How do I define perfect? Trust, truth, honesty, openness, these are the traits that make my life good. Lack of them makes me fearful and insecure.
I would rather have one perfect night with you than a lifetime of misery.
I would rather sit down and have one deeply satisfying conversation together, than years of not listening to each other.
I would rather have one delightful, laugh filled day, than a month of anguish.
Those things that come to me in the light stay with me like tiny lanterns that continue to illuminate my way. They never really go away, not even when my hand can no longer close around them, cling to them and claim them as my own. Only the moments spent together are ever really ours.
The Conjunctio, the sacred marriage, begins with that most sacred of all relationships, the one between my self and me. Until we live happily ever after, moments are all I can hope for.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Uncle Mac
Growing up during the cold war of the late fifties and sixties, our next door neighbor's house was the place everyone came to gather. I called them Aunt Jo and Uncle Ralph and most of the people who came there became Aunt this, or Uncle that. Looking back I realize they must have been pretty amazing people, because through them I met people a child takes for granted, the governor, Gene Autrey, you know, the usual celebrities! In the summertime, their back patio became the gathering place for people from all walks of life from politicians, actors and actresses, to family and friends, but the one who was always special to me was Uncle Mac.
Uncle Mac had laughing blue eyes, white hair and the pinkest skin. I fell in love with him before I turned six and on the occasions when he would suddenly turn up at Aunt Jo's, I was his little shadow. I would lean against him when he sat smoking, sit on his lap while he watched television, and as I grew older it turned into the biggest crush any little girl probably ever had on a man who appeared and disappeared like the Gray Ghost. John Mosby style, not Batman. He always promised he would take me to dinner and dancing when I turned twelve, and he did.
Sometimes Uncle Mac disappeared for years, which always seemed a little strange for a coke machine salesman, but children are very accepting. I only have one picture of him. It is in a corner at a table in the background, at my wedding, which was the last time I ever saw him. He gave me his mother's silverware as a wedding gift, hugged me, kissed me on the forehead and took off for parts unknown. He was retired then, of course. No one ever saw him again after that.
Who he was when working I will never know. He was evidently a very worldly man, well traveled for a coke machine salesman, having been all over Europe and the Soviet Union. He told my neighbors, his home away from home, that if he ever disappeared he would be buried in Pontiac, Illinois. After he retired he reconnected with his daughter out in California who, it turns out, was kidnapped about the time I was married and held as a hostage. He went underground to get her and never resurfaced. He is not buried in Pontiac. I checked once, when I lived near there. It wasn't until years later I learned that he worked for the CIA, not the Coca Cola Bottling Company.
How, or when Aunt Jo and Uncle Ralph knew this I will never know either, but it often reminds me that people are not always who they seem to be.
Uncle Mac had laughing blue eyes, white hair and the pinkest skin. I fell in love with him before I turned six and on the occasions when he would suddenly turn up at Aunt Jo's, I was his little shadow. I would lean against him when he sat smoking, sit on his lap while he watched television, and as I grew older it turned into the biggest crush any little girl probably ever had on a man who appeared and disappeared like the Gray Ghost. John Mosby style, not Batman. He always promised he would take me to dinner and dancing when I turned twelve, and he did.
Sometimes Uncle Mac disappeared for years, which always seemed a little strange for a coke machine salesman, but children are very accepting. I only have one picture of him. It is in a corner at a table in the background, at my wedding, which was the last time I ever saw him. He gave me his mother's silverware as a wedding gift, hugged me, kissed me on the forehead and took off for parts unknown. He was retired then, of course. No one ever saw him again after that.
Who he was when working I will never know. He was evidently a very worldly man, well traveled for a coke machine salesman, having been all over Europe and the Soviet Union. He told my neighbors, his home away from home, that if he ever disappeared he would be buried in Pontiac, Illinois. After he retired he reconnected with his daughter out in California who, it turns out, was kidnapped about the time I was married and held as a hostage. He went underground to get her and never resurfaced. He is not buried in Pontiac. I checked once, when I lived near there. It wasn't until years later I learned that he worked for the CIA, not the Coca Cola Bottling Company.
How, or when Aunt Jo and Uncle Ralph knew this I will never know either, but it often reminds me that people are not always who they seem to be.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
The Quiet Times
Sometimes I have long periods when I have to be quiet. It used to be this was not something I looked forward to at all. Now this is when some thoughts get the time they need to rise to the surface, nod their heads in the light and allow me to recognize them for what they are.
Today it occurred to me that the reason I am so in love with the beloved is that he returns again and again, not always with the same face, but always with the same beautiful soul.
Who wouldn't love that?
Today it occurred to me that the reason I am so in love with the beloved is that he returns again and again, not always with the same face, but always with the same beautiful soul.
Who wouldn't love that?
Saturday, March 21, 2009
The Stuff Of Dreams
Truth is an exotic animal. Let people I know believe that the story they are reading is fiction and they gobble it up with smiles and great sighs. Everyone loves a good story. Those same people might turn away in disgust if they knew how little fiction I write.
Truth is not for the faint hearted. Being able to stand up and say this is my life, take it, or leave it, is the hero's quest. I am certainly not the hero in my stories.
Fiction is seldom as good as truth. Real heroes are real people living real lives in real places.
Dreams embody the truth. Fiction is not the stuff of dreams, it is not that important.
I am a good writer and my stories end happily ever after, but sometimes my dreams make me cry real tears.
Truth is not for the faint hearted. Being able to stand up and say this is my life, take it, or leave it, is the hero's quest. I am certainly not the hero in my stories.
Fiction is seldom as good as truth. Real heroes are real people living real lives in real places.
Dreams embody the truth. Fiction is not the stuff of dreams, it is not that important.
I am a good writer and my stories end happily ever after, but sometimes my dreams make me cry real tears.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Heaven And Hell
Heaven and hell, Biblical places, or neighborhood hang outs?
How easy it is to distance myself from the world, to say this is God's business, or symbolic literature written by some romantic, or just politics. Not so easy for others.
We received a postcard from a friend who was in Egypt not too long ago saying he would be home when the shooting stopped in Gaza. He is home now. He is a man with many irons in the fire, both here and abroad, each of them attached to heaven, or hell on such a personal basis that there are no questions in his mind about things such as this. He is one of my heroes, a man who puts his actions ahead of everything, ahead of his words, even his personal comfort and safety. His life is dedicated to caring, loving, and peace keeping.
Seniors approaching the end of their twelfth grade, their last year of high school here, are looking forward to proms and college and summer vacations in Cancun. There are other seniors, in the twelfth grade, who are looking at spending their lives in solitary confinement. In jail because they refuse to serve in occupied territories, which is a compulsory part of living in their society. They are called Shministim.
There are children right here among us who are ostracized and made to feel odd about their own bodies and beliefs and feelings, because someone tells them they are not right.
Battles are fought between heaven and hell in every second of every day. Fought in the bigotry and self righteousness of anyone who is willing to allow another to suffer in the name of something they know very little about.
How easy it is to distance myself from the world, to say this is God's business, or symbolic literature written by some romantic, or just politics. Not so easy for others.
We received a postcard from a friend who was in Egypt not too long ago saying he would be home when the shooting stopped in Gaza. He is home now. He is a man with many irons in the fire, both here and abroad, each of them attached to heaven, or hell on such a personal basis that there are no questions in his mind about things such as this. He is one of my heroes, a man who puts his actions ahead of everything, ahead of his words, even his personal comfort and safety. His life is dedicated to caring, loving, and peace keeping.
Seniors approaching the end of their twelfth grade, their last year of high school here, are looking forward to proms and college and summer vacations in Cancun. There are other seniors, in the twelfth grade, who are looking at spending their lives in solitary confinement. In jail because they refuse to serve in occupied territories, which is a compulsory part of living in their society. They are called Shministim.
There are children right here among us who are ostracized and made to feel odd about their own bodies and beliefs and feelings, because someone tells them they are not right.
Battles are fought between heaven and hell in every second of every day. Fought in the bigotry and self righteousness of anyone who is willing to allow another to suffer in the name of something they know very little about.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The Moment
There comes a moment when everything changes
A moment when a shadow steps into the light
Or an errant sunray falls upon a hidden promise
A time when all the tunes take on secret meanings
And every word becomes a symbol for something else.
A glancing moment when all else pales
And the heady fragrance of understanding passes over
Highlighting all the important phrases and erasing all the others.
A time when only the beauty steps up to be noticed
And everything is beautiful.
A moment when a shadow steps into the light
Or an errant sunray falls upon a hidden promise
A time when all the tunes take on secret meanings
And every word becomes a symbol for something else.
A glancing moment when all else pales
And the heady fragrance of understanding passes over
Highlighting all the important phrases and erasing all the others.
A time when only the beauty steps up to be noticed
And everything is beautiful.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Helicopters
We were taking a long walk today when the air was riddled with the sounds of helicopters. Even one helicopter up here seems to rattle your teeth, but imagine five huge military helicopters fully armed with all sorts of things that looked like missiles and guns and torpedoes and what not -- just very very big and very very scary looking swooping down over you on a sunny afternoon. I don't know how people in war zones keep their sanity.
I was pretty certain we were in no danger, but it was still jarring. About ten minutes later, three more flew over. I don't know where they were coming from, or where they were going, but these helicopters were designed for killing. There was no doubt about that.
Talk about feeling small and totally vulnerable. I cannot imagine where we would have been able to hide from them had they been after us. They fly so low that you can see the people in them and their blades make the trees move.
It just made my heart ache to think of the people who have been attacked by these for real, the children who have grown up under the threat of things like this when they should be playing ball in the street and dolls in the grass.
One of my old music teachers told me about issuing her students Mickey Mouse Gas Masks and watching children running from the buzz bombs on their way home from school during world war II. This is the closest I have ever come to understanding what they might have been feeling.
I was pretty certain we were in no danger, but it was still jarring. About ten minutes later, three more flew over. I don't know where they were coming from, or where they were going, but these helicopters were designed for killing. There was no doubt about that.
Talk about feeling small and totally vulnerable. I cannot imagine where we would have been able to hide from them had they been after us. They fly so low that you can see the people in them and their blades make the trees move.
It just made my heart ache to think of the people who have been attacked by these for real, the children who have grown up under the threat of things like this when they should be playing ball in the street and dolls in the grass.
One of my old music teachers told me about issuing her students Mickey Mouse Gas Masks and watching children running from the buzz bombs on their way home from school during world war II. This is the closest I have ever come to understanding what they might have been feeling.
Monday, March 16, 2009
What Is Not Said
How often I realize that the deepest truth lies not in what is said, but what is not said.
The deepest love is often born in silence. The sweetest caring often done alone. The most heartfelt prayers heard only by a God who looks into a heart to find those things so sacred that they cannot pass into a world where they might be defiled.
It is so easy to speak. Things said in anger or fear, in frustration, or ignorance, are out in an instant, but their reverberations circle us for so much longer. Even those things said in love and excitement, joy and good intentioned babbling are only reflections of a moment.
It is in the silence that souls settle down and allow their innermost feelings to rise up, unfettered and free.
It is in the silence that I speak your name and listen for the echoes that are blessed only by the God of Rumi and Shams, the God who understands passion better demonstrated by twirling in that constant circle of silence than by anything that has a beginning and an ending.
The deepest love is often born in silence. The sweetest caring often done alone. The most heartfelt prayers heard only by a God who looks into a heart to find those things so sacred that they cannot pass into a world where they might be defiled.
It is so easy to speak. Things said in anger or fear, in frustration, or ignorance, are out in an instant, but their reverberations circle us for so much longer. Even those things said in love and excitement, joy and good intentioned babbling are only reflections of a moment.
It is in the silence that souls settle down and allow their innermost feelings to rise up, unfettered and free.
It is in the silence that I speak your name and listen for the echoes that are blessed only by the God of Rumi and Shams, the God who understands passion better demonstrated by twirling in that constant circle of silence than by anything that has a beginning and an ending.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Pretending
I have experienced so much beauty in this lifetime. The world is not defined as tightly as many people would have us believe. There are still unknown flowers to be found and sweet boundaries to be leaped over. The mirror does not have to reflect from just one angle and poetry is not simply written in words.
It is possible to do what others deem impossible, or improbable, or perhaps even just not right, without offending God or myself, if I keep my heart in the light and my soul within the confines of the Way. It is possible to do many amazing things, but there are also consequences.
Stepping backwards into the light is like the fountain of youth. Emerging, I am wrapped in a love beyond understanding, but wisdom cannot insulate me from the real world and this new found warmth quickly fades away, leaving me once more the woman I am. I pretend it was only a story, even write it out and hide it in the truth, but I cannot fool myself.
Consequences abound and the echoes whisper tears into my eyes.
It is possible to do what others deem impossible, or improbable, or perhaps even just not right, without offending God or myself, if I keep my heart in the light and my soul within the confines of the Way. It is possible to do many amazing things, but there are also consequences.
Stepping backwards into the light is like the fountain of youth. Emerging, I am wrapped in a love beyond understanding, but wisdom cannot insulate me from the real world and this new found warmth quickly fades away, leaving me once more the woman I am. I pretend it was only a story, even write it out and hide it in the truth, but I cannot fool myself.
Consequences abound and the echoes whisper tears into my eyes.
Miracles And Dreams
Dreams come and they go, but the ones who hang on become the miracles that make us who we are. If I have learned anything in my life, it is not to give up on those things that are most important to me. No matter how little hope there is supposed to be, no one ever really knows if something is hopeless unless they decide it is so.
Once I decide it is hopeless, to continue on would be foolish, because I have already given up on the most important part of a dream -- believing it is a possibility.
There are things I have chosen to give up. It was not easy. It will never be easy to remember those times, but they were definitely choices made consciously and with absolute intention. There are other things I have chosen never to give up and they sustain me through times when all else fails.
Thirty years ago today, one of my miracles occurred with the birth of my son. A child that should not have been conceived and could not be carried full term, but he was. The world would be a much poorer place without him. He is one of the great lights in my life and the lives of many others, a good son, a good husband, a good father, a good man and I will love him even more tomorrow than I do today, which seems impossible, but it is not, I know that, because it is the way I have loved him since before he took his first breath.
He is a dream who became a miracle.
Once I decide it is hopeless, to continue on would be foolish, because I have already given up on the most important part of a dream -- believing it is a possibility.
There are things I have chosen to give up. It was not easy. It will never be easy to remember those times, but they were definitely choices made consciously and with absolute intention. There are other things I have chosen never to give up and they sustain me through times when all else fails.
Thirty years ago today, one of my miracles occurred with the birth of my son. A child that should not have been conceived and could not be carried full term, but he was. The world would be a much poorer place without him. He is one of the great lights in my life and the lives of many others, a good son, a good husband, a good father, a good man and I will love him even more tomorrow than I do today, which seems impossible, but it is not, I know that, because it is the way I have loved him since before he took his first breath.
He is a dream who became a miracle.
Friday, March 13, 2009
The Thirty Second Video
Lennon wanted to watch The Yellow Submarine again this morning and my son was giving him a hard time, saying he must have watched it ten times in the last five days! Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I have watched the same thirty seconds of a small video more than that. Sometimes things just speak to us and if we are honest with ourselves we really do seize the moment and run with it.
I am experiencing an extraordinary creative period right now and everything that feeds it stays right in front of me as much as possible. I have suspended almost all extraneous reading. There are really two reasons for this. Firstly, I am loving my own story and watching it develop is as fascinating to me as reading some of my favorite authors. Secondly, other books distract me, take me away from this place I am living in right now, with the exception of my friend's book, which is so much different than mine that it poses no problems.
So, here I am. Living on a mountain in North Carolina without a car for the past eleven days, and it occurred to me that I am living with less than I ever have in my entire life. A huge part of my life has been spent in relative wealth and luxury. That has changed over the past ten years. The refrigerator kicked on this morning and I realized it is really the only big appliance I have.
I have a very small four burner apartment stove without a working oven, and a small toaster oven. There is no dishwasher, no place to hook up my washer and dryer, no Jacuzzi, no air conditioner, no central heating, not even a furnace of any sort. I have a huge bathtub and enough hot water to fill it half full on a good day, but its shower works great.
I have an old fashioned twenty inch television with a simple vcr/dvd player, a twenty year old boom box with fantastic speakers and my computer. I don't have a cell phone. I don't even have a regular phone. I have magicJack that hooks into my computer and is paid for, for the next five years. It is very cheap and works just fine.
My house is filled with books and a piano, violin, flute, guitar, dulcimer and Native American flute, blocks and books for Lennon and a few toys for Chauncey. My ceiling reverberates with the sound of my grandchild's feet and my backyard has views most people would die for.
I am not just content. I am happy.
I am experiencing an extraordinary creative period right now and everything that feeds it stays right in front of me as much as possible. I have suspended almost all extraneous reading. There are really two reasons for this. Firstly, I am loving my own story and watching it develop is as fascinating to me as reading some of my favorite authors. Secondly, other books distract me, take me away from this place I am living in right now, with the exception of my friend's book, which is so much different than mine that it poses no problems.
So, here I am. Living on a mountain in North Carolina without a car for the past eleven days, and it occurred to me that I am living with less than I ever have in my entire life. A huge part of my life has been spent in relative wealth and luxury. That has changed over the past ten years. The refrigerator kicked on this morning and I realized it is really the only big appliance I have.
I have a very small four burner apartment stove without a working oven, and a small toaster oven. There is no dishwasher, no place to hook up my washer and dryer, no Jacuzzi, no air conditioner, no central heating, not even a furnace of any sort. I have a huge bathtub and enough hot water to fill it half full on a good day, but its shower works great.
I have an old fashioned twenty inch television with a simple vcr/dvd player, a twenty year old boom box with fantastic speakers and my computer. I don't have a cell phone. I don't even have a regular phone. I have magicJack that hooks into my computer and is paid for, for the next five years. It is very cheap and works just fine.
My house is filled with books and a piano, violin, flute, guitar, dulcimer and Native American flute, blocks and books for Lennon and a few toys for Chauncey. My ceiling reverberates with the sound of my grandchild's feet and my backyard has views most people would die for.
I am not just content. I am happy.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Too Dear For Words
There are people in my life who are too dear for words.
Sometimes I call them relatives, or friends, or simply by their name, but their real name to me is beloved.
They are the ones whose words and actions touch me to the core. They are the representative of what is most good and sacred in this world.
These sweet and beautiful ones keep my feet on the ground, my imagination in flight and my soul in the light -- simply by being themselves.
I need them!
I am blessed by them.
I am grateful for their very existence, no matter where they are, or what they are doing in any given moment. That they are, means I am.
These are the One who shows me that I am you.
Sometimes I call them relatives, or friends, or simply by their name, but their real name to me is beloved.
They are the ones whose words and actions touch me to the core. They are the representative of what is most good and sacred in this world.
These sweet and beautiful ones keep my feet on the ground, my imagination in flight and my soul in the light -- simply by being themselves.
I need them!
I am blessed by them.
I am grateful for their very existence, no matter where they are, or what they are doing in any given moment. That they are, means I am.
These are the One who shows me that I am you.
Coincidences
Someone from Kentucky writes to tell me I remind them of Mrs. Pollifax. I don't know who that is and have to look it up. After wards I think, hm....interesting. I'm not sure what makes them think that, but I think it is kind of a compliment. At least I hope it is.
I have spent my day in Peru, South America. Not really. It's just what I am doing research on at the moment and I discover something that is real that I thought I had made up. It is a little disturbing because I thought my idea was totally original and it really is, but there are almost too many synchronicities to be believable here. There is a mesa temple there with a maestro. I am writing about a conductor on a mesa. How can this be?
That has been happening to a me a lot lately. Synchronicities, coincidences, that might be exactly that and nothing more, but if I was an opportunist I would say I had the gift of sight. Sometimes I make cards that I send to friends. I made a very simple one of a white dancing crane, cut out of white card stock and glued to a light blue rectangle. It is most definitely a crane, but does look amazingly like a stork and I guess gave the recipient a real start because they are pregnant and had not told anyone when they received this from me! I also wrote the thot on having a baby about the same time and these poor people thought that somehow I was speaking it to them!
I also went on line and saw my letter appear on a friend's web cam minutes after it arrived, which is amazing, because there was a window of about a week when it could have shown up. I wasn't looking for it, it was simply a coincidence. Lots of those lately!
I seem to be in tune with my universe right now and I don't know what to think of it, just that it is interesting. I am spending a lot of time alone and in a reflective, or meditative state since my car is at the transmission shop and has been there for over a week now. Today I finally received the news from them. My bill will top $2000.00!!!!!! Let's see how unattached I can remain now!
I have spent my day in Peru, South America. Not really. It's just what I am doing research on at the moment and I discover something that is real that I thought I had made up. It is a little disturbing because I thought my idea was totally original and it really is, but there are almost too many synchronicities to be believable here. There is a mesa temple there with a maestro. I am writing about a conductor on a mesa. How can this be?
That has been happening to a me a lot lately. Synchronicities, coincidences, that might be exactly that and nothing more, but if I was an opportunist I would say I had the gift of sight. Sometimes I make cards that I send to friends. I made a very simple one of a white dancing crane, cut out of white card stock and glued to a light blue rectangle. It is most definitely a crane, but does look amazingly like a stork and I guess gave the recipient a real start because they are pregnant and had not told anyone when they received this from me! I also wrote the thot on having a baby about the same time and these poor people thought that somehow I was speaking it to them!
I also went on line and saw my letter appear on a friend's web cam minutes after it arrived, which is amazing, because there was a window of about a week when it could have shown up. I wasn't looking for it, it was simply a coincidence. Lots of those lately!
I seem to be in tune with my universe right now and I don't know what to think of it, just that it is interesting. I am spending a lot of time alone and in a reflective, or meditative state since my car is at the transmission shop and has been there for over a week now. Today I finally received the news from them. My bill will top $2000.00!!!!!! Let's see how unattached I can remain now!
Monday, March 9, 2009
All Things Change
All things change, but the exact point at which they do it can be both interesting and blurred.
I go out to watch the birds and slowly discover I am in awe of the trees they sit in.
I love sunsets, but as I linger over them, the moon rises and after a while I find myself coming just in time to see the moon.
It is probably more common than I think. Why else all the postman stories? The lonely young woman waits by the door everyday. Looking for the postman. Waiting for him to bring her letters from the beloved. Every day he brings the mail and they exchange brief hellos. Sometimes there is a letter and he knows it makes her day, so he beams as he hands it over. Other days there is nothing and he knows it leaves her sad, so he spends a few extra moments talking with her, trying to ease the disappointment. Until one day another postman shows up with the mail and she realizes that it was the postman himself she now waits for.
Isn't life intriguing?
I go out to watch the birds and slowly discover I am in awe of the trees they sit in.
I love sunsets, but as I linger over them, the moon rises and after a while I find myself coming just in time to see the moon.
It is probably more common than I think. Why else all the postman stories? The lonely young woman waits by the door everyday. Looking for the postman. Waiting for him to bring her letters from the beloved. Every day he brings the mail and they exchange brief hellos. Sometimes there is a letter and he knows it makes her day, so he beams as he hands it over. Other days there is nothing and he knows it leaves her sad, so he spends a few extra moments talking with her, trying to ease the disappointment. Until one day another postman shows up with the mail and she realizes that it was the postman himself she now waits for.
Isn't life intriguing?
Receiving Flowers
Nontraditional.
Part of my life is very nontraditional, but the rest is so traditional that you could probably look it up in a book of local customs and understand exactly what I do.
I received the sweetest gift today and it was nontraditional. A friend described it as the equivalent of being given flowers. After working in a flower shop for a couple of years I still love flowers, but I also realize how transitory they are. Once a flower is cut and separated from the parent, it is already dying. There are things that last so much longer.
I like things that last a couple of life times at least.
Part of my life is very nontraditional, but the rest is so traditional that you could probably look it up in a book of local customs and understand exactly what I do.
I received the sweetest gift today and it was nontraditional. A friend described it as the equivalent of being given flowers. After working in a flower shop for a couple of years I still love flowers, but I also realize how transitory they are. Once a flower is cut and separated from the parent, it is already dying. There are things that last so much longer.
I like things that last a couple of life times at least.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Present And Real
Doing something, doing everything, in the name of love long enough creates a philosophy of living that goes beyond discussion and begins to take on marrow and bone, flesh and blood.
Finding a way to turn all actions into an act of love, begins eliminating unpleasant actions.
I am one of those lucky people who love to burn. I have this intense love of people just built into me. I am happiest when I am madly in love. When I have a Beloved before me that I can serve and honor, dream and speak and write about; when I can do everything in the name of the Beloved, there are few shadows in my life.
Shadows do appear though. There is no way to avoid them. For me, learning to love the shadows because the one blocking the light is the Beloved, leads the way for living in the light. It becomes just another way of adoring the Beloved.
After a while, a lifetime of living this way is like anything else one does for a very long time. It becomes a part of me as integral as breathing. For me it is the breath that keeps me centered, allows me to re-member the beautiful part of this manifestation I call life and bring it into a wholeness that surrounds me most of the time.
For me the Beloved is always present and real.
Finding a way to turn all actions into an act of love, begins eliminating unpleasant actions.
I am one of those lucky people who love to burn. I have this intense love of people just built into me. I am happiest when I am madly in love. When I have a Beloved before me that I can serve and honor, dream and speak and write about; when I can do everything in the name of the Beloved, there are few shadows in my life.
Shadows do appear though. There is no way to avoid them. For me, learning to love the shadows because the one blocking the light is the Beloved, leads the way for living in the light. It becomes just another way of adoring the Beloved.
After a while, a lifetime of living this way is like anything else one does for a very long time. It becomes a part of me as integral as breathing. For me it is the breath that keeps me centered, allows me to re-member the beautiful part of this manifestation I call life and bring it into a wholeness that surrounds me most of the time.
For me the Beloved is always present and real.
Butterflies In The Wind
I like gentle people who are a little moody and unpredictable, a little extreme.
Like butterflies in the wind, they flutter so beautifully.
They set my heart on fire.
Like butterflies in the wind, they flutter so beautifully.
They set my heart on fire.
Friday, March 6, 2009
My Standards Are Pretty High
Every once in a while, I get to live out a dream and that is something not everyone gets to do. It has happened to me several times. I'm not sure why I am so lucky. I'd say that maybe my standards are low, but they really aren't. If anything, they are pretty high. There are a lot of things I would rather do without rather than settle.
And I can do without an awful lot rather than sully something as beautiful as a dream come true.
So tonight I am counting my blessings and there are many. I heard a rabbi, once, say that God realized miracles only lasted a few days before people forgot about them and started asking for more. I'm not sure that is true in my case. The miracles in my life may last me forever. The beautiful feelings and sweet dreams that come with them certainly will. That I know for sure.
And I can do without an awful lot rather than sully something as beautiful as a dream come true.
So tonight I am counting my blessings and there are many. I heard a rabbi, once, say that God realized miracles only lasted a few days before people forgot about them and started asking for more. I'm not sure that is true in my case. The miracles in my life may last me forever. The beautiful feelings and sweet dreams that come with them certainly will. That I know for sure.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Refocus
We just need to accept that we are who we are,
regardless of what that is or why,
and move on and live life to the fullest.
That's really all that matters.
Enjoying each day we're alive,
because we only get one shot at it, then it's over.
Might as well use that time well.
A friend sent this to me today and it couldn't have come at a better time. Sometimes I need to be reminded of the obvious. I let myself get so bogged down with the heavy stuff that I forget the shadows are not everything.
In fact, if it wasn't for the light I wouldn't even know the shadows are there. They just block a very small part of it.
Somewhere in my life I learned to focus on that small part and let myself believe it is the main thing, but it is not. No matter how dark some part of life becomes, there is still light everywhere else. I just need to turn my head, refocus a bit and be mindful.
It won't make the shadows go away, at least not most of the time, but it sure does put perspective into my life. I would hate to look back someday and discover I had lived most of my life in the little dark spots tucked in here and there when I was surrounded by love and light everywhere else.
regardless of what that is or why,
and move on and live life to the fullest.
That's really all that matters.
Enjoying each day we're alive,
because we only get one shot at it, then it's over.
Might as well use that time well.
A friend sent this to me today and it couldn't have come at a better time. Sometimes I need to be reminded of the obvious. I let myself get so bogged down with the heavy stuff that I forget the shadows are not everything.
In fact, if it wasn't for the light I wouldn't even know the shadows are there. They just block a very small part of it.
Somewhere in my life I learned to focus on that small part and let myself believe it is the main thing, but it is not. No matter how dark some part of life becomes, there is still light everywhere else. I just need to turn my head, refocus a bit and be mindful.
It won't make the shadows go away, at least not most of the time, but it sure does put perspective into my life. I would hate to look back someday and discover I had lived most of my life in the little dark spots tucked in here and there when I was surrounded by love and light everywhere else.
And The Truth Is
Once in a while there is an aha of epic proportions that says this is the bottom line. This is it. The truth.
And the truth is I reach for the unreachable. Maybe because I want it and maybe because it is the safest bet.
And the truth is I think I can do things I cannot do. I think I can let go of things I can
not let go of. I have become a master of deception, fooling myself before all others.
And the truth is the world is hard and cold and people hurt and die every day and no matter how much I love or want to do more, it will never be enough. And the truth is that sometimes that is too much to bear.
And the truth is tonight is hard for me.
And the truth is I reach for the unreachable. Maybe because I want it and maybe because it is the safest bet.
And the truth is I think I can do things I cannot do. I think I can let go of things I can
not let go of. I have become a master of deception, fooling myself before all others.
And the truth is the world is hard and cold and people hurt and die every day and no matter how much I love or want to do more, it will never be enough. And the truth is that sometimes that is too much to bear.
And the truth is tonight is hard for me.
Monday, March 2, 2009
So You Want To Be A God?
So you want to be a god? You want to create someone in your own image and bring that little someone into the world?
God-like joy comes with god-like obligations.
Your creation needs food and care, comfort and love, guidance and support. None of this changes when you don't feel good, don't have a job, or a home, or are unhappy. Have you ever asked God how he feels? Your creation won't ask you either. It is not its job to do so. It doesn't really matter.
Both you and your co-creator have obligations, so when you get tired of each other, you are still tied to your little creation, or big creation, because it doesn't matter how big, or how small, once a child enters this world his well-being comes first.
That means you both stay around and support the little guy until he is capable of supporting himself. How you do this is important, but not half as important as simply doing it. You committed yourself at birth. Now you provide this child with two good parents one way, or another and once these parents take on the job, they are in it for the long haul.
It doesn't matter if your little creation is 20 months, or 20 years. He has the right to two conscientious and informed adults to guide him and they can't do it if they are half way across the country from each other licking their wounds. Wound licking has to be put on the back burner for a couple of decades.
The good news is, if you are not up for the job, there are people dying to do it. Remember this from the get go. Don't be a selfish, egotistical god, be a great one.
God-like joy comes with god-like obligations.
Your creation needs food and care, comfort and love, guidance and support. None of this changes when you don't feel good, don't have a job, or a home, or are unhappy. Have you ever asked God how he feels? Your creation won't ask you either. It is not its job to do so. It doesn't really matter.
Both you and your co-creator have obligations, so when you get tired of each other, you are still tied to your little creation, or big creation, because it doesn't matter how big, or how small, once a child enters this world his well-being comes first.
That means you both stay around and support the little guy until he is capable of supporting himself. How you do this is important, but not half as important as simply doing it. You committed yourself at birth. Now you provide this child with two good parents one way, or another and once these parents take on the job, they are in it for the long haul.
It doesn't matter if your little creation is 20 months, or 20 years. He has the right to two conscientious and informed adults to guide him and they can't do it if they are half way across the country from each other licking their wounds. Wound licking has to be put on the back burner for a couple of decades.
The good news is, if you are not up for the job, there are people dying to do it. Remember this from the get go. Don't be a selfish, egotistical god, be a great one.
Indefinable Moments
I am feeling so much love tonight that I cannot sleep. "To sleep perchance to dream?" Not tonight. Tonight I will not dream. Life is the dream and it is so fleeting, so incredibly quick that in a blink I am returned to eternity, losing my chance for the beauty and pain of this mortal body.
The sweetness is so inextricably tied to the pain that I am not sure I know where they become more of themselves and less of the other. It is a gradation of being that carries me from one moment to another in wonder and amazement.
Once I needed adventures, new experiences, new vistas and people loving me with big arms and dear faces. Now they are part of me, filling me up with their presence as completely as the morning dew does the rose. Puddling in my cracks and crevices, rising into the light as it warms me, permeating all around me with the fragrance of our entirety.
I am you takes on new meaning as I recognize so much less me and so much more you. The balance lifts me up, holds me out to the light and I feel the warm fingers of creation rubbing away the dimness, polishing away at this silly reflection I call me. Looking into myself, I see you in the fragrance of the rose, hear you in the sonorous sweetness of the breath, know you in that indefinable moment lying between everything.
Tonight I am the dream.
The sweetness is so inextricably tied to the pain that I am not sure I know where they become more of themselves and less of the other. It is a gradation of being that carries me from one moment to another in wonder and amazement.
Once I needed adventures, new experiences, new vistas and people loving me with big arms and dear faces. Now they are part of me, filling me up with their presence as completely as the morning dew does the rose. Puddling in my cracks and crevices, rising into the light as it warms me, permeating all around me with the fragrance of our entirety.
I am you takes on new meaning as I recognize so much less me and so much more you. The balance lifts me up, holds me out to the light and I feel the warm fingers of creation rubbing away the dimness, polishing away at this silly reflection I call me. Looking into myself, I see you in the fragrance of the rose, hear you in the sonorous sweetness of the breath, know you in that indefinable moment lying between everything.
Tonight I am the dream.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Paul Harvey And Me
Paul Harvey has died. I cannot remember a time when I didn't listen to him on the radio. He was 90 years old and evidently barely outlived his wife, who died last year, so it isn't a shock, but it is sort of nostalgic.
Whenever I had the chance I would listen to "the rest of the story." But the one story I remember best was one he did while I was still teaching. He talked about little Hans Skillrud who liked to ride John Deere tractors and mow the lawn with his father on the weekends. When asked if he wanted to be a neurosurgeon when he grew up, Hansie said "No, that's for girls!"
Hansie was in my three year old pre-school class. Both his parents were prominent doctors, but his mother was a neurosurgeon! I had all three of their children over the years and I remember thinking one day, that I might be teaching the tiny hands of a future neurosurgeon how to hold their first scissors.
Whenever I had the chance I would listen to "the rest of the story." But the one story I remember best was one he did while I was still teaching. He talked about little Hans Skillrud who liked to ride John Deere tractors and mow the lawn with his father on the weekends. When asked if he wanted to be a neurosurgeon when he grew up, Hansie said "No, that's for girls!"
Hansie was in my three year old pre-school class. Both his parents were prominent doctors, but his mother was a neurosurgeon! I had all three of their children over the years and I remember thinking one day, that I might be teaching the tiny hands of a future neurosurgeon how to hold their first scissors.
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