Made in Kenya from old tires 25+ yrs ago. Jim has saved them all these years.

Why is it that writing a book  is a prerequisite for fame?

Whether world renowned or famous  in a discipline of one sort or another, this seems to be the case. I'm not referring here to cinema, sports, or other media fame. That is another whole topic to explore sometime.

While dining recently with colleagues of yore, I was addressed by the humble presence of their innate wisdom which stands on a lifetime of facilitating a sustainable future of local communities -  out of nothing but sheer creativity. I could go on and on about their contribution, worthy of three or four Ph.D.s.

 Others have written books about their pioneering theories and have created new forms of human community  in the 20th century. There has been a metamorphic evolution in consciousness - A great Spirit Movement - now dancing its way through the 21st century.

Human community is full of new theories, methods, approaches, demonstrations, leadership, experiments, inventions,and  untold solutions to age-old problems.

There are few who can step into the shoes of the likes of my colleagues of yore and claim the unknown fame which they deserve the most. An important element of the great adventure in the life of the Spirit Movement of our life's time, is the pausing to document the story of the journey and get it out to the world.

What are we waiting for?

What is your great story waiting to be told - the one where someone can step into your shoes and carry on, into the future, the adventure of pioneering Spirit's work among us?

Heart of a Super Moon

So many articles appeared about the Super Moon's arrival March 19,2011. Then the next day, there were many photos of folks having watched its rising . A strange feeling came over me as I reflected on this occurrence. I imagined people all over the world anticipating the rising of this moon. While his shot is the result of me moving the camera,,  it holds for me a hope for world peace. Shaped a bit like a heart, it's as if the heart of the people of the planet has risen for all to behold, embrace, and hold in their own hearts. One heart held in the hearts of all.

As close to earth as it has been in 18 years, its beats are universal. Can you feel it? Can you feel the heart beating?

Peaceful Embrace of Forgiveness

A budding wild rose

In my journal last year about his time I wrote:

I love these few days of the year. They arrive when the weather is 40s at night to low 70s during the day - not always the same time every year.

One of thousands of azaleas around the village right now

During these few days, azaleas bloom prolifically. White, purple, pink, or magenta, they fill this little village with a background blanket of color everywhere. Buds and blooms of wild roses and many types of trees scatter more beauty everywhere. here and there. Wisteria hangs gracefully like clusters of grapes with wings.

Wisteria grows like weeds

The orange blossoms broadcast Spring with a delicate fragrance which permeates the air everywhere.

Orange blossoms  bee buzzed 'round my head while taking this

Bees wander through the blossoms wistfully pollinating the blooms so oranges will g row. 

Taking off from the top of the water tower, baby birds begin gliding through the air. I can't see if they are buzzards, hawks, or eagles, but they gracefully float about on the wind for hours. I know. This year, I sat on my porch and watched them all afternoon with Beau Bear, my old cat and best friend, on my lap.

These few days every year in this village stand as a reminder that healing is cyclical -- by the presence of the abundance of new life everywhere.

At the same time,
Earth is ripping itself apart in earthquakes here and there and everywhere, taking human lives and history away with its destruction..
Angry war ravages human lives as well as old leaders and systems hold tightly to their reigns refusing to make way for the new energy.
Winter hangs on and returns with a vengeance, discouraging even a pansy, a daffodil, crocus or begonia which had sprouted with great anticipation of growth. 

Tomato sprouts waiting to be planted

Also, at the same time,  are so many people who are so privileged to not have to hunger or suffer physically, who nevertheless do not love themselves deep within.  This kind of suffering has to be the worst because there seems to be no cure, no solution, should such  happen to be available. These people do not feel the wonder of these few days which arrive every year, if not at the same exact time.

Wild roses almost sing their arrival after a cold spell.

I must love myself deep inside just a little bit at least. I know I must because I can breathe in the beauty of  these few days of this time of year and touch its healing power.

i wish this peaceful embrace of forgiveness  for everyone at least once in a life's time, and perhaps every year .

Please share a moment when this has been your experience. How do these experiences make us more human?

First Response to Post Trauma

Would we want it tto last forever anyway?

Occasionally something happens that is devastating. This happened to me this week. I felt powerless to respond. I only wanted the event to have not happened.

I cancelled life. That is the only way to describe it. I ate comfort food all day while talking on the phone to others devastated by the event. Listening is good.

I do not know how I made it through the day without screaming into the empty air or crying my eyes out.
But, after awhile,  I was able to reflect on what was happening  - what had happened. I finished watching a movie and took it back to the machine where I rented it for $1.00. The movie,  "Like Dandelion Dust".  had a similar theme as the devastating event of the day. I suppose it aided in processing the event, however indirectly and unconsciously. At the time, it was intended to be a distraction.

I also made my bed, planted seeds, washed my hair, wrote another thousand or so words, sent a few emails, completed a project I'd been working on for a month, washed clothes, shopped for company, exercised, and mailed a birthday present to my grandson.

Finally, when I couldn't find anything else to distract me, I sat in front of the TV to forget the whole thing for awhile. Unfortunately, I had seen everything already that might have been of interest. There seemed to be no escape.

I sat on the porch with the cats for an hour or two and was swept away by the whispering wind momentarily - a meditative focus, yes, but not for long enough.


Left here in a place between the no longer and the not yet, what is there left to do?

Trust. Let go of any expectations now. Dancing at his point was not possible, holding its promise for a time in the near future.

Believe, as dear Aunt Bea used to say, "Something good is meant to come from this.", -  wisdom remembered at just at the right time. I still preferred that this good would happen  without the unavoidable immediate future,

With one foot into the reality and one in the good that will come from this, this pause in time is acceptable. 

Own it!! And I let the paralyzing devastation pass on its own accord. And pass it did soon enough.

Space is Revealing

A signed Murano glass bird - a family treasure recently passed on to the next generation

We moved to a newly built home in 1952. It was a street with sixteen or so new homes, all built on a sand pit at the edge of a ravine. Several girls were my age, between six and ten,  and we all loved to build towns in the sand, using sticks, stones, leaves, berries, and whatever else we could find to build the towns.The towns were vast and magnificently intricate.

At scout camp in the summer, we built mansions with walls of pine needles in the woods. The mansions had many rooms - kitchens, sitting rooms, verandas, bedrooms, ballrooms, dining rooms - you name it, we thought of it and built it.

Eventually, I had my own home to fill with creative artistry, and later a home with a yard to landscape, as well. At one time, I created a zen garden in my yard. Because there were oak trees overhead, it required extensive maintenance. Eventually, it became a vegetable garden.

A zen garden in process of simplification and streamlining= a masterpiece in the making!!!

I had a small zen garden on a table in my office. It was very popular with students when they came in for counseling. The zen garden was the focus of an intentional design of the room itself.

Fung Shui is growing in popularity as people become interested in  creating healthy  and meaningful space.

Recently, I discovered Farm Town, a game linked to facebook.  I have been creating the space on my facebook farm for about a year and a half. Doing this is a very relaxing spiritual exercise. It also is an exercise in maintaining a short time limit for distraction. It is very easy to get "addicted" to playing these virtual games. As I engage in the ongoing expansion of this space, While playing, I pay attention to  how I am playing, fo my intent. What I do and what I add or delete reveals  where I am at the time. The game is not changing me. What I create reflects my life.

Living and working spaces reflect who people are and what is important to them. Space is strikingly revealing. 

Creating living and working space can be a spiritual exercise.  It doesn't take a lot of money. All it takes is what is there, arranging it to fit the intent of the space, planning for and adding what is missing, and feeling good about the result.

Look around at your space. Is it reflecting who you are and what you want for your life?

How to Burst a Bubble

It is high time to let go of an attachment to a non-functioning  relationship I've carried for almost half a century now.

The relationship ended at what has been termed the attraction stage of obsession and did not continue to anxious, obsessed, and destructive. That wouldn't be like me to go there anyway.

The attraction has been a comfortable irritation. Yes, that is possibly an oxymoron. That's exactly this  has been.

I wanted very much to "get this bubble burst", so I meditated on the solution.  I checked in with my meditative council, and was advised to ask a  Psychosynthesis colleague, one knowledgeable in clinical psychiatry. One I could also trust.

After I shared my dilemma, she considered my frame of  pathological reference - the "obsession wheel", as it is called - and where I placed myself on the wheel. Then, instead of responding to that,  she raised a valid question. "Which Psychosynthesis techniques would you feel most comfortable using to process this?"

Disidentification. I live that attachment, but I am more than that attachment...., etc. (exercise available upon request)

A gestalt conversation with the one who was this attached attraction. I have my say. Then sitting in the other's chair, I take on his being and say where he is with this. Back and forth until all the cards are on the table and we both have had our inner self say on the subject of his hanging around as a long played out past.  I felt it all in my neck - this whole attachment has been a big pain in the neck!

A guided imagery to a new place in which the Higher Self has been accessed to facilitate a healed image of myself. freed of this illusory attraction,  living in the reality of today.

I was living in a memory which had long ago died and gone to heaven. Letting go was long overdue.

The final stage of this process has been to develop a daily routine - a discipline - of paying attention to what is going on in the world today and spend a few minutes absotbing its ultimate nowness.

We all have attachments which are no longer real and no longer needed. How do you let these go?


 

Fear Not

An eighteen year old young woman is being trained as the Zumba instructor. She just graduated from high school and has been finding her way into the next phase of her life on this earth. She greets us as we enter with an energetic "O la" and maintains that high energy level as she guides us through the daily routine. Her presence is pure delight.

However, I noticed that I was experiencing her as totally annoying. In meditation, I asked myself, "Why is this happening?" Instead of an answer, I received the question, "What is your greatest fear?" If I wasn't annoyed before, I sure was now. It hadn't occurred to me that my annoyance with her had its source in fear.

What was I fearing?

As I continued to reflect on this intrusion, I wound my way into a cave of bright, clear, vibrant energy. A source within me that had been stored away for what feels like eons.  Believing I might perish by this fire, I ask myself,. "Do I dare feel this energy?"

 My imagination returned to this young woman of 18. I imagined myself at 18, dancing all day in a gym, leading women of all grown up ages. I can tell you right now, when I was 18, this would not have been me. I could not even get up in front of a class and read a book report or give a speech.

Yet here she was, giving her all, confidently and with boundless energy. She was so effulgent, I could feel her joyful heart. She was supporting a strengthening part of me which only shows up on very rare occasions. As I reflect on the situations of my life in which I just dove in and swam with joy, I recall a shark coming along and taking a bite out of my leg - every time. I'm sure that is not a 100% record, but darn close. The result? Failure, retreat, regret that I had let a little thing like a shark biting my leg get in the way of what I was loving..

Recently, I had the opportunity to strut my stuff, so to speak. I did this in front of 100 or so people. I carried it out passionately, even got lost in it all.. I experienced a radical transformation from deep within myself.  No shark came along and bit my leg, either.

Here we are, this 18 year old young woman and this 66 year old "old broad", sharing the experience of giving everythnng that we have to give passionately into the moment we are living.

This annoyance I feel, is a biting shark, not this young woman's great energy.  I say, "Go away shark! You've had your day!"

"It is our turn to have our  moments in the spotlight of passionate expenditure.

We have the go ahead  to  feel joy in every cell of our body and it is our privilege to let it guide our dancing bodies through the day. 

What is your greatest fear? 

Walls

She builds a wall of thoughts and stories.

Vines of ideas carry blossoms and beginnings sharing the shine of beauty.

Music crawls over the side and drops like the sound of a gong.

Children smile.

Memories made.

by Caroline Truslow Reece

Projection: the art of experiencing oneself in another as if it was only the others presence, not a mirror of one's own presence.

Empathy: the art of experiencing another's  presence in oneself as if it was a shared experience.

My experience of this poem is just such a metaphor of  Projection and Empathy.

I see a field stone wall, about waist high, wandering across a lawn of fallen leaves, with an old oak, birch, or maple scattered here and there.On daily walks,  before flowers bloom, the scene is utterly other. I see, feel, hear, taste, smell the scene, attributing the sensory experience as that which exists in the scene.

While walking another time, vines will be filled with  flowers growing along the wall.  I see white trumpet like shaped blooms with green centers. I feel the bloom filled vine creeping gracefully along the wall. I see it shine.  I hear its silent song as my heart begins to bloom  a it drops over the side of the wall.

The gong resonates from every cell of my being.

As the children smile, the union with this poem becomes a precious memory which shines in my heart.


What's creeping over the walls you have built to protect yourself from possible pain?

All is Well!

Last year was a miracle occasioning endless gratitude.
Last year was the year of illumining the past in all its splendor.
Last year began with a new year's resolution to open the closed doors.
The doors are open. The past is approved. All is well.

This year my new year's resolution is to turn the spotlight on the unfolding future.
So far, this year, I participated in the wedding celebration of my first born grandchild, Kathleen.
Last weekend, I traveled to Colquitt,GA to experience and participate in its Building Creative Communities Conference  - been really curious about what Jan Sanders and Rob Work have been up to and they facilitated the Art of Social Change track.

At the end of this month, I'm guiding an AAP (Association for the Advancement of Psychosynthesis) regional retreat in Sarasota. It's a pioneering venture of a new operating form for this North American organization.

The author of Men are From Mars and Women are from Venus - John Gray - wrote another book about life phases. In it he said that there is a natural progression, but it doesn't always work out that way. So, if you missed out, or skipped a phase, it is natural to fulfill that part of one's own life journey at some point. He didn't use those words, but it's been so long since I read it, that's the way I remember it.

Well, I skipped over close family, and last year was bringing that almost full circle, with just a few more connections to be made to complete that phase and enjoy a new future. as family.

I got so lost in becoming self-sufficient enough to retire, it has taken well into this second year of retirement to get accustomed to following my own agenda  - or following my Bliss (as Campbell puts it) and not someone else's. Living life this way is. a delight. I feel healthier and the thoughts that constantly run through my mind are increasingly gentle and creative.

Where did we ever come up with the notion that care for all of the aspects of our lives is not being responsible? I am happy to look around me and see so many of us relaxing into our new creative edges, dancing gently instead of marching fervently and running madly into burnout.

This year, I'm going to go places and participate fully in events.

These are the times and we are the people is being carried on a new song, a new dance. All is well.

Espirit de Danz!

An Unfinished Draft of a Beginning of a Potential Logo

When I retired, I found it necessary to begin some formal exercise. When working, I got to walk five miles or so a day around the campus.

There was always a reason to be walking from one place to another - something to accomplish - get done - take care of  right away.

Getting into a regular exercise routine  simply for the sake of staying fit and connecting with nature took time.

I walked to the end of the street and back, taking millions of pictures as I went. Needless to say, this was not a power walk. I had to begin just mindfully walking if this were to be an effective ritual.

I went to the YMCA gym to walk on the treadmill when it rained, was too hot to walk, or too cold.  There rarely was anyone there in the morning. I felt uncomfortable when no one else was there, fearing the possibility of being mugged. It was free, but too stressful to keep me motivated.

So, I signed up at Curves, a six  minute walk from my home, paid my $36.80 for a month and gave it a go. At the time of morning when I would go, there were a few other women who came. We got to know each other and I looked forward to exercising daily. During that first month, I found out my supplemental insurance covers the cost, which added a little more to my motivation. I now had some extra bucks to add walking on the treadmill in the gym (given the weather conditions) in the same building.

With my Kindlebook and ipods stocked up with audio books and Abba, I got into a regular five days a week routine of an hour's walk, thirty minutes around the Curves circle of machines, and some yoga stretching.

A great circle of friends developed among the women. Nevertheless, it became somewhat tedious. With  my neighbor accompanying me daily, I kept going anyway. But, a crisis in motivation was definitely rearing its ugly head.

Just in time, the owner of Curves announced that Zumba would be added to the repertoire. We all anticipated its arrival, began learning the moves, got serious about this new addition to our daily exercise.

Zumba is dance. We dance for thirty minutes and do the machines, too. It is a high energy experience. We laugh together and feel great joy. Daily dancing for thirty minutes, sets the pace for dancing through the day.

What was missing was the dance. Now we dance.

I noticed, as I read through this slice of life, that I changed from "I" to "We".
What happens in the dance.?   
Community happens.

Dancing at end of Art of Social Change Workshop, Colquitt, GA 2/ 2011

Shall we dance? 

In what situation would dancing be called for in your life at this time?

What a Wedding!

Justin, Kathleen, and Paige, siblings.- Caroline's children, my granchildren

As the circle of biological and extended families continues to expand, the wonder of it all continues to fill our hearts with overflowing joy.This last weekend,my newfound granddaughter's wedding became the celebration of a life's time.

Kthleen, Caroline's daughter, and my first born biological grandchild, married Bryan in grand style, with elegance and grandeur and great fun. The ambience welcomed everyone into this great circle of love and joy overflowing. Anyone present could not help but participate in the feeling of being madly in love with it all, a feeling which the bride and groom were sharing and eminating abundantly.

Kathleen and Bryan Quinn

The very modern church was packed.  The bride and groom giggled reverently through the ceremony, everyone was smiling, and the service was conducted with sacred delight.

In the great hall next door, its huge space had been transformed into a winter wonderland. People got to know each other, enjoyed the feast prepared by the women of the church, took pictures, and of course, danced through the afternoon.  into the evening - if not on the dance floor, then in their Souls.

The bride's father, Ken, shared that it was more than a wedding reception for him. It was a great community celebration. He had come out of retirement to volunteer for a special assignment in Iraq, and was very grateful to have returned home safely. His platoon were among those at the reception. The church community was there, as were best friends from many different places, and of course the gracious family.

Bryan and Kathleen dancing

But, the wonder of it all shown  brightly in the dancing. Whether dancing in the center of the room, or moving gently in our hearts, there was finally the dancing of Soul's purpose. Such a blessing, one for which I am so very grateful, to live in a time where stigmas of shame are no longer honored and acceptance of the way life really is can be honored so deeply.

What a wonder filled celebration this  last weekend has been!

There has been a paradigm shift of metamorphical proportion. We have all experienced it. We can continue as great drama queens holding on to stifling and desecrating mindsets of what is acceptable and what is shameful. OR we can dance in this great circle  filled with Spirit's Light.  I an grateful for being among those who choose to dance in this light.

Where have you been experiencing this grand  metamorphosis and it's grand celebration?

Unfinished Blog Entries

While beginning the process of creating the next blog, I searched through, as I do weekly, those which I began and never finished.  I am not sure why I didn't finish and publish them, but as of this moment, none of these entries beckons me to continue. Only one, a poem written by my daughter, Caroline, which haunts me and beckons me into a deeply reflective space. That one, I will spend my time on this week.

 What I had begun, however, may interest you, or it may not. I share them with you here. You decide.

I didn't record who gave me permission to use this.

 

One pattern of behavior which I can no longer tolerate, and in fact despise, is that of ignoring of value of another's creative genius - ("I might add -especially mine" , she utters tongue in cheek.)

I belonged to an organization which placed value on some and no value on others, even though both contributed with equal value. There was the in group, and the rest of us.

The nicest people fell into this pattern of behavior. I never ceased to be amazed at its prevalence. 

Entering A creative leadership cycle.

Employing several reflection catalyzing techniques

Every year, I take a short retreat to write a short story of the year just spent.  A few days later, I write a story of the coming year.

This year was no exception.

Yes, I enjoy expressing myself creatively, but I experience happiness when the work I am doing with someone or a group results in their creative expression. The most special memories of these occasions:

 - Arts Festival in Rochester

- Teaching painting to a group of welfare women

- Psychodrama

- Leading group in making cards

There are two ends of the EGO spectrum  in this world. Needy People  and People with purpose. . Who am I to judge?  It doesn't take the use of a  magnifying glass or a microphone to see and hear the difference.

There are perspectives and there are opinions. I can respect a perspective, but even if it is my own, I challenge opinions.

I loved Sydney. I loved being able to walk right off the street and  into a deli,  pick up some fish and chips and a beer and sit in the park eating  lunch.

I was having a conversation with a dear friend the other day. She and I go back to grade school together. We recollected our various adventures and somehow focused on the uniforms we remember people wearing.

- The porters in the club car on the train with bow ties and white gloves. 

- The waitresses with neatly folded and names embroidered on the pocket and  small black aprons.

-The service station men with their white driving jackets and name on their chest. 

-The nurses in white wearing the caps of their alma mater.

My life is full of contradictions at the moment.

Positives and negatives in balance.

Opposition and agreement in balance.

I want it all to be positive and agreeable.

But that isn't wholeness.

Now the persona others see, that's a different story.

I have so many regrets about motherhood. It is as if it all happened and I never got to be part of it.  what was wrong with me?

Nothing. I lived in a moment of time that was between turning the child over to a nanny or nursemaid  and having to work for a living. Children born "out of wedlock" were considered illegitimate, although now we are all clear that isn't the child's burden at all. The responsibility for not taking responsibility for the care and nurture of a child is totally the burden of the parents.

I lived a lifestyle in which we, together, participated in leaving our children with others for the sake of the grand old revolution.  How awful it was, in retrospect. How awful that I had to make that choice. Others of us didn't. I will never understand my weakness then and there.

However, as Tillich  put it so graciously - we are accepted unconditionally.

In  about 1984, I was drawn to Tarot cards. It began with Daughters of the Moon - the reason: the archetypes of the cards were representative of different cultures, not just one. Today, I stick closely to Angeles Arien's interprettion and use Alistaire Crowley's deck. Tarot, a reflection of one's own Soul. What a gift to have been given - the return of ancient and once popular abilities.

Thy is it we begin some journeys and abandon them for another?

 

Walmart the Bulldozer

Sometimes I feel like I'm almost gone...

In this County and town where I live, there someday will be a new Walmart Distribution Center. The land has been purchased and the commissioners voted to go for it. The majority of the people don't want it. But, such is the democratic process of representative government.  The majority rule applies to who gets voted into office to make the decisions for the rest of us.

The Chamber of Commerce, other business representatives , and the county commission, claim that what is needed most is jobs and a broader tax base. This is true, of course.

Then, there is a contingent, adamant that this not be built because it will tax the health of the environment by causing air and water pollution. They are concerned that the laid back traditional ambience of small town living will die. They are also concerned that so many trucks driving by the schools and through the small towns on the road is not only a traffic hazard, but has the potential for serious noise pollution.

Then there are those whose land and businesses are right next to this place and their farms are in danger because of the acres of asphalt that will be poured and toxins will run off onto their land when trucks are washed and when it rains.

There has not been a strong voice come forth with a proposal to create a polytechnic type training center, an extension of the community college system or otherwise. What if there was an available training site for learning trades and business skills which resulted in establishing businesses in the community?  The notion has been presented, but the economic crisis is apparently too great to step back, plan, and function long range for the future of this rural area.

The Walmart Distribution Center is scheduled to be built.   The political structure is the subservient ally to the economic tyrant. End of story.

I would like to see a polytechnic operating here. At the School Board, there is a lot of stirring of the vocational education pot. It needs an interface with what the area needs. But, it also needs funding to make it happen.  At this point, I'm not clear of anything else I can do, except write this blog. I could send it to the local journal as a letter to the editor. I also am feeling like the impotent ally of the economic bulldozer. 

What is it going to take to create the world we want?

The Art of Embellishment

The greatest part of story telling is the embellishment. Take the bones and flesh of the whole  truth - and nothing but the truth - and add the experience of it - with a dash of metaphor to make it even more real.

I was terrified of the wilderness. Reluctantly, I got off the matatu (small pickup with small camper on the back, capable of packing in 50 people,  like sardines, as I recall).

The walk to the village was a good 9 kilometers still, along a narrow path through trees  and a lot of underbrush. I took in a breath of courage, focusing on the beauty of being in an African jungle and the promise of a great week ahead.

I proceeded along the path, listening to a distinct rustling in the underbrush. Having become accustomed to being followed by children, I assumed that the children were following along in the bushes. I imagined them as guardians keeping me safe from any dangers which might be lurking along the path.

Fearlessly, I proceeded, enjoying the wind whistling through the trees which shaded me from the burning sun.

As I approached the village clearing, there was a crowd of people who lived there, shouting and pointing. Wondering why there were no drums and native dancing to go along with this welcome, I nevertheless, began waving back.

Soon enough, I heard the words they were shouting, "Simba, Simba!!!" As unfamiliar with Swahili as I was at the time, I knew what they were pointing at with such vigor.

When I arrived well within their proximity, I turned and indeed saw a big old lion. He had been kind enough to accompany me along the path. It was he, with his huge mane, who had kept me safe, not the hoards of children I had imagined.

While some in the village were building a fire to send the lion on his way, I thanked him for escorting me through the jungle. He returned with a low key roar, and walked back into the jungle. No one was hurt.

I do have to admit, that I experienced some after-shock a few minutes later.

This has been a true story of unexpected adventure, laced with metaphor.  As you reflect on your own journey, focus on such an adventure you have experienced. Please share it in the comments. It is well worth the telling.

Black-eyed Peas and Paradigms

On New Year's Eve, the warmer weather  was passing, with a cooler front coming in just behind it. This clearing is just a portent of the new front.

I ate my three spoonfuls of black eyed peas on January 1st, claiming a promise for the year with each one. I dutifully consumed a fair portion of collard greens to assure prosperity.

A favorite old wives tale is that New Year's Day's activities is the beginning of how the year will be.

Accompanied with lunch and a solitary toast with the leftover champagne, I reflected on what I was doing that day that I would be doing all year. I really had to dig because I was out in what is left of the wilderness of Florida, doing some of the heavy chores for a friend who had just had surgery,  and watching NCIS reruns, while the guys" were off hunting and checking out the 60,000 acres.

There wasn't too much I could do about the external situation. As for the rest, I was depressed and didn't want to be where I was. I didn't want a year of waiting on someone else's agenda and neither did I want to be off doing my own thing - alone as usual.

And most of all, I don't want to have to be spending the year wishing I was somewhere else, doing something different.

Last year, everything I attempted and accomplished, was a checking off one more slice of unfinished business on my bucket list. Lots to be done. Endless list. 

Last year, the doors of the past opened wide. Gratitude ruled every waking moment.  A great "No Matter What - You are Accepted_ reigned.  The Hallelujah Chorus was never performed with such passionate resolution.  

And here I am still alive to venture into another year.  Not what I had expected. Must have been that new pacemaker. This year, therefore,  there will be no bucket list to check off.

The edge of the two fronts on the northwestern horizon on New Year's Day

This year is an adventure into the unknown. Whatever I do, it will be because I'm enjoying the journey. I will only partake in that which makes me happy.  Selfish?  I do not believe so. Adventure and happiness are valuable dynamics for Spirit's health.

This shift in consciousness is like throwing away a perfectly good pair of shoes because they hurt my feet and are totally distracting me from the fullness of the moment.  I wouldn't want to wish that on anyone else, so I wouldn't even give them to the poor.

I'm going to explore being really happy this year. Increase the old bliss tolerance level, as Joseph Campbell would put it. That begins with having no expectations or conditions on what constitutes or doesn't constitute happiness. At the same time...

You will never be happier than you expect. To change your happiness, change your expectation. - Bette Davis

I'm on a treasure hunt. Just imagining a treasure hunt makes me happy.  I will go where I feel drawn to go and breathe in what feels right. I'm sure I came to this intention by the guidance of one of two of the maps my favorite spirit giants have shared. I am grateful for their gifts to the world and for the role model for happiness they provide.

What do I have to loose? The end of a paradigm. The adventure into a new one. Same journey. New dance.

Many friends have expressed this kind of shift occurring in their lives right now. How has it been manifesting in your life right now?

The Gift of a Wreath

A wreath of artificial everygreen and artificial fruit and berries - real pine cones and nuts. It sits in the center of the coffee table in my living room.

I don't remember the origin and historical significance of a wreath with nuts and fruits ,pine cones, and dried berries. I remember being mesmerized by them when I was young,  eventually creating one every year for the center of the table. Nowadays, I pull out of storage one I made of jeweled fruit several years ago. After, reattaching the one or two which have fallen from their hot glued place,  I put it in the center of the table, and in the center of it, I place a candle.

The encounters with these wreaths are enough to fill the wreath with meaning. 

One of the memories, or maybe more than one, was the relating the story of its historical significance. Even though I can't remember the story, I remember that there is history embedded in the wreath with fruit, nuts, pine cones, and berries. 

The wreath itself, along with its tokens of a harvest, stand as the unending recycling of life.

Best of all, is the priceless sense of awe I observe in the eyes of someone who never saw this kind of wreath before. The energy in the room begins to dance in wonder.

Then the questions begin.  What is it about a wreath that makes us more human? 

Happy New Year Everyone!

Solstice Full Moon Eclipse

Painted on a storefront window in Ybor City

There must be singing -

A choir, a chorus, a lone bird

Or an aria center stage,

  Carrying the journey

To point of Return,

For a moment

Resting gently on the edge

Of  a disappearing sun.

Full moon eclipsed by

Shadow of Earth passing by.

Dark and starry sky.
Reflection.
Silence.

Then, a deep chanting
Heartbeat,

Sound of Sun

Beginning its return.

Celebration. Joy. Peace

And music - Singing in
Another incarnation
of new possibilty. 

What is it that no longer supports your journey at present? Are you willing to let it go now?

Where is your heart beating its drum of beckoning?  How will you respond this year?

May we celebrate this holiday season together, wherever we are, with joy, with hope, with peace.

Empathy for a Racoon

 Mama Raccoon on the porch, looking for dinner.

Crescent City is a very small town. There is no "down town" as such. Shops are spread out along a couple of main streets. There's a church of about every denomination. This is a rural area which rises between two lakes. While the homes of the original block are built in close proximity to each other, there is still plenty of room for possums, squirrels, raccoons, snakes, an occasional fox or bobcat, peacocks, sand cranes, sea gulls, and alligators.

For the past two or three months, a raccoon has been making the rounds to cat food dishes in the neighborhood, which are outside for the most part.  There were two attempts to shoot the raccoon with a 22, but the raccoon was on a serious mission for this food and was not about to get shot. Most of us did not agree with this anyway - not to mention that discharging fire arms in this block is illegal. We all did, however, agree, that the raccoon had to go.

One day recently, the raccoon was on the porch. I had climbed the stairs and turned the corner. There was the raccoon at the cats' food dishes, eating away, seemingly oblivious to my presence. I stood there,  calm and centered, watching the raccoon. Finally, it noticed me and was spooked.

Instead of running away, it looked up at me and we stared in each other's  eyes for a moment.Then, off it scooted within one inch of my boots as it passed.  I was convinced that this was a mother who had little ones waiting for her return. She was looking me straight in the eye, appealing to my own maternal instincts, I had no doubt

Sure enough, the next day, she was spotted, leading her babies to the nearby  cat food bowls. They have grown past their gestation phase, and ready to face the world. . I was grateful for the  nurturing mother archetype which has late-bloomed in my Soul.

Mama Raccoon up a tree, either scoping out the neighborhood for food sources, or about to raid a squirrel;s stash, or...

Shooting her was no longer on anyone's agenda. The animal control person is no help at all. We, the neighbors are having to figure out how to gather up the family and take it to the "real" country where they can thrive and survive. There was still some concern, occasioning caution, that, since the raccoon gets so close, that she might be rabid.

I would say, EMPATHY HAPPENED, when Mama Raccoon looked into my eyes and I back into hers. Rabid or on a mission, this creature is alive and we are connected as One within this neighborhood.

Occasionally, we are  reminded that creatures and people coexist in the same environment. We have the opportunity to share the space. This is a different perspective than one of eliminating all annoyances as they disrupt our plans and routines.

Will you share an encounter you have had with a creature,, one in which Empathy happened?

Advent Aging

 Send in the clowns. There must be the clowns.

At this time of year, I am always filled with anticipation. It may be because I was brought up involved in church and it is now Advent. I remember, now, the four weeks of  "O Come Emmanuel" , lighting a new candle each Sunday in anticipation of lighting the white one in the center on Christmas.  I loved living in New York City at this time of year. I especially miss Paul Winter's presentations of the Solstice celebration at St. Johns Cathedral.

Here in Crescent City, at this time of year, the Presbyterian Church holds its annual holiday tea. There are gifts and crafts that the Women's Club spent all year making.

Some of the crafts made by the women during the year

The silver tea service comes out of storage and sits at the head of a table covered with novelty finger foods - sandwiches without crusts, various types of fudge, and tasty cookies. There is a nativity scene in its center that looks like gold trimmed] Lenox.china.

 The tea table full of goodies

This year, when I walked around the big room, the man who lives around the corner was playing holiday tunes on the piano.

 Alan at the piano

Betty, whose very rich and exciting life I had written up in my column , "It's Your Turn, in April, didn't recognize me.  I've known her for years. She finally recalled me through telling me about her two Himalayan cats- which she doesn't have, but I do.

 Betty, bless her heart.

There was a new woman serving the tea and coffee. Mrs. Suggs always wore a fancy cocktail dress for the occasion. She is not able to get around any longer.

Two women in their late seventies, pillars of the Women's Club for years, looked ten years younger than last year. Several women my age were tending to the food and beverage supply, all donned in red aprons.

 Patricia in her apron at the kitchen door

When Minnie Todd was no longer able to make the divinity fudge and meringues, I vowed to pick up the tradition. I did it for one year - made hundreds of meringues - someone came and bought most of them for a party she was having.

Wilhelmina, who for years made framed trees from old jewelry and novelties made of beads, had reported last year was the last. But, she was back with a whole new collection of framed trees, but was having a close out sale on the beaded crafts. I bought them all.

 Wilhelmina and her artwork - framed trees made of old pieces of jewelry

Every year, I buy raffle tickets for a crocheted afghan or colorful handmade quilt. Finally, this year I won a raffle.

 The afghan I won in the raffle

This holiday tea used to be the highlight of the season for Crescent City. Now, on the same day,  the South Putnam Women's Club holiday bazaar happens on in the park. There's even a parade.

 Santa is a big part of the annual parade

As I sat munching on dainty finger foods, and sipping decaf coffee from a real china cup, I observed everyone interacting. I used to know everyone who was in the room. I could go sit anywhere and get caught up on what was happening. This year, I sat next to a young woman and two seven year old girls. The young woman and I smiled at each other, while watching the girls were thoroughly enjoying  their goodies and tea served from real china cups.

Then, I got up, took a lot of pictures, and went on my way.

This is a slice of life. It is slice of the mundane on the one hand. On the other hand, t is a glimpse of the inevitability of change. I just wrote about what was going on, never mentioning the churning going on inside of me about the absurdity I experience in the passing away-ness of everything.  Every time I go to places where I have been going for years, I discover that everything - yes everything - is very obviously changing.

Yet there is a certain constancy in every present. For me, it is that there is a beginning, there is an ending, and in between, there is a clown on a bicycle, determined to dare me to anticipate newness.  How do you describe that constancy?

A Black Madonna

 Black Madonna at St. Baume

While reading The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd, I became curious about the Black Madonna image she used in the novel.  I googled "black madonna "and read what seemed like endless sites on this icon which dates back to the 11th century and was really popular during the Middle Ages. Also,in some circles (!), she is considered the alter ego of the Virgin Mary.

Some accounts even trace her back to Mary Magdalene who  was said to have been Jesus wife and bore him a  son, the heirs of which became Kings. Eventually, she migrated with her son  to Saintes Maries-de-la-Mer and  then lived in a cave in St. Baume  in the French Alps for the rest of her life. There is a Black Madonna icon in a chapel there today.

There are over 300  sites for  making a pilgrimage to a Black Madonna throughout Europe, When I learned this,  I decided I had to go - at least to France.

Then, I began to read Traveling with Pomegranates, also by Sue Monk Kidd. In this novel, written somewhat as a diary, mother and daughter travel to Greece, Turkey, and France. One chapter is from daughter's perspective, the next from mother's perspective, alternatively throughout the book. (As an aside, I might add that they are both in the process of unfolding the future of their lives as writers.)

The account describes how Sue came to use the Black Madonna as the symbol on the honey jars in The Secret Life of Bees - from their encounter with Black Madonna sacred sites on their journeys.

Their descriptions of the sites was so real to me, I have, in essence, now been there along with them, taking my own inner journey on the way.

A dear colleague has been a Black Madonna in my life.  Mary was her name, as the truth would have it. She was the one and only friend  and colleague, up to the time I got to know her,who awakened that center in me where loving myself became real. Her continued affirmation of the Self that I am, made it possible for me to have the confidence to  reach into the bottom of my own heart and pray - yes PRAY - for what I really want - for the first time in my life. I was 46 at the time I had that experience.

Mary passed into the next realm the same day as my brothers and I were burying my mother's ashes. I was going to visit her on my way back to New York City, but couldn't get hold of anyone.  I found out soon, why.

Later in the year, I received a black necklace that had been Mary's. Her husband, Rob, and sons were sending them to people according to Mary's wishes.

As I thought, today,  about making a pilgrimage to France, to St. Baume, especially, I remembered that black necklace. I remembered Mary's ability to affirm life as it is and experience the gift that the moment has given.

I don't have to go to France. My life has been blessed with a Black Madonna. She has performed her miracle in my life. I took the black necklace out of its place in the jewelry box. I will keep it closer to me now. It will remind me that I have been  able to reach into the bottom of my heart and ask  for what is now coming to be, slowly, but surely.

Most of the time, no one would ever catch me saying "pray". I would say "standing in the victory", or "claiming a promise", or "creating a new reality". These are all very meaningful phrases to express the same reality. But,  "praying' is appropriate as well.

 Cave is located in this mountainous area

 

As you reach into the bottom of your heart, what is it you want - really want? Ask a Black Madonna for it to come to be now. When it does what will you give her in return?

The Door is Open Now

 Caroline and Paige picked me up for our trek to Little Compton

In April 2010, a door of truth opened. It had  been shut tightly and sealed securely for 46 years. When asked about it, I solemnly denied its existence. It was never discussed.That's the way truths of this nature were handled way back then.  However, the times have changed. 

The seal was broken when I reconnected with my daughter, Caroline. I gave her up for adoption and was expected to go on living as if it had never happened. And so I proceeded into the future. I never  told  a single soul.Well, one time only did I tell someone, then turned around an denied it. Only a few knew and it was never ever discussed.
When Caroline and I met in April, in Rhode Island, the door opened just a bit more with the awareness in meeting her son, Justin and daughter, Paige.- no longer 3 sons, now three sons AND a daughter - no longer 3 grandsons, now a fourth AND a granddaughter. My heart was overflowing with gratitude for the revelation of truth and for these precious blessings.

 Justin and Paige just before he's off on his motorcycle trip to Florida

At the end of June, the door opened even a bit more when Caroline  connected with her daughter, Kathleen.  in Boston. They phoned  me, and I met even another granddaughter - my first born grandchild. I want  to meet her in real-time. I will take her the afghan I crocheted a few years ago to give to my first granddaughter, never even remotely dreaming that she is already grown. 

Paige with Kathleen on the phone with me for our first connection

On Monday of this week, where I was up north (in Massachusetts), Caroline and Paige  picked me up. We drove to Little Compton, Rhode Island where I met the couple who adopted her  - her parents, Pauline and James. It was a long awaited connection for us all. Now, the door is wide open.  

  Pauline and James, the lovely people who adopted Caroline

Justin, on a pilgrimage of his own, arrived on his motorcycle for Thanksgiving. Having met Russ already, he now got to meet Randy and Rob - his three new uncles. 

 Russ, Justin, Randy, and Rob on Thanksgiving Day

I would love to have a family reunion, get everyone together in one place , but that's probably not going to happen.any too soon,. At the same time,  there's still some real-time connections to be made now,  including Caroline's  meeting her father. 

 Opening this door is turning out to be an amazingly healing adventure after all. Whenever did history create such a stigma around hiding the existence of a child born out of a sense of being in love? Regrets I do have for letting go of my beloved child. Yet, I have come to understand that it was the best decision then, given the reality of it all at that time. Who made the rules that a child could be whisked away and forgotten? I never felt ashamed, yet I complied. Why did I comply? Why was I supposed to feel shame?  Who ordained that these doors be closed tight and sealed forever?

But, who would live by those rules today?  We have walked through the door of a life's time into today.  The truth is out in the open. The door is open. All of life is open. From here we proceed, hand in hand with the truth of it all. This is good.

My story is very personal, close to my heart. I am willing to be open and vulnerable because I have found a place in the center of my heart which radiates unconditional love and forgiveness into all of my memories.

I challenge us all to connect with this center within each of us, and radiate it into the radically changing world in which we live, and to the healing of this planet's systems. How will you go about this?