Honorable Mention

There is very little talk of honor these days. It barely rates a mention in most conversations. It is seldom demostrated in daily life. It seems to be an out-moded concept in today's fast-paced world. Honor means respect. High regard. Integrity. Honor is the acknowledgement of greatness and worthiness as seen and demostrated in others. It is the reason for genuflection. It is the reason for sincere gifting. It is the reason hands are kissed. Honor is lacking in today's world because we allow very little time to know one another, understand one another and peer into each other's souls. To feel genuine honor for another person, we must have witnessed the God-energy that resides within them. And we must have witnessed it first in ourselves.

Honor begins at home. The bodily home our souls reside in. If honor is scarce and turmoil is rife, collectively, we are dishonoring ourselves. We are willfully ignoring the needs of our bodies, minds, emotions and spirits. We are willfully caught in the web of illusion that permeates this planet. The illusion that encourages us to abuse our bodies with unhealthy food and drink. The illusion that encourages us to separate from each other instead of joining together. The illusion that washes our brains with visual bombardment to keep us numb and dumb. We are encouraged, from one society to the next, to hold ourselves in low regard and serve the financial titanism of the few.

Honor of the self is a choice. It requires action and perseverance. It requires healthier food and drink to flood the organs and tissues of our soul's home. It requires less visual stimulation and more reflection. It requires loving kindness directed at ourselves. Daily. Hourly. Moment by moment.

We have no honor to give if we think very little of ourselves. If we cannot feel our greatness and worthiness. If we cannot see our own God-energy through the societal haze. Honor, like love, is something we cannot give if it is something we do not possess.



{Winged lions, as seen on North Street in downtown Buffalo, NY.}
All words and images Copyright(c)2007 Graciel

Your Hands

Poetry by, Pablo Neruda

All the years of my life

I walked around looking for them.

I went up the stairs,

I crossed the roads,

trains carried me,

waters brought me

and in the skin of the grapes,

I thought I touched you.

The wood suddenly brought me your touch,

the almond announced to me your secret softness,

until your hands closed on my chest

and there like two wings

they ended their journey.

The Great Shift

For thousands of years, men have needed to dominate women. In the 21st century, that need is still being met. Dominance of one aspect of God over another is found in every corner of the globe. In every country, every state, every city, every neighborhood. In one form or another. Both overt and subtle. The need for dominance of men over women has shaped all existing societies. That need is in the process of destroying the planet we live on. If humanity wants to save itself, if global warming can be slowed to a crawl, there must be a shift in the balance between men and women. There must be a great shift.

The need for dominance over anyone or anything is based, at its core, on fear. Fear of being overtaken, lost and crushed like a bug. Fear that the other is actually more powerful and more wise. In the case of the feminine, the masculine is correct in its fearful suspicions. Women are more powerul than men. In certain aspects. In needful aspects. In aspects that hold the keys to saving our species, saving our planet and saving our souls.

Women hold the keys to compassion, fairness, healing and love. Women are the embodiment of love. But the powers inherent in the feminine aspect of God only flower when conditions are ripe to support those powers. Those conditions and that support are the responsibility of the masculine to create and hold the space for the feminine to work its magic. It is the responsibility of the masculine to use its needful warrior energy to ensure the feminine is honored and revered. To ensure God's womb of creation is safe.

With that responsibility, with that devotional level of support comes everything the masculine could possibly need: freedom. True freedom to be whomever God made them to be. True freedom that only comes when untold levels of nurturing and healing and love are unleashed on every country and state and city and neighborhood.

It is the responsibility of the feminine to receive that honor. To use the warrior energy as a platform to launch a campaign of healing around the globe. It is the responsibility of the feminine to first and foremost believe it is equal in importance to that of the masculine. To believe its own power exists, to embrace that power and share it with those in need. It is the responsibility of the feminine to steadily wean itself of the lesser role, the dominated role, the helpless role.

The key to everyone's betterment, the key to respecting and saving our planetary home lies in the hearts and minds of men and women. We must agree that balance, not dominance, is the foundation of lasting freedom for all. We must agree to dedicate ourselves to accomplishing a great shift, a do-or-die shift in the relations of men and women. We must honor ourselves and honor each other. We will then automatically honor our planet. We will not be overtaken. We will not be lost. We will instead be loved.

The Death Mask

In the depths of winter, a quiet form of despair can seep into our minds. A weighted apathy can slow our pace. A disinterest in the world can shut us away. We wonder where our enthusiasm went. We wonder where our passion went. Friends don't satisfy us. Books don't satisfy us. Food is always on our minds. We feel stuck. Bloated. Impatient. We worry this will not pass.

In the depths of winter, we put on the death mask. The mask is an opportunity to turn away from the world and look within. It is an opportunity to embrace stillness. In that stillness of the death-mask experience, we are invited to look at our true selves. We are invited to relinquish our false and fearful selves. We are invited to die to all that holds us back from realizing our full potential.

The death mask, with its accompanying despair and apathy and disinterest, is a divine tool of transformation. The only way to transform and move towards greater levels of happiness, is to see ourselves clearly as we are~ beings deserving of joy and goodness and loving kindness. We must turn away from the world and its distractions to see and hear the truth of ourselves. We must turn away for a time, to uncover new worlds within. To know ourselves more intimately. To attend to the rage and the shame that holds us back. To feel how beautiful we are.

We must die to the false beliefs we have stubbornly held about ourselves. We must die to the idea we are less than others because of our life circumstances. We must die to the notion our every life-affirming wish cannot come true.

The death mask is ours to embrace. We are not stuck. We are transforming. Through the gifts of despair and apathy, we can choose to turn inwards. We can choose to use winter's opportunity to heal our darkness and reveal our light.

{Egyptian death masks, from the Egyptian Museum in Berlin, Germany, discovered during my glorious light-revealing trip in the spring of 2006.}

The Wisdom Within

I am a work in progress. I write electronic letters to myself to serve as guideposts for times I might veer off course. For times I might need a lamp in the dark. For times I forget who I am. Because I write about something does not mean I've mastered the subject. It means I am aware of the importance of the subject. It also means I am aware of the need to capture the wisdom within as it flows from my heart to my unskilled typing fingers. Because everything I need to know lies within myself.

The statistical scores for the 1968 World Series will not be found within me, but everything that is truly of value to live a balanced and blissful life will be. The information bubbles to my conscious awareness and I am compelled to record it, knowing I will forget the poignant information, the clarifying information just when I need it the most. I take dictation from my wise-wired heart and store it within reach for the times I can't seem to punch my way out of a ripped paper bag. For the times I am marred in self-pity. At those times, my wisdom within, my compass, my heart seem faulty. Cloudy. Non-existent. When I need the information God has stored in my being the most, I usually fail to access it. So my motto echoes that of the Boyscouts: Be prepared.

My letters to myself serve to remind me that healing is a slow, but steady process. That responsibility for the flow of goodness into my life is mine. That love is the answer to every question I might have. Because my life's journey evolves in a spiral formation, where lessons are learned in layers and sometimes appear to repeat themselves, my letters often help me in the moment and help me again 3 months from that moment. The wisdom within, stored in my heart, knows the right time to set me down at the keyboard and rattle off a needful notion. It knows what is coming down my spiral path and how far in advance the information must be gleaned. The wisdom within knows exactly what I'll need to weather any storm.

And so I write.

Emotional Tour

Intellectually speaking, I know emotions are the key to a passion-filled life. I know emotions are the key to creativity. I know emotions are the key to opening the heart. Unfortunately, my emotions are currently stifled. Held at bay. Dry as dust. What this means is my desire to create art is blocked, my culinary interest is weak and my heart is gated. If I don't do something to jump-start the flow, my emotional dam will burst on its own in an uncalled-for moment. I can see it happening in the Mega-Mart while shopping for toilet bowl cleaner. "We need a cleanup in aisle 14B. Bring the mop. It's a river."

Emotions are what usher in beauty and usher in love. The most eloquent music vibrates with emotion, the most breathtaking art is a still-frame of emotion, the most passionate kiss is emotion unleashed. The emotional has nothing to do with the intellectual, which makes it uncomfortable for me. However, if I claim to want more love in my life, if I claim to want more passion in my life, it's high time I get over my discomfort. It's high time I do whatever it takes to let the dam burst and get over myself.

What I am in need of is emotional healing and, Sweet Mother of God, it can't be done alone. Not fully and not to the depths needed to usher in the love. It takes a witness. And it takes the courage to ask for the witness. It requires vulnerability and willingness. On everyone's part.

Because my soul is craving a deeper understanding of love, a deeper experience of love, my emotional tour of healing begins today. With one witness to start and eight more to follow. Am I nervous? You bet. But I can't live anymore with the fears that block my emotional life. I can't live anymore with my feelings held at bay and my creativity crushed down. I surrender. Release the river and let the fears be washed away. Ungate my heart and let love sail on in.

The World of Rumi

I was dead, then alive.

Weeping, then laughing.

The power of love
came into me,
and I became
fierce like a lion,
then tender like
the evening star.


{Jelaluddin Rumi, one of my favorite poets, was born in 1207 in what is present day Afghanistan. It is the 800th anniversary of his birth. Look for more of his ecstatic words here throughout the year.}

Soul Food

This is my favorite meal on planet earth. This is German Soul Food. This is Pfutchens and Wine Soup. Waistlines be damned, clogged arteries be damned, when the call goes out in my family that my beloved Oma is making the meal of meals you can bet your life I will show up at her dining room table. You can bet your life I have eaten very little else beforehand to allow for proper gorging. If I have a date with you, if your goldfish is dying, if you think you need me to help you through some crisis in your life, rest assured, if pfutchens and wine soup are suddenly on the menu, you and your date, you and your flushable goldfish, you and your crisis will be unceremoniously dropped like a hot potato. With no apologies. I'm that selfish about soul food.

The meal is ingenious. You get to eat dessert first. Trans-fats, white sugar and alcohol make up the better part of the first course. Hot wine soup is made up of a bottle of white wine and loads of dried fruit. It is the nectar of the Gods and the cure-all for constipation. Pfutchens (the "p" is silent) are deep fried balls of dough. Fried in Crisco. Here's the beautiful part: you eat the wine soup and pfutchens at the same time, both piping hot. Load a pile of sugar on your little plate and dip each hot dough ball into the pile, being sure to over-coat it, and bite off as much as you can chew. Swallow. Smile. Dip your spoon into the bowl of alcohol and slurp it down. Swoon. Repeat process until your pants must be unbuttoned.

The second course is equally ingenious. It's salty breakfast. Fried potatoes, onions, turkey bacon and eggs all scrambled together to perfectly balance out the sugar-rush in your system. This is cholesterol heaven. At this point, zippers are becoming an issue on your pants.

If this meal is being served up by an old-school German, there will be a third course. Traditional dessert. Likely some outrageously sinful torte with whipped cream topping. Despite difficulty in breathing and muffled groans being uttered at the table, I recommend soldiering onward and finishing the last morsel. Only then can you claim to have spent an evening at the Gastronome's Paradise Diner. Only then will you understand why I left you crying on the phone and waiting in the rain at the show.

A Letter Of Worth

{A friend of mine has been going through a most difficult time. Her story is familiar and applicable to many of us. After getting out of an abusive marriage, this beautiful mother eventually met a man who swept her off her feet, declared his love, made plans with her... And walked away, leaving her heart shattered for the second time. She asked for my advice on what to do and how to get over the pain. This was my response.}




My Dear Friend,

I do hope you feel a bit better now that you've spilled your heart. For myself, just being able to speak my truth is a freeing exercise. I'm happy to listen and I hope I can help.

What I want to say has nothing to do with Jack or your ex husband. I understand the angst of the situation, as I have been down that road myself. But let's take the man/men out of it. Let's focus on you.

Meeting someone when you are vulnerable and in need of validation is always a recipe for disaster. If it wasn't Jack, it would have been any man who told you how pretty you are, how smart you are, how good you make him feel. No matter who came into your life, when you are feeling bad about yourself and doubting your worth as a woman, you would end up getting hurt. Men are not the antidote for women in doubt, women in personal crisis, women whose self-esteem has been abused out of them. The answer to healing and mending and regaining self respect is the company and empathy of other women. I speak from experience. If you can find a women's support group, I would recommend that option highly. I spent 10 years with a group of women, meeting and calling regularly, just to regain and perhaps, find for the first time, my self esteem. My value. My worth as a woman. This is impossible to find in the company of a man. You must bring these self-values to a relationship, never try to find them in it.

If you do not bring self-respect to a relationship, the man will end up not respecting you. The bitter truth is, we are all the authors of our own reality. If we are cruel and verbally abusive to ourselves ( because we have been taught to do so), we will sure-as-shit attract a man who agrees with how we treat ourselves, and eventually he will treat us in kind. It is a natural law.

So, what about Jack? Mourn as deeply as you can. Rock yourself to sleep saying his name outloud. Cry buckets. Just GET IT OUT OF YOUR SYSTEM. Hold nothing back in purging the sorrow. Do not soldier on if that is betraying your core essence. Do not need to be his friend if it is too painful. BE YOUR OWN BEST FRIEND FIRST! Jack's gift to you, for coming into your life and then rejecting you, is to point out, loud and clear, where you need to shore up your own mistreatment of yourself. Everywhere he "done you wrong" is exactly where YOU "done you wrong" to start. He can only mirror back to you what you think of yourself and broadcast to the world. Never do more for a man than he does for you. NEVER!

You must figure out how to heal yourself before you can truly find love. You must give love to yourself over and over until it is a habit. Treat yourself as you do your babies. If you have nowhere to start, no idea where to turn for a support group of sorts, get on your knees and ask God to give you definite signs of where to go and who to ask. Then watch carefully for the signs, because without fail, they will appear. Without fail.

I recommend strongly the following books to heal your Soul:

A Return To Love by Marianne Williamson
You Can Heal Your Life by Louise Hay
The Celestine Prophecy by James Redfield

In that order.

You will get over Jack. My favorite line in the movie, The Joy Luck Club is: "Losing him does not matter. It is YOU who will be found and cherished".

Have self respect. Drop all communication with him, if that is what you need to do to heal yourself and move towards wholeness. The only life that matters here is YOURS. No one else's. Heal yourself and you will grant your children the single best gift they could ever receive from you.

With love,
Graciel

The Cooking Goddess

It was unnatural. My co-workers Don and Gene spent a day this past week talking about cooking and sharing recipes. Because there are only 3 of us in this department at work, I was privy to their ongoing conversation. Two men going on and on and blasted on about cooking, and me with the glazed-over look and the eye rolls. I finally walked out of the room, only to return later to the sound of the culinary drone marching on. Something about Indian food and the perfect sauce for tentacles. Or whatever.

Then co-worker Sue trots into our department with a tupperware dish of foul-smelling stew. Turns out it was squirrel stew, compliments of co-worker Rob and his penchant for killing things. Thoroughly repulsed, I directed Sue to the websites for Rodent Eaters Anonymous and Dead Squirrels For Jesus. I told her if she came to the door with Possum Pie, she would be banned for life.

None of this was helpful in resurrecting my interest in cooking. It's not that I can't cook, it's not that I'm a bad cook and I have had moments of inspired brilliance in the kitchen, but I seem to be caught in an extended void of unbridled disinterest in food. At least, if I have to make it. Things that pop out of wrappers and right into my mouth are highly prized. I have found chocolate and cheese to be particularly good and evil friends.

But this can't go on. It's time for drastic measures. It's time for this Cooking Goddess to strap on the power-apron and call in the big-guns for help. Enter Saint Martha, Patron Saint of Cooks, who showed up miraculously after the squirrel stew incident. (Luckily, rodent is not in her recipe rollodex.) She has taken a thorough inventory of my culinary accoutrements and deemed me a not-quite-hopeless-cause. Praise be. "O blessed St. Martha, I beseech thee to help me step back from the brink of culinary oblivion and guide me down the road of the Good-Enough-Gourmet. Amen."

Embarrassingly, I have 47 cookbooks in plain view in my kitchen. I have a year's worth of Cooking Light magazines from 2004, barely touched and gathering dust under my kitchen window. After reviewing my library, St. Martha decided to start me off with the ever-reliable Better Homes & Gardens Junior Cookbook for the Host and Hostess of Tomorrow. Circa 1955. Tonight's delight will be "nipper tuna casserole", with the helpful tip that asparagus is a tasty "go-with" for tuna. Say it with me now...Yummy.

St. Martha promises to help reignite my passion for cooking. Or at least keep me from eating cereal for dinner. What's the carrot-on-the-stick she's dangling to help me to stick to her plan? It's the recipe on pg. 67 for Raspberry Jam Tartlets and the Saintly advice that aprons double as lingerie.

The Search For Beauty

I am addicted to beauty. I search for it everywhere. And I almost always find it. I look for it in unusual places, in unexpected places, in places where beauty is not thought to reside. I like to search for beauty in the grey, muddy days of the fallow season. It is an exercise in present-moment awareness and seeing acutely. It is an exercise in slowing down time to notice the nuances. Because beauty is subtle and secretive when sunshine is scarce and colors are soft.

I find beauty in chipping paint and rusted chains, mudhole reflections and moss-covered rocks. Graffiti shines brightest without solar assistance. Leathered wood has more character in rain. Luckily, I have an artist's eye and see masterful compositions in leaf-muck. I see breathtaking contrast in lichen on bark. I see legions of bare trees as salve for the soul.

Beauty cannot be seen through the eyes of depression, the eyes of anger and the eyes of self-pity. I search for beauty as an antidote to the sometimes compelling desire to sink below the surface. I search for beauty to remain buoyant in times of cloudiness and stress. My search for beauty is, in essence, a needful exercise to keep my heart open and keep the blood of my compassion flowing. If I can see beauty in the most mundane and indifferent circumstances, I know my heart is aligned with Higher Forces. If I can see beauty, I know my heart and not my brain is guiding me through my days.

Epiphany

I found Jesus. At the Chat'N Stand in Akron, New York. And lucky me, it's the Feast of Epiphany. How do I know this? Because Caspar, Melchior and Balthasar were just about to present their gifts when I pulled up. Frankly, I felt like a party-crasher, but the Little Guy invited me to join the celebration.

Baby Jesus seemed quite at home in his ramshackle creche. Evidently, there are more important issues to be addressed than 4 walls, central heat and rusted buckets hanging from the ceiling. He seemed much more interested in discussing the concepts of the day at hand. January 6th, in the Christian calendar, is the day Jesus was revealed as the Christ to the Gentiles. Not being strongly affiliated with any particular religion, I had some questions and concerns. Being the patient and merciful type, Baby Jesus indulged me.

Despite the fact the Little Guy had no footy-PJs to keep him warm on this blustery day, we had a heart-to-heart conversation right out in the open. We spoke mainly of the idea of the Christ, which means "the anointed or chosen one". It is the phrase that defines the collection of Divine ideas for humankind. Ideas of intelligence, joy, substance, strength and above all love. Baby Jesus had been chosen to blaze the trail and be a living example of these Divine ideas. He was to demonstrate the possible perfection inherent in every member of the human species when God's Truth was known and embraced.

When I mentioned my desire to explore the religious ideas of the world and find the foundations of love in each, Baby Jesus started wiggling with joy and bouncing on his Mother's lap. He told me perfection, or perfect love, lies at the core of all major religions. He told me the true church or mosque or synagogue or temple is not made of creeds and books. Nor does it lie in halls of wood and stone. The true church, the true foundation of love, lies within the heart of every man and woman. It lies in the willingness of each heart to express kindness and mercy and compassion , first and foremost to itself, and then to all others. When enough hearts can give their best effort and walk the talk of perfect love, when enough hearts have personal epiphanies of the glory residing within them, the world will bask in the collective Christ light. And the human species will realize, it has always been chosen.



As the celebration wound down, and I readied myself to leave, I apologized to Baby Jesus for not having a gift to present. He cooed and smiled and told me the only gift He would like from me is the willingness to follow my heart and the willingness to live from my heart. It is the most valuable gift I will ever give.

Attics Of My Life

In the attics of my life
Full of cloudy dreams unreal
Full of tastes no tongue can know
And lights no eyes can see
When there was no ear to hear
You sang to me.

I have spent my life
Seeking all that's still unsung
Bent my ear to hear the tune
And closed my eyes to see
When there were no strings to play
You played to me.

In the book of Love's own dream
Where all the print is blood
Where all the pages are my days
And all my lights grow old
When I had no wings to fly
You flew to me.

In the secret space of dreams
Where I dreaming lay amazed
When the secrets are all told
And the petals all unfold
When there was no dream of mine
You dreamed of me.

{Lyrics by: Robert Hunter
Infamous lyricist to the Grateful Dead}

Color My World

Every thought I have colors my world. Every thought I have creates my world. Every thought I have is a living entity, defining my reality and charting my days. I need to be careful what I think. I also need to be careful what I say. Because thoughts and spoken words have power. Power to attract or repel everything that exists or does not exist in my life. Who I am, where I live, what I have and who is in my life, in this moment, is a culmination of my thoughts and words. Is a culmination of a story I have told myself over and over and over. It is the same for you.

In the beginning of anything is the word, spoken outloud or thought in the mind. This word or group of words will define the bones of reality and hold it in place until the word or group of words is changed through conscious choice. An example of this would be the amount of money we have in our lives at any given time. If we find ourselves flush and easily able to attract money, it is because we think we deserve money, we declare we deserve money and we therefore behave as if we will always have money. And so we do. We create the magnetic attraction for money to continually flow into our lives through our thoughts.

Conversely, if we find ourselves constantly lacking and struggling for money, it is because we have told ourselves over and over and over, in one form or another, we don't deserve money, money is hard to come by or we literally repeat outloud to all who will hear us, "We have no money, we have no money, we have no money". And so we don't. We create the constant lack through constant reinforcement in our minds and in our speech.

Our thoughts and words create our relationships and the quality of them. They create our level of happiness and its sustainability. They create our good days and our bad.

If we find ourselves in situations not to our liking, we have a choice. The choice and the responsibility to change our minds. Change our thoughts. Change our words. We are not victims. We are at the mercy of no one. We are empowered through the choice of thoughts we think in our minds. We are empowered by the choice of words we speak to the world and the words we speak to ourselves. We must choose to change those thoughts and words that created the bones of our current reality. We must choose words that support what we truly want. We must think them incessantly. We must speak them incessantly. Until our realities shift and our quality of life rises. "I deserve. I can. I am. I will. I have." All powerful beginnings to thoughts of a positive nature. Thoughts of a life-altering nature.

We must become aware of the countless times in a day we begin our thoughts or words with, " I can't" or "I don't have". We must banish from our internal dialogue the words, "loser" or "stupid" or "idiot". If we truly want to live the golden life, we must color our thoughts and words with more positive choices. We must practice. We must have patience. We must know we have the power to think and speak the life we deserve into being. We can and must create the new story.

{Thank you to Alexandre, the French Wizard of Paint Shop, for my colorful portait!}

Flowers For Lisa

My Dearest Friend,

Peace will come.

Peace will come.

Peace will come.

Until then, I send you orange roses and Angels.

Love to you,
Graciel

Welcome 2007

Do you feel it? I surely do. This is going to be a good year. An interesting year. A year of positive forward movement. This is a year to journey within while moving about. This is a year to hone self-respect and allow more love to flow. This is a year to invoke creativity, in all areas of life. This is a year, no, this is the year to lighten loads and uncomplicate lives. The journey to a better personal world begins today. Look around, the maps are already being drawn up. The compass is housed in the heart.

My personal map for 2007 began at 12:01am with an awe-inspiring fireworks display seen from the comfort of my living room. 1/2 a block away, in the Village park of Akron, a 20 minute booming light show exploded over my neighborhood. It was pouring rain, so yes, there will likely be tears this year, but more tears of joy than sadness. More light than darkness. More color. More thrills. More mile-wide smiles.

The map continued to unfold shortly after waking this morning. Raindance, my cat in ca-hoots with Angelic messengers, sent yet another breakable object crashing to the floor. Upon inspection, it turned out to be my favorite teapot. It was turned upside down in the middle of the kitchen with lid swept off to the side. It was completely intact, with only 1 chip to the lid. I looked at the ceiling and said outloud, "So, you plan on turning my teapot (read: my world) upside down this year? Fine. As long as there's minimal damage and functionality won't be an issue, I shan't protest too much.

This afternoon the map expanded. My life-long friend, whom I've been sadly out of touch with of late, called to wish me a Happy New Year. It was a balm to my soul to hear her voice and catch up on our lives. Thankfully, blessedly friends will play a major role in the coming year for me, with reconnection likely at the top of the list.

This evening, I will purposefully, intentionally expand my map with meditation and prayers to invoke a more awake and aware connection with God as I see It. I will open my heart and ask for guidance to ensure my journey within and without is always for my highest and best. I will ask for Love to light the way in every moment of 2007, and the wisdom and courage to follow that light.

May your year be good and interesting and positive. May you have the strength to embrace a simpler life. May you exercise greater self-respect.

And above all, may you have the courage to open your heart to all opportunities for love. Be vulnerable. Be brave. Let it out and let it in.

My Bountiful Year

I will remember 2006 as a beautiful, bountiful year. My heart opened wider. My mind opened wider. My Soul woke up and embraced the world.

The most significant moments were had in Berlin. Walking through the Brandenburg Gate and standing in front of the remaining section of the Berlin Wall.

2 life-changing books crossed my path and altered my perception of reality: The World Is Flat by Thomas Friedman and The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle.

I discovered the power of the digital camera.

I discovered the serenity of yoga.

I introduced myself to Buddhism.

I made lots of new friends.

I started honoring my psychic flashes and simmering intuition.

I let go of some people whose time with me had passed.

I found my spiritual home.

I found my right livelihood.

I fell in love with cheese and have begun dating wine.

I laughed more than ever in my life.

I learned to send healing energy through my hands and heart.

I came out of the writer's closet and started a blog.

I fell in love with a 6" tall Italian Pope and swooned at the sound of his native language.

I joined the Pagan Princess Club, the Blasphemy Club, and became an International Vixen of Mystery.

I became more comfortable in my own skin.



Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my random ramblings in 2006. From first time readers to the known and anonymous regulars, I wish you all the highest possible, best and most loving good in 2007. My heart is full because of your interest and support.

Namaste~ Graciel

Our Friendly World

The world is populated by wonderful people. Kind people. Loving people. In every corner, in every climate, in every culture. Do not listen to the fickle, fan-flaming media and grandiose governments who wish us to live in fear of each other. Listen instead to the heartbeat of the collective human subconscious that knows unequivocally there is more positive energy than negative. More good stories than bad. More triumph than failure. More similarities than differences. More peace than war.

Every culture breeds fabulous human beings. Every culture harbors more friends than we can possibly enjoy in one lifetime. The glory of our shrinking world is the unlimited opportunities that now exist to share wonder and kindness and love with people who live beyond our own borders and people who move from other parts of the world to within our own borders. It is up to us to take the opportunities. To be open and willing and reciprocal with potential friends from afar. To embrace the swift river of love that flows around the world.

There are dynamic women in England. Helpful men in France. Gracious women in Australia. Intelligent men in Canada. Pick a location, pick a culture, there will be people worth knowing and befriending. French Polynesia, Sweden, Israel, Saudi Arabia, Colombia, Bangladesh, Ukraine, Algeria. Each brimming with big hearts and fast smiles, waiting to be discovered.

The more curious we become about each other, the more time we take to learn from each other, the more we take each other into our hearts, the less illusionary sway will be felt from institutions-of-influence behaving badly. The less we will be inclined to numbly wage war for false reasons. The more we will insist on policies of peace in our cultures, peace in our religions, peace in our corners of the world. Because friends honor friends and love honors love.

The more comfortable we become with the wonderful people of the world, the more friends we will have, the more love we will have, and the more balance we will instill in the soul of our species.

Guardian Angels

Be aware, as you read these words, there is an Angel standing behind you. This Angel is bending over your shoulder to read my blog post. If you are interested in what I have to say, so is your personal Angel. We each have a Guardian Angel assigned directly to us, with interests similar to ours. Even my friend, Doubting Doug, who wants me to disavow my belief in alien life forms, has an Angel by his side throughout his waking moments. He joins his Angels in other planes of existence in his sleeping moments. But don't tell him. Doug's Angel prefers the doubting type. Says he does a better job without Doug's awareness and likely interference. Most of us, however, would be better off knowing we are being guided and assisted at every turn. The Angel over your shoulder is now nodding and smiling .

Guardian Angels take their jobs seriously. Their main objective is to keep us safe and sound. They also do their level best to make us aware of the energy of Love. They are aware of God's blueprint plan for us and work tirelessly to help us stick to that plan. They are the louder voices when the soft, intuitive voice of God is ignored. They are the opener of doorways and the sometimes necessary boot-to-the-butt that gets us over the threshold. They are the invisible arms that cradle us during the dark nights of the soul. They are wayshowers, lightbringers, bastions of compassion and mercy. They are life-long companions. Eternal companions. Proof we are never alone.

Guardian Angels are happiest and most fulfilled in their jobs when we acknowledge their presence in our lives. When we ask for their names. When we make one up if we aren't sure of the answer. When we call on them in good times and bad. When we thank them for their help. When we simply enjoy our lives.

If we spent one conscious week acknowledging our Guardian Angels, our lives would seem to miraculously improve. Less effort would be expended to fulfill our daily rounds. More love would swell in our often weary hearts. Moods would lift. Burdens would lift. Luck would reign upon us. All for the mere price of talking to the invisible. Outloud or telepathically, depending on who's in the room with us.

When we open our hearts and expand our minds, wings rush in to fill the space. Wings of the friendliest kind, the most loving kind, the most loyal kind. Wings that will lift us and steady us along the blueprint path of our lives. Wings that will enfold us and hold us in darkness and light.

Intuition

I am being admonished to follow my intuition. To really stop and listen to that still, small voice within. To notice the nudges and nuances sprinkled throughout my waking life. I am being admonished to follow this deep well of reason and insight and unfailing guidance in order that I may come to know peace. In order that I may come to know the bare, unwavering strength of myself. In order that I may come to know God as It proclaims Itself through my being.

Intuition is God talking to Itself, guiding Itself and knowing Itself in Its infinitesimal forms. I am God. You are God. As such, we are never alone, never without aid, never without love. We are given instruction for everything we need. We are given the resources to live a unique and prosperous life. The instruction comes in the form of our intuition. The resources become available when we heed our intuition.

Intuition, or the voice of God, is the sudden but calm prompting we feel in our brains or our hearts. The prompting that says in the shower, "no, use the other shampoo today". The prompting that says on the drive to work, "Take the longer route this time". The prompting that says on the way to the station, "don't get on that train". Every prompting, nudge and still, small voice is guidance meant to improve our current circumstance. It is the Energy of Love sending the net to support our daily high wire act.

It is up to each of us to listen to and heed the guidance. We must make our own net appear. This takes practice. It takes noticing the voice and the nudge. And then it takes action, regardless of how potentially unreasonable the voice and the nudge may seem. With each successive action taken based on a voice and a nudge, and the resulting improved circumstance, we learn to trust our intuition. Eventually, we will stop and listen, even for half a beat, before embarking or deciding on anything. Because the voice of God has an opinion on everything. Always, always, a positive, life-affirming opinion.

When at first we heed and follow our intuition, resistance from outside sources will likely appear. Other people will doubt our decisions. They will do their best to dissuade us, to thwart us. Especially if they are deaf to their own intuitive promptings. We must not listen to them. We must not not change our course or direction or hesitation. Instead, we must the have the courage to follow God's tailor-made guidance for us, as individuals. Our lives are not about following the direction of others. Our lives are all about following our inner, intuitive direction.

Peace and inner strength and more prosperous lives are ours for the listening. Ours for the heeding and acting. Ours for the small price of being still, and knowing God is with us and in us.

Papal Christmas Blessings

Pope Innocent the 3rd's Christmas wish came true. He feels blessed beyond reason and deservability. It turns out the Pope wasn't asking St. Nick for a Harley or a plane ticket to Rome or a puppy or even an end to world hunger. Instead, he was asking and hoping and praying for a Spotted Dick. My voice went up an octave when I said, "You asked for a Spotted Dick for Christmas?? I hope you had the sense to ask for penicillin as well!"

It turns out the Pope meant his favorite British delicacy, not an STD. Good Lord. We now have 12 cans of raisin-studded pudding in the cupboard. When you're 6" tall, that's a lot of pudding. Not to worry, the Pope told me. He never gets sick of eating Spotted Dick.

Froliche Weihnachten!

I enjoy being first generation German at Christmastime. There's always chocolate covered marzipan. Baked goods fit to be served at the gates of heaven. A big Christmas Eve dinner and gift exchange. And real candles on the tree.

The Pope and The Saint

It was Kismet. Fate. The goodest of Luck. It was a red-velvet day. A banner day. A what-are-the-chances day. It was Sunday last when the Pope and me were out early at the market, shopping for flowers and cheese and a can of spam, when what to our wondering eyes did appear... But Saint Nicholas and his lovely bride, buying carrots for the reindeer.

Pope Innocent was so out-of-this-world excited to see his favorite Saint, he fainted and fell into our handbasket, right on top of the stinky-foot cheese. Luckily, the offensive odor revived him immediately. He stood up on the spam and began shouting, "Nicky, Nicky, over here. It's me, Inny!!" Right there, among the fruits and the nuts, the Pope and the Saint had a glorious reunion.

We snapped a quick photo with Nick and the Mrs, and the Pope gave his rather lengthy list of must-haves for Christmas. At one point, in the seemingly endless list, that jolly old elf blushed like a school boy. I was instantly worried Innocent was not living up to his name in his requests, and I turned to apologize to the Mrs for possible transgressions into the sex-toy department. It turns out, Mrs. Claus is hipper than we all knew. She winked at me and said, "Who do you think puts the tingle in Santa's jingle?" Well, now.

I finally had to wrestle Innocent off Nick's lap and let the couple finish their shopping in peace. When asked what my Christmas wish was, I hemmed and hawed and thought to ask for world peace. But instead, I was honest and said, "Viggo Mortensen, dressed in paint-splattered jeans and nothin' else". Mrs. Claus gave me a high five.

I hope there'll be room under the Christmas tree for the Pope's mother-lode. He won't even give me a hint as to what he asked for. As for me, I'm putting a tree on my nightstand, mistletoe on my headboard and a brick of Danish cheese under my pillow.

Everyday Miracles

I do not need state-of-the-art miracles. I do not need raising-the-dead miracles. I do not need lead to turn to gold, nor do I need bodies of water to part or be tread upon. To know that God exists, to know that I am a part of the great I AM, I need only everyday miracles.

Miracles are everywhere. They are mine and yours for the taking, the observing and the pleasuring in. The wing of a butterfly, the flight of a bird, the cleansing function of a liver, the purr of a cat, the muscles in the face that allow for a smile, the internet and the laugh of a child. Each one a miracle and an ordinary wonder of the world. If I am awake and aware, I find my life is crowded with miracles. Crowded with unbelievable creations and beauty and majesty. The most amazing thing about everyday miracles is this: the more I notice them and express my gratitude for them, the more miracles I become privy to.

This past April, while touring the streets of Berlin, I came upon a fleamarket. As I entered the grounds, I stated quietly to myself I would like to find for sale, a handwritten, German letter in one of the market stalls. In the first row, an older German man walked to the front of his stall as I approached. Without a word, he held a piece of folded paper out to me. He motioned for me to take it. I opened it up to find it was a handwritten, German letter dated 1904. I laughed and reached for my wallet to pay for it, and through interpretation, he said it was his gift to me. It was more than a gift from a complete stranger, it was synchronicity and telepathy and a stunning collision of higher forces working with ordinary means. It was a bona-fide everyday miracle.

There is no special season for miracles. No special occasion for miracles. No special key that will unlock the miracle vault. There is only my eyes and ears and lips and hands and heart and willingness to give and receive the miracles gifted by God everyday.

Thank you for your comments!

Yesterday, my friend, Lowell, told me he left a comment on my blog, but it needed my approval before it would appear. What??? Needed my approval? Holy cripe, I had no idea I needed to do that. So just now, I went into my "moderate comments" section of the Blogger dashboard and lordy, Lowell was right. There were 14+ comments going back to October waiting for my okay. How embarassing.

I clicked the appropriate buttons and now all hidden comments are revealed. And, lucky me, blessed me, they are all so kind and supportive. I wish to thank each person who left a comment about my writing or photos. I'm honored by your words. I especially wish to thank Pisces Project, dispenser of wisdom and truth. (I'm most sorry about not knowing your comments for this length of time...)

Shortly, I will be investigating each blog-site of those who have investigated mine. Again, gracious thanks for taking the time to share your thoughts with me. In my world, Christmas just came early.

The Great Equalizers

Today an acquaintance said to me, "Boy, you sure know how to work a room". He was commenting on a conversation he had overheard between me and a stranger. A conversation where I spoke to the stranger as if she were my friend. As if we spoke on a regular basis. The conversation was comfortable, funny and a mission was accomplished by the time we were finished speaking. Yes, there are times I can work a room. I can work it when I remember to approach people as if we are equals. And we are.

There is not one person I can think of that is more important than me. There is not one person you can think of that is more important than you. Exclusionary religious beliefs are the brain-children of small minds, but those small minds have the same importance and the same value as the sects, colors and genders they would deem inferior. In the workplace, the manager is the same as the janitor. No one is better or more worthy than another. We are actually all the same. How can I say this? Two words.

Blood and piss. ~ The great equalizers of humanity.

Underneath all the labeling, the name calling, the civil warring, the postulating, and the tiring prejudices, we are the same flesh and bone. Blood must flow. Urine must excrete. We are all designed the same. We are all birthed the same. And death will come to all of us. No label or name or discriminating thought will ever change this common bond. The heart of a Muslim or homosexual or Pagan or addict beats exactly the same as the others'. We all share a common core essence. The energy expended to dispel this inalienable truth continues to be the downfall of humanity.

We are all here on this plane of existence to learn. No one person's lessons are more important than another's. Every lesson is about letting more love into our lives. About honoring ourselves so we may honor others. About comprehending the sameness and glory and sheer beauty of our species. All the while we are learning and letting, honoring and comprehending, hearts are beating and bladders are emptying.

By nature of our very well-thought-out bodily design, we are rendered equals. Our common bond is sealed. When we remember this and act on this, there is no room we cannot work. There is no friend we cannot make. There is no mission of love we cannot accomplish.

A Postcard From Tibet

I was beginning to feel abandoned. Left out. Left Behind, in a non-Christian Fundamentalist way. I was beginning to pout and reduce my Christmas list by one. Until today. At long last,I received a postcard from Tibet. It was signed by Pope Innocent the 3rd, my 6" tall side-kick and traveling companion. The postcard was tattered and slightly smeared from its lengthy journey, but the teeny-tiny handwriting was still legible. And the excitement was palpable.

After Pope Innocent's encounter with his Homey Lama, aka Dalai, back in September at the University of Buffalo, he made immediate plans to go on an extended Buddhist retreat in Tibet. To expand his mind, enlighten his soul, and spend time in the company of other men who live their lives in dresses. Innocent confided in me before I dropped him off at the airport back in October, that he hoped to find out the Buddhist Monks went commando under their robes. He felt his own choice of hanging free in the breeze would surely get him a ticket into the sacred Buddhist Brotherhood, where "comfort and simplicity" are the wardrobe mantras. Judging by the length of time he's been gone, the Brotherhood buys no stock in Fruit of the Loom.

The Pope wrote to me about learning Qigong, the power of concentrated awareness. About sitting in meditation for 1/2 days and full days. About chanting the Heart Sutra with its emphasis on selflessness and impermanence. About walking the path of the Bodhisattvas, those enlightened, genderless Beings.

I sensed great enthusiasm from the Pope's postcard about the wealth of spiritual knowledge he's gained from the Brotherhood. But to my secret delight, I also sensed homesickness. He plans to be home for Christmas, with a sack full of colorful presents from Tibet. His postcard postscript asked me to clear some space in the creche for his new-found lady love, Kuan-yin. Evidently, he wants his Goddess of Mercy to sit in contemplation beside the manger. He claims she's a good friend of his Beloved Mary. (I might have to put a cow or two out to pasture to accomodate another guest in the creche.)

Now that the Pope will be back in residence for the holidays, I find myself chanting the universal mantra of love and compassion, OM MANI PADME HUNG, to the tune of Bing Crosby's "White Christmas". And I can finish the last of my Christmas shopping. A gift certificate, for the Pope, to the Tatoo and Piercing Parlor on Elmwood Avenue. I'm placing bets he chooses the snow lion, symbol of fearless joy, for his bicep and an OM for his butt cheek. As for the piercing, I won't even venture a guess as to where he wants to dangle Kuan-yin.

Coincidence

Coincidence is defined as "an accidental occurrence of events or ideas at the same time". There is no such thing. Events or ideas that appear to be tied together by an invisible string and dangled into our waking lives are not accidents. They are not meer coincidences to be dismissed as unexplainable quirks in the space-time continuum. What we may call a coincidence is actually the voice of God speaking to us, attempting to get our attention and send us an important message. A message that could very well change our lives.

Think of coincidental events and happenings as a road map. A bread-crumb trail. A pathway to a better, more fulfilling life. God is constantly speaking to each of us, leading us down the road, the trail, or the path towards opportunities that would make us infinitely more blissful and balanced. Infinitely more healthy and wealthy. If we would only pay attention. If we would only acknowledge God's subtle language with a response. If we would only muster up the courage to set foot on the road, the trail, or the path that opens up before us when faced with a synchronistic meeting of ideas or people or events.

Next time you think of someone out of the blue and 2 hours later run into them at the gas station or Target, have the courage to approach them and start a conversation. Especially if starting that conversation feels uncomfortable. There is something important that each person has to say to the other. Some puzzle piece or bread crumb that each person holds for the other's life path. Somehow, the other person will have an answer or idea or tidbit of wisdom to bestow that will be more than timely. God loves to speak to us through each other and will arrange often-unlooked-for meetings to get Its message delivered. To lead us to better lives. However, we are regularly so engrossed in our mundane routines that we miss the connections or simply dismiss the opportunities and chance meetings as unimportant.

Every coincidental happening is important. If suddenly images of polar bears are everywhere we turn, or a book is mentioned to us 3 times in one week or a person stays stuck in our minds, don't dismiss this. Follow it. We must keep our eyes and ears wide open. We must ask God for clarity on what that bear or book or person has to tell us that applies to our lives right now. We must take action to get the answers. Google polar bears, read the book or contact the person. One tiny spark of information that comes from that source will impact our lives. Always for our betterment. Always for our highest good.

When we become awake to all the "coincidences" that happen to us every day of every year, when we dare, through conscious action, to follow the map laid out before us, our lives will improve. Our self-esteem will improve. Our hearts will lighten and we will feel what it is to lay in the palm of God's loving Hand.


{This post has been brought to you by a new computer, dressed in black, complete with a sexy, slim 17" monitor. Happy Holidays to me!}

Kindness

There is no such thing as a small act of kindness. Each act of kindness that flows through the heart, hand and mind of a human being, birthing itself into the world, is a miracle. Is a gift. Is a pebble dropped in the center of a pond. An act of kindness is an opportunity for more light and goodness and love to be showered on the world, even a tiny corner of it. This is no small thing.

An act of kindness can change the life of the recipient. It can bring hope into despair, light into darkness. It can shift and open the mind of the recipient in ways that are unknowable prior to the act. It can be the long-awaited seed that nestles in the soil of a barren heart and gently coaxes a life into bloom.

An act of kindness can be as simple as listening to someone who is usually overlooked. As simple as making eye contact and smiling. As simple as a sincere compliment. It can be a plate full of homemade cookies or a warm hand placed on a spine. Whatever the chosen act of kindness, it is a statement that honors the value and inherent worthiness of the recipient. It affirms and confirms the they are deserving of peace and joy, love and help. It is a tip-of-the-hat to the God-essence within them.

Vow to be a bringer of miracles into the world. Vow to give more gifts that money can't buy. Vow to drop more pebbles into more ponds. Vow to be kind at every possible turn. To yourself, to your loved ones, to your neighbors, to the woman who passes you on the down escalator as you are riding up. There are no small acts of kindness. And there is no small need for more of them.

The Only Truth

It's so easy to focus on the annoying, disappointing and seemingly wrong behavior exhibited in our friends and relations. It's so easy to find fault. It's so easy to blame. It's so easy to take the low road with sweeping judgments. It's time we collectively take the high road and focus on the good behavior, the kind behavior of our friends and relations. Even if it is rarely exhibited. Even if it is regularly sunk beneath the muck of fear. Because what we focus on, what we choose to hold in our minds regarding ourselves, our friends and our relations has the power to call forth the best or the worst. The truth or the falseness. The love or the not-love.

I once struck up a friendship with a European man. We came to know each other through correspondence. His letters were kind and respectful and fascinating. He opened up a new world for me with his European viewpoint and approach to life. I believe I did the same for him. We eventually met and spent a glorious day together, talking non-stop as if we were old friends. His presence felt so comfortable. So wonderful. We met again and again and again. Eventually, fears arose and the meetings became less comfortable and more stressful. Then they stopped and our friendship hung in mid-air, waiting for definition and clarification. It never came.

Although I'm not fond of unfinished business and even less fond of heartache, I have chosen to remember and focus on the original kindness and old-friend-comfort whenever he crosses my mind. Because that's who this man is. I witnessed the truth of this person. I witnessed the love he carries in his heart. Everything else I might have witnessed is false. Everything else is love suppressed by fear. Everything else is an illusion I choose not to focus on. This choice may never bring resolution to our stunted friendship, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that I hold the best possible version of this man in my heart and mind. This will help to empower him and me to move forward in our lives and be less fearful with future friends and relations.

Love is our only truth. Everything else is false. Is an illusion. Is the antithesis of who we are. The cranky pants, the lies, the hurtful words, the indifference~ we are not those things, those behaviors. We are not our fears, no matter how often and how strongly they arise. We are pure love at the core of our being. We are kindness and respect. We are compassion and caring. We are better than we think we are. Our friends and relations are better than we sometimes give them credit for. Let's choose to focus on the goodness and the love we have witnessed in each other. Let's call forth our collective best. Let's be the truth that will heal and empower the world.

Wednesday Night Poetry

When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.

When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.

Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes to recognize its own.

There you can be sure
you are not beyond love.

The dark will be
your womb tonight.

The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.

You must learn one thing.
The world was made to be free in.

Give up on all other worlds
except the one to which you belong.

Sometimes it takes darkness
and the sweet confinement of
your aloneness to learn,

anything or anyone

that does not bring you alive

is too small for you.


By, David Whyte
from: House of Belonging

Resistance

To resist is to suffer. Mentally, emotionally or physically. To resist whatever is going on right here, right now, is to guarantee discomfort. Whatever we resist will persist. The traffic, the waiting, the unconscious habits of other people. The illness, the debt, the thorn in the side. We make ourselves sad, angry, afraid, annoyed, impatient or downright miserable when we insist that what is happening in this very moment is not what we had in mind. Is not on our agenda. Is not what our egos would have invited to join our personal parade. We resist not being in total control of our over-inflated lives. As if we knew in every moment what was best for us.

Shit happens. Drama happens. Death happens. Suffering is optional in all of it. Resistance is a choice, however seemingly unconscious it appears to be. Resistance is a lack of trust in the Universe, in God Itself, that what is happening in this moment will spoil our good, deny our rights and keep our happiness at bay. None of this is possible. None of this is true. In every moment of our lives our good, our rights and our happiness are being served. Our all-important inner growth is given constant opportunity for evolution.

We cause problems for ourselves when we resist our opportunities. When we judge instead pardon. Blame instead of forgive. Stagnate instead of flow. Our purpose for incarnating on this plane of existence is to learn love, compassion, mercy and peace. Our moment to moment happenings are designed by a Wiser Mind than ours to ensure we have ample opportunity to attain that lofty goal.

The key to end suffering and attain that goal is acceptance. It is the sweet opposite of resistance. Acceptance knows the shockingly long grocery line will not altar our highest good or truly delay our plans. Acceptance knows the illness ravaging our body is possibly the only way to bring us to our knees and surrender the lifestyle that could otherwise kill us. Acceptance of everything that happens, moment to moment, is complete trust in God that we are foremost in Its mind and heart. That we are loved and cared for and never alone. To resist nothing and accept what is, grants us love, compassion, mercy and the keys to the Peaceable Kingdom.

Creative Explosion

October finally arrived in Buffalo. At the end of November. The Old-Guys-Harley-Gang fired up their bikes across the street and rumbled off to soak up the sunshine and warm breezes. I stayed closer to home and fired up my creativity. In a flurry not seen since God-knows-when, I whipped up all my outdoor holiday decor from limbs of storm-damaged trees. I cut and pasted and painted 2 collages. And I obeyed the biggest urge of all, to go trekking through the trees with my digital camera.

The creative explosion felt so damn good, I almost need a cigarette now that it's done. I'm glistening, satisfied and ready for more. At the end of November, it feels more like springtime in my soul. It feels like I've passed through another doorway. It feels like the energy of love has parked the bulldozer it drove through my life for the last 2 months and is shining up the gondola. I begin accepting applications for a handsome Gondolier first thing in the morning.

The Long Conversation

We've been conversing, you and me, for some time and no time. It feels like years, it has been years, yet our conversations are always timeless. Limitless. Effortless. There is always so much to say, so much to share. Your whispers are like waves caressing the shores of my being. Your energy presses against me in the silence.

Clear twilight with a Cheshire-cat moon and spoonfuls of stars bring us closer. We walk together among trees and sit peacefully by waterfalls, catching droplets that swim through the air. We read the ripe, romantic words of Pablo Neruda. We linger over Earl Grey and its bergamot perfume. We take refuge in shades of blue. Cerulean for me, sapphire for you. We wake in the sweet stillness of the night, having dreamt of each other.

Always,always, there is the conversation, the murmuring of love sonnets, the calling attention to beauty. Always there is the reassurance that one moment in time, one moment in no time, our eyes and souls will meet. At that moment, the flames of our twin hearts will melt away the years and the long conversation will begin again.

Angels of Mercy

Close your eyes and picture an angel. Flowing robe? Large wings? Halo? Harp? Yes? And no. For your information, angels come in all disguises and manner of dress. Most have wings we cannot see. Many walk the earth. I don't doubt you've met them, but you may not be aware you have. I regularly look for angels. Two nights ago, two of them followed me home.

Knowing my life would change for the better, I willingly let them in. The angels immediately filled my home with kindness. We sat at my kitchen table and had strawberries and tea. I also offered them chocolate, knowing full well that anyone of a heavenly nature would never refuse that divine confection.

As I would have expected, the angels were gracious and filled with loving energy. They sat on either side of me and encouraged me to share my story. My story of things and events I have held back, crushed down and generally do not speak of. They held a safe space in which to purge and cleanse my soul. They listened carefully and withheld judgement. They were kind and caring and merciful. They reminded me I have all knowledge within me. I have all truth within me. I have all the love within me I will ever need.

Just before the angels departed for their next mission of mercy, one groovy, orange-and-yellow drinking glass dropped to the floor and shattered into shards of stars. The bookend to the groovy glass that shattered 2 months earlier. It was a wonderful sign and a welcome parting gift. Things of my past that have held me down are surely falling away. My heart and my mind are becoming more connected and clear.

I opened my door, and with soul-deep gratitude, I watched as the angels drifted into the night. What a blessing they were. What precipitators of forward movement. What bastions of love.

Just so I would know they were real and not figments, I walked back into my home to find downey white feathers marking the spot where each shard of glass, moments before, had foretold my progress, my truth, my knowledge and my love.

Gratitude

To truly move past an issue, event, disruption or heartache, we must become grateful for its presence. We must become grateful for its lessons. Its opportunities. Its exact, right timing in invoking needful inner growth. No matter what the circumstance, we must be grateful it happened. And we must be sincere in our gratitude, or the pain, the anxiety and the victim-mentality will seep into our marrow and discolor the way we interact with the vast beauty of the world.

Gratitude is the golden key that unlocks the prison of the heart and the mind. Gratitude brings us out of denial and into acceptance. It lifts us out of chaos and into order. It removes us from confusion and brings forth clarity. It allows us to see that all we have, right here, right now, is all we truly need. It allows us to see that our lives are enough. That our lives are valuable. That our lives have meaning. No matter what illness we have, no matter what money we have or don't have, no matter who is or isn't in our lives.

Gratitude is also the golden key to moving us into more loving, prosperous circumstances. By helping us to let go of staleness, it ushers in freshness in the form of new people and new opportunities. It allows the previously unimagined to present itself. It allows greater life into life.

Gratitude is the last sentence that allows the painful chapter to be done. If gratitude was the prayer we uttered before beginning anything, our lessons and inner growth would be less painful. Our clarity would not waver. Our value would not be in question. An attitude of gratitude makes sense of our past, invokes peace in our present and paves a love-filled road to our future.

{Thank you, God, for the slow, hard-drive-crashing death of my present computer. No, I cannot add digital photos to my blog posts at present, and I've lost many stored things, but this event has allowed me to think more highly of myself and enter the 21st century. I have ordered a custom built computer, with a sexy, sleek black and silver flat screen. And a boatload of gigabytes to let me post pictures to my heart's content.}

Commitment

Any minute now, the planet Mercury will move out of retrograde. Forward movement will resume. Communication, in all its forms, will cease to be garbled, stunted and misinterpreted. Contracts can be safely signed. Commitments can be made. Unexpected delays will dissolve. Panties can be unbunched.

Early this morning, in anticipation of the blessed Mercurial event, I hung up my pity-party hat, undug my heels from the mud of resistance and allowed the missing mojo to seep back into my brain. Anxiety and turmoil are no longer the words of the day. The new word is commitment. Commitment to my new job and the flower-strewn path it will lead me down. Commitment to my ever-evolving spiritual journey and the inspiring people I'm beginning to bond with. Commitment to invoking romance and beauty whether or not I wake up alone.

To be committed to something~ a person, place or thing~ requires restriction and loss on some level. It requires giving up something that was previously deemed valuable. But without commitment, the fullness of life can never truly be tasted. The depths of a person, place or thing can never be experienced, savored and realized. Without commitment, one remains at the surface. Safe. Clean. Unscathed. And empty. Without commitment, talent remains shrouded. Health deteriorates. Love is squandered.

Commitment, when surrendered to, reveals newer, more meaningful values. Restriction and loss lead to previously unimagined freedom. Every commitment to a person, place or thing is, at its core, a commitment to the self. The self that is connected to God. The self that honors God. The self that is God.

The Quest For Balance

The other day, I saw a snippet of an interview with Tiger Woods. He was asked, after winning 8 PGA tournaments this year, what was the best aspect of his life? Without hesitation Tiger answered, "The balance I have between my personal life and my professional life. I work hard every day to keep that balance". Before he uttered those profound and timely words, I was not-so-secretly in love with My Tiger. Now, I'm simply done-for regarding that man. Handsome, hardworking, committed and now, way-shower. But, since I wouldn't want to disrupt his balance and his wife is annoyingly gorgeous, I'll keep my fantasy life in check and instead, follow his example as best I can.

My quest is for balance. In all areas of my life. This takes monumental, sustained effort. This takes patience. I have come to realize lately, I need to take it a step beyond Tiger's example. I need a balance between my personal, professional and spiritual life. I need a Trinity.

Coincidentally, my Trinity is in turmoil. As my new spiritual friend, Lowell, wisely advised me, the bowl of my life has been shaken and stirred by the energy of love. Nothing is where it previously was. Balance is currently impossible. But love is working its magic beneath the anxiety and turmoil. The contents of my personal Trinity are settling. Some things are falling away. Some things will be newly revealed. Balance will come. And so will the blooming.

Lowell reminded me I'm on the exact right path and soon I will see, feel, taste, touch and know the upheavel was purposeful. Love is like a bulldozer at times. A merciful pruner of dead weight. An Undertaker.

The key to my quest for balance lies in my willingness to receive love, not just give it. As I muster up the courage and daring to receive love, I will attract into my life the people and circumstances that will sweetly and serenely balance my Trinity. I will then stand in the center and know my life is Holy.

{As part of the realignment and balancing of my professional life, my floral design skills are being called to the forefront again. Pictured above is an autumn centerpiece I recently created for a public event.}

The Gift of Patience

It is here, on the edge of the dark moon phase of my astrological chart, the eve of my personal new year, I stand with arms held out and palms facing up. Energy has been confused and chaotic. Clarity has been elusive. But now, in my open left hand, rests a copy of the English Patient. A recent, lucky find. Its words and phrases have gently woken the sleeping, poetic rivers of my blood. Inlets have begun flowing in my veins and pooling around the flood gates of my heart. The ebb has waned. The flow is arriving. Gifts are washing up at my feet.

The most welcome gift to suddenly arrive is the gift of patience. It is a many-layered gift. With it comes sanity. Inner peace. Warm solitude. Love. It is the gift I've prayed for and longed for and struggled for. Like the blanket of a lover's body, patience has calmed me and comforted me and fortified me to carry on. It has grounded me and given the inlets terrain to begin their flow. It is the foundation on which my love and my life can build.

Patience allows foibles. It allows fears to come up and move on. It allows each inner season to manifest fully in its own God-directed time. It allows sweet memories of tomatoes and passion to be enough until the time is ripe for more.

Patience cannot be forced. It must be surrendered to. It comes when the struggle is too much to bear and shoulders finally relax. It comes when instincts are acknowledged and heeded. When trust of the self is given. When control is released and Life is placed back in the hands of the Creator Of All Things.

Here on the edge and the eve of my new year, I am gifted with contentment, warmth and patience. With a passionate book and a bowl of grape tomatoes.