Dona Nobis Pacem ~ Bathing In Persimmon Trees

Welcome to the 14th launch of BlogBlast For Peace aka Dona nobis pacem in the Blogosphere. 
Our theme this year is Change Your Climate. Many are choosing to write about global climate change. Others are choosing to write about the need to change their own personal climates in order to create peaceful spaces for themselves ( ie: eliminating stress, self-care). I have chosen the latter.  
Please sign the Mr. Linky at the end of this post so that others may visit you and see the beautiful peace globes throughout the Blogosphere. Remember to tag me on Facebook  or wherever you are on social media. Thank you for being a part of this community of peace bloggers. Your words are powerful and important to all of us. May we lift and encourage in our quest for a peaceful more sustainable planet earth.  Grant us peace!  

Bathing In Persimmon Trees

As she got older and more introspective, my mother would spontaneously start talking about random things from her faraway childhood. On this day, she began to weave invisible spinning yarn in the air in front of her. “There are these threads….you see….threads….” as her hands moved in and around them,  making sense of mysteries in her mind,  weaving and talking as she spun, connecting branch to branch to branch. Except she wasn’t really sitting there with me. She was somewhere back in time playing dodgeball with the curse.
 “I can see them going back generations.”“What kind of threads?” I asked. “Poverty. Brokenness. Abuse. Depression. Alcoholism. Divorce. Conflict. Addiction. Bad threads….don’t you see them, Mimi?”Yes, mama, I’ve always seen them.
Like shadows on trees in a cemetery, cast long from eons of time and generation, I had always seen them. 

If you want to go mad, cover them up.
If you want to break the curse,
stand in the Light.

Generational threads can tie together what desperately needs to be broken. They are inherently binding and strong.
Made of flax. Faith. Fiber. Custom. Tradition. Tribe. Toxicity. Untruth.
Even and especially love.

Whether they remain tied and woven into the next generation depends not on the strength of the cotton, but on the spinning of the pattern. Twisted legacies take whole life spans to unspin. It requires laser-sharp discernment and a willingness to plant a new field. To begin a better story. Harvesting new tribes is not for the faint-of-heart. My mother was anything but faint.


And that’s when I began to remember…
warm water washing down my back.
I felt the heaviness of long tangled hair.
Soap.
And her hands in my hair.

Scrubbing and soothing at the same time.  Bare feet on a dark linoleum speckled floor, bent over the kitchen sink in the middle of a fifties wood frame in the heat of summer and the only running water in the house.  Daddy hadn’t finished the bathroom yet.My mother stood untangling the mane that was always tangled and drying me off with a ragged towel. 
And then I started to cry 
Uncontrollably. Sobs from an eight-year-old that should never be heard by a mother. She knew. I could see it in her eyes. She knew. From the covering of shame I felt underneath the thinness of fabric that could not cover could not cover could not cover the confusion and tremble of a skinny little girl who had just been reminded of more than innocent suds running down the back of a dark-haired freckle-faced me with grownup questions swirling in her mangled head.She looked straight into the dripping freckles and raised her eyes to meet mine.


It was my mother’s greatest gift to me. 
Unwavering trust. Unquestioning acceptance. She believed what I was about to tell her before I said it. I can still taste the shampoo on my lips and see the horror in her eyes, the quiver in my voice. I remember the way my eyes wanted to only stare at the linoleum while she gathered herself.  Standing there dripping in a torn towel while she called someone to tell them what she’d seen in her daughter’s eyes.I never had to see him again.She saw to it.
She sacrificed family and relationships to protect me. Had she chosen to look the other way, I am sure without a shadow of an oak tree doubt,  I would have crumpled into a broken twig on the sudsy floor and never recovered.Instead, it was the moment that defined me. 


In the deepest part of me that day, she taught me to trust the sacred places that no one should touch.  I owned every nook and crevice again before she even finished with the tender drying because my mother believed me she gave me permission to trust myselfShe had no idea that she’d just given me my voice.

Of all the trials that came later – our arguments, her quirky temper, my stubbornness – our differences growing wider in the middle of our lives, then circling back to unconditional love, as happens with mothers and daughters  – I’m not sure she ever fully recovered from the sadness of that moment. 
ThreadsYou see them, don’t you Mimi?


I wanted so much to know her and understand her better and all that mysterious weaving in the spirit. Those strands had names. They had stories. But there wasn’t time and she was gone.  What made her so unbreakable? What stopped her from untying the last piece of tangled life and freeing herself? What kind of woman knows by instinct and love how to run straight into battle for her daughter?  That’s the indestructible mother I longed to fully know.

When I felt she had no faith in my endeavors or no understanding of my independence, in hindsight, now, I wonder if the moment under the towel defined the way she would forever try to keep me from straying too far into unfamiliar territory. As I spread my wings to fly away, perhaps her holding on was the only way of protecting me.  Perspective.
I went through some things this year that broke my heart. Multitudes of unkindness and wholly undignified days. But the more vile they became, the more grace I received. 
 My body is recalibrating. Balancing. Resetting. Changing my climate, my environment, is not just necessary for peace of mind, it’s mandatory for my survival. I am ready to put this decade behind me but not without the wisdom it contains.

Standing under the canopy of trees gives me courage and strengthens my vulnerability – that delicate balance between authenticity and prudence.   It resembles the act of protection and trust. Intimacy and connection.  You might not have a lifetime or even a decent swath of moments like these with the people you love. 
But it only takes one.  
Divine grace echoes on the walls of my heart. 
My mother’s grace reverberates decades later.
And she is the reason that I can stand uncovered in a field of persimmon trees
without fear 
without shame
without scars

I finally learned to accept all our twisted roads and fallen places.  How she tried to exhume the genesis of those invisible threads in her hands, never quite finding where the first broken piece began and the last continued.   You see them, don’t you Mimi?
She died before she could unravel all the threadsBut she deposited in me just enough spitfire to keep my end of the peace treaty intact:To leave the untelling on the kitchen floor To live without hiding behind trees 
To forgive those who want to see me brokenTo be open and brave when your words need wordingand to be loud in the most vulnerable of places
and that’s why I need treesHad you told me a year ago that people can feel energy from trees, I would have silently patted you on the head and sent you on your way. And yet, since her death six months ago, I find myself running to the forest on my mountain, sitting for hours in the sanctuary of their branches. Breathing in oxygen. Absorbing life into the cells of my stress-laden body. Finding the Mother trees. They shelter the young saplings and strategically branch out in directions that give them the most nourishment from the sun.Did you know there are mother trees?
We are made stronger when we understand where we came fromwhen we uncover what is hurting usWe discover which branches are strong and which need pruning.I am learning to be thankful for the miles of memories that created meall of them
Safety sometimes lies in being unseenbut never in being unheard.

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Photo credit: Mimi Lenox

Change Your Climate! ~ Blog4Peace NOV 4

It’s time to announce the 2019 launch of Blog4Peace!  
Welcome to the 14th year of peace blogging!  When?
 November 4, 2019 

This year’s theme ~ 
Change your climate 

As if our annual custom, people from all over the world are invited to write on the subject of peace, create and fly a peace globe (like those found HERE) and post on social media, blogs, Twitter, Instagram, wherever you are online. Click here for a collection of free peace templates to use.

No time in my historical memory can I relate more to an era of time and space on planet Earth when every word spoken carried more weight than it does now. And they’re not all good for the planet. Or for us.

Speaking out is important!


 The forests and rivers are crying. The rocks and seas are coming undone. The hillsides are burning and the glaciers are falling.  The animal kingdom is weeping, after all, it is their kingdom. The air is full of poison and the oceans are full of plastic. Tidal waves are angry and we must listen.  No one is immune to this scourge. Everyone is responsible for the health and well-being of Mother Earth.   We are responsible for the way in which we speak to the universe…because you see…it catches up with us. The planet answers in response to the way she is treated – recoiling and rebelling in the only way She knows.  The violence we are seeing in nature is not an accident. If we don’t change the way we sweep the house, the house will turn on itself like an rogue immune system, continuing to ravage and assault until we’ve not only lost our refuge – but any hope of a peaceful home.   We cannot live in peace if the walls are crumbling around us. Sometimes in life we are in battle. Sometimes we enjoy a respite. This is a season of war.  
And not just the environment and inevitable climate change. Stress, Burnout, Man, Person, Dates
The more our environment changes, the more the atmosphere in our personal lives changes.Humans react to stress.  Poisonous words alter the collective consciousness of the Universe in the world at large and in our homes.  We are not only struggling to find gigantic real world solutions to enormous problems for our very survival, we’re also internalizing all the fear and urgency that comes with that task. Our bodies react to what we see happening around us, what we hear, what we read. If we don’t know what to do and we play that mantra over and over in our heads, we become hopeless. Stuck. Overwhelmed. Sick. Depressed. Scared. 
We have to stop saying in angst “we’ve got to find a solution!!” and actually find a solution!We are a planet of people floundering in a cesspool at a pivotal point in time.  And it is literally killing us. Not only is the planet coming unglued, so are we. What triggers a lack of peace in your life? What makes you lose your peace?Uncertainty? Finances? Sickness? Politics? Racism? Unkindness? Family? Relationships? Job? Grief? Depression? 
Find that specific trigger point and write about how to change your climate.  Make a plan for a more peaceful you. One step at a time. Self care is not selfish. Since the year 2006 our motto has been, “If words are powerful, then this matters.”

Peace globe template

You don’t have to worry about finding the words, O Brilliant Peace Bloggers, the intent of your  heart is always the source of your story.  You understand that. I’ve seen it over and over. And only YOU can tell your story. Don’t let someone else hijack your truth. Your writing is more powerful each year. Your peace globes more beautiful. Your intent more purposeful!Our influence greater and the substance deeper – this year more than ever. What you write will help others struggling with the same issues. Then our peace blogging world becomes a healing community. Every part of the puzzle, every effort, every word is important. So. We will speak for the presence of peace on this planet. And in our lives. We will rage and we will protest. We will write with a wailing pen and celebrate with a multicolored band of boldness. On the page of diversity and unity will strong words of vulnerability course through and run down the blank lines until they bleed into cracks and cuts of planet earth that need the healing you bring to the page – and to the world.  I need you!We all need you!
So write. And write strong.And don’t be a wimp.Throw away the rules.And for Heaven’s sake, don’t censor.Write. 
Forest Fire, Forest, Climate Change
Pick up your pen.

Set your words on fire



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