A Light of Great Beauty

I have been revisiting the Course In Miracles 3rd as a tool for morning meditation.  Occasionally, when I settle back into stillness, I begin to "hear" a straightforward communication from my guides.  I do not hear an audible voice, but instead a stream of coherent thought occurs.  This is how Helen Schucman, the author of the Course describes her own experience, as merely taking a sort of dictation.  Much of the follow thought I offer is as a result of my twenty year study of the Course and how its teachings have integrated my spiritual understanding.  However, this "block" of teaching I received is written here exactly as I received it during my meditation and is not contrived or composed as an essay might be.  To my knowledge, there is only one direct quote from the Course in this teaching and it appears in quotation marks and is from Lesson 31 on page 48 in the Workbook for Students.  It is a particularly pivotal lesson in my own spiritual growth process, one to which I often turn for changing my mind and calling forth the "Holy Instant."

You will notice that the pronoun "I" is used in the first paragraph as the voice of the ego self and in the second paragraph  as the voice of the Teacher.  In the Course, the teacher's voice is identified as The Christ.  When I dowse to discern whose voice is coming through during this dictation, my guides indicate that it is also the voice of The Christ.

Now you know, if you have been reading my blog, that I have great doubt, even resistance to current religious context for The Christ.  Nevertheless, the teachings of The Christ do form the foundation for my spiritual understanding and my studies have shown, along with direct knowings like this one, that the same Great Wisdom that spoke through The Christ has also spoken throughout history, incarnate in many teachers, and continues to speak in the present day to and through those "who have ears to hear" and courage to speak.

So, it is with deep gratitude and profound humility that I offer to you what has been give to me. Perhaps the Truth of this teaching will be of value to you as well.

August 27, 2010

Meditation Dictation

It is not my job to change the world I see because the world I see is illusion.  It is only my job to correct the errors I have made in my perception of the world I see.  What I think I see may not be so.  I set down the burden of decision.  It is not my job to decide what is so and what is not so.  I have only to look on All Things with Love.  That is enough.  I do not have the eyes of Love.  But there is One Who Loves who will see through me for me if I will let Her.

Bodies die and decay yet I am alive.  Do not look with the body's eyes.  They cannot see.  Only I can see Truly.  Beyond the veil of flesh and appearances shines a Light of Great Beauty.  Do not hold it bound.  You cannot.  But you can choose not to see.  That choice does not dim the Light at all.  You are the Light and not the darkness, "not the victim of the world you [have] seen."  Let the moment come when All That You Are is all that you see.

when i get to the other side

THE DRESS

September 16 will be the one year anniversary of my mom's transition into Light.  She has been making her presence known for the past few days.

Last week, I went to lunch with daughter #1 who is getting married next October.  She wants to get married in Italy.  Mr. Friendly has been struggling with that request, understandably.  It's really far from here and you can't drive there not to mention the (ahem!) cost.  Note to 50-somethings:  save your money!  Last July, daughter #2 got married.  Mom was alive then.  She could not attend the wedding, but she bought THE DRESS.  Daughter #2 was a vision in it and Mom was delighted to gift it to her.  

When Mom died, she left me a small inheritance.  Since daughter #1 has been talking wedding in Italy, I've been saying, "And Mom will spring for the dress!"  That felt right and fair and I know Mom would be doing that herself if she were still in her body and had her hands on her check book! 


Back to Mr. Friendly and the balking.  Daughter # 2 visited San Antonio week before last for my birthday.  Over dinner I said, "We have to talk wedding with your sister.  I need details."  So, she and I grilled Daughter #1 over chips and salsa.  Daughter #1, who NEVER drinks at all, had two Coconut Margaritas (yuk! but like I said, she's not a drinker).  Daughter #2 had two real Margaritas.  I had too many glasses of iced tea.  But we got to the crux of it:  Daughter #1 is worried that she'll send out the "save the dates" and Mr. Friendly will flake and not actually spring for the Italian wedding.


Okay.  Now  we're getting somewhere.  And you're wondering what this has to do with Mom?  Back to lunch last week with Daughter #1.  It dawned on me that the price of a dress might go a long way toward a trip for two to Italy (did I mention that THE DRESS was a vision?).  I mentioned this possibility with some trepidation as Daughter #1 has a clear vision of what an Italian wedding looks like and I wasn't sure that the dress could be forgone.

I worked up my courage and after lunch, I ventured the plan:  I (Mom and Granddaddy too, to be fair, as he died 29 days after Mom last year and also left me a small inheritance) will give you the same "dress-money" as we gave your sister, plus a little so, no matter what, you can go to Italy and get married there.


She loved it.  She said, "That feels really good (knowing now she can go and if Mr. Friendly cowboys up for non-essentials like a dress, a photographer, a small reception, so be it).


As soon as I told her, tears began to stream down my face.  As I said, "I know Mom will like this too," I began to bawl and so did Daughter #1.  The whole truck filled with super-powered love, the kind that swirls and lifts and zooms around.  I began to shake.  I knew Mom was there and dancing a jig!  Daughter #1 hopped out of the truck, renewed with hope of her dream coming true.  

Now that's a grandmother's dream too, right?  So, just in case I had any doubt that Mom was totally "IN," on the way home the scent of Pine filled the truck.  That's the scent she and I agreed her Spirit would have, if she had a choice.  I'd sensed it over and over again, first on the morning of the day she died and then for weeks after her transition, but I haven't sensed it for some time now until that day last week.  Wow.  I began to cry again,  these tears a brew of bitter-sweet melancholy and joy.  I do miss her so.


Even though I have not sensed the aroma of her Spirit much lately, all sense that I do get of her is deep peace and assurance.  Last night I was aware of her Spirit in meditation.  I was feeling down.  I spoke to her, asking for "help."  A few seconds passed and then a song by Walela came to mind from a CD I'd given her a few years ago and which I played some during her memorial:  "And when I get to the other side, I'm gonna put on my wings and fly...."  Wow.  I wasn't thinking of that song at all and then there it was in my head, just that line.  I smiled.  "So, did you put on your wings and fly?" I asked.  The thought, "yes, yes I did" came back.  "Good," I said, "Good."  "Can you hear me?"  I asked.  The thought, "yes, yes I can."  "I really need some help," I said.  The thought, "I am here, but I am not The Christ.  Pray to The Christ."  

Ahhh!  She's still working on me from "the other side" and she's still here for me as she always said she would be.  

Apparently, the veil really is very thin.

Creativity Crawls

New poem yesterday morning:

creativity crawls in slow motion like the
snail up the
doorjamb of my day

her antennae the drum major
her shell the big bass drum

her underbelly a million feet marching

pop the popcorn
drag out the chair
line the streets

a parade is passing!

I sat on the back step with a cup of coffee, the door flung open.  I wanted to be outside, but it was drizzling, so this was as close as I could let myself get to wet.  I sipped, letting the brown brew purge the sleep from my sluggish head.  Wildlife, especially insects, were unperturbed by the rain and busily went about their doings.  At my right shoulder, a snail crawled up the doorjamb.  They seem to multiply and show themselves after a rain, and with all the rain we've had in South Texas this season, snails are everywhere.  So, I almost turned away uninterested.

But I have been re-reading Joy's Way, A Map for the Transformational Journey: An Introduction to the Potentials for Healing with Body Energies in preparation for another Healing Touch class.  The M.D., Brugh Joy, who wrote the book thirty-some years ago writes, "The initial task in awakening is to begin to ask whether there is more to experience in any given moment: then to conceive that there may be more; then to experience it; when it is experienced, to conceive that there may be more; and thus to go into the cycle again indefinitely (p. 16)."

So, because the snail had attracted my attention, and because the words "creativity crawls" had flitted through my mind, I asked, is there more?  This is a crucial moment, not only in the transformational process, but in the writing process.  I got my journal.  Well, I don't have a new one and the last one is spent, so I grabbed a used one from the shelf.  The last entry was dated November 25, 2009 (one month after the funerals of both my parents).  Serendipitously, that entry is also about creature beings!  AND it is about the ability to really see them.  It is about the ability to really see.

Upon our first meeting, an acquaintance who also happened to be a psychic, had asked whether I'd ever "seen" my power animals.  We'd been discussing the sensory ability to smell the scent of discarnate entities.  I'd said, "No, I haven't seen my power animals yet." I assumed she wondered if  I'd seen them in visions or as shape-shifted entities.  I didn't even think about how I see them in the apparent world or during Dreamtime.

I have done some Shamanic Journey work and have drawn my spread of nine totem or power animals from the Medicine Cards: The Discovery of Power Through the Ways of Animals.  These represent the medicine I carry on this Earth Walk.  All but one of the animals that appeared in my spread are common to this area, so I am aware when I see those particular creature beings, but I sat right there and told the psychic asking me that I'd never seen them.  Harumph!

Apparently my mules wanted me to become even more aware of their presences and messages, because within days, one of them appeared to me in a dream:

a beautiful yellow-brown hawk flew over my head, circled me a few times, then landed on the ground beside me.  I said "Look!  Look!  There it is!  Isn't it beautiful?"  I had been telling someone about power animals when the hawk instantly manifested above me.

A few days after the dream, I saw a sign in a place I have frequented for thirty years that read, "If nothing changes, nothing changes."  It made me realize, again, how long I've been playing a "victim's" role, allowing the energetic imbalances and apparent dysfunction of individuals whose lives touch mine to knock me off balance.  I came home that day determined to paint, to be true to my highest Self, to be the most expanded version of the Self I have been created to be.

I blocked in a copy of a recent sketch, thinking I would paint something to enter in an upcoming contest.  But, no matter how I worked with it, I couldn't force my will onto the canvas.  So, I stepped back.  Turned the piece upside down.  Sat down to stare.  Behold!  I saw the image of an animal taking shape.  As I began to pull the image out, dog appeared!  A smiling, yellow Labrador.

Immediately, I went to the Medicine Cards to read about Dog Medicine:  Be loyal.  Be your own best friend.

Yep, you guessed it.  Dog is another of my power animals.  My totem for the Above Direction:  "teaches me to honor the Great Star Nation, guardian of Dreamtime, my access to other dimensions (Medicine Cards, p. 20)."  And Hawk?  My Eastern Totem:  "guides me to my greatest spiritual challenge, guards my path to illumination (ibid)."


Back to the dream:
I was asking to do work that I really didn't want to do, work that wasn't my work in the world. I knew the two women owners of the gymnasium where I applied for the job.  I was playing me, in my present Daydream circumstances, feeling lack and grabbing at any work to get income. I thought, "this job won't really help me.  It won't empower me.  It will only take me away from my art and my writing and use up all my energy and time."  I knew I didn't really want the job, but I was going through the motions of getting it anyway. Repeating a pattern. But Hawk circled overhead.  "Circle your life and view it from a higher perspective.  Grab an opportunity that is coming your way.  Discern the hazards that bar me from my freedom of flight (Medicine Cards, p.45.)"

Wow! So what does it mean to me to fly?  How does having power feel?  What does it look like to be my own best friend? Can I look beyond appearances of lack and see abundant supply without falling into damaging patterns and belief in fear and lack?  WhooAhh!  Talk about being guided to my greatest spiritual challenges!  Talk about needing to see from a higher perspective!

As for snail?  Well, there's no medicine card for snail.  But yesterday morning, I think she spoke for herself.  And apparently, she has plenty of power!

this is how it goes is finished!

Click on the image to see all nine painting sessions and the finished piece!  TA DA!

 

 

 

 

C

I Take It Back

Well, I may let a cosmetician thread my eyebrows.  Got a hair cut and (ahem!) color today.  I look fabulous except for the eyebrows.  Too thick.  Too dark.  Don't match my hair.  Yikes.

Is this even spiritually relevant?  I think so.  I let you know.

I'm fickle.  I'm freckled.  I'm graying and I have wrinkles.  Attractive.  Right?  Right!  All of the above is attractive.  I'm whole.  Period.  And everything counts.  All of the neurosis, all of the profundity, my youth, and my aging.  All of the projects I start and don't finish.  All of my accomplishments.  My understanding and my misunderstanding.   The way I love and when I do not love.

Accepting myself as I am without judgment is my practice.  Being playful is my practice.  Letting go.

So today, when I went to the salon for a hair cut, I thought I might let the gray show, just get highlights of blond.  When I told the stylist, she raised a questioning eyebrow. Maybe not, I thought.

Two things happen:  1) I tell myself the story that there are certain ways of being in the world that are "holier" than others like not wearing makeup or letting my hair be natural, not dyed.  You know the look:  like a yogi, clean, dressed in all white, shining from the inside out.  2)  I get confused.  I think, If I don't wear makeup, wear 100% cotton all-white clothes, eat healthfully, say the right mantra, and let my hair go natural, I'll be holier, more whole, less contrived.

This thinking means that I have attached APPEARANCES to the Holy and its manifestation.  If appearances made one Holy-Whole, white organic cotton would be flying off the racks!  People would be texting each other:  now trending-white organic cotton!  We'd be having burn parties for colorful clothes, chanting in circles around the fire, our bliss unable to be contained.

Unfortunately, it's not that easy to get bliss.  Let's face it, being fully human is innately paradoxical.  Besides, it was the "shining from within" that really attracted me anyway.

The trick is the "without judgment" part.    Can I embrace myself as I am with all my perceived fallacies and limitations and love myself completely anyway?  If I do, I'll shine from within. Only then, can I do the same for you, for the planet.

I dyed my hair.  I may have my eyebrows threaded (assuming it's not painful!).  I might even eat sugar and let an occasional explicative slip (last night they flew out of my mouth like fireworks after I stepped through a spider web and thought it had landed in my hair!).

I am no less holy-whole for it.  Because I AM NOT MY BODY.  I AM NOT MY MIND.  I AM NOT THE JUDGE.  None of us are.  I may be a mirror for you.  I may be your greatest teacher because of  who I am and how I live.  You may learn acceptance and forgiveness because of me.  Who knows?

In the meantime, I get to do what I want to do as long as it does no harm of which I am aware.  I have decided, again.  I will change my mind often and with great conviction.  So there.

Playing with posts

Instant gratification and I are like this: visualize fingers crossed here.

So.  This being Independence Day (Happy Birthday USA), I am figuring out how to blog (write) which is what I really want to do and not repeat myself or have to update six web-sites!  I want to put my thoughts on virtual-paper and be done with it.  I want to be "connected."  I want to keep up, show my pictures, find new friends, and, to be honest, gather readers.  All of these are payoffs for social networking in cyberspace. I hope.  So I'm in.  Finally.  After coaxing from many friends and family and much resistance.  I'm in.  All the way in.  Sucked in as one friend put it.


And that's what I don't want. 

I'd rather be gardening, like yesterday.  Mr. Friendly and I collaborated on a mulching project.  I'd weeded the farthermost section of our backyard one more time.  I'd spent several hours in the mud, fighting mosquitoes, sweating.  I did not want to do it again.   Ever.

I convinced Mr. Friendly to help me.  We loaded the pick up with a yard of "living mulch."  This mulch, I understand, is full of compost so it will not only act as a heat barrier and hold moisture, it will also continuously feed your plants.  And your weeds!  So we put down a poly-something-or-other barrier that will act as a weed block and probably still be there when our grandchildren are having children!

We perspired together.  Got filthy together.  Jumped into the pool to cool off together.  And fell into bed exhausted.  Not together exactly because Mr. Friendly snores.  The fifteen linear feet of happily weeded, blocked, and mulched garden looks fabulous.  We agreed to do the same to the rest of that garden.  Wow!  That only took twenty-eight years.  Progress!

Anyway, today here I sit at the computer.  One, because I wanted to check in with my cyber-community and two, because I'm so sore I can hardly stand up.  However, I never want to sit here for long.  So, bear with me as I navigate the enigma of how to post in one place and have it magically update everywhere.

I'll keep you posted. Ha!

New Poem Today

outside the cyclone fence 

surrounding the space i call home

havoc-happenstance

horrific predictions

(the end is near, again!)

but here in the Cicada's drone-

a long, dry, hum

a rhythmic, Shaman's rattle speaks:

take off your shoes

bare your feet

put your back down

let the earth's spine silence your mind

(it cannot help you now)

only the slow roll of ocean

healing her own wounds

she-a forgiving teacher

repeats:

keep the peace

keep the peace

keep the peace

          D. Ellis Phelps, 2010

 Surfing twitter after the British Petroleum oil well began spilling oil into the Gulf, I read a comment in response to Obama's notion that rage against BP is counterproductive.  The comment, paraphrased, asked, "What am I supposed to do with the rage?"  

I've been thinking about that.  And today, a question arose from the ether as I wrote in my journal:

"Did the oil vomiting from the earth's core cause the people's rage?  Or did the people's rage cause the earth to vomit oil?"  

If you are wondering what I mean, read Love Thyself: The Message from Water III (v. 3) by Masaru Emoto.  His research indicates that if all of us: individuals, priests, ministers, rabbis, gurus, healers, and people of all faiths would turn our thinking away from rage and distress over the apparent problem in the ocean and literally, prayerfully send the energy of loving-kindness to the water, holding her in our thought in Light and claiming her wholeness by the power of All that is Holy, we could, on this physical plane, by the focus of our thought change the chemical make-up of  each Chrystal of water and help the ocean clean itself up.  Even better, if we gathered at her shores from all around the world en mass in this effort, we would make an even bigger impact toward her healing.  

The converse is also true.  If we continue to focus our attention on the problem with rage, we are causing it to worsen.

Of course, I want British Petroleum Company and all governments and scientists around the world to cooperate toward finding a scientific and or mechanical solution to the challenge, but I cannot stress how important it is to our well being as a species and to the well being of the planet that we join our minds in this way.  I think this distress, and others like it over the past years are powerful opportunities for us to learn the lesson that we are One, that we are Divine Beings, that connected to our Source, we have the power to heal each other and the planet.

And most importantly, that disconnected from Source, wandering around unaware, allowing our thoughts to focus on negative appearances HAS POWER!  ALL THOUGHT HAS POWER with actual, real-time, physical results.  The choice we have is how we use our power.  And we are using it whether we are conscious of it or not.

I have not asked this before, but now I do.  Please send these thoughts forward into the Universe to everyone you know.  Send them by email, tweet them, text them, speak them to friends, hold them in your heart, and most importantly, think them.  Do it right now.  

Settle back, breathe deeply, relax, invite Spirit, set your intention to do no harm, and send loving-kindness to yourself, to each other (even those with whom you are at odds), to British Petroleum Company, and to the waters.  Bless All with Divine Intelligence, Harmony, and Peace.  

This is what we can do right now, from our own space, every time we think about it, every day until and after the "new apparent problem" is solved.  Because this is how we solve the real problem.

If you choose to join me in tandem practice from where you are in this effort, do so at 5:00 PM Greenwich Mean Time or 12 Noon Central Standard Time daily for five minutes.  

And so It Is.  Aho!

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Walking the Woods Together

                                          Self-Portrait with/by Artist Sarah Dinn Dunckel circa 1999


I've been hibernating.  It hasn't helped.  But I think the worst of the dark energy I've been experiencing is over.  For now.  This kind of being possessed or beside mySelf, makes me quite humble.  It makes me understand "salvation" anew every time it happens. 

In fact, ever since the media dethroned Tiger Woods over his sexual indiscretions, I've been wanting to out myself.  I mean, let's just get the whole story out there so "my fans" can make up their minds about me right now.  I don't feel like waiting until you hear it on the news (now that's not entirely likely since I'm neither a star, a politician, an athlete, nor a priest, but you're following me right?).  So here goes.

The truth is, I'm completely human with deep flaws.  I have profound thoughts and sick ones.  Sometimes I feel fearful, depressed, morbid even.  Sometimes I'm sure that All is Well.  I'm more balanced than not most of the time these days.  But I have done drugs (not for thirty years) and delightfully so.  I've drunk too much and driven that way (also not for thirty years, in fact I haven't had a drink at all for that long) and thrown up lots.  I've kissed someone underage and given them pot.  I've kissed another woman (well, actually we were girls then and figuring out how to kiss among other things).  I've kissed a cousin or two (almost lost my virginity to one of them).  I've had multiple extra-marital affairs (another not for thirty years-as you may have guessed, being faithful comes along with being sober).  I've posed naked for a photo shoot.  I'm rather proud of this one.  The young photojournalist (who is now an Episcopal priest) was doing a project for a photography class at UT (that's the University of Texas at Austin-I'll give you the details so you don't have to dig).  She made an A!  My boyfriend and I had the hottest sex ever for days after.  Whew!  I'm glad that's out.   I've screamed profanity at my husband and children and even slapped them all a couple of times.  That's really ugly.  Sometimes, I'm really ugly.

The deal is:  I know it.   And I know, it is only by God's grace that I am as sane as I am today.  I learned what I lived growing up and I've been re-learning ever since I realized  (again by God's grace) that I needed to re-learn.  These days, when I behave badly ( like having a bad mood or a temper tantrum), I ask for forgiveness and expect to get it because I know how to give it.  Believe me, I get as much opportunity to extend forgiveness I as do to ask for it.  And the deal is:  I know I deserve to be forgiven.  So do you.  So does Tiger Woods and on and on and on.  All of us deserve forgiveness.

The trouble is that our culture doesn't nurture the forgiveness concept.  It nurtures the crucifixion concept.  No one is looking in the mirror.  As a culture, we are sufficiently numbed up and distracted by caffeine, tobacco, sugar, alcohol, food, and the Internet and ALWAYS plugged-in to music or texting.  We don't have time to look in the mirror.  We are available to each other 24/7 but not available at all, really.  Especially not to ourselves.  But just you wait until we see someone ELSE doing something wrong!  Kill!  Kill!  Kill! We scream to the rulers.

So you're wondering why I'm ranting about this now?

It's because I've been having a debilitating, unbearably human month or so and I've been feeling ashamed.  I couldn't face you.  I couldn't write about what was wrong (I didn't know what was wrong, how could I write about it?).  I couldn't even paint.  Because still, in my heart of hearts, there is a huge part of me that cannot self-forgive, the part of me that doesn't want me to have this kind of experience, the part of me that wants your approval.  The part of me that is sure you will not like what you see if you see me standing here just as I am, undone and naked in the woods.

When I named this blog, I had every intention of being that authentic with you, of trusting you that much, of trusting the Universe that much.  I didn't.  I confess.  Will you forgive me?  And the next time I disappear for days at a time, will you come find me?  We are, after all, walking these woods together.  And I am hoping that some of you, at least, are out here naked too. 

WAKE UP!

A friend of mine, a lay-woman, gave the homily at her church on Mother's Day. I had told her I probably wouldn't be there, given the religious conflicts I have that I've already mentioned.  She wants to keep trying to stretch the skin of the christian church into a truly gender-inclusive container that teaches god as being both masculine and feminine.  I support her, but I think I'm finished with that.  So I affirmed her efforts and told myself I didn't have to be present for her teaching in person.


Enter MOM.


I think it was Thursday when my daughter called to ask how I'd like to celebrate Mother's Day.  I told her I'd get back to her.  As I thought about Mother's Day, some nostalgia arose, as last year my mom was here.  It would turn out to be her last visit.  This Mother's Day, I wouldn't be able to tell her (in person) how much I love her and honor her. 

A flash of inspiration!  I'll ask my daughter if she'd like to go with me to hear my woman friend give the homily.  We'll honor all courageous women who stretch the edges and "be in church together"-something my mom would deeply appreciate.  She'd been a member of the Episcopal Daughter's of the King, a contemplative, lay order.  And while she listened to my misgivings about christianity with patient understanding and always encouraged me to think for myself, she wanted "church" for me and me in church.

Saturday night I stayed up late and since my daughter had  declined my invitation and would come out later to visit, I decided when I went to bed that I definitely wasn't going to church.

Sunday morning.  Dawn.  A Mockingbird outside my window began:  "Get up. Get up. Get up. It's dawn.  Hello!  Hello! Wake up! Wake up!"  Forever.  I got up to pee.  Decided again not to go to church.  Laid back down to doze.  The dog whined.  He needed to go out.  He did this three times.  I'm up.  I'm down.  I'm up.  I'm down.  Finally, he went back to sleep and so did I.

Dream:  I'm sitting on the beach waiting for Mom to come home from "church."  I haven't been there even though I told her I might go.  Here she comes over the horizon, flying a blimp/boat/balloon/plane.  She lands it smoothly in the surf, steps out and stands in the waves with her hand on her hip.  Shouts, "Well?  Were you there?"  When I say no, she gets back in the blimp/boat/balloon/plane saying, "I have errands to run."  And flies off.  As she does, an island forms underneath her and there is a little house on it.  There is a carport and under it I see a cute little red truck parked.  My uncle, Mom's brother is there too.  He's raking the soil with a red rake.

I wake up.  Think, I know I said I'd go to church, but I reaallly don't want to now.  You understand, right?  I go back to sleep.  When the alarm on my phone which I've forgotten to disable rings and wakes me up for the hundredth time, I get up and make coffee.  Decide I'd better go to church.

When I arrived, I walked the labyrinth there.  My meditation:  I am here in my feet.  I am here in the bird song.  I am here in my breath.  I am here in the voices of these who cannot hear me praying.  I am here in the worm crawling across my path.  I am here in the flower's bloom.  I am here in the turning.  I am here in the path.  I am here in the going in.  I am here in the coming out."  By the time I finished walking, I could enter the indoor sanctuary with ease and it was already time for the homily.

During the first moments of the homily, my friend played a U-TUBE clip of the ocean waves sounding.  She spoke in gender inclusive language and metaphor.  During the prayers of the people, we passed a bowl of "living water" around the circle of women standing at the altar saying, "I bless you.  I honor you.  I offer you the living water."  Our voices like the goddess herself whispering in an eternal echo.  Women wiped tears from their eyes as they received each other.  When I handed the bowl to the woman next to me and spoke the blessing, I noticed.  Her name was Beth.

Beth was my mother's name.

I still do not believe that churches or priests have any special power.  But I do believe there is a Power.  And it keeps waking me up in new ways day by day.

Calling the Dog

So, I've mentioned (a few times) that I've been a bit off balance since my agent (I call him mine even though we don't have an official contract yet because we are in the process of bonding) let me know that he thinks I need to do more work on my novel.  Well, I have been reeling really, and not just a little.

So the question becomes how to find balance.

At this point, you need to know that given my passionate nature, reeling like this from disappointment, anger, or sadness has been a common theme in my life's story.  The first thing I had to figure out was that experiencing OTHER PEOPLE NOT DOING WHAT I WANTED THEM TO DO and careening around like a party balloon all blown up and let go to fly around the room without its proper knot, was off balance.  How that happened is another story.  But, thankfully, I did figure that out  and then begin, with a little help from friends, to practice ways of finding balance.

My point is:  it's a practice.

This morning, I took my coffee, my journal, and my copy of Ask and It Is Given by Esther and Jerry Hicks on The Teachings of Abraham out to sit by the pool.  This book is one of the most positively influential and helpful self-help books I've ever read.  As I have read the book many times and use the tools for meditation found within its pages frequently, I didn't need to start at the beginning. So, I held the book and asked where to start, the book fell open to page 44.

Emotions are indicators of your alignment with Source Energy.  Oh.  That.  Okay.  Fine.

So, I sat back, settled in, closed my eyes and began to breathe.  My mind raced around in circles like a puppy, jumping and panting, demanding attention.  Thinking I told myself.  Breathe.  My mind whimpered a little.  Thinking I said.  Breathe.  My mind peed a little then stepped in it tracking it all over the place.

"Oh Christ!" I said.  Well then that made me think.  Who is this Christ?  Am I really supposed to pray to someone who supposedly lived 2010 years ago?  This is NOT a new question for me.

Grant you, I  did pray to the accepted, iconoclastic concept of Jesus Christ as he is presented in Christian doctrine for many years.  I grew up Southern Baptist and was baptised twice by the time I was thirteen years old, so believe me, I've prayed in Jesus' name.

I also have not done that for many years, especially since I have studied the work of feminist theologians like Riane Eisler in her work The Chalice and the Blade and art historians like Camille Paglia in her work Sexual Personae:  Art and Decadence from Nefertiti to Emily Dickinson.  These works suggest, as do many, that Jesus of Nazareth is a myth not a person, that his personae is a composite figure created by a patriarchy willing to do anything to discount former, powerful connections to goddess worshiping cultures and redirect the people of that time to the worship of the One True God.

While I intellectually understand these arguments, it is undeniable that the foundation of my fundamental spiritual belief system is grounded in the teachings of Christ.  And something in me (no doubt the one I call Little Baptist Girl) still wants to access the Great Compassion of this beloved Teacher.

You see my conflict.

So back to balancing.  I continued breathing, turned the focus of my body's eyes up and inward to the back of my third eye, connected to earth from my Dan Ti en point, and whispered, "I want to connect to the teacher known as the Christ, to Sophia, the Great Wisdom."  I sat for less than a minute before my actually (a mixed black lab) dog came obediently to me, panting and nudging my hand for attention.  You've heard the joke:  dog spelled backwards....

I laughed and gave him a good scratch, ate some breakfast and went for a haircut.  Then, feeling more beautiful than I have in months, headed for painting supplies in town at Hobby Lobby.


Walking toward the back of the store where they keep the paints, I heard a familiar tune coming from the ceiling.  Caught myself humming, "Hmmmmmmm, this I know..."  OH MY GOD!  No kidding, they were piping in "Jesus Loves Me."  Did Hobby Lobby change hands? I thought.  I've never heard christian music played here before.  That's weird.  I kept shopping.  Ignored the music.  But then I began to hum again, "Hmmmmmm," I don't know these words, yes I do, Oh my god!  I began to sob as I am now.  I had to stifle the sound rising from my gut.  It was the the hymn (by Jan Struther) my mother chose for us to sing as the close of her memorial last October.  It might as well have been my mother's voice (her personal belief in the Present Christ, a deep well of faith) singing to me from above:

Lord of all gentleness, Lord of all calm,
Whose voice is contentment, whose presence is balm,
Be there at our sleeping, and give us, we pray,
Your peace in our hearts, Lord, at the end of the day.

She might as well have been saying, "Yes.  Jesus lives.  He's here with me.  You hear?"

As I drove home this quote from the Bible came, "He who believes in me (the Christ) shall be saved."  My mind's rebuttal, but I don't.  Not like they teach it.  Then the thought, she whose beliefs are of the Christ shall be saved.  

And I was, at that moment, again.  I was never supposed to worship any man, not even Jesus the man.  It is Wisdom, though, to practice his teachings (and those of other great spiritual teachers).  It is Wisdom to practice loving-kindness toward myself and others and when I find myself out of balance, it is Wisdom to call on the Nameless, lean into the Great Mystery, and let go. 

the planet needs you

I pay attention to dreams and visions.  Just now, still in the wake of understanding the semi-rejection of my novel in it's present form, I decided to do some shamanic journey work on the subject. 

The question I asked was:  "What direction should I take now that will lead me to the next highest level of my evolution as a human being."  I won't share the vision I received here just now.

I will say it was powerful.  Again, I will be discerning its meaning for some time, as visions and dreams are a non-linear mystery.  I will also share that one key image in the journey was my being flung into the stars by a teacher.

This made me think of a term I've heard:  Star Nation.  Not having been trained in Native American teaching and being an anglo saxon used to instant gratification, of course, I googled "Star Nation." 

You might be interested in one of the links I foll0wed.  It is the art and teaching of Rod Bearcloud Berry.  The first link speaks to his interpretation of messages from crop circles, messages he believes are sent from the Star Nations.  And the second link is to his own gallery.  His art is phenomenal, highly spiritual, powerful!

The last few lines, especially one, of the teaching under the first link spoke to me and seemed to speak directly to the interpretation of my own vision today.

" I believe our planet is in a desperately bad place at the moment with overwhelming turmoil. Few people really recognize the state we are in, but for those that do. There is still time. Believe the planet can heal and change. Every person is a cell of a body of their country that has influence. Those who are walking the correct road are very valuable in assisting this change. The planet needs you, really needs you. Thank you for your help."

I am humbled and empowered by his words.

http://www.starnationgallery.com/articles/2002_1.html
http://www.bearcloudgallery.com/index.html

You can't always get what you want

But I definitely got what I need.  Some applause, a new follower, and some perspective.

Three phone calls, one blog-comment, and five condolence/encouragement emails later, I feel better, more human, less grandiose.  Whew!

During one call, we sang the Rolling Stones to each other.  I got that rowdy, I-can-do-anything feeling only rock and roll can give.  We laughed out loud and I said the F-word twice in one sentence, blaming it on negative animus.  We were both women, and of course, we were thinking we should try to control that stuff.  Now, I'm thinking, less control-more animus (but the positive kind that's kick-ass strong and knows it, the way they teach you to be when you take Kung-fu, so you don't have to be aggressive).

One commiserate said that what I wrote made her think about her own grandiosity and how she suffers with desire.  When I quoted the Buddha, that's what I thought would happen in readers (being holy and spiritual as I am), and that somehow the lesson for me here is to continue this trend I've been setting about letting go, this time of my strong desire to be a published author.  Someone I once knew calls this kind of thinking "doing a spiritual bypass."

So here comes the perspective shift.

One commentator (admittedly someone very close to me) wrote: 

 

"I love you and will wait patiently for the news that you've found a publisher.  Keep writing; keep hoping; most importantly: keep submitting and remember that the Buddha was a selfish man that left his family high and dry so he could go park his big fat but under a tree and think, so keep all natural emotions despite what the sages and sooths might say."

 

I love it!  The Buddha wasn't ALL THAT.  Really?  

 

This is not to insult any one's religious leanings or teachers, but to remind myself (by realizing the frailty of all human beings, even great teachers) to listen to my own inner authority, to find my own voice, to hear criticism with equanimity, and to carry on doing what I do.

A response to the question (right) "What defines you?"

I've been in mourning all day.  After I made a bleary-eyed email check this morning, I just couldn't face the computer.

First, I sat with my coffee on the chaise by the pool facing east.  I made some lunch and a smoothie and sat there some more.  Then I sat on the chaise by the pool facing west for a while, trimmed my fifteen year old poodle's hair.  Then I sat in the tub, soaked myself in baking soda and salt.  Then, naked, I sat on the patio facing west again, letting the sun wash me too.  It was there that this came to me, so here I sit, finally facing the computer.

"What happened?" you ask.

Well, yesterday I let myself get extraordinarily high.  In the morning, I emailed the literary agent I met last summer and who has been reading my novel for the past three months to find out what he was thinking.  He called me within a couple of hours, but I missed his call.  His message said, "It's funny you should call today, because I finished reading your novel this weekend and I was going to give you a call, so call me back."

OMG!  He wants me to call him back!  This has to be good news.  So I called right there in the parking lot.
No answer.  Okay-heart-racing-hand-shaking-arm-pit-dripping me is now driving home waiting for a call back from my agent like it's the most normal thing in the world.  But it definitely is not normal at all.  It is huge and I am a wreck.  Breathe....Breathe....Breathe....settle.  Okay.

I'd spent six years writing this book.  I finished it last summer just in time for the Writer's League of Texas Agents Conference.  I registered, met this agent, he asked to read my manuscript and voila!  I'm a novelist.  I'm picturing myself doing readings at Barnes and Noble, talking to other would-be novelists at workshops about the writing life, flipping my hair at Dave Letterman (did I mention that I have a tendency toward grandiosity?).

It is a fact, however, that getting a card from an agent at a conference like that the very first time I pitched it is a phenomenal feat, and I felt reaaaaalllly sure he would love my book.

So I get home and tell Mr. Friendly what's going on and he gets all excited too.  Now we're living in the Caribbean and he's driving a red corvette.  I sit by the water all day wiggling my toes in the white sand and write one beautiful novel after another.

The phone finally rings and its him.  I'm a race horse at the starting line.  But when the gun goes off, I don't even get to run.  My cage doesn't open.  I'm just standing there watching all the other thoroughbreds dash off in wild abandon and I realize, I'm not even going to get to try to win.

You guessed it.  He didn't love my book.  He said I have the bones of a good story, but that it needs some meat on it. 

I was ready to sign a contract.  I was even ready for complete rejection, but I wasn't ready to hear him say, "I'm willing to read it again after you've done some more work on it."  Now I know every writer has to re-write.  I've read that.  I was expecting that.  But I wanted the editor at the publishing house to whom my agent sold my book to to be the one to say, "You have to re-write."  Not my agent who is not my agent, yet.  So now, apparently, I'm pouting.

But really it's more than that.  It's because yesterday I was so close to getting something I strongly desire.  I was so close to being able to go around saying, "My agent this and my agent that," and "my novel this and that."  And today, I'm back to not so close.  I'm back to the me I am already.  Now.  The one whose worth I doubt unless she can say, "My agent, my novel, my book of poetry, look what I've achieved," when someone asks, "What defines you?"

The Buddha said that desire is the root of all suffering.  I agree.

A few days ago, a neighbor and bodywork client came to see me with a debilitating headache. We worked together for more than an hour in my newly discovered at-home sanctuary.

When a client presents with an acute condition, I have a strong (ego) desire to "fix it." I have to actively practice asking the ego to step out of the way, prayerfully invite Spirit Guides and Healing Helpers to bring the client the healing that serves their highest good and let go of the results. 

Because I do this, I am repeatedly delighted and so are my clients when their symptoms dissipate or disappear entirely. By this kind of surrender, I am humbled and convinced, time after time, that it is Spirit doing the work through my hands and not me. It is crucial that I do not take credit for the results so that I, in turn, do not have to accept blame when symptoms do not abate. It is crucial, as well, that I know for the client, for myself, for humanity, and for the planet that even though I may not see healing with the body's eyes, healing that serves the highest good of all concerned always happens. Who am I to judge because I cannot see?

My practice remains, however, to deny the power of all manner of unhappiness, disease, dysfunction, distress, or negative energy of any kind as those are thought forms made manifest in the body and in one's life circumstances in cases of mistaken identity. If I identify myself with negative manifestations of any kind, even though they seem real because I can sense them in my body (or in my client's body) or because I can see them or touch them, witness them with my senses, then I am mistaken about my True Identity. When I am mistaken about my identity, I experience disconnection, dis-empowerment, chaos, disease, and unhappiness and, even more importantly, I proliferate that mistake into the consciousness of the race mind.

Whereas, when I remember the Essence of my True Self (in spite of appearances): I am a Light Being, a swirling vortex of pure positive, full-spectrum Light Source Energy, connected to the core earth energies and to the Pure Light Source Energies, perfectly aligned, balanced, open, operating in perfect order and harmony, full of Love, loving, and lovable, healed and whole, and claim that which is the Great Reality as mine instead, then All That Lives Within me moves to manifest within and without that to which I am now identified. And, most importantly, by correctly identifying myself with the Divine Whole and therefore with all of its characteristics (read The Seven Main Aspects of God by Emmet Fox), I am not only healing (a recognition and realization of the Whole) myself, but healing the race consciousness and the planet as well.l

This time, my client's symptoms did dissipate by the end of our hour long session, and the next afternoon, she visited me bringing fresh strawberries and blackberries.  

"I brought these as a celebration of joy.   My headache is gone!" she said, giving me the most wonderful gratuity.  For the next two mornings, I enjoyed a healthful "berry-licious" smoothie made with her gift, Almond Ice (sweetened with agave nectar so it's processed, white-sugar-free), rice milk (so it's dairy free), and a scoop of rice protein (contains 12 grams of protein).  


It was so beautiful (hint:  Beauty is one of the main aspects of God) and so delicious that I set it in the garden and took a photo to share with you, extending the celebration of joy (hint: Joy is the highest expression of the Divine) and hoping that you will make and enjoy a smoothie of your own in honor of healing, beauty, and joy. 

Self-Ordained

                                                     

 

Several years ago, having discerned that following a traditional path to ordination as a Christian minister wasn't my path, I began to visualize a sanctuary space I wanted to create. I thought it would be a retail space where I would teach art classes, do energetic balancing, hold circle dances and sacred interfaith rituals, and create community while earning a living.

I busied myself finding a space and signing a lease for it (all with the avid resistance of Mr. Friendly, my spouse, who rarely supports new ventures of mine if they involve spending money). At that point, I did not have the state license I needed to do hands-on work with people. One way to satisfy that need was to apply online for ordination through the Universal Life Church, as ministers can do "laying on of hands." Reluctantly, I did this, but told no one, a part of me still desiring the approval of some organized, recognized entity like "the church" to sanctify my calling.

The lease for the space didn't work out, so I revisited my plan, thinking that road-blocks are Universal Guides to which I should pay attention (interestingly, I hadn't considered Mr. Friendly's resistance a road-block-this is a hint).

I have experienced, that when I am in Universal Flow, the way is clear and unobstructed.

So, I entered and graduated from massage school. This gave me the license I needed to do hands-on bodywork with people. As I prepared to take the state examination for my license, I began, again, to look for spaces near my home in which to establish the sanctuary I had been visualizing. For days, I'd driven round in circles, visited with business owners and landlords, and felt an uneasiness growing in my gut. I had no clientele and I had only a small financial seed, so signing a lease would have been risky at best. But I could SEE the space. I knew what I wanted.

After a few days of searching, out of the blue, I received a phone call from a dear friend. "By any chance, are you looking for a space?" she asked. I almost dropped the phone. She'd been called to a visioning ministry for a mission nearby and they were looking to share space with like-minded individuals. All I had to do was go get the key and agree to donate for the space as I could. Wow.

My practice grew, but slowly. The mission grew very little. Now they are relinquishing the space, and last week, I moved out of that space. I've been wondering how I will attract clients now. Wondering what this means?

I've decided that it just means not there. Not now. It means I have to trust the process again. It means there is more happening than I can see. I began to visualize people handing me one-hundred dollar bills as a practice of manifesting Abundant Supply, visualizing what I want to come into my experience, as I do need income.

Ask and you will receive (even if you don't know how).

So I cleared out my studio space at home and brought my practice home. Mr. Friendly and I are learning to share space in a more profound way than we have in thirty years.

A few days ago, another therapist I'd met two years ago who remembered me, called. I hadn't spoken to her since we met. She is moving out of state and needs a therapist to whom she can recommend her small clientele and wondered if I'd be interested.

Wow!

She came to my studio yesterday to experience my work. She felt well as she left and I think she'll refer to me. Who knows what will happen? Choosing a therapist is a very personal thing. And what about the sanctuary I've been visualizing?

One of the things that passed through my hands during the process of packing, unpacking, relinquishing, and clearing over the passed few weeks is a poem my mother wrote to me when I first opened Moon Shadow Sanctuary in the space I just lost. I thought then that the piece was about that place.

Now, the poem sits on the altar here in my very own studio, a place I've had all along. But now I read the poem much differently. Now I do not read it to be about a place I had to find. It is not about place at all. Instead, I read it to be about living in the sanctuary of Spirit, the sanctuary of knowing that the Universe brings me all that I need in perfect timing. The sanctuary of knowing that the Universe answers the "prayers of my heart" and that even when I don't understand what I'm asking for, or know the healing I need, Omniscience does know and Spirit heals. The sanctuary of knowing that I am co-creating my world (be careful what you think) and that what I visualize, does materialize, always shape-shifted by Spirit to serve the Highest Good.

Here am I
Just as I was dreamed
So lovely
A quiet place
A place to be still and know
A place to Be
The Real Me of You.

Only You are needed
To call forth my Spirit
From my window
To inherit the
Shade of my Tree.

In silence
Come unto me

Beth Ellis Grimes, '07

Letting Go

Today my neighbor brought me a yellow sweet pepper to plant in the garden she knows I want to have, but don't. Well, now I do, because we went straight out to plant the two inch beauty that promises to deliver nourishment in a matter of weeks. While we were outside, we spoke to the neighbor next door who was planting tomatoes. He asked, "You got a tomato plant yet?" Well, no I hadn't gotten one yet, so he gave me two. I planted those on the spot as well. Boom. A veggie garden!

On another venue (www.google.com/profiles/dellisphelps), I've been writing about letting go of things, and about how just this fall I let go of having a wild scape of native Texas wildflowers in the very same area of our homestead acre as we had just planted this serendipitous veggie garden. I've been understanding a new levels how letting go creates space in which the Universe can create something new. I'm especially aware of how things to which I find myself intensely attached are often the very things I am (it seems) required to release. And when I do, they often become manifest in my life very quickly in ways I could never have imagined.

For example, as we were planting, I noticed my neighbor's field. It is full of wildflowers: primrose, bluebonnet, coreopsis, and buttercups growing everywhere in profuse, abundant abandon. These are in HER yard, not mine. Envy gave me a sarcastic wink. I flinched.

But wait. Only a few feet from where we stood, where I thought (for twenty some years I tried to make this happen) I would have said wild scape, now...this spring...a NATURAL wild scape has emerged. It's not as delicious as my neighbor's showing, but it is showing. I have spider wart, primrose, buttercup, coreopsis, black-foot daisies and more. Some might say the reason for this year being the year this wild scape has emerged is the extraordinary rains we've had. But I think, it's happened because I let go.

Even more interesting, is the fact that, Mr. Friendly (a nickname given my spouse of thirty years who usually does not play well with others) has decided to enjoy the natural landscape and let the flowers have their way with that particular section of the yard he usually mows but hasn't.

I know there are many other "things" of which I probably should let go and allow the Universe to bring to me in more natural ways. Working for applause might be one of them.

I don't think starting a new blog is surrendering the need for applause. Do you?