Today on my drum meditation I received a message gift I want to share~
"A path to forgiveness is the one where you set aside the ego long enough to see the truth"
11/23/11
This morning on the way to work, I felt worried about my daughter, I asked for a sign that everything was going to turn out okay for her, and then went about my morning as if I would receive one.
About an hour into my work, a woman came to our community health center requesting a blood pressure check. I wrapped up what I was doing and went out to the library to meet with her. She was an interesting character with a wide grin and very few teeth. She wore a winter hat and a light jacket, and appeared to be in her eighties.
She sat down while I put the cuff on her arm and let me take her blood pressure and pulse. She said that a woman at her church had told her to come over to our center to get her blood pressure checked again.
I wrote her numbers down on a small pamphlet she could keep and told her that today she was 148/58.
“Oh that’s better than it’s been in a very long time!” she exclaimed.
“That’s great!” I answered, “What have you been doing healthy lately?”
“I have been playing the piano and that always soothes me” she answered with a toothless grin.
There was something very genuine and zany about her, she was definitely a character much different than the ‘run of the mill’ person you’d expect to meet, but not scary. She began to speak about how there were people of the flesh who want to party all the time and there were people who pray all the time.
She described herself as one of those people who want to pray all the time. She told me how Christ speaks to her and that people think she is crazy because she lets Christ be her boss and she says he speaks to her.
She told me she has no insurance and so I began to find information regarding free and low income clinics available in the area. I gave her a brochure with our 211 hotline where she can find someone who could hook her up with resources.
She also told me that she was in the midst of being evicted because “I am told I shove my religion down everyone’s throat”
I reminded her that she could call the 211 number and also find some assistance in the emergency food and shelter area, too.
“A young attorney has already called me and volunteered her services, doesn’t the Lord always take care of us?!” she smiled again.
For the next 30 minutes she told me a significant portion of her life’s story. She had given birth to nine children and been married to a military man for 21 years. He took off with all of her children one day while she was at work as a beautician, it was 1968. Her oldest was at the age of just leaving home and the youngest was a newborn. He called her and told her he was leaving her and then married a bar maid who raised her children with him. She was left with nothing.
She talked about how she ended up on the street with all she owned in her arms. A man in a pick up truck pulled over and asked her where she was going.
“Durned if I know” she told him
“Where’s that?” He asked.
He took her to the next town and dropped her off in front of a building which turned out to be a beauty parlor. She worked there for 2 dollars an hour for the next few years.
“I imagine during that time is when my blood pressure began to get a little squishy” she said.
She told me how her oldest daughter wrote her a “beautiful letter” and that she learned of the whereabouts of her children through her, and that she is a retired professor in California .
“Most people get up and walk away by now” She said “I have nobody to talk to and I sit and stare at the four walls of my apartment every day." She continued . . .
"My fondest memory is when I was three years old and my father said, 'Little Princess' (he always called me princess) do you want to go to the grocery store? I said "Yes! Can we get a chocolate bar?" and he said to me 'Princess you can have anything your heart desires'."
She paused and I waited.
"That was the only love I ever really knew in my life. My husband was not a loving man".
She talked on, for example, about how she was made to take a bunch of psychological tests which all came out “normal” and said that she wrote a book about Christ and prayer that was published by a man named Vern who works at a radio station. He sent her 400 copies of the book but she has never seen his face.
My heart remained open to her as she spoke, I sat amazed at this woman’s life story, the pain she was communicating to me through it, and I also felt some awe as to the wide range of the deeply moving lives and stories I witness in my role as a nurse.
Finally I had to find a way to go back to my job. I was on the clock and needed to return to my duties. I told her this and she willingly relaxed her talking and took my hand.
“Are you going to eat Thanksgiving at your church?” I asked
“Yes I go there everyday, I will be eating there tomorrow”
“Have a wonderful day” I squeezed her hand. She didn’t release it but closed her eyes and told me to wait a moment.
“Dear God, what does Fawn need to know?” She opened her eyes and looked at me intently and asked, “Do you have a daughter you are worried about?”
I had just been thinking . . . ‘if she brings up a daughter!’ . . . .
“Yes I do” I answered.
“Dear Christ, give Fawn’s daughter what she needs to pull through”
She squeezed my hand, and then she packed up her papers and walked out of the library. I stood there a little in shock.
This was my sign it had to be.
(So cool how that works :-)
Happy Thanksgiving Ya'll
The
queen size mattress is gone now. The one at the edge of Peanut Park
with a pillow top softness and dirt stains. There's a grass indentation
in the field of clovers where it once pressed against the ground for at
least five full season changes. The spot there reminds me of Helen.
Well, not the space where the mattress rested, more the memory of the
mattress and of Helen sitting there on the edge of it staring.
She
wondered aloud why someone would have placed the mattress out in this
field, so randomly, with careless abandon this mattress was tossed away.
It sat here alone, in her neighborhood, and nobody seemed to notice or
care that it was there. Daily she would sit on the mattress and try to
wrap her mind around this.
When the workman came to place a
fence at the end of our dead end street, Helen remarked that the fence
was put there maybe so that it would discourage people from dumping any
more mattresses on the field. She would stare at the new fence and ask
anyone who passed if they knew the reason why this fence had gone up.
This fence fascination began to wain and once again Helen went back to
her place on the edge of the soft dirty mattress.
When I
walked passed her I would say, “Hi Helen” and she would ask, “Where do
you live?”, it had become a daily tradition, my saying “Hi Helen” and
her asking, “Where do you live”. She was an older woman with many
questions in her head, questions about where the place was for each
person or a mattress'.
A retired librarian ought to know
where everything goes, a mattress, a neighbor, a book or a broom. She
left her broom at my house one day while inquiring as to where I lived.
It was when her attention was focused on our backyard pear tree. “If
people knew you had a pear tree in your back yard they would want to go
back there and eat them” she said, and then suddenly she didn't know
where her broom was. I found it for her and didn't ask why she was
walking in the park with it, why did it matter?
One night I
heard drums in the park, college students, parents and children
gathered around authentic African musicians who were putting on a rather
awesome show. I saw Helen dancing, jumping and spinning to the rhythm,
smiling and laughing. When I approached her she saw me and came to talk,
“These people are lame, why don't they dance? We are so lucky to have
this fine music in our backyard!” Her lithe, agile feminine body swayed
to the music in a young girl's way, limber and energetic. I could not
see the 70 year old woman in her, not in her eyes and smile, not in her
form.
And she was correct, these people were stifled, inhibited, timid . . . afraid to cut loose and dance.
When
dogs saw her walking across Peanut Park they would all bark and howl. I
suspected entities followed her, a dead husband who watched over her
maybe, and dogs sensed them when she walked near. She held a gentle
presence, but did not like the barking, it created a nervous Helen. She
did like cats however, and the cats liked her house and she let them
inside to sleep on her bed and pee on her floors.
It
became apparent that she was afraid of her house, afraid to go inside at
night alone with nobody. She had forgotten too much about herself and
she no longer remembered where her place was. She would stand outside
her front door and cry until somebody told her where she lived.
Her
simple corner cottage where visiting caretakers brought food and tidied
up became vacant for a month when her son took her away to an elderly
'home'. The little Helen house became occupied next, by us. It took
several cycles of mopping floors before the cat smell faded to wood
smells again. Even when the smell was gone, I still wondered about Helen
and how she occupied her time within these walls.
One day
a policeman showed up at our door asking if we'd seen her. “She
wandered off and away from the 'home', on Hwy 101, near Seal Rock”
Her family was worried he told us.
“We wonder if she hitched a ride home. Has she shown up here?”
No
of course she hadn't, but if she had I would have invited her inside
and shared tea and company with her. I certainly would have called the
police to let them know she had arrived, I assured him. The police
officer knocked on our door again in search of Helen, a few days later.
We worried. We heard nothing for a while.
It's been three
months and today I heard that her body was found near a beach path,
death through exposure to the elements. “She is happier now” neighbors
say. “What a nice way to go, better than locked away”
I
have heard the argument that cats live longer if shut inside, but they are happier, though with shorter lives, if allowed to
roam outdoors where they are free to follow their instincts.
Some people, like Helen, are as cats. They are the 'cat people'.
Tonight I wandered with my dog out to the pressed grass where the mattress is no longer there. I shed a few tears for Helen.
I hope wherever her soul flew off to, that she's dancing like a young girl in an unlame, celestial drum circle :-)
I once camped on the beach in Florida at a beautiful nature reserve. It was totally free. The reserve closed at dusk, so we were locked inside for the evening. We set up a tent and built a fire in the sand. It seemed cozy and warm, and the shoreline looked a safe distance away from the little mound our tent stood on.
The stars twinkled brightly above our heads, but the full moon faded in and out among the clouds. By 9 o'clock, our smoldering fire, the brilliant stars and occasional moon were our only source of light.
I was pregnant with my son and sort of feeling queasy from our travels, so I crawled into my sleeping bag early. My daughter joined me in the tent, after listening to Glenn play his drum for a while.
Deeper into the night, our fire went completely out. I could no longer see it's red glow through the tent walls. I listened to the waves crashing. They were so loud, they bellowed, roared and slammed.
I tossed and turned like the rolling waves. I wondered what my daughter and Glenn were dreaming about, they slept so soundly.
Eventually, my nerves 'perked' and I sat up. Leaning forward, I peeked out the front screen. A swirling dark mass seemed to lick the sandy shore like a giant mouth. I felt like a crumb on a plate.
The creeping tide had not been anticipated, and I convinced myself that we were much too close to the shoreline.
I felt sort of afraid to venture out, but I needed to see how close the water was. I unzipped the tent door and crawled outside. My senses felt consumed by the roaring water. It was so dark. I couldn't accurately see the waves, but they seemed to be rushing directly up to my feet.
I woke Glenn up. Katie heard us talking and she awoke and looked outside at the rolling waves, too. The three of us examined the shoreline. Sand became damp under our feet only seven steps from the front door.
Being on a hill, Glenn decided that we were a safe enough distance away from the water and went back to sleep. Katie and I strained our eyes to watch the waves in the dark- as they rushed toward our tent, and then receded.
Our eyes played tricks on us; the water appeared closer than it really was. We lay awake, worrying about this for a while, and then fell asleep.
The warm sun, a gentle breeze and the sound of a peaceful surf welcomed our morning.
Water stained patterns, like finger marks left on a cookie jar, were evidence on our beach of the night before. Scattered along the edges of the darkened sand were hundreds of beautiful shells. Sand dollars, starfish and polished stones!
The ocean had unclenched it's many treasure filled fingers, releasing much beauty for us to discover and explore. All morning we collected gifts from the sea, "noted' sea turtle nests, and watched the pelicans eat fish.
I feel hungry for another treat by the ocean. But this time I'll park our tent a little farther back from the shore.
(**A reprinted essay I wrote for this blog a couple years ago**)
"Love is at the heart of all things. How you feel but reflects your decision to accept love or reject it and choose fear. Both cannot be chosen. All feelings you label joyous or compassionate are of love. All feelings you label painful or angry are of fear. This is all there is. This is the world you make. Love or fear is your reality by your choice. A choice for love creates love. A choice for fear creates fear. What choice do you think has been made to create the world you call your home? This world was created by your choice, and a new world can be created by a new choice. But you must realize that this is all there is. Love or lack of love. Love is all the is real. A choice for love is a choice for heaven. A choice of fear is hell. Neither is a place. They are but a further reflection of your power. "
COURSE OF LOVE
I.I8 PAGE 7
~People come and go, but the love of true friendship
lasts a lifetime; the REAL treasure we seek. Genuine friendship is an
irreplaceable gift and can easily be squandered in our restless &
often selfish search for 'more'~
So I am a bit of a weirdo, that's not all bad. I think a lot about
spiritual things and I get these pictures in my head that show me how
all of us (everything) is connected~ by energy.
Today while I was walking our golden retriever, Amber, I thought about
starting up a journal describing the pictures I see in my head of energy/spirit and how I understand this all works. If nothing else, it's one more interesting interpretation of the meaning of life!
By the time I got back to the kitchen I was looking forward to
recording my thoughts, and while juicing carrots, some celery and an apple,
I began to ask my spirit guide to help me write the journal and got the
message: "As long as you place yourself in a state of joy, you will
receive lots of information~ because putting yourself in sate of joy
brings you to a level where you're mind is open, inspired, and can
receive information more clearly"
Then I felt myself vibrating at a lovely level of joy and I started seeing all my unique pictures better.
I realize now how distracted I am (much of the time), with sad and
melancholy thoughts of loss and/o unresolved issues. I will allow
myself to float off into a lower vibration and stay there, I make
myself depressed with 'writers block' and lazy butt syndrome.
I am learning to catch myself on that broken record . . . running away
with non serving thoughts; and how to move my awareness to a higher and
more positive level. If my thoughts shift to something which triggers a
happy nerve- I feel joy . . . because matching thoughts to a vibration
of joy suddenly changes everything, and I can do this with focused and
disciplined thought
Anyway . . . this was a great lesson and I wanted to share it with those of you 'get me' a little bit
:-)
"Whenever we can remember the truth that all dark thoughts and
feelings require our consent to punish us, and that these negative
states are, in themselves, literally nothing without the powers
we grant them, then we become the conqueror of what would have
overcome us!"
-- Guy Finley
Excerpted from "Let Go and Live in the Now"
Day one:
Called to ask a psychic about Mr. O. It was a wonderful, insightful,
inspiring and accurate reading!! Yeah, I think I'll call her back.
Day two. Called reader again. Wow! The same thing,
lots of hope here. And it's so great to hear what's going on in his
life, maybe even a little more in debth about our potential here.
Same day two, a little bit later: Good reading I guess. I feel better. More reassurances.
Day three: Not as exciting as at first. Why won't
anything CHANGE? NOTHING IS SPEEDING UP! The same things were said like
at first about Mr. O, but I don't feel the same excitement.
Day four: Still waiting for the prediction to
happen. Well, she said it would take some time. Yeah, I know also that
she said this is a spiritual lesson and challenge, that I must change
some things in myself in order to see the changes start on the outside,
but when am I going to see a sign? Why am I getting the same old same
old from the readings?
Day five: Hmmmmmmmmm.
Day five a little later: No matter how many ways
and how many times I ask about Mr. O, the same old prediction about
patience and changing things about how I direct my energy are said. I
mean, she's such a great psychic, so accurate and amazing. At least I
thought so at first! Now it feels like I'm supposed to be in charge of
the way I direct my focus and feelings and stuff in order to be happy.
I don't know.
Day five even later: She says I'm being a little
obsessive over his not contacting me and that my over focus of energy
on this is pushing him away. She sucks actually.
Day six: No call.
Day seven: I found another psychic reader is just
AWESOME!!! She is accurate and wonderful, just knew EVERYTHING about
Mr. O. I can't wait to call her back for an update!
Day seven a little later: She sort of said the same
thing as that first psychic and it's a little disturbing that I'm
getting this free will and stuff always thrown in to the conversation
when I want to know what is going to HAPPEN! I mean, it's a psychic
reading for God's sake!
Day seven late that night: I can't stand it
anymore. This third reader has thrown me way off with the negative
outcomes here. Now I'm really confused. I feel so out of control. I
can't wait until that fist psychic is online again. She'll make me feel
better.
Day eight: I talked to the first reader again. I
feel a little better but why in the hell is everything moving so slow?!
I've been pacing my house in desperation day and night about this guy
not calling me yet. Why doesn't anyone tell me the future?! Why?!!
Day Nine: My old friend, a dear old friend, visited
me today and we went out on the town and had such a great time!!! I was
so happy for the first time in days and I forgot about Mr. O for the
entire time we feasted and talked about old times. When I got home
there was a message on my computer from him! Imagine that. I'm so
content at this moment I don't feel like calling a psychic.
Day Ten: I called my first reader and she tells me
that the act of letting go and being happy actually sped something up
in the process of contact. She says that while my friend was visiting,
I was fine in the moment and didn't even notice if he was or was not
calling me. Well, that's true. She says that he noticed on an energetic
level that I wasn't 'hounding' him anymore. Well, she put this in much
nicer words. lol. When he sensed my absence and tapped in to my joy
when he did find me intuitively, he wanted to reach out.
Maybe there's something to this business about directing my energy and my outcomes?
Filed Under:
Vizualization &Transformation,
Spirit Cake,
A MUST READ FOR KEEN FOLKS: What They Don't Want You To Know
I just thought of something, a gift, that my mom gave to me once. It was not a physical gift but rather a character trait that I hadn't quite developed, yet. We were living in Michigan on the MSU campus in Spartan Village, and I was in third grade at the time. It was around Halloween.
Every day my mother would walk past a local drug store on her way home. The windows of this drug store were covered that season, with multiple crayon colored pictures of a Wicked Witch with a pumpkin and holding a broom. She, having majored in art, thought of me immediately, and brought home one of the Witch outlines for me to color.
So she told me about the contest and how if I colored the Witch I might be able to win one of the places. I could tell this was important to her so I got out my crayons and colored the Witch in a variety of colors and made it as nice as possible. When I was done, I gave it back to her and she took it to the drug store.
A couple days later my mom brought my colored Witch back home and gave it back to me. I didn't know if the contest was over or what.
"You can do this much better. " She said
I was confused because I thought that I did a great job.
"I look at all the Witches and they all look the same. None of the children seem to have taken any time adding what they would like to the drawing, or mixing different colors to create unique and personal perspectives."
" You know how to do this" She said, and handed me another blank Witch to color.
Yea, my mom talked with flourishing big words, often poetic and picturesque words. I understood what she was trying to say so once again got out the colors, this time markers and pencils, fine point pens and chalk, oil crayons and my pointy finger for smudging shadows and fuzzy pumpkins.
When I was done I handed it back to mom and saw a very pleased and satisfied smile on her face. She took it back to the drug store and was taped back up on the window. I never saw the display as we waited for Halloween to come and the winners to be announced.
On Halloween my mom came home and told me that I had won first place. I went with her to the drug store and saw all the Witches, some of them very creatively colored. I was shocked that I had won, because these other colored Witches were awesomely done!
Yet true, there was an eccentric and wretchedly goth looking witch with voluptuous pumpkin friends and especially snarly broom in her hands above the counter in the drug store, and I do agree with my mom that it was looking very loud and Halloween-ish in particular, and deserved a prize.
I won a large ceramic pink piggy bank that I would need to break open to get coins out of. I felt creative and special that day. It was a good day for my mom too, I know.
What she gave me was the courage to share some original creativity, in the midst of a world of asleep, rubber stamped sheeple. The desire to dip some passion into the community, to share this with others. This is a form of freedom, and freedom is a gift!
Sometimes I look at these Apple Yard Ducks and I try to feel the excitement I once experienced as a child
playing 'duck, duck . . . goose'. I try to integrate the present and
the past so that I can feel that joy again and this time while
looking at those sweet ducks.
I had not bonded with a duck in my
life, not until I turned 43 years old and began to notice them.
Gentle smiles with bright eyes that
peer up at you with such innocence. If they are raised by humans from
youth, these beings trust you, and let you near, even to pick them up. I
observe 'Johnny' guard his white beauties from the dogs and the
elements. I hear them all talking, quite communicative, and about me
as I pass them.
I enjoy watching the sudden flights of
our two or three ducks making circles and figure eights in the sky
with their wings and their quacks. I smile as they find simple
puddles in the road to play royally in the water. I laugh watching
them waddle around in the Oregon rain, muddy beaks with worms
hanging, and orange rubbery feet smacking rain drops into the air.
Duck feet, says our 6 year old Josie,
are called 'paddles'. I think they are paddles.
“Flippers?” asks Galen
Why not?
What is the price of breaking
free?
It is often but not always, the loss of significant connections, even friendships, of a love relationship such as a spouse, a job or even an
environment.
The risk of losing one or more of these precious connections often stops a person cold, in her pursuit of happiness. . . because relinquishing any one of these comforts,
these 'familiars' seems much too unbearable to do; this fear of change is paralyzing and blocks positive action.
Loss and
loneliness can be the harsh side- to the price one pays for freedom.
Likewise, the rewards of
freedom are many, and very worth it.
Freedom is time, space,creative free expression . . . to pursue dreams, solitude, respite,FUN, socializing with joyful abandon and permission to let the inner child play and dream and explore~ often and with loving support.
Freedom is being able to say YES or to say NO to life's gifts and opportunities, without the vice grip of guilt, pressure, 'shoulds and should nots'
Freedom is not about abusing or neglecting heart commitments such as our children or others, it is about BEING FREE TO BE YOU. The very act of breaking free to BE, is healing.
It is not for anyone else but YOU to
decide which path is the right path, which lesson or person or
relationship is the best or the wisest choice. These choices remain
in the hearts and hands of each individual soul.
What is important is that one lives out her 'soul purpose', which is always positive even if others don't see it right away, and always involves the freedom to BE.
Inner Child . . .
Lately I've been getting to know my
inner child, we all have one. She has been lurking beneath the
surface, somehow connected to my daily adult life, for years. She
loves spaghetti and meatballs, dancing and singing and being
creative. She loves the feeling of being content in a house full of
open heart-ed genuine people who are always learning and growing and
celebrating the unique beauties and intricate joys and sorrows of
life.
There's value in inviting her out each
day,to stretch and smile and taste a rainbow. When I'm swimming laps
she dives a little deeper into the water like a dolphin, as I cook
pancakes she makes daisy shapes of the batter in the pan with her
metal spatula and sneaks chocolate chips in the mix. She turns the
music up and dances, and smiles really big when we go for walks by
water falls.
The inner child longs for play and
sunlight, healing foods and private times. She adores peace and
quiet, likes to meditate and imagine. She is aware of the unhealthy
blocks and walls and negative energies that happen between people and
in environments and she is very sensitive to judgment.
When I listen to her, feel her, my
intuition begins to glow, light shines right though my heart and out
of the palms of hands and into the world. The inner child can heal
us, we can heal her by helping her recreate her moments. By asking
her what she needs, we begin to allow these essential juicy parts of
life back into our world.
This Christmas I send out positive
energies and prayerful good thoughts to the inner child in all of us
. . . that we may let her or him play today and tomorrow and every
day!
Merry Season!!
Fawn
Moon Morning
Coffee, Gin . . . & Fawn
Playing in snowfall
In the breeze
Everything is possible
Diamonds dripping from bejeweled trees.
Friendships, Love, cold Sunshine
Places lost yet never found
Memories and reflections
Jewels saved for future crowns
Reflections of what was hoped for
Regrets to recount but never change
Acknowledging human frailties
Empowering the truth
. . . Of our divine heritage
By Fawn and Eric
between Oregon and Kentucky
(high school friends . . . writing a poem together)
Moon Morning
I keep thinking about this really nice
Christmas we had years ago. Grama and Grampa had
Christmas dinner and George and Soni along with Cory and Carrie, were
all there eating at the wooden round table. It was loaded with great
family food, and everyone was laughing and talking about this and
that. We felt close to each other and the Christmas tree was covered
with Grama's sentimental ornaments in front of the window in
the Living room.
Berea, Kentucky on Christmas is cold and
pretty. Sometimes it snows and when it does that is really a special
day. As we ate dinner that afternoon, big wet snowflakes began to
fall in showers outside our window. It was so pretty, and produced
the kind of memory that has me seeing cartoon images of characters like
Micky and Minnie Mouse . . . with giant individually crystallized
snowflakes swimming through the air like a surreal fairy tale . . . our silhouettes in shadow, encircled within the glow of our holiday
dinner table.
Tee Hee
Grampa got up suddenly, pushing his
dinner chair back from the table, and reached for his coat. With
mittens and wool hat he swiftly went out the front door and into the
driveway. We all watched as he began to gather snow from the car and
make a snow ball, his gaze fixed on the dining room window, at us.
He tossed the snowball and when it hit
our window a few of us wordlessly got up and put our jackets on too.
Jason, Katie, Cori, Carrie, George, maybe Soni, and I -ran outdoors
and began a Christmas day snowball fight with Grampa, laughing and
dodging snow. It was so much fun that we soon started making garbage
can cones for an igloo, we all had joyful full-bellied smiles of
people who felt happy to play fully, and freely, in each other's
company. There was a lot of love going around!
Grama smiled from the window and I know
she was feeling happy, too.
Powerful, Beautiful, Goddess
Who I
AM,
Timeless, Ageless, Wise,
One who IS strong,
True to MYSELF, Self Assured, Joyful,
Open minded, Open Heart-ed, Full of Humor,
Love and Generosity,
Creativity and Skill –
Welcome ME Home . . .
All Fragments
I Once Let Go
Welcome Back
I Feel You Back
To complete My Soul
I am Whole
Now and Always
So Be It.
Blessed Be