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,

Photo by pop crunch

As my years on the planet increase and my spiritual practice deepens, I become more and more aware of the gift celebrities play for us in our lives.  These are my insights:

1.  They have the courage to be seen.

As a magnet for our sight, we give them permission to set our fashion trends.  How often have you seen a scarf or blouse on a celebrity and said to yourself “I want one like that?”  Or, have gone to a hairdresser to say “I’d like a Dorothy Hamil, Farrah Fawcett or Jennifer Aniston cut?  The light side of the celebrity’s willingness to be seen is the bringing forth of beauty into our lives.  The darker side is when we are hesitant to look within our own selves, we will likely hoist our opinion and judgement externally toward another.  Celebrities are great lightening rods, just mention the name “Sarah Palin” and you will get a strong reaction of support or disgust.

2.  They are willing to be heard.  Public figures words go down in history.  Right now I can Google quotes from many writers, artists, politicians, those who share a public stage.  We are willing to hear their voice and opinion.  In taking a stand for their own beliefs, we may be inspired to do the same.  Their voice becomes an instrument for change and possibility.  As a musician, such as Whitney, we literally heard her voice on the radio or our albums throughout the 80s.  And, her voice, at that point in her career was pure angel.  The clarity which she hit a note and held it; radiance.

3.  They create shared cultural memories.  I can ask my parents’ generation where they were when they learned John F. Kennedy was assassinated and they can tell you.  Not only where they were, but the way the air felt in the room and what was happening within their bodies.  The recall is incredible.  Many Americans can say the same with the inauguration of Barak Obama.  Even those who didn’t vote for him can articulate the power of having our first mixed race president.  Celebrities are willing to be a symbol for us associated with a time in history.

As I’ve watched the news unfolding about Whitney’s death, most commentators say “her music was the background of my youth.”  I too can say this.  In the mid-80s, we couldn’t go out to a restaurant without hearing Whitney’s music welcoming us in.  All of my friends owned her albums.  We went to see the movie the Body Guard while listening to her belt out her powerful songs.

4.  They can teach us about living.  Again, all of these insights happen with our permission.  Whitney’s life was public.  She walked the story of a mega-star who became an addict.  Publicly we got to see the impact of addiction, the struggle with sobriety, and ultimately the death of a mother, woman, daughter, and singer.

My faith brings me to a place of peace, knowing that her struggles are over and she experiences Divine Peace.  I bring her family into my prayers, knowing they will walk a path of grief together.  And, I take a moment to pause with a grateful heart for the gift of music she brought into my youth.

Good-bye Whitney,

Every day I take a four to five mile walk and magic happens.  The walk is never the same, although the path remains so.  Different cars drive by me, trees are in different stages of development, birds are chirping or quiet, I am surrounded by a whole variety of life. I have begun to vary the time I walk. Morning is different than mid-day different than day’s end.  This time of year in Phoenix, I’ll wear long pants and a sweatshirt for my morning walks, mid-day attire will be shorts and t-shirt, and evening is back to the long sleeves.

During my walks I receive “downloads” or cosmic insight.  It was during a walk that I realized I needed to feel the absence of love in my life to recognize its presence.  This changed the texture of my being and the direction of my life’s work.  I forgive and bless on walks.  And I practice being fully present.  I practice being in my body, feeling my feet on the ground.  I practice feeling and experiencing the sensory data surrounding me.  I discover peace regardless of circumstance.

I am aware of many other artists, writers, and contemplatives who swear by walking.  Just yesterday I listened to an interview between Rev. Dr. Michael Beckwith and Julia Cameron.  She wrote a book on walking and has made it one of her three creative tools.  She says when you walk you are “alone with your Higher Power.”  She also says “it’s as if you walk out with problems and walk in with solutions.”

This morning while working on my book I looked up how quickly our bodies regenerate.  I love that all parts of my body renew themselves regularly. To get the specific timeframes for each body part, I found a website entitled www.agedefyingbody.com.  On the left side of the site there is a menu bar and “forgiveness” caught my attention.  Clicking on the link to see what it has to say, I read “anger is released from the body through walking.”

Walking then, clears the mind, heals the emotions, sustains the physical and connects us with God.

Gotta go, my walking shoes are calling me,

Have you had the experience of several streams of thought coming together into one?  I did tonight.

I attended a story telling class geared toward healers. Our instructor recounted a story which shared the same bones as The Ugly Duckling.  Only the family was a group of chickens and the duckling/swan was an eagle.  It is said the eagle fell from his nest as a young one to live amongst the chickens.  He learned how to “be chicken.”  He pecked his food from the ground, and spent most of his days there, with the exception of occasionally sitting on a low farm fence.

One day a naturalist drove by and was taken by this sight.  Determined to assist the eagle in finding his authentic self, the naturalist went about slowly but surely encouraging the eagle to return to his native state.  He began by making a connection with the bird  until he was comfortable enough to perch about his arm.  Then, he reminded him who he really is, “You are an eagle,” he whispered in one ear, “King of the bird kingdom,” he’d state firmly in the other.  This reminder stirred something within the eagle as he began to exercise his wing span, eventually to lift from the ground.  Still confused between his learned chicken hood and his new flight, he would revert to chicken behavior.  One morning, just as the sun was rising, the naturalist drove the bird up to the tallest mountain the region, stood on the edge of it and released the bird into flight.  Soaring throughout the sky, the native elders looked up and smiled.  Eagled returned this smile.

As this story was told, something within me stirred.  A decade or so ago I read the book Cultural Creatives and continue to read it annually and give it for gifts.  This book is the culmination of a twenty year sociological study which followed a group of individuals the sociologists came to name “Cultural Creatives.” This unique and growing group of individuals quietly introduced mainstream to alternative medicine, hybrid cars, organic food, consciousness studies, etc.  Known as a group which doesn’t buy into or play by the norms, this independent group prefers human connection over money in their hierarchy of values.  These individuals have a shared story.  They thought they were born into the wrong family.  So different was their authentic being from the family operations they wondered if they were adopted or if something was innately wrong with them.

This parable freed me today because it reminded me my definition of family is much bigger than those I’m on the ground eating with.  Not that anything is wrong with the ground, chicken feed or the life of a chicken.  However, if you aren’t a chicken, then to try and be one feels funny.

Three streams of thought converged within me.  The first was the impact of this story.  A greater conviction to be me took hold.  The second stream was the memory of all of the other hundreds of thousands of individuals who felt different from their original family.  The final thought strand was the impetus for taking the class in the first place.  Howard Schultz, Starbuck’s CEO, says in his book Onward that the greatest leadership skill one can possess is the ability to tell a story.

To my fellow eagles, let’s continue to tell each other stories of freedom, building and finding community, self expression and deep, deep, love.

My friend’s mother died when we were in junior high school.  Unexpectedly, she had a brain aneurism at work. I attended the memorial service, so very uncomfortable with the idea of death and unschooled in what to do, I turned into an entertainer.  At the reception I told jokes and stories, trying to keep it light for me.  Viscerally I was so uncomfortable, my nerves had gotten me.  I didn’t once say a word about her mother.

Fast forward decades and I’ve lived a bit longer and stumbled my way through awkward situations, including the death of my own loved ones.  This is what I’ve learned.  When we discover someone we love has died or experienced death within their family, immediately send something.  Send a phone call, a card, a FB post, a gift, flowers, home cooked meals, something.  Let them know they are loved.  My favorite?  Cards and gifts, something personal.  A massage, a mani-pedi, a book on grief, something.  Grief is filled with so many paradoxical emotions, the griever often feels splayed open and flattened.

Connection at this point of a journey is a powerful bonder.  If it is possible to attend the service, do, and come equipped with some heartfelt words.

After my dad died, my sister said, “I had no idea this is what grief feels like.  From now on I will send a card to anyone I know who has lost someone.”  And, she has.  Faithfully combing the obits, should she discover a friend’s parent, sibling, or spouse has passed away, she is on it.

A great comfort to those who are grieving is listening.  Listening to any and everything they want to talk about, contrary to my chatty Cathy young self.  Also observe.  Is the person eating?  Be mindful of their needs as they often aren’t processing them for themselves.  Speaking to memories is powerful.  Remember the card I mentioned above?  Any memory you have about the deceased, funny or heartfelt is welcomed.  Put it in writing on the card.  And, have no expectation or attachment as to how the bereaved behaves toward you.  This is their time, not yours.  Giving them that gift, the gift of seeing them and supporting them ends up softening and enlivening your own being.  You give yourself the gift of loving, no reciprocation is necessary.

Bring the family into your prayers.  Miracles happen when ideas are dosed with loving prayers.

As I awoke to my awkward behavior when I was younger, I contacted my friend decades later with a heart felt apology for the death of her mother.  Finally, I was able to listen to her story of loss, and change, and growth, and who she has became as an adult woman without a mother.  I like to believe it is never to late to do the soulful thing.

Much love,

Today am I keenly aware of death.

Rev. Jackie Allen, my former practitioner teacher made her transition this week.  Three years ago today, my father passed away.  Last month I attended an out of state memorial service for my high school friend’s husband. Yesterday I dropped a sympathy card in the mail for a friend whose father passed.

Rev. Jackie Allen

As a minister, I have conducted many memorial services and a few funerals.  It is one of the reasons I became a minister. There are moments in our lives when people gather together out of love and cheer each other on.  Births, birthdays, weddings, graduations, new homes, and deaths.

Death is different than other celebrations as often grief companions us through the process.  Our hearts are broken.  We are at choice to allow our heart to break open, or to close it and try to protect ourselves from any future pain.  The courageous route is to be broken open and to allow vulnerability to rise within us.  The death of a loved one can birth within us a renewed commitment to living.

How do we embrace grief and honor a loved one?  We tell stories.  Let me tell you about Jackie.  She was a woman of faith who actively courted Spirit.  While the two of us walked the keen green lawn of Seabeck camp grounds one warm summer morning with the trees standing in attention, Jackie told me she set a place setting at her dinner table for Spirit.  This practice reminded her of the ever present God which is always with us.  The feeling of awe immediately transports me back to that moment.  The beauty combined with humility was quite delicious.

Another way we honor a loved one is to decide to carry on one of their traits we admired.  When my father died, I decided to become more generous.  My father was generous to a fault.  He coached local ball teams, he hosted foreign exchange students, he bought or gave whenever asked.  His wife said she’d have to turn off the phone ringer when he was home as his response to anyone calling for a donation was a “yes.”  They had an entire cupboard of unused light bulbs he’d purchased from an organization my sister and I finally donated after his passing.  Since dad’s death I have actively discovered ways I could give more of myself.

Lastly, we can create art or beauty inspired by our beloved. My Seattle home had a rose garden planted in honor of grandmother and grandfather.  Today I have a hibiscus garden planted for my father, a reminder of the time we spent together in Hawaii.  In the midst of the garden is a carved stone gifted to me by sister.

Death is ever present as part of our Life path.

With humility and love,

When I learned it was a mother who said to him in the grocery story “I hope someday our children can play together and not be judged by the color of their skin but instead by their character,” I was angry he didn’t credit her for these heart felt words.  Since becoming a minister I realize talks are inspired in large part by our experience with others, so I softened a bit.  After I had the experience of being cheated on, I couldn’t imagine a man who touted “morality” harming his wife this way.  I still don’t understand this one, and I’ve learned it isn’t my business to.

There are periods over the past four decades I have also been deeply inspired by his words and work.  Core changing inspiration which has led me to see the Gospels in a social light.  I believe I have read most books written about and by him, all of his sermons, and seen numerous documentaries of his life.  I vacillated between immense soulful learning combined with disappointment at my perceptions of how he ought to have lived.  I have unleashed all kinds of anger upon what I construed as sexist behavior.  My experience of him has been one of push and pull.  I could see him as all good or bad, and took much development within myself to see him as an inspired human who was a gift to humanity.

My struggle, of course, was not about him, but was inside of me.  I was learning to accept my own imperfections and humanity while expanding my willingness to serve my vision given to me by God. After all, if we all waited until we were perfect to unleash our callings, there would be no action taken, at all.  We would live in a state of stagnation.  In a personal context, this wrangling was an active part of my freedom.  Freedom from judgement, personal lessons in forgiveness, and stepping into Divine Love.

Today I sit at a place with great reverence for his oratory ability, his courage, his stance on non-violence, his ability to stand in the midst an opposition while remaining grounded in spiritual principle, his willingness to serve God, and much, much more.  After all, he said “Everybody can be great, because anybody can serve.  You don’t have to have a college degree to serve.  You don’t have to make your subject and verb agree to serve.  You only need a heart full of grace.  A soul generated by love.” In other words, perfection isn’t necessary to love.  He knew this, and I continue to learn this.

My dad used to say how much he admired John F. Kennedy for his ability to hijack others disparaging words and turn them into compliments.  Watching this clip of Martin Luther King, Jr. I had that same sentiment.  His ability to turn the word “maladjusted” into an asset is powerful.  The sentiment beneath it, even more so.

Listen to the video clip, it is short and inspiring.  The following paragraph is the next paragraph in his speech (not aired in clip):  ”In other words, I’m about convinced now that there is need for a new organization in our world. The International Association for the Advancement of Creative Maladjustment–men and women who will be as maladjusted as the prophet Amos. Who in the midst of the injustices of his day could cry out in words that echo across the centuries, “Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.” As maladjusted as Abraham Lincoln who had the vision to see that this nation would not survive half-slave and half-free. As maladjusted as Thomas Jefferson who in the midst of an age amazingly adjusted to slavery would scratch across the pages of history words lifted to cosmic proportions, “We know these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator certain unalienable rights” that among these are “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” As maladjusted as Jesus of Nazareth who could say to the men and women of his day, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you. Pray for them that despitefully use you.” Through such maladjustment, I believe that we will be able to emerge from the bleak and desolate midnight of man’s inhumanity to man into the bright and glittering daybreak of freedom and justice. My faith is that somehow this problem will be solved.”  MLK, Jr., 1963

What a fun group to be a part of.  Count me in!!

While on my morning walk listening to Beth and Friends, KEZ 99.9 fm, on my iHeart Radio app, disc jockey Beth played a portion of the YouTube video, below.  It is a talk given by a 14 year old Girl Scout advocating a boycott of Girl Scout Cookies because they allow transgendered individuals in the troops.  Beth’s response was something along the lines of “I will buy MORE cookies this year because I want to support a compassionate organization.”  I agree with her.  It would great for hate toward others unlike us to end in our generation.

Listening with an open heart to the full YouTube video I remember how sheltered and naive I was at her age.  And, I applaud this young woman for having her voice heard and making an argument utilizing the written tenants of the Scouts.  Bravo.  However, the lack of understanding and compassion spoke louder than her argument.  The bigger question, I believe, is not how do we extricate individuals who are different than us from our circle, but how do we let them in, and love them?  Wouldn’t it be beautiful if this young lady befriended a transgendered individual before she determines they are “unsafe?”

As a metaphysician, I am called to take this sentiment inside of myself and do the inner work.  Where within me do I hold hatred and exclusion?  I call that forward and then invite Love to melt and transform the inner edges within my own being.  It is easy to caste a stone outward, and much more difficult to go within asking, “where does this dynamic lie within me?  Who and what have I left out?”

Martin Luther King, Jr. said in one of his sermons that someone has to rise above and choose love.  I used to tell one of his stories on The Forgiveness Tour I undertook years ago.  He spoke of an evening road trip he and his brother took.  On this trip the drivers were flashing their brights at other drivers, temporarily blinding them.  King’s brother got mad and wanted to flip his beams onto bright.  Martin’s response was (paraphrasing) “and when will it end, after everyone is blinded?  Someone must choose the high road and decide to act from love, not retribution.”  He encouraged us, you and me, to be the ones to step out with a voice and behavior of love.  He said “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”

It is easy to take the sanctimonious side of “opposite” and fight against bigotry.  This keeps us collectively stuck, I don’t choose to do this.  Instead I wish to come from an inner space beyond “a fight” with the Presence of Love as my guide.  It is my intention to take a stand for love, not one against anything.  I take action to bring light to my inner darkness and I choose to send a check to the national Girl Scouts headquarters with a note, thanking them for their stance on inclusivity.  Their address is Girl Scouts of the USA, 420 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10018-2798.

My blessings to You,

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Happy New Year!