I have stepped over that line where the sand meets the first blades of windswept grass, where tiny flowers begin to emerge from rocky soil only a few hundred feet beyond. A new land of exploration awaits me.
Gone from home for three months to the day, I traveled and sought closure to the "once upon a times" of my life. After a wonderful retreat, I assisted Sister Mary Louise to settle into her new dwelling with her Community. She now enters her own desert sojourn, forced into a retirement she does not want. I left Hays ill and needed to spent extra time getting well which blessed each of us in our own way. Then I set my sights on the home I left thirty years ago and began the next leg of my driving adventure.
The exterior of the farmhouse had not been kept up; one could no longer tell the once beautiful shake shingle siding had been a deep hunter green. The pump from which we once drew the best spring water anyone ever tasted emerged from copious vegetative overgrowth along with the steps leading up to it. The barn where we housed our cattle and horses, along with the milk house in which I raised rabbits no longer existed. Now there were only echoes in my memory of days spent playing in the haymow, the feel of mice playing at my feet in the wheat bin, and the sound of the beckoning church bells on a Sunday morning where I sat high up in the silo where no one could disturb my time alone with God as a child. I hoped to walk the path to the pasture, climb the hill to the woods, and spend time at the edge of the hay field where 'mitten lake,' a pond shaped like a mitten laid. Here we collected pussy willows every spring and some of us ice skated in the winter. No one was home and I needed not to trespass so I collected my memories and made them sufficient. My heart filled with joy when I noticed a small metal barn built where my playhouse, a playhouse where I had often played hostess, teacher, church, and postmaster (mistress?), once stood and about a half dozen sheep in the adjoining pen. My father promised me a sheep -- I love sheep -- but the divorce foiled that hope. Now there were lovely sheep living where I once played. I am happy.
Not much seems to have changed in the dual little villages a mile apart from each other with the public schools K-12 standing at the midpoint curve. Here and there a building houses a different business than before but the bank and the hardware, centers of the community's economic and social fabric, remain. I went to visit the elderly matriarch of the hardware family now widowed and disabled. I went to school with her children and have fond memories of being left in her care while my parents were away on a fireman's vacation trip to the Thousand Islands, Canada. You didn't need a passport in those days. It started out as a nostalgic courtesy visit encouraged by her grandson at the hardware, but turned into so much more. She turned out to be God's instrument of grace for the healing I was searching for. A few compassionate words spoken by this wizened woman sage and all the years of sadness, pain, and shame fell away. Towards the end of an hour of warm, wonderful conversation, she spotted the simple silver ring on my left hand and asked if there was a husband somewhere. I told her 'no' and explained that although I was not a member of a canonical community, I was married to Christ and lived a simple and celibate life.
I had been to Mass that morning before visiting Marion. It was the Feast of All Saints and the church parish was thirty miles away from where I grew up. St. Mary's.... it was where I was baptized and where I had heard God's first call to me at age two.... and I said 'yes.' Its cemetery is where my paternal grandparents are buried. I stood in the small round chamber that once housed the baptismal font but now a vesting area on the left when one enters the gathering space. It was here that that sacred moment had happened during my sister's baptism. Now I stood praying, remembering, humbled by God's grace and sorrowful for so much sin between then and now. God is both merciful and just. He loves me and He had made it plain through a tremendous conversion experience that I belong to Him. I continue to make reparation while being called at the same time to the joys following God's will for my life.
After visiting "home" and my baptismal home, I turned to the next phase of my journey. The easy part was over. The rest of the trip would be difficult, emotional, full of uncertainties, a time to confront the rest of my demons.
First I met my grandchildren...three precious souls: Colin, Catie, and Christine. This was a joy to obtain a glimpse of who they are as small people and to let them get a tiny inclination of who their grandmother is. I spent a week caught between the wonder of their young lives and the hostility directed toward me by their father who has quit believing in God. I struggled with being placed in the middle of marital unhappiness that can not be resolved without fresh conversion and the love of Christ.
Later, I spent a week with my cousins in Pennsylvania. I had not seen them since childhood but had such fond memories. Here, at last, was true and welcoming family. Through them I was able to meet another cousin whom I had never met but only corresponded with. The first words out of her mouth were, "you look like a (one of us)." Family...here it was at long last. I may never have the opportunity to experience it again but it is now a part of my psyche forever.
I drove on down to my father's house in Florida. Here was the other main purpose of this hiatus. Dad, 91, is slowly dying of renal failure after colon cancer and living with a colostomy and episodic blood clot issues stemming from radiation therapy. He goes for dialysis three times a week. It was important to spend quality time together knowing we will most likely never see each other again. It was two months of rocky ups and downs suffering dad's dementia, verbal abuses, and his literal dislike for me. He sees me as my mother, his wife told me. Somewhere in his own journey he allowed his love for his high school sweetheart turn to hate. I am his only living child...and I bear the brunt of all that anger, hatred, and even his fear of death. However, we managed our birthdays, Thanksgiving, and the twelve days of Christmas together; when I left, there was no unfinished business.
Much needed R&R was provided by two weeks in West Palm Beach. My youngest son met me there and I became reaquainted with his father and became friends with his father's wife. A very lovely time in a very lovely place. The Holy Name of Jesus parish became my second parish home.
At last the moment came to begin the long journey home. I gave my middle son, whom I have not seen since he was 12, a last opportunity to see me when I passed by. He chose not to. Another chapter is closed; I kept my promise and sent him his baby book and other artifacts. I came full circle...literally. I drove across Kansas, through Missouri, north through Illinois and Chicago up to Fond du Lac WI. I then headed around the great lakes into Indiana, Ohio, and on home to New York. From there I went south to Pennsylvania and ultimately Florida. The journey home from Florida took me straight across the south into Louisiana, north to Shreveport and on over into Texas. At Plano, north of Dallas I picked up I-35 north and drove through Oklahoma, back into Wichita Kansas where I stopped to see Father Gile at Newman University. Afterward a three hour drive brought me north to I-70 and west to Hays...home. 16 states, 9,000 miles, and the end of the last chapter in book two of the trilogy of my life's story.
Closure....at long last.
Monday, June 9, 2014
Thursday, December 12, 2013
The Desert Experience - Part II
This is a lengthy post so pour a cup of java, or tea, or whatever you like to drink and pull up a comfortable chair. I am currently in West Palm Beach, Florida where it is too hot. However, when most people think of deserts, they think hot -- right? So the imagery is correct for my journey. Deserts are also cold though; they can be very cold when the sun sets and the darkness of night descends. Sometimes a howling wind comes up and if not hunkered down under the protection of a sheltering tent, the sand stings the already cold skin covering the face and extremities and somehow seems to reach deep inside to the core of a sorrowing heart. The only thing worse than traversing a desert under any and all such situations: hot, cold, windy, or still -- is doing it alone.
I moved two months after mom died although I secured an apartment only two weeks after she died. I always said I would; I was never content in the small town where she lived. To my thinking I needed more cultural events, a larger church community, not to have to commute 220 miles a day, and better shopping. What I did not realize was that by making that choice, I had saddled my camel and gone from the edge of the desert to somewhere deep inside it. During the first year the wind howled, the nights were bitter cold, and my camel and I were not making much progress in the bitter heat of each day's sunlight. Cultural events were unaffordable, the tent I dwelled in was unsafe, I ceased to care about -- let alone look for -- a church community, the absence of a commute cancelled out my industrious motivation, and shopping left me empty. I grieved. So may times I had told others not to make sudden major changes in the early stages of grieving. We humans seem to never be good at utilizing our own advice.
One day, deep in the desert, my camel and I -- exhausted and thirsty -- came to a dead stand still without an oasis in sight. The inner drive I had known my whole life was gone. It is impossible to traverse a desert without water. It is possible to experience the absence of food for extended periods of time, but the lack of water most assuredly brings death. Under the shelter of my academic tent while writing a paper on Matteo Ricci and the introduction of Christianity to China during the counter-reformation, I found myself immersed in the primary documents of those venerable Jesuits who were both the most educated men of their day and totally surrendered to Christ through their vocations. The wind and blowing sand began to decline and I recognized the geography of a spiritual desert. I was deeply in need of some spiritual water! God was calling and without the howling of the wind I was beginning to hear.
Three hours with Fr. J and I was once more on the ancient caravan route through the desert the storm had obliterated and a larger church community of God's own choosing was now my new home instead of the tent of a wanderer. At the same time, the geography of my physical desert was just about to come into view after a respite at the desert oasis. The oasis brought me lots of clean crystal clear cold water to slake my thirst -- a time of great joy while spending hours staring at my beloved in adoration, His calling me back to Himself as His bride with a reassurance that He loved me and that I belonged to Him. There was happiness in showing another, Darlene, the first steps through the desert when she came to live with me briefly. But God was not done with me yet. Darlene left and I was left with the very real aftermath of what it sometimes costs to help another, what was left of my energy disappeared like rising mist after the dawn gives way to the brightness of day. I was ill.
Often there is no word in whatever language we speak that is feared more than "cancer." Now I was to confront that very word with all its realities. The long days of not knowing, then not knowing enough, two surgeries, not wanting to wake up which scared everyone, and long months of recovery. Now there is a body that is not the same and never will be again. An inability to function and complete physical tasks that were always taken for granted brought anger first, then depression. I am not yet at true acceptance. The decade changed -- age 60 --positively unacceptable; there is still so much to do, isn't there? One year cancer free and now we find I have a gall stone and must stop eating some of my favorite things. I find myself struggling through giant dunes watching for places that will swallow me up in a heartbeat. I think I must finish the race out of the desert but some saints spent a lifetime there. Emptiness; God is there but is so silent. I ache for religious community to live with -- to share my tent and share God's praises with me. I long for a deep union with my beloved that I cannot feel. I long to die in the habit I once wore as symbol of my wedding to Christ. Fr.K tells me it is avarice -- Christ's love and His command to put my ring back on my finger in evidence that I belong to Him should be enough. He tells me to read the private writings of Blessed Mother Theresa. I begin to do so and new understandings start to fill my heart. There is someone who knows, someone who understands on a much deeper more painful level than I.
My father is dying. We celebrated our birthdays together for they are one day apart. He is 91 while I have turned 61. There is no stopping the march of time. I am on a long traveling journey that began to grow from the seed planted by the "c" word. I ached to see the place of my birth again before no longer being able to travel or dying. I wanted so much to meet the grandchildren I had never held. I needed to spend time with dad while he is still alive. I had promised to take Sister Mary Louise home to retire. My trek through the metaphorical desert became a very real one in this dimension as well. My mentor gives me the image that it is about finishing a chapter in my life that began beside my dying mother's bed. It is that and more. It is bringing to completion healing of early wounds that have taken a lifetime to close. It is finding the person God created that disappeared so long ago. The years have changed how she appears but the heart is the same. There will be a turning of the page when the journey is complete and a new chapter will begin to be written in a very long story. In the meantime I read, I pray, I listen. Mother Theresa says: "Accept whatever He gives you with a big smile: that is holiness." I have finished reading her writings and I aspire to doing just that. The very first day I failed miserably -- I have a long way to go to become holy.
I moved two months after mom died although I secured an apartment only two weeks after she died. I always said I would; I was never content in the small town where she lived. To my thinking I needed more cultural events, a larger church community, not to have to commute 220 miles a day, and better shopping. What I did not realize was that by making that choice, I had saddled my camel and gone from the edge of the desert to somewhere deep inside it. During the first year the wind howled, the nights were bitter cold, and my camel and I were not making much progress in the bitter heat of each day's sunlight. Cultural events were unaffordable, the tent I dwelled in was unsafe, I ceased to care about -- let alone look for -- a church community, the absence of a commute cancelled out my industrious motivation, and shopping left me empty. I grieved. So may times I had told others not to make sudden major changes in the early stages of grieving. We humans seem to never be good at utilizing our own advice.
One day, deep in the desert, my camel and I -- exhausted and thirsty -- came to a dead stand still without an oasis in sight. The inner drive I had known my whole life was gone. It is impossible to traverse a desert without water. It is possible to experience the absence of food for extended periods of time, but the lack of water most assuredly brings death. Under the shelter of my academic tent while writing a paper on Matteo Ricci and the introduction of Christianity to China during the counter-reformation, I found myself immersed in the primary documents of those venerable Jesuits who were both the most educated men of their day and totally surrendered to Christ through their vocations. The wind and blowing sand began to decline and I recognized the geography of a spiritual desert. I was deeply in need of some spiritual water! God was calling and without the howling of the wind I was beginning to hear.
Three hours with Fr. J and I was once more on the ancient caravan route through the desert the storm had obliterated and a larger church community of God's own choosing was now my new home instead of the tent of a wanderer. At the same time, the geography of my physical desert was just about to come into view after a respite at the desert oasis. The oasis brought me lots of clean crystal clear cold water to slake my thirst -- a time of great joy while spending hours staring at my beloved in adoration, His calling me back to Himself as His bride with a reassurance that He loved me and that I belonged to Him. There was happiness in showing another, Darlene, the first steps through the desert when she came to live with me briefly. But God was not done with me yet. Darlene left and I was left with the very real aftermath of what it sometimes costs to help another, what was left of my energy disappeared like rising mist after the dawn gives way to the brightness of day. I was ill.
Often there is no word in whatever language we speak that is feared more than "cancer." Now I was to confront that very word with all its realities. The long days of not knowing, then not knowing enough, two surgeries, not wanting to wake up which scared everyone, and long months of recovery. Now there is a body that is not the same and never will be again. An inability to function and complete physical tasks that were always taken for granted brought anger first, then depression. I am not yet at true acceptance. The decade changed -- age 60 --positively unacceptable; there is still so much to do, isn't there? One year cancer free and now we find I have a gall stone and must stop eating some of my favorite things. I find myself struggling through giant dunes watching for places that will swallow me up in a heartbeat. I think I must finish the race out of the desert but some saints spent a lifetime there. Emptiness; God is there but is so silent. I ache for religious community to live with -- to share my tent and share God's praises with me. I long for a deep union with my beloved that I cannot feel. I long to die in the habit I once wore as symbol of my wedding to Christ. Fr.K tells me it is avarice -- Christ's love and His command to put my ring back on my finger in evidence that I belong to Him should be enough. He tells me to read the private writings of Blessed Mother Theresa. I begin to do so and new understandings start to fill my heart. There is someone who knows, someone who understands on a much deeper more painful level than I.
My father is dying. We celebrated our birthdays together for they are one day apart. He is 91 while I have turned 61. There is no stopping the march of time. I am on a long traveling journey that began to grow from the seed planted by the "c" word. I ached to see the place of my birth again before no longer being able to travel or dying. I wanted so much to meet the grandchildren I had never held. I needed to spend time with dad while he is still alive. I had promised to take Sister Mary Louise home to retire. My trek through the metaphorical desert became a very real one in this dimension as well. My mentor gives me the image that it is about finishing a chapter in my life that began beside my dying mother's bed. It is that and more. It is bringing to completion healing of early wounds that have taken a lifetime to close. It is finding the person God created that disappeared so long ago. The years have changed how she appears but the heart is the same. There will be a turning of the page when the journey is complete and a new chapter will begin to be written in a very long story. In the meantime I read, I pray, I listen. Mother Theresa says: "Accept whatever He gives you with a big smile: that is holiness." I have finished reading her writings and I aspire to doing just that. The very first day I failed miserably -- I have a long way to go to become holy.
Monday, May 23, 2011
The Desert Experience - Part I
After I started this blog, life's path took a radical turn. It began at Christmastime 2009. There was something in the air and it wasn't evergreen and bayberry. Mom was not doing so well. I should have had more of a clue when I asked her what she wanted for Christmas dinner. No, it wasn't the standard turkey, or ham, or roast beef. She wanted spaghetti of all things. It would be our last real celebration together, one I will never forget. She would pass from this life the week before Easter. I like to think that she celebrated Easter in Heaven with her parents, her deceased children and grandchildren; a tumultuous celebration that cancelled out all the suffering and sorrow she knew while on this earth and wiped away all the tears she had cried.
I didn't just open a can of ready made sauce and cook some pasta. I made my from-scratch authentic sauce that takes two days and has onions, spices, fresh garlic, green peppers, Home grown canned tomatoes, homemade meatballs, shredded pork, and sweet Italian sausage. I learned to make it from my dear friends the Benedetti's when I was only seventeen. Christmas day was a very white Christmas and I carried Sauce, Pasta, and Bread a half block in a blizzard to Mom's overly warm home.
Over the next three months mom's energy increasingly failed, she was losing the will to go on, and she began to fall often. She would not ask for or accept help. I learned she was determined to clean the ice and snow off her car one day instead of waiting for me. She fell on the ice and crawled on her hands and knees to safety. That was my mom - stubborn as they come. Finally she was forced to ask for help. She took three falls in three weeks. The last one broke her hip and she could not get up. How she managed to pull herself to the phone in all that pain I will never know - stubborn courage - she always refused to let me get her "lifeline." At the hospital we learned she had undiagnosed metastasized cancer. We pinned her hip in surgery and brought her back to her home with its comfortable memories, friends, and surroundings. She was gone nine days later but not before a last word. One day she cried out: "God, why am I still here? I told you I was ready!"
Little did I know it, but my life over the next year would echo those words in modified form. "God, why am I here?" I was called to leave my comfort zone and enter a desert not of my choosing.
I didn't just open a can of ready made sauce and cook some pasta. I made my from-scratch authentic sauce that takes two days and has onions, spices, fresh garlic, green peppers, Home grown canned tomatoes, homemade meatballs, shredded pork, and sweet Italian sausage. I learned to make it from my dear friends the Benedetti's when I was only seventeen. Christmas day was a very white Christmas and I carried Sauce, Pasta, and Bread a half block in a blizzard to Mom's overly warm home.
Over the next three months mom's energy increasingly failed, she was losing the will to go on, and she began to fall often. She would not ask for or accept help. I learned she was determined to clean the ice and snow off her car one day instead of waiting for me. She fell on the ice and crawled on her hands and knees to safety. That was my mom - stubborn as they come. Finally she was forced to ask for help. She took three falls in three weeks. The last one broke her hip and she could not get up. How she managed to pull herself to the phone in all that pain I will never know - stubborn courage - she always refused to let me get her "lifeline." At the hospital we learned she had undiagnosed metastasized cancer. We pinned her hip in surgery and brought her back to her home with its comfortable memories, friends, and surroundings. She was gone nine days later but not before a last word. One day she cried out: "God, why am I still here? I told you I was ready!"
Little did I know it, but my life over the next year would echo those words in modified form. "God, why am I here?" I was called to leave my comfort zone and enter a desert not of my choosing.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
The Art of Simplicity
Things are changing....again. They are changing in the outside world as well as in my inner world. What is happening in the outside world, the speeding up of time, the call to values, the rise of global consciousness, etc. is exciting as well as curiosity provoking. What will things look like in the near future? How will we BE in the world around us?
The same can be said for what is happening in my inner world. I am changing. It is both exciting and curiosity provoking. What will my inner world look like in the near future? and how will I BE in the world around me?
The process in my inner world began with a loss of a job that I truly enjoyed. That is to say it was the catalyst for change. (Anybody remember the book "Necessary Losses"?) What then really started the dynamic catabolism inside me was the opening of energy channels during level 1 Reiki training. I believe the change both in the outside world and the inside world is a call to simplicity.
We often espouse such things as "less is more", or "spirituality rather than materialism". Most of us, though, struggle with making those ideas a reality. We find it difficult to step outside of mind and into the connection with divine energy. We are bombarded with advertising, consumerism, and holes in our psyche telling us we are "less than" if we do not have at least as many toys, bells, and whistles as our neighbor or our best friend or the guy we work with.
In the outside world we are being called to simplicity because if we don't there will no longer be resources for survival. In addition, the raising of consciousness has begun to see the unfairness of some having everything and others having little or nothing. There is also the recent factor of seeing on a global scale the devastation that greed, the opposite of simplicity, has wreaked on economies on the macrocosmic level and struggling individuals on the microcosmic level.
In my inner world, my psychic holes allowed me to clutter my life with "stuff". My house right now looks like a bomb hit it. Cupboards have been emptied, furniture used for storage has been emptied and it's all in piles on the floor and everywhere. I am appalled when I realize how much "stuff" there is! So much of it is superfluous, unnecessary, no longer has a purpose or meaning. I am cleaning out. I can't function properly with all this molecular jumping around that doesn't belong in my energy field.
A number of years ago (the late 70's) I took a thirty day tour of Jordan and Israel. I am not a typical tourist. I like to explore the back roads. I like to eat where the locals eat. I like to buy real meaningful things to bring home instead of tourist trinkets. I often departed from my group to explore something meaningful to me. What I discovered was this: There are only three things NECESSARY for life -- enough water to drink, enough bread to eat, and enough fire for warmth. Okay, a little spartan but true. Then it's important to add some love: divine love, family love. I was humbled by my experience in the desert with a little woman with 2 small children bent over a fire making tea with a small herd of goats nearby. This is why Jesus said "look at the lillies of the field, they toil not nor spin...." We worry too much about what we THINK we need and forget that our connection to the Divine takes care of us!
When I came home from that experience, I walked into my home and it was culture shock. Everything in my surroundings seemed meaningless. Although I never forgot the lesson, it didn't take long for the veil to drop back over my eyes and my American excesses to reclaim my spirit and plunge it back into unconsciousness. The God and Goddess be thanked -- I am finally reawakening!
To feel secure, I have always lived in a cave-like environment and envisioned my perfect ideal home to be a real cave if I could ever find the one in my head (it was quite something!). Now my "cozy little nest seems dark and claustrophobic. The heavy drapes are going away; light is coming in. Heavy furniture is disappearing and simplicity is taking its place. It is important for continuing growth to not be tied down by volumes of possessions but to be freed from all that clutter, all those dust-catching objects. My surroundings need to feel as light and airy as a delightful walk in nature with a gentle breeze on my face.
Who knew that one day of Reiki training would produce so much difference? I had peeled off enough onion layers to be ready. I had heard the Divine whispering (or screaming!) "SIMPLICITY" for some time; now I am able to set my feet to walk that path. The art of simplicity is to not look back, keep moving forward, engage detachment and keep living, loving and laughing.
Namaste! July 21, 2009
The same can be said for what is happening in my inner world. I am changing. It is both exciting and curiosity provoking. What will my inner world look like in the near future? and how will I BE in the world around me?
The process in my inner world began with a loss of a job that I truly enjoyed. That is to say it was the catalyst for change. (Anybody remember the book "Necessary Losses"?) What then really started the dynamic catabolism inside me was the opening of energy channels during level 1 Reiki training. I believe the change both in the outside world and the inside world is a call to simplicity.
We often espouse such things as "less is more", or "spirituality rather than materialism". Most of us, though, struggle with making those ideas a reality. We find it difficult to step outside of mind and into the connection with divine energy. We are bombarded with advertising, consumerism, and holes in our psyche telling us we are "less than" if we do not have at least as many toys, bells, and whistles as our neighbor or our best friend or the guy we work with.
In the outside world we are being called to simplicity because if we don't there will no longer be resources for survival. In addition, the raising of consciousness has begun to see the unfairness of some having everything and others having little or nothing. There is also the recent factor of seeing on a global scale the devastation that greed, the opposite of simplicity, has wreaked on economies on the macrocosmic level and struggling individuals on the microcosmic level.
In my inner world, my psychic holes allowed me to clutter my life with "stuff". My house right now looks like a bomb hit it. Cupboards have been emptied, furniture used for storage has been emptied and it's all in piles on the floor and everywhere. I am appalled when I realize how much "stuff" there is! So much of it is superfluous, unnecessary, no longer has a purpose or meaning. I am cleaning out. I can't function properly with all this molecular jumping around that doesn't belong in my energy field.
A number of years ago (the late 70's) I took a thirty day tour of Jordan and Israel. I am not a typical tourist. I like to explore the back roads. I like to eat where the locals eat. I like to buy real meaningful things to bring home instead of tourist trinkets. I often departed from my group to explore something meaningful to me. What I discovered was this: There are only three things NECESSARY for life -- enough water to drink, enough bread to eat, and enough fire for warmth. Okay, a little spartan but true. Then it's important to add some love: divine love, family love. I was humbled by my experience in the desert with a little woman with 2 small children bent over a fire making tea with a small herd of goats nearby. This is why Jesus said "look at the lillies of the field, they toil not nor spin...." We worry too much about what we THINK we need and forget that our connection to the Divine takes care of us!
When I came home from that experience, I walked into my home and it was culture shock. Everything in my surroundings seemed meaningless. Although I never forgot the lesson, it didn't take long for the veil to drop back over my eyes and my American excesses to reclaim my spirit and plunge it back into unconsciousness. The God and Goddess be thanked -- I am finally reawakening!
To feel secure, I have always lived in a cave-like environment and envisioned my perfect ideal home to be a real cave if I could ever find the one in my head (it was quite something!). Now my "cozy little nest seems dark and claustrophobic. The heavy drapes are going away; light is coming in. Heavy furniture is disappearing and simplicity is taking its place. It is important for continuing growth to not be tied down by volumes of possessions but to be freed from all that clutter, all those dust-catching objects. My surroundings need to feel as light and airy as a delightful walk in nature with a gentle breeze on my face.
Who knew that one day of Reiki training would produce so much difference? I had peeled off enough onion layers to be ready. I had heard the Divine whispering (or screaming!) "SIMPLICITY" for some time; now I am able to set my feet to walk that path. The art of simplicity is to not look back, keep moving forward, engage detachment and keep living, loving and laughing.
Namaste! July 21, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
Power Animals
A couple weeks ago before I became ill and seemed to drop off the planet I was twittering with a person or two regarding power animals. I received an inquiry from someone asking what is a power animal. I shall attempt to answer that in a very simplistic way.
In pre-christian shamanistic cultures people were more in touch with nature, animals and the blessings of the earth. Animals were often seen as guides to be learned from. Each type of animal had its own lessons to impart based on their instinctive behaviors and the benefits or advantages inherent in them. When an animal crossed a person's path at an auspicious moment, or began to show up in one's life repeatedly over a period of time, it was paid attention to. This is a temporary lesson giver or spirit guide.
In addition to the above examples, however, something more was important early in life. A young person during one of many rites of passage would deliberately search for that one (or sometimes two) animal that would be a life-long totem or spirit guide. This was known as the power animal. Once discovered, a very special bond developed between the person and the animal that deepened over the course of a lifetime with its trials, accomplishments, sadnesses and joys.
Just how did this process take place, you might ask. The world we consciously live in on a day to day basis is called the middle world. This implies that there are other worlds if this is a "middle world" and indeed that is the case. In traditional Native American spiritual cosmology there is also the lower world and the upper world. The Hopi have a myth that Kokopelli led the people out from the lower world to the middle world at the beginning of this present age. It is the lower world that a person journeys to in order to find a power animal. The seeker journeys to the lower world in a trance like state to the sound of the drum. The drum is considered the horse that carries the soul on its journey.
It is imperative that the seeker have a clear picture in mind of the place in the middle world through which to descend and enter the lower world. Without a firm point to act as a compass the seeker might become lost and not re-enter the middle world creating a vacancy or what western medicine would call mental illness in this world.
Upon entering the lower world, the seeker waits patiently for the power animal to reveal itself. It is usually always the first animal that speaks to the seeker. Power animals are NEVER insects. Certain insects do have meaning when they cross our paths in the middle world. For instance, the spider represents creativity, dragonflys joy, ladybugs luck. However, they do not ever become power animals which have much deeper, more substantial teaching and guiding roles to play.
A power animal is respected and honored all of one's life. They are not to be ignored. Many dances were developed to honor the spirit of prominent animal guides. Over a lifetime a person forged a familiarity and oneness with the power animal with its intrinsic body of natural wisdom and folklore, suvival skills and cunning. They were never worshipped or considered "gods", but they were revered and respected as all great teachers should be.
Namaste/Blessed Be July 16, 2009
In pre-christian shamanistic cultures people were more in touch with nature, animals and the blessings of the earth. Animals were often seen as guides to be learned from. Each type of animal had its own lessons to impart based on their instinctive behaviors and the benefits or advantages inherent in them. When an animal crossed a person's path at an auspicious moment, or began to show up in one's life repeatedly over a period of time, it was paid attention to. This is a temporary lesson giver or spirit guide.
In addition to the above examples, however, something more was important early in life. A young person during one of many rites of passage would deliberately search for that one (or sometimes two) animal that would be a life-long totem or spirit guide. This was known as the power animal. Once discovered, a very special bond developed between the person and the animal that deepened over the course of a lifetime with its trials, accomplishments, sadnesses and joys.
Just how did this process take place, you might ask. The world we consciously live in on a day to day basis is called the middle world. This implies that there are other worlds if this is a "middle world" and indeed that is the case. In traditional Native American spiritual cosmology there is also the lower world and the upper world. The Hopi have a myth that Kokopelli led the people out from the lower world to the middle world at the beginning of this present age. It is the lower world that a person journeys to in order to find a power animal. The seeker journeys to the lower world in a trance like state to the sound of the drum. The drum is considered the horse that carries the soul on its journey.
It is imperative that the seeker have a clear picture in mind of the place in the middle world through which to descend and enter the lower world. Without a firm point to act as a compass the seeker might become lost and not re-enter the middle world creating a vacancy or what western medicine would call mental illness in this world.
Upon entering the lower world, the seeker waits patiently for the power animal to reveal itself. It is usually always the first animal that speaks to the seeker. Power animals are NEVER insects. Certain insects do have meaning when they cross our paths in the middle world. For instance, the spider represents creativity, dragonflys joy, ladybugs luck. However, they do not ever become power animals which have much deeper, more substantial teaching and guiding roles to play.
A power animal is respected and honored all of one's life. They are not to be ignored. Many dances were developed to honor the spirit of prominent animal guides. Over a lifetime a person forged a familiarity and oneness with the power animal with its intrinsic body of natural wisdom and folklore, suvival skills and cunning. They were never worshipped or considered "gods", but they were revered and respected as all great teachers should be.
Namaste/Blessed Be July 16, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Mission Accomplished - First phase anyway
Well, I said I would not stay up so late tonight. Lol! I have spent all day and all night except for a trip to the vet and 2 evening meetings putting this together and getting it up and running. I have changed the template at least a dozen times. I finally have something I can live with for right now. I guess it does not look too bad for a newbie's first blog.
If you check in, please enjoy the music. That right there gives me a huge sense of accomplishment! You will find it a little eclectic and perhaps a lot different than what you normally listen to. You will notice there is a place for comments, so leave one if you would like after listening. Be polite, thank you very much.
I have to drive to Dodge City for a meeting tomorrow and back home again. I am very tired. So, dear friends.....it is time for blueberries and vanilla ice cream followed by a wonderful cozy bed for about 7 hours.
Namaste!
If you check in, please enjoy the music. That right there gives me a huge sense of accomplishment! You will find it a little eclectic and perhaps a lot different than what you normally listen to. You will notice there is a place for comments, so leave one if you would like after listening. Be polite, thank you very much.
I have to drive to Dodge City for a meeting tomorrow and back home again. I am very tired. So, dear friends.....it is time for blueberries and vanilla ice cream followed by a wonderful cozy bed for about 7 hours.
Namaste!
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
The Journey Begins
Welcome! I am in the process of creating this site. Right now I find myself extremely frustrated. I have kept a good cap on my emotions that can get explosive when I am frustrated. It is all about control -- both self-control and the fact that I cannot always control people, places and things. This is especially true for things that are technology.
Technology....it is one of the new trans formative things I am learning on the journey. This is the beginning of a new journey; a journey whose destination I do not know. But it will be interesting. Join me.....and be patient with me for a bit.
Technology....it is one of the new trans formative things I am learning on the journey. This is the beginning of a new journey; a journey whose destination I do not know. But it will be interesting. Join me.....and be patient with me for a bit.
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