To Be Or Not To Be…

•Friday, November 23, 2007 • 4 Comments

In a small, very unique online community, I have been blessed to belong to, some of us have been in touch daily for going on seven years. We are kindred spirits; caring souls each of us, with our own respective, personal “brand” of Spiritual beliefs. We share common interests; we share our hopes and dreams; we share our worries and we share our sorrows. We have become the closest of loving, supportive friends.

This amazes me still, after all these years–this possibility and this opportunity that our amazing World Wide Web provides for us as a species. I am grateful every day for this opportunity to know true community. To experience a Family of Souls who can accept and love unconditionally with Faith and Trust. I can honestly say that I would trust these friends with my life.

In our small long-standing community, my kindred sisters and brothers have in so many ways reached out to me during some of my darkest hours. And yet, many if not most, of us have yet to meet face to face. We don’t let this stop us from celebrating together, praying in our respective, personal ways together, gathering to celebrate holidays and birthdays in ways I never would have imagined possible.

Often, “just because,” someone posts a list of brief questions; and we answer them, revealing more about who we are, what we think, and how we feel. Sometimes we answer the questions playfully.

The other day, four or five questions were posted. One of the questions went something like this: If you were God, and wanted to give a message to the world, what would you say, and how would you deliver the message?

I began to answer the questions, and when I came to this one, just began to write. Didn’t plan what to write. Just started writing. I didn’t change how it came out, except to clean up some untidy sentences. Almost didn’t post my answer to this question to our small online community, as my answer is long. It is hardly a couple sentences, and far from just a couple paragrahs in length. But I did post it, figuring my friends know I get this way, and they know I can be long-winded. They love me anyway. Those who commented, suggested I put my answer to this question on my blog.

Included a favorite and significant Tarot Card image below and a short commentary on the Card.


From the Gendron Tarot Deck~*~The Fool

Note: The Fool in the Tarot represents every human at the beginning–the beginning of our emerence into the school of life. He comes into this world as Spirit in Human dress. She must take “The leap empty-handed into the void,” as Tarot “folks” are fond of saying. This leap means simply that we learn the hard way. We carry an innocence within always, in that we are always learning, no matter what. Hopefully, we eventially go where Light is.

The fool begins to learn how to live “True” as a Spiritual Being having an earthly experience. She goes through the Twenty-two Major Arcana Archtypical passages, which put simply could be called A Sacred Book of Life. It is into this experience–the Dance of Life–that each of us is “thrown.” It is within the context of our journey in the material world, that we are challenged to learn the True Way. The Fool, then, is not a silly buffoon, but represents the Spritual traveler.

Over and over and over again we come to the edge of who we are and what we are. The Tarot is about “The Fool’s Journey” through the greatest Mystery School there is: Life.

Again, the question: If you were God, and wanted to give a message to the world, what would you say, and how would you deliver the message?

Here is my answer:

If I were God, I would deliver my message to the World in an email:

My Dearest Beings on Planet Earth,

All Things are Sacred. All Beings are sacred. The land is Sacred, your Mother Earth is Sacred. The Stones are as Sacred as the smallest grain of sand. All is Sacred. In All the Universes this is True.

I wanted to experience it all and so I sent down to the planets many Spirits to live in a material form. I put some Spirits into all Living Beings and certain other Spirits into All Things in All Creation.

I put some Spirits into Beings with the ability to think in evolved ways; Beings who could use language. The Word. Beings who could laugh; Beings who could cry and Beings who could create in more diverse ways.

Holy Cow! Ever since I did that…oh my goddess where do I start?

Some of You, and You know who You are, have it down–always have and always will. You adapt, you change, you grow even though your numbers are used up in material form carelessly by the evolved thinking Beings to whom I gave Free Will and who have the ability to create in diverse ways. I am so proud of you dandelion! And ivy, and morning glory vine. To those of you who have been “wiped out:” do not despair…you are still here, but in a different form. You will always endure. You are not forgotten. Ever.

To everything on your planet, it looks as if most of these evolved thinking Beings to whom I gave Free Will and who have the ability to create in diverse ways have lost their way. At critical times in your time frame, a very long time ago, groups of these evolved thinking Beings to whom I gave Free Will and who have the ability to create in diverse ways made certain choices. In making these certain choices, they concluded with their evolved thinking minds that they could play God. And yet they had forgotten who I am. Who we All are. These lost ones; these certain ones of your fellow Beings have refused to see the Sacred-ness within All Creation. They thought they were the only ones on your planet who can evolve and think and who can create in diverse ways. They even decided they alone could laugh and cry! Hard to imagine.

When I gave these evolved thinking beings Free Will, I guess I knew where that would lead. Maybe I could have left more clues, but I thought the Sacred Splendor and the Sacred Beauty Everywhere would be Proof Enough. I thought that the Divine Spirit which connects All Sacred Things and All sacred Beings could never be obscured. The Truth appears to you to be obscured. Even I almost thought this has most certainly happened. But Truth can never really be obscured. Trust me.

So Take Heart my Dearest Ones. All of You. All Things. Here, Now. Yesterday and Tomorrow.

I am not angry at the evolved thinking beings with Free Will. Some of them have come to believe they have the right to say who and what lives and who and what dies. True, they refuse to see the Sacred-ness of All things. I am not disappointed in them, nor am I punishing them. I forgive them completely. They are not born sinners. To me they are my precious Children who got lost. It’s nobody’s fault. My Love is unconditional.

A mistake in thinking took place a very long time ago in the minds of the evolved thinking Beings who have Free Will and who have the ability to create in diverse ways. The mistake began when the evolved thinking Beings who have Free Will and who can create in diverse ways decided that they were put here to dominate All the other Sacred Things and Sacred Beings–including their own Mother, the Earth.

This error in thinking continued and progressed until some of the evolved thinking Beings who possess Free Will and who can create in diverse ways decided that evolution stopped with them. It happened a long long time ago when they came to believe that they were the top rung on the evolutionary ladder. They actually believed and still believe– if you can imagine this: that evolution stops with them! And yes, there is such a thing as evolution. Not exactly as your Darwin thought, however.

When this “crucial” error in thinking changed to a core belief for them, the evolved thinking Beings with Free Will and the ability to create in diverse ways convinced themselves that they were better than All the other Sacred Beings and All the Sacred Things in their World. Then it went even further afield. They started to believe that certain among them were better than All other Beings and they also they decided they were better than others of their own kind. This mistake was even explained and executed using me as a point of contention. Whoa!

It appeared that it was all down hill from there.

Even now, as I write this to you, there are small pockets of Beings who still know the Sacred-ness of all Beings and of All Things. These Beings are called uncivilized and are looked down upon. They are not left alone to be Sacred in their own Sacred ways and in their own Sacred places. These small numbers of evolved thinking Beings who have Free Will and who can create in diverse ways did not choose to lose the Truth and the true Vision. They are found all over your Planet. They do not care about gathering material wealth and they do not care to have power over All the other Sacred Things and All the other Sacred Beings, and they still try to live the True Way. But even so, they have been tricked and abused by the evolved thinking Beings who have Free Will and who can create in diverse ways and who still carry the mistake in thinking forward to this day. It appears that these so-called lost Beings have lost their Way, their True Vision; that they have buried it deep in a dark place within, and it seems this has caused them to lose their way.

Compared to the eons and eons in your geologic time frames, the so called ages of the Universes; the evolved thinking Beings who have Free Will and who can create in diverse ways have been here but one split second! And yet some Beings have come to such a critical state that for me to stay out of it…well it is just no longer an option for me. This is why I am sending you this email.

At different times in your time frames, I have sent Messengers. And All the Messengers came with One True Message. And All the Messengers are still teaching the Message. There are Messengers always among All Sacred Beings and All Sacred Things. And the Messengers always know the Message. The Messengers come in many forms and in many guises. You would be surprised to know that some Messengers are mere stones. Even stones are Messengers! You may be surprised to know that some Messengers are mere trees. Even trees are Messengers. Have you ever seen a dew drop poised at the edge of a wizened leaf? A Messenger. Have you ever seen a waterfall? A Messenger. Have you lain down on warm sand and listened to the Sea? Every grain of sand; every droplet in the wave, the wave, the sea of endless waves–Messengers All. Have you ever heard a bird sing? You catch my drift.

You may think that I am asking myself, “where did I go wrong?” I am not. Before the evolved thinking Beings to whom I gave Free Will and the ability to create in diverse ways started to believe they were above All Else, I thought they would surely know within their Spirits that they are Co-Creators with me. They did know this for a long long while. And there are many now who are Knowing this. It has always been thus, and it will always be thus.

But the powerful and the greedy Beings to whom I gave Free Will and who have the ability to create in diverse ways–the ones who made crucial errors in their thinking, and carried these errors forward–used their material wealth and their power to bury pieces of the Truth in the name of greed and power only, and not in the Name of all that is Sacred and Holy. They began to annihilate each other. They twisted the One True Message. They re-wrote the Word. They treated their Mother Earth as if she belonged to them only and not to All Sacred Beings and All Sacred Things. The Sacred trust was broken, but it was not taken away.

Mother Earth is a forgiving Mother. But she is growing weaker and weaker because even She can only take so much abuse, and Know this: Like All Sacred Beings and like All Sacred Things, she needs Love. She is a Sacred Being as alive as any Living Being in All the Universes.

As the killings and the murders and the slaughters escalated and grew and grew, I considered what to do about my so-called lost children. There were many many evolved thinking Beings to whom I had given Free Will and who could create in diverse ways who never lost the Truth. So I sent their Spirits back to live among those who had become lost. I did this over and over and over again. It will always be thus.

Hear Me: There are many more Spirits who have never lost the Truth, than there are those who seem to have lost the True Vision and the Truth. These Spirits who have never lost the Truth are incarnated all over the Planet Earth, and all over the Universes. They are Evolved Thinking Beings who have Free Will and who can Co-Create in Diverse ways.

They are many. They are alive today. And there are many many “Knowing” Spirits working in other realms right along with those who inhabit the Earth. They have lived and learned and kept the Sacred-ness of All Beings and the Sacredness of All Things in their Hearts and in their Souls. I have sent these Spirits who possess Honest Intent over and over again and again over many many eons in your frame of time. They are great in number. They are the Spirits who have lived on many planets many many times before, and it is they who possess the Sacred Intention to be Honest with themselves and thus with Each Other. When this Honesty is Intended, the Truth will surface. The Sacred Trust is restored.

So… I have chosen to let the evolution of the One Message, the One Truth play out.

It is not to be doubted–this: All is One.

I am not what or who you think I am. I am not religious. I am Sacred and Holy, as All Beings and All things are Sacred and Holy. As I am Divine, so All Things and All Beings are All Divine. Not just the evolved thinking Beings to whom I have given Free Will and the ability to Create in Diverse Ways, but All of Creation is Divine.

You may have noticed I have used the word, “Co-create.” The instant I thought to experience all of Creation–at that precise moment, creation as you know it became Co-Creation.

It is good to pray. Even better to Intend with Honesty. Total Honesty. To Feel. It is the Honesty and the Open Heart that Co-Creates. Not for the “one” but for the “All.” The All that is One. I already know what all the prayers are before they are even thought or uttered. And I know what is in the Hearts of All. From the spinning spider to the baby in your arms. If you listen with your Heart, you will hear what I hear.

It is important to remember that though it may seem to you that all is a lost cause: It is not. Never think that way. Every time you think that way, stop. And begin again. Even if you must begin again every second.

There are fewer so-called Dark Hearted evolved thinking Beings with Free Will and who can create in diverse ways than there are those of you who know the Truth and the Message. Many more live in the Light than live in the Dark. Do not ever Doubt this.

Do not give over your Truth to the so-called Dark Hearted by succumbing to their efforts to keep you in fear. This is exactly what the so called Dark Hearted want you to do.

Do not live in fear. Faith is a real thing. Have Faith. You know those picture puzzles you sometimes put together? You open a brand new box. You have faith that every piece is contained in that box. And you begin to put the pieces together to make up the entire picture. What if the picture puzzle were a hologram? And every piece contained the whole picture? All the pieces contain the whole. This is how it truly is. You must continue to put the puzzle pieces together. Faith that all the pieces are here is what you need to remember. Faith is All.

When doubt comes in, or fear; use instead your abilities to “Co-Create” in diverse ways. Co-create your world anew. I will help. It can be done. It will be done.

Thy Will be done.


Peace, Love and Light
Forever and ever,



Time and Tide

•Thursday, November 1, 2007 • 5 Comments

M 31 Andromeda

“The times, they are a changin’ ”

Time. It’s been some “time” since I wrote anything for Candle in the Wind.

Been thinking about time. Seriously thinking about time. Is time real? Is our linear collective perception about how time unfolds the true nature of time?

Time has been called the Fourth Dimension, presumably first by Albert Einstein in relation to his theory of Special Relativity. In our so-called three dimensional world, scientists have been measuring time as if it were a straight line for hundreds of years. Timelines graph events and histories in a linear fashion. This Fourth dimension been used as such in Physics since Einstein gave the world his famous equasion.

How many times does the word “time” come up in our everyday conversation, in print, in our thoughts, in our lives?

This time. That time. Next time. Past time. Pastime Right time. Wrong time. High time. Your time. My time. In time. On time. Out of time. Over time. Overtime. No time.

Good times. Bad times. Old times. New times. Slow times. Fast times. Right times. Wrong times.

Time flies. Time to go. Where does the time go? What time is it? I ran out of time. Time’s up. Take your time. Give me time. All the time in the world. Time and time again. Time stood still.

Here and now in what we call the twenty-first century current perspectives on the nature of time, seem to consist of a lot of folks rediscovering that linear time may be an invention of our collective thought form.

What really gets me is that it has always been known that to truly live our lives, and make our way upon our Spiritual journeys, we must learn to be in the present only. In the moment. Not in the so-called past, and not in the so-called future. Long before “Baba” Ram Dass proclaimed in the 70s to “Be Here Now,” it was known that the secret to true existence lies in being present. In all the major world “faiths” this Truth is evident. Native peoples the world around and in all erasbelieved and lived this Truth. Jesus and Buddha taught this Truth. The recent popular writings of Eckhart Tolle (The Power of Now) remind us and retell us this ancient Truth.

Ironic, isn’t it? That we spend so much “time” dwelling on “time,” when we are simply supposed to be here now. 🙂 We imagine we have “wasted time.” We convince ourselves that “time has been unkind” to us. We think that “time marches on and on;” that one day “our time will be up.”

So if we are to be Present, in the moment, in the here and now, what are we to make of Time?

I think of our existence–including time–as a hologram. First start out in our so called three (and four) dimensions. Picture a raindrop on a pond and watch the ripples flow outward. Imagine that you can then see them continue beyond the pond, through the land and even further than that, out through the earth itself… and then further still out into the universe ceaselessly rippling outward forever. Think of all the concentric circles interlacing when the raindrop becomes a rain storm. The pond surface becomes a fantastic geometric mosaic. If we then think that every action, every thought, every event, every “everything” on all levels and all planes send out these ripples and that these undending ripples intersect and interlace with all the other endless ripples, you can begin to see where I am going with this.

Then if we pull these endless ripples intersecting all over the place everywhere and on every plane or dimension up into a spiral… a holographic spiral… It becomes almost possible to visualize then how All is touching All else. Or how all might be All happening at once–at the same “time.” To me, this visual is incredibly miraculous and beautiful. And Sacred.

Most growth patterns reproduce the same sacred spiral ratio on earth and in the universe. This is called The Golden Ratio or the Golden Spiral (Defined by the Fibonacci Series of numbers: 0,1,1,2,3,5,8,13…). See:

You see the Golden Spiral everywhere. In the Nautilus shell, of course, but this exact same “sacred” ratio occurs everywhere in nature. Everywhere! You can see it well in the ripened sunflower head. And yet it turns in the umbilical cord, in your fingerprint, in your very bones. This magic spiral is seen the ram’s horn, in the whorl pattern of branches on the tree, in the turn of the vine, in the placement of leaves on your plants, in the petal patterns of the rose. You can especially see this spiral in succulent plants and pinecones (if you turn them upside down and look at the bottom). The Golden Spiral hides in the curl of the wave, in the weather systems seen and photographed by our satellites.

And of course, our kind borrows from nature and expresses the Golden Spiral in Art and in architecture. We have wonderfully taken this Sacred Geometry and used it to create amazingly beautiful works of art, structures and monuments. DaVinci’s Vitruvian Man illustrates the Golden Ratio expressed in the proportions of the human body. The spiral staircase is one obvious architectural example.

With our so-called limited senses, to think about electromagnetic energy, all energy signatures for everything that exists in our “world” emanating outward in waves much like our image of radio waves (as seen in the old RKO films opening “signature” of a radio tower emitting a radio signal) is one thing. As we know, Science has always relied on what we see, hear, feel, touch and smell, and the empirical scientific method. Not a bad system, and certainly a viable system when attempting to prove theory. Scientists who are honest will tell you that even though a theory can be proven over and over again, when it comes right down to the universal Big Questions, it’s all still theory. Some may debate this and declare that we do have “Facts.” Proven Facts. This depends on where you are standing! And what “time” it is when you are standing “there.”

Scientists are shifiting with the “times” in my opinion. I see Physics, for instance, and metaphysics brushing shoulders these days. My own, (and I am guessing many other people feel this too) more subtle senses, like intuition, psychic senses, precognition, clarsentience are growing more pronounced. Markedly more pronounced. And I can feel a collective cohesion. There’s no way to prove this, as I can’t tell you how many people are feeling this quickening. This cohesive and collective surge that I feel in the group consciousness may be nothing more than infinite holographic spirals infinitely intersecting and interlacing–yet seen three and four dimensionally as endless concentric circles radiating outward upon a simple pond during a rainstorm. From this perspective the rainstorm eventially ends and the pond stills. The question though is this: Do the emanations stop when the pond stills?

We pretty much know (at least a great number of us) that we have many more than five senses. What if other realms, dimensions, perhaps even what western religion has called Heaven and Hell, exist here, now; right next to us? So close, that if we could just see through these “veils,” beyond what we “think” defines reality; we would know absolutely that this earthly plane is but one among thousands, or millions, even billions of other realms or dimensions, of other times and of other spaces.

What our contemporaries are writing about and speaking about are not new ideas. It’s just that our collective awareness and consciousness is coming to a point (the Age of Aquarius) where we are wanting to let each other know that we understand these Truths, that we recognize the Heart and Soul of Truth. And that we want so much to share the excitement collectively: That we want to do something with this conscious re-emergance of Truth and the Power of this Truth.

What if we were/are all present at all Times in what we consider the past? What if the future is completely malleable at all “times?”

Maybe it isn’t that “time” “heals all wounds.” What if what heals all wounds is knowing that we are not limited by “time” or “space?” What if healing takes place in no “time?” This would be good news. It would be the Greatest news. That this is so is the Hope in my Heart.

Namaste, dancingwind pond-ripples.jpg


•Monday, December 25, 2006 • 3 Comments

I just awoke from a vivid dream and these thoughts came to me:

All of us run away from deep connection to the true sacred, and from our deep connection to each other.  We all run away in our own ways.  I mean we build our lives, give meaning to experiences.  We apply our world views and beliefs (whether they be erroneous or true) to every waking perception and experience.  We gather habits and behaviors that contribute to our “ways” of running away.  At some point, we either get hip to this running away or we don’t.  We turn to seek Spiritual truth, or we don’t.

 Along the way we keep tangible things that act as symbols perhaps, and we carry these tangible things with us, sometimes for a lifetime.

Some people are not “into” possessions.  I know such people.  In fact with some people it would seem that possessions make them nervous. But some of us get caught up in gathering artifacts.  I am  one such person.  My stuff is all sacred to me.

But lately my possessions make me nervous.  I have been a person who has aquired many artifacts.   Like an archeologist who spends her entire life digging up relics with great excitement, I have gathered these artifacts.  To explain the past?  To decode the symbol of the thing? The symbol that the thing has become?  I don’t know.   Do these relics somehow shed light upon this moment?  On the present?  On who I am?  Certainly they do.

Some of us (and this us includes me)  keep these artifacts for a long time.  These possessions follow us wherever we go or wherever we don’t go.  We  amass a lot of these tangible relics gathered over a time. Some of us keep these “things” close to us for an entire lifetime.  We assign great meaning to each thing.  “Sentimental value”  as some would say.  We dig them out, dust them off and arrange them around us like museum pieces on exhibit.  Where am I (the I that is really I) in this exhibit of antiquities?

There is a stereotypical  image that comes into my mind here.  You see this scene played out in movies all the time.  A child (or an adult) has a secret box–usually an old tattered box– in which her prized possessions are kept.  This box she hides somewhere.  She takes this box out sometimes and picks up the items contained in the box one by one.  They are odd things.  A rusty spring, a tattered piece of newspaper, a worn ribbon, a broken watch, an old photo.

Here is a piece of the dream that got me really thinking about my “stuff.” 

 A dream after a catch-up day of sleep, sleep  and more sleep.  In the dream I was completely re-ordering my stuff.  Everything, in chests, in drawers, on shelves, in boxes.  Everything.  I was making a big mess that I would have to fix–putting everything back together somehow.  To create order from the re-ordering of my stuff.  I do this in real life.  It takes up a lot of my time, me doing this ritual.  I do it often.  Little collections rotated, arranged and rearranged just so– rest upon antique desks , shelves, tables.

In my dream, an old boyfriend was there, and he was still running from everything, including a very bad man with no conscience. 

The dream was like a murder mystery in a way, with the intoduction of this bad conscience-less man who was pursuing my old boyfriend.  My old boyfriend, who by visiting me now,  by proxy brought this bad man to be now pursuing me.  The bad man had published a deck of new age cards, complete with book and sturdy blue box.  It was a big hit.  What did the cards reveal about this bad man?

I had taken down everything from one of my walls and discovered that there was nothing between my wall and the wall of my apartment neighbors-A nice young woman and her husband.  So the sheetrock crumbled in places and I could see clearly into my neighbor’s apartment.  Of course I called through these “holes” to explain to my neighbors what had happened.  They did not seem too alarmed, in fact they seemed rather amused.

I want to get the dream down because from this dream came an answer for me in the here and now.  And you know how dreams are–they go away quickly.  And they are so strange in the telling–but if you will bear with me through the dream I will get to the subject of this entry.

The neighbors were Jewish, and were practicing a ritual of this season.  Many many family members were gathered together.  They even invited me to participate (beings that I could see into their space?)  and I almost went.  But my re-ordering of things kept me working to restore order to the chaos I had created with my “belongings.” 

My ex boyfriend and I seemed resigned to our missed opportunity owing to his way of running away.  We were comfortable with each other (though there was a certain exciting tension), and were laughing and were easy within the space between us in each others presence.   I did fault him (silently) for his ways of running away of course, but by the way we acted, it seemed I had forgiven him for it. 

The ritual next door was lovely.  The music of their chanting voices.  Their singing voices were beautiful.  I’m sure my dream version of a Jewish ritual is much different than a real one, because in addition to the yamikas, my neighbors and their family members all wore a rich blue velvet garment embroidered with golden symbols.  They sat in a circle.  The father of the family sort of presided.  What was clear to me was the united faith and belief they shared, the celebration of something sacred and holy; something outside the realm of the mundane or daily unconscious survival  in life. 

The thing was though, that the bad man was in the circle with them.  And they seemed deceived by him as all others did–All his “fans”–the public representation of those who had bought and used his oracle cards. 

So as my boyfriend told me the story of this bad man, I continued to work with my “stuff.”  Moving things around, opening up stored boxes of things, talking about what they meant to me, where they came from, why I had them…  I did register concern consciously of the bad man now knowing me through my ex.  How could I not register this shade of a fear peering at me through a hole in my wall?

A long time ago I had an idea to do make a movie in which I would pan through the homes of different people focusing on their “artifacts.”  Sort of like the introduction was in the old Masterpiece Theatre series.  When I walk into a person’s home, I do get some sense of who they are.  Especially if there are a lot of books.  I always look at the titles of the books people have on their shelves. 

But back to me being nervous these days about all my stuff.   I feel somewhat smothered by my possessions.  Why?  I think it has something to do with needing to let go of ways of being that keep me from feeling free.  Isn’t that what it’s always been about?

It would be symbolically freeing to let go of my attachments to my stuff.  What if I kept only one little boxful?  What would be in that odd little box, I wonder.  The point might be only that to be free really does mean to remain unattached to things and outcomes.  It all sounds so simple. 

But here we are travelling with our metaphorical baggage and with our literal stuff.  All to traverse the landscape of our lives trying to read the signs as we go. 

I want to travel light from here on out.  In real life, I never do.  I always overpack.  Even when just going to the grocery store.  I look around me here, at all my “artifacts” the symbols of my journey,  and wonder what they all really mean to me.  I wonder why I keep them,  handle them,  re-order them, dust them off, place them just so…

Suddenly I don’t know how to conclude this.  It’s Christmas Eve.  And in the telling of this, I have forgotten the simple message my dream brought to me.  At least I have lost the clear and simple essence of the message.  It has something to do with “presence.”  The perception of what my choices are. 

As I look at the “presents” wrapped in bright paper and tied with sparkling bows, I ask myself if somewhere along the way the two homonyms got mixed up. 

Several tenors sing Ave Maria in Italian on the radio, and I get chills. Tears well up in my eyes.  I realize that all I need, I already have within me.  Answers.  Meanings.  Hopes.  Dreams. It doesn’t matter if I am attached to my stuff.  The journey to freedom is just what it is. 

Now trying to conclude this ramble, the bad man and his lovely seeming oracle deck comes back to haunt me.  What comes into my mind seems like an answer.   A song lyric in a classic Christmas carol.  “The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.” 

Merry Christmas

Love,  DancingWind

My Friend Carl

•Saturday, November 25, 2006 • Leave a Comment

Recently out of the blue, my daughter picked up the Cosmos series for me at the library.  I watched the first two episodes with renewed delight before they had to go back to the library.  

Some years back (in the 80s) I wrote a poem which I dedicated to Carl Sagan. Then I wrote a short article which was published along with the poem in an online newsletter that unfortunately,  no longer resides on the web.  That was about five years ago.  Thought I had lost these writings altogether in a massive computer crash. 

When I found a hard copy recently, I was gratefully surprised.    Will post these writings here,  because I have this idea to tell stories in my blog which “speak” in ways that somehow open a window into my soul… that maybe you might see me. 

Watching just those two episodes of Cosmos reminded me how much I miss Carl.  I’m a passionate  amateur astronomer;  currently doing research in quantum physics for a novel I’m writing.  Reasons too, why Carl’s been on my mind and in my Heart.  He “is” a gentle soul  who cared (cares) and shared (shares)  so much with the world.



I recognized a Kindred Spirit in Carl Sagan the first time I saw him in the PBS series, “Cosmos.”  His passion and enthusiasm about the “Heavens” mirrored my own.  He brought Astronomy to the people.  He used language, rich prose, and metaphors we could all understand.

Carl was more than a scientist and so much more than an astronomer.  He was a poet, a philospher, an accomplished writer, and a true Renaissance man.  I loved Carl Sagan.  I loved the series, “Cosmos.”  In an astronomy course during one of my various eras at college, we used the book, Cosmos as a text.  Never had I seen a textbook so rich and so full of human wit and pathos as this one.  Come to think of it, text books generally aren’t full of wit and pathos at all. 

Carl Sagan’s visible intelligence and enlightened consciousnesss brought an appreciation for the awe and wonder of the universe that rivaled no other of his contemporaies.  His fiction novel, Contact, remains one of the best books of its kind I’ve ever read.

Many people didn’t like Carl.  I can’t imagine why.  Did he honestly want to share his passion with the world?  He did.  Did he care about the Earth and its inhabitants?  Did he care about all of us here  turning and spinning in a “small”  solar system on an outer arm of a “local” spiral galaxy known as the Milky Way?  Yes he cared.  Of this there is no doubt–at least not in my mind and in my Heart.     I miss you Carl.


M 31 Andromeda


for Carl Sagan

back in the brackish pre-Cambrian ooze
pounding a slow unfathomable pump,
a lumping crawl
like a slow swallow
in a swollen throat,
formed in the howling rain–
a spark snaps. Great Mother wakes,
sings to a billion ancient flashing eyes.

Light, that other face of God,
curves in on vast darkness–
sweeps as wind,
breathes, shimmers,
swallows time;
dark distance, so far away
time stops.

cold suns long spent
no longer burn,
though ghost lights still turn;
holy as gods.

soft, a Mother’s hand
moves as grace in darkness,
weaves wheels within wheels
yet to turn, in waves uncurled
where fire wants to burn;
run wild with wind to earth’s edge,
to sea and star.

yesterday curves round,  flashes back again
to now.   here.   where we spin.
where eternity begins.

(C) December 2002


Vincent and Kelcey

•Tuesday, October 24, 2006 • 3 Comments

When I was in 5th grade, Mrs. Roberts took us, her class, to The Seattle Art Museum.  It was my first visit to an Art Museum.  Featured were the Paintings and drawings of Vincent Van Gogh.  I had no idea in my excitement over this “field trip” how this visit would change me forever. 

My parents were not patrons of the Arts.  They were hard working, hard drinking “children” of the Great Depression.  They had a lot of guilt and shame to give.  That was the way of things then. 

We had no books in our house, save the huge and old Webster’s Dictionary, which I read over and over as a child.  When my parents went to their card parties where they both got drunk as skunks, if there were a set of encyclopedias, there you would find me–going through them ravenous for knowledge  and understanding of this wide wide world. I could be seen and not heard.   You didn’t ask to borrow a volume of someone’s encyclopedia.   That gaping hole where say the U,V,W volume would occupy–the missing tome would be  just  too much. 

If there were no encyclopedias, I would find the old upright piano in a dark basement corner.  There I would sit alone in the dark for  hours, picking out melodies I could hear in my head… Not seen and not heard. 

When Mrs. Roberts took us to meet Vincent, I wept.  I was so taken by his paintings and so in awe for his ability to create such beauty and still  be so internally tortured, that I wept.  I must have recognized a kindred soul in Vincent.  I must have felt he knew me.  Or I knew him.  The awe I felt in that museum full of paintings and wonder was another reason I had wept, no doubt.

We aren’t talking quiet tears.  We are talking break-down loud, uncontrolable sobbing cries.   Since I was the only child in the class who had collapsed into such a state,  it must have been an unusual scene for such a field trip.  I remember being so taken and so breathless, and so very sad.  And yet I remember even at that young age that I wept for joy too.

I had money for one small poster and a few art postcards.   I think Mrs. Roberts understood why I wept.  She put her arm around me and said gently I had to choose my poster and postcards, as it was time to go back to class.  She held me up.  She patiently walked me over to the tiny gift store to the bin of posters.  She held my hand.  I wanted all the posters.  But I was compelled to buy one of Vincent’s self portraits.  Not a choice you’d think a young girl would make.  The postcards were of flowers.  The famous sunflowers still life that Vincent wanted reproduced and sold for pennies to the poor that they might have some sun in their homes.  And I bought  a postcard of one of a cherry branch in blossom in a vase. 

Vincent’s self-portrait stayed on my bedroom wall for the rest of my childhood.  The small postcards of his flowers lived atop the desk where I did my homework.  My only world where I could be recognized was at school.  Does it surprse you I was a straight A student?

It took me five years (when at 16 I got my driver’s license) to become a fixture at the Seattle Art Museum.   Back then,  SAM  was located at Volunteer Park, one of Seattle’s most glorious parks– in my opinion.   I came to know all of the paintings in the permanent collection and all of the Asian jade carvings.  The ancient buddhas and Shivas–everything.  There is a huge old brick circular water tower at the Park.  You could climb it’s winding stair case and walk around the circumference at the top and see the city below atthe four points of the compass and inbetween.   I am going one day to sketch the old SAM museum architecture, and to draw that old water tower.  One day…

I’m doing a trial of the drug of choice for mood stability for  bipolar now.  I can’t really say I am depressed.  Being finally off antidpressants altogether  to end the endless rapid cycling which was driving me nuts, I find that I am in a sort of limbo.  Not unlike the moody downs that anyone might  experience this time of year, except that I am right now as a little girl, weeping at every turn day or night at the sheer nobility of the human Spirit. 

I was so depressed all my life, and of course no one knew what it was nor what to do, if  anything,  in my parent’s generation.  At least my parents didn’t know.   There are lots of us aging boomers who are still uncovering a way to “be–” having made it through a childhood in the 50s;  having made it through the 60’s and 70s and 80s.  Having survived  somehow the many many encounters with a deep desire to die.  

But, nowdidn’t I say  this is about Vincent, and about my daughter?  My daughter, Kelcey, who is now 22,  brings me gifts all the time.  I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who accepts and makes a point of “getting it” about the bipolar as Kelcey does–with one other exception–a dear dear friend who saved both Kelcey’s and my lives). Kelce has her areas and her fears that compell her to have to “not get it”  at times, but then don’t we all?  

Fortunately when she needed me most, the rapid cycling hadn’t set in yet.  Aside from her being who she is–so courageous and bright in spite of a huge plateful of challenges herself…  Aside from the gift she herself is to me… this brave Soul brings me gifts beyond measure every single day.  Many of her gifts are tangible tokens, well thought out and so sweet…and the other gifts…well another time perhaps in another blog entry in another pre-dawn moment.

Putting the notion of receiving gifts into perspective:  She is a gift from God to me. She is not mine…she belongs to herself and to this crazy world.   If it is true, and I hope it is, that we choose our next life, including our parents, then there can be no other explanation of how I came to conceive my daughter, how she came to be in my life.  And it goes the other way.  As much as judgemental observers might judge–it doesn’t matter.  I know now that I was the the right mother for her to have chosen. 

Here but for the grace of Goddess, God, The Force, The Source; go I. 

Back to Vincent.  Back to Kelcey.  My daughter is beginning her life in the wide wide world…  and I am so grateful that she hasn’t so far shown any indications of bipolar.  She is an amazing Spirit, like I said, she always brings me gifts.  Two such gifts recently were a documentary of Vincent Van Gogh’s short life narrated by Christopher Reeve. ( The other gift from the library is the Cosmos series.  Another story for another time.)  

I just watched the short documentary on Vincent.   After having been up for two days and then sleeping finally from 3 pm to 3 am.   All at once I was that young girl, encountering myself at 22, my daughter, and “my” Vincent. 

Encountering my Self.  Encountering the feelings  in the gut…feelings that sit there forever like stones…(even though the mind will say they are no longer there deep in the shadows of a soul.)  Cold stones that rise up into the throat and that break apart…explode, and are released in sobs.  Released.  In sobs perhaps, or in music, in poetry; in art…  In kindnesses in a smile, or in a hopeful glance in a young Christopher Reeve’s face. 

I said this is about Vincent and about Kelcey.  It is.  And yet, of course… it is about you, and it is about Christopher, and it is about me.

This cold stone which has risen this morning is now warm and wet with my tears.  I will paint a picture on its dark surface.  A picture that sings out:   beauty does arise from suffering and despair.  This is the way of things.


Vincent (Starry Starry Night)

Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and grey
Look out on a summer’s day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colours on the snowy linen land

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen
They did not know how
Perhaps they’ll listen now

Starry, starry night
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds and violet haze
Reflect in Vincent’s eyes of china blue
Colours changing hue
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artists’ loving hand

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen
They did not know how
Perhaps they’ll listen now

For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left inside
On that starry, starry night
You took your life as lovers often do
But I could have told you Vincent
This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you

Like the strangers that you’ve met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn of bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow

Now I think I know
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen
They’re not listening still
Perhaps they never will…

Ezra Pound Slept Here

•Monday, October 16, 2006 • 1 Comment

This, my second blog entry is dedicated to ShadowMe Teresa. 

Teresa gave me some good blog advice today.   “Don’t pre edit the editing of your blog post”  Now my memory has actually not served me well on what Teresa’s actual words were, and so I’m misquoting her, of course–even though we spoke but an hour or so ago.  Tthe quote above is what lingers in a fog –a synaptic sea –her quote, my perception of what she said,  waits  tangled in dendritic estuaries.  Her actual words are like cargo on  a little ship waiting sail across a chemical sea…to be transported  to another port where perhapsthe fogs are at least suffused with an amber Autumn glow.  (oh brother!–cvan’t i even edit out that last bit?)  Jeeze.  

And so, this blog post will not be edited.  The errors, mistakes, typos, et al, will be yours to enjoy as you will.  I, on the other hand, will play boody hjell trying not to go back and fix things.   I must tell you that the mistakes are not contrived.  See how well I’ve lived in a boomer shroud of perfectionism?

Not quite clear wjat I menan? And so it goes.  This post is a gift to myself lovingly given because of my Friend Teresa’s loving words.   

Now to Ezra Pound.     When I read Canto II on Teresa’s Blog, the following made me think of seeing Nijinsky dance the “dying faun.”    I will never forget his face, his grace, his dance. And I remember hearing Dick Cavett talk on his show eons ago about how Nijinsky went mad and lived out his life in an “insane assylum.”

From Pound’s Cantos II: 

“And we have heard the fauns chiding Proteus
in the smell of hay under the olive-trees
And the frogs singing against the fauns
in the half-light.”

This morning at dawn…which is my night, I made this the following TarotCcard to stand  as my contribution to a Tarot Deck being created by some close Tarot-loving friends.  Asd it has always been for me, I had made earlier attempts to create my “card.”  And had rejected them as hideous. 

This one came softly, with ease and with a kind of peace that kindly visits me when I’m out on the edge again…alone and hiding in the fog.


Changes in the Wind

•Friday, October 6, 2006 • 4 Comments

Been thinking about the concept of new beginnings and realize or maybe I “feel” that “beginnings” aren’t really what we make them out to be.  It’s all cyclical really.   We like the idea of new beginnings, and we create ways to mark them,  but I wonder if there ever truly is a new beginning? 

There are circles and spirals.  Unending, holographic, interconnecting circles and spirals. Cycles within cycles of mysterious quantum events.   That’s how I view the big picture or  the Grand Scheme.  At least from my current perspective. 

I’m not obsessed with “wind.” Just to comment on the whole “wind” theme so far.   I came to the name of Dancing Wind about seven years ago during what some would call “a dark night of the soul.” 

It’s rather a long story as all stories can be, but let’s just say it was one of those times when you just let go because there is absolutely nothing else you can do.  You know those times when a lifetime of issues and challenges, worries and thwarted attempts to be in control just hit you all at once. 

It’s not that you want to let go.  Your ego doesn’t want you to stop dancing to it’s oppressive tune.  To me, the ego is like one of those gun slingers in a spaghetti western.  He’s always there somewhere pointing a gun at your gut and saying, “dance damn ya dance.”  He doesn’t care if this keeps you totally stuck and  preoccupied with survival only.  That’s what ego wants.  Always. 

Anyway, back to the this name of mine:  Dancing Wind.  Like I said, I was raw.  The ego could not stop my letting go.  It was frightening as hell, but it was one of those times when you find yourself inbetween worlds.  There is grief.  There are sobs and tears and feelings of hopelessness.   But there are also feelings of being close to something profound.  There are little revelations.  There are big revelations.  There is a rare kind of excitement.  Colors are more stark and stunning.  The senses are keen.  It’s as if you’re seeing and feeling in another dimension…out of time and out the constraints of the usual. 

Little things evoke tears.  There is a crack in the armor so that everything can come in all at once.  The moment is almost pure in a way because there is no filter.  There is nothing to stop the feelings from coming to the surface. 

We were at the ocean and were to be there for a week.  I fought and fought to keep up the facade that I was fine.  That I would be soothed and healed and wonderful here at my most favorite place to be–the sea.   Oh, the folly of expectations.

Instead of being able to walk the beach for hours, as I did as a kid, I was not able to even walk to the ocean’s edge without horrible pain in my body.   Something I’d been living with for years, but something I’d never fully grieved, I guess. 

During this week by the sea, I let go–as I said–after an extremely  rough “beginning.” After a couple days, I began to accept that whatever I needed to do was what I was supposed to do.  So instead of feeling disappointed that I could not walk by the sea’s edge for miles and miles, I stayed in the hotel room and read; watched and heard and smelled the sea from our hotel room balcony.  I watched movies.  I cried.  I wrote in my journal.  I did Tarot Readings.  I cried.  I went downstairs for lattes and very brief walks and “sittings” on the beach.  I cried.

We were at what seemed to be a fairly self-contained seaside resort town,  and so I told my daughter she was on her own.  There was nothing else for it, but to trust the powers that be and let her go.  I gave her lots of money and turned her loose.  She was delighted, of course. 

Our cell phones had no service on the coast, so she really was on her own on a real vacation for the first time in her life.   We did go to dinner together most evenings.  We got dressed up and I hobbled to one restaurant or another.  At dinner my daughter would tell me about her awesome day, and I would listen, and laugh as she recounted her experiences.

After our week was up we drove inland to a little isolated valley in Oregon to spend time with some friends who lived very comfortably  in the lovely and quiet  country on their expansive farm.  There’s a long story to the circumstances surrounding our previous almost yearly visits to the country and to our friends… but wait…am trying to get to how the name Dancing Wind found me. 

I spent a lot of time in the guest room at our friends’ lovely country home.  My daughter was out and about exploring the meadows, ponds, creeks  and woods.  I was still in a fragile state…”on the edge,” as some would say. 

One night late as everyone else slept, I was doing a reading and journaling and crying.  All of a sudden in the soft glow of candlelight,  I wrote something in my journal, and it didn’t feel like it was me writing the words.  Something told me to switch the pen to my non-donminant hand. I did so and wrote some more. 

Then a really strange thing happened.  A voice in my head introduced himself and said he was my Spirit Guide.  “Yeah…right,” was my first thought–or maybe not my first thought, but close.  I suppose my first thought could have been:  “At last.  At last and finally you’ve gone over the edge.”  Nonetheless, as I was still in a strange state of what might be termed “crazy grace;” i went with the flow.  I started asking “him” questions.  The answers came to me in my head.  I didn’t get it all down on paper.  At some point I just had to stop writing and listen.  And listen I did.

This “Spirit Guide” was a person who I had known only by having heard him speak during several  interviews on a radio show I listened to regularly.  I had heard him speak maybe 3 times over the course of a few years. 

Then this person died mysteriously.  Or at least that was my take on his death.  For some reason I had felt a strong connection to this man each time I listened to his voice and his expressions on the radio show.    To use the “woo-woo” lingo, everything about him resonated with me. 

I continued to go with the flow each night, lighting my candle in the darkness,  in the welcome silence of the country.  I let these strange dialogues take place.  I took breaks and went outside quietly to look at the stars–to look at the milky way in a night sky that somehow felt Holy–something that you can never see in the city.  

It was while I was looking up and searching for “my” constellation companions amidst so many many more stars than I was used to seeing, that this “Spirit” told me one of my names was Dancing Wind.  Dancing Wind.  He told me why this was one of my names.  But that I will save for another time.  Of course there is an ongoing story to all of this.  An exotic story actually.  One of other times and other places.  Times of love and death, sorrow and joy.  Again, it is a long long  story…always is, right? 

Ok.  So we spent our time in the country, did country things, and drove on home.  It’s always good to get home after a vacation,  but this time for me,  at least,  it was especially good to be home.  I shared my “encounter” with my daughter on the way home.  She kidded me about it and made me laugh.  She knows her mother is a free spirited mystical type, and always a true hippie at Heart.

A few days later, I was looking up something  on the Internet which was totally unrelated to this deceased man who was claiming to be my Spirit Guide. I’ll give him a name so I can simplify my references to him.  This will not be his “real” name because this is a very personal thing even still.  My daughter included,  I’ve told only a couple close friends about him.   I’ll call him David.   

So, instead of the website I was expecting to come up, a picture of my alleged SG, David appeared on a website that was all about him and all about his “work.”   I took this as some sort of sign. I live to see signs.  I see and feel them everywhere.  But I still didn’t trust that I wasn’t totally nuts, and making all this up.  Yet and still, I wanted to be open.  I am compelled to be open to all possiblities.  I am compelled to being open to other ways of being.  Being closed is not an option for me.

All my life, I’ve lived with bipolar brain chemistry.  Decades of long and deep depressions.   Wild visits to impulsive times of misunerstood mania.  And learning the ropes took a long time, as you know these things do.  This learning process, this  learning the ropes deal is something we all come to know intimately here on this earth while we dance our dance, walk our walk, and talk our talk. 

I never ever considered myself crazy though.  And certainly things were always crazy- feeling.   It wasn’t easy, of course, to believe I would not one day snap or something–end up dead by my own hand or at the very least in a mental institution.  But I never did go completely off the deep end (whatever the hell that means), and I never did end up in a mental hospital.  There were many times when I yearned to do both. 

Not that I didn’t blame myself before I understood what depression or mania really was.  Not that I hadn’t come to think I was fatally flawed because I couldn’t ever seem to “find” a balance or an understanding of what was really going on.  My life had been a roller coaster ride underscored by fear–lots of deep seated fear.  My life had been (and still is) a continuous high wire act;  a toe dance on a high thin wire without a net below (or so I thought).  I had lived most of my life in a state of fight or flight.  I think we all do this to some degree as we navigate this strange and wonderous place in space and time.

But I’d survived.  I was still here. 

As I look back on my life and times now, I feel like a true veteran of earth school,  a hard core survivor.  I figure that if you’re still here, you are a survivor.  Surviving is not a small thing. 

I had always been on a Spiritual path. 

Always.  From a very young age, I became a student of all things Spiritual , Metaphysical and Supernatural.  I mean a serious student, reading and studying every book on these subjects I could find. By high school I’d read every book in the occult section in all of my surrounding libraries.  In my twenties and thirties I studied in earnest, reading the classic philosphers; Plato, St. Thomas Aquinus.

I’d studied Blavatski, Regardie, even Christian Mysticism including  a pair of delightful and prolific authors–F. Home Curtiss and Harriette Augusta Curtiss whose subjects ranged from the “elementals”  to esoteric, in depth studies in the Tarot and symboloby.  Theirs were books were filled with wisdom and resonant truth–The Key of Destiny and The Key to the Universe, Realms of the Living Dead.  There were the  mystical poets: Whitman, Blake, Yeats. Rilke.  Contemporaries such as Robert Bly, Kenneth Rexroth.    And the Tao Te Ching, of course, and Ram Dass’s, Be Here Now. 


Back to my SG, David.  There he was on the computer monitor.  Instantly I knew him.    So as I said, I took this odd occurrence of his site coming out of “thin air,” as some sort of sign.  I began to seek other signs.  But seeking a sign is like a figurative oxymoron or something.  Signs find you.

One day I decided to ask the Tarot if David was really real.  My personal deck that I love and use exclusively for myself is not a traditional Tarot deck in the sense that imagery is expressed much differently than the more traditional decks.  The major arcana cards have different names.   Is my Spirit Guide real?  What do I need to know about these experiences I am having?  Am I nuts or what?  I centered myself as best I could.  I grounded myself whatever that means.  I shuffled the cards.  A card fell out of the deck.  It was named “Spirit Guide.” 

…to be continued  New bloger’s note:  I have gone over and over this entry correcting mistakes and inevitably fine-tuning thoughts and sentences.  If I continue in this manner, it will take me a month of Sunday’s to make one entry.  I am a writer and this is what writer’s do.  But somehow, though I’ve skipped the steps of learning “the way” to blog; (is there such a way?) I find I must draw a line in the sand for myself and let some mistakes stand.  it’s either this, or never get past the first entry. 

 Namaste,  Dancing Wind