How Does Your Garden Grow?

My daughter, Caroline, sent me this photo of a lily that popped up in her garden this year. She related that she never knows what else will grow, along with the expected blooms.

What a marvelous mirror of life's journey itself.

We plant, feed, water, sow, but always more shows up. How fortunate when the unexpected shows up as a beautiful lily, such as this.

Or is it just my daughter and I who have this experience? Most of the blooms in my garden grew when something else was planted, too. Her garden and mine have given birth to unexpected beauty to behold as wonder.

Such miracles are unprecedented joy.

On this life's journey,when has infathomable joy appeared in your garden?

Fireflies in the Night

Fireflies in the Night

Source" http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/bugs/firefly.html



Retreats are important for the health and well being of Spirit, an extended, focused period of meditation and reflection.

After 12 days of this retreat, ending the final day's meditation, I looked into the darkness of the night and there to behold were fireflies in the fields on this mountainside. They might have been there every night, but this was the first sighting by me. I asked myself, "Why are these fireflies dancing on this hillside tonight?" I watched them for a long time.
I remembered - long ago and far away - catching fireflies in the yard at night, putting them in a jar, only to let them go again, so they wouldn't die. Their existence never ceases to amaze me. I remembered being disappointed when the fireflies weren't out. I thought about what fireflies meant to me, what message they had to bring to me this night,


Fireflies occasion insight.I had some insights about darkness and light while watching the fireflies. Deepak Chopra has stated in many publications reecently: there can be no shadow without there being light. Imagine only darkness - we've all been there to some degree or another. Shadow is an integral part of being alive.


Watching fireflies is a discipline of observing and listening in the silence. Dancing with the fireflies in the dark field, occasions -for me - consciousness that hope and joy are always present.



Fireflies are spiritual guides. They glow from within and there is no heat- to burn out. They are not a reflection of the moon. Fireflies are high energy experiences, glowing from within while dancing in the night - A delightful moment of play.


Firefly light does not cast a noticeable shadow. Their bodies are ordinary, but their presence in the night field is extraordinary. Perhaps if many were concentrated in one location, there would be a shadow - like the collective shadow of the planet today. A few, here and there is manageable. But, the massive poverty, the overwhelming sense of possible nuclear disaster, ecological endaangerment - which includes the disappearance of fireflies, political impotence, etc. etc. etc.


Where are the beautiful soul-reflecting fireflies glowing in your life? Where do you see them overpopulated on this planet, so that only the shadow is seen? Where do we begin?

Laughter

"Life is too serious to be serious". I was reminded bySpinoza Bear that there is a lighter side of the story to tell, too. A friend told me I'm getting too introspective with these slices of life of mine.

However, it only served to remind me of an old movie in the family collection I inherited. The scene was a ranch, with the workers sitting around a table at dinnertime. The workers were all chimpanzees. The movie's intent was to teach table manners.  At one point, one chimpanzee reached in front of another to grab a plate of food. Another chimp saw the arm in his face and stabbed the reacher's hand with a fork.

We would laugh heartily every time we'd see it - and of course learned to ask to pass the food. But, sometimes, at the dinner table, my brothers would get rambunctious and mimic a stab  to the arm of the reacher (who forgot) and then we'd roar with laughter all over again.

I have been in a stress reduction workshop or two where one of the techniques to which we were introduced required us to begin laughing and build it up to a roar. Accomplishing this was easy. The result was relaxation, a refreshing humiliation, and, also, a sense of bonding with the others in the group. To participate did require a self-conscious decision. But, this may be true anyway, when encountering the opportunity to laugh.

When I remember to laugh, I laugh when I'm feeling blue for no apparent reason - hormones, maybe , I laugh when I begin to feel outrage at what's going on, I laugh when I'm having a creative block, and I laugh at a joke or comedy scene. I bring laughter into the circle and it becomes the dance.

Try it. What was the experience?

Walking Like a Feather.

When we found out we were going to Oombulgurri, I immediately found Mimi Shinn, to find out what it was like.  She and her husband, Ed,  had been the first to actually stay in the village. She told me that they had partitioned spaces with boxes  to provide some privacy for each family.  The one story I remember her telling me is about an a fternoon nap on a cot she had placed in the center of this box piled room. When she awoke, there were snakes in six different places in the process of crawling over the partitions. 

Needless to say, I was not really in a hurry to get to Oombulgurri! In fact, I had a phobia, even for grass snakes. Silly, I know, but very real.  Bob took me to the zoo - the snake house - so I could stand in front of them and build tolerance.  I'd stare at them for a long time , in a sweat and shivering, with the intent of adjusting to their existence.

 While in Oombulgurri, the only two times I ever really saw a snake were: a) a day when young boys, hoping I would scream - which I did , put it in front of my face; and (b) the time I saw one swimming along side of the 20+foot boat, it being as long if not longer.

However, I saw many snake tracks - in and out of our bedroom, walking on the path to the river in the early morning to meditate, and other sandy places.

One of the elders must have picked up on my terror. He offered to teach me how to walk through the fields - which, trust me, I did not do even after I learned. He taught me to walk like  a feather, placing each foot down firmly, with gentle resolve, as I proceeded. I was intrigued by the image of walking like a feather and pondered it for - well years now.

All the children, including my own, ran through the fields fearlessly, while I held my breath watching them. I have since decided that no snake in its right mind would dare hurt a child!

In the lore of this group of people, the rainbow snake was the beginning of life. The most revered person in the community would have been the daughter of the rainbow snake - something which passed from generation to generation. In Oombulgurri, the woman who held this position had an advanced stage of syphillis which caused her legs to look a bit like sabre blades.

I have never come to love snakes, even though one might have been the beginning of life, but I have come to hold a very healthy respect for them, even in my own yard. Black snakes feed on mice, but also on salamanders, which feed on spiders. Prefering the salamanders, I was grateful when a workshop behind my property was finished and the black snakes could return to the comfort of their home ground, now underneath the new building

In recent years, I have become aware that learning to walk like a feather, increased my confidence and mindfulness  - giving myself permission to be present and experience a sense of belonging where I was.  This image of walking like a feather replaces the image of myself as being present in a room as an unwelcome intrusion. I was given the gift of "No fear!"- an inner world experience.

I was given this most valuable gift by the remnant of a primal culture, which has all but been erased by the total disregard occasioned by Western expansion into their vast aboriginal environmental mansions and natural coexistence with its inhabitants.

Today, I am grateful for that experience which began as sheer terror and taught me to love the world around me and its daily events. It's about going into the most impossible situation and creating a demonstrtion of possibility.

There are some places in the world, still, that need to be walked into, and signs of possibility created.
There are some places in our own Souls that need some seriously joy-releasing dancing, as well.

As you reflect, where are these circles of suffering calling your name to not just walk, but dance like a feather?

Early Energy Experiments

One day a group of people came to Oombulgurri to demonstrate how to make methane gas. They put some cow dung in a container hooked up to an inner tube, explaining the tube would be filling up with the gas that could be used as an alternative fuel - maybe not renewable in an of itself without animals, but definitely the use of a substance that would not deplete or do harm the environment.

Mind you, this was in the 70's when this was being proposed. We were all very impressed and thanked them as they left on the next tide to travel down the river toward their next demonstration site.

Everyone forgot about the methane experiment until a few days later when there was a huge explosion and the whole village was saturated with this overwhelmingly rich odor of a highly populated dairy farm! Alas, the methane had continued to accumulate, filling the inner tube to its limit and the thing exploded.

There is an insight here about follow through. I am fairly certain the demonstration team did not leave behind, any directions for how to use the methane. Apparently, their demonstration was not particularly motivating, since nobody thought to ask how to use it as an alternative energy source.

There is another insight on creating the capacity to store energy. As we know today, in this new millenium 35 years later, while a viable energy alternative, storing it and accessing it for use is also a major project.

35-40 years ago, this demonstration team was a visionary dynamic for a very real need today, one that is beyond obvious and in the realm of critical. Oombulgurri was such a demonstration, realizing the need for sustainable local community. Perhaps we left behind a means for a village to follow through as well as developing the capacity for storing energy for ongoing use.

My opinion is that we never passed the demonstration stage and this was true for all demonstrations of that time. Now, everyone is scrambling to pick up what was started and run with it while we still have a planet - with people on it - TO sustain.

A whole inner world of Spirit life has also exploded and made its presence available for all of us who have access to mass media and spiritual centers scattered everywhere.

Have we learned to follow through on our own knowledge of alternative energy sourcing?  Have we developed the capacty to store energy safely and use it for sustaining life in local community?

Are we ready to take it to the world?

The Bird

For awhile, I worked with children of autism. At the time, the spectrum was not defined. There were autistic children and children who had characteristics of autism.

One child I worked with was authentically autistic, defined as such by her characteristic behaviors and by the fact that she had a little hole in the back of her skull. She did a lot of screeching and head banging, I believe because she was so sensory sensitive that even the slightest disturbance in the environment was extremely uncomfortable for her. I imagined her experiencing a class of children entering the lunchroom as a herd of stampeding elephants coming straight at her, for instance.

The physical therapist worked with her to teach the girl  how to hit a NO or YES button to answer a question. I do imagine the feel of the buzzer was like being stabbed with a concrete drill. She was quiet if she could roam freely - kind of like a feral cat.

For almost two years, we worked with her on ways to communicate her needs - to replace the stimming and screeching and headbanging  She appeared to making no functional progress.

One day, she took my hand, which she had learned would get my attention. She led me to the door and put my hand on the door knob. I opened it and she took my hand again and led me into the field. We walked to the edge of the field to the trees. She pulled my hand to sit down. We both sat down. Then she stared at the trees  until she saw a bird under one of them. She took my hand and pointed my arm toward the bird. We looked at the bird. Then she said, "Buhd,:" and looked at me for my response. I was so excited, I got up and danced around clapping with joy. She got up and danced - sort of - too. Then, we walked back to the school.

That event with a child of autism was a lesson well learned for me.  When attempting to communicate with others, don't presume anything about what is transpiring. Don't make assumptions about what's happening within the other person. Have patience, and trust in the process of expressing thoughts and feelings.

This child of autism is but a metaphor of how difficult it can be to communicate thoughts and feelings. Most of us just screech and bang our heads against the wall in frustration when no connection can be made in the attempt to communicate.

All I can say, is from this child of autism, I learned that there are many ways to communicate. It was, for me, a learning process to listen deeply, observe deeply, and feel deeply. And yes, sometimes I forgot to do that.

Where in the world is this skill needed today? Yes, but, even more so, where in every day encounters?

Russ

First came Rob, then thirteen months later - Russ, and six minutes after that - Randy. Yes, Russ is an identical twin.  Russ and Randy look exactly alike. And that's where it ends.  Their personalities are differrent. Both are  loving and caring men, are independant thinkers, and able to give themselves fully to their work.

Russ has a connection to Soul as a free Spirit. I wasn't a good mother who developed for my children the discipline to master an instrument, per se, so I can take little or no responsibility for Russ's ability to express himself musically. When he decided to learn how to play the guitar. he was about 30. He'd play the same chords over and over. Eventually, I could feel the sponteneity in his playing. Then, he began practicing in his car with the doors and windows closed. He was getting very good at playing the guitar. I suspect it made him feel self-conscious, to be playing music that came from such a brilliant source,  but don't know for sure becaue I never asked him. He was almost obsessive about mastering that guitar's mysteries. And he got to be a masterful musician as a result. When he plays, the music comes from that special place only few are able to access so deeply. It is that place where the listener feels one with Spirit.

Russ owns a house in Floida which was recently robbed of all appliances and his rare guitar collection. He was in the process of stuffing the experience into oblivion, about to go on with his life, "like a man". should. But, when he acknowledge the betrayal  and indignation he was feeling, I could see his face relax and feel the peace he experienced by embracing the experience and THEN letting it go.

What a great gift is being so connected with the music which comes from that special creative source - the gift of all gifts. Every person can connect with that mystery of music, art, and dance of the drama of the great "Yes" to life's experiences. Russ is blessed with having mastered being able to access the music of the Soul. Those who listen, are inspired by his music.

When I want to connect with that deep and special creative source, I find a CD which is so inspiring. It accompanies me during meditation times.  If I have no access at the moment, I use my voice - a song or a mantra. How do you access this place in your Soul?

Creative/Artistic Typology

In recent years, many children are being diagnosed with ADD/ADHD, Aspbergers (a form of Autism), and Bipolar Disorder. As a Guidance Counselor, I watched this diagnosed population grow in leaps and bounds in twenty years. The tendency of public education is to then staff these children into special education with an emotionally handicapped label.

Traditional interventions - behavior modification and/or medication and/or the belt - either don't work or makes zombies of these precious human beings. They are very smart, seem to be born operating at the higher end of Bloom's taxonomy, possess a certain brilliance, do not fit in the linear sequential patterns of teaching/learning, and possess gifts and talents which have little value in public education.

These children are also seductive, alluring, intense, charming, independant, and manipulative. I might just have one or two of these disorders and exhibit some of these traits myself - as may also be the case with you.

 This type of personality has always been around. Clinical psychology diagnoses these behaviors as pathology. Many of these personalities become addicts, and thus are labelled as an addictive personality and maybe attachment disorder. Some of us are attracted to these personalities, giving us labels of co-dependence. For others, the red flag rises, the firewall slams shut, back is turned, and feet make haste in another direction.

I prefer to relate to the potential within each encounter, and if there is a label, let it be creative/artistic type.

We all have a tendency to personify or transfer the feelings accompanying being drawn into this energy.   I have learned, about myself, that these personifications - or the people upon which I transfer the attraction, are always, yes always, creative/artistic types.

I have learned that this drama of attraction is creative energy within myself which is coming alive. The relief for the agonizing promise of pure bliss is to express creativity myself, while being grateful for and appreciative of the collegiality and support and friendship of that personification which has drawn me in, hooked me helplessly, and mercifully been the occasion for my own motivity.

By relating, in counseling, to this type of personality, not discounting the diagnoses, guidance more supports the potential, brings mindfulness to the behaviors, and coaches in behaviors to communicate effectively and release creativity.

Where are you being drawn into another's energy with the expectation of bliss?
How do you disidentify and channel your energized creative energies?

My Golden Butterfly

A golden btterfly alit on my heart one day

Just as I breathed in she flew away

All she left was the eyes of her Soul

Memory of a daughter born out of love.

She will always

Be

My golden butterfly

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

My friend Lynda remarked about the many girls who went off to visit aunts for a period of time. Everyone knew, but nothing was said. I, too, went off to visit an aunt, then to a rich woman's home to help her out, then to a home for unwed mothers. The moment I turned my baby over to the arms of a social worker, was the moment happiness ended. Since then, there has been an underlyiing chronic sadness that stayed even with the magnificent - splendiferous - life that I lived.

But today, that sadness is gone. Yoikes - it wasn't a "disorder" after all!!!

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

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

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

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

Although Psyche protects us from unbearable pain, She opens her ceiling to the Higher Self, bathing  with hope, trust. love, images of that which we hold most dear. Once in a blue moon, She also brings life full circle, extends an invitation to enter the circle, and provides the music for the healing dance!

Caroline presented me with this beadwork pendant that she created. Sitting in these stones is only one of two shots that would focus. There is some magnificent energy in this creation.  

Notice the fluttering wings of butterfly in motion in the circle!!!

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

Spring Cleaning

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

Y'all come now!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The new stairs - noon April 16, 2010.

Me and My Shadow...

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

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


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

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

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

Back to Beau Bear

Can you guess what Beau Bear is thinking and feeling?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Village Leadership Institute

An Iron Man Statue in Kenya. Who constructed it?  Is that Daniel Ndolo standing in front of it?

Under that, the hills of Machakos area.

I feel like I’m being bombarded with invitations to explore “awakening to Soul’s purpose on earth”. Surely, I have done more than a fair share of reflection on the topic. I can tell many stories of where I experienced myself aligned with Soul’s purpose on earth. I prefer to see this dynamic reality as "Soul’s purpose lived through me" rather than “My Soul’s purpose” – for a number of reasons.

One time in particular that stands out is the Village Leadership Institute in Kenya. I was given the assignment to make it happen. No one said, “You are the one that is the best choice.” – or anything like that. After Kay (now Kaze) and I got the curriculum written, I was left to see it through. The objective of the training was motivity (creative motivation). Village leaders would return to their villages motivated to get others involved in implementing plans they and the rest of their village had made at a strategic planning consult.

The school was a seven day training of village leaders. The staff were young Kenyan volunteers. About fifty village leaders came, so the necessity arose as the obvious choice to quickly train the young staff to lead the workshop sessions. The week proceeded with high energy. I wasn’t sure what exactly was happening in each of the workshops, but the Kenyan staff member, with whom I co-deaned this VLI, observed regularly and felt that, for the most part, the newly trained staff was sticking to the curriculum and the village leaders were responding well.

At the closing, the celebrative event was dinner and Kenyan story-telling. This indigeonous folklore powerfully reflected a synthesis of history woven into a new future. Finally, the first graduates of a VLI, “claimed promises” for their plans upon returning to their villages.

I could have died and gone to heaven that evening right then and there. I was feeling that I was doing what I had been put on this earth to accomplish. Soul’s purpose had worked through me. Local motivity was the missing element of human development projects. That night, a light of possibility shone for the future of Kenyan people doing their own development - and most importantly - national staff doing the motivity training that would make it happen.

Chiron, the planet of life purpose was orbiting right through Kenya at that time. And now it's orbiting right through where I am now feeling drawn. Astrology is another paradigm, but I believe it has value, if only for confirmation of urges and tendencies.

Where is Chiron orbiting for you. Where do you feel drawn to "Soul's purpose working through you?"

Contemplating 85

My new free lance venture in news journaling took me to the Crescent City Library. I was there to take pictures of a class of 2941, 1942, and 1943 high school reunion. These reunions had been happening since 1984. There were twelve alumni and six others who were either spouse or companion, one woman travelled from California with her daughter. These Crescent City High School graduates had gone to school together for the entire 12 years. They are approximately 85 years old. The reunion lasted three hours, included lunch, picture taking, and a word from each person present, including me. Someone had kept the history of these reunions in albums dating back to graduation.


What struck me about the gathering was the incredible energy in the room. Every one of us was a welcome addition to the gathering. No one was in a hurry to go home. No one was sitting off alone.

One man said, “I got here because I might not be able to again.”

Everyone was gracious. Everyone was interested in what everyone else was doing.  Everyone was happy to be there. They laughed a lot and the memories they shared were rich with wisdom.

Such wisdom as this apparently can only come with having lived so long. From listening to what everyone had to say and watching everyone, I learned that these folks have learned to value being alive, be grateful for community time, and to linger just awhile longer. No hurry now. Relishing the moments together here and now.

While contemplating diverse community, surely it includes the children, youth, and elders.

What are we waiting for?
Shall we dance?

How Things Turn Out

 I am remembering being  very young, my cousin Joannie and I playing in the fenced in yard, making gourmet mud pies. We added little orange and red berries which grew on two bushes next to the porch. Joannie's were always much better than mine. They tasted the same, however!!!

Whether or not life would be any different was not even on our minds. But, then one rainy day, four of us, cousins, Donna, Dorothy, Joannie, and myself,  were spending time together with Nana LeBaron, in her liviing room.  She was watching us play - each doing a different activity, and asked us to share  with her what we dreamed of being when we grew up. Dorothy was going to be  a secretary, and was busy writing "shorthand" while she spoke. Joannie was going to be a teacher and was reading a book. Donna was going to be an artist, telling us this with her crayons in her hand and showing her picture.  I was going to be an actress, dancing and humming a tune while sharing this.

Dorothy has now published two novels I am aware of, one with her daughter. She wrote a family newsletter for a while, and now has a great blog - BloggerOne which you can go to by clicking the link in the right hand column.


Donna,  had her own advertising business, but got tired of it. Today, still a CEO, is sewing  fleece hats and mittens, doing well in New England.

Joannie,now with her doctorate, was a teacher. Even more, she created a reading program which pioneered diagnosing reading problems holistically. She's written a book on using portfolios to measure student progress, and is a Dean of eduction at a university .

 I had a full drama scholarship to Ithaca College, but life had other plans for me.

Two  common seeds all four of us shared:  practical creativity and service to others - and a grandmother who opened the future for us.

Today, Nana LeBaron's boarding house, her living room where we dreamed of the future that day,  and  its bushes with little red and orange berries, is now a tarmac paved parking lot for a Baptist Church.  Even the mud is gone. The past is gone, gone, gone. There is no family place with a long history,  to share visions and dreams. Yet, we are all sustained.

Who and what is your community?
Does its Being contribute to creating dreams for the future?









-

Ecstasy

The photo is a recent picture of Jessye Norman.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YYmaznpLMz8&feature=related

The video is of  Jessye Norman, performing "Sanctus from Gounode's Mass in D Minor in
Notre Dame Cathedral

I am not a master musician. In fact, for years I was afraid to get up in front of people. I did sing in a group, and in a chorus or two. In the shower, I was a great singer -able to span at least three octaves., or so I imagined. When sitting around AT a party, everyone singingor playing an instrument, expected to harmonize, I couldn't.

"I put it on my "bucket list" - when I was in my late twenties - to successfully speak in front of a group - AND to sing a solo. It would be a childhood dream actualized - at last.

I was asked to sing "And Neither Have I Wings To Fly" at a wedding. I practiced and all went well. At the wedding, nothng came out, This event happened a lot.

Then in my late 50's, I encountered Jessye Norman. I played her tape and sang along over and over. I could sing anything she could sing, or so I imagined.

The choir was singing "Panis Angelicus", which is on that tape of hers. In rehearsal, I was singing out, with the sopranos, at the top of my lungs and on key. For the concert, when I was supposed to step forward and sing above the rest of them - a somewhat solo - nothing came out.

But, then, at my mother's memorial service,when her grandson's were supposed to sing, they backed out. I had been singing Enya's, "Time Never Promised a Dream Come True", imagining myself singing it in front of a whole house full of people. I sang it in the shower until the water ran cold and the rest of the household protestested.

So, having it memorized, and having imagined myself singing it in a full house,I began the memorial, singing it - acapella. I lost myself in the image I had created of singing in a full house, and was successful beyond what I had thought possible, but still, it wasn't quite the bucket list event!

After that, I had a dream that I sang, "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child". I was as intense and passionate as Jessye Norman's singing. Shortly after that, an occasion presented itself to me to participate in a Mother's Day event. I told the coordinator of the event about my dream. She put me on the program.

The moment came, I stood in the center aisle, imagining myself as capable as Jessye Norman about to begin. Again, a capella, I lost myself in the singing and ian ad lib interpretation of this powerful spiritual . Victory at last!

A lot of surprised people commended me later. That was fun, too. I loved the feeling that I had created a feeling of deep joy in those who listened. But, to be truthful, I did it for myself - even if it did take until the other end of my life to reach.

It was ecstasy. I self-actualized. I imagined it to be. I visualized acting it out - at all levels. Stepped out of the dream and now it is history. I do believe it took the presence of the Soul, which Norman eminates, for the will to be strong enough to support dreams coming true.
We all have this passion inside that has to express itself.

What has been for you, an experience of ecstasy in your own action?
What is the difference in that and just being successful?

Rob's Poem

Desperately I cling

Unto reality defined

But always

My grasp falters

And as the autumn leaf

Withered crisp and dry

Falls slowly spinning

From the tree standing steadfast

So must I

Fall into the depth

Of all that is not known.

Rob wrote this poem in high school. I have a xerox copy. The poem is under a picture he drew.

My first response was to ask myself, "These are images in MY son's mind? Where was I?  Why did I not have a clue?"  Here is a profound statement of a young man connected with his Soul's longing. Was this always this way, or did these images reveal themselves to him as a teenager. As I look back on our lives and at what I know about him, and of his other  creative expressions, I suspect he was born to live in the depths of life -botrn to stand in the seering presence of the Mystery that life finally is - born to have suffered deep wpimds and fin it find the poetry to name the ineffible.

Robert A. White, Age 44.

How did the old TV ad put it  - the one that showed at 10:00 pm? "Do you know where your children are?"  I confess, I did not know. I have heard it in his music, especially in playing his harmonicas and guitar. I have felt it in his angry rages. I have appreciated his thoughful gifts and cards on special occasions. Still, it is a miraculous wonder to me that I should be privileged to discover this ever so sensitive part of my own son. Pulling this out of the archives of family memorabilia was an awakening moment.  I hope I get to know more of my son's great depths - at least a taste of his deep truth. I hope. I hope. I hope.

When is a time that you were able to connect with someone very special?

What did you find you have in common?
How do we honor these great gifts of our children and of their children?

Family Pictures

Recentlly, I pulled out a suitcase stored way back in the closet. It was filled with family pictures through the years. I stored them in the suitcase and in a waterproof sack in preparation for a hurricane's onslaught. 

When each of my three sons turned 21, I presented them with an album with photos and certificatesthey had achieved. Russ and Randy's albums were in the suitcase. They had given them to me on different occasions for safekeeping. At the end of each of their albums was their very first picture taken. I had cut it so that each had the half that was his own picture.  I might mention that they are twins. That I cut the picture in half like that has bothered me for over 20 years, now and then.  So, while I had both albums out, I took Randy's picture out of it's place and put it into Russ's album. It fit like a puzzle piece. For a moment, all was well with the world.

One album had the remainder of the pictures I had removed to make the albums for my sons. I took them all, labeled them and put them in a new album. One other album is still missing. The old wedding album remains in tact. I organized artifacts and pictures of grandsons into envelopes for later assembly into albums, packed all in plastic and found room for them in the album closet.

As I closed the closet, , I noticed two big shoppiing bags of unsorted pictures which, I vaguely recall storing there with full intention of creating a visual journey through their time. Several years have passed since that storing of those pictures. I didn't even venture to look to see if I could remember their stories!!

when my mother died, I packed up all her albums and gave them to her granddaughter to keep. I don't recall if they are labeled. I gave pictures to my brothers that were of their family alone and sent a few to cousins of their families. I found a few pictures in frames that I thought one of the hurricanes took with them when they broke opened my door and took my roof, while passing through!!

At the end of the day, I closed the album closet's door with the full intention of getting back to it really soon.  If I don't, I don't. There is history to be told and all the memories are stored in our hearts, waiting to be told. The pictures help with the details. They all have smiling faces, but sometimes, there is a darkness that accompanies them, that won't be forgotten either. Forgiven, yes. Lesoons learned, yes.  Wounds heealed, for the most part. The most valuable part of the pictures is that they reflect that there has always been joy along the way, something I sometimes forget.

The most important part is putting the pictures together into a story. How will the story read?
Suggestions are welcome here.

New Moon

New Moon Dreaming

always of You

New Moon Dreaming

Never Comes True

Forever is gone now.

Forever is gone.

This is the beginning of a song I was writing about  the time the four hurricanes were having their way with Florida and where they traveled to before and after their visit here. The chords were an A minor and an Eminor and another minor at "forever". LIfe was a roller coaster ride for several years and those hurricanes were top of the ride. Life is more of an ambling path these days, a refreshing change.

Now, if there is an underlying sense of being alone, it is definitely to be found on the internet. Games played, gifts sent back and forth, crops harvested, points made, levels reached. It is a cyber interaction with neighbors of the game and that's it. Whatever I make of it, I made of it, and it has nothing to do with the growth and bonding of friendship at all. I have enjoyed all of the posts from new friends and friends of yore. In fact, with many, the posts have been encounters with great experiences of art or calls for social action. Again, what I make of it is what it is.

This blog, I have decided, is me writing my life for myself. If another reads it, I am grateful that words that I intended to write from my heart, have reached another to experience. I am grateful to be able to know what is happening in the news directly from where the news is happening. Right now, I want, in the worst way,  to hop on a plane and go to Haiti for crisis intervention care of the caretakers there. Yet, here I am, sending healing light and blessings as a constant vigil.

There are gifts to being so totally alone. I am getting a lot of writing done. But, there is community, too. It is the "forever" that needs to be recovered at this time. I long for the sense of community to be more than a cyberspace phenomena or an annual conference.

As I drum under the new moon, having been invited to attend a drumming that is occurring in a community who are actually gathered, I feel community. Yet, here I am alone, however connected.

Is the time right for real community to resurge for me? What would be a global demonstration of its value?
Where do I begin?

facebook.com

Oombulgurri

(This stand in is waiting for an authentic pic from Oombulgurri)

An elder, one who held the community together, died. The people who lived in Oombulgurri (a village, once a mission station, in the Kimberleys, Western Australia) were in a mourning period. The people of the community were all in their homes, playing cards or sleeping. Wood burning on open fires filled the community with a warm sense of total peace. The place was unusually quiet everywhere.

Out of nowhere, a change in the air pressure caused the door to the commnity store to fling open. It  had been secured and this did not make sense at all. Two  of the women who worked in the store hastened to get me. We high tailed it to the store together to see what had happened. The strangest part of this happening was that, even with the doors wide open, nobody attempted to go into the store and help themselves - which would not have been unusual.

When we arrived, the  other two women would not go inside the store. Most of the people of this very small community of about 100, were standing near the store, just watching. I went inside,wondering to myself how to make the most of this - to further increase the ownership of tthe development and well being of his community by the people standing outside.

Inside was dark, except for a light streaming through a hole in the corner of the roof. The light was extraordinarily bright - or so I thought at that moment. It set my imagination into full screen production. One of this ancient culture's beliefs is that each living thing has a wanjana (dreamtime apirit). I imagined that this light was the wanjana of this elder who had just died.  I imagined him telling me to tell the people outside that he was protecting the store and them as well. I turned around, facing the people standing outside and told them just that. I asked if anyone needed anything from the store,since we were here. Noone did and all returned to their homes.
We locked the doors and checked carefully that all was secure. I set out to return to my own place. On the way, one of the elders called me over to her fire.  She asked me to tell her EXACTLY what I had seen, heard,  and felt. So, I told her that I had quite vividly imagined what I had related to the people standing outside the store.  her response was, "You are one of the clever ones". Translated, that means, I know the secrets of the elders and how to use them.

Clearly, I had crossed over into the persona of another culture, stood in a very primal place, and responded. I acted with a pure heart. I had connected with the people of another culture as One.

This is what the world needs today. People who can do this adeptly and with purpose. This is what I see in so many people today. One by one, occasion by occasion, connecting. Understanding the commonality at the center of different perspectives and understandings of life.

Where has this happened to you? 
Where have you seen it happening?
What difference does it make.

Jeanne

The wall of the side entry, a small office, is covered with Engstrom history. This picture on the right is Jeanne's granddaughter, Jennifer, with her nieces. These were taken in January 2004 at Jeanne's home following the funeral.



Today, I remember, Jeanne Engstrom. I related to her as my only sister. She passed into the Light six years ago this month. I talked to her on the phone once a week and had failed to call her one Sunday night. She died in her sleep. That was Sunday night. On Tuesday morning, her daughter called her and her boss  also was upset because it was the second day she hadn't shown up for work. She had been resting peacefully for a day and a half before her death was discovered.

Few people have influenced who I am today like she did. In many ways, she was  the mother  AND the sister I needed in my life. We had real conversations about real women subjects. She taught me how to be a grand hostess and cook for a large family. Her sense of creating a plush, inviting environment is unsurpassed by any. She should have been consulted in decorating and hosting at the white house now and then. She had fiery red hair which she maintained, along with her attire - the elegance of a queen AND  pzazz of Auntie Mame.

Jeanne was a contralto, the best in the valley. She sang with my father, the bass. The soprano was Ruth Larsen, and the tenors varied, from Bill Marley to Leo Carvelle. They all loved music and performing. Jeanne was active in local theater, too.  She is especially remembered for her role as Aldonza in Man of LaMancha. I remember helping her to learn the words to another musical,  That's Why the Lady is a Tramp. Of course, I know all the words by heart, too.

She sang at my wedding - The Lord's Prayer and Wheree're you Walk, Cool Gales Shall Fan the Glades. I heard her trembling as she sang. I was honored to be so special to one who was so special person.

When I'd return to the Utica area for a visit, I'd stay at Jeanne's. She and Rod always made me feel like I was at home at their 300 year old circa  building, which had been a doctor's surgery once.  So many memories. Further back to when I was a little girl when she gave me an apple green depression glass tea set that had been hers as a little girl - back to stories she told me of her own childhood. When she and Rod began their family, I baby sat and watched them grow.

I only know one grandchild, Jennifer. She has fiery red hair, a beautiful soprano voice, plays the cello, and is celebrating the 10th anniversary of NYMVAE, an opera company she joined in NYC and never left. Jeanne would be so proud of her. Even, if she were in a wheel chair, carrying oxygen, she would be at the anniversary celebration. I do also have to say that she would have a martini in her hand, if only for the memory of a life lived to the fullest that she knew how to live.  As I do, she would see her Spirit carrying on through to her granddaughter. She might even see some of herself in me.

Here's to the lust for life and the love of the theater that Jeanne channels into our lives!

We all have these memories of people close to us, no matter how our lives unfolded. Who is one for you who nurtured and protected your inner child and applauds for what you have become?

Synthesis

I receently read three books:  The Stranger, Noah's Compass, and The Lacuna. They were  about men who let life happen to them in different ways. All  three had shadow events which they had blocked out.  I know that The Stranger was  a profile of a circumspect. In Noah's Compass. the main character was a school teacher whose job had been downsized from a philosophy professor to finally a preschool aid. The Lacuna was written as the diaries of a man who became a famous writer and was destroyed by the McCarthy era Inquisition.

One soul walks tthrough life as a stranger.
The stranger  is circumspect with
a gun in his hand - disconnected from his
experiences.

One soul walks through life as a teacher.
The teacher is displaced from one job after
another  - accepting one of lesser meaning  each time.

One soul walks through life as a writer.
The writer captures the essence of
his experience  - only to be destroyed by national paranoia.
(He does disappear and there are hints of his having returned with a new identity)

I was drawn to these three stories NOT to awaken me to the demise of letting life happen (not to be confused with accepting the way life is). Rather,  it connected me with the deep cry from within which screams "Help me!" These cries I hear in the silence of people who I know are needing to tell their life stories and just don't know how to do it.

As Bill Salmon said in on earthrise@yahoogroups.com  recently, it isn't  objectivity, rationality, or a cognitive perspective that needs telling . Looking through that scientific lens  very likely causes hopelessness, confusion, and despair.

What, when, where, how, who and why are facades of the deeper story, one which boils within like a volcano about to erupt or a sun about to show its face on the horizon in the morning.

The stories that need telling are life experiences, those which are meaningful to the teller, and communicate ownership of the experience. They reveal the underlying purpose of having been born, or a dream realized or quashed, or a shadow brought into the light.

These three stories, The Stranger, Noah's Compass, and The Lacuna were presented to my experience one after the other. I asked myself  "What is the experience in each one which I connect with?" Then I ask myself "How are these three experiences are alike - or similar?". I meditate on the answer, going even deeper. Then ask, "What is the story I have to tell here, including the message, the insight, or the aha?" The final product, if you will, is a synthesis - a gestalt of what appeared to be three separate experiences, but has become one meaningful slice of  life.

After the objective, reflective, and interpretive aspects of your own experiences, pick two or three, go deeper to how they relate, and deeper still to the insight in the relationship? What is the result?



p.s. Back from having been published, I need to add to this story that I got a call from the local paper asking if I'd be interested in writing for them. The assignment is to interview local people, writing up their life experiences. Do I have some real questions to be asking them now? You bet I do. Thank you three books.

My Mother

My own mother, I believe Jung would agree, energized a negative archetypal energy,  which I continued in the raising of my own children in many ways. My mother did not emotionally connect with me as a person. She was very critical of me. She contributed greatly to my own understanding of myself as not good enough, as an outsider, as alone in this world. My mother's last spoken words to me, three days before her death, were, "Let go of me!" which she shouted out, however weakly, when I attempted to hug  her.

Ironically, everyone liked my mother. Her grandchildren loved her. Her friends loved her. Her colleagues loved her. She was attractive, took care of her health,  and was involved in many activites. As a teacher, she inspired many to go beyond what they thought was possible for themselves. She loved to cook and always intended that we had nutritious meals. There were times we were really poor. She would go to work so the bills could get paid. After we had all grown, she made sure the family would all gather at one time now and then on a holiday. However, my brothers and I are in agreement that that we experienced being  "on our own" by the time we were teenagers.

During the holidays this year, I went to an annual holiday tea at the church she attended. I like to go because the women's group sell crafts which they made during the year. They also have those little sandwiches with the crusts cut off and fancy cookies. They serve coffee and tea from a real silver tea set, into china cups with saucers. While I was mingling in this luxury, several of the women mentioned how much they missed Mother's  smiling face, and her voice in the choir.  My own internal response (refer to previous paragraphs) was a double whammy":  the return of the abandoned child who once lived as the shadow of self-depreciation itself, and the woman I now am - one who chooses to honor my mother's life and her role in mine with compassion and forgiveness.

I believe that we chose the life we would come into before we were born into this incarnation. We chose it for the lessons we need to learn and the messages we need to deliver. I also believe this belief is a metaphor for taking responsibility for the relationship to the life we have lived. and the story we create to hold those experiences.

I bring my mother into the circle of the dance and let her go, as she so clearly requested. I am grateful for being consciously aware, brateful for the gift of mindfulness, AND grateful for being aware that I am free to choose the relationship I take to my experiences. Most of all I am grateful for the source of creativity - the space where I energize suportive and positive archetypal energy.  These qualities make lesson learning possible. In fact, learning to access them, may just be the lesson I have learned.

I can say that my mother's life was received into the Light as whole and perfect - her whole life, all of its pain and all of its joy. I am free to choose a Mother archetype for  this phase of life.

She is Sophia: http://northernway.org/sophia.html

How have you been transformed by changing your relationship to an energy that gets in your way sometimes?

Communion

Common Meal in the Great Hall, Chicago, in the 70s.

A highly formal ritual of communion.

The white symbol on blue is the "wedge blade". The circle reprresents the earth. The white perpendicular line represents the way life is right now.  The wedge through it all is the movement into the future, beyond what is. Steppping out beyond the point of the wedge, is to be the Church.

The church as a social pioneer, an image captures by H.Richard Neibuhr, drew me into a life of social change. The journey, in and of itself, was a great awakening. During this period of my life, my purpose was to be  and to create a demonstrtion of renewal within the church, of the leadership, and in the community. II was part of a world wide ecumenical moement of people who pioneered in our lifestyle, what this renewal looked like. It was a rigorous journey. It was an experiment.

I would have to say honestly, that today I am ex-church. Not in the sense of pioneering new ritual, story, and symbol. I am no longer "ecumenical". There is the whole world, many cultures, and a new earth consciousness emerging in the collective psyche of the people who live on this planet earth.

There is a new pioneering venture now. Awakening people is not needed. Forming a  synthesis the gifts of the cultures and religions of the people of the earth is needed now -  into a conscious understanding of our pluralist unity.  From this will emerge the new meaningful rituals, mythology, and common symbols.

 Where to begin?

Here is one group inviting everyone to meditate and pray for forty days as a worldwide sangha.

http://www.winterfeastforthesoul.com/

What is your thinking on how to synthesize the diversity of the cultures and religions of the people who live on this earth of ours?

Yule

To see a Yule log indicates joyous and promising expectations for the coming year.

 http://www.controverscial.com/Yule.htm

Solstice means “Sun stands still in Winter”. Solstice celebration has been renewed and has become popular during my life time. Yule and Winter Solstice are one and the same. While Winter Solstice is now a tradition on December 21st, the burning of yule log on New Year's Eve is the same celebration. Both are celebrations of the old year ending and the new year beginning.

While living in New York City, I never missed a Winter Solstice celebration, even when it meant treking up to Connecticut to walk the labyrinth at one of the churches. I also enjoyed several years of Paul Winter in Concert at St. Johns Cathedral, too. Two years ago, a local church here in Crescent City had rented a labyrinth and the hall was full of people walking the labyrinth here. There has not been a "return engagment", however. As a side note, a colleague told the story recent of his walking the real labyrinth in Chartes Cathedral. When he got to the center, and began the return, he was informed that the correct procedure from the center is to go straight to the altar.

I went to a New Year's Eve party last year at Scruffy's Fish Camp. His New Years Eve parties have become a local tradition. I had heard about them for years, but, even though people urged me to just go, I did not feel it appropriate to do that. Scruffy plans these parties for the people - mainly retired couples -  who stay there during the winter months.  Well, last year I was invited, cooked a dish to add to the pot luck, and went. Even though there was great food, company, and awe provoking fireworks, the burning of the yule log, definitely was the highlight of the party. The log was huge and the fire was lit so the inside would burn and much attention was paid, somewhat like a vigil,  to keeping the inside burning while sustaining its upright position asthe outside burned from the bottom. Missed it this year, but did go over the next day for the New Year's Day party. Again, I brought a cooked dish to add tot he potluck, enjoyed meeting new people, and stared for along time at the remnants of the burning of the yule log. A misty rain had just stopped and the fire was a welcome warmth on a jacket-cold day in Florida.

In conclusion, I would say that being an old time Floridian, is to have created a new indigenous culture. This culture provides a sense of community - a sense of place and belonging - and is celebrated with its gatherings and the rituals within those gatherings. I feel privileged to have encountered this community of the new indigenous people, and to experience a sense of belonging when  we are gathered. A guy named Scruffy and "his woman", Melanie, make it happen here.

I have a feeling, also, that this is happening everywhere. People have been isolated, (or even sadder, are trapped in a kind of collective autism, with no way to communicate with anything or anyone new on the scene) are capturing meaning in rituals of yore and making community happen from the embers of the yule - a life once full.

I would love to know your experience of new community and its celebrations.

Bue Moon

December 31st, 2009 -New Year's Eve

Blue Moon

Since December 31, 1999, ten years have passed - placing us one decade into the new millenium. A blue moon on New Year's Eve is unusual. In addition to the blue moon, there was a lunar eclipse in many parts of the world. New Year's Eve is the one common event celebrated by about everyone on earth. With satellite technology, anyone can celebrate, with images, every hour on the hour for the whole 24 hours as the old year ends and the new year begins in a time zone.
My own meaning of a blue moon is that it is a special night. In my life, years of the blue moons have been turning points in my life. They have been times when I began to move headlong into a new vision of my own existence. This blue moon is again, a time when I begin anew.
During this past year, significant people in my life, those I would call mentor, all died. It was a sign to me that I could leave the past and stand present to a life yet to be, unhindered by notions of unfinished business.
A full moon meditation - a blue moon meditation - gave me three insights to carry with me into this yet to be.One is that mindfulness is as simple as intentionally breathing in and breathing out. Another is that nonself -or selfless - is not being empty of all, it is inter-being - one with all - all one - not separate - whole. "I empathize" has a new meaning. The third is that I can transform my energy by inviting the energy present into my life, welcome it, support it, listen to it, and thank it for being my energy - whatever it is. This will transform the energy.

I'm sure there are other insights on the way. These are given to me on this blue moon. With them, I enter 2010. I am ready now for new year's resolutions. to support this life yet to be.

These three insights given to me on this blue moon, are given to me because I need them right now.

When I look deeper at the common message in the three, I understand that I have what I need to get on with it - this new phase in life.

How did I learn to listen to my inner wisdom? What a gift to be given. How do you access your inner wisdom? What is it telling you these days?

Winter Solstice

Sun rising on new fallen snow.

While a seed deep within the earth.

Sleeping in mindful anticipation

Of flourishing rebirth in Spring.

Sprouting as a new beginning.

A new perspective on ancient wisdom.

A new form for earth's well being.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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