Wandering Willow's Blog

Be the First to Know the Future!

2008-11-09T19:42:00.003-07:00

There is a website that I've found fascinating over the past several years. This ordinary man noticed that his dreams kept coming true. He'd watch the news and see reports of whatever he dreamed about over the prior few nights. Eventually he made a website to post his dreams, and others became fascinated by watching the dreams come true.

The site is called Brian's Dreams or Brian's Prediction. (click on the link to see what I mean.) Twice he dreamed about my life! That's when I got hooked on reading his dreams.

In the first case, I'd had a serious conversation with Gary about whether or not our beloved rabbit bugs had a Higher Self of individuated soul that could possibly reincarnate. If he did, we wondered how we'd know when and where he had returned to us. The very next day, Brian posted a dream saying "High" with an arrow pointing up, and it said "Pick the runt, Rebirth" There was also a strange scribbled drawing of rectangles. We searched around town for a baby rabbit for sale, but only one could be found. He was the runt of the litter, with an overbite, so they couldn't "show" him in rabbit shows. We took him home and named him Ziggy. A couple of years later, I looked at Brians' dream drawing again, and realized that the scribbles of rectangles made a perfect image of the pattern of colors on Ziggy's back! Pretty amazing.

The other dream was of a personal nature, regarding a friend in danger, so I won't go into that one. Today I was reminded of Brian's site again, and thought I'd pass the information along so that others might be intrigued as I have been.

Have fun with it!

Election Day 2008

2008-11-04T21:14:00.003-07:00

All week I've felt pregnant. The country has felt pregnant to me, about to give birth to something. What is birthed may be terrible or beautiful, and nobody knows until the moment of birth. I've been doing everything I can conjure - praying, visualizing, hoping, be-ing - to help bring in the very best, finest, most nourishing new life possible. I've taken it on myself to embody the responsibility of bringing the best possible outcome for this election.

I've just watched John McCain's concession speech, which was graceful and generous. I feel he could have said much more to repair the harm that his harsh accusations wrought within his following... but it was gracious enough to please me.

President-elect Obama's acceptance speech should be coming up soon. Tonight, I am proud to be an American in a way that I've never felt before. This is a deep sense of our entire human race moving into a new level of brilliance at long last. At very long last. I am proud. PROUD! I am so proud to have been part of it, and with all my heart I have been part of this. I am pleased that the voting machine debacle was repaired enough that this election was made possible.

A balm of Spirit is flowing through me, healing wounds that have injured and scarred humanity for centuries. We who live and vote this year have contributed to this historic birth. I am proud.

Zrii Experiment #1

2008-10-05T19:23:00.004-06:00

Since spring, life has blossomed and changed a hundred times over! I still miss Sandy the bunny, but our rescued puppy Kaylee has brought a whole new level of fun to our house.

Just before Easter, two people suggested that I try an Ayurvedic nutritional drink called Zrii. I was unimpressed by their pitch. I've tried dozens of nutritional drinks that had compelling labels but never made any difference in my health, even after a year. Of course the idea was put forth that I could make a good living selling Zrii and enrolling others to do the same. That's also never worked for me. But it's largely organic, so I felt compelled to at least inquire. I am committed to supporting that kind of product and lifestyle.

What made a difference in my opinion was when I turned inward, prayed and asked my inner spiritual guidance about it. Strange technique to employ, no? But that's just me. It's also how I make my living, so I trust what I receive.

The message I heard was strongly positive and enthusiastic about the important part this product was destined to play in the upliftment of humanity, due to its ability to re-balance the imbalances of those who are suffering. Wow! That was not a normal message to receive from my inner wisdom. That got me intrigued.

Just before Easter, Gary and I started drinking Zrii, to try it out. Easter dinner at Gary's sister's house is normally a pig-fest for us. Oddly, I just wasn't in the mood to finish my piece of hot apple pie with ice cream. How can I convey how deeply unbelieveable that statement is.... my endless sugar cravings have been the only vice I've been unable to conquer. I am a sugar hog and that's that. But suddenly, one teensy piece of pie is too much?!?!?!!!

Upon discussing this aberration with Gary, we realized that neither of us had eaten a single piece of the nice organic Easter chocolate on the table at home. hmmmm. We went home and looked up the ingredients of Zrii. Turns out that it has three ingredients that help to stablize the metabolism of sugar. hmmm. Within about 4 days, it did all that for us? Amazing!

We have continued to barely eat sweets, and I've lost twelve pounds now, effortlessly.

In month four of drinking Zrii, my lifelong eczema utterly disappeared. Poof! Gone. Given that I've tried every eczema remedy under the sun, pharmaceutical and herbal alike, this is no small feat. I still check my hands every day, and there's still no eczema.

Meanwhile, my office assistant decided to try it also. After several months, she started feeling funny and went to the doctor. He determined that her high blood pressure had miraculously gone down so much that her medication was now too strong! Long story short, she has now reduced her medication twice, and discontinued one of the meds altogether.

This intriguing product has caught my attention, alright! I plan to periodically report on what happens with those who drink it.

I do know of two people in robust health who drank it and found that nothing in particular happened. One person didn't notice benefits until after several months of drinking a slightly higher daily amount.

Two people close to me have struggled with rather deep depression for decades. One had taken several herbal remedies, with only minor benefits. After a mere week of drinking Zrii, he became cheerful at work and at home, and has stayed that way for six months now. He notices that the ongoing anxiety and sporadic unprovoked anger disappeared.

The other is on psychiatric medication, but still depression and resignation weigh him down. After about a month of drinking Zrii, he found that his mood was lighter and he had more energy during the day. His emotions became "stabilized" in his words... he could get in touch with his emotions better, so he could determine how to respond. He feels noticeably calmer and happier on a regular basis, now.

Lastly, another friend fell into a coma and barely escaped death. Over the two years since awakening, she has had flat emotions, and a total lack of motivation or interest in life. It was as if a part of her had remained shut down. She started drinking Zrii, and called me within a couple of weeks to report that suddenly life is exciting, and she's starting to make plans for having fun! She feels that when she started drinking Zrii is really when she came back to life from the coma.

Needless to say, each of these people has become a distributor of Zrii. I've found that my business within this company builds itself easily, once people try the stuff. With little effort on my part, I bring in enough commission monthly to more than pay for what I drink. Cool.

So that is my first installment in the indefinite series of articles on what happens when people I know drink Zrii. Got any good stories? Share them in the comments! (politely, please, or I'll have to erase them).

love to all from the Wandering Willow

The End of a Peanut

2008-03-23T21:17:00.002-06:00

Our friend Sandy was a peanut-colored, peanut-shaped rabbit. Hailing from Palomino (huge) and Dutch Dwarf (tiny) ancestry, he was a friendly, mild-mannered fellow. If his buddy Ziggy's ears needed grooming, he was the man for the job. When our ankles needed a licking, or our electric cords needed a chewing, he was glad to oblige. When the new kitten wrestled us too aggressively, Sandy would ram her like a furry torpedo. We loved being "saved" by him!

More than anything, he loved to be outdoors. One fine day last week it was 68 degrees. He hopped and wiggled joyously, napped in the shade, grazed in the sun. Nothing could entice him indoors, even after Ziggy retired inside.

As night fell, he evaded our attempts to herd him in. Later, our flashlights caught a fox finishing his cotton-tailed dinner.

Grief-stricken, we had to make a quick decision: chase away the fox so we could bury Sandy's remains near the graves of our other pets, or allow the fox to finish a meal that really mattered after the long, harsh winter.

The stick-thin fox waited nearby, reading our faces.

We chose to say our fond goodbyes to Sandy's hovering spirit, and walk back to the house.

At the end of his most fun day ever, Sandy returned to Rabbitdom in the natural way... by nourishing a neighbor who desperately needed the meal. His rabbit destiny was well fulfilled.

But I'll miss the single-file rabbit parade that hopped daily throughout the house.

Playing and Eating with the Deer Family

2008-02-24T13:27:00.008-07:00

Our deer family keeps surviving injuries and the long, cold winter! They are glad to eat from my hand and allow me to pet them. We are all in love. Even the buck, who comes up the porch steps and tries to come in the kitchen, lets me pet him! When I feed him and pet his face, he licks my hands. It's really heartwarming. We both approach one another gingerly, because those antlers loom huge and sharp as he dips his head into the food bowl I hold. My friends all tell me I'm nuts to hand-feed so large a buck. I understand their viewpoint, but we are building an important trust. That means a lot to me.

These deer have all known Maya since she was a teensy kitten. They seem to love watching her antics. By the way, that big buck is the same one who had the run-in with Maya the Kitten in the July 2007 post.

Recently Maya was chasing me around the yard as I dragged a stick through the dry grass. The two adolescent fawns watched in fascination. One little guy in particular couldn't stop watching us, radar ears listening. He walked closer and closer, finally stopping about one foot from where we stood catching our breath. He leaner over and sniffed the stick I was dragging. To my amazement, he leaned down, rump in the air, and wiggled in the universal position for "Let's Play!" I imitated his motion, to indicate that I understood. Then I dragged the stick past him, but he was a little too nervous to actually chase it. Instead he leaped excitedly and ran over to butt his brother with his tiny antler-stubs. They head-butted and wrestled while Maya and I ran around some more. Being of such different species, playing with our friends at the same time in the same yard is probably as close as we'll get to actually romping together.

Blue and White, Brown and Green

2008-02-23T12:36:00.004-07:00

Blue sky filled with cottonball clouds meets snowy mountaintops. Wind blows streamers of snow off the mountain peaks, streamers sparkling white against the blue sunny universe above.

Crunchy yellow stalks of last year's plants sit broken on the dusty brown ground. Tiny beneath their bent blades, new grasses poke green shoots up to test the breeze. Fawns with fuzzy antler stubs rustle to find growth beneath the crisp dead leaves.

I am dusty, brittle and white against the warming blue sky, as winter begins to end. I invite the breeze to blow away the vestiges of snow that bury my joy. Blow winter off of me in sparkling streamers!

I poke my green hope up too early, to test for signs of spring.

I need a vacation!

Back from Hiatus

2008-01-21T17:20:00.001-07:00

I have been away from blogging so long that I had to remind myself how to navigate this blog. Funny! Writing feeds me; being too busy to write is not what I intend for myself. Who can I blame for this?? Oh yeah, that taskmaster-lady in the mirror.

Work calls. Because I love it, I jump when it asks me to. My classes are becoming more requested, around the state. I am teaching on 4 topics relating to consciousness expansion and wellness. In spring, I'll take at least one class to Boulder. (wait... isn't that like taking coals to Newcastle??) My clientele has filled my schedule with individual sessions well into February.

A part of me feels gratified with the positive feedback. A big fat part, actually! If I'm going to pour my heart and soul and my days and evenings into something, I'd like to know it's helping. I acknowledge that my skills were half-baked for many years. My increasing number of gray hairs is one more mark of experience... it took this many years and this much focus to get to where my work is effective enough for me to be proud of it.

A different part of me is only mildly interested in the work I do with humans. Of greater interest is my deer family that lives in the yard and eats apples from my hands during the cold of the winter. The rabbits that trust me enough to lounge and stretch under my feet as I type this interest me more. The silent downy snowflakes piling up on the branches outside my window interest me much more. If it weren't for the weeks of ice built up, I'd be walking among those snowflakes this very moment.

This rambling story is my unplanned declaration to get myself back in the writing seat more often. My kitten Maya still accompanies my trips to the keyboard, only now she's become gigantic. She's not quite as helpful as she thinks she is, but the movements on the monitor screen still fascinate her. Don't give up on us! Maya and I will be back when we can.

Solar/Wind-Powered Strawbale Home for Sale in Colorado!

2007-08-22T09:54:00.000-06:00

Friends of mine are selling their custom-built strawbale solar-and-wind-powered home on 40 acres in a mountain valley of Colorado. I wish we could buy it and live in that quiet valley, ringed by snowcapped peaks of the Wet Mountains on one side and the Sangre de Christo Mountains on the other! Life could be something altogether different from what it is here and now. Peaceful. Serene. Antelopes and eagles as neighbors. Wilderness hiking just a brief walk from the front door. No electric bills.

The trouble is that Gary and I both make our living in this town.

Their place is amazing. They even build a strawbale barn and garage. There's a greenhouse attached to the home, so that it helps to heat it (for free!) in the winter. There's a workout room, so they can stay fit enough for their hiking adventures.

I know they're sad to be selling their dream home, but its a medical necessity. Michael needs to move down to sea level, for his health. This home is at 7,800 feet elevation.

Do you know anyone who might be interested in an absolute dream home in paradise? Check out this website that I made for them, and please pass it along to anyone on your email list who might want to purchase it. Whoever buys it will be the luckiest, most grateful person you know!

http://www.strawbale4sale.blogspot.com

Guard Kitten Saves The Day

2007-07-21T09:12:00.000-06:00

We awoke to the sight of a mule deer buck with a massive rack eating the lilac bush outside our bedroom window.

Maya the kitten got her first glimpse of a deer when Gary lifted her to the windowsill. She was fascinated. We then put her outside the back door. She trotted up to the deer, and stopped on a flagstone a couple of feet away.

When Bucky had his fill, he turned to go up the walkway. Tiny Maya arched her furry little back and stood her ground on the flagstone. The deer backed up. Maya sat down. The deer stepped forward, and she arched fiercely once again. He eyed her calmly, steadily.

I called and called, but nothing would persuade our Guard Kitten to leave her post. Eventually the deer glanced at me, invisibly shrugged his shoulders, and walked around another way. Maya immediately collapsed into a little limp heap on her flagstone.

She seemed relieved but proud when I ran over to pick her up. At great peril to herself, she had singlehandedly saved our home and lives from the ravages of a deadly killer deer! I did my purr-imitation into her fur, to show her I was proud of her bravery too.

Bucky made his way to the back of the garden and hopped over the 8' fencing with ease. I photographed his antlers backlit by the early morning sun, as he got ready to hop the fence.

A Welcome Addition to the Family

2007-06-25T11:34:00.001-06:00

We'd been thinking that the time was coming to get a kitten. Our cat and dog both died in December. The bunnies are fun, but the don't bond and play with us the way cats and dogs do.

When I got back from Sedona, we decided to start looking for the right kitten. One night I dreamed all night long of playing with a calico kitten. I'd wake up and return into the same dream. The next morning I visited the Humane Society. There was one calico kitten, a long-haired little calico girl. She was sweet and sleepy and friendly, so we took her home. Somehow, Gary and I both thought of the name Maya, after playing with her for a few hours. Maya she is! As I type this, she is snoozing on my desk, paws on the keyboard.

She's been part of our family for over two weeks now. She's learned how to play without using her claws. It took awhile, but she's finally learned that bad things happen to her when she pounces on our fluttering eyelids in the middle of the night! And she's discovered that her bunny brothers run away when she tries to wrestle with them.

Our family rhythm is developing. Maya sleeps all night without waking us, at last. When she awakes, she spends half an hour being petted, purring loudly and tumbling in happy somersaults between Gary and me. This seems to be her bonding time. We eat breakfast on the back patio. Bunnies and kitten come out and lie together on the cement at our feet. Then they chase each other around the garden paths for awhile. When it gets hot they all traipse in the house, and we close the door to keep the heat out. In the evenings, we gather in the living room - humans on the sofa, four-leggeds on the rug. Maya goes wild for an hour, attacking everything in sight and leaping into the air for fun. If I take a bath, she hops onto the edge of the tub, then steps gingerly onto my chest. She stands there with dry feet and drinks from the bathwater, then hops back out. What an adventurous lass she is! Then we all go to bed. Maya starts her night's sleep by draping herself like a noodle-scarf across my throat or Gary's, purring.

It's hard to resist the baby-love she exudes. Her sweetness is healing our grief and bringing a new style of fun into our home.

Part 7: The Last of Sedona

2007-06-25T11:20:00.001-06:00

The comfortable hotel in Sedona was no small part of the trip. The Red Rocks Lodge is perched on top of a mesa overlooking the town of Sedona. A circle of gargantuan mesas are eye-level from the hotel's mesa-top. West Sedona appears to be miles and miles below. My room was nicer than I'd expected, with a little gas fireplace in the corner and two giant beds. Sorry you missed it, Birdie! The beds were comfy, and the landscaped pool and jacuzzi area was just a few steps away. Young jackrabbits hopped around the lawn, reminding me of how fortunate I am to have pettable rabbit friends in my home.

My sister and I hung out on our joint back porch and sewed/ designed / glued gifts for our brother's birthday ceremony. After the ceremony, he came back to our room with us and admired all of his gifts. Here is a photo of a 50 year old Peter. I still remember holding him on my lap as my baby brother! Looks like he grew up and got all handsome.

The drive back was much like the drive out. I do love the peace and quiet of driving across country with only myself for company. Nonetheless, when I got home to my own husband, rabbits and exquisitely comfortable bed, it was a relief.

Part 6 - The Greatness of Wide Open Spaces

2007-06-18T14:15:00.001-06:00

In Sedona, it's easy to feel expanded and relaxed. The scale of life is unique there. With gargantuan rock formations hovering above all, reflecting a thousand centuries of life, my existence is small. In that smallness, I feel like a part of those ancient centuries myself. My trail of footprints is one more element in the millenia since this land was once under water. One day it may be under water again. A diver from the future may find my bootprint on some underwater hillside, and wonder.

The upper photos were taken as the three of us aging siblings hiked into the wilderness beyond Sedona. The rock wall in the photo is next to where we ushered Peter into his second half of this life. The three of us sat on the sandy ground behind a giant boulder, near Oak Creek. We ceremonially told him what we appreciated about him in his first half of his life. Then we asked him what he wanted to take with him into his second half-century, and what he wanted to leave behind. Lastly, we gave him our wishes and our family's wishes for him in the coming years. He received gifts from family and friends that we brought along. Then we all sat against the boulder, eating and listening to the trees rustle amid birdsong.

Part 5 - Sedona AZ

2007-06-18T09:32:00.000-06:00

Sedona Arizona at last! Sedona is a small town nestled between mesas and buttes taller than the imagination can comprehend. These dwarf even my beloved Colorado red rocks. It's hot and dry, but Oak Creek flows through the edge of town. In the Oak Creek Canyon, the air is cooler and moister. Breathing is an enjoyable activity there.

You can see my sister photographing the primary formation that overshadows the town of Sedona. The bottom photo shows me with my sister and one of our brothers, outside Sedona. If you look closely, you can see a small village beneath that rock formation.

Can you find the chameleon on the branch, in the top photo?

Part 4 - Badlands Visitor Center

2007-06-17T18:07:00.001-06:00

I stopped at this Visitors Center in the New Mexican Badlands. The light is so stark there, that it makes for interesting contrasts. The air smelled like sage, cedar and dust for two days as I crossed the volcanic desert at six times the speed of the old wagon trains. Fast as I was driving, I felt rested by the lack of urban noise, color, shapes and lights. Nature can be peaceful in the desert, even through a car window.

Part 3 - Evidence of Enduring Cuteness

2007-06-14T23:03:00.001-06:00

Yes, it looks as if my grandson is still cute! I got in a wonderful day of visiting him. I gave him a plastic elephant, which is pictured here drinking from the water bottle "because his nose is thirsty!". In the top photo, Ethan and his mom and I are all wearing matching candy necklaces, courtesy of Grandma.

Part 2 - Driving Through Navajo Country

2007-06-14T22:51:00.001-06:00

I drove for hours and hours and hours and hours on a long, straight road with very little other traffic. This part of the world is built of prickly hills and red mesas and camouflaged wildlife. It was an exciting diversion when I passed a truck that seems to have hit another truck, and somehow boxes were spilled all over the highway. Those metallic sheets in the photo are the fallen-over sides of two long trucks. It was hard to figure out exactly what happened, but it sure was fun to have something else to look at and think about!

As you can see, Monk was clearly bored by it all, looking the other direction as we passed.

My radio was tuned to a Navajo station around this area. I love to listen to that language, so unique, so otherworldly. Between drumming songs and ancient country western songs, the announcer will say things such as: Ah nak'ka watta hotah BUDDY'S AUTO SHOP eenahyay. I just made up the Navajo words, there, but that's about how it sounds. I always hope that, if I listen long enough, I will start to know what they're saying. And the longer I drive through that kind of country, the more possible the hope seems.

Across the Western Moonscape

2007-06-14T20:32:00.000-06:00

Photos of the bizarre New Mexican Landscape!
Better photos are coming soon, when I get a little more time.

My traveling companion ended up entertaining a strep bug, right before our trip began. That left just my stuffed monkey and me to make the drive on our own.

Monk spent most of the trip on the dashboard, but occasionally stuffed himself into a space in the steering wheel for a change of scenery. I photographed him on a few occasions, just to prove we were there.

We traversed the moonscape that is western New Mexico and eastern Arizona. These photos were snapped one-handed while I drove, so pardon the poor quality. The first one is a random mesa in New Mexico. The second one - yes, it's sideways alright - is Monk sitting on volcanic rock in the badlands. New Mexicans call that area El Malpais, which translates literally as The Badland. Ages ago, a volcano spewed lava for hundreds of miles around. El Malpais is strewn with cascades of porous lava rock, lava tubes, frozen lava waterfalls tumbling down hillsides. The bottom photo is of one of those lava fields. (If Dick Jones is reading this: I stopped and got you a lava rock! I want to mail it to you.)

These types of long drives are heaven for me. The peace and quiet are balm for my harried life. There's enough air to breathe, enough silence to hear my soul, enough silence to eventually inspire me to start singing. A speeding car is the perfect venue for my vocal stylings, and nobody else has to hear it or form an opinion!

I stopped at several Indian reservations and browsed around their stores, at the artwork. It always twists my heartstrings when I see their stores selling Chinese replicas of their own art, in addition to the authentic stuff. I'm sure there's enough logic and profit for them to be persuaded to do that.... but its pretty awful in my opinion. I was hoping to get some blue corn frybread, but none of the stands were open.

I had a vivid, powerful dream of a tall Kachina who said his name was Thunderbird. He operated on me, to heal me. I'd love to find out if there is such a Kachina. In a brazen moment, I told one of the Laguna Indian men in a store that I was trying to find out about a Kachina named Thunderbird. He said the Zia tribe has a Thunderbird kachina, but I haven't been able to confirm it. Within my dream at least, he was a reality.

ROAD TRIP!!

2007-05-14T22:57:00.000-06:00

The highway has missed me. I can feel its longing for my car's tires. That longing calls to me in my sleep and during my busy, exhausting days.

The poor lonely highway even sends me mental images of those long straight stretches of open road laid across the ranchland south of here. Those images haunt my days and nights too. Wide open road with only a car or two for company... cup of steaming fragrant Earl Grey tea in my hand... box of cookies on the seat beside me... stuffed monkey Monk poked into the space in my steering wheel. Monk is my traveling companion.

So I found an excuse, and am preparing to embark on another long road trip! Two days of driving blissfully across prairies, past mesas and buttes, past herds of camouflaged antelopes, singing to the radio, enjoying the peace, soaking up the sunlight. I'm headed to Sedona Arizona to join with my sister to celebrate my brother's half-century of life.

This time I'll have a human traveling companion too. I suspect she won't be much like my husband when it comes to traveling habits. He loves to drive and get there fast, without stopping spontaneously to enjoy random sights and mysteries along the way. We haven't discussed this aspect, but I'm sure our drive will involve more fun than just driving. (Not sure if I'm allowed to mention names, so my companion shall remain nameless for the moment.)

I am SO EXCITED about this adventure! The confinement of constant work can be wearing. Lack of work can be just as wearing, but in a different way. I am grateful that people want what I have to offer, and benefit from it, are appreciative, and pay me. But I am SO EXCITED about laughing, resting, swimming, hiking, and eating things that are bad for me because I don't have to be in top shape for any clients the next day!

My batteries need recharging, and they're about to get it.
See you all in a week! It's time for this willow to get wandering again!!!!!!
* * * * * * * *

Hope Smothered In Reality

2007-05-13T22:23:00.001-06:00

Damp, heavy snowflakes the size of silver dollars fell between the raindrops yesterday and landed on my bright new pink tulips.

Hope, covered with a dose of reality.

My Mom is undergoing chemotherapy during these few months. After a lifetime of a strong, healthy constitution, an aggressive cancer suddenly struck. She is 80 years old. Even after three doses of chemo, she still feels good. No nausea. Her hair is gone, but she has a little fringe at the front, so when she wears her pink ball cap, it looks like she still has some hair. She and her pink cap drive around town, doing volunteer work and visiting friends. The wake-up-call of cancer reminded her to love everything, enjoy everything, be glad about everything, and to say so to her loved ones. She had to put off taking a cruise with some friends, but plans to take a cruise after the chemo is done.

I struggle to balance my elation over her steadfast health, with the fact that it is, after all, cancer. Our family has always had a silly joke about the number 81 being a bad number somehow, so I really want her to be 81 years old. I want the chance to harrass Mom about being 81, as we were able to do for a whole year with Dad. And then I want her to be even older and even healthier, for as long as she wants to be.

Hope, coated with a dose of reality.

* * * * * * * *

Miss Popularity

2007-04-19T12:44:00.000-06:00

I've been DISCOVERED.

I've been doing the work I do for years, decades actually. Holistic energy healing is the general category of my work. In the last few years, it has gotten to be much more accurate and helpful than previously.

Suddenly, in 2007, everybody took notice. All my clients are referring me to their friends and relatives, who then refer me to their other friends. I'm so booked, I barely have a moment to do anything other than work or related paperwork, or planning for classes that I'm giving.

I love what I do! That's the good part. It's amazing to get paid for doing something that feels like a privilege to do. This is just an adjustment period, as I juggle like crazy.

My apologies for not blogging more, at least to explain my sudden absence. I'll be back soon!

with love to all,
The Wandering Willow

Garden Visitors

2007-02-20T22:51:00.000-07:00

Six young does visited our garden yesterday, in search of scarce winter greenery. They didn't find much, but it was plenty for these hungry girls. They are mule deer yearlings.

Our Christmas Fireside

2007-02-20T22:43:00.000-07:00

I like this photo of our living room fireplace, minus a fire, at Christmastime.

Heartbeat of Home

2007-01-28T23:51:00.000-07:00

Down between the polished wood floorboards
in the dank sweetness of moist ageless earth
My heart beats the rhythm of my chosen home.

I stood one August on the grassy slope by the apple tree
stared at the staccato mountain peaks looming over the roof
and claimed this piece of the world to be mine for awhile

Mine, shared with the teeming life under and above the grass that grew wild
My home, among dandelions, squirrels, skunks, junipers, apples, plums and birds
I staked my claim and began to build my world
Here.

At first we felt like outsiders
Arranging, exploring, planning
Working, returning tired to unfamiliarity
Waiting for "home" to arrive

Seven years of breathing have changed the air in the house
Breathing my breath onto the woodwork, garden paths and paint on the walls
Breathing in the breath of trees, cat, dog, bunnies, husband, grandsons
Breathing out my dreams and desires
Breathing in their gradual fulfillment

Dented, worn dining table remembers family feasts of thanks-giving
Quiet meals of mourning
Candles spilling wax in glowing darkness
Art projects dripping glue, and that little gouge mark
Gatherings of bright-eyed friends birthing plans onto paper
Annual drying of a dismayed cat after her bath
And always newspaper mornings with tea

I light a fire, straighten my favorite painting, sweep the walk again
I no longer notice the click-hum of the furnace
Backyard graves of furry beloveds nourish the new spring growth
Fox and deer know my routines as I know theirs

The earth knows my heartbeat, here in my chosen home.

Snow Bunnies

2007-01-15T18:02:00.000-07:00

What do rabbits do in the snow? Not this zero-degree ice, mind you, but the lovely fluffy snow we had a week or two ago. What do bunnies do in the snow? They romp, scamper, dig, lick, leap, twirl and invent mid-air acrobatic moves to express their delight. With their fur coats and thick fur slippers, cold only stimulates their systems in a happy way. For evidence, check out these photos of Ziggy (white with black-brown-gray) and Sandy (sandy) enjoying every second of their snow day.

Arctic Rest

2007-01-14T14:21:00.000-07:00

High in a cottonwood tree’s spindliest branches, a redtail hawk brazenly rests. A raucous circle of glossy crows surrounds him. They battle for winter survival. The sub-zero air sparkles with frozen crystals – seeds that will become snow if the sun warms things up some.

Our back yard looks like a field of Bushes A La Mode – dollops of vanilla snow pile up on every surface. Fox footprints embed themselves in a deep white trail from northern clothesline to southern fence. The footprints are far apart and single file. This fox was in a hurry to hunt some mice and get back to her warm den. She should check our garage, where they’re hunkered down in a nest of packing peanuts under the cold cement steps.

Life is lived at a quieter, more desperate pace when an arctic blast arrives. Our rabbits stay in their room most of the day, fluffed in a two-part ball of sleep. When mealtime arrives, they gorge. We humans nap by the woodstove, softly snoring the cedar-warmed air.

I dream only of winter rest.

2006 in Review

2007-01-01T15:19:00.000-07:00

Here in Wandering Willow land, I plan to celebrate the changing of the year by re-posting my favorite writings from each month in 2006. This is especially important since my computer crashed and forced me to develop this new blog and abandon my old one.

For today, here is my look at 2006 and its various features.

WHAT I DISLIKED MOST ABOUT 2006

G. Bush and cohorts in our White House

Problem-ridden electronic voting machines still being used

All TV sitcoms and dramas depicting the popular culture of lying, deception and cruelty

PBS booting Bill Moyers out of "Now"

The politics behind the war in Iraq and media coverage thereof

The movie version of “The DaVinci Code”

The latest movie version of “The Pink Panther”

The little white jets that fly overhead leaving crosshatches of white trails that spread out and turns our blue skies gray. (Contrails don’t do that.)

Dealing with a limiting injury for an entire year

Crutches!!

Not having medical or dental insurance

The sudden death of my constant companion and coworker, Gypsy the Dog

Slowly saying goodbye to my 20-year best friend, Puff the Cat

WHAT I LIKED MOST ABOUT 2006

The rain returning to Colorado!

The song “All Will Be Well” by Gabe Dixon

My new CD of Vladimir Horowitz playing Rachmaninof

The book “The DaVinci Code”

The movie “The Secret”

The movies “Pirates of the Carribbean” “Walk the Line” and “Ray”

Internet radio version of San Francisco’s radio station KFOG

The alternative news service www.nhne.org , where I get my news from

PBS and its wonderful programs, despite its new executives

Everything ever written by Ken Wilber

Ken Wilber’s radio interview show “Integral Naked”

Finding a genuine perspective in which life on earth is completely wonderful

Visiting my family and playing with my grandbaby

Eating fresh food right from the garden

Trees, rocks, blue skies, sand, wind, water, fire in the woodstove

Healing from my injury, and starting to hike again

Writing my book at last

The discovery that using diluted peroxide as a mouthwash whitens my teeth

Realizing how many people considered my amazing and beautiful dog Gypsy to be a real personal friend of theirs, and how many people truly appreciated her

Spending Puff’s last weeks in a camaraderie celebrating our decades together

Meteorite!

2006-12-29T21:23:00.000-07:00

On December 11, my women's circle was disbanding. We stood around the driveway and porch, chatting, enjoying the cold night air.

As we talked, time suddenly stood still for me. I watched a fluorescent green glowing ball arc across the sky over the trees. There was a yellowish-green tail arching behind it. The center of the green ball was glowing yellow. Although I only saw it for a moment, I noticed intricate details of the bizarre sight. I was impressed by the fact that there was no defined border to this thing; it had an indistinct exterior. I seemed to be moving too.

It felt like an hour that I stood with my mouth open, staring. Only one other woman saw something bright out of the corner of her eye. I'd been knocked out of my own life for an eternity, staring at this strange apparition, then dropped back onto my porch.

When I was in art school, I stood talking with a fellow student one evening. I saw a similar sight - a glowing green ball sweeping through the sky. Later I learned that it was a meteorite entering the atmosphere and landing. A piece of the galaxy, falling to earth.

My second meteorite sighting! That must be significant.

I called the meteorologist at the local weather channel. He told me that the Geminid Meteor Shower was due to start the next evening, and said that I must have seen one of the very first meteors. When I told him it was huge and glowing green with a tail, he was quite surprised. Apparently meteorites of that size were not what he expected.

A piece of a comet hurtled through the dark space between planets for untold numbers of years, then tore through our atmosphere and landed near my house. I stood on my porch on a cold night at 10:00 pm and saw it fly past.

What might it mean, to see a piece of blazing interplanetary debris landing in my neighborhood? What might it mean that I saw one in Maryland 20 years ago and one in Colorado now? Maybe it signifies big changes. Shortly after seeing that first meteorite, my marriage ended. Presumably it would be a different type of change this time.

I wonder what had happened on that comet before it broke into pieces called meteors... Did any creatures live there? How do we know? Maybe there were creatures that our instruments can't detect. What was the surface like? If a piece of the meteorite sits in someone's back yard in my neighborhood, there might be pieces of that comet's history remaining.

I wish I could find it. I'm grateful to have seen something so surprising and otherworldly, but I do wish I could find the meteorite. I'd like to hold it and dream of where it's been.

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From the Hubble Observatory's website www.hubblesite.org:

What is the difference between a meteor, a meteoroid and a meteorite?

Most of us probably have seen meteors or shooting stars. A meteor is the flash of light that we see in the night sky when a small chunk of interplanetary debris burns up as it passes through our atmosphere. "Meteor" refers to the flash of light caused by the debris, not the debris itself.

The debris is called a meteoroid. A meteoroid is a piece of interplanetary matter that is smaller than a kilometer and frequently only millimeters in size. Most meteoroids that enter the Earth's atmosphere are so small that they vaporize completely and never reach the planet's surface.

If any part of a meteoroid survives the fall through the atmosphere and lands on Earth, it is called a meteorite. Although the vast majority of meteorites are very small, their size can range from about a fraction of a gram (the size of a pebble) to 100 kilograms (220 lbs) or more (the size of a huge, life-destroying boulder).

From Wikipedia, regarding the Geminid Meteor Shower:

The Geminids are a meteor shower caused by an object named 3200 Phaethon, which is thought to be an extinct comet. The meteors from this shower can be seen in mid-December and usually peak around 12-14 of the month. The Geminid shower is thought to be intensifying every year and recent showers have seen 120-160 meteors per hour under optimal conditions. The Geminids were first observed only 150 years ago, much more recently than other showers such as the Perseids and Leonids.

The meteors in this shower appear to come from a radiant in the constellation Gemini (hence the shower's name). However, they can appear almost anywhere in the night sky, and often appear yellowish in hue. The meteors travel at medium speed in relation to other showers, at about 22 miles per second, making them fairly easy to spot. The Geminids are now considered by many to be the most consistent and active annual shower. In 2005, viewing of the shower was restricted due to a full moon washing out the fainter meteors. The 2006 shower will have a less full moon.

My blog's worth

2006-12-21T11:54:00.000-07:00

My blog is worth $3,951.78.
How much is your blog worth?

Sunrises, Sunsets & Everything In Between

2006-12-20T21:44:00.000-07:00

The cold winds blew me across deserts and prairies, past buttes and antelopes. They deposited me in the juniper-scented foothills of the Sandia Mountains, under a wide warm watermelon sunset.

I played with my 2 year old grandson, and ate green chile rellenos. I smiled and my heart grew two sizes, one for each of his years of grandma-loving life.

On the tiring long drive home, I stopped at the home of fellow bloggarina, Birdie (www.lapajaro.com). We spent just enough time together to ensure that there would be future visits and interesting gifts exchanged. Not enough time, but just enough. We discovered how much we have in common, including our hairdos and furniture! I love her eyes. All three of her birds nipped my fingers softly. My scabbed hands bear the evidence of the visit. Frankie the Pig was out at a friend's house.

We arrived back in the land of deer, foxes and Pikes Peak. No dog greeted us at our lonely door. But in a reminder of the constant renewal of life, the two bunny boys were overjoyed at our return. So was our elderly limping cat.

Life's cycles are working overtime on my behalf. Losing a father, finally meeting a new friend, missing my dog terribly, loving my two young rambunctious bunnies, playing with a little grandson, helping to ease my cat's last few months, supporting my nephew as he mourns the death of his best lifelong friend. Discontinuing with an important teacher and gaining a surprise new teacher out of the blue.

Sunrises, sunsets, and everything in between. I feel alive!

Gypsy

2006-12-15T23:37:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, my beautiful, loving best friend Gypsy died suddenly of a seizure. She wasn't old. She'd been having small seizures for a year.

I'm beginning to get used to walking without my shadow beside me - to going out the door without her rapturous excitement preceding me - to going for a ride in the car alone - to working with clients all by my non-wagging self - to sleeping without hearing her running and barking in her dreams. I'm getting used to being greeted only by a silent house when I come home.

Nobody eats the cat food any more, other than the cat, so I can leave the bowls on the floor now. There isn't much red fur accumulating on the carpet these last two weeks. I haven't vacuumed as much. I don't have to stop what I'm doing every afternoon to spend five minutes quietly hugging the dog any more. That gives me more time to work.

I wonder if maybe the afternoon hugs were for my benefit.

I never wanted to be accustomed to this.

Who's There?

2006-12-09T09:37:00.000-07:00

Knock-knock-knock-knock

...pause...

Knock-knock-knock-knock

I wondered why my mysterious early-morning visitor didn't ring the bell.

Knock-knock-knock-knock

I looked out the window and saw that nobody was at the front door. Hmm? To get to our back door you have to go through or over a locked fence into our back yard. This must be one industrious early-morning visitor.

Nobody was at the back door either.

Knock-knock-knock-knock

The knocking was twice as loud as it usually sounds when someone raps on our door to get our attention. What a mystery! Could it be that the rabbits were chewing a stick and it was knocking against an inside wall loudly? I chased down the little potential culprits, but discovered them peaceably napping under the piano.

Knock-knock-knock-knock

This time I crept up to the front door and peeked carefully out its window. There, on the front porch wall, was a large orange and brown flicker! Flickers are my favorite kind of woodpecker, because their bright orange striped and spotted feathers are so beautiful. This guy appeared to be about a foot long, or tall, or however one refers to the size of a bird. He was pecking away on our wall, which explained why the sound resonated throughout the house.

I moved. He saw me, and flew off.

Checking for holes where he pecked, I discovered the tattered remnants of a wasp nest. Good woodpecker! Wasps are wonderful things, except around our doorways. The wall behind the nest appears to be hole-free. Good woodpecker!

I'm pleased to know our house is so delicious.

Life ... has a life of its own

2006-12-08T22:52:00.000-07:00

Just when I think I have a grasp on what my life is made of, Life happens. I'm officially putting in a request to The Committee For Overseeing The Life Details of Wandering Willow for a massive reduction in changes. If you please, Committee Overseers, a plateau of boredom would be much appreciated right about now. A week of peaceful boredom would be perfect, allowing me to get stabilized in the world as it is after the most recent tornado of change.

Unfortunately, another tornado looms just a little way up the road. I'd better put in an order for extra seat belts, as long as I'm attempting to control the uncontrollable. Learning from the jarring pain of sudden loss, I'm trying to prepare for the next one by beginning to feel it in advance.

I suspect that I'm only increasing my own discomfort. There are parables and wise phrases for times such as these, but I can't remember any at all. Maybe I'll just breathe one breath at a time and see how that works.

PJ Squirrel's Final Hour

2006-11-26T16:53:00.000-07:00

While walking in a field by a stream today, I heard a rustling squeal near my feet. A squirrel lay camouflaged among the autumn leaves, grunting. He was bleeding from his face, chest and front legs. Gary and Gypsy gathered to see. Panicked, the squirrel scrabbled with his crimson wet front paws, trying to drag his limp body through a patch of blood-stained dirt. Safety must lie on the far side of us, somewhere, anywhere.

I started praying for the squirrel-loving forces of the Universe to come help this little guy die peacefully. I held the palms of my hands towards him, allowing all my love to pour through them into him. He stopped scrabbling in the leaves and rested, groaning. Gypsy finished sniffing him and sat quietly, wanting to be helpful. Gary and I stood still, beaming squirrel-love and comfort as best we could. His grunts, squeals and heaving breath revealed that he would not survive long.

We stood with him. Nobody wants to die alone in an open field.

A black cat flashed past the corners of our eyes. Evidently the cat had attacked the squirrel, and wanted to return for more play. That was no longer an option, though.

For some reason, the multicolor fur on this little being reminded me of a set of pajamas. I named him PJ Squirrel.

After a period of us all standing together in loving quiet, PJ Squirrel began to move. He dragged and heaved himself towards Gary. Puff, groan, growl, puff. When he reached Gary’s shoe, he leaned against it and went limp. He burrowed his pointy little nose into the earth by Gary’s shoe. It seemed that he really did want someone to be with him as he died. Our hearts glowed, feeling his trust.

Eventually we needed to sit down. Gary began the process of shifting his weight earthward. The movement startled PJ from his doze. He frantically dragged himself towards my safe shoes. With his tail draped over one shoe, he rested his painful bones again. When I sat, startled little PJ scrabbled back to Gary’s shoes. He hauled his body between both shoes and lay softly growling.

Gypsy, Gary, PJ and I sat together quietly for half an hour. Periodically a pain would spasm through PJ’s body. His tail would fluff up suddenly and he would growl, groan and pant. I longed to pet him, but didn’t want to risk a bite.

The sun began setting, and a chill fell on our vigil. Gary put on his thick gloves, and carefully picked up our expiring friend. Holding a squealing PJ away from his body, Gary walked over to the biggest tree by the stream. He tenderly set PJ on the massive root where it met the trunk. Gypsy sniffed the squirrel’s back. Within minutes, PJ gathered his strength and darted into a hole at the base of the tree. Leaves immediately fell and covered the hole behind him.

He was home.

Gary and I backed away. Gypsy stayed to sniff and make sure PJ was settled in safely. I sent out a silent call to his squirrel family to take over. A halo of reverence surrounded us as we walked away from the tree that warmly harbored a little bleeding squirrel. We felt honored to have gained the trust of someone who was normally afraid of us. Together we built a bridge between nature and us. It was a holy day.

Alive & Blogging!

2006-11-26T11:16:00.000-07:00

Well, fans, I've been distracted from blogging for a long time, by a combination of factors, including the crashing of my computer, travel, stressful events, and project overwhelm.
Oy, life can be challenging! Good thing I'm the type to make lemonade from lemons.

I'm in the process of repairing my Salon blog and updating this one. Soon this will be my one and only personal blog... so stay tuned! I promise there will be fewer bunny-related stories after this. These photos show our Colorado yard at the peak of summer beauty this year. High altitude desert and all, Gary is great at creating pulchritude on our land!

Don't give up... before long I'll write something worth reading again!

with love to all,
Wandering Willow

More on the subject of Rabbits

2006-11-05T14:29:00.000-07:00

I find our two rabbits, Ziggy and Sandy, to be subjects of infinite interest. They are so much fun to live with! And so cute... just look at that little ear-head sticking out of my hands in that one picture below!

In these photos, Sandy is about 3 months old, and brand new in our household. He's about 6 months old now, and already is bigger than Ziggy.

The Bunny Boys

2006-09-15T18:08:00.000-06:00

Our new bunnies

2006-08-07T17:07:00.000-06:00

Here are some photos of our new bunny boys. Ziggy is a Mini Rex, with velvety white fur that has interesting ink-blot patterns of grayish brown. (That pattern is called Broken Opal.)

After much consulting with rabbit experts, we've determined that Sandy is a cross between a Palomino and a Dwarf Dutch.

Ziggy is about a year old, and Sandy is about 4 months, in these photos. I love how they both put their front feet into the food dish when they eat!

Eleni in a globe of gold

2005-10-09T13:52:00.000-06:00

I just found this 2002 photo, while browsing through my old photo pile. This is my little niece, Eleni, riding on an elephant. As you can see, she's wearing her Super-helmet of glowing golden light, to keep any evil spirits away from her head.

I have no idea how this effect happened, but I just love it! It suits her.
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Commemoration of Summer

2005-10-08T22:26:00.000-06:00

Fall is here. Snow is due any day now. This picture commemmorates the beauty of summer which is passing fast. Here in Colorado, we still have 75 degree days in Fall, while the night temperatures go to freezing. I just love the colors and light in this summer shot. The oak leaves are red and brown now; the green is gone.
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A Mouse Lunch

2005-10-08T22:11:00.000-06:00

After our sweet little bunny Bunnita died, Bugs was left as a lonely widower. We started letting him roam in the yard with us for a few hours daily, so that life would hold some interest for him again. He would wander in and out of the outdoor enclosure where he and Bunnita had dug a deep hole. The mice that lived in the hutch with the rabbits moved along with Bugs. (I've named the mice Squeak and Eeek, but I can't tell which is which.) We saw them scurrying from the hutch to the outdoor enclosure, apparently looking for their buddies. On several occasions, I saw Bugs and a mouse casually munching pellets from the same bowl! A luncheon among friends. One lucky day, I caught this picture of Squeak eating sunflower seeds from the rabbit bowl. Or maybe it's Eeek.

Those hours in the yard grew longer and longer. After awhile, we were leaving Bugs to play in the garden all day, putting him in his hutch only at night. Eventually, he made it clear that he was capable of taking care of himself. He made himself several homes around the garden, under various things. He is now a free-range half-wild rabbit of the world. His favorite homes are: *under the solar panels, *in the cabbage patch, *in the bushes, and *under the plumtree branches. When we come out to his area, though, wherever he's currently hiding, he usually runs out to be petted. He and Gary have a lot of conversation time when Gary is gardening. Bugs hops alongside him, keeping Gary company. My men are good at gardening together.

Most mornings, Bugs can be found back in his enclosure, checking out his hole. Sometimes he hops back into the hutch, seeing if it's still as he left it. Snow is expected this weekend; we hope he will go into one of his old homes to stay warm.
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A Greek American Kiwi

2005-10-08T22:02:00.000-06:00

I was browsing through a CD and found some photos that a friend took when we were in New Zealand last year. I know I'm interested when I get to see what a fellow blogger looks like, so here is evidence of my extreme pulchritude. There's been talk of my eyebrows lately, so they are featured here as Exhibit A. As a point of interest, when in Colorado, my hair is absolutely straight. The humidity in New Zealand brought out the waves that I remember so well from my younger days in coastal towns.

A Grandma and an Ethan

2005-08-15T21:54:00.000-06:00

*****A grandma and her sweet baby Ethan. This is my favorite photo, so far, of me and the little cutie.

Gypsy, the World's Cutest Dog

2005-08-15T21:28:00.000-06:00

****In the interest of full disclosure, I have to admit that I have the world's cutest dog as my daily companion.

Gypsy is an unusual mixture of Golden Retriever, Sheltie, and Long-Haired Dachshund. The result is a mid-sized beauty of a pooch with a sweet temperament, sharp intelligence, and the desire to herd everything in sight. She doesn't require a leash, because I am her herd and she needs to keep me in herding range... she won't leave my proximity no matter what.

In doggie years, she is now slightly older than me. Notice the gray hairs around her muzzle, just like the silver hairs appearing among my brown ones. She's not as athletic as she once was, until we take her out into the mountains to hike. Then she becomes a wild mountain dog, sniffing and chasing around the bushes and under the trees, always looping back around me before taking off on her next chase. It's a beautiful dance to watch: she races off up a path, then loops back behind me, then off down another path, then loops back around me, then does a few circles around a bush full of chipmunks, then loops back around me. It's the dance of a herder, keeping her charge in line. If Gary and I take separate paths around a hill, for example, she will loop a constant figure 8 between the two of us until our paths merge again.

She performs this service - making sure we are well and where we should be - all day and all night. As lightly as I sleep, I hear Gypsy get up and make the rounds of the house and back yard around four times nightly. The first of those rounds includes patrolling the cat food dish, to clean up whatever Puff the cat hasn't gotten to yet. It's all in a dog's line of duty.

The War Prayer, by Mark Twain

2005-07-27T11:35:00.000-06:00

Mark Twain first submitted this short story to the women’s magazine Harper's Bazaar in March 1905. It reflected his opinions of

U.S.

intervention in the Phillipines. Harper’s wouldn’t publish it, considering it too radical. It was published after Mark Twain's death, during World War I, when the subject matter was once again appropriate to current events. Harper's Monthly printed this in November 1916.

The War Prayer (1905)

By Mark Twain

It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

Sunday morning came -- next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams -- visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation

God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest!
Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!

Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory --

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, "Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"

The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside -- which the startled minister did -- and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:

"I come from the Throne -- bearing a message from Almighty God!" The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. "He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import -- that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of -- except he pause and think.

"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two -- one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this -- keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.

"You have heard your servant's prayer -- the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it -- that part which the pastor -- and also you in your hearts -- fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. The whole of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory -- must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle -- be Thou near them! With them -- in spirit -- we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it -- for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.

(After a pause.) "Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!"

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.

Source: Jim Zwick ed., Mark Twain's Weapons of Satire (Syracuse University Press, 1992)

Bugs and Bunnita

2005-07-19T21:45:00.000-06:00

Here is the happy couple, just weeks before Bugs was abruptly widowed. Bugs is the gray one rolling happily in the cool soil. Bunnita is cleaning his ears, as she didn't often do. Usually she burrowed her head under his chin, encouraging him to wash her ears. He loved to oblige.

Eulogy for a Bunny

2005-07-19T21:03:00.000-06:00

My little Bunnita, a "dwarf bunny", died yesterday. We don't know why. Rabbits are fragile beings with delicate constitutions. She had an upset digestive system, that the vet said could be serious, so maybe that was all it took to end her life. Maybe the heat added too much physical stress.

I'd like to take a few lines to appreciate the life she had. For a year and a half, she made one other rabbit, Bugs, a very happy rabbit. He snuggled with her and washed her ears all throughout every day. He dug a nice deep burrow for her to enjoy. He let her eat the first bites of the food all the time.

For a year and a half, she delighted us humans. She had a demeanor of "little girl", always a little shy, hiding behind her big brave Bugs, but coming out to be petted or to be inquisitive. She hid her face in my hair when I held her at my shoulder. Cuddling with her was like cuddling with purity. She brought out my capacity for tenderness and careful attentiveness and love, because that's what she required. Her personality was funny and quirky and gentle and sometimes bold. And she was so cute: front half brown, back half white, with tiny brown ears.

She led a good, if short, life. Fare well, sweet little Bunnita.
* * * * * *

My Life With Books

2005-07-18T10:06:00.000-06:00

This is a list of my relationship with books, based on a questionnaire at my other blog.

1. TOTAL NUMBER OF BOOKS I’VE OWNED: It’s in the thousands. Each time I’ve moved during my adult life, I manage to thin out my collection and get rid of some. Then I get more. Main topics: Art, psychology, writing, spirituality, philosophy, science fiction. I pass them along to others, loan the really good ones out, and keep the ones I refer to often. There are a few classics that I always keep: The Complete Pelican Shakespeare, The Phantom Tollbooth and A Wrinkle In Time (wonderful adult books disguised as childrens books), The People’s Almanac by David Wallechinsky and Irving Wallace, Womens Bodies, Women’s Wisdom by Dr. Christiane Northrop, Writing Well by Donald Hall, The Joy of Signing (basic sign language textbook), The Power of Myth by Joseph Campbell, Hands of Light by Barbara Brennan, The I-Ching.

2. LAST BOOK I BOUGHT: CranioSacral Biodynamics by Franklyn Sills. This is a text book for students of CranioSacral Therapy, but has some excellent reading on awareness. My husband just bought two great books, a few days ago, and they are next on my list. They are: The Biology of Belief: Unleashing the power of Consciousness, Matter and Miracles by Bruce Lipton, and also God Without Religion: Questioning Centuries of Accepted Truths by Sankara Saranam.

3. LAST BOOK I COMPLETED: I re-read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings Trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkein. They are so much fun!

4. FIVE BOOKS THAT MEAN A LOT TO ME:

Book 1. The Cultural Creatives: How 50 Million People are Changing The World by Paul H. Ray, Ph.D. and Sherry Ruth Anderson, Ph.D. The website: www.culturalcreatives.org For 13 years this couple of psychologists interviewed 100,000 Americans and conducted 100 focus groups to determine the types of people in this country. The Traditionals and The Moderns are easily seen, but the Cultural Creatives are not so obvious. Here is a summary of what they discovered about this hidden category: “The Cultural Creatives care deeply about ecology and saving the planet, about relationships, peace, social justice, and about self actualization, spirituality and self-expression. Surprisingly, they are both inner-directed and socially concerned, they're activists, volunteers and contributors to good causes more than other Americans. However, because they've been so invisible in American life, Cultural Creatives themselves are astonished to find out how many share both their values and their way of life. Once they realize their numbers, their impact on American life promises to be enormous, shaping a new agenda for the twenty-first century.” This book can give hope to people who feel alone in this society.

Book 2. The Power of Myth by Joseph Campbell. This is one of the treasures in my book collection. Joseph Campbell pours his heart and soul into describing the religions and philosophies of the world, and how they all fit together. His life’s work comes together into an enlightening tapestry, during this series of Bill Moyers interviews conducted over the last year of Campbell’s life. His passion brings history to life in a new and inspiring and personal way.

Book 3. Seven Arrows by Hyemeyohsts Storm These are American Indian teaching stories that speak to the reader on many levels at once. There is an endless stream of wisdom flowing throughout this book. No matter how many times I read the stories, I get some new understanding each time. The stories are utterly unlike anything our non-native society is accustomed to.

Book 4. Ishmael and My Ishmael by Daniel Quinn. I can’t express strongly enough how much I think these two books hold the power to turn a person inside out and come to know their place in the world in a different way. Daniel Quinn brings together cutting-edge ideas from a wide spectrum of sciences, and suddenly the history of humanity has new meaning. Amazing.

Book 5. Siddhartha and Journey To The East by Hermann Hesse. When I was 17 I read these two books, and was blasted into a new awareness of my ability to transform myself into a more worthwhile person, based on my own values.

5.WHAT I AM CURRENTLY READING: Power vs. Force : The Hidden Determinants of Human Behavior by David Hawkins, MD, PhD. Almost done with it!

Bonnie and Clyde

2005-07-11T10:29:00.000-06:00

This is a test post, to see whether or not I can really write from on the road. That is the primary reason for getting this alternate blog.

I am in Oklahoma, and have been here for a few days. We are visiting my sister's Comanche / Kiowa relatives. I enjoy being Aunt Bonnie; my sister's kids as well as their Oklahoma cousins call me Aunt Bonnie. We have been frolicking in the swimming pool, eating tons of food, laughing a lot, and playing games around the dining room table in their spacious, high-ceilinged strawbale adobe house on a small ranch.

This is my first meeting with Clyde, my ...uh... nehpew-in-law once removed? My excellent nephew. He is 14, and is tired of hearing how much he resembles my sister's son, his cousin John. Sorry, Clyde, but you're both totally wonderful guys. The fact that we've finally met in person solidifies an important relationship: Bonnie and Clyde are back!

We spent the day in Medicine Park - a historic preserve, with a wildlife preserve that shelters buffalo, longhorn cattle, elks, etc. In one little town, we discovered an amazing coincidence. The little cabins near the lake were where the original Bonnie and Clyde holed up after their infamous bank robberies. The town even had wooden cutouts of Bonnie and Clyde, where you stick your head through the hole and have your picture taken looking like them. Of course, Clyde and I did that, and did a couple of other poses too. I'll post the best of the photos as soon as my sister gets her film developed. Stay tuned!

Boulder Interlude

2005-07-08T23:13:00.000-06:00

I wrote this while visiting Boulder, Colorado. A friend lined up two days of clients for me to see. It’s fun to be a traveling expert! Spending time in a totally different setting is utterly refreshing, and having hours to myself is soooo relaxing. I’d really love to write stories about my adventures with the clients, but that just isn’t cool. Confidentiality, you know. Suffice it to say that each of us is a universe unto ourselves, with a history and habit and interpretation of events unique to us. I am in awe of the wisdom and the pain hidden within every person. We are an awe-inspiring species.

June 29, 2005

For 12 hours, my home is an old schoolbus named Quicksilver. A more apt name might be “Parked Silver”. Quicksilver waits patiently in the side yard, offering refuge for guests and kids on college breaks. I see my clients in the treatment room in the house, then retire to the bus for sleep.

I’m delighted with my quaint, quiet lodgings. The bed is cozy. The table is adorned with a vase of glistening red roses for my benefit. To my surprise, the bookshelf holds the same anatomy book I’m studying at home! Tonight I studied the many layers of skin. The little illustrations of layered skin cross-sections look like drawings of layer cakes. Weird.

Next I dove into a book that set off a chain reaction of explosions in my psyche. It’s called “Maps to Ecstasy” by Gabrielle Roth. Wow. In a nutshell - a paltry, deficient nutshell – she describes archetypal movement and dance as one way to leave behind all hurts, habits, patterns and concepts, and find freedom in the stillpoint within the center of the soul. Her stories of discovering Life in the pure moment, primarily through dance, are enrapturing. The exercises she suggests are intriguing, and FUN!

How can I lie in a schoolbus and read about dancing?!? I just wanna get up and dance til I lose my poise, dance til I forget who I am, dance til I remember who I am, and then dance as an expression of my soul! Quicksilver the bus would probably tumble over, though, if I started that kind of action. It’ll have to wait.

Sleep eludes me so far. In this metal shelter, even the rustle of windfallen leaves on the roof is audible. Every so often “thud-scamper-scamper” a squirrel leaps from a tree to the bus roof. Then “scurry-scurry-scamper” it does whatever squirrels do on top of buses in the night, and leaps back to the tree.

Endless muted traffic flow on the nearby freeway reminds me of the ocean, minus the rhythmic organization. I close my eyes, relax, and breathe audibly in the back of my throat, breathing like the ocean waves. I’m dancing inwardly, slowly, like an ocean wave. Dancing to sleep in a schoolbus.
* * * * * *

Premonitions of Skunks

2005-07-07T11:19:00.000-06:00

Yes, I have an unusual life. This is another true story. I hope you all will remind me of this, if some catastrophe befalls me. ~ W.W. ~

July 7, 2005

Sometime in the darkness last night, I was awakened by an unseen companion. I was too sleepy to tell who/what it was. A sweet silent voice, possibly from within the dream (although I was fully awake) spoke to me. It said “A skunk scent is going to come in that bedroom window in a few minutes. When it does, you should understand it as a metaphor for life.”

I sniffed. No smell. What was this all about? What kind of metaphor for life could this be? And why did I need to be awakened for this? I lay there and wondered why I would dream this… only I was awake…. so what was going on… and why talk to me about skunk scent in the middle of the night…. metaphor for life?? I couldn’t get back to sleep.

Several minutes later, a horrible acrid stench began wafting through the window. I almost gagged from the potency that accumulated quickly. That skunk must have been right under our window. It was suffocatingly intense.

The gentle, kind voice was back, speaking silently into my awareness again. “This skunk smell is unpleasant, but you did nothing to bring it on yourself. You are not to blame. The skunk is not aiming the scent at you on purpose. You are just a witness.”

I thought about this. Yes, it’s true. Not really profound, but true.

The voice said “Sometimes in life, you receive a warning in advance that something unpleasant is going to happen to you. Remember the skunk smell. That is the metaphor for life that you should remember. If you receive a warning in advance that something unpleasant is going to happen to you, when it happens remember that you are just a witness. You did not bring it on yourself, and it is not aimed personally at you. Be the witness.”

Now this bizarre mid-night meeting was starting to form a coherent picture. Yes, I did receive a warning several minutes before the skunk sprayed. From the blinding, nauseating impact of the smell, it was clear that the skunk must have been right near the window. That also meant that the skunk had not yet sprayed when I was woken up and told about it, or I would have already smelled it.

Interesting.

As the pieces jostled together into the coherent picture, I began to wonder. Was THIS the warning? Is something unpleasant about to happen to me? Something so bad that I required a visit from a guardian angel to advise me to not take it personally? I have received other warnings before this, when something stressful is about to fall my way. I usually have a day to gather all my strength and wisdom, to pray and expand myself and connect with the cycles of nature, after a warning; thus I can handle it without collapse.
My brain thinks I should be getting pretty worried right about now, but I’m not. I feel peaceful, knowing that I am watched over with benevolence. Once I’ve written this story, to get it out of my system, I won’t fret. Either it will turn out to be a random nugget of wisdom handed to me in the night, or else something unpleasant will happen soon. If something nasty happens, I will stand back and witness it and feel grateful for the advice. I’ll remember the skunk.
* * * * * * * * * *

Losing a Beloved Pet

2005-06-13T09:35:00.000-06:00

Within the past 24 hours, I've heard of a friend whose beloved pet bird died, and one whose beloved cat died. Both of them are grieving deeply. With each story, I look again at my darling buddy, my 17 year old cat, Puff. Seventeen cat years equals about 100 human years.

When my former cat Frankie died, our aged beagle was devastated. I had to get another cat soon to keep the dog from dying of a broken heart. I went two weeks later to the Humane Society to rescue a needy kitten. There were dozens to choose from that day. Rows of cages contained cute, pretty kittens all sleeping or sitting and watching for a new family.

The last cage on the top row housed a little orange-and-white medium-hair kitten who was wide awake. When she saw me, she started jumping and doing somersaults, trying to entice me to play. A little white paw reached out to flag me down. I approached, and she stopped jumping and started purring loudly, rubbing against the bars. I turned to look at the rest of the kittens. "Mew! Mew!" Her petite little meows objected to my leaving. When I turned back, she purred again, and batted at me. I stayed to play, watching her somersaulting antics. If I looked away toward the other dozing kittens, she became outraged. "MEW! MEW!!!" If I looked back at her: “PURRR!!!” It turns out that I am an obedient slave to adorable balls of fluff.

Puff and the dog bonded instantly. Our new little kitten gave a tongue bath to that smelly, fat, old ecstatic dog that night and every night for the rest of the dog’s life.

Puff has been a bundle of love all along. I offer as proof the orange spot on her back that is in the shape of a perfect heart. Whenever we have people over, she takes turns sitting in each person’s lap, purring. If somebody is sick, she sits on their lap, purring until they get better. The few times I’ve had a devastating case of the flu, she stays with me on the couch for the week or two until I’m well. One time Gary and I had a fight and I felt terrible. She lay on my chest all night, one paw on each side of my face, purring into my heart. That’s the only time she’s slept on me at night.

Her taste in people and hobbies is impeccable. After nursing me through my divorce with plenty of walks together and lots of purring, she accompanied me to Colorado. Eventually I met Gary Immediately she fell in love with him and became Gary’s cat. I call her his other wife. When we married, I got a piano, and Puff took up playing. In the middle of the night, she’d jump up on the keyboard and start walking around. She still does that when things become too boring for her. If I start playing, she will also hop up and share in the music. She loves to sniff flowers too.

These days she is too arthritic to accompany us on walks. Instead, on nice summer evenings Gary and I pack up the dog and cat and drive to the ice cream shop. Puff and Gypsy share a little dish of vanilla ice cream. We all sit in the back of the car with the hatch up, enjoying our peaceful treat time together.

It’s heartbreaking to see her looking so skeletal and ragged. She’s deaf now, always in pain, and gets confused a lot. But she's still purring! It can be harder in some ways to lose a beloved pet, an inter-species friendship, than to lose a person. Animals see the best in you, and love unconditionally. People relationships take work. Pet relationships are a sharing of love and contentment. Losing an animal is losing a being of purity and innocence, one who gave only joy in their life. Something hurts terribly when we lose a person, but something different hurts terribly when we lose an animal friend. I am trying to prepare myself, but I don’t look forward to losing Puff.
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WAVES OF HUMAN DOLPHINS

2005-06-09T13:00:00.000-06:00

Last year at this time, we sold our gallery and started churning up the complacency in our lives. The goal was to find a new way to live, a simpler, more sustainable, less toxic, more harmonious way to live. We wanted a way to live as our truest selves, rather than just working as hard as possible to pay our mortgage. Gary quit his job, determined to find a way to do what he loved for a living. I established a professional practice of holistic healing, which was my part-time work already.

During those heady days of determination to beat the system, we met neighbors we'd never seen before. Other like-minded people, individuals and couples, jumped off the merry-go-round at the same time we did. The synchronicity of humans can be startling. What influence suddenly entered the collective consciousness and propelled some of us off the carousel and over the cliff?

We bonded. Groups of us met for breakfast or for lunch or in our backyards, to discuss how to make this work. All summer and fall we turned ourselves into a community within the community. Various ones of us worked for others of us. A friend jumped ship from her bookkeeping job, and we persuaded her to start her own bookkeeping firm. She did my books and I did healing sessions to help her cope with the death of her sister. Barter is wonderful. Then she started gardening part time for my friend who was starting up an organic gardening business. Gary also gardened with that group, to bring in some income while he found a business that suited him. Another neighbor hired the new gardening group, and the neighborhood community grew. Carpenters, gardeners, electricians worked on one anothers' houses all summer.

Later, Gary helped another neighbor start a business involving natural nontoxic clay paints for interior walls. (shameless plug: www.hallswalls.biz) They created a website and held classes and did samples of their work, but found that there wasn't enough income for two. Meanwhile, they helped Gary remodel our bathrooms, while he made their website. Barter is wonderful. I did healing work for them as needed, in exchange for referrals of new clients. That worked well for all of us.

I held a Company Party for the Self Employed that Christmas. When you work for yourself, there is no company party to get dressed up for at the holidays. So we had our own Company Party. It was a spectacular success! Everyone within this new community got to meet everyone else, if they hadn't already. Business cards were exchanged and new projects were formed.

As winter wore on, the hardship of being self-employed... or "self un-employed" as we fondly called it, became heavier. Savings were running dry for all of us, and the euphoria had worn off. We were becoming worried about medical care and losing our houses. The joyful gatherings of invention turned into serious discussions of how to get something moving quickly.

Just as Gary and I were contemplating emergency measures to ensure our survival, he was offered a better job back at his previous workplace. They missed him there. Gary jumped on the offer, and our sinking ship was reprieved. He determined that he would take a new attitude into the work this time, bringing more of his heart and soul with him, instead of just a work persona.

Right about that same time, I had a remarkable meeting with my monthly women's group. One woman friend, who had done the same things with her life at the same times, had just returned to her former company. She was delighted to return, feeling that she had a brand new view of the job and a real change of heart. Her husband, who had also left his job last May - all of us only met AFTER quitting our jobs simultaneously - had just taken a regular job as well. Another woman in our group had a husband who quit his job last spring too. He had recently decided to stay in his field and return to work, rather than trying to forge a new path. Yet another woman in our group had just taken a job after a year of retreat and contemplation of her life. None of us knew of these developments until our monthly gathering.

And so on, and so on. As abruptly as we all left our usual worlds, we all returned to our former places with new mindsets and new joy.

What causes these mysterious migrations of humans? We have moved through this year with the beautiful synchrony of dolphins leaping in unison. One day, dozens of strangers within a city made a similar move and met the others on this unusual path. We bonded, worked together, invented and planned together. Then one day we scattered back to where we came from.

I think there is a larger social force at work here, some kind of infusion of invisible energy and guidance, to help kickstart society into a new mode. Some of our group took the exciting new energy back to their weary former co-workers. It has had an effect on those folks. Some of our group succeeded in launching a new business over this past year. Our bookkeeping friend is busier than before, loving her freedom. She and another friend have even started a soap-and-lotion-making business for fun. My holistic health practice is booming, and I am writing a book and offering classes. The clay wall paint business is growing slowly but steadily. Many among our group began teaching their favorite topics last year, and have continued doing that. Teaching adds the meaning to their lives that had eluded them previously.

What causes flocks of birds to suddenly turn in midflight? What causes schools of fish to flit as one into a new direction? I think it's the same force that is affecting people like us. We are willing to be moved by the forces of grace and harmony, so therefore we are. We have loosened ourselves out from our tight fit into society. That makes us freer to be be blown by the winds of grace to a spot where we belong. Freedom is a contagion. The more of us who infect the collective human consciousness with thoughts of freedom, the more it spreads. That feels good to me.

(note: if you're new to this blog, read the previously posted stories for the step-by-step walk through this journey. I'm still building this blog, so it's not at all complete yet. Check back in a week or two, and it will be better.)
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2005-06-07T21:50:00.000-06:00

I have such a way with babies! Little Ethan is so cute when he cries.

2005-06-07T20:44:00.000-06:00

A peony!

SEDONA WILDERNESS

2004-10-06T21:55:00.000-06:00

October 6, 2004

Sedona Arizona called our number, and we came running. To be more accurate, my brother called from Sedona, and we went driving. It was a treat to be invited to a desert oasis as beautiful as this town.

The drive to Sedona is like none other. Approaching from the East as we did, we drove through hours of desert and Indian Reservations. Hardly an animal was visible for hundreds of miles, then around a bend we’d come upon a herd of dozens of antelope. Their fur is desert-colored, so it would be easy to miss every one of them. I suspect we passed unknowing by more of them than we saw. The music from the Navajo radio stations was pleasant to my ears, rhythmic and harmonious and somewhat hypnotic. Buttes and mesas made a perfect backdrop for the music… or perhaps the music was the perfect soundtrack for the scenery. I loved the massive mesas with smoothly curved rock edges that looked as if gigantic standing people with featureless faces were crowded together to form the pillar on which the flat top rested. I called those mesas the The Ancestors. (I wish I knew how to upload photos to show you what I mean!) The feeling that comes from those rocks is ancient. It’s easy to understand how generations upon generations of people have had mystical experiences at the feet of those mesas.

My favorite formations were the bigger-than-life red rocks, soaring as high as the equivalent of a fifteen-story building, with three-story-tall, two-city-block-long caves in the front. In several places, Navajo businesspeople had set up stores just outside those caves. I have stopped at such places just so I could be near the mouth of the cave, breathing the breath of the Earth that wafts out.

The visit with my brother, and with my mom who flew out to join us, was a satisfying thing. Family connections are good to reinforce, and also good to keep at a distance. Mom and I both talk too much, so it’s good that we’re not near one another. It would wear us out. We enjoyed a few days of eating and sightseeing and eating and gabbing and eating. My brother rightly called our visit The Eating Club.

A highlight was when a friend took us on a hike through the wilderness outside Sedona. David, who runs www.nhne.com, is a living cornucopia of interesting projects, ideas, people and places. We had no idea what our hike would lead to, but knowing it was an adventure was good enough. As David drove us to the trailhead, we shared our recent dreams. Gary had just dreamed about seeing a rattlesnake, which had no rattles and was not dangerous. Our interpretations of that dream were pretty lame, but we tried. Then we arrived at a park trailhead in what appeared to be a plateau surrounded by massive rock formations. We hiked as swiftly as I have ever hiked for maybe an hour through wild terrain far from the regular path system.

As we approached the foot of one of these red-rock cliffs of The Ancestors, I felt the living essence of the rocks in that area. The aura was thick with a sense of centuries of life. You could say it felt like the presence of The Ancestors whose history was absorbed into those rocks. Before walking up to the rock face, I took a respectful moment to align my thoughts and my presence with that of the area.

I would have sworn I heard the words “Come In” whispered in my ear. Nobody was standing near me, and anyway I didn’t see a way to go “in” to a giant rock. So I shuffled carefully along the narrow trail and peeked around the next edge. To my utter shock, there opened up a cavernous ancient cliff dwelling!

We picked our way past walls through the rubble of ceiling-rocks which fall off in sheets periodically. I was trying to identify the nature of the cave painting ahead of me, when I was startled by the sight of a rattlesnake lying on the clay floor. I’d never seen one outside a zoo before, so I yelled “rattlesnake!” and jumped away. The guys came running, with their cameras. Then I remembered Gary’s dream. This snake lay there without moving, without rattling or coiling. David says he’s never heard of a rattler that didn’t coil and rattle as a warning. Its rattles seemed slightly deformed; they were very small and narrow. We marveled over the way Gary’s dream perfectly mirrored reality. It felt good to be able to interact with a snake in a neighborly way, without snake and humans both running in fear.

The petroglyphs were a wonder to see. This cave was so extremely remote that there was nothing to keep us back from the actual ruins and paintings. Of course, we were as careful as could be. It felt as if we were tiptoeing through somebody’s home, only they weren’t home and it had fallen into disrepair. I wondered if the residents might still be living in another dimension of this place, side by side but unable to perceive us. If time is not linear but holographic and simultaneous (as I suspect it is) then that scenario might well be true. That would explain the profound sense of history being alive. I wondered if their shaman might be having a prickly sense of the presence of someone from another dimension walking through his space unseen. He might be tempted to call out for assistance from the benevolent spirits of the future who were visiting him. We sent love and good wishes out into the cave, just in case. If that old shaman had asked us for a vision of what his future would bring, we’d have been hard pressed to think of a positive way to describe it. Maybe I could have told him that it would involve embracing change and joining with other cultures.

An additional leg of the hike took us another half-hour farther back into the wilderness. David led us to an even more remote and high-up cliff dwelling. It had fewer buildings and rock art, but the view was incomparable. We could see over the top of the desert for miles in all directions but one. Lunch in that cave tasted better for all the effort that went into hiking and scaling the cliff.

Heading back, we got lost for a time. It was actually fun to bushwhack through the scrub and thorns to find our way to the trail again. None of the three of us got worried, I’m happy to say. That would have cut down on the fun quotient. My legs received plenty of cac-u-puncture from the long cactus thorns we passed. At one point I felt something funny in my arm and looked to see two long thorns protruding from my wrist and forearm. It didn’t hurt much. Maybe it cured some ailment within me, as acupuncture might have. A butterfly fluttered around us as we searched for our trail, and followed us all the way back to the car. It was a perfect ending for the day’s expedition.

More southwest adventures will be revealed in the next installment of this story. See you back on the blog in another couple of days!
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CELEBRATION OF COMPLETION

2004-10-02T22:15:00.000-06:00

I took a warm bath tonight, and drifted into that semi-sleep state. Drifting peacefully between the worlds, I realized I was seeing 3 beings of light in front of me. They were profoundly familiar, but I couldn’t see them too clearly. Their unusual names were from some other time and/or realm.

They said they were there to celebrate with me. “Celebrate what?” I asked. They said that as of today, my journey from the day I was born was complete. All debts were paid, all tasks were accomplished. Interesting! They said we should have a party. I asked if they had chocolate there, and they laughingly said yes, but didn’t offer me any, I’m sorry to say. Instead, they lined up before me and said they had gifts. They all spoke telepathically, with one joint thought speaking into my mind.

The first man held out a box for me. It was a mirrored box with a fluttering white butterfly for a lid! Its wings glowed pure white, and I was struck with its sense of purity. Reaching for the lid, I saw that the butterfly was real and living! It telepathically told me that this gift was also from Nature, thanking me for my work on its behalf. The butterfly said “I give you my children.” The box opened, and inside was a pair of earrings. Each was a tiny glowing white butterfly, living as an earring hanging from the silver hook. I reached through the mist that barely separated my world from theirs, and felt my hand going into a slightly different dimension. I put the earrings in my ears, and was suffused with such a sense of the purity of the shining butterflies that my eyes teared up.The middle one of the beings of light handed me his box. It contained a large, thick, leather-bound book with gemstones on the cover: a big sapphire, a big ruby, emerald and diamond. I felt them, but my vision was too unclear to determine their pattern. He said “This is your Book of Life. It is yours now.” I flipped the edges of the pages to riffle through the whole book, and saw quick colorful images of endless faces, places, thoughts and events. There seemed to be summaries of lessons learned too. I was overwhelmed that I had earned the right to read my Book of Life.

The third man held out a huge bouquet of roses, my favorite flower. I was unable to focus on the entire bouquet at once, it was so expansive. One at a time, I looked at each flower and smelled its fragrance. Every single rose was unique in color, form and fragrance. The being said “These are your students.” The bouquet was, I realized, infinite. He handed it to me, and I held it against my chest. Gradually all the roses sunk into my heart, leaving my hands empty but my heart full.
I was nearly speechless. Some part of me realized I was lying in my tub still, but most of me was invested in this vision. They asked me if I had anything to say, and I joked about being naked in the tub when they called this party, so how could I give a speech. Then I sobered my attitude, in view of what they had just done for me. I thanked them and declared that I wanted to dedicate the rest of my days to inspiring people and increasing the love and light in the world. As a final decree, I told them that I was absolutely refusing to do things the hard way any more. I have paid my dues and then some, so I refuse to be given any more difficult assignments. They smiled and agreed.

They left, and I returned to my awareness of the cold bath water. I pondered the ramifications of this ceremony. Could I be nuts? Was it my subconscious? Could it have been real? Was it “just” a dream? Would anyone else on earth believe me if I told them about it? Gary would, and so would my friends who know me well.

I am choosing to write about this on the blog. No matter how the various readers decide to interpret my experience, I am feeling blissful and serene. My hope is that one person may read this and feel their horizons expand somewhat. Life is huge and hopeful, ever spiraling upward and balancing itself out. If we think we know a lot of facts about how life is, we blind ourselves to the unexpected, that we could never dream up. I KNOW I don’t know much at all about the nature of reality. That may be why I experience so much that is beyond the edges of most peoples’ understanding.

Maybe it was just a pleasant dream, but heck, maybe I’m done! All debts paid, all tasks accomplished.
* * * * * *

CHOICES

2004-09-20T21:53:00.000-06:00

September 20, 2004

Talking on the couch with Gary recently, our dilemma resolved into clarity. We were going over our zillion life options, when suddenly we felt visited by wisdom. We began discussing the fact that, if left to our own devices, we knew exactly what we wanted to do. Both of us did. Our problem was that logic and social normalcy didn’t apply to our preferred options. In every other way, the options we would choose fit our skills and choices and tastes perfectly.

We prefer to choose to build a small home on the land in the mountains, and live there half the year. Winter in the mountains isn’t too comfy. The other half of the year we can spend in New Zealand, as our hearts cry to do. There’s no explanation for our obsession with New Zealand, except that we both have it, so why ignore it.

So many pieces fell into place when we realized how deeply we’ve already made our choices. The ways and means seem to be there, to make both happen.

Now the last 6 months makes sense, that we’ve spent combing through every motive and desire in our entire beings. It’s been a necessary time of introspection and sifting. No stone has been left unturned, in our self-analyses. Now it all makes sense. We needed to know our options, and our real priorities. To choose a life of that unusual nature, we had to be crystal clear about what we want to do and why.

I feel brave and clean and clear. I’ve studied everything about myself that I could find, mind, emotions and soul, and can now make decisions based on true self-knowledge. It’s a form of maturity that has developed. Soul maturity, maybe.

So stand back, everybody, and watch us make it happen!
* * * * * *

DIARY OF AN OLYMPIC ATHLETE

2004-09-08T21:52:00.000-06:00

I love the Olympic Games. Rippling muscles glisten as human bodies honed to perfection display and defeat the limits of human capacity. My own body starts to feel fit and muscular and ready to burst into perfectly coordinated action, as I watch them.

Somewhere inside me is an athlete, the one that a major childhood injury has kept in embryonic state. I know I have what it takes to be an athlete, except for the physical capability. That one little factor. I can feel it in my psyche. Watching the athletes brings all that longing and drive and enthusiasm to the surface. I’m ready to soar, leap, fly! I’m half Greek, so it should be possible.

While the Olympics are on, I get to imagine the grand, supreme version of me that I might have become, if everything in my life had been totally different. It feels good to try on an athlete’s body, even if only mentally.

I could have been among the Olympians,
if everything had been different.
* * * * * *

LESSONS FROM A SLUG

2004-09-02T22:14:00.000-06:00

Who do you think is more deserving of a freshly picked ripe strawberry, right off the vine… me, or a slimy little slug?

If you were me, you’d say “Me”. If you were the Creator, you’d say “There is plenty for everyone, and we all need to eat. Why don’t you share.”

Yeah, yeah, you old omniscient know-it-all.

This dilemma presented itself to me this afternoon. I picked the most delectable red-ripe strawberry, with its little green hat intact, only to see a baby slug burrowed head first into the side of the berry.

At first I was upset. It stole my berry. Then I thought about what that slug must be experiencing at that moment. Buried head-first into the sweetest fruit in existence. Buried in sweet juice up to her waist. If she looks around her, and all she can see is shiny bright red walls of fresh living breathing strawberry. Inhaling fragrant wafts of berried air. I can’t blame a mollusk for that kind of sensual behavior.

I walked away, leaving her to her feast of the senses. Lucky little slug. The next day I went out looking for ripe berries, and noticed that she hadn’t finished that particular strawberry. It was still hanging on the vine. I turned it over, and there she still was, unmoving. It appears that my berry-rival died of delight in the midst of her feast!

Again, my first reaction was one of anger over deprivation. Jeez, if she was going to die, why couldn’t she leave the strawberry for me and go die under a leaf somewhere? Then again, I thought of what it must have been like for her as she expired. Full gorgeous immersion of the senses in ecstasy right up til the last moment. That slug was probably glowing with gratitude and delight and appreciation of all things good.

I can hardly imagine a better way to leave this world, than being immersed in appreciating every beauty it has to offer. I can hardly imagine a better way to live.
* * * * * *

THE HARDEST PART OF LEAVING SOMETHING

2004-09-02T22:12:00.000-06:00

The hardest part of leaving something, I believe, is the pulling away.

When we are in the mountains, on the land that we hope to live on, we are happy with everything. All decisions feel right. The road ahead seems clearly defined. Motives are good. Then, as we turn into the driveway of the house we love, doubt and anxiety return. How can we leave this nest we’ve woven and feathered? Neither of us travelers has lived anywhere as long a time as we’ve lived here, since childhood. Our personal life-energies are meshed into the walls.

The hard part is looking around at the home and garden we’ve built, and trying to imagine life without them. Trying to imagine someone else living here is strange. I talk with my clients at my wrought-iron table by the fragrant rose garden. Would new owners make as good use of the extraordinary beauty? Surely nobody could appreciate or care for things the way we have. From the vantage point of standing within our nest, leaving seems unimaginable, like cutting off an arm.

All it takes, though, is to drive away from the magnetic field around the place. As soon as we are beyond its pull, we can breathe freely again. Oh yes. A new home. That is clearly imaginable. A life with fewer anchors. That is what we are aiming for. Freedom to develop our new careers without worrying about how to pay the bills. Barring a sudden infusion of cash, this is the way to reach our goals. Oh yeah.

I feel stretched during this time of pulling away. The original idea had been to become free, not to get stuck in nostalgia. It will be a relief when someone buys the house. We can say a fond farewell to it, then walk away. I’m ready to get on with the next step of this journey.

* * * * * *

BREAKFASTING WITH BIRDS

2004-09-02T21:50:00.000-06:00

September 2004

Over the last two long weekends, we shared our al fresco breakfast hour with an assortment of friendly birds.

Some friends of ours, who live in a hand-built solar-powered off-the-grid home on 40 acres way up in the Rocky mountains, have been away. They asked us to house-sit their property, water the plants, and eat the copious crop of organic greens that is just ready to harvest from their circular straw-bale greenhouses.

(They stack straw bales waist high, and fill the center with rich soil. The vegetables planted there receive protection from the cold mountain winds but still get plenty of sun. The thermal mass of the straw radiates heat to the plants throughout the chilly nights. White porous gardening cloth thrown over the top of each circle helps to hold the heat in. It keeps the elks and deer out, too.)

On the deck is a waist-high platform birdfeeder. The morning rooster of the birdfeeder is a large blue Stellar Jay, who squawks until we fill it. Black oil sunflower seeds and millet is on the menu. After Jay jumps around and eats for awhile, the little nuthatches and titmice zoom down in fluttery groupings and squabble over the seed. There is ample room and mounds of seed, but a few of them fight for territory anyway.

When I refill the feeder later in the day, the little black headed flutterers (I’m not entirely sure which variety of bird is which) stand right there on the feeder. They don’t mind my gigantic presence. When Gypsy the dog sticks her wet snuffly nose right into the middle of the bird party, they get upset. It’s funny to hear the birds scolding Gypsy with the loudest peeps they can muster, while she tucks her tail down and sheepishly looks away. Somebody feathery is at the feeder all day long, with various groupings shifting and interweaving and taking turns.

At sundown the birds mysteriously disappear. Deer, elks and foxes begin to emerge silently. Coyotes make their presence known when the moon rises. Their primordial yipping howls wailing through the moonlit darkness, echoing off each hill in turn, invite shivers on my arms and back of my neck. I get the urge to run naked and barefoot through the forest like a wild animal myself, eating berries and hiding in the bushes. Fortunately, the nighttime temperature and the cactus dissuade me from succumbing to the call of the wild.

When we are up in the mountains, with no TV or radio or human neighbors, we are different. We are peaceful, loving people who move gracefully about our duties. At home, we are rushed, harried people who bump into one another on our way to or from the computer or garage or television or kitchen. I like the mountain version of us better. I would swear there is something in the air, down in the towns and cities, that revs up the irritability factor in people. Crowds and traffic and loud music and demanding customers don’t help the serenity factor either. I have read about microwaves from cell phones permeating the atmosphere and vibrating our cells and brains at an uncomfortable frequency. It’s possible, I suppose.

I wonder if our house will sell and we will be able to live farther away from civilization, as we dream. We can make a regular breakfast date with the birds, and schedule a monthly full-moon howl-a-thon with the coyotes. It’s possible, I suppose.
* * * * * *

CHOCOLATE BLUEBERRY LIFE

2004-08-11T21:49:00.000-06:00

August 10, 2004

The sun is starting its ascent, up from the darkness of the other side of the earth. A fresh morning is still just a gradual brightening on the horizon. Any minute now, the rays of new light will glance off the remains of an old existence, instantly transforming the vestige into a happy memory behind me.

Our home is being assessed daily, by people looking for their own bright future. Our home will be their holy grail, to transform by their labors into their favorite flavor of dream. Our gift to the eventual buyers is a lovely home to envelop them. Their gift to us will be the freedom to roam and experiment and sample new flavors of dreams until we choose our favorite. I’d like a chocolate home on a blueberry beach with a raspberry mountain behind it, a hot fudge lawn and a big strawberry for a chimney!

The joy is seeping back into me, seeping through the cracks torn in my heart by temporarily losing my sense of security. I don’t want to feel as if it’s the home that anchors and shelters me. Even when I find myself in my own home again, I want to feel anchored on the planet and sheltered by the Creator. There is no loss, no possessiveness, under those conditions. I am always home, always cared for. What a peaceful, secure, wealthy way to live! That sounds like a chocolate blueberry hot fudge life to me.
* * * * * *

A HEART AT PEACE

2004-08-10T21:48:00.000-06:00

August 9, 2004

Hi everyone,

For those who became concerned, here is an update. Three days later, I am feeling pretty much fine. I've had a bothersome mitral valve problem since I was young, so this episode was not reallly a surprise. The intensity and duration were the surprise. I attribute that partially to the stress of what we are doing, and the doctor says that my thyroid was contributing to the problem at this point.

The ol' thyroid is now under better control and I'm experimenting with new mindsets and attitudes of perception that will result in greater relaxation during the changes.

All is well. All will continue to be well. Everything is in its right place. For some reason, I am at peace with the perfection of absolutely everything. Perhaps the health crisis created a context within which our personal instability looks like a piece of cake. No matter what the reason, I am grateful for reprieve from anxiety.
* * * * * *

Diagnosis: Exposure to E.R.

2004-08-08T21:46:00.000-06:00

August 8, 2004

The hospital emergency room is no place for a sick person.

I spent most of yesterday there, after experiencing harsh chest pains. When it became hard to breathe, concensus dictated that I should make the dreaded trek. As I suspected, it did me very little good except to provide evidence that I was not having a heart attack. My mitral valve (in the heart) was acting up, and so was my thyroid, and that combination gave me trouble. I dread getting the bill.

An interesting development in the saga of the heart, was that I collapsed into bed at 8:00 the night before - highly unusual for a night owl like me - and felt some chest pains then. About an hour later I was awakened by a rare phone call from Dave of the No Code blog (see link to the left of this article). He is an ER Nurse and Physician Assistant, who tells some pretty funny stories from the ER. His latest is about patients who can’t answer the simplest intake questions accurately. We talked for an hour, and I went back to bed.

The next morning, I was in the ER myself. During intake, I was trying to get enough breath and trying to deal with pain, and still figure out my social security number and whether I’m pregnant or take drugs or feel safe in my home. Inwardly I was laughing at the scenario, because I couldn’t think of the accurate answers to several of those basic questions. I told her I hadn’t had an episode of pain like this before, then a few minutes later told her I’d had pain the night before, and she sharply asked “Didn’t you just say you’d never ….?” If only Dave could see me now, I was thinking! I was half drifting into sleep during the whole event, oddly, and it looked pretty comical from where I was drifting.

Several tests were performed, and then a radiologist took me down to X-ray my chest. He was a friendly fellow who seemed intent on planting a suggestion that I might have pneumonia, of all things. I was chilled by his strange focus. I was fainting from a vaso-vegal response after having my blood drawn, as he tried to stand me up for the x-ray. He said “Maybe you have pneumonia, because I have a lot of people who can’t stand up because of pneumonia.” Then he filled the time telling me about how he also faints after blood draws, and how pneumonia made it worse. On the way back through the ER doors, he told me again that some of the reasons I might be feeling poorly are this, that and pneumonia. So bizarre! I really wanted to strongly counter his vibe of wishing pneumonia on me, so I stated loudly, “But I don’t have it.”

Then hours passed with no activity. I was amazed that at no point did anyone offer me water. We live in a desert, and drinking water is necessary on an hourly basis. How could something so basic be overlooked, here in a supposed bastion of health? Gary went and got us some water eventually. Mid-afternoon rolled around, and nobody had offered me any food. Was it really good practice to let an already-compromised person go without food as well? Half an hour after asking, they brought me this: A sandwich of processed turkey and processed cheese (which smelled rancid) on very dry nutritionless white bread. No lettuce, nothing healthful, and again no water. I had to peel off the sour-smelling cheese and throw away the week-old bread. I just ate the tasteless turkey.

The nurses were very pleasant, and the new young doctor seemed to be trying his best to think up something useful to tell me. I was just astounded, though, to see the utter absence of attention to wellness. No water, not interest in feeding me, then miserable material to eat which was almost worse than not eating. Most likely they were short-staffed like all hospitals.

When I started regaining my strength, I started getting bored. I found that I could make the little heartbeat patterns on the monitor make interesting shapes when I talked or held my breath or wiggled in the bed. That was borderline fun.

I finally checked myself out Against Medical Orders, because there was no reason to stay. They kept saying “Just a little longer, and the test results will be back and the doctor will see you again.” More hours passed. I had already had a long talk with him, and gotten all the pertinent information. There were patients lining the hallway of the ER on stretchers, and here I was taking up a bed for no reason at all. My roommate was begging for a private room, they had none to offer, and I was eager to bolt. My nurse promised they would call me if the final tests showed anything negative.

Nobody called, but I’m sure I know what the tests would have shown. Malnourishment and dehydration! But certainly not pneumonia.
* * * * * *

Diagnosis: Exposure to E.R.

2004-08-08T21:40:00.000-06:00

Introduction

2004-07-20T10:41:00.000-06:00

Hi Everyone!

This blog was created to follow our adventures as Gary and I carefully figure out how to radically change our life. We are tired of the "normal" way of life, wherein we must make large amounts of money in order to pay our mortgage and bills and have lots of posessions. After years of reading about it and wondering about it, we are now planning and doing it. What is "it"? We are simplifying our lifestyle, streamlining our needs, and becoming far more self-sufficient. We have sold our gallery, are preparing to sell our home, and will emerge debt-free.

Without all those encumbrances, we will be free. Free to follow our whims and dreams, free to be blown by the winds of Grace to where we are needed, free to be moved as naturally as the Flow of Life flows.

The plan requires that several crucial decisions be made. We have recently been to New Zealand (www.nhne.com/specialreports/bw-newzealand) , and crave the beautiful clear atmosphere of that country. There are possibilities within the U.S. that we are considering. How it will shape up in the long run remains to be seen.

Stay tuned for our adventures! I hope to hear from some of you... comments are very much welcomed. Feedback is a fine thing. All of us humans need one another, so I welcome your participation in this blog.

with love to all,
Wandering Willow

THE PANIC CRASH

2004-07-02T21:36:00.000-06:00

Home and security are powerful forces. Disrupt those, and you disrupt the soul, the emotions, the mind, even perception.

Our real estate agent came over to discuss listing our home for sale. We’ve been planning this moment for months, mulling over the idea for years. Now that we’re faced with the moment to make it real…. Panic! Utter panic! Gary went through it one day, and I consoled him. Then I went through it two days later and tried to console myself.

Suddenly our entire rationale for change seems absurd. Our goals seem insane. How could we have ever thought this made sense? We have a beautiful home, full of comfortable places to sit and interesting things to do and a cozy nest to sleep in. The grounds are full of blossoming flowers and fresh salad greens and berries and fruits. My rose garden uplifts my spirits every time I pass by. Our dog loves our pet bunnies, and will miss them when they go to live with some friends. Here we are disrupting the animals lives, the gardens, our own lives and the lives of our friends and neighbors. What are we torturing ourselves for?

…and so on. The panic complaints get pretty far-fetched after awhile.
We keep returning to our plan, with varying levels of gusto. Our brains want to proceed, but our hearts are torn by leaving our home.

The wise real estate agent told us that we needed to say goodbye to our home and garden. She said that, in her experience, if a seller doesn’t actively relinquish the home as their own domain, it won’t sell.

It’s probably true. I have dabbled with saying goodbye. Today I said goodbye to the living room, with its pretty fireplace and mantel with a friend’s sculptures on it. I tried saying goodbye to the mountains outside our window, but the place we intend to move to has a great view of the opposite side of it. No point in saying goodbye to the eastern face, when we’ll still be looking at the western face. I said goodbye to a floral painted vase, that I bought right after my divorce 15 years ago. I think of it as my independence vase, representing my own tastes rather than the ex’s. I experimented with standing in the hallway and looking at the house and picturing it as someone else’s. It was an odd feeling, but I think I can do it.

This evening I was in a friend’s home. My guts ached with a longing for the security they have in their home. They’re not pulling up roots. They get to keep their possessions. Clearly I haven’t said a sincere goodbye yet.

It is strange to be feeling this way! Our adventure has been so important to both of us, but now we’re feeling the entire spectrum of basic human emotions about security. It’s humbling. I realize that I thought I was beyond those feelings. Hah. My self-expectations are high, but my humanity is as vulnerable as everyone's.
* * * * *

© Copyright 2005 bonnie willow.

BIG FAT DECISION #1

2004-07-02T21:34:00.000-06:00

Written July 28, 2004

Our largest decision has been made. Though we dearly yearn to return to New Zealand for two or three years, (www.nhne.com/specialreports/bw-newzealand) we have decided to stay in the U.S. The turning point came when our little grandson Ethan was born. Ethan’s dad encouraged us to stick to our New Zealand plans, but ohmygod there's a new baby in the family! There's no way we're leaving now.

The next step is to find a way to create the lifestyle that we resonated with in New Zealand. Requirements: a slow pace, a location where wild open spaces outnumber civilized towns, work that helps humanity in some way, a mortgage-free home, garden and greenhouse, a sustainable non-polluting nature-friendly living pattern, and proximity to water. A river, an ocean, a lake, or even a lot of puddles on the ground will do! Our decade of living in a desert during a drought has left us craving water.

Another factor was the offer to spend time on some land in the mountains owned by our friends. They have plenty of room for us to put up some kind of structure and stay until we get blown along by the winds of fate. That got us thinking about putting up a yurt (www.coloradoyurt.com).

Then a different friend told us about the stunning 40-acre plot of land she’s buying in the mountains. She sighed that she wished she knew how to get someone else to live on that land too. She was tired of doing her nature projects by herself. She was overwhelmed by the prospect of putting up her greenhouse and her yurt all alone, and of planning her whole organic garden setup without input from anyone else. Well geez, I know of a solution for her problems! Our plans and needs seem to dovetail perfectly, so we began brainstorming. Presuming that everything falls into perfect place, we three aim to live there in yurts and build a greenhouse and gardens. Real homes can come along later, after we’ve proven to ourselves that this plan will work.

Our current home will have to be sold, in order for us to be available for our new pursuits. As it is profusely gardened – organic, low-water, edible plants fill every corner of our yard, with rock-lined paths winding between – we have to sell it during the summer while everything is in bloom. That gives us…. let’s see…. just about 10 minutes to fix up and clean up our house to put it on the market, if we want to sell it during summer! We have already sprung into action on that front.

It is invigorating to have a plan beginning to form. It is thrilling to feel that our desire to step out of the mainstream and be blown by the winds of Grace is happening! We are willing to risk everything, and we’re counting on Grace to lead us into something meaningful. The trick will be to open our eyes and see the smaller meaningful moments all along the way. The journey can be as rich as the destination.
* * * * *

BABIES

2004-07-02T21:32:00.000-06:00

Today my husband kissed a grandmother. Right on the lips. mmmwwwaaaah. (ewww!) And I just stood there smiling.

'Cause it was me!

I've finally figured out how to have a child in my life. Chronically childless, I never succeeded in giving birth. My nieces and nephews have filled the gap to a fine degree, and I am glad. My sister adopted a gorgeous baby girl, and I got to name her the name I would have given a daughter of my own. Rose. (It's her middle name) We are very close, thankfully.I married a man with two children who visited several times a year. That decision led to my eventually having a baby in my life.

My stepson is now a new father to an adorable little boy named Ethan. Ethan has made me a childless grandmother. We're developing the kind of grandmother/grandchild bond that hopefully will develop into a lifetime of love. We already have some special games that we play together, even though he's only 4 months old. I just love carrying him around and feeling his warm baby snuggling and smelling his baby-fragranced head.

Only problem is that now I have to kiss a grandfather. ewww. Right on the lips.
* * * * * *

Voluntary Simplicity Considered

2004-07-02T21:27:00.000-06:00

July 21, 2004

There is so much to consider, when a person is thinking of ending their old way of life and embarking on a new one. The thought of selling our home and all our possessions is freeing. There is almost a kind of high that I feel when I imagine being that unencumbered and flexible. It's a Living-In-The-Moment Zen-kind of feeling. Then there are the moments when I'm cooking in my nice kitchen or working at my nice desk and I wonder what got ionto me, to give all this up. Being human means being fallible and emotional, among other things. That's me.

There is something inside me that is determined to leave the rat-maze, no matter what the personal cost. Our current societies are set up to separate people from their families and communities... there is expectation that we MUST go off to work somewhere and make enough money to have the same things that other people have (T.V., CD player, video player, DVD player, new furniture, a car for every adult, etc). The normal routine is to go into debt in order to buy these things. Then the interest keeps a person in debt for far longer than they had planned. And so it goes, on and on.

Gary and I are interested in a lifestyle where we need less, use less, crave less. We are not interested in austerity or poverty. Simplicity is more accurate.

Can we find such a lifestyle? We saw it when we were in New Zealand earlier this year. (www.nhne.com/specialreports/bw-newzealand) and were inspired by their examples. The question currently up for discussion is whether to get rid of everything and go to spend a few years in New Zealand, or stay in this country and try to create a non-materialistic lifestyle here.
Is there anyone else here who is interested in such a change? I'd love to hear your viewpoint.
* * * * * *

Near Death Experience - A Beginning

2004-07-02T21:26:00.000-06:00

July 18, 2004

Much of my radical transformation began exactly two years ago today. I met death in the night, came away with life, and wondered what to do next.

I had spent a blissful, uplifting day on 700 acres of forest and meadow, high in the Colorado mountains. Good friends doing good work was the theme for our annual Community Festival. My heart rested in the peaceful understanding that plenty of humans were living lives of love and balance, focused on helping rather than hindering all the rest of the inhabitants of our planet. Hope was restored in my bitter recesses.
Returning that night, I drove carefully along the unfamiliar, unlit road snaking among the foothills, glad for my headlights. I sang as I drove, still feeling my heart and soul expanded to twenty times their usual size. Hope was restored, and all was well.

Abruptly, I shifted into another consciousness. I just KNEW that I had a choice, and there was no room for error: if I put my foot on the brake that second, my life would continue. If I didn’t, my life would be finished because I had done everything I’d needed to do and this was my exit door.

Time stood still, as it only does in the face of death.

I felt myself rise up. There was an infinite amount of time and serenity to consider the situation. Firstly, I didn’t know why this dilemma was presented, because I seemed to be the only car on this backwoods road. I saw that my life was completed, and was profoundly grateful that I had met my requirements. This life had been a rough one, I thought, and it would be a relief to be done with it. I was grateful for that opportunity. I saw what path my husband would take, and I knew he would eventually be well and happy. But hope had been restored! I had gained skills to not only cope, but to become a source of inspiration for others sometimes. My life was starting to be used as a beacon, and as a way to help others unburden themselves. This was no time to leave! I could stay and be useful in the service of Light.

As that decision formed, I dropped back into regular awareness and hit the brake hard. No time had passed. The next instant, a car appeared from around a sharp curve over a hill in the darkness. It zoomed past me at top speed, missing me by only one inch. Its thunderous passing shook my car. I was stunned.

There was no point in stopping for long. My car, itself reprieved, seemed to creep along of its own accord for the next few miles. Somehow my brain was at a standstill and in a whirl at the same time. This had happened! Really! I met the end of my life, yet chose to stay. What…? What did that mean? What did that mean about my purpose? What did that mean about my self-definition? My marriage? My gallery? Every topic seemed so small, in comparison to the infinity stretching beyond a completed lifetime.

By the time I reached home, all I knew was that everything was different. How different, why different, what next… all of that was a mystery. I told my husband that this was the day he didn’t become a widower. He seemed moved. Clearly, though, the experience was impossible to convey.

The next year was confusing for me. I wondered if I still belonged in my life. If I hadn’t hit the brakes, my husband would be elsewhere doing different things. Was I now standing in his way, when I should have been gone? He was perplexed by my thoughts, but I had to consider it all. Where did I fit? If my blueprint was fully completed at that ending of my life, I was now beyond the blueprint. No personal guidelines existed, that I could see. General human guidelines, yes, but no plan for me.

I decided that I had to make the most mindful and productive use of my “extra” days and years. Soon thereafter I began to undertake new projects aside from working at my gallery. I brought speakers to the area, to teach on interesting topics, or to give classes. Books on various mystical subjects appealed to me. New discoveries in physics fascinated me. I prayed for clarity and direction. I questioned the meaning of everything to the point of absurdity. So much illusion is built into our society, and I was determined to see beyond it.

Two years swirled by. I no longer feel as if I’m in my husband’s way. I have sold my gallery, in order to pursue my newer career in healing. I’ve studied three styles of energy healing over the last two decades, including Reiki, and now combine them for greater effectiveness. It involves a lot of prayer, and that is perfect for my current focus. I’m finding great satisfaction in walking through life in a state of prayer. Certainly I still pray for direction. A new blueprint might be helpful, and I do need help. Clearly the changes are nowhere near ending.
* * * * * *

The Eye of the Needle

2004-07-02T21:21:00.000-06:00

July 2004

Tonight I packed box after box of heirloom china: a teapot from 1750, handpainted plates and salt dishes from my great grandparents, a doily that my grandmother crocheted in Greece as a teen for her hope chest. These are going to storage in my sister's house until such time as we settle down again. I caressed their shiny curves as I packed them. It's hard to say goodbye to these treasures.

Giving up all of my established context in order to dive into The Flow of Grace is a mixed blessing. E-mailing with my favorite blogger Real Live Preacher (see link ) tonight brought some of the issues to the surface. He commented that this kind of life sounds like a dream.
Yeah, it does sound like a dream. One that can be lived, though, if a person has a few qualifications: 1) no young kids at home, 2) the willingness to let go of material and emotional attachments, 3) a lot of courage to face the unknown, and 4) faith that this call to change will be supported by the ability to find a new path. (i.e. that darn Grace had better flow, or we're sunk!) We qualify, so we're going for it.

Whew, is it hard to let go, though! I'm not a bible reader, but one line keeps going through my head as we address the changes coming up: "It's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven." Suddenly that quote lights up in my mind and makes perfect sense! I'm tempted to abandon the dream of living freely in the Flow, just so I can still have my comfy house and rose garden and all the "stuff" given to me by loved ones. It's hard to part with the hundreds of things I've made or gathered that sit as silent evidence of my existence.

That last line may be the crux of it all. If I get rid of everything, then where is the proof of my accomplishments? Where is my history? What bolsters my ego and public image? What defines me and reminds me of that definition?

Nuthin'.

Life becomes a simple matter of breathing and BEing living proof of all that I've learned. I become the tree from which the fruit falls in evidence of what I am.

with love to all who read this,
~ Wandering Willow ~

SYLPHS and UNICORNS

2004-06-26T21:29:00.000-06:00

Written June 24, 2004 – on the road

Sylphs have been on my mind.

As we drove to the east coast, clouds whirled like white lace on blue silk above the highway. Legend says that spirits of the air called Sylphs disguise themselves as wispy clouds as they monitor the Earth’s atmosphere. Sylphs govern the winds, clean the air, create windstorms when needed. They are cousins to the Undines, spirits of water. Both serve as balancers and regulators of the elements, according to those legends. A person might catch a sylph dancing as a cloud, and never know it.

We saw one for sure in Maryland. Gary and I sat on a cliff overlooking the Patuxent River. Swans swerved through the water’s ripples, slower than the lazy sailboats. The sunset turned the river pastel pink and blue, reflecting the cloud patches above. Four white swans wove back and forth across the sparkling gold path linking the beach to the setting sun.

I glanced up. The clouds had formed a perfect swan shape. Pink swan, dark gray beak and wing, dark blue strip beneath to represent the river. We stared, amazed. What perfect coincidence! After fifteen minutes the sunset passed, the cloud dispersed, and we were left in the wake of awe. Was it a sylph?

These legendary creatures really appeal to my desire for a just and innocent world. Unicorns: only the pure in heart can see them. Brownies come into peoples’ homes at night to help with tasks while they sleep. I want to live in a world where Sylphs swirl over the highway cleaning up the fumes from our cars, while Undines scrub the ocean.

As Gary and I recreate ourselves, maybe we should shed our jaded skepticism too. Some cultures view absolutely everything as alive. Why can’t we? This is a good day to look for Unicorns. I’ll leave a job list for the Brownies tonight, and check the sky for Sylphs.

I just hope there are no Undines in my bathtub.

© Copyright 2005 bonnie willow.

Chess Board Ballet

2004-06-22T04:10:00.000-06:00

June 22, 2004

There are times when the Hand of the Creator reaches into your innards and rearranges everything. Heart where brain used to be. Courage where chicken used to be. Blank slate where once a vision of the future grew. A ripe Present suddenly feels like an intolerably mouldy Past.
What is s/he thinking, that Creator of ours? My life was lovely, progressing along a comprehensible path with verifiable milestones in an orderly way. Marry wrong man, have adventures and suffer, get divorced. Travel around country, find way-better partner and marry him. Have adventures without suffering. Buy nice home, make it reflection of us, plant big gardens. Buy a gallery in a beautiful paradisical mountain town, make it into a big success, become part of the community, make big batch of friends. Study other things, sell gallery, use profit to start exciting new business.
Then came the confusing part. Start thinking of selling everything?? Dream of having nothing and being free?? Notice that husband is having the same dreams?? Long to travel unencumbered, finding things that call to me and require my attention in unexpected places?? What kind of next step is this??? I'm supposed to be planning sensibly for eventual retirement at this point. *nuh-uh.*
I am longing to give myself over to the Flow of Spirit and Grace. I know the One who made us all loves it when we do that; I've seen it happen in my life and in the lives of others. Somewhere, someone is sitting around with an answer to a question I've been asking. Somewhere else, someone is sitting around wondering about a question that I have an answer for. Or they need something I have. Or I need something they have. I know it because I've lived this way for short periods of time. Magic pervades every hour and every breath, when we allow The Flow of Spirit and Grace to move us like a ballet of chess pieces. I'm really in the mood to pirouette across the chess board, instead of continuing to decorate my own square.
Fortunately, The Flow has seen fit to sweep G. along at the same pace. We are itching to pitch everything overboard and live like Gypsies. Speaking of Gypsies, our dog Gypsy is confused and looking forlorn. We have no idea - yet - how a dog might fit into our future. That's a weighty issue to tackle. Very sadly but very fortuitously, our creaky old beloved cat Puff is descending into her last days. Our hearts are breaking, but we are glad that her life's timing dovetails with the larger changes.
It's raining this week, in our dusty drought-thirsty Rocky Mountain home: moisture to slake the thirst and encourage new growth. It's raining Grace in our lives, as The Flow fills our hearts and souls and encourages new growth. We're sprouting all over the place. Flowing.
With love to all,~ Willow ~

PORN AND CORN

2004-06-06T21:52:00.000-06:00

Here is a story I wrote during our cross-country soul-searching drive this spring. It represents the kind of things you think about long and hard, when you're stuck in a car for hours and hours and days and days.

June 2004
In the middle of the U.S., a mystery waits to be unraveled. We noticed this when driving cross-country recently.

Missouri, Kansas and Indiana grow enough corn to feed all the cows on earth and probably on several other planets too. Driving the interstate highway through these areas is boring, due to the unchanging scenery. Corn. Then a dirt road. Then a town with 8 buildings. Then more corn. For days.

The mystery glares from nearly every exit off the interstate. Billboards all across the states announce the proximity and convenience of something I’d never realized existed: “XXX Adult Superstores”. We didn’t see a single “XXX Adult Superstore” in any other state. Maybe we just didn’t look in the right places. No prominent billboards, anyway.

I personally don’t care whether or not these super stores exist. I’m sure they fill a niche. But what’s with the quantity and overblown stature of these places??

We came up with a couple of theories.
1) The farmers are really, really bored. All they can see stretching before them, til the day they draw their last breath, is an eternal parade of identical green shafts, identically spaced, growing identically slowly. Little skinny green soldiers, marching, marching, marching, marching in perfect formation, going nowhere. Marching, marching. With little yellow tassels on their hats. That spectre in my future might drive me to an XXX Superstore myself.
2) Or maybe the residents feel that their states have nothing of sufficient interest to bring in tourist dollars from the interstate traffic. They may have heard from their road-tripping visitors that the monotonous parades of marching, marching, marching corn were driving them mad. Perhaps they dreamed up these Superstores in a desperate attempt to capitalize on the only other up-and-coming industry they could think of. Something dramatic enough to really take a driver’s mind off of corn. Porn.

They just go together, don’tcha think? Corn and porn. One boring, one not. One fills the need to sustain ourselves physically. The other fills the need to see and think about something more interesting than endless identical green stalks. Porn and corn. A match made in heaven. Or not.
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Zen Spider Web

2004-06-02T21:23:00.000-06:00

June 27, 2004 - Solomon's Island, Maryland

A spider hangs in an invisible web, draped between shady sycamore branches by the river’s edge. I’m confident, I have faith, that there IS a web, but all I can see is a spider, suspended, encircled by branches. All traces of its methods of arrival, departure and support are obliterated by a trick of the overhanging shadow.

The spider herself weaves and hunts and eats as she always has. What’s required still must be done, no matter what the status of light vs. dark. Surely she can see her web better at some times than at others; regardless, she goes about her business. As in the old Zen saying, “Before enlightenment, chop wood and carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood and carry water.”
Is it myself she’s mirroring, hanging in suspense? I can’t see what supports me, nor can I see where I’m headed. Less and less of my past remains, and none of my future is sure.

Time to chop wood and carry water.

~ Wandering Willow ~

Across The Face of America

2004-06-01T21:24:00.000-06:00

Gary and I have just returned from a three week drive across the face of America. You could call it a Vision Quest.

The original impetus was to attend my nephew’s 21st birthday party on the east coast. We expanded it into a driving adventure, stopping to visit relatives and old friends and old places. We wanted to reconnect with significant pieces of our pasts, learn from them, and let go what needed to be let go of. The scope of this endeavor grew out of control, until we weren’t controlling it any longer. A birthday party trip turned into a vehicle to scrutinize and reassess everything we lived for and everything we planned to live for.

Driving turned out to be the key. Hours and hours in the car left room for long meandering conversations and ruminations that we would never find time for in our busy daily lives. We chewed on tough concepts that we could never fully digest before. I’d doze off and awaken with new insights into something we had been discussing. The hypnotic monotony of endless passing cornfields seemed to induce an altered state, to open up new parts of our subconscious for assessment.

Every day or two we stopped at someone else’s home for a visit. Those interactions would spark new insights into the situation, for us to talk about in the car on the way to the next place. Sometimes billboards espousing some current issue would set off explorations into the nature of existence, and right and wrong. In one area, we saw billboards about the importance of being “Pro Life” and holding all human life as sacred. OK, I also think life is sacred. Alongside were billboards about how important gun ownership is, as well as signs celebrating the war. The juxtaposition seemed so odd… the sacredness of human life seemed limited only to those who haven’t been born yet.

Then we’d need a break from all the heavy discussions, and start singing along loudly with the music we brought. I had a fine time singing the old Beatles song “Love Me Do” in the style of Louis Armstrong: “Love, love me do…. yesssss” (I guess you had to be there to appreciate it.) Overall, it was fun as well as deep.

I wrote several stories along the way, inspired or mystified by one situation or another. These will be posted within the next few days.

With an e-hug to everyone.

The Willow, temporarily back from wandering
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