What's happening here...

headSpa is headed down a new path.

Beginning on February 1, 2009, headSpa is launching an additional blog at www.dailyheadspa.com It’s a once-a-day headSpa for enjoying yourself, with daily treatments of weekly themes that help you develop the original relationship of your life – the one you have with yourself.

This blog will be the journal accompanying www.dailyheadspa.com, with daily briefs and extended personal reflections.

Comments and links encouraged in both places.

See you here on February 1, 2009 when we’ll be coming to you live from
Rapid Creek in Darwin, capital of the Northern Territory. Australia.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 40

40 days of Pathways: Day 39

40 Days of Pathways: Day 38

40 days of Pathways: Day 37

40 Days of Pathways: Day 36

40 Days of Pathways: Day 35

Courage is going from failure to failure without losing enthusiasm.
Winston Churchill

If you are going through hell, keep going.
Winston Churchill

40 Days of Pathways: Day 34

40 Days of Pathways: Day 33

Trees are cages for them: water holds its breath
To balance them without smudging on its delicate meniscus.
Children watch them playing in their heavenly playground;
Men use them to lug ships across oceans, through firths.

They seem so twinkle-still, but they never cease
Inventing new spaces and huge explosions
And migrating in mathematical tribes over
The steppes of space at their outrageous ease.

It's hard to think that the earth is one -
This poor sad bearer of wars and disasters
Rolls-Roycing round the sun with its load of gangsters,
Attended only by the loveless moon.

Norman MacCaig (1910 - 1996)

for C. George Norman, Jr. (August 26, 1935 - August 5, 2005) Rolls Royce owner, his pathway always glittered.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 32

40 Days of Pathways: Day 31

But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice,
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do - - - determined to save
the only life you could save.

3rd and final stanza of "The Journey" by Mary Oliver

40 Days of Pathways: Day 30

You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations - - -
though their melancholy
was terrible.It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.

2nd Stanza, "The Journey" by Mary Oliver

40 Days of Pathways: Day 29

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice - - -
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
'Mend my life!'
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.

1st stanza, Mary Oliver "The Journey"

40 Days of Pathways: Day 28

40 Days of Pathways: Day 26

“Let your mind start a journey thru a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be...Close your eyes let your spirit start to soar, and you'll live as you've never lived before.”
Erich Fromm

40 Days of Pathways: Day 27

40 Days of Pathways: Day 26

40 Days of Pathways: Day 25

40 Days of Pathways: Day 24

40 Days of Pathways: Day 23

I like to be a free spirit. Some don't like that, but that's the way I am.
Princess Diana
(photo of her memorial fountain in Hyde Park)

40 Days of Pathways: Day 22

Well, I ran into another blogger issue...I was unable to post a little video I shot using my phone as I went along my path today. It makes me feel rather sideways about the whole blogger world.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 21

“The really efficient laborer will be found not to crowd his day with work, but will saunter to his task surrounded by a wide halo of ease and leisure.” - Henry David Thoreau

40 Days of Pathways: Day 20

By the rivers dark
I wandered on.
I lived my life
in Babylon.

And I did forget
My holy song:
And I had no strength
In Babylon.

- Leonard Cohen

NB: We're half-way down the garden lane...we'll take a short rest stop to enjoy the view and return to the journey of "40 Days of Pathways" on Monday, August 11.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 19

“May flowers always line your path and sunshine light your day. May songbirds serenade you every step along the way. May a rainbow run beside you in a sky that's always blue. And may happiness fill your heart each day your whole life through.”
Irish Blessing

40 Days of Pathways: Day 18

It is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers.
- James Thurber

40 Days of Pathways: Day 17

St. Augustine:
"Men go forth to wonder at the heights of
mountains, the huge waves of the sea,
the broad flow of the rivers, the vast
compass of the ocean, the courses of the
stars: and they pass by themselves
without wondering."

40 Days of Pathways: Day 16, 2nd try

We leave Walt Whitman behind, in case he caused our blogger problem...

Please enjoy today's plain and simple pathway.
Journey on, friend.

We interrupt this broadcast...

There I was, happily blogging along with my "40 Days of Pathways" series. I love anything to do with journeys and exploring and the wonderful possibility of every journey on the outside being an equally fascinating journey on the inside. Discovery and self-discovery go hand-in-hand, all that jazz.

But this is me standing in the middle of the metaphorical pathway shaking my fist at the sky: Blogger, you said my Day 16 (July 30) posted. Well...it has not posted no matter how many times you tell me it has.

If anyone is traveling along with headSpa here, we might be on a new track soon enough. blogger might be a dead end.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 15

8
The little one sleeps in its cradle,
I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand.

The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill,
I peeringly view them from the top.

The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom,
I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen.

The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of the promenaders,
The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,
The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls,
The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous’d mobs,
The flap of the curtain’d litter, a sick man inside borne to the hospital,
The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,
The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his passage to the centre of the crowd,
The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,
What groans of over-fed or half-starv’d who fall sunstruck or in fits,
What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and give birth to babes,
What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls restrain’d by decorum,
Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances, rejections with convex lips,
I mind them or the show or resonance of them—I come and I depart.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 16

WALT WHITMAN: SONG OF MYSELF
9
The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready,
The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon,
The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,
The armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow.

I am there, I help, I came stretch’d atop of the load,
I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other,
I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy,
And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 14

Song of Myself
BY WALT WHITMAN

7
Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash’d babe, and am not contain’d between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)

Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female,
For me those that have been boys and that love women,
For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted,
For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers,
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,
For me children and the begetters of children.

Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 13

Song of Myself
BY WALT WHITMAN

6
A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers’ laps,
And here you are the mothers’ laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 12

Song of Myself
BY WALT WHITMAN

5
I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you,
And you must not be abased to the other.

Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valvèd voice.

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,
And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my feet.

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap’d stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 11

Song of Myself
BY WALT WHITMAN

4
Trippers and askers surround me,
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new,
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events;
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.

Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 10

Song of Myself
BY WALT WHITMAN

3
I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Urge and urge and urge,
Always the procreant urge of the world.

Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex,
Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.

To elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so.

Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams,
Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,
I and this mystery here we stand.

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.

Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen,
Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age,
Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.

Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean,
Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest.

I am satisfied—I see, dance, laugh, sing;
As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread,
Leaving me baskets cover’d with white towels swelling the house with their plenty,
Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes,
That they turn from gazing after and down the road,
And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,
Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?

40 Days of Pathways: Day 9

Song of Myself
BY WALT WHITMAN

2
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,
The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the earth much?
Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 8

Song of Myself
BY WALT WHITMAN

1
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 7

What Kind of Times Are These
BY ADRIENNE RICH

There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.

I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled
this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.

I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it's necessary
to talk about trees.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 6

Good-bye, and Keep Cold
BY ROBERT FROST

This saying good-bye on the edge of the dark
And cold to an orchard so young in the bark
Reminds me of all that can happen to harm
An orchard away at the end of the farm
All winter, cut off by a hill from the house.
I don't want it girdled by rabbit and mouse,
I don't want it dreamily nibbled for browse
By deer, and I don't want it budded by grouse.
(If certain it wouldn't be idle to call
I'd summon grouse, rabbit, and deer to the wall
And warn them away with a stick for a gun.)
I don't want it stirred by the heat of the sun.
(We made it secure against being, I hope,
By setting it out on a northerly slope.)
No orchard's the worse for the wintriest storm;
But one thing about it, it mustn't get warm.
"How often already you've had to be told,
Keep cold, young orchard. Good-bye and keep cold.
Dread fifty above more than fifty below."
I have to be gone for a season or so.
My business awhile is with different trees,
Less carefully nourished, less fruitful than these,
And such as is done to their wood with an axe—
Maples and birches and tamaracks.
I wish I could promise to lie in the night
And think of an orchard's arboreal plight
When slowly (and nobody comes with a light)
Its heart sinks lower under the sod.
But something has to be left to God.

40 Days of Pathways: Day 5

"To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else."
- Emily Dickinson

40 Days of Pathways: Day 4

A Spiritual Journey

And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles,
no matter how long,
but only by a spiritual journey,
a journey of one inch,
very arduous and humbling and joyful,
by which we arrive at the ground at our feet,
and learn to be at home.

~ Wendell Berry ~

40 Days of Pathways: Day 3

I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.
Rainer Maria Rilke

40 Days of Pathways: Day 2

Departure
BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

It's little I care what path I take,
And where it leads it's little I care;
But out of this house, lest my heart break,
I must go, and off somewhere.

It's little I know what's in my heart,
What's in my mind it's little I know,
But there's that in me must up and start,
And it's little I care where my feet go.

I wish I could walk for a day and a night,
And find me at dawn in a desolate place
With never the rut of a road in sight,
Nor the roof of a house, nor the eyes of a face.

I wish I could walk till my blood should spout,
And drop me, never to stir again,
On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out,
And the weedy rocks are bare to the rain.

But dump or dock, where the path I take
Brings up, it's little enough I care;
And it's little I'd mind the fuss they'll make,
Huddled dead in a ditch somewhere.

"Is something the matter, dear," she said,
"That you sit at your work so silently?"
"No, mother, no, 'twas a knot in my thread.
There goes the kettle, I'll make the tea."

40 Days of Pathways: Day 1

Oh, if a tree could wander
and move with foot and wings!
It would not suffer the axe blows
and not the pain of saws!
For would the sun not wander
away in every night ?
How could at every morning
the world be lighted up?
And if the ocean's water
would not rise to the sky,
How would the plants be quickened
by streams and gentle rain?
The drop that left its homeland,
the sea, and then returned ?
It found an oyster waiting
and grew into a pearl.
Did Yusaf not leave his father,
in grief and tears and despair?
Did he not, by such a journey,
gain kingdom and fortune wide?
Did not the Prophet travel
to far Medina, friend?
And there he found a new kingdom
and ruled a hundred lands.
You lack a foot to travel?
Then journey into yourself!
And like a mine of rubies
receive the sunbeams?
Out of yourself such a journey
will lead you to your self,
It leads to transformation
of dust into pure gold!

Look! This is Love - Poems of Rumi,
Annemarie Schimm

24.4.08 so many people I deeply care for

21.4.08 breathe

28.3.08 new game

At dinner tonight a friend told about an exercise she did with a life coach that reminds me of the Perfect Day exercise in headSpa's "One Day" Journey 4. The point of both exercises is to put out there in a narrative form the things you'd like to be and do in your life and give them some form so you can see what they tell you about what matters to you, and so that you can use it like a map to move into those dreams and visions.

In this exercise, you write a letter to a friend describing your life at a future date when the things you desire are part of your life. You also tell this friend about the milestones along the way of your journey into having, achieving or becoming what you desire. It's not a letter you send, but rather one that comes back to you as a guide towards living into that future.

It was wonderful to see our friend who'd done this exercise light up when she talked about how she was able to sit on a train one day and just write the letter; how the dreams just flowed onto the page. She wrote about a time ten years from now and her sense of excitement about the possibilities, about the journey ahead that may or may not result in actually living every bit of that story by that time, was palpable. It was as if by creating that image on paper she had inspired herself to live more fully and with a sense of wonder, to see where it might lead her. Great stuff.

And the Vietnamese food over which she told us about the exercise was great too - what more could you ask for on a Friday night out in London?

27.3.08 thursday thirteen

thirteen affirmations coz I need 'em:

1. the universe is expanding, and I am with it. even if i do nothing to improve myself or grow today, I am bigger than I was yesterday. the growing is happening within me.
2. there are no mistakes, only decisions made with limited information - limited by not getting it, not understanding it, not wanting it. I can open myself to new information in order to make different decisions in the future.
3. my soul wants what is best for me.
4. everything is made of light and energy, which means we can see each other and connect with each other lightly and from the basis of all being one. connecting as energy keeps the flow going rather than connecting as mass which can become an obstacle, a solid rather than a fluid. I have no idea what that means, but it feels intuitively true!
5. I am not my body; I have a body.
6. I am not my feelings; I have feelings.
7. I am not my thoughts; I have thoughts.
8. I am not my soul; I have a soul. These things provide a measure of detachment so that I can look at my body, feelings, thoughts, and soul and say, "What is well with you and what may I do for you?" When I become those things, I am stuck. When I look at them, I can move.
9. now, the present moment, is the only time that exists.
10. love exists.
11. I can always do my best.
12. I can stop making assumptions.
13. I can be impeccable with my words.*
plus this bonus:
14. I can take nothing personally.

from the four agreements - good quotes from the book by picked like well-chosen fruit can be found here

...solemn and meditative character

Finding sacred space is a challenge in the city. One of my favorites is the Rothko room at the Tate Modern. According to the Tate's web site, Rothko was going for making

viewers feel that they are trapped in a room where all the doors and windows are bricked up, so that all they can do is butt their heads forever against the wall.

Um, I don't get that feeling there at all. No matter how many people are crammed into the museum as a whole, the room is often quiet and uncrowded. For me, it has the feel of a chapel; the flow of worship. There are nine paintings around the wide room, each shades of maroon and reds and blacks with very little form. There is enough to the shapes to move from chaos to contemplation and out towards action, however.

I was interested in coming back to the room after having lived in the desert for nine months. I had a hunch that what I came to love about the alive emptiness of the desert would correspond to these plain yet vibrant canvasses. I was right. I felt my brain go quiet in the same way it did walking out of Alice. Quiet, present, prepared.

19.3.08 Out of Iraq

Today I'm participating in the blogswarm protesting the war in Iraq. It's well past time to get out. It should never have started. Peace and self-determination will sustain humanity on this planet long after the oil has dried up. All I am saying - to myself, to the warmongers and the seriously greedy, to the generation to follow: is give peace a chance.

Here's a link to a peace event that happened in one of my circles of friends, the United Church of Christ.

Peace and be well, world.

Need a Little Light

Despite my best efforts to live in the present moment, sometimes I just need to touch base with previous travels. In this case, on another grey day in London town, I needed a little light from Oz.

Clutter-ized

I thought that everyone already knew that clutter in one's outside environment adversely affects one's inside environment. But I was wrong. I spent most of today opening doors onto rooms and closets and attics and every-available-spaces at our new job to have things fall out on my head/foot/whatever part of me I wasn't quick enough to move. And I've been noticing that many of our new friends and colleagues are living cluttered lives. No judgement...but I am thinking of investing in a dump truck and sneaking into people's houses at night to clean and clear...

Here's what the professionals say:

Are you overwhelmed by clutter? Feeling disorganised, depressed or out of control?
If you need a reason to declutter, let me give you one major purpose - quite simply it's to FEEL BETTER!

Of course there are many others benefits.... you could also.....

- Be less stressed, because you can find things
- Have more space to move - both physical and emotional
- Stop being embarrassed by clutter
- Think more clearly
- Increase your self-esteem
- Become relaxed and peaceful
- Save money by spending less
- Gain back hours, days and years worth of time
- Cut your cleaning time by 40% or more

De-cluttering is a spiritual adventure par excellence! Trust me...

I was thinking about focus. If I go for a walk and look only at what is immediately in front of my feet, I can make sure I never trip but with my head down, I can easily get lost. If I look only way off in the distance to the place I am hoping to reach I not only miss the potential pitfalls and the small beauties right in front of me but I miss the journey, it all becomes about the destination. The trick is to focus on the middle distance. Keeping an eye on the detail, keeping an eye on the final goal, and figuring out how one leads to the other. Oh, and the other thing. Stop. Last night on my walk I stopped to watch and listen to the wind in the bear winter trees, just for a moment. Every now and then it’s good to break stride, veer off course to see something interesting. 

more Smiles

I am really enjoying the blog From Smiler, with Love. Here's today's "right on" quote:

I just think it's a good thing to have voices in this world that come from people who don't have personal, religious or political agendas, but have a lot of soul and spirit, tolerance, and love and understanding to share - and I think I'm one of those people. Do I have all the answers? Not by a longshot. I have more questions than I have answers. Am I always right? Certainly not. Do I think I'm perfect? Not in this lifetime. What I do have is a need to communicate. Communicate what? I don't know. Doesn't matter. Just to keep a dialog going and also... to share some of the things that are in my head. Because when I do share them, I've noticed that many of people can identify and it seems to do them some good even just to know that someone else out there feels or thinks the way they do, and what they give back to me is incredible too.

Thank you, Smiler!

Reading a post like this makes me feel a sense of shared journey and encourages me on my way. I am warming to the notion of spiritual adventures via the ether from the comfort of my warm little flat in the big, cold city.

It's funny. but then again "What's so funny about peace, love and understanding?"
little bitty warning - the protest posters you'll see in this video clip might be offensive to some (even as they might make others get out the old paints and join in) viewer discretion advised!

Borrowing a bit of Serenity

I have a very simple 4-step exercise I like to call "Serenity Now"
that helps me with... everything. Especially when trying to make
important decisions. Or... not so important ones too for that matter. It's very simple and brilliantly easy.

Go to "From Smiler, with Love" for an invitation to find out more and to give her exercise a try. I love the way she puts something we probably all know to be helpful but maybe don't just do it.

Thank you, Smiler! This fellow spiritual adventurer's blog is listed to the right under the label "Synchronicity&Serendipty."

Spiritual adventures have their best starts at a still point. Breathe...and enjoy!

New Light

Yesterday I visited the Bromley by Bow Centre, an experiment in organic community that went from seed to forest in the past twenty years. It stands tall as a place of integrative, holistic living for all.

The centre's hub is a healthy living centre. People from the surrounding neighborhoods can come in to see a GP, get help with plugging into adult learning opportunities (the area is predominantly Bangledeshi, so many people come in needing ESOL classes and other avenues for work and living here), get your housing sorted at the main reception desk which includes a representative from the local housing cooperative. Meanwhile, if you need complementary therapies like art or massage, you can schedule that. Around the place are artists' studios, full of activity because each artist receives the space free in exchange for teaching. There were a number of groups of very happy and engaged persons with development disabilities working on painting, furniture making, and who knows what else. The children's nursery was busy having lunch. We met a stone sculptor who mentioned that because her studio has windows onto the street, many people just stop in because so few of us see people making things by hand any more. She was working on a beautiful, rare piece of blue alabaster and was thinking she would create a piece of sky with it.

Reflecting on the experience, which was a lot to take in because so much happens around the place, I realized what the good vibe of it was all about, for me at least. There was a deep and abiding, yet lightly held, sense of common humanity. The place and the employees weren't serving "those in need." There was no power differential between those giving and those receiving. It was simply the flow of people connecting as people. There was no self-consciousness about being a professional or being in service, there was just a sense of getting on with it because life is engaging and worth sharing. Very pragmatic things were happening all over the place, but with a lightness of being. Very little earnestness or do-goodery.

Having read a recent book about the place by the person who simply showed up and started to get to know people and what they needed and wanted to do and be, Andrew Mawson, I can see the roots of this ethos in his way of being. It has gone on in the manner in which it started. He marveled at the persons who came around, at the human light that was in each one, no matter how circumstances of birth and the various powers that be had tried to cover them in bushels. He always saw the light, believed in it, recognized how ordinary and extraordinary it is at one and the same time, and did what was in his power to clear the way for it to shine.

It was a bright day.

New life

Depending on which authorities you pay attention to spring begins on March 20 or 21 here in the Northern Hemisphere. It seems that the trees in our garden don’t give a toss for dates and calendars. Today it is March 2 and there are buds and shiny new leaves everywhere. There’s a hidden rhythm in the seasons. hidden all the winter, obvious now to anyone who pays attention but always at work and ready to burst out at a secret time of its own choosing. There is a growing thing in you and me too, working its way to its own bursting point, sometimes hidden from us but always growing and working to a secret schedule that might just surprise you.