It Is The Shadow That Intrigues Me

Gifts fly back and forth across the universe, gracing first one person, then the next. It is not a competition, but those involved are giddy with the joy of it. First one then another sends something to a deserving soul and upon its receipt, it is opened and ogled, studied and perused at such great length that others might find it hilarious. And others are just so grateful. All three of my children received checks today. Large ones from someone who can afford it and wanted them to have it. Wow!

I sent a little something to someone the other day and I enjoyed the sending very much. I received a surprise from one of my favorite musicians today and was moved to tears. I had not expected to hear from him at all. He lives in France now and summers in the Canary Islands. Quite a step up from the street musician he was when I knew him.

And yet another gift flew into my hands only moments ago! What a weekend this is! Smiles as sweet as winter snowdrops on faces filled with life, but it is the shadow that intrigues me. The shadow of the hand that sent the gift was included and is as much a gift as the smile.

So much light behind these gifts.

Not So Different

Writers write, dreamers dream, actors act, singers sing, lovers love. It is all the same and it is not the same at all.

Kindred spirits seek out their own kind, drawn like amalgamated quick silver back into the oneness we never leave.

I listen to the echo of your words and slide through them into my own and I believe this is the way it is supposed to be. We are the muses, the reflection of a creation so magnificent its possibilities are absolutely endless.

Now I see you. Now I don't. One eternal game of hide and seek, peeking around corners, wondering -- and discovering it is not so different as I might have thought.

Are You Really Any Different?

Don't ever think that dreams cannot come true and don't ever believe you don't deserve the very best. They do. You do. Believe that!

I can't make any promises and I can't predict the future, but I know first hand that things can work out so much better, and often so much differently than anyone can imagine.

I think I know what I want, exactly which tree I want to climb and what branch I would like to sit on, so when someone cuts that tree down, it is easy to believe that everything is ruined. It could be, especially if I believe it is and give up. It also could be that I need to remember why I wanted to sit on that branch, what it was that made it seem so important to me. What feelings surrounded me when I envisioned myself there, what I expected to have happen because I reached that place.

Remember when you were very small? Remember what you dreamed about then? Could it be these dreams you planned for that branch are similar? Look closely, think hard. Are you really any different than that innocent soul who cried when he was sad, laughed uproariously when he was happy? Give yourself a chance to reach into your dreams and fish this little person out, pick him up and believe in him.

Then let go of all the "STUFF." Forget the let downs, the embarrassment, the failures and maybe even the successes. It's time for a new game plan, time to move forward. Be careful of only one thing. Don't carry a map with you that has the destination circled in red. Just meander along the way for a while and see if anything looks familiar. When it does head in that direction for a little bit, don't be afraid to reach out and take a few chances and if it doesn't feel right, then try a new way, and a new one. Eventually you will find that dream. Maybe on another tree branch, maybe even underneath a bush, but it is there.

I know it is.

Most Valuable

What is the one thing I can give to the world that no one else can? If I want to share something and make it as special as I know how, what do I do? How do I touch another's heart?

The answers, I think, are me, being myself, by looking into my own heart.

If I could only give one gift to the child of my heart, it would the peace and joy I find in the Silence. It is the gift I hope I gave to my other children, the ones I carried in my arms, the ones I hugged and held and hold so dearly in every moment. It is the most valuable thing I have to share.

Infinite Sweetness

I am being led along way by some force I do not understand. What I do understand is that it is right and good and no accident.

I reach out for the candy cane at the end of a red ribbon and I receive a seven layer cake covered in deep rich fudge with infinite sweetness. Every mouthful is so delicious that I want to share it with everyone I meet.

This is the icing on the cake. This is that ultimate beauty I read about in all the mystics words. This is the alpha and omega, joining together to allow me to taste the food of the gods while still walking the earth. Allowing me to see the whole within each and every creature who crosses my path. All preconceived ideas disappear. There is only the here and now and it is so filled with light and love and wonder that my heart can barely contain the joy.

The people I meet along this Way are so filled with it that even as they toil away doing the most menial and labor exhaustive tasks, they spread light everywhere they go. I cannot imagine how I came to be in such a beautiful place, how I am blessed to even rub shoulders with these good people, but here I am and I am so grateful.

Tears

Big eyes, over bright and brimming with tears, whether they actually fall over that tiny row of eyelashes is irrelevant. Most of us are deeply touched by such a sight. It speaks to us of vulnerability. Sometimes it comes from pain and sometimes it comes from overwhelming love, but always it tugs at my heart.

Lately I have been noticing that tears are so much more poignant when they come through the persona of a very strong person. Somehow it is that veneer of laughing off the pain, or just dealing with it head on that makes a person stand head and shoulders above others. I once thought these people simply didn't feel, or that they were so much stronger than the rest of us that it was less for them. I think I was wrong. I think they might even feel it more deeply than the rest of us. So deeply, in fact, that the tears can't get past the feelings.

Great screen writers and actors and actresses have probably known this for a long time. I notice that the heroes I love are those who do the impossible and still show their softest under belly by crying, or being teary eyed.

So today I don't write about people simply crying. I write about people feeling right down to the core of their being and how important they are in the real world where feelings get lost under the socially acceptable facades of being cool and efficient and perfect.

I prefer imperfect, real people.

It Is Not A Sacrifice

A mother's love knows no boundaries. She is willing to give of herself in any way that is necessary in order that her child will be okay, have what he, or she, needs. It is not a sacrifice. It is a gift from the very core of her being to herself.

What child is not bone of my bone, blood of my blood? What sweet and perfect manifestation in this universe does not deserve to be loved and cared for as my own?

I am blessed to find need and be able to pour a bit of what I have into it. There is no sweeter ambition fulfilled than this. No greater gift than needing to love and finding a beloved to receive.

Don't Worry

The world is filled with grief. Turn on the radio, flip the channels on the television, talk to people. Everywhere I turn darkness spills out of the universe and pours over me.

Once as a very young person I sought out the drama in life, mistaking it for passion and excitement. I was so young and naive. I had no idea that drama would find its own path to me and some of it was exceedingly unpleasant. But passion and excitement also found their way into my life and I discovered they could run on both sides of the Way too.

I have known passion so great I thought I would die from the intensity of it and I have known excitement so terrifying that I never want to know it again, but these are the extremes and I prefer to live my life closer to the center point now. Here, in the sweetness of the Silence, is that umbilical cord connecting me to you, to each of you. Here we are one as surely as the breath I take into my lungs has been breathed by a world before me.

I want to savor me, to savor you, to allow the fragrance of you to mingle with mine in this great bouquet we call life. The darkness will find us, don't worry. It is inescapable, but it is not insurmountable. As long as I can find my way back to the centerpoint, I know there will be comfort and hope, peace and joy. The rest falls back into the abyss it comes from.

I feel it fall upon me and with the whisper of my breath blow it gently away, allowing space for the light to lead me to you.

Breathe with me. Let us make this centerpoint a haven for all.

A Glancing Moment

A couple of years ago I had the chance to take a six thousand mile road trip with a friend. We camped our way through many of the national parks in late September. It was on this trip that I met the wise old sequoia who allowed me to sit at his feet and who shares a photo with me now. That picture was taken the night before we arrived in Kings Canyon a little south of Yosemite.

Kings Canyon was an unknown park to me, but after the bears in Tahoe and Yosemite I thought I was ready for anything. I don't care how cute you think black bears are, to me any creature that weighs in over 350 pounds and comes equipped with claws, teeth, a moderate amount of intelligence and big fat cubs, is intimidating. I was a little bear shy by this time, so I was keeping an eye out for them on that first morning we hiked up into the high country of the Sierra Nevadas. By this time I was accustomed to carrying several bottles of water and no food whatsoever. I had suffered altitude sickness and barely made it back to camp at one of our first stops and I had no desire at all to become a mobile meal package for some bear. I was also feeling the need to be alone after so many nights of sharing a tent with a very crabby roommate.

I know it is not wise to hike alone, but we decided to go our separate ways for a little while and meet back at the lake afterwards. It was a Narnian morning, enhanced by the clear sky and perfect sun. I walked up rocks so large, I felt as if I were entering the castle of some ancient people who might still be watching me from the shadows. I turned a corner and saw three deer standing in a sun dappled meadow. I saw a little snake slither into the crevice before me and even saw a tiny yellow frog. I stood beside a waterfall, listening to the water drip and ripple over rocks as smooth as ice and imagined myself living here long ago. Again I had the feeling that I was being watched and could feel the hairs standing up along my neck. Turning around I glanced up into the tree behind me and there was Aslan! Not the great maned one of CS Lewis's chronicles, but a young sleek Aslan. His leonine body rippled across the branch without moving a paw, or raising a whisker. His eyes were so full of life they were startling. I was frozen in terrified awe.

Looking into the eyes of this young god, a creature so beautiful and tawny that he did not feel real, I stood there for what seemed like hours afraid to move; afraid that even the slightest movement on my part might incite him to jump, but he only watched me. I remember thinking that I was seeing things, that this could not possibly be real. I even tried to have a conversation with him in my head, but it was useless. Standing in the presence of such a creature does not lend itself to ordinary conversation. It is a time for the Silence I seek within myself on ordinary days.

Eventually, probably really after only a minute or two, he rose, turned and lightly leaped to the ground. His beautiful haunches bunched up and he almost seemed to fly onto the rocks behind the tree. Pausing there, he gave me one more look and disappeared over the top. I did not move. I stayed there, stunned. I am still stunned when I remember. It was a glancing moment, a moment right out of a Rumi poem, a modern day myth that inspires me still.

And I know I shall spin tales of it for many years to come.

Lengthen The Lesson

How often do I do the right thing and then try to take it back? It takes courage to do those things that are expressly me and sometimes I just don't have enough of it to be myself.

In the end I will do what I do and I too will learn the lessons that are laid out for me. And just like everyone else, I cannot fail. I can only lengthen the lessons. Sooner or later I will learn what is necessary for me to move onto new lessons and new adventures.

Not a new story, I have gone this way before and I am sure I will do it again, but I have been on the path for a while now and I would think it would get easier.

So far, it has not.

Snow Angels

It is winter! That may not be a revelation to you, but it just really hit me up here in the mountains of western North Carolina. I slipped taking the trash up the other night and it took several tries to regain my feet. One shoe was down under my car and one knee was scraped just enough that trying to get up on my knees was painful on the rough surface. No more complaining that I miss Illinois winters. My back yard has a few inches of snow covering everything and looking down the mountain is as astonishingly beautiful now as it was last summer, just different. Cars are parked in a neighbor's drive on the main road. The incline here is just too steep for icy weather, but that does mean a bit of a walk on icy pavements.

Lennon was so good today, allowing me to watch the Inauguration with as much attention as anyone with a three year old ever has. Our reward for his good behavior was to go outside after lunch and play in the snow. We built a very small snowman, complete with sunflower seed eyes and twig arms. I made a snow angel. Lennon opted not to get his pants and jacket wet. He's so much smarter than I am. We had a sword fight with two icicles I broke off the awning and I must say I backed him into a couple of corners, but of course he won anyway! Then we had "The Snowball Fight!"

Only a few inches of snow means meager snowballs, but we did all right. Dashing around the yard, falling into the fence, which thankfully kept us from falling down the mountain, and hiding behind whatever post or shrub was available. Well mostly I did the running and hiding as Lennon shrieked after me with handfuls of snow crying "Run for your life. I'm coming!" I did get in a few little shots of my own and you might know, I hit him right on the cheek with a snowball. It was a soft snowball, but it was cold. It was an accident, but the look on that little face..."you hit me in the face with snow!" was precious. I reached out to brush it off and he backed up indignantly. "Don't touch me with your glove. It's wet and full of snow!" So I suffered through taking off my gloves and wiping his face off with my hand. Once I tried to kiss his knee when he fell and he informed me he did not need that now. Little boys grow up way too fast.

Eventually his snowballs destroyed our snowman and all the icicles were used and we went back inside to sit by our fireplace and drink chocolate milk. Lennon is not a big fan of hot chocolate. He prefers it cold and calls it coffee so I always serve it in china tea cups with a dollop of whipped cream and a drizzle of caramel.

It was a beautiful day, starting out with hope for all and ending in absolute contentment, cuddled up with my favorite little guy.

On This Night

On this night of nights, when the world is about to step into a new age, I feel such stirrings inside of me that I doubt I shall sleep much. We are being given chance after chance and I am so grateful that I am almost afraid to think about it. How many people, when asked what they wish for, mouth the words, "peace on earth?" Yet how many of these same people are willing to stand up and be counted among those ready to do what is necessary to achieve this peace?

Tomorrow morning we will inaugurate a new president. Barack Obama, a man who has faced many of the same trials the rest of us have; a man who has defied the odds on so many levels it is inconceivable; a man who is just that, a man, but who will step into the light ready to lead us as far as we are willing to go. It is the dawning of that age so many of us have waited for. It has come before and been dropped dead in its tracks. I pray that this time we will do better.

Far away, on a distant mountain, stands a young Aslan. Tawny and strong, he too stands in the light, but he is so much younger and still has so far to go. A babe in the woods who has yet to find his true strength, he stands out among his peers. The high spirited cub who endured with vim and vigor whatever came his way has become a magnificent creature who is not afraid to get his hands dirty, to work the most menial of jobs for as many hours as it takes to make ends meet; yet they don't. One after another, he steps into the traps and snares of a world that tests him at every turn. Willing to pay the price, no matter what suffering it causes him, unwilling to sacrifice his standards to lighten his load, he grows stronger. I see the light around him growing brighter and brighter and know that he is the hope of our world, the standard bearer for the brightest and best. I watch him with bated breath wondering if anyone else notices and perhaps hoping they do not because he needs this time to grow up and grow strong. He needs this time to discover himself and his strengths. We need this time to nurture and encourage him.

In his Gettysburg Address, Abraham Lincoln said "the world will little note, nor long remember what we say here..." That is so often the thought of heroes. Unaware of who they really are and how their mark upon this world will resonate for time to come, but I believe Barack Obama has a good idea that what is said here tomorrow will be much noted and long remembered. And I believe that young black man I met in an Illinois small town will be a great president. And I believe those times I walked through the mountains near Fresno, where I saw a young Aslan, meant there is hope for all of us.

They Kindled A Fire In Her

As most of you know, I haven't written a fairy tale in a long time. I guess it is time once more.

Long ago, in the mysts of time, she walked. Her steps were slow, her body tired and she wanted only to stop until she heard the song. At first it was almost inaudible, it was so far away. Over time, though, it became louder and sweeter and called to her as nothing in this world ever had. She listened and moved slowly towards whatever created it until one day she found herself standing at the gate.

It took great courage to place her fingers upon the latch and step inside that garden, but it was an action that could not be denied. Before her lay a pool of the clearest cerulean blue and deep within it, lying in the mud, was the most beautiful flower she had ever seen. As the sun began to peek over the wall and touch the water, the flower began to stir. Raising its lovely head, it rose into the light and gently broke through the water's veil just at sunrise. Stunned by its glancing song, she stood there with tears rolling down her cheeks. It seemed she had finally found him. After all these eons they were once more together and the blessing seemed beyond bearing. She stayed there beside the pool, meditating in the Silence, living only for him to sing, to be, to turn his face into the light and carry her with him into the beauty that straddled the edges of all eternity. And time passed. She barely noticed, but still it passed.

One morning she heard a stirring outside the gate. Others came to hear the flower sing, to sit in the Silence with him, to be with him in the light and share his beautiful presence. For her the Silence was broken. The song was hard to hear over the voices whispering all around her and she knew it was time to leave, because now she knew the Silence, knew the blessing of peace and the glancing of the light as few people ever do, she could not deny her own truth, or her own way no matter how difficult it might seem.

Stepping out of the gate, pulling the latch behind her, she left the most precious part of her behind and walked away.

She thought she was strong and knew she was wiser and believed that she was awake and being in every sense, but she was not. She was asleep. Just as surely as Sleeping Beauty slept for all those years in her fairy tale, she too was asleep. Walking, but unaware. It was mercy in action, a step by the universe to help her survive the grief that threatened to consume her, but she did not know.

Instead her strength carried her, one step at a time, through the mysts of time, into towns and villages where she found some bit of good to do, some work for her weary hands, some food for her starving soul, some way to place time between now and then. And after a while this became her way of living, a sleep walker among the living, pretending to be alive and waiting only for the time when, once more, there could be another chance. Nothing else was conceivable.

Finally finding herself on a mountain top, surrounded by the silence of butterflies and clear clean light, she met a teacher. Small, sweet, innocent beyond belief he reached out and touched her soul with his tiny finger and her heart began to flutter. It was only a start, but as she began to search, thinking only to satisfy her own mortal desires, she found other teachers in the most unlikely places and they kindled a fire in her that she had thought gone.

Other souls, walking in the light, working like demons in the earth for a living, began to creep into her world and she found herself once more rising into the light. Eager to hear their stories, listening with a softening heart to their tales, she began to know their names and their faces, admire the way they cared for each other until she realized they were taking her in. They called her from her daze with their beauty and youth, lifted her up into the light with their need and allowed her to find her way back.

There is no latch on this gate, no key, not even a pool, but there are flowers. It is a symbiotic garden, one where she waters another to slake her thirst. There is no taking, only giving and it is the giving that provides. The souls here struggle like souls everywhere and the ground is rocky, but the light is bright, the hands reach out from all sides and hers is one of them.

In return they keep her awake, give her purpose, open the way for the living on this side once more.

Because I Said So

I remember that awful feeling in my stomach when my mother would come storming towards me and I knew I had done something wrong. I usually knew exactly what it was and I also knew not to try to make excuses, or lie, or, heaven forbid, run or even duck! Evasion of any sort seemed to set my mom off. It was like lighting the tail of a fire cracker and thinking it wouldn't explode - useless. Mom expected me to stand there and take whatever it was she was inclined to do. Thank goodness her form of mercy was to be quick about it; no waiting around, or suffering in silence while she pondered the consequences.

Sometimes I didn't know what I had done and then I would really suffer, because I would spend the next few days (and maybe much longer) thinking how unfair it was to be the target of someone's misplaced anger. My mother was the stereotypical redhead with a very volatile, hair trigger temper. Looking back I realize how overworked she was and how ill equipped she was for dealing with frustration, or sadness, but back then I was too young.

I was too helpless too. I wasn't sat down and reasoned with like children are today. My father might have done more of that but he was usually working and too busy to deal with us. Mom's favorite reason was, "because I said so." She had a few quirks. If she walked by me and I ducked, she assumed I had something coming and was happy to provide it. Much of my stoicism probably comes from her. I learned that if I was going to stand up for something, I had better be prepared to suffer for it without moving, or complaining. I think there is an instinct that predator animals like sharks and cats have that some people are born with too. If the prey gets excited, or moves too much, the predator is just that much more likely to attack.

She never broke any parts of us, or me at least. She did break a few antique chairs and glasses and once she threw a glass across the room and my brother jumped up smirking just as it whizzed by. Unfortunate for him because it hit him right in the forehead and he had to have stitches. She felt terrible about that and talked about it for years, but I don't think it really changed anything.

It never occurred to me that things could be any different. We didn't share these stories with other people. Who wants to be shamed in front of outsiders? And it was considered shameful to be punished. It meant I had broken the rules. And suffered some ignominious consequences!

In the end I am probably a better person for all of it. I did not hit my children. I stop and think before I react and I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but I am no push over. I have to watch my words because they can be as caustic as any switch and maybe leave longer lasting welts on the psyche too.

A childhood like that makes for interesting experiences as an adult. I walked face first into a big glass patio door, hit my nose so hard I thought I'd broken it and burst out laughing because my first thought was, "Mom!"

Aren't We Both Better Off?

My son and I went to breakfast with Lennon this morning and I find myself just so plain happy it is a little bit strange. We were talking about Zen morning laughs which are so easy for me. I love to laugh. I laugh at so many things anymore, especially myself and that may be the answer to all this contentment and joy.

I am deadly serious about the things and people I care about, but I find most of the moment to moment stuff just that -- stuff. So I wake up and my hair is piled up in the middle of my head in a knot of curls, or my weight is at an all time high, and my health is not what I would choose...but I just can't take these things as seriously as I might once have. My heating situation is barely adequate for this extreme cold and I find myself sitting on my hands a lot and wearing this giant old bathrobe over my clothes, but it doesn't seem worth worrying about. The little things just don't matter so much any more.

Now I have more time for the big things, the people things, the real problems. I can't imagine why it took me so long to figure this out. I think it is because I have let go of a bunch of those "important" needs I grew up believing were necessary for happiness. My happiness comes from some center point within me that seems to generate joy as it flows out of me. I don't need to make you happy to be happy myself, but if something I do makes me feel good and it improves your lot in life too, aren't we both better off?

I am not sure I can quite explain it, but it is the fine line where giving and receiving become the same thing. I am you and that brings a whole new world into being.

Caring about you takes good care of me.

I Like To Win

I am learning so much from Lennon. Those big blue eyes and blond curls are attached to a real live little boy and although he is learning the art of artifice all too soon, he still is just mostly who he is and I am humbled when I say I see a lot of myself in him. Not this me particularly, but the one I was essentially and maybe still have threads of holding on here or there.

He throws himself at me when we are playing and all thirty wiry little pounds of him can pack quite a punch. He plays hard! He likes to win too and thinks of himself as skilled and strong, which he really is for his age and size. Show him something new and he repeats it over and over and over. It is so obvious that he is hard wired to learn. I know when it is starting to really become a part of his repertoire when he begins to expand and play with it, using it in new ways and with new purpose.

People mostly see me as a quiet, loving woman and I am. Still, when I was younger I was not so quiet and not always so loving either! I also like to win and when I play I play hard. I remember pounding those tennis balls across the court, expecting them to land right in front of my opponent's feet. A hard place to return from and even harder if you under estimate the strength that sent them there. I might have been skinny, but I was strong! I am neither anymore, but I still play to win board games and word games and I would not want an opponent who did otherwise.

I am too quick to get my feelings hurt and I see that in Lennon too. Correct him ever so gently and he is crushed. It may not last long, but the instantaneous response is one of great personal sorrow. I also tend to recover quickly and now often discover that it was my perception that felt the reprimand, not the actuality of the act. I have learned not to respond too quickly in order to give myself time to reassess the words, or actions that seemed unfair, or harsh, at first. Lennon will learn some of these things from me but I am learning just as much or more from him.

In many ways it is very affirming to see my strengths and faults in someone so new and untouched by this world. It reminds me that I am just a child of the universe, still struggling along trying to learn from all the things that surround me. If I can look at myself with as much love as I do Lennon, the world will be a better place.

Someone Else's Child

Many thots tonight. I don't even know where to begin, so I will just start rambling and see where this goes.

One thing becomes increasingly clear to me as I learn more about this world I live in. Children who grow up in reasonably stable environments, with reasonably attentive parents who take a reasonable amount of interest in them, may be prepared to start dealing with the world on their own around eighteen. But expecting them to make it completely on their own, alone and unassisted by this age is not reasonable. They do not have the education, or job skills, to make a living wage and living on minimum wages without other resources is almost impossible. Automobiles cost money and insurance for males under twenty five is outrageous. Less than top notch cars require more maintenance. Gas is high. Relying on public transportation helps, but so many places do not have reliable public transport to enough places to make it work. Clothing and laundry, food and incidentals go up every day. They are lucky to break even, let alone set aside enough to continue their education and try to get a better job.

Now take children who do not start off with these reasonable parents, ones who are shuffled between angry divorced parents, or kept in households where their simple presence is an annoyance to the parents girl friends and boy friends, or worse. Kids who are compelled to run away from home and end up in camps, or detention halls, or possibly, if they are lucky, decent foster homes. Kids who run, not with the wolves, but with whatever jackals will take them in. Kids who are throw aways in a world oriented, not around them, but around the self-centered adults who hold their reins. Where do they learn what they need to know in order to live, let alone thrive?

Bringing up baby in today's world is difficult enough when things are halfway normal, but when they run towards modern day Oliver Twists, it is obscene. No child should have to grow up hungry for food or love and that needs to extend a few years beyond the "legal age" until they get their feet under them. Of course there have to be limits and enforcing these can be tough as they grow older, but with enough love it is possible.

So here's to the hero who reaches out to these kids when their biological families are not there for them, the person who takes the time and trouble to offer a steady hand to try and keep them from sinking before they've even had a chance to really swim. It takes patience and money, but mostly it takes a lot of caring and time we don't seem to want to invest in someone else's child.

Woman Of Character And Strength

I marvel at the amazing bodies of the young, so fresh and dewy, so snug and sweet. How is it that as I grow more accustomed to this body, it fits me so much looser? Of course it has served me well. These eyes have seen things both miraculous and horrific. This nose has smelled the baby lotion ed bodies of my grandchildren and the agony of miscarriages I thought would never end. My hands have held whole lives and my feet have walked miles carrying both me and my loved ones. I guess I have earned the wrinkles and the crinkles, the sagging and the bagging, but I don't feel any older than I did at twenty in many ways so my mirror can be quite a shock. I need to see the me that is really here, the woman of character and strength who still abides in a reasonably working body and find the grace in that.

Lately I have fallen in love with people's hands. Hands that reach out across time and space to help others, hands that curl around the waist of a loved one, hands that run jackhammers and hands that pluck the strings of guitars. Such strong and fragile things, hands. A bunch of little bones and muscles working to take care of their owner's needs on every level and still finding the wherewithal to create art. If not the art of museums, definitely the art of life. My own hands have begun to show the first stirrings of age, but they have been used long and hard for everything from wiping my children's tears to hanging onto a tennis racket as I slam a ball cross court. They play the piano for me, type these words upon the computer, and put the flourish on my paintings.

My hand clasped tight in a larger one has given me the feeling of total security. My hand delicately caressing the tiny fingers of a smaller one, makes me feel strong and protective. I reach out and touch your hand and you never even notice. I am so grateful for these small moments that become so large within my chest that my heart leaps with joy.

One hand, one heart, one soul, one touch, to connect is the sweetest moment of all.

One Moment At A Time

It has been one of those days. A day that started out with a challenge from the universe. Can you keep centered knowing someone you care about is in trouble? Can you stay in a peaceful place when your heart aches for another's difficulties? Can you be calm and at ease knowing this is one of those lab days?

The answer is always, I will try.

I do it by dealing with one thing at a time, one moment at a time. Doing what I can and giving up all the remorse from not being able to do more. Realizing that we all learn our own lessons and no one else can, or should, take that away from us. Trying to deal with my own "stuff" the way I hope others can deal with theirs.

Today I had to go to the lab for more blood work, never a fun thing for me. It is really usually more fear than actual pain, but the later has its moments. Today my body decided it was not giving up any more blood. That tech dug and dug in my left arm until I thought maybe he would just excavate the vein and scoop out what he needed, all to no avail. Then he tried my right arm and it wasn't any better. By the time he started looking at my hand, I was really cringing. One more big needle and in my hand? It turned out to be nothing at all. He used this tiny little needle and a tube and no one was more relieved than he was when it worked!

The day is over, the universe has been heard and dealt with and I am going to sleep.

Find That Thing You Love

I think love is what keeps us alive. At least it is what keeps me alive. When I get into a place where I am only existing, paying the bills, going through the motions, I begin to get sick. I can't fool myself, not my real self. I know when I am not finding the love, not living in the light. I need to care about something deeply in order to thrive. That is what makes me too intense for some people. They want camaraderie and joking and I do too, but that only comes when I am truly relaxed and secure and comfortable. Otherwise I am like an over filled pool. I grow stagnant and murky and the passion becomes confused with neediness.

I prefer to be yielding and giving and over flowing. Feeling empty or needy is like being sick, heartsick if you will. I am a care taker. Not the get up with you in the middle of the night and rise at six to fix your breakfast type. When I do that you know you really have me hooked. I am more like I would die to give you the best life I possibly can type. I want to see you actualize yourself, find that thing you love and go for it.

When my kids were in school they often had really crappy jobs and I would tell them this was just so they knew what they did not want to do the rest of their lives. The job of young people, or anyone else who hasn't already done it, is to find something you love and find a way to make a living at it, or at least a way to live within the frame work of it.

I cannot think of myself as poor, not really. I say I am poor because by monetary standards I am right now, but when I consider doing something I never think of the money first. I think of what I want to do and then try to figure out how the money will appear. So far, it always has. I have been very fortunate to live my life doing the things I love. I realize not everyone can do that, but maybe they could if they really wanted to. Sometimes I think we bring situations into being that protect us from growing or taking chances. It is much easier to say I have to work than lets sit down and hash this real situation out. Putting myself out there where rejection is a very real possibility is the most frightening thing in the world.

Loving people means laying my heart bare when my breath is quivering. Imagine offering to help someone out. I don't want to embarrass them, or belittle them in any way. I don't want to take away any of their power and I really don't want them to do these things to me either. It is the challenge of living in the light and it sure isn't for the faint hearted.

I have a friend who has gone up to complete strangers and offered them help, or rides, or money, or even advice. She is so brave and true. I think of her when my spirit wavers.

The Stench of Burning Bones

Why do we send our children out to fight old men's wars?

They look to us with an innocence and naivety that belies the shape of their bodies. We tell them stories of patriotism and righteousness. We pump them full of hate and fill their arms with weapons. We take them from their mother's homes and put them into uniforms telling them it is their duty to go out and kill, maim, hunt and hurt other children and are surprised when they can't stop the killing after they come home, or over react in the terror of a moment.

Where is their reserve? Where is the wisdom that allows them to keep things in perspective? They have barely had time to grow tall, let alone store away enough experience and sanity to withstand the rigors of an insane situation.

Let the old men go out and fight themselves. Let them stand one on one and prove themselves again and again. Let them take their own children and their own homes and their own arms and legs and voices and live out their old men's stories of valor unto the end. Let them throw themselves into the fires they sit beside as they goad the young into mismatched memories and long forgotten horrors.

The stench of burning bones should not come from the nursery. It belongs in the charnal houses. Let those who lit the fires tend them and free our children to be creatures of peace and light.

Two Headed Hydras

Expectations are odd creatures. Allow them to run wild and disappointment is guaranteed. Nothing can rise to the nth degree of an imagination's power. Reign them in too closely and disappointment is also guaranteed. For lack of water the flower not only did not bloom. It ceased to grow.

All good things require loving care to reach their full potential. It is in allowing that potential to find its own level that tests Love's strength. I suppose it must be like fly fishing, although I have no experience with this. Cast out an invitation to the universe and pull back to see what happens. In the give and take that follows, the game is played out.

I don't believe there is much chance involved. Chance seems more like something I use as an excuse to explain why it did not turn out the way I wanted it to. Instead I believe that the actions lead to each moment in an order whose logic is simply not apparent to me. The test may be in accepting the results for what they are, accepting responsibility for my part and relinquishing the guilt for what is already past.

There is no gold cup for the winner because there are no winners, simply vessels filling up with whatever is poured into them. Expect it to be in the best interests of all and expectations become less like two headed hydras and more like beloved companions.

Disguised As The Bringer Of Pain And Limitations

I want to write of love tonight. I need to write of a love that goes beyond reason, beyond understanding. A love that can never be fulfilled in the arms of the beloved, can never be soothed by the precious hand that once reached out with such sweet offerings, a love that exists only in its purest form now and becomes the quest of Truth for the Light's sake. A love transformed into a way of being so rich and exotic that when it blooms its fragrance leaves me swooning with desire. Desire that can only be endured by reaching out to embrace a way of living beyond the past and before the future. Any other way would consume me with its passion, burn the skin from my hands and suck the breath from my lungs. No amount of rejection can alter this gift. It is mine to suffer through in ecstasy forever more.

It has been said that the greatest teacher, disguised as the bringer of pain and limitation, brings us into that final darkness beyond which we become aware of the Light within and recognize our true selves, but I believe Kahlil Gibran says what I am trying to say better than I ever could. The following are his words.

"When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips."

Vulnerable

Sometimes I send an email without asking for any kind of a response, but seriously hoping there will be one. When that doesn't happen, I wonder why.

The first and obvious reason is that the recipient didn't read it yet, or didn't even get it. That is not hard to understand.

The next one is a little harder for me. What if I said something that angered that person and they just chose not to respond. Or, worse, what if they don't feel it is even worth their time to send back a note?

Of course it is always possible that they just haven't had time to respond, or really didn't feel there was anything to respond to?

Whatever happened, I tend to agonize over it if it was someone I was hoping to hear from and I wonder what it is that makes the people most important to me the hardest for me to approach sometimes?

I think it is pride. I am still too proud. I don't want anyone to think I am too needy, or groveling, or being obsequious. It undermines my sense of who I am and makes me feel very vulnerable, but what if it is true? Wouldn't it be better to just say, I need to hear from you? Of course it would, but what if they say, so what? That would be horrible, but would I really die from the pain? Probably not. I would just suffer some hard knocks to my heart and ego.

I guess some people are more than worth that risk, but it is still a hard one for me to take.

World Peace Fellow by Rotary International

Lennon continues to fill my life with unexpected pleasures. Yesterday he went to deliver boxes to David LaMotte, a young man who is stopping his concerts since he was named the 2008 Rotary World Peace Fellow by Rotary International. He is one of only sixty people in the world to receive this honor and is moving to Brisbane, Australia where he will work on his Masters of International Relations, Peace and Conflict Resolution.

But I know him because of his music and his concerts and Lennon, who loves David's songs. He is a prolific writer and an awesome musician who has performed in more than 2000 concerts on four continents. He wrote Lennon's lullaby, also known to the rest of the world as New Lullaby. We play it on guitar and piano, accompanied by The Lennon himself who considers it his personal song.

Lennon had once last chance to sing the S.S. Bathtub with his friend live and we have it on video now. David gallantly taking time out from his busy packing to sit down and play music with a three year old, pausing to allow him to chime in on key words and sneezes! He's done bigger things, creating a school in Guatemala on his honeymoon and later setting up PEG to help other schools and libraries there. Every penny goes to the source unless otherwise specified. David LaMotte is a man who gets things done in big ways with everyday people.

I will always think of him as Lennon's friend.

If you are interested in learning more about David and his work, I have included a link to his site below.

http://www.davidlamotte.com/bio.html

A Soul Exposed And Bare

It is amazing how much time can travel through thoughts in a short period. My imagination is always good, so when it is up and running at full tilt, the experience can be just as real as the reality. I wonder if that is what happens to mental patients? They get caught in some time loop that is outside the present and can't escape?

The bad things would be terrible, but the rest is really okay. Kind of like rewind on the television set. It allows me to view and re-view moments I loved or liked. Sort of like having a built in entertainment system that plays without batteries or electricity.

It also can bring up insights that I am not even looking for and that can be a boon for the now. I guess the world's word for that might be wisdom. I wonder if other people's wisdom shows up in such odd lots and in such out of time segments? There are just things I don't discuss with other people, not even the people closest to me most of the time.

Personal thoughts and feelings are much too complicated to air outside the safety net of my own heart. Like icebergs, I share the tips, but the part that is still deep inside the consciousness and unconscious me is constantly melting and growing. Not changing really, but altering and that altering makes it dangerous to share. Others cannot be expected to understand what they do not know, so if I share something it is like giving them a picture that is no longer valid later on. They still hold, and maybe even treasure the picture, while I have moved on to a different level.

Still, the urge to share these deeper things is great. So great, in fact, that I may ramble on in great circles with the wanting. Reaching out tentatively, sending feelers into the present and perhaps into you, wondering what you might think if you only knew. Not that these are bad things, just that they are incredibly personal things. Things that would probably bring us even closer together, or split us entirely.

Looking at another's soul exposed and bare is one of those things even soul mate's are careful with.

Moments Of Ecstasy

I didn't write a thot last night. Instead I went in to play the piano around eleven and didn't emerge until after two. Lots of playing to be done. Lots of thoughts to slide up and down the staff. Lots of emotions to flow back and forth through time. Thank goodness for my piano. It has been my companion since I was less than eight years old and I honestly don't think I would be here today if I hadn't had it. Well, not this particular piano, but a piano. This piano has been through the war of moving too many times in the past ten years and it shows. My e an octave above middle C sticks, the action is too slow on some of the upper registers and two of the pedals are no longer here. It needs to be tuned and voiced, but it is here and I love it. I admit, if I lived back in Illinois I might be tempted to look at the next pianos on sale from Weslyan's music school, but I am grateful for this big sturdy creature's place in my life.

I am not unhappy, or even discontent. On the contrary, I am very happy right now. A friend sent out a quote about happiness and it made me think that it is a by product of contentment. Like a John Williams theme song, it swells and grows until the french horns come in and break your heart with their beauty. The intensity of it can be so great it almost rivals those moments of ecstasy that create life.

I doubt it is possible to live like this all the time, but so far that has not been a problem for me. I have enough ups and downs to get me through. The vibrations ease off all the time and stop completely sometimes. I can still be very melancholy, but not as often, or for as long.

So last night I allowed the memories and thoughts of many poignant moments to wash over me until my arms and fingers and back began to intrude and it was time to stop. Today I am.

The Couch

How often do I sing the song, "Seek ye first the kingdom of God, ask and ye shall find?" It is one of those little songs that runs through my head a lot of the time. One of those tunes you are likely to hear me singing in the shower. It always has been. I like the tune, the idea and the words.

It is not a bad concept either. In my world I have asked for so many things and they have emerged into my consciousness as a very real manifestation that I am as likely as not to attribute to my hard work, or claim as my right because of where I am at the time. There have been a few things I wanted that I can absolutely not take credit for no matter how much I have tried. These are the ones that teach me the truth.

It doesn't matter how much I have, thoughts flit through my head all the time. Wouldn't it be nice to have this or that? Wow, that is awesome, wish I had one! Whatever it is often just passes on through my thoughts and loses itself in that great want bin in the sky. I don't really need or want most things, they are just fancies. Ideas that are sparked by the great variety of things passing before me on television, or the computer, or in the world around me.

Occasionally though, I do really want something. Not need, mind you. I have everything I need and so much more. I am a rich woman by my own accounting, but for a while I have been wanting a couch. I have a love seat that matched a couch I gave my daughter about twelve years ago. It is structurally a wonderful piece of furniture, just a bit rough in the fabric department now that it is aged and fine. The thing is, it is a love seat, that means two seats and it is also a reclining love seat, so both of them are very defined seats. I would like to be able to stretch out in my living room without having to balance my feet on the opposite arm, or my bones on the bones of the love seat. I cannot afford to buy a new couch, but I have thought about it a quite a lot recently.

Today, I woke up to the sound of my telephone ringing off the wall. It was Bobby. The neighbor's were getting new furniture and wondered if we'd be interested in their old couch and chair? I now have a beautiful new (to me) couch and reclining chair! Comfortable and pretty good looking too. A gift from the universe and the wonderful woman across the street.

And the beautiful part about this couch is that when we went over to look at it, I was able to visit with her and her family in their hundred year old house whose living room is dominated by a huge old fashioned wood burner that they heat with. She proudly showed me her children's high school diplomas and the wall of treasures depicting this momentous event in their lives. Her husband is the first person in his family to ever graduate from high school and now their daughter is heading off to college. The simplicity, the pride, the genuineness of these people is so heart touchingly sweet and good. They work hard, they live frugally and they share their good fortunes with the world. I will never sit on this couch without, at least, a fleeting thought of them and this afternoon.

I am so blessed.

That Tiny Pungent Bite

Love is so much more than a romantic notion. Ideas come and go. Fantasies come and go. Relationships may come and go, but love is always here.

It is the warp in the material parts of life, the woof in the rest. Always discernible, but seldom overtly set in concrete. Too eternal to retain one shape without undulations, too strong to snap even when it appears to be stressed to the limit. Anything less is only a mirage, a minor manifestation of a power too great to comprehend.

When I cannot find the love, I am not looking for the real thing. It is so easy to search for personal identification, homemade theologies made in our own image. Love is more like a fine wine. Take a sip, allow it to slide over all the taste buds, swallow it and then breathe in its fragrance. Somewhere, right at the center-point, where all things touch, is that tiny pungent bite that is the real thing.

Elusive, subtle, something of an acquired taste in its most potent form, is Love. Perfect for babies and enlightened ones, it can be a tough place for the rest of us. No shilly shallying here. No wallowing in reflections and pretending it is the real thing, anymore than one might pretend to breathe.

This is the ocean and we have been tossed in. Whether we sink or swim is a moot point. It is all love anyway.

How Is It Possible

Love is so simple when we are three. We say, "I love you" and mean it with every fiber in our little being. It is only right that this love should grow and grow and grow until when you get to my age it is overwhelmingly enormous.

Love that becomes categorically placed for years, so that the right amount filters out to the appropriate person, begins to dissolve and as it thins out becomes so potent and strong that it's blessings bring a glow to everything. How is it possible I feel so full?

The threads of me woven in and out of the threads of you make us such a beautiful One that all else simply blends in. We are One. I am You. Through you I am enriched in ways that would be impossible if we were not one. We rise and fall with the breath of the ages, flowing in and out of each other without even shaking hands and as the ocean backs out into eternity we float -- not side by side, or one over the other, but as one...

Simply in this moment...

One

Find Where The Fulcrum Should Be

I remember so many New Year's Eves when I sat around writing poetry about the difficulties in my life. Very real, very emotionally debilitating, but not this year. I have learned so many things this year and almost all of them are about me, which I guess makes sense, since the only reality I know comes through the filters of this being I am.

Almost all the new lessons are really old ones. In retrospect I can see how the universe offered them to me before, but back then they were so camouflaged by my own baggage I never recognized them. I have unpacked a lot of things, given back what is not mine and tried to just pitch those things that are not really useful, or good for me.

The newest phase of my life is so balanced and sane that I am in a little bit of shock. I do everything out of love and it seems everyone around me does the same. It took us a while to find where the fulcrum should be, but now that we know where it is, we all have plenty of room for ups and downs without knocking each other off balance.

Instead of writing sad poetry this year, I spent the afternoon with Lennon. We were playing with one of those games that have checkers, chess, cribbage and all sorts of other games tucked away inside. It was like a treasure chest for Lennon as he discovered first one thing then another. Stacking the dice into leaning towers, counting the dots on the dominoes, rolling the checkers around -- until he saw the chess pieces. In less than ten minutes he had learned to set up his own chess board! The idea of castles and kings and queens defended by their knights (in shining armor) delighted him! It will be a long time before he is ready to play and then his Daddy will have to take over anything beyond the basic moves, but at 37 months he sure has delighted Gramma.

To make a bad pun, I am living in de light and to speak the truth, it is an awesome way to live. May you find such light in your life too