This love is a feast,
with foreign & familiar flavors
combined in new delicious ways.
I am well fed.
******
Fresh squeezed orange juice
served by a smiling goddess-
no peeling or chewing necessary.
We drink the thick sweetness-
Sunshine
transformed by living trees
& loving hands
into nectar of vitality.
******
My tribe had only flat bread
Until you gave us leavening—
A mystery that now makes our bread
Rise up, as though alive
And offer up more of itself.
--by Terra Rafael
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Monday, April 5, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Valentine’s Day ~ 2010
In the early morning light, still buried under the warmth of my down comforter, I looked out my west window. I have never noticed this before, but two “new growth” branches from a couple of mature Juniper trees, this day are reaching toward each other. They delicately arch and meet forming the top of a perfect “heart” shape. The traditional valentine icon was completed by the mature branches of the tree. Just as quickly as I locked in on the image, a strong wind which had blown in a dusting of snow overnight, shook the trees. The heart branches danced into other shapes, tormented by the storm, only to settle down again into the quiet picture of Love.
I was grateful to receive this valentine’s day gift from the trees. The transmuting image an easy metaphor for life: Love ~ to love in turmoil ~ to Love ~ to no longer looks or feels like love. And always in the peaceful quiet state settling back into the perfect image of LOVE.
In my day to day life I hold onto the image of a loving heart, but the reality is often not so pretty. In the past year, I have watched my career as an appraiser changed by new laws and it feels like my own sense of self-worth, respect, and ability to love myself is being ripped from me. Many dear friends around me are also having trouble holding the image of self love at this time. The stories vary: a romantic love lost, now sullied with feelings of guilt and failure; the stability of a decade long marriage shifting, like the Great Sand Dunes, and the disturbing unknowing-ness of what the future looks like; jobs lost or cut back and the wobbly self-image and stability fading with them, or the heart wrenching grief of watching our children leave the nest, letting go as they seek to find their way in life.
I have a saying on my wall that I know by heart, but still need to read every once in a while. “If you cannot find that which you seek inside yourself, you will never find it without.” Love? Security? Respect? Where do these reside inside of me? I catch glimpses now and then; acknowledge their presence and move forward, stronger.
On a lighter note, three years ago my cat and I decided that today, Valentine’s Day, would be her birthday. Magic came to me from a neighbor who found her abandoned. She is beautiful and such a marvelous friend and a loving presence in our little home. A pet psychic told me several years ago that she was four then, so today, she is six. I seriously doubt that she has any image problems, and I am happy to participate in her feline prophesy of self worth and priestess status. My heart is full and our homestead is held in love.
XXXX OOOO XXXX OOOO
* annette
I was grateful to receive this valentine’s day gift from the trees. The transmuting image an easy metaphor for life: Love ~ to love in turmoil ~ to Love ~ to no longer looks or feels like love. And always in the peaceful quiet state settling back into the perfect image of LOVE.
In my day to day life I hold onto the image of a loving heart, but the reality is often not so pretty. In the past year, I have watched my career as an appraiser changed by new laws and it feels like my own sense of self-worth, respect, and ability to love myself is being ripped from me. Many dear friends around me are also having trouble holding the image of self love at this time. The stories vary: a romantic love lost, now sullied with feelings of guilt and failure; the stability of a decade long marriage shifting, like the Great Sand Dunes, and the disturbing unknowing-ness of what the future looks like; jobs lost or cut back and the wobbly self-image and stability fading with them, or the heart wrenching grief of watching our children leave the nest, letting go as they seek to find their way in life.
I have a saying on my wall that I know by heart, but still need to read every once in a while. “If you cannot find that which you seek inside yourself, you will never find it without.” Love? Security? Respect? Where do these reside inside of me? I catch glimpses now and then; acknowledge their presence and move forward, stronger.
On a lighter note, three years ago my cat and I decided that today, Valentine’s Day, would be her birthday. Magic came to me from a neighbor who found her abandoned. She is beautiful and such a marvelous friend and a loving presence in our little home. A pet psychic told me several years ago that she was four then, so today, she is six. I seriously doubt that she has any image problems, and I am happy to participate in her feline prophesy of self worth and priestess status. My heart is full and our homestead is held in love.
XXXX OOOO XXXX OOOO
* annette
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Mattress
I have been writing stories for years
But now I am in love and all my thoughts feel like poetry.
I know how corny that sounds, but it is also true.
Six years ago, a single woman, I bought a new mattress;
I splurged, it was quite an investment.
For months I luxuriated sleeping right smack in the middle.
I was deliriously happy as the princess of my own realm.
But one day I woke with a thought of the future.
Someday, with any luck at all, I would share my kingdom with a fellow.
I suddenly realized I did not want a mattress with a selfish dent in the middle.
And thus began my semi-annual routine of turning and flipping my mattress, and,
even more amusing, intending to sleep on the outside edge, holding space,
imagining that my prince was already occupying the other side of the bed.
I dozed. I waited.
Not knowing what his response would be,
I am not sure why I told my lover this story a few weeks ago.
But he just chuckled and pulled me close,
“You silly girl, I dreamt of rolling into you, right here, in the middle.”
Maybe this isn’t a poem.
Maybe it is just short sentences, each given their own line.
It seems there is a rhythm, with very little rhyme.
Yet my life, with each breath, now is filled with so much more ….
the passion of a poem infused with grace and magic.
* annette
But now I am in love and all my thoughts feel like poetry.
I know how corny that sounds, but it is also true.
Six years ago, a single woman, I bought a new mattress;
I splurged, it was quite an investment.
For months I luxuriated sleeping right smack in the middle.
I was deliriously happy as the princess of my own realm.
But one day I woke with a thought of the future.
Someday, with any luck at all, I would share my kingdom with a fellow.
I suddenly realized I did not want a mattress with a selfish dent in the middle.
And thus began my semi-annual routine of turning and flipping my mattress, and,
even more amusing, intending to sleep on the outside edge, holding space,
imagining that my prince was already occupying the other side of the bed.
I dozed. I waited.
Not knowing what his response would be,
I am not sure why I told my lover this story a few weeks ago.
But he just chuckled and pulled me close,
“You silly girl, I dreamt of rolling into you, right here, in the middle.”
Maybe this isn’t a poem.
Maybe it is just short sentences, each given their own line.
It seems there is a rhythm, with very little rhyme.
Yet my life, with each breath, now is filled with so much more ….
the passion of a poem infused with grace and magic.
* annette
Thursday, November 27, 2008
CRANBERRY SALAD
It is Thursday morning, an entire day set aside for giving thanks. Yesterday I made a batch of home made egg noodles; the first batch I have made in many years. And I must admit it was a little trickier than I hoped. I had called my brother Gary (an incredible cook, he could be the Emeril of KCMO) for a few tips and got his recipe. I got the noodles made, rolled out and cut, and I think they will be fine.
And then I made my first batch of cranberry salad for this season. It is red and beautiful and I had to test it this morning ~ it is great!!!!
On the eve of every winter holiday, you could walk into my parent’s small kitchen and there they would be. The kitchen looks similar from year to year, only the outfits change, and I took the same photograph every time I was lucky enough to share this moment. Mom and Dad … standing side by side, cutting the fruit, sorting the berries, and grinding everything into that scrumptious red delight. My Mom said that she originally got the recipe off the back of the cranberry bag, but I have never seen it there. They made at least a double batch every Thanksgiving. My sister and I set in front of the TV on Friday night and we ate bowls of … not ice cream, but cranberry salad. We fought for the last bite every year; you may imagine that I am kidding, but I am totally serious. The first thing I remember asking my parents for Christmas after I left home, was my own grinder to make cranberry salad. It was necessary to carry on the tradition.
And so I would like to share this recipe with you on this day, quickly, as I must get my turkey in the oven.
Cranberry Salad
1 qt. fresh cranberries ( two 12 oz. bags)
3 oranges – leave peel on one
2 apples
2 cups sugar ( I only use 1 cup now)
1 cup black walnuts
1 pkg. cherry jell-o
Set up your grinder. (I am using an antique model that my sister found at a flea market for $5.) Make up your jell-0 with one cup of hot water and set aside to cool. Wash through berries and discard the soft ones or any with bad spots. Cut the apples and oranges into 6 to 8 slices each. Do not peel the apples but cut out the core. Feed the fruit into the grinder, it is fun … the cranberries pop and the oranges juice up. I do not put my walnuts through the grinder; I chop them up into little pieces and add to the mixture. Stir in the sugar and liquid jell-o. Refrigerate overnight. It gets better every day … and then it’s gone. I freeze some every year to pull out in the middle of summer and then I eat it mostly frozen. It is almost pure Vitamin C.
Enjoy. And thank you, Mom and Dad. I will always love you.
* annette
And then I made my first batch of cranberry salad for this season. It is red and beautiful and I had to test it this morning ~ it is great!!!!
On the eve of every winter holiday, you could walk into my parent’s small kitchen and there they would be. The kitchen looks similar from year to year, only the outfits change, and I took the same photograph every time I was lucky enough to share this moment. Mom and Dad … standing side by side, cutting the fruit, sorting the berries, and grinding everything into that scrumptious red delight. My Mom said that she originally got the recipe off the back of the cranberry bag, but I have never seen it there. They made at least a double batch every Thanksgiving. My sister and I set in front of the TV on Friday night and we ate bowls of … not ice cream, but cranberry salad. We fought for the last bite every year; you may imagine that I am kidding, but I am totally serious. The first thing I remember asking my parents for Christmas after I left home, was my own grinder to make cranberry salad. It was necessary to carry on the tradition.
And so I would like to share this recipe with you on this day, quickly, as I must get my turkey in the oven.
Cranberry Salad
1 qt. fresh cranberries ( two 12 oz. bags)
3 oranges – leave peel on one
2 apples
2 cups sugar ( I only use 1 cup now)
1 cup black walnuts
1 pkg. cherry jell-o
Set up your grinder. (I am using an antique model that my sister found at a flea market for $5.) Make up your jell-0 with one cup of hot water and set aside to cool. Wash through berries and discard the soft ones or any with bad spots. Cut the apples and oranges into 6 to 8 slices each. Do not peel the apples but cut out the core. Feed the fruit into the grinder, it is fun … the cranberries pop and the oranges juice up. I do not put my walnuts through the grinder; I chop them up into little pieces and add to the mixture. Stir in the sugar and liquid jell-o. Refrigerate overnight. It gets better every day … and then it’s gone. I freeze some every year to pull out in the middle of summer and then I eat it mostly frozen. It is almost pure Vitamin C.
Enjoy. And thank you, Mom and Dad. I will always love you.
* annette
Monday, November 3, 2008
Musing- Home is Where the Heart Is
Home is where the Heart is - our generation learned that from the Wizard of Oz. It seems so intuitively true. I feel at home when I am in my heart, living from my heart. This usually means that I’m not feeling threatened. I am safe. My needs are provided for. I feel loved and respected for who I am.
As I have learned to connect more with my heart I’ve noticed that I can be at home in a wide variety of situations and relationships. The phrase we repeat at Unity Church seems possible- “Wherever I am, God is, and all is well.”
Then I run up against Homeland Security and the possibilities of torture. Could I still see Divinity while in the hands of expert torturers? Could all be well if my friends and family – or anyone- is threatened with this?
This dilemma is one which twists and turns my heartstrings. I firmly believe and experience Divinity in myself and others. Yet how does it work in the face of those who deny it so totally that they seek power and riches through degrading and stealing from other people and Mother Earth Herself?
Is even personally experienced spirituality the opiate of the people?
What of the story of a Tibetan Buddhist nun my friend met in India, who had been humiliated and raped by Chinese invaders yet maintained loving kindness. Could I do that? I don’t want to be tested in that way – and yet my own story of childhood sexual abuse was similar. My healing unraveled more slowly over time, allowing me to come to a place where I can feel my heart. I can have a home again in this world and feel safe enough to know that Home is where the Heart is.
--by Terra Rafael
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