I am happy to sit and watch the sky as I slowly give my teeth some love. Bundled up cozy, I watch colors fade into exquisite brightness, and contrasting shadows.

Heirloom tomatoes are the best. Their juicy, honeycombed sweetness is a delight on sandwiches and in salads and salsas.

I knew the uncomfortable was inevitable. And yet, I knew there were gifts in this. How did I know? Because there always is, has been, and will be.

When was the last time you made something by following instructions that you wondered about? Are you less willing to do that as you age, or do the opportunities just come more rarely now that your experience is broader?

Our brains perceive the world with a negativity bias for survival. I have compassion for myself, for all of us, in experiencing a negative perception first. What we do with that perception though, is up to us.

To know. Isn’t it a sweet thing? Isn’t it one of the best parts of being alive? To have the sense that something is. To navigate around it and dance with it, deeply understanding your role and its role. To love in relationship with purity of focus, appreciation, and care.

I appreciated that every movement forward and backwards with the head, hand, or chest meant something. Never have I been so curious about the energy directed by the blink of an eye or a softly blown breath. These are movements we take in subconsciously (or not) with many beings.

We’ve all had that moment when we realized that what we’ve been believing is not true. It’s helpful to remember how our beliefs have changed so that we can hold them with a more open hand. And it’s also important to share our journeys with one another so we learn, over and over again, that we are not alone.

The seed for my joyful European adventure was planted years ago while I laid in bed, unable to move without excruciating pain.

Here we were, as in so many moments that we’ve spent together as a Joy Collective, reverent and irreverent at once. Balancing precariously between upright and flat-on-our-faces, trying not to hold our breath, and reaching for one another’s hands.

How beautiful it is to surrender to love when we are down, trusting someone else has the energy to hold the light. Or to be that light shining, regardless of circumstances, because this is what we practice.

Living close to the earth, the seasons set the pace. I find that the development of flowers, fruits, and vegetables don’t follow a calendar, but they do proceed to ripen in a somewhat orderly rhythm.

On one of the hottest days of summer, our local Joy Collective group gathered from the nether reaches of Lane County to grace our back deck with all colors.

This “de-railed” version of pesto topped just about any other I’d eaten. Sometimes the greatest gift is lack.

Watching the antics of my habit-mind, I caught a glimpse of how important it is to realign my sensibilities with nature.

As I make more time to rest, my attitude brightens. The responsibility of harvest grows more fun as well.

In social situations, we are often uncertain of our roles and can feel afraid of how folks will respond to us.

Every year when our Marionberries ripen, my heart grows tender, reminding me that this bush roots into my family history. Picking berries, I find my grandmother right there beside me.

I scrubbed for almost four and a half hours straight, finishing up by headlamp. In 2019, I’d laid in bed and wondered if I’d ever be able to pick up a glass of water without excruciating pain. Astounding.

When the day’s work was done, we’d all go down to the river, and there, “weedy” St. John’s Wort would wave a golden hello.