Cheers to the Sparkling Circle and you!

With blue skies and sweet space all around me, I’m writing to you as I fly back from the United Kingdom.

Every day of the past two weeks, I’ve been bundled up in gratitude to be alive, to be in the bright beam of my youngest daughter after 18, long months, and yes, even to have enforced quarantine in her spare, skylit, top floor flat. What a new gift. Feeling the glide of flaxen time between my fingers on our familial spinning wheel of gold, I had rare days in mama-proud wonder reading the smiling art of her growth since our separation. As a psychology student, she’s studied consciousness up close and in and out of bubbles, somehow thriving all these months within the pandemic’s red zone status. With the UK first insisting upon online education, then furloughing her from work (paid by the government to stay home, study, and stay healthy), she later returned carefully masked to work even as they were slow to roll out the vaccine to her age bracket. And while I quietly stretched in my quarantine required for all international travelers, my daughter served me inner worlds of joy in food, yoga, and After Life entertainment. After I took the fourth of my six COVID tests, passing my Test to Release to spring me early from the normal ten-day quarantine, she also took the greatest care of me as we finally descended from her lair’s stairs to the double-decker buses and Tube to safely explore the world.

These past two weeks were also the longest stint since the gift began in earnest that I didn’t have concentrated Dancing Hands sessions with anyone. While one might call it a holiday, the wellspring of sacred work was replenished by Source each day in fresh ways. As my hands touched the elemental Pura Vida in the original United Kingdom of All-That-Is, the gift continued coursing in all directions – plunging first through windows into curtains of rain, then to furry, scented petals, slippery stones, and the wide, ever-changing weather and light. As the locks of invisible cages rattled and fell, the Language of Love tumbled and floated, opening seed pods along streams of happiest possibilities and my tears mixed with joy and laughter to finally be free with my child, catching pennies from heaven, exploring art, history, science, and modern as well as ancient theater.

uod fere totus mundus exerceat histrionem—”because all the world is a playground”— Petronius

There were glorious, unexpected gifts in the socially distanced dance, providing awe we could not only attend As You Like It at Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre for a mere 5 pounds, but due to the National Health Service’s public gathering stipulations we also snagged last minute second row seats — not sitting on the hard, backless benches of the gentry under the roof, but as carefree groundlings in the open yard in front of the stage. Historically the yard was for a standing-only audience of peasantry. Neither seating or a ceiling ever covered the yard, but for the weeks I was there, silver chairs were specially brought in and well-spaced for our health and comfort. And though rain was forecasted, a bright, summer sun pushed through to light the circle of clouds above like a chandelier before tucking behind the stage’s sod roof and tossing a delicious shawl of warm shade for all in our Bard-bath. History’s vortex swirled not just through the ancient oaks of Shakespeare’s Globe’s recycled, timbered frame beside the Thames River, or in the musicality of the thespians playing many characters through their finely tuned human instruments, but I could hear the players of the All-Time libraries eloquently pondering life’s deeper echoes, “To be or not to be,” or “Wherefore art thou, Romeo?” inviting my own soul song to harmonize in “All the world’s a stage and men and women merely players” as I’d never before. Here, I wept and clapped, opening with joy.

That night, as the fat moon rose through Violet’s kitchen window and I watched my baby sleep with as much wonder as when we were newborn mother and child, my hands raised afire. From within me prayers flew out to you and all the world — prayers of thanks that our collective intentions for happy reunion with our loved ones has begun and reinvigorated promises to never take another stage or hearty embrace of life or love for granted again. I hope you feel this prayerful postcard in your own hands and heart even now, stamped with the profile of your sacred lineage for goodness’s sake.

When Violet and I strolled through the magnificent Kew Gardens descending into the herb gardens of that once mad King George, we came upon a long, lush hedge of heady lavender lifting to greet us on the breeze. I laughed aloud – ah, sweet memory! This scent was one I carried back from London when I’d traveled to England my first time, the summer of 1984, as new graduate from UCLA, almost the age of my Violet. When it rose to meet me then, I had no recollection of ever smelling this herb previously and was so enchanted I dove into a dark and dusty store and spent my last twenty to bring back a long, thin box of sachets for my mother and a roll of lavender scented paper to line my drawers. It’s been in my gardens as often as it will grow since then, but the full circle of simpler times brushed my heart to remind me again of the preciousness of all the journeys bringing us delight. I didn’t know it was used to promote wellness and calm back then. I just felt it first in my heart, like all my stirrings with Source’s sacred life that finally cracked me open for the dancing with it all. And these daily walks with my daughter in the various gardens or along the city streets, the rare treats of seeing ancient art and hearing or even imagining the myriad stories calmed and encouraged me anew because I was in the company of love – not just of my dear daughter, but all the world as she/we together take heartful steps in healthier freedom to explore our place in the universe.

Truth be told, I was also reacquainted with the rebalancing of my heart and vital healing of my 58-year-old knees. I have mentioned earlier I had two epic crashes off my bike earlier this year on one knee and blew out my other knee hiking hundreds of steep steps in the Hollywood Hills a couple of months ago with Ruby, and so every day overseas and in Violet’s ivory tower was also a great lesson in not racing around or down or up, but focusing on ease, support, and trust that if I could just get to the next platform or landing, all would be well to go forward. If you’ve followed me here for a bit, you know that every day Source speaks with me in wondrous metaphor. These sighs of “if only” are the way so many live their lives, yes? “If only I could master this healing.” “If only I had a happier job.” “If only my lover would sweep me off my feet.” “If only I could be more courageous with my life and step up.” But the trick and the lesson for me was to not just give myself markers of where I would be in greater comfort, but actively speak and endeavor to be in utter trust during each lift or stepping in or down to a new place – gently if things feel tender, boldly if the mind can grasp strength and ease, and wholly and humbly when the hand of Source slips into mine with grace.

There is no ending to this story of ours, just intention for all our happily ever afters as we play again and again on the many stages, planes, and play doughy playgrounds of life.

Until the next time, I hope you feel all the love flowing always in all ways.