Monthly Archives: March 2012

It’s a Spring Thing

It’s the last day of March and the garden is just coming into its beauty. Spring beauty, that is.

We’ve been patient, nurturing, kind and loving. Buds are sprouting – lots of them. Leaves are bursting – a profusion of celadon green and deep cherry red. Citrus trees are offering scented blooms (and a few early fruits) that attract the bees as well as this eager gardener.

The plants, flowers and trees are not screaming out for attention, they simply are. They aren’t looking for affirmation for all the ‘hard work’ they’ve done to get through the colder winter months, bare and naked and even (some of them such as the roses) having been cut down to nothing.

They are grace embodied.

I’d like to be more like that. Sitting in the quiet of things. Allowing it to be as it is – the cycles, the highs the lows. Everything. Trusting that all the shifts and evolutions and changes are for our highest good, and that those we touch are somehow better for it, as well, even if at first it’s not always clear.

Faith in nature and all She has to offer is trusting when you need to shed, and opening your arms as wide as you can imagine, when it’s time to receive.

Happy Spring!

I hope you enjoy (and perhaps are even inspired by) these photos from my front yard which was nothing but a 1000 square foot hill of grass when I moved in eight years ago…yes, patience, hard work and faith is a beautiful thing!

7-year-old outtake :)

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Spring Cleaning – Kicking up Some (not so pretty) Dust

Like certain events and celebrations around the world, the act of spring cleaning seems to cross all cultural, religious and economic boundaries. It’s sort of a universal human experience to want to clean things out and start fresh around the time when winter ends and more light enters our days (and maybe even our hearts).

But while many of us across the globe are united over our simultaneous ritual of scrubbing and tossing, the impetus for doing it, the process, and the lessons learned are ultimately very personal. Are we simply cleaning the dust from under the couch, or does the act of really cleaning stuff up have the ability to make us take a deeper look at things, our lives and our values?

And what if we really don’t like what we see?

Today I tackled my son’s bedroom. I knew that I would be doing this sooner or later, but this morning, when he ‘casually’ took one of my crystals, waved it in the air and said that his wish was to “have all the money in the word,” I really stopped in my tracks, dumbfounded.

How did we – I – get to this place?

I consider myself to be a pretty mindful, not-so-materialistic person. What on earth would a 7-year-old want all the money on earth for? He’s got a loving family, a nice home, good friends and a room full of toys (lots of toys). Where did I – or our culture – go wrong?

Last weekend I had the pleasure of watching the move “I AM” by Tom Shadyac. He’s the Hollywood director who had tons of money and fame and decided to give most of it up after a near death experience made him stop and really re-evaluate his life. “I AM” is a documentary that asks what’s wrong in the world and what can we do about it.

A huge message in the film is that we, as a culture (especially in the U.S.) put an enormous emphasis on money as the measure of and tool towards reaching happiness. The film also explores how in the natural world, the emphasis is on cooperation, whereas in our culture, competition rules. In fact, if you aren’t trying to have more money, more fame, more ‘stuff’ people think there is something wrong with you.

Shadyac talked about how in native cultures, the idea of taking more than you need is considered a mental illness – that there is something truly wrong if you keep consuming beyond what is needed, instead of sharing the extra (cooperating) with your fellow wo/man.

I’m not proud of these photos, but this is what I saw when I emptied every last item out of my son’s small room. What is interesting to me is that before I took everything out, the room actually looked reasonably orderly – not too messy or chaotic. In other words, it didn’t even look like there was ‘too much stuff’ in there.

Looks can be deceiving…

Mostly, it’s games and books – lots of them. But when I look at the mounds and mounds of all this stuff, I realize that at least half of the games and many of the books never get played or read. Why? Because there is so much stuff that each item almost cancels the other one out (the opposite of cooperation). It’s impossible for anything to be special, precious, important or meaningful when there are 25 games instead of five or ten. Or 20 Beyblades instead of four or five.

I want to blame ‘society’ for the consumption of all this stuff, but this is my house and my son – I need to look at my role, my participation, consciously or not. Because even though I’ve tried in the past to say ‘no gifts, please’ on birthday party invitations (and the gifts keep coming), or I’ve asked the relatives to please stop giving gifts at every visit (but then I feel guilty ‘taking away’ their ‘pleasure to spoil’ him), or I’ve asked my husband to please stop buying ‘just one more’ package of Pokemon cards, it is I who have ultimately allowed all this stuff – each and every last piece of it – in my front door and into my son’s room (and consciousness).

And I don’t feel very good about it.

I think about all of the games that have sat in his closet over the past year – never played – and about the kids who have no games who would have loved to have even just one. I think of my son who thinks he wishes ‘for all the money in the world’ even though he already has more stuff than he knows what to do with. And I think about how I’ve ‘bended’ my own beliefs and said ‘yes’ or, ‘well, ok, I guess’ when pressured to just ‘let him have more fun’ and get more stuff, even when it didn’t feel right. I feel like I’m being ‘mean’ or ‘overly restrictive’ if I ‘deny’ him the ‘gifts’ people want to give him.

But what about the REAL gifts that seem to be so easily overlooked these days. Love, friendship, health. I have a husband who adores and loves me – a gift beyond measure. I have friends would truly do anything to help me if I needed it. This feels like (it is!) immense riches. My health – ask someone who is sick the one thing they’d want in the world and I’m pretty sure it would not be money.

The point here is that we are talking about a cultural shift. Not just giving away half of my son’s crap (I mean stuff) to the thrift store only to just keep consuming so we can go through the entire cycle again next year. There needs to be a change in approach and attitude, and, most importantly, a willingness in me (or any of us) to go against the grain in this culture, in this country and say “I could take more, but I’m not going to.” That’s the message of Shadyac’s movie – a message whose time has come.

Happy cleaning…whether or not it kicks up as much dust for you as it did for me. I’m grateful that it has, and I look forward to ‘lighter’ days ahead for more reasons than one.

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Bound by Beauty

What does beauty mean to you?

For me, at its essence, it means LOVE. It’s about a purity of intention, expression or delivery. A raw state. Uncontrived. Unfussy. Sometimes not even deliberate…yes, accidental or unintentional is often the best…like you’ve happened upon something.

I gravitate towards beauty every day of my life. It’s what fuels me at my core. I suppose that’s one of the main reasons why I feel I’m here – to create beauty, explore it and to mirror it in others. Does that sound lofty or idealistic? Not to me.

For me, even the messy and painful parts are beautiful, too, in their own way, because they are authentic. Authenticity is a huge party of beauty. Not Martha Stewart/1950’s housewife/Magazine Cover beauty. I’m drawn to things that are real and raw.

Scars, dishes piled in the sink, the rose past its prime. There is TRUTH in all of these things. They aren’t hiding….they just are.

I’d like to be more like that.

Of course, I enjoy more ‘traditional’ beauty as well, but I tend to experience it more in rustic, worn places rather than in the pristine. Pretty dishes, cut flowers, music, a bright pink sari blowing in the wind. You get the idea.

I’m not saying that every moment is beautiful (well it kind of is, because, after all, you’re ALIVE). But there is beauty to be experienced in the raw, truthful moments that maybe on the surface aren’t traditionally what you’d call filled with beauty. In pain there is growth, and growth is beautiful because it is an expression of Life. It’s where you witness your own evolution, even if in the moment it hurts.

We each offer our own version of it, even when we don’t realize we’re creating or offering it. We each matter in our own way, and even a ‘simple’ cup of tea handed to a friend in need contains more BEAUTY and love than we can even imagine. Don’t under estimate it, or dismiss it before it even has a chance to flow into the exact place it was destined, where it’s needed most, from your hand to another.

Here are a few pictures of how I see beauty, taken over the past week or so. May it inspire you to consider your own version of beauty in your own life.

Me...as a flower

Almost missed this, then the light caught it just right

I walk by this little scene 30 times a day, and each time I smile

Saw this in a store window - perfect message for that day

Even the compost bits form a pretty still life

Santa Barbara sunrise

Zen display of oranges courtesy of pirate tattoo guy

Kid's-eye view en route to Garden Club

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Do You See What I See?……

I am continually reminded and shown that we all perceive things differently, and how important it is to know your own experience of something and really (really) listen when someone is showing you who they are, or what they want or how they perceive the very same experience. I am slow with my learning, but I do, eventually get there. Thank you.

We sometimes think that just because we’ve seen something beautiful or amazing that others will see it the exact same way we do, and will want to take the same walk with us, holding and expressing that beauty just as we do. I keep learning…

Keep walking on your path, keep being who you are!!

Keep seeing beauty as you do, in the most mundane or profound ways. It is a gift to experience Life in this way, and I believe every moment does hold the seed for a chance to commune with something so much greater than ourselves, if we are open, if we want it, and if we choose to experience it in this way….

…with love.

(all photos taken by me)

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Crystal Canyon

“Crystal Canyon”

Part One

A very long time ago two twin fairies were born inside a crystal canyon. It was a beautiful day, a gorgeous day for celebration and the fairies, elves, elders and nature spirits held a great party for three days and three nights after the birth. The twins thrived inside the canyon, beside the beautiful flow of the river that offered The Great Mother her morning drink, and below the white clouds of the heavens that were soft beds for the angels that sang them to sleep at night. Yes, the twins lived and played deep inside the canyon.

But after three years together, for a reason that is unclear, though highly speculated about, they were abruptly separated and had to live their lives alone, though somehow knowing that another piece of themselves was out there, somewhere, playing, dancing, living Life. They did not know the other existed, but somehow they did know.

The grandmother fairies had their reasons, and decided that together, too much power – and mischief – would exist and so they needed to put each fairy into a different pocket of nature. Their time to be together would have to happen much, much later.

One sister was brought into the flower realm and the other sister was brought into the land of the trees. They both worked in communion with the natural world, sharing their energy, their light and love with the other living parts of the earth. They were sharing love with each other, though they didn’t know it.

The flower fairy was drawn by – or guided to – the lavender fields where the bees played, and the heady scent of the blooms wafted through the air and filled one’s soul with peace and happiness. There the flower fairy made garlands, posies, tinctures and lavender tea. She met friends, helped heal those who came across her path and slept on a bed of soft blooms, with the stars twinkling overhead at night. Her sister, from far away, could smell the lavender wafting from the canyon. Though she didn’t know where the source came from, it smelled familiar.

The tree fairy was drawn by – or guided to – the Jacarandas far on the other side of the canyon. Every year the stoic trees would put on a display for all to see. But most could only see and enjoy with their eyes, which still provided quite a sense of beauty. But, the lavender fairy – her long lost sister – from far away, could hear with her heart…and would listen to the sound of little bells ringing early in the morning – the sound of the Jacaranda blooms dancing with the air. The sound was familiar to her lost sister (a lost language?) though she didn’t know where the source came from.

The two fairies did not meet again. Don’t be sad, they each had long, happy, joy-filled and colorful lives. They danced with nature and other fairies and even with a few humans, too. When they were old, and satisfied with a good life lived, they each knew it was their time to go. They happily offered back their tiny bodies to The Great Mother.

You aren’t surprised to learn that they died on the very same day, are you?

The spirits took their tiny bodies, one from the Lavender flower fiends and one on the branch of a beloved purple Jacaranda tree and decided to return them to the canyon at the very site of their birth. The elders, with the help of all the fairies, dug a hole very deep, deeper than you could imagine, and filled it with silks and flowers and a little tambourine (just for fun) and covered the bodies of two sisters with fresh mountain soil, flower petals and a little water from the river. They truly were resting in peace. And within moments of their bodies being buried, a soft rain came. Almost like Nature herself watered a seed being returned to her own body. It was beautiful.

A long, long time passed. Longer than you can imagine, and would you believe that above the spot where the fairy twins were born – and buried – a field of rare Lavender-colored Lupine grew each spring? And even more beautiful than that, is something that the elders themselves could not quite believe: deep within the earth, under the Lavender Lupine, the bodies of the twins grew together into a magical stone – a precious, magical amethyst.

The amethyst was very beautiful, one of the most beautiful stones in the earth, but no one could see it buried so deep within the ground. The fairy elders, once again up to their mischief, knew that no human would dig so deep for such a stone, let alone believe that it even existed. So, the elders put a spell on the stone and decided that one day, when the time was right, the stone – of its own accord – would break into two halves – a red half and a blue half – and that those pieces would rise to the surface.

But the elder fairies did not ‘finish’ the spell, this was part of the fun for them…the not forcing, the letting things take their natural course…as it is needed…just to see what happens…

So, just as planned, at the ‘right’ time, a small earthquake was felt across the canyon and into the land, but really, it was just the amethyst breaking into two pieces and rising to the surface.

This was cause for great celebration in the fairy world! The fairy children had heard of the story of “The Amethyst Stone” many times, but now it was actually happening…

The next day the fairies hid behind the blades of grass, the leaves, the flowers and some even watched from above in the trees waiting to see what would happen. Just then two human twins ran laughing through the canyon, playing in the open space, marveling at all of Nature.

But there was one spot – in the middle of all that purple – where a single blue flower grew and a single red flower grew…out of the very same plant!!

The children were young, but they were old enough to understand this was an auspicious sign. The boy reached for the blue flower – he wanted to pick it.

“Don’t pick it!” his sister squealed.

But then she was overcome by the beauty of the plant as well. She reached for the red flower…she couldn’t help herself.

“Don’t pick it!” the brother yelled. He was simultaneously drawn to and repelled by the lure of such a magical flowering specimen.

The children were taken to distractions – as children often are – really, they are not distracted at all…just playing. And at the end of a perfect day in the canyon, as the sun was setting, the twins went looking for the flowering plant, but it was nowhere to be found.

They looked at each other, completely bewildered. Where could it have gone? It was here earlier today when the sun rose…was it not?

They poked and prodded around, but could see nothing. Then, since they were barefoot, they each stepped on something smooth at the same time, something that surged a sweet energy up through their feet, through the crowns of their heads. The boy looked under his foot to find a sapphire and the girl looked under her foot to find a ruby.

The stones were magical. Not because a perfect, flawless sapphire and ruby are priceless, but because the twins could feel and see the magnetic power of the stones.

They each reached to pick up what was under their feet, and this time they did not instruct the other to refrain. Instead, they cradled the gems in the palms of their hands, and the stones sparked like the shooting stars which were beginning to appear in the evening sky overhead.

“We hold the magic of the heavens,” one said to another.

“Now what do we do with it?” the other whispered.

The twins heard a voice, and they thought it was their grandmother coming to look for them and take them back home to the nearby farm where they lived.

But it was not their grandmother.

The voice was that of the canyon nymph – not quite human, not quite deity and not quite fairy. She was somehow all of these things.

And she said, in the most gentle and exuberant voice:

“Dear children, you have come early! We did not expect you so soon, so young, so eager, so hungry. You have found the stones we have left for you, but you, sweet ones, are not yet ready to understand their power and meaning.”

The children were not offended as adults would have been. To them, everything is a game, a time to play, so when the canyon nymph held out her hand to retrieve the stones back from them, the twins did so without hesitation.

They each placed their stone in her cupped hands and watched with awe as bright golden light filled the bowl-like shape of her palms and the sapphire and ruby gems were turned into tiny pieces of rose quartz.

“Here,” the nymph said as she handed one stone to each of the twins, “take this rose quartz, go on the journeys of your lives, and then come back to me. You will know when the time is right. It could take you one day, one year, or an entire lifetime. Only you will know, but you each have to get there on your own. And when the time is right we will turn this quartz back into the sapphire and ruby, and then you will see some real magic happen!”

Naturally, the children were captivated and accepted the small pieces of rose quartz with glee. A magical adventure! How marvelous. Their entire lives would be a quest to find out the meaning of the stones, and what would happen when they were meant to come back together, with the stones and the canyon nymph, and all of the wonderful things that would happen in between.

The canyon nymph watched from afar as dusk settled in and the children were met by their grandmother, and taken home to a warm meal and a warm slumber. Each, alone in their beds, glided into a beautiful sleep with visions of blue sapphires and red rubies melding together to form a gorgeous purple amethyst forest filled with lavender crystals, flowers and trees. They awoke the next morning, reached for the pink stones still under their pillows, excited to ask the other if they’d had the same dream….

Part Two

You didn’t think that was the end, did you? That life would go on and the twins would remain young forever?

Yes, in the beginning, it was magical. The twins spent many years, as children, playing and dancing and creating beauty with those little stones.

They took them everywhere, they were a part of them, and they felt the magic from the tiny pieces that once came from the earth, and were bestowed to them from the hands of the canyon nymph. The sister wore hers around her neck and the brother kept his in his pocket, but neither ever told anyone about the sapphire and the ruby, or the nymph, or the dream about the purple forest.

The stones were there when they planted the fields, built forts, dug holes, listened to the birds and watched the stars come up at night. Sometimes the stones would get lost: in the soil, under the bed, or in an old sock. But they always came back. The stones to the children and the children to the stones.

They always came back.

They kept the stones close while they did the things they loved, and especially when life got a little hard or confusing, as it occasionally can for children. The stones provided a sense of comfort and beauty, a memory to track back to and a mystery to keep the days and nights interesting. Life for the twins felt full and happy.

But the twins got older, and as you may know, things get more complicated for humans as they grow older. Life feels easy for the fairies and nymphs and elders and spirits – like it is for children – but it is not so easy for grown-ups. For some reason or another, they forget. They forget where they come from, and they forget about the magic. And sometimes they have to spend an entire lifetime, or at least many years, tracking back to the very thing that was once there – so out in the open, and free – in the beginning.

Which is what started happening to the twins. As they got older, it seemed the world was telling them that it was not ok to just enjoy life. To do something simply for the beauty of it. Not for money, or for credit or for anyone to even notice, just for themselves and the way their hearts felt full when doing it, even when the other one wasn’t around.

The girl dreamt of adventure, but her first love was the farm where she grew up. She stayed close to home and took to the land and the bees. She spent endless hours tending to the hives and working with the queen and her colony. She painstakingly collected the honey and put it in little jars as gifts to her grandmother, her brother and her small circle of friends. The grandmother watched with pride.

But outsiders would say things, like, “Why are you doing that, such a waste of time for no money.” You are getting older now and need to start thinking about reality”.

The brother heard similar stories. Not from his grandmother, but from Life in general. He was a dreamer, a traveler, and would take to many adventures that cost him much time and heartache, but which ultimately helped him grow. People did not understand him, but his life was not necessarily his choice, at least not in the early years, where as he grew, his connection to the canyon – the place where his soul was birthed – sometimes was harder for him to see.

The fairies, from their realm, watched all of this unfold. They had seen it so many times like this, but they had hoped these twins would be different. Human life is so hard, they thought.

And they watched with sadness as the sister went her way and the brother went his way. Two sides of the same heart, the same canyon, the same flower and the same crystal. As children they always felt connected though they existed in two bodies, but now, as adults, the sadness came because they couldn’t feel the connection within their own hearts. They had forgotten.

Many, many years went by and the sister and brother lived their lives as best as they could. The brother still on his adventures, far away, and the sister close to home, making a life and creating her world around her. They both were finding their way, trying to track back to a place of simplicity in their lives, in themselves, though, in their adult lives, this was hard to express or convey this to others, let alone, sometimes, to themselves.

The sister stayed on the farm with their grandmother, with all the colors and the Life there, and the brother travelled – far away. To India, Tibet – to the places where the colors made his own heart feel at home – marigolds, bright silks, prayers and silence that filled him with love and pain.

In the brother’s absence their grandmother died. Many years had passed, after all.

Don’t be sad. She lived a very full and happy life. Her only sadness was feeling the heavy hearts of her grandchildren, the separation they felt. Modern life is hard, she thought, that’s why she kept things simple for all of her days. People thought she was isolated, but to her, her life felt full. She was often misunderstood, but was truly happy in her own heart.

The sister nursed her until her last breath and it was beautiful. And when it was time to begin again and clean out her grandmother’s belongings, the sister found a beautiful box hidden in the bottom of her grandmother’s drawer.

She opened the box to find an endearing little collage of old artifacts from her childhood years. Photos of the twins on the farm, little notes she had written to her grandmother, a few pressed flowers, some (very) old honeycomb….and…the little pink stone.

Would you believe she had completely forgotten about it?

This brought back a flood of emotions. The death of her grandmother was hard enough, but now she realized how far she had gone from the sweet innocence of her childhood. It was a bittersweet time, because while she was so sad for the passing of her grandmother, it was because of her passing that ultimately brought her back to the stone. After all, she never would have been sorting through her grandmother’s possessions otherwise.

She made the quick decision to go find her brother and see what would happen when she brought the stone to him, hoping, by some miracle, he’d held onto his. Though she knew it was far-fetched, she hoped he still carried his in his pocket like when they were children. She thought of the canyon nymph, and her excitement grew as she imagined how her life would improve when she was reunited with her brother and the stones were brought back together, as the nymph had instructed them to do.

She packed up her entire life. Her entire life. And began the journey, back to her brother, to make hear heart whole, and to give her life meaning.

It took her a very long time find him, and she had many doubts along the way. Much pain, joy too, and definitely adventures like no other. She kept looking, kept hunting.

And then one day, as if by accident, there he was in the middle of the road in a far away land, where she didn’t even know the language. She recognized him immediately and they embraced like two children in the middle of a field of wildflowers.

“How did you know where to find me!” the brother exclaimed.

“How did you know I was looking for you?” the sister answered.

“Of course I knew you were looking for me! I’ve been praying every night for you to come and find me and deliver to me what I’ve asked for,” he responded.

The sister was overcome with joy. So much so that she shrieked and danced and cried and felt her body shiver with wonder and delight. It was true, she thought, that day in the canyon, she hadn’t imagined it, something really magical really did happen there. She just knew it, and now it was all happening…or so she thought.

The brother and the sister talked and talked and talked. They had their own language, as many twins do. There was much to catch up on since it had been many years since their last visit. It was a non-stop conversation. Did they speak for six days, six weeks, six years? The words of joy and pain were nonstop. They spoke in tongues and entered a different realm together. She spoke about her life on the farm and he spoke about his travels around the world. It was fascinating to hear how different their paths had been, and yet they were so similar. So open, so free, so wild each in their own ways. It was a magical reunion, the two parts of the same whole.

There was enormous love between them and an indescribable sense of relief that they had found the other at the perfect time, each sending some message out to the other to finally be brought back together. It was like their bodies, or their hearts, were some honing device back to each other. They were twins, after all.

They had talked themselves silly, and now it was the moment of truth – the true reason they had been brought back together.

She let her brother speak first, conjuring up all the thoughts in her head of them bringing the stones together, coming Home, and the magic that the canyon nymph had promised. She expected nothing short of a miracle…

She could barely contain herself as he began to speak:

“Did you come with the money?”

The sister was shocked. And confused. And dumbfounded.

“I come with no money,” she responded.

“Then how can I continue my travels?” he said.

He asked a second question: “Did you come with beautiful women for me to love and admire?”

“I travelled alone, with no female friends or companions. You were the only one I was looking for,” she responded.

“Then who am I to love and receive affection from?” was the brother’s response.

A third question left his lips: “Did you come with medicine or herbs to take my pain away?

“I have come with no such things,” she told him.

“Then how can I soothe this lonely heart?”

The sister spoke: “I came only with myself and this stone and a desire to find you and your stone, and to become whole again. For both of us to track back to where we began. To go Home.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. How can I continue my journey with no money to purchase what I desire, no women to give me what I desire, and no medicine to fill the space between what I desire and cannot have?”

The sister was shocked. So much so that she could barely speak.

“Have you forgotten about the stone, the canyon, the sapphire and the ruby?”

“I may faintly remember what you speak of, but I’m not sure. I am so entrenched in mastering this world, I cannot think of fairies and nymphs and canyons and crystals. If you don’t have what I am looking for, why have you come?”

“Because what I’m looking for is to become whole again, to find the other part of my heart. I came to find you.”

“I don’t understand. Your heart is whole, intact, exactly as it is. It breathes life into everything you do. Why on earth would you think you had to travel for so long, across the entire earth, to make your heart whole when it beats inside your chest and has done so since the moment you entered this world – with or without me?”

Her brother may have become preoccupied with earthly delights, and shunned the magic of the canyon, she thought, but his words rang true. Very true. She felt foolish. How foolish!

There she had been, searching, hunting, looking, seeking, wanting, longing, for the very thing that was with her every moment of her life. Inside her own body – beating and giving Life to everything she ever had, or ever would do!

Her brother had left, her grandmother had passed, she’d even forgotten herself, but her heart had never left her, even when she had left it, or doubted or stop believing in its wholeness, needing to travel around the entire world in search for what was always there.

This was a very painful thing to realize, almost too much for the sister to accept. It was a bittersweet pain, because while she was happy to understand that the very thing she wanted was already there, she now realized she was addicted to the hunt and to a belief that what she wanted was just out of her reach.

Humans are funny like that. Just ask the fairies.

They keep pushing. Never satisfied. Creating problems – need, lack, worry, when in fact there is none. They are whole from the very beginning…they just forget.

So, in perfect human form, the sister kept pushing because she was not yet ready to receive the gift of her own heart, the most basic human right – to feel wholeness – still felt like too much for her to receive.

“But what about the stones?” she said to him. “We are supposed to do something with the stones, are we not? I know I didn’t imagine the nymph, and the sapphire and ruby underfoot, which the nymph turned into this rose quartz, the very stone I hold in my hand. Surely we are meant to do something with this, are we not? Do you not still have yours?”

The brother would not answer her question directly.

“Perhaps the magic in the stones is real. I cannot say for sure. If it is, it probably would look different to each of us.”

The sister was not really listening, “But don’t you want to know? I’ve travelled this far for this long with this stone in hand, won’t you take that one last step with me and we can know for sure what all of this is about?”

The brother and the sister were so similar, but still very different. For the brother, just seeing her was enough magic for him, to know that while she didn’t bring money or women or medicine, she showed up for him, at the perfect time. He had called for her, and she came. That was enough proof for him in magic, his work was now overcoming the physical world.

And so he’d had enough of his sister. He loved her, but she talked too much, and pressured him too much, and would not leave well enough alone.

And he needed to be left alone, for reasons that the sister could not understand, but which she ultimately chose to respect, even though she really, really didn’t want to.

And why didn’t she want to? Because while she was never truly fearful of not finding her brother, a needle in a haystack, she was petrified of having to go back Home by herself. To do the work, alone, inside, without looking anywhere else but in her own chest, her own heart.

They said their goodbyes and the brother handed her a small pouch of seeds:

“You are a farmer, it’s in your blood. Go to the land where we grew up, and plant these seeds, so you will be happy.”

“I will only plant them the day you come home and we can live together as a family on our grandmother’s farm. Otherwise I don’t want them,” she told him.

He laughed – they were so similar. “You are very stubborn,” was his only response, and their visit came to an abrupt ending, which was just the beginning of the sister’s very long journey home.

Part Three

During her travels back to the farm, the sister felt exhausted, disappointed and lost. She’d traveled for many, many weeks to get back to the land her grandmother had left her and so many times, during her journey, she had considered turning around and finding her brother again, her twin, and setting up a life near him, as they had been as children. But she knew that this would be yet another distraction, a diversion, and that he would not have her anyhow. He wanted no earthly attachments, the least of which a needy sister…

The minute she stepped foot back on her land, she felt a shift, a small opening. The first night back was bittersweet. She knew, somehow, it was the beginning of a beautiful new life, a life back into her own wholeness, but she also felt loneliness like never before. For the first time in her life, she had to rely – fully – on herself and not on anyone or any dream to define her or make her feel whole. She needed to know the wholeness and beauty in her own heart, and find ways to share that with others.

She drifted to sleep and had a curious and magical visit in the middle of the night.

The canyon nymph found her in her dreams. It was beautiful.

“Hello my child,” the beautiful nymph said. They were in the middle of a gorgeous garden, full of flowers and trees.

The sister was overcome with emotion, she was crying in the dream, in her sleep.

“Why the tears, Love?”

“Because I knew that you were real, but I haven’t seen you in so many years, in decades in fact.”

“In the realms where I come from, we do not measure in years, as you humans do. We come when the time is right, when we are needed, or when you ask. And so it is this evening.”

“I must admit, I feel equal parts bliss and bitterness with you.”

The canyon nymph was not offended. She understood how hard it was to be in a human body, to forget.

“Please explain,” she said to the sister.

“You made a believer out of me. So many years ago, I witnessed a flowering plant with two different colored flowers turn into precious gems. Then I watched those gems turn into rose quartz in the palm of your hands. Then I listened with awe as you told me to go grow up, live my life and find my path and that you would turn the quartz back into the sapphire and the ruby, and I’d get to see the real magic.”

“Yes, that’s what I told you. And it is all true.”

The sister got angry: “How can you say that! I spent years travelling in search of my brother, to find him, and the other half of the stone, so that the real magic could begin, as you told me to do.”

“That is exactly true. I told you to grow up and find your own way. And did you?”

The sister had a temper: “How dare you! How can you even ask that! I travelled across the entire world. Gave up everything in search of the very thing you told me to do. And it got me nothing. I’m right back where I started from.”

“I never asked you to search across the entire world. I never told you to give everything up. And I never told you that what you sought your brother held. I simply said that once you’d found your path, a real transformation would occur. Humans are so literal, but in the fairy world we speak more in metaphors, which are never misunderstood there. When I spoke of the crystals coming together – becoming whole – I meant in your own heart, not between you and your brother, or you and anyone or anything else for that matter. I am sorry that you did not understand the meaning of my words, and yet, everything that has happened is still perfect.”

The sister, still in her dream, thought about this. And it was true. The canyon nymph had never told her that she and her brother needed to do the work at the same time or even in the same way. She simply instructed them to do the work, period. She had misunderstood. So foolish. But at least now she knew, and she could dig deep the path of her own heart, finding her own way.

“I must go soon as the sun will soon rise, but before I leave you, do you have any more questions for me?”

In her lifelong search for answers, the sister found herself in the rare position of not having any more questions. Not a single one.

“Good,” said the canyon nymph, “Then I have just one message for you.”

“What’s that?” asked the sister.

“Your grandmother has asked you to go plant your field.”

The sister awoke in a puddle of tears, but they were happy tears. Bittersweet. She’d found her brother, and was set free by him and she’d been visited by the nymph, and set free by her, and she’d received a beautiful message from her grandmother.

Now it was time to get to work.

She spent the next few years bringing the farm into its full glory.

It was magical. And early in the morning, or late at night, she swore she could hear – or even see! – little fairies running across the land, playing in the trees, making mischief and keeping her company. Perhaps that was her childlike heart speaking to her.

If course she’d never tell anyone about the magic of the fairies, but it’s true that her crops were the largest and most delicious, and her flowers the most beautiful, of all the neighboring farms.

Some time went by, and eventually she did hear from her brother. Every so often a letter or postcard or small gift would arrive on the farm. She loved those moments, but knew they were so few and far in between, that she could not count on them, only be happy when they arrived. Though it was hard at first, she learned to accept them without holding on too tight. This was a first for her, and it felt good. In his absence, he helped her grow.

He’d kept travelling, living life in his way, in a way that she didn’t understand, but which taught her about unconditional love and acceptance. She tried to push away thoughts of resentment that he couldn’t be the way she wanted. In his inability to connect with her the way she expected, he’d sent her back home, which is when her real journey began. He’d given her a real gift, though at the time she didn’t know it.

Since she had no address for him, she would just think of him and send him love. Which was probably better, because it allowed her to focus on her own tasks and her own life. Sometimes when she’d picture him, she’d see a little humming bird whiz by, and she wondered if that meant he was thinking of her, too, or if it was just the fairies playing tricks on her again. Either way, it was a beautiful moment.

She never opened the small pouch he’d offered her the last time she saw him – the seeds he asked her to plant. She still held out a glimmer of hope that he would return to their childhood home and they would plant a small patch of land she’d kept vacant – together.

But that is not the way it went – he continued to stay away. And she was probably better off for it, because it caused her to just keep digging in her own soil and in her own heart. As the canyon nymph had said in her dream, the reunion with her twin was a metaphor.

Slowly, over time, she began to embody the union within her own heart – a coming together of the two sides of her own soul – and it felt like ecstasy, like a small, private miracle. In his unwillingness to walk the path with her, as she had wanted, he taught her to look inside of herself. He’d given her an immense gift indeed. The fairies, from afar, were happy.

Time passed. How much? It’s hard to tell, but enough for the longing to ease and a sense of self satisfaction to enter into the heart of the sister. It was not always perfect, but she knew that she was on the right path when most days she felt wholeness in her own heart. The days of looking outside of herself became few and far between.

In short, she came to know herself, her own heart, and she was happy.

And with each year that she became more whole, her happiness grew, and farm thrived more and more beauty was created. So much that people started taking notice of her land, even when she wasn’t asking to be seen. Visitors would come, out of the blue, just to sit with her flowers or mingle with the crops. Many spring and summer parties were held out on the land with food, music and dancing.

Of course, the fairies loved this. They always loved a good party! But mostly, they were just happy that the sister was happy, and had found (or created) a sweet life for herself, in spite of so many moments of pain, doubt or looking in the wrong direction. They knew it was hard to be human, but they were proud of her for pushing forward, even when she didn’t want to.

It was spring and the sister was getting older. She’d had many celebrations on her land but none was so beautiful as the garden festival that she held one year in the middle of her rose garden. It was April 1st, April Fool’s Day, a perfect day to celebrate her own foolishness and laugh at all of her mistakes, and all of the things she’d done well, too.

She thought of the wholeness in her own heart, and fondly remembered the sapphire and ruby of her childhood, and was inspired to create a magical oasis of red and blue flowers. She selected only the perfect roses, ranunculus, poppies, delphinium and cornflowers. It was spring, after all, and there was abundance and beauty all around.

The festival was magical, and she knew in her heart that she’d come Home to herself. Life was simple and beautiful and shared with people who understood and appreciated her quiet, simple offerings.

At the party, one guest stood out more than any other – an old woman wearing a beautiful flowing dress and fresh flowers in her silver hair. She reminded the sister so much of her own grandmother that she almost couldn’t believe the resemblance.

After the party, the woman approached the sister.

“In all my years, I cannot remember having as much fun and experiencing as much beauty as I have today on your land. So simple, so perfect!”

“I’m very pleased you’ve enjoyed yourself,” the sister humbly answered. And she meant it.

“But may I ask you a question?” the woman continued.

“Of course” said the sister.

I notice that you have one small area near your house that is not yet planted. A magical garden could grow there. Why have you not filled that space with beauty, as you have done everywhere elsewhere on your farm?”

The sister thought for a while. The truth is that was the space she’d left vacant in the hope that her brother would come home and that they would build a beautiful new garden together, like they had as young children with their grandmother. She realized that this vacant spot signified a tiny sliver in her heart that would not fill itself with itself. She was still waiting, still not fully giving herself to her own life.

“I have decided today, this moment actually, that it’s time to finally fill that space with beauty!” the sister exclaimed. She was delighted with herself, quietly proud to reach this last hurdle back Home, back to herself, fully. She laughed to herself, why had it been so hard to embody herself completely? So foolish, indeed.

“Then these seeds should come in handy. I’ve saved them from my very own garden, and brought a few for you today” the woman told her, and she handed her a small pouch.

At that moment, for some reason, the sister felt something bloom in her chest. An explosion of love. Like a flower that had been holding back its last petals all these years finally opened to its full beauty.

“I’d love to plant your seeds, thank you for bringing them.” And her heart fluttered along with her entire body as the words left her lips. The woman smiled and then walked away…”I guess I better let you get to, it then,” she smiled.

That night the sister felt as whole and she ever had in her entire life. She’d created the perfect, authentic life for herself, one of simplicity and beauty. She understood that true happiness came from feeling the wholeness of one’s own heart, and that it could never be given to her, not even from her own twin.

The next day she took the seed pouch that was given to her by the old woman, and decided, finally, to take the pouch that her brother had given to her when they parted ways, and use the seeds to plant her field, as he had asked her to do so long ago.

She made a perfect breakfast, a hot cup of tea and took herself out to the small garden near her house that had remained empty for all of these years. She thought of how far she had come and was filled with gratitude for her willingness to keep pushing forward in her life, even when things didn’t make sense, even when the pain or doubt felt too great.

She sat right in the middle of the soil and felt the warm earth cradle her body. She thought of the canyon nymph and the fairies and felt like a little girl again as she simultaneously emptied the contents of both pouches in her hands, delighted and awestruck to realize her palms were filled not with seeds, but with the brightest, most radiant, gorgeous and sparkly handful of sapphires and rubies you could ever image.

She held the stones in her hands and looked up to the sky – in awe – and felt her heart explode and take flight, as never before, and land in the lavender forest she’d only dreamt of as a child, though her human body was very much, and very happily, planted at back at Home.

by Jill Lurie

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Daily Life is the Medicine

I am amazed at the highs and lows that occur in one week, one day, one hour for me. I know I’m not the only one. Lately I hear others talking about ‘something going on’ that is causing a lot of emotional upheaval. Is it the stars, the moon, the shift into 2012, Mercury in retrograde? Maybe it’s none of these things and is just a personal journey that many of us are on.

I notice, as I sit in a big fire right now, which is thankfully being soothed by the (rare) rain currently washing down Los Angeles, that I often tend to sit inside the burn, the pain, ‘waiting’ to be shown. Even if God himself came down from the heavens (not how I experience it, but still…) I would be too stuck in my own discomfort to even notice.

As I sat in meditation today (it could have just as easily come doing dishes or driving in the car), I heard a voice say that sitting and waiting is not the way to find peace. Actually just living my life, step by painful (or beautiful, depending on the moment) step is how I am going to heal, integrate, understand and ultimately bloom.

Life is a cycle, after all, just ask a gardener or farmer. That is the beauty and struggle of it. We are not separate from nature, we are nature itself, which means that we are along for the ride.

And…life lessons don’t occur in a vacuum. The seed and the soil and the sun and the rain are ALL connected. Sometimes, I still forget this. I tend to lock myself up in my house, putting all else on hold until I ‘figure something out.’ This is not the way.

Because when I pull myself out of the rut, even when I don’t want to (I don’t want to!), little pieces come in. Even if they are the size of a grain of sand, they still come in. They want to come in, but I have to show some action towards receiving them. Taking a walk. Calling a friend. Going to buy milk. For me, the lessons and understanding often come in when I’m doing something else. So if I’m sitting doing nothing, guess what…nothing happens…and I feel even worse.

Last night's hike

The voice that came in today was very clear: “your medicine is in your writing.” Up until the recent past I still haven’t fully believed in my writing. That it was ‘good,’ that it had a purpose.

I now understand something huge: that my writing is what heals, opens, creates and adds beauty, joy, wonder and understanding to my own life. And that’s the point. Period. If someone else gleans something from it, that’s a bonus. (A friend told me that she took a poem of mine with her when she climbed Mount Whitney and read it to herself there, at the top – I still find this hard to accept, that my words could have this impact).

But I can’t let the other person’s experience (‘good’ or ‘bad’) be the reason, because then it loses its authenticity, its fire, because I’m worrying about how my writing is impacting you, instead of letting it come from the Source. It’s medicine for me, first and foremost. I know what it is, and I have to give it to myself.

Yes, beyond anything else (besides gardening), my writing is my cure. Poems come while I’m taking out the trash. Short stories form on the way to school drop off. Blog ideas arrive when I’m in the middle of yoga (don’t tell the teacher – I know you are supposed to be free of thinking during the practice – I’m such a rebel). The point is that they come when I am living my daily life, and each and every word I write heals. Thank you.

We each have our own ‘medicine.’ Dance, painting, cooking, sports, knitting, etc. We just have to give it to ourselves. It is not anyone else’s responsibility to give it to us. They are not there to administer the drugs for us, to be the drug. They can help remind us, but ultimately we must do it for ourselves (darn).

Yes, it’s raining here in Los Angeles, my guys are having some much overdue ‘guy time’ and instead of sitting alone in pain or struggle about so many things, I choose to move forward. To do some laundry because we are out of socks, to clean the dishes because the ants like the drop of honey from last night’s spoon. You get the idea…

And then I’m getting back to “work”: continuing to dive into the draft of my novel – that hundred page ‘thing’ that sleeps next to me each and every night on my bedside table, and yet I ignore it. “Not tonight dear.”

Today is the day.

I’m a daytime lover anyway.

Mr. Belvedere does not live here

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Walk of the Warrior

When you hear the word *Warrior* what comes to mind?

A Samoan king?
A Native American chief?
An ancient Roman soldier?
A sports team?

Wikipedia defines a warrior as ‘a person skilled in combat or warfare especially within the context of a tribal or clan-based society that recognizes a separate warrior class.’

All of these ‘definitions’ are, of course, true, but there are other kinds of warriors out there, too. They are just as profound in their own subtle and nuanced ways. Many of us are fighting our battles quietly (or not), in the most ordinary day-to-day life situations. Though what we feel and experience on the inside is nothing short of extraordinary.

On the ‘outside’ we look normal. We go to work, take care of our kids, go to the market, help a sick or lost friend. But internally we are breaking down walls, for ourselves, for others. We are bringing in more light, more LOVE, peace, healing. We do this without tribal tattoos, war paint or a sports jersey. But our work is no less profound, challenging, important, painful and timely.

A warrior goes beyond where most people will go. We sense where we are needed and go to the source of that. Inside ourselves, or outside (both are one and the same, by the way). We are fearless in our determination and dedication to what we do. Rather, if fear comes up, we say hello, and move forward anyway. When following our intuition, when knowing that we are in the right place at the right time, fear is a function of the ego, but not a true source from our hearts.

We walk slowly. So slow you may not notice what we are doing. But the work can be swift, quick and immediate. Often times we don’t even know exactly what we are doing – we just do it, as it is instructed to us. Who instructs us? Well, we each have our own Source.

This type of warrior, of course, is non violent. We can do all this ‘work’ without even touching. No contact. Our intention is enough. The love from our hearts, the light, from us to another, or us to ourselves is powerful beyond any physical blow. You will feel it so much more.

We know when to push forward, and when to retreat. And if we make a ‘mistake’ we quickly adjust because healing is our only cause, our only purpose for being here. Otherwise we’d go away today, this minute in fact.

We trust when people, situations, opportunities and our own need for evolution are put in our own path. We do our best to deliver just the right amount to any situation and then sit back, we wait. The human tendency is to keep pushing forward, to not let go. But the warrior takes over and gently holds us back. Sometimes the greatest use of power is doing nothing.

Because those who come before us do so for a reason, even if (especially if) the reason is not even known (logically) by them, or even us. We trust the synchronicities and Life path that has brought us together.

Today I spontaneously visited a new friend at her store on Pico Bl. here in Los Angeles. I wanted to share my last writings, “Awakening” and “Moonstone Angel” about a dance between two souls, a dance with Spirit. She beamed from across the way: “How did you know I wanted to call you this week but could not find your phone number!”

We chatted a bit and but I didn’t get to read the blog entries to her. No matter. She had to get back to work but out of hundreds of gorgeous items in her shop (Bleu Moon, by the way), I was completely drawn to a little statue of a woman in a green dress with her hand to her ear. That’s me, I thought, always listening, waiting to be shown, to be guided.

Saras (the owner) said: “This is so perfect. This is you! This is Shakti, the female partner to Shiva. They exist together, they do a dance.” (I thought it was just a worn, pretty statue of a lady, having no idea it was a deity).

Hmmmm. Here she is (above) in my living room.

After the purchase I quickly made my way to my car to pick up my son, plugged in my ipod and hit shuffle. Out of the 1000 or so songs on there, guess which one came up? Of course, the one called….”The Dance.”

The walk of a warrior is very subtle. Just like a dance. You step out, do a few steps, and then come back in. You wait. I don’t like waiting (I hate waiting!), but I do it anyway.

The dance can be immensely profound, healing and intense, and then, in one second the other half can disappear. A death can occur. Last week I was informed of three deaths: a friend’s husband died, a friend’s mom died and a friend’s father died. Life is precious, temporal, a dance until the last breath.

Other times the person still walks this earth, but simply needs to ‘go away.’ This has happened to me many times, and still, it happens again. The warrior learns to take this as yet another chance to grow, to cultivate that which fuels us. To honor another. To give them space to walk whatever path they need, in their own time. A relationship, or dance, is between two souls, but you only ever hold one half of it (I learned this from reading Ruiz’s “Mastery of Love” years ago).

My yoga teacher Jason Frahm, taught a workshop on the dragon in your heart. He explained that the TRUE twin flame is actually the two sides of your own heart. Your own heart. I cried for a long time about this. So beautiful, so poetic. To know that we are only ever completely whole within ourselves, though we sometimes forget.

Yes, the path of the warrior is filled with magic, delight, gifts, heartache and healing. Every moment is a chance to embrace Life, if you walk slowly, deliberately, and with an open (and full) heart.

Author’s footnote: ten minutes after publishing this post, I was in the car taking my son to karate and the car’s plate in front of me read: “Keep Fightng”.

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Moonstone Angel

For those who believe in angels on earth, eternal love, faith, patience, knowing without the need to understand and who have witnessed and experienced a gorgeous place inside oneself…or another…

There is this space between us, in us. This beauty, this light. A canyon of bedrock below, air inside and eagles that swoop in from above. Lavender and Lupine mingle on opposite cliffs and dance in the space in between, in us. You come close and tell me all that I am, then you retreat so that I may see it. I love and loathe this part. But this is our dance, or at least one of them. Because when I think you’ve pulled away, and my heart cracks open, spilling old wounds that make me sick with pain, I realize that it’s in your retreat, your disappearance, your invisible language, that heals. It’s where I see you even more, because I see myself more clearly. Even if, at first, I’m blinded by pain and grief.

I always wondered why you’d say I am you and you are me, and that we are in each other. It’s because you knew more than I, this dance we’d be doing, and that there is no end to it. Even in the quiet, the darkness, there is fierce passion and love of LIFE that can never be silenced. On the edge of the ocean or High on the Land, you flow in and out of me: the salt water that cures my veins, the mountain air that fills my lungs with whispers of the Divine.

We speak those stories. You and I. In our own language. Our oral tradition. Talking in tongues. To ourselves, to each other, to the brave or curious few who want to lend an ear, listen and roll a word or two around in their soul. This is involuntary. Not of our knowing, not even of our doing. We go where we are needed. Scattering seeds, watching them grow. Sometimes I am the seed and the soil and you are the rough hand that lovingly places me underground. I fight you on this. I scream and cry and still you walk away. I can no longer find you. You do what is needed. Your absence helps me grow, us grow. And you have so much more faith than I do, and then in an instant, I find a river of it inside myself.

Alone, I water this land with moonstone tears that are runoff from these green and orange eyes that see you when you are not in front of me. They know everything as verdant and on fire, alive. Even the dark parts that are simply crying out for a chance to know love, acceptance, to be witnessed without judgment. Forgiveness. To be offered enough faith and patience to see what happens when they meet the light. Our light.

You blind me sometimes, with all that you are: your glow, your brilliance. And it’s designed to be like this. Because when you burn my eyes and I turn from you, I look right back inside of myself. Inside this pain there is perfection. Within I find roses and fruits I did not know were there, and I make a meal plucked from my dripping heart and spread a blanket on the land that drew us close. Where you simultaneously are, and are not. Things that make no sense, but which fill me with a feast of beauty, joy, love, bittersweet, wonder and comfort.

Then we trade places and you become the seed and the soil, and I the one who wants to taste you. You grow into the tiny emerging vine, and the little white flower and the first raspberry on a clear spring morning. You are my warm mouth, taking you in, receiving all this love. You put me in me – this is how I know you. This is my experience. Can you understand?

Please don’t ask me to explain. No sequence of symbols or letters or sentences can paint the picture of us, or this kind of love. So very old, so very young in understanding. So I throw away the words. Give them all back. I don’t want them. They are not you, not me, not us. I don’t want the abstraction, don’t need it. You live in me. Only the space in between, inside, in the immense canyon, in the tiny wild fruit growing in the crack on the stone floor can know this dance, this light, this love, they all laugh at my absurd attempt to express it. My words minimize that which we know to be true, and still it is my nature to try to convey, to understand.

There is no end to us, to me, to you or to the opening in between. No definition, no border, no fear. Nor is there a way to define who we are or were or what we know to be true or where all of this is going. If you’ve glimpsed the future, please don’t tell me. The eagles and hawks and owls and snakes and bees are amused at this attempt to define and express what they already know and accept as truth: that love never dies, it is always with us, always shows us who we are, reveals a new path when one is needed, lovingly guides us Home…and led me to you, and back away again…the perfect flight gliding between us.

I dedicate this writing to my friend, the late Marylee Westbrook, an angel.

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Awakening…welcome spring

What can I say? How can I even begin? I am tempted to push the words away before I even give them a chance. And then I remember to have faith in them, in this process, in my ability, in some tiny or large way to give a form to something that feels uncontainable. No end to it. I have entered into a realm or space. Or I have entered into the truest space.

I have seen things, more importantly, I’ve experienced them with every cell of my body. Complete Union. LOVE. Knowing the source, becoming the source, receiving the source from another being. I can no longer deny who I am. I just am me, just as any of us are ourselves. Walking the dog, drinking iced tea, having an almost non-stop conversation and dance with the Divine.

How did I get here? If you’ve been here, you don’t need me to explain. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, I was once extraordinarily skeptical, too, but you can get here if that is your choice.

When a presence comes in – Life, God, Nature, an Angel, a beautiful spirit, a soul – and it is part you and you part it/them, you become Whole. There will always be the time before this experience and after. You are never the same again. You open up to All of Life, and become your truest self. It is so gorgeous, fulfilling, tender, painful, profound and healing that even attempting to express it in words is absurd.

It also brings to light the biggest pieces that you are meant to learn. The shadow, the opportunities. For me, that means faith and letting go. I’ve mentioned before that I don’t like to let go. I will hold on until the bitter end. I will be the last one at the party. It will be 4am (in real life I’m often up at this time writing, don’t know why) and everyone else at the party has gone home, and I’m still there, sitting in the dark, *waiting* to see what’s going to happen next. What’s going to happen? I have no idea. But I am always hunting, always turning over the next stone. I sort of expect the next miracle to come…and it always does in one form or another. Thank you.

With this awakening, I am extraordinarily grateful (and shocked) to realize that there is immense peace in me. I no longer feel the need to keep hunting, or create drama, doubt, distractions or struggle around it. I’ve found what I sensed was always there. It only took 36 years to find it (well worth the wait).

An immense portal opened, and then closed. Was it real? I had a brief, intense, un-fucking-believably gorgeous dance with the divine, and that dance, in that space, in that form, is complete. What a gift! It was one act, one take, and now it has folded back into the Universe. I can sit at the party as long as I want, but that dance ain’t coming back. It has left me (or I have left it). I look back and think, did this really even happen? Yet I’m so filled with love, wholeness, curiosity and peace, I know it was here, is here, will always be here, with me, in me. It has set me alive. I am so grateful.

For me personally (because my edge, my fear is the letting go, the trust) the portal closed because I am meant to now finally see, experience and understand All Things As The Dance. Each moment, each step, every flower, all sentences spoken, each mistake, each annoying thing that happens, is a dance with the Divine. Even when it doesn’t come from our Highest Self, it comes from a human part, and the human part is still connected to Life, to source in some way.

When the dance is ‘over’ for me that means I’m being directed (invited) to have faith and actually, finally, come Home. Be in myself. Dance inside. Live a quiet, peaceful, simple, beautiful, heart-breakingly-gorgeous life, whether anyone notices, cares, finds it interesting…or not. I think it is, and that’s all that matters now.

Of course it’s not all peaches and roses all the time. There are moments when I get Spiritual Tourette’s and say: shit, fuck, crap, no, I don’t want to dig this deep. It hurts. I don’t want to do this. I want to go back! I wish I never stepped on that dance floor so I wouldn’t have to deal with this, with opening this wide. With now knowing what I know and being responsible for myself, fully – for my own well being, for deciding whether or not to inhabit myself and keep moving forward, for expanding and growing in a healthy, mature way instead of taking to distractions or drama.

But the portal has closed. The dance is done. I said yes, and now here I am. I need to trust, have faith in myself and the experience. Keep moving forward.

Before this experience I couldn’t ‘see’ myself or fully value myself. Now I do. Now I understand that I contain a piece of the divine, of life, of source (we ALL do!) and so I must have every breath, step, action be an expression of that. Even when I ‘fail’ I at least know what is possible, and how to track back to it. A path has been created…a path I once couldn’t see.

“Trinity”

Three stones -
You, me
Us.

Three stones -
Yours, mine
And the light in between.

Three stones -
Two directions
One path
Back Home.

I’ve been rolled around in petals and crystals and love and pain and returned Home to myself – in the most loving, kind way. And then it was all over. But not over at all, only just beginning. I now have to give it a new form, first and foremost in myself. Let go of what has happened, just be here NOW. I can go to the same beach every day and see where I sunk my heels even a few days ago, but those footprints are not there. They are there, but not – you know what I mean.

Which leads me to faith. I am now letting go, and am shocked to see that I’m not clenching to the Dance with all my might (a first in my entire life). I enter into this soft, pinky white light that asks me to be brave and trust what I know is true, though I cannot *see* it or even express it in words. I ‘know’ that I have a heart and lungs that keep this human body alive, but I’ve never seen them, I’ve never touched them. But they are right there in my chest, never not with me, bringing life inside, sending it back out, to places and people who need it.

Rumi says: “I am so close, I may look distant. So completely mixed with you, I may look separate. So out in the open, I appear hidden. So silent, because I am constantly talking with you.”

That is god, the angels, life, your twin flame speaking. Your higher self speaking to you. It is so beautiful to embody this experience, and these days I find myself filled with many tears. They aren’t expressing sadness, perhaps just an overflow of emotion. I am no longer looking for the footprints on the beach, I am the entire ocean itself (we all are).

There is a crossing over here…you can’t go back. And that’s the leap of faith. You are walking into the void with a sense of wonder, curiosity and some pain too. Because you’ve been cracked open. And it hurts like hell to open like that. Only a few brave souls will ever say Yes to this experience and ALL that it entails.

A willingness to go all the way, to enter the darkest places and paint them, stroke by painful and beautiful stroke…with with Light.

in love, Jill

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