this life i live daily has many ingredients for a masterpiece
that unfinished piece waiting
that smile that got stifled by
that laugh that kissed it
that wishful thinking on my part for another embrace
that departure that i wish had not happened
by the one who found my energy so grand and overwhelming
i said i was committed to being me
i said i was intent on living brightly with color and passion
i declared my mantra to be give. live. love
i ask or how can i receive
okay so i was a lot again
that is the best part of me
i'm a lot in a pretty package intelligently designed
tickle me and i just might erupt in passion
then what will you do with me?
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
My wish for the coming year...
"If there be righteousness in the heart, there will be beauty in the character. If there is beauty in the character there will be harmony in the home. If there is harmony in the home, there will be order in the nation. When there is order in each nation there will be peace in the world."
- Old Chinese proverb
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Will the mushrooms come again?
It was last winter while still cold and wet after snows had melted that the slender moss covered tree was serving as food for mushrooms that moved in as if overnight. A climbing wall of ivory steps circled the tree like a staircase without a bannister. The tree was still a teen when it was tipped and mildly uprooted seasons ago and it stopped living and growing and became a resting place for verdant velvet moss and then the mushrooms moved in and continued to feed on the tall and branchless evergreen. I could imagine the mushrooms decadently helping themselves to the sap within and beneath the outer bark growing intoxicated on the resin. The marrow of the tree made them bigger each day that it was dark and shady and overcast. Then one day a strong day of sunlight came to stay awhile.
And when I looked out again in the days that followed the days of light, I saw a shift had occured in so short a time; it caused me a moment of breathlessness. The steps to the light and open air had dried up and seemingly disappeared. And even the moss looked haggard and dry. Then I took note of new leaves beginning to uncurl in the maple tree outside my window and I knew that all was at it was meant to be. When is it not?
Mushrooms and moss feasting on sap
Sunlight silently scorching the mushrooms, dehydrating the moss
Mushrooms becoming part of the Earth's mulch and carpet of leaves
Moss hanging on till it was brittle and blown away by stronger winds
Earth being eaten by the Maple
Maple giving birth to tender new shoots
That would drink sunlight to create
Brilliant blood red berries calling
Birds small and agile to her limbs adorned with leaves and berries and blooms bursting white
Birds feasting on berries and seeds
Seeds carried far and wide to land again in potent soil further afield
That supports life and trees that support mushrooms and moss
When rain is followed by sun and sun is followed rain and sun and rain
Dance their dance of love and regeneration
And all things fall into chaos to be reorganized
Moisture and darkness as necessary as heat and light
Life supporting life. Light supporting life.
Oh blessed be the mushrooms about the moss covered tree that shadows the darkness and rains in the late winter that precedes springs novelties.
And when I looked out again in the days that followed the days of light, I saw a shift had occured in so short a time; it caused me a moment of breathlessness. The steps to the light and open air had dried up and seemingly disappeared. And even the moss looked haggard and dry. Then I took note of new leaves beginning to uncurl in the maple tree outside my window and I knew that all was at it was meant to be. When is it not?
Mushrooms and moss feasting on sap
Sunlight silently scorching the mushrooms, dehydrating the moss
Mushrooms becoming part of the Earth's mulch and carpet of leaves
Moss hanging on till it was brittle and blown away by stronger winds
Earth being eaten by the Maple
Maple giving birth to tender new shoots
That would drink sunlight to create
Brilliant blood red berries calling
Birds small and agile to her limbs adorned with leaves and berries and blooms bursting white
Birds feasting on berries and seeds
Seeds carried far and wide to land again in potent soil further afield
That supports life and trees that support mushrooms and moss
When rain is followed by sun and sun is followed rain and sun and rain
Dance their dance of love and regeneration
And all things fall into chaos to be reorganized
Moisture and darkness as necessary as heat and light
Life supporting life. Light supporting life.
Oh blessed be the mushrooms about the moss covered tree that shadows the darkness and rains in the late winter that precedes springs novelties.
it all comes so naturally
with patience and practice
with passion and pathos
what would i be without my thoughts?
a rowan tree?
an unborn crocus?
a new leaf bud?
an apple blossom
not quite bursting
like popcorn under fire
with heat comes movement
with mist comes growth
with breath comes living
another day as though i was unveiled
at sunrise
am i making any sense and do i care?
those that comprehend know the answer
with passion and pathos
what would i be without my thoughts?
a rowan tree?
an unborn crocus?
a new leaf bud?
an apple blossom
not quite bursting
like popcorn under fire
with heat comes movement
with mist comes growth
with breath comes living
another day as though i was unveiled
at sunrise
am i making any sense and do i care?
those that comprehend know the answer
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Haikus for Solstice
Solstice sun unseen
grey clouds gently raining
Spring's apple blossoms
***
Winter's strength comes from
a deliberate stillness.
Choose to rest awhile
***
The puddles of rain
offer portals to heaven
if we just look in
***
As trees turn inward
Fear not that the sap runs slow
For buds lie just below
***
This eve again I pray
for peace and understanding
as I do each day
***
What would I have me
do, say, be, feel, and stand for
in the name of love?
grey clouds gently raining
Spring's apple blossoms
***
Winter's strength comes from
a deliberate stillness.
Choose to rest awhile
***
The puddles of rain
offer portals to heaven
if we just look in
***
As trees turn inward
Fear not that the sap runs slow
For buds lie just below
***
This eve again I pray
for peace and understanding
as I do each day
***
What would I have me
do, say, be, feel, and stand for
in the name of love?
Thursday, December 22, 2005
When Fall was Fresh
10.24.05
the day is resplendant and Fall is as fair as ever
moisture in it's fog form is shrouding trees
tall and saturated with rain
trees in pre-noon cloaks of sunlight like a backlight
illuminated in a fine mist and waterdrops shine like
diamonds among the needles of the evergreens
and moss so verdant and velvet beckons caress, caress, caress
an unseen wind is toppling the last leaves from the
maples and in their spiral to earth they cause a
cascade of rain that has been trapped
among the pine trees feathers
earth is covered with a loosely woven carpet of gold,
red and honey brown leaves being slowly
recycled for spring’s children
re-create in your mind's eyes
3..2..1...snap
why do i share this with you?
the day is resplendant and Fall is as fair as ever
moisture in it's fog form is shrouding trees
tall and saturated with rain
trees in pre-noon cloaks of sunlight like a backlight
illuminated in a fine mist and waterdrops shine like
diamonds among the needles of the evergreens
and moss so verdant and velvet beckons caress, caress, caress
an unseen wind is toppling the last leaves from the
maples and in their spiral to earth they cause a
cascade of rain that has been trapped
among the pine trees feathers
earth is covered with a loosely woven carpet of gold,
red and honey brown leaves being slowly
recycled for spring’s children
re-create in your mind's eyes
3..2..1...snap
why do i share this with you?
Meet me first out here in the field
I had a moment today to pause and realize just how expansive my network of correspondants is thanks the exchange of words that email and telephone make possible. And the friends that began as people without voices or faces or bodies and three-dimensionality.
I am one who trusts the sources within me to see the friend before I see the friend. But not all trust their intuitive soul. Some are dependent upon a concrete experience to prove that what they felt innately was real.
Regarding knowing and trusting what begins in the etheric realm most certainly gets confirmed when you ultimately meet in the physical realm. I respond to the energy of the one who writes or the one I choose to write and from this alone have many friends everywhere, a colorful web and network of personalities with the common denominator being our belief in the interconnectedness of us all.
Some life long (so far) and some recent and some I have yet to know exist. You are either relating to yourself, nature, another person or being. Face it, if it was you and nature it would be you striving to live amid a changing environment.
I'm an atom, you are an atom. Will we bond or will we repel. Will we be artificially bonded or will we naturally be attracted. Will we make H2O so to speak. Or will we co-exist as elements that make up the physical world but never merge our selves.
Ultimately we are still part of the grand scheme, the web, the ocean that has many names and surrounds all the landmasses. And beneath the ocean are not the landmasses all one and the same eminating from a core of energy deep in this place we call our planet Earth?
Sometimes I have moments of connection that cause me to de-materialize in the spot. I am and feel myself one with the tree before me or the room I sit in. It's eerie to feel one's self dissolve the first time and hear all the voices and feel all the feelings and feel like a substance that is being exposed to shock waves and have the allness of life ripple through my solid form becoming liquid as I grow granular before becoming invisible to myself...and with a fresh breath I am revitalized to a form with boundaries again as before.
Sometimes I wonder if I have the ability to just evaporate and if I did--would I exercise this option?
Not today.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Apophyllite
Oh to be the qualities of this crystal that keeps me company all day
Transmitting and Receiving and Regenerating
Silver the frequency
Milky white and clear the appearance
And affecting a field outside itself that means simply being near
I might add to your state of clarity and bliss.
Were I crystal this I would be today.
Transmitting and Receiving and Regenerating
Silver the frequency
Milky white and clear the appearance
And affecting a field outside itself that means simply being near
I might add to your state of clarity and bliss.
Were I crystal this I would be today.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Meditation for the Day
I know of a wise one called Morris who said once in a series of lectures he gave to a small crowd of seekers that he had essentially STOPPED reading books 15 years back and was very selective about what he did read. And he preferred to acquire knowledge from living and pull it from the air, for it is all in the air he said and always has been since the inceptions of the universal concepts. Always available if you believe it so. Imagine that.So upon the day I was birthed (a day I have revisited in dreams, daydreams and altered states) I recall looking out into the world and wondering a few things like where is my mother and why is she not holding me?
And once of school age I vowed to please my teachers as best I could and from this contract with me came much struggle in the realm of math, physics, biology and latin. English grammar I mastered. I ate also French lessons for decades. World Religions and Philosophy I argued over but understood the agreed upon precepts and practices that defined one as Catholic, Buddhist, Agnostic or Atheist.
And I was a success on paper.
And now when I hear a fearless leader speak of the need for war anywhere, I remind or delude myself with the comment that he is saying that for the sake of his own conscience, not mine.
I have days I hardly move
and on these days I feel the wisdom of the ages
attaching itself to me like the velvet moss on the wise old evergreens.
And to be cloaked in such grace and growth organic is as good as it gets.
So I move seasonally and rest seasonally.
And the knowledge I need ultimately finds me.
I choose not to burden myself with more than I need in any given moment
leaving ample room for beauty to be simply appreciated.
Transformation Tarot Card
Dropping Knowledge
Naropa's haunting vision
Truth is your own experience, your own vision. Even if I have seen the truth and I tell you, the moment I tell you it will become a lie for you, not a truth. For me it was truth, for me it came through the eyes. It was my vision. For you, it will not be your vision, it will be a borrowed thing. It will be a belief, it will be knowledge--not knowing. And if you start believing in it, you will be believing a lie.
Now remember it. Even a truth becomes a lie if it enters your being through the wrong door. The truth has to enter through the front door, through the eyes. Truth is a vision. One has to see it.
Naropa was a great scholar, a great pundit, with ten thousand disciples of his own. One day he was sitting surrounded by thousands of scriptures--ancient, very ancient, rare. Suddenly he fell asleep, must have been tired, and he saw a vision.
He saw a very, very old, ugly, horrible woman--a hag. Her ugliness was such that he started trembling in his sleep. It was so nauseating he wanted to escape--but where to escape, where to go?
He was caught, as if hypnotized by the old hag. Her eyes were like magnets.
"What are you studying?" asked the old woman.
He said, "Philosophy, religion, epistemology, language, grammar, logic."
The old woman asked again, "Do you understand them?"
Naropa said, "Of course... Yes, I understand them."
The woman asked again, "Do you understand the word, or the sense?"
Thousands of questions had been asked to Naropa in his life--thousands of students always asking, inquiring--but nobody had asked this: whether he understands the word, or the sense. And the woman's eyes were so penetrating--those eyes were going to the very depth of his being, and it was impossible to lie. To anybody else he would have said, "Of course I under-stand the sense," but to this woman, this horrible-looking woman, he had to say the truth. He said, "I understand the words."
The woman was very happy. She started dancing and laughing, and her ugliness was transformed; a subtle beauty started coming out of her being. Thinking, "I have made her so happy. Why not make her a little more happy?" Naropa then said, "And yes, I understand the sense also."
The woman stopped laughing, stopped dancing. She started crying and weeping and all her ugliness was back--a thousandfold more. Naropa said, "Why are you weeping and crying? And why were you laughing and dancing before?"
The woman said, "I was happy because a great scholar like you didn't lie. But now I am crying and weeping because you have lied to me. I know--and you know--that you don't understand the sense."
The vision disappeared and Naropa was transformed. He escaped from the university, he never again touched a scripture in his life. He became completely ignorant, he understood--the woman was nobody outside, it was just a projection. It was Naropa's own being, through knowledge, that had became ugly. Just this much understanding, that "I don't understand the sense," and the ugliness was transformed immediately into a beautiful phenomenon.
This vision of Naropa is very significant. Unless you feel that knowledge is useless you will never be in search of wisdom. You will carry the false coin thinking that this is the real treasure. You have to become aware that knowledge is a false coin--it is not knowing, it is not understanding. At the most it is intellectual--the word has been understood but the sense lost.
A day of few words?
Notable:
I have been particularly unwilling and unmotivated to make calls today
And yet it has felt fine to be so silent and focused on sifting through the sands
For those I might call tomorrow. For that is what I am here to do. Call to you to come.
And somedays this calling does not feel like my calling so to be validated and select randomly,
a card from the transfomation deck that honors and therefore celebrates silence feels like a breath of fresh air.
There are days when my energies are like banshees that demand to be heard.
There are days when my softest whisper seems acknowledged by so many I thought were not even listening. And there are nights my dry tears go unheard.
Now is a very precious time indeed.
As winter energies culminate and time turns its efforts toward seducing light back into the days
minutes more each day available to watch
the beloveds in your life as they smile, weep or coax one more bedtime story out of you.
Yesterday's portraits are a result of each of us watching the other in silence
ducking heads to look down and apply charcoal to a blank page
and capture an essence of each other that is unrivalled
by anything we might say of one another.
She poured me into the cream page and colored me in.
Gave me fair and rose colored cheeks and blue eyes and always curly hair,
dressed me in a skirt and applied to my head a red beret with a little tail up top.
What did she take from me last night and what did she add that today leaves me most contented to be silent and observe the trees just beyond my windows yet another day?
I am surrounded by a sense of wholeness. That will evaporate or crack apart if I talk too much.
I have been particularly unwilling and unmotivated to make calls today
And yet it has felt fine to be so silent and focused on sifting through the sands
For those I might call tomorrow. For that is what I am here to do. Call to you to come.
And somedays this calling does not feel like my calling so to be validated and select randomly,
a card from the transfomation deck that honors and therefore celebrates silence feels like a breath of fresh air.
There are days when my energies are like banshees that demand to be heard.
There are days when my softest whisper seems acknowledged by so many I thought were not even listening. And there are nights my dry tears go unheard.
Now is a very precious time indeed.
As winter energies culminate and time turns its efforts toward seducing light back into the days
minutes more each day available to watch
the beloveds in your life as they smile, weep or coax one more bedtime story out of you.
Yesterday's portraits are a result of each of us watching the other in silence
ducking heads to look down and apply charcoal to a blank page
and capture an essence of each other that is unrivalled
by anything we might say of one another.
She poured me into the cream page and colored me in.
Gave me fair and rose colored cheeks and blue eyes and always curly hair,
dressed me in a skirt and applied to my head a red beret with a little tail up top.
What did she take from me last night and what did she add that today leaves me most contented to be silent and observe the trees just beyond my windows yet another day?
I am surrounded by a sense of wholeness. That will evaporate or crack apart if I talk too much.
17. Silence
The energy of the whole has taken possession of you. You are possessed, you are no more, the whole is.
This moment, as the silence penetrates in you, you can understand the significance of it, because it is the same silence that Gautam Buddha experienced. It is the same silence that Chuang Tzu or Bodhidharma or Nansen.... The taste of the silence is the same.
Time changes, the world goes on changing, but the experience of silence, the joy of it, remains the same. That is the only thing you can rely upon, the only thing that never dies. It is the only thing that you can call your very being.
Osho Zen: The Diamond Thunderbolt Chapter 1
Commentary:
The silent, mirrorlike receptiveness of a star-filled night with a full moon is reflected in the misty lake below. The face in the sky is deep in meditation, a goddess of the night who brings depth, peace and understanding.
Now is a very precious time. It will be easy for you to rest inside, to plumb the depths of your own inner silence to the point where it meets the silence of the universe. There's nothing to do, nowhere to go, and the quality of your inner silence permeates everything you do.
It might make some people uncomfortable, accustomed as they are to all the noise and activity of the world. Never mind; seek out those who can resonate with your silence - or enjoy your aloneness. Now is the time to come home to yourself. The understanding and insights that come to you in these moments will be manifested later on, in a more outgoing phase of your life.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Hopi Wisdom for the New Year
From the place of universal wisdom I ask for the gift of translation,
the gift of many tongues,
the ability with well intentioned thought or focused gaze when I am standing before you
to implore you
receive this wisdom,
this letter, this willing, this wanting, and
complete the work required to make this vision as real as you can make it so.
Living by the chalice. Setting aside the blade.
Returning to the moments of conceptions
Remembering the reason for coming into being
Reviving the words of those that came before me
Revering the collective wisdom come from a sacred pool
The next time it rains run outside and catch the raindrops on your youthful tongue
And watch how your dreams invite understanding
Deborah
We have been telling the people that this is the Eleventh Hour
Now you must go back and tell the people that this is the Hour
And there are things to be considered.
Where are you living?
What are you doing?
What are your relationships?
Are you in the right relation?
Where is your water?
Know your garden.
It is time to speak your truth
Create your community.
Be good to each other.
And do not look outside yourself for the leader.
This could be a good time!
There is a river flowing now very fast
It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid.
They will try to hold onto the shore.
They will feel they are being torn apart and they will suffer greatly.
Know the river has its destination.
The elders say we must let go of the shore, and push off and into the
river,
Keep our eyes open, and our head above the water.
See who is in there with you and Celebrate.
At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally.
Least of all ourselves.
For the moment that we do,
Our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt.
The time of the lone wolf is over, Gather yourselves!
Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary.
All that you do now must be done in a sacred manner
And in celebration.
"We are the ones we've been waiting for..."
The Elders, Hopi Nation, Oraibi, Arizona
the gift of many tongues,
the ability with well intentioned thought or focused gaze when I am standing before you
to implore you
receive this wisdom,
this letter, this willing, this wanting, and
complete the work required to make this vision as real as you can make it so.
Living by the chalice. Setting aside the blade.
Returning to the moments of conceptions
Remembering the reason for coming into being
Reviving the words of those that came before me
Revering the collective wisdom come from a sacred pool
The next time it rains run outside and catch the raindrops on your youthful tongue
And watch how your dreams invite understanding
Deborah
*******************
We Are the Ones We've Been Waiting For...We have been telling the people that this is the Eleventh Hour
Now you must go back and tell the people that this is the Hour
And there are things to be considered.
Where are you living?
What are you doing?
What are your relationships?
Are you in the right relation?
Where is your water?
Know your garden.
It is time to speak your truth
Create your community.
Be good to each other.
And do not look outside yourself for the leader.
This could be a good time!
There is a river flowing now very fast
It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid.
They will try to hold onto the shore.
They will feel they are being torn apart and they will suffer greatly.
Know the river has its destination.
The elders say we must let go of the shore, and push off and into the
river,
Keep our eyes open, and our head above the water.
See who is in there with you and Celebrate.
At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally.
Least of all ourselves.
For the moment that we do,
Our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt.
The time of the lone wolf is over, Gather yourselves!
Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary.
All that you do now must be done in a sacred manner
And in celebration.
"We are the ones we've been waiting for..."
The Elders, Hopi Nation, Oraibi, Arizona
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
that which keeps me company always
i no longer resent
nor do i blame
nor will i complain of
nor will i withdraw to sulk
nor will i confront
those that choose to leave
and say goodbye
and just evaporate into thin air
from my "life" as i know it
for once i saw
my youngest self
utterly confused
being left behind
after being born
and with some aid
recently, revised this story
that is mine mostly
so these days when i am faced with being wholly alone
i roll up my sleeves
draw another tree of my own creation
drink tea and wine till midnight
toasting my own existence
dance freely and fiercely
my own dance of the seven veils
shedding all pretense
loving again first my own single self
and bless the air for supporting my breathing another day
i'll always seek love, community, family and beloved partnership
and sometimes even solitude
but never for long the solitude
for i am child that was removed from my mother's womb
swaddled in flannel
hidden in the back of the nursery
given away to others who promised to love me
who left
and that first broken bond, the absence of which has made all the difference in who i became (and remain)
cannot seem to be restored completely
i am content with this
but my moods wax and wane like the moon
and there will be days i am hollow
and my thirst unquenchable
and my hunger insatiable
on these days i now hibernate
and days i am sated do i come out to play
for no one is cause for my unhappiness
only i can do that to me
and i am clear that i am here this time
to love, to love, to love
so i build a bridge again and again to the other side
where my creator-mother stands looking longingly at the woman
she wishes were infant
that she never held
fresh from her belly
when i'd have fit into her arms
like a doll
nor do i blame
nor will i complain of
nor will i withdraw to sulk
nor will i confront
those that choose to leave
and say goodbye
and just evaporate into thin air
from my "life" as i know it
for once i saw
my youngest self
utterly confused
being left behind
after being born
and with some aid
recently, revised this story
that is mine mostly
so these days when i am faced with being wholly alone
i roll up my sleeves
draw another tree of my own creation
drink tea and wine till midnight
toasting my own existence
dance freely and fiercely
my own dance of the seven veils
shedding all pretense
loving again first my own single self
and bless the air for supporting my breathing another day
i'll always seek love, community, family and beloved partnership
and sometimes even solitude
but never for long the solitude
for i am child that was removed from my mother's womb
swaddled in flannel
hidden in the back of the nursery
given away to others who promised to love me
who left
and that first broken bond, the absence of which has made all the difference in who i became (and remain)
cannot seem to be restored completely
i am content with this
but my moods wax and wane like the moon
and there will be days i am hollow
and my thirst unquenchable
and my hunger insatiable
on these days i now hibernate
and days i am sated do i come out to play
for no one is cause for my unhappiness
only i can do that to me
and i am clear that i am here this time
to love, to love, to love
so i build a bridge again and again to the other side
where my creator-mother stands looking longingly at the woman
she wishes were infant
that she never held
fresh from her belly
when i'd have fit into her arms
like a doll
Can anyone suggest why
I occasionally crave yellow mustard?
Like the meaning of life there is never a definitive answer and still from time to time there is the need for plain yellow mustard, classic yellow mustard, not dijon, not spicy, not honeyed, simply
tangy, bitter, bright and very yellow mustard
Ah, one can make a prose poem out of just about any subject when they are in a ludicrous space.
A toast to clear moments of your purpose while on Earth and those times when nothing but a dollop of yellow mustard on a warm grilled cheese sandwich will do.
This odd moment of unique culinary bliss brought to you by me.
P.S. Suggestions welcome. Truly.
Like the meaning of life there is never a definitive answer and still from time to time there is the need for plain yellow mustard, classic yellow mustard, not dijon, not spicy, not honeyed, simply
tangy, bitter, bright and very yellow mustard
Ah, one can make a prose poem out of just about any subject when they are in a ludicrous space.
A toast to clear moments of your purpose while on Earth and those times when nothing but a dollop of yellow mustard on a warm grilled cheese sandwich will do.
This odd moment of unique culinary bliss brought to you by me.
P.S. Suggestions welcome. Truly.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
thinking in haiku
The end of day comes
when the light fades so quickly
Turned my back again!
Tomorrow I vow
to keep watch vigilantly
for the last sundrop.
I'll race then outside
with a cup, palms in prayer
catch it and drink deep.
The Moon grows fuller
in two days time it will be
dripping sleeplessness.
And rest assuredly
I'll get no sleep that long light
in homage a la lune!
when the light fades so quickly
Turned my back again!
Tomorrow I vow
to keep watch vigilantly
for the last sundrop.
I'll race then outside
with a cup, palms in prayer
catch it and drink deep.
The Moon grows fuller
in two days time it will be
dripping sleeplessness.
And rest assuredly
I'll get no sleep that long light
in homage a la lune!
Insight for a new friend seeking same
The newborn spirit has been called home
She no longer haunts the halls seeking the mother she was torn from
We are entwined she and I for the first time in my 40 years of being alive.
What is next for me that I now have a peace and strength and self-love I knew not before
I am love, balanced and open to all of life’s possibilities
I will not look outside myself
…for there is no need and what lies outside was never what I was seeking
10.21.2004
This I Believe (still)
"I am so sorry that when I am gone, I will not be leaving the world a better place."
With this sentiment did Maya Angelou began her post event speech. She had read excerpts and poems to a full auditorium at the Paramount Theater in
She was so beautiful and so strong and so graceful.
For all the times I have thought, " I want to make a great contribution while I live," I also figured I needed to be well-known to do a better job at it. But that night my expectations of myself were forever altered by that utterance that began her more private monlogue to a smaller group of 150 on stage after the grander performance. She spoke for 30 minutes; I cannot remember the specifics of what she said beyond the initial opening statement.
I will never forget that evening, that moment. She spoke individually, quietly, tenderly and privately ONLY to children as she signed autographs for them.
For I believe deeply, personally and most intimately that I need never be known. That I simply I will contribute something each day, all my days, all my life and through every act of every kind. And as I quietly do my best daily in each moment available; this will be good.
Authored sometime before. True everyday.
A memory while sipping tea at three
As a little girl I spent a great deal of weekends at my great grandmother's house and if anyone has had an external influence on my willingness to take risks and commitment to living boldly. it was and is she still. My adoptive mother told me when I was old enough to understand that it was her little cottage by the sea that I was taken to after I was officially adopted by "mom and dad" and they left the hospital with me. She was the first to hold me after the woman who would be the only mother I knew till my 34th year. Florence Jackson was a bold and vivacious woman who enjoyed driving her car till the age of 88, who had a special account for the trips she took to Lake Tahoe (where she never lost...amazing as that may seem), who taught me pinochle and rummy and black jack and how to sing the songs of the Andrew Sisters and Hank Williams. She made the lightest and fluffiest pancakes I have still ever tasted and she tried to get me to eat prunes and bananas with breakfast at the tender age of six and beyond. We watched the Lawrence Welk show together and the MacNeil Lehrer Report and the nightly Wall Street report and CBS for national news. She served fried chicken and perfectly lumpy mashed potatoes with gravy made from the leftover drippings after the chicken was fried shallow in a cast iron skillet. She let me wear my grandfather's dark blue golf sweater with patches on the elbows to the little beach framed with climbing rocks, literally a strong stone's throw across the yard and a hop and a skip and a jump across the road at the intersection of Pico and Sunset.
There at that little beach I would crouch close to the rocks, close to the rocks being diligently worn down to sand by the high tides of the night. And I would seek till I found a babyjar's volume of the finest and tiniest of shells that only the smallest sea creature could live in...for a little while. Back when I was young and my achilles tendon was long and lean enough that I could squat like a yogi in the sand and sift for the little pearls of petite shells.
The last time I visited that beach it was so much the same and so different. And I caught a glimpse of a little girl in a dark blue sweater with willowy legs standing tall and statuesque on a long and broad rock with her arms stretched wide in an embrace with the wind. For on that day, unbeknownst to me, my grandmother followed behind me, stopped at the road and captured on a polaroid me, greeting my beloved ocean in all it's fullness before I turned back to forage in the sands at the base of the rocks.
Oh and the tide pools of that beach...well that is another story for another day.
YOU are ALWAYS the POSSIBILITY of being
Powerful…
Loving…
Tender…
Creative…
Passionate…
Open…
Trusting…
Courageous…
Peaceful…
Bliss-filled…
Prosperous…
Divine…
Present…
God-Consciousness
And so it is.
LoveDeborah
LoveDeborah
I accept as my mission
To find others who hold it in their way of being that every day is for being in compassionate relationships, for being in communication and that the simple act of communicating is a gift like no other is well...oh wait I feel a moment of pure snow white bliss coming on...a virtual toast to this sweet and ever expanding community of lovers.
The Light at Noon
it passed through the trees like a laser
then dove into the earth
as if diving into a dark pool
leaving a shadow on the ground
at the feet of the trees
come spring the crocus will bloom
and release its scent
and the heavens
will breathe in
eat the honey sweet scent
and cry tears that nourish
the beds of earth
pungent and potent
impatient to color the world
as a young child does
always at some point outside the lines
then dove into the earth
as if diving into a dark pool
leaving a shadow on the ground
at the feet of the trees
come spring the crocus will bloom
and release its scent
and the heavens
will breathe in
eat the honey sweet scent
and cry tears that nourish
the beds of earth
pungent and potent
impatient to color the world
as a young child does
always at some point outside the lines
Dear Reader
I declare myself already happy as I am and came across
an article with an excerpt from a book by Anthony De
mello on Awareness that might strike a chord with YOU.
De mello by the way was a Christian priest who echoes what
is very much the foundation of Buddhist principles on
why we suffer...but then every belief system offers a
view of why we suffer. So despite knowing I am bound to
suffer, I CHOOSE happiness as a state of being.
"I was saying that we don't want to be happy.
We want other things. Or let's put it more accurately:
We don't want to be unconditionally happy. I'm ready
to be happy provided I have this and that and the
other thing. But this is really to say to our friend
or to our God or to anyone, "You are my happiness. If
I don't get you, I refuse to be happy." It's so
important to understand that. We cannot imagine being
happy without those conditions. That's pretty
accurate. We cannot conceive of being happy without
them. We've been taught to place our happiness in
them. "
"So that's the first thing we need to do if we
want to come awake, which is the same thing as saying:
if we want love, if we want freedom, if we want joy
and peace and spirituality. In that sense,
spirituality is the most practical thing in the whole
wide world. I challenge anyone to think of anything
more practical than spirituality as I have defined it
– not piety, not devotion, not religion, not worship,
but spirituality – waking up, waking up! Look at the
heartache everywhere, look at the loneliness, look at
the fear, the confusion, the conflict in the hearts of
people, inner conflict, outer conflict. Suppose
somebody gave you a way of getting rid of all that?
Suppose somebody gave you a way to stop that
tremendous drainage of energy, of health, of emotion
that comes from these conflicts and confusion. Would
you want that? Suppose somebody showed us a way
whereby we would truly love one another, and be at
peace, be at love. Can you think of anything more
practical that that? But, instead, you have people
thinking that big business is more practical, that
politics is more practical, that science is more
practical. What's the earthly use of putting a man on
the moon when we cannot live on the earth?"
--Anthony de mello from Awareness
The entire article is in fact a commentary by a person who
works at Microsoft who offered the letter to the
Editor of the Tower of Babel: an online journal that
is AMAZING...
http://towerofbabel.com/sections/op-ed/diana/
A good editorial letter in totality actually.
Be Well This Glorious Day We Have Been Gifted
Monday, December 12, 2005
the contract
I vow to be optimistic this evening
and tomorrow
and the day after
and nexterday
For if nature agrees to winter, spring, summer and fall
And trees after dormancy come to life again
Then who am I to give up in the season before me?
I am rooted to the earth, reaching toward the heavens and surely poised to support new limbs and leaves and buds once the winter's cold has crystallized into wisdom that runs slow and steady through me till light again outshines the dark hours
Breathing, I remind myself this quiet and reflective time like all other experience is intended by a universal intelligence I can never see. And faith like a good friend whispers in my ear, sweet dreams and trust that all will come to pass in due time.
This is perfection. Imperfect as it may feel. I would have it no other way.
and tomorrow
and the day after
and nexterday
For if nature agrees to winter, spring, summer and fall
And trees after dormancy come to life again
Then who am I to give up in the season before me?
I am rooted to the earth, reaching toward the heavens and surely poised to support new limbs and leaves and buds once the winter's cold has crystallized into wisdom that runs slow and steady through me till light again outshines the dark hours
Breathing, I remind myself this quiet and reflective time like all other experience is intended by a universal intelligence I can never see. And faith like a good friend whispers in my ear, sweet dreams and trust that all will come to pass in due time.
This is perfection. Imperfect as it may feel. I would have it no other way.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Home is where?
It's where my heart is this very moment
and where it also wants to be
and where it was an hour ago
and in that dream that woke me at 4am
It's found in the eyes of a little girl of my co-creation
and that smile of yours
I've yet to see
It's in that book I am currently reading
and warm buttered toast and tea with cream
and the journey of a life time that requires I go nowhere
So long as I agree to forget
So I can remember
Yes, that is home
in a nutshell
and where it also wants to be
and where it was an hour ago
and in that dream that woke me at 4am
It's found in the eyes of a little girl of my co-creation
and that smile of yours
I've yet to see
It's in that book I am currently reading
and warm buttered toast and tea with cream
and the journey of a life time that requires I go nowhere
So long as I agree to forget
So I can remember
Yes, that is home
in a nutshell
Friday, December 09, 2005
Today's questions
Am I designed to live alone?
Are any of us meant to lack a confidante of the heart?
Is a life without clear purpose such a terrible thing on a day declared a day for doing nothing if one is being Compassionate Love everyday?
Once asked and released the energy of the question is again free to return to being what it seeks to be. Bliss.
Answers may follow if determined necessary.
Are any of us meant to lack a confidante of the heart?
Is a life without clear purpose such a terrible thing on a day declared a day for doing nothing if one is being Compassionate Love everyday?
Once asked and released the energy of the question is again free to return to being what it seeks to be. Bliss.
Answers may follow if determined necessary.
Last Season's Harvest
11.11.2004
Rain falling lightly
I stand beneath an arbor of evergreens
I breathe in the scent of wet winter earth
With ecstatic fingertips I caress the velvet green moss that drapes the slender young firs standing like silent sentinels
Maple leaves gold and brown
Fall like ticker tape to the fertile ground with each blessed breath from above
What flavor of love are you in the body you inhabit? I ask
I am the flavor of delicious for every tongue that touches me
I am the flavor of love
December haikus
Passing the Knarled One
I see the Season to come,
So Many green apples!
Someone has planted
Broomsticks on my path to work
Winter's trees, so fair
My soul so Exposed
Like a Tree without Leaves
So very busy Underground
Winter instructs Me
Sit still, Be quiet, Go Nowhere
Let the World Seek You
Calm dear child of God
Sweet is the Silence you keep
Your Place of Power
Spring trees counsel Me
As sap runs through my hollows
What Next will be Clear
Dormant buds whisper
When we break the soil apart
Celebrate Life Now!
I.
The many fingers
Of the Evergreens beckon
Let us caress you
II.
Wind, brave Wind tell me
Why do you dance with the trees
So passionately?
III.
I see not your roots
I see all your tendrils fair
Bless the stock you are
12.14.2004
After darkness lifts
Early morning light illumes
Another golden day
12.15.04
It was Winter then
and Winter it is now
what has changed? Much.
12.9.05
The Impermanence of All Things
i watched them for days
five days
a dozen monks
in shifts of four, five, six
working from different corners, sides, angles
there were so many layers hidden by layers upon layers
the moment it was complete
i was standing there
i'd seen them put the finishing touches on the lotus leaves
and ice the cake with the blue frosting along the very edge with scallop motions
i thought to myself
this is the most beautiful thing i have ever seen
the elder sanctified the newborn
then with silence
reached and scratched the freshly finished canvas
silently
violently
he swept up the rainbow
into a mound of grey
it was again but sand
the sand of time
artistic and colorful and desecrated
cut like a pie
mashed like potatoes
divided into vials like blood samples
distributed to those that wanted a piece of the wall
before the remains were
tossed
with reverance
into the lake at the bottom of the hill
i stayed in shock for the evening
then got back to living
ate dinner
read stories to my daughter
made love to my partner
and cried for more life
this vision, this experience
years later
still as vibrant as the colored sand
of the mandala
and the gold and red robes
of the monks that birthed it
five days
a dozen monks
in shifts of four, five, six
working from different corners, sides, angles
there were so many layers hidden by layers upon layers
the moment it was complete
i was standing there
i'd seen them put the finishing touches on the lotus leaves
and ice the cake with the blue frosting along the very edge with scallop motions
i thought to myself
this is the most beautiful thing i have ever seen
the elder sanctified the newborn
then with silence
reached and scratched the freshly finished canvas
silently
violently
he swept up the rainbow
into a mound of grey
it was again but sand
the sand of time
artistic and colorful and desecrated
cut like a pie
mashed like potatoes
divided into vials like blood samples
distributed to those that wanted a piece of the wall
before the remains were
tossed
with reverance
into the lake at the bottom of the hill
i stayed in shock for the evening
then got back to living
ate dinner
read stories to my daughter
made love to my partner
and cried for more life
this vision, this experience
years later
still as vibrant as the colored sand
of the mandala
and the gold and red robes
of the monks that birthed it
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Since we were all children at one time
"Please don't step on the children," I heard the voice of Bec say from the lower level of stairs in the entry way of my daughter's academy. I laughed gently aloud at the idea. Bec was making her declaration to Elodie with a bit of dry humor. The pre-schoolers go downstairs (sort of). What does that make K-5? Schoolers? Well it struck me as humorous and visually amusing to imagine a fellow mother dropping off her child at 8 30am as (accidentally) stepping on another one's precious offspring in the process of getting their own brood to class on time. The pre-schoolers (who are then also post-toddlers?) are still pretty close to the ground though and especially on a flight of stairs when you the adult are at the top. It's a matter of perspective.
Francois has the best job of all when the weather is pleasant. He stands at the main door greeting all arriving students and parents who go all the way in to drop their children off. Opening the door and greeting each arrival with Bonjour, Bon Matin, Hallo....He tells me that regardless of his mood when he begins this daily responsibility at 8:15 and completes at 8:45am he always feels happy by the time the last student or parent leaves. How could he not.
For those who don't have the opportunity to go all the way to the classroom five days a week to check their little one in, hang up a coat (not that I think of my daughter like a coat or a library book!) and check to see what the letter of the week is and the related activities, oh and the newest art upon the walls, well, I say make the time and do this every once in a while to remind yourself of the childhood memories you have of kindergarten and beyond. It's as much a practical step for me to stay in sync with my daughter, her moods, her teacher and her school experience as much as it is an opportunity for me to access my own ever-present kindergartner soul. The other day I suggested to Bronte that I stay at school and she go to work for me. I preferred the forthcoming day's activities Patrice was displaying on the tables: puzzles to put together and blocks to build structures and picture books open to vocabulary words demonstrating the use of the letter S.
Bronte gave me a sideways look and a little funny frown and said, no way mom. Yes, she has the best deal going Monday through Friday. Immersed in French and English, one of a dozen "etudiants" gaining a command of her native tongue and a second language, plenty of time to color, paint, build, laugh, share, sing, and lest we forget recess. Patrice grinned at me and I said, "No really, I want to stay here all day with you as my teacher. s'il vous plait."
His smile got a little wider.
My heart beamed a little brighter.
Bronte ran off to play with Piper and Sophia, or was it Lily and Rose.
Two last comments for this ramble:
Please don't step on the children and remember we were all children at one time.
Francois has the best job of all when the weather is pleasant. He stands at the main door greeting all arriving students and parents who go all the way in to drop their children off. Opening the door and greeting each arrival with Bonjour, Bon Matin, Hallo....He tells me that regardless of his mood when he begins this daily responsibility at 8:15 and completes at 8:45am he always feels happy by the time the last student or parent leaves. How could he not.
For those who don't have the opportunity to go all the way to the classroom five days a week to check their little one in, hang up a coat (not that I think of my daughter like a coat or a library book!) and check to see what the letter of the week is and the related activities, oh and the newest art upon the walls, well, I say make the time and do this every once in a while to remind yourself of the childhood memories you have of kindergarten and beyond. It's as much a practical step for me to stay in sync with my daughter, her moods, her teacher and her school experience as much as it is an opportunity for me to access my own ever-present kindergartner soul. The other day I suggested to Bronte that I stay at school and she go to work for me. I preferred the forthcoming day's activities Patrice was displaying on the tables: puzzles to put together and blocks to build structures and picture books open to vocabulary words demonstrating the use of the letter S.
Bronte gave me a sideways look and a little funny frown and said, no way mom. Yes, she has the best deal going Monday through Friday. Immersed in French and English, one of a dozen "etudiants" gaining a command of her native tongue and a second language, plenty of time to color, paint, build, laugh, share, sing, and lest we forget recess. Patrice grinned at me and I said, "No really, I want to stay here all day with you as my teacher. s'il vous plait."
His smile got a little wider.
My heart beamed a little brighter.
Bronte ran off to play with Piper and Sophia, or was it Lily and Rose.
Two last comments for this ramble:
Please don't step on the children and remember we were all children at one time.
Keep reading
Would a loving parent ever give a child a story to read that didn't have a wonderfully happy ending?
No. Never. But they might add, "Whatever you don't stop reading at the scary parts."
Notes from the Universe (www.tut.com)
Friday, December 02, 2005
Truth in Advertising
After another frenetic period of seeking "the one" via the internet options for that next significant other a conclusion has been reached and I know now why I do not post what I am looking for in a partner for all the world to easily read...and will cease to visit craigslist.org for that man seeking a woman who piques my interest. But I may continue to collect character studies for my future novella and short stories...
If they presumed me too good to be true, what would I do? Or say?
And when they offer themselves so openly in cyberspace and I find that at the first meeting they'd love to see the evening play out differently then they promised in their post...(well you get my line of logic I hope).
Back to the drawing board and return to a simpler way of meeting new people.
Go places
Show up
Be available
Talk to the one who smiles at you
Buy one ticket for a concert and go alone
Who knows what might happen?
Maybe I'll start running my grocery cart into the people that intrigue me at the store.
Maybe I'll ask to sit at a stranger's table at the not so busy coffeehouse in the name of leaving the table for two or more for two or more.
Back in college I willingly and selectively sat at the available spaces when the coffeehouse was crowded. And made some great friends in the process, theoretically by accident...
Man's accidents are God's purposes. An aphorism penned by Sophia Hawthorne (wife of Nathaniel Hawthorne) a long time ago.
May god see fit to what accidents and coincidences befall me now that my major study and minor obsession with internet boyfriend options is over.
Thanks to all the focus group participants for showing your true colors. Life is always a grand experience if you are open to it. And chockful of wisdom to be applied to present and future. Again on the condition, you are willing to see it when handed to you on a silver platter.
12.2.05
A Love Letter
Humor (embrace it fully please!)…
Compassion (for all beings)…
Intelligence (learned and intuitive)…
Creative spirit (active and dormant)…
Warmth (never ending)…
Passionate nature (how I respond to this) …
Strength and gentleness (in divine balance)…
Beauty (physical and otherwise)…
Tenderness (that heals my hidden pains)…
Fierce loving (that fills this body with a fire)…
Amazing expressive eyes (those looking-glasses to your exquisite soul)…
I love you
from head to toe
inside and out
day and night
cloudy or bright…
Without condition and certainly without expectation…
I remind myself daily of all this. And daily I tumble into a state of grace and bliss and love at the very thought of you.
Tell me again, who are you the one called by that name of yours?
And who am I to love you in this manner if I cannot also love myself in essence this way also. I am committed to mirroring self-love. So what does it mean that I DEEPLY love you?
And I shall remind you of this ...
10.27.2004
My Life with Trees
great love and great achievements do indeed involve great risk (at least according to the wisdom of the dalai lama...
July 7, 2004
July 7, 2004
Haikus for winter
I.
The Breath of God is
In the
The Pines chant "Shanti"
II.
Manna from Heav'n
They surrender one and all
Rain drops on the roof
III.
i never forget
the face of one i've not met
perfection, flawless
12.12.04
I.
The many fingers
Of the Evergreens beckon
Let us caress you
II.
Wind, brave Wind tell me
Why do you dance with the trees
So passionately?
III.
I see not your roots
I see all your tendrils fair
Bless the stock you are
12.14.2004
After darkness lifts
Early morning light illumes
Another golden day
12.15.04
It's snowing soft flakes
Manna from heaven high
Feeding mother earth
11:30 am
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