Only One Thread

I awoke with one resolution upon the whisper of my heart. That this day, this day would be the sole purpose and meaning of my life. Tis the only day I have. Should tomorrow come, I will again whisper this day, this day is the sole purpose and meaning of my life.

If when my spirit leaves this physical form, I am to look back upon the chalice that carried my light and smile, then this day I must greet the day with open hands and eyes, full faced, unshielded and vulnerable. And as it is the only day I have, to be bold enough to say

I am beautiful. 

I am strong.

I am lovable.

I am worthy.

I know how to love.

I have and do love.

I know joy.

I know despair.

I know both without judgment.

I am not perfect.

I know my imperfections exist within Perfection.

I am a writer.

I have a poet's yearning.

I have the heart of a child.

I have but this day to say, "I love you."

Namaste.

Parsed and Released

You can feel the calendar quivering. You can feel the months passed, heavy upon the nail holding them to the wall and the last page, weighted with such a busy month. It is a quivering of knowing, not only will the page be lift but the entire calendar will be released. All that was, all that was to be and all that was not known have had their dance... time for take off.

Do I dare hope to be so free?

Do I dare hope to be?

Do I dare hope?

Do I dare?

Do I?

Do.

Overall'd Angels

Disclaimer: Nothing profound. Perhaps only a thread for me.

The wind and snow damaged the unused chimney. A random roofer called who came right away.  He assured me he could fix.  I wondered why his adamant affirmation and he brought his arm to my attention. Only an arm to where the elbow should be. He said I can do it, not to worry and not too much. I pulled my stutter hand, hidden in my pocket out and told him, I had no doubt he could. He did.

As life would have it, later after the chimney was repaired, the furnace quit. It was not even 30 degrees and the temp was dropping. It was also 4pm on Friday before the New Year's weekend.  Another random number called with a heart beating a plea for help. Half an hour later, a very tired older man showed up wearing weariness inside his coat. He apologized for the delay and interrupting my evening. He also said the coffee smelled good. I asked him about his day, his Christmas and thanked him for I could see he was tired. With a cup of coffee in one hand and tool box in the other off he went to the basement.  The furnace went on and he asked for a broom. He wanted to sweep where he had worked. With broom in hand and another cup of coffee he cleaned where I would never ever have seen. Thanking him again, and for a bill ever so small, he left having showered some of the weariness and thanked me for the coffee.

I sat in a warm house, with a warm cup of oatmeal warming my stomach.  Sweet tears streamed down my face. Thank you was all I could whisper. Thank you for the oatmeal and angels who pass our way. 

No, nothing profound save profound gratitude.  Gratitude harvest. Angels in overalls. Simply simple whispers that dance tonight with the last full moon of 2012 and the first full moon of a New Age. May it be an illumination of thanks.

Giggled Debate

Sometimes a good debate with yourself is healthy.


You can close your eyes, snap your fingers and/or click your heels. You STILL won't get to Kansas.
     But if that makes you pause and take a time out, then by all means go for it! You may find yourself in a better place than Kansas (no offense Kansas).

You can say "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can" over and over and sometimes, well, you can't.
     Better to be honest and know what you can do than to keep beating your head against a wall. Remember Einstein's definition of insanity.

It will rain on your parade.
     So....are you worried the float will melt?

Sometimes the best laid plans are best laid aside.
     That's ok, just don't become a hoarder. Recycle them, it's good for the soul and the earth.

Just because you "build it" doesn't mean they will come.
     Did you remember to send the invitations? Sometimes you just can't sit and wait for opportunity to knock but open the door and yell "Hey you! Over here!"

Only in the old western movies can you tell the good guys from the bad buys by the color of their hats.
     Maybe that's a good thing. We have to get to know people and not rely on first impressions.

Wisdom's Eyes and Hands

She has grown up. She doesn't think herself small. She can walk now. She is starting to talk. She is letting the world know what she wants and does not want. She laughs. She runs for hugs. She stands in front of strangers until they smile. She loves without fear. She never doubts that life will, with tender love, fill in the holes. She still looks out the window. She takes time to see.  

On the first day of 2011, I prayed to be so wise.

A year later, even more grown up and has found her voice, she looks with wonder into the Light determined to hold the Candle in her own hands.

On this day, may I too be as strong.

Absolution Walking Visible

There is a path I walk among the mountains and the lake that takes me to two different bends and two different trees. I call the trees my Orb Trees.  Like a little dog that hears the car of their owner pulling into the drive, my heart beats faster as I approach each tree.  I greet them with love and joy. I lean my body into their trunks and lay my face against their bark. With my eyes closed I can see colors of light. Sometimes the light takes a shape other times just brilliant light beaming through the dark of my eye lids.

                When I walked on the Eve of Eve, having been absent for a bit, I could not wait to melt into the Oneness and serenity of my precious Orb Trees. In nature I dissolve. Everything quiets, and I simply melt and feel only Nature. Yet, I knew from the first step I took upon the path, something was different this day. Having heard the yearning to simply re-member and BE who and what I Am I could sense that today would be different.  I leaned into each Orb Tree and felt my body against the trunk. It was a physical body, a human body leaning against a precious tree. Oh yes, I could feel the life of Nature, but for the first time, I felt my physical body and my bodymindspirit leaning against a tree.  There were not lights dancing. The absence of lights created a bridge of I and Thou. One with Nature but a gentle reminder that I, my Self, remains unique, an individual expression of All That Is. And as I breathed into each tree, I whispered, “Absolution.”

Continuing upon the path, faces returned with each step. Where the bruises and scars had spoken of endings, of should be’s becoming not to be’s the touch of the bark caressed my face, each bruise and each scar. Nothing, no thing had ended…All was, is as should be. There was no separation. There was nothing to forgive and move on from, either stronger or perhaps weaker from the lessons learned. There were no lessons. No need to melt into the Orb Trees where I felt safe from harm, accepted and One. The Orb Trees and I are surely One, but our Oneness is joined within All That Is. They remain trees and I remain human. Our expressions, our divine and innate creation, within All That Is, is our Oneness. And so it was with each face that returned bearing the mantle of forgiveness I had laid upon their shoulders.  Slowly I removed each mantle. Each unwrapping revealing his or her own light, their expression.  Their bark caressed my face as I leaned into him or her. Absolution.

Walking the path back to the car, I turned 360 and stood tall enough to see the mountain tops from the perspective of the clouds.  I could feel my presence becoming a bridge. I giggled, smiled, and whispered, "Let's go. It's time" and walked back visible.

This Day Christmas Eve

I believe in the grace of the baby lying in a manger. I believe in the power of the menorah to quench the darkness and radiate hope. I believe in the vision of a man named Buddha. I believe in the jolly red suited Santa. I believe in the Grinch whose heart grew three sizes. I believe in scrooge who kept Christmas in his heart every day. I believe in this sacred holiday we’ve carved into time. I believe in the hope, love and gathering of this time. I believe in the weariness this time casts as our hearts and energy disperse to loved ones, friends and strangers in need. I believe in those who work this holiday to service, protect and care for our needs.

 I believe that belief is seeing. I believe that belief is faith unseen. I believe that belief is a sense of knowing. I believe that belief is the voice in my head that says “On this day” and goes no further for I have but now. I believe that belief is the voice in my heart that says “On this day a child” and goes no further. For a child I will be, full of wonder and innocence and arms outstretched. I will have no prejudices, no judgments and no past. I will trust all who reach out, especially those in need. On this day. On this day a child. I believe in my soul it will remain, forever, Christmas Eve.

Landscape

To the boulders, mountains, pine and fir trees, I'm sure the leaf appeared small. But when it caught my attention, suddenly it became the entire landscape.

Today is the eve of an event, a day, a symbol that holds our attention.  But tis only a representation of the intention of Love and Hope, birth and becoming that begs to be free from a single calendar day. Perhaps that is why the symbol is a newborn....Life. Each day, each moment, each heartbeat.

No matter how small, if only a blink, what we place our attention upon becomes our landscape.  May the Sweet Hands of Life guide our eyes .....  Love.

Eve of Eve

About 3 am, my little dog demanded to go out NOW  and with only a t-shirt, sweat pants and no socks, the cold pre-dawn 19 degree wind whipped against my body and I bellowed a  'sweet mercy!' that made the stars and moon dance, causing me to squeal in joy and giggles.  I giggled to think of Christmas magic for a child. That one moment standing before the tree when the eyes and heart exploded in the squeal of joy.  I shall abide in that breathless moment....for the magic, the gifts, the joy and excitement are mine now, wrapped in my BEing.  The Essence of Love never makes us wait, tis ours now, this moment, every breath.  Oh sweet mercy, the gifts of breath, life, a beating heart, and joy are so precious... but tis the moment of awareness of their presence, the Present...that creates the magic squealing with joy. In that space I shall abide. Sweet mercy....rampant giggles.

Let the magic out! Release the joy of the Present wrapped in ribbons weaving throughout time and all dimensions. Let your squeal be heard and vibrate infinity!

 "Inside of everyone is a great shout of joy waiting to be born" ~ David Whyte

Essenceperience

It is perhaps something my mind does not want to ponder long, for then I would truly see the shadows of illusion. But my perception creates my reality. What I choose to focus (or not) upon becomes what is real, reality to me.  Yet if I look through the eyes of the All That Is, the Source of All, there is only one reality that is real...Love. Unconditional. Without judgment. Without differentiation. Without fear.

Timeless folds of Love without beginning, yet present today and without end. Today there is no thing to perceive save one... the experience of the Essence of All That Is..... Today, sweet Life may I Essenperience Love.

Tsp Revisited Bearing a Gift

I related my inability to cook in a July entry called Seesaw Wisdom .  I repost it here so you can follow the update.

My mother was obsessed with cleaning and her kitchen. No one could help her wash dishes or clean. Only she could make sure it was done correctly. And she most definitely did NOT teach her daughter how to cook.  I am 58 and I still do not know how to cook. The language of cooking is as foreign as the language of Martians. To get my Brownie badge, the one exception was made and I entered her sacred kitchen to make brownies from a boxed mix. The directions were quite clear- "50 strokes by hand." Hmmmm. Must be a reason you cannot use a spoon, it clearly says by hand. So...... squish...one..squish...two... My mother entered the kitchen and to her horror her daughter was mixing the batter, by hand.  Lesson over.  Later, regretting her lack of wisdom, she gave me a Barbie Easy Cook Book for children hoping I would learn to cook...I was in my 20's and living away from home.  I tried.  Finally in frustration I called her. She could tell I was mad.  I had been to every store, asked every clerk and no one, no ONE had tisp flour! How were you supposed to make the recipe if you could not get tisp flour! A long silence. Then in her ever so slow southern drawl, she asked me to read exactly what the recipe said (perhaps remembering the 50 strokes by hand).  I did.  Another looooonnng pause.  Quietly she informed me that "tisp" was an abbreviation for teaspoon - tsp. Not a brand or type. TSP mean teaspoon. Sigh...and giggle.

Tonight, Friday 12/21/12 - Perhaps the season, but my mama's presence would not leave me and created a desire for toast made in the "thing" (aka oven) with butter and cheese. Do not know why, but felt I needed to make.  Four phone calls later, finally found someone at home who told me what kind of pan to buy at the store and to call them back when ready. With phone on speaker, and yes, much laughter, they told me how to put the butter and cheese on the bread, and using the photo of the thing's (aka oven) knobs told me what to press and turn.  And then, quite exhausted from their laughter, told me to call later to make sure the house did not burn down.

And so there I sat, on the floor, with the light on so I could see. Have you ever watched bread turn into toast?  Folded cross legs holding my hands I squiggled and sat and watched it all happen.  No, there is nothing in the picture, the thing is empty...and yes I remembered to turn off the light.  I sat there looking into the empty cave of the thing, drinking my coffee and eating my mama's cheese toast and heard the thread.... perhaps that is Christmas .... daring to look beyond what has never been done, into the light with the eyes of a child.  Magic. Wonder. Giggles and sweet tears.

Merry Christmas mama.... thank you for the present.

Absorbing Absorption and Reflection

As I stood and gazed upon the street light beaming down upon the fresh snow fall, I was struck by the difference of the earth. Were not the snow there, only the stream of light would be seen and the earth would be shadowed in contours of black.  But with the snow, the earth reflected back the light and shadows now were hues of blue not black.  Absorption and reflection and yet one light, one earth.

And from such reverie I thought of my breath. The inhale as the earth, drawing in, absorbing, growing inward with the nourishment like the roots of trees.  The exhale, reflecting the light drawn in, extending outward and upward like the trees that are visible to our eyes.  My exhale moves upward through the earth, reaching outward, creating and changing space and time. It is presence. 

Absorption and reflection.  Sweet mercy, may the trees I exhale, the reflection I gift, be wide spanned branches of love.

Wish List

I watched a piece of Christmas wrapping paper dance with the wind down the street. The present, wherever, had been unwrapped.  I laughed to think of the colorful paper's dance as one seeking another gift to adorn.

And as I pondered the season and recent events, Christmas wish lists and letters to Santa, the dancing wrapping paper left thread.  But one gift, perhaps is all I need to ponder.  To gift to Life, Love, Source, God, Yahweh, Allah, the Expression and Life sought when the Divine spark was lit within me.  

I AM, all ARE, the wish list of Life, Love, Source, God, Yahweh, Allah, the Sacred.  Perhaps the wrapping paper flew off the gift of my heart.

Crescent Fullness

A pre-dawn reminder....perfect for the season and the season's season.

Tis only our position's perception that would make us think the moon is not full or that the Light is not always and All Ways complete and present.

Crescent Fullness

Faces of the Moon

She called from Missouri because she knew the moon is precious to me. The moon there, an hour ahead of mountain time, was full and red and almost caused her to drive off the road so amazing was the sight.  I stood at the picture window, watching my moon tree. The tree that always gently holds the moon as she rises and lifts her into the night sky. The clouds were too many. Her face I would not see.

And as I pondered how the same moon has one face elsewhere and another here, my eye caught the reflection of the prism in the window touched by the street light.  The prism that in the morning dances with the sun creating rainbows on my walls.  Tonight, I could not see the moon but the Light, timeless, never hidden, shown through to gift the gift of light and sight.  The sweet sweet Hands of Life.... Love and Light.

Perhaps

Perhaps it is what the artist or sculptor feels to see their Heart unveiled upon the canvas or a block of marble redefined. Perhaps it is what the poet feels as their heart flows through their fingers and squiggles of ink become the voice of the soul. Perhaps it is..... but I am neither an artist, sculptor nor poet. Perhaps their message to all is to simply reach and release...Love will meet you there.

Site of Sight

Often considered the windows of the soul, perhaps the eyes are not so much windows through which we see but mirrors reflecting what we feel and believe.  Through the eyes we scribe labels, see challenges, cannots, objects to fear and treasure, walls and doors all framed and colored by the iris of our mind.

To take these eyes of mine, growing more blurred and teasing shadows of floaters, to walk the mountain and lake's path, a broken bottle whispered to my heart that my eyes did not see. Using the camera to see, the image of tiny twigs reflected in the glass mirrored my sight.  Sitting I pondered the image, blurred yet somehow distinct.

As the calming warmed my heart, I realized the whisper was not a voice but the eyes of the heart.  Unconditioned by language, beliefs, labels or perceptions, knowing only unconditional Love, tis only the eyes of the Heart that truly see.  The timeless, perfect eyes of the Heart were the whisper.  And as I left the image of glass, earth and reflection, I pondered the thread of abiding in the Heart and the Eyes of Clarity, Vision and Infinity. To abide in the Site of Sight. SOS. Not a call of distress.  A Being. A call of de-stress. The Site of Sight. Abiding in the Heart to see through the Eyes of Love.

"Her eyes are homes of silent prayers" ~ Alfred Tennyson

Just Another Day

When one lives alone what makes one day a holiday compared to other days? If stores were not closed, traffic perhaps heavier and no mail delivery, would one day be different from another?

As the moon slipped beneath the mountains and the sun began to ascend, I gathered my little dog and we went to the mountains' lake. Walking in the silence of our footsteps upon the gravel, the silkened night sheet was gently covered by the blue dawn's quilt and the day, just another day, awakened.  Amazed at the magical blue of the sky and whiteness of the clouds the sound of geese turned my eyes.  A flock of geese flew down towards the lake but did not land.  Flying just above the water, suspended in the air, the morning sun gifted a sight I had never seen in all the seasons of migration I have watched.  There, upon the surface were the shadows of the geese.  I have seen the water splash and ripple as their wings and feet touched and danced but I have never seen the shadows move between the water and the geese.  Having seen the shadows fly without creating a single ripple, at last, with songs of joy the geese landed and found their rest.

When one lives alone what makes one day a holiday compared to other days? The sun's touch warming your cold cheeks and nose. The sound of graveled foot stepped silence. The sight of shadows dancing beneath water and winged geese.  The feel of the earth as you fall to your knees with your hands to your heart as your neck bends so your head can join your hands. The whispered voice of 'thank you' as tears fall and dance upon the earth.  Just another day. Another day of giving thanks.

Namaste to all. Happy Thanksgiving

"Men must live and create. Live to the point of tears." ~ Albert Camus

Thread of Night

A magical day, no matter its contents, the magic rests in that you were present and part of it. And now, as the moon dances her way across the star glittered sky, the Magic prepares to turn the page to yet another day, first kissing Her fingers which are placed upon your eyes for sleep and then quietly to turn the page as you dream. To awaken in the morn to another page scribed in magic contained in a book that bears not the words, "The End."

Filling Choice

"Your joy can fill you only as deeply as your sorrow has carved you" (K. Gibran).

As deeply as I treasure Gibran's writings, innately this passage has troubled me for it seemed to suggest that in order to know joy we had to be carved by sorrow. Were we not born to know joy? Why then must sorrow cut and hollow our souls?

Watching a child reach for what she wants, pondering that one of the first muscular movements an infant learns is reaching, falling to my knees upon the lake path reaching in tear'd joy towards the gifted feathers, Life whispered the quote in a different voice. All spiritual, religious and inspirational wisdoms speak of being filled. Even enlightenment is a filling.  One cannot fill what is full. The vessel must be emptied. In its emptiness the vessel reaches and draws in its filling. It is not a carving. It is the hands of yearning reaching into the clay of my heart and soul's vessel, emptying all else so that the rivers, the blush of sun and moon, the dance of wind and grass, the touch of another's heart and eyes, the One Song of Love may stream in and fill. 

Two threads remain. In emptiness we reach...in reaching we are filled.  In emptiness we reach...in reaching we are filled...by what we choose.  

A Child

And the sacred whispers I have no off limits, no proper or must nots. Climb upon my window sills and look with wonder. Come my Child, be a child and look with awe, delight, innocence and delight upon my stained glass windows and know you are loved. Know, you are loved. Come my Child, be a child.............

One Song

The word "universe" can be divided into "uni" which means "one" and "verse" which means "song."  We look around the universe and 'see' what our eyes have been trained and conditioned to see, attaching labels and perceptions.  In truth, the universe is but One Song... Love.  If you think of the ripples a stone cast into a lake creates, rippling outward are circles from the center, such is the universe. One song emanating from the center...Love.  To begin there with the eyes of the Heart and behold the essence of creation, the only 'label' that in truth exists, is to sing the song of creation, to know our breath as the Breath of Life. Love.  

As simple as that.

Vacant Fullness

Perhaps to enter a house empty of life, presence, filled with dust and memories, vacated of all who created the memories is the same as entering one's heart in meditation.  Your thoughts ramble, dart and zoom, some quiet, others making your heart race and then you find your breath, your stillness, your centering peace.  To look around at what was created and to know in your centering thoughts the key is that all was created.  What is not, however, created, but existed even before creation is Love, compassion, the desire and yearning to be known, dwell and abide in communion.  To see the unseen. To touch the invisible. And in doing so, to be wrapped in the very tapestry that created all.  To meditate and return to the heart absent of all "things" created knowing only the source....Love.  I wanted to go somewhere with this thought but yet another bookmark, a thread for the Loom.  Til then.... Keeper of my Heart and Breath.... for the Love you gifted and taught, thank you, still.

The Man

My father today, began his new journey. His work upon this earth was done.  And yet, it is not my father that calls forth this thread, it is the man.  It is the man, imperfect yet undaunted by his imperfections that gave me a strength I might not have known and in a way taught me to be gentle with my own. It is the man he was, though often not eye to eye did we see, but somehow we managed still to see.  A father yes, who will be missed, but it was the man, imperfect, loving, flawed yet true to himself that taught my heart to forgive, love, and the sweet sadness of missing another. One can say we only have one father..... but it was the man he was that taught me to see and seek 'fathers' and 'mothers' and 'brothers' and 'sisters' in all others. And so to the man, Namaste my friend, my Dad.... I bow my body and my neck, with open hands to my heart in gratitude for the man who shaped the woman that I am.  I will miss you.

Love,
your proud daughter
Monday November 12, 2012
p.s. you are free

Dervish'd Certainty

Perhaps when life doesn't make sense, we do not feel we are moving forward and yet we know we are.... maybe, giggle, it means like Rumi, or a child in ecstatic joy, we are simply caught up in the spinning dervish, twirling, and dancing joyfully with Life and Light. And what we think is fear or feel as 'confusion' or 'uncertainty' is nothing more than our eyes unable to catch up with our dancing hearts and spirits.

cherish the dance............

Mountain paths

The paths of the mountains weave and turn flowing upward like the rivers down to nurture the mesas. The rhythm of Life.  Setting the dream, the intent surrenders the how.  I only have to continue the path. The best trees and beauty are often found on the unplanned paths of nature. What will BE, what IS, remains unbound by time, calendars and unforeseen events. Love is boundless. I choose Love. I choose Flow worrying not about the path.

There is no such thing as being blindsided, disruptions, detours, nor denial. They are simply whispers to look around and discover the unseen flower, tree or the reflection of the sun streaming through the dense forest or mountain path. A gentle whisper...."Here." Choose Love. Choose Life. Choose abundance. Choose Laughter. Sweet mercy, choose to See.

To answer

When someone calls our name, it is common for us to respond, almost unconsciously, "Yes."
When you think of it, Life, God, Source, the Sweet Hands of Life, whatever name you attach to the source and creator of Life, has put everyone, you, and I, here for a reason. And with our arrival into this world, our first cry trying to find our breath... called our name. Our response was our first breath, we said "yes" and we became Life.  Yes. Life. ...The Voice has never ceased to call our name ... with every breath.  To be an infant again, and in total surrender, answer "yes."

Grace of Soft

It seems sometimes that so much of what we see, reactions, conversations, beliefs, media, whatever, challenges even the most determined heart too remain soft. So much easier, it would seem, to just go with the "flow." But... still....

This morning a whisper to go and walk and take my little bag of corn meal. To walk, not in nature, but along the busy streets as commuters frantically rushed to work. You could see their eyes and faces, even the way they held the steering wheel. As they passed a whisper of 'soft.'   

After a bit I came to a large cemetery with patches of trees untouched, and little winding paths. Wandering through their maze, I came upon a pile of tree trunks, branches, and trees that had been cut and tossed out of sight. Standing and thinking of all the clearing to create such an area, I noticed a cloth flower from the cemetery had somehow found its way through the trees and rested upon the pile of weathered limbs and trunks.  A gentle branch held it in place. The ritual of leaving corn meal is a Native American tradition - when something from the earth is taken, corn meal is left as a gift of thanks. Kneeling I sprinkled my corn meal and offered my gift of thanks to the flower. 

A different kind of flow. One I can live with. I know many don't understand. Simply the grace of soft. 

This too

In all mythologies, creation stories and in every culture, stories of God/gods becoming human exist. They become human to experience only what these frail human bodies can feel. The touch of another's hand, the presence and voice of another. The experience of weariness, fear, uncertainty transformed into Love, Joy, Life, gratitude, abundance and Light.  And so we are here.... the Source of Light, Love, Joy and Creation journeying upon this earth.

No matter the storm that has brought destruction or loss, no matter whether from nature, our own mis-beliefs or those of others.... this too shall pass. More importantly... this too shall transform.

Perfected Senses

This morning, well before dawn, I stood outside and witnessed the moon encircled by a cloud of light. A perfect circle of luminosity around Her own.  Such a pondering the sight gifted. 

Time is not running out or down. Time is timeless and cannot, is not owned or defined.  For 58 years I have never smelled a fragrance not even my precious coffee brewing or a flower, food has no taste nor have I breathed through my nose and my eyes they do not see. 

These are not statements of lack. We can insert any "sense" of what is "not." But as I sit and ponder the dawn's timelessness, the whisper of Love's perfection called. And with each bead of the mala, in Love's perfection I knew the fragrance of rain upon the grass, wet earth, a rose and tasted earth's abundance inhaling Her breath. The senses communicate to our body. Their Perfection, however, is embodied in Love.  

And as I looked at the moon within the circle, to hear the whisper “can you sense the sun?”

To remember I have “no time”…. I am, Life IS timeless.  To remember my senses are perfected IN Love.  And IN my Timelessness and Perfection, I am BeComing.

All

To awaken shortly after midnight, not knowing why, and discovering during the two hours I had slept, giggle, I had gathered my gratitude stone in my stutter hand and was holding it.  This quote was my first “People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child -- our own two eyes. All is a miracle ~ Thich Nhat Hanh.   And ALL includes me, you, All.

And this evening as tween time fell upon the earth, closing up the house a feather I should not have been able to see called to my eyes.  A perfect white feather, but you could see a faint hint of gray in the light.  I cannot think which of the birds could have left such a gift. 

“All is a miracle” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh.   And ALL includes me, you, All.

To Turn the Page

Sometimes in the vastness of everything, the comings and goings, the doings and demands, the texture of life can get lost.  A child will always make a bee line for the lake’s water with a frantic parent running behind calling their name.  An elderly person walking slowly with their four legged child speaking quietly and if you look you’ll see such softness in their eyes. The leaves, caught in autumn’s breeze dance and prepare to take flight only to crash against a metal fence. You can almost see, in their pause, their bewilderment, having taken flight, and then they rest upon the ground, content. 

So much life in front of us, and in Life’s infinity, never an end. There is no hand that writes “The End” only the gentle touch that turns the page and continues to whisper the next chapter. Winter is coming, and all retreat inside. The season of reflection and quiet.  Would that we carry the winter’s rhythm each day and see the textures of Life and Love.  Maybe, I wonder, if we did, the hurts and sorrows we cause or suffer might diminish …. Having learned to see Life’s little things, to turn the page.…the true tapestry of Life….Love.

What is Gone

A moment’s ponder  in the silence of what is gone,

Was it simply a release, a letting go

Perhaps a choice to take a different path.

The earth tremors when mountains are born

Yet softened quivers with the petal’s touch.

Release or choice, no matter really

The path awaits

I can see the mountains

The petals caress my feet.

Stillness Standing

I will not stand my ground. I will stand quietly in Love so that even the deer have no fear and eat in the midst of Love's stillness.

A common phrase I say and hear, "In the end....." There is no end, only Now. The beginning, the end, the middle and beyond what even my little brain can comprehend, all rest in Love's tapestry of Now.

In the pre-dawn silence, standing beneath the stars, two deer came into the yard, so very close and had a breakfast of bird seed. Our stillness whispered, "A tear is but the heart's caress upon the face so that the smile of Love may drink."

One

I intend to... be grateful that for all the storms perceived and felt by all...there is still only One Force, One Light, One Power greater than all... Love.

BE IN G

When I walk or sit with nature, or simply look out the window, touch one of my feathers or rocks, I have no thought, no conscious direction to do, be, see or feel. I am simply present, open and withIN gratitude. I do not respond I become the response to all about me and flowing into me. The response is gratitude. This morning the whisper gratitude IS Love, Love IS Gratitude and you ARE always IN Nature... BE IN G.

 Confetti Clouds 

The need to get lost 

No thought only my senses stand 

Within the embrace of Home. 

Where do thoughts fly to 

When tree’d arms toss them away 

Mental order now confetti clouds? 

My trunk to climb yours 

My body tucked in your arms 

Watching confetti clouds fly.

Relation

Life gifted the first snowfall to come at night.  For some the Breath of Life was thundering in hurricane winds. I stood in the quiet stillness of snow falling wondering the sight come morning. To stand in the pre-dawn hours and see the little snowfall and hear the thundering silence, sweet mercy such a gift.

This morning I shall serve Life coffee in bed. An act of love that explodes my little heart. To see Life in relationship, sharing, and anticipation. To "surprise" Life with gifts of delight and hear the Heart of Life sigh with Love and a smile.

A thread of hot chocolate and a splash of yellow

And sometimes when I ponder that teachings and inner knowing that I am here, by choice, to create, to discern the vibrations that create and change myself, the earth, and others it is almost too much for me to comprehend.  Then to think that as I learn, discern and create I am likewise expanding and enhancing All that is, sweet mercy, my little heart explodes.

As I was so pondering, and the winter clouds struggled to breach the mountains, how my thoughts, my vibrations, my energy creates and changes, draws and manifests, I stood at the window holding my cup of hot chocolate. There on the feeder was a bird never seen. A beautiful midnight black bird with one splash of yellow on its wing. I smiled in wonder and awe and whispered, "How my friend did you find my little feeder?"  And my pondering heart giggled and the Universe smiled.

The Heart's Magnet

This morning, holding the mala (prayer beads) their texture seemed different in my hands. As I do in nature I listened to see if there was a whisper.  My heart quietly whispered "see and touch each thought, moment, step, breath and person as a bead on the mala." Each bead on the mala gently and sacredly held and followed by another and another. All connected with a single thread. Each guiding my breath, prayer to the next, each bead a vibration containing the bead and space in between. And when the circle is complete, I begin again.  To see life as connected, sacred, within and without.

This afternoon I went walking by the lake.  As I walked, whispering the names of those dear to my heart, my own version of walking meditation, upon the lake was a flock of white birds floating that made my whispered prayers gasp. I had never seen white birds upon the lake and scampered to the shore. A bit distant for these poor eyes and suddenly they turned their bodies - white pelicans.  The first ever flock I'd seen.

I sat on the shore in wonder and awe as the wind gathered the ripples and sent them to the shore.  Bringing my eyes from the flock to the shore... drifting upon the ripples a white feather made its way to me.  As did another.  With sweet tears and gratitude I gathered them in.  Thanking the wind, the water and the pelicans, walking back the ripples sent more.

To see Life as sacred, connected and One draws forth compassion, Love and the willingness to be vulnerable with all of Life, including ourselves.  That can be quite daunting.  Holding the feathers to my heart, each beat a prayer bead one following another, I pondered perhaps the more daunting task is to truly believe the Sweet Hands of Life not only know what we need, but can and will direct the wind and waves to draw all to our feet, our hearts and our souls.

Old Fashion

In a world of texting, internet, Twitter and all, sometimes it is nice to go back to an old fashion way.

To Hear the Hawk's Wings

In the absolute stillness of a windless path to look up and not needing ears or eyes, to hear the wings of a hawk soaring and see the earth, I laughed with the freedom of knowing I chose to be here.  This body, time and space were my choice.  I chose to co-Create. I chose Love.

A while back I got lost in the mountains. Passing an amazing tree- for the fourth time- thinking I was heading back, I realized I was soooooooo lost. As no one ever knows my coming and going, I sat by the tree and thought, ‘ok, now what’ and then giggled with delight.

  I did not poof here into this life.  There is no puppeteer holding the strings. I am not lost or powerless waiting for instructions. I chose this body, time and space. Like a candle, my Light is not separate from the Source from which the wick was lit and yet it moves within this unique melting of wax, wick and the Source’s flame, never separated yet moving forth. There is no mystery to unravel, save the mystery of wonder, awe and beauty.  I do not have to wait for instructions.  And in that little truth I have my freedom.  I chose to be here. This body, time and space were my choice. I chose to co-Create.  .  I chose TO BE.  TO BE…here.   I chose Love.  

A Life

Emotions, the body and other's choices are but teachers we reflect upon, learn from and then move on.  Death, either of the body, intent or the spirit is not an option for everything transitions from one state to another.  Quitting, ceasing, or putting on hold are like death in that they are not options either.  Essence will transition - the choice is Now...or when.

To stare down eye to eye the charnled ground, affirms the power of choice.  The Essence of Now - to BE more than just Alive ...... To BE A Life.

Changing the Directions

A windy walk by the lake just as the sun peeked above the mountains.  As I walked I could feel the movement of my body, like a ship in the sea, meeting and re-directing the wind. A leaf fell straight down from a tree but was redirected when it plopped against my cheek.  I confess it became a game.  Turning my head, lifting my arm and even walking sideways to feel the change created.  I am not sure "who" changed "whom" but both the wind and my body, my heart and little spirit changed.  To think every time I move....I change the universe. Wind that would have been going in one direction was now going in another.  Quantum physics (which my little brain cannot grasp) talks about the energy we project upon the earth and towards each other.   May the energy and direction I create be that of compassion, understanding, forgiveness, gratitude, humility and courage.

In each moment, you are changing the universe

Take off

It matters not from where or how I learn to fly, to unfold my wings and take flight to whatever is to be my destiny. It matters only that I unfold, take off.... and fly.

I want to remember the feeling of flying taking off from my knees.

That simple

Joy.

That's it.

That simple.

Eraser of the Heart

A tree I had not met, a rock or feather I had not found and a path that I had not walked called me to come and find.  May my life always be a treasure hunt to see each moment as a wonder and surprise. Discovering the treasures awaiting me and leaving my own for others to find.  

My Story is not written by the hands of others nor the physical. My Self's story is written by the heart. I can tell you the story others would tell of me. Or I can tell you the Story I know. These scriches I write tell the latter, each word an eraser so that only one Story my little heart knows. So off to nature I went to find the tree, rock or feather and the path. To sit with the paper of the soul, the eraser of the Heart, and to discover the treasures waiting, leaving a prayer here and there that others would find what simple gifts I have left for them to find.

Moving From

A "duh" moment of laughter. Waking up before dawn and my first thought "I need to go and meditate" As if the space and time between my bed, waking and altar were insignificant and not part of Now .

  My little altar, nature, sitting by a tree, walking, and the precious things I can see and read bring such joy, peace, laughter and love. I would find myself going "to" them. To experience and BE and know myself as the altar, nature, the sitting, the walking, the words of Love, Hope, Life allows me to move FROM and Into Life not "to". I am the center and entrance to the labyrinth of Life and Love all of these are the gentle curves and turns giving pause to reflect, give thanks, and expand like ripples outward, growing, understanding, developing, unfolding and embracing all others. BEing Now I move From I am and ripple and turn moving "to."

Affirming

I struggle so to figure it all out, to understand, imagine, grow and become the soft that is in my heart. It is a tender sweet little heart that easily sheds a tear to see the beauty, simplicity and sweet Hands of Life.  I do believe. I believe there is hope. I believe there is goodness. I believe we are each unique and placed here for a purpose that only we can fill. I believe like a giant jig saw puzzle the absence of our piece, our heart our purpose will be noticed and felt. I believe the Heart can transform, not scar, any experience. I believe that people gifted into our lives and friendship, partners, and lovers are as treasured as the gift of breath - without them the spirit suffocates. I believe that when we believe nothing can stop us. I believe in compassion that sees the beauty, love, potential and wonder in the other's eyes and then sees the reflection is in truth his or herself. I believe that nothing is ordinary, all a gift, a wonder a treasure to see and feel. I believe love can translate any language and gift restoration to any sense of loss. I believe in the earth, nature, the dance of the sun and moon. I believe presence with and for another completes the dint in the image of the heart. I believe people filled with passion, purpose, dreams and abundant abundance are no different than I. I believe we can heal, ourselves and others. I do believe. I do.

Adjusting the Sails

I weigh 80 pounds. The bag of birdseed clumped in the cart weighs 50 pounds waiting to go into the car. The wind is blowing over 30 mph. Need I say more......  Sometimes the burdens or things we reach for simply require leveraging the wind that buffets.  And a gentleman getting out of his truck laughing and bellowing out "That's my girl!" makes the adjustment even sweeter.

Soft Strength

and she danced......

A giggle picture, not art, but it is the dance. My right stutter hand held the left and taught her how to hold a brush.  May we all create the art of finding soft strength.

“There is some kiss we want with

our whole lives, the touch of

spirit on the body. Seawater

begs the pearl to break its shell. ....

…. Breathe into me.  Close the language- door and open the love window. The moon

won't use the door, only the window. “

~Rumi