The Red Cup Chronicles

All photos copyright(c)2007 Graciel

The Empty Heart

To be filled, something must first be emptied. A bucket, a bath tub, a bank account, a heart. Nothing truly fresh and fulfilling can flow into an already full space. Especially if the space is mired in stale energy, standing water, or stifling thoughts. Measures must be taken to dump, pour out and empty the vessel of all that stands in the way of new vibrations, new abundance and higher levels of happiness.

A bucket and a bath tub are fairly easy vessels to clear out. A bank account, less easy, if a fresh supply of abundance is not waiting directly in the wings. A heart, less easy still, depending on the length of years it has beat and the traumas it has endured. But the heart is the most needful of all vessels to be emptied, if Life is to continuously offer up its jewels and its succulence. A full heart can no longer take in additional Life. A full heart can no longer take in a finer quality of air. A full heart can no longer recognize uncommon opportunities for love.

The dumping, pouring out and emptying of the heart is messy. Wet. Painful. Exhausting. Seemingly endless once the process has begun. Old thoughts, stubborn obsessions, magician's cloaks, crappy attitudes, stale resentments, refuse of pity-parties, molehills of doubts and soul-shrinking curses against the self are dredged up from the bottom of the vessel. Laid out in all their putrid splendor. Fingered and tasted for current viability. And one by one, by slowly painful one, deemed unfit for further consumption, consideration or space in the vault.

As the heart is emptied, detachment drifts in. As things and people and once-clutched memories are released to the ethers, judgement takes a back seat and impartiality takes the wheel. The more the heart is emptied of its stale view of Life, the more detachment settles in. Until one moment, one brief moment in the process of dumping and pouring, the needle on the gauge swings completely to the left and the heart is rendered empty.

In that brief moment, reached only through wet and mess, a doorway appears. The doorway does not beckon, does not call, does not entice. It merely stands open and allows the heart to understand, if that thresh hold was crossed, if all that was once clung to was left behind, the soul-aspect of the heart, the aspect that never dies, would be okay. It would be happy and free and loved and safe. Everything would be okay.

In the fullness of understanding, in the fullness of complete emptiness, the doorway closes. Calmness drifts in. Somewhere in the background a bell choir strikes a note. A singular peel that echoes and swells into multiple bells and ushers in new vibrations. The heart begins to fill itself, in an unhurried manner, with new abundance. The heart begins to breathe a more refined quality of air. The heart begins to fill itself, in an unhurried manner, with a deeper, more succulent level of Life.

The Season Of Yoga For One

Today I felt like a celebrity. I had signed up for yoga classes at a new studio nearby. I arrived at the agreed upon time with my blue mat and bottled water, ready to join a group of fellow students in search of grounding and inner peace. 10 minutes past the agreed upon time, no one else had come. I was alone with the instructor. The Universe had set me up to have a private yoga lesson. Swallowing my awkwardness, I spread out my mat, faced the woman I had only just met and followed her lead. Only the rich and famous have private lessons, I mused to myself. Since I'm far from famous, I decided I must be rich inside.

At the end of almost 2 hours of private instruction, I was richer inside than I had been upon waking. My understanding of the discipline and practice of yoga skyrocketed with each adjustment she helped me make and each side-by-side example she demonstrated. My downward facing dog and my hands-free baby cobra are darn close to perfect now.

As I left the studio, stretched and strengthened, I realized how much I've been doing alone. I realized this has been quite the solitary year, by choice and by chance. And I will admit, some days of solitude and solo practice have been lonely. My zest for group gatherings and company in general has waned. My social mojo has seemingly deflated. Some days this concerns me. Some days I wonder what happened to my zest and my zeal for social engagement. My need and delight in activities with others. My joy in intellectual conversation and stupid humor.

The knowing part of myself, the wise part of myself is, however, not concerned at all. This wise woman within me knows there are seasons. Seasons in nature and seasons in the life of every human animal. This is my season of solitude. This is my season of receiving private instruction from the Universe at large. Because one on one instruction is so much more effective in getting a lesson across. So much more effective for bone-deep, soul-deep, never-forget-this understanding. So much more effective for cementing trust in one's self.

In my season of solitude, God has come closer. Intuition is easier to act on. My need for approval is dying. And my question of what do I really want has a decent chance of finally being answered.

I'm growing rich inside in my season of solitude, my season of concentrated growth. When the next season comes, as it surely will, I will meet it with greater trust and greater strength. I will meet it with less doubt and more ability to welcome and embrace the harvest.

Flying In Paradise

In my world, it is only a one hour drive to paradise. A passport is required to get there, as is a love for entomological masterpieces. Paradise lies in Canada, just over the bridge from western New York State and slightly down river from the Falls called Niagara. Just outside the gates to paradise a sign reads: Butterfly Conservatory. Inside the gates, my heart takes flight.

Upon entering paradise, I am greeted immediately by four large flying flowers in the most electric shade of cerulean blue. I gasp out loud. They flutter around my head and leave traces of themselves in my stomach. Somehow these four flying flowers have pressed on my tear ducts, even though they are known to stay air born. It is part of their magic and purpose in life to remind all who witness them that beauty is food for the soul. Happy tears run down my cheeks. It feels good to be fed.

Not surprisingly, paradise is a tropical place. Water mists, lush foliage and warm temperatures set the stage for a continuous aerial ballet. It is a cast of thousands and intentionally un-choreographed. Each member of the cast is as stunning as the next. Some even thrill the audience by landing on hats and shoulders or nearby leaves. I walk slowly, so slowly along the paths in paradise, drinking in the colors and the shapes and the intricate costume designs.

And then comes the gift. It happens outside the butterfly nursery. I turn away from the marvel of cocoons and damp wings to be graced with the unthinkable. The elusive. The unlooked-for dream. An electric blue flying flower, the 4 1/2 inch wing spanned Blue Morpho, known to remain aloft, lands on my right hand. On top of the silver filigree butterfly ring I'm wearing on my middle finger. I stop breathing for a moment, afraid it will disappear. But it stays. Commotion begins to swirl around me as other seekers in paradise realize a Blue Morpho has landed. I'm rushed by cameras and rudeness as seekers jostle each other to get a shot of my hand.

There is no option for me to capture this moment, as my camera is held in the hand holding the masterpiece. It doesn't matter. Amid the minor chaos, the Blue Morpho and me have a conversation. I thank it for blessing me with its presence. I tell it how gorgeous I think it is. I thank it for staying. In response, the electric blue flower wiggles its antennas, looks me in the eye and says,"I am you, and you are me". With that, my hand is jostled and the flower flies on.

I linger in paradise, soaking in the glories that God has created. I linger in paradise, imagining my cerulean wings , damp and unfurling, lifting me skyward. I linger in paradise, one hour and one country away, balancing my mind, warming my heart, and feeding my soul.

Roadside Attraction part 1

Roadside Attraction part 2

All photos in this blog, unless otherwise noted, copyright (c) 2007 Graciel

The Choice

I marvel at how easily I forget I have a choice. In everything. I have a choice in what I see, what I pay attention to, what I listen to, what I say, what I do, what I eat. I have a choice in what I think, how I react and most importantly, what my attitude is on a moment to moment basis. I have a choice to accept or reject some one else's opinion. I have a choice to see beauty or discord. I have a choice to feel heaven or hell. My life, my daily existence, is the manifestation of my collective choices.

Why do I choose too often to see discord, accept meaningless opinions and feel hell crawling two millimeters under my skin? Because I slip into the Maya, the illusion of the human world and allow myself to get hooked. Hooked into paying attention to things that lower my brain function and convince me that fear is a reality. Hooked into the insane focus of the media and the power-hungry minds that say negativity is the way of the world.

Fear is not reality and negativity is not the way of the world. It is a choice to buy into that notion, that slight-of-hand illusion, that queller of independent thinking so deadly to the regimes. It is a choice to ignore, forget and feign unawareness of the energy and reality that glues the stars together, pumps blood through my veins and causes the deep sigh of relief when chocolate melts on my tongue. It is a choice to turn away from the energy of love, the reality that remains unscathed despite the Maya, the crap, and the despair.

Love is ever present. Love is everywhere. Love is the invisible force that animates the quarks and the bozons and the building blocks of life. Love is life. If it ceased to exist, so would I. So would you. So would everyone.

Because nothing truly stands outside of love. It is only a choice, a decision of the brain, a habit that causes me to feel like I do. Today, thank God, I choose differently. Today, I make the choice to see love, to acknowledge its role in the very breath of my life, and to let it seep out of my pores as joy and laughter. Today, I make the choice to see beauty and innocence and the sterling in tin. Today, my collective choices allow heaven on earth.

The Poetry of Rumi

While the image of the Beloved burns in our heart

the whole of Life flows in contemplation.

Wherever union with the Beloved exists

there is, in the middle of the house,

a flowering rose garden.

Jelaluddin Rumi

Born: 1207

Creativity Unleashed

I wish I was unemployed. Not for any length of time, mind you. Just long enough to finish the last installment of the Harry Potter chronicles. I'm not a Harry fan in the strictest sense. I did not run out at midnight back in July to procure my sacred volume of tale #7. I, instead, waited for the opportunity to read on the cheap with a borrowed copy. Now, my job is interrupting this phenomenal tale of good versus evil. Time for reading only comes in the few short moments at night before my eyes shut of their own accord, and hurried moments in the morning between slurping down breakfast and dashing off to the salt mines.

The debate of whether #7 is a worthy conclusion to a fascinating fantasy or not, is of no interest to me. What does interest me is the example of stunning imagination Ms. Rowling has put forth into our world. Harry Potter, the series, is creativity unleashed. That one woman, down on her luck, can focus her will and bring forth such intricate, universally loved arrangements of English language letters on a page, awes me and inspires me.

Ms. Rowling is living, breathing, 21st century proof that creativity is a human well of bottomless possibilities. She is proof that circumstances or station in life have little to do with creative potential. She is proof that creativity lives as a spark in all of us. If she can call forth the spark within her and run wild with it, under difficult circumstances to begin with, so can we.

We each have an untapped creative spark or sparks within us. We each have the same potential and ability to call forth that Universal light and shine it on the world. A world of one or a world of many. Our spark, our creativity may not be with the written word. It may be with clay, with paint, with power tools, with speech, with yeast. Whatever our highly personal spark may be, the world is in need of that creative light. Ms. Rowling has lit the lamp and held it high for us, we who doubt our sparks. We who think it has all been done before. We who secretly know we have the same greatness in our inner most chambers. And we do. We do.

Be brave. Be focused. Begin it. Unleash it.

The Ass-Kicking

I am currently unable to participate, to any large extent, in the happenings and gloriously interesting things of this world. My ass is in the process of being kicked. My layers of self-protection are being peeled away. My views and opinions and lenses are being adjusted in a lengthy, sometimes uncomfortable process. None of which is conducive to a general party mood or a mood of carefree abandon needful to explore the world. In the latter part of my 6th cycle of seven year cell change-overs, my life in its entirety seems up for review.

Each time my cells end and begin another 7 year run, life gets peeled and turned and shaken. Directions are adjusted and a new map needs to be drawn. New aspects of myself are brought to the surface. Outmoded, outdated ones are urged to the compost pile.

One outmoded aspect that hit the pile hard was my now former tendency, no~ make that reliable trait~to abandon my own instincts, my own inner knowing in deference to someone else's opinion. Anyone else's opinion. If I knew something to be true to my core, in the inner-most chambers of my heart, but someone came along with a louder, stronger opinion on the subject at hand, I would reliably back away from my own wisdom and assume the other must be right. Assume they must know truth more firmly than me. The totality with which I have thrown myself away and denied the voice of God as it speaks directly to my heart hit me square in the face as the summer began. I had to step back, remove the brick from my forehead, look at my life as a whole, and force myself to see clearly where I have practiced the same dark art against myself in too many areas. Where I have allowed people outside me to wield too much importance, and have too much say in the path God has set up specifically for me.

This realization has been the gift of a lifetime. A gift that will carry me forward with greater love, greater boldness and greater trust as the next 7 years unfold. And so I am allowing more layers to be peeled away, more adjustments to made, more outmoded aspects and traits to be revealed and healed. I am allowing God to direct the set-up for the coming cycle~ "leave this behind...take this with you...let go of this fear... sorry, but you really need to get over that one... love yourself more, love yourself more, love yourself more".

I can't seem to hurry along this general, needful ass-kicking. It will take as long as it takes to get the job done. The job of preparing me for greater adventure and love without condition, dreams realized and the world embraced.

My Favorite Face

;)

I know what you're thinking...

That girl has an eye for white trash.

;)

Dead End Ahead

The road I have been walking down is slowly dissolving beneath my feet. The sign to my right warns of a dead end up ahead. This road is a familiar path. It offers safety and security and predictability. The passions and interests it offered, once upon a time, can no longer be cajoled to the surface. When inner passions become smoldering ash, when interests become watery and wane, the end of the known is nigh.

Nothing in my tangible world is igniting much passion. Any psychic worth her salt would be telling me a change is imminent. Because passion is the fuel of my daily life. Passion is what keeps me interested in the workings of this sumptuous world. Passion is what drives creativity out of my cells and onto the page, onto the canvas, onto the dinner plate. Passion is what keeps the smile on my lips and the evidence of caring in the tone of my voice. Without passion, the banquet of colors that define the natural world are tinted, ever so lightly, with too many shades of grey. And I am a woman in love with color.

This lack of passion and interest in familiar things is a Universal way of preparing me to let go of what has become my defined life. It is the signal to assess what is important, assess what I cannot do without, assess what are my core attractions and needs. It is the signal to look clearly at my known relationships and release any clutches that might exist. Because times, they are a changing. The next phase of my life is calling. The phase I have asked for without even defining.

So I look for clues on the dissolving path. I look for the deer-trail in the sideline shrubbery, offering the road less traveled. I look for the smallest spark of interest that flickers to my surface, hoping it will light my way. I look for and sense the vibrations of love, the energy of love, the color of love... for there will the next phase of my life unfold. There will fresh passions ignite, fresh interests pour forth and fresh adventures roll in ecstasy at my feet.

My eyes are open.

My arms are spread wide.

My knees rest squarely on the earth.

Come passion.

Come interest.

Come change.

Come love.

Come love.

Come love.

Gratitude~ The Reprise

I was inspired today to re-post my thoughts on Gratitude. Because...I need regular reminders to embrace it and practice it.


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.

Serenity in the Chaos

My life feels a bit chaotic. Unsettled. Exhausting. I have not been able to calm myself down and breathe evenly. Sanity feels tenuous. The road ahead is unclear. But my lucid self knows the key to managing stress, the key to a joy-filled life lies in creating a vacuum of calm within while the chaos whirls outside. My lucid self also knows constant serenity is not possible on our daily planet, but is possible in my internal Universe. It knows the true marker of success in life is to carry a peaceful heart where ever my road takes me.

In an effort to gain clarity and raise the peace flag within, I have set myself down in the road. I have boiled some water for rose petal tea. I have lit the $20 candle I have been saving for God-knows-what. I have cued the crickets and now...I await your wisdom and your presence to sit with me, in the middle of the road, and share your secrets for keeping serenity in the chaos.

Kahlil Gibran

And if you would know God,

be not therefore a solver of riddles.

Rather, look about you

and you shall see Him playing with your children.

And look into space;

you shall see Him walking in the cloud,

oustretching His arms in the lightning

and descending in rain.

You shall see Him smiling in the flowers,

then rising and waving His hands in trees.

Kahlil Gibran

The Good Red Road

If you are a woman who bleeds every month, be aware of the gifts your body offers. Every month, just before the curse-which-is-not-a-curse flows through your life, pay close attention to your thoughts and emotions. Pay close attention to the angst and the anger and the frustration that roil the surface of your mind. Your body is offering you a sacred gift. It is the gift of truth.

What you have suppressed and denied and ignored for 3 or more weeks~ those inner dis satisfactions that muddy the whirl of activity you call your life~ come roaring back as the dam gets ready to burst. How you really feel about a close situation, or your marriage or your job or your home or your anything that has importance in your life is brought to the surface each month to be revealed. Brought to the surface to be uncovered, uncloaked and stand naked before you in the light of day. Not to torment you, not to taunt you, not to wound you all over again. Your emotions bring forth the crap you hide from yourself so you can see clearly. So you can be consciously aware of what holds you down and holds you back. So you can choose a different road and allow yourself to be healed, to be honored and to be more loved than you currently are.

So-called PMS is truth-serum. It is the road map to a more fulfilling life. Pay close attention to every thought that runs through your mind...those thoughts are worth gold. They are your soul speaking to you loudly and clearly about what you are doing or not doing to allow your highest possible good to shine forth in your life. Without that knowledge, without that information brought to your conscious awareness, no change for the better can be instituted.

If stress and quiet desperation mark your days, if you feel hopeless and helpless and feel yourself sinking, listen intently to yourself as each monthly gift knocks on your door and invites you to hear the truth. The answers to any question you might have about your own life, lie within you. And the answers show up regularly. Honor yourself by listening to your grumbles and fears and sobs. Do not dismiss them as nonsense or simply the inner bitch revealing herself. Your body speaks the truth to you and does its level best to help you create the love and the life you deserve.

Pay attention. Write your grievances down. Listen to your heart. Take action to heal yourself. Be selfish in a healthy way. Honor the truth that lives within you. Harness the power of the good red road and follow where it leads. It can only lead to more love, more peace and more lasting happiness than you have previously known.

Artwork by: Jia Lu.......isn't it beautiful???

Recognizing Grace

Grace is an everyday occurrence. For each of us. God's love and favor are extended towards us in both large and small ways. In both the light and the dark. In both sickness and health. It is not a matter of whether we deserve grace or not for it to be given. Because we are each a child of God, grace is offered to us freely and lavishly and lovingly. If we think our days are not graced, it is because we are choosing to ignore the favored threads that weave together our lives.

Grace is rarely bestowed in an expected form. It can be covert and quiet and subtle, yet if recognized, can strengthen weak hearts, mend broken spirits and breath life into the shadow of death. The key to receiving grace lies in its recognition. What is not acknowledged or recognized cannot be received. What cannot be received is mistakenly assumed to have not been given. It is our own responsibility to learn to recognize the love and the favors.

Grace is the floral designer who puts extra love and care into the wedding flowers of a miserable bride. Grace is the unlooked for postcard from a distant friend arriving on a difficult day. Grace is coming upon a car accident 3 seconds after impact. Grace is the first person to rush to the aid of those who felt the impact. Grace is the butterfly that floats into view and distracts from sorrow and self pity. Grace is the wink and the smile and the nod of the head from strangers who pass by. It is the feather on our back stoop that causes us to bend, examine and consider something, anything other than the ongoing plague of negative thoughts. It is the sudden shift in stubbornly held viewpoints. It is rain after drought. It is pockets of peace within war. It is the releasing of friends we have outgrown.

Grace is ours to receive. It is less grandiose and more simple than we conceive it to be. It is being offered consistently and compassionately, despite our best efforts to ignore it or deny its existence. Recognizing the smallest, most subtle forms of grace leads to an awareness that we are loved and favored and glorified as an everyday occurrence.

Your Extraordinary Mind

Read Barry's Blog

Do yourself a favor today and read the July 23rd post from: http://thefirstmorning.wordpress.com about belonging. I had to re-apply my mascara afterwards. And after reading this brilliant post, follow Barry's instructions. To the letter. Because we all just want to belong.

The Ant, The Butterfly and Me

Yesterday was one of those rare and glorious days. Sunshine, blue sky, upper 70's, no humidity. And all the neighbors with swimming pools...gone. To celebrate, I spent the day in my backyard doing nothing. Just sitting on the grass, drawing in the green, grounding energy, watching the minutiae of nature and the complex simplicity of God.

Ants investigated my sandals, spiders navigated the crinkles of my skirt, small butterflies zig-zagged on the breeze, all while black and grey squirrels bombed my yard with shards of walnut shells. Families of purple martins twittered and swirled above the trees, cardinals sang and chipping sparrows tested their courage for seed with me mere feet away. Bees and wasps flew by. Flowers swayed in the breeze. This year's bunny made a singular scoot to the safety of a neighbor's shed.

I've needed a day where my attention is focused on nothing but the extraordinary in the ordinary, the wisdom of close-to-home nature, the poetic details of daily living. When life gets too complex, too exhausting or too stressful, the simplicity of grass and trees and open sky can soothe one's soul like little else. For there, in quiet evidence, is the hand of God directing the smallest detail. The ant, the butterfly and me.

To Save or Destroy

The Gospel of Thomas: “If you bring forth what is inside you, what you bring forth will save you. If you don’t bring forth what is inside you, what you don’t bring forth will destroy you.”

This, for anyone who cares to know, is the reason why I blog.

Universal Time

The most worthwhile things in this world take patience
and time to ripen.
The most beautiful things do not follow a set schedule
or demand or even a heartfelt hope.
They have a Universal time of their own to manifest.
And in the end, which is really the beginning, the timing will be
more perfect than could ever have been dreamed of...

The Sisterhood of the Flowing Skirts

Yesterday there was a gathering. 5 women in flowing skirts set out for a day of communing with the spiritual and communing with nature. The Love Goddess wore a rainbow skirt, the Earth Mother wore ocean blue, the Great Seer wore deep purple, the Healer wore black and white, and me, the Goddess in Transition wore cattail brown. Together, we were the Sisterhood of the Flowing Skirts. Together, we meditated, laughed out loud, soaked up the blue sky and changed the world.

We spent the day at the largest Spiritualist community this side of nowhere, known as Lily Dale. This is where seekers from all over the world come to be healed and helped by registered Mediums doling out messages from the Great Beyond. We went with no expectations and no needs. We followed the rhythm of our skirts and simply flowed from one locale to the next. We shopped for incense and tumbled stones. We walked with faeries through the woods. We had a picnic of snow peas and cherries and chocolate-covered sunflower seeds on the grass by the lake. We walked the labyrinth. We talked with trees. We fed the resident cats.

And then, we broke the rules. If there is a sacred spot in Lily Dale, it is The Stump. Tucked away in a small, old-growth forest lies the remains of the original platform on which Mediums would perch and transmit messages from dear departed Uncle Fred or Grandmother Mary. The Stump, more than 120 years later, is still the site of twice daily message services for any who stop by and sit in the pews. The Mediums no longer perch on the Stump, but pace back and forth in front of it while speaking. The Stump is now encased in cement. The Stump is now off limits to any and all. Except for... one divine half hour in the late afternoon on an obscure Monday in July when the Sisterhood of the Flowing Skirts ascended the 3 steps to the top of the Stump and claimed it.

The energy transmitting through the cement from the well-loved Stump was palpable, powerful and filled with joy. It made me giggle. It felt as if that energy could heal anyone who touched it. We held hands and closed our eyes and drew the energy into our bodies. We prayed for the awakening of every woman in the world to the sacredness of her own being. We prayed for the healing of planet earth. For a time, we were all rooted to that Stump, unable to even think of climbing down. Mesmerized by the vibrations. Loath to break the spell.

No one took notice of our rule-breaking Sisterhood. We were not scolded or chastised or evicted. We were invisible to all, except for the crows, while we giggled and swooned and prayed. While we flowed and followed our instincts. While we stepped boldly forward to change the world.

Freshness

There is a hint of a breeze blowing through my transition. A freshness. A newness. A promise. This light breeze carries with it interests that are novel and unexpected. My brain and my heart are slowly turning their combined attention to things and ideas that have lived on the outskirts of my awareness. Things that, before this transition into expanded womanhood, I could not muster up the energy or enthusiasm to care about to any large degree. Things that did not define the woman I am letting go of, but seem to be outlining the woman destined to emerge.


Clothes of a more feminine nature are suddenly wafting in on the breeze. As is handmade jewelry and the first perfume to tantalize my wrists since Love's Baby Soft defined my teenage years. Shoes are of greater interest. Homemade bread is of greater interest. Fiction has usurped nonfiction as my bedtime sleep-aid of choice. Retablos and 600 square foot houses and seashells have tugged hard at my expanding heart. Turkish bazaars and Tunisian seashores and Russian forests have all swept through on that same breeze.

Plants have become a necessity in the acceleration of freshness. My brown-tipped and sadly neglected collection of green living things has recently been joined by one lush ivy, one lucky bamboo, one mixed pot of herbs and tomorrow, oh joyful tomorrow, one lavender orchid plant, with petals shaped like butterflies, to grace the north window of my living room.

Freshness and newness and promise. Universal breadcrumbs and puzzle pieces. All doled out in the darkness and lightness of my transition. All designed to keep my head above water, instill hope and help me understand there will be beauty and creativity and adventure on the other side of letting go.

Transition

I am the caterpillar that has turned to mush inside its cocoon. I am the woman in a state of unhurried transition. Cooped up and forced to let go of who I know myself to be. Hoping to emerge one day, one hour, one minute with a clear direction on how to move forward in my life. How to stop inching and crawling along and learn to fly on untested wings.

I never saw this coming, this soul-deep, emotional tidal-wave-of-a-transition. It has not been fun and it has gone on seemingly beyond acceptable limits. But likely, the point of it all is to break me free of self-imposed limits. I have more than a few. Some are staunch and decades old. None of them serve my higher good. And so, the Universe has decided to crush me, mush me like a bug, stew me in my own juices and make me wait. Wait through the tears, the mind-babble and the long moments of unhappiness. Wait through the restlessness, the insults to ego and the yearnings which cannot be named.

I have stewed so long I have almost evaporated. Which, again, is the point. When the old me, the self-limiting me, the I-can't-possibly-deserve-that me has dissolved into vapors, only then can the reformation begin. Only then can I possibly hope to carry out the dreams I have for myself. Dreams of deep love and family. Dreams of serving the greater good of humanity. Dreams of healing nature from the worst of humanity. Dreams of daily peace of mind.

What will bring about my reformation? What will move me beyond the mush? What will form my butterfly wings? Patience with myself. A surrender of the woman I used to be. Acceptance and nonresistance of the turmoil within me. And willingness. Willingness to allow the woman God meant for me to be to transition, to emerge and to fly.

Beautiful Disaster

Where there is pain, there is comfort. Where something shatters, something forms. Where darkness presses down, light rises. You, in your great despair, take notice. While you are plummeting, Angelic forces are lifting you up. While in the midst of turmoil, out of the corner of your awareness, you will see and feel and sense the beauty in your disaster.

Nothing is ever completely bad or wrong or more than you can handle. Signs and omens of utter goodness abound in the center of a whirlwind, in the center of a life in transition. In a torrent of tears and confusion, keep one eye open and half an ear tuned. A savior will call on the phone, a bird of exquisite color will alight outside your window, money will suddenly manifest in your washing machine. Signs of grace and truth and mercy will shower themselves upon you in your darkest moments, shower you until you notice even one of them.

If you lose something, you will always gain something, though it be in a form too subtle to see through your tears. Keep crying. Keep cleansing your vision and one powerful moment between sobs, the light of mercy will shine through and you will know. You will know that nothing painful is as it appears to be. You will know that the lessons being learned through the grief and the sorrow will shape you into a more eloquent human being. A more capable human being. A human being who knows that love is ever present for everyone. That love is always the beauty in the disaster.

A Flicker of Wisdom

Yesterday morning I had blood on my hands. Again. It wasn't my own. It belonged to the yellow-shafted flicker I lifted off the pavement in the first stages of my journey into work. I thought the flicker was dead when I approached it. It lay on its side, one brown eye staring at the sky. But its head moved as I lifted it. I immediately started talking quietly as I carried it to the roadside. I squatted on the grass, shielding it from the wind of the passing vehicles. The flicker was injured beyond repair, but its heart kept beating beneath my fingers. It held on and it suffered. I cradled it and I talked.

I told the flicker how beautiful it was and that is was one of my favorite birds. I thanked it for being an important messenger. I told it every time I saw one of its kind I knew the healing energy of Love was at play in my life and any intensely felt emotions were cleansing me of all that might stand in my way of that Love. I told it that Angels of Mercy were here at the roadside, ready to usher it home. And still its heart beat on.

I quietly implored it to please just let go. Let go, let go, let go. There was no need to stay, no need to suffer, just let go and fly free. Fly free in lands more beautiful than this. But it stayed. Bleeding into my hands, moving its head, ignoring my pleas.

I searched for a soft, sheltered spot to lay it down, and let its own will be done. I chose a tree next to tall grass and laid it at the edge. I folded a large leaf and placed it under its head, hoping it would comfort. I whispered, "Don't stay long. They're waiting for you. Let go, let go let go."

I drove on with red-stained hands. 20 minutes later, just as I arrived at work, a single white balloon slowly drifted skyward in the west. I stood and watched the balloon until it was out of my sight. The flicker whispered in my ear, "I'm flying again. I'm free. And Graciel, let go, let go, let go".

Anne Morrow Lindbergh

"It is not physical solitude that actually separates one from others; not physical isolation, but spiritual isolation. It is not the desert island nor the stony wilderness that cuts you from the people you love. It is the wilderness in the mind, the desert wastes in the heart through which one wanders lost and a stranger.

When one is a stranger to oneself then one is estranged from others too. If one is out of touch with oneself, then one cannot touch others. How often in a large city, shaking hands with my friends, I have felt the wilderness stretching between us. Both of us were wandering in arid wastes, having lost the springs that nourished us -- or having found them dry. Only when one is connected to one's own core is one connected to others, I am beginning to discover. And, for me, the core, the inner spring, can best be refound through solitude."

- Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea

The Feminine Life-Line

Lately, I have come across younger women who lack the skill of befriending other women. They view other females, especially in their own peer group, as competition for men, for attention, for elusive kudos. They alienate the very beings who will someday be their only life-line to maintaining sanity. The need for that lifeline may not come for years or decades, but it will come. In one form or another, one tragedy or another, one loss or another. If young women have not sought the support and friendship of other women, have not developed the needful skills of listening and being available, when their world crashes or their men can't relate, their misery will skirt the brink of the unbearable.

Because in the end, as designed by a Force much wiser than us all, women are encoded to nurture, protect and rally in support of anyone or anything in need of compassion. Women in touch with themselves possess the strength of warriors. Strength that cannot always be measured, but can always be felt. Strength that creates impact. Strength that creates change. Strength that heals and restores.

I am alive today because of the strength and compassion and the buckets of love poured over me by my women friends. Were it not for the rally of the various-aged women I have befriended throughout my adult life, I would have succumbed to the insanity of illness, trauma and the demise of relationships. Do not think this excludes the needful energy of men to create life-saving balance in the world of a woman, especially this woman. But the deepest understanding and compassion travels along the invisible threads of the divine feminine energy. Those threads, when woven together through laughter, sharing and genuine trust, over time, create a reciprocal shield that can bear all things and pull us back from the brink.

Women in touch with themselves are needed to befriend the women who are not. Younger women who have not yet felt the necessity of building a feminine support system, who have not experienced deep trust, who have never been taught there is no need for competition are waiting. Waiting, consciously or subconsciously, for the divine energy they were born into to lift them up. To show them the way. To offer them compassion so they will know how to give it. To teach them how to respect the divine energy within them and channel it, as needed, to save the world, one woman at a time.