Enough with the inner journey already!

New growth on juice orange tree in the yard

Except for Zumba in the morning and dinner with Dick, I spend most of my day alone. I am co-chair of a not-for-profit organization in North America (AAP) which takes up some time. Otherwise, I am  writing,  or cleaning, reading, or meditating to the music,  (and veging out with reruns, of course!)

The inner work has been important and the healing consistently providing new strength for being a co-chair. However, a shift is occurring and I am becoming aware of a desire to respond to the world around me. It's like a magnet - or being a teenager with puppy love.

I thought about going back to work in a new after school program - 2 two hours a day, four days a week, but just couldn't bring myself to fill out the update to send in. I will not do what I do not love anymore.

I made gluten free oatmeal and almond flour chocolate cookies for myself. I made chocolate drop cookies for Dick. I prepared and canned 8 pints of jalapeno relish and packed four quarts of them whole, and froze some other hot peppers.

Then, I began a painting on a canvas I had stretched four years ago. It is the missing link on this vast and deep spirit journey I've been on. The reason that it is the link is this. It gets me creating scenarios for how I might once again live a life of service with meaningful purpose - how to serve the healing of the ecological disasters of our time, contribute to  political systems transformation, shift perspectives on the distribution of resources, join in on the new forms of education needed for our children!

As I paint, scenarios flood into my imagination with the same vengeance as have been memories of yore. How refreshing this has been.  My paintings will not be famous, nor will I. But, I experience happiness while painting a picture and creating a scenario for social change at the same time.

The days are over when I go traipsing through the villages again or attempt to coordinate another retreat. But, my imagination is on a roll and something new is in the forming - something that includes being happy, as well,  - is bound to result.

Where have  you been drawn to responding to the crisis the world is in right now?  What is the key to this happening?

Heart of My Heart

From my birthday, even dead, they are a wonder

I heard a song on the TV a week or so ago that I remembered from childhood:"Heart of my heart" meant friends were dearer then. Too bad we had to part. I know a tear would glisten, if once more I could listen, to that gang that sang "Heart of my Heart:.

 

My friends and I knew it by heart (!) and performed it in the little shows we'd put on in the neighborhood.

Then, on Pandora,  I listened to Emmy Lou Harris singing, I Will Dream -- "In my imagination, you are my true companion...". It struck me that this was more of a song sung by Soul to the listener, rather than the listener to a lost love. It was for me at this moment, any way.

Then,  a short while later, I heard Emmy Lou again, this time singing  All You Have is Your Soul, by Tracy Chapman. I began to listen to this call from the deeps of my  heart. I began to be mindful of the message in these and each song I heard for the next few days.


On a TV rerun of one of the early Bones (my favorite vege out show), in the song toward the end, in the background, the words were, "...Bring on the wonder. Bring on the song.  I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long...."


Each of the songs I am hearing are awakening memories of yore, both fond memories and those I would rather not have lived - and others along this spectrum.

I wake up in the morning and snippets of images of yore come in with  a vengeance. So, rather than wake up and spend the day grieving needlessly, I created a little ritual  of affirmation for each. I let it come into the screen of my partial waking, remember it, acknowledge its impact, give it a hug and a kiss, thanking it for its appearance and the lesson I learned from having lived it, and send it on its way.  


Some amazing stuff has been coming in to say, " Hello," before moving on to its place in the orchestra of my life's time. 


I am all these memories of my life's time, and I am more than these memories - all their physical, emotional, mental, spiritual relationship to me.

I am well ready to heed  the call from Soul to allow its presence, from within the deep center of my heart, as my true companion.

Photography by Jeri Umble, from her garden

Change When it all Turns to Minutia!

Tree that survived wounding early in life. Look at it today!!

Seven of Pentacles Reversed

Getting mired down in the details of a projects. Feeling there is room much to do alone, so you stop working altogether. Tired of waiting for goals  to manifest. Working too hard without taking time out to enjoy the benefits you are receiving. Spending too much time going over the details and not enough time enjoying the journey.

That was me. Yes, indeedy! And a lot of other people of whom I know this to be true.

B-U-R-N-O-U-T!!

Definition:  Time to get away, step into the pure heart space wherein abides the essence of Spirit's presence.

When there is nowhere to go.  it seems impossible to  feel that others' spaces and activities are not imposing on a  need to sit and listen to the music of nature's sounds - take time to smell the roses, so to speak..

Someone is always mowing a lawn, trimming a hedge, blowing away leaves, or doing some form of construction. Motor noises constantly, TV blaring, air-conditioners running, motorcycles on a poker run, air boats hunting alligator. ..............

With no special  person to share a common jaunt into the world of Spirit, that leaves only solitary space and time. Solitary Space and Time is a very special friend.

These all used to be a problem - an excuse to keep on doing the same old same old. Every relationship was an I-It relationship, to put it in Martin Buber's terms, and I was there to use and be used.

But know I have another good friend called Heart Space.  Heart Space holds a knowing that what is drawing me to it  outside myself abides there  inside and is calling for attention.

"Baby doll, if you no pay attention, you get yourself mighty sick," comes the cry from  the "silent voice of knowing" .  

Body begins to communicate the silent voice's messages with all sorts of aches and pains,  accidents, diseases, and attacks - increasingly more intense with each attempt to communicate.

I didn't pay attention, even with all my training and daily disciplines of paying attention. Finally, my bodily  heart said, "I am tired of this. Change what you are doing - and your relationship to it, - quit pretending you can endure this minutia driven job -  or I'm shutting down and taking you down with me!"

So here I am three and a half years later, and one heart failure later. If I fall into the same old pattern of shoveling the minutia until every bone in my body aches, I begin crying without sadness and I take a lot of naps.

Something new has stepped into support my new decision to go with the flow,engage in what makes me happy and has purpose to me,  take it slow,  pay attention to my own anguish over beginning to drown in the minutia.

I am grateful for that support, for the gently flowing tears, and for the imposed time to close my eyes and dream. I honor that support. I am able to change what I am doing and how I am relating to the one life I have to give . I am grateful for this tired out heart for hanging in there with me  when I fall into the old pattern.

Are you paying attention to that silent voice - your intuitions.?  Are you heeding the warnings your body is sending?  It isn't just real for me, or some people. It's a reality for everyone. Please take the time to pay attention. Take time to process and change.

Gifted

This is my grandson, Brandyn, Rob's first born.

"Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid." - Albert Einstein

So many toddlers today were born with gifts and talents already developed. I began to see them a few years ago when I was a guidance counselor. These children did not fit into the norm - even outside the boxes - of a classroom environment. When we screened and tested for learning disabilities, more often than not, they showed up in the gifted range, but then not served because of their seemingly poor progress and/or behavior. 

Their giftedness was subtle and there were only a few like this.  One first grader was totally knowledgeable of medieval times. His mother and father insisted that he had never been even remotely exposed to anything that had to do with medieval times. The boy was able to draw castles, festivals, farms, and people with ability way beyond his biological age of development. 

Today, there are many children like this. I don't believe there just seems to be more because of youtube. They are among the children we all know and love.

My children and grandson in the picture seemed to be born with a sense of rhythm. They followed the beat of the music with their feet and clapping even before they could walk. Patty-cake was party-time! None of them fit into the norms of the classroom.  

 All of my children and grandchildren have a giftedness about them. None of them  graduated with honors. In fact, getting them through school was a miracle. But, all of them are giftedly talented in some way or other. The school system called these children "shadow children". They fell through the cracks of public education. These are the children for whom, as a counselor,  I spent a majority of my time and energy.

BUT, these children today, just toddlers now - or maybe they are even six, seven or eight- are definitely destined to be a challenge to the norms of public education. Something has to change when students in a classroom are as sophisticated as the teachers and definitely have little time for sequential minutia nor have the social skills to be polite about it

I am supportive of  alternatives to the present system. We knew forty years ago and more that a new and functional education was needed. Home schooling is one of the answers - an environment where parents can work together with their children to pursue these talents and passions they are born with - taking time to teach the social skills they forgot to be born with - accessing teaching methods that address the tedium of  learning reading and math skills. 

For myself, burdened with a miserably high IQ in a time where that was but an interesting bit of news,   I could have spent my whole life just dancing to the music. I would have been totally happy for this whole 67 years! 

What is my giftedness? What's yours?

On Laughter, Connecting, and A Reunion

Kathy Curtacci Thompson st Stonehenge

May we meet in

the center of a laugh

So we can

remember who we truly are

In beloved joy

Just call me a

friend.

From Pearl “Drops of Aloha” 
JR Coleman








My high school 50th reunion is coming up next year.  Those kind of events are always awkward. People gathering who knew each other way back when, but know nothing about each other now. An "in group" gathers to ease their own anxiety and there is laughter which the rest get to notice. Then there is the conversation with  someone who looks like no one you ever met,  and there you are without your glasses to look at the name tag. Or the person who is sharing a memory or you sharing a memory of which there is no recollection by the listener.

After the memory sharing, there has to be a moment in time when everyone gets to introduce each other as who they are today - beyond the grandchildren, what they did with their lives,  and plans for retirement. (Of course, by this reunion, there is likely to be some sharing of the meds we take and why we take them.)

One of the classmates created a page on face book and we're getting to interact before the reunion. I have really been delighted, even surprised by who my colleagues are today.

The picture of a classmate at Stonehenge was accompanied by her sharing an article she wrote about her visit to Salisbury, England. I am so grateful for her sharing who she is- and it is a great preparation for my journey to Europe next summer.

The poem at the beginning here was written by one of my classmates. I do  not remember him as a poet, artist, or otherwise spiritually orientated. Yet, this is one of the most sensitive images I have ever read.

This is so different than the memory I have of him, that I am wondering if my elder moments have gotten the best of me on this one.

I have discovered this to be true, less dramatically,  in interactions with other classmates as well.

I went to the 40th reunion, hell bent on presenting myself as the person I had become.  I spent a lot of time as a teenager hiding my social anxiety in spirits. I can honestly say, and could also say ten years ago,  that is no longer the case.  Now, I just hide or abide!!

Well, at that reunion, when it was time to introduce myself, I started with, "When I was in high school, I was a slut." The laughter which broke out as a result urged me on into a monologue accompanied with much laughter.  I felt really connected with these strangers, the same human beings who I spent five days a week with for many years. We met in the center of a laugh.

Afterwards, I was embarrassed, for exposing myself so honestly. I felt like that a lot in high school. I suspect most of us did. It wasn't about actions, big make out that I was. It was about preoccupations,  feelings, and self-perception.

I have enough training and experience in psychology to know that what I was saying was not about actions. It was about being a  self-conscious, not yet fully formed Self. And there I was, forty years later, finally confident enough to strut my stuff like never before.

Because of classmates with whom I have shared the journey into the world of Spirit over the years, without even knowing one another, I really am looking forward to this 50th reunion.

It will be more like a gathering of the clan, here on the other end of a life's time.

I hope there is dancing at this reunion. It will be a most appropriate ritual of Being who we are.

How have you experienced laughter as a source of connecting you with others?

Returning to the World

One of those rarely noticed  flowers I saw along the path that I think about often

While in Kenya, in one of the coastal district villages, I experienced an encounter that made a lasting impression on me. There in  this plush jungle village, filled with nutritious food that could be picked from a tree or greens pulled up by for its leaves and roots, was a woman sitting by the road. Not only did she have her lethargic and dehydrated  child  at her breast, the clinic was directly across the road.

Most alarming to me was observing that no one was paying any attention to the suffering of this mother and child. I walked up to her and knelt down so our eyes were level with each other. She seemed not to notice that I was there even when I said, "Habari". I looked closely at the infant at her breast. The skin of both was laying over bones, with no fat whatsoever, and very little muscle. I thought perhaps the infant was dead and the mother too weak to cross the road to the clinic.

She was not able to get up and walk with me across the road.  I summoned two young men standing close by. They carried her to the clinic steps and put her down.  I caught the attention of someone in white - nurse or doctor, I didn't much care. The voice in the body dressed in white curtly informed me that we would have to wait our turn.

There was no one else waiting at this clinic.

Not being one to stir things up in a strange place, I sat for awhile while the man in white went about his business.  Finally, I went inside, determined to have him acknowledge this obvious suffering. I also let him know it was getting dark soon and I needed to be on my way to make it to my destination.

He and I carried the woman and her baby, still at her breast, into the clinic and onto a table covered with a white sheet.The building was rudimentary. There were windowed cupboards full of supplies.  The man said he was a doctor and had been there for twenty-five years, emphasizing his history there with, "I've seen it all!".

It's as if he had read my mind and the questions it was asking about his apathetic demeanor.

He pronounced the infant dead and predicted that the woman would soon be dead, showing me a festering wound on her leg. The doctor said, "It is a snake bite and that she was already in a weakened condition when it bit."

I asked him,  "How might she have come to be so weakened?"

His reply was a lengthy monologue about the multiple causes that might result in her emaciated condition..  I listened to him tell of the extent of physical problems he had encountered in these 25 years in this jungle and of the many he had trained who had left to seek better wages.

He said his wife had left because, "She couldn't take it anymore." What I learned, as he talked,  was she couldn't take a sense of not being able to cut down the amount of physical ailments - and she feared for the health of their two children.

I thanked him for his dedication and for sharing his saga with me, said my good-byes to the doctor and the woman,  and walked on down the road to my intended destination.

I was on my way to train village residents to work together on their community's development. I felt, like the doctor, that what I was doing was worth my life.

But, as I walked down the road, I felt my whole self-story fall apart, leaving all purpose behind, It was like stripping myself of my clothes as  I went. I was feeling more like the doctor's wife.

When I arrived in the village,I was  greeted with  welcome enthusiasm. I took one deep breath, realizing that fortunately I had not actually left my clothes on the road, and was suddenly so grateful for people in this world who respond to human suffering with such hope.


when have you encountered the hopelessness of human suffering and then experienced the signs of hope beyond hope, and then experienced a renewed sense of purpose?

Do I Choose to Own the Truth?

Full moon July 2011. Like a focus in the haze of whirlwind frenzy.

Reordering business cards from Vistaprint, for an organization to which I belong, ended up nowhere - no one had the password. I thought this had been done in April when we all agreed to do it.  I had a self-imposed deadline to meet. The card only had our name and the website contact info. Communication with Vistaprint led nowhere. I opened a new account, designed a new card,  and ordered new card, and received 500 cards of very low quality.  The cards would be an embarrassment to the organization.

I had submitted an invoice to the treasurer and asked her to not reimburse me. I attempted to contact Vistaprint again, with no success. By this time, clerical skills not being one of my natural talents, I was not thinking straight and was flustered.

I didn't write down the password for the new account, so I opened another account, designed a new card with large print, and sent it off.

Then I went to Staples with one of the original cards. They said they could produce a quality card and the total would be three times as much as the original order from  Vistaprint. I ordered them and could pick them up asap.

When I got home, it dawned on me that the organization is in the process of creating a new website and the info on the business card would be useless very soon.  I was able to cancel the order at Staples.

Thoughts ran through my mind about how I could erase the whole series of events which began with somebody asking me where the $20 was going to come from in  the budget for the year. This was frustrating as well, because $20 is not much to ask for anyway, let alone its contribution to  our purpose for existing as as organization - and we had already agreed.

I realized that I had not stopped to think through at each obstacle I encountered. I had forgotten to check my intuitions about why this was not working out easily. It was a simple task I was doing. And here I was with 1000 cards - useless cards come September - to own up to responsibility for their existence.

This all was happening during the Casey Anthony trial conclusion. I had not been following the trial closely and was grateful for the opportunity to see the final stages. I could see that there was not much evidence one way or the other (I ask myself, "Who is to say I have these 1000 cards here on my desk?" - except that I have just written about it in this blog).

I put myself in her shoes - into her poor choices - into her inability to own truth and live truth. (I really was drawn to blocking out the whole business card whirlwind from my memory and creating for myself, a big lie about the whole thing).

I know there is no comparison of a few business cards to a small child's life - but there is a correlation when it comes to owning up to the poor choices we make.   I get to live with what to do with these useless business cards - and pay for them myself.  Casey has to live with her poor choices related to the fact that her beloved child is now dead.

She will be paying for her poor choices, whatever they were,  in a way that may be too painful to face. Her defense patterns, so obvious by the trial's end,  may just have her blaming anyone else for her present circumstances and more than likely concocting even another great story in her mind.

For myself, and my whirlwind of mindless energy spent for nought, with a misplaced focus, I can own it, pay for it, learn a lesson and laugh at the wasted energy in my actions.

Maybe Casey will be fortunate enough someday, to own this event in her life's time. In the meantime, no one need be concerned about her being in prison and suffering- her life will be a living hell of one pathological lie or another to cope with the pain of the reality she simply does not have the capacity to accept.

I am very grateful that my mindless acts this week in no way compare to a dead child. Nevertheless, they have provided a channel for empathy of those who act mindlessly - and for the importance of mindful discipline.

When is a time you have been embarrassed by your mindless whirlwind of poor choices? 

What practices have you learned in order to be more mindful?

How do you remember to employ them when you need them the most?

Will You Remember?

The candle lighting corner of  a Coptic chapel in the heart of St. Augustine. 
The candle I lit  was for the success of a new course that was soon to make its debut.

From philosopher Jonathan Zap:

"An extremely effective and grounded magical practice is to identify your big dreams, the missions you really need to accomplish in this lifetime. The test of a big dream comes from asking yourself, 'Will I remember this well on my death bed?' If you have a big dream, you will probably find that to accomplish it will require a minimum of two hours of devoted activity per day."

This quote catalyzed a long reflection on the big dreams I've had in my life's time. What occurs to me most prominently is that I have experienced what I would consider a huge  portion of earth shattering unexpected outcomes. I can do a great PR job on the many dreams that have come true, but they have all been accompanied with many, many set backs-  and brick walls even-  along the way. I wouldn't have missed it all for anything,of course,  and as Bob Dylan puts it, "Its All Good".

What will I remember on my dearth bed?  Emotionally overcharged events, yes indeed.

I will remember that I spent most of my life learning to own my mistakes, yes, but especially my uniqueness as a gift that I finally lived. I will be remembering the day I learned to love me being me. Maybe I will remember the event where it finally sunk in or maybe I will remember the journey from that point on.

I have met many unforgettable  people, some who have a huge list of dreams come true and make a lot of money because of them. I have met many unforgettable people who have no special claim to fame.   What they all have in common is a style of being present to the way it is without pretense or expectation. I have felt free to be me in their presence and have felt their freedom in being who they are, where they are, and what they are.

I want to be at death's door having left that presence behind in the lives of those I have encountered. I want to leave the feeling with them that they are free to be in every sense of that energy.

Since this philosopher suggests it means spending at least two hours a day on being present with that energy within myself, I still have a lot  of practicing to do, I know.

I have no other dreams than that this earth full of people can know this freedom. It is the heart of alleviating human suffering, whether it shows up as abject poverty or manic depression.

 Is it time to ask yourself, 'What is it I will be remembering  on my death bed?'  

Cat Tales

Has Beau Bear Gone to that Great Storm Drain in the Sky - or Not?

Beau Bear's left haunch was obviously suffering . He was limping, eating at his leg, twitching, and occasionally had a full body spasm. His inability to walk on his hind legs increased. X-Rays and blood tests resulted in him showing up as healthy as a kitten - a fine feat for an old man of a cat!! 

Nevertheless, he got to the point where I would have to pick him up and take him to his litter box, take him to his food bowl, take him to his hidey hole, and put him on my lap.

While de-fleeing the house one Sunday, I had him on the chaise on  the porch with me. Not fearing that he would run off, I let him rest on the chaise.  Out of nowhere he leaped off the chaise, tore down the stairs, across the lawn, up the street, and climbed down into his favorite place - the storm drain on the corner. A bright white light seemed to be surrounding him.

He was gone for at least two weeks, when I got a call in California that Beau Bear had come home, none the worse for wear. He left again and returned three days later when I got home. I kept him in the house to observe him. He appeared to have improved. When I put him outside, he didn't tear off, rather hung around his two mates -Bo Cephus and Bo Tres. He came back at night, rather skittish, left, and hasn't been seen since.

I hope he isn't in the storm drain because it has been raining "cats and dogs' for three days.

Maybe his behind will heal and he won't be traveling along like a rabbit without a hop.

Maybe he has left this earthly plane, but returns occasionally in hopes of one more boiled shrimp.

Maybe he has gone into hiding to spend his final days gracefully and peacefully.

I have also wondered if perhaps his return visits are my denial defenses and chronically overstimulated imagination caused by missing him so much it hurts. 

He has been my "main man" for many years. When I die, perhaps my ghost will hover, too. People will talk of sightings of the old broad on Lake Street, calling for her beloved Beau Bear in the dark of the night from the railing of her porch!!!

Tell me a cat tale!

Trees

Along side the labyrinth at Mercy Center, is this tree. It has two eyes .

This account was not my first encounter with the healing energy of trees, but it was the first time in years.

Trees have reminded me that I am never alone many times and in many places. One time, I was way out in  the villages in Kenya when a hail storm came out of nowhere. No one came out of their mud hut to welcome me in, so, I ran for the nearest tree and stood as close to it as I could get - hugging it for dear life. with my cloth over a basket on my head. A short time there after, I was welcomed into a home to dry before the fire. 

Recently, the day after the end of a retreat I led in California, I walked the labyrinth with the intent of having a serious dialogue with Higher Self - the Mystery of Life - the Universal Presence - God. Name it what you will, we were going tohave a serious talk that morning about its long leave of absence from  my life. 

I wove in and through the great maze when I came to the tree on the outer edge. I stopped in my tracks and starred at the tree. Much to my surprise, the tree began to speak - in that still small voice, of course - but the message was loud and clear. 

Two limbs had been sawed off so they wouldn't impede the path of the labyrinth. The scars looked like eyes. The tree expressed this severing as being its primal wounding, that place which appears to be too painful to ever heal - and this tree bore two. 

Yet, this tree, described the honor it felt to be able to stand solid, growing deep roots, endlessly reaching for the sun, and yearly adding a ring of priceless experience to its girth, learned from peering through those two eyes on its trunk. 

"The wounds are my gift", it said, "to those who walk this path of healing."

I thanked the tree from the center of my heart, and continued the circular walk back and forth on the labyrinth there at Mercy Center, in Burlingame, CA. 

Remember a story where a tree was a channel for your own healing. Share it with me, please.

 

Reunion Realities

Photo by Caroline Truslow - the first buds of Spring 2011

The reunion of myself and my daughter could have turned out many ways. We reunited a year ago in April and have told about everyone we know about this joyous moment in our lives.


Who we are now, what we do now, and where we are now is the way it is. We each are totally free to decide how to relate to the way it is now.

The possibility is always there to say a great big "Yes" on the presentation of new reality.

 It is also possible to keep your head hidden in the sand and smother your life away.

How do you decide to relate to new reality which radically shifts your understanding of the way life is?

Denial's Victim

 

What if in breaking free of your own denial you could stop someone from victimizing another? Who would you have to be in order to have your eyes wide open, out of denial, and take a stand for those who are going to be the next victim? 

Debbie Ford wrote this on a facebook post 5/28/11. I had been waiting for answer to form from within my heart when I read this. I had been asking my heart how to respond to a person who wanted to participate in a retreat that I was coordinating.  After several conversations, coerced as I was feeling, I opened the door for him to be on the leadership team planning meeting.

I knew it was a mistake and was hoping that he would realize, during the meeting, that it was not his "calling" to be the leadership for this retreat. During previous conversations, I realized that he really was much more interested in himself and that he was negating anything and anyone that stood in the way of him being the center of attention and the one calling the shots.

At the teleconference,  he was taking up a lot of precious time "selling" himself and his grand accomplishments and impressive credentials - something which the rest of us could also go on about rather impressively as well. Without thinking of the consequences, I said, "Enough with the commercials already~ This isn't a TV show~"

Well, we got on with the meeting just fine, but the next day he called me and told me off royally, using the "f" word more in one breath than a drug addict on a tear uses it in a week! I listened, disinterested, aware that my only intent was to not take his battering tirade personally. Soon after, when he noticed - he  must have noticed - I didn't react to him at all, he became apologetic and appeasing. I let him be appeasing and we ended the conversation.

When I reflected later on what had happened internally while this was going on, I began to see a submissive battered woman energy  that I used to keep myself from insanity years ago, had taken the driver's seat during the conversation. This energy was there protecting me. 

When the conversation was over "her" energy returned to the Hall of Wisdom Gained From Experience and the co-creative woman energy returned to the forefront.  She was able to let this battering bully know there was no place for him in the retreat's purpose or process. His primary purposes would be frustrated by the experience of even coming to the retreat. So, I dis-invited him and his presence.

He made appeasing attempts to reconcile, typical of a batter. While I am a true believer in unconditional positive regard, unconditional love and forgiveness, and have tolerance for people who lose their tempers now and then, I will be nobody's codependant anymore. 

I let the battering bully knows that since his behavior depended on my behavior, that his dependance on pleasing me made me a codependant and I am not willing to play that game.  

I did not include him in the list of participants even though he paid. The treasurer and I emailed him that we would return his money.  This was unsatisfactory to him  and he became the victim - which in cases such as this, is no different than being a battering bully - just a different way to play the game.

Who knows the outcome. He may come to the retreat with revenge in his heart - or be a submissive participant -or he may not come.  Whatever he does does not make a bit of difference. Perhaps my karmic debt has not been paid off. But, then again, maybe it has and I can't see the gift in this encounter yet. 

I do know that I will participate only in   co-creative relationships. My call. This I own. 

Woman are subject to all sorts of unintended batterings and spend most of our lives walking on egg shells - as codependants - in spite of our good intentions and resolve for right relationships. 

Occasionally, we are able to participate in the healing of these relationships.

Occasionally, yes. And more and more often these occasions present themselves these days. The times are slowly changing. There is increasing openness to co-creation.

Where do you find yourself in dialogue with your inner codependant and co-creative selves?

If someone is criticizing you, it’s not because what you’re doing is wrong. It’s because you’re second-guessing yourself. You’ve got your vibration split all over the place. It’s about you not being in alignment with the strongest part of yourself, and you’re just using that person as the excuse for the discord.
- Abraham-Hicks

 

Antidisestablishmentarianism

Photograph  by Kurt Rolfes while rocking back and forth in a row boat. 
Where the dragon fly hovers, the water is pure.

A-N-T-I-D-I-S-E-S-T-A-B-L-I-S-H-M-E-N-T-A-R-I-A-N-I-S-M.

When I was in elementary school, this word was the longest word in the dictionary - 28 letters.
Being able to spell it without stopping was considered a great feat.
Many of us could do it with ease.

I don't remember it ever coming up in history class as a major political event or otherwise. As I recall, however, there was the Anglican Church. Then there were those who broke away from it - maybe the Baptists. This group would be the disestablishment. Then there were those who thought that was an atrocity and waged a big campaign to stop the (.e.) Baptists - that was antidisestablishementarianism.

i was reminded of this word the other day when I heard a radio political commentary entertainer refer to President Obama as an antidisestablishmentarianist.  That does not correlate, in my perspective, with the original meaning or this political correlation.

(Yes, now and then I have a strong opinion.)

There is the very conservative party - establishment. Then there is the liberal party - the disestablishment. Then there is the Tea Party and very audible media campaign the members of which don't want the change that is happening.This movement, I contend, is antidisestablishmentarianism..

Before I continue, I want to note that I have only made a judgment about the reasoning of the political commentary entertainer, not about who is good, bad, or ugly. This same entertainer has a take on Atlas Shrugged, too, one which I also would argue. But, that is another story.

Many organizations are going through change today. They are hiring systems analysts and organizational developers to assist them in the transition. In each of these, there is the way "we've always done things", those who have either suggested or initiated changes, and those who are raising the roof - or backing off from participation in stoic resignation -  in protest of both the status quo and the attempt to make things work for the better.  These roof raisers and/ or stoics, I contend, are the antidisestablishmentarianists.

There has to be another dynamic working, or nothing is going to change. I didn't create the dynamic, but have come to know it as the transestablishment. Those who stand with a foot in both the established ways of operating and one in change that has become obviously needed. The people who choose to stand with a foot in each dynamic - honoring the way it has been and affirming the indicatives of change, are, from my perspective,  the true  social change agents.

These are the people who will facilitate positive change, - new models in which all the earth belongs to all -  even if the change is of a metamorphic nature.

The transestablishment doesn't have a predetermined map, set of trusted procedures, or a stance that is easily understood.  It is creativity in its purest form - that which comes right from Soul.

Where do you choose to stand?

Oombulgurri - Embracing the Worst Case Scenario

Center of Sun Wheel created by students at U Mass in Amherst

News of our assignment to Australia - to Oombulgurri Human Development Project - occasioned terror and the injustice of leaving the children behind balanced by a sense of the call to great adventure and participation in a grand strategy to alleviate human suffering globally.

Mimi Shinn and her husband, Ed, had begun the project. She had stories to tell of what she had encountered returning to what had been an abandoned mission for some twenty-five years. Local wild life had claimed the abandoned buildings as their homes - most particularly the snakes.
The world atlas showed that the highest concentration of poisonous snakes in the world lived in the Kimberly region - where Oombulgurri was located.

The most vivid story  Mimi told was of her taking a nap one hot afternoon when they first arrived,  surrounded by unpacked boxes, on a cot in the middle of the room. When she awoke, there were snakes dangling from the boxes in every direction. She had little choice but to stay  right where she was until they slowly slithered away.

Hearing that story left me in a place of sheer terror. I was terrified of snakes as it was, but the pending reality of  having to live with them  was reason for consideration of what it would take to actually give in to this great adventure.

My husband and I took trips to the Chicago zoo and I would stand in front of these glclass cages with snakes inside in snakes. Each time one so much as moved, I panicked. Adjustment and desensitization to be in charge of the terror took several trips, none of which I was willing to venture off on my own to do.

We spent ten days in Singapore on stand by. While there we participated in the festivities of the Year of the Snake. I remember still how that celebration and the  snake like  decorations weaving through a parade, provided a more receptive image of the possibility of encountering a snake.

While in Oombulgurri, I finally adjusted to the fact that snakes were somewhere and I learned to be wary, as I would of crossing a street in  NYC  or Chicago traffic. When I would take an early morning walk to the river, there were many tracks showing where snakes had crossed the sand path during the night. There were tracks left by a snake now and then that had come through a hole in our bedroom and left.

One of the elders of the community taught me how to walk through the grass so as not to disturb or frighten a snake, and thus be safe - not that I ever had the courage after that to walk through the grass. But, I was grateful for the skill of learning to walk like a feather.

When my sons finally joined us in Australia, they cut loose and ran fearlessly through the fields and everywhere else their feet would take them - while I held my breath through it all.

The  truth is, I only actually saw a snake three times  while I was there. One time, the young boys in the village chased me with a door snake - a harmless, yet ominous looking thing.

The second time, one was swimming along the new boat that the Department of Aboriginal Affairs had given to the community. That snake was longer than the boat.

The third time, there was a lorry load of blokes driving out to Jandungi. One of the youth spotted a snake, jumped off the lorry, picked up a stone, and bulls eyed the thing, killing it on the spot.

Jandungi was a pool at the beginning of the Forrest River, probably created by a spring. The layered red rock rose high above it on one side. The other side was a sandy beach in a gently wooded area.  Ancient lore had it that it was the home of the rainbow snake - the beginning of alllife.  I loved to go there . It was a sacred spot and I felt very safe., whether or not there was a rainbow snake or any other kind of snake there or not.

There  is something about encountering sacred space in an otherwise unwelcome environment that makes the terror of the unknown there worth it all.

I have since found other sacred spaces in the wilderness, but none quite as special as was Jandungi, near Oombulgurri and all its terror of possibly encountering a poisonous and deadly snake.

And guess what, I am still here to tell this story.

What is your story of experiencing sheer terror and then finding the safe sacred space within that environment? 

We are Each Other's Guardian Angel

As I was driving to the festival for a second day, it occurred to me that I was a really lucky volunteer to have been given two prime positions in a row. I wondered who made those assignments and I really wanted to express my gratitude for such a gift.

First day, I was at a main stage in the heart of the original St. Augustine settlement and got to hear all the musicians I would have chosen - those I had heard before and loved.  This second day, I was going to be at the main stage at the marina to hear the "stars' of the weekend. Although they had been around for awhile, I had never heard them - only of them. Both days, he wind was blowing in from the ocean, sun shone brightly, and the temperature about 80 degrees F. There were enough volunteers swarming around for me to be able to take a lunch break to go hear Dale Crider. I really wanted to hear what he is singing these days. He's one of those many Gainesville, FL professionals who love music and have been part of the folk scene for - yes, decades.

I had the radio playing on the Flagler college station, broadcasting from the folk festival.  In the middle of my reflections on the greatness of the whole weekend, a song came on the radio. The words were something like  "We are each other's guardian angels. We come into each other's lives just when needed. Then we go our separate ways."

Somebody sure had been my guardian angel this weekend.

The Milltop Restaurant on St. George's Street, St. Augustine

I thought of other times in my life when this was also true.

When has this been true for you - someone was your guardian angel just when you needed one?

Music as Healer

Dale Crider wrote songs about ecology and preservation of the wildlife long before it became a popular movement. Here he is playng in the Tradewinds, near the Bridge of Lions,  about lunchtime on Sunday.

Blue Grass and Mozart share the same healing quality, or so has been my own experience.

 The one who will be healed begins with centering in that very special place deep within heart space. Some healers will argue that the place from which healing energy comes is beyond the astral planes.
Others will say it comes from God.  Any of these will do, as long as there is loving intent and pure focus  on the healing process.

Some people can become silent, focus on breathing, and access this place of healing energy with their eyes closed.  However, there are others of us who prefer to draw from the environment to guide us into that same place.

For me, music is my guide - played by a musician who is performing from that special heart space. Mozart wrote from that place. Folk music, especially blue grass - being born in this Western culture to which I belong - primarily, was written from that special place.

Heart space, musician's heart space, and songwriter's heart space, together makes for optimal healing.

I find the Gamble Rogers Festival in St. Augustine, to be the presence of these three dynamics. Not all of the performers, but a good share, sing from their hearts.  They are performing music written from deep within heart space.

Lately, I have noticed that many new songs being written and performed have a social concern theme. Some on ecology, some on poverty, some on war, some on peace.  I find myself wondering what is the new movement of social change that is beginning to grow today.

I go, open to the healing available. I am never disappointed. Having felt at home there, and having become totally saturated with  music, I come home with a renewed passion for life's purpose.

How do you take care of yourself?

RSlow Processing as a Quality

Take time to go within to process - just as a loaf of bread is baked in this oven of yore.

As a school counselor, I spent a good deal of my time on child study. Students would be referred for "testing" if they weren't keeping up with classroom expectations. Although it wasn't the only difficulty students had, I observed a very large percentage of students needed more time to access a response than was expected. I also observed that there was more of it at the beginning of this new century (love saying that) than there was forty years ago.

I am a slow processor, but had other processing channels through which I was able to learn quickly. It did not help in social situations - a place where I was and still can be a total klutz. Now that I am an elder,however,  this slow processing is expected of me. So, I take full advantage of it.

Recently, I was at a weekend workshop which invited a lot of response to sets of questions asked. I observed that not only I, but almost everyone was a slow processor. The old style of eliciting a lively dialogue in response to a set of questions, is no longer a natural process - if it ever was. - and which it never was for me.

When I worked with the teachers who taught these slow processing students, I would suggest that the teacher ask a question, ask students to write down an answer, and then ask them to share what they wrote.
Teachers knew already that they would get more results if they gave students time to process.  Thus, the endless trips to the xerox machine to make copies of worksheets.

This is not the same. The worksheet is not the answer. Imagine a global summit where every diplomat had a worksheet to fill out before participating?

I contend that a skill for the new millenium that needs to be learned is how to take time to process a response from a place of integrity.

Too many people are listening and buying into what news media says , for example, - because it is easier to do than to take time to process one's own wisdom. Too many people are not being able to get their two pennies into the decision making process because they need time to access their own wisdom. 

The everyday world just isn't set up to allow for this to happen.  Life styles and interactive patterns need to change to accommodate this increasing quality called slow processing.

Our future depends on it. It depends on developing skills of slow processing. It depends on people being able to access their innate wisdom which comes from deep within. This is where people are today -there are few fact addicts left on this planet, only those who don't know how to think for themselves.

Let's take the time we need to speak to each other directly from the heart. Imagine how different this world would be if it were a natural pattern of interaction.

Where have you found this to be true for you?  How have you learned to respond from your heart?

An Earthrise Village Leaders Institute

View of a sunset in Amherst, MA at the sundial created by students somewhat replicating Stonehenge

In 1982, the Kenya/Uganda border was a dangerous place to be.  Hundreds of people were killed in the rebellion against the Ugandan government, and an estimated 400-thousand people were left homeless. Because of this,, despair hung around heavily like hungry buzzards circling fresh road kill. Smuggling and prostitution were businesses in and of themselves.

Three of us traveled to a village right on the border to facilitate a week long village leaders institute (VLI). The village was at the foot of Mt. Elgon. I had seen pictures of the top of this inactive volcano. The flora was lush and the fauna immense compared to wildlife I had encountered along side Kenya's roads.

Fifty or so village leaders, mostly women, began to gather for the training week. The people in this village were about the poorest I had visited to date. Everyone brought food as payment for their coming - lots of greens  and plenty of ground maize, tea and fresh milk. No meat and no sugar.  For the final celebration, one of our team went searching for a chicken or two, or some goat meat, and some sugar. None was to be found.

A VLI always began with introductions and a sharing of what folks were doing. A group of women reported that they had started a co-op garden and a sewing business and that it had failed when the men took it over and split the profits as their salaries instead of reinvesting in more seeds and supplies.  "Oops," I thought. "The group who came to teach them how to do this forgot the most important part - including the men in the business traming basics."

The other question we asked at the opening was, "What has been the most important world event in your life's time?  A young man, clad only in black sports shorts, who had walked from the other side of  Mt. Elgon, carrying a cabbage as his payment, answered, "Man on the moon - seeing the picture of the earth."

I was aghast with wonder.  Why didn't he say the recent war next door? How did he know about the men on the moon?  Where did he see a picture?  He said he listened on the radio and saw the picture in a magazine.  There is no city on the other side of Mt. Elgon.

In consideration of time, I never did get to ask him where he was able to access these communication vehicles.

This VLI continued with a verbal image of the earthrise, a picture  held in each participant's imagination.  It was our new context while learning how to work with the rest of the village on implementing plans.

How long has it been now - thirty years - and I still remember it as if it happened yesterday. I often wonder if they also remember and what is that once young man is doing today.

How has the image of the earthrise affected you?

Channeling

Early in my life's time, I was drawn to what I have since come to know as "channeling". 

I loved movies like  Topper and Night of the Living Dead.  Fascinated with seance scenes in movies, I even tried  holding them with a few with friends. We did have some delightfully scary experiences. I'd become totally rapt watching my mother and aunt  make a ouija board sing with messages from spirits.

When I wanted to learn a skill or reach a goal, I would call on the spirits to assist. I didn't see anyone out of my eyes,  or in an audible voice, hear anyone.  I felt a presence which, when I closed my eyes, I could imagine. The voice which spoke was silent and came from within me and was silent, yet succinct. Interactions with this "channeling" were creative, colorful, and full of life.

By the time I was a teenager, I had forgotten all about that world of spirits.

Later, I was drawn back to this dynamic when introduced to the work of Edgar Cayce and Alice Bailey, among the most famous channelers. I read everything I could find by them. then, recalling my childhood experiences, I was convinced there was something organically real about this channeling dynamic. I  read  books by about fifty channelers, including participating in the famous Course in Miracles.

When I write or paint, the product always comes from being present in another state of being, an energy which I  have come to believe is the same experience. I also have concluded that each has a very unique, yet very similar way of experiencing channeling.  Many, if not all, creative artists, musicians, writers, etc. source their work from this "other-than-the-ordinary-me" world.

I envy psychics, mediums,  and other professed channelers their well developed abilities to access this source and let it flow from them so easily.  Yet, I can do a memorable tarot card reading on myself, now and then and again.

I prefer to describe this other world and its inhabitants as metaphorical creative processing. It is other than intuition, but not totally disrelated. My own imagination comes alive with images of a channeling entity. This is a place of wisdom accessible to every single human being in one form or another. It is a reality upon "whose" shoulders we stand to create the many faces of the future. It is that dynamic without which there is no new growth and development.

How exciting when someone or a group accesses this metaphorically enlivened creative processing into its becoming a new expression to which anyone who encounters it can relate - a new insight, a new song, a new paradigm, a new operating pattern, a new opportunity to feel love and be loved by Being itself.

Experiencing this life dynamic metaphorically is very real. We have all experienced this at one time or another. What has been your experience? Do you value this type of creative processing? Why or why not?

Trouble Maker or Agent of Change

This celtic maze was crafted at Shadow Rock UMC in Phoenix AZ

When I was in school - kindergarten all the way through high school graduation, I was not one to conform to teacher expectations. 

In kindergarten, I fell madly in love with a blond curly head and wanted to spend my day hugging him while the teacher read about the house with no windows or doors, with a star in the center - which turned out to be an apple.

In first grade, the teacher had to leave the room for a few minutes giving the order for us to all work. Some of us talked away. When she returned she asked who talked .I did not fess up and got my name on the board and my parents called.

In 7th grade, in a science class where the teacher was talking on and on, I was also talking on an on.   When she swatted me on the head with a ruler, I stood up and told her where to go and was sent to the office.

In 8th grade, three of us made polka dotted circle skirts in home economics  and wore them every day for a week to protest happy homemaker stereo-typing..

In 10th grade, the English teacher annoyed me by how he played favorites to the point where I wrote my assigned essay about it. I had to show my "F" to my mother who wrote to him, "This too shall pass - we hope". He wrote back, "To err is human, to forgive divine." 

By the time I was a senior, the 60's revolution had begun . I wrote a speech about the existence of racism in my area. I got an "F".

I danced right into the 60's revolutions. Gave my whole life to its grand purposes. Woven in and through it all was a disregard for my responsibility to myself and the human relationships in my life

It was like this: When I was very young, at a family picnic, I ate a chunk out of the center of a watermelon. Much to my grandfather's dismay, he could not get me to regret my action. Even today, I'm not sure if the lesson was that I should say, "I did it" with resolve, or if it shouldn't be I who eats the sweet center of the fruit.

This is the paradox and the dilemma. Shadow is always present. The same energy of social responsibility shows up  as reactionary rebellion or as a pioneering response. 

I decide its purpose all alone, finally - nowhere to look for the right or wrong in what I have done. Time will decide.

Reflect on an energy which has been part of you ever since you can remember. How have your actions danced between reaction and response through your life's time?

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?