what? Lee has alot of friends and no enemies! He walks in a world without looking over his shoulder. Knows who gives the best head rubs and where the best sunny spots are. He's a wise one.

Maybe your example walks on two feet. Some of mine walk on four, too. Its really good to have the chance to see how it all can be different, and that 'push' may not lead to 'shove' as much as a chance to be friends.

Its worth a shot!



]]>Thu, 05 Jan 2012 19:33:28 -0500http://tremblingleaf.com/1/post/2012/01/heres-to-a-lovely-new-year-in-every-bright-hue.htmlLife is often what we make of it. Whether we are in a rough patch or living on easy street we can choose to see light or darkness, good or bad, possibilities or problems. We can choose to live or wait for life to happen to us. Choosing well is the art of this life.

Sometimes the currents of swirling waters rise up and rip at us as we cling to a scrub branch. Sometimes the sun lays its mellowing warmth on our drowsy form. Sometimes we awake at night not knowing, which can be a very bad feeling indeed. Other times the warmth of security provides the kind of mothering we remember from times a'bye.

Day 5 of the year 2012 is like a blank sheet of paper waiting for you and me to begin to trace and fill our lives. We have 360 more sheets to inscribe. I hope and pray that we draw well these lives of ours. Every line and shade are a commitment, not to perfection, but to exploration and the privilege of breath.

Its time to get out our coloring pens and make this the very best year we have lived so far! Please do not wait for tomorrow, friend. It is time to really paint it up one side and down the other.

If you need assistance, you may enlist the encouragement of 2 or 3  Doctors of Living whose ages range from 3 to 5 years old. They are wise in many ways and a benefit to those of us who are returning to our easels after many years.
]]>Fri, 23 Dec 2011 18:29:11 -0500http://tremblingleaf.com/1/post/2011/12/pink-back-pack-and-love.htmlEarlier this Fall, when the leaves had started to fade, I was driving to my day job. Along the way I saw love.

He stood at least 6 feet tall, thin as a young man usually is: beard, long-ish hair, working man's clothes, light coat against the coolness of the morning. His right arm hung down. His hand was down to his thigh, holding the little hand of his daughter.

His daughter was hardly as tall as his knee, and her arm was almost straight up, hand in her father's hand surrounding hers. She wore a padded pink jacket which was seeing its next year of service. They walked carefully, at her pace, without rush, going to the place where the school bus would pick her up.

The pink back pack matched her coat. It was as big as she. I think it must have been filled with dreams and the future and a lot of things you can't see unless your eyes are well adjusted.

And he was wearing it, as they walked along together.
]]>Fri, 23 Dec 2011 18:01:01 -0500http://tremblingleaf.com/1/post/2011/12/to-my-brothers-in-caring-arms.htmlSometimes we read of a man who has done a heroic deed, or even an ordinary deed done in an extraordinary way or time. Many, many of our worthy acts are never witnessed, except by eternal eyes.

Joe (not his real name) is caring for his wife, of over 6 decades, who is dealing with progressive dementia. Their journey together continues even in these kinds of days. His strength combined with her spirit: like a three legged race where each must hold the other up while moving forward. That takes practice!

Having also been a care giver I understand a bit of this dance of three legs, two arms and one life.

Joe is my hero and example. He is my comrade in caring arms. There are many of us 'Brothers of the Caring Arms'. I'm sure there are a few metals and ribbons on our chests that no one can see. But we know each other by a certain look of the soul in the eyes: a knowing, a caring, some sorrow, some joy.

Brothers, you are not forgotten. Keep the Flame of the Heart alive. Live well. Rest along the way. Take good care of you as well as your loved ones, too. We've a few more miles to go on this journey of ours.
]]>Tue, 02 Aug 2011 07:44:16 -0500http://tremblingleaf.com/1/post/2011/08/good-times-with-kids.htmlWe were attending a music festival at Thomas Point in Brunswick, Maine (Saltwater Celtic Music Festival) this past weekend. There, camped out just in front of us, was a family of Dad, Mom and 3 small kids.

We were all enjoying the music. Great bands from near and far playing their traditional and contemporary Celtic vibes. But of course the kids are "action heros", ya know. They were just wanting to have some fun and fun was being pretty active, too.

Dad was laying down on the blanket. And the kids wanted to use Dad as a jungle gym of sorts. He would put his feet on their tummies, hold their arms and lift them skyward. What FUN! Then would turn them over very gently as they landed feet first over his head. Exceedingly more fun :)

The kids lined up in queue waiting their turn, giggling and expectantly waiting for their ride. After a few turns they moved on to other endeavors. It was a joy to watch and brought back memories of my own kidhood time being hoisted skyward.

(As an aside: you do not need a cell phone or internet connection to make this kind of fun.)]]>