Archive for January, 2008

World Loves Many Faces

Now that I’m no longer doing LOA and it’s not doing me,
whatever that means besides pure and utter blasphemy;
I’ve discovered this special place: The World of Many Faces.

I found myself a SourPuss this morning. I did not go
searching for thoughts to support my SourPuss-ness. No.
“I woke up this way”, I told myself. I made no attempt to
soothe this SourPuss. I let her be in all the glory that a
SourPuss could possibly garner. And that’s a lot, I discovered.
There’s a whole range of emotions just waiting to be tapped
into in the World of SourPuss.

And you should know that good things happen to SourPuss-es,
too. This SourPuss had the sun, a rainbow, a Latte with a
chocolate covered espresso bean perched atop the cup’s lid.
A quick and easy physical followed by a painless blood draw.
This from the kid who never brings her veins to a blood draw.

Yes, the world loves it all. World loves many faces, all faces.

And I’ve come to know that good things happen just so I can say
thank you.

So, yes, indeed…

Thank you.

Love, Bethie

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Breathing: you invisible poem! Complete
interchange of our own
essence with world-space. You counterweight
in which I rhythmically happen.

Single wave-motion whose
gradual sea I am;
you, most inclusive of all our possible seas —
space grown warm.

How many regions in space have already been
inside me. There are winds that seem like
my wandering son.

Do you recognize me, air, full of places I once absorbed?
You who were the smooth bark,
roundness, and leaf of my words.

~Rainer Maria Rilke

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how will I know
when my time is up

will there be a signal,
a nod, a gesture

that I’ve lingered a
moment too long

and what will I say
will I argue
will I plead

too many pages
in my notebook
are still blank

perhaps you
have me confused
with someone else

someone shorter
someone older
someone more content

to leave, than I.
perhaps I will bargain
the world needs something

anything that will stand
on its own and
not be flung into the earth
or reduced to smoldering ash.

~elizabeth adams

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The Dance

The strong young bulls
don’t come to the ring
             to die on Sunday.
They come to show a man their energy
                                              their pride.
The dancing that they’ve practiced all their lives
to bring to the arena one August afternoon.

Their partners are not killers then.
They’re dancers too.
        Their red capes flashing.
Three-cornered hats that scoop applause
                           when the dancing’s done.

Pity not the strong young bull.
                 He takes his chance.
       As does the matador.
The price for coming to the dance.

Young men pretty in the sun
against the handsome bulls.
                                    Killers?                  No.
Only dancers in the dance.
To see the dancing is to know.

I don’t believe that really
           I’m of the Taurus sign
and every dead bull in the ring is my relation.

~Rod McKuen
     Listen to the Warm

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Morning at Great Pond

It starts like this:
forks of light
slicking up
out of the east,
flying over you,
and what’s left of night–
its black waterfalls,
its craven doubt —
dissolves like gravel
as the sun appears
trailing clouds
of pink and green wool,
igniting the fields,
turning the ponds
to plates of fire.
The creatures there
are dark flickerings
you make out
one by one
as the light lifts —
great blue herons,
wood ducks shaking
their shimmering crests —
and knee-deep
in the purple shallows
a deer drinking:
as she turns
the silver water
crushes like silk,
shaking the sky,
and you’re healed then
from the night, your heart
wants more, you’re ready
to rise and look!
to hurry anywhere!
to believe in everything.

~American Primitive: Poems
by Mary Oliver

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I recently bumped into a completely new (to me) channel named Carrie who channels Quado.  Below is a quote from Carrie/Quado and following that, my comments:

“Today would be a wonderful day to just let things fall into place,
easily, on their own. So many parts of your life are actually
oddly-shaped and you are trying to fit them into a pattern you laid out.
Here they are, pieces large and small with odd bits that jut out here
and there, and you have formed a pattern with perfectly square and round
holes into which you are now trying to fit your life. And all these
pieces of your life are protesting loudly as you apply pressure, as you
try to twist and turn them until they somehow can fit. And in the
process, you must make them smaller and you must cut off the most
interesting parts.”

So I was thinking about this.  And you know how Abraham talks about staying out of people’s pies.  I started thinking about it in terms of staying out of other people’s pegboards.  Don’t we all have someone in our life who ‘colors outside the lines’ or lives outside the box, the square peg/round hole or better stated the way Carrie/Quado illustrates it.  These kind of oddly shaped pegs with irregular borders that sort of defy being pounded into anything that defines and limits them.

I’ve got a couple of those oddly shaped peg board people in my life.  In fact I’m one of them and so it’s no surprise that I would find myself getting up close and personal with other oddly shaped peg boards.  :)  I know it sounds impersonal and nonsensical, at best, but bear with me here…

Someone very close to me is what I’ve labeled a drug addict and as one who is throwing her life away.  Another person very close to me, has frontal lobe brain injuries, I’ve labeled him as aggressive and occasionally socially inappropriate.  Isn’t that interesting, not only am I in their pies/pegboards but I’m also attempting to cut off the edges of those little pegs, and make them more what I would call ‘regular’.

If I step away from the peg board and remember that I wouldn’t want anyone shoving my square peg in their round hole…and remember that drug abuse, violence, all of that are infinite flavors that we get to experience on life’s buffet, infinite choices.  Why would I label any of them bad?  From my soul’s perspective why would I limit anyone and their choices.  I wouldn’t, it’s only from my human perspective that can choose fear that I would label something, anything bad.  But my human perspective is also awake, alive and aware…I can CHOOSE differently.  I can actually open myself to my soul’s perspective that is so all encompassing that I haven’t even got the capacity to put it into words  The soul embraces it all.

I just felt tremendous relief in realizing that, like I’ve made this giant step forward into actually donning the perspective of who I really am, my soul that embraces it all – with all the interesting edges, not willing to trim off or limit any of it.   And when I can do that, all the guilt and the shame associated with any of this just kind of melts away, it’s a moot point.  Guilt and it’s kissing cousin, shame, you know they only exist in that limited human framework where we feel fear and label this as good and this as bad.  Out in the nether regions of who I really am, good and bad are concepts that don’t exist.
Love, Beth

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What is God?


We don’t use the word God, because man has already decided what God is.
And what man has decided, God isn’t.

– Boca Raton, FL workshop 11-3-07

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The Silence

Though the air is full of singing
my head is loud
with the labor of words.

Though the season is rich
with fruit, my tongue
hungers for the sweet of speech.

Though the beech is golden
I cannot stand beside it
mute, but must say

“It is golden,” while the leaves
stir and fall with a sound
that is not a name.

It is in the silence
that my hope is, and my aim.
A song whose lines

I cannot make or sing
sounds men’s silence
like a root.  Let me say

and not mourn: the world
lives in the death of speech
and sings there.

~Wendell Berry
Collected Poems 1957-1982

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I Am

I am…

crafted from the rib
of Divine Wisdom

I am…

nuzzling in the neck
of Eternal Expansion

I am…

both the sow’er of Miracles
and the Miracle itself.

I am.

~elizabeth adams

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Each difficult moment
has the potential
to open my eyes
and open my heart.

~Myla Kabat-Zinn

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