....Abundance begins in the heart......

The sea of violets stretch up out of the green flowing grasses....
Cleansed anew from the earlier morning dew....

Out further, a carpet of white intermingles ,
a living, moving blanket of gentle sway,
farther still, flanking on both sides,
theyellow sprkinles of flowers dot the green
bringing sunshsine down to line the path

the frangrance fills my sense
as the silent hills roll underneath my feet

the vast blueness of the sky swallows me up....
and I am lost in the surrender of the total beauty eveloping me all around

the water gurgling, bubling,
laughing a secret laugh as it rides over the pebbles in the stream
smoothing out bumps
that we come accross when we dare to dream

dare to dance the dream

from whence do you come from?
To whence do you go?
I do not know......


A new day of spring stands ready and waiting....
for me to notice and say "yes"! - yes, i hear....
yes, i feel you....
I see you..
I am you....

I am my path...
and what is befoer me.... all the moments, unfolding
beholding....


calling me to do nothing but just be....
and co-create within this moving, living see
one heartbeat...
but many pulses....

allowing....

and allowing more...

that is all that it is asking of me....



to see.... to be....
calling me forward in a bekoning......
surrender and presence

I am me.....

Within the vastness of this amazing sea...
Merging and gliding.... taking a step off the rock ...
and learning to soar..

Down, down I go
Until the breadth of wind blows up to greet me...
leveling me off...
LIfting me...
Shifting me... tossling me.... turning me upside down and back again
So that I may learn to open my soul's eye
and Experience the grandeur of all there is....

All I am..... All we each are.... All you are....


From whence did I come from?
From whence do I go?
I now know...


I come from the water, the Earth, the leaves and the trees....
flowing, growing, alive
My spirit is boundless
my soul is fragrant...

I come from the sea
I am.... I am....
I am me....

and yet, i am not..... I am the one heartbeat...
the moment and moving vastness....


I am the blessing of all that I see...
.... with clear eyes that allows..
the surender of the amzing moement to what ever there is, and the amazing of each
allowing to just be...


....the sea of violets stretch up out of you...
springing forth , reflecting the beatuty that is inside me and you....

Nourished and relplenished anew
from the wellspring inside of each morning dew


***
I raise my voice.... and sing to the Sun, the Earth, the moon,,,

....

from part III:

As she walked out the door later that early evening, starting towards her home, a tear rolled down her cheek. She wasn't sure what that was, but she knew she would be back.


** *** **** ***** **** *** **

The days and night went along as winter neared. The days shorter, the air cooler. The night darker. But every morning, Sandra awoke with a fresh spark in her heart. Something magical, something wonderful had been happening the last month both in her life and in her spirit. Sandra's life was more full than every before and barely had time in the last week to visit Rosemary and the kids. Yet, she knew that it was because of her visits she was feeling more secure in this place that she had been living in but hadn't vested herself in, instead, staying to h herself, taking hikes, enjoying but feeling something was missing. There was something special that she felt went she visited that simple elegant white house on top of the hill.

And it followed her home, just like Paul did several times. Paul so reminded her of her brother. Paul had come over a few times and they spent several afternoons walking down to the park and hanging out on the swings and playing catch. Alice had come down too and the three would take a picnic out to the park. It seems that house on top of that hill was more than a home. It had unofficially become a stop over for many people over the years.

Rosemary was always so welcoming and just engulfed you into their home and into their hearts. In so many ways, Rosemary had reminded Sandra of her own mother, before the hardness and difficulties of life took over her mother's spirit. Sandra had tried to get her mother to slow down, but as their father got ill and needed more care, Sandra’s mother's eye seemed to be more distant. More tired. More aloof. For all Sandra tried, her mother busied herself every time Sandra visited and the calls were short, her mother distracted. Her brother now busy with his own life and not much time for chatting. Her father, too ill most of the time to talk. Sandra had felt a loss in her heart. A sadness. Her mother, always steadfast independent and strong, a caregiver, refused help in moving back home to help care for her father. She understood, her mother always strong. But she missed the days before, when they used to talk and share, and laugh...

It had been a while.

As Sandra walked with eagerness one sunny, early winter day, she thought about this past month since visiting the family that lives on top in that sere little house, that sparkles with refracting light when the sun hits the big bay windows at the right spot. Yes, she had missed those days and the closeness of her family in days past. And how very much this past year she had withdrawn more into herself, not getting to know others or living. Since meeting Rosemary and the family, she felt oddly connected again. Like she belonged.


Sandra grew closer on the path to the house, but the gate and front door still closed. It had always been open. The grass, she noticed, not only changing into the brown of winter, but shaggy, a bit unkempt. Weeds in the flowerbeds that look untouched since her last visit.
"Odd", she thought. The house and garden always meticulous. She walked up to the front door and knocked, as it had never been closed before and this surprised her. The door squeaked open with her knocking. Sandra peered in, and then went in, calling out for anyone there. It was quiet.

The sun, a wonderful bright sunny day, was shining as sweet and bright, the rays, entering into the home through the windows, bouncing off the glass and creating a window of light shining on the hall loveseat by the table. Sandra went over to the table, No rose. Suddenly her heart felt very sad. Every day, there had been a rose, a fresh, often different colored rose to greet her. She sunk down into the couch, her heart dropped. "Did they leave?" she wondered. "How could they without saying anything"... Tears started streaming down her cheek and Sandra cried. As she reached up to get her backpack for a tissue, her attention drifted toward the book. That book that everytime she got ready to leave, Rosemary insisted she write in that book a memory of her own family and the fun or sweet times, even hard times. Sandra had never really had a chance to look at the book; she was so caught up in the life of the family and the house when she came.

She lifted the book, and there, sitting on that old Victorian loveseat, with the window of light hitting right upon her spot to warm her and give her light, she started to open and look through the pages of the book.

She flipped one page, and slowly another. Her eyes at first big, and then a smile came upon her lips and her face softened to a warm glow. There, in that book, sitting in this most unusual of houses, near the rose that had always previously been there and heralded the entrance of the family, there, in the pages of that book were alternating pages of photographs of the other travelers, and then pages of writings by them of their shared writings. there were smiles, and hugs and mothers, and daughters and fathers playing and children running and laughing.... And on the next page, the memories of times and stories. The book seemed alive. There seemed an energy that flipped the pages and the stories of each that had crossed the path of that most unusual house and most unusual family. And the end of each page, there was always something thanking rosemary and her family for bringing them home.

"Home?" Were they apart of Rosemary's extended family? Sandra didn't believe so, as Rosemary had told her there were no other family.

"Hmm"... Sandra put the book back. After sitting there for awhile, and feeling much better by visiting the pages of the book, and her own words a part of that book now, Sandra got up to give a once around the house to make sure she hadn't missed a not or something saying good-bye.

As she rounded the corner into the dining room, into the little breakfast nook she and Rosemary had sat at and sipped tea and shared, there on the table there was indeed a note. And folded, fresh towels. And on top of the lines and towels and note, a fresh white rose.

Sandra, at first stopped. She went over, picked up the note and read, "Sorry we cannot be there, but there is something special for you, upstairs, Just for you. As our guest. Please enjoy” Sandra, tentatively, not sure she could take them up in their offer, but took up the towels. She walked up the steps to the room she had been directed to in the note. She had known the room before, a wonderful big suite, life room with a sitting area. As she neared the room, a song could be heard playing in the room, from a player. One of her favorite singers she had shared with Rosemary. The room, warmed and glowing lightly by a beautiful fire in the fireplace in the bedroom suite. On the table sitting close to the fire, a pit of still hot tea and covered plate of food.

In the room, decorated so sweetly by Rosemary, was another book on the table. It was now of book of Rosemary's family and their lives. Odd, Sandra thought, the clothes everyone was wearing was of a generation earlier. But Sandra sat their, drinking the tea and eating the food and enjoying the memories on the pages that seemed to lift and turn on their own. She smiled, laughed at times and eventually fell asleep by the crackling fire. The book next to her.

......

Sandra stretched. She didn't quite remember going into the bed but it was warm and cozy and the sun shining. Sandra awoke, feeling a sense of serene contentment. Something she hadn't felt in a very long time. It was just simply, peaceful. The birds chirping outside the window. She felt she had just completed a processing and transition in her life to a much more sense of who she is and where she is going and all the excitement she want to still explore and do in her life. She could hardly wait....
She had heard no sounds other than those from her own making and the music-playing coming from her room. Yet, they’re on the table near the fireplace, a warm pot of tea. And a vase that held a yellow rose.

Sandra, went over to the table, reached out and picked up the yellow rose to smell and take in its beauty. As she did, there was a rush of wind that seeped in the room. And a voice from downstairs calling her name, "Sandra? Cone on down, we have breakfast for you". Sandra recognized the voice, but it couldn't be... her mother was all the way across the country... Yet as Sandra quickly put on her clothes and ran downstairs, there fixing breakfast, her mother. Her father sitting at the table reading the newspaper as he does, and her brother they’re too, playing with something. Sandra was like, "Oh, I must be dreaming>>" but before she could doubt what she was experiencing, her mother came and grabbed her arm and led her to the table. All four of them talking at one, Sandra going "how?' But before she knew it, her brother had already gotten her into one of his debates and banter back and forth. Sandra, when she could, stopped wondering, sat back, and just knew. She suddenly knew everything about the house, the visitors... the book.

She was back home in her heart. She realized she had left home in her heart, but her home had never left her. She suddenly understood everything, and the comments made by the other travelers. And when Rosemary had said, "Those who are lost, come to visit” She knew it was not to ask questions, but to just be and experience. And so she did. All day until it got dark. Sitting on the back porch with her father as they used to do, and playing catch with her brother, who was indeed very much like Paul.

As the sun set to rest for the night for the next day, Sandra knew it was time to go. She had had a wonderful day talking with her mother and laughing, and had said it was time to go. She reached for her backpack, a rush of air swept through the house. She turned around, and they were gone. The house empty. Yet Sandra did not feel empty. She felt filled. What an amazing gift this day and place and house and family have been. Now she understood when the passé byes had commented how much Rosemary had helped them. She lifted the cover of the book one more time, to writ in it. She smiled. The pages of the book now had pictures of Sandra and her family growing up.... All mixed alternating with the memories she wrote down in there. Tears of peace and fullness raced down her cheek with the smile of contentment.

She called out a "thank You" to Rosemary and Paul and Alice. And a few more things of how special they meant to her. She knew as she closed the door, walked down the garden path, and out the gate, shutting that white picket fence gave, that she would not see Rosemary and the family again... And that next Holiday season, it was for another traveler. It was okay though, Sandra could let them go. She was home again, in her heart.

She remembered what she wondered earlier to herself about how could one be lost here. The path was clear that led to the house, and led right back to her home.

****

Sandra got home, took off her backpack and opened it to clear it out. There in the backpack, a single fresh red rose. Her heart smiled. Later that evening, she sat down on the couch, called her family and said they were going to spend some time catching up, whether they liked it or not. Her father got on the phone, and while too ill to talk, listened... and listened ... and he laughed.


And Sandra laughed more... And had friends over and shared. Her family still far away, but closer in her heart than ever before. And every year, a bed of not just roses, but all flowers that remindere d her of that gardem that house. blossomed from Sandra's garden. Every so often, a wisp of air would brush through the yard and every fall, a pile of leave would be scattered as if two kids had jumped in and rolled in the leaves, laughing..... Just as she had done she remembered, with her brother growing up.........

* * * * * * *

Part III A time of Heart and home....

It was still barely light when Sandra emerged from this simple white house that sits so restulfully ontop of the hill like a lighthouse to mark the way. The wind of this late fall day was blowing with a strength of presence. The leaves sounding a fall rustle to and fro, dancing accross the earth; swirling aroudn in a circle of delight....

Sandra closed the white garden gate behind her as she left the house and the yard on the hill... She stood there a moment. Looked back at the house, now serenely quiet. Sandra shrugged he shoulders, shook her head in disbleif and started home.

Lost in her thoughts of the afternoon's events, she didn't even notice the swirl of leaves that moved right along with her. Or the faint presence of a gigle here and there. Sandra was pondering what the woman of the house, whose name she later learned was "Rosemary" meant when she said that those who are lost visit this house. the path leading to the house was easy with no turns; clear and led right back to town. How could anyone get lost here?

"But where did they come from?" Sandra wondered as she walked. The house had been empty. She stopped to look back at the house just in time to feel a breeze rush accross her and that faint giggle. No one around. the sun was now close to being down. The sky beautiful soft red glow with streaks of darkening white from the the clouds still present. From where she stood, Sandra could see a spark of the setting sun bounce off the windows in the house, sitting so quietly atop that hill.

She smiled to herself. Waht a winderful afternoon. Such warmth in there. the stories Rosemary shared. the laughter. The momentoes and stories of the travelors that have shared part of their journeys in the home. the smells. Such heart in that house. Odd, she felt as if she alwys belonged there, as if they were family. down to sitting on the porch overlooking the back yard and watching Paul and Alice run and chase each other, and playing catch with Paul. His mischevious grin as he tried to fake throwing the ball, just like her own little brother used to do when she was growing up.

Just thenm, a rustle from behind the tree. Sandra looked. Something moved. "Hello?" Sandra called out. "Please come out..." As she did so, a ball rolled from behind the tree over to her. She recgonized the ball.
"Paul, come on over here. What are you doing following me?" The little boy looked up at her with big wide eyes and then down. "I don't even know who to call..." she started to turn and get her backpack off to get her phone. When she swung around her pack, Paul was already gone. She knew he lived right down the road so was not worried... She would come back another time to play with Paul. Right now, she put her pack on, and jsugged home....


---- It was nealry a week later when Sandra was able to take her favorite hike along the trail leading up from the trees and hills onto this path that took her by this strangely serene and elegant in a simple way white house ontop of the hill.... All week Sandra was mesmerized by what she experinced last week and by Rosemary's last request ~ that she open the book in the hallway that sat on the table with the rose and write her favorite memory from childhood growing up. All week Sandra was re-awakened to those favorite memories... making the pain of beign so far away from her family for so long even stronger. It had been hard and she had not been able to visit often. She was very close to her family and remembered sitting in the living room, all together. The fireplace glowing red sparks from the crackle off the logs. They were all together and it was nice. Somehow, life seemed much simpler then,. though she knew times were hard. Her brother her only sibling, and they were close.
It had been years since she had a chance to sit and visit with her brother.

Sandra came up on the path alongside the house. The small windmill in the front was tuning making a strong current of water. The house seemed quiet today. Suddenly, the wind kicked up and the door to the house opened wide. Sandra wasn't sure she had time today, but decided she must not be impolite. She opened the gate and heaed up toward the door.

It was quiet inside. No sign of life. The morning sun was peaking in through the big bay window facing east. Streaks of sunlight flooded the house, warming the polished wood floor. Sandra walked over by the hall loveseat and table. A soft pink rose this time. The book..... the book... Sandra picked up the rose to bring it up to smell, and suddenly, the house came alive...... Rosemary and another young woman who looked to be in her early 20's were milling around. The sound of Paul calling out for Alice from upstairs could be heard. A girl's bycicle lay right outside the front door, laying on the steps... and music.... oh, sweet gliding moving music she coul hear in the background. Rosemary looked at Sandra "well hi there. We missed you and wondered when you were coming back",,, Come over here, I want you to meet another passerbye, and with that Rosemary took Sadra over and introduced her to the other young woman who had been there before. The three talked and laughted and drank tea at the table for hours. Sandra got lost in the time. Rosemary was so full of stories and loved to share. Her older son came in and joined in the fun for awhile. The other travelor shared how Rosemary had really helped her when she was going through a rough time. There was a bond of care but soon the other woman had to leave. Sandra had to go too, but she couldn't pull herself away from the house. She felt she always belonged there...

As she walked out the door later that early evening, starting towards her home, a tear rolled down her cheek. She wasn't sure what that was, but she knew she would be back.

___________________

...to connect, commune, breate in... and then to roll around and wal amongst afteer nature send it to us on the ground...

Days went by and so did life.... the leaves turning from their soft green to a brilliant shades of orange and yellows..... the grass still green but beginning to dry a bit, getting ready to sleep for the coming winter months to spring anew again...... the wind swirling up the leaves and branches in a frenzy of excitement...... dancing in the wind as they sing out, come try an' catch me if you can" ... grad hold... let's goo~"... to lay quiet again in a lull that is presence.... a just being.... as if kids running in a line whipping in and out.... landing on the leaf pile.....

And so it is......

* twinkle *

It is on one these sunny autumn days, early in the day, that Sandra, who takes frequent hikes up the hills into the midst of the hills to get lost and find herself again, was once again walking on the path that led right past the old Frank house, or so she remembered the store owner calling it.

Still a ways off in the distance, Sandra was enamored by the serene stillness of the house, and the energy of aliveness that surrounded it... "Paul~~~!", she reeled all the way around.... No one... Could have sworn she heard someone calling a name in the distance... sounded like an older woman..... no one around.....

Sandra continued on the road, shaking her head and keeping an eye on time for a moment. Watching the chimes hanging on the big tree in the side of the house, get bigger and a faint periodic tingle swing as the wind brushes up against the tree.... She lunched up her back to re-distribute her backpack... At that moment, she stopped short........ a strong swirl of something, not wind, but something brushing against her legs and continuing and then around her.... "hee -hee+ a faint murmur gigle.... gone... and suddenly around her again! Her arms up in the air as if getting them out of the way.....

and as fast as it felt..... it was gone................

Sandra, a bit off balance, found herself spun... all the way around, and suddenly just over the bank of hill where the house lie, the white wooden picket gate suddenly now wide open......... and the door... the door to the house, open as well... Sandra could have sworn when she looked, the door was not open.... and certainly she didn't notice the gate wide open either...

She turned into the path leading up to the gate.... What harm would it do to see, she thought.......... As she entered the garden, she noticed, a trail of fresh leaves strewn haphazardly.... where no tree lived... and a pile of splashed around leaves in the corner...

More faint giggles...

...

Suddenly what felt like a young hand felt as if grasping Sandra's hand and lading her up the step and into the house... and then released ... the gigles growing fainter... as if they disappears up the staircase...

Sandra suddenly found herself standing in the midst of this very unusual house..... the floors, a polished wood...... the two front and back, east and west facing windows, sparkling as the ever rising east sun now rising higher in the day......

Suddenly, the giggles grew and doubled and a swirl of something whisked by Sandra again; she lifting her arms again to have them out of the way... and the gigles fainted again...

Sandra looked at the beautiful but simple glass chandelier suspended in the middle of the small opening foyer... a small gust of wind made them tingle together briefly.... a room off to the right, like a living room, a room to the left, a dining room... other rooms along the open hallway and the vaulted ceiling where the stair cars wound up and seemed to disappear in....

And along side a wall, a small loveseat... at the most perfect spot upon seating, you can look out both east and wesftacing windows for miles at the same time... right next to it a small side table... on it, a book... and next to it... next to it, Sandra grasped, a freshly cut red rose...

Sandra went to pick up the rose.... as soon as she lifted it up to her nose, all of a sudden, from numerous places around the house, materialized people... people going about thier business of living in the house... An older woman, small in stature, but a face as brilliant and bright as the sun, stopped from what she was doing looking at something with someone else at the dining room table, looked over at Sandra and said "Welcome, my dear"... "Don’t be shy....” We have! Warm cookies and mil, over here for you..."

Sandra, blown away by this, stood there, until her attention taken again by that now familiar wisp of energy going past her... It was Paul and Alice, the two young kids, playing and running around, now tickling each other on the floor by the entry way steps.... giggling... and as soon as they giggle, up and off running out the door they went...

"Oh they are so much energy, aren't they", said the old woman to Sandra... "Come...." and with that, the old woman grabbed Sandra's arm and led her into the dining area............


****************************

Nestled in the folds of the sloping hills rests an elegant house. elegant in it's simplicity; it's serene beauty..... White with maubv trim, it's not a big home, but sits laid into the Earth and rises above as it seems to speak its presence of "welcome" to all who pass. A white picket fence with latice on one side holding up flowering vines, growing, inching forward and wrapping around a blanket of beauty and passion of being alive.... the garden in the front, sitting right behing the fence... groomed flower beds and bushes revealing the care and tending.

To the side, a small centerpiece of windmill slowly turns in the soft breeze.... picking up from the pool of water below and lifting it up and around, to go down back to the ground in the never ending cycle of life and cleasing and lifting up again......

Passerbye's can hear the faint melody of the chimes in the back, next to the big oak tree that lowers it's branches for shade over the back yard.... The rocking of the swing fence, blowing... empty, but the giggles and playfulness of many who rested and swayed in the air before still very present.....

In fact, the family who last resided in the home for many years long deceased or the distant offspring now moved far away... Yet the house and garden alive.... Cared for....

It is said on certain days those who have viewed the house from the valley and bottom of the grassy hills below could say for certain at times, the front door open.... the gate closed swinging free in the wind... only to see it once again closed the next day....

Yet not a one felt eeirly odd about this..... in fact, many would travel up that direction as the home seemed to bring a sense of peace... a sense of spirit and laughter, heard in the wind and garden and yard....

No one knows how the garden kept so well.... the flower bed clear of weeds and the grass never seems to grow to long.... but no one has seen in the many years since the family gone a single person tending to the home......

In the late afternoon, from far away the setting sun seems to sparkle and light refract a starbust of light from the 2 front and back large glass windows under the arch, centering the home.......

,,,

It is here one sunny day in mid fall that the hiker new to these areas came walking by the home.... As she moved along the path right below the hill the home rests on, the sound of wind kicked up and laughter was heard above... The hiker, late on the day, glanced up, smiled, and back down on her way......

Walking into the nearby small convenience store to pick up more water, the hiker overheard the men on both sides of the check-out counter as they visited and shared, as if they had known each other for a lifetime.... As the one in front of the counter began to shift his weight to leave, the other man said to him, "Yeah, I heard the Franks are back visiting again".... "It's good to have them all here again... they always bring the town a smile when the family comes to visit for Thanksgiving..."

"I'm headed that way right now, maybe I'll walk up the hill a bit and see how's it going over there...." and walked out.... the man behind the counter was shaking his head to himself at that comment as the hiker brought her items to the counter.... Muttering, the man said, just doesn't make sense..." The hiker, curous from this behavior and the interaction she had just witnessed, asked, "Excuse me?".... The owner siad, "Oh, don't mind me, I just have a hard time believing, that's all.... and how can it be?...".... "How can what be?" the curious hiker asked.....

"The house down the path on the hills, over there..." the man said.... "darndest thing.... The last family there was a bit 20 years ago.... no one lives there..... Yet somehow.... soemhow, there is some of presence of the family still there..... and every year at this time, eventhough no one ever sees anyone in or around the place, the home spring alive with song and laughter and you can hear kids running around.... but no one ever sees anyone.... It's been going on so long, we here gotten kind of used to it, I guess.... and when this time rolls around, as it is now... we all say the Franks are back visiting.... ..... The Franks, the name of the family used to live there.... Wondrful family.... and the kids were so......... so....", his voice started to drop off.... the hiker knew not to pry anymore.... She paid for her items... thanked the owner, and headed out... vowing to go back to that place.... a place that seemed to draw her more and more back to.....

and belongs here as opposed to pics as this pic theme in the blog keeps popping up, no pun intended... , the growing, light field of gift from GrandMother Earth..... no action required...

The coming of the autumnal Equinox, a time of balance in that day hours are equal to the night hours for both hemispheres, the balance of light and dark progressing in movement with the cycles of Mother Earth, the seasons... the coming of harvest and increasing night and rest and going inward to nurture, replenish the self so that in spring, renewed, having shed off what is no longer serving or needed, we may bud spring growth outward, full of new life.

Life teaches us the importance of harvesting all our growth and accomplishments and even challenges... Takes stock and celebrate.... Let die what needs to die and then rest. Light and dark not good and bad but mirrors of growth as Universe teaches us, along path. We live in both to allow the other and back again in cycle.. Spiraling Stronger, outward, expanding... as a tree with its numerous rings and knots of growth and shedding and path. Its roots deep and embedded. It’s branches far and reaching out. It’s beauty in its wholeness. Shedding its leaves in the fall in a plethora of expansion of color and beauty… too emerge again fresh, crisp new and growing….. Its truck thicker, its roots deeper, and its branches higher…..

And every day, the sun still rises, even in the shedding, nurturing, hibernation, giving illumination and to you in the new day, and the world we are a part of, to begin again…… a new…

i breathe in a new day...

a new day that is a gift on this Mother Earth who holds us up so high, cradling us so gently, high...

to reach the sky, be touched by the breathe of Universe in the wind,

and warmed and illuminated by the sun and cooled and refreshed by the ocean and rivers....

and shaded and laugh by the playful spirit by the billow of the clouds.....

and the soft singing leaves as they spread up and over for us from their branches of the trees

that have roots down deep... deep into mother Earth..... cycle back again....

**


Living in Spirit of the beauty and breadth and depth of the living life.....

Living in Spirit of the beauty and breadth and depth of the living Gift that is You...
that is me...

that is the cycle back again... and surrounds and fills...

breathe in.... breath out... breathe in again to heart... and out again merged with spirit..

cycle back again...



***

Moving and flowing with intentionality to Raise the Gift of me, the Gift that is full measure of You to meet the sky..
in gentle Spirit

and cycle back again...


***

I walk... I breathe in.....

I am and live in awe of the mystery and magick of this life journey and to be present comuning and consipirng in the height of wonder...and joy and lift.....

I am so full of thanks for it all for I am a deeper more present, more believing, knowing.. more into the wonder and the magkic....

I give thanks and humbleness of gratitude....

never too much to say thanks and value in life......




different pic than below.. but amazingly same energy and feel....

Every child has known God..
... the God who knows only four words
And keeps repeating them, saying:
"Come Dance with Me"
Come Dance

-Hafiz (1320-1389)

to believe in the wonder... and the awe.....

to believe in the magick and the magnificence...



click on picture

Not only one of my favorite topics, but favorite ways to be!!
A repost from the Daily OM but is so right on....

Come play with me in a free-follic of fumbaling fantasy.... ! aho......


Gladdening Nourishment
Silliness
Children appreciate all that is silly as a matter of course. Their grasp of humor is instinctual, and even the smallest absurdities provoke joyous gales of earnest laughter. As we age, this innate ability to see the value of silliness can diminish. Work takes precedence over play, and we have less incentive to exercise our imaginative minds by focusing on what is humorous. When we remember childhood, we may recall the pleasures of donning funny costumes, reciting nonsense poems, making up strange games, or playing pretend. This unabashed silliness nourished our vitality and creativity. We can take in this nourishment once again by giving ourselves permission to lighten up and be silly.

Too often we reject the wonderful silliness that is an inherent, inborn aspect of the self because we believe that it serves no purpose or is at odds with the grown-up culture of maturity. We play yet we do not lose ourselves in play, and our imaginations are never truly given free reign because we regard the products of irrational creativity as being valueless. Yet silliness itself does indeed constitute a vital part of human existence on a myriad of levels. Our first taste of ethereal bliss is often a consequence of our willingness to dabble in what we deem outrageous, nonsensical, or absurd. We delight in ridiculousness not only because laughter is intrinsically pleasurable, but also because it serves as a reminder that existence itself is fun. Skipping, doodling, and singing funny songs are no less entertaining than they were when we were children. We need not lose all interest in these cheerful and amusing activities, but to make them a part of our lives we must be read! y to sacrifice a little dignity and a lot of fear.

It is precisely because so much of life is inescapably serious that silliness should be regarded as a priority. Through the magic of imagination, you can be or become anything—a photographer, a professional athlete, a dancer, a pilot. Whether you take hundreds of silly pictures, revel in the adulation of your fans as you make the winning catch, boogie down rock-star style in front of your bedroom mirror, or turn your desk into a cockpit, the ensuing hilarity will help you see that lighthearted fun and adulthood are not at all incompatible.

nice topic.... we talk about this and sometimes I thinnk it become euphamistic.... what does healing mean...

I agree, to facilitate, we need to learn ~ as both from a continuing circular feedback loop with the preson and a humility of understanding that we do not know what is best, Universe does and the person guides... imhop,,,, , and learn too as students of life.... and that given we are all "in process" on this walk of life and growing and healing... . we are all in different spaces on that continuum... yet, agian, imo, there is one thing I believe... we are infact, already whole.... glorious gifts and transmuters.... Universe does not make mistakes....
We just often done't feel that way for all the myriad of life reasons, and therein lies the rub... to heal is not to make whole again that which is already whole.... to heal is to metaphoircally mend the tears (rips), the infections that can get in.... sometimes happens at an early age, sometimes as life goes on.... and we all have those tears that happen in this life....

just my thoughts on an imprtant topic....

so for me the facilitating process is a first and foremost a nurturing process based on that feedback, and is a continuing throughout the process, whether it be energetically, like reiki style, shamanic,r rhythmic, psychotherapeutic, ... our tears no place in the process.... if the tears are so big or they sneak in, then we are dealing with ourselves rather than the person.....

the things is, we are infact whole..... not disagreeing on what Yngone said.... just sharing my take ,,,,, It is our spirit, the tears, the infections to the spirit.....

I so love the analogy of, in my work in bereavement and thanantology, that just Grief is like a cut finger..... our physical body is meant to heal, mend if you will, on its own, if we just nurture it a bit... Like a cut finger, if we ignore it and don't wash the cut out and maybe wrap it, it can become infected, or not mend... blows me away we are made so divinely ,,, imperfect but divine as suppose to be..

we are meant, imo, to pay attention to our tears (from the eyes, intersting spelled same) , to meatphorically wash them out, sometimes cry for a loss as that is infact healing.... or to metaphorically wash out the infection, the tear (the rip) and process of meding it back together.... I love rebirthing..... the rtual of renew.... but that we are infact and always were whole gifts of innocence and wonder.... and universe has given that and therefore there must be enough..... when we believe in that, we cease to fight each other and embrace our defferences as they make a richer life experience.... and sometimes to be there with each other, nurturing and lifting up as we all walk this path....

From the Seven Spiritual Laws of Success:

everyone has a purpose in life.... a uniuqe gift or special talent to give to others.
And when we blend that talent with service to others,
we experience the ecstasy and exhilaration of our own spirit,
which is the ultimate goal of all goals....

-Deepak Chopra