When I say the word “home” I notice that in the middle of it is OM. OM is the primordial Home, the place, the vibration, that everything proceeds from and returns to.
OM is the space between breaths, between creating and destroying, between taking in and letting go.
This OM is my home, where all the dramas, stresses, worries, and enemies drop away to leave only pure pulsation, pure emptiness, pure rest.
When I chant OM out loud the vibrations of it permeates my cells, my molecules and atoms, reminding each tiny universe of Terra that they are one with each other and one with the uncountable larger universes that encompass me.
In OM I am at my deepest home. I hear it wherever I am- in the wind through the trees, in the whine of a buzz saw, in the bounce of molecules against each other, in the hum of electricity and in my very own breath.
This oneness of OM is nothing less than knowing and loving my neighbor, that pesky fly, President Bush, the rosebush, and Mother Earth as my self - loving that Oneness with all my heart and all my soul and all my life.
-By Terra
Monday, July 7, 2008
Sunday, July 6, 2008
A RIDDLE
A RIDDLE
What is there when you’re asleep?
What brings you to the depths of deep?
What is there when you’re awake?
What’s there that you cannot forsake?
What, when climbed, won’t be too high?
What, when seen, will touch the sky?
What will be the strongest rope
To help you reach your highest hope?
What will overcome duress?
What will bring you to success?
What is here, yet, oh so far?
What shines you as a brilliant star?
Hold fast to me where ere you go.
It is through me your life you’ll know.
Prema Rose
Answer will be on next Sunday’s blog!
What is there when you’re asleep?
What brings you to the depths of deep?
What is there when you’re awake?
What’s there that you cannot forsake?
What, when climbed, won’t be too high?
What, when seen, will touch the sky?
What will be the strongest rope
To help you reach your highest hope?
What will overcome duress?
What will bring you to success?
What is here, yet, oh so far?
What shines you as a brilliant star?
Hold fast to me where ere you go.
It is through me your life you’ll know.
Prema Rose
Answer will be on next Sunday’s blog!
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Prose: Ode to Hanging Clothes
The morning quiet…some gurgling sounds from next door as my neighbor’s swamp cooler runs…some tweets in the distant trees from small birds commenting on the day. It’s summer, everything’s green and blooming, and I’m grateful for the mild morning.
The dry heat will increase as we move toward noon, and people move toward their swamp coolers and air conditioners. Yet now I enjoy the calm coolness of early morning.
My sheets are draped over the clothesline while the lack of humidity in the western
clime sucks out the moisture from the fabric in less than an hour.
I’ve always loved to hang clothes out on a clothesline… whether it was in New Jersey near the beach, when my older sons were young, or here in Colorado with dry heat and heavy snows in winter and three more kids.
I love doing laundry. For some people, this might seem pretty strange, especially the solar drying. Hanging clothes outside to air dry and then taking them down hours later fulfills something in me. Burying my face into them each time, as I carry the armloads into the house to fold, gives me enjoyment.
I can’t tell you why. I just know it’s always been true.
I used to hand wash most of my clothes, except jeans, and hang them out alongside kids’ clothes and household things that had all been machine washed. I felt hand washing was gentler on the fabric and my clothes would last longer.
However, as my family grew, so did my washing machine use. Using a ‘delicate’ cycle for most things, it was done sooner and easier. Then I could hang them on the lines, through all the seasons. Sometimes I’d wait through a snowy day or two, and if the sun came out, so did I with my wet laundry in hand. Some days I used an indoor drying rack placed near a heater vent.
Standing alone outside, usually quiet around me, sorting the clothes and the best way to hang them…the sun shining on leaves and me, a car might drive by, birds overhead with crows cawing in the distance…it’s a peaceful place to be.
I’ve thought about why this is. Did it come with the ‘back to the land’ movement in the hippie days and eating organic foods? No, actually it began when I was growing up in NYC and had a washroom next to our basement apartment. In that room, was a wringer washer and lots of clotheslines strung across the entire space for my family and my grandparents. Then when we moved to New Jersey after I finished 8th grade Catholic school, we had a wringer washer again, brand new, and my dad put up clotheslines outside, running from the wrap-around porch’s post out into the year to a standing post there, the lines on a pulley.
Might I think beyond that and wonder if it was a past-life carryover from any lifetime and culture before the present industrial age? Who knows. Did I take in laundry and sustain myself…and so this is good karma.
Or maybe it’s just a simple pleasure that speaks to me and gives me a sweet satisfaction.
Recently in a conversation with my old friend, Susan, she confessed to the same joy in hanging out clothes. She agreed it was almost silly. She recounted the time her husband offered to help, and she refused, saying she loved doing this herself.
I look up as a breeze lifts the sheets into the air, filling them with sunshine and that sweet scent I love to sleep in. Who would have thought hanging clothes on a clothesline could encompass all of this.
Jyoti
The dry heat will increase as we move toward noon, and people move toward their swamp coolers and air conditioners. Yet now I enjoy the calm coolness of early morning.
My sheets are draped over the clothesline while the lack of humidity in the western
clime sucks out the moisture from the fabric in less than an hour.
I’ve always loved to hang clothes out on a clothesline… whether it was in New Jersey near the beach, when my older sons were young, or here in Colorado with dry heat and heavy snows in winter and three more kids.
I love doing laundry. For some people, this might seem pretty strange, especially the solar drying. Hanging clothes outside to air dry and then taking them down hours later fulfills something in me. Burying my face into them each time, as I carry the armloads into the house to fold, gives me enjoyment.
I can’t tell you why. I just know it’s always been true.
I used to hand wash most of my clothes, except jeans, and hang them out alongside kids’ clothes and household things that had all been machine washed. I felt hand washing was gentler on the fabric and my clothes would last longer.
However, as my family grew, so did my washing machine use. Using a ‘delicate’ cycle for most things, it was done sooner and easier. Then I could hang them on the lines, through all the seasons. Sometimes I’d wait through a snowy day or two, and if the sun came out, so did I with my wet laundry in hand. Some days I used an indoor drying rack placed near a heater vent.
Standing alone outside, usually quiet around me, sorting the clothes and the best way to hang them…the sun shining on leaves and me, a car might drive by, birds overhead with crows cawing in the distance…it’s a peaceful place to be.
I’ve thought about why this is. Did it come with the ‘back to the land’ movement in the hippie days and eating organic foods? No, actually it began when I was growing up in NYC and had a washroom next to our basement apartment. In that room, was a wringer washer and lots of clotheslines strung across the entire space for my family and my grandparents. Then when we moved to New Jersey after I finished 8th grade Catholic school, we had a wringer washer again, brand new, and my dad put up clotheslines outside, running from the wrap-around porch’s post out into the year to a standing post there, the lines on a pulley.
Might I think beyond that and wonder if it was a past-life carryover from any lifetime and culture before the present industrial age? Who knows. Did I take in laundry and sustain myself…and so this is good karma.
Or maybe it’s just a simple pleasure that speaks to me and gives me a sweet satisfaction.
Recently in a conversation with my old friend, Susan, she confessed to the same joy in hanging out clothes. She agreed it was almost silly. She recounted the time her husband offered to help, and she refused, saying she loved doing this herself.
I look up as a breeze lifts the sheets into the air, filling them with sunshine and that sweet scent I love to sleep in. Who would have thought hanging clothes on a clothesline could encompass all of this.
Jyoti
Friday, July 4, 2008
1969, July Fourth
I held my breath as I watched my husband negotiating with the machine gun totting rebel soldiers surrounding our car. This Fourth of July was going to be very different I thought. A rebel force had declared martial law in this small Caribbean nation where we were living and working. We had made the decision to take our family out of the country until things settled. On the escape route we had been stopped at a roadblock to have our car searched.
In a split second my mind flipped home where my mother would be preparing custard ice cream to be turned and frozen over the course of a bee humming afternoon. My father would be preparing a fire for barbecuing and marshmallow roasting come evening. My great grandparents, grandparents, aunts, cousins, uncles, dogs, cats and friends would be gathering for a day of celebrating. Chickens would scatter to the barn as cars loaded with pies and people would park in the shade of the sheltering oaks that had seen my family celebrate American’s Independence on the same grassy lawn for five generations.
With an ache in my heart I jerked back to the situation in front of me.
Jesse
In a split second my mind flipped home where my mother would be preparing custard ice cream to be turned and frozen over the course of a bee humming afternoon. My father would be preparing a fire for barbecuing and marshmallow roasting come evening. My great grandparents, grandparents, aunts, cousins, uncles, dogs, cats and friends would be gathering for a day of celebrating. Chickens would scatter to the barn as cars loaded with pies and people would park in the shade of the sheltering oaks that had seen my family celebrate American’s Independence on the same grassy lawn for five generations.
With an ache in my heart I jerked back to the situation in front of me.
Jesse
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Gorilla Glue
I feel my father’s presence as I stand near the kitchen sink with the broken pieces of my camera laid out on the counter top. Most folks would probably throw it in the trash but I want to see what I can do. I can hear my father telling me how he had to learn to fix the car because they didn’t have a spare nickel to pay someone else to fix it, and he had to get to work. I can relate. This is my old 35mm camera loaded with the film canister which hopefully will produce 4” color pictures of my last two trail rides. We have history, for years this camera helped me run my business, and right now I cannot afford to replace it. My Dad, if he were alive, would have been able to fix it.
I have gathered up several long fat nails that I find so handy, my hammer, several pairs of pliers, plus an old newspaper to work on. These tools are not for the camera, they are for the glue! The great thing about Gorilla Glue is how well it works. It has fixed every item that I have placed in its path. But, like all super glues ~ it is hard to use after the first application because it glues its own top closed and getting the aperture open again is extremely difficult and downright dangerous. I move past the nails and choose a large gold colored screw. I am afraid it is too wide to enter the tip of the plastic bottle. Wish I had a bigger hammer. I gently tap it in; totally aware that super glue spurting out the top would be a really bad thing. It pierces the cement hard surface inside the half filled bottle. I can now squeeze the container and see the liquid glue at the bottom gushing around; however, it will not come out the top.
Do not let small children read the next few sentences ~ but I am determined to fix this camera. I place the plastic bottle in a sandwich bag (for protection ??) and set it in the microwave on top of a small piece of paper towel. I set the time for 20 seconds, whisper a small prayer, and hit the start button. My Dad and I hover in front of the oven and watch the glass disk spin, wondering what will happen next. Not much. I decide to up the ante and hit the start button again. The glue starts to bubble and the machine beeps “off” before the plastic container explodes. All right! Pulling it out of the microwave, I thank the angel of kitchen gadgets and tip the bottle. Nothing comes out. I grab the big screw, stick it back down in the bottle and when I pull it out there is amber colored glue caught in its spirals! I moisten one side of the broken latch, place glue on the opposite piece and hold them together for a few seconds as the directions recommend. The only problem is I now have glue on me and am becoming permanently attached to the piece of black plastic whose purpose in life has always been to hold batteries in my camera. Plus I have to pee. I pry off my thumb and pointer finger and realize I did not fetch the fingernail polish remover from the bathroom. Since I have to go there anyway, I decide to try to pull down my pants without getting glue on the waistband of my shorts.
… It takes a little time for the glue to harden but it worked. I put away my tools and clean up my mess. With a very strong rubber band (those fat blue ones that hold broccoli stems together) to hold the mended battery cover in place, my little camera and I will bravely go forth and record new challenges. But it is not about the time spent or the money saved. It is honoring the memory of my Dad and the ideals he instilled in me through his stories and the way he lived his life. My Dad would approve and I am proud of myself. My fingers are only slightly tacky and my shorts are not glued to my waist. Life is GOOD.
* annette
I have gathered up several long fat nails that I find so handy, my hammer, several pairs of pliers, plus an old newspaper to work on. These tools are not for the camera, they are for the glue! The great thing about Gorilla Glue is how well it works. It has fixed every item that I have placed in its path. But, like all super glues ~ it is hard to use after the first application because it glues its own top closed and getting the aperture open again is extremely difficult and downright dangerous. I move past the nails and choose a large gold colored screw. I am afraid it is too wide to enter the tip of the plastic bottle. Wish I had a bigger hammer. I gently tap it in; totally aware that super glue spurting out the top would be a really bad thing. It pierces the cement hard surface inside the half filled bottle. I can now squeeze the container and see the liquid glue at the bottom gushing around; however, it will not come out the top.
Do not let small children read the next few sentences ~ but I am determined to fix this camera. I place the plastic bottle in a sandwich bag (for protection ??) and set it in the microwave on top of a small piece of paper towel. I set the time for 20 seconds, whisper a small prayer, and hit the start button. My Dad and I hover in front of the oven and watch the glass disk spin, wondering what will happen next. Not much. I decide to up the ante and hit the start button again. The glue starts to bubble and the machine beeps “off” before the plastic container explodes. All right! Pulling it out of the microwave, I thank the angel of kitchen gadgets and tip the bottle. Nothing comes out. I grab the big screw, stick it back down in the bottle and when I pull it out there is amber colored glue caught in its spirals! I moisten one side of the broken latch, place glue on the opposite piece and hold them together for a few seconds as the directions recommend. The only problem is I now have glue on me and am becoming permanently attached to the piece of black plastic whose purpose in life has always been to hold batteries in my camera. Plus I have to pee. I pry off my thumb and pointer finger and realize I did not fetch the fingernail polish remover from the bathroom. Since I have to go there anyway, I decide to try to pull down my pants without getting glue on the waistband of my shorts.
… It takes a little time for the glue to harden but it worked. I put away my tools and clean up my mess. With a very strong rubber band (those fat blue ones that hold broccoli stems together) to hold the mended battery cover in place, my little camera and I will bravely go forth and record new challenges. But it is not about the time spent or the money saved. It is honoring the memory of my Dad and the ideals he instilled in me through his stories and the way he lived his life. My Dad would approve and I am proud of myself. My fingers are only slightly tacky and my shorts are not glued to my waist. Life is GOOD.
* annette
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Doors
Lately I’ve taken to seeing difficulties as doors. They open into a room I haven’t been in for awhile and usually left some mess at some point in time. It often involves some sort of hurt, discomfort, judgment about me or someone else. It’s a new approach. Instead of blaming the outer situation I look at what the gift for myself is. I don’t blame, though tempting that may be in some moments. I ask what I need to see. I open the door and look inside at something that I wasn’t able to see previously.
I recently had a situation where what was triggered for me was a deep sense of “I’ve done something wrong”. It was a very strong feeling where I finally turned around and faced it. The feeling was in me. The outer situation just triggered a closed door and instead of passing it by I stopped and opened the door. It was just old feelings of things I felt I did wrong as a child. It was stuck in there and as soon as I realized I created the situation to help me find and clear out that room I felt an immediate sense of gratitude toward the person who triggered it in the first place. Instead of blaming or wanting to fix something I let it take me to my own lost room and cleared it. Not by doing anything more than opening to the feelings, being understanding of them, and allowing the situation to be.
I think things are coming to us to heal old perceptions, hurts, wounds, whatever we hold on to that needs to go. We have huge opportunities to release our own narrow views, often about ourselves, if only we can seize these moments. Sometimes these misperceptions have been with us most of our lives. We’ve closed doors in so many ways. Now is the time to open them, allow fresh air, new thoughts, forgiving and loving thoughts. This way when something seemingly goes wrong I now remember it is an opportunity. It is a door appearing to a forgotten, buried or just shut out part, knocking to be released. All I have to do is open it and let air in.
Mary
I recently had a situation where what was triggered for me was a deep sense of “I’ve done something wrong”. It was a very strong feeling where I finally turned around and faced it. The feeling was in me. The outer situation just triggered a closed door and instead of passing it by I stopped and opened the door. It was just old feelings of things I felt I did wrong as a child. It was stuck in there and as soon as I realized I created the situation to help me find and clear out that room I felt an immediate sense of gratitude toward the person who triggered it in the first place. Instead of blaming or wanting to fix something I let it take me to my own lost room and cleared it. Not by doing anything more than opening to the feelings, being understanding of them, and allowing the situation to be.
I think things are coming to us to heal old perceptions, hurts, wounds, whatever we hold on to that needs to go. We have huge opportunities to release our own narrow views, often about ourselves, if only we can seize these moments. Sometimes these misperceptions have been with us most of our lives. We’ve closed doors in so many ways. Now is the time to open them, allow fresh air, new thoughts, forgiving and loving thoughts. This way when something seemingly goes wrong I now remember it is an opportunity. It is a door appearing to a forgotten, buried or just shut out part, knocking to be released. All I have to do is open it and let air in.
Mary
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Prose - Differences
As I casually mentioned that our granddaughters were Aquarians, being two days apart, my sister-in-law said “Would you not talk about that, and I won’t talk about my stuff.” I was ok with that at the time, definitely not wanting to be proselytized to about her religion. But the more I’ve thought about it the more it disturbed me. “ Well then why think about it”, another part of me says. The glitch for me is when I’m finally becoming who I really am, expressing my ideas and thoughts more freely, to be squelched in that way is unsettling. Why can’t we discuss our differences?? Why do we get defensive in these situations? Everyone seems to want to stay on a superficial level of expression. That’s not who I am, that’s not who I even want to try to be. Opening up to my true nature has been a lifetime of strenuous effort for me, and now at this time in my life it’s a strain to hold back.
This seems to be the energy of the whole world, learning to come together in our differences. It is part of what the new consciousness is all about. It has never happened in the history of the earth. Mankind has always fought about their dissimilarities and strong convictions. But now in the new millenium we have the opportunity for newality. This means an unfamiliar afresh way for us humans to be on our planet. Many are resistant and are dying off. Those who are left are slowly, in tiny steps, gaining an openness in these very different and expansive ways of being.
I understand at the time I was being challenged to say my truth, the planets were creating these characteristics big-time. Mars opposing Neptune, wanting us to bring into form what we really believe to be true. And with Uranus going retrograde it brings us a zest for freedom of self-expression, a need to fully express oneself no matter what the obstacles and applied limitations are. This helps me to recognize the importance of sharing my thoughts at this moment of my history.
Patricia
This seems to be the energy of the whole world, learning to come together in our differences. It is part of what the new consciousness is all about. It has never happened in the history of the earth. Mankind has always fought about their dissimilarities and strong convictions. But now in the new millenium we have the opportunity for newality. This means an unfamiliar afresh way for us humans to be on our planet. Many are resistant and are dying off. Those who are left are slowly, in tiny steps, gaining an openness in these very different and expansive ways of being.
I understand at the time I was being challenged to say my truth, the planets were creating these characteristics big-time. Mars opposing Neptune, wanting us to bring into form what we really believe to be true. And with Uranus going retrograde it brings us a zest for freedom of self-expression, a need to fully express oneself no matter what the obstacles and applied limitations are. This helps me to recognize the importance of sharing my thoughts at this moment of my history.
Patricia
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