Musings: Flovessence

FLOVESSENCEWhen stuck in the energy of MONEY, with all the conditioning that comes with it for me and for most people, in one way or another, I was asked to give another name to that commodity. What came out was “Flovessence”. Yes, that feels so right! Flovessence! It brings a sense of playfulness, joy, abundance, and best of all, a flowing. Flovessence. I even enjoy saying the word. There goes the stuckness. All the tensions around the thought of “Money” and lack thereof, disappear into the possibilities of “Flovessence”. Where will it lead me? What uncharted creative realms will I discover by using this word? I can dance with this word and spin it into anything I want. It is a word for sharing and sharing the plentitude that surely comes with it. It feels like a shimmer of sparkles is enveloping me in delight. I am wallowing in FLOVESSENCE.Prema Rose

Prose: Labyrinth

We walk near each other, sometimes almost meeting, almost touching, almost looking at each other, but then the turn comes and we move away. We are separated by imaginary demarcations, sort of lines in the sand.. but here they are painted lines in a church basement where a labyrinth has been drawn.

It’s so like life. How we come near each other, sometimes walking parallel in paths near each other, but perhaps never the same. One path will veer off in a turn down another street while yours takes you clear across the way into new territory.

I marvel at this as I watch the other women, sisters in spirit, walk near me, parallel each other, as they allow the labyrinth to walk them through whatever question or idea they entered with.

For many years, I’ve looked at the labyrinth as a map of the convolutions of the brain, moving through the lobes, skimming from one hemisphere to the other and back again. Then one arrives at the center, seeking solution.

As I sit in the middle when I get there to see what it has for me, I hear the near-silent rustle of clothing and movement of feet as the other women continue their path inward toward the center.

This day I feel it’s not so much a solution I’m seeking as much as a cleaning out of those brain lobes where judgments and opinions reside, where doubts and insecurities brew. And my intention is to clean all that out. To loosen the gray matter and allow room for new patterns of thing and being, I keep walking, one foot in front of the other. My eyes are looking down in a soft gaze, as I look within myself, footstep by footstep around the circular maze.

Jyoti

Memoir: Morning in England

I thought I was dreaming when I heard the song.  An unknown instrument, a flute, but not a flute was spilling out of my dream into the English garden outside my bedroom window.  I drifted on the melody floating out of the dream.  The trilling music continued one song after another.  My heart opened to the music vibrating throughout my whole being.  I took in a bottomless breath listening not wanting to disturb the source of such beauty.

Then, it stopped.  I cocked my ears to hear more.  Nothing.  I went to the window searching the dense green of ancient yews, oaks, and beech trees ...  Nothing.  I leaned into the mingled morning fragrance of dew and flowers but nothing.   I stood mesmerized thinking I must be still dreaming.

 I moved into my day spellbound and wondering.  It was late morning when I saw my neighbor, Allen, who asked with a smile,  “Did you hear the nightingale sing this morning?”

Oh, yes, I did.

Jesse

Essay: Missouri. Blue Gold.

NOTE TO SELF. Picking Blueberries is way easier than strawberries … which now grow too close to the ground. Raspberries and blackberries bushes have thorns; even Mom’s back yard gooseberries have thorns.

My mom, sister and I decide to skip breakfast in order to get to there early ~ the pre-recorded “Berry Patch” message said there were more pickers than berries and warns that it has been consistently picked out by the end of each day. They open at 7 am and we arrive about 8. We know the routine. We walk briskly up to the self service counter, grab a one gallon white bucket, tuck in the heavy duty clear plastic bag and grab a piece of twine to tie the bucket around the waist, allowing for two handed picking.

Patch #1 has a closed sign on it but Patch #2 is open and there are already heads bobbing above the lush greenness. Row after row of fruit laden bushes ~ but we are in search of the bluest blueberries. There are dozens of muffled conversations drifting above the long steaming rows; mothers exchanging favorite recipes, children comparing the taste of warm juicy berries. The birds squawk from the tall treed perimeter, probably discussing the two legged wingless crowd below ruining their dinner plans.

I see a bush with lots of potential and peel off from my family to seek my fortune. Heat, sweating, picking, quiet thoughts, I spread my arms to take advantage of a cautious breeze. “Levi. Levi?” a woman calls out. “Can you hear me son? Norma Jean, have you seen Levi?” I glance around to see if anyone resembling a Levi is in my row. Obviously he has returned, for that section of the pickers quiets down. We all take a deep breath and continue picking.

I listen in as two women one row over from me but totally out of site, discuss the fact that boyfriend Dan is only good for a few select things ~ I understood quickly that he is very satisfying and, I admit, I leaned towards them as they whispered and giggled. Although I could not hear the juiciest details, I do know that he is definitely not husband material as he is addicted to computer games. Poor Dan.

“Mommy, mommy, look at this one. It is the biggest blueberry ever,” a little boy proclaims. With a condescending snit to her tiny voice his sister explains, “I’m only picking the red ones.” "Tatum, honey……” we hear her mother patiently explain that blue ones make much sweeter pies.

“Come on kids, this section is all picked out, let’s go farther down and start there.” “But mommy there’s a lot of ‘em right here,” her young son declares as Mom herds her chicks off in search of easier pickings. On a hunch I bend down and lift up a branch near where the small boy had stood. BINGO! What a score, the lowest branch was covered with the biggest juiciest blueberries ever. The ones I don’t consume drop into my nearly full bucket.

Trying to get out of the patch, hot as we are, is its own challenge. I raise my voice one notch above the buzz, “Marcia?” “Over here” comes my answer. I am at the end of a long row and start walking east. “Over here” I hear my sister call out again. “Marco” I call out cheerfully. “Polo” I hear from more than one section of the patch. Everyone giggles; I smile as I spot Marcia’s straw hat. Even as we agree that our buckets are full, we cannot help but search for the ultimate berry as we slowly exit the patch with our hand picked treasure ~ blue gold.

TIP: Do not rinse fresh picked blueberries before freezing. Rinse them as you use them. Seriously.

* annette

Lead or ahead

Our brains.....like run away trains.  They run out ahead of here all the time.  Planning, practicing, diagnosing, weighing options, endless streams of thoughts shooting out from our minds.  How often do we reside just here, not being pushed or pulled or analyzing or run around busy?  How often do we get to just sit, walk, be?

I find when I recognize my mind has just analyzed the options ahead without having arrived there yet and picked out a path, I have robbed myself of the moment.  The moments I spent thinking of the path ahead instead of being where I am as well as the moment I arrive and have to turn left or right and the voice of guidance that can only show up with a clear choice once all the information is in.  If I have already decided to turn right and once I arrive there is an amazing field of wildflowers heading down the left I either throw out the previous decision and all the time put into it or I stick with the plan no matter what.  I'm obviously using a simple example and there is a time and place for thinking ahead but often we have become so addicted to the thinking ahead we forget to be where we are.  We have over compensated in thinking ahead at the expense of now.  Even the word "ahead" leaves out the rest of the body.  Is that really where we want to be?

If I'm so busy thinking ahead can I listen now?  Can I hear the sounds in the distance, the wind, the hummingbird diving after his long steep climb heavenwards?  I think it's in the birds song and the wind, the practice of listening around us, in this moment, that we begin to hear our true thoughts.  The ones that make life easier because  you heard them first time.  The ones that take your hand and lead you, revealing the deeper rhythms of ourselves and surroundings.

Mary

 

Prose: Awakening to Possibility

We sat high above Moab in a very nice restaurant, feeling like new people after our Vision Quest in the Utah desert. We were all glowing, not only clean and showered, but our spirits had been cleansed also. I was sitting next to the orthopedic surgeon from Dallas. Not only was he not the old man he appeared in the beginning, the quest was for the 50 year old and over crowd, he was a deeply spiritual man who shared a lot of himself during the times the group was together. After we had ordered dinner, he said to me, “you are a very sensitive woman, I would like for you to hold something and tell me what you feel”. I agreed and he handed me over a velvet pouch. I looked inside and took out a beautiful moonstone heart, putting it back in the pouch, I just held it. Much to my amazement, I began to blush. And then I began to get hot all over, I felt like I was having an orgasm, when all of a sudden, I saw a huge egg in my vision. I have thought since it was a crocodile egg, having to do with creativity. As I observed this egg I began to notice a crack in it. The crack was small, but large enough to see possibility. Oh my…., it was possibility between the male and female relationship. It was the potential between man and woman that we haven’t even begun to touch upon yet. The beauty of it totally overwhelmed me, so much so I had to get up from the table and go outside on the balcony to cool off. What a gift! When I went back inside, the doctor asked me what I had felt. “I’ll write to you”, I said. I had to sort this out myself before I could share it with someone. I have held this vision for years, truly believing as we evolve on this planet, we will come to a place of greatness between man and woman. Maybe some feel they already have, but even they will expand in ways they never knew possible. Mother Earth and the entire universe will smile greatly and say, “FINALLY”.

Patricia

A Simple Pleasure

One of my simple pleasures out in the wild and semi-wild, is to pee on the earth. I love finding a place where the urine will stream away, without wetting my shoes or bare feet. The sound of it against the soil, rocks and little plants is pleasing to my ears, like an ancestral lullaby passed down through the generations. It reminds me of my animal side, of being intimately connected with the earth when my fluids mingle directly with the often parched land of Colorado. I like letting the final drops form and land before standing up.

Sometimes then I wish that I could pee like a man. It’s much easier to pee on the ground, more often, and more discretely, with the male anatomy. Then I remember the joke—God had two gifts left for humans. She offered being able to pee standing up and Adam jumped at the possibility. Eve patiently waited for what was left. God said, “I saved the best for last—multiple orgasms.

I wouldn’t say peeing outside is as great as multiple orgasms—but it is one of my favorite simple pleasures.

By Terra