“You put high heels on and you change”- Manolo Blahnik

I used to tell people, "I am a shoe whore".  The reality is, I’m in the business of accumulating shoes.  I don’t think I have an addiction.  Perhaps an undiagnosed case of Hyper Shoe Disorder. I’ll admit I have a stable of shoes, and it’s still not enough. I’m coming out of the closet, along with my shoes.  I am a hard core shoe pimp. I was forced to consider this possibility the other day when I opened my shoe closet and a pair of Lucite and rhinestone stilettos fell from the top shelf and bonked me on the head.   Yes..... I have a closet designated just for my shoes.  Two- 20 compartment bags dangle from the clothing rod and three racks rest underneath.  The top shelf is a mountain of rubber, leather, wood and plastic, molded into the shape of shoes. It’s no wonder the Barbarella shoes caused a mild concussion.  Time to move into closet number two.  

I’m not a fussy or discriminatory shoe pimp either, although I do tend to be drawn to styles that make a statement; the kind that scream, “I am shoe, hear me roar.”    My psychedelic, Magical Mystery Tour, lime green and orange espadrilles, were the number one gal in my stable a few summers ago. One winter, my bronzy gold, pointy toe cowboy boots started conversations in places you wouldn’t expect to appreciate the allure of Goldfinger western wear. I name my shoes too.  I kind of think of myself as the Mother Theresa of footwear. Give me your poor, your cheap, your 7 inch heels.  I’m frequently adoptive mom to last season’s fashion failures and over the top designs which, sadly, find themselves in bargain basements.  I give them a home, sweeping them into my shopping bag, and later, sliding them on my loving feet. I just can’t bear to see a pair of shoes neglected.  When I spied some mango colored pumps (marked down three times) my right brain cranked out a mental fashion spread using the clothes in my closet; eventually matching those shoes to a little floral skirt with just that shade in one of the flowers.  Almost every shoe has such potential.  All they need is a great skirt, or dress, coaxing them to release their artistry.  I offer my feet as their canvas.  

There ain’t no mountain, or shoe high enough to keep me away.  My unconditional love is returned a hundred-fold. I’m 5’3”.  When I put on my six inch heels, my shoes tell me, “Baby, you’re a super model!”   I don’t really need to lose those extra ten pounds.  I clearly fall within the appropriate weight range for my height!  Like a best friend, my shoes focus on my attributes. They exclaim:

 “See how slender your ankles look in these Roman lace-ups?  No cankles for you, you old fox.” 

 “That strappy lime green stiletto sandal really compliments your tiny neon pink toes.”

“Could your thighs look any tauter in these knee high hooker boots?”  

They know my love language is affirmations, and provide plenty. Every time I slide a pair on my size six foot, I feel ten feet tall!   

My shoes also provide me the opportunity to play many roles, a daily debut.  Reading my mind, my puce and violet patent leather stilettos smile and say,  “Feeling sassy today you Brazilian Goddess?  Wear me.” 

My thick-strapped, black, five inch chunky heeled Roman soldier sandals, huskily taunt me with their domineering presence.  “Ready to conquer the world today, Wonder Woman?

“So you really think this date is worthy of you Mae West?” questions my black sateen and rhinestone dazzlers. Wink. Wink. 

My shoes are a safe outlet to express a minor case of multiple personality disorder. 

I have to confess, I’m not a big winter shoe gal. First, I hate the confinement of my feet  encased in sheepskin, leather and sensibility.  Second, even their names are unattractive.  Ugg... Boot...Clog. Ugh!    Compare that to the sound of summer shoes. Thong, slingback, kitten heels,peek-a-boo, stilettos.....pumps.  Oh, my God.  I am a shoe whore.  And, a foot doctor’s dream date! 

  

Liar, liar, pants on fire!

Years ago, my husband relayed to his father, how I had fallen asleep, in the midst of a conversation (one sided apparently) right before bed.  He said, “She looked me in the eyes, smiled, bobbed her head, and nodded off right in the middle of my sentence!”  My father-in-law laughed and said to him, “Son, that’s a great thing!   Your wife obviously has a very clear conscience!”  God bless him.  That’s one measure I use in determining whether I am conducting my life in an honest manner.  No secrets tapping at my subconscious, trying to get my attention and keeping me awake.  I’m a terrible liar too.  I’m not sure if my nose grows to ginormous proportions, or canary feathers are peeking out from the edges of my mouth, but most anyone can tell, at a glance, if there is a lie bubbling up in this being. I can’t seem to hide it. 

Nonetheless, there is a from of dishonesty I have been guilty of.  I only recently became aware of it so, I’m not going to sentence myself to anything dreadful.  You have to know it’s a crime before you can be convicted, and I plead insanity.  I used to think remaining silent when people hurt me, or were crossing boundaries, was a positive thing; turning the other cheek was an attribute, right?  What a loving, kind person I was!    Sigh....the sacrificial martyr;  post death I would surely be nominated for sainthood for my generous gift...of.... inauthenticity.  Someone special told me a year or so ago, not speaking up and telling people the truth about what we need, or how we feel, is the same as lying about who we are.   I was shocked.  A rewind of the past revealed the damage I did to myself not honestly acknowledging my feelings, and to others, in never really letting them know me.  

The news last week focused on some over the top lies and shocking betrayals. Real whoopers.  The kind of lies that destroy lives and leave people stunned in trying to reconcile if they ever really knew the perpetrator. Hitler said, “If you tell a big enough lie, and tell it frequently enough, it will be believed.  These liars, haven’t just lied, they’ve lived it for a long, long time...  I think they’ve also existed in that space for so many years, they do believe they’re above accountability, repercussions, or making amends of any kind.   Their internal gauge for right and wrong isn’t just broken... it’s missing.   Time Magazine this week used a pig to represent the cover story in speaking about these entitled men and their lack of empathy toward others.   I think it’s an insult to the poor pig.  At least a pig can plead ignorance.  They aren’t the brightest barnyard animal in the pen.   

First we have Strauss-Kahn who allegedly raped the chambermaid in the hotel room, where he was a guest.  He saw absolutely nothing wrong with selfishly indulging in sex with the frightened woman.  It was consensual, according to him.  She just happened to walk right into his penis as he was toweling off from a shower, and I'm sure couldn’t resist the allure of this 60 something year old man's body.   This is not the first time he has been bold enough to help himself as, sadly, his third wife, turns a blind eye and defends him and his despicable, narcissistic behavior.   Then, we have “The Terminator”, Arnold Swartzneggar, who proceeded to annihilate his political career, his credibility and most important his wife, and children.  We aren’t talking about merely an indiscretion here, or an affair.  We are talking about years of deception, betrayal and dishonesty.  Happily, his wife has chosen to be an example to other woman in refusing to believe she is worthy of that kind of treatment.  Love or not, she will move forward post grief and be a happier, stronger, person recognizing that true love doesn’t ask that we live with secrets, selfishness, and shame. 

It would seem that lies come in all shapes and sizes exploding in degrees of damage.  I’m not sure the lies we tell by not being authentic are spiritually different from the lies we tell others to get something we want.  Both are equally damaging to human souls.  Both are connected with an underlying theme of a fear based life....  Fear that we aren’t enough, or that we won’t get enough. We lie when we’re afraid... afraid of what we don't know,  afraid of what others will think, afraid of what will be found out about us.  But every time we tell a lie, the thing that we fear grows stronger. 

Lying is a selfish act which robs others of their choices.  Whether it strips an individual of the facts and clarity in whether or not to leave a marriage or relationship, or the right to make an informed choice about who we have sex with; or simply, the basic information in allowing others to decide whether they want to be our friend or not.    

I sat in a support group meeting last week and a gentleman made this statement, "I learned I didn’t lie because I was a dishonest person, I lied because I was afraid."  

We must recognize, we are all human, we are, who we are, and that's plenty good enough. We all make mistakes and the best we can do is honestly amend them and try not to repeat them. Until we learn to live with that truth, we will continue to live in fear. And, as long as we live in fear, we'll lie.  

These days, I am trying my best to set up housekeeping with authenticity and joy.  Fear has been banished to those stronger than I am to haul around that baggage. 

Joy is the best make-up - Anne Lamott

Beautiful People

Recent media attention has focused on a few news stories that have outraged the general population.  Seems a young mother in California has been giving her eight year old daughter Botox injections.  She views this as an act of love and support. It was all done to give the little girl an edge over the other tiny contestants in beauty pageants she was competing in.  Apparently, her adorable little dimples were viewed as wrinkles by some of the other moms.  I’ve always looked at dimples as a gift from God, a physical manifestation of a happy spirit!  All that joy carving out accents around the mouth, like a lovely work of art to be admired.  

The news also broke last week, if you were over 35, you had no business wearing a miniskirt; by 47 your bikini days were over, and when you reach the ripe old age of 51, the stilettos need to be placed in mouth balls. Best of all, at 61, bathing suits of any kind... banned!  Perhaps that means skinny dipping then becomes acceptable?  Or, shall we all don, diving attire then?  Spandex at 61 somehow doesn’t seem ideal either.  It isn’t very comfortable.  In France a few years ago, I was delighted to see how settled in everyone seemed to be with their bodies.  Old women on the beach, thong style suits, topless, their pendulous breasts drooping down to tickle their little round tummies.  Leathered old men, sporting neon Speedos. These flirty Frenchmen’s  butts looked like they  abandoned residence from their backsides, relocating and setting up permanent housekeeping in their burgeoning bellies.  I thought they all were beautiful.  I was fascinated by their sensuous pleasure in the sun and sand, and joyous freedom from the bondage of other people’s opinions.  

Is it any wonder our young people have issues with body image and self confidence.  The hypnotic brain washing of print media, the fashion world, and our own insecurities (created in part by the media and rich malcontents) has crept into the belief systems of our youngest, like an insidious fog, blinding them to real beauty.  It’s time it ended.  Attempts have been made the last few years.  We had the Dove Real Women Campaign.  Women of all ages, shapes and sizes posed joyfully in underwear.  More realistically shaped Barbie Dolls found their way to store shelves too.  Clothing lines, as fashionable as clothing available to the petite, focused on big, beautiful women.  Somehow, I think even these changes still feeds the madness.  Accommodating, yes, but we’re still focusing on appearances.  It’s going to take decades to change the current generations interpretation of beautiful.   I’m not sure our economy is ready for that financial hit.  Think about all the money that’s spent to fix up the outside... The diet, fashion and beauty industry alone could likely eliminate our National Deficit.  As “beautiful” as we have all become with our perfect fashion, skin, hair, boobs, and abs, discontent prevails and we continue to seek Happy. Maybe another face lift, or ten pounds, or a younger looking model on our arm will lead us into the land of milk and honey and a perfect life.  Perhaps, its time to explore some other options....

I heard an outraged mother make the statement that we need to begin raising our children from the inside, out.  I wonder if world peace would be possible (and Miss America pageants would go by the wayside for lack of participation) if we taught our children the importance of non-judgement, acceptance, integrity, and kindness.  What if we taught them about the wonder of their bodies, how they miraculously work behind the scenes for us so that we can enjoy this earthly life and all its pleasures?  What if we taught them a body works most efficiently when nourished well with fresh, wholesome foods?  What if we taught them a body loves to move, and it's fun to play tag, dangle from the jungle gym, roller-skate, bike-ride, and dance in the rain? What if we taught them that a smile is better than Botox or a year’s supply of the finest cosmetics? What if we told them laughter generates a brighter glow than any make-over?  What if we taught them to identify something beautiful about every person they meet?  What if we exposed them to beauty through the eyes of many cultures and throughout history?  What would that kind of internal change do for their perception of their own appearance?  More important what would that do for their contribution to the world? I believe it would break this cycle of self-loathing, and carve a new path to good health, freedom, and happiness.  We are held in bondage by our beliefs about beauty, just as much as we experienced the bondage of segregation, half a century ago. 

Beautiful people come in all shapes and sizes.  I know I didn’t always believe that and bought into the madness too.   Maybe a shift takes place as we get older and recognize our time on this earth is winding down. Perhaps we finally get, it just isn’t worth our time to fret about a natural process that is merely physical. Maybe it's enough to do our best enjoying our remaining days spending meaningful time with others, filling our souls with our passions, and really looking at this fabulous world we live in as the greatest Art we’ll ever witness. Maybe instead of being Art Critics, we become Art Appreciators.  Perhaps we just begin to look around and redefine beauty by using the eyes of Spirit.  We aren’t physical beings having a spiritual experience.  We are spiritual beings experiencing a physical life and all that comes with it.  What remains long after the body becomes weak, diminished, and tired is real Beauty.  What remains is the joy of a human experience well lived, not well preserved.  The memories, the tenderness, the service, the joys and sorrows, the Love.  That is what I see dancing around in the eyes of my 92 year old neighbor.  That is what I saw the other day at a luncheon, in the sweet smile and brilliant glow of a lady who was likely 100 pounds overweight.  To me she looked a cherub, right from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, spreading the joy and delight of her great life with everyone in the room.  That is what I see in the etched, wise, Mona Lisa smile of my mother-in-law.  A kind compassion and all knowing, answered if asked, yet allowing others to experience their journey. Beautiful.  

It’s time we all explored the nuances of beauty.  Just leaving open the option that we just may find some unexpected delights in the world’s definition of imperfection.  It’s then we might begin to know that real beauty can, and does last forever. Most of all, it just may free us to wear stilettos at 70 and go topless on a beach in the coastal regions of France.  We can leave this road map of a happy, joyous, free, life to  future generations, wrinkle by wrinkle. 

"There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this Source, you will truly have defeated age." –Sophia Loren

When I stopped seeing my mother with the eyes of a child, I saw the woman who helped me to give birth to myself - Nancy Friday

MY MOM.....................

It’s been almost 23 years since my mother died.  She missed so many things in my life, even in her younger years.  Addiction robbed her children of a close relationship with her.  Far worse, it stole a large chunk of her life and snatched away so many blessings.   By the time I reached adulthood, marriage, and having my own child, the insidiousness of alcoholism had taken her to a helpless, hopeless, and solitary state. It highjacked her home, marriage, self-respect, children, and most of all her identity. She missed both of her children’s first weddings and births of grandchildren, and by the time my brother and I had figured out how to select healthier marriages, the second time around, she had passed on. 

 She walked into the rooms of recovery, and blossomed under the light of awareness as well as discovering a Creator that had loved her all long; something she craved all her life...desperately. Seven years later, an equally aggressive disease infiltrated her body.... brain cancer. She was 51 years old when she died.  It seemed to me to be cruel punishment for a woman who had already suffered so much in her lifetime. I felt cheated.  She didn’t.  She was so grateful for experiencing those few years unshackled from the bottle.  No matter, what, she was my mother.  I made my peace with the raging battle inside me that spoke fighting words about the damage she had done to my life and I chose to love her deeply instead.  She revealed a treasure trove of spiritual tools before she left her earthly role as my birth mother.  Examples of how to live a surrendered life, one day at a time, were mind-boggling to me as she graciously walked through her cancer and three months later, death.  The day of her diagnosis, she said to me, “I’m not really scared.  I have lived such a blessed life.”  I didn’t think so at the time, but she did, and that’s all that mattered.  I was highly pissed off at God for not allowing her more time to dance in her new found joy and freedom.  More selfishly, for the time I felt entitled to in getting to know her as a human being. 

I vividly recall the last time I flew out to be with her.  She was living (and dying) in Phoenix.  I had taken my adolescent daughter with me sensing this might be the last time I would see her in this earthly life. Head shaved, thin, and often incoherent, it was not only difficult for me to witness the deterioration of her body, but some of her behaviors teleported me back to a frightened little seven year old. The nature of her cancer and its location caused her to behave like she often did in her addiction.  Facial expressions, slurring her words, and measured gait made it hard for my mind to stay focused on the reality of the present.  It all opened up the stuffy, musty attic of the past.  Something I had boxed up, put into storage and moved away... as far as I could.  It did bring me to the realization that her alcoholism was as much of a disease as her brain cancer and set into motion some empathy and understanding.  

It’s hard to see our parent’s as souls with tears, fears and foibles.  It’s much harder to take a walk into their past.   After she passed away, going through her things, (which felt like a severe violation of her privacy), I found some of her letters from others to her; books with inscriptions, old legal papers, and special items sent to her through the years.  Pictures of a little girl on a pony being led by an older sister and brother-in-law with a note on the back, “mom and dad #2”  a smiling, skinny, teenage girl, prancing in her majorette uniform; and later, a beautiful, sophisticated, unhappy, solemn wife- dressed fit to kill for a mandatory Officers wives function. Letters through the years from various people, many condemning her lifestyle, her parenting skills, her morality were appalling, even to me.  Why would she keep such negative documentation of those dark periods of her life?  Angry pre-divorce letters passed back and forth between spouses who had grown too far apart to ever pull anything together again. Amongst all the drama that unfolded novel style, a few shining stars - handmade Mother’s Day Cards from my brother and I, pictures of her two newborn granddaughters.  Special books she had received in her recovery, highlighted and annotated.  One made a particular impact.  The chapter was on feelings, learning to identify them in order to be able to accept and walk through them.  She had written next to the words “less than” and “isolated”, I have felt this way all of my life.  I sat, book in my lap and cried.  It explained so much to me. I packed it all up and shipped it home, to myself, after her funeral.  I wasn’t sure why.  

Years after her death I did study her letters and memorabilia like a hungry neophyte seeking the meaning of her life. Finally for her, and me, I burned the majority of the docu-dramas.  They served their purpose. They gave me insight about her journey and the overwhelming shame connected to so much of it.  Enlightened, I learned it really was just her story, not the soul she was, and it served no purpose for anyone to live with that kind of regret and fear anymore. I have to come to know today, that when we live connected by a genetic umbilical cord of dysfunction of any kind, it carries on, down through the generations.  It was time to severe that cord and reconnect... at the heart, with love.  My little family no longer needs to live with an inheritance of secrets, fear, and shame.  I also discovered we were never really so different, my mom and I.  She was fun-loving, kind, social, intelligent, and loyal. She had hopes and dreams too.  She was a perfect soul, navigating an imperfect world.  As am I. 

Through these years since her death, I’ve had so many miraculous things that have allowed  me to peel back the layers and understand my real mom as well as helped to build a healing bridge connecting me, to her.  Evidence that even death cannot steal from us the love OR relationship.  I like to think of her as fulfilling her maternal instincts, now, as my guardian angel.  She has heavenly guided so many other beautiful women my way through these many years; second mom’s, step-mom's, mother-in-laws, mother figures, mentors, best friends.  They all have blessed me, helping to fill that aching void of a motherless daughter. I treasure and will hold them close to my heart, always,  for their unconditional love, support and the many things they've taught me. It doesn’t take a blood line to build a mother. 

Happy Mother's Day to the
woman I was privileged to
mother.....

I wonder, as I end this Tribute to my Mom on Mother’s Day, if other’s will perceive it as a Tribute?   It doesn’t matter.  I know she does.  She helped me write it. The legacy she left with me is far more beautiful, and meaningful, than any storybook tale of a mother’s love I could create.


I miss her every day.  She knows that too.  That's why she continues to touch my heart through others.

Happy Mother’s Day to Women everywhere.   

Asking is the beginning of receiving. Make sure you don't go to the ocean with a teaspoon. At least take a bucket so the kids won't laugh at you. - Jim Rohn

I’ve never understood the platitude, “It’s as blessed to receive as it is to give.”  I am a giver.  Before you begin applauding me for my contributions to humanity, you also need to know that my motives for giving haven’t always been selfless.  I’m not diminishing a strength I do possess: I have an enormous capacity for compassion.  That gift has come packaged, without bubble wrap to cushion the impact of a myriad of personal tragedies and life experiences.  For the most part, I can close my eyes, walk in others shoes, and relate on at least a heartfelt level.  So, I’m not going to be too mean to myself.  I honestly didn’t recognize, I was carrying around this tattered, decades old agenda, I often pulled out to chart the operatives in my giving affairs.  I wasn’t even very selective. I gave of my time, my heart, my loyalty, my body and my money, often to those that didn’t even want what I had to offer. That particular awareness has come about in these last ten years, as I’ve trepidatiously tip-toed inward to discover who this spirit, disguised as a human being, is. 

Closer scrutiny revealed how often I gave just to be accepted, loved, or obtain something I thought I had to have; or, amend, what I perceived as past poor behavior for sins I committed.  Unforgivable crimes..... like having the audacity to be born in such an untimely manner, or not being a good enough wife, girlfriend, daughter, mother... human being.   I was the self-appointed little Deity pronouncing judgement on myself as well sentencing me to a larger than necessary dose of retribution.  Instead of four hundred Hail Marys and a thousand Our Fathers, I gave until it harmed me, spiritually, emotionally, physically, socially and financially.  What I heard Mini-God-Me say was, you better keep giving or you will never, ever, be good enough to get to wherever it was good people went.  I thought I needed to earn the RIGHT to receive and I just knew I would never be able to pay it forward enough to inherit the Kingdom on Earth let alone Heaven. 

I am much better today extending myself in healthy ways, and kindly walking away from the giving tree when I don’t feel like shaking its leaves free for you.  In the past, I would have chopped it down, cut it up into firewood and hauled it to your house.  You wouldn't have even had to ask. 

Receiving, even after enlightenment set in, still makes me squirm.  Receiving demands you surrender, accept, and take the risk that you might intimately be touched in some way. Receiving involves loving yourself enough to recognize what you are tenderly doling out to others, you are deserving of, as well.   

Surrender was not in my vocabulary.  To be able to surrender, you have to trust that someone or something else is occasionally equipped to run the show and play their role in the unfolding of the Universe. My childhood tapes played back in a very masculine voice, “YOU can do anything YOU set your mind to do all by yourself.”  And, acceptance... well, that was just another word for giving up.  I’ve worked hard on redefining surrender and acceptance.  In my dictionary, it now means, knowing I am not the Master of the Universe, there is a plan, others are a part of the plan, and it is okay to let them make their unique contributions.  Sometimes their contributions might involve doing something, helping, or giving.... to me too.   Surrender and acceptance have come to mean peace of mind as I ALLOW others to do their holy work and occasionally help me move through mine.  I could actually ASK for their help too. 

There is a risk to this receiving stuff.  Intimacy.... Yikes.... That word made me shudder, break out in a cold sweat and bolt.... as fast as I could. When we receive, we are opening ourselves up to the recognition, we are worthy, we are connected by Love, compassion and generosity.  It is a part of each one of us, just waiting to be asked. It is the part of us, the Father, whose face lights up at being able to bring joy to His own creation. It is the Father who says I want to give you it all and their are big things in store for you. Those emotions and the enormity of that kind of Love frightened me.  I just knew it would leave, like love often does.  

I’ve slowly been opening myself up to receiving and am beginning to see how treasured I am by the many faces of my Creator, who wants to give me so much, but hasn’t been able to because I’ve been using my own measly little teaspoon at the ocean to construct my sand castles.  It’s been exhausting.  All I needed to do was bring the big empty bucket! Then, watch the look of joy as others help Him to fill it and my heart, with hope and dreams come true.  When I think back to the payoff in satisfaction and joy I get when I give, why wouldn’t I want to give that joy to others and welcomingly receive too? 

So, when I got the phone call a few weeks ago to RECEIVE the gift of having my bare feet washed at my church as a part of the Maundy Thursday ritual, I looked skyward and asked, “Is this a test?”  I think it was.  I mean, seriously, it’s rather intimate to have someone bathe your toes, especially a Priest!  We hadn’t even had a first date!   But, I buffed and softened my heels, trimmed my nails and painted them a pretty shade of pink. As I was called to the alter, along with the other eleven “disciples” (I’m certain I was Thomas) that evening, I squirmed restlessly in my chair. I saw the Priest, the deacons, and the servers approach my feet slowly and meaningfully.  They 

poured soothing warm water over my toes, a pan underneath catching it.. then, gently towel dried my feet with bleached white, fresh towels.  As they completed their task, they each smiled, shook my hand, and thanked me!  I was stunned.  And I sat there, and they moved on to the next "disciple", tears began to mist, I was intimately touched by the understanding of the  loving gift Jesus gave his disciples after The Last Supper. I became aware in that moment of the power of allowing others to give us the gift of their service.  When we begin to get comfortable with receiving, it is then that our world becomes larger and full of so much possibility! And, it all starts with saying yes, or just asking. 

Pictorial To-Do List for 2011

Take the time to  wander  through
God's art gallery.

Learn to skip.

Dance, dance, dance.... 

Schedule play dates with your Inner Child.

Pause and refresh.

Cuddle with your favorite people

Stay in the Moment

When you feel like you're drowning... Stop struggling.
Check out the view instead.

Learn to love every season of your life.

Sing out loud! 

Inhale...... Exhale.....

Look at your world from different views.

Work hard and make your unique
contribution, every day.

Read the entire collection!

And finally, Pray (you talk to God)
Meditate (you listen to God)
every day......

Final Farewell Thoughts...

There is nothing original about the  ending to my examination of my unexamined life.  But then there rarely is anything original about endings (or beginnings) for that matter.  Unique in the mind of the individual, certainly... But original? Never.   Here are  a series of quotes from the famous  to the obscure. Handwritten on sheets of notebook paper, tucked inside my morning meditation books. Each etched out  a few steps on my path in my spiritual journey to discover my authenticity and redefining my reality.  I accumulated so many of them. I found it fascinating to see there is little original about their meaning and content. A kind of you say potato, I say po-tahhhh-toe scenario. Three decades ago Zig Zigler's PMA (positive mental attitude) is today's "The Secret".   Quotes and schools of thought cited throughout the centuries, same concept, written in varying ways, by different individuals. The beauty in the repetition of wisdom, repeated throughout time, isn't so much about the verbiage as it is about our own pace  to understanding, and which words resonate with our higher selves.  What is unique, and original, is each soul, and its means of "getting there".... And, we all will, eventually. I have experienced some of the greatest joys in my life this year.  I didn't need to buy anything new, move, fall in love, travel outside the country, accumulate stuff, accumulate friends, get a noteworthy job, cling to everyone else's opinion of me, to feel good about me,  inject my face with botox, get new breasts, or starve or exercise myself into a size 2.   What I have learned to do is pay attention, feel what I am feeling... good or bad, acknowledge it and try not to judge it; treat my body as my sacred home instead of a guest cottage, pray in new ways, listening more, chattering less; I have learned how to forgive, beginning with myself;  see others as spirit rather than form; learn the real meaning of love, by learning how to love me. I am a phenomenal lover these days!  I  look at the world now through the curious eyes of a child.  I've learned to be honest, beginning with my own heart, honoring who I am and what I need rather than trying to fit, or please others; I also now  give much more purely, accept what I cannot change (and I can only change me), and I know to let go, empowers me.   The quotes/wisdom of others made my walk in the desert less solitary.  Wisdom arises from experience.  Others quotes helped me to know, they too have walked in their own desert.  Here are some of the pebbles dropped along my road this year, markers to help me make my way home.


1.  Things that matter most must never be at the mercy of things that matter least. - Goethe
2.  Life does not accommodate you, it shatters you.  It is meant to, and it couldn't do it better.  Every seed destroys its container or else there would be no fruition. - Florida Scott-Maxwell
3.  We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark.  The real tragedy is when men are afraid of the light. - Plato
4.  Everybody is a genius.  But, if you judge a fish by its inability to climb a tree, it will spend its whole life believing that it is stupid. - Albert Einstein
5.  Don't ever take a fence down until you know why it was put up.  - Robert Frost
6. The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them. _ Maya Angelou
7.  Don't cry because its over.  Smile because it happened. - Dr. Seuss
8. Honesty is the first chapter in the book of wisdom. - Thomas Jefferson
9. If it isn't good, let it die.  If it doesn't die, make it good. - Ajah Chah
10.  People will do anything, no  matter how absurd to avoid facing their own soul. - Carl Gustav Jung
11.  Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind. - Dr. Seuss
12.  In the end only three things matter:  How well we have lived, how well we have loved, and how well we have learned to let go. - Jack Kornfield
13.  Duh... girls, girls... it's toilet paper! - Cameron Elizabeth Eckert, age 3
14.  Don't let anyone walk through your mind with their dirty feet. - Mahatma Gandhi
15.  I have an everyday religion that works for me.  Love yourself first, then everything else falls into place. - Lucille Ball
16. It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye. - Antoine de St. Exupery
17. I wonder why love is so often equated with joy when it is everything else as well: devastation, balm, obsession, granting and receiving excessive value, and losing it again. - Florida Scott Maxwell
18.  I could choose peace instead of this. - Course in Miracles

19. ON A LIGHTER NOTE:  Sex is interesting, but it's not totally important. I mean it's not even as important (physically) as excretion. A man can go seventy years without a piece of ass, but he can die in a week without a bowel movement. - Charles Bukowski (certainly put some things in perspective!!)
And finally............
20.  You're off to Great Places!  Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting, 
So.... get on your way! - Dr. Seuss (Oh, The Places You'll Go)

With Love....

Rejection is God's Protection.....

"Rejection is God's Protection".....Someone said this to me today.   It softened the blow. 


Now, if I could just remember in the future, to keep that in mind when I don't get something I think I want, need, or deserve.  In all honesty, I do believe that..... and, not just with my head anymore;  that seedling is blossoming in my heart as a divine truism. I inherently sense the protection.  It's that sinking stomach and the icy fear pushing through my veins of what the future holds that I don't like. It's the emotion of the rejection.  


And, then my friend reminded me... it's all good. I  can rest comfortably knowing the pictures I am painting in my head of doom and gloom are merely an illusion.  I'm being safely held in God's arms.... today.


I've had a number of disappointments that have given me great opportunity to practice patience and faith for quite some time now. It's extremely difficult for some of us stubborn, self-willed sorts to trust that whatever happens is always for our greater good.  Especially when our basic needs for food, shelter, clothing or love appear to be threatened. 


If I could just remember to simmer down and revisit those rejections or disappointments from days gone by.... those times when I thought God had turned the volume down on my pleadings,  I can now see HIS bigger picture has allowed for MY better picture. 


It's said, God never closes a door that he doesn't open a window.  I'm not great with directions, and sometimes it would be wonderful to just be told which room that window's in.   Less time consuming.   And, certainly gentler on this aging body and soul.   Oh, dear.  Is that my hand white knuckling that door knob? 


God said, "What's behind there isn't meant for you because I have something so much better in mind."  Why do you continue to limit yourself?   I want to give you a window where you are free to fly..... Free to be who you are. Stop rattling the knob of closed doors."


I think.... the best thing I can do at this stage of  my schooling (also called life) is simply stop questioning anything.  If the door is closed, it is shut for a reason.  The room is probably stuffy, stale and stinky.  Stay out.  Don't go in there. 
  
I feel.......When its time for me to find this window,  I'll  be delivered clear directions.... the tender brush of a breeze on my cheek, gently guiding me towards the freshest, sweetest air I could ever imagine. As I breathe deeply, I will hear the whisper inside my soul saying this is yours... all of this...see.... just perfect for you. 

We can never judge the lives of others, because each person knows only their own pain and renunciation. It’s one thing to feel that you are on the right path, but it’s another to think that yours is the only path. - Paulo Coelho - Brazilian author

The Lenten season has begun. There is something about this time of year that leaves me feeling rejuvenated.  It’s  the final introspection of Winter, gently transitioning into the joy of spring and new growth!  This year I have been cautiously reflective in deciding on a Lenten commitment.  In the past, it has been a time of giving up something, or focusing on changing a bad behavior.. Generally, my enthusiasm lasts just a few days and then I am back to eating cheese, cursing, or missing church on Sunday.  Eating lunch with my three year old granddaughter a few days ago, a discussion about the Ash Wednesday service we would be attending in the morning unfolded.  I wanted to prepare her and let her know the deacon would be placing a cross of ash on our foreheads.  She asked, “Mimi, what’s ash?”  I said, “It’s like dirt.”  I didn’t bother to explain the symbolism of ashes to ashes and dust to dust.   In between  bites of peanut butter and jelly sandwich (with the crusts cut off) she wrinkled  her nose, and said, “Ewwwwww.”  The conversation continued and I said, ”Cameron, for Lent we give up something for six weeks....like candy or temper tantrums.   What are you going to give up?”  She looked at me incredulously, big blue eyes wide, and said, "Church."  Out of the mouths of babes..... Comical, for sure, but I have echoed that same sentiment these past several years. Why would we want to go places that made us feel bad or degraded us in any manner?   I write about my grandchildren often.  I see God in and through them.  They're my teachers and have led me to many ah ha moments, innocently guiding me through some of the lessons I need to learn.

A seeker since childhood,  my curiosity has taken me through most denominations of the Christian faith.  I also have stuck a baby toe into the waters of Buddhism, Kabbalah, as well as New Age.  Through all  those experimentations, I didn't actually find a God of comfort and understanding until I entered a Twelve Step program.  In those rooms, I began to learn, I am a spiritual person having a human experience.  This God of MY understanding does not possess any of those icky qualities, I heard about Him growing up.  My God does not recriminate, discriminate, get angry,  or pick favorites.  I would have a tough time accepting and depending on a Source with the same human frailties and defects I have. Nonetheless, I seemed to be comfortable participating in many of the same religions and organizations I’d used to seek comfort and  enlightenment, in the past. It all enhanced my serenity and knowledge, and it wasn’t difficult for me to take what I needed, privately, and joyfully leave some of ideology behind.  Especially in the early days when I wore the blush of newly discovered, Higher Power love.

In the past few years,  I haven’t felt comfortable participating in the faith I had freely joined years ago, OR my  twelve-step programs;  virtually writing off the spiritual communities of any kind.  When human beings started acting like human beings, sadly, I copped an I’m “outta here” attitude and put on my protective coat of armor, shielding me from the hypocrisy of the participants.  I painfully felt the judgement when I broke “their rules”.  As I’ve walked away from those resources, I've adorned myself in the myth of uniqueness, (or as I crudely named it, I put up my BS detectors) and isolated; picking apart and justifying the reasons for my lack of attendance.   There is absolutely no denying, there have been a few “program and religious” sorts who have betrayed, lied, and created a cyclone of damage in my life and to my well being.  And, it all  left  me reeling and feeling very alone in living with, and cleaning up some major messes.  It appeared "those"  people bent “the rules” and hid behind written doctrine, or twisted guidelines to justify their behavior. There have been people who have berated and questioned my choice of my Higher Power.  Some have unsolicitedly, evaluated my direction, search and approach in moving towards a greater knowledge of my Creator and His will for my life. Others, plainly didn't honor their word, or walk like they talked, and simply weren't trustworthy.   A few even moved into the role of God in determining what they thought best for me. I began to label many of them as THOSE people... You know the ones who dispense unhealthy, fear based information, commandments and rigid rules designed to keep the masses in check. Others were branded a secret society of hypocrites....   It all just left me feeling, mistrustful, sad, and protective.... of my own feelings and sanity.   

So, I quit attending, and sharing, and began to fill those needs alone; through meditation, mindfulness practice and spiritual literature. It's true, I have  gained a lot of knowledge, and much of it  rings good and honorable... in my head. But something was missing.... The feeling of being awash with awe at the stained glass windows at my church. The hug inside my heart of a homily given by a like-minded spirit speaking directly to me and my current condition.  Seeing the dawn of awakening in a newcomer's eyes  at a twelve step meeting.  What I was cutting myself off from, was the palpable Light.  The reflection of love that can only be experienced at a soul level, not a left brain level.   Humans were created to learn, and grow in this earth school.  Much of that growth comes from engaging with others suffering from the same human conditions.  If we hand over the rearing to our heads and egos exclusively, we are going to raise a really biased, sick soul.   There is an energy that flows through these holy places where people gather.  Not everyone acts in purity...we are all works in progress.  But, if one sits very quietly and turns the noise way down, we can hear the heartbeat..... the True Life of the “organization”.   I know I can rest quietly, just be in the presence of that common energy, and drink from the well of community, learning, and healing.  

Our paths are as unique as our fingerprints. When I stop letting the doctrine drown out the greater message,  when I eliminate control and judgment, I make a contribution to the aura of Love that changes lives.  I need to  return to take what I need and leave the rest.  I heard the message the other day....in a very round about manner, through my grand-daughter.  We can justifiably be hurt or appalled by some of the messengers, but don't burn down the entire town.  Practice the principles that enhance yours and others lives and make a positive contribution. Pray for the personalities. How am I any different from what I rejected and ran from, if I  pass judgement on others ways, or manipulate and try to control them into believing as I do?   My Lenten journey for 2011 is to practice the unconditional love of non-judgement, in all of my affairs.  In church Wednesday, I found comfort in the traditions of the Mass itself and the symbolism in the cross of ashes.  It gently lead me into a silent prayer asking  God to work and walk with me in practicing my Lenten commitment. 

And, I think Cameron was moved in some way  by her cross of ashes.  She spent the day, tenderly touching her forehead. She may want to rethink her Lenten sacrifice!  But, that's her call and her  little path!