MONTHLY MUSING ARCHIVES
As I Walk Upon This Earth...I Trust
The author and mystic, Story Waters writes,
”Through my inner trust for my life, I choose to embrace the unfolding of my future“
The small, brave act of cooperating with life,
With all that is in the world,
Of choosing trust over cynicism, generosity over selfishness,
Makes the heart light up with quiet joy.
I have spent this past week, amidst that quiet joy on the grounds
I inhabit from time to time in the Highlands of Maine.
The land, that I choose to not claim in ownership,
But a place which I have been blessedly entrusted a sacred stewardship.
It is during these most blessed times of respite…That Our Beloved Mother teaches me of her Wisdom…As I spend time lovingly wrapped in Her Blessed Arms…And pressed safely against the bosom of Her Sacred Heart Beat…I have come to an understand One All Abiding Truth… That our connection to the land, is where Spirit resides…Therefore, look not to the sky…But to the air, the water, the plants, and the trees…And all the creatures of this Our Beloved Home…For Spirit resides in the Earth beneath your feet…The ground on which you stand, is a Most Sacred Place… A Holy Haven..It is the Portal to Heaven.
My Native Family and Neighbors, of the Penobscot Nation, the original inhabitants of this place,
Have taught me of the holy bond and responsibility we all have with the land.
She trusts us as her protector, nurturer and co-creator,
And she in turn, provides unconditionally with all that she has to give.
To me, It is a most holy and sacred trust, a blessed gift.
As I walk the grounds each day, I feel this trust everywhere;
In the spirit of the true inhabitants of this land…my woodland friends,
Who reside here with me, or I should say,
Have granted me stay…here with them.
As they boldly and warmly welcome me back,
Waiting with anticipation for me to open my pack and
Offer up my gifts of carrots, apples, nuts, bread and seeds,
That I gratefully share with my friends, as we dwell in this time and place together.
I spent the week, blessedly among the trust and sanctuary of old friends,
With whom over the years, I have found a haven of
Safety, nurturance, love, and unconditional acceptance.
Trust, I have come to realize is the very basis of our existence.
Every day we trust…for if we did not, we could not exist.
We trust, when, every morning, we place our feet on the ground,
That it will support us.
We trust, when we turn on our faucets,
That we will be replenished and refreshed by clean running water.
We trust, when we flip the switch,
The gift of electricity will bring to us, light, warmth, music, food, entertainment
And the tools by which we live our lives.
We trust, in our interactions with others every day,
That these encounters will hold in them,
The fruits of cooperation, co-creation, love and respect.
We, trust that the food we eat, throughout our day,
Will sustain and enhance our bodies.
We trust, as we go home to our families,
At the end of our day, that all is well in our world.
And we trust, when we lay our heads down at night,
That our structures will provide, shelter and protection as we sleep.
As I venture out each day on my morning, walking meditation ritual,
I know that I am walking on sacred ground…
And I trust, that it is steady enough to support me…
And I have, also, come to indeed, realize
That anywhere I stand at any given moment…is a Most Sacred Place.
And that I can and must trust the Universe by extension
To support my steps as I move forward.
along this new and untrodden, unknown path.
I trust, in the love, compassion and belief that the Universe has in me.
It is a holy charge…and one that I do not taken lightly…
And I have learned throughout this process of transition,
That to trust myself and by extension others and the world,
Is a most worthy practice…It is the practice of authenticity.
This is the work of aligning the standards we have for ourselves
With our deepest passions and dreams.
It’s the work of making promises to ourselves and keeping them.
It’s the work of creating and discovering the kind of resources
That can and will support our success.
It’s the work of knowing who we are without judgment.
I move forward now in the light of this trust…
That I may become a worthy steward,
For not only this land…
But this world and for my place in the Divinity of the Greater Design…
For my place as an integral piece of the One Universal Heartbeat…
The One that is in All…The One that is All.
BROTHER BEAR...I AWAIT, ACCEPT AND JOYFULLY RECEIVE!
I am a Doer...a Teacher...
But as of late, I have been feeling like there is another major shift about to occur...
I have been feeling more of heading into a place of Being and Introspection...
More internal work, and less external...
More Being in a place of receptor and less in that as giver...
In beginning my sojourn into this New Year of 2012 it was from a most profound place of Peace, Sacred Reflection and Reverence.
December 31, 2011 was spent in quiet respite, repose and respectful awe upon the beauty of Nature and Our Beloved Mother...
As I set about the Holy, Blessed and most welcome task of putting to pen my Highest Intentions for the coming days and weeks of the next 12 months, an interesting pattern was emerging...
I noticed that the majority of my Intentions for this year were based on the realms of the internal, instead of manifestations of the external and physical world.
They began to flow almost automatically and seeming unconsciously as I placed my pen to paper, as if they had a life of their own...
As they continued to pour out, I began to experience a sense of overwhelming Peace, Joy and unbridled Ecstasy and Anticipation...
1. Live more mindfully from the heart and in a greater state of gratitude.
2. Cultivate unconditional self acceptance...and refuse to entertain or participate in the ego's drama of my own or others.
3. Keep dutifully a daily gratitude journal, morning pages and blogging.
4. MEDITATE DAILY!
5. Bless More...Curse and Complain Less.
6. Find and Connect with My Earthly Spiritual Posse.
7. For all answers sought...purposefully and immediately go within.
8. Turn off the TV...and incorporate more time for ritual, reading, inspiration, writing, creative pursuits, music, listening to the heart, communion with Creator and the Higher Realms, and time in nature and the Sacred Void.
9. Daily Define, Redefine & Affirm Focus, Passion & Clarity of Purpose & Vision.
10. Revisit, Assimilate and Finish "The Course in Miracles."
11. Live everyday from a place of Service, both through Action and from the Light of Higher Consciousness.
12. Say "I Don't Think So" to Fear, Hopelessness, Separation and Animosity...And "Yes" to Kindness, Compassion and Love.
And then in Big Bold strokes the Message ended...
GO WITHOUT FROM WITHIN...LISTEN, ALLOW, ACT &
IN ALL THINGS GIVE THANKS!
As I began in earnest and excitement to incorporate and put into practice all that was given to me, I found my daily experiences just seemed to flow effortlessly and where much more joyful, rewarding and purposeful...and also, answers or guidance have been coming to me easily, even before I am aware of the need, in abundant and serendipitous ways...
Last night, in the Dreamtime, I experienced a profound and most welcome visitation from Beloved Brother Bear,as loving messenger and further validation that I am indeed, beginning a period of "entering the cave"...of going within...of making myself ready for the next point of initiation and welcoming teacher or teachers, on this ongoing journey of my soul...
He came in all his massive, regal & beautiful glory...first greeting me upright on hind legs, and then retreating to his four legged state & gently placing his head in my lap as we sat together against the majesty and comfort of the Great Tree of Life...his message pouring through me like honey...
Now is the time to empty the cup, so that I may become filled with new wisdom, new inspiration, new guidance...
I am shown that all of my spiritual practices and nature must be stepped up...
More time in the silence...in meditation, prayer, retreat, ceremony, ritual, places of the heart, listening to the messages of Spirit, Mother Earth and receptivity...
More time spent in writing, journeying, nature and creative pursuits...
And of allowing the guidance to flow...
More conscious focus on internal peace, wisdom and growth...
I am ready to be emptied and refilled, refueled and reinvented...
I am making ready the student so that the next teacher may soon appear...
"The strength of Bear Medicine is the power of introspection. It lies in the West on the great medicine wheel of life. Bear seeks honey, or the sweetness of truth, within the hollow of an old tree. In the time of winter Bear enters the womb-cave to hibernate, to digest the year's experience. It is said that our goals reside in the West also. To accomplish and clarify our goals, dreams, mission and purpose, the art of introspection is necessary.
To become like Bear and enter the safety of the womb-cave, we must attune ourselves to the energies of the Eternal Mother, and receive nourishment from the placenta of the Great Void. The Great Void is the place where all solutions and answers live in harmony with the questions that fill our realities. If we choose to believe that there are many questions to life, we must also believe that the answers to these questions reside within us. Each and every being has the capacity to quiet the mind, enter the silence and know.
Many tribes have called this space of inner-knowing the Dream Lodge, where the death of the illusion of physical reality overlays the expansiveness of eternity. It is in the Dream Lodge that our ancestors sit in Council and advise us regarding alternative pathways that lead to our purpose and goals. This is the power of Bear." ~Jamie Sams/David Carson
Message received...The student awaits and accepts her next assignment with Joy and Thanksgiving!...
And May the Blessings of Spirit abound.
"Bear...Invite me into the cave, where silence surrounds the answers you gave."
"Life for Me...Ain't been no Crystal Stair"
Someone, who has been "a friend", stated recently,
That things come easily and just fall into place for me...
And added that others have to work long and hard for what they get...
Interesting comment, since based on the fact that I am almost 59 years old...
And I have...
Lost my Beloved Brother, Best Friend and Soul Mate to sucide...
Buried both my parents...
Married and divorced twice...
Married to a drug addict and an alcoholic
Raised 3 children on my own, with no financial support from anyone...
Worked a boring job, (sometimes two)...
Struggling from pay check to pay check,
to give my children the best life possible,
And at the same time going for my third degree nights,
And graduating with distinction...
And then as an added bonus survived both ex husbands,
As they went to early graves...
And that since my self imposed early retirement,
Embarked on to follow my dreams...
That it has been one struggle,
And one dark night of the soul after another,
Sometimes with not enough money for food, rent or basic necessities
And much self doubt and pain...
And on the subject of men...
Well, all I can say folks,
Is that I have kissed a LOT of frogs,
Before I met my Prince!
(Be blessed, that I will spare you all the gory details on this subject)
But even, throughout all of it,
I did not give up my dream,
Nor did I ever give up on Love...
And always, chose to focus on the joy,miracles and gifts,
That have been blessedly bestowed upon me...
This little piece is in part a way for me to vent my surprise,
Unbelievable hurt, sadness,
And yes anger that such an assumption could be made,
And by one who knows all to well, what my struggle has been...
But I share this, as a lesson for us all...
To be aware when we are in a place of self wallowing pity and resentment,
That we remember we are all walking this same path together,
That it is never always easy for anyone,
No matter what the outward appearances may be...
That we all "pay our dues"...
And this is the good news...
Because this is how we get to the place we are reaching for...
It's how we grow...
It's what makes us appreciate all that this life has to give...
The good and the bad...
There is no easy way, for anyone...
But Oh, when we finally get there...
Doesn't it taste all that much sweeter...
And here is another little Universal fact...
It never ends...
It is ongoing...
Always moving forward...
More challenges to face...
More mountains to climb...
More Beauty to Behold...
There is an old Native American saying...
"Before you criticize a man, walk a mile in his moccasins."
I came across a poem this morning,
By one of my favorite writers since I was a child, Langston Hughes
The piece is called "Mother to Son"....
And it spoke volumes to me on this subject...
I share it with you all here...
To be always mindful...
That We are All One...
We are all in this together...
That we all have our share of challenges and triumphs...
As Langston states in his poem...
"Life for me ain't been no crystal stair..."
And that when we are tempted to compare our lives with that of another...
It separates us from our Source and each other...
It blocks the flow...
And most importantly...
It robs us of the Joy and Gratitude to be found in the Present Moment...
And that we should celebrate it All!
Mother To Son
"Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair."
As you walk through your day...
Especially if it is a particularly difficult one...
Be mindful of the tendency we all have to judge and compare...
Everyone wants to live
on top of the mountain.
But all the happiness
and growth occurs
while you're climbing it.
Perhaps, Osho said it best...
"If you are alive there is inconvenience.
If you are alive there are challenges...
Reality has no security and that is its beauty.
Life has no security and that is its beauty.
Because there is no security, there is adventure...
If you miss adventure, you miss all.
If your life is not that of an adventurer,
of a search into the unknown,
then you are living in vain."
JULY 2010 - A Treatise on Trust
The Cookie Thief - by Valerie Cox
A woman was waiting at an airport one night
With several long hours before her flight
She hunted for a book in the airport shop
Bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop
She was engrossed in her book but happened to see
That the man beside her as bold as could be
Grabbed a cookie or two from the bag between
Which she tried to ignore to avoid a scene
She munched cookies and watched the clock
As this gutsy cookie thief diminished her stock
She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by
Thinking "If I wasn't so nice I'd blacken his eye"
With each cookie she took he took one too
And when only one was left she wondered what he'd do
With a smile on his face and a nervous laugh
He took the last cookie and broke it in half
He offered her half as he ate the other
She snatched it from him and thought "Oh brother
This guy has some nerve and he's also rude
Why he didn't even show any gratitude"
She had never known when she had been so galled
And sighed with relief when her flight was called
She gathered her belongings and headed for the gate
Refusing to look back at the thieving ingrate
She boarded the plane and sank in her seat
Then sought her book which was almost complete
As she reached in her baggage she gasped with surprise
There was her bag of cookies in front of her eyes
"If mine are here" she moaned with despair
"Then the others were his and he tried to share"
"Too late to apologize she realized with grief"
That she was the rude one...the ingrate...the thief!
Everytime I read or hear this amazing little piece by Valerie Cox
It gives me pause to reflect on its simple but profound message...
How many times have I, have all of us
Been guilty of the same judgemental
And untrusting thoughts concerning the behavior of others.
All too early on, we are conditioned to believe
That the world is an unsafe place,
Unworthy of our confidence and trust...
but, then...could this, all too often, not be so?
That in Truth...the very opposite is the case..
If we but open our Hearts and Minds to believe
in the goodness, we can, will and must find in one another...
If we but consciously begin the process of learning to trust
We can then become free to express the natural state
of joy and love that was encoded within each one of us,
At the inception and embodiment of our beginnings.
As we go about our lives, each week, we trust.
We trust, in the ground to support our feet.
We trust, in the fellowship of our interactions with others.
We trust, in the love, compassion and concern we find
In the sacred circle of family and friends.
We trust, as we begin each day, that somehow...
We will be uplifted, enlightened, and inspried
To venture forth and shine our Lights into the World.
Learning to trust ourselves...
And by extension, Others and the World,
Is a most Sacred practice.
It is the practice of Authenticity...
Of Who we Really Are!
This is the work of aligning the most highest of standards,
That we must and shall set for ourselves,
With our deepest Passions and Dreams.
It is the work of making promises to ourselves,
and keeping them...
It is the work of creating and discovering
The kind of resources that can and will support our Purpose
And will ensure the Success of our Most Holy Mission.
It is the work of knowing and accepting fully,
Who we are without judgement.
May we always go forth into our Days
In the Light of this Trust...
As Mighty Beacons in the Dark...
That we may become worthy Stewards...
For each other...
And for the World.
..."I See You!"
I See You, as You Truly Are!
Behold...for You are The Light of the World!
"WHAT IS A FATHER?"
Dedicated in Loving Memory
Angelo "Roy" Lorenzo
7/19/1920 ~ 11/17/2000
What is a Father? We live in a society that is, for the most part, defined by labels and stereotypes; Tall, Short, Fat, Thin, Liberal, Conservative, Professional, Laborer, Minority, Gay, Straight. But the simple truth is we are all, many things and no one thing defines us.
This truth is abundantly evident when we look at the diversity present in our individual experiences & memories of our parents, & this week ~ Those men who we would call...Father.
My Dad - Full blooded, first generation Italian, and fiercely proud of it.
He was a short stocky man, with tremendous strength and character.
Growing up, I was daddy's little girl...tagging along wherever he went.
He had many friends, and I always felt important when we were together...
My hand would get lost in his big, heafty palm.
His strong grip around my tiny fingers.
Believe it or not, I was very shy and afraid to speak to people...
I would hide behind him, venturing out occasionaly, feeling safe and encouraged.
He was not versed in the ways of diplomacy, he was opinionated and he loved to shout and pound his fist on things.
My father loved cliche's; "Who do you think you are, the Queen of Sheba,?" ," Do you think money grows on trees?" and my all time favorite, "Don't get smart!'...that one always baffled me...especially with all the money (that didn't grow on trees) that he spent on my education...was I supposed to get dumb?
Even though he was forced to leave High School, one year short of graduation, due to family obligations, he never lost his passion for learning...
He was very intelligent and read everything he could get his hands on...
Our nightly dinnertimes were often laced with loud and passionate debates on current events and the state of the world...
My mother would always say, exasperated,
"No arguing at the dinner table" to which my father and I would glance her way, with puzzled looks, and say..."Arguing? Whose arguing?"
He was generous to a fault, he gave new meaning to the expression "he would give you the shirt off his back"...you would get the shirt, the car, the house and anything else that wasn't nailed down.
My dad was an honest, uncomplicated man...he required little to be happy, and relished in the simple pleasures, an ice cold glass of root beer, apple pie ala mode, the evening newspaper or a good book, golfing with his buddies and spending time with his family.
And even though he was not overtly demonstrative of his affection...you knew you were loved...he was always there if you needed him...no matter what time of the day or night...you could depend on his presence, strength and support.
After his death, I heard, many, many stories of this fierce loyalty and generosity...from people outside our immediate family...stories I had never heard...that he had kept to himself...he was also, a very humble man.
He was like every father, flawed, vulnerable, beautiful and strong. I like to think that, among other things, I inherited his tremendous generosity of spirit, his powerful strength of conviction and passion about the things that he believed so powerfully in, his tremendous capacity to love and his never wavering loyalty to not just his family but all that came into his large sphere of influence.
In the Letters of the poet Emily Dickinson she writes of her father "His heart was pure and terrible, and I think no other like it exists. I'm glad there is immortality, but would have tested it myself before entrusting him...Home so far from Home...since my father died."
As we remember this Month, those men, whom we would call father...
May our memories be true and honest...and may we embrace not only their stregnths, but thier flaws and weaknesses as well..with compassion, gratitude, forgiveness, humor and love.
May we now honor and praise those men, who we would call father...
Here with us still, for all the meaning they bring to our lives...
And for all that they are...
And let us, also, honor and praise those men, who we would call father...
Who have passed on, but remain still, in our memory and whose love continues to nuture and sustain us.
As for me...I think I will settle back with a good book, a frosty mug of A&W and immerse myself in the memories and the totality of his ever present Love.
This one's for You, Dad!
"I Love You...Above and Beyond...To the Moon and Back!"
"Still Crazy After All These Years"
As far back as I can remember, there has been one great constant
Love in my life…that is the love of the written and spoken word…
As a young child, my favorite possession, was not a doll or a stuffed Animal...
It was an ever growing pile of Little Golden Books…
I would carry this stack with me literally, everywhere I went...
It didn’t matter if I could read the words printed on the pages within,
what they held for me within their covers,
Was an essence, a consciousness that resonated deep within my young heart,
It was as if, I, somehow instinctively knew that written on those
pages, lie all the answers, to the all mysteries, of the Universe, & that
as long as I kept them close…All would be well in my World.
A weekly tradition, in our house were the trips to the public library…
and you can only imagine what places of delicious joy and delight
those outings held for me…if there is a heaven, I would think…this must be it!
When I was a little older, on one of my solo, trips to heaven…
As I was browsing in the Youth section, desperately and
looking for something of interest, that I had not yet read,
I decided to wander, into the section for new arrivals…
And there featured front and center was a book by a new young writer,
A book that would set the course of my fledgling life...
Its cover and the words of the title were sinfully intriguing...
A young man, walking alone, down a deserted early morning path…
Titled simply…”On the Road” by Jack Kerouac
My young mind intuitively knew that a book of this sort would most
definitely be considered…CONTRABAND!
I picked it up quickly, so as not to arouse suspicion & deviously
tucked it between a copy of Nancy Drew and The Song of Hiawatha.
As I gingerly moved through the building to check out my new
forbidden treasure, my heart pounding madly,
my mind racing with explainations, lest I be questioned
as to what I was doing with a such a book,
after all it clearly did not come from the children’s Section…
But then, beautifully, blissfully, thankfully the gods were smiling down on me,
As the elderly woman behind the counter, who at first, seemed to not
even notice, handed me, my prize selection, & as I openly breathed a
sigh of relief…she looked up, shot a knowing wink and smiled at me broadly…
Even though, I never saw her again...that moment bonded us together, kindred Spirits, for all time…
I couldn’t wait to get home and tear into the pages…
What joy and rapture I felt as I breathlessly opened its cover
And little did I know, as I read, that my lifelong journey was about to
truly begin...his words jumped off the page, into my soul, and there they have remained, forevermore.
”The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing,
but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding
like spiders across the stars...
So, Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules, and they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them; disagree with them; glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them.
Because they change things. They push the human race forward.
And while some may see them as the crazy ones, I see genius.
Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change
the world are the ones who do. "
I was 10 years old when I first read those words…and I knew in an instant
what I wanted to do with my life…
I wanted to write,
but not to write lofty tales about dragons, and princesses locked away in castles…
I wanted to write like Jack...
To write about the things that were important,
To write about the things that moved us closer to our own Humanity...
To write about the things that would bid us to recognize and step into our own inherent Divinity…
To write, as a catalyst, to change old,outmoded ways of thinking and of Being in the World
To engage and empower others, as well as myself, to be the vehicles of that Change
And to embody a Passion for Action …
Jack Kerouac was a new breed of writer…
He believed in living his Art…
He was Out there…On the Road…
Living, grooving, burning and Being his craft…
His writings were lifted up as sacred offerings
To desperate lives on the brink...a clarion call for Change
To change the way people looked at life and their world.
It was at that moment that I began to breathe this new found passion
into the threads of my existence until it was to become my all consuming reality...
As a writer…AND…an activist.
From that moment on, this consciousness went with me into every aspect my life
And by the time I was in High School and College,
I was a fierce and furious activist for the
Causes of peace, social & civil injustice and change,
Working on the Presidential Youth Core campaign for Robert F. Kennedy,
Serving As VP of the Students For a Democratic Society,
writing speeches, organiizing and participating in countless rallies and marches…
And then, came the murders at Kent State, the deaths and
disappearances of young civil rights workers in Alabama,
and the assasinations of RFK, Martin Luther King Jr and Malcom X.
And my voice, like so many of my generation, was laid silent and
dormant for many years to come…
But the passion, still burned deep within me…
Jack’s words my constant companions and admonishers...
As well as the words and deeds of others of like mind,
who kept alive the belief that action and service is and should be our highest priority,
Their words were good company, in those dark days, they kept me sane…and kept my hope and passion alive…
Schweitzer & Einstein, Christ & Krishna, Dorothy Day,
Mother Teresa, Julia Hill, Marianne Williamson and
So many others…
But most profoundly for me were these words by the poet,
William Ward, which had become my anthem…
”Blessed is the person who sees the need,
RECOGNIZES THE RESPONSIBILITY, and actively becomes the answer. “
And now gratefully, that Passion reignited…
Here I am folks, standing before you…like the song says…
Blissfully, Still Crazy After All these Years!
In the subsequent years, Like many, my spiritual path, took Priority,
and it took me away from the direction of the religion of My youth,
I was in search of something that “fit” this misfit…
And one day, guided by a Divine hand,
in the guise of my first mentor in the flesh, who now currently resides,
as a local medium right here at Lily Dale, Shirley Calkins Smith,
I was led to the Unity Church in Rochester…
I crawled through the door, on my belly,
at a very low point in my life…
I first perused the Bookstore, of course,
And then summoned up the courage to wander into the service.
I remember listening to the message that day,
with tears streaming down my face…
I wasn’t crazy after all…or at least, if I was,
in my madness, I was now not alone…I had come Home…
I embraced the philosophy of metaphysics and
have been an avid and voracious Student and,
I hope, Teacher, of Truth, ever since.
But as the years moved on, something was missing…
the focus in the Metaphysical world was mainly on the development of self.
And while this is indeed an enormously important step,
I became conflicted with my need to actively bring the Light
that was emerging from within me, out into the world…
the teachings and the philosophies of those at my Church,
as in many other metaphysical establishments of the time,
were interpreted as the idea, that in raising yourself up,
you raise up the rest of the world, that God is in charge,
All is perfect and in Divine Order...
That sadness and misery and pain are illusions,
and there is nothing else to do but affirm and meditate and see it all as good.
And my all time favorite…”We don’t do causes”
Now I am not disputing these teachings...
But for me there was something missing…
I once again began to feel like a misfit…
I was questioning my own faith and spirituality,
and if maybe, I just wasnt "getting it"…
Because, try as I might, I couldn’t squelch that passion for action
that was so deeply embedded in me…
I kept remembering the directives of Jesus, to feed the hungry, help
the poor, clothe the naked and heal the sick,
And his ultimate charge..."Am I not my Brother's Keeper?"
and there was the compassionate works of Mother Teresa,
Ghandi and the Dalai Lama,
Who ALL dedicated their lives in service...and ACTION…
So I once again, embarked out on my own…
to reconcile yet another Spiritual dillema...
to find my own Truth…
Last fall, on FB I was made aware of an issue that I was guided to
champion and to share this with others, in an effort to provide
information, so they could also help if they felt moved to do so...
This issue brought me great sadness,
and I felt the pull to Speak up and do what I could to bring the
awareness to Light
So, in true FB fashion...I posted a petition, a few words, and a call for action.
While the majority responded favorably,
up popped that familiar philosophy of old…
It was pointed out to me, that I was fighting against something
and giving it power, that God was in charge,
and that I should basically apply metaphysical principles (based on their interpretation)
that I should practice what I preach and shut up already…
My inner Spirit was speaking loudly to me, to not remain silent
And after much soul searching, I was guided to finally
put into words my Truth on this subject,
no matter how unpopular my beliefs may be to some…
This is what I wrote…
We are the Voices and the Hands of the Creator
To All My Beloved Brothers and Sisters,
I would like to ask that you indulge me with a request and call for your assistance
for an issue that I have been guided by my Heart to champion.
I would ask that you consider the message that I would like to convey here,
and not just restrict your awareness to the present situation at hand...
but all situations of this nature,
that are happening every day across the face of our Beloved Mother Earth.
This is also, not a treatise or admonishment of those who condone, partake
and put into law the movement of these acts, but a call for awareness...
and a prayer that all will be brought into the Light of this awareness...
And with it, the understanding, that with the gift of that awareness bears much responsibility.
I am sure many of you are aware,
of the recent presidential lifting of the ban on the hunt of the Grey Wolves in Idaho.
I would ask that you go to the link I have included and take action as your Heart guides you.
Throughout the course of these past few days,
I have received many responses to my various posts and calls for action,
most of them have been positive and supportive...
and all well meaning.
But there is a concept that has come across of late,
that I feel bears some response at this time,
and that is the passive place of inaction, in the name of the "will" of Spirit.
It is a dangerous Metaphysical Misnomer that everything that happens is somehow Divinely Orchestrated by the Hand of God.
And that all we are here to do is sit in our pretty little gardens
& think lovely, happy thoughts,
& the weeds will miraculously disappear.
This is not the Truth or the Purpose of our Being.
We are the Hands & the Voices of the Creator...
And That, We are, in Truth, the Only Hands that Spirit has.
And along with prayer, meditation, & positive intentions,
when the weeds appear,
it is up to US to get down on our knees,
dig in the dirt & pull them up by the roots
And to plant in their stead…
The seeds for the flowers of Truth, Justice and Love.
This is not a Passive Universe but a Participatory One...
and we have, Hands, Feet, Voices, Minds and Hearts,
not just for our own personal wants and needs but for a much greater Purpose.
When we are witness to that which cannot possibly be considered the "Will of the Divine"...
But what are in fact, the direct products of our own miscreations…
Whether it be….Consciously or unconsciously,
Individually or collectively…
The existence of war, killing, injustice, abuse, destruction of Our
Beloved Mother Earth & and her children and the denial of freedoms...
It is then our responsibility to bring Voice and Action to this Purpose.
It is our responsibility to do what we can,
with & through the Power of God to change the status quo...
Nothing has ever changed for the good on our planet or in our world
through silence, inaction or denial.
It may be an illusion...
But We, collectively, have created this illusion...
And, We collectively have birthed it into reality...
And it is now up to us to dissolve the illusion
And to consciously choose to create a New Reality!
This is the Truth of Our Being...
and the Purpose for which we were Created.
We are more Powerful than we realize
We now hold within our Lives a responsibility greater than we can possibly fathom...
It matters not so much, that which you choose to Stand up for and bring into the Light...
(And Standing Up does not mean Fighting Against)
I heard it said once that, "If you don't Stand for Something...You will Fall for Anything"
What does matter, then, is that you choose to Stand up at all.
That you Choose...To Shine your Light,
That you Choose...To Raise your Voice,
That you Choose...To be True to the Stirrings of your Heart.
That you Choose...To Act by whatever means you are Divinely Guided.
The time is Now...
The moment is at Hand...
"We are the Ones we have been waiting for!"...
By and for all that is Sacred...Just Act!
There it was…I had spoken my Truth and put it out there…
I had no attachment to how it would be received…
The response to this little treatise was overwhelmingly positive…
Again, more validation, that maybe I wasn’t quite that alone after all.
All of this aside, the most serendipitous event occurred when
A person who has been a friend of mine on FB for several years,
upon reading my piece, told me about a man,
who I had not been aware of, by the name of Andrew Harvey,
who has started a movement called Sacred Activism…
I googled him immediately & once again…was the return of that feeling of coming Home…
The first line I read off his website, sent me reeling, and once again
I felt validation for the Truth that I had struggled with for so very long…
“When the joy of compassionate service is combined with the
pragmatic and practical drive to transform all existing economic,
social and political institutions a radical Divine Force is born…
that Force is Sacred Activism…”
Through my rapidly forming tear filled eyes, I read on…
”Sacred Activism is the Passion of Compassion and Love
in Action, on every level, in every realm, to change the world...
From the Heart of every sacred activist flows a golden ecstatic torrent of Passion to change all things, out of love for all things…”
And then more validation from some of the greatest Spiritual Leaders of our time,
in praise of Andrew & his book, “The Hope – a Guide to Sacred Activism”
One such endorsement stood out above the others…it was from Beloved Luminary, Michael Bernard Beckwith… he wrote…”Sacred Activism is the most potent after effect of
our Inner Spiritual Practices…when the heart explodes into the
conscious Oneness with the Beloved…what remains is a burning
desire to be a Servant to the One that enlivens all sentient beings,
every speck of Space…
Back came those words of old…”I am not crazy, and if I am, I am not
alone in my madness”…and I am indeed, once again, in Good Company…
I would like invite you all, at this time…if you have not already…
To consider making the Shift to the next level on your Spiritual
At this most pivotal time, It would behoove those of us, who call ourselves
Light Workers, to evaluate, the full Meaning of that term… Light “Workers”…
not Light Thinkers or Light Meditators…which are indeed important aspects of our being,
but the key word, my Friends…is Worker…
So, I invite you, to take your Light out into the world in the direction of
whatever Passion Is calling to you…if you don’t know what that is…
then consider the words of Andrew Harvey as a guidepost
to connecting with that place within you...he says..
"Do not push away your sadness, Be with it…embrace it…I don’t say Follow your Bliss, look where that has gotten us…I say follow your Heartbreak…for within your Greatest Heartbreak, lies your Greatest Passion…”
So, my friends, in this lenten season, as we are moving into the
period of rebirth, resurrection and renewal…
I Invite you to make the commitment to follow your greatest Heartbreak to your greatest passion…
Literally…Trip the Light Fantastic…Make a Joyous Noise!
Move and Groove…Shake and Bake…Make a Bang heard round the World!
and in doing so I promise that you will Experience the greatest Joy you will ever know…
the Joy of Action, in Service to our Mother Earth, All things Living and all Humankind.
In closing, I once again, quote Andrew…
“We must turn our whole being to God in praise and longing so our
actions are illuminated, guided and energized by Divine Light,
for God is everywhere working a massive resurrection and it is the
Destiny of our time to be the birthing ground of this resurrection.
We have very little time in which to awaken and transform ourselves,
To be able to preserve and to heal the divisions between the powerful
and the powerless. Let us go forward now, with firm resolve and profound dedication…”
My friends…The World is starving for your Light, Compassion and
Talents…I believe it was Walt Whitman who said, “The Powerful Play
goes on and we each must contribute a Verse”, what will your verse be?
Remember, these are the Only Hands that Spirit has…Use them
Well...Serve with Joy...Contribute your Verse…
And burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars...”
May the Spirit of God, Come upon us now…
To bless up and raise us up,
To the better angels of our being…
So that we may be a blessing unto others, as well!
In the Honoring of this most Special Month I would like to reflect in Thanksgiving
for all who have nutured our lives...
To the Divine Feminine in all women who by virtue of thier very presence
have Nutured, Blessed and given Sustenance and Strength to a
World hungry for thier Gifts of Love.
To the life-giving ones
Who heal with their presence
Who listen in sympathy
Who give wise advice ... but only when asked for it.
We are grateful for all those who have mothered us
Who have held us gently in times of sorrow
Who celebrated with us our triumphs -- no matter how small
Who noticed when we changed and grew,
who praised us for taking risks
who took genuine pride in our success,
and who expressed genuine compassion when we did not succeed.
On this day that honors Mothers
let us honor all mothers
men and women alike
who from somewhere in their being
have freely and wholeheartedly given life, and sustenance, and vision to us.
On this most Sacred of Days let us also, give Honor to Beloved Mother Gaia...Our Earth Mother...Unconditional Provider and Nuturer of All...
In the Spirit of this Sharing I offer homage by way of several pieces honoring
Our Beloved Mother Earth and All the Women that have graced our Lives...
May all my Beautiful Sisters be Blessed this Most Precious Day...
The following is in dedication to them and to the Most Beloved Mother of All...
To Mother Gaia...Earth Mother to All...
"Every man for the sake of the great blessed Mother in Heaven, and for the love of his own little mother on earth, should handle all womankind gently, and hold them in all Honour". ~Alfred Lord Tennyson
I am your morning hummingbird
hovering in dreamlike winds
around the fragrant rose
of your radiant heart light
Sipping the sweet white nectar of your divine love
I am nourished and sustained
I am ablaze with whirling galaxies
of undivided joy
I am drunk and swooning
as I press my long slender beak
deep into the luminous petals
of your Great Heart
to sip the rapturous flowing currents
of your shining being
~ Reprinted from the book Soft Moon Shinning by Ethan Walker III ~
Mother of all the high-strung poets and singers departed,
Mother of all the grass that weaves over their graves the glory of the field,
Mother of all the manifold forms of life, deep-bosomed, patient, impassive,
Silent brooder and nurse of lyrical joys and sorrows!
Out of thee, yea, surely out of the fertile depth below thy breast,
Issued in some strange way, thou lying motionless, voiceless,
All these songs of nature, rhythmical, passionate, yearning,
Coming in music from earth, but not unto earth returning.
Dust are the blood-red hearts that beat in time to these measures,
Thou hast taken them back to thyself, secretly, irresistibly
Drawing the crimson currents of life down, down, down
Deep into thy bosom again, as a river is lost in the sand.
But the souls of the singers have entered into the songs that revealed them, --
Passionate songs, immortal songs of joy and grief and love and longing:
Floating from heart to heart of thy children, they echo above thee:
Do they not utter thy heart, the voices of those that love thee?
Long hadst thou lain like a queen transformed by some old enchantment
Into an alien shape, mysterious, beautiful, speechless,
Knowing not who thou wert, till the touch of thy Lord and Lover
Working within thee awakened the man-child to breathe thy secret.
All of thy flowers and birds and forests and flowing waters
Are but enchanted forms to embody the life of the spirit;
Thou thyself, earth-mother, in mountain and meadow and ocean,
Holdest the poem of God, eternal thought and emotion
~ Henry Van Dyke ~
Mother Earth and Father Time
How very special are we
For just a moment to be
Part of life’s eternal rhyme
How very special are we
To have on our family tree
Mother Earth and Father Time
He turns the seasons around
And so she changes her gown
But they always look in their prime
They go on dancing their dance
Of everlasting romance
Mother Earth and Father Time
The summer larks return to sing
Oh, what a gift they give
Then autumn days grow short and cold
Oh, what a joy to live
How very special are we
For just a moment to be
Part of life’s eternal rhyme
How very special are we
To have on our family tree
Mother Earth and Father Time
~ Unknown ~
To All Women Everywhere
"Mother's Day is in honor of the best Mother who ever lived -the Mother of your heart." ~Anna Jarvis
See the Woman
(a Poem by John Trudell)
She has a young face
An old face
She carries herself well
In all ages
She survives all man has done
In some tribes she is free
In some religions
She is under man
In some societies
She’s worth what she consumes
In some nations
She is delicate strength
In some states
She is told she is weak
In some classes
She is property owned
In all instances
She is sister to earth
In all conditions
She is life bringer
In all life she is our necessity
See the woman eyes
On scattered hills
Sundancing calling in the bees
See the woman heart
Fronting blue sky
Misty rain falling
On soft wild roses
See the woman beauty
Dark summer nights
Forests of pines mating
With new winter snow
See the woman spirit
Daily serving courage
Her breath a dream
And a prayer
~ John Trudell is an acclaimed poet, national recording artist, actor and activist whose international following reflects the universal language of his words, work and message. Trudell (Santee Sioux) was a spokesperson for the Indian of All Tribes occupation of Alcatraz Island from 1969 to 1971. He then worked with the American Indian Movement (AIM), serving as Chairman of AIM from 1973 to 1979. In February of 1979, a fire of unknown origin ( which he is convinced was not an accident) killed Trudell’s wife, three children and mother-in-law. It was through this horrific tragedy that Trudell began to find his voice as an artist and poet, writing, in his words, “to stay connected to this reality.” ~
Imagine a Woman
Imagine a woman who believes it is right and good she is a woman.
A woman who honors her experiences and tells her stories.
Who refuses to carry the sins of others within her body and life.
Imagine a woman who believes she is good.
A woman who trusts and respects herself.
Who listens to her needs and desires, and meets them
With tenderness and grace.
Imagine a woman who has acknowledged the past’s influence on the present.
A woman who has walked through her past.
Who has healed into the present.
Imagine a woman who authors her own life.
A woman who exerts, initiates, and moves on her own behalf.
Who refuses to surrender except to her truest self and to her wisest voice.
Imagine a woman who names her own gods.
A woman who imagines the divine in her image and likeness.
Who designs her own spirituality and allows it to inform her daily life.
Imagine a woman in love with her own body.
A woman who believes her body is enough, just as it is.
Who celebrates her body and its rhythms and cycles as an exquisite resource.
Imagine a woman who honors the face of the Goddess in her changing face.
A woman who celebrates the accumulation of her years and her wisdom.
Who refuses to use precious energy disguising the changes in her body
~ Patricia Lynn Reilly ~
Angels in the Bedraggled Earth
(A remarkably stunning and moving piece by Independent Journalist Ira Mathur)
As your eyes scan this page millions of women are in various stages of childbirth - in fields, and huts, homes, apartments, hospitals and health centres. A few are alone and scared, but many, even the poor or obscure, are not.
No matter where or how this happens, it is seen as an important event. Every birth is greeted with a unanimous astonishment and acknowledgement of the vast unknown. Despite the problems of overpopulation, India recently celebrated the birth of its billionth baby. The birth is greeted with shouts in every conceivable language and culture of “It’s a miracle!”
A lifetime of intensity is poured into these moments: the wave of undiluted pain comes pounding in, subsides and rolls back with a more forceful crash, forcing out cries that burst out from the depths of a woman. From her cocoon of pain she dimly hears shouts to bear down, hold back, push, as if they are from another world, nothing to do with her. The faces of doctors and midwives in crisp blinding white of glints of steel, masks and gloves are a blur. She barely feels the hands she is clutching for support.
Finally, wrapped up in red life-forming placenta, a tiny body emerges out of her ripped body. With the child, she is handed a lifetime injection of love tinged with the pain that comes from loving too much. Her tears, her sweat pouring from her brow, her flowing and clotted mess of blood is mingled now with relief, laughter, and exhaustion, wonder, and above all hope.
And something changes in the woman - she is no longer a human being with selfish desires. Even after cord is cut, even if she or her baby dies the mystical ties that bind her to the child remains tightly bound, flowing somewhere together into the stream of the universe.
The mother and child, Madonna and bambino, have been immortalised by great painters, Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, Botticelli; in Hindu Mythology; in the earliest cave etchings, in world art, literature and history.
But this is no static tableau to be admired at in an art gallery. There are millions of living paintings around us in our modern age. The images no less endearing for their ordinary-ness, perhaps more so, since they go unrecognised unseen. Consider a few:
· A mother sits in her working clothes pumping out breast milk into a container for her newborn and swallows her tears after dropping her child to the baby sitter so she looks smart for the office meeting. Like a juggler she finds ways to somehow hold down a job, find time for her child, rush to the supermarket and drug store, make PTA meetings, and time to bake a birthday cake.
· A mother gets her pay docked, and puts up with angry employers and threats so she can spend the day taking her sick child to the hospital. An inner barometer in her will happily forego self-preservation to safeguard her child’s health.
· A mother sits in a camp where hundreds like her are battling famine, with her baby to her breast, too weak to even brush away flies, but her grip on her baby doesn’t weaken even after she or the baby dies.
· A mother at home spends all day taking care of three children: makes sure they brush their teeth, get their meals on time, wipes bottoms, and tears, fights back anger when they don’t listen or disrespect her, takes them to school and lessons, spends time over their homework, admonishes, hugs, and praises, dispenses advice and medicine, separates fights, and tries to teach them the small curtsies like please and thank you and the big ones, like right from wrong.
In between there somewhere she forgets who she is, suppresses her longing for her paintbrush or office, travel or ambition. She wonders at night, when it’s quiet or over the kitchen sink, where all the years, and the carefree laughter and the sense of possibility went. Forgets that she has a body and mind that needs care. When her children are grown and sophisticated, they come and go, like butterflies, chastising her for her old fashioned ways. She continues to love them, and suffer pangs of pain when they are in trouble or go away, or buy a motorcycle or are out too late.
· A mother sits by her critically ill child who nearly drowned for trying to save a friend. As she passes her hands over his brow she thanks God for his courage, his good heart, and then goes numb with fear, rocking up and down as if in a trance, “I can’t lose him, I can’t lose him.” She is not alone. A thousand mothers feel for her.
· A mother thinks of the worst thing that could ever happen to her is her child dying before she does. The child dies. But she never lets the child go. She holds on to that child, and by a supreme act of will, keeps him or her alive in her heart, because if she didn’t do that she couldn’t live.
· A mother shops and laughs, travels and gossips with her children who drop in all the time to see her. Somehow she is among the luckiest ones. She has learned to hold on, not with guilt, or recriminations, but with a wacky sense of humour and wit that never grows old. She has become their friend without asking for anything in return because she too has made a full life for herself. She has given them the gift of independence, of huge spaces and possibilities, of going after impossible dreams, because she was brave and wise enough to recognise that although she loves her children she has her own destiny. She may have had to go away for periods of time - may have not always been there to comb their hair or pick them up after a fall, but by allowing herself to fulfill her own potential she has given them the gift of theirs.
There are so many types of mothers. Call it a mystic tie, a finer, purer tie than any ties that bind. Whatever it is, you, our mothers gone, and mothers present, mothers to be, and mothers who’ve lost their children, working mothers, frail mothers, mothers who’ve adopted, and those who’ve had to give up their babies, will go on being what you’ve always been, angels in this bedraggled earth of ours.
The difference is even if it is just for one day, today, Mothers’ Day, we acknowledge you.
~ Ira Mathur is an Indian born Caribbean freelance journalist/writer working in radio, television and print in Trinidad, West Indies. She has been a regular columnist since 1995 and currently writes for the Trinidad Guardian.
Ira spent her childhood in India and Tobago, her University years in Canada, lived in England and settled in Trinidad.
Like most children of the Diaspora, she inhabits many worlds, not quite belonging to any one, but improvising, choosing and claiming chunks of most. ~