Hey, how bizarre is this.  I'm sitting at the computer chair, typing without a care.  The rain is falling in the typical manner of forest precipitation in Western Washington.  The kids went off to bed... and hold it!  There is an eclipse going on!  Did you know?  Do you care?

Obviously, we won't be witnesses.  If it were daylight, there would be cloud cover... and since it will be peaking here at about 3am, there isn't a lot to see.  But it is pertinent to our existence...  What isn't pertinent?

We live in this vast, incredible, crazy universe.  It is something so unlimited, so undefinable, that most of us never even bother to look up.  How many constellations have you seen this month?  Where is the moon?  Do you even know?

Well, there is no moon, FYI.  Or if you have one, let me know...  'cause I don't, and that would be something to note with the NASA folks.

A solar eclipse and a new moon, a day in your life like no other, moments upon moments that will never be repeated, valuable in their utter novelty, in the individual experience of the perfection that you are.  I'd call that a chance for a party!  Take a second.  Notice. 

There is nothing more important in all of existence.

 

Addendum to the last post really...

When you join our superhero's in mid strip, the Sun is just about to disappear (well, that's an illusion, but...), ahem, the sun is about to disappear behind the moon, for a moment or a few.  Darkness is upon the land, so it matters little.  The masses are asleep.

Ah, but those who are Awake, they are the ones that know.  They feel the surge of energy, the pulsating charge.  They stir in their beds or shift for a time from the tasks at hand (rescuing the grandma from a treetop, helping a cat cross the street... super hero stuff).  They notice the escalation in earthly energy and wonder, "Hmm, too many mochas today?  Oh no, of course... the eclipse."  And then they return to their chores.  

Even super heroes wash their spandex suits now and again.

There were parents who cried, kids with tears in their eyes. Humans are such curious creatures! We all stood there for an hour, the generations separated in conversation. But in the moments before the bus left, final hugs happened hither and yon. And that's when the mist rose, the melancholy danced.

What the heck? These kids are teenagers! Their destination is a five night summer camp. Five. Ya, five. Party poppers and a three piece band might have been more appropriate! But attachment runs deep, holds hard, strangles the heart.

A couple of mom's waxed "I don't know what I'll do when s/he goes off to college. I just can't imagine." And I stand puzzled. Do? When?

Shante' is no stranger to travel. The day she turned fourteen, she left on an Outward Bound Wilderness Dog Sledding journey for ten days... into the hands of strangers, thousands of miles of flight, no communication from drop off to pick up. And when I asked, "What was the worst part of your experience?" Her answer was, "Leaving them." OK, I cried.

Beautiful! The experience of being in nature, bonding with new people, learning and learning and learning, facing challenges beyond what she ever believed was possible… and she longed for more.

So what do I think about camp? Put 'em on the bus. Cry. But don't cry because of thoughts of the future or glimpses of the past. Cry because the child is fully immersed in her moments. Cry because the worst part of her experience is returning to "reality".

Nyasha and Shante' were "raised Catholic, raised Christian". It wasn't an easy decision, but it was a decision. How do we, as parents, lead our children into the spiritual world? I spent years pondering the idea, and I haven't finished my thoughts.

They wore crisp white gowns on Baptism day, each in turn, before their first year was through. The extended family and friends galore celebrated these introductions to God… a god that would turn a baby away if this day had not happened? No, ridiculous. It was about commitment. Whose commitment? To what?

Obviously at that age, it was an announcement of our intentions, adult intentions. And I pondered. Can I do this to a young soul, choose its path to the Divine? And I decided to step off of the diving board, trust the dark waters below to be deep enough, just deep enough, to support that.

The philosophy was and still is… if you don't know a religion, how can you look across the broad spectrum and understand your possibilities? That might have back fired. It has in millions of minds. People experience the frigid ice of a proposed cruel god; they witness the atrocity of judgment by human beings that know nothing of Divine intentions, yet act in the name of God; they shrivel from lack of water on a vine that hasn't been fed by the fertilizer that matches their hearts and their needs.

And so, as they grew, our girls were "educated". They attended their classes, sat in church, learned the ways of Catholicism. In the car ride home, we would talk about the information, add what was unsaid, the other possibilities, the other paths. Reconciliation, First Communion… and on it went.

A few years ago, we all grew away, or maybe grew beyond the need for the structure of the building and the Sundays and the traditional rituals. It's fun at times, but it is not the substance that Spirituality is made of.

Today, Shante' left for a week of Foursquare Christian Camp with her friends. She is no foreigner in the realm of Christianity. But she has not been boxed as such. Eric and I see that there was angst, somehow her heart a half beat off. She will see the power of connection, the joy of gathering in agreement and celebrating. What else will she see? Where will she go? What will she be?

She already is… it's like Michelangelo's David. Before she is carved, she already is.

I'm gonna spare ya the poetry.  I threw everything but the title at the teenagers on myspace.  : )  Some of you are destined to read both.  Some of you are spared the insanity of the other. 

Today has been an "interesting" day, a calm day, an unfolding day.  I've certainly had my share of opportunities to be the ego in me. 

But sometimes I have nothing, just nothing, to say... strange.  If you know me, you'll know that's actually ultra strange.  I sit on the phone sometimes, not knowing what to do with the empty space of non-reaction, of "no comment".  I make something up.  Or I don't.  Then there's Clear Brilliant Stillness, to quote a book.

In the arguments that happen when one person wants to argue, I have to say something, defend something.  It's really difficult.  It's hard to stand on ground that moves.  There are ballots on the counter, omg, ballots.  I was wondering how that would play out.  I still am. 

I just don't care.  It just means so little, is so irrelevant, so drop of water in the ocean of what IS... and my submarine chugs on, unwavered. 

Who am I today?  That's a really good question.  Who am I this moment?  That's a little bit easier.

Here's the bottom line, email me... my ego plays there!  Loves it!

Otherwise, find the rest of me under some Bodhi tree somewhere... there are no computers under the Bodhi trees.  Have you noticed?

There is nothing I love more than rainbow colored flesh... I live with it often.  Ya, God created gloves. However, there is something about being one with the art, diving into the dye like it merges with the soul. 

Many an early morning I have remained awake, playing with the strings of complicated designs, the strong scent of latex gloves and rubber bands, the bold and everlasting colors.

I think people are the same.  They are the projects, the dye, the twists.  They are the rubber bands and the water and the heartfelt dedication. 

In every being there is color bold and bright and waiting to be adhered, fiber reactive with the soul.  There are challenges, the constraints that hold, mold, and shape them, like the twists and rubber bands.  There is pain that pierces them like the needles, yet forms their ever complex beauty in the end result.  There is the water, the endless, endless procedure of rinsing the excess away, releasing what is ego to the drain.  And there is the unveiling, the final emergence of something unique and wonderful, unalike any other, brilliant to the eye. 

People are the tie dye of God!  There is nothing more beautiful, no project more worthwhile.

 

No one would ever believe this.  I can't really believe it myself.  Well, then again... So, I've been writing... drum roll.... I've been writing Potty Poetry.   "What is Potty Poetry?", I hear you ask... "Is it like dirty jokes or something?"  

Have you met me?  NO, IT'S NOT dirty jokes.  Grumble.  But it is something that I put about 1000 words of effort into, and something I'm going to spare you the specifics of.  

A friend (guess who, won't be hard) asked me to write poems that would be attached to our porcelain friends when they were delivered to the lawns of unsuspecting victims, as a form of fundraiser for a non profit  I don't say no much, especially to things that use this part of God's talents.  I love to see what's in store.  He just happens to use me to do it!  It comes up in weird ways, is useful to various people.

About seven different variations of the poems were set to print in an hour... and they make me laugh... and I had nothing to do with it.  It interests me most because a reading  theme of this week has been to listen for the task of the spirit.  That's the funniest part!  Potty poetry for the Eternal : )

Okay, just because I know you'll be heartbroken if I don't, here's an example.  It will be arriving on a toilet decorated for the fisherman, delivered to some lawn somewhere:

When toilet treasures are your goal,

No doubt you'll need a line and pole.

So set your bass down on the seat,

And greet your neighbors in the street,

'Cause one of them was feeling naughty,

And blessed you with this Fishing Potty!

Embarassing, hilarious...

I don't think normal people work with these liquids.  You probably are not good examples of normal, thank God, but I just can't imagine that they're considered normal here in hickville...

We were driving to South Seattle to give the kids a break.  They are escaping with the grandparents.  It's a little bit debatable about who suffers most in this arrangement.  I think Grandma is the one who gets the highest points of happiness from the experience.  But at least there is novelty in it for everyone.  The girls were discussing the bottle of Synergy that was in the car.  "Is it supposed to taste that bad?"  A question I couldn't answer.  It was my first experience with the drink, and I didn't classify it as "bad" per se.  Different, yes.  Like kimchi in a drink.  Interesting, fermented, unlike anything I've ever experienced... like my life right now, my soul right now... novelty in it, for everyone.

There is an 800 number on the bottle.  Shante' dialed... "Is it supposed to taste like vinegar?", she asked the answering machine.  I wonder if they'll call back.

I poured a glass of milk when I returned, soy milk, and then thought about that too.  My mom was the only one in my immediate world that shared the practice, and she died more than a year ago... so I don't actually "know" who else drinks the stuff.  I know a LOT of people who do NOT.  Why do they call it milk?  Soy beans don't have udders.  Heck, there isn't even consistency in the product... one cup can have four grams of protein or eight, a ton of sugar or none.  What?  I hope you're all checking the labels! 

Woah, I just slipped into the thought that you might be drinking this... someone must be.  Oh ya, beware, soy milk increases your estrogen levels too, so expect to grow "man boobs", hee hee hee.

What makes us normal?  What makes us different?  Which do you wish to be?  Normal's easier... different more valuable.  Normal removes the luster, different polishes the shine.  Break out the synergy baby!  Don't worry so much about what other people have in their refrigerators.  Don't ponder if the neighbor dances in the rain.  Just do it.  You know you want to be that beautiful facet that the Eternal created.  Just brush away the dust.  You're ready to roll!  Novelty in it for everyone : )

It was a cliff hanger, wasn't it?  And not one of you called me on it?  Shante went to Foursquare Christian Resident Camp for a week.  Yep, she can be a resident.  She could probably pull off being square.  Being definitively Christian?  I don't know... maybe.  It is her call.  They didn't tar and feather her, so she must have passed muster!

There were a lot of services every day.  I think she outlined at least three... but with teens, everything is fun of course.  There were healings, mini miracles.  So I wondered what she thought, whether it felt powerful to her.

The discussion was opened in the car accompanied by someone who had attended a similar style of camp when she was younger.  She admitted that "speaking in tongues" was something she created, that was fun for her... 'cause she was a little kid.  My guess is that where children are concerned, that's probably a high percentage.  Imagination verses spiritual unveiling.  Shante thought it was uncomfortable at first glance, but fine after day one.  She is really hard to rock.

What she did say, for all you budding youth directors, what she DID SAY was that there were different styles and approaches used by the speakers.  She loved some, was inspired by some.  And some left her cold, her feathers ruffled.  Wanna guess the difference?

There were speakers that said there is one and only one way, one and only one truth... and you step off that path, that truth, and pppfffffftttttt, it's over for your soul (ok, ok, I'm being melodramatic... I'm even making it up... but the point was the edges were solid, rock hard).  And where was she inspired?  She was moved by those who spoke with love and acceptance for the soft lines, for the blended edge, for the merged realities.

Well, interesting.  Is it rocket science?  WWJD... or WWBD... or WWGD?  Not that hard visualize!  So thank you so much Rev. Romack for being that flexibility for Shante!  Love ya much!

We did a lot of boating when I was a kid.  Hmm, I've done a lot of boating period.  Sometimes at night, in very unique circumstances, there were these tiny little creatures in the water.  We called them phosphorescence... maybe it was phosphorescents?  Anyway, they could glow. 

On a boat, the toilet is called the head.  It isn't at the very front of the boat, there is no neck or brain... I don't know... but those little creatures loved to glow when they were pumped through that toilet system.  We would all ooo and ahhh like it was the 4th of July.  Hilarious to think of that now, a half dozen people gathered around a tiny toilet in a room the size of a cardboard box, watching one celled "animals" luminesce.

At Day Camp this year, one of the girls was overzealous with her glow stick.  The ooze sprung free and transferred to her body and clothes and sleeping bag.  She was sure they were all going to die.  Non-toxic, people... you could swallow the stuff.  I don't recommend it though, 'cause in helping with that little project, I too was exposed... and it stings, a lot.

In Stardust (Ya, cute movie!  Profound if you watch for it), the star falls from the heavens in human form.  Ultimately, when she was touched, loved, happy, she literally shone with the light of her universal radiance! 

So it came to me that there is something appealing about this "glowing" concept. 
Do you glow?  What makes a human luminescent?  Do you want to know? 

I'm going to make a broadly generalized assumption, and let you decide if I'm accurate. What makes a person glow is the Great Mystery that some people call God. 

There's a trick to this though... it's not coursing through the tubes of a giant head (although that's terrifically amusing to think about).  There really aren't a ton of requirements(although a bunch of religions put stock into that).  It seems to be about a connection that is within us, that we can light, that we can fan for brightness.  It seems to be the realization of our own connection to this Source. 

My recommendation:  Don't bother splitting the glow stick and enduring the sting... just turn inward, and notice that you are the Eternal perfection!  And glow!  I'll be watching for ya.

That title isn't mine... but it's among the truly profound things on my mind this week.  Heavy thoughts hour after hour.  Sometimes I just stop them... the weight too much to bear.

I was pondering the cells of the body.  We have different tasks for those cells.  There is a  liver, a kidney, a spleen... each of those made up of cells for that intention.  But then each cell, even in it's likeness, is unique... in a different position on the organ, maybe running a different task at hand.  How?  The same, different.  One, independent. 

Broaden the picture, it's a body, my body... and there you could say the same thing.  A human doing as humans are supposed to do, filling a role, contributing something entirely unique and important.  Yet, yeeeeeeeetttttt... one with mankind or one with the world or one with the universe, the Eternal. 

That is definitely not a thought for a brain.  It's likely to cause smoke from the ears!!!  I could feel the smoldering begin.  It's really a conundrum for the soul, a theme for meditation.

So, you tell me, how can this be?  How does this play out?  Each of us needed in desperate intensity to be unique, individual, and glistening in our individuality, yet at the same time, playing that role for the Oneness of us All, how?

Inquiring minds want to know!

How do you measure a year in a life?  There isn' t a day or a moment that isn't an anniversary... of a year ago, a decade ago, a century ago.  But exactly what does that mean?  Nothing?  Everything?

What were you doing a year ago?  What was your life like?  How has it changed?  How is it the same?  Are you ponderous, confronted, overjoyed, or in angst about the passing of this particular year?

I'm thinking about that.  I probably have a little of each, but I wonder if it matters at all.  The truth is that I'm here at the computer, typing, listening to the tick of a clock, noticing dog hairs snuggled against my bare foot, bangs in my eyes (I should do something about that!).

A year ago this moment, wow, a year ago this moment... I was talking on the phone with one friend and emailing another.  I was frightened beyond any other fear in my life.  Everything was shifting... and nothing was shifting.  I can relive that in a blink.  I can feel the beat of my heart and the heat of my skin.

But I just don't think it matters... one year ago.

Saturday, Seattle will be celebrating Native American Indian Honor Day with festivities at the Seattle Center.  The official date of the hopeful holiday is August 20th.  It is a day to celebrate human beings as a whole, which is the depth of Native American Spirituality... leave no one behind!

It isn't exactly how we populated the continent, is it? ... Respect and dignity for all, inclusion, respect for individuality yet merged Oneness of the love of being a whole with the universe.  Those are pretty big concepts to grasp, something sometimes so daunting that it's easier to go back to TV viewing and internet chaos.  How many seconds can you hold the ideas, minutes maybe, an hour a day?  

Our future doesn't depend on what is obvious.  Trust that to be true.  It's not about a pay check or a boyfriend or an illness in the family.  It isn't about the things we center ourselves on, what our ego begs to have heard, what we replay in loops over and over and over... until we wake from a stupor.  It's so much bigger and more important.  It's so inclusive and raw and real. 

We definitely should celebrate... and leave no one behind.

Ok, ya, so back a few blogs ago, you found my daughter pondering a bottle of Synergy in the car... and then this quote:

'There is an 800 number on the bottle.  Shante' dialed... "Is it supposed to taste like vinegar?", she asked the answering machine.  I wonder if they'll call back.'

Kudos to the company... they sure did!  And yep, in the words of my teens, it IS supposed to taste that bad! : ) 

(PS - I kinda like it... not crossin' any streets for it, but novel it is!)

It's open mic night once again... so any of that personalized poetry (Kashya, yay) or self written musical masterpieces (Chelsea, oh ya) belongs on stage!  The kids are always rockin'!  Always incredible.  I love seeing people venture out for a first time... or just trying a little something from stage top!  I adore seeing people find the sparkling star within.

There were strangers in the mix this time.  I think that's always fun.  I noticed that same level of amazing energy streaming through them as through the girls.  It's an opportunity to pour out the gifts that were given for them to share... it fills the room with the glowing exuberance : ) 

So here's a line that caught me, repeated in an "original" song (?) by one of the men I didn't know... "I've never been more sure about anything in my life than this."  It's awkward to type, a little cumbersome in music... but definitely has philosophical appeal.  So what do you think, are you sure?  How sure? 

I don't have an answer, but I have a lot of questions that could be analyzed this way.  I was actually considering which dark corners held that stamp of approval, SURE.  Pretty boxy, pretty solid, pretty closed ended.  And then in another way, it's awfully vast, like saying "yep, I'll take this particular trail and face the variety of challenges it has to offer, no matter what they might be".  How can the statement be both?  It's that danged "tetralemma" back to bite us!

Poetry in motion... speaking of which... here are two Kashya Boretsky originals, first time in the published world right here, right now (copywritten by her : )

WITHOUT  
Without Wings You Soar Above
Without a Paddle You Sail the Seven Seas
Without a Pen You Write a Thousand Words
Without Colors You Paint a Beautiful Picture
Without a Door You Open Your Mind
Without a Seed You Plant a Life
Without a Destination You Plan a Journey
Without a Leg You Walk a Thousand Miles
Without Electricity You Light Up a Future
Without a Beginning You Reach Towards The End
Without Courage You Fight Many Battles
Without a Mouth You Speak a Thousand Words
Without Hands You Carry the World
Without a Book You Read Peoples Faces
Without a Memory You Know Your Past AND
Without Knowledge You Still Dream  

"UNTITLED"  
Moments Go and Moments Stay
But Memories Last Forever
Your Mind Will Stay or It Will Stray
You Do Something Now or Never
You Do Something Now
You Do Something Then
You Ask the Questions How
Where, What, Why, and When'
Come and Go
Ebb and Flow
Face Your Fears
Cry Your Tears
Start Walking Don't Look Behind
Faith and Courage You Must Find
Stand Your Ground and Don't Back Down
Climb the Ladder Don't Look Down
Hardships You Must Overcome
Add Life Together
What's the Sum

There are so many things I could type about right now... but what came from my fingers was that ~ crushed ice!  Maybe it's because it's HOT.  For Western Washington, it's really hot!  Perspective?  Most of you would call us whiners.  I doubt it's 90, maybe more like 80... but muggy, ya, wet hot.

I saw this email recently (a few times).  It has amazing photographs of icebergs.  They are layered in color from the events of their "lives"... greens and blues and browns.  Truly stunning!  Does that count?  - Ice crushed by the hands of time, manipulated by the life that has befallen it, molded by it's course across the planet and through the ocean?  I'm one of those icebergs (or it helps to imagine it to be so 'cause it's still firey weather outside).

No matter how well planned, or how well cared for, or how well bred, I'm still a product of the manipulation of time and environment.  I carry the colors of the iceberg in my veins, in my DNA.  Or at least I'm programmed to think so.

I think the Spiritual stuff is the other side of this... the crushed ice in the cup.  It might be cubes or cylinders or extraordinary little crystals like one of the taco places makes... but that's my choice.  From somewhere within there is a knowing that says, "Yep, that's the kind of ice I want to be."   And if I relax and believe, I can melt into the exactness of self that was always there. 

So, for those who had doubts on whether I could write several hundred words on any arbitrary topic, now you know.  I can!

Choose your mold... then melt away : )

I think everything I ever enter here falls under the classification "Shaggy Dog Story"... ya know, the things that go on and on and on with some short punch line or message that makes you wonder why you stuck with it.

This, however, is a Shaggy Cat Story.

When I walked out of the store today, there was a man in a car who looked at me (or through me) with such anger and spite on his face, wow... remember this.

Way back in the golden days, almost in the time of dinosaurs, or maybe a handful of years ago anyway... I was the manager for about 400 girls worth of scout troops.  It was really an interesting learning experience, where I grew a lot. It was difficult.  It was management (which means a lot of people didn't love me a lot of the time).  It was a volunteer position that was more than a full time job.  What's with that?!

I spent a bunch of hours at the office, even though I usually did what was possible from home.  The staff (ya, there are a few) knew me well, and were very supportive and adhered to me, as I to them.  I had been doing phone work in the back office and I sauntered out.  Every person in the room jumped up and was by my side, concerned, asking what I needed, hugging me from the side. 

I... I was puzzled.  What?  Apparently, I looked quite upset, as if I was near tears (not my m.o. in that kind of setting).  I totally broke into laughter.

There was a cat hair stuck on the roof of my mouth!  Ahhh, so much for appearances!

The man in the parking lot, he must have a cat : )

Not heroin!  I did check the dictionary for ultimate certainty!!!  I just started the title and pictured the Duck, Duck, Goose game.  How does it relate?  A bunch of us going round and round and round in life, caught in the stupid loop.  It takes a tap on the head, a chase, and a tag to get ya into the soup pot in the center.  Then you can actually take a second to look at the chaos of the loop.  Maybe stay in the pot and simmer rather than rejoin the ring of the stupored?  Hmmm.

So who is the hero in that new game, the one with the title Hero, Hero, Heroine?  Is it the loop dweller, the tapper, or the one in the center of the circle?  I think the one that does the tapping might be the hero of this analogy... might be the one that gives others an opportunity for a new perspective!

But, then, does that make that person other than a person?  The concept has come up in conversations with three different friends this week.  I figure someone needs to think about it, and my thinking is in my fingertips right now.

We have the athletes of new Olympic records.  We always have our sports stars.  Politics are kickin' up.  There are rock stars and movie stars and Sneeches with stars.  Is this the pool of your heroes and heroines?  Is it a bad thing if it is?

I'm thinking about Bill Clinton, about the scandals that rocked the White House.  They didn't rock our house.  We didn't care a bit.  It was almost weird that a nation would hyper analyze the personal relationships.  Doesn't that same sort of thing come in with Martin Luther King Jr?  Tons of rock and pop stars face devastating scandals daily (or so it seems).  What holds a person in that heroic title?  Is it actually something someone can keep?

"he*ro (hi r'o) n.  A large sandwich... uh, no, another try... a person noted for courageous acts or nobility of purpose.  

Yep, I have a list a mile long.  Odds are, you may be on it!  My heroes, my heroines, they're close at hand.  They're changing existence in small and miraculous ways.  Their nobility of purpose pours love and peace into the world around them, around us.  And, alas, there are human qualities in there too, faults that hold them to humanity (and humility).  But when ya focus on the Spandex of the Super Suits, it's hard to ignore the bliss!   Thank you for acting as heroes in my life, in the world, in all of Eternity!   Thanks for stirring up the pot, and keeping us all in the game!

Among a million stories I have yet to tell (they back up : )... 

Last weekend we went to the Seattle Center for the Native American Honor Day festivities.  OK, that's already pretty much a space of happiness for me!  Truly my thing.  Then, I also took a carload of the most brilliant, amazing women I know (a handful of teens).  So you have to imagine there really isn't much that can go wrong at this point, but things only get better!

Eventually, as interlude, we wandered to the fountain.  If you've never seen it, I can only attempt to do it justice!  The water pours from holes that are three or four inches across.  There is an artistic, inverted metal bowl with these holes in its top, enormous... and then, there are additional spouts at ground level coming directly out of the cement around the bowl.

The whole thing is set deep inside a concrete spiral of sorts, probably the width of a football field, another bowl, right side up.  The water shoots into the air in rhythmic majesty, following the flow of a potpourri of musical pieces.  I'm no mathematician, but I'd guess some of that water could easily make a field goal.

Hey, it was about 85 degrees out.  That's oven temperature here in Western Washington.  How can I convey what there was to see?  People were so happy, so beautiful.  They ran in and out and among the water.  Children laughed hysterically, parents shrieked in the shock of the cold, everyone played with joyous ecstatism.  Amazing to witness, truly something of the Eternal. 

We sat deep in the cement bowl, along the water line, for ages and ages, just watching, smiling, feeling the mist encompass us.   Have you seen a rainbow in full circle?  The rainbow from the fountain formed a loop that included us in it's points.

Eventually, you guessed it, they could maintain teen composure no longer.  The girls went in.  They joined the rush of people, the screams, the reverberating laughter!  I was told I was not allowed; that's just as funny.  And you know that they couldn't maintain their own decision of course.  Eventually, I was essentially "forced" in.  It wasn't necessary : ) 

What I wish for everyone is that exact feeling, that exact sense of love and joy and beauty and interconnectedness, forever and ever and ever.  Blessings!

 

I was raised Roman Catholic, and although Vatican 2 and the move of Reconciliation (rather than Confession) lightened the weight of personal sin,  I'm no stranger to the term.  My fair share of mental anxiety, my list of "sins", has been well written.  Today I see ungodly behavior differently.

At Easter, if you missed it, the Vatican added a handful of newly acknowledged  crimes against God.  My favorite?  Sex in cars.  OK, if I wasn't a lost soul before, I admit to being Hell bound now.  It isn't that my compulsions lead me to strip in SUV's, but rather that my internal compass finds this particular sin ludicrous at best.  What is sin?

I woke with a lurch.  My clutch is slipping!  It's not the SUV. It's my own definition.  I slip in and out of JUDGMENT.  Basically that's the only SIN I can decipher  to be wholly worth battling in the quest for heaven.

What keeps me from love and forgiveness?  What binds me to fear?  What creates distance between me and every sentient being in existence?  What holds me separate where there is no separation?  An aspect of judgment.

Sometimes I forget that living is about growing the self.  I lose my center. I begin to buy that ego and arrogance are something more than tools in humanity, used by spirituality.  I know that THAT is a true sin, against God, against myself...  Judging.

It IS all about me : )  If I do not center on my perceptions, stop to wonder about where "right and wrong" surfaced and why, turn the scenarios of living into mirrors that reflect the shiny paint and the dents in my own bumper (in my own act of BEing) then what's the point?

Consolidation works for me.  I don't need a long and technical list of sins deciphered by men over the ages since Christ.  I can take the faulty clutch in for a tweak, and have judgment replaced with "being".  And the road?  Direct, smooth and heavenly.

I always wonder who "babysits" whom, who watches, who is the watcher.

Today, I received the happy news of a new birth.   There was a baby that I cared for when I was a teenager... who grew into a man I admire... who then went on to marry someone he loves with admirable tenacity... and who now has a son of his own.  Does this make me old? :  )  It certainly makes me aware of a cycle in existence.  My own daughters could babysit that baby, and around we go!

Tonight I am typing from Shannon's computer.  The kids are snuggled under the covers, teeth brushed and stories read.  It was my sincere pleasure to join them in play today. 

I didn't do laundry or think of appointments or work on paperwork.  I built block towers that monster trucks crashed through.  I played drums and harmonicas and symbols, in non melodic chorus.  I ventured my way through the land of Princess board games, and Uno in two different formats... into Slap Jack and Go Fish.  I stirred cookie dough, cut grapes in half, and changed diapers.  I helped with a bath that was not my own.

It definitely brings back memories, of my more devoted moments with Nyasha and Shante (and I'm far more focused as a babysitter than I was as a Mom).

So this twisted and looping existence that we are, these strong and loving memories that repeat and grow, do they catch you?  Can you feel the tenderness seep through your fingers as you think of stroking the soap from the babies hair?  Do you remember the laughter of your siblings when the sound of a sprinkler reaches your ears?  Does a waft of pipe smoke bring back the mellow calm of your great grandparents home?

That is true love.  It is what we are made of, what there is to do with our time on the planet, and where we will land when there is no more life left to live.  In love.  We can find that in our every moment, if only we look, if only we reach for the Eternal connection that we are.

How do we lose our focus?  How do we forget?

I try to meditate before I get out of bed on the days it is possible... ya, rare.  But today, I definitely went straight to it.  Meditation can go in so many directions, be so randomly surprising.  But recently, caught in very directed learning, I'm either experiencing empty emptiness, or something of the guided adventure of Asara Lovejoy's, The One Command.  I'm so tired of that!

If there's gonna be "guidedness" at all, my current 'favorite' is all consuming love.  I think those of us who have read the book could actually find similarities in the piece where she was having us picture the riches and wealth pouring in, the clothes, the yachts, the jets, etc.  We all laughed at that, right... found it commercial and egocentric?

But it is the same meditation that I'm talking about; the twist is just a step to the right (right brain, not right politically).

We were made in perfection, perfectly the person that is meant to be here, BEing here now.  The love and compassion from the Eternal is undying (hence the term "eternal", ya), unyielding, growing and growing and growing at every thought.  There are no limitations for us, nothing in the way, nothing stopping us from unfolding our purposes and spreading our consciousness beyond the false walls we have created.  So the meditation is this:  allow "God" to pour over you, because it IS actually the only real thing that is there!  Join with it and glow white and pure, grow into the bright light and heat, feel the love and perfection radiate from within to the enormous-nous that holds no bounds.  Hold yourself in that space of no space, the location of non judgment, the place where you are PERFECT.  Know it to be true, because it is.  And just sit with that until you melt melt melt away into all that there is : ) 

Even in typing it, I don't really want to stop being there, don't really want to come back to moving my fingers across the keyboard.  The thing is, that's always us, it's always with us.  We're the ones who forget, who deny it and look at the little stupid things like "my skin is so white" or "my hair is turning gray" or "I can't do it because I sprained an ankle last week". 

How long does your perfection last when you leave the world of God?  The gray hairs are perfect... figure out why.  The white skin is perfect, perfectly you.  The sprained ankle, a lesson maybe?  Something to build on?  A space for glorifying the perfection of "asking for help"?  

If we take on our own element of this, being perfectly ourselves, and then look out into existence with the same rose colored glasses, perfection in All... what a wonderful world that would be.  What a wonderful world it already is.

Backdate this one a few... it was hand written!  Imagine that... PENCIL and paper! ~~~

"All the world is a stage and all the dogs merely players upon it."  That's Veela's theory (thanks Ny).  One year at fair, Nyasha braced our sibling dogs (that means hooked them together on one leash) and went in the ring for a special obedience competition.  Some still tell the tale!  A long story short, Nimbus stopped mid run to, uh, relieve himself in a solid way.  Veela jumped him to avoid collision.  Nyasha (the human here) then literally leapt both dogs in order to stay upright, landing with great flare.  In the Olympics, she would have scored nine.  Comical, death defying...embarassing... definitely playing to the crowd.

Today, the fair fun was agility.  It's an event where dogs venture through tire rounds, tip the balance of the teeter totter, jump broad planks and high pvc bars...  There is method to the madness, or there should be.  No one told Veela!  She took the course in her own order, decided her own direction.  The crowd loved it!  The scores?  Well, luckily, teenaged competitors tend to have a sense of humor.

Being in 4H, being IN fair, is a novel experience.  The whole family is on display much like the photography and the vegetables (ya, a LOT like the vegetables).  We've traded roles from observer to observed.  I was thinking about how that applies to my overall life right now, exchanging the two, back and forth and around again.  Am I watching existence or is existence watching me?  Am I inside the fence with the dogs, or in the aisle with the crowds?     I wish for consistency... but it is seemingly out of reach.   "All the world is a stage, and all the men and women merely players."

I don't pretend to know the details of the Alcoholic's Annonymous program.  I feel like I should apologize for not having an addiction to alcohol or drugs to prescribe it.  That's weird. 

People who tackle these 12 Steps, that truly fight addiction at the core of their being in order to change the loops of their destiny, these are heroic men and women.  I have been honored to meet many recently, and to be welcomed into their midst at open meetings.  I am awed and mezmorized by the challenges that are overcome, by the people who do the work.

And so, here I sit with Step Five in my lap, a process I do willingly, inquisitively.  Many days attempt to truly make a "fearless moral inventory" has been declared inadequate : )  Dang it!  Back to the drawing board...  There had to be a point to all of that.  But as wrong as the paperwork may be... I'm going through with "admitting to God, myself, and other human beings the exact nature of my wrongs".    My method won't be compelling, or the stuff of soap opera affairs, or even amusing... so you might want to cut out now before boredom sets in.  I just have little excitement to share.  Maybe that's one of my confessions right there.  Have I really lived if there aren't tales to be told?  Maybe not...

Which leads to my first theme of horror.  I listed tons of my own characteristics and crimes and misdeads, I had my kids and other people be boldly upfront too... and the stuff basically belonged in three, perhaps four, categories.  They actually all fall under one, MEness... but that isn't much of an admission.  I wonder if this is a backward step in my spirituality, but then maybe there is no such thing.  I had perfection so, well, perfect.  And here I am, facing my boils and moles, struggling to keep them in a phrase of the tetralemma.  Both perfect and not perfect. 

First theme, no more contemplating or procrastinating... wait, remember that you can't argue with me on this!  I'm not looking for the contrast.  I'm not even looking for comment at all!  I think you just listen...

First theme:  I have this thing about being right!  Have you noticed?  I'm totally and truly arrogant.  It is not an act!  I'm strong willed, obsessive, inattentive and defensive. I know that I am intelligent and talented and incredible... and there really isn't anything anyone can do to convince me otherwise.  I'm egocentric.  This theme leads me to all sorts of lifestyle crimes.  I expect more from myself than is humanly possible.  I expect other people to equal me.  I am often uncompromising and hey, I lack spontaneity, 'cause that's just way out of my control.  Oh, control freak should have been up there... That perfectionism, that need for stability, leads me to stay within my comfort zone and not reach out into the world of new possibilities.  I haven't grown the way I might have.  I have likely been a serious pain in your butts along all of these categories.  As with the other offenses, my kids and husband have paid the dearest price... being caught in the intricate illusion that I attempt to portray.   I could go on a lot longer, but you're probably ready for number two.

Second theme:  I think it's still the first theme... but it's hard to separate this stuff.  Somehow I think there needs to be a grouping that includes pride.  There's something to accepting help from other people, being an equal part in something bigger than one.  That's really frightening.  I find gratitude a little hard to muster... although I guess that could be argued.  Maybe I am least likely to recognize and be thankful for my own gifts and being.  I work to accept help from other people, to allow others to contribute, but this really takes a large amount of effort (see first theme).  Martyrism somehow fits here too... like thinking I need to be the one that pours everything outward at the same time I accept nothing back... isn't that the definition in a way?  How truly ridiculous.  Obviously that hurts a ton of people, people who would like a chance to share equally in a relationship or event or who just want to bake half the cookies.

Third theme:  This is maybe not so obvious... maybe it is.  I am trying to feel guilty for this.  I am trying to find some sort of reason to fight it.  That's probably the biggest violation of all, a lack of fighting it.  OK.  I am not very dedicated to being here, on this planet, living.  So, I don't take care of myself, don't really care.  I try to consider it.  But honestly, the only reason to stick around seems to be for other people... and that's definitely some sort of admission that needs to be pondered.  It doesn't match with theme number one at all.  And I love you all, really, hopefully obviously... but there's something different about loving myself (I have that down) and loving being physically separate from God.  There's something missing in my understanding.  Maybe I will find it one day.

There is a fourth theme... not really much to dive into... but it's the flip side of creativity.  The noncomformity in my actions and my thoughts stems from something.  It leads to great things and horrifying things (just like any of these).  Elevators?  DON'T jump!  In some ways it's the ironic opposite of the first theme.  It definitely runs thick and deep though.

So here is where I failed.  If I already knew these, then supposedly I didn't search deeply enough.  And so I go back... I watch again.  I list again.  I think some more.  Where are the rigid loops that hold me in my patterns yet hide from me?  Where did they come from? That's what I really need to spend some moments deciphering.  Or maybe I don't. 

It's so much more appealing to leap into a good prayer or a few solid minutes of meditation... and then it all just disappears... for the blissful moment : )   Is this a fifth theme emerging? 

Hey, if you can see what needs to be "inventoried", feel free to throw it back at me!  I'm really pretty open to junk like that : )  I could use some help.  If the grade is pass/fail, I'm not making it out of this class.  Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!