If Not Now...

Earthquake here, tornado there, hurricane to the left, flood to the right.

Governments engaged in so-called diplomatic talks just to save or earn power.

Power...

Military troops shuffling around, nuclear plants springing up where flowers once bloomed.

Children dying, mothers crying.

Fathers shouting out in helplessness.

Mother earth is raped, and it is writhing in pain, screaming out in every language and utilizing every method it knows.

When will we see that we are all in it together!?

We all need the same things.

We all want the same things.

We all think the same things.

We all feel the same things.

We all are the same things.

We are all in it together!

East and west, north and south, above and below the equator. Concepts as relative as these have divided us from each other, forced us into tiny boxes with no windows or doors, created fear and lack of trust, moved us far and away from what really is.

We all need each other.

We all rely on each other.

We all affect each other.

We all must learn from each other.

We all must learn to see each other.

We all have the same mother. The same mother. The same mother! One mother... The same one mother.

Earth.

Planet Earth.

Earth is pleading with us. It is begging us. It is shaking us in all ways it knows to get our attention, our affection, and our appreciation.

When will we find love for each other?

When will we hug each other?

When will we stop murdering each other?

When will we take care of our one mother and our one family?

When?

When?

When?

Sunglasses

Sunglasses on. High heels on. Decorative hat and scarf on. Form-fitting attire on. Air of carelessness and confidence spitting out while the eyes barely meet mine. The gaze glides over like a snake over the horizon, then notices mine for a fraction of a seemingly long moment, spirals downward and away. In shame. Or fear. And though everything about the outside is screaming for attention, the eyes hardly meet mine.

"Sometimes the clothes do not make the man." -George Michael

I want to see the eyes. I want to feel the creature behind the wall of perceived perfection. I want to make contact with another human in a human way. A smile would suffice. A visual contact, lasting two fractions of a seemingly long moment, to acknowledge the other's presence. To dissolve the pretense for that long. To be that who we are, siblings made of the same ingredients and baked to perfection.

The game

Yes. It looks as if it's true, which is that any event in of itself is neutral. As an entity, any happening or circumstance has no intrinsic value. It's not good or bad, positive or negative, or some other label. Take a football game, as an example. A ball flies far and high. One player fumbles it while the other catches it. For one team, the event is disasterous, and the other team is doing the happy dance. (Well, the NFL version of the "dance.")

And so it goes that we can choose to label any event in any way we want. What's more, we can just see it from a distance and watch it develop without any label at all! What's even more, we can see so many more possibilities that each event creates rather than the few options we see initially. That would be so wonderful, so empowering, so freeing! Imagine the types of days that can be created out of that paradigm.

Life may simply be just a game that we play. We can choose our team, our teammates, our coaches, our fans. We can choose to experience all there is to experience knowing full-well we're simply playing a game. We can play for fun just as children do, and we can bring joy into our everyday events, including sitting in the dentist's chair. That would sure be a fulfilling life!

Four Steps

First, a block created from within. The block expands, grows, sprawls like a spider's web, captures the mind. The block is now the runner of things. It is now a powerful leader. He's uncontested.

Second, resistance appears. Anything that is perceived as a threat to the newly established regime is to be ridiculed and ignored. The mind is closed to another possibility that may induce a change. The change may crumble down the edifice erected, and that, can be disasterous. The story will no longer hold. A shift in thinking may follow.

Third, resistance melts. Suddenly, a lightness overtakes the present moment. Thinking is easy and accepting. Everything seems easy and free. What is now an obsolete block dissolves out of the existence. An understanding that it was never real takes root. A load lifts and a smile appears. The arms unfold and fall to the sides in a relaxed fashion. The sun rises, the colors brighten up.

Fourth, a shift in thinking is set in motion. The fear anticipated in the resistance phase realizes, and it feels liberating and elevating. An infant of a new paradigm is conceived, and I am ready to move forward.

The Overload

I am walking through an alley. One car. Two cars. Another one. All drive by me. There's a man and his dog. There is a car alarm that's turned off to my right. I enter the tree-lined street. Now, a child and his nanny, an acceleration of a BMW, and the red truck lights. Then silence for a fraction of time. Tree branches are brushed by the wind's caress. My feet step over fallen dry leaves. The birds are singing through the cry of an ambulance in the near distance.

I am walking through the city with all my senses turned outward. I am scoping out potential danger, ever on a lookout. I am fully engaged, alert, aware of all that could be. I am equally unaware of my inner processes. As the noise dies down, the natural world around me and, by extension, within me is now perceived by my senses. I feel the breeze, I hear the churping. I hear my sandals against the asphalt, I notice muscle tension.

Human reality is experienced through the physical senses. If these are on overload with continous external stimuli, how much of the world is actually experienced by us? How often do I hear the birds and the leaves with my focus centered on avoiding injury or causing one? How well can I listen to my own self through all the external sounds vibrating my ear drum? And how can I pay attention to what I need, want, or long for when all of my capacities are overtaken by the chaos of a city?

More to follow....

On My Way

Have you ever wondered why you want to have relationships? Of any kind. I mean, fundamentally. In the most basic terms, the reason for being surrounded by people is to feel fulfilled. Wherever there is a hollow, we want to fill it with another. (Occasionally, we have relationships with animals or cars, who and which serve the same role as humans.) From here, I am led to believe that we have certain expectations regarding where we want the relationship to go. And from here, I am led to believe is where all confusion and pain arise. About expectations. What is the basis of them? Where do they come from? Who programmed them into our being?  I am curious about when and where was it that I've come to have a definition of a relationship. It seems to me that we may operate by an unexamined belief system passed onto to us from whatever comes after Ice Age. If unexamined, if unevaluated, if followed by blindly, we are surely led to many misunderstandings. We are also led to live by that which may be not true. Not just for us, not just in theory, but fundamentally. And now from here, I reach a point where I want to know if I am aware of what my own definition and my own expectations are. I also want to know if my expectations are real. After all, what I think and feel and desire changes rather frequently, like the weather system. If I am different from morning to evening, or year to year, then my expectations are very likely to be different. Perhaps, my relationships, too, need to change along with me. Thus, the only expectation and perhaps, reality, is that relationships are simply stopping points for rest and help, and question and answer on this path of life.

Born Again

Is it really possible to feel like you've been born again for the first time at the age of, say, 30? And with that feeling permeating nearly every cell of your body, would you look at the world and your new self with the eyes of a newborn? And with that innocent and clean perspective that you now possess, would you find yourself confused? Confused about the life that you have led. Confused about the life you currently lead. And, even more confused about the life you are about to lead?

If all you have thought you knew and believed to be true is no longer that, where does that leave you? Would you find yourself feeling like you're stuck on an island with no one around and no lifeline? Would you find yourself feeling like the black sheep of the family? Would you find yourself feeling like you're stuck in an ever-moving crowd of people, and your head is spinning, and your breath is shallow, and you're suffocating under the pressure to join them, but your body won't budge?

And when the night falls on you head, and the moon shines with mystery, and the crowd slows down to a humane pace, would you stand by the cold wall and wonder if you have a place here? Would you look for the perfectly round red dot on the ground with your name on it, designating your special space? Or would you want to start running, as long and as far as you can, into the unknown, into the ether of the air, into the depth of the universe, screaming for help, for you are acutely aware of your ignorance and fear?

Is this what a newborn feels like when first emerging from the warmth of the womb?

Back to the Roots

The following is just the beginning of a thought.

There are a few bright lights in this world who already have it in them from day one. For the rest of us, life is mostly a struggle.

Before we can produce in the world, we need to feel the power of love, which happens to be the driving force behind the production. We will not be satisfied with whatever it is we do until we have that driving force accessible to us at whim. We are told from those around us to do XYZ as a means of finding happiness and meaning in life. Some X's can be inspiring and nice, but insufficient. What we need is permission and encouragement to discover the truth of who we are. We need to connect with ourselves. To know ourselves. To feel the love that is strong within us, even if buried.

As adults, the best way to do so would be through entering meditative states. As children, the best way to do that is through proper education. (Of note, chronological age is not necessarily the event that marks the transition from childhood to adulthood).

If children are properly "educated," their sense of themselves, or what's important, of their own power and love will be largely developed early in life. As a result, they have the potential to become happier and more productive (not just in terms of physical output) as adults. The old cycle of misery, stagnation, uncertainty, and running toward or away from something can be greatly stalled.

If adults take a little bit of time on a regular basis to get away from the limited world they are in, and enter a high energy space, cleansing themselves of old programming, the love can and will be recovered. This will become a starting point of a fruitful and joyous existence that looks like generosity, creativity, and meaning in all we do.

And one day later, I find this TED talk: http://www.search-institute.org/sparks

Insensitive

I am affected.
Deeply.
To the core.
With every touch.
And every push.
The dirty hand.
Like a snake.
Sliding along.
My person.
Blindness.
Blame.
Bumping my heart.
Nudging me.
Pulling me.
Off my axis.
Pain.
Tears.
Loss.
I am spun.
Uncontrollably.
Carelessly.
Torn.
From the root.
Topped off.
With guilt.
For good measure.
For being honest.

Two Worlds

Harvard Business School. I am walking up an incline, relaxed, tired, and glistening from the afternoon sun when I see a woman jogging toward me, wearing a t-shirt in Harvard colors with the big emblem across the front. She's jogging with a tense determination felt in every forced movement of her body. Harvard. Business. Thinking. Goals. Logic. Linear progression. I am lazily strolling up an incline, putting one foot in front of the other, feeling the breeze on my skin, the sun burning my back, the work of my quads. I am fully present and engaged. I am here. The woman is running, her eyes are focused, her face intense, her mind appears to be buried in the future. There has to be is a possibility that she sees me.

In this moment, I see the contrast with full clarity in full color. The mind versus the feeling. Thinking versus experiencing. Doing versus being. My beach experience feels so expansive, so big, it feels as if the day has added several hours onto itself. The mind is left to marvel at the enormity of it. I am light and open, welcoming and relaxed. I move toward my target slowly, aware of all things around, in comfort and serenity. Thinking. Goals. Logic. Linear progression. In that moment, these feel colorless. They cannot be a substitute for the richness of the present, which breathes with unpredictability and life itself.

She's running. I am in a saunter. Two opposing worlds moving toward and passing each other. What if, eventually, the two form an everlasting bond, and move us toward real exaltation? That would be the day the world sings.

In Most Need

She's anxious. She can't sit still. Words are spoken at the speed of light. She's fidgeting. She's raising her voice. Suspicion reigns. Distrust and cynisim prevail. I have no space to finish a thought. I'm on the clock.. I listen. I listen. I listen. I feel frustration, annoyance, anger. I am all twisted inside. Every inch of my body is tense. Her bullets have hit me the second she entered my space. I am unable to dodge them and find an opening through her onslaught. I am keeping my distance, my body facing hers, so as not to lose track of her next maneuver. She's going down and she's taking me with her.

The light gets marginally brighter. I see her. I walk around gently, approaching her small body. I sit down next to her. She is quieter now. I look for the spark of that light, and I hug her. Tears run down her defeated face. She hugs me back. She relaxes. The armor comes off. Anxiety lost for that moment. She leaves. Relieved, lighter, perhaps, connected. Humanity makes its grand re-entry.

It is the dark and the heavy ones who are in most need of love.

The Future

We create.

We create from inside out.
We create our outer world.
We create out of love and fear.

We can create from outside in.
We can create an inner world.
We can create out of love and more love.

We create with our minds.
We create with our hearts.
We can create with our souls.

A Woman

Eyes, gentle. Look, piercing.

Arms, relaxed. Movement, sensual.

Step, forward. Action, effortless.

Fingers, resting. Touch, healing.

Legs, oh legs...they are everywhere. Support, powerful.

Soft breeze caresses the sun-withered face, rolls down the skin to the fingertips, ruffles the flowing dress tangled up around hard-working legs, while heads turn to wonder at the presence of her.

A woman.

Birth

Warmth spreads in all directions and outward.
Tears roll down the face, distorting its arrangement.
Humility overwhelms the longing heart.
Softness of vulnerability rolls in in its magnificence.
Crowds disappear.
Beauty takes stage.
Gratitude is born.

Sugar Coating

She wants another child. Fear is strong. The first and only experience and the aftermath were close to torturous. Frighteningly scared about the process. Must make promises to herself and friends that the new one will, in fact, be born, just so there's more binding, more stimulus for going through with the deed. But you know, what's the alternative? What will my life look like without having a little finger holding mine, without having a little hand grabbing my leg, without having a little body following mine, without having a little person needing my attention, my affection. What will my life look like without being needed?.....

She comtemplates going through the discomfort for a chance to feel full again. Her boy is growing up, reaching independence in all capacities. What to do when his wings grow big and beautiful and begin to take him away? I need him. He's my source of happiness. He is my purpose and my joy....

She wants another child to fulfill the void that is her life. The deep void that overflows with love in the presence of a child brought into existance by her. Or the well remains nearly empty. The internal source needs a spark from outside. An ever-lasting spark. An ever-present spark. The need to be needed and the need to need create a new life. This new life is then to handle the aftermath of the decision....

Separation

What an exhilarating feeling it is to experience, even if for just a moment, even if for just a fragment of a second, even if for just a blink of an eye, that what I think... is.. not who I am. Haaa.... The sound of separation. The sound of separation from the baggage and the scrutiny of the mind. That harsh language that the mind has a tendency of using, as if its whole job is to be critical. Hmmm... In fact, it IS the mind's job to analyze and dissect, but why apply that to myself? Am I really of such a need as to be constantly evaluated? It's as if I am putting myself through one of those mandatory work evaluations, where I am being measured against someone else, who is just simply too different from me, and comparing us is like comparing apples to oranges, sun to the moon, and eggs to a biscuit. That overactive and all-too-happy-to-give-advice brain impulses need to take a hike, somewhere deep into the forest, where the sound of the trees, and the breeze, and the birds create the symphony of quiet. And herein lies the sound of separation. The sound of separation from the baggage and the scrutiny of the mind. And what a relief it is to feel, even if the moment flies at the speed of light, that I am not who I think I am. That I may be something very different, that I may be something beyond what I've told myself, beyond what I've known, and way beyond my wildest dreams.

Picasso

Picasso had a Blue period, and I have a Question Everything period. Not that I am Picasso, or even close to it, but I, too, have my seasons. Just like nature. And just like the great artist, I am also part of nature. I digress. Obviously. Take two on this night's Question Everything theme. This well-known and highly popularized common phrase that goes like this: "If you can't beat them, join them." I am sure you have heard it and maybe even used once or twice or thrice in daily conversation. What, in the world, is it trying to say? I may venture to say that it is one of the most pessimistic and non-inspiring and spirit-killing phrases out there. Who's responsible for it anyway! (Google reports it was the famous puppeteer Jim Henson). As famous and ingenious as the man may be, his phrase has the effect on me similar to the act of crawling under the covers with shutters closed and no sunlight coming through. In other words, depression is the word of the day. Perhaps, I am misunderstanding his meaning? Maybe? Hopefully? Does he mean that if you're unable to change something, you might as well be absorbed by it? So, if something makes me unhappy, and I don't see a way to change that one thing, I may as well give up? Throw my hands up in the air "like I just don't care," and contribute to the problem? Wow.. sounds like a truly inspiring way to live out the remainder of my life (which, by the way, hasn't even begun). I would prefer to read the quote in another way: if something makes me unhappy, rather than joining the unhappiness, I need to embrace it. If I embrace it, see it for what it is, I can have a clarity about it. I can separate myself from the strong magnetic dissonance that it exudes. I can be on the outside of it. And then, I can work with it. I am not joining it, I am not fighting it. I am simply observing, watching, and learning from it. And from there, there is a chance of affecting, and even (may I venture to say) "beating" it.

Like the Sun

He is like the sun. The sun is in him. The sun's rays are the color and shape of his eyelashes. The sun's shine is the light in his eyes. The sun's brightness is the look he has when fully alive and overflowing with excitement. The sun's warmth emanates from his heart. The sun-induced relaxation is akin to his when in his comfort zone. The sun's size is the size of his dreams. The sun's everlasting glow is the glow of his bottomless love.

The Pool of Love

...And I fall into the pool of love. I close my sleepy eyes, relax my overactive mind, feel his caressing fingers on my fatigued skin, and I allow myself to fall into his pool of love. My body feels small and protected, my mouth forms a smile detected only by me, and I allow myself to fall into the pool of his love.
His arms feel like foam walls of a house, his skin feels like puffy white clouds, his space feels like deep and warm waters, and I fall into the very bottom of his enormous pool of love.
I know a hint of peace and surrender. I experience a glimpse of relaxation. I receive the power flowing from the pool of his unconditional love. All is quiet. All is well. Complete. Full. Present.

Hunger

I move from one encounter to another. All I need to know I know within the first 10 seconds. Excitement turns to caution turns to skepticism turns to disappointment.

I stand. Alone. In the crowd of random strangers, appearing to have a semblance of an exhilarating time. My skin is itchy. I am wrapped in a light layer of some feeling that defies description. Suddenly, my head turns right and meets his sober look. He invites me to join him. I agree. Albeit reluctantly. Maybe this one will be better. The thought is more of a desperate belief than reality. His fingers touch mine. Soft lead. Our feet move to a rhythm, though mine don't match his. His hand is now touching my elbow. Protective. Very nice. Nice. Strange. Uncomfortable. Back to my hand. A deep realization of the hunger, of the thirst pouring through his fingertips onto my delicate skin. Skin is itchy. I don't want to be here. I need to end this. His large and mobile hips are undulating. His motion is difficult to read. He is difficult to read. I step away. I watch. I find an oasis of aloneness. The drum beat stops. Lips in a forced smile. Body in an insincere gratitude. Free at last...

If dance relationship is any indication of any other relationship, I see tremendous room for improvement.

I move from one encounter to another. All I need to know I know within the first 10 seconds. Excitement turns to caution turns to skepticism turns to disappointment. Occasionally, it turns into a pleasant surprise, and I am grateful to experience that gift. It is rare.

Freedom

"...To say that something-a thought, a word, an action-is "wrong" would be as much as to tell  you not to do it. To tell you not to do it would be to prohibit you. To prohibit you would be to restrict you. To restrict you would be to deny the reality of Who You Really Are, as well as the opportunity for you to create and experience that truth..." -exerpt from a book by Neale Donald Walsch

Parents and Children

"I don't expect my parents to change." How does that saying go? "If I had a penny for every time I heard that...." I mean, really, why do we, children (I suppose we are not children in our minds, but we will continue to be so in our parents'), give so little credit to the two people who have spent their lives trying to mold us into something they thought would be great? Are they really that inflexible? Just because we think, act, function slightly differently from how they do, does not give us the right to label our parents so rigidly. Perhaps it is we who are inflexible and unable to conceive of our parents growing. It seems to me, however, that we, as a people, are rather adaptable and flexible. Some of us can even touch our toes! And I am certain that an average adult (minus those born with extreme physical changes), with enough attention and time, can eventually touch his/her toes.

I think that any individual is capable of transformation. Much of the resistance comes from unawareness, yes. The other reason why the wall is put up is because of the approach. It looks as if we are all children in grown-up bodies. We are all very sensitive and easily injured. I would posit that parents can and will morph, if approached with vulnerability and honesty. If a parent has always been a parent to his/her offspring, that parent cannot not respond to his/her own child when the child exposes himself/herself fully. Then, there is nothing left for the parent but to feel the parental love that may have long ago been pushed aside.

From within, I would like to thank all the children and their parents for trying to "work it out." I would very much like to give children permission to see the best in their parents, realizing that parents need love, understanding, and guidance just as much as we do.

Cheers!

Tomorrow

No. Not my original thought by any stretch of imagination. Not even a new-age idea. Been around forever and ever, and as of yet to reach humanity. All of humanity. Tomorrow. Tomorrow does not exist. Tomorrow resides in imagination. The bigger the imagination, the bigger the impact of tomorrow. No. Not the creative imagination that writes poetry and music, stories and paintings. It's the sick imagination of the rational mind. The color of such imagination is black. It's cold, damp, and frightening there. It's from this platform that the myth of tomorrow with its darkness arises, wrapping the potential in a tightly-woven knot, closing the shutters, hanging the heavy drapes, causing the beauty to fade and the body to shiver. Tomorrow is the fear that paralyses. Tomorrow is the prison of the mind. Tomorrow is the conqueror of the now. Now. Now is...Now is soft. Calm. Relaxed. It is still. It is deep. It is. Now lacks the momentum of imagination. Now needs no fuel. Now is complete. Now is soft. Calm. Relaxed. And thus am I.

Windows and Mirrors

A mirror is a reflection of who you are. Who you are being the important aspect of that sentence. Who you are. When I look at myself in the mirror, whom do I see? I see a face composed of two eyes, a nose, a mouth, two eyebrows, two cheekbones, two nostrils, a few wrinkles. Pretty standard. The mirror is showing me my own reflection. Well, who is that me looking at me? Is what's reflected back to me really me? And am I seeing the reflection I am supposed to be seeing? Maybe I am distracted by the physical face to see that which is more subtle and yet more significant, more powerful, more telling, and more interesting? Maybe. And maybe, the mirror is not the best reflector. Pause for silence and reflection, no pun intended. If this were a staged play, the previous sentence would have served as cue for the relationship persona to enter stage.

Relationships.

I've got one thing to say, and it is not "Shante!" It is "Yikes!!!!" Those living and breathing creatures that entangle and bind us, that feed us and nourish us, that break us and make us appear to be the true reflectors of who we are. Enter a relationship, and you're in deep. You're in deep and don't even know the depth of your condition. They say the eyes are the windows to your soul. One look at the one you're so connected with, one real, hard, and long look into the eyes of your beloved, you see him/her and...... yourself.  One eventful situation, and your actions are a reflection of who you are. One word in a tough situation, and your fears and insecurities are exposed.

I may have found my true mirror, and it ain't pretty. "Hey! Maybe I need to change my mirror! This one's not showing me what I want to see!" I had that armor working for a long time. It's been used and abused. I think it's rather deflated now, currently taking a long vacation. And I mean, a looooong vacation. There is a chance, however, that what I see really is pretty. It's just not what others may find as pretty. Ooh ooh, I know! That ugly really is the very subtle un-requiring of attention. It is this veiled beauty that provides the all-important guide to where I need to go, showing me the way to freedom to acceptance and to love.

Relationships. I thank thee for your assistance. I thank my beloved's eyes. I thank me for lifting up the rug in search for the mystical.

A relationship is a reflection of who you are. Now, that's much better.

For Me

I know there is something to be written here. There are certainly enough disconnected thoughts circulating in the space between white and grey matter. The thoughts really do feel like impulses jumping from one place to another without ever stopping or coming to a conclusion.

What does it take to be a good writer? Is it the words one uses, or the messages, or is it the feeling with which one expresses his/her sentiments. Maybe good writing is just like good cooking: it needs love and the right kind of attention for all the elements to work together. It's that unspoken essence, that intangible something that connects the reader to the writing. If love and fear are all there is, which one would create the sort of connection that is everlasting? The answer is usually inclusive of both. The choice then is for the bearer of the pen and paper to inspire or to oppress, to elevate or to burden. This choice is really for anyone to make at any time. For the leader of the country, for the father of the family, and for maker of one's life.

A Short Something

Stress seems to be nearly always because of real or imagined time-constraints. The kicker is that we create these situations ourselves! There is a perceived need to get a million and one things done two minutes ago. If unchecked, it feels like a life-or-death situation when, in fact, there exists a fear of failure or a threat to our comfort.

And So It Is

Love is everywhere.
Support is endless.

Existance is wonderful.
Life is unpredictable.

Confusion is a must.
Limitation is subjective.

The mind is slow to see what the heart already knows.
Give a small bit of yourself, and the world turns bright.

Joy spreads.
Laughter illuminates.

A thought is misleading. A feeling is a guide.
Small places contain big answers.

Simplicity is truth.
A master has the key to the master's lock.

Dance is an undulation of rhythms.
Storytelling connects.

Love envelops in kindness.

Musings on Love

No, I just don't see it. I just don't see how it works, or even how it feels! What does it feel like on the inside, deep in the heart and in the gut, when you say: "I love myself." You can hug your body and think of how great your body is and feel tenderness and gratitude toward it. And yet, the body is not you, it is not who you are. You can smile because of a loving emotion you have about the job you performed, or the help you provided. That emotion is just that, an emotion, and still not you. It is experienced by you, but it is not you. Furthermore, I certainly do not experience the same feeling when I think about me as when I think about my sister or my lover.

No, I do not see it. I certainly haven't experienced it. Without that experience, I can not call it truth.

Another question to be asked, and this one is about giving and taking. Actually, it's not about giving and taking, but about giving and receiving. Without one end, the other cannot exist. I cannot buy stock shares if there are no sellers, and I certainly cannot sell (give), if there are not buyers (receivers). We need to know how to do both. One is not better or more admirable than the other. The pre-requisite to effortless giving is having the feeling of abundance, of wealth (I do not mean financial wealth), of having "extra," while the pre-requisite to effortless receiving is, fundamentally, having the feeling of worthiness. Yes, worthiness. (So excited I was able to write a 'Yes' in this paragraph)! In fact, it is more than a feeling. It's a knowing, an experience that you are worthy of all things possible. And as I receive, it becomes easier to receive until the receptacle is overflowing with gratitude and tears, and I have no choice but to...... give! And so the cycle is set in motion.

Here is my solution to becoming a welcoming vessel: drop all that I am not. And what am I not? I am not that programming that causes disease, guilt, fear, and death inside. And what am I? I am that which gives me the feeling of overwhelming joy, fullness, abundance, wealth. I am that which makes my vessel overflow and allows me to give freely with no expectation of any kind. I am that which gives freedom, inspiration, hope, laughter, and life inside. In short, I am a summation of all that that makes up the indescribable existence of love.

Love is what I am. It doesn't seem to be something that I do for myself. It's like saying Love (I) love love.  It is simpy there as a quality. A beautiful quality that fills my whole being and spreads like the sun.

A Life is a Possibility

A life is a possibility, my guru would say. It is just a possibility. One possibility out of infinite other possibilities. Each of us has a journey, a personal journey consisting of millions of streets, avenues, and byways. Each street, avenue, and byway comes in contact with millions of other similar and dissimilar streets, avenues, and byways, creating an intricate web, a web that is infinitely more complex than that of a spider.

We all have a story to tell. We meet each other to add to our individual story and to augment to the collective story. We all have our own roads to follow, creating the chaos and the stability of our universe. As we intersect each other’s lives, we attract, repel, compel, inspire, coerce the other. In short, we are influenced by each other. We are separate and together. The difficulty lies in staying on our particular path in the midst of all the others. The intersections are wide and many, the byways running perpendicular and diagonal and parallel to ours are innumerable. The distractions are many. The focus is scattered. The visibility is low. And the need is high.

We listen to them all, we learn from them all, we join some of them, we run from the others, all the while staying with the only game available in the great big labyrinth, keeping track of our own yellow brick road. And that is but a challenge.