Love dreamed today
A beautiful dream
Witnessing the perfection of a sunflower
Towering beauty of yellow and green
Seeking the light at every turn
Swaying, dancing, spreading joy
Love dreamed today
A beautiful dream
Witnessing a perfect cumulus cloud
Morphing into a crystalline drop of water
Nourishing a newborn bird
Whose future songs soothe weary hearts
Love dreamed today
A beautiful dream
Witnessing a synchronistic act of kindness
An inspired idea birthed into form
Received freely in Love
A life changed forever, gratefully
Love dreamed today
A particularly beautiful dream
Astounding in its complexity
Magnificent in its simplicity
Radiant in its reach
Altering the course of humanity
Love dreamed It’s highest dream today
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
Rap as poetry? What’s the deal? Lyrical poetry, expressing personal and emotional feelings, doesn’t have to rhyme and may be set to a musical beat. Harvard professor Gates, Jr, in the forward to “The Anthology of Rap,” writes “either rap describes commercialized music and hip hop the sounds of the underground; or rap suggests a gritty style (as in gangsta rap) and hip hop a more politically and socially conscious approach (as in backpack hip hop).” Poetry. Lyrical. Musical. Expression. The Broadway show, Hamilton, revealed the power of lyrical prose to excite a nation. Writing poetry can also excite your creative brain centers. Your turn. “Give us a verse. Drop some knowledge.”
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
Three months ago, I unexpectedly entered into a relationship with a horse.
I met Zor during a visit to Liberty Stables in Florida, where I had gone to spend time with a friend’s horses. I had no particular expectations. I have no background with horses, no training, and no experience in equine-assisted therapy. I simply met this magnificent Friesian, and something quietly familiar unfolded between us.
I fell in love.
The women who arrive in my classes, retreats, and therapy sessions are sincerely looking for healing, expansion, clarity, or sometimes just a little room to breathe.
They are thoughtful women, deeply engaged with the people and work they love. Rarely do they arrive because they want another spiritual philosophy. Most are carrying something much more ordinary.
A life that has become full. Beautiful in many ways, but crowded.
About twenty-five years ago, I was driving with a colleague to a local conference. As we approached the hotel entrance, I noticed an open parking spot near the front door.
“There’s a spot,” I said, pointing to the right. He drove past it.
A few seconds later, another one appeared. He drove past that one, too. Then I pointed to a third. “There’s a spot.” Without the slightest hesitation, Dan replied, “I’ll leave that for someone else.” And he calmly parked much farther away. As we walked to the entrance, I asked about that statement.
During the Seeding the Light Gathering, I had the privilege of hosting Pascual and Jose Tomas in our home.
They feel like family as this was their second visit to New Jersey. We’ve also spent a week together in Damanhur and the Temples of Humankind in Italy. I’ve sat in many ceremonies with Pascual in Peru’s Sacred Valley. His flute playing often carried me up mountain trails in the thin air and hot sun.
I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.
All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.
The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears. Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.
I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.
Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her. Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.
