Winter Solstice

Sun rising on new fallen snow.

While a seed deep within the earth.

Sleeping in mindful anticipation

Of flourishing rebirth in Spring.

Sprouting as a new beginning.

A new perspective on ancient wisdom.

A new form for earth's well being.

Recently, at the mercy of an east coast snow storm, I became mindful of the opportunity to practice living in the present moment - mindfully. After a seven hour wait in Union Station, WDC, I boarded the train headed to Florida. After an hour or so of waiting there, I fell asleep, waking seven hours later only one hour from WDC. The woman next to me said we'd been there for two hours. We were there for two hours more. People were getting antsy and complaining. There had been the same anxiety in the station and several outbursts of anger at the delays and lack of information.

The previous morning, before the trek into the new fallen snow to get to the symposium I was in WDC attending, I had meditated on three questions provided by Pat Webb of the Silence Foundation: 

(1) What is alive in me today?  I experienced an abundance of gratitude for this snowy day ahead.

(2) What am I open to receive?  I was looking forward to experiencing each personal encounter.

(3) What am I willing to give?  I experienced my heart opening to send love's light into the day.

I grew up knee deep in snow, but it has been years since I experienced being right in it. I was delighted with the experience, inconvenience that it was. When feeling discouraged by the waiting time and empathizing with the frustration of others on the train, I did share with a few how thankful I was for being able to participate first hand in what I might otherwise have only seen happening on TV this storm of the century. Needless to say, occasionally, this was not well received.

While the train was moving ever so slowly through the snow, I was able to take many photographs - pictures which hold nature's awe and allowed me to step outside the tension and frustrattion. This is one of them accompanied by the poetry which gushed from my heart's light.

Mindfulness practice is such a healing activity. I become silent, listen to the silence, and listen to my heart.  What's your mindfulness practice?

Healing

Beau Bear and Bo Ceefus are two old himalayan long haired seal points.  Bo was a feral sort retreived from the woods. Beau came from the animal shelter, coming with telltale signs of having been spoiled. They used to spend their days in a very rural area and their nights in the garage or in the house.

 Nowadays they live in a small town where cars, trucks, and motorcycles  and new buildings going up, all interfer with their sense of safety and interrupt their daytime sleep. At night, they have to hide from the possum and racoon.  As a result, Bo sleeps in the boat when the days are cool and in the ferns when it's hot. Beau spends most of his day in the. At night they'll stay on the railing or go find a boat to hide out in.  Bo knows how to avoid danger and how to keep himself clean.  Beau doesn't. As a result he has a notch in his ear, a scar across his face, and a cronic rash. I used to give him a full bath weekly and take him to the vet for shots. I gave up on that because it didn't cure the problem. Nor would not agree to being an inside cat.

Frustrated by my conflicting feelings about how to care for this hopeless pile of white fur whose face looks like a bear, I began to talk to him. Turned out to be a most productive passing of the time. I had read a book once about psychic communication with animals. Recalling it, I "talked" by visualizing what I wanted Beau to be doing. I visualized his healthy body and safe and clean places he could sleep.  I also fed them both tuna fish and shrimp for a few days so they both would want to be around me. (Let's face it! What cat in his right mind would want to come near someone who was going to give him a water bath!!)

As Beau Bear began to feel it was safe to sit in my lap again, without getting carried off to the tub of suds, he'd jump up into my lap for a sit and a purr. So,  I began to use my hands to send him healing energ.  Now,while Beau Bear is sitting in my lap, I mindfully pet him with the intent of sending healing energy. I mindfully visualize calm, safe, clean, healthy ways for my cat to feel safe.  And, I will just mention that  I keep on feeding them tuna fish and shrimp!

I believe my Beau Bear is improving and Bo Bear, the feral one, loves to sit on my lap as well. He, I believe picks up on the purr-time energy of Beau. In fact, like the old days in the country, we did occasionally pile up and purr on the porch at night.

Of course, it might be the tuna and shrimp. But, I prefer to look at it this way. What cat who knows where its at would pass up some hands on healing and some good conversation?

The three old men on the porch!

How do you practice mindful healing? -or-  How do you pet a cat?

Being tested

Master Sgt. Randy playing digeridoo!

More than anything else while a  public educator, I preferred to not be evaluated. I  experienced it as wasted time and pure aggrevation. In addition, the more I was scrutinized the more I did what I so wasn't supposed to be doing.  Any judgment, positive or negative, that an administrator had to conclude about the observation, I perceived as projection  and/or transference of the evaluator/s own stuff, , invalidation, weilding power, naive perceptioins of what was happening there, and other such  relationships to the whole process. 

Much of it had to do with my own perception of what is valuable - someone else's feedback on my performance not being of value. I do, however, appreciate and am grateful for feedback when I am in the process of creating something new.  What I was creating, of course, is never included as important in the traditional performance evaluation process in public education.

Over the years, there, and in other types of commmunity, of which I was a part, I would often be referred to as creative - as in "My, how wonderfully creative you are." It was a put down. Yes, it was. Do not protest.

I just finished reading (audio, yet unabridged) Dan Pink's A Whole New Mind.  In this book, he proposes that there is a place - in fact, a preference for - emerging for those with dominant right brains. He posits his theory with substantial back up.  I am relieved that here, at the other end of my life, I and the majority of people on this earth who share this dominant right brain, are no longer "afflicted. Instead, we are now "in demand".

Pink further proposes that there are six senses. I thought he was going to reiterate the traditional five senses and then go into depth on "the sixth sense". Instead, he proposes that the six senses are: design, story, symphony, empathy, play, and meaning.  He includes a myriad of websites and other resources to look into which confirm his thesis to beyond a doubt.

The book is an easy read. I recommend it for your consideration. I say, "Yeah, Dan Pink". You wtote another of the books I would have written. And you did it so perfectly.

However, I sense there are more senses that are valuable for creating the world we want today. 

What would you propose is the seventh sense?

The passing of a collegue of Yore

I connected with an old friend on facebook this summer. I also connected with her two daughters. So, I have many recent pics and activities to bring me into the present staus of the family. I talked to my old friend on the phone one day - she was about to begin a new round of chemo. She never said how long she had it, but I knew the time was drawing near to her passing into the light, by the conversation. Our conversation included how to write down for the girls why she had lived the life she lived. It was close to my 65th, and inspired me to go deeper into my reflection on this whole journey. She wrote on facebook on Nov. 18. We were in the Sequoia National Forest on the 20th and as near as I can figure, just about the time that she was passing into the light. I had the urge to raise up my arms in ecstasy and sing the Hallelujah chorus and I imagined angels in the trees singing it for me. Silly, I know, and sounds a bit flaky, but it is the truth.

I did not know what happened that I didn't hear from her anymore.
Sometimes, my whole body just wrings out dry when I remember that I, too, left my sons in the care of others for so long while I was off changing the world. While they have assured me that all is well the feeling overwhelms me on occasion. Truth is they are all the better for it - as to which they will attest. I do remember her asking me how I could leave my children on one continent while I went to another. Then she left hers in the care of colleagues - for the Mission, we told ourselves.

Contacts such as this, after so many years - almost thirty in this case - bring up memories, sometimes in abundance, pouring into consciousness all at once. I remember her passion for music and having studied with Nadia Boulanger; community arts festivals; wine for communion for the first time ever on Maundy Thursday; her needing kirschwasser for a fondue; posters of radical revolutionaries hung for a Sunday of social action; me yelling at kids when it was my turn to care for our childrens' spirits (!) during our morning meetings and her having a talk with me about it; the building a new church from the stones of an old brownstone church - one of the many ends of the underground railroad, and a partnership of Scotch Presbyterian and the mystical Waldensian tradition; she and I attending a women's lib meeting, our corsets keeping us looking trim - never to wear them again!! Those were intense times of wild spirited social change. Broader social strategy that it was, the ICA we soon all became part of was boring in comparison . This grieving time for my friend-in--common-mission is appropriate, but it is also a time of letting go of the youthful exuberance and boundless energy we once had. How we live our lives today, is totally appropriate. All is really well.

I am so grateful to have been able to to have reconnected. We all have since lived a life of Mission in new ways, with the same intent -- to care for the coming into being of a new social vehicle - a new earth.

I have a deep appreciation and gratitude for the life we, in fact, lived fully.

Create a timeline of your own life's expenditure. What has been the underlying intent, the learnings, your reflections?

Poem

Poems. Images upon images of life experience, all metaphor and all real in the same phrase. Twenty years ago, I set out to write enough poems to publish in one book. Below is one of the two poems I wrote since that time. The one I'm not writing here is called, I Am No Slut and has images from The Woman Who Runs With the Wolves by Estes - Baba Yaga for instance. Written to myself, it served its purpose and needs no repeating.
This one poem still expresses my life twenty years later. I experience its images differently, tis all.


Gentle Sweet Wildness
When did you leave me so alone -
A silent breeze in a whispering pine wood field?
Loving,
Weren't you to be here forever -
A sunset changing the colors of your sky?
Forever is a full moon holding midnight on a swampland lake,
Just as the night ends, is a moment of breathless death.
Then the sun rises on a new day.
Nature's choir chants live.
Soul is Dancing.
Healing Begins.
All One.
Alone.


This is a version. It changes with each reading. The somewhat indigenous people who live in the outer islands of South Carolina refer to that moment of breathless death as "dayclean". I will sit on the porch just before sunrise just to hear this moment: night sounds - no sounds - one chirp - two chirps - many chirps (and maybe a boat leaves the dock), and the day opens to a new opportunity to live a great day!

One poem holds it for now.

And you? What's your poem? How has it changed?

Mandala

Creating an artform, using any medium, can be effective in processing emotional overload. There have been times, when children came into the Guidance room that talking it out was a futile effort. At these times, I would pull out a circle shaped piece of paper, water colors, colored pencils, clay, scissors and a bag of colored pieces of cloth, paste, and whatever else I could find that could be used to create an artform. I had a big box full of these supplies and added to them as something new presented itself as worthy of the box. I would provide instructions: fill the circle, choosing the content by what feels right. I would show a few examples of a mandala for the child as a brief image of how to proceed. There never was a time when the invitation to do this was refused. When done, I would ask the child to tell me a story about the result. Sometimes, the story telling needed the asking of many questions to get it told. I asked why a color was here and a shape there and an empty space somewhee else. I asked what feelings accompanied an action. I wrote down the answers and we looked at the story together. With the mandala creation in front of us, I then would ask the child to talk about how it was s/he was in the Guidance room.

I had been to several workshops on mandala creation and had the eyes to see through the mandala to the root of the problem, Instead of interpreting it for a child, I used my knowledge base and my intuition to create the questions that would be a guide through the volcano of emotions. Creating the mandala also provided a distancing from the cause of the upset, while serving as a mode of processing.

It does not make a hoot of difference that I can diagnose someone else's malaise. Those creating the artform, are creating an artform of their own lives. Those lives, to be lived fully, need to be interpreted by the creator of the artform.

We are always in the process of creating our own mandalas. Occasionally, it is a fun way to reflect on where we are on the journey at a particular time. Here is a website page which has examples of mandalas (complete with mantras):
www.tzaellachiera.com/?gclid=CIS638yAjZ4CFRaenAodKEQ5o

Create a mandala yourself. Write down its story. Ask yourself, "Where am I on the journey of it's creation?" "What next?"

Taking Care of Yourself

I believe and am totally committed to human beings taking responsibility for their psychological and physical health - with the help of all that history has created so far. The technological revolution alone did not invent enough to get the job done alone. Tuesday, I went to the cardiologist to get the results of a stress test that i finally had agreed to after a year and a half. It might help to mention that I had congestive heart failure two years ag0. I opted not to have the mitral valve replaced, choosing to live with atrial fibrilation, an enlarged atrium, and an irregular heartbeat to boot. I work with a nutritionist and also agreed to a physician's three prescriptions to reduce the risk of death by heart failure. Anyway, the cardiologist reported that nothing new presented itself in these tests. He did remark that I appear to have improved and am amazingly healthy considering the condition of my worn out old heart.

There are many people to whom I am grateful for my physical state.
Firstly, I am grateful for Louise Hay. I learned affirmation from her little book, Heal YOur Body. I read everyhing she has written, and practice everything she recommended.

Secondly, I am grateful to Carolyn Myss. I've read everything she has written, made a retreat out of the books which were workshops, especially Entering the Castle.

Thirdly, I am grateful to Gary Craig who has made pressure point balancing so accessible to all.I was introduced to "tapping" by another person for whom I am grateful - Martha Crampton (a pioneer in Psychosynthesis). I tried it, and purchased The EFT (emotional freedom technique) Manual to be a guide in this process.

Now that I have begun writing about those for whom I am so grateful for being able to take responsibility for my health, I am sure I could write a whole reference book. Written here are just the tip of an iceberg of techniques, resources, philosophies, and approaches that complement traditional health care providers. Healthy is not about living longer, or forever. Rather, it's about feeling good, about enjoying the passing of a day at a time, being able to focus on your life's work, dancing with limitations and possibilities. I believe that everyone I know has other ways of healing than just going to a doctor, taking a pill, having a treatment, or having surgery.

What are your beliefs about health care and how do you take care of your own psycho-physical well being?

Father

When my father died in 1982, I returned from Kenya for the funeral. We lived in an area of upstate New York which was mostly small towns and villages. My father was tall blond and handsome, a very popular man. He sang bass. He had sung with Glen Miller's band at the Aragon in Chicago, recorded with Kate Smith, and enjoyed the bass roles in local theater musicals. He was mostly known for his singing in the church. First in Grace Church Cathedral boys choir as a soprano, with his three brothers, and later as the bass soloist in every concert, and in the big Presbyterian church..
The night before I left for Kenya, two years earlier, my mother, father, , one of my brothers and I went to a fancy restaurant where big band era hits were playing live. That was my last time spent with my father. We danced while he sang along with the band, and did not let the pain causing trembling in his left arm, nor my gentle protests that we sit down, interrupt his dancing with me. When I left the next day, I knew this was the last time we would be together.
It isn't that I had such a great relationship with my father. Yes, he was the nurturing one of both parents. He was also an alcoholic and our lives did revolve around his ups and downs and his life as the musician. He kept tight reins on my comings and goings. My boyfriends either feared or idolized him, neither of which helped in my developing the ability to form good healthy relationships with them. But, father is a powerful symbol, nonetheless. My father, because of his ability to bring the Great Mystery into the presence of all who listened to him singing, was a particularly powerful symbol.
The memories of many Christmastime concerts rode with me to Little Falls for the annual singing of Handel's Messiah.. That my father would not be singing the bass parts, did not go unnoticed in my anticipation - and dread - of the evening. The soloists were all young and talented performers. As well, the choir was fully angelic. My father was particularly famous for his ability to resound loudly on the lowest of notes. I was remembering those moments when my heart got caught in my throat. When the bass began to sing, "Who shall stand when He appeareth?", my heart stopped. The bass was talented and well trained and obviously loved what he was singing. But, when it came to the low low notes, there was no sound. He could not hit those low low notes. I began to cry uncontrollably. Although I was embarrassed, the tears refused to cease. This was a moment of pure and simple clarity. My father was really gone from this earth. To have to have this "aha" experience in this way, was cruel and unjustified. At the same time it was a letting go, a relief.
I was left alone with the memory of that archetype, who was also really my father, which occasions the presence of the Great Mystery.
There were times after that, when my father would make contact with me. Whether this is an actual fact, or a metaphor for life-like memories, they nevertheless brought with them that presence of the power of the Great Mystery.

How does the power of the Great Mystery present itself to you?

The Balancing Act

"You can't sit on this porch for the rest of your life like this!" said Lyn. "We are going dancing and that's it!". I hadn't been out socializing for six months. I would go to work, come home, sit on the porch, and write. The book was finished and the computer had just crashed that afternoon before I saved the massive editing job I just did. It was the day after Thanksgiving 1997. We drove the 12 miles out to the river where a band was blaring out some relatively high quality music for a country bar in a fish camp. Lyn went there often, so had her dancing partners all lined up and was off, beckoning me to ask someone to dance. I wasn't about to do that - women didn't ask men to dance. It was the other way around in my book!! While struggling with the courage to ask anyway, a pencil thin tall drink of water was in front of me with his hand out. "What the heck", I thought and let him lead me to the dance floor. He was not one for conversation, but then, neither am I. So, silently he led me through a cross between a country two-step and a tango. He actually was quite good and I was quite clumsy, out of practice with the art of being flexible and spontaneous as I was. We danced an then he was gone. Vanished! Poof - with a cloud of smoke!!
I sat there for what seemed like forever while Lyn spent the entire time on the dance floor and if no one was there to dance with her, she danced with herself. She was having a joyous time.. I was envious of her decision to just go ahead and dance. I remembered when I was like that. I was jolted out of my dream world by a hand in front of me, held out as an invitation to dance with him. No words, no encouragement other than the hand out refusing to back off. I rose and let myself be led once again to the dance floor. After a fast dance, a two-step, and a hugger-up slow country sad song, I knew his life's story and never had to say a word. I do recall that evening as having danced all night.
Sometimes I wonder where Lyn is now. Does she still dance? Is she joyous - spontaneous and free flowing? Whereever she is, she returns as a messenger on my meditative council. Her message arrives on those occasions when I am tempted to just sit on the porch night in and night out. With her comes that hand reaching out to lead me to the dance floor.
Passing the time on the porch is very relaxing especially watching the moon rise over the lake. But,then there is the dancing. That's equally important. That's where the balancing act happens - the quiet solitary time and the interactive social time.

What gets you off your reflective butt and out onto the dance floor of your life?

The Performer Archetype in the Classroom

Seeing through the eyes of Psychosyntesis in a classroom has been valuable research. My last year in public education, I co-taught in an American History class. Co-teaching, for those of you who are not familiar with the term, is defined as two teachers sharing the load equally, at least one being certified to provide intervention for students with disabilities (me), and at least one being certified to teach the subject (Dotty). Dotty was not open to this situation and had little skill or tolerance for those who did not fit the norm. The whole year was an unresolved struggle between us. We may have actually worked "together" 15 or 16 days during the year. Early on, After six months of her refusing to share the load and me working one-on-one with kids, I decided it was time for a change. Sitting down together with admnistrators mediating did not work. After giving it some thought, I decided to try an experiment. I put on subpersonality feedback loop glasses with the intent of balancing the dynamics in the classroom. Describing the realitiy of these opposites was easy. Their nature, yes, but corresponding archetypes, no. Finally, I settled on the performer. In the manner of a true artist, Dotty would lecture on American History, totally engrossed in her very knowledgeable presentation. I, also in the manner of a true artist, led participation into experiencing the performance's intent, - as coreographer and the musical accompaniment might. When we were able to work together like this, students would learn. When we didn't, stludents either fell asleep, or kept themselves busy elsewise or I would work one-on-one and tutor them as needed.

Knowledge of subject is important. Tools to implement are important. Equally. An actor's monologue falls on silent ears without the audience's interest. A dancer's interpretation goes unseen without eye catching attention. As the cliche goes - it takes "two to tango"! The performer exists when both dynamics are presented in a balanced way to communicate the intent of a performance - or in the case of the classroom - a lesson's intent.

At this time, where are you needing to bring a quality of your personality back into balance?.

Grand Academy,lower east side Manhattan, is where I began my journey in public education. I had been a substitute teacher that year in Junior High School #21. When students' behavior was so bad - like having committed a crime - that they were expelled from JHS#21, then were enrolled in Grand Academy. It was on the second floor of a community center close to the "real" school. My job was to finish the year there as a a permanent sub, teaching World History to 7th, 8th, and 9th graders. I was taking the place of a young handsome man with a pony tail. Students enjoyed his class. I, with minimal class room management skill, and very little social appeal, had my hands full. The idea was to capture their attention and hold their interest for the duration of the class, and have that attention somehow focused on World History.

With a small grant ffom a colleague's foundation, I created and implemented a set of lesson plans for the six months which included a trip to the United Nations and the nearby neighborhood, Loisaida, for a tour by the leaders. The students were all of Puerto Rican descent. Most of them lived within this human development project neighborhood). The students experienced the six major Ur cultures by a day with food, tradional dress, music, dance, ambience, and explanation of the origin of each perspective. I picked small sections of the text for each new encounter, introducting them to the geography's role in creating the culture. This all caught their attention enough to learn some of the terms and people they needed to know.

When report cards came outmany didn't get "A"s, as they were accustomed to getting from the young man in the pony tail. There was an angy onslaught on parents night, complete with sticks and threats on my very being. Oddly enough, my responses were satisfactory as parents heard that I cared about their children succeeding, how well they were progressing, and that I, in fact, was enjoying their being in my classes. I actually was surprised that a stance of unconditional positive regard worked. My inclination otherwise would be to walk away angry at the outrage of it all.

The rest of the twenty years in public education was not much different. That was the only time I got to teach World History. Taught children with disabilities for awhile, was a Guidance Counselor for most of the years, and then did consultation with students with disabilities and their teachers. There is a library full of learnings in that twenty years, the greatest of which, I did not master - that being one who is en-joying having a job in an institutional setting.


And you? Do you en-joy your work?

"A PBS presentation of Bob Dylan had just finished. I was overcome with a sense of yearning to have been Bob Dylan My passion thru that period of radical cultural metamorphosis was expressed so clearly in Bob Dylan's poetry. The yearning continued as I reflected on the underlying cause of these feelings. I wanted to have been a significant contribution to those radically changing times. I’ve had as little or as much going for me as he did. I remember how he took what rudimentary skill he had and let it develop to match his passion. Perhaps, I and thousands of others, in reality, were all Bob Dylans and more. Perhaps, today, I can just be me with my finger on the heartbeat of the times. It’s a whole new time, a whole new beat of the heart, and I know I’m not the only one yearning to leave this memory of passion for social change and respond to a whole new metamorphosis in the process of coming into being. I may have a day or a year or 20 years to be on this earth. I feel the kairos of the moment screaming to be heard. Not for my own sake but for the freeing of the SOUL of Earth itself. Nothing to probe – only to BE."


In which social crisis are you hearing the call to respond?

Unconditional Love and Forgiveness

Every time I think about re-engaging in anything I did 45 years before now, or have been doing for this 20 years, my meditative council congests my heart with reasons why I should not go that road.

I have many successes to claim during my life. I also have many failed attempts. I could go on about successful integration of Psychosynthesis and Imaginal Ed into a career, too. But, there is only one accomplishment that is worth mentioning, really. I have learned and am still learning unconditional love and forgiveness - for others' woundings as well as for my part in the wounding and holding on to the pain.

The place I go to calm the suffocating feelings, occasioned by memories, is to step into my own heart, have a seat, let the council members have their say, and then open the flaps to the brlilliant white healing light of the Higher Self.

Regrets and resentments are transformed into blessings, gifts, unexpected results, learning experiences, growth opportunities, dancing metaphors...turning away from the past, facing the future, right here and now.

How do you forgive and let go completely?

A n Integrative Life Guide

I believe I have everything I need now and can turn my attention toward what I want - strange feeling to not need anytning at all - a relief in many ways. What I want, however, opens up a vast and deep abyss of pure possibility. So much so, I have to take a break right now and take something to the post office - or go to the bank - or check the mail. (3 minutes later)Well, check the mail was a good move. The latest AAP (Association for the Advancement of Psychosynthesis) newsletter was in the box. Right on the front page is the announcement of the 2010 conference, the theme of which is "Creating the World We Want". Reminds me of Piero Ferrucci's What We May Be, a must read if serious about Psychosynthesis.

Some readers may be asking, "What is this Psychosynthesis?" A short course to answer is that is that it is an inclusive image of the Psyche - inclusive of other philosphies, and of being human. At Psyche's center is the Will - or what I want and the process of Psychosynthesis is one of aligning all the parts of my Self to empower the Will. Important in this process is to integrate the presence of the Higher Self into this empowerment.
I did some of my training in an Integrative Therapies, It was a three year program of exploring other approaches to empowering people, in order to integrate the gifts of these approaches into my Psychosynthesis practice. For the most part, I then integrated Psychosynthesis into my work as a Guidance Counselor in the public school system in the USA.

Given that, the question "what do I want?" is not a selfish question, yet it is a question of Self. For me to begin to answer this question can also be expressed as "standing in my vision": My vision for how I will live my life, for where I will live my life, who I will be my colleagues, for what purpose will my life be lived.

What I want - really want - is to channel Spirit as a guide for indiviudals, and groups to integrate Spirit into their livestyles I am creating anew what that means. I recently read a descriptive title for this: Integrative Life Guide. That's it. That's what will carry what I really want into this new phase of life.

How about you? What do you want? What do you really want?

On Writing About Experiences

At one point toward the end of twenty years in public education, I decided to write a novel of my experience and learnings. I dreamed about how it would be funny and painful, insightful and ironic. It would definitely be a best seller due to its ability to renew and refresh a passion for making a positive difference in kids' lives. However, after reading Teacher Man (and Angela's Ashes and 'Tis), I came to the conclusion that Frank McCourt got that book written, and had done a better job at it than I ever could. So, instead, I wrote a manual on motivating middle schoolers. It included the integration of Imaginal Education and Psychosynthesis. I added some new eye glasses for teachers of children with learning differences to see students more compassionately and in a way they could effectively provide intervention. Easiest to digest were techniques teachers could use, those which I had, in fact, recommended, or seen being delivered in a class room. I presented the outline at a department meeting. Noone was really interested, but I would guess that was more because of the level of burnout at that time of year than the potential brilliance of my creation. SO, there it sits, on a shelf, ready for editing and publishing should I ever get motivated to finish my work. In the meantime, I have begun to write another great book.

What are your dreams that have only just begun to become reality?

The Passion of the Gypsy and the Peace of Shakti

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One exercise I have found to be healing is to take a moment to open the door to the dark room in the deeps of the unconscious, let one memory come into the moment, walk with that memory personified, described, and archetyped, onto a stage. I let the performance begin, with me in the director's seat. Then I fold back the stage's roof and let the stage flood with light and watch what happens.

In what has been one of the most memorable transformations resulting from this exercise was the emergence of a tumbling twirling frenzied gypsy dancer. Watching the dancer, her colorful skirt and tamborine, was totally exhausting. When I rolled back the roof to let the light pour in, the gypsy became a dancing Shakti. A peaceful saraswati filled the air with its gentle spontaneity.

When is a time that which exhausts you has been transformed? Try this exercise and watch what happens.

Changing Thought Patterns

For several years now, I have been working on letting go of an annoying pattern of mine - that of rehashing events that have occurred - those which I would rather not have lived in the first place. Occasionally, I would have a break through at the moment of the rehashing. At these times I have been able to stop my thoughts and put them into a circle of the dance and the pattern would successfully change. I wrote this in my journal one day after having one of these successful experiences:

When I am almost awake each morning, lying in bed, I find myself regretting moments in my past. In all honesty, I have to say that the expereince of that rueful state of being is what gets me up and out of that bed. This morning, instead of dwelling on one of these experiences and then hopping out of bed to avoid it, I asked myself why I am doing this every day. My insight was that these are moments I have intellectually forgiven myself for which now are returning to be fully released. I then listened to my insight and began to let go of that particular experience. The result was another image of myself later on in life of the same kind of experience I had regretted. I saw myself as responding to the experience differently, as if I had learned from the original one. Yet, still there existed a gap between the original and the next. I held a tension between the two as a rubber band stretched between my fingers of both hands. I stayed with that for awhile. For what purpose or outcome, I had no idea. All I received was, “There is the journey, and that is good, you are redeemed, whole, and perfect. Continue the journey you have chosen.”

I have since established a ritual. I step into the circle of the dance. I become the listener and observer as experience is replayed in my mind's eye. Then I say to myself: I am the experience, but I am more than the experience. I am the feelings about the experience, but I am more than the feelings. I ask myself what I learned and wait for an answer. I image how I will react differently from now on, and let it go. Sometimes, I give it wings and send it on its way to take its place in that which has passed on. Then, I make sure and say something good about myself, or look into a mirror and smile. I never do anything the same twice - well maybe twice, but never three times. It just isn't like me. This way each time I do the ritual, it is new.

In the past two years, I to wake up more often in the morning anticipating the great ventrue that is there for me that day. I am this venture, but I am more than this venture. I am the circle of the dance, but I am more than the circle of the dance.
I am.

What are your first thoughts upon awaking each morning?

A Young Margaret Mead

All of us have role models to emulate, people who inform our decisions in one way or another. One of those people in my life is Margaret Mead. The following is a an excerpt from a monologue, in the persona of a young Margaret, spoken at a "Women in History" presentation:

I am Margaret Mead. I lived during the first 3 quarters of the 20th Century - 1901 to 1978 when I died of cancer. I am here with you today as a 23 year old graduate student about to set off to the south Pacific to do field research.

The results of this, my first study - on biological and cultural influences on adolescent behavior, will be published as “Coming of Age in Samoa”. It will be translated into virtually every language. The facts of my findings will have, of course, been disputed, as are all new images of reality.

In my lifetime, I will have published 44 books and will have written over 1000 articles - including those steamy monthly articles in Redbook. I will be a Counselor to American Society - on family related issues - the decline of the extended family role - the isolation people feel by living in cities, and the generation gap.

I want a family, yes.

I want a career, too. I will spend most of this in some capacity or other with the Museum of Natural History. I will be part of creating groundwork for solving major problems which keep people from living fully.

I was born into the 20th century, a time when there was a dawning of a new consciousness about humanity on this planet of ours. If I contribute nothing else, I hope I give people the opportunity to think about this radical - metamorphical - change in consciousness that is occurring.

I am grateful that I live life fully. I am grateful that I live at this particular very difficult, very dangerous, and very crucial period in human history.

I only hope that you might experience my experience - I cherish the life of this world - all of it - in all its diversity, possibility and ongoing change.
I'm sure these are mammoth shoes to fill, if I wanted to be just like her. This is not the purpose of a role model. The purpose of a role model is to be a guide on the journey, a partner in purpose, an inspiration.

Who are your role models for today's research of human consciousness?

The Nameless Nobleman

An ancestor, Jane Austin, was an author who lived in New England and was a contemporary, and probably a friend, of Louisa May Alcott and Ralph Waldo Emerson,as she probably was with other writers of early America. She wrote two historical fictions of our family: The Nameless Nobleman and Doctor LeBaron's Daughters.
The Nameless Nobleman tells of Francis LeBaron's arriving on a pirate ship in Buzzard's Bay, making it to shore and hiding out while he was healing from wounds in the attic of Mary Wilder's family. They eventually got married and he was able to live and work in the Plymouth Colony because he saved the leg of an inkeeper's wife with his up-to-date medical skills. His past was a mystery, eventually unveiled. He was a baron from France who was unable to claim his land for some reason. Mary referred to him fondly as "Le Baron de rien de tout!" and thus giving him claim to the surname, LeBaron. He was buried in Plymouth up on the hill. Down the hill from he and Mary's grave is Miles Standish' grave, giving the reader a hint of the prominence Frenchman, LeBaron, enjoyed in the colony.
A few years ago I visited Plymouth with my grandson, Brandyn. I wanted him to experience another aspect of his roots, one to balance the dominating Italian blood. He noticed that on one of the two gravestones for Francis LeBaron was written, "Here lies Francis LeBaron, lost at sea.... Brandyn was amused by "lies" since he really wasn't dead and arrived back in the colony after the gravestone was placed there in his memory.
The other gravestone under which he actually was buried was across the pathway and next to Mary Wilder. While Brandyn was chuckling about the writing on the first gravestone, it struck me that my family history in this root was all about Francis LeBaron and its roots. There is a book in the National Library of Congress on the LeBarons. But, as I looked at Mary Wilder's grave, it occured to me that she also is my ancestor, they were her daughters,too. She was famous in her own right and her roots can be traced back to England. I resolved to find out more about her family, too. That for some reason, the women in our history got left out of the story, except for bearing the children and caring for the house. The time has come to write about the women in our histories. Jane Austin beagan the process when she didn't use a penname. Her husband supported her writing in a time when women writers were not especially socially accepted. Now is a good time for some rich historical fiction on the women in our family tree.

What is the story in your history that is wanting to be told?

Retirement

This picture is of me holding up two checks - social security and pension. The first of both of them came on the same day - shortly following my birthday. This event sent me the message, loud and clear, that I no longer have to "scrape for a buck", "earn a wage", "work for a living", etc. Now, at long last I am free to pursue my wildest dreams, if I so choose. Fortunately, my dreams don't cost a lot of money. They aren't very materialistic. For a period in my life - a phase of my life, in fact, I was part of a magnificent world-wide strategy to create demonstration of sustainable human community. This sweep of the planet, included a demonstration community in every time zone, and "human development zones" around nine - three major areas - of these communities which included surrounding communities, too. Then it was over. The time of radical change was over - those who were devoted to social change had arrived on a plateau. Priorties were changing. As I look back now, I can see that there was in-depth work and social permeation to do before the journey could continue. This ws true for my own life, as well. Today, many are beginning to write about and dialogue about the time arriving, once again, to begin to finish the work begun, beyond the demonstration stage to systems transformation. Some say it is a group effort. I would concur, but only where individuals in those groupings each operate as a Mother Teresa or Greg Mortensen, or lone famous folk singer whose poetry addresses this moment in time again - as each once did. This time, the journey can be pure creative venturing. I hope you will be on this journey, too.

Where do you find yourself ready to leave the plateau of social change?

The Circle of the Dance in Chicago

When I returned from Kenya in 1984, I was wound up into a snarled wad of experiences. I was confused and disoriented. Clearly, I had not taken care of myself, burned out and not yet in remission with a roller coaster relationship with cancer. Most of all I felt very much alone, unbearably so. I can look back at attachments I made in an attempt, I suppose, to be connected socially. I also recall attempts by others to keep me connected with the community. However, I was alone, ever so alone. The heart beat rhythm of Kenya's culture, throbbed through me. I would recall people in traditional costume dancing in lines and circles during celebrations in the villaes - colorful and faces painted in dunting mask like features. There was life inside me, that had no socially acceptable way of expressing itself in this urban, multi-storied building in which I existed for the time being. The building was the North American center of the ICA (Institute of Cultural Affairs). Life went on around me, as if I was a ghost wandering in and through the rooms, offices, and hallways of this nexus. Tired and feeling hopeless all the time, one morning I picked up my cassette player and forced myself to go to the great hall with the intent to "express myself - claim the promise of existing where I was". The hall was totally empty except for grass green carpetting and pilings. I placed a tape suitable for exercise into the player and the music began. "First there was nothing but a slow flowing dream..." and I began to twirl around the room, then as the beat increased, I leapt in circles, continuing for atleast the duration of the tape, although it may have been longer, since I got totally lost in the experience of flying around this great room, imagining myself in a wild flower field under a bright blue sunny sky. Refreshed, the healing began. I continued this daily ritual, adding yoga-like stretching, endurance increasing, and joy returning to my sense of being alive and present in this place and time. Eventually, I could turn to evaluating priorities and creating new dreams to make reality, Becoming a new person was where I was headed. It was a long journey, but it had begun in that great hall in Chicago. Since then, the dance continues in the spiral of every change, of every return to the present moment where Soul creates dance, where healing begins.

What is your ritual of renewal?