Saturday, November 24, 2012

I am awake.  At daybreak I am circling overhead, a large winged bird using the air currents to easily glide myself above the earth.  I observe from this distance the movements below.  From this vantage point I can easily see the terrain, the hills and gullies carved out of the hardened molten lava, belched hot and foaming from the belly of this terrestrial sphere.  I am circling, circling ... not ready to land ... not quite yet.  Being detached in quiet observation has opened me to profound realizations.  I have felt the winds blowing from the north, south, east and west converging upon me in a great flurry of energy with timely messages of rebirth.  I have listened with my heart to the voices of conviction and the mumblings of destruction.  I have felt the currents but still I circle ... not willing to commit ... not just now.  As the gyrations continue I observe with great reverence the quaking and tremors of our Mother, the Earth.  The land breaks apart like pieces of a puzzle shaken out of alignment.  Jagged fragments of opinions, religions, love and hate get tossed into the air, broken apart by the corruption of the senses and a reality that just can not be held together anymore.  Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.  This is what I’ve been waiting for.  In the breaking apart comes a great breath, a sliver of Life Source that spreads across the terrain, making itself available for our transformation.  Love seems to be rising to the top like thick, clotted cream available for our ravenous consumption.  We are the pioneers on the edge of a cosmic flow, pushing out in the exploration of the Divine.  That Divine Light is flooding the planet, expanding in the darkness and reframing the world as we know it.  As always, the deepening and understanding of our true nature will be reflected back to us.  As within so without.  I have great hope, love and compassion for all that we have gone through and all that we will encounter as we weave our way homeward.  This profound realization beckons me and awaits my arrival.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Crossing the Fence

In the last couple of months I have had a reoccurring vision from my childhood of a fence.  This particular fence separated me from my freedom.  It divided my life in two and whenever I recall it now, I can still remember the feeling of being held back from my dreams. The wooden fence was in the playground at my grammar school and ran along the border of where we were allowed to play and what was officially off-limits.  I did a lot of day dreaming, my eyes cast upon that open space and wanted what I couldn’t have or what I thought “They” wouldn’t let me have.  

In reality the fence was put up between the school yard and an owner’s beautiful, open field next door so that Inquiring Minds wouldn’t meander into someone’s property.  We, like good sheep, were herded together and expected to stay with the herd, no straying allowed.  There were wooden steps that straddled the fence, two going up on one side and then two going down on the other with a shared platform at the top.  The steps were placed there in case a ball flew over the fence and had to be fetched by one lucky student.  I remember one time nonchalantly creeping over to that fence and with stealth-like precision, placed myself down on the first step unnoticed, then slowly moved up to the second step with my eye on making it to the top platform.  I was spotted and promptly asked to remove myself from the stairs and go back to the school yard.  What would I have done if I had found myself on the top with one foot over the edge toward that wide open field?  I don’t know but the idea of testing the boundaries and making an escape was exciting.  

So why now this repetitive reflection on the fence?  Obviously what it meant for me then and still symbolizes for me now is simple; Freedom.  No matter how the theme comes up for you, be it politics, money, job, family, etc., Freedom will be front and center in the next couple of months.  The choices that it brings up, the hesitations, the fears, the directions we take and the “allowing” of it in our lives will be the prevailing experience.  Freedom is all or nothing ... a “little bit of freedom” doesn’t work.  That is not truly being free.  It would be like me getting to the top platform of that fence and dangling one foot over the other side.  Not good enough!  At that point I would just be playing with the idea, trapping it and keeping it back.  Haven’t we all been doing this for quite some time now?  Making compromises with our lives, our desires and our soul’s yearning for free rein?  With freedom comes peaceful surrender, the capacity to turn our backs on limitation, confinement and servitude.  

So here is the real plan; simply, time to cross the fence and experience the freedom that comes with it.  No thinking.  Just doing.  See ya there.

Friday, September 28, 2012

Some days seem better than others and yesterday was one of those days to be filed under “Better”.  

The leaves on the trees are just starting to turn autumnal colors here in New England and though I dislike seeing the sun waving it’s annual farewell, I hold in my heart the notion that it’s departure is brief and it’s return glorious.  

Watching as Fall approaches evokes subtle feelings and nuances that are special to this season.  It’s a time of awakening in a way, different than the Spring.  It’s like someone has snapped their fingers close to my ears which immediately brings me back into alignment, back into focus.  The hot days of summer and the heat tend to make me more “ploddish” and cavalier in my attitude.  Autumn seems to activate me again and I find inspiration of a different kind on these cool days.  

I was traveling a country road on my way to the barn where I ride.  I’m always happy on those days that I go horseback riding. It has become my religion lately.  As I was driving along I noticed how differently the light glimmered now and how beautifully it cast it’s glow through the orange and yellow leaves that waved gently against the backdrop of a cerulean blue sky.  I rounded a corner and approached a small knoll in the road, typical of roads here in that you can never tell what is on the other side of the crest until you get to the top of it.  So as I made my way to the top I was surprised to see what was lying on the other side of the road.  It was a map, one of those old AAA road maps that were always stuffed into the glove compartment of our car and inevitably tumbled out when we went to open the latch.  It was an accordion type of folded map that once opened, became impossible to crease and put back the same way ever again.  Seeing this lonely map spread out in the middle of the road immediately struck me as funny and I laughed as I breezed on by it.  I hadn’t seen a map like that in ages.  With the advent of the GPS, who knew that they were still being made?  Here was this one lone map, being tossed and turned with every air current that came along and gave it flight.  When I thought about it, I imagined someone wandering the countryside, pathetically trying to find their way from “here” to “there” after having lost their map because it flew out the window.  I started thinking of all the different scenarios of how the map found it’s way there and what it meant.  For me, this map seemed to ignite a plethora of interpretations and possibilities.  Was the Universe giving me a hint?  “Deborah you’re lost.  Here’s a map.  Now go and find yourself.”  Giggle, giggle.  Or was it a message for the Collective; “Everyone, throw away your maps because they’re not needed any more.  You’re all on your own.”  Maybe it was just some frustrated driver who, after hours of trying to find his way to his destination, just threw the map out the window and said, “Forget it.  I know where I’m going and I don’t need anyone’s guidance anymore.”  

However it came about, this antiquated map of curvaceous lines and straight intersections was lying there in the middle of the road, it’s history unknown.  If only it could talk.  It seems to me that we only really know where we “are” in relation to something else and where we “are” is only momentary anyway.  Our emotions, energies, intent, expectations, excitement, etc. change how we perceive our surroundings, so is anything ever really stable?  Can you actually “map” fluidity?  Somehow a map seems very presumptuous.  It supposes that the world is not likely to change although when the world is viewed as a living, thriving being, modifying itself as it moves through it’s gyrations and metamorphoses, how is it that a map can even assume to plot it’s highways and byways?  Maps are so 2D, aren’t they?  Very black and white.  Have they become obsolete?  Can we not find our way through other natural inclinations other than following a black line on a white page?  Think of all the enchanting adventures you might be missing by not taking a “deke” or two every now and then.  Maps leave nothing to the imagination ... no off-roading allowed!  

Anyway, I knew my destination.  I was on autopilot, anxious to get to my beloved horse and that wonderful smell of “Barn”.  I flew past the map and in my rearview mirror, watched as it lifted with the breeze and tumbled and twisted, left alone once again on the ground, begging for someone to scoop it up and find it’s relevance in this ever changing world.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

I stand perched on a small rock, probably the only one that exists on the desert road that stretches from Los Angeles to Santa Fe.  I teeter on it, trying to get a better view of the speeding bullet of a car that is due to arrive any minute now.  I place my hands together to form a shield over my eyes to block out the scorching sun and it’s searing rays.  As far as I can see, it’s straight highway in both directions with no car in sight.  What if he doesn’t come back?  I’ll be left as a prime filet for the carnivores that come out at dusk in this no man’s land.  I’ll find myself being stalked and eaten, not a morsel left for identification.  If I manage to survive till dawn without being devoured by a coyote, I still might freeze to death.  How cold does it get out here at night?  All these looming thoughts flood my brain and fry my nerves as I strain to see any movement on the desert floor.  

I think I hear something.  Am I imagining it?  No ... I definitely hear something far away but it’s getting closer  ... I think.  Yes!  I hear the long distance sound of what I think is a car engine and my heart begins to beat double time.  How long have I been standing here?  My eyes squint and I feel a bit dizzy from the pounding of the sun and the emotional strain that is running through me.  I am on the edge with fear and panic but now I see a white dot in the distance, mixed with the heat waves that rise from the pulsating desert sand.  The engine sound increases as the white dot becomes bigger and gets closer, close enough to finally realize that indeed, it is a car.  The white of the car and the heat of the desert reminds me of the space shuttles that touch down, descending from great heights and distances with tales of outer space adventures on board.  That’s him for sure, a person that I have known less than a week, at the controls of his sports car doing about 140 MPH and making his way directly toward me in the Mojave Desert.  

The man behind the wheel is a friend of a friend, someone who’s background is a bit “iffy”, but that seems par for the course once you’ve lived in Los Angeles.  Everyone recreates themselves once they hit the California border, so you let a lot slide when it comes to people and their history.  There was something that I really liked about this person though that made me naturally say yes when invited to drive to Santa Fe with him one afternoon. He was fun and adventurous, a lot like me or so I thought before I agreed to being dropped off in the middle of the desert.  

On our way to New Mexico I could tell that he was enthralled with his new car and wanted to make the trip special.  It’s almost impossible to have an accident on route 40 unless you either fall asleep at the wheel or get taken down by a gaggle of Road Runners or tumbleweeds.  The road lays out straight as far as the eye can see and you can easily cruise over 100 MPH.  So in a fit of enthusiasm about the merits of his new car, he asked me if I wanted to hear what it sounded like at a high rate of speed outside the car as he flew by me.  Before I gave it a second thought I heard myself saying, “For sure!”  His enthusiasm was contagious.  The moment I uttered those words, his foot was on the brake, pumping gently to bring the machine to a halt by the side of the road.  I undid my safety belt, opened the door, stepped onto the melting pavement and with a smile on my face, watched as he sped away -- going, going, gone.  Silence.  Major silence.  What just happened?  What am I doing here?  What have I gotten myself into?  Why am I even thinking in such a fearful way?  I let out a nervous laugh.  He’ll be back.  I don’t know him very well but he’ll be back, I’m sure.  And yes indeed he was back, roaring past me like a ball of thunder.  

The ground shook with power and the noise was deafening.  He was going so fast that it took him a while to slow the car down, turn it around and come back to pick me up.  He finally cruised to a stop and in a nonchalant manner, flung open the passenger side door and simply said, “Get in”.  His face was flush with accomplishment and he was grinning from ear to ear.  “Did you like it?  What did it sound like?”  Without skipping a beat I said in a cool and controlled voice; “It was great!” and it was.  I conveniently left out the part about the quaking nerves and my lack of trust.  He stepped on the gas pedal and we were off again.  

I look back at that time fondly and with hindsight realize that there was nothing to worry about, we were just two kids having fun in the desert and that was it.  But I also see that because of the fear, I didn’t allow myself to enjoy those moments left alone in the middle of nowhere.  There was such sanctity out there and if I had listened, my heart would have been filled with wonder instead of fear.  

Fear is a big part of our lives and seeps into our consciousness without us even noticing at first.  You get used to feeling on guard.  Fright can immobilize and manipulate.  I mention this story now because I am sensing the maturations of fear on the rise.  The machine is being fed, tweaked and getting ready to rumble.  Just like my friend’s speeding sports car that shook the earth as it approached, I can feel the same tremblings being disseminated now.  Drip, drip drip. Slowly anxiety is being ramped up.  I see the process, the signs that we are in for something big.  Don’t fall for it.  Your fear will only provide fuel and energy for this locomotive engine to careen it’s way into your life.  We don’t have to get on board.  It’s a choice.  

As a sovereign being I could stand in that desert now, fearless and safe, knowing that it’s up to me as to how I choose to see the world “and things that go bump in the night.”

Tuesday, August 28, 2012


Wow!  Different energies abound.  I feel as if dense boulders have been moved from my path and I am the fresh stream, flowing with strength and purpose.  Limited belief systems no more!  Clearly a new day without exception.  Clean winds are blowing.  I can sense everything falling into place and can hear the locking of links as they secure themselves to one another.  We are the links.  A ground swell of opportunity pushing itself throughout creation, probing beyond limitation now.  Anticipated awakenings are here.  Look no longer to the future because the imminent expression is now.  In my mind’s eye I see sparks igniting other sparks.  We are all potentials sitting on powder kegs of light.  Are you feeling it?  We are all Masters in the Ultimate Master Class of Experience.  Nothing will ever be the same.  In my garden I had planted seeds of potential that are coming into full bloom.  No longer do I scuff the soil questioning my creations. Lavenders, blues and greens with a spattering of glowing gold paint my skies today.  I feel us all diving off the edge of “common sense”, propelled into a dimensional space beyond conjecture.  We have yet to fill this space.  We create it as we breathe and pulse.  Finer rays of vivid illumination take us higher into understanding.  Planetary activation has reached a new level.  Awakenings, shifting, release and acceptance are the roads being traveled by individuals and collectives.  You are becoming the archer, the bow and the arrow, stretching yourself taunt and ready for release, becoming aligned and exact as you sail through the air, hitting your mark.  Matching energies arise to meet your new grandeur, awakening your memories and shaking off the layers of illusion.  There are no words to describe an appreciation such as this, only experience.  I float.  What a lovely bubble of existence.  

Sunday, June 10, 2012

My friend Peter owns an island off the coast of Maine.  On it he has erected a most magnificent lighthouse who's beam illuminates the night sky and pierces the morning fog.  He has retreated from city life and finds his solace in the sound of the waters that splash upon the shore of his pine filled kingdom.  He has kept danger at bay with the beacon that swirls in measured time atop his lighthouse.  It is there that I find myself with him at dusk sharing a glass of wine and letting our conversation be guided by the moody sky.  We are high above the rocks that lay below us.  They act as a barrier to anyone who may have a crazy notion of coming to shore unannounced. We use a dingy to take us to and from his sail boat that he has anchored into the water's depths a few hundred yards off shore.  It's a major undertaking bringing provisions to the island and I've learned over time to pare down my belongings so that only one boat trip from the main land to his island is sufficient.  My friend has been very patient with me over the years, leaving me on my own to figure out what is truly necessary to bring to his part of the world and what I can comfortably leave behind. When I first started visiting him he would pick me up on the mainland and quietly eye all the bags that I had brought with me for the weekend.  I cringe as I look back on what I thought was “necessary” for my existence. To his credit, he never said a word at that time about my need to have an abundant amount of “things” in my life.  Only once did I ever hear him slightly groan from the weight of my Louis Vuittons.  But that was then and this is now.  I currently pack all that I need in a couple of nylon duffle bags and have learned to expertly sling them over my shoulders as I jump from the dingy onto the shore of his island and make my way up the path to his house.  Over the years there's a weight that has been lifted from me and I travel lighter in all ways now. Less baggage, less stress.  I've lightened up.  Even though I have a standing invitation to come and see Peter any time that I want, I do not visit him on a regular basis.  His life and mine are different in so many ways.  As much as I admire him and his reserve, I always seem to leave the island and our visits with more questions than answers and a feeling of being unsettled.  In truth,  I wonder how he does it, how he stays on this beautiful island all alone. He is a brilliant man with classic good looks, he would be a wonderful love to any woman if he was so inclined.  What makes him truly attractive and admirable is his ability to “listen”, a quality that seems long forgotten in this noisy world.  Even though he has lived alone for quite some time, it hasn’t made him distant or aloof.  He is still so vital and connected through his writing and his reading that I question whether he ever really feels a lack in his life. He devours spirituality for breakfast, lunch and dinner and can eloquently converse on any topic put before him.  He is in his element expounding upon the virtues of a golden, shimmering sunset as he stands perched on the top deck of his lighthouse and glows with childlike enthusiasm as he feeds the hungry, swooping birds that fly above his head at the crack of dawn.  He is in cadence with nature all around him, the ebbing and flowing of the waters that lap upon the shore.  He seems content, a spiritual being that has disconnected from the material values and pursuits of outside life.  But I wonder ... I wonder.  Why do I always leave with the feeling that I am not doing enough with MY life and that I still need to be with others so that I can bounce my thoughts and ideas off of them and get their input?  I admire Peter so, but I don’t feel that I could ever become so independent that I could forgo human contact.  It takes a very strong person to be as he is ... or does it?  To me, he seems so far above the maddening crowds. So as we are sitting on the banquettes in the round upper deck, high above the waters and listening to the crashing surf below us, I close my eyes and imagine how it must be for him, high atop in his tower and away from the turbulent chaos of the masses, out of reach of the trivial meanderings of human kind.  We are feeling mellow from our second glass of wine and the conversation becomes more fluid with each sip we take.  I am propped up against a million soft pillows, feeling a bit like an Arabian princess with the candles glowing and flickering in the gentle breeze while the classical music plays softly in the back ground.  It is dark enough now so that I can clearly see the rotating beam from overhead as it floods the darkness with it’s swirling shaft of light.  Time and again it comes around, searching out the unknown and announcing that it is safe ... safe for travel and exploration.  In it’s silent vigilance it seems to say that there is nothing to fear, someone’s got our back and helping to guide us to safer shores.  All very poetic and nurturing.  The beam bounces around my head again and finds it’s way back to the beginning of it’s journey.  In a fleeting moment I think, "This would drive me crazy!" ... but I just let it go. I find myself asking questions as they pop into my head, not filtering my thoughts but letting them meander where they want to go. Through the years Peter and I have broken down the walls of moral judgement and hesitation between us and can talk freely.  It’s one of the things that I cherish about our relationship. We are open and free to be ourselves.  “How do you do it?” I finally say to him.  “How do you stay here on this island, rarely going back to the main land but still staying sane?”

He pauses, thinks about my question and finally says, “Deborah, you know me.  I’ve got my books, I’ve got my music, my mind and my heart.  What else do I need?”  This is where I always start to question myself, feeling that I haven’t really reached the “Siddhartha” moment that I’ve always longed for.  After all, if he can do it, why can’t I?  Maybe I’m just too lazy.  If I could only be a bit more spiritual, truly walk the talk, then I would have the peace that Peter has attained.  This thought has a way of making me feel inadequate, as if I’m not measuring up ... but to whose standards, I wonder?  Then ... after all these years of knowing Peter, he finally gives me the biggest, most meaningful gift that I could ever imagine. With two sentences he helps me to extricate myself from a self imposed spiritual hanger that I had placed myself upon every time I saw him.  The sentences he speaks let me finally catch that illusive butterfly that had flown around my head, the one that I had endowed with all the attributes that I thought I needed in order to be complete.  In fact I was complete, more than I knew.  What Peter said to me was; “Even though I have all that I need, I’m still missing one piece of the puzzle.  You.”  And there it was ... my lofty, ethereal Being fluttered down to earth right before my very eyes and I saw him for the first time as an equal.  He was someone that not only flew among the stars, but a man of flesh and blood. I was relieved.  He so eloquently and honestly laid himself before me with those words that for the first time in all those years, I saw him as human. I realized that when I tried to be more like him, I was denying my own humanness. As much as I thought that I should be more lofty in my living, I had to remember that I am here on Earth to experience the human condition too and revel in it’s visceral-ness. To be human and spiritual is not mutually exclusive after all.  I could finally release myself from a self imposed spiritual archetype that I had created and see myself and Peter as we truly were.  We had some reevaluating to do and change, as always, was in our future. The metaphors of the lighthouse and our illuminated awakening are just too obvious to be expounded upon but I will leave you with this; that night, with the beam of light swirling overhead, was a night that I will well remember.  The feeling and pause of admiration of both the spirit and humanness in all of us is wondrous at best and on that night in particular ... divine.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Do You Believe In Magic?

Sometimes it’s hard living in a world with people who don’t believe in Magic.  If one didn’t know better, you could end up feeling pretty silly.  I’ve always lived with Magic.  In fact, it’s been on the top of my grocery list for as long as I can remember, Food, Water and Magic, but for people that need to touch or see something to believe that it is “real”, Magic can seem like a fantastic luxury and a waste of time.  It’s difficult to explain what Magic is because of it’s innate qualities.  My experience has been that Magic is malleable and can be whatever you need it to be at the time you need it.  It fits into small places, sits by your side with no judgement and in general waits to be integrated into your life. I’ve found that it can be your best friend with a wicked sense of humor.  Magic knows your wants and needs even before you do and can help you in changing your perception of a difficult situation.  I’ve called on Magic to come and weave it’s way into my life when times have been challenging.  I’ve asked it to go first when walking down dark hallways just to check for any hidden dangers and probe the darkness on my behalf.  Magic taps me lightly on my shoulders if I feel pressured and reminds me to try and step back and look at situations with different eyes.  At times people seem perplexed at my seemingly lax attitude when dealing with problems.  They seem to understand it better if problems are “attacked” rather than letting wonder and inspiration balance situations.  The only time that Magic eludes me is when I have to explain it’s qualities to others who feel that my belief is irrational.  Magic likes to play and does not like to be brought up in front of others to be poked or analyzed in order to justify it’s existence.  It’s then that Magic leaves me to fend for myself.  How do you measure the unmeasurable?  So I grope for the words to describe a quality that can only be understood by the experience rather than by definition.  It’s hard to explain Magic to someone who has not found theirs or has mistaken it for lucky coincidences.  This is how it feels; it’s as if I am standing out in a field, my arms are outstretched on a beautiful day ... the energy, the light, the power of life is radiating on me and I am reflecting it back.  I look to my left and see a bit of a rocky hill side with familiar faces standing and watching me in kind of a pained way as if to say “Time to come inside, Deb.  Have some hot tea and all will be better in the morning.”  It’s all very touching and funny at the same time. Then I look to my right on the other hill side, a smooth patch of ground with grass and flowers growing on it.  On that part of the hill there’s a party going on.  There are angels dressed up as people who know that we are all in disguise and that’s part of the joke.  They are experiencing Magic every day of their lives, no explanations needed.  These are the people with whom I can relate.  We are the New Standard of Humanity.  I think that the Lovin’ Spoonful were on to something in the ’60’s when they  sang the song “Do You Believe in Magic”.  The lyrics are as follows; “I’ll tell you about the magic and it’ll free your soul but it’s like trying to tell a stranger ‘bout rock and roll." 'nough said.

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Tuesday, May 8, 2012

The Grand Irrationality continues.  It is with a heavy heart that I write this but I feel that I must.  As much as my heart just doesn’t want to go there, I have to bring a current event to the forefront and let the ramifications settle upon us now and over time.  Lightning Medicine Cloud, a rare white buffalo and his mother, Buffalo Woman, were killed on April 30, 2012.  The baby was murdered just shy of his first birthday.  He was slaughtered and skinned.  His mother died a day later, taken down by the poison from an arrow.  It was a slow death.  The white buffalo calf, a “Messenger of God” in the animal realm, is sacred to the Lakota people. He was not an albino white buffalo which made him even more rare.  The chance of a white buffalo birth is said to be one in ten million.  He was not only a symbol of hope for all nations but held the promise of a new day in a new world.  He was a living prayer and now the unthinkable has happened.  He was taken down by someone so far out of alignment with themselves that I feel a collective “pause” is warranted.  This news just shook me to the depths and went though every level of understanding that my mind could throw at me.  There IS no sense that can be made of this from the mind.  If the killings were symbolic and with the intention of trying to stop the light, it hasn’t nor will it.  The darkness has had it’s day and nothing will stop the awakening now.  If it wasn’t done by someone who truly understood the white calf’s meaning and was killed for it’s rare white pelt, then greed is the issue.  In trying to understand the person or persons accountable for these unconscionable acts, one could spend days analyzing the motives, the dis-connect and dis-ease at the core of this conflicted human.  It can only be understood more deeply from the heart space.  It is hard to come to terms with what the eyes see.  It’s only from the mind’s eye that I can truly understand and feel compassion.  I trust that on some level of awareness this story has become more prominent because of the calf’s death.  Why is it that shock still seems to be a way of getting our attention?  Not a lot of people even knew of his birth or what it meant.  Lightning Medicine Cloud and his mother have not died in vain.  You cannot know of these murders and simply walk away without feeling something.  It could be easy and understandable to feel that with this calf’s passing, so too passes the hope and the spirit of unity that was ushered in by his birth.  The killings certainly do not bode well for the idea of peace among nations and the peoples of this earth.  So what are we left with?  Another example of one step forward, two steps back?  Maybe ... and in this particular case it’s hard not to feel a sense of futility ... there was just such a sense of promise ... the happy ending that we all wanted.  That happy ending is going to have to wait a bit longer I guess and our transformation might have to take a few more hits to the heart before all is said and done.

Sunday, April 8, 2012

A bird curled it’s tongue and let out a loud trill.  The flowers on the espalier trees are just coming into bloom.  As I walk to the back gate, my legs brush against the daffodils and I’m very careful not to step on the crocuses.  It’s spring time in New England or should I say, it’s My Time.  Some people profess their love of the sun and want to go around the world following it and the heat and glow of it’s rays.  I understand that need, but instead of following the arch of the sun, I would choose to follow the Spring.  I’d like to find myself in a world that was always coming into bloom.  The act of becoming, moving towards something is intriguing.  What is it about beginnings that make me feel so alive?  What do beginnings have that middles and endings don’t?  Maybe it’s the promise that beginnings offer.  The newness of anything always seems to have sharper edges.  Beginnings are outlined differently.  Even the light is different at this time of year.  It slowly awakens to itself again and creeps toward it’s zenith on June 21 here in the Northern Hemisphere.  On it’s way there it seems to delight in it’s ever expanding ability to stay a little longer into the evenings and rise a little earlier each morning.  The light seems to take on a persona of playfulness this time of year as does everything having to do with nature.  

I remember when each of our puppies came home.  It was all so new to them for a certain period of time.  For about a month after their arrival, they not only looked me directly in the eyes, but they followed movements around my head, tuning into something that I no longer could see.  They would look above me, to the left and the right, their eyes darting back and forth as if they were seeing something in motion.  As they got older though, they lost that connection that they had brought with them.  I am assuming that they were seeing my guides and theirs, as well as all the other angels and fairies that flutter around us.  Babies see the same.  They still have that link to the nirvana they just left but after a while they loose it.  To what?  Survival skills?  I don’t know but I like that wonderful first stage where they are becoming, before they seem to have it all figured out. 

As I go through life, I touch upon certain core beliefs that ring true for me.  Metaphorically speaking, I have a sense that Seeds, planting them, digging them up and broadcasting them, are part of who I am and why I am here at this time.  Not only am I planting seeds of potentials, but I am watching seeds that were once planted in our psyches and souls, coming now to fruition.  I think that we have seeded this planet with the capacity of extraordinary collective growth and we are now in the Springtime of that growth.  There is a sense of incredible openness in the air, an openness that is drenched with a nourishing feeling of brilliant beginnings.  I am very aware of the bounty of life and nature surging all around me on it’s journey to completion and we of course, are a part of nature.  We usually travel from incarnation to incarnation as soul families and we as a group have answered the call to be here now.  Whatever it is that you choose to bring to the table is needed.  The energy of the planet would not be the same without you.  This is our time to shine.  I know that I for one, answered a Help Wanted ad in the Cosmic Times while hanging out in between incarnations.  The ad read; “Planter of Seeds wanted with the added ability to help awaken young seedlings, bring light to Planet Earth and impart it with as much love as you can along the way.”  Guess what?  I got the job.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

A Blog Entry About Nothing

I meditate daily.  My meditations can sometimes last from one to two hours at a time.  I sometimes mediate twice a day.  Needless to say, in that amount of time a lot seems to happen, or sometimes not.  Lately when I meditate I have found it difficult to connect to my “voice”.  Meditating and what happens during meditation is so personal and usually involves no words, so as I write this, I am using secondary explanations for primary ones.  I sometimes channel during my meditation, which is a lot like tapping a vein and connecting in such a way that words, ideas and feelings coming from Source Energy (or whomever) just flow through me.  I write furiously, never really knowing what is written until I look back on it days later.  On other occasions, I write stories or ideas from a feeling or delve into my imagination while meditating and see where that goes and what I come up with.  There are many, many variables and I really dislike giving everything a label, but suffice to say that a lot of creative, intuitive “stuff” goes on.  Then there is the place of “Nothing/Everything” when I meditate.  I loose the boundary of my body with a feeling of expansion.  It’s a sense of spreading out in all directions. In this space there are neither questions to be asked nor any to be answered.  It is a place of being.  I have been spending a lot of time in that space lately and not moving from there.  I go up to the attic and gently whisper “Hello?  Hello?” but I sense nothing.  The space is cleared and all I see is a shaft of light coming through a window onto a cleaned floor.  All seems quiet inside me and I feel a bit stuck, like there is no movement.  I am not connecting the way I usually do and I am finding it rather curious.  Not being able to connect enough to even write a blog entry is unusual and reminds me of the show Seinfeld.  The whole premise of Seinfeld was a “show about nothing”.  At least that’s how Larry David termed his concept but when you truly look at the episodes, it was hardly a show about nothing but on the contrary, his shows were filled to the brim with plots and subplots.  So I’m sitting here trying to figure out what to write and I’m feeling a lot like Mr. David in that I’m not coming up with anything or so it seems.  Is it possible to write an entry about nothing?  I think not.  Even nothing is something.  So I go back over my notes from the last few days to see if there is anything that I can share … possibly a feeling or thought that others can relate to and here is what I find.  In one of my most recent meditations I asked; “Why am I feeling this void?”  This is the response I wrote down; “That’s just where you are.  All is well.  You are at a place where you have cleared out a lot.  Don’t be afraid of that space or try and fill it with “stuff”.  Just let it be.  There will always be movement, expansion, and change.  Just be with what is right now even if it feels like nothing.  A lot comes out of just being.  After a while something will come along and spark your attention.  Till then, don’t push.  There is no pressure.  Moments like this are good.  They are the pause before the movement.  The in breath before the out breath.  It’s the simple rhythm of the universe.  Don’t judge it.”  And there you have it.  My blog entry about nothing with a little bit of something thrown in.  Maybe it’s a contraction before the push?  Who knows … we’ll see.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

It was the twinkle in his eye that I noticed first, that undeniable spark that flowed through his being and into the world to shine light upon this earth.  He walked with clarity and power.  Did I imagine him cutting through the ethers and walking toward me or was he an apparition that I created for my own reasons? The line between illusion and "reality" can sometimes become a bit blurry.  I was leaving LA and sat at the airport with all the other travelers waiting for my chariot to arrive.  I am not a big fan of traveling by air but how else was I to get back to the east coast?  It was going to be a long six-hour flight, so I decided to just hunker down and go mindless for a while.  Out of my travel bag I pulled out a scarf that I was knitting for a boyfriend at that time. The scarf was never finished and the boyfriend was dumped … but I digress.  There I sat knitting like a little old granny, trying to pretend that I was anywhere else but LAX, Terminal C.  The more I think about it, the more I can safely say that I felt his presence first.  There was something about his whole aura that made him stand out from the crowd and made me realize that he was not of this earth and if he was, he was living a different life than mine.  He walked with grace, a kind of glide that said; “I am content with the moment and myself”.  I wondered if anyone else noticed him and rather assumed not because he was there for one purpose and one purpose only.  He was there to meet me or rather to come close and share his energy, so I was not the least bit surprised when he took the seat right next to mine.  It was reserved for him.  We greeted each other as equals in that moment of time, dispensed with the platitudes and got down to a discussion about choices, roads that we had traveled and the knowledge that we gained from our choosing. Never once did we ask each other what we did for a living or where we lived.  His talk with me was allegorical in nature, metaphors that truly could have been taken on so many different levels but of course my understanding was from the heart and he knew that.  Meanings and assumptions were transferred by subtle inferences and intonations.  It was as if my soul was ravaged but now was slowly being nourished, filled to the brim with prana.  I don’t really remember him getting up to leave. For that matter, I don’t remember gathering my belongings or boarding the plane.  When I finally became cognizant of my surroundings I realized that I was in my seat and we were getting ready for take off.  Was he on this flight I wondered? Where did he go?  Did he board this plane?  All of a sudden it became too much to think about.  I felt as if I had had an encounter with Infinity and I was tired.  I looked around the plane to find any available seats that were not taken and noticed some empty ones in back.  After the plane had taken off and we were safely winging our way to the Big Apple, I scrambled to the empty seats before anyone else got to them, threw a warm blanket over myself and fell fast asleep.  I was awakened by the noise of the landing gear being dropped and locked into place and a friendly attendant telling me that it was time to land.  I sat upright with a start, buckled my seat belt around my waist and felt a little uneasy about the fact that six hours had passed and I was aware of nothing.  As I sat wondering where I had been for the duration of the flight, I noticed a piece of paper lying there on my bags.  I picked it up and started to read.  This is what it said; “Dearest Angel, it does not surprise me that you have captured the only four available seats left on the plane. I saw you in the lounge, knitting away like a fair maiden and now find you sleeping as an innocent child.  Your power is great and your heart is open.  May you travel the roads ahead with love and wisdom, harnessing the power that you have at your command.  You will live a life of importance and meaning.  Godspeed.”  I looked up and searched the plane but couldn’t find him.  With my heart pounding I quickly deboarded and began to scour the airport.  I swear my mission was to find him and see him in the flesh.  My scientific mind wanted proof that he was a man but my heart danced in excitement knowing that I had just experienced greatness.  He simply wasn’t to be found.  I stood at that luggage carousel watching the bags go round and round while waiting for him to claim his, but I waited in vain.  He was gone … or didn’t exist … or a little bit of both.  I truly can’t tell you what happened that day but I felt as if I had touched something amazing and alive and although “he” was the catalyst, the greatness that I felt was inside of me and all he did was point the way.

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Wednesday, March 7, 2012

I sat on the front steps looking out at the farm.  The large white colonial house towered behind me.  As I gazed straight ahead I could see the horses eating grass and ambling along through the lush green pastures.  A few out buildings dotted the landscape to my right, the tack room and red barns that stored the hay and saddles.  The horse that I rode today was being let out to graze after having been wiped down and cooled off, not that I gave him much of a challenge.  As a matter of fact I could hear him thinking as we rode along, “Really?  This is it?  No canters?  No gallops?  I like you!”  Anyway it was too hot for all that fanfare but most of all, it was raspberry season.  As we walked along through the wooded path, the raspberry bushes came right up to my stirrups and all I had to do was bend down every few yards and grab a handful, being very careful not to cut myself on the thorns.  Even if I did, it was worth it.  What are a few scratches compared to a handful of eatable gold?  To me, this was heaven.  I needed this time alone because the night before I had attended a dinner party. There were all the usual suspects from the area, some I knew and others I recognized in passing.  As I listened to the conversations at the party, judgment in one way or another seemed to be at the forefront of many of them.  I strained to hear harmony in the voices, knowing that it was right below the surface, but all I could hear was discord that evening.  As I rode along today I got to thinking about judgment and a picture popped into my mind, one of a referee on the sidelines wearing a black and white striped shirt.  He had a whistle around his neck and was clutching a clipboard.  He was comparing, measuring and critiquing.  Ahh, yes!  Judgment personified!  You’re not in the game but separate from it.  In nature one is not separate from Source.  There are no judgments in nature.  Judgment separates us not only from Source Energy but also from each other.  If you can take a higher point of view and a different perspective, you realize that judgment is just a preference with a charge.  Take away the emotional charge to something and you simply observe and decide what you would prefer, how you would like to spend your life, with whom you would like to associate with, etc.  A very subtle shift but a big component in how you choose to live.  If it is true that at this time there are trains leaving the station and we need to choose which train we want to be on, then Judgment will not be a passenger on mine.  By appreciating myself and honoring my own light, my fellow travelers will be ones that I naturally resonate with.  Right now it's normal to find yourself separating from friends and family and wondering what is going on.  Choice is what’s going on.  On a very innate level we are all creating our worlds, the New Earths so to speak and surrounding ourselves with people who respect us and with whom we share genuine love.  These trains will become more and more separate as they travel further down the track. What you may find acceptable now and with whom you share your time, may ultimately become strange bedfellows down the line.  Though the differences may seem subtle, they will become excruciatingly obvious to our hearts and souls as we shift to new paradigms.  Separation and choosing what naturally resonates with us will become second nature and not something that we think about but instead will be a natural unfolding of our true selves.  Which brings me back full circle … nature and raspberries.  Note to self; make sure to pack a plethora of fresh raspberries for the train trip and don’t forget the case of champagne! 

Saturday, February 25, 2012

A ball of light passes from hand to hand as I play with the energy. I can see the sphere of white and gold as the glow pulsates with intensity. I am five years old and was told that I was wrong. Things that I see do not exist but here I am, in tune with the impossible. I try throwing the energy ball in the air and watch it fly up and sparkle with all it’s glowing radiance on the way down. I catch it again and wonder what to do with it next, when I hear my mother’s voice call to me. I don't dare answer. The heels of her shoes make a hollow sound in the hallway as she walks towards me, getting closer and closer to my bedroom door. In a panic I look at the glowing, pulsating ball of light cradled in my hands and my decision is instant. I eat it. Swallow it whole. Now I'm in trouble! What is she going to think when she opens the door and sees me glowing from the inside out? How am I going to explain to her that the very thing that she warned me about, the very magical world that she told me did not exist, is now trapped inside me? The doorknob twists, she pokes her head in, calmly looking at me and announces; “Dinner’s ready”. As quickly as she appears, she shuts the door, turns on her heels and is gone again. I can hear the echoing of her footsteps getting softer the further away she gets. I sit frozen on the bed. Didn't she see it? How could she have missed the glow inside of me? How is it that she couldn't see me lit up like the noonday sun from the inside out? I hear myself slowly mouthing the words, “I'll be right there” as I wonder what to do next. I look down at myself, somewhat hoping that my mother was right and that it was all in my head, just my vivid imagination and childhood fantasy but no, there it is, a glowing ball of energy in my heart space happily shinning back up at me as if to say “Don't worry. I'm still here and aren't we lovely?” I'm so glad the light’s still there and I'm willing to take my chances and any consequences that come my way from daring to endeavor into my own special world. I hop down from my bed, open the door and merrily run down the hallway, almost daring my parents to notice how happy and proud I am of my vitality and connection to life. I take my seat at the table, keep my head low and from underneath my bangs, I allow my eyes to slowly make contact with my mother and father, looking to see any reaction in their faces to my incandescence. Nothing. I scrutinize their expressions and can find not a thing that is different from any other night as we sit here eating our peas and carrots. “Really? You can't see it?” I want to scream, but I know they can't. They've lost it. Their glow has mellowed throughout the years and even I find it hard to recognize a spark in them. Every once in a while it flickers, like when I see my father laugh or when I search my mother’s face and on occasion see the love that she has for my father. How I wish that I could stoke that fire for them both, blow on that flame of love and life and watch it dance once more. All of a sudden I have a horrible thought that passes through me as if I've been stabbed by a knife; am I going to loose my flame? Am I going to become deadened to the glow inside of me as I get older and once gone, would I ever be able to get my spark back? It was right then and there, between the passing of the bread and the clanking of the water glasses that I promised myself NEVER to let my flame die, never to let the life that I am so fully tuned into pass by the wayside in exchange for more “important” things. I've kept that promise to myself and as I sit here typing away in the middle of the night, the keyboard is illuminated by the glow of my heart and my love of life.   No … I haven't forgotten nor will I ever forget what it felt like when I was five. Thankfully to this day I still remember and feel, all the while gently dancing to my own fiery ball of light.

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Sunday, February 19, 2012

The smooth shell of the egg was easily shattered. I held it in my hands and swore to myself that I would keep it close to me and make sure that no harm would come to it. It was so fragile after all and I needed to watch out for it's safety. As I opened my pocket to check on it's condition, I discovered that it had smashed. I heard myself gasp at the horror that I felt I had caused. When it fell from the nest and rolled upon the ground, all I had to do was scoop it up and immediately put it back in the nest. There it would remain safe and bide it's time until Mother Nature awakened these baby birds to tell them to peck their way out of slumber and into life. 

But then I was side tracked by the phone. Instead of being a good caretaker, I slipped the precious cargo into my jacket pocket and ran inside the house to get to the phone in time. I talked for a good half hour, completely forgetting about the life nestled in my pocket. What am I thinking these days? Where is my mind? How could this have happened? 

So here I stand by the sink, gently scraping bird embryo from the inside of my pocket and feeling sad. Why? What control do I have over life and what is out of my hands? I am reminded that the circle of life is all around me. Do I mourn the ants that I step on and kill as I walk to the back gate? Or do I sing a song in memory of the poor mosquito that, in victory, I've smashed upon the bedroom wall because it's kept me awake all night? 

I do feel sad when I see my peonies begin to fade and die in the late spring. I want to make a deal with them to stay around longer because they bring me such happiness and I don't want to let go. It's all around us, the drawing near and then the letting go. How do I reconcile this pain? How do I make sense of the loss? 

In truth, sometimes I don't and even when I do, it can be a grueling process. We are so intricately woven, us humans, and when you pluck on one of our chords, another chord vibrates in recognition and then another and another. The depth and the width of our emotions are staggering in their complexity but here is what I do know. In the words of Paramahansa Yogananda; "We mortals have so many misconceptions about death that it has grown in importance and implanted in us the idea of annihilation and pain. Death is simply one of the steps in the soul's journey from the state of changeable matter to the changeless state of Spirit." 

I couldn't say it any better. I need to rally myself to remember this sometimes because we are taught to mourn death and fear change in our society but I know this quote is true in every fiber of my body and I have understood this truth since I was very young. I just "knew". Though initially I may still feel the shock at someone's passing, it is also coupled with a sense of joy at the flight of the soul and the release of the body. I don't fear death and because of this knowing, it allows me to enjoy life. It frees me. 

So take flight, Little One. You'll be back to be born and fly another day. For now, I honor you and your creative force ... the same one that runs through me, the many ants that crawl upon the surface of this planet and even the (annoying) mosquitos that find joy in their aerodynamic maneuvers in the dead of the night. 

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