Stars and Stripes ... Forever?

We've officially entered the peak week of national flag waving season in the U.S. It begins on Memorial Day when people put little flags on the graves of the people they loved, especially the people who died as soldiers. This week culminates in the Fourth of July, a day of fervent flag waving at parades and picnics from coast to coast.

Here's what I've been thinking: If flags attract the windhorse, and if the windhorse takes prayers from flags up to the upper world, then what are we praying for on the Fourth of July? Let's see ... the stars on the blue field are very nice. Stars are always good, I think, but the stripes present quite a problem. The white stripes represent the thirteen original colonies, while the red stripes represent the blood shed for independence from Great Britain.

Our ritual on the Fourth goes like this: get drunk, eat charred flesh, then wave a flag with bloody stripes while igniting explosives.

Hmmm.

What do you think the Beings in the upper world make of this ritual? Can you imagine? All I can say is YIKES.

Hail to the Jewel in the Lotus

I've been reading about Tibetan Buddhism, such a psychedelic high altitude version of Buddhism. Wow. Part of its allure for me is the fact that it's inextricably connected to the tradition of Tengerism I'm a part of.

You know those Tibetan prayer flags in five colors that you always see in pics of Tibet? (They can also be seen hanging across porches in groovy American cities like Takoma Park, Maryland or Berkeley, California. You can even see some on Capitol Hill, including the set of five hanging across my front door.)



The horse in the center of these flags is a windhorse, a shamanic nature soul that carries prayers from our lips to God's ear - as it were, that is - since God for Mongolian shamans is the Eternal Blue Sky, a clear expanse without ears or any other distinguishing features other than the color.

A riderless horse speeds tirelessly across the heavens, carrying an auspicious faceted jewel that radiates peace and harmony. The snapping of prayer flags in the wind evokes the sound of the Windhorse (Lung-ta) galloping in the sky, riding the breezes and carrying prayers to the Eternal Blue Sky for the benefit all sentient beings.

Isn't that nice? What a noble horse!

Though in real life the U.S. Capitol isn't shaped so much like a stupa as it appears to be in these distorted reflections, I still think it would look great festooned with lots of strings of prayer flags. Wouldn't it? The Capitol policemen who questioned me the day I took these pics didn't share my enthusiasm, mostly because the car I was using as a reflection device belongs to their chief! No wonder it was so clean and shiny. Oops.

Capitol Soup

DC is a steam bath today, turned up to the max. It's hot, yes, but what makes it freakishly uncomfortable is the humidity. I managed to have fun anyway; I'm proud of that. Summer vs. Reya? Well, I had to take three cool showers including three complete clothing changes, wash my hair twice. Drink a gallon of lemonade. But I made it. Did you?

Negotiating with DC's summer heat is always a challenge. I have tilted at the season on occasion, only to be slapped down immediately. What I mean is that I tried to ignore the weather so as to carry on as usual. At the end of a day of denial I was always completely wasted, exhausted, overheated, dehydrated. But what did I think was going to happen? I mean really! Mother Nature vs. Reya? Please. You can imagine that during summers when I decided to argue with the heat, I suffered terribly, excessively.

Last summer I hid from the weather, a new approach. Unfortunately that didn't work either. Staying indoors so much was depressing as well as isolating.

Just as in my interactions with other humans, right now I am practicing the art of engaging with the world without tilting at it, working towards some kind of balance. Today, encountering the heat in batches, taking time to cool off inbetween, worked pretty well. I don't feel wiped out, but I'm also not disconnected from the world and other people.

Who knows how diplomatic I'll be tomorrow? At least for today, peace reigns between the summer heat and me. Shalom, ya'll. Shalom.

The Art of Shutting Up

I think the urge to argue comes to me via my family, a rowdy bunch of Jewish intellectuals who loved (and still occasionally dip into) a serious, heated argument.

Not talking here about conversations or even discussions in which opinions differ. What I'm referring to are exchanges in which both parties get hot under the collar. Communicating a different point of view can be the objective in a conversation or discussion, but from the moment an exchange turns into an argument, it's all about winning and/or being "right."

I'm talking about verbal battles, something I've engaged in all my life. These battles served their purpose in a sense, allowed me to vent my spleen (such a funny expression, isn't it?) and also brought up adrenal based energy when I was depleted.

Of course I didn't think about it that way when I was really into arguing, though I couldn't help but notice that the process never helped me cultivate lovely, trusting friendships. Oh no.

In an effort to unhinge this habit, I've been practicing the art of shutting up. That includes letting go of having the last word, which is really so powerful! Astonishing how well it works. I'm also trying hard to recognize when a discussion is escalating into an argument. As soon as I see it coming, I just stop. Stop talking, stop emailing, stop exchanging voicemails. Next step: Let go of the whole episode. Move on.

My campaign of peace is working very well, though to be completely honest I should admit that I'm not spending a lot of time communicating with people who love a good fight like I used to. It helps to spend my time with like minded people, in so many ways it helps! Fury begets fury. Rage begets rage. Life is short, I'd rather beget peace by being peaceful. If you have another opinion, by all means, let me know. You can have the last word - I promise!

Have a peaceful weekend, ya'll. Stay cool.

Magnolias

After a perfect spring and early summer, the heat and humidity are finally here. I don't say "finally" as if I've been looking forward to this weather, oh no. But it is normal, so in a certain sense, by the end of June, I'm more comfortable when I'm uncomfortably hot. Does that make sense?

Now is the time of the tough flowers, the tigerlily, black-eyed susan, daisy. And it's finally hot enough, the days are finally long enough, to coax the magnolias into bloom. These flowers are huge, almost a foot in diameter, soft as velvet and deliciously citrus-y if you can get close enough to give them a sniff. The one in the pic above was hanging just at nose level. I love the little cluster of stamens resting on the gigantic petal.

The nice people on the weather channel are saying the stink in the air today indicates it's so full of ozone that it's "unhealthy for sensitives." That would include me. Therefore, I won't take a long walk with Jake this morning, but we do have to get out there because the magnolias are blooming. I wouldn't miss this seasonal moment for anything, even if it means I have to breathe a little poison air. Would you? Of course not!

First Light

Dawn's first light is so fresh and full of potential. It's quiet, still, but not creepy in the way that the final minutes of nighttime can be. Depending on the season, everything is still dewy or frosty from the night before. Birds sing so beautifully in the early morning. The crickets, too. And I love watching my neighbors poke their heads out their front doors to retrieve the paper, or let a pet out for a morning pee. Their hair is rumpled and the sweats, robes or teeshirts they're wearing are crinkled, too. It's sweet, like watching animals coming out of their burrows after the long winter.

I could lead a far more stylish life if I could make myself stay up late, Night owls are cool people who sit and talk until 3:00 in the morning, or play jazz late into the night, make art, make love all night, just like in the movies. Night is so mysterious and powerful - the people who thrive at night are always so sophisticated.

After many years of trying to restructure my life to fit a different circadian rhythm, (in order to become sophisticated) I finally gave up, exhausted and cranky. I'm content these days with being a morning person. Though not nearly as glamorous a time as the hour of afterparties, it has its charms. At least I think so.

Sweet Dreams

Is anyone else having crazy delicious midsummer dreams? It seems I've misplaced, for the moment, my habit of having nightmares and instead I'm creating beautiful scenarios and happy plotlines while I sleep.

Maybe it's the magic of midsummer that's sneaking into my psyche these days. Who knows? All I know is I'm waking up feeling hopeful and resilient, ready to face the challenges of the day - such as they are.

I know that Obama's book, Dreams from my Father has brought up a great deal of hope in me. Maybe it's the book that's inspiring my bout of great dreams.

When he accepts the nomination later this summer, I know I'll cry with happiness. Don't know what's going to happen come November. But he might win. It's possible. These days when I see those "1-20-09 - Bush's last day" bumper stickers, what I think is, "1-20-09 - Obama's first day."

Maybe.

If he makes it to the White House, that historic event will be a soul retrieval for the whole country. How effective he can be is another question entirely. The presidency is a terrible job. In fact, hardly anyone has ever been good at being the American president.

For me, the fact of Obama's candidacy, in and of itself, is an incredibly healing, marvelous dream. Go O!

Little Things

Once upon a time, I was attracted to the heroic religions, and why not? Heroic traditions appealed to my fearful heart. In Judaism we believe that we can heal what's broken in the world. We have a special word for it, Tikkun. Christians believe that one man saved the world by way of his innate divinity but also because he was willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of everyone else. In Reclaiming we were going to save the planet with our magic and political action. In the Mongolian shamanic tradition I'm still a part of, we fight demons and retrieve souls. The heroics in these traditions go on and on.

"I've never been 'empty like a valley,'" I said to the Sufi acupuncturist a few weeks ago after reading some Taoist poetry he keeps in his waiting room. His response (after he stopped laughing at me) was that everyone can find emptiness if they look deeply enough. He said, "There are a lot of levels. Go deeper." And so I have.

Underneath the sincere wish to save the world, (but - does it need saving?) underneath the heroics, sacrifice, the longing for Tikkun, under the ambitions - to be "powerful" (whatever that means), to convince other people to believe the same way, to change the course of history with magic, underneath the din of the battles with demons, I've located a quiet space of calm in which everything is fine exactly as it is.

Of course I'm still ambitious enough to believe I can make small changes in my own heart, and thereby become a "better" person (again - whatever that means). But I no longer harbor the delusion that my life is about saving the planet. Little things like remembering to be kind, letting go of my urge to judge others, cultivating a sense of awe and curiosity, and paying attention to what is actually going on (as opposed to what I wish was going on) - these are the things that matter to me these days.

My hat is off to all the heroes - you GO, great heroes, and save the world. I salute you! When you return from your adventures, I'll make you a cup of tea. OK? Oh yeah!

Season of Sweat: Welcome!

Sure 'nuff, midsummer is here. Daylight arrives very early these days - even the birds sound surprised - and lingers long into the evening. The lightning bugs rise and blink at dusk, the tiger lilies have bloomed, and last night I heard cicadas right around nine o'clock. Oh yeah - summer is definitely here.

My friend and I toasted the season at dinner last night, thanked Brother Sun for rising high. (Long days are so cheerful.) We also thanked our fiery brother for giving up his position of dominance as he did yesterday, the same as he does every summer solstice. The brightest light in the sky always seems so valiant, no matter what he's up to. I love the sun.

Now that midsummer is here, the swamp in which I live will begin to really heat up. July and August in DC are always miserably hot. An inventory of tank tops and shorts reveals that I'll be able to change clothes twice a day, if necessary, during the steamy days that lie ahead. I've got my big swivel fan plugged in, and a supply of tea bags and lemonade stocked in the kitchen. The ice bucket in the freezer is filled to the brim.

C'mon swampy heat. I'm not afraid of you. Come boil me down to my essence as you do every summer. I'll drink cool beverages and take cool showers, and change my clothes over and over again. And yes I'll retreat to the air conditioning when I have to, but I won't avoid you, I won't. You hear me?

Happy Solstice, ya'll

Stay up late, get crazy, have some midsummer's night dreams. OK?

An ordinary miracle

Timing is everything. In fact, finding myself at Union Station during yesterday's technicolor double rainbow was miraculous. Not Miraculous, or MIRACULOUS, or miraculous - no - a rainbow is not an extraordinary event, but it is such a gorgeous sight.

When the sun shines low on the horizon while it's raining overhead, there will be a rainbow. It's a meteorological fact. The physics of light demand that there be a rainbow under such circumstances. But you never know if it's going to be so bright that you can see several layers of rainbow, something my cheap camera could not capture, nor can you predict a double rainbow.

Jews believe the appearance of a rainbow is God's way of saying He's still committed to our agreement with Him. The Norse myths include a shimmering rainbow bridge that connects the world of humans with the world of the gods. Everyone who knows about leprechauns understands that at the end of the rainbow, there's likely to be a pot of gold. Also deeply ingrained in the American psyche is the haunting refrain of the song Dorothy sings right before the big storm that takes her to her destiny in the land of Oz.

Rainbows loom large in our human legends. So, even though it was 6:30 p.m. and everyone was in a rush to get home from work, you'd think a sight this breathtaking would make everyone stop, just for a second, to take in the beauty. Unfortunately, rainbows are often overlooked by people who are too busy to notice the gifts of the ever-changing sky. These people generally think that if miracles are "real", they're a phenomena that belongs in the past. Sad, isn't it?

I'm never that busy, thank God. And BTW, thanks, God, for yesterday's awesome double rainbow. Well done You!!

Re-arrangements

As a result of seven months of intensive Chinese medicine, along with a change in my work environment, I feel like a brand new woman. I do. I thought it might be temporary, but it seems that my perspective and attitudes have re-arranged themselves at a cellular level.

My current state of being is odd, but strangely not disorienting. In fact, I feel like I've finally accessed some core part of myself that's graceful, trusting and calm. I never knew I had it in me! It's not the whole story of me, but it is very nice.

My slate is clean. How will I decorate it now? I have no idea yet. All the pieces will come together sooner or later, I'm sure. I'll find a plotline I like and fill in the blanks, add flourishes, and call the work "me." And, too, I'm sure all kinds of uncomfortable human emotions will visit again in the future. I'm in a state of grace, but I am alive, so this lovely emptiness, too, shall pass.

Until then, it's kind of wonderful to feel so spacious inside. Oh yeah!

I've been reading Barack Obama's Dreams from My Father. All I can say is ... WOW.

Ordinarily I would be less than interested in reading any book written by a presidential candidate, but this is different. What a life! What an interesting, thoughtful man. He's contemplative. He has done personal work! And he might be our president??

Wow.

I'm looking forward to voting FOR him. Most of the time in recent elections I've voted for someone because the other guy was so horrible, but this time, come November, I will cast a ballot for someone I actually would like to see living in the White House.

WOW. Wow. Oh yeah.

Pedestrian Pathways

Just like the first residents of this landscape, we modern folks follow certain routes, in cars, of course, but also on foot. Rhode Island Avenue was one of the first Indian paths through this region. I think Rockville Pike is another ancient path. Both are now paved over and in constant use.

The Masons who designed DC incorporated the Indian paths into the pattern, which is very cool. Wise, too, not to mention elegant.

Unfortunately the District officials who decide where grass should grow right here and now in 2008 are not so happy about these modest, organic pathways. Outside of Union Station, they've even posted a sign asking people to use the sidewalk so as to 'save' the grass.

The grass grows lush and green on either side of these paths. So what's the problem here? I think the human made paths are charming and real. Those who are in charge of our green squares do not agree. Nevertheless, we citizens of DC continue to blaze our trails, no matter what. Sweet.

Lazy Days

Our next door neighbors were up early this morning, packing their family van with ice chests, suitcases and bicycles. They're heading out to Berkeley Springs, WV for a week of leisurely summer fun. Two doors down, newspapers are stacking up on the front porch because the residents are in Colorado for the week.

One of the things I love about summer in DC is the fact that people get out of town. The corporate and government machines slow down, traffic thins out, people go on holiday.

I can't honestly say that livin' in DC is ever easy, but in summer, it's easier. Enforced relaxation by way of Berkeley Springs or even because of a milder than usual commute is a Very Good Thing for a city of jaw clenching super achievers.

I, too, am planning a few quick get-a-ways, though I enjoy sticking around, too. I love riding my bike everywhere, drinking sweet iced tea, grilling something good out on the back deck, reading my book under the ceiling fan on the back porch. I love getting sweaty and gross, then coming inside to take a nice cool shower. Even after almost ten years here, I still love the warm evenings when I can walk around in a t-shirt and shorts - something I could never do in San Francisco. I love the long days, shrill birdsong of midsummer, crickets chirping, tree frogs peeping, the sound of the kids in the neighborhood playing outside. I love it that the people who are in town spend more time on their porches or in their front yards. Love chatting with the neighbors.

Summer is lively, yet summer is lazy. I love summer.

Quenched

Now I'm NOT saying I'm a sage - no way, not even close, but the verse quoted below, taken from the Tao te Ching rings true. All the acupuncture and major life shifts of late have helped me get underneath my storytelling apparatus. I have been drinking the living water at the source of my personal ongoing plotline (the one that usually runs through my mind in a nonstop loop). I thought my plots were "real", existing in a freestanding state. But no, there is a source, a river that comes up from my subterranean depths. It's a river of insufficient Qi that creates my mental banter.

Just this week I've been realizing that my mother, who of course smoked cigarettes, drank coffee and probably alcohol, and ate horrible 1950's American food while she was pregnant with me, was unable to give me the boost of robust energy I could have used in utero. Not her fault - everyone smoked, etc. in 1953. Still, it didn't do me any good. I was "sickly" as a little girl, which is exactly when the mental habit of worrying began. Over time, it became entrenched until worrying seemed normal to me. Though I became healthy as an adult, and am now healthier than I ever was as a girl, the mindset remains. It's all as clear as a bell. Astonishing!

The result of this revelation is that I have no stories to tell myself at the moment. Every time I try to launch into one of my Tales of Personal Doom and Disaster, I see right through it, after which the story evaporates like dust in the wind.

Without my usual anxious gnashing of teeth I've had time to reconnect with friends and dear ones, a Very Good Thing. Yesterday I took a nice long bike ride, visited some of my non human friends, too, like the Washington Monument (he's da bomb!) the fountain at the WWII memorial, and the Potomac River.

What I'm wondering is, once a person gets beneath the grid of storytelling, well, then what? What's a human life without drama? I can't imagine. Can you?

Final Verse from Chapter 38 of the Tao te Ching

So the sage only looks at what is really real
He doesn't just look at the surface
He blows away the dust and drinks the water
He doesn't just go for the flower
But also for the roots and fruit

Blow away the dust, now:
Come to the living water.

Pools of Cool

I love tree shade. It has soul. The waving branch shadows, the little dots of light squeezing through the leaves, and the round shadow shapes create a welcoming feeling you can't get from standing in the squarish block of shadow cast by a building. I know this isn't physically possible, but sometimes shadows cast by buildings feel even hotter than standing in full sunlight - at least to me.

Buildings can only cast plain squares of shade. It's not their fault, is it? Truth is, they can't offer much comfort on a sweet, hot summer day, even if they wanted to. But when trees cast shadows, those shadows become regions of cool. When I walk from sunlight into tree shade, I feel like I've entered a room or a pool, a realm of cool.

What would summer be without them?

Zhong-a-Rama

Another thunderstorm rolled through DC last night, bringing in its wake some refreshing, cool air. I'm so glad because I was beginning to bounce off the walls by yesterday afternoon. I took my walk of course - by myself since none of the dogs was interested, but I have to admit it wasn't fun. It was like walking around inside an oven. Cathartic, perhaps, but not enjoyable.

Eventually I gave up on the idea of spending time outdoors, fetched my colored pencils and started drawing. I started on paper, of course, but boredom (or was it creativity?) inspired me to put away the sketchbook so as to work in a multimedia environment. I drew some nice silver circles on my bathroom door. With a purple sharpie, I drew the Chinese character zhong (means "center") on the back of all my tank tops. Constrained by the relatively small size of my tank tops, I turned to my bedspread. That's one hulkin' dude of a zhong on my old bedspread. I like it.

I was on the verge of beginning a zhong mural on the wall when I realized it was time to start making dinner. Thank God for the dinner bell!

You see I am truly not fit to be stuck indoors for long periods of time. I am SO glad the weather broke! Oh yeah!

Bloody Hell! It's HOT

Where the Ivy Used to Be

I love the pervasive theme in the Ridley Scott film, Kingdom of Heaven (starring the adorable Orlando Bloom): that people are what they do. I like that idea and think it's true. In addition to what we actually do, we humans spend a lot of time telling ourselves (and each other) who we are based on ideas we have about ourselves.

All my years in psychotherapy served to help me readjust the stories I tell myself about myself. It helped me go a long ways towards resolving some piece of the disparity between story and experience.

My work with the brilliant Sufi acupuncturist has taken this process a big step further. Lately I've been able to look underneath the stories. I've been able to drop down into a quiet place of no words, a realm in which I can perceive the structural underpinnings of my storytelling apparatus, the energy from which my storytelling originates. It's a very revealing place to visit.



I've been looking at the emotional and energetic states from which my stories arise, asking myself how my stories serve me. One really amazing revelation is that anxiety, worry, and anger all "help" me gather energy. Unfortunately it's a hollow energy that comes mostly from my adrenal function, but when I'm depleted and don't have any "real" energy, if I work myself into a state of great anxiety, I can push through whatever tasks are at hand. It's not a sustainable plan. Later I always crash. Adrenal based energy is always exhausting because it has no center. It has no ground. It's a flash in the pan, meant only for emergencies.

When I access adrenal energy, life feels like an emergency. That feeling is the "true" source of my heinous stories of doom and disaster, stories I then begin to believe, even though the stories are a result of the anxiety, not the underlying cause. Balanced, "authentic" energy comes from well digested food, good sleep, and heart-connections with others. The stories that arise from what I think of as authentic energy are hopeful, loving and expansive. These stories are not exhausting.

Blah blah blah. I do go on, don't I? The pic at the top of the post is a perfect illustration of what I've been up to, staring intently at the place in my life where the ivy used to be. It's not there anymore. I can start fresh. You know, not all ivy is nice. Some varieties are downright mean. Maybe this time, instead of ivy, I'll grow roses. Oh yeah! Why not?

Tough? Or Just Stupid?

There's no point in trying to avoid it. I'm talking about summer heat in Washington DC. I know, some folks stay in their a/c houses, moving, when necessary, into their a/c cars in order to travel to their a/c cubicles at work. After work? A journey to an a/c supermarket, restaurant, or movie theater, then home ... to a/c of course.

That's not how we do it in DC, mostly. One of our shared values is an identification with being tough. So we go about our daily walks as if the air wasn't shimmering with heat. We sit out in the sun, some of us even take our usual run or bike ride.

When it's "just" hot, like yesterday and today, 100 F. (38 C), I like to put on a wide brimmed hat and take a walk at midday. Or a short bike ride. I'm not stupid - I don't stay out for a long time, and I know about hydration, etc. For me it's a shamanic dance of alignment with reality. Or maybe I like to pretend I'm tough, too.

Everyone draws the line somewhere. On days when the air is foul, those Code Red days? I stay inside and breathe filtered air. And on those days I judge the folks who are tougher than I am, out there taking a run in that toxic brew of heat, humidity and smog. I believe these people have taken it "too far." Or maybe I'm just intimidated by their will power. There's no shortage of that in DC, not ever!

Today is a work day. I'll move my massage table down to the first floor of Quiet Waters so I don't have to crank the a/c up to maximum. I won't be sitting on the porch between clients, either. It's supposed to crack 100 again today.

Summer is here. Hunker down, people! Or not ... whatever ...

The Day the Earth Stood Still

Do you remember the scene in the fabulous 1951 film, The Day the Earth Stood Still in which Gort (what a robot!) fixes his eye on guns and tanks? The weapons evaporate into thin air. Very cool scene. Excellent theramin music and "special effects" (such as they were in 1951) not to mention the message of peace and hope that's a part of the film.

When I saw Obama's face on the front page of the WaPo this week, I was so moved. For some reason, that scene from the movie flashed in front of my eyes. And in fact I did actually stop for a second in order to feel the historic moment everyone is buzzing about. Wow.

Originally I liked Hillary for Prez, but once I began to read what she and Barack were actually saying, as opposed to reading what the pundits were saying about what they were saying, I quickly shifted camp to the Obama side. Oh yeah.

Nobody knows what's going to happen come November. We can vote for the past, which is what McCain looks like to me, or we can vote for the future. Did you see the Tom Toles cartoon in Friday's WaPo? It brought tears to my eyes. I was a little kid when Martin Luther King delivered the "I have a dream" speech, but I remember it well. I believe this was what he was dreaming of, this very moment in time.

As if to honor the energy of The Day the Earth Stood Still, a thick layer of awful heat and humidity has settled over the District of Columbia. It's like pea soup out there. Today the weather gods are slowing us down. It's a good day to stop for a minute, to be present and contemplate the future. I hope the U.S. votes for the future. I do. I really do.

White Bordeaux and a Wheelbarrow

How did you ride out yesterday's storm? I was under a house by the Potomac, close to Shepherdstown, W. Virginia with a friend, sipping white wine and listening to the weather radio.

The cabin itself is gorgeous, cozy, and so welcoming, though situated as it is beneath the tall trees, during a thunderstorm it feels better to be tucked into the dug out basement, next to the wheelbarrow and the charcoal grill. Just in case, you know.

Lucky for us the storm was not too severe there. The tornado warning that sent us running with our stemware and French wine into the basement was cancelled almost as soon as we settled in. So it turned out to be a nice adventure, not too scary.

The drive back into DC was unsettling, though. Trees, branches and debris were everywhere. It must have been a real doozie of a storm here. Today the worst of the thunderstorms are supposed to develop in the mountains where I was yesterday.

My timing this week is spot on. Thank you weather gods, for keeping me out of harm's way. I really appreciate it!!

Illuminations

I've been asking myself: What do I really believe as opposed to what I should believe or what I'm accustomed to believing? (Belief, faith, or whatever you want to call it is the provenance of the heart, not the head.)

Sound like a convoluted process? Well. It's interesting.

That is, it's interesting to me. Probably not so much to anyone who likes to visit this blog. Because really, how boring is it to read about someone else's navel gazing?

All temptations to electronically record this very foundational level thought-form restructuring will be eliminated for the next couple of days. I'm heading up to my friend's cabin on the Potomac in W. Virginia. Ahh ... a couple of days out of the buzzy energy field of DC, under the trees, with my dear friends (the man and the river). Just what the Sufi acupuncturist ordered. Oh yeah!

Life is good - I DO believe that - and I am grateful (almost always). See ya on the flip.

Yes, Ma'am!!