Loneliness

Recently, loneliness came for an extended visit, a nagging annoyance for even the most gracious of  hostesses.

I wrote for hours at a time, but there was nothing to show for the time spent writing.

I watched TV, but did not follow or retain the content of whatever show was playing. I couldn't even follow the commercials.

I turned to the potters wheel, but never got around to molding the clay into the little mala bowls I was planning.

I sorted the acrylics, chose the brushes,  and designed the canvas in my head, but no paint ever left a tube.

I unwrapped the training DVD for my new caamera, but never even placed it in the CD player on the computer.

I pulled out all the canning jars I could find, but wasn't strong enough as yet to pick up the canning pot and put it on the stove.

Finally, I made a couple of phone calls to rendezvous with friends, but not one  returned my call.

Mind you, I was not depressed. - just consumed with loneliness and wishing  it would leave. I had a great deal of energy - went to the gym every day, made the bed, and ate carefully (as opposed to trying to fill the loneliness as if it were a hole).

I was reflecting on this state of being which was determined to stay. All alone with the feeling, I was struck with the notion that loneliness and I are ONE.

At about the same time, I woke up to my surroundings. I was sitting on my favorite wicker chair on my porch. Even in the stifling hot humidity, there was a cool breeze dancing through the sunny air.  Birds - bald eagles or osprey - were floating on the breeze. Air conditioners were humming and a buzz saw around the corner was cutting down a tree. 

As I was noticing all this, one of the cats, hopped up in my lap and began to kneed my bare leg as he nestled into cuddling position, nudging me to begin the ritual scratching of his neck.

There was a lot going on around me and lots to do. Yet, I was alone with loneliness and we were ONE. I slowly relaxed into the presence of loneliness.  As I breathed acceptance into loneliness' existence, loneliness relaxed and took its place, like my cat on my lap - first digging into me, causing discomfort, then nestling into its own safe place in my life.

Loneliness, when acknowledged and accepted, is valuable, precious, healing. and brings meaning to the moment. Trying to get rid of  loneliness only increases stress.

We all are, finally, alone. All ONE.

Loneliness is not a feeling exclusive to the few. We all experience loneliness. How do you deal with loneliness when distractions don't finally work?

Earthquaking Retreat

 All shook up!

It was California, a Catholic retreat center, on a hill overlooking   Torrance .

At night, the city below looked like a golden pool. Although it was an illusion created by the many streetlights and the fog in the valley, the power of its presence stimulated the sense of being in a wonderland, as in Alice in....

I awoke about 4 am. It was 7am on the east coast, where I would already be driving to work. Ready for a relaxing week of training, I stretched my arms up like the branches of the giant tree beside me.

Out of nowhere, the ground began to shake mercilessly. My first thought, having never been in an earthquake, was that this was going to be a totally unusual retreat!!

Then the golden pool below went dark, and I, so as not to fall, grabbed hold of the tree. We both shook for what seemed like forever.

Then it stopped.

The event of it all grasped hold of us for the entire week. TV news blared out the havoc and devastation caused. It all set a tone of urgency to what we were learning. It kept us awake and on edge.

During  discontinuous parts of the day, a group would walk to the ocean which appeared to be untouched by the earthquake.

We all bonded, not only by the event, but by our ability to maintain focus on our reason for being there.

Today, so many years later, I love to tell the story of awakening,  centered and so at peace. Being so present, in the moment, I could feel the earth moving  at the root level of  being awake and on already on my feet.

I remember the presence of sheer terror in that moment, as well.   - especially when the golden pond vanished into darkness.

It was one of the magical life experiences, the memories of which return as sheer wonder and awe.

Take a quiet moment to recall a time in your life which still holds both sheer terror and hypnotizing fascination.                                  

Old Movies Made Whole

I inherited the 8 mm film reels and projector that hold family memories from the 40s and 50s. Although I have been intending to have them digitized, I haven't found anyone to do it in this part of the world. What I really need is someone to put them onto an extended hard drive.

I'm recalling a picnic at (Great) Aunt Carrie's and Uncle Fred's. They had a chicken farm, gardens, and a willow tree in the yard. There are shots of the family on the lawn and the little kids in diapers and sun suits running around. One brother in diapers, was drinking out of an empty beer bottle. I'm remembering him, now a recovering addict.

Another was at a beach - in the summer - shots of both grandmothers,  three aunts, four cousins. The grandmothers wore fancy hats, long sleeved dresses, stockings, and sturdy shoes.  They must have been stifling in that sun! The rest of us were in bathing suits. From that, I'm also remembering a few years later at the same place, going for a ride in my father's Penn Yan - state of the art at the time, mahogany motor boat. Today, it is stored in a barn and has a hole in the bottom of it.

Another was a parade on upper Genesee Street. My grandfather's business was selling Oldsmobiles - he owned his own dealership. He was in a white riding coat and hat, with his cronies, and they were showing off their "old" cars. I'm remembering now, just a few years ago, watching the Boiler Maker run ( world famous nual foot race), as runner after runner, passed while I stood on almost the same spot as those old parade movies had been taken.

Another is pictures of my brothers and myself, at a swimming pool, diving off the board. We were quite impressive. I always thought I was fat. What I wouldn't give to be in that good of a shape these days! These are reminding me of a couple of years later when my girlfriends and I went to the same pool for the sole purpose of meeting boys - all skin and bone of me still thinking I was fat!

Memories captured on film can be powerful catalysts for spanning a life's time - like getting flat pebbles to skim across the water.With each attempt, there is a determination to outdo the previous number of hop skips , traveling further than before

I should, I know, have all the film digitized and saved on an external hard drive. Excuse me while I add that to my "bucket list".

Revisiting the movies of the past revitalizes the reality of being somehow rooted. Woven in and through this "memory meandering" is the pain, the wounding that also occurred. Some of us have been spared  extreme trauma, Most of us haven't.

The scripts of old movies can be rewritten. Yes, illusions or losing the film altogether can replace the reality of it all. But, also,  healing stories can be written which include all the facts.

Our pasts can become total gift to us, just as they really have been lived. We all have the potential of being our whole life experience - standing tall with it all - walking with confidence that we have been somehow blessed by it all - that we were meant to learn a valuable lesson from it all.

You know I'm going to suggest you review your old movies, especially those you keep rerunning.

Create a mew perspective for one for which you strongly feel regret - OR - one which  is only the happy part of the story, to include the whole movie.

What changes as a result?

Grand Canyon

It was a hot August afternoon. I was sitting on the edge of the Grand Canyon, observing an eagle nesting on a ledge below  and to the right of me.

Earlier that day, I had taken a left and gone north because I saw a bill board that said, "You can't come this far and not go to the Grand Canyon".

Of course, much to my surprise it took half a day to get there from Route 66, the road I was traveling from San Jose, CA to Ft. Sill, OK.

I was lost in an eagle's flying to and from its nest which held eaglets,, when I became aware that a photographer had pulled up in his car and was taking pictures of the eagle and other views of this great gap on this earth.

I also noticed that the sun was beginning to set, soon it would be dark, and I had no idea how long it would take to get to a motel. Since I was traveling alone, I thought it best not to tent, but to get in my car and drive on down the road.

The sun set and darkness filled the drive down the mountains. The ride took all night. I did not dare stop anywhere, perhaps from sheer fear, perhaps from better judgment.

Elated from the day, rushing with adrenaline from the dark unknown, and exhausted from lack of sleep, I wound my way down the road

.During the ride, intermittently,  ghostly faces appeared of Indians in full headdress or as warriors, or as women with papooses on their back, and occasionally an animal. (I have always welcomed these apparitions). When the faces appeared,  I felt safer and more mindful than when there was only the darkness.

I imagined them as guides sent from the Universe itself. Tiredness left, I relaxed, and almost felt as if I were drifting through the journey of a life's time.

Soon, the sun began its ascent. I was near a small rustic town which had yet to awaken, so I kept on driving until I could go no further. I pulled into a motel, paid the guy his cash requirement (what did he think I was there to do?!!!) and got some sleep.

As I pulled out of the motel parking lot, I reflected on the night's journey, and wondered about the reality of it all.  It was real, even if it was an imagination enlivened by fear. It was very real!

We have all had these super-natural experiences.

What has been your experience of being guided through the darkness, safely and present to the wonder of it all?

Stones on the Hearth

The other day, my friend, Laurie, and I were reminiscing about summers in the foothills of the Adirondacks and other areas within driving distance of our common home town.

The essence of our common yet very different annual experiences was the refreshing return to a natural environment, stone and wood built rustic houses with screened in porches and lots of room to romp.

A lake for swimming -  a pond for skimming flat stones - a stone bedded creek to wade in - weather smoothed quartz to slide down - evergreen woods to wander - wild animals going about their business - berries and currants for the picking - clearings in the woods filled with silence - campfires for roasting marshmallows - sun bathing - moon light and stars - fields of fireflies.

Poison ivy covered with calamine lotion - mosquitoes  for swatting - biting yellow and black flies gathering on  the spiraled sticky paper - sunburn covered with oil - mildewed mattresses to be aired - beaver dams to unblock - pine trees to be trimmed up - daddy long legs in the tents.

I could fill a whole book with these memories.

We loved every second of our time at our summer camps - one week, two weeks,every weekend, or day camp.

My favorite was the early morning mist, walking on the tree shaded paths to a small clearing. I had shaped it by building a fence of pine needles, a circle of stones on the outside and a hearth of stones in the center.  I was very young then and, unless I saw a picture in a national geographic, the sacred space came from somewhere deep inside of me. I imagined it into being there at summer camp,  hanging out with the trees, plants, and animals in the foothills of the Adirondack mountains.

Even today, I look for the small clearings and create of it, a sacred space. There, I breathe in and breathe out, grateful for this opportunity to  hang out, play and be totally in nature with those of us who have gathered at  a summer camp.

We all have memories of going back to  nature. Some of us have moved back there permanently. Those fortunate souls, I envy.

How do you create a sacred place, together with nature,  for your solitary time?

Grace Happens.

 Every year at a time around my birthday, I reflect on the year. 

First, I draw a line across a blank piece of paper OR draw a circle in the center and 12 circles  (for each month) around it. 

Then, I add events that happened around each month.

I weigh the impact of each event, decide which was a turning point and write about it. Then name it.

This past year has involved much revelation.

Every month brought a momentous occasion or two, an event, a new friend, re-acquaintances, special colleagues passing, a new political scene, health crisis or two, an opportunity for new channels of engagement. . .

Some encounters have been filled more with pain and some filled more with joy.

For each, I have been ever so grateful. Most of all I have experienced this gratitude with my whole Heart and Soul this year.

Everything changes when longings, plans, and memories long stuffed into the shadows, become dreams finally realized. Nothing new happens until the lights turn on and grace is here in the present moment.

I have been open and actively involved in occasioning the changes, but grace happens when it is ready. It sure has been gushing this year!!

The whole year has been like this. grace really does appear now and then. I am so grateful to have been so privileged, so blessed.

Everything happens when the time arrives for it to become real.   

Try this exercise, for your year, the past month, past week, or at the end of a day.  Recall the events, weigh their impact on you, choose the turning point and name it.

So Real Now

Paige, Kathleen, Caroline

It isn't that my three sons and their families are not the love of my life. They are, and their families, too.

It's about the newness that I feel to have a real life connection with my daughter, and her daughters. And that she has a real life connection with them, too. 

My dearest long time friend has two grand daughters. They are not yet eight years old. But, she has been so happy with their birth and spending time with them as they grow. I have been envious of her blessing  while also being so delighted for her as she has shared her life with them with me.

Perhaps I shall never create real life memories with these three beautiful women who are also my family.  Then again, even a phone call or a facebook posting is more real than it used to be before I was so blessed this year when actually  being in the same place on this earth with Caroline and Paige, and then Kathleen on the phone.

They have all had great lives. For that I am grateful. Now, getting to know them will be as dreams come true  - those everyone lives for in their own way.

There are no expectations about how it all should proceed or turn out. I am, and will continue to be magnificently grateful for the gift of each memory created, whatever its form. I have been so blessed with the revelation of their existence and knowing that they are faring well.

This alone is enough to experience life as complete. I don't believe I would be in this state of being without  being blessed with awareness of that reality which is beyond any of us to explain.

This same beauteous light of the world, also beckons us on to create new memories.

So, let the create great memories journey begin!

p.s. I am also blessed and grateful for meeting a new grandson, Justin, and for my own children being so open to getting to know their newly extended family.

I write these vignettes, not for the final purpose of telling you all about me. I write them to trigger your own similar experiences on the journey through a life time. Your dream may be of a new generation of leadership, or peace on earth, or the end of poverty, I certainly have those dreams.

What are yours? 

What dreams have come true for you?

What's next?

Daily Rain

Taken by my grandson, Wilder, with my new and improved camera (which I have yet to learn to use fully). It is a photo taken fromt he porch of an afternoon rainstorm. The rain appears to be falling as particles of light.

Many novels that have been written about life in Florida . Many include short afternoon rainstorms.  It's been years since I have experienced this daily down pour. This year , knock on wood, will be a"traditional"  northern Florida summer (sans hurricane or total drought).

This is also the end of my keystone, turning point, momentous, and inevitable 65th year. About to become 66, I am grateful for this daily rain.

I sit on my porch, reflect on all that this year has been, listen to the thunder rumble, watch the lightning strike, and enjoy the washing away and cooling off ritual of it all.

I always appreciate the environment's cooperation with meditation time. It's like being surrounded by a meditative circle of friends.

Kaunda, a former leader of Zambia was a poet as well. A few of his words come back to me often. I use them, still, as I begin these rainstorm meditations. This is it:

"Let us awake to the wonder of the rising sun, where the darkness has warmth, and the rain is a joy!"

Isn't it all a wonder to behold?

How do you connect with this every day way to the other side of letting go, of forgiveness? for the imperfections?

Parasailing

When my grandson, Wilder, was born, I drove up from Florida to Utica, NY, to pick up his half brother, Brandyn. We drove to NYC with excited anticipation. When we arrived, we were not welcome. We did get to meet Wilder and get some sleep, but it was not a bonding time for any of us.

When Wilder was two, he came to visit me with his father, Rob. His two uncles - Russ and Randy, and Brandyn came too. We all had a fine time.

Five or six years later, Wilder and his mother, Cassandra, lived in Texas. Rob was visiting them and they called me on the phone. I talked to Wilder, who was not very receptive. I would say something to which he responded, "Whatever."

So, I finally said to him, "You may want to get to know me someday. When you are ready, I will be happy to have you in my life."  A good cry eccompanied the letting go process and I left that moment in my heart space as a promise.

Wilder is now fourteen and is visiting me for a week. We have been having a great time.

Sunday, we went parasailing.  There we were one thousand feet in the air floating in the sky over the ocean. I reflected on our journey and on the promise in my heart space that had finally become a flower in full bloom. Although my image of this moment was not one of hanging out in the air like this, it nevertheless was a precious and priceless dream come true.

Three generations later. We are family.

All of us have those memories of estrangement and eventual reunion.
What has been your experience?

What Ifs...

Lately, every little thing that hppens elicits a memory of something I have experienced in my lifetime. Could it be that I have come full circle and am doing it all again. I suspect not. I would prefer to believe that the reflective mode has kicked into automatic for awhile.  In that space, encounters of the  moment trigger similarities from history.

At times, I have been consumed with the events of the past which have come alive again. I relive them, very aware of the gaps in the memory, yearning to remember the parts which remain in the dark, out of reach. Events which were emotionally charged have more vivid details, with less darkness.

Reminding myself of, or remembering, the context from which these memories came, keeps it all in perspective. Without that, there is blame, shame, undue pride, guilt, and other illusory feelings.

Most of all, I have been struggling greatly with maintaining a perrspective between who I was back when and who I am today. Invariably, who I am today would have created different memories of back when. 

It all becomes a "what if" game which finally reminds me that I am different, wiser today, able to care about another's welfare. Having lived the life of a social change agent, intending to relieve human suffering, "what if" I had cared for myself and taught those I was training to care for themselves and each other? For the sake of the changes - that being local community development - what I worked for  might be a sustainable self-replicating reality today already.

But, it was what it was. All of it is stampted approved. So much living to do today. Only difference seems to be the sense of freedom to choose where and how to walk the talk today! Follow my bliss today! Dance with it on out to the other end of life! 

What's one of your "What if"s?
When transformed from its "should have", "could have", "would have", state of being to whtever is on the stage to perform next, what is the scenario you are creating?

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?

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