Archives for posts with tag: peace

As the day comes to an end and time for sleep is near, I think about the day, about the books, changes, obstacles–I think about an image that I want to put here and this one comes to mind. I saw it on one of my walking breaks, right there on the sidewalk, just as it’s seen here. I always love finding smiley faces and hearts. It’s like they wait for me to find them. 

When I see this image, I think of peace and love and send these feelings out into the world because we need more of both. 

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I don’t usually go out of the house in the early morning, but I think if I were to make a habit of it, my soul would appreciate it very much. We were out of milk on Saturday morning and I like having milk with my tea. I knew when I went to sleep the night before, that I would have to get out early, so that I would have some sustenance before my second online mid-term.

The morning greeted me with a cold bite to my nose and finger tips. I pulled out my iPhone to check the weather. It was 39 degrees, which for me, is cold. but the coldness woke me up in the most wonderful way, and as I kept my eyes on all the natural beauties around me, I felt such joy. The light was just right. It was still early enough that the earth was still. I could hear silence with just a faint hint that there were others starting their mornings early.

If not for being out of milk, I wouldn’t have caught this beautiful moment of Mt. Diablo draped in the morning light.

The rays of the sun pushed
through the clouds–
broad, downward brushstrokes
filled with the energy of the sun.

#5

I sat in the grass,

felt the warmth 

on my toes, when

an Angel presented

me with a porcelain

figurine–an image of herself.

She held her hand out, and said,

“Come, go. You are free.”

**

When I finished writing this one, I felt that it was a gift, a small little gift from the Universe. It made me feel calm and at peace; and even now, as I type it out, and listen to the words, I am filled with that same sense of peace that I felt when I reached the last word.

This morning as I walked out of the house, I heard a flutter and looked up to see three Robbins land on the front rocks.

I stopped and soaked in the moment, feeling as though time had paused.

I felt an immediate calm like when church bells ring or a Buddhist meditation bell sounds. I looked upon the Robbins who seemed to fly from nowhere just to say hello, to bring peace as I started the day.

With appreciation I looked upon the Robbins, that one beautiful moment–three beautiful moments, perfect as it was.

Two nights ago on September 1, 2013 at 1:36 a.m., it rained for less than 60 seconds.

I had just gotten out of bed to brush my teeth. When I laid back down, I heard pitter-pat pitter-pat. I kept listening in disbelief. Raining? It was so hot today. I listened for a few seconds more, then I rushed out to the living room to tell M. He was about to come wake me up to tell me the same, but he said he wasn’t sure he should wake me.

We looked outside together but couldn’t see the rain. We couldn’t even hear it. I told him it was a good thing we didn’t paint the table and benches today–the old weathered table and benches we found at an estate sale two Sunday’s ago. That table in its weathered state reminded me of my grandfather and of the outside tables and chairs that he used to make with his own two hands–the chairs I used to sit in. I wondered if they were still there or if my uncle had thrown them out.

Then–the rain was gone like it never happened. I went back to sleep with a smile on my face. A few moments, right after I laid back down, I could smell the faint smell of wet earth. What a wonderful smell. My smile grew.

Two nights ago, I dreamt of my mother. I rarely dream about her, which I told my uncle recently when he told me that he had dreamed of her. He said, “My sister looked really happy,” as he choked back a small rise of emotion.

Her memory is entwined with my existence.

For a great stretch of my life, I tried to live in a way that would give her spirit a second chance at life, to live in a way that would bring her the peace that she didn’t seem to have for the short period of time I knew her. I still have that on my mind, but it has become more embedded within my soul, and in some ways I feel as though both of our spirits have come together in harmony, and now I don’t focus on her peace any longer because I think we reached it together–her peace.

When I look into the mirror, as the years have gone by, more and more, the reflection looking back has glimmers of her; when I see certain pictures of myself, I see her smile; when I cry after reading a short story, I think of her; when I witness certain acts of kindness, I remember the things my mother did for others; when I think of how sometimes it’s easier to open up and reach out to strangers more so than family, I think of my mother; when my temper gets the best of me, I am my mother. The positive and the negative are within me. I accept that. I work on and nurture what I can.

It’s comforting to know she’s with me and within me–that I recognize her.

Two night’s ago, I dreamt of my mother. I was in a hospital looking for her. In the dream I think she may have been in an accident. I don’t remember. I went to one room–room 103. There was a sign in the hall leading to the rooms that said for staff only. I tried to go down the hall, but I was cutoff and somehow the nurse knew where I was going, who I was looking for. My mother had been moved into another room. She pointed to the next hall of rooms and told me I would find her in there. I was hoping she was alone.

As I walked into the room, I saw her resting. She had a glow around her and her salt and pepper hair was mostly dark brown and glistened. She immediately sensed me, opened her eyes and gave me the warmest most peaceful smile. I went to her, beaming with a smile of my own, I bent my head down to her and rested it in the crook of her neck in her nest of hair and breathed her in as though I hadn’t seen her in forever.

She smelled like the rain.

Indian Prayer

“Great Spirit,
Grant that I
may not
criticize my
neighbor
Until I have
walked a
mile
in his moccasins.”

Two nights ago a restless sleep pushed itself upon me. I filled that space with thoughts of a story from Kitchen Table Wisdom about a man who used a visualization technique to help ward off his illness. Together with that story, I reflected back to a class. The teacher took us through a guided imagery to find our power animals. She turned off the lights; many of us took to the floors, laid down, made ourselves comfortable; others stayed in their chairs. It was a small class of no more than twelve. She put on a CD of drums and began guiding us with her voice. First we were to ground ourselves, knowing that we were grounded by the tree, then we were instructed to go down–down, down, down that trunk in search of our power animal. “It will come,” she said. And if it doesn’t, that’s ok. Don’t force it, just be.” The drums beckoned us. The drum. A heartbeat. A familiar and enticing call.

My animal didn’t come. I imagined a dolphin, but I forced it. Dolphin didn’t come of her own accord.

Two nights ago a restless sleep came upon me and these moments connected their dots. I didn’t force, rather I asked gently, for my power animal to come to me. Two appeared. First a crow, which was not a surprise. But the second: A unicorn. That was a very pleasant surprise. When I saw these two beautiful creatures, the space of restlessness grew into peace. I imagined these two: crow and unicorn there by my side to help me continue in my own healing and offering their guidance to me on my journey.

The quote above has been with me a long time, but today it wanted to come forth. I try to keep it close to my heart as I walk through life, one step–one breath at a time–open to all the wonders and differences of life.

There is a void inside of me that I cannot fill—and just as soon as those words escape, the ache lessens. I’m a seeker without a clear direction, not having found her way in this world. At most times content, satisfied, knowing there is more—there always is—knowing that on one hand she’d like to have her dream job; on the other hand she doesn’t know what that is.

She recognizes—now from a great distance—that her mother showed these same tendencies. Pouring themselves into each other? Pouring into something, fitting all of their desires and interests together like a great moving puzzle that is never complete—that eludes the present moment.

There is a hunger that ebbs and flows through tidal cycles, pulls the soul along, laying a path of bright stars and spinning planets. Hers is a path about wholeness, about bridging time, connecting stars, finding their center within the great chasm; and in that center is a mother and daughter—two selves connecting through time and space into a galaxy of—