Weaving the Dream

You are the creator of you own reality.

humbledreamweaver — Fri, 28 Sep 2007 20:57:06 GMT

I won't believe, you can't concieve, I know for sure, you want for more. You put me down, my thoughts profound. I feel the sting, the pain you bring. You plead for more, I show you the door. I give you the key, for you to be free. Open you mind, see what you find. Look for the clues, to what you call truths. A new beginning is comming here, when you shed your common fears. Raise your vibrations, your expectations. This much is True, Love will find you. For what you belive, is what you recieve.

Warrior of Light

humbledreamweaver — Sun, 31 Dec 2006 09:15:45 GMT

The Warrior of the Light views life with tenderness and determination. He stands before a Mystery, whose solution he will one day find. Every so often, he says to himself: "This life is absolutely insane." He is right. In surrendering to the miracle of the everyday, he notices that he cannot always foresee the consequences of his actions. Sometimes he acts without knowing that he is doing so, he saves someone without even knowing he is saving them, he suffers without even knowing why he is sad. Yes, life is insane. But the great Wisdom of the Warrior lies in choosing his insanity wisely. The Warrior of the Light studies the two columns on either side of the door he is trying to open. One is called Fear and the other is called Desire. The Warrior looks at the column of Fear and on it is written: "You are entering a dangerous, unfamiliar world where everything you have learned up until now will prove useless." The Warrior looks at the column of Desire and on it is written: "You are about to leave a familiar world wherein are stored all the things you ever wanted and for which you struggled long and hard." The Warrior smiles because nothing frightens him and nothing holds him. With the confidence of one who knows what he wants, he opens the door. When somebody wants something, the whole Universe conspires in their favor. The Warrior of the Light knows this. For this reason, he takes great care with his thoughts. Hidden beneath a whole series of good intentions lie feelings that no one dares confess to himself: Vengeance, self-destruction, guilt, fear of winning, a macabre of joy at other people's tragedies. The Universe does not judge; it conspires in favor of what we want. That is why the Warrior has the courage to look into the dark places of his Soul in order to ensure that he is not asking for the wrong things. And he is always very careful about what he thinks. The Warrior knows that he is free to choose his desires, and he makes these decisions with courage, detachment, and --sometimes--with just a touch of madness. ~ The Manual of the Warrior of the Light ~ - Paul Coelho -

The Gift of Believing

humbledreamweaver — Wed, 13 Dec 2006 00:23:40 GMT

Three years ago, a little boy and his grandmother came to see Santa at Mayfair Mall in Wisconsin . The child climbed up on his lap, holding a picture of a little girl. "Who is this?" asked Santa, smiling. "Your friend?" Your sister? "Yes, Santa," he replied. "My sister, Sarah, who is very sick," he said sadly. Santa glanced over at the grandmother who was waiting nearby, and saw her dabbing her eyes with a tissue. "She wanted to come with me to see you, oh, so very much, Santa!" the child exclaimed. "She misses you," he added softly. Santa tried to be cheerful and encouraged a smile to the boy's face, asking him what he wanted Santa to bring him for Christmas. When they finished their visit, the Grandmother came over to help the child off his lap, and started to say something to Santa, but halted. "What is it?" Santa asked warmly. "Well, I know it's really too much to ask you, Santa, but ..." the old woman began, shooing her grandson over to one of Santa's elves to collect the little gift which Santa gave all his young visitors. "The girl in the photograph .. my granddaughter .. well, you see .. she has leukemia and isn't expected to make it even through the holidays," she said through tear-filled eyes. "Is there any way, Santa ... any possible way that you could come see Sarah? That's all she's asked for, for Christmas, is to see Santa." Santa blinked and swallowed hard and told the woman to leave information with his elves as to where Sarah was, and he would see what he could do. Santa thought of little else the rest of that afternoon. He knew what he had to do. "What if it were MY child lying in that hospital bed, dying," he thought with a sinking heart, "this is the least I can do." When Santa finished visiting with all the boys and girls that evening, he retrieved from his helper the name of the hospital where Sarah was staying. He asked the assistant location manager how to get to Children's Hospital. "Why?" Rick asked, with a puzzled look on his face. Santa relayed to him the conversation with Sarah's grandmother earlier that day. "C'mon .... I'll take you there," Rick said softly. Rick drove them to the hospital and came inside with Santa. They found out which room Sarah was in. A pale Rick said he would wait out in the hall. Santa quietly peeked into the room through the half-closed door and saw little Sarah on the bed. The room was full of what appeared to be her family; there was the Grandmother and the girl's brother he had met earlier that day. A woman whom he guessed was Sarah's mother stood by the bed, gently pushing Sarah's thin hair off her forehead. And another woman who he discovered later was Sarah's aunt, sat in a chair near the bed with weary, sad look on her face. They were talking quietly, and Santa could sense the warmth and closeness of the family, and their love and concern for Sarah. Taking a deep breath, and forcing a smile on his face, Santa entered the room, bellowing a hearty, "Ho, ho, ho!" "Santa!" shrieked little Sarah weakly, as she tried to escape her bed to run to him, IV tubes in tact. Santa rushed to her side and gave her a warm hug. A child the tender age of his own son -- 9 years old -- gazed up at him with wonder and excitement. Her skin was pale and her short tresses bore telltale bald patches from the effects of chemotherapy. But all he saw when he looked at her was a pair of huge, blue eyes. His heart melted, and he had to force himself to choke back tears. Though his eyes were riveted upon Sarah's face, he could hear the gasps and quiet sobbing of the women in the room. As he and Sarah began talking, the family crept quietly to the bedside one by one, squeezing Santa's shoulder or his hand gratefully, whispering "thank you" as they gazed sincerely at him with shining eyes. Santa and Sarah talked and talked, and she told him excitedly all the toys she wanted for Christmas, assuring him she'd been a very good girl that year. As their time together dwindled, Santa felt led in his spirit to pray for Sarah, and asked for permission from the girl's mother. She nodded in agreement and the entire family circled around Sarah's bed, holding hands. Santa looked intensely at Sarah and asked her if she believed in angels. "Oh, yes, Santa ... I do!" she exclaimed. "Well, I'm going to ask that angels watch over you, "he said. Laying one hand on the child's head, Santa closed his eyes and prayed. He asked that God touch little Sarah, and heal her body from this disease. He asked that angels minister to her, watch and keep her. And when he finished praying, still with eyes closed, he started singing softly, "Silent Night, Holy Night - all is calm, all is bright." The family joined in, still holding hands, smiling at Sarah, and crying tears of hope, tears of joy for this moment, as Sarah beamed at them all. When the song ended, Santa sat on the side of the bed again and held Sarah's frail, small hands in his own. "Now, Sarah," he said authoritatively, "you have a job to do, and that is to concentrate on getting well. I want you to have fun playing with your friends this summer, and I expect to see you at my house at Mayfair Mall this time next year!" He knew it was risky proclaiming that, to this little girl who had terminal cancer, but he "had" to. He had to give her the greatest gift he could -- not dolls or games or toys -- but the gift of HOPE. "Yes, Santa!" Sarah exclaimed, her eyes bright. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead and left the room. Out in the hall, the minute Santa's eyes met Rick's, a look passed between them and they wept unashamed. Sarah's mother and grandmother slipped out of the room quickly and rushed to Santa's side to thank him. "My only child is the same age as Sarah," he explained quietly. "This is the least I could do." They nodded with understanding and hugged him. One year later, Santa Mark was again back on the set in Milwaukee for his six-week, seasonal job which he so loves to do. Several weeks went by and then one day a child came up to sit on his lap. "Hi, Santa! Remember me?!" "Of course, I do," Santa proclaimed (as he always does), smiling down at her. After all, the secret to being a "good" Santa is to always make each child feel as if they are the "only" child in the world at that moment. "You came to see me in the hospital last year!" Santa's jaw dropped. Tears immediately sprang in his eyes, and he grabbed this little miracle and held her to his chest. "Sarah!" he exclaimed. He scarcely recognized her, for her hair was long and silky and her cheeks were rosy -- much different from the little girl he had visited just a year before. He looked over and saw Sarah's mother and grandmother in the sidelines smiling and waving and wiping their eyes. That was the best Christmas ever for Santa Claus. He had witnessed --and been blessed to be instrumental in bringing about -- this miracle of hope. This precious little child was healed. Cancer-free. Alive and well. He silently looked up to Heaven and humbly whispered, "Thank you, Father. ' Tis a very, Merry Christmas!" If you believe in miracles you will pass this on. I did!! LIFE IS GOD'S GIFT TO YOU ... HOW YOU LIVE IT IS YOUR GIFT TO GOD, YOURSELF AND LOVED ONES.

The Dance

humbledreamweaver — Tue, 12 Dec 2006 18:53:00 GMT

The Dance I have sent you my invitation, the note inscribed on the palm of my hand by the fire of living. Don’t jump up and shout, “Yes, this is what I want! Let’s do it!” Just stand up quietly and dance with me. Show me how you follow your deepest desires, spiraling down into the ache within the ache, and I will show you how I reach inward and open outward to feel the kiss of the Mystery, sweet lips on my own, every day. Don’t tell me you want to hold the whole world in your heart. Show me how you turn away from making another wrong without abandoning yourself when you are hurt and afraid of being unloved. Tell me a story of who you are, and see who I am in the stories I live. And together we will remember that each of us always has a choice. Don’t tell me how wonderful things will be . . . some day. Show me you can risk being completely at peace, truly okay with the way things are right now in this moment, and again in the next and the next and the next. . . I have heard enough warrior stories of heroic daring. Tell me how you crumble when you hit the wall, the place you cannot go beyond by the strength of your own will. What carries you to the other side of that wall, to the fragile beauty of your own humanness? And after we have shown each other how we have set and kept the clear, healthy boundaries that help us live side by side with each other, let us risk remembering that we never stop silently loving those we once loved out loud. Take me to the places on the earth that teach you how to dance, the places where you can risk letting the world break your heart. And I will take you to the places where the earth beneath my feet and the stars overhead make my heart whole again and again. Show me how you take care of business without letting business determine who you are. When the children are fed but still the voices within and around us shout that soul’s desires have too high a price, let us remind each other that it is never about the money. Show me how you offer to your people and the world the stories and the songs you want our children’s children to remember. And I will show you how I struggle not to change the world, but to love it. Sit beside me in long moments of shared solitude, knowing both our absolute aloneness and our undeniable belonging. Dance with me in the silence and in the sound of small daily words, holding neither against me at the end of the day. And when the sound of all the declarations of our sincerest intentions has died away on the wind, dance with me in the infinite pause before the next great inhale of the breath that is breathing us all into being, not filling the emptiness from the outside or from within. Don’t say, “Yes!” Just take my hand and dance with me. © Oriah Mountain Dreamer, from the book The Dance, HarperSanFrancisco, 2001

Warrior

humbledreamweaver — Fri, 29 Sep 2006 16:43:09 GMT

Warrior This is the best time of the day—the dawn The final cleansing breath unsullied yet By acrid fume or death’s cacophony The rank refuse of unchained ambition And pray, deny me not but know me now, Your faithful retainer stands resolute To serve his liege lord without recompense Perchance to fall and perish namelessly No flag-draped bier or muffled drum to set The cadence for a final dress parade But it was not always thus—remember? Once you worshipped me and named me a god In many tongues and made offering lest I exact too terrible a tribute Take heed for I am weary, ancient And decrepit now and my time grows short There are no honorable frays to join Only mean death dealt out in dibs and dabs Or horror unleashed from across oceans Assail me not with noble policy For I care not at all for platitude And surrender such tedious detail To greater minds than mine and nimbler tongues Singular in their purpose and resolve And presuming to speak for everyman Oh, for another time, a distant field And there a mortal warrior’s lonely grave But duty charges me remain until The end the last battle of the last war Until that ‘morrow render unto me That which is mine my stipend well deserved The fairest flower of your progeny Your sons, your daughters your hopes and your dreams The cruel consequence of your conceit Steve Earle

I will Love you

humbledreamweaver — Thu, 19 Jan 2006 18:26:25 GMT

If everyone just had one single person in their life who says: I will love you no matter what. I will love you if your stupid, if you slip and fall on your face, if you do the wrong thing, if you make mistakes, if you behave like a human being, I will love you no matter. then maybe no one would end up in institutions. But there is hope, and it comes from the realization that the tide of energy pouring into the world, the energy of Aquarius is that of group consciousnes, manifesting as the urge to share and create right relationships. Sometimes it is suprising to see those who respond to this impulse. For we are ever so gradually, through much pain and suffering, coming to understand a profound spiritual truth, that everything one does or chooses not to do, has consequences for those around one, for all is energy. We need to think about this, for if humanity is going to awaken spiritualy, it must bring along all of humanity in it's evolution. If we were standing side by side, our images reflecting in a mirror, why would I look at you and see all that was negative, and not see a flaw in myself? Why would you look at me and see all that was negative and not see a flaw in yourself? Could it be that when I look and truly see myself, correct my flaws, love myself no matter what, that others will be different, or will they? Or am I seeing things differently? Is this what it truly is about, an understanding, a detatching? All a knowing. Will I achive this in the now? I am willing but need to look more closly at my own image, allowing to do the same. When others are critical of me , or do not see things my way, I get upset. When I am critical of others, or do not see things their way, I expect them to accept me as I am. Why am I not accepting them as they are? So many questions are there. Will I love myself that I can love others with an unconditional love, seeing the truth that is there for all? Hopefully I can become a beacon of light to myself and radiate it forth to embrace all. Then as each becomes a beacon, the light will grow brighter. Is this not so? Is this not so? Help me to open my eyes and my heart, that the light glows from within to without, that we can bring forth more light and love. In this world that we live in, we are just passing through, is this not so? Why do we forget? Are we each a small world compiled into one, a part of Wholeness? Help me to change my world, for this world I live in is truly not mine, a caretaker of sorts, is that it? Is that what we are, each caretakers of our own small worlds? This was taken from the Rainbow paper " Always Free", my thanks and hugs to the author.