The glass half full.

I remember as a child making a choice.

I was in grade school learning about synonyms and antonyms. The one that caught my attention was optimism and pessimism. I remember deciding in that moment to be an optimist. And on the question of the half glass I decided my glass would be half full.

This choice carried me through many years of hardship and confusion. But my half glass was as a light ship. And I was never completely bereft.

Over time I lost the threads of optimism and sank into depression. Feeling my glass to be half full of nothing much.

Out of touch with optimism yet still holding on and moving through.

Until I realized, my glass, is a self replenishing, over flowing cup of existence.

To be savored. Every drop.

The half full glass, a frozen moment in time between fulfillment and release. We drink from it till empty. Feel satiated and rest. Only to drink again.

Kathryn

 

 

Advertisements

Silence’ Echo

Where Peace?

Old thoughts echo through the chambers of mind. Repeating yet fading into nothingness. Making way for the cool breeze and warm sun of spiritual knowing.

It is not to take up the clarion call of the vanishing echo, to once again fill up the caverns of noise.

But to sit patiently…. To the song of drip, drip, drip or splash and scuffle. Rustle and whistle of wind.

In that calm chaos, a voice gives rise to the timeless whisper of peace.

Kathryn

A Day Out Of Time!

Finally out of time and its constraints.

It is a Tuesday in April. At least officially, based on the calendar of the day. April 11th a day of the full moon.

The energies of this moon have brought to the surface a new energy. Synchronicity is such that this day became a day of rest… a day out of time.

My work left me stressed and in a state of questioning. So I slept little in the Monday overnight into Tuesday. My plans dissolving into surrender. Early morning fatigue and sleep.

I woke into a gentleness of spirit and softness in the air around me. Once again I surrendered into nothingness to bathe in the energies of forgiveness and love.

Recognizing that all I can do…

All I can be… in this moment is silent and still.

Fatigued with a purpose of letting go of the to-do list… the need to fulfill my ego’s plan.

Willing to fail. Open to follow the birth of this moment.

It felt like Sunday, the Sabbath. A day of rest… A day out of time.

Conversation with a friend of kindred spirit, lifted my spirits, swayed my fatigue and confirmed my sense of the moment. Thank you!

In surrender to something greater than my capacity to know. I cleaned myself up and wandered into the street.

Earlier I could not muster to move. I gazed out the window and felt the gentle sweet energy of spring. Gazing at the blossoms, listening to the call of the birds, but feeling somehow apart.

Not knowing what to do to enter this blessed reality I followed my craving for coffee and cake, and went to my neighborhood coffee shop for a bite of addiction… that which I had previously promised not to do.

In taking the bite, I was invited into the world and enjoyed every bit and sip. Then rather than linger and peruse my email/phone messages, I went out into the afternoon sun.

Grateful that I made it out of my cave, my gazing from the window to venture outside into engagement with the world.

Not the world of news and conflict, but the world of natural truth. The sweet vapor of Pacha-Mama, Gaia, rising from our earth mother like a sweet nectar.

…Calling me to rest in the new truth. The true reality of this transformed world. It… She is always here, waiting patiently for us to connect..

“I am here beloved, I am here. Your natural mother. For an eternity I am here. My embrace awaits you. My love eternally awaits you. Come to me now and live victorious”

…So on this day, I did follow my footsteps, and watched as they led me to an old friend. A beloved mother in the form of a tree.

I didn’t have the strength, the energy, the desire to make it just a few more steps to the park, just a short distance away. So I sat on a bench before my beloved tree. A being with a spray of branches to mark its expanded heart.

I sat before her and breathed her heart’s vibration into my own. I felt her energy merge with mine, helping me to heal by reawakening my breath. My connection to my very soul.

Not in words, in feeling… in being! Experiencing the I AM, in a state as vital and connected to source as my beloved tree.

My healer, my mentor expanded my breath. The Breath released and transformed my sorrow. I had not recognized this, as the source of my apparent paralysis of being. My feelings of stagnation and malaise.

Together we released and transformed that sorrow, which was not completely my own. But was that which I carried, transmitted from my ancestral past through the DNA. I saw and felt, then cleared the suffering of my ancestral past. And in so doing awakened to the presence of my Ancestral Soul.

My tree and I shared the same breath, dissolving the pain brought forth by generations of pain. Released and returned to the love of Divine Truth, of Divine Nature, whose nectar of healing returned me home…

Blessed

Loving Despite Loss

I am one of the lucky ones. Being a woman who was loved and respected by her mother, adored by her father, protected and honored by her brothers.

My early life provided a cocoon that nourishes me to this very day.

By the time I was nine, my life had been shattered. My mother diagnosed with M.S., and my father gone off to the Viet Nam war, I was left alone, to care for my family and navigate my path through life.

Of course I was not totally alone. It only felt that way. There were grandparents, uncles and aunts, SSI and welfare benefits, care givers and hospitals.

But at the end of the day, when the elders had come and gone, I was left 24/7 to hold all the pieces together. I cared for my mom, took the little ones to school, I shopped and cooked and tried to keep house.

All the while, escaping into my dreams. Day dreams in which I pretended to be other beings, who lived other lives. My inner world giving contrast to my life”s struggles.

Outwardly, creative expression provided a space of refuge and gave meaning to my life. I sang in the chorus at grade school and went on to study art.

From the South Bronx to Manhattan, I eventually discovered Harlem, and a youth group called “40 Acres and A Mule.” We published a newspaper supported by the New York Urban League. I met the legendary *Dorothy Height and was inspired to become a writer.

After college my best friend and I journeyed across America, traveling by greyhound bus, we saw the endless corn fields of Iowa, explored the great parks, Grand Canyon and Yellowstone, and we enjoyed the beautiful colors and tones of the sunsets and stones in Arizona and New Mexico.

I had left my mom in the care of her mother.

It was my grandmother that put my mom in a care facility. She said it was a good place and she wanted me to have a better chance at life. As it turned out the place was not so good.

For the next 10 or so years I traveled to an fro. From work, to hospital to home. Making sure she was fed, taking care to keep her clean. And most of all, holding her hands, gazing into her eyes, loving her and making sure she would never feel alone or abandoned. We held each other’s hearts as kindred spirits and soul mates.

I was with her when she passed over. The last in a series of medical crisis.

In a real hospital we waited over 30 hours for a room. After some days, a series of events led to the intensive care unit.

I sat at her side, staring into her eyes, while her lips and fingers turned blue.

At a point she began to repeat almost as a chant or mantra… I Love you, I Love You, I Love You, until my shock turned into comprehension.

My stare fell into her eyes, falling into the dark iris, where for a moment I saw her.

In her eyes I merged into spaciousness. It held the appearance of space and stars, and felt illumined by absolute and unconditional love.

But in a moment I was ushered outside, into the hall to wait. I waited and waited. All the while feeling beckoned to leave. Thinking how strange this was, I took a break and travelled across the river, high above it, in a tram.

It was here that she came to me, and I realized she was gone. And was yet, still here.

I felt her energy merge with mine and we coexisted for the next few hours. Though I recognized her, she was more than my mother.

So it was upon her death that I learned of and first experienced the bliss of spiritual being. This beautiful union left me no reason to mourn, as I walked through the formalities of burial.

I knew, she was not there in the ground. She continued to live, as part of the heavens.

 

*Dorothy Irene Height (March 24, 1912 – April 20, 2010), an American administrator and educator, was a civil rights and women’s rights activist specifically focused on the issues of African-American women, including unemployment, illiteracy, and voter awareness. She was the president of the National Council of Negro Women for forty years and was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1994 and the Congressional Gold Medal in 2004.