Meredith Kendall's Blog, page 42
August 7, 2014
neighbors
She came out toes up. Thin, white. Pale, frail. Still.
She wore an oxygen mask and was covered with a sheet. She didn't move. The ambulance guys loaded her up. Family got into cars. Police hovered. They all drove away.
That was 10 days ago. His car was gone most days, home at night. Then one night I got up for a glass of cold water and looked outside. His car was gone.
In the morning his car was back and after that it stayed in the driveway. Blinds closed, no movement. Their black cat snoozed in the bay window.
Then the son started to come, every day around noon. To feed the cat I guess. Tuesday morning, trash day, there was a sagging black bag of trash at the end of the drive.
Where were they? I read the obituaries every day. I imagined she was dead and he was staying with one of the kids, grieving. They were planning the funeral and writing the obit. He was drinking too much and playing golf with his son-in-law.
Today the son came and rushed around. He'd stop for a moment by the car door, then rush around some more. I wondered if they would sell the house, and I'd get new neighbors. Friendly ones. A man who wouldn't make lewd remarks. A woman who wouldn't pull up freshly planted flowers every week.
Then the son came back, and brought her. She was alive! She wore bright yellow capri pants and a button-down blouse. She got out of the car jauntily, went to the mailbox at the street, and then skipped back to the house. She was alive and walking! She started up the steps and it was like she hit a patch of ice. Except it's August, no ice. Her feet slid to the left and her head went right and smacked onto the driveway.
Her son helped her up and she walked into the house herself, son two steps behind, arms full of mail. "Put your arm around her!" I thought.
He came dashing outside a few moments later, and scrubbed a fallen birdbath with a rag. Then he ran to the backyard with a watering can. He came back and filled the birdbath, then went back into the house.
They opened blinds and windows, and turned on lights. She was home.
They drove off 10 minutes later, for groceries, I thought. Back in half an hour. But where was the husband? Still golfing and drinking? Moved in with a floozy? Hospitalized with a heart attack?
They never came back. The blinds stayed open.
Did she fall again? She fell in the deli section and an ambulance took her to the ER. She just got out of a skilled unit, recovering from a minor stroke, and had another one in the car. He's still there, recovering from a heart attack. She'll go back, with worsening syncope and more small strokes; they'll share a room. He's gone to Barbados with the bartender from the Elks. Or the volunteer clerk from the hospital gift shop, a high school sweetheart. She hit her head on a watermelon in the grocery store and didn't make it. They're all at camp. I glance out the window and worry.
The cat is alone.
She wore an oxygen mask and was covered with a sheet. She didn't move. The ambulance guys loaded her up. Family got into cars. Police hovered. They all drove away.
That was 10 days ago. His car was gone most days, home at night. Then one night I got up for a glass of cold water and looked outside. His car was gone.
In the morning his car was back and after that it stayed in the driveway. Blinds closed, no movement. Their black cat snoozed in the bay window.
Then the son started to come, every day around noon. To feed the cat I guess. Tuesday morning, trash day, there was a sagging black bag of trash at the end of the drive.
Where were they? I read the obituaries every day. I imagined she was dead and he was staying with one of the kids, grieving. They were planning the funeral and writing the obit. He was drinking too much and playing golf with his son-in-law.
Today the son came and rushed around. He'd stop for a moment by the car door, then rush around some more. I wondered if they would sell the house, and I'd get new neighbors. Friendly ones. A man who wouldn't make lewd remarks. A woman who wouldn't pull up freshly planted flowers every week.
Then the son came back, and brought her. She was alive! She wore bright yellow capri pants and a button-down blouse. She got out of the car jauntily, went to the mailbox at the street, and then skipped back to the house. She was alive and walking! She started up the steps and it was like she hit a patch of ice. Except it's August, no ice. Her feet slid to the left and her head went right and smacked onto the driveway.
Her son helped her up and she walked into the house herself, son two steps behind, arms full of mail. "Put your arm around her!" I thought.
He came dashing outside a few moments later, and scrubbed a fallen birdbath with a rag. Then he ran to the backyard with a watering can. He came back and filled the birdbath, then went back into the house.
They opened blinds and windows, and turned on lights. She was home.
They drove off 10 minutes later, for groceries, I thought. Back in half an hour. But where was the husband? Still golfing and drinking? Moved in with a floozy? Hospitalized with a heart attack?
They never came back. The blinds stayed open.
Did she fall again? She fell in the deli section and an ambulance took her to the ER. She just got out of a skilled unit, recovering from a minor stroke, and had another one in the car. He's still there, recovering from a heart attack. She'll go back, with worsening syncope and more small strokes; they'll share a room. He's gone to Barbados with the bartender from the Elks. Or the volunteer clerk from the hospital gift shop, a high school sweetheart. She hit her head on a watermelon in the grocery store and didn't make it. They're all at camp. I glance out the window and worry.
The cat is alone.
July 23, 2014
Gently
I experienced a Reiki session recently.
Some of the practitioner's techniques reminded me of things to tell my students.
* If you, the client, are uncomfortable with the practitioner's techniques or hand placements, speak up.
* The practitioner should not be squeezing you, or repositioning you during the session.
* The practitioner should tell you where he/she will place his/her hands.
* The practitioner should not lean on you.
* Hands should be gentle, no pressure, not forceful. Reiki is not massage.
* The practitioner should keep his/her eyes open, to assess the client's comfort and gauge hand drift.
* When changing hand positions, the practitioner should lift his/her hands and gently replace them- don't drag them abruptly or caressingly across the client's body.
* After the session, the practitioner should ask if the session was acceptable, and if there are suggestions for improvement.
* After the session the practitioner should listen to the client. Listen. Don't overshare your own insights or instruct. Just listen, support, and validate.
* Thank you for reading this far.
During this recent session, I whispered, "Gently" twice, when squeezed and pressed. It was an unusual Reiki session, in unusual circumstances. I was a guest and didn't want to be rude. Rather than stop the session or instruct the practitioner on better practices, which normally I would do; I found myself engaging my energetic shields, enduring, and mentally making the list above. I would have shared my suggestions for improvements if asked. I learned a lot about myself and Reiki practice, and that's good.
Some of the practitioner's techniques reminded me of things to tell my students.
* If you, the client, are uncomfortable with the practitioner's techniques or hand placements, speak up.
* The practitioner should not be squeezing you, or repositioning you during the session.
* The practitioner should tell you where he/she will place his/her hands.
* The practitioner should not lean on you.
* Hands should be gentle, no pressure, not forceful. Reiki is not massage.
* The practitioner should keep his/her eyes open, to assess the client's comfort and gauge hand drift.
* When changing hand positions, the practitioner should lift his/her hands and gently replace them- don't drag them abruptly or caressingly across the client's body.
* After the session, the practitioner should ask if the session was acceptable, and if there are suggestions for improvement.
* After the session the practitioner should listen to the client. Listen. Don't overshare your own insights or instruct. Just listen, support, and validate.
* Thank you for reading this far.
During this recent session, I whispered, "Gently" twice, when squeezed and pressed. It was an unusual Reiki session, in unusual circumstances. I was a guest and didn't want to be rude. Rather than stop the session or instruct the practitioner on better practices, which normally I would do; I found myself engaging my energetic shields, enduring, and mentally making the list above. I would have shared my suggestions for improvements if asked. I learned a lot about myself and Reiki practice, and that's good.
July 18, 2014
perfect baby
He's such a perfect baby. Beautiful skin. So chill. Sleeps a lot.
Fabulous loving attentive parents who are now stretched to the max. Because the last month has been all hospitalization, medical appointments, numerous complicated diagnostic tests, and scary prognoses.
And he's a perfect baby. Strangers come up to marvel at his beauty. He smiles at me. He adores his parents. He kicks and grabs. He has grey eyes and a round head with wisps of brown hair, reddish highlights.
I'm confident that he is and will be fine. He's my Reiki baby grandson.
Fabulous loving attentive parents who are now stretched to the max. Because the last month has been all hospitalization, medical appointments, numerous complicated diagnostic tests, and scary prognoses.
And he's a perfect baby. Strangers come up to marvel at his beauty. He smiles at me. He adores his parents. He kicks and grabs. He has grey eyes and a round head with wisps of brown hair, reddish highlights.
I'm confident that he is and will be fine. He's my Reiki baby grandson.
July 17, 2014
Reiki on the island
I do self-Reiki on the ferry over. Not that I'm nervous or sea-sick, just because it's time. Unless I'm chatting with an islander, patting a dog, or watching the sea birds.
Shared Reiki with my cousin. She rented a house on the island. Reiki on her knees and ankles. Reiki plus sea air and island life = relaxation, rest. Just breathe.
Reiki on the beach. Reiki in the cottage. Reiki in the air.
Shared Reiki with my cousin. She rented a house on the island. Reiki on her knees and ankles. Reiki plus sea air and island life = relaxation, rest. Just breathe.
Reiki on the beach. Reiki in the cottage. Reiki in the air.
in the garden
I listen to the songs of cardinals and sparrows. I talk back to them and to the plants too.
The artichoke thrives, in funny Maine weather.
Eggplants and hot peppers are blooming. There are green tomatoes. One zinnia, three sunflowers: yet to bloom.
I graze; nibbling green beans, basil, blueberries, and raspberries.
Picking lots of basil, cilantro, green beans, and chives. I pat the potato leaves, so soft. Speak to the morning glories, sing to the sedum, and curse the copper beetles.
The hummingbird is neon green against the red bee balm. Cumulus clouds pile up. The wind blows. I pull up weeds. It gets dark.
The artichoke thrives, in funny Maine weather.
Eggplants and hot peppers are blooming. There are green tomatoes. One zinnia, three sunflowers: yet to bloom.
I graze; nibbling green beans, basil, blueberries, and raspberries.
Picking lots of basil, cilantro, green beans, and chives. I pat the potato leaves, so soft. Speak to the morning glories, sing to the sedum, and curse the copper beetles.
The hummingbird is neon green against the red bee balm. Cumulus clouds pile up. The wind blows. I pull up weeds. It gets dark.
July 4, 2014
your story
doesn't matter. Those injuries, resentments, and jealousies: irrelevant.
That's what the psychic told me this week.
Would an infinite light being feel anger, pain, jealousy, or resentment? No. Forget your life story. Tune in to joy and love. Unzip your enemy's meat body to see the light inside.
Celebrate light and love. Laugh.
That's what the psychic told me this week.
Would an infinite light being feel anger, pain, jealousy, or resentment? No. Forget your life story. Tune in to joy and love. Unzip your enemy's meat body to see the light inside.
Celebrate light and love. Laugh.
June 23, 2014
Sharing Reiki is
joy. Love and light.
It's not much, really. I just sit there and open my heart. Think of the people I love. Tune in to joy.
Oh well, excellent communication skills are imperative. Knowledge of Reiki history. Ethics. Compassion. Presence.
All of that. Then I just be. There. For you. And tune in to joy.
I just met you, but I can share Reiki with you. Joy, love, light.
It's not much, really. I just sit there and open my heart. Think of the people I love. Tune in to joy.
Oh well, excellent communication skills are imperative. Knowledge of Reiki history. Ethics. Compassion. Presence.
All of that. Then I just be. There. For you. And tune in to joy.
I just met you, but I can share Reiki with you. Joy, love, light.
June 22, 2014
the healing sessions
We each had an hour; table time, talking, and processing. We did mostly Reiki, but integrated other modalities too. We used a lot of stones and crystals. D went first.
While I worked on D I saw a parade of ducks, bunnies, and fish. They went by three times. What was that about? It was like a child's parade, almost a cartoon. Ducks, bunnies, and fish. I have no idea.
Then I saw steam rising from her body. A release of the stuff she didn't need.
Then it was my turn. I experienced clarity and knowledge of my next steps. I felt T place a big heavy rock on my chest, a great pressure; except she didn't.
T went last. I saw her swimming in a pond or pool. I placed stones around her head. D laughed as she felt the energy go through.
While I worked on D I saw a parade of ducks, bunnies, and fish. They went by three times. What was that about? It was like a child's parade, almost a cartoon. Ducks, bunnies, and fish. I have no idea.
Then I saw steam rising from her body. A release of the stuff she didn't need.
Then it was my turn. I experienced clarity and knowledge of my next steps. I felt T place a big heavy rock on my chest, a great pressure; except she didn't.
T went last. I saw her swimming in a pond or pool. I placed stones around her head. D laughed as she felt the energy go through.
lunch at the healing circle
I meet with two women for a healing circle. We met in the winter and today. We decided to meet quarterly.
We connected at a Reiki Share, finishing each others' sentences, sharing thoughts, and getting each others' jokes. Perhaps we shared a past life or two. Maybe the one in the Scottish stone spiritual retreat. We wore brown linen robes and fur shoes in that life. We meditated and prayed, wandered the stone halls. I see images of that life when I practice with T & D. We decided to invite L to our next meeting.
Today it went like this.
We had lunch first, salad and iced tea. There was potato salad with hard-boiled eggs: what a treat. Kale with piquant dressing and fresh grated Parmesan cheese. Pasta salad with beets and shredded carrots. I brought pasta salad too.
I was nervous about a potluck. Most people don't like my cooking. First I boiled tiny teff grains for a teff salad. It turned out like mush and congealed into a solid mass. I started over with whole wheat macaroni.
Cooked the macaroni, added mayonnaise, salt, slivers of dried hot red pepper, and chopped sweet green pepper. Chopped and put everything into containers to layer once I got to T's house. The greens went on the bottom, greens fresh from my garden: spinach, red lettuce, cilantro, basil, and chives. Next a layer of chopped cucumber. Then the pasta. Spicy paprika, topped with sunflower seeds.
After lunch we did the healings.
We connected at a Reiki Share, finishing each others' sentences, sharing thoughts, and getting each others' jokes. Perhaps we shared a past life or two. Maybe the one in the Scottish stone spiritual retreat. We wore brown linen robes and fur shoes in that life. We meditated and prayed, wandered the stone halls. I see images of that life when I practice with T & D. We decided to invite L to our next meeting.
Today it went like this.
We had lunch first, salad and iced tea. There was potato salad with hard-boiled eggs: what a treat. Kale with piquant dressing and fresh grated Parmesan cheese. Pasta salad with beets and shredded carrots. I brought pasta salad too.
I was nervous about a potluck. Most people don't like my cooking. First I boiled tiny teff grains for a teff salad. It turned out like mush and congealed into a solid mass. I started over with whole wheat macaroni.
Cooked the macaroni, added mayonnaise, salt, slivers of dried hot red pepper, and chopped sweet green pepper. Chopped and put everything into containers to layer once I got to T's house. The greens went on the bottom, greens fresh from my garden: spinach, red lettuce, cilantro, basil, and chives. Next a layer of chopped cucumber. Then the pasta. Spicy paprika, topped with sunflower seeds.
After lunch we did the healings.
