Simple Pleasures

Again and again and again, it is the simple pleasures in my life that keep my head and heart above water. The soft and gentle song of the Baltimore Oriole at 7am. A whirlwind of maple seeds spiraling into my lap. Sweet, fragrant bells of lily-of-the-valley. My ever-soothing rose petal tea. Belly laughs and tears, over lunch, with my dearest Kasia Blue. German berry strudel. Time to read.

Big events in life are not what are sustaining. They don't come often enough. It is the little events, the whispers of sweetness and fleeting beautiful things, that sustain the will to go on. That keep me engaged and looking forward to the next simple pleasure. As long as I notice them and appreciate them, the little events will come. Again and again and again.

Visit www.kasiablue.blogspot.com for more simple pleasures and beautiful words.

Buried Treasure

With impressive strength of will, I refrained from bounding out of bed yesterday and heading straight to the Sunday Flea Sale. Instead, I obeyed the sensible, and at times annoying, voice within and agreed to clean my art studio before adding to my pile of useful junk. To my surprise, the arduous task of paring down my wares turned into a treasure hunt.

I am a proponent of the purge. Clearing clutter to make way for a new, more refined energy. Out with stagnation, in with the flow. Except when it has come to my art studio. Disorganized piles have ruled the day in my supposed sacred, creative space. But later than sooner, there is no choice in the matter. Later than sooner, creativity grinds to a halt when key elements go missing under debris. And so, recycle bin and trash bag in hand, I began to unbury the space.

What I reclaimed from my personal land of the lost was glorious buried treasure. 2 art magazines I had coveted and searched (almost) everywhere for, photos of loved ones I had forgotten about and a package of semi-precious stone hearts. These treasures have invoked new ideas and new directions for my art. My uncluttered space feels so much happier. So much lighter. So much more welcoming.

My adventure of clearing and purging reminded me how the same concept is true for my inner environment as well as my outer environment. If I dare to purge the fears that plague me by sifting through them, examining them and finally deciding to choose not to live with them anymore, what is revealed within me is nothing less than buried treasure.

New levels of confidence lay under the debris of fear. New, more positive attitudes, new eyes for opportunities, new levels of love for myself and others all lie under the judgements, the gripes, the shutting myself away. Sooner than later, or later than sooner, it makes no difference, the morning arrives when the buried treasure of the human heart is ready to be revealed. On those mornings, I am made more happy, more light and more able to welcome the world.

{Treasure chest is a stock image.}

Perfect Moments

I am blessed with perfect moments. Short spans of time and no time that come upon me suddenly and leave kisses of grace on my heart. These moments are brief. These moments are unexpected. But the beauty and fullness of fleeting, perfect flashes lies in my fairly new ability to recognize them. I'm quite sure I've been privy to these moments my whole life, but the effort I've put into opening my heart has cleansed my lens of awareness, and recognition is now swift.

4 days ago, I found myself crouching on a public restroom floor, new silk skirt splayed across the questionably clean tiles, rubbing my Mom's calf while she endured a mind-bending leg cramp. In those moments of pain and wincing and crouching, I experienced a peace that flooded my heart. In those moments, we had no past together, my Mom and me. We had no issues. No roles. No differences. What we had was each other. What we had was an intimate span of moments where I knew I would do anything for her. At any time. It was a perfect experience. A perfect moment.

3 days ago, I found myself sitting on a living room floor in Rochester, New York with7 good friends. Food and wine and the animated conversations of 6 spiritual Souls filled the room to the roof. Everyone had so much to say. I sat for a time and simply listened. The joy in camaraderie was palpable. The energy and enthusiasm to connect and share was infectious. I glowed in my own silence, watching and catching snippets of less-than-ordinary conversations. Somewhere in the midst of it, I was awash with peace and gratitude at being part of the gathering. My short-lived silence put me inside the vacuum of love created by happy hearts. It was exquisite. It was warm. It was perfect.

This morning, I was unexpectedly presented with 4 peanut butter cupcakes topped with chocolate frosting. The cupcakes came with a short speech from my dear friend, Sue, the Confection Contessa. Sue made and gave the cupcakes to thank me for writing my blog. Imagine that. Being thanked with decadence for expressing myself. As I squeezed her and told her she is one of the reasons I keep writing, I knew it was another perfect moment. I felt more kisses of grace on my heart.

If I am breathing, every moment is precious. Every moment is important. Even the darkest ones. But in questing to open my heart, there are now moments where God steps in, quiets my mind, and awakens my Soul to receive. These are the perfect moments.

The Pivotal Point

There comes a point in every life, I hope, when the reasons and excuses and fears to hold back wilt in the mind. There comes a point when it is suddenly pointless to remain in the shadows, to deny dreams and to keep the lid on creative forces that can change your world for the better. There comes a point when you must simply bloom.

Pain and grief and exhaustion often bring the reasons for self denial into the grimy, filmy light. You look at them and think, "what in God's name am I waiting for"? "Who the hell cares anymore for opinions and consequences? It's my life, dammit, I can do what I want and be who I want".

The pivotal point in a life can come at 16, at 29, at 43, at 60, at 81 and a half. It does not matter when it comes, just as long as it arrives before your last breath shudders out of your lungs. Because freedom rides on the petals as they fall open in bloom. Freedom rides the thoughts and actions that burst the bonds of self-restraint and self-imprisonment. Freedom lies in your choice to live the life you deserve. And you deserve the taste of freedom.

So get married. Write the cookbook. Get the loan. Walk away from toxic people. Learn to sail. Finish the degree. Open your heart and so what if gets trampled. Open it again. Make this moment or the next moment or 14,532 moments from now the point that pivots your dreams into reality.

Do not hold back forever. You don't have forever.

Bloom soon. Bloom now.

Berlin On My Mind

I am longing for Berlin. I am longing for the creative verve, the self-revival energy, the tamed and untamed aspects of a European city in flux and forward movement. I am longing for Berlin because 2 years ago my inner spirit woke up in that city. My soul was sparked, my mind was lit, my heart was home.

Today, my inner spirit is tired. Too much work and shards of small grief have worn me down. I'm not fond of being worn down. I prefer to be lit from within by wonder and discovery. I prefer to feel rested and ready to welcome the gifts of each day. I prefer the pulse of creative verve in my veins.

What I am in the midst of is a shift. Effort in one direction has ended. The pause has arrived. Possibilities are floating into view, but I'm too tired to act on them. For the moment. Flowers and birdsong, decorating magazines and blogs, blue scarves and cupcakes all call my attention and remind me...the energy of Berlin will come back to me. Rest a few days, eat well, drink water and the self-revival will rise. Rest, and the spark will be lit. Rest, give energy and love back to myself and my heart will feel at home.

For you who are overwhelmed by work or grief or the uncertainty of having to let go of the known, rest. Stop the effort. Drink fresh water. Eat fruit. Sit down. Allow the pause. Sleep. Your energy will come back. Your enthusiasm will come back. Your heart will find its joy and its home.

{My favorite window display in West Berlin, 2006}

5,318 Rainy Days

Yesterday at 4pm, I watched the ever-compassionate Dr. Brown slip the thinnest of needles into the fore paw of my beloved Rain Dance Little Shoes. 30 seconds later, her heart stopped. Before that heart-stopping moment lay a mountain of effort to avoid that decision and a mountain of love laid out over the coarse of 14 and 1/2 years.

Alimentary lymphoma in the small intestines, with tumors present and no hope of improvement, led me to let go of one of the sweetest loves to grace my life. As a woman with no children, cats have been a needful outlet to channel the love I carry in my heart. The pleasure I get from animals is profound. The pleasure I got from Rain Dance was at times, life-saving.

Because my 2 cats are elderly girls, each morning I would hug them and kiss them and thank them for staying with me another day. Because Rain Dance was ill for the better part of a year, we had many talks about her need to do what was best for her soul, regardless of how sad I would be without her. I told her God's plan for her was what we would follow, not my need for company and fur-love.

On the drive to the Vet for last-ditch-effort tests, I reminded Rain Dance that all her angel friends were with us, and her highest and best would be served. While at home, waiting for the dreaded call with test results, I cleaned up the mess and the effort of many months. I sat with a cup of rose petal tea and listened to Vivaldi's "Four Seasons", knowing deep down Rain Dance had reached the end of her winter season.

Back at the Vet, with trusted opinions given and no hope offered, I asked for 10 minutes to talk with Rain. I kissed her a thousand times. And this is what I told her: "There is no death. There is only a dream of love. In this moment, you are held in my arms of love and in a moment soon to come, you will simply and sweetly drift into someone else's arms of love. Your angels are waiting. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the gift of your life with mine. You live in my heart forever. You know I love you".

I put her in her favorite green walnut box and drove home with one hand on her still-warm body. I let her companion and nemesis, Miss Romance, sniff her in the box. I found a shovel and dug a round hole next to the yellow iris in the backyard. I lined the hole with a pink towel and her favorite catnip pillow. I knelt in front of the little pink womb, picked her up and cradled her against my heart. And then I sobbed. Big, fat tears that soaked her fur and baptized her into her next life. Finally, reluctantly, I layed her down and gave her body back to the Mother.

Today, I am the indentured servant to only 1 cat. Today, I mourn the loss of Rainy days. But all endings contain new beginnings. All endings bestow freedom. Somewhere, someday there is an orange cat that will come to me. I will name it Sun Dance. Because after the Rain, the Sun always appears.

Heaven On Earth

Heaven On Earth part 2

There are no more doubts in my mind. Heaven exists on earth. It may be fleeting. It may be hidden. But when the timing is right and hearts are open, the doorway appears and angels welcome us in. My doorway had a no trespassing sign on it. "Go anyway", I heard. And so I did.

At 9:30 this morning, a 60 degree and sunny morning, I stepped into the woods. My favorite angel, the chattering red-bellied woodpecker kind, announced my arrival and led me down the path into heaven. Along the path, thick and white and waving in the breeze, stood thousands of trillium wildflowers. Thousands. I stepped off the path and set myself down in leaf litter, completely surrounded by trillium. I took a breath and the breath brought bliss. Looking around me, absorbing the wonder of the crowds of trinity blossoms, I felt a sense of calm I have never felt before. It was so complete as to be intoxicating. I sat in this calm, this bliss, this fleeting heaven until I could sit no more.

I wandered down the path and was greeted again by the red-bellied woodpecker. He introduced me to his mate and their 2 fledglings. I sat down on a fallen cherry tree to listen to their music. A cardinal joined in and I closed my eyes. It was music to meditate by and the sense of calm carried on. When I opened my eyes again, a splinter of light lit a singular, rare red trillium in front of me. Upon closer view ,the rarities increased. Dozens, not thousands, but my pleasure was profound.

At the end of the path lay a field. Grasses and wide open sky and 2 red tail hawks coasting on thermals welcomed me into the sun. Another rarity, also sporting red, swooped down on me to both our surprise. A rose breasted grosbeak, caught up in chasing his mate, landed with wings spread and gusto on the grass next to me. Seeing I was clearly not his mate he vaporized back into the trees.

Because heaven on earth is not complete without the earth, I picked a dry spot in the field and lay my heart down on the Mother. I lay in the field, absorbing the energy and love from the earth, surrendering all cares, slipping into sleep, until I could lay no more. Again the calm. Again the bliss. Again the feeling of fleeting heaven.

It is now many hours since my encounter with the whites and reds of bliss. But the calm has stayed with me. The afterglow lingers. My heart is filled with heaven on earth.

A Timeless Day

Today I live without clocks. Today I care not for time. My time pieces are either taken off walls, turned around or covered up. Because I am exhausted from rushing, rushing, rushing through my days and my life. Rushing to meet expectations and obligations. Rushing to be somewhere I am not. Rushing to please all others but myself.

Enough.

Enough, I say.

Today I exist in my own time. I eat, sleep, create, speak or not when I wish to. Let the sky be my clock. Let my heart lead the way from one intrigue to the next. Let me be simple. Let me lie on the floor and stare at nothing. Let me rest in the freedom of no time at all.

Today I live without clocks. Today I surrender all effort. Today I live.

The Question Of Love

The question is not whether he loves me enough. The question is whether I am prepared to love him the way he deserves to be loved. The question is whether I have poured enough love into my own heart, my own being to be filled to overflowing. It is the overflow, the more-love-than-I can-possibly-use-for-myself that will create the lake of love for him to swim in.

The question is not whether she loves you enough. The question is whether you have done everything you possibly can to deserve her love. Her love is a gift. Her love is a grail. Her love is the jeweled chalice that receives the purified elixir of the heart in touch with itself. The heart that knows love starts at its own center and ripples outward. The heart that honors itself first, knowing from experience how best to honor another heart with love.

The question is never whether the love without is enough. It is always whether the love within is enough. If it is, if there is love to spare and share and fill the lake, there is no question.

Praise Be

If something or someone is stagnant, if fatigue or inertia or indecision have a hold, if movement is needed for well being and nothing has come to start the flow or end the flow, praise that something or someone. Praise it out loud. Praise her out loud. Praise him out loud. Offer up a hand or a lift by finding something good, anything good, about the circumstances or person in question. Declare that goodness out loud. Declare it like life itself depends on it. Because life itself just might.

Speaking something positive, with sincerity, changes the atmosphere surrounding a stagnant situation. It shines a light in the darkness, eases fears and relaxes a closed heart. If a plant is suffering, tell it how beautiful it is. Kiss it when no one is looking. If a woman is depressed, tell her how much she is needed. Tell her specifically why you love her. If a man is dying, tell him everything you know about his value and his valor and his contributions to the world. Ease him back into life or release him from life with praise.

Everyone and everything is hard-wired to respond to the energy of love. All situations are made better when love is let loose through words of praise, when recognition of value and worth are declared. We all need that caress, that life-affirming hug, of knowing we make a difference. Knowing we matter. To someone or something.

Let's not be stingy with praise. Let's look around, see where the lights are low and offer up spoken words of love. They cost nothing, but their value is priceless. Let's initiate positive flow, let's dare to make each other feel valued, let's light the world with our words.

Be praise and praise be.

Small Is Big

Most days I wish to help make a big difference in the world. A difference in the level of peace. A difference in the level of girls who feel good about their bodies and themselves. A difference in the level of depression swirling throughout the world. A difference that swings the pendulum to the positive. But most days, I don't make a big difference, a big impact, on things that are important to me. Some days, my impact is small. Some days, it doesn't register at all. Some days I have to let the world take care of itself.

If, however, I were to string together all my small efforts and acted-upon intentions, I would see the impact is bigger than I realize. Small and fairly steady efforts add up. Over the coarse of a lifetime, acts of kindness and compassion and help offered create a wake of goodness and positive energy that the world can't help but bathe in. God willing, my life isn't even half over, so let me consider the wake I can create with continued, small efforts in the direction my heart leads.

In a sense, making only one big difference, one star-spangled crowning glory moment in my life would serve the world less than a small, but steady pace of difference-making effort. So let me not be discouraged if I have yet to see the vast field of daffodils that prove my efforts have bloomed. Let me keep planting my singular efforts when the time and energy and muse direct me. A difference will be made at the rate it is supposed to be made. Patience and time and willingness will yield the field of golden blooms, will yield the wake of beauty.

Small efforts matter. Small gestures matter. Small is how big is created.

The Prayer Box

Words have power.

Prayers have power.

Invoke the help of the Universe

by placing your written prayers

and requests in the prayer box.

Place the box in a sacred spot

and allow your words to aid and heal.

The prayer box helps bring your prayers to fruition.

And so my little dream of having an online outlet to sell my inspirational art moves forward. My Etsy store is now open: http://www.graciel.etsy.com/. For those of you not yet familiar with Etsy, it is the place to buy and sell all things hand made. Wonderful, beautiful, unusual offerings from artists and craftspeople all over the world. Unlike eBay, it is not an auction format. Prices are set by the artists. My buying experiences on Etsy have been nothing but flawless. It is a pristinely run site. Now, fingers crossed, my selling experiences will be the same.

My quest with this blog has been to offer up hope and love and positive words to any and all who shared a few moments of their time with me. My quest with my art is the same. To offer up hope and love and something positive that can be held in the hands. Because I believe so strongly in the power of the spoken and written word, because I know from experience that prayers and affirmations work, Prayer Boxes are a first, natural, creative melding with my blog.

Each Prayer Box is one-of-a- kind. Some of my own blog posts appear as background layers to my original photographs, altered though they might be. Butterflies are common, as they help give wings to the prayers held in the box. And each box has a small rose quartz heart glued inside. Rose quartz is known at the love stone. It's presence ensures all prayers are infused with the energy of love.

My own prayer box has held my wishes and requests since the first of this year. I have it placed under a lamp so my prayers are lit whenever possible. Already, prayers are being answered. Already, my dreams have more focus.

And so dear Universe, take this offering of hope and love and let it serve the highest possible good for any and all who believe in the sacred power of prayer.

The Sweet Threshold Of Spring

The transition from winter to spring can sometimes be slow here in Western New York. Bare trees, bare earth, clouds, and a chill in the air that prevents the storage of mittens wears thin. The soul aches for color. But just when limits are reached and the lack of sunshine begins to call in the question of sanity, time tips the scales and sweetness slips in. Tiny blossoms burst through damp earth and reassure the soul monochromatic times are passing. Lavender is arriving. Yellow is arriving. Pink and white and fresh, spring green are arriving.

And so it is with our lives. Just when we think we can handle no more, when the chaos and depression and colorless days have threatened to shut us down, sweetness slips in and carries us over the threshold to a new season. Often the sweetness is small, easily overlooked, barely visible in all the mud. But it comes.

It comes. It comes. It comes. Look to the earth. Look to the sky. Look to the hands and smiles nearby. Spring comes. Outside and inside. It comes.

The Pause

Every once in awhile, life takes a pause. The ebb and the flow suspend themselves. Clocks stop ticking. Mind chatter stops racing into the future and backpedaling into the past. Anchors are dropped. Shoulders are dropped. Stillness settles at the surface.

There is very little doing and much more being. Decisions are put aside. Obligations are put aside. Issues and events and very important happenings register a flat line on the interest monitor. It is quiet inside the pause. Unriled inside the pause. Passionless and open inside the pause. Observation without judgement is a prime activity. Effortless release is another.

Inside the pause there is light. Not a bright light that shines on anything particular, but a light with soft edges that calms and soothes and echoes the freshness of dawn. A light that assures the safety in stillness and the wisdom in stillness. A light that assures the path remains visible.

If the pause is given its full measure, if fears are quelled and stillness is allowed to ripen, if being becomes the primary activity in doing, balance, strength and clarity of mind are the succulent fruits of the harvest.

3 Cups Of Tea

Simply put, this is the most important book of our times. Read it. Absorb its message. Pass it on. This is the story of an American man, Greg Mortenson, who, since the early 1990's, has selflessly worked to build 55 schools in the remotest parts of Pakistan and Afghanistan. His schools promote education and literacy, especially for girls, in an area of the world that has been an easy target for the brainwashing tactics of militant extremists. The key to dowsing the flames of terrorism is the education of children. The key to promoting peace on a world wide scale is the education of girls.

If we Americans are to effectively decrease our own angst and feelings of insecurity on the world stage, fighting terrorism from a military standpoint is not the final answer. As Greg Mortenson demonstrates with his blood, sweat and tears, the most effective means to ensure our security is to build relationships with other cultures and offer up the death of ignorance through education.

One student at a time, one school at a time, one consistently paid teacher at a time, the world will enlighten itself. Stop watching the flame-fanning news and read Three Cups Of Tea. It will give you hope. It will give you answers. It will give you ways to contribute and make a difference in the quest for world peace.

Not 5 minutes after finishing the book, I went to the 3 Cups of Tea website, http://www.ikat.org/ , and made the largest single donation I have ever felt compelled to make. This was the comment I made that went along with my contribution:

"Just this moment, I finished your book. My face is still wet from tears of joy and gratitude. The empowerment of girls and women as the key to world peace is uppermost in my heart. Please use what little I can offer today in the best manner for the highest possible good.
Blessings and continued protection in this most important mission, Graciel of Buffalo, NY."

Let's reduce our own ignorance and learn about other cultures and their needs. Let's follow the example of one extraordinary man in any way we can. Singular help matters. Singular efforts count. Singular efforts multiplied will change the world.

Three Cups Of Tea: Read it. Absorb it. Pass it on.

Ancient Wisdom

“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe,

deserve your love and affection.”

~Buddha

A Student Again

The older I get, the less I know. The less I am sure of. The less I understand. I used to know everything, or darn close to it. But here in the outer fringes of my early forties, I am forced to rethink the known world. And admit that it will take more than my sparse lifetime to know even the smallest of important things.

The more open my mind becomes, the more fears I conquer, the more there is to understand. The more that gets revealed in the crystal clear light of day. The more I see the world is too complex to fathom.

So let me be a student again. Let me approach people and things and circumstances with freshness and openness and a willingness to learn. Instead of thinking I have any answers. Instead of presuming or stereotyping or seeing only 2 of 4 sides.

Let me learn about love. Let me learn about joy. Let me learn of the value of service to others. Let me remember wonder. And surprise. And the yelping laughter from tickle-fights. Let me know nothing to experience everything.

Birth and Movement

Nature called to me and said, "Daughter, come into the snow and let me tell you of spring". I followed the voice of my abiding Mother, for she alone has the power to smote shadows from my heart. She led me to the horse farm in the middle of town and showed me the birth of power. There I found, to my utter joy, a pint-sized Arabian horse, newly born and scampering beside its mother. Nature said to me, "A new journey awaits you. One that brings freedom and power and contentment. See the great spirit inside that little horse. Kick up your heels and free your own spirit".

From the farm I was led to the swamp. Wings were everywhere. Wave after wave of migrating Canada geese flew over me. Strings and ragged Vs of feathers flecked the sky. Thousands and thousands of honking birds, each announcing itself, came to rest in a field of last year's corn. It was a joyful noise. Nature said to me,"You are about to break free of old childhood restraints and begin to come into your own. Be open. Look to new possibilities. The next spiritual quest is upon you. Ready your wings for migration".

From the swamp I was led to a barn. The wood was old and the roof was gone, but it served as the backdrop to an aerial mating dance. More sure than the sighting of a robin, the return of the turkey vulture is the true harbinger of spring. And so they danced on air, swirling around each other, wings wide open. Nature said to me, "The vulture is more than it appears to be, and so are you. The shadows over your heart were temporary and necessary for a higher purpose has been at work. Welcome rebirth and ready yourself to join the dance".

Nature said to me,"Daughter, do not look at the crusted snow. It's time is passing quickly. Birth and movement is all around you. Your spring is already here".

{ The first 3 photos are mine, taken with my low budget, no-telephoto-lens camera. The vulture photo is a stock image.}

The Field Of Happiness

There is no happiness but that which I create for myself. There is no happiness that some one can bring to me that will last. I must lay happiness down at my own feet. I must embed it in my own heart. I must build that foundation for myself. If it is not built with my own toil and blood and beautiful thoughts, it is merely a foundation of shifting sand, sure to turn quick or blow grit in my eyes. Happiness is the work and the making and the choice of my own.

Having forgotten this wisdom, I find myself in an empty field, late winter snowflakes showering down. It is not where I thought I would be. It is not what I thought I asked for, wished for, or visualized. But here I am. Less than warm, empty hands, blue mist shrouding my brain.

And so, I have a choice. Remain suspended and cold, or look closely at the beauty of the field I stand in. Stop looking beyond or behind this field and see where my feet are standing now. Lay happiness down in the snow-covered grass. Take my empty hands and press them together over my heart. Embed love and prayers. For me. I have the choice to stand in my field, dissolving blue mist and snow with beautiful thoughts, with happy thoughts, knowing spring will come.