Monday, October 09, 2006

It was clouds illusions...

Remember the song Send In The Clowns? Classic. This evening I sat on my balcony watching the clouds float by, serenaded by Miles Davis. Different shapes, evoking memory or inspiration. I thought of how Mada and I loved to watch the clouds and name shapes out of them; sometimes silly things. On the journey back from her funeral I watched the clouds. On our kayaking day Terri told me that we had a Simpson's Sky, as the clouds dotted the sky as in the cartoon. I can't help but look up every day and every night to watch the stories written there.
The line from the song came into my brain, almost like an epiphamy as it made me think of how througout my life I didn't really know love at all. To explain it further only reeks of ego as there were and are different stages that gave different facets of love.

Nature is a mutable cloud which is always and never the same.” Emerson

The call of the wilde

Was it just that? I celebrate and embrace the lack of dysfunctional emotional strings. Do I want something more? Yes, but not at least from this venue.
I excitedly told a couple of friends and one said "I hope this works out for you". The question being, what is the perception of "work's out"? A marriage? A good time? A committment? A one night stand?
I know it "worked out" to what it was/is supposed to least for me.

Friday, October 06, 2006


It takes a tragedy to reflect divine forgiveness. In the news regarding the families of the Amish girls killed by a milk truck driver, it was noted how the Amish leaders have set up a fund for the killer's widow and three children.

The Amish were not the only victims.

I cannot, nor do I ever want, to imagine the phases of grief those parents face. My grief is a creature of a different nature.
My forgiveness is to no one by myself. For others it is a path upon which angels and I fear to tread. Eventually thought it comes down to it. It being forgiveness. If one doesn't forgive eventually the anger, depression, and darkness eats the soul like an acid. Getting to that point is a journey all on its own.

Dive into one's soul
Where the still waters fun deep
Past the broken dreams
Where soul and stars meet
Where time is but a shadow
An you your self meet (seek)
Through the promises
Even those we didn't keep
Past the rich landscape
That made us today
Deeper into the unknown
Where the soul still weeps
Through out life and death
Our tapestry we weave
Till we chance upon the place
To where all souls meet

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Soul Mates

Well what an eye opening reality. Just like patience when one prays for it they get the lesson. No different then those who have come into our lives. I can look back and wow those 2X4's were at it again!
So when you look back at those who have loved, left, and loved again, what was the lesson they taught? Do you realize they were a 'soul mate'? There to teach you that lesson? What did they reflect that YOU needed to know? Did they treat you as badly as the person in your head did? Do you or I for that matter expect someone else to treat you or me any better then you or I treat ourselves? Words, actions, deeds, thoughts all of those are included. What a concept.

Monday, October 02, 2006

The Vortex

forward note; this is a story I've created.

As a memory, each room is numbered 13. Though the rooms are different, they’ve been numbered so there wouldn’t be a descending or offending order. Clothed in their thin veils, spiders touch up the silk threaded duvets; woven tightly to cocoon the occupant when reserved. Black, white and red candles blaze with blue flames casting a thousand year old glimpse off timeliness throughout the quiet halls.
The fountain in the stone foyer slips the memories of exotic nights; tell tale within the rhythm of the cascading water to those sequestered on the couch; listening. The stories told in a monotone lullaby; weaving a mist through the eyes of those waiting; and they thought they were taking a break from the heat outside. Waiting.
Quietness moves as a shadow; a breath moving as would an echo. A ripple. Left behind in it’s continuing wake is Noise. As Quiet goes through the hotel, lingering every now and again in certain places replenishing it’s energies; Noise insinuates the rush of air that closes a door, the dance of the paper floating in the wind captured in graceful swirls and arches. Nerveless, there are hours; Oh! That feels like days, where Quiet has gone out on the back of a carriage for a tour of the town. Sometimes to remind itself or converse with the others of that Time. Leaving Noise to knock around dust motes, as it’s momentous wake fades to but a restless whisper.
That Time, what should be contrived to be but a stale wind; Time. Then and again, but now. Within its breath, whispered a hush capturing attention of few; only those that know or believe. After all this is the New World’s oldest city. Where things past exist in the back of peoples minds are welcome to be; what some call ghosts, ectoplasms, witches and anything belonging to the mysteries of the metaphysical.
Occasionally laughing with the rustle of the leaves as it sees a play. As surreal as the multitude of ghosts that walk, lay, laugh, cry and play in the crowded streets. Except mid day when the sun bets it’s fury unwittingly in the sands or black top. Burning. Summer. In essence a winter of it’s own where when one steps outside the calidity is so biting it sends chills crawling up the arms as the sweat pores expand. Even the heat is forgiven as the ghosts play during the nights when the moon is full; three days before and three days after.
There once was a moment that Time stood still and Quiet screamed. Her hollow voice shrilled so loud even the living shivered and quickly moved to what was an attempt to safety. Noise hitched on the echoing vibrations of Quiet’s scream swept through on what could only be described as a preliminary cold-front; the kind that poses as a natural warning to those of an impending storm. No one living or dead could imagine the storm-front that came in. In that brief moment a gaping hole appeared. One that lies between planes of time. An open door for Shadow to creep forth its darkness; bringing on his tale the unwanted cousins, uncles, aunts, nephews from the Other side. The dregs. Lost souls and unknown entities that buoy hate, harm and anger. The vortex has been opened!
“Order!” the ancient judge roared from his misty dais. “Order in the court” his gavel struck the mist clanging across time. So there, they gathered as a fog. The ghosts in the once used courthouse; they layered. Some standing on the beds, some through them. The old room slowly taking upon itself its ghostly appearances of what was between Times folds.
“Wouldn’t the ball room have been better?” one was heard muttering.
“It’s an emergency meeting” the bailiff spoke. A hole through his forehead reflecting what was beyond; “and it’s currently in use for the temporary vestigages of today’s youths”. As he spoke the crescendo of music seeped through the walls and doors like oozing blood.
“It appears” the dusty judge quieted the room before him shaking the cobwebs from his pale face, “that the vortex has been opened. I want an investigation as to how it was done and how to close it. Most importantly the latter, at least for the moment. Any former psychics present?” His piercing eyes scanned the crowded room. A cold mist was forming from the presence of so many ghosts.
“Here”, spoke a quiet woman veiled from head to foot in white, the wooden stake rotting from her chest as the blacked blood stained the front of her Victorian lace gown. “It’s only because I know the dangers Shadow presents that I’ll help you, my former torturers” her blue eyes blazed a fire long remembered from a time that slipped past as she spotted her rivals amongst the crowd. “In order for the vortex to have been opened”, she rose above the crowded room capturing everyone’s attention, “someone of some supernatural abilities must have moved the seals, the Lions, the globe and, God help us, the doorway” The ghostly apparitions stood still; only the scurrying of the minute spiders that had crawled into their caskets and died with them scattered amongst the rustles of their period clothing.
“We know what it means if we cannot send them back into their own time and space.” The judge knowingly looked around the room.
“Yes,” the psychic began, “they will break the rules of our polite dead society we have created. First with possession of those that walk topside with malevolence:” slowly she proceeded to float towards the dais to stand below the judge, “then they will start to manipulate the weak with a vengeance; dead or alive. As I see it,” she then turned to the judge, “we have two choices to start with; to close the gate so there would be no more entries and to gather those that are here and attempt to get them sequestered in a spot to hold them till we can send them back to the other-side. Keep in mind the longer the gate stays open the more there will be on this plane; and herding the Shadow and Others will be a continuous battle. I propose”, the Lady turned back to fan the growing crowd of misty apparitions, “that we close the gate, then meet again to determine what can be down with the existing problems as they occur.”
“Humph”, the judge nodded in reluctant acquiescence, his dislike for her clearly written on his face; “unless there are other ideas presented?” he turned to the crowded room “anyone? Then so be it!” his gavel sounded on the misty dais, “Lets get the Stone back in place, meet back here two o’clock am sharp! The hours are precious so please entities lets not dawdle!”
The chill on the third floor hallway slowly ebbed from the rooms as the ghosts fled to the position of the stone; the chill still palpable to any person within their path. Out side, they followed the trail of darkness, before them, a void of all light swirled and flapped about in the air. Maniacal laughter echoed from the void as though it echoed through a stone chamber entreating those in front of the open doorway a wavering ripple in their own ghostly apparitions.
The modern day building itself stood in quiet desolation. The tools of the local tradesmen left to lie; as though waiting to be picked up and start working again as though nothing had happened. But it did. And the workers were gone. To where no one knew. The old stonewall; which had been covered throughout the generations with succeedant walls, was possibly to ensure that no one breach the gate. That would never be known; for now it was an attempt to create a wine cellar for a local restaurateur. In the name of money, he ignored the carved warning:
When the marker set at the North end rolls
The Lyons leave their post
Te wall torn down
Opens the gates as the darkness calls
And demons swarm
Written with sagacity; perhaps from the Lady’s ancestor who priorly entreated to this new land before she, for they couldn’t have known the large round mile marker set at the North end of town was to have been rolled to safety for construction as had the stone lions which sat at the base of the bridge. All tucked safely inside a warehouse the roars of the lions were silenced by the stone edifice surrounding them: echoing beneath the silence where they sat as they heard the wall fall and Darkness escape.
For now the building took on misty appearance as the apparitions floated as close to the opening as they dared all wanting to watch as though it was a modern day automobile accident. The Lady in White fearlessly moved into the building to inspect what appeared to be candles in a circle; the sage added to the atmosphere with it’s white smoke as a young man diligently worked with herbs and verbal chants completing his circle’s cast.

Saturday, September 30, 2006


October approaches. The doorway to the holidays as I like to think of it as. After the sluggishness of summer it feels good to breathe. People become a little bit nicer for the most part, and it turns just a little cooler; even if it is only in the evening. Remember I'm in the South. So here's a reflection of the seasons that began this blog but worthy of repeating:

Indiana sun
Tractors in the fields
Smell the rich loamy dirt
Soon the smell of dust
As the heat beats down
The corn waves As we drive by
Our hands out the windows
Creating rainbows
Ditch flowers growing wild
Ornamental dusty lanes
Lean into summer nights
Lit by fireflies
Stars all around
Wake up to fall
The smell of burnt carrots
Smells just like burning leaves
The frost on pumpkins
Like a sprinkle of sugar
Till the snow falls peaceful
God saying "shhhhh"
As the world is tucked in
To bed.

Friday, September 29, 2006

Is that what artist are supposed to do?

Inspired by Frank Gehry, sculptor in architect. Artist take risks. Architecture as sculpture, instinctual, not educated or traditional; how do we know that instinct isn't even more ancient in tradition the what is known? What am I doing here? What have I always known that even now seems to elude but shimmer before me as an unknown shadow? Find that small space where you can make a difference. The reason for art is that moment when it touches a soul. Saturation into inspiration. Chain link has become the chain mail for a building useful in it's interpretation along with its protective nature. Nurture. Why do I cry? It's the same as standing before that one piece, the one that touched my soul...Nagging. What is the first move? There you are with that canvas on your easel, and colors on your palette, where do you go from there? Anithitical? Juxtaposition? Where'd that come from? Is that the purpose of the artist? To change the world?

Rembrant's Sky

I walk beneath a Rembrant's sky
The wind and I
Nary a sound as we both fly
Lost in the hues of his painted sky
Heaven sighed
In glorious delight
To be caught in a moments flight
Sometimes described as a reflection of light
A memory captured for generations sights

Sunday, September 24, 2006

More Celebrations

I was fortunate to have the pleasure of a fabulous luncheon with several of my favorite friends of a different kind. Zak, Arnaud, Phil, Ettienne, and Arnaud's LaVonne. It was another celebration as we celebrated Arnaud's birthday and Etienne played any and every ploy to have us commit to a visit to Maine. Tempting.

Saturday, September 23, 2006


Any time we friends get together we turn it into a celebration just through our energies. People feel the vibrations in the air; they then run away or stick close as it's revitalizing.
All of us got up early to go to the Jax Farmers Market, very few of us are early risers and one never sleeps. Good prices on great produce which was the same as each others. Found a couple of un knowns and asked the girl who was working there what it was she said:
"a vegetable" NO DUH!
Good spot for blueberry bushes and fig trees too. We went to another flea market, didn't find any fleas we wanted then went to lunch at Sticky Fingers before venturing into the new health food store Nature's Sun. Notice we had to do unhealthy before healthy. Smart girl who seated us told us we're trouble and seated us in the back. The service was good and it was nice to have that comradarie to talk, laugh and just be. It was great having Savannah there with us too; (thanks for the ride). Though it was disarming to have both her and her mother so chipper before the sun comes up. They usually complain about me! Jeez!
Ended up taking a 2 hour nap after I came home. Man that felt good. Thank you girls for another great time together. Have a beautiful weekend.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Food for thought

"Our higher power can only talk to us in a language we understand. Therefore most of us can be reached through the language of fear."
Spiritual Fitness pg 2.

"There can be no such thing as failure if you haven't formed a preconceived idea (assumption of how it'll turn out), of what success should look like. Failure is comparative" Same book, page 7-8

Well back to the drawing board.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Funny vignettes

A bar from a song..."you and I collide" metaphorically has become the summary of what this week has been as I have collided with myself in various forms.
The throb and/or ache in my left foot reminds me of feeling. Healing? I hope so. Strange vignettes 'collided' last night, made up of snippets through out the week. From men on the phone at work that sounded like the beaver character from the old Pooh cartoons with the whistling s's, a vase at the front desk at work contained what was obviously snips of shrubbery (Monty Python) and last night I caught on the Comedy Channel the comedian who does Jose Jalepeno on a Steeek, MJ, Terri and I saw him in Boston in 1998. I laughed just as hard as I did then, and I felt my friends beside me as we were then even though I was alone in my apartment.
Man a lot of time has passed between then and now and it seems like yesterday. Marriages, births and deaths have all occured in our close knit group and yesterday our 'mystery weekend' escape consisted of cooking school at the Blue Bamboo. It was GREAT. I wonder if that will become part of the future flow of funny vignettes, who know's maybe Paula's Dean's is next...


This is a mandala. Any of various ritualistic geometric designs symbolic of the universe, used in Hinduism and Buddhism as an aid to meditation.

Can you smell the ocean? Can you feel the breeze? Does the water refresh you as your feet cool in the soft sifting sand?

I took SeaFoam (the latest window) into the gallery and she wasn't quite accepting the view until I told her as I see it I'm part of it, looking down at my feet as a wave washes into the beach. That is the beauty of that piece is it makes the person looking at it a part of it. To see SeaFoam go to August

Friday, September 15, 2006

Men in Trees

MJ just HAD to call me to see if I was watching this new tv show on Friday's. Hmmm I foresee a ticket to Alaska some how, probably one way. haha.
All in all, it's a cute show. Not sure whether it's as good as Northern Exposure but the scenery is great. I can imagine this is only going to help the tourism of Alaska get a whole lot better...yes MJ I hear you...that's just up my ally...tourism.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Das Shoe

Well it's definately broken, splintery like. Went to the ortho doc today. He gave me an ortho shoe (yeah no cast!) and told me to keep it on and raised as often as possible for 3 weeks. He told me it'll probably swell for up to a year, and if he did surgery for up to two. Fore warmed fore armed. Now I can shower again. Soon back in heels!

Saturday, September 09, 2006

Winn Dixie

A funny bit of reality happened this morning at the store. I had my cart ready to go, was actually waiting for the manager to get done assisting a young lady to acknowledge my presence to purchase a roll of quarters. Mind you the young lady was very pretty in a natural down to earth manner and was getting 2 large bags of kitty litter. He kept smiling and asking her if she was sure he couldn't assist her.
"Sweet" I thought.
She let out a breath, picked up the bags and said
"no thank you" with a smile.
He then turned to me, smiled and walked away. The nice cashier helped me. And no, no one asked if I needed help out, bandaged foot or not.
I didn't need it, and that's the joy.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Lucky left foot

Ok Terry, you said it. Now I've joined it. Severely hurt my left foot. Will let you know more as I know.

**LEFT FOOT NOTE*** (pun intended)
It's officially broke. Not sure of the name of the bone, MJ knows it, too well. She's shared that, so much so she was the voice in my head. So 2 hours on a Friday night with a full moon to boot, (can we see the foot pandamodium going on here?!), in the local emergency room went surprisingly well. I'm on a splint until I see an ortho doc. Expertise aka the VOICE of experience recommends a walking cast. Get your pens out girls, I plan on drawing a cute spiked high heeled shoe on it.
As for how I did it, I'm using the excuse of kick

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Life imitating art, or is it art imitating life?

Sometimes it seems as though I've been floating outside of reality. I'm sure I know why deep down but I don't know to see it for my own nose. I've been reading a lot, especially to escape reality, or even, (gads!) watching tv. That's something I don't really like. Except when it comes to grey's anatomy. MJ told me it's nice to watch someone else's drama I told her that's what the books and blogs have been for. There have been moments whispered that I have the 'perfect' life. Dare I put it out there? Dare I reveal that I miss having the drama of someone being involved in my life? Is that why I escape into those places to avoid my own? In the metaphor how life imitates art is my infatuation with windows really picking up my own slivered thrown away pieces, or me just gluing myself to a window to watch life because that is what I am; the thrown away slivers of color? If my opportunities are so open why do I not see the many doors open? How come I still feel so damned invisble? I find it easier to question spirituality and the life questions we all seem to face. There are times I feel like a child in the sense of wisdom as to not having any and being around those ancient trees that tell the world the wisdom in their breeze. Do I claim this 'artistic temperment' as a veil to keep from seeing reality? The Florida winter is almost over, it's time to come out from the hibernation. How come I'm fighting so hard to keep from waking up?!

Seattle Sights

About a year ago my brother sent me a ticket to go see him when he lived in Washington state. We took several day trips, one to Seattle, and to Mt. Ranier just to name a few. There some great photos that reminded me of my children especially my son Alex. He would love it out there. He's always loved Jack London's stories and I know he would just love it out there. There were a couple of things that had his name on them, the rest are just, I thought good photos.

Monday, September 04, 2006

Gypsy wind

Like the Bob Segar (sic?) song the gypsy wind blows through my soul. Vignettes of memories, words and places run through my mind as I cross through out the day. Small frustrations of fragments having to be fixed tomorrow due to holiday closing today was in all probability spirits way of telling me to just stop and relax. Let the flow go.
Change is almost tangible in the atmosphere, well it is at least constant. Though there are times I feel the ripples which I don't think amount to anything until it explodes ferociously, sometimes precociously, hinting at the change that is wrought.
Why am I so restless?

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Where I'll be

A feeling
Of being
Not really
The hollowness
The emptiness
What is happening?
I don’t care
I’m not there
Off on a breeze
High in the air
Beyond the pain
He doesn’t belong there
Beyond what is
Is where I’ll be
Up in the air

Zak's Ride

*Sometimes when we know someone personally going through what we pray doesn't happen, we give more openly, freely and with love for it to affect their life profoundly. *

I am writing to ask you to sponsor my ride in the 2006 MS150 Bike Tour, to raise funds for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society (NMSS). This year, the 150 mile bike tour (Sept. 16 and 17) takes us round- trip from St. Augustine Airport to Daytona Beach.
I ride in the MS150 each year to support my sister Valerie and the research of the NMSS. Multiple sclerosis (MS) is a disease which causes my sister's immune system to attack her central nervous system. Valerie was diagnosed with MS two years ago, after months of medical testing and referrals to specialists. She should have been diagnosed with MS ten years ago, but many physicians still misdiagnose MS as fibro myalgia and depression without doing further testing.
In 2004, Valerie frequently lost her balance and fell -- continuing a pattern that started five or six years ago. Her legs sometimes just decided to collapse; her knees then banged into floors, or her head banged into doors, and she often ended up in the emergency room. She now walks with a cane, and can only walk short distances. Many days, the depression alone can be debilitating. Headaches, scrambled speech, and other neurological symptoms are common. Fortunately, fleeting moments of blindness and blurred vision have been rare, so Valerie can still drive and function independently.
In 2005, Valerie had to change medications due to the toll the first medication took on her liver. She usually feels "wiped out" the day after injecting her weekly medication. Valerie is fortunate, however. The medication she takes now has been effective in stopping the progression of MS, even though her condition has not significantly improved.
Most days, Valerie shares her laughter with others and give thanks for all that is good in her life. She volunteers at a women's residential treatment facility. She has an amazing amount of faith. As a result, when she and her children need something that she can no longer afford on her limited disability income, it somehow just manifests. I admire Valerie -- she is my teacher, my hero.
Research into the causes of MS and the best possible treatment continues. The NMSS provides valuable educational materials, wheel chair assistance, support groups, research funding, and other resources to assist people with MS and their families. However, the NMSS relies on OUR donations.
I love Valerie very much. I ride in the MS150 because I know that one day, through faith, funding, research, and action, we fill find a cure for MS. Please sponsor my ride in the 2006 MS150 Bike Tour. Although I had a major crash on 08/19/06, I am recuperating, and still plan to ride in mid-September. (A bee flew down my shirt while I was cycling, and stung me three times. I slammed on brakes, and flew over the handlebars onto the asphalt.)
Donating is easy. You can either: (a) mail me a check made payable to National Multiple Sclerosis Society; (b) donate via the internet by visiting, clicking on E-Pledge, and typing in my name as the participant; or (c) bring donations and something to eat or drink to my annual Sharing Party on September 9 (7:00 PM - until). Please be generous! I look forward to hearing from you.
Thank you!

Happy September

Ahh, the month of Fall. The doorway to the holidays slowly creeks open. The colors of the world change (except in the South, here you breathe a little easier), and pretty sparkly things start lining the store shelves. Yes I've seen Christmas come out of hiding already.

This year I'm looking forward to the beauty of the holidays in my adorable apartment. I've already brought out the little glass tea light holders in the shape of a little bag with a carved face on them. Terry gave me a couple of light up pumpkins, and I'm sure somewhere I have autumn leaves tucked away.

Tomorrow I give my first brunch party for 4 dear friends of mine: Zak, Arnaud, Phil, and Emory. I am very blessed to have them in my life and so want to have a perfect party for them. Frankly I'm nervous. I know I don't need to be, but it's there. I've confidence in the main course, salad and dessert, wines and music. I don't normally 'set' a table, haven't in YEARS. Maybe it's time to start. I've always wanted to entertain and now that I have the great apartment and nice furniture (thank you for your help in that MJ), I can start.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Anam Cara

The title is Gaelic for soul friend. Those who surpass the boundries of time to be together. I'm blessed to have several; MJ, Terri, and Dori as the core. (TerryM you're one too).

MJ, Terri and I went kayaking Saturday morning. I was browbeat into it and had NO way out. With the love and understanding of true friends I thoroughly enjoyed it. Man I want a kayak, and paddle now! It was sooo peaceful. I actually saw the beauty in saw palmettos and palm trees. To me it looked like a Thomas Cole (Hudson Valley School of art in the turn of the last century) painting. It wasn't hard to do either. Well, despite fighting current on the way back was a bit trickier but so worth it.

While we were out there MJ commented on how some people are just dazed and amazed how we've been close friends for such a long time when she brings us up in conversation. Not to mention that not one of us is from this area but we all moved here (still one missing TerryM), to be close to each other. We've become our 'chosen families'. Terri, said quite plainly 'it was fate'.

Thank you girls for shoving me through another door. I look forward to more adventures.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Baby Taylor's Photos

Is this a sweet little baby girl or what?! Look at those baby blues and auburn hair. Wonder where she gets those?! Oh I could kiss her fingers, toes, chin, elbows and that sweet little nose.

These are great photos my daughter put on her blog, for which I'm grateful.

Oh Taylor you're so loved.

All my love,


Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Mada's freedom flight

Upon this day at 8:05pm 3 years ago Mada left this world as we know it. Today I still weep, though the tears aren't as fat,I still miss her. Selfish? Maybe. Though I can now celebrate as I smile between the tears as I imagine her running as she never had, talking as she never could and giggle as I used to think that I bet she wouldn't shut up for weeks. I'm sure my mother got an earful.

What were your memories dear one? Do you still dance with Ashley in the field of flowers in your pretty dresses? I know you look around I found your gifts of feathers. Though there was more then a time or two I had to look for the cat with a smile on it's face. Never saw it. Cher's songs have seemed to become the 'code', for I can now smile and turn up the song as her songs come on. They just don't play as often. I still get weepy when I hear Evanesence's song "My Immortal", but not like last year when it tore me to the soul.

I started a poetry journal I've titled "Lucid Moments" as they seemed to be. Quite a few are written for you little girl. Here are a few of my favorites:

Death whispers its song
Upon my daughters sweet soul
And the desert blooms

I mourn so deeply
I'd rather lay with your bones
And sleep for all time

On gossamer wings
My heart breaks a thousand times
As she flies away

Among the living
I find I can laugh again
With a different slant

Her smile is so sweet
The most beautiful blue eyes
She is now a dream

Will you paint the stars at night?
Of my summers evn' sky
As your spirit soars
So does my heart mourn
I look to find you all around
Right before my eyes
Shining brightly
As stars against a midnight sky
So before we say good night
Will you paint my stars at night?

Well my darling daughter good night. I love you so much. But you already know that don't you?


Tuesday, August 22, 2006


The most resonate
Sound I heard in the stillness
Was Spirit waking

Summer's Waning

Oh Summer has slipped her guard down
And Fall
Kissed the day with his brilliant hues
But only for a moment
When Summer's attention came back around
Her vanities praised in the cadence summer song
As she ever so faintly releases her grip on the world
And we can breathe a little more each day

Monday, August 21, 2006


Here it is, the window. A picture of a wave. What do you think?

Saturday, August 12, 2006


As I travelled the internet highway I came across this excerpt titled“The Big Story” from The Feeling Buddha by David Brazier. The author begins this way: “What story are you living? What kind of story is it? Is it a story you’ll feel glad to have lived? Will you, when old, look back over the years without regret? Many people feel as though their lives haven’t really begun yet. They are waiting for the right conditions to begin. Others feel as though it is all over already. Some feel a sense of purpose, but many feel that their lives are disjointed, inconsequential or seriously compromised.”
Brazier goes on to say that in each life there is a big story and a little story. The little story is the story of the ego, what we call in our “Self-Mastery” class the small “s” self. I think of it as the self that knows itself in terms of limitations, strivings, attachments, appearances, gains, losses, and wounds—the facts of our life rather than the truth. The big story is about the capital “S” Self and our divine identity, innate wholeness, sense of purpose, meaning, and contribution to life.
The little story of Jesus, Brazier offers, is that he was a carpenter’s son who never managed to get himself either a [supposed] wife or a proper job and finished up by being executed for a minor offense. The big story of Jesus is, as we know, entirely something else. Notice how the little story diminishes and dismisses while the big story expands and acknowledges.
The question for us to answer is which story are we personally living? Which one do we tell about ourselves? Do we think our lives are not so great? That’s how we sell out. We can each put our lives in the service of a big story that is wholesome and good.

I'm currently working on a piece or representation of myself. The 'canvas' is a printers box. Rather large with little squares. A couple are broken off, but that's part of the 'character' (as so many of you know that's what I see when I see dents and dings). In each box are pieces of me. Memories collected throughout my life, some good some not, but it is what it is. We all have them; the little sides to us. The facets. Those are what create the diamond. I was going over this with my nearest and dearest friend and she said how I'm like a chameleon, constantly changing. I can only imagine it would be for the better. As the past is what it is and no one can undo or redo it.
With that statement I am brought to mind of my children. It is wonderful that my grand daughter is 2 months old today. Unfortunately the lastest picture I have is of 2 weeks, and no communication hence. I walked through the Dollar store today and listened to country music remembering VIVIDLY a time when I moved to be near them. With absolutely nothing but faith. I accepted the conditional relations that were offered thinking those were the best that could be given or that was deserved. Later I woke up. I love my children no matter what. Will always do so. In the meantime I've learned to love myself because how can I expect pure love to be in my life if I can't reflect it? The story continues...

Friday, August 11, 2006

Creative Stirrings

A friend of mine told me not too long ago I was in a 'well'. Her advice was to come up for air now and again, and share the findings. Those of you who know me, know the silences are my soul stirring. Sometimes restlessness surfaces but it's a time for creation to evolve.

It's my mind chatter
It needs focus and purpose
Now it's up to me

In that haiku the meaning falls between the words in its essence.

Saturday, August 05, 2006

It was a really good shoe

Good morning ya'll. Yesterday, as most of you know, I had a showing of my photographs at a new used bookstore in town. It was the opening of the place. There were great crowds for a summer night, thank you all who was able to make it. Those who couldn't I felt your loving spirit.

I still consider it a success though I didn't sell anything. Got a lot of good feedback and I think there'll be future sales and if not well pick out your favorites you MAY get them for Christmas. lol. Either way it was great. OH! and my name was in the paper. No, not on the police blog, and not in the obits (thank God), but in the Compass section under the art walk area. That was worth the price of a sell out even if my wallet would argue.

Until we meet again.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Being...inspired (an afterthought)

It was with trepidation and fear of the unknown that I wrote. I thought deeply of Picasso in what has been portrayed of his angst and life. To never have broken the boundries of his own fears but never getting out because of his vision. It is a reminder that time waits for no one; whether they have the vision of the future in their heads or their hands. As I learn more I lean on another strong person; Frieda, for explanation of grace into the art. She fell, but authenticly, richly, and truely.

Friday, July 28, 2006

A Midsummer's Night....

It is with relief
Revealed in a sigh
As Mercury's flight
Turns back right

Twas Like a dream
Upon a midsummer's night
As lovers took upon their flight
So the sacred's shadow flowed
Within Puck's michievous glow

To set forth with thy mind
Conversations of many kind
Answered none
But questions abound
Followed by more
if the answer was thought to be found

By Oberon's folly
He set by night
A lovers tryst
Corrected by dawns light

Upon the morn my mind awakes
Within a new path
Of Creativity's flight.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda

Living life. External confirmation vs internal acceptance conscious responsibility for one's own emotional reactions.

Instead of "he/she made me...(fill in the dots), I remind myself "I chose to..." no need to justify it; it is what it is...a choice. Whether it feels like a choice or not, that is what it is

In the movie "The Devil Wears Prada", Ann Hathorn's character is given the choice (presented as otherwise), to take a trip to Paris in place of the one who had been planning and counting on it. Though it wasn't presented as a choice, with Meryl Streep's character telling her she's going to Paris but she had to tell the other girl that she wouldn't be. Not much of a choice is it? It was one of those 'or quit' choice but a choice just the same. The situation became one that covers up that grey area of integrity then steps over the line. That point comes to light later in the movie in the car after a dinner in Paris. I recommend seeing it.

Eleanor Roosevelt said (and I'm sure I'm para phrasing), "no one can make you feel bad without your consent".

So when I feel ashamed, stupid or guiltly it's usually me making it external. I was treated... instead I need to change that to I chose to accept that behavior....

A lesson my sister wrote about 'it's easy'. Until one becomes comfortable with trying or doing something new it will leave it's own effect on us that we give it. I know that if something is easy to someone else and not to me, I could be making it more detailed then it either needs to be OR my detailedness will take it further in the expression of what I'm doing.

New Do

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Bad Girl Gang

Well here it is. Susan you posted it first, thank you. I don't have a scanner so I had to wait until I could get a copy via email or blog.

Friday, July 14, 2006

Be....(fill in the blank)

Once I chose the word inspiring. Of course this thought provoking word provoked thought, and fed live.

in·spire ( P ) Pronunciation Key (n-spr)v. in·spired, in·spir·ing, in·spires v. tr.
To affect, guide, or arouse by divine influence.
To fill with enlivening or exalting emotion: hymns that inspire the congregation; an artist who was inspired by Impressionism.
To stimulate to action; motivate: a sales force that was inspired by the prospect of a bonus.
To affect or touch: The falling leaves inspired her with sadness.
To draw forth; elicit or arouse: a teacher who inspired admiration and respect.
To be the cause or source of; bring about: an invention that inspired many imitations.
To draw in (air) by inhaling.
To breathe on.
To breathe life into. v. intr.
To stimulate energies, ideals, or reverence: a leader who inspires by example.
To inhale.

"Pink Floyd legend Syd Barrett dies" was a headline just the other day. What has he have to do with the word 'inspiring'. Well, he was an origional member of the band. The hit song "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" was about him, according to this article. His unique take on perspective of life, and not always legally, has left several notables in the music industry have him as they're brilliant light of inspiration.

Are there merits to being 'inspiring'? Are there disadvantages? What or who's to say 100 years from now the notable musicians of today who were inspired by this person would be considered a nobody, whilst he who inspired became the master. Monet, Manet, Degas, Cassatt, Picasso, Pissero are just those (and for those who don't know they are the salt of the Impressionist artist), are a prime source of the word. They who suffered starvation, social miscast, exaggerations of emotions and famlial differences; but greatness was not to be deterred. They went on continuing what their spirit made them; their bliss, and in the meantime changed the art world whether it liked it or not.

Did they regret it? I don't think they had a choice. Was it worth it to be 'it'? Well we'll never know from them personally, however their takes of choices made in their living years may have kept them yearning; but their divine inpiration lives on. After all when something beautiful has touched a soul it then lives on eternally.

Personally I'm not sure I want the dual edge of 'being inspiring'. Dual? Yes, by being an example of what not to be or do, however, and the 'masters' proved it again and again, Frank Lloyd Wright being one, you can't have one without the other. But then again, is there really an option?

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Sultry days of summer

The apex of summer, July 4th, has come and gone with it's usual celebration and hoo raa's. Vacations are underway or have passed for others. This to me a time of "winter". Up in the Northern states the "winter" involves snow and freezing cold that chases people indoors for several months. Here in La Florida it's the "summer" that becomes "winter" as the heat is so strong it chases people indoors for several months.

This time for me is of contemplation. It gets reflected in my drawings and writings. I'll read good novels as that is what one does over the summer, and also get a book or two from a deep thinker or two like the Dali Lama or Wayne Dwyer. They have a way to put the perspective back into the daily routine. Finding the miracle in the day. Even if it's to stop and "smell the roses" it's a wonder to look at the differences in the color of the sky the shapes of clouds. I suppose someone has to do it since we're all too busy to. Funny I've come to look forward to certain natural occurances. Like when I walk from parking my car to work in between is a yard to the convent. Every year it gets sprinkled with dandelions (daisy lions as my oldest would say), but it's so beautiful. It's like the sun leaving it's golden coins on the ground to frame a beautiful old building. The capturing an image in a puddle still is the most fun. So while the dog days are here enjoy the breath of fresh air before that summer storm, hold your hand out of the car window to "make rainbows" while taking that drive, and relish the colors of the sky whether it'd be sunrise or sunset and don't forget to look at the stars at night. I wonder how many wishes are caught up there? Do you think you could see yours?

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Happy July 4th

Happy 46th Birthday Susan!!!

Here it is another 4th of July. This is the time I used to spend with my children. I miss them. While Susan, Jackie and I were sitting in a bench in the sun on St. George Street a feather whirly gigged it's way to my feet from the top of a tree. I put it in my pocket, smiled and thought "I love you too Mada".

We had a good time. Got an old fashioned photo of us 'bad girls' with big guns. It turned out really funny. It'll show up on the blog later when it gets downloaded. In the meantime there is us in our hats.

It's been a good walk down Jackie's memories with our mom and dad that Susan and I never knew. She shared a lot of slides which shed some lights on our parental units and our dad's parents. I've got a few to have put on a cd, so we'll see when I get them. Well the line for the computer is getting long as my sisters are perfecting the act of 'hovering'. lol. only kidding.

Happy 4th everyone, and Happy birthday Susan

Friday, June 30, 2006

Getting lost is getting found

First to update the air is fixed. AHHHHHH!

I just got off the phone with a friend only because our ears were hurting. Our conversations revolved around art. Which everyone who knows me knows I like getting 'lost' in that conversation and will leave the yawners behind in my dust. lol. It is my 'bliss'. "It" meaning art has been the ONLY consistant thing in my life. So many times it's been pushed aside, buried deep, and insulted It's always found a way to seep out. Whether it'd be in words, great food, gardening, drawing, glasswork, photography or just plain ideas 'It' finds a release. If 'It' isn't released It consumes.

There are those amongst my family and friends that keep telling themselves they don't have any talent. They can't draw, paint, or create like I do. No you can't! Just in the same way I can't draw, paint or create like YOU do. We all have our talents, we really know what they are; we've just chosen to ignore them or martyr them to those we entrust with our love, conditionally, or have placed aside for one reason or another. As with everything else, the old saying goes, it takes practice to make it perfect. So no one will be perfect from the beginning, where would they have to go from there? Though something may seem only temporary, when it touches someone else's soul it's lived eternally.

I love getting 'lost' in museums and art. That is my sanctuary, that is where I find spirit, that is where even a mere rough sketch touches me with the humility that the great ones were human just like me. It is where they tell me to keep creating, keep learning, and be 'found' in my true nature of spirit. Just keep doing it. So I hope that when you find yourself losing time in something you do, you enjoy getting found.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Sounds of Summer

My air conditioning was out when I got home from work yesterday so I turned it off and called the landlord. Well supposedly they tried to call me during this horrendous storm that rolled right over my apartment this afternoon. It shook the rafters where my bedroom is. The only reason I know that they called is I called my landlord to let them know they hadn't shown all day. He called me right back; they claimed my phone went straight to voice mail. Well I have no messages; but either way I should see them tomorrow morning at 8:30. Just in time to leave for work. Lucky me.

I will say last night wasn't bad. The crickets were singing and there was a light breeze. During the heat of the day I found myself prostrate infront of a fan. The storm offered a wonderful, but short lived relief. My boss was reminding me there was a few emails she couldn't get to because she was busy...I told her I'd be in tomorrow...just late.

The ice machine and water dispenser in my refrigerator has become my best friend; as visions of my mother draping a wet towel around her neck zipped in my mind. No I've not done that...yet. But the early evening is upon us and hopefully a breeze will start along with the evening songs.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Summer writings

Prelude to summer
The crickets sing lullabyes
Whirring in a fan

Into the night sky
How many wishes are caught
In a million stars


It;s green sings a song
With the cadence of the bugs
Between the soft blades

In the vestibule of summer
Where memories swirl
in kaleidoscope patterns
Caught on a breeze
In a flowers scent...the cicadas song
and the warmth of the sun
Where movement creates ripples
In the reflective pool.

Dance upon my soul
With lyrics so soft and true
The kissing moonbeams

Never assume it
Love needs constant attention
Now call your mother

Saturday, June 24, 2006


I woke up this morning thinking of my mother. I do miss her often, and occasionally dream of her. On her birthdays I'll light a candle and for Mada's birthday in 04 - during the moments in exile - I visited my mothers grave which I hadn't been to since her death

I recalled this morning the crumbs I threw to my mother in the lack of appreciation of the life she gave me. Hardley acknowledging her birthday, mothers day, etc; she accepted the crumbs I gave her as the best way I knew how to love her.

There are lots of moments; and I believe with the 2x4 of this insight, there will be more then one in the recognizing the things she would've loved to have shared should she be alive. Alas but I will settle for her spirit and celebrate it with the love I do have for her.

I remember a long time ago I dreamt we went antiquing in what used to be her brothers house that had been turned into an antique store. We had a wonderful day walking to the store down Big Brook Road in the golden sun of the summer afternoon of Indian Lake New York. In the store we loved this really ostentasious antique wrought iron lamp with a burgundy jaquard print red long fringed lamp shade. We joked about how it looked like it belonged in a bordello but loved it for our own reasons the same. So one day when I see that funky lamp in a store I will purchase it; and use it to read by and have long conversations with her. Also telling her how much I love her.

Thursday, June 22, 2006


Many times I've personally questioned of the validity of God, as has everyone. All around I see those questions taking shape in many ways; some more profound in the angst of their creation then others. Every day I see new directions we all go in order to find the answer that appeases our mortal soul. No, I've not found 'the answer' though I'll constantly express the need to learn more to understand more. I have learned a valuable lesson on asking for patience or tolerance.

A friend told me recently; " When we pray for patience-we get more testing to learn the lesson. Now, that has been a tough one for me. Now my thoughts and prayers center on accepting (ouch, help) that it is as God would have it be for now." Thank you for your words dear friend. That certainly sheds a whole new light into that old perspective.

What I have come to understand, most profoundly expressed through my dearly departed daughter Mada, is the truth of unconditional love. The purity. In the dramas we create in our lives who could achieve such high focus on this truth but her. In her deep faith the base ingredient for EVERYONE is love. No matter what. How we stand by that is our individual choice.

To Dance in the Light of the Sun

Its rays
the air
like a sponge
Bursting radiance
Through each pore

May we all find our peace in love...unconditionally

Ode to the change of seasons

Summer in all it's glory is here as of yesterday with the dawn of Summer Solstice. The longest day of the year. Here's a view of the Greek myth story of the seasons read by the 1st person:

(FORWARD NOTE: Unfortunately I did not create this but found it on the web, as much as I'd love to have the credit I cannot claim it. Thank you)

I smiled at my mother and we walked arm in arm through the field to a small house. There my mother served me dinner and we talked about everything. After dinner she brushed my hair and braided it with such care and tenderness. As we lay in the straw-made bed, she stroked my brow until I fell asleep. The next morning, when I awoke, my mother made me a feast for breakfast. Personally, I am not a big breakfast person, but it was not my body so why not pig out. When I thought I would pop out of my clothes, I stopped eating. We decided that I would go play and that she would go run some errands. She said that Zeus wanted to see her. I headed off to the fields and played with butterflies and rabbits that lived there. I was enjoying myself when the ground started to shake. I knew exactly what was going on. I screamed, “Earthquake!” and fell to the ground. About that time the earth opened up, a chariot with black horses galloped near me, and the driver, with a cunning smile, grabbed me around the waist and held me close to his body. As quick as he appeared, we were gone. I watched as the hole closed and the sun and flowers became only a memory. Now I was in darkness. We rode as I watched the lava and fire shoot up around us. The hands of the less fortunate reached up at us as their cries echoed. I was very frightened by all that I saw. I made a mental note that there was no way I was going to hell when I returned to my world. This image would be stuck in my mind forever. The chariot finally stopped and the driver let me go. I stepped back from him and stared. His body was muscular and he wore a crown upon his head. His eyes were cold and hard. He spoke to me saying, “I am Hades, King of the Underworld and brother of Zeus. I have brought you here to be my wife, my queen. You will spend all your days as my companion. You will love me as I already love you.” Was he serious? I had heard of a quick engagement, but this was way too quick for me. I told him that I wanted my mother and begged him to send me home. He denied my request and grabbed me by the wrist. I cringed in pain and he let me go, apologizing for causing me pain. He asked me to follow him and I obliged. We entered a room filled with food. I was extremely hungry, but I refused to eat what he provided. He ate right in front of me. That was a little rude. So that night he tried to fool around. I was not about to mess around with him, so I told him no, that I was not ready. I was shocked when he relented, but grateful at the same time. The days passed and I explored my new home. I was beginning to think that I would never leave. Each day I refused to eat and each night I refused his advances. Just when I thought all hope was lost, Hermes showed up and told my husband that I was to return to my mother in the world above. Boy, was I happy because I could finally eat!! I learned from Hermes that my mother had caused total desolation of the Earth in protest. She would not relent until I was returned to her. Before I left my husband offered me a pomegranate. At first I refused, but he would not let me leave till I did. I ate only a little before leaving with swift Hermes. The sun hurt my eyes when I reached the surface. When they adjusted I saw my mother. We ran to each other with tears in our eyes. We embraced. Then she asked me the strangest question. She wanted to know if I had eaten anything while I was with Hades. I told her no at first, but then revealed that I had eaten some of a pomegranate. She closed her eyes and told me that I was bound to Hades because I had eaten some of the pomegranate. So, for six months I am happy and cheerful with my mother and the land blossoms and is plentiful. For the other six months I am with Hades in hell watching the lava boil over the souls of the forgotten. I was so disappointed at the news, but I tried to make the best of my days with my mother. I would go and play in the fields each day and she would keep me under a watchfull eye. One day I was running through the fields chasing after a little butterfly with wings of gold when I tripped and fell. Screaming, I closed my eyes. When I landed I realized how hard the ground felt. I opened my eyes and found nothing, but my desolate cave full of enchanting mysteries

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Tired of Speaking Sweetly

Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all our teacup talk of God.

If you had the courage and
Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,
He would just drag you around the room
By your hair,
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world
That bring you NO joy.

Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly
And wants to rip to shreds
All your erroneous notions of truth

That make you fight within yourself, dear one,
And with others,

Causing the world to weep
On too many fine days.

God wants to manhandle us,
Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself
And practice His dropkick.

The Beloved sometimes wants
To do us a great favor:

Hold us upside down
And shake all the nonsense out

But when we hear
He is in such a "playful drunken mood."

Most everyone I know
Quickly packs their bags and hightails it
Out of town

A poem written by Hafiz, a great Sufi master (c.1320-1389), a most beloved poet of Persia. Classic words reach through the centuries to our hearts today. Couldn't have said it better myself.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

Taylor has graced our world!

Taylor Marie Holiday

Isn't she pretty?

Friday, June 16, 2006


Ones realities
As an image from with in
Is all perception 8-10-05

It is what we choose to let ourselves see or be blinded with. It is with those choices that we affect those we think we love, those we know we love and those we think we hate and those we don't know.

Boiled in drama
In our lives if we so choose
Steeped to a fine tea 8-11-05

I've been placed in a road to decide should I go into someone elses' dramas or tea so to speak to see the light that was created as a destiny. I know if I were to go in alone anything and every move I make would not only be scrutinized but twisted. I know in my heart dna is there. Those wishes we share are there and the ripple of the heavy stone that's been thrown will continue. Has the actual patterns been broken? Or have they just been given a different route with a similarly painful outcome? Only time will tell. I will end this with 2 haiku's I created on the 15th of June 2006.

Histrionic release
Another lesson

or in other words:

Excessive drama
Handing down seeds of doubt
Another lesson

I had to look up words which of course became truth. Unfortunately.
Histrionics means excessivly dramatic while recapitulating means to appear to repeat the evolutionary stages of the species during the embryonic developement of the individual organism. It is within these words choices have been made. I prefer my tea sweet, not bitter.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Signs 101

"One could open a book to any page, or look at a person's hand; one could turn a card, or watch the flight of birds...whatever the thing observed, one could find a connection with his experience of the moment. Actually it wasn't that those things, in themselves, revealed anything at all; it was just that people, looking at what was occurring around them, could find a means of penetration to the Soul of the World."
Page 101 of The Alchemist

Almost symbolic in the placement in the book. Signs 101.

"No matter what he does, every person on earth plays a central role in the history of the world and he doesn't even know it." page 159/159 The Alchemist

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Baby Boo is born...

Taylor Marie Holiday has graced us with her presence Monday June 12th, 2006 at 12:45pm. She came into this world weighing 5 pounds 13 ounzes and is 18 inches long with lots of hair. According to her mother she has long toes. Little Monkey Toes. As soon as pictures are forthcoming one will be posted. I will be going to meet the young thing next Wednesday so for 2 weeks. I had a large profound liturgy in mind to write but couldn't top the miracle of birth. Love to all in the celebration of a new life.


Monday, June 12, 2006

Finding honesty....

A call for honesty can only be but a lie. For honesty is but an individuals perception borne on their individual thoughts compounding into a truth known only unto them. So in all fairness I cannot give what is to be perceived to be anything other then a frank opinion. 6/12/05

It's been a year and along with that insight of honesty I asked for understanding of truth. As serendipity would have it I stumbled upon a word; verisimilitude. It means to have the appearance of truth. Much like our politicians do. Sad but ironicly true. I was also given the opportunity of opening my heart. I did and learned. And carry that pearl with the love it was presented to me. Here's the beginning of my understanding;

Wears truth like a mask
Does the truth become a lie
When details are omitted?
When does it turn 'white'?
When the omission is to 'save' the feelings of the other?
It all washes out in the end
And those honest, ommited truths known only to one seep in
Wrecking havoc
Understanding dawns
Integrity gets lost
Amongst the chaos in the emotional battlegrounds
That turned an imagined reality into dust
Creating a desert
Yet again.

How beautiful the desert does bloom. Though the seasons and dunes change the desert never does. It stands in it's integrity.

A little something on integrity. It means:

Steadfast adherence to a strict moral or ethical code.
The state of being unimpaired; soundness.
The quality or condition of being whole or undivided; completeness.

It is pure. There is no preconditioning, reconditioning, or euphamism to replace it. It is. As long as one can act from that intention they are strong.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Where all souls meet....

Dive into one's soul
Where the still waters run deep
Past the broken dreams
Where soul and stars meet
Where time is but a shadow
And you yourself meet (seek)
Through the promises
Even those we didn't keep
Past the rich landscape
That made us today
Deeper into the unknown
Where the soul still weeps
Throughout life and death
Our tapestry we weave
To (a place) where all souls meet

Friday, June 09, 2006


In the dolphins play
The bloom of a purple rose
She said goodbye

Happy birthday darling girl. I know the darkness that shrouds those of us in this moment as though it was yesterday. Sometimes it still feels like it. Thank you for sharing your divine spirit with us and even leaving a little bit behind. Your love will be remembered.

Love Aunt Nancy

Thursday, June 08, 2006


How many faces
Reflected the past
Reminding me
Of what has gone
Like living ghosts
Saying goodbye
To what was
As not longer is
Or will be
Pieces that are gone
Habits that have been tried
Bringing me here

Often I am reminded of the depths of reflections. Those that we chose as friends are but a reflection of us in some way. Those that anger us reflect a negative side of us that we don't like. That's what I've heard. So now when I find myself reacting in a negative manner I look within to see where that came from. See where that past hurt was and heal it. Acknowledge it and move on. On the flip side I'm learning to acknowledge and accept the gift of richness some compliment me with: "you're the smartest person I know", "you're a wise woman". Those are truths these people have in them reflecting through me.
Is this part of the circle in the power of words? What you say to a person reflects you and them? Your thoughts and feedback is welcome. Namaste

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

The Power of Conversation

Words do not label things already there. Words are like the knife of a carver; They free the idea, the thing, from the general formlessness of the outside. As a man speaks, not only is hs language in a state of birth, but also the very thing about which he is talking.

Inuit Wisdom. (a general term for a group of culturally similar indigenous peoples inhabiting the Arctic coasts of Siberia, Alaska, the Northwest Territories, Nunavut, Quebec, Labrador and Greenland (see Eskimo)
page 205 in The Soul of Money

The power of one's word or thoughts provokes the energies into creating one's next minute, next hour, next year. Faith in those dimensions can inhibit or empower.

"I told you that was never going to work" is faith inhibiting.

"I knew you could do that" is empowering.

It isn't that simple? Why not? Doesn't even Jesus speak about the faith of a child.

One's thought is but a pebble, which creates ripples. Thought provoking, or is it provoking thought? Just the two words changed creates different dynamics.

Ones realities
As an image from within
Is all perception

Monday, June 05, 2006


The following has been taken from the Prologue of The Alchemist.

The alchemist knew the legend of Narcissus, a youth wo knelt daily beside a lake to comtemplate his own beauty. He was so fascinated by himself that, one morning, he fell into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower was born, which was called the narcissus.

But this was not how the author of the book, the alchemist had picked up, had ended the story.

He said that when Narcissus died, the goddesses of the forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of salty tears.

"Why do you weep?" the goddesses asked.

"I weep for Narcissuss," the lake replied.

"Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus," they said, "for though we always pursued him in the forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand."

"But...was Narcissus beautiful?" the lake asked.

"Who better then you to know that?" the goddesses said in wonder. "After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each day to contemplate himself!"

The lake was silent for some time. Finally, it said;

"I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected."

"What a lovely story." the alchemist thought.

And that's only the beginning. This book is a jewel on perception. We all look at things differently as I've been complimented and accused of; for which I'm grateful. What world are we creating in our eyes? What are we reflecting back out into the world? With this short one I'll leave with a haiku:

Our imperfections
Like the snowflake in winter
Shines through each of us

Sunday, June 04, 2006

Isn't she exquisite?!

A toast to the groom.

It's already been a year. Unfortunately I don't have many photos as MJ can't find the cd. hint hint. The one of the girls dancing is a good one as it was a year ago today Brianne celebrated her anniversary and a year ago tomorrow Brittany celebrates her anniversary. My how our children have grown. (Brittany rather in a literal sense as well; since she's about to have a baby girl). I'm so looking forward to it. Will go back to the philosophical discussions tomorrow. Love to all. Nance

Saturday, June 03, 2006

The power of a single word

I've been informed by my neice Savannah today this blog needs to be updated. Ok. So here it is. A new entry, a new day. Now I do expect to get an email with hers so we can keep track on her. (hint hint)

I shared a meal with a friend today and we spoke of many things. Changes in paradigm's, spirituality, metephysics, attitudes, strong people we admire, dreams and realities (most certainly those two don't always meet). She commented on how a lot of my art pieces are single names: Water, Americana, Night, Day, etc...(yes eventually pictures of these will appear; maybe even miraculously), but the power in a word can say so much and create so much in one's mind. Food for thought. Oh and the above picture; that's Americana

Saturday, March 18, 2006

Indiana sun
Tractors in the fields
Smell the rich loamy dirt
Soon the smell of dust
As the heat beats down
The corn waves
As we drive by
Our hands out the windows
Creating rainbows
Ditch flowers growing wild
Ornamental dusty lanes
Lean into summer nights
Lit by fireflies
Stars all around
Wake up to fall
The smell of burnt carrots
Smells just like burning leaves
The frost on pumpkins
Like a sprinkle of sugar
Till the snow falls peaceful
God saying "shhhhh"
As the world is tucked in
To bed.

I went to a lecture this evening
Expecting to learn more of prose and writing
I heard stories
Through their own writing
Poetry, fiction and prose
I came out jotting down my own words
How nice it would be to have someone to talk to
To acquiesce in my talent and support with a few soft words
Where is he
That soul that should be
Beside me

Friday, March 17, 2006

Top of the day to all and Happy St. Patty's day. This seems to be a popular mode of sharing thoughts, feelings, etc. More like an online diary. Much different then back in the day when my best friend and I would mail our diaries to each other to put in our thoughts etc. Ahhh, the age of technology.
I'm looking forward to having a new title of 'grandmother' added to my list. Quite an honor. Though my daughter nicknamed the poor girl "Bob" I myself have dubbed her "Female' Abcde" the 'e' is long. I think I like "Bob" better. My favorite father-in-law was named Bob. It's with his memory I think of when she calls her that. I wish I could be with her to go through the growing pains with her; though I'm glad on one hand I'm not as she can blast a lot of anger when not in the best mood. Pregnancy? Hormones rage. I am looking forward to being there when the beloved little one arrives so I can coo and cuddle with the best of them. A summer baby. I feel for Boo going through the hardship she's had during the pregnancy; mine didn't happen until afterwards. I pray everything goes well and want more then anything their eternal happiness. That latter is up to them.