Elevate the Senses

Elevate the Senses

Gino the Wine Knower

Returning from a month in Italy, most friends asked, "Was it great?" Expecting a yes answer they quickly moved on to the next topic. Others were more curious, wanting to learn more about the trip.  When they asked "What was the best thing you saw or did in Italy?" it would have been easy to say Florence, or Sorrento, or Tuscany. Instead I had to stop and reflect on not just the journey, but the experiences that wove themselves into my being and which now present as the best things about Italy.
It began with Gino who was known in Tuscany as a "wine-maker" but who called himself a "wine-knower."Reverently touching the vines he said "God and nature make the wine. Only by observing nature, the sky, the earth, the wind and the water do you know the wine." He continued, "Wine is not liquid. Rather wine is the heat of the sun, and the womb of the earth which produces the wine in this sacred valley where grapes were first discovered 2,600 years ago." 

Gino felt the drinking of wine should be a slow and holy journey.  And indeed, his wine stories were a metaphor on living a conscious life.  He asked, "Why do you race to the end of the

Four Generations of Gelato Makers

journey?  If you do, it's quickly over!  Go slowly and enjoy the pleasure of the trip. Bring all your senses into every experience and elevate each sense along the way. Smell the musk of the earth that produced the wine.  See the crimson color created by the chill air.  Hear the tone of the liquid as it's poured into a glass.  And feel the tingle at the back of the tongue as you taste it. That is how you become a knower of wine!"

Gino was the first of many Italians we met who said the same thing, delivered a similar message, and made you realize the Italians really do live like this. Theirs is a modern country, yet their lives are tied to the old ways - the elements, to the cycles of the moon and sun for planting, and the tides that come in and out. They do this as a matter of course, and without fanfare.  They do not rush about.  They take each day, each hour, each moment for what it presents. Every day they go to market for fresh produce or meats. The are restored in a three hour rest mid-day when stores close and dinner is served.  They work hard but

Family Sunday Dinners

take rest as needed.

The hearts of the Italian people are tied to their relationships with family and friends.  We learned Sunday was family day across Italy. Nothing interrupts Sunday meal gatherings that span several generations.  Yet, with warm hearts they invited us into their family celebrations. Seated at an open air restaurant by the Bay of Naples, we shared food and drink with them.  We were strangers, yet they offered us appetizers and tastes of food off their plates, along with glasses of Limoncello.  With my broken Italian and their broken English we laughed and talked and felt part of an extended family though we were far away from our own.

What was the best thing about Italy?  The people!  In Tuscany, we remember a "wine-knower" who was really a philosopher. In Sorrento we remember afternoons spent with a shop owner who told us her life story and called us "her angels."  Also in Sorrento, we remember four generations of gelato makers, learning about their religious faith, the loss of a child, and the joys of being a

Laura & Luca's Shop

large family. In Rome, we got taken for a ride by an unscrupulous taxi driver.  But he was overshadowed when Zina (an Italian warrior princess) came to our rescue, driving us around Rome at a fair price then picking us up at dawn to go to the airport so we wouldn't get caught by another unregistered taxi. These were the people who were the best thing about Italy.

Like Gino said, we experienced a most holy journey.  It was one we took slowly with elevated senses.  We touched the core of the people and their land.  We were embedded with them, their families and their stories.  Now, each of those treasured moments and the people who brought them to life are forever etched in our hearts.  On Valentine's Day we especially remember them.
++++++++

HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW

How Does Your Garden Grow?

 

The labyrinth was in a state of disrepair. Tall weeds were growing over mounds of dirt, and several outer rings were submerged by frequent downpours. When she arrived at Unity, Mary Badeau felt deep sadness at the condition it was in. She said it was the same feeling one gets when seeing a hurt or abandoned animal. She had to do something.

She was neither disheartened nor discouraged. Instead, she rallied to the task, intent on bringing the labyrinth back to its full potential. For forty days she did what she called "an intervention." She began the physical work of raising the rings above the water level, carting hundreds of bags of soil to the rings. When needing a rest, she read volumes about Labyrinths.

On the twenty-first day, her friend Susanne arrived to help. These two women, seniors in body but youngsters in heart, worked together for nine months. After the mounds were built up, they placed borders around the rings to keep the soil and mulch in place. Then they added small succulent plants and native species at the edges of the walking area, marking the course. But the real impact of the Labyrinth was the personal tokens. Crystals, small ceramic or stone animals, candles, chimes, fairies, Buddhas and plaques interspersed the plants. They dotted every section of the trail because visitors were encouraged to bring a plant or crystal to commemorate their walk.

I've walked dozens of labyrinths at sacred sites all over the world, but this one at Unity of Venice was in a realm by itself. It was organic. It was sentient. It was personal. It was mindful. Each item one passed told a story or unearthed a related memory as walkers made their way to the center. As I walked the rings, the nursery rhyme, Mary, Mary, quite contrary how does your garden grow, flitted across my mind. I had to learn more about Mary.

Mary's labyrinth is a story of love. It's the love she and Susanne had for nature that was both spiritual and inspirational. Mary told me "It wasn't until I went into the garden that I gave birth to myself. I asked the question, 'Who am I?" and the transcendent spoke silently through the garden." She and Susanne arrived early each morning to begin their work. The birds would be singing in the branches of the great oak grandmother trees that surrounded the labyrinth. Each of the magnificent oaks revealed a name to them.

The design, she said, was intuitive. "We both love color and texture and we would surprise each other with trays of flowers and plants. We followed the chakra colors. Row 1 was red, Row 2 orange, Row 3 yellow. It was a challenge because some plants like sun and some like shade. Some like to be dry and some like wet. Theylet us know fast if they were unhappy."

When I asked her why she and Susanne did it, she replied, "For the sheer joy of it. Even the hard physical work was wonderful. Going to the labyrinth every morning was like running to a lover, delighting that it was still there. But best of all was being in the silence of living, growing things." She continued, "The labyrinth is a silent teacher. Without words or books it allows me to engage in the mystery of being for the sake of being and creating. I know what harmonic balance feels like. I can see how it works. The labyrinth inspires dancing. Sacred encounters. Expressions of joy. Exploring. Picnics. Conversations on the benches. Birthday parties. Children running and playing in it. It brings joy."

The labyrinth is a metaphor for the journey of life. The many rings meander around a path, asking us to simply walk forward in mindfulness. The journey of Susanne's life was that. But sadly, it was soon cut short. On the day the labyrinth was dedicated in a Summer Solstice ceremony, she felt "something was not right." Within three months she learned she had ALS and within a year transitioned. Amemorial stone with Susanne's name is a daily reminder to Mary of her friend

The labyrinth is an ancient archetype symbolically conjuring up the path to the center of inner stillness. Mary's devotion to gardens, to nature, and to all living things is a metaphor for love. For what is love but service to others. In creating and now maintaining this labyrinth her nature is joyfully expressed without fanfare. Mary, now known as the Keeper of the Labyrinth, is quick to remind everyone that Susanne was an integral part of its creation. Even though she's gone, Mary knows she's continually working on it from the other side. In Mary's expression of loving service we experience their peaceful blessings with every mindful step we take on this memorable labyrinth.  

 Jo Mooy - July 2015 

How Many Marbles

How Many Marbles?

   

Thirty-five years ago I spent three years with an inspiring teacher. She  taught me about life and valuing the time we've been given on earth. She put it into perspective with a remarkable lesson. She said each person was specifically chosen to come to earth during times of great change with a mission to accomplish. The mission could be discovered by turning to a psychic reader, or a course of study might stir the fires of past-life skills needed now.

She advised "doing the work yourself" by seeking answers through meditation, dreams or journaling. She said be mindful of the time you have on earth and know you've been given a limited amount of it. She said each of us had been given a secret number when we departed the spirit world. It was the number of years we have on earth and it related to our destiny and our mission. She said use the time wisely and with purpose. So I asked her "How do we measure our time left and how do we accomplish our mission?"

She'd heard the question from many students before me so had a prepared answer. She asked me a series of questions: "At the beginning of each day do you set an intention to be better than the day before? How do you spend your time and in what pursuits? Do you respond with kindness and compassion to others? What talents or skills do you generously share with others?  Are you frivolous or thoughtful with the hours of each day? Do you treasure each moment that you've been gifted to be here? At the end of each day are you grateful to Spirit?"

Taking a jar filled with marbles from her altar she said each marble represented a year left in her life. When she was younger, the jar was practically full but in the latter part of her seventh decade, there were only 15 marbles in the jar. Rolling them into her hands the visual made a lasting impression. She explained that when she was a young girl in South America her grandmother taught her the magic and medicine of the earth and how to relate to all species. Her grandmother also taught her about the finite number of years given to each person on earth.

To help her remember the teachings, her mission and her lineage, the grandmother placed 85 stones in a pouch. She said each stone represented her grand-daughter's life expectancy.  On each birthday she was to take a stone out of the pouch and deeply reflect on the year just past. What had she done with the year? How did she spend her time? Was it a year making the world a better place? Or was it squandered? She said at first the bag appeared filled with endless stones. But over time, as the stones began to diminish she realized the value of time and how it was being spent.

The questions always cause sober introspection. But the visual of the glass jar of marbles, diminishing with each passing year, is much more indelible. My teacher is gone now, but the lesson of the jar of marbles remains. Her lesson is use the time wisely! You never know how many marbles you really have left! 

Jo Mooy - March 2013