A Year Past a Year Promised

This past year has been anything but routine. The promise I claimed for myself on my birthday last year was to actually connect with these people with whom I share a deep bonding, only imagining how that would finally play itself out. .

During the summer, grandson Wilder came for an extended visit. Justin, Caroline's son - also my grandson - was there as well. The two of them really had an opportunity to bond.  I realized while he was there, how important real connections are to me.

In September, I travelled to Oklahoma and spent a week with Randy, Stephanie, and Chris. After a weekend at an international horse show where Chris placed in all categories entered, we drove to their home and I spent the week following Chris and Stephanie as they went through their daily routines. I had only been there to visit once before when Chris was still an infant. I never did get to spend much time with Chris while I was there, but at least I did get a feel for being connected in the real to my family.

A day at Conna wilkinson's with Jan Sanders and Pat Webb as we journeyed through Jan's workshop to find our heart's song was also a very significant event of the year of really connecting as colleagues.

In December, when Caroline, Paige and I rendezvoused in Seattle area with Caroline's natural father, Kurt, and his son Raoul and wife Jenn,  forty-seven years of yearning for this connection came to be real. We spent a glorious weekend getting together over meals and sharing a bit of our lives. All of us are cautious souls and very intuitive, so much of the connection was from our hearts. This connection was so powerful as the genetic bonding that has always been there became real.

In June, travelling to Italy for the international conference in Rome, was a connection with the roots of my love for psychosynthesis, deeper connections with people I actually know and those I only know by cyber connectedness. This conference was a connection with a great vision of supreme synthesis for this planet, and the conference itself was a demonstration of its possibility. A day in Assagioli's archives was a connection with his life and work. The holiday I treated myself to following this, was a connection with the environment which inspired Assagioli's greatness and I was inspired in turn.

I would have to say that a visit to Trevi Fountain in Rome, was more like a symbol of the experience of this past year and the promise claimed within in. The fountain's energy is pure, vibrant, intense gentle refreshment. I experienced the rootedness of continually flowing water from the fountain and its ancient sculptures. As the water flowed in the fountain, I experienced a release of wishing things were different and gratitude for these events of being so deeply connected now.

. I threw in coins over my shoulder with wishes for this next year, promising to return to these wishes during this reflective time of year when I claim the promise for my 68th year.

Now, I am headed for my 50th high school reunion this week. It is one more opportunity to be connected in real time to classmates of yore. But, we are a half century away from high school days, so it is also an opportunity to meet new people who happen to share a common memory of childhood and youth.  I am saying this as a generality, of course, for some have reunited earlier or been connected for the many years since high school. even by marriage.

The reunion is a turning point in many ways.

For this next year, I promise myself to venture off into paradise, both vocationally and personally. This is a year of shedding the cloak of routine relationship and mediocre expectations.

I will to live a healthy lifestyle - a demonstration of being a responsible elder.
I will to see a North American psychosynthesis conference through to its ultimate success - my contribution to responding to what the world needs today.
I will to travel far and wide for the fun of new encounters and celebrate friendships  -expanding my tolerance for bliss all the way to joy itself.
I will to plan a family reunion where my immediate family is all together for the first time ever since grandchildren began to enter the scene - daring to assert the value of such a gathering  as that which we all deserve to experience.
I will to comfortably be who I am and never more what I am expected to be to keep the peace.

If I organize my blog so to publish it in the context of some theme or finish my book about reuniting with Caroline or get trained as a psychosynthesis coach or any of the other myriad of possibilities I have to consider, well, fine and dandy. I feel I have finally ditched the work ethic which kept me going for so many years. I feel I am replacing it by entering the circle of the dance of this life's time. I intend to have the time of my life this year.

Reflections on a year past and claiming promises for a year ahead makes it easy to dance in the moment, even through the highs and lows of daily routine. What has been your greatest moments of the year past? What are you anticipating as worth it all in the coming year?

A Day in the Archives

This is very long. You might want to begin further down where I placed two stars. **

I walked down the hill from Villa la Stella to Casa Assagioli to spend a day in the archives of Roberto Assagioli. It was going to be interesting since I have difficulty seeing writing, let alone typed print.

But, with my new glasses, I was hopeful. I also wanted to go there to soak up the environment that inspired Assagioli and get a sense after his life there in Firenze.

We were 46 people sitting around the room in an oval. We introduced ourselves and where we were from. People were there from North America, all over Europe, and other places as well. 

We were then led in two groups - English and Italian speaker. In the English speaking group there was continual translation in to French as well.

As we began the tour, we stopped at a table with Assagioli's stamps, each choosing one, stamping it onto a paper, and pinning it to our shirts. I chose to just pick one up and stamp it. It was "Silenzio"!

We crossed the courtyard into the basement, and past some untouched archives which had been stored in the attic previously, but moved due to a leak in the roof.The project which brought us here is an ongoing restoration and organization of these files.

We left that building and entered Assagioli's garden. There were unripened grapes hanging, hydrangeas of different colors, a fruit tree or two, and other flora. This garden was bordered by a brick wall and on one side a steep hill rose beyond, covered with olive trees and Italian cypress scattered along the hill's rise.

We then returned to the main building, began the climb to the top floor. First we stopped at the library, noticed the foyer's intricately designed ceiling, and sat in another room with an original ceiling.

Once at the top, we had light refreshments and heard more about the history of Casa Assagioli.  

Funny, the things you remember most. For me, it was the cat door cut from a bedroom door and a bit of a biography on the cat whose name was Freaky.

We descended to the original ground floor for lunch. I sat in the sun alone in the courtyard enjoying eggplant Parmesan and the most delightful zucchini and cheese salad. I had two chats with others out there under the Tuscan sun - about politics, astrology, and Florida travels.

** Finally, we got to spend time with the archives. I found "Social Psychosynthesis". It was a small group of files with hand written notes - some in English and some in Italian.

I was having difficulty reading the hand written scribbles because they were so light and the paper had aged. But, I was into the magic of encountering the archives of a man whose work so changed my life. I thought I read on one, "You belong!"  I was delighted that those words came off the small piece of paper with such clarity.  But, as I looked again, it read, "You belong to at least one group, or you should belong to one, even to many."

Assagioli would collect these small papers of notes and use them to write or prepare lectures. There were lots of references and some quotes. But, there was nothing new to me in this small file. This was an affirmation of the learning I had already accomplished about social psychosynthesis.

I took a good length of time to meditate in Assagioli's office, first on the floor by a window, then in a chair next to his desk.  One of the designated assistants, there to help us locate archives, flitted by three or four times, distracting me, until I finally was in a deep meditative state, oblivious to anything or anybody around me.

  I listened for a message which I had asked to receive as I entered this meditation.  I received a message, loud and clear, "You have not yet reached the deep underlying contradiction to your community's ability to move ahead. Look for signs today." I felt entirely refreshed when I reentered the reality of the office.

I then entered the room that held Assagioli's esoteric research and was drawn to guided meditations which had been typed in English. Browsing through them, I was deeply addressed with awakening to their focus. They were all on becoming a life of service in the world. Yes, they had the esoteric qualities of imaging, the colors of the images having symbolic qualities. This was not new to me.

What deeply addressed me was that each was planned out to be experienced over several months. I noticed tears in my eyes. I was connecting at a very deep lived with my own life experience here - with  my own history as a life of service in the world. I was elated and was really feeling that "I belong" which I first saw in Assagioli's notes on social psychosynthesis.

As I was connecting the two insight,that of belonging and that of service in the world, one of the assistants came by and intruded on my processing. She assumed I needed a break and hurriedly  closed up the file correctly, a file to which I planned to return. She asked me where I got it from and if someone had assisted me in locating it. then, she took it back to that room, leaving me to take a break.

 Needless to say, I had my first sign of the deeper underlying contradiction. I got up and took that break obediently.

When I came back down I asked another assistant if she would take a photo of me next to Assagioli's desk. She didn't feel comfortable with that and said so rather loudly, asking another assistant what she thought. The other assistant, the same one who assisted me in taking a break,  was standing there shaking her head in the negative, with a somewhat "tsk-tsk" attitude about her.

I don't know why I asked her to take that photo. I already had one next to his desk. I took it as another sign of the underlying contradiction, decided I had what I came there for, left, walking back up the hill in tears, nevertheless.

Gleaning the  meaning of the events of that day in Casa Assagioli have been productive, yet inconclusive. 

One clear image I have of where we all need to work is to recover a strong foundation of unconditional positive regard in our collegial relationships. Social synthesis has, at its heart, a trust in the ability of each of us to see through the Mundane into the Divine purpose of our encounters  and interrelationships. Each is responsible for interpreting truth - not projecting one's own characteristics, fears, or dogmas. There is a great diversity of perspective in the unity of a community. Assuming another's relationship to life is not someone else's responsibility.

I am sure I perused the files I need for future reference and am equally certain that I came away from the day with exactly what I needed. While some of it was humiliating - humiliation is good, too. It is a state of being where reality shines.

Every day has, within it, an opportunity for insight. My own intent to soak up the environment which inspired genius in Roberto Assagioli did not go unheeded during this day at Casa Assagioli.

In fact, each time I return in my remembering to this place, I leave with another insight.  Some places are like that. This one is like that for me.

Where are places, which for you, stand as endless inspiration and insight?

Pilgrimage to Assisi

Almost fifty years ago, I became acquainted with the life of St. Francis of Assisi.

The story of him being called to rebuild the church left an image in my head of a small one room stone chapel for me to hold dear for so many years.

The story of him dancing naked in the square, being stoned, and singing out songs of gratitude became a vital sub-personality in my psyche - or a powerful presence on my meditative council, if you prefer. 

The story of his creating an Order of brothers who reached out to be service in the world has been an image for me of healthy community purpose.

When I visited Assisi this summer, it was with a tour bus because I did not want to go alone, although I was the loner in the crowd. There were four who spoke Spanish and English, two who spoke only Italian, two who spoke only Spanish, and me who speaks only English - but fortunately understands Spanish.  The guide translated into the four languages on the bus. When we arrived another guide took over. She translated into English and Italian, while the bus guide translated into Spanish.  Neither of the guides translated into English well, so I was glad I understood Spanish. 

We visited the church where St. Clare attended with her aristocratic family. Inside we viewed the small chapel where Francis received his calling to rebuild the church. 

We visited the stable where Francis was born - interesting to learn that he was also born in a stable.

We visited the church his parents attended and saw where he was imprisoned for taking off his clothes in the square outside of the church, giving the clothes to the poor. It was significant for him to do this  since his father was a mercantile goods merchant. He was disidentifying from his expected role in the community. His mother,  who I suspect understood this, was also imprisoned for defending him.This was not the square where he danced naked.

We moseyed on down the old streets to the cathedral at the top of the hill which was built around the little church that St. Francis rebuilt. Once we got to this little church, I was amazed to find that it wasn't a little stone chapel at all. It was a beautiful Gothic cathedral in and of itself.

 Walls and ceilings were covered with  frescoes of stories, created for a population which basically could not read. One of the smaller altars told a story of St. Francis in heaven with his colleagues. On the left were souls being helped in to heaven. On the right were souls doomed for eternity. There I was - five feet from a Michelangelo creation. I didn't need to go to the Sistine Chapel anymore, because I was in the presence of this, also his creation.  (I couldn't see the frescoes on the ceiling here, so I wouldn't be able to see the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel anyway).

I had pondered going to France to make a pilgrimage to one of the many black Madonnas there, but here I was. There were many fresco black Madonnas right here.  Later I found one in a shop, but couldn't imagine how I'd get it home, so I purchased a decoupage version instead.

The bus took us to St. Mary of the Angels where St. Francis and his Order maintained their center for the duration of his life.  In the center of this cathedral is a small rustic stone chapel. It looked like the chapel I had imagined all these years as the one St. Francis was called to rebuild.  I find myself wondering if I missed something in the translation along the way, or perhaps history has chosen to change the story for the sake of the journey.

I never did make it to the square where St. Francis danced naked. But, we did drive on to Cortona, the town made famous by "Under the Tuscan Sun". There, I sat in an outside pub on the square. there I had a lunch of thinly sliced salamis and a glass of house wine from Umbria, this province where I was. I imagined Frances Mayes,  the author of the book, might have sat here to, reflecting on her own journey to create a new life for herself.

Such a pilgrimage, whatever way it is made, to those places which, are sacred to the traveler, is an adventure into the Soul. 

Where would you like to go for your pilgrimage to the Soul?  In that place, where Soul can create dance, healing can begin.

Grotto Giusti - the Descent into Hell

There are mineral springs on the surface and in caves  in Montecatini Termi in Tuscany, about an hour from Firenze by train.

 Three of us ventured off to sit in the mineral springs and feel its healing in our bodies.

 At the spa we chose, which happened to be the only one open at this time of year, we bathed in the pool, did aqua massage and then each had different massages. Mine was an aryuvedic massage, done by a real master in energy healing.

 I left burning with desire and headed to the grotto.

 I took off all my clothes - again - and donned a heavy white canvas robe, designed expressly for the trek into the grotto.

 Walking slowly down a long slope, I stepped through a door made of strips of plastic, and entered the dark cave. It was lit by dim spotlights placed strategically.

 There are three locations in this grotto, with steam rising from deep cavernous streams, heated by a volcanic source of fire. They are called inferno, purgatory, and hell.

 I wandered around the paths of inferno, breathing in the steam comfortably and feeling myself relaxing even more deeply than from the extremely relaxing massage. As I descended in to purgatory, the steaming streams seemed to be even more deeply cut into the rock laded with stalagmites and stalicites. I stood silently focusing diligently on deep breathing. I was not having much success. In fact, my heart began to beat strongly. Amazingly enough, the beats were strong and steady, unlike their every day state of being where they are weak and irregular.

 I was totally alone here in purgatory. No one else had ventured into the caves. I faced toward hell, estimating how long it would take to get there. On the other side of it, was a place to refresh and cool down.

Here I was, right in the middle of the journey between inferno and hell, which up to this day, I would have considered one and the same. Intending to be strong and transcend this wildly beating heart, which I was beginning to experience as one with the heart beat of the caverns,

 I contemplated the risks and sense of adventure in going on straight to hell. Better judgment got the better of me and I headed back toward inferno and back on up the path through the plastic strips of curtain, and up the slope.

 As cooler, drier air surrounded me, I nevertheless found it difficult to ascend. Half way to the top, I noticed a ledge and immediately sat down on the side of the path. The attendant was almost chanting, 'You will be all right. Breathe deeply, relax...".  He brought me some cold water in a small glass, then brought me more twice again.

 I do have to say, at this point, I did not experience the trek as fearful. Perhaps overwhelming. The canvas cloak was soaked, indicating that there was much more steam in that grotto than I was feeling on my face and hands - yes, and feet.

 When, my heart returned to a somewhat normal-for-me state of being, I ventured on up the rest of the slope, went into the dressing room, removed the soaking cloak, and redressed.

 Not disappointed for not taking the whole journey, exhilarated by what I had seen, heard (which was mostly the beating of my heart), and felt, I began to sum up the blessing the descent had been. I heard and felt my heart beating as normally as a healthy heart would be beating. I was sure that the intensity of the steam in purgatory was not, however, worth the endurance. Nor was I sure that it was other than illusion. I'll never know for sure.

 I do have to say that I am left with wondering what would have been the experience of hell.  But, alas, I guess I will have to wait for another day to go hell!!!!!

Remember a time when the environment, for you, was entirely overwhelming. Describe the experience.

Tuscany: The Heart of Italy

Real life experiences are preferable to guided tours.

This was my opinion, anyway, of my recent trip to Italy.

I am quite certain that I did not express to Wanda, my hostess in Montecatini, how grateful I was that she welcomed me into her home and shared her life with me.

I arrived on a Friday afternoon, stayed two nights, and left on Sunday morning.

Wanda lives with her mother,   Maria Pia, a lovely Italian woman, closer to my age than to Wanda, and in perfect physical shape. I should be so fortunate!

She made dinner of tomatoes and tuna, one of my favorite summer dishes. The tuna did not taste anything like Starkist. It was like a fully cooked ahi tuna and flavored oh, so delicately. There were green beans and cold cuts, including prosciutto. I could have survived on the bread alone. The olive oil is the best I ever had. The red wine was delightful. Even though the food all during the trip to that point was exceptional, I could feel the love and anticipation that went into preparing this meal for a special guest.

On Saturday, after a trip to the coffee bar to taste Wanda's favorite pastry and taking time to make things right with the owner when I needed hot water for my self-supplied totally decaf packet, we drove into Montecatini Alto where Wanda works as a pre-k teacher.

First, we stopped at a church which is over 1000 years old. There she met a former student and his mother. She hugged him and they talked in Italian for a short while. Even though I did not understand, I could feel how at home Wanda felt there.

Next, we visited the farm where the olive oil is made and where she and her mother bought their fresh produce. Three men, each of a different generation, greeted us. Again, I could feel how comfortable Wanda was with them.

We went on to visit her school, empty except for a custodian, now that school was over for a summer break.  Wanda said the building had been a Mussolini post, but that her school room on the other side had not been. The walls were covered with wildly creative products made by students. Once, more I could feel the love Wanda had for these children she got to spend time with. Outside, her colleague, (co-teacher) was driving by. She stopped for a minute and then went on her way.

We went on into the mountains, winding around narrow curvy roads, honking at the edge of each turn and drove to an ancient villa which had been purchased and refurbished by a young family.

 The woman was not able to receive us because she was expecting twins very soon. Her shirt was short, revealing a huge belly and protruding navel.  I remembered being in the same condition and could feel her exhausted state. I wonder now, how the birth process was and would love to hold those little babies.

Finally, we arrived at a quaint restaurant for lunch - eating being my favorite pastime. A shaded outside     area with orange and yellow plaid tablecloths, the place could have been featured as an exclusive place to dine. The owner was the father of one of Wanda's students. He was so very friendly and accommodating even with his limited English. We had wild boar and an absolutely delicious homemade pasta - thin as noodles, but cut into squares. As was the case everywhere, the house wine was absolutely delicious. Then we had mushrooms.. My friend, a chef, has said that you cant go to Tuscany and not have mushrooms. We had a traditional type and fried and took home what we didn't eat. Maria Pia had them for her dinner.
'
After lunch, we drove on to another village in the mountains. There we saw where Maria Pia had been born and lived her early years.Wanda related that these were not the happiest of times. We climbed up to the fortress, and to another ancient church build by the Medici family. We passed the home of billionaires, peeking in to see their fancy cars parked everywhere. They looked so out of place in these narrow streets and ancient buildings made of stones. The gardens which grew on the side of the hills, as steep as walls, were elegant. Everywhere and everything was ancient elegance. Back at the small flat, Wanda calls home, I showed the photos we had taken to Maria Pia. I could feel her sadness as well as the gentle memories of her roots.

Sunday morning, we checked the train schedule, and then drove to Wanda's favorite place, an inn in the Chianti region. We arrived at an ancient place, a farm which had been transformed into an exclusive inn.  We talked to the owner as she hung out her third story window. Well, Wanda talked to her, but, again, I felt Wanda's sense of belonging where she was.

We walked along a grassy path on a hill side to a mineral water fed pool overlooking the region below. There were grapevines all around us, as well as fruit trees, including my beloved apricot. We sat by the pool and meditated for awhile. Washing the water over our faces made the cool breeze even more refreshing.

Wanda senses herself as being called at this time to grow and to change her circumstances.

A promise I would claim for Wanda is that she feel the brilliance of her beautiful Spirit, the one she shares with her students and their parents, and I'm sure, like with me, all the people she meets.

Thank you Wanda, and Maria Pia, for trusting me enough to open the doors of your home, and sharing with me, your wonderful life in Tuscany. The gift of olive oil from the farm in Montecatini Alto will be finished far sooner that the memory of a journey into the real heart of Italy. And Thank  you Maria Pia, for the beautiful wallet made in Florence. I promise I will wear it out.

Most of all, thank you for the heart connections we have shared. We shared the pain of trying to communicate. You did a great job. I am sure you are still amazed to be a translator.You translate with your heart. I have felt it. And most of all, by being able to empathize with you, I was able to feel, like you, at home where I was there in Montecatini.

Such encounters with real lives is a precious gift, far surpassing the beholding of the wonders of the world. When has this been true for you?