Happy Rebirthday!

Last week we spent a few days up in Boston celebrating my birthday.  One afternoon while we were relaxing, waiting to go out, I checked my iPad.  There were several notifications from WordPress that had been sitting unopened for a few days.  One of them was a congratulatory note on being active on the site for one year.  I didn’t give it much thought until this morning.  I looked back at my first post made on August 7, 2013.  I scrolled through them.  I’ve posted 76 times; a little more than 6 a month.

One year ago the thought of having a blog and posting fairly regularly was not even on the radar.  Who would want to read what I wrote?  Suppose what I write is not as good as I think it is?  How will I know what to write?

In June of 2013, I was accepted as a member of Open Group at Bedlam Farm (now Creative Group at Bedlam Farm) a Facebook group started by author Jon Katz as a way to encourage creativity in its members.  Its Mission Statement was to be a Ministry of Encouragement, a safe place to learn and grow, a troll-free environment.  In less than two months, I started this blog; something I would most likely never have done without this modern day cyber Chautauqua.

But it’s not just the incredible exchange of ideas and talents, it’s the deep and varied friendships that have developed among the Group members.  For this I am forever indebted to Jon Katz and his simple idea of a safe place to explore the bright spark of creativity in us all.

So now I have a second reason to celebrate in August.  The first is my actual, physical birthday and the second is my rebirth as an artist and writer.  Happy Rebirthday to me! And I wish you all the opportunity to celebrate a Rebirthday for your passion, whatever is.

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The Promise of Life

I promise

You will have the chance,

the opportunity,

to see beauty and wonder

all around you.

Always.

Yes, there will be darkness

and ugliness

and despair.

I cannot change that.

But if you are still

and allow it,

I will flood your heart with light

and hope

and magic.

Always.

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Posted in Beauty, Daily Life, Faith, Growth, Hope, Mystical, Sadness, Spirit | Leave a comment

Robin

Kind eyes.

Gentle eyes.

Sadness buried deep within.

An Alchemist of Laughter

turning stones of sorrow

into bright bubbles of joy.

You danced a mad cha cha

with the dark angles.

Until at last

you fell, exhausted

into their embrace.

And this time,

they did not let you go.

photo from picomi.com

photo from picomi.com

Posted in Daily Life, Death, Depression, Grief, Uncategorized | 1 Comment

A Leap of Faith

I always find it difficult to write about spiritual/mystical experiences.   I grew up in a family that prayed to the saints for everything – a lost sock, to sell a house, to be safe in the car, you name it, there was a saint that specialized in it. We all wore medals ansd carried rosaries and had scapulas pinned to our underware.  Not because we understood the theology or the symbolism.  It was religious and cultural traditon.  Some of it was flat out superstision. So I developed a real aversion to all the trappings of religion.  Anything that smacked of the mystical turned me off.       

A month ago, I attended a Reiki I class. I had no idea what to expect.  For some time now I’ve been off-balance and uneasy. It was like a swarm of bees was trapped inside my body, buzzing angrily, trying to get out. Meditation and massage weren’t helping. Nor were the antidepressants I took.   I kept coming across references to Reiki, so I decided to try it.  The class was very small, a Master teacher and apprentice, myself and another student.  I did not realize that, at this class, I would receive an attunement.  An attunement  is when a Reiki teacher passes Reiki on to the student.  I thought I would learn about it and then choose if I wanted to continue.  Receiving the attunement meant sitting in a chair with my eyes closed and my hands folded while the Master teacher made signs over me and blew on me.  

Afterward, the apprentice told me she had had a vision while I was receiving the attunement.  She said she saw a cauldron with a fire in it.  I was in the cauldron and suddenly this cloud of something flew out of me.  She thought it might be bats but they were both black and gold.

I also saw something while my eyes were closed and this is what I saw.  A fire in stone pit, deep in a dark cave.  The fire burned brightly but not strongly.  Suddenly, it was as if the top of my head opened and a swarm of bees flew out.  Very much like the scene in “The Green Mile”  with John Cofey.  Immediately afterward, I felt calm.

Part of the class required us to give Reiki to each other.  When I put my hands over the other student, they began to burn.  They got uncomfortably hot.  I got a little frightened.  I had never felt anything like that before.  The Teacher and the apprentice jumped in and helped.

Later on, when they worked on me, the Teacher said my Heart Chakra was blocked.  The Heart Chakra is the middle Chakra, between the material and the spiritual, right where I am stuck.

That was a month ago.  My hands still tingle and heat up whenever I even think of Reiki. I no longer take the antidepressants.  I’m content.  I fall asleep every night with my hands over my heart, sending energy there and praying that my heart opens.  Until I did this, I didn’t realize how much anger I was holding there as a result of a life of abuse.  Even though I am loved well now, that still lives in my heart.   But it is dissipating.  And as a result, I am opening to the spiritual and mystical in life.  

It is amazing.  

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Posted in Catholic, Change, Daily Life, Faith, Gratitude, Growth, Mystical, Spirit, Uncategorized | 4 Comments

Happy Trails

The other day, I wrote about my gift of roses that I received after my husband’s death.  Many people think they were a sign from my him but I believe they were from my mother.  Roses had significance for her and she had died just 18 months earlier.  I do think he sent me something though.

When we decided to move to Arizona, my family threw us a going-away party.  They even hired a singer/keyboard player for entertainment.  I had sent a letter to everyone explaining why we were leaving and I closed it “And until we meet again, Happy Trails To You”.  Those of us of a certain age will recognise that as Roy Rogers theme song.  So at the end of the evening, the keyboardist played it and we all sang along.

The day Lorenzo died, after the funeral home took his body away and I had finished making flight arrangements for my trip back to New Jersey, my aunt and I went out to dinner.  I lived pretty far out in the desert and the closest place to eat was in a shopping area called El Pedregal. We drove there but the restaurant was not open for dinner yet.  So we walked around, looking into the different shops.  In one, there were all items related to Arizona; Kokopeli wall placks and figurines, chilie pepper and cactus Christmas ornaments, cowboy Santas. My aunt went over to look at the Christmas stuff and I continued to the back of the store.  In the corner, on a shelf with a bunch of other things was a snow globe.  I went over and picked it up.  I’ve loved snow globes sinice I was a little girl.  It was kind of touristy but colorful.  I turned it over to see if it was a music box as well.  Sure enough, the little tell-tale key was there.  Usually there is a label saying what song it played.  This one had none.  So I turned the key out of curiosity and it began to play “Happy Trails”.  I almost dropped it.

Shaking, I walked up to the cashier.  “I want to buy this.”  “OK”, he said.  “Let me check in the back for one in a box.”  He came back a minute later.  “That’s the only one we have.  I don’t know if I have a box to fit it.  Do you still want it?”  Of course I bought it.  I had it on my mantle for the rest of the years I lived in Arizona and now it is packed away in my basement with the rest of my snow globes.

Lorenzo and I had always had a difficult marriage.  He was controlling and abusive.  When he died, my feelings were conflicted.  But isn’t that how feelings are?  A mixed up hodge-podge.  It took me a long time to sort it all out.  I forgave him for many things.  And I’ve apologized for things I did to hurt him back.  That doesn’t excuse what happened between us.  It was wrong. But for that brief  moment on November 14, 2000, standing in a store in El Pedregal in Scottsdale Arizona, I knew that Divine Love transcends everything.

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The Rose

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I’ve been trying to find the words to tell my story about the rose.  It was a watershed experience in my life and I worry that I won’t be able to make it come out right.  So I’ll just plunge in.

There were many unexplainable things that happened in the six weeks my husband was actively dying.  I’ll write about some of them at another time.  Right now, I want to stick to the rose.

The day my husband died was very quite.  He had had a bad night but that morning was peaceful.  My Aunt Mary was visiting from New Jersey.  I had the hospital bed set up in the family room which was connected to the kitchen and she and I were sitting at the kitchen table talking.  The doorbell rang and I answered it.  My friend Ann (my mother’s name was Ann, important later on) who often came to give me some relief from tending to Lorenzo, was at the door.  She came in and gave me the most beautiful, full rose.  “This was in my garden this morning.  I was surprised to see it.  You don’t usually get roses this late. (We were in Arizona.) I thought it might cheer you up.”  I thanked her and got a glass to put it in.  While I was filling it up, I heard Lorenzo make a noise.  “He sounds uncomfortable”, I said.  “I’d better give him his meds.”  I filled up the dropper with the Oxicontin and went to the bed.  I knew immediately he was dead. I touched his face and kissed him.  Then I said “I think he’s dead.”

I’ll skip through all of what happened for the next few weeks, which where nuts because he died the week before Thanksgiving.  I’ll move ahead to where I was when it all calmed down, after the first of the year.

I was lost.  I plunged into deep grief.  I couldn’t function.  I would be stopped at a red light and forget to go when it turned green – until the horns started honking.  I slept through the weekends.  I had nothing in my refrigerator but gin, vermouth and olives.  I couldn’t continue like that.  Then I read that my church was offering a grief recovery workshop.  I signed up.  The group met once a week at noon.  I got my employer to give me permission to extend my lunch hour to two hours so I could attend.  The first day I drove to the workshop, Bette Midler’s “The Rose” came on the radio.  I had never heard it before but it really struck me.  The next week, the same thing happened.  Then I started to notice roses.  If I bought a dress and looked at the label when I got home, there was a rose on it.  I bought a purse and when I got home, I saw the zipper tab was a rose.  Every week, when I drove to my workshop, “The Rose” would come on the radio.  Everywhere, roses.  I kept telling people, “These roses mean something.  I just don’t know what.”  It drove me crazy. Then, in April, I opened a religious magazine I subscribed to.  It fell open to an article illustrated with a picture of pink roses.  I sat down and read it.  The author was a woman who had lost her children and challenged St. Therese to send her a rose as proof they were alright.  I began sobbing.  My mother, who was a great devotee of St. Therese, had died 18 months before my husband.  I had frequently told Lorenzo that if my mother ever came for him, he should go with her.  Every rose in the past five months came flooding back.to me.

But that is not where it ends.  For the next several months, every time I felt depressed, a rose would appear.  The following Christmas,  I decided to cross something off my bucket list and learn how to ski.  I booked a four day trip to Park City Utah.  I had a wonderful time.  On Christmas Eve, I had dinner at a downtown restaurant.  I was feeling very sad and thinking that this time I wasn’t going to get my rose.  I was having a last glass of wine after dinner, when the woman at the piano began playing and singing “The Rose”.  I started to cry.  The waitress came over and asked if I was alright.  I told her the story.  As I was talking, I noticed she was crying too.  “What?”, I asked.  She told me the following:

“There was a rock band that was scheduled to play tonight.  They cancelled the last minute.  We got her to fill in.  She plays all the time but never on Christmas Eve.  But she said OK.  I’ve worked here for five years and I have never heard her play that song before, not before tonight.”

I got my rose.

 

 

 

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Posted in Daily Life, Death, Faith, Grief, Love, Spirit, Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Signs

Last night, coming home on the train, I was thinking about the choices we make.  How we can choose to acknowledge the beauty and hope in life or not; how we can choose to see beyond what our senses tell us is real or not; how we can have faith or not.  I’ve been feeling myself pulled more and more toward the divine and mystical around me.  It leaves me feeling uneasy.  Although I’ve always considered myself a spiritual person, I worry about being deluded.  I studied psychology.  At one point, I started my master’s degree so I could be a therapist.  I know about magical thinking and superstition.  And yet, I cannot deny that there is something happening, some sea-change in me, a sense of anticipation.  I keep hearing the song “Something’s Coming” from West Side Story in my head.

I’ve always believed in signs.  As I was pondering all this, I looked out the train window and saw the most beautiful rainbow I have ever seen. ( I prefer the Italian word arcobaleno – rainbow just doesn’t capture the majesty of it.) It was a full arch, spanning the entire sky.  The colors were bright and solid, right out of a child’s box of crayons.  As I watched, a lighter, ghost version appeared over it.  These words came to me “I have set my rainbow in the sky as a sign…”

Over the years, I have experienced many things I can’t explain with logic.  I’ve told a number of stories about my first husband’s death that fit that description, but I don’t know if I really believed what I know happened. Now Something is trying to get my attention again.  Something is throwing pebbles at the window of my heart.  God, Spirit, Divine Love whatever you call it, is whispering to me.  

So what am I afraid of?  Of being a fool?  Of opening the door and finding nothing there?  Of being thought silly or deluded?  There is so much we don’t see simply because we refuse to see it.  Because we can’t quantify it, we deny its existence. Yet there is more, more than what we accept as real because we can touch it.  I don’t know where this is headed for me but the signs say “This way” and this time, I’m going.

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Posted in Daily Life, Faith, Spirit, Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Wine and Cheese Party

Tough day today. Spent the first two hours at TSA enrolling in their Known Travler Program. I will be able to keep my shoes on at the airport. Pretty big deal when you think about how nasty those floors must be with all the bare, sweaty feet on them.

Anyone who has ever spent any time in a government office knows how depressing they can be. I feel for the employees. It’s like they find the cheapest, most depressing rats’ nest they can find, slap a coat of dirt colored paint on it, insall a broken A/C unit, mount a few fans from the fifties and voila!, the NYC offices of the TSA.

There must have been 50 people crammed into a space comfortable for 25 and they were working short-handed; one person called out and one person was told to report to another location.  I have to say,  the employees were working their butts off and kept a sense of humor about the whole thing.  Still, not the way I want to start the day.

Work was work.

Train home was delayed and packed.  When I got home, I stopped as usual at the bottom of the driveway to get the mail out of the mailbox.  I sat in the car with it on my lap and took a quick look through what came.  I felt something on my legs and picked up the pile and my legs and lap were full of ants!  EEEEEEKKKKKKK!  I threw the mail on the passenger side floor and beat the hell out of my own lap.  Then I looked in the mailbox – like the freaking Amityville Horror!  I slammed it shut and sped up the driveway.  I went in the house and found the only thing we had OFF Deep Woods.  I went back out tho the car, threw the mail on the ground and SPRAYED it.  Then I sprayed the floor of the car.  Then I marched down the driveway and tear gassed the mailbox.  Sorry if that offends any of you Buddhists out there but we’re talking a plague of ants for Chrissake!  They used them for torture you know.

So I decided I deserved my very own Wine & Cheese party.  I cut up some fresh mozzarella (imported from New Jersey, Newark no less) that I was saving for the weekend, drizzled EVO on it, cracked black pepper and shredded basil leaves.  Then I put on the outdoor speakers (Today’s Country), turned on the waterfall, lit a citronella candle and opened a bottle of white wine.

The dogs are playing bitey face and I am chillin’ out.  Salute!

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The Devil’s In The Details

A few nights ago we had a Super Moon.  That is what it’s called when the moon’s orbit brings it the closest to earth. This one was also a full moon and, because of its proximity to earth, the moon appeared enormous and otherworldly . My husband and I sat outside in the dark and watched it fill up the space between the branches in the trees.  It was awesome and very beautiful and got us reminicing about the night we thought there were Satanic Rites happening in the woods behind our house.  We chuckeled about it and then my husband said “Don’t tell anyone that story.  They’ll think we are wacko.”  So of course, I have to tell the story.

We are not in agreement about when it happened or even exactly how the whole thing came about, so we’ll go with my version (which I am absolutely sure is the correct version and, even if it’s not, it reads better).

It was early fall a few years ago.  There were still lots of leaves on the trees but the air had turned chilly in the evenings.   That night was clear and crisp and there was a wind that rustled leaves and swayed the branches in the dark.  We were locking up for the night.  I switched out the kitchen lights and went to check the back door one more time. Something caught my eye out in the woods back behind the barn.  Lights, lots of them.  Yellowy-orange lights flickering through the trees in the distance.

“Honey”, I called, “can you come here a moment?”

“What?”

“Just come here and look at this, will you?”

My husband came and stood behind me and together we looked out the door at the woods behind the barn.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know.  That’s why I wanted you to look too.”

“It looks like people carrying torches or a bonfire or something.”

“Who would be doing that?  At this hour?  In the woods?”

“I don’t know but I don’t like it.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to get the shot gun.”

“You’re not going out there are you?”

But he was already headed upstairs to our room to get the loaded shot gun he keeps in our closet.  I stood there and watched as the lights moved back and forth between the tree trunks.  I was sure I could see shadowy figures as well.  The hair on the back of my neck was standing up.  I had always thought that was just a saying, but here were my neck hairs, at attention.

My husband returned. He’d pulled on his jacket and put his head lamp on his baseball cap.  He had the shot gun in his hand.  I had a bad feeling.

“Don’t go out there.”

“I’ll be alright.  I just want to see what’s going on.  Stay inside.  I’ll be right back.”

He went out the back door and down the garden steps.  I watched the beam from his head lamp as he headed up the rise to the barn.  I saw it move into the woods and then it disappeared.  I waited.  A minute went by, then another.  I cracked open the door and peaked out.  Only the wind and the sound of rustling leaves, like the sound of some hideous demon moving slowly, determinedly through the trees.

I think we all have seen enough stalker/slasher/witch project movies to know we had already made the First Two Mistakes: 1) Victim I goes out to check what the strange noise/sights were; 2) Victim II opens the door to look for Victim I.  And I was about to commit Mistake Number Three: I stepped out on to the back step and closed the door behind me.  I stood there, shivering with my arms wrapped around me.  I still couldn’t see my husband’s head lamp, just the weird lights.  I was expecting to hear a shot gun blast or blood curdling screams any moment.  If the local neighborhood owl had chosen to hoot just then, I would have had to change my underwear.

Then I saw a small, white beam of light headed back towards the house.  “Thank God”, I thought, “he’s OK.”  Then I remembered Mistake Number Four: Victim II sees what she thinks is Victim I headed toward her only to discover when it’s too late that it is actually the Demon/Slasher/Stalker.  I reached back and took a hold of the doorknob just in case I had to make a quick retreat.  As the light came closer I called out, “Honey?  Honey?”  No answer.  “Ok”, I’m thinking,” now I should go inside, lock the door, call 911 and hope they get here before someone makes a vest out of me.”  I tried one more time.

“Honey?”

“Yeah.”

WHEW!

“What was it?”

“I have no idea.  I couldn’t find a thing.”

“But I can still see the lights.”

“Well, there’s nothing out there.  I walked way back into the woods and I couldn’t find anything.”

The light was getting closer.  Maybe the demon was mimicking his voice.  Maybe I should play it safe and GET INSIDE!  The garden gate was opening.  Too late, a real demon could be on me in a second.  I heard a bang and a muffled “Shit!”  Nope, I’m OK. That’s my husband.

He joined me on the step and we looked out at the strange lights which were still there.

“I don’t don’t get it.  What are they?”

As we stood there watching, the lights started to change.  It seemed like they were getting higher in the trees.  Then we saw it, rising up.  The moon.  The full, giant yellow-orange Harvest Moon.  Our devil people were just the tree limbs moving in front of the rising moon.  Duh.   “Shit”, said my husband. “Thank goodness I didn’t shoot at anything”.

We went inside and locked the back door.  But just to be safe we looked outside one more time and then double checked the lock.  This is New England you know.

The Super Moon

The Super Moon

 

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Do Not Curse The Darkness

Sometimes,

the night seems so long

and the darkness so black,

you wonder if you can hold on

until the sunlight cracks it open.

That is the time to strike the flint

that sparks your soul

and create your own light.

And in that moment,

you see the beauty that was always there,

hidden.

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