Meditation

At the Milltop Tavern in St. Augustine

 

 Like water scooping into the water wheel and then spilling out, with the present constancy of the wheel's turning, so IS the meditation process.

I, too,  meditate.Everyone who meditates as a daily ritual has a way that works best for them.

Most times,  I can quiet my  mind, being mindful of the well spring of never ending images and feelings, and  letting them go as they appear on my consciousness screen

I meditate more effectively with an initial centering and then spending the quiet time with a voice mantra or activity  - like mindfully walking, expressively dancing, stringing on a psaltrey, -- or eating.

Over the twenty years or so of mindful meditation, I have become aware of our fast paced social patterns and all the mindless activity and interaction in which I have participated. Even into the second year of retirement, I find myself getting anxious about meeting a deadline or being somewhere ON TIME.

Monday of this week, I had to report for jury duty at 8:30 am. It takes 30 minutes to get to the courthouse, parked and into the waiting line to be screened.

At 7:25 am, I was sitting down at the table, mindfully consuming a fuit smoothie and piece of almond bread. I thought I was in a peaceful meditative state, mindfully opening my heart to joy as I ate.

Dick entered the room and casually mentioned that it must be close to the time of leaving,

I panicked and spilled the smoothie on the pill organizer, newly filled with a month's supply of "meds to live by" (!). Then tears welled up in my eyes.

There was no reason to panic and no reason to cry. I quickly cleaned up the mess, got ready to leave and got on the road.

I wasn't among the first 25 whose names were picked, and had to wait in the courtroom with 75 others in case the screening of the 25 meant more names to be drawn.

I spent that half hour or so reflecting on the morning's panic attack and cry. I decided that I had clicked into the old have-to-get -to-work modus operandi and was subsequently angry at myself  for it.

After promising myself an occasional imperfection in my new retirement mode, I let it go, grateful for the gift of mindful reflection and ability to disidentify from my attachment to the event's judgment.

Then, with uncanny synchronicity, a judge entered the room to let us go, announcing that there were enough jurors for this week's trials.

What is your relationship to time these days?

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Cancer as The Way LIfe Is

I'd be willing to bet that there isn't one person alive who hasn't encountered cancer in some way or other.

In seven bouts with cancer, I didn't have much support at all from others. In fact, for the most part, I was ignored. I'm sure my being emotionally drained was what others felt when they were around me. I was angry. I'm sure that did not go unnoticed either. Ignored by others and abject FEAR of pain and imminent death almost got the best of me.

However, I learned a lot from those visits with cancer. One lesson cancer taught me is that, even with  support, it is a walk alone through the valley of the shadow of death.

Eventually, I experienced that having cancer was teaching me to care about myself and how I relate to the world around me. I looked into my own interior resources for survival, for relief, for comfort, for assurance. I found all that I needed to give me energy for healing right in my own heart.

A wise woman on the subject of healing, suggested to me, that cancer is creativity turning in on itself, when there is no outlet for expression. Perhaps this is so.

The most difficult occasion was a viral liver cancer. It was also a most creative venture, one that I would  never even have been able to dream of experiencing.

I employed healing music and sound, the healing power of balanced color schemes, healing diet, healing exercise, guided healing imagery, healing relaxation, painting emotions, diary writing, healing affirmations, chakra clearning, plain old exercise, etc., etc., etc.

I spent a lot of heart felt time on bringing the cancer into my own circle of dance, dancing with it, dialoging with it, overcoming my fear of it, becoming one with its being. Plainly put, I let go of any expectations for the outcome and let it just be.

While others around me ignored its presence - and ignored me, I became its best friend, in a way. I got so that it didn't matter if it went away or stayed. I began to experience my self as grateful for being who I am, where I am, and what I am, in the moment.

One day, reflecting on the absurdity of it all, I began to laugh. I was alone and I laughed until my sides ached.What a relief it was to laugh at my self and my circumstance.

My niece has a four year old, Abigail, who has bone marrow cancer. Abigail was born on my birthday, so there is a special place in my heart for her, even though I have yet to meet her.
Her grandmother writes of a really happy little girl that she gets to spend a lot of time with. I suspect that Abigail will be all right. I have a feeling that someday I'll get to meet her. 

But, then, one never knows when a person's time has come.

In the meantime, the journey continues.

And then it is done.

And all is well.

How has cancer affected your life?  What lessons has it taught you?

Why was I born?

Compliments of Kurt Rolfes, Photographer

This photo of an elephant bathing at sunrise holds it all for me - the sun shining on the bathing elephant AND on the cleansing and refreshing spray. The photo as a whole portrays that which is beyond explanation. This elephant is a presence, offering a multitude of meanings from which to choose.

I have been pondering a perspective on the reason for being alive.

This perspective suggests that birth is entering a new incarnation to continue the work of a previous incarnation - that there is a specific reason for being born into this particular body and having particular encounters throughout life and, as well, the reflections and lessons which are learned while here.

This perspective, given what I have experienced in this life's time, got me reflecting on some questions about my own purpose for being here.

• Did I fail to truly love all and forgive all?
• Was I too attached to people, things, or matters of life?
• Am I here to reframe some big unexpected outcome?
• Did I come to learn how to be a mother, a partner, family, neighbor, co-worker? Social change agent?
• Did I come to be a guide to the Higher Self?
• Am I here to face a dread fear of snakes and intimacy?
• Is it this time round that I  learn to dance with the way life is?
• Am I here to learn how to pay attention to my heart's wisdom?

Most certainly YES.

I have many other questions I could ask, but one major purpose for being here that I am sure of is that of learning to trust myself, experiences, others, the way life is - "warts and all!" as being  wondrous gifts I have been given. 

Living this connection with Self - with Soul - is THE ongoing challenge for me.

Have you taken the  opportunity to reflect on your reason for living in this life's time?  What have you discovered? And your greatest challenge is?

Pilgrimage

It was  Spring Break and I was going to Key West. A high school friend, one with whom I'd recently reconnected, and I were gong together.

I wanted to go to the very end end of the Keys - set out to do at the early 70's - and only got as far as Marathon, FL - 50  miles short of arriving at the most southern point in the USA at the time.

My friend and I were going to become Episcopal nuns when we were in grade school - we were drawn to the hierarchy of the Angels of that tradition. Our horizons expanded soon after we discovered boys.

I had a pilgrimage planned so to arrive at a Spiritual destination at the end of the week. I had simply assumed that El Nino would let the sun shine for the whole week. If it didn't, I had a Plan B that kept the significance of the pilgrimage as a journey with Spirit.

I do have to say that my friend might not have been as into the pilgrimage context as I was.  She was the one who chose the perfect eating places and tours that added some most pleasurable content to this journey of ours.

This was  not my first pilgrimage. I do this at each turning point of my life - that almost completed journey to the end of the Keys being the first self-conscious trek.

Each pilgrimage has been the most important thing I'd ever done up to that point of my life.

.Each has been the turning point I needed in my life. Here again, I anticipate the transformation, the letting go of the past, receiving the gift of joy for its entire experience, and a readiness to embrace a new phase of life.

We arrived.Thanks to my friend's immersing us in the stops along the way and my own sense of sacred pilgrimage, it was one of those meaningful occasion's on the journey of a life's time.

When is a time for you that you wouldn't have missed it for anything, especially since you partner on the journey brought along a different  perspective?

Donner Pass

I had just been told a story of the wagon trains going over Donner Pass (northern California), of their having to disassemble the wagons and hoist the pieces - plus the cargo - plus the animals up one side of the mountain and down the other.

I was told this story just before zooming down I-80 through the pass.   It's only been 170 yeas or so since those wagon trains were there.  Much has changed since then, as was brightly obvious that day.

  We live, still, in radically changing times.

Expect to be dancing in the wonder of it AWE!   (LOL)

What's awing you these days?

 

Seeing Red

The 18 voices of the "Sweet Adelines" were harmonizing on the stage of a district gathering of Beta Sigma Phi Sorority. They all wore dresses of shimmering red.

500 women of all adult ages were mesmerized by their  animated sound and coordinated movements, as was I.

Because of the commanding presence of this group of singers, or the first time, in I can't remember when, I felt that I belonged where I was at that moment in time.  

Red, a color popularly used to interpret as anger, wrong answers, and, in some traditions, death,  now had an entirely different meaning in this moment.

Of course, there are red valentines, red holly berries, red-nosed reindeer, red white and blue, 5th City's red and black, lady in red is dancing with me, etc. Red isn't always used to represent those more ominous entities.

Here, in this moment, was red harmonizing powerfully, touching the deeps of a room full of women.

I find myself reflecting on the song, "Some people wait a life time for a moment like this", and I realize there have been hundreds of moments like this in my life's time.

Reflect on these moments in your life's time when you felt like you really belonged where you were.  Which stands out as particularly significant?

What is a Soul Mate

 

Dear One, you are an exquisite soul.

I have known thee of old from once and future time.

How precious and light is your heart.

How generous and soft are your words.

How true and clear is your vision.

Blessings to you.

This post was sent by a woman to a man she obviously felt powerfully connected with. We all have a soul mate of some sort or another.  For some this is a real person, for others this is a celebrity of recent or of yore.

I had a soul mate from a very young age. This soul mate was a real person who I adored. He was a musician, a photographer, great story teller, tall and handsome, and a unique independent spirit presence. When he was near, I felt whole and perfect.

 For years, I never saw him and, on rare occasion, I'd hear about his latest adventure, but he never went away. When I was most alone, my imagination brought him near to me. When I was lost he was there to guide me in the right direction. When I was creating - painting, writing, coordinating a project - he was right there creating with me. Let's face it, he was ALWAYS there for me - in my imagination. I held him in high esteem. He was my hero.

Now, the truth is, we never did much together - I would get to tag along with him on occasion, and as a real person, he was not always there for me.It isn't that he didn't like me, but, well, I guess I could say, I was like a "groupie", had he been Bob Dylan - which he wasn't!

As a man, he is successful, he radiates a confident presence, he has a gentle soul, and most of all, he still has a great sense of adventure. Today, he is famous in his own right and has managed to tell his life's story to reflect the wholeness of his life's time.

Of course, I have a secret wish that I could be like him and that he would adore me as I do him.Truth is, he's just another elderly gentleman. And, if I look in the mirror, I might just see myself there as clearly as I feel his presence in my Soul.

Soul mates are like that. If I didn't understand him as being my animus, a reflection of my own potential, I  would be obsessively yearning. But, I'm satisfied, with this inner personification. I recognize him in my real time relationships. This is good.

Who is your soul mate?Why is your soul mate so powerful to you?

Harvest Moon

Harvest Moon. Sunset.

Earth suspended between the two.

Summer's end. Solstice.

2010
Equally positioned on opposite horizons, the moon  emerges from the eastern horizon in full sunshine.  Its color, a brilliant yellow-orange, yellow, and red-orange blend together - similar to a peach. The sun is painting watercolors of changing gentle hues in the west as it ends its blazing day overhead. Clouds mingle like a crowd on the eastern horizon. Trees, hail the end of day on the west.


2000
Oceanside on the Atlantic. Foamy waves drift in and return to the ocean in a predictable rhythm. The darkening blue sky is clear.
A gigantic  red-orange orb emerges. Birds, suspended in their flights, behold in awe. The silence in this sunshine leaves room for the imagination to hear a great rumbling as the moon arrives and rises into the sky.  The great orange moon hangs gracefully in the darkened sky, as we, driving inland to home, keep a watchful eye on its beauty.

 2010.

Cypress and palm trees.

Bulk heads, sea gulls, and wooden docks.

Harvest moon. Sunshine.

A gray heron struts across a lawn. People are fishing off the grassy public dock while marveling at the moon's brilliance. As the moon rises into the sky, shrinking in size - or so it appears - it becomes a glowing spotlight that will last through the night.

People suffering.

World of opposing perspectives.

Tension increases.

Sun rises. Moon sets.

Equidistant and opposite.

Same two horizons.

Memory of the moon.

Silent. Vibrant. Magnificent.

Lingering in me.

What has happened to stop your world lately, giving you a moment to reflect on the Beauty of Soul' creating Dance?

Blank Page - New Page

Photo compliments of Gaute Mehl, Norway.

I began to write a book about reuniting with Caroline, my daughter. I had completed 140 pages, which I was saving on  an external hard drive. I simply do not know what happened - but the next time I opened it up to work on it, it was gone,

Blank Page

I had cried through the writing of every single scene. And in the reflective process involved in remembering back 46 years, a lot of stuff came up that I had long since forgotten.

Fortunately, I have enough training and experience to  process.  One main question I asked myself was, "How did I get so wild?"

Well, those who know me, know that is my basic nature, subdued as I have a tendency to be. The added element, which I have since learned not to include in my life, was weekend beer, booze, bourbon, and bacchanalia!

When my mother threw me out of the house, after I graduated from high school, I set out to make it on my own. I went through four or five jobs while going to school, and as many apartments, but only one Loose Relationship,  before I woke up pregnant. 

I was happy to find out I was "with child", unreasonable and illogical as that may seem. Dear sweet Loose Relationship and I, as sure as I was that he was the love of my life,  had parted ways by the time I was about to sober up (in other ways, too) and get it all together.

A whole lot of guilt, regret, humiliation,  if-onlys and self-condemnation came up while I was remembering way back then.  I began to wonder how I could look myself in the mirror let alone go on with this very successful life's time I have come to be living.

With  the book gone, I began to see that while writing it, I had acknowledged the reality of and let go of  the closet called book of secrets and whose door is called judgment.  I had opened the door, flooded those secrets with light, and let that period of my life come on out.

While I was dancing this new freedom, within that Presence available to everyone - that which is beyond reason and logic - I had an insight which carries me know into the future.

New page, yet to be written upon.  Write the book from a healed-now perspective.

And the most precious gift of all - my daughter in my life and I in hers.The book will be about the gift that we have been given.

When, for you, have such traumatic losses become opportunities to write a whole and perfect story?

On writing a book

 Forgot to remember from whence this photo came.

The class wrote a book. The students were all shadow children, those who fell through the cracks and weren't making it in the mainstream.

At the Manhattan School for Career Development, students 15-21 learned basics in the morning during their first year and experienced various hands-on careers, on a wheel, in the afternoon. By the second year, they had narrowed their preferences and spent their days on the job, learning the math and reading and other skills needed within the framework of their career choices.

One major trait of these students was their lack of interest in much of anything.  Learning opportunities were presented within an "interest" beckoning context.

Writing a book, beginning with a brainstorm of possible titles to focus visual art forms, students created "scenes" they wanted to be included in their book. The drawings revealed the stage of development, not to be confused with IQ, of each student. The eight students' conceptual development ranged from six years old, to highly symbolic spatial sense - slow processing to rapid repetition of design.

Each student told the story of their drawing as I wrote each word they said onto butcher paper and taped it onto the huge chalk board. Then we proceeded to fashion the pictures/stories into a cohesive story.

I typed it up, made copies, and we spent a few minutes each day for a week or so editing the story. Two boys wouldn't participate, so from the beginning, they were "assigned" to print and assemble the final product when it was ready for publishing.

Two students typed the story and printed the pages during their afternoon career experience. Each printed page matched one of the pictures.  I was able to find a color xerox machine in the neighborhood (a rarity in 1989), and with my own money (also a rarity in 1989), printed 12 copies of each picture.

The two boys printed the books, then collated and bound them in their afternoon class. They proudly delivered a copy to the Principal, and then distributed one to each of their fellow classmates. The students carried their books around for a week, pulling it out of their lockers each day.

Every once in awhile, I am tempted to publish the book. It would be a good children's book about how these shadow children feel. For me, it was an exercise in spiritual empathy. When I offered a suggestion for improvement, it was received with overwhelming approval. The human beings felt they were in a safe place. If they disagreed, we discussed it until we agreed. Their ability to imagine, I found to be  incredibly well developed.

Their pride in creating a book, was worth it all. These students were not even able to read a book yet - or couldn't before they wrote this one.  I don't know what came next. It was the end of the school year and I moved to Florida during the summer.

How have you found ways to accomplish the impossible and have fun while doing it?

Ode to a Basil Plant

My long-time friend, Penny, an award winning writer, advised me to keep these entries short. So, in respect of her wisdom, this one will be short and sweet.

Fresh basil, chopped fine, floating in extra virgin olive oil, wine vinegar, and minced garlic, covering bright red vine ripened tomatoes and small mozzarella balls. What could be finer ?

Fresh picked basil, pureed into a pesto along with with garlic, extra virgin olive oil, fresh parsley - maybe oregano or cilantro.  Best, when mixed into a fancy shaped cold pasta, tossed with  Italian black olives, fresh cut cukes or zucchini, peppers, tomatoes, and maybe some grated cheese or hard salami added into it.

Basil's aroma does an olfactory tango with the immediate air, when freshly picked or when a kitten plays with its branches as it waves in the wind from its pot on the porch.

I love you, sweet basil.

What is your herb of choice? Why is that?

Hurricanes

 

The Heel at Stonehenge

Compliments of Evelyn Philbrook

The year that my home was pounded by four hurricanes was a year of constant attention to details to say the least.

There was barely time to reflect and make temporary repairs  when another hurricane came by . These events  intruded on the day to day job deadlines and meeting of students' counseling needs in the school  Plans for the year I had made  for leisure time and avocation were cancelled.

Other catastrophic events in the world, and in the lives of people I  know well, that year had not eluded my compassion  either.

For sure the living dead had not eaten me up. But, chaos blew in as strongly and relentlessly as the hurricanes that Fall.  Let's face it! There I stood feeling paralyzed in a relative state of major pause.

What I found surprising is that I wasn't at all  going off the deep end - with my pain body raging like the winds themselves,

I wasn't making rash decisions - like a twister uprooting a tree.

I was amazingly constant, incredibly present, masterfully organized in planning and implementing a response to this new and chaotic reality.

My storage shelves had fallen over and all the mahjong tiles, dominoes, chess pieces, puzzle pieces, files filled with  partially written essays, boxes of paints and brushes, carefully organized books and CDs, years of photographs and slides, decks of tarot cards, and all sorts of things I'd forgotten about, all fell to the floor and got all mixed up with each other because the winds blew them all around the house.

I slowly and deliberately gestalted all the pieces into their original order - probably even more organized than they had been, picked up the storage shelves, and replaced everything that was still good.

After I took out to the street, three huge bags of trash and two boxes of useless or destroyed stuff, I took a deep breath, sat on one of the boxes,  and sobbed long and hard right there at the curb.

Life is like this. Winds of change stir everything up in our homes,  occasioning an opportunity to, well,  clean house, renovate, and redecorate.

I threw away that which has been rendered useless by the wind and rain, reorganized what I wanted to keep and found place for it in the house.

I got a new roof, front door, insulation, ceiling plastering, fresh paint on the walls, carpet cleaning and  a couple of other renovations, I might never have gotten around to doing.

But, most of all , I was very grateful for a fresh perspective.

Where did I learn to respond to crisis with calm?

From a deep source of wisdom, indeed.  

Have you ever been in a hurricane - if not literally, then metaphorically?  What's different now?

Good Men in East Harlem

 Photo compliments of Diane McCabe

Driving into the city from Connecticut,the old orange van was loaded with gifts from my mentor, Martha Crampton - chic accessories from Italy,  hand-made Quaker bed, lamp, cushions, framed pictures, books to read, etc. She was down-sizing to move into an apartment in the city and I was setting up living in an an apartment after living out of two-suitcases for many years.

At the time there was a gas shortage. I stopped at a gas station on the Hutchinson River Parkway, got the ten gallon max, and gave the  attendant my last ten dollars.

This amount should have been enough to get to home on the lower east side of Manhattan.

However, as the sun was setting in East Harlem, I ran out of gas. Anger at the gas station for cheating me wasn't going to solve this problem, so I tabled the rage I felt for the time being.

I  pulled off the highway, which fortunately was on a slight decline, so I was able to steer to the curb near a store with a phone booth.

This  was before the day of the ever ready cell phone. I searched for a dime to call home for help, but the search didn't even result in two cents.

As I was contemplating my next step, five young men surrounded the van. Terrified by what might happen, I was ready to bargain for my life. However, when I explained that I didn't need my windows washed and why I was sitting in East Harlem at sunset, one of the men offered to go go get gas for me.  I told him, emphatically, that I had absolutely no money and suggested we bargain for a goods exchange.

This bargaining phase was not accompanied by self-confidence and a steady delivery. I shook and tears were running down my face. The one who offered, said, "No problem, " and took off to get the gas while the others stood by the van while he was gone - while I sat there expecting the worst.

The man came back with a red five gallon can filled with gas and poured it in, then told me how much it cost him. I explained once again that I literally had no money and offered him to choose from the contents of the van. Neither he, nor the four others,were interested.

So, while expecting it, but hoping they would not just take the van, contents and all, I offered to repay him by sending money in the mail.

He agreed to that. I gave him paper and pencil. He wrote something down and returned the paper and pencil. I put both in my pocket, thanked them all, and started the engine.

As I drove off still shaking, I  pondered the miracle I had just experienced. Not only was I in one of the most dangerous hoods around, and not only was I still alive, I had been treated like a queen.

When I got home, I took out the piece of paper to write the name and address on an envelope with the money.  I looked at the name and laughed in astonishment.

But, of course, what else could it be.

The man's name  was Angel -Angel Ramos. 

I'll never forget his name. I will never forget  that day after sundown in East Harlem where, to my disbelief, I was as safe as a baby in a crib!!

They responded to a real need, and I acknowledged that place where trust abides - in this case - beyond my biased image of men from East Harlem.

When is a time your own biases have been challenged, and you

have been gratefully humbled by the goodness of people?



 

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?