Arise, then, women of this day!
Arise all women who have hearts,
Whether your baptism be that of water or of tears
Say firmly:
 
“We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands shall not come to us reeking of carnage,
For caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of 
charity, mercy and patience.
 
We women of one country
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.”
  
From the bosom of the devastated earth a voice goes up with 
Our own. It says, “Disarm, Disarm!”
The sword of murder is not the balance of justice!
Blood does not wipe out dishonor
Nor violence indicate possession.
As men have of ten forsaken the plow and the anvil at the summons of war.
 
Let women now leave all that may be left of home
For a great and earnest day of counsel.
 
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
 
Let them then solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace,
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God.
 
In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality
May be appointed and held at some place deemed most convenient
And at the earliest period consistent with its objects
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions.
The great and general interests of peace.

I am not sure how many wars we have participated in, as a people, since the Civil War.  And, today I choose to keep my head in the sand intentionally and not look it up.  When my daughter’s friends began fighting in Afghanistan I remained stunned to watch beloved, talented young men and women leave knowing they would return forever different.  My heart broke many times over.

This Mother’s Day I sat in my daughter’s apartment holding a four day old baby and wanting for her a world which valued life of all peoples.  As I rocked her, I was called to contemplate where within me I held dissension and defensiveness, as I knew this would be where I’m to start.

I’ll keep you posted on my progress …

There  was a time not that long ago that I valued travel and adventure over all else.  Put me in a car with a tank full of gas and a GPS and I was a happy woman.  After three years of intentional home building, there is nothing more that I yearn for than home.  I have gone from two extremes; the wanderer to the homebody.

The truth is, I am home whenever my heart is open.  As I hang out in a state of impatience, my heart is closed and I go into an inward battle between what is and what I want.  This battle is a guaranteed “lose” every time, yet I still engage in it.

So, how do I practice patience in a state of impatience?  I don’t know.  Yet, I’ve practiced loving I didn’t feel it and I’ve practiced generosity when I’ve felt impoverished, so this challenge ought to be worth my invesment.

I begin by getting centered in my body.  I do this whenever I am cultivating a field.  This is easy for me to do everywhere except Las Vegas.  My being is overstimulated with noise, lights, artificial grass, and excess.  And yet I know, centering into my being is essential.  I try walking.  No such luck as the loud traffic, blaring music and continual sound is too much.  So I place myself into a room, light a candle, breath deep and follow my breath; in, out, up and down.  I am closer to center, yet not quite there.  I will take it.

I list my intentions.  Top of my list is to be present for my daughter and helpful to her.  I unpack with her, wash baby clothes, go shopping, and watch crummy movies.  My inner voice is screaming “I am bored run,” and my Spirit remains steady desiring to experience pure, authentic, Patience — the kind born of Love.  So I continue to wake up day after day; approaching two weeks.  As I ponder how much longer I can take the wait, I turn my mind chatter off, move my energy toward my heart and start over.

To a PhD in Patience,

On the phone with a friend yesterday, we spoke about the impending birth of my grand daughter.

“How will I know if she is close to her arrival?”  I inquired.

“When your daughter begins nesting and preparing for her arrival, you will know.  Washing the baby’s clothes is a clue,” says my buddy.

If someone were to ask me a clue for when their Soul was preparing to open, I would say, “You become quiet and still.  You see your life from a space of animated energy.  You become a poetry magnet.  You will consuming it or write it like your life depends upon it.  Maybe both.  Poetry pulls the Soul forward, or the Soul pulls it.”

Ivan, of Poetry Chikhana knows this.  Several times per week he compiles thoughtful poems, a thought for the day, and his insight into the poem.  This week’s poem is deee-lish.

www.Poetry-Chikhana.com

Last night, as I was sleeping

By Antonio Machado
(1875 – 1939)

English version by Robert Bly

Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt — marvelous error!
that a spring was breaking
out in my heart.
I said: Along which secret aqueduct,
Oh water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life
that I have never drunk?

Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt — marvelous error!
that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures.

Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt — marvelous error!
that a fiery sun was giving
light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt
warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light
and brought tears to my eyes.

Last night, as I slept,
I dreamt — marvelous error!
that it was God I had
here inside my heart.

Thanks Ivan,

I have always envied the small talker.  The person who could create conversation for no other reason than to converse.  Jean Huston once signed a book for me and it read “To a woman who dives in the deep,” she knew me from one glance.  I am the deep diver.  And, I would like to feel comfortable in the shallow end splashing, as well.  Frivolity could serve me well.

Scrapbook Greeting Card by Rev. Bonnie

A friend of mine was interested in a new art technique.  She is a “deep” artist.  Wanting to hang with her, I signed up for a class having no idea what I was saying yes to.  Then, I walked into the craft store.  Unbeknownst to me, this was a scrapbooking class.

As if on another galaxy, I walk into a back room set up with tables in a “U” shape with ten other women.  Each one had overstuffed craft bags or suitcases on rollers loaded with a minimum of $2,000 worth of art supplies.  Each container had 100 plus specialty pens at $7.00 each complimented by every type of tool and gadget one could imagine.  My mind immediately went to judgement and I felt myself pulling away.  As my value system is different then this, I wanted to cash in their loot and run down the street feeding the  homeless.  I reminded myself to hold back and to learn instead of judge.

“Who are you, I haven’t seen you here before?” said a woman with a hard lined face sizing me up and down while eating her Pay Day candy bar and downing a cola beverage, placing it back into a specialized cup holder which attaches to the craft table.

The dreaded moment.  In essence, she was saying I didn’t belong (which I kind of didn’t).  Sitting in the midst of a group of women scrap book masters, or scrappers, I decided to introduce myself as a novice.

“I am new to all of this and I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.  Please go easy on me.”

Burnished Glitter on paper

Showing my vulnerability, all of the eyes look at me and start commenting.  ”A virgin,” says the red haired mumu dressed woman with her special art glasses donning the tip of her nose.  ”Not for long,” says the younger woman, her daughter, sitting next to her.  ”Why would you take this class, anyway, since you aren’t a scrap booker?,” the words roll easily off the tongue.  ”To get outside of my comfort zone,” I say as though this is a perfectly normal behavior.  The air lightens and some smiles are directed my way.

I make the mental note:

1.  First step of small talk, create a vulnerable open state.  ”I don’t know how…”  ”I am new…”  ”I could use your help….”  I left judgement by entering into curiosity.

Next, I decided to introduce myself to the woman sitting next to me.  I am awful with names, so when she tells me her name is Dottie, I am determined to use her name in every fourth sentence so as to remember.  ”Dottie, what is that in your bag?”  ”Dottie, I had no idea glue came in strips,” etc.  In no time Dottie and I were fast friends.

2.  Connect by using the person’s name often.

I then branched into risker territory.  I asked personal questions in relationship to the topic.  ”You clearly are a master scrapper.  Do you have a family and how do they feel about it?”  Question followed question as this woman’s life unfolded between glitter applications.

Dottie was the first and only female police officer in a small southern town in the 1980s.  Yes, when women my mother’s age in our neighborhood were contemplating if they ought to work or stay home, young Dottie was strapping a gun in her belt and chasing bad guys.  In fact, the gun weighed so much she has permanent back damage from carrying it.

3.  I listened to every word she said, fully present, as though her life was miraculous, and it was.

Somewhere between the decal pressing and the burnishing, Dottie shares with me she is a cougar.  My scrap book neighbor married a man eleven years her junior.  Her first child is now 35 years old and her husband is 39.  ”You must have been fifteen when you had your son,”  I say like a math whiz.  ”I was.”

She proceeds to tell me, “we adopted two kids in the past four years.  Both girls.”  Now, anyone who adopts to me, has evidenced a heart the size of the Grinch after it grew from his love of Whoville.  The heart which grew three times in one day.  I can’t imagine a more colorful life until she tells me “I found our four year old daughter through Craig’s List in the real estate section.”

When class ended I applauded myself for not running when I was outside of my comfort zone.  I celebrate my newly acquired skill of making conversation, just because.  And I am liking the versatility of diving and splashing.

It was another Good day,

Easter

The Easter Message is one of resurrection.  Life arises out of death.  Love overcomes hate.  Compassion is born.  A new way of being takes form from that which no longer serves us.  Easter is the recycling of energy within an individual, impacting current and future generations. The message isn’t limited to an historic event; but remains alive long as I live from the value of the teaching.

My spiritual practice includes witnessing the resurrection process within myself.  I see what no longer serves me or others and I call forth an Eternal Reality to replace the dead temporal thought pattern.  This year I applied the resurrection principle to doing my taxes.

Taxes

My old thought pattern dreaded preparing for taxes.  My old, old thought pattern hated and resented it. This year I chose to use my tax preparation as a way of being grateful.  This is how I did it.

1.  I lit a candle nearby my computer to begin the process.  This set a tone of reverence and peace.

2.  I listened to great talks and interviews by spiritual leaders in the background.  At times I would listen to what was being said.  At other times I would allow my Energy body to lean into the energy behind the words spoken.  And, I trusted my Soul was being fed whether I heard words or received an energetic transmission.

3.  I periodically stopped and noticed how much money passed through my hands this past year.  I gave thanks for The Wealth of Go(o)d I experienced directly.  I blessed each person and company who received money  through me recognizing there is no time and space in God so the blessing is Eternal.

4.  I celebrated the progress I made each hour by speaking words of praise to myself for the accomplishment achieved.

Preparing taxes this year felt good.  I now look forward to the process next year.

Everything I do reflects who I Am.

I am quivering with delight.

I was struggling with a decision around a quirky loan.  I was sharing my “doubts” with my friend about signing this document, which terms seemed to change with every conversation I had with the lender.

My friend said “you can pay this back easily, Bonnie,” which wasn’t really a part of the issue, but soon became a part of the conversation.

“Bonnie, you got this one, it’s easy for you.” I could hear her certainty.

“No it isn’t, let me tell you why….” I rebutted as I listed a whole host of reasons as to why I was going to fail.

She shared a story with me of when she was in a similar situation and won.  ”This is how I looked at it prior to the decision and since then…”

“Yes, but I’m not you and this is how we are different …..” another list of limitations came spewing out of my mouth.

After ten minutes I felt so bad inside I suggested we hang up until I could have a centered conversation.

I got quiet and started laughing at myself.  First, I knew to say “no” to the loan because the terms kept shifting.  The decision was obvious.  My surprise came with my willingness to fight for my limitations.  My friend could see ME and I was busy saying very small things about myself.  My body responded to the words I was speaking which didn’t honor my incarnation.  I was betting against myself.

I sat down and wrote the Truth about myself.  I am the Presence of Good incarnate.  I am here on planet earth to bring forth my radiant splendor for the benefit of humanity.  Love and Service are my two highest values.  The details of the how are making their way to me right now, I can rest in the knowing it is done.  I Trust myself to make decisions of power and to advocate for Me.  I release this option and open to the perfect solution for myself.  I am blessed and truly blessed.

I called my friend and two of us laughed so hard.  She couldn’t believe how willing I was to throw myself under the bus.  ”It wasn’t like you,” she said.  It was the shifty loan I wanted to throw under the bus, not me.  I got confused.  I made a note to myself to not confuse who I am with situations in the world and to listen carefully to my body.  It knew.  I celebrated my ability to catch this in ten minutes, not months, weeks or days.

From this moment forward, should I choose to engage in the energy of “fight” it is going to be for my splendor and the splendor of others.

With a Joyful Heart,

There have been many times in my life when I have paused to give thanks for my meditation practice.

Today, at the dentist was one of them.

Let me back up. I learned to meditate out of my deep, deep hunger to connect with my inner spirit, to know God within me.  I have been meditating daily for almost twenty years.  And, yes, little-by-little meditation has supported me in clearing out the voices of the world so that I may hear my deep, small voice within speak to me. Meditation has also trained me in pausing to make conscious choices over reactive impulses.  Learning to follow my breath, calm my body, and retrain my thoughts have been a bi-product of this practice.

Today I’m at the dentist. Laying the dental chair with my mouth wide open, my body tenses as a needle makes its way toward me.  I thought I was going in for filling replacement, and it turned out to become the first step of getting a crown.  Bright lights are glaring down on me, the young dentist, Dr. Lacy, has her glasses on with magnifiers looking into my mouth and the pinch and sting of the shot begins.  I notice my body immediately start to tense up.  This is where I decided to kick into meditation.

The dentist puts a rubber damn over my mouth and I find it suffocating and difficult to breathe.  I am unable to swallow and I become scared.  After sitting up twice in the beginning of the procedure to assist with swallowing, I make a decision right then and there.  This level of panic and stress requires a deep meditative state.  I bring my attention away from the needle, the doctor’s glasses, and what is about to transpire into my body.  I start with my breathing.  I imagine breathing down into my toes.  An inner smile emerges as I believe my breath has provided oxygen into my feet.  Then I breathe upward toward my belly.  As my focus is inside of belly, I recognize how centered it is, and I am becoming.  Keeping my focus on the middle I allow my awareness to feel around my body. My neck and shoulders are crazy tense. I decide to change this.  I breathe into the muscles and tell them they are safe and I love them, drooping and relaxation kicks in.

I am in the chair for three and a half hours.  I became so much at peace the doctor swears I was sleeping.  This isn’t so. I was actually hyperaware of everything.  I knew the temperature in the room had shifted from comfortable into a chilly cold, I felt and heard when the composite was being packed into place, and I was aware of the other two dentists making plans for their basketball game on Wednesday at the local church.  My mind was alert, my body, however, was relaxed.

I attribute meditation to literally saving my life twice. Highly allergic to bee stings, I was stung at two separate times and places without access to medical support. Utilizing meditation and mental focus to keep the venom localized; it didn’t transfer throughout my body toward my heart and cause shock.

Connecting with my Inner God, relaxing my body in the dental chair or saving my life from a toxic reaction, meditation is one of the single most power tools I have.

Let’s Breathe,

Today when I entered the Starbucks on 16th and Bethany Home, something was different.  I felt it.

Looking around, I spotted walls filled with powerful art.  Art in which the space felt different, a bit cozier, like a living room.  Thanking the manager for the intimate feeling in the store due to this beautiful art, I was shocked to learn the 7th grade class at Madison 1 School were the Picassos.  Each piece had the name of the artist beneath it as though it were being displayed at the Phoenix Art Museum.  It is moments like this I feel a sense of pride in the human experience.

I will never know what it means to the young budding artist to have their work displayed in their community. Does this one simple act translate into personal validation? Will these creatives know that what they generated from insides themselves is worthy of being framed and on display?  Will they be encouraged to create more?  Will they honor their inner world?

As a customer, the art lifted something inside of me.  I grabbed a large iced tea, sat with my book, and felt as though the walls blessed me with hope, talent, and wonder.  My favorite piece of art, shown to the right, demonstrates dimensionality, balance, aliveness and a deep connection with oneself.  I saw an understanding of the Divinity within this piece.  Listen to her poem integrated into this work:

Love isn’t about
finding another.
Love is about
creating yourself.

The Divine Mother within me can cry tears of joy. A pre-teen or newly teen beauty remembers who she is.

Now that is worth lifting a glass of ice tea and toasting,

Happy Day of Celebrating Love!

Persian Poet Hafiz (1320-1389) says in his poem The Happy Virus:

I caught the happy virus last night
When I was out singing beneath the stars.
It is remarkably contagious -
So kiss me.

My Love to You,

Martha Beck, known as “Oprah’s coach” had already begun her story telling.  I arrived to hear her recount dreams she had of Africa when she was pregnant with her son, Adam.  ”Remember your dreams, if only a little part of them,” she encourages us.  Dreams led her to finding her Soul, finding her work, and finding herself.  Hundreds of Arizonans sat on the edge of their seats.

She spoke of times when she felt at crossroads.  Her head calling her to do what the society would encourage while her   Soul beckoned for expression.  She realized if she followed the feeling in her Soul, she could never regret it, as she would be taking an adventure.  Her closing remarks — “pay attention to compelling dreams.”

Decades after her African dream, she traveled to the country and discovered parts of herself alivening which required the culture to bring them forward.  Almost physically dying from a confrontation with a rhino, she spiritually awoke.  She spoke of a light she sees.  The light being a form of guidance and assurance that all is well.  ”Once you’ve seen it,” she tell us, “you aren’t afraid in the same way any longer.”

Stella Pope Duarte, Pulitzer Prize nominee for her book If I Die in Juarez began her writing at age 45 after her father came to her in a dream when she was feeling lost and led her up a spiral staircase.  In this dream he told her she was to become a writer. “Had anyone told me I would be writing about living in the barrio when I was a child, I wouldn’t have believed them” she says. Wearing her mother’s apron, her most precious heirloom” she spoke of the day her mother saw Jesus Christ in the alley.

“No one needed to watch to tv when we had the alley.”  The alley is where the neighborhood, good, bad, and ugly hung out.  One evening after dinner her mother stepped out in the alley to witness Jesus Christ,  his crucifix, the lamp post.  With a golden radiance which surrounded him, peace entered her mother’s heart.  She had a direct connection with Jesus.  Seeing the throned savor with his hands nailed and bloody, in a white vibrant loin clothe, her mother decided her father must see Jesus, too.  Running into the house and grabbing her husband, they return to a darkened alley.  Stella said “I knew my mom was special from that moment forward, she saw Christ.”  Two sentences she said I wrote on a wrinkled menu found in my handbag.  ”Whatever is priceless in your life tells you who you really are.” And handed down from her mother, “Don’t let anyone tell you who you are, you tell people who you are by how you show up.”

The afternoon  concluded with J.A. Jance sharing stories of her life in Arizona.  Her first series of books took place in Seattle, when I was living there.  Location based mystery novels were new when her books arrived in bookstores and immediately became popular amongst the residence, including me.  She now splits her time between Arizona and Seattle and so any book I pick up by her is guaranteed to welcome me into a context I know.

Jance shares a story of coming two days away from being a victim of a notorious Tucson serial killer.  Newly married, young, and living far out of town off a dirt road, her first husband took a ride home from a stranger who turned out to kill on the 22nd of every month at 2 pm.  When he dropped her husband off, she met this man and the Jance and husband were later questioned about him by police.  When caught, this serial killer was plotting to kill Jance at 2 pm on the 22nd of that month.  He was caught on the 20th.

J.A. Jance is a mystery writer. Her books are fiction with relatable characters, akin to a sparkling water with a twist of lemon peel. I have read all of J.A. Jance’s books and she has written forty five.  I have also read all of Martha Beck’s books and Stella Pope Duarte’s.  Each woman has a different style.  Martha’s writing aligns with my life experience and how I see the world.  Reading her is like breathing in an affirmation while having a fresh glass of herbal ice tea.  Stella’s work is gritty.  It is historical, ethnic, sensual and dense, like drinking a cup of bold coffee with a dark rich bite of chocolate truffle.

Something magical happens within me when I’m in the presence of authentic individuals who are actively expressing their gifts and talents.  I returned to my car with my cell phone glued to my ear recounting the afternoon with my sister.  There is nothing like sharing a good story.

In Fullness,