tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76836453000112105182024-02-07T03:42:53.922-05:00Deborah TaylorIn The MomentDeborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-22316164800584909032013-05-21T15:59:00.001-04:002015-11-07T08:23:53.858-05:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“I want an upgrade” she trilled as her nails tapped out a rhythmic beat upon the highly polished mahogany counter. A puzzled look came across the face of the man standing behind the hotel reception desk. Thinking that she was being misunderstood, she repeated her request and I could tell that she was not about to be denied. She expected some attention and she wanted it now! With an efficient French accent, the manager asked if he could be of help and discovered that the woman was not thrilled with her accommodations. “But Madame, you have not even seen your room!” And that’s how it went straight across Europe, from one fine hotel to another. I watched as this musician’s wife with whom I was traveling, insisted upon an upgrade to every room that she was assigned. Some suites she ventured to look at, while others she refused to give even the slightest glance. I was fascinated. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A friend of mine is a studio musician and we were on tour with a well know English rock star and his entourage. We were treated like royalty all across Europe and England and the trip was memorable in many ways, but it was this woman that held my attention. The reason that I was captivated by her had nothing to do with her seemingly unreasonable requests. I was not judging her. No, the grip that she had on me was much more insidious. It was a yearning that seemed primal, a wanting so deep and so buried that when confronted with a glimpse of it, I was stopped in my tracks. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As irrational as her demands may have seemed at the time, she was in her own way searching for something that was eluding her. It was not about the perfect room with the perfect shade of light pink that matched the even more perfect chartreuse silk embroidered curtains. It ran much deeper than that and I understood. How many times had I experienced moments that took me out of my heart? How many times had I let problems and anxieties define me rather than releasing them and reframing a situation so that I was free to feel inspired and in awe? It seemed that she had set herself up for failure. Nothing would satisfy her except a main line into a vein called Nirvana.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I could feel her longing and I found it intriguing, but at the same time I thought, how exhausting and fruitless for her. She was setting up expectations and demanding that life flow only within a particular framework and specific parameters, discarding anything that did not fit into her preconceived image and quite honestly, we’ve all done this. Insisting “how” and “when” we would finally allow ourselves to be happy, usually followed by the “if this would only happen” and “only in this particular way” framework. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I think that it’s finally time to throw away all frames or at the very least, start to “reframe”. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I realize now that I was witnessing a limited belief system at play. I watched as this person defined herself and her happiness through the outer world and her interpretation was within the framework of “lack”. There simply is no lack in this neutral universe, unless of course, that’s the game you want to play. In which case, the universe will happily oblige. In this instance, the hotels and rooms changed, but her belief system did not. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Even though I felt for her like I would a mouse in a maze, I knew that she needed to find her own way out as we all eventually do. In reality, we are always just one instantaneous shift away from unlocking our own jail house doors and flying free. Remembering our true nature ... that’s the key. However long it takes, months, years, lifetimes, we eventually remember ourselves, sinking into the heart space and stepping free from the mind. In the moment of present awareness there is the opportunity for awe and inspiration, a delightful invitation to be who we truly are and we all know that feeling. It starts with our shoulders relaxing, sinking slowly down and away from our ears while our heart is saying “Welcome back.” So how do we get there and stay? How do we release ourselves from the aspects of illusion that are not working for us anymore or not bringing us joy? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Well, that’s the journey, isn’t it? Being present and finding our balance in this shifting, pulsing vibration called Earth. It may be an excellent time to learn the fine art of “Reframing”, shifting to another perception, another timeline of opportunity and choosing something more joyful and satisfying to our spirits. This is not about sticking our collective heads in the sand but rather about gaining a perspective that will serve our greatest good. It’s a matter of choice.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Now as I look back, I understand what this woman was looking for when she demanded an “upgrade”. I think that she wanted someone to help her to shift ... to see things not so much as how they seemingly appeared, but rather to be given the opportunity to see what was in her heart, the desire of her soul. She wanted to be consumed and overwhelmed by a feeling of peace and satisfaction and every room held that potential. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We all have those rooms filled with potential and now the time is upon us to make choices as to how we observe and how we “judge” the events of the day. Our framing will either fast track us to a place of a more illuminated understanding or we could discover ourselves in turmoil as the structures of the world slowly get stripped away. Sometimes it’s a little of both before true understanding is reached. Right now, I choose to look at this time period of experience as an opportunity for growth, my “upgrade”, so to speak. How are you framing it?</span><br />
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Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-38841952938628223272013-04-10T13:25:00.000-04:002015-11-07T08:09:53.794-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">How does this world talk to you? Where do you get your information, your understanding of your relationship to this life and the totality of who you are? Do you believe in what you see before you or do you, like the sentient being that you are, “feel” into events in order to gather your information? Probably both. Would a white peacock walking down a country road get your attention? It certainly got mine.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The way the world speaks to me can often be very simple; birds singing, chirping and tweeting while jumping from branch to branch, or a breeze that momentarily takes my breath away as it swirls past me with messages on it’s wings. All these are obvious, but there are other subtle ways of communicating. They are in the form of personal energy packets, delivered with no words. Quiet conversations with creation making itself known. This is how I get my daily news. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Like the morning paper being flung over the fence, the dispatches get delivered and land at my feet. The world talks to us and tries to be very loud and clear in it’s attempt to communicate what is important in this life and what is personally meaningful for us. The language in which it communicates is fluid and changeable in it’s delivery, usually not so obvious or predictable. Never underestimate the subtleties or the language of nature nor your ability to, on some consciousness or unconsciousness level, understand and sense these expressions. Of course you have to be open and know a message when you sense one ... which leads me to the peacock.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">A very dear friend of mine died about two weeks ago. His passing had a big impact on me. Friends have moved on before, but this time it felt personal. It was like I was on a boat, sailing along with everyone else only to have his energy move from one side of the boat to the other. I felt the ship tilt. For a while, I lost my footing and the deck felt unfamiliar and uneven. While trying to work out my balance, I could feel him beyond the veil. I asked that he send me a sign and then I let my request go. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">A few hours later I was driving home, actually taking a road that I do not normally travel in order to get back. On the opposite side of this particular country road, walked a white peacock. I need to repeat that; a white peacock. It was slowly strutting down the road with it’s plumes laid gently out behind him, like a bride on her wedding day, the train of her gown flowing behind her as she walked. The sight was exquisite. I live in New England. These birds do not exist here. Until that day, I had never seen a white peacock before in my life. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">My first thought was; “Damn! You’re good!” knowing full well that this was my sign, my friend nodding to me in recognition. I slowed the car to a halt, rolled the window down and watched as it so eloquently walked by. I was overwhelmed by the beauty, but not just of the bird. I was in the moment of magnificent joy and gratitude at the communication I saw in every plume and every feather. I didn’t want to leave. I watched him as he slowly and majestically made his way down the road. It really didn’t matter where he came from or his destination. The importance was in the moment and was for me to see.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">When I returned home I quickly investigated the various meanings of a White Peacock. As you can imagine, it’s all very powerful. A white peacock is very unusual and highly revered. Some of it’s attributes are; Christ Consciousness, Awakening and Light. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I didn’t need lofty interpretations of my experience, though. My understanding is a simple one; I merely asked for a bit of news and then was answered in a way that I could fully understand and appreciate the beauty in the response. Thank you, HM. It was magical.</span></span><br />
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Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-492922482643636022013-03-23T08:00:00.000-04:002016-01-06T08:15:56.269-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">On the streets of New York City one can find a variety of shops, food, people and cars but it’s certainly not the first place that I would look to find my child within.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Mid-town Manhattan was a pulsing stream of minds and hearts that day, pounding the pavement with unflinching determination. It is a system of moveable parts and either you are a part of that stream of humanity or you need to step aside, because there is no room for hesitation or foolishness. The machine of City Life is much bigger than all of us and seems to operate efficiently if it is fed the diet of “cooperation”. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">When you have seen just about everything that one can possibly imagine on these streets, you tend to walk along in a bubble of solitude. Making eye contact is strictly “verboten”. As awful as that may sound, there is a certain amount of anonymity and freedom that occurs when everyone walks along with a “Do Not Disturb” sign around their necks. That day though, the walls of seclusion and privacy were about to be shattered for a lucky few.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The first high-pitched shriek came from a toddler in a baby stroller and as if they were in the thick of the Amazon jungle, the call went out and was echoed and answered by yet another young one in a carriage. The screams of acknowledgement of each other sounded primal, ape-like fists pounding against their tiny chests crying out in recognition. The babies had seen each other from afar, each snuggled comfortably in their chariots with their mothers at the helm. The mothers, whom apparently had no choice in the matter, were being led onward by flailing arms and more squeaks and mumblings. The women were strangers to each other but driven by their children’s excitement, they quickly pushed their strollers closer and closer together, until the babies were finally face to face. I stopped in my tracks, a rock in the middle of a stream of people that were suddenly forced to flow around me. I watched and my heart began to open. These two old souls, delighting in their artistry and know-how, managed to meet up again in this life time and apparently had a lot to discuss. They squealed with happiness and jabbed at each other as if to say; “Can you believe this? What are YOU doing in this neighborhood?” As I watched the depth of communication and love that flowed between these two, I was suddenly transported to a place deep inside. I began to reclaim my humanness, my direct appreciation of qualities that we all have in common but over time, seem to bury. As they so innocently held court in the middle of this noisy jungle, I could tell that they had it all figured out. They were showing me and the others with eyes to see, the brilliance of life, the delight and the exuberance of life that is still there for the taking. How is it that we allow ourselves to forget this feeling? Why do we dull ourselves with more “important” things? </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I suddenly had a clearer perspective of how easy it was to be in tune with what really mattered and in that moment of understanding, I felt tears of love and appreciation. Apparently I wasn’t the only one that felt that wave of awareness shower over us because as I looked around at the others who were captivated by the moment, I could sense that we all seemed to “get it” at the same time ... and that’s when the walls came tumbling down. On that teeming sidewalk filled with “strangers”, we all felt that unmistakeable thread of connection. For a New York minute, time had stopped for us and we stood there, openly consuming the life force that we were tapped into.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">After a while it was time to move on. The babies had stopped their sharing and settled back into their buggies, probably having made plans to meet up again in twenty years. They seemed satisfied with their exchange and were ready to move forward and experience the next encounter that life had to offer. I too felt energized from the experience and with a renewed sense of excitement for life, hit the pavements once again, but this time, I felt open and ready to receive ... with a most noticeable lightness of being.</span></span><br />
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Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-52343287407889425922013-02-17T19:38:00.001-05:002021-05-24T07:21:58.008-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">As I was watching the movie Camelot and gazed upon Arthur, his soul laid bare to you, I could feel his Longing. When he asked you; “Merlin, make me a hawk! Let me fly away from here!” he wanted to be free from himself and his Longing, so he flew high and observed from above all that was to be seen from a bird’s perspective. He was able to get an overall view of his life and be transported to a place of detachment. But still he had to come back to earth to enter into the game again and try and fill that void in his heart and it was then that I began to wonder; Is Longing a vehicle for enlightenment, the unsung hero of the human complex? If Longing is a strong desire, especially for something unattainable, might it be the driving force behind our awakening, a constant need that propels us forward? Whenever I feel Longing in myself or see it in others, it rises up as a need that will never be quenched, a desire never to be extinguished. We Long for something that is embedded so deeply in our memories, yet just that far out of reach. The feeling of wanting to “remember” feels maddening, but I can’t even fathom what it is that I’ve forgotten. A violin played in a certain way will make me Long from the depths of my being, or listening to a dog’s howl in the dead of the night will bring me closer to what I Long to remember. If we could connect to our real home and our Galactic lineage, that would certainly help us to come closer to who we truly are but even then, I suspect that Longing would still exist. It is more than just a human trait? If you’re still listening Merlin, I’d like to know, does “God” yearn? Does Source Energy long to know itself to the extent that it is always searching, always on the hunt for that sense of knowing and if so, will it ever become self evident? </span></span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It seems to me Merlin, that the flame of Longing is a thread that runs through us, this matrix, and beyond. The idea that there would come a point in “time” that would extinguish that flame of Longing does not seem to exist, at least not from this perspective. Stepping into fourth and <g class="gr_ gr_44 gr-alert gr_spell gr_inline_cards gr_disable_anim_appear ContextualSpelling ins-del multiReplace" data-gr-id="44" id="44">fifth density</g> helps to widen the understanding and Longing becomes more of a joyful exploration rather than a limited, trapped vision. Becoming a hawk and flying above it all certainly does have <g class="gr_ gr_54 gr-alert gr_spell gr_inline_cards gr_disable_anim_appear ContextualSpelling multiReplace" data-gr-id="54" id="54">it’s</g> advantages. </span></span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I feel that life is like a book and with every new chapter comes a breaking of a seal, so to speak, as we come closer to having that innate sense of “knowing” revealed and we vibrate accordingly. Our understanding is largely predicated on our Longing and thirst as a collective to explore the depths and mysteries of our being. It is a process with no restrictions of “time”. And correct me if I’m wrong Merlin, but isn’t this whole adventure about letting ourselves go into the mysteries? To become fully realized. I think that’s what we’ve always Longed for. An understanding of who we are and what we have always been. That is just one illumination though, just one of many chapters in our book, one of the many seals to be broken. </span></span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">So Merlin, thanks for listening. It’s always wonderful to chat with you. Please send my warm regards to Arthur and Guinevere and if you would like to shed any light on my musings, I’m open. Till then, I’ll see you in my dreams.</span></span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My best,</span></span></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Deborah</span></span></span></div>
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<br />Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-49265233112638054862013-01-28T16:36:00.000-05:002014-05-22T13:04:13.606-04:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Back in the 70’s when I lived in Los Angeles, I had a very good friend who was a creative director at a big advertising agency. She sat around with a bunch of “brainiacs” and came up with catchy slogans and phrases that would promote their client’s products. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">One of her major accounts was Libby’s, the canned fruit and vegetable business that was very well known then and now. Libby’s was having a problem. Their canned corn, potatoes and carrots were flying off the shelves, but there was something about peas that people seemed to reject. Canned peas just sat on the counters and it was my friend’s mission to bring peas to the forefront of the consumer’s minds and make them inviting to eat. She came up with what I thought was a fantastic ad campaign, especially given the time period, the music, the Vietnam war and everything else that was happening in the 60’s and 70’s. Her catchphrase was this; “Give Peas a Chance”. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Now I don’t know if that would actually have made people want to put down their cans of beans and corn to consume peas instead, but I personally thought that it was a stroke of genius. It was like being at the right place at the right time. She captured an essence that was so apropos for the era that it seemed to me it was a no-brainer. There’s your campaign. Job done ... but it wasn’t. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The powers that decided such matters hesitated, hemmed and hawed about the inferred word “Peace”. They felt that it was unattainable, thus the consumer would be less likely to buy something that was an illusive dream. A “nice” thought for sure and they admired the sentiment but that was as far as it went. They looked at their bottom line and did not think that peace was a way to sell peas. Instead they went with something that the general public could more readily accept. Peace was too intellectual, too big an idea to wrap one’s brain around. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">In a roundabout way this all came to mind again as I was sitting in a movie theater in Florida a few days ago. I was visiting a town that was made up of mostly retirees, elderly people, grandmothers and grandfathers. We were relaxed in our chairs, patiently waiting for the film to begin while listening to classical music that was being piped through the speakers. The lights went down as I munched on my popcorn and we all looked forward to the feature, but it seemed that there were other plans afoot. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">For a full twenty minutes before the feature presentation, we were saturated with a barrage of previews for new, upcoming films. It is hard for me to find the words to describe what the audience and I were subjected to because it wasn’t so much what we saw, but instead it was about the intent. The intent was to instill fear. Though the actors and story lines changed with each film trailer we watched, the message was consistent and clear; be afraid. Of what, I don’t know, but terror was being piped into that theater at a high volume, the classical music but a faded memory. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Apprehension was being spewed out like glitter from the movie screen, settling down upon us like falling dust. It was as if a concentrated and highly orchestrated PSYOP’s unit was being let loose on the audience to hammer away at our objective reasoning and emotions. We were being invaded by an unwanted intruder with a key and permission slip to search out our vulnerabilities and to unlock each of our hidden Pandora’s boxes. The theater had been taken over by the dark in more ways than one. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I personally could see it for what it was, a game of control not unlike the evening news or the headlines that scream terror at every opportunity that is given. I’m sure that there were others too that understood that we were being manipulated to believe that fear is more possible than peace. Someone’s agenda was being promoted in a world where terror reigned. Terror and all the cottage industries that have sprung up around anxiety are profitable but, damn it! Even in a movie theater?! Someone was trying to push us down a dark alley with creatures of the night who were ready to pounce. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I was bored and irritated at the visuals being thrust upon us as we, the captive audience, were being violated by the unrelenting onslaught of psychological and physical aggression being displayed in all their glory on a fifty foot high piece of canvas. Battle fatigue was setting in. If I was home I would have flipped the channel, though you’d be hard pressed to even find me in front of a television. As well, I started to wonder what was going through the heads and hearts of the elderly people that sat there in silence. Were they possibly thinking of their children and grandchildren? Were they worried as to what might become of them? Were they scared for their loved ones and their mere survival? It didn’t seem fair, older people having to fight for a slice of civility on a quiet day out. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">So my thought is this; I, for one, am going to give peace a chance. I am going to be that silly person that speaks of love and tranquility when others speak of fear, the idealist smiling for light and balance on this planet. And I know I’m not alone in my desires. I’m going to look upon this campaign of fear for what it is, a distorted view and a perversion of the only reality that truly exists, which is the expression of love. A peaceable kingdom. What a lovely, silly thought.</span></span><br />
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Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-84687517458769616802013-01-06T18:34:00.000-05:002020-07-08T19:35:49.991-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">In St. Lucia there is a most wonderful cafe and music venue called Snooty Agouti, (Snoodee Agoodee). In an on-line description it tells of the food, cocktails and scrumptious desserts but it’s the last part of it’s characterization that I like the best. The summary says that it’s offerings are served with “tranquillity and a cool breeze”. I love that description and all that it represents. </span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span> <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I have been to St. Lucia many times over the last twenty years and the restaurant’s name has come to mind and has been part of my vernacular ever since </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">I first set foot into this quaint eatery. Inside, the place is crammed with funky tables and oversized chairs, their guts spilling out nonchalantly on the floor. If perchance you would like to sit in one of them and wait for a table, you’d have to push aside the stray cats that have been lucky enough to claim the seats before you as they wait patiently to seize any food bits that drop to the floor. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Then there is the business card. It is an illustration of an Agouti in a black top hat and red tails, clutching a bunch of balloons and standing on it’s hind feet in a dignified manner ... at least as dignified as a rodent can be. To me, the drawing completely captures the atmosphere and the intent. A tongue-in-cheek attitude that says; “Yeah, I’m a relative of a guinea pig and guess what? I’ve got the world on a string.” I have chuckled at the absurdity of the whole premise and at the same time, have admired the imagination and concept of it all ... the freedom to be who you are without apologies. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">I too have felt like an Agouti, especially now having just passed the imaginary dividing line that delineated the old year from the new one that is now upon us. For all the conjecture and anticipation that was focused upon the 21st of December, the Winter Solstice found me peacefully cognizant of the world at large. I tried to enter into that period without expectation. As I meditated and went about my day, I felt a genuine connection to all, the seen and the unseen, an affinity to the web that links us together as one. And in this connection, I felt possibilities, renewal and a strong sense of collective energy that was inspiring. It was a very powerful time for me personally but the awareness that I was tapping into had potential on an even grander scale, an exponential fuse that once lit, would become a blinding undeniable force that would flood the planet. The days of darkness were gone and we’ve just begun. The feeling was big ... very big ... palpable and tangible. The intense energies on that particular day and for many days that have followed were ones of allowing, flowing and love. Yes, I know that word love gets used a lot, but it’s the only one with the magnitude that fits this feeling of kindness and compassion. I am left with a clear sense that I have shifted and have landed on new ground. This understanding and perception did not happen in a minute nor particularly on December 21st but it has happened gradually and to the extent where it is much easier to hold a higher heart vibration, rather than focusing on a duality-based illusion that occurs while living in my head. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">I guess you could say that I have made the shift, the anticipated ascension and it’s a lot like the feeling of “tranquility and a cool breeze”. Who knew that I would have so much in common with a Snooty Agouti?</span><br />
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<br />Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-82070355925220647682012-11-24T16:32:00.000-05:002012-11-24T16:32:42.921-05:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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.</span></span><br />
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Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-35770161079265096612012-10-10T12:23:00.001-04:002016-03-05T07:33:38.222-05:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Crossing the Fence</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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. N</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">o 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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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.</span><br />
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Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-56093683490769068072012-09-28T17:02:00.000-04:002015-11-07T08:38:55.891-05:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Some days seem better than others and yesterday was one of those days to be filed under “Better”.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Watching</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">as Fall approaches evokes subtle feelings and nuances that are special to this season.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">It’s a time of awakening in a way, different than the Spring.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">It’s like someone has snapped their fingers close to my ears which immediately brings me back into alignment, back into focus.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">The hot days of summer and the heat tend to make me more “ploddish” and cavalier in my attitude.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Autumn seems to activate me again and I find inspiration of a different kind on these cool days.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">I was traveling a country road on my way to the barn where I ride.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">I’m always happy on those days that I go horseback riding. It has become my religion lately.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">So as I made my way to the top I was surprised to see what was lying on the other side of the road.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">It was an accordion type of folded map that once opened, became impossible to crease and put back the same way ever again.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">I hadn’t seen a map like that in ages.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">With the advent of the GPS, who knew that they were still being made?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Here was this one lone map, being tossed and turned with every air current that came along and gave it flight.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">I started thinking of all the different scenarios of how the map found it’s way there and what it meant.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">For me, this map seemed to ignite a plethora of interpretations and possibilities.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Was the Universe giving me a hint?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Deborah you’re lost.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Here’s a map.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Now go and find yourself.”</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Giggle, giggle.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Or was it a message for the Collective; “Everyone, throw away your maps because they’re not needed any more.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">You’re all on your own.”</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">I know where I’m going and I don’t need anyone’s guidance anymore.”</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">If only it could talk.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Our emotions, energies, intent, expectations, excitement, etc. change how we perceive our surroundings, so is anything ever really stable?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Can you actually “map” fluidity?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Somehow a map seems very presumptuous.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Maps are so 2D, aren’t they?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Very black and white.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Have they become obsolete?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Can we not find our way through other natural inclinations other than following a black line on a white page?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Think of all the enchanting adventures you might be missing by not taking a “deke” or two every now and then.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Maps leave nothing to the imagination ... no off-roading allowed!</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Anyway, I knew my destination.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">I was on autopilot, anxious to get to my beloved horse and that wonderful smell of “Barn”.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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.</span></div>
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Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-70165069742632522562012-09-13T16:36:00.000-04:002015-11-08T06:44:40.044-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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.”</span></span>Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-34311149335062828122012-08-28T17:06:00.000-04:002012-08-28T17:31:48.951-04:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span></span></div>
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Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-2183067681855366792012-06-10T20:25:00.000-04:002020-07-08T19:12:11.716-04:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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?”<br /><br />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. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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.</span></div>
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Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-39263778783069101072012-05-24T16:14:00.000-04:002020-07-08T19:16:56.170-04:00<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 24px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">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. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 24px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">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. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 24px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">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 </span><span style="font: normal normal normal 24px/normal Arial; letter-spacing: 0px;">“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.</span></span></div>
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Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-23106593307555049492012-05-08T15:26:00.001-04:002015-11-07T09:08:26.170-05:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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.</span></span></div>
Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-32027151272097868902012-04-08T15:36:00.000-04:002012-07-29T20:44:27.690-04:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">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. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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.</span></div>
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</div>Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-42229411501540463312012-03-29T18:47:00.001-04:002015-11-07T09:20:18.362-05:00<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I meditate daily.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My meditations can sometimes last from one to two hours at a time.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I sometimes mediate twice a day.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Needless to say, in that amount of time a lot seems to happen, or sometimes not.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Lately when I meditate I have found it difficult to connect to my “voice”.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I write furiously, never really knowing what is written until I look back on it days later.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then there is the place of “Nothing/Everything” when I meditate.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I loose the boundary of my body with a feeling of expansion.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is a place of being.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have been spending a lot of time in that space lately and not moving from there.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I go up to the attic and gently whisper “Hello?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hello?” but I sense nothing.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The space is cleared and all I see is a shaft of light coming through a window onto a cleaned floor.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All seems quiet inside me and I feel a bit stuck, like there is no movement.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am not connecting the way I usually do and I am finding it rather curious.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Not being able to connect enough to even write a blog entry is unusual and reminds me of the show Seinfeld.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The whole premise of Seinfeld was a “show about nothing”.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Is it possible to write an entry about nothing?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I think not.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Even nothing is something.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">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.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In one of my most recent meditations I asked; “Why am I feeling this void?”</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is the response I wrote down; “That’s just where you are.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All is well.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You are at a place where you have cleared out a lot.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Don’t be afraid of that space or try and fill it with “stuff”.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just let it be.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There will always be movement, expansion, and change.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just be with what is right now even if it feels like nothing.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A lot comes out of just being.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After a while something will come along and spark your attention.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Till then, don’t push.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There is no pressure.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Moments like this are good.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They are the pause before the movement.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The in breath before the out breath.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It’s the simple rhythm of the universe.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Don’t judge it.”</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And there you have it.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My blog entry about nothing with a little bit of something thrown in.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Maybe it’s a contraction before the push?</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Who knows … we’ll see.</span></span></div>
Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-89400257749382015962012-03-17T16:18:00.000-04:002020-07-08T19:59:14.443-04:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Out of my travel </span>bag<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> 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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">We greeted each other as equals in that moment of time, dispensed with the platitudes </span>and<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> got down to a discussion about choices, roads that we had traveled </span>and<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> 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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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 </span>for<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> </span>take off<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">. 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 </span>back<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">. 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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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 </span>and<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> felt a little uneasy about the fact that six hours had passed and I was aware of nothing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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 </span>and<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> now find you sleeping </span>as<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> 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.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I looked up and searched </span>the<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> plane but couldn’t find him. With my heart </span>pounding<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> 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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Also Posted On; <a href="http://lucas2012infos.wordpress.com/">http://lucas2012infos.wordpress.com </a></span><br />
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Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-9599293595131067062012-03-07T09:03:00.001-05:002012-07-29T20:58:06.289-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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! </span></div>
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<br /></div>Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-28075018990475847922012-02-25T16:22:00.000-05:002013-03-02T13:56:18.179-05:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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.</span><br />
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Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-9790323322017632972012-02-19T07:46:00.000-05:002013-04-03T10:05:49.999-04:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">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. </span><br />
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Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-26764140618702375622012-02-14T15:58:00.000-05:002012-07-29T20:51:24.399-04:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">NUTS IN MY CHEEKS</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">My dog Oliver shuffles his hairy paws to the back door and
looks out of the screen. He searches
the landscape until he finds his anticipated desire; a chipmunk, nibbling on a
piece of dirt or straw or grass or whatever it is that these little
round-cheeked rodents nibble on. What’s
going through his mind, I wonder? I
watch him as he cocks his head sideways to get a better view of his prey. Is he thinking that if he’s quick enough he
can attack it? Grab it and squeeze it
till it pops? What <i>is</i> he
thinking? Or is he just observing, not
thinking but watching the chipmunk’s quick, jerky moves as the little creature
munches away, having no notion that something much bigger is eyeing him and
measuring the distance between the screen door and his warm flesh? My god, life is just filled with these
twists and turns, isn’t it? One day
nibbling on a straw, sucking down a cold Starbucks Decaf Cap and then the next
minute falling head long into a life experience that you never envisioned for
yourself … or so you think. I don’t
believe in “fate”. I know that I create
these life adventures solely from my own soul’s desire and free will. The soul’s need for expansion is
constant. Is life just one big act
perceived as scene after scene of “adventures” until the director yells, “Cut”
and then we bow out? I think that this
is a lot closer to the truth than we consciously realize, but WE are the
director who knows on some level when to yell “Cut”. It is not an outside source telling us that our time is up. WE are the source and know full well our
potentials and possibilities even before we enter this stage of experiences,
coming in on cue to the strong, hot hospital lights and the slap on the bum. Reincarnation is a given. How else would we learn? We have entered into a game, an agreement by
all of us that we would shield ourselves from the knowing that we are very
powerful and very loved. We moved into
a very dense energy called Earth and pretended to cut ourselves off from
Source. Here we play hide and seek with
ourselves, grasping at memories that float just out of reach and the
remembering that we are the architects of this divine dream and the objective
is to find ourselves again. In this
land of fog, mud and lower vibrations, we threw in the element of time, which
of course does not exist but happens to be a useful tool in the matrix of the
game. What a brilliant idea! We slowed it all down for the purpose of
learning. We have collectively agreed
to pretend that not only are we separate from Source but separate from each
other as well. There is no
separation. We are all one. We come back, life time after life time, playing
the good guy, the bad guy, the girl, the black, the white, the ... the …
the. And in between life times, we rest. We play.
We analyze and we get ready for the next reincarnation, getting all the
players in line. Earth is a pull, an
enticing sphere of expression where we are all responsible players and
enlightened souls seeing if it is possible to forget that we are the Angels
that we are and find our way back to Source.
Who thought of this? What a
fabulous game! And Ascension is here to
change it all … but that’s a whole other story…</span></div>Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-76785170746267391162012-02-10T14:34:00.000-05:002012-07-29T20:52:52.419-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Calm. Cool. Blue. Twinkling drops of water dripping down upon my head. I stand under the warm falls of Iguazu . Butterflies merrily cavort in the air, circling me for the fun of it ... playful beings of color and beauty, they are. The sun is bright and hot. My eyes squint into slits as I look at it. Rays, strong muscular rays, envelope and surround me with warm beams penetrating my skin. You own me. There's no getting away and I don't want to. I sway with the rhythm of your pulsing light and melt in your arms, becoming one with your joy.</span>Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-31017721303981037532012-02-08T15:54:00.000-05:002012-07-29T20:53:57.114-04:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Trickling Water Flows</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Trickling
water flows down the vine. The kittens
lap it up as it hits the ground, batting at the droplets. The rain was heavy last night. I could hear it from my bed. I was waiting for you to come home but now
in the strong morning light, I see that you’re not here next to me. My longing is a worn out path that I don’t
even bother to walk down anymore.
You’ll come home when you decide to come home. Home … it means so much to me.
I’ve drawn the circle tighter now and allow only the innocent of hearts
to stay and share my love. No longer do
I allow smiling strangers to the door.
I’m beginning to wonder about you.
Friend or foe? Should I allow
you in? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">I
take refuge in the brook outside our house, far away from the traffic noise,
the TV set and cell phones, where business deals are hatched and discussed ad
nauseam for hours at a time. I long for
the quiet, my bare feet dangling ever so close to the cool spring stream. What’s going on with me? What’s going on with us? I feel a sense of separation but not just
from you. My intolerance for the
needless noise in the world, the tightness of thoughts in people and their
inability to let their imagination soar has become a physical sensation, like a
magnet’s repulsive force, I can’t get away fast enough. I’ve stored a lot of wisdom under my belt
over the years and feel like a pregnant woman ready to explode. I can’t hold back any more. I am finally giving birth. With that thought in mind, I hold my breath,
close my eyes and take the plunge into the cold water of the brook … only ankle
deep, mind you, but it’s a start. I
quiet myself and feel my expanse. I get
glimpses/feelings of my “future” self, my “higher” self, vibrating and
expanding into a space where there are no words. My outer body sheds itself, as I become more chrysalis the higher
I vibrate. Aahh, yes. This is home. Grounded in the flow of the earth while as spirit, expanding into
the world, into the universe … feeling peace … a unity with all and a knowing
that this is our collective “future”.
This is our now. This IS our
time. We are all giving birth.</span></div>Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7683645300011210518.post-82613485700295173382012-02-01T07:08:00.001-05:002012-07-29T20:55:30.988-04:00<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The tulips unfurl their wavy petals. Parrot tulips in yellows, reds and
oranges. Their beauty is astounding to
me. They have always captivated me for
reasons I find hard to put into words.
Have you ever looked at something or felt something that seems to
encompass all your dreams and wonder?
When I look at these tulips I see parts of me that are hidden, even to
myself, that are full of potential. I
see simplicity in their beauty, obvious but subtle, never screaming to be heard
but rather a statement of fact. I AM
THAT I AM. They delight me and make me
feel good. I need more of this. I need to remember and carry this feeling
inside of me when I travel these roads of life, though I am beginning to
understand that the idea of “traveling a distance” is an old concept. I am now more aware than ever that there is
no time. There is no distance. We are living in the Now, always have,
always will. That concept, that
knowing hangs around me for longer periods of “time”, but I can’t seem to
fully embrace it. It flutters away when
I start to think about it. I do know
that when I shift my perspective and only focus on the Now, I’m more at peace.
There’s not a lot of thinking that needs to take place. For me, being in the Moment
means giving no thought or energy to “past” events nor thinking about my
“future”. Being in the Moment feels as
if I am very present. I am not comparing or analyzing past events or anticipating ones in the future. It is very pleasant, by the
way, a resting point for me. When I’m there, I don’t feel anxious,
excited, worried or all those other feelings that bombard my senses. What I feel is real and without judgment …
kinda like those parrot tulips that are content in being. I AM THAT I AM. </span></div>Deborah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08368729512991702339noreply@blogger.com0