StoneTosser's Blog

Writer's Lament

Dana — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 05:59:00 GMT

Broken bits of phrase

scatter carelessly about me.

Only in stillness
does a whim, an inspiration

breath them into life -
to laugh, to yearn, to be reborn.

Then, the call to task -
and they fall before its looming.

Once again, lifeless,
into the dark.

(c) 2006 StoneTosser

No Place Like Home

Dana — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 19:15:00 GMT

Just like we discover our true family once we leave home, we also discover our true home.

My family moved around when I was little - our first move out of my Northern Californian birthplace when I was three - and when it finally came time for me to strike out on my own, I moved far away from my native California and settled into the DC environs to make a home. Arlington, Virginia has been my home for the last twenty four years and it has been a good home for my family and my business. My spirit? Not so much. I have found and devoted my energy to a church there, ensured it was a comfortable space for my children and community to find comfort in, but my own spiritual journey has continued on its own path, looking for home.

Many times over the years, I've had urges and desires to move back to the San Francisco area. They intensified when my husband and kids fell in love with the Pacific shores and traveled with me along the jagged, lush shores of California's northern beaches, crawling around looking for rocks and stepping around surging surf to spot tidepool treasures. But the time has never been right and the list of "why nots" always far outweighs the "whys" for calling Northern California “home”.

Many times on our trips I've sat alone on the ocean's edge and wept - not out of sadness but out of joy for the sheer, raw energy of the land that my body, mind and soul knows is where I belong. I've wept because I feel so connected to mother earth and God when I sit at the ocean’s edge that I can't contain the intensity of my love of this land where the water and air and coastline come together in roughly gorgeous harmony for all the senses to enjoy. "Someday," I say to myself, "if I’m incredibly lucky, I’ll find a way to live some of my life here again." And then I get back on a plane and fly “home.”

And all this seems odd because until the last couple of years, I’ve hardly known a soul in California. My family all left decades ago and the majority of my close friends moved also. I thought I was drawn to the land for its beauty and energy.

A few times, usually in the sticky heat of a Washington summer, I've questioned why I've had to live so long away from the place that gives me such joy be simply being there and breathing the air. I don't feel "punished," because our life in DC is really pretty fantastic, and the seasons are nice, and the schools are good, and my career has thrived. But I have still succumbed to wondering about my wandering so far from “home”.

This weekend I came to San Francisco on a business/pleasure trip and found the answer to what calls me back. And it turned out that it had very little to do with the land at all, and everything to do with my inner landscape and the spiritual journey I've been on. This weekend I spent a few days with the driving forces behind Owning Pink. Lissa Rankin extended her lovely home in Muir Beach to me and invited many others she has found community with. Some were new to me, some had already become old friends in spirit (thank you, Internet!). We came together over food and friendship and began to talk about our dreams – for ourselves, for each other, for the world. We shared what each of us hoped for Owning Pink, what we had to offer it, what it gave us. And in the sharing something amazing began to take shape.

We began to speak of Owning Pink as a business that will serve Divine Purpose and uplift our community as it uplifts us. We spoke of “Pink” as Divine Love and women as the gateway for the Divine Feminine and the Divine Masculine to walk through into co-creating a more beautiful world. We spoke of helping each other along on our personal journeys, of helping people heal them simply by “seeing” them as the beautiful souls we all are. We all accepted responsibility for our part in making this happen and vowed to support each other in the effort. It was the most unusual business meeting I’ve ever attended and it was also the most important.

I realized as we talked of business and dreams, that others “saw” me and allowed me to “see” them absent cynicism and negativity and all the “why nots”. We gave ourselves permission to imagine our success and see it in what is already taking shape. My spirit lifted as we talked and I saw that we each brought special gifts and perspectives to this conversation as the business issues and the higher goals wove themselves together in our discussion. But the most precious moment was when I saw how my own personal gifts and skills – business knowledge and spiritual awareness – fit into this lovely mosaic of building intention like a hand slips into a soft, supple glove.

And suddenly I understood that I was truly home. On the land, in my heart and in my spiritual tribe, I had come home from the dessert to be welcomed with open arms; the gifts I had collected without knowing who they would be given to were graciously accepted; and I wept yet again.

Now there is no doubt in my mind that Northern California and Owning Pink are my home in truth. The logistics of locating my body and career here are likely to work their way out but even if they don’t, I know where home is and carry it with me always and forever (thank you, Internet, again!). This has been a fantastic year for me so far, finding both my purpose and my home. I can't wait to see what's next.

Thank you Lissa, for following your own true path where it has led you, and for including me in your journey. Thank you for calling me home.

The Story of My Unmasking

Dana — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 02:50:00 GMT

My friend Lissa Rankin and I were talking recently about what it means to be your ‘authentic’ self. "It means taking your masks away," she said, referring to the roles we play of employee, professional, mom, friend, daughter, PTA parent etc. She has observed (and built a thriving blog around the idea) that many of us get to a point in life where these masks threaten to define us as fractured beings. Perhaps it is in defense - or desperation - that we yearn to break free of the masks and just be ourselves, the "me" that exists underneath all the roles and masks.

The Need to Unmask

When we allow ourselves space to journey into what lies beneath the “selves” we've spent so much energy building our lives around, most of us find that there are hidden and long squashed talents lying in wait to captivate our imagination and attention. I've lost count of the people I know (myself included) who've discovered artistic, entrepreneurial and creative outlets in later life when they took the time to allow buried parts of themselves to break through to the surface. Sometimes there are scary things hiding underneath those masks too, feelings and desires so long repressed that they threaten to undo us unless they can be explored in a safe space surrounded by people who are supportive and at least as interested in our self-discovery as in their own agendas.

I think this is the evolution of the midlife crisis for us older folk. I am happy to report, however, that I know many young folk who aren't waiting until midlife to explore and share their authentic selves.

My Story

For me , it has been a real challenge to explore my authentic self while maintaining and evolving all the myriad of relationships I've built in my various social roles. In the years leading up to my unmasking, I’ve let go of many of the friendships that no longer serve either of us and I’ve brought closer to me those relationships from which we both benefit. But I still haven’t shared all of me with all of my friends. In becoming a more authentic version of me, I’m not trying to fool my friends by not explaining every detail of my journey, I’m trying to protect them from the discomfiting oddity of seeing me take off some masks only to find others beneath and watch me keep digging deeper. I’ve learned in the past that when I do this too haphazardly people become confused, because sometimes even when I know amazing things are happening beneath the surface, it’s better to “wait and become,” more quietly until I’m ready to tell the story of my growth. While I want to grow friendships as I evolve I don’t wan to toss them into upheaval just so I can be free of worrying about other people's feelings; I value their feelings, and I value the life I’ve built with their friendship.

Unmasking Safely

Recently it struck me that the solution to my “how to unmask safely” dilemma lay in storytelling. Not necessarily the fictitious kind (though that can be helpful, too) but in telling my own story so that others could understand the context within which I’m unmasking. For my unmasking to make sense to people around me, the story can’t be about the aspects of me that are being discarded, but about what lies beneath. Over the last six months I have been working very hard to understand how to tell the story of what lies beneath. I could feel it. I could be it. I could even show it to people, but to communicate it has been another matter entirely. And so for a while I flailed. I even drafted this post over two months ago and promptly trashed it because upon reread it was just one big flail.

It became even more important to me to find a way to tell the story when I decided to split my business in two, moving my marketing practice into a partnership I’ve been developing over the last several years and concentrating my own business on what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I can’t really have a business without a web site because I’m a writer first and the web site helps me tell my story. So I set out to retool Magus Consulting. I flailed a bit at that too, at first, but what saved me was a series of exercises given to me by a friend to help me uncover and articulate my purpose in life.

My Purpose

Not really to my surprise, when I took the time to think it through, I discovered I’d been living my purpose for at least twenty years – ever since I met my husband and began to unfold all the happiness our family has brought me in my personal life. But I hadn’t applied it to my work life, the place in which I spend an enormous amount of energy, the place where I arguably have the greatest impact on the world, the place that I thrive and shine most brightly. Once I had my purpose statement in hand the flailing stopped; it all became clear and I wrote my web site in a weekend and had it up within the month.

My purpose statement:

My purpose is to tap into the energy of creation to guide people I value into new, exciting territory and to help them discover their own unique talents and opportunities to change their worlds. When I work together with these amazing people, the world will become a better place.

I am Magic

When I look back on that moment when I first named my company “Magus” Consulting exactly eight years ago - calling my professional magician archetype by its true name - I realize now that it was my purpose guiding me even then; I just didn’t recognize it at the time. All along I’ve been living my purpose personally by using my magical eyes to see the love and the power inside my friends and family, labeling it and recognizing so they can see themselves more clearly and more gently. And I’ve also been living my purpose to some extent with my marketing clients, guiding them through “the next new technology” and giving them plans and strategies to achieve their business goals in these new lands (i.e., the internet, social media, etc.).

But now that I’m clear, I’m going to step it up, past just technology marketing and past being a good friend. I’m going to integrate my skills built over a twenty-five year career with the wisdom gained through a forty-seven year lifetime. I’m going to claim my own talent and opportunity to change my world.

The new Magus Consulting will help leaders transform their organizations to change their worlds. I will continue my work with businesses and nonprofits, helping them tap into the power of the vision and energy of their organizations to turn their aspirations from vision to reality. Through strategic planning services and coaching, I will help leaders lead from both their hearts and their heads so that they thrive financially by helping all their stakeholders succeed as well. And if even a fraction of the organizations, entrepreneurs and leaders I work with change their world for the better, than the world will be a brighter place and I will have changed my world too.

I’m so excited I could just pop.

Please visit my new Magus Consulting web site and share it with any leaders you know seeking to change their world through their business.

Thank you for being with me on this journey, thank you for loving me, thank you for bearing witness to my unmasking. I cannot be my authentic self without all of you to love.

~Dana Theus

Photocredit: The Buffy-the-Vampire Tarot deck was actually never released by Dark Horse, much to many fans' dismay. I, personally, have never watched Buffy, but I love this modern-classic re-rendition of the traditional Tarot Magician card and so I claim it as the visualization of my archetype.

Emily and Esmeralda

Dana — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 22:45:00 GMT

I wrote this story based on imagery and emotion that came to me during many meditations over the last few years. It is a story of a soul's growth and reunion and many of my friends have helped birth it. The final inspiration came when a very special friend and I discovered we have magical eyes. In that sense, it's based on a true story. Love, Light and Blessings to all who read this. ~Dana

Emily

There once was a girl named Emily. Emily was magical. She knew things. She saw things. But she lived in a box with a huge glass wall that looked out on a world full of shadow people and rain. Her box was cozy and in it she was safe. There were no mirrors in her box. Well, there was one, but it lay broken in a dusty corner where she'd thrown it years before.

For the most part, Emily was content to look out at the world beyond her glass window. She wrote poems and stories about what she saw there. She loved the moonlight and darkness and drew close to the window when darkness came so she could watch the night creatures in the souls of those who walked by. She dreamed and pointed her finger at things Outside, and sometimes she could make things happen there. It was great fun when it worked. Unfortunately, it didn't always work, but since it was a game, she didn't really care and simply stayed Inside where her world was her own.

Over time - gradually - she began to be curious about what lie Outside. Of course, she "knew" what was Outside because she saw it go by her window every day. But she didn't really "know" it. She didn't know what it felt like, or tasted like, or smelled like.

Then she began to hear voices and realized they were from the people outside her box. Overjoyed, she listened and even tried to use her magic to talk back. A few people Outside stopped as though listening. They came to her window and looked in. Just a very few had eyes magical enough to see her shadow moving inside, but even though she drew back, away from their eyes, they smiled. They said kind things. They invited her Outside to walk with them.

Emily was afraid. She'd never thought about why she was Inside, but as she felt the glass wall begin to thin, fear filled her heart and so she stayed In. But the people Outside were so nice; they kept talking to her. They didn't make her feel bad for living in a box. As time went on she realized she wanted to go Outside to be with them. She walked around inside her box and started - for the first time ever - looking for a door. She looked behind lovely paintings she'd placed on the walls; she pulled up big cushy pillows looking for hidden trap doors; she even went over to her dreaded dark corner where the mirror lay. Finding no door, she knelt down to pick up the broken silver glass with the jagged edge. Looking at the fractured smash of her face in it, twisted, wounded and framed by limp black hair, she remembered why she'd thrown it so hard. Dropping it once more, she went back to the window, dejected and sad.

"I guess I'm just supposed to stay here forever," she whispered to no one.

Esmeralda

Somewhere completely different, Esmeralda played. She lived on the top of a hill wooded with tall trees widely spaced and scattered around a lovely little pool of clear blue water at the center of which a lotus flower floated. Down the hill spilled a lovely green valley and in the distance was a mountain. Her world was graced by both the sun and the moon, which hung above her as she played in her little hilltop forest. She adored them both as they filled her magical forest with silver and golden light. Often she would sit by the pool as it reflected light all around her and play with it, swirling it just for fun.

Though she didn't know why, Esmeralda knew her pool was magical and she looked in it often. The water gave her a perfect reflection of herself and the lovely sky overhead dotted with little puffs of cloud weaving in between the branches of her trees, their leaves waving softly in the breeze. She loved the look of her sparkling face and full blond-white hair. Sometimes when she twisted just so, she could catch site of her little butterfly wings and quiver them with delight. When she did this, they floated her up off the ground and she flitted around her pool, laughing.

Esmeralda had two familiars, beautiful little doves that sometimes transformed into butterflies to make her happy. The white one was her constant companion, flitting and flying through the trees around her, never far from her. She loved it because it was so peaceful and lovely and when it was near her she was content and strong. But the soft gray dove seemed sick. It flew around sometimes but more often it would sit quietly on a little twig while the other two played. It seemed lonely.

One day, Esmeralda coaxed the little gray dove down to sit in her lap while the white one perched on her shoulder. She stroked the sad little bird's silky wings and coo'd with it, asking what it needed to be happy. The little gray dove had no answer and so, on an inspiration, Esmeralda took it over to the magical pool so they could look in it together.

As usual, Esmeralda's face was shining with heath and happiness but the pretty image of the little dove in her hand flickered. Esmeralda blinked, surprised as the still water of the pool rippled and broke apart the little bird's features. The image of the little dove wavered in an out between the picture of its soft little body cuddled in her palms and a black-boned thing with skeleton wings, wobbling unsteadily. She knew without knowing how; this poor hobbling little creature was how the little gray dove saw itself in the mirror of the water.

And so she coo'd to it gently and looked at it harder with her magical eyes until she brought the image of her beautiful bird back into the water's shimmering surface. She could tell the little bird was confused when it's image shifted; it couldn't understand how she had made it so pretty just by looking at it. Esmeralda didn't notice its confusion and laughed happily, concentrating on the beauty she saw while she stroked its feathers. As she petting it tenderly, the bird glowed in her palm, dissapearing into a ball of light until it finally resolved back into he perfect little creature it had always been. The little bird released its confusion, fluttering its wings in happiness and gratitude. Esmeralda's heart swelled full of love when the little bird flew up to fly with her little white dove. She started to stand, hoping to dance beneath them as they played in the shimmering light air, but something caught her eye in the pool and she leaned over to stare into the crystalline depths once more.

Her smiling face was there as before but a shadow passed beneath the surface and Esmeralda gasped to see her own image flicker now, the picture of another girl with dark hair and sad eyes glimmering up from within the pool as she pressed her hand against the surface of the water from below. Puzzled, Esmeralda reached out to touch Emily's hand.

Emily and Esmeralda

Emily started and jerked her hand away as she felt the soft little poke of Esmeralda's finger touching her palm. Blinking, she focused on the pretty little girl's face on the other side of her glass wall.

"She sees me," Emily whispered to her herself, and then staring at her palm she murmured, "and she feels me." Her heart pounding to think someone had actually reached into her box, Emily ran away from the glass to cower in the corner, shivering. At her feet was the cracked and broken mirror. Morbidly curious about how ugly she was now and what the little girl with the fluffy blond hair had seen, she lifted the cracked glass up to look at her own twisted features. Shocked, she saw only the glowing, radiant face of the blond-haired girl again, on the other side of her mirror.

Still by the pool, Esmeralda knit her brows, wondering who this sad girl was living in her pool. As the two magical beings looked at each other, Emily's face began to morph and become sallow and twisted, her teeth yellowing.

"She's can't see herself," Esmeralda whispered softly. "Like my little dove." Smiling at this new game, Esmeralda concentrated on seeing the lovely and gentle heart she knew beat inside the other. Within moments, Emily's sallow skin began to grow pink and her black stringy hair filled out to frame her face. Emily's eyes were wide, able to see her image change now as it formed alongside Esmeralda's in the mirror. She had never seen herself this way, the way Esmeralda saw her - exquisite and stunningly beautiful. Emily's lips turns up in a tiny smile as she watched Esmeralda clap her hands at the power of her magical eyes. Knowing she had made a friend, Esmeralda put her hand to the water once more, this time to touch Emily's face.

Instinctively, Emily took Esmeralda's hand and before she understood what had happened, she had stepped up through the shimmering water and stood in Esmeralda's paradise.

Esmeralda danced around her like a little fairy, for now she could see that Emily was a woman - elegant, tall and willowy - dressed in a glimmery silken blue dress the color of the predawn sky. Esmeralda was as a child next to her, but her little butterfly wings could flitter her up by Emily's shoulders for a moment or two as she hopped about, scattering magical sparkles in the sunlight air all around them. Emily stared at the wonderful display of light and delight that was Esmeralda until finally she laughed. And then they danced together. When Emily giggled, a rosy blush flushed over her cheeks and her full lips parted to frame pretty white teeth.

Slowing her dance to take Emily's hand in hers, Esmeralda alighted on the soft green grass and then skipped ahead, taking her new friend on a tour of her beaucolic land. Together they explored the hilltop and pointed at the moon and the sun, the paths and fields down below and finally the tall evenly spaced trees in the forest of light all around them. Emily periodically held her arms out, amazed at the warmth of sunlight on her skin. Closing her eyes, she smiled up at the sky and let the golden light bathe her, overjoyed to be Outside.

After a bit, Esmeralda led her new friend back to a little wooden seat near the pool and they sat, Esmeralda hopping in Emily's lap and handing her a little mirror, shining inside a diamond rim. Afraid, Emily tried to push it away but Esmeralda looked at her with loving eyes and held the mirror up again. Emily gasped, shocked to see the lovely woman in the reflection, soft dark hair spilling down past high cheekbones and smoky blue eyes set in milky soft skin. She blinked to see if the image of loveliness would go away, but it didn't.

Tears glistened in her lashes and Emily let them fall as she thanked Esmeralda for her magical eyes, her heart spilling over in gratitude. Esmeralda smiled as she traced the tears and thanked Emily just as sincerely for filling a tiny little emptiness only her gray dove had known how to find.

They sat like that all afternoon, Emily holding Esmeralda like a child in her lap and Esmeralda happily laughing and gazing lovingly up into her eyes.

Above them circled the little white dove and the soft gray dove, playing in the sparkling sunmoonlight.

Never had there been a happier day in heaven, on earth or in the magical realms than this.

(c) 2010 StoneTosser

Photocredits:
Blue woman @ Glass
Blue Woman with Tears by Mik Godley
Scary Mirror
I don't know where the fairies came from. If you know, please tell me.
Sunlight woman was purchased from iStockphoto.com

2010: A New Year, A New Decade, A New Approach

Dana — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 21:01:00 GMT

I sit here on the eve of a new decade in what, to the unenlightened eye would appear to be a total disaster of a room. My office - workplace, spiritual space, relaxation space, writing space - is getting a to-the-bones cleansing this weekend. I'm hardly a hoarder, tossing stuff easily and frequently, but this week I've gone deeper and scoured through every shelf and drawer to recycle a decade of unnecessary stuff and on the first weekend of 2010 I will paint it a soothing but vibrant green to frame it's large windows to nature and my husband and sons (bless their souls) will lay in a new hardwood floor. They are also refinishing and building some new furniture for me and infusing their love into the very skeleton of my little room. By next week I plan to be organized, decluttered and happily re-ensconced in my space. I can't wait; tiny as it is, it's my sanctuary.

But right now, on December 31 with the boxes piled high and the mess of it all around me, I am deeply unsettled.

Clearing out the Old Ways

In part, my disquiet reflects the upheaval of order in that place where I go to make sense of the chaos of daily life. But as I pack up my prayer altar, throw away a decade of files and give away over 100 pounds of books to the library, I'm realizing there is more to it than just some temporarily disturbed spacial energy. This cleansing of my premises is not what it's about at all, rather it's a reflection of a deeper declutter in my soul. You see, I've been spending the entirety of December (if not most of this Fall) clearing. I've been clearing myself creatively as I integrate my mini jewelry business into my life and identity; I've been clearing myself professionally as I get ready to embark on some new business directions in the two thousand teens; and I've been clearing myself spiritually as I recommit to meditation, self care and staying connected to my higher self in all my daily interactions.

Getting clear of old stuff is so great; it makes me feel so good and it opens my life up to new possibilities. I totally believe in what Shannon Kinney-Dūh says about decluttering , about how everything has its time and place and when it’s time to let it go, it’s an opportunity for personal growth. I’m joining Shannon in her 2010 declutter journey in an effort to continue what I’ve started this month so that it becomes an even more ingrained habit in me to let go, move forward and live in the present moment.

I don't know if I'm completely "clear" yet, or if I ever will be, but I do know that letting go of so much is not only invigorating but a bit frightening at the same time. All those old things and old ways I'm throwing out may be holding me back or getting in my way on some level or another, but at least I understand them. I know them. I know how they work and what to expect from them. I've developed habits around them and they mean something or I wouldn't have hung onto them.

I don't know what's coming. I believe it will be wonderful, I trust in the Universe, but the soft animal of my body isn't so sure. And so I meet myself in the crux of the human condition, strung out between hope for the future and cynicism informed by the past; courage to launch into the unknown and fear of what I cannot see; delight in the new and sadness as the present transforms into the past…

My New Strategy

Standing on the brink of this new cycle I am committed to focusing on the hope and the courage and the delight, but I am more mindful than ever that this will require a new level of strength inside me as new stuff comes at me, seeking to lodge itself inside my space and become one of my new habits. How will I keep from simply recreating all the old stuff and ways I'm scouring out of me?

I don't really know, but I do have a new strategy which is to let love guide me. Not love in the traditional romantic sense, but love in the universal sense. On the edge of every choice, of word or deed, holding love in my heart moves me in a better direction. Love helps me see past people's masks into their core being and speak to their gentle soul, it helps me sense the best outcome even when all options require sacrifice and it focuses me on what matters most to my benefit and to the benefit of those around me.

Trite as it sounds, love works.

So, despite my body's trepidation in the midst of the chaos of cleaning the known to make room for the unknown, my spirit is excited and happy that a new decade comes upon us. I breathe in the anticipation and wonder of all new beginnings and set my intention to help make 2010 the best year ever - for me and everyone my actions touch.

I sit with love in my heart and wish it for you, too, that your year be blessed and bring us together in ways we both grow from. I don’t ask that it be easy, only that we grow our souls, find comfort in our sadness and celebrate our success.

Love, Light and Blessings to you my friend.

Happy New Year!

Goodbye Grandpa: Reflections on a Good Life and a Good Death

Dana — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 15:42:00 GMT

I just back from my grandfather’s funeral. It was a very nice ceremony, simple and heartfelt; an unassuming event to honor an unassuming man. And his life was worth honoring; he lived a full life of 94 years and along the way did phenomenal service for our country and touched so many people with compassion, discipline and strength that I doubt anyone could have kept count. He died on Thanksgiving day, appropriately for those of us called to give thanks for his life. Of course there was sadness and we all cried when the Air Force honor guard played taps over his grave, but those were passing tears to recognize the gap in our lives where Grandpa had always sat, now the residence of memory. They were not tears for his death.

As I listened to his life remembered, I was so thankful that in our family’s story - like my Grandmother and Father-in-law - Grandpa had left in the gentle way, the natural way that a life disengages from the earth when its body no longer serves it here. He struggled in his final years with Alzheimer’s and was blessed with a loving wife and extended family to ease his passage, but it was clear that his time here was simply over. And when it’s time to move on, on any portion of a soul’s journey, it is simply time to go.

I believe this is true for any kind of death because I believe our souls don’t wink out when our life does.

Written this way, it all sounds very spiritual and gentle and easy, and in the natural death of older people it is a little easier. It’s easier for us to let them go because we can see evidence in their frail bodies that to keep them here would be little more than a selfish act. It’s easier for us to be unselfish for them.

The death of younger people is a harder shock to absorb. There is a special tragedy to overcome when children die or people with full lives yet to live leave us behind. Because I have no other way to understand it, I choose to believe that when this happens - as it has with my father and my Sister-in-law - the same principles are at work though their bodies do not appear to have failed as naturally. I choose to believe that their souls must no longer find this life on earth their best way forward.

It’s the rest of us that have trouble letting go, because it’s not our journey.

This belief comforts me as I read on the devastation of wars around the world, freak accidents, horrible diseases and violent outbursts that take young and old alike before their bodies have the chance to fail them naturally. In this sense, when I fall back on my beliefs to help me comprehend the incomprehensible I reinvent the purpose of spirituality since the beginning of time, praying along with the billions of souls that have gone before me and live along side me that our souls’ journey’s make sense on the cosmic level when they appear completely nonsensical from down here.

And so I come back from this reverie to look on my Grandfather’s death with awe and gratitude for the full life he lived and for the fact that his soul chose to be with us as long as it could have been. Selfishly, I hope that everyone else I love chooses to stay as long, but unselfishly I try to be prepared to let them go if they day comes that it simply can’t be.

Thanks for staying so long, Grandpa. I miss you, but I’m so very grateful for your memory and all the lives you touched while you were here. Be well “up there” and I look forward to the day we are reunited again on some other adventure.

Photo Credit: This picture of the White Light often reported from near death experiences is from a fascinating near death experience article at How Stuff Works: Has Science Explained Life After Death? Make sure to read the second page.

Giving Thanks WIthin

Dana — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 23:57:00 GMT

As I sit by the fire on Thanksgiving Eve with oh, so much to be thankful for, I find myself reflecting on the bounty in my life a little differently than usual. I thought I'd try to write it out in an effort to understand how giving thanks feels different than it used to.

Sometime in my young adulthood I realized that despite "earning" a lot of my luck, it wasn't all "mine." So I started giving thanks, when prompted at times like this wonderful holiday, and in other more spontaneous ways. The older I got the more I gave thanks, I guess because I'd just gathered up so many more special moments and people over the years.

Until very recently, my thanks were tossed out of me, like little stones into a pond.

Thanks for my family. Plop. Thanks for my friends. Plop. Thanks for a good job and house. Plop. Thanks for the opportunity to live a fulfilling life. Plop.

Some time ago, I started imagining each little Plop to send ripples out into - what? A sortof universal pool of good will among humans, I thought. This image delighted me and encouraged me to toss more Plops. Tossing gratitude became a little game I played silently in those moments where I felt truly lucky, and even in those moments I didn't but "knew" that I was and wanted the discipline of the gratitude practice to reprogram my more cynical thoughts. It worked and gratitude is now something I feel often. Carrying my little bag of gratitude stones has made my world brighter and me happier.

But it turns out gratitude isn't just a little game. It's not something that I just "do". Like living in Presence, Gratitude has changed me.

Tossing out little Thanks Plops feels good. I like it. I do it. But now when I stop and really focus on what I'm grateful for, something else entirely happens. Instead of tossing the thanks out of me into some nameless pool in "the Universe", I pull what I'm thankful for inside and hold it.

You see, it turns out that the deep pool of gratitude lives within me.

And so the process of giving thanks is different now. I don't feel right listing off a long line of "things out there" that make my life so nice. I don't "give" thanks anymore. I AM thanks, and I invite what is outside in. All the people, spirits and circumstances that make my life so joyful are welcomed inside me to be with me in my pool of gratitude. Together we send out calm ripples of love everywhere and we are all the more powerful a force for good in the world because of it.

And so tonight in my thankful heart I hold my family, my friends, and the angels on earth and elsewhere that fill my life with magic and help me grow my soul while fueling the growth of others; I hold all of nature, seen and unseen that fills my lungs and my tummy and that I rest on, move through and dream about. In my thankful heart I hold God and am held in return.

And if you are reading this, I hold you, too. Thanks to you, beautiful soul, for being here with me.

Photocredit: I don't know, but I hold them in my heart too.

Part II: Living in the Present Moment – Becoming an Emotional Adult

Dana — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 14:12:00 GMT

In a recent post I talked about how wonderful it was to finally be free of the debilitating worries, guilts and anxieties of that past and future, allowing my energy to be present to the joy and occasional pain of my daily life. Living in the Present really has become a great survival tactic when fears encroach on my happiness. I recommend it highly, but learning to Live in the Moment didn’t just free me from fear, it changed me in other, even more profound ways; it turned me into an emotional adult.

You knew it, didn’t you? There’s always a catch!

You remember that I said that Living in the Moment didn’t necessarily make all my problems go away? Well it’s true that being more Present actually made some parts of my life more complicated. Let's start with my primary modern survival technique - multitasking. How would I survive without the ability to monitor client email, text my kids, maintain many many friendships via Twitter, Facebook, IM, email etc and run a household and a couple of businesses all while playing with stones and jotting out posts like this that feed my soul? I admit to walking the edge on this issue more than any other, my attention always a bit fragmented. For a while when I first began being conscious of the benefits of Presence, I took it too far the other way - using meditation to help calm my mind and then concentrating so much on one thing at a time – being uber-Present as though I was on some mountaintop with the monks - that I made modern mistakes. I remember distinctly being so into the Present Moment on a lunch date that I completely forgot to pick my kids up from school. "Oops. Guess I need to be simultaneously Present to the calendar so the future doesn’t bonk me in the head!" I said to my extremely smug Guilt Imp as we raced to the school.

The calendar became my savior, however, as I stopped trying to carry the future in my head and put it in my phone so I refer to it when I needed - at that moment - to make a decision about how to spend my energy over the next unit of time - whether it was a few minutes (e.g., whether to try to run to the grocery before or after a meeting) or a few months (e.g., whether to take on a new project). I’ve recognized that – to a point - I am capable of multitasking in the Present to the extent it helps me manage my life and still remain Present to all the parts of my life that I love. I do turn off the multitasking sometimes, but I do more than unplug my technology, I put my Worry Imps to bed too, asking some to leave forever and others to wait for me at my desk the next day or week when I will have the ability to deal with them. Yes, I talk to my Worry Gremlins. Why not? They tend to leave more readily when I address them directly. Call me crazy but it works.

But conscious multitasking took me deeper into myself and made me aware that living in the Present Moment required a lot of energy management. I used to think of this as time management, but being Present to the relatively subtle fluxuations of my physical and mental energy levels has made me aware that while I have little control over the steady march of time, I have a lot more influence over HOW I spend my time to get the most of the energy that flows through me. For example, due to biorhythms, hormones or sun spots (I suspect they’re all in cahoots anyway) I find that at some points in time my energy is simply more capable of doing some things than at others. I know I’m useless when I wake up, creative until two, mentally scattered again until five, mentally productive until eight and tired after nine. Knowing my energy patterns is great for living in the Present because I now know how best to get through my task lists, making the most of my Present energy. But wait. Dang. I keep forgetting that I don't really control that old Time Demon – my schedule - which is dictated by kids, clients and the various construction crews that have been banging in and around my home/office for the last 3 years. Shoot.

Let me tell you, managing the demands of my life while being present to my energy cycles is a real pain. It’s not so much about Monsters and Imps as it is about being hyper conscious of the constant choices I’m making – and I mean constant choices on a minute-by-minute basis sometimes – about what is most important to me and how I spend my energy. After all, when I’m Present to all the decisions leading up that moment when I face a client deadline in the midst of a major energy low, I can’t bitch about their stupid deadlines or the unfairness of the Universe for putting me in this situation, I know it was my choices – on what to sign up for, what values to uphold and how to manage my energy leading up to that moment - that put me in this position.

And this is how I came to realize that I’d grown up emotionally because being Present gave me emotional responsibility for my life. Being Present to each moment makes me hyper-aware of the choices I make on how I spend my time and energy, and very conscious of the power I give each little Gremlin and Imp that scampers (or I accidently invite) into my life. All this knowledge makes it virtually impossible for me to blame others for my reality. I’ve successfully put myself in control of my Present Moment which means – yipes! – that I’m in control of it! This is a classic case of “be careful what you wish for” because when things go well I can give myself great kudos, but when things go not-so-great I take that rap too. Inconvenient as this knowledge is sometimes, it’s also empowering because over time it’s helped me make more and more good decisions, letting go of people and behaviors that just brought more little Demon-wanna-bes to my life. But notice I said “more” good decisions, not “only” good decisions. I still screw up.

So that I don’t let that load of past Regret Gremlins and Guilt Imps gang up on me again, I have to deal with the negative in the real-time Present Moment, apologizing when I’ve wronged someone and doing what I can to make things right when 20-20 hindsight shows me the results of my boneheaded decisions. Sure, I do blame the Universe for stuff, but as a way of not accepting responsibility for things truly out of my control, like illnesses and tragedy, decisions other people make (after all, my own Presence isn’t the only Moment that matters) and world events I didn’t vote for. I don’t take personal responsibility for these things because, I mean, why invite a little Demon-wannabe to move into your basement if he’s got a perfectly good home elsewhere? (Note: I’m not completely dismissing the theory that those other things outside myself are affected by my decisions, but I don’t take personal responsibility for them all and I’m not going to address the nuances of this complicated issue in this post.)

So somewhere midway through my Life’s Journey, I’m happy to say I’ve used the Be Here Now strategy to ungang my Gremlins so they can’t paralyze me anymore, even though they are still with me toddling down the Path. Presence has given me more than just more manageable problems, though, it’s taken away my excuses. I know now that I have the power to make myself happy and when I’m not, it’s up to me to fix it. As I work with this reality in my minute-by-minute Present Moment, this reality takes me deeper into the choices I make, the benefits and prices I pay with each decision; it continues to mature me.

Part of me hopes that as I age I can live a simpler life and make the minute-by-minute struggle a little less exhausting, but another part of me is joyfully aware that this is just another Future Worry in the guise of a hope. Because the real future Present Moment, when I get there, will be full of choices and good things and not so good things, too. I remind myself that the energy of the Present, when fully experienced and savored, is always more enriching than a mere hope. And so I use hope as a guiding star, steering my myriad of Present decisions like a herd of cats in the general direction of wonderfulness.

More of designing my future in another post, I hope. For the moment, however, it’s time to put my technology away and succumb to uselessness for a bit. With this post I let these thoughts go and pass them on - to you. May they enhance your Present Moment just a little before you pass them on - elsewhere.

Love, Light and Joy

Happy Baby - Witness to a Self-Serving Act of Love

Dana — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 01:21:00 GMT

I sat at a restaurant today, waiting for a new friend. While sitting, I witnessed a wonderful act of self-serving love that I want to pass on. I've never seen this before and I watched in wonder as an anonymous woman made an anonymous baby happy so that she could take a phone call. This post is my hug to her for demonstrating how love can be the solution to so many more "problems" than we give it credit for. But it was more than the baby who was happy when she was done; all who witnessed it were happy in that baby's happy glow.

The restaurant is a lovely place, old worldly with fresh vaulted ceilings and windows to let the cool November light stream in. It's painted and decorated to feel like a french country kitchen, big unfinished butcher block tables and chairs create a calm, soothing atmosphere. This is something of a veneer, however, because the daubed, milky-toned ocher paint effects mask the concrete walls and columns of the steel-hearted office building overhead. I would have completely accepted the peacefull illusions painted over the bones of modernity were it not for the acoustics of the place, which were harsh to the ear. Even at 20% seating capacity it was noisy as the sounds of eating and normal conversation zinged up into the high ceiling, accelerating off the hard, cold surfaces to clang into each other.

This cacophonous juxtaposition of auditory and visual reality didn't bother me until the shriek of a little two year old four tables over split through the already harsh sounds bouncing above my head, doubling the jangling-nerve effect of the ambient noise. Poor little tyke had been trying to move her stroller when the nasty thing fell on her. The terror on her face bespoke of a monstrous demon crashing her to the earth, pinning her in it's gray and black plastic arms and burying her in inky fabric folds to block out her view of the light until her mother could rush around to pull the beast off her and scoop her into loving, warm only-like-mommy-has arms. But the loving embrace could not quell the cries and horror-stricken tears from gushing down her little pink cheeks.

I was slightly annoyed but sent forgiving love to her and her mom because, well, I've been there (on both sides). There's just no getting around the fact that babies get scared a lot, and cry and... well this is how they learn that monstrous strollers really aren't so monsterous after all. Breathing deeply, I looked around to see if others were sending over empathy or stabbingly angry looks.

My eyes fixed on a woman dressed in fashionable black tights, a black tight-fitting sweater with a nicely jaunty, off-the-hip belt that - if it wasn't leopard skin, it might as well have been. Her olive skin and perfectly frosted long hair framed large golden hoop earrings. I didn't see whether she had gorgeously painted nails but I bet she had those too. As she got up to paw in her purse her phone rang and I watched, mesmerized as she put it to her ear. The place was hard to hold a cell phone conversation in before the little one started yelling and I can only imagine she couldn't hear anything with the squawky little kid at full volume. Nevermind that, the woman - phone to ear - turned and walked over to the miserable little ball of screaming toe-headed imp. My energy was already building to be mad at her for sharply criticizing the sad little human when she picked up a small pumpkin off the table, smiled a stunning smile at the little one and waved, all the while, talking on the phone. The baby abruptly stopped screaming. It was magic. The woman handed the pumpkin to the child and snagged another one as her business transaction came to a close. Handing the now-delighted child the other pumpkin, she closed her phone, gave a little winky smile to the baby and her mother and headed back to gather her things to leave.

Happy two year olds are a joy. I felt it all through the restaurant.

A little while later I was deep in conversation and happened to notice that adorably, bubbing-over-with-happiness child riding in her stroller and clutching two little pumpkins as though they were the Queen's treasures. And they were treasures, her well-earned reward for allowing herself to release her fear and terror and accept the loving gifts of a total stranger who needed to take a phone call.

How many lives would I touch if I confronted every annoyance and angry moment with love and acceptance of what is? How many anxious people could I soothe if I dug deep enough into the well of love living in my heart to dole it out instead of annoying looks and tense shoulders? I don't know, but this woman who had her call and quiet too has challenged me to find out. I cant' wait to find the next crying baby in my life. How about you?

Photo Credit: This is my dad at in his new little cowboy outfit. It's one of the few truly happy photos I have of him as a child. I treasure it for the joy in his heart that day.

Part I: Living in the Present Moment – EmoMonster Spray

Dana — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 21:30:00 GMT

Note to readers: My musings seem to be turning inward, perhaps as my travel schedule subsides for now. So don't be surprised if the spiritual and some armchair psychology begins to trump the travel on this blog for a while. Who said life journeys were consistent? I'm just following the path where it leads and exploring what is before me in order to move on.

"Be Here Now. Live in the Present. Live in the Moment." So goes common advice from the life coach, the therapist and the spiritual guide. There really isn't anywhere you can turn anymore without some enlightened someone urging you to put aside worries of tomorrow and yesterday in order to concentrate on making the precious moment in time you occupy RIGHT NOW full and completely experienced. The theory is that when your mind and heart are in the present moment – even the painful moment - you are not wasting energy on things you can't control. And by achieving emotional and psychic energy efficiency – mindful of the present at the expense of the past and the future - you will live a fulfilled and happy life.

Riiiiight.

Who are these people? Don’t’ they battle all the Past and Future Stress Monsters of the modern world? Don’t they struggle to pay down credit thrown at them in past times of economic "abundance" and which threatens their future? Aren't they distracted by anxiety over whether they’ll ever meet Mr./Ms. Right tomorrow or in another decade? Don’t they have children to worry about getting into college? Aren’t they anxious about our soldiers and how many more must die? Don’t they have illnesses or know people with horrible diseases eating them alive and who may never even have a future? Do they even live in the world or are they all just closet monks? Oh, please! This philosophy seems like it was developed on an ancient Buddhist mountaintop far removed from our modern reality.

Well, even though it’s very possible this philosophy was dreamed in some quiet temple - sans kids running around or cell phones ringing - through personal trial and error I have come to believe that Living in the Present is not only possible in the modern chaos of worries, but necessary.

My journey into the Present started many years ago. It wasn’t so much an event that awoke me as it was a realization that I had achieved everything I’d set out to achieve – a good career, a wonderful family, a nice house etc., but I wasn’t happy. There was always something ‘wrong,’ some problem, something keeping me from just enjoying a Moment in Time. It occurred to me that if all those achievements I’d sacrificed the Present Moment for all those years couldn’t make me happy, perhaps I wasn’t capable of happiness. And this idea scared the bejezzus out of me. I realized that if I didn't find a way to be happy in the Moment, I was going to lose the Moment entirely, and take my family down with me or drive them away.

The good news was that this scared me into starting my journey to wholeness; the bad news is that when I awoke to this new path, I found myself smack in the middle of the Forest of Emotional Instability, surround by EmoMonsters of many shapes and sizes. I didn’t realize it at the time, but Presence would become my best Monster defense and ultimately my way out of the Forest entirely.

One of my fairy godparents appeared in the guise of a corporate trainer who gave a room full of us Fortune 100 employees a ballpoint pen and a group exercise called “Be Here Now.” I would have dismissed the message completely (see above cynical rant) if it hadn't been for the gentle soul who delivered it. Learning more about how he struggled with "issues" in his life and yet still managed to pass on wisdom and peace to people he met on his journey made me look more seriously at his message of Presence.

And I’m so glad I did because a little farther into my quest I ran up against debilitating fears, doubts, worries and insecurities that attacked me like slatheringly ferocious beasts, all ganging up into one big Gigantic Monster sucking at my confidence and drive. Even though these frightening demons eventually turned out to be a large gang of annoying little gremlins and imps, in the middle of these beastly battles being Present in the Moment became my Monster Spray. On days when the Fear Demon tried to paralyze me with every imaginable concern for what had gone wrong in the past and might go wrong in the future, I found that if I sprayed myself with Presence - focusing on only those things that might go wrong in the Moment - I could focus enough to make sure the things that HAD to go right, did so. Covered in Presence I could function as a mom, wife and employee because I’d sapped energy from the Monster’s scariest weapon – overwhelming worries over things I couldn’t control.

But it turned out that Presence had only weakened the beasties, not gotten rid of them altogether. I still had to let them go. This was a bit confusing for me until I succumbed to the logic of my inability to “fix” them and simply gave them up. I let all the things I could not control go, handing them off to - other things.

Expunging the energy I was sending into worrying about the past, I wrote over 100 apology letters and angry rants (which I didn't send) just to purge those old wounds and gremlins out of me. Then I gave my worries about the future to God, angels, and myself in my future state. I gave the future back to the future, sending it forward in time and out of me.

With every letter-to-put-the-past-to-rest and every worry-i sent-forward, the DemonBeast before me shrank. Once I’d fully defused the Fear Demon’s past-and-future-worry-power, the stupid git had shrunk down to gremlin size and started kicking my shins. It was then I realized that by living in the Present Moment, unparalyzed by the weight of things that were inherently unmanageable, I could function better emotionally and take on the little bite-sized Gremlin Fears and Worry Imps one-by-one as they appeared as Present Problems. And so I emerged from the Forest of Emotional Instability and began my true journey to wholeness.

Today, I live a great life with plenty of things to worry about that I don't spend too much energy on. Living in the Present has made me happier and wholer and given me protection against the most terrifying of Demons, but it hasn't gotten rid of all of my problems. Life is full of Monsters and my job is to simply deal with them one at a time as they sneak up behind me, inside me and/or blocking my path. And Monsters or not, life is still an ongoing balance of the happiest of Moments and the saddest as well.

There’s more to this story, though. Having found my way out of the Forest of Emo-Monsters and armed with my new Monster Spray of Presence, I realize that learning to Be Here Now has actually changed me in some other – extremely fundamental ways. I’ll elaborate in my next post, but in some ways these other changes may have been more frightening to me than the Fear Demons that came lunging out of the dark. It occurs to me that the Worry Monsters may actually have been protecting me from what I feared the most, from the thing that Living in the Present transformed me into.

(to be continued...)

Ah-ha! The Economics of Creativity

Dana — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 20:43:00 GMT

Web Site Strategy ~ $25,000

Happy Board of Directors ~ $100,000+

Ah-ha! Moment ~ Priceless

I'm a business person. A marketer. I have always believed - even taught - that price should be set according to value. Value, of course, is a very relative concept but this has never stopped me from managing the economics of it, evaluating costs vs. benefits to set prices. This methodology has helped me put a monetary value on all sorts of things, including my own consulting services. It's how the business world works. And it has worked well for me, until one day I evoked in a client something truly priceless - a genuine, eyes-wide, heart-opening, spontaneously smiling, world-view-shifting, light-bulb shining, Ah-ha! Moment.

Oops.

That sound you hear is my brain breaking.

Why? Because my client's Ah-ha! Moment - spurred by something I'd done - occurred within a nanosecond of time and had impossible-to-measure-in-the-moment consequences, and yet the expression on their faces made it clear that there was a lot of value in that nanosecond's insight that hadn't yet proven its worth. Because I couldn't ascribe a "price" based on resources (i.e., time, materials, effort etc.) and results (i.e., profit, savings, capacity etc.) - the two primary units of value - to something so clearly valuable, my brain really has to bend a bit to think about how to "price" what is "priceless". Being a pragmatic businesswoman, I quickly turned my ability to evoke Ah-ha! Moments into part of my value equation as a rationale for charging reasonably high fees (though not as high as many.) Incorporating Ah-ha! skills, my business objective, became to "under-promise and over-deliver" by promising a strategy and delivering a strategy+Ah-ha! Moment.

But here's my Ah-ha! Moment after working this way for a while: sure, my clients value the Ah-has! But I'm learning that I value them at least as much, if not more. I value my ability to produce income which helps me feed and care for my body and family, but when I tap a creative place in myself to help produce an Ah-ha! Moment, it soothes and delights my spirit. If money feeds my body, then Ah-has! feed my soul.

Soul-feeding is not something we usually discuss in business circles, but it should be. Business Schools crank out capable managers who can monitor and moderate resource expenditures against objectives and plans. All good, except that truly outstanding businesses employ and nurture other qualities as well, including creativity and values. Business types call creativity "out-of-the-box thinking," but that's a bunch of hooey.

Creativity, so key to excellent businesses and happy souls, is not a "thinking thing," it's a "spirit thing," which is also rarely discussed in the Board Room. By "spirit" I mean that ethereal connection between the mind, heart and outside world that isn't entirely your brain or your body or "the Universe", but an ongoing conversation between them that you are only just barely aware that you are participating in. Listening in on that dialog - and participating more consciously - allows we humans to bring creativity and fresh approaches into our world, the world we shape and measure and value. But the ability to work creatively so that it enhances the business value of our output still challenges traditional economics, because creativity is simply not an economically measurable activity.

This is my second Ah-ha! There ARE no economics for the creative act itself.

Yes, that is my brain still breaking.

Those who create for a living - artists, designers and writers - know this challenge well and have found various business models to capitalize on their creative skills. These typically involve work-for-hire scenarios which are dollars-per-hour based or (maybe more often) purely results-oriented, putting a market-based price tag on something regardless of how much time and effort it took to create.

Making jewelry is my first experience with the latter business model. When I went to price my first set of earrings, I did my traditional business math and immediately blanched. No WAY could i charge for my time - working on-and-off for days to arrange little sparkly stones until they came into the perfect alignment to make me (and others, I hoped) happy. I realized, doing a quick market survey of my earring-buying life experience, that I would be lucky to be able to cover the price of my materials. As the economics of my situation became clear, I briefly contemplated simply not making and selling jewelry, but something stopped me.

And this was my third Ah-Ha! The money didn't matter as much as the joy I took in creating beauty, and sometimes seeing that joy in the faces of others who also found it beautiful.

It was at that moment that I truly understood how important it was for me to engage in a creative act that fed my spirit - acknowledged my soul's connection to that barely-perceived dialog with the Universe. More than just acknowledging the connection, my decision to keep investing in my own creativity opened me up to more spiritual connection, allowing my soul to draw upon it, flowing it's energy into me and fueling ongoing inspiration on all parts of my life. I became addicted to creativity and am now committed to it regardless of the really bad economics of it. I'm proud of my upside-down jewelry-making business plan (which I've asked my husband to help me invest in for the tax write-off), because it is an ongoing commitment to feeding parts of me that have long gone hungry.

These realizations are why I'm more intrigued with creativity than craft these days, but it has only made me hungrier to find ways to infuse the professional work I do - which does have measurable economic value - with more and more creativity. In my perfect world, I get paid money to engage in spiritually fulfilling, shameless acts of creativity. After all, if creatively derived Ah-ha's! are valuable to me, I bet they're valuable to others - like my clients - as well. I'm still working on that particular business plan, but the relevant Ah-ha! here is that I now know what I want. And, once enlightened as to my objective, I'm usually very good at achieving it.

Stay tuned.

Photocredits: "Aura" Sculpture by Sean Hennessy, (c) 2008 (with permission)
This mixed media art is one of many wonderful pieces on Sean's Etsy site, Scenic Artisans
"Let There Be Light" Quickdraw sketch by Block Party Prints on Etsy.

The Monster is a Fake, But It Can Still Mess With Your Head Over Tea

Dana — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 03:32:00 GMT

Warning: Overdone analogy ahead. But it's more fun this way.

Do you know your demons? I do. I know many of them so well that I talk to them, inviting them to tea. We have conversations like old friends.

Until recently, I considered this level of familiarity with my dark side a strength. I mean, by getting to know them, I’ve been able to see them for what they really are – horridly distorted imaginings, most of whom turn out to be silly little creatures camping it up around candles that cast monstrous shadows. One by one I’ve been throwing back the black curtains where they hide to reveal them; and one by one they’ve been turning up as little imps and gremlins and – sometimes the most heartbreakingly wounded parts of me. I’m still finding them hiding in the rafters and walls of my mentally haunted house, but after years of work, I’ve finally got most of them showing up for tea to participate in a slightly more socially constructive activity than trashing my subconscious. (And those that aren’t at the table yet will at least sneak in to steal the cookies.)

But here’s the catch. Even now that they will deign to sit at my knee and sip tea with me - no longer hiding in the dark and building up my fears and anxieties into paralyzing fantasies of doom – I find that some of the little buggers are still working against my interests. That’s my big ah-ha today; they’re smaller and less threatening, but - they’re still here!

For example, I’m no longer afraid of people telling me I’m an idiot. This is not because some people aren’t willing to do so, but I no longer let worry about lack of approval stop me from meeting new people, keep me from speaking my truth or draw me into emotionally abusive relationships (personally, professionally or otherwise). Despite having called my Approval Gremlin out of hiding a few years back, however, I did recently notice an anonymous voice in my head coming up with excuses for me not to make a certain phone call... It was insidiously suggesting that I was, indeed, an idiot. “Maybe they haven’t returned your call because you’re really not all that good. They were just being nice when you met them, and you're a fool to believe otherwise….heh, heh, heh...”

WTF? Where did THAT voice come from? Upon conscious investigation of said little voice, I discovered the Approval Gremlin, sitting at my knee with his tea cup and crumpet raised, sporting the silliest, most conniving and fakingly innocent grin on his face.

So, I picked up the phone and made the call. The person took my call, explained why he’d been silent and invited me to call back in a few days. Ha! I’m sticking out my tongue at the little Approval Gremlin with this very blog post! Little bastard.

So anyway, for those of you interested in confronting your demons, I’m putting mine up for adoption. Perhaps you’d like a little Approval Gremlin to scamper into your dark corners and drag out the little creatures you’re trying to scare up? Mine’s available immediately. I’ll give him to you! I’ll even give you his tea cup and half eaten crumpet! Ok. Just kidding, I don’t really want to sic the little beastie on you. (Just imagine if they teamed up!) But I will refer you to a worth-reading blog post last week by Joy Mazzola on Owning Pink about confronting your demons. It’s a great run-down of all the things hiding in our mentally haunted houses, just waiting to sabotage our best efforts at living confidently and with courage. I recommend it especially in the wake of Halloween, after the Monsters have left our streets and come back inside to rest.

Good luck with your demons and may they all turn up to be no more than annoying little buggers by the time you tame them into sitting with you for tea.

PS- I haven’t been posting lately because every time I put pen to paper I end up hacking up a literary hair ball. Pardon the image but trust me, sometimes silence is better.

London, Paris, Manga-Me Oh My!

Dana — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 22:49:00 GMT

I just got back from a week in London and Paris. It’s been 17 years since I’ve been to Europe, the last trip being when my oldest son was a bun in the oven. I’ll never forget feeling his first kick while I lay exhausted in a hotel in Beaune, France in July, 1992. His mighty foot felt like a tiny bubble popping against the inside of my five-month pregnant stomach. I laughed out loud because it tickled me – literally – and the delight on my husband’s face is with me to this day. It’s my best memory of France – ever.

This trip, I was older and joyfully sans-teenagers. (Yes! The house is still standing!) Because I could, I pushed myself through practically every room in the British Museum, the Louvre and a few other places… chasing memories of my pre-motherhood days. I didn’t find memories, though. I found a new kind of freedom. I zigged and zagged my way through culture, shopping, café-sitting, a little writing and even made it to an evensong service at Westminster Abbey to sit quietly and listen to angels singing among the ceiling vaults.

I sculpted and morphed my itinerary on the fly. It was fabulous to revel in my constantly changing mind. I flip-flopped back and forth – Dali exhibit or Hyde Park? Grass or Art? Grass won out when I determined last minute that the extra schlepping (and £30) of Dali would wear me down so I turned right instead of left on my walk to the Tube and ditched (amazing, I’m sure) abstract art for the Elfin Oak. I don’t remember ever feeling so unprogrammed.

I wrestled through my long-standing internal debate about classical vs. modern art, but getting hopelessly and happily lost in the eternal halls of the Louvre, and meandering the orderly spaces of the Musee D’Orsay finally settled it. I found myself standing transfixed before elegant bodies sculpted by the ancients but easily moseyed past religion-heavy Renaissance paintings (and I don’t count the Mona Lisa because you can’t even see it for the cell phone clicking hoards.) By contrast, I choked up the moment I entered the van Goch room but found myself trying way too hard to appreciate Degas' and Rodin’s roughened black figures. I am finally able to declare my preferences! I am an unabashed fan of Greek/Roman physical forms and an absolute fangirl for modern painting from Cezanne forward - the more abstract the better (though I do have a very soft heart for 18th Century Kyoto Japanese brushwork as well).

My husband and I had a fabulous time revisiting some old Parisian memories we shared in and around his work meetings. I snuck in texts to stay in tune with the kids and just enough email to keep from being overwhelmed on my return. I went on little hunts for my personal favorites, bypassing European fashions (which don’t look good on me anyway) for tea, chocolate, beads and fine writing notebooks and pens. I tried to be a happy American and noticed that I got fewer French eyebrow-queries than I recall from years gone by. I don’t think America’s international standing is any greater in the world these days, so I will declare this a personal victory for overcoming my inability to speak their language with friendliness and kindness. (Even the English hotel clerk didn’t understand half of what I said and vice versa. But we did have a fascinating conversation about “underpants”, “trousers” and the Bermuda Triangle.)

The ethnic blending in London especially was amazing and encouraging with respect to the future of the human race. Skin colors blended into beautiful soft brown hues passing me on the streets and in the Tube. Most of them spoke the King’s English and when they didn’t, the happy chatter of many languages turned into a fascinating song of humanity, lilting from French to Romanian (I think) to Japanese to Spanish and on and on and on.

The whole time, I felt so happy to be alive on this earth. With all its strife and war and misunderstanding, there is so much beauty behind us and walking with us every day. And I was happy with me. I arrived home jet lagged and had only enough brain cells to do my laundry (well, get it started anyway), and make a Manga-Me (turns out that making a Manga-Me takes virtually NO brain cells. Who knew?) I tried to make a real me and then for fun made a “wacky me”. Funny, they really don’t look that different. I guess the real me is good enough these days

Perhaps it shouldn’t have taken me a trip half way around the world (ok, not half, but far) to find myself happy in my own walking shoes, but “should’s” feel pretty irrelevant. I was happy to find a little piece of myself I haven’t lost walking with me in the streets of two of the greatest cities on the planet. And I am happy to be home.

Exploring the Edges of Things

Dana — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 01:24:00 GMT

Being on an island, you’re always running into edges, no matter what direction you go, and so on our recent trip to Hawaii I couldn’t stop noticing edges everywhere I turned.

Twenty years ago when I visited Oahu we traced the edge of the island and found – predictably – that the land constantly ran into the sea and there was no escape. I briefly experienced “island fever,” which made me think of island edges as a form of natural containment. Being an explorer at heart I am naturally tempted to push the edges and “back then” this meant getting on a plane after some less-than-stunning snorkeling. But this time we did not stop at Oahu, but pushed on to Kauai. On Kauai the idea of containment is simply ludicrous, despite very stark and stunning edges around every bend.

On Kauai I rediscovered edges.

The Kauaian edges between land and sea are captivating, a fascinating blend of dangerous elemental collisions where the sea pummels unforgiving volcanic residue, the edge of the great blue deep perpetually smashing down on black rocks and then sucking the weaker pebbles, secretly pulling them back below the powerful eddies of its undertow. Sitting on the edge of this ongoing battle is a favorite pastime of mine, and on Kauai I reveled in it, especially on a not-so-hidden, but still-hard-to-reach beach along the Na Pali Coast (Hanakapi'ai). It’s impossible not to be aware of the risky nature of edges when you perch between where the waves break; survival tactics differ so dramatically on either side of you that the importance of staying firmly on one side or the other becomes paramount. This heightened awareness is itself a gift, however, and walking the rooted and rocky cliff path to this beach, exploring its caves and then climbing some of its rocky cliffs focused me on gorgeous detail I might otherwise have missed.

Looking carefully at the micro details of this massive edge transformed it for me - from a containment barrier to an adventure.

I became so conscious of the fact that I was on the edge – in this case between land and sea – that I began to observe my reactions to other edges as we explored the island further. Not all edges are sharp and violent, and many roads and trails we followed along steep cliffs were gentle and curving. Pondering as we traveled I realized that over the last two decades I have come to appreciate edges – even the dangerous ones. I now find them freeing as a delineation between things, the recognition of which offers me choices – to push beyond, to retreat from, and to follow along for the sheer joy of simultaneously living on both sides.

Nowhere has this constant tracing of danger been more evident than in my career, the life of a consultant being a perpetual dance along the edge between wealth and destitution. Wandering the edges in Kauai I realized that I have become comfortable exploring the consulting edge, comfortable to the point of truly enjoying it and perhaps more importantly gaining faith in my ability to navigate its gentle dips and weaves as well as its sheer, heart stopping drop-offs. While I won’t claim that my husband has developed the same love of the consulting edge, my comfort on this edge is giving me the courage to take my practice in new directions and the patience to let parts of these businesses evolve, to explore their natural contour as the waves of client need pound out weaker spots to reveal firm and solid capability at the core of me.

I found other edges in our island explorations surprisingly interesting, uncovering little treasures in bead stores, for example. Though not particularly “edgy” from the outside, once they got inside me, some of these little bits of bone and stone probed my relationship to beauty, pushing against a containment barrier I hadn’t known was there. Compelled to buy certain baubles because they were simply lovely, and despite the fact that I couldn’t imagine wearing them myself, I realized that my creativity has developed a habit of bumping up against my own consumer mentality, reflecting a moderated and practical aesthetic. Would it go in my house? Does it go with my wardrobe? Is it a good value for my money? These questions assume an economically necessary, but still narcissistic edge - a constraint around my own perception of beauty that is not necessarily even there in any ultimate sense.

The beauty of a lavender jade Chinese bead and a dragon carved bone pendant in particular challenged me to unleash my creative energy in new ways and explore their edges for the simple joy of doing so, absent the pragmatic question of whether I or anyone else I knew might wear them. After all, other people’s houses are different than mine, as are their wardrobes and value equations. What I if I lifted my personal limitations on which kinds of beauty I pursued? What if I followed the edges suggested by a lovely piece simply for the joy of it? What might I create then? I suppose these questions demonstrate that I’m learning to explore the edges of my pear.

In the end, our trip to Kauai, while offering the boyz many waterlogged hours of body surfing, gave me a new chance to explore the edges of things. In fact, I’m well over the edge in a few areas of my life and my consciousness about just how far I’ve come since their crossing is now a little sharper. This excites me and my commitment to explore these new territories leaves me eager to find the new edges ahead.

Life is truly a journey and I am truly an explorer. With a little luck and a little skill I hope to keep finding edges to plunge beyond and to dance along. Want to join me?

Photo credits: Me! (well, except for the pic of me, which is hubby’s handywork.) The pic of the boy is my eldest son, and adventurer in his own right.

Practicing for the Affair: Craft, Creativity and Art

Dana — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 04:13:00 GMT

When I was four I went to an art class and was told to draw a circle. My circle sucked, the crayola shape resembling a pear very unlike the teachers' beautiful round shape glowing in adult perfection on the board. Being four, I mistook poor craft for a lack of creativity and -right there in class - added "uncreative" to my self-definition. In all honesty, maybe I was right. Perhaps a truly creative child would have just pushed through, bravely allowing her creativity to explore itself despite an apparent lack of hand-eye-coordination. What might that pear have become if I'd seen it as creative opportunity instead of poor craftsmanship?

It's not just your average four year old that confuses good craft (i.e., skillful manipulation of thoughts, materials and muscles) with creative inspiration (i.e., that unique, highly personal perspective that gives birth to something fresh). Craft and creativity are so closely entwined that the distinction may be pragmatically pointless, for creative inspiration without some level of craft to express it (so others can enjoy it) is only interesting potential and craft without the creative spark is merely manufacturing.

I find the tension in the concepts interesting as I (finally!) follow the creative urge that I put aside so young. I enjoy eschewing craft in favor of creativity quite often - choosing to struggle through problem-solving some jewelry design concept instead of taking a class which would speed my learning curve (though, frankly, schedule constraints factor in as well). To me, I find the problem-solving itself is very much part of the creative process, the experimentation and failure good practice for my craft and my life. I'm the same way with writing, choosing to learn by doing. I suppose if I had designs on either jewelry or writing as a profession, I would invest more in developing my crafty skills, but for now at least I am working on self-expressive growth and a wherever possible creating a source of joy for myself, and hopefully for others here and there.

Where I don't find the tension between craft and creativity very interesting is in my consumer life where I see so much craft disguised as creativity. Walk into any store - home goods, clothing, office supplies, groceries - and the design that now passes for "upper middle class desirable stuff to spend your credit on" is highly manufactured and the design concepts narrowly bounded to appeal to the lowest common denominator target market. Pop radio, TV and movies are the same way. In my day job, I do a lot of marketing so I really get the economics of this, but personally, the older I get the more I find it boring (which doesn’t mean I don’t consume it.) Contrast this with my average stroll through a craft fair or Etsy , which is delightful exploration of people's creative visions and crafty skills (see Roz's pears for the kind of delight you're likely to stumble upon). I am so grateful to the Internet for resuscitating the niche markets in the highest common denominator zone and making them economically viable.

I haven't mentioned Art yet because to me Art is altogether different than either craft or creativity, while building upon them both. Craft and creativity come out of human beings as unique individuals; they are expressions of our personality, tastes, abilities and unique ways of looking at the world; but Art... Art is something whole and complete to itself,something with a gift for us, the ability to evoke an emotion or perspective (sometimes pleasant, sometimes not) that makes us perceive the world a little differently. To me, a work of Art - great or small -has its own spirit which chooses a human (sometimes a professional Artist, sometimes not) to birth it into this world. The human Artist is its channel from wherever it existed before into a form of being that other humans can perceive. Artists use their own creativity to let the spirit capture them and to fall in love with it - which is ultimately the Artist's greatest skill - to fall in love with the spirit seeking entry to our world and to journey with it, helping refine its expression through craft so others can perceive its gifts. Often being in love with an artistic spirit is a messy process, one that requires faith and perseverance with no guarantee of success and often no knowledge of the impact their dance with spirit has on others. Those who pursue the artistic path are some of the most courageous people I know. They have the guts to listen to what is not seen, heard or perceived (yet) by others and let it carry them away, sometimes to dead ends, but often to amazing places.

In case you've ever been visited by an artistic spirit who made you question your sanity, you'll enjoy writer Elizabeth Gilbert’s take on the spirit that lives in the walls of her house.

Because the ultimate experience of Art - that emotion or perspective which is evoked in the observer - is personal and internal, Art will always be debated. And the creative process that brings that spirit into being is equally mysterious, but in its mysteriousness is the very thing that sets it apart from both craft and creativity.

On my own journey, despite having detected some spirited whispers here and there, I have decided to focus on learning to work for the moment with creativity, weaving it into everything I do and exploring its potential through the - sometimes awkward - development of craft. I find that opening myself to creativity improves my relationships, helps me find more fulfilling work and generally makes me a happier person. So far no downside.

But I still hold out a small hope. I hope that at least once in my lifetime I will be lucky enough for a spirit to find me a useful vehicle through which to become a piece of Art, and that if that happens, I will have the courage to give myself to the love affair. If it happens more than once I will consider myself truly blessed.

The relationship between Art and the spiritual is a rich area of exploration, which I won't explore in this post but may more in the future. If you have opinions on these subjects, please let me know as I would love to explore these things in community and discussion with other explorers, following their own paths.

Credits:
Pear: Oil on canvas by RozArt on Etsy
Wine Labels: Marketing pic for Tall Horse Wine (Yes, those are giraffes. No, I've never tried this wine.)
Artist: Sergio Olivos in the studio he shares with his artist wife, Claudia.
Writer: Elizabeth Gilbert, Author of Eat, Pray, Love

Moonsliver

Dana — Tue, 25 Aug 2009 00:37:00 GMT

My husband and son recently took a trip to Europe. They had a wonderful time, as did I, truth be told; but still, I missed them. I went on with my life, but part of me was 'on hold,' waiting for them to return. My kids are still at home, so my husband and sons (all of whom were away the same week!) are still the center of my universe. We are approaching the emptying of the nest - still two years away - and I know this feeling will have to evolve and change into something else, a joy when we meet instead of a weight when we are parted. We will do fine. Busy lives and good relations with our children will smooth the way, but I can feel the change beginning.

While they were gone I saw a moon that spoke to me. I did not understand why "this" moon so moved me in the grocery store parking lot, but out poured this haiku (and I don't usually 'think' in haiku!). When they returned, I knew why I'd been inspired by that particular moon when my husband showed me this picture he took.

Moonsliver hangs. Suspended

Heavy. Over me.

Poised. Still. Unable to fall.

Photocredit: my husband in St. Malo, France.

The romantic me likes to think my poem and his picture were the same night. Whether they were or not is irrelevant. It's the thought that counts.

Treasure Hunting In Honolulu

Dana — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 20:20:00 GMT

We were thousands of miles from home, living out of a suitcase and beginning to tire of the sun and water and tours; I decided to go stone hunting. I chose to hunt down a bead store in Honolulu that looked on Google Maps as though it was within walking distance. I wanted to find treasure buried in the environs of Pearl Harbor, where WWII memories and working Navy yards have pushed out the real pearl hunters, and so I packed up my backpack with essentials, including my credit card and cell phone, and parted from the family.

As I struck out from my Waikiki posh abode, lush with koi ponds under unHawaiian wedding chapels and water splashing artfully over precision-placed lava rocks into swimming pools full of noisy children and their parents sucking rum drinks, I headed over the arching bridge towards the less touristed part of town. Before I even exited my temporary home, I was struck with a noxious odor. My nose automatically wrinkled into a little snort right before I heard the plea, "Do you have a quarter for something to eat?" The vision of rumpled black cloth over thin bones came and went before I fully realized that just behind the concrete pillar of the bridge I had crossed lay a homeless man. I was a little disoriented, cars rushing everywhere and no street signs and the homeless man reeked. Feeling uncomfortable and beginning to wonder if I was lost, my charitable nature contracted and I'm ashamed to say I kept walking.

I was beside an expressway between rushing, noisy, smelly, oily vehicular motion and walls of concrete that ran horizontally.along parking lots, shopping malls and office buildings. These were the backs of places I knew – Starbucks and Borders, Crazy Shirts and Subway, Hair Salons – but they were inaccessible to me because I had come to the rear side where there were no doors. I wasn’t homeless, but this was not my home; Gripping my backpack I thought of my cell phone but I wasn’t giving up; I wanted my treasures. So on I walked on until I was sweaty and my feet hurt and I stopped to get out my map at a crosswalk where a nice young Japanese tourist was also lost. He wasn’t homeless either but he was clearly not at home, and we were unable to help each other - me not speaking Japanese and he not speaking “Engrish”. We shared a smile of encouragement instead.

Determined, I continued into the tropical concrete rim of Honolulu until I reached the road I was looking for and followed the street numbers to the dingiest little strip mall I'd seen yet. Up the stairs of the 60's era, flat-roofted, steel gray concrete brick structure I trudged to find a barren concrete courtyard that reminded me of out-of-the-way places I'd visited in Latin America. Though I’m sure Virginia has equally run-down malls, at that moment I looked on the dumpy little place, I truly felt far from home.

But there was my bead store!!

I'd done it! I'd found my grail! It was bright inside and so I entered air conditioned paradise. Friendly propritors met me and ushered

me into a little treasure chest where I found more beautiful stones than I have available to me at home. Appetite and Imperial Topaz. Carved Pink Tourmaline and Mossy Agate. I found the tiny gold seed beads I've been seeking and some cute little sterling silver "rice" spacers. Not so many pearls I couldn't get elsewhere but I was so delighted with my finds that I stayed too long and spent too much. Treasure acquired, I reluctantly headed out into the sunset along the expressway for my trudge back to the paradise most people come to see.

I took the ocean park side of the rushing trafficked road back and even though my ankles were swollen (I totally wore the wrong sandals) my heart was light. I'd found my treasures, I knew the way back and my adventure had taken me into the real places where people who have homes here go. I passed many homeless hovels in the park, but no one was home for me to give a handout to. Unlike homeless people at home, these people acted more like these compilations of carefully arranged trash were really their homes, leaving them to go out and about in the balmy evening air.

I walked past the garbage containers for the yacht club and the sludge backup in the canals which would return me to the tall concrete manmade cliffs with busy elevators. Approaching the arching bridge I was ready to help the homeless man, but to my disappointment I realized I was four lanes separated from him – being on the ocean side of the expressway this time – and once more helpless to help. My heart in the right place at least, I walked on aching happy feet back to our manufactured jungle hotel, complete with fake waterfalls and tiki torches where my children were ready for dinner. I was satisfying with my hunt for this day; I had wondered off the beaten path, acquired my treasures and found my way back home.

After more adventures in the Islands, our family has agreed that we won't visit Waikiki again, preferring our temporary homes to be somewhat less precisely arranged and our treasures to be a little harder to find than on Google Maps (though it's getting tough to find anything NOT on Google Maps). The following week we moved on to Kauai and were much more at home in our suitcases. More on that later.

Learning to live out loud

Dana — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 00:23:00 GMT

All my life I've had secret lives, some so secret I only recently found them at all. I've lived them without knowing it by alternately listening and ignoring the voices in my head. Sometimes I wrote down what they said and interesting things came out. More often I put away the groceries, met the deadline or quietly pushed them back into silence, which became louder all the time.

I don't want to try to find the silence any more. It's too hard.

I want to learn to live out loud, to integrate the voices which express themselves in poetry, flowing ramblings like this and pretty stones arranged to delight me.

Why the stones? I don't know, but my subconscious brings me back to them over and over again. Collecting them on beaches. Making jewelry. Imagining some of the voices as little elves in the mine of my mind, plinking away on some gem of an idea or another.

Living out loud doesn't mean being noisy or obnoxious. It means living. And expressing. And sharing.

I hope you'll join me on this new practice of mine, to live out loud. Ihope over time it becomes more integrated and if there's a theme inhere, it becomes apparent.

Namaste.

PostScript a few months later: I'm still figuring this out, but my decision to speak more opening about things inside me is having ramifications all through my life. Ramifications that I like and that are helping me grow. I think most of it you can "see" through my posts on Armchair Psychology. It's an evolving journey, but I am finding that I am not alone. That there are others who find enlightenment and healing through speaking their stories, truth, perspective and mind. Thus, I think it's a universal reality that through expressing ourselves we grow into ourselves. If you are reading this, I invite you to ask yourself what truths are left unspoken and to explore them out loud. Find a safe place and speak.

Imagining the Moon

Dana — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 23:24:00 GMT

Imaginings are the leaves of time that thrive and then fall
to litter the walkspaces and thoroughfares of places others call home.

Why would you imagine except to live more fully the life that waits
somewhere beyond your perception, somewhere others would not call 'real'?

'Imagine something for me', you say, and
I see cold places that are the chill in this morning's air,
I feel the echo of passion where weariness now stirs and
I sense death in the life throbbing around me.

'Imagine yourself,' you say, and
the moon swirls into view, full and cold
and powerful.

Still in the sky, I see it imagining me as it slips
away into the light of day.

StoneTosser (c) 2006

Photo Credit: My son on his Peru trip in 2009.

How is this place real?

Dana — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 22:10:00 GMT

This is the picture I have on my pc desktop. It's just a little beach that reached out to grab us last year as we drove up the California coast. It was so beautiful, all four of us agreed without even speaking to stop the car and get out for a moment simply to try and touch it fora moment.

Every time I see this picture, it takes my breath away. It's like a dreamland where the air and the water and the earth all live in me together, blended and perfectly apart. I can feel it. I was there. I know it is real, and yet I want to hold it as though it is no more than a vision I remember from a life imagined but not yet touched. By me.

I will be back there before the Eastern leaves turn again. I am breathless with anticipation and yet I dread finding it. It will be different . So I am letting go of my need for it to exist at all. For it won't. It lives only in memory now.

I am hoping to stumble upon a new vision this time.

Photo credit: me or my husband. I can't remember. We both took so many. Originally posted on LiveJournal in 2008