I feel like the social media machine has me constantly refining and defining who I am and what I do – trying to make that clear and being sure that I am saying what I mean to say.

So I have come upon a dilemma.  I think that changing the name of my blog is probably a good idea.  My worry is that “horse dancing” is inadvertently excluding a lot of potential readers.  They may not look at the blog because they think it is about horses or dances.  Which sometimes it is.  And often it is not.

So I have a thought, which is to invite you, dear reader, to tell me your ideas.  All suggestions are welcome.  If I use your blog name idea you will receive a signed 8×8 print of my new favorite Pam White photo (see below).

Bless us with the first breath of morning.  Bless the packet of seeds for the garden, shaking like a shaman’s rattle in prayer.  Bless us with spare change in our pockets to give to the homeless, bless us with a heart that has been serviced by the mechanic, bless us with good tires on the icy road.  Bless us so that we’re not just covering our own asses, but weeping for the rest of the world.  Bless our tears so that they irrigate the land for the starving, that there be no more drought.  Bless us with one idea after another that we might sort out the good from the bad, bless us with free lunches and subscriptions, bless us with a winter storm so big that it closes everything down for a week and we find ourselves at the beginning of time.  Bless us with water, bless us with light, bless us with darkness, and bless us with language.  Bless our tongues that we can speak.  Bless our cars so they start.  Bless our computers so that they may connect to the internet, and bring us the news of the universe.  Bless Robert Bly and Gloria Steinem, bless all the worn-out athletes whose bodies are falling apart, bless the tides twice a day and the moon every month.  Bless the sun, bless us as we are blessing you, for this is a two-way street, after all, and we’re in this think together.  Bless mass transit, and the first cup of coffee.  Sing O ye frost heaves and icy patches, praise the spruce trees all crowded together, the crows in the trees flying heavenward and earthward, flying everywhere in between.  Bless the night with its constellations that we have dreamed up.  Bless our stories that they may somehow be true, for this is all we have.  Bless all creatures great and small and the basket makers who weave together a framework to hold emptiness.  Bless the empty spaces that are within our bodies, the vast distances inside each cell.  Bless each cell, which is its own universe, ready to divide, split in two, and make more than enough.

“Litany,” by Stuart Kestenbaum, from Prayers and Run-On Sentences.

Try reading this every night before bed, or every morning upon awakening, or both.  See what happens.

We do not labor for this fruit.  The tree, scraggly and unlovely, was here when we moved in.  We pruned it once.   Every year, it showers us in gold – more pears than we can eat or put up.  For me, noticing where I receive without laboring,  where things fall into my lap, what I am given without effort every day is important.  Sun, fresh air, gorgeous views, breath, love, the canopy of sky.  We (you and I) could go on and on.

Too often I think mistakenly, that I have to work hard for it, that I have to push and drive and labor.  Not so says the pear tree.  I do not labor.  I receive the sun, the nourishment of the earth, the rains and effortlessly my fruits come. 

Joyful, effortless ripening – producing without striving?  Could I attract that?  And you?