Unclaimed Tears

Who do these tears belong to? The ones that are filling the center of my chest with a feeling of emptiness and strangulation. I've searched my head for reasons but find none to justify the intensity of the dark stone that has anchored itself there.

I first recognized it during a sunny day. "Where did YOU come from?", I asked as I drove the familiar freeways home from work. My mind backstitched the day lifting up images of people or situations that may explain this presence. There were plenty of possibilities but none accounted for the circumference of dispair in the center of my chest.

True, I had recently breathed in various forms of hostility; person to person, religion to religion, culture to culture, candidate to candidate, manager to employee, customer to employee, family member to family member, all of which combined could create a spiritual tsunami. Could I be carrying a little bit of ALL of them? Had I allowed multiple energies from numerous sources to settle in me?

It has happened in me before. When Princess Diana died, I felt for weeks as if the tears of the world resided in me. A depth of emotion traveled through me as if I were a conduit for the global grieving souls who mourned her loss. I could not explain it nor let it go. I reached out for healing to move me through it. Throughout my personal herstory as the media pictures and stories of God's innocents lying bloodied, mutilated, lost and hopeless their eyes questioning the 'why' of their situation, (whether that occured as a natural disaster or human induced), I felt the stone of sadness then too.

But I know that looking for the WHY is so often an ugly and endless journey. Finding the answer to WHY too often ends in blame and finger pointing and conclusions of "if only". As in, "if only SOMEone or SOMEthing had been different, this tragedy would not have occured. Life is what it is. I find no satisfaction going down the road of who's responsible for this heaviness of heart. I'd rather
determine what to do to alleviate it.

For my own health, mental, physical and spiritual, I intend to cry. To let go of the tears of whoever is using me as a conduit to find an out to their sadness. Perhaps it will then provide release to whatever souls have reached across time and space to for someone to feel their pain, embrace their struggle and allow new light to shine in their hearts. Perhaps as they travel the highways of their lives they will feel that release and ask, "Now where did that come from?", and be content to embrace it with a smile.

And when my heart is lifted without mental reason, I will thank whomever is doing the same for me.

A Stitch and Time

Sewing, I've discovered, is not only a favorite pastime but my metaphor for living. I begin with a full length of fabric, cut out multiple pieces, then sew them together to match the picture on the pattern cover. Easy? Nope. The fabric has right sides and wrong sides. The pattern's arrows and dots need to be matched up accurately. I achieve the best product results when I use the correct thread; cotton or polyester for strength and hold; rayon topstitching for beauty and stitch intensity; silk for fine weave fabrics. And I need the appropriate needle. Rounded point, stretch needle, sharp, topstitch, embroidery, leather, denim, twin or wing.

My life follows those principles. I begin with all possibilities spread before me, choose the ones I want to fit together, and then imagine what picture will result. Easy? Nope. The possibilities have positive results or negative results. My timing doesn’t always match up or I miss the arrows leading to match points. Now for holding the possibilities together. Is it my intention to plan for long-term durability? Do I select based on image or public approval or self satisfaction? As I move forward with my plan I need to wisely decide when to use gentleness and when to be direct but possibly unpopular. It’s important to consider whether I’m dealing with folks who are tough as leather, woven tight as denim or perhaps fragile as tulle or voile. What kind of tracks do I intend to leave for the future? Do I require the backup of a solid twin plan or the distinctly fragile but beautiful proven affect of the heirloom wing needle design?

And then there’s backstitching. In order for my plans not to unravel I back up once in awhile tracing my steps to be sure I’m still on my chosen path. Is it possible for my journey to move forward by sheer determination? Or will I require some underlying support (in sewing--the bobbin and stabilizer) from my interior strengths and/or external advisors on the journey?

In any given circumstance, should I choose the path of clear contrast--black and white rigid rules for instance, or a blend of multicolor threads/diversified sources? And when my process comes to completion, will it still resemble the images I began with or will it have morphed into whatever influences time stitched into its journey?

Multiple outcomes present themselves in the questions. A stitch and time reveals the end product.

Reversed Lighthouse Effect

I like lighthouses. They spread their wide beams full circle on a darkened body of water. When I am in the periphery I can reassess my location and choose my path to safety. The light has no ego, it is not drawing attention to itself, it just serves to light the darkness and leaves the destination up to me.

Now make the leap with me here. . .I've been finding many talk shows really boring. Finally I recognized why. The hosts and guests alike seem to search for a light beam that shines on THEM and supposes the rest of us will follow the light to satisfy their ego need for recognition. To bring glorifcation and applause for what they have done to get themselves noticed. They work to HOLD the beam of light, not to let it expand their view of what or who is out there in the undiscovered world. This is when I find my energy draining. No one is funny enough to hold my attention for a full hour when the light keeps returning to the person in the 'chair'. So Jay Leno, David Letterman, Conan O'Brien, you fulfill my image of Reversed Lighthouse Effect.

The talk show I enjoy the most, the one that both enlightens and entertains me by shining the light on science, politics, environmental concerns, personal talent, health, nutrition, everyday heroism, concern for all creatures great and small, literature, gender issues, money management and more, is ELLEN. For me she provides a Holistic view of life as seen from the Lighthouse. It inspires me to find my own way out of the darkness through information. The true Lighthouse Effect.

Maybe when your name is defining all you believe in and stand for in such a public way, it creates a humility to be fully genuine whenever the light crosses your place in the great body of humanity? No, in the case of ELLEN I think she comes TO the light already humble and genuine. So she doesn't need to have the light affirm her. Therefore she allows the light to keep moving on to other subjects and objects of concern and interest.

Just the way I see it today. What thoughts does this spark for you?

Tiffany Glass Garden

Tiffany glass in the garden. A single raspberry held up to the sun brings this image. Every plump bump that forms a hollow ball of exquisite taste is a summer pleasure annually. The aroma of cooked jam lingers in my kitchen now, as I write. Eight stained glass jars pop, pop, pop with the seal of assurance that they will protect my treasure until just the right opening presents itself.

One of my tasks in childhood was to get up early (I still don't do that well), go out to our garden before the sun jumpstarted the day, lift the cheesecloth protection, fight the mosquito's lingering in the cool branches, search around the prickly branches to pluck each berry and fill up my bowl before the birds came for their breakfast. Breakfast those days was always special. During a Brownie Scout campout, we had just settled on to our army cots under the big canvas tent and turned lights out when we heard the tires on the gravel approach the leaders tent. 'Bunny', one of our counselors lived on a farm. Her parents were bringing us the biggest silver kettle of the freshest just picked raspberries I'd ever seen. Ten eager girls scampered to the kitchen pulling out every thing resembling a bowl, counted out spoons, and watched expectantly as fresh, rich cream lifted each jewel to the top of our bowl in greeting. Nothing tasted as good as that surprise, afterhours treat.

Given a choice of DQ toppings, Raspberry is the only consideration. Even better than chocolate, carmel or cashews. Filling in a sweet roll, coffee cake, torte, two layer cake? Need you ask? And Raspberry vodka? Unbeatable. Raspberry sauce on baked chicken? Try it you'll like it! Raspberries added to fresh garden salad with pecans; bring it on.

Food of the gods is how I often describe it. I picture royalty in ancient Greece or Rome popping beaded treasures into their mouths while lounging and enjoying music and dance of a social event.

Is there a taste that triggers mouth watering memories for you?

Let's get together and feast.

Out of the Many ONE

A small group of people are passionately expressing their opinions about the topic under discussion. My dream camera focuses on each face in turn. Suddenly I am the one speaking. Quietly but firmly I say, "the truth is that the more each one of us becomes our true self, the more all of us become ONE. Becoming our true self connects us all at the core of the ONE who created us, and there we are all the same." And then I woke up.

"What was that?" I wondered upon waking. The words burned in my reflective mirror throughout the day. I looked at each person I encountered from a new perspective. "How could I ever be ONE with them?" my thoughts challenged me. I was flooded with duality thinking, those human separations of me from you, right from wrong, always from never.

E Pluribus Unum; Out of the Many, One. It's been right there on our currency and coin for hundreds of years. I knew it, understood it, embraced it and repeated it. After my dream, the onion of understanding peeled away another layer and I was seeing with new eyes. In the 70's the word Namaste was used frequently among spiritual study groups. Translated for newcomers to the word as, "the divine in me sees the divine in you." I went to the grocery store one day determined to try this out. Entering the store I focused silent energy on a man resting on his cart, with his back to me. I directed all my love and energy toward him with the thought, "the divine in me sees the divine in you." repeating it several times in my head.

After just a few seconds he turned completely around and locked eyes with me. I nodded kindly and just kept pushing my cart into the produce aisle. Just a quirk I told myself. So I tried it again and again as I filled my cart from my grocery list. Only once was I unable to connect. I felt a kind of thick wall of energy blocking one woman from acknowledging the directive of my thoughts. The experience changed ME. I became more aware than ever that on a deep level all our roots tangle and touch in the ONEness of our creation. We do not move forward by pulling away from our centering place.

During every volatile political season, duality terms are shouted from every microphone, podium, headline and newscast. While many candidates say UNITY is what they're seeking, duality is the vehicle that drives the journey.

This reflection is not intended to be a political forum. But my mirror caught the reality reflection of my outer world while my dream spoke the truth of my inner world. Which to complicate things further, is ALL ONE WORLD. Out of the many, ONE. Becoming our true selves connects us as ONE at the core. I believe that. I'm trying to BE-LIVE that as well.

Your thoughts?

Now I'm Happy!

Her tiny hands gripped the wooden spoon forcing Chocolate Chips to rise and fall like waves into the creamy mocha-colored dough. Eggs leapt Humpty Dumpty style off the edge of the bowl, shiny yellow centers disappearing in the rotary blades. Her eyes grew wide, her questions flowed. "Where did the eggs go, Grandma?" She noted that sugar came in two colors white and brown, but they also disappeared into the mix. In her throat she made the mmm mm anticipation sound; something good was going to come out of this, she expected it.

Before today her experience of cookies came from choosing them out of the package. Or picking them off the shelf at the grocery store. But today, she KNEW she was able to make this magical taste herself. She glowed with her newly realized skill. Today at 3 she discovered that putting things together could make them even better then having them separately. Her satisfaction with being a part of the process showed in her deep sighs. Her body trembled with joy.

"Now I'm Happy!", she said several times to no particular audience. Just an honest child's declaration of feeling joy in the moment.

I don't recall the last time I made that statement aloud. Do you? What a thrill to experience something for the FIRST time, no matter how many times we've experienced it before.

NOW, I'M HAPPY! I'm going to count the number of times I become aware of that clarity today. I invite you to play along. . .

The Eyes Have It.

Headline news held two striking images for me this week. The close-up pictures of the eyes of top Olympic athletes as they began each competition. And, in contrast, the eyes of the Russian soldiers preparing to demolish the State of Georgia.

In the eyes of the athletes I read determination, calculated moves, the drive to succeed and show their BEST performance, and HOPE. A great fire of depth, clarity and expectation. Dominant in the eyes of the soldiers I read a shallow, glazed-over look. Determined? Yes. Calculated? Perhaps. A drive to succeed? I couldn't see that but it might have been there. HOPE? That's what was missing in my view of their eyes.

I read the contrast between being YOUR BEST and BESTing your neighbors! A clarity in the eyes of those with their eyes on their own pre-set goals versus lack of clarity in the eyes of those who were following the goals set for them by others.

Often both sets of eyes burned into me from side by side positions on MSM's home page. Too starkly contrasted to miss. Which story did I want to read first? Which filled me with joy, satisfaction and hope? And which story shredded my heart, pulled out the protective mother bear emotions and made me want to gather up the torn bodies, lives and dreams of people whose eyes carried shock, disbelief, fear and hopelessness? A rhetorical question to which you already know the answer.

The Eyes Have It. What will you read in the eyes you encounter today and over this next week? Even those in the mirror.