A Week's Worth of Women

Dear Blog Readers,

2010-06-21T17:35:00.000-07:00

Our blogging of this site is now at an end. We will no longer be posting new material on this blog, however the stories already posted will remain available to be read.

Our books, A Week's Worth of Women, and, Food and What Feeds Us, can always be purchased through this site.

It has been our pleasure to share our stories and poetry with you over the past two years.

The Last Blog

2010-06-20T14:01:00.000-07:00

The Last Blog

Well, it falls to me to write the last blog for a Week’s Worth of Women, as we have known it. Since writing our “Food and What Feeds Us” book together last fall, our week has slowly been diminishing in the representation of the days, until the few of us left have decided to take a hiatus.

I would like to say what this time, with these women, has meant to me and acknowledge this remarkable input of talented voices that we have listened to, cried with, laughed with, and most of all, honored during these years of meeting every week to share our stories. I wish to thank Jyoti for holding our space and encouraging our creativity throughout the dry or juicy moments of laying down our thoughts and reminiscences. Whether the words came easily or not, in the search of the perfect expression, we learned to offer our creativity without judgment or disclaimers. How amazed we would be at the caliber of writing that emerged.

For me personally, I wish to thank each of you for carrying me in your love through one of the hardest transitions in my life. You listened to my heart words, you were my sounding board, you put up with my political rantings, and stood with me in showers of blessings. I love each of you and am so grateful to have walked this length of the path with you. We have grown together, our innermost gut feelings intertwining, until we became one entity, “A Week’s Worth of Women”, in blog and book.

May our journeys be blessed as we morph into another identity. May our endeavors hold the power that we gained from each other. We are strong together and carry that strength into the stories that are coming. I want to hear them all as they spill out of us in a fountain of expression. We are courageous women, taking on the ability to put ourselves out to the world whatever may. We stand as an example to all people that their stories and their lives have value and cry for the telling.

As we know, nothing is ever lost.

Prema Rose
6/20/10

2010-06-19T06:00:00.000-07:00

While you were sleeping,
mad men,
a world away,
made choices
that effect your world
this morning.
You wake up
and pray for all of them,
and tonight they will gather
while you sleep
and do it again.
Only patience and love
can outlast them.
Keep praying.

Jyoti

Letter to Readers

2010-06-18T05:40:00.000-07:00

Dear Blog Readers,

Our blogging of this site is coming to an end the week of June 21st. We will no longer be posting new material on this blog, however the stories already posted will remain available to be read.

Our books, A Week's Worth of Women, and. Food and What Feeds Us, can always be purchased through this site.

It has been our pleasure to share our stories and poetry with you over the past two years.

CURRENT WORLD VIEW, PERSONAL

2010-06-17T07:02:00.000-07:00

I could say “I am so in love with life on this planet and consider this is a very exciting time to be alive right now.” I could say, “Half the time I am fighting down anxiety attacks and the other half I am in a state of bliss.” And all of these would be true.

It is hard to turn on the TV and watch the oil spill in the Gulf Coast. It breaks my heart and makes me feel sad and hopeless.
I have a strong spiritual connection and I do choose to believe that all is in Divine Right Timing and something good will come of this horrible disaster. The President of the Sierra Club was on the news this morning urging President Obama to begin talks on leading our nation away from oil dependency. That is the most hopeful news I have heard lately and aligns with my own point of view. Finally!!

Being with my horse, just standing beside her, brings me great peace. When I walk out through my green grassy lawn to feed the horses I look over their pasture to the corn field, growing by the minute with all the rain that we had this week-end. I look over the corn field to the trees along the Platte River and thank God to be so close to a water way, even if at the moment it has spilled over its borders. I look over the trees and see new snow on the jagged silhouette of the Rocky Mountains.

For twenty years I have been aware of the Mayan Calendar and 2012 debate. Will it be the end of the world or the beginning of a new way of living? I dread those mornings when my first thoughts are filled with insecurity and worry. Where can I find the strength to live through this day?

For the past six months I have been enrolled in an Equine Gestalt Coaching class. I am as high as kite with this program and all the potential it has for helping people. I love those mornings when all I am aware of is the sun streaming in and the birds singing right outside my window. I am not alone.

The tension comes from balancing the anxiety with the bliss. I feel as though I am on the razor’s edge. Looking down into despair is dangerous but it is hard to pull my eyes up to see the peaceful vision that, intuitively I know, lies ahead of me. Sometimes I want to leave my body as I watch my racing brain and thundering heart come to a “Y” in the road, careening out of control. Will they decide to take the turn together or will the split in the road tear me apart? It takes incredible strength and focused energy to breathe deeply and direct this forward momentum. Sometimes I can’t get there for a long time. But then I do. I always do, eventually.

Trust. Faith. Patience. Love. Vision.
Moonlight on the mountains.
Promise for a new day.

* annette

My Tree of Life

2010-06-13T06:30:00.000-07:00

My Tree of Life

I am a bird alighting on a branch of my Tree of Life, evoking the memory of that particular perspective and experience. I write from that vantage point, from that moment in time. What details and emotions arise within that story? I want to capture every nuance and shade of color. I look for the words to recreate that event, that feeling, that inspiration.

I love the writing and am always amazed at the magic of the simple act of bringing pen to paper. Miracles happen in that moment. There is no judgment, just the flow and the trust that the next word and thought will be there to follow the one that has emerged before it. Sometimes I have an inkling of what I am to say but, often as not, the words seem to be bottled up in my pen (or keyboard) and spew themselves out, independent of my mind. Then I will stop and ask if that is really what I mean to say and how I mean to say it. I try not to second-guess the process as I become more amazed at its perfection. Sure, I could say something different, in a different way, but that is my mind getting in the way of just writing.

Someday my Tree will be in full bloom with all the stories and memories that wish to be told. I will call all the other birds and flocks of birds to sit on this branch or other and enjoy the vista.

Prema Rose
5/16/10

The Angels

2010-06-12T06:00:00.000-07:00

They sit on high with glorious wings
unfurled in heaven’s sunlight.
On earth, they wear garbs of flesh
and hang around street corners
whispering in the ears
of the homeless and down-trodden.
At sea, they swim with dolphins
and ride the giant whales
from one continental shelf
to another.
These glorious beings
tend to children’s needs,
the human heart’s travails,
and all manner of life
in between.
Tall, stately, glowing from the inside,
they bruise my heart
with their unconditionality,
and cook me until I’m done,
until I get it, let go,
and move on,
as they do at will,
to newer territories,
flowing in the moments
wherever the strains
of Heavenly music
call them.

Jyoti

TIME !?!?!

2010-06-10T07:45:00.001-07:00

I am not sure what is going on but in the past week time has been playing tricks with me. It started with my desk top home receptionist phone that I have had for many years. I finished a phone call, hung up the receiver, and was shocked to note the time. Geez, where did it go? According to my phone I should have been walking out the door for an appointment. I rushed toward the kitchen and was brought up short when I noted the clock softly glowing at me from the stove top. According to the kitchen, I have plenty of time. I walked back to my desk, which apparently took about 25 minutes to cross thirty feet. I double checked the time with my wall mounted atomic clock to realize that my telephone was the culprit. I reset the phone, which, as mentioned earlier, I have owned for many years. I went on with my day wondering if a phone was like a tetanus shot; if you can’t remember when you got your last one, you probably need a new one !?!?.

Two days later the same type of event happened but this time it was my computer playing with my schedule. For some unknown reason the clock on my computer was incorrect. It has NEVER been incorrect. Once again I was startled and panicked for a moment thinking I was running late. Once again I double checked with my atomic clock that has hung over my doorway for several years. If you are not familiar with Atomic Clocks I must say that they are wonderful. Mine is battery operated. All atomic clocks are keyed into one giant time-keeping apparatus at the National Bureau of Standards, which just happens to be located in Boulder, Colorado. I have no idea how it actually works but it is said to neither gain nor lose one second in 300,000 years. My close proximity to Boulder, Colorado has not, however, decreased my immunity towards losing time.

The next day I woke up and my bedroom clock radio and the microwave clock were blinking at me, indicating that the electricity had gone off in the middle of the night. I would need to reset time. On its own this would be easily explained, but with all the other freaky things going on ???

And then, my desk phone struck again. I was savvy this time and referenced the wall clock immediately. Once again my telephone had stolen about half an hour worth of valuable time. Four times in less than a week multiple time pieces have played tricks with me. A coincidence?

I no longer believe in coincidence. When the universe sends me three hits (or more!) I feel that I must pay attention. So I spent time meditating on my relationship with time. Upon reflection I understand that I obsess about time. My truth in the past has been that, much like money, I never seem to have enough.

Apparent (?) Truths:
In my real estate world, “time is of the essence” means that time deadlines are deal makers.
My business life is dictated by other people’s time lines.
For many years my mantra has been, “I have all the time I need”.
I usually repeat this as I drive furiously towards a meeting it appears I may be late for.
So I shortened it to, “I have all the time”
In metaphysical studies it is taught that time is an illusion; there is no such thing as time.
I have heard over and over, “All things happen in Divine Right Timing.”
And yet the same teachers say that “time is indeed speeding up as our physical vibrations amp up.”
Note to self: “Update our illusion of time.”
Like the atomic clock, it isn’t always necessary to understand how it works.
I choose to believe that “All things DO happen in Divine Right Timing.”
This takes the pressure off of me.
I am at peace with time and my respective time pieces.
“I have all the time…….”

* annette,

Seva

2010-06-06T21:58:00.000-07:00

Seva

I have just completed another year’s seva (the Sanskrit word for selfless service) for Karunamayi’s annual visit to Boulder. It is a big undertaking to put on several days of programs and I am the lead coordinator for the volunteers. Today we had a Vedic fire ceremony called a Homa. It is a very powerful offering of prayers for the entire planet and all of Humanity. Amma travels to many cities across the United States and thousands of devotees receive the blessings of Divine Mother.

Last night, while I was washing all the chairs and tables for the ceremony, I remarked to my friend and co-coordinator that I really loved doing seva. I have always jumped in to volunteer. She asked me when I had first started and that question brought me back to the time when I was attending an Anglican boarding school as a teenager.

When I was fifteen, I loved spending time in the school chapel. I would get up early for Mass with the Sisters and spend many hours sitting and absorbing the peace of the sanctuary. I was fairly lonely although I had friends, but real love eluded me and I felt the closest to whatever that was in the chapel.

At the end of my sophomore year, I was hoping to be chosen to become a Sacristan. This was a great honor and a two year position. To be able to spend more time preparing the vestments and cleaning the Chalice and the Altar! Isn’t this what every fifteen year old girl longs for? Well, I got my wish.

We prepared every week to sing the plainsong Mass at the convent on Sunday. We had to be quiet and attentive and I have to admit that I enjoyed being the Silence Police and busting the girls for whispering behind the back of our incredibly boring choir mistress. Not that any of us were angels, myself included.

However, this was my first inclination to being in service to God. As my practice has developed to broader dimensions, my seva extends to many living creatures. How I wish that it were really true to be able to say “All” living creatures. I am not there yet. I do think of Jesus’ words when He said,

“In-as-much as you do this unto the least of these, you do it unto Me”.

I ponder the meaning of the phrase, “Selfless service”. I wonder if there really is any such thing as being entirely selfless. What is there in it for me that is a motivating factor? I see how my ego tries to wiggle its way into acts of service. Do I feel somehow “Special”, as I did as a Sacristan? I want to be able to offer myself freely, purely, without any overtones. Even my exhaustion is a pat on the back for extending myself to such a degree. The deep self examination this has brought up in me, prompts me to refrain from seva for a while. I need to look at what life would be like without that stimulus.

We shall see how this plays out. Perhaps it will bring me to an understanding of what selfless service really means for me in my experience.

Prema Rose
6/6/10

You couldn't sleep...

2010-06-05T06:00:00.000-07:00

You couldn’t sleep
because the Moon
was dancing on
the beach’s edge,
weaving in and out
among the reed grasses
on the dunes,
and the holi ones
were calling your name.
That’s why
you couldn’t sleep
tonight.

Jyoti

MOMENTUM ~ Part 2.

2010-06-03T06:24:00.000-07:00

Last week Brooke came over for her first lesson of the season. We started out in the round pen, but all three of us were bored there very quickly. The wind was up slightly which can make a horse act a little goosey but I made the decision to trust my horse. I asked Brook if she wanted to ride in the much larger paddock area where she had been riding last year. Of course she did! As I opened the gate and led Lakota across the field to the paddock I was watching her body language. Her head came up and her ears flicked forward. She had stepped out of the security of the old boring round pen routine and she was wide awake instantly and on alert for danger.

As we stepped into the paddock I asked Brooke to stay on the fence and walk her around the large area. Lakota moved out easily at a much quicker walk. We reviewed the one rein stop, a procedure to bring your horse under control, or even to a complete stop, if they are moving faster than the rider desires. I was keeping a sharp eye on my horse to make sure that I had made a wise decision to bring them into this larger arena. Brooke looked at me as she walked by and said, “It is much easier to ride a horse with momentum.”

I did a double take and grinned at her. She was sitting very confidently aboard this spotted horse and they were a beautiful picture. “I am so proud of you for noticing the difference and very glad that you brought it up. Why, I remember when you couldn’t even say ‘momentum’ and you had no idea what I was talking about!” She nodded her head in agreement.

We were grinning at each other and I realized that I had relaxed into the situation. As I relaxed, my horse could relax. That is exactly the way it works. Yes, the wind was still gusting and yes, I knew that Lakota was paying a lot of attention to things moving in the breeze but … she also had an ear on Brooke and was paying attention to her. Lakota was stepping out with energy and Brooke had very little trouble getting her up into a nice relaxed trot. We played like we were in a real show and I was giving Brooke the usual commands one by one. “Walk your horse on the rail to the right. Reverse your horse at the walk. Trot your horse. Walk your horse. Stop your horse. Back your horse five steps. Bring your horses in and line up in front of the ring steward.”

Both horse and rider are looking good. We have a big decision to make before the first show of the season. Brooke’s mom and I are deciding if Brooke will advance to the walk/trot classes this year. For the past two years she has been participating in the lead line classes where she basically sits on her horse while I lead her around the arena. Not very challenging for the rider, but I have to walk/trot in deep sand wearing cowboy boots! In the walk trot classes they will enter the arena on there own, just the two of them …. with all the other kids of course, but you know what I mean. I won’t be that close if things fall apart. I am nervous, I wish that I wasn’t but I am.

This is a huge step for all of us.
In the back of my mind I can see a scared young horse running away with me.
“Hey, that was a long time ago,” I can almost hear my horse whisper in my ear.
I know that to move to the next level of my own horsemanship I have to learn to trust my horse.
Can I trust my horse with a small child?
Do I trust Brooke’s ability to handle this horse in that large arena?
Forty-five versus nine hundred pounds.
This is huge.
Talk about momentum, this is catapulting me into a broader relationship with my horse.
Am I ready?
…to Trust.
Hummm, wonder about the other pieces of my life?
This is huge!

* annette

MOMENTUM ~ Part 1.

2010-06-02T12:10:00.000-07:00

Seven year old Brooke was one of the first neighbors that I met in my new, old farmhouse. She knocked on my door with her girl scout cookie order form in hand and her mom standing in the background. It was cold on the porch so I invited them in, and of course, bought Thin Mints and a box of those peanut butter cookies. A few weeks later she arrived on my doorstop again and delivered my order. YUM! As the weather warmed up I chatted with her and her mom walking their dogs or riding their bikes by my house. I had not met any other neighbors, one of downsides of living in a rural area where houses are not packed onto tiny lots, which of course was also exactly the reason I was living here on my small slice of heaven on earth.

I am not sure where or when the idea popped into my mind to invite Brooke over for horse back riding lessons and then to compete in the local gymkhanas. I had watched small kids compete in the lead line events during my first year of showing with the St. Vrain Riding Club. I do remember talking the situation over with my horse to see if she was up for this adventure. I told Lakota how blessed I felt to live on this little acreage and have her in my back yard where I could take care of and watch over her. I felt like offering this to a horse crazed young girl was one small way we could pay back for our wondrous good fortune. And Brooke reminded me of myself at that age and I will never forget the thrill of my first pony. They are nice folks and good neighbors but they cannot afford to buy their little girl a pony. It just felt right.

The interesting thing has been to watch Lakota with this little girl. Lakota is not an “old pokey nag” by any stretch of the imagination. She is not the most confidant horse in the world and, as a friend of mine so aptly described her disposition at times, “her survival instinct is incredibly strong”. She is built for flight and can be quick as lightning if she feels threatened. You may be wondering, as I have myself, if she is the best horse for the job, but she is the only horse that I have and there isn’t a mean bone in her body. And here she is with Brooke; just as mellow as I could ever hope for. These past few years Brooke has learned how to be with a horse; to groom her, lead her around the property, as well as our riding lessons. What little formal training I have I am willing to pass on to Brooke.

We began in the round pen, a fifty foot round pole enclosure where both Lakota and Brooke feel comfortable. Lakota actually poked around the circle with her head relaxed and hanging down, sometimes we wondered if she was actually sleep walking! Brooke was eight years old when we started and I was talking to her about momentum; how to keep Lakota walking, what to do when she comes to a complete stop, which she did any time she wanted to. But momentum was a brand new word and she had no idea what I was trying to convey to her. I watched how hard it was for a forty five pound girl to make a nine hundred pound horse pay attention. As much as I wanted to step forward and compel my horse to move forward, I wanted to allow Brooke to take charge and make things happen. But we had to come up with some strategy to balance the playing field. I have no trouble cuing Lakota to pick up speed using just my voice and my body position. Forward momentum has never been an issue with this cute little mare. And I did not want Brooke kicking on her sides as I have seen a lot of little kids do with their old slow poke ponies. I was not at all confidant that Lakota would put up with that, nor should she in my opinion. Brooke learned how to cluck to Lakota and how to pick up the reins and turn her head and ask her to step out in a new direction. This way she could lead her back to the rail and pick up a slow walk. We progressed to a fast walk and set up obstacles and she learned to guide her horse around the barrels or cones. She learned to stop Lakota (when Brooke wanted to her to!!) and how to back up.

I have a comfortable t-shirt with an old cowboy on it working with a young colt. The man is Ray Hunt, one of the founders of Natural Horsemanship, as we have come to call this marvelous movement. There is a quote from Ray under the picture that sums it all up.

“Believe in your horse, so your horse can believe in you.”

* annette

The Point

2010-05-30T23:06:00.000-07:00

Sixty-eight revolutions around the Sun
And what does it all mean?
All the hopes and ambitions,
All the plannings and strivings,
The greatest achievements,
And abysmal flops,
The children and grandkids,
The laughs and the tears,
The deepest soul searching
And the frivolous fluff,
All seem without substance
In this moment of Truth.
Yes, there are triumphs
When Hope reigns again
And darkness gives way
To the cleansing of Light.
No shred of the ego,
Casting a shadow,
Can hold back the brilliance
Of that which is real.
The anger, what of it?
The stumbling, who cares?
And what we call Loving,
Do we know what that is?
Letting go of the stories
And weavings of Life,
I bring my awareness
To that which is here.
And so, in this moment,
I sew with intent
To make this stitch even
And strong without knots.
And on it goes on,
Just this stitch,
And this one,
And this stitch, and this stitch,
Is there a point?

Prema Rose
5/28/10

O Nights of Summertime!

2010-05-29T06:31:00.000-07:00

O nights of Summertime!
Fields of stars
stretching overhead,
lighting my path
marking my passage
through season to season.

Balmy yet rich
in loamy smells,
embracing each seed
hugging me close
noting my words,
accepting my thanks.

Winter’s long gone.
Snow came in May.
We stretched
with blossoming trees
to live through til now.
O nights of Summertime,

Welcome!

Jyoti

Walking Away ?

2010-05-27T07:10:00.000-07:00

I just wanted to note that I have awoken many times in the past few months with the realization that I had, the moment before, been dreaming! This is exciting to me as I am one of these people who feel like I never dream because I rarely have a conscious memory of actually dreaming. This morning I have a snippet … a dream fragment. This is a step towards remembering my dreams and wants to be acknowledged.

I am standing in front of, and looking into, what appears to be a furnace. It is old, huge and kind of scary looking box. There is a large piece sticking out from the middle top; it is a kidney bean shaped balloon apparently made out of metal. I wonder what it is; a filter? I have never seen anything like it. It kind of reminds me of an exposed heart; is it beating? Even as I stand there and think about it, it falls off and rolls across my laundry basket filled with clothes. I am fearful. Is it hot to touch? Will it ruin or stain my clothes? What should I do with this bean heart?

I note that even though this large bean filter do-hickey is sitting on them, my clothes were not clean yet; they are on their way to the washing machine.

I am tempted to not do anything. I have done this in the past when I am too overwhelmed with life in general; like now. I just walk away from a “not right” or “un-resolvable” situation…. until I have the strength or stamina to face it. However, this has not always led to a great outcome. Walking away does not mean that I don’t ruminate on whatever it is. NO. It follows me around, stalking my brain waves.

So I look up from my laundry basket to the face of the furnace. There are two slightly rusty pipes that are now exposed and open. What passed through them? Air? Gas? Not liquid I am sure. Can I walk away from it this time? How close are they to the small flame at the heart of this beast, the pilot light?

I imagine that I if I just close the door and walk away, the chamber will fill with gas and when it can no longer handle the fumes which have accumulated; it will blow up and destroy everything. I cannot take that chance. I do not want my home destroyed. How hard can it be to put back together? I bend down to pick it up and even as I am realizing that it is not as heavy as it looks … I wake up.

Humm…….

* annette

Poem- Faults

2010-05-24T07:13:00.000-07:00

Rifts in the Earth.
My faults guide inner collapse
to new formations of beauty
and peaceful balance.

I let it fall.

---Terra Rafael

The Hungry Beast

2010-05-23T15:21:00.000-07:00

I am the Hungry Beast.
I devour all I see
That will fill my insatiable belly,
Consuming the productions
Of those whose desperate flesh
Cannot sustain the necessary modicum of hope.
Sustenance is for the poor
And under poor.
I gorge my appetites,
And turn a blind eye and a deaf ear
To those who whimper for a crumb.
I understand survival of the fittest
And will outlast the strongest of the weak,
For I am fed upon the efforts of the have-nots
And the gluttony of those who have.
I ensnare the wary righteous
Even in their piety.
I play the politicians for the fools they are
And hold all accountable to their greed and lust.
I search out the incorruptible
To tempt them to my lair,
For I must feed my emptiness
Until I have exhausted
All sources of desire.
I will consume the very Earth
But still not know fulfillment.
I am tormented by my hunger.
I am lost in the bottomless pit
Of more…

Prema Rose

Speaking On Paper

2010-05-22T06:00:00.000-07:00

Into this already crowded mind, comes images and memories that beg manifestation on paper. Could I deny them even if I wanted to? It seems that they would make their own way to the page, whether in the guise of advice from one of my characters to another, or slip and slide into my poetic verses.

Better to let them have their say right up front.

Sometimes I write only for myself. It’s not too often that I take a piece of personal thoughts and feelings and put it aside in a separate folder from others’ eyes. Yet I have done that. Not everything is for consumption by another.

Whether it’s because of the tone of the writing or the content of the storyline, there are times when I know I am not going to, nor are able to, share it with anyone.

I have to respect my own judgment here. I have an investment in my own well-being and safety needs. Out of these considerations will flow, and does flow, language and ideas that are meant to be shared, in one way or another.

These considerations also allow my inner places to feel free to speak on paper with an awareness that my consciousness will appropriately discern what is okay to share and what isn’t.

And so I can trust myself on paper.

Jyoti

A Word Picture of Summertime.

2010-05-20T05:59:00.000-07:00

Bare legs and arms, sunshine, warm lazy days
Being a kid out of school, Memorial Day
Green grass, fruit tees, strawberry fields
Hot dogs, 4th of July, fireworks, sulfur essence
Bomb Pops, orange sherbet “Push-ups” and
Ice cream truck melodies
Hot cars, sticky asphalt, air conditioned stores
Fishing for crawdads
Glorious weeks at Grandma and Grandpa’s house
Girl Scout camp, church camp
Float trips, red canoes, and orange life vests
Dolls made of hollyhock blossoms
Lily pond with tadpoles, lilac bushes
Baby chicks, baby pigs, little kittens
Hanging out in Union Star with Grandma Hazel
Sweet corn, green beans & red juicy tomatoes
Homemade ice cream, Tollhouse cookies
Sitting in the basement on cool concrete reading books
Building forts, playing war
Kick the can, four square & tether ball
Mud pies, bee stings, allergies

Days seemed endless at the beginning of summer
And then, all of sudden, it was over.

* annette

Visiting Home

2010-05-17T07:38:00.000-07:00

Forty years after it was my address, the house where I grew up still holds a lease on the place called home in my heart. Mom still lives in that suburban ranch-style house, though Dad has moved on to heaven.

The house itself has changed very little. There is new siding, easier to keep up with only a splash of hose water to rinse it clean. The pool and dishwasher were installed after I left for college, but have since become familiar friends when I visit. The trees, which I remember as just little sticks when I was short myself, have far outstripped me in size, needing to be trimmed back. The lawn that Dad kept immaculate and plush as a carpet, now has a few dandelions and sparse spots. The gravel driveway I remember Grandpa Johnson raking is now paved.

Mom has let go of the need to clean house much. I think she mostly did it to please Dad and now he’s gone and she can’t afford someone to come in and clean. She even teases my sister and I when we do some cleaning for her, calling us “Mrs. Clean.” That ties into an old family memory of camping when we saw a man who went to the washroom building so very often that we nicknamed him “Mr. Clean.” Still, I know it is for myself that I clean, not Mom. She doesn’t see or care about the thick dust you can see if you touch or move the framed family photos sitting on the side tables and dressers. I have worked my way through the living room and kitchen, today I’ll do the bathroom and den, leaving my room for tomorrow.

Mom has morphed into a version of her mother, watching the game show network incessantly. “Mom would have loved this channel,” she always asserts. When “nothing is on” she plays cards or does word search puzzles. She doesn’t move much and now it’s getting difficult to get up and walk around. Her eyes are less reliable. The TV is on VERY loud to get through her feeble hearing. She repeats things more often, just like the reruns on the game show network that recycle frequently—but she doesn’t notice. She still wants us to eat, frequently and plenty.

It’s strange and familiar to sleep in the same room I used as a small girl. When I lived there we had a trundle-bunk bed so three of us could use the room. The last full time inhabitant was Dad, when his Alzheimers got bad enough to make him restless, so Mom couldn’t sleep with him anymore. There are still some stains in the hardwood floor from his forgetful spitting. The old dresser was the same one we had when I lived in the room. The window ledges are old and water damaged from over 50 years without being replaced. But they built the house sturdy and most of the original windows are still good.

Yes, I’ve grown & weathered many a storm too. But it is still home. And I sleep soundly in that room.
--Terra Rafael

Meanderings of MY Mind

2010-05-16T10:09:00.000-07:00

Meanderings of My Mind

Of all the places that I go
Within my mind,
The twists and turns,
And paths I lose and find,
The changes of a viewpoint,
There from here,
From upside down to right-side up,
So far, yet near.
From all I know
And what I thought I knew,
The letting go
And picking up anew.
The daydreams of my heart
That pull me out
Of that dark place
So filled with fear and doubt.
Stay on the breath
And ride the wave to shore,
Allowing focus to be
Glimpsed once more.
Then off it runs
Like a rambunctious child.
Whoever thought my mind
Could be so wild?

Prema Rose
5/16/10

I've lost some of my daring...

2010-05-15T06:00:00.000-07:00

I’ve lost some of my daring edges. Have I grown up. Have I gotten ‘old’.
I never played it safe as I play it these days. I’m curious as to why. I know to follow my curiosity. It usually has information and answers for me.

When I look inside, I can’t find the place where risk-taking lived. Did it get lost in the raising of children, exhausted adrenals, and too much stress? Did I get mirrored that, at my age, it's no longer appropriate to behave that way and I took the unsolicited feedback seriously?

I think this calls for a quest. I already have a Harrison Ford hat. I also know I may meet the poisonous snakes of my own self-doubt. I may become entangled in the vines of my own impatience, and yet I know I could also run headlong into a murky cave and find the answers as I’m coming out the other side.

My desire to know the Truth has served me up until now. It will be my guide, Harrison hat or no.

Jyoti

Derby Hats

2010-05-13T08:01:00.000-07:00

As I settled into my window seat on what appeared to be a full flight, I was imagining myself landing in Kentucky. It is a little mind game I always play to assure a safe flight. My seat mate is a slender young woman and we chat up our destination plans. It turns out we are both headed to Louisville for a week-end of horse racing, a first for both of us. We nod to the woman several isles in front of us as she places a hat box in the overhead, obviously Derby bound.

I am so excited. For as long as I can remember I have wanted to attend the Kentucky Derby and here I am; it is swiftly becoming a reality. I am on my way to visit a long time friend, Peggy, who was transferred to Louisville three years ago. She had sent me a copy of two local magazines, both dedicated to the Derby ritual. One, specifically for women, was all about the hats. They wrote of dresses and shoes but almost as an afterthought. It really is “all about the hat”.

Peggy has an outrageous red and purple hat that she purchased last summer on a trip back to Colorado. We had stopped at the brand new Visitor Center in Georgetown, off I-70, looking for really clean bathrooms. We found those, thank goodness, but she also found this wild and crazy Victorian style hat ~ large red felt, complete with plumes, gauze and yards of shiny ribbon. I saw garish, she envisioned Derby!!

“You’re kidding?” I questioned her sanity until I saw the look in her eye. She was already there.

“No, really. It is a perfect Derby hat.” She was so excited and moved swiftly into problem solving; how to get this prodigious hat home on the airplane. I speculated on the necessity of buying it its own seat!

But now my competitive nature rises to the surface as Peggy and I discuss my own head gear. We have a very loose plan based on a basic straw hat that Peggy purchased for $2.50 at a flea market. We are going to go shopping for flowers, plumes, ribbon, etc., which we will hot glue onto above mentioned bonnet. I have a pale green sundress to base my color scheme around and envision a green and purple creation.

The scene at Dee’s reminds me of a hen house door thrown open. At least one hundred bodies were hurtling from one stall to the next, excitedly pecking at bin after bin of feathers, flowers and bows, “Oh my” ~ cackling amongst themselves as they search for that special treat. Peg and I joined right in, plucking out a six inch wide bright purple dahlia, a long dark green ostrich feather, several purple peacock “eye” feathers and one yard of beautiful purple ribbon. Our piece de resistance was a stem of blue silk butterflies that Peg found. After grabbing a free bottle of chilled water (keeping the hens hydrated) I shelled out $28 and change for my color coordinated hodgepodge.

I am not very artistic and had some doubts as to whether we would create a mess or a “keeper”. However, the next morning we covered the kitchen table with newspaper, Peggy pulled out her hot glue gun and creative inspiration took over. All I can say is we had a blast creating a “work of art”.

I am thrilled to report that both of our hats survived the rains of Derby day and Peggy did receive several thumbs up for her bonnet. She just smiled. I have fallen in love with our work of love. It is so adorable that I am now faced with Peggy’s earlier dilemma; how to get my perfect Derby hat home.

* annette

A Memoir

2010-05-12T14:06:00.000-07:00

A Memoir

I was a young lassie, two or three. My favorite place to travel was to my maternal grandmother’s, down in central Alabama. It was literally an over the hills and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go, kind of journey. We would take the bus down to her house, as my Dad stayed home to work. It was an hour and a half trip.

My grandmother , Mema Martin to me, Lula Bell to others, and her second husband, Pepa Martin, whose name was Fate, lived in a two bedroom cabin on a dirt road on the way to Jordan dam. We were just across the road from a Boy Scout camp. My cousins and I loved to play and explore around this camp. As the war was still going on, it added to the adventure. If we heard an airplane, we knew it had to do with the war.

Theirs was an unpainted cabin with a front porch we loved to sit on, a wood stove inside.
There were pigs and chickens. “Slopping the hogs” as it was called, always made me wonder and fascinate, how could we eat them, they were so messy. The chickens were entitled to roam the property. There was a well near the back porch with a pump, which supplied water for all the property.

Mema’s only vice was using, or dipping snuff. She used a tin can to spit in, no fancy spittoons then, not in her circles anyway. The tin can was usually wrapped in a small paper bag, probably for a better grip and preventing it from slipping or spilling when picked up.

On one particular day, since it was just my Mom and me visiting, we got a letter from my Dad, there was no telephone. I was very proud of this letter. After reading it I held on to it tightly, deciding I was going home to see my Dad. I started up the dirt road, making my way home. My mother and grandmother thought they would just give my toddling little body some time to see how far I would go. After about one quarter of a mile, I was still trotting along. As my mom understood I had no fear, she decided I needed to be fetched.
Thus ended my sojourn, my first to explore the world on my own.

This wandering into the world, was repeated some forty-five years later by my first grandson when he disappeared out of my backyard here is Boulder on his way to Oklahoma to find his dad who had just moved their belongings a few days ahead of his wife and son. He was found a few blocks away by a policeman, after all the neighbors and his mom were out on a search.
Patricia Jordan
5/2/10

Behind the Image in the Home Movie

2010-05-10T05:31:00.000-07:00

Feeding the pigeons in Trafalgar Square, dressed in my prim and proper summer dress and hat, with comfortable, low heeled shoes, somehow I feel decidedly uncomfortable and improper.

Yes, my husband is filming me for the future little ones he imagines we will have. He is blind-blind to the battle going on inside of me as I carefully squat down so as not to show my slip and give some more crumbs to those dirty birds. I look so innocent.

There must be something beyond this pleasant middle class wife business. Will I forever tend to this man, first him then his children and then him again in his old age? I feel some naked force within that compels me to express something more than a smile in a home movie—yet, I don’t know how.

(from the prompts: blind, naked, pleasant, battle, pigeons)

--Terra Rafael

Mother Divine

2010-05-09T18:05:00.001-07:00

Mother Divine
Who holds all of creation in her heart,
Showering blessings on us
In every imaginable form,
You come as the robin
Greeting my waking eyes,
Perched on the rail of the deck
Outside my bedroom window.
You come in the laughter
And delight of those
Who share a joyous event.
You come with song and dance,
Playing the rhythms of my body
And urge it to burst into exuberation.
You come in the hand of a child
Slipping into mine
For comfort and assurance.
You come in the greeting of a sister friend
Not seen for many months
And home, at last, from India.
You come when all seems lost
And enfold me in your Grace
To teach me compassion.
You are there in the light of the candles
Illuminating my puja table,
Honoring my teachers and masters
Throughout all time and all dimensions.
Where are you not, blessed Mother?
All I have to do is open my eyes
To your Divine presence
And receive your gifts,
Receive your Love
You are here in my innermost space of Space,
Always and ever.

Prema Rose

Taking

2010-05-08T06:00:00.000-07:00

Taking your temperature
to gauge the inner and out landscape.
Taking the time to tend
to what needs tending.
Taking a needed rest.
Taking on too much.
Taking the credit and learning how
to receive the gratitude of others.
Taking offense where none was meant.
Taking off to parts unknown
when a break is needed.
Taking turns and sharing the wealth.
Taking food as comfort to a friend.
Taking stock while taking the pulse
of the larger world,
and taking all of this into consideration
as you mull over your life.

Jyoti

Lunch At Paradise Café

2010-05-06T06:03:00.000-07:00

We did not spend much time in Louisville city proper, but what time we spent was exceptional. We decided to have lunch first and Peggy had a place all picked out, Lynn’s Paradise Cafe. As we drove by it looked like a cross between an outdoor flea market and an art deco diner ~ nothing subtle here!

We walked by the red painted railing that defined the patio dining. It was topped by bright blue wooden planters filled with thousands of large neon silk asters; lime green, orange, day glow yellow and brilliant raspberry. The whimsy continues as we headed toward the front door, flanked by wildly colored organ pipes and a large kneeling gorilla painted shiny lime green. All diners enter through a small gift shop, The World of Swirl, filled with wild and exotic items like “Onion Ring” flavored breath mints.?!?

We opted to sit on the patio; the sun was streaming down through red umbrellas. There were about a dozen tables covered with brightly covered oilcloth. Our table covering was brilliant blue with large red cherries and strong green leaves. The table next to us reminded me of an oilcloth that I had purchased twenty years ago in Mexico. This one was yellow with large pink peonies, plus red orbs and connecting greenery. You could not help but be cheerful in such a bright and uplifting atmosphere.

We, of course, were outrageously cheerful ~ we were on vacation! The very first thing we noticed was the top item on the dessert menu; Very Berry Pie, made with strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, apples and rhubarb, served with cinnamon crunch ice cream. We planned the rest of our lunch around the pie! Working backwards we chose the Fried Green Tomato BLT with a side of herb braised lima beans and roasted garlic mashed potatoes.

Sharing an entrée seemed to guarantee that we would have room for our coveted dessert.
The service was delightful and they kept the lemonade and ice tea coming. The ladies at the table next to us oohed and aahed over our dessert which was indeed a hefty portion, even to be shared by two gals on vacation.

We spent the rest of the afternoon strolling along the Ohio river, flooded with recent rain fall. We roamed from Main Street to Market Street, making our decadent dessert not such an extravagance. My legs ached and Peggy’s feet hurt as we wound our way back to the car. Lunch, though not forgotten, was now replaced by the anticipation of Steve’s smoked flank steak and potatoes, waiting for us at home. Oh, I love vacation!

* annette

Another Whimsical Poem

2010-05-05T08:38:00.000-07:00

Another Whimsical Poem

The gnome that I am follows closely to the ground, I do.

I may go round and round in circles, I may

Coming to my favorite shrubs, the ones with the best scents, they have, they have.

I may squat down and finger the grass, and finger and finger.

Then I wander down the lane and wander even more

To find the best scents I wander down the lane

I come upon a flower with all colors, it has every one

And even a sparkle or two makes them shine even more, and more they shine.

Its like they have a secret, they do

And to keep the secret, they sparkle even more, they do even more.
Patricia Jordan
5/5/10

A prose poem - "Yes"

2010-05-03T06:29:00.000-07:00

I lounge like a lizard, on a warm Rock, listening to Water trickling into the pond next to my deck. The Air stands still and outlines my skin with amoist dew. The Sky arranges herself smoothly across the heavens, no wrinkles betraying her blanket of breath. The Sun insinuates himself into my exposed pores. My inner editor continues arranging thoughts in neat categories and rows, even though I have long abandoned any interest in them. There is a peaceful sense, a psychic knowing on a cellular level that I really am a part of Nature.

Prompt words: psychic listening editor abandoned sky

--Terra Rafael

Voice of Truth

2010-05-02T13:22:00.001-07:00

I am a lover of Truth
And Truth cannot be bought.
I must speak out where there
Is injustice and oppression,
For my heart cannot bear
The burden of the world’s sorrow
And the cries of children in the night.
The enormity of the depravity
Makes me want to turn my eyes away,
But I cannot.
Nor can I hide my head
So not to see
I must seek out and know
So my voice will ring with Truth
And help bring down the Temple of Lies
Held up by cowardice and greed.
Through apathy, we are manipulated
And live in a fog of our own making.
Truth brings the clarity of sight
And seeing, I must speak up.

Prema Rose

Today I will...

2010-05-01T06:11:00.000-07:00

Today I will allow myself the freedom
to be more of who I truly am
and not make excuses for how
I differ from others, or disagree with them.

Today I will be content with the contents
of the day and not chide myself,
thinking there was more
I could have done.

Today I will give myself the room
I need to yet understand
what I don’t seem to
and be patient with that part of me
that might need more time
to come to realizations
that others may get in the moment.

Today, this day, is all I really have.
There’s no guarantee that I will wake
with the rising of the sun tomorrow.
There’s no guarantee that I will see
another season of the year
or blow out more candles on a cake.

Today is what I have as my own.
It behooves me to make the best of it
and let myself off any hook
I tend to put myself on.

Jyoti

Kentucky

2010-04-30T07:01:00.000-07:00

My trip to Kentucky has been absolutely marvelous. My biggest challenge is happening right now ...Peggy has a flat keyboard and i am having a seriously hard time typing on it.

Yesterday, my scheduled blog day, we had a fantastic day. We started the morning by visiting several distilleries on the Kentucky Bourbon Trail. We weren't sampling, we were just getting our Kentucky Bourbon Trail passport stamped ~ at the last place i did practically beg, but they wouldn't give us a sample unless we took the tour ~ which we just did not have time for. We were slowly winding our way up to Midway, KY, to an enchanting restaurant known as the Holly Hill Inn. Peggy has wanted to go there and could not talk her family into it, so she had made reservations for us, and we were very lucky to get in so close to Derby Day. On our way we slowly drove through horse country and oogled at mile after mile of gorgeous horse farms, groomed to a "T" with beautiful horses. I am running out of adjectives at how amazingly beautiful this country is in the spring time. We were a few minutes late to the inn, but they had a quiet corner table waiting for us. The people and the inn (a converted old two story brick Victorian house) were wonderful, the menu was thrilling. It was a set price for a three course meal ~ everything sounded exciting ~ we had a hard time deciding. Of course we both chose something different and then shared bites, it was so much fun!

We then decided to walk the quaint and historic little Main Street shopping mecca, in part to walk off our lunch but also to catch some sun in the open plaza. I am not much of a shopper but i played the game nicely and had a great time! We got back in the car and decided "to get lost in blue grass Thoroughbred horse country" which we did so easily. Within minutes we were driving on narrow country lanes with beautiful farms, and enormous barns, and pastures of mothers and baby horses, and huge mansions. We found a little road that had no traffic and we just crawled along and squealed in delight at every turn in the road. We dreamed of owning such a place and fantasized on how we would run things ~ we were in heaven. We drove for hours and ended up by this enormous river, which turned to be the Kentucky River, and laughed our butts off when we realized we were just miles from where we had started.

Well that is all for now. I have to decorate my hat today, as tomorrow is the Derby. It is supposed to be 75* today and we are praying for decent weather tomorrow. Our fingers are crossed as they wrap around our morning cup of coffee.

See you later,
* annette

2010-04-28T08:59:00.000-07:00

Day Break

It slowly, slowly lightens. And it suddenly lightens and brightens even more. It begins to burst forth. A break in the day brings us to the beginning, a fresh new start where we may glow, and glow, and glow.

The Flatiron rocks, sitting the the foothills of my town are a joy at sunrise. The beauty of the alpine glow is a sight to behold, behold and behold, as long as it lasts. The remembrance may be short, but we cherish the moments and cherish them even more. We are grateful when the glow shows its gleeful face, when it comes out to play.
Patricia

poem- Slices of Life

2010-04-26T05:51:00.000-07:00

Spring, I prune the rose bush of her barrenness.
She rakes my naked wrist with her thorns.
Her greening will eventually explode into blossoms.
Meanwhile, I contemplate the red rows she’s plowed into my flesh.
What will grow here?

Shopping malls break ground,
Each one choking the landscape, same invasive species everywhere you look.
A modicum of community is built by logos we all know by heart,
Yielding strange fruit that leaves a familiar taste but emptiness in our guts.
When will there be enough?

Stickers decorate the bumper of my personal weapon of mass destruction.
Once I named my cars, like faithful servants.
Now I see plastic & metal monsters digging graves for soldiers, wheezing kids, and oil-slicked birds.
The WMD in my garage burns gas and the planet.
When will I stop driving it?

--Terra Rafael

What If

2010-04-25T16:11:00.001-07:00

What if God were to forget about this reality for one nano-second? If his attention wandered to some other aspect of the Universe and we disappeared off his radar screen, would we even know it?

Prema Rose

2010-04-24T06:00:00.000-07:00

How do I pull myself together,
after a death,
after an illness.
The clothes I wrap
around my body,
I pull them into some
resemblance of order.

I pull the sides of the jacket
tighter over the blouse,
so that it somewhat fits.
Tying the scarf or tie
so that is bears some semblance
to an order of dressing
that I once
was at the forefront of.

Pulling, yanking,
ordering, smoothing,
I bring myself to the world
again, and hope I’ve filled
in the cracks enough
to pass as normal
or at least to move
invisibly
through the throngs
of everydayness.

I’m pulling myself together today,
enshrouding myself
in invisibility
to let myself re-enter the world
slowly, gently,
on my own terms.

I’ve been pulling myself together
all morning
and now I venture out,
hoping to make my way
unseen, through the world,
until I can stand
the world’s glare
and others’ stares again.

Jyoti

Writing Prompt: Today I will....

2010-04-22T06:43:00.000-07:00

Today I will enjoy the sunshine, warm on my back.
Today I will let this warmth penetrate my sore muscles and allow the heat to relax my tension away.
Today I will remember that in this moment I have everything I need.
Today I will practice being a detached, but conscious, observer.
Today I am listening to the birds singing.
Today, as I look at Patricia’s back yard, I take comfort in the yellow of dandelions, the green of the grass, the glory of the double red tulips and the sweet pink blossoms of the peach tree.
Today I am full of grace and gratitude.
Today I may splurge for the new designer black raspberry ice cream with dark chocolate chips that costs double what I typically spend.
Yes, today I will !

*annette

2010-04-21T10:11:00.000-07:00

Rainwater

I think I came back from rainwater

Sprinkling all over the land

I came back from rainwater and was pulled to the ground.

I am pulled and pulled to soak deep into the soil

Blessing all living plants so they become fragrant and colorful.

I begin to feel a cooling freshness that notices its own beauty

A wonderful cooling freshness that pops me out of the ground

I come to explore what is opening to the planet, and then I come to explore even more.

It is spring with much newness coming with it, more and more and more.

I feel the lush unfolding, hoping it continues to grow and grow and grow.

As I know it will blossom as it only knows how.
Patricia Jordan
4/6/10

Writing with music experiment (**new music begins)

2010-04-19T07:19:00.000-07:00

**A thickly woven tapestry was wrapped around her, as she sat alone in darkened room, contemplating the complexity of her situation. One inner voice spoke in an imploring mode, asking – “What will I do? What? What? Why is it this way? Why? Why? “ Another voice, somewhat playfully sang a lilting song in the background, relieving and hopeful. **

She walked outside into the sunlight, warmed by the orb blazing in a clear sky. Here she could shed the heavy wrap and the many voices. Now she felt the sun on her skin, the fresh air on her face, the ground under her bare feet. She smelled the spring fragrances of blooms, opening up, as she was, to a new season.

A smile began to play on her face. Her heart was beating calmly and steadily. Two bunnies chased each other in the grass, touching noses, then, chasing some more, leaping up in the air as though on springs. Their courting antics heartened her. She couldn’t help but laugh at them. And herself. Laugh at the folly of being human and trying so hard ** when the nature of life was still continuing. Yes, her troubles were still there, somewhere. But as Bobby McFerren says – “Into every life there comes some trouble, But when you worry, you make it double.”

She was renewed by Mother Nature, knowing she was part of the community of beings and the cycles of life. She felt strengthened and able to deal with her challenges, without magnifying them in her mind. **

Om shanti shanti shantihi

She sat under a blossoming tree and drank in the happy complexities of the world, ** letting the bliss of being arise inside of her heart, washing her aura with waves of fullness and emptiness.

So she sat for a timeless time.

Finally, glowing with prana, she slowly walked back to her inner sanctum.
--Terra Rafael

Providence Provides

2010-04-18T06:00:00.000-07:00

Once again, I am shown how the unseen hand of Providence reaches out and provides the very best for me. For several years now, I have been trying to learn as much as I can on my own on the internet, without spending money, about marketing and writing copy. This blog and the Week’s Worth of Women writing group have been an immeasurable help in gaining confidence in my abilities. Publishing two collaborative books and my poems being included in several anthologies have added to the validation that I am a writer.

This has been a dream of mine that has come more into focus through the last five years. I have envisioned a time when I am financially secure so that I can spend my days in some secluded spot writing and composing. Well, so far, the financial independence has eluded me, and to be honest, most days, I don’t know whether I can squeak my bank account through another day.

Now, the part-time job that I got six months ago is moving me into the direction that I had hoped to travel. It started as just a busy work kind of job, labeling bottles and preparing them to go out to the customers. It is fun and I love the company, Wishgarden Herbs, and, although the pay is minimal, I am so happy to have this work. There was a very long stretch when I had nothing.

The shift into being able to offer the company more of my creative abilities is emerging. This week, I started to write copy for some of their promotional needs. Yes! I am being paid to write!

In a week and a half, I am going to accompany the owner to film the training of her sales reps in Oregon and helping her at a midwifery conference. My years of experience as a midwife will be reemployed in another context.

I am amazed and in such gratitude of the Divine Mother’s workings in my life. I look back to a year ago when the whole world was crumbling into oblivion. Although I am not out of the financial woods yet, I see a light in the clearing ahead.

Prema Rose

Fanny MacIntyre

2010-04-16T22:08:00.000-07:00

Fanny MacIntyre lived on Vermillion Road.
Each morning she rose early, acknowledged the sun’s arrival, and consulted her ephemeris, a book of planetary tables.
It wasn’t that she would have a good day or a bad day by seeing what the planets were doing.
It was more that she just took note of what energies she’d be dealing with…Forewarned is fore armed she always thought.

To Be Continued...
Jyoti

Word Picture ~ My cat, Magic

2010-04-15T07:00:00.000-07:00

I had only been in my new house for three weeks when my old neighbor called and said, “I have your cat”.

“I don’t have a cat” I replied, wondering who and what she was talking about.

“No. Really. I have your cat.” She said again.

All right, all right. What is going on here? It turns out that a cat had wondered up from the direction of my former residence and tried to move into my neighbor’s barn. It would have been okay except that there is a happy feline family living there already.

“She is very pretty, house broken and seems like a really nice cat”, she said, even as I was thinking, ‘if she is so wonderful, why did someone abandon her?’

I heard my neighbor’s roommate say in the background, “Actually, she is such a great cat, we will keep her and give you our two old cats.”

Since the title of the story is My cat Magic, you have probably already deduced that they talked me into adopting this beautiful being. They brought her over the next evening with a little bag of food and an old litter box ready to go. She was adorable; short hair, a little pudgy, with an incredible defined coat ~ a gorgeous shiny black, orange and white tuxedo calico.

I almost named her Dragon because of her amazing eyes. As she walks over to me her eyes are large, the irises are huge black circles encircled with a sliver of gold. As she jumps upon the couch and creeps up my tummy to look me in the face, the black retreats into dark dots and it is then that her eyes become so mesmerizing.

They are like the scales of a dragon hide, golden with a light green tint. Each scale is vividly independent. They lay on one another in overlapping concentric circles. I would love to count them as she stares straight back at me without blinking. I feel as if she is looking straight through me; but I am comforted by the thought that she must like what she sees, because she settles down to ward off the evening chill. We have become very good friends.

* annette

The Destroyer

2010-04-12T06:28:00.000-07:00

I am the swirling hurricane, wet wind,
hurling against trees and edifices, reforming beaches and lives.

I am the tornado, twisting darkly through town, like a frustrated toddler,
throwing everything akimbo.

I am the earthquake,
rolling and cracking that which you thought was solid and dependable,
stressing all you have built.

I am the flood, sudden or slow,
washing away that which stands in my path
whether plant, animal, person, or possession,
leaving behind my thick layer of debris and mud.

I am the swarm of small creatures
undoing the knitting together done by man or Mother Nature-
uncountable numbers of termites, bacteria and molds,
waiting to compost even your body back down to the elements.

I help you remember the impermanence of life, enriching by destroying.
I help you make something new, after all.
I help you remember that which cannot be destroyed.

--Terra Rafael

Antness

2010-04-11T06:00:00.000-07:00

Scurrying into my tunnel of security,
Carrying my precious load of nectar,
Feeling protective of my stash
Of hoarded treasures,
I disappear into my unseen
Underground labyrinth.
Business is my modus operandi,
An illusion of doing something
Useful but less than satisfying.
Does this really need to go from here to there?
Does this feed into my subsistence living?
Hey, it’s time to take the time
To just bask in the sun.

Prema Rose

A Day in the Life

2010-04-10T09:26:00.000-07:00

I sail the seas
of my own mind,
meandering through labyrinths
the gods of Crete created.
Finding rivers of mirth,
I belly laugh into tomorrow
enjoying less serious pursuits
than Sirius the dog star suggests
as she sits in my living room,
having come for tea.
Relishing the moment,
I lapse into quiet
as the earth pauses
in her spin.
Coming to, I relax
into dreaming
across the threshold
of deserts and nebulae,
making myself dizzy enough
to sit back down on my throne,
the Great Pyramid itself.

Jyoti

Jungles of Manhattan

2010-04-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

Giraffes split the horizon like skyscrapers
strolling slow yet loftily, apparently unaware of
Anteater below built so close to the ground,
with his snout buried in dried mud hill
like a homeless man scrounging through a dumpster.

Hoards of Hyenas, howling and screaming remind us
of the din of downtown Manhattan traffic at lunch hour.
The enormous elephant rumbles towards the water hole
lumpy and heavy, reminiscent of a fat bodied bus,
appearing wider at the top than at its base.

Homo-sapiens scurry down side walks,
popping in and out of the coffee shops,
eyes to the ground or vacantly staring ahead;
already peopling the destination they are headed towards.

The lordly lion lies in the golden grasses surveying his assets.
All other animals move noisily around him,
careful not to make eye contact; to bring attention to themselves.
No one wants to be devoured by “the man”.

* annette

A Whimsical Poem

2010-04-07T09:58:00.000-07:00

A small tiny gnome, I am

I run here and there, I do

Guessing at the numbers of peach blossoms

I wonder at the content of their glittering stones

Out of the tulip buds come by blood-related gnomes

The filling of pollen falls over them, it does

Then we all start to dance as the greenness and all their colors

open so bright, they do.

Patricia

2010-04-06T22:21:00.000-07:00

For the next week, we will be posting the poems from an exercise in Poetic Medicine by John Fox.

Three Short Poems on Food & Love

2010-04-05T07:09:00.000-07:00

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

Angels in Form

2010-04-04T06:00:00.000-07:00

There have been several times in my life when someone has miraculously appeared in the instant of dire circumstances to help me. I am sure they are Angels in form. This is an awesome experience that I am sure many people share. Usually they are only there for that moment in time, then disappearing namelessly into the background of our lives.

One such instance occurred for me when I was driving down the canyon on a February morning. There had been some snow and ice on the road, but that morning it seemed clear. I was driving what had been my mother’s Rambler station wagon, which had a penchant for fish-tailing. As I was coming around a bend, I came upon a patch of ice and braked. The car spun around with my rear end facing the center of the road and the front angled into the canyon wall. The traffic going in the other direction would not stop for me to back up and head in the right direction. Just then, a large white sedan with a short middle eastern man, chewing on a cigar, appeared. He got out to help me turn my car when a small truck sped around the bend and, seeing us obstructing the road, went between the front of my car and the canyon wall. He flipped over and spilled the contents of his bed which consisted of buckets of small screws and hardware. He was unharmed and somehow the truck was upright on four wheels. The man held the traffic until I could pull off to the side and see how the truck driver was doing. He asked if I wanted his name but I said no, as I didn’t want to involve him. I am sorry that I didn’t get it.

It turns out that there was another accident, just behind me on the other side of the bend. A car went into the rock on the same side of the canyon. If he hadn’t he would have plowed into the white car and it would have been a pile-up. I think the mysterious man was instrumental in keeping us all safe.

Months later, I was in the grocery store and I looked up to see him standing at the end of the aisle, just watching me. I looked all over the store to find him but he had disappeared. An angel, to be sure.

This is just one story and there are others. One, I will write about, but it is much too lengthy for a blog entry, perhaps a chapter in a book.

Recently, however, I chanced upon the opportunity to be an angel for someone else. I was traveling back from California and going though the security check with by carry-on luggage. A young woman of about twenty was in front of me and they stopped her bag to inspect it. Attached to the zipper, but tucked into the suitcase, was a strange device. It looked like a large fat metal pen with ridges in the handle so that fingers could grip it firmly. The tip was pointed. They began to question her and she turned to me and said that her girlfriend’s father had given it to her for walking across campus and told her to keep it on her key chain. Well, all the silent alarms went off for security and they told her it was a weapon, whose name I did not catch, and there was a $15,000 fine and imprisonment for having such an item. They brought the distraught girl into the center glassed area. I told her to breathe. Then they went into my bag. I was carrying an unopened jar of peanut butter. I had a moment of time to be with her, since they put my bag through the line again. I told her that it would be all right, as I knew it would be, and again had her breathe with me and put Light around her. She thanked me and I went on.

I have held her in the Light since. It feels good to pay my Angel dues forward.

Prema Rose

A Letter to My Body: Jyoti

2010-04-03T07:01:00.000-07:00

Dear Patty,
I'm addressing you this way because this was the first name you were given and this was how others addressed you in your early life.

I always appreciated how you regulated the menstrual cycles, never found disgust with any of the body's processes, and had the energy to respond to any stimuli.

You've seen me through five childbirths, several surgeries, a myriad of bumps, bruises, and stitches. You've carried the weight of my emotions, crying jags that lasted for hours as I felt outstripped by outer circumstances.

During the drug days, you suffered the hallucinogens I pumped into you, stretching your brain chemicals and pushing your envelope of reality. For this, I'm sorry and grateful at the same time.

I'm also grateful for the sensitivity yet strength of the nervous system you carry for me to inhabit and use. Just yesterday I had a long talk with mind about its huge impingement upon this small body. I told it that if it wanted to have a continual vehicle for its expression over the next ten to twenty years, it needed to back off and put its massive focus somewhere more benign than just running the nervous system ragged.

So, in closing, please accept my absolute thanks and heartfelt gratitude for being my vehicle of expression this time around. I'll try and be easier in how I navigate in these later years and find time for more relaxation and play.

Camping With Horses

2010-04-01T06:40:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we broke a record in Colorado as the temperature climbed to 82 degrees.
I was stuck in a classroom in downtown Denver but I did step out at lunch to feel the sun on my face. Spring fever, full moon dreaming, my thoughts stray to all of the fun ahead for us this summer. I will never forget the first trip I went on with Larimer County Horseman's Association up the Poudre Canyon to Jack's Gulch.....

Camping with horses takes a lot of planning and quite a bit of gear. However, I was with five women and I had more experience than anyone. YIKES!! I had only been horse camping once ~ one time ~ with my sister and her (now ex)husband. We had driven into the back country of the Gunnison Wilderness Area and for five days I had the time of my life. My brother-in-law was generally just an ass, but he was actually an ass-et on this trip as he had done a lot of camping with horses. I learned a lot thank God, but I didn’t have any of the fancy gear he had.

But I must tell you, we women pulled our resources together and went to work. We did not have the pipe corrals that we thought we were going to have. However, within an hour, we had fashioned a couple of high lines that we could tie our horses to overnight. A highline looks like a clothes line strung between two trees, as high as you can get it, and you tie your horse’s lead line to it. We had brought our weed free hay and our horse’s water buckets. About an hour after we had found our camp site, we gathered up our chairs, poured ourselves a drink, set the camera on the hood of the truck and hit the timer. We have this great picture of us, with our horses eating quietly in the background, setting in OUR camp. It is precious.

* annette

Walking

2010-03-31T03:34:00.000-07:00

Walking

It has not been a winter of inviting walking. Not very productive, in other words. It has been one of the coldest in a long time, even though the snows haven’t been deep. So my limbs have been staved off. It’s been an effort to keep them strong and flexible. And a real push to keep them moving.

Now there is promise of spring. Warm and sunny days, beautiful lighting with the bright sunshine. The sun has put an excitement in everyone’s heart, and we’re taking full advantage. We know, being in Colorado, we may still see our deepest snows yet. But the warmth of the sun keeps us wishing and hoping. We try not to be selfish, the grass fires have started, meaning we do need more moisture. Occasionally, we do have to seek shade from the heat of the sun. Thoughts of planting come to mind, even though I commented last year there would not be a garden this year, too much hard work for so little yield. But the walks in the sunshine bring longings to have your hands in the dirt, sprouting plants and your own fresh fruits and veggies.
Patricia
3/31/10

Brief Fantasy with Four Favorite Words

2010-03-29T07:43:00.000-07:00

Scintillating Titillate Bioluminescence Discombobulate

I am discombobulated.
Yes – I am happily married to a man.
Yet, I can’t help but be titillated by that woman over there. She is so voluptuous—there’s that weighing on me. But there’s also her strange bioluminescence, the latest form of tattooing. In this darkened room she glows in a pattern of scintillating squiggles and dots, a wonderful array, highlighting her feminine beauty.
I want to swim through the liquid lust between us to bruise against her luscious lips – but I won’t.
--Terra Rafael

Questions

2010-03-28T06:00:00.000-07:00

Who is where?
When is why?
Why is that?
And that is why.
Now and then,
Time or not,
Here it is ,
It’s what you’ve got.

Could it be?
It’s O.K.!
It’s the start
Of a new day.
Come along,
Get the groove,
Dance this dance,
Now it’s your move.

Angel dust
Fills the air,
Glittering light
Sparkles my hair.
So, in fact,
This is why
I cannot,
Nor never die.

Open heart,
Open mind,
Open love
Is what you’ll find.
Which is how,
It’s your choice,
After all,
It is your voice.

Lift it high.
Shout and sing.
Live your life
And do your thing.
When is now
And then is here.
There is nothing
More to fear.

Walk with me,
Hold my hand,
Together we
Will understand.
In the end
What will be?
Nothing but
Eternity.

Prema Rose

Writing Quote

2010-03-27T21:22:00.001-07:00

It is very difficult for us to comprehend and value our own lives. It is much easier for us to see things outside ourselves. In the process of claiming our good writing, we are chipping away at the blind gap between our own true nature and our conscious ability to see it. We learn to embrace ourselves as the fine creative human beings that we are in the present. (Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg)

The Music

2010-03-27T07:16:00.001-07:00

It was the music…”We Can Change the World”…Won’t you please come to Chicago or else join the other side…rules and regulations, who needs them…Somehow people must be free, won’t you please come to Chicago and show your face. If you believe in freedom…”
With lyrics like that, who could say no…who could not hear it…who, dancing to it, wouldn’t take it into their cells and make it their own. It so spoke to my Aquarian nature…I wanted to save the world, thought I could, maybe I still am…one kid, one client, one friend at a time…
Jyoti

Moving Beyond Comfortable – Part 1

2010-03-25T06:54:00.000-07:00

Lakota and I took our first riding lesson with Deb yesterday. The sun burned off the clouds and it turned into such a beautiful day.

I have a goal this year. I want to canter freely on my horse. We have issues here ~ Lakota and I. She gets anxious and bothered with speed. If you ask her to transition up from the walk to a trot she might get anxious. But if you ask her to move close to the fence, in order to stay on the circle that she has been repeating at a walk ~~ that is too much. She cannot be corrected and asked to trot at the same time. She gets bothered.

Lakota has copped an attitude. You can tell by reading her signals. First, she pins her ears, then her tail sticks straight out, her movements get stiff and jerky. Even in the beginning, as we start out with ground work, when Deb asked her to transition up to a trot, Lakota tossed her head and showed us that she was not with the program.

I am standing in the middle of the ring watching Deb ride my horse. Deb is talking to me as she rides circles around me. She tells me that she is going to hold Lakota here till she sees a change of attitude. Even the smallest attempt on the horse’s part will result in Deb immediately letting go of any and all pressure.

“Making the wrong thing difficult and the right thing easy” was the mantra of a Natural Horsemanship legend, Bill Dorrance. Lakota is learning that copping an attitude is not acceptable and there will be immediate relief if she makes the slightest attempt to sweeten up. She is a quick learner, plus for those of you who do not know her, she is a very sweet horse.

Our goal is to help her gain the confidence and trust to accept our cues.

Now, at this point I must tell you, that this is my journey as well.

To be continued……..

* annette

2010-03-24T08:07:00.000-07:00

The Diamond Hearts

The diamond hearts I am referring to are my three grandchildren, who have been separated from their Mom by a twelve hour drive, temporarily. They want to continue attending school in Oklahoma. Which is understandable for most kids, they want to be with their friends.

I spent as much time as possible with these three, ages nine, twelve, and sixteen, while they were here for three days. Of course they have all their electronics which are a great comfort. The girl, Maddy, who is nine said her friends comfort her by talking with her. The twelve year old, Jake seems the most emotional, but also very creative, winning lst prize in the state for an anti-war movie he made about Viet Nam. He’s also very musical, playing several instruments. I’m learning from him, since we are only 3 days apart, that yeah, Virgos can be emotional. Now Zach, the sixteen year old has developed a true diamond heart. I see his light, he has Venus in the top of his chart, drawing in and putting out so much love, light and kindness. He has a sweetheart, but girls just love him and call him all the time, without all this attention going to his head.

But they each hold the diamond and I see it sparkle more each time I see them. Their mom and I call them often. She will be traveling back to see them as much as she can.
I feel each one of them are going to blossom from this separation. May they each continue to hold and polish the diamond.
Patricia
3/21/10

Poem - Abandoned?

2010-03-22T07:34:00.000-07:00

How silly my little me can be-
Sometimes I think that I’m abandoned-
An empty, old house only the wind whistles through-
Yet the Beloved is that same wind-
Caressing each corner as He passes through -
And the Beloved as sun shines warmly each day-
Cooking my old wood until it pops with passion-
The Beloved as rain makes me wet again
Until the vain nails that I thought held me together rust and give way
And I release into ruins.
Even then the Beloved works as sun & rain & burrowing insects
Until-
Finally-
I break down enough to merge
wholly
into the Beloved as fertile Earth
And I totally know we are One.

--Terra Rafael

John Paul

2010-03-21T07:33:00.000-07:00

I just got a Facebook message from South India. It is from a dear family who runs two schools and an orphanage. They hosted me and the children for several days when we visited in 1996. I am now remembering when I first met the father in 1974 when I was living in Auroville.

I was on a tourist visa, which was due to expire a couple of weeks before my due date. I was determined to find a way to have my baby in our house that we had built in the tiny community that we had started, called Discipline. Auroville is made up of many small cluster communities. I was pretty sick with dysentery and was not about to travel. I needed to be examined by a doctor and decided to take a rickshaw several kilometers to the hospital and get the documentation that would extend my visa. I had been seeing an English midwife who lived in another area of Auroville.

Before going, I wanted to pray at the Samadhi of Sri Aurbindo and the Mother in the ashram in Pondicherry. It was crowded that day and when I was done, I had to step over people’s legs to leave. I went outside of the courtyard to hail a rickshaw (somewhat like hailing a cab in New York). This man that I had stepped over on the way out, came up to me. He said that he had a message from Divine Mother that he wanted to convey to me.

He told me that I would be all right and that I was going to have a girl. He introduced himself as Rev. John Paul. This was unusual for me as I didn’t know any Indian Christians, although I had been to the Catholic Church several times. He was an Anglican priest. Later he came to visit me after Suryananda was born. As he had relayed to me, the birth was wonderful. Even though I got the extension, I didn’t need it because I went into labor early, before the expiration date. I had an India born baby so I could stay.

He and I have kept in touch loosely through the years and now his son has contacted me through Facebook. I am glad to know John Paul is well. He must be very old by now.

Prema Rose

It's Not Going To Be What You Think It Will Be

2010-03-20T06:00:00.000-07:00

She told me it would not be like I thought it would be.
I’d had visions of a long white gown, arms crossed over my chest, walking up the temple steps.
She told me it was going to be different, maybe more difficult.
I hadn’t known at the time I met with her that a lot of my spiritual work would be done as a householder, a family person, birthing and raising children.
I didn’t know I wouldn’t be part of a priestess group Old Egypt where a lot of my psychic impressions led me to believe I had been at one time.
I was young, idealistic, and sitting in a group at the Metaphysical Center in New Jersey. We were learning color and music therapy, going over the chakras, and how to promote alternative healing practices. We learned about the color rooms in ancient Egypt, built with gemstone walls that the sun would shine through and bathe a sick person in those color rays.
I studied the effects of the notes of the scale and certain composed pieces of music and how those energetic vibrations of a played piece, strummed string, could bring a person’s energies back into its own harmony.
So the visions in my mind had me going in one direction when the woman next to me, a fairly popular psychic reader, leaned over and whispered in my ear and said those words, “It’s not going to be like you think it will be.”
I was young and thought I knew myself and life better than her. I remembered her words but didn’t give them much credence.
Now I remember her words because she was exactly right.

Jyoti

Another airport adventure!

2010-03-18T08:05:00.000-07:00

10 am. There has been a security breech at Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix, Arizona. The plane I am sitting in has come to a gentle stop on the tarmac outside the terminal. It has been ten minutes already and the pilot said it likely will be another twenty minutes. My seatmates are a nice couple from Nebraska heading to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. They usually go down every couple of years with the same group of friends. This year they decided to travel down one day early. However, they told their friends that they were not going to be able to make it this year. Now, when the rest of the gang checks into their hotel, they will have a big surprise waiting for them. It sounds like so much fun!!

Our pilot allowed us to get up and walk around the plane and my fellow passengers are mellow with the situation. I sat in my seat but I am reminded of my first trip to Europe three years ago. As I walked towards my boarding gate in the London airport for my connecting flight to Scotland, I became aware of throngs of people huddled in front of TV monitors. Right out outside the airport there had been a car bombing. Fear coursed through my body: first, I am traveling alone; secondly, my mother has my itinerary and knows that I just landed in London and is probably worried about me; and lastly, Peggy and Steve are in Scotland already and I don’t want to be grounded in London!!!!! Everything worked out splendidly that day in London and I am sure that everything will turn out okay today. Now that I think about it, I remember that as Peggy and I rode horses over the fields of southern Scotland, someone drove their car through the front window of the Glasgow airport. By the time we drove back up to the Glasgow airport to begin our journey home, the window had been boarded up, an eerie reminder of what had happened.

The pilot came back on and explained what was going on in the airport. He said the security breech had required that they evacuate everyone out of the terminal, do a sweep, and then run every single person back through security. Now they were going to push back all the outgoing airplanes and let the incoming flights dock so the passengers could depart. The woman setting in the window seat said, “I thought we circled Phoenix a few times; I guess that explains it.”

10:28 am. The pilot comes back on the intercom and asks everyone to return to their seat. We are going to taxi to the first available dock and de-plane. We will not be at our scheduled gate, but we will be in the same terminal. Ya hoo. I was never worried. I had half of foot-long Subway, a bag of Butter Toffee popcorn and a small bag of red licorice whips plus a Gatorade to make it through the rest of the morning. But now I am ready to meet new friends and spend a long week-end playing with horses in the Arizona sunshine.

Another airport adventure for the books!

* annette.

Khichari

2010-03-16T07:24:00.000-07:00

1 T. ghee
Pinch of cumin seeds
½ c. rice
½ c. mung dal or lentils
2-3 c. water
1 T. masala (2 parts ground coriander & 1 part turmeric)
½ c. ghee
1. prepare ghee by melting butter over low heat for 20 minutes to 60 minutes, using a diffuser if it browns; when the white parts have separated from the yellow, cool and strain through cheesecloth; keep the yellow liquid in a separate container making sure that no white liquid remains in it.
2. sauté pinch of cumin seeds in the ghee
3. wash the grains and add to ghee mixture

4. add 1 T masala and mix well
5. add water
6. bring to boil, simmer over medium heat for 20-25 minutes (unless using brown rice, then 45 – 60 minutes)
7. add ½ c. ghee

Patricia Jordan

Laziness

2010-03-14T06:00:00.000-07:00

One of our greatest motivating factors is laziness.

“That’s an oxymoron”, you might say.

I have fought a life long battle with laziness. It crops up in the most hidden and unexpected places, winking at me from the corners of my consciousness. It takes the form of short-cuts and obliviousness. There it is when I walk past something on the floor that needs to be picked up and I pretend I don’t notice it. When that dish in the sink begs to be washed and I make up some lame excuse to myself to do it later. When I want to sit down to write and I let every little distraction keep me away from the keyboard. I could go on and on.

Through the years, I have trained myself to be aware of those moments in the moment. As I walk away from the piece of cellophane on the floor, I make myself turn around and pick it up immediately. Then I try to put it on the table, but that won’t do. I make my feet take me to the trash basket to deposit it where I will never have to deal with it again. I bless the trash basket and the foresight someone had to create such a receptacle. All that took me, at the most, five seconds. I now have the peace of mind to know that I won’t have it lurking and nagging at me later and my house is the neater for it.

“How OCD!”, you might exclaim. Oh, well.

How many inventions have been created to assuage our laziness. All we have to do these days is push buttons and meals are cooked, or laundry is washed, or blogs are written. Walk when I can drive? Forget it! Now, I am a great believer in making our hectic lives as smooth as they can be and the pressures to do so much each day less overwhelming. But do we lose sight of the possibilities to take the time to attend to those details that give so much satisfaction.

My son and his family live off the grid. It is their choice.They cook on a wood stove and heat with wood, so that means that they have to chop many cords of wood to survive the winter. In the warmer weather, they sleep outside and cook on an open fire. They shower outside with a sun shower or bathe in tub, which they fill from the water warming on the stove. They grow amazing gardens in the mountains of Colorado, get eggs from their chickens, and meat from the rabbits they raise and the deer they hunt and dress. They also do permaculture landscaping for clients, and my son blows glass art and is a Rolfer. My daughter-in-law is a great mother.

If this sounds like a promo for them, it is more than that to me. When I seek for more comforts in my life because I am lazy, I have to remember that effort builds character and stamina. Yes, God is in the details. I do not want to miss any opportunity to fine-tune my perceptions and my willingness to walk the extra mile or even yard.

Of course, the reality is that I succumb all the time. I try to take the shortcuts and miss the meanderings that give so much satisfaction. Actually, taking care of things in the moment is the shortest way from here to there. I don’t have to go back to take care of it later. Maybe that is a form of laziness, too.

Am I driven? Well, perhaps, but I get a great deal of pleasure and fulfillment from taking care of the little things in the best way that I can. Sometimes it is better to know when to let something go. That takes awareness and discernment. It all depends on the motivating factors. Laziness can get us going and open up new ways of seeing the world, if we are able to be very honest with ourselves, and counter our innate trends. Something can arise in us that is very precious.

Prema Rose

It was the fire...

2010-03-13T06:39:00.000-08:00

It was the fire that drew me. Piled limbs of dead trees, flames shooting heavenward. Oranges, reds and yellows licking and eating the dry wood.

It had been a long day on the mountain side, watching the trees move and dance with the wind and changing light. Glued to the rock I sat on, my body at the mercy in the chemical’s pathways, I understood mushroom consciousness.

I had eaten a few of the magic variety that morning with Barry and Jackson. We perched ourselves up above civilization but still below tree line. We talked back and forth, each giving each other about six feet of space, and just watched the show of swaying branches and moving spirits on the face of the ridge across from us.

I covered my skin from the high altitude sun. Drank water from a canteen all day.

Now, as the chill of nightfall seeped under my cotton shirt, I stood close to the fire the guys had built.

Suddenly, into the clearing came flying an owl, wings outstretched, beak open with screeching sounds emerging. She flew through the open field from one side to the other. We watched her sail over our heads.

“That’s probably the one we heard all day,” I said.

There had been hoots, off and on, all afternoon. We puzzled over hearing an owl in the daytime, and felt she had been an ally of the mushroom journey we all had been on.

I stepped closer to the flames, glad of the heat and the sobriety overtaking me. Was glad the journey was over.

Jyoti

HOPI POEM

2010-03-11T19:00:00.000-08:00

In a trance state she told me,
“Study the Hopi,
they knew how to raise crops on dry land.”
Even with my eyes open I visualized
Beans, Squash, and of course, Corn.
Startled, I heard her continue,
“You were Hopi once.”

Hummm, not such a stretch.
I “know” that I have walked this land in red skin.
It was quiet then.
The flow of life dictated by the natural seasons;
always considering the necessity of securing our survival.
Homes with fireplaces, warm beds, strong foods,
these were ours.

The sky was blue, filled with clouds,
water ran clear and pure,
the sandy soil, hot in the summer sun.
Children laugh and play outdoors.
Books? We have storytellers and imagination.
We have storms to read and animals to teach us.

But even I must admit.
It is easy to remember only the good parts
as I walk in the memory ~
warm and cuddled by my downy comforter
… on my white soft mattress
in my sweet room with clear glass windows.

* annette

2010-03-09T08:22:00.000-08:00

Fire

Fire can be many things. We first think of flames, to cook or to keep us warm.

What we forget about is the fire of our being. What we hold as our individual power in our solar plexus.

Then, there is the Fire Element, stoking the heart and small intestines. The liver is indirectly part of this twosome as it sits in the solar plexus.

As I tend to heal myself I look at all three, they seem closely related. It comes up for me as anger, since most of my discomfort is in the solar plexus, the fire burner. And I’m pissed. I’m pissed I may not see my grandchildren grow up. So one of my goals is to get to the blazing anger. To rid my body of the negative energy, giving me the stamina to continue my focus of understanding fire and anger. To create a leap in my healing to somehow open the holding of my flames that have been destructive to my being.
Patricia
3/1/10

In Honor of International Women's Day

2010-03-08T07:04:00.000-08:00

In the movie that showed them slaughtering women & children
some mother’s child was killing another mother’s child.
I heard the baby in my womb cry amidst the sound of gunshots.
I had to cry, when I realized what war really means.
How can mothers allow it?

Women-
We must not give up on our vision of a world ruled by caring rather than profit.
We must be power-within, to create the world we hope and work for.
We must act in realms as close as our hearts and as far away as the other side of the world.
We must be peace, while being ever ready to defend the lives, liberties, and way of life of all our beloveds, destroying that which is a miscarriage of justice.

--Terra Rafael

Humanity

2010-03-07T09:52:00.000-08:00

Oh, sleeping giant,
Awake from this somnambulistic state.
Shake off the weight of countless lies
And drowsiness of paralyzing fear.
Open your eyes to the sickness
That pervades your soul
Where, even in your pain,
Truth holds the precedent;
A beacon shining in the darkness of the night,
A call to move your bones
Set in the habitude of acquiescence,
Your creaky joints will bend and move again.

Do not turn your eyes away,
Even as you turn the other cheek,
For though you make a conscious choice
To hide your head in blinding desert sands,
You are responsible.
The earthquake that will move your very world
Will bury you and all your sacred cows.
Adorn yourself with courage and stand strong,
Like the sequoia that you are,
Where all the blustering winds
Of fabrications and false blames cannot break your majesty,
Rooted deep within your base of honor.

Let waters rise in mighty waves
To flood your consciousness
And wash away the excrement
That you don’t even notice anymore.
The stench of rotting greed
And putrid cesspools of your callousness
Must be cleaned out for hope to thrive again.
You will be shaken to your very core
If you do not but willingly arise.
Words of truth aren’t easily shrugged off
And those who speak them will not be silenced,
Like murmured whispers in the dark of night.

We think we are immune in isolation,
Anesthetized in trivia’s barrage,
But every child killed or maimed is ours,
As each and every one of us was born to mothers,
Who now lament the murder of our own.
The silence of our shame is deafening,
Screaming to stir up our apathy.
Where is the outrage of our mortal wounds,
That we succumb to comfort’s easy sleep?
We think we are awake, yet on we snore
To drown the cries of conscience in our heads.
No more, AWAKE! No more, no more, no more!

Prema Rose

I couldn't get back to sleep...

2010-03-06T06:00:00.000-08:00

I couldn’t get back to sleep. I had drifted off earlier in the midst of one of Nora Robert’s tales of witches and wolves, with Ireland in the background. I’d awakened enough to turn off the light and then thought sleep would claim me as it usually did. I had been tired all evening.
But it didn’t. I lie there thinking about the day, about the past and old relationships I no longer had any interest in thinking about, but my mind had its own familiar pathways to follow.
I turned over, adjusted my pillow, and glanced out the window about me, looking through bare winter branches into the night sky.
Without warning, a shooting star blazed for a split second, arcing through my field of vision, then its light died out. It happened so quickly. Its meaning suggested magic, new beginnings and I thought, do people make a wish when they see one?
I remembered a momentous evening high in a small mountain town almost thirty-two years ago, when I asked the powers that be whether I should herbally induce labor for the next morning, as I was already overdue by some calculations. Or should I wait out the pregnancy. A shooting star streaked through the star-studded sky and I took it as a sign to wait. My son was born to me in that cabin two and a half days later.
So tonight I made a wish for more happiness and the letting go of old patterns of thinking. I knew exactly what I was looking at in my own mind: the places that judge, the places of skepticism and criticality…these were the very things that were keeping true happiness from me. I could see it. And I wanted it that way no longer.
It was as if an outer sign of magical occurrence spoke to the magic inside of me to set me in motion to change and transmute what I could see needed to be a different way.
The shooting star was like the surprise you feel at the moment the gun goes off to start a race. It’s a momentary shock before you’re off and running. I’ve been at the starting gate of change for a while, and now it’s time to actively make the effort to consciously do things in a different way.
Shooting stars, witches and wolves…magic is alive and well!
Jyoti

Beer, Whiskey and Pie

2010-03-04T08:08:00.000-08:00

Peggy and I became dear friends which was handy as our husbands worked together as linemen for the Rio Grande Railroad. They were based out of Pinecliffe, Colorado, a very small mountain community near where we lived. One of the perks of working for the RR in the “good ole days” were free trips on the Zephyr from Denver to Salt Lake City. We often took the train to Glenwood Springs or on to Grand Junction where our mutual friends Trout and Ginger lived.

I used to make homemade ham salad for sandwiches and Peggy, who was not much of a cook, brought chips and cookies. Before one trip Peggy announced that she was bringing a home made cherry pie. “Fantastic” was the general consensus; anything that went good with beer and whiskey was always welcome. Cherry pie sounded like a real treat!

When we met up with Fooz and Peggy for the trek down to Denver’s Union Station to catch the train, Fooz was already making jokes about the pie. He handed it to Steve, who immediately arched his eyebrows and said, “What did you bake this in, a cast iron skillet?”

Poor Peggy, always the good sport, just laughed. “Oh no, I bought a new Pyrex pie dish.”

“It’s a heavy one, that’s for sure,” Fooz said grinning. “Good thing we don’t have to pay for it by the pound!”

Peggy had never made a pie crust and she did not have Crisco in her pantry ~ so she substituted the shortening with the same amount of liquid vegetable oil. The crust was heavy and the consistency of soggy corrugated cardboard. We ended up setting it in the center of the table, peeling off and discarding the top crust, and devouring the baked pie filling right out of the middle. We washed it down with a few beers and a round of Jack Daniels and enjoyed every cherry. That poor pie became famous as the story was enjoyed for years to come.

Disclaimer: I must admit, since I have re-told Peggy’s foible so easily, that I have yet to conquer the elusive light and flakey pie crust. My mother’s sets such a high standard, my hat is still tipped to her.

* annette

A Family Favorite

2010-03-02T06:20:00.000-08:00

Chicken with Parmesan and Yogurt

One split frying chicken or 4 split breasts, bone in preferably
½ c. yogurt (I usually do near a cup)
1 clove garlic or more
4 T parmesan cheese
Salt and pepper
½ stick of butter, or more (a touch of Julia)
Rub chicken with the yogurt and mashed garlic and allow to stand for several hours.
Dust the halves with salt, pepper and grated parmesan.
Place skin side down (or remove skin, if you prefer) in a generously buttered pan.

Baste several times with the sauce and if needed, more butter, thinking Julia. The point is not to broil the sauce away.

Especially good over your favorite noodle or grain. Bon Appetit.

Patricia Jordan

From: Food and What Feeds Us

A Family Favorite

What I Can't Forget

2010-03-01T06:36:00.000-08:00

What I can’t forget is the feeling that I had the minutes between when my son’s head was born and his body came out. Even then I thought to myself, “Now I know why two heads are better than one. “ I felt our intertwined bodies wordlessly bridge the gap between our souls. Inside my physical exhaustion, all my heart could do was laugh with joy and oneness.

--Terra Rafael

Hints of Spring

2010-02-28T10:43:00.001-08:00

My heart is sparking
With the sounds of Spring.
The early morning greeting
Of song and busyness,
Calling me to the surety
That, yes, this snow will stop.
That the piles of whiteness in the yard
Will give way to shoots of green
And all those tulips, planted in the fall,
Will soon emerge triumphant
In a blaze of color.
Anticipation fills me with expectancy
And Winter’s dreary skies
Cannot hold back
The birds return.

Prema Rose

I had a trust...

2010-02-27T08:22:00.001-08:00

I had a trust
in the rightness of things,
a sense of timing
and that mine coincided
with the large cycle
of happenings.

Somehow I stepped away
Somehow I missed a step
in the dance of trust
and find myself outside
looking in.

I’ve sent the red-eyed beast
of fear and anger,
as his paw was poised
to once again
knock on my door,
down the road.

I asked him not to return,
that I was done
with that approach,
and no longer had room
to think about his pleasures.

I’m open to trust again,
to righting things,
to putting myself in the queue
of trusting that I’m in a world
where all is well.

Jyoti

Our Writing Prompt was: This is what she said………..

2010-02-25T08:10:00.000-08:00

“Some Stuff”

Last week-end I attended an incredible teaching workshop and one of the presenters was giving a demonstration about developing intuition.

This is what she said………..

“Reach into this bag and take 'some stuff'. I think I have enough 'stuff' for everyone.” We all watched intently as the first people dipped their hands into the bag. I was not alone in my curiosity …. what was 'the stuff'?

I could see that it was white and malleable. When it was my turn I reached in and grabbed a handful of 'stuff'. It was tiny cotton balls; some larger, some smaller. She instructed us, “Close your eyes, hold 'your stuff', get familiar with it and make it a part of you.” I held mine gently and softly stroked the small white bumps and enjoyed their different sizes.

Next we were told to pass "our stuff" to the person on our right. A part of me resisted. This was now “my stuff” and I wasn’t sure I wanted to share it; but I felt the person on my left holding “their stuff” towards me ….. and so I had to pass mine along to make room for another person’s “stuff”.

Weird. I held another bundle of “stuff” in my hand. It felt so foreign. She had grabbed a lot more “stuff” than I had and then packed it into a tight wad ~ it felt hot and mashed up and actually uncomfortable in my hand.

I worried for a second that our leader was going to have us pass again to the right and I distinctly wanted “my stuff” back. I was more comfortable when she said “Please pass the ‘stuff’ you are holding back to the person you got it from.”

Ahhh ~ there it was, it still felt like “my stuff”. Silly as it sounds, I was happy now.

… a fascinating discussion followed. We all have “stuff”. We also played with closing our eyes and receiving another person’s "stuff" and trying to intuit who it belonged too. Very interesting ~ pretty cool stuff !!

* annette

Macaroni and Cheese

2010-02-23T17:29:00.000-08:00

Use 2 – 3 cups macaroni, cooked and drained
Grate 1 and ½ cups cheese, cheddar or other favorite
Beat 3 eggs
½ stick of butter.
Beat all together and add a can of green chilies, drained.

Bake 350 – 375degrees for 30 – 45 minutes

Patricia Jordan

From: Food and What Feeds Us

What Remains

2010-02-22T06:06:00.000-08:00

Working and volunteering with elders, I’ve seen it again and again –

A world-traveling woman, now confined to a wheelchair by MS, no longer knows where all of her photos have gone. “My daughter might have thrown them away.”

An army general, who commanded large numbers of troops, now mostly sits in his easy chair, cornered by age and lungs ravaged by years of smoking. He tells me, “They won’t let me die.”

A professor and dean of his department at a celebrated university, has a deluded mind and speech smothered by Parkinsons. It’s difficult to hear and follow his lectures anymore.

A mother, who raised three daughters and now has many grand children, can’t recognize them, and asks when her mother will be coming to get her.

A librarian, lover and caretaker of books, now can only touch the pages, sometimes tearing them. Alzheimers has stolen her ability to read and even speak.

Another professor, also a gifted guitarist, now walks mutely through the halls and barely smiles when a guitar is placed in her forgetful hands.

There is one thing that all of these people still can recognize, still respond to. That is love, love in its most elemental forms – attentively making sure that food gets to their mouths; friendly smiles; gentle touching; the sound of old, familiar songs. The activities and accomplishments of the world fall away. The soul stands bare, still, waiting for love.

--Terra Rafael

The Day of the Pig

2010-02-21T12:11:00.001-08:00

At the beginning of 1971, I moved to the Spanish Island of Ibiza in the Mediterranean Ocean. After a few months of living in the ancient town, we found a tiny 2,000 year old Moorish finca (farmhouse) smack-dab in the middle of the island. It was situated in a beautiful orchard valley high enough to look down through the hills to the walled city nestled by the bay. The fig trees dripped their ripeness for the plucking and the aromas of the grandfather almond tree, outside the front door, combined with the pinions, lemon, and olive trees that surrounded us, made this spot the most idyllic place on earth to my New York City consciousness.

Every morning, I would climb the rickety ladder to our flat roof and sit in meditation, greeting the morning sun. One day, as I sat in deep contemplation, I heard a piercing scream from over to my right across the valley. It was followed by other similar screams coming from different parts of the island, until the air itself was filled by this unfathomable shrieking. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced and I was terrified. The din surrounded and enveloped me.

Curious, I went to my nearest neighbor to investigate. It turned out to be the Day of the Pig, a ritual where each family binds a pig the kitchen table and proceeds to attack it with knives. The rest of the day is spent making sausage that will last the entire year. Talk about culture shock! We were invited to participate in the culinary preparations and I did watch for a while. It was quite disgusting to me as every bit of the pig found its way stuffed into a long tube of intestines.

Needless to say, I swore off sausage.

Prema Rose

Bon Voyage!

2010-02-20T06:00:00.000-08:00

With my birthday yesterday, Valentine’s Day becomes the first day of my new year. What great symbols to begin a new venture. Flowers abound. Hearts are everywhere. Well wishes ring through phone and email. It’s such an auspicious day.

It tells me to be open and expecting of love this year. Having this many loving messages two days in a row is a great send off into the unknown.

I may think I know what’s coming. I can look at the night sky filled with planets, stars and omens. I can gauge where I’m at right now and where I think the year will take me. But I’m also open to surprises.

I know a new baby is coming, a new grandchild. I know my son will return from Kabul. Beyond that, I have no idea. I am stepping into the unknown with hearts and flowers at my back, and well wishes ringing in my ears, almost like the launching of a great ship on its maiden voyage. All I need is a large bottle of champagne broken across my bow, and the image would be complete. Bon Voyage!
Jyoti

Writer's Digest Self-Publishing Contest

2010-02-19T07:53:00.000-08:00

As a group, we entered our first book, A Week's Worth of Women, into the Writer's Digest Self-Publishing Contest last Fall...We each chipped in to make the $100. entry fee...two days ago we got a letter from them with the judges results...We didn't win first, or any of the ten placements, but it was nice to hear their thoughts...

On a scale of 1 to 5...1 being poor, 5 being excellent, we were given...
Structure and organization 4
Grammar 5
Cover design 4

Comments: Congratulations on writing and publishing this very unique anthology. What an interesting collection of voices and writing styles. You've created a very polished, professional book. Great job with grammar and proofreading as well.

Valentine’s Day ~ 2010

2010-02-18T07:16:00.000-08:00

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

Women Aging Young

2010-02-16T10:28:00.000-08:00

What a concept! This title came from a friend’s blogspot. I just got together with my friend after twenty years of not seeing one another. She had moved to Bayfield, Co. to be part of a co-housing community. It sounds like a wondrous gathering of people with a huge organic garden feeding seventy people, rarely having to go to the grocery store. They have goat’s milk for all these people, and other blessings of the earth.

Back to women aging young, this new possibility. My mother is an example of this. Almost ninety-three years of age, she’s a good representative of this, and still going strong. Of course she isn’t thinking women aging young. My mom grew up on a farm and worked extremely hard all her life. Her motto is, she doesn’t stop, she stays young by not stopping. She gets her rest most days, but has no intention of sitting down. She has the motivation to keep moving.

The beauty of my mom is she wants to keep moving. She is definitely a woman aging young and is a great influence for all of us.

Patricia

My Dear Friend, J.

2010-02-15T06:40:00.000-08:00

How does one become friends with a woman who has advanced Alzheimer’s? I first met J. when I worked in the Reserve, a locked ward for people with dementia so far gone that they can do very little in the world. J. spends most of her time in her single room, in bed. She still can walk, unlike most in the Reserve, but seems to have no reason to leave the quiet of her room, except when fetched for meals and her weekly shower.

When I became a Hospice volunteer, she became the one I visited for an hour each week. But she didn’t die, so after a year, Hospice had to cut her from the program. Her family hired me then to continue my visits with her since she enjoyed my touch and smile, bringing some more humanity into her little room.

When I first met J., she would whisper on and on about matters usually known only to her. Almost two years later, she now speaks only sporadically. Up until the last month, she would say “Thank You” while I gave her a comfort touch session. And she would say “I love you” sometimes when we sat gazing in each others’ eyes. But now such verbosity has dwindled away.

Some visits we still gaze into each others’ eyes and we share a wordless love, so totally pure and without complications for either of us. This is a special friend that I am so glad to know.

--Terra Rafael

The Day of Love

2010-02-14T10:20:00.000-08:00

May this day be one where our hearts
Open wide enough to encompass
All the beings on the planet.
May our minds be focused
So precisely that each
Expression of the creative force
Be filled with our heart’s energy.
Love is the word of the day,
But let us expand that day
To encompass all the days of our lives.
How sad it would be to only love
One day of the year.
Let this be the beginning swell
That rolls over our sands of discontent
So all becomes engulfed in this wave
Of Love.

Prema Rose
Valentine’s Day

Offering It Up

2010-02-13T09:32:00.001-08:00

There are so many deaths in life. We die to where we were before birth to come here and live in a physical body.
We die to our individuality when we birth children and become mothers.
Along the way, we die many deaths as we leave behind a way of life, a way of being, to step into something else.

There’s an image in metaphysics that could be called the 6th stage, relative to the 6th chakra.
The picture goes like this: We are about to achieve enlightenment, freedom from the wheel of death and rebirth. We see others coming behind us, seeking that same goal. Do we take it and leave them behind, or do we offer them a foot up, that boost that allows them to go free…and our turn comes at the end, then.
It the Boddhi Satva Vow: I will stay and work until all beings are free.

How do we practice for a role like that in ordinary life? How do we give a leg up to those around us, to those coming up behind us, to our children when it’s time to set them free.
What a joy it is to give others that opportunity to have their own freedom and success.
Achieving it oneself is one thing. To open the door and enable someone else to have that is an even greater experience.
Jyoti

An Evening with Ram Dass

2010-02-11T07:18:00.000-08:00

The setting was:
Consciousness and Current Events ~ An Evening with Ram Dass
April 15, 1993 ~ Boulder, Colorado

I was sitting in an auditorium on the University of Colorado campus one evening and heard words that forever changed my life. They are as potent and viable now as they were then, maybe even more so. Ram Dass was center stage, sitting cross legged on a low stool with a small table upon which rested a large vase of flowers. He mesmerized the audience for hours. I never wanted to leave.

I have transcribed his words from an audio cassette (the punctuation is all my own) that I bought as I left the auditorium that very night. I have listened to it dozens of times and would like to share them with you now. After he read a story written by a friend of his about one old man, a belligerent drunk and a young martial arts student, he said that all of us now are in “old man in kimono training”. You can read this story in his book, How Can I Help? Stories and Reflections on Service (with Paul Gorman) (1985) ISBN 0-394-72947-1 .

“People would come to me and they would say, 'It is all going to hell. It’s Armageddon time. Don’t you think?'

Then other people would come and they would say, ‘Ahhhhh, it is the Aquarian Age at last. It’s the new consciousness; the New Age. Isn’t this wonderful?’

So I thought I should have an opinion. Despite the third patriarch warning me that the great way is not difficult for those who have no opinion.

So I thought, if it is going to be Armageddon, that means that I am going to die at some point. And since this is just one round, I might as well prepare for the moment of death so I can get off to a good start the next time around, karmically, so to speak. I want to die without clinging, so I better get on with it. I gotta quiet my mind of all of the clinging, draw my awareness back from identification, and I must open my heart.

Karoli(??)Rinpoche, a great saint, said to me 'Ram Dass, there are only three things you should do this life. Honor your guru ~ meaning the devotion and the celebration and the appreciation of the universe. Deepen your emptiness and deepen you compassion.'

So what am I gonna do? I am going to deepen my emptiness and deepen my compassion and that is going to lead me to what ever I can do to relieve the suffering around me. I am going to quiet my mind, open my heart and do what I can.

If, (on the other hand) it is to be the New Age, what is the best thing that I can do to help facilitate it?
Turns out, it’s quiet my mind, open my heart and do what I can to relieve suffering.

So what difference does it make?
Isn’t that far out?
What difference does it make?

……and I find this a very exciting moment. Incredibly exciting. We are as close to the edge of death, and mystery, and awe, and uncertainty, and we are feeling the rapid rate of change. The information age makes it all available which forces the technology, forces the recognition of the “us-ness” of the system. And the interdependency of it all. And I can feel how clearly the work on myself is reflected in the way in which I do for every human being.”

…so who will be the old man in the kimono?

Ghandi once said, ‘My life is my Message’.

We are being invited to play, My Life is My Message.

Happy Valentine's Day
From the Heart
* annette

What Happened to Feeling Good ?

2010-02-09T07:17:00.000-08:00

We all use to feel good, but where has it gone? Down the river, hiding somewhere. Certainly not letting us feel or see it. We’re off somewhere, but we don’t know where. Is it 20l0? Taking us for a ride, changing us into a new way of being. I suppose this just can’t be done by feeling good. we keep going into another direction. But not the one we had been planning on.

Then we say, it must be age. An age we never thought would feel like this. Where is our well-being? We want it back, to surround us, make us smile, even laugh out loud.

But, we’ll come back, as soon as we get through 2010. Think positive, our feel good is just upon us, getting ready to surround us in a new way.
Patricia
2/9/10

Lack of Air

2010-02-08T07:06:00.000-08:00

I knew that I wasn’t sleeping well. I’d wake up, toss and turn, and then not be able to sleep. My snoring was famous across the country. No one would be my roommate at conferences. At one workshop they made me sleep outside in a teepee by myself.

Then one day, when a friend gave me some energy work, I fell asleep. I was tired, as usual. But when I woke, Patrica gently drawled, ”You had some funny breathing going on—you should check that out, Terra. You stopped breathing.

My MD took it seriously. Not breathing is a red flag. He ordered a sleep study.

So I went to the hospital to sleep, while someone watched. I had wires glued all over me—under my nose, IN my nose, on my scalp, my forehead, my chest, my belly, and my legs. And I had a strap wound around my chest to measure breathing movements. The technician was very gentle, so I felt comfortable that he was the one watching me while I slept. My sleep night was being taped, so the MD could coordinate my readings with my sleep activities.

After a few hours he woke me up to put on a continuous positive airway pressure machine (CPAP) to keep the breathing passages open. Now, added to my wiring I had on a mask over my nose, hooked up to a machine by a long tube. Yet, I was so tired that I slept a few more hours, even in all the paraphernalia.

When the tech woke me up in the morning, he told me that he couldn’t diagnose, but he could tell me that I had been breathing normally only ¼ of the time, and my oxygen levels were down to 57%. The CPAP helped me breathe more normally while slept.

A lack of air while I slept would explain why I couldn’t rest at night; why I started falling asleep, even while playing cards; why I had to fight to make it through the evenings. It was only by the vigilance of my guardian angels that I hadn’t had a car accident from falling asleep at the wheel.

Breathing is such a simple natural process. It’s hard to believe that I couldn’t do it when I was sleeping. Instead of sudden infant death syndrome I had sleep apnea, a slow adult death. My body was starving for air when I slept. How many extra brain cells had died? Eventually my blood pressure would have increased, my risk of heart disease multiplied.

Now I sleep with my CPAP every night. I’m mostly used to it, but some nights I feel like I am suffocating when I put it on. I wait until my husband closes his eyes and falls asleep before I put the mask on. I don’t like him to see me that way. I feel like an elephant, the long, gray tubing hanging from my face down to the CPAP on the floor.

Every day I wash the mask, tube, and humidifier container and hang them to dry. It is a part of my routine. I’m used to bringing it through security at the airport now. They always have to swab it for explosives. And I have to adjust the altitude setting so the pressure is proper for where I’m visiting.

Do I wish I didn’t have to have this thing in my life? Yes. Will I give it up? No. My body feels more alive. I’m not sleepy all of the time. Breathing - it’s a good thing. Air- it’s essential.

--Terra Rafael

The MicroCosmic Cartoon Shop

2010-02-07T16:44:00.000-08:00

http://mccsproductions.com/images/MCCSlogo.jpg
History of MCCS Productions

The MicroCosmic Cartoon Shop was born on Christmas Eve of 1970. Hugh Rose and Prema Rose received the initiation of an ongoing transmission. It began as a children’s story, written in the style of a cartoon book with music, which would accompany it in a cassette. The book would take the form of a scroll.

The story follows the allegory of the hero’s journey and is set in a circus. A boy’s burning questions, “Who am I?” and “Why am I here?” propel him through the Circus of Life on a journey of Self-realization.

We asked the help of Hugh’s brother, who was an artist and a printer. He informed us that he would be going back to his home in Ibiza, Spain in a week and we said that we would follow him. We left our careers in the theater in New York City, our lives, as we knew it, and embarked on the adventure into the Unknown.

In Ibiza, we opened an art gallery off the main plaza of the 2,000-year-old town, which was built on a mount overlooking the port. Prema continued to work on the drawings for the cartoon book and create silkscreen art with Hugh, while running the gallery.

The Microcosmic Cartoon Shop (MCCS) became the avenue of expression to portray, through art, the reflection of the Macrocosm on this plane of existence. As Source crystallizes into all its myriad forms, we, as artists, attempt to capture the infinite Truths in our portrayals. As Life journeyers, we observe and participate the creation of the Microcosmic cartoon on the planet Earth.

Our journey took several turns as we found the spiritual school we had been searching for nestled in the hills of the Cotswolds in England. After a year of intense training in the Fourth Way Work with John Bennett, we began a six month overland passage to Auroville, India. Prema knew she was to have a child there and, in fact, conceived Suryananda on the way in Greece.

While traveling to India, our briefcase, with everything we had written and all the drawings, was stolen on a train through Pakistan and we had to start again. The original concept became fuller as did the treatment. The concepts and images filled out in detail. Thus evolved the screenplay for “The Planet Earth Presents: The Microcosmic Cartoon Show”.

In its current form, it is animated musical feature screenplay. I have completed a five minute rough animation, called an animatic, for promotional purposes. As a visual synopsis, it gives you a brief outline of the film. You can link to the animatic on Youtube or view it on the website.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NPGFBr6RwFA

I have also recorded a demo CD of six of the sixteen songs in the film. These can be accessed through the website.

The screenplay and music have won awards at the following international film festivals:

Worldfest International Film Festival
Hollywood Spiritual Film Festival
Moondance International Film Festival

We, at Microcosmic Cartoon Shop Productions, intend to create many expressions of Hope, Faith, Courage, Inspiration, and Love as told through the stories of our lives.

Prema

Masks

2010-02-06T06:00:00.000-08:00

I’ve always been fascinated with masks. For a time, about fifteen years ago, I wanted to make plaster masks and decorate them to sell…Mountain Woman, Bird Girl, Panther Woman, etc. I thought of doing local fairs to market them.
A while ago, when a local woman was offering mask-making workshops, I knew the mask I would make.
It would be a death mask. I could see it in my mind. It would not be full faced, but curving half way from one eye and cheek to the other. I would paint the stars and moon on it, asking them to guide my spirit feet to where I needed to go next after my spirit had left the body.
There would be a desert scene of endless dry sand to support me in shedding those things of the earthly life I had lived. One green-blue wave would hover above one eye to remind me of the vast oceans of matter and space and how those waters had represented the Great Mother to me.
The contrasts of black and white paint would remind me that I was leaving behind the balance of opposites, the dualities of human life.
Lastly, on my forehead, I would paint a star so my people would find me and recognize me, and help me on my way.
So far, this death mask lives in my imagination, yet one day I plan to create it and keep it ready. I’d like to be cremated with it.

Jyoti

A Family Present

2010-02-04T06:28:00.000-08:00

It began last summer when we all got together for my mother’s family reunion. My sister had this idea of gathering up our old 8mm film canisters and taking them to a company and having the old home movies put onto a DVD. So instead of drawing names and buying a present for each other, we could all pitch in and give ourselves a family Christmas present.

We all agreed it was a great idea, one which I promptly forgot about three days later as I drove home to Colorado. But my sister persevered and offered to help Mom gather every thing up. My mother is a very organized person; not only were all the canisters in one place, they were all dated and labeled with events. My sister did all the leg work. It cost a little more than we expected (so what else is new) but the finished product is so worth it. I was excited when the mailman delivered my copy and I tore open the wrapping just to look at it. The DVD is labeled: Price Family, Home Movie Memories, 1967 – 1971.

I waited to pop it into the DVD player till my son could join me for Christmas dinner. We sat back after opening our presents and I started the show. Walker doesn’t remember ever seeing these old movies and it had been a really long time for me. Of course there was no audio feature with that original camera, and we did not add music to this DVD, but this really does allow for allot of commentary from the viewers. It gets to be a very interactive process. Walker and I were giggling and laughing out loud at the outfits and the stilted antics of me and my younger siblings; we were 14, 12, 10 and 6 years old when the movie begins.

I had really huge hair, my sister began her movie career as a gawky pre-teen, and my two youngest brothers are absolutely adorable. My mother and dad are so young and thin, boy did they have their hands full. All of our relatives, holidays, and family vacations are right there, and my Dad did a really good job as an amateur film maker. The hair-do’s alone are certainly historical (read hysterical).

Well, let me tell you, there is a really good reason that none of us went into show business. I can still hear my Dad saying, “This is a movie camera, so MOVE !!” And in our awkwardness with this new adventure, we flopped around like fish out of water. It is as hilarious now as it was embarrassing then. However, this was a tremendous gift that we gave each other this year and I want to thank my mom and my sister once again for putting this together. Our early family history did not all fit on this first DVD but we will definitely get the remaining years transferred to one more DVD.

Pop the corn, dim the lights, and grab a spot on the couch, the fun is not over yet.

* annette

Writing Prompt - Circles

2010-02-01T06:13:00.000-08:00

It must be my expansive Vata-Libra nature, but I like spirals more than circles. It helps that the spiral is an ancient symbol of the Goddess. To me, a spiral is a circle come to life, dynamic and active.

I began to think of my menstrual cycle as not a repeating circle of ovulation and bleeding, but as a spiral. It was a spiral because, over time, a circle changes some, a cycle alters in its path a bit - opening up more to the expanding universe or closing in towards the central point of infinity.

The spiral can move inward and move outward, whichever way you choose to move on it --evolution, creating in matter or involution, spiraling inward to Oneness. I like both—to create and to return to Oneness.

If I get another tattoo, it will definitely be a spiral.

--Terra Rafael

Dressing

2010-01-31T14:25:00.001-08:00

In being fitted for my costume for the production of Shakespeare’s Richard II, that we are rehearsing, I got stuck trying to take off my outer layer with the laces. It became clear why the nobles had servants to dress and undress them. It was impossible to do it by yourself.

That incident threw me back in time when I was two or three years old and learning to dress myself. I remembered vividly the frustration I experienced as my feet got tangled in the arm holes and the wrong leg went into the other side of my leggings, so that they would end up backwards. They had suspenders that held them up under my matching coat, but did my skirt go on top of the leggings or did it get stuffed into them? Such a dilemma! My sweaters never buttoned up the way they should and I would have to unbutton them and start all over again. My little fingers would get so tired.

Then there was this unruly mop of curly hair that was a tangled mess to brush or comb. Yelps and tears were the norm and I am sure my governess was more upset than I was. How hard it was to reach that facility that now, I take for granted.

Well, sort of. Here I am, at an advanced age, struggling with the same incompetence in dressing as when I was a little girl. All the actors will help each other with our costumes as we will all be in the same boat. Since there are quite a few costume changes, we will be rather busy.

When I played on Broadway, we had union dressers but Boulder is a long way from Broadway.

Prema Rose

2010-01-30T06:43:00.001-08:00

There’s something beautiful about the snow
that comes in the night,
drifting silently like owl in the darkness.
It covers everything lightly,
hiding all the rough edges,
and brings purity back to the world,
even if only for a moment.

The morning sun crystallizes
all in sight
and beautifies every mundane thing,
reflecting off the snow
that fell silently in the night
on owl wings.

Jyoti

Nettie Pot

2010-01-28T07:18:00.000-08:00

It was late June and I was camped out beside the road in a field in northern Wyoming. I was one of twenty-five people that had gathered to participate in a workshop with a Mexican shaman. I knew no one but was determined to learn every one’s name by the end of the long week-end. This was a personal challenge for me, not only as a memory test, but because I had never attended a workshop like this so totally alone.

Truth be told, I was recently separated from my husband and it was my son’s 7th birthday. He was with his father and I was sitting with wonderful people that I did not yet know. It was the first time I was not with him on his birthday. I cried every day.

Secondly, for some obscene reason, I had set up my tent beside a dirt road which was spewing dust with every car that went by. I had no idea there would be so many. By the end of the first day I was in a full blown allergy attack, puffy face and eyes nearly swollen shut. I left the group and found a lonely shrub to crawl behind and I sat there silently sobbing, miserable, lonely and consumed by grief. I heard footsteps and there was the old Mexican shaman. He was a very short man and he looked at me with such compassion that my heart split open and my whole body shook with sobs. We did not share language and could not speak to one another, but he placed his hand on top of my head and then brushed loose hair off my wet face. He stood over me and whispered words.

After he walked away, I stood up, dusted myself off and headed for the bath house to splash cold water on my face. At dinner that night I was approached by three older women who were wild-crafters for an herb company out of Jackson Hole, Wyoming. They told me all about the nettie pot and how it had helped them with their hay fever symptoms. Mix ¼ tsp of sea salt with 1 cup of warm water, tilt your head to one side and let this saline run through your sinus cavity. It sounded so simple.

Once at home I purchased a nettie pot from my local health food store and I have had a love affair with it every since. Excitedly I gave one to my mom in Kansas City and one to my sister in Springfield. I wouldn’t dream of getting on an airplane without one and gently packed mine all over Scotland a few years ago. About that same time my mother saw a woman on TV demonstrating how to use a nettie pot. A few days later my youngest brother called me and said, “Why didn’t you tell me about this years ago? I have worked with concrete dust all my life. Why didn’t you tell me?” He was actually mad at me. I reminded him that I did try to tell him and the rest of my family about it so many years ago, but they all just laughed it off as “another crazy thing” that Annette does. I told them all. But a woman on TV made it all legitimate for her.

I continue to sing the praises of the simple nettie pot. I have heard so many folks tell me that they would feel like they were drowning. But I tell them “if you can breath while your dentist has both hands in your mouth, you can use a nettie pot. It is way easier than the dentist.”

Flue bugs, cold viruses, sinus infections VS salt water and a simple nettie pot.
Try it, you may like it! I am pretty sure that you will not drown.

* annette

The Santa Monica Pier

2010-01-26T11:38:00.000-08:00

It was a time to escape the millions of people on Santa Monica beach.

My friend and his wife needed a break from one another. He and I joined his neighbor on his sixteen foot sailboat and headed into the Pacific. It was amazing to watch as the coast reached further and further away. We kept extending further into the ocean, delighting into leaving the millions back on land.

After going so far west, we turned and headed north and kept going. Our friend had his little radio on playing soft music.

All of a sudden, we were covered in thick fog. We could not see anything. Our friend turned off his radio, bringing in total silence. It became very eerie, such quietness. We kept heading north. We had no idea which direction we were going. But with the thick fog we had no idea which direction we were going.

In a flash we looked up and discovered we were in a sailing regatta. We were headed straight for a huge colorful spinnaker , then another, and another. How surprising, now what? The huge sailboats were blowing at us, as we were doing our best to get out of the way. Eventually we did and what beauty surrounded us. The fog just as quickly disappeared. We eventually headed back to the shoreline. We headed for all the people we had attempted to get away from. But the quietness we prized was worth the adrenaline we managed to pump up.

Patricia

A Spiritual Experience

2010-01-25T09:54:00.000-08:00

I sat among the scrub oaks in the Jersey woods. It was midday on a sunny, Fall day and I had just come from saying hello to a couple who lived in a log cabin at the end of the paved road. I was deciding whether to head down the sandy path to my tent, set deeper into the forest, or whether to bike over to the Island and walk the beaches.
As I sat there hidden from view and breathing into the day, I felt a presence behind me. I didn’t jump up to look, but searched with my inner eye as to what I needed to see and know. I felt the slightest pressure on my shoulders and, in my mind’s eye, I saw Christ standing behind me with his hands there.
I was filled to overflowing with a deep loving, knowing that everything in that moment was okay, was perfect. That I was okay and deeply loved was communicated as well. I felt that love penetrate into my cells, into my heart. The tears, streaming down my cheeks, cleaned away a lot of the self-doubt and loneliness aftermath of the marriage’s end and gave me renewed hope to continue.
After a few minutes, I rose, wiped the tears away, and sent a silent prayer of gratitude for the experience.

This happened over thirty years ago and still is a vivid memory.
Jyoti