My Alakai

I query my 5-year old grandson,
  'How do you know there is wind?'
  Agile mind alert, he studies the forest.

'It makes the trees shake,' he says,
  and it makes all the leaves wriggle.'
  'But, you can't see wind,' I challenge.

'So, how do you know it is the wind?' I ask.
  He pauses, considering this knotty question.
  'Well,' he concludes, 'it makes my hair crazy,'
  tousling his hair with beautiful little boy hands.

Big eyes peer at me from beneath tousled hair.
  'Did I get it right?' they ask. We smile together.
  'Yes, you got it right! You are brilliant, my child!'
  Delighted, he exclaims, 'Nanna look! A baby deer!'

And our conversation suppley changes to plan the
  forts we will build next summer, because the deer
  need a place to sleep, and we plan to camp outside.

That's what we do, this beautiful boy and his Nanna.
  We go on adventures, in the world, and in our minds.
  There is much to see and do.  We've no time to waste.

Here he comes now, soft-eyed and sleepy, for his hugs.
  We'll have pumpkin pie and hot chocolate for breakfast.
  And as this new day dawns, we'll plan our next adventure.

Defining Moments

I am struck lately with the presence of certain moments.
  These moments stand apart from all others in our lives.
  Their resolve to be recognized is absolute, unwavering.

These moments change lives, turn us inside out, 
  leave us breathless or crushed or astonished or...
  They ask us to wake up, pay attention, closely.

They seem as harbingers of a new day dawning.
  They are an instrument of our souls beckoning
  us inward into stillness, into keen wakefulness.

Therein, we are endowed with gifts styled for that moment.
  We are offered the perfect measure of everything we need.
  And the chisel will be set to the stone, creating us de novo.

We are never finished being born.

And, the moment, that precious, elusive, wondrous moment
  is the vessel, ingredients and the alchemy of our unfolding.
  These are the defining moments, the gifts offered to us all.

Surface Reflections

My contemplation these last months
  has been to witness all that emerges
  from within regarding my failing heart.

Many different emotions have surfaced.
  As children, they clamor for my attention.
  They want to be acknowledged and honored.

They want me to know them, to touch them.
  'Look at me!' they plead. 'Look at me, please!
  I am real.  I have substance.  I am important!'

'Please don't denounce me as unworthy or foul.
  Look upon me and see a reflection of your self.
  Hold me closely. Know my depths and expanse.'

'Experience me as a lover, child, teacher.
  Don't obscure me with the inane chatter
  of your highly-educated, benighted mind.'

'Quiet your mind and witness me, just me.
  Strip away the attachments, the judgments,
  and see me, unadultered, naked, remarkable.'

'I simply am. I exist. I am worthy. I am you.
  I am anger. I am sadness. I am joy. I am you.
  I am concern. I am fear. I am gratitude. I am you.'

'I ask your undivided attention.  I show you me.
  Thankful, reassured, elated when you honor me,
  I return to the eternal resevoir of tranquility in you.'

I want to allow and honor these many emotions
  because they show me who I am in this passing.
  They rise and fall, surge and swell as ocean waves.

And beneath them all, there flows a reservoir,
  deep beyond imagination, expanding to forever,
  of tranquility, the peace that passes understanding.

It is the source of all knowing, all being, all.
  You are its progeny, its beloved, its promise.
  It is the wellspring of hope, grace, compassion.

And, it flows through your being, is of you.
  Tranquil amidst storms raging in your heart.
  Offering sanctuary, serenity, harmony, always.

Allow the emotions, honor them, love them.
  Watch them melt into the reservoir of peace.
  Feel the eternal love that is in you, that is you.

Anger

I feel angry this morning.

Having procrastinated until the last moment,
  I now must ensure my last will and testament
  is complete so that I can show it to my children.

The child in me wants to jump up and down,
  tear into God about the insanity of this journey,
  question, challenge, denounce the reality-unfolding.

I do not want to make these judgments
  of life and death, of medical interventions,
  of division and distribution of my belongings.

I do not want to be in this place!

Angry tears burn my face.
  Fury explodes in my heart.

And still, the decisions must be made.
  For I will not give my children this task.
  I will not set upon them terrible decisions.

Quiet, witnessing, allowing...

The anger washes through my heart,
  spills upon the pages and slips away.
  Acceptance and resolve take its place.

And, so it is.

It Really Is 'All About Me'

In the full throes of her awkward, impertinent adolescence,
  my daughter boldly wore a t-shirt, loudly proclaiming,
  'It's all about me!'

Us older and more mature adults looked on smuggly.
  'It is all about her,' we smiled in our befuddled wisdom.
  And, we tiptoed around her audacious, immature call-to-self.

25-years later, I realize that, my child, 
  in the freshness of her life on this planet,
  innately understood a fundamental fact of life.

It really is all about her...and me...and you...
  We are born to this world to explore our lives,
  to learn, to witness, to feel, to grow, to offer, to live.

We can't change circumstances into which we were born.
  Things happen in life that we didn't create, but deeply feel.
  And, despite our valient efforts, we really can't change another.

We can, however, decide how we will live,
  in the circumstances into which we were born,
  through the things that happen during our lives.

Therein lie the gifts, the opportunities, the blessings
  endowed to us, created and offered for our ascendance.
  And always, we get to decide how we will answer the call.

The ascendance happens one person at a time,
  concerns one soul gifted with life upon this earth,
  is designed to craft the opportunities for her growth.

The changes, the real changes, the important changes,
  are those made inside ourselves, those that permeate us,
  and, through our living, spill from us to the life around us.

This life-practice of introspection, cleansing and growth
  creates abundance in our hearts that then overflows into
  all that we touch, everything we do, each person we touch.

This is such a hard lesson to learn, though.
  It's so much easier to force change on another
  than to face and make the change required of self.

So easy is it to fall into the trap of other-focus,
  to smile smuggly at those who are less evolved,
  to strive toward their awakenings, even as we sleep.

Liberate from your closet your old 'It's about me' t-shirt.
  Adorn yourself with it and boldly face your day, your self.
  Search within to find your wonderous, enigmatic embodied-soul.

Settle into your own journey to ascendance.
  Seek, cleanse, clear, grow, learn, witness, be.
  And remember,

It really is all about you.

It Is Just Enough

54 years and 4 months.  19,831 days.
  All these days, I have walked this sacred path.
  All these days, I have been gifted on this journey.

It is just enough.

I am so profoundly grateful,
  for every moment, every breath,
  for every smile, every tear, even fear.

It is just enough.

I accept the rising sun, my birth,
  and the setting moon, my quietus,
  and the star reborn, my transfiguration.

It is just enough.

I am at peace with what may come.
  I live, aware, witnessing, experiencing,
  reaching out and up and beyond to the All.

It Is
Just
Enough

Just Feel

In my meditation, a deep feeling of sadness permeated my being.
  It felt as if I had entered Briar Rabbit's burrow, far beneath the earth.
  Dark hollows.  The only sound, the crackle of brambles upon which I tread.

There was no fear in this place, no angst nor apprehension,
  no other emotions, in fact, aside from this profound sadness.
  I watched the sadness engulf my heart and spill from my eyes.

I recognized at once, the trigger, an unexpected call from a friend.
  'But, what is this sadness,' I pondered.  'From where does it come?'
  I searched the happenings, both recent and past, to discover its origin.

But, I could find none, not one that stood alone to claim title and deed.
  Struck by the depth of the sadness, I sought a friend with whom to talk.
  Each possible account I explored seemed wrong, off the mark, nihil ad rem.

The feeling lingers still, an eternal candle burning in my soul.
  It occurs to me now that its apparent inscrutability is purposeful.
  Perhaps understanding is not the point at all, is in fact, nihil ad rem.

My mind relaxes its grip on its pursuit of knowledge.
  I re-orient my attention to quietly witness life unfolding.
  This morning, I am drawn to the wolf sitting upon my altar.

It howls to the moon an aria of melancholy and sorrow.
  It sits, a solitary dark silhouette in the brilliant moonlight.
  Its heartfelt song fills the land, my heart, through the night.

Transfixed by the song, a tear escapes, another follows.
  I feel.  I simply feel the depths of the sadness, the hollows.
  And perhaps that's all, that is everything, I'm supposed to do.

It Is Final

Suddenly struck with a profound feeling of sadness.

Regardless of the new soul journeys awaiting me,
  sadness suffuses my being with the passing of this life.
  I feel immense sorrow in leaving this place, this existence.

The people, the undone business, the intentions,
  my grandchildren, born and waiting to arrive,
  my children, the future we might have had...

A stroke denying me the ability to communicate
  feels also as a death to me, perhaps even worse.
  The grief leaves a bilious feeling throughout my being.

There is no coming back from death.
  It is final.

I want to face this possibility,
  to allow my responses to it,
  to honor all the feelings, fully.

No Soul Left Untouched

Holding Vigil

As I passed through the dark of my home this morning,
  I felt the presence of many souls peering at me from outside.
  I sensed an urgency, a desperate need to reach me from beyond.

I stood before them, square feet, broad shoulders,
  my arms drawn across my chest, my stance strong.
  Feeling a threat, I told them,'You may not enter here.'

I cleansed the entire house, blocked their entrance into my space.
  As I stood strong before each window, I saw a small statue
  of an African woman holding vigil over an eternal flame.

The spirit of Africa flows through her, touches my soul,
  carries me back to Zimbabwe, the land where the heavens
  touch the earth and voices of all-past ring across the savanna.

'So many souls, so much pain, so eager to release the pain,
  so thirsty for compassion, so hungry for love,' she whispers.
  'Don't drive them away.  Embrace them, touch them with love.'

'There is only fear and love.  With love, there can be no fear.
  They seek you because you can see, you can help,' she explains.
  'Gift them with love.  Melt fear with compassion.  Hold vigil, always.'

Michael, Your Spirit Guide

In a vision, a girl presented herself to me...for you.
  She is very powerful.  Her spirit swells into the night.
  A force so powerful contained in the frame of a small girl.

She is come for you.
  She bids you awaken to her presence.
  She is with you, of you, has always been.

I saw her searching in the dark.
  When I called, she glanced at me,
  then turned back to her search for you.

She saw you, standing alone in the dark.
  She ran to you, gathering your hand in hers.
  She merged into you, became as one with you.

Then, she separated and looked up at you.
  Taking your hand, she asked you to walk with her.
  Through the dark your spirit guide led you, hand in hand,

till you reached a precipice from which shown a brilliant light.
  You stood quietly together on that precipice, hand in hand,
  gazing into the light, at the gift being offered to you.

She glanced again at me, so I asked her
  what she intended that I share with you.

She said

She is inviting you to walk into the dark with her.
  She has something magnificent to show you.
  Then, you will be asked to make a decision.

I don't know the nature of the decision,
  but I sense it is a question of soul, yours.

She is with you, has always been.
  She helped you to create community.
  She is the abiding spirit of that community.

Your guide is a spirit of grace and compassion.
  She wishes to make herself known to you, to quicken
  your relationship with her, to start now, your work together.

She is patient and walks at your side, always.
  She will honor your decisions, for your journey
  in this realm is a spirit walk, designed in love for you.

Joy Born of Sorrow

Abundance born of poverty.
Freedom born of oppression.

Never, never is my intent to dishonor
  or denigrate the devastating impact
  of poverty and oppression on a soul.

Yet, I continue to search for the meaning
  of ideas gifted me with the concomitant
  injunction to transmit their significance.

Abundance born of poverty.
Freedom born of oppression.

Experiences, mundane and momentous,
  have been gifted for my enlightenment
  on these matters of the soul embodied.

So, I petition them for another lesson.
  I am ruminating on my ephemerality
  on this plane, and in this incarnation.

I note nascent thoughts and feelings
  and witness their journey through
  my heart, mind, soul...this mortal.

I am recognizing how I attach meaning to new events,
  namely through connections to previous experiences, 
  and how those attachments constrain my perception.

I was planning for the night before my heart surgery.
  As I planned sleeping arrangements and our dinner,
  I witnessed a sickening feeling quicken in my heart.

I followed that pain to a Thanksgiving long past,
  and the dinner my mother so flawlessly created
  for her family, the eve before she started to die.

Sorrow, tears, mourning her death, my loss of her, still.
  Serving dinner to my family on the eve of my surgery
  retrieves this memory and reveals another attachment.

I remember that dinner and grieve her absence from my life.
  But to attach the path of her life to my circumstance denies
  me the precious experience of my own existence unfolding.

Recognizing this attachment, I can release it from my heart.
  Free of the attachment, I can prepare dinner for my family
  on the eve of my surgery to celebrate our love and my life.

Joy born of sorrow.

Abundance born of poverty.
Freedom born of oppression.

I Am Just Regular

'Let go of illusions.
  Release expectations.'

'Being, simply being.
  It's enough, you know.'

I am just regular.
  'That is just enough.'

It doesn't feel enough.
  It feels, somehow, amiss.

Regular is inadequate.
  'Regular is magnificent!'

I can't argue with you.
  'Yet, you try your best!'

I want more than regular.
  'What is it you want, then?'

I want to shine, brightly!
  'Then shine, for all to see!'

But, I'm just regular...
  'And yet, your light shines.'

Tortoise

The Tortoise requested to sit in the center
  of my alter, posed to see in all four directions.
  She can gaze down any path, but focuses on me.

She invites me into contemplation, to learn.
  With her great, slow strokes, she flies to the stars.
  I look upon her face and see eternity shining in her eyes.

Then, we are under water, her stroke unbroken.
  Her eyes wide, protected by a translucent sheath.
  In the dark, she sees clearly, swims steadily forward.

Again we are in the universe, gliding now around the moon,
  surfing on a planetary wave, catching the crest of the earth's gravity.
  Rounding the earth, the gravity unleashes its tether, hurtling us to the sun.

Into the sun's core we plunge, flesh incinerated, Spirit released.
  Cleansed, we linger in the calm, peace, wonder, of oneness with the All.
  In the stillness, the Ancients appear with a lazer of light to etch upon her shell.

They inscribe upon her back the wisdom of the ages,
  and send her forth to share the gift with all of humanity.
  To all corners of the earth, all of life, she carries the message.

She rests beneath still waters to glimpse the inscriptions
  in a reflection, and then swims on, for she is the messenger.
  She can not see, but fully comprehends, the wisdom she carries.

'Your life is a message,' Tortoise counsels me.
  'Allow the ancient wisdom to be inscribed upon you.
  'Let it emerge from your soul, then carry it for all to see.'

Like the Tortoise, we each have wisdom of the ages
  etched deeply upon our souls, visible to our mind's eye, 
  a universal code of love to guide our walk through this life.

We need only to become quiet, to look within, to trust
  that the wisdom resides within each of us, that the wisdom 
  is our heritage, our connection to All, the ultimate and eternal gift.

Miniature Assassin

I do have a fear.

In the shadow of the furor and fuss about the heart,
  grows a small but deadly plaque on the carotid artery.
  It resides at the base of the skull, inches from my brain.

I have not allowed myself to acknowledge the fear
  incited through my being by this miniature assassin.
  Even positive thinking can be used to hide from reality.

And, hiding is exactly what I have been doing of late.
  So, brutal honesty.  I am horrified by the possibility of
  having a debilitating stroke, losing my ability to cogitate.

My mind is my greatest strength.  From it flows my gift.
  This gift, my writing, requires a mind capable of discovering
  the perfect word to weave into the exquisite phrase, a thought.

Without my mind, I am a painter without a paintbrush.
  Without words to express that which cries for expression,
  I am as a songbird without a voice, a ballerina without legs.

I can imagine no greater assault to my being than to
  lose my mind, lose my gift, be forced to live robbed of
  the ability to think.

My mother almost died from a stroke during heart surgery.
  My father died from an aneurysm during a pre-heart surgery
  procedure.  My grandmother and grandfather died from strokes.

I have always known this was most likely to be my demise.
  I never imagined, however, that it could come at 54-years-old.
  I am so young.  I live a healthy life style.  I take care of my body.

So, what to say after acknowledging the fear in my heart?
  I shall not chide myself, nor shirk in shame at expressing fear.
  I shall stay with it, love it, allow and honor it.  I shall seek quiet.

And, I shall await the Divine grace upon which I rely for all.

The Eye of the Storm

The moment in which I felt death upon me
  catalyzed a collision of events, and introspection.

However, recently I entered a space of quiet.
  The gentle purr of my heart, the symptoms at bay...

'Perhaps,' I think, 'they misdiagnosed!'
  'Perhaps the heart is not, in fact, ailing!'

And then I smile at my ability for self delusion,
  but more so at what really might be happening.

My prayers have been about making 'it'
  to January, the date planned for the surgery.

A period of quiet in the storm is required
  to wait that long to bring healing to the heart.

And now, I find myself basking in that quiet!
  I am being given the time for which I prayed!

To fall into self delusion robs me the opportunity
  to revel in the grace of a prayer answered, and the
  exquisite nature of this moment, the eye of the storm.

Annali: My Hero

I did a training on leadership the other day.

  It started with John Wayne riding off into the sunset

  after, once again, single-handedly conquering the bad guys.

That powerful image has inflicted immeasurable 
  damage on the self-image of many, many people,
  robbing them from discovery of their inherent greatness.

Beleaguered with a diminished sense of self-efficacy, 
  they cower from expressing their own greatness, preferring
  instead to hide in the safety of self-deprecation and other-adulation. 

In this story, people are born to be common,
  some more so than others, young women for example.
  Life, it seems, conspires to keep them from shining their light.

This plight leads me directly to the topic of courage.
  To step outside what is expected of you, to reach beyond,
  to have the audacity to believe that you can be something more...

This requires courage, in the truest sense of the word.
  Because, you see, courage is not reaching for something that
  you know you can do, or that you have the wherewithal to accomplish.

Courage is stepping into the unknown, even when you feel
  ill-equipped to do so, and you aren't sure if you can be successful,
  and especially when you have struggled or failed in previous attempts.

True courage requires no small amount of faith and daring.
  It requires a willingness to fail a hundred times before you succeed.
  It requires humility in the face of the daunting challenge you have accepted.

There is a person whom I think of when I think of courage.
  That person is my daughter, Annali, a beautiful young woman
  who has suffered many blows in the pursuit of her vision for her life.

Despite the challenges and her past experiences, she has
  dared to step, once again, onto the path leading to her dream.
  She knows the journey isn't easy, but she is committed to it and to herself.

She takes the risk, knowing there will be failures and successes.
  She faces her own fears and history...and dares to walk past them.
  This, my friends, is courage personified, in the flesh, in real life, in action.

We don't know what lies ahead of us, or within ourselves.
  But, we are called to find our greatness, to dig deep and stretch
  to the stars to discover our greatness, and then to gift it back to life.

Look around you to find those with daring souls, like Annali.
  Know that they are human, beset by fears and quirks, just like you.
  Then, be inspired by their courage, and seek your own to live life with the

ALL of who you are.

You Are Your Father's Daughter

This was the weekend of my father's birth and passing,
  Many emotions emerged, some enigmatic and painful to
  unpack, all intricately woven into my relationship with him.

It started Friday in mediation with a deep-seated sorrow.
  I sat with the sorrow, explored its depth and expanse.
  In the quiet, I was shown its birth and life source.

The sorrow is my deep disappointment in myself.
  As I face my mortality, I am acutely aware
  that I never measured up.

My earliest memories include looking upon my father
  and seeing a hero.  I witnessed his impact on all who
  came into his presence, his incredible contribution to life.

And I wanted nothing more than to be like him.
  I wanted to create something that touched people's
  hearts and souls, and left an indelible mark in their lives.

I wanted to have people love and seek me out,
  just as they did him.  14 years after his passing,
  they still express their devotion to, and love of, him.

I wanted to grow wise and compassionate.
  I wanted my children to cherish my counsel.
  I wanted them to regard me as a wise mother.

My sorrow is born of my belief that to
  live a life of value means that
  I must be like my father.

Its source of nourishment has been the constant
  reminder that I am not like him, that I have always
  and continue to, fall short of the life he demonstrated.

In the abyss created by the possibility that few days remain,
  the long-standing fear that I do not measure-up quickened
  into trepidation that it could materialize and define my life.

Then, in the quiet of the candle light and my tears, I heard,
  'But you are not your father.  His journey was not to be yours.'
  The words, barely audible over the keening of my duress, lingered.

Two days later, driving my grandson home from our date,
  we listened to music from 'The Lion King'.  Deeply affected,
  I remembered a poem I wrote to honor my mother and father.

In the poem, I spoke of the footprint my father left in this life.
  I recounted how I accidentally stepped into that footprint
  and found myself swallowed up in its immensity.

So small was I in his shadow.

Years later, I still can't find my way out of that enormous footprint.
  And the quiet voice repeated, 'You are not your father.'
  'You were not meant to journey on his path.'

'While you mourn that for which you were never destined, 
  you miss the journey that is yours to walk in this life.'
  'You are your father's daughter.  Your life matters.'

'You have sown seeds of love.  There are those that love you.'
  'You have gifted to life and can as long as chi flows through you.'

My father is here with me now, as I face my mortality.
  He stands at my side, loving, kind, compassionate.
  He will walk the distance with me.

I am my father's daughter.
  I have value because of who I am.
  I still have time to contribute to life.
  I can love and gift and offer my heart.

So, I will.

Preparing to Contemplate My Mortality

This contemplation calls me, bids me into its grace.
  To ponder my mortality, to consider the transition...
  It weighs upon my heart, shadows my consciousness.

So, to it I come, not fully prepared, nor completely willing.
  
We all walk in the unspoken truth that our time here is finite.
  But so engaged are we in the passing of our days that this truth
  fades into the recesses of our souls awaiting its time... and our time.

It's not a bad thing, really.  We are here, on this plane, for a reason.
  To engage, to live fully, is the purpose, the blessing, the joy, the gift.
  We are invited to experience the rapture, the wonder, of this thing, life.
  
And, we are invited to face the inexorable truth that this walk is ephemeral.

A contemplative moment is upon me, precious yet daunting.  
  Spirit has graced me with the occasion to face my mortality,
  to come to terms with this ultimate reality, my ultimate reality.

But, I have been avoiding it, for to allow it is to face my demise.
  I am fully vested in this thing, being human, this life, my life.
  And really, I am a novice at dying, an apprentice, a rookie.

I have never before died, and only once have I felt it close.

Where to start, to end...how to get to this place of Spirit, 
  but through the morass that is my unfledged humanness.
  My father and mother taught me how to live and how to die.  

And while those priceless gifts are emblazoned upon my soul,
  I realize that this journey is one upon which only I can embark.
  The greatest gifts will come as I step foot upon this path, my path.