clarity begs for surrender

“We are what we think.
All that we are arises with our thoughts.
With our thoughts we make the world.
Speak or act with an impure mind,
And trouble will follow you
As the wheel follows the ox that draws the cart.

We are what we think.
All that we are arises with our thoughts.
With our thoughts we make the world.
Speak or act with a pure mind,
And happiness will follow you
As your shadow, unbreakable.”

— Buddha

August 11, 2016 - Daily Notes, From the Editor

I surrender.

I did that thing yesterday where you post your perspective related to politics on your personal Facebook page. Have you ever done that? Holy moly. Why did I do that? Is "ugh" a real word? Did I really need to open my mental and heart spaces up to the sort of rants that can result? I keep letting out these huge sighs.

Social media can be difficult to navigate with clarity.

I love the connection, sharing of ideas and access to new information. It feels sweet to post photographs of my delightful niece as she grows. It feels encouraging to hear feedback when I share my writing. It feels gratifying to watch Lucia's readership grow. It feels rewarding to give "likes" away to others, tiny dopamine gifts I get to scatter like stars in the summer sky.

But it is also a recipe for overwhelm, wasted time, squandered attention and misdirected energy. If I am not careful (and even when I am) it becomes a black hole that drains creativity faster than anything else I've encountered.

This morning I was nervous about logging back on. What new ugly or uncomfortable thing might be sitting there waiting for me? How would I respond? How much does it matter to me? Why? I could feel my precious energy being sucked into the vortex before even turning on the machine.  

One of my dear friends, who I met years ago when I lived in Washington, D.C., is Buddhist and a former journalist. He inspires me regularly by walking the line on social media--sharing his feelings, personal history, and informed perspective on (often difficult) topics and current events. The words he chooses to share are remarkably loving, kind, curious and courteous, even when others' are not. His principles and boundaries are clear.

His post was the first thing I saw this morning. He seemed to be sharing his own struggle with the same thing I am questioning...how on earth to navigate social media during this time of incredible change and maintain self-respect, compassion, kindness, clarity, and grace. He shared these words from a 2,500 year old teacher known as the Buddha:

We are what we think.
All that we are arises with our thoughts.
With our thoughts we make the world.
Speak or act with an impure mind, 
And trouble will follow you
As the wheel follows the ox that draws the cart.

We are what we think.
All that we are arises with our thoughts.
With our thoughts we make the world.
Speak or act with a pure mind, 
And happiness will follow you
As your shadow, unbreakable.

I decided I need a clarity break. My thoughts are engulfed and flooded with what I find on social media as I scroll, scroll, scroll. "Pure mind" sounds like a shining body of water I can see glinting on the horizon, and I am the thirsty nomad who has managed to wander only halfway through August. It's not too late for a social media summer vacation.

The things I want to write, read, create and do for Lucia are here in front of my nose, in living color. I don't need to be in the matrix to do them. August is waiting just out my front door. Creativity is calling, and her voice sounds sweet. 

See you in September, Facebook.

I surrender.

xo
laura

only what is ripe

August 4, 2016 - Daily Notes, From the Editor

August always arrives with a chest-twinge. Summer is waning and the urge is strong to grab everything I can. I want to do all of the things before it ends.

What is this urge? I feel it in my work to grow Lucia. It feel it in my love relationship, too. I want to have all of the answers and make all of the memories, preferably before September. 

"What do you need right now?," he asked. It was late Friday night and we were stealing a found hour together at the end of a work week, the way real couples do. A candle glowed between us and our necks were tilted back to gaze at the small handful of stars visible through Seattle's city lights.

"Two days away from town," I replied. "With you, in nature. I want to sleep under cedars and stars." 

He arrived Sunday morning with a broad smile and a Subaru filled with gear, food, air mattresses and music. This relationship is still tender, unfinished, uncertain, unknown. It is also adventurous, comedic, patient and brave.

Marrowstone Island is off the beaten path. We rolled in without a reservation, like outlaws, asking every ranger we met to help settle our wager over whether a particular variety of tree is named "madrone" or "madrona."

A high-cliff campsite was available and from it we could see the sea. Fresh saltwater air and the cluster of old growth cedars around the fire pit sealed the deal. Our tent went up beneath a massive "madrone" (ahem) and I exhaled completely. 

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The next day I point-shouted out the window as we drove the long country road, "Blackberries!" He braked, threw it in reverse, and parked in the hot sun. We barely said another word and climbed out of the car. I went left, he went right. We got straight to work.

Some of the fruit was deep black and bursting, but most of the berries within reach were not quite ripe. You know the kind, mostly black but with one or two small spots of red. Still firm to the touch, they needed more time in the sun. In my eagerness to grab everything this summer has to offer before it ends, I picked all of them. Completely, with abandon. 

We met back at the car, my gray hat filled with sweet and sour berries. I looked into his strong, patient palms and saw he had only picked the fattest, softest, ripest ones. He shared them all with me.

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The next day, my sister texted some photos of my two-year-old niece directing the blackberry-picking behind their house. "Da bwack ones!" she exclaims, pointing them out for her mother to reach. As in, "Don't pick the ones that aren't ripe yet, Mama."

Leave them be. It is August. Savor what is sweet. Let the rest stay on the vine. 

xo
laura

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Laura Lowery is the founder, editor and publisher of Lucia. She does her best to lead a creative life. Whether triumphant or stumbling, Laura shares daily notes (that are often weekly) here on luciajournal, including stories, behind-the-scenes happenings, little doses of inspiration, and large quantities of curiosity and heart. She is pleased to meet you.

cosmos in his eyes

July 14, 2016 - Daily Notes, From the Editor

Outside the maple leaves are rustling with the sort of lush, green, thick sound that brings to mind youth. Vibrance. Health. Abundance. It is a time of year one might be tempted to dwell in forever.

But we are mortal and so we are aging. What I really want to write is that my dad could have died over the Fourth of July. I went home that Saturday and saw the cosmos in his eyes. They were deep, dark blue, and they shone. I could not see the surface, nor the bottom. It felt as though he saw through me, too. In those moments, I felt fear and peace at once.

I am recovering, now. Quiet, in my living room. As if things could be normal ever again. He is recovering, too, as he always does. Tough, determined, stubborn and strong. Life is different now that he is on dialysis. Normal is new, new is normal.

He called me "honey" when I telephoned the other day. There was a sweetness in his voice, it sounded like gratitude. Watching the way he and my mother love and care for one another through this, my heart grows and my eyes water. I can feel the expansion in my chest, that familiar and always altogether new sensation of tight, exquisite pangs. It is as if the muscle fibers are drawing away from one another, leaving hundreds of microscopic wounds, the way we do when we grow. The tearing comes first, then we heal. Stronger.

Laying next to my boyfriend on a blanket by the lake last night, I watched the moon rise into a sky of stars. He was telling me something, so I turned my head and met his gaze. My peripheral vision noticed his masculine body silhouetted in the moonlight--youthful, healthy, vibrant--but I saw his eyes through the lens of time, as though he were already 83, like my dad. In that moment, the way I love him deepened. The way I love everything did.

I am beginning to learn how to love what is here, now, before me. It is much different than loving a potential, possible future. It is different than loving a dream. It is more tender, more vulnerable to do it this way. It is also more satisfying. It is real. Like the cosmos in his eyes.

xo
laura 

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Laura Lowery is the founder, editor and publisher of Lucia. She does her best to lead a creative life. Whether triumphant or stumbling, Laura shares daily notes (that are often weekly) here on luciajournal, including stories, behind-the-scenes happenings, little doses of inspiration, and large quantities of curiosity and heart. She is pleased to meet you.