tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43743628810357757182024-03-13T07:03:36.218-05:00Wings and ArrowsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.comBlogger170125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-52216959866930301722014-10-05T13:54:00.000-05:002014-10-05T15:24:21.490-05:00The Deep Movement of Autumn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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~<br />
<br />
It's been awhile since I've written here, almost a year and half. In all honesty, I can't really say why I stopped. Nor can I say why I've kept this blog alive, dangling here in the internet air. Oh, there were times I considered deleting it - perhaps starting over with a freshly created blog site - but something in me said, "No. Keep this one." So I shrugged my shoulders, and without any inclination to write more here, I let it sit.<br />
<br />
In the past week, I've re-read some of my published posts, and even my unpublished drafts - things I said, and things I just couldn't bring myself to say publicly at the time. The contrast between the two actually speaks volumes to me, and sheds a light on what was transpiring within me. There was something within me aching to be born, to be expressed, held out to be revealed in the light of day, and like a tender babe just making its entrance into the world, it was I who needed to be the first one to see and to embrace it.<br />
<br />
Oh, it's not like I haven't been writing. I've been hanging out and doing some writing on Facebook. I do know I needed to make friendly relations with the whole social networking thing. Now I see that I was also, partly, testing the waters - putting myself out there, expressing my ideas, my ways, to see how those things in me were received by others in a more...immediate, or direct form of communication. The reception has been a bit mixed, which doesn't surprise me. People are nothing if not predictable, and in some ways, I suppose, that's reassuring. So in the past year or so, I've watched as people come and go from my friends list, watching and waiting for things to unfold as they would. My friends list is relatively short, which I like and prefer because I'd rather keep things on a somewhat more intimate level. For me, keeping things small and simple helps me stay more grounded and real. I felt...that too many people would be too much like an audience - impersonal. One that brings with it a temptation (for me) to perform, which naturally creates a kind of image or persona that a person eventually feels they must uphold. Me? I've always felt that kind of thing is a trap for my soul's full expression. I don't want to feel *stuck* within a certain image. I don't want to have to maintain it to keep my audience. I find it too much work, and rather limiting.<br />
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So, along the way in my adventures on Facebook, I've encountered folks for whom I am truly thankful exist in this world. I now recognize fully that I was in great need of being aware of their living and being in this world. Being aware of their existence has bolstered my confidence greatly, because I now know there are those whose ways of being and perceiving the world are much like my own. I am not as alone in this world of humans as I originally thought, and quite frankly, that feels awesome. I now have a rather eclectic group of fantastic human beings on my list, and ever so slowly, I've watched the connection I have with some of these people take shape and form, and to also wing its way out to connect others who weren't aware of each other until they came together from our connection. Frankly, it's been an astounding thing to witness, this network of connections being made, and how it's impacted folks for the good, and to know that with a few of these people, I am the bridge that connected them. <br />
<br />
Which brings me back to the subject of this blog of mine...<br />
<br />
In the past, I often asked myself while writing on this blog, "Who am I talking to?" I honestly didn't know half the time. There were times I felt as if I was talking to an impersonal sky. Was that big sky listening? Did it give a shit what I had to say? Other times, I spoke directly to a person unseen by any readers who happened along. And then other times I spoke to many who had fixed themselves to a belief system, (*any* organized religion), trying to speak their language to somehow break through their unopened minds. Because it is certain I was having my fill of their ways, and being negatively impacted personally by their extremely limited and set beliefs. But mostly, I talked to that Big Sky.<br />
<br />
So in considering what to do with this blog, I periodically asked myself, "What if folks read what I've written here and judge me on the basis of one or two posts that just happen to talk about God or have some reference to the bible? Like I said, people are nothing if not predictable. And the very moment someone says or writes the word "God," it evokes in too many the slamming of the door to relationship. There would be no questioning, no understanding that I was, during those times, dealing with, and trying to find some reconciliation and/or understanding within *myself* with this christian line of thought and belief because of the people in my life who were impacting me and mine to a great degree. The very same practice of slamming the door to relationship can be said of those who are Pagan, or into more occult religions.<br />
<br />
Within the encounters I've had with others on Facebook I am acutely aware of that dividing line. When I post things from my Pagan or occult friends, my more christian inclined friends don't "like" them. Hell, they won't even give it a second glance, much less actually read what the other wrote! The same thing happens with my occult friends when I post something along the line of thought that might be misinterpreted as stemming from a more christian belief system...namely, anything having to do with *Love.* One is viewed as dark, shadowy, or evil, and the other is viewed as light, shiny, and good, no matter which way you flip it. There has always existed in humans that division, that duality between what folks consider good and evil, and here I am again, walking the line that is perceived by others as being between light and dark, with folks trying to figure out where I stand - where to place me so I make some sort of sense to them within their own divided framework of belief. I can no more be categorized, or filed into a nice neat box with a pretty bow than Nature can. That is to say, other than saying I am a female human being. <br />
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I see no such thing as a dividing line of light and dark. I don't even think in those terms, and for those who do, it can be rather mind boggling to them, I suppose, to try to comprehend and accept that yes, there is another way of viewing the world and each other besides in black and white, and either/or. It is in my thinking that therein lies the very issue - with the *two* needing to be brought together. For the most part, folks believe in separation. There is no separation, and this Earth and Sky aren't divided. And neither are we. Only in our beliefs do such things take shape and form through us.<br />
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Division. Always attempting to divide into *two* what cannot be divided. We try to divide our mind from our emotions. We try to divide our past from our *now* or our future. We try to divide ourselves up, separate ourselves from suffering, or from what we consider to be unpleasant, or uncomfortable. We divide love and hate. God and Satan. Good and Evil. Right and Wrong. Up and down. Left and Right. As if one side of the scale doesn't exist for the other. Balance cannot ever, and will never be had in such a way of seeing things. <br />
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There is no separation.<br />
<br />
So in considering what to do with this blog, I decided to keep it just the way it is, with posts written in the past remaining, and let people think what they will of me. If one word written here of mine has people judging me on such a surface basis, turning themselves away from me, well, so be it. I cannot control, and don't even want to try to control, the way others see see me.<br />
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I've changed in the course of this past year and a half. Some of the things I wrote here in the last few years, I see now as a developmental process to help me arrive *here* with who I am today in this moment. And I give myself chances, room, space to develop, to express what and who I am in any given moment. Life is fluid, and imperfect. I seek no perfection. I don't believe in endings. Just a continuous process of change, and metamorphosis. Like the changing Seasons, or the Earth and Sky, never expressing themselves - ever - in the same way twice, although we can always depend on their continued Presence.<br />
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The Seasons change, one into the other, oh so subtly, ever evolving, morphing in some new way. Not *evolving* as in "more" or "better," but evolving into some new means of expression. And I find the same thing can be said for each of us. Past Seasons aren't forgotten, but begin to fall like the leaves of trees, or like the gentle rain drops that have their season of weeping from the sky, to be gently embraced by the Earth, and eventually absorbed into the wholeness of being during the dark of Winter, only to be reborn and expressed in another way or form in the Spring, and then anchors it all in Summer through our living and experiencing it - through our dancing. Again, in Autumn we begin to reflect back, sensing the movement to let go and say goodbye to that last cycle of seasons, embracing it all, and then burying it into a loving, living memory. All of it, past and present...all the seasons of our lives, still live while we walk. Wherever we walk and have our being, it all morphed out of past seasons. <br />
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So this...this blog of mine represents several past cycles of seasons. Seasons that I embrace. Seasons that I am forever grateful for experiencing, and I carry them lovingly into this Autumn, letting them fall to be absorbed into the ground of my very being... and in me they will always live, for from them I learned, and from them I evolved into what you see today. <br />
<br />
~<br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-36858170181916272992013-06-27T20:33:00.003-05:002013-06-27T20:33:25.763-05:00When All Else Has Been Stripped Away, One Shining Dream Remains (Finally...Part Two)I show up every morning, ready to write. <br /><br />I show up in the same manner that I show up for my other job - ready. For that other job, as soon as I put my uniform on at home, I'm mentally, emotionally, and physically prepared to do that job. As soon as I arrive at that job, I dive into the work.<br /><br />During that time, I am unavailable for anything or anyone else, other than what pertains to that job. I don't take personal phone calls, or do anything outside that job, unless it's an emergency. Everyone I know respects that, and understands - I'm at work.<br /><br />Setting a time and space to write, however, is not quite viewed the same way. It's not seen, nor understood as being "at work." I do understand the challenge. If I were actually published, and making some money off this work, then it would probably be easier for folks to understand. "Oh, she's writing. She's working." Because what it actually looks like from the outside while I'm writing, (working), is that I'm just sitting around, doing nothing. <br /><br />After I wake up, I slowly turn my attention toward, and tune in to the Muse. I listen to what bubbles up from within me. I mentally sort through what I "hear," or "see," which requires no outside distractions. If I have to hole up in my room for the space to do that, I'll do it. If I do not have a room to hole up in, I'll be outside...sitting and listening. I will not take personal calls while "doing" that. In fact, most of the time my phone isn't even near me. I don't know where it is. I don't care. I'm at work.<br /><br />After I'm done mentally sorting through what I hear, and I've finally focused on what I'll be writing, I put it into action in that very moment. I get up, go to the computer, or grab my notebook, and I write. Now it's more of a transcribing of what I "hear," and you would think the transcription would come easily, but in actuality, it doesn't at first. There is, for me anyway, a kind of atmospheric layer of "debris" to fire through before reaching "The Zone," which is the place of flow. It is where self is completely moved out of the way, and any and all resistance is dealt with and gone - when hands and paper, or keyboard, and page become one. In that Zone, the outside world disappears completely. I don't hear it. I don't see it. I'm in the Zone.<br /><br />If you knew the level of commitment, dedication, and discipline it has required for me to show up every morning to write, (just like my day job), you would probably be astounded by my absolute resolve in doing this line of work. I ain't messin' around. I don't treat it, or even see it as anything "fluffy," or as "just a hobby." It is a form of expression I have decided on, and whether I "make it" or not remains to be seen.<br /><br />Yet to make it happen requires doing it - showing up and working it, going through the steps, no matter how achingly small they are. There is no dream, no goal, no vision, that manifests over night. Of course, there are some rare exceptions, but the majority of folks start at the bottom. We don't build a house without first building a strong foundation, then build it up brick by brick. It isn't easy, building a dream, a vision from nothing to something. I don't believe anyone ever said it would be. And most likely, with all the rough terrain we must walk through, whether it's on the inside - plaguing doubts, etc. - or coming from the outside - no one taking you, or what you are doing seriously, etc. - it will either make or break you, depending on your level of commitment.<br /><br />The majority of people who really know me are acutely aware of the sometimes annoying characteristic that I have called Persistence. It's only annoying to them when it is going against what they want, or think I should be doing instead. I've had some people become outright enraged, or believe I am betraying them and <i>their</i> dream, over what I am doing - which, remember, is simply sitting quietly writing - and I've been called lazy, worthless, a piece of shit, and a no-good fucking bitch, (and the horrible and horrifying list of those labels goes long). I've been asked who it is I think I am for even remotely considering I might have anything of value to share - all of this because I have persisted in my <i>personal</i> dedication and commitment to my dream, and won't budge from showing up every morning to work toward manifesting it. I've even been thrown out on my ass from places I dwelled because of this block of time and space I have for my "work."<br /><br />Yet <i>still</i>, I persist.<br /><br />Because when you have a dream, that's what it requires. If I could do it all day long I would, but I recognize there are other folks to deal with, another job to go to, and other things that need my attention. The mornings and my days off are the only time I have to give to my dream, my work. I've tried writing at night, but by the end of the day I'm too exhausted to even think, much less write. <br /><br />As I mentioned, I began committing myself to this venture a few years ago. I realized then that if I don't actually schedule it into my day, <i>make</i> time for it, and <i>do</i> it, then it will be constantly put on the back burner for "some other time." The time is now, and if "Writer" is my dream, then "writing" is what I need to be physically-sitting-my-butt-down doing. And...no one else will take it seriously until I do.<br /><br />Yet, I think some of the problem is no one else can really see what I am building. Not yet anyway. Other than right here on this blog. (*Waves*...Hello!). While they believe I'm in my cave doing nothing, I'm actually doing a rough draft first...if you could call it that. I'm not sure it is even formed enough to be called a "draft" when it first comes out. Then the piecing together, and fine tuning that rough piece of work comes later, which also takes work, and attention to detail, and a focus on cutting, or keeping, or re-wording. It's work, and there are times I've felt I've wanted to tear my hair out, or throw my monitor across the room. I've actually done that with notebooks, then glare at it, splayed across the floor...then I feel bad, and I'll go pick it up gently, take a deep breath, and try again, with a little more patience.<br /><br />This dream has not been easy for me to begin, or to set a foundation of habitually showing up for it so it can be manifested, while at the same time walking through poverty, having to move a gazillion times, and struggling to care for and support myself in all ways that matter. Not only have I gone through major changes and challenges, and trying like hell to adjust to them, but I'm also <i>making</i> major adjustments as I go, and adapting the best of my ability. And, frankly, with age, (because I ain't no spring chicken anymore!), and with my other job, and the daily stresses of life and living - I'm feeling all of it is exacting a price. I don't like admitting that, even to myself, but it's kind of difficult to ignore a fatigued body in pain.<br /><br />I recently told a friend of mine that I'm literally having to drive myself beyond what my body is screaming it's capable of doing. I also feel driven to manifest this dream of writing, and I'm willing to pay the price it is asking of me. <br /><br />I get up. I show up. I'm working it, and the going is slow. There is rarely a day off from it, but it helps that I also love it. And I think that is why most folks view it as "play." They feel and sense that I am enjoying this "work." I know my energy changes. I'm lighter, happier. Not doing it...I get itchy, and cranky - like my roommate told me she feels when she goes too long without riding her horse.<br /><br />In the past, I've given %100 of myself to supporting other people's dreams, leaving mine on the back burner. A long time ago, I was once married to a man who loved rocks, and mining for rocks. His family and friends treated it like play, and thought he should get a "real job," or focus on a "real career." I knew that would have killed his free spirit. I mention him because he is the very first person I encountered in my life who demonstrated a passion and love for the career of his choice. I remember watching him, and wanted what he had, but at the time it was a mysterious quality to me. My dream was still in hiding, veiled beneath a thousand messages of "shoulds." He had many of those same voices coming from the outside of himself, but he did what he wanted to anyway. He showed up for his work everyday. Little by little, step by step, he was building something, a business, a practice, making the daily effort it required. It slowly paid off. He now runs a multi-million dollar business. His family and friends ate their earlier words.<br /><br />Watching and helping him in his early years inspired me to begin questioning those "shoulds" I had come to obey, and it was only a matter of time that I finally discovered my own passion, my dream, and the voice of my heart.<br /><br />In every possible way I am leaning my entire being toward the realization of this dream. There is no one who can take what I am doing personally. It's not about anyone but myself. In fact, it took near Herculean effort, and a social worker getting in my face, to turn the tide within myself, and to place value and importance on my own dream. To wake me up to the fact that I needed to actually practice what I've preached to so many others. To walk my talk. <br /><br />Now it's my turn. I'm standing up, showing up, and working it. That's all I can do. The rest is up to the mysterious workings of the Fates. But after all is said and done, I'll know I gave it all I had. And <i>that</i>.. I can live and die with. <br /><br />~ <br /><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-63363089657351613772013-06-26T13:24:00.000-05:002013-06-26T13:24:40.879-05:00When All Else Has Been Stripped Away, One Shining Dream Remains (Part One...And A Half)<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="st"><em> "Where there is no vision, the people perish." ~ Proverbs 29:18</em></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<span class="st"><em></em></span>A couple of years ago I wrote this blog post, <a href="http://wingsandarrows.blogspot.com/2011/06/strange-strange-world-of-writers.html" target="_blank">The Strange, Strange World of Writers</a>, a humorous, (and tiny bit exaggerated), glimpse into the mind of writers. The point of the post was to give non-writers, or non-creatives, some understanding into the weird ways and habits of their loved ones, who might happen to be writers, published or not. One of my favorite quotes is by Rudyard Kipling, and states, "Gardens are not made by singing 'Oh, how beautiful' and sitting in the shade." In other words, for me personally, as a writer, I must sit my ass down and actually <i>do</i> the dream I desire to manifest. That takes time and dedication and work.<br />
<br />
Two and half years has gone by since I <i>fully</i> committed myself to this act of writing publicly. It was the very <i>act</i> of creating this blog site that anchored that decision to the ground. We must act to anchor a decision, and get the ball rolling toward its outcome. A decision made without action following to fulfill it will eventually die a painful death. For me, thus far, it's been a long hard road, but not because of the practice of writing itself. Frankly, if not for this practice of writing, and the striving toward a vision, I'd probably be a basket case by now. <br />
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This morning, I read this blog, <a href="http://www.stevenpressfield.com/2013/06/how-hard-is-it-to-turn-pro/" target="_blank">How Hard Is It To Turn Pro?</a>, by Steven Pressfield. I can't even express how much I needed to read these words. Because it isn't just about the act of writing, but about making any <i>real</i> personal change, and the sheer mountain of resistance a person can sometimes face when enacting that change, from both the inside and outside of oneself. If I was merely dealing with my own resistance, I'd be alright. But what I didn't anticipate was also having to deal with, simultaneously, the resistance I've faced from the outside. Frankly, I've been in a sort of shock over the reactions from this decision I made several years ago. Because in the end, it's about me, and a vision I have, and the road to its completion. It's that simple. How folks can manage to squirrel it around inside their mind to make what I am doing over here about <i>themselves</i>, taking it personal in <i>any</i> way, and believing it is hurting them in some mysterious form, is beyond me. The only thing I can manage to understand about it all is that they grew accustomed to my being a certain way, and when I began making what I felt to be necessary changes to my own life, it somehow threatened their own view of me. <br />
<br />
I haven't changed. I've changed <i>my ways</i>. <br />
<br />
I had part two of this little series already written before I posted part one, yet I've hesitated over publishing it, (obviously), because it felt a bit raw, displaying a vulnerability I wasn't sure I wanted to share. You might read it and wonder what the big deal is, but for me, it's a big deal. It goes right to the heart of what the past several years have been like for me on this road to writing publicly. And I'm not alone. I fully recognize I do not own the only corner to this kind of experience, nor that it has only to do with writing. There are, by far, way too many I have witnessed struggling with this same kind of weird phenomenon. I understand it might be difficult to believe, because I'm aware there are folks who have the luxury of time and space, money and support, to do exactly the same thing I'm doing. Frankly, I'm still trying to come to grips with it myself. I don't understand. I don't understand the flack, and the complete lack of support for a dream. Those of you who have it, seriously, thank your lucky stars. I've always been a supporter of dreams and vision. The only thing I see differently now, as opposed to what I was doing in the past, is that now it's <i>my dream, my vision</i>, which for so long was left on the back burner, that I am now supporting in full. <br />
<br />
There are some who consider that I am in the financial state I've been in <i>because</i> of this decision to write. What they fail to grasp is it is precisely <i>because of being in</i>, and <i>experiencing</i> this state of impoverished affairs that led me <i>to</i> this decision. Particularly after standing in a line, with other financially impoverished souls to obtain free groceries so my family and I would have something to eat. Standing in that line for hours, watching all those poor people, brought the quote I shared at the beginning of this blog post to mind, and it became for me not just a nice little saying, but something very, very <i>real</i>. Because the only difference I saw between me and the majority of those other folks standing in line with me was a lack of vision. I've been attuned to people's dreams they hold secretly within themselves for a long time, and I could see no vision in most of the folks standing with me. None. Zero. And that concerned me, and broke my heart, because I knew that somewhere down the line in their individual lives, they'd given up on a vision, or had it beaten out of them. A vision, a dream that once lived and breathed inside them. And I also knew I was <i>this close</i> to doing the same thing. I felt I had nothing left to me except for this vision, this dream. So instead of letting it die, I took a step toward it. Then another step...and another. <br />
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Perhaps, when all is said and done, it will end up being a good thing, all this flack. Because <i>what</i> all of this has evoked in me is that famous stubborn streak inherited from my family line, with me doing a very good impression of making like a tree and taking root. It's driven me underground. And as Steven Pressfield pointed out in his recent post I linked above, "You turn pro in secret. Not even the NSA knows you did it." This approach might come back to bite me on the ass later, but now I'm in the mindset that I don't really care how long it takes me, or if I die trying, and it might be messy, and appear abstract, but come hell or high water, I'm <i>doing </i>it. <br />
<br />
Why am I sharing this personal journey here? Because I'm not alone in it. And it's truthful people like Steven Pressfield who help me know that somewhere, out there, are more people who struggle to change their lives for the better. Who struggle with bringing a dream or vision to manifestation. Who, for some ungodly reason, are bumping up against a non-supportive culture, whether it's within their own family, or in society at large, who are in many ways anti-visionaries, and desire everyone to stay within the status quo. For people who might be comparing themselves to those who only give you the "up" side, or the nice, shiny version of bringing a dream to life, or who might be trying to sell you an "easy-how-to-guide" for manifesting them. It's for those people who might be comparing themselves to others who make it appear, or who like to say it's easy. But <i>IF</i> it was easy, everyone would be doing it. <br />
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I know those precious, beautiful dreams tucked inside of those I've met along the way, and those who gave them up, or let them die, and while some dreams must go as we narrow our field of vision along the way, there is one shining dream that does in fact remain, and that our souls have been silently leading us toward. And it wasn't until I began to commit fully to the one tucked inside my own heart that my eyes and ears were opened to just what so many people were talking about when they said it wasn't that easy, and why they felt such a huge temptation to let their dreams die. We don't often hear about the shadow side that the majority of us deal with to even begin to enact these necessary changes. And that is why Steven Pressfield can truthfully say, "<span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show">I know how
hard it was. I know the price you paid. I know the guts it took. I know
how scared you are, and I know how weird and alone it feels. I salute you. You are one in ten thousand. You have done what many, many talk about, but damn few actually do." </span></span><br />
<span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span>
<span class="userContent"><span class="text_exposed_show">I'm sharing this journey with you in hopes that it will give you the Umph you need to be "the one in ten thousand." A dream...a simple vision...is sometimes all we've got to pull ourselves up out of the mud, when we've got nothing left to us, and it gives us the will to live, a reason to get up in the morning. That's why it doesn't matter if I "make" it or not, because it is the thing I'm living <i>for</i>, the very fuel that keeps me going. It's the magic spark within that says yes! to life, and living, and it is the true gold worth going after. If you don't have the support coming from the outside, do it for yourself. Support your own dream. </span></span><br />
<br />
Part two of this little series will be posted tomorrow. <br />
<br />
Stay tuned...<br />
<br />
~Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-50220407531972388852013-06-05T14:41:00.000-05:002013-06-05T14:48:48.877-05:00When All Else Has Been Stripped Away, One Shining Dream Remains (Part One)I'm glad and thankful to be right here, at this time and place.<br />
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To witness a dream not only being born, but to also have the knowledge of just how long (<i>years</i>) that dream has been tucked inside my friend and roommate, and to witness its unfolding into manifestation is nothing short of inspiring. For I know just how hard and long she, my friend, has worked for everything she has and for this dream of hers to finally manifest, and how doggedly determined she has been, how tenaciously she has held onto that vision inside herself, despite the resistance and naysayers, and come hell or high water... <i>it would BE</i>. She truly inspires me...and gives me hope for my own dream still tucked inside, yet one in which I am steadily working.<br />
<br />
I didn't realize just how much I needed to see and be a witness to a dream, and its long years of labor, finally coming into the world to be seen. And to also witness unseen forces come into play, opportunities open from unforeseen, and seemingly tragic events, to support and help that dream manifest into her life and world, has been astounding.<br />
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At a time when my heart and soul were at their most weary, when I found myself literally on the floor, hitting bottom, hanging on by a thread in mind, body and soul, questioning whether any of what I've been trying to achieve is worth it, thinking maybe the Powers That Be aren't with me... I'm brought here, to witness the fruit of my friend's long years of labor.<br />
<br />
I don't know if she remembers the times when she'd call me over the years, (and I hope she doesn't mind my sharing it, but it's such a perfect example of the places we find ourselves <i>during</i> the process, when doubts plague us in the middle of the night, when we wonder if our dream will ever be realized, because in that moment they appear so very far away), sobbing with the intensity of the ache in her heart, <i>afraid</i> that what she hoped and believed and listened to, the vision within herself that she held onto for dear life, was just a stupid pipe dream. That all her efforts would be made in vain, and in the end, it is she who would be the fool.<br />
<br />
I listened to that dream, saw it shining brightly inside her, witnessed each achingly tiny step she made toward it, and her refusal to have her arrow aiming at any other target. I watched her cut a path to it. I know and remember what she said, the words of her dream, and I'm seeing it unfold now into manifestation. Oh, not in precisely the way she originally envisioned it, but in much the same way as what unfolded in the story, (and was made into a wonderful movie), "Under the Tuscan Sun," by Frances Mayes, one of my all time favorites. In the story, she wasn't quite aware either, how a friend of hers, listening to her tearful words one morning, when she felt so lost and overwhelmed, and everything she was doing came into question, until once day he pointed out to her, reminding her of her words long ago, how all that she said that morning was now manifested around her.<br />
<br />
My friend and I are alike in many ways. Oh, the expression and form of our individual dreams may not be similar, (at all), but being born under the same astrological sign, we share similar needs, (like the absolute need for space, or "alone time"), and we both have a tendency to embody the arrow, aiming with determination and conviction, and a profound precision in our focus toward that thing inside us that is the force and source behind its flight. But not only that, she also came to a place where all was seemingly stripped away, and the only thing left to her was that dream she carried within her. <br />
<br />
This... this first post of two is dedicated to my friend, for I don't know if she is aware just how much she is an inspiration to me, nor how much the witnessing of her dream literally unfolding around her into manifestation, would one day, this day, encourage me to remain open, and keep going with my own. I cannot thank you enough, my friend. <br />
<br />
And for your pleasure, below is a beautiful little compilation of a few uplifting scenes from the movie, Under The Tuscan Sun." (via YunaMonos)<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/G7t_gCfTPlM" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-57437187129187868072013-03-29T23:55:00.001-05:002013-03-30T00:23:52.106-05:00The Importance of Touch - A Conversation<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Who taught you to write in blood on my back? Who taught you to use your
hands as branding irons? You have scored your name into my shoulders,
referenced me with your mark. The pads of your fingers have become
printing blocks, you tap a message on to my skin, tap meaning into my
body. Your morse code interferes with my heart beat. I had a steady
heart before I met you, I relied upon it, it had seen active service and
grown strong. Now you alter its pace with your own rhythm, you play
upon me, drumming me taut.”
<br /> ―
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9399.Jeanette_Winterson">Jeanette Winterson</a>,
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/809754">Written on the Body</a>
</i></blockquote>
<br />
I've been writing. Oh, not for publication yet, but I've not quit writing. I've been focusing my concentration on writing a book.<br />
<br />
Today, I decided to share an excerpt from the book I've been writing with a small, intimate group of friends I'm involved with on Facebook. I find the conversation I had with one of my friends, (who I used to live with), profoundly important. His reactions, (and mine), and the comments to what I shared are honest, pure, and at the heart of what I desire to convey to all who will listen. What follows is my excerpt, and the conversation that followed:<br />
<br />
<h5 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">Excerpt from my writings today on the subject of "Touch:"<br /> <br />
Since embarking on this road through the heart, if there is one thing
I've witnessed truly lacking in this world, and in people who claim to
love, it is touch. For I understand that Love desires to manifest
Itself into this world, and one of the most natural ways It does that,
without even a thought or reason, is through touch. How many of you
automatically find yourself reaching out your hand to touch a baby, or a
child, or your pet? But beyond that, we aren't touching. In fact,
more often than not, what you'll receive if you even ask for a simple
hug, ( I wish I was exaggerating ), is told that you are too needy, or
given a distrustful glance, like what you are asking for is suspect in
some way. The problem isn't in the one <span class="text_exposed_show">asking.
The problem lies in the heart of the one who refuses to give. And
truly, what you don't want to hear is all the reasons someone has for
their refusal, because more than likely they will make their reasons
about you. Somehow or another, no matter how nicely said, they will
find a way to point out your unworthiness. <br /> <br /> And don't get me
started on romantic relationship. Too many associate Love with sex.
Sex is sex. It can, and does, happen with or without Love. And for
some, the only touch they have in their life, the only touch they will
allow, is through the act of sex. Is it any wonder then, that these
people will build a hunger for it, if that is the only area in their
life they will allow touch? <br /> <br /> So, I've asked myself this one question again and again: When did we humans stop touching? And why? <br /> <br />
The answers first came to me through directing those questions toward
myself. When did I stop touching, and why? Initially, I wasn't a happy
camper with the answers. It felt like I was suddenly spun into a dark,
tangled web that I later discovered was one of my own making. It was
very much like traveling a labyrinth, or a maze to find my way clear,
and where that journey eventually led me was to the center of my own
heart. </span></span></span></h5>
<ul class="UFIList" data-ft="{"tn":"]"}" id=".reactRoot[28]">
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment UFIFirstComment UFIFirstCommentComponent" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488186674564451}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488186674564451}.0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488186674564451}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488186674564451}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488186674564451}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187507897701}.0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488186674564451}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Ben Bills" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488186674564451}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Ben</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488186674564451}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488186674564451}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488186674564451}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488186674564451}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[3]">We
are social creatures that crave the touch of others. I often find that I
can sense when I'm encountering someone who has issues with touch. With
others, my first instinct upon meeting them is to wrap my arms around
them. These people usually seem surprised by my hug; but they seem to
settle right into it, and hug me too.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187507897701}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187507897701}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187507897701}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187507897701}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187507897701}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187507897701}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187507897701}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187507897701}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187507897701}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187507897701}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Yes,
some do. I find people are seriously hungry for it, and don't even
know HOW hungry until they are confronted with someone touching them. I
experienced the same thing myself. If there is one thing I've
witnessed in people's feeling of separation, it is in the area of Touch.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187507897701}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
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<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Touch brings us back to earth.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488187541231031&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613022" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:10pm"></abbr></a></span><a class="UFICommentLikeButton" data-hover="tooltip" data-tooltip-alignh="center" data-tooltip-uri="/ajax/like/tooltip.php?comment_fbid=488187541231031&comment_from=100000396325484&cache_buster=0" href="https://www.facebook.com/browse/likes?id=488187541231031" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4]" rel="dialog" role="button"><span content="1" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187541231031}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4].[1]"><br /></span></a></div>
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<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187594564359}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187594564359}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187594564359}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187594564359}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187594564359}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187594564359}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187594564359}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187594564359}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187594564359}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187594564359}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187594564359}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187594564359}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187594564359}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Back to each other, and our own humanity.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187594564359}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
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<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187807897671}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187807897671}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187807897671}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187807897671}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187807897671}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187807897671}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187807897671}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187807897671}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187807897671}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187807897671}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187807897671}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187807897671}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Which
sadly, is a place that too many don't want to go to. Know why? I
finally discovered the reason is because touch has them dealing with
emotion. Emotion they don't know how to deal with.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187807897671}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
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<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187987897653}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187987897653}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187987897653}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187987897653}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187987897653}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187987897653}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187987897653}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">So
the feeling of being brought "down," like I've
talked about, is that right there. "Down" is to the emotions.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187987897653}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187987897653}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488187987897653&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187987897653}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613164" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187987897653}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:12pm"></abbr></a></span><a class="UFICommentLikeButton" data-hover="tooltip" data-tooltip-alignh="center" data-tooltip-uri="/ajax/like/tooltip.php?comment_fbid=488187987897653&comment_from=100000396325484&cache_buster=0" href="https://www.facebook.com/browse/likes?id=488187987897653" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187987897653}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4]" rel="dialog" role="button"><span content="1" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488187987897653}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4].[1]"><br /></span></a></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-snc7/s32x32/275310_100000337604309_1024930078_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Ben Bills" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Ben</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Exactly.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488188154564303&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613208" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188154564303}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:13pm"></abbr></a></span><br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Which truly can feel like going into "the dark."</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488188314564287&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613261" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:14pm"></abbr></a></span><a class="UFICommentLikeButton" data-hover="tooltip" data-tooltip-alignh="center" data-tooltip-uri="/ajax/like/tooltip.php?comment_fbid=488188314564287&comment_from=100000396325484&cache_buster=0" href="https://www.facebook.com/browse/likes?id=488188314564287" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4]" rel="dialog" role="button"><span content="1" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188314564287}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4].[1]"><br /></span></a></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">And it is.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488188324564286&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613264" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:14pm"></abbr></a></span><a class="UFICommentLikeButton" data-hover="tooltip" data-tooltip-alignh="center" data-tooltip-uri="/ajax/like/tooltip.php?comment_fbid=488188324564286&comment_from=100000396325484&cache_buster=0" href="https://www.facebook.com/browse/likes?id=488188324564286" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4]" rel="dialog" role="button"><span content="1" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488188324564286}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4].[1]"><br /></span></a></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-snc7/s32x32/275310_100000337604309_1024930078_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Ben Bills" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Ben </a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]"> Yes,
that inward dark. Touch really does bring us down into that place. But
what's even more special about touch is that it brings us down into that
dark WITH someone else there to witness it.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488189001230885&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613458" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:17pm"></abbr></a></span><a class="UFICommentLikeButton" data-hover="tooltip" data-tooltip-alignh="center" data-tooltip-uri="/ajax/like/tooltip.php?comment_fbid=488189001230885&comment_from=100000337604309&cache_buster=0" href="https://www.facebook.com/browse/likes?id=488189001230885" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4]" rel="dialog" role="button"><span content="1" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189001230885}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4].[1]"><br /></span></a></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Yes!</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488189097897542&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613490" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189097897542}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:18pm"></abbr></a></span><br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-snc7/s32x32/275310_100000337604309_1024930078_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Ben Bills" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Ben</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">And that is probably the root cause of why people avoid touch.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488189107897541&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613494" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:18pm"></abbr></a></span><a class="UFICommentLikeButton" data-hover="tooltip" data-tooltip-alignh="center" data-tooltip-uri="/ajax/like/tooltip.php?comment_fbid=488189107897541&comment_from=100000337604309&cache_buster=0" href="https://www.facebook.com/browse/likes?id=488189107897541" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4]" rel="dialog" role="button"><span content="1" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189107897541}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4].[1]"><br /></span></a></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">If we could only trust!</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488189134564205&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613501" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189134564205}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:18pm"></abbr></a></span><br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Yes!</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488189174564201&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613510" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189174564201}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:18pm"></abbr></a></span><br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Touch is one of the most healing things in this world! And we aren't DOING it!</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488189291230856&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613541" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189291230856}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:19pm"></abbr></a></span><br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-snc7/s32x32/275310_100000337604309_1024930078_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Ben Bills" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Ben</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">It's
a place of vulnerability. It's a secret chest that is seen as having
the need to remain locked and hidden. The hidden garden within.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488189351230850&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613552" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:19pm"></abbr></a></span><a class="UFICommentLikeButton" data-hover="tooltip" data-tooltip-alignh="center" data-tooltip-uri="/ajax/like/tooltip.php?comment_fbid=488189351230850&comment_from=100000337604309&cache_buster=0" href="https://www.facebook.com/browse/likes?id=488189351230850" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4]" rel="dialog" role="button"><span content="1" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189351230850}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4].[1]"><br /></span></a></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Aren't willing to walk through the initial discomfort it brings...but omg, it is oh so healing.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488189407897511&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613571" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:19pm"></abbr></a></span><a class="UFICommentLikeButton" data-hover="tooltip" data-tooltip-alignh="center" data-tooltip-uri="/ajax/like/tooltip.php?comment_fbid=488189407897511&comment_from=100000396325484&cache_buster=0" href="https://www.facebook.com/browse/likes?id=488189407897511" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4]" rel="dialog" role="button"><span content="1" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189407897511}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4].[1]"><br /></span></a></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Yes!!!</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488189477897504&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613585" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189477897504}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:19pm"></abbr></a></span><br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">The discomfort is the red flag that we need healing.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488189674564151&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613626" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189674564151}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:20pm"></abbr></a></span><br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">There is no shame.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488189747897477&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613643" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189747897477}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:20pm"></abbr></a></span><br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Why are we HIDING it?</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488189897897462&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613696" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189897897462}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:21pm"></abbr></a></span><br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-snc7/s32x32/275310_100000337604309_1024930078_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Ben Bills" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Ben</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">As
a client of mine, you know my most powerful secret to a successful
healing: Touch. Healing is, of course, possible without touch. But when
you add touch to it, you bring a new and powerful element into it.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488189901230795}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Touch connects, and gives us no way out Ben.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488190144564104&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613743" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190144564104}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:22pm"></abbr></a></span><br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">We can't rethink it, and say, as in a dream, oh, it was just in my mind, it was just a dream.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488190264564092&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613773" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190264564092}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:22pm"></abbr></a></span><br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Touch brings it down to earth, to the here/now, real</span></span></span>.</div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190334564085}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-snc7/s32x32/275310_100000337604309_1024930078_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Ben Bills" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Ben </a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190441230741}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">The
hiding is brought about through conditioning. People get hurt at the
hands of others all the time. It causes people to recoil in horror. They
fear that someone else will sneak into their hidden garden, and steal
something from it.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R9"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-snc7/s32x32/275310_100000337604309_1024930078_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Ben Bills" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Ben </a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">And
so, since touch is the simplest way in which we can connect with
someone...since it is such a fundamental gate to empathy, we become
conditioned to retract from it.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488190781230707&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613906" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:25pm"></abbr></a></span><a class="UFICommentLikeButton" data-hover="tooltip" data-tooltip-alignh="center" data-tooltip-uri="/ajax/like/tooltip.php?comment_fbid=488190781230707&comment_from=100000337604309&cache_buster=0" href="https://www.facebook.com/browse/likes?id=488190781230707" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4]" rel="dialog" role="button"><span content="1" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190781230707}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4].[1]"><br /></span></a></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R8"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Yet
there is nothing to be stolen if the love is only yours to give. Only
you can give it! I do understand the desire to hide, but what happens
is when we do that, in essence, we are holding onto the wound that
brought it about. Nursing it.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
<span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488190864564032&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364613921" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:25pm"></abbr></a></span><a class="UFICommentLikeButton" data-hover="tooltip" data-tooltip-alignh="center" data-tooltip-uri="/ajax/like/tooltip.php?comment_fbid=488190864564032&comment_from=100000396325484&cache_buster=0" href="https://www.facebook.com/browse/likes?id=488190864564032" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4]" rel="dialog" role="button"><span content="1" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190864564032}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4].[1]"><br /></span></a></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li class="UFIRow UFIComment" data-ft="{"tn":"R7"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}"><div class="clearfix" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0">
<div class="lfloat" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0.[0]">
<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-prn1/s32x32/565145_100000396325484_607394001_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0.[1].0">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0.[1].0.[1]">
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Yes!</span></span></span></div>
<div class="UFICommentActions fsm fwn fcg" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488190971230688}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1]">
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<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191124564006}.0.[1].0">
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<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191124564006}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191124564006}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191124564006}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191124564006}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191124564006}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191124564006}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191124564006}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Ben, LOOK! There are so many who are retracting!</span></span></span></div>
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<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191201230665}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191201230665}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-snc7/s32x32/275310_100000337604309_1024930078_q.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191201230665}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191201230665}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Ben Bills" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191201230665}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Ben </a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191201230665}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191201230665}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191201230665}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191201230665}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Almost everyone I know.</span></span></span></div>
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<a class="img _8o _8s UFIImageBlockImage" data-ft="{"tn":"T"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[0].0" tabindex="-1"><img alt="" class="img UFIActorImage _rx" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[0].0.0" src="https://fbcdn-profile-a.akamaihd.net/hprofile-ak-snc7/s32x32/275310_100000337604309_1024930078_q.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1]">
<div class="clearfix UFIImageBlockContent _42ef" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0">
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<div id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0">
<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Ben Bills" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000337604309" href="https://www.facebook.com/EarthenSky" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Ben Bills</a><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Including me.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]"> </span></span></span><a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191254563993}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191254563993}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191254563993}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191254563993}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191254563993}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Hello! Now you understand my grief.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<a class="UFICommentActorName" content="Cynthia Fassett" data-ft="{"tn":";"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/hovercard.php?id=100000396325484" href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191344563984}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][0]">Cynthia Fassett</a><span id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191344563984}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][1]"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191344563984}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191344563984}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191344563984}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">It was never about me. It was about what I saw.</span></span></span><br />
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<span id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191344563984}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0]"><a class="uiLinkSubtle" data-ft="{"tn":"N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/spiritroads/permalink/488182207898231/?comment_id=488191344563984&offset=0&total_comments=37" id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191344563984}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0]"><abbr class="livetimestamp" content="about an hour ago" data-utime="1364614084" id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191344563984}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[0].[0].0" title="Friday, March 29, 2013 at 10:28pm"></abbr></a></span><a class="UFICommentLikeButton" data-hover="tooltip" data-tooltip-alignh="center" data-tooltip-uri="/ajax/like/tooltip.php?comment_fbid=488191344563984&comment_from=100000396325484&cache_buster=0" href="https://www.facebook.com/browse/likes?id=488191344563984" id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191344563984}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4]" rel="dialog" role="button"><span content="1" id=".reactRoot[31].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191344563984}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[1].[4].[1]"><br /></span></a></div>
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<div class="UFICommentContent" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0]">
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">(and by the way, you can find me on Facebook <a href="https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.fassett" target="_blank">here</a>)</span></span></span></div>
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<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[28].[1][2][1]{comment488182207898231_488191237897328}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">~~ </span></span></span></div>
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<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-70733255166355494022013-02-24T17:15:00.000-06:002013-02-24T17:15:58.586-06:00A Bit Regarding Spiritual Matters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>“…because you have struggled with God and with humans…”</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Genesis 32:28 </i></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"If I defend myself I am attacked.</i><br />
<i>
Who would defend himself unless he thought he were attacked, that the
attack were real, and that his own defense could save himself? And
herein lies the folly of defense; it gives illusions full reality, and
then attempts to handle them as real. It adds illusions to illusions,
thus making correction doubly difficult." ~ A Course in Miracles</i> </blockquote>
<br />
I had a conversation recently with a friend regarding the subject of God. At one point my friend told me I needed to "spread the word" regarding God and my relationship with Him. I told him I didn't feel that was necessary. He countered that the bible said we <i>must</i> do so, (which frankly, had my horns coming out), and then, in a sort of backdoor kind of way, he accused me of being worried about what other people think of me, and of being ashamed of God - denying Him like Peter denied Jesus.<br />
<br />
I felt my eyes going wide, and in disbelief I asked my friend, "Do you hear yourself? Do you hear what you are really saying to me?" The conversation on the subject, for the most part, came to a halt right there, with me slamming the gates shut to anything else being said on the matter. Because <i>nowhere</i> within me does a need exist <i>to defend</i> my position regarding God to any other living person. Nor do I feel a need to <i>prove</i> I believe in God by talking about Him, or by attending some church, and any of the other insane things people think they have to do or be to try to make others "join the party," or in making an attempt to please some sort of judgmental god.<br />
<br />
People are free to think what they will of me, (and certainly use that freedom to the nth degree), and it has been my experience that 9 times out of 10 they are wrong in their opinion, but any attempt on my part to defend myself is like driving my car into a brick wall. No thank you.<br />
<br />
It absolutely floors me how people latch onto an idea, an opinion they have regarding someone else, and then proceed to make themselves right about it. And when they do that, they fail to consider what I am considering over here. I allow them their opinion of me, and will not rise to the defense, feeling there is nothing to defend, as they might expect. Seeing and believing only what they would do given the same situation, they can't even comprehend that there might be a different approach or response. They interpret my silence as agreement, thinking that I either can't come up with a defense, or have none, to what they are putting forth. They err, (greatly), in their thinking.<br />
<br />
They also fail to consider the Silence of God. There is a profound reason behind that Silence. And...God also has no need to defend Himself. <br />
<br />
I shared that with my friend on another day when the subject came up again, in a round about way, and he told me that that's why God needs us, to be His voice. <br />
<br />
Yeah... about that...<br />
<br />
I've mentioned here before that God showed up in my picture, <i>uninvited</i>, 20 some years ago. Actually, the more my relationship developed consciously with Him, the more I awakened to the fact that He'd been hanging around the edges of my life, lurking, ever since I was a teenager. There were also other Powers That Be playing havoc with my life that I didn't want to have anything to do with because, One: I didn't understand them, and Two: no one else seemed to be having the same experiences, so I secretly thought that perhaps I was crazy.<br />
<br />
Yet God had no problem making His Presence known to me later, like He was waiting for the moment to pounce or something...as I stood one morning, on the street in my neighborhood, <i>silently alone</i>. No preacher, no relative, not one single person in this world could have convinced me God was real except God Himself. Period. And knowing that, I don't believe that anything I say will "bring in a flock of believers." I can't even describe the shock I experienced with the fact that God was real. Honestly, at the time, I'd rather He not have been. So no, God doesn't need our help by us going around talking about Him. If He could swoop into my life from wherever He came from out of nowhere, then there is no doubt in my mind that He will do the same for any and everyone else. Why He doesn't isn't really any of my business, and seriously, I'm happy not knowing. <br />
<br />
Anyway, I decided to share with my friend what I think is meant by "spreading the word." The "word" is <i>us</i>...not some airy fairy <i>talk,</i> empty of any spirit, (i.e. <i>action</i>,
or an honest heart). The only way to make an impact isn't
through "talk," but by being a living, breathing example. Children
don't learn how to behave from a parent talking, or preaching at them.
They learn by what their parent is actually <i>doing</i>, and how that
parent is treating them, and others. They watch, and listen to the
silent language underneath all the talk. Sadly, if they sense a
discrepancy, which is far too common, and go to ask about it, more than
likely, their senses aren't validated, and they are made to think they
are imagining things. For example, a parent who has issues with anger,
(who perhaps considers being angry means by definition that they are
"bad," and that it is "wrong," or "isn't spiritual." By the way, tell <i>that</i> to Jesus as he was tipping over tables in the temple!), will never admit to having anger within
her kingdom. So what will her answer be? "No! I'm not angry! Whatever
gave you that idea!" Or, "How dare you suggest such a thing!" And
that is the first step the poor kid has into <i>dis</i>-trusting his <i>God given</i> senses...<br />
<br />
But I digress...<br />
<br />
I don't merely <i>believe</i> God is real, I <i>know</i> He is real, and that deep knowledge wasn't brought about by some book. I refused to even crack open the bible before God came swooping in. And even then it took some doing to get me to go there without a lot of argument and resistance. So no, my knowledge of God didn't come from "the letter." It came through <i>experience</i>. There is nothing that can shake me from that knowing. There is nothing to defend. Folks have tried. I don't really care. And I don't really care if they believe or not. Again, that's God's business, not mine.<br />
<br />
If I choose to speak of God, it isn't in an attempt to convert. It is the same for me as if I was mentioning my daughter, or a husband, or any other relationship I have. However, no one has an issue with my relationship with another human being. (Unless of course, it happened to be a gay relationship. Because, again, <i>people </i>bring God into that picture as well. But that will never happen because I don't swing that way...just sayin'). My point is, the subject of God tends to be a hot button for folks, whether they are church going Christians, or atheists, doesn't really matter. What does matter is that in their reactions they forget their own humanity, and forgetting it, they forget the humanity in others as well.<br />
<br />
That is why...<br />
<br />
In my experience, God wasn't real concerned with <i>my belief</i> <i>in</i> <i>Him</i>. He took care of that part with the greatest of ease. What He was concerned with most of all was the opening of my own heart, the clearing of my own conscience, and the development of my own soul, which comes naturally when we begin trusting the love in our own heart, and allow it to express. All these things go hand in hand, there is no separation. The <i>act</i> of loving will take care of it all eventually. But we have to do the work, no one else. Not even God can, or will intervene. There is no one else who will save you from this work. Rumi said, <span class="userContent">"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it." And that is precisely what I did, and continue to do, because there is way more to the act of love than most folks can possibly comprehend. I'm not talkin' about romantic love, or any special relationship kind of love, although we all have to start somewhere. I'm talking about Love Divine. Love that encompasses, and is behind all forms of love. </span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent">~ ~ ~</span><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-8947886824172773902013-01-02T22:15:00.000-06:002013-01-02T22:15:07.274-06:00Swinging Into OblivionI watched a movie the other night called <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0260924/" target="_blank">A Gentleman's Game</a>, starring Mason Gamble and Gary Sinise. The movie is a "drama revolving around characters whose lives are transformed one summer at an exclusive East Coast country club." (IMDb) It's a golf movie, and no, this isn't a review. However, there was a scene, a conversation, in the movie that zinged me enough that I paused the movie to go hunt down pen and paper so I could write down what they had just said. The conversation was between a boy, (Timmy), and his teacher, (Foster), regarding the boy's preference for practicing golf on the beach, hitting the balls out into the ocean, and went something like this:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Foster: "You like hitting balls to oblivion? What's wrong with the driving range?"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Timmy: "Nothing. Here's just better."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Foster: "Why?"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Timmy: "Because there's no one watching me. There's no yardage markers, or targets, or anything. You just hit the ball, and it doesn't matter where it goes. Even if you wanted to aim at something, you couldn't. You can just swing, and don't even worry about it. I like that. You should try it with me sometime."</i></blockquote>
<br />
Yes. That. Right there. That place, that space, that feeling, that experience within, when we "don't even worry about it," that allows for the "pure swing," ( a golfing term ). The more I think about it, the more I think he's on to something. <br />
<br />
I've written here before in this blog about suffering from an acute sense of self consciousness regarding putting what I write "out there," ( or here, as the case may be ), and I've also experienced the <i>exact</i> same feeling when standing on a stage to sing or to talk in front of an audience. I do understand it's some kind of preoccupation with self, and that we all experience it from one degree to another. I once read about a study done where scientists put forth a question to folks regarding what they feared most, and the number one fear was public speaking. Number two on the list was death. Soooo, people would rather <i>die</i> than stand in front of a bunch of eyeballs looking at them. So yeah, while in a lot of ways it's good to know I'm not alone in my neurosis, that still doesn't take care of the issue. <br />
<br />
Because here's how I view it...<br />
<br />
Have you ever danced with abandon under the moonlight, bare feet drumming on the earth? Have you ever belted out a naked song in the shower? Or made sweet love in the snow - your senses coming alive, with the contrast of heat and cold feeling oh so delicious, the scent of evergreens all mixed up with the clean crisp air - and had your soul standing forth, setting itself free through the misty cloud of your breath? Or sang from your whole heart, face lifted, eyes gazing lovingly <i>up</i>, setting your voice ringing to try to match, or to answer, what you feel from the stars? I've literally lost any sense of myself in a song while I was singing it! Almost as if I became the notes themselves. The same goes for writing. Have you ever lost yourself so completely in a sunset or sunrise, that you didn't know where the sky began and you ended? Or thrown your whole body onto this glorious Mother Earth, with a grand desire to be big enough to embrace <i>all</i> of Her, melt into Her warm embrace? Or yelled at a mountain, ( releasing pent up anger energy, but not wanting to hurt anyone else with it ), shaking your fists at its hard, immovable body. It can take it. Just as the sea swallowed up those golf balls. We're afraid of being swallowed up into the All, I think, not recognizing that we're already playing a unique part in It. Without us, It wouldn't be Whole. <br />
<br />
Have you ever set yourself free, just once!, taken <i>your</i> hands off yourself? Stopped manipulating your emotions, stopped monitoring, and editing your self, your thoughts, and simply let yourself <i>BE. </i>Drop down, and sit in all your BE-ness, here/now, in the eternal moment... and a blade of grass becomes a magical wonder, instead of something to be plucked or mowed.<br />
<br />
I've experienced all this, but when it came to expressing myself in a public setting, like here, or up on a stage, I found myself clamming up, putting a blanket over the light within me, trying to be careful not to draw too much attention, as if I was preparing for bombs that <i>might</i> fall in the night - like in world war II, when people had to close all their curtains, extinguishing any evidence of light, so the planes overhead couldn't mark them as targets. Any sign of light meant that's where the living dwell. <br />
<br />
It feels almost paradoxical, because it's almost like being fully present in an experience is the same as losing the sense of oneself <i>in</i> it. The thing we're doing when we're in a state of self consciousness is an action of holding ourselves, our full expression, <i>back</i>. Separating ourselves from wherever we happen to be standing in the moment. <br />
<br />
So I asked myself....if I can experience this sense of fullness of presence when I think no one is looking, then it begs to reason that I can experience it at <i>all times</i>. There is no difference between here and there, people in the room or none whatsoever! Because wherever I happen to be standing, experiencing whatever I happen to be experiencing, I am, in essence, standing in the <i>same</i> place, <i>one</i> place, if you catch my drift. There is no where <i>I</i> am not. <br />
<br />
So the difference between writing with the intention of allowing others to see it, and not, can only be coming from one place. Me...and my view. Which basically boils down to that kind of "me looking at you looking at me" weirdness going on. <br />
<br />
The more I thought about what that boy in the movie said, the more I felt it's exactly what I needed hear to help me with this issue. Because, frankly, I don't like it. I haven't ever felt comfortable with this discrepancy I found within me,
regarding a self consciousness that felt like it was crippling my
spirit of expression. If I wanted to write,
write dammit! I was just fine freeing <i>all</i> of myself into the written word as long as it wasn't being observed by others. But the <i>very instant</i>
the thought even entered of another looking at it - yeah, it felt like an
automatic shut down was being activated. I couldn't <i>pretend</i> I didn't know what I was up to! I thought with the practice of writing on this blog that I'd eventually get over it. But it hasn't let up, and there have been times that I felt so tired of feeling I was fighting my way through this thing that I thought, "Hang it! I don't want to do this anymore." But that's not the case either. <br />
<br />
What this boy said about hitting the ball and it not mattering where it goes...I think I've been trying to aim for a target. Indeed, even trying <i>to find</i> where or what that target is! The idea of not worrying about a target, or not being concerned with measuring myself against some unknown world view of what is "good" and what is "bad" to write about is a freeing one. The idea of swinging expression out to oblivion, not concerning myself with where it lands, simply for the sake of expression, frees my spirit to express itself <i>with</i>, or as a part <i>of</i>,...well,
Everything. What it is, I think, is swinging into pure trust, when we finally give
the finger to the notion of dis-trust ~ in self, in each other, in Life ~
and throw off the burdensome mantle that hinders our every move,
subdues natural expression, and creates a veil, and a sense of
separation from All. <br />
<br />
<i>"You can just swing, and don't even worry about it. I like that. You should try it with me sometime."</i> <br />
<br />
I like that too. And I'm trying it with him in the form of writing. <br />
<br />
-----<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-39532660833203448872012-12-16T21:00:00.001-06:002012-12-16T21:00:17.261-06:00The Flowers in The Battlefield ~ In Defense of God<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Jesus wept. (John 11:35)</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
Mmmkay.... <br />
<br />
Unfortunately, right before going to bed last night, I decided to see what was happening on Facebook, and this is what greeted me, <a href="http://www.inquisitr.com/440355/westboro-baptist-church-to-picket-sandy-hook-elementary-praise-god-for-shooting/" target="_blank">"Westboro Baptist Church To Picket Sandy Hook Elementary, Praise God For Shooting,"</a> and I can tell you, I had a hard time getting to sleep because of the mind numbing shock I experienced after reading that bit of news. I was already reeling from a video my roommate showed me earlier in the day of some other church man who made a public statement on video saying pretty much the same horrifying thing, and from all the people who were ignorantly trying to find blame, busily pointing at everything from the poor mother of that shooter, to the NRA. The article above capped it for me.<br />
<br />
Deep Breath...<br />
<br />
So...<br />
<br />
I'm going to do a little play on words, just for the sake of all that is Good and Sacred...because I've had <b><i>enough</i></b> of these folks who consider themselves to be representatives of God, and whose actions, in said Name, are nothing short of profane. <br />
<br />
I am aware that because of folks like these, and insane, bloodthirsty people like them throughout the history of Christianity, God has gotten a seriously bad rep, and because of it, <i>just the word</i> "God," when uttered, evokes all kinds of crazy shit, and associations, (including God Itself being a "religion," which, I'm sorry, you just can't <i>organize</i> the Spirit of God into a nice little tidy box. It's impossible), and definitions, in people's head, whether you're a so called "believer" or atheist. ( It's okay, I used to be one of those anti-god, anti-christ people walking around, so I know the deal). And it is for certain that whenever I have talked about "God," uttered that word, I have been immediately placed into the category of these crazy people, by the "non-believers," and have had people end a relationship with me because of it. <i>And</i>, on the flip side of that coin, once the so called "christians," practicing their organized religion, realized I didn't quite have the same definition and practice as they do, they did the same thing, considering me some "heathen," (whatever the hell that means...I've met more so called "heathens" that have more heart, who express more love for humanity, and this Good Earth, and living, than these uptight folks where the joys of life and living are seen as "sin." So it's been on both sides of this stupid coin, from the christian and non-christian people alike, <i>behaving</i> the <i>same</i> exact way! I can't win for losing, and neither can anyone else who tries to find the middle ground between the two! Not that I'm trying to <i>win</i> anything - it's just a figure of speech, so don't bother latching anything onto it. <br />
<br />
So, let's put the word "God" away for the time being, and interchange it with the word "<b><i>Life</i></b>." <br />
<br />
But first...<br />
<br />
The same day of the tragic shooting in Connecticut, a friend on Facebook, <a href="http://madcapchristianscientist.com/" target="_blank">Karen Molenaar Terrell</a>, shared this: <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/moments-that-restored-our-faith-in-humanity-this-y" target="_blank">26 Moments That Restored Our Faith In Humanity This Year</a>, with the subtitle, "sometimes you need a reminder that people can do wonderful things." I know I certainly needed the reminder, and I was grateful for the sharing. I was experiencing shock in the aftermath, which I mistakenly thought all of us humans were doing, and I'm determined to agree with another friend on Facebook, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/sonofnicneven" target="_blank">Robin Artisson</a>, who wrote on the day of the shooting, <span class="userContent">"I wish I had more answers, for you, and for
myself, but I stand helpless before the immensity of these dark matters.
And if I have learned anything in my time on my strange wisdom-gaining
path, it is the importance of letting oneself be stunned, letting
oneself be shocked, even letting oneself be deceived when the time is
right." In the same post, he went on to say, "</span><span class="userContent">Instead of trying to explain this away, or
saying the usual comforting rhetoric, I am making the decision to expose
myself to the cold, frustrating discomfort of not understanding it, and
taking the burden of the grief that comes with it." </span><span class="userContent">I was grateful for that too, because now that I consider the shock I was experiencing, it makes a statement all by itself. Why wouldn't we, as fellow human beings, be shocked and grieving right along with the parents and relatives and friends of those innocent people who were so brutally murdered? </span><span class="userContent">There is no figuring out crazy, because it's,
well, crazy, and we run the risk of driving ourselves crazy trying to
make sense of it. There was/is no sense to it, <i>no reason</i>. <i>Reason</i> got up and left the room that day. </span><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
<i>"<b>The thief</b> comes only to steal <b>and kill and destroy</b></i><i>; I came that they may have <b>life</b>, and have it abundantly." John 10:10</i><br />
<span class="userContent"><br /></span>
So let's use that word <b>Life</b> in exchange for the word God. I'm sure God won't care. We could call It Timmy for all It cares.<br />
<br />
The Spirit of Life is <i>in</i> and <i>through</i> all things. For <i>in</i> Life, "<i>we</i> live, and move, and have our being." (Acts 17:28) There is no separating from this fact. We - meaning humans, animals, trees, rivers, lakes, mountains, everything that grows and breathes, and I'll even include the soul and spirits of these things, and throw in some immortals to boot - are virtually and literally swimming in the Spirit of Life. Life has been doin' It's thing long before you and I entered the scene, with no help whatsoever from <i>anyone</i>. Life doesn't need our help. It simply makes Itself available to all who wish to partake and share in It's <i>fullness</i>. <br />
<br />
There is an Intelligence behind and in and through Life that has nothing to do with us, but we are privileged <i>to be</i> a part of It! You could even say that Life is an Intelligent, Creative Principal. Life manifests, expresses and animates Itself in a ga-zillion different forms. Looking at Life in this way, you begin to comprehend how Life can be omnipresent, omnipotent, and omniscient. Life is busy expressing Itself <i>as</i> you, <i>as</i> me, <i>as</i> the tree outside my window, <i>as</i> the blade of grass that shoots out of the hard ground. What Force is <i>causing</i> any of it do that? What intelligence created it? What makes our heart's beat? What makes us breathe? What is that gorgeous, thrilling <i>force</i> that courses through our blood stream, lights up our eyes? What is that <i>force</i> that <i>automatically</i> goes to heal a cut in our skin? If we are honest, we can truthfully say we are not, and have never been, in charge of It. It is a Mystery. (Beginning to see why it's impossible to organize?)<br />
<br />
As I have walked through my own, individual life, as I approached every living, breathing thing ~ my neighbor, which included the animals, plants, bugs, streams, trees, all of it ~ I said these words to myself, reminding myself over and over, until I felt the Truth of it sing in my very soul, "The <i>same</i> Spirit that lives in me, lives in you," so I'd never forget that Sacred Life we <i>all</i> have in common, and have been <i>gifted</i> with. I held to the common ground in <i>all</i> of us. That Spirit of Life connects us all. <i>There is no separation</i>. It is impossible to be alone! <br />
<br />
We humans are unique in that we have been given a choice. Free will. We can choose to be a channel that expresses Life, and anything that supports Life, appreciating all that It has to give, throwing ourselves into It with grateful hearts, or we can express the opposite. Most of us express a little of both. And sometimes, when we are in grief, the only thing we have to hold onto is <a href="http://wingsandarrows.blogspot.com/2011/04/river-flows.html" target="_blank">this</a>.<br />
<br />
I have heard people say, "Where was Life (God)? How could Life (God) let this happen?" (Having experienced what I have in Life, I put that same question to Life, when It chose to make It's Presence, It's Intelligence known to me, so I get it), and I would put to you that Life was present and accounted for, and the only one who had no wing or prayer, who desired nothing more than to <i>take</i> - <i>steal</i> Life and Innocence, who hated the flower in the battlefield, who was already a dead man walking, was the man who committed the crime, which I find enormously sad. And now there are people, who think they represent Life, who are backing the thief who brutally took it. Their actions are profane, and do not represent Life, nor even honor It, and if the only thing I can do about it is to write about it here, so be it.<br />
<br />
<i>"The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep." John 10:11 </i><br />
<br />
Life was there, expressing Itself <i>through</i> all the Heroes that stood forth to save those children. And, most certainly, Life was there, expressing Itself through a teacher, Victoria Soto, 27, (pictured below), a good shepherdess, who hid her little sheep in the closet, who chose to lay down her own, individual expression of Life, to give those little lives a chance to live theirs.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6id4VRVhD4g/UM5-cc5gLUI/AAAAAAAAAgc/KasFfgLaQbk/s1600/Victoria+Soto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6id4VRVhD4g/UM5-cc5gLUI/AAAAAAAAAgc/KasFfgLaQbk/s320/Victoria+Soto.jpg" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">via Facebook, shared by Ryan Tucker</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
----<span class="userContent"> </span><br />
<span class="userContent"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-24303658597206847532012-12-10T20:43:00.001-06:002012-12-10T20:43:14.596-06:00Been There, Rocked That<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"He who is grateful in <b>all</b> things shall be made glorious." <span class="st">D&C 78:19 (bold is my doing)</span></i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"..And after the fire came a gentle whisper." Kings 19:12</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
My birthday is coming up, which means this planet has been graced with my presence for 52 years. Of course, it's reciprocal. This planet, this life, has also graced me with an abundance of experiences I would never dream of handing back. That may not mean much to you, or to the world, but for me, when I think of it, I want to kneel down, bow my head, and surrender my grateful heart at the alter of Whatever Mystery created me to live and breathe, and experience this life. My life. What a ride!<br />
<br />
A couple of months ago, a friend wrote these words to me, "Biggest drain of my time for the least benefit." The subject we were discussing, in the whole scheme of things, was trivial and doesn't really matter, yet the sentence itself jumped out at me. In one sentence, he pretty much summed up a world view, in varying degrees, regarding any and everything. <br />
<br />
My very first thought and response, (that I didn't send), to that sentence was, "I'll lay odds down that the benefit you received is in equal measure to the effort you gave to it." Because that is a Universal Law, and it is exact. There's no short cut, there's no way around it. What you <i>give</i> to <i>any</i> endeavor, anything or anyone, the effort you put forth, will return to you in equal measure, and the reason for that is because you will only be able to <i>see</i> the benefit in direct proportion to what you give. The benefit is already there, waiting, vibrating in full potentiality. You cannot <i>see</i>, and will never have eyes to see, what you yourself are not giving. You <i>get</i> what you yourself put into, or <i>give</i> to a thing. That is why you want to give without any thought of return. Because you don't know. That line of thought is, in essence, putting the cart before the horse. But more on that later...<br />
<br />
Also, in that time frame, (just before my friend wrote those words to me, and right after I wrote <a href="http://wingsandarrows.blogspot.com/2012/10/broken-wings.html" target="_blank">Broken Wings</a>), I had another interesting conversation, (if you could call it that), in an online chat window, with a friend who, after I gave him a cheery greeting, told me he was, in that very moment, putting an end to his life. He said he had just swallowed a bunch of pills, and would be dead within the hour. He thanked me for being a good friend, and then, just like that, poof!, he was gone. <br />
<br />
Woah! Didn't see that one coming! You can ask my roommates...I literally screamed. I felt my heart had just been ripped right out of my chest, and, for one split second, I felt more helpless than I think I've ever felt in my entire life. I hate feeling helpless. I felt my mind snap, then I snapped into action.<br />
<br />
I did everything within my power to find him, to reach him, his family, friends, cops, whatever it took, in an attempt to save his ungrateful life. After several hours, and with the help of a couple of his other friends, I finally tracked down his completely frazzled mother, who immediately proceeded, ( I mean, I barely got two words in ), to berate me for caring, and told me to butt out of her son's life, because his family is taking care of him. Yeah, well, frankly, I would have given anything <i>not</i> to be involved, because it's for damn sure I've got enough on my own plate, but her son, who I do care about, <i>did</i> involve me, so I acted, responded <i>to</i> what was handed to me <i>in</i> <i>that moment</i>. It's not like I don't understand her viewpoint, even though I don't agree with it, and I'll be damned if I'd do any different given the same circumstances, going on the little information I had available to me, which was, in essence, "I'll be dead within the hour. Goodbye." Click. <br />
<br />
Bzzzz! But thank you for playing! Oh no you don't! Not on my watch! <br />
<br />
But I digress...<br />
<br />
...sorta...<br />
<br />
I suppose, looking at it from one very narrow angle, you could say that all my efforts, the time I spent, the tears I cried for this man, were a big drain, (I do know I certainly felt drained when all was said and done), and in the end, on the surface, it might appear there was no benefit in it for me at all, and was way more trouble, ( i.e. drama ), than it was worth. Especially over someone who, evidently, doesn't give a shit about his life, or living. I mean, if he doesn't care about his life, why should I...right? <br />
<br />
Mmhmm...about that...<br />
<br />
Who determines my actions? Who makes the final determination in what I care about, in what matters to me, in where I place value and meaning, and how I will put that into action, or demonstrate it? You? Him? Others? Anyone outside myself? We are victims to no one but ourselves. <br />
<br />
Here is what I know. 20 years ago I made a decision to begin practicing gratitude, and within that same year I also began practicing love, because <i>the act</i> of <i>giving</i> <i>thanks</i> automatically begins to open and soften the heart, and will <i>naturally</i> lean you toward love...and love simply <i>does</i>...it <i>gives</i>. <br />
<br />
At the time, I wasn't messing around. I was at a point where I didn't have anything to lose in <i>giving</i> it a good, honest effort. Besides, if there is any consistent theme at all running in the background of my life it is that I don't generally do anything half assed. That has been both a blessing and a curse. I was in despair, and full of hopelessness and self pity, and unfortunately, I didn't do any of that half assed either. In fact, I was close to being in the same state of mind as my suicidal friend. It was sink or swim time. <br />
<br />
So I get it. I do. I have experienced more than my fair share of shit in life. I understand the mental, emotional, and physical effects, and I know their cause. It was a hard, hard thing to begin the practice of gratitude, and I had to literally scrape around the bottom of the barrel to find <i>anything</i> I felt the slightest bit thankful for. It was <i>work</i>. Why did I do it then? Because right before I decided to practice gratitude, I made the decision I want to <i>live</i>. Not merely live some sort of half life, but live <i>live</i>. From there, I looked for anything to try, any inspiration in how to do that better. That inspiration just happened to come from a book I read called <i>Mutant Message Down Under, by Marlo Morgan</i>. I got the message. I didn't do it for anyone else but myself, because I was a seriously hurtin' unit, and, quite simply, I finally recognized that I didn't really want to die, I<i> wanted</i> to <i>feel</i> better, and <i>feel</i> alive. <br />
<br />
And I did. I felt surprisingly better. Initially I had to practice persistence, had to work it, because I didn't really, really believe the practice would do much good, but I knew enough to realize that if I didn't give it my all, then I couldn't be truly honest in saying the results were bullshit. That would be like saying I don't like green beans when I've never actually eaten one. So I committed myself to the act, giving it 30 days, just so I could say, at least to myself, yeah, I tried it. <br />
<br />
I felt so much better that I continued with that practice because it began to be the only thing that made sense in this crazy world. And ever so slowly, without my realizing it, that practice became a habit. It took on a life of it's own within me. I found myself automatically seeking the good in everything. I can no more stop myself from giving thanks than I can stop the need for food and water. I don't want to stop it. And when I came across the quote above, regarding being grateful <i><b>IN</b></i> <i>all</i> things, I thought, "Why not? I'll include the shitty stuff too. What do I have to lose?" I didn't see the importance of the word "in." However, as soon as I began making the attempt to give thanks <i>for</i> the shit, I had eyes to see the word <i>in</i>. Give thanks even while you are <i>in</i>, walking through the shitty stuff <i>in</i> life. Know what happens when you do that? Alchemy. Magic. Would I prefer a life without shit? Of course! But if I happen to be walking, say, through the valley of the shadow of death, then I may as well make the most of it, and seek the good in it all. And I saw I had already been doing that! Unknowingly, I began this practice while standing knee deep in shitty-ness! My motivation wasn't so I'd be made glorious. I don't even know what that means! Other than what that practice has done to my <i>sight</i>. Because when I look over there at you, I see the glory of you.<br />
<br />
I mentioned in my last post that for the past few years I'd been
suffering from a sense of disappointment that I didn't understand, and
didn't know how to heal. It is certain that if I knew how to heal it, drop it, it would already be done. If I knew where the tangle was in my thought process, it would be untangled before now. Because I don't like the feeling. And I could also feel, lurking in the background, a thought of "why bother?" It was hindering my expression, animation, passion, and enthusiasm, and that concerned me. I finally found my answer, and I have been making some changes.<br />
<br />
I know...that as soon as my eyes were opened ~ after I'd been practicing giving love and gratitude until it became a part of me ~ as soon as I had an answer...my automatic response was to share it, to give. And I did that. What I didn't anticipate, what I didn't understand, and was shocked by again and again, from husband, family, friends, people in my life, was the pushback. I thought they wanted to heal. I thought they had that same desire inside them as I do. I was all excited over what I'd found through that practice! And it's not like I was <i>pushin'</i> this shit onto people! I was answering them. I was giving to them what they themselves were seeking. That cure is nothing new. Every mystic, every prophet, in every religion, since the "fall of man" has given the same exact information, and it has been waiting through the ages for whoever receives it. Practice love and gratitude. <br />
<br />
I've had people think I'm attacking them, after I listen to them, and I simply say, "Practice gratitude." They think I'm calling them ungrateful. They hear me saying they "should" be grateful. They are offended! I'm not saying they <i>should</i> do anything! I'm saying, do that and you'll feel better. They have thought it means I don't care about their feelings...feelings they'd have to let go of the very moment they go to practice gratitude, because you can't feel angry, you can't keep, or hold onto feelings of hate, resentment, jealousy, guilt, or shame when you are earnestly practicing gratitude, actively seeking what you <i>have</i> that is good. It is impossible! <br />
<br />
Or they think I'm not listening, or that I don't understand. Oh, I understand. There aren't many conditions, or situations that I haven't applied the practice of gratitude and love while I was in it. There aren't many areas, or states of being that I haven't put that practice to the test. <i>Proved</i> it to myself first before turning around and sharing it with someone else. I'm not going to tell a person a thing without having first used myself as the guinea pig. It isn't some bit of fluff, or fad I tried with only half an effort. I have <i>lived</i> this practice for so long now that the spirit of it is now alive in me. I put my <i>entire self</i> into the practice. <br />
<br />
Or worse, they think I'm judging them. They think I'm looking down on them, from some high horse <i>they</i> see me sitting on. I have had people say to me that I must think I'm better than they are, and they proceed to <i>work</i> at bringing me down. Trust me when I say that if I was even close to thinking I was better than you are, I would not be able to utter the words, "Thank you," with any kind of sincerity. It wouldn't even occur to me to do so. This practice teaches humility. And the reason you want to learn to be humble is because perfect humility is perfect reception. The more humble you are, which comes naturally to those who practice gratitude, the more you <i>see</i> what you have, and are receiving. So no, I don't compare. I don't think in those terms. I'm not over here competing. None of this makes me a good person, it makes me a person who practices good, who is seeking the good in all things, and being grateful for it, and trying my best to give it, to share what I have received through the practice. I'm good at seeing the silver lining because I've been practicing it for years and years. Not so I can lord it over anyone, and point and say, "I win! Na na na!" All the while yelling, "Loser!" But because I know the benefits from practicing it. So no, I don't have to judge them. They are doing that to themselves far worse than I ever could. Why would I want to pile more onto them? Or I'll say, "Practice giving, loving." They look at me sideways, full of suspicion, and think I'm wanting to take from them. I am merely<i> giving</i> them the cure for what ails them. Folks have said to me, "I <i>don't</i> <i>have</i> to love you! I <i>don't</i> <i>have</i> to give to you!" Again, acting as if I am trying to force something from them they don't want to do or give. They're right, they don't have to. But they will only receive in the exact measure they give. <br />
<br />
Or they think I'm trying to "fix" them. I'm not trying to fix them! If I am saying, "Practice gratitude, or practice giving," I am wanting to share with you what I see. I am trying to give to you what you can do to have your eyes opened to the glory of you, and the glory of all that surrounds you! I want you to be able to say with sincerity what I stated in the first sentence of this post. I want you to feel that. Because it is certain that is what I see and believe in you. You are a presence that has graced this earth and my life, and I am profoundly grateful for your being! I want you to see that there is nothing to fix! That you already have everything you need. That you are perfect exactly the way you are! I want you to see that you are <i>already</i> <i>whole</i>. You are already loved. I want you to be still....and <i>know</i>. The only way you will have the eyes to see that, and <i>know</i> it, is to <i>give</i> thanks...to <i>give</i> love. Practice gratitude, practice giving, practice loving with your whole heart and soul. Throw yourself into it. The benefit of doing so is yours first. <br />
<br />
"Does your face light up when a loved one enters the room?" If not, why not? Why did you stop smiling? Where did your smile for me, or for anyone go? Why did you take your smile away? And for the love of good, why wouldn't you want to heal whatever it is inside you that took that smile away? <br />
<br />
I can guarantee you this...I have spent myself, holding nothing back. I have given my entire being, poured myself into friendship, marriage, and family, into any and all endeavors, into life and living itself, and it is I who have benefited most from the spending. I received my answer to truly live, in the measure that I gave myself over to life, to living, to all the rich experiences, textures, and encounters with a grateful heart. I've been there, rocked that, and I'm still rocking it! If I have no other witness, no other being who sees it, and what I have done, and what I have given, other than God, then so be it. It is enough. I am satisfied.<br />
<br />
Give. Find the flower that blooms on the battlefield. Give thanks for it's being, and growing there...in all it's loveliness, and purity, untouched by the warring heart of mankind. Stand in the middle of a forest of old cedars, or in a desert full of saguaros, all of which have lived far longer than you. Reach out with your spirit and ask them what they know, and have seen in their silent vigil over the decades.<br />
<br />
For Grace lives here...in our midst...and is waiting, available to all. <br />
<br />
~~~ Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-26437461210512855792012-10-21T22:22:00.000-05:002012-10-21T22:22:14.795-05:00To Heal a Broken Wing<br />
The bird <i>wanted</i> to fly again...naturally. <br />
<br />
* ~ * ~ *<br />
<br />
I have walked the past few years suffering from a very deep sense of disappointment. Oh, not your run of the mill kind of disappointment, like when a much anticipated plan falls apart, or even the hundred and one small disappointments that befall us on a daily basis. There are many who thought the disappointment I suffered was what comes after a marriage ends. I knew that wasn't it. That was understandable, and perhaps played a part, but because of the very fact that it was understandable -- I mean, who wouldn't be disappointed?-- it actually fell into the realm of "normal." <br />
<br />
However, I do recognize it as the doorway. Like a new grief has the tendency to become a conduit for old griefs we never allowed to heal, the disappointment I felt over my marriage ending opened the door to a deeper, more profound disappointment that had been lurking under the surface all along.<br />
<br />
This was something different, heavier, and for a time, nameless, and was playing serious havoc on my faith in any and everything, particularly mankind, but once I could finally identify it, simplify it in my mind in some form to make it more manageable, I got to work in finding a cure. But first, I needed to find where the disappointment was directed. That, in all honesty, and unfortunately, has taken me years to sort out. <br />
<br />
I had to sort it out. For me, there was no alternative, and I'd do whatever it took. And I did that because something in me said it wasn't right. There was something off...something broken. I did it because I wanted to heal.<br />
<br />
I had no problem admitting there was something wrong. I didn't deny it, or try to pretend all was okay in my kingdom when I knew it wasn't. What good would that do? There was something wrong, something off key, and I wanted it found, identified, dealt with, healed, so I could get back to the person I know myself to be...naturally. <br />
<br />
There were too many signs, too many things I used to do, too many ways I used to express myself, that was no longer in evidence. My daughter, speaking one time about herself, after surviving the nightmare of being stalked by a cop, "Where did I go? It's like I see the real me, still there, on the other side of some glass, and I'm some person that is standing in her place, stopping her from expressing. I'm smiling, but it's not real, I'm acting like her, pretending to be her, but not. How do I get her back?" I remember answering her, "When you feel safe again." She just looked at me, with those big, beautiful eyes full of tears, and said, "I don't think I'll ever feel safe again." I understood, knew the feeling, but I also knew that if she was willing, she'd allow that self she so sorely missed to find expression again.<br />
<br />
*~*~*<br />
<br />
One time, during my early 20's, after having a terrible argument with my mother, I got in my car and went for a drive. At the last minute, I decided to drive to see a friend of hers. I knew he loved her, understood her in some mysterious way that I couldn't, and so I went to him, seeking, hoping for some answer to make things better. He questioned me for a time, and after I asked if he could give me some understanding into my mother, I looked up at him, and I'll never forget it...his head was tilted sideways, and he was wearing a crooked smile. I said, "What? What's so amusing?" He said, "I didn't see it before, because of that prickliness you wear around yourself all the time, but you are more like your mother than you think." I'm not sure what offended me more -- his telling me I was prickly, or telling me I was like my mother -- but I went with the mother comment, "I am <i>not</i> <i>anything</i> like my mother! And I will never be!" He stood there unchanging, with that infuriating smile on his face, and said, "It's a compliment. A compliment I thought never to give to you. But now I see you, and that heart of yours is very much like your mothers. Thank God that it is so. She's a healer, and you are too. Just not in the same way." Then he turned around, and went back in his house, leaving me standing there, stupefied. <br />
<br />
Years later, I remembered that conversation, and smiled. He was right. I was a healer...in a different way.<br />
<br />
*~*~*<br />
<br />
My mother used to work in the healing arts. She studied and practiced alternative medicine before it became as mainstream as it is now. (You can thank her for playing a role in why you have these things so readily available to you. It wasn't easy, because the medical field was pushing back. They are still pushing back, to a certain extent.) For a time, she worked in a clinic that was healing people of major illnesses, through diet and herbs, and natural medicines. After she left the clinic, she began doing massage therapy. She can be proud of her life of service, for I know she healed and touched many who were at the brink of death, with her healing arts being their last resort. <br />
<br />
In fact, when I came up against a life threatening condition of my own, it was her I myself turned to. Her, I trusted. We may have had our issues, but my faith in her knowledge had me literally putting my life into her capable hands where the care for the body was concerned. I obeyed and did everything she told me. I believed in her, and honored the work she did. <br />
<br />
But something happened...something began to change. Her focus began to shift, ever so subtly. In fact, it is only now that I can see what happened...because I fell into the same trap. To this day, I don't think she looks at those she saved, or all those grateful hearts she touched, but instead, looks at those she didn't. Or, more accurately put...those who refused. <br />
<br />
I think it boggles the mind of a healer. Creates some sort of shock. For truly, it goes against nature. Everything in nature responds to healing. <i>Wants</i> to get back to it's natural way of being. Hell, at the very least, even recognizes, instinctively, what it's natural way <i>is</i>! <br />
<br />
That bird I saved years ago wanted to fly again. I knew he did. He knew his wing was broken, knew that something was broken, and worked with me to heal himself. I think he knew I wanted what he wanted...to fly again. To be in his natural environment. He heard the call, the song of his feathered friends, and longed to go back to them, be a part of them again. <br />
<br />
That bird didn't hold tightly to his broken wing, defending the wound, making himself right about how he couldn't fly anymore. Bless his heart, he just kept tryin'! He never gave up. He got tired, weary from the work, but I didn't feel him ever give up. He never quit until he flew again. And he wouldn't have flown again without me. He had help, and <b><i>received</i></b> it. <br />
<br />
But humans...How could someone not want to be healed? What was that in them that resisted, refused, and rebelled against healing? How could they not want to go back to what is natural? <br />
<br />
That wall. It is that wall my mother and I bumped up against...again and again. That resistant thing that will not forgive. That prideful thing that will refuse help. That refuses to see, or even admit they even need help, because needing help is seen as weak. <br />
<br />
We get nowhere without help. I would be nowhere without help. All those people that my mother helped heal would not be anywhere without help. <br />
<br />
That disappointment was directed right at mankind. Because this is what I saw...a difference. Even an indifference. And my heart didn't know what to do with what I saw. My mind didn't know how to reconcile such a discordance with nature. Man could choose...and wasn't. <br />
<br />
*~*~*<br />
<br />
The bird <i>wanted</i> to fly again. Humans did not want to rise again, choosing again and again to hold onto their wounds, under their own free will. That was the supreme difference. Simply...unwillingness.<br />
<br />
----(to be cont.)<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-49419194905238829092012-10-14T21:39:00.001-05:002012-10-14T21:39:21.777-05:00Broken Wings<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<i><span class="sqq">“</span>If you love something set it free<br />
If it comes back to you it's yours<br />
If it doesn't, It never was</i>"<i><span class="sqq"> (unknown)</span></i></blockquote>
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<span class="sqq">It's been awhile, and I apologize. I've had to work out some things before I could find it in me to write here again. </span><br />
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<span class="sqq">Judy Clement Wall recently wrote and gave a wonderful gift to her subscribed readers called, "52 Weeks: 52 Ways To Love Your Wild Self." Her readers desired to share it with others, who for some odd reason, haven't yet subscribed to Judy's blogs -- so Judy, ( whose preference is to be simply called "j"), put her book up for sale <a href="http://www.ahumanthing.net/shop/" target="_blank">HERE</a>, in the form of a pdf file. I highly recommend you purchase it, and also, while you're at it, if you haven't done so already, The (Fearless) Love Essays, which she wrote and published last summer. (Hint: Great Christmas gifts!) </span><br />
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<span class="sqq">The first section of 52 Weeks is called "Winter Ways," and covers the weeks of winter, and when I got to week 8, "Find Your Life Theme," I stopped. In that moment, a memory flashed, rose up clear and true, and sang out for me to look at it. Then, a couple of weeks later, I had a conversation with a friend of mine that rocked my world, and had me thinking again about the theme of my life. In week 8 of j's book, she mentions and shares a link to a post written by Alex Franzen, called "Does Your Life Have A Theme? (Want to find out?)," which you can find <a href="http://unicornsforsocialism.com/2012/08/15/does-your-life-have-a-theme-want-to-find-out/" target="_blank">HERE</a>. </span><br />
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<span class="sqq">I have to admit, I felt an unreasonable fear, quite the opposite of what j says she experienced in the exercise given. I struggled for a time with what was coming up for me to look at. So I let myself sit in the struggle, listening to the voice of conflict within me. I wrote...and wrote, gave it a voice...set it free. And when the conversation with my friend came around, who so tenderly bared his soul with me, with a whisper that melted a hardness around my heart I didn't even know was there...I felt something in me shake loose...and finally bend. </span><br />
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<span class="sqq">Sometimes, even when our hearts ache for significance, even when we want to believe we matter, that our lives matter, there is something within us that is, at the same time, paradoxically, afraid of it. We don't want to know we have that much impact on our world, or on each other. Because with that knowledge, that awareness, comes a heightened sense of responsibility we fear we can't live up to. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="sqq">We can, and we will. We must. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="sqq">I believe Marianne Williamson said it best: </span><i>"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is
that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness
that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are
a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is
nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel
insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We
were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is
not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light
shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As
we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically
liberates others." </i><br />
<br />
What follows is the memory that rose up inside me, and shined a spotlight right onto my life's theme. It has been before me all the time, hiding in plain sight. Isn't that the way of it? And with the unknowing (or maybe knowing), help of my friend, by his laying bare and exposing his own broken wing, he let me know in no uncertain terms, who it was that brought back to him his desire to fly once again...He told me I <i>must</i> write. I honestly didn't think I was reaching anyone. I don't think I wanted to know. I think I felt safe hanging out in between. One foot in, one foot out, never really committing. His revelation to me brought me up short, right to the point of decision.<br />
<br />
~And humbled me to my bones ~<br />
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*******</blockquote>
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<span class="sqq">When I was a young girl, about 8 years old, I witnessed a cat sneaking up on a cardinal. Something in me knew the cat would be successful this go around, and without thought, I sprang to action, and took off running toward the cat and bird, yelling out an alarm as I went, but I was too late. Just as the cardinal was lifting off the ground, the cat leaped into the air, and dragged the bird down beneath him. It was only afterward, with prize flapping from his jaws, </span><span class="sqq">teeth sunk into one of the cardinal's red wings, that the cat </span><span class="sqq">finally looked up to notice the crazy girl running at him, top speed, waving her arms and yelling. He was so confused by what he saw, his mouth literally dropped open enough for the bird to drop to the ground. For a split second, I saw him consider sinking his teeth back into his prey again, but by that time I was damn near on top of him, still yelling, and he decided I was the bigger predator, and took off running for his life, leaving his tasty prize behind. </span><br />
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<span class="sqq">The bird was still alive, and frantically trying to fly away, but it's wing was hanging at an odd angle, broken, and all he could manage was a flop. So he decided to make a run for it, a sound emitting from him as he hobbled away that pierced my heart because of the pain and fear I heard within it. That sound drove me to scoop him up gently, when he'd finally cornered himself, and coo at him, as he trembled in my hands. It pained me that I wasn't fast enough to save him from the cat, but I was glad he was still alive, and I felt a ferocious protective instinct rise up from within me. I could protect him while he was wounded, provide shelter, maybe heal him. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="sqq">I took him to my dad, and asked if we could save him. My dad looked at the bird, and noted the broken wing, and told me with gentle honesty, "It's the shock more than anything that kills them. He doesn't appear to have any other wound other than his wing being broken. But he probably won't last long enough for the wing to heal, because of the shock. And even if he does, and his wing does heal, he probably won't be able to fly again. And a bird....is built to fly. A bird needs to fly. What kind of life would he have if he couldn't fly? Let him go, Cindy."</span><br />
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<span class="sqq">I couldn't. I just couldn't stand the thought. My dad must have seen it in my eyes, because he heaved a sigh, then told me to follow him. We went down to the basement, and he found a box, then told me to go gather some grass, and leaves. I ran and got the items as quickly as possible, and then brought them back to my dad. He instructed me to put them in the box, then he laid the bird inside, on top of the nesting material. He then told me to find a lid to a jar, and fill it with a bit of water, and set it inside with the bird. After all that was done, he looked at me, and said, "Now we wait. Keep him in the dark. The dark will comfort him, and might help the shock. Let him rest. But he probably won't last the night, Cindy. Be prepared for that." </span><br />
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<span class="sqq">The next morning, I raced down to the basement to check on the bird, and found the box empty. My mind wouldn't accept what that might mean, so I frantically searched the entire basement for the bird, thinking, hoping, he'd simply decided to escape. I couldn't find him, and I felt a grief hit me as I slumped down on the stairs to cry, accepting that my dad probably took him out, thinking to save me seeing the bird dead. Suddenly, I heard a noise, a chirpy little noise. I silenced my tears, even my breathing, and grew still...listening. The sound came again from beneath a work table, so I jumped up and went over to look, and there he was. I crawled and reached until I got hold of him, careful of his broken wing, then carried him back to the box, and inspected him.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="sqq">He didn't look like he was dying. He looked alert, if not a little freaked out, bouncing around the floor of the box, dragging his broken wing beside him, but he was alive. I cooed at him, telling him it was all okay, and that I wouldn't harm him. I was here to help. At some point I heard myself say, "I'll see you fly again."</span><br />
<br />
<span class="sqq">And I meant it. I didn't know I meant it until I said it, but I remember feeling, with every fiber in my being, I meant those words. Come hell or high water, I'd see him fly again. I had no idea how I'd do it, but my life now held a purpose. I felt it solidify in me, and I aimed for it.</span><br />
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<span class="sqq">The next few days were spent in simply trying to keep the bird still. I finally decided to wrap him with a dry bandage, with the intention of holding his wing to his side. That worked for about a minute. Binding him seemed to upset him, and the point was to calm him down, so I gave it up, took it off, and just kept the box closed. My dad was right...he seemed to quiet down in the darkness the box provided when the lid was closed. I got the feeling the box being open, above him, had him feeling exposed, and that's why he kept escaping, and running for cover somewhere else. I had thought he wouldn't like feeling closed in, but I was soon proved wrong when I noticed he calmed way down when the box was closed.</span><br />
<span class="sqq"><br /></span>
<span class="sqq">I don't remember how long I kept him in the box that way, but it was the bird himself who let me know when he was ready to do more. One day, I opened the box, and he tried to fly out. I noticed he actually worked his wounded wing. I remember celebrating with him, instinctively knowing his wing was on the mend. From that day forward, I got him out once a day, and gave him a little push off the table, knowing he'd naturally try to use his wings. The first few times were painful to watch, as he automatically spread his wings to fly, but fell down to the ground, with a hard landing instead. I couldn't care, and something told me not to coddle him. He must fly. I couldn't stand the thought of him not doing what came naturally to him. Like my dad said... what he was made for.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="sqq">Day by day, he got stronger, and his wounded wing began to work again. We got to the point where he was flying from surface to surface, but still low, and still with clumsiness. He also began to sing. He could hear the other birds singing outside, and I felt like their singing was somehow connected to his desire and will to fly. I knew the day would come that I'd have to take him outside, and let him go, and when that day dawned, I marched outside, talking to him about his big day, and how much I'd miss him, and trying not to cry. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="sqq">I'd put a lot of thought into it, planning the day of his flight, and had decided to let him go from the top of the wall in our back yard. The top stood level with our yard, and was built to separate, and hold the earth in our yard from the field below. I stood with the bird wiggling in my hand, aching to be set free, and hesitated. My heart beat picked up, and I felt the tears blur my sight, then told the cardinal I loved him...and with a lift of my hands, pushed him up in the air and let go.</span><br />
<span class="sqq"><br /></span>
<span class="sqq">His flight was wobbly at best, and not very strong, and he couldn't make it to even the lowest branch on a tree. He tired quickly and fell to the ground, and sat still. </span><br />
<span class="sqq"><br /></span>
<span class="sqq">I jumped down off the wall, and raced to him as fast as my little feet could take me. He was so still...I thought...</span><br />
<span class="sqq"><br /></span>
<span class="sqq">He looked up at me when I reached him, breathing hard, and when I picked him up, his little heart was racing. I cooed at him a little while, trying to decide what to do...he didn't even wiggle in my hand anymore, so exhausted from his attempt at flight. I hoped I hadn't pushed him too soon. Then I told him we had a little more practice to do, that's all. He'd fly again, and now that he had felt the wind in his wings again, he'd fly that much sooner. He didn't seem all that excited.</span><br />
<span class="sqq"><br /></span>
<span class="sqq">But the next day, he was ready to go again, singing in response to the bird song he heard outside, flying from surface to surface in the basement...so I scooped him up, and took him outside to try again. He went a little higher, but still fell, exhausted, onto the ground.</span><br />
<span class="sqq"><br /></span>
<span class="sqq">Days went by with the same scenario, and I began to lose hope. My mom and dad told me I needed to let him go, but they weren't there, didn't see what happened when I let him fly. I couldn't stand the thought of a cat getting him again, once he'd worn himself out from flying, and fallen to the ground. I whispered to him, "You must fly. Your wing must get better! Try!" And he'd go a little further, and then fall. The day came when my dad drew the line, and told me the bird had to go, and I wept, and told the bird he had to fly this time. His wing could take it. His wing was healed. And it was. But for a bare spot absent of feathers, I found no mark on it anymore.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="sqq">I stood there, giving him a pep talk, crying, and with my entire being, earnestly willing him to fly, I finally let go....</span><br />
<br />
<span class="sqq">And he flew. High and glorious, if a bit ungracefully, he flew. I watched him go. Made sure he knew what he was doing. He flew from branch to branch...getting better as he went along. Then, he flew back, and landed on a branch of a tree that stood next to me, and sang. I watched him, my heart happy and sad all at the same time, and then he flew away. I watched him until he disappeared, then flopped myself down on the ground and cried.</span><br />
<span class="sqq"><br /></span>
<span class="sqq">A few days later, I was walking to school, and heard a cardinal's song. I looked up, and there one sat, flying along from branch to branch as I walked. I like to think it was him, coming to greet me, singing me a song. I smiled and waved at the bird, feeling lighter in my step, my heart lifting, knowing I'd played a part in healing a broken wing, and setting a bird free to do what came to it naturally.... to fly.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="sqq">--------- (to be cont.) </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-24625291682105959122012-09-11T10:57:00.000-05:002012-09-11T11:03:16.404-05:0025 Years Worth of TodayToday is my daughter's birthday.<br />
<br />
I'm aware that this day, 9/11, lives in memory for some as a day of devastation, and loss. Yet for me, I cannot see this day as anything other than a reminder of the celebration of life. It is the anniversary of a day when my life was graced with a tiny bundle of light and joy. She amazes and inspires me, my daughter. She has been my greatest teacher. The reason I love as I do is because of her, and what she gave me. As soon as she entered my world, everything changed, inside and out. Love...walked into my life, and evoked my heart, and I haven't looked back since.<br />
<br />
I wrote the following to my daughter not long ago, and I decided to share it here with you because I simply can't contain a love so great as I have for my daughter. So I let it spill out of me for all to see:<br />
<br />
Happy Birthday, Boo. <br />
<br />
~~<br />
<br />
I remember:<br />
<br />
The very first time I felt you move in the womb.<br />
The first time I held you in my arms.<br />
When you found your feet <br />
The angelic, wispy, baby curl that laid delicately on the back of your neck.<br />
The scent of you.<br />The first time you smiled at me.<br />Your first step...away. When you finally let go.<br />The first time I kissed one of your tears away from your precious cheek. <br />
It's salty taste.<br />Watching you play with wooden spoons...in the mud.<br />The brightness of your eyes when you'd climbed out of your crib.<br />The first time you climbed a tree...and how proudly your face glowed.<br />
When you learned how to ride your bike without training wheels.<br />The wind in your hair.<br />You swinging those bars...WOW! A thing of beauty.<br />The beauty and grace of the lines of your body on beam.<br />Your expressive, clinging, toes <br />
Reading you stories.<br />Storm chasing together.<br />Riding a horse for the first time.<br />Riding horses together.<br />Talking horses and gymnastics.<br />Watching the Olympics, Kentucky Derby, etc., together.<br />Your natural loving way with animals.<br />
The very first drawing you gave me. (It's still in my wallet)<br />Prescott adventures in the snow.<br />Adventures to the ocean.<br />You buried to your neck in the sand ;)<br />Cooking.<br />Our annual Nutcracker Suite ballets.<br />
Jumping trampoline together.<br />Watching you dance.<br />You sharing the dances you made up with me.<br />The I Love Ba license plate that started it all...<br />
Sharing your first true love with me. Our talks about Jody.<br />
Allowing, and trusting me to take you to the Dr. for birth control.<br />Watching your love for Jody grow in depth.<br />Your oh so refreshing and beautiful innocence. <br />The vibrant Life in you.<br />Your humor and wit.<br />Your vulnerability.<br />Laying upside on my lap...at all ages <br />
Watching you...do anything.<br />Rubbing your back.<br />How we laughed...oh how we have laughed together.<br /><br />Holding you in my arms...it's always the first time...again...and again...always the first time...holding you in my arms.<br />
<br />I love you, more than words can possibly express, Sweet Daughter of mine. <br /> <!--3--><!--3--><!--3--><!--3--><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-83843853848648220822012-08-26T23:47:00.000-05:002012-08-26T23:47:14.207-05:00The Simple Place<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">I was first introduced to the following Native American story by my mother, who found it written on a beautiful </span></strong><strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">card, then stuck it up on the refrigerator with a magnet, and there it stayed for many years. Although, at the time, I didn't understand it, I remember something about the story captured my heart and soul. Since then, I've read the story many times over the years. Tonight, it popped into my head again, so I went searching for the words. I couldn't find who the author is, or where the story originated, (other than the words were said by the character Marilyn Whirlwind on the tv show Northern Exposure ), so I'm quoting them from here, <a href="https://thedailyround.wordpress.com/tag/wabi-sabi/" target="_blank">The Daily Post</a>, a beautiful blog I discovered by Catherine O'Meara. </span></strong><br />
<br />
<u><i><strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">Ukatangi</span></strong></i></u><i><strong><br style="font-weight: normal;" /><br style="font-weight: normal;" /><span style="font-weight: normal;">The eagle wasn’t always the eagle. The eagle, before he became the eagle, was Ukatangi, the talker.</span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> Ukatangi talked and talked. He talked so much, he could only hear himself. Not the river, not the </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">wind, not even the wolf.</span><br style="font-weight: normal;" /><br style="font-weight: normal;" /><span style="font-weight: normal;">The raven came and said, “The wolf is hungry. If you stop talking, you will hear him. The wind, too. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">And when you hear the wind, you will fly.”</span><br style="font-weight: normal;" /><br style="font-weight: normal;" /><span style="font-weight: normal;">So Ukatangi stopped talking, and soon heard the wind rushing by. In the quiet, he could hear the </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">directions of its currents, swiftly lifting and falling. The music of the wind changed Ukatangi’s </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">nature, and he became the eagle.</span><br style="font-weight: normal;" /><br style="font-weight: normal;" /><span style="font-weight: normal;">The eagle soared, and it’s flight said all it needed to say. </span></strong></i><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">It wasn't until I began the practice of stillness that I finally understood what this story meant. I also became aware of why, initially, it spoke to my soul, evoking my heart, instead of my mind. </span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">I try, I really do, to stay connected with this blog, with others, and with the world. Yet lately, more often than not, especially this past year, it feels more like I'm having to force myself to go there. It's not like it's motivated by a lack of caring. If anything, paradoxically, I find the spirit of compassion is more alive within me. Yet sadly, too often, compassion and caring are not welcome, and too often seen as fanciful, or impractical. So I find myself seeking the quiet place, the simple place. I find myself returning to it again and again. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></strong>
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">I sit quietly watching, listening, to the wind, to nature. I grow more aware of a place where love and balance reign, a more natural place. There is a natural order to all things, and it is only mankind who considers there is a need to place his hands all over it (and each other)...fix it...make it better...faster....constantly attempting to change, or improve, or add to something that is perfect just the way it is...including ourselves. </span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">When do we stop. When do we say enough. When do we let go, take our hands off, put the sword down? When do we stop the clamoring, and clanging, and wanting, and pulling and grasping, and the need for control? When do we chuck it all, let go..</span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">...and simply...be...still. </span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">And like a friend said to me recently, "... let the world spin." </span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">The world will always demand our attention. People will always desire to pull us this way and that to get what they want. Hell, we do it to ourselves. We lose touch with our spirit, our soul, the sound of our heart. <i>"The wolf is hungry."</i> Indeed...it howls in the distance. We feel it as a yearning, a longing that arises in the quiet of the night. We have forgotten what it is that calls us with an ancient voice, and we lock our doors against it, trembling with fear. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></strong>
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">I've changed. I've been changing these past three or four years. But that's not really putting it accurately. I can see now, little by little, there has been a great letting go, a shedding, inside and out. At times it has felt forced from my hands and my life, sometimes it has been my decision. Nothing, not one area of my life, has escaped the clearing. But now I feel like I'm heading toward the closing of a circle, as if I've been in the slow turn of a decision made long ago. It feels just like the fourth round of a sacred sweat lodge, when you know you've finally made it through the most challenging part, the place of surrender. No longer do you ask for mercy. You have accepted the unacceptable, and now know you can and will persevere until the door flap is finally opened, bringing with it a soft breeze and cool air. You crawl out of the dark, to stand upright in the light, and the world is not the same as it was when you were last in it. You have new eyes. You are not the same. Gone.. is any and everything that wasn't a natural part of you. A clearing away of the dross.</span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">The simple place is the natural place. No longer fettered to the added things, or to the demands and desires of this world, you find yourself willingly leaping into empty space, simply trusting that wings, and the wind to fill them, will form as you go. The simple place is the very heart of you, where you discover nothing else is needed. Nothing else.. ever was. </span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal;">---- </span></strong>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-63487944658682982532012-08-05T11:34:00.000-05:002012-08-05T11:38:35.572-05:00Pause ButtonI've been training in a new job this past week, and have a couple more weeks to go. That said, I find myself not only needing to adapt to the training schedule, which will thankfully change after training is done to a schedule that better suits me , but also with the need to apply my focus on getting caught up in other areas of my life that were put on hold because of a lack of funds. <br />
<br />
So while my world is righting itself, please forgive me while I hit the pause button on this blog for a brief time. I'll be back in a couple of weeks.<br />
<br />
---- Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-32553841534693532232012-07-26T18:25:00.001-05:002012-07-26T18:25:21.887-05:00The Blessing of a Ragpicker (part three)<br />
<i>"What I feared has come upon me; what I dreaded has happened to me." Job 3:25</i><br />
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<i>"Have caution, pointing out potholes in a road that hasn't been poured." J. Patrick Bennett - Poet </i><br />
<br />
<br />
We don't know.<br />
<br />
I think that's what disturbs us most of all, plagues us in the stillness of moments, and is at the very root of our deepest fears. We don't know...anything. And we want to. <br />
<br />
The encounter with Harry occurred nearly 20 years ago, and although I had a
sense that something important had changed within me, I wasn't yet consciously
aware of what that change was. He impacted my life, my view, in so
many different ways, and on such a profound level, that, looking back at it now, it took some time, and the walking through experiences of my own, to finally grow into what it was that was given to me that day. <br />
<br />
The one most important thing I walked away with that day is this: <i>I was wrong</i>. Mistaken. My initial view of Harry, my first thoughts regarding him were wrong. It's like finding out someone we love has lied to us. We've been steadily going along thinking everything is a certain way,
making ourselves right about it, and behaving accordingly, and then wham!, we're knocked sideways with the knowledge of just how
wrong we were. From that moment on, our mind automatically, <i>naturally</i>, goes to asking, questioning, what else have they lied about? We feel our mind tripping backward, to one moment after the next, all of it clicking together, like a line of dominoes on a journey to the ultimate finish...the truth. <br />
<br />
We realize later, the truth had always been there. Evident. We simply didn't see it. Or...even more disturbing...didn't <i>want</i> to see it...because of what we were afraid it <i>might</i> mean. <br />
<br />
I felt just like that after meeting and talking with Harry. But this time, it was <i>myself</i> that I realized I couldn't trust.<br />
<br />
What do you do with that? <br />
<br />
If I could name anything that began the practice of being honest <i>with myself</i>, it was my encounter with Harry. I wasn't even nice about it. The light of my focus to get real, truthful with myself, was brutal, like the sun hitting eyes that had grown accustomed to a dark cell. I didn't like the idea of being a mystery to myself. I couldn't understand how that was even in the realm of possibility. But it was. It was. Self deception, come to find out, is an epidemic. I had wondered how Jesus could forgive those who were murdering Him, but He stated, simply, how He could do it "...they know not what they do." Yup. A mystery, even to themselves. Never thinking to question their motivations, or their views. Simply making themselves right about what it was they thought they knew, and acted accordingly. <br />
<br />
We don't know.<br />
<br />
Harry asked me, "Why do you lock your car?" A simple enough question, on the surface, but asked within the context of the conversation we were having, regarding freedom, it took me awhile to understand why I felt a deep tremor within my being. An unraveling, a letting go, began occurring within <i>that</i> moment right there. I can see it plainly now, the truth, so plainly evident, but at the time, I was trapped, <i>enslaved</i>, by too much fear to go there and even want to look at it. If anything, I wanted to run, hard and fast, away from what his simple question evoked in me. It wasn't until much later that his question came back to me, like a light bursting into the darkness, a seed planted long ago, waiting for the time it would break through the hard ground of my mind and heart, that I finally understood why he asked it. <br />
<br />
I've walked this road a long time, this road to love. In the beginning, I didn't know love was the answer, the medicine, for fear. We think the answer to our fear is more safety and security. We gear our entire lives in the attempt to stop bad, scary things from happening to us. We plan for them. We believe we are loving ourselves in making sure we stay safe from all those enemies out there. <br />
<br />
But that practice is nothing more than a reaction to fear. That is us, listening to the voice of our fear within us...believing it, and worse, making ourselves right about it. We look at the homeless, the poor, the sick, the grieving, the darkness of the night outside our window, and all of it is merely a representation of our own fear. We don't want to see our own thoughts, or even admit them, "Thank God it's them and not me." But something tells us it could be. If it's possible for them, it's possible for me....<br />
<br />
So to counter it, that fearful thought, we want to think we have control of the situation...those situational "what ifs" that whisper darkly in the background of our mind. Insurance companies make millions of free dollars playing on this one thing within us. We fork over, <i>freely!</i>, our hard earned money to pay for what? Security against "...<i>potholes in a road that hasn't been poured." </i>We even practice that in our relationships, protecting ourselves on a constant basis from what we think might happen. <br />
<br />
We want to believe bad things don't happen to good people. We want to believe that if we're good, or if we work hard enough, long enough, have enough money, and a thousand other things we come up with in our mind to keep the dark at bay, that it won't, and can't happen to us. We won't be left by our loved ones if we're good. Nothing bad will happen to our children if we don't allow them to play in the dirt, or swing on the monkey bars. We won't suffer...if we build secure enough walls, or high enough fences around us.<br />
<br />
And our world gets smaller, and smaller... <br />
<br />
So we look at others who bad things have happened to, and because of our own relationship to our own fear, believe they must have done something wrong. Somewhere in there, they must deserve what they got. And we busily begin looking for it so it'll make sense, find reasons, latching onto them, anything to keep the truth at bay. <br />
<br />
We don't see the human who stands before us, who needs our love, even if all we have to give is the act of simply noticing them, seeing them, making them real. Or the human who is weak, and scared from a disease attacking their own body, and needs the best care, or help we can provide. We don't see the grieving heart of a fellow human, and reach out our hand to give comfort, or reassurance, or simply...a listening, compassionate presence. We don't see the stars of hope glittering in the night, outside our window, or the moon that touches everything with soft, silvery beams of light. <br />
<br />
What we decide to see, and listen to, and believe instead, is a fear that projects into the future, even as near and as far as the very next moment, secure, and safe within the knowledge that we know what will happen, as nightmarish as it may appear, and we move...constantly move...to protect ourselves from it. Preparing for the worst, locking our doors made of glass.<br />
<br />
We don't know. And we don't trust ourselves enough to know...until our greatest fear happens to us. <br />
<br />
There is something about facing, and walking through our deepest fears that frees us. I think about what Harry said, "I found a kind of freedom.." I didn't believe him then, but I understand now what he was saying. After living the majority of the past 3 years, and particularly within the past 6 months, with no job, no income, having to depend solely on the mercy and kindness of others for my very survival, facing my greatest fears, walking it, knowing I was doing everything within my power to rise out of it, and even surrendering my pride, and asking for help, only to find out, painfully, that so many were like Harry's parents...driving by, pretending they didn't know me. <br />
<br />
I've walked through fear, boldly, bravely, choosing again and again, to meet each moment with love. For I know now, the only thing we can control...the only thing we need to know...is that, whatever happens in the next moment...we'll be able to meet it. We'll live. And not only that, we might be pleasantly surprised. We might find goodness there. The only control we have is our choice to face that moment, whatever happens, with all the strength of love and dignity and grace that we can muster. And sometimes, most times, we don't know how much we have. or what we are made of, until we're confronted with a situation or condition of having to dig down deep to find it. <br />
<br />
Which is why I can honestly say that you, me, we're all made of much stronger, and more exquisitely beautiful stuff than most of us can possibly comprehend. But we won't know that until we let go. Let go. Love is letting go. What are we letting go of? Our fear. In each moment we face, with each person, or thing, who stands before us, within that vast empty space of not knowing what will happen, the choice before us is a simple one. Let go of fear. Do not be afraid. For when we do that, we find love was and is the only thing that was ever real within us, always near, always present...we just didn't see it, or even trust it. All along, we didn't know, that it was we who we needed to trust.<br />
<br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-87770291749184279212012-07-25T11:14:00.000-05:002012-07-25T11:15:31.296-05:00Brief Intermission Because of My Internet ProviderI haven't forgotten that I wrote I'd be back with some commentary regarding what I learned from my encounter with Harry. I had some internet issues yesterday, and the only thing I could open and use with any real success was my email. Ntelos, the satellite internet provider I use, gave me a little warning the day I wrote my last post that I was <i>close</i> to using up my quota of internet for the month. Not that I was <i>done</i> using it, but <i>close</i> to using it up, and they warned me that since I was <i>close</i>, my internet use would be slow from that point on. How that could be is beyond me, and, as it is, I don't quite remember that being a part of the original contract. It wasn't like purchasing so many minutes on my go phone that I can use in a month, and once I've reached my limit it's done. There is no, "well, you're <i>close</i> to your minutes being done, so we'll only allow you to call intermittently. No, it's pretty cut and dried. Once you're done, you're done, and you have full access up to, and until you've used your max of minutes. It's that simple. <br />
<br />
So I thought maybe I can add money to my account, like with a go phone, buy more minutes, whatever, and that will fix the slow internet issue. Apparently, not even that is allowed, and my payment won't take affect until my time for the month is up! How that makes any sense, I haven't the slightest idea, but there you have it.<br />
<br />
So my internet access is insanely slow at the moment. I'll be back when Ntelos says I can have full access. And hopefully, I'll be able to even post this little note on here!<br />
<br />
---- Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-70143144003774447392012-07-22T14:48:00.000-05:002012-07-22T14:48:27.220-05:00The Blessing of a Ragpicker (part two)<i>"I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet." Old Persian Sufi Proverb </i><br />
<br />
I sat down next to him, on the other end of the bench, making sure to keep enough space between us so we didn't touch. Surprisingly, as dirty as he appeared, he didn't smell. To counteract my nerves, I busied myself for a moment by lighting a cigarette before giving him my full attention, and when I finally looked over at him I found him studying me with a curious smile. I felt a sudden flush rise up inside me, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. His eyes seemed to see right through me, and it was disconcerting to think that maybe he saw more than I wanted him to. I asked him his name.<br />
<br />
"You can call me Harry," was his answer.<br />
<br />
Well that made me smile, I couldn't help it. Looking pointedly at his hair and beard, I asked, "Is that your real name, or did you just make that up?" He threw back his head and laughed. His laughter had a nice, rich sound to it, and I felt some of the tension I was feeling begin to release. He answered, "Is that important?" I suppose it wasn't, and told him so. Then he asked my name, and after some hesitation, I answered him truthfully. With a twinkle in his eye, he teasingly asked if I'd just made it up. I countered with the same question he'd asked, "Is that important?" He laughed and said, "Oh, I like you. Yes, I like you already."<br />
<br />
From where we sat, we had a perfect view of the Superstition Mountains. The sky was clear, with the only exception being the clouds that hung heavily over the mountains, leftovers from the rain we had the night before, giving the mountains a dark, mysterious, brooding look, contrasting beautifully with the brightness from the sun shining on everything surrounding them. It was shaping up to be an unusually cold and rainy winter for the desert, and the forecasters had predicted warmer, sunnier weather for the next couple of days. It looked like they were right...this time. I love the rain, but it felt good to be sitting in the sun's warmth. <br />
<br />
I sat looking at the mountains in silence, not knowing what to say or do next. I heard Harry give a little sigh, then he said, "Days go by without any conversation, or company. I miss having conversation sometimes." Then he looked at me, "But more than that, no one ever looks at me, or even sees me. There are times I've wondered if I'm a ghost." <br />
<br />
Well that did it, pulled right on my heart strings, and I felt compassion begin to rise within me. I could relate to the feeling of invisibility, if not quite in the same way this man did. However, quick on the tail of that empathetic thought came guilt. Until recently, I had been exactly what he was talking about, one of those people who didn't look at people like him. He may as well have been a ghost to me, now that I thought about it. For the first time, I questioned why that was. What was it about the homeless that had me treating them, or even viewing them the way I did...as less than human...any different from me. I didn't much care for the answer, but once I discovered it's root came from fear, I began making some serious changes.<br />
<br />
He continued, "I've seen you around. And the one thing that makes you stand out more than anyone else is you looked at me. Saw me. Do you understand how many people walk by me daily? I'm not kidding when I say that days can go by without anyone making eye contact with me. But you did, and I didn't know how much I needed it until you did. It made me feel real for the first time in a long time."<br />
<br />
I didn't know what to say to that, or what to feel about it for that matter, so I asked the first question that popped into my mind, "What about family, or friends? Do you not have any?" <br />
<br />
His expression suddenly grew as dark, and brooding as the mountains, and I could tell he struggled with an answer. I apologized to him, not meaning to pry. His face softened then, and he said, "Nah. It's okay, and a fair question I suppose. I lost my family in a fire eight years ago. My son and my wife." <br />
<br />
I felt my heart break for him, and I honestly didn't know how to respond. What could I say? But more than that, it was in the way he spoke of his loss. If not for the split second of darkness he let escape onto his expression, he may as well have been talking about someone else. But then, I guess he was. Eight years was a long time ago.<br />
<br />
My curiosity, and interest in this man and his life took over, "What about your parents? Are they alive?" I asked bravely.<br />
<br />
Before answering, he gave a harsh laugh that sounded more like a bark, "Yes, my parents are alive...and like to pretend they don't know me." I heard a bitterness creep into his voice, "There were times I'd see them drive by me, on the street. I've become too much of an embarrassment for them now." I thought of my little 5 year old daughter at home, and couldn't imagine a day ever coming that I would pretend she wasn't my child, no matter how she lived. <br />
<br />
I offered Harry another smoke, and after we both lit our cigarettes, he continued, "I haven't always lived this way. Before the fire, I was a different man. I worked hard, supporting my family. And I tried, I really did try to continue working after I buried my family. But I just couldn't find a reason to do it anymore, for doing anything. The pain of losing them was just too much. My parents...didn't understand." I honestly didn't want to imagine what that must be like, losing a family, but I didn't think my response to losing my daughter would be much different. I found myself already hating his mom and dad, and I didn't even know them, and I told him as much. He looked at me, eyes full of understanding, and some hidden wisdom, and said, "No. They lost a grandson, a daughter in law, who they loved too, and then, from their view at least, that fire also killed the only son they ever had." Well, crap, I thought, my hate for his parents spent before it even got started, he made a good point. I didn't think about what they'd lost. Still, they could have behaved better toward their son...<br />
<br />
"I changed. The loss changed me," he said. And as if he were answering my thoughts, "They want me back the way I was then, before the fire, living the dream we were all striving toward. That dream, for me, burnt down in the fire. You see, I worked for my father, helping him build his company. He had a company to run, and an image to keep with it." I remember thinking, with my curiosity waning, maybe I didn't want to know anymore. All this was too painful, and too grey, with no clean black and white lines.<br />
<br />
As if sensing my change in mood, Harry suddenly switched gears, "What about you? What's your story? I'll bet you're spoiled, living a life of ease, protected and fed since the day you were born, and haven't known a day of hardship in your life." That brought my horns out, and I took the bait in defense before I saw the teasing amusement in his eyes. I told him he was an asshole. He laughed out loud, and said, "I've been called worse. Yeah, I like you." Still feeling a bit miffed, it took me a few more minutes to retract my claws.<br />
<br />
We spent the next couple of hours covering our views regarding politics, religion, the weather. It surprised me, how much I enjoyed our conversation. Harry was intelligent, articulate, educated, and seemed to keep up with current events. "A newspaper can always be found floating around somewhere," he said at one point. I remember thinking he was living proof that we really can't judge a book by it's cover. <br />
<br />
I had always made it a rule, especially after I was in the Army, having talked with so many people from so many different backgrounds, to steer clear of conversations regarding politics and religion. Too many of those conversations ended up going south, with others getting angry with me, and even budding friendships ending, because my view differed from theirs. But this man was easy to talk to, and didn't get his underwear in a bundle if our views differed. He had a way of stimulating conversation, making it interesting, and listening as if he were sincerely interested in what I had to say, even if he didn't agree with it. He simply accepted it, and then shared his own view. Up to that point, I'd not really had any conversation quite as enjoyable as ours. Or maybe, I thought later, he wasn't the only one who missed having good conversation. And maybe...I felt as he did...like I was being seen for the first time in way too long. Whatever it was, our conversation was working a kind of magic in me. <br />
<br />
I knew that when the time came, I would not look at any "stranger" the same way ever again. It's like everyone's life just opened up for me. I watched as people walked by, and despite the disapproving looks I received, which had me wondering if, before this day, I looked like that, and gave off the same vibe, I felt myself wondering, 'what's their story?' Maybe they've got the same fear I do. Maybe they're simply afraid. What that fear was exactly, I hadn't discovered yet, but I knew I would, given time. I promised myself I'd look into it.<br />
<br />
At one point I got brave, "Are you homeless, Harry?" He answered, "If what you are asking is do I live in a house, then no, I don't live in a house." Which begged the question, "Where do you live then?" He was quiet for a long time before answering, and I felt maybe I'd crossed a line, but he finally said, "Mostly, you'll find me behind the laundry mat in AJ. I wait until the city goes to sleep, however, before I go there." He sighed, and I heard him mumble, "At least you're honest." Then he said louder, "I see the questions you have for me written all over you. You're honest, and that's something I don't get a whole lot of, so I'm going to give you honesty in return. I don't want to live any differently right now. Oh, at first, the first few years in fact, it was grief that drove me to this way of living. I didn't care if I lived or died. But at some point, now...I found a kind of freedom in living this way. You'd be surprised by how all these people walking around with their money, who think they are free, really aren't." That made no sense, and as I went to ask him what he meant, he stopped me by putting up his hand and said, "Wait. Let me ask you a question. Did you lock your car before leaving it to go into the store?" Frowning, I told him I did. He then asked me why, when anyone could easily break into it if they had a mind to. Honestly, I didn't know what he was talking about, nor how it related to freedom, or to how he was living. But I could feel something inside me beginning to react, feeling a little freaked out by his question, and he must have sensed it, because he let the matter drop, not pushing for an answer. <br />
<br />
I began feeling hunger pains, and told Harry I had to go eat, but before leaving I asked him if he wanted me to get him anything, or give him some money for some food. I told him I didn't have much on me, but he could have it if he needed it. I'll never forget the look on his face, one of such tenderness it had me feeling embarrassed. He softly said, "Cindy, you've given me more than enough today. You made me forget myself for a time. I'm alright, and don't need your money. I can always find food. I've got certain restaurants I go to at certain times of the day. You'd be surprised how much food people throw out. Wasteful, really." I was horrified by what he'd just said, and despite what he said to the contrary, I didn't believe him when he said he chose to live this way. There was something in his voice that betrayed him. He was talking about it all too lightly. But before I could say anything about it, he said, "I would be grateful if you left me a couple of cigarettes, though. They're harder to come by." I handed him what was left of my pack instead, including my lighter. He hesitated, looking surprised by my gift, and said, "You are a rare breed. Thank you. It's been a joy." <br />
<br />
Before turning away, I said the pleasure was mine, really, and thanked him in return. And then I said the words aloud for the very first time, "Bless you, Harry." I left him sitting there, smiling.<br />
<br />
I never saw him again. The next time I bought cigarettes, I thought of Harry, and kept a couple of packs handy to give to him whenever I saw him next. A couple of nights later, the cold rains returned, and I found myself thinking of him, out there in it, maybe cold and shivering. I finally couldn't stand it, couldn't go to sleep, so I got up and got an extra blanket out of the closet, and drove to the laundry place where he said he stayed at night. I had a flashlight in my truck, and had to use it while looking for him, calling out his name in the rain. No one was there. I don't know how long I searched, but finally I made my way home, and on the way, I sent out a little prayer for him, a prayer of warmth, and comfort, a light that he could follow to some sort of home. <br />
<br />
(...to be continued with some commentary. Next blog up on July 24th.)<br />
<br />
<br />
----Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-9106615965444055672012-07-20T21:36:00.001-05:002012-07-20T21:36:39.973-05:00The Blessing of a Ragpicker (part one)I kept seeing him, outside stores where I regularly shopped. Walking into the grocery store, glancing over to my right, there he'd be, sitting in the shade at one of the break tables, where he'd smile and nod at me. Or, on another day, in another section of town, I'd see him hanging around the health food store. Once, I saw him walking toward the alley behind the store, and as if he sensed my presence, he turned, looked right at me, and nodded his head in greeting before disappearing behind the building.<br />
<br />
He was tall, with long, unkempt, greyish brown hair. He had a long, bushy beard that hung down to his chest, and blended perfectly with his wild hair. His clothes were old, stained, and judging from the way they hung loosely over his body, maybe 2 sizes too big. Everything about his appearance, from head to toe, said he needed a good washing. But his eyes seemed friendly enough, smiling in blue. <br />
<br />
Maybe he'd always been around, and I simply hadn't noticed before. I had, after all, begun a new practice of sending silent blessings, as I went through my day, to all who came within my line of sight. I had started a journey the year before, of learning all I could about love, and not long before this man appeared, I read something that caught my interest, and I felt it was important in some way to the lesson of love. I wanted to put it to the test, practice it, give it an earnest try, to see where it led my heart. It was a suggestion to bless all those I meet, all those I see. To send out silent blessings for all. The author (Annalee Skarin) went on to say that those silent blessings helped more than we could possibly comprehend, because the energy from our thoughts was real, and had the capacity to wing their way out to embrace a world.<br />
<br />
At the time, I knew I was filled with fear, and saw the world, and the people in it, as a very dangerous place. One in which I most definitely did not feel safe. I viewed everyone as a stranger, with my primary focus on how they could potentially harm me. I gave my trust to no one. So after I read that suggestion, I thought maybe the people in the world weren't all bad, and it was me who needed to change my view. Maybe it would help if I walked in the world with the intention of sending out blessings to all those strangers. Perhaps it'd help me see the world as a friendly place to walk, instead of one that produced anxiety attacks within me. Maybe the cause of my anxiety wasn't them so much, but stemmed from the way I was viewing them.<br />
<br />
So I put a cap on my fear, and made a conscious effort to bless all who came into my line of sight.<br />
<br />
The first thing I noticed, depending on my mood, was just how much I was in the habit of keeping my head and eyes down. On the flip side of that was a cold, unsmiling, defensive stance that definitely sent an unwelcome message. With the realization of both defensive stances came the awareness of just how much I generalized people, and how hard it is to bless a person when you're looking at them as the enemy. And to me, they were all potential enemies. There was something in me that wanted to be right about what I saw, or what I was thinking, of how they could hurt me, and that didn't produce good enough feelings toward them to even be able to <i>think</i> two words, "Bless them." To rectify that, I decided to break it down, and take one person at a time, as an individual, and get honest. Easier said than done, believe me. So I came up with a list of questions, the most important reminders being, "Can I honestly say I really know this person to pass judgement on them?" And, "Has this person done anything at all to me...yet?" Keep in mind, they were <i>strangers</i>! I didn't know one thing about any of them at all! I realized I was approaching everyone as guilty before anything ever really happened! <br />
<br />
I began to see a lot more homeless, or poor people than I anticipated. I'd never noticed them before, my eyes simply sliding right by them as if they weren't there. I'd never, ever made eye contact with one. I treated them as if they were a non-entity, or some sort of strange phenomenon. But with this new practice, my eyes were open to seeing people, and homeless folks were among them. And let me tell you...to come face to face with my thoughts and feelings regarding them was an unpleasant surprise. None of my thoughts were good. It remains one of the most disturbing discoveries I've ever made about myself.<br />
<br />
So when the man I described at the start of this post kept appearing in my line of vision, I was not a happy camper. A blessing for him couldn't be found within me. In fact, I was a little freaked out, and wondered if maybe he was following me. <br />
<br />
Then, one cold day, I saw him sitting on a bench in front of the store, and again, he looked up as I walked by, and smiled a greeting. It took everything in me to give a little smile and a greeting back to him. Silent blessings were one thing, their appeal to me being that they're <i>silent</i>, but the book said nothing about actually engaging anyone, and a blessing was as far as I was willing to take it at that time. <br />
<br />
However, that day, a feeling, a sense, some strong thing within me, said to give to him. I had no idea what to give to him. What does someone like this want? Everything I have maybe? And as if he knew what I was feeling, he suddenly asked as I walked by, "You wouldn't happen to have a light, would you?" A light? I even said that out loud to him. It was the last thing I was thinking he wanted, so my brain heard the word as if spoken in some foreign language. He held up a cigarette butt for me to see that he'd probably gotten from one of the ashtrays sitting in front of the store. I said, "Oh! Uh...yes, just a sec..." I dug around in my purse, and found my lighter nestled by my own cigarettes, and that's when it hit me...I could give him a cigarette. The thought of him smoking a cigarette butt thrown away by someone else made my stomach turn. But I understood the need for a smoke, and knew how hard it was to go without one. I couldn't imagine it, but if I was ever so desperate as to <i>even think</i> to go looking for smoke butts, that would be my cue it was time to quit. <br />
<br />
So I pulled out a cigarette and offered it to him, along with my lighter. He stared at it, then me, for so long I grew impatient and I said with a shrug, "Take it. I can relate." He gave a crooked smile, and took it with a gracious bow of the head, saying, "Thank you." After lighting it, he inhaled deeply, and said, "Ah. Fresh tobacco. Nothing like it." I stood there wondering if I wanted my lighter back after he'd touched it, and when he moved to return it to me...I suddenly felt something mysterious in me let go. As I reached to take my lighter back, I looked at him squarely in the eyes, and asked him if there was anything else I could do for him. He met my gaze, and said, "You could sit with me and talk to me for a bit." When he saw my hesitation, he said, "I won't hurt you."<br />
<br />
I sat down, and the conversation started...<br />
<br />
(...to be continued. Look for part two on Sunday, 22 July.)<br />
<br />
----Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-65781661511940428532012-06-20T07:58:00.000-05:002012-06-20T10:02:28.361-05:00The Beggar's BowlI know of a silent argument<br />
that exists between two women<br />
a difference only in perspective<br />
One lives in poverty,<br />
the other lives in Grace<br />
who sees her own blessings<br />
and the blessings of others.<br />
And before you judge<br />
which one of the two<br />
is the rich, and who the poor <br />
allow me to tip the tables<br />
upside down<br />
For the one who sees<br />
isn't the one who<br />
lives in a fancy house<br />
wearing fancy clothes<br />
or, who can even afford<br />
good shampoo.<br />
No, she is the one<br />
who carries an empty bowl<br />
in her open palm<br />
humbly walking<br />
from door to door<br />
offering the beggar's bowl<br />
for the tithing from those<br />
who have material good<br />
The poor one<br />
is the one who clutches<br />
a full purse to her chest<br />
seeing the beggar<br />
as a thief<br />
seeing it as a sin <br />
to ask for help<br />
not seeing the blessings<br />
she has been given<br />
without merit <br />
For the bowl being offered up<br />
before those who have<br />
isn't found in some building<br />
for investment<br />
where an accounting<br />
of what is given<br />
can be seen by a hand<br />
that won't let go.<br />
The beggar's bowl<br />
is God's living dish<br />
being passed to those<br />
for blessing<br />
For who it blesses most<br />
is the one who gives<br />
so they may also<br />
have eyes to see<br />
from a grateful heart<br />
what the beggar sees<br />
and knows<br />
If a beggar approaches <br />
seeing that you have<br />
bless her eyes<br />
and thank God for them<br />
And if you consider<br />
the beggar's only desire<br />
is to take from you<br />
then you are poor in deed<br />
for she sees<br />
what you do not; <br />
it is only by God's Grace<br />
that you have<br />
anything at all<br />
<br />
----Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-56283645862059596582012-06-17T13:39:00.000-05:002012-06-17T13:39:12.570-05:00...And A Father Was Given To Her ~ A Daughter's TributeBefore the age of 8 I had no father. I didn't even have a grandfather. My biological father had abandoned his family, us, before I turned 2 years old, and with him went a set of grandparents who, I was told, as it was, chose to stay out of the picture anyway. My mother's father had died long before I entered this world. So during my formative years, I had no concept of what a father was, or the importance of what a father represents and gives to a young girl's life. The only knowledge I had of the father role was as a distant witness to the relationship my cousins and friends had with their fathers. <br />
<br />
From a young girl's mind and heart, I didn't yet have the capacity to understand the emotions that arose within me as I watched other children and their fathers interact. It wasn't until much later that I could identify and name that what I was feeling was longing, a yearning desire, and with it a sense of confusion from a sense of being isolated from what other children had. A sense of missing something important that I should have too, but could only watch from the other side of the glass.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, when my step dad entered the scene, when I was 8, I had already experienced, too much, the darkest nature of men. For me, that is the only definition I had to go by. And by definition, how I viewed men in general, and myself as a female in relation to the male, was already taking form within me, and was ruled by nightmares. Through my eyes, men not only abandoned their children, they also crossed lines through the form of physical and sexual abuse. To say I was distrustful by the time my step dad arrived would be an understatement. <br />
<br />
Understand, my dad wasn't made aware of any of this until I was well into adulthood. All he knew was I was a troubled little girl. My mother didn't even know. Not only did I hold the dark secrets of men in silence, but even if I could speak of it, I had no words in my vocabulary to cover the magnitude of my experiences with them. So this new man, this "stand in" for a father, as I initially viewed him, this stranger who entered my house and my world, was, from the beginning, viewed from a place of very real fear. The thought that I needed to protect myself, and couldn't with a man in the house, forced me to keep my defenses up, always on guard, with antennae out, watching for any sudden discrepancies of behavior, and/or energy. <br />
<br />
My dad...is a good man. I sit here in tears so profoundly grateful for his goodness. For without that innate goodness that lives within him, naturally, as a man, and my experiences with that goodness, I wouldn't have been able to see another view of men. By simply being who he is, I learned, slowly, that there are men in this world who can be trusted. It was a slow process for him to finally win over my trust. And he did that without even knowing why my distrust was in existence. He was the very first man I gave my trust to. I'm not even sure he is aware of just how precious that is, and what that says about him as a man, and a father.<br />
<br />
One vivid memory stands shining, of a night when I finally stepped the rest of the way into giving my trust to a man. And it is that night, that I knew for certain, that this man, was in every way, <i>my dad</i>. For the first time in my life, I knew what it was to have a father --<br />
<br />
I had snuck out of the house late one night after my parents had gone to sleep. I wanted to be with my big sister and her friends, and didn't know why I couldn't stay out with her. At some point, she told me I should get back, so I reluctantly snuck back into the house, and as I made my way through the living room, I heard the door from my parent's room open. I hid behind the wall in the kitchen, which blocked the view from the hallway where I heard the footsteps of my dad. I heard him check the front door, and then all I heard was silence. Then, suddenly, he stepped into the kitchen. I flattened myself as much as I could against the wall. He walked a short distance away from me, then turned. My heart was beating wildly, but when he turned around, and my eyes adjusted to what he was wearing, it stopped pumping, and I felt myself gripped by an unreasonable terror. <br />
<br />
He was dressed only in his underwear, and it was just he and I standing alone in the dark. I knew I was in trouble anyway, for disobeying him, but that trouble paled in comparison to the unbidden question that arose in my mind, "Am I safe?" I couldn't move, and when he finally spoke, he asked, "Didn't I tell you that you couldn't go outside?" It took me a long time to speak, but I finally squeaked out an answer, "Yes." I heard him sigh, and then he said, "Go to bed, Cindy. We'll talk about this tomorrow." I ran as quickly as I could to my room, and when I got there I don't know how long I stood, in a daze, waiting for the knowledge that was slowly hitting me to settle in...<br />
<br />
I was safe. I was safe...with my dad. <br />
<br />
From that moment on, I let the guards go. They were no longer needed to defend me. My approach to my dad changed. I found myself opening up more, feeling freer to express who I was with him. <br />
<br />
The poem below is dedicated to my dad, the only father I've ever known...and the first man to lead me toward the light of healing. Simply by being...a good man.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Without You</b></i><br /><br />How could you know,<br />when a young girl <br />stood before you,<br />that her dwelling place<br />was the dark side <br />
of the moon?<br /><br />She had no words<br />no voice<br />to be able to name<br />all the shadows <br />witnessed in men.<br /><br />How could you know<br />that for her<br />you were a kind <br />stranger <br />suddenly appearing<br />from the light?<br />
<br />You offered her another<br />view of the moon<br />a place of hope<br />within her<br />she never knew.<br /><br />You did not know<br />it was you that<br />led her to the light<br />offering her a hand<br />up<br />and from there<br />she could finally see<br />
the Sun.<br /><br />Without you<br />and the love you gave<br />she'd still be standing<br />lost and forgotten<br />in the dark.<br /><br />--- <br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-62604237892133397692012-06-08T19:50:00.003-05:002012-06-08T19:50:42.689-05:00Bloom<span style="font-size: small;"><b></b></span> My new blog is up and running ~ <a href="http://symphonyofwonder.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Symphony of Wonders</a>. I posted the second post just a few minutes ago, so be sure and check out the first one too! I hope you enjoy what I have to share there as much as I enjoy the sharing.<br />
<br />
My mind is full of the thought of flowers today, and I really tried to write something besides my version of poetry, but the following kept crowding in, demanding to be expressed. I hope you enjoy it.<br />
<br />
<b>BLOOM</b><br />
<br />
Within the seed is given the blueprint<br />
of what that seed is to become<br />
A flower begins it's journey <br />
to fill the vision, and takes form<br />
<br />
Yet that tender shoot must first<br />
break through the outer husk<br />
where it discovers itself<br />
still encased in the earth<br />
<br />
In the darkness, struggling<br />
against the oppressive earth<br />
it begins a slow climb <br />
carving it's path upward<br />
<br />
Unaware of the light<br />
it neither questions, nor doubts<br />
the vision given. It only knows<br />
what it is to become<br />
<br />
And reaches<br />
<br />
Through the hard crust<br />
it breaks through, unfolding itself<br />
to stand upright under the sun<br />
rejoicing in the feel of the air <br />
<br />
The vision drives it to continue <br />
a soft melody calls it forth<br />
until one day, there sits a quiet bud<br />
encased again, like the seed<br />
yet ... more translucent<br />
<br />
and from the depths of it's roots<br />
comes the song of it's journey rising<br />
And with the glory of it <br />
the bud bursts open<br />
expressing in perfect form<br />
the vision held within the seed. <br />
<br />
----<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-64968790633921165022012-06-03T15:33:00.000-05:002012-06-03T15:53:02.399-05:00Gnats, Existentialism, and the Song of Creation <i> </i><br />
<i>"Ultimately, man should not ask what the meaning of his life is, but rather he must recognize that it is he who is asked." Victor E Frankl</i><br />
<br />
Gnats invaded our house this spring, and appeared to multiply by the dozens over night, steadily plotting the take over of every single room. They seemed to favor the bathroom as their headquarters.<br />
<br />
After a couple of disappointing and challenging months, and the plans I had didn't pan out, I moved back in with the Roomies I've lived with for most of the past year. I couldn't miss the invasion of the gnats in the house, and asked what could be done about them. There are parrots who also live in this house, so pesticides were out of the question. The Roomies dug out a bug zapper thingy that looks more like a tennis racket than anything else -- the only difference being the netting is charged with electricity, and zaps any bug who has the misfortune of flying into it's path. The use of this weapon can actually be quite gratifying in a twisted, passive aggressive sort of way. All three of us who live in this house have used it as a kind of therapy I think. Poor gnats. <br />
<br />
Anyway, the bug zapper thingy wasn't really doing the trick in ridding all of the gnats from this house. Every morning there seemed to be more troops created over night to serve in the battle.<br />
<br />
There is something I failed to notice while all of this was going on, and it was so subtle and insidious I almost found myself in amazement when I finally realized it, and wanted to say to the gnats, "Good game!" My behavior, my simple habits were beginning to change. The repulsion I felt rise up within me at even the thought of going into the bathroom with gnats camped out on my towels, the shower curtain, and the walls, made me want to avoid taking showers, and even the simple act of washing my face and brushing my teeth. I did these things anyway, of course, but every time I'd go in there, I felt myself want to shrink, and I kept my movements to the bare minimum, so as not to stir them up in a swarm. Once I noticed my aversion, and the hesitation in taking a shower, the gig was up. I was like, "Wait a cotton pickin' minute here...!" I was feeling like a victim, all helpless and incapable, to these tiny bugs who weren't even in their natural environment. I would not allow them to change my basic hygienic habits! Not to mention my enjoyment of a good, hot shower. I would not allow them to change the natural expression and movement of who I am. <br />
<br />
Then the wisdom of that kicked in...<br />
<br />
How many times did I find myself in a situation or condition that had me changing my natural ways? How many times did I constrict, or restrict my movement, shrinking back, or withdrawing in reaction to what was going on around me? How many times was I conditioned, to the point of habit, to move against my self? There are times, yes, compromise is necessary, but not when it is to the detriment of our natural self.<br />
<br />
And forgetting who I was, feeling such a sense of loss, and like I'd traveled far, far away from home, how long did it take me to trace the line back to where I'd gone so terribly wrong? To the place and time where I zigged, when instead I should have zagged. How many times must this happen until one day, I finally stand on solid ground, and say, "Wait a cotton pickin' minute here..!"<br />
<br />
But the thing is, mostly, it's not the outside that influences us so much, but how we are viewing ourselves in relation to it, and that view dictates our responses. Can we change our view, and then respond differently? Yes. Does that mean I'm going to put up with gnats cohabitating with me in the bathroom? No. My first response was to shrink away, feeling overwhelmed, there were too many of them, day in and day out, and I was.thinking of myself as incapable of dealing with them. Not a good view. And, seriously, I don't shrink away from much, so it goes against my nature, which ends up hurting me in the end.<br />
<br />
We look at our world, and ourselves in relation to it, I think mostly seeking a reflection of acceptance. Unfortunately, I don't think we'll find it out there. I don't think that is the place to look for it. The gnats don't really give a shit.<br />
<br />
I read this poem yesterday morning, <a href="http://davidbrydonblog.blogspot.com/2012/06/dot-upon-page.html" target="_blank">A Dot Upon A Page</a>, by the wonderful poet David Brydon, and I understood the sentiment behind his words. We had a blip of conversation about it on Twitter, and he said, "So glad you enjoyed the poem. Sometimes I worry that others may find them negative or dark." The poem might be dark to some, negative to others, and the "truth" he speaks may or may not be true, but this I know...I understood it. I could relate. There have been times when that is precisely how I viewed myself in relation to a family, relationships, this world. Like the gnats, their numbers were too many, and I found myself shrinking, withdrawing, feeling small, overwhelmed, and insignificant in the whole grand scheme of things. <br />
<br />
Yet...when we find ourselves feeling that way, isn't that in itself pointing like an arrow to our desire? That we want to feel significant...and don't. Like what we do, who we are...naturally...<i>matters</i>. We want to matter.<br />
<br />
But I think the feeling of insignificance arises when we ourselves stop doing what matters to us, what comes naturally. When we argue with ourselves over it, or try to put the brakes on. We can say it's because of the gnats setting up headquarters in the bathroom, or because the world responds with a flat note, or not at all, to what matters to us. We can come up with a thousand, very convincing reasons not to do what matters, point out all kinds of things that get in the way. But in the end, what, or who, is it that really stops us?<br />
<br />
It's an amazing thing what happens when you've got nothing else to lose...literally. When all that stuff you were so greedily grasping for slips away, and it feels like you're left carrying nothing more than an empty bucket. You discover it was never, ever about any of those things. They really didn't matter. The empty bucket in your hand is what matters...and what's inside it. The heart of what matters. What's left is not stark emptiness, but possibilities. Potential. Creation.<br />
<br />
I've been digging around in my bucket and was inspired to start drawing again. I sent a drawing to my daughter the other day, and she exclaimed, "I'm soo happy you started drawing again! Its awesome!" I was given an ink pen, as a very late Christmas present, the kind of pen that I have to dip into ink...very cool. When I first held it in my hand...an idea occurred to me. Not long afterward, I found a sweet deal on colored pencils, bought them, and decided to mix the ink and the pencils together in a drawing...well, sorta. You'll see.<br />
<br />
I'm in the process of building another blog, and I decided to incorporate my drawings with my writing. I am no Michaelangelo, trust me. But it has felt so good to draw again, that I desire to continue with it. Maybe I'll get better the more I practice. It's a part of myself I cut off a long time ago for some forgotten reason. I am a creative. I make the claim. My soul loves art, expression, beauty, wonder...the song that fills me when I am creating in any form. I don't care anymore whether what I do holds any significance to others. It matters to me...and that, in the end, is all that matters.<br />
<br />
I'll let you know when the other blog is up and running. My hope is to have it up by tomorrow. I hope you'll come and share in the wonder.<br />
<br />
--- <br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-34600241552945252932012-03-08T09:08:00.000-06:002012-03-08T09:09:00.000-06:00The Sound of the HeartBehind the dark walls<br />
deep in a dungeon <br />
a candle sits<br />
waiting for the spark<br />
of conscious will<br />
to light it<br />
<br />
The walls were built<br />
long ago<br />
wounds gathered up<br />
and collected<br />
added to, over time<br />
each one, a reminder<br />
<br />
Protect the heart<br />
Protect the heart<br />
a false note sings<br />
<br />
I saw the walls<br />
heard the wounds singing<br />
off key <br />
ignored them all<br />
reached in<br />
with a trembling hand <br />
and lit the candle<br />
<br />
The breath of Spirit<br />
fanned the tiny flame<br />
to Life<br />
with shadows rising<br />
in retaliation<br />
pressing themselves<br />
in grotesque shapes<br />
against the inner walls<br />
<br />
Built as guardians<br />
the shadows rose<br />
a call to battle<br />
against the light<br />
escaping <br />
from within<br />
<br />
The flame grew<br />
in Silence <br />
shadows dropping<br />
before it<br />
as it spread<br />
remaining shadows running<br />
to surface<br />
<br />
And out of the flame<br />
came one pure note<br />
All the Love<br />
that had been<br />
imprisoned deep within<br />
behind dark walls<br />
of shadow<br />
sang one pure shout<br />
crumbling the dark<br />
walls like Jericho<br />
to nothing. <br />
<br />
The heart is free<br />
The heart is free<br />
Through the Light of Love<br />
a True Note sounds<br />
<br />
---Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-30945300508154007682012-03-05T11:34:00.000-06:002012-03-05T11:34:00.648-06:00Snow Day!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vO3lMu8YJS4/T1TVWnrMG8I/AAAAAAAAAT4/14LIn9910UA/s1600/Eastern+Horizon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vO3lMu8YJS4/T1TVWnrMG8I/AAAAAAAAAT4/14LIn9910UA/s320/Eastern+Horizon.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Facing east before sunrise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I awoke this morning before sunrise, and as I looked out the window a blanket of fresh snow greeted me. The snow began falling yesterday, but the earth was still too warm from the previous days for it to accumulate on the ground. Evidently, overnight, the ground finally surrendered to the cold, and allowed the snow to cover it. <br />
<br />
Just a couple of nights ago we had a warm front full of moisture blow in, bringing with it major storms and tornadoes. I haven't seen a sky like that since I was stationed in Oklahoma when I was in the Army. After my roommate and I battened down the hatches, and put our vehicles, and critters, in the garage, I went outside to watch the show the sky was putting on. It was awesome to behold. <br />
<br />
It's been strange weather we've had goin' on here. This winter has not really been a winter. Trees started budding about a month or so ago, bulbs began shooting up out of the ground, pets are shedding their winter fur, bees and ants have awakened early, and frogs are singing out of season. I've jokingly said to some, "It's like Mother Earth is in menopause or something...all moody, with hot flashes." <br />
<br />
Putting the strangeness of the weather aside, today is a snow day, and I don't know about you, but there is something about new snow that lifts my spirits, and just like I felt when I was a child, delight and wonder filled me, and I <i>had</i> to be <i>in it</i>. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c8OruP5fnT4/T1Tdu0ytkpI/AAAAAAAAAUA/16cQZa038QU/s1600/looky%21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c8OruP5fnT4/T1Tdu0ytkpI/AAAAAAAAAUA/16cQZa038QU/s320/looky%21.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ta Da! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>I hurriedly put some clothes on, not caring if they were clean or dirty, choosing what was nearest to me. Did a quick brush of the hair, (definitely in the "awkward locks" stage :), grabbed my camera, and out I went with my roommate right behind me. An angel had to be made. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0vviEXC7CZ4/T1Tgp_oMZyI/AAAAAAAAAUI/cw_8zn6O7rc/s1600/snow+angel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em;"></a>My roommate opted out of making a snow angel, but I couldn't help myself. It's been years since I made one, the last time...well, that's another story. Today, I plopped myself down on the ground, and fanned my arms and legs in and out, and viola! Snow Angel! The cold against my backside, the crunchy sound, the scent of the clean, clean air, the morning sky smiling down on me, snowflakes kissing my face...my God, I felt my heart lift, and a much needed laugh bubbled up and out from the depth of me, shaking loose the stress of the past few weeks.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0vviEXC7CZ4/T1Tgp_oMZyI/AAAAAAAAAUI/cw_8zn6O7rc/s1600/snow+angel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0vviEXC7CZ4/T1Tgp_oMZyI/AAAAAAAAAUI/cw_8zn6O7rc/s320/snow+angel.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow Angel!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After the fun, my roommate, who is of Cherokee descent, said we needed to get pictures of each of us facing our own direction. She's a strong believer in the Sacred Medicine Wheel, and has been teaching me about the way of the Wheel. Without going into a lot of detail here, I'm going to greatly simplify it, (there is so much more to it), and say that each of us holds a position on the wheel, dependent on the day and month we were born, and that position directly correlates with the 8 directions, N, NE, E, SE, S, etc. Animals, (or totems), flowers, stones, etc., also play an important role in our unique placement on the Wheel. My personal direction, profound in so many ways, is Northwest...and my totem is the Owl. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vqKhUBH7tsw/T1TyoHpqmSI/AAAAAAAAAUY/qrR-Wfr8FYM/s1600/Roomy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vqKhUBH7tsw/T1TyoHpqmSI/AAAAAAAAAUY/qrR-Wfr8FYM/s320/Roomy.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Roommate</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"></div>So we each took a picture of each other, with her standing, and looking a whole lot more dignified, and beautiful, than I ever could. I couldn't help it...I had a big ole goofy grin on my face. I can't say that I've honestly believed my roommate, when she has said that sitting, sleeping, and facing our direction helps us in so many ways, but I can say this...in facing my direction this morning, I felt love rise up in my heart. Because the Northwest, in this country, is where my heart lives. Not only has it been a dream that took hold of me when I was 12 years old, and hasn't let go, but now, the "direction of my birth," ( on the wheel ), seems to be calling me with a loud, clear voice. A song rises out of the NW, a baby, family, friends, all my relations, singing...come. And here I stand, miles and miles away, facing NW, with a goofy grin on my face, silently answering.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W-n4NhMf57c/T1TyLF46tVI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/XVOd8o0A2K8/s1600/Facing+my+direction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W-n4NhMf57c/T1TyLF46tVI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/XVOd8o0A2K8/s400/Facing+my+direction.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Facing my direction</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
---<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4374362881035775718.post-48124016211265451562012-03-01T23:54:00.000-06:002012-03-01T23:54:24.351-06:00The Hair On My Head, Walmart Parking Lots, and WritingAt the beginning of the year, I decided to make one resolution - I'm letting my hair grow out. While that may not appear to be very ambitious, and not necessarily a goal that requires a whole lot of effort on my part, those reasons are part of why I chose it. I asked myself what I want to change, etc., made a list, and decided to choose the one thing that wouldn't take much out of me to do. After several years of feeling like I had been pushed to my very limits, and beyond, on so many levels, I wanted to give myself a breather. Other than walking around with awkward looking locks while my hair goes through stages of growth, it's simply a matter of sitting back and waiting, and periodically getting a trim so the ends don't fray. I've talked about letting my hair grow out for years, but my hair doesn't grow very fast, and for some mysterious reason I didn't think I'd have the patience to walk through the time it took. It seemed easier just to keep it the way it was. Yet...I've had the same style cut and length for so long, I can't even remember a time when it was different. I think the last time I had my hair long is when I was 13 years old. How sad is that? So yeah, I felt it was high time to give the hair on my head a new look. So far so good in heading toward goal :].<br />
<br />
**** <br />
<br />
Walmart parking lots are all the same. I really didn't notice that little fact until I moved here to this town and state, a part of the country I'd never been to or seen before, knowing only two people in the entire area, having only met one of them through conversations on the phone. The other one I've known since he was a 6 year old boy, who used to antagonize my daughter at the bus stop by pulling on her pony tail. <br />
<br />
While I do have a love for adventure, I don't knock the sense of safety familiarity can bring. It's a relief at times, an exhale of breath, after treading foreign ground, when our nerves are drawn tight, our senses spread out like antennae while we navigate our way through unfamiliar territory.<br />
<br />
I hadn't been here very long, and after I found the Walmart, parked, got out of my truck, and started walking toward the entrance, I got a sudden sense of deja vu. I stopped walking, and took a good look around. If not for what lay beyond the parking lot, I could be standing in any Walmart parking lot in the country, and I've been in quite a few. I stood there for a long time, marveling at the wash of relief I experienced with that bit of knowledge. I remember thinking, "I'm okay. I'm going to be okay. This isn't some other planet with strange aliens where I find myself now. It's just another town, with other folks, much like anywhere else on this earth." And just like that, I felt the fear of the new and unknown leave me. I had touched the familiar, and felt safe again, my confidence returned and I felt a can do attitude take over. I was okay.<br />
<br />
****<br />
<br />
It's been 2 1/2 weeks since I last posted here. I have been writing, but mostly in emails, in my notebook, and on Notepad on this computer. I could come up with all sorts of excuses why I haven't posted here - good ones, like being in the midst of a move, looking for a job, having sketchy internet service. But mostly, I've found myself freaked out by all the sudden changes, in a state of in between, on foreign ground, feeling almost paralyzed by it all, not knowing where to point my feet. <br />
<br />
After a few days living under this new roof, I told my roommate I was going to Sheetz, ( a convenience store I frequented often, over by where I used to live). She asked me why, when "that's a far piece down the road." (She made it sound like "fur piece" cuz that's the way folks talk 'round these parts :). I told her I needed to go someplace familiar, with folks who'll recognize me, be glad to see me. I was feeling too off kilter, and frightened by all the strangeness. So off I went, and felt better after I got there, because just like stepping onto the Walmart parking lot, it felt like things weren't so foreign anymore. <br />
<br />
One of the most important things I learned last year is the necessity of being kind to myself, taking care to give myself what I need, whatever that may be, however long it takes, or however silly it may seem. It's okay to be gentle. I don't need to be brave, or courageous, or strong, or push against fear all the time. Sometimes what I need is to surrender to that within me that says...enough...let your hair down, take a breath, go to a safe place, wherever that is. Go slow, walk gently. Let others in, let them touch you, allow them to help...until you feel the warmth of an embrace that whispers, "You are okay, you are safe, and you are not alone."<br />
<br />
Let that in.<br />
<br />
Because I've learned that if I don't, I'm no good to anyone else. But also, I'm not open to anyone else giving, or offering a loving hand to me either. <br />
<br />
Today, I've finally given myself the space and time to write. To hell with the to do lists, they can wait. I'm not writing at a time I generally like to write, nor are my surroundings orderly, made to feel like my own, but when I'm away from writing too long, I feel even more strange and out of sorts, off kilter. I need it. It's a love of mine, and familiar, like home to me. Like the hair on my head, growing slowly into a new expression, but still familiar. Or like Walmart parking lots, where the sameness, in the midst of a different city, brings the sense that all is okay.<br />
<br />
----Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00361270357956830244noreply@blogger.com0