LIFE AS ART

This morning I saw the open spaces of my time as a blank canvas waiting to be filled. Then I reflected on life in general and wondered if much of it is not also a blank canvas waiting for our choices to paint the picture of our fulfillment, or lack thereof. And I began to see my life as a work of art in progress.



To complete the metaphor, the frame must represent our life circumstances, which can strongly influence the work of art by highlighting its strengths, or detracting from its essence. It can be grandiose or so small that the painting seems to have no focal point. The balance of the painting and its frame seems to be what creates wholeness.


Enough metaphor.

~

My father left my life when I was about three years old. Memories of him are like fog. But I am told he was a singer and a painter - an artist.

Is there a gene for that?

Most would think I have little for which to thank my father, but perhaps it is that gene of his that is driving me to appreciate the art that surrounds me. I suppose nature is the biggest work of art, but the creativity that is exuded by some people is almost as stunning and godlike. And now I see each life as a canvas being tinted , a story being sung, a poem in motion, a sculpture of reality.

So, thank you father.

When I graduated from college, miraculously my grandparents (who raised me) allowed me to go to Europe with some friends. The trip was an awakening, a truer education than I had ever received. Art struck me and I gasped my first breath. I am so grateful for that too.

Today I was reminded of the significance of art in our lives. This morning I discovered a website which is dedicated to encouraging the pursuit of an art-filled life. It proclaims that: "Aesthetic philosophy...deals with beauty, harmony and balance." "Aesthetics are known to refresh the senses and stimulate emotions."

If my life is to be a work of art, then I must inhale the fumes of art's mysteries, digest the sustenance of its wealth.

Only then can I become it and forget the question, "Does art imitate life, or life imitate art? My answer is neither. They are fused as one.

May art consume us all.

"ART IS A LIE THAT MAKES US REALIZE TRUTH."

Pablo Picasso

FEED THE WOLF

There is a story about an old Cherokee who told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, "My son, there is a battle between two wolves inside us. One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked, "Which wolf wins?" The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."

~

Though I try not to dwell on them, I cannot escape all the stories in the news - murders, thefts, violence, clashes of all sorts, heated demonstrations, politics, division.

The chaos seems never-ending. The hatred, which is at the core of it, seems pervasive. So, lately I've been thinking of hatred and the little story above came to mind. And I saw that the hatred was not just out there, in others. I recognized the inner battle that wages inside me.

It led me to go deeper and deeper until I discovered the hidden sludge, the grime and filth that rests peacefully disguised somewhere in the darkness of my being.

The immersion revealed to me what I didn't want - the hatred within me. Though I may often come across as a Pollyanna, an ambassador of positivity, a bleeding heart who wants to sing Cumbaya and love everyone, the real truth is not pretty or all about love.

Hate is such a strong word. I was taught I must never hate, that only love was the valid passion. So hate learned to hide. I thought I was nice and that I had no room for such a strong and vile emotion. Until, not too long ago, when it surprised me, attacked me and I saw it. And if I hadn't, I think that wolf would have devoured me. I won't go into the details because you needn't know about me. It's best to discover your own hatred and you have some. It is adept at camouflage.

But perhaps, like for me, circumstances will converge for you in a way in which hate cannot but show its raw, ugly, monstrous head. And you will deny it, you will reject it, you will fight it. Then you will accept it. And hopefully, you will ask, "What is it I'm afraid of?"

I think hate originates in fear. If you have the courage, the answers will eventually surge, but know that unveiling our fears is not easy.

I value self-awareness and I know it is something we have to work at. It is best to know who we are, lest we go through life like a shadow or a carbon copy of ourselves - unauthentic, ungrounded, hypocritical. The truth will set you free, they say.

Though love may be the opposite of hate, they are not mutually exclusive. I can love my child, but hate the neighbor's. I can love the underprivileged, and hate the rich. I can hate the haters, while thinking myself superior. I can hate myself, and love my superficial mask, my reputation, my prestige.

Some say love and hate are just two sides of the same coin. That makes sense to me somehow. Or maybe I just wish it were, because as a choice I prefer love. And what a great thing, if we could convert hate to love. Just flip it.

Or maybe we can all just transform hate to love, like an alchemist or a magician, or a god.

But the truth remains. Before we can change anything we first must see it, confront it, name it, accept it as part of ourselves...and not hate ourselves for it. Only then can we let it go. And maybe not only our self-awareness increases but also our self-love, love in general.

The old Cherokee grandfather didn't instruct on which wolf to feed and he didn't say it, but it's important we know there are two wolves and that feeding one, will kill the other.

~

For a little humor:

" I am free of all prejudices. I hate everyone equally."

W.C. Fields

I WISH I WERE A POET

Photobucket - Catifung

Poetry has infused my soul lately. I am hungry for it and jealous.

Often I see skies like the one pictured above - Masterfully painted, uniquely designed, intensely mesmerizing. For a moment hypnotized, I die. And I relish death, or is it really life?, and wish I could verbally express its captivating issness... with you.

A poet would know how.

And so while wallowing in the greenest envy, I wonder how a poet's mind works. I had heard that poets were dreamers. But as I read more poetry I am led to disagree. They are realists, they are fanatic perceivers who see the depth of the observed. Then they recount what they see.

I had also thought that poets wrote of love and beauty. Yet, now I see that is not true. Love- hate, beauty-ugliness, war-peace, sadness-joy are all the same to a poet. They are merely emissaries of truth.

Words, often without logical meaning, are scripted in a weave that titillates our mind, that sometimes shakes our souls. We all know words, so how do poets interlock them, juxtapose them to create something so often illogical, yet something that, like a homing device, can fly directly to pierce our hearts.

I used to think poetry was contrived, intricate, abstract. I didn't get it. Now I know. I was wrong. For if anything, it is uncomplicated and straightforward. True poets are not out to impress us, to trick us by their flare. They are reporters of the rudimentary - of guts and blood, sex and lust, of heaven and earth. They are inspired... in spirit. They report reality, which even if we try to complicate, is after all, really simple.

Poets are not self-conscious, they reveal themselves, unabashed by what others may judge. They are driven by the details of their moments and they reproduce, through words, life's ordinary magic.

I am excited at the prospect of reading more; actually I am passionate about it. For me a poem is like a meditation, guided by an enlightened soul.

Dare I dream of writing it someday? I do. I wish I were a poet.

~

O Me! O Life! by Walt Whitman

O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;

Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more

faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle

ever

renew’d;

Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;

Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists, and identity;

That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

ORDINARY GRACE

It was an ordinary day. I went to work prepared to encounter the usual problems, put out some fires and hopefully do some good. However in mid-afternoon, the assistant director of the mental health hospital, a stout woman with friendly eyes, and a pasted on smile, called me into her office. I was a little annoyed because it meant my next therapy group would have to start late and my schedule would be thrown off.

She seemed glad to see me, yet at the same time I detected something angry in her demeanor. Immediately, I wondered what I had done wrong to be called in to "the principal's office". Guiltily and nervously, I sat down.

For a moment I couldn't quite understand what she was talking about. She mentioned a male coworker and talked of her annoyance that typically men earn more than women for doing the same job. She said she had met with other administrators and she had won her battle. I assumed she was referring to herself not earning a commensurate salary, but why would she be sharing that with me?

Finally, after a few seconds of denial on my part, I got it. I could hardly deny the amount of money she wrote on a slip of paper - $5,000. That was to be my immediate raise. This occurred many years ago when $5,000 amounted to more than it does now, though I still don't think anyone would refuse it.

I thanked the Universe for such a gift. Grace had beamed down on me and without even entering the game, I had won a heavenly lottery.

~

(I use the word "grace" for lack of a better one and because that fits my frame of reference; but substitute your own word for the gifts of life: God, faith, mystery, nature, natural law, the void. Even the word luck can be used. Maybe it's the best word.)

I'm not sure what made me think of that today. I think it was my enjoyment of the aroma of strong coffee brewing that made me think of grace; how it is probably always present but I don't see it until I perceive something big has happened. How silly is that? Something more than big happens every day. I am alive.

My perception is tilted and I look for what I think is valid, valuable, useful, worthy. I yearn for what I don't have and I thereby miss seeing the gifts that surround me. They are all big gifts, but I delude myself into thinking they vary in size or value.

The mountains, the dogs, the flowers, the bugs, the birds, the houses, the furniture, the bills, the people, the relationships, the circumstances, even the tragedies - they are all full of potential, full of life, full of a perfection which my tilted perception skews, judges, sometimes resists and rejects.

Grace is everywhere. But I guess to be grateful for it we first have to acknowledge it, see it, touch it, perceive it from our human vantage point. I used to say I wanted to age gracefully. Now, that statement makes no sense to me. I want to be grace-full, or rather to discover and activate the grace within me, for we are all full of grace.

What I am finding is that grace is an ordinary thing, a radical something which is present each moment, every day. So, as I smelled that coffee brewing I promised myself to be on the lookout for grace today. I just realized that I actually did get up and smell the coffee, like the saying goes. I'll proceed then, to be as awake as I can for all the grace that bombards my world - inner and outer. And if I can recognize grace, I will intimately know gratitude. They are inseparable.

I remember now that I sat under the stars last night. They existed when I got those $5,000 which have long since been spent. But those millions of stars shed grace upon me still.

NO COMPLAINTS!

This is not a "grandma blog" but you must allow me to tell you what a wonderful, exhilarating time I had these past few days visiting my baby grandson. I can hardly recognize the idiotic, lunatic, ridiculous fool I gladly become just to make him laugh. I greatly appreciate the opportunity to have so much fun.



Okay. No more grandma stuff, but I must just express one more thing - a great big bundle of thanks to my husband who almost pushed me out the door as he so generously volunteered to take care of the old ladies for a few days while I recouped some sanity or insanity, whichever serves me best.

Thanks so much, Hubby of mine!

**********************************************************

"If I become a vegetarian, what will I eat?" This was a rather frantic question from a friend of mine who was on the verge of making the big decision about giving up meat. I had uttered the same question a few years prior when I myself could not imagine my world without meat consumption. Today, both my friend, myself and our respective spouses eat no meat, yet we still battle the bulge and have obviously found plenty to keep us nourished, well fed and plump.

My big question now is about a very different issue. It focuses primarily on the ladies: mother and mother-in-law, the two old women in our care. One has Alzheimer's, the other dementia. One is 82, the other 90. They each possess a small repertoire of commentaries which they repeat daily about 500 times. Hygiene and food are their major problems; or rather, my problems. Mother is quite easy going until she gets it in her head that I took something of hers. Then her profanity is less than mild. Mother-in-law has about 3,500 imaginary illnesses which provide torture to her and more to us who work hard at avoiding her detailed accounts accompanied by a more than adequate amount of melodrama. They do not qualify for any kind of government assistance though their meager social security checks could not possibly provide them with paid help. Both my husband and I have no siblings and therefore, we are stu...I mean, we volunteered to provide care.

Until recently, Maria was reliable and accessible with little notice. She even learned to cook the foods the ladies like. We used her periodically when we needed a night out and when we took mini-vacations. However, Maria found a full-time job caring for an infirm old woman and I guess she prefers a predictable salary. She will still care for our ladies for our mini-vacations, if we reserve a date about a month in advance. We have been unable to find a substitute and thus hubbie and I are stuck at home most of the time because mini-vacations are, after all, expensive.

Wha wha wha wha wha! If this sounds like whining, it's because that's what it is.

~

As I was driving to my daughter's house four days ago, I heard a talk radio show. It was Dr. Oz the infamous "Oprah" doctor. He was interviewing Minister Will Bowen who initiated "A Complaint Free World" movement and organization in 2006. As I listened to him, I realized he made a lot of sense. He had statistics I could not write nor recall, but he seemed to prove that complaining is not good for our health. Like most negative things, to focus on them merely perpetuates them and enlarges them. They make us unhappy and our bodies respond by getting sick. The website alludes to the fact that perhaps without complaining we could make more room for gratitude.

Recently, I had accepted a challenge in a blog post to go without complaining for 21 days. This is the same challenge that is proposed by "A Complaint Free World". I failed miserably then and don't even think I lasted a day, and here I am considering trying again.

However, this organization uses purple bracelets as a tool to keep us honest. You put the bracelet on one wrist, if you catch yourself complaining you have to switch and put it on your other wrist. I think it's a good way to at least increase my awareness. I'm going to send for it though generally I'm not one to engage in gimmicky activities.

I buy into anything positive and almost without thinking accept that it must be better than a negative alternative. I couldn't help but wonder, though, if not complaining may lead to suppression of feelings and emotions. I certainly have witnessed as well as experienced relief after being able to share problems with a genuine and caring listener. However, is that relief really helpful or just feeding my ego by helping me feel sorry for myself? At any rate, I don't think I need to hide my feelings I just don't need to nurture the negative ones.

I plan to act on this and hopefully pave the way for a more grateful existence. I must confess though that not 15 minutes after hearing the radio show, I was complaining on the phone about something. Minister Bowen says that we complain a whole lot of times in one day. There's no debating that!

Still, in view of what often seems a pretty restricted life right now with little in the way of social or exciting experiences, I can't help but ask myself, "If I don't complain, what am I gonna talk about?"

"People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within."

Elizabeth Kubler Ross

(rewritten from : http://acomplaintfreeworld.org/)

THE POWER OF TOUCH

This morning I read a little story about a Mom in Australia who held her newborn son against her skin for two hours after he was declared dead by doctors. Miraculously he gradually started showing signs of life, and today he is five months old, healthy and a joy to his parents.

Though it seems unrelated, this reminded me of a time, many years ago, when I was a therapist at a mental health clinic. It was my turn to stay in during lunch in case any "walk-ins" came in. A young man showed up, who I mistakenly agreed to see in my office alone, rather than remain in a place with an accessible exit to safety. He seemed rational until he started talking and demonstrating his paranoid delusions, one of them being about how much I resembled some woman he hated. As he spoke, his agitation increased as did my fear that he would become violent. I'm not sure which or how many drugs he had taken.

But eventually, he calmed down, and then was able to talk a little about the drama in his life - abandonment issues, rage, self-destructive behaviors. Staying "detached" from clients never proved to be one of my best therapeutic skills and all I could think about was how sad I felt for him. How must his mother feel?

He talked and I listened. There was not much more I could do, besides encouraging him to connect with family. He refused any services and would not be returning because he actually lived rather far away, in another town. He intended to return to his life style, which included occasional homelessness, to give in to his drug addiction and to remain isolated from his family, who lived in another state. He seemed determined to end his life, a little at a time.

I was relieved when he left my office, and uncharacteristically, I walked him to his car lest he linger in some other part of the facility. After shaking hands, the young man turned to leave. I felt I had not really helped him and all I could do was lay my hand on his back for a second in a motherly, caring manner.

About two weeks later, I received a call from someone whose name I did not recognize. It was the young man. He called to thank me, to tell me that he thought a lot about our conversation and that he had decided he wanted to turn his life around. He had called his parents and was going home.

We all know this was not the happy ending. It was merely the beginning of a long journey for this young man, but it was nice to know that at least for that moment, he had selected a happier path. Whether he stayed on it, I will never know.

~

The reason the baby story made me think of the young man's story is because I perceive that within them they contain a lesson about the power of touch.

It was the mother's warmth, and the love she communicated through her skin, that revived a life which had already decided to leave.

I know there may be many factors involved, but I am convinced that the touching of that young man is what made the most significant difference in our interaction. Somehow I know I communicated more with the brief, gentle touch than with the words I used.

~

There are various modalities that incorporate touch for healing, for balancing energy, etc... There is massage, Healing Touch Therapy, Reiki, and others. I think they're all good because the intention is sound and they really can do no harm. But, I don't think you need formal training to touch someone and wish them well.

I don't think we outgrow our need for touch, the same way we don't outgrow our need for food. The human spirit takes nourishment in many forms and in many ways we are all hungry for the gentle, loving touch of a loved one, or even a stranger.

For today, I'm going to focus on touch and how it can communicate my intentions. I hope I transmit the wish for love, health and well-being to all whom I touch.

And though only by way of my imagination, I touch you.

THE SIMPLE PLEASURES

The other day my husband called me to our back patio, where he had sat to relax after a day of working in the yard. He happily and proudly proclaimed as he waved his arm from left to right, "How can I ever complain when I have all this." He pointed, not at our humble possessions, but at the sky where the sun was gradually hiding behind the horizon leaving a trail of striking colors and hues, which no human artist can paint. Everywhere we looked we were delightfully shocked by the vastness of beauty that surrounds us at any given moment. To take advantage of this natural spectacle all we have to do is simply notice.

Now my glance is drawn to my left side, where a modest bouquet of fresh roses from our front garden, rests peacefully emitting a sweet scent that soothes and caresses my senses. Yesterday, with a gleam in his eyes, hubby presented me with these gentle Divine emissaries to keep me company as I engage in this entertaining techno hobby of mine. I stare at them and I am mesmerized by their quiet and serene existence. They lack awareness of their own temporary and captivating beauty.

This morning I was greeted by an unusual sky for these parts. It was overcast and the clouds hovered above playfully teasing those of us who love the rain, silently laughing and growing before exploding into a deluge of life giving water. The thunder sang its boisterous song as I watched the rain twinkle its age old dance.

Before that I basked in silence. I love the early morning before everyone else wakes up and intrudes on my conversations with stillness. The house seems almost lazy, as if it too wants to prolong the emptiness that fills its space. No movement, no sound, things just seem to hang in a delicious void which I relish.

The morning proceeded with my daily rituals - treats for Daisy, coffee for me, for a few moments I sat quietly listening to nothing but the faint hum of the computer before I opened it and began to play.

Once my family was up, my day proceeded predictably, filled with tending the two old ladies and trying intermittently to live as fully as possible.

~

I remember the days when I was busy; so busy I often made no time for lunch or even pee breaks. I was a workaholic and I wore the label proudly, deluding myself into thinking that my work gave me identity, that it showered me with prestige, that it symbolized my self-worth.

Even then though, I knew the value of stillness and tried to build it into my life when possible. But my grandiose delusion told me I was so important, my work was so important - how could I be expected to find the time to just be?

What's that saying? about hindsight? Well, it's not too helpful to look back lest we fall into the arms of regret. That's a waste of time, like guilt or shame. My comfort lies in at least now recognizing what's really important. Not that many of us could spend hours looking at the horizon, there's a living to be made right? But, there is such a thing as balance. I hope, if I'm ever born again, that I retain that tidbit of wisdom.

I think I'm digressing. Sorry. My objective was to write about being mindful and appreciating the little things that are available to us effortlessly, just by being aware of them.

For those of you who are still contestants in that proverbial rat race, may I, based on experience and good intention suggest that for your health - mental, physical and spiritual, you take the time to notice the big and little splendorous things around you. Really, smell your coffee and the roses. Stop and listen... to nothing but your own breath. Take a minute to honor your own splendor. The world will still revolve.


As for myself, I continue to learn. I still forget sometimes that the simple pleasures are life enhancing. That they are role models who know how to live in the present moment, available to me now, for free and with abundance.

I just went to reheat my coffee and my micro wave gives a little written message after doing its job. The Universe's manner of communication no longer surprises me. In big yellow letters in the microwave screen were the words:

ENJOY

Getting Real

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. It's a thing that happens to you...."

.......

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

Margery Williams

~

He was impeccably groomed, expensively dressed with just the right amount of jewelry befitting a middle aged, "successful" man. His smile, broad and bright, was curiously mismatched to his eyes, which beamed an almost imperceptible yet disturbing... something. The hand shake, an olden symbol of "I have no weapon", was an aggressive, strong, too strong a clasp, that seemed to indicate, "I am the weapon."Naturally, subtly?, the conversation turned to "What do you do?" He has a big job, a big house, a big salary no doubt.

I can't see them, but I thought auras were supposed to consist of luminous colors surrounding a person. I detected his aura because it was more of a smell. Behind the scent of expensive cologne, he reeked of superiority.

It was one of those short, unimportant interactions. I know it served to inflate his ego and made me think about mine.

If I judge him as hypocritical, snobbish and phony it is only because I recognize those qualities within me. I have been like him. In fact, the sages say I am him, that we are one. But, I'm far removed from such a level of full awareness or non-judgemental neutrality.

At least, though, I'm noticing that regardless of society's view of what's successful, I agree with the Skin Horse and am striving to oh so slowly and gradually become Real.

Becoming Real is an inner process. It involves letting go of many suppositions about what or how we should be or behave. There's a relaxing detachment to what others may think of you. Like the saying goes, "What anyone else thinks of you is none... of your business."

For me, getting Real, being genuine began to take hold when I was in my mid-forties. (That may sound old to some of you, but I'm such a late bloomer.) My career was peaking, income was good and I was hypnotised by the spell of "more is better", and "you are what you own".

I realize that I'm not even what I do. My value is not extracted from action, though I know my actions matter and have consequences. But becoming Real has meant discarding the lies I told myself and believed then excavating to find my inner Truth. I'm still seeking and have unveiled many little truths, that hopefully will lead to that ultimate Truth they say sets you free.

The shackles of outward appearances are broken and my journey proceeds deeper and deeper inwardly, to find what is authentic within this Self who is becoming Real. Like most journeys mine has detours, hills and valleys, and I get lost every so often. But I guess what's important is to find my way back to the beaten path.

~

I hope your hair is loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby.

Abundance

Are you old enough to remember the song, "There is a Rose in Spanish Harlem"? No matter, I don't have a song to replace it, just a much less poetic title about unlikely growth, "There is a Peach Tree in the Desert". This tree was planted, then transplanted, neglected and abused both by the natural elements and its owners, who year after year pessimistically predicted its demise.

Each summer, we picked the tiny, almost fleshless, sour and inedible fruit it produced and told ourselves, "It's time. We should just dig it out and put it out of its misery." But we never had the courage or heart to end its measly attempt at growth and we consoled ourselves by knowing that at least the birds seemed to enjoy its bitter fruit. This year one of its branches broke off making it look even less appealing. Its limb hung pathetically, as if asking for alms.

Out of pity, a little water was dispersed, a little organic compost was spread and it was left alone to dwell in the silence of its dismal existence. With little faith, I held my hands out to it, to give it energy to heal or to go peacefully, as we would do for an old relative, whose life has obviously been spent.

But, this little tree is actually a teacher, a natural guru, whose purpose was hidden within the power of its Source. Clearly, it is a survivor. Nothing has served to deter it from its essential job and reason for being. Humbly, it stands in spite of the apparent absence of beauty, it brushes off all judgment. It seems to laugh as it defies all expectations and this year it produced an abundance that was a total and miraculous surprise.

Like all good teachers, the tree's lessons are unspoken and instead are delivered by example. The lesson that is most impressive to me, is that abundance, which most of us seek to manifest as more money, more things, more external stuff, can actually be more of an internal, perhaps never ending flow of generosity from our Source. I hope I have learned that when I think I have no more to give, there is still an abundance of wealth within me.

It is almost as if much was created from nothing. Quite mystical I think. Oh, and the birds, they are happy that we left a large amount on and around the tree for them to keep enjoying. One can hardly witness such abundance and not be grateful. Thank you, peach tree in the desert.

"Abundance is not something we acquire. It is something we tune into."

Wayne Dyer

SNEAKY

BE YOURSELF! I always assumed this was good advice, though it perplexed me because after all,who else could I be? I sort of got it though. It meant not trying to be someone I'm not, like a movie star or an admired friend. But being myself meant being the insecure, shy, invisible person I've always tended to be and as far as I could tell that was unacceptable. The desired personhood included being outgoing, popular, assertive, confident. Though I tried on these personas, like one would try on a costume, the disguise did not work, and eventually I had to accept that I was stuck with just being me.


I remember once accompanying my husband to a work related function in Manhattan where Federal lawyers, judges and other court related personnel mingled noisily creating an electrifying energy. Upon entering the room, I was immediately frightened and intimidated.

They say opposites attract, and as far as mine and my husband's personalities are concerned, the saying proves true. He is the proverbial social butterfly, whereas, I prefer to remain in the coccoon. Being too proud, (I called it mature) to ask him not to leave my side, I risked that he would quickly discover some friends, who would take him to talk to other friends, who would take him to other friends..on and on.

So much for taking risks. I soon found myself alone trying to review in my head what some article had said about "being the life of the party". I also wondered if I had read anything about how to justifiably kill your husband when he abandons you, knowing fully well that you suffer from a mild form of social phobia, but that article didn't exist.

I looked around. The article had said to approach someone who looks friendly. Perception is reality some philosophers proclaim, and they're right. I perceived not one friendly face in the whole place. One really can be excruciatingly lonely in a crowd. "*&*%# it!" Yes I used an ugly expletive and decided to just stand there, be invisible and enjoy it. It turned out to be a transformative moment. I no longer fear big social functions, though I still don't like them. But I know that no matter what, the most comfortable fit for me is my own, less than charismatic, personality and really there's no door prize for whoever mingles the best.

~

Now that I try to see all things through a spiritual lens, I reinspect the idea of being myself and I realize that outgoing or shy, what I am projecting is my ego. It fools me into thinking it is small because it can hide in the midst of other egos, with bigger projection tools. But egos are never small and mine is no exception. It is convinced it's protecting me and fills my head with lies - your not enough, not worthy, too dumb, too fat, don't trust, be afraid, you're inferior, you're superior...ad infinitum.

The masters say I am not my ego. So now, if anyone says, "Be yourself," I am more perplexed than ever. I don't want to be my ego, I think I wish I didn't even have an ego, it enslaves me. The question remains - if I strip it off, what remains? Who is the self that I must be? But, I guess without ego there is no self. Then, who am I?

Sneaky ego. I suspect that even that last question came from you.

THE BLOGOSPHER - CREATIVITY UNLEASHED!

I propose that blog hopping be considered a new form of aerobic exercise. I'm exhausted after spending more hours than I'd care to admit bouncing from one site to another, intending to connect with people, make new friends, learn something and attract more traffic to my own blog.

It's fun albeit overwhelming, but beyond that I'm mesmerized by the diversity, ingenuity, originality and resourcefulness that floats daily in the waves of cyber space. I had no idea there were so many ways of expressing mommyhood, so much advice on frugality, so many home school teachers, so many "give aways", so many photographers, so many fashionistas, so many poets, so many writers, so many bloggers.

I love them all and admire the steadfast determination and courage of many of the bloggers who expose their hearts, minds and souls so the rest of us can glimpse at their human experience unfolding. And the level of creativity that exists within the bloggosphere strikes me as absolutely and positively awesome.

It has been said that there's nothing new under the sun. Really? I beg to differ. Each time a baby is born - new, each time the sun rises - a new day, each time an invention blossoms - a new opportunity for humanity, each time a work of art is completed - a new perspective of life and beauty, each time a book, article, blog is written - a new thought expressed. Creation is mind boggling. What can be said about it? I suppose, the same things we say about God - what a Mystery.

~

For me creativity just seems to flow randomly, unfairly like intelligence and life in general. Some people get more than others. I don't know why. Where is creativity? There are those who say it exists in the right brain, where imagination resides and fantasy looms. I love hearing that, because I'm an irrefutable right-brainer, for whom details are foreign and math is a language from a distant planet. But what about mathematicians, physicists, scientists and other's who process information in a linear, concrete manner and dwell almost entirely in their left brains? Do their brains even have a right side? Based on all the evidence they certainly do and actually it seems some left brain progress has been initiated by right brain imagination. I conclude that the best creative brain is a balanced one - left and right interdependently co-creating. This means I had better work on that left brain impairment I seem to harbor, if I want creativity to emerge from this apparently unbalanced mind of mine.

~

My fascination with creativity has led me to take advice from some very creative people. Julia Cameron, author of many books - my favorite is The Artist's Way - advises us to write three pages a day in the morning. For many years my mornings began with my pages, often going way beyond the suggested three. (I've stopped now that I'm blogging, but maybe I should resume.) I witnessed my writing improving and, at the risk of sounding immodest, occasionally some pretty creative thoughts mysteriously wound up on those pages.

Amongst other things, she also suggested Artist Dates. I love this. It means going out by yourself to just enjoy an interesting new place or an old place, but the idea is to allow the environment to stimulate your creative juices. For me, a little walk in the desert gets my body and mind reeling, though what I enjoy doing the most is visiting book stores in the hopes that some of the talent encased in those books will rub off on me. Don't know how much the creative juices are actually being stirred, but these dates feel wonderful.

This afternoon I'm planning to do something that is fun and some say it can unblock creativity regardless of your favored artistic medium (whether you're a sculptor, a painter, a writer, a blogger - this is good for you). I'm going to draw. I have found that it's a great way to enter a focused, almost meditative state and just allow the flow of creation to have fun with you. The operative word here is - fun. The intention is not to compete with Picasso, but to relax and enjoy. I actually did most of the exercises from the book, "Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain" by Dr. Betty Edwards. Being such a right-brainer, I mistakenly thought the exercises would be easy for me. They were not! But, I can confidently announce that I no longer only draw stick figures and my drawings are a great source of amusement to my family. And what's wrong with making them laugh?

~

As you've probably guessed by now, I am a seeker. I am searching for more of all things good, and creativity is pretty much at the top of my list. I wish to be infused with whatever comprises that mysterious gift of being able to make something from nothing, like a magician. I believe it's a way of being close to what I call God, the Ultimate Creator.

Sometimes, I can't believe that I have joined the blogosphere. My inner critic wants to convince me that perhaps I don't belong in it, that it is intended for those with creative spirits already formed. But, I know better. The creative spirit just needs to be nurtured so it can grow and blogging is a fantastic way to do so. The blogosphere is so overflowing with the Soul of creation; manifesting little miracles in the form of words, ideas, games, contests, photos, thoughts, excitement and energy. It's like an explosion of the imagination. I sit in awe and hope that some of the creativity fragments from that explosion crash upon me as I wait patiently in its midst.

"CREATIVITY - LIKE HUMAN LIFE ITSELF - BEGINS IN DARKNESS."

Julia Cameron

UNWANTED VIRTUE

Dear Mother Ursula, (wherever you are)

Remember that time when you wanted to know about something personal and secret about us? You patiently waited for my answer as you sat behind the large wooden desk that seemed to shield the teachers from the students and the world. Most of the girls responded as honestly as they could, "I am kind, I am smart, I know how to cook, I can outrun my brother, I am good at math..." When it was my turn, I couldn't think of a gift, something I was good at or anything I loved. I must have lacked imagination then, because I couldn't even come up with a lie. Maybe my "gift" was honesty, but this was the first time anyone had ever implied that I had to have something good that made me special and the very question was unimaginable to me. I thought you were a saint, Mother Ursula, for asking such an innovative and soul provoking question.

"Patience. That is your virtue." you said, rescuing me after a long, uncomfortable pause. Then you proceeded to tell me why/how you saw patience in me. But let me tell you (now that I'm no longer a little afraid of you) that you were wrong. You mistook patience for lack of confidence, shyness and passivity. Your opinion has actually turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy though, because many people, including myself, have perceived me as "patient" most of my life.

But it is imperative that you take back your words, your proclamation of the goodness you saw in me. You committed a grave mistake and now even the Universe has unrealistic expectations of me.

Lovingly and kindly I am supposed to respond to complaints - repeated daily, it seems hourly, more like every minute - which are dramatically executed by mother-in-law. Her litany of hypochondriac ailments is endless - her stomach, her veins, her legs, her left heel, an itch, no sleep (though she often appears for breakfast after ten), etc. On and on she proceeds as I...

S C R E A M (internally, of course) with frustration at having to be her helpless, captive audience. Can this be the attitude of someone who is patient?

Lately, my mother too has jumped onto the complaining band wagon and has acquired a strange malaise, that miraculously happens consistently right before her scheduled shower (which she is increasingly less fond of taking). My I R R I T A T I O N is hard to disguise as I go back to her room several times before she finally consents to her grooming (which, by the way, is no picnic for me to witness and endure). Does this sound like patience to you?

I thought nuns were always right, but obviously you were dead wrong. I am not patient! What I am is angry, furious, disappointed, livid, enraged.

I write to you because I wonder if your false prediction has something to do with the fact that I am stuck in a revolving door of existence, in which every day, I confront the exact same challenges. It's as if all forces conspired to test my patience, which I don't even have.

I don't mean to say that you put a hex on me. But did you? Even if you did, I know you didn't mean it and any repercussions were unintended. So, could you please take back your words? Release me from ...

Oh, Mother Ursula, here I am impatiently complaining to you about the complainers in my life. I'm so sorry. I know it's all in my interpretation of it. I could just see all this as the opportunity of a lifetime - a chance to be virtuous, a chance to help those who have no one else, a chance to love.

Mother Ursula, please don't be offended, but if I am to be virtuous I must enrich my honesty. And honestly, right now, this moment I feel like ...virtues suck!!! Still, I hope you have kept all of yours.

Sincerely,

Myrna

FEEL THE FEAR AND DO IT ANYWAY

Thank you to all those who sent their prayers and good thoughts to my friend and her daughter. Tiva died at 9:15 Saturday night. I continue to pray for peace and healing for the entire family.

~~~~~~~~~

Yesterday, when I got the phone call about my friend's daughter, I had just written the following paragraph:


"A few minutes ago, I was looking for a particular book and my hands kept brushing against a book I'd forgotten, "Feel the Fear...and Do It Anyway" by Susan Jeffers, Ph.D. I'm always open to a little serendipity, and considered that perhaps the book had a message for me. So I picked it up and saw that there was a book mark still in it, I had forty two pages to go before finishing it. I thought I had read it entirely several years ago, but typical of the way I do many things, I had been superficial in my focus, and dismissed it as a very good self-help book, but one that didn't apply to me that much. I don' t remember giving up on it, but I guess I abandoned it for some other book, perhaps one that didn't confront my self-deception so strongly."

~

Today, I sit and ponder about the significance of fear. I find it interesting that upon hearing of someone else's misfortune, my impulse reaction was to feel fear; and in a most shamefully human way, to thank God that it was not my daughter who died.

For so many years, I've been processing the events of my life and working on letting go of things - negative attitudes and old internal "tapes" that haunt me as they filter through my consciousness. In the process, fear received much attention and I grew to consider myself a conqueror, no longer driven by fear but ready to confront and kill all my internal monsters and demons.

I am happy to announce that I am no longer afraid of bugs. Yay. It's great to know that I am fearless around minuscule creatures that usually mean me no harm. On a higher level, a more symbolic one, perhaps this means I no longer fear the little challenges and obstacles in life. No longer do I fret over driving in unknown territory, no longer do I cringe when I have to speak up in front of a group, etc. It may appear so, but this is no small matter. Little things do mean a lot and I'm glad that most of the time I don't sweat the small stuff, as Kristine and Richard Carlson wisely advised in their famous book.

However, as I go deeper, reluctantly, to see the truth of my growth, sadly I must admit there has not been as much progress as I thought. I now think that time just naturally made me overcome many fears, making it seem as if I have bravely and intentionally overcome them. I remember being afraid of giving birth, then raising a child, continuously enriching a marriage, then pursuing a career, then working as if I knew what I was doing. Scary stuff, but essentially it's just a life evolving from its choices - a natural process. I couldn't help but live out the consequences of my choices, though I still felt the fear, I had to do it.

~

It has been said that one of the greatest fears is fear of the unknown. This may be true. I recall being enveloped by terror as I lay in bed trying to accept the death of life as I knew it, and the birth of a life unknown. My mother, had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's and the doctor had determined she could no longer live alone. I was uprooting her from New York to come live with me in New Mexico. As far as she was concerned she was moving to another planet, and as far as I was concerned I was about to enter a frightful Twilight Zone. It's been almost five years now. I still grieve the aspects of my former life, which perished, and whose memories are fading, like a dream. But, I'm doing it - in spite of all the panic.

I think some fears are actually based on the known as well. I chuckle as I see the depth of my fears - I'm even afraid to identify them as if ignoring them will somehow make them disappear. But maybe one of the first steps is to overcome denial, one of my ego's best defenders. So, though nebulous in detail, once I inspect it, I am forced to accept that I'm afraid of old age and the aches, the debilitating gradual loss of function, the potential financial depletion, the mental deterioration that may be in store for me. Yet, unless fate surprises me, I'm headed towards some of those known, unavoidable stages.

~

A few months ago I took a trip to Sedona, Arizona with my family. I expected a serene, meditative, calm experience, but my daredevil son-in-law had a different idea. Up and around and up some more, he skillfully maneuvered the rented jeep as we climbed tremendous rocks and skimmed the edges of profoundly steep cliffs while I sat in the back; muscles contracted, eyes closed, questioning, if not cursing, the moment I agreed to take that crazy and dangerous ride.

"I'm feeling the fear and doing it anyway," I blurted out, trying to give myself some undeserved credit. Wisely, son-in-law retorted, "No. This doesn't count for you. You have your eyes closed."

Though not exactly a meditation, that little trip taught me a few things. Life's tour doesn't count, if you have your eyes closed; most of us are afraid of the heights we can reach and often we must be driven there; no matter what label we give it - fear of heights, bugs, planes, water, injury, destitution - all our little and big fears culminate in the ultimate - fear of death. This is one of the things life has been trying to teach us - every loss is but a little death, which even if you fear, you'll have to do anyway.

International Technology Day

I'm going to a wedding and I bought a new dress. I have trouble knowing what's stylish and appropriate, so I took a picture of the dress and sent it to my fashion consultant who lives 5 hours away - my daughter. She gave it a thumbs up.

Since then, I've been thinking about what a magical world this is. It's amazing that I can send a picture and have a response opinion on it within minutes. Perhaps you're too young to remember the days of typewriters, carbon copies, and ditto machines. I'm really dating myself here. Maybe I should ask, do you remember when people wrote letters and used the Post Office?

Kids nowadays are born with a sixth sense - the techno aptitude faculty. Clicking, texting, navigating complicated games and computer programs are natural to them. Is our evolution accelerating right before our eyes? In the 70's there was a very popular book entitled Future Shock. It was about the unimaginable things that were already coming into our world and the fact that they were happening so fast, people were in a kind of shock from the stimulation of technological advancement. Well, I think we're over the shock and into complacent acceptance that this is the way it is. And we wait for the next Ipod upgrade.

Spirituality versus Technology

From time to time I've entertained an internal conversation, which goes something like this:

"The world is out of balance and some spiritual leaders are speaking out against the evils of technology. They say we are giving too much attention to it and we should be focusing on our spiritual growth instead. Maybe they're right. But, were we intended to stifle our technological advancement? Who gave us those abilities to begin with? Wasn't it God?"

I'm a terrible debater. But I come to good conclusions nevertheless and here's what I think:

I think that our human Spirit was intended to soar, that we are unaware of our fullest potential, that if there are people out there who study, experiment and invent - their pursuits are fueled by a Divine quest which is pulling them towards change (what we perceive as advancement).

We often say we were products of God's creation. Well we still are, and Creativity is innate within us. Many religions affirm that we were made in God's image and, obviously, God loves to experiment, play and have fun. Maybe, this world is just a Universal PlayStation. But the bottom line is that imitation is the best form of flattery, so perhaps to imitate God by creativity is a profound manner of worship. I for one am grateful that I have witnessed miracles in my lifetime way beyond my imagination. I never thought I'd be communicating like this. What a wonder!

I do not invalidate the criticism though. I also think that we could stand to balance things out. We could take some time for spiritual practices, or just some of the old ways humans have of enjoying themselves, with human interaction instead of technological interactive games. We could do a little more exploration on how to decrease the ecological stress our techno gadgets cause Mother Earth. And definitely, we don't absolutely have to have the latest gizmo even thought the one we have works perfectly well. But to condemn technology is, if nothing else, unrealistic at this point in our human history.

Spirit is in All. I think all space is sacred and that includes Cyber space. I think God loves geeks too. And if we divide spirit from technology it is because we tend to think that there is such a thing as separation. We forget that it's all One, that everything is interconnected. We are One. The Universe is One.

PAYING HOMAGE

I don't know if it already exists, but if not, let me make a proposal. Let's declare a special day to celebrate technology. Maybe it could grow to be an international holiday - a day off from school and work.

I'm not waiting for the holiday. I celebrate now as I write to you in this mysterious contraption called a computer. I'm having fun.

Happy Techno Day!!!

THE BABY FROM HEAVEN

The puff of lint was almost invisible. Yet, he saw it, picked it up with his highest level of coordination and inspected it as if he was examining a precious gem. It held his attention for a few moments until it was time to taste it, but Mommy took it before it reached his mouth. Oh well, time to discover something new. Oh yes, the floor pattern was pretty interesting for a second, but now he sees an object with a beautiful design. It is colorful and has large ears and other things to pull and feel. His arms and legs somehow align in motion to propel him towards the object on the floor. He picks it up and discovers that it feels so soft, so gentle. He squeezes it almost as if wanting to mesh with it. Maybe it reminds him of something somewhere he loved but the memory is fuzzy now.

His intense explorations are interrupted by the arms that pick him up and transfer him to the high chair, where he is to eat his breakfast.

I observed in wonder as I reflected upon the reasons why I travel for hours to be in the presence of this baby. As a grandmother, I fight the inclination to say that he's extraordinary. He is to me, but I know he's just a baby doing the things babies do and in that sense he is ordinary, normal, just a human fulfilling the blueprint for human development.

So, why do I find him mesmerizing? I think it's because of his innocence, which is actually a form of wisdom I have long forgotten and now struggle to relearn.

"It is the nature of babies to be in bliss."
Deepak Chopra

Baby is my guru. He is the perfect model for me to learn how to live a spiritual life. He is aware of his surroundings and appreciates all he sees. He knows true freedom and laughs and cries as the emotions strike with no attempt to disguise them or bury them.

Baby teaches me to play, to have fun and enjoy the little things.

He knows when enough is enough and its time to rest.

He lives in wonder and is a wonder himself. I treasure the moments in which I can immerse myself in his innocence. It reminds me that Heaven is what we make it - a touch, a place, a thought, a prayer, a being, a baby.

"A baby is God's opinion that life should go on."

Carl Sandburg

The Pain of Enlightenment

Every night before I go to bed I take Daisy out for her last walk. This night was no different, except that, while Daisy took care of her business, I spent a little time trying to turn my body into a barricade to dissuade a huge bug from flying into the garage. The bug proved to be smart and flew easily over my head. Daisy finished and ran into the garage waiting for me to open the door into the house.


But, I saw it. The bug was dangerously close to the door. I refused to let the bug outsmart me again. It was not getting into the house. Swiftly, with the speed of light and the force of lightning, I swung the door open.






!POW! I smashed the corner edge of the door right into my big toe, pulling the nail up and out to the side. I'll provide no more detail other than this striking illustration. Needless to say, I forgot all about the bug.

~

We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey."

Kenji Miyazawa

This "mishap" was the culmination of what I perceived as an awful day. Have you ever had one of those, when everything seems to go wrong? That day the coffee pot didn't work, plans didn't pan out, and the air conditioner had stopped working (the temperature was 99). I sensed an ethereal mist of doom hanging over my house permeating my mood and the lens with which I viewed the world. My nerves were on edge, making me respond to minor things with an inner growl.

Although I resisted paying attention, the Voice from within kept trying to nudge me. I didn't want to hear the Truth though and instead chose to wallow in my discomfort. My ego was quick to comfort me. "Poor me," it said. "I'd rather be out playing, than being stuck in this house where no one appreciates what I do; where I'm so unhappy with my life situation. If only..." I couldn't or wouldn't turn off the useless chatter. The pity party rocked. Until the pain.

I've heard it said that pain is the threshold to enlightenment. If that's the case I was fully enlightened in the moment when everything stopped, I saw stars, I was completely in my body and in my soul, I was awakened. Hallelujah!

~

Reflections of the moment lead me to concede that I needed that proverbial slap in the face (smash of the toe) that only God knows how to so creatively deliver. It helps me understand, if only a little better, why the masters teach us to be grateful even for "bad" things and circumstances, that all in life is a lesson and an opportunity to come closer to our Source. Can you believe it? I'm actually grateful for my smashed toe.

It broke the negative energy that surrounded me. Suddenly, I had to focus on the crisis at hand, or more accurately, foot. Decisions had to be made, hospital or energy healing? I chose energy healing and wish I could attribute it to my incredible faith. But the truth is doctors scare me and the thought of having a nail pulled utterly increased my faith in more mysterious forms of healing that don't hurt.

"The pain is sometimes more preferable to the treatment."

Indian Proverb

~

My husband cleaned me up, bandaged the toe and used Matrix Energetics. (Please read my blog post about this, if you're interested in knowing a little more about it.) I went to bed with a throbbing toe. I had more than a little doubt about being able to sleep, yet I drifted off into slumber and slept - like a baby.

I have yet to feel any more pain. If you're in the medical profession and happen to know that this is normal, please don't tell me. I prefer to believe in miracles. For me, the miracle was extended into the next day, when a wonderful, generous and kind friend, came to the rescue and fixed our air conditioner - on the 4th of July, no less! The atmosphere in my house was totally different and not totally due to the fact that we now had cool air. Peace reigned anew and it was emitted from inside my spirit. That evening plans did work out, friends visited, had fun and teased me about my spiritual toe experience.

I know God has many ways of waking us up. I'm glad s/he used a little humor to remind me that I was losing my way, that I was on the wrong road, if I was to complete the journey I chose. I realize the message is profound. God didn't merely want to point out to me that I needed a pedicure - S/he wanted me to realize how painless my journey really is, and how important it is for me to stay awake and on the path.

Every moment can be a meditation. May I live each moment with awareness, with good intention and attention. As Thich Nhat Hanh (the renowned Vietnamese Buddhist Monk) frequently says, "This is a glorious moment. Happy to be alive."

ACTION NOW!

Carpe Manana

The mechanic, a middle-aged man wearing clean but oil stained clothes, continued singing off key, accompanying the mariachi song on the radio as he sat, engrossed in fixing a little metal thingamajig - an indispensable car part. I finally caught his attention and explained my problem - a flat tire, which I had acquired in a supermarket parking lot. I was in a hurry, I was already late for my next appointment. After an infinite pause, he finally responded, "Well, Miss. I can have it for you tomorrow. Manana."



Yes, I live in New Mexico, officially the land of enchantment and unofficially the land of manana. The poor man could not understand my haste, though clearly I made him understand, 'cause he fixed it for me immediately.

I have since then gotten more used to some people's lay back attitude. I might even say, I've learned something from it. It is a welcome and sharp contrast to the constant rush I was used to in New York. Comparatively, here life happens in slow motion.

Procrastination

Yet, I can't help but wonder if this aspect of my environment suites me. It is oh so easy to slip from being lay back into condoning my long lasting and chronic ailment - procrastination.

Some, to assuage the guilt feelings of people like me, console us by saying that procrastination has its up side. They explain that it can be a nudge from your inner being, telling you that you really don't want to be doing what you have to do. (Duh!) For example, you may not be in the job that you really like and it's time for change. So, go ahead change your job. Be homeless and happy.

If things were that easy, maybe I should have listened to that inner voice when I was in college cramming for exams. "No, you're not happy here. That's why you put off studying. This is a message from Me, your intuition, telling you that it's time to switch schools, or maybe you don't need to go to school at all."

No, I don't think procrastination has too much wisdom to shed on our soul.

Causes

As I examine my malady, I come up with some theories as to the causes of procrastination, at least for me. I think its a crazy way of lying to myself and wasting time. I convince myself that whatever I must do is unpleasant, horrible, I must avoid it as long as possible. Meantime, whatever I chose to do loses its enjoyment because I'm ruminating about the dread of doing whatever - making that phone call, writing that email, shaping my mother's eyebrows (which I hate), cleaning the toilet, yuk. Meantime, I lose the precious present moment. I live in dread of the future.

"The greatest loss of time is delay and expectations, which depend upon the future. We let go the present, which we have in our power, and look forward to that which depends upon chance, and so relinquish a certainty for an uncertainty."

Seneca

Other times, the cause is not that there's anything necessarily better to do, it's just inertia, better known as laziness.

Thus far, the causes give me little insight as to the cure, so I'll desist from the self analysis.

Mysterious Mind

There seems to be an inner force that combats procrastination silently, unconsciously and often (not always) wins out, surprising us with a sudden burst of energy or determination to take action.

Have you ever procrastinated on starting a diet, or exercising and then one day you just decide to do it, without engaging in any inner discussion? Or, like it happened to me, I toyed with the idea of starting a blog for about a year, then one day I came back from food shopping and ten minutes later I announced to my husband, "Guess what? I just started a blog!"

Hum, our subconscious mind has many mysteries, which for now I'll chose to describe as grace. Grace kicks our butts into action.

"You may delay, but time will not, and lost time is never found again."

Benjamin Franklin

Suggestions

I know though, that grace doesn't always just work subliminally. Sometimes we have to seek it out and speed it along. Here are some suggestions:

• I know it's obvious, but I'm going to say it anyway. Do the undesirables first. The author M. Scott Peck (The Road Less Travelled) counseled us to "Don't eat the icing first." Our sense of freedom will be enhanced because our enjoyment of something will be free of worries. We won't be rerunning the "movie" of our unpleasant expectations in our minds and guilt about not doing what we're supposed to cannot haunt us.


• Break down the parts of a task and focus on doing one at a time to avoid feeling overwhelmed. In social work, we used to call this partializing.


• As phsyics points out to us, "A body in motion tends to remain in motion. A body still tends to..." Need I say anything about the benefits of physical activity to motivate us? Let's start, even five minutes makes us feel better and stimulates our brains. Trust me.


• Have to tackle a difficult, huge chore? Don't do it all at once. Challenge and time yourself. See how much you can do in 10 minutes, 20, an hour. You'll win each time.


• Have you ever noticed that some people seem to do 48 hours of activities in 24 hours? Time is relative. Maybe energy is too. I know that the more you have to do, the more you do. Time seems to miraculously appear, and energy seems to grow. Planning your day helps here. Make appointments with difficult tasks, then cross them off your list. It feels great.


• That being said, consider that balance is essential. Refrain from going overboard to the other extreme and becoming an action robot. Always take time out from doing and reflect on just being. You are after all a human...being.

Most Important!

I have a friend who is actually a great spiritual role model for me. Nothing is more important to her than her spiritual welfare. Her latest focus of awareness is how she uses her time. She pays little attention now to old time management techniques, or formal ways of discipline. What she relies on mostly is her conviction that even when we just intend to do something we exert energy. When we don't do what we intended, even if a minor thing, our energy is left there lingering with no fulfillment. I interpret this to mean that what may be most important is to be true to ourselves. When we commit to something, or if life commits us to something we must do, it is best for our mental, physical and spiritual well being to act now.

I've always loved the old Nike slogan - "JUST DO IT!"

The Gulf Oil Spill

My husband, who loves it, will attest to the fact that I am not a sci-fi fan. "The Day the Earth Stood Still", is a remake of a 1951 movie I reluctantly agreed to see when it came out in 2008, because hubby, a sci-fi aficionado, would probably have cried like a little boy if I hadn't relented. The snippet synopsis is: The space visitors were here to save the earth because humans were destroying it. To prove they could, the visitors made the earth stand still. Humans were impressed but ...would they change their destructive ways before the visitors decided to exterminate the human parasites? The protagonist, Keannu Reeves, at one point wisely states that humans could not survive without the earth but the earth could survive without humans.

Why is this simplistic movie on my mind? It gives me a little voyage, a respite from reality into my imagination. I wish extraterrestrials would stop by and save us. We desperately need an intervention. The wake up calls mother earth is herself producing don't seem to be making enough of a difference. Or, perhaps they are. I'm just feeling heavy, I am still combating the grief I feel when I think about the damage from the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.

"Always the innocent are the first victims... So it has been for ages past, so it is now."

J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

The five stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) often crash into each other in the abyss of my heart. Sadness, which is most symptomatic of grief, overcomes me when I hear people talk about the catastrophe, or I peruse news about the slow, slow experimental process of clean up. Fear and despair knock at the door of my spirit though they are not welcome.

Instead, I strive to reach the acceptance that Eckhart Tolle (http://eckharttolle.com/) speaks about. It is not condoning, it is just recognizing that what is...Is. Once I can do that, I can take some action to combat fear and despair, mine and the world's. As usual, I have some suggestions:

• Let us pray! There is, after all, at least ONE extraterrestrial we know of, who can save us. Pray from a positive stance, using positive imagery and gratitude for all the good that already exists. Pray as if what you are asking for has already happened, therefore use the present tense. Pray using specific detail. For example:

Father, Mother, God;

I pray for healing of the Gulf of Mexico.

I pray that the ocean is clean, that the animals - the birds, fish, dolphins, whales, shellfish, are safe and healthy, that the people are happy, healthy and prosperous.

I ask that the beaches are beautiful, clean and open to people's enjoyment.

Thank you for this earth. Thank you for the people who contribute so much to keep the earth healthy. Thank you for all Your blessings.

Amen. So it is.

• Contribute what you can. If all you can contribute is a prayer, that's great. But many of us can spare a little time, service or money to support the effort in cleaning up and saving the ecology of the region. The following are examples of places where we can donate:

http://aquaserve.org/

http://my.nature.org/

http://nrdcactionfund.org/

• Refuse to dwell in negativity, either by watching a lot of news about it, or discussing it with people. When we focus on something we give it power, it grows. I don't mean we shouldn't be informed, but let's not expand negative energy. Instead, let's focus on whatever positives we can notice. I am especially noticing the generosity of the people who volunteer to help and the grace of the people who have been affected. So, let's stay positive and invoke the best within us. Miracles are waiting to be manifested.

"Hope is putting faith to work when doubting would be easier."

Anonymous
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I do not live near the ocean. Photos have to remind me of its power and beauty, as well as it's admirers and inhabitants. I hope you enjoy these too, they are meant to counteract the dreadful images we are sometimes exposed to. Be still and let the earth stand still for you...while wondrous changes inevitably occur.

"The least movement is of importance to all nature. The entire ocean is affected by a pebble."

Blaire Pascal

"Treat the earth well; it was not given to you by your parents, it was loaned to you by your children. We do not inherit the earth from our Ancestors, we borrow it from children."

Native American Proverb