It’s Sunday…

…for many people, a day dedicated to worship and prayer. For many more, a day dedicated to relaxing and preparing for the workweek ahead. If you arrived here via my Serenity In The City blog, you will have seen the various pictures of churches.  This is not to imply in any way that church worship is superior to any other type of worship.  Those buildings caught my attention, I took the photos, it’s Sunday…there you go!

A day dedicated to worship and prayer…after writing that, I thought: what does that mean? My small still voice prodded: write your own experience. So, here goes…

I was raised in the Russian Orthodox traditions, in a predominantly Catholic country. My first experiences of church, worship, and prayer came through these vehicles.  Services in the Russian Orthodox church are interminable to a little girl…especially in the very traditional churches we attended which had no pews to sit on.  On the plus side, these churches were usually surrounded by lovely gardens with (thank you, God!) benches! No one was expected to stay inside the church, filled with the heavy scent of incense and the magnificent cadences of the choir, for the full three hours of the service.  You’d go in, light some candles, say some prayers, go out and chat with friends and family, go back in, come back out, and like that until the service ended and you went home to a gargantuan meal because you were starving!

At one point I was enrolled in a Catholic school, so I attended Catholic church.  Meh… Not as grand a mass as in the Russian Orthodox church, but MUCH shorter and less incense!  Their priests’ costumes weren’t as ornate or the choir as impressive as in my church.  God seemed to live in their house, too.  I was cool with that.

When we moved to the U.S., I learned that Russian Orthodox and Catholic were not the only religions out there.  I found out from the kids in school that there was something called Protestant. I liked the sound of that.  What were they protesting? As the protesting child in my family (why do I have to do that?  Why doesn’t HE [my brother] have to?), I found that whole concept very intriguing…until I went to a protestant service and it was so…plain! Where were the icons? Where was the pageantry?  For heaven’s sake, where was the BLING?! No incense was good, but you had to do your own singing.  What the heck was the choir there for? Why would God want to live in such a ho-hum place?  With a house like that, I’d rather be in Heaven, too! Of course, I never said anything out loud.  I was taught to be a polite child. Besides, I’d learned that too much protesting brought out my grandmother’ wooden spoon – and it wasn’t to stir the stew!

When I was 15, my uncle died in a car accident half a hemisphere away. My grandmother was inconsolable in her grief: he was the first of her sons to die.  Of course, we had to arrange a service at our church for the nine-day-, twenty-one-day-, forty-day-, three-month-, six-month-, and one-year-commemoration of his death.  In our tradition, a special ceremony is held to light the way for the deceased’s soul and support it on its transition.  We all gathered in the church following a Sunday service, held candles (oops, is that my hair burning…again?) which we placed near the altar when we finished, and everyone had a bite from the sweet wheatberry cake my grandmother made for these occasions, so the soul wouldn’t go hungry.  It was comforting to those of us left behind to feel that we were somehow helping our loved one ascend to Heaven.  When one of my cousins, my contemporary, died tragically a few years later, the family decided to dispense with all the commemorative services in order to spare my grandmother yet more grief.

What the…? I was confused. How was my cousin any less valuable than my uncle? Because she was young and hadn’t walked this Earth as long?  Because we didn’t spend as much time with her or her immediate family? Because her other grandparents didn’t like us? Because we didn’t like her other grandparents? It made no sense to me.  So, I resolved to hold my own commemorative ritual for her.  For six weeks I showed up in church, lit candles for her, stayed for the whole service, remembered the times we’d shared.  At the end of the sixth service, I heard an internal Thank you! Goodbye. I knew she was gone and my work was done. Or, actually, just beginning since that was the first time my small still voice made itself heard so clearly.

When I married the first time, a couple of years later, my husband was Jewish.  Back then, inter-faith marriages were not very common and were, in fact, frowned upon.  It was regarded as a dilution of the blood-line…whatever.  We found a nice rabbi who performed the ceremony one Sunday afternoon so very many years ago.  During the time of this marriage, I was very diligent about observing my husband’s beliefs and customs since we lived close to his family and mine was hundreds of miles away.  I dragged him to temple for the high holy days.  I hosted Passover dinners to help my mother-in-law with that observance.  We had some kind of evergreen decorations and a Menorah at the appropriate time of year.  I liked the orthodox services more than the reform ones that my husband and his family favored. I took the classes for conversion even though I had no intention to convert.  Convert from what? I wasn’t learning anything about Judaism that was so different from what I already knew to be True…

In time we divorced. Amicably went our separate ways. I moved to that den of iniquity, a.k.a. New York City, and he went…somewhere.

I liked living in New York City.  I worked. I went out with friends. I had a half-share in a ski house in Vermont and learned to ski. I took Club Med vacations. I learned to play bridge. I had relationships…somehow, I never got the knack of dating. In due course, I gave birth to my daughter and did all the young mom things.  By the time she was two years old, I was burned out, worn down to a mere stump of my former self.  I needed help.

One of my friends suggested I try meditation.  She showed up to babysit and sent me off to the ashram down the street a bit.  And thus began my formal experience of meditation and Self understanding.  No, my life didn’t magically get all better…this is not “I Dream Of Jeannie”! I did begin appreciating the effect  that abiding in silence had on me, my life, my relationships, my understanding and view of the world. And there was enough pageantry and bling in the Hindu practices at the ashram to please my Russian Orthodox roots!

It’s another Sunday in my life.   I no longer believe that worship and prayer are a limited once weekly practice.  For me, remembering that I am a perfect expression of the Divine is a constant practice. These are some of my reminders:

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2012
09/16
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Into The Woods?

I’ve been reading the reports and transcripts about the Republican convention, and I’ve been watching some of the coverage.  Although I don’t have the intestinal fortitude to listen to, or read, the interpretations put out by the Murdoch empire, I do make the effort to check in with outlets whose views don’t match mine.  Sweet husband says I’ve got a masochistic streak.  I say this is my attempt to form an informed opinion.

One of the most interesting findings of this exercise, for me, is just how hard it is to refrain from throwing something at the TV when I hear things I object to and to just listen, giving these people the courtesy of hearing them out without the voices in my head clamoring “you’re full of shit!” The reality is that we’re all full of shit. Literally.

Anyway, when I was sitting in Central Park the other day, waiting for the Shakespeare In The Park tickets, our neighbor on the next blanket over gave me her copy of the New York Times to help while away the hours. Since I usually read the New York Times on line and on the fly, it was really nice to indulge in reading the print edition at my leisure.  The front page story was Ann Romney’s attempt to humanize her husband for the American public.

“You can trust Mitt.” Mrs. Romney is quoted as saying. “You may not agree with Mitt’s positions on issues or his politics,” she continued. “But let me say this to every American who is thinking about who should be our next president:  No one will work harder.  No one will care more.”

I’m sure the crowd at the convention in Tampa went wild over these remarks.  These are the words of a loving spouse.  Of a woman who has faced many challenges in her life with a steadfast, loving husband at her side.  Based on her recommendations, I might consider marriage to Mitt myself.  He really sounds like a great guy!  The thing is, I’m not interviewing a potential husband.  I’m interviewing a candidate for the top job in this country.

While Mrs. Romney has placed her trust in Mr. Romney to be there through the rough times as well as the good, my concerns are not the same as Mrs. Romney’s.  Can I trust Mitt to protect my rights to privacy in my reproductive choices?  My daughter’s rights to those choices? So far, his record on these issues doesn’t speak positively to me.  If I can’t trust him on these choices, what can I trust him on? Should I trust him on his promises to get America working? Not according to his record.  If I were in India or China, sure, I’d trust Mitt on that point.  But in this country? Not so much. Money is what keeps the economy growing.  If our money is going to pay our bills with nothing left over for “extras,” our economy stagnates.  If we don’t have jobs, we can’t afford the “extras.” With Mitt, it’s about shareholder value.  I can barely afford my share of the bills…hard to become a shareholder who’s valued that way.

And if I don’t agree with Mitt’s decisions or his politics, what the hell do I care how hard or caringly he works?  He’s not going to be putting any effort into listening to my views or working toward the ends that are important to me.

Barack Obama also appears to be an outstanding husband and father and a very hard worker.  In my opinion, being the father of daughters makes me trust him more when it comes to protecting my daughter’s rights. His actions on those issues speak louder than Mitt’s words.  While I’ve been severely disappointed with his performance as President – I threatened to start a campaign to send Mrs. Obama condolence letters on the loss of her husband’s balls because that’s the only reason I could see for his repeatedly caving in to the demands of the Republican controlled House on issues such as universal health care and taking so damn long to support marriage equality – I can’t deny that he’s a deliberate, thoughtful, hard-working President.  His decisions and politics, while far from my own perfect view, are much more closely aligned with my vision of equality and fairness in this country.

So, with the big Republican shindig behind us, we have the Democrats’ carnie to look forward to next week.  I’m taking appropriate measures to anesthetize my gag reflex for those festivities.

I’m not telling you who to vote for.  The last time I looked, we are still free to choose in this country and I will stand and defend that right whether I agree with you or not.  I am asking you be mindful in your choice.  Both candidates are fine, educated men. Both are good husbands and fathers. To all appearances, both would make great friends!

Take a few moments to define your own views, needs, requirements for yourself, your family.  What kind of a community do you want to raise your children in? Grow old in? What kind of a planet do you want to live on? One fraught with strife or one striving toward harmony? Be honest with yourself: there are no wrong answers; there’s no grade.  Once you’re clear about your own standards, compare each candidate’s position against your personal checklist.  Not the husband and father stuff; the professional performance stuff.  We’re not marrying these guys.  We’re hiring them to do a job.  A big job. Don’t stop at what they say: scrutinize what they’ve done. My experience has been that when the words and the actions don’t match, believe the actions because that’s where the truth is found.

My hope is that on November 6, 2012, we will have a fearless and mindful electorate heading to the polls to cast their votes.  That’s my hope…I just don’t believe that’s what we’ll get.

2012
08/31
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Leadership…The Two Sides Of That Coin

A recent crossword puzzle clue yielded the word LEADER.  A word I see and use frequently.  I know the meaning of it or, at least, I think I know the meaning of it…So bear with me, please.  I started writing this post on the subway, without benefit of input from my friends over at Merriam-Webster.  I’ll check in with them later.

To me, LEADER  means someone who is in charge. Wrapped into that meaning is the implication that a leader is wise, intelligent, responsible, caring, and a whole bunch of other adjectives that, to me, paint the picture of serene, measured power. As this image formed in my mind, the question arose:  power from where? Who/what confers power on a leader?

We do.  We the people do.  And in doing so, we share the responsibilities of leadership.

Once more this country has the opportunity to elect a leader.  To make our voices and choices heard.  The auditions have been ugly, and, sadly, will most likely become uglier.  This ugliness is an obfuscation. While courting the individual votes, there is much being made of the massive amounts of money that are being funneled into the campaigns by powerful special interests.  I haven’t noticed that any of these special interests are particularly special to me.  Most of them, quite frankly, seem downright detrimental to me.

What troubles me about the process this time around are the repercussions of the profound disappointment of those who cast their votes with such hope and enthusiasm in 2008.  Those who truly, wholeheartedly believed that finally, finally, they were being given the opportunity to choose between good and bad instead of bad and worse. Those who saw their hopes and trust being eroded in what were perceived to be lost opportunities for progress.  In what they saw as a kick in the teeth for their troubles.  In what they felt was too little too late.

Yes, many feel bloodied…let us not add the travesty of “bowed” to that!

Leaders are only as able as their followers will force them to accountability.  In other words, it behooves each and every follower to say to the leader:  “I liked this thing you did, not so much that other thing…” every day! This must be a daily dialogue, not one that just takes place at the ballot box on election day! This is not some old friend we pick up with seamlessly after years of non communication.  This is someone we have chosen to lead us to a better place, to each one of our visions of a better place.  (S)He is not a mind-reader! It is our individual responsibility to speak our mind – always respectfully! – every day.

FDR said “I agree with you, I want to do it, now make me do it.”

The tools we have available to us to “make me do it” are so much more wieldy than what was available in 1932.  We have e-mail, we have telephones, we have fax, we have snail mail, we have demonstrations.  We don’t have to settle for the “one size fits all” of a single vote cast.  We have the opportunity, every day, of reaching out to express our voice.  And while the President may receive 40,000 e-mails a day and it may take some time before an intern reads mine – if ever – I still have the opportunity, and the responsibility, to communicate my thoughts and views to my community board, my school board, my council person.  To reach out to my state and federal representatives.  My voice is louder to each of them because they have fewer voices to hear.

It’s critically important to pay attention to local representatives because these are the ones who may someday be in a position to lead us on a larger scale.

We, the followers, have a much greater responsibility to lead than we have acknowledged, or that we remember. The moneyed interests would have us believe that it’s the money that’s important while all the while they’re muffling our voices.  Our leaders will lead us only as effectively as we lead them…and they still need our votes, or at least the pretense of our votes.

There are so many issues that need to be dealt with.  The good news is that each one of us doesn’t have to do all the work on all of them.  Pick one or two that are important to you and speak up on that.  There are enough of us to have critical mass on any issue, if we just commit to speak and guide.

It takes work to make a representative democracy work, and that work neither begins nor ends at the ballot box.  So get busy.  Speak up!  It’s not about unilateral agreement.  It’s about putting ourselves out there, fearlessly, and together finding a way…for now.

I’ve had my say – thank you!  What say, you?

p.s. Here is Merriam-Webster’s definition of leader.

2012
08/20
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What’s With The “Foodie” Thing?

I weighed 5.5 kgs (yes, that’s right) when I was born.  That’s a LOT of baby to push through the birth canal.  Kudos to my mother for going on to give birth to my siblings after THAT experience!  My mother tells me that on the day I was born I looked like a three-month-old.  She put me in a dress and I slept the day away, except when it was time to eat.  Getting born is hard work and a girl’s got to keep her strength up!

Once I was weaned from breast milk, I happily took to mushed up people food.  Back when I was teething, the modern baby feeding industry was in its gestational period.  There was no introduce-a-new-food-one-at-a-time to let the developing digestive system assimilate.  Not in my family! They had lived through the privations of World War II in Europe and, by golly, no child of theirs was ever going to starve! The stories go that by the time I had teeth, I was eating onions and olives with my dad and shouting “Salud, papá” when he raised his glass of beer…still a favorite combo.

My grandmother was an excellent cook, and my mother still is.  My brother does a pretty mean turn around the stove and my sister ain’t no slouch.  Half of Caracas would show up at our house when my father made shashlik – the good, Armenian stuff, not the Turkish knock-off, shish-kebob! I’ve been known to put some pretty delectable food on the table, too.  So you might say that the enjoyment of food, from shopping, through preparation and consumption, is in my genes! (And in my jeans!)

Some years ago, I started noticing the term “foodie” popping up in the media.  I thought it meant someone who enjoys food but is not obsessed with food.  In my dictionary, that would be a gourmand. While I appreciate the finer points of cuisine and enjoy titillating my taste buds with the latest offerings from Daniel Boulud, or Jean Georges Vongerichten, Alfred Portale or Mario Batali, I’m just as happy with a slice of pizza from the $1 pizza shops!

I’ve been noticing that there are many “foodie” blogs out there.  Most of them have exquisite photos of delectably sublime food…so wonderful, I can almost taste the image! Some bloggers talk about the latest gastronomic experience they’ve created and thoughtfully provide us their recipes.  Others rave about the newest “it” restaurant, food truck/cart, hole-in-the-wall they’ve visited.  They write about the best market, kitchen gadget, cooking technique out there, and I realize I’m woefully out of step.

I’m not a “foodie.” That takes way too much effort.  I’m just someone who likes food!

2012
08/15
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Storytime!

I’m a sucker for a story–preferably a good one!

I remember many an evening, when I was a little girl, spent in the kitchen listening to my grandmother’s stories. That was about the only time I got along with my grandmother, when she drew back the the curtains on another time and place, on relatives I would never meet and events I would someday read about in history books.  She made them all come alive in my head!

Later, when I learned to read, books worked the same magic on me.  I would get lost in one of Scheherezade’s tales, or Grimm’s, or Andersen’s, and watch the magic unfold on the movie screen in my mind.  The real world would recede.  No fights with my brother.  No taking care of my sister. No helping my mother.  The story unfolding on the page never failed to entertain me, to inform me, to charm me. Well, almost never…

And I must ‘fess up: I love T.V.

I love shows with stories that weave in social commentary, whose characters develop with each episode, whose plots offer some surprises and make me happy to suspend disbelief for a little while.  I have a few new favorites that I’ve been enjoying…A LOT!

We’re into season 5 of Breaking Bad, a show that captured my imagination from its start. Like everyone else, I was intrigued by the concept of what a man would do to see his family provided for while facing his imminent mortality.  The twists and turns of that journey are none that I would have anticipated, and each season has upped the ante exquisitely.  We are not allowed to watch this show in its normal 10 p.m. airing slot, since I like to get a good night’s sleep and this sucker scares the shit out of me.  So my sweet husband humors me and we watch this together in the bright light of day.

Common Law, the newest kid in USA Network’s line-up, has quickly become a favorite.  The main characters have gone from caricatured stereotypes to conflicted, multi-dimensional,  living, breathing guys and the season isn’t over yet.  I’m enjoying the layer-by-layer revelations of these guys’ lives and how that colors and shades who we see.  LOVED the episode that aired Aug 9!

Then there’s Perception over on TNT.  The whole concept of perception is one that fascinates me anyway and it provides many hours of conversation with my sweet husband since we generally have different perceptions on most topics.  While we frequently arrive at similar conclusions, we always travel different paths to get there.  It’s fun to watch a show that illustrates our own experiences!

We’re eagerly awaiting the new season premiere of Hell On Wheels.  Sweet husband says it’s pretty historically accurate – and he would know.  I’m looking forward to watching the stories!


2012
08/13
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A Reiki Practice…Expanding…Again

In 1992 I decided to become a Reiki practitioner. By that time, my meditation practice had been established for a few years and I felt impelled to expand my understanding and experience of spiritual life.  Reiki was attractive to me because it is an energy modality, involves no dogma or belief system, and as the parent of a young child I wanted my loving touch to also be a healing touch.

In a nutshell:  Reiki is a hands-on stress-reduction technique that promotes healing, discovered by Dr. Mikao Usui. In my experience and practice, Reiki is not so much something one studies and trains in as something one is initiated into and then practices. Because Dr. Usui was Japanese, he brought an Eastern sense of order and hierarchy to this modality (think martial arts), so practitioners are initiated into Level 1, transmitting the energy through the hands in close proximity to the recipient; Level 2, adding the ability to transmit the energy through time and space; and Reiki Master, enabling a practitioner to attune other practitioners into Reiki. Each attunement ritual revealed a new message to me.

At my Reiki 1 attunement, the Reiki Master led us in a meditation during which she invoked the protection of the Archangel Michael’s silver sword of justice and St. Germain’s violet flame of Self-transformation.   She directed us to place ourselves in a crystal bubble, our personal sanctuary, in a color of our choosing.  I prepared to place myself in an emerald-hued bubble, green being my favorite color.  However, my bubble sparkled in silver and violet iridescence.  Even as I surrendered to this vision and rested in my safe bubble sparkling with the colors representing our invoked protectors, my chattering mind kept going to “I must be in the wrong bubble.”  The next day, mother’s day, a friend stopped by with a gift from the ashram we spent time in.  The gift: a necklace of iridescent, silver and violet sparkling crystals.  To me, it was a confirmation that I was getting the message.

I remained a Reiki Level 1 practitioner for almost a decade without feeling the need to move on.  I became interested in, and studied, essential oils and their healing properties.  Whenever anyone felt ill at any office where I worked, I became the first aid stop!  As a Reiki 1 practitioner and aromatherapist, I was able to help alleviate many people’s minor discomforts. I felt in my element!

Then, in early 2001, I came in contact with a new Reiki Master and felt it was time for the Level 2 attunement.  At that attunement, I very clearly heard the message: “You are a healer.” At first, I thought it was the Reiki Master saying those words to me…but it wasn’t.  The voice was not an external voice: it came from within.

That summer, I continued practicing Reiki and exploring healing modalities.  I took part in a sweat lodge in the company of healers from many different traditions that strengthened my conviction that I am here to help. I felt I was being prepared for heavier work to come.

September 11, 2001 happened.

In the aftermath of the attacks, like so many of us, I felt the need to DO something! At that time, there was an alternative health care center, The Olive Leaf, that became an organizer and facilitator  for many complementary and alternative health care providers to volunteer their services to assist in the rescue and healing process.  From September 18, 2001 until December 20, 2001, I was one of those people offering assistance both at Manhattan’s Medical Examiner’s Office and at Pier 94, which became a clearinghouse for people directly affected by the attacks.  The details of this experience, however, are a subject for a future post.

It was during this time that I was clearly directed to seek the Reiki Master attunement, even though it had been less than a year since the Level 2 attunement.  I consulted with my Reiki Master and he agreed that it was my time to move forward, and so I became a Reiki Master in November 2001.  The message I received at that attunement was “You are a healer and a teacher.”

I continued to study and incorporate what I learned into my practice, and to share what came to me.  A colleague introduced me to Bowen, an Australian bodywork technique that in one session had me feeling like I was in a brand new body. I had to learn this to help other people feel that good! Opportunities started coming to me not just to offer treatment but also to teach what I had learned and experienced over the years.

My dear friend, Pat Tortoricci, and I shared our love of food, cooking, and the bonding that happens in the meal preparation process in workshops that we called From The Kitchen Into Your Heart: A Metaphysical Journey. We offered our workshops across the country as we delved into what it is that nourishes us when we engage in feeding ourselves.  We organized retreats for women as oases for self-care and support to carry us in our daily lives.

In 2010, I began exploring the teachings of Joel Goldsmith and Mary Baker Eddy with my Reiki Master, which focused my attention on yet another level of understanding,  leading me to identify and listen to my small still voice. More on this in future posts.

Looking back, I realize that my life, like most lives, has been one of transition.  Transitioning from childhood to adulthood.  Transitioning from being a single woman to parenthood.  Transitioning from a limited understanding to another, more expansive understanding. Transitioning from separate physical and spiritual experiences of life, to an integrated experience of Life.

Recently I heard my latest message: “I am a Transitional Coach: helping to transition from who you think you’ve been to who you know you are.”

2012
08/10
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21 comments

Simple… Is Not Easy

I have a tendency to think that simple and easy are interchangeable terms.  My small still voice says “Not so much…”

To put us all on the same page, the definition of simple I’m referring to, according to Merriam-Webster, is: Having only one main clause and no subordinate clauses.  From the same source, the definition of easy is: Requiring or indicating little effort, thought, or reflection.

Another gun-related calamity yesterday, at a Sikh temple in Wisconsin, within just two weeks of the one at the cineplex in Aurora, Colorado.

We are all One.  It is impossible to do harm to someone else without harming myself.  Separation is an illusion. Fear is the delusion that drives us to make choices that appear to protect us…yet time and time again, we see the harm it does…to all of us.

We are all One: simple concept.

Remembering we are all One: not so easy.

2012
08/06
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I Believe…I Know…What’s The Difference?

As I stepped out my door recently, heading  for a celebration with my hula ohana (family), my ears were assaulted with exhortations of hellfire and brimstone coming from the church a block and a half away.  I live in Harlem, and within a block-and-a-half-radius, I can count nine churches, three of them on my block alone.  I’m pretty confident that if I were to do an actual inventory of churches within a five block radius, I could easily tally at least thirty churches.  In Harlem, we have a wealth of worshiping opportunities, so blaring the message on a public city street that unless my beliefs align with those of the noisemakers I’m doomed to burn in hell only succeeds in pissing me off.

It was also the inspiration for the next dish, an appetizer, in my banquet of ideas:  belief and knowing.

According to Merriam-Webster, the definition of belief, a noun, is: a state or habit of mind in which trust or confidence is placed in some person or thing. The same source says that the definition of knowing, an adjective, is: having or reflecting knowledge, information, or intelligence.

My husband is an Atheist; he does not believe in god.  He says it’s ridiculous to believe in some kind of sky fairy who has the power to punish or reward us depending on how well, or ill, we adhere to a set of rules set down by a bunch of guys in dresses, a.k.a. the Catholic church. Few things will agitate him faster than my pointing out to him that Atheism, too, is a belief.  And that Science is a belief. And that Philosophy is a belief.  As you can imagine, when we reach this juncture, my sweet, brilliant husband is practically frothing at the mouth!

“How can you believe in such bullshit!” he’ll shout at me.

“I don’t.” I reply. “There is no sky fairy.  There is no old man sitting on a throne in heaven playing puppeteer with people and their lives.”

“Then how can a brilliant woman like you believe in god?” he asks, totally exasperated with me.

“Because for me god is not a belief. For me, god is an experience, a knowing.”

Beliefs are not truths.  They can be. Some of them. Not necessarily.

For example, astrology was considered a science at one time on the par with astronomy.  In an effort to understand the workings of the universe, observations were made, correlations were drawn, and conclusions were formed that the movement of celestial bodies had a very direct connection with the fate of human bodies. Over the centuries, with much more studying and observation, it has come to be understood as a belief – or a pick-up line in a bar! At one time, cupping and blood-letting were considered to be state-of-the-art technologies in medicine.  It was believed that birds fly by virtue of flapping their wings…until Leonardo Da Vinci knew otherwise and the Wright brothers brought his vision to…flight!

One of my favorite beliefs to observe is the Mercury retrograde in astrology.  In a nutshell, Mercury is the planet that affects communication.  All kinds of communication. Anything to do with communication.  About three times a year, it appears to be orbiting backwards.  This effect lasts for about three-and-a-half weeks, and during that time all kinds of havoc is wrought with communication. Stuff gets lost in the mail, computers go bonkers, I live with both feet in my mouth.  It ain’t pretty! However, it is believed to be a good time to go over old stuff, do research for some future creation, keep your mouth shut and slog through.

The interesting part is that you don’t have to buy into this belief to observe an uptick in miscommunications and foot-in-mouth-disease.  Mitt Romney, Republican presidential candidate, managed to piss off David Cameron, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, with some remarks he made about the Olympics in London. He also said some very interesting things about bringing the compensation of government employees in line with similar positions in the private sector: a projected reduction of 30%-40%. I would have liked hearing that he planned to even the odds by passing legislation to raise the standards in the private sector to those of the government employees – but that’s just me.  It’s interesting, however, that both these utterances were made when it is largely believed that communication efforts can, and do, go amiss. Mr. Romney certainly doesn’t buy into the Mercury retrograde stuff.  Heck, since Ronald Reagan I’m pretty sure Republicans eschew astrology even as a pick-up line in a bar!

Anyway, my point is this: we personally don’t have to believe a particular thing to make it so.  Enough people believe it and critical mass is on their side. Once a belief becomes universal, it is very hard to shift. Takes a lot of individuals to reach critical mass – in any direction.

Beliefs, in my experience, are not the end-point in my attempt to know truth…they are the starting point. Beliefs are what I contemplate, ponder, and question.  At some point through this process, the “aha” moment comes, the proverbial light bulb turns on, and I hear my small still voice urging me to take a path, or a line of thought, that wasn’t previously visible to me. Often, this path flies in the face of “conventional wisdom.”  I hesitate, argue, and find reasons why this new line of thought is completely crazy. Yet, deep within, there is usually an underlying “knowing” that no matter what the appearances are, this different path is the truth I am to follow.

I’m absolutely certain that this experience is not unique to me.

We each have those “aha” moments when we know, with total certitude, that no matter what the collective belief may be, the truth is something else.

It has taken me many years, and many such “aha” moments, to understand, recognize, and hear my small still voice.  It has taken even more years to have the courage to follow its guidance.

How do I “know”?

When I go with that inner guidance, things unfold in a seemingly effortless fashion. One thing seems to naturally lead to another. Ideas seem to come out of nowhere helping me bring my vision to life.  It is when I succumb to the belief that what I know can’t be correct that my struggles and suffering begin and it takes forever to get to where I’m going.

We each have this inner compass to guide us.  We’ve forgotten it’s there.  We don’t remember how to use it. We’re afraid it no longer works. Regardless of what we remember or don’t, what we fear or embrace, the compass is there. Why not tinker with it and see what happens?

2012
07/29
CATEGORY
Ponderings
18 comments

Invitation To A Banquet…Of Ideas

I connect dots.

My husband says that I connect dots where there appear to be no dots to connect.  Like Katharine Hepburn’s character in Desk Set, “I associate many things with many things.”  The downside is that, all too often, all those connections seem to be nothing more than a tangled mess.  The upside is that if I keep at it long and persistently enough, some very interesting patterns begin to emerge.

Recently, Madame Weebles over at Fear No Weebles wrote about a series of experiences she’s had over the years here, here, and here.  You should check them out.  In any event, her stories started that “connect the dots” process going in my head.  Then Brigitte over at Brigitte’s Banter wrote her Monday Musings and Motivations… and more dots got thrown into the mix.

In his book The Infinite Way, Joel Goldsmith says: “Soul is the substance, nature, action, and law of all form and is never separate from the form.” In this statement, I understand “Soul” to mean the animating principle, source,  the universe, the realm of unlimited possibilities, consciousness, god. Choose the term that resonates most clearly with you. And I understand “form” to be the expression of the animating principle, usually in physical form.   From this statement, it is clear to me that we all emanate from the same source, and it doesn’t take much of a stretch for me to understand that we are all One.

Having arrived at a simple understanding of Oneness, it doesn’t take much more elasticity for me to see that the animating principle, as an infinite and eternal concept, would also express in ways not easily perceived by those of us living within the confines of physical form. In other words, an infinite and eternal concept is not limited to expressing  only in physical form. And it is also not limited to being understood through a single discipline. Goldsmith writes about it from the metaphysical standpoint; Dr. Amit Goswami writes about this from the standpoint of a theoretical quantum physicist.

I’ve got a lot of dots with a lot of connections going on here…I had originally planned to express my thoughts in a single post.  My small still voice, however, is persuading me to approach this like a multi-course banquet.

Consider this the amuse-bouche!

2012
07/25
CATEGORY
Ponderings
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12 comments

Remembering Why I Read

I learned to read in Spanish first.

When I arrived at my first grade classroom, I did so without any preparation or idea of what would be taking place there. The school I went to belonged to my aunt, my mother’s sister-in-law, and I thought it was just a fun family thing.  Living in Venezuela, all parties were fun family things, and I thought this was just an extension of that. So when I arrived in the classroom and a primer was put in front of me with the teacher sitting by my side trying to drum into me that letters actually meant something, and that combinations of letters formed words, I was at a loss.

Once I understood what the teacher was trying to get across, I breezed through that primer so that I could get on to the next book, the one that had stuff about the history, geography, and civics of Venezuela in it.  And I wanted to be able to sit with my dad and read the newspaper just like he did. And I wanted to read comic books, not just look at the pictures.  And books!  Wow! I would also be able to read books! And I was off!

At first, learning was something that happened in school, reading the various text books – and 50+ years ago in Venezuela, we had text books starting in first grade.  It was also clear to me that learning happened from reading the newspaper, too.  My dad was the smartest man I knew and he read the newspaper every day, front to back.  I remember how proud he was when I read my first article out loud to him!  Made me pretty proud, too!

Books, on the other hand, were to escape.  I loved them.  They took me to a whole other world.  Mostly because the books my parents bought for me were what they considered appropriate for a little girl:  fairy tales and myths and legends.  I loved curling up in a chair with my book and imagining the worlds and the actions that were being described.  It was like having a movie screen in my head…and I loved movies, too!

Over the years, I realized that I could learn from books, and so I evolved from reading for entertainment to reading with a purpose: to gather information.  As you can imagine, 50+ years encompasses a LOT of reading–and a lot of different reasons to read!

I read your blogs, as many as I possibly can, because I’m interested in what you have to say. Each one of you perfect expressions of self has a unique way of experiencing and understanding this dream that we call life, and I’m interested in knowing how that’s unfolding for you. Even though we may have similar feelings and understandings about certain things, the key word there is “similar.” They are not the same.  They can’t be the same because our frames of reference are not the same. And while I’m comforted by our similarities, I revel in our differences.  “Ah,” I might think, “so THAT’s how So-And-So experienced that particular thing. I would have never thought of that!”

I suspect that I’m not much different from anyone else in that respect: we all read because we’re interested. I already know what’s going on inside my head and that’s what I’m attempting to write and express.  Another point of view, however, is ALWAYS interesting.  I don’t have to like it.  I don’t have to enjoy it. I don’t have to agree with it.  And I ALWAYS learn something from it!

So, I urge all of you: Please keep writing so that I can keep reading! Write what’s true for you.  Write your hopes and dreams, your doubts and fears.  Write it all because someone, somewhere will read it and be enriched. Be generous with your thoughts and ideas. Remember that when someone judges your writing, they are judging from and for their own experience–it really has very little to do with you, personally. Even as writing is a very intimate, revelatory experience, so it is for the reader as well: what it reveals to the reader about the reader, not the writer.

Hmmm, I’m going to sit and ponder that for a while…and then I’ll go read YOUR blogs!

2012
07/19
CATEGORY
Ponderings
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