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A Playful Way out of a Rut

Every morning after I journal and before I meditate I read a sacred text. This morning I pulled from my bookcase a text that is sacred in its own way. It is a thin book written in 1960 by the writer Henry Miller entitled To Paint is to Love Again. “To paint is to love again. It’s only when we look with eyes of love that we see as the painter sees. He is in a love, moreover, which is free of possessiveness. What the painter sees he is duty bound to share. Usually he makes us see and feel what ordinarily we ignore or are immune to. It’s manner of approaching what the world tells us, in effect that nothing is vile or hideous, nothing is stale, flat and unpalatable unless it be our own power of vision. To see is not merely to look. One must look-see. See into and around.” Miller wrote as his profession and when he got stuck, he’d paint. Painting, though, wasn’t just...

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Your Body’s Story

Walking through art booths at a street fair, I was drawn into a booth of paintings. This booth was different than all others for several reasons. The paintings were of clothed women (unique) engaged in life activities. Each stroked detail of these women’s bodies told their own Soul story. My daughter and I stopped and turned toward the artist, then in her thirties, a beautiful petite radiant gal, who was robust in content. We became supportive allies with our lives interweaving every four or five years. Then, she came out with a beautiful book … loaded with her beloved paintings along with information on how to identify stories you’ve lived out through your body. Entitled Stretch Your Brave, Hack Your Story, it is a more-than-book that assists me and you in breaking through chronic disease/conditions through story telling. Since Melanie and I saw each other last, she went to school to become degreed in assisting individuals in becoming free from their own health limitations through gaining insight and shifting lifestyle. The book begins with Melanie’s own story...

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Wanting and Mattering: A Story of Prayer

As a child there were things that I REALLY wanted. I really, REALLY wanting a moped one year for Christmas as a young teen. I REALLY wanted this moped so I could experience the freedom of faster movement with lesser effort. I wanted to go to the movies without taking a bus, or go to friend’s homes quickly instead of walking a mile or two. I had a vision as to the WHY of this engine-driven monster. I wanted it bad. I was attached. The Buddhist would say I craved it. My birthday is in November and Christmas is December, so I started my campaign that year in August. I began by dropping hints. Then, I cut out photos and left brochures around the house. I talked about it at the dinner. I REALLY wanted a moped. My birthday came and the first thing I asked my parents was “did I get the moped today?” I don’t remember what I got, but it wasn’t the moped.  I told my parents I understood...

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My Vulnerability Hangover

Three Wednesday’s ago I began giving talks at a local church with the purposeful intent of going deeper into Spirit. These one hour gatherings include spiritual practices, insights, and conversations between individuals wanting to activate their inner Spirit and live from their Soul as home base. The first evening I spoke of the Highest Most and Innermost God being One God; based upon Dr. Ernest Holmes’ Declaration of Principles. I spoke of the quantum field and the scientific discovery of light within humanity. And I spoke of each one of us as the Light of God and contributors to shaping the field, or the collective consciousness. After a powerful evening I returned home feeling a deep, deep dread. I experienced a scare born out of self exposure. I had nuded myself in front of a room full of people and I felt vulnerable. And, I couldn’t shake it. My sleep was a bit restless and I awoke with the desire of calling everyone who attend for the evening to...

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Politics, Conflict and Division

    A beloved friend of mine has gone through a treacherous week of FaceBook bashing for his political views. On his FB page a mini-war has erupted with name calling directed at him. He called me really torn up inside. He is a deep, deep lover of humanity and serves his community through action. He is a good guy. And, his political views aren’t mine. Neither are the views of half of my friends. Half of my friends are Democrats and half are Republicans; and I don’t love either group of my friends more or less because of the road each party believes will create our brightest future. Somewhere in our history we have trained ourselves to hate the people, not the views. To attack people, not the views. To kill people, not views. Hate, attack, and killing views or people have never worked, anyway. People become damaged or dead and views still remain. In a dualistic world we will always have black and white, right and left,...

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