Go Be Alice

"'Curiouser and curiouser,’ cried Alice… ‘Good-bye, feet!’”

Good-bye, indeed.

(I don’t like the look of human feet. They make sense in keeping us upright and walking, I know; but they are just so odd.

Cat’s toes: sweet little jelly beans. Dog’s feet: handsome and rational. Horse hooves: Strong, thorough, capable. And then we have two blobs of flesh with five wigglies handing out at the end of them. They are definitely curiouser.)

It’s curiouser I’m interested in today. In meditation, I thought: move from a place of curiosity. The place we all inhabited when we were Alice. Not a solving curiosity; not a frantic curiosity; not the selfish curiosity that sees the Other and declares them Freak. Just Alice’s “curiouser and curiouser” attitude, watching to see how far away our poor Feet will go as we nibble the “Eat Me!” cake.

“Curiouser” takes us to a place of wonder, as it did Alice. “Curiouser” watches, and listens, and experiences, and isn’t afraid of what might happen next because something is bound to change. It lets us see new connections, try new things, and simply be part of whatever is happening as our lives unfold.

On weekends, I often give myself a day like that: when my husband asks what I will do that day, I say, “I am going to unfold.” They are always lovely days, because I give myself the gift of curiouser and do whatever happens to come next.

It’s hard to let ourselves unfold in life – or it was for me – because I was told to Have Dreams, Set Goals, and Achieve. It got me pretty far for a while; but then every goal seemed overwhelming, every dream seemed unattainable or silly, and achievement translated into making a living for the daily bread.

I’m on a new track now: unfold. Stay in the curiouser. See what happens; experience it. Of course, it comes back down to trust: whatever I get curiouser about, whatever rabbit hole I’m willing to go down, Something Interesting will happen.

Right This Minute

As I sit this morning, in meditation, a thought – an old thought – pops into my head: What’s wrong, just this minute? I see it, notice it, hear it said by that little voice that’s mine but not mine, in my head. And I think: why not turn that around? What’s right, just this minute?

It’ a lovely summer Wyoming morning. Cool. Birds chatter at the feeders. Our neighbors a half mile away raise sled dogs, and it’s breakfast time: 70 dogs yelp in happy – unalloyed happy – anticipation of the Great Chow. I’m about to ride with my best riding buddy; we are each taking both of our horses, ride one/lead one, just to get them out and exercised.

And tomorrow I leave for California, to a cousin’s husband’s memorial service. It’s been years since I’ve seen most of my family there. There are few of the “older” generation left; in fact, we, the cousins, are now the “older” generation. There are grandchildren, and great-grands. And we all still feel as if we are still growing up in the heat of Southern California.

But right this minute: tea, a cat on my lap; I can breathe well this morning, the asthma is managed; I’m beginning to think better as the tea manages my late-rising brain; I don’t have much work, but I’m fine with that: I’m still seeking what it is I want to do when I grow up, and seeking something different from the years of writing training programs to teach people how to sell stuff.

Stuff lost its thrill for me when my office burned down, a few years ago. Now I want to work, not to help people get more stuff, but to help people realize the stuff isn’t it. Stuff isn’t life. Life is much more than stuff.

It’s what is right, right this minute.