Hello my darling. Are you awake?
I am here for you.
I see you.
I hear you.
I love you.
Can I ask you to raise your right hand and press your palm gently into your breast bone? Will you pause and rest here for a moment?
Will you close your eyes with me, choosing to stay here, with your heart, for just a few seconds more than you feel you might want to? Will you slow your breathing, noticing your in-breath, and your out-breath?
These moments are for each one of us. Perhaps we will walk into the love that we are. Perhaps we might even glimpse our connection with peace.
With your hand still resting on your breast bone, I invite you to tell yourself, aloud:
Hello my darling. I am awake.
I am here for you.
I see you.
I hear you.
I love you.
A song to make your heart sing;
“Wake up, wake up”
From Julie and the Phantoms
There once were two realities: a dark reality and a surface reality. They were each a spherical, transparent body, touching each other’s surface, and existed simultaneously.
The dark reality was heavier, dense with deceptive secrets, and so it fell beneath the surface reality, operating there for eons. The thread of its people was manipulation. The dark operatives therein provided much of the “quality” of life for both realities.
The people of the dark reality kept their deceptive secrets well hidden, pushed deep down, far away, and out of sight from the surface people. So well hidden were their secrets, they veiled themselves from their own darkness.
The people of the surface reality moved about in a lighter energy and so were kept buoyed above the dark reality. The thread of its people was hope. People living on the surface reality wanted to trust what they saw — but knew deep within themselves something was awry. For their part, the surface people also lived in pretense, and kept their distrust of life hidden from themselves, and everyone.
Over a great expanse of time, the dark reality became so dense and filled with manipulative deeds, that it could no longer contain itself. It exploded. The energy of the explosion had no choice but to alter the surface reality as well. Everything known on the surface was imploded by what had been kept hidden in the dark. Debris from the explosion produced a chaotic phase; one could not see clearly for all debris in front, in back, above, and below. The people walked for a time in the dusty mix of what was, not realizing that as they walked they kept stirring the dust, creating their own, choking hell.
Living in this desolate loss, the people became exhausted. Their exhaustion led to a surge of stillness. The stillness allowed the dust to settle. The people could see again. It is then that they realized neither the dark reality nor the surface reality existed any longer. Both realities were gone, and with them, pretense, manipulation, and mistrust had also vanished. The only existing reality was Light.
With the Light shining within and through everyone, every being, and in Mother Earth, the people could see they had forsaken their hearts to its mere physical beating. Their duty and joy now was to allow their hearts to fully bloom and guide them into compassionate Unity with one another, and with all that existed.
As such, the people set about tilling the dust of what had been into the crust of Mother Earth: She cleansed, purified, and transmuted what she was lovingly given. The people had closed the door forever on the old, hurtheart story. They began building anew, allowing their LightHeart to guide them into creating a new vision for earth.
The LightHeart continued to bring clarification and new, brilliant understandings. This ever-expanding awareness empowered the people to put forth continued good will —and action— toward every being, into Mother Earth and the Cosmos. The New Earth had been born.
How do I reconcile having so much, so many comforts about me, with the suffering and lack of all those I see who are in need in my world?
You cannot reconcile the inequality of what you know and what you see. Let go of that notion. It serves no one and keeps you in a static place, going nowhere while filled with frustration and often despair.
Your heart, however, is already occupied with reconciliation. Go there. Go to your heart. It is in the very concern for, and desire to make right, the inequalities that proves your heart is already open, giving, and flowing - outpouring its love toward all those that need it.
Send your love, daily, in joy. For what good does it serve anyone in need to meet them with your own despair? Those who need your love, have enough despair of their own. Meet them instead with that which will lift them up. Meet them with all the joy in your heart you can offer. In that, then you offer not only love, but the gift of hope.
You, right now - yes, you who are reading this - you are the very light, and lightness, this worlds needs. You are the heart of goodness. Send the goodness of your heart to every corner of this world, exempting no one or nothing. Herein rests the ultimate reconciliation.
A sudden, significant, and profound loss shifted my life in mid November of 2019. As I have worked to stabilize, there has been no energy nor inclination to devote to posting writings during these past few months. But this morning held an unexpected breakthrough. While in meditation, a powerful affirmation came rushing through me. It literally pulled me from contemplating the Presence, into hearing the Presence. Fourteen words, within one sentence, and I was opened to begin my journey into healing.
I am the Presence in all that is, and I am here within you.
I am Whole because you are here. You are here within me.
I am loved because you are here. You are here within me.
I am at Peace, because you are here. You are here within me.
I am grateful for every experience that has brought me to this place.
Here, to where I am now. Here, immersed in your Presence.
I am grateful. You have always been here. You have always been here within me.
You are my Source, my partner, my strength, my foundation, my truest friend.
You have loved me every single moment of my journey. You have loved me even when I did not know how to love myself.
You have loved me into who I am. You have always had confidence in me; to step up, to keep stepping up — and stepping into being the best person I could be.
It’s just me here now, with you. I am grateful at this time that is just we two. The two of us, as one, together.
I see you in everyone, in everything, and everywhere. You come to me in the faces of my family, my friends, and strangers that I meet. You are in the purr of my cats, Noble and Moose. You are in the excitement of my dog, Max, at the notion of going for a car ride. You are in the verdant, rolling hills surrounding my home town, Sutter Creek. You are in the lowing of the cows that dot those hills.
You are in the shared laughter with loved ones. You are in their warm embrace. You are in my favorite chocolate chip cookie, and in my cup of cappuccino. You are in the smile of a stranger. You are in the words that come through me. You are in the art that fills my canvas. You are in my body as it responds to the task of cleaning my home, watering the plants, and attending to every single need of living this life.
You fill the space in my home. I breathe in your sacred air. I walk upon your holy ground. I soak in nature’s resplendence. Your Light and Love move with me, wherever I go.
I thank you for the care and kindness offered to me by so many. I know who each one of them is; like everything else, they are you. You are the field of potential, of all possibility. Guide me in choosing with wisdom. Guide my heart to stay ever open.
As mature women, writing about mature women, are we cognizant of what we are “feeding” each other in our messaging? The impact of what we explicitly write is important, of course, but inference and implicit messages can be both damaging and damning.
Not long ago I read a poem that was circulated and sent to me by email. The sender of the poem, and perhaps the author of the poem, meant well. But meaning well does not always lend itself to critical thinking, the very process that presupposes mindful, rigorous analysis, before we adopt our perspectives or beliefs.
This poem waxed maudlin on the beauty of growing old as a woman. It inferred that I was somehow to take heart that as an aging woman the lines on my face were the very “history of my family.” The verses build on this underlying message: As an aging woman I am to revere these “wisdom lines.” It declares my loved ones “will return” to find “their history in my face.”
I say to that, bulls**t! This may be so for the author of this particular poem, but lacking is any clarity that this is their point of view only. Therein lies the potential damage and the unwitting damning of a woman’s right to choose: When a woman is given only one perspective to choose from, any other perspective becomes opposing, and thus, either implicitly or outright wrong. Do you recall the famous words, "You're either with us, or you're against us"?
Like that famous line, for this poem to give message that every aging woman should love the lines on her face is both audacious and divisive. My facial lines are my facial lines. They are mine to think about or to do with in any way, shape, or form that I please. Lines on the face are just that: lines on the face. Please, do not infer, suggest, or implicitly tell me I am to adopt your point of view and revere these facial lines as my family’s history.
And speaking to that particular point, I am not responsible to hold my family’s history anywhere on or in my body. Nor do I want to. Quite honestly, I would be stupefied if I had an adult child come to me, look me in the eye, and declare, “Mom, I see my family history in every line on your face.” I really would need to compose myself before I responded thoughtfully to what I would call a thoughtless remark. For myself, I cannot think of a single time, when having looked at my own mother, that I ever thought her face represented our family story.
My mother’s face, my mother’s body, was a creation of her own perspective. Who she was and how she appeared was the result of the story she personally wove about herself. As her daughter I will not take responsibility for the choices she made. Nor would it have been my mother’s place to hold me accountable for any line on her own face. The idea is ridiculous to me, romantic nonsense that is misleading at best. Do we really need to manipulate by using inviting and charming words that disguise blaming others for who we have become or how we now appear?
As women growing into our maturity, can we dispense with acquiescing words of soft, syrupy sentimentality? Rather, might we adopt a decorum of directness? Could we allow ourselves to not be nice all the time? Haven’t we won the right to claim our authentic selves, the best of who we are, along with the worst of who we are? And as sisters to one another, can we allow ourselves to accept each other as we are, and as we are not?
This can be a time in life to face who we are, lines and all, liking them or not! We have a choice. We have choices, period. Hell, we women have created the choices needed to live life more fully and joyfully. Our maturity is what has helped to shape our sharpness, giving us an edge up on intuiting what is real from that of banal platitudes. As one mature woman, I will not go timid into the night. Rather, I come out with the swords of my lived experience — swinging! Don’t peddle me flowers, I’m looking for sisters with sharp swords.
A controlled, measured beat bellows the commentary. Yap, yap, yap.
To that, as others attempt to share, there pours forth, again and again, the overlaying exclamation, "Oh yes! I know."
There is no space. I fall away, not hearing anything from anyone.
Angry people are loud. Even in their silence, their anger shouts out over, around, and slices through whomever is in their presence.
If you live with an angry person, there is no escaping their turbulent, threatening energy. No momentary errand, daily school, or work offer reprieve, for their anger lives on your skin. There, it finds its way into your pores, sinking deeper and deeper into your cells. It embeds itself in the organs that keep you alive, and like a parasite, it takes life from you.
It takes great courage to disengage from angry people or the angry person. It takes time and good people to remind you: You have nothing to do with the angry person's anger. You are not the cause of their pain.
Co-mingling the sand between our toes
Your toes, my toes and the warm, fine grit
Sun, earth, and ocean at play
Dare we, might we, let ourselves escape today?
To take us to far away from the city's plight
To make a path leading to delight
Ten toes and ten toes more walking side by side
Holding hands, faces to the sun, enjoying our stride
How many thousands, perhaps millions, of words have been cast toward you? How much of what you have heard has fashioned you into who you have become? Since the day we were born, our caretakers have reared us through the thoughts they have had and the words they have used. Parents, educators, ministers, and numerous authority figures have worked fervently to impart their mantle of knowledge into our awareness.
It makes sense to share this gained knowledge to inform and bring up children to become contributing members of society. It is both reasonable and wise for parents to monitor their children’s progress toward that end. And so we find ourselves reiterating to our children what is acceptable behavior, and what is not acceptable behavior. We also easily begin to form an endless barrage of commentary and a list of questions to reinforce that which we want our children to learn or to do. We then gauge our children’s ongoing success by their willingness to respond according to our expectations.
Cooperation and a shared understanding can foster family harmony. Raising children who think and act in ways that match our family interests and values is an understandable comfort to parents. But with our ever-present, ongoing input, inquiries, and expectations, is it possible our child-rearing efforts overshadow, suppress, or even subvert our children? Where on the continuum is the ratio of our talking to our listening? Are we out of balance? Have we invested so much of ourselves into our children that we have overlooked fostering the unique, wondrous, magical self within each child?
Do we really know who our children are, apart from us? At varied levels of understanding have we encouraged them to discover their own individual desires? Have we honored their personal characteristics? Have we respected their insights? Have we sought out and discussed their questions?
Kahlil Gibran, the late poet, writes that our children are an expression of “Life’s longing for itself…you may give them your love, but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts…you may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.”
Each of us came into this world to express who we were born to be, but many of us have become lost into the words of who we were “supposed to become.” When we are enmeshed in so many words that have never been ours, how do we know where others leave off and we begin? How do we know what our own words are? How do we discover our own way?
There is no one answer nor single path back to who we were born to be. There is no panacea to efficiently remedy how many of us were raised. It is likely the adults in our lives did the very best they could do at the time they were raising us. When this was not the case, we have been left to work through the consequences of those events as well — doubling and tripling our efforts to find ourselves in the midst of what were perhaps overwhelming experiences. For some of us, right now, it is enough that we are who we have become. We are content with our life as it is. This is well and good. There is no better nor worse place to be.
For those of us interested in regaining touch with our wondrous, magical selves there is continued work to do. There are key attributes we will need to summon up as we embark on our journey. Honing our awareness is first. Building our intuition and increasing our trust in its guidance is also vital. Intuition is our heart speaking to us. The words of our heart will never lead us astray.
Our exploration will also require ongoing courage, self-observation, perseverance, and honest reflection. With almost certainty, our forgiveness will be called upon as well. Regaining our connection to who we were born to be is worth every effort for this road trip. There may not be a pot of gold at the end of our journey, but there is a refreshing, revitalizing stream of joy.
I owe my soul to no one.
I will not be led by forces outside myself.
It matters not their position, their weight, or pre-supposed authority.
I am sovereign to myself.
I hand my power over to no one.
I react to no fool, nor to foolish behavior.
I write my own tune and play my own song.
I accept that joy is my birthright.
I gratefully claim this gift as mine.
How then could it matter to me if you choose to dither in remorse and regret?
I love you still, but I will not be a party to your "woe is me."