Gazing at Magic

Photo courtesy of
http://www.moonbattery.com/

When I was very young, we lived in a small, single wide trailer. The space was limited, with the washing machine in the one bathroom, and the clothes dryer set into a corner of the small living room. It was next to the clothes dryer that we always set up the Christmas tree, against the wall to allow for the rest of the floor space to be clear. This meant that there was just enough space between the branches of the tree and the dryer for the dryer door to be opened and the controls to be reached. It was also just enough space for one wee little girl to scoot in and sit with back against the clothes dryer, feet tucked close, elbows on knees to support small chin on small hands....and gaze upward at the twinkling lights.


I was spellbound by the beauty of each year's Christmas tree. The tinsel softly shifting and catching and reflecting the tree lights. The tree lights themselves were a whole fascinating experience all their own. Who remembers the individual painted lightbulbs that had to be screwed into the individual sockets on the strings of Christmas tree lights? They also had individual, colored reflectors. stamped out of solid sheets of metal with fluted edges that could be deadly sharp, and these reflectors could be fitted between the lightbulb and the socket, securing them as decoration.

Photo courtesy of
Bing images

The light bulbs were easily the size of a man's thumb and were coated with opaque primary colored paint...red, green, yellow, blue and orange. I found this one photo to the left of these old beauties. The lady in the photo is country music legend, Brenda Lee. While these lights don't have the metal wheel reflectors I've attempted to describe, it gives you an idea of what I'm talking about. We would sit on the floor with my Mother, painstakingly testing each light socket and bulb, selecting the colors so that they didn't repeat, and choosing with equal precision the reflector wheels. We always made strings of popcorn and cranberries, as money was limited to purchase expensive garland. The few garlands that we did have were made of a tightly wound tinfoil, sometimes dual colored, others were gold or silver, and were crinkly and rustling in our hands as they were strung around the tree.


To a small child, the finished result, covered in clumps of silver tinsel when we would grow tired of the decorating process, was always beautiful. I could sit quietly tucked between the clothes dryer and Christmas tree and look at all the colors and textures. Gazing upward into the tree provided a whole different perspective than you could get from standing in front of it and viewing it. Looking upwards, all the lights cast a soft, lambent glow that seemed to fill the inner spaces of the tree and produce a fairytale atmosphere. Even at that young an age, I was weaving stories in my head about the things that captured my imagination.

Photo courtesy of
Bing images

At some point, my Mom would notice I was missing and call my name, walking by and not thinking to look for me tucked down beneath the tree. "Here I am," I would smile up at her, waving a hand to catch her attention. "What are you doing down there on the floor?" was usually her question. "Watching the magic...it's so pretty!" One evening, to my everlasting delight, my wonderful Mom didn't ask the usual question. Instead, she carefully shifted the Christmas tree slightly sideways, got down on the floor next to me and joined me in my nightly routine. We sat there, me tucked cozily against my Mom's side, her clean, soft fragrance touching my senses, her heartbeat against my ear as I cuddled close. She reached over and caught my hand in hers, and we gazed at magic together.

My older sister and brother were occupied with a game and we weren't interrupted....something very rare for the youngest of three, as I was, to get such an extended quiet moment with our Mom. She was raising us alone and dealing with very challenging circumstances. Money was always an issue, yet she found ways to make our childhood carefree, secure and content. And that particular evening, she indulged my whimsical nature by joining me and gazing at magic.

Eventually, something broke the spell and the moment ended. Dinner needed to be fixed, small bodies needed baths and bedtime loomed imminent. But for that one lovely moment, we just sat there together and gazed up from the floor into the heart of that Christmas tree, hypnotized and enthralled by the warm glow of lights and decorations. I can remember my Mom climbing to her feet, extending a hand to pull me up, and bending down to kiss me, saying, "Thank you, honey. That was beautiful. Let's do it again soon."

Have you ever tried this? This year during the winter holiday season, if you decorate a Christmas tree in your home, take a few moments to sit on the floor, close in to the tree, and gaze upwards into the center of it. I sometimes will even lie down on the floor and scoot directly underneath the tree to gain the best view. It might sound slightly bizarre, but I assure you it will provide you with a breathtaking experience. Clear your mind and simply gaze at the magic.

Perhaps it seems odd that my last two posts have had Christmas as a focal point, as this is the month of July. I don't know why the thoughts twined together to produce two blog articles with a similar theme, but I feel they are expressing completely different concepts.

Such are some of the blissful moments of my childhood. My beautiful Mom sheltered us from the challenging reality of admittedly difficult times and provided a secure, loving and nurturing home. She also allowed for those magical moments and on occasion, she would embrace them and join us. This Christmas tree moment is one of my most cherished memories. From that day and many others, I learned to embrace my ability to find magic in the most unexpected places and it is something that gives me particular joy. It is a connection to my wonderful Mom, who recognized that evening, that her youngest child was slightly different, slightly fey, and completely unique.

Photo courtesy of
Bing images

She taught me, in subsequent years, that this side of my nature was beautiful and to be celebrated. I still gaze at magic, and sometimes I'm able to share those moments with my Mom. She doesn't always see the world in the same starlit glow that I do, but she appreciates this part of who I, her youngest child, am. I gaze at magic, because I was taught by a lovely woman, my Mom, that this is a beautiful and natural thing. I hope those who read this post have those special moments as well. I would wish for you all to have the unique ability to regularly find and regularly enjoy...gazing at magic. Namaste'.
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If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at Healing Morning blog.

A gift

By Kristin at Wanderlust

Some days the right person comes along at the right time
and reaches inside the churning maw of chaos and doubt
we have slipped within
opens a hand
we take hold
and choose to walk out

It's funny how a few well-placed words can offer clarity
and the world tilts
slides open
a sigh escapes our weary hearts
and we realize we've been holding our breath
for years

And quite suddenly we know the singular joy
of sitting deeply in the stillness of our own truth
our power
our plenary selves

Blank white wall

Photo courtesy of
http://www.flickr.com/

A blank white wall. This was my very first experience with meditation at a very young age. If you grew up in a Christian oriented household, then I think most people can relate to the excitement generated on Christmas Eve night. In our family, we waited until Christmas Day to open gifts, which amped the excitement level up that much higher. After everyone was in bed, anticipation of the following morning and opening gifts would take hold of my young mind, making it difficult to sleep. Even at that age, I recognized that unless I managed to get some decent amount of sleep, I wouldn't be able to enjoy all the festivities of the following day. No young child relishes the thought of having to take a nap on Christmas Day, after all!


So, I would lie in bed, tossing and turning and attempting to relax enough to sleep. I have no idea where the concept occurred, but I suddenly realized that I had to corral my racing thoughts. My way of doing this and blocking out all distracted mental images, expectations, hopes, etc., was to imagine myself standing in front of a blank white wall. Standing very close to it so that my entire vision was taken up by the clean expanse of uninterrupted white. I also imagined this white wall to emanate softly blowing cool air, because I've never been able to fall asleep in warm surroundings. That first moment worked like a charm - I imagine that it only took me 10-15 minutes for this meditative process to calm me enough to fall asleep.

From that point forward in my life, I employed this calming technique of standing in front of a blank white wall to clear my mind. I still use this technique to this day when I am having a particularly extreme amount of mind chatter going on in my head. Insomnia seems to be a common experience as we grow older, and sometimes this method will help to relax me enough to allow sleep to come.

Photo courtesy of
http://www.hubpages.com/

I also employ this method occasionally for meditation, simply to drop my breathing and heart rate into the proper level to access that deep state of calm and reflection. It has become a Go To exercise when life seems to be throwing a huge amount of activity in my direction. In order to meditate, we do have to find a way to control mind chatter. I spoke of this very thing recently with an old friend who is getting back into meditation and yoga. I believe it is very common for anyone new to meditating, or long absent from the practice, to experience the challenge of mind chatter. Micro-moments where seemingly random thoughts pop up and refuse to fade away. One leads to the next, to the next, until eventually you lose focus. Those thoughts come rushing in the moment we settle down to meditate....or to sleep....or to pray. Who hasn't turned their bedside table out and started their nightly prayers with all sincerity, only to get distracted by some random thought? It happens to all of us and is certainly something we should forgive ourselves for; it is simply a physiological response the brain goes through as our bodies are at rest. A method of processing all the minutiae of the day.

I don't know that the blank white wall method will work for everyone to calm mind chatter and make meditation or sleep come more easily; I just know it has worked for me since childhood. For a good twenty years, I never correlated that this practice had any connection to meditative mindset. When it did connect in my mind, I found it slightly bemusing that a four year old child had managed to cobble this concept together and be successful with it. Granted, it was born out of a child's excitement about opening gifts on Christmas Day, but as I grew older, it became a valuable tool in my own inner growth and spiritual studies.

Photo courtesy of
http://www.mindflowmeditation.com/

I am guilty of straying from the practice of daily meditation and my recent discussion with this old friend reminded me how much I have been neglecting this vital part of my life. With daily meditation, I am centered and better able to roll with the inevitable punches that Life delivers. I am better able to access my inner spirit and intuition, and I am better able to release those niggling, annoying moments that bombard us minute by minute. One would think all of the above would keep me very strict and true to a daily meditation regimen, but it doesn't. I get lazy, I get busy and I forget. One day turns into two, turning into a week and multiplying. You glance at the calendar and suddenly realize that many weeks have passed without true nurturing of your Inner Light.

So, the blank white wall beckons me from childhood memories to return to this vital daily practice. Meditation is an individual duty and joy, although I realize that not everyone will embrace the practice, or even care to learn about what it really involves and how it can really benefit each person. This isn't a post to encourage readers to embrace meditation. It is just my thoughts on the topic and the path that I set my very small feet upon at a very young age.

Photo courtesy of
http://www.minimalwall.com/

I do embrace meditation, although as I admitted above, I fall out of daily practice on occasion. Perhaps that conversation with my friend was all that was necessary to nudge me and get the mental gears turning. Once that occurs, it is inevitable that a blog post will be born, and I am ultimately a better person for it. Writing, you see, for some of us, is its own form of meditation. I reach a very profound Zen state when I write. Time ceases to exist, hunger and sleep do not even impinge my consciousness. Writing the thoughts out and weaving them into a cohesive and lyrically flowing fabric consumes me until that zenith of purity is reached. Then I am washed in a level of satisfaction and bliss that is sublime.

And all of these thoughts coalesce and return to that pivotal year in early childhood when I somehow devised a way to calm my thoughts. I didn't know at the time that this was a form of meditation - I didn't even know what that word was at that young an age. I simply knew that blank white wall method worked to help me sleep and I continued to employ it as I grew older. For whatever reason, as a wee one, my brain was receptive and hardwired to esoteric concepts and by the time I was in second grade, I began to search for answers. Today, the blank white wall still works for me when nothing else will; for sleep, to drop into a true meditative state after a hectic day, or simply to check in with myself and process through the myriad experiences of a given week.

Photo courtesy of
http://www.wallpaperstock.net/

As I come to a close, I recognize that it is time to get back to daily meditation. There are no accidents with conversation between friends; I have no doubt that this was God/Universe/Spirit gently nudging me, reminding me that this is an important energy in my life. Time to come back to quiet, time to come back to calm, time to process and grow. Time to visit that blank white wall and allow it to work its magic, settling chaotic, erratic thoughts into a smooth, even flow that gifts the Spirit with beauty and peace.
__________________________
If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at Healing Morning blog.

UNWANTED VIRTUE

Dear Mother Ursula, (wherever you are)

Remember that time when you wanted to know about something personal and secret about us? You patiently waited for my answer as you sat behind the large wooden desk that seemed to shield the teachers from the students and the world. Most of the girls responded as honestly as they could, "I am kind, I am smart, I know how to cook, I can outrun my brother, I am good at math..." When it was my turn, I couldn't think of a gift, something I was good at or anything I loved. I must have lacked imagination then, because I couldn't even come up with a lie. Maybe my "gift" was honesty, but this was the first time anyone had ever implied that I had to have something good that made me special and the very question was unimaginable to me. I thought you were a saint, Mother Ursula, for asking such an innovative and soul provoking question.

"Patience. That is your virtue." you said, rescuing me after a long, uncomfortable pause. Then you proceeded to tell me why/how you saw patience in me. But let me tell you (now that I'm no longer a little afraid of you) that you were wrong. You mistook patience for lack of confidence, shyness and passivity. Your opinion has actually turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy though, because many people, including myself, have perceived me as "patient" most of my life.

But it is imperative that you take back your words, your proclamation of the goodness you saw in me. You committed a grave mistake and now even the Universe has unrealistic expectations of me.

Lovingly and kindly I am supposed to respond to complaints - repeated daily, it seems hourly, more like every minute - which are dramatically executed by mother-in-law. Her litany of hypochondriac ailments is endless - her stomach, her veins, her legs, her left heel, an itch, no sleep (though she often appears for breakfast after ten), etc. On and on she proceeds as I...

S C R E A M (internally, of course) with frustration at having to be her helpless, captive audience. Can this be the attitude of someone who is patient?

Lately, my mother too has jumped onto the complaining band wagon and has acquired a strange malaise, that miraculously happens consistently right before her scheduled shower (which she is increasingly less fond of taking). My I R R I T A T I O N is hard to disguise as I go back to her room several times before she finally consents to her grooming (which, by the way, is no picnic for me to witness and endure). Does this sound like patience to you?

I thought nuns were always right, but obviously you were dead wrong. I am not patient! What I am is angry, furious, disappointed, livid, enraged.

I write to you because I wonder if your false prediction has something to do with the fact that I am stuck in a revolving door of existence, in which every day, I confront the exact same challenges. It's as if all forces conspired to test my patience, which I don't even have.

I don't mean to say that you put a hex on me. But did you? Even if you did, I know you didn't mean it and any repercussions were unintended. So, could you please take back your words? Release me from ...

Oh, Mother Ursula, here I am impatiently complaining to you about the complainers in my life. I'm so sorry. I know it's all in my interpretation of it. I could just see all this as the opportunity of a lifetime - a chance to be virtuous, a chance to help those who have no one else, a chance to love.

Mother Ursula, please don't be offended, but if I am to be virtuous I must enrich my honesty. And honestly, right now, this moment I feel like ...virtues suck!!! Still, I hope you have kept all of yours.

Sincerely,

Myrna

Mocking bird salute

I've lived in a two story townhouse home for the past seven years and for the last five of those years, I have had a yearly visitor in the form of a Mocking Bird. For those of you who aren't familiar with this bird, here is what Wikipedia tells us:

Mockingbirds are a group of New World passerine birds from the Mimidae family. They are best known for the habit of some species mimicking the songs of other birds and the sounds of insects and amphibians, often loudly and in rapid succession. Wikipedia

Tennessee Mocking Bird
Mimus polyglottos
http://www.flickr.com/

It is an ironic sidenote that the mocking bird is the Tennessee State Bird genus Mimus polyglottos, which my home state adopted and made official on April 19, 1933. Why am I writing about mocking birds? Because these hardy little birds, if you have read the above Wiki information, are very LOUD and PERSISTENT in their yearly nesting and mating habits. These habits include finding the highest point available for them to perch and warble their little hearts out, pitching woo...loudly and persistently....to the night. And to hapless townhouse inhabitants attempting to grab a few precious hours of sleep.

I'm happy to share with you that not only do mocking birds imitate the songs of other birds, insects and amphibians, they imitate cats and dogs, machinery and musical instruments, and the occasional slamming door or rusty hinge. They trill through their repertoire with great and lusty enthusiasm, rarely pausing as they skillfully switch from bird song to cat meow to truck engine revving continuously. At times, it can be amusing listening to the sheer volume of calls they can produce. My bedroom happens to be the tallest peak of this row of townhouse units, so this is why I am the lucky recipient of the nightly serenade and mocking bird orchestra.

Again, you're probably wondering why I'm writing about this topic. For months now, I have been turning over in my mind the fact that humans and wildlife aren't that greatly different. I've written before about social masks that we all employ to get through our daily existence. In a similar manner to the mocking bird, we also adapt our speaking voice in tone, inflection, volume and emotion to communicate our thoughts and emotions to those around us. We wear different clothing, hairstyles and cosmetics to project various public images, to denote our current mood and again, to use as social camouflage and quite often, as a courtship tool.

http://www.musicalexpress.net/

The thing that always strikes me is how cheerful mocking birds are, every single night, in their pursuit of procreation. I am sure that to the mocking bird, this is not a cause for amusement. Indeed, their nightly concert is a life and death effort to continue their species. My human ears cannot help, however, finding charm in the widely varied trills, chirps, barks, cricket sounds (those are the exception to the finding charm part as they really drive me nuts) and engine noises. These small birds are quite aggressive in their display of auditory talents, finding no shame at all in adopting sounds from another species or object to further their goals. In some ways, I would liken it to a painter painting, using colors to express different emotions and messages, or a conductor standing in front of an orchestra with arms raised, wand at the ready to coax a stellar performance from all the musicians. Mocking birds simply do the same with their calls.

http://www.paintinghere.com/

Of course, when it is 3:30 am and I am still hearing incessant bird calls, cat screeches and hissing as well as various motorized noises in rapid succession, it isn't quite as charming or amusing anymore. There are many nights when I lie awake listening to the endless, noisy litany that I am suspicious my particular mocking bird is perched by my window with a calculating, crafty, borderline maniacal gleam in his beady little eyes, fully aware he is costing me a decent night of sleep. I also wonder about the female counterpart to my serenading friend; is she sitting out there in the night, listening, brought to a feminine birdie swoon, thinking, "Oh my! Now that is one sexy, masculine, attractive boat motor sound! That must be the father of my future children! I must fly to him now!"? Even then, when these thoughts are chasing blearily through my tired mind, I do admit to a certain level of admiration for this little bird's plucky spirit.

We as human beings could take a leaf from their book as we navigate our own daily lives. Shine our emotions brightly and enthusiastically, be unafraid to show every facet and skill we possess in a lyrical manner, perhaps borrow someone else's form of expression momentarily, communicate with others with absolute enthusiasm...and most of all, find a high spot to proclaim our love widely and loudly to the masses. Wouldn't that be an interesting, entertaining courtship process?

There is no great or deep message here this time around. More a tangle of sleep deprived thoughts that have been assailing me for several months now during the nightly mocking bird salute. As annoying as my current feathered visitor can be each night, I still wind up missing the sounds as fall weather sets in. I feel a sort of kinship evolve in the months each mocking bird sets up housekeeping outside my bedroom window. From it has sprung a blog post that I'm not sure will capture readers' attention in quite the same way as other posts, but perhaps many of you will remember similar memories of your own with a mocking bird salute. And perhaps you will smile at the memories.
__________________________
If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at Healing Morning blog.

Footsteps

The needle on my compass is broken. It used to be quite reliable as far as my navigational partner, but currently it stopped pointing the way. Now what?! Maybe it is a good thing.


I often find that often the compass is not necessarily “broken” as much as it has an intrinsic intelligence that pauses its function to allow us to switch to our intuitive devices. I think things happen to keep us from plodding along life’s path in a “lemming-like” state just because. Like early sailors, if they were caught out at sea without a map or compass, they switched between what God placed before them, mixed in with a little “gut”, and they fearlessly tread onward driven by passion and fear of standing still.

However, when the path forward sometimes seems rather dull, frightful, unchallenging, or perhaps dismal at a given moment, we can take a peek in our rearview mirror. Although not always wise to “live” in yesterday, we can retrace a few paces and maybe examine our impact.

Is where we have been only what it appears on the surface? Is our past only comprised of our own circumstances? Are we travelling alone? I think we leave footprints.

In our travels we leave behind visible markers of our presence. Sometimes we leave perishable traces of where we have been–momentary evidence that we have passed through. It is our footprint on life’s sandy beach simply waiting on the tide of time to erase it. From the simple gestures, assistances we have loaned to a stranger, and idle banter with passers-by we can indeed leave a footprint along our daily path. Think back at the end of your day to simple moments of truth where we maybe encountered a stranger, exchanged contact, and then proceeded onward. Do you remember them? There lies a footprint. They took the place of another thought. In your absence you live on in someone else’s life–even if momentarily. Who knows where the nudge will take you?

Sometimes we walk through damp concrete–our steps indelibly present–proof of our presence strong and visible eventually hardening. Maybe they were words of encouragement that turned another’s life around at a crucial moment. Many times we are not always aware of the depth and impact our presence can make on another. We may not be aware of how close to another’s core we come. Sometimes with a simple anecdote we may save a life somewhere down the line.

Some of us are teachers. We share our skill so that another may flourish. Words, trades, jobs, and knowledge are precious gifts never to be taken lightly. Used in the hands of a creative master, we never know what momentum may be given to a simple statement or craft. Maybe our footprint here was simply stepping first in the right direction allowing others to follow.

As mentors past or present, we must not concern ourselves as much with where we are now going, but to remain at peace that we have fertilized another’s journey. Being a parent is one of the most crucial of this example. “Do as I say, and not as I do?” I still think we should lead by example noticing that a child learns life through our footsteps. If we are mindful now of our steps, less apology and reconciliation may be needed later. Time passed through anger and pain that could be well spent exchanging quality time–time spent laying a dual set of steps for future travelers. Lay your footsteps for your children as if they were pavers to cross life’s chasm. Often they are.

Sometimes our footsteps go through another’s garden. Sometimes we tread where we are unwelcome. We may have good or bad intention but still we find we have trampled another’s field. As with flowers, they can be damaged; they can be destroyed, but can also be replanted–seeds can be re-sown. We must realize that we may not be welcome to help in the recultivation. Even though we may be willing to dirty our hands and dig, and be willing to water the seeds for new growth, sometimes we must move onward and create our own garden where our footsteps are welcome. Maybe this new space must be fertilized with the lesson learned that we need to be aware that we also travel in a path shared by others, and that we must respect our fellow journeyers.

I find as I venture onward, I have become less attached to the path I leave but have increased in my respect of it. I realize that I am not the only one stepping. I also realize how much my steps leave behind a part of me both good and bad, and sometimes they are brief in their presence, and sometimes will remain long after I have left this Earth.

In my presence, and my awareness of where I am now, I can at least try my best to be respectful in where I leave my footprints. I also realize that sometimes I may leave them where I am completely oblivious to. I hope I don’t trample your flowers.

I finally realize that at some point along the way, I was often uncertain of what lie ahead, but now as I look back, I realize I kept walking onward. Sometimes I needed faith to keep moving to be able to put the story together later by examining the footsteps. I just hope when I reach the end of my journey, my steps were flanked by my loved ones, that they were pointed in a good direction and that when in a deep or dark area, the steps continued out of the valley.

Thanks for walking with me today.

Repost from - Artisan of the Human Spirit by Tony Anders

365 Lessons-Lesson 203: Find Your Enthusiasm

When I was in junior high, I had to take Health. It was required and I was not too enthused about that as I was going through my rebellious teen years. On the first day of class, once everyone was seated, the teacher, Mr. Baerveldt yelled out, "How's your PMA (Positive Mental Attitude)?" We all just sat there, a bunch of preteens staring in emptiness at this man who looked like he might take flight from all his cheerfulness. Some students even rolled their eyes, but Mr. Baerveldt would not give up on us. He let us know that whenever he said this at the beginning of class we were supposed to jump out of our chairs, full of vigor, and yell back, "Boy am I enthusiastic!"

He tried it again and there were a few muffled voices feigning enthusiasm. He tried again. A few more people. Finally, just to get him to stop, we all jumped out of our chairs, fists in the air like Superman, and shouted back in unison, "BOY AM I ENTHUSIASTIC!"

And then we couldn't help but laugh. We all felt a little ridiculous. Day after day, this was how we started our 5th period Health class. I have to say, by the end of it, maybe through osmosis, I did feel enthusiastic.

My goal as a teen was to avoid enthusiasm. I was supposed to be cool. Cool people weren't enthusiastic, they were just "cool." I'm sorry now that I missed out on what a lot of great teachers had to offer because I wasn't in the frame of mind to "receive the teachings" so to speak. However, maybe some of it stuck with me. I can't forget Mr. Baerveldt after all these years and even when I see my best friend Lena and she says, "How's your PMA?" I automatically throw my arms up in the air and shout, "Boy am I enthusiastic!"

I have a book in my library that I think is right up Mr. Baerveldt's alley. It's called Do It! Let's Get Off Our Buts. I love this book. And I love that "buts" has a double meaning. Now that's "cool."

Even cooler is when the authors, John Roger and Peter McWilliams, explain where the word enthusiasm comes from:

Enthusiasm comes from the Latin en theos-one with the energy of the Divine.

And they go on to quote famous people who wrote about enthusiasm:

The real secret of success is enthusiasm.
-Walter Chrysler

Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm.
-Emerson

I rate enthusiasm even above professional skill.
-Edward Appleton

I couldn't agree more. If you are enthusiastic about what you are doing, how can you fail? After all, the Latin speakers of the world believe you are in tune with the Divine; the word "fail" is not in your dictionary.

If you are having trouble finding your enthusiasm, I recommend the exercise my Health teacher had us do way back when. If you say it long enough and loud enough, maybe you'll start to believe it. Maybe it will become your mantra. Maybe a life filled with enthusiasm will become "cool" for you. Maybe it will become your way.

Also published on my blog, Lessons from the Monk I Married.