Thursday, April 29, 2010

My Golden Butterfly


A golden btterfly alit on my heart one day
Just as I breathed in she flew away
All she left was the eyes of her Soul
Memory of a daughter born out of love.
She will always
Be
My golden butterfly

You may be asking why the image I chose is not one of a golden butterfly. The reason is very simple. No longer do I have to IMAGINE my lovely daughter forty-five years later. I can actually see her, listen to her thoughts with a voice to say them, walk along side of her, smile together. The miracle of our hearts beating in the same proximity again is metamorphosis - from dream to reality.

My friend Lynda remarked about the many girls who went off to visit aunts for a period of time. Everyone knew, but nothing was said. I, too, went off to visit an aunt, then to a rich woman's home to help her out, then to a home for unwed mothers. The moment I turned my baby over to the arms of a social worker, was the moment happiness ended. Since then, there has been an underlyiing chronic sadness that stayed even with the magnificent - splendiferous - life that I lived.
But today, that sadness is gone. Yoikes - it wasn't a "disorder" after all!!!

Underlying the events of each day is "Chronic" joyful anticipation.

My daughter's name is Caroline. More than in physcial attrributes, we share a knack for the poetic, and a creative/artistic bent that is practical. She has it together much more than I ever did.

And she is blessed with Paige and Justin. Paige is an 18 year old blond, blue eyed angel - very smart and a sweetheart. Justin is a 20 year old red-headed and level headed and sensitive youth with magnificent potential. Two lovely grandchildren.

Caroline also gave a daughter up for adoption. It was an open adoption. She had the opportunity to choose, and her mother was with her all the way. She will reconnect with her this summer. Caroline will experience this perfect joy, too, which I would venture to say neither thought possible.

Although Psyche protects us from unbearable pain, She opens her ceiling to the Higher Self, bathing  with hope, trust. love, images of that which we hold most dear. Once in a blue moon, She also brings life full circle, extends an invitation to enter the circle, and provides the music for the healing dance!
Caroline presented me with this beadwork pendant that she created. Sitting in these stones is only one of two shots that would focus. There is some magnificent energy in this creation.  
Notice the fluttering wings of butterfly in motion in the circle!!!

Secrets bleed sadness. Unconditional love and forgiveness does not always happen in the flesh. If you have some forgiving of yourself to be about, go for it now. Share it here, or share it with your dearest friend. Open your heart to the sacred dance - of the golden butterfly.








Friday, April 16, 2010

Spring Cleaning

The old stairs. The new stairs will go up half way, have a landing, then come up the rest of the say. the table and chairs and two wicker chairs renewed - ready for company.

Y'all come now!

Up until a few years ago, when my heart insisted that I create a new approach to a healthy environment, I did all the work myself. This included painting, wall paperiing, tiling, mowing, weeding, and and pruning. I even hauled two tons of landscaping dirt, wheel barrow by wheel barrow when I got home from school each day - , while the neighborhood old men laughed at my determination.

Now, I get to hire others to do  the heavy work.

Can't say I would have built new stairs for my house, but there is a crew building a new set of stairs this week. Today, I am confined to upstairs until the end of the day.

In the meantime, earlier in the week, I hired a dear woman to paint the porch furniture. I put down drop cloths instead of having her take the furniture down stairs. Everything in me screamed paint the furniture downstairs. Half of the porch furniture is wicker. The wind upped its speed to 22 mph by noon.  The first resulting fiasco was a cover cloth on the table blew up and knocked the paint on the drop cloth. Martha proceeded to scoop it up with her bare hands and return it to its can while I ran for a scooper. It was done by the time I returned one minute later and she was adding paint to the furniture with her paint covered hands. I opened the door for her, led her to the sink, and poured the soap over her hands. After we had a great laugh and a deep breath, she returned to the painting.

When the job was on the last love seat, I came out on the porch and noticed that, because of the wind and the nature of the wicker, the paint had been blown through the wicker and onto the uncovered part of the porch, the other table, icemaker, and sliding glass doors.

It was already past dinner time, so I helped her finish the paint job  - after covering the naked, yet spatterd parts of the porch. While we did this, she began apologizing for not noticing. I, on the other hand, was totally pissed off at G-O-D for the wind. This is my commonly applied  scapegoat when my thinking brain has failed to consider all the details in preparing for such "feats". We ended up laughing heartily at the whole day. Truth is, standing back and observing the great looking painted furniture, Martha and I were really pleased with the results.

I gave Martha some socks so she could get to the sink in the house. There she washed all the paint off and took some hair conditioner to get it out of her hair. It worked. Then, I paid her and she was off for a long nights's sleep, I am sure.

Left with the part where someone gets to remove all the paint spattering, I tried something called "goof off" with a sanding sponge, then steel wool and soap, and then, aha - hair conditioner. That and steel wool did the trick. Got cha, Martha Stewart!! Now, to get someone to come and finish the job!!!

Ten years ago, I would have had a holy fit over the fiasco, but I have learned to go into that circle of unconditional love and forgiveness. I go there more spontaneously than at first. I am grateful for the gift of those who can work hard. I am grateful for the challenges the mystery presents. I am grateful for laughter. It heals and keeps us dancing.

Surely, we've all had similar experiences. Where have you found yourself laughing when it didn't happen like it was supposed to? How do you meet up with the gratitude in the center of it all?
The new stairs - noon April 16, 2010.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Me and My Shadow...

In her poem "The Gift," Chinese poet Shu Ting writes, "I dream the dream of a pond who lives not just to mirror the sky but to let willow trees on the bank drink me up."
 
I began writing this blog, not because I wanted everyone to know about me, but because I have a story to tell. I'm not all that confident about what it is that needs to be told, so I sit down and let my fingers dance over the keys.
 
This weekend I experienced a catharsis. I had an awareness moment where I saw that  I didn't honor my mother's last wishes (six years ago!) I dumped this all out to a friend. I was so embarassed. Then I spent a full day forgiving myself, for imposing the catharsis on my friend, and for letting the hospital keep my mother on life support, (not her wishes), until heart finally stopped beating.
 
Thing is, the catharsis was an experience of bringing my shadow into the light. I lost respect for my mother and, although I told myself differently, I carried resentment,stuffing it way down in the dark unconscious. For no reason I can think of, it erupted like a volcano. It might have been due to a movie I saw or something that had recently happened which opened that cellar door.

Then on Monday, I had a miraculous turn of events regarding a secret I have kept for 45 years. I wanted to call the people who were there at the time when I lost respect for my mother.  But, the turn of events might lead to nothing. So, I'm not going to talk about the miracle to anyone.


The long time secret, and how it happened to come to be,  is always on my conscious mind. Its shadow energy influenced many major decisions until I finally brought it into the light. Now, I keep the secret because telling it serves no purposeful end.
 
I was a caring daughter. I was a resentful daughter.
For the other, it happened. I avoided it. It caused more pain. I acknowledged it. I changed.
I changed because I acceepted its having happened - its pain and its joy. It is my life's experience.

And it is Good. I became a pond, nourshing willow trees instead of reflecting the sky of that which I would rather choose to say is not I.

I invite you to visit your secrets' room. What is there you prefer not to see? What is there that is for you only to know?

Friday, April 2, 2010

Back to Beau Bear



Can you guess what Beau Bear is thinking and feeling?

This is Beau Bear. He was born in 1999. That makes him 99 years old. I got him from the humane society, so I don't know his exact birthday, but I would venture to say, from his personality, that he is a Pisces with a Leo moon. I have learned from my relationship with him, how to differentiate between another and my projection on another.

The first lesson learned is to not assume what another is thinking and feeling.

The second lesson learned is I can know what I'm thinking and feeling by observing another and being conscious of what I am interpreting that presence to be.

The third lesson learned is sometimes what I observe in another's  thinking and feeling is aligned  to my own experience. The differences can only be determined by asking questions.

In the case of a cat - Beau Bear, for instance, I can determine what he is thinking and feeling because I have consciously observed him for ten years. He has patterns of response which he exhibits consistenly. They are different than my patterns of response to the same stimuli. I always have to ask myself the questions of differentiation since Beau Bear doesn't talk.

The fourth lesson I have learned is he lives in the moment. He lives each reaction to new experience. We all have heard that cats and dogs are unconditionally loving. Well, they are. This, I do believe, is achieved by living fully in the moment.

I have learned other lessons, but I will say, finally I have learned to communicate with cats by sitting quietly, cat in lap,  visualizing what I want to communicate. Time and again, this is effective. I wouldn't call it "mind control" at all. I become open to receiving images in response. Cats are open to peaceful co-existence.

I learned this skill in Oombulgurri, from the Aboriginal elders. I needed the skill to communicate with snakes then. (In that case, however, asking snakes to share space with you was  more of a physical presencing type of communication experience.)

Here, Beau Bear has his eye on a neighboring tom cat. The porch is eight feet up from the ground, so Beau Bear has a good view of the lawn.

Aren't pets adorable? Do we love them? Oh, yes. they don't feel words or think with words. They think with images and interpret a tone of voice. Its like they can "smell" what to trust and what to avoid, too.

I do believe people have the same type of system. The new brain humans have gets in the way, has been lost in time. Experiment with using your mammalian brain to communicate. What have you discovered?