Sunday, February 27, 2005

Dealing with loss

I work hard. I study. I write. I walk. I cry a little every day. I meditate. I give thanks.

Saturday, February 26, 2005

Chasing Rumi

This journal blog started as a place to pen the lessons in my life, my messages, and a means of following my own thread. It may seem sometimes I am wandering off that path, but everything written is a lesson to me.

Our lives are busy. Our lives are full. And because of our fullness, because of our abundance, most of us do not linger in the gifts given to us. We hear a song and move on. We read a book and move on. We meet a person and move on. Many times we do not take the time to stop and receive all of what the gift presents. We receive shallowly, not deeply. I do not want to miss the depth of gifts in my life. I want the fullness of life's messages to me.

~ ~ ~

Tonight my messages come to me from Chasing Rumi by Roger Housden, a book I started a few weeks ago but set aside in my busy schedule. Last night and tonight I am reading this book, at the same time wondering how I possibly could have set it down in my first reading!

You know how it read something or see something or hear something and it stands out to you above everything else around it. Numinous for you, that's what that is. And I am bringing here the words in the book that are numinous to me...

Andros bid Georgiou heed two pieces of advice during his journey to Konya, and they be these. First, in every situation you meet on the way, be sure to tell the absolute truth as you know it. Second, pay attention to your dreams. If you do these two things, your way will be smoothed from the very beginning. Those words rang true to me, lingered with me, and I took note. Absolute truth as I know it requires great discipline and commitment, and becomes a spiritual practice.

Father Monas had a message for Georgiou. In the end, whatever your destiny has in store, it is always love that finds you, and not the other way around. That is why we must learn to listen. Father Monas continued, In our tradition, the most important lesson we have to learn is obedience to God. Most people think this means to be like children who do what the schoolteacher tells them. They do not know the word obey in our Greek language means 'to listen.' To obey God is to listen out for Him in every situation. This is my advice to you, Georgiou. Profit from your time alone, go into yourself, and listen out for the voice that comes unbidden. Listen to that part of you that knows all along what you have to do. This is the intelligence of love; the voice that speaks without complicated explanations, simple and to the point...Only our capacity to listen determines how much we hear it.

I read again and again a discussion on the Holy Mother as the heart of compassion but also the womb from which all things emerge and have their being. She is wild and dark because She is Life itself, which summons our demons as well as our angels. The source of all compassion is Truth. And the Truth is beyond any ideas of right and wrong. She embraces all of us without ceasing, without judgment, whoever we are. But She is also mighty and terrible and wrathful even, enough to shake us free from the grip of our illusions.

Freedom. Wow, I am discovering a richer definition of freedom than I have ever encountered. Freedom means freedom from my own preconceptions. Freedom from my own addictions. Freedom from my own preoccupations. This is freedom...

Friday, February 25, 2005


There is a part of me that cannot find expression in the language that we speak. There's a way I feel, the heart of me, that cannot find its voice in the smallness of the words we know. But there is a part of the longing, the loving, the compassion, the understanding, the feeling that can be found in poetry and I find myself in the lines and stanzas on the page. Poetry has become the bed on which I lie. It is the song I sing by day. Poetry speaks for me the fullness of my joy, the depth of my despair. Poesy tells of love so big I cannot contain it all and then it tells of love unwanted, unreturned. Poetry paints the picture of the inside of my life and I become the poem. I am the poetry.

When I read Rumi the first time I thought the poetry was nice. When I read Rumi the second time I thought the poetry was great. In my third time reading Rumi, I completely fell in...


A chickpea leaps almost over the rim of the pot where it’s being boiled.
“Why are you doing this to me?”

The cook knocks him down with the ladle.
“Don’t you try to jump out. You think I’m torturing you. I’m giving you flavor, so you can mix with spices and rice and be the lovely vitality of a human being.

Remember when you drank rain in the garden. That was for this.”

Grace first. Sexual pleasure, then a boiling new life begins, and the Friend has something good to eat.

Eventually the chickpea will say to the cook, “Boil me some more. Hit me with the skimming spoon. I can’t do this by myself.

I’m like an elephant that dreams of gardens back in Hindustan and doesn’t pay attention to his driver.

You’re my cook, my driver, my way into existence. I love your cooking.”

The cook says, “ I was once like you, fresh from the ground. Then I boiled in time and boiled in the body, two fierce boilings. My animal soul grew powerful. I controlled it with practices.
and boiled some more, and boiled once beyond that, and became your teacher.”

~ ~ ~

With this one I fell in love with each line.

The longing is the gift...the desire is the answer...

Last night a man was crying,
Allah! Allah!
His lips grew sweet with the praising.
Until a cynic said,
So! I've heard you calling out,
but have you evergotten any response?
The man had no answer to that.
He quit praying, and fell into a confused sleep.
He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls,
In a thick green foliage.
Why did you stop praising?
Because I never heard anything back.
This longing you express is the return message.
The grief you cry out from
Draws you to union.
Your pure sadness
That wants to help
Is the secret cup.
Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.
That whining is the connection.
There are love dogs
No one knows the names of.
Give your life to be
One of them.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Rabia's Song

This song grabbed me, took hold of me from my very first hearing of it. I play it every day...

Where are you going? She said, To that world.
Where have you come from? She answered, From that world.
And what are you doing in this world? And she said, I am sorrowing.
In what way? They asked of her. And Rabia replied, I am eating the bread of this world and doing the work of that world.
Eating the bread of this world and doing the work of that world.
Alla-a-a-ah Alla-a-ah A-a-llah Alla-a-ah Alla-a-ah A-a-a A-a-a Allah
I have loved thee with two loves
I have loved thee with two loves
One that is selfish and one that is glorious
One being selfish and one being glorious.
In what way? They asked of her, and Rabia replied.
Of the selfish love I exclude all but you, of the other you enfold me in glory.
Of the selfish love I exclude all but you, of the other you enfold me in glory.Alla-a-a-ah Alla-a-ah A-a-llah Alla-a-ah Alla-a-ah A-a-a A-a-a Allah

Rabi.a al.Adawiyya of Basra, born around 717, died 802 A.D
Adapted from Zuleikha.s White Pavillion tape,
as recorded by Arienne and Wim van der Zwalcapo 4th fret


I have learned to pay attention to the lyrics that draw me. A tune that repeats in my head...a melody that stops me in my album I return to again and again. I have learned there is a message in that which becomes part of me, that which is numinous. I pay attention to the lyrics...

I still miss him...

I am what I practice.

Someone once said to me, “Spiritual practice is the teacher; everything is spiritual practice.”

Some have said “you are what you eat” and “you are what you think.” But perhaps greatest of all understanding is to know this…you are what you practice.

I am what I practice.

Over the past two weeks my devotion to practice has deepened (does this suggest anguish is a poignant stimulus toward growth?). I have enlarged my practice of writing (here and even far more what never sees the blog)…my practice of meditation…my practice of study…

I am what I practice.

I walked the labyrinth on Friday night and again more deeply on Saturday noon. I now include a small labyrinth in my daily meditations. Today during labyrinth practice I recognized how in our progress toward a center we have an incredible winding path, sometimes a path that appears to be in opposition to the direction of our goal. Every day, I come to greater understanding of life through labyrinth practice. (I will post fuller expressions later, as daily labyrinth notes are in another writing not with me now).

I am the labyrinth.

I have a mandala meditation practice. Each morning when I awaken I use colored art pencils and color the day’s prepared mandala using whatever colors feel right for the morning. The series of mandalas follow the 12 stages of the Great Round of the Phyche, with several mandalas included in each stage. After coloring, I write and express what the chosen colors represent to my life and write my feelings and thoughts through today’s meditation. From there I read and evaluate the instructor’s view on what colors represent based on universal psychological responses and based on Western cultural color representation. This lends insight into what is on the inside. Today’s mandala was many layered, intricate, rich and deep, and too much to complete in one session (or even two). I will need to continue this mandala for several days, and I am still in Stage 1, the Void. Today’s mandala lesson reinforced our need to stay with something for a while, the truth of our spending more time in the phase or stage we experience. I practice mandalas.

I am a mandala.

I have a dance meditation practice.

In addition to my studies, what else do I practice? Do I practice lovingkindness (which I am told begins with me)? Do I practice peace? Do I practice honesty? Do I practice compassion? Do I practice humility? Do I practice strength? Do I practice listening? Do I practice silence?

I am what I practice…

I am...

I am my joy. I am my longing. I am my pleasure. I am my despair. I am my questions as much as I am the answers I create. I am the colors around me. I am the air that I breathe. I am the clothes on my body. I am the pictures on my wall. I am the food I choose to eat. I am the drink I pour down my throat. I am my frustration. I am my exuberance. I am what I love. I am that which I hate. I am what I accomplish. I am my unfinished plan. I am the song in my heart. I am the dance that I fumble. I am the words I speak. I am the feelings I repress. I am the messages presented me. I am the gifts I am graced. I am my life. I am my death.

Sunday, February 20, 2005


This journal is about movement toward consciousness, especially in becoming aware of and learning from the messages around me. I long to know me (which is to love me). That which is happening around me is what is happening within me. What, then, is it that is happening around me? What are the tunes by which I am fed, the lyrics that repeat in my head, the colors chosen to define me, the lessons endured to refine me… As I notice and write and study my reflections, I come closer to my whole…

Saturday, February 19, 2005

Sacred Circles

This is my first attendance of the Sacred Circles Women's Conference on Spirituality at the National Cathedral. Oh, what a deeply moving, incredible gathering of women--the music, the meditation, the dance, the spirit, the compassion.

I arrived early and as woman after woman joined the gathering, I felt increasing energies of tenderness and strength, of softness and openness, of happiness and expectation, of settled acceptance of depth. The number swelled to 1,630, the largest gathering of women I have participated in and one amazingly without jostling for positions, without personal agendas.

What does the meeting of one person, what does the joining of one group on one occasion, what does one single event in one single weekend do in the fullness of one lifetime?

My understanding is enlarged, my spirit enriched, my priorities lifted, my mission more clearly defined, my practices more committed, my love more devoted...

I feel more than renewed. I feel re-born...

Feminine support...

After posting the photograph of the emerging masculine, I realized I didn’t record the source of the photo so I went online to retrace my steps (I did not again locate that shot). During my search through male photography, however, quite by accident this time (if there were accidents) a photograph of a couple was listed. (I have not given time or space to other people’s photography so this recent search is unusual.) The picture of the couple was rich and artistic and captivated me so I downloaded it. The next day (February 20), I printed the photo and suddenly, a day late, I recognized significance of the shot--the feminine is supported by the masculine. She is the one facing the world, she is the one who will be moving and dancing, but doing all while supported, and lifted, and buffered from the hard floor, by him. This is its meaning to me.

Feminine supported... Posted by Hello

Friday, February 18, 2005

Masculine appearing...

What a very busy day, but a charming one.

Still in a serious meditative frame of mind, still grieving the loss of a friendship, I chose to dress up today more than usual for the office. I wore a black sleeveless dress with a gray angora sweater and black Victorian choker, set off with black stockings and high heels. And I curled my hair. I could not have anticipated the responses I received throughout the day. Even when I stepped into the office cafĂ©, the young Asian man working there lit up and exclaimed, “You look awesome today!” It was quite surprising all day. Somehow I knew I looked good when I left the house this morning but it felt very pleasing to have this reflected back to me.

I had a one-hour telephone conference with my New York executive team discussing feedback from my first deliverable on this my very first professional writing project. I have worried whether I am up to the task. After preparing and submitting my draft last Friday morning, I realized I had enjoyed the writing so much and was so pleased with the work that even if the team was unhappy with the product, even if the contract would be canceled, I felt a strong sense of accomplishment. I could not have anticipated such a sense of completion from work I worried I was not trained for. So here I was today, getting my first response from the team. And the response was incredible. Not only was my writing accepted without edit, but my speech with the team was so strong someone was skimming a keyboard trying to capture my words. The director expressed regret not to have recorded my conversation because my ideas were rich and my focus sharp.

I give thanks for the gift of being inspired in front of an audience. Now I am also inspired in my writing and in my discussions of it with the team. As scattered as I often appear in my personal conversations, I "kind of" wish friends could see me in this professional capacity. But then I realize the difference is I was conscious, poignantly so, in my work today. The difference is in being conscious.

It felt good.

~ ~ ~

I still miss him...

~ ~ ~

Oh, some messages are too clear to miss… Tonight I have just such a message.

A couple of weeks ago I placed on my bedroom wall the photograph of a beautiful nude woman, a back view of her sitting on a chair. Tender and sensitive, the photograph is not a sexual image. I hung a second photograph but found the two nudes, especially two variations of backsides, to be overstated, and the message conveyed seemed very different with two rather than one simple one on the wall. So I displayed only one and laid the other in a lingerie drawer.

Tonight, however, I suddenly realized I want a nude man to accompany my naked woman. Perhaps it seems strange I did not think of it before, but I did not. It simply never occurred to me. I began to search for just the right photograph to complement my girl draped over her chair (the search was not easy). I came up with nine choices and began to study each for compatibility with my girl. Several were ok but not perfect and some were eliminated quickly. Finally I came to number eight, and I knew immediately it was “the one.” Simple, subtle, tasteful, it was a photograph of a man half submerged in water, with his head and neck, chest, right arm and right leg out of the water.

The print was barely in the frame when I recognized the unmistakable significance—the message in this photograph on my wall is that of my masculine emerging from the Unconscious.

~ ~ ~

Today I spent quite some time meditating on the moment, holding myself in just the current moment, during much of my office day. Mindfulness sounds so simple but requires deliberate effort for me. I worked it more today than probably any one single day. I will continue this work.

Today I also noted my continued increased compassion and gentleness with others, even while driving in my car.

I pray to hold this mediation and deepen and strengthen my tenderness with others...

Emerging masculine... Posted by Hello

Thursday, February 17, 2005

American Idol

American Idol

It’s just a television show, you may suggest, but for me it is something so much more. American Idol became my deliberate choice for TV viewing and oh, how it has become a deep, rich message for me. In the first couple of seasons I chose to watch it for the development, the personal and professional growth of the participants compressed into a few short weeks right before my eyes. But this season, the opening weeks of this 2005 season, has deepened the meaningfulness of this program for me. Previously I did not attend the show until the final contestants were presented, for I refused to participate in the unkind destruction of unfortunate untalented contestants. This season, however, Simon has not been producing brutal or savage attacks on the unfortunate, and I have been with the program from the start. And my lesson this time has been on dealing with loss.

The envelope please…

Tonight was the night for final cuts and the final winning team of contestants was selected. As I watched the emotions endured by the performers, I could feel within myself an equal emotion. Life hangs in the balance. Everything you ever wanted is wrapped in this decision. Your entire future, your happiness, joy, creative expression, income, everything you have and want is determined by this one moment. How many times in my life have I stood before such a decision and believed my heart and my future were contained therein. A job interview? A contest (my previous speaking events)? A doctor’s diagnosis? A relationship?

The envelope please…

I saw tears run down their faces, heard curses escape their lips, watched fear in their eyes, and experienced with them my similar pain. I loved their music. I fell in love with them. I cried with them. I, too, have felt what they feel. And for the first time, I recognized the feeling has continued to be the same…I have only sometimes changed the myth surrounding it. Life hangs in the balance…

The envelope please…

I remember what I wrote here on February 9. Experience the loss… I had not made it a practice to experience loss… Many times publicly I have been resolute, stoic, strong, composed. Sometimes privately I have been distraught, devastated, damaged, destroyed. But in all of my ways of dealing with losing, I have avoided actually “feeling” my loss. I built in an automatic optimism of blowing off the loss and believing the win next time. I have dismissed the pain or buried it. But rarely if ever have I actually stepped into and truly fully experienced the loss.

Now I am called to experience my loss. Feel his absence. Feel what it feels to lose. Lose a job. Lose a hope. Lose a loved one. Lose a love. Lose… Just like each of these contestants who feels this one moment and this one loss holds the balance of his or her life.

The envelope please...

The teaching for the past few years (as a motivational speaker I have participated in this), the lesson has been in creative visualization. Envisioning your success. Feel what it feels to win. And now I feel called to go a different direction…my work is to feel what it feels like to lose…

The envelope please...

When I think about my current storyline, during the course of the past thirteen months, as the relationship moved and changed continually, it was only at those points that I “let go” and accepted loss and accepted his absence that he always returned, and quite dramatically so. Recognizably so. I never discussed it with him, but I wondered how it was that he always contacted me by phone or mail within 24 hours of my letting go. Is that a perception on his part or an act of my own Unconscious? Anyway, it cannot be manipulated. I am not able to “try” to let go to make him come back. It is only in the true moment of letting go of him and of the relationship that he returns. This is far more about me and my internal life than about my friendship with him.

This time, though, the story is different (or so it seems). This time he has not simply faded from view but has bid his farewell and wished me well. This has been goodbye. A voice in me says he is resolute and will never again welcome my friendship. His faith in me is gone. Another voice inside me says the end of the story is not written, that neither of us knows its final chapter. But whether he is no more to be friend in my life or will be again, I want to learn this lesson now. As long as I am unable to feel the loss of the masculine, unable to feel the absence of the masculine, I will need to re-create the experience of losing him until I am able to feel it. And I am ready to accept, receive, and merge with him (the masculine within me).

It is in the inability to feel his absence (inability to feel what I really feel in missing him) that causes the loss of him (the masculine). Once this experience is fully experienced and stepped into, I no longer need the loss. I will no longer create the scenario, and I will re-create the state of relationship in my life.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005



I have been going to the Sanctuary nearly every day.

Today I stepped off the veranda of the building where I work and stepped into a soft rainfall. Just a slight soft falling of rain as I walked to the Temple.

Today I entered and walked mindfully the long passageway to the front holiest of holies in the silent empty sanctuary. I walked slowly and deliberately. I was aware of every movement of my legs and behind as I made my way to the front. The sound of my shoes on the floor reverberated and seemed to bounce off the walls as I made my way slowly.

As I reached the end of the aisle I stood beneath the grand archway and stood under the bright lighting in the otherwise dimly lit temple. I lifted my face upward and with eyes closed felt the warmth of light pouring down on me. I suddenly was filled with the sense of being forgiven. I am forgiven. I stood with my eyes closed and absorbed the light that surrounded and filled me.

I stood silently, alone, keeping my eyes closed. I saw myself being lifted up. Angels attended me. They dressed me in many layers of soft sheer white. I am clothed in flowing white. I feel my purity in the symbolism of being draped in white. I am floating, dancing even. I saw myself dancing beautifully and gracefully and artfully in a small white leotard, then being draped once again in the long flowing white layers after the dance. I am happy here.

I remained standing in the auditorium, simply standing with eyes closed and face turned upward.

Words of a poem began to form…

Imbedded in a question is the answer that it seeks.
Inherent in the illness is the cure sought by the weak
Present in my failing is forgiveness before I ask…

My forgiveness is woven into the very fabric of my failure… I will have to come back to the writing of that poem.

I was happy there. I would have remained. But the words came to me that I have more work to do. I must come back down. But...I am forgiven…

I opened my eyes, turned around, and walked back to my job.

Thursday, February 10, 2005

On Sinking

There is no coincidence, no mindless happenstance, no random connection not originating from the deep. In truth, each joining is a miracle, every overlap a mystery, and each day I turn to find connections more succinct, more pointedly mine.

A businessman, no part of my life, crossed my path and invited me to step away from his resume and view his photo-writing blog.

How can it be amidst quotidian office tasks an unknown man in a far-off distant place hands me words that reach my spirit in ways he couldn't possibly anticipate. He knows not my interests, has no idea my deep pursuits.

I opened the page he invited me to see, and there adorning his photo series on the sinking of a barge, a gift was found, words I needed to find...

...we all find our own level
and is sinking such a fate to avoid,
letting go into the murk,
carrying a cargo of broken branches?...

I barely know his name, yet his words remained with me the rest of the day and shall remain for days on end. is sinking such a fate to avoid... And today of all days, a sad day when I most assuredly feel my own craft sinking such a fate to avoid...

Those seven words were sufficient cause for me to ponder many hours and yet there were more...

...letting go into the murk, carrying a cargo of broken branches?

I am not only sinking, but slipping into murky waters (I feel the thickness of the dark even as I read the words) and doing so with a full cargo of broken branches. Broken joy? Broken dreams? Broken spirit?

And yet his photograph, and his words, suggest there is no shame, no loss, perhaps no despair, in the sinking.

...we all find our own level. and is sinking such a fate to avoid, letting go into the murk, carrying a cargo of broken branches?...

And I relax, allow the darkness and the murk to carry me into the deep...

Poet's message

Surprisingly, unexpectedly, poet M called from Arizona. He writes words from the deep. Even with sometimes conflicted structures, his words contain deep messages, a gift of truth I am able to see.

He asked if I remember the words of a candle poem, which I did not (I had not read that piece before). He began to read to me. And as he read I suddenly realized I was being given a message. I grabbed my pencil and pad and started scribbling my notes.

“Be willing to lose that what you want,” he said. “What you are unwilling to lose, you cannot have.”

I couldn’t keep up with his story line; I could only take notes of what was numinous to me. Reading the notes later gave no indication how one thought was glued to another, how they all were part of the same conversation. But the disparate thoughts were my messages.

“Thoughts are tall tales. Being is the completed thought.”

There was conversation in between the noted points, but now I only have the written notes.

“What you have once perceived always is. It cannot become past tense.”

I forget what he was saying when I suddenly thought of today’s earlier sinking barge. “Don’t hold back the sinking of the ship,” I wrote.

“Find a way to forgive yourself,” I wrote, wondering how I would figure out that one.

He was talking about the candle in his poem again. “Light is what is. There is no such thing as darkness. Darkness is simply the absence of light. And “understanding” is something that light is.”

I am never far from one of my most cognizant truths: if A equals B and B equals C, then A must equal C. I apply it frequently to many things. And in this case, darkness is the absence of understanding.

Reading it all now, I recognize the significance of thinking of the sinking barge in the middle of the poet’s words. I could see a connection. I felt myself sinking, sinking into the murk, into the darkness. And what is darkness but the absence of understanding.

But what is it that I do not understand and what is my path to discovering it?

After reading the poem and chatting with me a bit, he came to the real reason for his call. “I have a question for you,” he said. “Are you dating anyone now?” I swallowed hard to be confronted with this question today but gracefully faced it. “No,” I answered, because it is true, not because I have an interest. He continued, “Would you ever consider a long-distance relationship?” I took a deep breath and he knew my answer. I was not interested in this man ten years my junior. He withdrew the question, said he understood. He was gracious, truly accepting of my response. I appreciate him.

Typically men bring (or are) messages to me, somehow more noticeably than women. Somehow other women are me and men are messages to me. I don’t know what that means. But I am attentive to looking into the message everyone leaves behind.

I wondered about the presence of his call, the message in his question, on this particular day. There is no coincidence…

Wanting to die

Sometimes I feel a part of me has died. Sometimes I feel I want the rest of me to die, that I want to die. I feel such a full loss at moments it consumes my life.

The observer part of me is curious how there can be this immense seemingly unending universe and yet with the loss of one heart friend I can feel a wish to die. How can that be? Did he become such a part of me that without him part of me is gone? Am I meaningless without him? Am I helpless without the support of his presence, his appreciation? I can't put my finger on it.

What I do know is my life is rich and full, creative and compelling, meaningful and deepening, and yet to have someone dear to me to see such a side of me as to wish to end our friendship, gives me moments of wanting to die.

Struggling with my deep sorrow in hurting him, painfully seeing in the mirror my actions and beliefs that reflect selfish habits, feeling the loss of his beautiful presence in my life, has stimulated spiritual depth.

But still, some moments I want to die.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Feel the loss

Much of my journaling during these days is poured into my own lap and is not posted here. Something of importance I want to reflect is this...

I am being called to feel the loss. Just feel it. Not falling apart emotionally, for that is resistance and prevents fully feeling it. Not dismissing it...not by ignoring it or pretending it’s ok, that hey, it had to be and it is for the best (I don't happen to feel it is even though my spiritual depth is increased through experiencing the loss), not by dismissing it as one of life’s necessities, not by dismissing it as something that happened that I simply must let go of...for dismissing it still avoids feeling the loss. Don’t try pulling him back. Feel his absence. Feel him missing from my life. Feel my loss of him.

I feel drawn toward feeling the loss of him without putting words on it. Putting words on it seems to get me into trouble, puts me into a position of evaluating blame (mine or another's), puts me into a position of resistance and wanting things to be different from what is in this moment. Feel my loss without the application of words...

I remember several years ago I was in a retreat on expanding consciousness, and the two training masters asked me to "feel," explained I need to "feel" something to release it and they expressed their view of my inability to do so. I disagreed, explained my struggle with emotions as proof of my "feeling." I couldn't get that lesson then. During the past months I have been opening to the realization I am not always in touch with how I feel about things and have been incorporating practices to accomplish this. Now more than ever before, my spirit is calling me to "feel" his absence and my loss, feel it deep within me.

It is from not feeling the missing of him that causes the loss of him. Once fully experienced and stepped into, I no longer need the loss. I will no longer create the repeated scenario…

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

Rose Garden

...the rose garden

Monday, February 07, 2005


Someone once said to me, “Everything, absolutely everything, is a message.”

His words changed my life.

Everything, absolutely everything, is a message. What are the messages in my life? What do they mean? What is their significance? What can I learn and how can my messages help me and guide me?

Everything in my life, everything around me, is a reflection of what is inside. For 47 years I considered everything around me, the things I can touch and move and feel, to be reality, only now to discover what is really real is what is inside, and what is out there is simply a mirror of the in.

My thoughts, ideas, and questions…my emotions…people who share my path for a day or year or lifetime…words and poems and pictures and events…I will write and post them here to view my thread and understand their connections. You, in the very reading of my words, become part of the shared path. My experience is your experience, and honesty and integrity become my responsibility in the sharing of mine.

While my understanding and learning is in truth in progress, I call this “beginning” because now is the beginning of my writing, tracking, and studying my own reflective messages. This is the beginning of my journal at this level.