My Zoey Homesick Heart

Dust bunny snow is falling outside. Large flakes gently floating in the air like dust bunnies when you sweep. I stare at the computer screen watching nature’s own YouTube reflect on the computer screen. What hand has reached into the pool and stirred such homesickness within my heart. I will confess that this writing is unabashedly selfish. I am homesick for what something, someone I met for only an hour or so. She has been my internet photo. Her name is Zoey and she is my great niece. After we met for the first and last time, I wrote this letter to Zoey. This morning I plundered through my journal and found the writing. Today I am sending her letter into cyber space where there is no time, everything is now. It will be safe there, free from the untimely demise of hard drives and unintended deleted files. The letter, her memory and my heart can dance in the timelessness of space forever. And who knows, perhaps sooner rather than later, I will have the chance to read the letter to her myself, with my own voice. May dust bunny snow fall upon you today and remind you to look around and hug those close and far away. Consider yourself so hugged.
      Somewhere on Interstate 40 in northwest Arkansas I left my heart. Only seven days had passed and I still find myself musing about the night we met. Did you know I wore that same T-shirt to bed that night, complete with your drool and unwanted milk you gifted me. Somewhere on Interstate 40 in northwest Arkansas I felt the kick in my heart when I realized I would never get to hold you like that again. Your tiny body, squishy and soft like a plush toy, recognizing a stranger's hands, touch and smell became rigid.

      What do your eyes see little Zoey? Am I just an unfamiliar shape or can you distinguish faces and mine was not one you knew? Did you know that I had never held a baby before? I know how to hold puppies and kittens and at night I am a pillow for a very timid cat. My fingers can fly on a computer key board, they even played the piano, and my handshake has made more than one man wince. But I do not know how to hold you Zoey. I know puppies like a clock on their first night from their mama, it reminds them of her heart beat. I will place your heart against mine and introduce myself. Hello Zoey, I am your great aunt, Beth. Namaste Zoey. I bow to you. My spirit, my heart honors you.
      What wonders await you Zoey. There are so many textures, colors, sounds and smells, find your favorite and bask in it but do not exclude the others. Know the horizon is your playpen, the breath of God makes the wheat fields dance and the birds await to accompany your songs. Know the clouds are your personal Etch-A-Sketch and the rain is an outdoor shower and pool so find the mud and be cleansed. The grass will be your carpet to feed your play animals and scratch your back, so be sure to roll and wiggle.
      The sun will be your angel by day so fear not your shadow. The moon will give rest to the sun, and watch you by night even when it is but a sliver. The moon and sun dance Zoey – take your cue from them. You cannot see the sun or light in the night Zoey but remember the dance. Good dance partners merge as one and you cannot tell them apart. That's how the sun and moon dance so fear not the floor beneath your bed, the dance will turn the sun quickly to shine upon you once again. Practice your numbers counting the stars in the sky and shells on the beach. Learn your colors from the flowers, sunsets and sunrises and the hues of a stormy cloud. Do not fear the thunder, it is but me clapping my hands in joy, telling you I'm over here if you want to sit in my lap or lay beside me for a while.
      People will marvel at your talents Zoey and tell you how good you are at this or that. And you will be - but the choice is yours. Learn to hear your heart, the one that is beating next to mine and mine next to yours. Learn your rhythm from that beat. Find what makes you laugh and do that as often as you can. Stay close to what makes you feel butterflies in your stomach but know the joy of just being, needing not the highs and fearing not the lows. Learn to hike the hills and forest trails so you are comfortable when your path is steep and uncertain. Trust your footing and your balance even when walking on asphalt or traveling a different path. Learn to pause and listen. Learn to hear your thoughts. Learn the beauty and power of words and feel the scrich of the pen moving on paper as you write your dreams. Finally, my little squishy great niece, a person, a gift, my prayer is that one day this letter, this memory may be a bookmark in your favorite book. Hello Zoey, hello to all you will be.

(also posted on my blog)

Reagan Generation Tree

If you follow my Healing Morning Facebook Fan Page, or if you've been subscribed to my Healing Morning blog for a while, you'll recognize the photo image here. It is a view from beneath the sprawling limbs of a huge elm tree on my Grandpa Reagan's property.

To give you a better perspective of the sheer size of this tree, here is another image. Forgive the darkness; both photos were taken at twilight. I was struck by the raw beauty of the barren limbs, stark against the wild, winter sky.

Why is this tree the focus of a blog post? You see a photo of the land where I was raised, for one thing. You also see a tree which quietly grew from what my Mother describes as being a small sapling in the field when she and her siblings were young to a truly grand presence. She is one of nine children who played in the same field where I and my brother, sister and 27 cousins played. That elm tree, to my way of thinking, raised two generations of Reagan children. It was the silent sentinel of our childhood years, faithfully kept whispered secrets, harbored grandiose dreams, stood protectively, arms outstretched over afternoon naps, watched us grow into adolescence and witnessed the majority of us marry and have children of our own.

When I was wee, I used to go up to the hayloft of my Grandpa's barn to talk to God. I just knew God was there, up in the vast space of the hayloft where it was quiet and still, and smelled sweetly of fresh hay in summer months. Then I learned that snakes and other critters liked the hayloft. This helpful information convinced me to transplant my talking to God spot to the elm tree. It was huge, after all, limbs outstretched in a majestic umbrella, sheltering us in summer months to play, dream, climb way up high and practically touch the sky. It made perfect sense to me that God would love the elm tree as much as I did, and would visit with me there. Of course, God/Universe is anywhere you choose to look, and I can easily see that Presence in the sheer beauty of that old tree.

At one point in the mid-1970's, the elm tree was struck by lightning and split down the center. For a time, there was debate as to whether my Grandpa would cut the elm tree down. Of course, all of the children in the family pleaded for this not to happen, as it was our primary recreation spot and the best climbing tree on the property. After a time, the tree, amazingly, began to heal itself. I am of the opinion that this healing took place as much from fervent children's prayers, crossed fingers, sincere applications of Band-Aids and many loving tree hugs, as it did from Nature weaving the sections of the tree back together. The scar remained from the lightning strike, the tree took on the appearance of two separate trunks melded together at the base and continued to stand strong for over 30 more years. At its most healthy years, it required at least 4 adults, arms outstretched and linked hand-in-hand to circle the vast width of the tree trunk, it was that large.

I continued to visit the elm tree, even after I moved away from home, making it a point to walk out through the field and spend time there. I always thought that after all the children grew up that the elm tree had to be lonely for the sound of laughter, for the feeling of small feet climbing its limbs, for the exhuberant, loving embraces we all bestowed upon it. I never left Tennessee without stopping to visit the tree, and bestowing a hug, having a conversation with it and with God, before feeling all was truly right in my world.

A couple of years ago, we had an unusually rainy year following a long period of drought. There were many storms with high winds that swept across the side of the ridge where our property, and the elm tree, are located. I stopped by for a visit late one afternoon and asked my Mom to walk out to the field to see the elm tree. Reaching the edge of the field, we stopped dead in horror - half of the elm tree had fallen. Apparently the sheer weight of its large limbs had proven too heavy for the old lightning scar to bear and the lower section of the trunk split free and fell. The remaining section was still upright, but according to my Uncle who now owns the property, there are plans to cut it down and clear the property. I admit, without an ounce of embarrassment, that I stood there and cried. I walked up to the still standing section of my dear old friend and once again spread my arms out for a loving embrace.

Resting my cheek against the smooth bark, I closed my eyes and said a prayer. I cried some more, and cannot lie - my heart just ached as I leaned against this most faithful of childhood companions. The fanciful part of my heart wonders and thinks that perhaps the elm tree grew saddened and lonely for company over the years. With no children to play and climb all over it, no laughter to absorb, no wee arms embracing it with love, maybe the elm tree decided it was time to let go.

It is my dear hope that I will be able to find some skilled artisan who can take some of the fallen tree trunk and create a piece of furniture, or decorative art, so that I may always have a piece of my childhood protector with me. The other half of the tree still stands strong in the field, and I continue to visit and say Hello each time I go home. The time is drawing near when that field will be empty of the all encompassing, mighty presence of that massive elm tree, and that will be a sad day to witness.

For now, I have written a loving tribute to this old friend. I cannot stand silently and leave the world wiped clean of the existence of such a beautiful work of God and nature - I felt driven to capture the images here and write the words. We were raised well by that faithful presence, we Reagan children, and I daresay there is not a single one of us who will be left untouched by the passing of that sheltering, peaceful beauty. It is our Reagan Generation Tree. Thankfully, it has been captured in endless photographs. It is also safe in each of our memories. To the best of my calculations, it has lived close to 100 years. And now, you, my readers, can finally understand why my blog posts are hallmarked with the image of the bare branches of this graceful tree, silhouetted against the evening winter sky.

When you see that image, you see something so dear to my heart that I chose it to represent Healing Morning. The energy of that old elm tree has always brought me to a powerful place of healing, peace and welcome, and that is the energy I hope is conveyed with this blog. My blog design is due to change in the coming weeks, but you will always find the image of this elm tree somewhere in connection to my writing. It is as intrinsically a part of me as my writing and I like the continuity it represents.
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If you enjoyed this post, you can read more at Healing Morning blog.
 
~ Dawn

What is "a calling" anyways?

I didn't mean to do back-to-back posts on this forum, but today's blog post is apt for this group. I would really appreciate your thoughts on this.

Over lunch one day a friend was telling me about Chip Conley’s book, How Great Companies Get their Mojo from Maslow. She was impressed with his philosophy of using the model for personal success and translating that to businesses. Taking it from one individual’s “peak experiences” and applying them to corporate transformation. Part of it was evaluating which slot one puts one’s professional enterprise in: a job, a career, or a calling.

I understand what a job is — it’s the oft-mundane 9-5 grunt work that pays the bills. It usually doesn’t involve passion, vision, or aspiration.

I think I also understand what a career is — it’s when you take off those blinkers at that job and chart a plan for your professional growth. It is a commitment to improving your opportunities, your salary, and provides some amount of satisfaction. In some cases, it defines who you are, what you stand for, and where you’re headed.

A calling … hmm … now that’s a word I don’t fully comprehend. According to various websites, dictionaries, and blog posts, it is work that gives you immense satisfaction. You wouldn’t necessarily even want to be paid for it. It defines for folks their “purpose” in life.

Bu what is our purpose in life? A friend told me yesterday, she thinks it’s something that stems from one’s beliefs. But how do you form your beliefs? Aren’t your beliefs based on the knowledge you have at any given point of time? And if that is so, shouldn’t they change as you grow, are exposed to new ideas, thoughts, people…? And if your beliefs change, then doesn’t your purpose in life also shift?

So, how do we say that a calling is something constant. That somehow you know this is the one and only thing you were born to do. Isn’t that really a way of saying that at this point of time in your life, given all you know about yourself and your surroundings, this is the best you can do with your talent, time, energy, and expertise? And because at this particular point of time you think this is the best use of your potential, that it gives you immense satisfaction? Ergo, this is your calling … for now.

Of course, this led to a whole new stream of questions about what potential is — both perceived and actual — and how we define time. But that’s another blog post.

I hear many people say that their work is their calling — they drop the word around so casually even though it supposedly carries so much weight … but here I am … not even sure what that word means.

I love writing. I always have. In my journey to becoming a writer, I explored many other options but wasn’t very good at any of those. Writing grounds me. It helps me grow as a person. It helps me connect. It satisfies me when I write for myself — like this blog. I don’t get paid for this, yet I do this every single day — so does it mean that this is my “calling”?

Does it also then imply that I have reached the highest point of my potential? That there really isn’t anything in this world besides writing that would give me the same satisfaction? That nothing else will come close to challenging me, uplifting me? That this is the end?

But there are so many things out there I haven’t even tried. Some things I don’t even know about, forget trying. Then how can I limit myself to one calling? How can I tell myself this is all I was born to do? Maybe there’s a host of other things I can do well and derive satisfaction from … how can I say just this is it?

Just like we’re moving away from the idea of having only one career in a lifetime, can’t we at least look at having more than one calling in life? Maybe there is something to that whole concept that needs a little revisiting …

Maybe not?

What do you think “a calling” means anyways?

Angel Meditations with Archangel Michael

There are many ways that you can meditate and using the angelic realm is one way. Archangels watch over guardian angels and support them in supporting their assigned humans. Archangel Michael's name means 'He who is like God.' Archangel Michael is depicted as a prince in the Bible who fights against lower energy. He is a protector and helps people who are willing to remember and fulfill their life's purpose. Archangel Michael holds a sword of light to cut away fearful attachments that bind us in lower energy. He gives us courage and strength to make life changes that we need to make.

In meditation you can call on Archangel Michael for protection,courage and to fill you with calmness to help you manage the daily crises in life. Archangel Michael helps you to bring anything you are holding in the dark and bring it to light. In the light the truth can be seen. Archangel Michael can then help you cut the fearful cords that keep you connected to the past and unhelpful ways of thinking. Once Archangel Michael cuts the cords, he fills you with his cobalt blue rays to heal the empty spaces created by the release of the old.

To invoke Archangel Michael or any angel or Archangel all you need to do is call their name. Visualize Archangel Michael with his bright sword and cobalt blue cloak standing in front of you. Ask him to help cut away the fearful cords of attachments and visualize the cords being cut away from you. You must ask that it is for the highest good for all involved.

You must not ask for cords to be cut from your children as they still need that connection from their birth parents to grow and feel connected. Ask that all is brought to the light so that it can be released. What remains in the dark cannot be released. Trust in Archangel Michael to do his job. He does not need you to direct him in what he does. All you need to do is bring all your worries and fears to him and he will perform his role.

As Archangel Michael fills you with his positve cobalt rays you will fill a shift of energies. Picture his cloak placed gently over you covering you from head to foot, tucked under your toes. Thank Archangel Michael for his assistance and trust that you are now protected and free from negativity.

You can also meditate with Archangel Michael for him to show you your life's purpose. You may receive insight instantly of what it is you are here to do. Or during the day, weeks or months you may stumble across the answer. For example, you may decide to join a course you never thought of doing before, you may meet someone who shares some useful information with you, or you may just know what it is you must do.

Archangel Michael is ready to help, no task is too small or too big, all you need to do is ask, and trust that you are safe and protected. Saint Michal, as he is also known is also the patron saint of police men, security guards and sailors, and he can also help in protecting you on journeys. Any thing that you need protection, courage or clarity with, Archangel Michael is ready to assit.

An article I wrote on Helium.com

The Energy of a Place

I live in Las Vegas, Nevada and before I moved here I had a lot of misconceptions about the place. Some have been fed by those who promote the city, the whole "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" slogan, and the old ideas of the mob and the rat pack lingered in my imagination. Then there was the whole idea of a desert with miles of rolling sand dunes, extreme heat, and nothing else. The misconceptions about the land and climate were the first to be squelched when we moved here in 1996, the rest of the misconceptions would gradually drop away as I gradually got to know and fall in love with what I now consider my hometown.

There are some behaviors and attitudes, and there are certainly activities that continue to pervade the culture here that I find to be unsavory, but I also know after living in more than one place that this is true in pockets of any place. There is an independent spirit in the people here, and of course there are many here who have a penchant for risk and excess, but there is also the energy here of the willingness to start over, begin anew, to redefine and to reinvent. I love this energy.

This city has gone through a lot of changes since it's inception as a city and it continues to evolve, it does so rapidly and it does it for survival. I often consider the energy of the people in an area to have a great affect on the energy of the place, and vice versa. There is incredible beauty in the landscape here, it breathes positivity into you, and there is a yearning by many here to preserve that beauty. I have high hopes for our city that we are going to be moving to the leading edge of the greening of this country, we have so many natural energy resources and I believe the spirit to do so. I hope that the energy that I strive to infuse into my environment has an impact, and I am seeing more like minded spirits arriving at this place.

We've been having a lot of moisture here lately and this has brought snow to the mountains, so my husband and I went up into the mountains this weekend to visit the snow and I took pictures. The picture I posted at the head of this post is one of them, below are more for your viewing pleasure, and I hope I have given you a different view of the city where I live - Las Vegas.

posted by Aine

Please don't read this – a book review

by kbxmas






I was reading the other day somewhere, I don't know where, about a new book called Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough. It's written by a woman who was bright and successful and dated a lot of men she wasn't crazy about so she held out for someone who really made her heart sing, but woke up one day and realized she was forty and not married and had a big old insecurity seizure. She decided the solution to her loneliness problem was to write a book exhorting other women to shelve their dreams of emotional and intellectual companionship and hook up with someone, anyone, because fuck it, what good are dreams anyway. At least I think that's what the book's about. I haven't actually read it. I wouldn't waste my time on that drivel.

Books like this (think The Rules or any of the why-oh-why-am-I-still-single genre) make me batty. They feed right into the psychic vortex of sexual insecurity that our gender seems to possess that tells us we're not complete unless we've glommed onto the right man, or any man. And who better to wax forth on relationships that me, considering my breadth of experience (four engagements and two marriages, thank you very much).

If I had the audacity to tell other people how to live, I would say this: the hell with good enough. Give yourself more credit than that. Ignore the voices all around you shouting about doom and gloom and scarcity and time running out. Let them settle for each other while you listen to your own voice and find your own way in the world. Water has a way of seeking its own level.

So no, I can't recommend Marry Him. It's the worst book I've never read. If you're going to spend your hard-earned money on a book, buy mine. Don't let the fact that it hasn't yet been published stop you.*


* or, for that matter, written.
 
This has also been posted at Wanderlust

Good Morning, Sharni at your... um... Service...

now for something a little different .....  this is also on my blog the Chronicles of Sharnia 




I was perched over my desk feeling like the lady from the AAMI ads. (for non-Australians this is her)

 Headset on, best smile on face (they can feel it through the phone you know) hands nervously hovering over the keyboard hoping I could co-ordinate their words with my typing.

"Courier Newspapers , Sharni speaking" I said enthusiastically, though terrified.

"Need to place an ad in the Wentworth Courier" said the voice on the other end.

 She sounded like an older lady, maybe someone my Mum's age.

So here I was nervously about to officially place my first ad into the paper with a real life advertiser.

Everything we had been taught at training about to be applied.

"What would you like to say in your ad?" I asked in my best voice.

" Big, bouncy, and expensive ladies" the voice muttered as if reeling off items at a garage sale.

I felt a lump form in my throat. My voicebox attempted to reply but the lump rose and suddenly I was frozen in my tracks.

This had not been in my training!

"Um.... sorry?" I asked, hoping I had severely misheard my first client

She took an exasperated sigh before repeating again " Big, bouncy and expensive ladies"

"Oh, ummm.. what section did you want to place your ad in? " I asked looking around at the other operators.

One of my more senior colleagues was looking over absolutely lost in hysterics at me.

She realised who I was talking to and could see I was ill prepared for what I was hearing.

"A place to rent, what do you think?" the now annoyed lady on the phone replied

"Oh you are placing an Adults Service ad?" I said, trying to sound like I took these sort of ads all the time

"Derrrr.." she replied.

"Just hold the line for a sec"

My colleague was now falling over her chair in laughter, my face had turned white and I did not know what to do.

"Can I put her through to you?" I asked my colleague in desperation

"No!" she said " Just take the details down!!"

I got back on the phone and apologised to my client.

I decided honesty was the best policy here.

"I'm sorry, " I said "First day here and my first Adult services ad."

This seemed to soften the lady a little

"Oh"

"So," I said regaining my compusure "Big, bouncy and explosive you said?"

"EXPENSIVE" she said

"Oh no, it is $8 per word" I replied

"No, the ladies are expensive, not the ad" she said

"Sorry?"

I was totally confused. I quickly typed the words in - went through the booking and had successfully placed my first ad into the Wentworth Courier and it went straight to the Adult Services section.

When I hung up - I burst into laughter. I wasn't ready for that for phone call number one.

A week later when the paper came out I was called into my bosses office.

She asked me about the Adult Services ad that I placed as there had been a complaint.

In the advertisement I had typed "Big, Bouncy, Explosive ladies" but it should have read " Big , Bouncy and Expensive ladies"

"Really?" I asked my boss.

"Surely explosive sounds better than expensive??"

I couldn't believe these words were coming out of my mouth!

My introduction to newspapers and what a baptism by fire!!

Luckily my boss saw the funny side of it, whereby apparantly the client did not.

I called the client up to apologise for my mistake - in the end she saw it funny.

A week later, the lady in question turned up to the offices and asked to see me! I nervously went out to the foyer where I met up with my 'adult services' client.

She eventually come around to thinking that explosive did sound more appealing than expensive.

Would you believe from that moment forward she made weekly trips to the FPC offices for advice on how to write  her ads, yes little old me - kid from the country, being asked if it sounds better to say "Naughty but nice" or "She loves to be spanked".

Apparantly I had a way with the words.

My boss found it hysterical, and I will never forget my introduction to working at newspapers in the big city.