The future looks so very hopeful for our global community. What I know from the bottom of my toes is that we, as Americans, have given the world hope with one vote. My vote. Your vote. No longer can any of us be naive enough to not know what one vote means to our sisters and brothers on the other side of the world. Each of us matters. Can you believe that you. one American, have lit up a village in Africa? Asia? Europe? Australia? South America? North America?
You are light. You are love.
We are indeed fortunate to be living in these times.
Jesse
Friday, November 14, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Stress Moon Chocolate
I have been trying to gently push through it all day but here it is again. A little work coming in, bills to pay, an underlying unease that taints the beauty of this cold but sunny day. Here on this full moon eve, one week after a decisive win by the correct candidate finally, I should be celebrating. But I will tell you … not so much.
I woke up twice in the middle of the night. My room is filled with an eerie glow. On my way to the toilet I look out to the west. There, a very large round orange moon hangs over the mountains. Attended by adoring wispy clouds, she is splendid. I wish I could watch from my bed but she is too far north and I grow cold standing in front of the window.
My stomach is unsettled at lunch time. There are some problems with our new book and I know that all will be fine, but still ……
I attempted a load of laundry in the afternoon as I mentally prepared the next phase of a difficult appraisal I was working. And so, I poured the liquid detergent into the fabric softener barrel in the center of my washer. Ah, Geez! I had to pop off the little tub and stand there and rinse it clear as warm water runs into the machine.
As I climbed the stairs I visualized a wild and crazy experiment. In the kitchen I lined up an open jar of crunchy peanut butter, Hershey’s chocolate syrup and a small canister of raw pumpkin seeds. I forked a dollop of peanut butter in my mouth, leaned my head back and poured in a handful of seeds followed immediately with a squeeze of chocolate. I could barely chew; I was grinning from ear to ear. Excellent flavor, surprisingly like a Baby Ruth candy bar.
I am happy to report that the rest of my day has gone famously. I finished that appraisal and my laundry is folded and put away. The moon outside is breathtaking. I am thrilled with my ingenuity and decadence. I recommend stepping outside the box and into self reliance! Try it, you might like it! Keep the ingredients fresh folks, we’re gonna be fine.
Me and the moon ~ we’re full.
* annette
I woke up twice in the middle of the night. My room is filled with an eerie glow. On my way to the toilet I look out to the west. There, a very large round orange moon hangs over the mountains. Attended by adoring wispy clouds, she is splendid. I wish I could watch from my bed but she is too far north and I grow cold standing in front of the window.
My stomach is unsettled at lunch time. There are some problems with our new book and I know that all will be fine, but still ……
I attempted a load of laundry in the afternoon as I mentally prepared the next phase of a difficult appraisal I was working. And so, I poured the liquid detergent into the fabric softener barrel in the center of my washer. Ah, Geez! I had to pop off the little tub and stand there and rinse it clear as warm water runs into the machine.
As I climbed the stairs I visualized a wild and crazy experiment. In the kitchen I lined up an open jar of crunchy peanut butter, Hershey’s chocolate syrup and a small canister of raw pumpkin seeds. I forked a dollop of peanut butter in my mouth, leaned my head back and poured in a handful of seeds followed immediately with a squeeze of chocolate. I could barely chew; I was grinning from ear to ear. Excellent flavor, surprisingly like a Baby Ruth candy bar.
I am happy to report that the rest of my day has gone famously. I finished that appraisal and my laundry is folded and put away. The moon outside is breathtaking. I am thrilled with my ingenuity and decadence. I recommend stepping outside the box and into self reliance! Try it, you might like it! Keep the ingredients fresh folks, we’re gonna be fine.
Me and the moon ~ we’re full.
* annette
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Beyond Words
After the words stop,
then what?
Do we enter the space akin to what animals live in?
or something better?
Do we hear or know our Divine Self?
Do we rest in peace
a saying usually saved and praised for the dead.
Are not words what takes us to that ledge?
All those pathways of thoughts
made of words
footsteps that lead
us to what lies just outside of their reach.
They capture glimpses of our experiences.
They might shed light or delight
they walk us deeper into ourselves or way far in the distance
to the past…or the present.
But when its all said……ALL…all the stories have been told,
then where do we go?
beyond the words to a space and place
reserved and waiting. That pool of indescribable
that words can only point to…lead you to.
Where we all emerged
Peace beyond words
Where we all know
we will return to, do return to,
can choose to return to.
I’ll meet you there.
Mary
then what?
Do we enter the space akin to what animals live in?
or something better?
Do we hear or know our Divine Self?
Do we rest in peace
a saying usually saved and praised for the dead.
Are not words what takes us to that ledge?
All those pathways of thoughts
made of words
footsteps that lead
us to what lies just outside of their reach.
They capture glimpses of our experiences.
They might shed light or delight
they walk us deeper into ourselves or way far in the distance
to the past…or the present.
But when its all said……ALL…all the stories have been told,
then where do we go?
beyond the words to a space and place
reserved and waiting. That pool of indescribable
that words can only point to…lead you to.
Where we all emerged
Peace beyond words
Where we all know
we will return to, do return to,
can choose to return to.
I’ll meet you there.
Mary
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Prose - Jake and The Election
Around 6:30 on the dawn of Nov. 5, 2008, my phone rang. A young voice says “Hi”. I have to think for a moment, which little grandchild hi is this? I soon recognize eleven year old Jake’s voice.
“Have you heard yet?” He asks.
Knowing exactly that he’s referring to our new President, I say,
“I sure have and isn’t it wonderful!”
Jake lives in Oklahoma, a Republican state. I wonder a lot why some of us are Republican and others Democrat. I was raised in the South, when the majority was Democrat. I married a very passionate Democrat, who was also a writer and columnist. In my simple understanding of the Republican party, women and children are NOT a priority. That was true when I was growing up, and it is still true. That’s enough for me right there. The party has grown more toward Big Money, corporations, and most things against the average Joe.
So, to be talking politics with my eleven-year-old grandson, who sees the light to be a Democrat surrounded by Republicans, I was touched.
His Dad is usually Republican and his Mom always Democrat. We talked of Arnold Swartznegger and Maria Shriver, and how that’s the case in some families.
We compared this election with John Kennedy, and how the same energy has prevailed, become victorious again, even more so, the energy of the new paradigm.
Jake was very excited to be wearing an Obama T-shirt to school, one in which, his Dad, who voted Republican, helped him draw. Dad put the front Obama emblem on from his computer skills, while Jake created the back with Obama, Yes We Can, 2008.
I felt a lot of love and communion from his Dad to help him do that. A small example of how opposing forces can come together.
Patricia
“Have you heard yet?” He asks.
Knowing exactly that he’s referring to our new President, I say,
“I sure have and isn’t it wonderful!”
Jake lives in Oklahoma, a Republican state. I wonder a lot why some of us are Republican and others Democrat. I was raised in the South, when the majority was Democrat. I married a very passionate Democrat, who was also a writer and columnist. In my simple understanding of the Republican party, women and children are NOT a priority. That was true when I was growing up, and it is still true. That’s enough for me right there. The party has grown more toward Big Money, corporations, and most things against the average Joe.
So, to be talking politics with my eleven-year-old grandson, who sees the light to be a Democrat surrounded by Republicans, I was touched.
His Dad is usually Republican and his Mom always Democrat. We talked of Arnold Swartznegger and Maria Shriver, and how that’s the case in some families.
We compared this election with John Kennedy, and how the same energy has prevailed, become victorious again, even more so, the energy of the new paradigm.
Jake was very excited to be wearing an Obama T-shirt to school, one in which, his Dad, who voted Republican, helped him draw. Dad put the front Obama emblem on from his computer skills, while Jake created the back with Obama, Yes We Can, 2008.
I felt a lot of love and communion from his Dad to help him do that. A small example of how opposing forces can come together.
Patricia
Monday, November 10, 2008
Essay: Sweet Peach Mother
A peach is the closest thing to a breast in the fruit realm. It has the same inviting, soft roundness, with an aura of fuzz, making its skin more human. And inside is a sweet juiciness that drips like mother’s milk from the corner of our sated, innocent lips. The same trancelike state of contentment can result. If the apple was offered from the tree of knowledge, then surely the tree of life offers us peaches.
This helps explain my rivalry with my stepson for claims on the peach tree in our yard. He says that it’s his—because the peach tree planted when he was born was left at the house of his parent’s broken marriage and this one replaces it. I say it’s mine—because I have watered and tended it, watched it and talked with it. After all, we are both vying for the nurturance of those breasts that each of us still need more of.
If only peach trees, like breasts, produced more peaches the more one suckled from them. On the Front Range of Colorado, our trees bear fruit sporadically. Our changeable springs often warm enough to coax the branches into blossom, only to destroy the flowers with a late freeze.
Yet, I remember one year when the peach tree of my previous marriage was so full of peaches that we had to prop up the branches. And that was after doing some serious thinning earlier in the season.
Oh, what glorious juice those peaches yielded – so tree-ripened tasty. Such joy of plucking off the tree and immediately biting in, the fruit still teeming with life force. Sweet Peach Mother, I hope for a spring that pleases You and brings us enough peach nectar to satisfy us all.
--by Terra Rafael
This helps explain my rivalry with my stepson for claims on the peach tree in our yard. He says that it’s his—because the peach tree planted when he was born was left at the house of his parent’s broken marriage and this one replaces it. I say it’s mine—because I have watered and tended it, watched it and talked with it. After all, we are both vying for the nurturance of those breasts that each of us still need more of.
If only peach trees, like breasts, produced more peaches the more one suckled from them. On the Front Range of Colorado, our trees bear fruit sporadically. Our changeable springs often warm enough to coax the branches into blossom, only to destroy the flowers with a late freeze.
Yet, I remember one year when the peach tree of my previous marriage was so full of peaches that we had to prop up the branches. And that was after doing some serious thinning earlier in the season.
Oh, what glorious juice those peaches yielded – so tree-ripened tasty. Such joy of plucking off the tree and immediately biting in, the fruit still teeming with life force. Sweet Peach Mother, I hope for a spring that pleases You and brings us enough peach nectar to satisfy us all.
--by Terra Rafael
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Fragmented Dreams
I was sitting on a hard bench in this small cubicle outside a part of the hospital on the street, somewhere in Manhattan. There was an open trellis behind the bench and another in front of me. I had just come from visiting a man that I was so infatuated with that, as I was saying goodbye to him, I had backed up into a table and knocked off a glass of water, much to my consternation. In this state of confusion and embarrassment, I tried to collect myself while I waited for my grandmother.
Suddenly, a blending of realities began to occur where, to my inner vision, scenes, almost forgotten, flashed on the screen of my mind in rapid succession. One after another presented itself so vividly and with such familiarity. Did I dream them or where they scenes from past lives? I tried to grasp one long enough to really see it, but it would be gone and another would be in my view. On and on it went. The veils were ripped away and I was in the ocean of the collective consciousness. This bombardment continued and I could not make it stop. It felt like they were memories, but from where?
I would have these episodes periodically. I could say that it was happening but I never could grasp one long enough to describe it.
One stands out that is so vivid that it is a core memory of another time. I am seeing the ramparts of a castle and from below, I see a young woman atop the parapets. It feels like the castle is besieged and I identify myself as the woman, although I see it from below.
These episodes would come over me for twenty minutes at a time. I could not make them start nor could I make them stop. They showed me other realms of consciousness that are just behind the veil,
Prema Rose
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Prose: Life
Life
Life always seemed illusive, nebulous, shifting the future way ahead of me. I had a few dreams as a child and they included being a writer, wanting to go to
Life was that place out in front of me that I was constantly moving towards and never seeming to be one with. Life always felt like the illusive future, always at least two blocks distant or several miles from wherever I was.
Yet I lived it everyday. Some days were like bad hair days when things didn’t go how I wanted them to or think they should. Other days were carefree and filled with the joy of the moment and dreams still held with hope. They were the good days of life, and life was easy.
Life now has a different meaning to me. I remember when looking back became equal to looking ahead, even though I knew being in the moment was the most vital. I remember when the future began to seem not so endless, but more finite, creating a subtle tension that said, if I want to experience thus and so, I better think about doing it soon, and not procrastinating anymore.
Time suddenly became entwined with life, and even though I know the aspects of myself to be timeless, I also could acknowledge, with the shift of the body’s schedule of events and its aging process, that yes, I would want to take care of things now, pay attention to opportunities now, and not procrastinate into future possible times anymore.
I became more aware of the human condition and suddenly how vital life is, even how tenuous it is, and how in one moment, my life might continue endlessly, just no longer in human form.
So, for me, life has taken me on many twists and turns, never quite showing up the way I thought it would when I got there, never quite the way I imagined it would be, yet always, mostly always, okay and doable. And it taught me things I never would have willingly said yes to. It grew me into who I am, sometimes kicking and screaming, yet mostly aware underneath that I had set this in motion and I was going to see it through.
Jyoti
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